Matt’s sneezed four times since he walked into their apartment a few minutes ago, and it takes him a second to connect the smell of stale cinnamon and plastic and thick dust with the sound of Foggy singing Wham and come to the correct conclusion.
“Did you find Christmas decorations in a dumpster?” he asks, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up on the wall before he walks over to kiss him on the cheek. They’ve been engaged for half a year and Matt still gets kind of giddy that he gets to do that.
He sneezes again.
“Donation from my parents,” Foggy says. “Is the dust killing you?”
“Kind of,” Matt admits, “and it smells like—just, a decade of old ham.”
“Well, they live above a butcher shop,” Foggy says, “so everything kind of smells like old ham.”
“Including you,” Matt says, smirking. “When we met, I was a little skeptical of you as a person until the smell faded.”
“You’re telling me it wasn’t love at first sniff, Murdock?” Foggy asks, mock outrage but laughter underneath his voice, trailing his fingers over Matt’s arm as he passes him to go open a window. Matt follows the touch and takes in a deep breaths of fresh air—well, New York fresh and everything under a layer of cold that hurts a little.
“Not until about a month in,” Matt says. “When you started to smell like you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Coffee,” Matt says. “Pencil shavings, lavender shampoo—which I really like, by the way—uhm, sweat. Sex, a lot of the time.”
“Right,” Foggy says, seriously. “From all the sex I was having.”
“Or all the jerking off,” Matt says, smiling.
“Well, I was spending all my time with a porn star and I didn’t get to touch him,” Foggy says. “Sue me.”
Matt rests his hands on Foggy’s shoulders and turns him toward him, leaning in close.
“Wish you’d touched me sooner,” he says.
“Well, if I’d known how easy you are…” Foggy says, laughing when Matt rolls his eyes and pulling him in, kissing him as Matt loops his arms around his neck and moans softly when Foggy’s tongue barely grazes his lower lip.
“Only when I’m being paid,” he says, breathlessly, huffing out a laugh when Foggy leaves a pointed silence between them. “Okay, maybe always. Mostly for you, though.”
“You’re slutty for me, Matty?” Foggy asks.
Matt’s about to reply when he has to turn his head and sneeze again, three times in a row.
“Meet me in the bedroom where the dust isn’t,” he says, making a face and stepping away to wash his hands, “and I’ll demonstrate.”
Foggy cleans and airs out all of the decorations while Matt’s at the gym the next day, and it smells like peppermint and chocolate instead of decaying tinsel.
“Cookies?” he asks, dropping his bag by the door.
“You’re just in time to keep me from eating literally all of them,” Foggy says, happily, from where he’s sitting on the kitchen counter—heels kicking gently against the cabinet underneath. “C’mere.”
Matt walks over and smiles up at him when Foggy cups his cheek in one hand, opening his mouth so Foggy can feed him a bite.
“Oh my god,” he says, sliding his hands up the side of Foggy’s thighs. “Do I really get to marry you?”
“Am I a good housewife?” Foggy asks.
“The best,” Matt says. “Did you finish decorating?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll show you,” Foggy says, sliding down when Matt takes a step back and taking his hand to lead him to a corner of the living room. “This is our tree. It’s ugly and lopsided and perfect.”
Matt reaches up to run his fingers over the branches, lights warm to the touch, ornaments jingling softly. He swallows hard, trying to figure out what to say, and Foggy steps closer and rubs his back gently.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Matt says, turning to smile shakily at him. “I just—I haven’t had a Christmas tree in a long time.”
“Oh, honey,” Foggy says, after a pause, drawing Matt into his arms and holding on tight. “Is it okay that I put it up?”
“Absolutely,” Matt says, quickly, into his shoulder. “It’s a good thing, it’s—it’s like we’re a—a family.”
It feels weird to say. Foggy was the closest thing he had to family since he was a kid, but it’s different now that they’re firm in what they feel for each other, that they have words for it and plans and rings that they bought together at a pawn shop because they’re dirt poor since they left L&Z but Matt wanted to have one so he had something he could touch.
Foggy’s going to be his husband.
“We are,” Foggy says, smoothing his hair down. “You’ve always been my family, Murdock.”
Matt pulls away to kiss him on the mouth, softly.
“I love you,” he says. They said it about five seconds after they hooked up for the first time and he’s made sure to say it at least once a day ever since. Sometimes twice.
Sometimes five times.
“I love you, too,” Foggy says, running fingers through Matt’s hair, “and it’s entirely possible that the extended Nelson clan loves you even more—in a platonic way, hopefully.”
“I don’t know,” Matt says, straight-faced, “Some of your cousins. . .”
“I will fight them all,” Foggy says, laughing, “to prove that I am the superior Nelson.”
“You don’t have to prove that.”
“Maybe I want to,” Foggy says, running his hand down Matt’s arm to lace their fingers together.
Foggy does this fun thing with his voice when he’s flirting, deeper than normal and rich, that Matt hasn’t told him would probably go over really well with a director. Foggy always jokes that he doesn’t have the looks for porn and Matt doesn’t really know what he looks like, but he knows how he sounds and feels and fucks and—he’s not convinced. Matt’s had a lot of sex and none of it compares to being with Foggy.
“Show me the rest of your decorations,” he says, squeezing his hand.
