9 = “kissing anywhere but the lips” [eta: actually I just realized that it was a totally different prompt but uhhhhm here’s this thing?]
this ended up being, like, PG-rated fluff instead of pwp buuuuut:
When Matt gets drunk, it goes one of two ways—he gets kind of dark, like he forgets how to hide his sharper edges or like he forgets how to hide in general, or he gets outwardly affectionate. Foggy’s pretty sure that he’s the only person who gets the see a lot of the former, but the latter is given freely and often. Nobody’s safe from a rib-cracking hug when Matt’s had just the right amount of liquor.
Foggy’s a fan of the hugs. A dedicated fan of the hugs. It’s the kisses that are becoming a problem.
*
“Hey,” Matt says, after a few too many shots at a terrible frat party, taking Foggy’s face in his hands.
“Hi,” Foggy says, smiling despite the fact that his heart feels like it’s about to escape his chest once and for all.
Matt’s face is very serious as he leans up to press a kiss to Foggy’s forehead before he lets go of him.
“…thank you?” Foggy says, and Matt grins.
“You’re welcome,” he says, wrapping his arms around Foggy and basically squeezing the air out of him.
*
“Shut up,” Matt says, laughing and shoving Foggy away while Foggy’s trying to cling to his shoulder and sing in his ear.
“I’m serenading you,” Foggy says, stumbling back into him, getting an arm around Matt’s waist and feeling kind of warm when Matt leans into the touch. “Embrace it.”
Matt says, “Fine, keep singing,” but he turns his head to press a messy kiss to Foggy’s cheek, which is distracting enough to make Foggy forget all of the words.
*
Drunk Matt falls asleep slowly in Foggy’s lap after a few beers, yawns loudly and moves to press a kiss to Foggy’s bare knee, mumbling something about him being comfortable.
Drunk Matt spends five minutes playing intently with Foggy’s fingers before he brings his hand up to his mouth to kiss Foggy’s knuckles.
Drunk Matt kisses Foggy’s hair and Foggy’s temple and, once, delicately, when they were falling asleep in the same bed, the soft skin on the inside of Foggy’s wrist.
It’s amazing.
It’s—the worst.
*
The next time Matt kisses him, he’s had one beer, turning where he’s sitting in a booth next to Foggy and pressing a kiss somewhere low on his jaw.
“Uhm,” Foggy says.
“That– that was supposed to be your cheek,” Matt says, going pink.
“Okay,” Foggy says.
They’re silent for a long time before Foggy turns to press his mouth to Matt’s in one impulsive move, jostling the table in his haste. Matt makes a surprised noise, but it turns into a laugh, his hand curving around Foggy’s cheek as he kisses him back.
“I’m not drunk,” Foggy says, when they break the kiss.
“Me, either,” Matt says, face soft. “Kiss me again?”
“Sure,” Foggy agrees, happily.
oh my god, they were roommates 