Chapter Text
Foggy wakes up with Matt’s hair up his nose, his beleaguered sigh rustling it like a breeze through a field of wheat. "Well, I suppose I did ask for this pretty specifically," he says gruffly.
Matt huffs sleepily and cuddles closer. It's a contented, satisfied sound, and Foggy presses his lips to the back of Matt's neck. "Morning, sunshine."
"Mmm," Matt sighs, "morning."
A glance at the clock proves them both to be liars. It's almost one in the afternoon. But he's got Matt in his arms, naked and warm and sweet as anything, so frankly, the whole world can just take a number.
Foggy pushes up on one elbow and noses the bone behind Matt's ear. "So here's what I'm thinking. Some coffee, some food. We go to yours and get your silk sheets," Matt gives a snort, but it's a pleased one, "and then we come right back here and kiss some more."
"I like your plan," Matt's smile is Foggy's new favourite, but he ruins it by yawning hugely, "maybe a nap first."
Foggy nips Matt's earlobe. "Lazy," he murmurs.
"I'm worn out from fighting evil. And you kept me awake for hours."
"Kept you! I wasn't just twiddling my thumbs all evening, you know. I cleaned the whole apartment." Foggy strokes his fingers over Matt's sculpted biceps, and it makes Matt press his hips backwards.
"That's so much more work than chasing muggers."
"More back-of-the-fridge moldy, at least," Foggy concedes, and kisses Matt's jaw softly before pulling away, "I'll start the coffee, but you better be upright by the time I'm out of the shower."
Matt's hand shoots out and catches his arm.
"No, come back. Don't shower."
"Matt, I stink!"
"No, you don't."
"Don't be dumb. Even I can smell me. You must be choking on it."
Matt's eyes narrow, and then Foggy's staring up at the ceiling with his wrists pinned to the bed. Glaring to the best of his ability, Matt lowers his head and inhales hard in Foggy's armpit, and it's only his grip that keeps Foggy from elbowing him.
"Foggy, you know what I can smell right now?"
"What?"
"Kitchen cleaner, jasmine from your cologne, and your sweat," Foggy shuts his eyes, slightly ashamed, but Matt continues, "but also my sweat, because you spooned me like an octopus, and my saliva, from when I licked your nipples. And down here," Matt wriggles down Foggy's body and licks his belly, just at the edge of his pubic hair, "you smell like my come. Trust me, I like it. A lot."
Matt crawls back up and kisses him deeply, morning breath be damned. "We had sex, Foggy. There's no shame in smelling like it."
"I know. I was there." Matt just raises an eyebrow at him. He sighs. "The world stinks for you, Matt, and I add to it."
"Yeah, it does, and no, you don't. Or if you do, then I do too. Smells help me know the world, Foggy, even if they're overwhelming sometimes. I don't want you to think I need everything sterilized in order to be happy."
"I just want you to have things that're nice. Even if that's a scrubbed apartment. Or a scrubbed lover."
Matt grins at his old fashioned language, but there's no better word for the way Foggy's body and soul wants to curl itself around him and keep him safe. "If my lover smells less than factory-fresh, then it's because I've been loving him all night," Matt says, his voice dropping into the suggestive register.
Foggy's heart must sound unconvinced, because Matt sighs. "Foggy, you might as well say the world is too full of faces so you should wear a bag over your head."
"That makes no sense."
Matt makes a face that says, "well, there you go."
"But isn't it gross?"
"I'm not saying you won't need a shower eventually, but right now you smell fine. Hot. Satisfied. Like--" Matt bites his lip.
"Like what?"
"Like you might be mine."
Foggy kisses that uncertain mouth, because he just might be. "Alright, so I've got more to learn about you. I'm still going to shower."
Matt pouts.
"Why don't you join me?"
***
In the shower, Foggy pins Matt's wrists over his head with one hand and jerks him off with the other, so teasingly that his head rattles against the tile as he shakes and pleads.
"Begging. I like that," Foggy says, crazily aroused by the fact that Matt's allowing himself to be held down. Matt just whimpers.
Matt's still panting hard when he folds to his knees and sucks Foggy into his mouth. It's sloppy and rough and noisy on Matt's part, and Foggy almost dies when Matt takes his hands and puts them on the back of his neck.
