A few weeks after Elektra dies, Matt shows up at Foggy’s apartment with a bottle of whiskey and a hopeful look that’s caught somewhere between crying and giving up. If Foggy were a better man, he’d probably send him away, but he’s not. He’s really not.
They get drunk side by side on the couch that Foggy’s going to replace as soon as he moves out of this apartment, taking shot for shot while Matt just doesn’t talk about it. He asks Foggy about his job, about Karen, talks about the weather—doesn’t mention his ex-girlfriend or the funeral until they’re four shots in and he’s leaning into Foggy’s side.
“I don’t want to bury anyone else,” he says, barely a whisper, voice hoarse and broken.
Then hang up your mask, Foggy wants to say.
Then come home.
“I know,” he says, instead, because he doesn’t want to fight, because he doesn’t want Matt to know how much he misses him already. After all, if they’re not friends, then Foggy won’t have to be the one who buries him.
Matt’s hands fidget together, calloused fingers rubbing against each other, and Foggy can’t stop watching them. He saw a report about Elektra’s death on the news, something clean and probably fake, and he’s not surprised that Matt’s here now and he’s not surprised that he’s drunk and fixating on Matt’s hands.
Just like old times.
“I’ve almost called you every day since you walked out,” Matt says, almost firmly, like he’d been gearing himself up to say it. Foggy wants to call foul on the phrase walked out, like he abandoned Matt and didn’t just make the decision he needed to in order to keep himself afloat.
“Why didn’t you?” he asks, instead.
Matt’s quiet for awhile. His hands make a soft shushing noise as they move together. Foggy lets himself move on instinct and grabs one, making Matt draw in a sharp breath and stop.
“Stop moving so much,” Foggy says, softly, letting him go. “It’s distracting.”
“I could use a distraction,” Matt says, shifting forward to grab the bottle and pour two more shots. He offers one to Foggy, who doesn’t even hesitate before he takes it and downs it, drunk enough that he barely notices the burn—he does, however, notice the way that Matt shifts closer, gets this look on his face that Foggy dimly recognizes.
Matt’s gonna kiss him.
Matt’s kissed him before, back in college—dumb games of spin the bottle in dorm rooms, drunken make out sessions they would laugh about the next morning, stuff like that. But he always got the same look on his face, something soft and sort of reckless. Like he’s taking a big chance.
“Don’t kiss me because you’re sad about your girlfriend,” Foggy says.
He should probably say don’t kiss me and leave it at that, but he doesn’t.
“What if I kiss you because I want to?” Matt asks, tilting his head a little.
“Matt,” Foggy says.
“Miss you,” Matt says, moving so he’s on his knees next to Foggy, steadying himself with a hand spread out on Foggy’s shoulder. “God, Foggy, I miss you. Can I?”
Foggy should haul his own drunken ass to bed and leave Matt to sleep it off. He should change his number and move immediately. He should do something other than the thing he’s about to do.
“Yeah, Matt,” he breathes, just as lovesick as he was every time this used to happen.
Matt nods and cups Foggy’s cheek, leans down to kiss him carefully. He doesn’t break the kiss as he maneuvers himself into Foggy’s lap, sliding a hand in his hair and biting gently at Foggy’s mouth.
“Shouldn’t have let you go,” Matt murmurs, dipping down to kiss Foggy’s neck, sucking and biting at it. It’s like a fantasy, a guilty horrible romantic fantasy, the one who got away—but Foggy’s the one who left. Matt kisses his chin, licks into his mouth again, a little sloppy but in a way that sends lightning up Foggy’s spine.
He lets Matt push him onto his back, wrapping a leg around him and trying not to think about how he hasn’t gotten fucked by a guy in a year and half, how much he wants Matt inside him.
“We should go to sleep,” he says, turning his head to gasp. “Separately, in separate places—sleep.”
