Illicit solicitations
Characters not mine, just playing. First femmeslash...well, first femmeslash to be posted here. This was on the old lj, but I like it so much I thought I'd post here as well. Enjoy!
She has grown so much over these past seven years. She was little more than a child when she came into my hands, and I barely an adult myself. It was a steep learning curve for the both of us. She had to learn to become an adult – I had to learn to understand a Hylian. I don't think I'll ever be able to claim that I fully understand them as a race, however long I may be around them. Their customs are strange, their speech odd, and their way of living so haphazard and unplanned it makes me cringe to think of it.
Yet, somehow, these little foibles of even her dearest majesty, don't seem so alien to me in her, as they do in the general populace. There is a calm stillness about her highness that would more befit a Sheikah warrior leader (like the great Impa herself), than it actually does befit a Queen.
Yes, a Queen…her father is long dead at the hands of that hateful beast, Dragmire…
She holds the Tri-Force of Wisdom – I have seen it shining from her hand, though she tries to hide it; she has tried everything – gloves, shawls, layers upon layers of my bandages. Nothing works – magic as strong as that cannot be contained…which sometimes leads her (and consequently me) into trouble… Trouble much like the fix we're in right at this very moment… I did try to warn her majesty that it would be safer for her not to join me on the journey to the Temple of Time. That I would be perfectly capable of receiving the young Hero, and instructing him as she had instructed me to do so.
She was having none of it. Seven years without power, and she can still stir up patriotism within me, a Sheikah warrior long-disillusioned with the monarchy. That is not through any regal prowess, or even through the power of magic that she holds – it is quite simply through the merits of her good self. Her earnest blue eyes, always burning into mine, begging and pleading that I do as she says…
Blue eyes that screw up tight and then roll back in her head as I caress. Blue eyes that open wide in wonder as I bite, lick, explore that pale, tender skin that bruises so easily. Royal skin – princess skin. Delicate, easily damaged, fascinating in its translucency, hypnotising as you watch the veins pulse under the fragile layer…
Her soft, melodious voice, tainted now with the accent of a Sheikah, from far too many years with me. A voice that has grown from the tinkling bell of childhood, to the lilting and mellow voice of youth…not yet an adult's voice, like mine. Not yet hard, not yet rough, though there have been moments…
Tiny white teeth biting down on cherubic lips, only letting go when the blood flows and the agony of ecstasy grows too great to be contained. Then, pleading little gasps, moans in my ear as she desperately kisses the mouth that she so rarely sees; those small white teeth nipping playfully, then needfully as I enjoy continuing to bring her to a scream. It's the only time she ever raises her voice – she was bought up a proper young lady, and proper young ladies do not raise their voices… But she does, and oh, how her voice does soar, and how it takes my heart to soar with it!
Her grand hand gestures, starting so small and intimate, but quickly expanding as she fervently tries to put her point across. She paints pictures in the air with those hands, taking the interest away from her angel face, and placing it back to her intelligent words. And those hands that are so skilled also on the ocarina, the quill, the paints… She has great skill for both the tangible and intangible pictures, both created with those tiny little hands.
Tapered fingers, soft as rose-petals even after all this time. Always sheathed in kidskin gloves, or my bandages when we could find none that would fit her. Tentatively reaching out to bring my body to hers, wanting to explore what was so like her, and yet so unlike her. Eager to trace my battle scars across my shoulder blades with those icy-cold fingers, and then follow with that red-hot mouth. Almost unable to stop herself from touching me, hands on breasts, hands on face, hands on arse, legs, in my hair, between my legs, hands everywhere, wanting to explore, too shy to do anything unless prompted, hands behind head when she lays back beside me, content…
Feet stamping as she angers, fists clenching, chest heaving, lip wobbling, eyes clouding with frustrated tears, and magic pulsing as she argues and argues. I'm powerless to resist such a strong plea, just as I am powerless to resist such a strong beauty.
And because of this power over me, soon she will be gone. I know how this story will end – how it should…nay, how it must end. The Hero will have her. I shall let her go to him. One more night, holding her close in this rickety old wagon full of new hay. One more night of wrapping the both of us in my cloak, and kissing her senseless. One more night of feeling those dainty, soft, ponderous fingers in my hair and on my back, sending shivers all through me. One more night of those eyes – blue, blue, blue – like the ocean is, like the roaring waters of the river used to be, like the sky was before everything began to burn.
Tomorrow, my Princess becomes truly the people's Queen. Tomorrow, the Princess's lover, protector, friend, becomes the Queen's servant. I'm a Sheikah, and I'll serve my purpose.
And I shall hope that Impa never hears of this…she would never forgive me…
Tada. Review/ flame, I'm not picky. Just let me know what you thought.