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“Hey, do you think Matt will be back soon? It’s been a while. You don’t think we should be worried, right?” Amara questioned, checking the time.
It had been hours since he left. It was torturous to be stuck underground like this, but with Fisk and his AVTF officers on a rampage, the city wasn’t safe, and it certainly wasn’t safe for friends of Daredevil.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. You know how he is,” said Karen, her voice nonchalant, but you could tell she was worried.
Just then, there was a hurried succession of loud raps at the door. Amara recognized it as Matt’s code. Karen rushed to open the door.
Matt came barreling in, breathing heavily, covered in blood. And he wasn’t alone. There was another man, in even worse shape, hanging onto him. He barely looked conscious.
“Little help?,” Matt panted, depositing him on the couch.
Karen shut the door abruptly, locking it again.
“Are you fucking crazy? Why the fuck would you bring him here?” She yelled.
Amara looked closely at the man. His face was bruised and bloodied, and he had short blond hair. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Thankfully, Karen identified him.
“You bring Bullseye here half dead and you expect me to help him? Have you lost your mind? He killed Foggy! You’re lucky I don’t just finish the fucking job right now,” she seethed, her bright blue eyes flashing with anger.
Amara realized with horror just exactly who they were dealing with. Benjamin Poindexter, notorious assassin previously employed by Wilson and Vanessa Fisk. The man who had killed Karen and Matt’s best friend.
“Karen, I know, I know, but we can’t let him die,” Matt said, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Like hell we can’t. He is— he’s— how could you do this? Out of all the shit you put me through, how could you fucking do this?” She spat, her eyes brimming with tears.
“He— Foggy wouldn’t want us to let him die. Okay? I promise he’ll pay for what he did. I promise. But we have to keep him alive long enough for that to happen. Also, he just killed Vanessa Fisk, so we’re really fucked,” Matt explained.
Amara finally spoke up.
“He killed Vanessa? Oh my fucking god. Is that why he looks half dead? Did Fisk and the task force guys do that?” She said in shock, eyes fixed on Bullseye. He was breathing shallowly, and his face was drained of color.
“Yeah,” Matt said. “Yeah, they did that. And I tried to stop him before he killed her but I was too late. So now we’re here,” he said bitterly.
“Everyone is going to be looking for us soon. Even more than they already are,” said Matt.
Karen was silent. Amara had never seen her this angry. Her face was almost blank, furious in a way that scared her.
She finally spoke.
“Fine. We’ll keep him alive. But only because they’re going to try to pin Vanessa’s death on you, Matt. You know they will,” she said, gritting her teeth.
For some reason, Amara couldn’t stop staring at Bullseye. There was something about him that captivated her.
Matt and Karen argued some more, hurling words like pins thrown at a dartboard, hitting their mark every time, sharp and fast.
Amara tuned them out. She was struck by the injured man’s face, how handsome he was even under all the bruising and scarring. Pretty, even. An angular jaw with long eyelashes, sandy blond hair, pink lips—-
She was snapped out of her trance when she heard her name.
“Amara,” Matt said, his voice edged with something she couldn’t place. “Karen and I need to go out for a few hours. Can you… fix him?”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem,” she said, trying to project exasperation, when really, she was… excited.
She had been an EMT before she got herself wrapped up into all of this, had seen her fair share of blood and gunshot wounds and carnage. Even death. None of it phased her anymore.
“You want to leave her alone with him? Are you insane?” Said Karen, eyes darting from Amara to Bullseye. “No offense Amara, but it’s not like you can fight very well. And even if you could he’s— you could never beat him.”
“She’ll be fine. He won’t touch her,” said Matt, eerily calm.
“What makes you so sure of that?” Said Karen, narrowing her eyes.
“He’s obsessed with making things even. Balancing the scales or whatever. He won’t hurt anyone I care about. Not anymore. Besides, he wanted me to leave him for dead, so I doubt he cares very much about anything anymore,” replied Matt.
“Still,” said Karen, insistent.
“Fine. Handcuff him to the bed, then,” Matt offered.
Amara couldn’t help the tiny smirk that crept across her face.
Matt tilted his head towards her as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably did. Before he left, he hesitated at the door.
“Amara. Don’t… don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll call you if I need anything,” Amara said, already opening the first aid kit.
*******************
Hours later, when she had done her best to patch him up, she was sitting on a chair facing the bed, scrolling on her phone, waiting for him to wake up.
Suddenly, she heard a moan. She looked over to see his eyes flutter, his face grimace in pain.
“Oh good. You’re awake,” she said, moving closer to him.
