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When Foggy Nelson was twenty years old, monsters tore through Harlem, clawing up streets and buildings so close to his dorm room he could feel the floor shaking.
When he was twenty-three, an American legend who’d been dead for half a century burst into Times Square and stopped traffic for an hour.
When he was twenty-four, aliens poured out of a hole in the sky, blowing half of Midtown to hell and ripping the facade off the apartment building he’d grown up in. His parents barely made it out alive. They were saved, they told him, by a Norse god from outer space.
So yeah, he knows all about insane, impossible things happening in the city he loves.
But finding out his best friend is a literal demon is still going to take some getting used to.
“You’re staring at me,” Matt says from his huddled spot on the couch.
“Do you blame me?” Foggy asks. Matt looks the same as he always has right now. Well, no - he isn’t usually so beat up he looks like he might die at any moment, and generally when Foggy’s around him he’s wearing more than a faded pair of boxers after his shredded, bloodstained crimefighting outfit has been cut off of him. But under the swollen cheekbone and split lip and literally dozens of stitches, it’s Matt’s familiar handsome face and unkempt hair and beautiful, unfocused eyes.
When Foggy found him on the floor, though, he had red skin like burnished leather, jet black hair, and black, iris-less eyes, and he was leaking black blood like ichor onto the carpet from a dozen wounds.
Oh, and there were the little horns. The little horns are kind of hard to forget.
“Is that what you really look like?” Foggy asks. He loves Matt’s face, probably more than strictly platonic, brotherly affection merits. He hates to think that it’s all a lie.
Of course, demonic Matt has the same perfect bone structure and unrealistically excellent abs as familiar human Matt, but Foggy’s kind of uncomfortable with what it says about him that he noticed that, so he’s going to put that thought in a box and leave it there for now.
“It’s what I can look like,” Matt says. “There’s a...a range. I go full demon to, uh…”
“To scare people,” Foggy finishes. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has been terrorizing criminals for months now. Foggy always figured it was an ordinary dude in a costume, made larger-than-life by his hysterical victims. Matt was conspicuously silent on this particular theory of Foggy’s, which makes a lot more sense now; Matt’s never lacked for an opinion before.
“I never meant to scare you,” Matt says, looking like a puppy who got into the trash when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. That face usually works on Foggy, but he thinks it’ll take more than Matt looking tragic to make this right.
"You looking like Halloween came early doesn't scare me," Foggy says, which is only partially a lie. Yeah, finding the Devil of Hell's Kitchen on Matt's floor scared the shit out of him. He was dialing 911 and trying to figure out what to say - "Hello, police? There's a dying demon at my feet and I think he ate my friend" - by the time he recognized Matt's nose and lips and smile lines.
But this is Matt. Emissary of Hell or not, he'd never hurt Foggy.
But what will happen if Matt runs into too many criminals or cops or, shit, Foggy doesn't know, freaking vampire slayers? If he's arrested or exorcised or killed, like he almost was tonight?
Yeah. That scares Foggy breathless.
"You can't do this," he says. "You're breaking the law. You're doing exactly what you told me and Karen not to!"
"I have to," Matt says, fighting to sit up. Trust Matt to be the only demon in history to be stupidly determined to kill himself fighting for justice. "This city needs me to - "
He cuts off with a hiss of pain, pitching forward, and Foggy catches him without thinking. His hands land on Matt's shoulders. Matt's skin is feverishly hot beneath his palms.
A wave of desire rushes over Foggy, dizzyingly fast. He wants to touch every inch of that skin, to find out if it's that hot all over. He wants to lick Matt, head to toe. He wants to climb onto Matt, to impale himself on his cock and he doesn't care if it's pink or red as long as he can ride it until Matt's breathless and begging. He wants, he wants, he wants...
He rips his hands away and stumbles back, shocked. He's hard, achingly hard, and judging by what Matt told him about all the things he can hear and smell, Matt probably knows about this, too. He's certainly staring in Foggy's general direction like he can see all of Foggy's wildly inappropriate thoughts.
Distantly, Foggy notes that Matt's cheek looks less swollen. But that's secondary to how incredibly unacceptable his own brain has suddenly become.
"So, you're okay, right?" he asks, stumbling back even further. "You're all stitched up, you've got water, you had a snack, probably you just need to be left alone to rest. I should go."
“Foggy, I…” Matt says, then licks his lips, and a full-body shudder runs through Foggy. Matt closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says faintly. “Yeah, you should go.”
Foggy flees.
*
So, okay, he’s hot for Matt’s body. That’s not news. That hasn’t been news since the stranger in his dorm room gave him a bashful smile and turned Foggy’s world upside down. Foggy babbled something stupid about how gorgeous Matt was, Matt panicked visibly, Foggy backpedaled, and everything was fine. Better than fine, because Matt’s the best best friend Foggy can imagine. Maybe even now that Foggy knows he’s a lying vigilante demon with super-senses.
And yeah, the attraction never really went away, especially once Matt started rocking better glasses and some fine-ass stubble - and the suits, Lord, can that man wear a suit - but Foggy learned to deal. Within two weeks of rooming with Matt, he barely thought about it during his waking hours.
The dreams were pretty rough, though.
They tended to happen when Matt had a bad day, which, considering what that pinged in Foggy’s subconscious, probably meant he was emotionally overinvested in his roommate, but that wasn’t news either. Some asshole professor would pitch a fit about getting Matt the lecture notes in Braille, or something would come up that would remind Matt of his dad, or he’d just retreat into his head for reasons Foggy’d never been able to fathom - although he’s starting to get an inkling, what with the whole demon thing and all - and go all moody and withdrawn.
That meant it was Foggy’s job to make everyone on their floor turn down their music because Matt got headaches, and kind of playfully bro-hug him if it was a dad thing, and tell even stupider jokes than usual until he wrung a smile out of Matt. He always felt triumphant when he made Matt laugh, but making a sad Matt laugh was a special kind of heroism.
