.
.
Anatoly had given up hope that he would ever see his brother or Matthew again.
Hours passed. The sun was beginning to rise and the fires had long been put out. The Russian sat, crumpled against the side of the couch where he had collapsed. The position had given him a perfect view of the smoke and flames against the starry night—well, the stars had eventually been consumed in the smoke and Anatoly found it fitting as he blankly watched.
Now that the sun finally rose he felt completely hollowed out, like someone had carved into his chest and ripped out his heart. That could just be his broken ribs complaining, though.
He didn't even think he could get up without assistance.
Anatoly tried to roll onto his side, but the pain was so intense that he just slid back down. Everything was a blur of pain; his heart, his body. It had all gone wrong so quickly. Just last week he and his brother had been some of the most powerful gangsters in New York—kings in their own right and now...a broken mess on his enemy's floor. His brother likely dead and Matthew—Matvey, his Matvey.
It wasn't a whimper he gave, lying on the ground legs splayed awkwardly underneath him, but it was a near thing.
Fuck, he was stronger than this. Anatoly grunted as he struggled to rise again. Pain was an old friend he could overcome. Shaking, he pushed himself up with his one good hand and latched onto the arm of the couch to drag himself up the rest of the way.
"Volodya." It was a promise now; of vengeance.
The sunlight spilled in from the windows behind Anatoly. He glanced towards the light and cursed under his breath. He'd burn Fisk's empire to the ground.
His grip slipped on the slick leather, but Anatoly clung on, even as he felt like succumbing to grief. He'd never been alone before—God, he didn't think he'd make it through the day in this sorry state.
He should have never sent Matthew on that suicide run. The Man in the Mask was a powerful symbol that he had snuffed without a second thought; blinded by worry for a brother that had probably been dead. Anatoly's broken hand came up to his chest, where his father's ring should be.
All of his family had been lost this night.
A loud crash against the door derailed his thoughts. Anatoly jerked—they had found Matvey's apartment. A weapon, he needed some type of weapon. His eyes darted across the room. On the counter! Claire's knife she had used to cut his eye. Anatoly lurched and tried to fall towards the counter so he could grab the ledge. He just barely made it before the door swung inwards and Matthew collapsed onto the floor.
"Matvey!"
He looked like shit. His black suit coated in a thick layer of ash and dust, a large bruise spread across his jaw, and blood trickled from his mouth.
Vladimir was not with him.
Of course he wasn't, Anatoly had known this. There was no way Matthew could have made it to his brother in time...right? The Russian blinked back his tears as he pulled himself over to the other man and dropped to his knees.
"Matvey." He wanted to reach out, but Matthew groaned and his legs curled around the door, kicking it shut with a bang. "Mat—"
"I'm sorry." He was crying under the mask, Anatoly realized. "I couldn't—I wasn't strong enough."
"It..." It wasn't fine, but it wasn't Matthew's fault. Anatoly clicked his teeth shut. He didn't know what to say.
"We were close, Anatoly. So close, but your brother—too badly injured. We argued, b-but he wanted to stay; said he had a debt to repay." Matthew's hand extended up, two gold rings resting in his palm. Anatoly's heart stopped. "He said: 'you need to start living your own life'. And..." Matthew took a pained breath, "that he will be in Hell, while you keep company with...t-the Devil."
"Volodya..." He couldn't even pretend to keep it together. Anatoly's whole body shook as he covered Matthew's hand with his own. The metal of the rings was heated from Matthew's touch. It was too much. He had prepared for this, but hearing it?
Vladimir wasn't the type to sacrifice himself, except for family...which meant he had wanted Matthew to escape for Anatoly.
Sobs echoed around the room as Matthew's hand trembled.
.
.
This was his fault, Matt thought as Anatoly wept from above. If he had been faster, if he hadn't let his anger overwhelm him when he first found Vladimir—if he had killed that young cop—something. There were a dozens ways he could have handled the situation differently. They both could have made it out of that nightmare.
Would Vladimir have even survived walking to Matt's place? Didn't matter.
"Ana—"
"No," the other man sobbed. "No more, Matvey."
"But I—"
"My brother is dead. He did so to give you time. Nothing more to know."
