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It started because he was drunk.

Fuck, how many of his godawful stories started like that?

Anyway, he was drunk on victory vodka. He’d just won a particularly difficult case (lions had been involved, it was a fucking travesty) and Josie had actually given him the free drinks he deserved for once. He was drunk and happy, and he got distracted by the lights.

New York was a beautiful city, full of classy people and trashy strip joints. The Marvel was not one of those joints. It was a place where rich people with more money than morals went. It was a place where gorgeous people who looked like they could take down tanks danced to tasteful music. It was a place where, tonight, Foggy could actually afford to go.

The interior was red, with white leather couches and armchairs arranged around a shiny black stage. On said stage a blonde woman was power lifting about a small car’s equivalent, rotating her hips to the music.

Fuck yeah, this was good.

He went to the bar and ordered himself something fruity that a bunch of middle aged women near the middle of the room were drinking, then went to sit in a front row armchair. He was not missing any of this. He sipped his drink happily as the woman tossed down her weights and bowed, flashing a few boys in the front row an impish smile.

“And give it up for Captain Marvel, ladies and gents,” the MC crowed as the woman flounced off, looking very proud of herself. Foggy watched her go sadly. Damn, she could easily crush his skull with her thighs.

Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed, then went out completely. Foggy blinked in the blackness, wondered if this was going to be where he died. How embarrassing.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” the MC whispered. There was an electric excitement buzzing around the room. “The man without fear…Daredevil.” A low, thumping bass that Foggy could feel in his bones started.

A single red spotlight fell on the stage, outlining the silhouette of a man suspended upside down a good fifteen feet in the air, arms out, muscles in stark relief as he gripped two hoops. Foggy leaned forward in his chair, drink forgotten.

More lights came up, and now Foggy could actually see the man. He wore a tighttighttight red leather body suit that left nothing to the imagination. His head was covered with a cowl that had actual little red devil horns, but his ass was so incredibly round and pert and distracting that Foggy couldn’t even bring himself to find them funny.

The man took a deep breath and flipped off the rings. He landed at the very edge of the stage, not five feet away from Foggy, and smirked at the crowd, drinking in their cheers. Foggy absently noticed that his cowl didn’t have eyeholes. He was doing this blind.

Foggy couldn’t help himself. He imagined this beautiful creature in his bed, blindfolded and helplessly oversensitized and writhing beautifully. The logical part of his brain that was at the top of his class in law school was telling him that was probably exactly what they wanted and there was no way that a feat like that could be done without being able to see. However he was drunk and already standing on the first step of a staircase leading down to falling in love, so that part was not very big.

The man rolled his shoulders and got into a boxing stance, playfully throwing a few punches then backflipping back to center stage. He landed with a little gyration and the crowd roared. Foggy was having a religious experience. This was better than the first time he’d been in court.

The man -- Daredevil, and damn, wasn’t that fitting, Foggy would sure as hell sin for that -- found a little zipper on the front of his suit, revealing pecs and abs to make a grown man (like Foggy) weep. Soon he was naked to the waist, dancing and flipping and occasionally doing what looked like advanced mixed martial arts, and Foggy wished he could see his face because the curve of his mouth suggested complete and utter bliss.

When he finished, Foggy left. No one could follow. He gave a one hundred dollar bill to the bartender, requesting that it be given to the Devil.

Then he went home and slept for thirty-seven hours straight.


 

The second time, he wasn’t drunk. He’d won the case, but only barely, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been worth it. The money in his pocket felt like it was covered in blood. He didn’t want it.

He wasn’t thinking when he walked into the Marvel and asked the bartender if he knew how one could get a lap dance from Daredevil. He didn’t care how much it cost (and it cost a lot).

He was in a private room when the man entered, a wicked grin fixed firmly on his face. His face that Foggy couldn’t see, damnit. This time it wasn’t the red leather but simple tight black shirt and pants. His face was covered by a black zorro mask with no eyeholes. It was fucking ridiculous and fucking hot and Foggy resisted the urge to growl.

“Hello,” the man purred, his voice sounding like cool leather and dark chocolate and something flaming.

“Do we have to do the talking thing?” Foggy bit out, then flushed. “Shit. Fuck, sorry dude. That is so not what I meant. I had a rough day, I’m not trying to be rude. Fuck. Sorry.” The man’s mouth ticked up in the corner.

“Huh. You have a nice voice.” He strolled over, cool as a fucking cucumber and sat on the table in front of Foggy. “Don’t get men that often. What’s your name?” Wow. He was. Really close. He also smelled really nice? Not chemical. He had like, a man smell. But a good man smell. Musky. That was probably the thing that it was called. He had pretty much the best lips ever. “F-Foggy.”

“Foggy?” He chuckled. “Now who has a stripper name?”

“Umm… Still you, Mr. Dare-fucking-devil.” Oh hey, there you are, smart mouth.

