you look like you smell of honey and no pain
let me have a taste of that
- milk and honey by rupi kaur
» . «
In Hyrule there are certain traditions, some more… feral than others.
Some have evolved over the years to a less colorful event while others have been forgotten entirely. They've been handed down from countless generations by songs and artists, depicting deities or mythical creatures like the horned god that scares misbehaved children around the winter solstice, or the headless one who haunts the land when the veil between worlds has lifted.
When it snows, candles flicker in windowsills whilst reds and greens and golds are hung over archways, commemorating the jolly return of the sun. When summer begins, a festival of lights and ribbons and maypole dancing erupts in the villages, hoping to bring forth a bountiful harvest in the following months, but one rather questionable tradition has developed over the years. Long ago, a festival was held shortly after the blossoming of spring, ignited with violent animal sacrifices and orgiastic carnality, sexually charged energy roaming the chaotic streets all for the sake of fertility and purification, but now—not so much.
Now, the primal events of this tradition have trickled down to simplicity and symbolism. Where once was celebrations of hunting and fucking and lecherously pursuing, have sizzled to sweet sonnets and bouquets of roses, telling our loved ones how much we adore them, but some still hold a curiosity in the ancient practices. What remains now are secret gatherings hosted by a matchmaking mage in what is known as the wild hunt. Once a year, bachelors and bachelorettes willingly participate in a mystical ceremony under the blessing of a snow moon, willingly on the hunt to find a mate, willingly wanting to have a memorable night in the woods with a complete stranger.
And Zelda's about to be matched with hers.
The moss beneath her heeled boots feels like a cushion as she shifts her weight from one side to another. All around her are two dozen hooded figures huddled close in the center of a dense forest, faces dimly lit by the lanterns that pave a path to an altar and the matchmaker; a tall feminine mage dressed in long navy fabric and lilac lipstick, chuckling cunningly down to the crowd in front of her, but Zelda can barely hear it. Her heart's beating too fast to hear much of anything.
When she signed up for this, she knew what she was getting into. Nobody pushed her, nobody pressured her, nobody even knows that she's here. As an amateur historian, Zelda takes a keen interest in ancient traditions, loves finding allegorical significances in the roots of the past, but that's not why she showed up tonight, standing rather crookedly in the soft earth, watching an impish mage work her magic at finding all the lovers hidden amongst the faceless crowd.
She has heard numerous stories about the wild hunt, experiences that only occur in the woods under the glow of a snow moon. How basking in the moonlight with the arrival of spring fogging the twilight air is corporeal and unforgettable, physically stimulating and sexually blissful, and perhaps Zelda will feel all of this with the one she'll be matched with tonight, but she still can't help but feel so nervous.
Trying to tune back to her surroundings, Zelda pans her eyes over the shadowed faces. Soft murmurs float through the intimate crowd with every name called out by the matchmaker. The altar in front of her is decorated with crimson roses and symbolic offerings and there's a stack of intricately patterned oracle cards that she's using to find all the ephemeral couples tonight. Zelda's stare rests on the matchmaker as she picks up the top card, revealing an image of a gold-embroidered empress, closes her eyes, and calls out a name.
A figure in the back of the crowd makes their way to the altar—they've just been chosen. Shortly after, the matchmaker picks up the next card in the stack, revealing its counterpart; the imperial emperor. Once again, the mage closes her eyes and calls out another name.
How this mage is choosing each couple is beyond her. Perhaps it's magic, a hunch or a feeling, or maybe it's all just a gimmick, either way—Zelda is spellbound. She's fixated on the rhythm of the woman's slender hands swaying gracefully as she sets down every card and picks up another, how the mage flutters her long lashes and takes a deep breath, only to reveal those piercing ruby eyes and that wicked smile curve devilishly and say—
"Zelda."
Her breath hitches, blood running cold, and all that white noise clogging her ears suddenly stops. The next several seconds feel like an eternity as Zelda twists and turns, gradually finding her way through the maze of shadows until she's standing at the front of the crowd, closest to the matchmaker. The tall mage with legs for days looks upon her with a glint in her eye and a smirk to her smile, like she knows all of Zelda's deepest, darkest secrets.
"Ah, I see we've found our huntress for the evening," the sultry woman says, fangs visible as she speaks. In her hand, the mage holds a card depicting an archer decked in leather, bowstring pulled taut with an arrow as they hunt through the woods. "Now... let's find our wolf."
Heart pounding through her chest, Zelda can only stare as the mage picks up the following card, revealing her counterpoint; a grey wolf on a rocky ledge, head thrown back as it howls at the milky moon. The mystical woman goes into her trance once more; feeling the canine energy of the card in her hand, mind floating through that astral plane to find the alpha who matches it. With a twitch of her jaw and release of an exhale, she chuckles softly, then calls out a name Zelda has never heard before.
Turning to face the crowd behind her, Zelda scans for movement—not knowing if Link is the name of a man or a woman. Several seconds pass in silence and there's a fleeting moment where she thinks that maybe they're hiding or have left entirely and that maybe she'll be completely alone in the woods tonight, until two figures part a path and a broad-shouldered man steps out between them.
He's wearing the same cloak as every participant; a dark blue hood draped over his head and hair, hiding his features in the flickering shadows. The white of his button-down shirt shines beneath the moonlight like wolf fur in the snow, and his dark leather boots are already covered with mud like he's been trekking through the forest much longer than just this evening. As he strides up to her, she can see the rigid muscles of his thighs beneath his trousers, can see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down his nerves and when he gets closer, the face of the man Zelda's been matched with comes out of the shadows.
