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He was dog tired. It was the sort of exhaustion that was etched into his bones. He was always exhausted anymore. Running himself into the ground. Sooner or later he'd fuck up, get sloppy, and end up in the ground quite literally.
Frank had accepted the fact that when that happened no one was gonna mourn him. Hell, he'd be lucky if anyone even knew he was dead. They’d realize an absence in the violent deaths of criminals sure, but who would even know where to look for the beat up, bullet ridden corpse of Frank Castle.
Red would probably be the one to find him. Of course the devil would, one way or the other. Probably rotting on some roof clear across town, baked by the sun or maybe crumpled in a heap by some seldom used garbage can in an alley somewhere.
Then of course Karen would find out. He'd already been dead to her for months, despite her diligent, glowing, reports of his crimes. He was dead to her on a personal level, one that was scratched into his heart like the scars on his skin. Matt would tell her, wouldn't he? Call her up, break it to her easily. She had a soft spot for him, she had from the start. She'd probably cry. Shit - that's the last thing he wants to do. She'd clearly had enough bullshit in her life and he didn't have to be the cause of more of it.
Nah, with his luck she'd be the one to find his rotting corpse. She would dig around, kick the hornet's nest, until it gave up info about where he'd vanished off to. The great big gleaming beyond. Or hell. Yeah, he'd probably end up in hell with all the assholes he'd murdered. He couldn't quite imagine Jesus giving him a big ole hug and thanking him for blowing the brains outta bad guys. That's why he gave up all that shit Matt clung to, back before he enlisted.
Karen would cry for him. She'd mourn him. The only person in the whole damn world that probably cared if he lived or died. She'd be the type to keep flowers on his grave, make sure things were neat, that his stone was pristine like the rest of the military graves around him. Hell, she'd leave flowers on his family’s graves. She'd plant a whole goddamn garden just because she could.
That was Karen. So fucking perfect.
She was his sorta woman. She didn't put up with his shit, she pushed when others would have pulled away, and she was smart. Too smart sometimes, but that's what made her Karen.
Frank was certain she knew too. He kept a good distance, anyone besides her wouldn't have noticed. He kept an eye on her apartment - the new one, free from bullet holes and bad memories. He watched her from afar when he caught wind of a potential source gone bad. Karen could take care of herself, she didn't need him, but she was the only living thing he cared about and he couldn't risk having to visit her grave.
Karen could visit his, but he refused to visit hers. Not when he could keep her safe without coming back into her life officially.
His exhaustion had reached that place where he was so fucking tired he couldn't actually sleep and all he could do was think. Think about cleaning his guns. Washing blood off his hands. Setting his own dislocated shoulder. Karen Page curling in against him.
Dammit.
Insomnia wasn't a new thing for him. He'd always been so keyed up during tours in the Middle East that he hadn't slept. Insomnia meant popping a couple Melatonin or drinking till he was so numb he passed out.
The latter was his plan for the evening. Whiskey was his poison of choice. Half a bottle down and he wasn't quite as numb as he'd hoped to be. He was still thinking, mostly about Karen. He could picture her tending his bruised face, gentle hands brushing over tender skin. He'd kiss those hands and thank her for being there.
Domesticity. He missed it. He actually fucking did. He used to shirk the whole damn thing, it took so much effort to get back into the swing of it every time he got assigned to some hell hole. Felt like a bull in a china shop. Like he was too big to fit into the little life Maria led with the kids while he was gone.
It wouldn't be like that with Karen he figured. She had her own mess to contend with and those demons that lurked in her closet. They'd have dinners and fucks and coffee and…. Goddammit he craved more than burnt coffee and blood.
Three fourths of the bottle of whiskey gone and he was sitting there staring at his burner phone. He'd saved the Bulletin’s number to it awhile ago. Just in case. It was late as fuck and he knew Karen was still there. Of course she was. She was working while he got wasted. Yeah, yeah he'd be stellar at the whole domestic thing wouldn't he?
Frank sat the bottle of whiskey aside. If he drank the whole damn thing he wouldn't be any good for anyone.
“Karen?” Frank whispered as he pressed the phone to his ear. The voice on the either side wasn't hers.