“In a minute,” Matt says, grabbing his chin gently to angle Foggy’s head for a deeper kiss, hips dropping down to grind against his. Foggy groans in his ear. He could let it happen, so easily; Matt would make it good, and Foggy would figure out a way to deal with the fact that Matt would probably be gone in the morning once he fucked his grief out.
He spends more than a minute lost in the feeling of Matt’s body against his before Matt’s fingers slide under the waistband of his sweats and Foggy shudders and says, “Seriously, Matt, stop.”
Matt freezes before he immediately climbs off of Foggy, getting to his feet and swaying a little, looking nervous.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll leave.”
“No, you won’t,” Foggy says, suddenly exhausted, sitting up and brushing the hair out of his face. “You can sleep on the couch.”
Matt looks upset—lost, maybe.
“I can just go,” he says, quietly.
Foggy has a storage container full of blankets that his mom crocheted, soft ones that Matt likes. He’s got pillows to spare. He sighs.
“Come on, Matt,” he says, standing up and taking Matt’s hand, leading him into the bathroom. “Can you use my toothbrush since you just stuck your tongue down my throat?”
Matt nods and accepts it when Foggy hands it to him, and Foggy steps out while Matt brushes his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror above his dresser. He’s flushed and his mouth is bitten red, a dark bruise forming on his neck.
“You had to give me a hickey?” he calls. The sink runs for a few seconds and then Matt’s standing in the doorway, smiling faintly.
“Remembered that you like them,” he says, kind of shyly.
“When I was nineteen and didn’t have to go to work in the morning,” Foggy says, but he laughs, because this is—ridiculous. They’re basically real adults now, even though the presence of Matt Murdock mussed and well-kissed in his bedroom makes him feel like a smitten freshman again.
“Sorry,” Matt says, still smiling, stepping closer.
“I’ll pop my collar,” Foggy says. “The eighties are back, right?”
“Totally,” Matt says, arms at his sides, face innocent even though Foggy can see his dick straining against his jeans.
Foggy decides to make one more mistake tonight and steps in to press his lips to Matt’s cheek, says, “You can sleep in my bed if you keep your hands to yourself.”
“I can do that,” Matt says, earnestly.
“You can—take care of yourself in the bathroom and borrow some clothes,” Foggy says, walking away from him. “I’m going to go wash the dishes for a conspicuously long amount of time.”
When he’s done washing them twice and drying them by hand, he sneaks a glance to see Matt curled up on the far side of his bed in one of Foggy’s t-shirt, back to the door. He takes his time brushing his teeth then jerking off sitting on his toilet, thinking about riding Matt on his couch. After he washes his hands four times like maybe Matt won’t smell it on him, he crawls into bed and lays on his back beside Matt.
Matt’s curled in a tight ball, already asleep but looking uncomfortable, face screwed up.
“Oh my god,” Foggy says, then turns to press himself up against Matt’s back, holding him close. Matt stirs and makes a questioning noise, and Foggy just whispers, “Relax.”
Matt pushes back against him until he’s comfortable and falls back to sleep in Foggy’s arms.
When Foggy wakes up to the sound of his phone’s alarm and a splitting headache, he’s still wrapped around Matt, their legs tangled. It’s a little after 7:00, and he thinks about hitting snooze but Matt’s already jolting awake, groaning.
“Loud,” he murmurs, burying his head in Foggy’s pillow.
Foggy turns the alarm off and untangles himself from Matt despite a muffled noise of protest.
“I have to go be responsible,” he says, blearily. “Stay and sleep it off, if you want.”
“Really?” Matt asks, turning around slowly so he’s lying on his back.
“Just make sure the door’s locked when you leave,” Foggy says, around a yawn. Matt nods before shutting his eyes again, stretching out. Foggy’s headed for a shower when Matt says his name, softly.
“Huh?” Foggy asks, turning back to see Matt sitting up on his elbows.
“I really do miss you,” he says. Foggy’s heart skips a little, and Matt’s face softens even more.
