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Re: FILL: 5+1, matt/OCs, matt/foggy - '(all i wanna get is) a little bit closer' [4.5/5]

[(Anonymous)]

(eyyy i thought of a title - ty tegan and sara :3)

sorry to leave you hanging! real life caught up with me a little bit. there’s a lot about this last part especially that i’m not happy with (u might see me lurking on that beta thread later lol) but i know if i don’t post it now i’ll end up just talking myself out of finishing it at all. hopefully it’s okay c: thanks so much for the comments and everything, you’re awesome <3

***

Matt always looks more at home in Foggy’s apartment than he does in his own - in Foggy’s opinion, anyway. There’s something settling about having him there; a stillness and an ease in the way he takes a moment, grounding himself in reminders of where everything is - Foggy’s TV, his coffee table, the pleather couch that Matt had been begging him to throw out ever since he’d bought it because, in his words, “Pleather”.

Eventually, Matt loosens his grip on his cane and props it against the wall. He smiles and it’s a little tight, a little sad. “It’s been a while,” he says. Foggy knows what he means, even though he hasn’t allowed himself to closely examine the fact that the last time Matt was here was a few days before Foggy tugged the mask off of a dying man and found his best friend’s face underneath. He’s forgiven Matt but, apparently, that forgiveness doesn’t extend to inviting Daredevil into his home. At least, it hadn't until today.

Not that the man in Foggy’s living room really is Daredevil. Not in this moment. He looks too much like he did when they first met and it makes swooping nostalgia and what Foggy knows is pure, unadulterated affection, stir in his gut. He touches the back of Matt’s hand, curls their fingers together. “You remember where the bedroom is, right?”

Since sharing a room with Matt, Foggy has developed a habit of keeping his space tidy. The floor is clear, the surfaces uncluttered, and Matt makes his way through the apartment without difficulty. His palm is warm against Foggy’s, his breathing slow and even, his glasses flashing dully in the light from the bare bulb. Foggy wants to kiss him so badly, here, in his home - this place that he’s made for himself because Matt asked him to, because Matt wanted them to be together, wants - Nelson and Murdock, Murdock and Nelson.

Foggy wonders when he went and got himself so gone for this mess of a man. He wonders when he became a mess, himself, and if it was at around the same time that he started to make sure things were always tidy.

“Get undressed?” he asks when they’re in his room, and Matt obliges. His glasses come off first and he doesn’t look down to unbutton his shirt, doesn’t need to, so Foggy gets to watch his eyes as he fiddles with the fabric. They’re fixed, unfocused, somewhere around Foggy’s left eyebrow, and Foggy drinks in the sight, locks it down in memory for all the future days when Matt’s on the news or in the office, and Foggy’s not allowed to see them.

Matt shrugs off the shirt and it’s a sweet tease, a ripple of muscles, a rush of cotton sliding over skin.

Foggy wants to touch him and make him forget about every fucker that never did. His fingers twitch, his breathing stutters, and he walks across the room to his bedside table. Matt’s completely naked by the time he turns back around, and he’s smiling.

Foggy thinks, You’ll be the death of me, and puts the cock ring and a condom into Matt’s hands. Matt blinks and turns them over a few times in his fingers.

“Are you sure I need this?” he says, but instead of holding up the cock ring, it’s the condom that he seems unsure about. Somehow, Foggy knows that he’s not asking whether they can fuck without it, but wondering if Foggy really believes that he's going to last long enough to come anywhere but all over himself. It is, admittedly, a delectable image, but not one that Foggy intends on ending the night with.

“Very sure,” Foggy tells him. “But uh, the cock ring goes on first. You have to be soft."

"Oh," Matt says, and then goes pink. "Better hurry, then. Do you, um...I’ve never worn one before?”

“Right, yeah, let me--” he steps forward and takes it from Matt’s hand. They’re so close that he can feel Matt’s breath on his face, and his heart is beating almost painfully hard in his chest. “It’s silicon,” he says, even though Matt could probably tell from the texture or smell or whatever. “And stretchy, you have to sorta--” he reaches down to cup Matt’s balls and Matt groans and lets his head tip back.

“Hurry,” he says, again. “I don’t...you don’t have to explain.”

Foggy takes his word for it and gently, quickly - light touches, light touches - gets the ring around Matt’s cock and balls. The second he’s done, he kisses Matt’s cheek and runs his hand along the shaft. He gets hard so fast Foggy wouldn’t be surprised if he feels dizzy from it.

“You want me to do the condom, too?” Matt hesitates, probably imagining some time he’d answered that with a yes, only to shake apart seconds later, so Foggy adds, “Trust me.”

Matt nods then, and Foggy doesn’t think he’s ever handled a condom with as much honest to God reverence as he does now, with Matt’s trust like a physical thing in the room, warm and fragile. Foggy thinks of a flower budding for the first time, and then almost laughs, because of course he could have a dick in hand and Matt Murdock would still be able to make him picture fucking flowers.

“What’s funny?” Matt asks, like he can hear smiles that don’t even exist yet, laughs that haven’t even happened, and that, for some reason, reminds Foggy of how badly he wants to watch this man fall apart in all the most gorgeous ways.

“You’d be a sunflower,” he says, knowing it’s true. “Jesus Christ, you’d be a freaking sunflower.”

Matt raises his eyebrows, looking a bit amused and a lot bewildered, but Foggy doesn’t give him time to say anything. He puts his hands on his hips and pushes, making Matt stumble back until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Another meaningful shove and he’s lying on his back, giving Foggy the full view of his naked front; the stretchy shine of old scars, the mottled fade of more recent bruises, and the familiar planes of his body - the lines of muscle and trail of hair down from his bellybutton. He’s hard all over; the flat of his stomach is tense, his nipples are pebbled, and his dick…

Foggy’s biting back moans as he strips, knowing that Matt’s listening to the sounds his clothes make as he peels them off and drops them to the floor. When he’s done, he crawls up Matt’s body with his hands and knees pressing into the mattress, and Matt follows his progress with a tilt of his head. Foggy would only have to lower himself an inch and they’d be touching, all along Matt’s torso.