Matt's outstretched fist was pulled closer until it was flush against the Russian's chest. It might have felt nice if Matthew wasn't so consumed with guilt. It was eating him from the inside, tearing at his chest.
He let everyone down. Claire; disappointed that he wasn't the man she thought—too close to being a monster. Foggy and Karen; innocent and constantly being lied to and after tonight, he could never reveal himself as the Man in the Mask. Not after what Fisk had done. He even let criminals down; couldn't save Vladimir and now Anatoly had nothing.
"Wh-what do the rings mean?" Matt had to ask. Anatoly's fingers intertwined with his to pull out the rings.
"Our parents." A tiny clink as the pieces of gold were rubbed together. "Died in car crash when Volodya six, he does not remember their faces."
"Oh."
"I wore our father's, Volodya wore our mother's. It was only things we brought with us from Russia."
"Why wear them?" Matt couldn't help it, now that Anatoly held the rings he turned his fingers to feel the other man's face. The Russian let him; his jaw and cheeks were damp with tears. Fuck.
"Um...how—Для того, чтобы держать их в наших сердцах." Matt felt the jawline move and form the Russian words, but it did not help him understand. Anatoly clenched his teeth in frustration. "Heart," he pressed his hand with the rings against Matthew's ribcage, right above the heart, "so rings are close to heart."
"I understand," Matt nodded. His mask was damp from crying; he needed to take it off. He slowly started to sit up, withdrawing his hand from Anatoly's face. His ribs cracked dangerously and Matthew groaned, wincing as the night caught up with him.
"Y-you are hurt, Matvey."
"It's fine," Matt grunted through strained lips. He just needed to be creative in how he moved.
"Fisk's men did this?"
"No, your brother." He felt the Russian twitch next to him.
"But you had ring."
"H-he didn't believe me." Matt carefully twisted his body so he could sit up on his knees. "He assumed I had kidnapped and tortured you. He was a handful; we got into a fight and collapsed a floor. It's fine."
"...a floor?"
"Thought you didn't want to know more?" Matthew wasn't trying to be mean, he just didn't want Anatoly to suffer more.
"Net." Anatoly let out a shaky breath. "Volodya, always too stubborn."
Matt ripped off his mask, even though he knew it would mean Anatoly could see that he had been crying and what a fucking mess he was. He flung the article away from himself. Now it was only a symbol for terror and broken promises.
God forgive him; he was no one's savior.
"You believe in God?" Matt startled (did he said that out loud?) and turned his head towards Anatoly. His heartbeat was normal; it was a genuine question.
"The sisters raised me after my father died...so yes, I do believe." He exhaled a small laugh. "I know what you're thinking; I'm well aware I'm going to Hell—"
"Could you pray for my brother's soul?"
"Uh—what?" That was the last thing Matt would have ever expected to hear out of a Russian crime lord's mouth.
He heard Anatoly steady out his breathing as he tried to collect himself. The air was thick with salt, both from sweat and tears. "My brother and I were not good men; but he suffered enough in life. I would—I just—he should not suffer in death too. You teach me prayer to save him?"
"I..." Matt could feel his eyes burn, and teardrops roll down his cheeks. His body went numb and heavy. The lines had blurred so completely that everything was gray right now. He was no hero; just a blind man who had failed. Anatoly was no crime lord, only a man begging for his brother's soul to be saved. They were both just two men sitting on the floor, broken in mind and body.
No lines, no good or evil. Just too much pain.
"Yeah, I'll teach you the prayer."
.
.
The words were clumsy on his lips, but they helped the pain in Anatoly's chest as he said them. It was kind of Matvey to teach him the holy words. He blinked, remembering that the Devil was just a fallen angel and maybe it wasn't so strange that Matthew was a holy man.
Their mother had been devout, Anatoly remembered. She had worn a cross necklace and prayed every night. He hoped...these words helped and Vladimir would be at peace with their parents.
"Anatoly." Matthew's voice cut in, a strong hand wrapped around his shoulder. "You should lay down."
"We finish the prayer?" He had to make sure.
Matvey's lips quirked upwards, but it didn't reach his eyes. Nothing reached his eyes. "Yeah, if God's listening, he'll understand." Anatoly wished Matthew would look at him just once.