“I miss you, too,” Foggy says, because Matt’ll know if he’s lying, anyway.
Matt’s waiting in the lobby when Foggy leaves for lunch, leaning against the desk and chatting pleasantly with Sandy, the receptionist. She’s giggling, but Matt’s already turning his body in Foggy’s direction.
He must have gone home and changed, dressed in nice jeans and a soft grey sweater that Foggy bought him last Christmas.
“I thought you’d be long gone once you sobered up,” Foggy says. Sandy makes an interested noise behind them, raising her eyebrows, and Foggy adds, “I’ll bring you back that really expensive coffee you like if you don’t mention this to Marci.”
“Deal,” she says, then gestures vaguely towards Matt. “Also, good job.”
Matt grins at her.
“Oh my god, c’mon,” Foggy says, offering his arm. They walk silently down the block, and Matt keeps opening his mouth like he’s going to say something until, finally, he stops walking.
“I’m sorry for coming over without asking,” he says.
“You were upset,” Foggy says. “Just—consider calling first next time.”
“Next time?” Matt asks.
Foggy watches his face, the smallest upturn of his lips, all hope.
“You said you needed a distraction,” Foggy says, already fully aware it’s a bad idea and not caring at all. “And. . .maybe we can distract each other, at least. If we can’t be anything else.”
Matt grins and nods, reaching up to squeeze Foggy’s shoulder.
“Tonight?” he asks, spreading his fingers out.
“Your place?” Foggy asks.
Matt’s wearing nothing but black boxer briefs when he opens the door, which is distracting, definitely distracting—good job, Matt.
“What if I’d been the mailman or something?” Foggy asks, laughing when Matt pulls him inside and presses him up against the door, kissing him roughly.
“Could hear your heartbeat down the street,” Matt says, lips already wet close to Foggy’s ear, working Foggy’s jacket off his shoulders.
“So you stripped?” Foggy asks, gasping when Matt opens his collar enough to lick over the hickey he left last night. “God, Matt.”
“You wanted distracting,” Matt says, pulling back to grin.
“True,” Foggy says, tilting his head back against the door and moaning when Matt goes for his neck again, unbuttoning Foggy’s shirt quickly and pushing it off, too.
“Come on,” Matt murmurs, into his collarbone, tracing his hands down Foggy’s sides. “Want you in my bed.”
They collide with the wall outside Matt’s bedroom while they’re still kissing, and Matt gets a knee between Foggy’s legs and rubs him off while he gets Foggy’s belt off.
“Anything you want,” he breathes, kissing Foggy into his bedroom before he unbuttons Foggy’s pants and pushes them and his boxers down at the same time. Foggy kicks them away, stepping in so they’re pressed together.
“Fuck me,” he says, running a hand through Matt’s hair. “I want you to fuck me.”
“God, yes,” Matt says, cupping Foggy’s cheek and brushing their noses together, breath warm on Foggy’s mouth when he says, “Get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”
Matt puts on a condom and takes his time fingering Foggy until he’s open and messy with lube, writhing back on Matt’s fingers shamelessly. He knew Matt would make it good, but it’s more than that—Foggy feels desperate and lit up all over.
“Fuck me,” he gasps. “Matty, fuck me, please.”
“I’ve got you,” Matt says, warmly, wrapping an arm around Foggy’s middle and pulling him so his legs slide off the bed—bent over the side of it with Matt’s hands steadying his hips as he pushes inside of him. Foggy lets out a long breath as Matt fills him up and stretches him out, thick and throbbing inside of him.
“Yeah,” Foggy murmurs, feeling drugged, turned on enough that the spark of pain just makes it better.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Matt says, rolling his hips. “I could hear you with guys in college, could hear how much you liked taking it.”
“Wow, that’s embarrassing but—shit, oh my god—you feel so good that I don’t even care,” Foggy groans. “Why didn’t you fuck me back then? I was ready to go, I had a longstanding fantasy of this exact position but on your desk back in the dorm. Jesus, move, Matt.”
