Chapter Text
Tuesday
Matt wasn’t really paying attention when Foggy’s phone rang. Distantly, he heard Foggy say “Hello?” and the low buzz of someone else’s voice on the other end of the line.
Then Foggy breathed in sharp, his heartbeat ratcheted up, and Matt started paying attention.
“Mom!” he said, his voice tight with anxiety. “Mom, calm down...would you just let me..? Mom!”
Matt was focusing in on the other end of the conversation before he could stop himself. He usually didn’t, because it was rude and invasive, but Foggy sounded really alarmed. Matt knew the Nelsons, he liked the Nelsons, and if one of them was in trouble…
“...and I have to find out from Bess Mahoney? I swear, Franklin, you’re lucky I can’t still ground you. I’m tempted to try.”
Franklin. So Foggy was the one in trouble. Matt grinned and listened to Foggy try to dig his way out of whatever hole he’d dug.
“Mom, you don’t understand, it was a spur-of-the-moment...I was going to tell you, Mom, I swear, but…”
“Oh, wonderful, he was going to tell me. Well, that’s just lovely,” Mrs. Nelson said. “You finally get that beautiful boy of yours to put a ring on it and you don’t invite your family, but you do your mother the great courtesy of telling her about it a month after the fact!”
...Oh. Matt was why Foggy was in trouble. Oops.
“Uh...Matt didn’t want a big fuss,” Foggy said, an edge of desperation in his voice. “You know how he is. If we made it into a whole…thing he’d beat himself up the whole time about the money you spent on it.”
Mrs. Nelson scoffed. “Nonsense. He’s family. He was already family.”
Guilt twisted in Matt’s belly, and he quickly shifted his focus away from the phone call. He couldn’t block out Foggy’s voice when he was right here in the office, but it was easy to tune out kindness he didn’t deserve from Mrs. Nelson, at least.
He was concentrating very hard on his refreshable Braille display when Foggy leaned against the doorway of his office. “How much of that did you hear?” Foggy asked.
Matt tilted his head up. “Are you written out of the will for good?”
“Worse,” Foggy said. “She’s throwing a reception-ish thing for us this weekend, and I had better come show you off, or else. That’s a direct quote, by the way, so make sure you look pretty.”
“I always look pretty,” Matt said, smiling to show that he was kidding.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Foggy muttered. “Anyway, get ready to go to Queens on Sunday. I’ll let you know the time.” He started to move away, then came back. “Listen...I’m sorry, this is totally weird, but you know how my family is. We’re going to have to make it look convincing, or…” He sighed. “I hate to ask you this, I really do, but...they can’t suspect, Matt. I can’t...this is my family, I can’t let them get caught up in this…”
“Foggy,” Matt said. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I get it.” He turned up the corner of his mouth. “We’ll make it look good.”
“...Yeah,” Foggy said, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thanks.”
“Hey,” Matt said. “No problem.”
He heard Foggy’s swallow. “Yeah,” he said again, and walked away.
*
Sunday
Foggy was nervous.
There were only three other people in the subway car, clacking its leisurely way above the streets of Astoria, where Foggy’s parents had moved when rising rents drove them out of Manhattan. Matt hated the subway - the noise and stench were bad enough for normal people, but for him they were nearly intolerable - and he avoided it whenever possible, but a round trip cab ride from Hell’s Kitchen to Queens was expensive. Better to save the money for the return fare.
Besides, the subway wasn’t as bad on weekends, especially on a line like this that ran aboveground part of the way and pulled some blessed fresh air into the car. He couldn’t see the sunlight, but he could feel it falling over his face in shifting patterns as they passed between the taller buildings.
Foggy drummed his fingers on his knee; Matt could hear the muffled patpatpat of them against his jeans, not to mention the speed of his heartbeat and his breath. “I think they’re all gonna be there,” he said. “My sisters, the kids, most of my cousins...I think, yeah, both sets of grandparents, some neighbors that I’ve never even met…”
“It’ll be fine,” Matt said.
“It’ll be a disaster.”
Matt put his hand on Foggy’s, stilling his fingers against his knee. “It’ll be fine,” he said.
“...Sure,” said Foggy. But his heartbeat didn’t slow, so Matt left his hand there. Just in case it helped.
“So,” Foggy said after a minute. “I got us something.”
“Is it team T-shirts?” Matt asked, trying to keep his tone light. Foggy was still jumpy. “Because I already told you, I’m not joining an office softball team even if I can sense where the ball is.”
“Ah, heh, no.” Foggy reached into his pocket and pulled out…
...a small, hinged box. Matt knew without touching it that it was velvet. His mouth went dry.
