Threesome for Two

NSFW warning: While not explicit, this story does contain sex scenes. If you are a minor, you must turn back now. If you are not a minor but dislike stuff like that, you don’t HAVE to turn back, but maybe you should. xD

Foggy Nelson was not one for polyamory. And yet, at this point in his life he found himself dating two men. Sort of. It was bliss, really. Mostly.

Being with Matt - as in being together, as boyfriends, as lovers, as partners, not only in business - was a dream come true. No longer afraid to slip up, no longer frantically willing his heart to calm down, being free to express what he felt, improved Foggy’s life a lot. And the knowledge that Matt had struggled with similar fears in the past helped to feel less like a love-sick idiot. At least a little bit less.

They both had felt it, had wanted each other. Sometimes, Foggy felt compelled to mourn the lost time. But then, the optimist in him took over and he decided to look forward to the times to come instead.

Foggy loved waking in the morning, with strong limbs around him. It did not get old to wrestle for his freedom against a grumbling and pouting Matt. Laughing, Foggy would wiggle and writhe until he could finally roll out of bed with a triumphant cry, knowing full well to be only free because Matt let him go. More often than not though, their wrestling led to more carnal activities so they had gotten in the habit of setting the alarm for one hour earlier. That way they could indulge in said activities without being late and exposed to smirking Karen and pissed off clients.

Everything was the same and everything had changed.

Matt’s stunning smiles, coincidental yet lingering touches and the hand offered at lunch break - were just like in old times. Those gestures still said “You’re my best friend”, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you”, and “I love you”, but also “I’m in love with you”.

“Date nights” were not much different from their “friendly hangouts”. They would drink, joke around and sing off tune until Josie threatened to throw them out (but never did). But when they arrived and left, Matt’s hand would lay on the small of Foggy’s back, very protective and a tiny bit possessive. During the evening their legs would brush against each other and ever so often Matt’s hand would land on Foggy’s knee or thigh. Small gestures but they said “I want you”, “You’re mine” and “You’re the one I’m going home with”.

Perfect.

The other man though… Most of the time invisible, he could always be felt. He was reckless, dangerous and uncompromising. He smelt of blood and dust and of the night. Whether or not he tasted the same, Foggy could not know. He did not kiss the other man or touch him outside of stitching his wounds.

Nobody had set the rules. But they were clear and followed without question. The other man tapped on the window, Foggy let him in, asked if he needed first aid and went back to bed when the answer was no. In the living room, the other man undressed, then went into the bathroom. Matt, freshly showered, slipped under the covers, pulling Foggy close. Sometimes he turned on the light on the nightstand before his hands wandered underneath Foggy’s shirt. So Foggy could be sure it was Matt who took him apart, sweet and slow, with clean hands and lips. That it was Matt who whispered words of adoration and love as he moved inside Foggy and cried out his name when he came.

The other man lived in the shadows of Hell’s Kitchen and in Matt’s closet. Sometimes, when Foggy and Matt cooked together, had dinner or snuggled on the couch, Foggy narrating a movie for Matt, it seemed like the other man was banging on the door from inside. It was impossible but they both heard it.

*

It was raining. The sky had been painted in dark grey all day, drizzling droplets falling constantly. But now, after midnight, it was pouring. A constant stream of heavy drops plattered down on the streets of Hell’s kitchen, wind and rain pounded against the windows.

There was no way Foggy would hear a knock. So he stayed awake, staring at the traces of water running along the glass, the streetlight breaking in the wet pattern.

It was almost 1 am when the familiar shadow appeared. Foggy rushed over to unlock the window and open it. With a murmured “thank you”, Daredevil slipped in.

He looked alright. Some scratches. But his posture was slumped, the bruised lips were pressed into a thin line. For a moment he did not move as if unsure what to do. Apparently, this was not a good night.

“Are you hurt?” Foggy asked, to break the silence.

“I’m… not bleeding,” Daredevil said.

It was sort of an answer.

“Should I get the first aid kit?”

Daredevil shook his head. “I’m fine.” That was a lie and not a good one.

Foggy looked at the man. All strength and muscle, skill and resourcefulness. But tonight he lost. Of course, Foggy did not know the details. But usually when Daredevil lost, innocent people lost, too, which doubled Daredevil’s loss.

Foggy was dating two men. Both smart, capable and incredibly hot. One of them sweet and charming, the other… dangerous and broken. Yes, he liked the first one better. But the other one needed him more.

So when Daredevil moved to leave the bedroom, Foggy took hold of his arm. Daredevil tilted his head, expecting Foggy to say something. But Foggy brought their chests flush against each other and put his hands on Daredevil’s neck. He took the surprised gasp right from Daredevil’s mouth with a kiss.

Daredevil’s lips were cold and wet. They tasted of rain, of sweat and faintly of blood. There was a split near Daredevil’s cupid bow and Foggy could not help but wonder if it had been a fist, a weapon, a stonewall or the concrete that had caused it. But he would not ask. Not now.

It took Daredevil a moment to catch up. But when he did, it was like a dam breaking. He grabbed Foggy’s hair and deepened the kiss. Demanding and greedy, he growled against Foggy’s lips until Foggy opened up. Daredevil licked into his mouth, mapping out familiar yet unknown territory.

The bed was right there and yet they ended up on the floor. At least, the bed stays clean that way, Foggy found himself thinking as Daredevil wrestled him down. Not unlike horny teenagers they moved against each other on the ground, teeth and tongues colliding, not elegant but appealing nonetheless.

Daredevil ripped the clothes off of Foggy - quite literally when it came to the shirt, the boxers might be salvageable. Impressively fast, Daredevil freed the relevant parts of his own body from the costume. As he dipped his hands between Foggy’s legs, he halted in surprise.

“You were waiting for me,” he said.

“I was,” Foggy answered. It was half-true after all.

At once, Daredevil was on him again. It was short, desperate and filthy. Daredevil was rough, not holding back any of his strength, and Foggy would be sore in the morning.

But Foggy could not bring himself to care. Not on the floor and surely not under the shower when Matt with a regretful expression cleaned them both up. Foggy did his best to whisper the guilt from Matt’s face and mind between tender and reassuring kisses.

I’m fine.

We’re good.

I love you.

When Matt was wrapped around him later in bed, it was like always. Maybe the hold was a bit tighter, maybe Foggy only thought it was.

Matt Murdock and Daredevil. Who was the mask and who was real? Who was vessel, who was possessor? Would one of them disappear one day or could they co-exist forever?

But Foggy knew, deep down, that there was no answer because the questions were all wrong.

Foggy was not dating two men. He dated one. A good man. Flawed. Scarred. Haunted. But good. Matt was a good man who was hiding part of himself.

There were good reasons to do that, but it was hard. Here, in their home, things should not be hard for him. He should not have to hide anything from Foggy. Not ever.

So Foggy scratched the rules. And he would make sure Matt knew they were scratched.

Sighing, Foggy turned in Matt’s embrace so he could press a soft kiss on Matt’s jaw.

“I love you,” Foggy whispered. “All of you.”

The End