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Apart from the remaining heroes in Wakanda and one broken genius on Vormir, no one knew what was coming. Nobody knew that people would start disintegrating, disappearing from existence in a handful of brown ash.
Frank didn’t know what was coming. How could he?
He had spent the night doing what he did best. Catching criminals, ridding his city of scum, cleansing his home of the kind of shit that had taken Maria and the kids from him. He was preemptively protecting Red, the Defenders, the people who were better off alive but who couldn’t bring themselves to do what needed to be done. They couldn’t bring themselves to do what he did, but he protected them all the same. They mattered to him now, Matt mattered, and that made him work even harder, fight with even more ferocity. He had something real to fight for again.
He’d made his way home-- home, something he’d been too dead to realize he had missed before. The apartment, made gradually less minimal and barren every day by Frank’s presence, was dark but for a light in the bathroom to give Frank some guidance in the night. Everything was quiet.
“Red?” Frank called softly, discarding his coat, guns, and boots by the door. There was no response.
Frank downed a glass of water in the kitchen. A year ago it’d have been a glass of whiskey, but more and more he’d forgone his nightcap to face Matt with a clear head. Tired as he was, he showered before he entered their bedroom (their bedroom) because he knew it distracted Matt when he came to bed smelling like cigarettes and death, even if the lawyer never mentioned it.
He was toweling off when he finally made it to the bedroom. The sight he was met with paralyzed him, damn near took his breath away.
Matt was tangled up in silk sheets, wrapped around a pillow like an octopus, clinging to anything if he couldn't cling to Frank. His hair was still a little damp from his own shower, sticking out every which way. His breath was a slow, blissful cadence, and his face looked so damn peaceful Frank swore he could’ve been an angel.
Frank ran his hand up Matt’s arm, leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. Matt woke up instantly, inhaling, cocking his head by a degree, brain jolting into action at being touched while he slept. He let out his breath and smiled when he recognized Frank, arms snaking up to the marine’s shoulders to pull him closer.
“Hello, angel,” Frank murmured. “Sleeping well?”
“Mm. Not without you,” Matt mumbled, voice rough and thick. He tugged insistently, trying to coax Frank into the bed. Frank was more than happy to oblige, crawling in beside Matt, wrapping his arms tight around his man and stroking up his back his neck, burying fingers in his hair. Matt moaned happily and squirmed closer, burying his face in Frank’s neck. “You smell good.”
“And you taste even better,” Frank murmured, tipping Matt’s chin up to kiss him again. He could feel Matt stiffening against his leg. He wasn’t unaffected himself. Matt’s kisses trailed down his jaw, sloppy and lethargic. Frank cradled Matt’s head, let his other hand travel down to Matt’s ass, fingers slipping between the globes to tease. “D’you feel like playin’ tonight, gorgeous?” Frank would have been happy to just hold him, get a full night's rest, but Matt looked restless now, worked up.
Matt huffed against Frank’s skin, rocked his hips back into Frank’s hand. “You can't just come in here and feel me up then leave me hanging. Pretty sure I put that in our marriage contract."
Frank chuckled, pressed a sweet, slow kiss to Matt’s forehead because he knew how much Matt liked it. Then he pulled away, eliciting a downright petulant whine from Matt.
“Be patient,” Frank murmured, “you know I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He pulled the lube from their bedside drawer and pressed on Matt’s shoulder to lay him flat on his back. Matt’s thighs splayed instantly. Once upon a time, their encounters were tense and mean and untrusting. Now Matt opened up for him so pretty--a drowsy smile spread across his face, eyes almost closed, he was so hazy and relaxed.
Frank rested between Matt’s legs, kissed down his chest and hips, purposely avoiding his already straining cock. He nosed his way lower, gently pushing Matt’s legs up to his chest to grant better access to his tight pink hole. He smelled like soap and tasted divine from the first press of lips and tongue. Matt gasped, arched his back just a little and hooked his legs over Frank’s shoulders. He was so damn sensitive, and Frank wanted to eat him alive.
He lapped at Matt until he was dripping and squirming, cock ignored and twitching against his hip. He knew better than to touch, knew Frank would bat his hand away if he tried. Frank was going to draw this out, make him feel good, and he always had a specific plan. His tongue pushed into Matt with ease, eliciting a soft groan from the man. Frank adored the way he pushed down against Frank’s face like he just couldn’t help himself, and the way Matt’s thighs trembled under him. He fucked Matt almost torturously slow with his mouth, taking his lover apart piece by piece.
When Matt was putty in Frank’s hands, humming and moaning so pretty, he lifted himself back up, slicking his fingers and pressing against the puffy rim. He slipped in easily, immediately seeking out Matt’s prostate and rubbing little circles against the swollen gland. Matt sighed like having Frank inside him was the only thing that could make him whole, like he had been waiting all his life for something to feel so damn good. Frank knew Matt was listening to his body, knew it did things to Frank when he made sounds like that, that it made Frank kiss him a little longer, hold him a little tighter. It reminded Frank that he was enough for Matt.