“Brett had a point,” Foggy said. “And you don’t have to wear it all the time, or ever, really, but you know...my mom was gonna ask, so…”
He handed the box to Matt, who flipped it open and ran his fingers lightly over the two plain bands sitting on the little pillow inside. “...These are real gold,” he said.
“Can you...you can smell that. Good lord,” Foggy said. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, they’re real gold. You know, I had a little money saved, and…” He shrugged.
Matt picked up one of the rings and let it sit cool and heavy in his palm. He didn’t have to hear Foggy’s heartbeat to know he was lying about having money saved; neither of them did, between student loans and their chronic lack of clients.
But Foggy had gone out and gotten them rings anyway.
He needed to say something, to turn it into a joke, because this was too much. “Well? Are you going to put it on me or what?” he asked, but it came out all wrong; it wasn’t funny at all.
“...Okay,” Foggy said, very soft. He took the ring out of Matt’s palm and turned his left hand over, then slid the ring up over his finger. “Too loose?”
Matt used the thumb of his right hand to push at the ring; it moved, but not too much. “No, it’s good,” he said. He picked up the other ring and held out his hand. “Um…?”
Foggy put his hand in Matt’s. Matt felt his way over Foggy’s fingers - even though he really didn’t need to - until he reached his ring finger, then pushed the gold band over it. He could feel Foggy’s pulse through the soft skin of his wrist, hummingbird-fast. “How do they look?” he asked. Whispered.
“Real,” Foggy said, just as quietly, then took a breath. “Matt, I…”
Sudden applause made them both jump back. Foggy turned around and Matt tilted his head to triangulate the sound. The homeless woman at the other end of the car was watching them. “Mazel tov!” she cried.
Foggy laughed nervously and pulled his hand out of Matt’s. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head towards her, and Matt gave her a little wave.
“Well, there you go,” Foggy said. “Our union is officially blessed.” He slid over a little so that he wasn’t touching Matt at all, and Matt felt suddenly, irrationally chilled.
“There you go,” he said, and twisted the ring around his finger again.
*
“There he is,” Mrs. Nelson crowed as she opened the door. She seized Matt’s face in both hands and gave him a loud, smacking kiss on either cheek. “My beautiful son-in-law! Welcome to the family, baby.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Nelson,” Matt said. He could sense a crowd of people inside the relatively small apartment behind her, and only a few of the voices were familiar. He knew Foggy’s immediate family well - he’d spent the past nine Christmases with them - but he’d only met the extended brood a few times, and never all at once. This would be interesting.
“Oh please, you call me Mom now,” Mrs. Nelson said. She must have misinterpreted the look on Matt’s face, because she backpedaled immediately. “Only if you want to, sweetheart. I don’t want to disrespect your mother, God rest her soul.”
“No, I,” Matt said, and swallowed hard. He deserved Mrs. Nelson almost as little as he deserved Foggy. “I would love to. It might just...take me a while. Is that okay?”
She squeezed his hands. “Of course it is.”
Foggy poked him in the side, making him jump. “Budge over, would you? Mom, are you going to stop throwing Matt into emotional turmoil long enough to let us into the house or what?”
“Oh, it’s you,” Mrs. Nelson sniffed, but she let go of Matt’s hands and let Foggy kiss her on the cheek. “Matt can come in, but I don’t know if I should let you, after you deprived me of a wedding.”
“You’ve already thrown two, Mom. And isn’t Julie getting serious about whats-his-name, the preppy one?”
“You’re my only boy!”
“That just means you’ve escaped all those stereotypes about mothers of the groom and Oedipal complexes and whatnot. I’m your hero,” Foggy insisted, and grabbed Matt’s hand. “Come on, Matty, let’s see what there is to eat.”
He tugged Matt into the apartment, but the moment they hit the living room they were surrounded by Nelsons and assorted friends and neighbors. Matt clutched Foggy’s hand and tried to make sense of the cacophony:
“Foggy! I can’t believe you got sneak-married, you jerk!” That was Foggy’s middle sister, Tammy.
“Matt! Good to see you again, son.” Foggy’s dad.
“Uncle Foggy, Uncle Foggy, pick me up!” Connie’s oldest girl; Matt couldn’t remember her name.
“Did we know Franklin was a homosexual?” One of Foggy’s grandmothers, and whispered.
“You can’t say that anymore! Say ‘a gay.’” Whispered back. A great-aunt, maybe?
“Matt, I can’t believe you let this loser finally tie you down.” Julie.
“Heard about what you boys did on that Fisk case. Pretty impressive work.” An uncle. Probably.
“Is he really blind?” Matt had no idea who that one was.
