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The change happened quickly — swift and physical, surging up through Matt’s body from his heels to his throat. Where he felt it most keenly, though...where it went slick and wet and hot, was between his legs. And that was...Matt felt himself go rigid, senses assaulted by a smell that was both sickly sweet and tangy with the edge of salt.
What was this? What the fuck was this?
He struck out and felt his knuckles collide with a crunch against the mugger’s cheekbone. The girl he had been fighting for — the one whose purse was still clutched in the mugger’s limp grip — was stumbling away from them both, and she was gasping, and the smell...
Matt shoved the man away from him with shaking hands and tilted his head back to sniff the air. His stomach, weirdly, was beginning to cramp, and it was a struggle to remain upright and to focus through the thick haze of unfamiliar scent and pain.
Nearby, someone started screaming. A woman, probably, but it could just as easily have been a teenaged boy. High-pitched. Piercing.
Matt snatched the purse from where the man had dropped it before bolting, and pushed it into the girl’s grip.
“What’s happening?” she asked, as she took it from him. Matt could feel a feverish warmth radiating from her, and something else, damp in the air. He couldn’t quite tell which of them it was coming from. He felt sick.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just...get out of here. Go home.”
“But—”
“Go.” He started running in the direction of the screams before she could call after him.
+++
There were no more people on the streets than was usual, but today, to Matt, it seemed like the number had doubled. The temperatures were all off, with everyone exuding that strange, stifling heat, and any picture that Matt tried to build of his surroundings was sent spiralling into confusion.
All the things he had come to associate with people were being warped, and running down the street was like wading through a sea of animals. An unknown species.
A hand shot out and tried to grab him — Matt heard a growl, felt nails scrape against his neck as fingers tried to find purchase on his collar, but he shrugged them away with a breathless, full-body jerk. He could still hear screaming but...but it wasn’t coming from one place, anymore. It was all-encompassing, with people everywhere clutching at their own bodies which were...Matt didn’t know.
He didn’t understand what was going on, other than that there was desperation clawing beneath his skin, like hunger, and the air was thick with the onset of panic and also something else. Something cloying, like being pressed up against a wall while someone panted, wet and close, into the crook of his neck.
Someone else grabbed at him and this time Matt stumbled. He felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around his waist, and a mouth brush against his ear. The smell of this person — man or woman, Matt couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell — wasn’t like the girl’s. Wasn’t like his own. It was deeper, somehow, like a bass note, and it set something trembling in Matt’s gut.
He felt like he was gaping. Like someone had prised him open from the inside out, leaving him hollowed to the core. Dripping and empty. So fucking empty.
Matt’s movements were slow, dragging through the air, and it seemed to take an age for his hand to connect with the stranger’s head, his fingers grasping at their hair to wrench them away. The action felt inexplicably wrong, sending a jolt of nausea through him, as if he were breaking some vital law of nature.
The second Matt was free, he was staggering away again, his lungs starting to burn, his pants sticking to thighs that were now unbearably wet. He found himself retching as he ran, doubled over, and came to the realisation that there was nothing he could do out here. Whatever was happening, it was too late for him to stop it, and he had to get off the streets now.
It took several deep breaths and one steadying hand, pressed flat against the nearest wall, for Matt to find his bearings. All around him, people were preoccupied with themselves and each other, and it was mayhem, it made no fucking sense, but — there. There it was. His office, two blocks away, and far closer than his apartment. He had the key with him, he could lock himself in, just for a few hours, just until he could sort out the fucking mess that his body was becoming. His, and as far as he could tell, everyone else’s in the Kitchen.
He pushed himself away from the wall, lowered his head, and kept up the pace the whole way there.
+++
Apparently, Foggy realised as he flicked through news updates on his computer, someone had fucked up bad. Otherwise, Twitter wouldn’t be blowing up with shit about wolves that looked like it had been lifted from the ‘erotic literature’ wiki page, and Foggy wouldn’t be squirming in his office chair feeling like he was going to die.
He had been googling symptoms (using an incognito window — Matt might be blind, but his screen reader and Foggy's internet history were already more intimate than Foggy would like), which were along the lines of ‘horny as fuck’, and had been surprised to find articles from that morning about a crazy ass virus that was sweeping through New York.
