Work Text:
Matt’s almost finished listening to the lecture he recorded yesterday when Foggy comes back from the party he was at, smelling like weed and sighing deeply as soon as the door shuts behind him. Matt fights a smile without raising his head to show that he knows Foggy is there, and Foggy sighs louder.
He sighs one more time before he gives up, coming over to collapse on Matt’s bed and worm his way into Matt’s lap. Matt slides his headphones off and raises his eyebrows.
“I figured you’d be walk of shaming it back tomorrow morning,” he says.
“I failed to hook up,” Foggy says. “Nobody wanted to put their mouth on my mouth, it was horrible.”
“That does sound horrible,” Matt says, lips twitching up. “How high are you right now?”
Foggy’s quiet for a few moments before he says, “Mostly,” and reaches up to poke Matt’s cheek for emphasis. Matt grins down at him.
“Sorry you didn’t find anyone,” he says, dropping his hand down to touch Foggy’s forehead before he slides his fingers into his hair. Foggy doesn’t smoke all that often but when he does he gets more tactile--sweeter, Matt thinks, distantly, feeling weird about it. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking that, but Foggy pushes back into the touch, making a pleased noise, and then Matt just feels kind of warm.
“It’s okay,” Foggy says, softly, reaching up to touch Matt’s face again, tripping fingertips over Matt’s jaw. “I’ve got you.”
“Yeah?” Matt asks. They might be on some shaky ground here, but Foggy’s heart is strong and steady, honest. He shifts in Matt’s lap, grabbing Matt’s shoulder to pull himself up.
“Yeah,” he says, then presses a firm dry kiss to the corner of Matt’s mouth. “There. Mouths on mouths. Mission accomplished. Can I sleep here?”
“In my lap?” Matt asks, faintly.
“Uh huh,” Foggy murmurs, sinking back down to rest his head on Matt’s thighs. “You’re comfortable. Which is weird because you’re all bone and secret scary muscles. And yet. . .”
He draws off, punctuating his point with a loud yawn. Matt licks at his own lips, tastes smoke and salt and beer. Tastes Foggy. It’s distracting, it’s very--like him. To kiss Matt and fall asleep and leave his bed smelling like weed for a week because that shit lingers. Even though Matt feels strange and kind of electric, he can’t really be surprised.
By the time he gathers his thoughts enough to say, “Yeah, buddy, you can sleep here,” Foggy is already asleep. Matt touches his face again lightly, a finger tracing an eyebrow as he listens to the rhythm of his breathing. He kind of wishes he was high, too, because it would make this seem simpler. Touching him.
He takes the opportunity to be kind of indiscreet and stroke Foggy’s hair. It’s soft, a little tangled under his fingers. Foggy moans in his sleep, and Matt bites his bottom lip and tries to make sense of this whole situation before he decides that it’s probably best not to try.
Eventually, Foggy rolls off of him, and Matt can slide down next to him. He falls asleep with his nose pressed against Foggy’s back, thinking about getting even closer.
*
Matt wakes up on his back with Foggy half on top of him, a leg slung over Matt’s and his face buried in Matt’s chest. Matt shifts a little and Foggy stirs, making a sad noise before he lifts his head.
“Oh,” he says.
“Morning,” Matt murmurs.
“I was right,” Foggy says, pushing off of Matt to sit up. “You are comfortable. I didn’t mean to stay here all night.”
“It’s fine,” Matt says, turning to yawn into his pillow, not completely willing to accept being awake yet.
“And, god, wow, sorry I kissed you last night,” Foggy continues, laughing, “I get kind of touchy when I smoke.”
“I’ve noticed,” Matt says, sitting up and stretching. He smiles when Foggy doesn’t say anything, tilting his head. “It’s no big deal.”
“Really?” Foggy asks.
“It’s just kissing,” Matt says. A kiss, really. A small singular something that Matt will be thinking about for weeks but, still, it’s just a kiss in a spectrum of things they could have done to each other and maybe regretted the next morning. Not that he’s explored that spectrum in regards to Foggy but he’s—distinctly aware of its existence.
“Just kissing,” Foggy repeats. “Right, of course. I just needed someone to fill my insatiable drug-fueled need for smooching and you happened to be the most immediate source. Being here and having lips.”
“It’s just basic math,” Matt says, nodding, and Foggy laughs. They both go quiet, and Foggy shifts to sit next to him, leaning against Matt’s shoulder. He’s a nice weight, still sleep-warm and sturdy, and Matt thinks about leaning back into him and dozing before Foggy clears his throat.
“Did you like it?” Foggy asks, words coming quick and dying out a little too high-pitched at the end. Matt makes a questioning noise and Foggy continues, “The kiss.”
Matt says, “Oh, uhm,” then, as casually as he can manage which is arguably not casual at all, “Yeah, sure.”
“You don’t have to lie to preserve my ego, Murdock,” Foggy says.
“I’m not,” Matt says. “I—I liked it.”
