coprime_recs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coprime_recs) wrote2023-08-21 01:30 pm
coprime_recs) wrote2023-08-21 01:30 pm
Daredevil: Good night; home safe by nysscientia
Good night; home safe (Foggy/Matt | NC17 | 28,-53 words): Post-Season 3, Foggy has insomnia, and it leads to a lot of crashing on Matt's sofa. This has fantastic connection between the characters as they work on their relationship and tackle the various issues between them. It's funny and sweet and angsty and touching and romantic and sexy in turns.
Excerpt:
"Come on, Murdock," Foggy says, elbowing Matt a little where their sides are brushing. Trying his best to keep it light so Matt doesn't scamper away. "Radical honesty. I got snot on your couch; don't wuss out on me now."
"Yeah, you can expect the cleaning bill any day now," Matt answers, dry. Then he takes a breath—not loud, but Foggy catches it, at this distance. "All right, fine. But let the record show the following was stated under duress and should not be considered credible testimony."
The kids have cleared; Foggy doesn't need to have Matt reeled in so close anymore. But something about his tone seems to call for it. This little pocket between them on a sunny sidewalk on a Tuesday.
"You were talking about waking up at all hours, and I'm—around at night a lot of the time anyway, and I just—" Foggy can't quite read his tone. He sounds frustrated, almost.
Matt huffs to himself. "I was going to say you could stop by. Whenever, I mean."
Foggy glances over to get a read on what the hell's going on with Matt, and the expression he sees actually stops him short for a second.
Matt gets this little jut to his chin, once he's said the hard thing. Like he's demonstrating just how much he won't apologize. And apparently that was the hard thing.
For a moment they float in limbo, Foggy back on his heels and Matt's step forward slowing in silent response, their entwined arms stretching like a rubber band between them.
"You thought I could handle the fetish gear and the felonies, but offering me your couch to sleep on would be a bridge too far?" Foggy says, incredulous.
The tension breaks, the band between them reeling back together. Foggy takes a clumsy, skipping step to catch up, and then they're side by side again.
Matt's laugh only sounds self-deprecating if you know him well enough. "We're not 22 anymore. I hardly think the best treatment for insomnia is wandering around Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night."
Excerpt:
"Come on, Murdock," Foggy says, elbowing Matt a little where their sides are brushing. Trying his best to keep it light so Matt doesn't scamper away. "Radical honesty. I got snot on your couch; don't wuss out on me now."
"Yeah, you can expect the cleaning bill any day now," Matt answers, dry. Then he takes a breath—not loud, but Foggy catches it, at this distance. "All right, fine. But let the record show the following was stated under duress and should not be considered credible testimony."
The kids have cleared; Foggy doesn't need to have Matt reeled in so close anymore. But something about his tone seems to call for it. This little pocket between them on a sunny sidewalk on a Tuesday.
"You were talking about waking up at all hours, and I'm—around at night a lot of the time anyway, and I just—" Foggy can't quite read his tone. He sounds frustrated, almost.
Matt huffs to himself. "I was going to say you could stop by. Whenever, I mean."
Foggy glances over to get a read on what the hell's going on with Matt, and the expression he sees actually stops him short for a second.
Matt gets this little jut to his chin, once he's said the hard thing. Like he's demonstrating just how much he won't apologize. And apparently that was the hard thing.
For a moment they float in limbo, Foggy back on his heels and Matt's step forward slowing in silent response, their entwined arms stretching like a rubber band between them.
"You thought I could handle the fetish gear and the felonies, but offering me your couch to sleep on would be a bridge too far?" Foggy says, incredulous.
The tension breaks, the band between them reeling back together. Foggy takes a clumsy, skipping step to catch up, and then they're side by side again.
Matt's laugh only sounds self-deprecating if you know him well enough. "We're not 22 anymore. I hardly think the best treatment for insomnia is wandering around Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night."