"[Thank you.]" He realized he had said it in Russian, but Matthew nodded like he understood anyways. Anatoly could tell, the way Matthew's nostrils flared and how his jaw tightened as he stood, that the man was in more pain than he let on. It didn't stop him from extending his hand to Anatoly. "No help need—"
"You're lying." Matthew sighed grabbed Anatoly's upper arms and nearly picked him up. It was a strain on the man in black, but the Russian was still greatly impressed with his strength—and a little turned on.
It was a flicker of lust, the grief crushed it a moment later.
It had felt nice; Anatoly wanted that feeling back. Anything to chase away the anguish of realizing he was alone.
"I'm getting you back to bed," Matthew was saying as he practically dragged Anatoly through the apartment. "I have to take shower and call Foggy—"
"Your phone yelled many times," Anatoly confirmed.
Matthew cursed as they got to the bedroom. He let Anatoly go and pushed him towards the bed, but the Russian clung on. Matvey's warmth felt nice, his voice kept everything at bay for the moment. His body would probably do more than that.
Anatoly had a debt to repay.
"You look like you're about to collapse," Matthew argued and pushed again.
Anatoly pulled closer until he was by Matthew's ear. He would make this man look at him. "I have been in clothes for over two day, Matvey. We both need shower."
He could tell his words had an effect. Matthew's body went rigid, his breathing became uneven and his grip on Anatoly tightened. He went back and forth from his Man in Mask persona to Matvey with the sad eyes; both qualities made Anatoly's blood run south.
He wanted to devour Matvey and have Matthew pound him into this bed.
"S-stop." A hand came up to rest on Anatoly's lips and he hadn't even realized he was leaning inwards. His body began to shake. Don't do this, Matvey.
"[Please...]" Fuck, that was in Russian.
"I know what that word means now," Matthew gave a small smile. He slid him arms around Anatoly, across his chest and it took the Russian a moment to realize he was being hugged. His face grew hot and he felt tears well up again, but whether from relief or rejection, Anatoly couldn't tell.
"What are you trying to do?" Matthew asked finally.
Anatoly wasn't sure how to answer. He felt a scream start to build up in his chest at the frustration. Matthew still wasn't looking at him.
"[I want—]" He was too emotional, he could barely tell what language he was speaking. "Help me stop feeling this..." Anatoly gestured to his chest that was pressed against Matthew, to his heart, to all of his pain. Matthew's eyes shifted downwards, they were so beautiful, amber with flecks of hazel.
"I don't know if I'm the right person," the younger man confessed. The broken note in his voice only turned Anatoly on more and he forced himself to remain still. "I couldn't even keep my promise to you...it's my fault—"
Anatoly cut him off with a searing kiss, trying to bury the sting that came from Matthew's words. He claimed those lips again and again, tasting the dust and blood. Liquid pleasure trickled down Anatoly's spine and curled into his gut, he never wanted to stop. Matthew started to draw back and Anatoly became desperate. He reached out with the wrong hand and a jolt of raw agony ran through his broken wrist and the moment was shattered.
"Stop hurting yourself," Matvey's voice was gentle and Anatoly hated it.
"You kept promise," he hissed and Matthew stilled. "You kept one promise."
"No, I failed."
"Listen." Anatoly snarled and twisted his good hand in the fabric of Matthew's shirt, yanking him closer again. "You came back—that is other thing I asked. You kept that promise."
Matthew's eyes started to water as he stared at the ground.
"Look at me," Anatoly begged. He needed Matthew to understand.
"I—" That seemed to pull Matthew out of whatever he was going through. His eyes snapped up to a point behind Anatoly. "Um, I can't."
"What?"
"I can't look at you," Matthew repeated. "I'm blind."
It was a lie, of course. No one could fight the way Matthew did without his sight. A blind man couldn't traverse across Hell's Kitchen and pick his brother out of a sea of flames and bring back their parent's rings. A blind man couldn't dispatch some of his best men night after night. He couldn't...
Matthew tilted his head. "Didn't you ever why I covered my eyes?"
Anatoly waved his hand in front of Matvey's face and watched as his pupil's stayed the same. That...explained a lot. And raised several questions. The Russian's head started to swim and he swayed; Matthew's grip tightened.
