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Foggy’s not sure if it’s a new low that he’s looking to hook up strictly because his building’s heat is off, but it’s definitely not his finest hour. He’s dressed in his tightest jeans and a nice blue button-up that his ex-girlfriend bought him a few years ago, and his who I’m willing to go home with bar is as low as it can possibly be.
His apartment’s closest to a gay bar, one that’s not too loud or overwhelming, so he starts there, heading straight to the bar first to spend too much money on a beer. Or, more accurately, to be ignored by the bartender.
“I need social lubricant,” Foggy mutters to himself, gesturing in the guy’s peripheral vision. Beside him, somebody laughs, and Foggy glances back to see a man with dark glasses and a face that makes Foggy equally jealous and breathless.
“Here,” he says, leaning close to Foggy and immediately getting the bartender’s attention. Foggy steps in to get his drink, turning back to the guy with a sigh.
“What’s it like to have a face like that?” he asks, and the guy smiles.
“Helpful, sometimes,” he says, kind of shyly.
Foggy offers him a hand to shake, getting nervous about the fact that it’s ignored before his brain catches up to the glasses and he says, “Oh! You can’t see me. My hand’s out if you—if you want to shake it? I’m Foggy.”
“You’re—?” Matt asks, making a face but lifting his hand for Foggy to shake.
“Not an adjective, it’s my name,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs.
“Interesting,” he says. “I’m Matt.”
“Matt,” Foggy repeats. “Thanks for the help, Matt, and I hate to say this because you seem really cool, but you’re way too hot and nobody’s gonna hit on me if you’re talking to me.”
“Oh, uhm—I was hitting on you?” Matt says, smiling awkwardly. “Or trying, at least. I don’t do this very often.”
Foggy stares at him for slightly too long, trying to figure out if he’s joking, then interrupts Matt when his face goes all sad and he tries to apologize, grabbing his arm and saying, “That is a plot twist, man. Is your apartment warm?”
“Pretty warm,” Matt says, sounding pleasantly confused. His smile is ridiculous. Foggy’s got to get him out of here before somebody poaches him.
Foggy knocks back his beer and sits it down firmly on the bar.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“. . .right now?” Matt asks, startled.
“No time like the present,” Foggy says, brightly. Matt takes a second before he shrugs and finishes his own drink.
“Works for me.”
*
Matt just lives a few blocks away, too; when they’re outside the bar, the music muffled when the door closes, he says, “Do you mind leading me? I can make it on my own, but—since we’re going the same way.”
“Totally,” Foggy says. Matt steps in close to find Foggy’s arm with his hand, tracing his fingers down slowly to curl around his elbow where his shirt sleeves are pushed up. He gives Foggy a small smile and Foggy wants to kiss him on the mouth, sighing out, “God, you’re cute.”
“Am I?” Matt asks, smiling wider.
“Don’t act like nobody’s ever told you that,” Foggy says, laughing and tugging him along. “I’m pretty sure I’ve told you how attractive you are three times already and I’ve known you like five actual minutes.”
“I don’t get cute that often,” Matt says.
“Devastatingly handsome?” Foggy asks.
“Once or twice,” Matt says, lightly, and Foggy rolls his eyes and tells Matt that he did it. Matt grins and ducks his head to hide it, which is—yeah, cute’s the word to use here.
The rest of the walk is stupid flirting, but it’s fun. Matt’s dry and smart and he laughs at Foggy’s jokes, which basically means that he’s exactly Foggy’s type on top of looking like he just stepped out of a copy of GQ. Foggy sort of wishes that he wasn’t just using him to continue surviving the winter.
“This is mine,” Matt says, after they climb a few too many flights of stairs. Foggy tries to gracefully pretend like he’s not gasping for air. Matt seems unbothered, but now that they’re outside of a dark bar and he’s actually got a good look at Matt’s body, Foggy’s not really surprised. Matt steps aside after he opens his door to let Foggy walk in first, looking kind of hesitant.
Foggy walks in like he owns the place because that method seems to be working out for him tonight, gasping softly when he walks out of the front hallway.
