OH MY GOD PERFECT I'm sorry, I wrote a thing and I may get around to writing actual sex later, but here's a conversation anyway
"You're telling me you fucked the cancer out of the first woman you ever dated," says Matt, flatly.
"No! It just - it went into remission. There were tests. And they found - uh, traces - of, um, my traces - " Foggy's sweating, the tang of salt in the air increasing, the slightest uptick in humidity. Embarrassment, Matt reads, as if that wouldn't be obvious by the way his heart is pounding, the way the skin on his face has elevated in temperature, blood rushing to the surface.
"Foggy, why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think we should have sex. For your health."
Matt's only had one beer, but when you're down a few pints of blood it turns out that alcohol goes to your head a lot faster. At least, that's the excuse he's claiming for how the world seems to be tilted slightly off focus. "What?"
"They're - you know my Monday appointments? They're not. Uh. Look, I do. Donations. For research. Because it's apparently, um, in my... semen. And it's apparently good for more than cancer, and here you are looking like Frankenstein's monster, and we have the Reinhart case in two days and you can barely stand up and that's par for the course these days, man! And I can't stand it, I can't stand seeing you limping everywhere these days when - "
"I really don't think this'd help with the limping."
"Actually it really does," and now Foggy sounds more smug than embarrassed. "When I told you my partners wake up with a morning after glow? Yeah, I am that good."
Re: Matt/Foggy, pure crack - FILL
"You're telling me you fucked the cancer out of the first woman you ever dated," says Matt, flatly.
"No! It just - it went into remission. There were tests. And they found - uh, traces - of, um, my traces - " Foggy's sweating, the tang of salt in the air increasing, the slightest uptick in humidity. Embarrassment, Matt reads, as if that wouldn't be obvious by the way his heart is pounding, the way the skin on his face has elevated in temperature, blood rushing to the surface.
"Foggy, why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think we should have sex. For your health."
Matt's only had one beer, but when you're down a few pints of blood it turns out that alcohol goes to your head a lot faster. At least, that's the excuse he's claiming for how the world seems to be tilted slightly off focus. "What?"
"They're - you know my Monday appointments? They're not. Uh. Look, I do. Donations. For research. Because it's apparently, um, in my... semen. And it's apparently good for more than cancer, and here you are looking like Frankenstein's monster, and we have the Reinhart case in two days and you can barely stand up and that's par for the course these days, man! And I can't stand it, I can't stand seeing you limping everywhere these days when - "
"I really don't think this'd help with the limping."
"Actually it really does," and now Foggy sounds more smug than embarrassed. "When I told you my partners wake up with a morning after glow? Yeah, I am that good."