A/N: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to keikbird on Tumblr for creating some art of Zelda in the pale blue dress! Like WHAT! You can find it here (no spaces): post/684114515126829056/read-reverdie-by-1upgirl1-on-ao3-and-was
This chapter is a bit longer than the last, but you'll see why I couldn't really split it up. Also, I'm taking some liberties with the use of a piano in this story since the istrument as we know it really wouldn't exist given the historical influences on the Zelda series...but we also have magic and fancy ancient robot animals so... oh well.
Rating is rising for this one!
Reverdie
Chapter 2: "sell me a dream"
The unseasonably warm days of past springs relinquish their usual haunt to savor the fresh undertones of a winter long faded. It smells of home, Link thinks, eyes trained through the open window to ideate the jagged peaks of Mount Lanayru storming upwards. He hears the scuttle of footsteps behind him, edges just to the right to accommodate his princess' imminent appearance.
When Zelda emerges from her session with Sir Barto, she reunites with her attendant donning a most dulcet expression, clutching two sheets of parchment close to a chest that hikes with excitement. Cream colored fabric covers similarly toned skin as a modest dress, intentionally designed with such simplicity to accommodate a new set of breathing exercises.
Quelling the sparkling bloom that the normalcy of such an image stirs proves difficult for the assiduous Link.
"Did you have a nice session?" He tethers his gaze to hers.
Zelda reaches out silently to press parchment against him and Link responds with a wordless tilt of his head in assessment. He drags his gaze across blotches of dark ink congregated into various types of small, flagged circles upon five lines–it's music, he realizes; like an elegant script from some distant land.
"Sir Barto's assigned me two songs," Zelda elaborates, visibly enthralled with this new development.
"He has you singing now?" Link asks, brows raised in surprise. "You can read this?"
She nods vigorously in response. "He's asked me to prepare them for the ball–after the prayer. I shall sing them with the orchestra." There's a hesitancy to her enthusiasm, but she thrums with a zeal that causes Link to yearn for a kiss he's never known, makes the sprigs of his fingers grow feather light in their leathered gloves.
"That's wonderful," he encourages, a thin smile teasing against his lips to mask an unmitigated swell of pride.
"I suppose so–oh, but terribly nerve wracking…I've never had to sing in public before." She muses. "Speaking is one thing but singing is…completely different."
Link's shoulders creep upward in a nonchalant shrug. "They seem pretty similar. You open your mouth, say some words. One way is just a bit… prettier, I suppose."
"Until one realizes that they sound like an animal in estrus," Zelda laughs. The quip wrestles a sound of amusement out of her knight.
"I'm confident that you will sound much nicer than that." He insists, though he assumes that the sound of her begging for him in a heat of her own would sound nothing short of glorious.
"Tell me about your songs. I thought I heard a bit of a piano today."
"Oh, yes– Sir Barto played through them for me. One is a prayer to the Goddess." She pulls the sheet music away to scan the first document. "Ah–this one. It's a lovely piece. And the other is a nice arrangement of an old folk song. They aren't very complicated-and the poetry is all rather simple...I think they'll be quite easy to learn."
"You'll have them memorized in a night, I swear."
Though she scoffs in abashment, Zelda refrains from any expostulation.
"Am I to assume that you'll be our primary entertainment that evening?" Link has an inkling of how he'd keep her entertained, lets himself drift for a splinter of a moment before the small voice in his ear hisses in reprimand.
"Father wonders if a different sort of prayer may help awaken my powers."
The deadened response escapes her as something of a whisper. It isn't a terrible idea, Link ruminates silently, though the novel discontent that soon shades her face renders the thought silent.
"And how soon will I get to hear your songs, then?" he inquires. The bait works entirely as intended; he chuckles aloud at the playfully dark look of disbelief that suddenly storms across her eyes.
"At the event, of course! I will most certainly be preparing until the very last moment."
"And I'm sure that I'll hear a bit of practice before ''the very last moment'." He teases. "You are still aware that I stand outside of your sessions, right?"
"Well…cover your ears then! I want you to hear my pieces when they're good and ready." Zelda pauses for a moment, considers her next words meticulously before squeaking out: "And yes, I'm quite aware."
Her intention doesn't make itself visibly known, doesn't seep into his comprehension with ease, but the way her diminishing voice grips at his heart tells him what he might like her to mean. Zelda idles before him, embossed with a glowing expression that has him craving her skin– has him wanting to see what it might look like poised beneath him.
