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pastaxandria · 3 months

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An Ode to a Coat (Matt Murdock x F!Reader fic, 18+ Only)🔥

All of this is almost entirely inspired by Matt's black coat on the set photos of Born Again which has had me ready to chew drywall and froth at the mouth. This was only encouraged by @wonderlandmind4 and I figured why the fuck not! Set during Born Again obviously, and I've written this so it can be seen as either TRT's Reader or just a general AFAB, F!Reader.

Rating: Explicit cause holy shit this one's obscene Wordcount: 7,573 Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader Warnings: HERE WE GO. Smut, hard smut, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, alley sex, thigh riding, Dom!Matt Murdock, Sub!Reader, hand jobs, finger-sucking, Dom!Matt's absolutely filthy mouth, Dom!Matt being a little condescending and mean but it's all consensual, almost getting caught, PWP, alcohol Fic Preview:

Matt lurched to a stop so suddenly you almost lost your balance. You quickly glanced back the moment you stumbled to a halt, only to find Matt’s reddened lips parted on a shaky breath, his broad chest heaving like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet. In the murky, amber-rich glow of the streetlights, his red glasses gleamed like the embers of a smoldering bonfire, his hand on his cane gone white-knuckled. He cocked his head dangerously slowly, predatory hunger on full display, his dark coat snapping and around him in the late fall breeze. You had only a second to admire him before he seemed to make his decision. Before you could blink he yanked you sideways, dragging you into a nearby alley and behind a chest-high stack of cardboard boxes. Oh fuck. His cane clattered onto the pavement, flung down by an impatient hand. Was he really going to— Your back hit the cold brick wall of the empty alley. Then he was on you, seizing your face in his hands as his mouth slammed fiercely to yours.

Read Me On AO3 If You'd Prefer Smut below the cut because I am not responsible for what I write when this man's dressing like this:

You were both three beers in, and you were already unsure of just how you’d both get home.

It wasn’t that you were too drunk to make the walk. Three watered-down beers from Josie’s may have been enough to leave you and Matt solidly tipsy, but drunk? Not a chance.

It wasn’t that either of you were angry, either, though Matt was certainly… on edge.

It had been a hard month for him, with most of it spent managing an incredibly stressful, complex legal case that had left him chained to his office whenever he wasn’t at the courthouse or out on patrol. The two of you had barely seen each other these past few weeks as a result, something that had left him almost as frustrated as his nightmare of a legal case. Matt was never in a good mood when his cases kept him away from you, and that was especially true when he was stressed, his thoughts only growing darker as the time without you wore on. Unfortunately, despite both your best attempts, your moments with him lately had been limited to those late-night hours when he dragged his weary body into bed with you—where he was often asleep within seconds of his head hitting his pillow and faster still when you drew him into your arms, his head sleepily cradled against your chest—and the early pre-dawn light when he woke you just long enough to kiss you softly and give you an apologetic goodbye before he headed into the office.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, of course, but normally he’d have had a ready supply of unlucky criminals to take his frustrations out on. Sadly, the Kitchen’s underworld had seemingly had a rare moment of conscience, or at least, they had for the past few weeks, leaving Matt without so much as a purse-snatcher to bloody his fists against. Hell, even Turk Barret had headed out to visit his grandma in Orlando for her Hobbit-inspired one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday party. All of which meant the Devil had been left hungry and unsatiated for weeks.

In more ways than one.

Even now that the case was over, the stress of it lingered in the air like a physical thing, a weight that only grew the longer you both sat there without speaking. Matt was practically a livewire next to you, radiating a crackling, electric tension that sang against your skin like the roiling energy of a coming storm. He’d barely said a word since he’d arrived, and you'd been with him long enough to know he needed some time to decompress next to you. Or that was… what you thought he was trying to do, anyway. If it was, he didn’t seem to be having much luck.

But none of that was why you were worried about the walk home, either.

No.

The real problem…

…was Matt’s new fucking coat.