Foggy wondered which dickhead of a mad scientist holed up in the Avengers Tower had let loose enough hormones to probably make inanimate objects desperate for a fuck — but, not for long. He was finding it difficult to concentrate on any one thing while his dick was occupied in being the hardest it had ever been in his life.
Also, he was pretty sure that his sense of smell hadn’t been this strong before, and that was its own kind of distracting, because something nearby smelt really, really good. It was like he’d been given a dose of Matt’s sense-enhancing radiation, and then dumped outside his favourite bakery. A really sexy bakery. Or something. God.
Foggy groaned and drummed his fingers on his knees to stop himself from reaching into his pants and jerking off inside his office. Foggy had self-restraint, he had control, and he wasn’t going to get come on his perfectly nice desk.
His perfectly nice desk that would probably look perfectly nicer if he had someone bent over it, right about now. Foggy even had a good idea about who that someone would be, if he had any say in the matter, and, fuck, imagining Matt in that position — bending over for Foggy, with lube dripping out of his ass because Foggy was all about the smooth slide home, Foggy covering him completely, his mouth against the back of Matt’s neck, his hands locked around Matt’s wrists…
Jesus fucking Christ.
Foggy let his head fall back and took a deep, calming breath.
He wasn’t some kind of fucking animal. He wasn’t about to pound his best friend into his desk, and claim him like they were in some weird mating ritual. He’d just been reading those articles for too long — the ones that used words like ‘alpha’ and ‘omega’ and ‘self-lubricating’...shit, shit, shit.
Foggy was screwed. Foggy was so screwed, and that delicious fucking smell was getting stonger, and...someone was unlocking the door.
Foggy scrambled to his feet, because someone was unlocking the door, and the only other people with keys were Matt and Karen, and seeing either of them while he was in this state would be no good, very bad, but seeing Matt, especially? Foggy felt that seeing Matt would possibly be the baddest of the very bad, no good, to ever bad. Ever.
Which was why, obviously, it was Matt who walked inside.
Typically, Foggy wasn’t very fast. He tended to take his time with things, to opt for the leisurely stroll rather than the power walk, which was why both parties were surprised when he made it across the room and into Matt’s space in three seconds flat.
Matt was wearing his Daredevil suit — the black one that he’d held onto for so called ‘low key’ adventures, which was exactly the kind of shit that made Foggy worry for his friend’s sanity — but, so far as Foggy could see, he was also desperately trying to get out of it. His fingers were shaking as he shoved the mask up and off his face, dropping it to the floor and revealing his hair to be an utter mess, and his face streaked with sweat. His eyes darted over Foggy, and then further, flitting around the room in agitation. His pupils were blown wide, even though Foggy knew that they couldn’t be taking in any light.
“Matt,” Foggy said, and goddammit, it was taking a lot of effort on Foggy’s part to not drag Matt even closer. Get his fingers wrapped around his shoulders or his waist and just pull. “You, uh…” he balled his hands into fists at his side, anything to stop himself from reaching out, because surely some sort of discussion needed to be had, here? That was how people operated, right? Talk, then sex. He shut his eyes briefly, and corrected himself in his head: talk, then maybe sex. “You smell really good, buddy.”
Matt made a weird noise, somewhere between a whine and a growl, and then he just...he pitched forward, like a ship on rough water, his forehead falling to Foggy's shoulder, his hands moving to grasp at Foggy's shirt.
It wasn't permission, Foggy knew that, but he could also smell something on Matt — something beyond the lingering, mouth-watering sweetness — and it rattled something inside him that made questions of consent shrink to the back of his mind. His hand flew up to curl tightly around the back of Matt's neck, and he lowered his mouth so it was as close to Matt's ear as he could get it.
"Who else has touched you?"
Matt took a deep, shuddering breath, and shook his head, smearing dirt and sweat onto Foggy's shirt, which Foggy would've found disgusting half an hour earlier, before the city went crazy and something in Foggy was rewired to fucking love having Matt's mark on him, in any shape or form.
"I don't know," Matt said, and he was pressing incrementally closer, impossibly so, and Foggy half wondered whether he wasn't trying to climb inside. "A few people. They grabbed me. I wanted to let them." There was something numb in Matt's voice that spoke of both fear and denial, and Foggy's grip on his neck tightened even further.
