ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} beepbeep) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} noexits,@ 2021-10-28 11:52:00 |
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WHAT: Richie's exhausted af so he goes for a break to see Matt, who tells him his Daredevil secret and they do some accidental mind-melding (or Richie does, oop)
WHERE: Room #103
WHEN: Day 5, I think?
WARNINGS: None, really
STATUS: Complete
| Richie needed a goddamn cigarette. All these ghosts that felt like a constant pressure, and being dragged down into watery depths, sorrow and so much anger. A gathering heat that burned through him especially, since he was particularly sensitive to the presence of 9,999 happy haunts (or however many there were) and that left him burned out. No to mention all the murdering and bodily possession that had taken place. Luckily, he seemed to reset with the pack of cigs that he had on him when he arrived - so he wouldn’t complain about it. No, he’d just indulge in one of those coffin nails and find a relatively safe spot outside Butler Hall, because blackening his lungs just a little seemed like a great idea. Also luckily he managed to not get attacked by wandering ghosts and die while puffing on that cigarette, exhaling smoke stacks up through the gallows of his throat and watching his surroundings through the haze of chemicals. Better. So much better. Of course, his plan to go back inside and up to Matt’s dorm room was probably stupid because he’d smell Richie coming from a mile away - not to mention Richie tasted like the aroma of a cigarette, pure tobacco. He didn’t think it was necessarily a bad thing, but. He’d find out if he should have stopped and brushed his teeth when he got to Matt’s (and Loki’s? Was he in there? Were either of them dead?) room, tapping on the door. “Mattimus?” he drawled and - oh. The door was just open, indicating he could go right in, so that’s what he did. “You naked?” Not that he’d mind if the answer was yes. **** “Is that wishful thinking?” came the response from the other side of the door. Their relationship had honed Matt’s senses to recognize when Richie was nearby; he’d detected his approach when he was still walking down the hall, and had left it slightly ajar for him. It wasn’t just the cigarette smoke, like Richie had worried about, but a combination of scents and sounds, including natural body odor and heartbeat that was uniquely Richie. Matt closed the door after Richie entered, and joked, “Do you think I’m hanging around without clothes, just hoping you’d drop in? I guess that’s one way to deter Loki from coming to our room.” His smile faded as he became serious. “How are you doing?” This week had been terrible for everybody, but Matt knew Richie was having a particularly rough time because of his special abilities. **** “Yeah, totally,” Richie grinned, responding in all seriousness - although it wasn’t actually serious at all. “Who needs clothes? Or pants? No one needs those.” He anchored himself in, close to Matt, and gripped the collar of his shirt - body heat to body heat, before Richie kissed him. It was a sweet gesture though he nibbled a little with sharp, crooked teeth (just that front tooth - thanks, dentist father, for never bothering to get him braces) and was satisfied when he saw starbursts behind his eyelids. Then he gave a nuzzle with his nose and stepped back to dramatically flop onto Matt’s bed. The dorm rooms were safe, luckily. And - he just needed a break. “I’m...okay? I dunno. I just feel like I’ve been tossed into the deep end of the pool after only a couple swimming lessons.” Like Dan said before as they were being attacked by twin terrors in the dining hall, this was some Graduate Level Shining Shit. **** Richie often described himself in a depreciative way, as not good looking. That didn’t matter to Matt. Instead he found it unexpectedly arousing whenever Richie took the initiative, physically. Unexpected because Matt never considered himself a passive lover. Then again, he’d been attracted when he fought Elektra (and Maze for that matter, but that was another conversation). Whatever it was, Matt didn’t question it. He returned the kiss and was left breathless by the nibble… their contact lasted far too short for Matt’s liking. He could hear the exhaustion in Richie’s voice, the frustration. Taking Richie’s suggestion at the start of the week, Matt had stayed in his room as much as possible, deciding that he wasn’t equipped to fight ghosts, and to leave that to the experts. He might’ve been Daredevil in name, but the thought of being possessed by an evil spirit that he couldn’t fight made him think twice about doing anything that would put himself in risk. But here was Richie, taking that risk, and Matt couldn’t be more impressed. At least Richie could rest in the dorms, and since he’d come to visit, Matt was happy to provide some comfort and/or distraction. Flashing a quick smirk, he muttered, “You’re right. Who needs this?” and then removed the t-shirt from his body, ruffling his