ofthespider

Title; In Which Peter Makes It Easy To Imagine
Fandom; Marvel (Spider-Man/Daredevil)
Characters/Pairings; Peter Parker/Matt Murdock
Theme; 09. Always wondered what this'd be like.
Rating; Light R
Canon; A week or two after In Which Nothing Gets Done
Warning(s); Man!kissing and slightly explicit thoughts on Matt's part.
Summary; Peter invites Matt to stay the night rather than having to go all the way home. He offers Matt his bed and takes the couch, and Matt decides to share the couch instead. Written in three small sections with timeskips of a few hours in between; the second two parts are from Matt's perspective, with an Aunt May cameo at the end.
Notes; All this is turning into one storyline, so there's a little index here underneath the table if you'd rather read in order. :D


Peter only vaguely remembered the last time Matt had been in his apartment. And he'd never come back as Daredevil before. As Matt rarely left the Kitchen, it stood to reason that Peter tended to go to his place when they met up instead.

They still hadn't talked about what had happened. Two weeks later, and Peter kept avoiding the subject. While Matt seemed content to let it happen, Peter was struggling, trying to decide how comfortable he felt knowing he'd actually slept with Matt. Still stuck back there, he was having a hard time pulling himself into the present.

But they didn't run in to each other much, and tonight, Matt had tracked a murderer into Mahattan---and had run into Peter on the trail. They'd found him and turned him over to the police, but not before shooting Matt in the arm.

So Peter had dared to bring Matt home. He wouldn't make it all the way back to Clinton with that arm, and Queens was just over the bridge. He'd largely ignored his embarrassment at his dirty apartment, sitting up on the counter in the tiny kitchen to bandage Matt's arm.

"Thanks," Matt grunted, flexing his arm when Peter was finished.

"Sure. Didn't want you to lose your arm."

Peter watched Matt carefully, letting the foot that hung over the edge of the counter swing a little bit. The top half of his suit and his mask were on the other side of the sink, abandoned to give Peter a better look at the wound on Matt's arm. The scars that spread over Matt's body like badly placed tattoos looked oddly pale in the bad lighting of the kitchen---a reminder that Matt was really only human, no matter how supernatural he seemed when he fought.

For a second, his hand twitched up, like he wanted to reach out, move a stray red hair out of Matt's eye, catching himself and pushing back his own hair instead. Stop it, Peter.

"Should get going," Matt muttered, sliding his hand along the counter until his fingers found the dirty leather of the suit.

"Probably." Peter shifted, pushing himself off the counter and going for the door. The place was a mess, which was part of the reason Matt rarely came around. He tripped over things, ran into tables. It was not a great place for a blind guy.

But he paused, turning to see Matt separating his glove from cowl.

"You don't have to."

"Don't have to what?" Matt raised his head, and Peter would swear he looked a little hopeful. Matt rarely censored his facial expressions, if ever. He'd probably just forgotten how.

"Leave. You don't have to go if you don't want to. You can have my bed, I'll take the couch. It's late." He'd always wondered what it would be like if Matt stayed over at his place for a change, anyway. "I have extra sweats and a shirt, if you want something else to wear. You know, instead of chilling out in bondage leather all night."

Bondage leather? Good going, Peter. Bondage. Nice, great, now Matt thinks you're a freak.

But Matt chuckled, nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

Matt had taken Peter up on his offer. Not because he'd been too tired to go home, not because he liked Queens. Queens sounded completely different, and the new noises would make it hard to sleep.

No, Matt took Peter up on the offer because Peter had offered his bed. Not with Peter in it (which would have been ideal), but it was still his bed. While Peter settled down on the couch out in the living room, Matt was wrapping Peter's covers around himself, ignoring the possibility of sleep in favor of breathing in the scent of the comforter. Wrapped in Peter's blankets, laying on his pillow, wearing his clothes----if he listened carefully to Peter's heartbeat, it was almost like being in bed with him.

He felt guilty, listening to Peter so closely, taking advantage of him just to be near his scent. Peter shifted often on the couch, restless, dozing off for minutes at a time before having to roll over again, sucking in his breath in a nearly inaudible gasp when he would wake back up. He'd thrown on a shirt, though Matt suspected he either tended to sleep in pants or his underwear, from the way he tugged on it uncomfortably when he moved. His heartbeat was slow---an athlete's heartbeat, steady and low and strong---and when he shifted onto his back, he curled his legs up, pushing his sock off one foot with the other and kicking it to the floor. Matt listened to all of it with his face pressed into Peter's covers, guilty that he was listening, guilty that he felt he had to, guilty that he would want to.

They hadn't talked about what had happened between them, and it was driving Matt insane. There was something about Peter that made him want to be around, and Peter seemed content to just avoid it after that one kiss that had knocked Matt off balance. He was a new obsession, a new distraction, and when he was drowning in Peter's scent, he didn't have room to think of anybody else.

After listening to Peter toss and turn for an hour and a half, Matt pushed himself to sit up. Hesitated before climbing out of bed, tugging idly at the borrowed pants----the only pair Peter had that was too long for him and would fit Matt. He was silent, slipping out into the hallway, stopping in his tracks when he heard Peter shift onto his back with an uncomfortable grunt. Like he was afraid to get caught, holding his breath until Peter settled again.

Padding his way to the couch, Matt crouched down---and for a moment, he just listened, listened to Peter's heartbeat, to his breathing. He slept with his mouth slightly open without snoring, the scent of mint toothpaste still on his breath. He knew the moment Peter fell in to his uneasy sleep, and to hear Peter so completely relaxed drew him in.