Foggy’s fingers tightened around Matt’s, a solid presence in the chaos. “Okay, enough!” Foggy hollered. “Everyone, this is Matt Murdock. If you haven’t met him before, he’s my best friend, law partner, and yes, as of about a month ago, husband. I like him a lot, so please don’t be weird at him, okay?” Matt felt Foggy turn his head. “And Gran, the word you’re looking for with me is bisexual.”
The room went silent. Matt tilted his head. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to follow that speech with one of my own, because I don’t think I can top that.”
That broke the tension; everyone laughed, and Foggy was able to walk Matt around the room, introducing him to his more distant relatives. Once they’d made the rounds, Foggy made a beeline for the food, describing everything he was piling onto a way-too-full plate for Matt before making his own to match. They were given seats of honor on the couch, and Matt did his best to politely answer questions about their law practice and where he went to church and how long he’d known Foggy while tucking into cold ham and briny olives and the best hummus he’d ever tasted.
When he was so full he couldn’t move, Foggy stood up. “I’m getting you dessert.”
Matt pawed weakly at Foggy’s side, tugging at his shirt to keep him from moving towards the table. “Nooo, Foggy, I’ll die.”
“If I don’t get you dessert, Mom will, and you know she thinks you’re too skinny. She’ll make you eat an entire pie,” Foggy pointed out. “I’m saving you, Matt.”
Matt let go of him, resigned, and heard Foggy get five whole steps before being drawn into an argument about politics with his uncles. He smiled to himself, and then jumped a little as Foggy’s oldest sister Connie plopped down on the couch next to him.
“Hey, little brother,” she said. “It’s Connie.”
“Hi, Connie,” Matt said, and tilted his head as someone else perched on the armrest next to him. A third person sat on the coffee table across from him. “And…?”
“Julie,” said the person on the armrest.
“Tammy,” said the one on the coffee table.
Matt smiled. “Are you here to beat me up for compromising your little brother’s virtue?”
“No, we just want to know how it happened,” Julie said. “We have a bet going.”
“Foggy finally confessed his undying love for you, right?” Tammy asked. “I knew he’d crack eventually.”
“Nah, Matt makes all the decisions,” Connie said. “It was you, right?”
“I still say they’ve been secretly dating this whole time,” Julie said. “You’ve seen the way Foggy looks at him! I mean, you haven’t, Matt, sorry,” she amended. “But trust me, it’s moonstruck.”
“That’s, uh, poetic,” Matt said, because it seemed like the safest thing to say. All three Nelson sisters talked as quickly and irreverently as Foggy, and the combined effect was a little overwhelming.
“Come on, Matt, spill,” Tammy said, poking Matt in the knee. “You’re a Nelson now. No secrets!”
“Yeah, we’ve been waiting for years,” Julie said. “The stakes of this bet are astronomical by now. You have no idea.”
Matt blinked. “Years?”
Julie tsked. “You should have heard Foggy the first weekend he came home from college.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Connie said. “I was moved out by then. But I heard about it.”
“‘My roommate? Matt? Is so cool,’” Julie said in overexaggerated but still completely recognizable imitation of Foggy’s voice.
“‘My roommate? Matt? Is so smart,’” Tammy added in the same voice. “‘I think he might be, like, the smartest person at Columbia.’”
“‘My roommate? Matt? Is so funny. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s just, like, he’s really dry and cool, like…wow.’”
“‘My roommate? Matt? Says that Thurgood Marshall says that...’ something something, blah blah blah, I don’t remember it but you better believe Foggy did.”
“‘My roommate? Matt? I’m saying this totally platonically, but he’s, like, the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen in real life. Like it’s ridiculous.’”
“We all called you ‘My roommate? Matt?’ until we met you that Christmas,” Connie added.
“And you were just as adorable as advertised,” Tammy said, patting his shoulder. “A more than acceptable brother-in-law.”
“So you guys have been dating since, like, the second week of school, right?” Julie asked. “I mean, Brother Franklin is many things, but subtle is not one of them.”
Matt wondered if the party would be totally ruined if he just threw himself through the bay window behind him and took off down the street. “I...uh…”
“Okay, what did you do to him?” Oh, thank God, Foggy was back. “Disperse, vultures, before Matt decides he wants nothing to do with the Nelson clan.”
“Please, he’s settling for the least of us,” Tammy said. “If he can put up with you, he must have infinite stores of patience.”
“Foggy’s the one who’s settling,” Matt said, and it was supposed to be a joke but it cracked in his voice on the way out.
“Awww,” said all three of Foggy’s sisters at once, and Matt wondered if he could protect Foggy from the broken glass if he took Foggy out the window with him.