“Why did you think I kept kissing you?” Matt asks, pulling out before he thrusts back in smoothly. “I thought you’d get the point.”
“I’m clearly an idiot, you should’ve shoved your hand down my pants,” Foggy says, and then he’s not capable of saying anything because Matt’s really fucking him, because apparently unintentionally listening to his sex life back in the day gave him a pretty good impression of what Foggy likes.
“Oh, god, I knew you’d be amazing,” Matt says, squeezing Foggy’s hips before he’s holding them hard enough to bruise and pounding into him. “So sweet, all spread out for me.”
Foggy tries to slide his arm down to jerk himself off, but Matt catches his elbow, pins both of Foggy’s arms down.
“Not yet,” he says. “I want to taste you.”
“Oh my god,” Foggy says, clenching around him. “You’re a dream, Murdock.”
Matt moans, asks, a little shakily, “Yeah?”
“Yeah, in a—really dirty way,” Foggy echoes. “Are you close?”
“Getting impatient?” Matt asks, slowing down, grinding his hips against Foggy’s ass.
“Now that you’ve introduced your mouth into the equation, yeah,” Foggy breathes, laughing hoarsely when Matt starts to fuck him agonizingly slow, making Foggy squirm back as much as he can. “Come on, Matt. I want you.”
Matt’s fucking him hard enough to make the bedframe protest when he grunts out a noise and pushes in hard enough that it pushes Foggy further up the bed, his feet leaving the ground as Matt’s coming inside of him. He drapes himself over Foggy’s back, breathing hot and wet against his neck and biting down gently before he pulls out of Foggy.
“Turn over,” he says, tying the condom off, and Foggy hisses out a pained noise as he turns over to sit up on the edge of the bed. Matt turns back to him and gives him this slow smile that makes Foggy way more aware of how hard he is, dick curved up and leaking on his stomach.
“You gonna put that smile to good use?” Foggy asks, reaching out a hand. Matt steps forward to lace their fingers together, pressing a kiss to Foggy’s knuckles that makes Foggy’s heart skip, too sweet for their situation.
“Yeah,” Matt murmurs, dropping to his knees and wrapping his fingers around Foggy’s dick, smiling up at him when Foggy gasps. “I’ve thought about this, too.”
“Sucking my dick?” Foggy asks.
“How you’d sound when I did it,” Matt says, licking around the head. “How you’d taste. How you’d hold back because you didn’t want to hurt me.”
“That’s just polite,” Foggy jokes, shakily.
“You don’t have to be polite,” Matt says, licking his lips. “We’re not friends anymore, remember?”
He takes Foggy in his mouth before Foggy can say anything, going down until Foggy’s dick is pressed up against his throat. Foggy swears and threads his fingers through Matt’s hair, ignoring the way his heart kind of hurt after Matt said that.
“God, of course you’re great at this,” he says, petting Matt’s hair. “Whose dick have you been sucking?”
Matt pulls off with a wet noise, raises his head towards Foggy with his lips red and shiny.
“No one’s since college,” he says, smirking before he adds, “but it’s like riding a bike,” and takes Foggy deep again.
“Wait, whose bike did you ride in college?” Foggy asks, mildly scandalized, and Matt rolls his eyes and does something ridiculous with his tongue that almost makes Foggy come right then and there before he pulls off again.
“Do you want me to do this or not?” he asks, squeezing Foggy’s thigh.
“I want answers,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs before he stands up to shove Foggy onto his back and climb on top of him.
“A couple of guys whose names I didn’t bother to learn,” Matt says, leaning down to kiss Foggy once.
“You slut,” Foggy says, smiling when Matt huffs out a laugh against his mouth.
“Uhm—oh, what’s-his-name’s roommate,” Matt says.
“Oh, of course,” Foggy says. “I know exactly who you’re talking about.”
“Jackson,” Matt says. “Grossly rich guy who lived down the hall from us sophomore year? His roommate.”
