This was originally intended to be a gift for my lovely friend Gabi on tumblr and somehow turned into something I was actually kind of loving writing. So I thought I'd share it here, as well!

It almost seemed unholy, their actions taking place just outside a fountain crafted with stone and water from the goddess herself. It was wrong, it was unjust, it was…the only acceptable choice. The majority of the room seemed to be dotted with red, most of which one would be unable to figure out how it even got there—was it possible for someone to have bled on the highest ceiling arch, the top of the doorway, between the small space between the columns lining the room and the wall? Yet, looking in the center of the room where the making of the scenery took place, and it was easily revealed how any of these feats could have been possible.

Seeing as it was for the most part a large, stone encased room, whatever noise made was rebounded from the cold walls as an echo, returning to their ears what sounds they had made. But they never needed any replay of their din, knowing fully well by now each note the other was capable of producing at any given time. They had both heard each other's every modulations far too many times before, making the wall's rebounded repeats only remain as a sickening reminder of their foul acts.

The white haired man refrained from making any expressions, as he always did when they went through this process, and kept his mouth in a fine line to keep even a breath from escaping his lips in fear of hearing any noise that wasn't from the boy beneath him. The lack of emotion he kept up during these events nearly frightened the child born from the sky, though he had long grown used to not being able to look at him while their thirty minutes ticked by. It was the small glimpses he could catch, the accidental glances he caught that would frighten him with just how blank the other's face was kept so consistently. There was not a hint of amusement—no regrets, no pity, no mercy nor anger; he was void of feeling as he stored every bit of effort into casting strikes of affliction over every open patch of skin he could find on the boy. He held no sentiment or vehemence as he purposely brought immeasurable supplies of agony down onto the male before him.

It was all a surreal, ritual-like wonder they participated at undetermined dates, only returning to the sinful asylum once having been summoned by the other—though usually it was the blonde boy having been called. Still, Link had found these thirty minute sessions to somehow become almost enjoyable (but far from pleasurable), barely hesitating to follow the alluring man into the chamber they had especially reserved for their reprehensible games. Another downward swipe of his arm and another scar on Link's back, having just recently healed from their last ceremony, was reopened, tip of his sword tracing the line exactly to keep it well exposed. A similarly sized cut was drawn perpendicular to the previous wound, earning a shrill bark from the blonde boy damage was being done onto.

"…Sixty."

The point of the sword embedded in his flesh was removed without hesitation as the demon-like man spoke the word announcing their end, causing Link to breathe a sigh of relief before returning to his labored pants for air. His body teetered slightly on his knees for a moment, and, now knowing he didn't have to work to keep himself sitting, he gave in to the weight of gravity as he keeled over onto his side. The hero's eyes were kept lidded tightly, having the subconscious desire not to see the one who had harmed him before his own five minutes had begun, as that was the time he couldn't possibly give up.

"It's been thirty…minutes now," Link noted aloud hoarsely, coughing afterwards and drabbling just a few more droplets of blood from his throat to sink into the puddle of the substance that had already formed around him. He felt nauseous enough from the dangerous amounts of the live-giving liquid he had already lost, and seeing it pooled beneath him only worsened his state. However, he kept his eyes cracked barely open for just a moment to affirm whether or not his side of the deal would be kept.

"I'm perfectly aware, sky child…"

A pair of unstained white boots met his vision, standing before him before two legs joined as Ghirahim knelt beside him. Link allowed his eyes to open just a bit more to see him more clearly, but closing once again when he could fully see the man next to him. His breathing had relatively steadied out as much as it possibly could, though it was still rather quick and strained. The blonde boy had his arms clamped tightly over his stomach, vainly attempting to help the numerous gashes and cuts that though were opened a while ago, still bled furiously onto the floor. He couldn't tell whether he was too hot from the blood and pain seething through his skin, or if he was freezing from the chilled air that bit at his exposed body. Whenever he and Ghirahim met for these "play dates," he was always forced to strip down to nothing but his pants, while his chainmail, tunic, hat, and anything else were carelessly cast aside. He had learnt by now it was best to take them off before even entering the chamber, knowing that if they remained inside, they were more than likely to be debased with his own blood.

A light, gentle brush against his cheek, and Link was aware his five minutes had begun.

The cloak Ghirahim had discarded at the beginning of their match reappeared in a quick flurry of diamonds, held in one hand while his other reached beneath Link and press flat against his back to pull him up. The usually green-clad teen winced, face scrunching up in pain at the sharp, cold mass packed against the many scars and burns lining his spine. Ghirahim ignored this as he lifted the boy, humming as he situation the curve of his bloodied back to lay over his own legs generously. It was only for five minutes, just five minutes with this act and he would be free once again to do as he pleased…thirty for five, that wasn't too much to ask! The white haired male graciously wrapped the trembling man in the cape he had brought, red side of it being in contact with his body—there would at least be no stains, that way. His arm found its way around Link's shoulders, keeping him propped up as his free hand held the two edged of the cloth together over him.

"Link," Ghirahim breathed out quietly, his tone much different from the one he regularly used with the boy. In turn, Link moved his head to tilt it towards him, making a small noise from the back of his throat to signify he had heard him.

"I love you."

Such lies had become his pleasure during the agonizing quest he had taken on, not knowing what else it was he was to look forward to. He must save Zelda, he must defeat Demise, he must do whatever it takes to save their world…and yet here he was, found with the servant of the enemy in such a position. It was wrong, it was forbidden, and it was all he currently wanted—to bask in such an unattainable dream. He wasn't sure just how he had come to fall for such a man—not even a man—and he wasn't sure how far he was willing to take things to earn just an inkling of affection. Then again, that's what this greedy act was in itself, wasn't it? Link was giving in to his pitiful desires, throwing away his goals for their set amount of time, all so that he could find himself in the wish he so longed to be able to come true.

