Now
Foggy was almost home. His steps were the only sound when he crossed the street. He winced at the stench from the trash cans, positioned on the sidewalk for garbage disposal. A short breeze stirred up old newspapers on the ground, their rustling breaking the nightly silence.
The area was familiar as were the sounds of the late evening. While the black giant that was his apartment building was not exactly pretty, it had lost its intimidating effect a while ago. There was nothing to fear. Rationally speaking. Still, Foggy’s heart was pounding wildly. Since he’d left the office, the little hairs on his neck stood up. Maybe it was just the amount of paranoia any sane inhabitant of Hell’s Kitchen indulged in. In times like these, being overly careful was not necessarily a flaw.
A noise startled Foggy. Not loud in itself, but still deafening in the otherwise so quiet neighbourhood. It might be the wind, an alley cat or a late night smoker on a fire escape... or something else entirely.
Foggy would not necessarily call himself a “gut person” (well, a lot of mean-spirited classmates did in his childhood, but they had an entirely different meaning in mind) nor a “head person”. Both his instincts and his brain had gotten him into trouble - well, admittedly, it was mostly his mouth but neither instincts nor brain ever stopped it so there was that. Sometimes his intuition saved him, sometimes his intelligence - which was, no matter what others said, noteworthy thank you very much - did the honors. But now both screamed at him to stop dawdling and get into the safety of his home already.
And they had a point, really.
It was not far now. He took the last couple of steps running, knowing full well that he could not outrun any of Hell’s Kitchen’s criminals.
More luck than good aim had his shaking hands find the keyhole at first try. Quickly, he turned the key and let himself into the building. Releasing a long breath, he leant against the main door for a minute before making his way to the elevator.
In his relief, he dismissed the creaking of old wood. Just a neighbour, home late as well. Maybe Mrs. Roger’s chubby cat, after slipping out of the door again. Or the janitor, making sure the trash cans were out.
The handle of the basement door moved. Rules out the cat , went through his mind when the door opened and a black-cladded arm pulled him into the darkness.
Then
Not long after puberty’d hit Foggy had figured he was bisexual. Yet he’d started with dating girls because it was the “done thing”. Another “done thing” was the guy taking charge when things got more heated. Ergo, it was what Foggy did.
So when his first boyfriend, after a round of sweet kissing, suddenly let out a deep rumble, grabbed Foggy’s wrists and pinned him down, a startled noise fell from Foggy’s lips.
“Sorry,” Darren said immediately, cheeks turning red, as he loosened his grip. “I… I got a bit carried away.”
“It’s… it’s fine,” Foggy assured. “Just didn’t expect that.”
“I’d never hurt you,” Darren promised.
Everything inside Foggy protested and this was ridiculous. Who would object to a statement like that? But suddenly Darren’s sweetness was too sweet, saccharine and cloying. The featherlight touches were not enough, the loving kisses too reverent.
“I’ll be careful.”
Please hurt me.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want.”
Just take me. Don’t ask me.
“Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
Treat me like I don’t matter.
“Thank you,” Foggy said. “I trust you.”
And that was that.
Now
Before Foggy had processed what was happening, the basement door fell shut again. A gloved hand covered his mouth while a strong arm circled around his body. The stranger pulled Foggy down the stairs, easily maneuvering Foggy’s weight without even once struggling to keep his balance on the narrow steps.
Arriving at the foot of the stairwell, the stranger halted. For a moment, he stood completely still as if waiting or listening or both. Then he was in motion again. With much less effort than Foggy’s pride allowed him to acknowledge, the man dragged him to the boiler room which should have been locked but wasn’t.
Foggy was pushed inside. With an undignified sound, he fell on his knees while the heavy door clicked shut. When Foggy turned, he saw a dark figure use a loose board to block the handle. He was trapped.
The room was dark. A greenish emergency light was the only illumination and Foggy blinked as his eyes adjusted. The stranger apparently had no such concerns. With quick steps, he approached Foggy. He bent to grab the lapels of Foggy’s shirt. Foggy gasped when he was pulled to his feet and slammed against the hard stone wall.
Up so close he could see his attacker well enough. And he recognized him.
“Daredevil”
Then
Love at first sight was not for Foggy. In both ways actually.
While he could acknowledge another person’s beauty of course, he found the concept of loving someone without knowing any of their personality traits pretty self-contradictory. Because was love not an affection for another being based on who they were? And looks hardly told you anything about that. Foggy could very well be flustered on first sight - his less than smooth greeting of Matt Murdock being proof of that. But love? No, love had to grow. When it did, Foggy loved fully - his ridiculous devotion to Matt Murdock being proof of that .
But he also was rarely the target of love at first sight. What most people meant when saying love at first sight - an immediate attraction to a person’s appearance - was just not something he awoke. Foggy did not think of himself as ugly, despite the media equating beauty with thinness in images and words. But he knew that whoever picked their partners on looks alone, would not pick him.
So the people he dated were smart, funny and kind. Of course, they appreciated these traits in Foggy. They liked him, cared for him, respected him. Too much to just wrestle him down, pin his arms and use him.
