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Daredevil didn"t always catch Houdini and bring him back home. Probably because he was too busy saving people. You know, the real reason he spent his nights dressed up in a hardcore Halloween costume. Which you were cool with. As much as you appreciated him bringing Houdini home and talking the time to talk to you, saving people from getting robbed or worse was far more important.
Cats are born opportunists so your little escape artist took complete advantage of those moments to achieve victory over his two-legged rival. There was nothing more smug than a triumphant Houdini sitting on fire escape in the morning light after spending the night roaming to his heart"s content.
Except for maybe Daredevil when he thwarted such plans. Or when he made you blush. Which he had been doing a lot. It was like he had started a competition with himself to see how many times he could make you flush in a single conversation. He never said anything outright dirty but there was plenty of innuendo.
Who knew that the Devil of Hell"s Kitchen was such a flirt?
He probably wasn"t serious about it. Some of the lines he used were really cheesy and clearly intended to make you laugh at how silly it was. Which you did. Because hearing Daredevil use such cliches such as "Did it hurt? When you fell from Heaven?" in that growling, low voice of his was hilarious.
You couldn"t remember the last time you had laughed so much with someone. It made your crush on him so much worse. Because you absolutely had a crush on him. And who could blame you? He was handsome with a smoking hot body. He flirted shamelessly with you. Maybe it was vain but part of you couldn"t help enjoying the attention. He made you laugh. There were moments that hinted that Daredevil had a hidden, far gentler side of him
You hadn"t forgotten who you were dealing with. It wasn"t unusual for your meetings to get interrupted by some kind of crime. Through how he knew something was happening was mystery. You just knew that he would suddenly tense or his head would abruptly snap up. More than once, you had seen a furious snarl replace his flirty smirk. Heard his voice drop back in that low, growling tempo – his words go taunt with barely restrained anger.
Maybe it should have scared you, his temper. His anger. The contained violence as he ran off to fight crime. The knowledge that he beat people bloody almost every night. It should have scared you. Should have made you wary.
But that"s not how you felt. You felt safe. You weren"t so nervous anymore when you walked home after working late. You couldn"t be certain because you had never seen him doing it but it wouldn"t surprise you to learn that if he followed you home those nights. Or used whatever it is that he used to be aware of crime to monitor you while you walked home. Either way, you were confident that if someone tried to hurt you, he would stop them.
It was nice, not to be afraid.
Maybe it was sign that you were wired differently but you thought he was kinda of beautiful when he was angry? Not that he wasn"t already beautiful. You didn"t why know it revved your engine. You had never found an angry man to be a turn on before. Exactly the opposite in fact. You just knew that, when it came to Daredevil, it did turn you on. A little.
His angry face wasn"t the only thing about him that revved your engine. You had started spending a frankly embarrassing amount time of fantasizing about him. How impressive were those muscles when they weren"t covered in maybe-leather and probably-Kevlar? How would it feel under your hands? Did he have scars? Were those red lips as petal soft as they looked? Did their softness make a pleasing contrast with roughness of his scruff?
What did the rest of his face look like? Was it is just as pretty as the rest of him? What color were his eyes? You guessed from his scruff that his hair was brown but everything else about it was a mystery. Did he wear it buzz cut short or long enough for your fingers to run through? Was it straight or did he have curls? Thick or fine?
What was his cock like? How would it feel if you were to . . . even in the privacy of your own head, when you knew you were alone, those thoughts made you blush. As did thinking about some of the innuendo he used . . . they implied things . . . things that made you want to press your thighs together and squirm . . . things that left you with damp underwear . . .
Maybe it was your imagination but he seemed especially pleased with himself during those moments. Almost like he knew the effect he was having on you.
It wasn"t just sex you thought about. The domestic fantasies were just as embarrassing, just in a different way. Going on dates, holding hands, cooking for each other, snuggling together on the couch . . . All things that were even more unlikely to happen than sex.
Sex could happen without you knowing who he was under the mask. In theory, he had a way to make certain . . . things . . . accessible . . . without taking it all off or he could just leave the mask on. Through the thought of him naked save for the mask felt dirtier than the thought of him being completely naked. Same with him keeping most of the suit on while you . . .
Stop thinking about that, you told yourself sternly. It is never going to happen.
For one thing, there was no way he found you as attractive as you found him. He was beautiful and you were . . . average. Not ugly, not beautiful, just ordinary. Face pleasant enough to look at but not memorable. Your body wasn"t terrible but you were no supermodel. The kind of person one saw everyday and didn"t look at twice, let alone remember later.
For another, a lot of those questions could only be answered or scenarios possible by knowing who he was under the mask. And that wasn"t happening. You understood why. It was a big secret. Information that in the wrong hands could get him arrested. Or worse, killed. Definitely not something you shared with a stranger, no matter how much you liked flirting with them or how amusing you found their cat.
And you had seen enough movies to know that it was dangerous for you to know. Especially if someone found you that you knew. Daredevil had made enemies. Some were kind of enemies wouldn"t hesitate to use an innocent person against Daredevil. Even doing as much as you were doing with him was risky. Especially if anyone got the impression you knew more about Daredevil than you did.
You didn"t know much. Most of what you knew was what anyone in the city could tell them. Daredevil fought criminals, both with those batons of his and his bare hands. Most of his opponents woke up with bruises and broken bones but he could be more brutal. Had been more brutal. Especially, rumor had it, if the victims were children. That he somehow knew when people screamed for help and that if you did, he would come save you.
Otherwise you knew he was born in New York City. He had accidentally told you when, during a rare moment where he wasn"t flirting, he had tried to explain why he cared so much about the city. Given his obvious devotion to Hell"s Kitchen in particular, if you had to guess, you would guess that he had some kind of connection to the neighborhood either currently, in his past, or both.
You suspected that he was well-read, well-educated, or both. It was the way he would play with words when he was flirting. He described Houdini as loquacious. He didn"t use big words all the time but when he did, he used them correctly and they rolled off of his tongue like he was comfortable using such vocabulary. He had a trained voice, probably some kind of experience with public speaking. You worked for lawyers – you knew what a trained public speaker sounded like.
Which wasn"t much to go on. That information described literally hundreds of men in this city.
And it wasn"t as if you weren"t curious. There was a reason you loved cats so much. Both of you were too curious for your own good. But this time you were going to do your best to sit on your curiosity. You weren"t going to ask nosy questions about his name. Or his tragic backstory. He had to have a tragic backstory . . . no one with a normal, happy childhood dressed like that and spent their nights punching crime in the face.
Instead you were going to enjoy what time you got to spend with him, even if he made you blush. You were going to be amused by his battle of wits with Houdini.
And you were going to hope. Hope that one day you would be friends. That one day he might trust you with the man behind the mask. Hope that your growing feelings weren"t one-sided . . .