There was a time when I was good, but there are witches in the woods.

[blindfighter]

It's around 630 when Matt stops pretending to be asleep.

Though that's a lie, just a tad--Matt has slept. On and off, on his silk sheets and curled up naked with another man in what feels like forever. It's nice, and for a few hours it lasts. It really and truly lasts, and Matt can hear the steady beating of Tim's heart. He can hear every creak as his bones adjust, can still smell scotch and bourbon as he exhales in his sleep. It's not the kind that's overwhelming, it's natural and in a way comforting.

But it's still another person and Matt Murdock is used to being alone. He's used to not getting close.

He's used to one night stands and relationships that barely last a month, if that. He's used to Foggy clapping him on the shoulder and telling him there'll be more.

He's used to going to their place. This is the first time he's brought someone home.

Someone here.

He's brought people over, but not for a one night stand. This is a different circumstance in many ways--mostly that they're going to see each other again. They're going to pass each other in the courtrooms even if they're not going to actively see each other although, if Matt's being honest, he does want to. It had been one of the best lays in a while.

And that's how, at exactly 6:40 in the morning, Matt Murdock decides he can't get used to it just yet. So instead, he gets to work. Turns the alarm off to let Tim sleep in, gets half-dressed (socks, slacks and a dress shirt, the first few buttons undone and the collar a little rumpled), and is in the kitchen. He gets to work.

If this is a one-night stand with special circumstances, he may as well make breakfast. That includes half a grapefruit for each of them, fresh fruit, and Matt himself is in the middle of cooking up some of the bacon and eggs. Simple and scrambled, but if there's one thing Matt can do better than most thanks to his olfactory senses being heightened, it's cook.

Comments

[comfortablyerect]

Tim honestly didn't mean to stay the night.

It's a thing — he never sleeps over. He never brings people home to his place, because it's easier to leave afterwards than to kick somebody out, and he never sleeps over. It's a preventative measure. He has nightmares frequently, sometimes even when he drinks more than he should. They're nightmares that leave him gasping and shaking long after he wakes up from them. They're nightmares that leave him needing another drink.

They're not easy to explain, and he doesn't like talking about them.

So, normally, he leaves shortly after the sex, preferably before the cuddling, usually defaulting to the 'work the next morning' excuse, because it's never untrue. And it's usually not a problem. One night stands don't tend to give a shit after they get off. It works out well.

He means to do the same thing with Matt, but he's had a lot to drink, and he's warm and comfortable in Matt's bed. Neither of those things have been deciding factors before, and they're not now. The deciding factor is Matt himself. Tim likes his company, likes him, more than he ought to, so when Matt doesn't kick him out, he doesn't leave, and they both fall sleep.

Miraculously, Tim doesn't have any nightmares. He doesn't dream at all. It's peaceful and quiet and he's even surprised to wake up to sunlight pouring in through curtainless windows, his phone citing a time that's past his normal wake-up time. Matt's gone, but Tim can hear and smell the bacon frying, so he rolls out of bed.

His head hurts, a little bit, and he feels generally achy. But it's the kind of ache that comes from really good sex, so he's okay with that. A cup of coffee might be in order. Preferably with a little bourbon, but he could manage without. He pulls on his jeans, opting to deal with the rest of the getting dressed process after he's had some caffeine and food, and pads out of the bedroom, stretching and squinting at the sunlight coming through the windows.

"I 'spose your lack of curtains usually doesn't bother you in the mornin',"

[comfortablyerect]

Matt says he's busy tonight, promising to take him out to lunch the next day all in the same breath. Work things, he says, even though Tim's pretty sure they haven't had a client in weeks. Still. Matt's busy, and while Tim isn't overtly clingy, he doesn't exactly feel like being alone tonight. So he goes out, finds a bar that he doesn't like quite as much as Josie's, but that has plenty of good-looking guys to choose from. It suits his needs, even if it's missing a leaky roof and stale bar peanuts.

(He's not sure when he became so fond of the shitty little bar in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Probably around the time he became so fond of Matt Murdock.)

He's not at the bar long before a man approaches. Tall, long legs and a strong jaw and biceps barely covered by a thin t-shirt. He smiles and offers to buy Tim a drink, and Tim smirks and accepts. The talk is polite, nothing more than a formality. Tim reveals that he's a marshal and the guy, Brian, reveals that he's a personal trainer, and the entire conversation is hand with the other's hand on Tim's knee.

