Chapter Text
It wouldn’t really be sinning if Matt never acted on it, but he’s acting on it. Impulse control was always his problem, even with all of the training. It wasn’t enough to stop him from being an idiot, and that’s what he’s being right now—an idiot. A half-dressed idiot in bed with another guy, pinning him on the mattress and kissing him because it feels right. Kissing’s always felt right to Matt, no matter who it’s with. It’s disgusting and wet and wonderful. The fact that he’s kissing a guy is only a problem because he knows it doesn’t matter how it feels. It’s still wrong.
“You okay up there?” the guy—Jamie, from his Soc 101 class, with the sweet high voice and honey beeswax lotion—asks, reaching up to touch Matt’s hair. Matt falters for a moment before he smiles, nodding his head.
“Great,” he says, leaning down to kiss him again, voice dropping to a low murmur to say, “Take your pants off, okay?”
Matt’s weak. He always has been. He’s going to fuck Jamie if he’ll let him, and he’ll sneak out sometime in the middle of the night to sneak back into the dorm and crash in his own bed without waking Foggy up.
In the morning, Foggy will ask him about the girl that he hooked up with last night, and he doesn’t even have to lie. Foggy doesn’t have to know that Jamie from his Soc 101 class, with the soft hair and the nice ass, isn’t a girl.
Not that he’d care.
*
A few hours after they first met, Foggy’s heart starts beating hard before he laughs casually and says, “Sorry if it sounded like I was, like, hitting on you or something earlier.”
“No big deal,” Matt says, smiling. “I didn’t think you were.”
“Oh,” Foggy says. “Oh, right. Good. Because that would—that would be weird.”
Matt knows when someone’s attracted to him, without having to interpret flirting. It didn’t take him long to figure out once he hit high school, not when a girl’s raised heartbeat, the heat of her body, led to him being taken by the arm and kissed in hidden corners. He had one girlfriend in four years, a sweet girl sophomore year who liked to hold his hand in the hallway, who snuck him up to her room one night so they could lose their virginities together.
She broke up with him because people kept making fun of her, saying that she was so ugly that she could only get a blind guy to date her. Nobody wanted to hold his hand in the hallway after that, but—people still wanted him.
Since the first day they met, Matt knew that Foggy wanted him.
It took Matt a lot longer to realize that he wanted Foggy, too.
*
“Truth or dare, Murdock,” Marci says.
“She’s staring at you in a really scary way,” Foggy warns, leaning into Matt. Foggy’s drunker than he is, possibly than all of the nervous, horny freshman squeezed into this dorm commonroom.
“I can tell,” Matt says, smiling calmly. He’s not scared. “Dare.”
“Kiss a boy,” Marci says, immediately, like she’s been holding on to it.
Matt’s smile falters at the same moment that Foggy’s breath catches. He shifts away from Matt, but Matt wasn’t going to pick him, anyway. It wouldn’t be fair when he knows Foggy still gets flustered when he takes his shirt off in front of him.
Instead, he says, sighing, “Fine. Someone wanna volunteer?”
That gets a laugh from the room and some shuffling and goding, but then a voice that Matt doesn’t recognize says, “I’m in,” and someone’s crawling across the circle to touch his shoulder.
“Who am I kissing?” he asks.
“Sam—we were in the same orientation group.”
Right. Sam smells a little bit like weed, now and back during orientation, and he’s got a soft dry voice that’s not bad to listen to.
“Oh, hi,” he says, sitting up on his knees.
“You cool with this?” Sam asks, soft enough that Matt doesn’t think anyone else can hear. Maybe Foggy, whose heart is racing. “I promise the gay’s not catching.”
“Oh, you’re—” Matt starts, then shakes his head. This is taking too long. It’s just a game. “C’mere.”
He leans in and Sam meets him halfway, angling into a careful kiss, long enough that Marci won’t complain about it. Matt’s never kissed another guy before, but this is—it’s not bad. A few heart rates spike at the sight of them, apparently, and he’s not sure where the reactions fall on the spectrum of grossed out to aroused, but it’s enough to make him break the kiss and sit back again.
To light applause and laughter.
“Satisfied?” he asks, in Marci’s direction.
“You seem to be,” she says.
He smirks at her. He doesn’t know if Marci likes kissing other girls, but he knows that everyone else would.
“Truth or dare, Stahl?”
*
The first college game of truth or dare that Matt played, Charlotte from two doors down asks, when Matt chooses truth, “The whole freshman class wants to know, Matthew. Guys or gals?”
“Or both,” Foggy offers. He blushes when Matt turns towards him. They’re close enough that Matt can feel it.