There's a softness to his features she wasn't expecting. His cheeks are sweetly rounded with a cluster of freckles scattered across his nose, thoroughly different from the roughness of his hands and body and when their eyes meet, a cold shiver cascades down her spine like trickling ice. Eager blue eyes meet the fierceness in her green and although Zelda's whole body is electric with nerves and excitement and temptation, she still can't help but doubt the decision of matching the two of them together.
Because he looks like he could eat her alive.
Wicked laughter breaks their stare, so they turn to look at the mage. "And here we have our wolf... and what a sight you are." The mage drags her eyes up and down Link's body guilefully, then looks over at Zelda and does the same. "Frankly, I couldn't have come up with a better matching even if I tried," she sighs, brazenly proud of herself.
Zelda turns to look at him again to find that he's already looking back. There's a smile teasing the corners of his mouth and his eyes dance around her face, taking in the sight of her. It's oddly exposing and strangely endearing, but there's a reckless notion lying just beneath that warm expression. Hunger.
And what worries her the most is... she's looking at him the exact same way.
"As most obvious," the mage interrupts again. "Zelda will be the huntress tonight and Link—" she turns to him and beams with suggestive intentions. "You will be the hunted."
He doesn't speak, doesn't reply with words—simple compliance in the form of a single nod.
"Don't make it easy for her, either. She likes a challenge."
Without another word spoken, the mage hands a wicker basket to Link. Every couple has received one this evening—though it seems like no one knows what's in it yet. The wild hunt works as follows; one person in each pairing is let loose in the woods before the other and carries the basket of items to use for their intimate gathering, but that's only if their other half is able to find them. Of course, most couples don't make it very far into the tree line, succumbing to temptation more than the thrill of a hunt, but Link looks like he's ready to bolt to the deepest part of the forest as soon as his hands are on the basket. Curious by nature, he lifts the lid of it slightly, not even wide enough to peek into, and instantly the sound of the mage's voice startles him, making his shoulders jump.
"Ah! No peeking," she says and waggles a finger like he's a misbehaved pet. By her scolding, Link's cheeks flush pink and his smile starts to grow bashful and Zelda can't hold back the stupid grin forming on her face. There's no doubt about it; he definitely holds certain canine qualities. He's obedient and curious, timid but feral, and seeing how easily he matches the card of the wolf just makes her wonder; if he connects so well to what was matched for him, then what makes Zelda a huntress?
With a dismissive wave of her hand, it's clear the mage wants the two of them to return to the crowd so she can continue with the matching ceremony. Link turns on his heels and begins walking towards the shadowed figures again and Zelda tries to comply, to go along with everything so faithfully, but her crippling self-doubt consumes her and she hesitates.
"There must be some mistake," Zelda says slowly, sheepishly. She turns back with a frown and adds; "because I'm not a huntress."
The mage chuckles at her, low and almost mockingly. "Oh, but you are. You just haven't found the right prey."
"But—"
"Trust in my decision dear huntress. Many have doubted my matchings in the past, but I will have you know," she places her hands on the altar and leans towards her. "That I am never wrong."
It's true, even tonight there have been a few who have doubted her, that's why it's highly recommended to come open-minded and alone because these midnight matchings often continue after the sun rises. The application process is meticulously detailed; only approving those on the guest list whom she can confirm with absolute certainty will be matched with a soulful partner—so Zelda turns to look at hers again. His blue eyes are soft and kind but studying her, possibly wondering why she wasn't doubting him—just herself.
When she walks back to the crowd, Link follows so he can stand beside her for the remainder of the ceremony, but her mind is elsewhere. Now that she's labeled a huntress and matched to a man who smells like musky cologne and maple butter, the thought of dragging her tongue down his neck is entering her mind more than she cares to admit and it's making Zelda feel a plethora of different things. But the most solid feeling she has to hold onto is a flutter of butterflies nesting in the pit of her stomach and a stranger she wants to straddle beside her and in a few minutes she's going to have to hunt this man down in the middle of a moonlit forest.
The mage is almost done with the matching ceremony when Zelda feels something warm brush against her hand. She doesn't flinch or step away, but in the corner of her eye she sees Link's index finger brushing over her knuckles. It's the softest touch Zelda has ever felt, like a gentle nuzzle from an animal, as if he's trying to ease her nerves just as much as his own. An invigorating breath enters her lungs then, free of the worries that used to shallow it, and she finds herself reaching back. Slowly, with hesitant movements, her fingers brush over his and he follows her lead until their fingers are entwined and he's holding her hand and she's holding his back, and neither of them are planning on letting go.
The silence falls as the final couple settles back into the crowd and the mage begins her speech. "Now that our matches have been completed, allow me to introduce myself." She walks around the altar, revealing the full extent of her glimmering robe and scandalous garment. "I am the Princess of Twilight, and welcome all lovers on this sacred night. As you know, we are gathered here to participate in the wild hunt of the spring season, to let our true selves run wild and free under the gaze of a snow moon." Her hands raise in the air, gesturing towards the starlit sky.
"You have all come here tonight seeking separate desires. Many of you are wickedly curious, wanting to free yourselves from normalcy, to bask in the wild that flows through our veins. Some of you are here to conceive, for this night is budding with new beginnings, but there are those simply here on a quest for love." A softness crinkles around her eyes as she scans the crowd—until they fall on Link, and stay there.
Zelda can feel the heat rising beside her, can feel his body growing stiff with embarrassment—when she looks over, his face is bright red and he's scratching the nape of his neck with his free hand. His behavior is all very sweet until it dawns on her that she doesn't really know why she's here herself. Originally, she thought she was seeking pleasure, ready to have some mischievous fun in the woods with someone she'll never see again, but now she's not so sure. If her partner is here for something much, much greater then... what is she here for?
The mage breaks her gaze on Link to continue her speech. "We uphold this tradition because many believe we discover our true selves this evening, and with it, our true partners. Since many of you have only just met, allow me to go over the rules quickly so you can have the rest of the night to… acquaint yourselves," she winks.
