daredevilkink | Prompt Post #6

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“Foggy,” Matt said anxiously, when she’d taken the pill and crackers, “what Stick was trying to get me to do, you’re not at all afraid…”
“No,” she said, because she wasn’t; this one wasn’t about fear. “But he had no right, saying to you what he said. You know, I also woke up in time to hear him say he was proud of you for your accomplishments. What right did he have to be proud of you, that arrogant, abusive, child-killing monster who walked out on you?
And what’s more, where does he think he gets off, calling everything in your life a distraction? Except the whole vigilante thing, and I wonder…he always talked about preparing you for a war. I doubt he was talking about the one you’re fighting now on behalf of Hell’s Kitchen. What would he care about this place? He’s probably more like the Avengers, off fighting aliens and gods and who knows what else and who cares if a little girl gets raped or a little boy gets kidnapped or some poor people get bullied out of their apartments? He knew better than to say that to you, I’ll bet, but you know that’s what he was thinking about you.”
Matt was shaking his head in denial. “What would he want me for?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” she snapped; she was in too much pain at the moment for that one. “All I know is if we ever see him again, then I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I’ll look into suing if you forbid me to punch him. I’m already letting you fight in one war every night, and you know, the only reason I can stand doing that is because it’s your war, for our home. You should fight your war, not his. He doesn’t get to have you. He has no right. You belong to Hell’s Kitchen and you belong to Nelson and Murdock and you belong to me.”
She kissed him then, fiercely, angrily, and he just let her claim him, and the noise he made when she pretty much ripped his shirt off of him wasn’t one of protest. Then he pushed, and a moment latter Foggy was on her back on their bed, and he was getting eager for this too now, pulling at her shirt, its buttons just a little too small for him to find easily. Foggy reached down, undid the fly of her slacks, and then said, “You get those off, I’ll get this off?” As he obediently reached down, she took in the pants of his costume, how they clung to that beautiful ass, and how she kind of wanted to make him come in them. She supposed he’d find the smell too distracting, though, even after washing.
His work was faster, and she had barely gotten the last button undone and pushed her shirt open for him to hear when he was all over her collarbone, pressing kisses just above her breasts before just shoving her bra down so he could get his mouth on those. That luscious, hot, skilled mouth which teased at her nipples until she was panting, her body starting to clench with want, which actually made the pain worse for a moment but she didn’t even care. His hands had been doing crazy things on her back, now she reached for them to move them down; she wanted those long fingers in her bad.
But to her shock, he moved his head down further, and though he paused to lick at places on her belly which were more sensitive, she recognized this pattern of kissing his way down. “Matt,” she gasped, “you’re not going to…”
“Please, I want to,” he said. “Not the first time I’ve tasted blood down there.”
That was true, but before that night, when he’d gone down on her during her period, it had been during the tail end of it, when there’d been relatively little blood on her. “Matt,” she said, “I’m absolutely gushing right now. Your face will smell of it for days, at least to your crazy nose.”
“I know,” he said, “but please.” His voice was hoarse with desire.
Well, if he really wanted to…Foggy let her legs slide open enough for his head to fit between them.
He teased her a little more, running his tongue up and down her thighs until she was squirming, the heat between her legs starting to get stronger than even the pain. Everything was more sensitive, when he finally brought his tongue between her labia she was moaning even before he got to her clit, and when his lips closed around it and sucked, it felt so good she couldn’t even think of anything else.
His fingers dug into her, and Foggy was pushing herself down hard, just wanting more, please more-she didn’t even realize she was saying it out loud until he groaned in response, so turned on just by that, which just made her crazier, oh please please please please please. Her body was squeezing itself around his fingers, the way she knew he absolutely loved, everything getting tighter and tighter, pleasure and pain mixing until she could barely tell one from the other-until finally everything clenched, the force of it sending spasms up her spine and down to her toes. She lost herself in the hard throb of her loins, and Matt just kept going, her helpless moans of ecstasy causing him to go harder until it was nearly unbearable, the orgasm going on and on, until when he finally withdrew she was gasping for breath, her muscles reduced to goo, all the tension in her body gone, and the pain gone with it.
He’d gotten the washcloth off the nightstand; her blood was all over his lower face. When Foggy barely gave him time to wipe it off before she pulled him down for a kiss, he still tasted of it, but at the moment she was beyond caring. She pulled him up, smearing blood on his pants but that didn’t really matter, and when she felt he was still hard she started wrestling with the top of them, finally getting that down, and whispered, “Condom. Now.”
He took his sweet time getting it on, probably trying to keep himself from coming before he got in her. She knew even as he slid home he wasn’t going to last long, but this by itself was worth it, especially when her cunt was still pulsing and she knew he could feel that. He was whimpering even before she clamped her legs around him and squeezed, and that finished him; he came gasping and groaning into her neck, and she savored how he shuddered in her arms, the way he just went limp and let her hold him, let her be tender with her hands on his back and in his hair, and with her kisses, which he returned weakly, the way she knew he did when his feelings overwhelmed him after sex. “It’s all right,” she whispered between their mouths, even as the rest of her words got tangled in her throat.
She was still pain-free, surprisingly, after they were both showered, she’d changed her previous pad for an overnight, the towels had been dealt with(they’d done their job; the sheets were unstained), and they’d settled back into bed. “Please say you’ll sleep tonight,” she whispered, because on nights when he got the way he’d been when she’d come in, she knew he often didn’t, which was especially bad considering what they were going to have to deal with in the morning.
“I’ll try,” he said, and shifted closer until his head rested in her bosom. “At least I can’t smell him anymore when we’re like this.”
She laughed, although she didn’t feel that much mirth. “Guess my being covered in blood right now is good for something? But you’d really rather smell that rather than Stick? Not that I’m objecting, mind-in favor of all things being preferred to Stick here…”
He let out a similar laugh, then said, “Foggy, your menstrual blood smells nothing like blood out on the street.”
“Yeah,” she said, “but didn’t you just tell Claire when we were hiding her here you could taste copper in the air when one of her wounds opened? Surely you’ve still got to taste the copper now, even if there’s stuff besides blood coming out of me.”
“It’s not…” He shook his head. “I’m about to creep you out.”
“Creep away,” Foggy told him. She was disturbingly used to it.
“It’s just…for me, a woman’s menstrual flow is like her heartbeat; I…Ispend enough time around her and I get to recognizing it automatically. And this is what I’ve been smelling for a week out of the month and usually more for all the years I’ve known you, Foggy. This is what you smelled like when we first met, when you took me back-both times, when I proposed to you on the steps…I even caught a whiff of it approaching when I went down on you the first time we made love. It…it may not entirely be a happy smell, since it can also mean you’re in pain, but even so…it’s you. It’s…it’s home, Foggy. You should stop fretting about getting it on my face. I…I like smelling of you, any smell related to you.”
The feelings still thrumming through Foggy, the need to keep him by her side, were way too strong for her to object to that, to the idea of leaving him marked as hers the next time he went out onto the streets, even if this was a weird way to do it. Instead she timidly asked, “Home?”
“Home,” he said, more firmly. “You’re my home, Foggy.” Saying it for her sake, but she knew he meant it.
“Good,” she whispered to him. “Because this is where you belong. In our city, between our sheets, with me. Next person who tries to tell me otherwise, I’ll leave him wishing it was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who’d dealt with him.” A bit melodramatic, but she’d say the situation called for it.
“Seriously,” she added, “I think I never loved these sheets as much as when Stick denounced them.” That got a breathless chuckle out of him.

Prompt Post #6

Prescription Strength (7b/8)