“Hello?”
“I…” He exhaled heavily. His words were a little slurred. They were gonna hang up on him cause he sounded like a goddamn psycho probably. “I'd like to speak to Karen Page?”
The young woman on the other side, probably a budding reporter in the classifieds section hesitated for a second, “May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Tell her it's…” Frank hesitated, “Frank Rook.” He had better aliases to use, but the whiskey ruined his thinking.
A few long moments passed before he heard Karen on the other line.
He hung up. He couldn't do it.
Frank wasn't even surprised to find his phone ringing several moments later. It was Karen. Of course it was. Why wouldn't she call back the number that called and hung up?
“Whoever this is… You should know that I have contacts with the police. I will pass this number on to them.”
“It's a burner phone, ma’am.” Frank sighed, wondering what Karen's face looked like on the other side of the phone. “Liquid courage failed when you got on the line.”
Karen was silent for long enough that he figured she'd hung up, but then she spoke. “I should have known… Frank Rook is the worst fucking alias Frank. Don't you know better than that?”
Frank chuckled. There she was. That voice, those chastising remarks he'd missed. “Yeah, well… I had almost said my name was Jim Beam.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yeah.” Frank wiped his hand over his face. “Turns out you're my drunk call.”
“Who else would you call? Matt?” Karen teased, her voice light and playful and everything he'd be longing for.
“I think he would tell me to fuck off.” Frank remarked with a snort. “How are you?”
“Good. Keeping busy.” Karen sighed heavily. “Where are you?”
“My safe house.” Frank told her, stretching out on the sofa. “Also known as squatting in some abandoned place.”
“How abandoned?”
“Some sleazeball lived in it.” Frank chuckled, “Thankfully he got offed elsewhere.”
“At least you're not living in complete squalor then.” Karen remarked with a small laugh.
“You should come over and see it some time,” Frank said and he instantly regretted it. He needed to stay out of her life and keep her safe, not invite her into the thick of things. But God, if he didn't want to see her again.
“Yeah?” He could hear Karen shuffling papers around. “I'm just about done for the night. Text me the address?”
“Really?” The hope in his voice was kinda embarrassing, he had to admit. “Shit, now I gotta put pants on ma’am.”
Karen laughed. “Pants are required. It's part of the deal.” She sounded distant for a second, like she'd say the phone down and then she was back again. “You leave enough whiskey for me? I could use it after this article.”
“What's it about?”
“That GenCo nightmare.”
Frank huffed. “The frontman’s on my list for the weekend. You don't gotta worry about it.”
“Yeah, well… Ellison wants an article and my sources aren't forthcoming. The guy’s terrifying. They say he's CIA trained and his team was too.”
“Stay outta this one Karen.” Frank warned. “I'll take care of it.”
“Okay.” Karen conceded, in a way that told him she was still going to carry on exactly as she had been. He would never be able to stop her. Not really. “You gonna text me the address?”
“Yeah. As soon as we hang up.” Frank couldn't help but grin at the thought of Karen standing there in front of him. Of course it had to be on a day that he looked like shit. Bruised face, broken nose, split lip, he hadn't bothered shaving in a day and his hair has grown out a little longer than when they'd parted ways.
“I'll see you in a little bit Frank.” Karen said softly, before the line disconnected.
Frank sent her the address with some stupid smiley face that he hadn't even been planning to send (he had been).
It was wrong. What he felt for Karen was wrong. Why the hell would she be lusting after him the way he was? It wasn't right to want her the way he did. She was good, too good for the likes of him. But his flesh wanted her. His soul wanted her.
Whiskey made him whatever.
He'd always pictured Maria being his one and only. The person he'd go gray with, have a half dozen kids with, have two dozen grandkids with. But all of that went down the drain the same day a bullet went through his head and changed the way he thought. He wasn't right in the head. Hell, Karen had got a doc to say that on the stand.
What was it? Something about traumatic experiences changing you, blurring the lines? Fuck if he knew. It wasn't PTSD, he just wasn't right in the head anymore.
Karen deserved better than the shit he brought to the table.
