Claire thought she definitely needed a rule about her couch. There'd been plenty of times when Matt has come in, barely with a by-your-leave before collapsing on it for another round of stitches and sutures—or worse, when she came home from ten hours already spent patching people up, only to get a busman's unholiday doing it pro bono. Countless times. She was thinking of bringing some of the interns in to practice on him; scrubs couldn't put in a saline line to save their lives.

And only a handful of times had she had him on her couch, not currently bleeding, mimially bruised, with her joining him and his callused hand under her shirt. She definitely needed to tweak that ratio. Thirty percent make-out sessions for seventy percent first-aid. Or sixty percent first-aid, ten percent cunnilingus. She'd taught him where the trigeminal nerve was easily enough; he could learn where her clitoris was.

Twenty percent make-out sessions. At least twenty percent if he wasn't going to wear the black shirt anymore…

"What are you thinking about?" Matt asked. Really wasn't fair to be dating a guy who was paying attention even when he wasn't paying attention. If he could smell whenever she thought about Captain America, it was all over.

"How for a blind guy—" Claire arched her back, moving her breast harder against his hand. His palm had a suture in it from catching a knife; it grated against her nipple. That shouldn't turn her on. "You are really obsessed with boobs."

"You think they don't feel even better than they look?"

"They look awesome. If you take a picture of me with the zipper of my sweater pulled down and the contrast really high, I look like Black Widow."

"Really? I'll have to look her up…"

Claire flicked him on a bruise. "Never tease someone who knows where the ointment went."

His thumb dipped into a spot she didn't know she'd had a spot. She closed her eyes. Let that voice wash over her… "You may not bruise so easily, but the same principle applies. Your breasts are just full of nerve endings… you have to really focus, but you can feel them burn with electricity passing through them. Like a tiny little third rail… follow it up to the brain… help it along the way…" Abruptly, he licked across her collarbone. "You can make someone reach climax with just nipple stimulation."

"Orgasmic purple nurples. Bet you were popular in college."

"I was the terror of the Greek system." He blew on the wet spot he'd left with his tongue, which was just unfair for something they only spent twenty percent of the time on the couch doing.

"I assume you mean sororities. Then again, you do dress up all in black and beat up naughty men at night…"

"No one minded when Black Widow did it. I figured I would be alright."

"Yeah, yeah, keep bringing her up."

Claire's posture was leaving something to be desired. She adjusted a cushion underneath her head, preened herself at a comfortable angle, and let Matt take over massaging her temples. Nice. Nice. Fourteen hour shift and for once she came home to find her boyfriend surprising her with nothing red but the wine. She brushed her foot against his calf as he splayed on top of her, the devil('s lips) on her shoulder. He was probably just as tired from his night shift, even if he hadn't needed stitches.

"I hear that's what it's all about, though." Claire relaxed into his touch. "A bunch of guys wearing tight-fitting clothes, slapping other people around with big phallic symbols, tying them up… it's pretty kinky."

"How kinky can it be? Captain America does it."

"Always the quiet ones, isn't it, Catholic boy? C'mon, ever thought about it? Losing with the billy club, just letting someone spank you?"

"Like you said, I'm Catholic. I get enough shame and humiliation out of sex doing it the old-fashioned way."

"I'm serious. Might be more healthy for you than beating up drug dealers."

"I wear protection."

"Oof."

"Why, would you be interested in… spanking?"

"I know you're blind, but you still know how tight those pants are. And I'm up for anything that doesn't involve wearing a candy-striper outfit," she said with a smile. "You can feel free to dress like Thor, though."

"I don't have the arms for it." Off Claire's unspoken question: "Passed him on the street once. You could feel the muscle fibers…"

"Seriously, though. Spanking. You seem to have a thing for getting the shit kicked out of you. The least you can do is do it for me." Matt nodded, as if agreeing with her conclusion in the distant, theoretical way of a college dorm discussion. "I said seriously. Any questions? Comments?"

"Would you be wearing a corset during any of this?"

"I'm serious! I am making my serious face! Can you not feel the serious nerve impulses in my face?"

