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Foggy could feel ears on him as he toweled off after his shower. Knowing when Matt was listening in on him was an art he'd perfected a decade ago in San Francisco, but which had been fine-tuned these past few months of living together. It gave him a pleased sort of satisfaction to have Matt's version of a leer focused on him, and he swiped his towel over his rear a few extra times in order to give Matt a show.
As dry as he was going to get via terrycloth, he slipped on underwear and a silk robe for a night in. And, just as he'd suspected, there was Matt, propped up against the headboard, hands clasped behind his head and legs stretched out to cross at the ankle, with his eyes closed and a devious grin on his face.
"Silk becomes you, you know," he said as Foggy joined him on the bed.
"You're the first person to say so. Though I do appreciate you going for the more comfortable robe over the lacy underthings you could have gotten me."
Matt scrunched his nose, giving Foggy the stink face. "Lace has too much going on, most of it scratchy. Besides"—his expression smoothed out—"for me, the simple sound of silk on skin contains a universe of complexities far more engaging than the tawdry snagging of lace."
Foggy twisted to grab his e-reader with his current book, It's Not Easy Being Green: The Trials and Tribulations of a Metahuman Lawyer, off his nightstand, and a hand gave his silk-covered butt a light squeeze. He retaliated with a squeeze of his own to Matt's pec then smooched his menace of a boyfriend, laughing, and murmured, "Fair's fair." As he relaxed into his spot next to Matt, he continued, "You remember the doctor prescribed you to rest—actually rest, no Daredevil and no hanky-panky—for the next two days?"
"Of course. But that doesn't mean I can't admire the scenery."
A snort to hide how much he wanted to smile. "And this means you have to feel me up, does it?"
Matt made the awkward slouch down the bed to put his head level with Foggy's collarbone, then rested there against it and turned his best doe eyes in Foggy's direction.
"How else can I enjoy the beautiful bounty before me, if I'm not allowed to touch? I am blind, you know."
Unfortunately for Foggy, Matt's pleading baby blues were very effective, at least on him. He kissed the crown of Matt's head and lifted an arm, letting Matt settle into a more comfortable position. And, once Matt was done with his maneuvering to the perfect spot, Foggy placed Matt's hand on his stomach, below his bellybutton. Low enough to be a little risqué, not so low Matt was in danger of breaking the doctor's orders—assuming he stayed put, that was.
Foggy threaded their fingers together as insurance.
"Better?" he asked.
Matt nodded, his red hair sliding smoothly across the redder silk of Foggy's robe because of course that was the color Matt had chosen for his gift.
"Sleep," Foggy commanded. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."
Matt remained quiet. His free thumb swept across the small section of silk it could reach while its brothers were caught fast by Foggy.
Foggy took the lack of impish commentary as Matt unwinding mentally now that his body was physically settled. Listening Foggy's heart maybe, or the minuscule symphony he was making out of that two square inch patch of Foggy's robe. Or maybe Foggy's innards were a fascinating hullabaloo as his dinner traversed his digestive system. Sometimes the oddest things caught Matt's attention, but who was Foggy to decree where his long-time friend found beauty in a world so much more expansive aurally than his.
Whichever way, Matt was rapt, so Foggy thumbed on his book and settled in himself. He adjusted his arm around Matt to see the screen and comfortably read one-handed. He could tell when Matt fell asleep because his boyfriend's head dropped further down, his body slumping under gravity's pull now that he wasn't consciously keeping upright. Foggy let Matt stay like that, back curved into a sharp C and head pillowed by the top of his belly, until he finished his chapter. Then he set his book aside and spent a moment looking at the man asleep on him.
Peaceful slumber and Matt Murdock coexisted oxymoronically most nights—and days as Matt aged and took to catching catnaps when he could—so it made something warm and squishy grow in Foggy's chest to glimpse this rare version of his boyfriend.
But alas, he needed to disturb the calm and sleep himself. He untangled his fingers from Matt's and stretched them, working out the stiffness from being held curled and unmoving as he'd read. Knuckles popped, and were apparently enough to rouse Matt who blinked slowly at the unwanted awakening.
"Fogs?"
Foggy scooted towards the free edge of the bed, and Matt failed to make the effort to support his upper half now that Foggy had removed himself as Matt's pillow. Shoulders at an awkward angle—which had to be uncomfortable but it was how he'd landed on the mattress—Matt pouted.
It was ridiculous—half affectation because Matt knew he was weak, but damned if Foggy didn't enjoy getting to be low-stakes silly with Matt after everything. Foggy yawned as he swapped his satiny robe for a plain, cotton undershirt.
Matt commented, "You don't have to change, you know. You can stay in the silk."
Foggy huffed. "And wake up all twisted up in an hour? No, thank you."
He wormed into bed, and Matt reached for him, insinuating himself back against Foggy's side. An arm snaked around his middle and, to his complete non-surprise, found its resting place such that Matt's hand was cupping his derrière. Or the side of it, at least, which was as far as Matt could reach.
"I suppose this is an acceptable consolation prize to losing the beauty of you in silk," Matt said with a dreamy sigh.
And...it was. Foggy was comfortable, sleep tugging on his mind, Matt a happy weight alongside him. If he'd been asked a year ago what his life would be like, a night like this wouldn't have been on his radar, not as anything realistically attainable for him. Matt's eyes had closed, his features untroubled as he slipped into repose once again.
As a consolation prize, this was pretty amazing.