KinkTober Prompt - Clicker Training
Summery: You get an idea to help your stubborn boyfriend with his tendency to disregard instructions. Paring: Matt Murdock x GN Reader. Word Count: 4.6k. Tags: 18+, NSFW, Sub!Matt, praise kink, pet play, clicker training, no use of Y/N A/N: Happy Kinktober! This one is dedicated to @mutt-murdock <3 please forgive any grammatical mistakes, those are all mine. Dividers by Cursed Carmine
“I'll have a breaking story for Ellison at The Bulletin."
The words are murmured, but you know Matt hears them anyway from where he's dressing in the bedroom. The comment draws him to the bathroom, where you stand, tugging at the neck of your pajama top. The bathroom mirror reflects your pout and the trail of love bites and bruises blooming along your neck.
“What would that be?” Matt questions. He's stopped just inside the bathroom doorway, finishing doing up the last few buttons of his dress shirt. His expression, sans his red glasses yet, is open. He still looks a bit soft, half floating in that sleepy state. His head tips lightly to the side, and his attention drifts down to your throat, a standard focal point for his senses, and Matt's soft expression shifts to something knowing, maybe even a little smug.
Two hooked fingers slip from your shirt collar, letting the fabric fall back as you cross your arms and face Matt in the doorway. Noting the change in his expression, you brace your hip against the vanity, your posture mirroring your irritation.
“Local citizen mauled by The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.” You say. Matt can't see the jut of your bottom lip, but he can certainly hear the pout in your voice.
Matt’s smug look broadens into a cheeky grin as he moves further into the bathroom, fiddling with his dress shirt cuffs, trying to look casual.
“That's ah, not exactly breaking news,” he replies, stopping right in front of you. His fidgeting slows, and his hands hover between your bodies. Your eyes dart between them and his face, back and forth a few times, as he slowly raises them towards your neck. You can clearly tell he's trying to school his grinning face and not laugh at your current petulant demeanor.
“A lot of people get mauled by The Devil.” Matt's voice drops lower with the proximity to you, but his hands raise higher, his fingertips ghosting over where the love bites he left poke out around the collar of your t-shirt. “And I didn't hear any complaints from you at the time.”
The sensation of Matt’s fingers so close to your neck invokes an immediate reaction from your skin, yet along with the rising goosebumps comes a slight spike of flushed annoyance at his words. It brings a warmth to your cheeks that you know Matt can feel just as you do, because his lips twitch in a self satisfied smile, that he gives up trying to hold back when you gently swat his hand away from fully touching the spots on your neck.
“You know I asked you not to leave any visible ones this time,” you grumble.
Matt isn’t wrong about you normally enjoying it when he leaves marks on your skin, but yesterday, just before you got swept away in the moment with him, you had told him you had to make an important appearance for work, and requested that he not leave a bunch of visible marks for you to figure out how to cover up later. You aren’t truly mad about it. You’re more annoyed just because he didn’t listen to you. Matt can tell that there’s no real heat to your words, that you’re just pouting.
When you turn back to the bathroom sink to finish washing up, Matt moves easily with you, stepping behind so he can slip his arms around your waist and press himself against your back. The warmth of his body against yours instantly starts to melt away your ill tempered attitude, and as you pick up your toothbrush, you let out one last muttered complaint.
“You need better home training.”
There's a puff of breath near your ear, signifying a huff from Matt behind you, a mix between a scoff and a laugh. The feeling of his arms around you tightens slightly as he murmurs a response, while nuzzling slowly against your shoulder.
“Training, huh? You’ll pick out a collar for me and all?” he responds, still teasing you.
Matt allows you to elbow him lightly, making you grin around the toothbrush in your mouth when he grunts in protest and releases you. He lets the topic drop, thinking your crabby mood has started to dissipate, and both of you finish getting ready for work. The two of you move around each other with a familiar, practiced ease, and soon Matt is out the door first, sent off with a soft kiss and quiet words of love that are a standard in this early morning routine. It leaves you to finish getting ready by pulling out a shirt with the highest collar that you own and making sure it covers the smattering of love bites Matt left behind.