Who would do such a thing? To sweet, adorable Foggy Nelson of all people?
Now
It was not Daredevil. Not really. Right man, wrong costume. Actually, it was The Devil of Hell’s kitchen in the old black suit with the black mask, not the red and black armor Daredevil wore these days. But Foggy’s mind was too aware of the new name.
“What do you want?” Foggy asked. He had meant it to sound firm, maybe challenging, but it came out as a breathless whisper.
At some point, Daredevil must have gotten rid of his gloves. The hand that was now sliding along Foggy’s cheek was bare as was the one tangling in his hair.
“You,” came the simple answer.
Foggy swallowed. Then he schooled his face into a relaxed expression. Trying to appear more confident than he was, he let out a short laugh.
“Ah, yeah, well, Daredevil,” he said casually while his buckling knees gave him away. “That… that’s not on the table, I’m afraid.”
The pressure of the muscled body against Foggy’s soft one increased. At first, Daredevil’s mouth only twitched a little, but soon it curled into an amused smile.
“Oh, I’m not asking,” Daredevil said, low-voiced. “And I won’t need a table when there is a perfectly good wall.”
“Ha, funny,” Foggy said, in vain trying to keep panic from creeping into his tone.
“You’re enticing, you know that?” Daredevil said. “Your voice, your heartbeat,” he buried his nose in Foggy’s throat and breathed in, “your smell - irresistible.”
“Too bad,” Foggy hissed. “I don’t find people in black pajamas who think they’re above the law enticing at all. Don’t you have a city to terrorize and an ego to feed?”
Daredevil smirked and cocked his head. “Always running that mouth of yours,” he tutted, swiping a thumb across Foggy’s bottom lip. “Basically begging for it to be occupied otherwise.”
Foggy sputtered at the less than subtle innuendo. However, he could not think of a clever comeback right now. So he continued pushing against Daredevil’s chest. It was futile and Foggy knew it, but there lay a morbid fascination in watching Daredevil standing firm, not even budging while Foggy used all his strength. Mesmerized, he pressed against the hard torso until a dark chuckle sounded.
“That’s quite enough,” Daredevil said.
With a swift move, he grabbed Foggy’s hands and pinned them above his head. Foggy’s eyes widened when Daredevil took both his wrists into one large hand, easily holding them in place. His free hand moved to roam across Foggy’s chest.
Foggy drew in a sharp breath. Nimble fingers found the buttons of his shirt, dexterously undoing one by one. Struggling in Daredevil’s hold, Foggy tried to stop him.
“You can’t just…”
“I can though, can’t I?” Daredevil interrupted.
To make his point he tightened his grip on Foggy’s wrists and pressed their crotches together. An unintentional moan fell from Foggy’s lips. After a moment of silence, Daredevil laughed.
“Now, Sweetheart,” he said. “Be good and it will barely hurt.”
Then
With burning cheeks, Foggy ended his explanations. For a while, he did not dare to meet Marci’s eyes, but then her hand landed softly on his knee.
“Hey, Foggy-bear,” she said, unusually tender. “That is nothing to be ashamed of. I get that it’s not easy to share and thank you for trusting me with it.”
“So you don’t think I’m sick and perverted?” Foggy jested.
She smiled. “No, I really don’t. Fantasies like that are common and absolutely fine to have.”
Something hopeful rose in Foggy’s chest. But it was squashed back down when her smile faded and she said, “But…”
“But…?” he encouraged.
“It’s not something I can give you,” she sighed. “I… That’s not for me, Foggy-bear. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind being the one in charge and calling the shots…”
“I noticed,” Foggy deadpanned and grinned.
Giggling, she climbed onto his lap and straddled him.
“And I intend to keep doing it,” she said. “But that… I’m not comfortable with this.”
Foggy nodded. At least, she did not judge him or ran out on him.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed,” she said, suddenly wearing a hauntingly vulnerable expression so unlike her usually so cock-sure demeanor.
Not liking this at all, Foggy kissed the insecurity off of her face.
“I can think of many words to describe you,” he said. “‘Disappointing’ is not one of them.”
“Charmer,” she purred while she brushed her nose against his.
“I’m sure we’ll keep finding things we both enjoy,” he said.
And they did. Just not… that.
Now
Foggy was on his knees. The hard ground ruined his trousers and chafed his skin. But Daredevil was uncaring. His left hand tugged harshly on Foggy’s hair while the right pressed down on his shoulder to keep him in place.
Foggy’s lips were stretched obscenely around Daredevil’s cock. Now and again, the tip would hit the back of his throat, making him gag and choke. Each time, Daredevil would chuckle cruelly but then give Foggy a reprieve in the form of a couple of shallow thrusts.
The cock in his mouth was warm and heavy against Foggy’s tongue, the rhythm of the thrusts hypnotizing and the sheer want in Daredevil’s voice overwhelming.
“So good,” he whispered. “You were made for this.”
Tears were running down Foggy’s cheeks. But there was no denying his body’s traitorous reactions at the sensations and the words. His own manhood was hardening and his whole form trembled in excitement. He could tell himself that his groans were those of distress and humiliation alone, but both he and his captor knew better.
