aheroliveshere | [for man_without

It takes her a moment to register all the other scars, she's so focused on the fact that he's actually bleeding from a fresh (is that a gunshot?) wound. Once she's cleaned it, replaced the dressing, and taped it up again, only then do all the rest come into focus.

Her hands smooth down the last strip of tape, and then, slowly wander over his torso. Over his chest and back, reading his story in his own personal braille. It's clear to see some of the wounds healed years before, and others overlap them, more recent. Some are still red from healing, others gone silvery with age.

She's quiet for the entire time, her breath shuddering in her chest. Maybe he can smell the tears that have sprung to her eyes.

When she doesn't reply he gives up for the now, allowing her to work and letting silence fall between them.

He tenses for a moment when her hands start to wander, but he doesn't stop her. Bullets, blades, and everything else, his body is a road map of the path he's been traveling. There are memory flashes attached to every bumpy knot of skin her fingers pass over and he's glad she cannot see them.

She sees enough, though, and when the scent of saltwater hits the air he lifts a hand to take hers, holding it in place against his skin.

"I'm sorry." For tonight. For right now. For is inability to tell her the truth or explain any of it.

The gears are already turning in her head, deep beneath the tumult of emotions. Rage that someone would do this to him, rage that he'd suffer this alone. Fucking Catholic guilt had destroyed so much in her life, to see its marks left so brazenly on Matt's flesh made old memories twist in her gut. She isn't ready to say it out loud, not yet. It's his secret to keep or reveal.

But he's here, saying the words, and she'd wanted this, wanted to get close to him. And like he said, it isn't like she doesn't have her own ghosts, her own dark secrets that she'd tried to forget. This is something -- dark and powerful. And right now, she isn't sure she wants to understand.

She just wants him to know she's here for him. She bends her head deep, the ends of her hair brushing his arm as she presses a soft kiss to the peak of his shoulder. Her eyes close and she lingers there, in his scent, in his warmth.

"It's okay," she whispers. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm fine," he repeats, and it's true. The wound will heal and it's certainly not the worst he's ever dealt with.

The truth of that alone is maybe proof that things aren't okay.

He can't deal with that now, though. Examinations like that are for later (or never). Right now he just wants to piece back together what he can of this evening and hopefully save whatever tonight was supposed to be the start of.

Releasing her hand he reaches up to touch her cheek, fingertips glancing along her jawline gently.

"Karen I-- I really do care about you."

She turns her cheek into that touch, nuzzling the inside of his wrist.

"I know you do." She presses another kiss to his skin, her eyes falling closed. Her voice drops to the barest whisper. "Promise me, Matt. Promise me no more lies."

Behind his glasses his eyes close and inwardly he frowns.

He knows his word is the only thing that's going to keep this relationship moving forward. He also knows he can't give her full truths.

He won't let go, not now, and so he nods in agreement.

"No more lies," he promises.

Her hand covers the back of his, and she presses her cheek against his palm. A moment later, she lets slip a heavy sigh. Maybe it's relief. Maybe it's just that moment after a fight, when all the rage finally bleeds away. Either way, her breath feathers against his wrist, and he can feel the shuddering release of tension.

"I never expected this to be perfect," she says, her voice still pitched low. "I honestly never thought you'd..."

Her voice trails off, and she grips him just a little tighter.

He feels that shudder and raises his other hand, placing it on her back between her shoulder blades, smoothing his palm along the space there.

"Never thought I'd what?" he prompts.

She laughs, the sound nothing more than a breath.

"You're a lawyer. I'm your secretary. Could it get any more cliche than that?"

God, she wants to kiss him right now. He's here and safe and his shirt is off and he smells amazing, and dinner was going so well, and now, she doesn't know where they stand, and she really, really just wants to sink into him and forget this ever happened.

"Oh." He flashes a smile, not really feeling any levity but trying, because he wants this to work.

"I suppose if we wanted to go full cliche one of us would be married?" he says, attempting to break the last of the tension, hoping to get back to where they were earlier tonight when she was smiling and they were just a happy couple out on a first date.

His fingers are still on her cheek, grazing the bottom of her ear now, and he wants to pull her in and hold her close, but he doesn't know where they stand either.

She hears him struggling to keep up with her, and she can't help herself. She puts her arms around his neck and buries her face under his jawline, another shuddering breath moving through her, though this time, it's for an entirely different reason.