"I'll get straight to the point; intercourse is highly encouraged, though not necessary," she says, and excitement hums through the crowd. "It is also recommended to create a safe word with your partner, but many of you won't be needing that." The mage rests her stare on the couple that was called for the empress and emperor cards earlier, making both figures shift restlessly, just like Link did.
"For those being hunted," her voice gets louder, enunciating her words with significance. "You shall be let loose first. Your role tonight is to seek out a spot in the woods for you and your partner that'll be befitting enough for your private ceremony. Find a good spot, dear lovers, for these woods are vast, but the sound does carry." The crowd chuckles softly.
"For the hunters," the mage continues and Zelda's attention narrows. "It is your job to find them, of course. I must warn; a few of you will have difficulty finding your partners tonight, but do not fret; the thrill is in the chase... and all of you will find what you're looking for." Her filthy grin is more wicked now than ever.
Turning gracefully to the altar, the matchmaker picks up the hollow ram horn and holds it in front of her. "By the first blow of this horn, the hunt shall begin and the hunted can run. By the second blow, you hunters will follow… Are you ready?" Her voice contains a melodic tune, excitement and adrenaline slowly seeping from her words and into the crowd and everyone answers in a wave of crowing delight.
All eyes are on the mage when she brings the thin end of the ram horn to her lips, and with a pause that seems impishly teasing, the matchmaker blows. A booming sound of alarm rings through the trees and commotion erupts through the crowd and everything moves at once. There's discombobulated sounds of screaming giggles and hysterical laughter, rushed footsteps as hooded figures dart into the trees in all directions and the blow of the mage's horn still rings throughout the forest, everything's in motion—everything besides Link.
Her initial reaction is to start yelling at him, but Link stays frozen in place as the world rushes past, like he doesn't care about any of it. Before she can scold him or rudely insist he let her go, Link brings her hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss there. It's another attribute she wasn't expecting, and the anxiousness that flooded her veins moments ago is replaced by the touch of his lips on her skin and she invites it warmly. Like contentment and safety and although they haven't spoken a word to each other yet, she feels oddly connected to him.
"Don't keep me hunting too long, okay?" She whispers, a smile teasing on her lips.
A small puff of air hits her skin where his mouth idles, hot and humid as he chuckles. He raises his head and their eyes meet again. He stands tall once more and with a small nod and a smirk to his smile, Link takes a step away from her, swivels on his heels, and starts jogging towards the trees.
As Zelda watches his figure disappear into the darkness, she takes a long, resetting breath. There's a strange sensation creeping under her skin as the crowd dwindles around her, a sensation that maybe tonight with all the worries and doubts she's had—maybe she might discover something about herself that she's never really known before.
And that scares her more than the howling wolf in the woods does.
» . «
Noises clash throughout the trees. Hurried footsteps and maniacal laughter, gusts of gasps that carry through the trees and turn into heavy moaning. The unmistakable sounds of urgent hands roaming over the physiques of their lovers and Zelda tries to ignore it all, but it's ridiculously distracting. There's a strange ping of jealousy whittling in the pit of her stomach. As everyone else around her is in the warm hands of another, Zelda can merely tug at the seams of her cloak a little tighter as she ventures deeper into the forest.
When the second horn was blown and the hunters were allowed to start chasing, it was a solid ten minutes after Link had dashed into the shadows. He could be anywhere by now because that was close to an hour ago and at this point, Zelda's lost track of what direction she's even walking in.
She tries to get inside his head. What would someone like him be doing? Where would someone like him be hiding? She's assuming he'd probably want to find a place intimately private, a nook or a sanctuary hidden well within the woods so they wouldn't be interrupted by the groans of wild lovers. With a furrowed brow, Zelda pulls at her cloak again and continues walking.
It was recommended to come tonight wearing something… appropriate for the occasion. Something that's quick to unbuckle or easy to slip off, and now Zelda's wishing she didn't. The cool breeze nips through her skimpy blue chemise like snow on her skin, making her shiver. During the matching ceremony, she noticed there were a few people wearing even less than she is, but whoever they are they're probably much warmer considering most matches have found their partners by now.
Where is he? This forest is massive and every tree looks the same and she's fairly certain she's passed this circle of mushrooms before. Determination blooming into frustration, she starts walking in a mindless direction—picking a new path towards the right that has thicker forestry—until she hears the sound of a twig snap nearby and Zelda comes to a dead stop.
That was a little too close.
Frozen where she stands, Zelda takes a shaky inhale then holds her breath. Listening. Waiting. She's had this feeling for a while now—that someone's following her. When the sounds started, she convinced herself she was merely hearing the lascivious noises of lovers running wild, but every time she looked in the direction of where the suspicious footsteps were coming from, no one was ever there.
Now she knows what's happening. She's being stalked.
Amongst the endless list of books she's read, at least a few mentioned predatory tactics and one way wolves catch their prey is by testing them. They like to watch and observe their patterns, expending as little energy as possible before they make their move, and Link's been watching her for a while now, studying her patterns since the moment he laid eyes on her, but clearly Link doesn't know who he's dealing with just yet. She's the huntress tonight. Not him.
Her stubbornness gets the better of her when her feet take off. Bolting into a full sprint, Zelda dodges over mounds of decomposing leaves and ducks under fallen trees and her silent assailant takes off after her, attempting to keep her in his sight whilst trying to stay hidden. A smile blossoms along her lips as she runs; cunning and deceitful and admittedly quite amused by the challenge he gave her of trying to turn the tables—to get him to stop chasing her, so Zelda can start chasing him .
