Foggy is just the right side of pleasantly buzzed with alcohol running through his veins. They’ve all stumbled into Josie’s for Karen’s birthday, and they all seem equally determined to toast their recent successes.

Matt is currently chatting away at the bar, leaving Foggy and Karen to play with the mini cocktail umbrellas that they’d bought on the way over (another excellent Franklin Nelson idea). Karen is holding a tiny blue umbrella above her head, and Foggy’s put his behind his ear. They’re laughing so much that Karen is fully, unashamedly giggle-snorting, and it’s so loud that Matt has glanced over his shoulder at them, before returning to his conversation with Josie.

“Foggy, Foggy, Foggy!” Karen’s hitting his arm, and practically squealing at him.
“What? WHAT?”
“Josie just stared at Matt’s butt when he turned round! She’s a member of the “Matt Murdock is the sexiest piece of ass in this place” club!”
Foggy nearly doubles with laughter. “Isn’t everyone who has ever been in the same room as Matt a member of that particular club?”

Karen nods in agreement, smile bright on her face until she realises the implications of what Foggy’s just said.
“Wait, since when have you been in that club?”
“Founding member, Karen. I wrote the rulebook. Thou shalt always recognise the beauty of Mr M. Murdock Esquire.”

They clink glasses, and beam at each other. Foggy grabs hold of the eel-juice bottle, and pours himself another shot, before gulping it straight down.

“Is it because of his cock-sucking lips then?” Karen asks mock-innocently, and Foggy’s shot ends up sprayed across the table.
“Karen? What the fuck?” Foggy’s eyes have widened in shock.
“What? You said you were a member! I was testing your loyalty.” Karen shrugs. “I mean, it’s so red, and…”
Foggy holds a hand in his temple. “Seriously? Seriously Page? You wanna go there, because I will.. oh hey, buddy, you need a hand with them?” He changes conversation effortlessly as Matt approaches their table again.

The night goes on, with all three getting steadily drunkier by the hour, and Foggy forgets his conversation with Karen completely. Or at least, he tries to.
He doesn’t have an oral fixation.
He’s not staring at Matt’s gorgeous, beautiful mouth.
He’s not feeling his heart flutter every time Matt licks his lips. (That panics him, when he remembers Matt can hear heartbeats, but he relaxes when he realises that Matt must be too caught up in Karen’s stories to notice).

He must definitely does not feel his cock twitch when he watches that perfect sinful mouth stretched around the lip of his bottle of beer. Nope, absolutely not.

He’s a terrible friend. Alcohol is making him a terrible, terrible friend. Alcohol and Karen Page are making him the worst, most awful friend in the known universe. Foggy shakes his head to clear it, and tries to focus on the conversation.

The problem with horrible, sinful ideas is that they’re like seeds. Give them a little attention, a little light of day, and they take root.

It is two days after the “Matt Murdock club” debacle, and Foggy has forgotten pretty much all the night’s activities. His subconscious mind, of course, has not. The seed has been planted, and Foggy’s unconscious thoughts can’t quite get out of its grip.

Matt’s biting his lip as he concentrates on a particularly long and arduous case. Foggy keeps glancing at him over the top of his laptop. The devil on his shoulder mutters thoughts he hasn’t considered since his college days into his ear. It’s dark, Karen’s already gone, and Foggy finds himself standing up from his chair, walking over to Matt’s desk, and perching himself on the edge of it, facing the brunette.
Matt looks up at him, bottom lip still caught between his teeth, and Foggy has never seen a more tempting sight. His cock tents the front of his trousers, but he makes no move to hide it, as though he’s held in place by some unknown force.

Matt’s licking where he’s just been biting, standing up from his desk chair, putting his hands on either side of Foggy, before sliding to his knees and…

The alarm rings. Foggy sits bolt upright, bedsheets tangled around his middle. He breathes in sharply, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light peeking through the curtains.

Just a dream. It’s just a dream. He sighs in relief, and gets up out of bed, steadfastly ignoring his erection. Just a dream. Only a dream.

It’s still just a dream the next night, when dream-Matt starts to undo Foggy’s belt buckle.

It’s still only a dream, nothing to worry about, the night after that, when dream-Matt’s hand is reaching into Foggy’s boxers.

It’s only a dream, he can’t control it, the week after that, when dream-Matt’s leaving a dream hickey on Foggy’s hip, before sliding his tongue along his erection.

Foggy only admits he might have a tiny inappropriate crush on his business partner when he wakes up with his lower body stuck to the duvet, having just dreamt Matt deep-throating him in the office.
He’s the worst friend in the world. Oh god.

He tries to keep it together at work. He’s spending as much time as possible away from Matt’s desk, and going out to run errands as often as he can. You want doughnuts for brunch? Foggy gets them. Coffee? Foggy’s already out the door, jacket in hand.

