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Sat in a pitch black room, in a locked up inn atop a hulking beast-turned-city, Matoh leans into a barely murmured whisper.
Tanned, jewel-tipped fingers trace over a bony spine, lingering over patches of rough and indented scars. An arm holds his weight up while the other explores unseen flesh, the blindfold a soft sensation against his eyelashes. The lack of sight only made the fleeting touches more precious, his one way to connect with the man leaning against him.
“And how did this scar come to be..?”
The deep rumble of Matoh's voice dissipates into the silence of the room, met only with a soft breath as his hand trails over the aforementioned scar. By touch, it seems long and curved, tracing over his paramour's back and cutting deep into its ribs. He feels cold air blow past his ear, as quiet words are muttered into it. He doesn't actually take in what is said, too distracted by the closeness.
Who in the name of the Moon herself could ever focus with such a mystery tucked into their lap, let alone focus on hardly audible secrets? Although, mentioning the moon seems almost blasphemous given the subject of the mystery. Afterall, they avoid each other like the plague. Or, Matoh's darling avoids the moon. He doesn't actually know why, maybe something related to the light. Perhaps his lover is a vampire, allergic to the warm glow, or maybe it's just weird like that.
That's fine. Matoh is no normal man either. No normal man would agree to this arrangement, to be blindfolded and locked in the dark just for a night alone. Normal men would fear his Shade, fear the rumours and tales. Matoh doesn't fear any of that. In fact, it only serves to draw him closer.
He blinks behind the thick fabric covering his eyes. It feels as if Matoh loses his focus more and more these days. Maybe the constant flow of electricity through his body is finally hitting his brain, and that's why he just.. loses time. Or maybe it's because he's simply safe here, hidden away from the light and the eyes and the constant praise for doing the bare minimum like existing. He doesn't want to think too hard about any of that, actually. He'd rather press his face into the silky hair in front of him, breathing in the smell of dust and solitude. Does solitude have a scent? If it does, it smells like this - cold and endless, filling his nose completely.
Gods, Matoh needs to stop getting distracted. He's fairly certain his Shade is getting annoyed - or as annoyed as a seemingly emotionless ghost story can be. He feels a freezing palm press into his cheek, a sharp nailed thumb rubbing just under the edge of the blindfold. Its a gentle touch, something no one but Matoh is allowed to feel. His painted lips curve into a frown, voice deep.
“ Careful with the eyes. We wouldn't want to deprive the world if you scratch them out, would we.”
Once more, the response is inaudible, something quiet and easily mistaken for the swish of a curtain in an icy breeze. Matoh presses a kiss to what he can only assume is his dearest's forehead, nodding at whatever it said, whatever was lost to the air.
“ Just because you don't care for my appearance doesn't mean I don't. I wouldn't gouge out those beautiful golden hues you hide just because I don't see them. “
The body in his lap shifts, he can feel its other hand worm its way up his back, holding onto his neck gently. A face pressed against his throat, a curved nose and slender cheeks like ice pushed to his skin. Matoh doesn't complain, he runs hot anyway. The hands on his flesh tighten their grip, pulling the Shade closer against him. In response, Matoh adjusts his own grip, squeezing his arms around it.
When dawn comes, the Shade will leave, nothing but a scrap of dark fabric left in its wake. But for now, under the cover of darkness, the two can hold each other.
For now, this is enough. Enough for Matoh, and enough for his lover.