The clashing noises fade away as Zelda's cloak billows through the midnight air, her chemise hiking higher up her thighs with each mindful step and leap and jump she takes. She's listening to his foot falls instead and it's giving away his position. He's just behind her, off the trail and to the left, and that makes her next decision even easier. There's a cluster of oak trees and thick wintered bushes coming up on her right and if she's quick enough, she can slip in there unnoticed before Link even has time to change his course of action.
Taking the chance, Zelda leaps over a large fallen tree in the middle of the path and immediately crouches into the darkness. Her cloak keeps her hidden in the shadows as she starts maneuvering towards a wide oak tree, timing her footfalls with his own to make her movements even stealthier. She's creating more distance between them, so she can take the upper hand in this playful game of cat and mouse and catch him. He sounds sporadic, confused, his footsteps going one way and then another, trying to figure out which direction she darted in.
Picking a wide tree to hide behind, Zelda blends into the shadows and peeks her head around to look for her wolf—and there he is. Standing a good distance away, the moonlight illuminates off his shirt as his chest moves rhythmically beneath it—catching his breath from their playful chase. He's looking around everywhere; high and low, behind and in front, but there's no way he can spot her from where she's hiding.
When his breathing slows and he admits defeat, the expression on his face begins to change. From a look of confusion and bewilderment to being amused and entertained, and a soft chuckle leaves his lips. It's a low, husky laugh; naturally quiet and distinctly masculine and the sound burrows deep into her core, igniting a fiery craving that makes her cheeks burn, but Link is completely unaware of the effect his voice has on her. He shakes his head and scratches his temple, then looks around and chooses a direction to start walking in.
Unfortunately, he starts walking straight at her.
Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach and she panics. Quickly, she hides behind the wide oak tree, but upon her hurried movements, she accidentally clips her heel against a dried twig and it snaps. The quiet sound would have faltered to simple white noise if they were in a livelier area of the forest, but they're not and she only has a moment to think of something quick before Link leaps around the tree and finds her.
Just in the knick of time, Zelda manages to avoid detection by rounding the tree in the opposite direction. She uses the wide oak between them to continue staying out of sight, but the sounds of their clumsy scampering quickly turn into a flurry of laughter between the two of them. Like two frisky animals attempting to catch the other without getting caught themselves. Like the way rabbits play a friendly game of leapfrog during their mating season; asserting dominance with suggestive intentions in the most deceptively innocent way.
Their laughter rises and echoes in the air as they circle the tree frantically, tripping over roots and stumbling to avoid capture. It isn't until Zelda tricks him with the oldest ruse in the book that their childish little game comes to an end. Pretending to go one way but actually going the other, she leaps from the shadows, jumps in front of his face, and pins him against the tree.
All the breath leaves his lungs as Zelda presses her hands hard against his shoulders. His back hits the bark with a muffled thud, but he doesn't fight back, doesn't try to take the upper hand although he probably easily could. He stands frozen beneath her force, her hands sliding a little lower over his collarbones and down his chest, smoothing out his white shirt as she goes. Without thinking, she steps closer and their eyes meet and she smiles.
"Hi," she says, her words hitting his lips.
In response, he swallows and takes a slow inhale, breathing in the scent of her. She wore light perfume tonight; warm and musky, with a soft spice of cinnamon and a hint of forest pine. When she dares to take another step, Link stiffens against the tree and stands as still as the forest, but his own hands betray him. They reach out to her hips, pulling her even closer until their hip bones meet and there's not much left between them besides the chilled air and their shaky breaths and two rapidly increasing heart beats.
Warmth radiates off him like thick, wintered fur. She can feel the heat of his chest beneath her palms; the branding of his calloused hands gripping the lace of her short chemise, the toasting of that freckled skin with a flush heating over his cheekbones. She can see how soft his expression turns when their eyes meet in the moonlight and how his lips part like he's ready to follow whatever she does whenever she decides to start doing it—and Zelda almost gives in to the feeling of it all. Almost .
Like being nipped by an animal, Zelda snaps back to reality and pulls away. Her hands leave the comfort of his body heat and she stumbles back until she's out of his touch—almost tripping over a tree root in the process. "Sorry," she exhales nervously, clawing a hand through her hair. The feeling of wanting him closer, the act of straddling him and pinning him down and having her way with him is clouding over her senses, fogging her mind with lust and demand and wanting, and she has a nagging suspicion that these sinful sensations aren't from the energy haunting through the woods tonight, but coming from somewhere much, much deeper.
She takes a long breath then drags her eyes away from the mossy ground and up to his face. Curious blue eyes are watching her, but there's a soft smile curving on his lips and she's just about to smile back and maybe flirt and possibly tease when she realizes he isn't holding onto the wicker basket anymore.
"Did you… already find a place for us tonight?" She asks, steady voice returning.
He nods twice and steps away from the tree, then looks around to observe his surroundings and Zelda takes the opportunity to scan him from head to toe. Her eyes glaze longingly down his front; gliding below his belt and idling at his groin, then dragging back up again until her stare stops on his lips and lingers there. They look soft and inviting and it takes her an embarrassingly large amount of time to realize that he's done assessing which direction they should walk in and now he's staring, a smug little grin forming on his face.
"Sorry," she says again, flushed cheeks feeling the bite of the bitter cold.
He laughs at her and it's a comfort to hear it, to see that her diffident charm is amusing to him rather than lewd or salacious. His laugh radiates like sunlight, blossoming into a shy smile on her own face and it helps to dispel the shame of getting caught ogling at him. With a dismissive shake of his head and that quiet laugh so humbling, Link extends a hand out and she takes a hold of it willingly.
Their fingers tangle together when he starts guiding them through the woods, but Zelda's thoughts are anywhere but the present right now. Link has quickly grown into a comfort for her. To have him close feels safe and domestic and that feeling is only getting stronger, but there's a question that remains; what makes Zelda a huntress? Hunts are long, drawn-out, strategic and feral, succumbing to a deep, animalistic desire of possessiveness and domination, and she only began to feel that when she caught him. When her hands were moving over his shirt and tempted to go lower, when every time their eyes have met and his pupils dilate and there's a rush of insatiable thirst to know what his lips taste like, that makes her mouth dry.