"I know, I know. But there would be a Catwoman outfit involved, right? Like, with a little domino mask…"

"That's your biggest question about kinky bondage sex? What I'd be wearing? It's not like you'd get to enjoy it."

"It's a psychological thing. If you're going to spank me, it can't be in slacks and a Star Wars T-shirt, c'mon."

"Okay. I dress up like a Frank Miller character, you let me take a hairbrush to you?"

Matt's brow furrowed. "A hairbrush?"

"It's not like I have a paddle lying around. You'd really be comfortable with this? I heard you talking shit about Fifty Shades of Grey."

"Yeah, because it's Fifty Shades of Grey."

Foggy was ready. With Matt currently dating a nurse, and none of them having to worry about Wilson Fisk, he had thought up more 'playing doctor' jokes than an episode of Scrubs. And Karen was there to witness his cutting sense of humor. As Matt came through the door of their offices, cane tapping before him, Foggy opened his mouth and—

"Hey, Fog, think I could talk to you? Man to man?"

Matt being able to do that made a lot more sense now that Foggy knew he was a superhero.

"Yeah, sure," Foggy said, giving a look to Karen. "Probably wants some advice on his women troubles. Well, c'mon, young man, let's sort you out…"

In the backroom, Foggy took the opportunity to prepare a bagel. Make that two. He'd had them since they left Larkman & Vogel and he thought they were about to go bad…

"I need to tell you something," Matt opened with.

"What, are you Iron Man too?"

"Foggy—"

"What? C'mon, you have a bit of a history with these very special conversations."

"It's not like that. It's about Claire."

"She wants to have a threesome?"

Matt cocked his head. "I'm sure if she were here, she'd say something about how she has enough white boys in her life."

"So you're saying she's a racist? Because you may not see color—"

"She wants to try bondage. With me, for the record."

Foggy hmmed as he ladled on the cream cheese. "Well, that's cool. Just don't get to into it. If you feel the urge to do a spinning roundhouse kick—"

"She would be the one doing the hurricane kick. In this scenario."

"You'd be the Anastatsia Steele?"

Matt sighed. "We've gotta have a better reference point for this stuff than that damn book."

"…you'd be the Maggie Gyllenhall in that movie with the guy who sounds like Ultron?"

"Yes. She's interested in being the dom. Apparently I look very pretty when I'm covered with bruises and it gives people certain ideas…"

"I blame Star Trek. After seeing Chris Pine, Marci kept trying to nail me with the bathroom door after I was done shaving. I suppose it's a better look than those beards people have when they really like Allison Brie."

"You love Allison Brie."

"Yes, but I'm equally into Gillian Jacobs! Wait, is this a level of friendship where we bond about our love lives? Is that the next step after one of us admits to being a vigilante? Because if we're just getting into girls I fantasize about, this could take a while. I'm telling you, man, when you have eyes, there are pretty girls everywhere. It's a blessing and a curse."

"I'm fine just assuming that women are attractive. I actually just wanted to—confide in you."

"I'm all ears. Well, you're all ears, I'm staring at this little lizard on the wall…"

"I'd like it if you could phone me after. Just to make sure everyone's okay."

"After your kinky bondage sex with the nurse?"

"Yeah. Just to check in."

Foggy eyed the slow curvature of Matt's nod. "What, are you worried something's going to happen?"

"I'm… cautious about the possibility of something happening."

"Like she gets you tied up, then she calls… Jabba the Hutt or whoever and tells him she's got the Devil of Hell's Kitchen on lockdown? That would be so femme fatale!"

"She's not going to do that. Just… in case she trips and hits her head on a table and I can't do anything because I'm handcuffed to the bed. You call me, I don't answer, you come and help out. It's the responsible thing to do."

"What, you can't pick a lock? They don't teach that at ninja school?"

"No, Foggy, they teach you how to put up with annoying best friends who want to do their stand-up routines in the middle of being asked for help."

"Okay, okay. You just text me beforehand, I'll wait two hours and call you—I assume it takes two hours for your average Avenger to have sex—and if you don't pick up, I'll come by with my trusty baseball bat."

"Thank you."

