Work Text:
You sat next to Matt on the couch, sipping beer and listening to music, watching his fingers drum the notes of the bass line. He finishes his first bottle, and you expect him to get up and grab another, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits back, a hand finding your knee, then sliding up your thigh.
You look up from your phone and over at him, a small smirk painting his lips, his other hand still playing notes. “Matt,” you start, “if you want to touch me, just do it.”
“Want to do more than touch you,” he replies, hand squeezing at the fat of your thigh.
“Do it then, Murdock,” you challenge, waiting for him to drop to his knees or crawl on top of you. But he doesn’t. He makes a show of himself, untucking his wrinkled shirt, undoing his belt, sliding his large hand over the tent growing in his trousers before sliding it beneath the waistband. “Thought you wanted to touch me?”
“I do,” he says, “But you like watching me like this.” Damn him, his ability to listen to you heart, to hear the catch in your breath when his own chest rises and falls from the touches to his cock, to smell your arousal when he does this. And damn his smugness, the smirk on his pouty lips, the twinkle in his eyes.
It’s going to be one of those nights, he’s going to do this until you order him around, until he’s not in control anymore. You should have known by the way he’d been acting all evening, by the way he’d only had one beer, by the way he’d made no indication he was going to put on the suit tonight. Matt Murdock needed a break, yet not the one he got from being the devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
“On your knees, Murdock,” you finally order. Relief paints his features as he sits up, lowering himself to the ground. He’ll have bruises on his knees from this tomorrow, and yet somehow that’s exactly what he wants.
His hands find your calves with ease, stroking the soft skin, waiting patiently. “I can smell you,” he murmurs, kissing your knee.
“Go on,” you urge, helping him by hiking your skirt up around your middle.
Matt wastes no time, open-mouthed kisses covering your inner thighs, the fabric of his pants shifting on the hard floor as he drew closer. You tangled a hand in his brown hair, waiting for his hot breath to hit your clothed cunt, waiting for his snarky comment about how desperate you are, even though he’s the one on his knees, he’s the one who will be begging for you to come on his tongue-
“Can I?” he breathes.
“Yeah,” you tell him, tugging a little on his hair. “You can.”
Matt presses his open mouth to your clothed clit, groaning at the taste of you, the smell of you, it’s all encompassing, it’s exactly what he needs. His hands reach up, snaking under your shirt, over your stomach, and up to your breasts, feeling their weight in his hands, testing his luck with tweaking a nipple. You can feel his self-satisfied grin when he hears the way your breath hitches.
“Do it again,” you whisper, and he obliges. He always does.
“Ruining these panties,” he murmurs, “It’s a shame. You should probably let me take them off.”
“I thought we were past the cheesy lines,” you smile, shaking your head. “Take them off then.” You catch his hands before they can leave your chest. “No. Find another way.”
His dry chuckle fills the room, but it’s replaced by your gasp when you feel his teeth scrape against your lower stomach until they catch on the waistband of your panties.
You move to close your legs when the cool air hits your clit, but Matt’s broad shoulders stop you. His nose bumps your clit when he presses his tongue inside you, moaning against your folds like he hasn’t tasted you in weeks, like he didn’t just beg to be down there this morning. His hands grab at your waist, pulling you closer.
“That’s it, babe,” you say, nails scratching gently at his scalp, “Shit.”
He brings one hand down between your legs, pressing a long finger inside you, curling it in the way only he seems to know how. “Another finger,” you gasp, “Another one.”
There’s the smug chuckle again, accompanied by another finger stretching you open, both of them curling towards your g-spot.
“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs, the vibrations resonating through your whole body. He pulls back from you with that damned smirk on his face. “That feel good?”
“You know it does,” you shoot back, annoyed that he took you off the edge just to be a smart ass.
Matt just laughs, bringing his mouth back to your clit, “Want you to come,” he murmurs, “Want to hear it, please.” You watch his hips buck against nothing, imagining his cock straining against the dark fabric of his pants, he’s so desperate, and he’s so fucking hot like this.
“Then make me,” you taunt. You tug on his hair, relishing in the way his hips flex and his fingers pause at the hint of pain, he hasn’t admitted it yet, but you know he likes it, the hints of pain always make his cock jump, always make his mouth work on your clit faster. “Hungry to please tonight,” you breathe, and he nods. “Such a fucking glutton,” you tell him, your voice shaking along with your thighs, taunting him into pushing you over the edge.
It works. The vibrations of his moans, the sound of his belt buckle against the floor when he bucks his hips, the way he curls those damned fingers inside you, it pushes you over the edge into an Earth-shattering orgasm, your eyesight dissolving into stars, your heels digging into his back, no longer cautious of his bruises. Your mouth falls open with calls of his name, your hands still tugging at his soft hair, until you’ve recovered your senses, until your thighs release him.
“Christ, Matt,” you breathe.
“Far from Christ,” he responds, breathless, too. You pull him up by the collar of his shirt, his chin covered in your juices, glimmering in the light.
You lean forward until your lips meet his, kissing across his jaw while your fingers make quick work of the buttons on his shirt. “I, uh,” he whispers, “I’m going to need a minute if you want to keep going.”
“Huh? Oh-” That’s when you notice it, the dark spot on Matt’s gray slacks, your fingers grazing over his softening cock. He bucks into your hand, a whimper leaving his lips. You smile, raking your nails through the tufts of hair that decorate his chest, “Sounds like you’re doing just fine.”
Your name comes out of his mouth like a warning, his hand cupping yours over his groin. “Sit back down,” you whisper, and he obliges. He always does.
It’s your turn to play with him, sitting up on your knees, your skirt falling back around your thighs. You take his nipple into your mouth, it’s your turn to relish in the hitch in his breath and the way his finger nails scrape at his clothed thighs in a way to sate himself. “Coming untouched now?” you tease, kissing down his stomach.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah.”
“And you’re already getting hard again,” you point out, tracing over the bulge in his pants with one finger, and kissing down the trail of dark hair on his lower stomach.
“Hey, hey,” he says, “I don’t think I can handle your mouth-“
“You weren’t going to get my mouth,” you cut him off, your voice coming out a bit meaner than you intended, but the way Matt shifts tells you he doesn’t mind. His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he shut his mouth, waiting patiently for whatever he was going to get.
You swing your legs over his hips, hovering over his lap, “Beg for me to touch you,” you whisper against his neck.
“Please, fuck, I need you, please-“
You grind your bare cunt on his clothed cock, “Keep talking, Murdock.”
“God, you feel so good,” his hands rest on your hips, but he doesn’t dare move your hips.
“How bad do you want it?” He murmurs something in response between your breasts, and you grab his hair, tilting his face up to face you. “Hmm? How bad?”
“So fucking bad,” he says again, eyes half shut, swollen lips pushed out in a pout. “Please.”
You grind down on him again, relishing the way he bucks into you, in the friction on your sensitive clit. Matt’s mouth falls open and his head fell back, groans filling the room as your hips pick a pace, and it’s only seconds before he falls apart under you, his fingers sinking into your thick hips, his chest heaving under your hands, sweat beading on his forehead.
“That’s it,” you coo, “Come for me again, be a good boy and come for me again.”
The pet name catapults him over the edge, he flings forward, holding onto you to keep him grounded, attaching his lips to your neck until he finishes shaking, until you give him relief from the stimulation. “Thank you, fuck, thank you,” he whispers through his deep breaths, “God, shit, thank you.”