daredevilkink | Prompt Post #6

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"I get him next," a Foggy by his head says in the voice of one calling dibs, and there is a round of laughter.

"Define 'get,' Nelson."

"Making him come screaming our name?" From the tone of voice, that Foggy finds that this should be obvious.

"I don't think he's going to last four rounds of this," someone else observes, and through the fog of afterglow Matt has to admit that's probably right. His stamina is always more mental than physical, the logical consequences of being as sensitive as he is, and four rounds like this, four rounds with multiple people focusing solely, intently on him will destroy him. Yeah. He's not gonna make if it they all insist on bringing him to orgasm once each.

"So we double up," one of them offers as if that's the most practical solution. Again, it probably is. Matt whines a little at the prospect, and then chokes when a different Foggy asks, "Why stop at doubling?" in a dangerously thoughtful sort of voice. Oh sweet Jesus.

"Matt?" Foggy asks, and he's pretty sure this is the one who smelled so much like Marci. Still taking care of him, though. "You on board with this?"

"Logistics," he huffs out, trying for humor, and then goes suddenly still as someone places a quelling hand on his face. That is definitely his Foggy, the one he's already slept with before, who knows him inside and out and he won't take prevarication or anything but a solid, straightforward reply. Matt swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Oh. Oh god.

"Answer the question, Matty," he says, tenderly insistent. His eyes roll in Foggy's direction, wide now. He's not -- he's not going to -- not in front of all of these people, these versions of himself when one Foggy like this is so much to handle-- "Matt?"

He is. Matt licks his lips, squeezes his eyes shut and croaks, "Yes."

"Good boy, Matty," Foggy whispers, and he is absolutely certain the others are taking detailed mental notes as he whimpers involuntarily. Cause, effect. A crash course on his physical self, now with added graduate program on how to utterly take him apart mentally and emotionally. He should feel sorry for the other versions of Matt they'll return to because they have no idea what they're about to be hit with.

"He likes being praised," his Foggy is informing his rapt audience and fellow participants. "And if yours are as messed up as this one is--" Normally Matt would muster an objection here on principle but there are murmurs of agreement from all around and Foggy continues, "Just take it easy with him when you do. It can get overwhelming for him. Even though he's such a good boy, hm?"

Matt shudders, biting down on his lower lip to contain his reaction. "Hey, no." Someone brushes his mouth with a thumb and his lips part almost involuntarily. "We want to hear you. We want you to let go."

There seems to be a consensus on this as well. Matt sucks in short breaths against the thumb still lingering near his mouth, flicks his tongue out to taste the pad, moans. Moans again when someone murmurs, "Good boy" and he's almost sure it isn't his original Foggy. Pleased reactions all around, heart rates rising, catches of breath. "Good boy, Matty, telling us what you want, being so perfect for us." God, he can't, he can't--

"Jesus," someone whispers, and there's no admonition for language this time as Matt curls up as best he can under the weight of their regard. Someone is stroking his hair now, soothing. "Oh, Matt..."

It's not pitying as he half-feared. Wondering, maybe. A little odd sadness. And something else, something which even after all this time Matt's hesitant about putting a name to. Is it love? He's not sure. Whatever it is, it aches in the best way, and Matt reaches out blindly, wanting -- needing -- to be supported. Held.

He's immediately obliged, gathered up in strong arms, his head tucked against a warm shoulder. The same hand continues to pet his hair while another rubs circles on his lower back. "You're doing so well, Matty," the Foggy who's holding him whispers. "We love you, you're so good for us, so beautiful."

Matt heaves a shuddering breath but nods in acknowledgement, if not quite with the latter assessment. There's a quiet, almost reverent attitude around them, the others observing, thoughts palpably heavy in the air. This has shifted from a casual, unusual bit of fun to something on a deeper level, pervading the room like weighted blanket. Matt breathes, trying to adjust to the new atmosphere. From the silence, the others are trying to as well. It should feel like an excruciatingly private moment, exposed like a raw nerve with so many eyes on them. It's not. It's just... Foggy with him, after all.

"You all right?" Foggy asks after a few moments, and Matt considers carefully before nodding. He feels full to bursting with a tangle of emotion but it's not overwhelming anymore. Someone places a kiss on his shoulder, soft and loving, which almost tips the scales again but he sucks in air, holds it until his composure returns. It's a fragile net, almost unable to contain all the regard he feels from the men around him, who are all still Foggy even if one of them uses apple-scented body wash while another prefers strawberry. "Gorgeous Matty. Ready to try taking us on?"

It's enough of a lifeline to lighten the mood back up a little into the former levity, and Matt smirks deliberately into Foggy's shoulder. "I can handle anything you throw at me, Nelson."

"Oh ho, I think we've been challenged," a Foggy behind him chortles.

"We have to defend the Nelson honor," another agrees.

"Just remember -- you asked for it," another says, and there's a weight to those last four syllables which reaffirms that yes, Matt truly did, of his own volition, and that was something to be proud of. Matt swallows as around him, people adjust position.

"Here, let me--"

"Condom, condom."

A thunk. "Shit, did you just drop the lube?"

"I got it." Matt stifles laughter at creaking springs and grunts of effort, is silenced by an affectionate nip to his ear. "Laugh while you can, Murdock, you'll be singing something sweeter in a minute."

"Promises, promises," he says with another smirk, stretching indolently as he's moved off of his current pillow-Foggy's lap and laid back atop another one face-up. There's an assessing pause, a thoughtful hum, and he can feel the glances being exchanged once more over his body.

"So we're thinking--"

"--two of us fuck you--"

"--while another one rides you like a goddamned L-train--"

"--and the last takes advantage of your quite honestly to-die-for mouth."

"Sound kosher?"

Prompt Post #6

FILL: Corollary (3/?) (Foggy/Matt, Multiple Foggies!)