Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Warm and cozy and soft...pillows, covers, fresh sheets that still smelled like daisies even after a night of sleeping on them, Matt had never been this comfortable before.

His bruises didn’t hurt too bad, even the two cracked ribs on his left side didn’t sting all that much either. He was surrounded by thick down covers and big fluffy pillows, and Frank was next to him.

Matt rolled over to wrap himself around Frank. Wait...where was he? Though his body protested, Matt unearthed himself from under the covers and sat up. Once he got the sleep-haze out of his head, focusing his hearing was a little easier.

There he was, in the kitchen.

Frank stood by the stove, humming softly as a frying pan sizzled. Matt could smell...bacon. Eggs, coffee, tomatoes and cucumber and salad. Frank was making breakfast. Hm, at least he couldn’t claim Frank Castle wasn’t a man of his word, Matt supposed. A simple deal, Frank got an extra blowjob and Matt got a nice breakfast. Usually, one of them was gone well before the other woke up. Sure, maybe not the healthiest relationship in the world, but they weren’t exactly healthy people.

But Matt kind of wished it was...more. They were...maybe not exactly boyfriends, but they were damn close to it. After the first time, or the first three depending on your perspective, they did have that talk. It was...awkward. They were awkward. They weren’t exactly in tune with their emotions, either of them. But Matt had proposed that they give it a shot, give each other a shot. God knows it wasn’t like they were going to find anyone else who was cool with the whole vigilante thing.

Matt liked Frank; he knew Frank was a good person. Might not seem like it, but he was. He hadn’t been head over heels for the guy when they fucked in Frank’s kitchen, yeah, but...things change. There was a...a chemistry there, between them, that Matt couldn’t deny, no matter how hard he might try. So Matt was willing to try. If it worked, it worked. If it blew up in their faces...well, the whole world already thought the Punisher and Daredevil hated each other so acting the part probably wouldn’t have been too hard.

And Frank agreed to try. Matt supposed he wanted to feel something again. Have some thing good, or something at least half decent, in his life again.

It was a lot of sex in the beginning, not that either of them had a problem with that. But they were...what? Three months, give or take a little, into this thing and they were kind of actually acting like a couple. Yeah, one of them always bailed after sex, but other than that...it was good. Matt didn’t want to jinx anything, but he actually felt a little happy. He wasn’t going to pretend they were going to live out the American Dream or something, he wasn’t that delusional, but he could see this going somewhere. He could see himself still being with Frank in six months, which hadn’t happened with anyone since before he decided to get into the vigilante business.

Matt rolled out of bed. He found a pair of boxers in the mess of clothes that littered the floor. They had been a little too preoccupied last night to care about dirty laundry. When he pulled them on, he found they were a little too large on him. So they were Franks? Which meant he wasn’t wearing them himself. Well, that could be fun, Matt thought to himself as he shuffled out of the bedroom. Oh, those eggs smelled divine!

“Hey.” Matt said, voice hoarse from sleep, as he came into the kitchen.

“Hey.” Frank said, carefully moving a fried egg from the pan to a plate.

Matt cuddled up behind him and wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist. He underestimated how cold it would be to walk around in just boxers. Thankfully, Frank was better than a furnace on full blast. Matt buried his face in the nape of Frank’s neck, breathing in the delicious mess of smells. Franks own scent, traces of last nights activities, mixed in with the smell of fresh coffee and breakfast.

“Coffee?” Frank asked.

Matt hummed into his neck. Frank held up a cup, which Matt gladly accepted.

“Yours?” he muttered.

Frank scoffed at him. “What? Scared of my cooties?” he asked, the smile on his face obvious in his voice.

“Oh, please. I sucked your dick, I already have cooties all over me.” Matt said then sipped the bitter drink over Frank’s shoulder. “But I want sugar. You never take sugar.”

Frank snorted, shaking his head slowly. “C’mon, get off me, I’m tryin’ to make breakfast.” he said. “Per the agreement.”

Matt hummed. He kissed Frank’s neck before extracting himself. He settled against the kitchen island instead, leaning back against it while he sipped Franks unsweetened coffee.

“It was a good agreement.” Matt said.

“Sure was.” Frank concurred, smiling again.

