Jagged Little Pieces (Matt/Foggy, Past Matt/Elektra)
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
During the few hours of fitful sleep he gets, Matt dreams in red.
“Yeah, I killed your old man. I killed lots of fathers,” Sweeney boasts. “And now I know your name, nothing’ll stop me from bloodying the street with your corpse!”
Standing before the ugly mobster, Matt is a child again. Shivering and bereft in that alleyway as he clutches his father’s dead body. Only this time he’s not alone. He’s got Elektra beside him, and he’s shaking not out of fear, but rage. He has to reach up to throw the first punch, but it’s a solid upper-cut and lands on Sweeney’s jaw with a satisfying crack.
“Yes!” Elektra murmurs in his ear, “Do it again!” Matt lets out a roar and unleashes blow after blow, feeling himself growing taller with every punch. In his dream Matt has the satisfaction of seeing the smirk he pummels off of Sweeney’s face, the bloody rivulets his fists create in glorious shades of red. By the end he’s the one towering over Sweeney, and the man is reduced to a pulpy mess that seems barely alive, barely human.
“Finish him!” Elektra commands, but Matt is suddenly frozen with indecision. Elektra huffs a sigh of impatience and steps in, her hands wrapping around the back of Sweeney’s head, his blood staining her nails dark red. There’s a sharp snap as his neck breaks, and Roscoe Sweeney disintegrates into dust as his body falls.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Elektra asks. Now there’s only the two of them, and Matt’s own hearbeat is deafeningly loud in his ears. Elektra reaches for him, and her hands are suddenly everywhere at once. Caressing his face, stroking his cock, and scoring deep, deep grooves down Matt’s back that he never wants to heal.
Matt wakes with a start, momentarily surprised not to find Elektra pressed against him, or a dead man’s blood still smeared across his knuckles. Instead there’s only the morning sun shining into his sightless eyes. The familiar smells of his dorm room surround him: Library books, unwashed laundry, his and Foggy’s scents mingling inextricably in the air. Only a few weeks ago, Elektra’s voice had echoed in this very room. Saying “Σε αγαπώ,” and “Je t’aime,” and “I’ll always love you.” The way she’d whispered “Matthew” had lit a spark deep inside his soul…
{Read the rest of this fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536847}
areudirty
blakekathryn
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2087
gummygunk
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snowghoul
