Work Text:
When Foggy kisses Matt the first time in their new rinky-dink office/deli, Karen gone for the night and Theo long gone for the night, it truly does feel like all the romance novel clichés converging onto the press of Foggy's lips against Matt's. Sparks fly at that moment of first contact, birds sing when Matt's mouth parts, and the earth shakes as Foggy angles his head to nip at Matt's bottom lip. But just as soon as the kiss begins, Matt is backing away, shaking his head.
His chest heaves up and down, like he's somehow ran a marathon in the five seconds he spent kissing Foggy. Color flushes his cheeks and ears. His tongue darts out to moisten those still-parted lips, and his breath stutters. He looks wrecked.
"Matt?" Foggy questions. "Are you okay?" Has Foggy fucked up? He thought— He'd thought they were on the same page. Matt's whispered "please" in answer to Foggy's request for permission to kiss him seemed clear enough a minute ago, but then why is Matt now standing three feet away from him.
Matt shakes his head again. "Too much. It was too much, sorry. I didn't want to"—his face screws up in a snarl of distaste—"come in my pants."
Foggy's eyes are wrested from the tempting form Matt makes, red and ravaged, to glance down, and oh. Matt is hard—very hard based on the pyramid his cock is making of his pants. All that simply from kissing Foggy? The kiss hadn't been chaste, but it hadn't been—Foggy stares at Matt's crotch some more, riveted—that dirty.
"I could help with that," he says dumbly.
Matt looks torn for five seconds then fumbles his fly down and unbuttons his boxers. His cock freed, it's even more obvious how eager he is. Precome beads at the tip, and Foggy wants to wrap his mouth around that head.
Matt's "please" this time is rough, dragged out of him with profound want. "Kiss me again," he pleads.
Foggy can do that. He takes a step and cups Matt's jaw. Tilts his head and rubs a thumb over day-old scruff. Then brings his lips to Matt's once again. This time, the earth really does shake as Matt comes undone under him.
It may be the hottest sex— Does it count as sex? All they did was kiss, and not even for a prolonged amount of time. But the blissful look on Matt's face as he catches his breath belies Foggy's mental quibbling. They definitely just had sex while standing next to Matt's desk, and it was the hottest sex of Foggy's life.
~
~
Foggy wants to ask questions—Is this a Matt thing? A senses thing? Has Matt always been this...responsive?—but is forced to hold off until they have a night free of Daredevil. Sex is off the table until they talk, and in the meantime, Foggy brings lunch for the office to see Matt's face light up and Matt leans in that little bit closer as they walk together, awkward though it sometimes is, and there's overall a doting air about the office of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, which Karen teases them about. Foggy learns to keep kisses to soft brushes against Matt's crown or quick pecks to his cheeks unless he wants Matt to break things off, murmuring "too much" against the skin of Foggy's throat as he buries his face there and tries to rein his reaction back in.
Foggy spends a week bringing himself off to the memory of wrecking Matt with a kiss, of Matt's breaths ghosting across his skin, and to the knowledge he's the one bringing Matt to such a state.
Sex needs to be on table, Foggy so wants sex to be on the table—though maybe not a literal table because he thinks both theirs are too rickety to withstand the rigors of what Foggy wants to do, not that he's opposed if they can find a one sturdy enough.... But Foggy's wary of preceding without knowing what he's getting himself into here. He wants whatever they do to be good for Matt, and thirty seconds of making out does not seem satisfying as a long term plan, as hot as it had been at the time.
Matt himself is ever amenable to a little lip action, always leaning in when Foggy reaches for him, and the soft sigh he gives just before flesh meets flesh is something Foggy is tucking away in his box of sweetly precious memories. But Matt also keeps things contained to above the shoulders and does not give any information to Foggy about how he wants to proceed, which leaves the task of broaching the topic to Foggy.
So Foggy inquires about Matt's night life (surprisingly calm in the wake of Fisk's re-arrest, and Matt believes the other criminal players are biding their time to see where the cards fall from the FBI's investigation before making any big moves themselves) and asks him over to his place for drinks, casual-like, and Matt counters with a can they go to his place instead, which Foggy agrees to despite the billboard. He has hopes the billboard won't be as much of an irritant as it usually is, not if their conversation is fruitful.
Once the takeout is put away and beers are in hand, Matt starts. "So, uh, you may have noticed...." He trails off. Licks his lips and fails to restart. Blue and green plays across his face from the ad outside.
Foggy takes pity on him. "That you're a bit sensitive? Oh, yes, and it is way hot by the way."
Matt gives him a half smile and picks at the paper label on his bottle. "I can tell. It doesn't help with my, um. My problem."
"Hey, man." Foggy reaches over to put a hand on Matt's knee. Far enough down he doesn't think Matt will misconstrue the gesture as him trying to start anything. They may be talking about sex, but sex isn't why Foggy is here with Matt. (Well, it's why they're right here in this place at this time, Matt's apartment on a quiet Thursday night. But in the larger sense—in the important sense—sex is unimportant when put in comparison to all the rest of Matt. And Foggy needs to make sure Matt knows that.) "I didn't kiss you because I thought it'd be a good way to get aeonic long rounds of lovemaking. I did it because I wanted to kiss you, Matt Murdock, the Frodo to my Samwise. And, like, however things shake out, whatever you and I look like together, we can make it work." He squeezes Matt's knee. "Okay?"
