Matt was not okay.
He was fumbling across Hell’s Kitchen, stumbling over dangers he usually avoided like second nature. This was one of the easiest routes home, he'd taken it a thousand times before, but now he was barely staying on his feet. His head was spinning, his nose and ears were clogged with that bitter powder. He’d been following a lead on the newest drug distributor in the Kitchen, and found himself fighting some quick, scrawny asshole who didn’t speak and wore way too much cologne. Matt had just about won, but then the guy puffed this mystery powder into his face and ran off while he was choking on it. Now Matt’s senses were on the fritz, his tongue was going numb, and his skin was starting to tingle. And when did it get so damn cold outside?
He just needed to get home, and he could deal with whatever this drug was doing to him. He was almost there, he started to think he might actually make it, but then the world tilted sharply under his feet and he found himself flat on his face, lying in the gravel on a narrow rooftop. Matt tried to get up, but ‘up’ was quickly becoming an abstract concept. In the space of a few heartbeats, the tingling under Matt’s skin jacked up to a heavy buzzing, knocking him over right as he managed to clamber to his knees. The sensation pooled unexpectedly in his hips and Matt swore he had never grown so hard so fast, though it was more uncomfortable than pleasurable. He dreaded what was happening, out in public where anyone could see, and it finally dawned on him that this was likely what the powder was designed to do. It was an aphrodisiac, probably a date rape drug. He couldn’t get up, couldn't fight, and couldn’t help but grind the heel of his hand into his crotch in an attempt to control the stimulation. He hoped no one had been able to follow him, he didn’t stand a chance if he was attacked now.
“Red?”
Shit. Matt knew Frank’s voice, could kind of hear his heartbeat over the pounding in his own ears, now that he was paying attention. He hadn’t heard from the man in weeks, had no clue whether he had found Matt, or if Matt stumbled upon his operation. Half the time (conservatively), they fought when they met, and Matt couldn’t imagine what Frank might do to him now, when he was helpless. Then the buzzing passed through him again like a tidal wave, his skin started to crawl and burn, and it all came to an agonizing, teasing head right at his cock. “Frank--” Matt’s voice came out choked, pained, and he curled in on himself in a weak attempt to hide his hard-on, and the way his hand was irremovably glued to the front of his pants.
Matt heard Frank kneel next to him. It seemed that Frank was going to try and help him, then. Matt almost wished he would kick him in the ribs and leave him instead of seeing him this wrecked. Then he felt wonderfully warm, calloused hands uncurl him, try and hold him still enough to assess him. Matt smelled gunpowder and soap and musk, warmth emanating from his body. It hit him like a brick wall, and left him laden with want .
Matt pulled himself as close as he could to Frank, just needing to be close, needing to be warm. The fact that Frank was speaking to him was an afterthought, until the man pinned Matt down by his shoulders and made him listen. “What the hell’s goin’ on with you, Murdock?”
It took a couple beats for Matt to register the question, the buzzing was so distracting, but he managed to gather some words. “Drugged. Was fighting, got hit by this powder, I can’t--” God, the feeling hit him again, he was aching with desire. His back arched, hand scrabbling at the front of Frank’s shirt. He felt a hand on his chest, another cradling his head. When had the helmet come off? It didn’t matter. “Please Frank, pleasepleaseplease I--” his voice broke into a sob, he couldn’t help himself, and he wrapped around Frank at an awkward angle that didn’t grant much friction, but it was contact, it was something, and he just needed.
Matt was hefted over a broad shoulder in a motion too swift to follow, and Frank muttered useless consolations as he made his way to (hopefully) Matt’s apartment. Matt tried to resist, he didn’t want to move, he wanted to touch and be touched and rut and fuck, but vertigo and the uncontrollable shivering in his limbs wouldn’t let him struggle. The most he could do was bury his face in Frank’s shoulder and drown in the smell of him, the musk and warmth and smooth slide of leather against his cheek. Soon he’d be home, maybe Frank would give him what he wanted.
Matt couldn’t begin to guess how much time had passed. It felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes before he was startled back into the moment when he hit the ground, a discarded rag doll. Frank was no longer holding him, no longer close to him. He could hear a struggle, tried to push himself to his feet, but he felt feverish and weak, his lungs felt like he couldn’t bring in any air. Staying awake was a struggle, let alone getting up to defend himself. He heard a gun cock, a familiar splat sound, like something sticking to a surface, and felt heat above him, someone crouching...protecting him? He could smell fast food, Irish Spring soap, and webbing.