Frank put pants on and grabbed a second bottle of whiskey while he waited for her. He half expected her not to show, but then she was knocking on his door, standing there in all her glory. He was definitely drunk.
“Hey.” He muttered as he opened the door, trying to mask the excitement that fluttered in his chest. “You came.”
“Of course I did. I've been wondering how you were,” Karen admitted as she stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room as she laid her jacket and purse down on the small dining room table. “I was expecting way worse.”
“I'll be here at least another month. He was paid up on rent.” Frank shrugged, “Whiskey?”
“Yeah.” Karen nodded and smiled, pushing her hair back behind her ears as she watched him. “How much have you had?”
“Three fourths of that bottle,” Frank said with a gesture towards the bottle as he opened the new one for her, “You gonna catch up? You'll get alcohol poisoning.”
“I'll have you know I can hold my drink.” Karen retorted, biting on her bottom lip with a grin. “Don't worry about me.”
Frank chuckled, “Easier said than done.”
Karen took the whiskey from his hand. He couldn't shake the way his lungs felt right as she held his gaze. Did she have any idea what she did to him?
“So what do you know about GenCo?”
Frank frowned, “Is that why you came?” Did she really just see him we a potential source?
“No.” Karen shook her head, downing her shot and pouring herself another glass. “I was just asking. The article is driving me insane. Driving me to drink!” She laughed.
Frank huffed, drinking from the nearly empty bottle. “Yeah, well… I don't want you poking this story too much.” He muttered something under his breath about keeping her safe, his jaw clenching hard. “He's a dangerous man. You're right about his training. He's got a handful of snipers too. I don't want you messing with him.”
Karen held up her hands. “You tell Ellison then.” She rolled her eyes. “I'll tell him it's too dangerous. He won't push for it.” She took another swig of whiskey. “Did you figure out why?”
“Karen.”
“Fine. Fine. I'll quit asking.” She retorted bitterly. “So what did this guy do?”
Frank arched a brow. She was definitely keeping the conversation to work related topics. Which meant he had definitely been right about her interests. They weren't the same as his burgeoning desires. Who could blame him, really? He was a man, she was gorgeous, and it had been awhile.
“He knocked around hookers. Went for the underage ones intentionally. Real piece of shit.”
Karen looked away. “How'd you find out about it?”
Frank shrugged. “I check on the people who get preyed on.”
“You hang out with hookers now?”
“Are you jealous?” He blurted out. She sounded jealous and her body language screamed jealous.
“No!” She bit out, shooting him a downright killer look. “Why the hell would I be jealous?”
Frank shrugged, tipping back the bottle for another drink of it. “I dunno. You sound jealous to me.” He was undeterred by the look she was giving him. He wanted to know if she was jealous, if she was that changed what he assumed she thought about him.
“You hanging out with hookers is your own damn business.” Karen bristled, pouring herself a large glass of whiskey.
“For the record I don’t. I’ve got a buddy that hangs around them, he passed the info about this ass along to me and I took care of it.” Frank admitted, watching her expression carefully. She looked relieved to hear that he wasn’t fraternizing with hookers.
It wasn’t that he just wanted to get his rocks off with any pair of legs. Karen’s was the pair of legs that always featured in his fantasies. He knew it was wrong, but it was hard to shake them from his mind.
Karen’s eyes lingered on his face before she took her glass and the nearly full bottle of whiskey and headed for the couch. Frank followed after her, keeping space between them as he sat on the opposite side of the sofa from her.
Frank cleared his throat, rubbing at his cheek as he gave her a sideways look. “So.” He didn’t really know what else they had to talk about that wasn’t work related. He wanted Karen to stay as far away from the darker side of Hell’s Kitchen, which wasn’t really possible when she reported on the verse pulse of its dark heart.
“Yeah.” Karen sat her glass down and drank right out of the bottle. She really was a woman after his own heart. Maybe in some other life. Not that they would have ever crossed paths if he hadn’t fucked up and got arrested.
“You planning on getting drunk with me?” Frank questioned, his eyes on her lips as they curled around the rim of the whiskey bottle.