Matt nods, digesting Foggy's words. Hopefully they have truth ringing clear enough in them to overcome Matt's nerves. "We can make it work," he mutters, more to himself than to Foggy. He sets his beer on the coffee table and turns to Foggy. "I get overwhelmed during sex. And I don't want things to be over in less than a minute, but I'm afraid that's what's going to happen. Hell, I can barely survive kissing you." His chin, which had been jutting out unrepentant, dips.
Foggy is very aware of that, and all it does is make him want to kiss Matt more.
The ad switches to warm yellows and oranges, highlighting the slight copper burnish of Matt's hair, which only fuels his desire to reach out and touch. Matt is beautiful, Foggy is transfixed, and they need to also at some point have a formal conversation about new terms for this new thing between them—mutual declarations of love and confirmations of desire are all well and good as a starting point, however Foggy wants to hear the word "boyfriend" (or "lover" or "significant other"—whichever term is Matt's preference, Foggy likes them all) fall from Matt's mouth in relation to him.
But that's a discussion for a different day and not the current crux.
"Do you think," he asks, "it would help if you set the pace? Tell me to slow down or back off if things are too much."
Matt's jaw drops in the tiniest gape of surprise, as though he thought his lot in life would forever be quick, unfulfilling sexual encounters. Which begs the question because Foggy has over a decade of watching Matt and Matt's affairs from the sidelines, and he had gleaned nothing, not even a hint, that this facet of Matt existed before this week. He wants to know more even as his imagination starts filling in the blanks with pictures of Matt messy and panting, spent.
He tries to rein in his mental fantasies, though the rising color on Matt's cheeks says maybe he isn't very successful. How much is Matt getting from him, when they aren't even touching aside from Foggy's hand on Matt's clothed knee?
"That might work," Matt says. "But only if it's 100% my pace. You have to follow my directions."
Matt licks his lips, and Foggy tightens his hand on Matt's knee, stopping himself from kissing the spit off those pretty lips. Matt groans.
"Foggy...."
Foggy sneaks a peek down: Matt's sporting a bit of chub. Is he this worked up already as a response to Foggy?
"Too much?" he asks and removes his hand when Matt nods.
"I, um, my senses, they—" Matt lapses into awkward stutters, as he tends to when attempting to explain something about himself he's never had to explain before, not until Foggy refused to leave him after his biggest secrets came out. "I can smell your pheromones. Hear your heartbeat quicken. It's...potent. Especially so given...given how attractive I find you."
And what a heady rush that is, that part of Matt's problem is he's too into Foggy.
"I also find you incredibly attractive, so that works out," Foggy says.
"I can tell," Matt chuckles. "Could we try...."
When Matt trails off, Foggy stresses, "Whatever you want, it's your show now."
"Could you blow me?"
Foggy is already moving to kneel on Matt's rug as he says, "Absolutely."
He ends up between Matt's knees, strong calves bracketing him in place, and looking up at Matt, who's already beginning to flush. Foggy wonders if Matt can feel the warmth of that redness as it crawls down his neck, painting his eagerness across his skin for Foggy to marvel at.
With a different partner, Foggy knows how this would go: he'd slide down their pants, careful, then tease with his fingers some—gentle strokes to get them keening for more—before going down on them fully. He's given a lot of oral in his life and is justifiably proud of his skills, but those skills can't serve him here, not with Matt.
He keeps his hands to himself, and reaffirms, "Your show, Matty."
"Stay just like that," he instructs and works open the fly of his pants. He lifts up just enough to tug his underwear down far enough to free his cock.
And what a gorgeous cock it is. Already hard and pointing at Foggy, a shade of dusty rose that Foggy's going to make his new favorite color.
"Okay," Matt breathes. "You can, um, you can...."
Foggy takes pity on Matt, who's already breathing heavily just trying to get the words out. "Suck your cock?"
Matt nods. Foggy leans in.
He wraps his lips around Matt's cock like he wants, slides down as far as he can easily go, lifting his tongue up against the underside, careful to keep his teeth out of the way. He bobs his head, not wanting to release any more of Matt from his mouth than he must, and by the third bob, Matt's thighs are shaking as he pushes Foggy away, frantically muttering, "Too much! Too much, toomuch, toomuch."
Foggy goes, opening his mouth wide to release Matt at the first touch to his shoulders.
Matt's red across his entire chest, and his cock twitches in excitement when Foggy looks at it, drinking in his handiwork as slick spit shines pink from the reflected glow of Matt's apartment billboard.
"Just let me know when you're ready for more."
Matt takes a minute for himself, and Foggy does his best not to give too many sexy signals. Deep, measured breaths and a stare directed at Matt's cloth-covered shin. The signal for readiness comes in the form of Matt cupping the side of his head and guiding Foggy down. Foggy keeps things light, only the head of Matt's cock passing his lips before he pulls back. No sucking, though he does flick the tip of his tongue along Matt's slit.
An amuse-bouche of a blowjob, were Matt not Matt.
Matt lasts longer than before, but soon he's once again pushing Foggy back, away from his cock, the words "too much" filling the air between them.
When Foggy's safely away, he releases Foggy to throw an arm across his face as his head thumps resignedly against the sofa back.
"This isn't going to work. I'm a three-stroke bloke at best now."
Foggy very emphatically does not want to stop now, wants this to work for Matt, because the heady power of Matt coming undone so easily under his ministrations has him hard and aching, eager to see Matt unravel all the way.
