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“Let’s get this party started!” Danni exclaims, stood on the kitchen island as she pops a bottle of champagne. The other girls cheer as it explodes.
Including Marci. She can stoop to their level when the timing’s right. And besides, it’s a bachelorette party; the whole point is to let loose.
Marci holds up her champagne flute with the others and Danni squats on the table to fill them all up.
“OK, OK,” Danni says, “cheers to the bride!”
“Woo!” They all clink their glasses before taking a sip, and Danni jumps down from the table to take a stand at Marci’s side.
“Oh my God, Andrea, I can’t believe you’re finally tying the knot!” Rose exclaims and holds out her hand for another look at Andrea’s ring. Marci doesn’t know Rose very well; she’s one of Andrea’s college friends. But both Andrea and their other friend Tiana, she’s known since high school.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous, Dre. You’ve got a keeper with this one.”
“Oh, for sure,” Marci agrees. “JD must have spent his whole savings on this one.”
They drink a bottle between them before going out. First, they hit cocktails (as planned by Danni), donned in sashes between them. The bar is cheap and lively, with a 2 for 1 offer and drunken moms already hitting the dance floor. Two drinks in and Andrea drags them all up to join in. Marci shares a look with Danni to roll her eyes, but she can’t fault the woman really. Every hen-do should be somewhat insane.
Unfortunately, Marci cannot pride herself on being a good dancer. She’s an intelligent woman with many talents, from playing the oboe to being a semi successful unicyclist – although she’ll be damned if anybody ever finds out about that skill. However, dancing falls nowhere in between and Marci downs the drink in her hand before even attempting to look like she belongs.
“Oh my God, Marci… honey,” Danni says, eyes on her appalling footwork. Marci agrees wholeheartedly.
“I need another drink.” She gets another two cocktails. If anything, they make her dancing worse, but at least she doesn’t care as much. They dance for a while longer, with Tiana cheering her rubbish moves and Andrea fucking nailing it, before Danni leads them out of the bar and towards a nightclub.
A student nightclub. With steps down to a basement and three rooms with LED lights and different genres of music. Marci can’t hear a fucking thing. But again, the drinks are cheap, and Andrea’s grinning. Marci bops awkwardly with Tiana, but both laugh when Andrea fucking looses it, with Danni up on her front and Rose grinding on her behind.
They move from room to room, jumping and screaming, singing along to songs Marci hasn’t heard in years. She hates to admit it, but it’s absolutely brilliant.
It reaches 1 a.m and somehow Marci finds herself squished in a toilet cubicle with Andrea, giggling like children.
“I love you so much, Marce.”
“You too, Drea,” Marci says, hugging her tight. “You’re smart, funny, stunning. JD’s lucky to have you, you know that.”
“Aww, Marci,” Andrea coos, “you do have a heart.”
Marci relents that she does, because she holds her hair back as she pukes into the toilet bowl. It sobers her up enough to get another drink and soon, they’re headed out of the club to Danni’s final part of the evening.
“OK, all right, I’ve one more event planned, ladies,” Danni says, slurring only slightly, “it’s going to be the highlight of the night, tailored to Andrea’s taste…”
“Oh no; you didn’t!” Andrea hits Danni gently on the shoulder.
Danni grins. “Strip club!”
They all woo. They’re a group of woo girls. Marci’s going to be a fucking lawyer.
Now, Marci knows Andrea’s “taste”. She’s quite adventurous, happy to explore different BDSM etiquettes and a big fan of chains and leather – it’s a world Marci tends to stay out of herself, but being as pissed as she is-
“Let’s go get fucking whipped!”
“Woo!”
It doesn’t take long to get to the club. Only ten minutes; nothing in short dresses and high heels in the minds of the drunken invincible.
Except Tiana: “I’m cold.”
“Then jump.”
“I don’t jump. Have you she- seen my tits?”
She makes a good point.
It’s only when they reach the club that they hit the first bump of the evening. “Oh my God – wait; I didn’t even think,” Andrea says, turning to face Marci. Her heart beats quicker, pounding in her chest, awaiting the inevitable. “Are you going to be OK in there?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
Andrea and Tiana share a glance. Marci looks to Danni, who is no help at all, somehow deep in discussion with Rose about who knows what.
