Pancakes and Other Complicated Things
Everyone loves a lazy weekend morning. Especially Matt Murdock, where he can get them.
The warmth of sunlight, as cradling a balm as it is on anyone’s skin, felt dreamily soft against his, particularly when he was relaxed and safe in bed. He wasn’t woken, of course, by the sight of sunlight, its bright rays signaling the start of another day, but that didn’t mean it had no effect. Though Matt couldn’t see the light, he could feel it, splitting through space to land between tendrils of hair along his bare arms and the gently-lined, not-often-peaceful slack of his sleeping face. And, above all, being woken by sunlight was far more pleasant than the ring of his alarm or the ache of a fresh injury.
This sunlight on this particular weekend morning was a supple, simple thing - silkier, somehow, than his sheets, the sensation of its glow.
Not quite as soft as your skin, to him. But still.
On this particular weekend morning, Matt’s slow-waking mind was propelled closer to wakefulness by these golden beams on his skin. As his mind shifted closer to the light, his sleepy body stretched, expelling a small sigh from his lungs. Matt stilled quickly, though, at the fuller awareness of your sleeping body curled into him.
You breathed softly into his chest with one hand beneath the pillow, the other pressed flush against him. Your once-wet hair had dried overnight, splaying out behind you, and your body remained wrapped in Matt’s clothes, his sheets, his arms. With shut eyes and a swirling, still-dream-encased mind, you shifted slightly - and Matt’s breath hitched.
Hope I didn’t wake her, he thought to himself.
You smelled like raindrops and budget Clive Christian perfume, like mahogany wood paneling and elegant strips of floral hotel wallpaper. You smelled, subtly, like Matt’s detergent - what with you wearing his clothes - and traces of what excitement remained from the night before. Even simpler, you smelled like him, like the searching drift or the gripping need of his hands, the cradling comfort his body offered yours as you slept.
But, beneath all that - you smelled like you. Clean and warm and supple, you were perfectly intoxicating, just as you were.
The air in Matt’s apartment had become growingly saturated with your scent during your stay here so far. He knew this couldn’t last forever - that, quite soon, the two of you would have to dive back into the risk pursuing you before it could wreak any more havoc. Matt, though, would be thoroughly lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy your presence, the drift of your scent through the air, the twinkle of your voice as it twirled toward his ears in day and night alike. He’d be lying to himself to say that he didn’t like having extra groceries to buy - or even the suspicious and somewhat amused reactions he got from Foggy after attempts to assure his friend that all this food was just a new wave of healthy habits.
Truthfully, Matt was growing pleasantly used to it all, though he remained no less excited by, well - you.
A quiet, sighing yawn against Matt’s chest drew his mind back to the present moment. The sound was music to his ears, ringing through the air around him just as the sunlight did, and he tilted his head against the pillow to focus in on you. His deep brown eyes blinked slowly open in the low goldenrod light as he observed your sleeping form - hearing your heart begin a climb toward wakefulness, your muscles start to stretch and flex as they warmed up for the day ahead, and feeling your skin, warm against his - even through his clothes, wrapped around your body.
Matt’s lips couldn’t help but curve contently upward at your presence, at your perceived comfort. From your perspective, Matt seldom got to genuinely relax - but he saw the same difficulty in you. Witnessing you in such a peaceful place was a small joy for him.
As your surroundings materialized, you stretched against Matt, your sweatpants-covered legs bumping his beneath the sheets. You blinked your eyes open to be greeted by the glow of mid-morning light, and you tipped your head up to catch sight of Matt, his face tipped down toward yours. You narrowed your gaze at the sight of his open eyes, his soft smile, and you sleepily twisted your lips together, letting your eyes fall back to shut.
“Watching me sleep, hm?” You mumbled. Matt gave a low chuckle, and you groaned, realizing your mistake.
“I...“ You shook your head against the bed, your chin brushing his chest before you drew your hands over your face. “You know what I meant.”
“I do,” he smiled, observing you as you shifted yourself up in the bed until your face lay directly across from his. Matt shifted to match your position, and you lay face to face, inches apart and still tangled in the sheets.
Light glinted off Matt’s eyes in a pleasant sparkle. Slung around your waist, his arm was like a weighted heating pad, soothing and heavy enough to lock you right in. The smile drew up onto your face without warning, although you did know it was coming - along with the blush over your cheeks as his grin matched yours.
“Seems like you slept well, at least,” Matt offered, his fingers strumming a slow rhythm along your back. It felt gentle, feather-light, and still full of warm weight.
“I did,” you nodded. Your voice was quiet and gritty in the morning, on its own journey toward full wakefulness. “You?”