But Matt sounds and looks defeated, the upper half of his body where his head and his heart are giving Foggy defeated signals even as pre-come beads at the head of his cock.
"Well," Foggy says, "what did you do with previous partners? I know you're not a virgin."
"I didn't have this problem with previous partners!" erupts out of Matt before he slumps back, face still hidden underneath his arm but his mouth a downward, unhappy slope. "Just...just do whatever you want. And don't be surprised when I come immediately."
Which is not exactly a rousing endorsement to continue with blowing Matt. Foggy curls an arm around Matt's calf, wanting that reassurance of connection. Their relationship, this aspect of it at least, is still so new—so tender—as they navigate new pathways, and it's not...it's not fun like this, with Matt enduring ten seconds of head as his body races him to the finish line.
Foggy has no desire to continue if Matt's not enjoying himself as well.
He clutches Matt's leg tighter. "We can stop here. We don't have to do anything."
Matt bites his lip, and in other circumstances Foggy would find that mesmerizing.
He sighs. "I want to stop here," he admits. "I can't— I won't— You look like you're bracing for the worst sex of your life, and that's not what I want. For me or for you, for us."
Matt removes his arm from his face, and it's easy to see the concern on his face. Brows crease together in sad, wobbly lines as he reaches for Foggy, finds where Foggy is hugging his leg and tangles their fingers together. It makes for an awkward scrunch down, especially given how Matt is somehow still hard.
"No," Matt reassures, "no. Foggy, you're great. Wonderful at sex. Just thinking about your mouth makes me—" He cuts himself off to shudder, gripping Foggy's hand like it's a lifeline to keep him tethered to this conversation and not lose himself in the rushing torrent that imagining Foggy's mouth apparently inspires in him. "God, I could come from that thought alone. No, the problem is me. All I'm contributing here are the words 'too much' because I have to force you to stop or else I'll go off like a damned bottle rocket."
Foggy squeezes Matt's hand. "Let me get up off my knees, your floor's not that comfortable," he jokes. "But," he continues as he levers himself upwards (college and its spryness are unfortunately past), "you're not the problem. We could just as easily say the problem is me because I was so eager to do stuff I pushed us forward when we should have talked more first."
"Talk?" Matt's erection finally seems to be flagging, and he stuffs it back in his pants. Sexy time is truly over. "About what?"
Foggy sits down next to Matt and retakes his hand in his. "Your perspective, mine. I meant it when I said that you being so sensitive is super hot for me. But you clearly aren't happy about that fact."
Matt's thumb rubs the back of Foggy's hand in a nervous glide. "I'm.... It's...." He gathers his thoughts. "I hate having limitations. I thought I could get acclimatized to, to you, to your touch, but this week has proven the opposite: all it takes is one good kiss or twenty seconds of your mouth and I'm ready to cream myself."
"And this is a problem?" Foggy encourages. Matt's laid out the facts of the case, the physical evidence, and now it's time for him to untangle the motivations explaining those facts.
"It's disappointing. I'm disappointed in myself. I should be able to overcome this, and I don't want to give you—you of all people—subpar sex when I know I can do better. Have done better."
Foggy's forehead wrinkles in thought. This is the second time Matt's compared his...ability to perform now, with Foggy, to past lovers and decried the now as wanting. It should be a compliment, that Matt's so into Foggy he just can't help himself, but. Is that it? Or is there something else at play?
"What do you mean, when you say you have done better?"
"Because I have. I wasn't this...sensitive before. And I could last for as long as I wanted, but ever since Midland, everything feels so much more."
Foggy's breath catches. Midland Circle's destruction was almost a year ago, and Matt had seemed the same—physically, at least, though much wearied—when he'd shown up at Josie's like a ghost and stolen Foggy's wallet. Having Matt back, having him alive, had been so wonderful he hadn't even cared about the wallet beyond worrying for Matt's safety as his presumed dead friend enacted whatever plan he'd needed Foggy's ID for.
That time, when he'd thought Matt dead and then been given a second chance, had clarified a lot for him. And since then, he hadn't given any consideration to the effect of that on Matt, too thankful Matt hadn't found his final fate under a pile of rubble.
"Foggy? Hey...." He lays a hand on Foggy's chest, palm over Foggy's anxiously fluttering heart, and Foggy opens his eyes to Matt's worried face. "Your heartbeat sped up."
Matt's way of asking what's upset him, Foggy recognizes.
He should have realized having a building drop on you would have lasting effects, but— "How hurt were you? Are you?"
"I'm fine, now. Maybe I feel it a bit more in my joints when I overdo it, but that's also just regular old aging. Nothing unexpected."
That's...good. That Matt doesn't attribute any lingering issues to Midland. Foggy knows Matt's definition of overdoing it is different than his, and in his opinion Matt overdoes it every time he goes out at night, but at least Matt's being honest about now. Foggy squeezes his partner's hand, a reassurance that Matt's still here and with him.
Matt continues. "The recovery though was...rough. The nuns did their best, but there was only so much they could do aside from give me space to rest. I was deaf as well as blind, and all I could smell was my own blood. I was trapped, effectively. Too weak to move and ignorant of wider world. I didn't, um, I didn't take to my convalescence well. To say the least."