“Ugh,” Foggy said, putting two plates redolent with chocolate and cinnamon and warm blueberries down on the coffee table next to Julie. “Shoo, Con, give me my seat back.”
“Don’t give me that lip, Frankfurter,” Connie said, and laughed when Foggy groaned at the nickname. “You’re still the baby.”
“I am a grown-ass man with my own law practice! And a grown-ass husband!” Foggy protested. Matt nodded, not trying very hard to hide his smile. “Don’t encourage them, Matt.”
Before one of Foggy’s sisters could retort, there was a loud pop! that made everyone jump. Mrs. Nelson stood in the center of the living room and brandished the champagne bottle she’d just opened. “We’re toasting, everyone! Matt, honey, stand up, please.”
Matt obeyed, edging his way around the coffee table to stand next to Foggy as Connie went to help her father distribute glasses and open more bottles. Mrs. Nelson pressed a champagne flute into Matt’s hand. Matt latched on to Foggy’s elbow with the other hand, aware that everyone in the room was looking at them.
“To Foggy and Matt,” Mrs. Nelson said. “Even though they didn’t actually bother to tell us that they’d gotten married - and don’t think you two are going to hear the end of that any time soon - we’ve all adored Matt since the first time Foggy brought him home, and I know I speak for everyone here when I say how thrilled I am to have him officially part of the family.”
Matt’s fingers tightened on Foggy’s arm, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat. Foggy gave him a gentle hip check.
“To Foggy and Matt!” Mrs. Nelson said again, and there was a general cheer of agreement and the sound of assorted glass-clinking around the room. Matt held his glass up and let Foggy clink it, then took a sip. The champagne wasn’t expensive, but it was light and sweet - and most importantly, for Matt, and that was the part that he already knew was going to go straight to his head.
Maybe it already had, because he slid his hand up Foggy’s arm, skimmed it over his shoulder and neck until he was cupping Foggy’s cheek. He felt Foggy turn to him, felt the air move as Foggy took in a surprised breath, felt the pulse beneath his palm start to race.
And he leaned in and kissed Foggy, right on that soft and startled mouth.
There was another cheer. Matt smiled as he pulled back. “You told me to make it look good,” he murmured, low enough that only Foggy could hear.
“That I did,” Foggy said, and his voice was so low Matt couldn’t make out whether he was smiling or not.
But he kissed Matt back, and it was light and sweet and for Matt.
And it went straight to Matt’s head.
*
Matt lost track of the champagne after that, of the well-wishes and the great-aunts kissing his cheek, the uncles shaking his hand and at least two of Foggy’s nieces stealing his cane to use as a sword. Cane-less, he kept his hand on the small of Foggy’s back to navigate the crowd, and the warmth of Foggy beneath his palm was grounding and dizzying all at once.
It was after dark when Mrs. Nelson pushed them into a cab, their arms laden with more leftovers than they could possibly finish between the two of them. Foggy insisted on giving the nearly-untouched chocolate peanut butter pie a place of honor in the seat by the window, which left him him and Matt squished together on the other side of the bench seat. Matt didn’t exactly mind. His head was full of bubbles and the cabbie took the corners sharp, sending Matt’s senses spinning - or maybe that was just the comfortable weight of Foggy thrown into him by every bank to the right.
By the time the cab had deposited them back in Hell’s Kitchen, most of the bubbles had dissipated, but Matt still felt light and happy - happier than he could remember since maybe college, when he and Foggy had been bright and brave and ready to face the world’s injustices. They carted the leftovers upstairs and tried to find room in the fridge for all of them, shoving at each other to get access to the shelves. Foggy was warm and radiating happiness and Matt couldn’t seem to keep his hands off him.
“You can just eat all the deviled eggs now, then we won’t have to try to fit them,” Foggy teased, pushing the tupperware towards Matt.
Matt pushed it back. “Get those away from me. Deviled eggs are disgusting.”
“What if…” Foggy began, and then started laughing so hard he couldn’t speak for a full minute. “What if they were daredeviled eggs?” he finally wheezed, hanging on to Matt for balance, and Matt couldn’t muster up the disdainful expression that pun deserved because he was laughing too.
"You," Foggy gasped. "You have to eat them now, Matt, it"s your...hff...your destiny."
He pushed the eggs at Matt again, crowding him against the counter. Matt grinned, then grabbed his wrist, digging his thumb into a pressure point so that the Tupperware fell from Foggy"s nerveless fingers. He caught it before it hit the ground and shot it into the one empty spot in the open fridge so hard the door swung closed.
Then he pulled, turned sharp, and it was Foggy pinned up against the counter, Foggy with both of his wrists held in place by Matt"s hands. "Not even if they were wearing little red costumes," Matt said, low and amused.