"I didn't realize you couldn't tell," Matthew frowned. "I'm sorry if it bothers you."
"N-no," Anatoly lied and Matthew's frown deepened. He was closing himself off, Anatoly realized and he panicked. "Is just...shock. You move like normal man." That sounded horrible.
Matthew snorted. "You said I move like...ub-ubee—"
"Ubiytsa," Anatoly corrected. "Killer or assassin." He didn't like the way Matthew's shoulders slumped, but it wasn't a lie either. "How do you...?"
"There are many ways to see," was the vague response. Anatoly rolled his eyes. "Like, your eye muscles stretch a certain when a person rolls them." Well, shit.
Matthew smiled, biting his lower lip. "I can't see, not like everyone else, but I can feel. Things like balance and direction. Micro-changes in air density, vibrations, blankets of temperature variations. Mix all that with what I hear, subtle smells—all of the fragments form a sort of...impressionistic painting."
"Hmmm." Anatoly didn't want to seem like an idiot, but he only understood about half of what Matthew just said. "So—you see, with other senses?" he tried.
"I get an impression of the area around me with my other senses, but it's not really seeing as you understand it."
Anatoly bit back a sarcastic remark; Matvey was trying to explain as best he could. Wasn't his fault Anatoly hadn't studied English are hard as Vladimir.
His eyes flashed up to Matthew's face. "That is why your fingers on my face last night? Several times, da?" He got the pleasure of seeing Matvey's expression turn shy.
"Yeah, that's how I look at someone," it was breathless, like an admission. Anatoly's heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest and he dragged Matthew over to claim his lips. Fingers stopped him once again.
The Russian growled, "Matvey, why?"
"You wanted me to look at you," Matthew answered and carefully gripped Anatoly's jaw. "If I concentrate hard enough and focus all my senses on one area I...can…" His brown eyes flickered to life, glancing down at his own fingers for a moment and then finally meeting Anatoly's blue ones.
Anatoly didn't realize he had stopped breathing. Those dark empty eyes that bore right through him; a man could get lost in them.
"C-can you see—?"
"I can't see your eyes," Matthew answered, "but I can tell by the outline of your face and guess where they are. Judging on your heart rate and breathing, I'm staring right into them. Wh-what color are they?"
"Blue."
"Pretty..."
Any other man Anatoly would have punched in the face for that remark; instead he tried to tug Matthew back in for a kiss.
This time he succeeded and their lips met in a messy clash. The younger man's tongue was everywhere, exploring every inch of Anatoly's and they both moaned. Matthew's hand clawed at Anatoly's back, scratching and leaving what were sure to be lovely marks in the morning. The hand trailed upwards and gripped his hair so tightly it made the Russian whine and thrust his hips forward. Teeth sunk into Anatoly's neck as Matthew claimed him, almost growling.
"Matvey..." It hurt in such a good way that Anatoly's knees shook. He wanted more. God, he needed to be used—needed to fuck or be fucked. Whatever this man was willing to do Anatoly was willing. He ground his hips against the thigh that had been shoved against his erection.
"Ok, I can't." Matthew pulled away abruptly and before Anatoly could complain he'd stripped off his shirt. "I have to take a shower, I can still taste last night."
"But...together?" They had to keep going or Anatoly was going to lose it. He was already hard and straining in his jeans, he couldn't wait and listen knowing Matthew was naked in a shower and not try to jerk himself off.
Matthew chuckled, "Yeah, together. Your hand going to be alright?" Claire had found an old wrist guard among Matvey's belongings and had wrapped Anatoly's hand in it.
"I will keep hand out of water," he promised and stepped towards Matthew eagerly. They both hastily tore off their clothes and stumbled into the bathroom. Anatoly did not keep quiet as Matthew's hands roamed all over his body, tracing tattoos and scars, dragging his nails down the Russian's back again as he moaned in pleasure.
The hot water was a shock, but did nothing to dampen the mood. The shower was all glass, easy to walk in and even easier to push Matthew up against the corner and bite at his lips until they were bleeding. Anatoly ate every sound that Matvey made, it fed his desire he felt dizzy with lust. Matthew's body was beautiful; pale and chiseled with a smattering of scars. Not as many as Anatoly, but that was a given. He realized that if Matthew was blind, he'd probably never seen himself—didn't know what he was worth.
