Chapter 2: Alpha Couple Incarnate

Song: Oceanographer's Choice

( watch?v=Xf1_5ovsagM)

Link took a long, deep drink of his scotch as the big orange Sun, sinking below the horizon, threw long, garrish shadows across the small room; disfigured dark copies of chairs and tables cast across the living room's length. He sat in a tall, comfortable chair, a glass of neat scotch in one hand, and a slowly dying cigarette in the other. The room was of a decor befitting a castles quarters; the walls filled with books, the floor draped in furs and quilts, an elegant fireplace, harboring a few glowing logs declaring the last moments of their fleeting existence with the faint light of softly breathing embers. Link sat facing the fire, with his head back, staring at the ceiling in aimless thought.

This can't last forever. Link thought, taking a long pull on his cigarette, letting the smoke slowly billow up in lazy plumes.

In a fleeting attempt of distraction, Link let himself think back to his battle with Ganondorf. He often thought of his best and most glorious fights when he felt the creeping dread of depression closing in around him. As evil as he was, Link could not help but respect the man's strength, his worthiness as a rival. Wielding the Tri-Force of Power, he had in all respects been the only true opponent, only real fight Link had ever had. A faint grin grew across Link's face as he recalled their battles, the endless stream of tricks up Ganondorf's sleeve, and his own clever retorts.

But even Ganondorf, in all his strength, his very embodiment of power, was found wanting. Even he fell before Link's blade. It seemed as if Link would never find his equal, never find a being truly worth his fury and determination. Someone who could match him blow for blow, who could keep Link on his toes, always guessing, always in that brilliant thrill of uncertainty. Someone who could evoke in him that fantastic, exhilarating little four letter word: fear.

Link's eye flared as the thought flashed across his mind.

Such an opponent was nothing but happy dream for Link. No such being could be found in Hyrule now. Hell the only person who could even come close to matching his power now would have to wield a piece of the Triforce. And even then: the cunning, the sharpness that would be needed to keep him guessing and in the thralls of the unknown... Link thought back to the last time he felt such delicious sensations.

As always, as has been the case for every waking and dreaming hour of these past brilliant days, his thoughts found their way spiraling back. Always back.

Always to her.

The sharp excitement that had been building in him was once again washed away, that oppressive sorrow of temporality striking once again. Nothing ever lasts, no rival ever stood eternal before Link's might.

This can't last forever.

Link drained the last few drops from his glass.

All at once the air was filled with static, every square inch charged and alive with tension. The door was thrown open, the gust breathing new life into the frail embers of the fire, making them spark and smoke in excitement.

Their eyes locked. The fury and passion in hers quickly fueling an equal ferocity in his own.

"What the FUCK did I say about destroying the peasants' yards you indignant lump of putrocity!" Zelda yelled, a manic grimace on her face.

Any thoughts that Link had once held were now and all at once banished by the growing sea of loathing building up in his gut. He let himself be consumed by the moment.

"I was cutting their damn grass! I was trying to be helpful you Ungrateful Cunt!" He yelled, throwing his empty glass across the room.

It struck the wall mere inches from Zelda's face and shattered. She didn't so much as flinch, relentlessly staring him down in unphased furry. That did it instantly.

Link was up, swaying and raging and composed. Their fighting had in that single moment transcended the necessity for words. Their eyes now spoke the gravest of obscenities, their actions spat curses of the darkest and foulest regard.

The two began stalking towards one another. Zelda kicked an elegant and finely carved ash tray over, its contents thrown out in a glorious plume of seething grey disgust.

Link's gaze stood transfixed, his intentions pure and clean and intense. Still purposefully making his way toward Zelda, he reached out and stubbed his cigarette out against the west wall, scraping a long dark scar across the cold stone. With cool and seamless motions, he quickly lit another, taking a long pull, his eyes still locked with hers. He grimaced and growled and brandished his teeth, long plumes of hot ash billowing from his flared nostrils and in between his gnashed teeth.

They stood mere inches from each other. Arcs of excitement and anger and passion jumped and flashed between them. Their eyes locked, sparked with a brilliant intensity. Link blew a fresh cloud of tar into Zelda's face. He smiled, the cigarette still locked in his teeth. She saw his eyes glance down to the cluster of small circular burns on her shoulder, expertly disguised with careful makeup.

Zelda flashed a quick smile of her own. Link's vision was suddenly blurred, and then filled with a searing anger as Zelda quickly snatched the burning butt from between his lips, and sent it plunging hard against his neck.

His hand was all at once at her throat, lifting Zelda nearly off her feet. Even as her body began struggling and gasping for air, she never broke their gaze. Her eyes never lost their pure, refined, unadulterated hatred. God how Link lived for those eyes.

Zelda planted a heeled boot to Links chest, and with a strong quick kick sent him reeling back. Still fairly inebriated, Link swaggered and nearly lost his balance from the attack, but recovered quickly, quite accustomed to inebriated combat. He looked down and examined the large rip which the heel of Zelda's boot has put in his light evening tunic. With a sly grin he ripped it the rest of the way, letting the tattered fabric hang loosely on his tone, muscular body.

Zelda's eyes flared. Two steps and she had him pinned to the ground, her fierce nails leaving long dark slashes across his chest, the crimson lines slowly beading with blood. Taken off guard, Link grabbed a fistful of her hair, using it to throw the manic woman off of his chest. He stood over her, and went for another fist-full of the long tresses of her hair.