Standing back in front of the bathroom mirror, you tug up the collar of the shirt, tilting your head around to test the coverage. You sigh when it mostly does the job, and just hope no one looks too closely at you during your meeting today.
Matt’s snarky comment from earlier still rattles around in your head as you exit the apartment building, stepping briskly down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, feeling the autopilot of your normal work route taking over. The only thing that catches your eye through the pedestrian traffic around you is a dog and its owner, headed in your direction. You reflexively smile at the dog and nod to the owner as they pass you, and it wouldn't normally hold your attention beyond that, but in the few seconds after it happens, the faint voice of the owner praising the dog for not reacting to strangers reaches you, along with a soft clicking sound. When you glance back over your shoulder, the owner is handing the dog what you assume is a small treat, and in their hand is a bright little piece of plastic.
A training clicker.
You immediately spin back around, continuing on your route, but the words you grumbled to Matt this morning about him needing ‘better training’ echo in your mind. A nebulous idea forms in your brain, and it lingers.. By the end of your workday, the idea of you standing in front of Matt with a clicker, watching his big, blank puppy eyes shine in anticipation of a soft click... It takes shape in your thoughts, and you can’t let it go.
Soon enough, you’re on your way back home, after making just one stop. You walk away from the pet supply store with an enthusiastic spike in your pulse and a brightly colored piece of plastic hanging off your keys.
You don’t just jump into it. You leave the clicker hanging off your keys for a few days, contemplating how you want to go about introducing it to Matt as something you actually want to try. You could outright just ask. Matt has never shied away from discussing bedroom habits and what you both do or don’t like. If there's something you want to try, you know he’d want you to ask, you just have to pick a good time to bring it up.
That chance arrives a few days later, on a lazy Saturday morning. Matt had woken up before you, obviously needy in that quiet, soft way, where he hopes his touch will speak for him. As open as you both try to be, Matt can sometimes still struggle with being vulnerable, with asking for tender affection in this space where your breaths mingle. You’ve learned to read Matt’s silent pleas in the glide of fingertips and the flutter of his eyelids. Matt’s not shy when it comes to sex, no, but he’s a giver, naturally inclined to be the one to provide service and take care of his partner, and the words to ask for it the other way around are not ones that come from his lips naturally. So you encourage it, rolling to face him with a sleepy smile and a whispered good morning when his searching fingertips trail from your shoulder to your cheek. Matt’s echo is barely audible. You feel it more than hear it in the warm puff of heat from his mouth when you lean in, brushing the tip of your nose against his cheek. You paw at him under the blankets, moving from his hips to his back to pull your bodies flush, falling into that domestic, dulcet dance, feeling the vibration of Matt's pleased hum when you pick up on what he’s after.
Kisses are papered over his handsome face, starting at his jaw and trailing up until you reach the corner of his eye. The morning sun filtering into the bedroom highlights how one of his eyelids droops more than the other, calling attention to the slight misalignment of his sightless eyes. A telling sign of just how tired and worn down he’s been, after long days on casework and some rough nights on patrol the past week. You cuddle further into your poor Devil, and entice him to melt into you with as much tender affection as you can muster in your own sleepy state, understanding that when he’s tired, he just wants you to take over. Doing so elicits a pleased rumble followed by the scratch of stubble on your skin as Matt buries his face into your neck to drink in your scent and kiss lightly at the soft skin there.
“Going to mark up your favorite spot again?” you tease quietly, moving back just to see if he follows you to keep his nose pressed to your pulse point, which he does with a small sound of protest. It’s terribly cute and makes your heart thump hard with adoration.
“Scolded me last time,” Matt grumbles right against your skin, and you half expect to feel him nip at you, but he just continues to leave tender kisses over your jugular, with a few intermittent swipes of his tongue, making your eyelids flutter from the warm, damp sensation. Your hands move from his back, up over his shoulders, and into his hair, carding fingers into his fluffy bedhead a bit, before coming to a stop, now cradling his skull to keep him locked in that spot.
“Because you ignored me last time when I asked you not to leave marks,” you point out, keeping your tone light, while you massage slightly along his scalp with your fingertips. Your lips twitch into a soft grin when he plants more kisses and little licks right on the same spot of skin where the now faded and healed hickies used to be, like maybe he’s leaving a nonverbal apology.