Matt’s smile remained soft and lazy, his eyes drifting over you as his fingers kept up their pattern along your back. “I did.”
You nodded again. “Good.”
With your focus on his smile, your mind couldn’t help but zero in on his lips, perfect as they were, especially since the developments of the night before. The feeling of them against yours, unimaginably light, hard with passion, soft and pressing and all that you needed, whenever you needed it - it was a new memory that you were more than happy to replay over and over at the front of your mind.
Particularly right now, gazing at them, pink and plush in front of you.
Matt shifted slightly, his lower arm moving beneath his pillow, and your breath lightly caught. Those memories were as vivid in your brain as anything. Now, though, they were like some music device stuck on an infinite repeat of one particular song. This song, however, was one of the best you knew, though you weren’t off-by-heart on all the lyrics yet - and its infinite repeat was infinitely detrimental to your focus on the present moment.
Right on cue, Matt squinted at you, sliding his head a breath closer on the pillow.
“Something on your mind?”
Lips parting further, your eyes blinked a touch wide.
“Oh, I- no.”
Matt’s brows lifted. He moved that hand off your back, and a second later, you felt his fingertips graze the edge of your jaw. Your breathing fluttered as his touch slid down, his thumb landing on your cheek. With your mind certainly awake at this point, your eyes sparkled - somewhat nervously.
“Well,” you began, trailing off as you offered him a tiny smile. You drew in a slow breath, your glowing gaze tangled with apprehension and want, and Matt observed you attentively as your gritty morning voice came out whispery soft.
“Can I kiss you?”
For a split second, Matt’s brows lifted again. His lazy smile widened along with his eyes. His thumb, too, paused in its drift along your cheek.
But that split second passed - and Matt slid himself closer to you, tugging you in by that hand on your jaw. You watched him, breath bated and pulse quickened, as he drew his face in close. You felt his nose brush your nose, watched his eyelids shut before shutting your own. Those lips, the object of your mental memory replay, then pressed softly into yours.
The kiss was mingled with all the fragile beauty of a flower in the spring, more delicate and brightly-hued than any of its petals. It still set fireworks off beneath your ribs. A wave of giddy peace washed over you as Matt pulled his lips off yours, his touch and his voice still soothing as ever.
“Does that answer your question?”
“No,” you shrugged, slipping your hands up Matt’s chest and onto his shoulders. “Maybe you should try again.”
Matt’s chest gently shook with light, and his smiling face tipped again toward yours. The two of you pressed into a sleepy, weighted kiss. It was so simple, so warm, so in tune with the morning. Pulling away with a whisper, you let your forehead meet his.
“So we can do that now, huh?”
Matt chuckled, his thumb stroking along your cheek. “We can. Whenever you want.”
“Whenever I want?”
“Whenever you want.”
His eyes twinkled in the light. Your eyes drifted to his lips, to his jaw, to his eyes and back again in a swirling pattern of admiration.
“So giving,” you hummed. Matt smiled.
“Speaking of,” Matt began, “I’m gonna get some breakfast started. You stay here.”
You opened your mouth in protest, but Matt’s smiling lips beat you to it.
“You like pancakes?”
This man’s generosity was starting to wear on you, evident through your eye roll - though the rest of your face decided to allow quite the vibrant grin.
“You don’t need to make me pancakes.”
“You’re hungry.”
As much as you wanted to tell him you were just fine, you suddenly became strikingly aware of an empty, needing feeling in your stomach. It rumbled silently, and Matt gave you a knowing look. He then pressed another quick peck to your lips before turning away from you, pressing himself up. Your eyes caught on the ripples of tension over his bare torso, then over his back, as he shifted his body over to the edge of the bed. A slight frown graced your lips - though it was soon marred by an unfocused glaze over your eyes.
Stupid, self-sacrificing… generous… hot…
Ugh.
You cleared your throat as Matt stretched, getting up to stand. The way he towered over the bed, with you still lying in it, was never anything short of - well, a turn-on, to put it plainly.
“I’m guessing you’re hungry, too.”
Stepping over to his dresser, Matt opened a drawer to pull out a pair of sweatpants. “I’d say so, yeah.”
“Yeah,” you narrowed your eyes. “So why is it you who has to cook for me?”
Back straining as he tugged the pants over his legs, Matt chuckled, his tone not quite dismissive of you but dismissive of your unnecessary discomfort. “Because I want to.”
“That’s it?”
Matt sighed. Still smiling, that knowing expression written over every inch of his face, he turned to face you with his hands on his hips. “Is it so unbelievable that I want to do something nice for you?”
