Author's Note: Well, this is my first time writing for this fandom. Inspired by the prompt 'a person lists physical features they love about another person.'
Fisk had always been very attentive to detail, and he had grown to have a complicated and detailed picture of his knight in his head.
Michael's hair grew light and feathery, thick but still somehow managing to look like a halo. He had snipped away at it, but hadn't been able to resist sweeping his bangs away from his face. The hair had been ever so soft, and he'd considered burying his hands in it. He almost regretted having cut it away. It'd been a necessity, though, and it was slowly growing back.
Michael was muscular, but slight at the same time, although the knight errant was eighteen years of age, he never seemed to have gotten out of the awkward stage of boyhood, his arms seeming too long for his body and his legs even longer. But there was a certain beauty in Michael's lankiness, his bones jutted out in a way Fisk found very appealing and his long legs made him look graceful every time he walked.
He'd had to rub cream on Michael's back for hours upon end and had sat with him there for whole nights, he'd had plenty of time to examine and explore the curve of the muscles in Michael's back. Although that was hard, irritating work, he'd grown to at least tolerate it. Touching Michael's skin became something he was accustomed to, and eventually he found that he enjoyed it, as odd as that sounded.
However, seeing his knight's scars was not something Fisk enjoyed, and he had hoped that sometime he would be able to feel Michael's skin without scars crisscrossing it.
The knight errant's hands fluctuated, sometimes they were soft, and others they were bloody. There had been many instances in which they touched Fisk's, some intentional and some not, and Fisk had seen the many stages of Michael's hands, the beaten, bloody hands of a worker to the smooth, polished hands of a noble. He wasn't sure which he preferred, all he cared was that they brushed his at least occasionally
And then there was his face, with his high cheekbones and wide eyes. He looked like a noble, a slight, beautiful noble. Beautiful wasn't a word that Michael would have considered masculine enough to apply to him, but it certainly did. His blue eyes were framed by long lashes and his skin was pale. He imagined that as a child, Michael had looked like the picture of a noble child. Small and innocent and beautiful.
Michael had been growing less lanky, but to Fisk, he still looked like a child in knight's armor. A little boy playing soldiers. But he knew that the other boy wasn't, and although sometimes he didn't seem to know what he was doing, Fisk had no doubt that he would figure it out eventually.
It was strange, how Fisk was the one who took care of his knight, despite being the younger one. He felt a certain protectiveness for Michael, and he had to wonder whether Michael felt the same thing towards him. If it had been him who was lashed and captured and nearly beaten into submission, would Michael have done the same for him?
Yes, he thought so. Michael went to great lengths to protect those who meant something to him, and had said on many occasions that Fisk meant quite a lot to him.
So Fisk pushed any worries about what might have been away, and instead focused on what was.
I am in love with this pairing.
