returnsandreturns:

i’m gonna write something really filthy to justify my blog getting marked as explicit, i guess 

i guess that’s what i need to do

an unfinished dirty talk scrap i got bored with

It turns out Matt is completely filthy in bed. Foggy’s not that surprised, but he’d convinced himself in old fantasies that Matt was probably a horrible romantic. All soft touches and kisses and whispers. Not a hint of teeth. Real lovemaking.

And their first time is kind of like that, slow and sweet on Matt’s silk sheets, both of them testing the waters until Foggy asks Matt to fuck him harder and, when he’s fucking Foggy hard, Matt asks him if he likes it—not in a considerate way, more like a I already know you like it because you’re moaning for me but I’m gonna make you say it anyway way and the illusion that Matt’s a gentleman goes out the window. Which Foggy is fine with.

Because holy shit. Matt’s got stuff to say.

“You kiss your priest with that mouth?” Foggy asks, panting, sprawled out on his back with come cooling on his stomach.

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Matt says, turning to press a kiss to Foggy’s temple.

“Yeah, it was—quite a conversation,” Foggy says, laughing softly. “It was fun.”

“You wanna keep having fun?” Matt asks.

“Tonight? I think you wore me out.”

“No,” Matt says. “I mean…I want to keep doing this.”

“Fucking me senseless?” Foggy asks.

“Yes, exactly,” Matt says, dryly, but he climbs on top of Foggy again to kiss him on the mouth and ask softly, “You want me, Fog?”

Foggy’s wanted Matt—forever.

He never expected to get him.

“Yeah, Matty,” he says, running his fingers over Matt’s jaw. “I want you.”

*

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Foggy says, sprawled out on his elbows with Matt behind him, fucking him so hard that it’s hard to use intelligible words.

“You’re so tight,” Matt says. “God—take it, baby.”

Matt calls him baby sometimes.

Foggy doesn’t hate it.

“Give it to me,” he gasps, pushing back to show Matt exactly how much he wants it—and he wants it, feels more desperate than he’s ever been to have someone inside of him, someone’s hands bruising his hips.

Matt leans down to press a kiss to the top of Foggy’s spine, graze his teeth and tongue over his neck.

“You love it,” he says, breath hot on Foggy’s skin, slowing down but thrusting in hard enough to jolt Foggy forward every time so he slides on the silk sheets. “Don’t you, Fog?”

“No,” Foggy says. “I’m just putting—oh fuck—putting up with it.”

“I could stop,” Matt says, pulling out slowly.

“No you fucking can’t,” Foggy says, crying out when Matt slams back in.

“Then tell me how much you love taking my dick,” Matt says, grinding against him.

“Let me count the ways,” Foggy mutters.