fic: your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes (Daredevil; Karen/Frank; adult)
your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes
Daredevil; Karen/Frank; adult; 1,900 words
Karen wants the truth more than she wants the fantasy.
Title from Neko Case. Contains spoilers for season 2. Yeah, I don't know either.
Or read it at AO3.
~*~
your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes
i.
Karen writes like she's exorcising everything that's happened in the past few months, like putting it down on paper can erase the memories. It's not natural to her, not the way research is, the way talking to people, getting them to tell her their stories is. It never gives her the same thrill she gets from investigating, from hunting down secrets and exposing them to the light. But she does it, sweating and cursing at the words on the screen to produce a draft that Ellison will tear apart and make her put back together again, better than before.
*
ii.
She doesn't want to live in the place where Colonel Schoonover tried to kill her, and it's not hard to find a new apartment. People are fleeing the neighborhood despite Matt's best efforts, so she gets a good deal on a tiny one bedroom and moves in as quickly as she can, as if by changing her address she can escape the past.
She's done it before. It doesn't work, but that hasn't stopped her from trying.
She doesn't want to think about Matt, hasn't spoken to him since that day in the office when he told her his secret. She's still not sure how she feels about it, but she knows the guy she dreamt of loving, the goodhearted, funny lawyer who made her insides flutter, doesn't exist. She built an image of the man she wanted and tried to fit him into it. She wouldn't be surprised if he did the same with her. But people are too messy and real to fit into imaginary pictures. She knows now that it couldn't have worked, not like that.
It's okay, though. She wants the truth more than she wants the fantasy, even if it was nice while it lasted.
*
iii.
Her life isn't what she pictured when she moved to New York. It's so much more interesting than that. She works almost constantly, and when she's not working, she's working out. The self-defense classes she takes aren't as thrilling as sparring with Matt was, but she can't count on him--on anyone else--to protect her again. She's digging into some shady characters, and she doesn't have a mask or a cute nickname to hide behind. She has to rely on herself.
She finds a gun range down in Chelsea and makes time on the weekends to practice shooting. She'll never be Frank--and she doesn't want to be--but she can be better. She already knows she's got the guts to pull the trigger. Now it's just a matter of making it familiar, instinctive, in case she ever has to do it again.
She still has drinks with Foggy occasionally. Moving to a white shoe law firm has sucked up his time and energy the same way pounding out exposés has filled hers, but he makes an effort to keep in touch, so she does, too. He was her first friend in the city, and the best one. She hasn't made many others.
"You should meet this private investigator Hogarth has on retainer," he says one night after they've had one too many lemon drops at a midtown bar that looks and smells nothing like Josie's but is close to his office, since he plans to go back to work when they're done. "I think she could drink me under the table. The woman has an iron liver! Never seen anything like it."
Karen laughs as lemon juice and sugar melt against her tongue. For once she feels as free and easy as she imagined she would be when she moved here.
*
iv.
Now that she's getting paid in money instead of baked goods, Karen splurges on a new vibrator that ends up sitting in its packaging for weeks before she has the energy or the inclination to use it. But she's just filed a big story about Roxxon dumping toxic waste out in the Rockaways, and Ellison sent her home with a stern injunction to get some rest.
She tries, but she can't settle, not used to being home so early, to going to bed before one or two. She takes the vibrator out of its packaging and washes it. It's expensive and feels it, warm and soft to the touch, and looking like a work of abstract art. Still, when she switches it on, it vibrates powerfully. It's a sad commentary on the state of her love life that she feels herself get a little wet just thinking about using it.
She strips and lies down, the sheets cool and familiar-smelling beneath her. She runs her fingers over her skin, lets herself enjoy being touched, even if it's by her own hands. She closes her eyes and thinks about Captain America as she thumbs her nipples to aching hardness. She'd had a crush on him in high school, long before he came back.
Cap's face morphs into Matt's as she slides a hand between her thighs, and she imagines his stubble against her skin, his full lips on her cunt.
She stops, shaking her head to clear it of that image. She's not going to think of him now, not going to ruin this by making herself sad over something that ended before it ever really got a chance to start.
She takes a deep breath and starts again, this time running the vibrator over the slick folds of her cunt. When she closes her eyes, she sees Frank, with his broad shoulders and sad eyes. She imagines his scarred and callused hands on her body and the low gravel of his voice in her ear, telling her she's beautiful, she's strong, she's good.