In his dreams, though, instead of crawling into his own bed looking lost, Matt came to Foggy’s. In his dreams, Foggy kissed that furrowed brow and the line between those troubled eyes and that sad, soft mouth, kissed him until Matt was loose and languid in his arms. He peeled off the soft, faded t-shirt Matt wore to bed and his silly silk boxers, and Matt let him look, Matt let him touch, everywhere Foggy wanted. And...well, Foggy had a healthy imagination and access to the wide world of internet porn, and by the time they finished their first semester of undergrad, there was nothing they hadn’t done in the surprisingly freaky playground of Foggy’s subconscious.
Foggy would wake hard and aching and embarrassed, but Matt couldn’t possibly know and so it wasn’t an issue. And Matt always seemed to be in a much better mood the next day, so it wasn’t like he had to worry about a replay anytime soon.
There were a lot of those dreams, though. He figured it was puberty’s last hurrah, or possibly his body’s final confirmation that, yep, Franklin Nelson, you are definitely bi. Or maybe it was just proximity, because the dreams grew less frequent during law school, when he and Matt shared the world’s tiniest two-bedroom, and dropped down to once in a blue moon after they got separate apartments. Sure, when Matt wandered into the office every so often with his pretty face all wrecked from tripping taking out the garbage or something, Foggy might have spent some time idly fantasizing about kissing it better, but that was it. He had it under control.
Which was a huge relief. Dream Matt was ludicrously good in bed, but he wasn’t worth losing Real Matt because Foggy couldn’t get over a teenage crush.
(It wasn’t a crush, but pretending it was made it easier to bear.)
But this - this is like nothing Foggy’s ever felt. One touch, one casual, platonic touch, and he’s ready to beg Matt to put his hands on him. Foggy doesn’t know whether he’s more alarmed by the fact that he lost control, or that he did it when his best friend was bleeding and bruised and clearly not in any kind of state to deal with Foggy’s inappropriate penis. Not to mention the general weirdness of being abruptly good to go when he’s still so mad at Matt for lying he can barely see straight. Especially when he’s just learned that Matt isn’t even human.
Yeah. This seems like a really good time to drink himself into a stupor.
Maybe that way he can make sure he doesn’t dream about anything at all.
*
They patch things up.
They take down Fisk.
They talk.
“So you…became a demon?” Foggy asks over beers one night at his place. They’ve sort of been avoiding Matt’s apartment; the memories there aren’t the best right now. “How does that even work?” Matt had explained it on that awful day, sort of, along with the senses and the vigilantism, but Foggy hadn’t really been in the mood to listen, much less understand.
“The chemicals that blinded me weren’t really...chemicals, per se,” Matt says. “Well, they were, everything’s chemicals, but it turned out they had...supernatural properties. They took my vision, enhanced my other senses, and, well…” He shrugs. “Turned me into a demon. Kind of a shock for a good little Catholic boy.”
There’s a thought. “So all those times you said you were going to church, you were…?” Foggy asks suspiciously.
“Oh, I went,” Matt says. “I couldn’t pass the threshold, so I just...sat outside. I could still hear the music, smell the incense…” He shrugs a shoulder. “There’s this bench in front. My priest’ll take confession there. Of course, he doesn’t call it that, but that’s what it is, really. It’s good enough.”
And isn’t that just the saddest thing, even if Matt does have his “plucky little orphan” face on. Foggy suspects Matt thinks it makes him look carefree and resolute, but most it just makes Foggy want to wrap him up in a blanket and never let him go. “Does he know you’re a demon?” Foggy asks, because boy, that’s got to be a weird confession.
“No, I think that might be too much for him,” Matt says, then sort of cringes. “But, uh, he does know I’m the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He figured it out. He thinks it’s a costume, like you did.”
He’s clearly expecting Foggy to chew him out again for telling someone else before he told Foggy, but this is the guy who dragged himself to church - well, to the bench in front of the church, apparently - every Sunday in college no matter how hungover he was. Foggy’s not hugely shocked.
He shrugs. “I guess it’s hard to confess specifically enough to count but vaguely enough not to give anything away,” he says, and Matt looks so relieved that it’s heartbreaking. “Does that mean there isn’t enough demon stuff that you need to confess about it? I mean, what do you even do as a demon, besides look crazy sunburned sometimes?” He puts a playful note into his voice. “Have you been siphoning off my soul, Murdock?”
“No!” Matt says so quickly that Foggy’s suspicious lawyer-sense pings at him. But no, Matt would never hurt him. He knows that. “I’m, um. I’m supposed to, uh.” He’s not wearing his glasses and his eyes are darting everywhere, never landing on anything. “Corrupt people. I mean, it’s not like I have a direct line to, uh, belowdecks, but I did a lot of research after I got turned and, and there are, um, certain compulsions, and...yeah. Yeah, that’s basically it.” He licks his lips. “But I don’t. It’s wrong. I might have horns and red skin sometimes, but I’m still me. I can still choose. And it’s wrong.”
He looks frantic, like Foggy might toss a bucket of holy water on him and flee. There’s something he’s not saying, but at the end of the day, Matt Murdock wants to do the right thing. If Foggy knows anything, he knows that.
“Well, that just leaves me one question,” he says, and watches Matt go brittle-tense. “Do you have a tail?”
Matt blinks, startled, and then visibly relaxes. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t have a tail.”
“Boo. Some demon. I’m not impressed.”
Matt smiles, a little tentatively. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Foggy nudges him with his shoulder, side by side on the couch, and Matt’s smile widens. Good. They aren’t back to where they were before, not by a long shot. But they’re getting there.
*
It's a lot like that terrible night at first, except it's at Foggy's apartment this time.
He's a heavy sleeper, so it's just just dumb luck that the noise from the living room wakes him. At first he's not sure what startled him awake; then he hears footsteps in the living room.
There are two options here: either a burglar's in his apartment, here to stab him out of sheer annoyance after he discovers that broke lawyers with no clients have very little worth stealing...or Daredevil's decided to pay him a late night visit. Foggy decides to hope for the best.
"Matt?" he whispers.
There's a low groan from the living room. Matt, then, and hurt from the sound of it. Foggy scrambles out of bed, hitting the light switch as he races into the other room. "Matt!"
Sure enough, Matt's there, and in full demon form, too. Foggy's only seen it a couple of times up close, but that's not what sets his heart pounding in fear. No, that's courtesy of Matt's swollen face, the hunched way he's clutching at his ribs, and the black blood dripping from more wounds than Foggy wants to count.
