Foggy Nelson: That's not a client, it's a shark in a skin suit.
.***.

They were at a party because Foggy thought that they should go. Networking was important, and socializing with people beyond old librarians and Starbucks barristas was important, but most important of all was the fact that Foggy really, really wanted to have sex.

So they walked across campus, Matt with one hand ghosting around Foggy's elbow because he didn't want to bring his cane. It was late Fall and starting to get cold but they'd both agreed that coats would just get lost at a big party like this. So Foggy wore jeans and a t-shirt and Matt wore slacks and a belt and a collared shirt and, okay, Foggy stared at him a little too long as he was getting dressed. They hadn't had long heart-to-hearts about previous relationships. If they had, Foggy would have told Matt about the two quiet girls and one smiling boy he'd dated in high school. But because Matt didn't ask, and because Foggy kind of wanted a cute little girl to take out to dinner, he didn't volunteer the information.

You see, he and Matt were starting to become friends. They had almost every class together (except Matt's Spanish course and Foggy's Punjabi) so they studied side by side and looked over each other's homework and, of course, slept in the same room. They listened to music a lot. Matt liked music, preferred unwinding to the radio that watching a droning boob tune (for pretty obvious reasons) so they listened to symphonies together. And talked, because symphonies got boring. And, night by night, they'd built their friendship.

Foggy wouldn't give that up for the world, and Matt was super Catholic. So, so Catholic. So he wasn't going to bring up the whole oh-yeah-I-sometimes-sleep-with-boys-too thing until absolutely necessary. Why make things weird? Why lose the only friend he had?

That was the very long version of why Foggy needed to have sex. Not that he was seriously thinking about starting things up with his roommate because 1. Catholic and 2. Friendship and 3. Matt dated hot, female models and Foggy was not one of those things. But it was hard to be around Matt day after day and not want to get laid.

"Okay, I'm going to go get us drinks," Foggy said, leading Matt over to a quiet-ish corner of the house. The party had more people than he was expecting, and some of them were definitely not law students. "If we lose each other, just meet back here in like an hour."

Matt said something, and Foggy had to lean forward and tell him to repeat it. There was so much noise. "I said, I might go outside if it gets too loud." Matt took off his glasses to clean them with the end of his shirt, which must have been a nervous tick because why would he care if they were dirty? Anyway, in that moment Foggy could see his filmy eyes darting around the room, as if searching for a way out.

"I'll find you," Foggy promised. "Anyway, I'll be right back."

Of course, he wasn't right back. He was distracted by a pair of Poly Sci majors, both with their belly buttons showing, who convinced him to take three shots of something clear and burning before he begged off, told them they should go somewhere quieter. One, the willowy brunette, suddenly lost interest. But the curvy blonde followed him, laughing, telling him about mass migrations and African culture. He didn't listen to a word but he liked the way her mouth moved.

"Are you looking for someone?"

She didn't sound annoyed, but the question got through to him and Foggy stared at the girl. He never got her name, just knew her as "that blonde." "Yeah, I left my friend here."

"Your friend can wait." The girl just about purred. Apparently she was horny, too. And, as if her intent couldn't be more obvious, she pressed Foggy against a wall, kissing him.

It was nice. It was fireworks. Foggy hadn't kissed anyone in months and so responded enthusiastically. This making out against a wall in full view of everyone went on longer than Foggy would like to admit. Then the girl started tugging at Foggy's shirt and he managed to form a coherent sentence. "Not here, let's go find a room."

"You're so romantic."

"Nah, just easily embarrassed."

They stumbled, laughing, up the stairs. The girl had produced a condom from nowhere and was ripping it open with her teeth. Foggy was thanking whatever deity there was for his good fortune. And that's when he heard the first moan.

The girl found a bathroom and was tugging him in when Foggy called out, louder than he meant to. "Matt?"

Another moan. A groan.

"Where are you going?" The girl asked. "Come on, I really, really want to have sex."

You and me both, Foggy thought, but he couldn't get the lump out of his throat, the surge of adrenaline that told him that Matt was not all right. "Matt?" He called again, trying not to sound frantic.

There, down the hall, another moan cut off suddenly by the soft thud of flesh hitting flesh and a hissed order to shut up, bitch.

Foggy rarely thanked the deity for his girth, but tonight was one of those grateful nights because he was mad as a bull and if someone was hurting Matt... He, Foggy, was big and could crush enemies like so many bugs. So he was grateful for his girth, because he didn't give a second thought about rushing to the defense.

He opened door after door, running down the hallway. Where was Matt? There was bedroom, closet, bedroom, bathroom, and then, there at the end, opening door number seven and there was Matt, on the bed.

There were three other people in the room, two guys and a girl near the door who was probably supposed to be keeping look-out but was not going her job very well. Foggy wasn't concerned with her. He was concerned with the guy who was ripping Matt's pants open and kissing his nipples. He was worried about the guy who was shoving his dick down Matt's throat.

The roar Foggy gave then was not a human sound, it was primal, from the depths of the sea, from the vast misty swamps. He was more beast than man when he wrenched the guy off of man and swung at him, punching hard from the shoulder like playground fights had taught him, right into the guy's chin. Pain blossomed through his hand but Foggy didn't care, didn't care at all, just needed this guy to crumple so that he could take care of the other one, the one who still had his dick out. Foggy tackled him, football style, shoving his knee into the guy's chest and swinging, swinging, until he knew the guy wouldn't be getting up.

There was still the girl. Foggy got up off the floor, eyes wildly looking for the door. And standing in the doorway was the blonde, the condom-wielding, face-kissing blonde, scratching the eyes out of the girl who was keeping watch. When she saw Foggy's head, the blonde barked out an order. "I've got these guys. You take care of your friend."

Friend? Matt. Oh god oh god Matt was hurt Matt was about to be raped, was being raped, was being threatened, was probably scared out of his mind and hurt and...

"Hey buddy," Foggy breathed, reaching out for Matt. He was near Matt's head, stood up so he could start buttoning his friend's shirt, but his hands were shaking bad. "Don't worry, I'm going to get you out of here. Shh, shh. It's okay. Matty, please. Please man, stop crying. It's okay."

Matt's eyes were dripping tears. His glasses were gone and it was just his face, raw and open. His mouth looked like someone had been forcing a dick in it, brutally.

Foggy fumbled in his pocket for his phone. Should he call 9-1-1 now or get Matt to a safe place first? Shouldn't he try to preserve evidence? Make sure the scene of the crime remained undisturbed?

He must have been talking out loud because Matt was shaking his head, feebly. "No. No, Foggy, please. No hospital. Please." His voice was absolutely wrecked, raspy and hoarse.

What was he to do? Crimes had to be reported, Foggy knew that, but hadn't enough people violated Matt's wishes for one night? Who was Foggy to say what Matt should and should not do with his own body? Especially now, when he was so, so broken.

So he just leaned his forehead against his friend's. "Okay, no hospital. For now. But you've got to stop crying, Matt, please. You're going to make yourself sick."

Matt reached up, fingers shaking, and put a palm against Foggy's face. "I'm not the one crying, Fog," Matt whispered. "You are."

.***.

happy fall everyone! this will be a series, obviously. thanks to everyone for the beautiful reviews on our very first Daredevil story! it feels us with words and good cheer, which turns into stories.

hope you all are spending the time with the people you love. we know we are.

peace,

us