If she's a hunter and he a wolf then... would she have to tame him?
» . «
There's a particularly phallic-shaped mushroom Zelda's been staring at for a solid three minutes.
It's thick and white and standing perfectly erect in the corner of her vision as Link sits beside her, blissfully unaware of what her eyes have settled on. They've been lounging across a warm, patterned blanket spread out amongst the soft earth for only a little while, so both of them are still stiff and awkward, unsure of what to say or how to break the ice between them. He had found the perfect spot to spend the night; intimate and private, nestled at the base of a small grassy mound that shields them from the cold. This area of the woods is warmer, more humid—nature seems to be progressing faster towards spring with the buds on the trees a bit larger, the spores in the moss a bit taller, but Zelda can't stop staring at that stupid mushroom.
It's not like her mind's in the gutter. Not like she's letting the shape of this mushroom make her think about other priapic objects. She's quite sure Link would have no objections if they simply just sat here, unmoving until the break of dawn, stuck in this silent stand-off that's slowly, frustratingly, getting the better of her.
She tears her eyes away from the risqué fungi to look at Link instead. He's sitting with legs outstretched, elbows on bent knees, pretending to be heavily invested in picking the dry skin around his index finger, but in all honesty he's probably waiting for her to move first. To pull them from this passive moment and crack the ice between them. Just because Link doesn't speak, doesn't mean he appreciates the silence.
"Have you…" She finds herself asking. "Have you ever done anything like this before? The wild hunt, I mean?"
His fingers halt in their mindless fidgeting. Slowly, he drags his eyes up to hers and shakes his head and some of his shaggy bangs fall into his vision. She's still not thinking clearly when Zelda reaches a hand out to drape them away, fingertips idling over his brow, but he doesn't stir beneath her touch—just sits there, and stares, and waits.
Their eyes meet and she retracts her hand. "Sorry," she says, hand held awkwardly out between them. "I—I don't know why I did that."
He looks down at her hand then back up to her eyes and a smirk slowly forms on his face. A sly smile slants towards his cheek and, with a flip of his hair and batting of lashes, he clearly explains that it's because of his good looks.
She smirks back. "You're quite proud of yourself for someone that doesn't speak, huh?"
He shrugs haphazardly, the shyness returning to him in the form of a bashful smile and tugs at his ear. He's a listener, not a talker.
"That's good," she sighs, becoming more comfortable on the blanket beside him. "I've talked the ear off of everyone I've ever met. Promise me you won't tell me to shut it?"
With a light-hearted chuckle, he raises his pinky in the air between them. A childish promise, but one nonetheless. Cute.
With the ice gradually cracking between them, Link turns to the basket at his side. The only item he had taken out was the blanket and he must be even more tempted than she is to see what else is in it.
Angling towards her, he sets the basket between them, then looks up at her.
"Right," she sighs, happily welcoming some kind of instruction manual on what to do next. The basket is dark like mahogany, a crescent handle braided between two flaps that stay open when she lifts them. The first item she pulls out resembles the shape of a wine bottle; curved at the top but closed with a metal lid and the glass is clear to see that there's white liquid sloshing about inside. Raising it high in the moonlight, Zelda examines it through squinted eyes and states, "I think it's milk."
His fingers graze over her's when Link takes the bottle from her outstretched hand. Forever curious—and now she's learning slightly reckless—Link uncorks the lid and gulps the liquid without even smelling it. Judging by how he's continuously guzzling it down, it's definitely milk.
"It's not for drinking," she explains in her scholarly voice, and takes the bottle back from him. "It's for purifying. We wash each other with this tonight."
Link shifts in his seat, a little bashful by his gluttony, and settles on the blanket more comfortably. He brings a bent knee into his chest and drapes his elbow atop it, then sends her a smile.
Smiling back, Zelda drops her gaze back down into the basket. The next items she pulls out are two white handkerchiefs that are velvety soft and trimmed with lace on the ends. "See?" She says, holding them out to prove her previous point. "We'll use these tonight to bathe, but seeing how small these handkerchiefs are, we'll just have to wash our faces and necks. I guess you can drink the rest of the milk when we're finished then." She looks up at him.
His face is giddy, eyes bright with a silly grin that tells her she could've said anything rather than milk and he'd still look this happy to drink it. She laughs and shakes her head at him.
The next item Zelda takes out is small and dark; an amber glass bottle with a black cap and no label. Unscrewing the lid, she brings it to her nose and takes a whiff. It's sweet and pleasantly sensual, the smell of nag champa and roses. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Link's brow furrow, confused by what the bottle contains and what it'll be used for.
"It's an oil. We can use it to give each other massages," she says with innocence, then adds in a more sobering tone, like she just realized it herself. "Or to use as lubricant."
There's a silence that falls between them, like there's static in the air—a heavy beast of a conversation lounging on the blanket with them. They may have only just met tonight, may still be strangers fighting through rocky introductions, but they've both come here seeking something greater. Matched together out of hundreds of applicants and an enchanting fate guiding them to this moment, they were perfectly paired as huntress and wolf and the only question that remains now is; will they give in so unequivocally?
Chancing a glance, their eyes meet quickly before a blush creeps over their cheeks, hot and red and nervous. They clear their throats at the same time and Zelda continues to ruffle through the basket albeit a little more hastily. The next item she pulls out is a glass jar wider than it is tall, sealed with a gold lid. At first she thinks it could be jam considering the texture and movement of what's inside when she shakes it, but upon further inspection, she smiles.