Tensity drains from her face, gives no indication that it anticipates a prompt return, and the flourishing swell of satisfaction crests over him once more. It feels unfathomably natural, caring for her so, and he cannot deny himself the delectation of knowing that he's become rather masterful at it in recent months–truly, he must have been born to do it. Their smiles meet, strands of words threading behind shimmering eyes to create curious, tacit thoughts.
He wonders if hers are as dangerous as his.
"I wonder…" she prompts quietly. "Would you like to take a stroll with me? It looks lovely outside."
He would, and so they do.
They spend the next fraction of an hour traversing the familiar grounds, admiring the vivacity that the air carries against the radiance of an endless sea of sky. Link swears that the day tastes different, teems with an unfamiliarity that has him all aflutter. Zelda soaks in sunlight that peeks across the crooks of tree branches, twirling around and admiring the way her pale skirt pirouettes around her. They bask in the patches of grass along the western edge of the castle, Zelda threading a path in between trees as she collects flowers between nimble fingers. Only the flora witnesses the shared affability.
They speak of mutual acquaintances, of the geography that catches their eye, of Sir Barto's clumsy jokes. She requests tales from Link's childhood, far different than her own; learns about his summers spent plucking berries with fingers kissed blue by their juices and of late afternoon naps stolen in the cool shade of pondside trees. He asks her to close her eyes, paints pictures for her with soft words to create places that he offers to show her someday.
"You promise?"
"I do."
Link finds that no matter how desperately he tries to keep his mind locked onto more wholesome thoughts, like the simple pleasures of the sun kissing his skin and how sweetly Zelda looks as she darts among the trees like a most curious dryad, he simply can't look at her without wondering what it would be like to pin her up against one of the boles and drive into her, again and again, until she's sobbing his name in amatory disbelief.
"This one compliments your eyes."
He's suddenly grateful for the voice that drags him from the burning thought. He turns to find Zelda rising from the ground with a small, sky blue blossom in her grasp.
"Do you have these back home?" she inquires.
"In certain parts of the region, yes."
"And what do you call them?"
"We always called them forget-me-nots."
Sunlight washes across her exquisite smile. "I thought you might. Sturdy little things...so lovely and yet remarkably resilient. They can weather cold nights... bloom just about anywhere you ask them to." She studies it for a moment with swoon inducing eyes before holding it up against his inherently piercing gaze. "Let's see…" Zelda reaches out to tuck it just behind the handsome angle of his ear..
"How does it look?" he murmurs. No, that is most certainly not fear climbing its way up through his torso, he insists.
Her thumb brushes against his cheek in one small, nearly undetectable motion. "Understated. And quite handsome." A breeze sends delicate wisps of gold thread trembling around her face. Eyes dart from the bloom to meet the set that burns for her, and it's almost as though she has suddenly struck him–pierced his lungs to let air seep from them, swiped his legs out from beneath him. He awards her with a crooked simper, wrapped up in a pitiful attempt at neglecting the tingling sensation that floods his cheeks-among other body parts.
"I've never heard someone describe a flower as handsome before," he says, feigning an innocence that he hardly possesses.
Though a shade of pink soon tints her cheeks, Zelda doesn't bend to any sort of girlish concession; she embraces the blush with firm resolution as she holds his gaze, waits to see if he might shy away with precarious curiosity.
But he refuses to let her win so easily, and she rises to his challenge.
"You are a clever one, Link," she drops her gaze as coquettishly as she drops his title before returning it to him once more. "I must say…I've really grown quite fond of you."
There is nothing innocent in the look that she grants him. A sweetness, yes, but it rings with positively mischievous energy that instigates a solemn twinge in his chest cavity: Zelda is toying with him. And Link cannot decide whether or not the wave of realization wounds him, or if he'd kill an innocent man to bottle the sensation up.
The small smile that he graces her with in response is strained, desperate and overflowing with both wholesome and completely untoward desire. The hum she emits surges through her fingers to spark against his cheek, and it proves more than enough to shape a verdict: he concedes. He'll entertain her, play the fool, smolder as he must to provide her a bit of well-deserved relief from her quotidian tensions. He forbids himself to think about the day when the ruse ends, when the Princess decides that she's satisfied with his desirable glances. When he pretends that he has never burned at all.
For now, it'll do.
"And I, you."
.
.