“Well, you know,” Andrea says, leaning heavily on the implication (or maybe it's just the booze), “with your past.”
“Seriously,” Marci groans, “Andrea, babes, we’ve moved past this.”
“But-”
“Come on!” Marci says, dragging her towards the door because when has Marci ever done anything she doesn’t want to do? They meet a bouncer who Rose shamelessly flirts with to the point Tiana has to drag her away before it could be considered flashing.
“Fuck’s… sake, Rose,” Tiana slurs, dragging her by the arm, “not all female bartenders are lesbians.” Because that's the fucking issue.
The club is fancy. A mix of stages and cages, ropes and poles, and adorned doors leading to hidden back rooms. The seats are made of soft leather, a mix of armchairs and leather-topped wooden stools, with solid wooden tables. The bar is stunning too, cleaner than any bar Marci has ever seen with bottles expertly sorted on carefully arranged shelves:everything screams luxury. Even the bartender, who’s confidently making a cocktail while chained around the waist to the back wall, speaks elegance.
They all get drinks before Andrea chooses a stage with a pole for them to start at and she drags them over with great enthusiasm. It’s once they take their seats – then, and only then – does Marci recognise the redhead at the top of the fucking pole, twirling around it at breakneck speed. Wearing nothing but fitting black briefs and a black blindfold, with strands that artfully fly behind him, is Matthew Fucking Murdock.
“Oh my God.”
And just because that doesn’t seem enough to express Marci’s opinion on the matter-
“Oh my God.”
“Marci?”
“Oh my fucking God.”
If Marci believed in Murdock’s ability to hear like a dog, she might think that the growing smirk she catches sight of every 0.3 seconds is a result of her blaspheme. As it stands, she believes Foggy’s tales to be highly exaggerated. No matter how well Murdock can fight another criminal.
Because that, she knows. Goodie two-shoes Matthew Murdock is a bloody criminal. No doubt about it.
Murdock spirals down that pole like a fucking champ, stopping halfway before bringing his legs up and out to the side as if like a flag, but his muscles keep him steady so that the wind has nothing on him. His hands clamp around the pole steadily, keeping him still for what feels like forever in Marci’s booze-addled mind, before he removes one hand from the pole and stays safely in place with one.
And then, he stretches into the splits, legs becoming parallel with the pole, empty hand reaching up to touch his toes.
The crowd cheers as he crumples, bringing his limbs back in around the pole and spinning back down to the floor in a final flourish. He folds into a ball on the floor as the music stops, and everybody cheers. People closer to the stage run up, dollar bills in hands.
“Give it up for Fallen,” an announcer comes in front of the stage. Murdock stands up and stretches out, but he doesn’t smile.
He grins something evil.
“Next, we’ll be seeing Rogue take to the pole, and if you’re eager to see our very own Fallen Angel’s next act, well, you won’t have to wait long.” The announcer drapes an arm around Murdock, leading him off the stage while a girl dressed in revealing black lingerie and leather straps gathers the tips.
Marci stares, mouth agape.
“If this is too much Marce, seriously, we can go,” Danni whispers into her ear.
“No, it’s not that,” Marci says curtly, “it’s…” she looks at Andrea who is eyeing the cage eagerly, watching a trio of two men and a woman with fluffy black handcuffs and a whip get ready to begin their performance. “It’s nothing. Let’s get over there before Drea starts drooling.”
So, they do. Marci and Tiana sit behind Andrea, Danni and Rose not making fun of the act per-say, but definitely not appreciating it in the same way the others seem to be.
“What would you do if Foggy asked you to do this?” Tiana asks.
“Direct him to his roommate,” Marci says before she can stop herself.
(Backstage, Matt grins.)
The cage act goes on for a little while longer and it hasn’t finished when Marci notices two members of staff preparing a different stage ready for another trust. She watches as they quickly wipe down the stage and equipment; for some reason she finds that more interesting that the act in front of her. Maybe it’s part of the same morbid curiosity that has her slightly interested in Murdock’s next act.
A small crowd is starting to gather around the stage and Marci refuses to get up and join them: she can’t watch Murdock perform. She can’t. It doesn’t feel honest.
