His lips are gently parted, as if he's trying to taste the air. Her air. And maybe he is; maybe she's hitting the back of his throat right at this very moment. Maybe she’s on his tongue.
Karen’s allowed her own indulgences. She presses her lips to his cheek, feeling his heat, his blood, and his body trembles, a fine, unsuppressed shiver. The soft rush of his breath is like a drug, and slowly, slowly, letting him wait, letting him want, she shifts to kiss the other cheek.
Lightly, so lightly. Karen’s thinking about what he’s told her about his senses, his skin; what it must be like for him to have his body bound up and hidden from the world in that heavy leather suit. How his cheeks and jaw and lips must tingle, alert and alive and open to it all, surrogates for the rest of him.
She thinks about all that, then drops another light kiss on his lips.
She's flipped a switch. Gasping into her mouth, Matt clutches at her shoulder, her hip, holding on for dear life. His hands in his gloves are solid, heavy weights, and he’s going to owe her a new coat or a trip to the dry cleaners when this is over - she really doesn’t want to think about the blood that’s probably on those gloves - but the rawness of his grip floods Karen with heat, and she sucks hard on his bottom lip, enough to drag a hoarse groan from his throat.
She wants the armor gone. She wants him exposed, his body hers for the reading. She wants him with nowhere to hide.
“Karen,” Matt says. His mouth moves restlessly against her cheek. “Karen -”
He's losing it. From her taste, her heat, from the touch of her lips. He's losing to her.
She kisses him again, quick and fierce, then draws back and watches his lips gape soundlessly. “Karen,” he finally manages. “You. You in a hurry to get home?”
It's tempting to say that she is, just because he clearly wants to hear the opposite. But if it means denying herself something that she wants, what's the point in that?
“I don't know,” Karen says, her breath on his cheek. “What did you have in mind?”
“Detour.” His lips rub together, like he’s savoring her. “We could go up.”
Up means scaling the side of the building, apparently. Unholstering his clubs, Matt shoots a line up high on a nearby fire escape. “Trust me to the first landing?”
There's a slant to his lips that Karen can't interpret. If this is some kind of test for her, it's the wrong one; trusting Daredevil with her physical safety has never been an issue. “Let's give it a shot,” she says.
It happens fast. Arms locked around his neck, heels tucked up, she lets him do the work, powering through a run and a jump that sends them swinging upwards. The fire escape rattles when they land; she laughs, a little breathless. “You wake a lot of people up like that? Bumbling around outside their windows?”
“Bumbling,” he protests, but he's grinning, bright and wide. It’s a sight she hasn't seen in a long time. He jerks a thumb at the metal staircase. “After you?”
“Really? Stairs? Is that all you got, Murdock?”
The grin turns so dazzling it almost hurts. “I think people usually say ‘don't look down.’ Let me know if that's good advice?”
This time, Karen has to hook her legs around his waist. It's no hardship. Arms still tight around his neck, she hooks her chin over his shoulder and holds on with all she's got while he balances on the edge of the railing, then launches them up to the next level.
It's a rush, cold air in her face, her hair flying, the ground spinning away beneath her. And Matt, agile and solid and strong against her, moving like he was made to do. No uncertainty, no hesitation, just action. Her heartbeat is in her ears when they finally hit the roof, and she thinks she's laughing again, but it's hard to tell. She's soaring.
[FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [9/?]
Karen’s allowed her own indulgences. She presses her lips to his cheek, feeling his heat, his blood, and his body trembles, a fine, unsuppressed shiver. The soft rush of his breath is like a drug, and slowly, slowly, letting him wait, letting him want, she shifts to kiss the other cheek.
Lightly, so lightly. Karen’s thinking about what he’s told her about his senses, his skin; what it must be like for him to have his body bound up and hidden from the world in that heavy leather suit. How his cheeks and jaw and lips must tingle, alert and alive and open to it all, surrogates for the rest of him.
She thinks about all that, then drops another light kiss on his lips.
She's flipped a switch. Gasping into her mouth, Matt clutches at her shoulder, her hip, holding on for dear life. His hands in his gloves are solid, heavy weights, and he’s going to owe her a new coat or a trip to the dry cleaners when this is over - she really doesn’t want to think about the blood that’s probably on those gloves - but the rawness of his grip floods Karen with heat, and she sucks hard on his bottom lip, enough to drag a hoarse groan from his throat.
She wants the armor gone. She wants him exposed, his body hers for the reading. She wants him with nowhere to hide.
“Karen,” Matt says. His mouth moves restlessly against her cheek. “Karen -”
He's losing it. From her taste, her heat, from the touch of her lips. He's losing to her.
She kisses him again, quick and fierce, then draws back and watches his lips gape soundlessly. “Karen,” he finally manages. “You. You in a hurry to get home?”
It's tempting to say that she is, just because he clearly wants to hear the opposite. But if it means denying herself something that she wants, what's the point in that?
“I don't know,” Karen says, her breath on his cheek. “What did you have in mind?”
“Detour.” His lips rub together, like he’s savoring her. “We could go up.”
Up means scaling the side of the building, apparently. Unholstering his clubs, Matt shoots a line up high on a nearby fire escape. “Trust me to the first landing?”
There's a slant to his lips that Karen can't interpret. If this is some kind of test for her, it's the wrong one; trusting Daredevil with her physical safety has never been an issue. “Let's give it a shot,” she says.
It happens fast. Arms locked around his neck, heels tucked up, she lets him do the work, powering through a run and a jump that sends them swinging upwards. The fire escape rattles when they land; she laughs, a little breathless. “You wake a lot of people up like that? Bumbling around outside their windows?”
“Bumbling,” he protests, but he's grinning, bright and wide. It’s a sight she hasn't seen in a long time. He jerks a thumb at the metal staircase. “After you?”
“Really? Stairs? Is that all you got, Murdock?”
The grin turns so dazzling it almost hurts. “I think people usually say ‘don't look down.’ Let me know if that's good advice?”
This time, Karen has to hook her legs around his waist. It's no hardship. Arms still tight around his neck, she hooks her chin over his shoulder and holds on with all she's got while he balances on the edge of the railing, then launches them up to the next level.
It's a rush, cold air in her face, her hair flying, the ground spinning away beneath her. And Matt, agile and solid and strong against her, moving like he was made to do. No uncertainty, no hesitation, just action. Her heartbeat is in her ears when they finally hit the roof, and she thinks she's laughing again, but it's hard to tell. She's soaring.