Elongated days quickly melt into one another to form an enchanting mosaic of moments between the Princess and her knight as they continue their silent dance. It becomes apparent to those within the castle walls that the girl is in far better spirits than she has been in recent months; it leads those around her to contemplate that, perhaps, she is drawing closer towards her primary goal behind closed doors– a notion only fueled by the glowing assessments that Barto provides the King.
Link is content with knowing that he plays a role in the renewed spark in her step.
Each passing day presents a new challenge–a heady, voiceless game in which they try to see whose fingers can ghost against the other's skin with the most subtlety. To see if the smallest graze of silken fingers against an arm, a back, a waist is noticed between the frenzied activities of the day. Unspoken words threaten to spill across the crags of each conversation; giving life to most will prove far too risky, of course, but they find moments for quiet compliments that blaze with yearning, sometimes cast out around a public that suspects nothing. Link has learned to live with the ceaseless fire roaring within him; he's accepted that the beast has assimilated with his good natured heart to leave him simmering in every waking moment.
Outside of what is to be her final session with the Maestro, Link holds his usual vigil. He hears only the liminal strains of a voice skimming across the door-a tapestry hung across the doorway to dampen the sound at Zelda's request. He hears the hint of a scale, the echoes of a piano, the thud of footsteps in renewed silence. Then, the odd sounds again: the aberrant wail of vocal sirens that he has no idea how one might navigate.
And then, the door opens a few minutes earlier than anticipated. Sir Barto's dark head appears in the doorway.
"Ah! Do come in, Sir Link–I'm sure you'll be thrilled when you hear what the Princess has accomplished!"
He enters to find the ghost of a protest forming on Zelda's lips.
"Sir Barto, I really would rather not…"
"But, Your Grace-surely he is to be there on the day of your performance, hmm?" Barto insists with a raised eyebrow. "And besides, it would do you some good to have an audience before the actual event!"
Though Zelda's face sours, she soon relents– evidence of the respect that has grown for the Maestro, peculiarities and all.
"Wonderful!" Barto turns to Link with an amiable countenance. "Please, sit!" The knight slides into a decorative chair pulled aside especially for him. He teeters on the edge, leaning forward with enthused anticipation that he forgets to mask. Barto assumes his position at the piano bench and primes fingers upon keys.
"Why don't we start with the folk song?" He turns to the knight. "This here is an old stable song from North Akkala. Ready, Princess?"
Zelda gives a small, assured nod and draws herself up tall before the instrument. Though her eyes quickly flit across Link's face, she averts the gaze when she finds him reciprocating, darting away like a finger pricked by a needle.
The jovial strains of her first piece burst to life, spirited like a playful waltz. Link detects the triple meter in Zelda's eyes; she's holding as tightly to the count as her fingers are clinging to her skirts, anxious and uncertain. (No, he doesn't want to lace his fingers through hers in comfort, he deludes himself.) He hears the tempo slacken, Barto slowing down just enough to allow the vocal line to introduce itself above the accompaniment. Zelda opens her mouth to join him like a bird taking to a breeze.
And when she does, Link feels that his heart might explode.
"In the shade of the oak tree
Near the fields of primrose
A maiden waits upon the green
Whistling as the wind blows,"
It isn't a large instrument, still principally untrained, and yet unquestionably delectable to Link's ears. Her voice rings with a raw purity, sweet and lyrical and abounding with promise. Link feels his mouth stretch into a wide grin as her simple song reverberates in his ears, though Zelda doesn't notice; she's fully preoccupied searching for comfortable footing beneath his watch. After the briefest of interludes, she begins another verse.
"In birdsong high above
On the plains, along the streams
A maiden speaks with steadfast love
Hark! That maiden shall be me
The summer wind sings of love,
Speaks of it loud and true
And if you cannot sing of it,
I shall sing it for you
The summer wind sings of love,
It must be you, it must be you!"
Zelda's sound trails off as the postlude presses on, but before Link can grant her any applause, Barto begins to speak above the rumble of the piano in a proud, tenorial tone. "The orchestra will take over from here, and then we'll dance off into the evening!" He concludes the excerpt with a loud strike of a chord before looking wildly towards Link. Her attendant rewards her with well-earned applause, excitable and hungry for more of her sound. Zelda curtsies to him politely, her breath riding high with far more than just nerves.
"Soooo, what did you think, Sir?" Barto chirps.