“I didn’t know I was such a hot topic,” Matt says, even though he kind of did. He knew that he was attractive—heartbeats, warm skin, people either too nice or stumbling over their words—and he could hear people talking about him. Not the whole class by any means, but passing by and getting people’s attention meant comments about his ass and a lot of shitty too bad he’s blind talk—either dismissal or pity.
He’s used to people talking about him because he can always hear when they’re doing it.
“Answer the question, Murdock,” somebody says.
“This seems exploitative,” Matt says, “but I’m straight.”
“Mmm hmm,” Foggy hums, softly. They’ve had this conversation.
*
“What would you have done if I was hitting on you?” Foggy asks, overly casual, later on that first day when they’re walking around campus and figuring out where all of their classes are.
“Politely decline?” Matt offers, smiling wryly.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Foggy says. “I imagine a lot of guys would not be that polite about it.”
“Well, what would you do if I hit on you?” Matt asks.
“Uhm, politely decline,” Foggy says, smiling when Matt laughs. He can’t tell completely, but he thinks Foggy’s lying.
He doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t have a problem if Foggy did ask; all he has to do is—well, politely decline.
*
Matt finds himself in the bathroom with Sam an hour or so after they kiss. He drank a lot after that, but so did everyone else. Foggy abandoned him to make out with Marci in the hallway, tucked in a corner, and—Matt followed Sam into the bathroom.
“I figured if I was going to hotbox the bathroom, I might as well let someone join me,” Sam says. “You do smoke, right?”
“Sure,” Matt says.
He hasn’t, actually. He smoked a cigarette once and it sucked, but maybe this’ll be different.
The first time he takes a drag from the joint, he realizes that it’s not all that different, coughing and pulling a face once he catches his breath. There’s a long silence.
“I maybe lied about smoking,” he says, and Sam laughs, warm and loud.
“Now you won’t be lying,” he says. They’re sitting on the floor, their backs against the door. “Can I try something? It’s gonna seem really gay, but you’ll have plausible deniability.”
Matt nods, taking a sharp breath when Sam moves to kneel in front of him and cup his face with one hand. Matt stays still, making a soft noise when Sam says, “I’m kind of going to kiss you again, but you need to breathe in, okay?”
He breathes in deep when Sam presses their lips together, both of them opening their mouths. It’s not quite as bad, and Sam lingers close to him when he blows the smoke out, breathing heavily. Matt thinks about kissing him in front of everybody, and he thinks about kissing him here, where nobody will know about it but them.
“I’m not—” Matt starts, not sure how to do this.
“Yeah?”
“Gay,” Matt says. “I’m not gay.”
“Wow, rub it in,” Sam says, laughing. He starts to move away and Matt reaches up to slide fingers into his hair and pull him into a kiss. Sam returns it for a moment before he pulls back to stub the joint out on the floor, say, “Yeah, not gay at all,” and climb into Matt’s lap.
*
“Bisexual?” Foggy says, a few hours after Matt walks in on him going down on the TA for their economics class. “I’m pretty sure. I figure I’ll give myself until sophomore year to declare it officially, put it on my driver’s license.”
“Sounds sensible,” Matt says, laughing, for lack of anything better to say.
He left almost as soon as he walked in, but he still heard the slick gagging sound of Foggy sucking the guy off—really well, probably, based on everything Matt took in before he left. Hearts racing, moaning, the smell. Foggy’s had sex in their room before and the smell always sticks around until he washes his sheets. Matt’s never really cared, but now he has a mental image to commit to it.
He knew that Foggy liked guys, but—knowing it like this is different.
“You’re okay with it, right?” Foggy asks. He sounds nervous. Matt wishes he wasn’t.
He doesn’t have to tell Foggy that everything he grew up with tells him that it’s wrong, because a lot of it feels more relative now that he’s not surrounded by other kids like him. It’s not up to him to pick and choose. He shouldn’t be having pre-marital sex, either, but Matt does that anyway. It’s not different.
He does repent for it, though, when he remembers to. And he confessed to making out with Sam, more or less, masked the truth in something vague like sexual immorality. Priests normally don’t press for details, and it wasn’t like he was going to tell him about how it felt to have Sam’s body pressing him up against the door, how he panicked a little when Sam slid his fingers over his erection through his jeans and pushed him away. Apologized and fled, basically.
Sexual immorality seems to cover it. He just can’t force that idea on Foggy.
“Of course,” he says, because he really is okay with it, but the pause may have been too long because Foggy makes a joke about promising not to jump him or anything and says he’s headed down to the laundry room, gathering his sheets up in his arms and slinging his laundry bag over his shoulder.
He really is okay with it. It’s none of his business who Foggy fucks or—who fucks him.
*
“Oh, fuck,” Matt breathes.
