One of the most remarkable and terrifying things about Daredevil was the absolute silence with which he moved. He had such control over his movements that, when he chose to, he could sneak past the most sensitive of alarms and the most attentive of watchmen.
But he also knew when and how to make noise. He knew exactly when a well-placed clank or clatter would draw an enemy into a trap. He knew how to throw his voice, disorienting a foe already made helpless by the dark. He knew just how much sound to make to make his presence known to an ally. Daredevil controlled the sounds he produced as carefully as a musician, each one a perfectly calibrated note from the instrument that was his body, resounding precisely and intentionally in the concert hall of the city at night. There was only one situation in which Frank had ever seen Matt lose control of his instrument—one that they found themselves in more and more frequently of late.
The first time it had happened, Frank had been startled, bewildered at the variety of sounds flowing uncontrollably from the blind man: high in his throat, deep in his chest, sighed against Frank’s lips. Matt noticed, he must have noticed, because he tried to stop himself, biting his own arm to muffle his voice.
Frank was quick to correct the misunderstanding.
“No,” he had said, pulling Matt’s arms above his head, drawing a bruised and bloodied moan from his lips with a purposeful slide of his body against Matt’s. “Don’t hold it in. Go ahead. Nobody’s here but me. Let me hear you.”
And Matt did. He still did, even now, even months later, even after they both should have realized that whatever this thing was that they were doing, it had no place in the lives they chose to lead. He didn’t know why Matt kept coming back, why he allowed Frank to continue to be the sole audience to his most personal and intimate concerts. He didn’t know why Matt trusted him with this, but he did know why he would never be able to stop himself from taking whatever Matt was willing to give.
Here, tonight, as Matt shivers on top of him, raising and lowering himself with an endless and ever-changing litany of sounds, Frank watches and listens with rapt, reverent attention. He tangles his fingers in Matt’s long hair, and pulls back his head to press kisses to the line of his throat, to feel against his lips the vibrations that drive him mad, and he knows that he could never choose to give this up. It is beauty, more beauty than Frank imagined ever experiencing again, but it is also power: for if Matt is the musician, then Frank is the composer, intoxicated with the cadence of sounds that exist in the world only because he enabled them, only because he had the ability to create them. Frank has that ability, the power to make Matt sing. It is nothing, and it is everything, and Frank has never felt closer to omnipotence than when their song reaches its inevitable, twin climax.
Frank has not set foot in a church in years, not since the funerals of his children—but somehow, in this moment, he feels that he is redeemed.
Minifill: Matt/Frank - Choirboy
One of the most remarkable and terrifying things about Daredevil was the absolute silence with which he moved. He had such control over his movements that, when he chose to, he could sneak past the most sensitive of alarms and the most attentive of watchmen.
But he also knew when and how to make noise. He knew exactly when a well-placed clank or clatter would draw an enemy into a trap. He knew how to throw his voice, disorienting a foe already made helpless by the dark. He knew just how much sound to make to make his presence known to an ally. Daredevil controlled the sounds he produced as carefully as a musician, each one a perfectly calibrated note from the instrument that was his body, resounding precisely and intentionally in the concert hall of the city at night. There was only one situation in which Frank had ever seen Matt lose control of his instrument—one that they found themselves in more and more frequently of late.
The first time it had happened, Frank had been startled, bewildered at the variety of sounds flowing uncontrollably from the blind man: high in his throat, deep in his chest, sighed against Frank’s lips. Matt noticed, he must have noticed, because he tried to stop himself, biting his own arm to muffle his voice.
Frank was quick to correct the misunderstanding.
“No,” he had said, pulling Matt’s arms above his head, drawing a bruised and bloodied moan from his lips with a purposeful slide of his body against Matt’s. “Don’t hold it in. Go ahead. Nobody’s here but me. Let me hear you.”
And Matt did. He still did, even now, even months later, even after they both should have realized that whatever this thing was that they were doing, it had no place in the lives they chose to lead. He didn’t know why Matt kept coming back, why he allowed Frank to continue to be the sole audience to his most personal and intimate concerts. He didn’t know why Matt trusted him with this, but he did know why he would never be able to stop himself from taking whatever Matt was willing to give.
Here, tonight, as Matt shivers on top of him, raising and lowering himself with an endless and ever-changing litany of sounds, Frank watches and listens with rapt, reverent attention. He tangles his fingers in Matt’s long hair, and pulls back his head to press kisses to the line of his throat, to feel against his lips the vibrations that drive him mad, and he knows that he could never choose to give this up. It is beauty, more beauty than Frank imagined ever experiencing again, but it is also power: for if Matt is the musician, then Frank is the composer, intoxicated with the cadence of sounds that exist in the world only because he enabled them, only because he had the ability to create them. Frank has that ability, the power to make Matt sing. It is nothing, and it is everything, and Frank has never felt closer to omnipotence than when their song reaches its inevitable, twin climax.
Frank has not set foot in a church in years, not since the funerals of his children—but somehow, in this moment, he feels that he is redeemed.