Leather and Latex

by stress_relief (ao3)

Putting on the latex was like slipping into another skin.

In a way, you guess that was how Matt felt when he put on his Daredevil suit, slipping into the skin of another to do something under the cover of darkness that Matthew Murdock could not do.

You'd never asked, but you always assumed that stepping into that role each night was a type of release for him, to assert himself, to take action, to take on that role of the one who was listened to, not the one who listened. He painted a quiet figure in the daylight, smooth as silk but with a tendency to stumble through his words at times, outside of the courtroom, that is. Although you didn't use your evenings to fight street level crime, you always did feel a strange, misplaced sort of kinship with Matt and his alter ego.

It was funny, really. What an interesting pair you made, latex and leather. Sometimes you wondered if you were made for each other.

You felt like you knew Matt well because of that little insight, you knew what it felt like to want to dominate. Hell, you'd indulged him from time to time when he was in his own suit when the mood struck, and it was for that same reason you knew what it felt like to need that release. This wasn't about listening to what someone was telling you, about following orders, this was about letting go. To be allowed to not have to think anymore. To have someone you trust to do that for you.

Because for all his broadness, his solid muscle, his violence and fire, his anger and reputation, there were times where the Devil was put away, and Matt just needed to let go. That's where you came in.

When you put on your suit, that was your superpower. 

You'd slip into your skin, and you'd change too. The soft, gentle partner Matt had come to be so lovingly familiar with was gone, and in her place was a stranger. Another who lived by the night, who found their strength in the suit they donned and the role they played. You wouldn't be cruel, per se, not if the occasion didn't call for it, but you were there to be served, to tease, to punish.

The scent of baby powder and rubber that clung to your form like a shroud elicited a sort of pavlovian response in Matt. He'd feel the air currents shift around your skin-tight frame, hear the insistent squeak of the latex, hear the strangely different pace of your heartbeat as you sunk into your own headspace, and know it was time to drift, to let go. He trusted you, gave you this piece of him to hold and protect, and you guarded it fiercely.

Your understanding was one unlike anything you'd ever known. Most times now you didn't even require him to tell you what he needed, you just... knew. Could tell from the tone of his voice, the way he hunched his shoulders, you could tell when the city held him under the waves, though he viewed it as a mother's embrace. You'd see this when it crept up over him, and you’d pluck his mighty burden from his shoulders, allowing it to weigh down on some other poor soul for the night. You'd never tell him, but there were times you hated this city, for the way its violence affected your lover so deeply, both in head and the bruises on his skin.

You didn't greet him when he got home. Didn't look at him. You were sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other with your arms extended over the back, splayed and outstretched like the wings of a dragon. You'd gone without your mask for the night, knowing he liked it when he could smell the shampoo you shared.

He released the slightest of sighs, likely already aware of your outfit the moment he crested the stairs to his floor. His bag hit the floor next to the door with a thump, and he made his way over before immediately dropping onto his knees before you, murmuring a soft "May I?"

You nod, and his cheek immediately falls onto your knee, one deft hand wrapping around your calf in synchronicity. Indulging him, you run a hand through his hair, nails cutting a path through the softness. "Long day?" You wonder, smiling softly when he grips your calf a touch tighter as your fingers hit a particularly sensitive area at the back of his head.

He nods, another sigh inflating him like a ball before he buries his head entirely in your lap, revelling in the warmth of your skin leaching through the thin material. "Rough night, too. Got a lot on my mind."

You hum, scratching that little bit harder as you do, appreciating the little shiver that starts up at his shoulders and trickles down his spine. "I can help with that, baby."

All it takes is a singular nod from him. You shift slightly and he moves his head to allow you room immediately. You take his cheeks between your hands, caressing the skin with your bare fingers, feeling the stubble that persisted there. You kept him there as you stood up, forcing him to crane his neck to stay cradled in your hands, you only pulled away somewhat to lead him into turning around, one hand remaining under his chin as you did so.

"Stay on your knees." When you spoke, it was soft, but firm. He needed to focus on your voice at the level you spoke, and it only served to pull him deeper into that quiet, soft space in his mind where he could let go.

He looked so pretty on his knees. Hands resting lightly on his thick thighs, head bowed, top button to his work shirt undone and his tie loose around his neck. You circled him like a predator, and wished not for the first time you could hear his heartbeat flutter like he could yours. Instead, you run through the rules.

"Safe word?"