The man barked out a laugh. “Funny. I like it.” He stood, elegant, liquid, and prowled around Foggy. “So,” he whispered, those sinful lips brushing against Foggy’s ear. “What do we want tonight?”

Foggy wanted to grab him by the ass, feel all of those wonderful muscles, kiss that strong neck, watch his back arch, listen to him scream…

“Why the…mask thing?” he asked, then stopped, shaking himself. What the fuck, Franklin? Beautiful boy. Get him to move those hips for you.

Daredevil laughed, poking his head around so Foggy could see his covered face. “So I don’t get followed home by boys named Foggy.”

“No. The…no eyeholes. How do you see? That material looks too thick to see through, and the other one looks like it’s covered with leather…?”

“Oh.” He laughed, then tapped just under his eyes. “Blind. Literally would not be helped at all by holes. People seem to-”

What the fuck is a fucking blind person doing flipping off the fucking ceiling in a fucking strip club?

Daredevil tilted his head. “Um…?”

Foggy was furious. “What the fuck. What the fuck. There’s a law about that, I’m fucking sure. Workplace safety. You can’t fucking do that.”

“Um.”

“Do you need a lawyer? I’m a damn good lawyer. I could help you out. You need a new job? I can probably get you a job.”

“STOP!”

Foggy shut up.The guy looked. Well. He looked pretty fucking pissed.

“Sorry, but you are way overstepping yourself here.” The little bit of his face that Foggy could see was flushed and his mouth was set in a hard line. “I’m a big boy, I can do whatever anyone else can do, so please don't ask for me again.” He stood, stiff, his shoulders set defiantly, then left.

The bartender tried to give him his money back, but Foggy insisted it go to Daredevil. He was about to write an apology note when he remembered. Fucking blind.

What the fuck? 


 

He didn’t go back for months, not until Karen’s birthday.

For once he wasn’t fresh out of the courtroom, so he wore a loose fitting pair of jeans and a shirt that read IF LOST, PLEASE RETURN TO KAREN. (Karen’s I AM KAREN shirt was one of his presents. She loved it. Best gift giver ever.)

She had wanted to go to the Marvel because they had been winning so many cases that they could afford a night of glitz, glam, and butts. Foggy had ignored his discomfort because this was her night, and what Karen wanted, Karen got.

And, because his life sucked, Daredevil was the first act. Karen watched with unabashed awe, and when he was finished she turned to Foggy, eyes shining.

“I want one.”

“Karen, he’s kind of-”

“I want a lap dance, Fog. He’s literally flawless.”

“He’s a bit-”

“No. Get me a lap dance.”

Damn her. He went to the bartender, who looked less than pleased to see him. “It’s for my friend, I swear, not for me.”

They were lead to a private room. Foggy wanted to just let her go alone, but she point blank refused. She needed a witness for this level of sexy. Sometimes, he hated her a little.

It would be fine though, Daredevil was blind. All he had to do was not talk. No one would have to get mad and it’d all be good and Karen would get a hella good lap dance and Foggy would see what he missed by being a dick.

But it went to shit when Daredevil entered in his blacks and froze, face turned towards Foggy.

You,” he growled advancing menacingly.

Foggy hid behind Karen. “What? What? I didn’t say anything, how did you know it was me?”

“You use some sort of incredibly expensive coconut oil conditioner and cheap Walmart-brand laundry detergent.”

“You can fucking smell me?”

“Foggy what’s-”

“Karen, protect me.”

“Karen, hi, you sound very nice, but I’m afraid Mr. Foggy here has to go.”

“Why-”

“I was a sad and a dick and I made him mad. Can I please -”

“No! You’re not leaving me with the crazy smelling dude.”

“He’s blind, not crazy.”

“Oh my god how did he do the flips?”

“With excessive training and formidable expertise, thank you very much.”

“Listen, I feel bad about being mean. Please help me, Karen, I don’t like hurting people’s feelings.”

“I thought you said you were a lawyer.”

“I can be a nice lawyer!”

“Oh really?”

“I was having a bad day! I was concerned!”

SHUT UP!” That was Karen.

She glared at Foggy and Daredevil, tossing her blonde hair. Her voice quavered a little, but she had that look on her face that meant that Thor’s hammer could literally hit her in the face and she wouldn’t stop. “I’m going to leave now and get a drink. Franklin, apologize. Um...Daredevil. Listen to what he says, he’s just a little dense sometimes. When I return I will pay you extra, and if you’re not opposed to the idea I would like a little lap dance, because I’m tipsy and it’s my birthday. Goodbye.”

She marched out, leaving Foggy as the Mayor of Awkwardville, in the county of Awkwardia, in the middle of the state of New Awkward, in the country of the United States of Awkward.

“Um,” Daredevil looked shocked. “She’s.”

“A flaming hellbeast who will never get an awesome shirt for a birthday ever again.”

“Oh.”

Foggy sighed, rubbing his temples. “Dude, I’m sorry for what I said last time. It’s so cool that you can do what you do. Mega cool. I just sort of got this vision of your bloody corpse at my feet while I choked on my margarita. I panicked. I do that a lot. Panic. Like I am. Right now.”

