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daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
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Daredevil Prompt Post #11
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[FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-16 04:29 am (UTC)(link)___________________________
The next day, Matt pulls himself out of bed, throws on the first suit he finds in the closet, and pointedly doesn't think about the night before as he calls a cab. The ache of fresh bruises and the smell of his favorite donuts keep him occupied on the way to the office. He decides, carefully shifting in the taxi, that none of the new marks are in danger of peeking out of his suit, so Karen won't have a reason to stare at him worriedly. Lately she's been a bit less accepting of his excuses.
"Karen?" he says as he opens the door. He knows she's there, but since she doesn't always beat him to the office, it's good to ask for appearances.
"Morning, Matt." There's a smile in her voice.
He also takes it as a win that she doesn't get up and try to help him. It took a while for her to stop hovering in case he needed her assistance in the office. Even outside of it he tends to ignore her hesitant hand in favor of his cane. Sometimes he thinks it's because he already has to rely on her to call out any obvious lies about pictures or anything printed regardless of whether he can hear the stutter or a guilty heart or not. He does have genuine affection for her, though. He smiles in her direction and returns the greeting.
"I can make coffee if you want it," she offers.
He shakes his head. She's a good partner, but he can still vaguely smell her last attempt at coffee from a few days back. It's not pleasant. "I've got it. Could you plate these?" He holds out the box of donuts he got on his way, and she fusses with them, putting two on a napkin on his desk while he deftly measures out the grounds. It's a pretty casual morning at his tiny firm right up until he can't focus himself anymore.
Their fingers touch when he hands her a mug. She smiles again and thanks him, but his own smile is distracted as he heads into his office. He should be working on one of the tenement cases he's handling right now, and he even pulls out the Braille paperwork for it with the intent of scanning it for a loophole or two. However, when he runs his fingers over the lines, it's useless. That brief slip of skin against skin reminded him of when he brushed against the man's hand as he gave him his fallen bag, and that reminds him of everything he was trying to ignore.
In the end, the only thing that gets him on track again is Karen squealing at her desk.
He opens his door and leans against the frame. "Is everything okay?"
"That was Mr. Boyd," she says, nearly out of breath in her excitement. "His landlord finally agreed to pay for the water damage!"
It makes him grin, because Mr. Boyd was desperate and practically out of hope, but it's also a bit unsettling that he didn't hear the conversation.
She settles down quickly. "Matt?"
He cocks his head and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Karen?"
"Could we... could we go to Josie's later? To celebrate." The tone of her voice tells him that she doesn't expect he'll agree. He turned her down the last three times, after all, and he should turn her down again, because the streets aren't going to be quiet just to let him drink.
But he doesn't want to lose this friendship, no matter how tenuous it is. "Why not," he says, holding out an arm for her to guide him.
It makes her perk up, and the arm she locks with his is warm.
(He forces himself not to think about how much thinner and firmer it is than the man's arms were.)
---
Daredevil avoids that block of Hell's Kitchen for nearly four full days.
---
The second time they meet is on the fourth night.
The streets are quiet when Foggy goes to close up. Careful not to jostle his bruised ribs, he flips the sign on the door over and shuffles to the back room to double check the fridges and wash up. Most of his customers were understanding about his injuries and how they slowed down his service, and a few of them (Jody included) stopped by with little care packages as soon as they'd heard, but he still insisted on running things as close to normally as possible, which includes checking everything before closing. (It helped that his parents 'forced' his sister to come down at help at the counter for a few hours every day.)
He's almost ready to lock the door and leave when someone comes in.
"We're closed," Foggy says, turning the key in the register. He doesn't look up until they're rounding the counter.
"Yeah? Well I think you have time for me," the person says, and of course, he's got a gun.
Foggy throws his hands in the air. "Really, man?"
The robber sneers and comes closer. "Just give me all the bills in the register, and you can go on home."
"Alright, alright. Just, do me a favor and lower the gun, okay?"
The gun stays up, and the robber gives him a hard shove.
Foggy grimaces as he pulls away from the hard edge of the counter and opens the register again. If the guy didn't have a gun, Foggy would grab the bat under the counter, but it doesn't look like luck is on his side today.
Until he sees the dark figure easing the door open, that is. It's the Devil again, and Foggy can't help but let out a snort of hysterical laughter, because this is the second time in less than a week that this guy's playing hero to his damsel. (If you ask him, he'll say he makes a kickass damsel, though.)
His laughter distracts the robber, who looks over just in time to get a fist to the face. The Devil drops him on the floor, unconscious without a fight.
Foggy sags against the counter with a slight wince as he leans again developing bruises. He absently realizes he's shaking. "You do that again, and I might have to give you a gift certificate or something, man."
The Devil doesn't respond, but he does get into Foggy's space and steady him against the counter, gently running hands along his sides like he did the last time they met until he accidentally pushes Foggy's tender back against the counter too firmly.
Foggy winces and then startles as the Devil turns him around. "Hey, we haven't even exchanged names or anything," he quips.
---
Even as it hits him how inappropriate he's being, Matt finds himself unwilling to step back. "You're injured," he says shortly. He's happy that the man can't see the embarrassed flush that burns across his cheeks.
"It's probably just a bruise. Dickwad shoved me when I didn't give him the money right away." There's a pause, but Matt doesn't respond, because he can tell by the pattern of the man's breath that he wants to say something more. "It's Foggy, by the way."