You shifted your jaw, still curled beneath his covers - clearly losing.
Matt chuckled and turned to step out of the bedroom. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
No sooner did he step out of the room did you call out to him.
“And I’ll be meeting you there!”
Muttering to yourself, you stretched in the bed, tossing the covers aside with a kick of your legs. You swung your body around to the edge, let your feet land softly on the wood floor, and you paused, just for a few slow, private moments. A rosy warmth had spread into your chest, cheeks, and growing smile. It was the type of warmth you really hadn’t felt in quite some time. The simplicity of it felt almost childish, but not in a bad way. Not at all.
He likes me.
I like him, and he likes me.
The cute boy likes me back.
You shook your head to yourself before springing up and padding out to the kitchen. Matt’s plush sweatpants drifted pleasantly along your skin with every step, and those steps grew swifter when you saw he’d already begun to mix the batter.
“Woah, woah, woah,” you commanded, skipping toward Matt and swinging around the island to stop just short of crashing into him. Your fast, eager movements drew an impromptu laugh from him, and though you laughed too, you narrowed your eyes. “Mixing is the best part. I’m calling it.”
Matt paused mid-stir, a wooden spoon in hand. Through the glass mixing bowl he used, you could see a dry mound of pancake mix just barely having merged with the milk that surrounded it. You raised your brows at him.
“Move,” you commanded again, bumping your hip against his as you grasped the spoon from his hand. “If you’re gonna be so giving, at least give me the best job.”
“Okay,” Matt chuckled. “You can have it.”
You gave him a triumphant nod and turned back to the batter before you. Folding the mix into the milk was an easy enough task, requiring only the movement of your arms and a sharp eye for inconsistencies, which you had. You were distracted, only slightly, by the placement of Matt’s hands over your hips.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Just making sure you mix it properly,” Matt breathed, pressing his body against yours. He dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder before resting his chin on the same spot.
“I can assure you,” you offered through a breezy upturn of your lips, “I am perfectly capable of making pancake batter.”
Matt’s thumbs drifted up and down along the sides of your waist, his fingertips pressing gently against you. His chest expanded against your back with every deep breath he drew in, and the feeling of it made your own lungs grow flittery.
“Just making sure,” he repeated slowly, softly.
“Hm,” you smiled.
“Hm,” Matt hummed back, tipping his head so that it would lightly touch yours.
You continued to stir, merging these two quantities until you finally grew more and more satisfied that they were closer to being one. Matt stepped away, letting a hand drift over the small of your back as he moved to turn on the stove, butter a pan. With another few sweeping stirs, your arm only mildly tired, you set down the spoon.
“Done.”
You turned to see Matt, heated pan in hand, as he turned it in his grip to grease the metal. Butter pooled in a thin layer over the pan, spread by his expert movements - and he set it back on the stove, taking a step toward you.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you chuckled. “It’s batter. Not rocket science.”
“I don’t know,” Matt chided, leaning his head over the bowl. He drew in an exaggerated breath, and you raised your smiling brows.
“What? Does the Devil disapprove?”
At that, Matt drew up a hand and swiped his index finger through the batter, pulling it into his mouth. You frowned at him jokingly.
“Hope you washed your hands.”
With a furrowed brow, Matt mumbled something along the lines of “I did!” as he sucked the batter off of his finger. It seemed to take an unreasonable amount of time, the motion, the slow draw of that finger from his lips. Something of it sparked a glow inside you, though, and your brows flicked up at the understanding that this tiny tease was absolutely intentional.
“Well?” You asked, stepping into his space - into the heat radiating off his still-shirtless chest. “Is it done?”
As Matt swallowed, his face twisted amusedly.
“You did better than I thought,” Matt nodded at you with exaggerated approval, “but I think I’d better try it again. Just to be sure.”
You snorted. “I think I did a perfectly fine job, thank you very much.”
“Of course. I’m just double-checking. Quality assurance and all that.”
Matt moved his hand down to dip it once more into the batter. Before his fingertip could reach it, though, you shot your hand out, wrapping your fingers around his - just in time for both of your hands to dip haphazardly into the bowl.
Great.
It was gooey and cool at your touch, and you sighed sharply through your teeth - even as Matt chuckled.
“You could have waited your turn, you know.”
Matt’s eyes were light with amusement, but at that comment, your gaze sharpened. In a quick, swooping movement, you drew your hand from the bowl and flicked it toward him. Jaw dropped, Matt stepped back as bits of batter splattered in a few small dots over his collarbone and pecs. One primary, prominent glob landed at his sternum and began to draw a slow line down the center of his chest. Matt’s eyes flicked sharply in your direction as you stood there, smirking.