“Oh,” Foggy says, maybe surprised. “Good. That’s—so—are you. . .you know?”
Matt shrugs. He does know, but he also kind of doesn’t. That’s a shitty answer, though, so he just says, “I’m open. To the concept.”
The concept being other guys. The concept being Foggy and Foggy’s mouth and Foggy’s body right up against his, like they were this morning. He’s open to it. It’s too hard not to be.
“Cool,” Foggy says. “Me, too.”
“Cool,” Matt echoes.
“Well,” Foggy says, nudging Matt before he lifts himself up off the bed. “If you ever want a repeat performance, let me know. I’m gonna go shower off the weed smell.”
He grabs his towel and leaves Matt to deal with the aftermath of that offer alone.
*
It takes about a solid month of waiting to realize that Foggy isn’t going to offer again, that he was either joking or is waiting for Matt to make the choice. Matt was kind of hoping that Foggy would just fall into his lap again, but it hasn’t happened yet.
He’s going to have to ask for it.
Foggy drags him out on a Saturday night to drink too-strong margaritas in some dorm Matt doesn’t recognize, and Matt spends the whole night wondering how he’s going to say it. He listens to Foggy mingle and laugh and tries to do the same, but he’s distracted by the thought of getting him to go to the bathroom with him so Matt can press him up against a wall and taste the salt on his tongue.
He’s thinking about it a little too intently when Foggy drops down to sit on the sofa next to him, saying, “You look real contemplative, man. Want to get out of here?”
Matt smiles at him, nerves sparking up in his stomach.
“Yeah,” he says, taking the arm that Foggy offers him. “Let’s go.”
On the walk back, Matt lets his fingers trail down Foggy’s arm to circle around his wrist, making Foggy stop walking to look at him.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“You, uh,” Matt says, softly, “told me to ask if I wanted a repeat performance?”
It takes Foggy a second to catch on, but then his heartbeat picks up and heat flares high in his cheeks. He takes Matt’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and Matt thinks for one dizzying moment that Foggy’s going to kiss him right here in the middle of campus.
“Yeah, absolutely,” Foggy says, voice careful and warm, tugging on Matt’s hand and starting to walk again. “Drunken kissing is the best.”
Matt nods agreement, feeling shy as he follows the pull of Foggy’s hand back to their dorm, cane forgotten in his hand. Foggy lets go of him when they’re inside, shrugging out of his coat and pulling out two water bottles from their mini-fridge, touching Matt’s elbow before he presses one into his hand.
“Drink this so you don’t hate yourself in the morning,” Foggy says, “then, uhm, meet me on your bed? If you still want to.”
“I want to,” Matt says, opening the bottle and taking a sip. “It’ll be fun.”
Foggy makes an agreeable noise and wanders over to his side of the room. Matt smiles when he smells Foggy’s chapstick, beeswax and mint, and downs half the bottle before he takes his coat off and sits down on his bed to pull off his shoes.
Foggy’s lingering near him when he sits up and Matt holds out a hand, scooting backwards on the bed and pulling Foggy into his lap.
“Hey,” Foggy murmurs, curling one hand around Matt’s shoulder, the other in his hair.
“Hey,” Matt echoes, smoothing a hand down Foggy’s back. “You sure?”
“It’s just kissing,” Foggy says, voice pitched like a joke, before he leans down to press his lips to Matt’s, gently at first—gently until Matt pulls him closer and licks into his mouth. Foggy’s good at this. Matt thought he would be, has heard the noises from girls (and maybe boys? It’s hard to tell just from kissing noises) from down the hallway before he’d turn around and head back to the library.
He might be making similar noises right now, a few gasps, an embarrassing whine when Foggy pushes him onto his back and stays on top of him.
“Still good?” Foggy asks.
“Really good,” Matt agrees, breathlessly, pulling him back down.
Foggy’s hands explore his chest, move down to squeeze Matt’s waist gently, and Matt moans softly. They barely part between kisses until Foggy pulls away to choke out, “This is no way an indictment of your kissing skills, buddy, but I think that tequila’s coming back to haunt me.”
Matt says, “Oh god,” and Foggy rolls off of him to head for the bathroom down the hall. Matt sighs and sits up while he listens to Foggy vomit, feeling disoriented and—horny is the only word he can come up with. Just—really horny. He rubs at himself through his jeans, wondering how they’re supposed to end this.
When Foggy comes back after brushing his teeth, he says, hoarsely, “You were right, that was fun. Except the end, I mean.”
“Are you okay?” Matt asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Foggy says. “I just need to sleep it off. I’d—kiss you good night but I think that might be gross, considering.”
“Right,” Matt says. “The vomit.”
“Exactly,” Foggy says. He stays in one place for a moment before he walks over and presses a kiss to the top of Matt’s head. “Let’s do that again sometime, Matty.”
“Yeah,” Matt says.
After Foggy changes and gets in bed, Matt goes to jerk off in the shower, muffling himself with his arm. He knows that Foggy was hard, too, could feel it and smell it and, distantly, thinks that he wouldn’t mind doing something about it.
