I Wish That You Were Mine
This was an idea that I got after listening to Fleetwood Mac's "Beautiful Child." It might help if you listen to that while reading this. Mature sexual content ahead.
The moonlight slanting in through the open window paints everything silver. Malon stirs and sits up, the blanket slipping off of her naked shoulders. He is still asleep, breathing softly, the passage of his breath ruffling his blonde bangs.
She reaches out and smoothes away a strand tickling his cheek. He murmurs in his sleep, and she does not know if it is a sound of pleasure or protest. She withdraws her hand and looks at him. He grows quiet once more, and her brow furrows now. She wants to touch him again, draw his body against hers, but she settles for pulling the sheet up higher to his chest.
Malon begins to think about the beautiful boy lying beside her in the darkness and silence. She remembers how this evening started.
He had been coming nearly every week since winning the race. He came by with the excuse of needing milk or food or supplies for Epona. He is nearly mute and stutters nervously when he speaks. Malon smiles at him sweetly as she takes a bottle from the crate and pushes it into his clumsy hands. He reaches for his wallet, but she shakes her head. It's on the house this time like it is every time. She never has the heart to take his money no matter how badly she needs it.
Link nods gratefully and tucks the bottle into his pouch. He shuffles his feet but does not leave as he normally does. The rancher's daughter turns to look at him, expecting the typical muttered farewell. It does not come. His eyes like blue oceans that swallow up her are wide and questioning. There is a desire there, a yearning his mind does not understand even if his body does.
Link's thin lips work to say something. They are pursed and inviting. It is wrong, and she knows it. But she wants this so badly, needs it, and for once, her selfishness overrides her good sense. She leans forward presses her mouth to his. Fairy Boy surges forward awkwardly, unsure of himself despite all of his physical grace. His tongue tentatively grazes her bottom lip, and her arm wraps around the back of his neck, holding him to her. They cling to each other like two people drowning with waves rolling over their heads, pushing them deeper into depths unknown.
It is a long and stumbling way up the stairs to her room. When they do separate at last, his eyes are glazed, blinking rapidly to dispel the haze of her nearness. With nimble fingers, she plucks at the stays of his undershirt. In understanding, he pulls his tunic over his head and shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. With a questioning touch, he untucks her blouse and unties the strings until it falls away from her. Next come their shoes, and his breeches and her skirt. All of their clothing is left in careless, scattered piles until they are sitting on her bed, naked and a little afraid in front of each other.
She had dreamed of him from the moment he first came to her when he was ten. For seven years, he has held her heart though he does not know this, and he never can. She thinks it might break him if she did confess it. Instead, she kisses him again gently and guides his hand to cup her breast. His hands rove over the bared skin of her back and stomach. It is graceless and unskilled on both ends, but there is something painfully real and natural to it as well.
How many times had she imagined him charging in wearing shining armor and brandishing a sword like a living flame to save her? Too many. This is nothing like her fantasies. He is no charming knight who will whisk her away from all of her troubles. Instead, he is only a frightened boy, surprisingly unchanged from when she first met him. It leaves her hollow and trembling beneath him as he fits himself between her thighs. She wants to laugh and cry as he enters her slowly and tenderly.
He stops when she grunts at the pain, eyes wide with fear and hesitation. Malon wraps her legs around his hips and pushes him in deeper. She helps him find just the right rhythm and buries her face in his shoulder when she begins to shudder and cry out. Tears leak silently down her cheeks, and her fingers stroke the small of his back until he joins her in tumbling over the edge.
He sits up on one elbow and lightly touches his fingers to her damp cheeks and chin.
His mouth hangs open slightly until he thinks to ask, "Why?" His index finger and thumb rub together with the salt of her tears.
She does not answer him but kisses him until he asks no more questions. The farmgirl rolls him onto his back and straddles him. Her hair creates a curtain of false darkness as she leans down and places his hands on her hips. He cannot see the aching in her eyes when she shuts them, and they start over.
It is not like her fantasies, but somehow this makes it more wonderful and terrible all at the same time.
She returns to herself and eyes his clothing. His things are downstairs, leaning against a wall in a corner. The prospect of the sun breaching the horizon suddenly seems unbearable. She has never so feared the dawn as she does now. Tomorrow he will leave and continue his quest to face a man who people say is evil made flesh. Tomorrow he will leave no matter how much she wishes he would not. She knows that she might be able to make him stay, but it is not her right or her place.
He has never been and never will be hers. He has always been Hyrule's. She realizes now that she has known that from the moment she first saw him in the Market all those years ago. She is old enough now to know that and make peace with it.
I haven't written Malink in a long time, but I feel like I am rather rusty. Your opinions, thoughts, and critiques would be appreciated.