Chapter Text
Matt was a fucking coward.
He had never thought that of himself before, but he could no longer deny the evidence.
He had woken up with the sun the morning after spending the night in Foggy’s bed, the morning after the school dance. Matt usually set his alarm early when he slept over at Foggy’s so that he could rise before Foggy and his parents woke up, and today was no exception.
He didn’t need his alarm this morning though. He had woken up two hours before it had gone off, and had spent those two hours facing the ceiling, staring sightlessly upward.
Foggy was in his arms. His head on Matt’s chest, his long blonde hair fanning out, tickling Matt’s collarbone. He was snoring lightly, his breathing long and even. He was deeply asleep, pressed warmly against Matt’s side. Foggy’s mattress was small, and he and Matt had slept practically on top of one another so that they could fit. Foggy’s thigh was thrown over Matt’s lap and his fist was clutching tightly to Matt’s shirt, bunched up at the hip.
Matt closed his eyes.
He had been inside of Foggy last night. He had–had had him. Had him biblically.
Matt tried not to think about it.
He didn’t think about how tight Foggy had been, how hot he was inside of his body. He didn’t think about how he had shrunk back, whimpering, when Matt had first breached him, but his legs had fallen apart, his hips tilting up, his body opening up for Matt automatically.
He didn’t think about how he could feel it when Foggy had come, clenching around him so tightly that it had almost hurt. How he had been helpless in Foggy’s grip, in his arms, his body milking Matt’s cock like it owned it. He didn’t think about the sound Foggy had made when he had felt Matt twitching inside of him, filling the condom.
He didn’t think about it so much that he was hard now, his dick stiffening against his leg like it had a mind of its own.
He really needed to get a hold of himself.
Beside him Foggy stirred, mumbling a little, pushing his face harder against Matt’s chest. His lips were sticking tackily to Matt’s shoulder and Matt could feel his eyelashes fluttering against him as he woke up, blinking and yawning sleepily.
He knew the exact moment that Foggy woke fully because he heard his heart beat speed up as he stretched, tilting his face up to look at him.
“Morning.” Foggy wasn’t whispering, but it was a near thing.
He sounded shy and a little bit scared, and it made Matt feel like he had a knife sticking in between his ribs.
“Morning.” His voice sounded deeper than it normally did, heavy with sleep. Foggy stirred again, shifting back a little, lifting his head off of his chest. Matt’s arm was still slung around Foggy in the position they had fallen asleep last night, and he allowed it to fall back against the bed.
“Hi.” Foggy said, voice still soft and sleep drunk, and he raised a hand and ran it through Matt’s hair. “You have the worst bed head.” He had a teasing lilt to his voice that was so familiar it made Matt ache.
Matt cleared his throat. He had no idea what to say, but just then Foggy shifted back from him, sitting up slowly, and then he made a startled sound, as though he was surprised by something.
All of Matt’s nerves lit up, zeroing in on the sound. He sat up, too swiftly, and Foggy startled back from him.
It was a sound of pain. Matt knew it intimately because he had heard it almost every week from the age of three to about fifteen, first in the boxing gym while he would wait for his dad to finish his training, and then from himself when it had been time for his own training with Stick. It was the sound of someone who had just been punched in the stomach. A low exhale from deep inside.
Foggy was hurt.
“What’s wrong?” Matt put a hand on Foggy’s hip, feeling it as though he could suss out the injury by touch alone (he could, but Foggy didn’t know that.) “Are you hurt?”
“Matt.” Foggy squirmed away from him. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You are.” Matt insisted. His voice was sharp. Too sharp. It grated harshly in the stillness of the bedroom. The Nelson house was quiet. Foggy’s parents and brother hadn’t woken up yet, and here Matt was, disturbing the peace and serenity of it. The discordant note in the orchestra. His hand was tight on Foggy’s hip. “Where does it hurt? Tell me.”
Foggy was blushing. Matt could feel the heat radiating off of him in waves. “S’nothing.” He mumbled. He was embarrassed. “Just a little sore.”