"Oh God, Matty, no," he breathes, hurrying towards him.
Matt tilts his head at Foggy and gives him an apologetic grimace. "Suh...sorry..." he says. His skin ripples, and then it's normal, human-looking Matt bleeding out in Foggy's living room. Because that's what Foggy cares about right now.
"Matt, come on, you gotta lie down," Foggy says, reaching for him. Matt jerks back the minute Foggy’s hand connects, wincing in pain, and Foggy watches that gorgeous mouth twist, thinks about that red, red mouth sliding down his cock, thinks about pushing into it until Matt chokes and his eyes water and whoa, no, not okay, where the fuck did that come from?
"Don't touch me!" Matt gasps, and for a horrified moment Foggy's afraid Matt can somehow smell his dirty thoughts or something, but then Matt adds, "Everything hurts, I can't...it'll hurt more if you touch."
It's not the relief it might be, because Matt's got to be hurting bad if he's willing to admit it. "O-okay," Foggy manages around his panic. "Can you get yourself to the couch?" Matt nods minutely. "Good. Lie down, then. I'm gonna take care of you."
Matt shudders - shudders, why does he shudder? - and hobbles to the couch. Foggy races to the bathroom, grabbing towels and a pathetically inadequate box of Band-Aids. He's going to have to call Claire. He wouldn't be equipped to deal with this even if he wasn't the Worst Person in the World, it's official, he's got the trophy and everything, and by "trophy" he means "seriously fucked-up and uncontrollable boner for his possibly-dying best friend."
Claire probably doesn't have that issue either. "Why didn't you go to Claire?" Foggy asks as he comes back into the living room, and Christ, Matt's sprawled on his couch now looking absolutely spent and maybe it's fitting that his best friend is a demon because Foggy's going straight to Hell. "This is way beyond my first aid skills."
Matt being Matt, he's already poking at one of the wounds. The air smells like blood even to Foggy's normal human nose. "I don't...I don't know," he says, and there's something haunted in his voice. "I didn't...I just wanted...Foggy, I need your help, but I don't want..."
"Yeah, Matty, of course, anything you need, always," Foggy says, sitting gingerly on the couch. Anything, Foggy will get on his knees for Matt, he'll get on his back for Matt, he'll let Matt bend him over the fucking witness stand the next time they're in court...
No. No.
Foggy presses a towel to what he thinks might be the deepest cut, just above Matt's hip, and forces himself not to think about the bruises he wants to suck into that spot instead. "I'm worried, though," he admits, and not just because of Matt's injuries. There's something very wrong with Foggy, too. "I think a lot of these are gonna need stitches, and I never took Home Ec. I think we should call Claire."
Matt nods slowly, and winces again as the movement jars something tender.
"Where's the burner?" Foggy asks, because Matt's paranoid about either of them contacting Claire via their regular phones. Foggy's pretty sure Claire showing up at his apartment at two in the morning is going to look suspicious no matter what her recent calls log says, but this isn't the time to fight Matt on it.
Matt pauses. "...In my left front pocket," he says finally.
Well. There's probably a way for the phone to be closer to Matt's dick, but Foggy guesses it depends on which direction Matt tucks.
He swallows and resists the urge to cross himself, which is probably hugely offensive in demon-human relations or something. He can do this. So his imagination is running wild right now; that doesn't mean he has to act on it. He would never do anything Matt didn't want him to, much less now, when Matt's vulnerable.
"Okay," he says, and reaches for the pocket.
And oh God, Matt's skin is warm through his pants and his thigh is lean and muscled and Foggy wants to lick it, he wants to drag himself against it, he wants to thrust between those hard thighs until he comes all over them and then lick Matt clean and start all over again and no, Foggy, get the phone, Foggy -
- and Matt's hand clamps down on Foggy's wrist like a vise. "Foggy," he breathes.
It takes over, then, and Foggy's kissing Matt before he can stop himself. He's disgusting, he's scum, he promised himself - but Matt is kissing him back, hands clutching at Foggy like he wants to crawl inside him, and Foggy's literally never been harder in his entire goddamn life.
"No!" Matt says suddenly, pushing Foggy away, and Foggy scrambles back on the couch, horrified by what he's just done. He's a fucking monster.
"Sorry," Matt whispers, staring blankly in his direction. "Sorry, sorry, sorry..."
That's when Foggy notices that even though Matt's still pink, his horns are back, little stubby red ones poking through his hair. And his eyes still have irises, but they've gone black and not hazel.
And he's stopped bleeding. Everywhere.
Maybe this isn't just Foggy being a creep.
"Matt," he says, carefully, because Matt looks like he might bolt back out the window at any moment. "What just happened?"
Matt scurries back against the opposite arm of the couch, as far from Foggy as he can get without either of them standing up, and winces - apparently whatever he did to his ribs is still hurting him. But all the cuts are - not healed, exactly, but shut, angry red lines on his skin instead of gaping and bleeding. Even the facial swelling's gone down.
He moves his mouth a few times, soundlessly - a sure sign that he's working out what to say and doesn't think Foggy will like it. "I, uh, I...remember how I told you I was a demon?"
"That's pretty memorable," Foggy says, because, well.
"I…may have neglected to tell you what kind of demon I am," Matt says.
There are different kinds of demons? Matt's expression is nothing shy of abject terror, so Foggy makes a heroic effort and keeps his voice very calm. "What kind of demon are you, Matt?"
Matt gulps audibly. "An incubus."
Foggy's not the one raised by nuns and with nine million years of Catholic school under his belt, so the word doesn't have quite the impact Foggy thinks Matt expects. "What's an incubus? I mean, besides a band."
"It's, um." Matt squirms back further on the couch, like he can melt into the armrest. "The female version is called a succubus."
That rings a few bells, but Foggy must still look quizzical, because Matt puts on an expression like he's walking to the gallows. "They feed on sexual energy. They're - we're - supposed to seduce mortals to the path of evil. Literally."
Foggy just stares. He is very sure the English language does not possess the words to deal with this little bombshell.
"I don't!" Matt says quickly. "I don't, I never, I've never..." He's practically hyperventilating. "I would never try to corrupt anyone anyway, but especially not like that. I can make people want me, I can make people do...do things, but I would never. It's wrong. I refuse."