“. . .wait, Neil?” Foggy asks. “Matthew.”
“What?” Matt asks, trailing his fingers slowly down Foggy’s chest.
“He was a Republican,” Foggy says. “He was literally the president of the campus Republicans. He was the head douchebag. His name was Neil.”
“It’s all the same in the dark,” Matt says, patting Foggy’s stomach and waving his other hand aimlessly near his eyes, “and, you know. It’s all dark.”
“You couldn’t smell his khakis?” Foggy asks, voice breaking at the end when Matt’s hand reaches his dick. “I don’t think I can—shit, yeah, just like that—I don’t think I can let you touch me knowing that you basically fucked Mitt Romney.”
“Go ahead and tell me to stop,” Matt says, twisting his wrist. Foggy bucks his hips up, groaning.
“Don’t you dare,” he says, reaching up for Matt’s hair to pull him into another kiss.
He comes with his mouth open and panting against Matt’s, and Matt jerks him off until Foggy shoves at his shoulder and makes a pained noise. Matt lets go of him and presses a kiss to Foggy’s forehead then says, “Be right back,” and climbs off of him to go wash his hands.
Foggy moves backwards to sprawl out, smiling when Matt comes back and sits cross-legged next to him, poking him gently in the stomach.
“Are you staying?” he asks.
“Up to you,” Foggy says, catching his hand and lacing their fingers together.
Matt says, “Hmm,” before basically falling on top of Foggy, laughing into his neck when Foggy groans.
“You’re heavy,” he murmurs.
“Deal with it,” Matt says, around a yawn, which is a compelling enough argument. Eventually, they move around until they’re curled together under the sheets and Foggy’s falling asleep to the sound of Matt’s breathing, feeling sore and happy and mildly confused about how exactly they got here.
Foggy’s phone alarm goes off somewhere across the room, where he left his pants. Where Matt took his pants off last night. His brain catches up to the situation when he realizes where he is and that it’s Matt who has managed to practically climb on top of him and cling to him during the night.
“Oh,” Foggy murmurs.
He wasn’t even drunk last night, but it still kind of felt like a dream.
“Ignore it,” Matt says, groggily, nuzzling into Foggy’s neck. “It’ll stop eventually.”
“Gotta work,” Foggy says, shoving at his shoulder.
“Call in,” Matt murmurs, shifting more of his weight onto Foggy. “Flu.”
“It’s too soon for the post-coital flu excuse at this job,” Foggy says. “Seriously, Matt, I have to go. Don’t you have a job to go to yet?”
Matt sighs and bites gently at a hickey he left way too high on Foggy’s neck last night before he rolls over.
“Not yet,” he says, yawning.
“How are you paying rent?” Foggy asks, sitting up to look down at where Matt’s making a face up at the ceiling, mouth twisted up.
“Elektra,” he says, quietly.
Foggy’s heart does something funny, and he can’t think of anything to do but lean down to cup Matt’s cheek and press a soft kiss to his mouth. Matt tangles his fingers in Foggy’s hair, deepens the kiss.
“Take a shower here,” Matt says. “My water pressure’s better than yours.”
“You planning on joining me?” Foggy asks, and Matt smiles but shakes his head.
“Don’t want to make you late,” he says, turning around to curl on his side, back to Foggy.
“You just don’t want to get out of bed,” Foggy says, pushing his shoulder gently, smiling when Matt shakes silently with laughter, hums out a soft mmm hmm into his pillow.
Foggy takes a quick shower and uses the towel hanging up on a hook on the door. Matt’s up by the time he’s getting dressed in his clothes from last night, pinching Foggy’s hip as he walks past in nothing but his boxer briefs from last night and grinning lazily over his shoulder. Sex dumb is a good look on Matt, and the blooming early morning reality of this situation only makes Foggy a little nervous, a little sick somewhere in the back of his head.