Tonight was the first you’d seen of it since he’d bought the coat exactly one month ago just before his case had taken off. It hadn’t been cold enough then for him to wear it, but it was now, and thank God for that. He looked so good in it that you’d momentarily been struck speechless when he’d first stalked into the crowded bar, his cane clenched tightly in his hand, his jaw tight beneath the beard that had grown in over the past week or so. None of his other coats had been like this new one, this long line of dark, tailored fabric that hung to mid-thigh, the cut of it crisp and elegant. It was like it had been made just for him—and maybe it had been, for all you knew. The way it emphasized the deliciously broad line of his shoulders and the thickness of his powerful thighs, drawing your eye towards his slim waist and then down the endless length of him, had been a sight to behold and one you’d had no problem partaking in. He’d looked like something torn right out of a magazine… or maybe from within the massive box in your head labeled, ‘Formerly Unknown Matt Murdock Fantasies.’ You’d never been so grateful that Josie’s heating unit was out for repair: Matt hadn’t even bothered to take his coat off before sliding silently into the booth with you, quickly taking up the beer you’d already ordered for him without a word.

And that was where you’d been suffering for the past thirty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds. Not that you’d been counting.

You didn’t know what the fabric of his coat was made of—some soft sort of wool, if you had to guess—but right now, you didn’t much care because even while sitting, the fabric fell around him like a gift from God Herself, brushing against you whenever either of you dared to breathe. Oh, you might have been alright if Matt had been sitting a bit farther away. But tonight was not your night, since he’d decided to crowd you down to the end of the booth until he was practically on top of you, his thigh shoved hard against yours, the heavy, burning line of his body blatantly pressed up against you until you could barely move.

This, at least, was an energy you knew: one part possessive hunger after a long month away from you, and one part searching desperately for a way to come down. He was trying to regulate himself with the rhythm of your body in a way no one could call him on, even if it meant you wound up pinned bodily between him and the wall of the booth. On another day it would have been a good plan: your heart rate and your breathing often calmed him when little else could, and it was something you’d both made use of when he was stressed. But tonight? Tonight, you were having some problems of your own when it came to shit like breathing and heart rate. And it was all his fault for sitting there next to you looking like every last filthy dream you’d ever had of him fucking you in his office.

For God’s sake, he’d turned the collar up. Was it really your fault you were distracted by thoughts that were… maybe slightly less than chaste?

Like the ones involving you burying your nose against the soft collar of his coat as you slid one hand down to palm the line of his cock over his pants, if only to see just how far you could push him before he dragged you out of here.

He didn’t turn his head towards you, but you felt the burning weight of his focus settle over you all the same. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick with barely restrained tension, two words hissed from between grit teeth. “Stop it.”

“I’m not… not doing anything,” you said hoarsely. You carefully crossed your legs under the table, trying to relieve some of the throbbing ache that had settled between your thighs over the past thirty minutes. You were absolutely soaked despite your best efforts at self-control, and there wasn’t much you could do to hide it from his senses. Still, it was the principle of the thing. “I’m just sitting here with you. Drinking. I’m… I’m barely looking at you, not that you’d know.”

A droplet of sweat rolled lazily down his temple, winding its way lower and lower towards his throat. Your thoughts abruptly fragmented as you watched in hungry fascination, your body burning in a surge of longing.

Would he be mad if you leaned over to follow its path with your tongue?

His nostrils flared, his lips parted just enough that he could taste the air. Whatever he sensed was enough for his hand to tighten around his bottle until his scarred knuckles went white. You swore you saw something tick in the corner of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. “You’re not drinking. You’re fantasizing.”

“Objection—”

“Overruled. You’ve been doing it since I walked in.” He cocked his head towards you. His next breath in prompted the barest shiver from him. His restraint was clearly hanging by a single, tattered thread, one you were halfway tempted to start biting at. “Do you really want to do this here? Now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m not—”

“I can smell you, sweetheart.” His voice had gone guttural and thick, a furious note resonating in the back of his throat. “How wet you are. I can taste it, hear it every time you squirm around, just how much you need me after three weeks of missing each other.” He drew in a slow, carefully controlled breath through his nose, his shaky exhale morphing into a low rumble of dark hunger that shot straight between your legs. “And you need to stop, because I swear to God, if I have to breathe in your pheromones for much longer, I’ll drag you into the bathroom and fuck you so hard you’ll need me to carry your limp body home.”

And just like that, everything in you went up in flames.

