daredevilkink | Prompt Post #6

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(in the universe where matt figures out that they're playing him as soon as he hears the door lock, for example, and things are just as violent as they are in canon, and Stick is not a nice dude?)

Matt started to shut down immediately after Fisk locked the door. He realized that the room was more adequately soundproofed than most. Paranoia had kept him alive, after all, and that was when he realized that he'd made a series of assumptions that were going to get him killed.

He considered, for two seconds, his chances in simply killing both of them – Vanessa, easily enough; she was tall and slim and although he didn't know what she had in her purse, he didn't think it would matter: he didn't think she'd been in fights before. Knock her legs out from under her, catch her by the skull and chin, twist: done. Fisk? Quite possibly, if Matt stayed on his toes and hit him in the shock of grief and surprise; Matt could get him in a headlock and choke him unconscious.

And then he'd be stuck in a locked room twenty stories off the ground, in a building full of Fisk's people, with two victims of homicide.

No one would need to lay a hand on him; they could call the police and he'd be killed or he'd be locked up, and Matt honestly wasn't sure what would be worse, at this point.

Five seconds after Fisk locked the door, Matt started to slid into the disconnected, meditative state that kept him separate from his body. Stick had taught him that. One day someone's going to be better than you, kid, Stick had said, bitter and amused. and sure we all hope they'll kill us quick, but that might not happen. So.

Torture was an indubitable fact of life, like the seasons; one day it would come to Matt, and it looked like today was the day.

you waste as much of their time as you fucking can. And then you get away or you die.

Ten seconds after Fisk locked the door, Matt (dimly, as if it was happening to someone else) felt Vanessa Fisk touch his shoulder.

It wasn't about tightening the defenses, about locking things down: it was about going to that quiet place found in meditation and staying there. Cutting as many ties to the body as possible.

your body's an animal, Stick had said. a pet, it does what you tell it to, and sometimes, kid, and Matt remembered it so clearly because it had been one of the few occasions when Stick sounded a little pitying, instead of angry, sometimes you're going to have to cut the leash and trust your body to look after itself for a while.

He hadn't been satisfied until Matt had been able to go somewhere mindless, while Stick broke the small bones in a couple of his fingers or slice into the skin of his back, without tensing or flinching. Matt could relax into that sensation, now, and he'd never been more grateful for that dick.

**

Matt'd planned on bluffing for as long as possible, though: they might suspect that Matt Murdock was more than he let on, but no one ever seriously considered the idea that Daredevil might be blind. Whatever this was, whatever they thought they knew: he'd let it happen, he'd survive it, and he'd get away safe at the end of the night.

So when Fisk got him by the wrists and stared at his face, Matt kept breathing on a three-count and looked as confused and frightened as possible. Which wasn't difficult at all, honestly.

“Pain is useless,” Vanessa told him, thoughtfully, at his back: “pain teaches nothing, pain gets nothing but lies.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Matt said. His voice shook. That was fine. That didn't matter.

“She prefers honesty,” Fisk said; Matt heard his voice from six inches or so about Matt's ear, caught the deep rough noise of his lungs expanding and contracting.

Matt said. “I don't know what you mean.”

“It's not meant to be difficult,” Vanessa said, “which is why Wilson will hold your hands, you sweet thing, I'm going to make sure you can't do anything wrong.” She ran a finger along the bridge of his ear; it was the lightest, most delicate touch, and he fell out of place of a moment. “May I take off your shirt?”

He laughed, couldn't help it, because what in the name of god was this? “No.” It didn't matter, they weren't going to – to listen, not in any way, but asking stupid questions would get the obvious answers.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Vanessa said, and pushed herself to tiptoes – Matt felt the warmth of her all up and down his spine. A woman's perfume – floral and bitter – splashed against him in a wave, before she pressed her open mouth against the skin of his neck. Hot, wet human heat and the plush live feel of a woman's mouth, and the hint of her teeth, and Matt felt his eyes drop shut in shock as every nerve attached to his spine lit up in pure animal sensation. Leaning back was impossible; leaning forward brought him closer to Fisk.

“His mouth,” Fisk said, and Vanessa chided him, soft and serious, “unkind, my dear, don't ignore Matthew.”

No, he thought, dizzily: oh, no, this was – not good -

“My apologies,” Fisk said. “Your mouth is -” When he leaned forward he exerted almost no pressure – just a little pressure, just enough to bring the heat and strength in his hands clear – against Matt's wrists, but for all that, the kiss landed at the hinge of Matt's jaw.

“ahhh,” he said, and it felt shocked out of him: “no, ignore me - ”

“You're funny,” Vanessa said, so close that her lips brushed against the back of his neck. She was wearing lipstick – some kind of makeup, Matt could smell it, feel the waxy smear against his skin.

“I wouldn't have expected it,” Fisk said. “Daredevil isn't.”

Prompt Post #6

Re: Fisk/Matt/Vanessa; killing him with kindness part 1a