"They're cherries," she says sweetly, and looks over to him. He has the cap off the lubricant oil, sniffing the sensual smells, but with the mention of food his eyes snap up. When he reaches out to take the jar from her, she pulls back from his grasp. "Not yet, you glutton."
His eyes widened briefly before turning soft, a humble smile forming on his lips. Shyly, he sits back and scratches his neck and she can't help but laugh at him. His obedience, the way he holds himself like a man so strong and rugged yet quickly yields to her commands with such acquiescence, such boyish charm, it's making the butterflies in her stomach flutter.
"Do you know what cherries can represent?" She asks with crafty guile, already knowing that he doesn't.
He shakes his head, blue-grey eyes eccentric with curiosity.
"Cherries represent good fortune," she smirks and twists open the jar. Stealing one from the top of the sugary liqueur, Zelda rolls it between her thumb and index finger. "The bold flavor and tartness compliment the essence of spring, and the way cherry blossoms bloom can symbolize regrowth and new beginnings, but can you think of why exactly they're in this basket?"
When Zelda's alluring stare rises from the fruit to rest on Link instead, he swallows, completely enthralled by the sound of her melodic voice talking so low and rich and sultry. He shakes his head meekly and Zelda tries to ignore the flush creeping across his neck, red as the jar of candied sweets between them.
Entertained by how easily she can captivate him, Zelda's smirk blooms along her face briefly before she says in a quick, sharpened tone; "cherries are meant for popping," and pops it into her mouth.
It's a silly little joy to make him laugh, a man filled with very few words is made mostly of reactions instead. He chuckles, delighted by her playfulness, and picks a cherry from the jar to eat. It squishes between his teeth and he's smiling as he munches, but Zelda finds herself watching indulgently—the sugary liquid wetting his bottom lip makes her want to reach across the blanket and lick it.
Closing the lid on the jar of cherries, she sets it beside the milk and handkerchiefs, then continues ruffling through the basket, except the only items that remain are two lush hand towels and another soft blanket to sleep under.
"That's it. That's all that was in there," Zelda sighs, a little deflated. She stares at the small towels in her hand. For cleaning up, she realizes.
Link makes a soft sound in the back of his throat to gain her attention. When their eyes meet, he points to the bottle of milk.
"Yes, of course," she breathes, a driven focus returning as she reaches for a handkerchief and starts explaining. "Milk is symbolic of fertility. It represents life and abundance—most appropriate for a night like this one." She meets his eyes and they share a smile. She opens the glass bottle and continues. "Milk is also a lunar symbol, connected to the feminine in many obvious ways, but it can also represent a cleanse. To wash away impurities, to welcome new growth and revival."
Zelda pours a generous amount of milk onto the handkerchief and squeezes, releasing some of the excess liquid, and looks at him. He's watching her intently, studying her every movement and a new feeling washes over her. What was once stifled nerves and awkward worries have turned brazen and confident, the natural leader hidden inside taking control as she gracefully shifts on her knees and moves closer. He doesn't stir, doesn't flinch or back away, just allows her to close the small gap that still lingers between them.
Holding the dampened cloth close to his cheek, she whispers. "May I?"
Slowly, he nods, and that boyish smile reaches high up his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
When the wet handkerchief meets his skin, Link takes a sharp inhale—cold milk hitting warm cheeks and it makes her giggle. Their saccharine chuckles rise in the air as Zelda washes him; wiping his cheeks and chin, down to the collar of his shirt and up to his nose and when she reaches his forehead, she pushes his bangs away and she indulges in the sweetness, the soft innocence of this simplicity.
"Your forehead's a little greasy," Zelda jokes as she smears the liquid on his forehead. Tiny dribbles of milk fall over his brow and get caught in his long lashes.
Link tsks his tongue at her, meeting her tone, and drags his fingers over her own forehead. Both of them are feeling more confident now—touching the other in such a wholesome, playful way.
"I guess we're both in need of a bath after running through the woods," she chuckles softly, dropping her hand from his face. "Want to switch?"
He nods excitedly.
They both move in unison; Zelda sits back, palms planted on the blanket as she stretches her legs out in front and Link mimics her previous position, kneeling on his shins and scooting closer to her. He takes the other handkerchief and drips a very small amount of liquid onto the fabric then clumsily starts wiping her face. The feeling is odd and frankly quite silly; allowing another person to cleanse the skin with raw milk from an animal, but maybe Zelda's been looking too far into the symbolism of it all. Maybe it's the act itself; curious hands exploring a lover's body, alerting the senses to become fully responsive to the other's touch.
"You might need to wet it a little better," Zelda laughs, feeling her skin redden against the dry handkerchief. Link's ratio of milk to cloth wasn't as well balanced as hers.
Following her suggestion, Link pours more onto the fabric and ends up spilling milk on the blanket. He's gawky and inelegant, definitely not as suave as she is, and there's an apology on his face that makes Zelda suddenly realize that he's nervous. Trying to keep him encouraged, she takes his hand in her own and guides it to her jawline, then she smiles at him.
"It's alright, Link," she breathes his name and it's the first time she's said it out loud.
Their eyes meet and there's no doubt about the connection between them now. Gaining confidence, he picks up where he left off; washing along her jaw and chin, his gaze relaxed and his smile sweet like honey. He falls into a tranquil pace of washing her skin; rubbing slow wet circles over her rosy cheeks, but then he squeezes the cloth to wring out the excess liquid and that's when everything slows. Streaks of milk start to fall down her skin like rain, cascading down the meridian of her neck and passing her collarbones, rivulets of white liquid slide between her breasts and Link's eyes follow, watching the stream snake beneath her chemise, raising skin in the form of goosebumps and it makes her nipples hard.