And froze, because Foggy had gone rigid, his chest heaving against Matt"s and his pulse beating a wild jazz solo beneath Matt"s fingers.
He"d scared him. He"d thought it would be funny, but he"d scared Foggy, he"d ruined it... "Shit, Foggy, I"m sorry - " he started to say, started to pull back - and Foggy lunged forward and kissed him.
Matt was so surprised he let go of Foggy"s wrists. Immediately Foggy"s hands were cupping his face, pulling him closer, pulling him down. He kissed Matt breathless before letting him go, and for all his heightened senses Matt couldn"t hear anything in the world just then but Foggy"s heartbeat.
"Foggy," he said, and when he leaned in to kiss him back, Foggy met him halfway.
Matt’s head was spinning again, but this was so much better than champagne. Foggy kissed him like he was trying to memorize Matt from the lips down, all thoughtfulness and tenderness and brilliant focus. Matt wanted to cooperate, he really did, but he couldn’t seem to make himself slow down because this was Foggy, this was finally Foggy, and Matt wanted everything. He kissed Foggy fiercely, desperately, hands on Foggy’s chest, his arms, his hips, everywhere, until Foggy put his hands on Matt’s shoulders and pushed him back, firm but laughing.
“Jeez, Matt, take it easy, would you?” he said.
Matt shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, and he hadn’t meant for it to come out so low and dark, but it made Foggy shiver so he was glad for it.
Foggy tilted his head and Matt honed in on the exposed pulse point at his throat. He wanted to taste it; he wanted to feel it quicken under his tongue. Foggy moaned softly, fingers carding through Matt’s hair, and Matt got a leg between Foggy’s thighs and just. Ground.
“Fuck. Fuck,” Foggy said, tugging on Matt’s hair hard enough to hurt, and the dull pain went straight to Matt’s dick. “Matt.”
Matt smiled against Foggy’s throat. “Good?”
Foggy answered by letting go of Matt’s hair and grabbing his ass, using the grip to pull Matt even closer. “More.”
Matt could do more. Matt could do whatever Foggy asked for, anything that would keep him here, warm and happy and hard against Matt’s thigh. He thrust against Foggy’s hip and Foggy moaned again, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of his ass. “Matty,” he mouthed against Matt’s ear, and Matt had to kiss him then, had to know how his name felt in Foggy’s mouth.
Foggy’s shirt was too rough; Matt didn’t know how Foggy could stand to wear it. He wanted to touch Foggy’s skin, bare against his hands, and he skimmed his fingers under the hem of Foggy’s t-shirt, skated them up a few inches to palm the softness of Foggy’s sides. “Hey. Hey,” Foggy said, his breath coming damp and hot against Matt’s chin. “No, no, no.”
Matt froze.
“You don’t undress me in here,” Foggy said. “You don’t have any damn curtains, Murdock. You want a piece of this, you’ll take it in the bedroom like a gentleman.”
The relief made Matt’s laughter too loud. “You want me to take it in the bedroom?” he asked, going low and dark on purpose this time, and yeah, Foggy’s shiver was everything. “I can take it in the bedroom.”
And then he was pulling Foggy towards the bedroom, skirting around furniture, fast, fast, before this went away, dissolved like soap bubbles like everything else good. They tumbled onto the bed, the bed that already smelled like Foggy and now would smell like Foggy and sex and maybe Matt would just never leave this bed again.
Foggy was laughing and Matt straddled him and kissed him like he could swallow that laugh, like he could keep that brightness inside of him forever. He tugged at the hem of Foggy’s shirt and Foggy sat up enough to let Matt help him wriggle out of it. And yeah, that was better, Foggy’s bare skin beneath his hands. Matt skimmed his hands over everywhere he could reach, loving the way Foggy sighed and arched into his touch. He didn’t know what Foggy looked like, not really, but he knew well enough to know that Foggy’s self-confidence was more of the “fake it ‘til you make it” variety. But everything Matt touched was beautiful.
“Hey,” Foggy said, pulling at Matt’s shirt. “Come on, take this off. It’ll be a nice change to get to deal with your incorrigible shirtlessness when you’re not bleeding out on the floor.”
Matt scoffed but sat up and pulled his shirt off anyway. “I’m almost never bleeding out on the floor.”
“When you can get the ‘almost’ out of that sentence you’ll have earned the right to sound so huffy,” Foggy said, and then, “Jesus Christ, you’re hot.” Matt grinned. “All right, all right, don’t look so smug. Come here.”
Matt let Foggy tug him back down, back into one of those dizzying kisses; let Foggy drag blunt nails up his back until he was gasping and writhing above him. Everything felt electric; everywhere they touched set sparks off in Matt’s brain. “Fuh. Foggy,” he mumbled, mouthing at Foggy’s jaw. “God.”
