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Matt needed to talk to Frank. He didn’t exactly want to, but some new gang was smuggling a bad batch of drugs into the Kitchen, which Matt would not stand for. Five people had already died. Though he wouldn’t call the dead innocent, they were still victims. Their deaths were caused by contaminated substances, distributed by a gang of people that so far appeared to be heartless.
Matt had done his best; he had pumped the streets for info and scouted the gang for himself. What he had realized...there were a lot of them, and even more guns. Matt would get himself killed trying to take them down on his own.
So against his better judgement, he was now roaming the Kitchen in search of the Punisher. Hopefully, they could strike some sort of deal, where Frank would refrain from killing anyone. There had been enough death.
Matt had just skipped over the split between two buildings when he picked up a familiar scent. Sweat, gunpowder, leather, a crisp hint of dried-in blood. Frank. Not moments after Matt had identified the scent, did he also begin to note the sound of the marine’s heart. The very distinctive rhythm, a heavy pounding that, honestly, sounded almost like music.
He started moving again, zeroing in on the sound and the scent. It lead him to an apartment building that teetered on the very edge of the Kitchen; had it been placed just across the street, it would technically fall within the borders of Midtown West. The building was relatively silent compared to many of those around it. There was sound and movement in a few of the apartments, but far from all.
Woman, with a flowery perfume, and three, no, two children screaming with laughter. An old man, a TV playing a rerun of a baseball game and a disorienting amount of stinky medications. Two teenagers making out in the alley. A stray cat yowling from behind the dumpster.
Frank, on the top floor.
Matt climbed down the fire escape from the roof, and knocked on the man’s window. Frank’s heart rate spiked, a gun cocked, his breathing sped up. He moved, surprisingly silently, through the apartment. Matt could hear him let out a sigh, and uncock the gun, when he came close enough to the window to be able to recognize his visitor. The window opened outward. Matt didn’t doubt that Frank was frowning and furrowing his brows at the Devil.
“What?” he grunted.
“Are you gonna invite me in?” Matt asked, unable to keep from smirking.
“No.” Frank responded without hesitation.
Matt caught the window as it was about to close.
“You’re gonna wanna hear what I have to say.” he enticed.
Frank grunted, chest rumbling, as he stepped away from the window. Matt climbed into the apartment, closing the window behind him.
“What you want, huh?” Frank asked.
He was moving into the kitchen. Matt heard the clatter of his gun being placed on the counter top. The fridge opened and closed, a bottle of beer hissed as the cap was twisted off.
“There’s a new gang moving into the Kitchen.” Matt said.
He moved into the kitchen area as well. He sat on one of the barstools set up by the island, which separated him from where Frank was leaning against the counter to the left of the stone.
“They’re moving bad drugs.” he continued. “Five dead already.”
Frank hummed, the bottle making the sound reverberate as it lay against his lips.
“I know.” he responded once he lowered his drink. “’M workin’ on it.”
“There’s too many of them. You’re gonna get yourself killed.” Matt said.
“Then I’ll take ‘em all with me.” Frank retorted.
“Frank-“
“What, altar boy? Worried ?” the marine mocked, with a venomous edge. “Kitchen’ll be all yours again. Thought that’d make your whole damn week.”
Matt slid off his chair.
“Contrary to popular belief, Frank,” Matt spat back, just as venomous. ”-I don’t want you dead. ”
He moved around the island as he spoke, until there was only a foot of space between the men.
“You’re good at what you do, I’m man enough to admit that.” Matt continued, still spitting vinegar. “But there’s another way to do it. You don’t have to run around and brand yourself a murderer. If you keep doing it, you’ll be no better that the people you-“
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Frank was fast, faster than people tended to give him credit for, than Matt gave him credit for. In less than half a second, the bottle shattered against the floor and a strong hand wrapped around Matt’s throat; he was pushed back against the island, the sharp edge digging into his back, and a gun cocked again. He felt the barrel press against the side of his head.
“Say that again.”
Frank’s voice was a whisper, a hiss, a growl as it met Matt’s ears and the hot air that stank of alcohol hit what little of his face was bare. Matt’s left hand grabbed at Frank’s shoulder, the other wrapped around the man’s wrist. He could barely breathe. The fabric might be kevlar lined, but it did little against the pressure of a hand.
Matt’s lips trembled as he struggled to inhale. Frank was pressed against him, his body seemingly enveloping Matt’s. He could smell Frank so vividly; his breath dripping of alcohol and the canned soup he had had for dinner, traces of tobacco and coffee. The sweat clinging to his clothes, dirt embedded in the cracks of his skin, the stink of cigarette smoke, hints of the shampoo he had used that morning still sticking to his hair.
