Relationship: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Words: 4,649
Chapters: 2/2
Published: 2021-01-19
Author summary:
“No, wait,” Matt says, after a second, stepping in to catch Foggy’s arm gently. “You know I’m cool with it, right?”
“With me objectifying you?” Foggy asks, a little strangled.
Matt’s mouth falls open for a moment before it turns into a grin instead, cheeks flushing a little. He’s still holding Foggy’s arm and is aggressively shirtless. It feels significant.
“I don’t hate it,” Matt admits, shrugging. His fingers squeeze a little before he drops his hand and turns back around. “I mean, I’m straight but it’s fine if you wanna, like—look at me.”
Foggy leans against the doorframe and watches Matt towel himself off, feeling like his soul might actually leave his body.
My thoughts:
Matt you innocent fool, and Foggy is totally into it.
Ending quote:
“Okay, I’ve never touched a dick before,” Matt says, as soon as the door shuts behind them, “but I’m interested in learning.”
Foggy bites his lip to keep from laughing at him.
“Glad to be of help,” he says.
“No answer,” she replies, immediately trying another number, which gets picked up after a couple of rings. Jake hears some groggy mumbling and then Gina says, “Hey, Foggy, my friend, what do you know about vigilantes?”
There’s silence and then Foggy says, strangled, “What? Nothing. What’s a vigilante.”
returnsandreturns (x), our troubles will be out of sight
favorite fics: allll of them but especially the nipple ring fic and the one with, like, matt trying to be a submissive through the ages, which i should know the name of because i reread it legit all the time
<333 I am so happy you said that because I am SO PROUD of that sub fic and I feel like no one one read it because it was comicsverse. :D :D :D
As I take a break from writing my midterm, here is a little fic about Matt and Foggy and kittens for @returnsandreturns (and myself because this essay is slowly killing me and if I can’t play with kittens, I can at least live vicariously through Matt).
Matt’s day starts off bad and just gets worse from there. For starters, he’s already been awake for a little over 48 hours. Then he spent the better part of last night and into this morning taking care of a gang that certainly weren’t the best fighters but had sheer numbers on their side. Then, when the gang is in the hands of the police and he finally makes it back to his apartment (the sun is rising meaning he needs to be more careful about who sees him and his ribs hurt like hell and the injuries he’s acquired over the past week or so have all flared up again meaning he’s slowed down significantly), he gets a call from the office with an urgent update on a case he’s working, so he really only has time to change and throw back a few aspirin before he’s out the door again. From there, it’s just one inconvenience after another: an intern spills coffee on him and he has to change into the spare one of his colleagues has (it’s scratchy and smells like the wrong kind of detergent but it’s marginally better than coffee soaked); a witness retracted her statement; the prosecution sent them paper files not in braille; and after (an unsatisfying) lunch, an overenthusiastic dog gets off his leash and almost knocks Matt down, exacerbating his still throbbing ribs.
Finally though, he’s done all he can do for the day and Hogarth sends him home (“You look like shit Murdock,” she said, always one to speak her mind. “What if we’d had court today?” She waved off his protest. “No, I need you to go home, get some sleep, and take care of your shit.”). He’s walking down the street (a taxi would be faster and easier but knowing his luck, he’d end up getting robbed or in a car accident) when, all of a sudden, he’s just overwhelmed by all of the exhaustion and pain he’s managed to keep at bay for most of the day. Curling up in the middle of the sidewalk and crying is generally not an accepted practice though, so he ducks into the nearest building, hoping for just a moment of even semi-privacy to compose himself.
He’s in an empty waiting room of some kind, there’s a desk at one end and some chairs, but that’s all he really notices because he’s focusing on not crying and not curling into a fetal position. He almost doesn’t even notice when another person enters from a side door, not till they’re already approaching him.
“Hi!” the man (heavy set, longish hair pulled back, khaki and polo probably a uniform) says, all cheer and sunshine. “Welcome to Mercy Animal Shelter. How can I help you today?”
Matt, who also hadn’t noticed till this moment the sounds and smells of animals (god, he’s really out of it, isn’t he?), tries to quickly think of an explanation to why he’s here and ends up saying awkwardly, “Oh, uhm… kittens?” (Mentally, he hits himself in the head because he’s an idiot. He could’ve just asked for directions and now he has to spend more time out.)
The employee either doesn’t pick up on his awkwardness or, more likely, is too polite to mention it, and just nods to himself before saying, “Absolutely! If you want to follow me?”
“I’m Foggy by the way,” he says when they’re waiting in a side hallway, letting another employee pass by with a few dogs.
“Matt.” Foggy doesn’t try to shake his hand or anything which he’s grateful for, not only because it’s always a little awkward pretending to not know where their hand is, but also because he’s pretty sure his hand might actually be shaking from the combination of lack of sleep, pain, and just general stress, and wouldn’t that be awkward to explain?
“Alright,” Foggy says, stopping in front of a door in what must be the ‘front’ of the Cat section, “here we are.” He opens the door and Matt steps in to the empty room hesitantly. “Okay buddy, there’s a bench against the wall about 3 feet to your right. Sit tight and I’ll be back in a second.” Foggy exits through another door (probably an employee door) and Matt takes the relative quiet and solitude to lean back against the wall and just breathe for a moment.
He’s already feeling a little calmer when the door opens again, and Foggy enters holding a box of kittens. Before Matt gets more than small and fluffy, Foggy has a kitten and is standing in front of Matt. “Hands out.”
Matt obeys automatically, and then he’s holding this small, warm ball of fur, and he’s just… awed, is probably the right word for it. “That’s Lilo,” Foggy introduces, stepping back to start removing the rest of the kittens from the box. “She’s a two-month-old Calico.” She meows, the smallest but somehow fiercest sound, and Matt holds her up to his face, where she immediately takes advantage and bats at his nose with a tiny paw. Matt laughs, startled, and he notices vaguely that Foggy’s heartbeat spikes before he laughs too and starts introducing each of the kittens.
Matt doesn’t remember moving to the floor but suddenly there he is, sitting cross-legged, probably ruining his pants (and getting covered in cat fur to boot), with a kitten dozing in his lap (Albert, after the playwright not Einstein) and another perched precariously on his shoulder (Tootsie Roll) and another batting at his shoelace (Liam, “After…” Foggy starts and then stops and shrugs. “I was going to make something more impressive up but I can’t lie, it was after One Direction.”), and he can’t remember the last time he smiled this much (possibly never). All of his stress has melted away and, though the pain is still there (injuries just don’t disappear because you’re happy), it’s more manageable, easier to push aside till later.
(His smiling might also have something to do with Foggy, who keeps telling stories about working at the shelter, and different adorable animals he’s met (“I’ve got four words for you Matt: albino polar bear cub.”) and never once calls him out on the fact he so obviously didn’t come into adopt a cat.)
Eventually though, the kittens are tired out (and Matt’s starting to really feel the exhaustion again) and it’s time for Matt to leave. “Come back anytime,” Foggy says with a wide grin as he’s leaving, and Matt can tell it’s a genuine offer, not just a throw-away line, and his heart sort of flutters as he returns Foggy’s grin.
(sneak peek from way further in my draft that I will hopefully get to some day:
Once the mugger is down, Matt turns to Foggy, who’s sitting against the alley wall stunned. “Are you alright?”
Foggy is still staring wide eyed at the now unconscious would-be mugger. “Yeah, yeah. I’m-” finally, he looks up and his heart skips a beat, “Matt?”
Matt freezes. “Uhhh... No?” It sounds weak, even to Matt’s ears and he winces internally.
“Oh my god. I thought lawyers were supposed to be good liars.”)