Matt’s mouth gaped open senselessly. Oh. Of course. Of course that’s what it was. He was a stone cold idiot. Foggy was sore because he had had Matt inside of him last night, and he had been a virgin. He had never been penetrated before and Matt had penetrated him.
Matt hadn’t fucked him, not really. Not like he had wanted to. He hadn’t gone fully inside. He hadn’t moved. And it didn’t matter at all, did it? Because here Foggy was, warm and soft beside him, waking up in his childhood bed where he still slept with stuffed animals, and he was sore because Matt had stuck his cock in him last night.
Matt abruptly felt like he was going to be sick. “Are you?...” His voice trailed off. He had no idea what to say. How bad is it? Will you be able to move around today? Do you still feel it?
And underneath, underneath his roiling stomach and the sour taste in the back of his mouth and his ringing ears and his slowly rising panic there was a thought that was small and hard, glinting in his soul like a pebble stuck in the grooves of a tire. And the thought was this. Foggy was sore because Matt had fucked him last night, and he could still feel it. He felt it when he sat up. He would feel it when he worked his shift today at the store. He would feel it every time he sat down and he would remember that Matt had been the one to do it to him. No one else had ever had Foggy like this. No one else but Matt.
Matt felt the squirm of pleasure in his stomach at that thought, and fucking hated himself.
“Matt, I’m alright.” Foggy sounded a little alarmed. Whatever look he saw on Matt’s face was making his heart rate tick up with anxiety. “It’s not that bad. Stop–stop looking at me like that.”
Jesus Fucking Christ.
Matt felt numb all over. He swung his legs abruptly over the side of Foggy’s bed, standing up. Foggy went to grab for Matt’s arm, attempting to pull him back but his hand clung uselessly to the edge of Matt’s tshirt. “Matt–”
Matt bent low and swiftly pulled his pants on over his boxers. He was wearing one of Foggy’s tshirts and his hair was most definitely sticking up all over the place and he probably looked completely ridiculous and he felt like a total wreck.
“Stay here.” His tone was harsher than he meant it to be. Behind him, Foggy sat like a statue on his bed, staring at the back of his head. Matt didn’t turn around to face him. “I’ll go get you some Advil.”
Matt left the room before Foggy could reply. Matt had been in the Nelson’s home enough by now to know how to get to the bathroom at the end of the hall, and to know which bottle was the Advil in the medicine cabinet (second row, third bottle from the left.)
Matt grabbed the bottle, twisting the cap and shaking out two pills in his hand. His hands were shaking slightly, and he swore when one of the pills dropped, rolling somewhere along the tiled floor. The sound was like a gunshot directly into Matt’s ear drum, and he flinched.
“Goddammit.” Matt whispered. He gripped the edge of the sink, head tilted down into the bowl. Fumbling, he twisted the knob tight, and the sound of rushing water filled his ears. He slapped some on his face. Gulped it down. “Goddammit. Goddammit. Goddammit.”
Get a fucking hold of yourself. He told himself savagely. He needed to go back out there. Go back to Foggy. Give him his medicine and tuck him back into bed and instruct him to not to move too much for the rest of the day and then he needed–needed.
He needed to get the fuck out of here.
Matt was gripping the edges of the sink so hard his fingers were starting to cramp. He dislodged his hands and then threw open the bathroom door, preparing to go back to Foggy’s room. He was going to tell Foggy bye and that he was going to call him later and then he was going to go back to St. Agnes and figure out what the fuck to do. He could…He could still fix this. He could. He just needed time to think.
Matt opened the door and ran smack dab into Foggy’s father.
“Woah!” Ed Nelson said, a little blearily. “Sorry Matt, didn’t see you there.”
Matt stood frozen, one hand on the door frame. He was very glad that he had thought to put his pants on before leaving Foggy’s bedroom.
“Boy you’re up early.” Foggy’s dad said. “Figured you boys would be sleeping in a little bit today, after being out late last night.”
“I–” Matt’s tongue felt like a brick in his mouth, heavy and thick.
