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Dancing on my own

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This is the third party they’re attending where they've both got their own invites, because someone’s been blooming— Matt’s from another girl (yup, way to go Murdock) and Foggy’s from Jake. Things are still relatively new but Jake’s great and exactly who Foggy needs at the moment. He’s easy to talk to and is all too familiar with the ache of wanting someone impossible. They commiserate, make things light and fun for each other, nothing serious, just supportive pals who also help to get each other off. It’s mutual comfort, a mutual effort to keep the mopey eyes at bay.

These parties usually go the same way since everyone just wants an evening to blow off steam— and maybe a few other things: Matt and Foggy will head there together, they’ll check in with each other if they’re spending the night somewhere else, but otherwise they’ll be off hanging with whoever they’re with, only occasionally coming into each other’s orbit before drifting away again.

Matt’s probably not coming back to their dorm tonight; he did after that first party but didn’t for the next, stumbling back well past noon the next day with the kind of ease that could only come after a great lay, color high on his cheeks. (Foggy hears his peers talk. He knows the things they say about quiet, hot, charming Matt Murdock, knows about his steadily building reputation that started after a few late night Spanish study sessions, the whispers about how good and attentive he is in bed) Foggy had laughed and clapped his hand on Matt’s shoulder, waited until he was safely conked out in bed before he made his way to the library. He was getting better at packing away that familiar ache and the jealousy that often felt childish and misplaced, but sometimes the cool and quiet make it easier to do all those things while licking his wounds.

“Matt!” Beth, Matt’s date spots them and makes her way over. She’s in something short and satin-y and Foggy already knows Matt’s hands are going to be plenty occupied.

“Alright, have fun buddy,” Foggy says and Matt grins in reply before turning towards Beth. He holds in a sigh and watches them walk away.

“I suppose this is my cue to say ‘fuck that, let’s have our own fun’?” Jake asks with a smile as he comes up from behind and wraps his arms around Foggy’s middle. Foggy’s sigh flutters out of him in relief, several shades pale of a laugh. It’s good to see him.

“Hell yeah we are,” Foggy says, turning around in the embrace and kissing him. He’s going to make the most of this night.

It’s a little while later when he’s chest to chest with Jake, fingers curled around the nape of his neck, that he looks out across the room— in between splashes of darkness the lights flash red and purple, red and purple— and spots Matt on the couch with Beth. She’s perched on his lap, every movement makes her dress shimmer, a siren in the dim lighting.

Matt leans in and says something in her ear and she laughs, throwing her head back. She licks his neck at one point, prompting Matt to pull her in to kiss her deeply, his other hand sliding up from her shoulder, thumb resting on her cheek while his fingers splay out along her neck and Foggy has to squeeze his eyes shut and look away.

The music changes; melancholic electronic tunes weave through a steady, thumping beat and Foggy pretends it’s Matt who’s holding him instead as they sway to the music, warm and tight, squeezing that sour ache out of his bones as he buries his face in Matt’s neck and breathes him in, memorizing every bit of detail he can about him.

What actually happens is that every beat leaving the speakers pulls his heart further and further out of his chest, a strange, magnetic pull headed towards a single direction, a particular person, and Foggy bites his lips hard. He’s surrounded by arms and movement and warm bodies but he might as well be adrift at sea, cold and alone. He almost misses the warm lips that press against the side of his head, the voice that asks if he’s okay, if he wants to get out of here.

Foggy knows he hasn’t been fair to Jake. He pulls back and takes Jake’s face in his hands, kisses him sweet and slow and makes it good, an apology for not being present, a correction that he’ll do better for the rest of the evening. When Jake groans and presses his erection against Foggy, he laughs and responds with his own.

This, he can have this, he can be happy with this. It’s good enough for now. It is.


Guilt creeps in slow and cold because Beth smells, tastes and feels like a dream but his attention’s barely where it ought to be.

Foggy’s got his head on Jake’s shoulders, their bodies moving in tandem to the beat. The gentle sigh he lets out when Jake tightens his arms around Foggy glows to his senses, and Matt imagines that puff of air floating and drifting until it comes to rest on his skin, and he shivers.

He’s hyper focused on Foggy but he still jerks when Foggy starts kissing and grinding against Jake, completely missing what’s happening with his own dick until it’s too late. Beth’s breath hitches before she covers it with a laugh, shifting in his lap to press soft, luscious lips against his.

Matt wants lots of things in that moment; he wants Foggy, wants to be in Jake’s shoes, wants to feel Foggy’s body against his.