hair as it was pulled past his head. He stood for a few moments to let Richie admire the view, then balled up his shirt and neglectfully tossed into the corner of his room before going over to the bed, where he budged Richie with his knee. “Move over,” he playfully ordered, before nestling close upon the mattress. “What you’re doing out there,” he began, in all seriousness, “takes a lot of guts.” He shook his head. “I can’t do it. The only thing my senses feel is sometimes a drop of temperature when a ghost is around, and disorientation. But you....” Matt reached up to slowly remove the glasses off Richie’s face, then twisted to rest them carefully upon the nightstand beside the bed, then returned to drape his arm over Richie’s torso. “You’re making a huge difference. Thank you.” **** Uhhhhhhhh. How the fuck was he supposed to concentrate on anything when Matt was fitting himself on this tiny-ass bed with Richie (who was all long, gangly limbs - mostly legs, Trashmouth was tall and all legs) and also removing clothes? He did take those few seconds to admire with a blink or two of awe - because Matt actually had well-defined abs - even though he’d seen this particular view many times, and to let the appreciation make blue eyes all cartoon swirly with waaaaant. But then Matt took Richie’s glasses off and he whined, since that made visual admiration somewhat difficult - oh well, guess he’d just have to use his hands to admire instead. “I’m not making that big of a difference,” he blushed, but he guessed he’d accept the praise. He shifted on the not-fancy mattress, curling a leg around Matt’s hip and slotting them together like puzzle pieces - and his hands dragged down those well-defined abs, fingers splaying there before traveling back up to run over one of those scars that likely had a story behind it. “You never told me how you got this, by the way - or any of these badass scars.” **** What would it take to get a better bed? Did the campus IKEA have one? Matt decided he’d have to find out, because as intimate as this was, it would get pretty uncomfortable after a while, especially if one of them turned in their sleep. Matt pressed his forehead against Richie’s and nuzzled noses together, breathing in his scent and feeling Richie’s pulse with his fingertips. “That one ghost… William… said something about fighting to keep the evil spirits captured on those third and fourth floors, made it sound like a full time job. But you said you and Danny were… what… trapping them with your minds? Where do I even start? That’s some big fucking deal.” Matt’s mood changed when Richie asked about his scars, becoming sober. That scar in particular… he remembered the hook-like blade that Nobu used to pierce his body and drag him across the floor of the warehouse, screaming in pain. That fight nearly cost him his life, and probably worse, nearly cost him his friendship with Foggy. Blind eyes rolled in their sockets while Matt swallowed, hesitating to to tell Richie, still worried about letting anybody know about his secret life and his vigilante identity. Finally, he said, “Tell me how those mind boxes work, and maybe I’ll tell you about my scars.” He softened his request with an award winning smile, but internally he hoped that if he could distract Richie enough, he’d forget about his whole question. **** No chance in hell he was forgetting, Matteo, sorry. But Richie would answer the question, at least. “Quid pro quo,” he agreed, trying to sound all professional and shit - but that demeanor kind of dissolved when he snuggled closer, if at all possible. It probably wasn’t but damn if Richie wouldn’t try; he was honestly the biggest sucker for cuddles. “That’s what you fancy lawyer types say, right?” He nosed at Matt’s jawline, teeth playfully setting there for a moment before he continued. “It’s a weapon, I guess? But not in the way a gun or a knife is. Probably the best way to put it is - when you lock away memories, or something bad. You put it in a place where you can’t access it easily, it’s like that. The ghost is the ‘something bad’ and it’s like...the power of thought. In believing in something so hard, that makes it real. Defeating IT was basically that too.” Richie had seen how Dan had learned about the lockboxes too - how his mentor told him to picture a box, to memorize every nook and cranny and everything that box was. For Richie, he’d been forced to do it all very quickly but he at least knew how now. Maybe his Shiny was a lot more substantial than he realized. “Now - scar story.” **** “So now you want to be a lawyer too, huh?” Matt teased, but he was serious while listening to Richie’s explanation, imagining the mechanics. However, he quickly protested, “No, no! Wait a minute! I still have more questions! So, if I’m understanding this right, if you believe it hard enough, the ghosts… can’t harm you? Could somebody like me learn how to do this. Not necessarily right now, but later on? Or is this a talent only a few people like yourself have? “Most importantly….” Matt paused long enough