Foggy feels like he should say something here, but what? I'm sorry or That sounds awful are trite, meaningless stock, even if he means them. Matt had suffered. Foggy had known it the night of Matt's reappearance, the distance etched across his features undeniable. But Matt's description of his recovery sounds like hell, especially given how much he relies on his hearing and other senses.
"Matt...."
Matt shakes his head, un-coiffed hair now falling across his forehead. "That's not important." He runs a nervous hand through his hair, attempting to settle it back in its usual place before it was disturbed by earlier activities. "My point I'm trying to make is that, while I recovered, my senses grew. Expanded further as I attempted to hear anything beyond that basement. It's not a problem normally, in day-to-day life. I'm good at filtering the necessary from the unnecessary. But sex is...." Matt blushes and licks his lips, shifts once—tellingly—in his seat. "Sex is different. I can't filter, and it all quickly becomes...."
"Too much," Foggy finishes for him.
Matt nods. For all Foggy has put several pins in what Matt's revealed to him to think and maybe ask about later (a basement of nuns, what...?), he can't deny how appealing Matt is right now, cheeks stained and gripping Foggy's hand like it's a lifeline keeping him tethered as he talks about sex's effect on him.
"And...I'm the first person you've been intimate with since then? Which is why your sensitivity hasn't been a problem before?" Foggy confirms.
"Yeah," Matt breathes out roughly. He releases Foggy's hand to chafe his palms down his thighs then stands and paces. "That's the long and the short of it, and it doesn't seem to be getting better like I'd hoped, so. I'm sorry for disappointing you."
Foggy's eyes track his boyfriend (Foggy is going to go with boyfriend for now because Foggy relishes the idea of calling Matt his something, and boyfriend rolls charmingly off his own mental tongue) as his steps trace the edge of the living room rug. Tonight has certainly covered a lot of ground, mostly good. Foggy had wondered what was going on with Matt during sex, and now he knows. The details about after Midland are good as well, even as he hates the knowledge of how alone Matt must have felt. He needs to sit with what he's learned, formulate a game plan going forward because he refuses to never have sex with Matt, but first....
"First of all, you haven't disappointed me."
Matt scoffs.
"You haven't!" Foggy protests. "I'm not lying, and you should know that."
Matt rolls his head in a sarcastic circle. "Fine. I've disappointed me, then."
"Let me just think about it. No 'problem' is unsolvable, and I am putting in air-quotes because I don't agree with your qualitative assessment of the issue at hand." Foggy has a brief flash of an imaginary scene, his hand on Matt's hard cock, one stroke from the base to the tip and then Matt coming just from that. No, Foggy can't agree Matt's sensitivity is a problem.
Matt, normally so sure of his body in motion, trips on his rug. He levels a glare in Foggy's direction after catching himself.
Foggy, realizing what tripped Matt up, lets a smug grin steal across his face—he does like how he can get to Matt—and says an unrepentant, "Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No," Foggy agrees, "I'm not." He wipes the grin from his face because he's not said everything he wants to say yet. "Second of all, can I hug you? I'll not make any untoward butt grabs, I promise."
Matt stops his pacing and assesses Foggy. Foggy tries to project an innocent, G-rated air. Then, Matt nods. "All right."
In no time at all Foggy is up off the sofa and wrapping his arms around Matt. "I'm so, so glad you made it through that and are here with me now."
Matt clutches Foggy back. "Me too."
Foggy lets himself enjoy having Matt (non-sexually) in his arms. He's a hugger, and Matt is too with people he trusts.
When he eventually pulls back, he does so only far enough to cup Matt's face in his hands. His boyfriend's cheeks are soft and warm in his palms, and he runs the pads of his thumbs along Matt's cheekbones. Staring at Matt with his soft brown eyes and a healing cut on his forehead, he says, "I love you."
Matt protests, "Foggy...," and removes his head from Foggy's hands to bury it in the crook of Foggy's neck. Something nudges Foggy's thigh through Matt's pants. Foggy laughs in delight even as he cradles the back of Matt's head against him.
"I love you," he croons, and Matt mumbles an echoing answer.
"I can tell you do," Foggy continues. "The evidence is poking me, counselor."
Matt lifts his head enough to prop his chin on Foggy's shoulder, leaving him free to talk unhindered by Foggy's neck. "Your fault, you play dirty pool."
Foggy rocks them back and forth, a gentle, comfortable sway because he doesn't want to be anywhere else in the world right now, not even for a million dollars. He gasps dramatically. "I do not. I think you will find I have kept everything G-rated as promised. Besides, if anyone plays dirty pool, it's you."
"I would never," Matt denies, and Foggy doesn't need to see him to know Matt has a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He can hear it.
"Objection. I would like to enter the entire month of March from our 1L year into evidence. Our entire class knows you're a pool shark thanks to those thirty-one days."
"Overruled," Matt laughs. "Ancient history. If the counselor wishes to make a claim to the defendant's integrity, then the counselor needs to bring recent evidence of dirty pool."
Foggy sighs but grins as hard as Matt. "All right, all right, accusation of dirty pool withdrawn if the opposition agrees to withdraw their own claim about the dirtiness of the pool played by his boyfriend."
"Accusation withdrawn as well, I'm glad we could come to an agreement." Matt stops swaying. "Boyfriend?" he asks, voice lilting up in hopeful question.
Foggy shrugs, lifting Matt's arms around his shoulders in the process. He says, "Seems the appropriate term, do you agree? We are dating, after all," while aiming for nonchalant.
