Work Text:
"This is a terrible idea."
"This is a brilliant idea."
You and Matt were in the park near your college on a wide sidewalk, your blue bike straddled between Matt’s legs as you tried to re-convince Matt to try his luck at biking.
Yes, biking.
It sounds sort of insane, but you’d noticed the way Matt was able to walk around his dorm building and yours without any assistance from his cane, and it only took a hand to hold (which was usually yours) to navigate a place he was unfamiliar with. Sometimes you even caught him walking around public places without anything or anyone to help him, never bumping into anything or anyone, but this was so rare you almost thought he was trying to cover up his fantastic ability. With this knowledge, you figure that if you keep a hand on Matt’s back and the handlebars, just like how your dad did with you when you were learning how, Matt would be able to bike just a little bit. You weren’t expecting him to do the Tour de France or anything, you just wanted Matt to be able to say he’s ridden a bike, even if he did need a hand to stabilize him.
“I thought that maybe I could do this, but I’m really not sure,” Matt rambles. You squeeze one of his hands gently.
“I’m not gonna let go of you,” you say softly. Matt’s tense; his fingers clutch the rubber handles tightly even though you haven’t moved an inch. Worry is etched deep into his furrowed brow. You’re starting to regret goading him into this, but you’ve already gotten this far and there’s no way in hell you’re to back out now. Besides, you really think Matt can do this. “I’m not asking you to be Lance Armstrong, y’know. We can just bike for forty feet and call it quits.” You rub the back of his hand gently, slightly massaging his wrist in an attempt to get him to loosen up. His normally pouty lips are pulled into a tight line, but his lips twitch upward slightly at your gentle touch.. “I just thought… maybe you’d like to brag to Foggy about this. Or not, you can just have the ‘I did it’ feeling.”
“I’m just worried about running into something...” Matt’s shoulders loosen slightly and he turns over his hand to hold yours. Whenever he was stressed he sought your skin; it wasn’t always handholding, nor was it always sex. Any touch Matt could get - a light kiss on the lips, resting his cheek on your bare shoulder, your legs intertwined as you lied on the couch together on movie nights - cured him of any anxiety and made him feel invincible. You prided yourself in having that effect on him.
“You won’t,” your words are both a command and a promise. Matt’s lips quirk into a smile and he releases an exasperated sigh, shaking his head with a light chuckle.
“I’m going to regret this.”
“Shut up and sit down.” Matt laughs. You grin; your snarky comments are ever anything other than affectionate. Matt hops slightly to get on the small bike seat, fumbling slightly as he locates one pedal with his foot. You make sure his foot is in the position where it won’t slip off while he’s pedaling, and you get a firm grip on the handlebars and the back of the bike seat. You go on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek softly, watching as his face splits into an ear-to-ear smile. “You can do this.”
“Just in case I die from this,” Matt turns his face to yours and gives you a quick kiss. You giggle when his glasses bump your nose, an occurrence that happens quite often when the two of you kiss and has become something you almost look forward to.
The bike wobbles slightly as Matt adjusts his weight but you keep a firm hold on the bike. Matt bites his bottom lip lightly in a manner that is half-determination and half-this-is-a-stupid-plan-let’s-do-it. He nods his head a little as he situates himself comfortably.
“Ready?”.
“Ready.” Matt smiles. He kicks off the ground, and you’re off.
You go at a snail’s pace, softly giving him directions and encouragement. After a few minutes, you begin to speed up. Matt’s steering is wobbly, so you keep a firm grip on the handlebar to prevent him from veering off the pavement as you jog beside him. Any fear that was once present has been replaced by wild excitement in Matt’s eyes. You laugh at the little boy expression he wears. “I told you you could do it!”
“You did!" Matt looks like he's on top of the world. Your heart swells. "Now let go!”
And then it stops.
“What?!”
Matt starts pedaling faster, his steering his remarkably straight, but you’re soon awkwardly running alongside him to keep a safety hand on the bike. You shout at him to slow down, to stop, but soon enough Matt is going too fast on the bike and you lose your grip on the back of his seat, and there he goes: a blind man on a bike screaming down the sidewalk.
You chase him - you must look absolutely hysterical to anyone watching - yelling at him to slow down when you realize he’s laughing.
Laughing.
And he actually has control of the bike.