His voice rumbles as it breaks the quiet of the apartment, having to talk louder than you to accommodate for your hearing. "Red."

You nod, trailing a nail over the slope of his shoulders as you go. "If you want to take a break?"

"Yellow."

"Good boy." You purr. He's stock still, but you know the signs. Your eyes are sharp, you can see the small rise and falls of his shoulders as he rides his quickened breaths, see how he adjusts himself on his haunches as his slacks become too tight for comfort.

You didn't expect to hear red tonight, or even yellow. You can't recall a time he'd ever uttered his safe words in this context. You got him naked soon enough, ensuring he removed the clothes himself. Slowly, ritualistically. You revelled in the fact that he felt your eyes devour every inch of his battle worn skin, until he was bare before you. Until he was practically vibrating with need, driven half mad with the scent of your arousal intertwined with rubber and the baby powder you'd used to slip your body into the suit.

You'd been a domme before, long before you'd met Matt, long before you'd become his, and him yours. You'd taken many a man's money in exchange for your services, but you'd never had a man whose senses were as 'delicate' as Matt's. It made for fun play. Interesting play.

You'd gotten to know most of his quirks by now, what made him tick and what didn't, you could press every button he possessed with a practised and familiar ease, expertly working him up with nimble fingers and a quick mind, and dashing him just as fast. You smile when your nails dig into the junction between his collarbone and his throat and pull a slight, shaky inhale, flavoured with an easy desperation and weeks of stress. This was part of the game. He was a man of incredible restraint, so much so that you'd taken labelling it as his own personal brand of self-flagellation. You always liked bending, but it was satisfying to break him too, even more so when you knew just how much he needed to be wrecked.

You'd never quite had a weakness for the way a man begged like Matt.

You left him there, on his knees, and went into the bedroom to retrieve your things. Matt didn't require a lot of toys, he was sensitive enough without the need for feathers or pinwheels, not that you knew he wouldn't enjoy it, rather that you preferred to use your hands with him. Breaking Matt Murdock made you feel like Michealangelo, taking infallible marble and chipping away at it until the artwork beneath was laid bare. No, you only needed one thing from your little box of tricks.

The thick leather was heavy in your hand, the buckles clinking daintily together as you moved. Matt's body didn't move an inch as you stopped before him, only obediently baring his throat to you so that you may fit the collar on snug enough. You stepped back to admire your handiwork, and the way his head twitched minutely as the scent of your growing arousal.

It was always a game of restraint with your Matt, that was the object of play. So, leaning down to unclip the thin strip of latex that covered your cunt, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the apartment, was the starting signal.

You wrap your fist around the lead attached to the collar, giving him no choice but to crawl towards you. You stand before him, bringing your free hand down to your cunt, gathering the wetness that pooled there and holding it lazily in front of his face, an offering and a tease all at once. It’s the first hint of a crack in his restraint you catch, when his eyebrows scrunch together, pulling up minutely toward the ceiling as his lips part, his tongue flashing pink as he tastes the air to catch your scent.

You coo, crooning your sympathy, “Shh…” you catch his chin under your knuckles, admiring his pretty face as you smear your wetness over his lips. A whimper curls in the back of his throat, tongue making an appearance once again to catch your taste.

Before he can lick at his lips, you dig your fingers into his cheeks softly as a warning. “Ah ah ah,” He stops immediately, breath coming in pants as your scent envelops him. “No licking. Want you to be on your best behaviour tonight.” Another sound squeezes out of him, but he shuts his mouth, pressing his lips together tightly so as not to stray from the path you set him on. His cock, hanging heavy between his legs, doesn’t so much as twitch but bobs under its own weight as he inhales your essence. He’s breathing heavier now, his brows still pinched together with the effort to control himself.

You hum your approval, a feline smile stretching across your lips as you card your fingers through his soft hair, lightly scraping your nails along his scalp. “Good boy.”

A tremor runs through him at your words, and he shuts his eyes as a whisper of a moan drifts out from the back of his throat.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Your voice is silk, dark and soft, you see the way it drapes over his skin, how much it affects him along with your scent.

“Please.” He murmurs, voice barely a whisper and the word rushed. You oblige, leaning down and licking yourself from him with the point of your tongue. He goes to kiss you back but you pull away, the fire within you burning brighter at the way his face crumples with desperation.

“Don’t kiss me back.” You whisper, leaning in again and parting his pink lips with your thumb.