Matt brushed his fingers over Peter's cheek, over a thin scar that Peter probably didn't even know existed. New skin, healing over from a cut Peter had probably dismissed, too thin and faded for Peter to see or feel himself. His fingers trailed down to his chin, feather light up to his mouth. Peter's lips were dry, healing over from a blow to the mouth that must have happened recently, an area of tough, new skin on the left side of his lips; he swallowed reflexively, pressing his lips together in his sleep, tongue sliding easily over his mouth before he shifted again, tightening his grip on his blanket.

Resting his fingers beside Peter's lips, Matt hesitated before leaning forward, gently tracing the path of his fingers with his mouth, barely kissing his cheek, his chin, pausing over Peter's mouth before gently kissing that, too. Just resting there, letting his fingers trail down and lay against the strong pulse at Peter's neck.

A second later, Peter's mouth opened in a small, newly-awakened gasp; Matt pulled back just enough to let Peter breathe, not having it in him to pull back entirely, inhaling the fading scent of mint. A strong hand gripped his arm reflexively, as if to push him back, and Matt reached over to take Peter's hand, rather than backing off.

"Matt...?"

"Mm." He kissed again, his lips against the thin scar on Peter's cheek. He felt Peter tense up without pushing him off---and then Peter's hand relaxed, letting Matt pull it off his arm, moving away from his cheek and kissing his wrist, running his mouth over the light imprint from the webshooters constantly pressing into his skin. Matt shuddered lightly when Peter touched his forehead, hands chilled from the air conditioning that had shut itself off half an hour ago.

And then Peter pulled his hand away, Matt following the motion with his mouth until he dropped his hand back down on his stomach.

"Matt---"

"I won't hurt you," Matt breathed, like he was asking for permission. Like it was one of Peter's silent concerns. Soft. Honest. He leaned in again for an experimental kiss to Peter's mouth, afraid that Peter would push him away again until he felt him kissing back, gentle and a little hesitant.

Peter's mouth was warm, warmer still compared to Peter's hand, cold against his cheek. The slight shock of the cold touch against his skin made Matt groan quietly, pressing in. Gently touching Peter's lips with his tongue and groaning again when the other man's mouth opened with a rush of warm breath.

Peter's hesitance was slowly drifting away, inciting another little moan when he caught Matt's tongue, gently sucking, languid and slow. Matt trailed his fingers up Peter's cheek, over his temple, thumb sliding up the bridge of his nose, eyes closing under Matt's hand with a short, soft moan.

Keeping the kiss, Matt shifted, slowly crawling up onto the couch over Peter, groaning into his mouth and gripping the couch cushion and resting on Peter's hips. He felt another little wave of guilt, imagining Peter's mouth on a certain other part, kissing harder to keep from pulling back and articulating it. He shuddered when Peter shifted under him, cradling Matt's hips between his legs for comfort and resting his arms around Matt's waist.

It was easy, laying over him and slowly kissing, for Matt to imagine curling up in Peter's bed, gently pushing him down. Easy to think of Peter's mouth on his cock instead of his tongue, lazy and soft and warm, smelling Peter on the bed, listening to his heart beat and the quiet, wet sound of Peter's mouth moving over him. Easy to want to drown in his scent and his skin---in everything that was Peter Parker.

Peter dozed off long before he did, soothed to sleep by the gentle kisses and warm weight of Matt resting on him. Matt settled when he realized Peter had drifted off, settling down with his ear pressing to the left side of Peter's chest, and finally---finally---lulled to rest by the sound of his heartbeat.

* * *

The morning came too fast. Matt was up long before Peter, woken by the neighbor downstairs dropping a pan by accident. He'd shifted just slightly, careful not to wake Peter, pressing his other ear to Peter's heart instead.

He'd just drifted off again when he heard a key in the lock. Pushing himself up, Matt honed in on the new heartbeat, frowned; the heartbeat was definitely familiar, old, and came with the faint scent of lilac perfume and peppermint hand cream, but he couldn't quite place it. He was halfway through climbing off Peter without waking him up when the door opened; Matt twisted on reflex, not quite 'looking' in the woman's direction.

She stopped, heart skipping a beat.

"Oh."

It must have been Peter's aunt, and Matt immediately felt his face go red as he pushed himself to a stand, knowing how it must have looked to her, some strange man on top of her nephew. Or ... not so strange. They'd met before, briefly. He'd given her legal advice, had helped a friend of hers survive a trial with a decent lawyer. Still, it was hardly enough to lessen the sense of shock that he was in Peter's apartment.

The silence stretched between them, May staring, no doubt, before turning to close the door one-handed. From the scent of detergent and clean clothes near her body, she'd come with a basket of laundry. And Peter, still fast asleep, tugged the blanket up and turned into the back of the couch.

Matt was the one to break the silence with a quiet, "Hi."

"Hello." May swallowed hard before moving to set the laundry down behind the arm chair. Matt tensed---and was surprised when May approached him.

Or seemed to. She walked right past Matt to crouch down by Peter, laying a hand over his forehead for a moment before pulling back. "Did you do this?" she asked quietly.

"Do what?" She probably thought Matt had drugged him or something. Shit.

"Make him sleep like this." Matt could hear her brushing Peter's hair back and tucking the blanket more securely around him.

Matt shrugged. "I suppose."

"Peter doesn't sleep very well," she breathed, moving to pick up the sock Peter had dropped on the floor. Matt opened his mouth, and she must have seen it, because she added, quickly, "I have questions. Later. Tell him to call me when he gets up." Her voice was skeptical, a little disappointed, but ultimately very warm. It was easy to imagine Peter fawning over her, and Matt envied how easily she moved around him, tucking him in, picking up and dropping off his laundry like that.

"Yes, ma'am."

Gently touching his shoulder as she headed back to the door, Matt could swear he heard May smiling when she replied, "Good boy."




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