He was wearing Foggy’s tshirt. His hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed (he had.) He smelled like Foggy. Like his sheets and his skin and his sweat and his come. He may as well be wearing a sign around his neck. Hi, I took your son’s virginity last night.
“Sorry–” Matt said inanely. “I’m just gonna–” He didn’t move. After a small moment, Ed Nelson got the hint, and stepped to the side. “You’re staying for breakfast right?” He said companionably, as Matt made to step awkwardly around him. Matt always stayed for breakfast when he spent the night at Foggy’s house. He always stayed as long as he could before going back to St. Agnes.
“I’m making waffles.” Mr. Nelson was continuing to speak, unheeding of Matt’s frozen panic. “Gonna put on the game later, you and Foggy should watch it with me. Well, I know you can’t exactly watch, but–”
“Sorry.” Matt cut in. His voice sounded cold and stiff to his own ears. “I need to get back. Need to get back in time for Mass.”
Matt didn’t wait to hear Foggy’s dad’s response. He shoved his way past him, walking resolutely toward Foggy’s room.
Foggy was still sitting upright on his bed, waiting for Matt to return like a puppy waiting at the door to be taken for a walk. “Was that my dad?” He whispered as Matt approached him. “What did he want?”
Matt didn’t answer. He picked up Foggy’s hand, uncurled his fingers that had been twisting tightly in his sheets, and placed the singular pill in his palm. “Take this.” He said. “Eat some breakfast. Take it easy today. Just rest.”
Matt turned toward the door. “Where are you going?” Foggy blurted out behind him.
Matt felt his back stiffen up. “Back to St. Agnes.”
“You’re leaving?” Matt flinched, the movement so tiny and miniscule that Foggy didn’t notice it as Matt busily collected his things, his cane and his wallet and finally–his glasses, which he shoved onto his face. “But–”
“I have to get back in time for check in.” Matt said. “You know that.”
“You never have before.” Foggy didn’t sound angry. He sounded confused, which was worse. “Matt–” he said, at the same time that Matt straightened up, and said “Foggy--” quietly. Foggy froze, and for a moment, neither boy spoke.
Matt finally turned around to face him. His glasses were on, and he was gripping his cane tightly in his hand. “Listen.” Matt started quietly. “Last night–”
Matt closed his eyes behind his glasses, taking a deep breath. In front of him, Foggy was so still on the bed that he barely registered in Matt’s radar. Only the rapid pounding of his heart gave him away.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened.” Matt said. “I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Foggy didn’t say anything, but his breathing picked up.
“That was wrong of me.” Matt continued. “I shouldn’t…” His voice trailed off.
I shouldn’t have pressed myself inside of you. I shouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't think about you when I’m alone in my bed. I shouldn't want you like this. You shouldn’t want me like this. I’m not good for you Foggy. I’m not good.
“I wanted you to.” Foggy’s voice was trembling slightly, and Matt couldn’t bear it. “Matt, you didn’t do anything to me. I wanted you to. I wanted to have s–”
“Stop.” Matt barely recognized his own voice. Foggy fell abruptly silent. “You don’t know what you’re saying. We didn’t–” Again, his words failed him. He had never had this problem before. Matt always had a retort handy. He was good with his words. He was going to be a lawyer.
Matt took a deep breath. Collected himself. “That’s never going to happen again.” He promised. “You needn’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” Foggy sounded bewildered. “Matt–”
“I’ll control myself.” Matt was gripping his cane so hard his fingers were starting to go numb. “I’ll control myself better. I can control myself, Foggy.”
“I don’t want you to control yourself.” And oh Foggy sounded upset, tears lurking in the corners of his voice. “Matt, what are you saying?”
“You need to just forget that it happened.” Matt said.
“I don’t want to forget it.” Foggy was crying now, and Matt felt like something inside of him was breaking in half. Why didn’t Foggy understand? Matt was doing this for his own good.
“I’m only saying.” Matt said quickly. “It doesn’t–this doesn’t need to change anything between us. We’ll still hang out all of the time after school. We’re still friends. Best fri–”
“Shut up.” Foggy hissed, and the venom in his voice slapped Matt’s mouth shut. Foggy never talked to him this way. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say we are just friends. Friends don’t do what we did last night, Matt.”