She just can’t.
But the cage artists wrap up their act, they all get more drinks – doubles – and them Marci hears the announcement.
“Please welcome… The Fallen Angel!”
“We’ve got to watch him,” Andrea says, tugging Rose. Rose rolls her eyes but doesn’t put up a fight. Danni laughs.
“You know,” she says, finally letting loose for the night if her smudged mascara is anything to go by, “there are less strippers with scars in New York than you’d think.”
“Really?” Marci asks, if only because she knows she wants to be asked.
“Yes, man, this club took some trackin’ down. That demon guy has the best- best reviews. ‘Pparently he’s magic.”
Marci scoffs.
“Yeah! I did some digging… rumour has it he has a background in the circus.”
“He what?!”
“Yeah. An all-round performer,” Danni laughs. “Let’s go watch!”
So, they do… and even the opening is brilliant.
The lights are dimmed ever so slightly as dramatic music starts to play, and then dropping from the ceiling is Matthew Murdock. He wears black skinny jeans, a grey shirt, black blazer and tie with black sunglasses, and the most impressive set of black angel wings Marci has ever seen in her entire life.
She hates to admit it, (especially considering his khaki centric closet) but in the spotlight, he looks amazing. His red hair is expertly styled into a complicated mix of floppy and spiky, and it stays perfectly in place as he begins his fall.
The screen behind him lights up with flames and the perplexing watching (including Marci) cheer as the music picks up and he begins his act.
He hangs at the very top of one rope, tangles around it to keep himself secure as he stretches out slowly, showcasing muscle after muscle even through the blazer. Marci still finds it hard to equate the top-of-the-class Matt Murdock with the fighter she knows him to be. There’s something slightly uncanny about it; he’s a walking juxtaposition if Marci’s ever seen one.
And then, like gravity means jackshit, Murdock unhooks his ankle and leaps from one rope to another, gripping onto it with one hand, hooking an ankle around it fast and leaning out like fucking Tarzan. He manages to tangle the rope into a sort of temporary platform before hanging upside down from it by the feet and slowly pulling off the blazer to reveal the too-tight fitting black shirt underneath.
Marci rolls her eyes and takes another drink to carry her through the cheers.
Murdock keeps dropping down the ropes in stages, swinging between them as if he were born in the air. Occasionally he travels upwards slightly, stretching languidly and dropping items of clothings to the floor. He removes the tie first, swinging it around his head before throwing it into the crowd.
Danni catches it.
“Oh my God!” Danni exclaims.
“I know; he’s good, right?!” Andrea screams back. Danni stares at Murdock intently, who’s in the middle of a triple front flip between the two ropes.
“Oh my God!” Danni turns to face Marci and levels her with a harsh stare. “Oh my fucking God.”
“I know,” Marci says.
“That’s your lock guy!”
“He’s not my anything,” Marci bemoans, but Danni’s already looking back at Matt, who pulls a knife out of nowhere and slashes his shirt off, dropping it seductively as he falls further down the ropes and sheaths his knife in part of the leather harness keeping the black angel wings in place which was hidden under the shirt.
The spotlights really highlight Murdock’s scarred skin. Scars litter his front and back, and while it wasn’t necessarily expected on a fighter’s body, it wasn’t totally out of place. But here? Knowing it to be Murdock beforehand, watching him twirl around in the air into impossible shapes, Marci can’t help but wonder what the hell?
A fighter earns their battle wounds. Here, though, Matt’s a gymnast. A kid who grew up walking balance beams and jumping on springboards with a feral sense of glee. The troublemaker who could scale the rope in gym class, showing off with a smirk and ignoring cries from an unqualified TA to come down – because Marci knows that’s Murdock. It’s hard reconciling that image of Matt with the years of abuse he flaunts so carelessly here.
Marci downs the rest of her drink as Matt loses his jeans. They tear away easily and despite her reserves, Marci cheers along with everyone else as Murdock strikes different poses in his black briefs, hanging dangerously close to the stage. He’s almost at eye level now.
Then, as the music ends, Murdock practically unravels, twisting down the rope and landing crouched on the floor, wings raised and head bowed. The flames on screen roar behind him.
