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Matt Murdock is touching his face, one hand cradling his jaw and the other carefully tracing Foggy’s features, and Foggy feels like Matt might kiss him. Or possibly that he’s using this as a chance to get Foggy close and vulnerable so he can snap his neck, frame it on someone else and get an automatic 4.0 in all of his classes because of his dead roommate.

Foggy’s pretty sure that last thing is an urban myth and isn’t actually a school policy but he’s less sure that Matt wouldn’t do it.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asks, more hushed than he means, but Matt’s also been completely silent the entire time he’s been feeling Foggy’s face up.

“What do you want to hear?” Matt asks, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly at the corner of Foggy’s mouth for a moment before it sweeps across his lower lip. Foggy chases the absence of it with his tongue.

“I don’t know,” he says, shifting. “What do you normally tell people after you do this?”

“Normally, I’m trying to sleep with them,” Matt says, tightening his grip on Foggy’s jaw minutely.

“…what are you doing with me?” Foggy asks.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Matt says, fingers plucking at Foggy’s chin before he’s letting go of him and sitting back.

Foggy’s spent too much time this semester trying to figure out all of Matt’s facial expressions because he’s convinced that about 90% are carefully rehearsed. Those include things like:

  • Polite Catholic Boy
  • Interested In This Conversation
  • Outrageous Flirt
  • Respecting Professors He Doesn’t Respect
  • Debating In A Way That’s Only Vaguely Threatening

and just Matt’s standard deal, which Foggy qualifies as something like “Actively Trying Not To Roll His Eyes.“

This face is none of those things, though. There’s a faint smirk that Foggy kind of wants to touch, too, but he doesn’t know if Matt just knows how hot Foggy thinks he is (which he does, because Foggy told him five seconds after meeting him, which he later regretted because Matt’s not somebody he should’ve showed his whole hand to) and is teasing him (see: "outrageous flirt”) or if this is something…something else. Something he doesn’t understand yet.

“You should shave the goatee,” Matt says, patting Foggy’s cheek before he stands up and just walks out of their room without another word.

Foggy stares at the middle distance for a long time.

He likes the goatee.


The first time they meet, Foggy tells Matt that he’s, quote, a “really, really good-looking guy,” in a voice that no doubt belies how he’s been trying to keep his heterosexuality intact in the last few years. He just has a tendency to be really honest and, in this moment, faced with a face like that, it’s hard not to be.

“Oh,” Matt says, looking surprised. 

“Oh, no, like--” Foggy says. “Good-looking to girls. For getting girls.” 

“Sure,” Matt says, with the slightest smirk, just enough for Foggy to question whether it’s maybe just a smile. He was nervous about meeting the guy he has to live with for at least a year but there’s a whole new level now. “What was your name again?” 

“Foggy,” Foggy says, immediately. 

“That wasn’t what was on the information they gave me,” Matt says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, my given name is, uhm, Franklin,” Foggy says, “but that’s clearly tragic so I’ve been relying on an alias since elementary school.” 

“I think Franklin is distinguished,” Matt says, turning away so Foggy can’t see what might be the ambiguous smirk again. 

Foggy’s pretty sure he didn’t mean that at all but maybe he’s just being nice.

When he asks Matt if he wants to get coffee later, Matt politely declines and leaves soon after, not coming back to their room until the middle of the night when he looks roughed up and pleased with himself. Probably because he got laid.

He really is, like, ridiculously good-looking. 


A few days after Matt touches his face, Foggy’s reading at his desk when Matt comes into the room and spins his chair around carefully. 

“Stay still, Franklin,” he says.

Foggy’s pretty sure his heart almost stops when Matt reaches down to stroke fingers gently down his cheek. 

“What the fuck ,” he says, emphatically.

“I wanted to see if you took my advice,” Matt says, amused, thumb tracing his jawline before he turns away, going to his side of the room. “Good boy.” 

“. . .I’m not a dog, you know,” Foggy says, even though he felt those words pass like a wave over his body, like he just figured out a whole new thing about himself. 

“You’re not unlike a dog,” Matt says, laughing when Foggy makes a displeased noise. “You’re a. . .golden retriever . It’s a compliment, it’s why people like you.” 

“It sounds bad when you say it,” Foggy says. “Are you planning on just touching my face whenever you feel like it?” 

“Tell me to stop,” Matt says, turning so Foggy can see arched eyebrows, a challenging twist to his mouth. 

“What?” Foggy asks.