You tried, God you tried to swallow down the low moan that built in the back of your throat, your body clenching at the thought of Matt filling you in the way that only he could. You weren’t sure if he’d meant what he said as a threat or as an offer, but your body sure as hell treated it like the second. You just—you needed him inside you now, whether it was his fingers, his tongue, or his cock, whether that was here in the booth or in the bar bathroom shoved inside a filthy stall. But he clearly didn’t want to do this here, so you did your best to stay still, to barely move, barely breathe despite the need that was desperate to claw its way out of your throat. With anyone else, you’d likely have managed to keep your thoughts to yourself.

But not him.

He slammed his bottle down onto the table hard enough to rattle your own half-empty bottle, rising swiftly to his feet. He caught your arm in a vice-grip as he went, yanking you out of the booth with him, though you didn’t exactly resist. “Home. Now, Mrs. Murdock. I’m not getting kicked out.”

“Your fault for buying a coat that looks so good on you,” you said breathlessly as he threw a pair of folded bills onto the table. Neither of you dared mention the way his hands shook as he did, though whether it was from arousal or frustration, you weren’t quite sure. “And you grew your beard in. You know what that does to me. You’re lucky I didn’t maul you in the booth the second you sat down. I was incredibly polite.”

“Is ‘polite’ code for driving me up a fucking wall?” he grit out.

“You’re the lawyer. You tell me.”

It took everything in you not to pace restlessly as he unsnapped his cane in stiff motions. He tapped the end sharply against the grungy floor, just once, before taking your arm, the two of you starting quickly for the door. To everyone else around it would have looked like you were the one leading, your experienced step guiding him confidently through the crowd. It was something they’d seen many times before, something they wouldn’t question. But you both knew who was really in control tonight, his fingers subtly shifting and pressing as he steered you roughly out Josie’s front door and then up the street. You simply let him nudge you the way he wanted. You’d long since learned to let him take the wheel when he was like this.

After all, when had it ever not worked out for you?

You’d thought the fresh air might settle him some, the frosted kiss of late fall a blessed relief to your burning cheeks and his. But he only seemed to grow more frustrated that you both hadn’t spontaneously teleported to your front door, his steps picking up speed until you struggled to keep up with his furious stride. The sharp clack-clack of his cane was a constant drumbeat, one that matched the rapid clip of your eager heart—a heart that knew good and well what would happen the second you were both home and inside:

The slick glide of sweat-soaked skin against skin, the sharp bite of teeth against your throat as you clawed wildly at his back, and the powerful rhythm of his body atop yours as he fucked you six kinds of senseless, the way he always fucked you when he was wild and in need of release, in need of you. This was a Devil who’d been deprived of the taste of your body for far too long, and he had no intention of stopping until that hunger of his was fully sated. You’d be lucky to make it further than the hallway once you got home, and you certainly weren’t leaving the apartment this weekend.

Maybe he’d even leave the coat on for the first round.

The very thought of it made your breath hitch, your fingers curling as if you could already feel the softness of wool beneath your nails, a fresh flood of slick wetness building between your thighs.

Oh fuck.

His cane clattered onto the pavement, flung down by an impatient hand.

Was he really going to—

Your back hit the cold brick wall of the empty alley. Then he was on you, seizing your face in his hands as his mouth slammed fiercely to yours.

Worth it.

There was no room here in the murky dark for anything like gentleness, for anything like soft, reverent touches. Instead, you clawed wildly at his back as if you could somehow bring him closer despite the way he’d already pinned you to the brick wall with his body, his grip on your face like steel as he forced your head back at an angle that granted him full access to your gasping mouth. That shared hunger only built with every desperate breath of yours that tangled with his, his tongue burning hot against yours as he snaked it hungrily past your parted lips with a heady rumble of satisfaction, the both of you parched and desperate to drink of the other’s mouth after a month of nothing but dry desert. This was a kiss that was all teeth and heat, open obscenity barely hidden by the long shadows of Hell’s Kitchen. You could barely keep up with him as he slid one hand down to your throat, winding his fingers possessively around straining tendons, claiming each sound for himself. All you could do was fist your hands in the rich fabric of his coat in response, grinding yourself desperately against the hard line of his cock trapped inside his jeans, a blatant invitation if there ever was one, one that had him groaning openly into your mouth.

If he wanted to fuck you here, you wouldn’t say no.

And he knew it.

His panted breaths gusted against your skin as his mouth slid away from yours, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing down from your jaw toward the vulnerability of your throat, his beard a deliciously unfamiliar rasp against your skin. A needy whine left you at the scrape of his teeth over your pulse, your head rolling back further to give him room. He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply before he let out a loud groan, as if the scent of you left him in pure agony.