"But...but if you feed on…sexual energy..." how has Foggy's life come to this "...won't you...won't you starve?" Foggy asks. Picking at what seems like a minor issue because the rest is too big to deal with.
"I don't have to," Matt says, and there's nothing demonic about this stubborn set of his chin; he looks, rather, adorably boyish in that moment. "I can eat human food to get by. It's not as good, but..." And the stubbornness suddenly fades to shame. "But sometimes when I'm...when I'm hurt, it's harder to turn it off, and I can't, I can't..." He closes his eyes. "I took from you, Foggy. I told myself I wouldn't, but I did, and I'm sorry."
"Oh, thank God," Foggy says, sagging a little with relief.
Matt's eyes snap open, unseeing. "What?"
"It was you all the time," Foggy tries to explain. "I thought I was developing a really creepy fetish for you being injured." But he'd been helping Matt, it sounds like. Maybe Matt was making Foggy want him, like he said, but Foggy wanting Matt wasn't exactly a new proposition, though this particular level of intensity is new. Foggy doesn’t care. If Foggy wanting Matt makes Matt not hurt anymore, Foggy will gladly want Matt every way he can imagine, and twice on Sundays.
"No," Matt says, still looking ashamed. "I didn't mean to, but I was so tired, and so hungry, Foggy."
"That's why you didn't go to Claire," Foggy realizes. Definitely easier to resist the temptation to suck sexual energy out of Foggy than a beautiful woman.
"I should have," Matt says, very small. "It's easier to, to hold back, she doesn't...I like Claire, but you...I should never let myself be around you when I'm hurt."
That stings more than Foggy wants to admit. He knows how Matt feels about Claire and yeah, she's probably not shamelessly throwing her sexual energy at Matt all the time or whatever it is Foggy's doing, but he hates the idea that he can't help his best friend. "Sure," he says. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be..."
Matt laughs. It's a bitter sound. "I know. I know you don't mean to be, but hey, a steak doesn't mean to be delicious either, right?" He winces. "I'm sorry. That was rude. That was..." He rubs his temples. "You're not a steak, you're a person, that's the whole point, just because I want you doesn't give me the right to...to..."
He trails off, maybe because he can hear Foggy's heartbeat accelerating. "You...want me?"
Matt stiffens. "You didn't know?"
Foggy shakes his head mutely.
"Well." It looks like Matt tries to smile but doesn't quite make it. "Looks like I had one last secret after all."
"So." How is this revelation more shocking than Matt being a demon? "So you didn't come to me because I'd be easier to resist than Claire?"
"What? No!" Matt looks genuinely stunned. "Foggy, you're practically impossible for me to...I can't...I want you all the time, Foggy."
Foggy never knew that a handful of monosyllabic words plus his name could be so beautiful.
"Matt," he says, and starts to move closer.
But Matt jerks back, winces again - those damn ribs - and holds up a hand to stop him. "No. We can't."
"But you just said you wanted..."
The look on Matt's face makes Foggy want to cry. "But you don't."
That pulls Foggy up short. "Uh. I'd argue with you on that point, but between your senses and your sex demon powers I'm pretty sure you already know that's not true."
"The sex demon powers are the point, Foggy!" Matt says. "You don't want this. I'm making you want this. It's what I do."
"Bullshit," Foggy says flatly. "I've wanted you for years, Matt." If Matt can say it, so can he. "Since college. God, do you know how often I dreamed about you?"
But that just makes Matt go paler and more alarmed. "No," he breathes. "No, I was doing it in college?"
"You weren't doing anything, Matt, I was an eighteen-year-old kid reaffirming my sexuality or whatever, and..." Foggy pauses. The dreams always came when Matt was having a hard time, and he always seemed better in the morning. "...Okay, so maybe there was some low-level, inadvertent feeding going on." He’s not really sure how to feel about that. He’s definitely sure that his feelings for Matt are courtesy of his own dumb heart and not demonic munchies, but it’s a little weird to think that Matt was feeding off his brain waves or whatever while he slept, even if it wasn’t on purpose.
Whatever. He’ll put that in a box and unpack it later, when he has time to sort through it. Matt needs him right now.
Sure enough, Matt scrambles off the couch, heading towards the window, the picture of guilt. He's still hunched over; he's still in pain. "Yeah, I'm just gonna...I've been...I'm so sorry, Foggy, I never meant to..."
"Hey, hey!" Matt's still going, so Foggy jumps up and grabs him by the upper arm. He's not stupid enough to think he could actually stop even an injured Matt, but Matt goes terribly still at the touch. At least there's no distractingly graphic fantasies along with it, which is good because Foggy has something to say.
"Listen to me. Yeah, okay, I guess it's weird that you can…make me want you? When you're hurting?" Foggy says. "I don't...I don't know, Matt. I'm not entirely convinced it's so much your powers as it is just you. I want you all the time too, buddy." He tries to make it gentle but it just comes out hungry. "And you've never actually made me do anything. I mean, no, you make me do stuff all the time, like call my mom on a regular basis and stop drinking before I throw up, but you know what I mean. I trust you, Matt. If you haven't taken advantage of this yet, I really doubt you're going to start now."
He takes a deep breath. Matt's wary as a fox that hears hunters. "So here's the thing. I'm so fucking hard for you it aches, and you're telling me that not only are you totally down for that, but that it would make you stop hurting." He shrugs. "So really, I don't care if it's your sex demon powers or your pretty face or the fact that I've been hopelessly in love with you since freshman year." Matt's mouth falls open, and Foggy cups his dropped jaw with his free hand. "Please let me help you, Matt."
"You're...you're in..." Matt looks utterly floored - but in a good way, Foggy thinks. "With me?"
The sheer wonder in his voice makes Foggy chuckle. "Yeah, dummy. With you." He strokes his thumb against Matt's cheekbone and marvels at the way Matt's eyelids sink to half-mast. "I don't expect you to feel the same way..." he says, and if this was a courtroom he'd be called out on leading the witness so fast it'd make his head spin, but hey, he's putting himself out there and he'd like a little validation. Sue him.