“Did you just flick pancake batter at me?”
You shrugged. “Shouldn’t have double dipped.”
With a raised brow and a shifting, half-grinning jaw, Matt took a step toward you - and you jumped back, suddenly giddy.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Standing an inch in front of you, Matt tipped his head down to face yours - his voice falsely dark, spoken toward you as he tried and failed to hold back his smile.
“I think this establishes a pretty good reason for why I’m the one cooking.”
You looked up at Matt with a shrug and a twitch over your brow. “I don’t see any valid reason.”
“How’s wasting food for a reason?”
The way Matt dipped his head toward you was threatening in all sorts of ways that didn’t scare you. Threatening, as in, his presence had your composure hanging by a thread. It was all you could do to keep your focus off his lips - off his bare, battered chest - and on your words.
“I would never waste food,” you assured him with an earnest shake of your head. As his raised brow and smiling eyes challenged that notion, you lifted your still-battered hand to his chest, swiping one of the dots with your index finger before taking it into your mouth. You took just the same amount of time as Matt had in ‘savoring the batter’ - maybe longer. His tongue darted out over his lips for every second it took you to suck your finger clean. Your eyes remained squarely on his lips as you swallowed.
“See?”
Matt’s face - though once illuminated with interest at your brief display of sorts - went into the visual form of a deadpan. “All you did was spread it around.”
“Really?” You hummed. “Maybe I should try again, then.”
His lips parted as though he truly had no control over them. The smirk on yours was all too controlled - particularly as you placed your clean hand and your battered hand onto either of Matt’s arms, and pressed your lips to the dot you’d tried to swipe away.
Darting your tongue out, you felt your pulse race as you tasted the batter on Matt’s skin, sucking this spot clean before moving to the next. Matt breathed sharply under your touch, and as you worked at the next dot of batter, you felt his clean hand lift to your waist, cupping around it gently. He pressed harder as you kissed at this spot on his chest. You then dipped your head lower, forcing your body to bend slightly so that you could reach the end of this running streak of batter down his front. Getting your lips under the once-dripping end of this streak, you tasted the edge of the batter before dragging your tongue up its length in a first small swipe.
Under your touch, you felt Matt’s breathing deepen, felt his hand grip you tighter as the muscles of his torso twitched.
“Careful,” he managed, a twinge of heated struggle in his voice. “Sensitive.”
You smiled up at him as you swallowed this lick of batter and went in for another. It felt something close to obscene amid what had been so wholesome. He’d planned to make you pancakes, presumably bring them to you as you rested - and here you were, dragging a wanting tongue up the center of his hardly carved chest, interrupting his tenderness entirely.
Above you, Matt cleared his throat. Licking your lips, you tipped your head up at him - just in time to feel the batter-covered smear of his fingers land beneath the line of your jaw. Stiffening, you grimaced. Matt only offered you a grin.
“You did not just do that,” you muttered. Matt gently tugged you up with a chuckle and stroked his thumb along your cheek. You quickly noticed, however, that this thumb was also coated in pancake batter, and proceeded to grimace again.
“Sorry,” he drawled. Your eyes flitted down to what was left of the batter on his chest. It was half-licked and smeared, but you’d gotten most of it. Licking your lips brought that sweet batter back over your tongue, mixed with the faint, clean taste of his skin. You lifted your narrowed eyes up to Matt, parting your lips to make some comment about how he better not get any batter in your hair.
Just as you opened your mouth, Matt’s battered thumb slipped across your skin to drift gently over the pouch of your lower lip, leaving a trail of batter in its wake. You promptly lost any memory of what you’d planned to say.
“I’ve got it,” Matt breathed, before drawing his lips in to pause a hair’s breadth away from you. You felt his breath against your skin as he settled his bottom lip just at the lower edge of yours. He dipped his tongue out, deftly tasting across your lip in a gentle graze, pulling the batter onto his tongue. A shiver passed through you at his swallow, his sigh, and another shiver nearly jolted through your bones as he pressed his open mouth entirely to yours. You kissed him back, feeling the wanton slide of his tongue as though he’d had enough of the batter, now opting for your taste instead.
Without anything more than a pulse of his hand at your waist, Matt moved his kiss to your cheek. Most of his effort was dedicated to pressing a mix of light and harder kisses against your skin, some more in offering of affection, others more of a search for whatever he seemed to enjoy tasting so much.
