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It starts like an itch he can’t scratch.
Something deep, constant, distracting .
By the middle of the week, Matt’s very aware that he’s fast becoming a bundle of restless energy. His hands twist where they grip the top of his cane, feet tapping on the office floor until Foggy has to threaten to revoke his promise of Friday’s baked goods. Matt promptly stops his fidgeting because the brownies from the little bakery on 47th that Foggy buys literally frequent his dreams. He settles instead for taking one of the small plastic dinosaurs they’d inevitably brought with them from Landman and Zach, turns the little figure between his fingers and traces the ridge of the tiny toy.
Despite the bitterness of the February frost working its way in through the draft underneath the door, Matt’s skin runs hot, feverish even. It’s not that he’s sick, no. That he could deal with. This is something else entirely. Something decidedly much, much worse.
Because, for a reason he can’t quite fathom, Matt Murdock is relentlessly and unequivocally, horny .
And not the ‘rub one out when you get home’ kind . Or even the - ‘fuck a stranger you met at a bar and are only half attracted to’ kind.
No .
What Matt wants, what he needs with every taut muscle and shaky inhale, is to be on his knees. To be made to beg, to be used, to be hurt . To cry until he comes with a sob torn straight from the very depths of the devil himself. To be taken to that sweet, floaty haven of subspace and held there until he melts, until he’s separated from his own body, until he’s nothing .
Despite Foggy’s persistent joshing of Matt’s romantic life, it’s not like he has a plethora of people waiting to take him to bed, at least, not in the way he wants. The truth is, there’s only been a handful of people that have successfully given Matt what he truly needs. By his own admission, he’s not exactly the easiest of subs - and, as cruel, twisted fate would have it, none of those people are available for a quick booty call.
So, being the good catholic boy he is, Matt’s itch remains unscratched. And if a few more thugs end up with more broken bones than usual as a result of the tension in his shoulders, the ache in the pit of his stomach - so be it.
Except, by Thursday, Matt’s a quivering mess.
The smell of sex he’s become well accustomed to tuning out as nothing more than background interference hangs over him like a dark rain cloud. It seems, as he finally gets into the office forty-five minutes late, that he’s the only person not getting some. Even his co-workers smell faintly of a good romp between the sheets and Matt, Matt is dizzy with it. When Karen passes him his morning cup of coffee and brushes her fingers over the back of his knuckles he almost goddamn loses it. Just the briefest contact of skin on skin has him hurrying to the bathroom to throw cold water over his face. At lunchtime, Foggy leans over to examine something over Matt’s shoulder and the hot breath at the back of his neck almost makes him whimper.
How he gets through the day without spontaneously combusting is beyond him, but, eventually, he’s sitting on the couch trying to decide between heading out ridiculously early to go daredeviling, or resign himself to listening to apartment 5C having very loud, very aggressive sex.
In the end he does neither of those things. Instead, he settles for what might be the most pathetic wank of his life, coming over the tiles in the shower with an unsatisfied groan before passing out on the sofa in a puddle of his own self-loathing.
Friday night sees him at a bar downtown.
He doesn’t try to delude himself of his true intentions.
Matt is fully aware of what he’s seeking, the quick, impersonal kind of fuck that is sure to leave him more unsatisifed than before. He sits at the bar anyway, nurses cracked knuckles around a glass of bourbon and scans the room for potential suitors.
There’s a group of girls in the corner of the room, a bachelorette party already well on their way to sloppy drunk. He turns his attention elsewhere because he is definitely not looking to play the part of ‘shoulder to cry on’, not tonight. Luckily for Matt, his opportunities are doubled. There’s a guy sitting amongst a small group of friends, he smells of expensive cologne, aftershave and peppermint gum. Matt knows he's being watched and so he shrugs off his winter coat, plucks open the top few buttons on his shirt and settles for waiting it out.
He very nearly slams his forehead against the bar in frustration when, a moment later, said guy leaves with his group of friends. He walks past Matt with an increased heat rate that definitely shows his interest, his pleasant scent lingering long after the door closes behind him. Matt groans and orders another glass of bourbon. The first bittersweet sip is halfway down his throat when a familiar gruff chuckle has it coming back up. Matt splutters half-way across the bar.
