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In the dim lights of Frank Castle’s hideout two bodies are sitting on an old couch so close to each other that there’s barely any space left. Matt pulls off the shirt from Dex’s chest, freeing his shoulders and collarbones, bringing his tongue to the assassin's neck to taste salt and sweat. Poindexter’s hands shoot upwards to steady himself and scoot even closer to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
Matt gets his fair share of tasting the skin, tongue tracing up further on the chin. Dex gets the idea and opens his lips, welcoming the wet heat that Matt offers. They're both putting the unspent anger into the kiss, pulling at each other's hair, grabbing broad shoulders, squeezing the flesh. The tiny basement feels more suffocating as they explore each other's mouths. The undeniable arousal courses through bodies, Dex's glare is determined on either fucking them both up or wrecking the basement.
Matt goes to fetch handcuffs that were used earlier to restrain Benjamin, tying him to the pile on the floor. Dex watches with clouded eyes and places his hands on both sides of the couch, thighs parting. Upon coming back, Matt kicks him in the shins and orders to stand.
“Decided to give up on the suit, huh?” Dex taunts. “You’ll be arresting me, officer? You know I’m on my best behaviour.”
“Yeah, for now.”
“Relax, Matthew, I’m not about to start throwing shit with bandages not fully healed.”
“You might get off on them opening up.”
“As if you wouldn’t like that.”
“Shut up for fuck’s sake,” and Dex actually complies. “Turn around.”
Matt takes Bullseye’s most valuable weapon - his hands - into his own and starts wounding up the arms. He presses the hands against each other and locks the handcuffs on the wrists that brought death to so many people. A hand that caused an awful lot of pain and suffering to him, Karen, Foggy, Father Lantom, and dozens of innocent lives of this city.
Abruptly Dex swings around and almost head-butts Matt while drawing in to kiss, eliciting a scoff from Murdock, who was deep in reminiscing past events.
“The fuck you’re doing?” Matt asks, still with a wistful face full of detachment written on it.
“You’re going to move or we’re just standing here till the sun rises? Thought you'd be getting more enthusiastic once my hands are tied. Nothing to stop Your Holiness from beating the shit out of me.”
“As much as I like to see you getting justice for what you've done, I wouldn't enjoy beating your face while you're tied and wounded. It will bring me no satisfaction.”
“Don't bring Karen up. Don't you fucking bring them. I see what you're trying to do, acting like there's any sort of resemblance between us. Your attempts at goading me into a fight are pathetic. I can smell the wetness in your pants, leaking like a bitch in heat."
“And if you put me on my knees, I'll be even more wet”, Dex whispers in his ear, taking Matt's earlobe between his teeth, practically mawling the delicate skin almost like he wishes to bite the ear and crush the cartilage with the force of his jaw. Sharp pain stings through Matt's sensitive ear and he takes Dex by the shoulders to hit him square on the right cheek with a fist. The loud crack followed after the punch felt deafening in the silence of the hideout. Matt is left bewildered and shocked at a heavy blow he just delivered to his enemy. The smell of arousal, blood rushing through veins and quickening heartbeats is ear-splitting, making all the thoughts of crimes committed by the man on his knees drift away to the back of his mind.
Impulsively Matt leans in to take Dex's jaw into his hand and kiss him, simultaneously licking warm blood and getting an airy feeling of metallic taste. Giving in to Dex he kisses him with one hand still on his chin, now caressing the injured cheek. That gentleness differs from the hand gripping Dex's back and teeth aiming to draw more blood. Matt splits the kiss, breathing heavily like he just fought with a group of AVTF pricks. Now they both look insane with blood-stained lips and liquid oozing from the puncture of Matt's ear. Dex smiles radiantly, maniacal glint in his eyes, which turn so dark the pupils are barely visible.
To Matt's confusion Dex takes a position on the floor, kneeling with a loud grunt and instantly chasing the touch of the hand that struck him. Any coherent thoughts disappear from Matt's brain.
“You’re so fucked in the head that you’re ready to suck me off?”
“I want you to hit me. Slap me right there in my face. Make my fucking ears ring from each blow.”
“What am I even doing with you?” the thought of getting off on hurting the person who killed Foggy is so fucked, it makes Matt reconsider every decision he made prior to the moment that led to this. “How is this in any way reasonable?”