“Matt—”

“Tell me no, and I’ll wait until we’re home,” he breathed, each word a kiss against your skin.

“And if I say yes?” you whispered.

“Then I’m going to rip your pants down and fuck you right here in this alley,” he purred darkly, dragging his nose slowly up the line of your throat to your ear. He paused there a moment, as if relishing in the sound of your sharp inhale, before his lips curled, each syllable carefully enunciated. “Decide, sweetheart.”

He… really was considering this, wasn’t he? He’d fuck you here in the open air of the alley, no hesitation, a mere twenty feet away from a busy street, your writhing hidden only by shadows, a few boxes, and the angle of your bodies. All you had to do was say yes.

But would you?

You’d done this with him a few times before, letting him take you somewhere you might get caught, from church rooftops to bathroom stalls, from abandoned buildings to the quiet of his office. But this felt… different somehow, more dangerous. Traffic still rumbled by regularly, a mere stone’s throw away. It was late, the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk much slower, but that meant nothing in New York City. There was always someone walking by, especially before the bars closed. The odds of getting caught were slim with his heightened senses—he’d sense someone coming long before they got to the alley—but the risk was still there.

And yet…

The hand he’d fisted in your shirt rose swiftly to your throat at your startled moan. He slid his thumb up under the hinge of your jaw, pushing your head back until you were forced to stare up at his face. The rich, wine-red lenses of his glasses caught the low light, a flash of burning embers and molten heat as the expression on his face darkened, sharp as the edge of a knife. He squeezed lightly at your throat in warning, just enough to make you suck in a heavy breath. As he did, his voice dropped into a low hiss. “Words. I’m not guessing with something like this. Yes or no?”

“Yes! Green light, please, Matt,” you gasped, doing your best to keep your voice down. “I can’t-I can’t wait until home, I need you—”

His hand dropped to your pants, as did yours, the two of you fumbling roughly at the button and zipper, your whole body throbbing in giddy anticipation. You weren’t sure who was clumsier about it—you or him—but the placement of both your hands was enough of a problem that he finally slapped your hands away with a low growl, giving him more room to work with the stubborn button, even as one of his hands rose to quickly yank off his glasses and shove them into his pocket. Which left your own hands conveniently free. And you knew exactly what to do with them to hurry things along.

His belt buckle turned out to be a lot easier to pop open than your button, and before he could figure out what you were up to, you snaked your hand down the front of his pants, inside his silk boxers, and took the burning, velvet-soft line of his hard cock in hand.

He let out a ragged, startled gasp against your throat. That gasp quickly morphed into a low, sinful moan as you started to stroke him hard and fast, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch. Your rhythm was a little rough, your range of motion limited by the confines of his jeans, but it was enough that he shot one hand out, bracing himself against the brick, his own hand faltering in distraction. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said his legs had started to shake, his head falling to your shoulder to help muffle his gasps. Clearly the separation hadn’t affected just you.

God, you’d missed this.

You used your free hand to drag his head up away from your shoulder. It was your turn, then, to purr as you licked into his slack, panting mouth, tempting him until he mindlessly pursed his lips to suck at your tongue and swallow the offered taste of you down. You quickly altered the motions of your hand, making sure to drag the palm of your hand across the slick head of his cock with each upstroke, using your knowledge of his body against him as best you could. His eyes began to flutter, the color gone glassy and dark in pleasure as he fell into rhythm with you, moaning helplessly into your mouth. For just a moment, you almost, almost thought you’d knocked him off kilter just enough that he was about to pass you the reins. It wasn’t what you’d planned on when you’d started—you’d really only intended to give him a bit of a nudge, see if you couldn’t frustrate him a little further just to see what happened—but you were just as happy taking the lead. All you needed in the end was him, in whatever way that happened, slick wetness dripping down your thighs as your body called to him.

“Matty,” you breathed.

It was a nickname that you only used when you were the one in charge. And it was all that was needed to break the spell you’d cast over him.

Just like that, his eyes snapped open and he wrenched your hand up, slamming it back against the brick. He caught your other hand a half-second later, yanking it up until he’d pinned that one against the wall, too, and oh, oh, he was furious now at the trick you’d just pulled, his teeth bared in a snarl at your challenge. He cinched his hands tighter around your wrists, hauling them both up further until your back bowed, your body arched and helpless before him. “No,” he hissed. “No, I don’t think so. You think you can toy with me like that?”

