ofthespider

Title; In Which Matt Can't Help It
Fandom; Marvel (Spider-Man/Daredevil)
Characters/Pairings; Peter Parker/Matt Murdock
Theme; 15. This is my desperation in action
Rating; R/NC-17
Canon; Directly before In Which Peter Is Confused
Warning(s); Gay sex. Gay sex. Gay sex. SEX, people. Buttsex. ...sex.
Summary; Matt and Peter are chillin' on the couch watching a movie -- for the first few minutes, anyway.

"---oh, no, wait, Matt Damon's a cop, but he's the bad guy with Jack Nicholson and ... he's dating the therapist."

"Jack Nicholson?"

"No, Matt Damon."

"Matt Damon's the therapist?"

"He's Irish."

"...I get it now."

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

Peter rolled his eyes, gently elbowing Matt in the side. "Whatever, everyone dies at the end, anyway. It's like a Shakespearian comedy."

"Tragedy. Like Macbeth."

"I thought Macbeth was a comedy."

"No."

"I thought it was funny."

It was useless, trying to explain a movie to Matt. Why they were watching it in the first place, Peter had no idea. Probably for something to do other than just sit around and drink beer, since ... a couple of guys, sitting around, drinking beer and moping was a lot worse than a couple of guys, sitting around, drinking beer, moping, and laughing at a movie that wasn't supposed to be funny. They were both tired, the explanation of the plot was half hearted, and Peter was making it up as he went along, really.

"You are so full of shit, Pete," Matt said with half of a laugh. They'd both had a long, hard day, and the only reason Peter had been invited over was because they'd tag teamed some new technovillain prowling around the Kitchen.

Peter snorted. "Like you know what Macbeth was about."

"Shut up," Matt groaned like Peter's voice was hurting his head. He really should have been in bed by now, but he hasn't asked Peter to leave yet. Yawning, he stretched, settling back down -- right on Peter's shoulder, resting his head. "What's happening now?"

"Um." Peter stared at Matt for a moment, a little more tense now. He's never gotten that close before, and it makes Peter ... uncomfortable. There's no way Matt could be oblivious to the ever so slight quick beat of his heart.

Calm down. Stop freaking out. He was just being friendly. Just ... being friendly. Of course. And tired. He was tired, and a little bit buzzed. They were both a little bit buzzed. So. Beer and tiredness.

It was nothing.

"DiCaprio and Nicholson are making goopy eyes at each other."

"Really?"

"Would you know the difference?"

"Yes." Matt sounded a little too enthusiastic about it, as if he really wanted Peter to know it. His hand crept up, resting over Peter's heart. "I would feel it."

Peter felt like he couldn't breathe. Jesus, Peter, stop being so gay.

"Oh."

"I would feel it here." Matt shifted his fingers over Peter's shirt. "And ... here."

Lips were against Peter's throat and he froze. It wasn't necessarily a kiss; Matt had his mouth pressed to the pressure point, just under Peter's jaw, the beat of his heart pounding. He swallowed hard, waiting to see what Matt would do.

"I can feel it right here," Matt reiterated, running his tongue over Peter's skin. Peter couldn't smell the beer on his breath, but he wanted to believe that Matt was more drunk than he'd originally thought.

This is too confusing otherwise. And it was a little bit too good to believe otherwise; there was no way that Peter could be having a slight conflict with his sexual orientation the same time Matt chose to kiss his throat. His life didn't work that way.

"Probably can," Peter breathed.

"It's racing."

"I know."

Slowly kissing the skin, Matt pulled back an inch or two, leaning up and pressing his mouth to Peter's temple. "Here, too," he murmured.

Peter turned his head, meaning to ask what the hell Matt was doing, but it was lost somewhere between staring and impulsively leaning up for a hard, desperate kiss. This was wrong, they were both men, but ... God, it felt good, and Peter groaned in relief.

The kisses were hungry, harsh and devoid of any sort of romance. There were moans when Peter sucked on Matt's tongue, moans when Matt pulled Peter closer, moans when he tugged Peter's hair. Graceless, animal moans and they were perfect. They weren't paying attention to what could potentially be too far, Matt biting at Peter's mouth while he pushed a hand down between the other man's legs.

Another desperate groan. Peter rose into Matt's hand, grateful for the friction, concentrating on how good it felt and brushing aside the embarrassment. He had a hard on, because Matt was kissing him -- and now, because Matt was touching him, tugging at his pants, shoving past the clothes, cradling him with his bare hand.