“How the hell do you afford this place?” he asks, walking into the middle of the room and turning in a circle. “You have—windows and—Christ, look at your kitchen.”
“I don’t make much,” Matt says, following Foggy in. “The lights from the billboard just ruined the property value. I got a deal.”
“Honestly, I thought that was just mood lighting,” Foggy says, distractedly, wondering how many square feet the room is. “You sure you’re not rich? Because that could make me try a lot harder at whatever happens tonight. I’ve got—so many student loans.”
Matt’s laugh is loud and startled, and there’s just enough light for Foggy to see that he’s blushing. It’s intriguing. Foggy crosses the room to stand closer to him.
“Afraid not,” Matt says. “I’ll be paying off law school until I die—probably after, too.”
“Wait, you’re a lawyer?” Foggy asks, surprised. “I’m a lawyer! Well, I will be as soon as I make it through this semester. If I make it through this semester.”
“I’m sure you will,” Matt says, which is generous of him. “Where are you studying?”
“Columbia,” Foggy says. “Please note the exhaustion in my voice.”
“It’s familiar,” Matt says, smiling. “I graduated from there a few years ago. Hey, do you—do you want another beer?”
“Please,” Foggy says, following Matt to lean against the other side of the bar. “You know, we probably would have gone to school together if I didn’t take a few years off to find myself. This encounter feels weirdly fated.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Matt says, turning around with a smile. He walks around the bar to pass a beer to Foggy, and their fingers brush, lingering in a way that has to be purposeful. Matt bites his lip. Foggy wants to do that for him.
“Actually,” he says, voice dropping low of its own accord, taking the beer and sitting it down. “How about we save that until later?”
“Yeah, okay,” Matt breathes, and they step forward to kiss each other at the same time, colliding and stumbling backwards. Foggy laughs against Matt’s mouth, getting a hand into his hair, another pushing up his t-shirt to feel—
“Your freaking abs,” he gasps, tugging at it. “Take this off.”
Matt lets go of Foggy to pull his shirt off, throwing it towards his couch before he’s pulling Foggy back into a kiss, licking slowly into his mouth until Foggy’s practically panting. He runs a hand up and down Matt’s side, clenches fingers on warm skin.
“Bed?” he asks, hopefully, when they part to catch their breath.
“Yes,” Matt says, getting in one more kiss before he grabs Foggy’s wrist to pull him towards his bedroom. Matt leaves his glasses on his bedside table and immediately starts getting undressed, and Foggy drops to sit on the edge of his bed and says, “I’m just—gonna sit here and enjoy the show, if that’s okay—holy shit, you have silk sheets. Who even are you?”
Matt throws back his head and laughs, stepping out of his jeans.
“I have discerning tastes,” he says, eyes settling near Foggy’s face.
“Clearly,” Foggy says. “You picked me. Actually—why did you pick me? I don’t know how blind dating—ha, blind dating—I don’t know how it works.”
“You, uh—you were talking to yourself?” Matt says, shrugging. “I liked your voice, and—you were funny.”
“And I, of course, also sounded very handsome,” Foggy supplies, and Matt replies by crawling into Foggy’s lap and pushing him down onto the bed.
“That, too,” he says, kissing him once. “Take your clothes off.”
“Pushy,” Foggy says, breathlessly. “I like it.”
Matt climbs off of him and hauls Foggy to his feet easily. Foggy’s going to have to ask him what exactly he does to get muscles like that, but he’s preoccupied by kissing Matt while Matt deftly undresses him, until they’re standing naked in front of each other. It’s a little disarming even though Matt can’t see him, so Foggy takes it upon himself to get things going by dropping to his knees.
“Oh,” Matt says.
“You good?” Foggy asks, pressing a curious kiss to the side of Matt’s dick—it’s just as nice as Matt is, thick and warm when Foggy circles it with his fingers. Matt slides gentle fingers into his hair.
“I’m great,” he says, emphatically, and Foggy sits up on his knees to take Matt in his mouth.
A few minutes in, he pulls off with with an obscene wet noise to say, “You know, you’re really good at getting your dick sucked.”