“Tell me to stop,” Matt repeats, simply. “I’ll never touch you again.”

“I. . .” Foggy starts, thinking about the way it felt like there were sparks under his skin when Matt’s fingers traced every line and curve of his face then sighing, loudly. “I hate you.” 

“You don’t,” Matt says, smiling.

When he walks past Foggy later, he barely grazes his fingers against the back of Foggy’s neck and he’s out the door before Foggy can react beyond a shiver and his toes curling in his socks.


“Your roommate seems like a complete and total asshole,” Marci Stahl says, leaning closer where she’s sitting beside him in one of their classes. 

“He’s. . .very smart,” Foggy says.

“That does not refute my point at all,” Marci says. 

“What’s your point exactly?” Foggy asks. 

Marci’s amused smile goes a little predatory and a little sweet. 

“If you ever need somewhere to crash to get away from him. . .” she says, batting her eyelashes a little. “My bed’s available.”


Foggy would never tell Marci this but she reminds him of Matt a little bit: some similarities to their sharpness, their competitiveness, the way they’re kind of mean and Foggy kind of likes it. Marci doesn’t have the weird shadowy parts of herself that Matt does, the stuff Foggy doesn’t attempt to interrogate or understand, the mean that seems like it trends toward cruelty sometimes.

“You smell like sex,” Matt says, one morning after Foggy comes back from Marci’s room.  He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed and his nose is wrinkled. It would be cute if he didn’t also have a confusingly hostile look on his face. 

“. . .I took a shower ,” Foggy says, stopping in his tracks. “How could you possibly smell anything?” 

Matt shrugs minutely. 

“Was she good?” he asks.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Foggy says, then, because he can’t help himself (he can never help himself), “Why do even you want to know?”

“Isn’t this what friends do?” Matt asks, partly like he’s joking but Foggy’s also pretty sure he doesn’t actually know. 

“. . .are we friends?” Foggy asks. 

He’s been roommates with Matt for two months at this point. They hang out and study together and banter, sometimes, and only a lot of it feels like Matt’s toying with him and his fragile human emotions, but he was never under the impression that Matt likes him. 

“You’re my best friend,” Matt says, without skipping a beat. 

“Okay,” Foggy says. “That’s. . .okay.” 

“It’s. . .okay?” Matt asks.

“It’s nice,” Foggy corrects himself. “That’s. . .really nice, Matty.” 

The thing is that he doesn’t hate Matt. He can be really charming when he wants to be and sometimes he genuinely laughs at Foggy’s jokes which makes him feel weirdly powerful and he’ll bring Foggy nice coffee when they study together. Not to mention he’s the best debate partner Foggy could ask for because he holds nothing back; Foggy could out-debate anybody even after losing miserably to him.

Also , the part of his brain where his mom lives yells, “ Maybe you can fix him with love and affection ,” and Matt kind of blushes when Foggy calls him Matty. Which seems like. Something. 

Basically, Matt’s terrifying but Foggy’s okay enough with it that they’ll probably end up rooming together next year, too.

Especially since he’s apparently Matt’s best friend. 


Marci and Matt start fighting. 

Mostly in classes, thank Christ , but it’s cutthroat regardless and mostly seems unnecessary. They could be doing all their arguments at a two or three instead of a full-on ten but it’s like they’re both bears and they can’t stop poking each other. 

Foggy doesn’t realize that it’s about him until he’s suddenly caught between the two of them. 

“He’s  studying with me at the library,” Matt says, after class one day, when Marci tries to get Foggy to come back to her place to study, possibly with or without quotation marks around it. “We already made plans.” 

“You don’t own him,” Marci says, resting a hand on Foggy’s arm. “Let him decide.” 

Matt rests his hand on Foggy’s other arm then tightens his fingers a little.

“Foggy?” he asks. “You said you needed help with your essay.” 

“We can have sex ,” Marci says.

He looks between them, expectant faces and ridiculous tense body language, before saying, louder than he means to, “I’m not a golden retriever! I’m going nowhere! I--I live in this classroom now.” 

“. . .you’re totally a golden retriever,” Marci says, suddenly fond.

“Right?” Matt says. 

“Am not,” Foggy mutters.


Matt comes back late one night with a smear of blood on his cheek and climbs into Foggy’s bed to kiss him awake. It’s messy, a lot of teeth, but it’s still the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Foggy--waking up with Matt’s wiry body on top of him, clearly eager. He holds Foggy down when he jerks a little underneath him, surprised.

