Matt Murdock Shorts

St. Patrick's Day

@mattmirdockstan requested a story with Matt acting silly when he's drunk. I did my best, just in time for St. Patrick's day
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Matt's laying in your lap one afternoon in early March, eyes closed, blissed-out and leaning further into your touch as you rake your nails along his scalp. You're watching your hand glide through his ginger hair, the weight of his head on your thigh reminding you that while his time is so often dedicated to more pressing matters, right now, he's here with you. The rapturous smile on his face tells you there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

"Have I mentioned how much I love your hair?" You break the silence, caught up in the way the light catches the orange, turning it golden at different angles.

"Once or twice." He concedes, that grin still on his face as if you don't have your hands in it any chance you get. As if you don't describe what you love about it on a regular basis.

You hum, now taking time to appreciate the freckles that cover his arms. The ones you know reach up under the shirt he's wearing and over his shoulders and back. It's another thing you've openly admired about him many times.

"So, Mr. Irish Catholic, do you have any St. Patrick's day traditions?"

He laughs. "Irish Catholic? If anything, that was my grandma. You know I'm a good old-fashioned cherry-picking Catholic."

"Right. Not quite Catholic Lite, but not" you pause for emphasis. "Catholic."

"Yeah. Don't tell my priest."

"Your sins are safe with me."

He thinks about how true that statement is. How you support his night job, patching him up, listening to his woes, and giving him the honest feedback he needs. "Hey, come here." He sits up so he can connect your lips in a sweet kiss before laying back in your lap. "Anyway," He clears his throat. "When do I ever talk about being Irish?"

"Never, unless you're passing on stories your grandma told you about immigrating here. But your ginger hair and the freckles to go with it serve as a daily reminder for me."

He hums. "Well, I have a recipe for corned beef and cabbage from her. Foggy and I usually end up at a bar on St. Patrick's day, so I don't think I've used it since I made it with my dad. The Catholic church recognizes the holiday as a feast day, so we're encouraged to celebrate by eating a hearty meal with meat. Other than that and maybe a service, yeah, we go to a bar like everyone else. The last few years Karen has come to celebrate with us. I figured you'd come this year too."

"That sounds great, Matt."

—0—

"I found our shirts." You proclaim as you walk into Matt's apartment.

"Uh, I didn't know we lost them."

"Hilarious. I found us shirts for St. Paddy's day. Yours is the obligatory kiss me, I'm Irish shirt. Because I'll be with you and I want to kiss you."

"Aren't you worried others will see it as an invitation?" His grin is far too cheeky as he tries to instigate a bout of jealousy.

It isn't something that works on you and he should know that. You suppose he does and he's doing it because he knows it's harmless. "I have faith you can defend against drunks trying to get into your pants. Not that they ever need an invitation."

"That's true." He takes a step closer and leans in to kiss you, coming away with a grin on his face. "I have faith that you'll be there to defend my honor."

You roll your eyes and tell him as much. "I would, though." You run your hand over his chest.

"I know." He grins, pulling you in for another kiss. "So, what shirt did you get?"