He on his knees with his ass in the air, face buried in the circle of his arms while a pretty girl with perfect, long fingers slides them in and out of him gently. Emma’s got this low laugh and it vibrates through Matt when she shoves her fingers in deep, rougher.
“You really like that,” she says.
“Apparently,” Matt murmurs.
“Told you so,” she says, sweetly. Her fingers drag over his prostate as she pulls them out and he whines.
They’ve only slept together a few times, but the last time she sucked him off, her hand slid between his legs to press fingers lightly to his hole. He’d jolted, nervously, saying, “I don’t know about that,” when she pulls off.
“Sorry, should’ve asked first,” she says, pressing a kiss to his knee. “My ex loved it. We could try, if you wanted. I think you’ll be into it.”
Matt had hesitated, but Emma—and especially Emma’s mouth—are persuasive.
“Are you ready?” she asks, now, patting his ass lightly.
“Think so,” Matt says. “Lube. And slow.”
“Mono-syllabic already,” she says, laughing. “Take a deep breath, honey.”
Matt groans as she lines up and pushes the tip of her strap-on (purple, she’d told him, but a manly purple) inside of him. It’s a stretch because he’s never had anything but her fingers inside of him, but it feels—new, equal parts strange and really fucking good.
When he’s taken as much as he can, she smooths a hand up and down his hip.
“You want me to fuck you, Matt?” she asks.
The question, his name, lights up everything that’s happening bright and clear.
“Yes,” he says, laugh borderline hysterical, burying his face in the mattress for a moment before he continues, “Yeah, fuck me.”
*
After first semester finals week, the day before winter break starts, Matt and Foggy get whatever state of drunk comes right before trashed. It starts with a party outside, where a bunch of people from the dorm drank hot chocolate with whiskey in it and burned old papers in a trashcan. That got shut down by campus security pretty quickly, and Matt steals one of of the half full bottles of whiskey that were nestled in the grass and tucks it into his coat to bring back to their room.
“I can fuck off if you want to celebrate with a girl or something,” Foggy says, collapsing on his bed with a long sigh. “Everybody’s still drinking, I can find somewhere to crash.”
“Eh, I’m too drunk to find one,” Matt says. He follows Foggy to his bed because it feels like it should be okay, getting into each other’s space. Foggy sits up agreeably to give him room, so they can sit slumped against each other.
“What about—oh, what’s her name, the one who’s always in here studying with you.”
“Emma? We aren’t sleeping together.”
“Yet?” Foggy asks, then bursts out laughing when Matt smiles and shrugs. “Casanova.”
Emma’s in one of his study groups, and they run together, sometimes—around the track on campus so the ground’s consistent and it doesn’t matter if Matt can see or not. People are probably impressed that he can do it at all, based on some of the shit he hears people say about him. It makes him want to show them exactly what he can do, but it’s not for them.
“Let’s just hang out,” he says, nudging Foggy with an elbow. “Unless you want to hook up. I’ll make myself scarce.”
“I can’t just wander out into the hallway and pick ‘em like you can,” Foggy says, dryly.
“You—seem to do fine,” Matt says.
He has to keep walking occasionally, when he’s coming back from class, because he can hear Foggy hooking up with someone. Girls, mostly, but a few times Matt’s lingered at the door long enough to figure out that Foggy’s getting fucked by a guy. He seems to like it. He’s vocal about it.
“I get by,” Foggy says, a little brighter. “Give me that bottle. Let’s black out.”
*
Matt’s distracted listening to the lecture that he just listened to, taped on his phone, so he’s got a hand on the door handle before he hears Foggy moaning. Like, really moaning. If it didn’t sound so genuine, he’d think it was just for the person’s benefit but—Matt’s pretty good at knowing when people are genuine.
He should walk away, but he doesn’t.
It takes a full minute of listening to the sound of their bodies moving, the shift of the bed, the soft repetitive ah ah ah noises that Foggy’s breathing out before Matt realizes what’s happening. He can’t help but try to picture it, the idea he has of Foggy in his head but spread out and pinned down, saying, “Fuck, yes, harder.”
And even though it bothers him sometimes, he always thinks about Foggy more in terms of touch, so his mind drifts to the sound of Foggy getting fucked while he’s imagining his hands on his body, fingers digging into soft warm skin, how tight Foggy would feel around his dick. That thought and his dick stirring in his jeans are enough to make him realizing he’s being more invasive than usual, more invasive than just listening to Foggy’s heart, so he keeps walking to head to the library instead.
Matt doesn’t know what to do with the thought of fucking his best friend, but he knows he shouldn’t be thinking it.
