[These night between them, they are a mirror of their paths across the rooftops of New York. They never start gently. Maybe that's Frank - maybe Murdock would have it different but Frank can't, won't. Doesn't want to know if the man yearns to listen to his angels instead of his demons in times like these.
So his mouth pushes Murdock's, his body angles to hem him in against the sharp line of the counter, knowing how easily the tables could be flipped. His fingertips curl into the neat, short hairs at the nape of Murdock's neck and pull as their bodies find a way to fit roughly together and Frank leans into that friction he always feels in the Devil's presence, giving it rein to spark toward an inferno.]
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So his mouth pushes Murdock's, his body angles to hem him in against the sharp line of the counter, knowing how easily the tables could be flipped. His fingertips curl into the neat, short hairs at the nape of Murdock's neck and pull as their bodies find a way to fit roughly together and Frank leans into that friction he always feels in the Devil's presence, giving it rein to spark toward an inferno.]