Tony’s the one who suggests it, meaning that they got a package containing an expensive video camera and a ridiculous array of bondage shit and a note that says in case you’re looking to get back into show business.
The camera probably costs more money than Foggy’s made in his life. Maybe not more than Matt’s made but close.
Foggy tells Matt what’s in it when he opens it and Matt laughs but he also makes this face that Foggy knows, this contemplative face that he gets when Foggy jokes about something that he’s actually kind of into.
(“Porn is a fast-moving industry that provides content to a diverse audience and requires its actors to adapt and grow with it,” Matt had said, once, after Foggy tickled him and then got that exact same look from him, “and that’s why I want you to tie me down and tickle me until I cry. I’ll show you the videos later.”)
“You wanna make a sex tape, don’t you?” he asks, fondly, and Matt sinks down to sit next to him on the couch and press a kiss to his cheek.
“I don’t not wanna make a sex tape,” he says, smirking, placing a hand significantly on Foggy’s thigh.
Foggy tips his head back to grin at the ceiling.
“Let’s get drunk first,” he says, taking Matt’s hand and tangling their fingers together.
*
“Do you think Tony has this on a live feed?” Foggy asks, kneeling in front of the camera and adjusting the angle, making a face at it. “Or—really, what do you think the chances are that Tony doesn’t have this on a live feed?”
“Pretty slim,” Matt says. On the screen, Foggy can see him standing on his toes, stretching his arms into the air.
“Are you limbering up?” he asks, turning around. “How athletic are you expecting me to be here, Mikey?”
“You can just lie there and let me do all the work if you want,” Matt says, grinning at him, turning around before he bends down to touch his toes and give Foggy a lovely view of his ass and his probably purposefully too small t-shirt stretching over the elegant curve of his back.
“Not when there’s video evidence,” Foggy says, standing up and stretching his arms up, glaring when Matt laughs at his back cracking. “You’re getting old, too, Murdock. Don’t think I don’t notice your premature gray hairs. I just love you too much to mention them.”
“You mention them all the time,” Matt says, turning around to step into Foggy’s space. “You keep calling me grandpa.”
“Well, you keep calling me daddy,” Foggy says, keeping a straight face until Matt cracks up and hides his face in Foggy’s shoulder, looping his arms around his waist.
“Is that what you want us to do for this?” he sighs, pleased, into Foggy’s neck. “I’m up for it. We could pull out the lingerie—oh, or the plaid skirt. You haven’t dressed me up in a while.”
“As much as I like you as a naughty schoolgirl, which is—a lot,” Foggy says, “I thought we could go more mainstream.”
“Whips?” Matt asks. “Chains?”
“Right, yeah, just the romantic stuff,” Foggy says, squeezing him tight before he lets Matt go and steps back to take a look at him. Matt stands up straighter, like he’s presenting himself, and Foggy smiles at him, struck with how much he loves him like he’s been struck every day since—well, probably since they met, but definitely since Matt first blew him in their office at L&Z and ruined him for anyone else.
“Do you want to just mess around, maybe?” Matt asks. “See what happens? You’re always better than any of the scripted shit, anyway.”
“I’m better than porn?” Foggy asks, grinning.
“You know that,” Matt says, rolling his eyes but smiling back.
“I never get tired of hearing you say it, though,” Foggy says. “Are you ready to go, then?”
“Ready,” Matt says, nodding, and Foggy presses record.
*
“Stop looking at the camera,” Matt says, a few minutes later, laughing and grabbing Foggy’s face, turning it towards him.
“How can you even tell?” Foggy asks.
“Because you’re not looking at me,” Matt says, and it’s that low teasing sultry voice—not the one that Matt used on-screen when he had to be coy but more real, the one he uses when he’s drunk or when he’s trying to get Foggy to leave wherever they happen to be and go home with him, pressed up close and lips right against Foggy’s ear.
Foggy grips one of Matt’s hips, digging in his fingers, saying, “Well, now I am,” before he pulls Matt in roughly and kisses him. He knows for a fact that they’re great at kissing and that they look good doing it, having gotten drunk under a lot of mistletoe at a lot of Christmas parties and accidentally gained the full attention of a room. He backs Matt up closer to the camera and Matt turns his head to catch his breath and moan, mouth already swollen and red from Foggy’s teeth. It’s all angled towards the lens.
“Pornographic,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs, fully a few steps past tipsy based on how loud it is, pressing one firm wet kiss to Foggy’s mouth before he drops to his knees.
“Kind of the point,” he says, biting at Foggy’s thigh through his jeans before he unbuttons them deftly. “Based on previous experience, I think you might want to pick up the camera at this point.”