“He was good,” Andrea says. “Really good.”
He is.
Marci’s seen other strippers before, and while she believes women to be better at it (personally), Matt’s performance isn’t like anything she’s seen before. Besides in the olympics, but they don’t tend to parade around in giant wings and eccentric sunglasses.
There are a few whistles, a small cheer, and those who discuss the act mid lap dance, but Marci doesn’t turn away just yet. She’s watching as Matt breaks character to raise his head at the audience and grin. He uses one hand to lower his glasses; even from a distance it’s possible to make out their shocking blue colour, but nothing more.
It’s strange, though. Marci had always assumed his eyes to be brown.
Marci rolls her eyes at the theatrics and announces to her group:
“Shots on me!” and they all race up to the bar. They do a round of tequila shots right there at the bar, which Marci’s sure pleases the bartender to no end, before they get their own drinks and go to sit at a table.
Honestly, Marci’s just glad to not be moving for a moment. She leans back in the seat and closes her eyes.
“This is a good night, girls,” Andrea says. “Thanks for planning this.”
“Aww, no worries Drea,” Danni says. Marci doesn’t have to open her eyes to know that there’s hugging taking place.
“You should get a lap dance,” Rose says, and Marci chances a look to see Rose nudging Andrea conspiringly.
Andrea grins. “Only if you do.”
Rose frowns at that. “Hang on,” she says and proceeds to stumble up and out of her seat, headed towards the bathroom.
“Oh my God,” Tiana says, and gets up to follow her.
“Oh my God,” Danni repeats for different reasons.
“Oh my God!” Marci exclaims, probably a little too loudly when she follows Danni’s gaze and spots Murdock walking around offering dances. He’s close enough to their table that Marci feels ashamed when he cocks his head to the side. She just knows he’s breaking protocol (whether his own or his work’s remains ambiguous) when he says:
“Marci?”
“Shit.”
“The fuck is your life?” Danni asks Marci.
“Fuck that. The fuck is his?”
Murdock grins a shit-eating grin. “If you really want to get into it, you’ll have to pay for a dance. I’ll get in trouble with my boss, otherwise.”
“After that stunt?” Marci scoffs, disbelieving. “Nobody would fire someone with that skillset. They’d lose too much money.”
Her argument goes unheard (or ignored by the look on Murdock’s face – the man can’t take a compliment, as sideways as it was) as Danni jumps in to offer: “I’ll pay. This lady’s the bride-to-be.”
Murdock raises an eyebrow high above his glasses. There’s a noticeable pause where Matt’s obviously waiting for an objection from either Marci or the bride, but none comes.
“All right,” he says.
All things considered, Murdock’s pretty smooth. He holds out his hand which Andrea takes, and from that he easily finds the chair in a well-practiced motion.
“So, how d’you know Marce?” Andrea asks.
“Classmates,” he says, “and she’s shagging my roommate.”
“And he’s Marci’s lock guy!” Danni adds, unhelpfully. “How’s the hot girlfriend?”
“Good.”
Matt dances around the chair like nobody’s business. He slut drops better than the star of a club night. Marci shuts her eyes; the room’s spinning and Murdock’s dexterity isn’t helping.
“So, how’d’you get into the stripping business?” Andrea asks, slurring. “Especially with a girlfriend.”
Matt laughs at that. “I need the money,” he says.
“Duh,” Danni says. “But I refushe- ugh. Refuse to believe you waltzed in here and asked for a job.”
“I can’t waltz,” Matt says, without hesitation.
Marci opens her eyes purely to glare at him. He’s all up in Andrea’s front. “Oh my God, Murdock.”
“Blaspheme,” he says, “and don’t use my real name.”
“Shit, sorry,” Marci says. “What was it? Diversity? No, wait, I can get this. Advisity.”
“That’s… not a word. And nowhere near,” Matt says.
“No, no; you’re getting him all mixed up with that karate kid,” Danni waves at her loosely, “The Advisory or whoever.”
“Adversary,” Matt corrects easily. Too easily. Marci notices him tense slightly as he notices his mistake before easing back into his dance, shaking his butt in Andrea’s face.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Danni agrees.
“But that’s not my name.” Marci rolls her eyes; great save, Murdock.
