#heartofthepractice

[hellsainted]

‘stay there. i’m coming there to get you.’ heartofthepractice

love this disaster! accepting.

D A R E D E V I L defies death once more by a hair’s breadth. the martyr lives to endure another punishment, the crusader heads home, broken and traumatised, by the grace of god. it was a trap made of sheer numbers, and he only managed to flee by virtue of darkness - his true advantage. the escape attempt was messy yet successful as he methodically smashed all the lights in the passageways snaking below the warehouse, which had given him just enough edge to barrel out of sight, like a stray cat scampering in the moving shadows.and now, crouched pathetically behind a heap of trash in one of the city’s forgotten alleys, he clutches his burner phone close to his ear, slippery from the blood pouring out from a gash across his temple, panting heavily as his lungs struggle to supply him with enough oxygen. the list of people both matthew and the devil can trust is slim, and foggy features at the very top; and while he doesn’t want to drag him into the life threatening dangers he willingly throws himself into on a nightly basis, he’s agreed to compromise in exchange for his partner’s cherished forgiveness for being a shitty friend. foggy in fact claims that if he has to worry about his dumb ass regardless, he will live better knowing which dumpster matt is bleeding behind so he can at least do something about it; and there is a certain strength, a comforting determination in his partner’s directive that keeps him from regretting his choice. his consciousness wavers dangerously, and it’s not like he can move much in this state, as he’d spent the last of his remaining strength getting to relative safety. and when he murmurs a defeated “I’m sorry…” and before he can ask him to bring a change of clothes, it’s already too late; foggy’s hung up, and on his way to pick up his roadkill of a best friend off the street, just as promised.

@heartofthepractice

[hellsainted]

😲 -heartofthepractice

catch matt rubbing one off! accepting.

he looks as saints do in the throes of mystical transverberation; oblivious, primal, soul-damningly beautiful as he is rapt in sinful ecstasy. head thrown back into the pillow, sightless gaze rolling back behind fluttering eyelids, back arching with every slow sway of his hips. all external awareness dimmed to focus his consciousness on the pure, primitive pleasure of physical sensation. he is quiet save from the quickening breaths that leave moistened lips, pink and swollen for having mindlessly chewed on them, the unwitting conductor of the symphony of his improvised onanism; the bedsprings that groan with every twitch of his hips, the rising crescendo of his heartbeat, the obscene slick sounds of his lotion-covered fingers languidly teasing his flushed cock into full mast. and his mind, his mind swims in the warm waters of carnal pleasure, simply giving his body over to sensation for one solitary night; his imagination lends the rest - a voice that pours like liquid butter into his ears, purring sweet nothings and filth as strong hands touch him as a worshipper would: thorough, and adoring. passion licking along his quivering abdomen like flames on a funeral pyre, addling his mind as he fails to notice the unexpected steps shuffling before the door, and the clumsy hands fumbling for the keys and turning them into the lock.Foggy.he isn’t sure how much time elapsed before he is brusquely torn from his fantasy into the squalid reality of his dorm room, ingloriously caught in a most compromising position by his best friend. matt inadvertently lets out a gasp of erotic breathlessness, mouthing at empty air before he inexorably realises the monumental mistake he’s made in letting his guard down for one evening. he was supposed to be out at a social for at least a few hours, while matt stayed in to revise!  “–F-Foggy?” he sputters, furiously mortified and gorgeously flushed, despite knowing exactly whose racing heart beat it is that greets him as he yanks the covers up his shamefully bare, sweat slick groin. the absence of a click indicates that foggy hasn’t turned the light on; there is a slight chance the cover of darkness might have come to his aid, but he doesn’t know how much lamplight might filter through the windows since he’s never the one to draw the curtains. he doesn’t need to. thoughts furiously race through his head, torn between finding excuses and simply owning up to his little indulgence. “–you’re back early.” he adds, his voice still a heady whisper.

[hellsainted]

💏 - heartofthepractice

get your smooches from matt! accepting.

2. … goodnight.there were brief, rare moments when matt forgot himself and let his guard down. times when the emotional turmoil within bled out and into his collected and impeccably suited persona, and others when he simply relaxed from the cast-iron hold he had on himself and tried a new thing called living. closing a case with a smashing victory, devastating their stomachs at a local eatery before throwing back a few well-earned drinks and trading rounds of slurry banter at josie’s until they were all giggles and brief touches and sharp intakes of breath. it was the balmy and nostalgic familiarity of it all that pushed him into a false sense of security. it felt like one of those perfect moments, crystallised in time and hidden from the eyes of the watchers who would have him cursed before he could take any shred of solace for himself; it was an illusion of course, for there was no such blessing for the murdock boys. but somehow it felt as if the pleasantries of the evening had slowly and inevitably built up to that culmination upon the threadbare steps to foggy’s apartment, and matt felt a strange kind of warmth blossom across his chest, rising to his collar and dusting his cheeks with a renewed shade of pink that was even lovelier than that which had painted them after a few drinks. it was the ebb and flow of an old comfort merging with a novel form of trepidation. they’d fallen uncharacteristically quiet, and it wasn’t one of their usual comfortable silences - it was rife with anticipation. he felt the unmistakable fluttering in his stomach, the pleasant tingling at the back of his knees, and heard the loud thumping in the cage of foggy’s ribs. he was an open book, and matt hated himself for skimming through the pages of such an intimate diary, like he didn’t have a choice. but he read the signs, he always did. and he knew– he knew, and was helplessly deaf to it: it was a siren’s call that he couldn’t heed, a quiet yearning he had to ignore. and while true ignorance would have been bliss, this was the kind that fuelled the gut consuming guilt of prying into his best and oldest friend’s most intimate secrets. it was life ultimate’s slap in the face: to have nothing if not foggy’s tell-tale heart and the song of his lungs, to be unable to read and address the nervous anticipation in his face or the glistening hope in his eyes.  he didn’t know how to stay the tender yet visceral instinct that came over him as he leaned in to kiss the damp side of foggy’s open mouth. it was not long enough to catch the bated breath between foggy’s lips, but it was enough to remember himself before he could slip into a long forbidden comfort and do some irreparable damage to the only relationship he ever managed to hold onto. he drew back quickly and offered a wanly placid smile, as if nothing happened, emotion once more tucked quietly behind red shades and a practiced façade. behind him, a street lamp flickered and gave way to darkness.in another life, perhaps …“goodnight, foggy.” 

@heartofthepractice

[prettytm]

“kiiiIIIYAAAH!” Like a cat that had had a bucket of water thrown on it, Foggy leapt and made the kind of embarrassing noise he’d later deny any and all knowledge of. —- and that was before he even laid eyes on the at-large criminal casually waiting on him around the corner from the Nelson and Murdock offices. It’s a face that’s been on the news for a while now, albeit without the scars and haircut, bt Billy Russo of Anvil fame is still plenty recognizable.

“Office hours are from nine-to-five??” So brave he tries to be, but the statement still emerges as a question instead of the firm-toned answer he’d attempted.

“Nine-to-five, huh?” Not sounding even a little put out by this information, he turns to lean against the brick of the building they stand beside, eyes still level with his feet for the time being. As if they hid the tight set of his mouth, or the swirling black of fathomless eyes. “Was it office hours when you came to Frank? Threatening him with your baseball bat?” 

Finally he looks up, gaze sweeping over the frame of the man he all but has cornered, a man he certainly has startled if not all out scared. “Cause from the tales I hear.. Your Matt does as much damage as he gets.. So maybe next time you go around threatening My Frank.. You worry about the shadow he has following him. Ones that don’t mind roughing up the innocent.”