“Fuck,” you whispered, trying not to squirm. Right, maybe you’d gotten in a little more trouble than you’d initially planned on. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Let’s make one thing clear. I’m in control tonight. Not you. If I fuck you in this alley, I decide how,” he whispered hotly, leaning in slowly until his lips barely brushed yours, an intentional tease, this mere taste of what you wanted so very badly. He smelled like copper and clean sweat, like the beer he’d been drinking and faint cinnamon, the familiar scent almost enough to bring you to your knees. There was nothing gentle in the cant of his mouth, his eyes hard and unyielding as he tightened his grip on your wrists meaningfully. “If you touch me, it’s because I let you. Not that you deserve it. You’ve done nothing but torment me all night long. Good girls don’t do that, do they, sweetheart? What makes you think you’ve earned anything from me?”

“I…” You swallowed hard, trying to find your words as he slowly shifted your wrists around until he could take them both in one large hand, tight enough that you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. That added distraction only made it harder to think past the desire that flowed molten and thick in your veins, but you knew this game. He expected an answer. “I… I haven’t earned it yet. Please, I want to be good for you. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Because all night I’ve had to listen to you work yourself up next to me,” he growled, sweeping his free hand back down your body. He hummed a low, thoughtful noise when he reached your breast, cupping it through your shirt and bra. The sharp pinch of his fingers against your nipple was almost mean, the sensation just as much pain as pleasure, just as much punishment as reward. Yet still you arched into his hand with a stuttered gasp, your hips jolting helplessly in search of… of something, anything like friction. It had been far too long since he’d touched you like this, three weeks suddenly feeling like three months, like an endless eternity. He cocked his head coolly and without a trace of sympathy. “I could smell it the second you saw me, you know. What seeing me did to you. And even with all that time I gave you to get yourself under control, you couldn’t do it. You just got worse, and worse, and worse. All I wanted was a chance to pull myself together so we could make it home before I tore your clothes off, but you couldn’t even give me that, could you? Now listen to you.” Another pinch, this time one that prompted a soft, broken little mewl. “You’re ready to beg me to fuck you in an alley where anyone could see us. What a bad girl you’ve been tonight. What’s got you acting like this?”

“I-I just needed you so bad,” you mumbled, dropping your eyes as his hand drifted lower. He was dragging this out dangerously slowly considering you were both technically in the open and anyone could walk by, but he’d know better than you how much time you both had. Besides, the truth couldn’t hurt. “I missed you so much this month, and you-you looked so good when you walked in, and… I got impatient. Please, I can do better.”

“Can you? Because I’m not so sure.” He tipped his head almost mockingly, the barest traces of condescension lurking at the edges. But you could see it in the dark of his eyes: a flicker of sympathy at your response, followed by a familiar warmth. He leaned in to press his lips fondly to yours, breaking character just for a moment, his stance softening. “I missed you, too,” he whispered. “Safeword, sweetheart.”

“Los Angeles,” you said instantly, arching up eagerly when he nuzzled warmly at your cheek.

His low chuckle warmed you from head to toe, made you want to preen with pride that you’d pleased him. “Good girl.”

He lifted his head again and just like that, all hint of softness, all traces of warmth had vanished, the cold, stern mask back in place. Despite the darkness on his face, you couldn’t stop yourself from starting to shift around again, your body reminding you forcefully of just how aroused you still were despite the momentary pause. He rumbled a low sigh. “What am I going to do with you? Although… I suppose everyone deserves a second chance.”

His free hand fell away from your body, but instead of going for your pants like you’d hoped, he went for his own, tugging down his zipper. You let out a frustrated groan—you’d been hoping he was headed for the absolute agony between your thighs, a burning ache you were desperately in need of help with, even if it was just a few of his fingers working you over. Your protest was met with a swift rebuke: his teeth against your neck in a sharp nip, one that almost made you yelp. “Don’t think I won’t make you walk the rest of the way home with nothing,” he warned. “You know I will. Behave.”

Right, you could… wait for a just a little longer.

