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Matt Murdock kisses like an effing champ, honestly, these long, lovely end-of-the-movie kisses that probably make Foggy's heart start yelling directly in Matt's ear about exactly how much it approves of this development.
He's still feeling kind of weird about the heart thing. But the newly inspired addition of the kissing thing and, more recently, the sex thing? Well, it helps.
So, Matt kisses like he's drowning and has to survive on the air in Foggy's lungs, like right now, when he's got Foggy pressed up against his front door with one hand on his waist and the other in his hair. He kisses Foggy into motion, past the kitchen and straight into the bedroom, whispering pretty nice things into his mouth when Foggy's on his back and Matt's crawling over top of him, messing up his fancy sheets.
"Love you," Matt murmurs, with two fingers inside of him and Foggy making little breathless noises he can't control and doesn't really care about controlling, because he knows Matt likes every noise that comes out of him when they're like this, probably catalogues them on an Excel spreadsheet to consider later like a weird nerd.
"Oh, yes, oh, Foggy," Matt breathes out, when he's fucking him--or, yeah, no, making love to him, because there's a dick buried inside of Foggy right now but it still feels like they're on their honeymoon. Which is fine. Foggy's got all those insane squirmy ridiculous feelings for Matt and has no problem admitting it, but he's got to have more, eventually. Man cannot live on tender love-fueled canoodling alone.
When he wraps his legs around Matt's waist and says, a little embarrassingly high-pitched, "Harder, Matt, please, I need it," he doesn't expect Matt to change anything, because he knows this game. They've been playing it for awhile. Foggy will drop some honestly masterful dirty talk to try to goad Matt into really fucking him, just giving it to him, and Matt will continue to gently brush his hair away from his face and press soft kisses to his chest and bring them both to precise, beautiful orgasms while they emotionally clutch at each other.
Which, still, is fine. He loves Matt and every incredibly sappy thing they do together. He absolutely writes poetry in his head about every stupid face that Matt’s ever made at him.
But Foggy has needs and he's getting kind of tired of playing. So, in a fit of inspiration, he wraps his arms around Matt's shoulders and flips them over so he's straddling Matt's hips.
"Harder," he says, again, against Matt's mouth, before he sinks onto Matt's dick in one movement. Matt groans and his hips stutter up.
"I don't want to hurt you," he says, and he's got a stricken look on his face that Foggy fully intends to fuck away until it hits him what's actually happening here.
"Oh my god," Foggy says. "You think you're going to fuck me too hard. Because of your weird vigilante rage strength."
". . .no," Matt says, unconvincingly.
"You think you're going to overwhelm my frail average human body," Foggy says, laughing. "Matt. Matthew. I thought you were just a consummate romantic. An old soul."
"I want to be good to you," Matt says, so, so honestly this time, and Foggy leans down to kiss him sweetly because Matt's earnest voice does things to his heart.
"You're so good, Matt," he says, "but you're not going to hurt me. I know my limits and, trust me--trust me--we're nowhere near them."
Matt doesn't say anything for a long moment before he's pulling out and flipping them over again, almost simultaneously, startling a loud laugh out of Foggy.
"That's my move," he says, delighted, but then Matt's pressing back inside of him and biting gently at his neck. Foggy wants to cheer, applaud, write a 5 star review of whatever's about to go down on Yelp.
Against the skin of his throat, Matt murmurs, voice deep, "Tell me what you want."
Foggy shivers and grins.
"I want you to fuck me so hard that I’ll have to call in sick tomorrow,” he says, and Matt chokes on a laugh but snaps his hips forward so Foggy yelps, grabbing at Matt’s shoulders to hold on as he picks up a rhythm that has Foggy writhing underneath him.
“Tell me if I go too far,” Matt says, a little growly, definitely an order.
Foggy is definitely intrigued by the noise that Matt makes after he replies, “Yes, sir,” and digs a heel into his back to spur him on.
“Fog, Foggy, you’re taking it so well,” Matt says, emphasizing words with hard thrusts that push Foggy up the mattress. He’s just along for the ride at this point, pushing up with his hips when Matt slides his hands up to pin Foggy’s shoulders down—and fuck, yes, this is what he wanted, Matt’s dumb hair slicked up with sweat at the force he’s exerting to tear Foggy apart, the headboard hitting the wall with each movement.
“Oh shit, oh god,” Foggy gasps out. “Is the porn talk redundant at this point? I don’t care, your fucking dick, Matt, I swear, you’re killing me.”
Matt slows down like he’s going to stop, face doing a twisty thing, and Foggy yells, “KILLING ME IN A GOOD WAY,” and, yeah, Matt’s neighbors are getting an intimate audio introduction to exactly what Foggy Nelson’s like in bed, but they can just deal with it. The noises he makes when Matt fucks him even harder than before and slips a hand between them to slide up Foggy’s dick sound like some type of dying animal and he’s fine with sharing this moment with an entire apartment building if it means that Matt keeps doing it.
When Foggy comes, he yells Matt’s name at least half a dozen times, and when Matt fucks him through it and comes soon after, he makes the most inarticulate noise that Foggy’s ever heard Matt Murdock make.
When they come down a little, Foggy manages to say, “Can we invite this Matt back next time, because, wow,” before Matt scoops him back up into another swoony black and white love story kind of kiss.
What a sap.