Chapter Text
Foggy tried to slip his key into the lock, missing a few times before finally managing to unlock his door. He pushed it open and stumbled into his apartment.
"Fuck," Foggy mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. He had to stop letting Marci talk him into after work drinks. Foggy used the wall to steady himself as he made his way deeper into the apartment, wishing he hadn't drank so much. "It had seemed like such a good idea at the time," he muttered to himself, tripping over a shoe. He caught himself before he could fall, and glared in the general direction of the shoe. Where the fuck did that come from, he wondered. "Where the fuck did that come from?" He asked aloud, looking up at the ceiling, as if it could give him an answer. When no reply came, Foggy just shrugged, and continued his staggering journey.
It wasn't until he was a few steps into his living room that he noticed he was not alone. Standing in front of his window was a dark figure. Foggy could tell that it was a man, because his outfit was plastered to his insanely fit body, but he couldn't make out the man's face. The man was back-lit by the streetlight filtering through the window, throwing his face into the shadows. Foggy's eyesight was blurry at best, way more drunk than he should be, but he was able to make out the dark red of the suit, and the devil horns on the cowl clutched in the man's hand.
Daredevil, Foggy's alcohol-drenched brain supplied, and Foggy almost scoffed. Back-lit and in the shadows, like he's The fucking Night, or some shit. These masked-vigilantes were all the same type, and Foggy's just a little too drunk to deal with this.
Then, he realized why the man seemed so fucking familiar.
"Matt," Foggy slurred, and he supposed it would've come out more shocked if he had been less intoxicated. He fumbled for the light switch, forgetting he wasn't by a wall anymore and nearly overbalancing himself. It was only momentary, and he managed to right himself quickly, but a quick glace back at Matt was enough for Foggy to confirm the other man had noticed his slight stumble. Matt had taken a step forward, arms raised away from his body, as if caught in the middle of an aborted action, looking ready to move forward and catch Foggy, if he needed.
Foggy actually did scoff, and shook his head as he made his way over to the wall, where the light switch actually was. The lights blinked on, and Foggy squinted against the offending brightness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, Foggy found Matt's eyes fixed on him, which shouldn't be possible because Matt was blind.
There was a beat of awkward silence.
"I know you won't believe me," Matt said, slowly, "but this is not what it looks like."
"Is it a sex thing?" Foggy asked, point-blank, his inhibitions gone with that last shot of fruity jet fuel that Marci had forced down his throat. Matt, however, did not have the encouraging fortification of alcohol coursing through his veins, and reacted the way any sane and sober person would: with absolute mortification. Matt was turning bright red, and spluttering. Foggy grinned. "I knew you were a sex fiend! Called it. I totally called it on date two!"
"This isn't a sex thing!" Matt said, frantic and pleading.
"I dunno, Matty," Foggy hummed, snickering lightly, "skintight leather body suit? And are those devil horns? Is that rope? If it's not a sex thing, it looks an awful lot like one."
"It's not--why would--why would you think this is a sex thing?" Matt spluttered, blushing hard.
"I just said," Foggy rolled his eyes. He shot out a hand to brace himself against the wall, because woah, bad idea, dizzy. "You're covered in skintight leather, and you're even a little beat up. What else could it be?"
"It's not," Matt protested, a bit weakly. He raised a hand to cover his face, and Foggy smiled. He pushed himself away from the wall, taking careful measured steps towards Matt. He moved gradually across the room.
"Is it a dungeon thing?" Foggy asked, faux-serious and gleeful. Matt let out a quiet whine, his fist tightening around the cowl clenched in his hand. Foggy took another step towards Matt. "I'm not gonna judge you if it's a dungeon thing."
"I'm a masked vigilante!" Matt blurted out desperately.
"...it's a dungeon thing, isn't it?"
Matt took a few, fumbling steps forward. His hands landed on Foggy's shoulders, and Foggy startled. They were closer than he had thought. He huffed a small laugh to himself; that's what he gets for trying to be sneaky while this drunk. Fingers tightening on Foggy's shoulders brought Foggy's attention back to the man in front of him. Matt was so, so red, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn't find the words he was searching for.
"I am the Devil of Hell's Kitchen," Matt finally, pressingly exclaimed.
Foggy let a slow smirk stretch across his face, but did his utmost to keep his smug amusement out of his voice.
"So...like...you role-play, or...?" Foggy stretched his words and trailed off meaningfully, fighting back his snickers as Matt turned even redder, more flustered.
"Foggy," Matt groaned, pleading, "it's not a sex thing."
"Why won't you just tell me which club, Matty?" Foggy's smirk widened as he felt Matt's fingers flex on his shoulders--tightening enough to dig into Foggy's flesh, probably leaving bruises, only to quickly release their hold. "We could go together."
