He let out a keening cry, almost before I moved his hand back to his side and rolled my hips, pressing heat to heat and hard to hard. I did it again, and again, the burn of the wounds criss-crossing my chest and the jagged cuts left behind by my ill-advised trip through the stained glass doing less than nothing to dampen the incredible feel of his body against mine.

And then he was moving down against me, jerkily at first, unintentional, clumsy, and so good it hurt. He sobbed into my throat, and suddenly it was me, the rapist, the terrible villain who took from him what he hadn't wanted to give. He sobbed, and he cried, and his tears were colder than ice, and I loved it.

I loved it.

I rolled us over, pushed him into the sheets where I had lain, straddled his slender hips and pinned him down with the weight of my body. He hiccupped, eyes wide with shock and that same wonderful irrational fear. He was cute, innocent, a red-eyed child in the body of a man who wanted and needed and was afraid of the darkness flowing through his veins like liquid fire. He was what he should have been, what I had expected him to be, that moonlit night that seemed so long ago.

I leant forward and let my breath ghost over his parted lips, a shadow of a kiss. He didn't dare move. I had him trapped, more so than I had ever been. There was nothing he could do but lie there and take whatever I wanted to dish out. He was at my mercy.

I bit his trembling lip, just hard enough to hurt. His breathless moan was almost non-existent. I felt it rather than heard it, a tremor against my lips.

He wanted me. I knew it, but he wasn't quite certain. He hadn't quite figured it out yet.

Well, he always had been a little slow.

I finally pressed my lips to his, slowly rolling my hips down at the same time. His mouth fell open in a shuddering moan, and I slid my tongue inside. Cold, sweet, sharp teeth and writhing tongue and his moan so deep and so loud that I felt it vibrating my vocal chords and bringing forth its twin. I kiss him, deep and slow and sloppy, taking whatever I want and smirking against him as he offers me everything. His trembling arms slip around my neck, trying to pull me closer as if he were trying to force our faces together like mismatched pieces of a puzzle.

It seemed to me that we already fit together pretty well.

The world dimmed and blurred, until all that was left was me, him, us, and the earth-shattering rhythm. Pain, pleasure, none of it mattered. It was all the same, anyways. His fingers dug into the open wounds on my back, and I moaned. I bit down on the hard rosy flesh of his nipple and he cried. There was no magical communion, no sharing of souls or entwining of spirits. We were connected by nothing but flesh, and yet that was more than enough. The memory of his harsh sun faded and disappeared in favour of this infinitely softer moon.

Link, I whispered inside my mind, and saw not gold, but black.

"Link", I gasped into the chill heat of his mouth, and thought not of blue, but red.

"LINK!" I screamed into the bloody shadows of the golden room, and came to the image of a shadowy reflection sobbing his release to whoever was watching behind the yellow glass.

As I collapsed atop of him, my last ounce of energy spent along with my seed, already slipping into the welcome arms of sleep, I thought I heard somebody laugh.


Goodbye, my darlings. May we meet again!

With love, Jiia