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Foggy and Matt are lying on Matt’s bed. It’s bigger than Foggy’s and the sheets are softer, and frankly it’s just better. Foggy is on his side with his knees tucked up, and Matt is on his back in the curve of Foggy’s body with his knees thrown over Foggy’s. It’s intimate but not overtly sexual. Foggy and Matt are Taking It Slow because between devastating realizations about vigilantism and recently overthrown crime lords, it would be nice to not fuck this up by jumping into it so hard something breaks. Anyway, Foggy likes how this position makes them fit like two pieces of a puzzle, which Matt knows because it said it once, voice sleepy and heartbeat slow and content. Matt likes how Foggy is heat all along his left side, and Foggy’s breath floats gently near Matt’s neck, and that when Foggy drapes an arm across him it’s like being wrapped up in a cocoon of Foggy Foggy Foggy.
Today is an especially good day because it’s late morning on a Saturday and they have nowhere to be until tonight. Matt hasn’t had more than a handful of bruises lately (which makes Foggy, if not happy, then at least less worried), and it’s pleasant not to be in any pain. He doesn’t say the last part.
“We should do something later,” Matt says instead. Foggy stirs lazily, the cotton of his clothes rubbing gently against Matt’s.
“I thought we were going out for lunch? Bea’s husband?” Foggy’s cousin married a butcher, and he’s been joking about witnessing the road not taken for weeks.
“No, I mean,” Matt lowers his voice, opens his eyes and points them towards Foggy’s face, “We should do something later.” Foggy’s heartrate picks up.
“Why wait?” Foggy sounds much more alert than he was a second ago. Matt smiles and lets his eyes slide shut again, and Foggy leans up to brush soft kisses against Matt’s mouth. A few minutes stretch out with only that: the soft press of lips and the sounds of their intermingled breaths. Matt lets his focus contract so there is nothing but their bodies and the space between. He can hear the hiss of blood in capillaries and the inflow and outflow of their breathing and the noises in Foggy’s throat that don’t make it past his lips. The whole, living filigree is layered on the ever-present thud of their hearts. Matt shivers from the heat building in his body.
Foggy pulls away (ugh why) but doesn’t go far, face hovering a few inches away from Matt’s. Matt wonders what Foggy is seeing in his expression, and if he can tell how deeply even this tame act is affecting him. They’re both panting slightly. (When did that happen?)
“Oh, Matty,” Foggy murmurs, voice honeyed with affection. Rustle of cloth, movement of air, and Foggy brings his hand to cup the side of Matt’s face. “Matty.” The reverence in his voice makes something sing in Matt’s chest, even as he shies away from it.
“Fogs.” Wow, is that Matt’s voice? He sounds wrecked. “Foggy,” he repeats, for lack of any other words. He tends to lose his words when they’re like this. He thinks Foggy is smiling. He brings his hand to Foggy’s face (because he can now) and feels the smile in the curve and mass of the cheek. “Hi there,” Matt says nonsensically. He lets his fingers slide lower until they’re tracing Foggy’s lips. Foggy’s mouth opens and he inhales shakily.
Foggy’s heartrate has kicked up again, but that’s just background noise as they’re kissing again. Foggy is hotter, more intent. The kiss isn’t demanding, but Matt feels like he’s burning anyway. This might be the other, unacknowledged reason they’ve been taking it slow. Between Foggy’s heat and his heart and his mouth, Matt’s already more than halfway gone. Foggy’s comforting smell is still there (made extra affecting by the subtle changes it acquires when they’ve spent time together), but cutting across it like a bright note is the smell of Matt’s own precome. It’s frustrating (not yet, not now, you loser) and deliciously, embarrassingly arousing. Usually at this point Matt would pull away and try to calm himself down (it disappoints Foggy and he tries to hide it, but Matt can tell and it stings but even Foggy’s disappointment is better than anything Matt dared to hope for) but it’s Saturday and they have nowhere to be so Matt presses closer. Foggy groans in the back of his throat and Matt doesn’t even hear his own answering groan because Foggy is hard and it’s still an electrifying surprise (to be wanted in return, to have this, that this is real). Foggy’s hand finds its way into Matt’s hair and they’re still kissing and his fingers scratch Matt’s scalp ever so lightly. Matt’s whole body shudders. A sound escapes his throat, high and needy, and Foggy answers with one that’s low and comforting.
Foggy presses Matt more firmly against the bed, which sometimes is grounding but this time is not. Foggy’s pressing him against the bed and he’s hard against Matt’s hip and one hand is in Matt’s hair and the other is tucked under the back of Matt’s neck like he’s something precious and dear. His body is soft and warm and everywhere, and every time Matt breathes it’s Foggy Foggy Foggy. Matt is so hard he’s throbbing but his arms are full of Foggy so his dick can fall off for all it matters. Then Foggy shifts so his dick is rubbing against Matt’s hip and he’s kissing Matt deeper and he groans like Matt feels amazing. He presses a little closer and the pressure on Matt’s dick changes and that’s it, he’s done. Foggy is pressing him against the mattress and Matt is coming without even enough breath to gasp.