“Doesn’t seem like you’re trying that hard to get the batter off,” you managed. At that, Matt let out a light laugh. His hand at your waist lifted up, curling behind you, and you felt cool air on your neck as he pulled your hair over to the other shoulder. Holding your hair with his clean hand, Matt leaned toward the side of your jaw where his battered hand rested. You felt your heart begin to race as he sucked a bit of the batter off his fingers.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Matt whispered between tiny swallows of batter. With his hand licked clean, he placed it at the base of your neck, that trailing thumb resting gently at the front of your throat. He then leaned down further, whispering against your neck with more heat than the ever-patient stove across from you. “I’ll try harder.”
You had no time to even process Matt’s words before he gave a slow, greedy lick along the uppermost skin of your neck. The slick, rough pull of his tongue was all-consuming to you as he consumed your taste. It sent a tightening sensation through your core - something so far from the ordinary hunger you’d felt earlier.
Matt gave another swipe of his tongue, this time opting to suck lightly at the spot he focused on. He swallowed down the batter and the taste of you until your skin was dragged lightly between his teeth. Still tender from the night before, you fought off a whimper at the feeling, at the sharp graze over what was doubtlessly the evidence of a small hickey. Matt’s hand left your hair in response to cup your cheek - though his other thumb pressed lightly at that spot on your throat.
Your clean hand slid up Matt’s arm, slid over his warm skin, up his neck and into his waves of mussed hair. Nails grazing the back of his scalp, you felt a bit-back groan vibrate through Matt’s chest and into your neck as he kissed you harder. You were burning, melting, so far from the idea of pancakes that you could hardly think of what they were.
A sound, a somewhat jarring sound, echoed from outside your mental focus just as Matt was mid-kiss against your neck, and he stopped. With his lips stilled at your skin, you paused as well, processing the three-rap knock at his front door.
“Who’s there?” You managed, confused, as Matt sighed and pulled his head up from your neck.
“Foggy.”
Great.
Interrupting once again.
You pressed your lips together, making an effort to quiet your voice. “I’ll… go hide in your room.”
Matt wasn’t exactly having that. Not in any sense of directly opposing the suggestion - just in the sense that his lips remained merely an inch in front of yours, just as wanting as before. He licked over them, even though no batter remained.
“I can just tell him to leave.”
Though you were far from disliking such an idea, especially with the hoarse, heated tone Matt’s voice had taken on, you shook your head.
“He’s probably here for a reason. You should see what he wants.”
Matt shook his head back at you, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in headily. Those lips just barely grazed against your mouth as he spoke.
“I’ll just tell him to leave.”
Matt then pressed a languid kiss to you. It was indulgent, the movement of his lips, and it was all you could do to speak against their luxurious rhythm, the sparing drifts of his tongue.
“He can’t think anything’s up.”
Matt sighed, pulling away slightly. “And why not?”
“Because I said so.”
“Because you said so?” Matt smirked, his eyes crinkling up as he kissed you again. You could only manage a hum, smiling back.
“Mhm.”
Another sigh left Matt’s lips as they left yours.
“I know,” he breathed, just in time for another knock at the door. Matt stroked a thumb along your cheek. His eyes glinted with one part affection and two parts leftover tease. “I’ll take care of it. Go.”
Offering Matt a last smile, you slid your hands off him and grabbed a towel from the countertop for the rest of the batter on your skin. Matt began to walk you back, and you went with it, turning away from the island. His hands remained on your shoulders as he moved you, fast, toward his bedroom.
“Faster, come on,” Matt whispered jokingly.
As you approached the doorway, Matt’s hands promptly parted from your shoulders. It was a quick movement, sure. But, just as quick, you felt his palm swing down to gently land against your ass.
He did not.
You whipped around to face Matt with your jaw dropped - just as he stood there, smirking.
“Did you just-“
“Shh,” he cut you off with exaggerated, teasing urgency, though the glow in his eyes did not subside. “Foggy’s right there. He can’t think anything’s up.”
Oh my God, Matt.
Tongue running along the inside of your cheek, you stared at his cheeky grin, though you weren’t… entirely displeased. A hot blush poured through your cheeks and your chest, and as much as you wished to tell him off, it really wasn’t feasible right now.
Besides - you were fighting off a grin of your own, anyway. Anyone, sight or not, could make that fact out.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” you murmured. Matt’s smirking, slinky voice didn’t miss a beat, even as it came out in a whisper.
“Counting on it.”
With a final, exaggerated look of disdain - undercut with an unavoidable grin - you spun on your heel and flew into Matt’s bedroom, dragging the sliding door closed behind you. It was still cracked, no thanks to Stick, and you made a mental note to get it fixed for him.
And get him a new coffee table.
I can be generous, too.
