Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's during times like these where he remembers how fucked up everything is. How not okay this whole situation is. How he obviously needs to not be doing this thing with this man because this is the kind of outcome he gets and will continue to get if he continues to ignore reality.

And the reality is him being in the middle of a fight with too many grunting and sweating men who are way too intimidating and how are they all bald?

Statistically, Foggy thinks as he's ducked behind a dumpster, that shouldn't be possible. Unless, they have to shave their heads, or there are auditions for this sort of thing and only bald, beefy men fit the role. That, or their leader has hair and it's probably glorious to make up for all the baldness.

Foggy decides he definitely does not want to meet that perfectly coiffed man.

He startles when a man screams a bit too close to where he's hiding and he watches with wide eyes and an open mouth as the screaming gets closer and closer until someone flies by his spot in a blur of black and bald.

He listens intently as the man lands, waiting for any sign of his getting and up and possibly discovering where Foggy is, but after a few seconds of nothing, Foggy figures he's probably safe.

Maybe.

He peeks out past the dumpster and sees the Devil fighting two men. Blocking blows and dishing them out to men too stubborn to realize they're through. Foggy's worried, as he always is, but he knows the man can handle himself, can take care of business as usual and once he's done he'll swagger on over and grin his stupid grin and make Foggy love and hate him all at once.

“You can come out now, Foggy!”

Foggy peeks out again to see the Devil standing there, hip jutted out as he waves down the alley-way. He's going to be honest, he wants to get up, but the terror he feels now is just as intense as it was the first time around and he finds it to be a bit impossible at the moment. So, he stays crouched where he is, knowing that if he doesn't respond, the Devil will makes his way over to him.

He hears the sigh, and rolls his eyes. Yes, how dare I be scared, he thinks to himself as he listens to the crunch of the mans boots as he walks.

“You gonna stay here all night, or?” the Devil asks when he reaches Foggy. Foggy looks up and takes him in with his eyes. The blood, the rips and tears, the cuts on his face that never seem to go away. He wants to check him over, stop the bleeding, ask him if he's okay, how he feels, what the fuck -

“You're so stupid!” Is what comes out instead, and he does feel a little bad when the Devil's wide smile falters.

“Well, hello to you, too,” He holds out a hand for Foggy to take, and once upon a time Foggy would have slapped it away and struggled to stand on his shaky legs alone, insisting the man stay away. But this isn't once upon a time, and Foggy isn't afraid of the man anymore.

Well, a little bit. Foggy thinks that's healthy. After all, the Devil is a killer.

The Devil hauls him up with an admirable ease, immediately wrapping his arms around Foggy and holding him tight against his body.

Foggy thinks the man might just kiss him, which he has another thing coming if he thinks Foggy is going to put out after -

“How am I stupid?”

“Uhh,” Foggy looks around the alley before gesturing to the rather ridiculous pile of goons laying by the entrance, “All this.”

“I didn't start this.”

“Well, you certainly finished it!”

“Yeah, what else was I suppose to do? Ask them politely to stop?”

“It wouldn't be a bad first step.”

The Devil doesn't say anything, and they stand there for a moment, listening to the sound of far away traffic and steam hissing out of sewer grates.

“I'm not going to say that.”

“Why not?”

“I'm a vigilante, Foggy, not a mall cop.”

That gets Foggy to crack a smile. He punches the man playfully on the chest before leaning into his grip. The Devil places a kiss on his forehead.

“I think you'd make a great mall cop.”

The Devil's smile returns in full force as he leads them out of the alley-way.

“You just want to see me in the uniform.”

“Guilty.”

--

Karen giggles into his chest as they stand on the curb, trying wave down a cab to take home, which is proving to be quite difficult as they keep getting distracted. First it was with music, so they just had to stand in front of the street-performer and sway back forth while tossing them any change they could find. Then it was the sparkly lights of a burrito place, so naturally they needed to stand there and gawk for several minutes, and now it's because they're not just waving down a cab, but are waving at everything.

“Okay, okay, wait, I got it,” Karen says, straightening. She steps off the sidewalk with a wobble, which makes her turn back to Foggy will a look of laughter on her face, before walking out past the row of parked cars and shoving her fingers in her mouth.

It takes her a few tries, the noises resembling raspberries, but once she gets it she let's out a loud whistle that makes a passing cab stop and back up.

She turns back to Foggy, a look of triumph on her face. He gives her a over-enthusiastic and too loud round of applause which she revels in, and they climb in the back.