You kiss him again, soft and slow and sweet, teasing him with your tongue and your teeth, taking full advantage of the softness of his lips with no tension behind them. His first real, loud moan breaks out of him when you lick into his mouth, letting him taste you off of your own tongue. He stays put, that restraint he possesses manifesting in his skin stretching white over scarred knuckles. His body shudders as you lick into his mouth again, the moan emerging thick from the back of his throat as if he was getting drunk off of your power.

“Please.” He breathes against your mouth, the sound of it rushed and quick. You pull back, rubbing your thumb fondly across his bottom lip as you study his face. His eyes closed, brows furrowed and a little upturned.

“Please what?”

“Please let me taste you.”

"Do you think you've been good enough?" A cruel question, really. Matt was always good, always. You'd never met a man quite like him, someone who possessed a perfect balance of resilience and ability. It would be an easy answer for anyone else but him. You'd realised during your first session that he enjoyed praise, so much so he'd have physical reactions to it, but it had taken you a couple more after that to realise he could never answer the question when you posed it to him. Do you think you deserve it? Have you been good enough?

Matt didn't ever think he'd been good enough.

You supposed that's why he had such a reaction to your praises, whether moaned to the ceiling or whispered along his skin, it was all the same. You realised he needed you to tell him he'd been good enough, that he was allowed rewards, allowed good things.

You'd stopped telling him soon after that.

You were intent- no, determined, for him to accept when he'd been good enough, to let himself acknowledge it. Every time you posed the question now it was a test, a lesson. You needed him to understand he was allowed to think he'd done well enough for you to reward him, and if that bled to his day to day living? Even better.

The silence after your question was thick, bloated even. You didn't mind, you were perfectly content to caress his lip, to listen to his shuddering breath as his throat worked to get the words out. Matt Murdock may be a stubborn man, but you were in control, and you definitely weren't opposed to digging your feet in when you needed to.

"I'm waiting." You murmur, moving from his lip to grip his cheeks in one hand, gently digging your fingers into the space where his teeth didn't occupy. There’s another beat of silence before he nods, a stuttered inhale interrupting his words before he gets them out.

"Y-Yes."

"Yes what, baby?"

"...I've been good enough."

The grin his words pull from you stretches your cheeks wide as you stand him up by his collar and walk him backwards to the couch, the click of your heels dominating the space.

"Good boy." His legs hit the couch and he goes down heavy, legs already weak from his arousal and desire, you crowd his space until his back hits the cushions and you've got enough room to lift one leg up onto the couch, baring your cunt to him at face level. His breath shudders, a shaky "Fuck" breathing past his lips.

"How long was I kissing you?" He pauses, brain rebooting after flatlining at the scent of you not a foot away from his face. "Uh- maybe about 12 seconds."

You nod, a coy smile on your face as you run your hand through his hair, allowing him to enjoy the sensation before you fist the soft strands at the back of his head and bring his face towards your cunt.

He feels so pliant in your grip, surrendering to you completely until the moment his mouth fits over you, hot and wet. There’s a pause, his body is shaking like a live wire, but he barely even breathes. Always so good.

Your command is quiet, barely a breath, but you know it’s all he can hear. “Go on.”

He eats you like a man starved.

The groan that tears out from his throat is belly deep, vibrating into your cunt in the most delicious way. It catches you off guard, so much so that you almost lose your balance before his big hands wrap around your hips to keep you in place, barely taking his mouth off of you to murmur a weak and breathless “Sorry” before he licks a broad stripe up your entire cunt, collecting as much of your taste as he can before burying his tongue into you.

You curl your fingers through his hair even tighter, partially for him and partially because even when he’s gorging himself on you, he does it damn well. He works his way up to your clit, softening his tongue and gently sucking, another moan muffled into you as his hands grip you tighter. It takes a second for your brain to reboot this time, realising you’d put him on a timer. Four, three, two, one.

You take a deep breath, pushing past that little part of you that loathes taking his mouth off of you and press your cunt into his mouth once for good measure before firmly pulling him away, revelling in the soft, desperate little sound of protest he makes as you deny him any more.

You pull his hair, tilting his face up to you to inspect the mess he’s made. His eyes are hooded, so unfocused that they remained in one spot rather than darting around like they usually did when he was more lucid. Your chest warmed, knowing he was firmly letting go and allowing you to lead him. You lean down and kiss him again, licking yourself from around his mouth just to hear that little whine that lived somewhere between need and a protest at removing your scent from his skin.