*
“That girl in the corner keeps staring at you,” Foggy says, a few weeks later at a half-hearted party that’s basically just warm beer and bad music and too many people in this tiny suite living room. “Want me to wingman?”
“She talked to me earlier,” Matt says. “She’s wearing too much perfume.”
“Well,” Foggy says, laughing and leaning on the wall next to him. “I’ll mark her off your list of suitors. What about a guy?”
“What?” Matt asks.
“I could find you a guy,” Foggy says, voice going kind of odd, fake cheerful. “If you wanted.”
Matt considers saying yes, because clearly Foggy doesn’t want him like that and maybe he should let out steam with someone else. That sounds healthy. Then Matt thinks about kissing someone else, about going home with someone else, and it’s not—it’s not what he wants.
“I don’t really want to hook up tonight,” Matt says, finishing his cup full of beer and wincing.
Foggy hums agreeably.
“That’s fair,” he says. “Want to go make out in Melissa’s bed?”
Matt laughs, turning towards him.
“Do you think she’d mind?”
“She ran off with that guy in our intro sociology class that you said smells like tuna all the time,” Foggy says. “I assume they’ll be gone awhile.”
Matt thinks about it for a moment before he touches Foggy’s arm, tracing down to his hand to steal his beer and finish it off, too.
“Lead the way,” he says.
*
Just kissing.
After almost getting caught making out in Melissa’s bed that night and leaving the next few parties early to make out in Matt’s, it’s just Foggy crawling into his bed to kiss him awake fully sober on a Sunday morning, saying somewhere between the juncture of their mouths, “Let’s get waffles.”
Just Matt pulling Foggy into a supply closet after class to make out against the door, barely bothering to listen for someone who might catch them, wondering what Foggy would do if Matt just went for it, just shoved a knee between his legs, just stuck his hand down Foggy’s pants. He thinks about the noises Foggy might make, the way he’d say Matt’s name. Matt wants that.
He doesn’t do it, though, and neither does Foggy. They just. Kiss. Foggy always goes back to his own bed after it’s over, sometimes after he jerks off in the bathroom while Matt listens guiltily.
It’s great. The kissing part.
The rest is terrible.
*
They’re at a study session that didn’t involve a lot of studying when Foggy says, voice low, “I exchanged my notes from last week for a joint, do you want to go commune with nature? And also me?”
“Do you mean smoke under a tree?” Matt asks, smirking.
“Yes,” Foggy says, serenely. “Just like our ancestors.”
They find a secluded corner of campus, and Foggy sits with his back to the trunk of a tree while Matt sits cross-legged in front of him, running his fingers through the grass.
“I know you don’t really like to smoke,” Foggy says, “but I have an idea that you might like.”
“What’s that?” Matt asks, smiling.
“Hold on.”
Foggy lights the joint and takes a few drags before he moves forward on his knees to hover over Matt, slotting their mouths together. Matt breathes in the smoke and chokes on it immediately. Foggy laughs, resting their foreheads together.
“That could have been smoother,” he says.
“Try it again,” Matt says, feeling brave, leaning into a real kiss. There’s nobody around, all the noises he can catch muffled by walls, and Foggy kisses back enthusiastically. The taste isn’t ideal, and smoking’s never been great for Matt, but it’s different when Foggy’s passing it to him and kissing him afterwards. Less harsh.
After awhile, Foggy puts the joint out against a root before it burns down and says, “Come here,” softly.
Matt moves forward to straddle him, knocking their noses together and pushing Foggy back against the tree. He’s happy and light-headed and floating, just a little, out of his head in the kind of way where he can kiss Foggy without worrying about anything. He slides hands underneath Foggy’s t-shirt and runs his fingers over his stomach, warm and soft.
“Matty,” Foggy breathes. “I really like this.”
“Mmm hmm,” Matt says, kissing Foggy’s cheek, his jaw. “Me, too.”
He trails his lips down Foggy’s neck, nuzzling into it, and Foggy says, so softly that Matt almost misses it, “I like you.”
Matt lifts his head, and Foggy touches his cheek, slides his fingers up into Matt’s hair.
“You do?” Matt asks, hopefully.
“Yeah,” Foggy says. Matt can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that okay?”
“God, yes. Foggy,” Matt says. “Foggy, I lied to you.”
“You, Saint Matthew?” Foggy asks, joking even though he sounds nervous.
“I lied about not wanting to hook up with anyone—when you kept trying to wingman,” Matt says, kissing Foggy’s cheek again, nosing against his cheek before he leans up to whisper in his ear, “I wanted to hook up with you.”
Foggy laughs and it’s a really nice sound, feels good when his body shakes against Matt’s. He pulls Matt closer, wrapping his arms around him.
“I’m going to kiss you until we’re both less high,” he says, warmly, lips moving against Matt’s cheek, “and then we’re going home to make that happen.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Matt says, and Foggy kisses him. He just kisses him.