*
The morning after they finish the bottle of whiskey, which Matt doesn’t remember finishing, he wakes up in Foggy’s bed and in Foggy’s arms. His head is killing him, but he’s fuzzy enough that this just feels nice—warm and comfortable, like they just casually spoon all the time.
It hits him a minute or two after he settles back against Foggy and tries to go back to sleep that neither of them are wearing shirts and they don’t do this all the time.
He tries to get out of bed, but he can’t help but wake Foggy up, who whines softly and pulls Matt closer before he goes still and promptly lets go of him and sits up.
“Whoa,” he says, hoarsely. “I was not expecting to wake up to a shirtless Matt Murdock.”
“Well, to be fair, neither was I,” Matt says, smiling. “Do you remember last night?”
“Some. . .what,” Foggy says, slowly. “Yes. I remember the whiskey.”
“Okay, good,” Matt says, “but after that.”
“Everything we said was really funny,” Foggy says, “so, basically like every other day. Uhm—you decided that you were too drunk to make it across the room to your own bed, which is probably true because you were wasted and I say that as someone who was almost as wasted as you.”
“So we—what, decided to cuddle?”
“I guess,” Foggy says, shrugging. “I just shrugged. Everything’s gone after that. Apparently we gave up on shirts, for some reason?”
“Yeah,” Matt says, worriedly. He’s never liked losing time before. “Apparently.”
Foggy’s heart speeds up and he makes a soft aborted noise before he says, “I don’t think we did anything to compromise your heterosexuality, buddy. Unless you’re too insecure to snuggle with another man.”
Matt knows exactly how sharp Foggy can be, but it’s never been directed at him before, even masked in a joke. He doesn’t like it.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”
“Good, because I’ll have you know that I’m even more of a gentleman when I’m drunk,” Foggy says, like he’s pushed whatever he was feeling aside, really quickly. Foggy’s good at that, sometimes, just brightening up to avoid pushing anything. “I’ll even hold your hair back when you vomit.”
“I don’t think it’s my hair we need to worry about,” Matt says, reaching out to tug lightly at Foggy’s hair where it’s brushing his shoulder. Foggy huffs out a laugh, gently shoving Matt before climbing out of bed.
“I’m going to go sit on the shower floor and try to will this hangover away,” he says. Matt can hear his bones click faintly when he stretches his arms up in the air, then leans down to pick up Matt’s shirt and throw it at his head. “Cover yourself up and get outta my bed, Murdock.”
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” Matt murmurs, wryly.
He manages to make it to his own bed and collapse again by the time that Foggy walks out the door. He pulls his sheets over his head and listens to Foggy humming softly all the way to the bathroom and, when he’s inside a shower stall, saying distinctly, “Fuck.”
*
They’re curled up in Emma’s bed when she kisses him on the forehead, nuzzles into his neck and asks, softly, “I’m just curious, but do you think you maybe like guys, too?”
It’s stupid that it makes Matt’s hackles rise for a split second before his brain calms down, because it’s just a question. They’ve been messing around for a few weeks, and neither of them has talked much about who else they might be seeing.
“No,” he says, trying not to make it as sharp as it feels in his throat. “I don’t.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says. She presses a smile to his cheek, slides fingers into his hair. “I just have a friend who I’ve had—y’know, threesomes with a few times, just for fun. We’ve done it with a straight guy before, but I’ll shut up if you’re not into experimenting.”
Matt thinks about kissing Sam in the bathroom with his head swimming from the smoke, how for a moment it felt like there was something unlocking inside of him. He’s experimented.
“. . .what would it be like?” he asks, and Emma breathes out a soft laugh.
“Whatever you want, honey,” she says. “You don’t have to, though.”
He smiles at her and gets a kiss for it.
“Let me think about it,” he says.
*
Sam’s hair is soft under Matt’s fingers, and he makes these noises when Matt strokes his fingers through it that make him blush even more than he’s already blushing with another guy in his lap. He thought about it as experimenting but couldn’t think about it clinically, not for more than a few moments before Sam licked into his mouth and pressed their bodies together.
“You’ve never kissed a boy before?” Sam asks, close to Matt’s mouth, and Matt pushes in to kiss him again.
“No, you’re the first,” he says. He didn’t expect his voice to be so shaky, but. He’s shaking. “Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” Sam echoes, laughing. “Well, you’re good at it.”
“Kissing boys?” Matt asks.
“Mmm hmm,” Sam says, dropping his head to rest their foreheads together, which is—different than kissing, in a way that makes Matt squirm a little underneath him. “You should consider making it a habit.”
Before Matt can say anything, he’s being kissed again, and it’s enough to shut up the part of him that’s telling him this is wrong, that he should stop and pretend that this never happened, that he won’t be able to shut up the part of him that wants to push Sam onto his back and climb on top of him to make it easier to touch him.
