Obligatory Hozier lyric title for my male reader, bi Matt with religious trauma story

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"Forgive me, Father," Matt takes a deep breath, inhales the familiar scent of prayer candles and wood. He listens to Father Lantom breathing on the other side of the confessional, trying to give him the space he needs to continue. Lantom knows better than anyone that more often than not, information must be pried from Matt. But that's not it this time. Matt hears his priest take a breath, about to prompt him, so Matt starts over before Lantom can say anything. "Forgive me, Father, for I have..." He can't finish that sentence. He came here to confess, but for once, he can't find it in himself to be guilty. He knows what the bible says about homosexuality. He's heard it time and again, the wrongness of it reiterated by every person he talked to about the bible. But it didn't feel like a sin. It didn't feel wrong. Not with you. He sits there, his words, his breathing, the rasps of cloth on cloth as both he and Lantom shift, bouncing off the wood of the confessional. The hard bench beneath him reminds him that he's not supposed to be comfortable right now. This stall was crafted to make one feel alone with their sins and God, but right now, Matt can only think about last night.

—0—

Matt knew that it was weak, inviting you over to his place, only the two of you and his liquor cabinet. Even if that doesn't extend much past the bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey he keeps around. Still, when he offers you a glass, you accept with a grin. It has nothing to do with the alcohol. Matt can tell as he hands it over— your hand lingering too long on his— you haven't taken your eyes off him. Your heart beats faster than normal— it always does around him, but right now, it's all he can hear, rabbit fast, your skin heating and breathing becoming heavier. To anyone else, you'd be keeping your cool remarkably well, but to Matt— to him, your body is beckoning him closer. He can't help but heed its call. He takes your elbow in a parody of how he'll sometimes have you lead him in a place he isn't used to, but there's no question that he's the one leading you right now as you go to the sofa. Somewhere, his mind supplies that line about crafting intricate rituals with other men as an excuse to touch their skin. Sure, you've kissed on a few occasions, lips primed with alcohol, but most of the time, you're friends. So far, Matt has had too many hang-ups for your relationship to progress past that. But each time you're together, and each time he shares a kiss with you, he feels his grip on his faith slipping. But he can't bring himself to care that God's no longer guiding him if you're the greener pasture he's straying to. If loving men doesn't send Matt to Hell, loving you more than God will.

You talk. Words are exchanged, warm laughs fill the apartment, and Matt has no idea what's said. As soon as words leave his lips, your scent hits his nose and reminds him that all he wants to do is bury his face in your neck, planting soft kisses along your pulse point until he forgets anything but the taste of your skin.

"Matt?"

Shit. Matt lifts his brows, trying too late to act like he was paying attention to your story. "Hmm?"

Your laugh is fond, almost an afterthought. It's clear Matt was lost in thought and you hope you have a pretty good idea of what those thoughts were about. You don't care much to finish your story— it was more to fill the silence anyway. There are more pressing topics to cover right now. "So, what's your plan, Matt?"

"What do you mean?" He's good at acting innocent, letting that grin cover his face as he feigns ignorance. He's used to people believing that face.

Good thing you know better. "I mean," you set your now empty glass on the coffee table, calm despite what you're about to say "did you bring me here to romance me, or do I have to do everything around here?"

Matt sits across from you, his mouth parted as if to say something, but he hasn't, so he just looks like he's in shock.

"Right. Looks like I've got to do everything." You lean in close enough for him to feel your breath fan across his face and reach up to card your hand through his hair. As if to prove you wrong, he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours, his hand caressing your face, five O'clock shadow and all.

Now that your lips have come together, Matt can't get enough. He searches out every part of you he can without moving things along too fast because no matter how much he wants that, he still has so many spiritual blocks about this and— none of them matter right now. Not with you gathering him closer, not with his hands under your shirt, mapping out hard lines and angles where he's used to softness and curves. He wants it— wants you so bad. How could anything that feels this holy ever be unnatural?

