Title: Bleed
Author: Sometimes, A Muse
Date: 5/17/2008
Fandom: Legend of Zelda
Pairing: Fierce Deity Link x Dark Link; mention of Link x Sheik
Rating: R for blood and smexing and blood. You've been warned.
Word Count: 739
Summary: Long Drabble/Short One-shot. The Fierce Deity likes his armor. Dark Link prefers him without.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money to give you if you sue. Original plot elements are mine.
Author's Note: In my version of the universe, young Link started his quest for the three stones at 10, it took a while, he turned 11. Seven years pass, he comes back at 18, so he's an "adult" for any "adult" situations that develop. Dark Link and Fierce Deity Link are their own characters, separate from "Hero" Link. Sheik is his own character, separate from Zelda.
Author's Note #2: I've tried my best to work around the pronoun confusion, as I just couldn't make them call each other "Dark Link" and "Fierce Deity", nor did I want to give them cheesy names. Feedback about how well I succeeded is greatly desired (really, I'll beg!).
Dedication: It's all Zeffyface's fault. Or, well, I guess it's both our faults, but if I fall, you're going down with me, hun! As such, this is, of course, dedicated to Zef. I don't know how you do it, but you inspire this kind of stuff, even though it's not what I originally set down to write for this pair!
"I don't like it," the dusky-skinned man stated. He reclined comfortably, hands clasped behind his head, as he watched his companion don the ornate armor.
The taller man merely ignored him, adjusting the buckle on his chest plate.
"I said, I don't like it." Breath puffed out, blowing his raven hair out of his eyes, and he scowled at his companion.
"I heard you the first time." The deep voice rumbled through their shared tent as, satisfied with the chest plate, its owner moved to pull on armored gauntlets.
"So why are you still putting it on?" One hand waved in the air, gesturing up and down the other's form.
"Because," the voice sighed with the familiarity of an old argument, "I don't like being covered in blood."
"Yes you do," the darker man retorted.
"Humph," came the answering snort. "Other people's blood, yes. I don't like being covered in my own blood. That's your thing."
Red eyes gleamed at the challenge. Rising to his feet, the darker man glided over to his companion, pacing a circle around to his back. He was by no means short, but still had to rise up slightly to place his mouth at the other's ear. "Take off the armor, and we can both be covered in my blood," he whispered, low and throaty, breath ghosting over the tip of the delicately pointed ear.
The taller man shook his head, his eyes - white on white on white, the shades so subtle it appeared as if he had no iris or pupil - narrowing. Stepping away from the teasing of his partner, he took up the hilt of his unique sword, easily hefting the large weapon. "There's hardly time for any of that right now."
"There's always time." Hardly dissuaded, the dark man's hands gripped the lower edge of his black tunic, pulling it and his under-tunic off in one smooth motion. Stalking over to his companion once more, he pressed forward, draping his arms over the other's shoulders. The large blade was trapped between their bodies, sliding off the armor of one while cutting into the flesh of the other.
"Listen, Shadow..." The deep voice didn't get any further than the pet name as the other's lips pressed, rough and demanding, against his own. One hand slid off his shoulder, moving down between them before rising back to his face. Fingers coated with something warm and wet traced his cheek, his partner smearing fresh blood into the red tattoos on his face. Moaning, he broke the kiss, turning his head to capture the bloody fingers in his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.
The darker man pressed forward again, hissing in pleasure as the twisting blade bit into his skin once more. With a clatter his companion cast the weapon aside, mouth moving to trace a sensitive collarbone while gauntleted hands ran up and down muscled chest, tracing patterns in the blood. One black-clad leg raised, sliding to hook around a strong thigh. The motion brought their hips together, bucking and rolling against each other.
Gauntleted hands, slick now with blood, slipped around to the bare skin at the small of the darker man's back. White eyes flashed as the taller man coaxed his partner to lean back, mouth sliding down so tongue could lave the bloody gashes. The dark-clad leg slid higher against his own as the smaller man bent back at the waist, dark hands sliding down to grip his forearms just above the gauntlets. The daring position was intoxicating, both dangerous and provocative, and a possessive growl rumbled through his chest. Hearing the noise, his partner tensed the toned muscles of his stomach, pulling himself vertical once more; hands slid up to undo the buckles holding armored plates together. Much like the forgotten blade, the ornate armor clattered to the ground, unneeded.
"Are you guys ready to leave ye...?" The questioning voice trailed off into a sigh as a blond head poked through the tent flap. Blue eyes rolled at the sight of his Shadow and his Demon, the head shaking as it retreated. "Nevermind. Just come out when you're done."
The deep voice rumbled out a warning growl, but the mouth didn't stop in its activities to grace the Hylian with a reply. Instead, the darker man turned his head, lust clouding red eyes as he voiced his retort. "Oh, go molest your Sheikah while you wait."
Original (Inspiring) Statement/Summary: Crack!Fic: DL/FDL. FDL likes his armor. DL insists he needs to be more cuddly. Hilarity ensues. The "cuddly" didn't quite make it in there, and the "hilarity" only dimly happened at the end, but that's ok, right?