"Yes," Matt says definitively. "I agree."
"And on that note," Foggy says, giving Matt—officially his boyfriend now—another squeeze before loosening his arms, "I should get going unless you want to attempt a round two."
Matt doesn't answer for a beat, though Little Matt makes his spirited exuberance for the proposition known. Which—Little Matt being eager to go isn't a surprise, but big Matt's continued silence as he thinks the matter over is. Not that Foggy is against the idea of a second attempt—let him be struck down by invading aliens if he ever turns down more sex with Matt—it's just not what he expected given the rest of how tonight's gone.
Then again, the rest of tonight hasn't been what he expected either. And Matt's never met a problem he didn't want to meet head on with all the zeal of an unstoppable force.
He shifts his leg forward experimentally, less than an inch of movement, but enough to give Matt's cock something to rub against. Should Matt want to.
Matt whimpers and—importantly—doesn't move away. Presses in, even.
"I have an idea," Matt says.
"I'm all ears."
"You have to follow my lead, do nothing except what I tell you to."
"That was my plan at the start of this evening." Foggy lowers his hand, skimming it down Matt's back, to rest just above his waistline.
Matt says, "No, nothing except what I tell you," as he steps away.
And— Foggy can be good, okay? His own cock is getting interested in whatever Matt's idea is because as long as blood's not involved he's down for just about anything. He very much wants to see where Matt's going to take them, which means controlling his desire to touch Matt every way he can. So he backs off, not far, enough to get his point across, and raises his arms in apology.
"As you wish, Buttercup."
Matt smiles at the Princess Bride reference, and his cock twitches—Foggy thinks, hopes, he's definitely watching for that reaction—at the statement implied therein.
"One question," Foggy rushes out because he's realized something that may put a kibosh on Matt's plans. "Am I allowed to think sexy thoughts? Because you've shown yourself to be aware of and affected by that, but I don't think I can keep my brain PG if we fuck. So that might be an issue."
Matt smiles, soft and warm and at odds with the erection pulling at his slacks. His eyes crinkle as he explains. "Sexy thoughts are fine. I like knowing I'm on your mind. Being able to tell you're as affected as I am. It's more...unexpected touch that's the issue, I think. I'm hoping if I know what's coming, it'll be less overwhelming."
"Like the difference between someone tickling you and you tickling yourself."
"Exactly," and that's all the permission Foggy needs to let his perusal linger where it will and let his imagination run wild. From the fluffy mop Matt calls hair on top his head and wanting to run his fingers through it, to Matt's broad shoulders and the muscles not at all hidden by his sleeves and wondering if Matt could hold him down, down his torso where the untucked ends of his shirt linger to remind Foggy of the scuttled blowjob from earlier. And then, at last, to the slacks masquerading as a tent with a drool-worthy tentpole Foggy is—maybe, depending on Matt—going to get to have his mouth on once again.
Matt's breath shudders in then out of his lungs. "The bedroom," he declares and takes Foggy's hand to lead the way.
Foggy follows dutifully, and as soon as they're next to Matt's bed, Matt begins to strip. It takes Foggy a minute to get with the program; not until Matt's naked and pointing a very expressive pair of raised eyebrows toward him is he able to tear his gaze away from all the— Muscles and skin and Matt's beautiful ass. Bruises and a few abrasions litter Matt's skin, though not as many as worry Foggy in his more negative imaginings. As Foggy's clothes join Matt's in a pile shoved out of the way, he makes note of the worst of Matt's injuries: a scrape across his shoulders, spanning the top of his scapulas, and an angry bruise on the outside of his left thigh.
He sits across from Matt, cross-legged and waiting, maintaining the distance Matt asked for.
Matt says, "We should maybe start small."
Foggy nods. "Okay." He's not sure what small looks like to Matt. Possibly instead of a hand job, he could use one finger?
"I want you to finger me."
Which, oh. Oh. One finger, still, but Foggy hadn't known Matt's ass was an option.
He watches, rapt, as Matt positions himself—on his back with the soles of his feet planted on the mattress, giving Foggy the most mouth-watering view. However Foggy can't help but ask, "Wouldn't your stomach be, er, easier? Easier access, and easier on that graze to your shoulder."
Matt shakes his head. His eyes are pointed at the ceiling, but they're wide, pupils dilated from instinctive arousal. "That would, that would be too much. I'd come immediately. I'm so close already, Foggy."
And, looking at Matt's cock, at the way Matt shifts his hips seeking stimulation that's not there, Foggy doesn't doubt it. He curls his hands into fists atop his thighs, holding himself back because Matt hasn't told him he can touch yet.
"Lube?" Foggy asks, and Matt directs him to his bedside drawer.
Matt spreads his legs further in as sexual an invitation if Foggy's ever seen one, and Foggy scootches into the space Matt left for him.
"Circle the rim with your fingertip," Matt instructs.
Foggy applies some lube and touches the pad of his finger to the tight muscle. Matt gasps. He runs his finger in an intimate circle, letting Matt feel that solitary point of contact. He concentrates on keeping his touch slow, on watching the pleasure chasing across Matt's face.
He's so intent it's a jolt when Matt says, "Too much, Foggy, stop. It's too much," but Foggy obeys the request with alacrity. Matt squeezes his eyes shut with the effort of not coming yet.