He put his head between his knees.

“Oh my god, I hate being a dick.”

Daredevil stood there a second then sat next to him, giving him an uncomfortable pat on the back. “Well. Um. I guess, if you’re really this sorry, then you’re. Forgiven, I guess?”

Foggy looked up, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Dude, how much does the opinion of a stripper matter to you?”

Foggy frowned. “About as much as any other person’s opinion matters?”

Daredevil tilted his head. “Hm.”

He stood, and Foggy sighed, watching him go.

Karen’s lap dance looked amazing. Foggy was indescribably jealous.


It turned into a tradition.

When he won a case, he went to the Marvel.

Sometimes Karen came, but it was usually just him.

He’d pay for a drink, a private room, and a lap dance from Daredevil. At first he was always wary, always distrustful, but then every time Foggy asked for him they just sat and talked. Soon, Daredevil’s face lit up whenever he walked in and smelled coconut and cheap detergent.

That night the case had been incredible. It had been hard and he was bone-deep tired, but it was the good tired. The kind where every pained movement marks a job well done.

He had whined until Daredevil forced him to turn around for a massage, and Foggy was resolutely ignoring his boner. Somehow Daredevil had become the second of his two friends, a he didn’t want it to…seem like he was turned on by a friend. His friend the stripper. His friend the really, really hot stripper. Fuck his life.

“So,” he muttered into the couch, sighing happily. “Do you like it?” He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant there. Wow, he was a little more intoxicated than he thought.

Daredevil paused, then shrugged. “Sometimes. I like the money. I like the… showing off what I can do. I like meeting people who aren’t dicks about it.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I was doing something else. When I get groped or someone treats me like I’m nothing but a piece of meat. That sucks. I guess.”

Foggy wanted to pet his hair, but it was hiding under the stupid mask. “What would you do? If you…weren’t here.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Law. I got into Columbia actually, was gonna do the whole thing, start a practice, be a defense lawyer but then…well. Shit happened.”

“I went to Columbia.” Foggy sat up, studying him. “We might’ve known each other.”

“Maybe we’d’ve been roommates.” Daredevil sounded wistful.

“Maybe we’d’ve been best friends.”

“...Aren’t we already?”

Foggy paused. He’d never really…had a best friend. Karen was a Karen, not a. Well.

“I don’t even know what you look like.”

“Hey, I don’t know what either of us look like.” Daredevil’s face was twisted into an unhappy, fake smile, and Foggy hated it.

“When did you…”

“Nine. Chemical spill. I pushed a guy out of the way.”

“Jesus.”

“I remember what seeing looked like. I guess…I’m glad sometimes, but sometimes I’m not. I wonder if it’d be worse to never have seen my dad’s face or to start to forget what it looked like.”

Foggy let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and then his arms were around Daredevil, hugging him tight. “Jesus. You’re so brave. You’re so brave…”

“Matthew,” he whispered.

Foggy pulled away. “What?”

“My name. It’s Matthew.”

Foggy blinked. There was something unguarded and frightened in the shape of Daredevil’s -- Matthew, Matt’s -- mouth and shoulders. Foggy wondered when the last time he’d been so open was.

“Matthew. Well then, Matty, you’re so, so brave.”

Matt sighed, then hid his face in Foggy’s shirt, clinging to him.

They stayed like that until closing.


New York was a big city. Really big. Famously big. You would not believe how big the city was. Enormous. Wow.

Yet somehow you still managed to run into people you’d never thought you’d cross paths with in daylight.

Foggy was in a rush, coffee clutched in one hand, a file in the other. He had a meeting in ten minutes, and he wasn’t watching where he was going.

Then BAM! He ran headfirst into a solid wall of Hot Man.

His coffee cup was squashed against Hot Man’s chest so now there was coffee on his suit and his file and Hot Man’s shirt. White shirt. Now sort of see through? Damn son, nice abs. Fuck. Important legal documents and expensive suits and coffee were not a good match. He was panicking.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to...Shit. Are you okay? Did it--”

He finally looked up at Hot Man’s face, and all the blood in his body went south.

He knew those lips, pink and plush and parted in shock. He knew that jawline, chiseled like it was marble. He knew the exact curve of that neck, the dark stubble that in certain lights had a perfect auburn glow.

“Matt…”

He didn’t know the little laugh lines around his eyes, or the way his hair was messy and downy, like baby bird feathers. He didn’t know that his ears stuck out, giving him a look reminiscent of a confused puppy. He didn’t know he had bushy eyebrows that got all squiggly when he was confused.

He knew that Matt was hot. But no one mentioned that he was also fucking adorable.

Then Matt swayed on his feet, face pale, and Foggy remembered that he was panicking.