But it could just as easily mean he’s prepping the spot to make more.
“Are you going to make me scold you in earnest this time?” you question, potentially trying to get a head of the idea. The teasing lilt is still in your tone, but you go from cradling his head and petting his hair to forming a light grip at the root, curling your fingers into a loose fist with the strands of his hair captured in between. Nothing harsh yet, but just a faint hint of the mood you’re pitching into.
Matt’s response to this is immediate. You feel it in his quick puff of breath against your neck in a huff, and in the way he squeezes your body a bit more tightly into his own.
“Thought you liked it when I left marks on you?” Matt asks, following a similar vein to the last time this was the topic of conversation. It’s not an unfair question, because you have definitely expressed to him before that you like it when he leaves visible claims on your body for you to admire. But it’s not actually about the hickies, which you explain to Matt.
“I do like it,” you confirm, speaking low but clear, while you gently start moving his head some by the light grip you have in his hair.
“But I also like it when you follow my requests. You decided to be cheeky and stubborn and do what I asked you not to anyway, hence why I said you need better training.”
What had been mostly a joke from last week had stuck with you, floating around in the back of your mind. It left you daydreaming about actually training Matt, and in this moment, you can practically feel him fully registering the words, the way your voice changes, indicating that you might not be joking this time.
“Would you let me?” you ask, unable to keep the tentative uptick out of your voice as you finally broach the topic in earnest now, “If that's something I really want to try?”
You can tell Matt is growing more alert now. His lax posture in your arms doesn’t grow tense exactly, just attentive, listening. It’s impossible to stop the little increase in your heartbeat in anticipation of what he’ll say. He doesn’t answer right away, and you simply wait, nibbling at your inner lip, while he thinks over his response. He still has his face half buried under your jaw, so you just blink up at the ceiling, feeling his slight movements and warm exhalations.
“Alright, Sweetheart. We can try anything you want.” Matt murmurs, pushing up to press the words into the line of your jaw. He plants a few kisses there, trailing them higher until he reaches the corner of your mouth, finally slipping out from the crook of your neck. You have to force down a bright smile so that you can kiss him properly when he slots his lips against yours, making you hum in a pleased sound.
“Anything, huh? That’s quite the offer.” You murmur when the soft kiss is broken, the smile you can’t hold back now slipping onto your face. Your pulse still leaps around, but this time it's all from excitement, which Matt reads in real time, his lips twitching into a smile to mirror yours.
“I don’t make it lightly,” he says, the emotion in his sightless gaze warm and wanting, rapt by the rhythm of your heartbeat, “But I can tell how excited you are by whatever ideas you’ve got, so I want to try them with you.”
Without fail, your chest swells with deeper adoration for this man, and you pull him into another kiss, sealing the deal in giddy affection.
You tell Matt about your idea, the concept you haven’t been able to let go of. Clicker training is a simple thing to understand, and it doesn’t take long to get both of you on the same page about expectations and boundaries. Nothing is rushed, despite all your excitement, and you don’t jump into it straight away. In fact, most of the day is normal, just peppered with an open dialogue that results in you and Matt on the couch, letting him fiddle with the little plastic clicker that you picked up before, now plucked from your keys, while you talk about getting started. You explain that you would like to keep beginning sessions short, no more than an hour or two here and there.
Just for the fun of it, when Matt returns the clicker to your outstretched hand while you’re talking, you bring your other hand over, leaning in so you can run it along his neck, curling your fingers to scratch softly at the base of his skull, touching the vulnerable place where you know he’s very sensitive, and when his eyelids droop and he leans into your touch -
Click.
The small noise pops in the bubble of quiet between your bodies, making his unfocused attention drop in the direction of the clicker. It's brief, but it's such a quick and reflexive jolt of his focus, before he turns it back slightly to you.
Like a puppy.
You breathe something about him already wanting to be good by nature, and in the dim light of his apartment, you pick up the slight tint of the tips of his ears. It only deepens when he fully senses the way you start to almost buzz with barely restrained delight of such a prompt reaction already.