He closes his apartment door and locks it with as much focus as he can after the cab drops him off last. He leans against it, taking in his apartment and the same state he left it in his morning before he starts to strip, the last song that played at the bar going through his head.

“..and so you're back, from outer-space...”

He removes his tie with a little difficulty, but it soon joins his jacket on the floor. He begins to shake his hips as he works on removing his dress shirt, the buttons proving to be a challenge.

“...should've made you leave your key...”

He toes off his shoes, his mouth now working on a shirt button around his wrist. He makes a noise of triumph when it pops free and he can now remove his arm from the sleeve.

“...oh no not I, I will survive oh as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive...”

His dress shirt falls to the ground and he shuffles his way across the apartment, alternating between humming and singing as he works on his belt buckle.

A sharp wolf-whistle cuts through his concert of one. He jumps and turns around to see the Devil propped up in his bedroom window, an amused smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Foggy asks, a smile of his own blossoming.

“Well, I heard you singing and thought I'd pop by, see what was making you so happy. Now, I know it's just one too many eels.”

“Oh, those are the best.”

The Devil laughs, and Foggy resumes his quest to be free of his clothes, paying the man no mind as he final rids himself of his pants. Once free he makes his way over the window, where he places a wet kiss on the Devil's cheek and pats his horned head.

“I think I like you like this,” The Devil laughs as he swings a leg out into the night.

“What, with my inhibitions loose? Knew you were horrible.”

“Carefree, laughing, smiling,” The Devil lists as Foggy flops on his bed and pulls the covers up over himself.

“I'm all those things already.”

“You're something all right.”

“Would you like to join me?” Foggy asks abruptly, patting the empty side of the bed. 

The Devil licks his lips, ducking his head. “No, Foggy, I still have patrolling to do.”

“Oh,” Foggy nods his understanding, “Well, maybe after.”

He's given a small smile in response.

“Yeah, maybe.”

--

The heat of his face is almost unbearable. He can feel his embarrassment all the way down in his toes, and the man doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. In fact, the more Foggy protests, the more the man goes on.

He thinks this man might be the reason for his death after all.

Foggy knew he and Karen had drank way too much that night, but he hadn't realized the severity until she told him this morning over strong coffee, and even then it was a bit hard to believe. But ever since he left work twenty minutes ago, he's been plagued with the laughs and taunts of this insufferable man and his shit-eating grin.

“I did not!” he tries again, not willing to believe the lies this man is spinning him.

“Oh, yes you did.” The Devil teases as they walk, “You invited me into your bed Friday night, you wanted me.”

“No, I didn't.”

“But you do want me.”

“No, I don't.”

“Liar.”

“Cheater.”

The Devil let's out a loud, full-belly laugh, and Foggy wants to hate him for it, he really does.

“You're dumb.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” The Devil begins, and Foggy rolls his eyes, “I wanted to be in your bed, with you.”

They round a corner and Foggy let's out an exasperate sigh, “Well, too bad you turned down your chance. Tough luck buddy.”

The Devil laughs again, this time as he crowds up behind Foggy, turning and trapping Foggy between himself and the wall.

It's quiet for a moment, or, as quiet as New York can be, as they stand close together. The Devil's arms propped against the building as he leans over Foggy, their breath mingling together.

So, it's a bit of a shock to Foggy when the Devil doesn't kiss him on the lips, but instead captures one of his hands, lifts it to his lips, and presses a kiss to the back of his hand.

“I still do, you know. You, me, your bed.” The Devil says softly, punctuating his sentence with another kiss.

“Well, good for you,” Foggy says, trying to sound indifferent to disguise how very much in favour he is of that idea. Pretending like the very thought isn't setting a fire under his heart.

And the Devil laughs, because he knows it, too.

--

His legs feel like lead and jelly simultaneously and it's a very odd sensation. His heart is lodged in his throat and his stomach has dropped like a bag of bricks. It's like what he imagines witnessing a car crash is like; horrifying yet so captivating he can't look away.

In the back of his mind he's screaming at himself to get the ever-loving-hell out of there, to just go and never look back because this is some messed up shit.

But he can't look away, not when there are a pile of bodies littering the ground and the Devil is in the process of squeezing a mans life out through his eyeballs.

So messed up.

The man is kneeling on the ground, hands wrapped around the Devil's wrists as the Devil digs his thumbs into the mans eyes. His screams are bloodcurdling, and Foggy knows he will never forget them for as long as he lives.

The thing is, is that he knew. He knew for a fact what this man did to the people who were sent after him. That he killed and did it in whatever way he found fit for the moment. Knew that he had so much blood on his hands he would never be clean of it.

