Late in the evening the office of Nelson, Murdock, and Page is empty, save for one office who's lamp is only ever lit in case you happen to check in on your way home from your own job. Sure enough, sitting in the dim light emitting from the small lamp on the desk is a burned out and exhausted Matt Murdock.
His hair is disheveled from the many times his hands have found themselves running through it over the course of the evening. His slate grey tie is pulled slightly loose away from his collar and lays crooked against his untouched white button up. His ruby tinted glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, almost entirely forgotten about as his hands trailed lightly across the paperwork in front of him. The room was silent aside from the scratching of his calloused fingertips across the raised bits of paper.
Matt lifts his head as he hears you walk into the reception for the office, a little startled that he didn't notice earlier.
A soft smile twitches across his face as he hears the cadence of your heels across the floor seconds before you press your lips against his hair from behind his desk chair.
"Long night, sweetheart?" Your voice is soothing and quiet.
"Rough couple of weeks. That obvious?" Matt sighs the words out in a quiet rumble, his hands finally pausing from running across the braille.
You gently run your hands across his shoulders before working your thumbs into the tense muscles at the base of his neck. "Yeah, it's that obvious."
You run your fingertips up the back of his neck and feel his skin prickle into goosebumps. You work your fingers into his hair and scratch your nails firmly across his scalp in slow circles.
His breath falls from his lips in a huff before turning into a quiet groan. You can feel Matt's muscles release as you move your hands repeatedly from his shoulders to the crown of his head and back down, your nails making soft red lines on his skin.
"Your hands are magic, you know that?" His voice is strained and tired.
A smirk plays across your lips as you chuckle. You continue to claw your manicured nails through his hair, watching his head fall back against you. "So you keep telling me."
After a few minutes of silence and letting you massage his scalp, he spins his chair to face you, looking up at you and feigning eye contact as best he can. The effect is appreciated, though unnecessary.
He lifts out of his chair, almost pressing against you as he stands. A small flash of perfectly white teeth is followed by his hand gently cupping your cheek. "Is it okay if I return the favor?"
You lean your cheek in against the hand he placed on your face with a nod. "Of course. Why are you asking?"
Silently, his head tilts to the side slightly as his finger tips brush the shell of your ear. The gentle, almost too light to feel, contact against your ear triggers a shiver to roll down your spine. His fingers continue to dance down along your jaw. His smile widens when he catches your heart starting to race and your breath hitch every so slightly.
The path of his hands follows your chin and then lifts to trace your lips as if he is reading your face the same way he was reading the braille of his reports. He pauses with his thumb in the center of your bottom lip. "Tell me if it's too much."
You let out a raspy groan as he adds his other hand to the other side of your face, mirroring the soft drags of calloused fingers across your skin. He moves back to your ears and follows the exact same trail as earlier, slightly firmer, with both hands as if trying to memorize your face. You lean into his hands, registering that he spoke, but not hearing what he said. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back against the wall, your knees going weak. Your hands fall to his waist to balance yourself and they flex against his shirt, settling right above his belt.
His thumbs resting against your lower lip, pull against it slightly before he leans in and presses his lips to yours. The softness of the kiss lingers as he pulls away.
Your eyes drop down to his parted lips.
His hands follow the now familiar trail in reverse, brushing back along your jaw. He traces the back of your neck with one hand just as lightly as he had everything else before grabbing it in a vice grip suddenly, forcing a gasp from you. He massages the nape of your neck, as he moves his other hand into your hair and grips it tightly.
"Tell me to stop." The words come out as a raspy whisper, just a slight hint of desperation tinged around the edges.
Confusion momentarily clouds your already sensation-addled mind. You open your eyes and search his face for clues. The words come out between heavy breaths. "Why on earth would I tell you that?"
Just as quickly as his hands gripped your hair, his teeth bite down around your earlobe. It's sharp and a louder than you intended noise escapes your mouth.