“Now-now no backtracking, Matt. Finish the job. Slap me,” Dex shuffles his feet on the floorboard, impatience pouring from him. “You were who brought sucking you off, so who's more sick? I guess you won't like the answer, Counselor.”
Matt knows that it's true so wills his brain to let himself loose and brings a hand to Dex's face, whose smile grows more wicked with a series of short gigglelike sounds, which only spur Matt's actions. He starts by slowly putting an open hand to Dex's cheek, relishing in the way his breath catches on just his touch. Without a second thought, Matt swings his hand and makes a precise hit on an already damaged cheek. The impact is instant, Dex's mouth waters for more and Matt answers his thoughts by hitting the left cheek. Slight pink blooms on Poindexter's face, head hangs low, supported only by Matt holding the back of his neck. Matt continues rubbing the nape as if soothing an animal in the wild.
After a few seconds Matt hears how Dex’s laboured breathing became even more loud and intense, giving the full picture of his thrilling state, encompassing Matt’s senses and surrounding him with undeniable desire for more violence. He administers another blow to a reddened cheek, hearing the turn of Dex’s head and a loud snap of skin to skin contact. Dex buckles his hips forward, searching for some friction and drawing closer to Matt’s foot, which he scurries off after realising what Dex intends to do. Disappointed groans only serve as incentive to keep holding Dex’s head and painting his cheeks with more crimson. Matt paws at the face scar, wondering how long will it be before Dex gets tired of being handcuffed. His feelings are proven true when he hears the stirring on the floor, as those powerful legs start scrambling on the knees.
Dex gets up from the floor and practically throws himself on Matt in a cat-like fashion, bracing his knees on either side of Matt’s thighs. Blood drips down Dex’s chin, smeared all over the lower half of his face, eyes glossy with barely disguised lust that’s seeping through every cell in his body. He does look like a hyena fresh off the hunting trip, laughing like the food is already in his stomach. Matt is lying underneath Dex’s heavy weight, smiling ear to ear, sensing how much Dex wants to touch with his hands.
“Uncuff me. My hands are numb. It will be your fault that I lose my limbs.”
“Good. Less chances that someone will die.”
“Afraid that I’ll squash your head? I’ll be good, Matt, just let me touch myself,” he punctuates his desire with the roll of his hips.
“No,” Matt rejects his pleas to instead cup his bare chest, hearing the hiss at the sharp contact. “If you keep your hands to yourself I may even jack you off.”
Dex leans closer to Matt’s clothed body, “You know I’ve been one of the good guys. Don’t I deserve a little treat?”
That elicits a half-hearted laugh from Matt, the idea of Dex being ‘one of the good guys’ is so absurd it makes it laugh more openly. Dex takes advantage of the moment to latch his teeth onto Matt’s unguarded neck. Matt steadies one hand against pectoral muscles and the other against his back to actually give access to his most vulnerable to the predator sitting on his lap.
Dex bites on the precious skin of Matt’s neck, using his strong jaw to leave small spots that surely will become bruises. It’s like Dex has become an animal that he said he was back then at the prison, only now he was feasting on soft tissues of Matt’s thick muscled neck. Poindexter relishes in the coppery smell of blood, ardently attacking the neck like he wants to bite through skin and get straight to the bones so that he can consume Matt, crush his clavicles and gnaw at the remains.
“So many words about behaving and this is what you do to me?” Matt gasps, holding onto Dex’s back. “Chewing on my neck?”
“It’s only fair to repay you after you choked the hell out of me,” Dex groans between gripping his neck and lapping at the bites with the tongue, licking the swelled skin.
Matt’s senses are smothered by the smell of blood, sweat, and pre-cum, making him exhilarated. He forcefully detaches Dex’s head by the hair, reveling in the way he hisses. Viscous spit connects with blood on his chin, creating a drying mess.
“Don’t tell me what’s fair,” Matt grumbles. “Will you stay still if I uncuff you?”
“What do I get?”
“Me not smashing your face.”
“Threatening to have a good time, Matthew.”
“Will you?” Matt tightens his hold, fisting his hand in the hair to force Dex’s spine to arch. He puts pressure on the bandaged gunshot wound, raising heaving sounds from Dex.
“Yeah-yeah I will,” he exhales. “I’ll listen to you. Whatever you want, I'll do it. Uncuff me. Please.”