"It's not a sex thing, Foggy, I swear to God, it's not a kinky thing, it's not a sex thing!" Matt looked--and sounded--to be on the verge of tears. Foggy didn't know if it was due to frustration, embarrassment, or desperation, but he decided to lay off some, having gotten in his laughs.
There was a pause.
Then, Foggy asked, completely serious, "could it be a sex thing?"
Matt let out a startled chuckle, which quickly took on a hysterical edge, and was soon gasping for breath between his laughter.
Foggy wondered if he broke Matt.
"Did I break you?"
Matt shook his head, moving forward to press his face against Foggy's shoulder, trying to muffle his laughter. Foggy just raised his arms to wrap them around Matt, waiting for Matt's shoulders to stop shaking.
"Should I be worried?" Foggy said, concerned when Matt's laughter subsided only mildly, "should I call someone?"
Matt cupped Foggy's face in his hands, giggles slipping out even as he pressed his lips together in a tight line. Matt rested his forehead against Foggy's, still shaking.
Foggy shut his eyes as Matt's shaking jostled him, nausea flaring.
"I'm gonna puke," Foggy mumbled, weakly shoving at Matt's side. Matt flinched, and Foggy quickly withdrew his hand, tipping himself off balance. Matt caught him, steadying him.
Foggy blinked at the abrupt stop to his descent. He was pressed against Matt's chest, their lips a hair's breadth away. He could feel Matt's breath on his lips, shaky from residual laughter. His own breath hitched, and he rocked forward, capturing Matt's lips in a kiss. It was sloppy and wet and Foggy snorted.
"Sorry," he mumbled against Matt's lips, "I swear I'm not normally this drunk."
Matt laughed.
"It's fine, Foggy," he murmured.
"I totally just attacked your face with my mouth," Foggy continued as if he hadn't heard Matt. "I'm sorry, oh wow."
"It's fine," Matt repeated, residual chuckles shaking his words.
"So," Foggy drawled, leaning more heavily against Matt's chest, "what's the Devil of Hell's Kitchen doing in my living room in the middle of the night, if not for a late night rendezvous?"
Foggy felt Matt stiffen under him. He turned a curious eye towards Matt. Matt was blushing--it was hard to make out, but Foggy managed--and Foggy had to smother his smirk against Matt's shoulder. Foggy's fingers brushed Matt's side, and he froze.
Warm and wet. Late night. Vigilante.
Foggy might've been drunk, but he wasn't an idiot.
"You're hurt." The words sounded empty, even to his own ears. Matt, still stiff--somehow stiffer, now--shifted away, and Foggy immediately lamented the loss of warmth. Pushing that aside, he fixed Matt with the sternest, steadiest stare he could manage in his inebriated state.
"I'm fine," Matt said, brushing off Foggy's concern.
"You're bleeding, Matt," Foggy deadpanned, "that's not exactly what I'd call 'fine'."
"It's just a scratch," Matt insisted, grabbing hold of Foggy's wrist. His hand had been hovering near Matt's side, as if unsure what to do with it. Matt pulled the hand away, lacing his fingers through Foggy's, and letting their intertwined hands fall to the empty space between them. "Besides, I've had worse."
Matt smiled, but it was shaky, and Foggy only scoffed.
"That's not nearly as reassuring as you probably think it is," Foggy stated, staring blankly, a little dumbfounded, at Matt. Bleeding out, and horrible at reassuring--Foggy was incredulous. This is the man I've chosen to love, Foggy thought to himself, inwardly shaking his head, he's lucky he's cute.
Foggy, for once, was able to bite back the comment.
"I'll get Claire to look at it in the morning, if it'll make you feel better," Matt promised, trying to appease Foggy.
"Claire?" Foggy asked, "she the nurse friend that you told me about?"
"Yeah," Matt said weakly, knowing he was caught in a lie.
Foggy glared. He looked Matt over with a scrutinizing stare, before sighing heavily. Matt looked exhausted and pale. Upon closer inspection, Foggy noticed that Matt was pretty battered; that, along with the dark circles under Matt's eyes, decided Foggy's next move for him.
"I'm too tired for this." Foggy caught the way Matt flinched, and squeezed his hand in reassurance. "This is a talk we'll have in the morning," Foggy declared, using his and Matt's intertwined hands to lead Matt through his apartment. "You're exhausted, obviously, and I'm way too drunk. Therefore, you are going to let me look at that 'scratch'," the air quotes were clear through Foggy's tone alone, "and any other injuries you have, and I will patch you up with the meager supplies that I have, and tomorrow we will talk." Foggy's tone turned sharp and threatening, "and then you will see that nurse friends of yours."
"Okay," Matt agreed immediately.