His breath comes out in a soft sigh. His hands release their hold on you and drop to brush the sides of your neck and shoulder with featherlight touches as he speaks.
"Give me your hands."
He brings his hands down from your neck and makes a small gesture, obviously expecting you to place your hands in his.
You lift your hands from their comfortable spot, your thumbs are hooked in his belt. You place your wrists in his waiting hands.
He spends a moment running his fingers across your hands lightly before bringing them up to the front of his throat and placing them there carefully. His body tenses immediately, even before you have time to react to what he has done.
Your eyes grow wide as his face goes slack. "Are you asking me for what I think you're asking me for?"
The tension in his body starts to slowly ease. You can feel him relaxing against your hands. The nod he gives you is almost imperceptible as he leans his head back slightly and his breathing deepens.
"I'm going to need you to use your words, Matthew." You run your thumbs along the pointed edge of his jaw on the left side of his face. This wasn't something new, it was just rare that he asked you this way.
He sputters out a quick and stilted, "Yes, ma'am. Please."
You push your thumbs against the back of his jaw, forcing his already tilted head to stay in place. Your fingers tighten just slightly over the delicate flesh of his throat, pushing against the sides. You can feel his pulse quicken under your fingertips as a groan falls from his parted lips. His eyes fall shut and you can feel his adam's apple shift as he swallows against your palms.
A sound erupts from low within your throat not unlike a quiet growl as you put more pressure against his jaw with your thumbs, tilting his head back further and exposing more of his throat to you, ensuring he feels as vulnerable as you can make him.
His body freezes and you can feel each breath he takes, each beat of his heart, each heave of his chest. His cheeks start getting a deep red blush across them.
"Please...stop." His voice is barely audible but laced with desperation and panic. It's a delicious and delicate sound.
You know very well what his safeword is and what he means by pleading with you. You bear down harder with your fingers on the sides of his throat, cutting off more of the blood flow.
A few moments later, he gasps and taps your leg with his hand hard, the color draining from his face, "Yellow, sweetheart, yellow." He coughs the words out sharply.
You immediately release his throat and he takes a deep, heady breath of air filled with your perfume. His head falls forward against your shoulder with a soft thunk and he snakes his arms tightly around your waist. There isn't an ounce of tightness left in his body. His shoulders feel like mush.
You lean down and pepper soft kisses along his hairline as you slip your arms around his shoulders and pull him close, your hands rubbing small patterns into his skin. "You were so good, Matty. How are you feeling? What do you need?"
He allows a quiet whimper to fall past his lips as he runs his cheek gently across your collarbone. His stubble prickles against your skin in a familiar way that makes you smile. His fingers dig into the muscles in the middle of your back as he hangs on to you as if you’re the only life raft in the ocean of his emotions.
“Just hold me…please.”
He presses his lips against your neck tentatively.
You run your hands across his back gently from his shoulders, down across his shoulder blades, to his waist and back, the fabric of his dress shirt crisp against your questing fingers. Your words of praise fall to his ears like a cooling balm on his stressed mind. “You’re okay, honey. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You were so good for me. Such a good boy. I love you, you know that?”
You can feel his lips curl against your skin as he leaves soft, open mouth kisses on your neck and shoulder. His breathing and his heart rate are finally starting to slow to a reasonable level as he relaxes against you. His voice is quiet and raspy, almost as if he had just woke up in the morning. “I love you too. That was…heaven,”
You smile gently down at him, running your fingers through his soft, feathery hair. His eyes are closed as you speak to him. "Was it?"
You feel Matt's head rub against your shoulder as he nods. His voice is quiet but a little more sure now that he was coming back into himself. "Thank you."
"What sparked that? Just the stress?" It has been a while since he's needed a hard factory reset like that. The last time he was swamped with too many cases and couldn't catch a break.