“I think we both need to unwind.” Karen sighed, leaning back against the sofa and kicking her shoes off to rest her heels on the coffee table. “It’s been a long couple of months.”
“It has.” Frank agreed, finishing off the last of his bottle of whiskey, raking his hands over his face. “It’s kinda nice to have someone else to talk to. Drinking alone is awfully depressing.”
Karen nodded slowly. “Tell me about it. Foggy’s busy with his new job and Matt’s been… indisposed.” She sighed, “It’s nice to be here. I know you’re not going to judge me for anything.”
Frank smiled a little. “Glad to hear I’m good for something.”
Karen turned to look at him. “You’re good for more than just that… That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” Frank adverted his gaze to across the apartment, his brows knit together. “I get what you mean.” His words came out slower, like he was trying to be more deliberate with them, but it was just the whiskey distorting his reactions.
“Have I mentioned that you look like shit? Karen questioned after the silence between them grew deafening. She reached out and brushed her fingers over his bruised cheeks, smiling fondly at him when he leaned into her touch. “How long has it been since you’ve been touched… like this?”
Frank’s brows knit together. “Since the accident.” He pulled away from her touch, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t exactly call forceful nurses removing IVs and unwillingly checking my vitals. They’ve got the worst bedside manners when they know you’re a criminal.” He rolled his eyes.
Karen frowned. “I guess the Punisher doesn’t really have a reason to be touched.”
Frank’s heart pounded a little faster in his chest. Maybe it was the whiskey that was blurring his judgement of the situation, but Karen sounded… disappointed about the prospect that maybe he wasn’t interested in being touched. What exactly did she mean by touched? Gentle caresses? Like that fantasy of his where she was tending to his bruised cheeks?
He was fucked.
“I wouldn’t say that the Punisher… that I, don’t have a reason to be touched. It’s just that there ain’t anybody who wants to touch me like that. I’m not gonna just buy a few hours with someone. I was never like that.”
Frank hadn’t actually realized how touch starved he was.
Karen rubbed her hands together, before nervously pushing her hair back behind her ears. “I happen to know one person that kinda wants to touch you.” Her own words sounded a little slower, more intentional, thanks to the whiskey. “She’s about five foot ten, strawberry blonde, totally kills it in blouses.”
Frank chuckled, meeting her eyes. “She sounds familiar. Do I know her?”
“You definitely know her.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve definitely met.” Karen breathed out. When the hell had she gotten so close? Or maybe he’d gotten closer to her. Whichever it was, he could smell the whiskey on her breath as she exhaled.
Frank swallowed thickly, seconds away from kissing her, before he pulled back. “I... “ He grimaced, covering his face with one hand. “I’m sorry.” He breathed out, his words muffled by his hand. Apparently it wasn’t that easy anymore. Once upon a time he’d have been able to do it. To lean in and kiss the everloving hell out of her.
Something inside of him was broken. That sort of intimacy was just foreign to him. It was reserved for fantasies, dreams, everything that wasn’t his reality.
Karen hesitantly reached out to touch his cheek, brushing her thumb over the bruised rise of his cheekbone. “You don’t have to be sorry. I understand.” She smiled at him, a smile that reached her eyes and it warmed his heart.
“Thank you ma’am.” He mumbled, closing his eyes as he leaned into her touch. He could picture how it would go if he kissed her. How they’d end up stretched out on the sofa, pressed close to each other in the way he craved. He could see it so clearly, but the follow through seemed impossible.
Karen hummed, brushing her fingers over his temples. “You want to though, don’t you?”
Frank nodded his head. “I do.” His eyes opened slowly, focusing on her eyes. “I wanna kiss you.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “That sorta intimacy… It doesn’t make sense to me. I think it went when I got shot. Or maybe somewhere along the way when I’ve got the shit beat out of me.”
“If you want it, that means the desire is still there.” Karen offered, brushing her fingers over his lips. “You’ve got to just… let me take the lead.”
Frank chuckled, pressing his lips against the pads of her fingers. “Are you sure that’s not just the whiskey talking?”
Karen smiled at him, “I can assure you it’s not.” She tapped his lips. “If it’s the whiskey talking for me, isn’t it the whiskey talking for you?”