"Come to bed with me." He meant it as a question but it comes out as a desperate request. He feels your smile against his face anyway.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Matt grins, his face never moving far from yours. He can't let it, not when he could still be kissing you, soft lips in contrast with your coarse facial hair. As you make your way to the bed together, Matt leads you through the darkness, pulling you forward, until the back of his knees hit the foot of the bed. Matt can feel his skin tightening as goosebumps wash over him at your touch. Then, you're using the trail you've been mapping from his naval to his chest to lift his shirt up and off, discarding it for the night, and pressing on his chest until he gets the idea and falls back onto the bed. For a moment, everything stops as his scars are revealed, but he's not left with time to worry about you asking questions because you're already tugging your own shirt off before joining him on the bed, supporting yourself on your hands as knees as you resume your kisses.

"Where do you keep your condoms and lube?" You breathe, continuing your kisses along his neck while you wait for an answer.

Matt's stomach drops. He's not an idiot, he knows how this works, but he sure feels like one, leading you to his bedroom with the knowledge that he's never purchased lube in his life. "Shit. I um, I've never needed lube."

"Oh, you're not used to hosting."

Matt forces a laugh. He does not want tonight to end like this. He's not sure he'll have the courage to do this again later. "You could say that." He licks his lips. "I uh, I've only ever had sex with women."

"Are you serious?"

Even with a window into your heartbeat, excited as you've been until this point, he doesn't know how to take that. "Well, I'm bi and I was raised by nuns. I'm still as good a Catholic as I can manage, you do the math."

"Of course, that makes sense, it surprised me, is all. Are you— do you want to keep going?"

"More than I've ever wanted anything." He breathes.

You smile and run your hand through his hair. He melts into your touch. "I'm glad. I've been wanting you pretty bad too." You pause. "Do you have any aloe?"

"Uh, yeah."

You shrug. "It'll do. But get some lube next time." You punctuate your jab with a kiss.

Matt grins. He couldn't imagine anything more natural than you grinning against his skin before you run off to root through his bathroom cabinet, nothing more natural than you coming back to the room with a singsong declaration that you found the aloe, nothing more natural than your hands on him and your voice in his ear, telling him exactly what you need to make this perfect.

—0—

"Matthew, you've told me so much. I've seen you hit rock bottom, then carve your way deeper. What has you so worked up?" Father Lantom prompts.

Matt shakes his head. "I was wrong. I didn't come here today to confess, Father."

"Are you going to tell me why you did?"

For a moment, Matt sits there in silence, remembering the feeling of your skin on his, how gentle and loving you were. He's never cared about that, never minded it fast and hard, but with you, it was like your souls were meeting.

"I think— I think I came for answers."

Matt can hear Father Lantom roll his eyes as he takes a deep breath. "Answers about what?"

"How God can condemn his followers for nothing more than loving someone of the same gender."

"I don't think He does." Lantom waits for Matt to respond; wishes he could see his reaction better. "Would it be better to finish this conversation over a latte?"

Matt wants to laugh. For years, he's been repressing this part of himself because it isn't what God intended. What he did last night, it's condemned in the bible, by every person he knew growing up who lived by the scriptures. Now, at the age of 30, his priest is acting like it's not true? But Father Lantom knows the scriptures and he knows the history and more than anything, he's practical and honest. He isn't going to sugarcoat this or anything. "A latte sounds good." He debates his next words for a moment, but they're too relevant to leave unsaid. "I— it, this attraction I have to other men, it never felt wrong."

Lantom nods on the other side of the partition. "Come on, let's go to the rec room."

Matt follows his priest out of the confessional, the two of them walking in silence until they're far from others, on their way down the stairwell.

"So, I take it you met someone?"

The wording throws Matt. It makes sense for Lantom to ask, this is the first he's heard about you, but when Matt's known you for over a year now, he trips over the question.

—0—

"So, is your friend cute?"

Matt hears a new voice, a new heartbeat walking next to Foggy as they make their way to the restaurant where Matt's waiting. He can't smell the man who's with Foggy yet, so he has high hopes that he'll be able to make it through lunch without vomiting. Some of Foggy's friends... well it was college, but Matt's smelled enough Axe body spray to last him a lifetime.

"Careful, he has very good hearing."

"We're two blocks away."

