Chapter Eight
The gray light that slid into the room hadn't seemed to vary, and I had no idea how long I'd slept. I rolled onto my back slowly, warily, half-expecting to feel the demon still laying next to me. But the bed was cold, the sheets empty of his unmistakable presence.
I felt a gaze on me, and my eyes were pulled toward its direction. There, draped quite elegantly on a chair next to my bedside, sat the white demon, clothed and looking just as composed as when I'd first seen him in the Skyview Temple.
His unflappable disposition only made me feel more exposed, recalling too clearly our carnal encounter. I subconsciously pulled the sheets over my body, my hand cloaked over my mouth as though unwilling to grant him expressional insight into how disconcerted the experience had left me.
Ghirahim was not smiling. For once, there was no taunt in his countenance. In fact, a contemplative concern seemed to taint his usual flamboyant presence.
The spirit studied my eyes, lingering on the pained expression in them, the suffering that stemmed not only from any physical toil, but from the psychology pain of his torments, before, during, and after my sojourn into Shadow.
Eclipsing all of this, the memories of our torridly intimate experience together lay thickly in the atmosphere of the room, disturbing me deeply in light of the bloody events in the chamber of the Shadow Realm.
His eyes briefly flickered from mine toward an area behind me. I turned to follow his regard, and saw a lavishly provisioned breakfast tray on the silver nightstand next to me, holding a steaming pot of some sweet-smelling liquid, a glass of water, and many assorted fruits and meats that were native to my home in the skies.
I took the glass of water immediately, not bothering to inspect it for any signs of poison – he'd had numerous occasions in which to terminate my life, and it wasn't quite the demon lord's style to end me in this manner.
"That hideous phantom beast was preparing to bring the chamber down upon us...I needed enough energy to teleport us out." I didn't look at him. He paused, continuing with an incomprehensible quiet tone. "It was the only way, boy."
There was no hint of apology now; though, I recalled the way he had materialized from his sword only after the metal had begun sapping me of energy, how his vitality had augmented as the blade continued consuming my life force.
My mind flickered back to his words right before that last, searing kiss in the chamber. "I'm very sorry about this, Link..."
I set the glass back down on the tray, remaining characteristically silent. Honestly, I had no idea what to do, or say. I began rising to pour myself a mug of the hot liquid, but I halted my movements and winced, an embarrassing pain in my lower regions stilling me, a sharp reminder of the unspoken tensions between us. I waited a second to gather myself.
When I returned my attention to the tray, he was there already, somehow having traversed across the room with a swift feline grace that was without sound.
His expression was intangible while he poured the liquid for me, and it was with a delicate motion that he handed me the mug. If I didn't know any better, I would say he hesitated a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed.
Even so, it occurred to me that he was granting me a reasonable amount of personal space, given his usual disregard for the social convention.
Truthfully, I hadn't really considered how I was going to get the both of us out of the underworld. Really, I'd never had to plan my exits throughout the duration of the Goddess's quest. Inevitably, there would be some divine intervention, a portal that would return me to where I needed to go, or something along those lines.
His words made some sense. But I still remembered the dark pleasure in his eyes as he plunged the knife through me, and the wound was prevalent enough to serve as a painful, all-too-recent reminder of how harrowing the entire episode had been. I shuddered.
"Those horrible drums..." my voice whispered unconsciously, and I let my voice trail into silence, not really having intended on voicing my thoughts.
I heard an amused sound from the sword spirit. "Indeed," he mused. "Really, sending the stone walls down to smother us wasn't abominable enough; the brute had to assault us with that tonedeaf banging, as well."
Despite myself, I felt a small smile flicker across my features at his words. I settled against the bedframe, staring down into the mug of liquid in my hand. I was surprised when a plate of food suddenly appeared in my lap.
"You should eat something." His voice was soft, but firm. "You've had nothing but water and potions for weeks."
Ghirahim did not speak until the touch of glass left my lips. I shook myself from these memories, and finished my glass of water.