He opened his eyes fully, focusing on her.
“Who… who are you? Where is Murdock?” He said, his voice rising into panic.
“He and Karen had to go out for a bit. You left a big mess, you know. They had to check on some people. They’ll be back soon,” she replied, almost reaching her hand out as if to soothe him, but she held back.
“I’m Amara. I cleaned you up so, you’re welcome,” she said drily.
“Thanks,” he said, still eyeing her suspiciously. “So, you’re… friends with them?” He asked, sitting himself up, wincing with the movement, the metal handcuffs digging into his wrists.
She didn’t bother to tell him to stay still. She figured he probably deserved the discomfort.
“Yeah, you could say that. We work together. They helped someone I cared about a while ago,” Amara explained, remaining vague. She knew she shouldn’t trust him.
He nodded, seemingly placated by her response.
In her efforts to stitch him up, she had to remove most of his clothing. She was admittedly, stupidly, distracted by his lack of shirt. She wasn’t small, but he was huge. Muscular, broad, definitely above six feet tall.
God, what was her problem? This was the man that had killed Foggy and countless others. She shouldn’t be having these thoughts.
Her eyes roamed shamelessly over his body, making note of all of the many scars, old and new. He had a particularly long and dark one on his spine, stretching the entire length of his back. She wondered what that was from.
He seemed to notice her staring, but to her surprise, he shifted his eyes away.
Hm. That wasn’t what she expected.
Testing the waters, she reached her hand out to touch one of the bandages on his ribs. He jerked away as if her touch was a hot poker before she could even make contact.
Interesting. It was almost as if he were scared of her, which was ridiculous. If he wanted to kill her, even in this state, she would already be dead.
“Relax. I just need to check the dressing,” she said, putting her hands up as if she were surrendering.
“Sorry,” he muttered, his cheeks turning pink.
Wow. Was he blushing? She thought, a small smile forming on her lips.
“Looks good. How do you feel?” She asked, her voice softening.
“Like shit. But better. Thank you,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.
She decided then she was going to have fun with this.
“What should I call you? Bullseye feels weird.”
“Dex. You can call me Dex,” he said.
“Okay Dex, do you always flinch when people touch you?” She teased, ghosting her fingers over his abdomen, relishing in the way he reacted to her touch.
“I… I um, people don’t touch me a lot. Not like… that,” he said, his eyes darkening.
“Oh? Why wouldn’t they when you look so pretty like this? I could do anything to you right now,” she cooed, her right hand circling his neck, not choking, just resting it there, feeling his pulse. It was quick, but not, she suspected, from fear.
He whimpered at her touch, arching into it.
“What… What are you doing? Is this some kind of manipulation tactic?” He stuttered, narrowing his eyes at her.
“No, Dex. I’m doing this because I want to. But if you want me to stop, I will. Do you want me to stop?” Amara lowered her voice, leaning in so that her lips were inches away from his.
“No,” he replied, eyes darting down to her mouth.
She pulled back, satisfied with the answer.
“Good. What do you want, Dex?” She purred, moving her hand up to cup his jaw.
“Touch me,” he murmured, leaning into her hand.
“Hmm… touch you where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere. Please?”
“I like it when you beg,” Amara giggled, granting his request and sliding her hands down his chest.
God, she needed her mouth on him. She left open-mouthed kisses on his collarbones, his chest, down to his stomach, lingering just above the waistband of the sweatpants he was borrowing from Matt.
“Fuck, please,” he whimpered, straining against the handcuffs.
She suddenly moved, now straddling him on the bed.
“Please what? You wanna get off?” She rolled her hips on top of him, feeling how hard he was underneath her. “So hard and I haven’t even touched you yet. Pathetic.”
“Please, I wanna get off, I want you— I wanna be inside you,” he gasped.
She slapped him across the face.
“You think you get to fuck me? You think you deserve that? That’s funny. You’re lucky if I even let you come. Do you understand?” She said, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to look at her.
“Yes. I understand, I’m sorry,” he pleaded, his hazel irises almost entirely swallowed by his pupils. She felt his cock twitch underneath her.
Interesting.
“Good. I’m in charge. You are not. You will take what I give you,” she said softly.
She brought her thumb to his lower lip, tracing it lightly. Then, she pushed it into his mouth, feeling his tongue meet her skin.
“Suck,” she commanded, almost dizzy with power. His submission was delicious, an intoxicating, heady thing.
He obeyed, swirling his tongue around her thumb, looking up at her with those eyes, and god, she was so wet it was starting to become unbearable.
