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

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

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.

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No more secrets.

Matt looks visibly uncomfortable--more uncomfortable than being dragged out of the fucking warehouse with a Kama and chain combination.

He wonders if this is fair. Probably not--but he gets a distant looK on his already naturally distant face.

"You said you feel safe when you're in danger. Is that because of your dad?"

It has to be his father. Tim smiles when he mentions his mom.

Tim's smile fades. His heart stutters in his chest, and now he knows that Matt can hear it, too. In retrospect, that's awfully embarrassing. Tim's lost count of how many times Matt's made his heart skip a beat.

This is fair, he supposes. Tit for tat, even if he's not particularly thrilled about it.

"I told you my daddy knocked my mama around. Guess you've probably already guessed he did me, too."

He's never talked about this before. The words feel strange coming out of his mouth. Like he's betraying someone by saying them. Just himself, he supposes.

"Only really started when I was big enough to stand between him and mama. He'd knock me out of the way to get to her. Got worse when I started fightin' back, but I'd've done anything to keep him from layin' a hand on her."

There's more, but the words hesitate on the top of his tongue, unsure of whether or not he wants to continue. He already feels like he's said too much.

Matt's tense again, and his jaw is tight, and his knuckles are white. Hes angry for a second time since he woke up. That can't be healthy. He asked, though. He deserved it.

Tim didn't. Tim didn't deserve his dad carving a path out for him. Matt's dad did, but in a different way--out of love.

Tim may not need protecting, but Matt will sure as fuck do it anyway.

"That's how I decided the law wasn't enough," He says quietly. "There was a little girl three blocks over, her dad used to come into her room at night--a good later or the best policeman in the world couldn't touch it. So I did."

Matt asked. Tim feels the way Matt tenses up, sees the way his knuckles go white. He shifts, leaning to kiss Matt's jaw, to cover the other's hand with his own, all soothing touches that say 'it's okay'.

Its in the past now. Tim's over it, for the most part. Except for the rare occasions he sees his father's anger in Matt. But he's learning how to cope with that, too.

"So you did," Tim murmurs, and in a way, he thinks he's proud. Matt saw injustice and he did something about it. Maybe it wasn't exactly ethical, but Tim can't say he's sad that some piece of shot child molester got the hell beat out of him.

He wants Matt to be safe. But he knows better than to ask the other to stop fighting. That's just how Matt is. That's the person Tim fell in love with.

"I never got that end of it, thankfully." He tips his head down, pressing a kiss to Matt's shoulderblade. He closes his eyes as he continues. "I guess in retrospect, he probably did it to mama. I never saw it, though. Worst it ever got for me was when he caught me kissin' Johnny Sutherland in my truck."

He smiles against Matt's back, like he's remembering a fond moment. The smile is bitter, though, and it bleeds into his voice. "Hit me so hard he gave me a concussion. By the time he was done, I looked like I'd gotten hit by a God damn truck. Missed school for a week. I remember mama tellin' him if he ever did anything like that again, she'd shoot 'em in his sleep. Might be where I got the idea from."

He wanted to kill his father, but he never admitted IT out loud until this moment.

Hearing Tim say it out loud, he's not surprised. Of course. Matt would probably do the same thing. That's the problem with the both of them, maybe. They just don't fucking give up. It's nice to not have to explain himself. Tim doesn't need to, either.

Matt would stop him, but he doesn't blame Tim for thinking it. He's honestly not sure if he'd stop Tim because killing is wrong or because it would fuck Tim up even more.

He lets his hand move up, past him, and he runs his hand through the other's hair.

"It's on the right side," He says softly. "Where he hit you. Right here, there's a small chip."

"And here I thought the bastard didn't leave any lastin' damage."

Tim hums, closing his eyes as Matt's fingers run through his hair. No more secrets. He's never been so open and honest with another person. Its strange. Though not necessarily bad.

He trusts Matt. Even if Matt's given him every reason not to. Tim trusts him.

Tim opens his eyes. He takes Matt's hand, pulls it from his hair so he can twine their fingers together and place a kiss against Matt's knuckles. He remembers how Matt said I love you to him the night before.

"How much of last night so you remember?" he asks softly. "When I found you?"

"You can't tell," Matt reassures. "It's very slight." He'd noticed it while they were having sex, and while it registered he figured it was a childhood injury until now. The thought of someone doing that to their child makes his blood run cold.

Tim asks a question and it'd a very good question, leaving Matt to think.

"I was so sure I'd found Fisk. I ran into someone else, and then...gasoline. I jumped into the water and somehow made it back here. I don't remember you at all. Why?"