I sipped the pleasant-tasting liquid in silence, contemplating his words. At this, I raised my eyes up at him, my eyebrows furrowed in question.
He continued speaking with an even, explanatory tone. It was almost gentle, really.
"You've been resting in my guest chambers for the last three weeks," he stated. "Based on my evaluation of your condition, I estimate you'd been in Shadow for a period just short of that." I regarded him pensively, considering the time frame.
"We are currently in my wing of my former master's castle..." The spirit paused, then finished his sentence quickly, glancing at me as though to reassure me. "This castle has been long abandoned, vacated after his first defeat."
I blinked at him, taking in his words, which sounded strangely familiar. A tangential thought hit me: He sounded almost like Fi, just now, except with vaguer platitudes. Memories of the little blue sprite cascaded through my consciousness. I had missed her horribly even in Hyrule, and my venture through Shadow hammered in just how much assistance the (sometimes annoying) spirit had been. I never really thanked her...
There, in the bedroom, where I had just had lain with my former enemy, I broke down, horrible, thankfully silent, but heaving sobs erupting from my throat as my tears slid down, hidden beneath my battle-callused hands.
Everything finally emerged, in a way it hadn't in the past year: The emotional and and spiritual exhaustion from the Goddess's quest, all that blood and murder... The loss of Fi, one of the best and dearest friends I had ever known. The unrelenting pressures that had been thrust onto me by Zelda and the Skyloft community after her rescue. And my most recent experience in Shadow, terminated by a near-death experience at the hand of the very spirit that had been the focus on my obsession, my torments, whom I had set out to rescue.
I felt the soft mattress shift, and it was a long time that Ghirahim held my shaking form. I felt his chin resting lightly, reassuringly on my head, his hand gently brushing my arm until the tears stemmed and my sobs quieted.
"I never wanted any of this...destiny, fate..." I swallowed. He drew back only slightly, and I felt the silent weight of his gaze on me. "All I wanted was to graduate from the academy and become a knight," I continued softly, staring down at the silvery bedsheets. "In another life, it would have been me, not Groose, marrying Zelda... Maybe becoming an instructor at the school." my voice broke, shaking my head as I lost myself in these useless thoughts.
I didn't dare look up at Ghirahim's expression. Maybe I was afraid I would see disgust, revulsion written on those pale, aristocratic features.
But he just ran a gentle hand through my blonde locks, his fingernails tracing light, soothing circles against my scalp.
He didn't speak for a few moments, but neither did he stop his calming affects. When he did speak, his voice was quiet, heavy with sincerity. "Fate isn't always kind, boy."
I looked up at him, my blue eyes meeting his brown irises, and I saw an unexpected empathy in his expression.
"I saw you," I murmured, more blurting the words out than anything. I felt his hand freeze, retract. I addressed the sheets on the bed, raising my own hands to bury my fingers in my tussled blonde hair.
"For months after the last battle.." I dragged my hands down to my face, rubbing my eyes. "I dreamed of you." My voice was wracked, the words leaving my lips as if in confession.
The words continued, seemingly of their own volition, torn out of my voice. "It was like you were haunting me. Sometimes, I even had hallucinations of you." I couldn't even hear him breathing.
Remembering the marks on my forearm, I turned to the demon, slowly rotating my forearm so that the distorted diamond scars on them were visible, stark in the grayish light. The demon's purple gaze trickled down to them, retaining a carefully guarded expression in his brown eyes.
That's about when I just disintegrated, right there. It was inevitable, I suppose.
My voice was raw, hoarse when I spoke.
"I thought I was possessed," I whispered.
Ghirahim said nothing, appearing to be somewhere within his own thoughts as his pupils raked over the red-traced diamonds that seemed to leap from my pale skin.
But I pressed him, a minute, but detectable trace of demand in my voice. "How much of all of that was real?"
He continued staring at the scars, sitting quite still, his perfect pale features giving him the appearance of an artfully crafted, seraphic statue. Finally, Ghirahim caught me in his intense gaze, and for a moment, I regretted even mentioning the whole affair, so intimidated I felt at his expression.