Amara couldn’t wait any longer. She took her thumb out of his mouth, pleased when he pouted at the loss, and slid down the length of his body, finally freeing his erection.
She wrapped a hand around his length and began stroking him, relishing in the noises he made.
“Fuck, fuck you have to stop, I can’t, I’m gonna—“ he babbled, his voice desperate.
She abruptly stopped what she was doing, taking her hand off of him.
“Wow, you already want to come? I barely started, and you’re this close? You’re so fucking easy,” she said, grabbing his face.
“I’m sorry, it just feels so good, I’m sorry, I want to be good,” he mumbled, his eyes welling up with tears.
She had the sudden urge to kiss him, to comfort him, which was odd. He clearly liked the degradation, liked the control. But there was something about him that compelled her to make what she knew was an idiotic, selfish decision.
She kissed him, intending for it to be rough and filthy, but instead she found herself softly cradling his face, gently sucking on his bottom lip, her tongue teasing his.
She felt his whole body relax when she kissed him.
Oh.
She realized he probably never got to be touched like this. Probably had no one who would be gentle with him. Not like he deserved it. But she knew a little of his history, knew how he had suffered. She knew he had once just wanted to be normal, accepted. She could relate to that.
She kissed him harder, licking into his mouth, holding his head with both hands, grinding on top of him. He moaned, desperately chasing her tongue, kissing her like she was oxygen and he was drowning.
She finally pulled away and he surged forward as if he couldn’t stand the loss. She grabbed his jaw and held him inches away from her, studying his face.
He looked… vulnerable. He was breathing hard, perfectly still looking at her with wide eyes, as if moving too quickly would scare her away and he was waiting for him to touch her again.
“You need this, huh? Need someone to be gentle with you? To touch you?” Amara whispered, stroking his hair.
Dex leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.
“Yes,” he murmured, eyes opening to focus on her lips again.
She reached down and took him in her hand again, kissing him at the same time, still holding his hair with her other hand.
“So good for me, Dex. So obedient,” she said against his lips.
She stroked him faster, feeling how wet he was, her thumb playing with his slit.
“Oh fuck,” he rasped, twitching in her hand. She could tell he was close.
“You gonna come for me Dex? You gonna come all over yourself for me?” She asked, kissing his neck, sucking marks into the skin.
“Yes, please, please let me come,” he begged, his voice low and raw.
“Then come for me. I wanna see it, wanna see you make a mess,” she ordered, forcing him to look at her.
He obeyed instantly, spilling into her hand, white ribbons of come landing on his chest. His head dropped onto her shoulder, and he moaned against her skin in pleasure, shaking with the relief of his orgasm.
She continued to stroke him, murmuring in his ear while she milked his cock.
“Good boy, so pretty when you come, love the noises you make for me,” she said breathily, watching his expression as she overstimulated him, his face twisting in pleasure even after he was spent.
“Stop,” he begged, bucking up into her hand. “I can’t— I’m done, I can’t anymore, please.”
“Oh I think you can. You wanted it so bad, I think you can come for me again,” she smirked, relishing in the pathetic, desperate way he begged her to stop.
“Fuck, fuck it hurts, please, it hurts,” he cried, thrashing against her, his wrists rubbed raw from the handcuffs biting into his skin.
“I don’t care that it hurts, sweetheart,” she hissed, squeezing his cock. “It should hurt. But you want it anyway. Who else is going to touch you like this? Hm? Who else is going to want you? You’re at rock bottom. So yes, you’re going to come again, and you’re going to like it.”
He was crying now, tears streaming down his bruised face, his eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of pain and ecstasy.
“So pretty when you cry, baby. Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” she said, losing her composure. She was so wet, she was sure he could feel it through her thin leggings.
To her surprise, that was what sent him over the edge again. He let out a broken moan, pulsing weakly in her hand, dribbling weak spurts of come.
He collapsed back onto the bed, utterly exhausted.
As cruel as she had been, she followed him down, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, all the while murmuring praises.
“You were so good for me Dex, so perfect,” she said, tasting the dried tears on his face as she gently kissed him. His mouth claimed hers again, all of the fight and desperation having left him, now taking his time, indulgent and slow.
“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her on the cheek, almost chastely.
She cleaned them both up, even making sure to put antibiotic ointment around his wrists where the handcuffs had left bloody rings.
She laid next to him, his head on her chest. She caressed his hair, pressing her lips to his forehead.
He was silent, his breathing slow and even.
Amara drifted off to sleep, her breaths matching his.
She awoke to Matt standing over her.