“What’s. . .what’s happening?” Foggy asks.

“Foggy,” Matt says, grinning and licking his lips. “Shut up.” 

That’s the first time that Matt’s kissed him and one of the first times he’s called Foggy his actual name. It’s a little scary. And really hot.

“Wait,” Foggy gasps. “Wait, wait--Marci.” 

“Are you exclusive?” Matt asks, like he’s annoyed. 

“We haven’t talked about it,” Foggy says, and Matt puts more of his weight on Foggy to lean down and rest their foreheads together, moving his head to bite gently at Foggy’s lower lip. 

“Then you aren’t exclusive,” he says, and Foggy knows he should say no, knows that he’s maybe doing something really shitty but he still surges up when Matt kisses him again and grabs him by the hair to hear the low, pleased noise that Matt makes.

He lets Matt undress him, throwing his boxers and t-shirt to the side, calloused fingers touching Foggy everywhere but barely brushing his erection in passing until Foggy’s completely naked underneath him. 

Matt’s still wearing his shoes. 

“Can I. . .?” Foggy asks, tugging at the hem of Matt’s shirt, and Matt shakes his head.

“What did I say?” he asks, touching fingers to Foggy’s mouth. 

“Shut up?” Foggy asks, and Matt replaces the fingers with a kiss before he’s moving to straddle Foggy’s chest instead and unzip his fly. 

“And open your mouth,” Matt says, softly, stroking Foggy’s cheek.


“Where did this come from?” Foggy asks, reaching up to wipe at the mostly dried blood on Matt’s cheek, after Matt comes in his mouth and then jerks him off roughly and they’re still sprawled out in bed together.

Matt bites at his fingers and sucks them into his mouth before saying, “Got in a fight,” and pressing one more kiss to Foggy’s mouth. 

“Did you win?” Foggy asks.

Matt’s smile suddenly makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

“Yeah, buddy,” he says, pushing off of Foggy to stand up and pull his pants up, then adds, over his shoulder as he walks to his own bed, “You know, you were better than I thought you’d  be.” 

“Thanks?” Foggy says, softly, but Matt just gets ready to sleep and doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night.


“Okay, I’m just going to say it,” Marci says, when they get coffee together a few days later. “I think you’re great but I’m done. I’m too fucking busy to try to share you with Murdock.” 

“Did Matt tell you?” Foggy asks, feeling more wobbly than he thought he would be, both that Matt would go ahead of him and that Marci’s probably gonna hate him. 

“. . .tell me what?” Marci asks, eyes narrowing.

“. . .I’m going to throw up,” Foggy says, faintly. “Uhm, Matt and I. . .kind of. . .”

“You fucked,” Marci says, flatly. 

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “The other night. God, I’m sorry, it just. . .happened.”

Marci takes in a deep breath and sighs it out. 

“If you were actually my boyfriend, I would absolutely ruin you right now,” she says, far more level than he expected and far more level than he deserves or feels himself, “but I’m only a little attached at this point and also not remotely surprised. I’m just glad you told me before I slept with you again. He’s hot but I don’t want to even adjacently sleep with Matt Murdock.” 

“I understand,” Foggy says, smiling faintly.

“Are you going to keep sleeping with him?” Marci asks.

“I shouldn’t,” Foggy says, “for, like, five hundred reasons.” 

“But you’re going to?” she asks, huffing out a laugh. 

“Almost definitely,” he says. “If he wants to, at least.”

“He looks like he wants to eat you when you’re together,” Marci says. “As long as he doesn’t actually eat you, I think you’ll have at least a briefly good time before it gets too fucked up.” 

“. . .I don’t think he would eat me,” Foggy says, after a slightly too long moment.

And, if he’s being honest with himself, he already feels pretty fucked up.

“I have one question,” Marci says.

“Go for it.” 

She leans forward on her elbows, looking at him seriously before she asks, “Is he any good?” 


Foggy really thinks that Matt’s just going to jump him again but it doesn’t happen. Two weeks pass and Matt barely acknowledges him, leaving early and coming home late, until Foggy finally breaks and says, in the library,  “Are you ever going to touch me again?” 

Matt smiles slowly and slips off his headphones. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“You--you crawled into my bed ages ago,” Foggy says, dropping his voice to a low whisper, “and now you’re acting like it never happened. It’s killing me.” 

Matt reaches out to find Foggy’s hand where it’s curled in a fist on the table, running his fingers over the back of it. 