“Touche.” He tilted his head to the side as she leaned closer to him once more. “We’re both operating under beer goggles, huh?”
“Beer goggles are bullshit. You either want me or you don’t, whiskey only makes you bolder.” Her own words were a little slurred, but there was truth in her words. He knew he wanted her, he’d wanted her for awhile, but the whiskey had made him willing to reach out to her, to touch her.
“Are you gonna take the lead then?”
Karen surged forward and covered his mouth with hers. He didn’t move for a long moment before he returned the kiss, his mouth slanting over hers. It was better than his fantasies. Better than anything his mind could conjure up. She tasted like whiskey and something fruity. She was so warm and real beneath his fingertips as he cradled her neck.
Why had he always imagined her so cold?
He knew why. In the back of his mind he knew he had pictured her dead because he’d care for her - hell, maybe he’d even love her - and then something would happen. Something would inevitably happen. Then he’d lose her. She’d die in his arms, the blood would drain from her body, and she’d be a lifeless corpse. A cold corpse in his arms.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind, all the while pulling back from her. Frank could see the crushed look on her face at how quickly he’d drawn away. But her expression softened, realizing that this wasn’t so easy for him. He’d tried. That counted for something.
“Too much?” Karen questioned, tracing the curves of the frown lines on his face. “For the record, you’re a hell of a kisser.”
“Thanks.” His lips curved up into a half smile. “Glad to hear I still got it.” Frank made a face. “If only my head would let me enjoy it.” He sank back against the sofa, giving a hollow laugh at the state of their current situation. “You staying?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I should try to go.” Karen sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “How comfortable is the bed? This sofa sucks.”
“This sofa is fine.”
“Maybe to you!” Karen rolled her eyes, hitting him in the chest playfully.
“You can have the bed.”
Karen shook her head. “I want you to join me.”
Frank drew in a sharp breath, tensing as his eyes snapped to her face. “Karen.” That was that intimacy he seemed to be incapable of tapping into. It had to be part of that damn traumatic event shit that shrink parroted to the courtroom. There was a catch in his head that wouldn’t let intimacy happen. Even if he wanted it to. It was right within reach.
“Not like that. Just sleeping.” Karen explained. “You can even sleep on the top of the covers if you want to. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
Frank rubbed his hand over his face, chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplated the state of things. It wasn’t anything. You could sleep beside someone without it leading to anything. He really didn’t want to leave her side. He also really wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn’t actually follow through with it. It wasn’t like pulling the trigger. There were emotions involved.
“Just sleeping.” He agreed with a small nod, turning his head to look at her. “It’s not a bad bed. Better than I’ve had in the past.” Frank shrugged, moving to stand up. Now he’d know what it felt like to be kissed by her, to have her weight bowing the bed beside him. Fuel for fantasies which were apparently all he could manage anymore.
Karen followed him into the bedroom, her feet falling quietly against the floor. She’d taken her heels off somewhere along the way. “Do you have anything I can wear?”
Frank arched a brow. “I’ve got a shirt that’ll swim on you.”
“That’s perfect.” Karen smiled, waiting for him to hand her the shirt before she wandered off into the bathroom. He had nothing to wear to sleep in. He slept alone, in the buff… Hell, he went commando every day. He preferred it. Some guys said it chafed, but he’d yet to find issue with the arrangement.
He’d wear his pants. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Frank collapsed onto the bed, feeling like he was taking up far too much space on it. He was exhausted - he’d been since the start of the night, but he wanted to wait for her. He wanted to have a clear image of Karen Page joining him in bed. It was probably as much as he’d ever get, now that he’d found this hurdle in his mind.
It was fear. He was almost certain of it. Some failsafe in his head screaming at him every time he got close to the prospect of going through that same devastating loss. He couldn’t go through losing a Maria again. He could crave all that came with a relationship with Karen Page, but he could never have it.
Frank tucked his hands beneath his head, his eyes half closed as he waited for the sound of the bathroom door opening. They snapped open as she emerged, his heart pounding harder as he took in the sight of Karen. She'd loosened her hair and it felt in messy waves around her shoulders. The shirt was huge on her, but short enough that there was a vast expanse of bare leg hanging out from under it.