"Lovely. Just lovely. " Link musters. His voice, for once, betrays the kaleidoscope of emotions that coats him, tonal colors swirling around in his throat, washing up across his soft palate to ensconce themselves against the harder one that edges the top row of teeth. Zelda must surely catch the way desire winds his voice up, because her lips are soon parting with breathless exhilaration. Their eyes meet, and it only takes a moment for pulsating electricity to surge its way through the room.
"Truly…you sound beautiful. Yes. Beautiful. You're wonderful, Princess." The sound of his own voice in his ears frightens him; regrets to inform him that the thread binding him to composure is fraying.
And then it happens: the compliment tugs at her face, contorting her expression into something stark and painfully alluring. Link watches how the bridge he crosses burns behind him, disintegrates into nothing to leave both of them open and aching for one another in plain sight.
"Thank you, Sir Link," she whispers, the corners of her mouth hardly moving.
Barto rises from the bench and rounds the instrument, blissfully unaware of the primal heat that's circulating all around him.
"I must echo Sir Link's sentiments–beautiful! Just charming. Now, remember, Princess, let's round our mouth a little bit more on the word ' you '. Make sure we aren't brightening the vowel too much." He approaches her, forming an ovate shape with his lips while his index finger draws circles around them. "Otherwise, you appear as if you are trying to plant a kiss on your knight here– ha!"
The strangled breaths that clamp in their throats go completely unnoticed by the instructor.
"Shall we try the other one? Sir Link, would you like more?"
He nods. Yes, he would certainly be interested in more of something .
"Now, remember Princess–this one is a prayer to the Goddess. This is a declaration of the truest sort of love. You can have as much fun as you want with the other one–oh, you should think about smiling a little more in that one–but this one is much different. You must feel this one in your very core!" Zelda nods in acknowledgement. "If I may, let's try an exercise–perhaps you may sing this next piece to your knight. It will do wonders to have a subject to focus on. Go on, try-I'm sure he won't mind! "
Zelda rounds on the subject, punctures him with the expression she's granted him for weeks– the one that sends him reeling.
"You won't mind, will you, Sir Link?" If her nerves continue to plague her, she shows no indication of their harassment. She's emerged from shy withdrawal to place pure, unadulterated want on full display.
"Perfectly fine." He swallows hard.
"Very well! Let's begin."
Barto breathes life into the second prelude. It's slow and mellow, crafted in a minor key. His fingers drag across a series of triads, stretching them out so that they ache into the air. The accompaniment is rather sparse, and it's clear even to Link's untrained ear that the singer is meant to take the lead; Zelda does so quite aptly, forging ahead into peculiar tonality to sing of the Goddess with her gaze firmly threaded with her knight's.
In the dawn of the day, I shall sing your name,
With shouts of acclamation
I raise you up with words of praise
And I kneel in adoration
Be in my heart, hold my mouth
Be in my mind, inspire each thought
To you, my life, I shall avow
All my joys and treasures sought
In the quiet of night I whisper your name
And in silence I find thee
The world need not hear my acclaim:
I give you every part of me.
It's for the Goddess, it's for the Goddess, it's for the Goddess.
Zelda's eyes flicker against him as she constellates emotion, her brow creasing with stinging impulse; Link doesn't have to think twice about where else he might come across this expression. His core churns, fingers curling into a strained fist to adhere tightly upon his thigh.
Transcendent intimacy resounds itself in a repeat of the third verse, embellished with slight ornamentation of the highest taste–no doubt a product of Barto's extensive musical training. The accompaniment soon rolls to a stop with one gentle chord in the instrument's highest register. Even once the final strains of her serenade have withered, her unyielding grip on him remains.
Link cannot remember how to breathe, let alone applaud.
"Oh, that was wonderful ! Did you feel how having such a focus pulls everything together? The intention becomes much more apparent. Oh, I think this is your best attempt yet! This is the one she will start with, of course…"
Barto is painfully, almost humorously unaware of the spellbound gaze they share. He doesn't realize that they've nearly forgotten about him, wound up in longing at the short distance between them. He shares a few more thoughts with Zelda, gesturing to various body parts with terminology that Link does not understand. Nor does he want to–he wants only to gaze upon the Princess, who seems very aware of his surveillance. She angles in just the right way to display more of herself to him–her face, her neck, her waist, her cleavage.
Oh, the things he wants to do to her.
"...and that's it! I have no more notes! You will be spectacular, my dear."