There's a shaky inhale lodged in both their throats. Her eyes snap to his face, but his attention is on her breasts. He's completely distracted by the display of her arching as she lounges, nipples so obvious through the fabric, chest wet and glistening and when he eventually meets her eyes, he swallows.
"Um, I—I think that's enough for now," she breathes.
At this point, he can only nod brokenly.
There's not much else to choose from and because of the tension made earlier on the oil, Link grabs for the cherries. Unscrewing the lid, he immediately pops one into his mouth and makes a satisfied humming noise, munching on the sweet fruit as Zelda tries to conceal herself. It's not that she feels embarrassed in front of him, but more that if he looked at her like that again; so shameless and eyes fogged over with lust, Zelda wouldn't be able to control herself from leaping across the blanket and straddling him.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Link tosses a cherry high in the air and catches it with his mouth. He's trying to make her smile, to ease the tension—just like she did for him earlier—and it works. She laughs at him unceremoniously, entertained by his childlike behavior, how he can look so strong with a body so toned, but act more silly than mature, goofy over serious. He humbles her humor and meets her curious nature, and she's not bothered by his lack of words. Maybe he needs someone kind to challenge him—an equivalent. Someone to allow him to be the silent wolf that he is, to tame him with loose reins that Zelda knows she's capable of holding.
Several cherries down the hole when Zelda picks one from the jar and says; "I want to try."
She tosses the small fruit at Link and he catches it like a dog, making them both laugh. Zelda angles herself better, facing him perfectly to throw more into his mouth and he catches every single one with ease and finesse and throughout their childish game they move closer and closer, until there's not much space left to throw, only to feed.
He's still holding onto the jar when Zelda picks out another one, but she doesn't toss it. She puts it in his mouth. Their smiles remain but there's a fog in the air—hot and humid as Zelda's fingers brush over his lips longingly. Her movements slow; fingers lingering around his mouth, eyes watching him intensely as he bites down and pops the cherry. Her thumb grazes all along his bottom lip, from one side to another, and when he swallows, Link's eyes snap up to hers and a surge of energy runs between them that's impossible to ignore.
They both move at once.
In an instant their lips crash together, hard and bruising and the jar of cherries drops from his hand to cup her cheek, staining the end of the blanket in red but neither of them care—they're far too distracted. He tastes sweet like maraschino, intoxicating her with lips soaked in sugar and it makes her salivate. She straddles him like she's been wanting to, bitter urgency when his hands wrap around her waist and pull her flush against him and so she breathes into his mouth like a wild animal, ready to bite down on her own prey.
She drapes a hand over his shoulders as the other slides into his bangs pulling hard and he hisses, head thrown back with gritted teeth and she finds herself liking this control. The way she can jerk him by the collar and get the reaction she desires, how he catches her lips and fights for dominance; nipping at her bottom lip as his hands get needier and start wandering lower until he's cupping her ass and coaxing her to grind and she doesn't even hesitate.
She moves on his lap like rapid waves; hips rocking over and over and she can feel him hard beneath her as she sinks down deeper, moves a little quicker, and between swollen kisses his breathing gets rugged. Shallow. Groaning from her movements, surrendering to a craving that's making him ravenous.
Confident hands glide up to her breasts and untie the cloak around her neck, yanking it away with dexterity that's quick and sharp like the sour tang of a cherry. The scent of him is driving her crazy, the feel of him hard between her legs is still not close enough and through the addled fog of greed and need and impulse, her hands dart down to his belt and frantically start unclasping. He immediately follows her lead; fingers flying down to assist and Zelda lifts from his lap just high enough to move her thong out of the way as Link pushes his trousers and underwear down to free himself. He licks a long wet strip up his palm and strokes as she spirals circles on her clit—the lubricant oil completely forgotten with minds so desperate and bodies so responsive and when she lines herself up with the tip of him, urgent hands help guide him in and she slides all the way down to the base of his shaft until their hips are flushed and they both sigh.
Breaths lofty and deep add to the forest air and Zelda has half a mind to remember the fungi. The erect nature of it earlier had her thoughts drifting south of Link's belt, but now the rhythm of her fucking his length so easily, bodies flowing so perfectly has Link holding her close as her fingers tangle in his hair. She rides him hard and long and steady and he presses his forehead against her collarbone, making his hot breath hit her skin in the form of heavy panting. He whines, lost entirely to the feeling when she ruts a little faster, takes him a little deeper, and he angles his hips to hit that spot inside her and it makes her shiver.
The moan that leaves her throat must've ignited something in him because the second it leaves her lips, Link grabs her and spins them both on the blanket, tumbling like a pair of wild animals until she's on her back and he's on top, hands planted firmly on either side of her face and with trousers spooling around his ankles, he thrusts himself inside her.
"Harder," she groans, and pulls him down by the hair.
This man, stripped bare and unleashed from mundane reins, is feral and possessive, branding her with love-bites all over her chest and neck and jaw, but she's eager to tame him. She shifts up and down as he moves, breasts bouncing beneath that chemise and he obeys her—submitting to every command she chants in his ear of don't stop and fuck me and fasterfasterfaster that their foreheads meet and he's pounding hard, stroking a burning fire. Their eyes lock in a piercing stare, glazed over with sex and narrowed vision that's just her and him and milk and cherries and he's so close to making her come that her eyes flutter shut and she's moaning, but then he stops abruptly and pulls out entirely.
Her body screams in protest, hands ready to grab at him for misbehaving, but he squirms out of her grasp. He pushes her chemise up as he shimmies down the blanket and his lips make new contact on her skin; mouth roaming over her nipples and navel and leaving flushed red marks as he goes. She spreads her legs wide to give him room, heels digging into the blanket for purchase, and he doesn't waste any time. He buries his face between her thighs and drags his tongue all over.