Matt flinched again. “Like I said.” His voice sounded hollow, but he held firm. “You need to forget it, Foggy. I–I lost control of myself, for a moment. But, it won’t happen again. I can promise you that.”
Foggy was silent for a few minutes. Matt could smell the tears on his face, but his voice, when he finally did speak, was sparking with anger. “I don’t regret what we did.” He wasn’t speaking loudly, but he sounded stubborn, like how he sometimes got on the rare occasions that he and Matt had a difference of opinion on something.
That was the thing about Foggy, the thing that drove Matt fucking crazy. He was sweet, but he wasn’t soft. Everyone looked at him and saw a kid who was cheerful and funny and easy going and they underestimated him. Foggy was easy to underestimate. They didn’t see the side of him that Matt saw. The glint of steel underneath all that softness. Nobody else saw it. Nobody but Matt.
“I’m sorry that you regret it.” Foggy sounded tearful but his voice was firm. “But I don’t.”
“I don’t–” Matt started. But then he stopped himself. “Foggy, please–”
“I think you should leave.” Foggy cut in. “I–I don’t want to see you right now.”
“Fog–”
“Please.” Foggy’s voice broke, and Matt couldn’t help himself, he stepped toward him. It was automatic for him to want to comfort Foggy. He was drawn toward him like there was a string attached to him behind Matt’s naval, tying them together.
Foggy flinched back as though Matt were going to strike him.
“Please.” He was crying openly now. “Please leave. Please.”
Matt left.
On the way back to St. Agnes, he stopped in a small alleyway in between a homeless shelter and a 7-11, ducked behind the dumpster there, and then laid into it. Punching a dumpster was better than punching a brick wall, which was a good way to wind up with a broken hand.
Matt hit the dumpster, and when he felt his knuckles split and ooze, he used his knee instead, driving it into the back of the can as hard and as fast as he could, until he was panting with exertion and his leg was numb and the dumpster in front of him was so dented the city would probably need to replace it.
“Damn son, you good?” A homeless man who had been sitting propped up at the other end of the alley called.
Matt wiped his nose with the back of his trembling hand. He spat on the ground. He turned and walked away.
Matt called Foggy later that night. It went straight to voicemail.
He used his speech to text app the next morning when he got to the subway stop and Foggy wasn’t there. They always rode the subway together to get to Xavier. Foggy didn’t answer his text.
He didn’t answer Matt’s texts throughout the day. He wasn’t waiting for Matt at the school gate at the final bell like he always was.
Ok, so Foggy was still angry. That was alright. That was normal, probably. He just needed some time to cool down. Their conversation hadn’t been…ideal. Matt could see that. Foggy had been hurt and vulnerable. But he would come to see it from Matt’s perspective, eventually. He would realize that what Matt had said was correct. Matt was just trying to protect Foggy. They couldn’t…They couldn’t continue like they had been. It was Matt’s fault. He had let his guard down.
Matt didn’t blame Foggy for what had happened. Foggy was a virgin and Matt wasn’t. He didn’t blame Foggy when he would do things like press himself against Matt when they were lying down on the floor together doing their homework, or when he would sit himself in Matt’s lap when Matt was doing something on his computer. It was Matt’s own fault for not stopping it sooner. He needed to control himself better. And he would. As soon as Foggy came around and stopped being angry with him, they could go back to normal. Foggy would see that Matt could control himself. He wouldn’t allow his own twisted feelings for Foggy to hurt him any longer.
Matt made it a week before his resolve broke.
Matt and Foggy didn’t have the same classes. There were very few opportunities for them to see each other during the school day. They had always had to steal time. A few moments during the end of Foggy’s lunch period. A few minutes during electives or special assemblies or during clubs. They would meet up in the library, the lunch room, the practice field.
The library was Matt’s favorite spot to meet up with Foggy during the school day because the shelves were high, the librarian was scarce, and there were private nooks and crannies all over where he and Foggy could slip into and have a private conversation.
