It’s so easy to just fall down. To drop backwards onto the mattress and let Matt climb on top of him. They’ve been doing this for a few weeks now, but it might as well have been forever. Just as each time might as well be the first time.
They make clothes disappear and their cocks stand tall like with expert hands, like they’ve never done anything else. But Matt’s perfect body looming above Foggy, the strong hands touching his skin, Matt riding or fucking him, is like a beautiful yet terrifying foreign country each time.
They discussed it. Like adults, like lawyers, like adult lawyers. Foggy was absolutely behind this: Matt and Foggy, friends with benefits. Awesome. A handsome strong guy in his bed with no complicated strings or annoying obligations. Fantastic.
Matt sinks down on Foggy’s cock. With abandon, Matt rides him, groaning out compliments and obscenities. The rhythm of his motions, firm and insistent, is almost hypnotizing. Not that Foggy needs hypnotizing to give Matt whatever he wants, but it helps keeping quiet, to keep the secrets wordless. Some secrets nobody wants to know so nobody should tell them.
Instead, Foggy focuses on Matt’s face. It’s beautiful, lost in pleasure and ecstasy. The unseeing eyes are closed, the perceptive hands do their job, skimming Foggy’s cheeks, his chest, his throat. Matt loves circling a hand - gentle, always gentle - around Foggy’s throat. He says he likes feeling the heat and the pulse.
It’s fine. After all, Foggy knows Matt would never hurt him. And if it makes Foggy feel like he is Matt’s for a moment, nobody has to know.
“Touch me,” Matt demands and Foggy obediently curls his fingers around Matt’s cock.
With a deep moan, Matt throws his head back. After a few strokes, he paints Foggy’s stomach in pearly white, his hole clenching around Foggy’s cock tightly. Holding on to Matt’s waist, Foggy follows Matt over the edge. Afterwards, Matt bends down to press a kiss on Foggy’s welcoming lips. Sweat slicked red hair tickles Foggy’s face and he buries his fingers in it.
Matt has promised to keep Foggy busy all night. Not for a second Foggy doubted it. Matt’s stamina is as impressive as his refractory period is short. Good. Less time for thinking. After all, what is there to think about? It’s just sex, plain and simple.
Foggy turns around when Matt asks him to. With impressive speed and eerie precision, Matt prepares Foggy, never ceasing to sooth him, to tell him how good he is doing. The tender words go right towards Foggy’s cock, but some unfortunately get caught in his heart on the way, ripping some pieces out before fluttering on. How can something so soft be so sharp at the edges?
Why Foggy is doing this to himself, Kirsten wanted to know during lunch. Of course, Foggy played dumb, asked whatever she was talking about. Sex was fun after all. Great fun. For a moment Foggy remembers Kirsten’s face when he spoke, hauntingly soft and full of sympathy.
But then his mind is full of Matt again, of his voice, whispering sweet things into Foggy’s ear and the large cock buried deep inside him. Aiming for Foggy’s special spot, Matt makes every shot count. His hips snap roughly against Foggy’s ass, his hand tangles in Foggy’s hair, pulling ever so often.
When Matt’s thrusts start losing their steady rhythm, Matt reaches around Foggy. He curls his fingers around Foggy’s abandoned manhood. It takes him five strokes to bring Foggy to completion and he follows fast.
Secret words teether on Foggy’s lips as Matt rides out his pleasure. They don’t slip. Foggy doesn’t let them.
Foggy returns with clean towels. In fond exasperation, he sighs when he sees Matt. The beautiful bastard sits on the edge of the bed with spread legs.
“There are other ways you could clean me up,” he says innocently.
“You, sir,” Foggy says as he steps closer, “are insatiable. And gross.”
Grinning smugly, Matt grabs the back of Foggy’s head. He pulls him into a short kiss and claims, “Ah come on, you like it.”
“Guess I do,” Foggy whispers, wondering shortly if Matt can hear hearts breaking as well.
For the longest time, Foggy did metaphorically sink to his knees for Matt on a regular basis. So it comes to no surprise that these days he does so literally.
“Fuck,” Matt breathes out when Foggy wraps his lips around Matt’s cock.
Foggy enjoys this. He likes the warm weight against his tongue, the stretch of his lips. The praises Matt moans turn Foggy’s cheeks red and his heart to jelly.
Foggy’s not a superhero. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t accompany Matt when he patrols with Jess, Luke and Danny. Foggy can’t lift a car, summon the power of a Dragon or shield people from bullets with his body. He’s not Spiderman, Captain America or Iron Man. He can’t join in when Matt and his hero friends recount their adventures, when they laugh about a stupid opponent they fought or plan their next night out.
Foggy takes Matt in deeper. The hand in his hair tightens and begins to guide his movements.
That Foggy can do. He can help Matt take the edge off, can offer release without the burden of a complicated relationship, can be a warm body during a cold night.
If it hurts a bit, it hurts a bit. Matt slipping away, losing him to people who are more like him, having him find Foggy has nothing to give, would hurt way more.
So when Matt comes down Foggy’s throat, Foggy swallows. The cum and the “I love you”.
Both are bitter on his tongue.