His hands stall on the man's hips, his right thumb just brushing the edge of what feels like a nasty bruise in the making. "Foggy?" He can feel the man's heartbeat through his skin. It's fast, nervous, but it calms a little as it pulses along his fingers. (Privately, Matt thinks he could leave his hands there forever, and that's startling.)
"Me. It's what people call me?" The man - Foggy - twists his head back to look at Matt.
With a small nod, Matt lets go of his hips so that Foggy can turn around. He's careful to keep his hands loose rather than fisted. The last thing he needs is for the man to pick up on how he wants to put his hands back on those hips, which had a curiously wonderful give to them. If he pressed hard enough, he'd surely still feel the bone underneath, but the gentle touch he used so as not to press any sore spots meant that all he felt was the slight curve of fat there. It was... soothing, in a weird way. The only people he tended to touch by the hips were his one-night stands, and they were all compact. (Skinny like models, a few of his law school classmates had whispered enviously when they thought he couldn't hear.) Foggy felt so different.
"So, you got a name, Mr. Dark-and-Mysterious?"
Matt can't help but smirk. "Most people call me the Devil."
"Yeah, but doesn't that get awkward? Like, don't you ever get looks at the doctor's office?" Foggy shifts awkwardly, like he knows he's made an awful joke but is determined to see it through.
It's endearing. No one jokes like this with him. He holds Karen too far away for her to be comfortable enough to do so, and even Claire, who knows him better than most anyone (and isn't that sad, seeing as they never meet for conversation), doesn't allow herself to get too familiar with him. He's dangerously close to lingering here for too long. "Foggy isn't your real name, either."
And then, thankfully, he hears a mugging three blocks over.
"I need to go," Matt says. He really, really needs to; it's been getting even more surprisingly difficult to not reach out to Foggy the longer he stays. He strides over to the door. "Call the cops to collect him."
"Wait -"
---
He can still hear Foggy's heartbeat as he heads over the roofs.
Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-16 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-30 04:52 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-16 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-30 04:53 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-17 06:32 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-30 04:56 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-17 11:22 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 2/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-30 04:57 am (UTC)(link)[FILL] Touch-Starved 3a/?
(Anonymous) 2016-08-30 05:16 am (UTC)(link)___________________________
"Wait -"
The door whooshes as it closes behind the Devil, and in a way, Foggy's relieved - at least he doesn't have to worry about the man noticing his boner anymore. He locks the door to hopefully prevent any more surprise visitors and leans against the wall, willing it to go away, because, honestly, he's embarrassed himself enough tonight. At least his would-be robber isn't conscious to see it.
"Doctor's office?" Foggy mutters. "Really, Foggy?" The first time anyone feels him up in a month, and that's the cleverest thing he can think of. He wants to blame the job, because it truly does eat into his free time like nothing else, but he hasn't gotten that tongue-tied since high school. No, this started in the last few days. He needed to take the first day after their meeting off for his ribs, and, well, he was curious. So, yeah, his browser history full of grainy Devil videos on Youtube would give him away in a heartbeat. Not that those could compare to meeting the vigilante with a clear head. Or feeling the weight of his hands on his hips. No one can blame him for getting hard after being pushed up against the counter and felt up by a muscular guy, right? Anyone who knows him knows Foggy likes men, too, so it wouldn't exactly be shocking. They definitely wouldn't be able to judge him if they ever saw the Devil in action, either, because damn.
He shakes his head, thinks about his smelly great-aunt Patty, and pulls out his cell phone.
---
Thankfully the mugger doesn't see him coming, because Matt is very, very distracted by the phantom warmth on his hands and the steady beat in his ears. He knows it's Foggy's. He's as sure of that as he would be if the man were standing right next to him.
Which is weird. There are three full city blocks separating them, and Matt's only ever managed two with Karen before her heartbeat started to mesh with the sounds of the city. Yet Foggy's is distinctive, if not faint, to his senses. He tells himself it's possible that he's imagining it, that he's remembering the pattern to match the scent of spices and cured meat that still clings to his nose.
Matt hands the woman her purse and scales the fire escape without a word.
(The beat fades to nothing a block later. He pretends not to notice.)
---
"I better not have to see your mug one more time this week, Foggy," Brett grumbles as he walks past his partner and the now semi-conscious robber being hauled out of the shop.
Foggy, now thankfully without an erection, attempts a smile. It's a tad wider and shakier than usual. "You should be glad you don't have to drive me to the hospital this time."
Brett rolls his eyes. "My mom would have thrashed me if I hadn't - which reminds me, you do this again, and she might be down here every day to walk you home. She was already all over me to check on you this morning."
"What can I say? She loves me and my corned beef." It's on her standing order, and if he rounds down the price for her now and then, well, he's his own boss, and she's a sweet lady. Plus, she was part of the reason his shop was successful to begin with. Mrs. Mahoney has a lot of friends in Hell's Kitchen, and most of them became his first regulars. It almost feels like he's paying her her share when he slips a few slices of this or a few slices of that in her order on the house.
"Look," Brett says, exasperated, "give her a call tonight and tell her you don't need me shadowing you. If it wasn't for this, she was going to have me stop in to ask you to call tomorrow anyway."
---
Foggy does. The first few minutes consist of him convincing her that, yes, he's fine, and no, he doesn't need a police escort, and no, Mrs. Mahoney, you don't have to call my parents, I'll let them know in the morning. The last few, however, aren't about him at all. One of her friends, Elena (Mrs. Cardenas, who he remembers comes in for sausages and small bits of steak when her budget allows it), is... not doing well. He admittedly noticed her absence in the last few weeks, but she never had come in as regularly as some of his other customers. He never would have guessed she was living in a wrecked apartment with a head injury. Foggy hates slumlords.