His body would react to that.
Frank gestured for her to join him, shifting over to make more room for her. She slipped beneath the covers and he instantly regretted not being there waiting for her.
“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” Karen questioned, rolling onto her side to face him, her eyes flickering to his cargo pants.
He shrugged, “I don’t usually wear anything.” Frank explained, running his fingers through his hair, staring up at the ceiling.
“Then you should at least come under the covers.” Karen suggested, shifting closer to him. Frank stiffened, his heart pounding a little faster in his chest. “Or not. That’s okay too.”
Frank muttered something indistinguishable under his breath. He tilted his head to look at her briefly, before he moved to get off the bed and turn down the covers.
Maybe it was a mistake, but maybe he didn't care. He slid beneath the covers beside her. Karen rolled away from him, scooting back so she fit into the curve of his body. She fit so perfectly.
Frank inhaled deeply, his nose buried in her hair, breathing her in. It was better to remain silent. To pretend that this was all some hazy dream. He was just that side of tired, maybe his brain wouldn't revolt.
Karen shifted a little, causing a groan to rise up in the back of his throat. Her ass was pressed back against. “Sorry.” She breathed out, shifting so there was space between her ass and his groin.
“It's okay.” Frank told her, his hand hesitantly resting at her hip, where the shirt rose high enough for his fingers to brush over her skin. “More than okay.”
Karen laughed softly, “That tickles.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” She whispered, leaning back against him again. She sighed contently, reaching behind her to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I like you touching me.”
Frank chuckled, hesitantly pressing his lips to the back of her head. “I like you touching me too.” He admitted. “Even if my head’s protesting it.”
“Is it still protesting it?” Karen questioned, rolling over to face him. She stroked her fingertips over his temples.
Frank sighed heavily. “Yeah.”
Karen leaned in and kissed him again, taking him by surprise as she slanted her mouth over his.
She tasted like whiskey still with a hint of mouthwash on her tongue. Oh. He liked the way her tongue slid over his tongue, tangling in his mouth. His hands fumbled for the right place to rest - her waist, her hip, her hair.
Karen pressed close to him, one leg looping around her hip. This was intimacy. This was the thing he was supposed to be scared shitless over.
Frank swore he could feel it snap, some switch breaking in his head, like a little flare behind his eyes. He rolled them over, so his weight was pressing her down into the mattress.
Karen moaned against his lips, her fingers taking through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. Her legs were spread to accommodate his hips. He felt like a teenage, rolling around, groping, and making out. At least it wasn't the damn sofa.
His cock was hard - he saw the downside to going commando. The zipper fucking hurt, scraping against his hardened erection. But Karen made up for it, Karen’s hands on his skin made up for everything. He was touch starved. He craved her touch. He craved that sensation that stirred in his chest.
Frank dragged his lips along her jawline, nipping at her skin, scraping his teeth and marking her. Maybe they should wait. When they weren't buzzing from whiskey. But he'd lose the nerve. He'd go back to being sullen, reserved, untouchable.
“Frank.” Karen hissed out, grinding against his erection. Her hand slipped down between them, palming him through his pants. “Damn. You're impressive.”
Frank huffed out a laugh. “I guess I am.” He pulled back, his gaze hooded as he stared down at her. “You keep doing that and I'm gonna blow my load in my fucking pants.” He remarked dryly.
Karen’s head tilted back and she laughed heartily.
“Yeah you’re laughing now. But you won’t be laughing when I can’t get up again.”
Karen stilled her hand, keeping it pressed over the bulge in his pants. “You really don’t think I could get you up again?” She bit down on her bottom lip and fluttered her lashes in a very alluring way.
Frank gave her a look. “Do you want to test our luck?” He questioned lowly. “I don’t think either of us want to.” He played with the hem of her shirt, drawing up a little higher. She’d pulled her hand away from his groin, which left him wanting more of that friction she’d given him. He was gonna follow through with this.
He had to. The thought of walking away and not giving in felt wrong. They both wanted it. They both needed each other.