Tim presses his lips together, trying to decide how much he wants to say. No more secrets, he remembers. He doesn't know if this counts, but better be safe than sorry. Maybe he just wants a reason to say it.

He presses his face against Matt's back, taking care to avoid any stitches or bruises.

"I came here to talk to you. To apologize, I guess. I missed you. And when I heard you stumblin' around in here, I shot the lock off the door and came in. You looked awful. I could've sworn you weren't gonna make it."

But he did. Matt's here, and Tim's here, and they're okay. Rocky and emotional, but okay. If Tim were ever going to believe in a God, it'd be because of this.

"You told me to call Claire," he says softly. "You told me you loved me."

No more secrets.

A thrill runs up his spine as Matt hears what Tim's saying. He's not surprised he's said it-he's thought it for a while, but he was also fairly certain he was going to die less than 24 hours ago.

That's why, very, very softly, Matt speaks.

"I do," He says slowly. No more secrets--and the two of them care for each other very much. Thats obvious.

"Thank you. For taking care of me."

"I just did what Claire told me to do. She's the reason you're alive. Real miracle worker, that woman."

He wants to hold Matt tight. He wants to snuggle in close and kiss his back and wrap his arms around the other's waist and never let go. But Matt's to fragile right now. Too bruised and broken. So Tim settles for looping an arm around the other's waist, gentle and loose, still pressing his face against Matt's back.

Its fucked up. They're fucked up. But there's nowhere else Tim would rather be.

"I do too, you know," he says, so quietly he's hardly talking at all. "Love you."

Matt hears. Matt hears everything, from the pulse to the scent of sweat and his own blood still on Tim. He senses everything. He loves everything about Tim. All of it.

He's going back out there tonight. Even though an arm loops around him, gentle and perfect. Even though Tim loves him and will probably stop.

For now, though. He's content. Just for now, to be in this moment, though he'd love a cup of warm tea. That's a minor thing. He has Tim.

"You known what I noticed firsr?" He asks suddenly. "What really got me? Your voice."

Edited 2016-09-01 03:24 (UTC)

"Yeah?" Tim smiles against Matt's shoulder, closing his eyes. For a moment, all he does is listen to the other breathe. A miracle, he thinks, given how close Matt was to dying the night before. He decides here and now that he's going to take the next week off of work. So he can be around to take care of Matt. To keep an eye on him.

Tim knows Matt Murdock. He knows the lawyer never seems to quit. No matter what state he's in.

"It's the accent, isn't it?" He tips his head up to speak into Matt's ear. "Gotta thing for that slow southern drawl?"

"Mmmm," is the response, low and appreciative, and he leans his head back. His hand tries to move through tims hair, slow and careful, and lingers on the dent he feels. A reminder of what he's doing: so children don't have to be put through that shit. Just because they're gay doesn't make it right.

"That helped," He says softky, taking a deep breathe. He can feel it, hear how it rattles, and realizes Tim probably can, too, this close.

"It's something else. I think it's the pitch, or something like that. But when you speak, it's like electricity."

Matt's all beat up, barely held together with stitches and bandages, but he's still hot as hell. He still has firm, hard packed muscles along his abdomen, still has the best ass Tim has ever seen, still has a jawline that drives Tim wild. And it's been awhile, Tim knows, since they've done anything sexual, thanks to their week of fighting.

But Matt inhales, and his ribs rattle in his chest, and Tim knows that anything even remotely active is out of the question right now. That's okay. He just wants Matt to get better. Everything else can wait.

Still. It's hard to resist kissing Matt's jaw, and then the side of his neck, inhaling the other's scent. Sweat and blood and the faint scent of lingering aftershave. "So my voice turns you on. I'll have to remember that."

"I was going for something a little more thoughtful, but that's the truth, too." He laughs. He laughs and it hurts, and Matt is suddenly aware that Tim hasn't slept. That coffee has to be wearing out, too.

...and if he's being honest, he wants to go back out again. No--not wants to. Has to.

"You sound exhausted, speaking of. You haven't slept--I'm fine now, Tim. You should rest."

"Sorry," Tim murmurs against Matt's neck, though he doesn't sound very sorry. "One track mind."

Tim's exhausted. He hasn't slept all night, running on fumes and coffee and sheer willpower. And the high of their argument, though that's long gone, too. Now they're okay, and Matt's okay, and Tim's well aware that he could use some sleep. But that doesn't mean he wants to. He'd rather stay up and keep an eye on Matt.

"I don't wanna rest," he says, and actually shifts to fish his phone out of his pocket. "I was supposed to call Claire when you woke up, anyway. She wants to come over and talk to you. Give you a stern talkin' to, I reckon."