The guy's hot, but Tim finds himself stalling. Buying them both a second round, and then a third round, letting him flirt and work for it. Usually, Tim's much easier than this, ready to go half a drink in. His heart's not in it tonight. All he can seem to think about is how Matt has a realer smile and nicer hands and a better ass. But then Brian finally asks him if he wants to get out of here, and Tim says yes on reflex. He's sure that as soon as they're getting undressed, he'll forget all about Matt.

They start to leave, Brian's hand against Tim's lower back. It wanders down to his ass once they're out the door, ready to get a little handsy before they're even out of the parking lot. This is where Tim should be reciprocating, but instead, he finds himself shifting away. It's not Matt's hands feeling him up in a rainy parking lot, and he's just not fucking into it.

He's into Matt. He's into their rough sex on the couch because they can't seem to make it all the way to the bedroom. He's into falling asleep between silk sheets, waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon. He's into Matt bringing him coffee in the middle of the day and Tim bringing him lunch in return. He's into Matt's laugh and his wide eyes and all those rough, unrefined edges beneath the polished lawyer look he upholds so well. He's so into Matt that the idea of being beneath a stranger tonight sounds entirely unappealing to him.

He's in love, honestly. And he can't stand the idea of keeping on the way they have been. It's possible this will ruin it. But he's had just enough to drink to remain hopeful. And to have the courage to do it anyway.

Brain looks confused, then annoyed as Tim excuses himself, giving a vague excuse of forgetting to do something before making his exit. He walks, despite the chill and the rain, because driving probably isn't a good idea, and Hell's Kitchen isn't terribly big. Matt's apartment is six blocks down, two blocks over, and Tim's beginning to learn the city enough that he shortcuts through a couple of alleys without getting lost. He's not so drunk that he has to concentrate too much on the staircase, and it isn't long before he's outside Matt's door and knocking, whether or not Matt's busy.

He's dripping wet and his heart's hammering so hard in his chest that it hurts, and this is probably the stupidest idea ever. But it's too late to back out, and besides. He doesn't even want to.

[comfortablyerect]

Three weeks.

That's how long they manage to hold onto their perfect, happy bliss. Evenings spent listening to documentaries and making out on the couch, Matt making dinner and Tim pouring drinks. Eventually, they wander off to bed, where they fuck hard and rough before falling asleep curled up with each other. Sometimes, they'll even spend the night with Foggy and Karen at Josie's, and those are the nights they get so drunk that they end up stumbling home laughing, much like they did the first night they slept together.

Of course, it's not every night. Sometimes Tim has to work late, or Matt has to work late, in which case they'll try to meet up for coffee or lunch the following day. Sometimes, they can only get a quick text or two to each other, they're so busy. But it's still good. They still make it work.

In this case, Matt was working late the night before, prepping for a big case he had in the coming week. And when Tim stops by the office the next day to bring him lunch, a surprise this time, instead of with the usual text he tends to send beforehand, Foggy frowns and tips his head and says, "He stayed home today. Said he wasn't feeling very well. I thought he would've told you."

Yes, Tim thought Matt would've told him, too.

If he had to guess, Matt's probably just a little roughed up from whatever secret fight club he's involved with. Something they'll have to talk about eventually, but Tim's not ready to yet. Things are still too perfect to let himself ruin them.

He stops off at Matt's place, then, a box of pizza from a local joint in hand. Though, he had briefly considered getting takeout from somewhere and doing hot soup, instead. Not homemade, but still nice enough. He doesn't, though, if only because pizza makes good comfort food, too.

With his free hand, he knocks on the door and waits.

[blindfighter]

The jostling is enough. He rouses himself from unconsciousness, /forcing/ himself to wake up. It's not sheer adrenaline. It's sheer willpower.

He coughs, and when he does its blood. It's a sickening burble, something he might even choke on except his body violently tries to move to the side. He can't make it.

Matt Murdock, sightless, is in the same suit belonging to the devil of hells kitchen. The mask is pried off at least and Matt, hand shooting up, knows it's Tim. He can't think. He can't say anything, gloved hand on Tim's face.

"Claire," He breathes, "call--call Clare."