But he still thought...

When the man let's out his last breath and slumps to the ground to join the rest of the unfortunate, the Devil turns to where Foggy is standing. It makes him feel a bit guilty, but he also feels justified when the Devil reaches up to undo his helmet and he flinches, violently.

It makes the Devil halt, but only for a moment.

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” The Devil says, helmet in hands and looking contrite as he slowly makes his way over to where Foggy is standing. Like he knows Foggy is one wrong move away from a break-down.

For every step he takes forward, Foggy matches it but backwards.

Foggy opens his mouth to speak, but finds himself unable to say anything. The Devil reaches out, and Foggy raises a hand in warning.

“Please don't,” he manages, the hand he has between them shaking.

“You knew, Foggy. You knew what I did, what I do.”

“I know, but that,” Foggy falters, lowering his arm to wrap it around himself, “but that doesn't change what I saw.”

“What you saw was me getting rid of bad people. People who could have hurt you and others like you.”

“You were laughing!” and doesn't that make him feel even more sick, “You were enjoying yourself.”

The Devil doesn't say anything to that, and Foggy wishes he had the power to teleport himself out of this situation, or maybe turn back time and yell at his past-self for accepting the kindness this man gave him. To ignore his smiles and his laugh, and to not listen to a single damn word he has to say about anything.

Because the Devil is a killer, and he shouldn't have become attached.

“I just want to go home,” he says, feeling more drained in this moment than he has all night. He looks up to see that the Devil has gotten closer without his notice.

The Devil nods slowly, “Okay,” he licks his lips, “Okay, just...let me take you home, all right?”

He takes Foggy's silence as permission to go to him, and crosses the distance between them. He hesitates with touching, but eventually the need to wins out and he gathers Foggy up in his arms. Foggy let's him, the damned familiarity outweighing his fear. But, he stops himself from leaning into the embrace. A victory, he tells himself.

But then the Devil ducks down, and presses a tentative kiss to where Foggy's pulse is thrumming out of control, effectively knocking the breath right out of him with the slightest brush of lips.

--

“I'm sorry, how old are you again?” Foggy asks, unable to ignore him any longer. He's given it a valiant effort, too, having managed almost two full weeks without so much as a word to the other man. Which has lead to some interesting tactics on the Devil's part. Some, Foggy hopes he can forget in this lifetime.

“I don't believe we've exchanged that kind of information.”

“Well, I think it's safe to say you're not five so this is kind of ridiculous.”

“I honestly don't see what the big deal is.”

Foggy comes to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, stopping the other man, “I'm not giving you a piggy back ride!” he huffs out, irritated.

The Devil shakes his head, “I never said that, I said I'd give you one.”

Foggy continues walking, “Well, I don't want one.”

“You're no fun.”

“You spend your nights parkouring off buildings and killing people. One of us has to be. You know, what do you even do during the day? Do you just stay home, sleep, watch soaps?” Foggy asks, genuinely curious but keeping his tone sarcastic.

“If it'll make you feel better, I do have a day job.”

Foggy scoffs, “As what, a butcher?”

“Come on, Foggy. You can't stay mad at me forever.”

Foggy stops at that and turns to the other man. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I only witnessed you massacre several – don't tilt your head at me – people in front of my own two eyes. You did in someone's head with a brick!”

“What do you want me to say, Foggy?”

“Nothing. Not unless you can rewind time or unkill those people.”

They stand there in silence for several minutes. Foggy isn't sure what he's waiting for, but he knows he's waiting for something. Yet, when the Devil finally does say something, Foggy knows it was not at all what he was waiting for.

“I know I shouldn't say this because you're mad at me, but you're cute when mad, you know that?” The Devil smirks, and before Foggy can even open his mouth to respond, the Devil lifts his chin and kisses his nose, rendering Foggy speechless.

“Good night, Foggy,” The Devil says, smug, before disappearing into the night.

--

“Why are you throwing rocks at my window?” Foggy asks groggily as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. He leans against the cold bar of his balcony and peers down into the darkness. He can barely make out the outline of a person standing there, but that doesn't matter, he already knows full-well who it is. If he wasn't so frustratingly fond of the man he would probably tell him off for having been woken up at such a late hour. He stifles back a yawn.

“Nothing else was working...so I figured might as well?” His voice calls up. Good, at least the man as the decency to sound apologetic.

Foggy raises an eyebrow, “Might as well what? Disturb my beauty sleep?”