Zelda bows her head. "My deepest gratitude for your teachings. You are an exceptional instructor. I hope that we shall continue to work together in the future."
'Honored' does not begin to accurately describe the look that explodes onto his face. He utters a sound of appreciation, accompanies it with a plunge of a bow.
"Sir Barto, I think I might like to practice a little bit more on my own, if that is alright." Zelda says with a honey-dipped voice, hands folded demurely at her waist. She's never appeared so divine–she's inched her way towards the window to bathe herself in a pooling glow of sunlight. Link wonders how long she's strategized to create such a pristine image. Eyelashes bat in the direction of the older gentleman who appears flattered by her drive.
"Of course! Oh, I'm so glad to hear the Princess has been enjoying her sessions." He beams, bowing repeatedly. "Please let me know if I can be of further assistance."
Zelda declines kindly. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly take up any more of your time today...though I might like to practice on my own. Oh, well, I suppose I shall have a bit of a captive audience–" she gestures to Link. "Though I'm sure he won't mind very much."
She'd make a fine actress, Link thinks between heart palpitations.
"Yes, yes, of course, Princess. Perhaps you may share some of your newly acquired information with him. Teaching is a wonderful way to improve one's own strengths, after all."
"What do you think? Shall I teach you a thing or two this afternoon, Sir Link?"
Link considers himself a skilled interpreter of the Princess' communications. He's well-versed in differentiating between her truths and falsities, knows very well when the wheels of her calculating mind begin to operate. So when he glances over to find the hollow charade of a smile that she offers him, a cold shiver assails his spine.
He nods twice.
"Well then, I shall leave you to it!" Barto exclaims, and with one final quick bow,he excuses himself to slip through the egress, granting them solitude.
Silence pounds against tense ears as Link determines his next thought. He lingers on the periphery of sanity, his gaze boring a hole into the spot Barto has just disappeared from with a tense stare. He counts the steps that Zelda takes to cross the room until she's dwelling just before the piano. She brushes a finger against a key and presses down just gently enough to squeeze a whispering tone out.
"Shall I show you what we've been working on?" she inquires, head canted gently in his direction.
"I suppose so. I'm not very musical, though."
The princess smiles down at the claviature, fingers dangling across the black keys to send a brief, pentatonic passage ringing into the air. "I think you have been, historically. There must be a talent in there somewhere." She points her stare at him, and in an instant it's suddenly shed of all of the lingering innocence she'd displayed only moments prior. "Would you be so kind as to lock the door? I'd rather we work uninterrupted, if possible."
A noble knight might veto the suggestion, but Link finds himself obeying, crossing the room to seal them away from the rest of the castle before rejoining her at the piano.
"Now then…lesson one. Breathing is the most important aspect of singing," she explains, though the voice she uses to do so possesses none of the vigor suitable for instruction. "You're in great physical shape. I imagine that your respiratory system functions quite well." She steps towards him to raise both hands above his shoulders.
"May I?"
Link nods and braces himself as she lays her hands upon him. She boasts a firm grip; she holds him in place with slim fingers that no longer grasp at fabric with anxiety, but ignite against him with confidence. She inhales deeply through her nose.
"Try to ensure that your shoulders are not rising and falling too heavily," she notes, eyes lowered to focus squarely on his chest.
"I'll try."
Link does his best to follow her lead, though attempting to adjust the respiratory pattern he has used for his entire existence, especially under such vigilant eyes, is nothing short of disconcerting. Zelda's hands ride his shoulders upwards.
"Too high," she says softly. "Lower."
"How low?" he mumbles back. He catches the miniscule shudder that sparks its way up her spine.
"Give me your hands."
He obliges. Zelda takes his hands and places them against her ribcage. He feels her musculature through the soft armature of her dress, nearly gasps aloud at the sensation of her body expanding into his palms as she inhales to fill his grasp entirely.
"Sir Barto says that chest and shoulders should stay fairly low," she says, soon removing one of his hands from her side to place it against her sternum. Link's palm comes to rest near the dip between her breasts and Zelda's cheeks dust with shimmering pink as she processes the danger of his fingertips against her chest. She takes three more breaths, inhaling and exhaling, the release of her air warming his skin in a most decidedly sinful manner as it brushes across him.
"Can you feel that?" She shapes the question as though it's a secret.
"Yes," he winces. "It seems tricky."