Foggy's hair brushes his shoulders as he shakes his head. "You'd be surprised."

"Okay, so he hears. You know I have no shame."

"Do what you want, but if Matt is any sort of gay, he's so repressed even I haven't gotten it out of him."

Matt furrows his brows. Has Foggy been trying to figure out if he's gay? There was that one conversation in college, but it never came up again.

"So you've asked him?"

"In college, there was a drunken conversation. I asked if he was queer and the smile fell from his face before he said no and we moved on. He's always been supportive of me, I know he's not a homophobe. I think for him, it might boil down to: he's Catholic. Or he just doesn't like Men."

Right on blaming Catholocism, wrong on him not liking men. So, so, very wrong. A fact that's highlighted the more Foggy's new roommate talks. He has a gorgeous voice. Deep, a bit rough at the end of certain words. He really likes listening to you.

"Hmm. disappointing." You pause. "Wait, is it? You never told me if he's cute."

"Oh, every woman he's ever met— and a few poor men who didn't know how hetero he is— has told him how cute he is. That head does not need to get any bigger."

How— how hetero??? Matt knows he's brought this on himself by— in Foggy's words— being a repressed Catholic, but the queer in him will not stand for being called hetero. Straight, fine. He denied being queer when Foggy asked all those years ago, what is he supposed to think? But Foggy called him Straight, with a capital S. He can only call what he does upon meeting you, payback.

Foggy introduces you when you arrive at the table Matt's held for the three of you.

"It's nice to meet you, Matt. Foggy warned me that you're cute, but I didn't expect..." Matt raises his brows as you trail off. "You're cute." You finish.

"Likewise. Well, Foggy didn't tell me you're cute, but I like your voice." And your scent. He leaves that part out. Telling people they smell good goes over well about half the time.

You beam and elbow Foggy. "He likes my voice. And you didn't tell him I'm cute? You're the worst wingman."

Foggy sits there gaping at the scene before him. He knows what Matt looks like when he's zeroed in on a target for the night, turning all his flirty charms toward, until now, a woman. This is his 'I'm going home with you tonight' mode. Has Matt ever even had gay sex? Until now, he didn't even think he'd gay flirted. Foggy has so many questions. "Wait, is this payback for me calling you hetero?"

Matt furrows his brows. "What? When did you call me that?"

Matt's bad at playing dumb— or more likely, he isn't trying. Foggy doesn't believe for one second that Matt missed the conversation Foggy had with you on your way in. But Foggy's options are outing Matt (in a daredevil way, not a gay way) or letting this go. And, fuck Matt and his confident grin because he knows he gets to win this one.

"On the way here. I figured your ears were burning. It's kind of scary how good your hearing is sometimes." Foggy concedes with a glare he's sure Matt has some way of sensing.

Matt laughs. "Well, you'd be wrong, anyway."

"Apparently. I haven't seen you hunting like this since college, and never with men."

"Oh— Foggy I'm not— I don't hunt." Matt finishes, a bit embarrassed now.

"You do. And you are." Foggy turns to you. "Is he hunting?"

"If he is, I don't mind." You'd wink but well, it would be lost on Matt. "And you're cute when you blush."

Matt sits across from you, squirming in his seat now. He knows he started this, but he expected to have more control. All of a sudden it's turned into a 'let's make Matt regret this' session. He doesn't mind your attention, but he also doesn't know what to do with it. Classic Murdock, diving in headfirst, dealing with consequences later. He tries to sound confident when he says thanks, but it comes out too high-pitched for that. Before you or Foggy can embarrass him further, the waiter comes up— there is a God— and as if to remind Matt He hasn't forsaken him yet, the conversation moves on after that.

You may have stopped singling him out, but all night you've been dropping hints— well, not hints— you've been blatant in your advances all night and he can't say he minds. There's still that good Catholic boy in his head, telling him he can't have this— whatever this turns out to be— but he keeps waving that voice away like a low battery warning on his phone when he's too tired to get up. He also can't help but notice that while Foggy keeps ordering drinks, you seem to be drinking at Matt's slower pace. He isn't sure what that means, but he's pretty sure it means something. Soon enough, Foggy's at his limit and you help Matt get him into a taxi and on his way.