“Crash and burn, Murdock.” The man sneers, sitting down uninvited on the stool next to him. His scent is quick to consume him, fast to curb the lingering tones of money and success and flood his nostrils with gunpowder, coffee and an earthy undertone that has him gulping, loosening his tie.
“Frank,” and it's a testimony to Matt’s desperation that he wonders how the name would sound around a moan. Beside him Frank flags down the bartender and orders a beer. His posture is more relaxed than Matt has ever known it - and how long has it been anyway? Years?
“Didn’t know you were back in New York,” Matt offers, because Frank’s gone quiet, eyes on him in a way that makes Matt’s skin crawl. It’s an open examination, Frank doesn’t care if he’s caught looking and Matt can’t bring himself to turn away from it the way he wants to.
“Just passin’ through, Red.” Frank says, around the mouth of the beer bottle.
Matt sighs. “Don’t…Don’t call me that.”
“Why? You finally given up the long-johns you run around in?” Frank sneers, blowing through the neck of his beer bottle, a low, penetrating hum making the hairs on Matt’s arms stand on end.
Matt grinds his teeth. “No.”
“Hmm. Well, okay, Matthew .”
Matt sighs louder, rakes his hand through his hair and then fumbles to fix it back in place. He’s flushed, fidgety and hanging on by a thread.
“Jesus, you’re tense.” Frank huffs, clear amusement in his tone.
“Yeah, well, you bring that out of me.” Matt snaps, loosening his tie.
Frank chuckles, Matt hears the tearing of a label as Frank makes a small, neat pile of the shredded pieces.“Didn’t take you for someone who went for the fancy, corporate kinda guys” he comments.
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Frank.”
“Oh, yeah? I dunno, Murdock, I think I’m doin’ alright.”
Matt sighs just hard enough to disrupt the little mountain of paper Frank had made, smirking when it blows across the bar.
Frank, surprisingly, just chuckles again. “So, you’re alone, on a Friday night no less, sitting at a bar and what - looking to scratch that itch?”
Matt’s about to point out that that’s exactly what Frank is doing too but he pauses, mouth twisting into a smirk. He lowers the glass from where he had raised it in a near sip.
“Why, you offering?”
He means it as a joke, as a way to even the playing field and make Frank uncomfortable but the marine leans forward, his breath hot and smelling of beer. “Is that what you want? Hm? I bet you’d look really pretty, on your knees.”
Matt can’t help the groan that spills from his lips. He fumbles for his wallet, slams down far too many bills and stands in a quick, decisive motion. Frank barely moves, feigning nonchalance and Matt’s going to need to see a dentist with the amount of grinding he’s doing.
He waits for half a beat of Frank’s steady heart. “Are you coming, or not?”
It should be awkward, with the history between them, but the way Frank slams him into the front door of Matt's apartment when it swings shut behind them feels nothing short of perfect.
Surprisingly, Frank kisses him first. He doesn’t dominate it the way Matt thought he might, no biting teeth or tongue fighting for ownership. Frank kisses him in a way Matt’s not been kissed in a long time. It’s teasing, deliberately so and leaves him wanting more, has him writhing and half-hard before they’ve even begun. Frank’s lips leave Matt’s own only to kiss down his jaw, suck on a particular spot over his Adam’s apple. Matt’s hands fly to Frank’s hair, longer now that it had been when they’d met, he intertwines his fingers through strands of soft silk.
“J-Jesus, Frank.” Matt whines, turns his head under open mouthed kisses, effectively baring his throat.
“ Shit , R- Matt. Can I take these off? Wanna see your face.” Frank pants, fingers coming to pinch the metal arms of Matt’s glasses. His voice sounding so different from the man he’d traded hands with on a rooftop that if it weren’t for that heartbeat and Frank’s heady scent making Matt feel intoxicated, he’d swear it was someone else.
Matt nods, does his best to keep his eyes level with Frank’s when the shades get plucked gently from his face and the man makes a soft, appreciative sound in the back of his throat.
“Gorgeous,” he whispers and Matt visibly preens, back arching into Frank’s warm touch.
“Matt…Matt, just uh, - am I right in thinking you’re not looking for the standard er, romp beneath the sheets?”
Matt goes still.
“W-What are you offering?”
Frank chuckles, takes the strip of fabric of Matt’s tie in his hand and tugs. Matt follows, allows Frank to lead him into his own living-room and sits on the edge of the couch when Frank pushes him down gently.
“How about we start with you telling me what you need ?”