The truth is, she's a small town girl, and she never in a million years saw herself as someone that the brilliant, capable, amazingly sexy Matt Murdock would even think twice about, much less want to date.

His arms open and wrap around her.

Her breath shudders on his skin and her heartbeat pounds in his ears.

For a moment he just holds her, pressing his cheek against the side of her head before turning into her and pressing his lips to her crown, and then her temple.

Each kiss is featherlight, testing the waters, coaxing her to look up but not demanding that she do so.

She moves like she's in a dream, eyes closed, just feeling him close. The warmth of his presence, and the weight of his regard are heady, and she yields, breathing shallow and quick. It feels like her whole body is trembling and she's exquisitely aware of every place he's touching her.

She lifts her head and seeks him out, lips parted, hesitating not because she doesn't want to, but because she wants this too much. She wants to know, she wants him to be sure before she goes there.

Her hands grip him tighter still, and she can feel his breath on her lips.

He holds with that hairsbreadth between them, letting one heartbeat pass, and then another. The palm of one hand smooths down to the small of her back and his other rests lightly on her shoulder, fingertips grazing the skin at her neckline.

He is sure, and the only way to prove it is to close the final distance, which he does, kissing her lips, drawing her in.

Oh.

She tastes him for the first time, and it's like tasting heaven. She kisses him back, gentle and soft, every line in her body thrumming with energy. Her hands skim up his shoulder, fretting like restless sparrows at the back of his neck before her fingertips weave in his hair.

God, he makes her crazy and it's so very worth it, here in this moment.

He leans into the kiss a bit more, deepening it a fraction further before finally breaking, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

His fingertips trace around her ear and his thumb strokes her cheek and he for a moment he just breathes her in, listening to the drum of her heart, feeling the warmth of her closeness.

Enjoying this moment.

Her fingertips knead in his hair for a moment before her hands caress down his neck. She wants to touch him, everywhere. All over. Wants to kiss every scar, every bruise.

He's always so tightly wrapped, so buttoned up, and she just wants to undo all of that, wants to get at the truth in the center of all this mess. All of that energy churns in her chest, and she tries to breathe through it. Her hand shifts to brush his hair back, to cup his cheek.

"Can you stay?"

Please, say yes. Please.

He pulls in a slow breath, wrestling with what he wants and what may be better sense.

The last thing he wants to do is hurt her, but right next to that is leaving her.

His hand trails down from her face, following the line of her shoulder down her arm and settling at her waist.

"Is that a good idea?"

They just ended an argument on an up and down night. While Matt knows well and good how nice makeups can be, he wants things with Karen to mean more than that.

He doesn't have the willpower to say 'no', though, and if she asks again he'll stay.

She chin lifts at the caress and she rocks into him, pulling in another unsteady breath. A distant part of her wants to poke him about what is and isn't a good idea, because he's really not in a place to talk. But that doesn't matter.

"I want you to stay." She doesn't know if it's a good idea, and she really doesn't care. All she knows is that if this slips through her fingers, if this one good thing slips away, she'll never forgive herself.

She closes her eyes, breathes him in, her brow pressed to his. Waiting for him to give her another excuse, another reason why this thing that they both want, that she knows they both want, can't happen.

He doesn't need to read her heartbeat to know she's telling the truth. She wants this, and so does he.

Smiling softly, he gives a small nod.

"Okay."

All the air goes out of her lungs in a rush, and she laughs, the sound breathless and light. She touches his face again, caresses along his jaw, down to his bare chest.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replies. "I want to stay."

She grins, nods again, over and over. "Yeah, okay. Okay."

She pulls back just a little to look down at him, to catch his hands in hers. Gently, she tugs him to his feet, wraps her arms around his neck as he stands.

Her enthusiasm is enough to get him smiling, and to make him ignore the small protests his body puts up when he stands. He'll be sore and achy in the morning, but who the hell cares when she's smiling and has her arms around him?

His own arms go around her waist, pulling her up to him as he bends to kiss her.

She surges up to meet him, tasting his mouth once -- twice -- before rising on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her whole body rocks into him, trusting him to catch her. She's always known he was built beneath those prim white shirts and suit jackets, but now, running her hands over his shoulders, it really hits home. Jesus, Mary, Joseph.

[for man_without_fear]

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