"I'll stop by and check on her when I can tomorrow, okay, Mrs. Mahoney?"
---
Part of him regrets his promise the next day. He doesn't have any problems with actually going to see Mrs. Cardenas despite the rough part of the Kitchen she lives in, and although he isn't as close to her as some of his other regulars due to the language barrier and her less frequent visits, he doesn't feel too awkward stopping by.
The problem is the Devil. Or, more accurately, what the TV was saying about him. Foggy nearly sliced his fingers off earlier when that guy Fisk called the vigilante a terrorist. A terrorist. There was just no way, and he told his sister that when she freaked out at him for his carelessness.
("Mom and Dad will kill me if you end up in the hospital again," his sister muttered, switching off the mounted TV for good measure.
"The Devil's the reason I wasn't there last night. He's a good guy," he stressed.
"Yeah, yeah, you told me first time. Watch what you're doing this time, will ya?")
Foggy's glad she didn't ask about the most recent incident. It's one thing to try to convince himself that the touching didn't mean anything, but he knows that she'd call bullshit.
He just can't see how the Devil could be a terrorist of all things. Twice the guy helped him without gaining anything, and yeah, he didn't have a light touch with Foggy's attackers, but there's no way that the man whose hands were so gentle against his ribs and hips was as bad as Wilson Fisk said he was. It sounds stupid, but Foggy knows he's right.
---
Matt goes to see Father Lantom the next morning, because it feels like his whole world has been violently ripped away from him, and he needs the comfort of his faith. They speak about the Devil, about Rwanda. It's enough and not enough at the same time, and he finds himself lingering when any other time, he would already be on his way to the office.
"Is there something else on your mind?" the Father says.
Matt hesitates. There is, yes, but it's not - well, he purposefully hasn't brought it up yet in any of his confessions. "It's not related."
The Father hums. "You've confessed to unrelated matters before."
"This is different," Matt settles for after a moment. It's not a lie. Foggy is different in so many ways, and it baffles him. "There's - a man."
"A man you have desires for?" Father Lantom's voice is neutral, but it's difficult to fool Matt's ears. The neutral tone is tinged not with disgust, but with something more positive than negative.
His cheeks flush regardless, because he didn't mean it that way. "No," he says decisively. "I - helped him. Twice. The first time he was hurt, and I made sure he was okay before I left."
"Of course."
"The second time, he was hurt again." Matt pauses. There's no way to phrase what really happened without sounding like he's attracted to Foggy, and he knows what the Father will think if he backpedals at all.
Thankfully, Father Lantom lets him work through it silently.
"I wanted to make sure his original injuries weren't worse," Matt says a minute later. "I... lingered there. To make sure he was okay. He told me his name. We talked, briefly."
"So he does have a name."
Matt nods. "Foggy," he says, and he's not even sure what to make of his own tone.
The Father sips on his latte. "Are you asking me what I think, or are you just telling me?"
"I don't know." It's the truth.
"Will you check on him again?"
"I barely know him." He doesn't check on any of the people he helps except for Karen, but he sees her every day anyway.
"I don't think he would mind," Father Lantom says, finishing his drink. "I think this might be good for you, even."
"Good for me?" That can't be right. He knows what Stick would say if he'd told him about the way his hands clenched every now and then, missing Foggy's softness. If anything, Matt should try harder to stay away.
"To be honest, I think you're lonely."
"I've been alone most of my life," Matt snaps, his shoulders suddenly stiff and his hands clenched around his cane. "I've managed."
"Having friends won't invalidate your accomplishments," Father Lantom says calmly. "You're allowed to want companionship, Matthew, and it seems to me that this man wants to be your friend."
Ignoring the first part, Matt shifts his tense grip on his cane and grits out, "Foggy doesn't know me very well." And he probably wouldn't want to if he knew how hard it was for Matt to refrain from touching him. "But thank you, Father."
He needs to get back to his cases.
Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3a/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 07:57 am (UTC)(link)So check tomorrow, because I hope to have the rest of 3 up then!
Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3a/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3a/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-04 04:45 am (UTC)(link)Good news for you, the rest of this chapter is pretty plotty~ ;) I just posted it, so I hope you like it!
[FILL] Touch-Starved 3b/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-04 04:30 am (UTC)(link)I'm really looking forward to starting part 4, because it's going to be a slightly different format ;) Enjoy!
---------------------
Usually letting the Devil out on criminals is his way of harnessing it so that it doesn't spill over into his day life, but he just can't tonight.
It doesn't feel safe.
He knows what Stick would say about this cowardice. He knows that if he allows the Devil to take over and rage against lowlifes the way it wants to, he'll cross that line he sets for himself every day. The city below taunts him with its shouts and screams, and it takes all he has to hold himself back from the edge.
He knows he can't give in. He already fucked up once today.
It was perhaps a good idea on the surface - Vanessa is the most visible weak spot that Fisk has, and any enemy would factor her into plans against the man. Still, he should have accounted for her being Fisk's girlfriend and therefore someone Fisk was likely to visit regularly, but he didn't, and now Fisk knows his face, knows that he's digging into things that would rather stay buried. The man is so much bigger in person than expected, too, and Matt could tell he has strength to back up his presence. It made the Devil in him want to rise to the unspoken challenge and take the enemy out then and there.
He wouldn't have won, though, and he knows that. Thrumming with restless anger, he left the art gallery needing to punch something, someone. What scares him is that he might not stop if he does. So, instead of risking ruining his own moral structure, he decides to allow himself to be weak for once.