"Do you..." he took a breath because, ah, there it was — talk. "Do you want to let me?"
"My body, Fog, it's...not doing what it's supposed—"
"Matt," Foggy gave Matt a shake by the scruff before he could start beating himself up for things completely out of his control. It seemed to shock something in him, made him pull back a little, heat staining his throat red. "Do you want that?"
Matt's eyelids fluttered, hazy, and his teeth dug crescents into his lip. "I feel. I feel really fucking empty," he said. He looked like admitting it made him want to cry.
"Okay," Foggy said, softly, because apparently a straight 'yes' or 'no' wasn't going to happen. "Anything else?"
Matt tipped his head back, exposing his throat even further, and blew out a frustrated puff of air at the ceiling. When he spoke, his voice was level, as if he had convinced himself to come at this from a more clinical, detached angle. As if that might make it easier. "I'm wet."
"Wet," Foggy repeated, momentarily nonplussed. Then, like a train pulling in at the station, the implications slammed home. "Oh."
"I want it to go away," Matt said, still facing the ceiling but with his fingers moving to pick at Foggy's shirt. "Can you just...I want it fucking gone, Foggy."
It wasn't the most inspiring proposition Foggy had ever gotten, but he felt something that was already coiled inside him twist a little tighter.
"Alright, Matty," he said, then winced. This really didn’t need to be made any weirder by fondly spoken pet names. "Okay. I'm gonna make it go away, yeah?"
He ran his hand firmly down Matt’s back, using the movement to hitch him back against the soft expanse of his chest, and Matt hunched over, his body too tense and too warm. Foggy pressed a kiss to the side of his head because that, at least, felt normal. Foggy was all about friend kisses, not necessarily with Matt, because it was hard to friend kiss someone who you wanted to more-than-friend kiss, but whatever. He kissed him and then dipped his hand lower, sliding it down the back of Matt’s jeans, which were tight as fuck, by the way. Matt sucked in a breath and, Jesus, canted his hips, shoving his ass out when Foggy’s middle finger slipped between his cheeks, like he was trying to make him go deeper.
“Christ, Matt,” Foggy said, voice hoarse. “You weren’t joking. You’re...you’re really wet.”
At that, Matt’s movements stuttered, and he grabbed at Foggy’s hair, desperate, violent, and Foggy’s fingers were getting sticky — his whole hand.
He groaned and his mouth found the skin behind Matt’s ear. It seemed so natural to graze his teeth along it and down, dragging them across the tendons of his neck, and it was when he pressed his tongue against Matt’s pulse that he felt Matt spasm, and more warm slick rushed over his fingers. The noise Matt made was quiet, embarrassed, but at the same time desperate enough that it made Foggy’s cock throb, and he was biting down hard over Matt’s pulse point before he even had time to register that it was something he wanted to do.
“Shit,” Matt breathed, and it was a sentiment Foggy shared when he finally pulled away and saw the mark he’d left, dark red and already bruising. It didn’t shock him, like it might have ordinarily. Foggy didn’t like seeing bruises on Matt’s skin, and he certainly hadn’t ever wanted to put one there himself, but that wasn’t stopping the deep-seated thrum of satisfaction that coursed through him. Satisfaction that only intensified when Matt sagged against him, arms wrapped around his waist, lips damp against his jaw.
“C’mon,” Foggy pulled his hand out of Matt’s pants, smearing it against his ass and the small of his back, and God, all Foggy could smell was Matt, Matt, Matt. Or was that wrong? Wasn’t there something of Foggy there now, too, intermingled? And didn’t that make it even fucking better?
“Foggy,” Matt grabbed Foggy’s wrist and tried to guide him back. “No, Foggy.”
“C’mon, Matt,” Foggy repeated, trying to edge some finality into his voice. “I want you over the desk.”
Matt blinked and Foggy watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “That so?” he managed, with a shadow of a smile, the effect of which was somewhat lost due to the general feverishness of his expression, and the fact that he was clearly trying not to let his knees buckle.
Foggy started to tug him across the room, hand moving from his waist, to his back, to his nape. “Yes,” he said.