“So damn beautiful, Red. You don’t even know what a sight you are, all spread out and weak for me. My gorgeous, perfect Matt. Mine.”
“Yours,” Matt whispered, thumbing over Frank’s cheekbone. “All yours, Frank. Forever.” The look on Matt’s face was one of pure bliss, pure love, and Frank swore that in that moment, he could die a happy man.
Then Matt’s mouth quirked up into a smirk. “You gonna fuck me, or what?”
Frank hummed, pressing his mouth to Matt’s one more time. “Nah, sweetheart. Tonight, we’re making love.”
Matt laughed before he could stop himself, infecting Frank with that grin. “Who’d have thought I married such a corny bastard?”
“You knew when I put that ring on your finger, sucker,” Frank accused, smile softening before sitting up on his knees, lining himself up to Matt’s hole.
Matt was still smiling, but his chest was heaving with anticipation, and he was clenching around nothing, hungry and waiting for Frank to treat him right. Frank didn’t make him wait long; The head was in with one slow, smooth motion, pushing the air right out of Matt’s lungs.
“Mm, so tight, so good for me, baby boy.” Frank leaned in to press a slew of kisses to Matt’s throat, interlaced their fingers to distract him from the stretch. And, well, because the sight of their wedding bands glinting in the weak light couldn’t help but make his heart skip a beat. “Fuck, darlin. Gonna make you feel so good.”
Frank moved his hips torturously slow, taking in every twitch and gasp Matt let out beneath him. It was a test of will not to pound into the tight clenching muscle around his cock, the slick heat engulfing him, but sharing that passion with the man he loved, taking the time to just be with Matt, to be one with Matt, was worth far more than any fuck.
They moved together, trembled together when they were caught up in that moment. Frank trailed over Matt’s scars, pressed in slow to feel the way Matt arched underneath him. He never felt more alive than when he was wrapped up in Matt, tasting the salt in his sweat and leaving trails of warmth on Matt’s hypersensitive skin. Matt had his arms around Frank, hands roaming up and down Frank’s shoulders and arms, and his legs were wrapped almost tight enough that he could lift Matt up if he sat up right then. Utterly inseparable, body and soul.
“I love you more than anything in this world,” Matt babbled, fingers gripping the back of Frank’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss.
Frank groaned helplessly. He would do anything for the man underneath him--kill, die. Create and end worlds just to please him, anything. “Love you more than you know, baby,” Frank gasped when Matt released him. “You’re my everything, Matt. More’n I deserve. You save me every damn day, so beautiful, so good, everything about you. Jesus, angel, you blow me away. Love you, love you, love you so much.”
Frank’s face was wet, and he didn’t know if it was tears or sweat that was causing it. He was overwhelmed, Matt was just so perfect and Frank loved him so much it about broke his heart. The first time he’d broken open like this, it felt like a lifetime ago now, Matt had freaked out, asked if he wanted to stop, worried that Frank was hurting or that he had done something wrong. Now he understood, Frank just felt too much sometimes (Heaven knew Matt understood that better than most), and held him impossibly closer, wiped the tears away and kissed him chastely. Frank took a shaky breath, a moment to collect himself, and pulled out before sliding in to the hilt again, stealing Matt’s breath with a smirk. Time to do right by his man.
He picked up the pace, not enough to break that connection between them, but enough that Matt would feel it. He gripped Matt’s hips hard enough to bruise and impaled him, slow and merciless, making him cry out Frank’s name like a prayer, a mantra that would sate the burning desire that seared his soul. His eyes rolled back in his head, his fingers scrabbling senselessly against the expanse of Frank’s chest as he tried to find something to hold onto, something to ground him. Frank sunk his teeth into Matt’s throat and kissed and licked over the mark to soothe the ache. He hit Matt’s prostate with every slick thrust, making Matt gasp, his mouth falling open in a silent scream. Matt gave up rocking his hips when it became too much, surrendered to overstimulated shivering as he reached his peak. Frank didn’t dare stop, didn’t dare interrupt the beauty of Matt on the precipice of orgasm.
“Cum for me, Matty,” Frank growled, nipping Matt’s earlobe, finally wrapping one hand around Matt’s aching, starved cock. “Lemme see how beautiful you are.”
Matt came with a strangled “Frank!” He damn near arched in half, spilling across both their chests and stomachs, clenching uncontrollably around Frank. That was enough to send the Frank over the edge too, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open and watch Matt’s face contort in ecstasy. He spilled deep inside Matt, and it felt like his soul was leaving his body, he was so overcome by the bliss that spread up his spine, burned him from head to toe. His vision whited out and it took everything he had in him to keep from collapsing on top of Matt as his orgasm ravaged him, left him weak and breathless.