“S’the Fallen Angel,” Andrea says, “great big wings.”
“Oh shit, yeah. You’re even Catholic in a fuckin’ BDSM strip club.”
“You’re Catholic?!” Andrea asks.
Rose and Tiana arrive back at the table then. “Hey! Drea, you got the guy!” Rose exclaims.
“Sure did! Hey, do we get a friend’s discount?”
“We’re not friends,” Marci says, partly because she can’t stand the idea and partly because she wants to save Murdock the hassle. Not that she’d admit it.
Rose wobbles where she’s stood, saving herself by grabbing onto Tiana, who helps her to sit down thankfully before she falls over. “Did you say you were Catholic?” Rose asks and continues without giving Matt chance to answer: “is it even legal for a Catholic to work in a strip club?”
Matt chokes on nothing. “No,” he says easily, “so don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to be giving my next dance to inmates.”
Rose’s eyes widen. “Because they’re men?! Are you that Catholic?”
He snorts. “The Father accused me of bragging last time I went to confession, but I have twice as many options as most.”
“No shit. Your church supports you?” Rose asks sounding jealous more than curious in her drunken state, and Marci notices her lip wobble.
Matt tenses up again as he moves to the back of Andrea’s chair.
Marci rolls her eyes and steps in before it gets worse. “You know we’ll help you find an inclusive church when you’re ready, Rosie. Don’t make Mr Dare-Devil here more uncomfortable than he already is.”
“Soz!”
Marci turns to Danni and mouths “soz?” with an arched eyebrow. Danni cackles.
They let Matt finish his dance in peace, tipping him well. Especially Rose, who either realises her questions were a little too invasive or she’s just too drunk to notice how much money she’s giving. Then, they get another drink. Marci doesn’t remember much after that, but when she awakes with a hangover the next morning alone in Foggy’s bed, she’s sure that the images of Matt chained up and escaping like fucking Houdini aren’t fictional.
He can fucking move in restraints.
Marci helps herself to some paracetamol and a glass of water before getting comfy and watching Netflix while she waits for Foggy to return.
When the door opens however, it’s not Foggy but Matthew Murdock dressed in his usual shades and stupid khaki clothing.
“Murdock!” she shouts, shocked.
“Good, you’re up,” he says. “I made you breakfast.”
What.
The.
Fuck?
But then he holds out a plate of a still-wrapped granola bar and a small bunch of grapes and Marci’s level of concern drops slightly.
“My head’s pounding,” she complains.
“I bet,” Murdock says. How much do you remember?”
“Oh my God,” Marci says, “we didn’t…” and she lets the thought trail off.
Murdock snorts. “Like you could land me,” he says. “No… you just… some older guy made a move on you and then you got into a heated fight with a couple of your friends. Not the bride, or the one with the dogs… I don’t know. “Rosie”? And the quiet one. Anyway, one of my colleagues got caught in the crossfire.”
“Shit,” Marci says.
“Yeah.”
“So, what happened?”
“Your friends took off in pairs and I told the one with the dogs I’d make sure you got back safe. I clocked off early, bought you here because you refused to tell me where your dorm was, and then you threw up all over the carpet.”
“Shit. Matt, I’m so sorry.”
“You were last night too. Again, don’t worry about it; we’ve all been there.”
“Fuck,” Marci groans quietly, making Murdock laugh.
“Anyway, least I could do was help you out. Thanks for… I, ah, you won’t remember, but you stood up for me in front of my supervisor yesterday. She was being funny about me leaving early, said I wouldn’t get work anywhere else in the industry because of, well, you’ve seen the evidence of abuse. So, uh, thanks.”
“Oh fuck off,” Marci says. “You don’t owe me shit. I puked on your floor and roomed with you last night. Forgot Foggy was back home for the weekend.”
Matt shrugs. “Speaking of Foggy,” he says awkwardly, “he doesn’t know about my stripper gig either. It’s just, uh, y’know… stupid cost of student living.”
Marci rolls her eyes. “Luckily for you, this is all just as embarrassing for me as it is for you. I don’t tend to do completely shitfaced. So, I won’t tell Foggy about any of this if you won’t.”
He gives a cocky, devilish smile. “Done.”