He bends his neck, lets his hair brush against Matt’s face, and says into his ear, “We’re gonna take this slow. That okay with you?”

Matt shudders and Foggy feels fingers dig into his waist. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Foggy gently bites Matt’s earlobe and knows Matt’s mouth has fallen wide open, that he’s gaping at the ceiling, letting out wet gasps. “I want you to tell me everywhere you want to be touched. I don’t care how you react, alright? I don’t care what your body does, or what you think it’s going to do. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Matt swallows and Foggy hears the rasp of his heels dragging along the duvet. “You don’t have--”

“I know I don’t have to,” Foggy cuts across him and twists Matt’s hair between his fingers, playing with it. “But why the hell would you think I don’t want to? You’re so damn hot, Murdock.” Matt laughs at that, startled and pleased, and Foggy takes the opportunity to reiterate, “Tell me.”

Matt sighs, and his grip on Foggy’s waist tightens ever so slightly. “Kiss me,” he says. “Kiss my mouth.”

Foggy smiles. “Duh. I was going to do that anyway.”

“Oh,” something conflicted unfolds across Matt’s face. “Not everyone does. I don’t always let them, while we’re actually...in case...the first time, I…”

Foggy watches him struggle to get the words out, and imagines him fumbling through a first kiss, getting hard without meaning to, blushing to the roots of his hair.

He wants to punch whoever it was, after that first time, who continued to make Matt feel like kissing was something he had to put a limit on. Then, he presses his lips to Matt’s so he doesn’t have to try and talk anymore. Matt lets out a muffled, “Mmph,” of surprise and lurches up into it, his tongue insistent, his blunt nails scratching down Foggy’s sides in a way that’s fucking delicious.

“God, you’re so good at that,” Foggy praises on a gasp. “So, so good. Tell me what else.” Matt groans and he’s still chasing Foggy’s lips, hovering millimetres away. Foggy says again, damp against Matt’s mouth, “Tell me what else, Matt.”

“Can you touch--I want--”

“What?” Foggy kisses him again, just for a moment. He can’t resist it. Matt’s eyes are screwed shut and there’s colour high on his cheeks. Foggy thumbs at the spots of warmth, and asks, “You want me to touch your dick?”

“N-no,” Matt shakes his head vigorously. “Not yet, not yet.”

“Okay,” Foggy shushes him. “Your nipples, then?”

Matt’s eyes snap open. “Fuck,” he says, “Uh, fuck. Yes, Foggy.”

He looks like he’s ready to come, as if prepared for the fact that he will if Foggy follows through. But Foggy knows better. He rubs the flat of his hand over Matt’s chest, dragging it roughly over one of his nipples.

“I wanna use my tongue,” he says, because it feels important to tell Matt what he’s going to do, to tell him that he wants to do it. “And my teeth.”

“Yes,” Matt hisses. “I want you to, I want...”

When Foggy sucks Matt’s nipple into his mouth and rolls the other between his fingers, Matt actually cries out, a choked yell that Foggy wants to hear again and again. He laves at Matt’s skin, teeth grazing, until every breath Matt draws is on a hitching whine, until his movements are shocky and disjointed, until Foggy’s drooling.

“Your mouth,” Matt manages. “Foggy, your fucking mouth.”

Foggy grins against Matt so he can feel it and, God, Foggy feels like he’s glowing. He doesn’t know where the ground is anymore, he’s floating so damn high. “You want me to put it on something else?” he asks.

“Shit,” Matt says, eyes going wide. His hips buck, once, out of his control, and his dick presses hard into Foggy’s stomach. And then, before Foggy can properly register what’s happening, Matt’s shrinking back, slamming his ass back down against the covers, and pushing at Foggy. “Shit, no, sorry--”

“Matt,” Foggy says. "Matt," he seizes Matt's wrists, circles them with his fingers, and pins them just above his head. "If you want me to get off you now," he says, "I will. But I promise you, everything's okay."

“But, I touched you.”

“And did you come?”

Matt takes a moment, eyes darting uncertainly. “No.”

“No,” Foggy repeats, letting Matt go and brushing a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Do you want to stop?” Slowly, Matt shakes his head. “I get the feeling you wouldn’t mind me sucking you off though, huh?”

“I’ve never,” Matt sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “No ones ever done that for me. To me. Whatever.”

Foggy had figured as much. It doesn’t stop the unpleasant lurch in his belly though, because, okay, a lot of people in the world haven’t received head, but Foggy doubts that many of them have taught themselves to give it to other people like fucking pros.

“Well, I definitely owe you,” he says, trying to sound offhand about it and pretty sure he’s failing. “Maybe you can give me a few pointers.”

A laugh bursts from Matt and he pats aimlessly at Foggy’s face, his thumb catching briefly on his lip. “I can’t imagine you’ll need any.”

“Oh?” Foggy turns his head to kiss Matt’s palm. “Have I been pretty good so far, then?”

Matt hums, sobering, although his eyes are still crinkled around the edges. “Something like that.”

“Wow,” Foggy says, dryly. “Glad to know I’m making an impression.”

Another laugh, giddy, Matt’s head tipped back into the pillow, his fingers still playing lightly over Foggy’s face. Foggy catches one in his mouth for an instant and digs in his teeth, making the laugh stutter. Then, he ducks down, fits his hands snugly around Matt’s hips, and wraps his lips around his cock.