He could feel the air being displaced as Frank’s muscles twitched and trembled, hear the groan of broken bones that had healed wrong and the slightest wheeze of his lungs as he breathed.
Frank radiated heat. He was like a damn furnace, warmth bleeding out of his every pore.
There had to be less than an inch between their faces.
Matt threw his arm out, slapping Frank’s hand away and knocking the gun out of his grip. The metal hit the floor with another clatter and rasped as it slid for a moment. Frank got a grip of Matt’s wrist instead. Matt tried to pull away, but the grip was like an iron shackle.
Adrenaline tainted the air between them. It mixed with...what was that? What was that smell, that scent? Like...like sugar melting in a pan, sweet but tinted with a distasteful burning.
Arousal?
Something took over Matt’s mind. As if his lizard brain took control, he wanted to respond to the scent.
He was right about the distance. All he had to do was lift his head just in the slightest, and he could feel chapped lips meet his own.
The flame under the sugar was turned into a wildfire in an instant. The sweet burn flooded the air like a tidal wave breaking the levee. It washed over Matt as...as Frank pushed back at him into the kiss.
Matt could pull his wrist out of Frank’s grip. But instead of pulling back and away, he followed the flaming image of Frank’s body until he could find the man’s bicep. His hands clung to Frank’s shirt as if he would drop right out of the world if he let go. The grip around his throat had loosened. It felt more like a caress, which was joined by the feeling of Frank’s other hand on Matt’s waist. Frank’s hands moved again. Down Matt’s chest, clawing at his back, fingers trailing down his sides, until they landed on his ass and squeezed hard.
Had he been in his right mind, Matt would have broken it up right then and there; he would have pushed Frank away and jumped out the closest window. But he wasn’t in his right mind. How could he be? His head was occupied with Frank. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. They seemed to fit like two pieces of a puzzle, bodies slotting together perfectly.
Frank groaned into the kiss, hips bucking, seeming to be involuntary, against Matt. The friction forced an honest to God whine out of the Devil’s lips. The sound appeared to stoke his partner’s fire. Frank withdrew from the kiss, and began to pick at the helmet. Matt caught on fast; from the outside it could likely seem difficult to get out of, but Matt had learned. For him it was muscle memory. He got it off his head, throwing it aside. The hard shell bounced across the floor.
The sound kicked it off.
Their mouths literally crashed together, a mess of teeth and tongue, while Frank began to get his shirt off and Matt got to work on his suit. Parting for one second, to let Frank get his shirt over his head. The moment it was gone, he was all over Matt again.
“Fuck...” the man moaned when Frank’s teeth rasped over his neck.
He felt Frank’s chest rumble against him as the man chuckled. Frank leaned down and grabbed Matt just under the slope of his ass, easily lifting him up to sit on the kitchen island. Matt fell back to lay on it while Frank got the pants of the suit to his thighs. A choked shout exited Matt’s mouth as Frank, without hesitation, took his cock into his mouth.
It was hot and wet, Frank’s humming groans sending shocks through Matt’s body. His fingers carded through the marine’s hair, gripping at it and pulling when Frank’s tongue slid over the head of Matt’s cock.
“Shit! ” he cursed. “Frank, fuck, Frank, please...”
Frank heeded the nondescript plea. He pulled back; he grabbed Matt’s legs and pushed them up, forcing his knees up to his chest. Matt was confused for a single second, but it dissipated into a rolling wave of bliss as he felt that same wet heat of Frank’s tongue against his opening.
“Fuck!”
“A’right, a’rigth, altar boy, calm it down.” Frank mocked.
He wrapped his arms around Matt’s hips, fingers clasping over the lawyers belly, to hold him down. Matt scrambled for something to hold onto, something to ground him, when Frank lapped at his ass and darted into him.
“Yes! Frank, Frank, fuck...”
Matt couldn’t control his mouth. He couldn’t shut himself up. His body was rocking with wave after wave of teasing goodness, there was no time to think about what his stupid mouth was saying.
Then a finger slid into him, slowly working him open. Matt didn’t even try to stop himself screaming screaming out at how good it felt. Frank’s tongue and finger slipped and slid in and out of him, working and working and working him until he could take Frank. And fuck, he wanted it. Matt wanted it, and he didn’t even know why! He had never even imagined anything like this before, but now that it was happening? Matt couldn’t imagine ever having gone without it.
Frank pulled out, spitting onto his fingers and sliding two back into Matt.
“Fuck, Frank, don’t care!” Matt begged, pulling and gripping at Frank’s hair. “Jus-Just do it! I want it! Now, now, please, want it!”
The marine pulled back again.
“You sure?” he asked, almost breathless.