(You're allowed to want companionship.)
Mask firmly in place, Matt finds the steady strum of Foggy's heartbeat and just listens to it. He can't - won't - go down to the source. (If he indulges himself like that, if he feels the beats through the soft warmth of Foggy, he's not sure if he would be able to resist in the future.) But his... companion doesn't make it easy on him. Matt follows him out of his work, down the street to an apartment building, out again to the street, and across Hell's Kitchen in a taxi. All of him is focused on all of Foggy, who masks the taunting of the city in a way that helps him justify this.
(It seems the Devil shares Matt's weakness.)
Foggy pays the driver, the coins in his wallets clinking together as he pulls out a few bills. Matt can almost figure out the kinds of coins from the way they shift, and the metallic smell of them hits his nose when he focuses, although it's soon overpowered by the hearty hint of deli meats and bloody steak as the man exits the car with a padded bag. (Foggy must be a butcher, he determines, remembering the undercurrent of spices and meat that was there both times they met. He should have realized it sooner. Foggy is just - distracting.)
Matt leaps one building over as Foggy enters it. He can hear him humming to himself as he climbs the steps, both the bag of meat and his every day bag thudding softly against his hip and thigh. (His hands are clenched so tightly it almost hurts despite his padded gloves as he tries not to remember how warm and pliable Foggy's hips are.)
Then there's a knock as Foggy arrives at an apartment, and Matt tells himself it's rude to listen in - especially since he has no valid reason to be tailing Foggy in the first place - but he can't help but hear the female voice that answers.
"Señor Foggy?" It's Mrs. Cardenas.
Matt is thrown. Foggy knows her? As far as Matt is aware, she doesn't really have anyone that can help her other than her neighbors, and Foggy clearly doesn't live in the building. Karen is the only one who visits regularly. She's told him that Mrs. Cardenas lights up when she stops by, whether it's to keep her company while some of their old clients try to fix the electric in her apartment or just to see her. Surely if Foggy was a good friend of hers, she'd be less surprised every time Karen visits after work.
Having visited with Karen himself once before, Matt is able to track her and Foggy as they move to the kitchen. He should let them meet in private, but he shifts and focuses instead.
---
"Señor Foggy?" Mrs. Cardenas rattles off another question in Spanish after that, and Foggy's lost. Fortunately, she can tell. She smiles at him to let him she's not annoyed that he's there.
Trying to pull on his high school Spanish is pretty much useless since he slept through most of it, so he doesn't even try. It's a good thing Foggy's the reigning champion of charades at Nelson family game nights. Besides, she knows him a little from the shop.
"Bess Mahoney called me and told me what was up," he says when Mrs. Cardenas continues to look at him expectantly. "I wanted to check up on you. I - uh, brought you some food, too." He holds up the freezer bag of stuff he brought with him.
Her smile brightens as soon as she hears Mrs. Mahoney's name. "Come in," is all he understands, but she gestures for him to follow her to what ends up being the kitchen.
"Is your fridge working?" From what Bess told him, he expected the apartment to be lit up by candles. There are still big holes in the walls, though, so he doesn't want to assume everything's in working order.
"SÃ, sÃ," she says before moving back to the living room.
He takes that as a cue to unpack. The fridge is so empty. He sees a few vegetables and a jug of water - that's it. Bess did not exaggerate, and clearly the electricity was only fixed recently. With a shake of his head, he starts pulling out wrapped packs of meat he brought with him and slotting them into the shelves. There's her usual order plus a bunch of deli meat in case her stove wasn't working, and he even threw in a jar of his homemade pickles, a pack of sliced cheese from the shop, and some bread he bought for himself the other day but never opened. The fridge still looks bare.
"Señor Foggy?" Mrs. Cardenas says, catching his attention with a tap at his elbow and a gesture to her wallet, which she holds out to him.
"Oh - no, Mrs. Cardenas, it's free."
She shakes her head and gestures again.
He nudges her wallet away. "Mrs. Mahoney paid for it." Bess did promise to pay for it all next time she came in despite his protests. He's going to try his damndest to stop her anyway, but a little white lie won't hurt right now.
Thankfully Mrs. Cardenas concedes. For now. And she still insists on doing something for him in return, which is how he ends up agreeing to eating a meal with her. Her injury means that she hasn't been able to go to the store for a few days, so she barely has any food other than what he brought with him. (He thinks she says she'll be getting more tomorrow. His Spanish is really, really rusty.)
Sandwiches it is. She insists on making them, too, and herds him out into the living room. By this point he knows to let her do it. (He is technically a guest, and she seems like the kind of person who won't let a guest do anything.)
He does pop back into the kitchen after a moment, though. "Do you have a glass? For some water?"
Yes, she does. She even gets him the jug from the fridge, but it's nearly empty, and that makes her sigh.
"I can just drink tap water," he says, pointing at the sink.
And that's how he figures out her plumbing is out.
---
Thankfully her neighbor has some basic tools, and thankfully Foggy remembers most of what his dad used to tell him when he worked at the family hardware store. He crouches down below the sink to get a look while Mrs. Cardenas goes down the hall to another apartment to fill the jug back up.
He hears her scream a few minutes later.
---
Matt growls when he hears it, angry at himself for his inattention. He should have heard the quick, nervous breaths, the wandering footsteps that echoed behind Mrs. Cardenas' own.
But he was focused on Foggy and the silly song he was singing as he messed with the pipes.
Breaking the latch on the roof door, he races down the steps to her apartment.