“I know, I know. Sit back for me honey.” He does without hesitation or question, completely pliant and pussy drunk. This was your favourite part.

You clamber onto him, seating yourself on his broad thighs and hooking your feet on the inside of his knees to hover yourself above him. Slowly lowering back down, you drag yourself over the line of his neglected cock, utterly rock hard and soaking wet without a drop of you to help him. The moment your cunt comes into contact with his cock is like you’ve hooked him up to a car battery.

His body jerks, eyes flying open yet somehow retaining that fucked out glaze as he feels your wetness drag up the underside of his cock, trapping it against you and his lower belly. His arms wrap around your waist, not holding you down, but almost for support. “Fuck- Please.”

You play dumb, of course, dragging yourself up and down him slowly, “Please what?”

“Please, need to feel you sweetheart. Need you- God, fuck.” He takes a shuddering breath, desperation lacing his tone as his pleads border on whimpers. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Please, please-”

You might have waited out, made him sweat a little more, but like you said; you’d never had a weakness for the way a man begged like Matt did.

You’re at the tip when he’s begging, and in one fluid movement catch yourself on the edge, gripping his broad shoulders for support as you slide him into you.

He chokes, throwing back his head at the sudden warmth of you, the wetness and tightness. It’s so good it almost burns you from the inside out, and you marvel not for the first time at the fact Matt doesn’t cum on the spot. He groans out, long and loud as you take him inch by inch, torturing him with every second it takes to get him fully inside of you, he’s breathing through gritted teeth as you bottom out, arms back up to cover his face, and you lean forward to gently bite his throat. His hips jerk on reflex, and the feeling almost makes you see stars.

You run your fingers through his hair, kissing his collarbones and shoulders, anywhere you could reach as you give him time to adjust. You’d had sessions where you’d tested his stamina together, and although he had remarkable self control he wasn’t a machine, so you’d figured out the warning signs, you know he’s close.

You sit there, full of him and pulsing. You wanted to move, desperately in fact, but you wouldn’t be much of a domme if you gave into your own desires so quickly. You had a job to do, after all.

His breath was coming in huffs now, his broad chest heaving with the effort it took to stop his hips from moving, from fucking you senseless like you knew he could. Mercilessly, you clench around him, just to revel in the broken whimper that falls from his lips. His head hits the back of the couch, face up towards the ceiling. He’s solid inside of you, the kind of hardness that has little give or bend.

“Does that feel good baby?” You whisper, moving yourself up his cock to place your lips next to his ear. He nods jerkily, eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched tight. You tut, squeezing him again just to tease him. “Use your words.”

His voice is ragged, words fighting to be heard on trembling breaths. “Yes, God- yeah. You feel incredible.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, a sensation he chases as you pull away. You press your cheek to his as you speak, wanting to orient him as much as possible. “Good boy. You’re doing so well for me.” His hips shift at the praise, inching into you ever so slightly. You’re reminded of his tendency for masochism, the way he’d sooner punish himself than give in to what he wants. You decide to remind him that this was for him. “You can move when you want, okay Matt? Remember the safe words? This is only fun if you’re enjoying it.”

His stubble scrapes along your cheek as he nods, jerky and uncoordinated. “I- I know. M’enjoying. Promise.”

“And you’ll use the safe word? Tell me when you want to cum?” You press him, needing to know he’s with you enough to understand.

“Yeah- I’ll ask you to let me.”

You sigh pure warmth, pleased and proud, making sure his whole body can feel your chest inflate against him. Another moan drifts from him, high and sweet, at your movement. “You’re being so good, baby. So proud of you.”

On your last word you slip back down his cock so you’re fully seated again, sheathing him into you entirely. His whole body tenses as he all but shouts a moan into the high ceilings of the apartment, hands coming down to hover above your hips.

“You can touch me.” He does, big hands coming to warm the latex around your hips. You shift yourself, leaning back to allow room for you to reach down and touch yourself, “I’m going to make myself cum, okay? You just sit there and let me warm your cock for you. Don’t you cum until I say so.”

You both know when you say so is entirely dependent on when he asks, considering he’s been so well behaved, but his body still shudders at your words regardless.

His hands grip your hips even tighter, eyes drifting shut, as that little crease forms between his eyebrows once again.