When they were close enough, Foggy grabbed his laptop off the desk and dumped it onto the chair (because, no matter how Matt treated their office equipment, they really couldn’t afford to be throwing it around in either rage or lust). Then, with his hand still gripping Matt, he carefully but firmly bent him over the edge of the desk.
Matt’s hands danced over the surface, grappling with it, and Foggy could somehow tell that he was seconds away from either really freaking out because the world had gone insane, or combusting from sexual frustration.
“Matty,” Foggy said, and yes, his dick did feel like it would fall off if he didn’t get it inside something ASAP, but if the universe was going to make them rush this then Foggy was at least going to make sure they rushed it right. “Talk to me, okay? Tell me if this is alright.”
“I...yes. Yes, this is alright,” Matt said, voice strained.
“Okay,” Foggy said, reaching around to unbutton Matt’s jeans and start to pull them over his hips. Then he added, without really thinking, “Good boy.”
For a second, they both froze, because, um, what? It had felt like the right thing to say, but Matt was his friend, his partner, not...not…
But then Foggy saw the tell-tale signs of a flush, colouring the tips of Matt’s ears, and Matt went from being tense enough to snap in half, to utterly boneless. He practically drooped, with his mouth falling slack and his eyes closing.
“Mmmf,” he said, clearly conveying that he was still confused as fuck about what the hell his body had decided to like and dislike. Although, honestly, Foggy had always sort of imagined that, underneath all the guarded self-deprecation, Matt would be a sucker for praise.
It turned out that imagining something was entirely different from having it laid out in front of his eyes. Foggy was almost at a loss for what to do.
‘Almost’ was the key word.
“That’s right,” Foggy dragged Matt’s pants down around his thighs, revealing an ass that lived up perfectly to all of Foggy’s expectations, which had been brought to a staggering height after years of seeing it in criminally well-fitted jeans. “You’re doing so good, Matt.”
Matt’s fingers twitched and when he sighed it was tangled with a soft whimper. “Foggy.”
“I know, I know,” Foggy said, even though it was becoming really hard to know anything other than that he wanted Matt right fucking now. Because Matt was his, surely? That’s how it felt, as Foggy tore off his belt and unzipped his fly, as he pressed one finger to the bruise on Matt’s neck and sunk another into his hole, which was...which was so easy because Matt was sopping wet, and he was Foggy’s. Right? That’s...that’s what this was, yeah?
“I need you,” Matt panted, his lips dragging along the desk. “I need you inside, now. Now, now, now.” He had started shaking again, and there was something breaking in his voice, like the onset of a sob. “It’s hurting, Foggy.”
“‘Kay,” Foggy forced out, even as something hot and angry bloomed in his chest, because Matt wasn’t supposed to hurt. Foggy knew that, at least, with a certainty that had always been there but never this close to the surface. He clutched at Matt’s waist, hard enough that his nails left marks, and lined himself up. He wanted to promise: I’m gonna make it better, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. The heat coming off Matt’s body had reached the point of smothering.
Matt let out a hiss between his teeth and jerked backwards, making the table legs skid a couple of inches, and Foggy got the message.
This just isn’t how I was expecting my day to go, buddy, he thought, half-hysterical, because at some point someone would fix this mess and what would happen, then? To Nelson & Murdock? To Matt and Foggy? How were they ever going to make it back, after this? And would Foggy even want to?
He held on a little tighter, bent down to dig his teeth into the centre of Matt’s back, and pressed forward.
+++
Matt couldn’t think straight. It felt like someone had pulled a plug in the centre of his brain and everything was sloshing away. He didn’t know anything about the words coming out of his mouth, other than that they were threaded through with a neediness that wasn’t like him. Or, maybe, was like him, in a way that was usually tucked out of sight.
Foggy had always been good at finding the secrets Matt hadn’t even realised he was hiding, if not all the others. He usually knew what Matt wanted before Matt had even started to come to grips with it himself.
That was probably why he was murmuring good boys against the back of Matt’s neck as his cock filled him, inch by inch, torturously slow, and why Matt felt like he was coming apart at the seams.
“Faster,” he gasped, reaching back to grasp at Foggy’s thigh.