to place a small kiss upon Richie’s lips “.... this isn’t harming you in any way, is it? What about the long term? Will these ghosts ever be able to escape these boxes?” He was genuinely worried for Richie’s well-being. Over the network he’d heard about others being possessed by the ghosts and forced to say and do horrible things. “If it does happen, what can I do to help protect you?” **** Jesus, Mattholomew, all these questions (which were valid, he supposed). Richie laughed a little, using whatever flex of muscle he had to sort of shift their positions and gently push Matt onto his back - and Richie made himself comfortable then, knees-hugging-lawyer-hips and sinking into the mattress. Now his ADHD brain would just fire off answers to all these inquiries. “I think it’s only people who have the weird mind powers,” he clarified. “But it’s not harming me. The ghosts can’t escape, unless I let them out - they’re basically just like, shoved in the back of the closet with the sweaters my grandma knitted that I never wore.” Yes, the ol’ closet - where he himself had lived for many years. “You wanna protect me though, huh?” That was a sweet thought. He grinned again, one of those eye-crinkling smiles. “What are you, some kind of vigilante?” **** Matt felt the way Richie was shifting in bed, and understood what he wanted, so he accommodated by moving in tandem, to let his lover straddle on top. It was a nice distraction, but while Richie sounded confident that the ghosts could not escape, Matt was not as positive. This was something he didn’t understand and was beyond his control. He worried the ghosts might break Richie, maybe drive him mad, but Matt didn’t argue. He nodded to indicate he understood, though he might not believe. In the space of a few seconds, Matt’s facial expressions went on a wild journey in reactikon to Richie’s last comment, from holy shit, how did he know, to did he just read my mind?, to wait, no… that was just a joke, he was just joking, and I’m chuckling to show that I’m in on the joke so I don’t give myself away, but I’ll still be a little nervous about it, finally landing on guilt. Why did he feel like he had to keep secrets from Richie? What did he have to hide? It wasn’t his identity, since everybody in Durleth knew about his special abilities, it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to believe he was using his powers to fight crime. He’d also proven himself to be more than an able fighter, which was even more of a giveaway. It could’ve been an automatic reflex, a force of habit… but it was more than that. With his secret identity came a dark side of his personality, the one which he’d discuss with Father Lantom in confession. The devil in him, which enjoyed the violence, and which made him question the status of his eternal soul. Was he bound for damnation? And, something even more relevant to the moment, would Richie still want to be with him if he found out about this darkness? At last, Matt decided Richie had the right to know. “Uhhhhhh… yeah,” he mumbled. “I am.” ***** Oh. Oh? Oh yeah. Vigilante thing - that was definitely a thing. Richie traced those scars with his fingers again, even more curious now - he could only imagine the fights Matt got into; because some of these scars were gnarly. Like, yeah, they’d healed - but clearly they told stories. “I guess that makes sense,” he said, switching from scars to drag his thumbs over the shape of hipbones - since Matt had his shirt off and all, he made for an excellent canvas. And Richie was very touchy-feely. “I mean, you have superpowers and are a ninja and are always out there fighting what you can - do you have a code name?” he asked, and he had a thousand more questions. “And like, I won’t tell anyone.” He wasn’t sure how many people here actually knew, but either way - Richie wasn’t the type to go blabbing. The trashmouth wasn’t a secret-spilling mouth. **** The hurdle was cleared; the tension eased from Matt’s shoulders and breathed easier. He hadn’t been sure how Richie would react, but his experiences with Foggy and Karen finding out were negative and that had made him anxious. It was a good feeling, the ability to be himself - why couldn’t he do this with everybody? Matt placed his fingertips upon the scar that had prompted Richie’s inquiry, and because he wanted to know, Matt explained, “This one came from a real ninja, who had been sent to kill me. The fight hadn’t gone well for me, because he was able to slow his heart rate down so low that I couldn’t hear him. He had this… hook-like weapon.” Matt curled his index finger to demonstrate. “He got me there, and dragged me…” He grimaced just thinking about it. “I nearly didn’t make it..” After a moment’s silence, he had to chuckle. Codename? “You’re not allowed to laugh,” he warned, though he expected Richie would. “The news first started calling me the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but later on they gave me the name Daredevil.” ***** Richie didn't laugh. Much. He may have wheezed, and then coughed, but it