He is not an ordinary blind man. Matt Murdock may live surrounded by darkness, but he knows about the world that hides behind that opaque curtain even if he can’t pull it aside. His senses do that for him drawing a thorough picture that otherwise would be invisible for him. The sounds, the smells, the tastes he feels uncover that image and solve the puzzle filling the empty space with every little detail. Thus, despite his blindness, he somehow sees more than a sighted person can.
His fingers also help him bring that inert image to life. He extends his hand and feels the roughness of the papers he works with, the coldness of the rain, the moisture of his lunch bag, the warmth of the blood he sheds. Everything he touches fits the vision his other senses bring to him and by touching it, he actualizes it. So he rubs his fingertips and observes the way that image crystallizes in front of him.
However, touch had never felt so real as when she first caressed his skin. He had had no choice but to grow used to his world on fire, but then, right then, it turned into something else. It got warmer and its sparks enlightened his obscure halo of chosen loneliness. Her hand hovered over his and brushed it, each finger drawing lines on his on the way.
At that moment, when everything changed, he found what he did not know he had been longing for: care, softness, warmth; a shelter. That’s how, over a billiard table, he noticed her opening the dark curtains behind which he had locked himself away from every emotion that could make him feel loved. Not anymore, her soft coughing seemed to whisper into his ear.
Now his hands are always searching for hers. He never gets tired of it. Whether they are alone or in the middle of the street, he always finds a way to get close to her. If he knows they can be watched, he likes pretending he needs her help, the best excuse to feel her fingers on him. She does it with a shy smirk. She knows he needs no help, but she hands him his coffee at the café counter, passes him some folders at the courtroom, and never leaves his hand as they cross the street.
His hands wrap hers and warm them if it’s cold outside, their fingers always intertwined when they are walking outside, playing while they are lazily lying in bed. And not only have his hands found a home between hers, his fingers have also traveled all over her.
He loves to explore every bit of her body and his touch gives her goosebumps as he draws lines on her. Those paths seem to catch fire as they get warmer and vibrate ever so slightly, covering her body with soft marks that display a portrait on the canvas of her skin.
He feels he can almost see her then. The most beautiful work of art lying underneath him, by his side, on top of him. He can tell the red lines on her white skin, the blue serenity of her eyes, the golden sunshine her hair displays, the green nature of an organic love that makes him feel more alive than he had ever dreamed to be. All the colours he can no longer see are exposed right in front of him wherever she is.
And there is nowhere else he would rather be. His life was colorless before he let her in. Now her mere presence fills the canvas of his life with the liveliness of the beautiful palette that she is. His world is different thanks to her. That is why, when it is just the two of them, he wastes no time and makes the most of it.
He runs his fingers through her hair and plays with one lock and then another, enjoying their smell. When he feels her relaxing and closing her eyes, he moves his hand to the back of her neck and stays there for a while, her breathing calming, all her senses focusing on him. Then, his hands move under her clothing and he draws circles on her belly. He gets closer to rub his nose against hers and mimics her smile. He kisses the outline of her lips while she looks for his with her tongue, trying to deepen the kiss. He can feel her wanting, her body reddening, getting warmer, desire arising all over her.
But if there is no need to hurry, he tries to slower that quick pace, and she does the same, biting her lower lip to control her hunger, letting him take his time to undress her. She knows how he loves to expose her skin gradually, celebrating every piece of clothing that is taken off and away. He unveils her body as an artist removes the fabric that protects a painting before the creative process begins.
Having traveled his whole world with his fingers, nothing feels better than the way she looks when he touches her. So he does it, brushing her skin with his fingertips and his tongue, loving the lines he makes, the traces he leaves, their effect only visible for him. He feels the luckiest man on earth painting hidden works of art on her.
They work together then to open the floodgates of a massive tide of sensations that occupy the room and they dress it with the colours of their intertwined naked bodies, cutting the place off the outside world. His fingers and lips slide all over her skin and he feels his head spinning, completely overwhelmed, when she does the same to him leaving his skin coated with her taste and tracks of her smell, conquering the room when he takes the lead and hears the sound of her voice as she moans and gasps and whispers his name. Her heartbeat and her breathing reverberate, magnetizing him.
Lost in the vision of the colourful Pollock she embodies over his sheets, he overcomes his ecstasy and ignores his trembling limbs to devote himself to her. He focuses on every one of her reactions hoping to make her experience the emotions and sensations that she makes him feel.
He clenches her hips, moves his tongue, his lips, his fingers, here and there, reading her. He delights in the sounds she lets out and savours her skin and every moment of it admiring the colours and the images that fill the room because of her. He does it until he cannot keep waiting and, hearing her ask for it, he slides himself inside of her. Her moist walls welcome him and, just like the rest of her, they embrace him.
He smiles knowing he is finally home.
If he had to choose a moment of sheer happiness, this would be it: the white purity of her skin completely hidden under red gooseflesh as she feels him inside of her and gasps trying to get her breath back. He moves slightly and feels an almost imperceptible spasm in every inch of her body. He can’t help but kiss her lips then. And when they both gradually start rubbing their bodies against each other, they concentrate on their pulse and he plunges into her again and again. His lips never leave her skin, fingers tightly interlaced, their bodies fitting in, his chest, her back, his hands, her breasts, his hair, her neck… He feels her body tensing, trembling. And matching the way she finally gives in to it, he yields and feels the room getting tinted by pulsating flashes of a red light that warms them as they slowly come back to life.
He may live surrounded by darkness, but she illuminates his life just by being there, in his arms, fighting to catch her breath back. He does the same enjoying the feeling of her body full of colours and throbbing against his, such a beautiful image of hope and happiness.
She smiles against his chest and he runs his hand through her hair and whispers an I love you that makes her smile grow bigger. She nods, still unable to articulate words, and looks for his free hand to take it to her mouth and kiss those fingertips that love caressing her. That is how she falls asleep.
He tries to stay awake a bit longer to enjoy the feeling of her calmness comforting him. He never has nightmares when she sleeps with him. His dreams are then more colourful and hopeful. Somehow, when she is there, he forgets about the world he lives in. There is no darkness, just the colours that she spreads. And he has the certainty that this is the best present he could ever have and knows that there will be an even happier future, as long as it’s next to her.