Rubbing that towel along your neck relieved your skin of the rest of the batter, and you made sure to clean off any left on your cheek and your hands. As you stood next to the door, though, you could just make out the open and shut of Matt’s front door, the faint sound of Matt’s calm voice and Foggy’s cheerier one.
Against your better judgment, you tiptoed closer to the door until you could decipher what they were saying.
“…but it’s Marci, man. I mean, she’s crazy. Crazy!”
“But you were in love with her. Evidently, she’s still into you.”
“Yeah, because she wants another ride on the Foggy train. All aboard, Marci Stahl!”
You cringed and held back a laugh at Foggy’s joke and could hear the same reaction in Matt’s voice.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”
Beyond the sliding door, Foggy narrowed his eyes at his friend and subsequently rolled them.
“Let me have my moment, Matt.”
“Thought you didn’t want her?”
Foggy tipped his head to the side at Matt’s raised brow. He sighed. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know.”
“Look,” Matt offered, walking into the kitchen with Foggy in tow. He drew that wooden spoon into the batter and carried it toward that still-heated stove, dropping a first pancake into the pan. It sizzled lightly over the butter-glazed metal.
“If you want her, and she wants you, you might as well go for it.”
Foggy leaned forward from his place on the other side of the island, his wistful expression almost theatrical. “Just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”
Matt tipped his head toward Foggy, who quickly backtracked.
“I’m talking about Marci. You know Marci, Matt. She is a shark, quick and so damn merciless… hey! I like that. Merciless Marci. Fitting.”
Foggy hung his head low as Matt chuckled.
“Did you come over just to talk about Marci?”
“No,” Foggy hummed. He’d been eyeing Matt with a touch of suspicion from the moment he entered the apartment, but watching the man make pancakes turned that feeling up ten notches. Foggy’s head twisted back toward Matt’s bedroom door - which he quickly noticed was shut… and cracked. He then drew his face back toward Matt with a clear of his throat.
“I needed to talk to you about Confed Global stuff.”
At the stove, Matt paused, setting the batter aside. “Couldn’t have waited until Monday?”
“That’s the thing,” Foggy began to explain. “I was hoping we could get this sorted before Monday.”
Matt turned to face him, placing his hands on his hips as Foggy continued.
“We need all the help we can get on this case - with discretion, of course. Obviously, there’s you, me, and Karen, and then we have Ben Urich. But, on top of that,” Foggy paused, wide-eyed as he hoped that Matt would accept what he was about to deliver, “we are friends with a literal secret agent.”
Matt’s brows practically hit his hairline. “You mean Selena.”
Behind the sliding door, you gasped silently, listening still as Foggy tried to jump on Matt’s recognition.
“Yes! Who better, who more discreet, than someone like her, with all the resources she’s bound to have-“
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Fog.”
Foggy frowned. You half-frowned, half-blushed at Matt’s protectiveness.
“Why not?”
“We can’t bring more people onto this than necessary.”
“Dude, she’s literally the FBI. I bet she could make her involvement so discreet that we never even see her again.”
Matt shook his head, turning back to the pan of sizzling pancakes and grabbing a spatula. “Still. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Well, she’s already getting info for Karen, so I’d say it’s less of an idea and more of a reality.”
Shit.
Your lips curled up as your eyes shut tight.
I should have just told him.
With a slight jerk of his head, Matt turned back to face Foggy. “What?”
He sighed. “Look, man, it’s nothing crazy. She just got some info on Confed Global stuff and sent it Karen’s way. Apparently, it was through this new tech system thing she developed for privileged data or something. Prevents it from being intercepted.” Then, a pause, as Foggy let out a quiet breath. “So cool.”
Foggy was right; as much as you’d preferred working with documents in their paper, un-hackable form, doing things online was, truthfully, much more efficient. The protective mechanism you’d developed helped with that. You would have done it much sooner had circumstances not been what they were.
Didn’t matter, though. You could practically feel Matt’s sigh, and felt a pang in your chest as you felt his words next - partially directed at you, you had no doubt.
“You guys didn’t tell me that.”
“We didn’t want you to worry,” Foggy explained. “And, besides, she’s as good a resource as any.”
“She’s not a resource,” Matt asserted, before pulling himself back. “She’s our friend.”
“I know that, of course,” Foggy frowned. “But she’s willing and wanting to help, so I think we should ask her to join our little investigation fully.”
Matt sighed as he turned back to his pan to flip the pancakes. “I suppose I can’t stop you all now, can I?”
Foggy pressed his lips together. “Sorry, man. We need all the help we can get - especially doing it your way.”