There was a moment where they pulled back, devoid of sound save their staggered panting. Not so much nuzzling as using each other for support. Matt had never touched another man that way before (not to Peter's knowledge), and Peter had never let a man that close to begin with. There was a moment of utter fascination -- and of discomfort. Of 'what the hell are we doing'?

Neither of them moved. Not until Matt breathed, "It's big."

Peter wasn't sure what to say to that. Not that he could manage it if he wanted to.

Matt leaned back in for another hard kiss, muttering, "Let me---" Without waiting for permission, his hand was moving again, trapped between the spandex Peter wore under his clothes and his skin, sweaty hand slipping haphazardly. He earned another moan into his mouth, Peter shifting against Matt's hand, their rhythms just off enough to be clumsy.

They didn't speak again, not while Matt was touching him like that. Matt touched himself, and it was clear he was doing what made him come -- and at the moment, that's definitely enough for Peter, involuntarily bucking, clinging to Matt's shirt. Matt grunted with the effort, whining almost inaudibly when it took longer than Matt expected.

But Matt got what he wanted, and Peter came into his hand with a bitten-back groan. Panting, Peter buried his face into Matt's neck. There was no room to question this; it wasn't worth the answers they would get.

Matt let his hand rest there for a moment, sticky and sweaty and feeling Peter soften. Breathing against Peter's hair, Matt shifted uncomfortably, grunting quietly and pressing up against the other man -- and it wasn't until then that Peter realized Matt was hard, too. As if it hadn't occurred until now.

Hard and against his leg, moving against Peter like he wanted to do more than just grind against his thigh. Peter shifted, reaching down to return the favor, only to have Matt catch his wrist.

Matt opened his mouth, struggling with whatever it was he wanted to say -- and then, eventually, breathy and panting:

"I want to fuck you." Like it was an embarrassing admission, but he was desperate.

And for some reason, Peter didn't find the idea absolutely repulsive. He should have, but he didn't, and there was no good way to articulate that. Pushing up off the couch, torn between fear at the situation and fear at wanting it, he backed away, unable to do much more than stare, even as Matt got up and followed him. Thinking it was some sort of chase.

Maybe it was.

The next few moments were a flurry of movement; crashing back together, they tugged at clothes, Peter's legs still shaking from his orgasm, boxers wet where Matt had wiped his hand off. They were naked before Peter had a moment to think, Matt's hands desperate and harried when he tossed clothes aside, roughly guided Peter to his bedroom, pushed him down onto the bed.

Peter got the feeling that something was missing here, but he let himself be pushed around. Matt's urgency, his obvious need to fuck, was both intimidating and incredibly arousing, and Peter just didn't know how to tell him no.

A hand in Peter's hair to keep him on his hands and knees, Matt kept grinding against the other man's ass, needing the friction; a quiet sucking noise and a needy groan were the only way Peter knew what was going on, the only way he knew Matt was sucking on his own fingers and that this was really happening.

"Matt---!" Peter gasped when he felt Matt's fingers pushing inside him; he couldn't see, he hadn't expected that.

"What?" Matt hissed, hurriedly moving his fingers in and out of Peter instead of taking that as a sign to stop.

Peter whimpered, sucking in short breaths and closing his eyes. Again, he couldn't say no. The part of him that wanted this wouldn't let him. "Forget it," he breathed. "Forget it, go ahead---"

It was all the permission Matt needed before pushing into Peter, guiding his cock with his hand and groaning, almost painfully. There was something missing (something like, oh ... lubricant), and it hurt. It burned, but Peter gritted his teeth while Matt whimpered, thrusting into him like it was a compulsion.

It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't soft or gentle, and at first, it was barely all that good, but neither of them were willing to yeild. It was harsh, helpless fucking, Matt's hand painfully tight in Peter's hair, his other hand digging into the skin of Peter's hip, the slap of skin on skin as loud as the sounds they made even as Matt buried his face into Peter's shoulder.

It only lasted a minute, but it felt like forever, Matt coming hard and whimpering against Peter's back. Panting, the moment was still -- until Matt rolled off onto his back, letting Peter curl up against a pillow.

There was no room for talking. No room for questions. It wasn't worth answers they'd get just yet -- but still, oddly enough, Peter found himself grinning softly. Helplessly.

Because Matt looked pretty damn good like that, eyes closed and panting. Catching his breath because he wanted Peter so bad he couldn't help it.

It was a nice feeling.





<- 3. In Which Peter Is Coping . 5. In Which Peter Is Confused ->