It was so simple to play with Matt. Every circle you draw over your clit sends the smallest little shocks through you, ones that he felt in magnificent detail. The more you worked yourself up, the higher that fall became, the more you tightened around him, and the more he began to pant.

You got yourself off on him with only the hot, hard length of him inside you, and God did it feel good. He was moaning now, the restraint he had on the sounds he made were long thrown into the wind, the baritone of his voice echoing in the high vaulted ceilings of your home as they pitched from deep groans to high whines at every twitch inside of you, and it only added to your impending release, spurring you on as you clenched tighter and tighter around him.

Your breath is coming quicker now, your skin a live wire as that heat within you rises, he lets go of your hips to bring his arms up to cover his face once again, pretty sounds spilling from his mouth as you reach your peak. “God, sweetheart- I can’t-“

You lean forward, hand working double time on your clit- you’re almost there-

You place a hand around his throat, just as you start to cum, and he fucking jolts, his whole body tensing up, hips jerking touch as that wave rises between your hips, just hitting that perfect spot that punches the air out of you and you clench down on his cock.

You moan, the orgasm taking you out with its force as it pulls the sound out of you with no remorse. You can feel him twitching in you, responding to the way you clench around him, and you squeeze the collar around his throat, his moans have morphed into something high and keening, his head tucked into the crook of his elbow, but he still doesn’t move.

You’re still rubbing yourself, barely over the crest of your orgasm when you decide he’s earned it.

“Fuck me, Matt.”

“Can I-”

“Go.”

His arm is round your waist the moment you say so, the world tilting as he effortlessly moves you onto your back on the couch. He barely leaves you, cock only coming out about halfway before he steadies himself and ruts into you with a strangled gasp. He buries his head into your neck, fucking you with his entire body as you’re moved up the couch with the force of his thrusts.

You’re still cumming, the tail end of it is caught by your g-spot and he makes good work of stringing it out. He’s desperate, the force in which he’s fucking you isn’t from any sense of domination, but purely out of instinctual desire, of need. You’ve broken him down into only being able to focus on the way your bodies connect, the way he feels, the way he’s so desperate to cum he can barely think.

His hands are everywhere, desperate to make up for lost time in the ways he couldn’t touch you before. His pace takes on a wild, urgent turn, and the sounds that warm your neck become higher and higher. You’re moaning too, trying to keep your head to give him the guidance he needs in the space he’s in.

“Come for me baby,” You say, though your voice cracks as he thrusts into you again, hitting you just right, and this time you really do see stars.

Suddenly he locks up, muscles tense, buried so deep inside of you that you feel every twitch and pulse as he spills himself into you, trembling like a leaf as he does. He’s breathing so heavily, moans peppered on every exhale as his body is wracked with aftershocks. He thrusts into you brokenly a couple more times, hands that had somehow managed to find their way underneath your back splay across your shoulder blades as he slurs over and over again; “I love you, God, I love you.”

Your head is spinning, somehow still lucid after he managed to make you cum for so long, but you still manage to reach up a hand and run your fingers gently through his hair, murmuring soothingly as the other hand trails lightly across his broad back. “I love you too, so so much.” His pace slows to a stop, fully spent. You feel his heart pounding against your chest, he’s boneless on top of you, cock still inside you as he comes down from his high and out of his headspace.

You lay there with him, giving him all the reassuring sensations you can think of, tickling, humming, kissing his forehead. Eventually his heart rate softens, and he reluctantly and groggily pushes himself up long enough to slip his cock out of you, quickly returning to laying on top of you like a giant blanket. You smile, kissing his cheek again for good measure before unclipping the collar at the back of his neck and dropping it onto the floor with a hearty rattle. You both lay there, allowing the comfortable silence to envelop you both for a while before you break it, speaking softly.

“You okay? Feeling good?”

“Perfect.” He mumbles, voice soft and muffled from his cheek being pressed into your sternum. “Thank you.”

“I love you.” You say simply, a reassurance, a reply and a reminder all in one. “You wanna shower or do you wanna lay here for a while? I’m not opposed to staying here but I know you’re gonna feel gross in about five minutes.” There’s a beat of quiet before he presses himself into you a little more firmly, his stubbornness silently taking root. You laugh, wrapping an arm around him and returning to playing with his hair. “Okay, fine. But I don’t want any complaints when you have to unstick yourself from my suit and the couch.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Yes, you great big martyr. Now relax, I’m trying to give you decent aftercare, and I can’t do that if you’re being too funny.”