A shake of Matt’s head was the only next thing he could offer as he drew out a plate for these first two pancakes. Foggy watched as Matt flipped them onto the plate before dropping another two spoonfuls of batter into the pan.
“So,” Foggy continued, “I was hoping you could ask her.”
“You came to my apartment to ask me that?”
“You haven’t exactly been answering your phone,” Foggy explained. “For, like, the last eighteen hours.”
You swore you heard Foggy mutter a “Wonder why” under his breath.
“Sorry, Fog. I’ve been caught up with work stuff.”
“Right,” Foggy drawled. Though Matt’s face twisted slightly, he moved the plate of pancakes to the island. Foggy glanced down at them, his brow lifting, and Matt spoke.
“Why don’t you ask her?”
Foggy’s lips turned up just a touch, and his words gained a slower level of sly caution. “I was thinking it might make more sense for you to ask her.”
Matt shrugged, his nonchalance well covering the light layer of nerves beneath it. “I mean, I can, when I see her.”
“Mhm,” Foggy hummed, his head dipping down toward the pancakes. “I know you too well, my friend.” As Matt gave Foggy a confused expression, Foggy gave him a knowing half-smile. “Hookup pancakes. Classic.”
The sigh through Matt was almost as deep as the closed-eyes breath you sucked in.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just about every woman you got with during college. And after college.”
“Foggy-“
“What?” Foggy asked, his light tone somewhere between totally innocent and completely mocking. “You’re a gentleman. Pancakes, eggs, toast, even just a bowl of cereal. The hookup breakfast. It’s sweet. And I am sure that the girl jumped in to take over for you more than half the time, huh?” He shook his head to himself. “Imagine that.”
Matt’s lip curled up. “These are not hookup pancakes.”
“Sure. And there’s no girl in your bedroom. Or your shower,” Foggy shrugged. He then glanced quickly toward Matt’s bedroom, beginning to move away from the island. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask the brand of your sheets-“
Your breath hitched.
“Hey,” Matt interrupted Foggy with a reaching grab in his direction, managing to grasp his wrist. Foggy, brows high and smirk growing, gave Matt a sharp look. Matt sighed, promptly pulling his hand back. “No hookup. They’re just pancakes, Fog.”
“Whatever you say,” Foggy grinned. At Matt’s lack of a reaction, though, Foggy’s eyes dipped to his chest, his hands lifting up in emphasis. “Come on. You literally have pancake batter on your chest.” Matt tipped his head back with a groan, and Foggy squinted, his jaw falling lower. “Pancake batter that looks like it has been half licked off.” In disbelief, he shook his head again, lips tight as he muttered. “God, you even have food sex.”
You stifled a groan.
With tight lips and a stern expression, Matt faced Foggy head-on. "I just spilled a bit of the batter before you showed up, and I was trying to get it off-"
"Are you telling me you can lick your own chest? Because I've gotta say, I don't really believe that," Foggy interrupted, pressing his lips together. "But, if you can, then, one, that is an insane amount of flexibility. And, I mean - even if you are that freakishly flexible - two, it's weird that you'd do that, buddy. Just saying."
From your spot in Matt's room, you pressed your lips together, fighting a giggle. Matt sighed, his exasperation evident.
"I am so lost, Fog. I'm just making pancakes. Can't a man make pancakes for himself?"
Foggy straightened, expression suddenly stoic. "Of course he can."
"Thank you," Matt sighed, turning to flip the second round of pancakes. "If you want me to ask Selena, I will ask her when I see her."
Foggy pursed his lips down, nodding. "Alright, then - so you'll ask her when she wakes up?"
Matt frowned. "Sure, yeah, I will give her a call-"
"Right. A phone call. When you're a room away."
You blinked hard, shaking your head at yourself.
Foggy Nelson, Investigator of the Hour.
At that, Matt dropped the spatula onto the counter, whipping around to face his friend. Foggy only grinned, especially at the faint blush crossing Matt's face as he made his best effort to hiss out his words.
"Selena is not-"
"Hey, I'm not judging!" Foggy smiled, stepping back from the island with his hands flipped up. "You just come clean when you're ready."
Matt ran a hand through his hair, letting out the deepest of breaths, his jaw shifting. But, as Foggy continued to step backward - the corner of Matt's lips just barely quirked up. Foggy pounced on this tiny crack in Matt's facade, shooting his finger out just before he turned the corner to Matt's entryway.
"Saw that smirk, Murdock!"
Matt pressed his now-smiling lips together. "Bye, Foggy."
"See you Monday," Foggy hummed out cheerfully. He swung himself back around the corner, though, with a hand pointed at the bedroom door and sharp eyes on Matt, his voice incredulous as he hissed.