Or you would have, except that as he shifted you around, one of his thighs wound up shoved between yours. You were fairly certain it wasn’t intentional, though you couldn’t be sure. All you knew for sure was that it was there, broad and hard, and deliciously warm. One more nudge from him as he started to work his pants down, and…

Matt’s brows shot up in surprise, but then his lips curled into a wicked smirk. “Oh, my poor sweetheart,” he crooned, his words empty of anything like mercy as you gasped up towards the sky. The weight, the pressure of his thigh was barely there, but even that tiny bit of friction against your aching cunt was absolute heaven after so long with nothing. That pleasure only grew when he helpfully lifted his thigh higher, locking up the muscle so you had something to writhe against. And writhe you did, lungs heaving as you rocked your hips helplessly, grinding yourself roughly back and forth along his thigh. Each wave as you rode him sent you spiraling, the obscenity of fucking yourself against his thigh in an alley of all places making your cheeks burn. Yet it wasn’t enough to make you stop, not even close. Matt clucked his tongue, nuzzling against your flushed skin when you let out a soft whimper. “Maybe I really should forgive you if you’re so desperate that you can’t even wait for my cock. If we’d stayed in the bar, would you have begged for my fingers to fill that empty little cunt of yours?”

“Yes—”

“Would you have let me make you come right there in front of everyone, biting your lip so they wouldn’t hear?”

Oh god, you would have, you really would have, and your eyes rolled up as you writhed against his thigh without thinking, burning up in your own skin as you mindlessly dragged yourself up and down, over and over again like some sort of animal in heat, ripples of pleasure rolling up your spine at finally feeling true pressure and friction against your clit. Any hint of embarrassment was quickly washed away, lost to the fire you’d so willingly fed, the scent of kerosene on your hands and a match still clutched between your fingers, all as your Devil filled your ears with absolute sin.

“Tell me,” he growled, letting go of your hands to catch your chin, forcing your eyes back to him.

“Yes!” You swallowed hard, trying to arch your body, opening yourself to him all as you kept your hands where he’d left them. “Yes, God, I would have. Please, Matt, I need you, please, please fuck me!”

There was a quiet, victorious hiss in your ear. You barely noticed the jangle of his belt as he shoved his jeans down just far enough to free his cock to the cool air, taking himself in hand. His cock was dangerously hard, the head flushed dark and slick as he gave himself a few pumps, choking on a rough groan. It was something that normally would have had you reaching for him, desperate to help, but you didn’t dare touch him this time, not without his permission. You’d learned your lesson. After a moment, he started on your pants, almost tearing the fabric in his haste. His hands may have been shaking again, but this time, you knew why. “Don’t worry,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll give you what you need. I always do. Don’t I? Answer me.”

“Always, you always do,” you said hoarsely. Still, even knowing what was coming you almost sobbed when he dropped his thigh away, the loss something that you felt in the very heart of you. He made up for it as quickly as he could, yanking your pants and underwear down far enough that you could kick one leg free. You were even more grateful you’d both picked this alley now, the cardboard boxes hiding the fabric tangled around one ankle, the one closest to the street. Then he caught your other leg, lifting it higher and higher before smirking and hooking it around his waist—

—under his coat.

The realization hit you just as he sealed his hand tightly over your mouth, lined himself up, and snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself inside you in one swift thrust.

The sudden sensation of fullness without warning tore a cry from your throat, only just muffled by the palm of his hand. The force of it was enough to steal the air from your lungs, and you clawed wildly at his back without thought, halfway to mindless. He didn’t seem bothered by you touching him anymore since it was still clear who was in control—”If you touch me, it’s because I let you.” Then again, maybe he just didn’t notice. He breathed a choked, ragged groan into your ear, just as lost in the pleasure of finally finding his way back inside your body as you were.

One breath was all the time he gave you to adjust. Then he bared his teeth, braced one hand against the wall, and began to fuck into you at a brutal pace. And the sweet, delicious burn of it only added to your mounting pleasure.

The song of the city was quickly drowned out in your ears by a far better music. Matt’s quiet snarls and filthy grunts were paired with the lewd slap of skin on skin, with your muffled whines and ecstatic moans, the softness of his wool coat brushing against your thighs, your ass, your sweat-soaked skin with each wild thrust. Every last inch of you had gone pliant beneath his hands, submissive and ready to accept whatever he gave, let him take whatever he wanted. Because this, this was what you’d needed more than anything: the thickness of his cock filling your needy cunt at the apex of each vicious thrust, the feel of him back where he belonged, something to tide you over until you both managed to make it home where he could take you apart piece by piece for hours, for days.