Karen took his hand and led it down between her thighs, pressing his fingers against her crotch. She was soaking wet. Frank groaned as he stroked his fingertips over her sensitive flesh through the fabric of her underwear. He wasn’t even surprised that she was just as worked up as he was.
Her back arched up off the bed, rocking against his touch. “Frank.” She breathed out and God he wanted nothing more than to keep making her make those sounds. It had been months and months since he’d had anything like this. His hand really didn’t do it for him.
Frank sat back on his knees, catching the waistband of her underwear and urging them down her hips. She wiggled to get her legs up, pressing her feet against his chest before lifting them as he slid the fabric over them, tossing it aside. He wondered if the whiskey was making her bolder or if Karen was just this bold behind closed doors.
She spread her legs for him, her hands skimming over her stomach, ghosting over her breasts through her shirt. It made it hard for him to think about not doing this. That didn’t even feel like an option. Frank reached out, brushing his hands over her pale skin, sliding along her inner thighs.
He tugged his zipper down and hastily undid the button to get his pants open. Frank discarded them somewhere - maybe across the room, he’d thrown them off like they’d seriously offended him. He leaned over her, grabbing one of the pillows from the top of the bed to shove under her hips. He wanted her just the right angle.
Karen licked her lips as she held his gaze, her eyes dark with lust. Somehow they’d gone from him being unable to kiss her, to this. Still, that doubt lingered in the back of his mind. He was scared to death of what would come after this. Sure, this part was easy. It was easy to fuck. That was written into the code of humanity, but loss - the monumental ache of it was written into his code as a complete self destruct button.
He wasn’t gonna lose her too. Not this time. He’d protected her thus far and he’d keep doing it.
“D’you happen to bring a condom?”
Karen covered her face and laughed. “No. I don’t really do this… I’m on the pill.”
Frank gave her a hesitant look. That was the last thing either of them needed. But he was willing to take a chance on that because jerking off in the bathroom really didn’t seem like the right way to end this evening.
He nodded stiffly, moving closer to her, his fingers trailing over her inner thighs. He muttered something under his breath about having to make sure she was ready for him as his fingers descended upon her sensitive flesh. He stroked along her slick folds, groaning in response to how wet she was for him. His fingers slid into her just right, exploring what made her keen and clench around his fingers. He worked one, then two, fingers into her - preparing her for him. Not to brag, but he was a sizable guy. Frank had both length and girth on his side and he hadn’t missed out on the way her eyes had widened when his pants came off.
Karen moaned for him, writhing beneath his touch. A third finger was all it took to send her over the edge. She cried out for him - too loud for an apartment but he’d like to see the person that tried to stop him from fucking her. He pulled his fingers free over her quivering center, grasping at her hips as he moved between her thighs.
She reached out to grasp his cock, guiding him to her center, urging the head of his cock to slip into her. Frank bit down on his bottom lip, his jaw set hard as he concentrated on the task at hand. This was gonna change everything. Maybe just for him. He didn’t know how she felt about these sorta things. Hell, she might think he was crazy for being so hung up on an act that half the city was getting to right then.
He’d always been a one and only kinda guy. While other guys in his unit had a different girl every week or hell, even a girl aside from their wives, he’d always just had Maria. Even before the accident, he’d been loyal to his one and only. Now, with who he was there was really no reason to have anyone - but then there was Karen and he really wanted her. He wanted her not just for this, she was more than something physical, more than just a release - Karen was a companionship he craved. He wanted her by his side. He wanted to share the good, the bad, and the ugly with her.
And that was the scariest thing he’d encountered in a long ass time.
Frank was overthinking it. It could be a simple act. It didn’t have to be something. But that felt like a disservice to Karen. She was more than just some trophy fuck.
Karen scored her nails down his back, rocking her hips - trying to get more of his cock into her. She was still reeling from the release he’d given her, her inner muscles fluttering around his cock as he pressed into her slowly. She took him all in and refused his unspoken offer to have a moment to get used to the stretch of him. She was urging him to move, nails digging into his skin as she drew herself along his length.