“Peter? Stop!” It was all Matt could do to speak and grasp at Spider-Man’s leg, try and cling to him. “Frank, he’s trying to help, I need help, need….” Matt couldn’t finish his sentence, whimpered instead, overwhelmed by haze and lust and holy shit Peter smelled great.
“We on the same side, big guy?” Matt heard Peter ask, wary.
“I’d say so, webhead, I’m tryna help the poor bastard. He’s been poisoned, or drugged. Found him with that white dust all over his face, squirmin’ around a like a cat in heat. I was takin’ him home, gonna get him a doctor.”
Peter moved out of his defensive stance, crouched over Matt and pressed a gloved hand to his cheek. “You’re burning up, Matt,” he mumbled. “What did they give you?”
Matt barely heard him, his hand was warm, too, and soothed some of the burn but it wasn’t enough. He clutched Peter’s arm and pressed his face against the hand touching him. “Dunno, something new. Please, Peter, it burns. I….” Matt turned his head, just a fraction, and found his lips grazing Peter’s fingers. He was having trouble getting words to make sense, so he kissed and nipped at Peter’s hand instead, and thrust his hips into the air. He hoped someone would get the message, prayed that someone would touch him like he needed.
“Ah, shit.” Peter didn’t yank his hand away, like Matt half-expected him to. But he did move his hand, ran it through Matt’s sweat-dampened hair, comforting and so sensual, eliciting a full-bodied moan from Matt. He seemed to mostly ignore Matt’s wordless pleas, addressing Frank like a doctor. “I’ve seen this before. He needs to get home, out of sight, and we need to lower his fever. Don’t touch your face, you need to wash your hands as soon as possible.”
Matt felt arms pick him up again, he was so out of it now he couldn’t even tell who was holding him anymore, or how time was passing. The only thing he registered was the smell of his own apartment, warm air, stifling in his condition, washing over the bare skin of his face. Even still, he couldn’t stop shivering. He was stripped with firm, nimble fingers, he thought it was Peter but wasn’t certain. A cool wet rag wiped the powder from his face and neck, painfully cold, but he knew how hot he must be to be suffering this much. He faintly heard rushing water, and a glass was pressed to his lips. He was forced to drink enough water to make his stomach hurt, but he did as directed. Peter knew what was best, he said he had dealt with this before. Soon he had it together enough to know that there were two men in his room with him, watching him sweat and twist and turn on the silk sheets. Peter sat on the bed next to him, petting his hair again, and Frank was lurking close by.
“What’s wrong with him?” Frank asked.
“Nothing a doctor can fix, I’ll tell you that much. Look, I’ve dealt with this stuff before. He needs. Well. What he’s been asking for, essentially. It’s the only way I know of to get it out of his system.”
There was a long pause, where the only sounds were Matt’s desperate gasps and whimpers. “He needs sex.” Frank’s voice was flat, controlled, but his pulse picked up, either in anxiety or anticipation. Please , Matt thought, please be anticipation. And then he had to hope he hadn’t said it out loud because he wasn’t even sure, at this point.
“Yeah. He could go into cardiac arrest if his body’s denied too long, or his brain could fry from the fever.” Matt curled up around Peter, tried to keep his hips still but they kept twitching, he just couldn’t control it. Peter accepted Matt’s molestation, somewhat clinical, wrapping his arms and legs around Matt and stroking his back, trying to comfort. The contact, the proximity of someone else, let him slow down a touch, gave him a second to breathe but it wouldn’t be enough to last. Matt ached for more.
“Can’t he, y’know, do it himself?” Frank’s voice was strained, uncomfortable.
“It seems to be a pheromone thing, as far as I’ve been able to tell. He needs a, erm, separate party.” Peter touched Matt’s face, urged him to focus. “Do you have a girlfriend, Matt? Or boyfriend? Anyone we should call?”
Matt thought of Karen--their relationship was tenuous at best since he confessed his identity, and he couldn’t put her in that position. He and Foggy--even worse. Matt’s actions had made their relationship rocky, too, to say the least. Beyond that, they hadn’t fooled around since college, and even then they’d been three sheets to the wind. He couldn’t imagine calling him up, asking him for help like this. Matt shook his head.
“Oh, for Chrissakes--” Frank started pacing. Matt could hear him sigh and run a hand through his own short hair, and shivered at the sound. He wanted to do that to Frank’s hair, wanted to make him sigh like that.