This is probably the worst idea he’s ever had, but, god, barely any time has passed since Nelson and Murdock fell out of existence and he already missed Matt.
And, god, the sex was good.
Matt’s leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee brewing beside him, when Foggy walks out in search of where he apparently dropped his keys.
“Did I even bring my keys?” he asks, looking over the path they took to the bedroom, and then he hears a light jingle and looks up to see Matt holding them up, hooked over a finger. “Ah.”
When he walks over to take them, Matt hides them behind his back, and Foggy snorts.
“Don’t be cute,” he says, stretching around to grab them.
“Can’t help it,” Matt replies, and then they’re tussling and laughing like idiots until Foggy grabs Matt by the face to kiss him. The keys fall to the floor when Matt drops them to get his hands in Foggy’s hair.
“Ha,” Foggy breathes, then leans down to grab them.
“You know,” Matt says, leaving a hand tangled in Foggy’s hair, “while you’re down there. . .”
“Keep it in your pants, Murdock,” Foggy says, laughing as he stands back up, still standing close to Matt.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Matt says, voice low and sweet, like he’s in full on flirting mode. It’s weird—a side of Matt he’s mostly seen off-handedly besides drunken college dalliance.
“I gotta go,” Foggy says, taking another long moment to study Matt’s face before he leans in to kiss him once, stepping away before Matt can get handsy again. “I’ll see you later, Matt.”
“Later,” Matt echoes, smiling.
It turns out later means Matt crawling into his window a little after midnight in full Daredevil get-up and kissing Foggy before he even takes the mask off.
“Can’t keep meeting like this,” Foggy mumbles against Matt’s mouth, a few minutes later, running his hands over Matt’s body to try to find a seam or a zipper or something. “Oh my god, this is like a really sexy puzzle, please get naked.”
“Since you asked nicely,” Matt says.
Matt getting out of his suit isn’t sexy at all. It takes like fifteen minutes, and Foggy’s down to his boxers and laughing five minutes in when Matt almost falls over trying to get one of his boots off.
“Do you need help there, Daredevil?” he asks.
“Just have a seat,” Matt says, bright red but smiling. “This is actually faster than normal.”
Foggy slides his boxers off and sits on the edge of his bed, touching himself aimlessly so he’s hard by the time Matt’s straddling his hips and kissing him again.
“Mmf,” Foggy says. “Finally.”
“I’ll make it worth your wait,” Matt says, grinning down at him.
It becomes a thing.
Initially, a month’s montage of beautifully dirty sex acts kind of thing, but then Matt almost dies and Foggy gets to see it on the news. He doesn’t bother to change out of his sweats, just sliding on a pair of tennis shoes and running to Matt’s place to find him stitched up and asleep on his sofa.
“Fuck, Matt,” he breathes.
Matt stirs, sitting up a little.
“Hey,” he murmurs, groggily. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Daredevil suspected dead,” Foggy says, sighing. “That’s what Channel 5 is saying right now. Y’know, I was supposed to be done being worried sick about you.”
Matt’s eyebrows knit together.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says, voice hoarse. “We’re not friends.”
“Right,” Foggy says. “We’re just—”
He lets the sentence hang there and Matt doesn’t finish it, just lets the silence draw out until Foggy’s groaning and taking off his shoes, moving to sit on the edge of Matt’s couch and maneuver carefully until Matt’s head is in his lap.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, softly.
Matt does. He tells Foggy exactly what happened, what he’s going to do next, talks and talks until he stops abruptly and says, “You don’t—want to know about this.”
“I wish I didn’t have to,” Foggy says. “I can’t seem to get rid of you, though.”
“I’ll leave you alone,” Matt says, lips tipped up in a shaky cautious smile. “Just say the word.”
Foggy pets Matt’s hair, smooths his fingers over his creased forehead.
“You should sleep,” he says. “I’ll be here in the morning.”