---
Foggy nearly brains himself on the pipes when he scrambles up and out of the kitchen to the screaming. The doorknob gives him trouble, too, and once it finally gives, he throws himself out into the hall, where some bastard's got a knife out in front of Mrs. Cardenas.
"What the fuck, man," Foggy shouts at him.
The hand with the knife jerks a little closer to Mrs. Cardenas. "This ain't got nothing to do with you," the guy mutters.
It doesn't, not necessarily, but he's already stepped in front of a knife once this month, so, mustering up all the frantic courage (terror, to be honest) he has, Foggy lunges at the guy.
---
When Matt finally reaches the right floor, he stops for the smallest moment to figure out what's happening.
Mrs. Cardenas, heart racing but clean of any fresh blood, is huddled against the wall, a container of something on its side at her feet. There's a struggle going on a few feet away. He smells drugs, sweat, blood, and spices.
Foggy's wrestling with the attacker. Their hands are locked as they try to overpower each other.
With a running start, Matt goes down the hall and slides right into the attacker's legs with enough force to topple him. The knife thuds against the hall carpet.
"Fuck," Foggy breathes out.
Shaking his head, Matt grits out an order in Spanish for Mrs. Cardenas to get into the apartment now. The attacker is winded but getting up again. He needs to focus on this.
She listens. Foggy doesn't follow her, however, but closes the door and plants himself there.
Matt can smell the sharp metal of Foggy's blood leaking onto the door frame, and it's scary and enraging, and he tackles the man who smells like drugs and terror, knocking him out with what is perhaps unnecessary force.
"Fuck," Foggy repeats. "Where did you even come from, dude?"
"You're bleeding," Matt grunts out as he hauls himself up to his feet.
"Huh?" Then Foggy is looking at his hand, and his pulse shoots up. "Oh. That explains a lot." He wavers forward.
And Matt steadies him, breaking his promise to himself to not give in and touch Foggy again. They slot together, Foggy's softness against his muscles and scars, and it's suddenly hard to justify holding back. He breathes and reminds himself that Foggy needs this right now, because he's leaning heavily on Matt and losing blood a little too quickly. Matt opens the door and pulls Foggy to the couch.
Mrs. Cardenas gasps and hovers uncertainly, but she listens well enough when Matt demands for her to gather something to help stem the bleeding.
"Foggy," he says insistently, "Foggy, you need stitches." He can feel the wide gash across the man's palm. His hands are warm but slick, and there's no way a bandaid will do.
"Shit," Foggy breathes, leaning against him more. "I can't - I'm not leaving her alone."
"You need a hospital."
Mrs. Cardenas hands him a towel, and Matt presses it against Foggy's palm.
"The guy was going to kill her."
"You're going to bleed out if you don't get stitches."
Unfortunately, Mrs. Cardenas hears that despite her own lingering terror. Matt tries his best to reassure her, but she's already panicking.
"Foggy -"
"I'm staying."
With clenched teeth, Matt gives Mrs. Cardenas another order - to gather some supplies to stitch up the wound. He turns back to Foggy. "Hold this on your hand as tight as you can. I need to get him out of the hall."
---
It turns out that Foggy's pretty good at sitting still, but Matt's not convinced his near silence isn't just to reassure Mrs. Cardenas. She hovers as he works. He would have asked her to do it for him, but his experience and her shaky hands made the decision for him.
"You'll need to get this checked anyway," he says as he slips the sewing needle into the skin again. He's sitting on a low table in front of Foggy, his legs bracketing the other man's and his hands cradling the one he's stitching up. The urge to make sure Foggy isn't hurt anywhere else is present in the back of his head. He can tell his hand is the only bleeding wound, though there could be bruises or other injuries, too. It's especially difficult with their legs right up against each other's, but he forces himself to monitor the attacker's pulse even as he stitches. He won't fuck up again. "I'm not a professional." And Claire is on shift tonight already.
"What about him?"
Matt doesn't need to see the gesture to know he's talking about the unconscious man. "You'll call the cops." He pulls another stitch tight. "After I talk to him."
"Why - wait, you think he was here on purpose?" Foggy whispers it like it's ridiculous, but Matt can't shake the feeling that he's missing something. Her case just isn't adding up right.
He finishes the last stitch instead of answering. "I'll be back."
---
The door swings shut behind the Devil.
Careful not to use his right hand much, Foggy manages to get Mrs. Cardenas to settle down on the couch. It helps that the Devil carried the bastard who attacked them out of the apartment over his shoulder. What doesn't help is not knowing. He can't imagine the Devil is being polite with the guy, but Foggy's never seen him interrogate anyone either. Usually it's just a punch or a kick and then they're left for the cops.
"He's a good guy," Foggy says, just as much for himself as for Mrs. Cardenas. "He's saved me three times."
She pulls out a handkerchief and wipes at the tear tracks on her face. Her hands shake badly.
"Hey, you hungry, Mrs. Cardenas?" He rests his good hand on her shoulder. "You stay here, I'm gonna whip us up some sandwiches."
[FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-04 04:39 am (UTC)(link)"When the cops arrive, you will turn yourself in," the Devil growls at him.
"Y-yeah," Jake says, curling in on himself as he tries to get his breath back. He'll live, even though the Devil barely held back.
"Get up."
He can't. The Devil yanks him to his feet and pulls him back into the building.
---
Mrs. Cardenas doesn't move from the couch when there's a knock at the door, but she does jerk at the sound and begins murmuring something that sounds like it could be a prayer.
Foggy helps her into her bedroom and grabs a wrench before answering, just in case.