Foggy's cock throbs. He's been hard since Matt undressed, and he finally gives in and strokes himself. Surely that's okay? He's not touching Matt after all, and he feels nearly as desperate as Matt looks. A few drops of pre-come spill out from the head of his cock, and he catches them with his fingers, smears them across his shaft.
Matt's nostrils flare. He licks his lips. "Touch me again. Like you were, but lightly." Foggy reaches with the hand that's not busy stroking himself, but Matt interrupts. "No, your other hand. I want to smell you on me."
A little more pre-come falls from Foggy's cock, and Matt draws in a prolonged breath through his nose. Is he smelling—?
That is so hot, Foggy decides as he gathers the small amount of liquid and spreads it across Matt's hole. He's gentle, as gentle as he knows how to be, and Matt still throws his head back in ardent delight. His hips roll, pushing against Foggy's touch, chasing more, and Foggy has to work to keep his touch soft as he traces Matt's rim.
Matt's plan seems to be working though. For all the ways he's strung taut—toes curled back, hands grabbing at the sheets—for all he looks seconds away from orgasm, he hasn't come yet. He tells Foggy when to slow down, sometimes making Foggy stop completely, always paired with that same refrain of "too much."
Those two words are going to haunt Foggy's fantasies from now on because Matt Murdock on the edge of ecstasy, fighting for breath to speak with, is beautiful. Foggy gets what Matt means when he says he wants someone he really likes listening to, and Foggy really likes listening to Matt edge himself.
During one pause, Matt checks in with Foggy, a self-deprecating "Enjoying yourself? Not too bored, I hope?" and a chuckle.
"You can't tell?"
"I can tell...physical responses. Automatic reactions to stimuli. And normally I can extrapolate, but not right now. My higher thinking skills are a little, uh, shot? At the moment."
Yes, that sounds correct. Foggy's are too. Higher thinking skills shot by arrows of want, precisely aimed and unrelenting, leaving only his heart and his cock any say over his thoughts. Foggy would be happy bringing Matt pleasure like this, just the tip of his finger and the simple touch around Matt's hole, for the entire night and tells Matt so.
That puts a quirk to Matt's red-bitten lips, a smirk if ever there was one, as he asks, "Then you don't want to try something more?"
"I am all for trying new things, including whatever 'more' is."
Matt requests a dollop more lube and has Foggy slip that fingertip inside him. Makes Foggy circle him inside like he had outside. Sex-flushed skin has the scars on Matt's torso standing out in contrast, a reminder of what Matt's been through in the past and will go through in the future, and Foggy's not hunky-dory with that danger but the scars also mean that Matt lived and healed.
Foggy gets maybe a little more enthusiastic with his gentle stroking, with wanting Matt to feel good, and Matt arches his back, begging, "Stop, please. Too much, it's too much."
Foggy does so. He leaves his finger where it is, tenderly tucked inside Matt, because he's learned stop for Matt means stopping the motion, not stopping entirely. Together they wait for Matt's breathing to steady, then Matt nods.
"Okay, I think I'm ready."
Foggy resumes, more slowly this time, but the barest twitch has Matt cutting in, "Ah! Wait. Your cock, I want your cock. Please, Foggy, I'm ready, I'm so ready for it."
Foggy's mind screeches to a halt with visions of Matt on his cock, of Matt coming as Foggy slides in, playing across it.
"Just the tip. I can handle it if it's just the tip."
And that brings a different vision to mind, but one no less appealing. How long can Matt go, how much teasing can he stand, before he comes? Matt's been on the brink for— Foggy doesn't know how long. Only knows he wants to keep Matt there as long as he can.
They fumble through Matt's instructions on where he keeps his condoms—not the same drawer as the lube, it turns out—and then Foggy repositions himself between Matt's legs.
Unsure what to do with his hands, he asks, "Can I grab your legs? Hold them? Or is this a hands-free operation?"
Matt takes a moment to think before nodding. "Firmly though. And not, not my upper thighs."
Just below Matt's knees should be safe enough, dodging both the more sensitive skin near Matt's cock and balls and the bruise spanning the length of his thigh, so Foggy hooks his hands there and lines himself up.
He asks, "Ready?"
"Please, Foggy. I need you."
Which. Foggy can't resist that. He presses forward, and the head of his cock disappears inside Matt. He pulls out then inches forward again—and it is an inch. Barely anything, but Matt grips at the mattress, draws in his feet as he's wound tighter and tighter. His cock stands erect, flushed and bobbing with the tiny motions Foggy's making.
Foggy wants to thrust in fully, wants to feel Matt all around him, wants to make Matt come and to come himself, wants to destroy them both with orgasmic catastrophe.
Foggy wants.
It's an effort not to give in, more than anything else they've done so far tonight.
Matt lasts longer than Foggy expects, but all too soon he's pleading. "Too much, too much. I don't want to—not yet."
Foggy's hands spasm around Matt's calves even as he does as asked. He doesn't want to stop. Matt feels so good, a tight, little ring squeezing his sensitive head. It's not enough, but at the same time it's too much. This long, slow tease has him as over-sensitized as Matt. His blood pounds through his body, demanding more, and still he holds back.
Instead, he begs, though not coherently. Tells Matt how good he feels, how close he is, how much he wants Matt. Matt's breath goes ragged the more Foggy talks, but he doesn't ask Foggy to stop, and the way Matt's cock jerks only encourages Foggy on. Pre-come beads and drips, slowly and tantalizingly, down Matt's shaft, and Foggy wants to lick it up. He'd be so gentle, he tells Matt, just the tip of his tongue, just a little taste, please.