It’s just kissing. He just—won’t make it a habit.
*
“Oh, fuck, you look good together,” Emma says, still fully dressed with her hand sliding over the seam of her jeans, pressing down on her clit.
“We’ve had practice,” Sam says, sitting up a little, sounding like he’s smirking. He’s got Matt pinned down by the shoulders while he ruins the hope that he had that Sam wouldn’t say anything about that night. He’s not entirely sure why he cares because he’s kissing Sam right now, but it’s been a secret this whole time and it feels—important. Important that this is the first time he’s ever done anything like this. Maybe because Emma’s here.
“Excuse me?” Emma asks, sounding delighted.
Sam leans down to kiss Matt again.
“Truth or dare,” he says, indulgently. “Very sweet, very chaste. I bet he’s a gentle lover.”
“I’m right here,” Matt says, and he suddenly lets himself move on impulse in a way he hasn’t yet, flipping them over and pinning Sam down instead. Sam’s breath catches and he lets it out with a laugh, bucking up a little underneath him.
“You can try and prove me wrong,” he says, “but I don’t actually know who’s getting fucked here.”
With Sam underneath him, Matt’s ashamed that the only thing he can think about is Foggy. It comes unbidden, the imaginary feeling of what it would be like to be with Foggy like that, to kiss him and fuck him and draw sounds out of him like the ones that have been caught in his head.
“You want me to fuck you?” he says, raising his eyebrows.
He’s going to make Sam ask for it.
*
Foggy actually gasps when Matt tells him.
“A threesome?” he repeats.
“I guess,” Matt says, shrugging.
“Two girls?” Foggy asks. “One you?”
“I think that’s what a threesome is,” Matt says. It’s not hard to lie, because he was planning on doing it anyway. He’s not even sure why he’s telling Foggy at all, but it’s probably normal to want to talk about the weird group sex that you’re going to have with your best friend.
“Geez,” Foggy says, laughing. He shifts closer at the dining hall table they’re sitting at to punch Matt gently on the shoulder. “You’re really starting to live up to your reputation, Murdock.”
“My reputation?” Matt asks, smiling. He’s got a good idea of it.
“Y’know, rakish womanizer,” Foggy says, waving a fork aimlessly in the air. “Some might say, with full respect, maybe kind of a slut.”
Matt laughs, ducking his head to hide his blush.
“You know I spend more time in the library than having casual sex, right?” he asks, when he lifts his head again.
“I mean, I know that,” Foggy says, “but the things I get asked, Matthew.”
“. . .elaborate.”
“Let’s just say I’ve been asked more than once about exactly how—big you are,” Foggy says, significantly. “The masses want to know.”
“Oh, god,” Matt says, making a face. “What do you tell them?”
“I add an inch every time,” Foggy says, happily. “You’re a medical marvel. World record stuff.”
“Thank you for that,” Matt says.
“Anytime. Now, enough about your giant dick,” Foggy says, raising his voice and laughing when Matt throws a napkin at him. “When are you living the dream?”
“Saturday,” Matt says. “Want to come?”
“You joke, but I’d be there in a heartbeat,” Foggy says, lightly. “Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Would you?” Matt asks. He’s almost serious. He’d maybe say yes if it was actually an option, but that would ruin the illusion, even if Foggy would probably be okay with being with two guys and a girl.
“Yes, nobody’s inviting me to their dirty group sex nights,” Foggy says. “I couldn’t possibly pass that offer up.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Sure. Oh, plus!” Foggy says, raising his voice even louder, “I’d finally get to see your outrageously huge penis.”
*
“Still straight?” Sam asks.
“Uhm—yeah,” Matt says, kind of shaky, after a long moment. Sam’s getting dressed, sitting on the edge on the bed while Emma’s curled around Matt in her bed and nuzzling sleepily into his neck. Sam makes a soft noise to acknowledge it but doesn’t actually say anything else about it.
He leans down to kiss Emma on the cheek and then, after a pause, kisses Matt gently on the mouth before he leaves.
“Did you like that?” Emma asks. They’ve spent enough time together that Matt’s got her voices down, and she’s concerned, trying to hide it by being sweet and biting playfully at his neck.
“It was fun,” he says, pulling her up so he can kiss her. “Rather have you to myself, though.”
Later, after they’ve changed the sheets and settled in to sleep, Emma says, quietly, “It’s okay, you know? That you liked it?”
Matt liked it. He knows what that’s supposed to mean. When he doesn’t reply, Emma sighs and pushes up to press a kiss to his forehead, slide a hand into his hair.
“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” she says, “but I’ll shut up.”