“It's not like you need it,” The Devil scoffs from below, and Foggy curses how easily this man can make him smile.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my friend.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

Now it's his turn to scoff, “I'm a little flattered, so what? I'm still not letting you up.”

“What if I climbed up your balcony, all romantic like.”

“That's not romantic.”

“But I'd be doing it in the name of love.”

“Doesn't matter.”

“You're impossible.”

“And you're annoyingly persistent.”

He's smiling now, full and wide, he can't help it. Not when they go back and forth like this, like they do every time they meet. During Foggy's walk home, when he's locking up the office, after he sees that Karen is in a cab safe and on her way home after a night of drinking.

“I want to kiss you, why is that so horrible?” the man grunts out and Foggy has to bite his lip to try and reel in his smile, knowing full well that the man is doing.

“Um,” Foggy says, drawing the word out, pretending to contemplate his answer, “ let me think, you uh, murder people, to death.”

“No one's perfect. I know for a fact you snore.”

Foggy squints, taking a little offence to that, “I could have you arrested for stalking.”

“I'm looking out for you.”

“No you're not, you're throwing rocks at my window in the dead of night. You're a public menace!”

“I would like to be a private one, but you won't let me.”

“I don't like whiners.”

They're now nose to nose, there voices soft as they share the air. Foggy's frowning at him now, or at least trying to, which is proving to be very difficult since the Devil looks adorable with his squinty eyes and content grin. His hair is all fluffed up from taking his mask off and there are cuts and bruises on his face, no doubt fresh from his earlier activities. Foggy reaches out without thinking and cups the mans cheek, thumbing gently across the angry, red cut there.

The Devil hums, turns his head, and places a soft kiss to the inside of Foggy's palm, then wrist. He turns back, their noses brushing together, and Foggy swears he could live in this little moment forever. That he could forget everything this man has done, could pretend that what he feels is one hundred percent right.

“Can I kiss you now?” the Devil asks, his voice so gentle and warm it wraps around him in thick comfort. The eyes that blink languidly at him are sightless and beautiful, and Foggy is taken over by the strong need to kiss his eyelids.

“I don't know, can you?” he teases, and he giggles when the man playfully snaps his teeth at him.

“Brat.”

The Devil's movements are restricted by the bar, but that doesn't stop him from leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Foggy's.

“I'll beg, if that's what it takes.”

“I think you'd have to be on your knees for that.”

“If the court pleases,” the man breathes out, his eyes falling shut.

And Foggy, too, finds it a bit hard to breath. His hands find their way into the mans hair and without another word or thought, he closes his eyes and captures the mans lips in a gentle kiss.

The Devil makes a growl of approval low in his throat, his hand tightening their grip on the bar between them as he presses his body as tight as it'll go against it. He soon abandons that and reaches out to quickly wrap his arms around Foggy, one hand on his back and the other tangling in his hair.

It's a bit tricky, a lot awkward, and more of a test of strength than anything else, but they pay it no real mind as they continue their moment, though Foggy knows the bar will leaves it's mark.

When they pull apart the Devil smiles at him as their noses brush. It's soft and gentle and it makes Foggy's heart ache.

The Devil let's go with a final squeeze, and leans back. He lets go of the bar, his arms extended out on either side and disappears into the dark.

--

The night is quiet. A cool breeze has the curtains fluttering in and out of the open window, letting the moonlight stream in. It's pretty, Foggy thinks as he watches through half-lidded eyes.

He closes his eyes for what feels like a moment, but he must have dozed off, because when he opens them again, he's greeted to the sight of the Devil once again lounging in his window.

He watches the man for a while, knowing full-well that the man has his entire focus on him. His helmet is off, the wind pushing his hair around in an attractive way, the moonlight playing off his skin.

He's beautiful.

“Hi,” is all he says, sleep covering his voice.

The Devil smiles.

“Hi yourself.”

There's a lot he should say, he thinks. Like how he's still mad about witnessing him murder so many people with his own eyes, and wasn't hidden away. How this couldn't possibly work in the long run. How he doesn't even know the mans real name.

But he doesn't say any of that, and instead he pushes back his comforter, and silently invites the Devil to bed.

Wordlessly, the Devil stands, and Foggy watches as his helmet falls to the ground. His suit soon follows and even in his sleep-fogged state, Foggy still finds it in him to appreciate the sight of the Devil in nothing but boxer-briefs.

Once they're both in bed and comfortable, the Devil's fingers trailing up and down Foggy's side in slow, soothing strokes, Foggy doesn't stop himself this time. He leans in and presses two soft kisses to the mans eyelids.