After a while, Daredevil pushed Foggy off his cock. Again Daredevil pulled him to his feet and pressed him against the wall - face first this time. Unceremoniously, he ripped down Foggy’s pants and let his hard member glide against Foggy’s arse cheeks.
One strong arm held Foggy in place. So he could not see what Daredevil was doing, but he heard the familiar sound of a bottle being uncapped.
“No,” he whispered and started struggling. “Daredevil, please…”
A growl, accompanied by an elbow, digging into his back, stopped his movements. Daredevil stepped closer and licked along Foggy’s earshell.
“This is happening,” he said. “I can take you like that - or prepare you.”
To emphasise his point, he poked against Foggy’s cleft with his impressive erection. A shudder ran through Foggy as he imagined taking this with spit and a prayer. So he nodded.
“Alright.”
“Thought so,” Daredevil said smugly.
Then
Foggy never really stopped loving Matt. As a friend and romantically, too. The former was too important for him to risk it by pursuing the latter. So Foggy didn’t. But those feelings never went away. They were on hiatus, now and again, when someone else awoke Foggy’s fancy, but in the end, they always came back. Bit like a rash, but with a different kind of itch.
Still, for all the years of loving Matt, Matt rarely featured in Foggy’s darker fantasies. Sometimes he was on Foggy’s mind at the beginning of a masturbation session. Maybe Foggy would think of his perfect face or the charming smile at the first tentative touches. But when Foggy went deeper, when his arousal grew, it changed.
Foggy’s thoughts were crowded with dark, ruthless strangers who degraded and used him. There was no room for kind and gentle Matt.
Then Foggy found out. His best friend, Matt Sweet-Blind-Guy-Who-Could-Not-Hurt-A-Fly Murdock was a dark, ruthless stranger. Every night he went out to beat up the bad guys who escaped the law.
The whole situation put an end to any and all masturbation fantasies for a while. There was no erection to be had when each night Foggy’s eyes were brimming with the sting of betrayal and loneliness as his world was crumbling around him. Because most of his world was made of Matt who apparently was not at all who Foggy thought he was.
Slowly, they reconciled. Matt was willing to let Foggy in and Foggy began to understand. And, most importantly, Foggy saw that - while Matt had lied - the person Matt was not a complete lie. The same old handsome dork was still there, but there were new aspects about him. Dark aspects.
Matt still did not feature in Foggy’s dark fantasies though. The Devil of Hell’s kitchen, however, did.
Now
After what seemed like an eternity, the long fingers withdrew. They left Foggy open and wet, gasping at the sudden emptiness. The constant attacks against his prostate had brought him to full hardness, the unwanted erection adding to his humiliation.
“There.” Daredevil petted Foggy’s hair in a mockery of tenderness. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His cock was pressing into Foggy’s back, insistent and dripping with precum.
“Just… get it over with,” Foggy said, defeated.
“You will look at me,” Daredevil growled.
In another display of his superior strength, he whirled Foggy around. Roughy, he grabbed his captive’s arse cheeks and used the hold to lift Foggy up the wall. Yelping, Foggy - on instinct - slung his legs around Daredevil’s waist, earning himself another smug snicker.
“You still want to pretend you don’t want this?” he mocked. “Running around all alone late at night, smelling so sweetly? And now spreading your legs for me like the little slut you are? You’re asking for it.”
Foggy wanted to protest. But the tip of the erection nudging at his entrance had all words dying on his tongue. He whined when he was breached. The preparation had been thorough and eased the way, but it had been a while and he was tight.
But Daredevil took his time. He was determined and insistent, but not impatient or brutal. Then, Foggy’s body yielded. The tight channel gave and Daredevil took.
He pushed in up to the hilt. Foggy gasped and his hands flew to Daredevil’s shoulders.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Daredevil teased. “Hold on to me.”
Lifting his head, Daredevil grinned at Foggy. He bottomed out and pushed back in forcefully. Without giving Foggy any more time to adjust, he began thrusting, setting a punishing pace from the beginning.
“Your own fault,” he growled. “For being so Goddamn tempting. Little, attention seeking whore.”
Foggy keened. The large cock dragged along his inner walls, brushing over his prostate again and again. His own manhood stood tall, trapped between his stomach and Daredevil’s. Teeth dug into his throat and shoulder ever so often and a constant stream of degrading words fell from Daredevil’s seductive lips, right into Foggy’s mind.
But then, it was not Daredevil’s voice anymore. He was not in Daredevil’s unrelenting hold. It was not Daredevil taking him against the wall. Suddenly, Foggy was too aware of the man behind the mask.
Shit, shit, shit, shit. That had been a bad idea. Very bad idea. He’d thought he was over it, he’d thought he could compartmentalize. Turned out, Foggy could not. All his stupid feelings bubbled to the surface, threatening to trip over his stupid tongue and fall out. Every thrust, every breath, every second in these strong arms, carved a hole into his chest, laying bare his heart.
“Matty!” he sobbed as his orgasm hit him.
Hot white pleasure washed over him and ripped him away before he could wonder if his breaking voice gave away his breaking heart.