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He moves around like a ghost. Bare feet sneaking over the wood flooring which is barely whispering because he's gone the path so often, arms tucked near his side like a boxer, ready for a blow which won't come anymore because the fight is long time over. He moves like the soldier he is, a silent weapon, ready to strike at any time, tensed and cautious.
He stands beside the bed, all covered in rigid scars and fresh wounds. The smell of blood, rich and pungent, surrounds him like a haze. It's still there even though he had showered so hot the water must have burned his skin, even though he had scrubbed his calloused skin till it must have become pinkish red and bruised.
He's still agitated, blood rushing in his veins slightly faster, the carotid quivering, his index finger twitches irregular in eagerness to maybe pull a trigger again.
When did this become a habit?
Since when did he allow Frank Castle to visit his bed in the middle of the night, chest heaving heavily in anticipation like he's going to jump at him at any second.
But he is here for a more nuanced form of violence, Matt knows as he makes room on the bed, lifting the fabric as silent permission.
He slides under the silken sheets, bending over him as if it is the most natural thing the punisher could do and his warm massive body, a tamed force, spreads over him.
Matt loves his virile smell, a fine earthy tone tinted with a bitter nuance of coffee, over that layers of different scents - mostly gunpowder, grease and the dirt-conglomerate of Hell's Kitchen.
His smell clouds his senses in an intoxicating manner and Matt has to blink, even to close his eyes for a moment to not drift away.
Frank doesn't hesitate. Never does. He comes to him naked and prepared and his movements are like a well-planned and executed scheme.
His large hands stroke over Matt's neck and chest, sliding over the hips, fingers pressing into the skin and remove the briefs, push them down to his knees. It's when he presses his bare groin powerful against Matt's lower body, his already hard member rubbing against Matt's dick, his balls squeezed in between them. The heat between their body's is familiar. Something to melt into. Something he is already used to.
He comes to him in the middle of the night and the reason is always the same.
"What have you done, Frank?" Matt asks, as he feels his pleasing moist lips against his neck, leaving a wandering path down his raising chest. The wetness on his skin in the chill air makes him shiver. Does his voice go softer every time he asks?
Frank never answers.
He explores Matt's torso in a reverent way, traces his scars like they are something delicate, strokes his chest with his palms and fingers spread wide open like he doesn't want to miss an inch of skin, lets his callused fingers ghost over Matt's dick till his body shivers in anticipation, till he's hard too.
Matt tries to touch him every time. He goes for Frank's neck and feels for the velvet soft stubble of his hair with his fingertips, he grabs for those muscular hips and wants to pull them closer, he caresses his scarred chest and wants to pinch those small stiff nipples.
This time, he grasps his head and wants to pull the punisher into a kiss. Not on the mouth, no-- maybe on the slim curve of his neck or on his beautifully pulsating carotid artery.
But he doesn't want that. Never lets him touch his body. Never lets him do anything pleasantly for him.
Frank catches his wrists and pins them down next to his head, his grip unyielding and almost painfull, shifting his body as he presses him down with his own weight, rumbling as a warning sound.
It would be easy to overpower him. The punisher may be resistant and strong but he is agile and fast. A swift rotation of his hip, a knee shooting up into his open lower body, a blow of his forehead against his bowed face. - But he remains awaiting as Frank lets his head sink down, lips pressing on his skin and sliding down, down, down till Matt feels none of his massive body on him anymore only his heated breath against his groin and finally those wet lips sucking around his dick, taking him in deeply.
It's when his own head lolls to the side and he allows himself to moan out in pleasure.
His head is light and dizzy. And it's a fucking delight that the punisher blows him like he loves to. He's snorting and panting, his nostrils dragging the air in like he's drowning. His lips are tightly pressed around his dick, tongue working from the inside as good as he can manage as he drags his mouth over his full length again and again.
Frank releases his wrists and Matt stays in place because it's meant that way. Frank tugs the sheets swishy away because there is nothing Frank Castle needs to hide. It's the other way around-- he wants to expose himself. He wants to be visible for him.