He wants what his subconscious has been putting in his dreams, wisps of yearning that leave him hard and panting when he wakes: focussing on every little bit of Foggy— his voice, his heartbeat, his touch, his smell. They’re in a sea of bodies when Matt loses himself to the thumping bass and Foggy’s body, his world narrowed down to just those two things. He pictures the way they’re both bathed in dancing lights, reds, blues, yellows, greens as he presses close until they’re essentially grinding against each other. The music makes their pulse beat in tandem with each other’s until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

He tastes the sweat on Foggy’s neck, the little pleasured gasps that only Matt can hear, the way his body sings when Matt squeezes at Foggy’s sides before sliding his hands into his back pockets, pulling him flush against Matt so there’s no mistaking what they’re both feeling.

“Oh,” Foggy sighs, surprised and— yeah, he’s grinning— into his mouth. Everything about Foggy right here in his moment a feast for his senses and Matt indulges, takes his fill again and again until they’re both panting.

“I think we should take this someplace else,” Matt murmurs into Foggy’s ear, licking on his lobe just to feel that shiver.

“I know you mean home,” Foggy says, and Matt’s heart blooms at the fact that Foggy thinks of their room as home, “but what do you say to a little bathroom quickie?” A sly hand slides over the front of Matt’s zipper.

“A very compelling invitation I can’t refuse,” Matt replies with a grin, kissing Foggy one more time. “Lead the way.”

Fuck, fuck. He’s a dick. He shouldn’t even be here if he’s barely paying attention to Beth. She moans against his mouth and it rolls through him. Matt tightens his hold on her hips, fingers sliding against the smooth material of her outfit. Would Foggy like that, being held tight? Would he melt under his touch, demand to be held harder? Would he still want Matt when the lights come up and morning rolls around?

The questions don’t peter out; they still chip, chip, chip away incessantly at him when Beth gets up for the restroom and he bumps into Foggy at the back, both of them getting drinks.

“Hey,” Foggy says, knocking his shoulder lightly against Matt. “You having a good time?”

“Yeah,” Matt always says, because it’s always a partial truth— his heart just tends to disagree with his body, and Foggy always gives him a fist bump in return. Tonight’s no different.

“So listen,” Foggy starts, and Matt’s stomach grows heavy and cold, because he knows that tone. He plasters a tight smile on his face, thinks better of it a moment later and hides it behind his beer. “I think I’m gonna sleep over at Jake’s, so, um, yeah. You good?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Matt lies, and his teeth feel extra sharp in his mouth. Or maybe it’s just his lies cutting jagged lines.

“You gonna spend with night with Beth?”

“Uh,” he says, picks at the label on his bottle. “I’m not sure yet, but maybe? Probably.” Yeah, it’s definitely not his teeth.

“Good, that’s...good,” Foggy murmurs, a little awkwardly but then he laughs and claps Matt on the back and says, “Alright, see ya tomorrow Murdock. Be good,” before walking away.

Matt doesn’t stay long after Foggy leaves. He doesn’t stay with Beth either.

Foggy likes him, Matt knows that much from Foggy’s heart and from their first day. Foggy also likes a lot of people.

But Matt likes Foggy too, it should be a no brainer.

Matt hates that everything has to be difficult for him, hates that he can’t let himself have nice things, that he can’t let himself have Foggy. He can’t ruin the best relationship he’s had in a very long while just because his dick’s being stupid and his heart’s pining.

Something sidles forward, unbidden. Then don’t ruin it , it says. Matt rubs at his chest but scoffs.

He’s hollow and unmoored; he needs a sign.

If, if he does this, he has to stick the landing, no in between, no second tries. This isn’t something he can fail. He cannot lose Foggy.


Matt gets his sign just after three in the morning, familiar footsteps in the lobby of their building that make his pulse race triple time and make his mattress feel too hot.

Foggy smells like Jake and a fine time but he’s back earlier than expected; his heart says he’s surprised to see Matt when he opens the door, and his breathing says this is a welcome surprise. All Matt knows about this thing with Jake is what Foggy’s told him, that ‘We’re just having fun; it’s nothing serious,’ and he wonders how amenable Foggy would be to Matt draping himself over Foggy until he smelled like Matt.

“Hey,” Foggy says, kicking his shoes to the side and pulling his beanie off. Matt takes a deep breath, picking apart the components that aren’t Foggy until what remains in his lungs is pure, crystalized and exactly who he needs. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt replies and means it, no jagged cuts in his mouth this time. He smiles in Foggy’s direction, making sure Foggy sees that Matt’s pleased to have Foggy home too before he gets up to pour them both bowls of cereal. He knows how Foggy gets peckish after a night out. “It is now.”

Foggy makes a questioning noise but his skin grows warm when Matt’s fingers brush against his as he hands him a bowl, and something from behind Matt’s rib cage makes a break for it, liquid heat that lights up at his nerve endings and makes his breath stutter.

Matt goes for it, takes a leap and somersaults through air.

He’s not going to ruin it. He’s going to do this right.

He’s going to stick the landing.