daredevilkink | Prompt Post #5

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When they sit down at the bar, Josie pauses for a long, judgemental moment before plunking a bottle and three glasses on the bar in front of them. “I don’t want to know anything about it,” she says, and walks away.

“Can I at least get some ice?” Foggy calls after her, to no avail. He turns toward Matt. “Just so you know, there’s no label on this and I think it might be lighter fluid.”

“Will it get us drunk?” Karen asks from his other side.

“Or dead.” Foggy twists the cap off the bottle, and yeah--going by the smell, it just might be lighter fluid. That, or straight-up white lightning moonshine whiskey that sane people would probably use for cleaning industrial equipment and nothing else.

Matt accepts the glass Foggy presses into his hands and takes a cautious sip. It burns on his lips and all the way down, but it makes a pleasant heat at the pit of his stomach. He takes another sip.

Karen coughs. “Oh, my god, you weren’t kidding. Is this stuff even legal?”

Foggy knocks his back like it’s water, clunks his glass back down on the counter, and fills it up again. “Bottoms up, you two. The sooner we stop tasting this, the better.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to seriously regret this tomorrow,” Matt mutters, but he obeys. Josie’s is close to home, and it’s about as safe a place to drink as he’s ever going to find. Safer than his apartment, even, surrounded by the warm bustle of people who know him, who would look out for him if he needed it. Every heartbeat in this bar, every voice, the layered scents of whiskey and cigarette smoke and sweat, beer nuts and industrial floor cleaner, Foggy’s cheap soap to the left of him and Karen’s vanilla hand lotion to his right--it’s all familiar in the best ways. Like home. Something Stick always told him he’d never have.

Foggy pours his glass full again and guides his hand to it. His fingers are warm. Matt takes a long drink of the godawful whiskey, and then, buoyed by a rush of affectionate warmth, slings an arm around his shoulders and leans his cheek against the soft worn cotton of Foggy’s pullover.

“Oh, my god,” Karen says. “This is adorable. Are you feeling it already?”

“He’s a lightweight,” Foggy says smugly.

“Am not,” Matt protests, although he really is. And he’s actually not buzzed yet, or at least not enough to be hanging onto Foggy like this, especially in public. He draws back, and his entire left side feels cold, especially when Foggy doesn’t make any attempt to draw him back.

“So,” he says instead, “are we going to talk about the thing we’re not talking about?”

Matt experiences a bolt of pure panic that almost makes him spit out his drink before it occurs to him that Foggy is referring to his and Karen’s pointed silence at work today and not...anything else.

“I already told Matt that I didn’t want to talk about it,” Karen says, sounding considerably less hostile than she did this morning.

“Ah, but I bought you a drink.”

“Isn’t that blackmail?”

“No,” Foggy says, “this is bribery. Totally different. I’m attempting to break down your resistance by making you positively inclined toward me in the hopes that you’ll tell me what I want to know. Standard lawyering technique.”

“I feel like I’m learning so much about our legal system,” Karen says, dry as dust. “And no, I still don’t want to talk about it.”

Matt knows he’s already exhausted his store of good will and then some, but he can’t make himself stay silent. “Karen, if you’re in trouble--”

“I’m not in trouble,” Karen interrupts. “And unless you want to tell me what’s been going on the past few days--” She breaks off at whatever expression Matt is wearing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Can we just drink, please?”

“You heard the lady,” Foggy says. He leans across Matt to pour Karen’s glass full again, and for a moment all Matt can smell is his skin, the soft brush of his hair, the scent of whiskey on his breath.

He is seriously fucked.

***

Karen leaves before they finish the bottle, claiming a headache. The door creaks shut behind her, and Matt slides out of his seat, only for Foggy to reach over and put a restraining hand on his arm. “She’s a big girl, Matt. She can get home by herself.”

Matt opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again. Foggy’s right. Karen can get home by herself, and she’s not likely to take his interference kindly, at this point. Unless he wants to take to the roofs--

Right. After four drinks, and in his work clothes. Great idea, Matty.

You want to end up splattered across the pavement, Matty? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t pull your head outta your own ass and start paying attention.

He shakes his head firmly, banishing the echo of Stick, just as Foggy adds, “Anyway, you need to help me drink the rest of this. If we don’t, Josie’s going to serve it to some other poor, unsuspecting bar patron and they’ll shut this place down. It’s our duty.”

“You make a compelling argument, counsellor,” Matt concedes, and slides his glass over.

***

Josie kicks them out at closing time. The cold has completely settled in by the time the door swings shut behind them, blocking out the sound of clinking coins as Josie counts down the register. The air smells like exhaust fumes and cold rain that isn’t quite ready to fall, and Foggy is a solid line of heat against his side. Matt slings an arm over his shoulder, feeling, for a moment, entirely at peace with the world.

“You are the cuddliest drunk I’ve ever met,” Foggy mutters, but he sounds fond.

“Not drunk,” Matt says, leaning into him. “Just happy.”

Foggy snorts. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Stairs,” he adds, as they approach a subway tunnel. Matt can feel the cooler air coming up, hear the rush of the train cars, but he just nods. After a moment Foggy adds, in an odd tone, “I guess I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Tell you things. I mean, you have the...super ninja senses, or whatever. I don’t want to--”

“No,” Matt interrupts. He can feel his heart speeding up, and he’s absurdly, bizarrely glad that Foggy can’t hear the things he can. He can’t imagine a world without Foggy’s constant narration. Or rather, he can, but those awful few weeks after Foggy found out are not an experience he cares to repeat, ever. “I like when you tell me things. Don’t stop.”

It comes out sounding too honest, too raw; he can tell that Foggy is staring at him, their faces so close that his breath is warm on Matt’s cheek, and it would be so easy to just lean in and--

“Okay,” Foggy says after a long moment, tugging Matt toward the stairs. “In that case, I feel duty-bound to inform you that there’s a man up ahead of us wearing hot-pink Lycra pants and a cowboy hat.”

Matt snorts into the soft fabric of Foggy’s hoodie, laughter bubbling up; the moment is broken, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Ugh, so cute. You have their voices down perfectly,

awww <3

AHHH I love this! I like the slowly building tension of Karen's thing and what does she/doesn't she know, and I like Matt's building inner turmoil. Thank you, author!anon :)

Love love love.

(I wonder if Foggy is starting to pick up on things? I'm getting the feeling Matt's not being very subtle at the moment.)

Prompt Post #5

FILL: leave the world outside 6/?

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 6/?

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 6/?

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 6/?

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 6/?