But a sharp and strategic strike of Zelda's foot sent him toppling onto his hand and knees. She was ontop of him in a flash. Seizing the man with a full, fierce fistful of his honeyed locks, she brought him up and sunk her teeth deep into the flesh of his shoulder. A guttural, primal growl erupted from his throat. From where they were, Zelda could see beside her through the open door into Link's bedroom. There in the cool dark dying light of the day she caught their reflection in Link's full length bedroom mirror. The man's silhouette; his arched back, that head thrown out in frustration and anguish, the fierce sight of her teeth laying claim to his hot flesh. She found herself flooded with ecstasy.

Link, though in anguish and defeated, caught the faint lull in his opponent's concentration. With a quick roll of his shoulder he thrust his elbow sharply between Zelda's ribs. Her jaws resentfully slackened as her breath was suddenly and painfully evicted from her lungs. Link threw her back, turning to face the dazed princess. He let loose a manic chuckle as he approached her.

"It's going to take a lot more than some cheap tricks to-" He began, reaching out to pin her.

Zelda threw a full bodied, solid fist straight into Link's chest. The man staggered backward, attempted to regain his composure, and failing, fell backward, gasping and devoid of breath. Zelda took her time, relishing each triumphant step as she made her way toward the rasping man. As she approached him, she took notice of a softly burning candle. With a vicious smile, she took it up and stood over Link, who was only just beginning to recover from the shock of her fierce and sudden blow.

A devious and cruel smile spread across Zelda's lips as she lifted one heeled foot, sending it quickly and firmly down upon Links sternum. Then, with careful glee, she let a slow trail of hot, molten wax stream down onto the beaten man's bare chest.

All at once and with a fabulous strength Link's scenes were thrust back to him. The searing pain of the hot wax elicited primal howls of pain, but they also sharpened his senses, flooding and dulling his mind with pure adrenalin. With a firm, desperate grasp he took hold of her leg, and utilizing a strength worthy of his title, threw Zelda's feet out from under her.

She fell hard, the wood floor knocking the wind from her lungs. In a flash Link was over her, his hand filled with as many of her golden locks as he could manage. WIthout any pomp or prose he began dragging the now flailing Zelda into the darkness of his bedroom with a very real and sober determination.

Mere feet from the bed, a desperate yet cunning Zelda took a last ditch opportunity and sunk her teeth deep into Link's calf, biting hard enough to begin tasting that familiar metallic tang. Link stopped, howling in surprise. This gave Zelda just enough time to whip around and wrap her legs firmly around Link's torso, torquing her body with a great and surprising strength.

They fell down, and they locked arms. They knocked the dresser over as the rolled across the floor. The battle raged on, passion combating passion. Two perfectly matched enemies, neither one ever capable of completely securing dominance as the ceiling seemed to swerve above them. Their fiery and determined battle lasted deep into the night until at last; marred, broken, panting, sweating, bleeding, and scathed, the two collapsed in an exhausted mass of empty shells, wholly spent. At some point they had pulled the sheets onto the floor and were now tied up together in a complex knot of sweat and fabric.

Link looked over at Zelda's seemingly unconscious face. In that last fleeting moment of consciousness a single thought possessed him. It filled his body and soul and passed over his lips, imprinted in his breath as nothing more than a whisper.

"What will I do when I don't have you, when I finally get what I deserve?"

Links eyes closed as his consciousness left him.

Zelda's eyes flew open.

It was a few hours before dawn when the two awoke. The mornings after were never awkward or abrasive as Zelda had imagined they would be. Instead they were deeply silent and calm. Link stood silently and walked over to the window. The room was hot and muggy from the evening before, and small beads of sweat still clung to them both. A cool, welcome breeze flew into the room as Link threw open the window. The wind carried with it the clean new scent of morning.

Zelda looked up at the man standing stoically before the window, his strong naked body, still glistening from sweat, silhouetted by the early morning light. She traced the bite marks and faint scars from her deep scratches with her eyes. She could not help but find pride in them, in marking, claiming the feral man.

But she knew this would consume them. The burning passions, these chaotic and primal nights of unbridled frustration, could not and should not last forever. She had been working for so long now to repress these feelings that took such possession of her soul and overthrew her mind.

I don't know why it's gotten harder to keep myself away. She thought, her gaze and mind fixed on the Hero before her. I thought I'd finally beat the feeling back, but it all came back today.

Her mind drifted back to that fateful moment the night before. Those few desperate words. Had she dreamt them up? Were they just a fabrication of her ecstasy shocked mind?

Zelda's thoughts were complex and surging. She searched her feelings, she knew that her heart was filled with naught but hatred for the man before her. She could feel it deep within her. And yet she also felt a kind of primal attraction to him, in possessing him, owning him. And deep in her heart, she knew in some fucked up way she cared for him. And how his quasi-conscious words seemed only to complicate the matter further.

After a few moments more, Link broke his distant, unfocused gaze, and began slowly and methodically dressing. In what Zelda could only describe as a ritualistic reverence and focus he slid on the pieces of his Hero's clothing. The sword always came last, secured to his back slowly and with the faintest hint-ings of disgust tracing across his face. And then, without a single word or glance, he would leave.

This was how their sessions always ended, without fail. It was the only time she ever saw him wearing the Hero's clothes anymore. She had no idea where he disappeared to each time, only that he would return late into the evening.

The whole thing filled her with a strange mixture of morbid curiosity,

and pity,

and disgust.