“If you wanted me, Franklin,” he says, “why didn’t you just ask?” 

Foggy stares at him for a long time. 

“Matt, you  can’t just go around ravishing people,” he says, “and then stop with no explanation. It’s rude.” 

Matt laughs. 

“Then ask for it,” he says.

“. . .I don’t want you to win ,” Foggy says, pulling his hand away and crossing his arms over his chest. Matt has the ability to do a lot of things to him: make him weak in the knees, turn him on so much that he is occasionally afraid it will just kill him, scare the hell out of him. . .but he can also just make him sulk like a little kid. 

“I think you’ll figure out pretty soon,” Matt says, settling back into his chair, making it obvious that his legs are spread under the table, “that you’ll like it when I win.”

Foggy makes an incoherent noise. 

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs. “Please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Please. . .I don’t know, take me,” Foggy says, far too loud for the library, dropping his head to the table with a groan. Matt’s laugh is warm when he slips fingers into Foggy’s hair, petting him. 

“That works,” he says.


Foggy doesn’t actually know how many times they fuck in the next two weeks or so but it’s a lot. 

“You’re a sexual terrorist,” Foggy says, trying to catch his breath as he collapses onto the bed, kind of feeling like he should be running away even while he’s spreading his legs for Matt to climb between them.

“You say the sweetest things, Franklin,” Matt says, hovering over him with a piranha smile that he sinks into Foggy’s neck. 

It’s not remotely surprising that Matt likes giving hickies nor is it surprising that he has a singular focus for it, one hand holding Foggy down by his shoulder, the other curled around his throat. 

Foggy threads his fingers into Matt’s hair and holds onto it.

“Do you ever stop?” he asks. 

He feels the flat of Matt’s tongue on his throat before he raises his head.

“Stop what?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“The. . .show,” Foggy says, kind of wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth and just let Matt do what he wanted. “I feel like I’ve never met you.” 

Something falters on Matt’s face, light-hearted nothing dropping off to something neutral, like he hadn’t anticipated this.

“You wouldn’t let my. . .teeth get this close to you if you knew me,” he says, barely tightening his fingers around Foggy’s throat, which could be more of a threat than foreplay but Foggy’s too in the moment to care.

“See?” Foggy says, laughing. “It’s exactly that mysterious bullshit. What does that even mean?” 

“Nothing, it’s--what do you actually want?” Matt asks, sighing, settling down more heavily on him.  

“. . .where do you go at night?” Foggy asks.

“I’m not allowed to talk about it,” Matt says.

“Because. . .why?” Foggy asks, inanely. “Because why?” 

“Because it’s the first rule,” Matt says, flatly, grinning when Foggy groans and shoves at him. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t know how you worry about everything. You’re going to go grey. I haven’t seen you but I don’t think you can pull it off.”

“There’s one thing that’s going to make me go grey,” Foggy says, “and he’s currently on top of me.” 

Matt hums out a happy noise and then flips them over so he’s on his back and Foggy settles on top of him instead.

“I don’t want you to fuck anybody but me,” Matt says, like he’s been thinking about it for awhile, squeezing Foggy’s hips.

“. . .do you want to fuck other people?” Foggy asks.

“No,” Matt says, after a moment.

“Do you realize that you’re just asking if you can be my boyfriend?” Foggy asks, amused.

Matt wrinkles his nose. Against all odds, it’s cute this time.

“I don’t know about that ,” he says.

Foggy moves to lie down next to Matt instead, leaning in to kiss him when Matt curls up on his side so they’re facing each other. 

“You’re kinda the only person I want,” he says, softly, surprised when he actually says it out loud even though he knows that it’s true. He’s not in love with Matt but he thinks that he might be kind of obsessed with him and that might be close enough. “We don’t have to name it, though.” 

Matt nods and  pulls him close and holds onto him like he’ll never let go.


For someone who doesn’t want to be his boyfriend, Matt sure likes touching him in public. It takes a couple of days but eventually he’s at Foggy’s side whenever it’s possible. He circles fingers around Foggy’s wrist when they’re sitting next to each other in class, running his thumb up and down the soft skin. He keeps an arm around him whenever possible or rests his hand high up on Foggy’s thigh under tables at the library when he pulls Foggy’s chair close or pulls Foggy into dark corners and empty classrooms to do indiscreet, lovely things to him. 