Oh, Anatoly would fix that.
He leaned in. "You know how you look? There is certain word for it."
"Wh-what's that?" Matthew panted.
"Fuckable."
.
.
Matt slammed his head against the glass wall harder than he should have, but the intense wave of passion that washed over him almost ended everything right then and there. Anatoly's body screamed what he had just whispered; he was completely turned on by just looking at Matthew. It made him feel too much and not enough all at once.
His hand slipped down and gripped the Russian's cock, fingers sliding until they met the head and he felt the metal of his piercings.
"You have to promise not to hold back," Matt begged and his thumb pressed down. Anatoly gave a soft moan, knees buckling. "I want to feel these stretch me open."
"Вы будете моей смерти." Anatoly's entire body was shaking, draped across Matt's. His erection had started to weep, hot in Matthew's hand. "You will scream," he promised and with some effort, pushed his body up.
That's when Matt heard it—against the clattering of the shower, the creak of bones and Anatoly's gasp caught in his throat. Matt's hands shots out and steadied the other man; his groan a mix of pleasure and pain.
"I heard that," Matthew told him. "You've barely recovered, you're pushing yourself too hard."
"Is nothing," Anatoly insisted. His ribs told Matt another story, one of a man barely able to stand upright and on the verge of collapsing. He felt the guilt crawl back up his throat. He shouldn't have let things go this far. "Don't you dare, Matvey." Anatoly's voice turned dangerous. Matthew's ears could also pick out the desperation and he bit back his reply.
They both stood under the shower, hot water cascading down their bodies, but the unease lingering enough to bring down the mood. Matt's head started to clear.
"Can you even—" Anatoly's mouth covered his in angry kisses. Matthew twisted his body so the Russian's was now pressed against the glass wall. He was careful to make sure his broken hand was clear of the stream, but Anatoly's snarl let Matt know he was pushing the limit.
"Дайте мне это." He could tell how frustrated the other was, forgetting what language he was speaking. "—need this, Matvey!" A hand was at Matt's throat suddenly and his body reacted on instinct. He slammed Anatoly's hand away, pinning it against the wall, and his elbow dug into the Russian's windpipe. Like a string had been cut, Matt snapped out of it and gasped.
He started to ease pressure, but Anatoly shook his head.
"Don't stop, khotet'." Matt recognized the word as 'please'. He realized after a moment that Anatoly had done that on purpose, he had wanted Matthew to react this way. Had wanted to be suffocated. It was both a disturbing and erotic thought.
Anatoly wasn't going to stop, even though he was about to break apart. He was literally begging Matt to continue. The blind man realized he was shivering; not from cold or disgust, but from anticipation. His body wanted this—the Devil inside was calling to be unleashed.
"Ubiytsa," Anatoly struggled, "take what's yours."
"Oh fuck..." Matt bowed his head. He couldn't keep denying himself—too weak, his desire too much. He was only human. "You're keeping the promise you made," he deepened his voice, rough and sharp. Anatoly's heart rate skyrocketed and the air was thick with pheromones of sex. Matthew leaned forward and scraped his teeth along the shell of Anatoly's ear. "You're going to fuck me until I scream...once I finish playing with you."
"Vot der'mo, Met'yu!" Matt grinned at hearing Anatoly scream his full name. He pressed his elbow down more fully until the Russian started choking—keeping careful tabs on his vitals—until he was on the brink of passing out before releasing.
He held Anatoly up against the wall as he coughed, recovering and groaning in satisfaction. Chapped lips dotted Matt's neck with kisses and a hand slid up to cup his cheek.
"Ты мой," Anatoly murmured and Matt titled his head in confusion. "Don't stop, Matvey."
The shower had started to grow lukewarm and Matthew turned it off, inhaling the steam and the natural scent of Anatoly drenched in desire. It was intoxicating and Matt hummed to himself as he mouthed the body underneath him. He used his teeth more than he normally would, but the Russian's breathy moans, low in the back of his throat, only spurred him onwards.
Both of his hands framed Anatoly's face as Matt's fingers danced across his skin. Now that the swelling had been dealt with his features became more pronounced. Sharp cheekbones, lines around his mouth, angular jawline rough with stubble.