He stays over at Matt’s place for a few days, goes home to grab clothes and stops to buy food to fill up Matt’s empty refrigerator, but otherwise: work and Matt, who takes to the attention like a flower blooming.
“I really think we could fuck,” he says, smiling and cocking his head at Foggy, still wrapped up in bandages and looking half-dead. He’s sitting up in his bed, and Foggy’s sitting cross-legged at his feet facing him.
“Yeah, no. I’m not touching your dick until you’ve made a full recovery,” Foggy says, patting his ankle.
“I think it could help,” Matt says, reaching a hand out in Foggy’s direction. “I’ll call Claire and ask.”
“Do not,” Foggy says, laughing and taking Matt’s hand, following a weak tug to curl up next to him and press a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Thanks,” Matt says, quietly, when they part.
“For the kiss?” Foggy asks.
“For being here,” Matt says. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Because we’re not friends,” Foggy says, slowly.
“Right,” Matt says, turning to hide his face against Foggy’s chest, and Foggy shuts his eyes for a long moment before he makes another bad decision.
“Matt,” Foggy says, softly. “I—think we’re more than that.”
Matt’s breath catches, and he lifts his head up again.
“More than what?” he asks.
Foggy brushes his fingertips underneath Matt’s chin, and Matt sits up.
“More than friends,” Foggy says, and Matt smiles, cautiously.
“I think so, too,” he says. “We kind of always have been, haven’t we?”
“Different kind of partner this time,” Foggy says.
“I want to try,” Matt says, earnestly, kissing Foggy again. “You want to try?”
Foggy runs a hand through Matt’s hair.
“You can’t lie to me anymore,” he says.
“I won’t,” Matt says, immediately, and Foggy gives him a look. Matt raises his eyebrows. “Are you looking skeptical?”
“I have good reason,” Foggy says. “There’s precedent.”
“I’ll work on it,” Matt says, taking Foggy’s hand. “I promise—it’ll be better this time.”
“You work on that and I’ll work on being cool with the vigilante thing,” Foggy says. “I’ve gotten some perspective since I started this new job, and—I think I can be cool with it.”
Matt’s practically beaming, resting all his weight on Foggy as he kisses him again, gently, resting their foreheads together. It feels different—significant. Foggy sits up a little more, pulling Matt with him.
“I don’t want to watch you die, though, Matt,” he says, seriously. “I think you need help.”
“Help?” Matt asks, defensively.
“I can introduce you to some people, so you’re not out there alone,” Foggy says, already excited to see Jessica react to seeing Matt’s Daredevil suit in person. “I’ve got connections.”
“Yeah?” Matt asks, laughing.
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a big shot now.”
“A big shot, huh?” Matt asks, leaning in again, brushing their noses together, lips almost touching.
“We’re still not fucking,” Foggy says.
“Come on,” Matt groans.
After Matt’s mostly recovered, he comes over to Foggy’s place with Chinese takeout and says, as soon as Foggy opens the door, “I think we should have dessert first.”
“Is that innuendo?” Foggy asks, barely getting it out before Matt’s kissing him, letting the bag slide out of his hand and drop to the floor. “That’s a lame line, even for you, Murdock.”
“Shh,” Matt says, covering Foggy’s mouth with his hand. “I’ve been very patient.”
Foggy bites at his palm.
“You’ve been very broken,” he says, but he goes willingly when Matt leads him towards the bedroom, mostly because Matt looks borderline healthy and definitely happy. Foggy presses up to kiss his forehead. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
“Are we playing doctor?” Matt asks.
“Considering the sheer amount of your blood I’ve seen in my life, I will never be into that roleplay,” Foggy says. “Now, take your clothes off. I want to try something.”
Matt gets undressed quickly and sprawls shamelessly across Foggy’s bed while Foggy opens the top drawer of his dressers and picks out a few ties. He thought about Matt when he bought them, about Matt’s silk sheets on his skin.
He drops them on the bed beside Matt, keeping a light blue silk one to trace it down Matt’s chest.