Foggy grunted and his fingers closed tightly around Matt’s wrist. He dragged his hand away and then pinned it against the desk. “You’re gonna take what I give you,” he said, low in Matt’s ear, and Matt heard himself panting, felt his cock throb.
“Oh yeah?” he hissed, because he was way out of his depth here — they both were — and Matt couldn’t just lie there and take it, even if it was Foggy, even if he wanted it so badly it hurt.
Foggy’s heartbeat was spiking wildly and he was heavy against Matt’s back, and Matt felt himself slipping a little deeper, helpless, desperate, as his other hand was caught up in Foggy’s grip and wrenched above his head. “Yeah,” Foggy said, with a deliberate roll of his hips that made Matt strain in the hold he had him in. “You know why?”
Matt’s toes curled and his mind whirled. He knew the answer to this, didn’t he?
He wanted to ram himself back, take Foggy all the way in and then further, but…but it wasn’t up to him, was it? Because—
“Yours,” Matt groaned. “I’m yours.”
If Foggy’s heart had been jumping before, it was nothing to what it did when those words left Matt’s mouth. “Shit, Matt. Shit.”
“Yours,” Matt said, and Foggy was finally starting to move, hips snapping, rough and fast and perfect. “Yours, yours, yoursyoursyours—”
There were going to be bruises on Matt’s waist from where he was slamming into the edge of the desk; the imprint of Foggy’s fingers around his wrists would last for days. It was too much, too good, and Matt’s chest was starting to heave, his mouth slack around words that he couldn’t stop himself from repeating, over and over.
Foggy licked around the shell of his ear and then clamped down over that same spot as earlier, teeth scraping over the thin skin of his neck. His whole body was just a mess of aches and pleasure, with Foggy as the one constant, inside him, around him, everything he wanted.
“Oh, God,” Foggy said, sounding broken and as desperate as Matt. “Matt, can you…can you feel…?”
It was as Foggy said it that Matt noticed.
“Foggy, what—?”
“Fuck,” Foggy was breathing heavily through his nose, and his hands finally released Matt’s to squeeze his hips instead, nails digging into the skin. Matt immediately reached out, hooking his fingers around the other end of the desk, trying to ground himself as he felt Foggy swell inside him, and what the actual fuck? “I think,” Foggy said, hips stuttering. “Shit, Matt, I think it’s a knot.”
Matt was scrambling, trying to get closer and further away at the same time, heart pounding in his chest as his body was stretched to accommodate Foggy.
“Foggy,” he said, and it came out as a panicked whine.
Foggy cursed and his hold on Matt softened, bruising grip turning gentle. “I didn’t think…this was written about a little bit, but I didn’t think it would actually…I’m sorry, Matt.”
He was still jerking inside him, cock dragging along Matt’s prostate in a way that made Matt jump and his breath hitch, but when Foggy tried to pull back it sent a frisson of pain through him. Matt hissed, back arching, and Foggy froze.
“Stay close to me,” Matt grit out, and Foggy instantly moved closer, so that they were flushed together. Then, seemingly after a moment’s thought, he pulled Matt up and off the desk so that they were stood, chest to back, Foggy’s hands roaming up over Matt’s torso. “God,” Matt choked, head tipping back to fall against Foggy’s shoulder.
“So good,” Foggy whispered, and Matt’s knees almost gave out. “You’re being so good for me, Matt.” One of his thumbs brushed against Matt’s nipple, a burning tease, while the fingers on his other hand dipped lower, until his knuckles were grazing against Matt’s cock.
It took a few moments for Matt’s lips to form the words, and even then he knew they weren’t quite right. “Make me come,” he said, unsure why he didn’t just reach for his cock himself, or why he felt bad for saying the words, but knowing that Foggy was going to be able to fix it. “Make me come.”
Behind him, Foggy had gone still, and even in his addled state Matt was able to land upon the word contemplative. Almost dangerously so. He tapped thoughtfully against Matt’s thigh and it made him twitch, nervous in anticipation.
“Make you come, what?” he said, after what felt like an age, and there. There was Foggy, fixing it, making it better, while all around Matt things started clicking into place.
“Please,” he said, and it was like a fog had been lifted, the air cleared. “Make me come please.”
“Good boy,” Foggy said as his hand closed around Matt’s cock. “Good boy.”