Foggy flicked him in the side, making him laugh and lean away from his hand. “Bad Catholic,” Foggy scolded. “What would the nuns say?”
Matt gave Foggy his wickedest grin and loved the way it made Foggy’s breath hitch. “Nothing good. So you’d better not tell them what I’m about to do.”
He slid down Foggy’s body, and Foggy’s heartbeat told him the exact second that Foggy realized where he was going. “Oh, yes,” Foggy said. “Forget what I said. Great Catholic. Exemplary Catholic. You’re an angel. Dareangel.” Matt muffled his laugh against the bulge in Foggy’s pants and Foggy gasped and clutched at his hair. “Fuck, Matt, are you seriously going to…”
“I’m seriously going to,” Matt said without lifting his mouth, just so he could feel Foggy tremble. He almost said - but didn’t - how much he wanted to. He almost said - but didn’t - how much he’d always wanted to. But that was more than Foggy had signed up for, so Matt just undid his fly and tugged Foggy’s jeans down and off.
It hit him then - the smell of Foggy’s arousal, thick and dizzying. It had been building...really since Matt had pinned him against the counter, when Matt thought about it, but now the air was redolent with it.
Matt could live on that smell.
He mouthed Foggy through his boxers - cotton, how could Foggy stand it there, Matt wanted to wrap him in silk - and was rewarded with a low moan. And there it was, sound and scent and taste and touch, Foggy filled all of Matt’s senses and it almost made up for the fact that he couldn’t see him, sprawled flushed and breathless in Matt’s bed. He wanted to hear what other noises he could wring out of Foggy, to find out what he sounded like when Matt teased him, but the moment still felt tentative, barely his to keep, and Matt didn’t have time to waste. He yanked Foggy’s boxers down.
The noise that Foggy made when Matt’s mouth wrapped around him was so delicious that Matt didn’t mind not waiting. “Matt,” Foggy gasped, sounding strangled. His hands were in Matt’s hair, but petting, not pulling. Matt liked it. Matt would’ve liked pulling, too. “Matt, holy shit, don’t stop.”
Matt had no intention of stopping, not with Foggy heavy and hard on his tongue, not with Foggy’s soft hips pushing up under his hands. He sucked a little harder, went a little deeper, and Foggy gave a startled yelp.
“Whoa, Matt, oh Christ…” Foggy’s hands were on his face, back in his hair, everywhere. “Fuck, buddy, you gotta slow down, I can’t…I’m gonna...”
Matt knew. Matt wanted. He hummed happily around Foggy and kept going. Foggy had apparently given up trying to get Matt to put the brakes on, because all he was saying now was “yes” and “fuck” and “please Matty, please, please,” and who was Matt to say no to such a prettily-worded request?
So he didn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, and Foggy gasped and begged and shook apart in Matt’s hands, in Matt’s mouth, and Matt swallowed him down, rutting against the mattress shamelessly because Foggy’s taste was everywhere and Matt wanted. He pulled off when Foggy whined, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, and Foggy laughed and swore and told him he looked filthy.
Matt grinned. “Yeah? If only you could smell yourself right now.”
“That is definitely the weirdest compliment I have ever received,” Foggy said. “That was a compliment, right?” Matt nodded. “Good. Come here. Christ, look at you.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to do it for me,” Matt said, crawling back up over Foggy and touching his mouth to feel his smile.
“Deal,” Foggy said, and reached up to skate his hands over Matt’s chest. Matt shivered, eyes half-closing. He could feel the ring on Foggy’s finger, warm from his hand. “Whoa,” Foggy said. “Okay, you like that. Is this a super senses thing?”
Half super senses, half Foggy, but Matt just nodded and pushed into Foggy’s touch. Foggy’s thumb skittered across Matt’s nipple and Matt whimpered, rocking against him. “Fuck,” Foggy said wonderingly, and did it again.
Matt let out a low whine. “Foggy,” he said - not begged, not quite - and Foggy laughed and let his hand drop down past Matt’s waist.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked, squeezing Matt gently through his pants, and Matt gasped, digging his nails into Foggy’s sides probably harder than he should have.
“Foggy,” he managed, hunching over. He sent up a frantic prayer to God, even though he knew God would probably disapprove of all of this, that he wouldn’t come in his pants, that he’d at least let Foggy get his hands on him… “Fuh-Foggy, I need. I need.” He couldn’t make a sentence.
“Shhh, I got you,” Foggy said, and then Foggy’s clever fingers were unzipping Matt’s fly, pushing Matt’s jeans and boxers down, and everything was on fire. “I got you, Matty,” and that was Foggy’s hand on him, oh, “beautiful,” and Matt was gone.
