OP, I wish you could see how hard I am a) BLUSHING, and b) grinning like a loon. this was SUCH A GOOD IDEA and I'm having a blast with it?
ok. so. have some super-flowery awful pornography/advancement of the plot, i guess? (i can't write porn, but i have spent this whole kinkmeme writing bout dicks and vaginas so like hopefully this practice is makin' me improve)
Matt's kneeling.
(which is enough to give it that kick in the teeth that gets his blood zinging through his veins anyways; Matt knows he's Catholic to the bone, he's just never claimed to be a good Catholic.)
Matt's kneeling and Claire opens her legs, lets him hitch her scrubs down to her ankles. On his knees, everything in his head quiets down to the clean saltmusk as as Claire shifts, the beat of her heart kicking up in anticipation. His chest burns, his hip burns. Matt's mouth is watering, but he just leans forward and rests against her (cotton, cheap, smells like dye and faintly like her blood) underwear.
She inhales, catches her breath; the muscles of her cunt pulse with a liquid noise like the ocean at high tide. Her scent is caught in the curly hair over her mons; he loves this about her, how once she's half-naked with legs open her scent is enough to overpower him, wipe out the ability to think.
"OK, Mike," she says, already sounding careful, a little dreamy, "you take your time, sweetheart."
Claire has narrow, gorgeous calves and thighs, and when she hooks one over his shoulder, he can feel stubble against his skin, enough to set it alight. And he opens his mouth, breathing hot and damp against her; she sighs and he almost chokes with the rich taste of her flooding his senses.
If it wasn't for Fisk, he could - he might ask her to move in, at least; if she'd met Matt Murdock, would she have let him into the core of her like this?
Claire's right hand clenches in his hair, the way she knows he likes, and he's hard, suddenly, dizzyingly hard; he's never noticed how tiny her hands are. How delicate; he can feel her slim fingers (and they're so much smaller than --) and the strength in them and he's drooling, now.
Matt is on his knees and sucking, biting at Claire's swollen labia, rich with blood, and she's breahing deeply, the tiniest bit unevenly.
Maybe, he thought, every breath taking him higher, because now Claire's back arched, once, and she squirmed, so he slid one finger inside her and licked around it, maybe when Fisk was driven away, or in jail - and he shuddered, hard, feeling the blood heat clench around his finger - maybe then he'd ask Claire to meet Foggy.
Maybe - and she clenched her hand in his hair and wrapped her leg tight around his shoulder and pulled and Matt was nose-deep, two-fingers deep, Claire's-quiet-quick-uneven-panting-deep in her, and his nose was running, and his eyes were watering because she had hold of him, he was on his knees and Claire had him, and if only Fisk would leave, Matt could have this all the time, thousands of people stayed with people who weren't their soulmates, when his job was done here he'd ask Claire to stay with him until she found her soulmate, because - he sucked at her clit, finally, letting the rhythm of her heart and her lungs and her blood push him over the edge, the air was thick with her - and she got both hands in his hair and started kicked at his back, one heel on his shoulderblade in glorious almost-bruising rhythm and stopped breathing, everything tightening around him. And Matt on his knees thought please please please god let this be enough, this, I don't ask for a soulmate, just let me have this --
(and ten miles away Wilson Fisk starts out of a dead sleep, with the scent of a woman on his hands and the taste of a woman on his mouth and her voice in his ear saying "mike, you goddamn asshole, ahhhah! aha yes," and he is aching, aching.)
Re: Matt/Fisk Soulmate AU (another piece of fill + question for OP)
ok. so. have some super-flowery awful pornography/advancement of the plot, i guess? (i can't write porn, but i have spent this whole kinkmeme writing bout dicks and vaginas so like hopefully this practice is makin' me improve)
Matt's kneeling.
(which is enough to give it that kick in the teeth that gets his blood zinging through his veins anyways; Matt knows he's Catholic to the bone, he's just never claimed to be a good Catholic.)
Matt's kneeling and Claire opens her legs, lets him hitch her scrubs down to her ankles. On his knees, everything in his head quiets down to the clean saltmusk as as Claire shifts, the beat of her heart kicking up in anticipation. His chest burns, his hip burns. Matt's mouth is watering, but he just leans forward and rests against her (cotton, cheap, smells like dye and faintly like her blood) underwear.
She inhales, catches her breath; the muscles of her cunt pulse with a liquid noise like the ocean at high tide. Her scent is caught in the curly hair over her mons; he loves this about her, how once she's half-naked with legs open her scent is enough to overpower him, wipe out the ability to think.
"OK, Mike," she says, already sounding careful, a little dreamy, "you take your time, sweetheart."
Claire has narrow, gorgeous calves and thighs, and when she hooks one over his shoulder, he can feel stubble against his skin, enough to set it alight. And he opens his mouth, breathing hot and damp against her; she sighs and he almost chokes with the rich taste of her flooding his senses.
If it wasn't for Fisk, he could - he might ask her to move in, at least; if she'd met Matt Murdock, would she have let him into the core of her like this?
Claire's right hand clenches in his hair, the way she knows he likes, and he's hard, suddenly, dizzyingly hard; he's never noticed how tiny her hands are. How delicate; he can feel her slim fingers (and they're so much smaller than --) and the strength in them and he's drooling, now.
Matt is on his knees and sucking, biting at Claire's swollen labia, rich with blood, and she's breahing deeply, the tiniest bit unevenly.
Maybe, he thought, every breath taking him higher, because now Claire's back arched, once, and she squirmed, so he slid one finger inside her and licked around it, maybe when Fisk was driven away, or in jail - and he shuddered, hard, feeling the blood heat clench around his finger - maybe then he'd ask Claire to meet Foggy.
Maybe - and she clenched her hand in his hair and wrapped her leg tight around his shoulder and pulled and Matt was nose-deep, two-fingers deep, Claire's-quiet-quick-uneven-panting-deep in her, and his nose was running, and his eyes were watering because she had hold of him, he was on his knees and Claire had him, and if only Fisk would leave, Matt could have this all the time, thousands of people stayed with people who weren't their soulmates, when his job was done here he'd ask Claire to stay with him until she found her soulmate, because - he sucked at her clit, finally, letting the rhythm of her heart and her lungs and her blood push him over the edge, the air was thick with her - and she got both hands in his hair and started kicked at his back, one heel on his shoulderblade in glorious almost-bruising rhythm and stopped breathing, everything tightening around him. And Matt on his knees thought please please please god let this be enough, this, I don't ask for a soulmate, just let me have this --
(and ten miles away Wilson Fisk starts out of a dead sleep, with the scent of a woman on his hands and the taste of a woman on his mouth and her voice in his ear saying "mike, you goddamn asshole, ahhhah! aha yes," and he is aching, aching.)