Zelda places one of her own hands across the one he has splayed on her chest. "It can be…but with practice it should get easier." Stifled words dance behind the fire that darts in her eyes, but her tone leaves very little to the imagination; she's saturated with longing.
"Any other tips?" he croaks out.
"I did read that for some people, it helps to think about the breath circulating even lower than the ribcage."
"Even lower than this?" He raises a brow achingly.
"Indeed. May I?"
Link swallows hard and approves her request, but he is caught off guard when it is not his hand that she adjusts. She runs two fingers of her own down his front and curls them to settle against his abdomen. The knight's composure slips, the misstep exposing itself as a strangled whisper of a pant.
"Is this too much?" Zelda asks with shining, round eyes, her voice impossibly quiet.
"No–not at all." His breathing grows labored.
She tenuously begins to minimize the space between them, careful to preserve the contact they've built up. ""Do you mind having me so close to you?" Link feels his stomach inverting as he senses his own tension mounting, edging to the precipice of eruption.
"Not in the slightest," he admits.
"Good." She purrs the word dangerously. Link isn't sure how much longer he'll be able to hold onto the ledge he's currently dangling from, stamina wearing thin.
"Does he touch you like this?"
"Would that displease you?"
Link bites back words that will surely cost him.
"Hmm." She notes his silence. "Alright, then, let's take a pitch. Sing all five vowels on it." Two fingers are still against his lower belly while her other hand presses down on a key, allowing a tone fill the room. Link eyes her wearily, but obliges all the same.
"Ah-ay-ee-oh-oo."
Zelda raises blonde brows in surprise. "That was quite nice, Sir Link. You have a lovely voice. But, remember what Sir Barto said about rounding the lips," she instructs sportively. She raises a delicate hand and presses her thumb and forefinger against opposite sides of his lips, pushing the sides of his cheeks in just gently enough that his mouth opens wider, molars separating instinctively to adjust to the new pressure. "He says that should give you more space in the mouth."
Link's face hardly registers the sensations, certainly doesn't hear her words, still firmly wound up in the intensity of her glance.
"And it seems that he was right…if you don't round your lips a bit more on the last vowel, it certainly does look like you're preparing for a kiss." It's the precise moment in which darkness flashes across hungry, viridescent eyes.
"Unless…that might be something you're after."
There is no possibility for him to take any sort of proper breath now. Link has tried, so valiantly, to be good, and though he's fighting to keep them upright, he senses his cast-iron walls crumbling around him.
"I don't believe that's something I could ever hope to attain." he deflects from between her fingers, half-lidded eyes bathing her with unwavering want. His fingers curl at her side, and without a second thought his thumb begins to brush against the fabric of her dress. The hand on her sternum inches its way across her to ease down her side, barely missing the curve of her breast as it drops to her waist. "I am your knight. I'm in no position to ask anything of you."
A breath of hot air escapes Zelda as an involuntary sigh at the sensation of his hands moving across her, and she responds by brushing her thumb against his lip, pulling it down ever so gingerly. He releases a delicate sigh of his own at the contact, a sound he's never known himself capable of producing, and she closes her eyes and smiles in satisfaction. Zelda leans forward, her exquisite mouth hovering mere inches from his.
"You may ask anything you wish of me."
His brow wrenches with unbridled need and he throbs in more ways than one as he notices the tensing strain against the lower half of his tunic. She leans further in, her lips ghosting against his skin. She smells of fresh lavender.
Link thinks he might like to smell of lavender, too.
And so the walls disintegrate. Stamina runs dry. The small voice cries out in dismay.
Ah, well.
Link summons his courage to mumble the words against her jaw, eyes tightly shut while a sinuous breath winds in his throat.
""How can I possibly ask for all of you, Princess?"
"Oh Gods, Link…" she whines into him, submitting fully to candor, and the Princess suddenly slants a hot and needy mouth against his. Her knight releases a heavy moan into her as his hands grip intuitively at her waist, all inhibitions or ethical thought evaporating from his mind as if never there to begin with. Zelda runs her own palms up the slope of his chest to settle around his neck, pressing herself impossibly closer to him as lips crash together. As he registers the swell of her chest against him, fabric rustling so that her breasts threaten to spill entirely, Link deepens the kiss to send Zelda stumbling backwards, her rear pressing into the keys with a cluster of notes that catches them both off guard.