“Suh. Sorry,” he said a moment later, when he could breathe.
Foggy’s laugh was a bright thing hanging in the air. “Yes, Matt, how dare you be the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen naked.” He shifted under Matt, reaching up, and then Matt felt the softness of a tissue on his skin. “Well, mostly naked. You gonna sit there all night? Because I’m about to fall asleep.”
“I. No.” Foggy sounded normal. Matt felt dazed, but Foggy sounded like the ground beneath them hadn’t shifted entirely, turned into something Matt didn’t know how to walk on yet. “I’ll just…”
Matt climbed off of Foggy and kicked his pants and boxers the rest of the way off. Then he lay down - heart rate slowing, sweat cooling on his skin, stiff and uncomfortable against the mattress. What happened now, now that Matt had broken all of his rules?
He felt the heavy weight of Foggy’s arm drape over his stomach. “We put all the leftovers away, right, Super Nose? Nothing’s rotting in the kitchen?”
“No,” Matt said. Foggy was acting like...well, like Foggy. Like nothing had changed. Like this didn’t mean anything.
Like everything was okay.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, and Foggy snuggled closer.
“Good,” Foggy said, and Matt knew, he just knew Foggy had closed his eyes.
Matt didn’t close his.
*
Matt stared into darkness. Foggy was warm against his side, his breath soft on Matt’s face. The bed smelled of Foggy and sex. Matt smelled of Foggy and sex.
So Foggy was still attracted to him, like he’d been in college. Maybe he’d gotten better at hiding it, or maybe Matt just hadn’t been paying attention. Still, he wanted Matt, that much had just been made abundantly clear.
But want wasn’t need.
Foggy’d fallen asleep untroubled and happy, and why shouldn’t he? He’d gotten a very nice party and a very nice blowjob. He wasn’t dragging his best friend down into a world of violence and danger and endless nights waiting up worrying because he couldn’t do the right thing and let go. Foggy was brilliant and kind and the shining light of his beautiful family; Foggy had everything.
Matt only had Foggy. He only had Foggy, and sometimes, like now, he felt that yawning need so much it terrified him. Foggy had already walked out the door once, when Matt had fucked things up almost beyond repair. Matt didn’t have any illusions: he was going to fuck it up again. He’d let Foggy see too much of the rage, too much of the devil in him. Or he’d let Foggy see the need, and that would be worse, because that kind of desperation just drove people away no matter how much they liked you. Matt knew.
He had to get out.
He slid out from under Foggy’s arm, holding his breath. Foggy made a soft noise of protest, but his sleepy, contented heartbeat didn’t change. Matt changed in the living room, silent and quick, and was still pulling on his gloves as he slipped out the roof access door.
He needed to hit something. And Hell’s Kitchen, God bless her, gave him what he needed.
A mugging. He broke the mugger’s leg, snapped the mugger’s knife in half as it sank into the flesh of his upper arm, and didn’t think about Foggy.
A gang skirmish. He laid out nine of them, ignored the protest from his ribs when one of them got him from behind with a baseball bat, and didn’t think about Foggy.
An arsonist. He knocked out four of the guy’s teeth, found out the hard way that his costume wasn’t very flame retardant, and didn’t think about Foggy.
Didn’t think about Foggy’s mouth on him, his hands, his body. Didn’t think about Foggy, asleep and alone in his bed. Didn’t think about Foggy stretching his hand across the sheets as he woke and found Matt gone.
Didn’t think about Foggy leaving the way he inevitably would, when he finally decided he’d had enough of endlessly forgiving Matt Murdock.
He only went home when the sun on his skin told him that there were no more shadows to skulk in. Maybe Foggy was gone already. Maybe he’d gotten dressed and gone to the office. Maybe he’d greet Matt in an hour with a smile and a cup of coffee, like nothing had changed.
He was two blocks away from his apartment when a familiar heartbeat told him what a false hope that was.
He knew before he opened the door that Foggy was in the living room, awake and unhappy. He took a deep breath and let himself in.
“Well, at least you’re alive,” Foggy said, and his voice was as flat and cold as it had been that terrible day when he’d asked if he really knew Matt Murdock at all. “That’s something.”
“I’m - ” Fine would just make Foggy angrier. “I’m okay, Foggy.”
The fact that he stumbled on the stairs probably didn’t help sell his story.
“Get down here,” Foggy said. “How badly are you hurt?”
“Uh…” But Matt had made it to the lower level and Foggy could see for himself.
“Jesus, Matt…” he hissed. “Strip. And if you turn that into a joke I swear to God I will deck you.”