When they would meet Foggy would sometimes hug Matt. He didn’t hug him the way that the other boys in Matt’s grade would sometimes briefly touch shoulders or slap each other on the backs after a game or during PE. He would stand on his tip toes and put his arms around Matt’s neck, put his face on his shoulder. He would let Matt put his arms around his waist and hold him tightly and smell the top of his head.
The last time they had met in the library, a week and a half ago, Foggy had mumbled into Matt’s neck “I miss you.” And Matt had had to go to the bathroom afterward to calm himself down or else go back to class sporting a semi.
Matt tried hard not to think about that as he walked into the library, smiling politely at the librarian who greeted him at the circulation desk, and then walked to the back corner.
He knew that Foggy was here already, had known it as soon as he had rounded the corner of the hall. He could smell him, the particular brand of shampoo and conditioner he used.
Foggy hadn’t talked to him all week. He had steadily ignored all of Matt’s calls and texts, and he must be taking the early train into school because he hadn’t been riding the subway with Matt every morning like he was supposed to.
Matt was–maybe not worried–but he needed to know how much longer Foggy was going to be angry with him. He thought that was perfectly reasonable. And since Foggy didn’t seem inclined to speak with him over the phone, then Matt would just need to find him and speak with him at school.
Foggy was at a little table in the corner, head bent low over his notebook when Matt approached him.
“Foggy–” Foggy immediately started packing up his things as soon as he noticed him, not speaking, just studiously grabbing his books and pencils and swinging his bag over his shoulder, preparing to leave.
“Fogs, wait–” Matt grabbed at his arm.
Foggy shook him off. “Don’t call me that.” He was whispering, but his voice was a little shrill. “Only my friends get to call me that.”
Matt felt like he had just been doused in cold water. “I am your friend. “ He said, stung. “I am your friend Foggy.”
Foggy snorted. It was an ugly sound. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days?”
Matt jerked back as though Foggy had slapped him. “What do you mean? Of course I am.”
“I don’t know Matt.” Foggy’s voice was hard. It sounded unnatural on him.”I’ve had a lot of friends, but none that have ever fucked me after prom, and then left me the next morning, hightailing it out of my house like their shoes were on fire.”
Matt’s mouth opened. Closed. “That’s not–” He sounded strangled. “That’s not what happened.”
“You couldn’t wait to leave!” Foggy hissed. “You…You didn’t even want to be around me. You–” Foggy’s voice choked off, and Matt wanted to throw himself off of the Empire State Building.
“Oh sweetheart.” He breathed. “Sweetie no. That’s not what happened. I didn’t want to leave. I never want to leave you.”
Matt hadn’t meant to call Foggy sweetheart. Terms like that just slipped out sometimes when he was talking to Foggy. They had been slipping out more and more often lately when he and Foggy were alone together. Yet more evidence of Matt’s failure of self-control.
It was difficult though, because Foggy was a sweetheart. Was Matt supposed to deny the obvious? He had never been good at doing that.
“Don’t call me sweetheart.” Foggy sounded as miserable as Matt felt, and oh Matt had gotten it all wrong hadn’t he? Foggy wasn’t angry, he was hurt. And Matt couldn’t bear that.
He pulled Foggy in by his hand on his shoulder. Foggy resisted, but not that hard. Matt put an arm around his waist and one hand on the back of his neck, holding him close, and then Foggy was clutching tight to his school shirt and burying his head in his collarbone, sniffling loudly.
“You just left.” Foggy said miserably. “Matt, I had to sit down for breakfast with my parents and my brother and they asked me why you left so quickly and I couldn’t–couldn’t–”
“I know. Shh, I know.” Matt whispered into his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Did you–” Foggy gulped. “Did you not like it? Was it…was it not good? I thought–”
“Fogs, no.” Matt said firmly. “Stop that right now. You know that’s not it. Don’t be ridiculous.”
As if Matt hadn’t been waking up rock hard for the past week, practically humping his mattress remembering how it had felt to be inside of Foggy. As if he hadn’t been jerking himself off in the shower every day to the memory. It had not even occurred to him that Foggy might think that Matt’s consternation was due to–what? Did he think that Matt had just used him for a quick fuck and that now that he had gotten what he wanted, that he was done with him?
