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Matt Murdock really loves kissing.
Sometimes he stops to wonder whether it’s a Matt thing or a Daredevil thing, but in the end does it really matter? They’re the same person when it comes right down to it. It doesn’t even really matter where he is kissing or who he is kissing or what part of their body his lips touch.
When he was younger, back before the accident, he’d held hands with a blue-eyed boy with brown curly hair and a soft blush that crept across his cheeks whenever their fingertips touched. He freely exchanged his first kiss with Matt, just an unceremonious press of chapped lips in the heat of summer as they sat in a dusty corner of a library that had seen more kisses than either of them would ever know. His second kiss came from a partially-blind girl he taught braille to in his last year of high school. Again, no fireworks, just a smile pressed against the skin of his cheek when they parted ways. Then there was a girl in one of his pre-law classes with a coarse laugh and long, thick hair that he’d wound his fingers in. She wanted to go further, but he wouldn’t let her. Not that time, anyway. A few months later she sat down next to him with a head as equally devoid of hair as her lungs were filled with cancer. They stumbled into an empty changing room after class and Matt pressed kisses onto and into her body until she came with a shudder, gasping as nails dug into the skin of Matt’s back in a way he would feel for days.
There were more, of course, but they were all water under the bridge; distractions while he waited for someone to turn up whom he wanted to kiss forever.
And then, oh boy, then there was Foggy Nelson. His best friend, roommate, and partner in justice and crime alike. When Matt imagined kissing Foggy (and you better believed he imagined often) he always thought it would start gentle and blissfully simple. But then, as Matt gained entry into Foggy’s mouth with a soft press of tongue, it would steadily grow into something hard and fast and almost sinful, fingers trailing over hot flesh, eyes rolling shut in pleasure, hips stuttering for friction.
Their first kiss is only a little like this. For a start, neither of them is as sober as Matt would like. A bottle of whisky is sat on the floor between them in celebration of a case Foggy thought he had fucked up. Matt never doubted him for a second.
“Thank god for friendly jurors” Foggy says cheerfully, wincing his way through another mouthful of liquor.
Matt wants to say that no jury is ever really friendly and that Foggy just kicked ass in his closing statement just like he always does, but all that comes out is a high pitched giggle.
“You know what we should do?” Matt says abruptly, about three drinks too far gone to think beyond the man pressing against his side.
“What?” Foggy replies lazily. Matt leans over to link their fingers together.
“I should touch your face again.”
“You want that?” Foggy replies carefully.
“Yeah I do,” Matt shrugs, “you must’ve changed since last time, I think, and, well, I like doing it. It’s fun. But only with your permission.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says, voice barely trembling as he shifts, pressing his hands to Matt’s sides to manoeuvre him around. They are sat facing each other now, sharp wood pressing into Foggy’s spine and hard floor beneath Matt’s knees, but they are both too intoxicated to care. Matt can hear Foggy’s heart jump as he trails his hands gently down his face and then to his throat. He can feel Foggy swallow thickly against the soft press of his fingers.
“God,” Foggy says, the word rumbling in his chest.
“Language,” Matt replies, feigning total innocence even as his fingers press kisses back up over Foggy’s chin and trace the shape of his lips. He feels more than hears Foggy breathe out. Matt feels a hand raise itself to tangle with his as he bends down to brush his mouth against Foggy’s.
“Do you want this, Matty? Do you want more, with me? Please tell me you do.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Foggy. I want this. Please.”
A groan slips out of Matt’s mouth as they start to move together, bodies almost writhing. Hands fumble at buttons and zips until skin presses against skin in so many places Matt can barely keep track.
“Matt,” Foggy chokes out, voice totally wrecked, the soft musk of arousal slipping into Matt’s senses. He almost whimpers when Matt’s lips press against the thickening bulge in his boxers. It’s exhilarating, this feeling that it’s Matt making Foggy sound like this. Matt continues kissing up as he pulls Foggy’s boxers down, making so much more skin available for his fingers and mouth to touch that Matt almost feels dizzy at the thought of it. His lips never lose contact, eyes half-closed in pleasure as Foggy runs a pair of fingers through his hair.
Matt can tell that neither of them will hold out long enough to go any further than this tonight, so he sinks down onto Foggy, mouth swallowing him down, fingers pressing hard into his thighs as Foggy tries to buck his hips up. Matt could do this for hours. Everything about this is so perfect, from the weight of Foggy in his mouth to the heady taste of him on his tongue. He reaches a hand down to touch himself; judging from the way Foggy’s whole body was keening towards him this was going to end soon. When Foggy comes in his mouth with a soft exhale of Matt, he follows, spilling out onto the floor beneath them with a moan that Foggy cannot help but groan at. Foggy pulls him up by the shoulders, tasting himself in the kiss that Matt willingly gives him.
Yes, Matt Murdock likes kissing very much indeed.