Arousal heightens everything. Taste, touch, smell, hearing, it all refocuses on his physicality and that of his partner, delineating him where normally he feels his edges blur and blend as his senses make him small in the face of the rest of the world. Foggy smells like beer and cigarette smoke and the artificial clean-rain scent of his body wash. Foggy sounds like he’s been dying for this, lips wrapped around his cock. Foggy’s mouth feels like heaven.
Matt works his fingers into Foggy’s hair, each strand distinctive under his touch but somehow not coarse, not grating. Rumples it up in his hands, running his nails along his scalp, tugs accidentally when Foggy does something with his tongue that makes his entire body sing. Foggy groans in response and Matt tugs again, gentle but pointed, a reminder of what they’re doing, who Foggy is doing this to. Foggy seems to like that, his grip around Matt’s hips tightening, his mouth moving more rapidly around him. Most of Foggy’s hair is curtaining his face, save for what Matt has such a loving hold of. It brushes against his thighs with every bob of Foggy’s head, a gentle caress all on its own.
Foggy pulls off Matt to huff a laugh, tossing his head to clear his vision. “I need a hair tie,” he says. Matt groans, the thought of Foggy climbing off of him to go look for one actually painful. “Or a headband. I’m getting my own hair in my mouth.
“I’ll take care of it, just don’t stop.” Foggy laughs again, delighted by his obvious desire, and sucks in the head of Matt’s dick between rounded lips. Matt whines and pushes his fingers against Foggy’s temples, gathering up silky strands away from Foggy’s face. He used Matt’s shampoo the last time he washed it, out of his own and yelling from the shower stall if he could borrow some of Matt’s this once. The presence of the scent usually in his own hair now on Foggy’s is pleasing, for reasons Matt doesn’t want to think about right now.
Once he starts running his fingers through Foggy’s hair, he finds he can’t stop, combing it all back with help from the up-and-down movement of Foggy’s head as he works Matt enthusiastically. Soon most of it’s smoothed back into an impromptu tail at the base of his neck and Matt curves his fingers about the curve of Foggy’s skull to hold it there, to keep Foggy close. To always keep Foggy close. Why hadn’t they done this sooner? He’s fairly sure he had good reasons. Probably. They’ve melted like he has into the warm slick tightness of Foggy’s throat. God, oh god.
He has to remind himself to keep his grip light, even though his fingers curl in under the growing tension at the base of his spine. To not hurt Foggy. Never hurt Foggy. But he gasps and pushes insistently into that sweet mouth, and Foggy keens and sucks harder, and Matt is going to -- he’s going to--
He spills into Foggy’s mouth, yanking his head down. Foggy takes it with good grace and swallows around him, works him through it until Matt collapses back against his chair, boneless and satisfied. Between his legs, Foggy groans, the scent of his own release blooming heavy and musky in the air.
For a moment they stay there, panting. Foggy rests his head on Matt’s thigh and Matt pets him almost automatically, fingers reacting to what lies under them. Then he realizes he has strands of Foggy’s hair actually wrapped around his fingers and winces. “Sorry, did I pull too hard?”
“Nah.” Foggy sounds replete with contentment. “It’s a thing for me. A good thing.” He drags his hand across his mouth, then tucks a flyaway strand behind his ear, leaving the barest trace of Matt’s scent there. Matt’s mouth waters. Apparently it’s now a thing for him too. “You think I keep this mane just to look pretty for the girls?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen it.”
Foggy snorts amusedly. “You saying you’re a girl, Murdock?”
“You’re the one that just sucked me off.” He tugs lightly on a lock of Foggy’s hair. Foggy’s breath catches. “But if you need further proof, counselor, why don’t we take this to a bed so I can enter new evidence into the record...”
Minifill: Matt/Foggy Long Luscious Locks
Matt works his fingers into Foggy’s hair, each strand distinctive under his touch but somehow not coarse, not grating. Rumples it up in his hands, running his nails along his scalp, tugs accidentally when Foggy does something with his tongue that makes his entire body sing. Foggy groans in response and Matt tugs again, gentle but pointed, a reminder of what they’re doing, who Foggy is doing this to. Foggy seems to like that, his grip around Matt’s hips tightening, his mouth moving more rapidly around him. Most of Foggy’s hair is curtaining his face, save for what Matt has such a loving hold of. It brushes against his thighs with every bob of Foggy’s head, a gentle caress all on its own.
Foggy pulls off Matt to huff a laugh, tossing his head to clear his vision. “I need a hair tie,” he says. Matt groans, the thought of Foggy climbing off of him to go look for one actually painful. “Or a headband. I’m getting my own hair in my mouth.
“I’ll take care of it, just don’t stop.” Foggy laughs again, delighted by his obvious desire, and sucks in the head of Matt’s dick between rounded lips. Matt whines and pushes his fingers against Foggy’s temples, gathering up silky strands away from Foggy’s face. He used Matt’s shampoo the last time he washed it, out of his own and yelling from the shower stall if he could borrow some of Matt’s this once. The presence of the scent usually in his own hair now on Foggy’s is pleasing, for reasons Matt doesn’t want to think about right now.
Once he starts running his fingers through Foggy’s hair, he finds he can’t stop, combing it all back with help from the up-and-down movement of Foggy’s head as he works Matt enthusiastically. Soon most of it’s smoothed back into an impromptu tail at the base of his neck and Matt curves his fingers about the curve of Foggy’s skull to hold it there, to keep Foggy close. To always keep Foggy close. Why hadn’t they done this sooner? He’s fairly sure he had good reasons. Probably. They’ve melted like he has into the warm slick tightness of Foggy’s throat. God, oh god.
He has to remind himself to keep his grip light, even though his fingers curl in under the growing tension at the base of his spine. To not hurt Foggy. Never hurt Foggy. But he gasps and pushes insistently into that sweet mouth, and Foggy keens and sucks harder, and Matt is going to -- he’s going to--
He spills into Foggy’s mouth, yanking his head down. Foggy takes it with good grace and swallows around him, works him through it until Matt collapses back against his chair, boneless and satisfied. Between his legs, Foggy groans, the scent of his own release blooming heavy and musky in the air.
For a moment they stay there, panting. Foggy rests his head on Matt’s thigh and Matt pets him almost automatically, fingers reacting to what lies under them. Then he realizes he has strands of Foggy’s hair actually wrapped around his fingers and winces. “Sorry, did I pull too hard?”
“Nah.” Foggy sounds replete with contentment. “It’s a thing for me. A good thing.” He drags his hand across his mouth, then tucks a flyaway strand behind his ear, leaving the barest trace of Matt’s scent there. Matt’s mouth waters. Apparently it’s now a thing for him too. “You think I keep this mane just to look pretty for the girls?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen it.”
Foggy snorts amusedly. “You saying you’re a girl, Murdock?”
“You’re the one that just sucked me off.” He tugs lightly on a lock of Foggy’s hair. Foggy’s breath catches. “But if you need further proof, counselor, why don’t we take this to a bed so I can enter new evidence into the record...”