“You don’t have to do anything, Castle,” Peter said. “You can leave anytime you like. I’ll stay with him alone if need be. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up, judging by the dose he likely got. This stuff, it’s like fucking on cocaine. He’s gonna be at it for hours.”
Matt groaned at Peter’s prediction. He kissed Peter’s thigh, where he could reach without moving too much. He was staying, and Matt felt like it was Christmas. Someone would ease this misery, calm his pounding heart and tight, shaky, overheated body. Peter would help him. “Thank you,” he whispered, nuzzling into Peter’s lap. He could feel a slight response under the spandex, but Peter was still very controlled.
The younger man stood up and started to pull off his uniform. Frank turned his head away out of propriety, but sighed, contemplating. “Matt needs this,” he said, almost growling, focused firmly on the wall to his left. “It doesn’t feel right, to do this to him when he’s not...all there.”
“It’s that, or let the fever kill him. The chemical reactions won’t let it come down any other way, not for a couple days, at least. He can’t wait that long in this state.” Peter, stripped down, leaned in, and kissed Matt, tugging lightly on his hair. Matt almost came, just like that, but it wasn’t enough, he wanted more . He nearly cried when Peter pulled away. “Do you have condoms, Matt? Lube?”
“Top drawer,” Matt panted, waving in the general direction of the nightstand. “Hurry,” he whined, hating that Peter had to move further away to get the supplies. Frank hadn’t decided where he stood with this yet, but Matt could feel eyes on him from across the room, heard Frank’s breath pick up as he wriggled out of his underwear. “Please, Peter, fuck me. I’ll go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now. It’s too hot, my skin is on fire, I need you to touch me.”
Peter was suddenly above him again, pushing his thighs apart gently. “I know, Matt, I know. Soon. You need some preparation, first.”
Matt shook his head. Even as he did, he knew it was a stupid move, but he was so impatient, he needed it now and if it hurt, that was just the way of it. “Don’t need it, need you. I need a cock in me so bad I can’t stand it. Please .”
Frank cursed from across the room, listening to the rambling that came out of Matt’s mouth. “Shh, shh, shhh.” Peter leaned forward and kissed Matt again, stroking the aching, twitching cock that lay across his belly. Matt’s whole body shivered and bucked at the sensation, and an inhuman noise left his throat. “Trust me, Matt. I know what you need. Just trust me.” Peter murmured to Matt so tenderly, so surely, that Matt could only nod. Peter knew best, Peter would take care of him.
He tried to be still as Peter drenched Matt’s hole with lube, ran a thumb over the tight, clenching muscle. Matt practically screamed from that alone, shaking with lust. “Please, Peter--” he was shocked still for a moment, as Peter pushed one finger in, slowly dragging, penetrating. Matt hadn’t done this in so long, forgot how fucking good it felt. Then he pushed back, the movement mostly involuntary, and begged for more, harder, faster. Peter set a steady, calm rhythm, other hand stroking himself to hardness.
Peter glanced over his shoulder to catch Frank staring openly now, steady pace never faltering. “You in or out, Castle? Proximity is key, you standing all the way over there isn’t gonna do much for him.” Matt imagined how Frank might look watching this, pupils blown wide, lips parted, dick hard in his pants. Did it turn him on to see Matt this way, to see him so hungry and wanton?
Frank bit his lip, Matt could hear it clear as day, smell the blood where skin split, and it made him moan. He heard shuffling, the sound of Frank removing his coat. Matt smiled; Frank was staying, Frank might touch him, might do all kinds of things. He was pulled out of his train of thought when Peter added another finger and twisted his hand just so . “Peter!” Matt’s back arched at the sensation, two fingers now caressing his insides, stretching him, but it only scratched the surface of his desire.
Peter prepped him while Frank took off his clothes, unhurried, reluctant but seemingly willing. Soon, Peter was three fingers deep in Matt’s ass, and Frank was naked, kneeling on the bed to Matt’s left. “I haven’t done this kinda thing in years,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost bashful.
“You don’t have to do it if you aren’t comfortable. Matt wouldn’t want you to do anything you didn’t want to, in his right mind.” Peter sounded distracted as he spoke, likely focused on Matt’s body. Matt could have kicked Peter, he wanted Frank and didn’t want Peter to give him second thoughts, even though a tiny corner of his brain knew Peter was right, and he was just so swamped in sensation, in a drug-induced longing, that he couldn’t see reason.