"Handsome," Matt breathed between kisses. He pulled them out of the shower, letting Anatoly use him as a crutch, and didn't even towel off. "Bed, now," he ordered and they shuffled backwards until their knees hit the mattress.
"What will my ubiytsa do to me?" Anatoly urged as Matthew lowered him onto the bed. He could hear the pain leave his voice as his body relaxed into the position and Matt smiled; made it turn predatory as he straddled the other man.
"I'm yours now?" he asked and heard Anatoly's heart stutter and felt his skin flush hot. He was embarrassed, but hid it well as he answered back with a filthy moan. Interesting.
Matt ground his hips down on the Russian's, feeling the pierced cock slide between his ass and had to hold back his own noises. He really did want to feel it inside of him.
"You like pain, right?" he asked rhetorically and let his hands skate over Anatoly's chest. He was thinner than Matthew, more compact, but very well built. He could feel the definition of the muscle and shuddered.
Anatoly's good hand gripped his thigh and squeezed. "Show me," he dared.
This man kept tempting him; kept calling to his Devil and beckoning him. Matt had always been ashamed of his darker side, praying to one day be a better man. A person worthy of being loved. Anatoly desired him as he was; full of sin and suffering—bottling his barely contained wrath. More than that he sought after the rage, pleaded for it to be directed at himself. An outlet begging to be used.
Matthew gazed through the sea of red and focused on the body underneath him, letting his senses form shapes and outlines. His eyes hurt from the strain as he looked at Anatoly's face, where his eyes should be and felt the chest below hitch—his body still and cock swell further.
He let himself relax, let his walls come down. The Devil sauntered forward and Matthew tried to let his fear go.
"Do you have a safe word?" he managed to ask.
Anatoly snorted. "No need for such things in Russia."
"Don't say I didn't warn you." Matthew's hands came to life and found their prize. He rolled hardened nipples and pinched until Anatoly's body jerked. "We'll start here." Matt leaned down and latched onto one of the nubs with his teeth. He felt it swell at the attention, the blood rush underneath the skin as it grew heated.
His tongue swirled around, sucking to leave a bruise before nipping at the flesh. He didn't wait for a reaction as he bit harder, pulling up and pinching the neglected nipple with his free hand. Matt continued abusing the flesh, he could feel at one point both nipples had been pierced. The thought sent needles of pleasure down his spine. He switched to the other nub and lavished it just as much, twisting with teeth and flicking with his tongue. He bit until he tasted blood and kept playing until both were overly swollen and sensitive.
Anatoly was not a silent lover; his screams were shameless and lewd. His good hand was fisted into Matt's hair, holding his head down. His grip faltered when Matthew scratched his nails over his feverish skin, catching on the ruined nubs and sending a jolt so powerful through his body Matthew could taste in the air as bitter precome dribbled from his cock. He sobbed as Matthew sat up and felt his handiwork.
"So responsive now," Matt smirked. He rubbed his fingers across the inflamed nipples, pushing the pebbled flesh back into the skin and then tweaking them until hardened again. Underneath Anatoly thrashed, bucking and straining against Matthew. His fingers scrabbled at Matt's hip, trying to ground himself. "I imagine they're red now, covered in bite marks and bruises. When you wear a shirt for the next few days you'll feel it." Anatoly trembled, gasping, and he started to thrust against Matt in vain, seeking release.
Matthew's hand closed around his throat and pressed until he felt the airways close. A muffled whine escaped Anatoly as he tilted his head back to make it easier for Matt. Each time his lungs grew close to giving out Matthew released his grip and bent down to molest his nipples until the man started to climax—then he would bring Anatoly down abruptly by cutting off his oxygen. He continued this for several minutes until he had drawn his partner into a frenzied state.
Anatoly had stopped speaking English and only a slur of Russian escaped his lips. He was sobbing, begging Matt for release as his cock strained against Matthew's backside, soaking with precome and shivering with tension. Matthew's own excitement was demanding attention and he palmed his erection to relive the stress. He realized he was out of breath, chest heaving.
"How we doing?" he asked, feeling the man below shake and gasp.
"Трахни меня!"