Any previous protests vanish from her thoughts as he hums against her skin and the vibration shoots up her spine like a blazing arrow. He eats at her like he's hungry, like he's starved of it. He's rutting shamelessly into the blanket, tongue swirling around her clit as he slides a finger inside and searches. She's writhing, back arching, hands clawing into his hair as she rocks her hips on his face. It doesn't take him long to make her squirm, to have her sigh his name in ecstasy and she's starting to teeter, edging that plane of finality, but there's an even stronger feeling taking over. One of persistence and domination, an internal drive of getting him on his back and moaning.
Startling him, she pulls away unexpectedly, leaving him at the base of the blanket in shambles. Disarrayed like the trousers he's kicked off in a hurry, he crawls on hands and knees to chase her, lips aching for sweetness, but Zelda takes this moment to trap him—to pin him on the blanket—wrestling for dominance like a hungry wolf and a wild woman. Her fingers caper down his shirt, hastily undoing button after button and when he's free from the confines of all his clothing, her mouth darts down to a nipple and she bites him.
A yelp escapes his throat and it echoes through the trees. Loud and pleasingly responsive, he's proving to be a quick study when she shifts further down the blanket, down the rigid plain of his belly to his hip bones, leaving a trail of kisses that brand him to her; caught and marked and ready to have her way with.
When she nips his thigh, he pulls her hair. When she licks his tip, he gasps and surges, and when she takes him in her mouth, he curses, the word sounding perfectly articulate with how she slides her lips down his shaft and rolls him in her palm, relishes in how he twitches and trembles and just how much he likes it when she picks up the pace and takes him deeper; head falling back as he growls.
She almost loses herself to the pleasure, the satisfaction of watching him come undone beneath her, but Link is unhinged. Feral. Unpredictable. He drags her up by the hair to kiss her, open-mouthed and filthy and delicious and there's no point in delaying it any further.
Knees on either side of his torso, she sinks down on him in one easy movement and the noise that comes out of his mouth is more guttural and raspy than anything. His hands grip her thighs when she slides up to the tip of him then sinks back down, and she does it again and again and again and she watches the sweat drip from his brow, his teeth gnawing his bottom lip, his stomach muscles flexing. She works at him harder, faster, taking him rough and assertive and the way she wants him and even through the humid mist of hot breath and perspiration, Link still manages to take a thumb to her clit and start circling—except he's clumsy, hand shaky, mind addled with a looming climax and Zelda guides his hand to her breast instead so her own fingers can take over.
"Are you gonna come?" She asks quickly, breath high and lofty, demanding.
He whines, but it's an answer. Head thrown back and fingers digging into her skin, he mewls even louder.
She chokes on a moan, the sounds spilling from his mouth stacking on her own orgasm that's about to quickly fall and break and shatter. His hands drop to her waist like his strength is failing and with heavy lidded eyes, their eyes meet and she drives him home.
Hand pressed hard on his chest, she tells him; "I want you to come."
The wave of his orgasm takes him, drowns him as he moans her name and the sound of it so breathy and hot drags her down with him. He comes inside her and she on him; blinding vision with hips surging up as she bares down hard, both sinking deep and fucking each other through it, fast rhythmic movements that ride out every last howl and flex and toe curl until they're nothing but a bundle of panting breaths and throbbing bodies and uneven heart beats.
Link is the one to recover first. Planting an elbow behind him, he wraps his other arm around her back and pulls her down on the blanket, mouth curved in a satisfied smile as he tilts his hips to move inside her gently, slowly, milking every last tingle and quiver and she sighs on his lips until he kisses her. Mouths moving languidly with bodies still connected, everything is tender now; bodies raw from sex, but emotions so sweet and loving. He cradles her face as she drapes her leg over his thigh and she only breaks their kiss so she can see the blue in his eyes.
"We never used the oil," she says, and he laughs.
He gives her a look; a raised eyebrow and bitten lip, like maybe they can use it next time. She nods, nose grazing against his own and there's something about this; pillow talk under the moonlight, satisfied and sedated, that has the whole world fading away.
"I like the sound of your voice," she whispers. The sound of it now imprinted in her mind and on her heart.
He blinks slow and that boyish grin falls to her neck and he places a kiss there. She feels a muffled laugh patter softly against her skin and she holds him; arm wrapping around broad shoulders as his own rest heavily at the dip of her waist and he nudges her even closer.
Minutes pass, maybe hours, and the only movements they make is when Link pulls out of her and uses the hand towels to clean them. They return to the same positions and she starts combing her fingers through his tangled hair and decides not to stop by the protest he hums when she does. The steady motion may have lulled him to sleep long ago, so she closes her eyes, exhaustion seeping into her bones as they lie contently, and that's when Link takes a long, sated inhale in the crevice of her neck.
The information she's read on wolves mention the act of mating, how they mark their lovers as their own so no one else can have them, how they sniff and nuzzle and breathe in the scent of their mates just like he's doing. Wolves are beasts that are loyal, alphas that can be domesticated, and when she moves to drape the extra blanket atop their bodies, Link releases one more velvet sigh before kissing her skin and drifting off to sleep.
He is who the matchmaker said he is, and Zelda's realizing now, so is she.
The hunter and the wolf have very similar intentions. Unable to be tamed entirely, they both only trust in very few people, if not at all, and when their eyes catch on something they want, they'll stop at nothing to have it. They clash when they fight against one another; vicious and bloody, snarling teeth and arms at the ready, but when they're companions they share a bond; loyal with trust and affection. With a fulfilled smile and contentment nestling into her bones, Zelda kisses his temple one last time and falls asleep in his arms.
And in the morning, when dawn sheds light on the forest, breaking the spell of twilight and carnality, Link will only pull her closer and Zelda will only kiss him sweeter and they'll both leave with milk on their skin and the scent of cherries on their tongue.