Matt pushes into his hand. "No, I do, I..." One of those waves of desire abruptly swamps Foggy and then recedes, just as sharp, as Matt's eyes fly open again. "No - I didn't mean to - "
Foggy follows as he pulls away. "It's okay, Matt. I swear on...on a lifetime's supply of free bagels, it's okay." He brushes his fingers over where he's pretty sure Matt's ribs are hurt the worst - no pressure, just the lightest touch possible. Matt full-on shivers, which, wow, yeah. Foggy's going to want to see how else he can make Matt do that. "I'm going to kiss you again. Tell me if you want me to stop."
He leans in and brushes his lips against Matt's, gently. Trying not to startle him. Even at that light touch, his dick twitches and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. When he pulls back, he's pretty sure the swelling on Matt's jaw is reduced even more. "Okay?"
Matt nods, but he’s still visibly tense. "I...yes."
“Then why do you look like you do have a tail, and it’s stuffed up your butt right now?” Foggy asks. Matt scowls at him and he laughs. “Come on, buddy, do your thing.”
“My thing?”
“You’re basically a sex vampire, right?” Foggy asks, and Matt’s scowl deepens.
“No,” he says petulantly. “There’s no such thing as vampires.”
“Says the incubus,” Foggy points out. “But you are though, right? You crank my horniness up to eleven - no pun intended,” he adds, eyes flicking towards Matt’s own surprisingly adorable stubs, “and then you feed off of that. Am I getting it right?”
“Yes…” Matt says tentatively, like he’s not sure where Foggy’s going with this.
“Well,” Foggy says, and steps in even closer, until he’s pressed against Matt. He tilts his head, baring his throat to Matt. Even if Matt doesn’t drink blood, he can surely hear Foggy’s pulse like this, beating fervently just for him. “Drink up.”
And oh, the low, hungry noise Matt makes is like a song. “Foggy,” he groans, and something ripples through them, and suddenly Foggy’s there, there in that place where he’s achingly hard and yearning. Now that he knows what it is, though, he’s not alarmed. He’s here with Matt. As long as Matt is naked and touching him, everything will be all right.
Matt’s not naked, not yet, but his nose is brushing up and down the muscles of Foggy’s neck, and that’s pretty good too. “Foggy,” he breathes again, hands coming up to palm at Foggy’s sides. “You taste so good, Foggy, you have no idea.”
Foggy shudders hard against him, clinging to his shirt. It’s like he’s drowning, submerged in a sea of endless want, and he loves it. “Matt,” he manages, mouthing at Matt’s hair. “Is it...is it working?”
“Yeah. It’s…” He feels Matt straighten up against him, no longer hunched carefully over his ribs...and then Matt picks him up, and carries him to the nearest wall, presses him into it and Foggy’s burning up, hot everywhere Matt touches. “Wanted you for so long, Foggy,” Matt says, and proceeds to kiss the living daylights out of him.
Foggy lets him, kissing back until he’s dizzy and breathless, arms around Matt’s neck and dick hard against Matt’s thigh. “Fuck, Matt,” he says, and he’s glad for the wall behind him because his feet are shaky on the ground, and he’s not sure he could stand without bracing himself. There’s fire in his veins, liquid gold coursing through him. He blinks blearily at Matt and sees that his cuts are gone, his beautiful face is back to normal - save for the horns and the black eyes shining like a clear and starlit night. “I guess it worked,” he says.
Matt laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “Yeah,” he says. His hand is impossibly gentle as it touches Foggy’s cheek. “Yeah, it worked.”
“So it’s the desire you need, not sex itself,” Foggy says, still working it out. “You’re all healed up now, basically.” Matt nods. “But you can have sex. I mean, you do.”
“Sometimes,” Matt says. “I have to be careful, I can’t lose control and start feeding, but you already know and...but we don’t have to, Foggy,” he adds hastily, and starts to back off. “I’m okay. I mean, my ribs are a still a little...but I’m fine. We can stop if you don’t…”
Foggy hooks a finger in Matt’s collar, holding him in place. “Absolutely fucking not,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t too delicate to really take me for a ride.”
“I’m not delicate,” Matt says, mock-offended, and Foggy can tell he’s holding back a laugh.
“Yes, you are. My fragile little sex demon,” Foggy says, tweaking Matt’s nose. Matt growls and nips at his fingers, and Foggy would laugh but Matt’s tongue is already in his mouth. He pushes Foggy into the wall, hands hot on his hips, thigh grinding between Foggy’s legs, and Foggy pants into Matt’s open mouth and forgets to make fun of him.
“O-okay,” he says, letting his head drop back against the wall, letting Matt bite roughly at his neck. “Not delicate. My big - oh! - strong sex demon.”
He feels Matt’s smile against his skin. “That’s right,” Matt says. “Very good.”
Foggy rubs himself shamelessly against Matt’s thigh. “Doesn’t - hh - doesn’t that mean you’re supposed to ravish me or something? Come on, Matty. Get with the program and use your infernal wiles on me already.”
Matt pauses and for a minute Foggy’s afraid he’s gone too far, that the infernal thing is still a little too raw of a subject to joke around about.
Then he feels that hot smile again. “All right,” Matt says, and drops to his knees.
“Well, fuck,” Foggy says, because, well, fuck. Matt grins up at him, looking more like the sweetly smiling teenager Foggy first knew him as than a wicked seducer sent from the bowels of hell.
Then he rubs his cheek against the bulge in Foggy’s pants, languid and pleased like a cat, and yeah, Foggy’s starting to see how Matt might be built to lure someone off the path of righteousness.
“Matty,” he breathes, combing his fingers through Matt’s hair. Matt chuckles and unties the drawstring of Foggy’s pajama pants with his teeth. His breath is hot even through the cotton of Foggy’s t-shirt, and Foggy makes a strangled noise low in his throat.
“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that,” Matt says as he tugs the pajama pants down, and laughs when Foggy swats at him. He breathes in deep, and his eyes go a little sleepy. “Fuck, you smell good.”
Foggy’s mouth is dry. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Matt tugs Foggy’s pants away from around his ankles and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. “Let’s find out how you taste.”
It’s all Foggy can do not to drop his head back against the wall again and close his eyes, but he needs to see this. Matt nuzzles at him again, gentle and teasing, then gives him a thoughtful lick, like Foggy’s a glass of wine he’s considering ordering for the table. Foggy can’t quite muster up a joke, but he must meet with Matt’s approval, because Matt makes a low, pleased sound and licks him again, dragging his tongue up over the head where precome’s been leaking almost since Matt stumbled in through the window.
