The moments we steal together are short and intense. They are snatched in empty hallways, back alleys, and dark rooms. Our bodies meet in a crush of heat, our hands clutching desperately for each other. Even in the company of others, his brief touches linger, leaving a fading warmth on my arm, my hand. Every chance we get, we come up with more and more excuses to disappear together. Who will question us? The leader of the rebellion and his second-in-command have every reason to spend time together.
I had pined after him for months without any hope of reciprocation. It had taken me awhile to realize what I was feeling. I'd never felt this way about another man, so it was hard to recognize that distant ache in my heart for what it was. I found my eyes trailing after him as he walked through hallways. When I go to see him fight, his fluid grace took my breath away. I was glad that my helmet hid much of my face because I couldn't help but blush at the elegance of his form and figure. At first, I had been horrified by the damage that his mask must conceal. But I realized that I didn't care. However bad it was, I wanted to look into his eyes, feel his ruined lips press against mine, rest my hand against the scars that had shaped his life. I trailed behind him like a lovesick girl, hovering at his elbow and striving to answer his every need. I was pathetically eager to please, but I would rather have his scorn and stay at his side than be sent away because I was useless to him.
I thought it must be my imagination at first, when I thought his hand had deliberately brushed against mine or rested a second too long on my shoulder. After so long, I assumed I was building little nothings into something that just didn't exist. But then one day we were the last to leave the small room we held meetings in. He grabbed my shoulder and twisted me to face him as he pinned me to the wall. I was too shocked to move, but one of his hands slid up my chest to rest against the side of my neck. I leaned into that contact, reaching my own arms up to pull him closer. I don't know how far things might have gone, but we heard footsteps in the hall outside and had to jump apart before we were seen.
It was hard, very hard. As Equalist leaders, we had very little time to ourselves. And he was a fugitive with a face he was unable to hide. I could slip out and mingle with the rest of the unknowing city, but I found I'd rather spend my free time with him in his close confined quarters, even if we couldn't spend it alone together. When we did get those rare opportunities for privacy, there were other difficulties.
I had dreamed about laying aside his mask, being the only one to know and love his ruined face. The first chance we had for more than rushed caresses, I had eventually reached up for the edge of his mask, but he had grabbed my wrist, squeezing so hard I cried out in pain. He apologized, I apologized, I felt completely miserable. I was given this wonderful thing and I immediately ruined it by overstepping my boundaries. As he took a few steps across the room to look out the one small window, I had an idea. I untied my sash and bound it tightly across my eyes. I heard cloth rustle as he moved, and spread my arms out wide, grinning hesitantly. One, two quick steps and he was against me, pressing me into the wall. His bare forehead pressed against mine, and he slowly placed the first tentative kiss on my lips.
Still, after that I was careful to let him set all the limits. His lips weren't the scarred wreck I had imagined, but he refused to let me touch or kiss anywhere else on his face. Even now, weeks later, he pulls away if I come too close to placing a hand on his cheek. I long to tell him that nothing about him could possibly repulse me. The strength it took to endure what had been done to him only makes him more beautiful to me. To push past this tragedy and go on to speak for the people of the world... I cannot imagine a better man. When he pulls away from me though, it brings tears to my eyes that soak into my blindfold. The damage that was done to this wonderful man infuriates me. Even with his own lover, he can't bring himself to show his face. All I can do is reassure him over and over with my words and actions that I love him for everything he is. Someday he'll believe me. He'll take off my blindfold and I'll see all those hidden wounds and scars. I trust him; I know it will happen. When he looks into my eyes he'll find nothing but unconditional love and acceptance. Someday.