"Smart choice," the Devil says, his head cocked to the side, as the door swings open. The bastard is behind him with his hands tied behind his back.
"You brought him back?"
"He needs to be taken into custody, Foggy. The cops need to be called. I'll stay until they get here to make sure he doesn't get away."
The fight leaves Foggy just like that. "I've got a cell phone."
"Good. Make sure you ask for Brett Mahoney."
"Brett?" Foggy nearly drops the wrench. "You know him? He never said you guys were buddies."
A bemused sort of smile appears on the Devil's lower face. "I wouldn't say we're... buddies. He's a clean cop, though."
"The cleanest," Foggy confirms. His cell phone is in his bag in the kitchen, so he goes for it and comes back already dialing Brett's phone. "He can be a jerk, but he's clean."
It takes two rings for Brett to answer. "Again, Foggy?"
The Devil smiles again, and Foggy shoots him a look. "Not me. Well, yeah me, but the guy came after your mom's friend, Mrs. Cardenas."
There's a string of curses on the line. "Are you both okay?"
"Sort of? You should probably get down here, though."
With a firm hand, the Devil forces the bastard to sit on the floor.
"I'm not your damn personal officer -"
"Dude, you never told me you were friends with the Devil."
"We're not - He's there?" Brett sighs. "I'll be down as soon as I can."
The call cuts off.
"You should check on her," the Devil tells him. "I'll let you know when he's close."
---
Telling Mrs. Cardenas that Brett is the officer coming seems to make her feel better, thankfully. She worries over Foggy's hand and glances nervously at the door, but he still counts it as a win.
Of course, all that progress goes down the drain when they hear the Devil calling for him.
"Yeah?" Foggy shouts back.
"They're almost here."
He tells Mrs. Cardenas to stay there while he goes out. (He probably didn't need to - she likely won't go out until that bastard is gone.) "How do you know?"
The Devil smiles again, though it's different this time. (Somewhat smug, maybe.) "I just do." Then the smile disappears. "I need you to watch him while Officer Mahoney and his partner climb the steps. I'm still wanted -"
"For the bombs," Foggy says, nodding. Fuck. He's down a hand - his dominant hand - and even with two, he was barely able to hold the bastard off. He really doesn't want to watch him.
"He's secure, Foggy. All you have to do is answer the door. I promise."
"You sure about that?"
"I'll be close if anything happens." He looks at the door. "I have to leave."
Two and a half minutes later, Brett knocks on the door, and Foggy has to convince another person that he doesn't need to go to the hospital.
---
Even though Brett seemed inclined to believe the attacker when he rambled about being asked to kill Mrs. Cardenas, he tells Foggy that they can't leave a guard. The station is already stretched thin trying to deal with crime and find the Devil.
So Foggy, of course, promises to stay himself. He coaxes Mrs. Cardenas into eating finally and then sets to work finishing the plumbing. The sink is working (though the water comes out filthy at first) by the time the Devil comes back in.
"They took him away, man," Foggy says tiredly. "You don't have to stick around."
"And you do?" The Devil shakes his head. "He was hired, Foggy. I'll stay close for the rest of the night."
A sigh escapes Foggy as he leans against the counter. Knowing that they'll be safe is relaxing muscles he didn't even know were tense, and goddamnit, this is not how his night was supposed to go.
"Are you hurt?"
"Besides the hand?" Foggy says, quirking an eyebrow. "I'm gonna have to wrap this up really well before work tomorrow." He wriggles it for emphasis, which fucking hurts, so he clutches it to his chest.
The Devil crowds into his space and gently pulls his arm back out, eases the hand open. "You pull those stitches open, and you will have to go to the hospital." He lets Foggy's hand go in favor of pressing on his left side. "He got you here."
Foggy winces. "So maybe I jostled my ribs, too." The touch is just hard enough for him to feel it, but light enough to not hurt much. He shifts. "They're almost healed." He's torn between hoping that that satisfies the Devil and that he keeps going, because at this point, not even his embarrassment is preventing his dick from getting hard.
---
"They feel fine," Matt forces himself to say. His hands are harder to force into cooperating, of course, but he does move them down somewhat, so that it doesn't seem like he's - fondling Foggy or anything.
It's not a good idea. He already knows that Foggy's stomach and hips are where he's the plushest. Last time that's even where his hands lingered, and -
"I made sandwiches," Foggy blurts out.
Matt is barely able to stop himself from leaping back. Instead, he slowly pulls his hands away and tilts his head. "Sandwiches?" He can smell meat and cheese and bread now that he takes stock of the kitchen, but the worst is that when he pays attention, Foggy's heart screams of his embarrassment.
(And if he's not wrong - and he isn't - he also smells arousal. Which embarrasses him, because he was basically just feeling Foggy up, of course Foggy's embarrassed at the way his own body reacted.
Matt ignores his own partial boner.)
The Father must have been wrong; this isn't at all good for him.
---
"Two," Foggy says, turning towards the counter to grab the abandoned plates (and maybe hide his crotch). "One for me, one for you. You like ham?" It seems silly, but even the Devil has to eat sometimes, right? And his mom's always telling him how good his ham is, so -
"Ham's fine." The Devil takes the sandwich itself instead of the whole plate. "You should sleep, Foggy. I'll be close by."
And then he's gone again.
---
Matt spends the rest of the night on the roof, alone.
(The sandwich is really good.)
Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-05 03:26 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-10 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-05 03:42 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-10 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-09 09:40 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-10 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)[FILL] Touch-Starved 4/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-10 10:55 pm (UTC)(link)"What do we do?" Karen says, pacing and snappy in her own anger. "We can't just -"
"We can't do anything." He doesn't bother to hide how tight his own voice is or how hard he's clenching his fists. "There's no proof."
"But he confessed!"
"Right before pulling a knife on two cops and ranting about the Devil." A flat out lie, because Matt knows the junkie didn't have any more weapons on him when the cops picked him up. He checked himself. But that's what the officer on the phone told him this morning when he called after he 'found out' what happened from a still shaken Mrs. Cardenas. One of the cops shot the guy in 'self defense'.
If Karen wasn't in the office at the time, there would probably be a big hole in the wall now.
"Allegedly," she bites out, which makes him smile a little.
"Allegedly," he confirms. "Is Mrs. Cardenas on her way in?" (Not that he doesn't know the answer, but it doesn't hurt to ask.)
"She's afraid to leave the apartment. I told her I'd pick her up." She tucks her hair behind her ear, aware that she didn't ask if she could leave on the clock.
"Be safe." If Fisk really is behind the attack the night before, then it's entirely possible there will be another attempt. He'd go with her, but he's too distracted to be at his best right now.
There's a hitch to her heartbeat. They're both aware that she's remembering her own near death experience. "We'll be back, safe and sound. I promise, Matt."
"Karen?" he says suddenly, and maybe it's the way that his hands ache for Foggy that pushes him, but he holds one out in her general direction. "Shake on it?"
Her laugh is startled and happy at the same time. "Sure, why not?" She grips his hand tight.
He can feel the slight tremors from her nerves (and maybe from his own), so he squeezes back and lets it last a moment longer than normal. "Now, Ms. Page, I expect you and the lovely Mrs. Cardenas back within the hour."
"Of course, Mr. Murdock," she replies, smile evident in her voice, before grabbing her bag and leaving the office.
Leaving him alone. Recently, he can't even appreciate the solitude. He used to like it, used to be able to breathe easier when he couldn't hear the breathing and pulse and fidgeting of someone so close by. He used to like not having to hide his senses.
Now he can't get the Father's words out of his head. He refuses to believe he's lonely, but ever since they talked, he feels restless in his apartment with nothing but the hum of the electronic billboard outside or alone in the office before Karen comes in. The night before, sitting on the roof while Foggy and Mrs. Cardenas slept a few floors below, was almost unbearable.
He shakes his head and forces himself to concentrate on his cases. Foggy's becoming too much of a distraction.
---
"No, no, Matt, there has to be something we can do still." But even as Karen says it, he can tell she doesn't really believe it.
Mrs. Cardenas shakes her head. Her handkerchief is stained with makeup and tears. She didn't waste time once they arrived to the office and simply asked Matt if the offer was still on the table. The attack made her scared to walk through her own building by herself.
"I have to agree with her, Karen," He says firmly. He knows what Fisk has done to get his way before, and the Devil can't be around her all the time. "It's not safe to stay. All we can do now is make sure she gets the best settlement. Could you get L and Z on the phone? I think I have Ms. Stahl's number on my desk still."
Marci's going to gloat about this. If it means Mrs. Cardenas is safe, however, he'll even go down to L and Z and admit defeat right to her face. (And then use his skills to get as much money as possible out of her. Honestly, he sometimes wonders what they could do if they worked together, but he also knows it wouldn't work out. They nearly tore each other to shreds whenever they had to work together in law school.)
Marci's not the one he's furious with.
"Mrs. Cardenas, do you have anyone you can stay with while we settle this?"
He can't watch over her tonight.
---
He saves his fury for whatever he'll find at the pier the junkie told him about.
But fury isn't enough for Nobu and Fisk and oh God, it feels like he's going to die with every hazy step he takes, and he keeps pushing himself anyway, moving on autopilot, because he needs to get away, get safe, get Claire and -
Gritting his teeth, he pushes the window in front of him up and slips inside. The couch should be a couple of steps in front of him, and he can rest there while Claire is on her way - but it isn't there. He waves his arm around. Something crashes, maybe a lamp by the sound.
"Hey! You come any closer - fuck, are you okay?" The voice is familiar.
Matt staggers closer to it. "Foggy?"
And then he's falling. He doesn't hit the ground, though, because Foggy rushed forward and is wrapping his arms around Matt.
"My phone," Matt manages to say into Foggy's neck. "Claire."
(The last thought he has is that Foggy is so, so soft and so, so warm and he could die comfortable, right in his arms.)
---
It's difficult to sleep after getting attacked. This is the third night after that Foggy's had in a short time, so he's just lying there with a baseball bat and no expectations for sleep when he hears it.
Something breaks out in the living room. It sounds like wood, but it's on the wrong side of the apartment to be the door.
Whatever it is, Foggy grabs the bat and shakily slips out of bed.
There's a crash, too, and that's it. He rushes into the living room with the bat held up high. "Hey! You come any closer -"
But it's the Devil, and he's swaying on his feet with a confused frown. The frame of the window behind him is splintered like he yanked it up while it was locked, there's a broken lamp at his feet, and maybe Foggy should be mad. Worry hits him instead.
"Fuck, are you okay?"
The Devil tilts his head towards Foggy, and the frown gets deeper. "Foggy?"
And then Foggy has to move, because the Devil is going to face plant onto the carpet if he doesn't. He grips the guy tight and tries not to stagger back himself. The Devil is practically dead weight in his arms, and there's barely a breath against his neck.
"My phone," the guy murmurs, his voice muffled against Foggy's skin. "Claire."
