WHEW. We made it to Saturday.
As I write this, I'm watching Obama's commencement announcement. So we'll see what kind of weirdness comes from that distraction.
And just as an advance warning, THIS CHAPTER IS RATED R. I'm not sorry. You've been warned.
Ready? Ready! Here we go!
When it came to Tetra, marriage had been an afterthought.
There had never been any doubt in anyone's mind that Tetra and Link would spend their lives together, travel the world together, grow old together, maybe even have a family together. That they loved each other deeply, that they were committed to each other— That much was a foregone conclusion.
Even still, Link had been surprised when, one morning, Tetra had rolled over in their shared berth in the captain's cabin, tangling her legs with his.
"I," she'd said, walking her bronzed, work-callused fingers up his bare chest, "have an idea."
"Oh?"
Link folded his arms behind his head and gazed down at the butter-blonde hair of his soulmate. "A good idea or a bad idea?"
"We should get married."
Link had blinked down at her in surprise. Married?
"I thought you didn't care for 'silly, dusty old traditions,'" he said, bemused. She looked up at him, frowning.
"What, you don't want to marry me?"
"I didn't say that," Link countered. He unfolded one arm and reached for her, running his fingers through that delightfully thick pelt of hair that fell across her sun-kissed shoulders and trailed across his chest. "Of course I'll marry you." He dragged his hands through her hair, then twirled a lock of that pure sunshine around his index finger. "I'm yours. I'll swear that to you in whatever way you want."
"In any way?" A wicked glint came into her dark eyes and she levered herself up. The strap of her nightdress slid down her shoulder, and her hair fell like a curtain of light around the both of them.
"Within reason," Link said, his heart rate kicking up. As she lowered her lips to his, he murmured, "But remember, turnabout is fair play."
"Oh, I know." She'd paused, her lips close enough to brush his as she spoke. "That's what I'm counting on." And then she'd captured his lips with hers, plundering, giving no quarter as she claimed.
As always, Link rose to the occasion.
After they'd finished their own private celebration, they'd gone to make an announcement to the crew, who had reacted predictably: First, with the same confusion that Link had manifested, and then with delight, because they'd take any opportunity to celebrate (not to mention they liked every excuse for shore leave).
So they sailed around for a while, looking for a nice place and a nice person to marry them. This was finally accomplished on a little island where they found an old priest living an ascetic lifestyle. He married them before the rainbow spray of a waterfall, uniting them in the eyes of all the spirits and ancestors for eternity. (Which, as Link had already pointed out, was obvious, but OK. Whatever you want, Tetra.)
After that, there'd been a bit of celebrating, but not too much, on account of the ascetic hermit wanting his peaceful island back. So they all sailed off to the nearest major island— a nice enough place— and while the crew had shore leave in the port city, Link and Tetra retreated to a little cottage up in the tropical mountains for a week alone.
"Ah," Tetra said happily, sprawling upon the long engawa that circled the exterior of the cabin. "It's so nice, not having the crew breathing down our necks."
"It is," Link agreed, sitting down beside his wife and pulling her feet into his lap. As he pressed his thumb expertly into the arch of her foot, her lashes fluttered shut and she gave a moan of pleasure.
Link kept it up, enjoying the ability to touch her without worrying who might barge in on them. It was novel, being able to sit with her under the sun like this, without a care in the world.
As golden light slanted across the polished wood and kissed the skin of her ankle, Link saw a long, thin white curve that he'd never seen before in the candlelit dim of their cabin. He paused in his work. One dark eye popped open as he shifted his fingers to run across the arc.
"What happened here?" He asked, tracing the scar.
"Helmaroc talon," she said. "From when it got me."
Link brushed his fingers back and forth across the long, wicked line.
"I didn't notice," he said, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry."
"Eh." She shrugged. "You were a little bit distracted at the time."
He traced the scar to the back of her calf, then lifted her foot. He kissed the scar, then hooked her leg over his shoulder. She grinned as he pulled his fingers up the back of her knee, lifting at the hem of the tunic she wore.
"What are you doing?" She was watching him, clearly curious, although her cheeks were flushed and she looked excited.
"Looking for any other old injuries I've never been able to see by lanternlight," Link told her.
"You were there for most of them," Tetra told him. "Seeing as you've been around for the past decade and change."
"Then there's fifteen years of prior damage to assess," Link said. He tugged the hem of the tunic up higher, sliding it above her knee, and a moment later found another scar— one he'd known about, but still winced to see by daylight. It cut across the meat of her opposite leg, an ugly gash from a hard fall against rocks in the rain. Reverently, Link pressed his lips to the scar, then tried to work his way higher, eager to get his lips a little further north.
"Nuh uh," Tetra said. She slid her ankle off his shoulder and sat up. "You've got more work to do."
"I do?"
"Sure do," she agreed. She spun around, presenting him with a view of her back, and then tugged the tunic over her head. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and glanced back at him.
"You may start at my neck."
"Ah," Link said, grinning. He leaned forward and kissed the proffered territory. "Now you sound like my princess."
Her breathing hitched.
"Use my name?" She asked. "My… My real name?"
"Of course," Link agreed. "Whatever you want, Zelda."
He traced his way down her back. The skin beneath her clothes was as pale as cream, and flushed pleasingly pink with desire. She had a few scars here and there— this one, from a scrape she'd gotten into when fleeing through an alleyway once, that one, from weapons practice gone wrong— and Link kissed every one of them, and the rest of her for good measure. At the hem of her panties, he paused, then slid back up her back and went to her arms.
There were more here, marks left from the myriad dangers of a lifetime spent aboard a ship. Link asked about those he wasn't sure of, murmured over those he remembered, and kissed them all. Finally, she rolled over. Her perfect breasts rose and fell quickly as he worked his leisurely way down her chest.