A hundred feet in front of you, Matt coasts around the decrepit cast stone park fountain as easily as any seeing person could, pedaling back up the sidewalk toward you with a goofy-ass grin on his face. You’re stunned to silence at first. He’s made biking, an activity you use mostly out of necessity for transportation, look as graceful as dancing, and he’s blind. You were hoping to get just a few independent pedals out of him, but there he is acting like Bernard fucking Hinault. You can’t help but laugh at the whole thing; He says he doesn’t think he can do it, then scares the shit out of you when he decides to take off on his own, and now he’s gliding around the empty sidewalk like it’s as easy as breathing. Half of you wanted to kill him and the other wanted to drag him to your bedroom to celebrate the discovery of Matt’s new talent.
And then Matt crashed.
It didn’t happen all at once; it escalated in a way that was drawn out in various choppy movements. First he’s coasting toward you, then he starts to wobble, then his front tire slips off the sidewalk into the grass. He would have been fine at this point had he not squeezed the front brake, jerking the bike to a halt and forcing the back tire into the air before the bike and the blind boy came tumbling down. Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch the bike fall on top of the dreadfully unprepared Matt.
“Matt!”
Instantly you fear the worst.
You sprint to where he is sprawled out in the grass, unmoving, the bike still awkwardly between his legs. His glasses have been tossed off his face into the grass near his head. “Matt, baby, I’m so sorry,” you drop to your knees and examine his legs for any breaks before quickly heaving the bike off of him. You stoop over him and cup his cheek gently, searching for any cuts or lumps, when you see the huge smile on his face. “What the fuck, Matt?” His vacant eyes glitter with glee as his body shakes from laughter.
“That was… awesome.”
“Oh my God you have a fuckin’ concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“The fuck-? okay two major problems with that statement. One; sweetie, if you haven’t noticed in the six months you’ve been dating me, I’m fucking blind. And two; I don’t have a concussion, I’m just happy.” You swear his smile is made of sunlight.
“I thought I’d killed you, Matt!” you huff, exasperated. You start babbling nervously, still coming down from the adrenaline rush your panic caused. Matt just chuckles and sits up on his elbows, smiling. “You-you just toppled over like that and you could have fucking died! This was the worst idea I’ve ever had, why the hell did I even think this was a good idea?! We are never doing this again, this is- Matt stop fucking laughing this is serious!”
Matt just shakes his head and laughs harder. “____, I’m fine, I promise.” He looks right at you. The way he’s able to find exactly where your eyes are and meet them on the dot would unnerve most people, but you’d gotten used to his super-Spidey-face-seeking-powers after the first few weeks of dating him. It actually fascinates you.
You sigh and run your fingers through your hair exhaustedly. “I’m sorry, I just, I can’t help but worry.”
“I know,” Matt states softly, still smiling, “it’s one of the many reasons why I love you.”
Your heart leaps into your throat again, but this time it isn’t out of fear. Matt isn’t wearing his goofy adrenaline-rush grin anymore, but has a soft, genuine smile gracing his divine lips. Your heart is skipping every other beat as a blush fills your cheeks and the warmth spreads through your body like wildfire. Without his glasses, you’re able to see every little emotion in Matt’s eyes: joy, serenity, desire, and.... ah, there it is, written all over his face; love.
Matt doesn’t say ‘I love you’ very often. Though this must have been taken by his past girlfriends as a lack of affection and commitment, you know that those three words weigh heavily on Matt’s tongue, and can not just be thrown around without a second thought. But the few times he does say them - those three little words that probably mean more to him than they do to anyone - you know he truly means it and you fall even deeper in love with him.
Your worries practically dissolved, you lean forward and kiss Matt deeply. He eagerly kisses back, weaving one hand into your hair to keep your lips on his. He pulls you forward suddenly, and the two of you flop back into the untamed grass. You giggle lightly when Matt gets a bit more frisky, tugging your hips flush against his and nipping your bottom lip. He grins and peppers kisses over your cheeks, your eyelids, your nose, memorizing the canvas of your face with his lips just as he would with his fingertips. He lets his hand that was once in your hair travel down your neck, over your bare shoulder and down your arm to your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling your knuckles to his lips to kiss. As Matt takes his time, kissing each of your knuckles lightly, you take in his disheveled mop of hair, falling in his eyes haphazardly, and the little upturned corners of his pouty lips. You love him. You love this dorky, intelligent, blind, daring, avocado-at-law-in-training, and it’s a marvel to you that he actually loves you back.