“What I need?” Matt repeats dumbly because he can’t quite believe this is happening.
Frank just hums, leans over the back of the couch to get a hand in Matt’s hair, his lips graze Matt’s temple.
“Are you gonna tell me? Because if you can’t, or you won’t, then I guess this is where our night ends.”
Matt swallows, nods a little too quickly. Frank chuckles at his eagerness but for once it’s not unkind. Frank’s heartbeat is steady, constant and Matt uses it to ground himself because he’s already feeling a little floaty. He clears his throat, opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again with a sigh.
“Let me help you, Matt.” Frank whispers, a calloused finger traces the shell of his ear and Matt’s eyes close as if the act alone could turn him invisible. It would be easier somehow, to tell Frank how much he needs this without those eyes on his face.
Matt takes a deep breath, letting the words out in a rush of warm air. “I need you to take over.” He swallows nervously. “I can’t…It’s too much. I just need to not think, for a little while. I…It’s been a long time since I had someone to scene with.”
“God, it’s always the good catholic ones” Frank jokes, and Matt lets out a nervous chuckle. “So…you’re in? It’s not too weird for you, or anything?”
“No it’s…I’m familiar with the idea, my wife - she…it’s good.”
Matt reaches up before he knows what he’s doing, touches the palm of his hand gently to Frank’s cheek in a reassuring gesture. Frank turns his face to kiss Matt’s palm once.
“I guess we should negotiate, set some limits, safe words et cetera?” Matt asks, scratching the stubble on Frank’s jaw and enjoying the roughness against his fingertips. Frank hums his agreement and for the next thirty minutes Matt gradually turns every shade of red imaginable.
Fortunately, they both share the same hard limits, mainly those including bodily fluids and humiliation.
“Absolutely under any circumstances, do not call me daddy.” Frank warns and Matt is quick to nod his agreement.
“I don’t like anything that messes with my ears.” Matt adds, Frank humming his acknowledgement. They decide against unusual safe words named after pieces of fruit and opt instead for a simple traffic light system.
“How quickly do you go under? Am I gonna lose you after a few minutes?” Frank asks, fingers undoing the Windsor knot of Matt’s tie and slipping it swiftly over his head, he keeps hold of the fabric and Matt struggles to bring his attention away from it.
“Uh, not exactly. Only a few people have managed it, apparently, I’m not the easiest sub.” Matt adds.
“Huh. Who’d have thought, stubborn Matthew Murdock, a bratty sub.” Frank comments and Matt knows him well enough to hear the smirk in his voice.
Matt matches it, his own lips turning up at the corner. “What’s up, Frank? You not up for the challenge?”
Frank huffs out a laugh, pushes himself to standing and Matt holds his breath.
“Stand up.” Frank says, in a voice that slips effortlessly into dominant, leaves no room for misinterpretation, Frank wants this to be good for him.
Matt stands quickly, arms falling to his sides.
“Take off your clothes.”
Matt nods, starts with the buttons on his shirt, slowly, deliberately and Frank makes a tutting sound.
“I didn’t ask for a show.”
Matt swallows, hurries to rid himself of his clothes. He pauses at his boxer briefs, hooks two thumbs in the waistband and tilts his head in Frank’s direction.
Frank nods and then sighs “I just nodded…you can tell that right?”
Matt nods back but Frank makes another low sound of disapproval in his chest.
“I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”
“Y-Yes, I can tell.” Matt whispers, pushing his underwear down and stepping out of them.
“Hm. Good boy.” Frank praises, eyes raking up the length of Matt where he stands, trembling faintly. Matt's skin is too warm, crawling with an almost unbearable heat.
“What would you like to start with?” Frank asks, stepping a fraction closer, boots hitting against the hardwood with a dull thud.
“Isn’t that your job to decide?” Matt snaps back, because Frank being fully clothed while he stands naked, vulnerable, is making him prickly.
“You can either answer me properly, or put your clothes back on.” Frank replies, calm, collected, not rising to the challenge the way he normally would. Matt swallows thickly, takes a deep breath and lets it back out again in a slow, shakily exhale.
“I…I need to hurt.”
“Okay. Good job, Matt. You’re doing really well. Can you bend yourself over the arm of the couch for me?”
Matt blinks away his surprise, nods and then remembers he’s meant to answer. “Y-Yes, Frank.”