Still, you can’t go wild with the clicks. Good training takes proper time and attention. You want the sound association and the reward system to be a genuine connection in Matt’s mind. You're very happy to be patient. Heaping praise, rewards, and physical affection onto Matt is something you love to do, even without the training concept added on.
Suppressing a giggle, you use the hand resting at the nape of his neck to nudge him forward into a sweet, languid kiss. He huffs at your excitement, but moves easily, lips slotting against yours as they have many times before. You have a slow, soft romp with Matt on the couch, only using the clicker sporadically, like when he gets into the position you instruct him to, and follows obediently when you tell him where you want his mouth. It’s all fun, but you remember that Matt woke up tired and needy this morning, so you don’t push for too much. After a bit, you set the clicker aside and focus the rest of your time on just taking care of him. Matt submits gratefully to your touch, sighing with relief as you allow his mind to slow and his body to unwind. The day comes to an end with the two of you half undressed and wrapped up together on the couch, Matt’s head on your chest, and dozing off to the sound of your heartbeat.
The training picks up in random, mundane bursts later. You ask Matt to bring you a drink, kissing him on the cheek with a soft thanks, which is immediately followed by the short click. When you call softly for him to come in from another room, and he enters, you take one of his hands, kissing his scarred knuckles at the same time as you snap the clicker. You ask him to help you pick out something for you to wear to dinner, watching as his fingers run over the different options before he picks up a fabric he prefers, handing it over to you. As soon as it passes from his hand to yours, you’re breathing soft praise, mixed with that small click. Simple moments or requests, not inherently sexual but resulting in heavy intimate praise as his reward for listening. You want him to get fully comfortable with the sound, keep it fresh but not oversaturated in his head, so even if the sessions grow intense, his distracted mind will still recognize the sound.
For a bit, it feels like Matt is simply indulging you, because it's what you wanted, but you know it's just his reflex to shy away from too much affection at once, feeling like he's unworthy. It's another thing this training will help with. Once you slip into a true routine of sessions, he grows more open, more genuine in his reactions and acceptance, flushing slightly each time, blank eyes fluttering just a bit more.
“Unzip this for me.”
A gentle command spoken over your shoulder, making you smile when you feel his hands move promptly.
A click.
A short kiss when you turn to face him.
“Take off my shoes.”
Your fingers run through his hair when he kneels, your leg smoothly lifted by his hand.
Click.
“Face up,” you say, after both of your shoes are removed and Matt has placed them off to the side. When he follows the command, this time you don’t give him any reward other than the click, and watch his expression carefully.
Matt’s eyes dart momentarily between the area where the clicker is held aloft near your hip, then back up just off the center of your chest, blinking quickly, his face still slightly expectant.
Not quite there.
Your free hand, not holding the clicker, moves from his hair to hover just under his chin, still tilted up in your direction. He holds the kneeling position, waiting for the next instruction.
“Open your mouth.”
He does, pretty pink lips parting for you, tongue twitching.
Click.
You slip two fingers into his waiting mouth, applying slight pressure on his tongue to keep it open.
“Good boy,” you murmur, your eyes alight with something hungry when you feel the slight vibration as he releases a short, sweet, open mouthed moan. You prod a bit more, slipping fingers further into his mouth, pressing a little harder. You force his jaw open wider by doing so, feeling his drool starting to gather as you run your fingers over his tongue and teeth, making his warm breath come out faster. If you pushed a bit farther back, you could make him gag.
But you don’t. Instead, you slip your fingers out, watching small stands of saliva stretch and snap off the tips. Matt remains kneeling before you, mouth still open, and breath coming quicker.
Almost panting. Like a puppy.
You move your hand back under his chin, nearly cupping his throat, wiping the fingers he dampened with his spit along his skin, and prompting him to close his mouth a bit more, but still keeping his face up. You hold the clicker higher and instruct him to get on both knees now, which he does quickly with a soft thud and a low curse. His blind eyes droop, and Matt gives you another lovely moan because as soon as both his knees are on the floor, you press the clicker and push them open further with your foot so you can slot your leg nicely between his thighs.
Your voice when you command him again is low, but heated.
“Rut.”