“I love you,” you say softly. Matt’s smile brightens. His chocolate eyes are half-lidded and have a look of lazy bliss. You press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips and Matt chases your lips eagerly. He leans over you so you end up lying flat on your back with one of Matt’s strong arms behind your head for support, his hips weighing down on yours deliciously. It could be minutes or hours that you two lie like that - exchanging loving kisses and gentle caresses in the grass, occasionally whispering sweet words into each other’s ears - but eventually you pull apart for the last time. Matt is gazing down at you, starstruck but unfocused in the telltale blind manner.
“What I wouldn’t give to see your face…” he mutters lowly, a hint of sadness creeping into his wistful, gravelly voice. You smile softly and cup his stubbly cheeks, gently pulling his face down for another kiss. Matt sighs out of his nose when your lips meet once again, relaxing into the familiar curve and taste of your lips. You pull your head back slightly to break the kiss - which Matt complies with reluctantly - and tuck some of his wild brown locks behind his ear.
“I really don’t know what to say to that…” you mumble. Matt’s lips twitch sadly, but his smile remains. “It would be amazing if you could see me… but you already do.” Matt’s head tilts slightly, his expression turns puzzled. “You’ve mapped out my entire body with your hands - I mean I doubt there’s even a square centimeter you haven’t touched or kissed -” that gets a blush out of Matt, “and since you really are unable to judge a person based on their looks… you know me better than anyone without a visual bias. I mean, I could be the complete opposite of your ‘type’ in terms of looks, but since you can’t tell you stay with me because there’s something about my personality that you like.” Matt smiles gently, cupping your face and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Or, this could tremendously backfire on me,” you kid, “I could actually be the sexiest woman alive and you could leave me because you don’t like something about my personality.” Matt laughs at the absurdity and gives you a quick kiss.
“So what about you?” he quips. “You know my personality, and you get to see me. Seems unfair.”
“It’s totally fair! You’re absolutely hideous but you have a great personality. See? No appearance bias!” Matt chortles and shakes his head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“But that’s one of the reasons you love me, right?”
“One of many.”
Your lips are locked for another ten minutes before the two of you decide that it’s time to head back to your dorm. You find Matt’s red-tinted glasses in the grass and slide them on his face, kissing his nose once they’re on. You lift your bike upright and fix the chain, which had jumped when Matt took a tumble, and help Matt to his feet. He makes his way to the other side of the bike and places one hand on the handlebars and the other on the seat, enveloping your small hand in his.
As you stroll slowly, Matt using the bike as his cane, you smile up at Matt and he smiles directly back, genuine and beautiful. How he does that, you’ll never know. Just like the biking, the way he is able to know exactly what you’re doing and respond in kind is an unexplainable phenomenon of the many unexplainable phenomena that make up Matt Murdock.
~~~~~
You and Matt are scratching yourselves everywhere when you finally enter your dorm.
“Grass, I fucking hate grass,” you gripe as you try futilely to reach one spot in the middle of your back that is itching up a storm. Matt laughs, but he’s also miserably scratching at his arms and back.
“Well, don’t make out in the grass!” Matt exclaims.
“You were making out with me too!”
“You started it!”
“Because you fucking fell off the bike.”
Matt sighs and scratches an itch between his shoulderblades. Damn him. That spot was bugging you, too, and you couldn’t reach it on yourself. You whine and flop face-down on your mattress, thinking maybe you could pray the itchiness away. You hear your old desk chair squeak in protest as Matt plops in it with a sigh. You turn your face to look at Matt and see his extreme discomfort etched deeply into the tight line his lips form. An itch on your upper arm pulls your attention away from him, however. You groan in frustration. You want to ask Matt to scratch your itch, and you are about to, but you suddenly get a better idea and smirk to yourself.
You stand up and pull off your tank top, tossing it on the ground before unbuttoning your jeans and start shimmying them down your hips. Matt pauses his scratching and looks absolutely confused when he hears the shuffle of cloth and your clothes hitting the floor. “What are you doing?”
“Just thought a shower would fix the itching,” you say casually as you unhook your bra and toss it at his feet. “Care to join?”
Matt’s mouth makes a surprised ‘O’ before turning into a mischievous smirk. He stands quickly, almost tearing off his shirt and kicking his pants off as he chases you into your bathroom. So eager.
It’s safe to say the shower took care of the itch... and then some.