Matt nodded, already trying to kick his boots off while getting out of the rest of his suit. Frank helped quickly. He undid the zips on the boots and pulled them off, throwing them away, then dragged Matt’s pants the rest of the way off. Matt sat up and got his hands back on Frank. They met in another rushed kiss. Teeth clashing, biting unintentionally at each others lips and tongues.
It didn’t matter. Frank kicked his own shoes off, struggling with his belt for a moment before he could pull both jeans and boxers down at once. When he was fully undressed, his hands went to Matt’s suit. They worked together on it, fumbling and bumbling over each other's hands in the heat of the moment.
As if reading one another's minds, Matt moved back over the counter to give them some more space to work with, while Frank climbed up after him. They slotted together so perfectly again; Matt wrapped himself around Frank, devouring him in a kiss. His mind was drowning in the smell of sweat, spit, and sex, the heat of another body moving against him.
“Lube.” Matt mumbled into Frank’s lips. “Lube, we need lube.”
“Shit...” Frank swore.
He lifted himself out of the kiss, seemingly scouring over the kitchen for anything to substitute for lube. A cork popped, and the air was flooded with the smell of olive oil. Matt let out a surprised hiss as the cold fluid was poured onto him, over his belly and down his thighs, and no doubt all over Frank’s front as well. He heard the bottle shatter when Frank had, likely, tried to set it aside and it had slipped over the edge. Fuck, why did he even care?
Frank collapsed back onto him. The oil made the slide of their bodies so much sweeter. It had been dry and a little coarse before, but now it was like pleasure had been made tangible. Matt could feel Frank’s cock against his hip and his own member, and...he was impressed. And a bit worried, that the little prep he had permitted would not be enough. But as it had several times before, the moment Frank’s hands touched him again, every thought fell out of Matt’s mind. Frank took both their dicks in one large hand, stroking them together until Matt could only whine and cry.
“Ready?” Frank grumbled, fucking into his hand and against Matt.
Matt couldn’t talk. Not for lack of trying, though. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was another cry. Frank seemed to take that as a yes. He guided his cock down to Matt’s ass, rubbing the oil in for a second before beginning to push into the man lying under him.
It was torture. The stretch stung and hurt, Frank thrusting into him slowly. But Frank was shaking under Matt’s hands; it was obvious he wanted to fuck into Matt for real, harder, faster. Matt wanted it too. He wanted it but he needed a single second to adjust. Frank let out a long, guttural groan. Matt wanted to respond in kind, yet all he could do was hiss at the pain.
“I’s okay, baby. I’s okay.” Frank murmured into Matt’s neck.
His lips ghosted over Matt’s skin, hands roaming over the man’s chest, fingers sliding over his nipples, and down until one could wrap around Matt’s cock. A mixed moan of pain and pleasure rocked through Matt, as Frank stroked his cock at a lazy pace. Fuck! Matt wanted it! He wanted it all, everything Frank could give him and do to him. Despite the pain, he nodded jerkily. Frank pulled out slowly, then thrust back in.
Matt wasn't one to take the Lord's name in vain too often, but Jesus Christ, he nearly cried it was so good!
Frank’s cock just barely caressing his prostate, and his mouth swallowing down every little noise Matt made.
In almost an instant, the pain of the stretch was gone and all that was left was an all consuming pleasure. Frank moved inside him like nothing better existed in the world. Every move made Matt's body explode. The world was on fire at all times, but now it seemed like the epicenter of a nuclear explosion. The shape of Frank ontop of him was like the sun, bright and blinding.
There was another meeting of their lips, though it wasn't so much of a kiss. It was their mouths happening to meet, breath mingling and lips begging to be brutalized again. Matt felt a hand take his, fingers intertwining.
"Harder…" Matt begged. "Faster, harder, Frank, please, I-"
The words didn't make any sense to his own ears. He couldn't understand what he himself was saying, but Frank seemed to. His chest rumbled out a growl, hand gripping Matts tighter and the other stroking his cock faster. Frank fucked him harder and faster, hips moving erratically and without pattern or control. With every thrust, he slid over Matt's prostate; every other one hitting it right on. Matt would have felt sorry for the neighbours if there had been any, because he screamed. He screamed the bliss out into the world as if it just had to know.
The orgasm punched through him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Every muscle in him tightened, which seemed to do it for Frank as well. The cum spurted over Matt chest and mixed with the slick of the oil. Heat equal to a branding iron filled his insides too, when Frank fucked Matt through both their orgasms.
As if held up only by sheer willpower, Frank collapsed onto Matt, every ounce of energy having left him. Matt couldn't care less; couldn't care about Frank's solid weight, about the stickiness of cum, olive oil, and sweat, about how his back was glued to the hardwood counter top. About anything.
"Got a bed 'n the back…" Frank mumbled so low even Matt could just barely hear him. "Shower too."
Matt took that as an invitation to stay for a while.