“Fuck. Fuck, Matty, it’s okay. Here. Here, let’s sit down.” The meeting was forgotten as Foggy lead Matt to a little coffee shop a few doors over, murmuring careful warnings when there was a bump or crack that he was in danger of tripping on. Matt had a white and red cane as well, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to have some more help. Not that he needed any help at all. Flawless ninja and all.

They were seated at a little table in the corner and Matt hadn’t said a single word. His focus seemed to be on a point somewhere just over Foggy’s right shoulder. His shoulders were tense. He looked ready to flee any second.

Foggy wished he could see his eyes, which were covered by red tinted glasses. Would he never get to see his best friend’s entire face?

“So…” he muttered, staring at the table so he wouldn’t fall even more in love with Matt’s face. Bam, bam, bam, a he hit his head a few times as he tumbled down. “Um. You’re cute. By the way. You mentioned not really knowing what you look like so. Yeah. Pretty cute. A+, good job. For growing. That. Yup.”

He glanced up just in time to see a little flicker of a smile, and the way it was paired with the crinkling around his eyes made him melt.

“Eeey, look at that. Not totally freaked. C’mon, Matt, give me something. I’m about to start screaming.”

“Hi Foggy,” Matt whispered, voice a little hoarse. “You owe me a new shirt.”

And like that, Foggy knew it was going to be okay.


The first time Matt came to his apartment, he deep cleaned the entire place.

Matt was the one who suggested hanging outside of the Marvel. Foggy knew that he was uncomfortable with how much money he received after a “lap dance”.

“Fogs,” he had whined, sprawling out tragically over the couch in their private room. “I feel like a friend prostitute. A friendstitute. A prostifriend.” Foggy had relented, but that didn’t mean that Daredevil didn’t still get mysteriously large tips from a mysterious benefactor. The bartender at the Marvel was getting sick of Foggy’s shit.

It had started with coffee on Saturdays. Then the occasional dinner on Matt’s nights off. And then they were having lunch at the little sandwich shop about halfway between the Marvel and Foggy’s office every day. Karen was starting to make married jokes.

So now they were on to the next step: movie nights.

Anyway, he was cleaning because he didn’t want Matt getting overwhelmed by his junk food smell and tripping over all of his shit. That would suck. He also got a neat thing online that made little braille stickers, and he stuck those on the doors and all of his cabinets so that Matt knew where stuff was. Why Matt would need to know what was in his cabinets, he didn’t know, but maybe he would, because snacks?

Foggy had pirated a cool copy of Stardust with a voiceover that said what was going on, ordered from his favorite Thai place, and was sitting in his living room fiddling with a hideous throw pillow his mom had given him when the doorbell rang. Foggy nearly died twice sprinting to the door, and he answered it with a huge, dorky smile that he was really, really glad Matt couldn’t see. That is, until he saw that Matt’s smile was even huger and dorkier, and he fell one more step down the endless staircase that was falling in love with this man.

“You made it!” he cried, throwing his arms around Matt and dragging him into the room.

“You can afford me at the Marvel but not a building with an elevator?” Matt griped, letting himself be manhandled.

“I can’t afford a building with an elevator because I get you at the Marvel, oh ridiculously fit person who has no reason to complain about going up stairs.”

Matt snorted, finally pulling away. His glasses were a little skewed and Foggy averted his eyes while he fixed them. He had once been resentful that there were still things he wasn’t allowed to know about his best friend, like his last name or the color of his eyes, but now…He still wanted to know those things, but he had accepted he might never get to. Matt was a private person, and he respected that. He hated it, but he respected it.

“So.” Matt turned to him, million watt smile lighting up the entire room. “Show me around?”

Foggy gleefully dragged him around his home, showing him the little braille stickers on the doors and cabinets. Matt got a weird look on his face when Foggy brought his hand to one so that he could feel the words.

“What?” Foggy asked, dropping his hand like it had burnt him. “Am I being an ass about it again? I just wanted to make sure that you could find everything.”

“No!” Matt’s cheeks were a little pink. He fiddled with the hem of his ridiculously soft looking henley. “I just. No one’s ever done something like that for me. Just to make me more comfortable.”

Foggy was flushing too now. He shoved Matt’s shoulder, looking everywhere but his face. “Hey. That’s what friends are for.”

Matt nodded, smiling shyly. His hands went to the little sticker on one of the cabinets and he arched one perfect eyebrow. “Foggy, why is one of these labeled ‘enough booze to drown out the pain and loneliness of a thousand nights with nothing but your right hand’?”

Foggy was laughing too hard to answer. He was so fucking funny.


He knew something was wrong when Matt missed their movie night.

Matt was meticulous when it came to keeping appointments. He didn’t just forget. The problem was, he wasn’t at the Marvel. He wasn’t at their coffee shop or sandwich place. He wasn’t at Foggy’s apartment. He wasn’t at any of the places where Foggy could find him. He didn’t know Matt’s last name or his phone number or his address or his fucking neighborhood.

The bartender at the Marvel let him stay all night without buying a thing, and he left a braille note on his door for Matt, asking him to call if he came over, but he never showed up.


