Inured
It shouldn't be so easy to get used to him but somehow it is. The days pass and they are lazy and peaceful for him. Link holds a kind of quiet serenity that Sheik had thought only existed in the forests and tall mountains, the isolated lakes and rivers.
It's gentle when they make love. Link always takes time to caress and luxuriate in the feeling of heated skin on heated skin. The world slows to molasses when Link kisses him and the hours creep slowly, deliciously as they meet.
Sometimes Link's movements are so slow and sensual and they make Sheik want to scream, to urge and push and bite.
He doesn't, but that's beside the point.
The point is that when Sheik just can't stand it anymore, when the buildup and need is simply too much, Link knows and the result is a kiss, tender and exploring and just as slick as their joining bodies. And, surprisingly it works; it calms him and makes the sex all the sweeter.
The point is that Link moves inside, deep and slow and Sheik wraps his legs around him, holds him in until all that is left is a feeling so addicting and potent that it's like a drug, it's like drowning or the taste of sweat on Link's neck.
It's love and lust and acceptance in the warm pulse of their bodies, in the messy clash of lips and teeth. It's something that Sheik doesn't mind having for the rest of his life. And that he could get used to.