He nods hurriedly, squeezing his eyes shut as you speak. "I needed to feel alive. Needed to feel you. Feel your touch. I just needed you." His whispers tumble out of him rapidly. He interlocks his fingers behind your back and pulls you closer.
You press your hand against the nape of his neck, applying gentle pressure to calm his racing heartbeat. You wrap your other arm securely around his lower back, trying to give him as many points of contact as you can. You lean forward and press your lips lightly to his forehead and he sighs, loudly.
"Oh, honey, you -are- stressed. I've got you. I've always got you. What do you need?"
"I just...need you," Matt says as he leans into your touch. "I want — I need more." His voice comes out barely above a whisper. His skin erupts into goosebumps when he speaks.
"More?" You question him, with a quizzical expression on your face.
He reaches up to your face, pulling you down closer. His eyes are wide and vulnerable, staring at a fixed point past your shoulder. He kisses her cheek with a soft nod. "More. Please." He leans up and brushes his lips against yours as a plea for more attention.
You snake an arm around behind him and grab one wrist, then the other, pinning them behind his back with one hand. You wrench them up at an almost painful angle, simply immobilizing his arms. "That kind of more?"
His body tightens up as he gasps in surprise. You can feel his muscles tighten in response. That wasn't what he was expecting you to do. The shock is like a flood of icy water before the endorphins flood and warm his system.
You lean down and nip lightly at his collarbone.
"Please..." The word comes out as a soft, reverent gasp.
"Please what?" You smile down at him before biting into his shoulder just hard enough to sting. A strangled, vulnerable noise falls out of his mouth.
"Oh god, please stop..." His words trail off into beautiful whimpers. There it is, again. There's the sign that he wants you to push him.
You smile cruelly, your free hand caressing his face, while the other shifts his arms up just the slightest bit further, reminding him that you still have him in such an uncomfortable hold. "You're so pretty when you beg, pup."
You lean down and kiss along his pulse point, his heart feels like hummingbird wings against your lips. You sink your teeth around it, as if you can trap it in your mouth. He cries out at the pain just a little, knowing it will only spur you on.
"Please let go..." He turns his face in to kiss the palm of your hand, the words spoken against your skin. You know when he is completely overwhelmed by sensation. His eyes are closed and his body is tense like a rabbit about to run. His breathing is shallow and forced, as if he has forgotten how.
You reward him with a soft kiss to the side of his face. Your hand tightens against his wrists and pulls them up to a more painful angle. The hand cupping his face begins running along his jaw appreciatively. "Such a good boy for me, begging like the pathetic little puppy you are."
You grip his chin tightly before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. You sink your teeth suddenly and roughly into his lower lip enough that you taste the barest hint of copper.
A loud groan spills out of him as the pain jolts through his system.
"Okay, okay okay! Red! Enough!" He uses his leg to tap against yours, his voice a little desperate and pained.
You immediately let go and rub your hands from his shoulders, down his arms, and help him stretch them out from being at such a harsh angle for so long. "There you go...breathe, baby."
He takes a deep breath and tries to match your breathing as you intentionally slow yours. His legs are shaking. He props his elbows up on his legs and leans his face into his hands
"Feel better?" You smile at him softly.
He pulls your face to his, leaning his cheek against yours and sighing before closing his eyes. "I really needed that." He runs his hand across the opposite side of your face. "You are a goddess. Thank you."
"Don't let Father Lantom hear you say that. That's blasphemy, Matthew." You snort out a soft laugh.
He leans forward just slightly to press his lips to your ear, the hand on your face holding you firmly. "I don't care. You are the goddess I pray to."
You make a small, almost embarrassing noise when his statement catches you off guard. You melt against him. "Say...say that again. Who do you pray to? Who are you on your knees for?"
He slides to his knees between the desk and your legs, wrapping his arms around your torso, leaning his head into your lap. He speaks with his mouth nearly against her hip. "You. You are the goddess I pray to every night. You are who I am on my knees for every night."