It was two weeks before Matt showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night, pale as a ghost and refusing to speak. He moved impossibly slowly, like he was in pain.

Still, Foggy wasn’t expecting the stab wound in his gut.

He moved without thinking, without pausing. For some reason, an ambulance didn’t even occur to him. He ripped off his shirt. Put pressure on the wound. He lead him to the couch. Lay down, stay here. He found his first aid kit. It needs stitches. He stitched him up and bandaged it.

Foggy, stay with me.

Always, Matty.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses. His eyes were brown.


The next day, Matt tried to sneak out without waking Foggy, but he set off an elaborate trap that involved a rope, a net, a plunger, three loaves of Wonder bread and the set of barbells Foggy had once bought in an I am going to get fit rage. The racket stunned Matt enough that Foggy had time to jump off of the armchair where he had been dozing and sit on Matt’s legs.

Matt made a pained sound, but Foggy refused to go anywhere. “Nope. You are not leaving, mister. Not until you explain what the actual fuck last night was and then clean the blood off my couch.”

“It’s not what it looks like?”

“Not an acceptable answer.”

“Foggy, I think I sprained my ankle, please get off my leg.”

“Are you going to run away?” He shifted a little, taking his weight off Matt’s ankles.

“Foggy -”

“That better end with, ‘of course I wouldn’t, you deserve to know why I got your couch bloody.’”

“...Of course I wouldn’t, you deserve to know why I got your couch bloody.”

“That’s what I thought.” He stood, crossing his arms. “Anything else I need to patch up for you?”

“No.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“...No.” Foggy glared.

“My ribs. I might have cracked a few.” Matt had the audacity to look sheepish about it. Foggy grabbed his first aid kit, grumbling all the while. Once Matt’s ribs and ankles were wrapped and Foggy had poured himself a oversized glass of very good whiskey, Matt started talking.

“I got in a fight.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Foggy took a huge gulp, eyes starting as it burned all of the way down.

“I get in...a lot of fights. With a lot of people.” Matt looked ready to flee. “Bad people.”

Foggy took a deep breath. “Bad people how?”

“Last night…There was a woman. A girl, really. Seventeen or eighteen years old. About six guys had ganged up on her...”

Foggy felt sick. “Where’s this girl now?”

“At home, with her family.”

“And the men?” Matt’s smile was vicious. “If they’re lucky, some of them made it to the hospital before they bled out.”

Well fuck.

“Well fuck. My best friend’s a stripping vigilante.”


Foggy took some courses in first aid. He got a bigger first aid kit. He wet vacced his couch. He bought more booze.

Matt snuck in through his window at least once a week and Foggy patched him up. It terrified Foggy. Not the part that Matt warned him about, the part where Matt’s enemies might find out about Foggy and try to hurt him. No, what scared him was the idea that one day Matt might not come to his window bleeding. That he’d be bleeding on the streets, alone. Afraid. Cold. Dying.

Foggy couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when Matt had become the most important person in his life. Maybe it was from the very beginning, when he first saw him hanging from the ceiling. Floating, flying. Not a devil but an angel in disguise.

He knew more about Matt now. He knew he was a cat person. He knew he preferred Vietnamese food over Thai. He knew he spoke Spanish. He knew he was a devout Catholic. He knew that for him the world was nothing but shades of red and he could “see” better than Foggy could.

He knew that his dad was Battlin’ Jack Murdock, and he died because he couldn’t lose one more fight.

Matt had cried when he told him about his dad. He had been in pain and angry and he hadn’t been able to save someone. His dad had won the fight but lost his life, and Matt had been so alone.

Foggy had reminded him that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Matt had gotten that weird look on his face again, the same look as when Foggy told him that a stripper’s opinions mattered and when he’d first felt the little braille stickers.

Foggy was terrified because there was nothing more beautiful than Matt’s face when he charged into his apartment at three am, flushed and high on adrenaline. The times when all he needed was a package of frozen peas, when his whole body seemed to be made of victory, those were the dangerous times. Those were the times when Foggy almost said the words out loud.

He wondered if they needed to be said. Surely, Matt knew.

Bam, bam, bam. One more step.


It started because he was drunk.

Fuck, how many of his godawful stories started like that?

There wasn’t any crime to fight tonight. Matt’s worst injury was a little cut over his left eye. The news was playing softly in the background, and they were playing two truths and a lie over a bottle of cheap red wine.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Foggy was laughing hysterically. There was not a lot of wine left in the bottle. “I almost went to Harvard, I hate my stepmom and I know a foreign language.”

Matt frowned with his whole face. It made him look like a confused pug and Foggy fell down another step.

“I can’t accept the idea of you at Harvard.”

“Wrong!” Foggy sing-songed. “I don’t have a stepmom.”

“Dammit.” Matt took another sip of wine. “Okay. Um. I can kick three people in one movement, I have the entire Constitution memorized and I’ve never slept with a man.”