He gets himself situated, chest against the cool leather of the couch, ass in the air.
Frank whistles, a low, appreciative sound. “That’s it.” and then he’s crossing the living room to stand behind him, Frank’s body heat radiating towards him and the smell of arousal is unmistakable, clogging the back of his throat.
Frank starts at the nape of his neck, large fingers brushing over Matt’s overheated skin, travels the curvature of Matt’s spine, the dimples in his back and then, Frank splays his fingers over the swell of Matt’s ass. Matt whimpers, pushes into the touch in encouragement. Frank doesn't hit him right away. Warm fingers kneed the flesh, squeezes just hard enough to almost hurt, but it’s not nearly enough and they both know it.
The first slap comes when Matt’s not expecting it, when Frank’s soothing back and forth has lured him into a false sense of security. His whole body jolts forwards and Matt groans a low, rumbling sound.
“Light?” Frank asks, rubbing over the place he’d just hit.
“G-Green.” Matt pants, braces himself for another. The next few arrive in rapid succession, one after the other hitting the same spot with remarkable accuracy. Matt lets out a wet sob, shoulders sagging with something akin to relief. Frank lets up, spends another minute rubbing soothing circles into flesh raised with the imprint of his own hand.
“More?”
Matt nods quickly, legs trembling with the effort of keeping him up.
“Matt.” Frank warns and he shudders.
“Y-Yes, Frank, god more please.” he whines, pushing back against the warm body behind him, Frank uses his own legs to spread Matt’s out further.
“Okay, keep count for me, baby.”
Matt doesn’t so much as blink at the term of endearment. Sets his face into a determined line and counts out each hard slap against his skin.
“One, two…”
They keep coming. Frank alternates his pattern, delivers them far apart and then in quick bursts.
“You’re doing so well for me, Matt.” Frank praises, and Matt feels a warm heat prickling at his eyes, tears collecting in his lashes.
“Thirteen, f-fourteen, f- f- uh,” he grunts, bends so far over his face gets pushed into a couch cushion, the front of it becomes quickly soaked with salty tasting tears. “S-Seventeen” Matt croaks but Frank stops, starts massaging his bruised ass with both of his hands.
“That’s twenty, sweetheart. Good job, you did so good for me, darling.” Frank praises, bends to kiss a series of open mouthed kisses over his nape. “How are you feeling?”
“G-Good.” Matt sniffles, turning just enough to get a hand underneath him and wipe at his face. Frank hums, pulls him gently back to full height.
“Still green?”
Matt nods and Frank doesn’t chide him for not answering verbally. Instead, he pulls Matt in for a kiss, soft but eager, tongue exploring Matt’s mouth languidly as if they had all the time in the world and maybe they do, because Matt doesn't want to move, doesn't ever want this to be over.
“F-Frank,” he whimpers and he feels the other man nod.
“I know, sweetheart. I got you.” He pulls back, puts a few inches between them and Matt can feel Frank’s eyes, searching his face. He wonders, for a moment, what he must look like. Are his unseeing eyes large and dilated, black with desire? His hair unruly and lips kissed bruised? As if reading his mind Frank clears his throat, takes Matt’s right hand in his own.
“You look so good like this, Matt. Your face it’s just…it’s so open, ya know? So relaxed and shit , you love this, huh?”
Matt fumbles for a reply, can’t form the correct letters on his tongue so all he says is “Frank,” in a whine that has the other man shuddering, Frank’s own self-control slips a fraction. He moves to sit on the edge of the sofa, Matt stays perfectly still, waits for his instructions.
“Come and kneel by my feet, Matt. That’s it, good boy. I’m gonna tie your wrists together, is that okay?”
“F-Fuck, yes. Frank.”
Frank chuckles, takes Matt’s eagerly offered wrists and binds them with Matt’s own tie. With his hands behind his back, Matt’s shoulders are pulled back just enough to dance on the edge of that line between uncomfortable and painful. It’s perfect.
“What now?” Matt asks, when Frank just sits back into the couch.
“Nothing.” Frank says with a familiar smugness to it.
“N-Nothing?” Matt repeats, voice pitching high in disbelief.
“I’m gonna sit here and I’m gonna enjoy the view.” Frank replies, matter-of-factly.
Matt gapes, opens his mouth to argue but Frank gives a warning growl in his chest. He sighs, settles back onto his heels to wait out, whatever this is, that Frank is playing at.