The heat and pleasure build up quickly, peaking and breaking in waves that leave her breathless and sweaty. She doesn't stop like she usually would, chases the aftershocks hard with the toy against her clit and comes again with a guttural moan that startles her.
She lies panting against the pillows and knows that now she'll be able to sleep.
*
v.
Karen unlocks the door to her apartment and finds Frank sitting on her sofa, drinking her beer. She lets the door slam behind her and leans against it.
"Hey," she says, her voice steady. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Hey," he answers. "Your security system is shit."
"I don't have a security system."
"Exactly." He nods. "Two Roxxon goons were following you. You gotta be more aware of your surroundings."
"Constant vigilance?"
He barks out a laugh. "Funny, but not wrong." He gestures with the bottle of Heineken. "Taking classes ain't gonna do you any good if you don't see the bad guys coming."
"So you've been following me, too." That should be scary but it just gives her a little thrill.
"Someone's gotta look out for you."
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She uses the time it takes to hang up her jacket and kick off her shoes to find her calm.
"What are you doing here, Frank?"
"I just told you--"
She shakes her head. "You didn't have to come in."
He looks away, mumbles something that sounds like, "I missed you."
She doesn't press him on it, but it makes her decision easier. Before she can think better of it, she takes the three steps from the door to the sofa and slings herself into his lap. She takes the beer from his hand and downs what's left in the bottle and then sets it on the end table.
He has enough time to say, "What--" before she cups his cheeks and presses a kiss to his mouth. His skin is rough with stubble against her palms and his lips are warm and chapped against hers. She grinds down and he growls low in his throat, his hands settling on her hips. She sucks on his upper lip and then slides her tongue into his mouth. He groans again and she licks the sound of it off his tongue, hungry for his responses.
"This is a bad idea," he murmurs against her cheek.
"Yeah," she agrees with a smile. "The best kind."
His laughter is a puff of breath against her skin, and then he's kissing her, his mouth hot and hard against hers, and then soft and sweet along her jaw, down her throat. One of his hands tangles in her hair and the pinpricks of pain as he pulls send shivers down her spine.
She bites his lower lip and shoves her hands up under his shirt, feeling skin and hair and scars, and the smooth shift of muscle as he moves.
They stop kissing long enough to pull their shirts off--she doesn't bother with unbuttoning her blouse, just tears it off over her head--and get rid of her bra. Then his mouth is on her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples until she thinks she might come from that alone. But she wants more. She wants everything. Especially since she doesn't know if she'll ever get to have it again.
She manages to get his jeans unbuttoned so she can get a hand on his dick and he wraps his fingers around her wrist, stopping her.
"Condom?"
She shakes her head. "Pill."
He lets out an explosive breath. "Okay."
She pushes the soaked crotch of her panties aside and sinks down onto him, reveling in the friction and the stretch. She lets out a little breathy, "Oh" of pleasure, and then another and a third when he rolls his hips gently.
He kisses her tenderly and she lets herself enjoy it for a moment before she realizes doesn't want that, doesn't want the fantasy of sweet lovemaking when she knows they can never have more than quick, furtive fucks before he disappears again into the night.
She palms the back of his head, enjoying the rough brush of his hair against her skin, and guides him back down to her breasts. "Just keep doing that," she says, arching her back as he sucks at her tits. He's surprisingly good at taking orders from her.
With her other hand she rubs her clit fiercely, and with her hips she sets a punishing pace. Her thighs are going to ache later, but it's worth it for the way his hands grip her, fingers digging hard into her sides, her hips, her back. She won't mind a few bruises if she gets them like this. She's surprised the sofa doesn't collapse.
Her orgasm hits like a punch, hard and fast, leaving her breathless and satisfied. Frank grunts and shoves up hard into her, as he comes, a few seconds later, his mouth pressed to chest over her heart.
After a minute or two, he lifts her off his lap and sets her on the sofa beside him. She can feel his come wet and sticky on her thighs, and her skin is singing with the memory of his stubble scraping against it. She feels boneless and satisfied and energized all at once. She tips her head back and tries to get her breathing under control.
"Still think it was a bad idea?" she asks, rolling her head to the side to look at him.
"The worst," he says, but he's smiling. "But also the best."
"Trust me," she says, and she only sounds like she's joking. "I'll never steer you wrong."