Filing it away for bit later, Foggy focuses on hauling the Devil over to the couch instead. (The guy huffs when he plops him down and mutters something about softness or something, but he ignores it.) He can feel blood seeping through the guy's outfit, too, so his first step once they make it to the couch is to use the afghan thrown over the back to press against his chest. Then he frisks him for a phone.
The phone only has one contact.
"So," he blurts out as soon as the other person picks up, "I hope your name is Claire, because he wants you." He desperately hopes it's not because the Devil is actually dying, but the blood... Foggy presses harder on the afghan.
There's silence.
"My name's Foggy Nelson," he tries, shifting the phone to his shoulder to get better leverage with the afghan. "Look, the Devil is bleeding on my couch and he asked for Claire before he passed out." She could be his friend, his girlfriend, hell, maybe even his wife, and since the guy saved him three times, the least Foggy could do was make sure she knows what's going on. (He hopes idly and with a lot of guilt that she isn't anything other than a friend.)
"He passed out?" The voice is female, and he really hopes she's the right person.
"Yeah, right on top of me."
"What's your address?"
---
It's relieving to open the door to a nurse.
She's not relieved when she sees the blood smears on his chest, though. "Where is he?"
"The couch."
She curses when she pulls the afghan back. "He's going to need stitches and a lot of rest. Help me get him out of this damn outfit."
They wrestle his shirt and pants off. The Devil is just as muscled as Foggy expected, but he can't appreciate that now, not when he sees the wounds. He feels like he can't even breathe.
"Get some spare clothes," Claire says briskly, already pulling out supplies. "Something loose that you don't mind getting blood on."
He comes back with an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
"I'm not done yet," she tells him without looking away from her patient, but her tone is softer than it was a few minutes before. "You might want to clean up in the meantime."
"Right." The blood smears. He swallows thickly when he looks in the bathroom mirror and sees them bright against his pale skin. They've gotten tacky since he called Claire, and it takes a few passes with a wet washcloth to get rid of them.
And then he stumbles over to the toilet and loses his dinner.
The Devil is supposed to be invincible. He's supposed to be the champion of the people of Hell's Kitchen that couldn't help themselves. He isn't supposed to die on Foggy's couch.
Foggy rinses out his mouth, slips a shirt over his now clean chest, and forces himself to go back out.
---
"Are you okay?" Claire says later, eyeing him as he sits on the recliner his parents gave him.
The Devil is passed out on the couch, the stitches glaring against his pale skin. While Foggy was cleaning himself up, she changed the guy into the boxers Foggy gave her but left the shirt off and the mask on. (Which Foggy is grateful for, because, well, this was not the way he wanted to see the Devil's face or dick, thank you very much.)
"I will be," he offers. All of his physical injuries are healing - even the stitched hand, which the nurses at the ER scolded him for not going in immediately for. Mentally? He'll get there.
She doesn't look like she believes him, but she moves on. "Can you stay here with him tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I don't have to be at the shop for a few days." His parents insisted after they found out about his stitches, and honestly, he couldn't do a lot of the work without his dominant hand, at least not to his standards. His uncle is manning the shop for the week for him.
"Good. Try to get him to take some painkillers. He won't want to, but he really shouldn't even leave your apartment for a few days."
"How do you know him anyway?" Foggy flushes, because dammit, he didn't mean to say that.
Claire arches a brow at him and crosses her arms. "I could ask you the same thing."
It doesn't escape his notice that she's standing between him and the Devil. "He saved me a few times," he says, trying for casual. The less people that realize he has a crush on the infamous vigilante of Hell's Kitchen, the better.
After a long look, she nods, seemingly satisfied with something. "I fished him out of a dumpster."
Foggy laughs. "Wait, really?"
"I've been fixing him up since." She bends down to gather up some of her supplies. "Look, I would wait until he wakes up, but I'm exhausted. Could you tell him to get body armor if he's going to keep doing this? I'm leaving the city for a while."
"Won't the stitches need to come out?"
She gives the unconscious man an exasperated look. "He has experience doing that himself."
---
It takes hours for the Devil to wake up. For the first two, Foggy stays in the recliner, the bat across his lap just to give him something to grip.
The Devil shifts once. It's accompanied by a low, pained noise.
Foggy hovers for several minutes.
Once the third hour starts, Foggy eats a bag of stale chips he finds in the back of his pantry and tries not to succumb to the urge to push the mask up and peek at the face beneath. It would be so easy. No matter how much noise he's made, the Devil hasn't woken up yet, and he could even replace the mask as soon as he got a good look.
He hates how guilty even the thought makes him feel.
He spends the rest of the third hour pacing in his room.
---
A horrible groan starts the fourth hour off, and Foggy rushes back out to the living room to find the Devil weakly trying to roll off the couch.
"Hey, buddy, you have to stay there," Foggy tells him as he nudges the man back over. "You're going to rip your stitches if you're not careful."
"Foggy?" the Devil murmurs, grabbing at his arm. He misses by a few inches.
"That's me. Seriously, though, Claire said you have to rest, and I am not getting on her bad side."
That gets Foggy no response, but the hand the Devil tried to grab him with wilts, so he figures the man slipped back into sleep. Just in case, he feels around the wrist for a pulse.
It's still there. He plops down on the carpet in front of the couch and settles there, the steady beat against his fingers lulling him to sleep, too.
Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 4/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-11 04:44 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 4/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-13 03:14 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 4/?
(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 08:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Touch-Starved 4/?
(Anonymous) - 2016-09-22 19:36 (UTC) - Expand