When Frank backs up, he's slick and wet all up with saliva and Frank's breath is enough to make him quiver-- till his warm callused fingers grasp him firmly, till he's towering up above him, till there is his hot hole squeezing over the tip of his cock and his knees digging hard into his hips for leverage. A roaring groan gathers in Frank's throat but he cuts it off by gritting his teeth.
He grabs his hip bone and forces his body down, ever so slowly and persistent. And Matt knows it must be painful because he can barely stand the feeling of the tight writhing muscles around his dick.
The fingertips of his other hand touch him softly at his abdomen, soothing him with dancing movements till they are spread out, pushing him down and his body sinks deep onto him, trembling like it's too much to endure.
But he embraces the pain like that's what he really wants. His body shakes and he presses down violently. His wrists twitch and he digs in his fingers even more. Matt feels his knees shove into his buttocks, his finger nails scraping the skin and he doesn't mind because he loves to feel some of his aching too.
Matt hears his muscles shift, as his body bends into a curve and he tilts his head to the ceiling, lips parting. He's making quiet moaning sounds now, low-pitched and guttural like a wild creature.
He wants to fuck into that hot body by himself, pin him down and thrust those delicate sounds out of this mouth. He wonders if Frank would let him some day.
Frank moves onto his body and it's like a dream to feel those brute muscles stretch and cramp around his dick in relentless thrusts, violating his insides without mercy.
Frank Castle moves like a man who has nothing to lose. He uses his body like a weapon which is meant to harm and like he knows it needs to be restrained and has to be put back into place. All by him.
There is something sublime when the punisher uses him like that. Like a ritual.
But still, there is this nagging voice fizzling in the back of his mind.
Matt grabs for his head and this time he surprisingly lets him.
"What have you done?" Matt tries again whispery.
He cups his cheeks, pulling him down till their foreheads rest together and the salt of sweat stings in Matt's eyes.
"I know, this is a purification---"
The blood is rushing in his ears, and speaking the truth out loud makes his throat tighten. He feels sick like every goddamn time. There is this hurting pressure on his chest he knows too well and a dragging weight in his limbs slumping him down. The guilt already sits in his body like a silent observer.
He listens to Frank. For the bubbling sound of his blood streaming through his veins, for his beautifully strongly pounding heart he would recognize among thousands, for his breathing which comes out of his parted lips in labored huffs against his own heated cheeks. Is there an alteration? Is it different this time?
"--You came to me for penance."
No change in Frank's body signals.
He smells the blood again, an overwhelming iron taste on his tongue, which makes him nearly gag, and he knows it's not Frank's. And suddenly it's so intense, so much, that he understands it's a blend and not from one but from many this time.
"You killed them." Matt whispers and as his voice fades, he grabs Frank's face harder. His sweaty fingers dig into his soft shaved skin until his fingertips go numb. He feels his fingers tremble, his knuckles painfully protrude, as if they weren't his. They are bruising his skin because he wants to hurt him -- for the way he still chooses to handle unjustness. Wants to punch into the nice curve of his high cheekbone till a tooth cracks. Wants to hear those deftly fingers shatter which tend to destroy everything they touch. Because it's the only way he could listen to him.
"Yeah..." Frank admits hoarsely, and tends towards Matt, leans his head into Matt's punishing fingers and embraces them. "I did."
He is grinding so hard onto Matt's body, that it makes him hiss and elicits a groan from Matt's mouth.
"You want me to leave?" His voice is as self-assured as it can only come from a man who already knows the answer.
Frank rolls his hips against his body. His elaborated almost plaintive breathing is filling the air, clouding Matt's senses.
He can't let him go. He won′t let him go. And he knows there's a price he'll have to pay.
Someday.
"Not yet." Matt finally answers with a barely hearable voice.
He's close to come, his limbs warm and cheeks glowing, lower body hot and aching in a tingling sensation. His body dances, stumbling near the edge of salvation, alongside a moment of bliss that won't last much longer than a flicker of an eye. But he takes it gladly.
Defeated, he closes his eyes as he lets his fingers glide down, Frank's blood under his nails, hands empty.
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