Title: Heat
Author:Sometimes, A Muse
Date: started 1/10/2008, finished 1/11/2008
Fandom: Legend of Zelda
Pairing: Link x Sheik
Rating: R
Word Count: 1384
Summary: One-shot. Seeking warmth.
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. Sheik is his own character, separate from Zelda.
Comments: I tried to go to bed at a decent hour last night, and this popped into my head. I really wanted to sleep, but I've learned not to ignore the muse when it strikes. Transcribed from my hand-written notes, then re-worked a bit a lot to make it presentable. Comments are loved, criticisms are worshiped.
Original Post: My LiveJournal archive on 1/11/2008 (link to archive in my profile)
He remembered feeling cold, chilled to the bone. He couldn't remember when he hadn't felt cold, but there had to be a time. Maybe when he'd traveled Death Mountain...he couldn't have been cold inside the volcano. Or maybe this was a different kind of cold, the kind that numbed the insides to deal with the pain.
To deal with the death.
So much death, everywhere he looked. So much taint. For seven years the land had been raped, leaving behind an almost barren wasteland. For seven years he'd slept, oblivious, waking to find that he was expected to run off and save the world, a child in an adult's body.
A child whose eyes had been opened too quickly in this world of adults.
The destruction of the castle town had come as a shock, though it was tempered by seeing the number of refugees that had survived to swell Kakariko's borders. Kakariko's graveyard was swollen as well, and he'd felt a chill wind when he confronted the deceased gravekeeper to win the hookshot. Then the rushed return to the Forest, to the childhood companions who no longer recognized him. To Saria, who hadn't recognized him. To the Forest Temple, whose denizens did not care to recognize him, did not care for anything other than his own death. To barely survive the fight through the temple, to collapse cold, bloodied, barely conscious on the ground outside the entrance. To not care about the wolfos baring down on him as he sank into blissful blackness.
To wake up to a soft voice, soft touches on his arms and chest. Fingers wrapped in soft cloth, wrapping his wounds in soft cloth. Fingers wrapping around his own on the hilt of his sword, correcting his grip. The lithe body tucked close behind his, gentle pressure moving his limbs through drills, teaching him use of his adult body. The blue-clad figure standing across from him, sparring, pushing him into attack and defense. Red eyes staring at him across a campfire while the soft voice spoke of the seven years, describing in detail the horrors those eyes had seen. Killing the innocence of the still-childlike mind.
Killing the innocence, but soothing the ache with companionship, with friendship.
A week had been spent in the Forest Meadow, a week to grow from a child into a man. A week that they could not afford to spend, but would have meant his death otherwise. Then to hurry off on different paths, paths that met briefly at each Temple, the Hero going on to cleanse the darkness within while the Shadow fought the darkness without.
Emerging from Death Mountain, they'd met again. This time Hero shields Shadow, standing over the other's exhausted form, repelling the night's attackers. Carefully he'd wrapped the other's wounds, then wrapped his body around the Sheikah, sharing warmth when the mountain wind, too cold for being this close to a volcano, cut through them. Sharing comfortable silence in the morning, lingering glances and soft brush of arm on shoulder or fingertips on wrist. Sharing a saddle, blue arms wrapped around green waist though not for balance. Sharing a look, a ghost of a promise, when paths diverged again.
Emerging from the Ice Cavern, shaking, fingers blue. Laying wrapped in both their blankets, wrapped in the warmth of the slender body, shivering, shivering. Fingers were frozen, toes were frozen, lips and ears and nose were frozen. The frozen feeling crept deep inside, settling in his chest, digging its fingers into his very core. Fingers spasmed from chill, hands fisting in the other's blue tunic. Then warm breath at his ear, stilling his fingers. Warm arms wrapped tight around him, calming his shivering. Warm lips on his, thawing his icy breath. Warm lips that opened to warm mouth and warm tongue and warmth spreading, fighting with the chill in his heart. Warmth and more warmth, taking, giving, sharing, staying with him through the dark of night, through the dark of his soul's night. Warmth greeting him in the morning, warmth spoken in parting words, warmth leaving a little flame behind, deep inside. Warmth to battle the cold inside.
Emerging from the Water Temple, drenched, wondering if "dry" was some unachievable myth, if "dry" had ever existed. Shivering in the night air as slim fingers brushed by gauntleted ones and took over the job of unlacing, undressing. Wrapped in a blanket by a fire, hands wrapped around a mug of something that tasted funny but chased a little of the chill away. Arms later wrapped around the body that chased the rest of the chill away. Warm lips breathing warm words into his ear. Warm tongue tracing warm patterns on his throat. Warm hands trailing down his chest, warmth increasing to heat as hands trailed lower and lower. Legs dovetailed, hips rolling to create needed friction. Friction building, heat building, intensity building, until friction, heat and intensity combined, exploded, spilled out of both of them with ragged cries. Losing sleep, but discovering what kinds of moans could be pulled from where. Greeting the sunrise curled around each other, not really knowing where one body ended and the other began. Needing no parting words, just the promise spoken by a look.
Emerging from the Shadow Temple to wrap arms around the worry-tense blue-clothed body. Burying his face in golden hair and golden skin, inhaling golden scent, reveling in form that was not illusion. Brushing away apologies for Sheikah secrecy and horrors hidden in the shadows. Brushing away blond bangs to gaze into red eyes. Brushing away concealing cloth to claim warm lips. Brushing away the suggestion of visiting the town healer to instead seek solitude in a mentor's old house. Brushing away the last of the barriers separating chill from warmth, warmth as if a fire burned in the lithe body, as if the golden skin housed the very sun. Warmth to warm his own soul, fire to kindle his own desire, heat to answer his own need. Heat of the body under him suddenly around him, surrounding him, moving with his rhythm and it's so much, too much and head thrown back he screams Sheik's name to the sky, to the moon and stars, to the very heavens and the Goddesses above. Whispers Sheik's name as the Shadow slides from the back of the saddle when they part company in the Field, sharing a chaste kiss before chasing their separate tasks.
Emerging from the Spirit Temple to collapse exhausted into waiting arms. Strong hands massage away the ache in sore shoulders while soft lips breathe life back into the tired soul. Shared breath warms, heats, burns, ignites feeling and passion and there's so much, too much and he's falling, they're falling, falling together. But falling is like flying and they're soaring, spiraling higher and higher, rising to the heavens and this is Heaven, they've found it with each other, in each other, around and through each other. Twin cries loosed in that Heaven, cries ending in shuddering breaths, shuddering bodies descending back to earth. Shuddering arms wrapping around strong chest as morning light brings wakefulness, shuddering breath in his ear, beseeching the Hero to believe in the Shadow, never to doubt him. Unable to offer more of an explanation, unable to offer more than a desperate kiss before the flash of Deku light separates them.
Emerging from the fight with Ganondorf, the tower already starting to crumble. Cold dread had settled deep inside, and fingers uncontrollably shiver, body chilled to the bone. Pulling the Princess out to safety but pushing away her affectionate gratitude. Running, running blindly, stumbling up the steps to Time's Temple. Bypassing sword's pedestal, frantically searching until the hidden room is found. Gathering the weakened, wounded body in a tight embrace, hot tears running from both pairs of eyes. Frantic kisses to chase away the chill, words of reassurance whispered against warm lips. An arm thrown over a strong shoulder, easily providing stability to stand. Standing close, standing together before Princess and Sages, denying the offer to return through time and gain back missed years. Shared strength, defiance almost: regaining lost time was not worth losing what they'd found.
Friendship, warmth, passion. Heat to warm the chill. Love to warm the heart.
He never again remembered feeling cold.