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It had been a day since Dex had left Matt and Karen's hideout, patched up and fairing far better than before. Their words and arguments still rattled in his head, the sound of Karen's resentment fresher than his bullet wound. But even more so he thought about how Matt had defended him so harshly, so carelessly, for what felt like no reason at all. Dex still didn't quite understand it, despite what Matt had told him. Some Catholic guilt and holy righteousness thing, he figured.
So, despite his own best efforts, Dex was still alive. It was greatly amusing to him that perhaps one of his own worst enemies couldn't let him bleed out when he was literally begging for it.
Now he was on his own, just barely. He had completed his one good deed. He made Matt proud, and it filled him with a level of self satisfaction he was wholly unfamiliar with. Something like pride that he couldn't fully name.
He was lucky to find a place to lay low, a forgotten space to temporarily call home. Much to his benefit, far more eyes were on Karen now, as he had kept up with whatever news he could catch glimpses of.
He had few belongings with him now, not that it concerned him. He was good at surviving, as long as he could find routine in doing so. He just needed something to keep him grounded. Little did Matt know that he had given him exactly that.
Dex smiled at the fabric in his hands, smoothing it gently. Matt had let him go with one of his shirts, something other than his bloodied costume to leave with. An act of bitter and reluctant kindness. It fit Dex surprisingly well, albeit a little tight in the wrong areas. It gave him a rush that reminded him of the feeling when he had worn the copy Daredevil suit all those years ago. Fulfilling a role that was not his. A stain on another’s legacy, yet some of his best work. Yet somehow this felt far more intimate than any of that. A simple black long sleeve shirt, something that actually belonged to Matt, not just a recreation of something that was his.
Dex pressed the cloth to his face and breathed it in. It still smelled of the Devil; weak cologne, clean linen, and a mix of blood and sweat. That smell dizzied his mind, flooding his senses like it was all that existed when he experienced it. It was no secret to himself that he wanted Matt more than anything else, and right now this shirt was as close as he could get. Matt was off playing lawyer, causing a scene at the expense of Karen. Terrible at laying low. Dex wanted to see him again, to do more for him. He would do anything Matt asked just for a chance to feel that self satisfaction again.
He didn't realize how much he had worked himself up until the feeling of his pants was nearly overwhelming. He sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of his body. Matt surely knew the effect he had on him when they were together— the way he gripped his hair and inched their faces so close together that they shared the same air. Slamming him against walls and his face into tables. Grabbing him by the collar and growling at him with filthy language. He had to know.
Dex smiled deviously to himself at the thought. He wondered if he had an effect on him, too. He knew that Matt could probably hear the way Dex's blood rushed in his veins, the way his heart pounded, and the way his adrenaline spiked dangerously. He had probably known it since the first time Dex had felt it. And yet the Devil kept doing all those things that flipped that switch. Fucking sadist, Dex thought, as much as Matt would never outright admit to such an unholy thing.
Dex was straining through his sweats, the shirt he now held in his lap doing nothing to stop the sticky mess that soaked from his boxers. He moved the bundled fabric aside, and with the help of his hands kicked off his sweats in one motion. He freed himself from the constraints of his boxers just as quickly, the air on his skin making him shiver. Without a second thought he wrapped one his hand around himself, Matt's shirt tight in his grip again. He buried his face in it, breathing the man's smell like it was what kept him alive. He stroked himself with an obscene schlick, his mind easily wandering to the scenario of what if Matt saw me like this? He got chills at the thought, closing his eyes. He would probably act like Dex was a freak, belittling him as easily as he breathed.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Is that what gets you off, Poindexter? You're obsessed with me, is that it?” he heard Matt's voice in his head, thinking of how he would hear every vulgar sound that Dex made, no matter how quiet. Matt would come up behind him and grip his hair so hard it burned. It wouldn't get Dex’s hand to stop, but Matt wouldn't want him to.
“Fucking freak. All you're good for is following orders. You just want someone to control you, huh?” Matt would say cruelly, tilting Dex's head back forcefully so he would look up at his face. His hand stuttered, imagining the look he would see when he did.
“Did I say stop?” Matt would drawl, digging his nails into his scalp. Dex would only whine in response, picking back up the pace. And to that, Matt would trail his hands down to Dex’s neck, resting them there for a moment. Without another word he'd come around to Dex's front, a hand trailing on his neck as he did so. Dex was sure that Matt wouldn't hesitate to choke him without warning.
Dex wondered if his gasps and sputters would turn Matt on, making him unable to hide a sadistic smile. He would push Dex up against the wall from where he sat, squeezing his neck hard enough to bruise in those trained hands. Dex would get lightheaded, hand moving on its own as he lost oxygen. His throat would try to whimper, but Matt’s unyielding grip wouldn't let him. They'd only come out as broken sounds, choked gasps, and desperation. Dex's eyes would water, with pain, pleasure, and the intoxicating lack of air.
The feeling pooled inside his abdomen, racing to a cliff he couldn't back away from. He came suddenly, trying and failing to bite back the surprised moan that escaped his throat. His eyes fluttered open and closed, hand desperately grasping Matt's shirt as he spilled over his fingers and onto the fabric. His hand shook as he milked everything he could give, his mind still wandering.
“That's it, you whore. This is all you're good for.” Matt would growl, not able to conceal how how hard he would be himself.
Dex's hand fell still after a long moment, drained, chest rising and falling rapidly. His body felt heavy, empty, and satiated. He laid back on the mattress, still holding the shirt he had now made a mess of.
He bundled it up and closed his eyes, a thumb caressing the cotton where it was clean.
He wasn't sure if he could ever let go.