Marci joins a study group they’re in and her talking to Foggy incites the first time Matt kisses him in public, long fingers holding Foggy’s head still so he can kiss him firmly for no discernible reason other than Marci asking him a question. 

“Oh my god,” Marci mutters, rolling her eyes. 

Everything makes more sense after that. He has a tendency to chalk everything up to Matt being fucking weird and maybe a serial killer (he has no evidence of this but it just feels right, sometimes) but he’s usually acting with a purpose.

This time, Matt’s marking his territory.

When they leave the library later, Foggy pulls Matt into a hug at the bottom of the front steps and asks, close to his ear, “Could I hold your hand sometime, Matty?” 

“. . .not where anyone can see us,” Matt says, which makes Foggy’s stomach sink immediately. Things have been going so surprisingly well that he thought maybe he was sure footing for once. “I shouldn’t have kissed you in there but I got impulsive. You make me impulsive.” 

“Are you, like, ashamed of me?” Foggy asks. “Or of being with. . .another guy?”

No ,” Matt says, firmly, stepping back to hold Foggy by the shoulders. “I just don’t. . .I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

“. . .does this have something to do with your wild nightlife?” Foggy asks.

Having Matt Murdock naked and surprisingly vulnerable in his bed has raised more questions than answers, mostly because of the scars but also the way Matt can let his guard down for a moment and be closed off again the next. He’s had practice. 

He’s possibly also had practice fighting bears. It’s one of Foggy’s theories.

“I told you not to ask me,” Matt says. 

“I’m not always a good listener,” Foggy says, which makes Matt crack a faint smile, hands sliding down to squeeze Foggy’s elbows gently.

“Can you just trust me?” Matt asks. 

“. . .can I?” Foggy asks. 

Matt’s quiet for a long, aching moment before he takes Foggy’s elbow and tugs him gently forward. 

“Let’s go home,” he says. 

Foggy never gets an answer. 


Matt normally just never comes back from classes or slips away while Foggy’s still awake but this time Foggy wakes up to him shutting the door behind him instead of sneaking back in. He’s not even sure where the impulse comes from but he puts shoes on quickly and opens the door just in time to see the door to the stairwell shutting behind Matt. 

It’s probably just because Matt has a tendency to walk like an uninterested cat that Foggy manages to follow him, until Matt disappears into an alley suddenly and Foggy sees him do what looks like a flip (which. . .he knew Matt was pretty limber but holy shit ) and then he’s suddenly on the rooftop. Foggy gapes up at his retreating figure before he steels himself and climbs the fire escape on the building beside that one. 

He’s gasping for breath by the time he’s close enough to climb onto the roof and kneel at the ledge, mostly hidden from view. He clearly already missed some action between Matt’s flanked by a couple of big dudes and they’re facing one single guy. He’s pretty sure there’s a gun on the ground between them. 

He’s now 85% sure that Matt’s some kind of crime boss. That was a small part of his internal chart of Why Is Matt Like He Is but he might have to update it.

There’s banter that Foggy can’t hear but he’s aware of what Matt’s voice sounds like when his hip is cocked like that and then everything’s a blur until the other guy is on the ground bleeding from his throat, before Foggy even realizes what’s happening. Namely: Matt’s got a fucking knife in his cane.

He says, “Holy fuck ,” under his breath and almost falls when Matt’s head slowly turns toward him. There’s no way that he heard him from this far away but, honestly, Matt seems to be composed of surprising answers to there’s no way s. 

He’s in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin like a little kid who just had a nightmare when Matt comes back. He climbs through the window this time. They’re five stories up. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice tight, feet hitting Foggy’s desk and then the floor. “I didn’t think you could be this stupid but you really surprised me tonight.” 

“What are you talking about?” Foggy asks, shakily. 

“Tell me what you saw, Foggy,” Matt says, the tone of his voice making Foggy’s name sound like a schoolyard taunt. “Tell me what you saw and I’ll tell you how I know you tagged along on my errand tonight.”

“Murder is an errand to you?” Foggy blurts out. 

Matt’s laugh is surprisingly. . . warm .

“There we go,” he says, voice dropping to a murmur as he sits on the edge of Foggy’s bed and placing a hand on his chest, fingers clenching in his t-shirt for what feels like a full hour before he yanks Foggy up to wrap him up in his arms and bury his face in Foggy’s neck so Foggy feels teeth when he repeats, “Tell me what you saw .”

“You slit a guy’s throat,” Foggy says. “I didn’t. . .I didn’t have a good angle but it looked like you knew what you were doing.” 