“Matt,” he gasps, fingers tightening in Matt’s hair. Matt grins at him, wicked, and takes him into that red, red mouth, deeper than Foggy’s expecting, and Foggy shouts as Matt pulls off in a long, slow pull. “Fuck, fuck, Matt. How did you...fuck...what…”
Matt’s grin widens. “I am literally made to do this, Foggy,” he points out and oh. Oh, Foggy hadn’t thought of it like that, and he needs to be back in that mouth right fucking now.
“Please,” he says, and doesn’t even care about how pitiful it sounds. Matt rubs a thumb against his hip, affectionate, before wrapping his lips around Foggy again and going to town. He works his way down easily, swallowing Foggy down to the hilt, and Foggy bites his lip to keep from waking the neighbors. Matt doesn’t seem terribly concerned about said neighbors, which is a little hypocritical from someone as sensitive to noise as he is, because he’s sucking Foggy like he won’t be satisfied until Foggy’s screaming his name.
Foggy compromises by panting “MattMattMatt,” breathless and urgent, and scratching gently at Matt’s head, right around the base of his horns. Matt makes a wet, distracted noise, and his mouth goes slack around Foggy’s cock.
Well. Foggy feels a little thrill of triumph uncoil in his stomach. “Oh, do you like that?” he asks, and rubs his thumb along the little inner curve of the right horn. It’s smooth and hard but yields a little, like a fingernail but tougher. Matt’s eyes practically roll back in his head, and he pulls off to butt against Foggy’s hip, breath hot and ragged.
“Fuck, fuck, Foggy,” he whines, and then bats Foggy’s hand away. “I can’t...I need to concentrate,” he scolds, and it’s so like when Foggy used to joke around when Matt was trying to study that Foggy’s heart clenches unexpectedly, momentarily overcome by just how long he’s been stupid in love with Matt Murdock.
“Foggy?” Matt asks, because Foggy’s heart must have done something, thumped out a love letter to Matt in Morse code or something.
Foggy puts his hand back on Matt’s face, curving around his stubbled jaw, his ear, into the softness of his hair again. “Okay,” he says, aiming for “teasing” and landing on “besotted” instead. “You go ahead and concentrate. We’ll get back to the horn thing later. Don’t think I’m not going to have fun with that.”
Matt’s smile is impossibly beautiful. “You say that like you think I’m going to leave you with a coherent thought in your head.”
“Big talker.”
Matt’s eyes dance at the challenge in Foggy’s voice, and then he dives back onto Foggy’s cock, swallowing him down before Foggy can catch his breath, driving him back against the wall. Foggy gasps, fingers tightening in Matt’s hair probably hard enough to hurt, but Matt just makes a pleased sound and sucks harder. His hands are hot on Foggy’s hips and Foggy can feel it now, the incubus thing, the desire swamping him even as he fights to stay upright.
“Matt,” he groans, eyes falling shut. Everything is heat and suction and the filthy way Matt’s tongue is moving against him, and if Matt keeps up this pace Foggy’s going to embarrass himself by how quickly he comes. “Fuck...fuck...don’t stop because this is…hh, oh shit, this is rhetorical, sex demon, I know, but how are you so fucking good at this?”
Matt lets out a wet chuckle that shivers its way up Foggy’s spine, and Foggy forces his eyes open to look at Matt again. It’s a mistake, because Matt looks obscene like this, mouth even redder than usual as it stretches around Foggy’s cock, eyes closed in an expression of concentrated bliss as he works, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Matt,” Foggy says, and Matt opens his eyes as if it’ll make a difference, and just because they can’t focus doesn’t mean they can’t look absolutely adoring. “Matt,” Foggy says again, warning, “I can’t...I’m gonna…” and Matt digs his fingers into Foggy’s hips and sucks even harder and Foggy hunches over Matt’s head as he shakes through the most intense orgasm he’s ever felt in his life.
Everything’s a little fuzzy, after, and he’s so far on cloud nine that he’s not actually sure if Matt carried him to the bed or just led him there, but yeah, that’s his mattress beneath his back and Matt stripping off his own shirt. Foggy forces himself to concentrate, because Matt Murdock stripping is a sight not to be missed.
“Christ, you’re hot,” he says as Matt tosses his shirt somewhere off the bed, and Matt preens visibly.
“Oh, are we back online?” Matt asks, and he looks so damn pleased with himself that Foggy can’t decide whether to kiss him or tackle him down to the bed. And then kiss him.
He’s still pretty noodly, though, so he settles for lying back and watching the show. Matt shimmies out of his pants and boxers in one go, and oh. Okay. Foggy hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, the forces of evil would probably want their sexy army to be generously endowed. Matt may not be actively attempting to corrupt Foggy, but he’s making Foggy a bigger and bigger fan of Hell every minute.
Matt kind of ruins the illusion of being a suave seducer by knee-walking over to Foggy and plucky petulantly at his T-shirt. “Come on, help me get this off,” he says, and Foggy somehow musters up the energy to wriggle out of it. Matt absolutely beams when Foggy’s totally naked, which is ridiculous because a) Foggy’s not nearly as impressive naked as Matt is, and b) Matt can’t see it anyway, but Foggy still goes all warm and goofy inside at that smile.
“Come here,” he says, and Matt pounces, hot and eager as he straddles Foggy, peppering burning little kisses all over his face, his throat, his shoulders. Foggy scratches around the base of Matt’s horns again and Matt moans, thrusting against Foggy’s hip.
“So, uh,” he pants, breath hot on Foggy’s cheek. “Before, you talked about me, uh, me ravishing you…” His words are ludicrously coy considering that he’s a fucking incubus, but the hand sneaking up the inside of Foggy’s thigh gets the point across nicely.
“Sure,” Foggy says, a little breathless at the thought. “Yeah. Go for it. It, uh, might take me a little while to get back into the game, but…”
Matt smirks. “Oh, that’s not a problem,” he says. He cocks his head; desire ripples through Foggy and he gets hard again so fast it leaves him a bit dizzy.