A pleasant silence fell over them. Frank puttered away over their food, Matt listened on in peace. It felt...normal. It was almost weird. Matt hadn’t felt that normal in a long time. Like he was just a normal guy, having breakfast with his normal boyfriend before they both went off to their normal jobs, only to meet back up for a nice, normal dinner, maybe have a few friends over for a drink, then passing out on the couch together while watching Midsomer Murders reruns or something just as mindless. He could get used to it.

He smiled as Frank placed his hands on the counter on either of Matt’s sides, trapping him there. Matt set the coffee aside, while Frank gained a sudden interest in his neck. Tired, slow kisses down along his collarbone then right back up again until he was teasing at Matt’s lips with his tongue. Matt gladly fell head first into it. He wrapped his arms around Frank’s neck and pulled him even closer, until they were pressed against the counter and the sharp edge was digging into Matt’s back. Hm, brought back memories of their first time together.

“Love you...” Matt mumbled into Frank’s lips.

Frank pulled back, probably staring at him with big eyes.

“What?”

“I...I love you.”

Matt wasn’t sure why he said it, it just slipped out, but as he thought about it...it was true. It was. He hadn’t considered it a possibility for a long time, so it had snuck up on him, he supposed. Thinking back on all the girlfriends and boyfriends he had had in the past, all the ones he had truly loved, and comparing them to this feeling...they paled. They fell short. They were miles away from how Frank made him feel. Hell, it sounded stupid to his own ears. He supposed he didn’t want to see it at first. He supposed that somewhere in his head he thought love would be dangerous, given their ‘night jobs’. And it was. He had loved Elektra and look how that went.

But this could be different, right? He and Frank had survived so much. What was love going to do to them that hadn’t already been done?

Frank stepped back and turned to the stove again. He cleared his throat quietly, staring at his eggs.

“Frank?”

He shut off the plate. He stormed out of the kitchen and Matt was honestly a little stunned.

“Frank!” he called after him.

He heard Frank rifle around in the bedroom, digging through the mess and snatching up his clothes. What was he doing?

Matt ran to the bedroom, and blocked the door as best he could. What the hell was going on? What did he do? What did he do?

“Frank, what is it?” he asked. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We can’t do this anymore, Red.” Frank said as he grabbed his gear bag, stopping in front of Matt. “I can’t do this.”

“Why?” Matt asked, just as accusing as intended. “Because I love you?”

Frank noticeably recoiled at the words. Who the hell did he think he was? They’re together for three months and as soon as Matt says the L word he up and leaves? Fuck that.

“Because some semblance of an actual human emotion is too much for the Punisher to handle?” Matt asked, spitting the words in Frank’s face.

He could hear Frank’s heart pounding faster and faster, breathing quick and unsteady. Something was going on.

“Get outta the way, Red.” Frank bit.

“Fuck no!” Matt shouted back. “No. Open that big fucking mouth and say something! Talk! For once, talk to me! Tell me what I did!”

Frank leaned in, radiating...something. Not anger, not quite. Something like it, that Matt couldn’t name, that made Matt’s skin crawl.

“Get. Out. Of. The way.” Frank hissed at him.

“No.” Matt said again, planting himself harder. “Not until you talk to me. We’re supposed to be in a relationship, Frank. That means we talk about things.”

He wasn’t prepared for Frank physically shoving him out of the way. Matt stumbled back, caught by surprise, as Frank stomped past him. He had to grab at the wall to stay on his feet, but listened to Frank march towards the front door.

“Frank!” he shouted.

God, he was fucking disgusted by how his voice sounded. So meek, wet with tears.

“We’re not in a relationship!” Frank roared.

He threw his bag to the floor, his things and his guns landing with a harsh thud. He turned around, and no doubt fixed Matt with a hateful glare. Oh, Matt’s stomach was turning. He wanted to throw up. What did he do?

“’S like I told ya.” he said, shrugging. “You’re a good lay.”

What? What? It was just...just sex? Matt was just sex? A means to an end, someone to fuck whenever the itch happened to strike, someone to put his dick in and leave as soon as he was done. Something to play with until he got bored and moved on?

Matt was dying.

He had to be. There was no other explanation as to why it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and stomped on.

“But...we talked and-” he tried.

“And I said what I had to say to keep gettin’ in your pants!” Frank interrupted, roaring at him like a lion.