Matt hadn’t been about to - despite what Foggy and Claire thought, he did have some self-preservation instincts - but he kept silent and peeled off his costume. He was perversely grateful he didn’t have to see Foggy’s expression when he winced removing his shirt.
“Is that a bullet wound.” Flat. Furious.
“Oh.” Matt tilted his head towards his right calf. There’d been shooting when he’d been fighting the gang members but he’d thought he’d dodged all the bullets. “Just a graze, I think.”
“Come here.” He did and Foggy circled him, appraising. He felt a finger on his bicep, just below the hot line of pain across it. “Knife?”
“I don’t think it needs stitches.”
“I don’t think that’s what I asked.” But Foggy didn’t wait for an answer. “Your back’s starting to bruise. Broken ribs?”
“Probably just cracked.”
“There are burns on your face and your forearms.” Matt didn’t answer - nothing he could say could make this better - and he heard the whispery sound of Foggy raking his fingers through his hair. “Christ, Matt, were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Not really. He just hadn’t wanted to think anymore. “You’re probably tired,” he said. “I can…”
"You"re damn fucking right I"m tired," Foggy snapped, and Matt flinched. "But I clearly can"t trust you to take care of yourself either, so sit."
Matt obeyed. Foggy patched him up in silence, a silence so thick Matt thought he might choke on it. He cleaned Matt’s wounds; bandaged them; dressed Matt’s forearms and bandaged them too. Matt’s ribs ached every time he took a breath but there was nothing Foggy could do for those, so he didn’t say anything - or maybe it was just that every inhalation brought in a fresh wave of Foggy. He didn’t smell like sex anymore; he smelled like worry and anger and the lingering, metallic tang of fear.
Foggy’s hands shook the whole time, and Matt kept opening his mouth and closing it again, because nothing he could say would fix this, nothing he could say would make up for the wreck he"d made of Foggy"s life.
"You"d better get some rest," Foggy said when he was done, and Matt realized belatedly that Foggy was dressed for the office.
"No, I can..." Matt started. "I"ll come with you, we have work..."
“You need sleep,” Foggy said. Not his usual playful nagging tone, but the unyielding voice he used with clients he didn’t particularly like but had to defend anyway. “Go to bed.”
“I can…”
“I’m not debating this with you, Matt!” Foggy snapped, temper finally overflowing. “You have cracked ribs and a bullet wound and you haven’t had more than four hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours, and quite frankly, you look like fucking hell. God, Matt, what is wrong with you?”
Matt shrank into himself, a little. He had the devil in him; that was what was wrong with him. Didn’t Foggy know that by now? “I’m...I’m sorry.”
“For which part, Matt?” Foggy asked. “Because you’re no good to me at the office right now? Because you let every two-bit hood from here to the river carve a piece out of you? Because you let me spend yesterday lying to my family’s faces about their beloved new son-in-law so that I could aid and abet your criminal activities?”
“I…”
“Or maybe you’re sorry about the part where I woke up alone, with no idea whether you were coming back to me or bleeding to death in an alley somewhere!” Foggy snapped. “No, you couldn’t possibly be sorry about that. Isn’t that your M.O.? Fuck someone, hop off, and you’re out the door before the bed is cool? I mean, I’m not a beautiful woman but I guess I was convenient, right?”
Matt reared back like he’d been slapped. “What? No, Foggy, I...that’s not it at all, I…”
“Save it, Matt.” All the fight seemed to have gone out of Foggy with that last accusation; he sounded so weary Matt wanted to weep. “I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.”
Panic gripped Matt’s heart. Couldn’t do what anymore? The fight, the marriage, Daredevil? Matt? “Stay home,” he said. “We can both stay home, we’ll sleep, we’ll talk about this…”
He felt Foggy move away, heard his footsteps recede and the soft rustle as he picked up his bag. “No. I’m going to the office.” His voice was so tired. “I don’t want to be around you right now.”
And he was gone.
Matt stood there, numb, listening to Foggy’s heartbeat get further and further away, until he couldn’t hear it anymore. His breathing was coming short, and it wasn’t because of his ribs.
You’re no good to me.
I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t want to be around you right now.
Bed. Foggy wanted Matt to go to bed.
He stumbled towards the bedroom and crawled his way over the mattress, not bothering to get under the covers. It smelled like Foggy but also Matt, the scents bleeding into each other until Matt couldn’t pick out the separate notes anymore. He twisted the sheets around his fists, ignoring the way it stung his burned hands, and wondered how long it would take for the Foggy smell to wash out of the bedding, to fade and fade and fade until there was nothing left but Matt.
He closed his eyes, but sleep was a long time coming.