You keep completely still, holding Matt’s face up by the throat, as his hips start making slow circles, rubbing his clothed cock against your lower leg with low staccato groans. He grasps at your calf for stability, his eyelids dropping to a close with a guttural whimper when you press the clicker.
Your own breathing becomes quick, shallow at the sight of him like this. Your hand on his throat moves up to his hair, sliding into the strands until you reach the back of his head, and you pull him forward, guiding him to wrap his arms more around your thigh, and press his head against your body.
“That's it, my good puppy,” you sigh, petting his hair as he nuzzles into your side and continues his slow rutting against your leg. You’re so proud of him, so pleased, humming in delight at each roll of his hips. Matt pants harder, broken only with groaned curses. Your puppy is so sensitive that you feel the bulge in his pants form quickly. You let him keep going, and you’re sure that if you have him stop now, and pull back, there would be a wet spot forming on his pants.
“That feel good, Pup?” you ask, brushing his hair back from his face, petting and playing with it to make him look even more of a mess.
“So good.” Matt groans, pressing his flushed face more into you and rolling his hips harder into your leg, “Please, I-”
Click.
You reward him for responding, and he cuts himself off with a shuddering whimper at the sound. You smile widely at the reaction, pleased to see such good progress in his training so soon.
“You’re doing so well for me, Puppy.” You tell him, encouraging further rolling of his hips by pressing your leg forward, causing another moan to fall out of him. One of the parts of training Matt you’ve been looking forward to the most is next, as you let him continue to hump your leg. The main association you wanted to build is Matt having a sense of pleasure when he hears the sound of the clicker, not just an emotional sense of pride for obeying, but a true physical sensation of pleasure. So you push for the goal.
“It’s okay, puppy. You can do it, I know it's what you want.” You murmur, leading his hazy mind, enticing him to give in and make a mess of himself. You curl fingers in his hair, tugging and tilting a little, and shoving his face forward until Matt’s nose is pressed directly into your crotch. He groans, his mouth falling open, panting and huffing the scent of your sex through thin fabric. Matt’s hips jerk and shudder as his senses are flooded, overwhelmed by you. You keep leading and praising him, guiding him higher to the edge of that wonderful precipice of pleasure. You know him so well, and you can tell the moment the orgasm hits him, his whole body trembling with it.
Click.
You time it perfectly, syncing the peak of his pleasure with the sound of the clicker, forming the connection, the conditioning. Matt jerks with it, nuzzling hard into your crotch after the sound hits him. The moment of his hips eventually slows, and he slumps lower, his chest rising and falling so quickly. He’s an absolute mess, flushed and shiny with sweat and possibly drool if the wet patch where his face was pressed on your own clothes is any indication.
“Let me see,” you murmur, bringing your leg up. You nudge him until he falls back, landing on his ass with a grunt, and catching himself on shaking arms that shoot out behind him. Your mouth waters at the clear mess of cum seeping through the fabric of his pants, one of your favorite sights. You could do this over and over and probably never get tired of seeing it.
It's your turn to kneel down, crouching beside your sweaty, spent puppy to gather him in your arms. He goes so easily, slumping forward to press his face right into his favorite spot, the crook of your neck.
“You did so well for me. That was such a good session,” you murmur, petting and praising him, soothing his trembling body and shaky mind. Matt is just so good for you, and it makes your heart swell with pure love and affection, so happy that he is willing to do this just for you.
When he's a little more collected, you help him up, gently guiding him to the bed and stripping him of his sweaty, messy clothes. You get him cleaned up and help him lie back in bed, kissing his forehead, his cheek, his lips, heaping all the praise and affection he deserved over his lax body. Matt has a pleasantly dazed expression, humming when you shower your love and praise over him, kissing back at the nearest patch of your skin that he can reach.
“Doing okay?” You check in softly once you’re curled around each other back in bed.
Matt hums in response, slotting himself as usual where he loves to be, soaking in your scent and drifting along with your heartbeat.
“Very okay.” He murmurs, quiet and sleepy with affection, before confessing, “Feels so good being yours.”
Let out your own satisfied, happy sigh, pressing into him, so grateful that Matt agreed to this, and you give him one last bit of murmured praise, before dozing off to dreams of more training to help Matt be your very best boy.