“. . .what does that even mean?” Matt asks, laughing, petting Foggy’s head.
“Just the right amount of hair pulling,” Foggy says. “Authoritative but you’re not, like, actively trying to choke me to death. I just thought you should know that I’m having a really good time.”
“Me, too,” Matt says, sounding kind of touched, tugging lightly on Foggy’s hair. “Come up here.”
Foggy stands up immediately and falls into a kiss, moaning when Matt bites gently at his sore lips and backs him up onto the bed. He pushes himself backwards so he’s sprawled out and Matt can climb on top of him, straddling his hips and leaning down to press a lush kiss to Foggy’s mouth while his fingers slip down to barely graze over Foggy’s erection.
“Can I fuck you?” Matt asks, voice low, just enough hesitance that Foggy catches it. He’s pretty sure that Matt doesn’t pick up random guys that often, but he’s also pretty sure that’s one of the reasons why this has been so good—cautious and sweet even though he can tell that Matt could wreck him if he wanted to.
Foggy really wants to see that, but, for now, he reads the room and says, “I’d like that,” and lets Matt treat him nice. He spreads Foggy’s legs and opens him up with soft praise and slow strokes of his fingers inside and enough lube that Foggy can feel it dripping out of him, waits for Foggy to tell him when he’s ready before he even puts a condom on.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a sweetheart?” Foggy asks, reaching up to brush fingers through Matt’s hair when Matt moves to kneel between his legs.
“I’m—not sure that’s what you want out of a random bar hookup,” Matt says, holding onto Foggy’s hips. Foggy spreads his legs wider and Matt’s fingers squeeze lightly.
Foggy smiles up at him.
“Maybe not,” he says, pulling Matt down to press a kiss to his cheek and add, softly, in his ear, “Fuck me hard enough and I might change my mind.”
Matt’s grin is kind of vicious and it turns out that he likes a challenge, which Foggy learns when Matt fucks him hard enough that the headboard starts hitting the wall with each thrust. Foggy can’t do much more than wrap his legs around him and be encouraging and take it, but he’s good at all of that, keeps Matt laughing and moaning until he shoves in deep and jerks his hips against Foggy while he spills inside of the condom.
“Foggy,” he says, hands sliding over Foggy’s stomach, his chest, moving up to cup Foggy’s face.
“Good fucking job, dude,” Foggy gasps, and Matt laughs like he can’t even help himself, leaning down to press a kiss to Foggy’s forehead and cheeks and mouth before he pulls out carefully and moves down Foggy’s body. His breath is hot and damp on Foggy’s erection, which has been neglected so far because Foggy’s been too busy clutching at the silk sheets. Also, Foggy’s going to die.
“Can I—?” Matt asks, raising his head.
Foggy slides a hand into his hair to push it back down, saying, “Ohmygodyes,” and coming about thirty seconds after Matt gets his mouth on him. Matt sits up so Foggy can see him swallow and get rid of the condom quickly before he curls around Foggy, pulling him tight to his chest.
“You’re a cuddler,” Foggy murmurs, sleep heavy and happy. “Totally a sweetheart.”
“Shut up,” Matt says, huffing out a laugh and pressing a kiss to the side of Foggy’s head.
*
Yesterday, Foggy set his phone alarm to vibrate at 6:00 AM with the intention to sneak out of whoever’s apartment he found himself at, but this morning he immediately changes his mind when he wakes up with his face plastered against Matt’s chest and Matt’s fingers tangled in his hair. His phone buzzes insistently wherever he lost his jeans.
“What’s that?” Matt mumbles, still mostly asleep, pulling Foggy closer.
“I set an alarm so I could ditch whoever I hooked up with before they woke up,” Foggy says.
“Mmm. Stay,” Matt says, petting at Foggy’s head before immediately falling back asleep.
Foggy lifts himself up enough to look at Matt’s face, soft with sleep, and lets out a sigh that he refuses to think of as lovesick. He untangles himself enough to reach off the bed and find his phone, turning it off entirely, before he settles back in. The bed's warm and Matt's warmer and this went so much better than Foggy could have ever imagined. He can stay a few more hours.