She settles back against him.
“Thank you,” Matt murmurs, a few minutes later, when he finds his voice again. Emma holds him tighter.
“Any time, hon,” she says.
*
It’s different than he imagined, but he’d been imagining Foggy, and he knows—he knows that would be more than sex, even if he’s not sure what that means. This isn’t, though. This is Sam sprawled out on his back underneath Matt, legs spread wide and talking dirty. A little bit for show, because Emma wanted to watch. She took off her clothes to sit on the edge of the bed and touch herself slowly.
“Come on,” Sam says, like he’s trying to piss Matt off. “I’m not a girl—fuck me like you mean it.”
“That’s a microaggression,” Emma says, and Matt laughs.
“I don’t think you can take it like Em can,” he says.
“Raising my hand for a high five,” Emma says, crawling closer, and Matt dutifully lifts the hand that isn’t digging into Sam’s hip so she can smack it. “Okay, carry on.”
Sam clenches around him deliberately and Matt bites a moan back. He’s tight, and Matt knows that he’s not going to last long enough to not get lightly mocked for it. At least he can make an impact before that.
“You want it harder?” he asks, holding onto both of Sam’s hips and hefting him up so they leave the bed for a moment before he gets the picture and wraps his legs around Matt. He makes an interested noise and then a choked gasp when Matt thrusts in again.
“Yeah,” Sam says, grinning. “Give it to me.”
*
“I don’t get to decide what you are, Matt,” Emma says. She told Matt to lie in her lap, so he does, stretching out on her bed and resting his head on her soft thighs so she can pet his hair. “But denying it forever is just going to hurt you. Especially considering. . .”
“Considering what?” Matt asks.
“You’ll get pissed off,” she says.
“I won’t,” he says. “Look, you’ve got me domesticated.”
She snorts and scratches at his scalp.
“Foggy,” she says. Matt feels a familiar panic fall over him.
“What about him?” he asks, but it’s obviously stilted, because he knows exactly what she’s trying to say. The three of them have hung out together a few times, which might have been a mistake on Matt’s part, because Emma and Foggy get along way too well.
“Matt,” she says, patiently.
Matt turns his face away.
“I just want to be his friend,” he says, then, when she starts to say something, “I know, I know that I want more, I just—I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to lose him.”
“You won’t,” Emma says. “Just—trust me on that.”
Matt sighs shakily before he says, again, quieter, “I don’t want to feel like this.”
“Oh, honey—come here.”
She tugs gently at his hair and he sits up, lets himself be pulled into a tight hug. Emma’s short, but she has this way of holding him that kind of makes him feel like a little kid.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she says, close to his ear, small hand cupping the back of his head. “I know that it’s complicated, and that you don’t believe me, but—there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling.”
Matt doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just lets himself be held until he feels too uncomfortable with it. Emma doesn’t say anything else about it that night, and he kisses her goodbye and says thank you, grateful when she doesn’t ask why.
*
“So, you’re the threesome girl,” Foggy says, happily, when Matt brings Emma over to watch a movie.
“As I’m widely known,” Emma says, grinning. “Was Matthew bragging?”
“Well, any man that gets to sleep with two girls at once is allowed to,” Foggy says, and Matt tenses up, walking over to sit his backpack on his bed and unpack it. Emma’s heart ticks up just a little bit.
“Right,” she says. “Well, it’s definitely an accomplishment.”
“Was Matt. . .accomplished?” Foggy asks, then, turning to Matt, “I’m waggling my eyebrows significantly.”
“I guessed,” Matt says.
“He did his best,” Emma says, lightly.
“Well, that’s all that matters,” Foggy says, and Matt sighs in their direction.
“That’s enough on that, I think. Who’s picking the movie?”
They end up watching three movies, huddled up on Foggy’s bed with Matt in the middle and Foggy’s laptop in front of them. Foggy and Emma take turns describing what’s happening, which devolves quickly, so Matt loses track of the plot but has more fun than he’s had in a long time.
After the credits roll for the last movie, Foggy shuts the laptop.
“Closing time?” he asks. Emma stretches her arms up and yawns, loudly.
“I’m beat, but,” she says, “I do think it’s necessary to point out that we have all of the necessary componants of a threesome here.”
It’s really a pity that Emma’s so great, because Matt’s going to have to kill her.
“. . .I cannot tell if you’re joking, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” Foggy says, laughing.
“She was joking,” Matt says, elbowing Emma, who yelps out a laugh.
“Fine, sure, I was joking,” she says.
“Even if you weren’t, I think Matt’s heterosexuality might become an issue,” Foggy says, “unless he’s more enlightened than I thought.”
“What does that mean?” Matt asks, frowning.