"Did you guys break the goddamn bedroom door?"
"Get out."
Foggy's eyes went wide, and he flipped his hands up, though his smile remained, even with every step he took toward Matt's door.
"See you Monday!"
From your hiding place, you heard Matt's door open, also catching a slight mutter from Foggy - something about a "damn Casanova of the criminal justice system" - before the door shut behind him.
A few beats passed. Matt spent those beats dishing out the second round of pancakes. You spent those few beats with your eyelids shut tight, your breaths slow and controlled.
Wasn't a lie.
It was just… a secret.
An important one, one I owed Karen for everything she's been through.
You pressed your lips together just as Matt's voice sounded out, gentle yet stern, from the kitchen. He began with your name and followed with the obvious.
"He's gone."
Alright.
With your mouth still in a tight line, you slowly slid Matt's door open to see him standing tall in the kitchen, leaning forward into his hands where they rested on the island. His brow was lifted, and the expression on his face was peaceful, but it wasn't exactly the most content you'd seen him.
"You're a horrible liar," you joked quietly, ambling into the living room.
"And you are a surprisingly good one."
"I am a secret agent," you awkwardly half-laughed, even as Matt's jaw shifted. "What do you expect?"
He only kept his raised brow on you. You sighed, finally reaching him where he stood and tossing the towel back onto the countertop.
"I promised Karen I'd keep it between me and her for now."
Matt's jaw twitched. He twisted his lips together, took a deep breath - and his expression softened.
"Okay."
You frowned - especially as Matt's hand floated up to cup your jaw. "You're not mad?"
"No." Your skin buzzed as he stroked it, his words kind and calm. "But I think we need some ground rules."
"Adding to the list?" You joked. Matt laughed back at the subtle reference to your most recent agreement, taking things slow and all.
Great start, licking pancake batter off each other.
Matt's humming tone interrupted your train of thought.
"I know you said you've got some secrets left, but I don't want anything hidden between us. Other than the past - no more secrets."
A snort left you. "Talk about a cliche."
"Cliche or not, it's important."
Those dark eyes drifted over you tenderly. You looked up into them, lost in their sincerity, and nodded. "Yeah. You're right."
Matt smiled down at you with one last stroke along your cheek. He then pulled away to grab the pancakes - fluffy and so perfect looking, it almost made you mad. As he set them on the table along with cutlery, you grabbed syrup and butter from the fridge and followed him.
It was funny how natural it was, the process of the morning together.
"I have one question, then, to start us off," you hummed. Matt tipped his head up at you as you sat down beside him. Your expression twisted lightly, and you decided to just go for it.
"Do you wear cologne? Because I thought that might be something you're too sensitive for, or… I don't know. But you always seem to smell like you're wearing cologne." Matt's lips curved, entertained at the question, and you blushed. "I've just been curious."
His voice was smiling, soft.
"I wear a bit sometimes. Not enough to mess with my senses, but it does offer a distraction to latch onto if I come across anything less than pleasant." Matt then leaned in a touch closer, as if offering up some well-kept secret. "And women tend to like it, as an added bonus."
Your eyes twinkled, that blush running hot beneath your skin, and you smiled at him coyly.
"Do they, now?"
He narrowed his eyes, smirking. "Do you?"
Pursing your lips, you hesitated, not loving the very possible prospect of word-vomiting just how intoxicating it really was to you. A cool shrug was the next best option. "It's not bad."
"Wow," Matt teased, shifting in his seat. His eyes flicked wide as his tone went mockingly gray. "Glowing praise."
"No, no, I do like it," you tried to assure him. Matt then grinned, giving you the tiniest upward jerk of his chin, his raised brow all too understanding.
"I had a hunch."
As you narrowed your eyes at Matt, he narrowed his in your direction. The smiles on both of your faces matched just as closely.
Your gaze fell then to the two plates of pancakes in front of each of you, and you smirked.
"Those hookup pancakes look pretty good."
Matt's groan echoed through the room, especially as he tipped his head back in exasperation.
"Foggy Nelson, what have you done?"
"What? I'm just saying they look like really good hookup pancakes," you explained innocently. "I feel like a very respected hookup."
The swing of Matt's head toward yours was tainted with both tease and sincerity. After last night, you could tell he really did want to make sure you felt like more than just some hookup, and you appreciated that more than words could say. More so, you could feel it in the way he treated you. Matt's care was obvious - and you placed a gentle hand over his, gazing up into his eyes with all the morning light you could manage.
"You know I'm teasing you. Eat your hookup pancakes, Matt."