It was ridiculous. Matt felt like he might laugh, or cry, or punch Foggy in the fucking face, because he was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life, and he was coming, and trying to be good, and thinking: this is the weirdest moment of my life. And thinking: I don’t want it to end.
Foggy moaned against Matt’s temple and kept stroking his dick, his fingers slick with Matt’s come, until Matt had to admit even to himself that he was whimpering, over-sensitised, every inch of him touched and claimed.
“Mine,” Foggy was saying, not letting Matt go. “You’re mine, Matt.”
When Foggy came, Matt half thought we would pass out. There was so much slick inside him, and he knew it was leaking out despite the knot. Matt had never felt so thoroughly used in his life, and the fact that Foggy was still physically tied to him, that they couldn’t separate, made him tremble with impending exhaustion.
“Matt,” Foggy whispered, stumbling back, with his arms now wrapped so securely around him that Matt stumbled, too. It occurred to Matt, for the first time, that this experience must have been just as draining for Foggy. “Ugh, typical,” Foggy suddenly let out a delirious laugh, and Matt twisted his head, lips brushing against his jaw.
“What?”
One of Foggy’s arms unfolded from around Matt’s stomach, and there was a sudden crash that made Matt jump.
“Sorry,” Foggy huffed. “That was my laptop. I put it on the chair earlier because—” he was starting to choke on laughter now, before managing to control himself, shaking his head. “Never mind. Now it’s on the floor, anyway. Let’s sit down?”
“Uh…” a smile was tugging on Matt’s lips, even though he had no idea what Foggy was on about. “You alright?”
“Yes, shush,” Foggy said, and it wasn’t anything like an order, but it still made Matt’s mouth click shut. “Come on.”
He moved, and Matt felt a tug on the rim of his hole, which, ow, but then again, also, maybe —
“Round two is not happening, Murdock,” Foggy said, as he manoeuvred them down onto the chair. “I’m too old for that kinda thing.”
Matt smiled, fully this time, and squirmed a little on Foggy’s lap, trying to find a position that didn’t either hurt or make his dick take any further interest. “Same age,” he reminded.
“Yeah, yeah. Are…are you okay?”
Matt twisted so he could press his face into the crook of Foggy’s neck, inhaling that strange new smell that was, gradually, merging into the one he was familiar with and had always associated with Foggy. “Honestly,” he said, “I don’t really have a point of reference, for this sort of thing.”
“Huh,” Foggy was stroking the column of his neck, slow and deliberate. “Someone’s gained coherency.”
Matt shivered and palmed at Foggy’s belly. “Someone has,” he agreed, pointedly.
“Matt,” Foggy started, then fell quiet with a huff of air.
“Yeah? What is it?”
Foggy’s hand was still on his neck, his breath still warm and close. “Are we going to be okay?”
Matt thought about it, wondering if Foggy could feel his pulse speeding up beneath his touch. He was starting to hear the world outside their office again, now that he wasn’t so wrapped up in himself and Foggy, and he thought maybe the right question was — was anyone going to be?
But that wasn’t what Foggy was asking. What he wanted to know was much simpler.
“Yes.”
Foggy let out a sigh of relief and moved so that their foreheads were touching. “Okay. How are you feeling?”
“Full,” Matt said, instantly. “It’s…it’s good. Better.”
Foggy hummed and then shifted, driving himself impossibly deeper into Matt.
“Jesus Christ, Foggy,” Matt breathed. “I thought you weren’t up for round two.”
“I’m not,” Foggy said, and Matt could hear the grin on his face. “I’m just making the most of round one.”
“I hate you,” Matt moaned, and it was childish, and an obvious fucking lie, and Foggy answered with a kiss on his cheek.
“Well, you’ll be rid of me soon — pretty sure this thing doesn’t last forever.”
Matt rolled his eyes, and hoped that would serve as enough snark to leech some of the painful honesty out of his reply: “You’re never getting rid of me.”
The silence that fell, then, was comfortable, if a little embarrassed, and Foggy was so warm that Matt eventually found himself drifting, fingers loose on Foggy’s shirt.
Still, he was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the way Foggy’s hand moved slightly, so his palm was pressed squarely over the bruise he’d left on Matt’s neck, or the way he said, voice gruff, “Thank fuck for that.”