“You ready for your close-up?” Foggy asks, picking up the camera carefully and figuring out the right angle to hold it at, trained right on Matt’s face while he smiles with his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Uh huh,” he hums, pushing up into the touch when Foggy strokes his hair then bends down to unzip Foggy’s zipper with his teeth. It’s basically Matt’s favorite hobby. He beams up at Foggy when he’s done, asks, “Can I use my hands?”
“Nah, put them behind your back,” Foggy says, pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough to get his dick out. He’s already hard just in anticipation of screwing his husband on camera, which is probably good aesthetics, but not as good as Matt leaning in to lick over the head and Foggy slapping him sharply—the camera shakes, but the look on Matt’s face as he tips it up towards Foggy, grinning recklessly, probably makes up for it. “Rude. You’re not gonna say please?”
Matt bows his head.
“Sorry, sir,” he says, softly, all good (albeit breathy, slutty) Catholic boy for a moment before he raises his head again and begs for it, gets that pretty pleading look on his face that he knows does things to Foggy and oversells it by a mile, makes it sound like he’ll die if Foggy doesn’t put his dick in his mouth.
“You’re chewing the scenery, Mikey,” he says, happily, stroking Matt’s hair.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt says, innocently, mouth barely curving up. “You think I don’t want your dick that badly?”
“I don’t know, you kind of get it all the time,” Foggy says, skeptically. “Like, all the time. I honestly can’t believe your libido hasn’t died down at all in your old age.”
“We’re thirty-two and it’s a gift,” Matt says. “Hey, can I please suck your dick now? I’m being serious this time, my mouth is actually watering.”
Matt shifts forward on his knees, hands still laced tightly together behind his back, and Foggy curls his fingers in the hair at the back of his head to pull it back. Matt opens his mouth, showing his tongue—when Foggy lets him go, he keeps his head right where Foggy put it.
He says, “Good boy,” and slips his fingers inside of Matt’s mouth, biting back a moan when Matt catches them with his teeth then sucks them in deeper. He fucks Matt’s mouth with them slowly until Matt’s whining, mumbling something.
When Foggy pulls out, Matt gasps wetly and says, genuinely, “Fog, Foggy, please. I want you. Want to taste you.”
“There we go,” Foggy says, fondly, wiping his fingers off on Matt’s hair before he lines his dick up, traces the head around Matt’s lips and pushing in when Matt opens his mouth wide again.
Looking at Matt taking him on camera is weird and hot, but Foggy also kind of wishes he had the full use of both of his hands—it would be easier to fuck Matt’s face like he wants it, but for now he just fists one hand in Matt’s hair and does his best.
After he pulls out to give Matt a chance to breathe, he says, “How does it feel to be back on camera, Mikey?”
Matt laughs breathily.
“Pretty good,” he says, licking his lips. “Probably because of the costar.”
“Costar,” Foggy repeats, happily. “I like that. You want to fuck your face for me now?”
“Please,” Matt says, nodding, sitting up on his knees when Foggy pushes into his mouth again, bobbing up and down on him until he’s taking Foggy in his throat every few thrusts. Foggy groans, resting his hand lightly on the back of Matt’s head, gets so close to coming that he almost lets it happen before he drags Matt off by his hair. Matt makes a disappointed noise.
“I know you want my come, but that would make this a very short sex tape,” Foggy says, putting the camera down again. “Stand up.”
Matt gets to his feet quickly, humming when Foggy kisses him and laughing when Foggy shoves him away gently, so he stumbles a few steps away from the camera.
“Let me see you, sweetheart,” Foggy says. “Strip.”
He steps away so he’s out of the view of the camera and Matt’s body language changes immediately, goes purposefully loose as he turns towards Foggy instead of the camera, pulling off his shirt slowly and giving him a sweet, dark look.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” he says, angling his head at Foggy, fingers unbuttoning his jeans so he can slide them slowly down his hips. He’s not wearing any underwear, dark hair trailing down from his stomach—Foggy’s already looking forward to re-watching Matt’s erection spring loose later, possibly in slow motion.
“How could I possibly resist the famous Mikey Murcock?” Foggy asks.
“Good point,” Matt says, grinning. He kicks his jeans out of the way, shows the camera his profile before he turns towards it, reaching out a hand behind him. Foggy steps forward to take it, plastering himself to Matt’s back.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you, baby,” he says, nosing against Matt’s neck. Matt shivers, makes a happy sound.
“God—everything,” he says, twisting just enough to kiss Foggy, stroking fingers through his hair. “I can never decide.”
After Matt turns around again, Foggy runs one hand down to rest on his hip and another lower, holding Matt’s dick lightly at the base. Matt moans softly, shifting on his feet to chase the feeling but staying still after Foggy’s fingers dig into his hip.
“Good boy,” Foggy murmurs, just loud enough for Matt to hear, then, mostly for the camera, “I can jerk you off right here and not do anything fun, if that’s what you want. I think that might disappoint our audience, though.”