“Nothing bad, buddy, you’re just a little jumpy about the guy on guy stuff,” Foggy says. “You didn’t touch me outside of holding on to my arm for, like, a month after we drunk cuddled that one time.”
That’s not the reason that he didn’t touch Foggy, but correcting him would mean telling him that he thinks about touching him more than he doesn’t, some days. And he can’t put that on Foggy. He deserves better. It’s probably easier if Foggy thinks he’s just—kind of a shitty person.
“Well, obviously I have to know everything about that,” Emma says. “But another night. It was nice to meet you, Foggy.”
She bends down to kiss Matt’s forehead and then, with a why not sound, Foggy’s.
After she leaves, Foggy says, “So, she’s really fun. Is she entering girlfriend territory? Has she tamed you?”
“We’re just friends,” Matt says.
“God, I need weird sex friends,” Foggy says, leaning heavily against Matt for a moment before he gets up. “You’ve got to teach me your ways.”
“Normally you just have to ask,” Matt says, yawning. He’s alone in Foggy’s bed now but he doesn’t want to leave.
“You up for it?” Foggy asks, clearly joking, then immediately says, “Christ, I have, like, no control over flirting with you, Murdock. You bring something out in me.”
Matt could tell him exactly what Foggy’s brought out in him. He could probably kiss Foggy right now, pull him back into bed and show him how much he wants to touch him, and—Foggy would say yes. It’s nowhere near as obvious as it was when they first met, but he’s still attracted to Matt.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, instead, smiling. “It’s you and everyone else I meet.”
Foggy cackles.
“But it’s your modesty that’s your most attractive feature,” he says. “I’m going to sleep in about thirty seconds, so you should probably evacuate my bed before I just sleep on top of you.”
Matt probably blushes, but it’s too dark for Foggy to notice. He’s still not sure what it means that the idea of falling asleep with Foggy makes him blush more than the idea of holding him down and fucking him while he begs for it. Which is—the more specific fantasy that Matt’s brain refuses to stop playing in a loop in his brain.
It might have something to do with feelings, but he’s not ready to deal with those yet. He’ll handle the sinful lust first.
*
“Do you maybe want to come over and study for this test?” Jamie asks, soft and careful, pulling Matt aside after class. “You’re the first person I’ve done a partnered project with that I didn’t want to—well, murder.”
Matt laughs.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to murder you either,” he says. “I’d like that.”
They go back to Jamie’s dorm and study on his bed, and Matt thinks that both of them are aware that they keep moving closer, until they’re sitting side by side with their shoulders pressed together and their backs against the wall. Every time they shift, Jamie’s heart speeds up a little before settling again.
“Okay, I officially know everything about sociology,” Jamie says, shutting his laptop and pushing it to the side.
“Most things,” Matt agrees. “Should I go?”
“You should stay,” Jamie says, quickly, then groans. “I mean, if you want to.”
“I want to,” Matt says. Jamie’s heart doesn’t settle this time as he turns and puts a hand on Matt’s knee.
“Can I—can I kiss you?” Jamie asks, nervously. Matt’s been distracted by the thought of the two of them in bed together, and he’d pictured being grabbed and kissed—or doing the grabbing. Jamie’s not even holding onto his knee, just resting his hand on it like he’ll move it if Matt says no. He’s sweet.
“Oh,” Matt says.
“Sorry,” Jamie says, immediately, sighing. “I thought there was, like, a vibe but I’m really bad at—being a person, so I’m probably wrong. Sorry.”
“No,” Matt says, quickly. “You’re not wrong.”
This is different from anything else that he’s done, no excuses besides the fact that Matt wants this, but they’re alone. Matt has no one to answer to but himself and—and he’ll confess for the moment of weakness that makes him turn to kiss Jamie first.
*
“Oh, shit,” Foggy says, shocked, and Matt feels his whole world shut down. He’s in bed with Jamie again, because they’ve started sitting next to each other in class and things happen. It’s not flirting, but it leads to the same place—Matt on his back and Jamie between his legs with Matt’s dick in his mouth.
“F-Foggy,” Matt starts, sitting up. “I—”
There’s nothing wrong with having sex in his own room, but it feels like he needs to apologize. This is different. It’s—wrong.
Foggy’s heart is racing, and he starts to say something but ends up turning and leaving before he does. Matt listens to his heart and his footsteps all the way out of the building while Jamie sits up on his heels, wiping a hand over his mouth and staying quiet for a few moments.
“Am I the other woman?” he asks, more curious than anything.
“What? Oh, no,” Matt says, shaking my head. “That was my roommate.”
“Oh, and he doesn’t know that you’re—” Jamie starts, drawing off before making a vague hand gesture. “Less than straight?”
