The room echoes with the backdrop of near-silence Matt has come to relish. There's the almost-but-not-quite hum of the air conditioning unit in the office below them, the gentle whoosh of their desktop fan at the semi-open window. Outside, the steady thrum of Hell's Kitchen, of a city awake. Inside, though, there is only Matt. Matt, and the cool smell of a shadowy room, and his screen reader.
He boots it up, finds the bookmark. Takes a deep breath, leans back in his chair, and presses Enter.
...he relishes the slide of skin on leather, the slick sound of her hands along his suit. She finds every ridge, every divet in his armor, and, carding her fingers through his hair, removes his mask.
"There you are,” she sighs, breathy. and her voice sparks something in him. She runs her fingers over his face, catches the bottom of his lip with the tip of her fingernail. “Not such a scary guy now, are you?” She leans in, catching his lip in her teeth, sighs into his mouth, “Daredevil.”
Matt slaps a key. He hears his own heart, his own blood pumping in his chest, feels at once filthy and aroused and disgusted with himself. He's listening to porn. Fanfic porn. About himself. About Daredevil.
But no one on the stairs outside the office. No footsteps, no excuses to stop himself from listening to this. Only one hitch in his pleasure: the voice.
His screen reader, normally turned to a voice that is excellent at reading court cases, makes the story sound too clinical. Too...devoid of emotion. He wonders, idly, if there's a voice you can download that's meant for... other topics. And then, because he has only himself to blame, searches for one.
He's surprised at how many there are, actually. Everything from “breathy female porn star” to “husky older man.” Matt licks his lips. He idly listens to a few samples, but finally, he finds something. It's described simply as “Theodore.” He doesn't even listen to the sample. He downloads. He opens the same fic, leans back, hits Enter.
...He lunges forward, catches her mouth with his, runs his hands up and under her blouse.
She gasps, deliciously, and he growls, “I didn't choose the name.” She gasps again, his deft hands finding and unlatching her bra.
Matt stands up so quickly his chair rattles to the floor. He's panting, full of shame and guilt and something much, much worse.
Because that voice? Theodore. Is Foggy. Foggy's fucking voice. Foggy, sounding very, very aroused. And Matt likes it. Oh, does he like it. But heading down dangerous paths has always been a kink of his. So, he inhales, shakily, and feeling so many levels of guilt about it, picks up his chair and sits back down. And, hesitantly, he hits Enter again.
... She practically tears off her blouse, presses herself against the hard shell of his armor as The Daredevil pushes a hand under her skirt. He finds the edge of her panties, slides-
Matt pauses the reader, breathing hard. Fuck it, he thinks, and tabs to a different bookmark, a different story. If he's really going to do this, he's going to do this right.
He bites the Daredevil's neck, right where it meets the shoulder. The vigilante moans, jerks his hips into the hard heat in front of him.
“Oh, you like that? Thought you get beat up quite a lot, might want a reprieve. Guess I thought wrong.” He runs his nails along the edge of the mask, digging a little too hard.
“You going to talk all night or fuck me?” the Masked Man grunts.
Matt's hips jerk. Suddenly, the anonymous other man in the fic does more than speak with Foggy's voice. He wears Foggy's face, too.
“I can do both,” he smirks, and makes to lift the mask, but he's stopped by a gloved hand. “No,” Daredevil lifts his hand to his mouth, swirls a tongue around each finger. “The rest can come off, but the mask stays on.”
Matt's beyond shame, beyond regret. At some point he's opened the fly on his pants and got a hand around himself, messily, greedily. His other hand finds the bottle of lube in his desk drawer without his permission, and he's pulling himself as Foggy's needy voice tells the Daredevil how he likes it, how he'll take it-
“Let me see you,” the man grunts. Daredevil slides his hands into his waistband, gloved fingers touching his skin, not touching enough. “I want to see...under your suit.”
“I told you-”
“I know,” he pants, “The mask stays. I want...god, I want to see your body. I want to do more than see it, I want to taste it, I want-”
“Fuck,” Daredevil unzips the suit hastily, pulls it away from his skin. He's covered in a sheen of sweat, the flush of his arousal riding high on his cheeks. Then, with a contained aggression, he yanks at the other man's fly, sending the button flying and the zipper screeching open and he gets a hand inside and just the heat of that gloved hand is enough to make him arch and gasp.
“I want you to come,” Daredevil orders, voice low and husky, “With my name on your lips. What's my name?”
“D-Daredevil,” he moans as Daredevil jerks him off, slow pulls driving him insane.
“Say it again.”
“D-Dare...Devil!” The vigilante kisses him, bites his lip. He gasps into his mouth.
“Everybody's got a little Daredevil in them. Want me to put some in you? Say. My. Name.”
“Daredevil! Ah!” The man comes, screaming his name.
Matt comes, too. It's messy and disgusting and feels so fucking good. He's coming back to himself when he hears a second heartbeat.
Oh shit. He knows that heartbeat. Matt frantically shuts off the screen reader and fumbles some tissues out of his lube drawer, and is barely pulling his chair up to the desk to cover the mess in his lap when the door to their office opens and Foggy walks in.