Matt was still murmuring his name, the word slurred and his voice as fucked out as the rest of him when Frank came back to himself, collapsing at Matt’s side and pulling him close. Matt probably didn’t realize his eyes were closed, or that a silly, adorable grin was plastered to his face. Frank smiled, proud of his work and riding his own endorphin high, and wrapped Matt up in his arms. Matt nestled in under Frank’s chin as though it were the most natural thing in the world, breath evening out against Frank's chest just as Frank’s eyes were sliding shut. “You’re my whole world,” Frank meant to say, but he couldn’t quite tell if that thought made it out before his consciousness slipped away and he gave himself up to warmth and dark, dreamless oblivion.
-
“ Frank-- ”
Matt’s voice was dazed, surprised, and Frank thought maybe his sleep wasn’t so dreamless after all. But he felt something shift in the bed, a change that he couldn’t quite place. He sighed, reaching for Matt, but there was an empty space where his husband should have been, and an unfamiliar earthy smell flooded his senses.
He pried his tired eyes open. The sun was peeking through their curtains, casting just enough light for Frank to see the gray-brown soot covering their sheets. “The fuck…Babe?” He called, loud enough for it to ring out in the apartment. No way Matt could’ve missed it, and he wouldn’t leave without telling Frank.
Then the screams began.
Adrenaline starting to rush, Frank shot to the window, flung opened the curtains and squinted against the light. Down in the street, cars had swerved into the wrong lanes, people were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and there. Someone in the sprawl of people just disappeared into thin air. In their place there was only a pile of ash, fluttering off into the breeze and the panicked crowd. Another person disappeared, disintegrated, and another, their remains getting caught in a gust, swirling into the sky. The air above the city was turning gray, choppers were crashing into skyscrapers in the distance, buildings were on fire.
Frank turned back to the bed, blood turning to ice. He started to shiver.
“Matty?” His voice wasn’t his own. He sounded hoarse, weak.
Suddenly he was on his knees on the bed, looking down at the sooty stain. He whipped back the bedding, sending ash into the air. He shielded his face with his arm, waited for the dust to settle, and looked down at the mess. He could make out the imprint of legs, an arm, a head on the pillow.
Matt’s wedding ring glinted in the sunlight at the end of the trail of ash.
Frank shot off the bed, back to the wall. Panicked, fight or flight instincts rearing. He needed a gun in his hand. What would a gun do? What could a gun do to stop this? How did he reverse this? How could he?? Matt was--was--
“No. No, no, ” Frank sobbed, crashing to the floor, eyes glued to the bed as though Matt would rise out of it, plunge back into Frank’s arms and everything would be okay.
Not again. He couldn’t lose someone again, not after he’d let Matt in, not after--
He blacked out, spaced out. Whatever. By the time he came back to himself, he was shivering from cold, sirens outside had come and gone. He was covered in ash, in Matt's ashes, streaked across his front, coating his arms and legs. There was vomit on the floor in front of him, but he couldn’t remember when he had done that. Things were quiet, the light from the window had faded. He didn’t know if the sun had gone down or if the sky was so full of dust-- of people-- that it had filled the atmosphere, blocked out the light. He was scared to look.
Frank was scared.
A noise caught his attention, something in the room, something familiar. Electronic. His ringtone, from the bedside table. No, Matt’s ringtone, a little robot voice saying a name, but Frank’s hearing was all fucked, or maybe he just wasn’t paying attention.
“-- Rogers. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers. Steve-- ”
He crawled to the table and snatched the phone up. He didn’t trust his legs to hold him, and he didn’t want to have to look at Matt’s-- remains --again.
“ Steve Rogers, ” the voice insisted. It took Frank a second to remember the name. Rogers?
Oh, yeah. The star-spangled, all-American poster boy. They were enemies more often than friends, but he remembered hearing about Matt exchanging numbers with him, just in case.
He answered the call. “Matt?” a voice called. Male, worried. “I called you three times, I was about to give up. Murdock, are you there? Can you hear me?”
“This is--” Frank paused, remembered he needed air to speak. “This is Frank Castle.”
A pause. “Castle? Punisher? Why do you have this phone? Where’s Daredevil?”
Frank felt like he was freezing to death, burning alive. “He’s--Matt’s….” He didn’t know how to answer. Matt was there, on the bed, but he wasn’t. He was a pile of ash, he was--
“...Gone.” Rogers sounded pained, defeated. Rogers said something else, rambled about infinity and existence and an alien gauntlet, some chucklefuck named Thanos. Frank was in no shape to keep up. But he heard something about reversal--
“Who do I have to kill?” Frank asked, and that was a voice he recognized. That was the man who had slaughtered every last mafioso in Manhattan, who had ground Billy Russo’s pretty face into a mirror and smiled. That was the Punisher, and he wasn’t losing anyone else. Rogers started to object, but Frank wouldn’t be stopped by some alien asshat with a shit name like Thanos, or by a bunch of super rocks or anything else. Existence itself would not stop him, the universe would not stop him from taking back whatever had been done to his Matt, his angel. He wasn’t losing his heart again.
“Rogers. Who do I kill to bring Matt home?”