Foggy’s pretty sure that’s a smile pressed near his collarbone before he’s being shoved onto his back again, Matt slinging a leg over him to straddle his hips.

“I do,” he says. “Does it scare you?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, honestly, talking slowly so he can try to control the way his voice is shaking. “Yeah, it does.” 

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Foggy,” Matt says, smoothing his hands down Foggy’s chest to hold him down by his hips, putting his weight into it. Foggy would’ve felt a lot better if he’d added a I won’t to the front of that sentence instead. “Do you know how I could tell you were being a nosy little voyeur?” 

“Yeah, Matt,” he says. “Tell me.”

“I could hear your heartbeat,” Matt says. “I could smell your sweat--you know, you really should work out more if you can’t even climb some ladders. Especially if you’re going to be sneaking around putting your nose where it doesn’t belong. ”

“We can’t all be secret gold medal gymnasts,” Foggy says. 

“I don’t know about gold,” Matt says, a little smugly, leaning down to press a light kiss to Foggy’s mouth. Considering that Matt is for sure a murderer and maybe a very specific kind of murderer, he should probably be. . .pushing him away. Fighting him.

But he doesn’t want to.

Matt basically sits on him like he thinks Foggy might try to run away and tells him a story that Foggy wouldn’t even believe if he hadn’t just seen the results of it. About his senses, being trained from the time he was a kid, about learning how to kill and becoming very good at it. 

That part was smug, too.

“They’re bad guys,” Matt says, after he draws off, after Foggy doesn’t say anything, more hesitant than Foggy’s ever heard him before. “I know it sounds. . . evil to someone like you . . . and it probably is but it’s still better that they’re gone.” 

“Someone like me?” Foggy asks. 

“Someone. . .innocent,” Matt says, smiling. “Uncorrupted.” 

“. . .Matt, you’re in law school ,” Foggy says, ignoring the urge to say something about how Matt had made sure by this point that he wasn’t that innocent. “How the fuck can you justify doing what you’re doing?” 

“I can’t,” Matt says, simply. “Not in a way that you’d accept.”

“But you do it, anyway,” Foggy says. 

Matt shrugs. 

“It’s a living,” he says, hands moving to squeeze Foggy’s waist gently. “Are you gonna turn me in, Foggy?” 

“. . .no,” Foggy says, softly. 

“How the fuck,” Matt murmurs, almost sweetly, kissing Foggy’s nose, “do you justify that?” 

“I have a feeling I wouldn’t survive turning you in,” Foggy says, which is something he started working out on his terrified jog home. “Your friends up there were. . .intimidating.” 

“You’re not wrong,” Matt says. “Anything else?” 

“. . .they’re bad guys?” Foggy asks.

So bad,” Matt says. 

It’s not very convincing when Foggy’s pretty sure Matt counts as a bad guy, too, but he nods before he reaches up to brush fingers over Matt’s hair and slide them into it to pull him down into a real kiss. He needs something distracting. His brain is too tired to work this out right now. He just wants Matt to fuck him and sleep in his bed until morning. 

Somewhere between the junction of their mouths, Matt murmurs, “ Good boy,” and Foggy’s brain turns off entirely.


“Can you tell me why you do it?” Foggy asks, when they’re curled up together in bed, his head on Matt’s chest and Matt’s arms around him. “Are you working for someone?”

“Don’t ask me,” Matt says, firmly. “I’m not going to get you involved. You already know too much.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe I did that,” Foggy says, faintly.

“It was stupid,” Matt says. “You could’ve gotten hurt.” 

“Yeah,” Foggy murmurs. 

They lie quietly for a few minutes before Matt says, soft and fierce, “I would never let anyone hurt you, Foggy. I need you to know that. ”

“I know,” Foggy says, even though everything is starting to hit him at once, because he knows in his bones that Matt’s telling the truth. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never even defined what they are to each other, that this has moved so fast, that the way Matt treats him isn’t always great. 

Foggy’s stumbled into this and can’t figure out if he wants out even though he knows he should. Knowing Matt will protect him, or that Matt won’t hurt him, is good, though. It’s good.


“I would kill for you,” Matt says, a few days later, with Foggy sprawled out in his lap. 

He says it lightly, like it just occurred to him, but it also kind of sounds like I love you

“Thanks,” Foggy says. “But also don’t, please.” 

“Okay,” Matt says, smiling down at him, tracing one of Foggy’s eyebrows with a finger.