Hearing Dex beg and pant loudly just to have someone touch him, grinding down on Matt’s thighs eventually softens his resolve. He quickly throws him off his own lap to grab by the forearms. Unlocking the handcuffs, Matt restores the circulation, hearing how Dex flicks his wrists, stretching the limbs.
“Thank you, Matthew,” he says self-satisfyingly.
“Now put them on the couch and don’t move. If you as much as twitch them, I’ll stop. Tell me you understand.”
“Yes, Matt, I understand,” he says while putting hands on the back of the couch. Now his flushed chest is folded against Matt, invoking a sense of vulnerability, seeing how Matt is still clothed. That becomes an afterthought when Murdock brings a hand to the bulge in his pants.
Dex’s hips shot up forward, chasing more pressure, hands straining between Matt’s head with the effort of holding himself back. He tries to keep his word and be still, which is so fucking hard while Matt is unbuckling his belt. Finally Matt lowers the waistband and takes off Dex’s briefs, cupping his dick in hand. Groan of relief is what follows after he makes one languid stroke.
“So desperate for my touch,” Matt says in a reassuring voice. He brings another hand to Dex’s mouth in an authoritative gesture, grabbing his chin and squeezing the cheeks. “Open your mouth and spit. You don’t want your dick chafed tomorrow.”
Dex gathers the saliva in his mouth and dutifully spits into the hoisted hand. The blood from split lip and inner side of the cheek merged with spit creates a reddish fluid which pours straight onto his cock. Matt replaces the hand on Dex’s cock with the soiled sticky one, while wrapping the other on his lower back, tracing the path of the spinal scar.
Matt starts stroking in earnest, closely following Dex’s reactions. Every minute twitch and quiver brings Matt more confidence in continuing what he’s doing. Heavy breathing and the smell of copper permeate the air, confining both of them in a cage of their own making. The twist of Matt’s wrist sends sparks in Dex’s lower abdomen, reducing him to a slobbering mess drooling into the neck that soon is going to be full of purple bruises. Matt flicks the hand on his dick, rubbing Dex’s back to get a feeling of scar ridges, aiming to provide more stimulation.
Matt gently rubs the head of his cock, feeling how Dex shivers at the contact, the tremors in his thighs becoming more erratic. His own composure is no better, and it’s only worsened by the hitching breaths of the man above. Another firm stroke gains him a sharp intake of breath, Murdock senses the extreme arousal emanating from Dex’s body, feeling how close he is to coming. He lowers the hand on his ass, latching onto the shaking of his thighs, heaving of his ribcage. Matt perceives how his open mouth hangs even wider and utters those heady sounds, eyes rolling back in head.
“What is it, sweetheart?”Matt drawls mockingly. “You’re so close, right?”
“Yeah,” Dex whimpers in return.
“Just let go. Don’t hold back. Give in to me,” Matt’s voice takes on that seductive drawl, which he surely has used on the women he takes home. Dex finds that he really doesn’t mind the comparison as long as Matt keeps holding him as if he deserves that. And that stray thought was enough to draw Dex to the brink of an orgasm.
“C’mon sweetheart, you’re being so good to me right now. I know you can come for me. Let me feel you,” and that was what did it for him, leaving Dex shuddering, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Matt feels the pulsing and contractions of Dex’s pelvic muscles, still stroking his dick, making him overstimulated. Matt feels wriggling movements coming from Dex, how he’s feeling uncomfortable once he came, yet continuing to stroke him through the orgasm. Matt realizes that Dex’s hands slipped onto his shoulders and circled into an embrace, cradling him tightly. That gentle act gave way to petty anger.
“What should I do, Dex? Take pity on you, give you some comfort? Or maybe I shouldn’t stop and keep you squirming for me. All nice and lovely.”
“So many questions, Matthew,” Poindexter answers in a raspy voice. He lumps onto Matt’s chest, trying to stabilize his breathing. “If you want to keep me leashed, go on. Your rules.”
The quiet acceptance with which Dex agreed after coming evokes a feeling which Matt doesn’t want to name, so he runs his fingers over the locks of hair, caressing Dex’s head, making him sigh contentedly. They lie peacefully embraced in each other for a minute. Matts tucks Dex’s dick back into his boxers. Dex thinks it’s almost comically abnormal for him to be held so gently and how wrong it is for Matt to cuddle the murderer who took his best friend’s life.