"But tell me you at least got her to dress up like Emma Peel."

Matt had just sent the text.

Claire was wearing leather. Beneath it, she was all sweat and adrenaline, nervousness and need.

"Bend over," she told him.

In lieu of a scene of unspeakable perversity, we now go to a patented Marvel cameo.

"A hero? The Devil of Hell's Kitchen?" J. Jonah Jameson roared. "He's no hero! Even if he's not a bomber, he's still only doing it for kicks! He's a thrillseeker! An adrenaline junkie! A… a Daredevil!"

It was no surprise to see Matt limping into work the next day. The nature of his cane-assisted gait made it easy for him to hide any number of twinges; Foggy only saw because he was looking. He waited until Karen left before he spoke.

"So, uh… I called you last night. You didn't really seem too talkative."

"No… no. I had some stuff."

"But you're okay, right?"

Matt nodded quickly.

"Good. That's good. Nice to know the only reason your face looks like shit is because you had someone's ass on it…"

"Foggy," Matt said slowly. "You ever think about… dating etiquette? For men, I mean?"

"I can't say that I do."

"I mean—if you're on a date with a girl, your first date, and she kisses you, and you go up to her place, take your clothes off, have sex… does that make you easy?"

"I think that just makes you Tony Stark."

"But women, right?" Matt tapped his cane on the ground for emphasis. "Women are careful about that. They don't give it up too easily. I'm not saying a woman won't have sex on the first date, but she'll hold something back. You don't get sex and a blowjob and then they make you breakfast in bed. They don't give you the full-court press. You have to earn it."

"I can't honestly say I've noticed that. I'm just happy with what I get. Cuddling. I'm happy with cuddling. Cuddling's awesome."

"But Foggy—if you're on that first date, and the girl kisses you, and you give her everything… how are you supposed to respect yourself? You gave it all up! On the first date!"

"I think I'm losing the plot a little bit, sport. This… wasn't your first date?"

"It's the principle of the first date!"

"Okay, lower your voice. I don't think Karen overhearing this is gonna help your self-respect."

"Oh, like she can't tell. I feel like a painted lady!"

"Well, you look like a blind guy who just watched Marley & Me. That's weird, but not a dealbreaker. What is even going on with you? Okay, so for the first time you had a woman go to town on you. Maybe a little butt stuff happened. You think I would complain if Alexandra Daddario wanted to bodypaint me like a NHL referee before we had sex? C'mon, man, you're kinda rubbing it in now."

"You don't understand, Foggy." Matt unbuttoned his shirt. "Just look."

"Oh, Jesus!" Foggy cried, seeing Matt's bare skin. "A nurse did that!?"

"Yeah… it's not that bad, is it?"

"Oh… no, no." Foggy pursed his lips. "I was just taken a bit by surprise. I mean, c'mon, everyone's done that. That's what you're complaining about? I've done that. Yeah…"

"I can tell when you're lying, Foggy."

"Really? I thought I sounded super-convincing there. That was sarcasm."

"Got it."

"Well, no two ways around it, Matty. You're a ruined man. We'll just have to get Claire to do the honorable thing and marry you."

Matt sighed heavily. "Who buys the bull when they can get the steak for free?"

"What are you two doing in here?" Karen asked, coming into the backroom as Foggy juked to stand between her and the sight of Matt's chest. "It's been fifteen minutes. You guys have phone calls to make."

"Yes, yes, we do!" Foggy exclaimed. "Just give us one more minute. We'll be out."

"Is everything okay?" Karen asked.

"It's great!"

"Are you buttoning your shirt?" Karen asked Matt.

"I was…"

"He was… showing me a tattoo!" Foggy put in.

"Oh. Cool. Can I see it?"

"No. It's… not that kind of tattoo," Matt said.

"It's really more of a temporary tattoo," Foggy added.

"So… a semi-permanent tattoo?"

"God, I hope not," Matt muttered.

"What?"

"What?"

Karen looked sidelong at them. "I'm going to go file something. And if I ever get a tattoo, you can't see it."

Foggy sighed as soon as she'd left. "I resigned myself to that a long time ago."