Tears were rolling down Matt’s face. So there it was. Frank was using him for sex, and Matt was a fucking idiot for falling for it. Falling for Frank! How stupid could he be?

Why did he have to open his mouth? Why did he have to say anything?

“Just...stay away from me, Murdock.”

Frank grabbed his bag again. The echo of his steps made Matt’s head pound. The whole world seemed to rattle when the door slammed behind him.

*

Frank fucking hated himself. He was so fucking stupid. How could he let this happen? How could he let things get this far?

He’d had to end it. He’d had to end this...this thing he had with Murdock. Couldn’t let it keep going. Couldn’t let it get any worse.

And Matt just had to say it, he just had to say it and destroy it all.

But it wasn’t Matt’s fault. It wasn’t. Frank would’ve liked to pretend it was, would’ve liked to pretend it was all on him. But it was Franks fault. It was on him, the blame was on him. He was the fucked up one. He was the one with the issues.

As long as Matt didn’t say it, it could go on. Frank could pretend he didn’t know Matt felt that way, that Frank himself didn’t feel that way. As long as it was unsaid, it was fine. It was fine, and pretending was fine. But he said it. He put it out there and Frank couldn’t...he couldn’t.

He was protecting Matt. Might’ve broken his fucking heart but it was better that way. Better than the alternative. Better than Frank saying...it, and Matt dying for it. Frank couldn’t say it because he was cursed. Cursed by the Devil himself, or the Universe, or Fate or whatever he was supposed to believe in. All he knew, was that everyone he had said it to was dead. They all died. Maria. Maria and the...the kids. The fucking kids! How was that fair?! All gone, all dead.

Acid sloshed around in Franks veins. It burned so deep in his chest.

He lost it all once, couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t lose more, couldn’t lose another, couldn’t lose Matt. He was broken like that once, couldn’t survive it again.

Stereo blasting, TV on the highest volume, someone pounding on the door and yelling at him to keep it down, Matt wouldn’t hear, Frank was crying. Bawling, sobbing into his hands. Tears pouring like the fucking Niagara Falls, spit and snot dripping because who fucking cared? Who fucking cared at all about him and his curse?

Work. He had to focus on work, because if he focused on anything else, he’d go crazy. Just forget it all. Forget Matt, forget the feelings, forget what they had together, focus on work instead. Matt was gone, Frank didn’t say it, nothing for the curse to work on, forget it.

He shut off the stereo, muted the TV, kicked the door so hard the building rattled, whoever was yelling seemed to get the hint.

Nothing for the curse to work on, don’t forget that. It hurt like hell, like a ball of red-hot lead sizzling in his gut, but it was better. Nothing for the curse to take, nothing for him to lose, it was better this way.

*

Matt lay in bed, nose buried in the pillow Frank slept on. He was playing that morning on repeat in his head. It had been two days, and Matt had barely moved. He had only called Foggy to tell him he was taking a few sickdays. Foggy asked questions and Matt lied even though he had promised not to. But he’d never told Foggy about Frank; it was easier to tell one small lie about a stomach bug than to go over the whole thing and tear his own heart out all over again.

How did he fuck this up? Everything had been perfectly fine! Frank was making breakfast and Matt came in, they kissed and cuddled and shared a cup of coffee even though Matt hated coffee without sugar, and it was good. Then Matt was an idiot and opened his big, fat mouth and screwed it up.

It would have been okay if Frank didn’t feel the same way, or if he did and he just wasn’t ready to say it. It would’ve been okay, it would’ve been fine, Matt could’ve handled that. But the shit he said...that Matt was just ‘a good lay’? That’s what hurt. That, is what got to Matt.

He had genuinely thought there was something real between them. He had really thought that they could build something together. To think, that Frank had been lying to him? Saying what had to be said to get some more ass out of him? Fucking asshole!

Matt threw the pillow across the room.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck! Fuck you! Fuck you!” he screamed at it, at Frank. “Fuck you, Frank! Fuck you!”

It felt like he was being torn apart. Ripped to shreds from the inside, like something was nestled into his chest but was clawing it’s way out. He wanted to hit something, break something, take his anger and grief and pain out on something.

He had to admit though, Frank was a damn good liar.