“Matt?” Foggy’s voice is cautious and gentle, but his heartbeat is thundering. Matt presses his face into the crook between Foggy’s neck and shoulder. “Did you just…?” Foggy trails off. Matt nodding. He feels good (feels great) but he’s a little anxious (coming in your pants, what are you a teenager?). Foggy pets his hair and then strokes along Matt’s side, and that feels so good that the last bit of tension goes out of Matt. “Jesus.” A blasphemy, soft with reverence. Matt is smiling dopily against Foggy’s chest.
Foggy presses at Matt’s shoulder until he leans far enough away that they can kiss. It is searing, and Matt shudders again. Foggy makes a sound, and Matt cocks his head. He wiggles. Foggy groans like he can’t help it, erection still pressing against Matt’s hip. Matt’s smile stretches wider, and he scoots down until he can comfortably grope Foggy through his pants.
“You, you don’t have to,” Foggy manages. Matt tiles his face so Foggy can see him smiling (but I want to) and continues touching him through the cotton. Foggy goes quiet except for his breathless moans. Matt plays with him like that for a while. He feels light and like everything except Foggy is far away.
When Matt pushes the waistband down and wraps his hand around Foggy’s erection, they both moan. Foggy’s skin is so hot and he’s so hard. He feels amazing in Matt’s hand. The smell of Foggy’s precome is making Matt feel like he’s high. He spreads it around with his thumb and falls in love with how slick it is. Foggy is clutching at Matt’s shoulders and occasionally petting Matt’s head and it’s perfect. Matt’s eyes are closed and he’s doing his level best to press all of Foggy’s reactions into his memory.
It takes him a few seconds to realize that Foggy is actually saying words. “—ome, Matty, I’m gonna come, Matt, Matt, Matty, I’m so close, you’re gonna make me come—” He’s speaking so fast it takes another second to resolve what he’s saying and by that point Foggy is barely getting the words out. Matt lies back again and pushes his shirt up with his free hand. When Foggy gets it he chokes. “You sure?” he manages. Matt nods and doesn’t stop stroking him. A high, hungry noise is coming out of Matt’s own throat, which makes him peripherally aware that he’s been making pleading noises for a while. Finally, finally, Foggy comes. The first spurt splashes on Matt’s belly and they both make aborted, gasping noises with each one. Foggy’s come is so hot on his skin. When Foggy has subsided to low groans, Matt lets go of him and quickly uses that hand to smear the come on himself. The smell feels like it’s filling up Matt’s brain.
Foggy hugs him tight. He was licking his hand clean so the position’s a little awkward, but Matthew Murdock gives zero fucks. He wiggles his arms free and hugs back. The hug goes on long enough that by the time Foggy lets up (but doesn’t let go, Foggy is the best) Matt feels a little more like himself. Enough so that when Foggy kisses him, he turns his head so that Foggy only catches the corner of his mouth. He likes the taste of Foggy’s come, but he’s not sure Foggy would.
“Hm?” Foggy asks. His heartrate is slowing down now, and Matt can hear from the way he’s blinking that he’s starting to get sleepy.
“Uh, nothing,” Matt says. He kisses Foggy tentatively, and he can hear and feel the moment Foggy figures it out. Foggy doesn’t say anything, though, just deepens the kiss and hums into Matt’s mouth.
They kiss for a while and then relax back into their earlier positions: Matt on his back, Foggy on his side, their legs comfortably tangled together.
“You know,” Foggy says. Boy, does he sound relaxed. “I’m not sure that really qualifies as ‘taking it slow.’ I just made air quotes.” Matt smiles softly. “I mean, I could see an argument from either side.”
“We didn’t have sex,” Matt offers lazily.
“We both had orgasms.” Foggy twists and flops his head on Matt’s chest.
“Not sex.”
“What, a penis has to enter an orifice, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Not any orifice,” Matt tells him, trying to sound grave. “Anus or vagina.”
“Wooow, Murdock, your dirty talk blows me away.” Foggy is trying not to laugh, but there’s really no point since anyone would be able to feel him shaking with it.
“In the butt, Foggy. It has to be in the butt.” Matt is laughing himself.
“Or the vagina,” Foggy says. “You clinical freak.”
“Or the hoo-ha,” Matt agrees. That sets Foggy off, his laugh shaking them to their bones. They are, theoretically, too old and mature to be laughing hysterically whenever either one of them manages to stop laughing long enough to choke out another terrible euphemism. In practice, they don’t actually stop until Matt starts to get itchy from the come drying on his torso. They haul themselves out of bed and into the shower, still giggling like ninnies. And if they waste time in the shower tickling each other and soaping Matt’s hair into stupid shapes, well, it’s Saturday. They have nowhere else to be.