Tag: pluckyredhead

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returnsandreturns:

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returnsandreturns:

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returnsandreturns:

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i’m watching sex and the city and now i want 30-something sex columnist foggy and eligible single bachelor matt and…that’s all i’ve got but i want it

Foggy’s column is about trying out sex-related things (light BDSM! watching porn together! putting IcyHot on your bits! he didn’t like that last one) but he and Marci just ended their friends with benefits arrangement for the ninth time and he has a column due TOMORROW and he’s FREAKING OUT…

…and then his best friend volunteers to help.

this is very good

“I have to have sex with someone
on a washing machine right now,” Foggy
says, stumbling through the door at Josie’s and throwing himself into the chair
in front of Matt.

“Well, time to go,” Jessica says,
finishing her whiskey and standing up.

“It would be fun! I mean—probably!”
Foggy calls after her, before slumping down in his seat and moaning. “Matty, I’m
getting fired.”

“Where’s Marci?” Matt asks,
amused.

“She ditched me,” Foggy says, leaning
over to steal Matt’s beer, “for a Wall Street broker with a big dick and an
obnoxiously nice face.”  

“You’ve met him?” Matt asks,
raising his eyebrows.

“Nope,” Foggy says, sighing. “She
sent me a picture and a measurement. My deadline’s tomorrow—I’m fucked.”

“Well, technically you’re not,” Matt says,
laughing when Foggy balls up a napkin and throws it at him. “Come on, you write
a sex column—surely there’s somebody you can hook up with.”

“I made calls,” Foggy says. “I
made ten calls. Turns out most people don’t want their sexual exploits written
about in the paper, even anonymously—who knew?”

“You and Marci do have a certain unique form of
shamelessness,” Matt says. “What about Karen?”

“Yes, I should just casually
sleep with a coworker and my best
friend’s ex,” Foggy says. “That’s not a terrible plan at all. Come on, I need your
A game right now, Murdock.”

Matt nods and takes his beer
back, finishing it off.

“I’ll do it with you,” he says, calmly.

“…excuse me?” Foggy asks.

“Well, I don’t want you getting fired,” Matt says reasonably. “Who would pay your half of the rent?” He makes a thoughtful face. “The difficult thing will be getting a washing machine. I don’t think the laundromat down the street would appreciate your journalistic endeavors.”

“Danny has one at his place, I was going to ask him,” Foggy says automatically. “Let’s go back to the part where you said you’d do it.”

“Well, do you have a better idea?”

Keep reading

They’re walking down the sidewalk
toward Danny’s place, Foggy’s laundry bag with condoms and lube on top slung
over one shoulder and Matt’s hand holding onto his arm, when Foggy breaks and
says, “Okay, how are you being so cool about this? I didn’t even know you slept
with men.”

“I’ve been known to,” Matt says.

Keep reading

He will never tell Marci this, but normally, when preparing for the actual sex part of his sex column, Foggy is thinking less about the handcuffs or the whipped cream or the aromatherapy oils and more about how he’s going to write about the handcuffs, whipped cream, etc. Even while doing things that seriously entice – or intimidate – him, a good percentage of his mind is hung up on racy turns of phrase, atrocious puns, and trying to come up with a non-stupid synonym for “nipple.”

Standing here in Danny’s laundry room, though, Foggy can’t think about anything but Matt.

Keep reading

“I—uhm—” Matt says, laughter in his voice
even though Foggy’s clearly thrown him off which is—amazing. He doesn’t get the upper hand that often and especially
not in a way that has the blush spreading to Matt’s cheeks.

“Or you could have both,” he says, stepping closer,
placing a hand on Matt’s arm.

Keep reading

“Yeah, nothing fancy, just on my phone,” Foggy says.

Matt furrows his brow. “This isn’t a cool visual feature of your column you’ve so far neglected to mention, is it?”

“No, no!” Foggy says hastily, half laughing and half horrified. “Just…if I need to reference it later. It’s a way of taking notes without, like…” He crouches over and holds up an imaginary phone. “Siri, add to Notes: spanking isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

“Says you,” Matt mutters, and Foggy chokes. “So it’s just for research?”