Dex starts to feel inadequate being folded to someone’s chest, and reminds himself it’s only an imitation of what Matt has experienced before with countless girls. He wriggles out of the embrace, really looks at Matt and snickers.
“What? What is it?” Dex doesn’t deign to answer.
Instead he drops down to his knees with a dull thud. Dex, a bit sleepy after the orgasm, nuzzles his face against Matt's bulge. He keeps his nose pressed to the zipper, humming to himself, still feeling weak in the knees. His limp body is spent but he still has strength to open the belt and pull Matt’s pants down.
“Matt, make me useful,” he murmurs. “C’mon you want to do it, been waiting for so long. Please.”
Matt feels like Dex needs it even more than him, judging by the slight trembling and excessive saliva gathered in his mouth. This time he leaves Dex without the answer, instead towering over him with a hand fisted in the hair. He lowers his own briefs, taking his cock out.
“Relax your throat,” Matt orders, surmising that the man didn’t have many sexual encounters even before becoming Fisk’s lapdog.
Matt doesn’t even give the pretense of initiative to Dex, fully taking the reins into his hands. Dex avoids looking into Matt’s face until he grabs him by the jaw, compelling to open the mouth. Matt drags his dick all over Dex’s moist lips and reddened cheeks, hearing his pulse racing in anticipation. He slowly puts the tip into Poindexters’s mouth, aware of the man’s tense posture. He gives him a few seconds to adjust and get used to the feeling, hearing how much louder Dex has started to breathe through the nose. Once his shoulder blades settled and breathing normalised, he started to push forward inch by inch. Halfway through Matt made the first thrust of his hips, feeling how Dex has gripped his own thighs. Carefully he makes a few experimental shoving motions, conscious of the contractions in Dex’s throat.
“Take the base of my cock into your hand,” Matt urges him.
Dex delicately wraps the hand and at first struggles to match his movements with Matt’s thrusts, but quickly adapts to the motions and starts to hollow out his cheeks. He is bobbing the head to meet Matt’s hips, but Matt pulls him off by the hair.
“No,” Matt interjects. “You stay still or I walk away. I’m going to try to fuck your mouth. Keep your throat loose, hands on the knees, and try not to spread snot all over me.”
Dex acquiesces and folds the hands, keeping his gaze on Matt’s face. He shuffles on the floor, making himself more comfortable, hearing a pleased hum up above.
“Thank you,” he whispers with dilated pupils before Matt shoves his dick back into his mouth.
Matt acts cautiously, perceiving Dex’s breathing, muscle contractions and heartbeat to check if he’s not stressed or panicked. He holds him by the head with two arms, thrusting right up until reaching the back of the tongue. Once he is assured that Dex is at ease, he allows himself to let loose and start fucking him more vigorously.
Matt is checking on his breathing, deciding that one especially deep thrust won’t make him throw up, hearing gargling sounds in return. Matt chases the release, moving Dex’s head back and forth, shaking him like a ragdoll. Dex’s compliance turns him into an animal succumbing to his primal instincts, fucking the brains out of him, making blood, spit, and a little bit of tears all mesh into an ugly mess on his face.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Matt praises Dex while he simply takes what’s given. His limp hands itch to touch Matt’s thighs, but he remembers the warning that Matt has given, and doesn’t tempt him, rubbing his own thighs up and down.
Matt’s hips start to tremble, thrusts become faster, overcoming Dex with a jolting sensation. He feels hot salty streaks shooting down his throat, which prompts him to gag and cough, causing to splutter the cum out of his mouth. However, Matt prevents him from spitting all the remaining mess, and rather presses on his tongue and smears the cum all over Dex’s chin.
Matt recovers his own breathing, pulling the pants up, and continues to rub Dex’s chin.
“Fuck, Matt,” Dex says coarsely. “Doing this to all your lovers or is this just my special treatment?”
Suddenly Matt jerks his hand back like someone is going to walk in on him caressing the ruined face of his mortal enemy. Dex feels the palpable shame exuding from Matt, like he sees the cogs in his brains whirring in real time. He realizes that what he said has awakened Matt from this dream-like state that they were in. Dex thinks that Matt’s head is full of thoughts of how he got from committing an act of mercy to a gravely sin.
Matt stumbles on his way out with his shoulders sagged, uncertainty seeping through, not bothering to check on Dex or give him a reply. Dex is left staring at his back leaving the room with a gnawing pit in his stomach.