The moment of truth.

It's finally you and Matt alone and Matt's desperate to find out if the flirting you've been doing all night will amount to anything.

"So, I know we've been flirting all night, but you seem... freshly gay."

Matt's a bit confused but laughs through it. "What does that mean?" Matt feels the air move as you nod, feels the heat of your breath hit the cold New York air as a little laugh escapes.

"It means, a seasoned gay wouldn't have to ask what it means."

Matt leans in conspiratorially. "You realize you aren't explaining anything, right?" He has on his charming laugh, desperately trying to get a toehold in this conversation like he has been all night. The last time he floundered this much was when he tried to ask out one of the choir girls in high school. He hopes tonight goes better than that did.

"Sorry. You seem like you've only dated women so far. Maybe there was a college experiment you couldn't quite get out of your head or a fling here or there, but since then, women."

Matt hates that you pinned him so easily. Intellectually, emotionally, physically. He's used to people respecting the mask he wears, on the rare occasion that they see past it. "What makes you say that?" It's not a lie, but it's not admission and Matt isn't ready to give in yet.

"The fact that you came out to your very queer, very 'out' friend of 10 years for the first time tonight. By flirting with a stranger. I don't mind, but I'd also like to know how confident you are in your sexuality."

Matt's still a little thrown by the fact that you aren't letting him deflect. It's ruthless. Matt knows all about that. He comes home most nights with it staining his knuckles and his soul. Ruthlessness. A sin that's mentioned right alongside stealing, murder, and homosexuality in the bible. "What can I say, I'm Catholic." Matt feels his facade of humor and flirtation slipping by the minute.

"Well, that explains a lot."

Matt can't help but laugh. "Already?"

"Already." You laugh. "Um, I don't mean to push you. I also don't care if you're inexperienced. It's just— we've been flirting all night and if something were to happen, I don't want to be a regret for you. I'm Foggy's roommate, we'll be seeing each other around... you know."

"Well, you'll be seeing me." He shrugs and waits for the inevitable eye roll. And... there it is, accompanied by a laugh you can't quite bar.

"So, are you always like this, deflecting real conversations with stupid jokes?"

Matt laughs. "No. Everyone close to me tells me I need to lighten up. I guess I can get... intense." He shrugs, both hands resting on his cane. "I figure you don't need to see that side of me until we've met at least a few more times."

You hum. "Well, I'm here if you want to talk. Or if you don't. I've been dealing with my own shit and it's been too long since anything gay happened to me, so don't be afraid to reach out, okay?"

Matt tilts his head to the side, observing you. Your skin is warm despite the weather, your heart beats faster as you wait for his response. Despite only knowing you for a matter of hours, Matt can't help the connection he feels to you. The way you've been so open all night, he can only hope to achieve a parody of that in the years to come. He takes a step forward, reaching out to take your chin in his hand as he leans in. For a moment, all that matters is your breath, mixing with his in the night air as he gets closer, cold noses touching as he waits there. "Can I kiss you?"

You grin against his face. "At this point, I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Now that he's so close, you can feel Matt's laughter more than you hear it as it escapes his throat. Like it has all night, it once again sends butterflies through your stomach. More so, now that his lips are an inch from yours, driving you mad with anticipation. You're about to take control when his lips finally connect with yours. Your last coherent thought before you're lost in a flurry of lips and tongue is: Okay, he knows what he's doing.

Matt grins as he pulls back, his hand moving from your face to your waist. "Was that the gay experience you were looking for?"

"At least. But that was nice, for now."

—0—

Matt can tell that Father Lantom is asking as a man who has known and guided Matt since he was a child, not only as a priest. "It was over a year ago, but yeah, I met someone. He's..." Words don't come to Matt's mind. Well, some do, but they're flat, non-descriptors. Funny, kind, passionate— so? Don't we all have those things in us? But it's easy to sweep those words away, unimportant. What fills Matt's mind instead, when he thinks of you, is more of a feeling. One he can't quite put his finger on, but it's warm and comfortable, and a little exciting. "He's everything." It still doesn't feel like that word carries enough weight.