“How could you even think that?” Matt murmured.
Foggy stiffened in his arms, pulling back from him. “How could I think that? How could I not? You fuck me–”
“Keep your voice down.” Matt hissed–
“And then tell me to forget all about it, that it’s never going to happen again!” Foggy hissed back. “You tell me, Matt. What am I supposed to think?!”
“I didn’t want you to be–be worried, or concerned, or–” afraid. Matt thought, but didn’t say. “Fogs, we shouldn’t have done that. I’m not blaming you–” He clarified quickly. “It’s my fault. I never should have allowed it to go that far. But that’s what I’m saying. It can never happen again. We can’t let it.”
Foggy was silent in his arms. Then. “Is that what you want?” He asked quietly. Matt blinked. “...What?”
“Is that what you want?” Foggy said again. “For us to be just friends? You keep saying that we shouldn’t, that we can’t, but you never said that you don’t want to.”
Matt closed his eyes. “Fogs. Please.”
“Tell me you don’t want this, Matt.” Foggy was unflinching. “Tell me right now that you don’t think of me that way. That it was a mistake. That you don’t want that with me and I’ll leave it alone. I’ll never say another word about it. We can continue on as we were before, just friends. Tell me that you want that.”
“I–” Matt’s words choked in his mouth. “Foggy–We can’t–”
“Why?” Foggy said. And oh there was that stubbornness again, the stubbornness that Matt both loved and hated. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t. And don’t you dare bring up some religious bullshit. I know you argue with Father Michael all of the time in religion class. You’re not some good little Catholic boy, Matt, so don’t even try it with me.”
Matt floundered. He never thought that Foggy would push back against him this hard. The entire time he and Foggy had known one another, Foggy had trailed after him like a puppy, content to let Matt take the lead on everything that they did. But now, it was unstoppable force Matthew Murdock meets immovable object Franklin Nelson. And for perhaps the first time in his life, Matt found himself outmatched.
How could he make Foggy understand that Matt wasn’t good for him? Foggy was too naive, too trusting. He didn’t understand the world like Matt did. That was why it was good that he had Matt to look out for him. But he needed to listen to him.
“I’m–” Matt stammered. “I’m not. I’m not like that.”
There was a heavy silence between them.
Foggy breathed out heavily through his nose. “Ok.” He said flatly.
Matt twitched. “Ok?”
“Ok.” Foggy said again. “But Matt, I am. I am like that.”
Matt stared toward him. Matt knew that Foggy liked boys. It was impossible for him not to know it. He had heard Foggy’s heartbeat outside the gym when his classmates would dress out for PE. He had heard Foggy’s heartbeat in his bedroom when Matt would casually take his uniform shirt off after school to change into a tshirt when they did their homework. He knew that Foggy had looked. He had enjoyed him looking.
But this was the first time that Foggy had ever said it out loud.
“I am like that.” Foggy continued. “I–I like you Matt. And not just as a friend.”
“Fogs.” Matt breathed, helpless. “Please.”
“If you don’t want to admit to–to whatever it is that’s going on with you, whatever, I can’t force you.” Foggy said. “But don’t ask me to just act like nothing happened between us. To act like I don’t have feelings for you. I can’t do that Matt. I don’t want to do that.”
“Foggy–” Matt said again. He didn’t know what to say. He was reduced to simple pleading.
Foggy stepped away from him, shrugging off Matt’s arms, which fell limply at his sides, dangling uselessly.
“I’m sorry.” Foggy said, voice so soft that Matt would have had to strain his ears to hear him, if he wasn’t himself. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Matt said in alarm. “Fogs, do what?”
“I love you.” Foggy said, and Matt jerked back as though Foggy had attempted a swing at him, the words landing on him like a blow. “I can’t pretend that I don’t. I’m sorry.”
And Foggy left, gathering up his things silently, leaving Matt to stand like a mannequin in the corner, alone.