Keep reading

“You caught me,” Foggy says, dryly. “Want to stop?”

“Nah,” Matt says, settling in again and sighing.
“Might as well see it through.”

Keep reading

Matt lets out a laugh that’s mostly air. “Are you kidding me right now?” he asks.

“For once, no,” Foggy says. He feels…dizzy, maybe? with the idea that Matt might have wanted this as much and for as long as Foggy did. Does. Always will.

Matt groans and tips his head up like he’s beseeching heaven for answers. Foggy’s atheist-ish these days, but he still really hopes Matt’s god isn’t watching them right now.

“Put something in me and I’ll tell you,” Matt says.

Well.

Keep reading

“For how long?” Foggy asks, responding to Matt’s annoyed groan with a second finger, stroking inside of him experimentally until Matt’s whole body jerks forward. 

“If you don’t stop interrogating me,” Matt says, panting and pushing back onto Foggy’s fingers again, which is–Jesus Christ. It’s a lot. “The cycle’s going to be over before you actually fuck me.”

Keep reading

“…I don’t know, okay?” Matt says, knocking his forehead against the washing machine. Foggy’s heart stutters for a minute before Matt goes on: “I wanted you before I knew I wanted you.”

“…Yeah?” Foggy asks. He doesn’t sound as cool as he wants, but he thinks Matt’s too far gone to care.

Matt drags in a shaky breath. “I didn’t…I didn’t know I liked guys. And then you…I wanted to smell you, all the time. And touch you. I spent like a week sophomore year daydreaming about pulling your hair and couldn’t figure out why.”

Keep reading

There aren’t that many
situations where Foggy doesn’t have something to say–last time it involved
Matt, he was unconscious for long enough that Foggy basically had time to rest
and write a monologue. Now, though–there’s a definite time limit. He breathes
out slowly and pushes inside of him, aching at the long, broken moan it draws
out of Matt, the feeling of Matt clenching around him when he’s seated in him.

“Fog,” Matt
breathes. 

Keep reading

“I’m a fan,” Matt says, and Foggy huffs a breathless laugh.

“Keep going,” he says, tightening his grip on Matt’s hair.

Keep reading

“You can’t just hit me with your
slutty exhibitionist side and expect me to remember how to use words,” Foggy says.

“Right,” Matt says, “why would I ever expect an award-winning sex
columnist to be able to dirty talk? Why don’t you tell me what you’re gonna
write about me, bigshot?”

Keep reading

Matt lets out a breathless laugh. “Fuck you,” he manages.

“That’s next week’s column.”

Keep reading

“Keep going,” Matt slurs, collapsing against the washing machine after Foggy works him through it and moves his hand to hold Matt by his hips instead and keep fucking him. “Don’t stop, Foggy.”

“Not gonna last long,” Foggy says, but he holds tight and pulls Matt up and back to fuck him hard enough that all Matt can do is hold on to the machine and make these perfect, breathy grunts with every thrust that Foggy’s so glad he’s got on tape. He thinks about watching it back with Matt later, maybe jerking him off while he’s telling him how pretty he looks while he gets fucked, and then he’s gone, dropping his head to rest it on Matt’s back and moaning his name when he comes.

They stay like that for a while, until Foggy says, “Holy fucking shit, Matt.”

“Agreed,” Matt says, laughing weakly.

“I mean, holy fucking shit,” Foggy repeats, squeezing his hips before he pulls out carefully, stunned by the sight of Matt sighing and clenching, stretching his back out before he stands up slowly. He looks almost shy when he turns to look at Foggy and Foggy can’t do anything but cup his face in his hands and kiss him, gentle and slow.

Matt’s grinning when Foggy lets go of him and steps back to get rid of the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the trashcan in the corner.

“Good enough to write about?” he asks.

“Almost too good,” Foggy says. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to write about the washing machine when all I want is to write about how I’m gonna take you out on a date as soon as I’ve submitted it to my editor.”

Matt was kind of glowing before but the look on his face when Foggy says that blows it out of the water.  

“Really?” he asks.

“If you want to, at least,” Foggy says. All evidence points to Matt wanting to, but Foggy’s been wrong in the past. Like, a lot. “Can I take you out, Matty?”