"This looks painful," Link murmured over one pearl-hard nipple.
"That's not an injury," she said, voice choked. "You've been taking an awful liberal interpretation of what constitutes a wo—" Her words cut off in a gasp as he lowered his mouth. When she tried to fist her hands in his hair, he pulled back, feeling mischievous.
"Why'd you stop?" Zelda panted.
"You're interfering," Link told her. He gently disentangled her hands from his hair and pressed them to the wood on either side of her head, pressing her wrists down firmly. "No touching."
"Oh, so you get to touch but I don't?" She sounded both grumpy and pleased.
"Mmm," Link agreed as he returned to his work. "I'm sure you'll get your turn eventually."
The other breast was looking neglected, so Link decided to give it a little attention as well— just in case it was hurting. Then he worked his way down, dipping his tongue into the divot of her perfect belly button, then working his way further, further, further…
She was audibly gasping by the time he nipped the flesh of her abdomen with his teeth. He teased down the last little piece of fabric that she wore, nipping at the ridges of her pelvis, and then pulling her legs over his shoulders once more and working his way up her thighs, alternating between one and the other. When his mouth finally landed at her center, she arched up, her hands fisting in his hair. He pulled back, certain there was a wicked gleam in his eye.
"Nuh-uh, Zelda," he said, disentangling her fingers again. "No touching."
"Sadist," she panted, but nevertheless returned her hands to either side of her head.
Link got back to work, enjoying himself very much. They'd done this before, of course— they'd been sleeping together for years, after all— but never in the outdoors. There was something exciting about doing this beneath the big blue sky. It was so much better than furtive quickies grabbed in the darkness of the ship, or even the times they'd been able to stay in inns and take a little more time.
This was luxury. This was heaven.
Link smiled and hummed happily against her as he heard her hands scrabbling frantically against the wood floor, felt her thighs tensing and clenching around his ears, listened to the hitching, desperate sobs of her breath, of the broken way she begged: "Link, please." He grabbed her hips, holding her tight, and sucked. She screamed, and a moment later began to pulse and throb beneath his lips as release claimed her.
He heard a thud as her head fell back to the wood. He continued to lick, nibble, and kiss gently as she rode the waves of ecstasy, and by the time her breathing had leveled out— or, gotten as level as it would get, anyway— Link was both pleased with himself and hard as hell.
"Was it up to your standards, wife?" Link asked her, planting a pleased kiss against the inside of her thigh, which was sticky with sweat.
"I don't know if I love you or hate you," she murmured bonelessly. "A little bit of both, I think."
"Hate me?" Link pressed a loud, smacking kiss to the inside of her calf, then sat up. "Why would you hate me?"
"Because you're a bad, bad man," Zelda said happily. Link laid down beside her, and she rolled over, still gloriously, fantastically naked, and draped herself across his chest.
"I'm your bad, bad man," Link said, nonetheless pleased with himself.
"Oh, absolutely," Zelda agreed. She slid her hand beneath the hem of his loose shirt, and he flinched as her nails curled over the muscles of his abdomen. "Luckily for you, I'm a bad, bad woman."
"You are?" Link asked.
"Mmmhm." She took the hem of his shirt in her teeth and began to pull it up. Link blinked down at her, surprised.
"What are you doing?"
"You said I couldn't use my hands," she reminded him coyly. "Remember?"
And then she stuck her head down and bit his side, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and Link arched up.
"That was only while it was my turn," he told her, and now he was the one breathing heavily. "You can do whatever you want."
"I plan to," she said. "Without the use of my hands."
Link groaned in hope, desire, and misery. He should've known better than to tell his feisty little wife what to do.
Watching Zelda work her way along his body and get his trousers off without the use of her hands was both entertaining and torture. Once Link, too, had been spent, and they were curled together, naked in the sunshine, she finally fluttered her hands across his stomach, swirling her fingers gently across his scars— of which there were far more than hers.
"I think we should take shore leave more often," she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. He was playing with her hair again, absently twirling it around his fingers. "It feels like the greatest luxury in the world, being with you like this in the sunshine."
"Yeah," Link agreed.
"Although I might have to get myself a few more cuts and bruises," Zelda said. When Link lifted his head to look down at her, she grinned. "Just in case you get bored of charting the same old territory."
"I don't know," Link said. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he heaved her onto her back, bracing himself above her, and she grinned up at him in delight. "I might have missed one or two."
"Might have?" She asked him, arching a brow in challenge.
"Might have," Link agreed. "I think I need to check again. Let's see. Where should I begin…?"
"Hmm," Zelda said. She traced his back with her fingers, and he obliged her by pinning her hands on either side of her head again.
"No touching," he ordered. But when he released her, her hands fluttered to his back once more. So he grabbed and pinned her again. "No touching."
"Make me," she said, eyes sparkling. Heat shot through him, hot and heady, and he felt himself stirring again.
"I'll hold you down," he warned her.
"I dare you," she replied. "Do your worst."
Well, Link was never one to refuse an order from his lady.
So his very, very worst was what he very happily did.
Oh, mercy. I think I need some ice water. Does anyone else need a cold drink? WHEW.
Right. So that was some serious trash, and I'm not sorry, and I hope everyone enjoyed it. I feel like WW Link and Tetra/Zelda don't get enough love— which, y'know, understandable because it's more of a kiddy game— but I wanted to grow them up and make 'em a bit raunchy and, well, there you have it.
Not sure what I'll write next. Let's call it chef's surprise, unless someone sends me a really irresistible prompt. So I suppose I'll see you all in a few days. Until then, stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.