Naturally, Karen and Matt notice. Foggy can hear them whispering, mumbling in corners and glancing his way. He might not be blessed with super-echolocation, but he can still tell when his co-workers are conspiring against him. Karen eventually huffs at Matt, before pushing him towards Foggy’s desk, and turning on her heel to leave them to it.

“So…Foggy?” Matt runs his hand through his hair, making it look more dishevelled than usual.
Do not think of how wonderful he’d look with bed hair. Do not think about how wonderful he’d look all messed up.
Dammit.
“Mhmm?” Foggy carries on typing, barely glancing up at Matt.
Matt is still standing there, waiting for something. “Fog?”
“Yup?” Foggy’s attention is still completely focussed on the screen in front of him. “Kinda busy right now, Murdock.”
Matt closes his eyes and grimaces. “Seriously, Fog. What’s wrong?” Matt leans forward, next to where Foggy is sat, hands on the desk in front of him.

Foggy’s fingers stop typing. The angel on his shoulder states one very simple instruction. Do not look at Matt’s ass while it’s on display.

Foggy is a terrible, awful human being.

“Nothing buddy. I’ve just…had trouble sleeping. That’s all.” Foggy glances up at Matt. “I’m grinning at you reassuringly right now. I’m fine. Just need sleep.”

That night, sleep doesn’t come easy. The seedling slowly growing in his subconscious mind is becoming a tree. A massive wooden tree with the words “Franklin Nelson wants to get it on with Matthew Murdock” written on it in huge luminous letters. In Karen’s handwriting (because, after all, she started this).

He spends half the night tossing and turning, trying to forget. Eventually, he sits up in bed, turns on his bedside lamp and thinks. He closes his eyes. His hand reaches under the duvet, and he gasps when he takes himself in hand. He lets his mind conjure up wonderful, wicked, forbidden thoughts; Matt’s mouth stretched around his erection, Matt bent over Foggy’s desk and gasping out a groan as Foggy spanks him right on the seat of his black suit, Matt’s dark hair sticking to his forehead with his eyes squeezed closed in pleasure as Foggy bites and sucks a hickey just above his collar, Matt using his Daredevil voice to growl dirty talk into Foggy’s ear as he comes all over Matt’s hand. Matt. Matt. MATT!

Foggy comes so hard that he sees colours in front of his eyes. It feel so wrong, and his stomach knots with guilt. Foggy struggles to admit to himself that it’s part of why it’s so appealing. He cleans up, lies back into his pillows, and lets sleep claim him.

The next day starts out well. Foggy’s gotten more sleep last night than he had for the entire week before. He whistles as he walks up the stairs to the office, and stops in his tracks at the sight of Matt bent over, leaning on the back of his office chair, legs slightly spread.

Foggy shakes his head, and pinches himself, as he stares at Matt’s back. It’s a perfect picture, and so Foggy does what any friend who is attracted to their best friend and business partner since college in that situation would do.

He memorises the pose and mentally saves it to his wank-bank.

Really, that should have been Foggy’s first sign that masturbating over fantasies of your attractive friend has some undesired consequences. It doesn’t help that Matt is wearing Foggy’s favourite shirt of his, which is just slightly too tight around his abs. Foggy could write sonnets about those abs.

Everything about that day in the office, every thing that Matt does, reminds Foggy of what he spent last night doing. Every small damn thing. It’s torture, and he only has himself to blame.

He can’t look at Matt without getting flashbacks. It’s simultaneously arousing and absolutely mortifying at the same time. Foggy spends all day in a state of half arousal, half “ground swallow me now”ness. And at midday, it gets far far worse.

It’s hot, after all. The sun is glaring through the office, and so he doesn’t question it when Karen disappears during her lunch break, because who would want to stay in the office with no air con. He’s hitting the printer, with his sleeves rolled up, when she heads back, clutching a box of ice pops in her hand.

“The air con won’t be fixed for another 3 hours. I figured we needed some other way of cooling down.” She said by way of an explanation, passing a popsicle to Matt, and grinning at Foggy.

Foggy stands there, mouth slightly agape. Karen carries on smirking.

She knows. She knows about Foggy and his dreams. Oh god, oh god no.

Karen keeps firing him not-so-subtle pointed looks the entire time Matt wraps his lips around that ice lolly. Foggy gulps, but if he’s honest, he’s not sure if it’s because Karen’s discovered his awful secret, or because Matt is really enjoying every inch of the lollipop.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Karen raises an eyebrow at him.

“Dear founding member of the Matthew Murdock is the sexiest piece of ass in the room club. You’re welcome. X.
P.S: Seeing as you now owe me, you will take me to Josie’s tonight, buy me 7 drinks, and admit to all the feelings you’ve been hiding from Matt all these years.”