She hopes he knows how much she means it.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/830938.html.
people have commented there.
Daredevil; Karen/Frank; adult; 1,900 words
Karen wants the truth more than she wants the fantasy.
Title from Neko Case. Contains spoilers for season 2. Yeah, I don't know either.
Or read it at AO3.
~*~
your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes
i.
Karen writes like she's exorcising everything that's happened in the past few months, like putting it down on paper can erase the memories. It's not natural to her, not the way research is, the way talking to people, getting them to tell her their stories is. It never gives her the same thrill she gets from investigating, from hunting down secrets and exposing them to the light. But she does it, sweating and cursing at the words on the screen to produce a draft that Ellison will tear apart and make her put back together again, better than before.
*
ii.
She doesn't want to live in the place where Colonel Schoonover tried to kill her, and it's not hard to find a new apartment. People are fleeing the neighborhood despite Matt's best efforts, so she gets a good deal on a tiny one bedroom and moves in as quickly as she can, as if by changing her address she can escape the past.
She's done it before. It doesn't work, but that hasn't stopped her from trying.
She doesn't want to think about Matt, hasn't spoken to him since that day in the office when he told her his secret. She's still not sure how she feels about it, but she knows the guy she dreamt of loving, the goodhearted, funny lawyer who made her insides flutter, doesn't exist. She built an image of the man she wanted and tried to fit him into it. She wouldn't be surprised if he did the same with her. But people are too messy and real to fit into imaginary pictures. She knows now that it couldn't have worked, not like that.
It's okay, though. She wants the truth more than she wants the fantasy, even if it was nice while it lasted.
*
iii.
Her life isn't what she pictured when she moved to New York. It's so much more interesting than that. She works almost constantly, and when she's not working, she's working out. The self-defense classes she takes aren't as thrilling as sparring with Matt was, but she can't count on him--on anyone else--to protect her again. She's digging into some shady characters, and she doesn't have a mask or a cute nickname to hide behind. She has to rely on herself.
She finds a gun range down in Chelsea and makes time on the weekends to practice shooting. She'll never be Frank--and she doesn't want to be--but she can be better. She already knows she's got the guts to pull the trigger. Now it's just a matter of making it familiar, instinctive, in case she ever has to do it again.
She still has drinks with Foggy occasionally. Moving to a white shoe law firm has sucked up his time and energy the same way pounding out exposés has filled hers, but he makes an effort to keep in touch, so she does, too. He was her first friend in the city, and the best one. She hasn't made many others.
"You should meet this private investigator Hogarth has on retainer," he says one night after they've had one too many lemon drops at a midtown bar that looks and smells nothing like Josie's but is close to his office, since he plans to go back to work when they're done. "I think she could drink me under the table. The woman has an iron liver! Never seen anything like it."
Karen laughs as lemon juice and sugar melt against her tongue. For once she feels as free and easy as she imagined she would be when she moved here.
*
iv.
Now that she's getting paid in money instead of baked goods, Karen splurges on a new vibrator that ends up sitting in its packaging for weeks before she has the energy or the inclination to use it. But she's just filed a big story about Roxxon dumping toxic waste out in the Rockaways, and Ellison sent her home with a stern injunction to get some rest.
She tries, but she can't settle, not used to being home so early, to going to bed before one or two. She takes the vibrator out of its packaging and washes it. It's expensive and feels it, warm and soft to the touch, and looking like a work of abstract art. Still, when she switches it on, it vibrates powerfully. It's a sad commentary on the state of her love life that she feels herself get a little wet just thinking about using it.
She strips and lies down, the sheets cool and familiar-smelling beneath her. She runs her fingers over her skin, lets herself enjoy being touched, even if it's by her own hands. She closes her eyes and thinks about Captain America as she thumbs her nipples to aching hardness. She'd had a crush on him in high school, long before he came back.
Cap's face morphs into Matt's as she slides a hand between her thighs, and she imagines his stubble against her skin, his full lips on her cunt.
She stops, shaking her head to clear it of that image. She's not going to think of him now, not going to ruin this by making herself sad over something that ended before it ever really got a chance to start.
She takes a deep breath and starts again, this time running the vibrator over the slick folds of her cunt. When she closes her eyes, she sees Frank, with his broad shoulders and sad eyes. She imagines his scarred and callused hands on her body and the low gravel of his voice in her ear, telling her she's beautiful, she's strong, she's good.