"Matt, have you done that before?" Foggy asks, tipping Matt's head back and rubbing a thumb along his throat.
"Not really," Matt's grin is the devil's own, "but let's go anyways." Foggy groans, and it feels like it comes from his toes. Matt takes Foggy's cock between his lips.
And just stays there.
Foggy stares at him, hands tight on his neck, unmoving.
"Foggy."
"Uh huh."
"Foggy."
"That's me."
"Foggy, you're needed for this part," Matt says waspishly.
"Well, forgive me if I don't want to choke you to death our first time out."
Matt rolls his eyes. "Then don't! Shove your cock down my throat, but carefully."
"Carefully."
"Yeah, carefully."
Nettled, Foggy works just the head of his cock in Matt's mouth, refusing to go any deeper than the swell of his tongue, but he grabs Matt's jaw and pulls on his hair so he doesn't notice he's not getting what he wants.
"So good, Matt," Foggy groans, and means it, "so pretty." He nudges against the back of Matt's throat accidentally, and moans. Matt nods and pulls at his hips.
Foggy pushes a little deeper, just enough to make Matt's cheeks flush. It's tight and hot and perfect, and it doesn't take him more than a few seconds before he's pulling out and shooting all over Matt's collarbone, his cries drowning out the sound of the water.
"You ok?" Foggy asks later, propping Matt against the bathroom counter and drying him off.
"A+, would deepthroat again," Matt says, a little hoarsely. He's grinning.
***
When they're finally dressed, caffeinated, and ready to walk to Matt's apartment, the sky's already beginning to darken. Foggy tugs on his gloves, and Matt lifts his head from tying his shoes.
"Wait. New leather gloves."
Foggy looks at his hands. "Yes."
Matt beckons from the couch. "Did these have a part in your seduction plan too?" he asks, his nose buried in Foggy's palms.
"To wear them outside and stay warm?" Foggy says. Matt smirks and gently pinches the leather between his teeth. "Yeah, ok, we can talk about that later," he admits, dragging his finger over Matt's lip.
"Promise?"
Foggy bends at the waist to kiss him, and tastes leather on his tongue.
On the street, Matt cleaves to Foggy's side. He cuddles so close that their steps tangle and it's only his superhero nimbleness that keeps them from going down in a pile of elbows and knees.
Matt's bundled up like a burrito, wearing one of Foggy's sweaters and his coat buttoned up high. But the beautiful idiot clearly hadn't been thinking with the head that goes under hats when he'd gotten dressed last night, because he's naked from the neck up and the wrist down. Foggy offers to turn back for a scarf or something, but Matt seems intent on getting his body heat straight from the source.
"Matty, honey, quit goofing around and just hold my hand. They'll get the message," Foggy says, the third time approaching footsteps make Matt wrap himself all over Foggy possessively.
Matt stops walking, and Foggy nearly does a 180 degree spin around his bicep.
"What did you call me?"
"Matty?"
"You said honey."
"Uh, possibly?"
Matt gathers him close, arms wound low around Foggy's waist. "Honey," he whispers, and kisses Foggy again and again--soft presses of lips, warm puffs of breath. "You called me honey."
He sounds delighted and a bit unbelieving, and definitely, definitely this smile is Foggy's favourite.
"It's going to take us an hour to get to your place instead of ten minutes if you insist on kissing me every six steps," Foggy says, but he holds still for Matt to lick into his mouth and warm his hands in his back pockets.
"Then I get to kiss you for an hour. Where's the downside?"
"You have to do it on the sidewalk instead of a nice warm apartment. And we have to keep our pants on."
Matt tilts his head, and starts towing Foggy down the street.
"Wait, wait. Don't run off." Foggy unwinds his scarf--the scarf--and drapes it around Matt's neck. Matt's eyelids flutter as he wraps the tails around and knots them in the front.
"There you go," he says, threading his fingers through Matt's and kissing his soft, wind-chilled mouth, "feels good?"
Matt's hand is freezing on Foggy's chin, but he lets Matt tip his face up anyway.
"Yeah, Foggy," he says, and his smile outshines the lights of Ninth Avenue. "Feels good."