“No, Matt. On your knees.”
Another sigh but he does so anyway, kneels at Frank’s feet, naked, with his wrists tied behind his back and his erection beginning to soften.
Seconds blur into minutes.
At first, he’s bored, pissed off. His knees begin to ache, a dull, radiating pain that creeps up to his thighs. Frank shuffles on the couch and Matt gets momentarily hopefully before he realises he’s merely getting more comfortable, the bastard.
Time passes, and somewhere along the way- something shifts. It starts as a prickling between his shoulder blades and for a moment he worries the knot around his wrists has cut off his circulation but no, Frank was careful, his wrists bound with a familiarity. Frank knows what he’s doing. And therefore, Matt shouldn’t have been so surprised when the pain eventually subsides, replaced by something calm and steady. Tension rolls away from him in large, freeing waves. It’s almost like meditation, the way Matt’s mind quietens. The noises he is usually so aware of, the neighbours TV, the radio in the janitor's closet, the static buzz of the billboard outside his apartment, the sirens - always the sirens, they disappear into one, constant thrum of Frank’s heartbeat.
Eventually, even that disappears. Matt becomes loose, pliant, swaying slightly on his knees and too far gone to even notice. He’s caught somewhere between two worlds, here with Frank and that sweet sweet abyss of nothingness. Matt closes his eyes and when he opens them again, minutes later he is both inside his body and watching it, vivid shades of reds and oranges.
“Shuffle forward. Lean your weight against my legs.” Frank says, and Matt’s body moves on its own accord, Matt’s a puppet on a string and Frank, Frank’s the master. Matt presses his face to the inside of Frank’s thigh, takes deep, grounding breaths whilst large fingers come to scrape gently against his scalp.
Eventually, Frank shifts his body weight, gently nudging Matt with his leg. “Matt. Are you still with me?”
And Matt almost laughs, an inappropriate little giggle because is he? He can’t be sure but somehow his lips form the word ‘yes’ and then Frank’s reaching down to untie his wrists. Matt’s unsure how long he’s been kneeling, could have been a few minutes or a few hours, but he feels deliciously free, tells Frank as much and he’s rewarded with a soft chuckle and a kiss to his forehead.
“I wanna fuck you now…is that okay with you? You still here with me?”
And if that doesn’t sound like the best thing Matt’s heard all day. “F-Fuck, p-please.” he whimpers, going willingly when Frank pulls him to his feet, picks him up effortlessly and carries Matt into the bedroom.
Matt’s sheets feel indescribable against his skin. The smooth slick of silk against the bruises on his ass make him whine, pushing back against the fabric earnestly.
“F-Frank.”
“Yeah, Yeah baby. I’m right here. You’re all good sweetheart.” Frank drawls, and if Matt were lucid enough he’d notice the way Frank’s own voice sounds strained, desperation creeping in and getting under the cool, collected facade. Matt gets flipped over, face pushed into a pillow and hips pulled up until he manages to get his knees underneath him.
Frank must find the lube in Matt’s nightstand because the next thing Matt’s fully aware of is a slicked finger pressing against his entrance. He whines, hands shooting out to grip the headboard, steady himself as Frank gets the first finger situated inside of him. The second finger follows suit soon after and Frank instantly curls them in an attempt to find that sweet spot inside of him and - when he does, Matt comes with a shout. He hadn’t even realised he was close and suddenly, he’s spilling over the bed sheets, a torn out scream pushing past his open mouth. It feels like it lasts for ages, his body convulsing as he continues to dirty the sheets, his stomach and his own fingers. Behind him Frank curses and Matt becomes abruptly aware of Frank’s own neediness. The way he wastes no more time, stretches Matt quickly, rolls on a condom and slicks himself with lube and when did Frank even undress? And then Matt’s being stretched wide as Frank pushes inside him, doesn’t let up until he’s bottoming out.
“Fucking hell, Matt” Frank groans, ducking his head to kiss at the divot of Matt’s spine. Matt whines, over sensitive but his dick gives an interested twitch.
“F-Frank”
“God, you feel good. You’re so good for me.” Frank praises, spreading Matt’s cheeks with his hand, digging his fingers purposefully into bruised fresh and Matt yelps.
“M-More, p-please. Please, Frank.”
“Light?”