"Good. Now, sit." They had reached Foggy's bedroom, and Foggy pushed Matt onto his bed. "I'll be right back. Don't move."
When Foggy returned to his bedroom, Matt had already peeled himself out of the top of his ridiculous vigilante suit. There was a huge smear of blood staining Matt's side, but Foggy forced back his panic. He told himself it was probably just from the so-called scratch, the suit having smeared some of the blood around.
It didn't help.
Foggy crouched next to Matt, to see the cut better. It looked painful, but clean and not too deep. He moved to wipe off the blood and put some antibacterial ointment on the injury.
"How did this even happen?"
"Knife," Matt answered simply.
"Oh, yes," Foggy said sarcastically, "'knife', that's informative."
Matt didn't reply, and Foggy rolled his eyes. He was a bit forceful putting the gauze and tape on over the wound, but Matt barely winced.
"Any other injuries?" Foggy asked. When Matt shook his head, Foggy realized he had been expecting that reaction. He sighed. "Fine. I'll find you a change of clothes."
"You don't have to--I can--" Matt started, but Foggy cut off his fumbling.
"You're not going back out there," Foggy said simply, "I'll even be nice and share the bed instead of kicking out onto the couch."
Foggy swiftly left the room to return his first aid to it's place under the sink in his bathroom. Behind him, Matt was blushing bright red, mouth working, at a loss for words.
Foggy woke up to an unusual warmth pressed against his side--or, well, the fact that the warmth was there was unusual. Nothing about the warmth, itself, was out of the ordinary. Other than the fact that there was something distinctly familiar about it.
He also woke up to a splitting headache.
Disjointed memories from the night before came rushing back, and Foggy suddenly felt the distinct urge to vomit for a reason having nothing to do with his hangover.
"Oh my god," he groaned into his hand, "I'm dating a masked vigilante. Daredevil is my boyfriend."
Beside him, the warmth shifted.
"Boyfriend?" Matt questioned, pressing his smile against Foggy's side.
Foggy felt himself flush. "W-well, I mean. If you want! It's--I'm, I'd like to be your boyfriend--but! Only if you're okay with it? I don't want to assume anything, or anything. It's just--I just--"
"It's fine, Foggy," Matt soothed, "I'd like to be your boyfriend as well."
"Oh, good," Foggy sighed in relief. Then, he immediately perked up. "Hey, you're not going to get out of this Daredevil talk--no matter how much you appeal to my weakness for you."
"Your what?"
"Never mind," Foggy said quickly. "Do you have any explanation for yourself?"
Foggy felt Matt stiffen against his side. Foggy sighed.
"I'm not angry that you hid it from me," Foggy assured.
"That's a lie," Matt muttered, "I can tell."
"You can--how can you tell?" Foggy demanded.
"Your heartbeat," Matt explained. "I can hear heartbeats."
"That's--that's creepy. And invasive." Foggy looked down at Matt and saw a guarded expression forming. It screamed fear of rejection, and Foggy rolled his eyes. "But, I'll get used to it," he tacked on pointedly.
Matt's shock was clear on his face.
"And," Foggy continued, "that I'm not angry is only a lie because you hid this from me. It's reasonable to be a little miffed. But, I get it, too." Matt looked like he wanted to say something, but Foggy didn't let him, wanting to get his piece in first. "So, now, you'll tell me everything, from the beginning, and I'll listen. No more hiding."
Matt looks dumbfounded. Foggy waited, letting Matt work through his thoughts.
Finally, Matt started to explain. His story was haltingly told, and, by the end, Foggy was convinced that he had fallen into a comic book.
"These things don't actually happen in real life," Foggy said, disbelief coloring his words. Matt merely shrugged, an amused quirk to his lips. Foggy narrowed his eyes, "you're a lot more calm, now. Not that I'm complaining, but what happened?"
Matt hummed, radiating easy content, "you reacted much better to all this," Matt waved an arm vaguely, to encompass the 'all this' he was talking about, "much better than I could've hoped. You really are amazing."
Foggy could pinpoint the exact moment when Matt's words caught up to him; Matt's eyes widened and a bright blush rose high on his cheeks. Foggy grinned, completely taken in by Matt.
Then, something occurred to him.
"Wait," he started, mildly horrified, "if you can hear heartbeats, then that means you could hear mine--the whole time--every time I--"
"Yeah," Matt smiled. He moved to cup Foggy's cheek, drawing their faces close together, "but, to be fair, I'll let you in on something--my heart speeds up every time I see you, too."
Foggy's breath hitched, and Matt closed the distance between them.
"Oh, there's one other thing I lied about," Matt said, slightly breathless from the kiss. Foggy froze, and Matt's grin widened. "I love babies."