Foggy froze, frowning. He didn’t doubt the first two but… “Seriously? Never?

Matt shook his head, flopping back on the couch. “Not ‘cause I never wanted to. Just, you know. It seemed like a cool idea in theory but I never met anyone I wanted to do it with in actuality.”

“Huh.” Foggy went to pour himself another coffee mug of wine, but they were out. “We’re out of wine, I’m don’t like giving blowjobs, and I’ve never had a best friend.”

“Of course you’ve had a best friend.” Matt laughed, but stopped when he realized that Foggy hadn’t joined him.

“Oh. Huh. Is there any wine left?”

“No. I love giving blowjobs.”

Two perfect little spots of color rose on Matt’s cheeks. “Oh.”

Foggy felt brave, the alcohol like a fire in his belly. “Your turn.”

“Um. I’m blind, I fight crime, I’m a big fat sub.”

Apparently he wasn’t the only one feeling courageous.

“I’m blond, I’m super into being dominant, I like cake.”

Matt laughed, flushing even more. “I didn’t picture you as blond.”

“Eh. Dirty blond.”

Matt leaned forward, suddenly very intent. “What else?”

“What else what?”

“You. What else? What do you look like?”

Foggy frowned. Huh, weird to think that Matt didn’t actually know. What did he look like? “Well…I’m pretty husky. My hair’s shoulder length. My dad says it makes me look like a hippie. I have blue eyes? Sort of a square face? Not much in the eyebrow department. I’ve got a lot of wrinkles and stuff, I’m thirty but I look forty five. My teeth are too big, my lips don’t really hold them. But I’ve got dimples, so that’s nice. Sort of a normal nose…” He glanced at Matt, whose eyebrow was raised in a ‘bullshit’ way. “What?”

“You’re not painting an impressive picture here.”

Foggy’s face heated. “Well it’s true! I’m not…gorgeous. Not like you.”

Matt tilted his head. “Can I at least decide that for myself?”

“How would you -?”

Matt’s hands were a millimeter away from his face. “Can I?”

Foggy swallowed. “Um. Sure.”

Matt’s fingers were impossibly gentle. They moved over his face like it was a grid, like he was reading braille. What words did he feel on Foggy’s skin? Then, he started grinning, then he was positively beaming. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, delighted. “That’s not what I expected at all.”

Foggy wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted. “What did you expect?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. Something between Indiana Jones and James Bond -” Foggy nearly choked on his own spit, “- but this is so much better.”

“Better?” Foggy croaked. “How?”

Matt’s face was going to end up stuck in that stupid grin. “You look like you sound.”

“And what’s that like?”

“Home.”


It started because he was in love.

It started because Matt’s eyes were brown and his last name was Murdock.

It started because tomorrow Matt might not come back to him.

It started because he wanted it, and Matt was home too.


Matt’s mouth tasted like cheap wine, but Foggy had forgotten he was drunk. Alcohol had nothing on a Murdock boy. Matt kissed back shyly, like he was afraid, but when Foggy’s tongue brushed over the seam of his lips he made a noise like he was drowning.

He wasn’t really injured tonight, but Foggy still couldn’t help but treat him like glass. This was Matty, this was the person who understood his lame-ass jokes and argued with him over the existence of God. This was something precious.

But then Matt made a sound low and primal and Foggy was on his back under him before he knew what was happening and they were kissing sloppy and hot and careless. Matt bit at his lip and fucked into his mouth with his tongue, all the while squirming over him and making a soft little whining noise deep in his throat.

Foggy managed to pull away, grabbing Matt by his shoulders when he tried to come in for more. “Whoa, Murdock. Slow it down, I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt’s pupils were blown and his lips were red and slick and swollen. He whined at Foggy, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t wanna slow down. Want you.”

Foggy sighed, one hand going up to stroke through Matt’s downy hair. “You’ve got me, Matty. Didn’t you know that?”

Matt glared, nipping at his nose. “No, dumbass. I didn’t know.”

Foggy blinked. “You can literally smell me through like four floors and hear my heartbeat.”

Matt rolled his eyes so hard that Foggy was scared he might hurt himself. “You stopped getting erections around me after month three. I figured once you knew me you weren’t into doing…stuff anymore.”

“Stuff.” Sometimes Foggy couldn’t believe that Matt was actually technically a sex worker.

“Yes, stuff. I knew you were attracted to me at first, but I figured that just sort of…went away.”

“Went away.” Foggy shoved at Matt’s shoulders. “You think that I spent this long with a gorgeous, funny, reckless, brilliant man, watched him nearly die on my couch about five million times, spent way more money than I really want to think about on him, rearranged my entire life around him…and all of my feelings about him, through all of that, just went away?” Foggy considered hitting him. Or kissing him. Or giving him a ring.

“Well. It sounds sort of dumb when you say it like that.”

“It sounds really dumb.

And then they were kissing again.