“Green, green, s-so-fucking- green.”
Frank chuckles. “Insubordination,” but he’s already picking up his pace, fingers leaving bruises on top of bruises and Christ, if this isn’t what Matt needs. Frank is touching him everywhere. His hands are on his back, or on his ass or tugging his hair back or gripping his hips and Matt can’t keep up. Frank lets out a moan that Matt can only describe as beautiful. “M-Matt, oh god, Matt you’re perfect.”
An odd feeling washes over him, he suddenly finds himself needing to touch Frank, get his hands on him and feel the hard flesh under his fingers, needs to be sure this is real, that Frank is real. “A-Amber, amber.” he whimpers and Frank pulls out immediately. Matt groans at the sudden loss, his own hips bucking forward involuntarily.
“Shit, did I hurt you?” Frank asks.
Matt shakes his head quickly. “N-Need to turn over, Frank. Need to touch you, p-please let me.”
A soft kiss gets pressed to the bridge of his nose.
“Of course, Matt.”
He gets settled on his back, legs wrapped around Frank’s middle as he brings him close. Frank pushes back inside him like he’s sliding on home. Matt shudders, reaches out to trace the outline of Frank’s jaw, nose, ears, the tempting curve of Frank’s lips. Frank kisses the tips of his fingers as they pass over his parted mouth. Matt touches Frank’s chest, the strong muscles of his stomach, his hips, drops his hand down to feel the place where Frank disappears inside of him.
“Frank - I…I can’t…”
“Yeah, yeah I know, baby.” Frank whispers, sealing Matt’s lips with a kiss that leaves him wanting and breathless. Frank fucks him in earnest. Pushes Matt’s legs up to his chest and pounds into him with everything he has and Matt won’t be able to sit down for a week but it’ll be worth it. Frank’s large fingers trace the outline of the scars on Matt’s chest before they wrap around his neck, squeezing just enough for Matt to sob out a strangled series of moans, eyes darting open and later, Frank will describe to him exactly how he looked at that particular moment. Eyes wide and shocky yet his face relaxed into the most beautiful tranquillity. Tears brim at his eyes, spill gently over his cheeks and Frank kisses each of them away. He’s floating away, he can feel the bed shift below him, but he doesn’t fall because Frank has him, strong arms keep him safe, wanted, needed . He’s drifting above his own body and the only thing he’s aware of are those arms.
When Matt comes to again - it’s to Frank shouting his name, hips sputtering as he empties into Matt with a strangled cry. A sweaty forehead pushed up against his own, hot breath mixing with his until he can no longer tell where their bodies start and end. He whimpers in protest when Frank slowly pulls out, disposes of the condom and disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back it’s with a wet cloth that he uses to clean the lube from between Matt's cheeks and thighs.The bed dips with Frank’s weight and then he’s being pulled against a strong chest, a kiss pressed into his hair.
Matt drifts in and out for some time. He knows, somehow, that Frank won’t let himself sleep yet, not until Matt’s really back.
That time comes a few hours later, Matt coming down in stages. His senses return one at a time, starting with that familiar, strong heartbeat. He smiles, rolls over, wincing slightly at the stinging pain in his ass.
“Hey, beautiful,” Frank says, pushing away the hair that had fallen over Matt’s forehead.
Matt blushes, lays a flat palm over Frank’s chest just to feel the thrum of his heart.
“Back with me?”
“Hm.” Matt hums in agreement, leaning up to slot his lips over Frank’s. Frank kisses back lazily, the smile Matt feels against his own lips.
“Frank, that was-”
“-Yeah, I know.” Frank whispers, rolling onto his side and throwing an arm around Matt’s hips. Matt feels Frank’s lips on the back of his neck, a yawn tears through his body and Frank follows suit, yawning around a soft chuckle.
“Let’s sleep, we can talk in the morning.”
The morning, Matt thinks. Has a nice ring to it.
Maybe they’ll wake up late, the sun already up. Share piles of bacon and toast and drink Matt’s stupidly expensive coffee. It’s dumb, but Matt’s in the mood to let his mind run free. He thinks of an alternate world, one of Frank and lazy weekend mornings, of reading on the couch and fucking in the shower. Matt sighs a contented sound, smiles and settles against Frank’s warm chest, feels each steady breath as the other man starts to drift off.
Mat falls asleep feeling lighter and more carefree than he has in years.