“I. Uh. Wow.” Foggy drops his head back against the pillow. “That’s a neat trick.”
“Is it…” Matt’s suddenly uncertain. “Sorry, I should have asked. Was that weird? Are you mad?”
“I will be if you let this perfectly good boner go to waste and don’t fuck me immediately,” Foggy says, and watches the tension bleed out of Matt’s shoulders. “Any more surprise abilities I should know about? Exciting demonly features? You were lying about the tail before, weren’t you?”
“I don’t have a tail,” Matt insists. “And no, no more bells and whistles. Which means I can’t exactly fuck you immediately. Do you have lube?”
Foggy reaches for the nightstand drawer, but he’s at an awkward angle and he can’t quite pull it open, let alone reach inside. He makes pathetic noises until Matt snorts and leans over him to open the drawer. And that just puts Matt’s chest right over Foggy’s face, so he drags a thumb over Matt’s nipple and is rewarded with a surprised hitch of breath and a shudder. “A little sensitive?” he teases.
“Watch it,” Matt says, and settles back on his heels, lube in hand. “Or I might just decide to take my sweet time with this. Then we’ll see who’s sensitive.”
“Some demon,” Foggy huffs in a futile effort to hide what the thought of Matt drawing this out torturously slowly is doing to him. “Has to do prep the old-fashioned way. Can’t just...” He holds his hands out, fingers spread, and hopes the gesture is big enough for Matt to perceive. “Ta da!”
Matt grins and kisses him. “I would even if I didn’t have to,” he murmurs in Foggy’s ear, free hand skating up Foggy’s side. “Just so I could feel you...hear the noises you make as I work you open, just for me…”
Foggy’s hips push up of their own volition. Matt’s straddling Foggy’s waist and the movement brushes Foggy’s dick over the curve of Matt’s ass, but it’s not nearly enough friction to satisfy. “Fuck, Matt…”
Matt chuckles, far too pleased with himself, the asshole, and kisses Foggy again before sliding down his body. He goes slowly, hands and lips everywhere, and Foggy squirms under his ministrations. “Matt, come on…”
“Shhh,” Matt breathes against his belly button. “I want to see you.” He runs his fingers along the crease of Foggy’s thigh, over his hipbone, down his flank. “You’re beautiful.”
There’s no arguing with the genuine wonder in his voice. Foggy swallows past the lump in his throat. “And you’re dawdling,” he says, and Matt smiles at the scratchiness in his voice. “Come on, Murdock, do something devilish to me already.”
That gets a full-fledged laugh out of Matt, and he kisses Foggy’s inner thigh before sitting up and opening the lube. Foggy spreads his legs a bit wider and enjoys the look of concentration on Matt’s face, like he’s figuring out the best way to cross-examine a hostile witness. Not that Foggy’s feeling anything like hostile right now.
He makes a low noise in his throat at Matt’s finger pressing in. It’s been a while since he’s done this in particular, yeah, but also it’s Matt, and that’s enough to make this a little overwhelming. Matt cocks his head, listening to the sound, and when he smiles Foggy has no trouble believing he’s a devil.
“You okay?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know exactly how okay Foggy is with this.
“Yeah,” Foggy says, squirming a little. He can’t get comfortable, and he knows he won’t, not until Matt’s all the way in him; he’s too twitchy with need. “Yeah, keep going.”
Matt doesn’t draw it out the way he threatened, but he doesn’t rush, either. He’s methodical, which is Matt Murdock to a T, really. He’s careful and thorough, which is probably good because he’s a big boy and Foggy isn’t actually into pain.
Or maybe he’s just really into those noises he mentioned, because Foggy can’t seem to keep himself quiet.
“Matt,” he gasps when Matt’s finally twisting three fingers inside of him, brow furrowed with concentration. “Fuck, Matt, yeah, that’s good, I’m good, come on, Matt, I’m ready, please!”
“Begging,” Matt says, smiling as he strokes his fingers over Foggy’s prostate and makes him whimper. “I like that.”
Foggy drops his head back against the pillow. “You’re the worst,” he says, in as melodramatic a voice as he can muster up right now so that Matt knows he’s kidding. “Seriously, you suck. I want a refund.”
“Oh, all right,” Matt drawls, and pulls his fingers out. As usual, he’s the absolute worst at pretending not to be smiling, and Foggy loves him for it. “I guess I’d better head for home, then…”
Foggy’s not a ninja by any means, but he hooks a leg around Matt’s waist before Matt can do much more than shift on the mattress. He fumbles for the lube Matt dropped on the bed earlier and presses it into Matt’s hand. “Don’t you dare. Finish what you started, Murdock.”
“Someone’s pushy.”
“Hell yeah I am.” Foggy wiggles deeper into the mattress as he watches Matt pour lube into his hand and stroke himself, eyes fluttering shut at the touch. Fuck, that’s a beautiful sight. Someday he’s going to have to ask Matt to just do this for him, just touch himself while Foggy watches...but today is not that day.
He nudges Matt with his toes. “Hey, beautiful. You ready?”
Matt opens his eyes and directs an absolutely besotted smile somewhere in the vicinity of Foggy’s right ear. “Yeah. Yeah, hang on.”
He caps the lube, drops it within easy reach - and then he moves forward, scootches Foggy’s hips and thighs where he wants them, and Foggy hopes Matt knows that if his heart is racing it’s for good reasons only.
“Go ahead,” he says, and then he realizes that Matt’s taking in long, slow breaths, and his head keeps tilting, like he’s listening to something. He’s hyper-sensing Foggy, making himself a picture of this moment, so Foggy says “I love you,” because it’s always nice to put an extra splash of color in a picture, and also because it’s true.
Matt’s smile somehow, impossibly, gets even more stunning.
And then he shifts forward and pushes in, and Foggy has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths and just. Feel.
Matt goes slow, letting Foggy get used to him, and when Foggy runs his palms up Matt’s arms he can feel the tremble in them. When Matt’s fully seated he presses his face into the curve of Foggy’s neck. Foggy strokes his hair and then clenches, just to be a dick, and manages a breathless laugh when Matt groans.
“Hf...playing with fire there, Fog,” Matt says, and pushes himself up on his arms again so he can lean his forehead against Foggy’s. “How you doing?”