The way Matt's eyes crinkled as he thought about it, his breathless 'everything' when his tone is always so calculated and calm, they tell Lantom all he needs to know. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that you've found that with someone."

"I can tell you mean that. It means a lot, but I don't understand how you're so accepting. As right as it feels, I'm still conflicted about it."

"Does he know this?"

"No. It's my struggle. I'm not going to put that on him. He's already dealt with so much because of his identity. Do you know how shitty it would be of me to tell him that after we finally got together, that beautiful night we had, the thing I felt was guilt?" One of the things, but Matt's point still stands.

"Well if you care about him as much as you say you do, and he feels the same, he's going to be more upset if he finds out and you haven't told him. You live in the same world, you said yourself that he's dealt with his own issues. If he cares about you, he'll realize that this is about more than him."

Matt knows that's true. He knows you and he knows you'd understand. But you're out and proud while he's only now, at 30, letting himself acknowledge this part of himself. He knows that combination doesn't always end well. "I know." It's all Matt can manage on the subject right now.

Father Lantom realizes it's all he's getting out of Matt right now and moves on. "After you decided you weren't confessing, you said you wanted answers."

"Yeah. What did you mean when you said you don't believe God condemns people for being gay?"

"Everyone knows the church has never been as pure as it should be. Men's ideas and failures still get in the way of the true word of God at times. The bible is an ancient text that people have translated and retranslated— none of them without agendas. All each of us can do is have faith that God made sure the important bits stayed true and interpret His meaning to the best of our ability."

"What, so you're saying that when God condemns men who lie with men along with thieves and murderers— says that the penalty is death— it's a misinterpretation? That seems like a pretty important part to allow to be mistranslated. Look at all the hurt it has caused."

"Matthew, God gave us free will. People have always been bigoted and they'll use any excuse they can— especially one under the guise of divinity— to pull people to their way of thinking. Whether the translation was malicious or conveniently aligned with the translator's beliefs, there's no way to know, but when reviewed, we found that the original text actually translates to 'men who lie with male', leaving room for the interpretation that an adult man should not lie with a younger male. Any other time the bible mentions homosexuality, it's along with other sexual acts that cults practiced, worshiping false gods or within the context of prostitution. Never is lesbianism brought up and never is a loving relationship between two men condemned outright."

Matt sits across from his priest, mouth gaping. He doesn't know what to do with that. For 30 years he's been told that these desires he has are wrong, unnatural, every translation of the bible he could get his hands on condemned this— condemned him as concretely as it did murderers. Now, he's hearing that it's likely a mistranslation and no one is doing anything about it? No one— not even Father Lantom— thought to tell him? In— and he cannot stress this enough— 30 years, no one thought to bring it up in case one of the many children under their care was struggling with this on top of everything else that dumped them into the lap of the church? It makes Matt want to stop being Daredevil so he can be a youth pastor. He's sure Foggy would love that.

Matt's been non-responsive for about a full minute now. Lantom does his best to suppress his nature and approach this with delicacy. "Matthew, what's going through your mind?"

Matt doesn't stop himself from laughing this time, and it's bitter. "Uh, mostly how I could go 30 years, seeking out God and truth, and not once did anyone think to bring that up. Including you."

"Well, did you ask?"

Matt shakes his head, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, indignation, and betrayal taking over as he prepares for a fight. "I shouldn't have to. You say that translating it as 'men who lie with men' was convenient for them, but it's as convenient today as it was then. I understand that they're not going to change the passage and do an entire overhaul of Catholocism over a single word that now 'leaves room for interpretation'. but you should at least talk about it. You know how well I hear. Living here for 9 years, I should've at least heard some pushback from— anyone about how factual those scriptures are and whether people are using them in the right context."