"Do it," Matt grunts out, and Foggy wastes no time.
He uses his grip on Matt's legs as leverage and bends down. He darts his tongue out to catch the lowest droplet then kisses his way up the trail it left, up Matt's shaft to the head of his cock, and laps at the liquid there.
"I'm gonna come," Matt warns, and Foggy's sex-addled brain isn't sure what that means, what Matt wants him to do, so he raises his head and asks, "Too much?"
"Don't stop."
That's an answer Foggy likes. He leans in, dropping a kiss right over Matt's slit and daubing pre-come onto his lips. He travels down, alternating kisses and delicate flicks of his tongue.
The moment Matt comes is obvious. He gasps, sharp. His muscles clench, pushing Foggy out of his hole. Come spills out, and Foggy doesn't swallow but he also doesn't shy away from continuing his worshipful ministrations toward Matt's cock. He continues, helping Matt ride out the devastation of his orgasm, until the tension unspools from Matt's body.
Foggy's so close himself, but he needs more. Now that Matt's come, Foggy can no longer ignore how hard he is, how much his cock is begging him for a more vigorous touch if he's to reach his own climax. He's too desperate to waste time taking off the condom, but he hastily adds more lube to ease stroking himself with. Matt looks a treat, beautifully debauched, so it's not a hardship to finish off like this: staring at his recumbent boyfriend and fisting his cock.
Matt, though, seems to have other ideas. He locks his legs around Foggy's waist, trapping him where he is. "You should keep fucking me," he says.
"Um." Foggy doesn't know how to explain that fucking inch-deep into Matt would be more of a cruel tease than a tipping point for him at this moment.
But then Matt continues. "I'm so relaxed now, I bet you'd slide right in. Your whole cock, just like that, easy-peasy, I want it. I want you."
"I...can do that? You're okay with that? Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy?"
Matt hums and stretches, a luxuriant roll down his body that only brings him—and his ass—in closer to Foggy. "I'd even say it'll be mac and cheesy too."
Foggy wastes no time now that he's been given permission. Pushes in, and. Fuck. Matt takes him easily, no resistance, just a sweet slide as Foggy pulls out and thrusts back in. He's not going to last long, and Matt's not helping with his running commentary telling Foggy to give it to him, he can take it, just like that, yes, yes, yes.
Matt's cock lies inert on his stomach, Matt's chest splashed with come, but there's no denying his enthusiasm as Foggy takes his fill and pounds into him, and that does it for Foggy almost as much Matt's ass tight around his cock.
His drives take on a wild air as he nears the point of no return, and he forgets himself, grabs at Matt's hips—above his injury, above the evidence of the danger Matt places himself in nightly—and with a final heave of his hips shoving in deep, he comes. Walks up to the cusp and falls over into ecstasy.
He's an overheated muddle of satiety and curiosity when he comes back to reality, and Matt's legs have fallen to a loose circle around him on the bed. Matt looks blissed out, a lazy smile taking up most of his face, so Foggy risks a little smooch to the closest, clean part of Matt he can reach and warns Matt he's going to pull out.
Matt obligingly shifts, and Foggy, newly free, disposes of the condom before rejoining Matt, who rolls over as soon as Foggy's within reach and plasters the two of them together. Literally plasters them because Matt—Matt's trunk—is still a mess, and his boyfriend evidently has no problem sticking them together as he spoons behind Foggy. His hand, Foggy notes, ends up splayed across the left side of his chest, over his heart.
Foggy wants a...a debrief, he supposes is the best way to put it but isn't sure how to start—what exactly his questions are for Matt—or even if he should in this moment. Matt has a tranquility to him, limbs hanging lax, and on the verge of a nap, Foggy thinks. Maybe it would be better to wait until later to break down the frankly amazing sex they just had and figure out how to improve it, what parts worked, which didn't, and other things they can try. Foggy has a few ideas of his own, but maybe over lunch would be better. Matt's so responsive to anything—everything—Foggy does, Foggy doesn't want to overwhelm him to the point of derailing the discussion, as fun as it would be.
(And the idea of doing that, of overwhelming Matt to the point of ruining his ability to converse, is for sure one of the things he'd enjoy discussing. He can just imagine a late night at one of their apartments, poring over files for an upcoming court appearance, and distracting Matt—seeing how far he can push Matt—with just his words before Matt demands more. Demands Foggy touch him. But that's neither here nor there, not until they talk further.)
In the immediate aftermath, Foggy worries. He took a few liberties, especially toward the end, and while Matt had seemed into it in the moment, that doesn't mean he can't dislike something in the after.
Foggy reruns the latter half of that sentence in his head, double-checking his negatives are correct. They are.
Matt's hand curls on his chest. He murmurs, "You're unhappy."
"What? No!" If he turns to look at Matt, twists out of his embrace so they can face each other, that won't offer Matt any sort of reassurance, so he doesn't. But he still cranes his neck to try to see Matt for himself. He manages far enough to catch sight of fluffy hair and an ear. "Why would I be unhappy?"
"I can hear you overthinking." Matt's voice is sleep-soft, but it gains surety as he continues. "It's how you get when you need to tell someone bad news but don't want to do it. Just tell me which part was so awful, and we won't do that again. I'm sorry."