“Good.” Foggy brings his hand up to cup Matt’s face. “Really good.”
“Good,” Matt echoes. “Hey, Foggy?”
“Yeah?”
Matt smiles. “I love you too.”
And then he moves. Any response Foggy wants to make is lost in a hitching gasp, a startled sound as he feels Matt move inside him, hot and hard. He clutches at Matt’s shoulders, shifts his hips as he adjusts, as the sensation rapidly goes from “not bad” to “oh holy hell do that again.”
“Okay?” Matt asks. As if he didn’t know.
“Y-yeah,” Foggy says, lifting his hips to meet Matt. “Fuck, Matt, so okay. Extremely okay. Superlative, even.”
Matt huffs, clearly amused. “Those…hh...those are a lot of big words, counselor. Sounds like I’m not, I’m not doing my job right, if you can still talk like that.” He rolls his hips a little harder and grins when Foggy moans. “There we go. Much...much better.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says. Part of him wants to pull out some more three- or four-syllable words, just to prove himself, but most of him just wants Matt to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Fuck, don’t stop, Matty. Just like that, Matt, please.”
Matt doesn’t seem to have any intention of stopping, except to give Foggy a swift, fierce kiss. He sets a steady pace - not so hard that the neighbors will complain about the headboard banging, but enough that Foggy knows he’ll be able to feel it in the morning. Which, incidentally, is just how Foggy likes it. He’s not sure if that’s thanks to some kind of special incubus intuition, Matt’s super-senses, or just Foggy Nelson being the luckiest guy on the damn planet, but he’s not complaining.
No, what he’s doing is gasping and moaning and yeah, begging, and he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it. “Matt, Matty, so good, fuck, right there,” he babbles, fingers digging into the corded muscles of Matt’s shoulders, his back, everywhere he can reach.
“Foggy,” Matt groans, and he sounds as wrecked as Foggy feels; Foggy’s hips twitch up harder at the sound. “I can’t...are you close? Are you...can you…?”
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “Yeah, let me just...I can…”
He lets go of Matt, starts to reach down between them, but Matt grabs his wrists and pins them over his head - which, whoa, okay, yes. “Let me,” Matt says, and Foggy only has an instant to wonder how exactly Matt plans on doing this with both of his hands holding both of Foggy’s when another one of those tidal waves of want surges through him. He gasps, mouth falling open - and then Matt growls, “Foggy,” and thrusts in hard and Foggy comes so hard he practically whites out.
Matt’s hands loosen around his wrists when he’s spent, but he’s still going, still stroking over Foggy’s prostate with every thrust, and Foggy’s still shaking and sensitive. “Matt,” he breathes, gets his hands in Matt’s hair and strokes his horns with trembling fingers. “Matt, come on, come for me, baby,” and Matt curls in on himself, muffling his cry against Foggy’s neck.
It’s a very long time before either of them moves.
Finally, when Foggy can’t ignore how uncomfortably sticky he is anymore, he unlocks his fingers from Matt’s hair and pokes him in the side. “Hey, great seducer. Go get a washcloth or something, would you?”
Matt makes a sleepy noise of protest and Foggy pokes him again. “How come I have to?” Matt asks. “It’s your apartment.”
“Because I’m exhausted from having been ravished and you’re full up on my sexy energy,” Foggy says. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t know where everything is.”
“Oh, fine.” Grumbling good-naturedly, Matt slips out of Foggy and out of bed. Foggy rolls onto his side to ogle shamelessly as Matt heads into the bathroom, finds a washcloth and cleans himself up. He wasn’t wrong about Matt being charged up; he looked healed before, but now there’s a spring in his step and he’s standing straighter than he has in… Well, Foggy doesn’t want to think about how long Matt’s been pretending not to hurt. But he’s practically glowing right now, and though Foggy would like to think it’s his own innate sexual prowess giving Matt that post-coital shine, it’s probably got more to do with Matt not being half-starved for once.
Oh, well. Foggy’ll take it.
Matt returns to the bedroom and tosses the washcloth at Foggy. “You are spoiled.”
Foggy gives Matt a beatific and absolutely wasted-on-him smile as he wipes himself down. “Listen, buddy, if you’re going to use sex to enlist me in your nefarious demon army, I should at least get a few perks.”
“I am pretty sure you already got two tonight,” Matt retorts, but he’s smiling as he curls back up against Foggy’s side.
Foggy drops the washcloth on the nightstand and wraps an arm around Matt. “Oh, is that what those were?” He’s trailing his fingers up and down Matt’s bicep and watching Matt’s eyelids droop when a thought strikes him. “Wait a minute. You got blinded when you were nine, right?”
“Mmm.”
Foggy sits up and Matt whines softly as he’s dumped onto the pillows. “They turned you into a sex demon when you were nine?”
“Yeah,” Matt says, unconcerned, and then, “Oh. Oh, no, the...the horns and the not being able to enter a church and stuff, that happened right away. The incubus powers didn’t manifest until I was...I don’t know, about sixteen? And I couldn’t really do anything with them for a couple of years, mostly just read other people’s desires.” He tugs at Foggy’s arm until Foggy lies back down, then tucks himself back against Foggy’s side. “Next time we’re drunk, ask me about junior prom. That was a debacle.”
“So was mine, and I don’t have your excuse,” Foggy retorts, and Matt huffs a laugh against his neck. “So I have a question.”
It’s kind of a lie, but hopefully not enough to ping Matt’s lie detector sense and get him all nervous. Foggy has lots of questions, some of them he’s not sure Matt can answer. Is Matt immortal? If not, is he bound for Hell in the end, even if he’s only a demon because he did a good deed as a child? Is he dragging Foggy down with him? Matt may not be actively trying to corrupt Foggy, but sleeping with an incubus probably doesn’t get you a gold star in Saint Peter’s book.
But he doesn’t ask any of those, because it doesn’t matter. Wherever Matt’s ending up, Foggy’s pretty sure he’s going to be right there with him, and that’s the important thing. They can work the details out later.
Matt’s eyes are basically closed and Foggy’s right behind him, but he still makes a soft questioning sound, waiting for Foggy to ask. Foggy yawns, burrows closer, and asks the truly important question:
“When are you going to show me the tail?”
He falls asleep to the sound of Matt’s laughter.