This wouldn’t, couldn’t last long for all that he’d dragged things out at the start of this. You’d be caught if either of you spent more than a few minutes doing this, spotted by a wandering pedestrian or a curious driver. He knew it as well as you did based on the way he quickly adjusted his angle, making sure to hit that spot inside you with every brutal snap of his hips, over and over again until you were seeing stars. It was only the wall that kept him from throwing you loose, your head thrown back against the brick as you struggled to hold onto him, the texture of soft wool beneath your nails and the scent of him and sex and fire hanging in the air around you like the best kind of aphrodisiac.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” he grunted roughly between rapid thrusts, never faltering in his rhythm. “Needed me to-to fuck you right here. Couldn’t get home without me filling you up, could you?”

“I couldn’t!” you panted, as he shifted his hand from sealing your mouth to grasping your chin and rolling your head up. The rough scrape of his beard against your throat made your toes curl, your back arching when you felt him catch your skin sharply between his teeth and suck, determined to leave a mark. You really weren’t going to last long, not after almost a month without anything like this. “Oh god, it-it was your coat, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“All this for a coat.” He huffed something that might have been a laugh, though it was hard to tell. He changed the angle of his hand again, lifting his head to brush his lips to your temple. “Open your mouth. Now.”

You parted your lips, taking in his thumb eagerly into the warm cavern of your mouth when he shifted to offer it. You laved at it, sucking and working your tongue against it at his like you might his cock. It was enough to drag out a rough moan from him, the rhythm of his body briefly stuttering. He drew it back after a moment before dropping his hand, his voice thick with heat. “Is this going to happen every time I wear this coat? I’m not sure you’d live through the winter, sweetheart.”

The first brush of his thumb, rough but knowing, set your nerves alight. You couldn’t help but scrabble at him in instinct as your mouth fell slack, your body jerking as he kept up his rhythm. He wrenched your leg higher, and the next thrust hit just right when paired with a grind of his thumb, your back bowing.

“God, Matt, I’m-I’m—

“Barely three minutes in and you’re already about to come,” he purred, only tormenting you further as he flicked your clit with his thumb. Your breath quickly grew stuttered, your body beginning to tighten around him in growing waves. You were so wet now that you’d swear the people the next block over could hear the obscene, slick noises of his cock filling you. “I wonder how many times I can make you come in one night. I know the record’s six, but maybe we’ll try for seven tonight. What do you think?”

You thought you were going to die, but damn, what a way to go.

Abruptly, he stilled mid-thrust, his cock still halfway inside you. He cocked his head towards the street, his brow furrowing.

Shit.

Someone was coming.

You expected him to pull back, or maybe push you down behind the boxes. He’d have a far easier time hiding what he was doing than you, considering he could simply close up his coat while your pants were still down around one ankle.

He did neither. Instead, he snarled softly and thrust up, burying himself as deeply as he could.

You choked on a breath, your cry just barely swallowed down. “Matt, what—”

“Quiet,” he grit out, fiddling with the edges of his coat and adjusting your body. But even that much motion left you burning, your eyes rolling back at the unintentional, delicious grind against that spot inside you. You swore you could feel every inch of him, every last inch of his cock cradled inside you. No matter how much he might pretend otherwise, that feeling must have been just as good for him, his voice going ragged and hoarse, his breath shaky. “Don’t move.”

“But—”

“I told you I’d take care of you. Now don’t move!”

It took everything in you to do as he said, your body locked up and rigid as he finally angled himself the way he wanted, his coat falling just right.

He was hiding what you were doing you with his coat.

The first wave of a small crowd began to move past the alley entrance, drunken laughs and friendly shouts echoing out as they staggered past. None of them so much as glanced your way. But even if they had, all they’d have seen around the boxes and Matt’s coat was Matt standing close to you, his mouth by your ear as if he were telling you the best kind of secret. No one would know he was buried so deeply inside you that you swore you could feel him in your throat, as long as you played this just right.

A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple, your cheeks burning. Still you didn’t move. You were determined to do what Matt had ordered, no matter how close you were to coming. Even so, your orgasm crept ever closer, hovering at the edge of your fingertips, tendrils of heat spiraling up from where your body connected to his.