Matt kept trying to speed it up, to turn it fast and messy, but Foggy wouldn’t let him. Matt wasn’t for rough, drunken one night stands. Matt was for candles and love making. From the way he was gasping and rolling his hips over him, Foggy couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever been kissed like this: slow and burning and decadent.

“Foggy,” Matt begged against his lips.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Foggy sat up, taking Matt with him. Matt clung to him, breaking the kiss to move to his neck, nipping and suckling and making noises that would drive any man insane. “Okay, wow, fuck. We need a bed.”

Matt wrapped his legs around Foggy’s waist, vicelike. He didn’t seem to have any plans of letting go any time soon. Foggy sighed and stood, letting Matt hang on like a koala. Sure, he wasn’t made out of muscle, but Matt was slim and he wasn’t exactly a weakling. He stumbled a little on the way to his room, movement impaired less by Matt’s weight and more by the incredible thing he was doing to his adam’s apple with his tongue. Wow, that was nice. He finally managed to get his bedroom door open and walked over to the bed. Matt seemed to sense when they were close enough and let go, falling onto his mattress gracelessly and sprawling out over his unmade sheets.

Foggy’s breath caught in his throat. The curves and lines and angles of Matt’s body were silhouetted against the street lights outside of his window and his eyes sparkled in the gold glow. He thought back to the first time he saw Matt, back when he was nothing but a marvel of nature, a creature of shadows and lust. Now he was just a man, a man made of laughter and cracks through which all of the incandescent parts of his soul broke through.

Foggy had never loved anything more than Matt’s flaws.

“What are you staring at?” Matt whispered, suddenly self conscious.

Foggy chuckled. “I’m trying to figure out how this beautiful boy got lost and ended up in my bed.” Matt blushed, squirming a little and Foggy pounced. “I’m also,” he managed between kisses, “trying to figure why he’s still wearing so many clothes.”

Matt giggled, honest to god giggled, then pushed Foggy away. “You know,” he murmured, grinning shyly. “You’ve paid for a lot of lap dances from me. Maybe… maybe I could finally give you your money’s worth?”

Foggy groaned. “You have the best ideas.”

Matt stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited kid and Foggy’s heart melted. He started humming to himself, the same tune that had been playing the first time Foggy had seen him, and swayed his hips. Foggy’s mouth watered a little. Matt started fiddling with hem of his shirt, lifting it enough to show off his washboard abs then hiding them again. He bit his lip and Foggy whimpered.

“You,” Foggy whispered, slinging his legs over the bed and sitting up to get a better view, “are sinful.”

Matt grinned and sashayed up to Foggy. “So,” he murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of Foggy’s ear. “What do we want tonight?”

Foggy shivered. “Whatever feels good, Matty.”

Matt grinned and moved back a few steps and his head falling back, eyes sliding shut. He ran his fingertips down his chest, gasping softly to himself when he brushed over his nipples. “You have no idea what you do to me, Foggy.” He pinched a nipple through his shirt, his entire body racked in a shudder. “I can’t think, I can’t focus on what’s around me, it’s all just you.” He pushed his shirt up, catching the hem with his teeth to keep the fabric out of his way. The muscles of his stomach jumped and rippled when his fingers made contact. “I thought I was sensitive before, but I feel like a live wire with you. Sometimes you just brush against me and I feel about ten seconds away from coming.”

“Fuck,” Foggy whispered. Hey, raging boner, you seeing this? This seem fair to you?

Matt finally tugged his shirt off and Foggy took a little breath. He was employing lap dance rules here, no touching, but he wanted to kiss every one of Matt’s scars. Matt wrapped his arms around himself, bowing his head, and made a tiny little noise to himself. “Sometimes it almost hurts, it’s so much. Sometimes I lie in bed, thrashing around, and everything feels too much. I come over and over and over, without even touching myself, because I can still smell you on my skin, I can still hear your laugh.”

Jesus.” Foggy’s brain wasn’t working anymore. Goodbye, logical thought.

Matt popped the button of his jeans and Foggy couldn’t help but stare. “Fuck, Foggy. I can taste your arousal in the air. It’s like being high.”

He slid into Foggy’s lap like he was meant to be there and nowhere else. His was quivering, shaking apart. He clung to Foggy like it was the only thing he knew how to do and rolled his hips. “Foggy. Foggyfoggyfoggy.”

Foggy couldn’t take it anymore. His hands went to Matt’s ass and he cried out, like the touch was burning him. Like it was pure ecstasy. He shook against Foggy for a moment then slumped, breathing hard.

“...Did you just come?” Foggy whispered, awed.

“...Might’ve.” Matt was blushing down to his toes.

“Oh. Because if you did, I think I have officially never been more turned on than I am right now.”

Matt laughed, kissing lazily over his neck. “So coming in my pants like a teenager wasn’t as dorky and awful it felt?”

“No. No, it was awesome.” He guided Matt’s head up for a kiss. He didn’t break away for what felt like forever.