Frank hissed out her name as he started to move. He pulled out of her nearly completely before he thrust into her, filling her in one swift motion before drawing out. She felt like heaven. He’d forgotten how good sex was. There was no way his hand was ever gonna cut it now.
Hell, he’d forgotten the slew of profanities that came out of his mouth in the heat of the moment. Karen seemed to enjoy them. She was soaking wet for him, moaning his name every time he slammed into her. She had her own heated words to whisper into his hair, to make him go stiff as his release came barreling towards him.
Karen came undone for a second time, clenching around him so deliciously that it took all of his strength to pull out of her, his seed spilling out over her stomach. He pumped his fist over his cock as he softened, the fingers of his other hand working over her sensitive folds, making sure he’d pulled from her every last second of pleasure he had to offer.
He collapsed onto the bed beside her, his arm thrown over his face as he came down from the mind numbing high. Frank was dimly aware of Karen getting out of the bed. She’d gone to the bathroom - she wasn’t leaving. She came back, curling her completely naked self against his side.
“Sorry about that.” She muttered, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. She was affectionate and he secretly loved it.
“Mhm.” He hummed, his eyes heavy as he wrapped his arm around her. That exhaustion had caught up to him. His orgasm had done wonders with making him even more tired than he even knew was possible.
“You better be here when I wake up.”
Frank chuckled. “It’s my place.”
“It’s a dead guy’s place.”
“His loss.” Frank rumbled, sleeping tugging him under with a mumbled and slurred variation of her name.
Would she regret this in the morning light? Would she be the one gone when he woke up. He slept like the living dead some nights. She might not even wake him as she slipped out. That would be just his luck. The whiskey had made them both a little bolder, when the truth was they were both too damn afraid of the demons in their minds. She was attracted to danger. He knew it and maybe she didn’t. She was like a mouth to a damned flame and he was the roaring fire that was going to burn her alive.
He couldn’t do that to her. Not when he saw the end result. It was supposed to be her, in a black dress, standing over his grave. Not his bruised face bowed over freshly turned soil, with tears streaming down.
His life was one of solitude. Like a fucking priest. Only instead of saving souls he damned them and himself every single night. She was the punishment for what he did. Because he couldn’t have her. He was too far gone to have her. It was for her own safety that he wasn’t hers, that he couldn’t be even on late nights in abandoned buildings.
Frank really fucking hated that rational part of his brain. Why hadn’t that been the part blown to bits? Was it the apathy that was gone? Intimacy clearly wasn’t gone, like he’d thought. He could do it and he could it well and he could feel that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest. Love felt foreign. He didn’t really think he could ever love Karen and she deserved someone that loved her. But he’d cherish her, worship her, all the things a girl deserved. But not love. Maybe. Maybe that was just shut off too. Maybe that bullet and the subsequent hell he relived while he was out had made all the sensitive parts of him shrivel up and feign death. Maybe it could all still work if he just tried a little harder.
But the moth wasn’t supposed to touch the fire.
Inevitably someone would find out that she was his weakness and she’d get the bullet to the head. Or worse. The lowlifes of Hell’s Kitchen could do a lot worse to her in his name like the sick sadistic fucks they were.
He wasn’t gonna let her go. She was in danger no matter which way she turned. Him, her job, her friends. At least he could keep her safe. He could be there for her. That was a reason to give this a real shot - if she wanted. If she didn’t wake up and realize what a fucking mistake he was.
She could. But she had come and she’d been the one that suggested her drinking. She’d wanted to join his drunken pursuits and now look at them. Hell, he was still half convinced he’d wake up on the sofa, having dreamed the whole damn night.
Karen was there in the morning. Her face the picture of perfection in the pale sunlight streaking through dingy windows. A car alarm went off somewhere, a siren blared on the street below, a pigeon was cooing on the fire escape, and some neighbors dog was barking down the hall. But Karen Page was in his arms. She was real. She was there. And she was clinging to him like her life depended upon it. No one was gonna take her from him. For the first time in months Frank Castle felt like a man and not the monster he had become. His trigger finger didn’t quite twitch the way it did when he was alone and his mind didn’t think through ways to kill four men with one bullet.
Maybe he was the moth and she was the flame.