The Fabric of the Cosmos

The first time it happened, Foggy figured it was because they were both a little drunk.

Or, okay, not a little drunk but a lot drunk, because there had been drinks and drinks and then there had been more drinks, and somewhere along the way he’s pretty sure there had also been even more drinks so, yeah.

It’s really not a little drunk. It’s a whole hell of a lot drunk. And, yeah, okay, they’re both probably going to regret it in the morning because hangovers suck so much but whatever.

They’re wild and crazy college kids.

They’re totally allowed to make stupid decisions.

Or, well, okay, they’re not really, because becoming badass attorneys-at-law was actually serious business and they couldn’t fuck it up by making stupid decisions that will affect the rest of their lives, but it’s the end of their semester and holy fuck how did they survive this long. And, it’s just, you know – they just – they needed to blow off some steam. Had to blow off some steam.

It was like a law somewhere, Foggy remembered saying or, well, slurring, in Matt’s ear when he tried to protest the second – or was it third? – round of drinks and Foggy was so down with that because – yes, they’re done, halle-fucking-lujah!

They’d survived.

They’d actually fucking survived.

And, yeah, okay, it wasn’t like he’d ever doubted they would because they were awesome and had this weird thing between them that meant they pushed each other to do better and be better and just be – more.  

Which was – unexpected.

Kind of really unexpected, because Foggy had been all for living the life of a debauched yet vaguely ambitious college student before he’d met Matt, but somehow ended up living the life of an ambitious yet vaguely – very vaguely; okay, fuck, not at all – debauched college student after meeting Matt.

Which had sucked a little – okay, a lot – because Foggy could count on one hand the number of times he’d gotten lucky over the years and that didn’t include Marci because she was the devil in Jimmy Choos, but it had also not sucked, because he kind of figured he’d gotten Matt out of the deal so at least he had that going for him.

Though, you know, it might’ve been nice to get at least a little play because Matt always had these insanely hot women flocking to him in fucking droves, while Foggy just kind of pathetically nursed his drink next to him, but whatever. Matt had always been the best and never ditched him to go home with anyone unless Foggy was totally cool with it. Which sometimes made Foggy feel a little bit like a dick because Matt really was awesome and deserved to get more action than he did, but it was also kind of sweet and made something inside him warm and tighten and, yeah.

Anyway, it wasn’t like it was planned. The drinking or the sex. It just sort of happened.

Like, one second Foggy was drunkenly giggling as they stumbled into their dorm room and Matt was huffing a warm amused breath against his neck and the next both their cocks were sloppy wet with spit and pre-come and slip-sliding together as Foggy jerked them both off and Matt pressed open mouth and wet kisses against his mouth, his neck, his jaw. Matt’s fingers tangling in his hair while he moaned and wiggled and shuddered. Thighs fucking trembling on either side of Foggy’s own as he fucked himself into and against Foggy like every fucking wet dream Foggy has ever had.

And it’s – good. So good. Fucking amazing and Foggy never wanted it to end. Ever. In his life. Because Matt was so good. So perfect. He was perfect. Fuck, Matty, so perfect. And–

Foggy came with a muffled groan all over Matt’s cock, his stomach, his chest even, because it’d been a long fucking time for him, okay, and Matt had gasped sharply when he did, a loud broken moan leaving his lips as his back arched and his head fell forward, and he fucking writhed on Foggy’s lap as he came and came and came all over Foggy’s skin and Foggy wanted – he wanted…

He passed out.

He passed the fuck out.

Right then, right there.

And wasn’t that fucking embarrassing because he was pretty sure he’d been mouthing and mumbling drunken confessions against Matt’s skin when he had, lips dragging soft and wet kisses against Matty’s shoulder as they’d both breathed and shuddered and just kind of huddled together in a heady blissful post-orgasmic haze.

And, you know, the worst part of it was, in the morning, neither of them had talked about it.

Or, well, Matt might’ve tried to, but Foggy hadn’t really been up to the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech that Matt gave every fucking girl he’d ever thrown out when Foggy was done with being sexiled and braved the sextastrophe that was their shared dorm room, and it was just…

Foggy wasn’t one of those girls. Guys. Whatever.

He wasn’t one of them, was the point, and he wasn’t going to let that happen to him. Wouldn’t let that happen to him.  Because they were friends.

Best friends.

And, yeah, okay, it really fucking sucked that they would probably never be anything more than that because he had kind of maybe thought Matt was smoking hot from the moment he’d met him, and was also possibly was a little bit in love with the guy, but, yeah.

He didn’t need Matt to say the words to get it. He really didn’t. Not ever.

Because they were friends.

They were Nelson and Murdock.

They were Matt and Foggy.

They were – were…

They were friends, dammit.

And that’s all they would ever be.


Part Two