Anatoly had been repeating the words nonstop and Matt assumed it meant to keep going based on his level of arousal. He reached behind himself to run his fingers down the Russian's weeping cock, pressing it into the crack of his ass and groaning at the friction as he started to rock back and forth. Anatoly cursed as his body convulsed with all the stimulation. They were both so close.
"Now you keep your promise," Matt growled as he reached for his nightstand. His fingers fumbled, his focus scattered, and yanked the drawer open. He withdrew a bottle of lube and coated his fingers. "Watch me," he ordered and lifted himself off Anatoly. His free hand gripped the headboard as he leaned over his partner and pushed his fingers into himself.
Oh.
Matt shuddered and his face grew hot. It had been a long time since he had done this to himself. A small hiss tumbled from his lips and he bit them to keep quiet. He slowly stretched himself out, careful not to press against his prostate. His entire body was so constantly over stimulated that even the slightest brush against his spot could send him over the edge.
"...Matvey." Anatoly's voice was ruined. So thick and guttural it made Matthew give a mortifyingly high pitched moan and his fingers sunk deeper into himself. A shaky hand placed itself on his chest.
Matt had been dimly aware that he was giving a free show and that it would probably spur Anatoly further into his passion. Apparently it had worked even better than he thought.
For just a moment, Matthew wish he could see the expression Anatoly wore.
"Next time, I want you to prepare me," he panted and felt a jolt of pleasure at the wail of sexual frustration that Anatoly gave. He was at the brink of what he could take, the sight of Matthew fucking himself with his fingers had him at the edge.
The mix of relief and the burn of pain as Matthew lowered himself down onto Anatoly's length had him release a soft sigh. He felt himself fill up and it made his toes curl at the satisfaction. Matt's inner dialogue was abruptly cut off as he experienced all three of the dydoe piercings skim across his prostate simultaneously.
"Fuck!" His scream echoed across the room as his body seized, clamping around Anatoly and making him cry out as well. Matt quivered, hands clutching the headboard, as he held absolutely still. "Oh God..." He was about to come.
"A-are you—?" Anatoly was trying to speak, trying not to orgasm himself as Matthew squeezed around him.
"It's your fucking piercings," Matt explained as he sensed the Russian's worry. He slowly forced himself to relax. "They hit my spot...perfectly." He took a gulp of air as he lowered himself carefully the rest of the way, whimpering as he could still feel the metal sliding inside him.
"I made you scream." A breathy chuckle was accompanied by a reassuring hand coming to grip his hip.
"I don't think either of us are going to last too long this time," Matt admitted and took a deep breath as he prepared himself.
"This time?"
Matt blinked.
"Yeah?"
"...there will be more?" Anatoly's voice had changed, less sure in its tone. Matthew bit his lower lip and nodded, face becoming hot.
"Yeah—I mean, if you want."
Anatoly's voice became choked, "Не заставляй меня влюбиться так быстро." He swallowed and when he sighed it sounded content. "You may have me as many times as you want." Somehow, Matt knew that wasn't a translation of what he'd said, but his body was still shaking in anticipation.
"You'll have to keep that promise too," he reminded and before Anatoly could reply he started a brutal pace. His hips hammered up and down, working Matt's abs harder than any workout routine. Anatoly's cry was drowned out a moment later by incoherent moans as he was ridden mercilessly.
Each time Matthew slammed himself down he felt the rounded ends of the piercings chafe against his prostate and send a shock of heat through his nerves. Matthew Murdock was not a quiet lover either and he grew louder with each thrust. Harder and harder until Anatoly's hand found his erection, neglected and burning, and slipped a finger over the slit.
Matt blacked out, his senses overloading as his climax struck him unexpectedly and he exploded.
.
.
Matthew's voice as he screamed while he orgasmed was something Anatoly would treasure forever. The utter bliss on his face as he spurted over Anatoly's chest was pure ecstasy, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was breathtaking to watch.
However, it pushed the Russian over the edge as well and he moaned as he felt himself spill into Matvey's body. White hot pleasure spread throughout his body and Matthew suddenly collapsed on top of him.
Anatoly grunted as the weight pressed against his fractured ribs.