Father Lantom sighs. "You're right. I'm sorry you've been in so much pain about this for so long. I'm not stupid, I know this conversation isn't going to erase years of suppressing yourself, but I hope it can help ease your mind." He watches Matt as he tries to come to terms with everything he said to him. His response seems to have calmed Matt a bit, but he's still shifting in his seat, his hand is in a fist over his mouth— in stress or to conceal his emotions, Lantom doesn't know. Watching this man he helped raise struggle so much, blame himself for all the wrong things, is difficult any day. But knowing that the tension he sees in Matt's shoulders, the pain in his voice, is because he found happiness with a man? That creates anger in him that none of Matt's past struggles have ever provoked. "And honestly, Matthew, if your worst sin is born of love, how can the God of love condemn you for it?"

Matt laughs. He doesn't know what else to do when he's on the verge of hysterics, every emotion he's ever felt, bubbling in him, warring with each other as they are. "You know this isn't the worst of my sins."

"Yeah, I was the one you came to when you were deciding whether you were going to kill a man. I'm here every time you come to be absolved of the violence you committed the night before, knowing full well you're going to go out and do it again. I don't see how this is worse."

"I do what I do at night for other people. With him, I'm finally giving in to desires I've had as long as I knew what love and attraction were. It's for me."

"You and I both know that what you do as Daredevil has as much to do with how it makes you feel as it does helping others."

Matt knows when he's backed into a corner. Besides, today, he isn't here about Daredevil. "Still."

Lantom laughs. He has to, seeing Matt's stubbornness rear its head, even here. "Think about what I said. I hope you can let yourself be happy despite how the church has made you feel."

Matt nods. "He's worth me trying."

—0—

For a long time, Matt thought he could suppress this side of himself because he loves women too. His past relationships have been real and deep and right too. He hoped he wouldn't have to address this. But you're inescapable and every time he's with you, his only regret is that he didn't make this happen sooner.

"Babe, are you okay?" Your voice pulls him from his thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh," he tries to cover his drifting thoughts with a laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine." He flashes you a smile and cranes his neck from where he's resting his head on your chest, so he can kiss you.

It almost distracts you. But you know Matt, and you know that laugh. It's the one he does when he's trying to deflect from a serious topic. Which you find interesting because before this, you were only rambling about your day. "What's going on, something's been distracting you lately. More than usual."

He frowns at that last comment. You didn't mean anything by it; he knows that. It doesn't stop the pang of guilt that went through him when you said it. "I'm sorry." It comes out a murmur.

"Matty," you run your hand through his hair. "I'm not upset. I just want you to talk to me."

He presses his lips together as Father Lantom's advice about sharing his struggles with you sing through his head. "How did you get to where you are now?" Matt asks instead. "You're so open, out and proud. If anyone has a problem with who you are, you don't give a shit."

Your hand flexes where it's resting on Matt's thigh. You thought Matt might start having second thoughts about this— about you. You hoped it wouldn't be so soon. "Are you asking because you're having a hard time being open about your sexuality?" Matt's quiet for long enough that you start to think he isn't going to answer you.

"I— uh, I don't think that's what it is." Matt comes back around to the fact that he will not tell you that what the two of you have is making him feel guilty. "I— I'm having a hard time being proud of it. When we're alone, like this—" He laughs at the analogy he's about to use. "It's what I imagine heaven feels like. Calm, quiet, you're content with people you love, who accept and understand you."

People you love. You know he's trying to get out something important here— other than a love confession— but you have a hard time hearing anything else after he said that he loves you, so casually and indirectly. "Hang on, people you love?"

Matt didn't even register the words coming from his mouth with such ease. Sure, he's felt like this for a while— before you officially got together, even— but he's been too afraid to say it. Now your heart is rabbit fast, booming in his ears when he's this close, and he knows you're scared too. "Yeah. You're one of those people. I love you."

"Even though you're having a hard time with shame surrounding your attraction to me?"

Matt sits up and moves to your lap, needing to be face to face with you, so you can see that he's serious. "I love you. Yeah, the church has made me feel guilty for this part of myself for so long that it's hard to shake, but I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that I don't care. If Saint Peter doesn't let me through because I love you," he shrugs. "That wouldn't be heaven."

You haul him forward by his shirt and into a bruising kiss. "Fuck, you're going to make me cry."

He presses his lips to yours again, but his kiss is much softer. "Sorry." He's grinning as he says it.

"I love you too, you know."

"Now I do." He smiles.