"If it's going to be anything like ours, I'm not ready," Matt says bluntly, and he nestles further into the other's grip.

His hand finds the other's wrist, stopping him, and he's not quick but it shouldn't be that easy for a blind man.

"I'm fine now, Tim. Really."

"Little different, I bet. More don't-rip-these-stitches and less no-more-secrets."

Matt's fingers wrap around Tim's wrist, and Tim blinks at it for a second. That happened easier than it should have, he thinks. At least, if Matt were a regularly blind man. Suddenly, he realizes that all the time he's offered Matt his elbow when they walked, and all the times he's made sure glasses and plates and things have touched Matt's hand so he knew where they were, were all probably pointless gestures.

"Besides, if I don't call her, she's gonna give me a stern talkin' to, and I'm not ready for that, either."

It's a good point. Matt sighs, and it's the universal sigh of someone who knows he's wrong but hates that the other person is right.

"Fine," He says quietly. "But at least, after this, use my bed. You're exhausted, and it's not healthy."

Hypocrite. Matt let's his hand drop, and he leans closer.

"I had him," He says suddenly. "I almost had Fisk."

Tim kisses Matt's jaw again, a silent and appreciative thank you. More than almost anything else, he's glad they're okay again. Of course, the fact that Matt's alive is what he's most relieved about. But the fact that they're not fighting, instead cuddling on the couch, enjoying each other's warmth and comfort — that's pretty damn high up there, too.

He gets his phone out of his pocket, shooting Claire a quick text that Matt's awake, in pain but seems to be fine. She tells him she'll stop by in a few, on her way to her next shift.

Tim puts his phone on silent and sets it aside. He's not going to let himself be interrupted by work today. Today's about taking care of Matt. And catching up on sleep. Matt's right -- he needs it.

"You'll get him next time," Tim murmurs. "When you're better."

"Next time--when he sets fire to hells kitchen again?" Matt isn't aware of his moodswinging, suddenly, and he's not mad at Tim in the least. It's at himself. He's frustrated.

"Or when another gang takes the russians' place and I start all over? I can't wait until I'm better, Tim."

But he's making no move to get up. It's normal anger, nothing like the Murdock temper. Nothing like their row.

Tim knows that Matt isn't angry at him. Angry in general, maybe. Angry at himself. Tim doesn't take it personally. He's more than used to the many shades of the other's anger to do that anymore. Sometimes, he thinks Matt's probably always angry, and that he's just very, very good at hiding it.

His mouth is still against Matt's jaw, but his hand moves to the other side of the lawyer's face, palm flattening against his cheek and pressing gently so he can look at the other's face. Those sightless eyes, the butterfly stitches holding together a gash above his eyebrow, the purple bruise blooming over his cheekbone. Beautiful, even when beaten all to hell.

"And you can't go fight the bad guys when you can hardly sit up straight. I'm not askin' you to stop, Matt. Just askin' you not to be an idiot." He brushes his thumb lightly across Matt's lips. "And askin' you to come home to me. Alive."

Matt closes his eyes as Tim places a hand on his face and he leans into it as best as he can, expelling the frustration via a long, low breath. As usual, tim's right. Tim is right and Matt is being unreasonably emotional.

"You, too. It's dangerous out there."

Another heaving sigh, Matt's eyes still closed. He's very well aware of the fact that Tim has an incredibly dangerous job. He's also aware of how much corruption is in the cops. Not tim, though. Never Tim.

"Did you have anyone a say that to you before you shipped off? 'Stay alive?'"

Matt closes his eyes, but Tim continues to look at him, gaze tracing every inch of his face. Everything he's already memorized, and wants to rememorize, maybe for the rest of his life. The stubble on Matt's jaw, the shape of his mouth, the part in his hair. Tim's in love with all of it, every single aspect that makes up Matt Murdock. Even the fact that he's a vigilante by night.

He continues tracing Matt's mouth and jaw and cheek with the tips of his fingers, light and gentle and avoiding all bruises and gashes that are there. He's never been so in love. And he doesn't think he'll ever be in love like this again. Matt might very well be it for him.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "My ma did. Told me if I didn't come back alive, she'd never forgive me. I ain't ever seen that woman cry, but she did when I got back from my final deployment and told her I was stayin'."

"That's nice," He states, and it's hard to tell if he means the touches or the story. He wishes he had a mom like tim's. He can't remember a damn thing about her, save the picture he's got stowed away with his father's boxing robe.

"You're lucky you have her," He says softly, and for a moment, it sounds like he's going to sleep.

That's when he speaks again: "one day, you should bring her up here. I'd love to meet her."

No fuck now I have to

No fuck you stop that

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