Frank shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay with it, if this is what he needs. Just...tell me what to do.” Matt could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell his undeniable arousal. He wanted him closer, reached out for him. Frank complied, laying on his side, pressing his body to Matt’s. A rough hand splayed over his chest, so warm and sturdy against his skin, and a thumb experimentally brushed over a nipple. Matt jerked at that, a high keen escaping as he dipped into Frank’s neck and breathed deep. He smelled like heaven.
“You’re doing fine,” Peter said kindly, though it was faint, like background noise. “Just keep him distracted, for now. He might not like this part.”
Peter was pushing himself inside. For a second, it was all Matt could process--the pain, familiar but forgotten by time, so much different than a punch in the face or a knife in the ribs. The intimacy of it made it so much more poignant, raw. And God, he could feel everything, he always could. Every twitch and pulse and the raw, burning stretch, too much . But then Frank took him by the chin and kissed him, lips warm and sweet, under the cigarettes and mouthwash, and a huge, rough hand wrapped around his cock. Matt relaxed, the world grew even softer and hazier around the edges, and suddenly Peter was buried to the hilt inside him.
Matt came in under a minute, with Peter in his ass and Frank’s hands and mouth all over him, slowly exploring and caressing. It did little to satiate the burn, the desire, and he expressed that by bucking his hips back at Peter, even after his orgasm, pleading for more. What seemed to help the most, he found, were touch and smell, skin on skin and the scent of Frank and Peter’s bodies, their arousal, the blood pounding in their veins. It did things to him, sent this warm, calm relief through his bones that made his head slow and unfocused, but in a good way.
Peter fucked him until Matt was an incoherent, babbling mess, slick with sweat and flushed pink, and rode him after he came, giving himself time to recuperate. Peter prepped himself, no-nonsense and efficient, and sank down on Matt’s cock like he belonged there, tight and warm and sweeter than honey. He let Matt grab his hips and piston up into him, stroking himself while Matt used him until he was ready to take Matt again, and the cycle repeated itself. Matt himself was moaning like a cheap whore, and probably making sounds he would rather die than own up to any other time, but he couldn’t help himself. He was being fucked by Spider-Man, and the fucking Punisher was kissing him, cupping his face and stroking his oversensitive cock, telling him it would be okay, that they’ll take such good care of him. He came over and over and over , he was long past any real release, reduced to tears and dry orgasms, but still he needed it, craved sensation and the cool and the relief of other bodies pressed close.
Peter fucked him like an absolute champ, held out for hours and gave Matt everything he wanted for as long as he could, but even Spider-Man has his limits. He collapsed on top of Matt when he was finally spent, a pile of trembling, sweaty limbs, and detached himself from Matt’s desperate grip. He shuffled into the living room, grabbing at the doorframe to steady himself and mumbling something about having done his part, and Castle taking over.
Frank held Matt for a moment, ran a soothing hand up and down his back, like he didn’t quite know where to go from here. Matt rutted against him, feeling empty now that Peter was gone, needing that closeness again. “Frank….”
“What do you need, Red?” Frank pressed his lips to Matt’s forehead, used to kissing and touching him now but not much else. Matt squirmed, slid a thigh between Frank’s and rutted against his hip.
“Will...will you fuck me? Please, Frank, I want you to--to--” Matt still had trouble saying it, conflicted. He wanted it, and he knew Frank wanted it, but this whole thing felt forced and he didn’t want to hurt Frank, or worse, let Frank think he was hurting or taking advantage of him. “I need it, Frank. I’m sorry, I still need it. It’ll be so good, I promise. Please, just….” He buried his face in Frank’s thick neck, groped Frank’s body. His cock was hard, neither of them had gotten soft the entire time they’d been here, and was pressed up against Matt’s side. It wasn’t much longer than Peter’s, but thick, and Matt would be alarmed by the prospect of taking it in any other situation. “Please.”
Frank kissed Matt, and let his hand travel back and down to Matt’s already thoroughly used hole. He slipped a few fingers inside to assure himself Matt was ready for him, as if Matt needed any more prep, and pulled him impossibly closer. Matt bucked back, mindlessly chasing sensation, loving the feel of larger fingers in his ass, probing and sliding, slick but rough from years of firefights and labor. Frank, skillful and meticulous as ever, took Matt’s nipple between his lips and sucked hard enough to make him gasp as he rolled a condom on and lubed himself up. “It’ll be okay, Matt. I’ll take care of you. Give you whatever you want, anything. Gonna make you right again.” He kissed Matt’s lips, his face, his neck, every touch tender, and pressed himself in.
