He was a grown man. He was accomplished and wizened and capable. But, at the moment, more than anything, he was scared.
He fought back a tremble as slender fingers trailed up his chest, over his Adam's apple, across his jaw, becoming a light breeze across his lips. He stared back into eyes that betrayed nothing of their owner's intentions, but lightly upturned lips offered a small consolation.
"Don't be nervous," the blond man muttered and leaned forward from his position straddling Roy's hips to rest their foreheads together.
Roy averted his good eye down to gaze at the supple flesh of a young chest, and ropes of muscle wrapping around long, elegant arms. He tried to remember the moment in which this young man had stopped being i someone else /i for him and had become a comfort of his own.
Long fingers continued their trek: up the hollow of a cheek, over a high cheekbone, shuffling over eyelashes.
He was getting too close. Roy glanced around nervously, seeking out something to distract the man who held him pinned, something to distract himself. He let his hands come to rest on the thighs pressed snugly against his hips and squeezed lightly when his companion's fingers found their mark.
"Stop it..."
"You know," Russell mumbled softly, "a wise man once told me that I shouldn't hide behind something that I am not."
That was low; they both knew that "wise man" was not to be mentioned in the thick air that always hung between them.
His fingers slid under the stiff black curve that covered half of Roy's face and began to lift up gently. "I think that would apply to i this /i as well."
They met eyes and Russell's pleaded for entrance, for invitation. Roy sighed, closed his good eye, and nodded.
Russell steadied his face, ready for the worst. Slowly, he slid the eyepatch off, watching intently as thick scars and discolored flesh were revealed, inch by inch. Webs of raised tissue tangled together over the older man's lovely bone structure. With a final, gentle tug, Russell pulled the band of the patch off of Roy's head and looked at the revealed damage.
The left eye was likely gone, though he couldn't tell. Too many thick layers of protective flesh had covered the void. Puckered and purple around the edges, the wound looked like it must still hurt, even this many years afterward. Slowly, Roy opened his right eye and watched Russell's face for any sign of repulsion, of wanting to flee.
Instead, Russell continued to hold the older man's gaze as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the flesh that used to be a dark eye. The blond man would pretend for the rest of his days that he did not feel Roy quiver.
"It looks like you are two different men," Russell said, eyeing at the distinct boundary between smooth and marred flesh.
"I was."
"Are you done pretending?"
Roy caught his gaze. "Are you?"
Three eyes cast downward at a black eyepatch resting on the bed and a ghost hung between them.