“It’s basically just a fuckton of tinsel,” Foggy says, “but, like, enough that I should probably warn you of its whereabouts, so yes—let’s go.”
Matt was never planning on showing Foggy the movies that he pulls out on Christmas Eve, but they agreed not to spend money that they don’t have on presents and he knows in his heart that they’ll bring Foggy more joy than anything else he could give him.
He’s sitting on the couch in nothing but his briefs with a stack of DVDs on the coffee table in front of him when Foggy comes back with cheap wine and pizza.
“Oh my god,” Foggy says, happily, walking over to sit them down on the table and pick up one of the DVDs. “Is this going to be the best Christmas ever?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Matt says, biting his lip to hide a smile.
“Oh my god,” Foggy repeats, breathlessly. “Is this Santa porn, Mikey?”
“I prefer—seasonal erotic entertainment,” Matt says.
“Fuck,” Foggy says, laughing. “Mikey Murcock stars in Naughty or Nice II. Two? How many did you make?”
“. . .five, I think?” Matt says. “They were popular.”
“Good stocking stuffers, I imagine,” Foggy says, leaning down to tip Matt’s chin up and kiss him on the mouth before heading toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change if you want to get it started.”
“No pants!” Matt calls after him, reaching for his laptop.
“I know the rules of this house!” Foggy calls back.
“You know, I was wondering if you were going to be naughty or nice,” Foggy says, swallowing a mouthful of pizza, “but I probably should’ve assumed.”
He’s lounging with his back against the arm of the couch and his legs slung over Matt’s lap; Matt’s pizza is on a paper plate resting on Foggy’s thigh.
The bottle of wine’s held between Foggy’s legs. Matt lets his fingers graze against Foggy’s erection before he picks the bottle up and takes a long drink, saying with a probably wine-stained smile, “That I’m very nice?”
“You, maybe,” Foggy says, “but Mikey, based on what Santa’s doing to you right now, has been a bad, bad boy.”
He’s being paddled over Santa’s lap. The shitty velour costume felt awful on his skin but the guy wearing it was fun to work with, kept making shitty Christmas puns to make Matt break and laugh on camera.
“Have you seen any elves yet?” he asks.
“Elves?” Foggy asks, delighted.
“Pointy ears,” Matt says. “Dumb costumes.”
“I have seen no such elves,” Foggy says, laughing, “but I’m excited for that to change.”
“Mmm, Matty,” Foggy moans, empty bottle and pizza abandoned to the floor so Matt can straddle his lap and kiss his neck. “I love your mouth.”
Matt bites down enough to hurt before leaning up to kiss him roughly. The sounds of the movie fade into the background and into the feeling of Foggy’s hands roaming his back, tugging at the waistband of his briefs without pulling them down entirely.
He almost doesn’t notice the jingling sound but, when he does, he murmurs, “Elves,” and shouts out a laugh when Foggy sits up straight and almost drops him on the floor.
“Oh, sorry,” Foggy says, laughing and pulling him close to hug him and watch over his shoulder. “Sorry, babe, but—elves. Y’know, for grown-ass adults wearing jinglebells in several different places on their bodies, they’re pretty hot. Do they get in on the action?”
“Hmm, no,” Matt says, pressing a kiss to his chin before moving to kneel in front of him instead. “They’re just there to watch.”
“. . .watch?” Foggy asks, heartbeat speeding up.
Matt grins at him and reaches up to pull down his boxers.
“Okay,” Foggy says, dropping his head back and laughing brokenly. “Tell me the truth, Mikey—whose dick do you like sucking more, me or St. Nick?”
Matt pulls off and makes a show out of considering it before Foggy tugs gently at his hair, making him laugh and say, “Fog, I didn’t even know what sucking a dick truly meant until I sucked yours.”
“That’s it,” Foggy says. “Those are your wedding vows.”
“Maybe we’ll save that for the honeymoon.”
Matt tightens his hand around the base of Foggy’s dick just to hear the noise he makes before taking him in his mouth again, going down slowly until his lips are touching his fingers.
“Oh, god, I love you,” Foggy breathes.
Matt swallows around him and reaches his other hand up so Foggy slides their fingers together and holds it tight.
“Alright,” Foggy says, after he comes and catches his breath, pulling Matt’s hair again. “Come sit on Santa’s lap.”
“This can’t become a kink,” Matt says, obeying happily, sitting sideways in Foggy’s lap.
“I don’t think I’ll be turned on by the sound of jingling bells anytime soon,” Foggy agrees. “Now—since you’ve been such a good little boy, I’m gonna give you a present.”
“Oh, what could it be?” Matt asks, lifting his hips when Foggy tugs his waistband down.
“It’s, uh. . .” Foggy says. “No, I can’t think of anything holiday-related. It’s a handjob.”
“Just what I asked for.”
“Santa delivers,” Foggy says, licking his palm before wrapping his fingers around Matt’s dick. “You don’t get to come until the credits roll, though—sound good?”
“Perfect,” Matt moans.
Half an hour later, the screen is black and they’re tangled together on the couch with Matt on top, cheek resting on Foggy’s chest.
“Best Christmas ever?” he murmurs.
“Yeah, Matty,” Foggy says, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Best ever.”