Foggy's neck is beginning to get a crick in it, and he still can't see any of Matt's face. Can see less of Matt, in fact, because Matt ducked his head as he apologized for the incredible sex they recently finished. Merely a sliver of the back of his head, so Foggy turns round and lays his arm over Matt's, returning Matt's clasp with his own.
He splays his hand over Matt's, urging the troubled appendage flat.
"Matty," he says, putting all the love he can into his voice. He presses Matt's hand into his heart. "Believe me when I say that was some of the best sex I've ever had in my life, and I do not have a single, solitary complaint about anything we did from my end."
"Then why...?"
"Then why all the thinking?"
Matt gives an affirmative noise, but it turns into a yawn halfway through. Still sleepy, unlike Foggy.
"Because sex wakes me up. Leaves me jazzed. The only form of exercise I enjoy, and I'm right perky after." He chuckles, drawing idle hearts on the back of Matt's hand, and Matt drops a kiss to his nape. Continuing, he says, "Lying here is nice, but it doesn't do anything for the energy I have, so it all goes to thinking. Not about anything bad, just...." More soberly, "I don't want you to be unhappy with anything we did."
"I'm not." So simple a statement.
"Okay, but, did you enjoy it? Were you satisfied? 'Not unhappy' isn't the same thing as 'actively had a great time and eager to have sex again as soon as possible.'" Foggy can tell he's getting worked up but also can't stop himself. A veritable head full of steam he's getting going, and he barrels on. "Matt, you were so stressed beforehand. About it being good and whether I'd enjoy it or be disappointed and if you could perform to the standards you've set for yourself—I haven't forgotten what a perfectionist bastard you can be and how mad you get when when you fall short of your own expectations. And...I also got the impression that when you come so quickly it's not satisfying for you, which is the only way I'd be disappointed by the way. I'd be disappointed if you had a bad time, everything else is peachy—"
"Foggy, Foggy, Foggy," Matt cuts him off, "that's really what you were thinking about? Me?"
"Yes. I think about you and your happiness a lot, you know. Comes with the territory of how much I like you."
Matt snorts, but it sounds amused to Foggy's ears, which.
"What? What's funny about me liking you? I'm pretty sure you like me too, Mr. Stone Thrower In a Glass House." He switches from hearts to poking Matt, and Matt fully dissolves into cackles he smothers into Foggy's shoulders. "Share the joke."
"It's just— We're a pair. I was worried the sex would be bad and you'd hate it, and you were worried I'd hate the bad sex, and instead the sex was great but we're still fretting about it. We're ridiculous."
"Maybe." Foggy huffs a laugh. "Okay, definitely. I really want to kiss you right now, can you let me up?"
Matt acquiesces and lifts his arm, giving Foggy the room he needs to roll over, squish Matt's stubbly cheeks between his palms, and kiss him with all the adoration he has. Happily for Foggy, Matt returns the kiss sweet as a fairy tale and with uninhibited enthusiasm.
When they break apart, Foggy asks, "That wasn't too much for Little Matt? Because he can be a bit of an eager beaver, and I don't want to get his hopes up for another round."
Snorting, Matt says, "He's down for the count for at least another forty-five, don't worry."
Foggy shifts, and drying ejaculate on his back reminds him they've yet to clean up.
"Well," he says, "if that's not a concern at the moment." He draws a finger through a tacky line on Matt's chest. "Maybe we can shower together? You can wash my back, and I can wash your...everything?"
Matt groans and lifts his head enough to thunk it against Foggy's collarbone.
"That's not a no. Imagine it: you and me, sudsy and slippery, getting to touch all over...."
Impossibly, Matt's cock twitches between them.
"Foggy, you're going to kill me."
Foggy laughs. "Death by a thousand little deaths. And you can give me a thousand little deaths too." He turns somber, traces one of the long lines of scar tissue across Matt's collar. "Way more fun than a building falling on you."
Matt catches Foggy's hand. Kisses the knuckles. "No more buildings, I'll do my best. Promise."
Foggy appreciates how Matt doesn't give more of his word than his ability to keep. Matt can try and Foggy can hope, can keep faith in his boyfriend, and that will have to be enough.
"Thank you."
"Always, Foggy."
It's a touching moment, and Foggy is getting a bit misty-eyed before Matt flops dramatically onto his back. His face scrunches up in distaste.
"The drier this mess gets, the worse it feels." He tilts his head to better waggle his suggestive eyebrows at Foggy. "You mentioned a shower...?"
Foggy smiles, soft. He really does love this man in front of him.
"Yeah," he says, maybe a little watery but Matt doesn't call him on it and anyway he soon rallies. He gets out of Matt's bed with a determined pep to his step. "Hopefully it stays not too much long enough for us to actually get clean."
"Even if it is, I'm confident you and I will be able to come to a satisfactory conclusion."
"That was such a bad pun," Foggy laughs as Matt takes his hand and lets Foggy help pull him out of bed. "Just for that, you get to to buy the first round next time at Josie's."
"Worth it to hear you laugh."
And maybe Matt said his horrible double entendre to lighten the mood, but Foggy could hear the steadiness in Matt's voice. The belief that what he said was true, which is such a reversal from how Matt was talking about sex earlier tonight. And Foggy knows—no matter how things shake out—that he and Matt will be figuring it all out together. In bed and out of it.