definitely wasn't a laugh - or at least, nothing malicious. "I like it," he replied fondly, and he meant that. "Gonna start calling you Double D." His hand covered Matt's, right near the hook scar - and Richie, he didn't mean to look. But he was tired and barely treading water when it came to weird-ass mind powers - he'd used them a lot recently, and everything was still buzzing like plucked guitar strings. So his mind lassoed with Matt’s, a little, and it was the first time he’d done that - when he did it with Dan, obviously he saw everything in a reel of images. Pictures, places, things; with Matt, it was different - some kind of spectrum, astounding sharpness. Richie hadn’t realized that Matt could see, maybe even make out facial features a little, but it was - Fire. Like everything was on fire around him, a watercolor painting where the only shades were orange and yellow and red. “But you still won the fight,” Richie surmised and he squinted, seeing it because Matt was thinking of it now. The scent of blood, copper and iron, left in a painted streak on the floor. And the scent of gasoline, pungent and sweet. Flames. Burning flesh. “...wow, sorry.” He shook his head, to try to dislodge his psychic grip. Get a grip, Tozier, honestly. “I wasn’t trying to look. You’re a total badass though.” **** Even though he told Richie not to make fun of his secret identity’s name, Matt couldn’t help but smile along. He was more at ease than he had been a few minutes ago, however talking about his fight with Nobu had brought up some strong memories of his trauma that wasn’t easy to dismiss. When Richie said he’d won the fight, Matt was Richie naturally guessing he had because here he was, still alive even though he’d barely survived. But then Richie apologized, which initially made Matt wonder why. “Did… you just read my mind or something?” He hadn’t felt anything, so it came as a surprise. He paused, then asked, “What did you see?” ***** “Yeah, sometimes I get like - flashes of things,” Richie said. “I’m tired, so - the weird mind powers activated a little.” It happened when he was stressed (like when Eye Bleed Ghost, who he now knew as Sir Thomas poked him with a stick by playing ring-around-the-trauma) or under duress or really exhausted, like right now - most of the time he kept a tight lid on things. Because it wasn’t as if he wanted to go around reading people’s minds or seeing what tricks or treats lay there in their memories. He shifted on Matt and laid on him, like Richie was Derleth’s resident cat - it was an excuse to snuggle, because everything was all warm and cozy and he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t fall asleep right here like this. Under other circumstances he might try to work up to the Powers of Seduction but it just felt - weird. People were dropping like flies and there were ghosts in every nook and cranny; mostly he just wanted this shitty week to be over. Cuddling, though. Half-naked cuddling? Why not? Matt was already shirtless anyway. “I saw the fight you were talking about - with the hook. I mean, I saw it how you saw it. Or what you remembered from it, like how you sensed the gasoline and stuff. And flashes of - how you see things. I didn’t realize it was like, everything on fire.” **** Matt was dumbfounded, his lips slightly parted in awe. It wasn’t just because Richie had read his mind and saw his memories without him even feeling anything, Richie’s weight on top of him was warm and comforting, and he twined his arms around for an embrace that was tighter than he first intended. When he spoke, it was in a low voice . “I… don’t know what to say.” He struggled with a swell of emotion. “I’ve lived this way for most of my life, keeping it a secret from just about everybody. I’ve tried to explain what it’s like, even to people here in Derleth, but I always felt it wasn’t… well… wasn’t complete. Nobody really knew. But what you described… you understand.” And even though it had been a temporary experience for Richie, Matt no longer felt isolated. **** Richie had his face smushed between Matt’s neck and shoulder, a pretty intense snuggle - but maybe he needed the closeness too, because he was over all this shit and he never thought he’d be someplace adding ‘ghost dueler’ to his resume, but here he was. People just kept dying anyway though and they’d lost so many others - it was insane. He told Yennefer he wasn’t scared of the ghosts that had been released from their cages and maybe he wasn’t - for the most part. Maybe he was a little. Maybe he didn’t like how they’d been caught in a vicious eternal loop, cycling from nightmare to nightmare, reminding him too much of how that paper boat sailed along through the sewers of time. Did he mind the strong hold? The intense embrace? Nope. Not at all. “You don’t have to keep it a secret,” he mumbled. “Not from me. I mean, I’ve kept a lot of secrets about myself before too. It always feels better when you can let that shit go.” So they would. For a little while, anyway - it was a safe space here. One of the few. |