The heat and pleasure build up quickly, peaking and breaking in waves that leave her breathless and sweaty. She doesn't stop like she usually would, chases the aftershocks hard with the toy against her clit and comes again with a guttural moan that startles her.
She lies panting against the pillows and knows that now she'll be able to sleep.
*
v.
Karen unlocks the door to her apartment and finds Frank sitting on her sofa, drinking her beer. She lets the door slam behind her and leans against it.
"Hey," she says, her voice steady. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Hey," he answers. "Your security system is shit."
"I don't have a security system."
"Exactly." He nods. "Two Roxxon goons were following you. You gotta be more aware of your surroundings."
"Constant vigilance?"
He barks out a laugh. "Funny, but not wrong." He gestures with the bottle of Heineken. "Taking classes ain't gonna do you any good if you don't see the bad guys coming."
"So you've been following me, too." That should be scary but it just gives her a little thrill.
"Someone's gotta look out for you."
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She uses the time it takes to hang up her jacket and kick off her shoes to find her calm.
"What are you doing here, Frank?"
"I just told you--"
She shakes her head. "You didn't have to come in."
He looks away, mumbles something that sounds like, "I missed you."
She doesn't press him on it, but it makes her decision easier. Before she can think better of it, she takes the three steps from the door to the sofa and slings herself into his lap. She takes the beer from his hand and downs what's left in the bottle and then sets it on the end table.
He has enough time to say, "What--" before she cups his cheeks and presses a kiss to his mouth. His skin is rough with stubble against her palms and his lips are warm and chapped against hers. She grinds down and he growls low in his throat, his hands settling on her hips. She sucks on his upper lip and then slides her tongue into his mouth. He groans again and she licks the sound of it off his tongue, hungry for his responses.
"This is a bad idea," he murmurs against her cheek.
"Yeah," she agrees with a smile. "The best kind."
His laughter is a puff of breath against her skin, and then he's kissing her, his mouth hot and hard against hers, and then soft and sweet along her jaw, down her throat. One of his hands tangles in her hair and the pinpricks of pain as he pulls send shivers down her spine.
She bites his lower lip and shoves her hands up under his shirt, feeling skin and hair and scars, and the smooth shift of muscle as he moves.
They stop kissing long enough to pull their shirts off--she doesn't bother with unbuttoning her blouse, just tears it off over her head--and get rid of her bra. Then his mouth is on her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples until she thinks she might come from that alone. But she wants more. She wants everything. Especially since she doesn't know if she'll ever get to have it again.
She manages to get his jeans unbuttoned so she can get a hand on his dick and he wraps his fingers around her wrist, stopping her.
"Condom?"
She shakes her head. "Pill."
He lets out an explosive breath. "Okay."
She pushes the soaked crotch of her panties aside and sinks down onto him, reveling in the friction and the stretch. She lets out a little breathy, "Oh" of pleasure, and then another and a third when he rolls his hips gently.
He kisses her tenderly and she lets herself enjoy it for a moment before she realizes doesn't want that, doesn't want the fantasy of sweet lovemaking when she knows they can never have more than quick, furtive fucks before he disappears again into the night.
She palms the back of his head, enjoying the rough brush of his hair against her skin, and guides him back down to her breasts. "Just keep doing that," she says, arching her back as he sucks at her tits. He's surprisingly good at taking orders from her.
With her other hand she rubs her clit fiercely, and with her hips she sets a punishing pace. Her thighs are going to ache later, but it's worth it for the way his hands grip her, fingers digging hard into her sides, her hips, her back. She won't mind a few bruises if she gets them like this. She's surprised the sofa doesn't collapse.
Her orgasm hits like a punch, hard and fast, leaving her breathless and satisfied. Frank grunts and shoves up hard into her, as he comes, a few seconds later, his mouth pressed to chest over her heart.
After a minute or two, he lifts her off his lap and sets her on the sofa beside him. She can feel his come wet and sticky on her thighs, and her skin is singing with the memory of his stubble scraping against it. She feels boneless and satisfied and energized all at once. She tips her head back and tries to get her breathing under control.
"Still think it was a bad idea?" she asks, rolling her head to the side to look at him.
"The worst," he says, but he's smiling. "But also the best."
"Trust me," she says, and she only sounds like she's joking. "I'll never steer you wrong."
She hopes he knows how much she means it.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/830938.html.
people have commented there.