“That’s nice,” Matt says. “What is it?”
“Fancy ass ties,” Foggy says, moving to sit next to Matt, moving the silk down to his stomach. “I thought I’d tie you up, if you’re into that. You seem like you’d be into that.”
“Good instincts, as always,” Matt says, reaching up to pull Foggy into a kiss. Foggy keeps moving the tie down while Matt’s distracted until he can wrap it around Matt’s erection, making Matt buck up and moan.
“Good?” Foggy asks.
“Don’t stop,” Matt says, letting out a startled laugh against Foggy’s mouth when Foggy slides the tie up then down again, jerking him off with it. “Foggy.”
“I’ll buy silk sheets now that I know you’re sticking around,” Foggy says, moving his hand slowly, dipping down to kiss Matt’s neck. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Matt pants, more moan than actual word.
Foggy bites gently at Matt’s skin before he’s sitting up again, letting the tie drop from his hand as he moves to hold onto Matt’s wrist instead.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Please,” Matt says, and Foggy lifts his wrist to press a kiss to it before he’s picking up another tie and knotting one end at Matt’s wrist. He ties Matt up slowly, stopping to kiss him and touch him until Matt’s basically writhing with his arms stretched out above him and tied to the headboard.
“Comfortable?” Foggy asks, patting his side.
“Very,” Matt says, going for casual and failing completely. “You should probably keep touching me.”
“Should I?” Foggy asks, taking a few long moments to take in the side of Matt all desperate and sweaty in his bed until Matt frowns and Foggy laughs and kisses it off his face. “Alright, chill out.”
He picks up the tie that he dropped earlier and wraps it around Matt’s dick again, kneeling next to him with his other hand sprawled across Matt’s stomach so he can do much more than move his hips incrementally.
“Faster,” Matt pants.
“You gonna come for me already, Matty?” Foggy asks, tightening his grip, the silk slick under his fingers and getting dark from where Matt’s leaking onto it.
“Probably,” Matt admits, laughing. “Fuck, Foggy, that’s so—oh fuck, I love you.”
Foggy falters for just a moment before he speeds his hand up, moving to kiss Matt roughly as he jerks him off until Matt’s just babbling a mix of praise and obscenities against Foggy’s cheek and coming between them. He sinks into the bed after Foggy lets go of him, letting out a harsh breath.
“I think I might have ruined your tie,” he says, faintly.
“You can ruin them all,” Foggy says, tossing it to the side and wiping his hands off on the sheets he’s throwing out tomorrow to replace with ones that will make Matt’s eyes roll back in his head. He moves to straddle Matt’s hips, adding, “I’ll just buy extra ones. Sex ties.”
“Because you’re a big shot?” Matt asks, laughing, almost giddy.
“Yep,” Foggy says, sliding his fingers into Matt’s hair and bending down to kiss him, dick nudging up against Matt’s stomach. He thinks about fucking him, almost idly, but the idea of getting off of Matt to get lube doesn’t seem like it’s worth it.
Instead, he kisses Matt and rubs against him while Matt talks him off, pretty, dirty things between messy kisses until Foggy reaches down to finish himself off with an undignified grunt of Matt’s name.
He lies mostly on top of Matt until Matt says, “You know I’m still tied up, right?”
“Just gonna keep you here,” Foggy says, muffled against Matt’s chest. “This was my evil plan all along.”
“You don’t have to tie me up to keep me here,” Matt says, and it sounds like I love you again. Foggy looks up and he’s sure that his heart races when he sees the soft look on Matt’s face.
“I believe you,” he says, because maybe Matt was wondering, because he doesn’t need to hear Matt’s heart to know that, at the very least, Matt thinks he’s telling the truth. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.
Matt’s smile practically knocks Foggy out.
“You really do,” he says.
Foggy unties him, and Matt stretches his arms out before he wraps them around Foggy, pulling him close. They’ll have to clean up eventually, but for now, they’re together. And that really is enough.