This was different from Peter, Matt knew it right away, even through the fever and exhaustion. Peter had been helping a friend, saving his ass as casually as the situation would allow; there was no real passion behind it. This--Frank was--caring. Careful. Gentle, and restrained, and soft. The phrase ‘making love’ flitted through Matt’s mind, even though he knew Frank didn’t love him. And yet. This was very clearly something.
They both groaned when Matt was fully seated on Frank’s cock, his legs wrapped around Frank’s waist. Frank was shaking, couldn’t seem to control the heavy breath that heated Matt’s neck. “That’s good Matt, so good.” He held Matt tight, let Matt breathe him in and rock down on him. God, it was perfect. Their lips met again, their kiss as deep as the moment they had unavoidably found themselves in. Matt didn’t want to move, he wanted to stay right here, like this with Frank. He was strong, and tender, and they fit together like two parts of a whole.
Matt’s dick twitched, impatient, spurring him into action. He ground against Frank, movements small and eager, and nipped and nuzzled Frank, encouraging him to move. Frank obliged in rolling, fluid movements, crushing Matt to his chest, and it was exactly what Matt’s body had been screaming for. Matt felt enveloped, overwhelmed by Frank, and it was bliss.
Peter was amazing, but Frank was downright otherworldly. He built Matt up again and again, until he couldn’t speak, could barely think, could only exist as a bundle of whimpering, short-circuited nerves. Matt didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Time seemed to stretch on with just the two of them, with Frank’s steady, tender slide, his mouth appeasing Matt, soothing his pain, extinguishing the fire under his skin. His stamina alone was incredible, but the care he put into making Matt feel good, making sure he felt nothing but ecstasy, put him a cut above anyone else. Matt tasted his musk in the air, smelled him all around, felt his heart beating in both of their bodies. He lost count of how many times Frank made him come, dick sliding against his prostate, hands holding, teasing, stroking him and sating him. He just knew he was next to Frank, and on top of Frank, and under Frank, and it all felt so satisfying, right . Matt wondered why they hadn’t done this before, drugs or no.
Frank was close, Matt could tell. His thrusts were starting to get erratic, quicker, like he couldn’t quite stop himself. Every one of his muscles were clenching and shivering, and sweat beaded and rolled down his face. Matt could “see” his eyes clenched shut, the tremble in his lower lip as he tried so hard to hold back. “God, Matt, you’re perfect,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Your ass is amazing, you’re amazing, you’re beautiful, you always fucking are and every damn time I see you I--”
Frank stopped himself, buried his face in Matt’s neck to stifle the words that were pouring out of him. And suddenly, it all made sense to Matt, fell into place like facts in a courtroom, and it was so obvious. He could smell in on Frank, hear it in the way he spoke, feel it in his gentle hands. How had he managed to make it this far without ever noticing? Jesus, how long had Frank been in love with him?
Frank’s hand reached down and took Matt’s cock one more time. It barely took a touch to push Matt over the edge, and he came as Frank pulsed inside him, entire body tense and stock-still. “ Matt .” he whispered, solemn as a prayer, arms around him like a vise, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips. They were sure to leave bruises that Matt would carry for days. He couldn’t say he minded.
Neither man had the strength to move, after that. They were a mess, but that could wait. Matt noticed, a touch absently, that he felt much better--his fever and lust seemed to have faded, at least long enough for him to pass out. And if after he woke, he needed more? Well, he’d just have to ask Frank to be so kind again. He was half-lying on top of Frank (when had he pulled out?), arms slung lazily around each other. In the back of his mind, he registered the sounds of a city waking up outside his bedroom. Was it morning already?
Matt didn’t seem to crave the pheromones like he did, and exhaustion aside he felt surprisingly clear-headed. And yet. As he drifted off, he caught himself relishing the smell of Frank and sex, and the sound of the soldier’s easy, unconscious breath, his steady heart thumping right next to Matt’s ear. It made him feel safe on a bone-deep level that he found hard to put into words. He decided he enjoyed being close to Frank, and that was all him, not whatever he’d been dosed with. Maybe when they woke up, Matt would reassess his feelings--about Frank, about himself and what he wanted. They would have to talk, and it would probably be like pulling teeth, getting Frank to open up. But Matt shifted, felt the delicious soreness in his muscles and Frank’s soft sigh brush past his ear, and he smiled. This was worth pulling teeth.