Ravenous mouths break apart just enough to accommodate a shared grin, but Link recovers in haste, cupping her face with volcanic eyes to guide her back towards him with unruly heat. He urges her further to pin her against the crook of the piano, takes a moment to drag impatient fingers through tousled hair that tugs an avid moan from lips that quickly bruise. In a swift movement that catches even himself by surprise, he hoists her up to place her atop the instrument, spreading her legs to slot himself between them. Zelda gasps, clawing at his back while he dresses the branch of her throat with hardened kisses, nipping and suckling at every inch of exposed skin as if savoring the most forbidden fruit. She must undoubtedly feel the earnest strain pressed firmly against her clothed entrance.
He holds no sympathy for her–she's brought it on of her own volition.
She doesn't shy away from the revelation; Zelda is suddenly bucking delicate hips against him, shed of all grace and hungry for friction. Link groans into her neck, obliges her by pressing hard against her and finding that he's downright suffocating beneath his trousers. He runs a hand up her thigh to discover that there are no stockings to hinder his fingertips against her skin. He traces the hem of her underwear for a moment before slipping his hand beneath it entirely, inches it across her skin to shove it between the slope of her ass and the piano's lid.
"Link…" his name dangles from her lips, but the air catches in her throat as his palm comes to press firmly against moist fabric.
He shivers.
"Zelda, please," he begs, hardly realizing that her name lacks a title as it slips from his mouth. She is quick to notice; she's enamored with the way it sounds on his despondent tongue. "I won't be able to stop." She runs her tongue in a hot stripe up along his neck, finding her way up towards his inviting mouth once more.
"And why should you?" she murmurs against his chin before catching his next heavenly groan with her mouth.
Link grapples the appealing curve of her ass, brands her skin with crescents, and the knowledge that he's doing so is nearly unbearable. Zelda hoists her skirts up around her waist to help him unveil the marvelous apex of her thighs, lets him slip the small scrap of fabric down her slender legs. Link hopes he isn't salivating as the sight of soft, blonde hairs suddenly appears in his vision. The undergarment dangles from a dainty ankle as she scoots further back on the instrument, lifting the violet skirt once more to guide his hand to her most sacred spot.
"Touch me," she commands in a most undignified whimper, hot and fragmented.
Washed in the undeniable heat of her, Link palms at her bare sex, and there isn't a moment for him to process that he's soon sinking a finger into her cunt. She clenches around him with a delicious gasp and he tips his forehead against hers, both stricken with pleasure.
Gripping hands abandon their strained position on the piano lid, looping around Link's neck to hold him in place as he slides in and out of her, sheathing his finger to the knuckle and back in repeated, rising ecstasy. Heavy breaths mingle with the slickened sounds of her arousal to slam across his ear, and the enchanting symphony only drives his movements faster as he pumps her with relentless drive. He swallows her next moan with a filthy kiss of his own, tongue sweeping past her lips to taste echoes of their pre-lesson tea; it really is a delicious blend, after all.
Zelda inches closer to the edge in a desperate, craving petition for more of him, and he grants her request in the form of a second finger that enters her with such ease that he tips his head back and moans aloud. She collapses backwards, planting elbows atop the lid to grant herself a more desirable angle, and Link leans back to savor the remarkable sight of her grinding herself against him; it strokes a fire in his belly, fills him with such longing that a physical pain manifests in him. He finds it difficult to accept that the princess of Hyrule is fucking herself with his fingers.
She'd feel so good around his cock, he thinks. No–he knows.
Link drops to his knees like a sinner desperate for redemption; the piano stands just tall enough that when he hits the ground, his hungry mouth is already poised near her entrance. He dives down against her thigh, takes flesh between gentle teeth as he works his way across the hollows of her limbs. A plum of a bruise will appear soon, he knows, but the sound that she makes as he ignites her skin blesses him with indifference. He watches her, studies the beauty of her anatomy as it spreads eagerly for him.
Holy Hylia.
Link, now a paragon of impatience, dips his face to swipe his tongue swipe luxuriously against her slit, sweeping up and down with a firm pressure that sends shockwaves through her pliant form. Zelda lurches forward with a gasp, trembling legs hitching over his shoulders to twine behind his wheat-colored head. He raises a finger to graze against her entrance, supplements the delicacy of his tongue with a digit.