Matt takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“No,” he says. “He doesn’t.”
*
“Hey, no,” Foggy says, pushing Matt away gently. “You can’t just kiss me.”
“Sorry—god, I’m sorry,” Matt says. He’s an idiot. He’s always known that about himself, but it’s very apparent now. He takes a few steps backwards. “I’ll just go.”
“No,” Foggy says, sighing. “Stay, I just need a second. I assume you know how long I’ve had a big gay crush on you?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Matt says.
“Bullshit,” Foggy says, laughing, not unkindly. “I know I’m not subtle. I thought it was like an inside joke.”
“Not a joke,” Matt says, firmly. “If I’d been—if I’d been better, I would’ve made sure you knew that. I wouldn’t have waited this long to tell you that I—that I, uhm—”
“Spit it out,” Foggy says, softly.
Matt steps forward and finds Foggy’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He knows it’s okay when Foggy squeezes his hand back, so he raises his head in his direction and says, “That I think I’m falling in love with you.”
There’s Foggy’s heart again, familiar and strong, racing fast.
“Oh, wow,” he says, faintly.
“We don’t have to talk about it again, though,” Matt says. “I don’t expect anything from you.”
Foggy nods and doesn’t tell Matt that he does it before he pulls lightly on Matt’s hand so he follows the motion, stepping in close again, the toes of their shoes touching. Matt hasn’t had anything resembling hope about his feelings for Foggy in a long time, but he feels it now, a warm rush.
“You’re not straight?” Foggy asks. “Because that’s important for me to know if I’m going to do what I’m about to do.”
Matt takes a sharp breath.
He’s never said it before.
*
He finds Foggy at the library, because despite claiming to be a terrible party animal who never studies, Matt knows that he’s pulling a 4.0 and goes to hide in the same study carrel every time that he’s stressed out. It’s a little group of three of them, stuck in a corner away from the rest, and he always spreads out his stuff so nobody can sit near him. He lets Matt join him, sometimes.
Matt wonders if he’ll do it this time.
Foggy turns around when he hears Matt and Matt can tell that he blushes even though he’s a few feet away.
“I should have knocked,” he says, voice kind of broken.
“It’s your room,” Matt says, smiling. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“We should have implemented a sock on the door policy a long time ago,” Foggy says, standing up to face him, “so we didn’t repeatedly walk in on each other having sex with, uhm. . .”
“Men?” Matt offers, because he may as well.
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “Men. Are you—going through an experimentation phase? Perfectly natural, no harm done?”
That would be a great explanation, but Matt doesn’t want to lie anymore.
“No,” he says.
“So, then. . .you lied about being straight,” Foggy says, more curious than angry, although he’s obviously tense.
“Well—no,” Matt repeats, because it’s not completely fair. It took him awhile to catch on and even longer to accept it, if—if he even has accepted it. It’s complicated. For once, Matt would just like something in his life to not be complicated.
“Does that mean you’re so just straight that you can get sucked off by a dude and still maintain your heterosexual lifestyle?” Foggy asks. The words come a little bit fast and jumbled, like he’s had too many energy drinks in a row and it’s 4 am and they’re going to die from studying. This is just because of Matt, though.
“I don’t know what I am,” Matt says, carefully. He hasn’t planned this. He couldn’t even bear to think about it. “I thought I was straight, I wanted to be so much, but—”
After Matt draws off, Foggy makes a soft noise.
“Matty,” he says, taking a step forward. “You could’ve talked to me.”
“No,” Matt says, shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t have.”
“Why not?” Foggy asks, hurt.
Matt doesn’t know how to answer that. Actually, no—Matt knows just how to answer that.
He closes the distance between them and finds Foggy’s face with his hands.
“Oh, fuck,” Foggy breathes.
And Matt kisses him.
*
“I’m not straight,” Matt says, firmly. “I’m not.”
“Well, okay,” Foggy says. “Then you probably won’t mind if I. . .”
And Foggy kisses him. He pulls Matt into his arms and slips fingers into his hair and kisses Matt like he’s been guiltily daydreaming about for months. He’s doesn’t feel guilty now, though, and he thinks that the feel of Foggy’s body pressed up against his is worth all of the pain. It doesn’t matter how long it took him to get here.
He’s here.
“I love you, too, you know,” Foggy says, breaking the kiss, pulling back enough that Matt can tell that he’s watching his face. Matt smiles, feeling something inside of him break open, like every single part of him is suddenly starting to make sense.
“Really?” he asks.
“How could I not?” Foggy asks, and Matt has answers to that, but Foggy kisses them right out of his head.
Foggy loves him and nothing’s ever felt more right.