"Matvey, too heavy," he gasped and rolled the younger man off. Matthew landed like a wet noodle, boneless and unmoving. Anatoly felt unease stir in his chest. "Met'yu." He shook the other's shoulder. Saying Matthew's full name felt awkward on his tongue, but Anatoly hoped he would respond to it.
Nothing.
The unease became worry and Anatoly slipped his good hand to cup Matthew's cheek. He huffed a sigh of relief when he felt the tickle of soft breathing against his skin. A smirk spread across the Russian's face as he realized he'd been such a good fuck that Matvey had passed out in pleasure. He was never going to let Matthew forget it, either.
Actually...
Anatoly ran his thumb across Matthew's cheek, watching him sleep. His face was so peaceful; worries wiped away. He seemed so incredibly young.
Vladimir had wanted this young man to make his way back to Anatoly. Somehow he'd known Matthew was important to his brother. Not more important than Vladimir, but if he'd been as injured as Matthew had said then he must have realized he was never going to survive the night. Vladimir would fight tooth and nail to survive—and if he couldn't then he'd make sure it wasn't in vain. Matthew was what he could give to Anatoly to make sure his brother kept on living.
"He said: 'you need to start living your own life'."
That sounded like Volodya, constantly telling Anatoly not to worry and to get off his ass about things. He had dedicated his life to Vladimir's wants and desires. He'd thought his brother hadn't noticed or cared, but apparently Anatoly had been wrong.
"[Volodya, you're such as ass,]" Anatoly muttered, blinking away tears. "[He's fucking perfect.]"
"Tolik," Matthew exhaled as he stirred. Anatoly froze.
"Wh-what?"
"That's what Vladimir said your nickname was." Matthew's voice was muffled against the pillow. "It's cute."
Anatoly withdrew his hand to scrub it over his face and he held back a sob.
"I shouldn't have said it, I'm sorry."
"Net, is fine." Anatoly glanced over, but Matthew's face was closed off, his empty eyes staring into the sheets. His hair was a disaster and Anatoly couldn't help himself. He ran fingers through the tousled strands as he continued, "Is good that you know."
The younger man closed his eyes, face content at the touch. "Did I say it right?"
"No." Anatoly chuckled, wincing as his agitated his ribs, but it was worth it to see Matthew's face bunch up in frustration as he tried to pronounce the name again. "Accent is horrible, Matvey."
"You're one to talk," was shot back. Matthew mumbled something in another language that Anatoly couldn't even pretend to understand.
"What language is that?"
"Spanish."
Anatoly had been told that Americans were notoriously bad at learning other languages. Matthew was full of surprises.
"Special nickname for you," he tried to appease. "Call me Tolya. Is nickname only for you."
"Tolya," Matthew whispered and it sent a thrill of possession through Anatoly. "Fair enough, since you call me Matvey."
"Is cute nickname."
Matthew huffed and reached out, feeling Anatoly's face. "You're smiling." A grin formed on his own face in response. "It feels nice."
"Are...you are not hurt?" He had to make sure. Matthew's eyebrows quirked. "You went very still—was worried."
"Oh," Matthew's face became red. "Just—I told you I 'see' through basically sensing the world around me?"
"Da."
"All of my senses are greatly heightened from an average person's...including my sense of touch." Anatoly's stomach coiled in delight as he realized what his partner was saying. "I usually have tight control over it, b-but when I come...um, it hits me pretty hard." He looked ashamed and Anatoly didn't like it.
"That is—how you say, amazing?" Matthew's face shifted in his direction. "I want to learn all your body. If ok?"
"I—" Matthew blinked, like he'd expected something else. He sat up and crossed his legs, a frown on his face. "You can stay, if you want. I don't think it'd be safe to leave; Fisk thinks you're dead and that's a very good thing."
"I can stay?" Anatoly hadn't wanted to presume, just Matvey saying he wanted whatever it was they were doing to continue had been enough.
"Do you have anywhere you can even go?"
"...no." There was nowhere left for him.
"Then stay and...we'll make it up as we go along." Matthew shrugged, but a smile broke over his face; shy and hopeful. Anatoly realized he could never deny that look. It seemed like Matthew wasn't used to getting what he wanted, same as Anatoly. He really was perfect for the Russian.
"Then I stay for you, Matvey."
.
.
.
The End.