“I feel all sticky and gross,” Matt finally admitted, and Foggy laughed.

“We can deal with that.” He laid Matt out on the bed once more, carefully tugging off his pants and underwear. Matt was hard again, eyes squeezed shut and breathing deeply.

“Fuck, Matty.” He chuckled, running a hand over Matt’s hip and watching the way he jumped in delight. “How much is it going to take to satisfy you?”

Matt shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “Not like you have to do much. Just you there is enough to drive me crazy. As you saw.”

“You do so much for my ego.”

Matt laughed, high and breathless. Foggy kissed his way down his chest, stopping to suck and nip at one of his nipples and revelling in the way it made him keen. “What do you want, Matthew?”

Above him Matt gasped softly. “Fuck me.”

Foggy swallowed then reached for the drawer in his bedside table, fumbling to grab his almost completely unused bottle of lube and a condom. “You sure?”

“Never been surer,” Matt affirmed, spreading his legs tantalizingly. “Franklin Nelson, make an honest man out of me.”

Foggy snorted, and it was perfect. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders and he remembered, this wasn’t earth shattering, this was just the next step on the never ending staircase of loving Matt Murdock.

“Nerd,” Foggy murmured, drizzling the lube over his fingers. “Beautiful, wonderful nerd.”

Matt came again when Foggy pressed his first finger into him with a helpless little cry. Foggy tried to stop, but Matt just bucked his hips up when his fingers still. “More,” he croaked out, impossible to refuse.

By the time Foggy was scissoring two fingers, Matt was hard again and begging Foggy to, “Stop with the prep and fuck me. I can take it. Do you see this scar?” He gestured at his entire body. “Hurt way more so fuck me already.” F

oggy swatted him on the hip, ignoring the little aborted moan it got. Info: filed for a later date. “It’s not supposed to hurt, dumbass. It’s supposed to feel nice.”

Matt jammed his head back against the pillow, making a long, high whining sound. “I guess if I ask for it on my knees you’ll say no to that too.”

Foggy’s breath hitched and his fingers froze for a second. “Um.”

Matt’s hips jerked up almost violently. “No! Don’t stop!”

Foggy pulled out his fingers, adding more lube, then pushed in three in one hard slam. Matt nearly screamed, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. “You need prep,” Foggy explained, the same icy calm that sometimes hit him in court falling over him, “because I’m saying yes.”

He crooked his fingers, hitting Matt’s prostate straight on, and Matt howled into his palm as he came again, eyes wide and stunned.

Foggy spent a few more minutes stretching Matt, but at this point he was loose and languid, eyes glazed, smiling at Foggy through his moans and gasps of pleasure. Foggy pulled his fingers out and ripped open the condom packet, for once getting it onto his dick on the first try.

He slicked himself up then paused, cupping Matt’s face gingerly, like he was made of glass. “Matty? You still with me?”

Matt nodded, humming. “Can you roll onto your stomach for me?”

Matt obeyed with some struggle.

“Can you get your knees under you?”

Matt shifted as he was asked, pressing his ass up into the air and wiggling it with another little giggle. Foggy wished he could capture this moment and hang it on a wall.

He lined himself up behind Matt and pressed in slowly, gently. Matt was hot and tight and flawless and Foggy couldn’t breathe with the pure pleasure of it. When he bottomed out he paused for a moment, feeling Matt flutter around him. “How are you?” he whispered. “Thumb up, sideways, or down?”

Matt held up two thumbs so fast that he nearly punched the lamp off of the bedside table.

Foggy grinned. “Alright then.”

He started fucking into him, slow and careful and deep. Under him, Matt was shaking like a leaf, mouth open and shaping pleasured little sounds that didn’t seem to be able to escape. “God, Matthew. If you could see yourself. You’re blushing all the way down to your toes and your mouth’s scarlet and bruised. You make these faces like you can’t even believe how good it feels and it’s fucking incredible. You’re like a work of art, they could put you in a gallery and sell you for a billion dollars. And god, the way you take my cock…It’s like you were made for it. You take me so, so well. You look so pretty, stretched around me…”

Matt was crying now, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and Foggy sped up. “Matty,” he groaned, biting down on Matt’s shoulder and relishing in the way Matt’s mouth opened in a silent scream. “Matt. Matthew. I’m close. Do you think you can do it for me one more time, baby?”

Matt reached back, grabbing Foggy by the back of the neck and yanking him and pressing their mouths together. He sobbed into the kiss, writhing as he came dry, sobbing soundlessly.

Foggy pressed into him as deeply as he could, kissing back desperately. Matt clenched around him and he came hard, whispering. “I love you.”

Just before he drifted off, he heard Matt say, clear and concise, like a vow in a church. “I love you too, Foggy Nelson.”


It started because he was drunk, but it ended with the love of his life becoming his first and only best friend, nearly bleeding out on his couch every other week, and saying he loved him back. The rest was just one more step on the endless staircase that was falling in love with Matt Murdock.