"Link," His name expresses itself as a thin jet of ragged air as she rolls her hips against his mouth with feverish agitation. She gathers her skirts and pools them beside her on the piano, lavender breaking cleanly to expose pale skin. Link pushes his tongue deeper into her, closes his lips around her clit and suckles hard, moans against her as though he's on the receiving end. He opens his eyes to find her golden head tipped backwards, the hint of a nipple peeking out above a ravaged bodice, and bright afternoon sunlight casts the most heavenly glow across her as she rakes greedy fingers through his hair. When she gazes down the length of her writhing body to witness his talent, her brow creased and a gorgeous, blushing gasp etched into her expression, Link finds that the erection in his trousers has grown impossibly painful.
The ambrosiac scent of her arousal thrusts him into pure delirium. Zelda arches against him impatiently, pleadingly. Murmuring his name in desperation while her toes curl with heightening pleasure. Her fluids concentrate at his mouth, spilling against him to coat her thighs with her essence. Her legs begin to quiver, violently, and it's only a few moments more before she is suddenly exploding around his tongue, around his finger, around his face. The sound of her orgasm, contained as best she can manage within such venerated walls, shatters him; his head collapses against her thigh, inebriated, holding her gaze as his tongue lolls from his mouth to soak up the last of her juices.
Link has never known such hunger–it threatens to break him in half. He can't stop his hands from reaching for the hem of his trousers, the challenging gleam in his eye daring to meet hers to find a most vicious invitation engraved into glowing jade.
And then, as if Hylia herself means to intervene, a slight knock at the door sends the world around them careening.
Link finds himself jolting up and away from her limbs as she tosses her skirts back around his new favorite spot. Zelda stumbles off of the piano and hurries to the dichromatic edge of the instrument, buckling knees struggling to keep her upright. She presses down hard on a note in an attempt to mask any sign of indiscretion.
"Yes?" she calls out, voice riding high as she adjusts her underwear back squarely onto her hips.
"Princess, I beg your pardon–your father is requesting your presence. I've been asked to collect you." It's one of the handmaidens, Laurel. A quiet, mousey thing, not much younger than Zelda. The princess curls her lips inwards as she looks to her knight, both of them deliriously pink in the face.
"I shall be right there, thank you." Zelda calls, smoothing the creases out of her dress before detangling golden locks with trembling fingers.
Link clears his throat atop a pounding heart as sensibility rises up through his throat like bile.
Foolish foolish foolish.
"M-my apologies…" he stammers, bowing his head and casting his glance aside. Zelda only frowns. En route to the door, she hesitates beside him to take his face in a trembling hand, forcing his eyes to meet hers; Link finds the quiet embers of her longing alive and well in them.
"Oh, hush," she soothes, consoling him with a firm press of her lips against his. Link feels her tongue prise at his lips, finds that he cannot deny her entrance, and their mouths dance for the briefest of moments before she pulls away. The sight of her wiping her own slick from her mouth with the back of her hand sends him spinning.
"You should probably clean up a bit before we see my father, though." Zelda admits, her own stomach tied in knots. She pauses again, the green in her eyes ensnaring him like a thorn bush. Her blush reinstates itself upon her cheeks.
"Though I must say…I quite like how I look on you."
Link is positively vertiginous, swears he might fall apart at any moment. Surely a Lynel quivers in the shadow she casts.
Zelda hums in amusement at the blatant effect she has on him. "And you're very good at that, you know."
"I...ah…thank you, Princess." It escapes him as though it's a question. Link's face quickly shades a deep scarlet as he finds himself puddling in the giggle that she emits.
"No, Sir Link, thank you."
A/N: This last scene has haunted me for MONTHS now and I'm so glad it's finally out there for people to see! I feel like I'm not 100% satisfied with it but at this point I'm going a lil crazy trying to get it just right.
If anyone is interested, I fashioned Zelda's songs off of some German Lieder. The Akkalan folk song was inspired by Gustav Mahler's "Wer hat dies Liedlein erdacht?" ("Who thought of this little song?"). In my mind, Zelda was singing a much easier version of that song.
The "Hymn" was thought up while listening to Hugo Wolf's Verschwiegene Liebe (Silent Love) which was, incidentally, almost the title of this piece. I love the way that the uncertainty of the piece opens up to make way for some gorgeous music-I especially love the ending.
Both pieces definitely influenced this chapter, so take a listen if you're curious to know what I had going through my head as I wrote. I recommend Lucia Popp's version of "Wer hat" (with piano!) and Rita Streich's version of "Verschwiegene Liebe" on YouTube!