Nevertheless, it was far past impossible.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to run away and hash at something with his sword with wild abandon, anything to release the anger built up at this aforementioned statement. Link's mission had been put upon his shoulders without his consent, a duty he had been born to fulfill without question. When was he ever to do what it was he as a human being wanted? Just when could he indulge himself or set after his own wishes? Nothing more than the savior of the goddess, he was, and he had been aware of this fact since Zelda was cast down to the surface. He had no other purpose than to be with Zelda, no further destination to assure her safety as well as the world's. It was a great responsibility he knew he could not put off, and had no mind to do so, as well; he knew why he had been born and had no intention on going back on it.

So for now, couldn't he be allowed to take pleasure in his own predilections?

Two white lips were pressed against his forehead, remaining there for a good few moments before pulling back just slightly to allow his breath to ghost over the pale skin before him. Link finally granted his eyes the contentment of opening to see the ghastly colored neck stretched above him. How many seconds had it been? Twenty? Thirty? An entire minute had yet to pass, thankfully, and gave him a bit more time to lay in the primrose patch that had been set aside for him. Ghirahim's own power was far greater than his, and without the fully blessed Master Sword he had yet to achieve, he was nothing when faced with the other. It was because of this that their deal had wavered as it was, Ghirahim only allowing him thirty minutes without even a challenge with a reward lasting for only five, a suitable amount both of them had agreed on—it was whatever time Link could take to have his own felicity fulfilled.

Small kisses were planted across his face, all avoiding his lips intentionally and mostly dancing right around them. It wasn't anything Link hadn't expected, as no matter how he was displayed, the one before him was still Ghirahim in all his merciless glory. Two whole minutes passed with him doing just this, one or two kisses trailing down his jaws and even his neck once or twice, causing the blonde boy to momentarily forget the excruciating wounds the other had inflicted upon him just a few moments ago. He instead was able to concentrate more on the company indulging him, giving him just what he had so desired upon first meeting when he had learned of his dangerous competition. And maybe it had been just that danger that had caused him to be so attracted to the male, knowing that the feelings were obscene and immoral, contradicting the mission he had prepared for all his life. It was his one vessel of promulgating his disgust with the assignment he lived for, a rebellious attack on the purity of his duty.

Their third and fourth minutes consisted of wandering hands moving all over the weaker boy's body. Ghirahim's gloves remained intact as his fingers caressed every open spot of skin he could find, yet not once dipping below the boundaries created by his remaining clothing. Link didn't mind this, though, knowing that whatever pleasure that could have possibly been delivered by doing so would've been unsatisfying and rushed, being restrained to five minutes. The gentle, occasional squeezes over his sides and arms were just enough for him, enjoying the endearment the taller man took in avoiding the deeper cuts that would've caused pain in grazing over—not that Link would've even noticed, being too preoccupied in enjoying the time he already had. His eyes never shut, barely even blinking as he stared up at Ghirahim, never once leaving his face for any reason. He only had one minute left…just a single minute…

The last minute had arrived without fail, just as it always would. The last minute where everything seemed to slow down, where nothing could be expected, as it was always different for each session. This time, however, Link found a hand cupping behind his neck, as well as one laying flat against the small of his back. Link peered up at him expectantly, eyes opening a bit wider in curiosity as to what the Demon Lord had in mind today.

"Ghira…him?" His voice was much worse than he recalled it being when he had last spoken four minutes ago, coming out now as a hoarse croak more than anything. Speaking hurt his throat, now dry and scratched repeatedly from each scream he had given in the previous thirty minutes. He was sure that the other had heard him clearly, though, as he had turned to look him in the eye for the first time that term. He brought Link's body up higher, gently easing him from his laying position while tilting his head back, trying earnestly to keep from causing him any more pain than he was already in. What with the gentle caresses and kisses having stopped momentarily, Link's body returned to that of one being laid in thorn bushes practically, once again feeling every drop of blood that seeped out of every open wound that covered every inch of his available skin.

It was on that small patch of untouched, unblemished film that Ghirahim took the care into pressing a kiss against, holding it there for quite some time. For some reason, Ghirahim always made sure not a scratch or bruise was left on the younger boy's lips, keeping them clean—save the blood that poured from his mouth upon internal damage. It was something about those two untouchable rims that Ghirahim had his mind set on saving, ricocheting his swords whenever they came anywhere close to tainting them. It was finally now that Link began to understand just why they were both so set on these deals.

"Ghirah-him," he stuttered once the older pulled away for breath. "It's been…five minutes alrea…"

"Hush."

Another kissed was brought upon him, and Link couldn't help but to keep his eyes wide open at the beginning. He was usually so strict about the time they kept together, especially when it came down to the five minutes he had to spare for him. Link had simply always assumed he loathed those five minutes, the five minutes that he himself had clung so tightly to for some sort of compensation or reward for those thirty he sacrificed. Ghirahim's own schedule had never occurred to him before this. He knew that his thirty minutes came mostly from the stress he was constantly put under to catch that goddess and revive his troubled master, but it had never registered completely in his mind until now. Fighting and searching day and night, only having one goal he had been born to fulfill, born to lead without any disposition. Had he ever been given a choice of his own? Had he ever wanted more than what he was created to do? Link was sentient of Ghirahim's devotion to his Master, reflecting that of Link's own devotion to helping Zelda. Though the Demon Lord had been made solely for the purpose of serving his Master…had he ever been capable of producing further feelings? To show just as much emotion as he did, there had to have been something…

So for now, couldn't he be allowed to take pleasure in his own predilections just as well?