Matt tilted his head slowly, nuzzling at your cheek with a smirk before he dipped his lips towards your ear. And as he did…

…he rocked his hips the slightest bit, intentionally grinding his cock inside you. And that grind was paired with a lazy loop of his thumb across your clit, the motion smooth but firm, and somehow mocking.

You bit your lip to swallow down the sound you almost made, a flash of copper spilling across your tongue. Shit, he was really going to just—

“Do you want to be my good girl again?” he murmured. He was still playing at being unaffected, but with him seated so deeply inside you, you could feel what this game was doing to him. Reckless. Risky. His chest was heaving against yours, his heart racing so fiercely you could feel it against your skin. Yet none of that mattered when he was the one in control. “Yes, or no?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

The first wave of the crowd had finally moved past, but a second surge only brought more potential onlookers. None of them looked, either, or you didn’t… think they did, anyway. It was hard to tell, though, since your eyes had started fluttering every time Matt rocked into you, working you higher with every breath. Over and over again he ground his cock relentlessly inside you in small, firm movements, your fingers digging tighter into his coat. He shifted the angle of his hand until he could carefully pinch your clit between two fingers, making you mewl softly.

“Then you’re going to come when I tell you to,” he said roughly, and the tone of his voice made it clear it was an order, one you were expected to follow. “And you’re not going to make a sound. We wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing, would we?”

But… how were you supposed to be quiet when he was doing this?

“I-I don’t know if I—”

“Poor thing. Here, I’ll help you.” He slid his hand around to cup the back of your head, bringing your face closer until he settled it against his shoulder in offering, your face pressed into the fabric of his coat. “Now, get ready. Remember: nice and quiet.”

Oh god.

You buried your face deeper against the dark wool, choking down a frantic moan as his fingers started to rapidly circle your clit. His cock began to pick up speed, though he kept the rhythm subtle, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back in. To anyone on the street, with Matt’s hand cradling the back of your head and your face buried against his neck, it would look like he was comforting you. Comforting you as if he wasn’t the one doing this to you, your nose filled with the scent of him where it had soaked into the collar of his coat.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking. God, it was right there, that crest, that frothing wave threatening to sweep you under. You didn’t stand a chance now that you had him inside you, his scent swirling around you and the soft wool beneath your nails, your mouth. “Matt, Matt, Matt!”

“Be my good girl,” he growled, “and come for me. Now.”

His light slap against your clit, combined with a sudden hard thrust during a short break in the crowd, was more than enough to push you over the edge.

You sank your teeth deeply into the collar of his coat, your eyes snapping shut as you came right there on your feet, his cock buried deep inside you. You only just managed to keep yourself quiet, not a sound leaving you safe for a choked gasp that was thankfully muffled by his coat. With every wave you had to swallow down another moan or gasp, your cunt clenching around his cock over and over as if you were trying to draw him in deeper, the world around you gone hazy beneath a tide of roiling pleasure. It was only the way he’d pinned you to the wall with his hips that kept you upright, your fingers fisting so hard in his coat you were surprised you didn’t feel something tear.

There was a quiet, ragged grunt in your ear as he came with you, a liquid heat spreading outwards as he spilled himself inside you. Yet even as he came, he barely moved, his control iron-clad, the rapid racing of his heart and his stilted breaths the only outward signs he’d come at all. He kept one hand cradling the back of your head, rocking you gently as if comforting you, all while out of sight his fingers continued to rub firmly at your clit to drag your orgasm out for the both of you. When you finally managed to glance up, his dark eyes had fallen closed, his reddened lips flushed and slightly parted as he savored the taste of your shared orgasms in the air.

“God,” you panted breathlessly against his shoulder, your leg trembling as he gently unhooked it from his waist and lowered it to the ground. He nuzzled warmly at your hair, chuckling as he kneaded at your hip to help work out any kinks in the muscle. The crowd seemed to have finally passed the both of you by, which was fortunate since you’d need some help getting your pants back on. You were understandably a little wobbly. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“Well, I will say one thing, Mrs. Murdock.”

“What’s that, Mr. Murdock?”

He lifted his hand to his mouth, cocking his head and inhaling before he stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking the taste of you free. At your barely stifled moan, he smirked, pulling it free just long enough to say smugly, “I definitely don’t think I’ll be returning the coat any time soon.”

#Library of Pastaxandria Standard Reblog

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