6 Works by zlicov
Listing Works
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Summary
Foggy moans, hands falling to hold onto the backs of Matt’s hips. “Why? You maybe think having a lapful of naked vigilante…fuck—” his fingers clench. “Just, you get how hot you are, right?”
“No,” Matt tells him, slipping down off the couch to kneel at Foggy’s feet, mouthing at the crook of Foggy’s leg. “Maybe you can remind me?”
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Matt wants to hear what Foggy finds so attractive about him and he wants to show Foggy the same thing. -
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“Nope. Come on, I’m way too sweaty. Shower-sex time.”
But Matt just forces his way in, pinning Foggy where he is. His nose presses right up against Foggy’s neck where he feels the tickle of Matt’s inhale and the bloom of heat from the groan on the exhale.
“Wait.” Foggy pushes back and Matt follows, allowing Foggy to keep him at an arm’s length. “Is this because I’m all sweaty?”
Matt’s already flushed face deepens, the high points of his cheeks and ears a furious pink, as his chin falls to his chest and he mumbles, “You smell nice.”
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It's been a long, hot day of working and Matt really likes the way Foggy smells.
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“So.”
“So.”
“I made a list,” Foggy pulls out his phone, tapping at his screen, “If you’re ready.”
He’s not. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Item one, non-negotiable.” And Matt downs as much of his drink as he can in one swallow. “No killing.”
“What?” Matt blinks, “Fog, you know I won’t—”
“Good, that’s easy,” Foggy’s heart has sped a little, “I’m counting voluntary manslaughter, so maybe no more brain swelling comas either.”--
With the Devil out of the bag, there's nothing left to keep Matt and Foggy apart; except for Foggy's bruised trust. He comes over to talk terms, rules, and everything that brought them here.
A non-linear exploration of Matt's life from Stick onwards. -
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Matt’s chest rises and falls with a rhythm and regularity of a machine. It is a machine, breathing for him. He looks like a corpse. Like they’ve set this up to pretend for a minute that he’s not dead. Like a joke. Lifeless, with a tube all the way down his throat. Foggy sits by his bedside, hands curled up on his thighs and not daring to reach for Matt’s hands — afraid that they’ll be icy cold and betray the illusion. Confirm that this is all some sick joke played on him and that his best friend is dead, like the most fucked up candid camera prank show in existence. His shirt sticks against his back, but Foggy can’t even move enough to shrug out of his suit jacket.
‘Worried about swelling,’ Foggy had been told, ‘Won’t be able to breathe on his own.’
Cracked skull.--
Matt ends up on a ventilator after a head injury. Foggy watches and wonders if he'll wake up.
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“Uh—”
“What?” Foggy sits up onto his elbows.
“I think we’re out of condoms,” Matt says sheepishly. “I can—I’ll still… you can sit on my face.”
“I…” Foggy’s throat squelches closed with a swallow, vocal folds fluttering. A moment of stunned disappointment dissolves as something giddy kicks in his chest. “You can still fuck me. We just… might have to do something a bit different.”
“Fog,” Matt says seriously, his face hard. “I don’t want to risk—”
“No, not that,” Foggy cuts him off. His voice is a little hesitant, but with the excitement in his body, Matt knows he’s going to say yes before the question comes. “I meant… you maybe wanna try wearing my strap-on?”
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Matt forgot to buy condoms, so they improvise. -
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Summary
When Foggy wakes there’s something poking against his leg. There’s a solid, warm weight behind him. A heavy arm draped over him. Hot breaths clouding against his neck.
Matt.
He hadn’t been there when Foggy had gone to bed, he’d been out ‘working’ until god-knows when, doing… things Foggy would rather not think about. They don’t matter, because Matt’s here. Now. Soft, and hard, and warm behind him.
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Matt and Foggy have morning sex rather than get to work on time.