“Our audience,” Matt repeats, laughing softly. “I just want you to fuck me, honestly. Like, yesterday.”
“Bed or floor?”
“Floor,” Matt says, after a moment. “Right here, right now. Please.”
Foggy wraps his arms around Matt to hug him from behind, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Since you asked nicely. Get on your hands and knees and—arch your back for me.”
Matt does it beautifully. If they gave out Oscars to porn actors, Foggy’d nominate him right now.
*
“I almost asked you if it’s weird to see yourself fucking on camera,” Foggy asks, laughing, buried inside of Matt and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his spine.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t know,” Matt says. He grins at the camera instead of Foggy, but Foggy thinks that might really be the same thing in this instance. “It is weird to hear yourself fucking, at first, like hearing recordings of yourself speaking? But you get used to it.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch myself, but maybe I can—cover myself up with my hand and just see you,” Foggy says.
“You should try it,” Matt says, starting to rock his hips backward when Foggy doesn’t move as much as he wants; Foggy rewards it with a particularly hard thrust and Matt laughs out a moan. “You might end up liking it. I kind of—shit, yeah, harder—I kind of like listening to myself.”
“You’re a dirty little exhibitionist, though,” Foggy says, slapping his hip. “I really don’t need to see myself or be seen—which—I mean, good thing I found you.”
Matt huffs out a laugh.
“Okay, honey, that’s enough fourth wall breaking,” he says. “Save it for the bonus commentary.”
*
“You should monologue,” Foggy says, when Matt’s sprawled out on his stomach, cheek resting against the floor while he gets fucked hard.
“You—oh, fuck—you should monologue,” Matt says. “I can’t talk.”
“Because I’m giving it to you so good?” Foggy asks, happily.
“Porn talk better, I know you can,” Matt gasps, “but yeah.”
“Okay, monologue,” Foggy says. “Monologue. I can do this.”
“Remember theater camp.”
“Oh, right,” Foggy says, shoving in hard and grinding his hips against Matt so he’s whimpering when Foggy says, loud and in a terrible British accent, “To be or NOT TO BE—”
“Fuck off,” Matt interrupts, laughing.
“What? It’s the only one I know,” Foggy says, guileless, before Matt shoves back against him and makes him groan. “God, I’m not gonna last much longer, Matty—definitely not through a monologue.”
“Cock ring?” Matt asks.
“Come shot?” Foggy returns, and Matt turns around to grin.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Get the camera.”
Foggy pulls out of him carefully and gets up to grab it, turning around to sit Matt sitting up on his knees. He looks so happy when Foggy walks over to run fingers through his hair that Foggy almost doesn’t want to commit it to film—even if it’s just for him. And maybe the richest man in New York.
“Get yourself off, baby,” he says, softly. “I want to watch you.”
Matt nods eagerly, straightening his back before he sucks his own fingers into his mouth and then starts to jerk off slowly, tipping his head back and moaning as Foggy takes a couple of steps back to get all of it on screen.
“How does this compare to the professional stuff?” he asks.
“So much better,” Matt says, laughing brokenly, moving his hand faster. “It was hot sometimes, but mostly it was—work. So many takes. Fuck, can I come? Please?”
“No,” Foggy says, filming Matt with one hand while he starts to jerk himself off. “You don’t come until I do.”
Matt nods and slows his hand down, murmurs, “Yes, sir,” demurely.
“Don’t worry, it won’t take long,” Foggy says, stepping even closer when Matt grins up at him to rub the head of his dick over Matt’s lips. The look on Matt’s face and the way he patiently keeps his mouth shut makes it hard to hold back, so Foggy doesn’t—speeds up his pace until he’s grunting out, “Shit—take it, Matty,” and coming across Matt’s face.
Matt’s face looks blissful for a long moment before he licks his lips and smiles at the camera—filthy and cute, which is Foggy’s favorite variety of Matt Porn.
“You can come,” he says, tousling Matt’s hair.
“Thank you,” Matt breathes, and Foggy steps back to film him as he jerks off and comes on the floor with a noise that Foggy’s definitely glad he captured so he can listen to it again.
"That was a nice performance," he says, after Matt's slumped over and breathing heavy.
"Put the camera back down," Matt says, and Foggy doesn't mind being ordered around, walking over to sit it down again and then letting Matt drag him to the ground and climb on top of him.
"Hey, Mikey," Foggy says, laughing.
Matt presses a lingering kiss to his mouth.
"I love you," he says.
"Do you say that to all your costars?"
"Just the ones who married me."
"I love you, too," Foggy says. "Should we cut? Is this too romantic for a sex tape?"
"No," Matt says, moving to lie next to Foggy instead and take his hand. "Not for ours."