[Seek peace in the moments when the din is quieted and the world can go silent. Frank would say that's exactly why he does what he does. He pulls that trigger and the voices stop. Retribution gives him that.
But funny enough, so does this. Murdock's body against his, callused fingers scraping at his skin, his body, made lean and deceptive by those nice suits, taking up the space it's due. Frank pushes the man back over the counter just enough so that his other hand can palm a back and feel the arch of a spine before sliding down to fist into a cotton hem. It's a struggle, getting himself to back off enough to try and strip Murdock from the waist up.]
Right now, Matt isn't listening for a distant shout of pain or distress. He's not seeking out the sounds of a world to fight against. His focus is just on the sound of Frank's breathing and his heartbeat.
He breaks the kiss long enough to help Frank tug the old t-shirt up over his head to be tossed haphazardly onto the floor. There are new bruises on his ribs and shoulder but that's not unusual. He probably wouldn't be Matt Murdock if he didn't carry some wound of war and he doesn't let it bother him. They will mingle with the litany of scars and be forgotten like all of the other strikes that he wears. His mouth returns to Frank's as soon as the fabric is gone, crushing and eager.
[Later Frank might stop to catalogue Murdock's new scars. Later. Right now the man's mouth is back on his, hot and insistent, and that's all he gives a good goddamn about. The edge of teeth. The burn of facial hair.
Frank grabs Murdock's hips and sinks fingers in, giving the man a shove back against the counter only to drag him forward again. Pulling him in close. He bites, too-soft, at a lower lip before bumping his forehead against the other's and stepping back, breath a little too loud. Frank turns away, scraping himself out of his hoodie and throwing it over the back of the couch as he heads across hardwood toward the bedroom. His tee-shirt is likewise stripped and discarded as he walks, the motions perfunctory, efficient; blind men don't need strip teases.] C'mon, Red. Let's see what all this thread-count fuss is about, huh?
[The separation from the countertop and where it was digging into his hip is welcomed and he takes a step forward after the nip at his lower lip that breaks the kiss to start the shedding of clothing on the way to the bedroom. Matt doesn't give it much thought how items just get tossed onto his floor from Frank; the less between them, the better. He smirks at the comment about his thread count sheets and he knows that, even if Frank will never admit it, he doesn't mind the little luxuries that Matt Murdock brings into his life on the periphery of it. Good coffee, a soft bed, and then...whatever this is. Whatever label this strange intimacy takes on.
In the threshold of the bedroom, Matt wraps his arm around Frank's neck to pull him into a hard kiss while he backs them up against the bed so they can tumble back on the mattress. It's less graceful than what he's known for in a tangle of limbs but it's the thought that counts.]
What do you think so far?
I tried out "Murdock" but I hate it lol. "Red" just sounds more natural.
Frank still isn't sure when they became this - Red's mouth rough against his, his hands too-fuckin-sure on Frank's body; there wasn't some pound of flesh point in time, just a death by a thousand cuts. Frank isn't gonna lie, the natural antagonism between them always got him going. It's easy with Red, even when it's hard.
The bed... yeah, the bed's nice. Frank's muscle catches them in their fall back, lending some control to the tumble, but. It's Red lack of control that he likes. That he likes being the spark for. His hands push down the jagged topography of the man's sides, dig fingers into the corded muscles of his lower back before moving on to span the curve of ass through thin cotton.] Think maybe some people might actually know what they're talking about. [His hands squeeze as his head falls back to the bed.] As far as the sheets go, well, can't make a say without further testing.
[The way Matt figures it, it was either kill each other or end up in bed together and the latter seemed like the better option. They argue and fight like cats and dogs because of an incompatible ideology that seems to get left at the door in moments like these.
Frank's rough fingers digging into his skin force a gasp against the kiss and the grab at his ass through his pajamas has his full attention. He reaches down to start to tug them off to add to the ever growing pile of clothing scattered around his floor. He likes the sensation of the rough fabric of Frank's pants against his bare thighs when he pulls off the pajamas and he kisses Frank fiercely in response both to the grabbing of his ass and the remark about his sheets.] I think deep down, you're just as prissy as you tell me I am. [Those would probably be fighting words if not said with an easy smile and punctuated with another rough kiss.]
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But funny enough, so does this. Murdock's body against his, callused fingers scraping at his skin, his body, made lean and deceptive by those nice suits, taking up the space it's due. Frank pushes the man back over the counter just enough so that his other hand can palm a back and feel the arch of a spine before sliding down to fist into a cotton hem. It's a struggle, getting himself to back off enough to try and strip Murdock from the waist up.]
no subject
He breaks the kiss long enough to help Frank tug the old t-shirt up over his head to be tossed haphazardly onto the floor. There are new bruises on his ribs and shoulder but that's not unusual. He probably wouldn't be Matt Murdock if he didn't carry some wound of war and he doesn't let it bother him. They will mingle with the litany of scars and be forgotten like all of the other strikes that he wears. His mouth returns to Frank's as soon as the fabric is gone, crushing and eager.
no subject
Frank grabs Murdock's hips and sinks fingers in, giving the man a shove back against the counter only to drag him forward again. Pulling him in close. He bites, too-soft, at a lower lip before bumping his forehead against the other's and stepping back, breath a little too loud. Frank turns away, scraping himself out of his hoodie and throwing it over the back of the couch as he heads across hardwood toward the bedroom. His tee-shirt is likewise stripped and discarded as he walks, the motions perfunctory, efficient; blind men don't need strip teases.] C'mon, Red. Let's see what all this thread-count fuss is about, huh?
no subject
In the threshold of the bedroom, Matt wraps his arm around Frank's neck to pull him into a hard kiss while he backs them up against the bed so they can tumble back on the mattress. It's less graceful than what he's known for in a tangle of limbs but it's the thought that counts.]
What do you think so far?
I tried out "Murdock" but I hate it lol. "Red" just sounds more natural.
Frank still isn't sure when they became this - Red's mouth rough against his, his hands too-fuckin-sure on Frank's body; there wasn't some pound of flesh point in time, just a death by a thousand cuts. Frank isn't gonna lie, the natural antagonism between them always got him going. It's easy with Red, even when it's hard.
The bed... yeah, the bed's nice. Frank's muscle catches them in their fall back, lending some control to the tumble, but. It's Red lack of control that he likes. That he likes being the spark for. His hands push down the jagged topography of the man's sides, dig fingers into the corded muscles of his lower back before moving on to span the curve of ass through thin cotton.] Think maybe some people might actually know what they're talking about. [His hands squeeze as his head falls back to the bed.] As far as the sheets go, well, can't make a say without further testing.
He will always be "Red" to Frank
Frank's rough fingers digging into his skin force a gasp against the kiss and the grab at his ass through his pajamas has his full attention. He reaches down to start to tug them off to add to the ever growing pile of clothing scattered around his floor. He likes the sensation of the rough fabric of Frank's pants against his bare thighs when he pulls off the pajamas and he kisses Frank fiercely in response both to the grabbing of his ass and the remark about his sheets.] I think deep down, you're just as prissy as you tell me I am. [Those would probably be fighting words if not said with an easy smile and punctuated with another rough kiss.]