But if his temper had flared, it was gone now, as he spoke with clipped words. "I have no way of knowing if all the dreams were caused by me, skychild." His was impatient, carrying a sardonic ring in its sound. Again, there was no hint of apology.
"I did concentrate effort into visiting you in visions during your sleep," he paused, raising a graceful hand as if studying his nails. "I will tell you the incident in that thunder-dragon's sadistic challenge was caused by me, as was your vision of the Shadow Realm before you left the Surface."
I digested his words, and again, felt the spirit place the plate of food on my lap. I felt like his pet, I realized, like some wounded animal he had undertaken care of.
He inhaled sharply, and I looked up, surprised he continued; honestly, after the look he gave me, I hadn't expected any concrete explanation my inquiries, which bordered on accusation.
"I wasn't quite ready to die, especially not in that manner," he said slowly. "And then I remembered your irritating persistence, your..marginal combat skills when searching for..." he paused. "For things."
I looked up at him, recalling the last sets of benign, dulcet dreams I had of him during my shadowy journey, the whispered words, the caresses, his gentle grip on my hips. And of our last encounter together, those intimate touches, those incredible pleasures, juxtaposed so maddeningly with the lust in his eyes borne of my psychological and physical pain.
As if reading my thoughts, the demon lord set his jaw, and withdrew a few inches from me.
"As much as I love conversing with you, pet, I believe I'm going to retire," he said smoothly. He
glanced down at the untouched food in my lap. "You should eat," he repeated.
Without another word, the pale spirit rose gracefully, and strode silently out of the room.
I looked down at the plate of food. Pet, he had called me. I wondered.
It took me about three months to fully recuperate. I have no way of knowing how much of my injuries and fatigue stemmed from the actual quest, and how much from the energy he had taken from me to restore himself to his former state.
I was in the Demon Realm, I knew. But as Ghirahim had said, the castle had been long abandoned, and it was only his wing that had really been maintained.
My captor and I fell into an easy routine. I call him my captor, though he never really indicated that I was his prisoner. In retrospect, it was odd that I thought of him in that sense, as I had been the one to rescue him from what would surely have been a terrible fate. But I never saw a sign of my weapons during this time, was never given the opportunity to exit his castle. Though I never asked him for these things, and I didn't go hunting for them. I certainly had no desire to go exploring in the Demon Realm.
His nickname of "pet" for me was oddly appropriate, considering the relationship we had.
The gray light pouring in through my window didn't vary much. I could tell when it was nighttime only by the spells Ghirahim had on the castle, which would draw the curtains at a certain time. A habit he had picked up from his time on the surface, he would later explain. He had grown accustomed to fluctuating amounts of light to designate the time of day. Still, it remained difficult for me to mark the passage of time.
But every morning, I would wake up to a sumptuous breakfast laid out on my nightstand. When I got stronger, I would roam freely through Ghirahim's wing of the castle. It was decorated much as one would expect from the flamboyant demon lord: Lavish, elegant furnishings; rather impressive collections of weapons, both dark and not; and extensive libraries containing collections on everything from magic, to battle techniques, to gruesome tomes on torture which I would quickly set down.
He would visit me in the evenings. Sometimes, we would just talk, and he would watch me eat, occasionally joining me in sipping that sweet-smelling tea. I would tell him about my childhood in Skyloft, and about the more light-hearted of my adventures on the Goddess's quest, humorous anecdotes of the side quests I had undertaken.
He demonstrated a particular interest in human affairs, I noticed, and he got strangely quiet when I told him the story of the now-human Batreaux, who now manned the Item Exchange booth.
He never really spoke of his own life; he would tell me of magic, of the history of the Demon Wars, but of his own personal matters, he was notably silent. It was with much surprise on my part that I learned he had known Fi before his days as Demise's sword. They had not been friends, or so Ghirahim said with a wry smile. He insinuated that the then-livelier Fi had never been very tolerant of his darker inclinations. When he mentioned my former blue companion, I thought I heard something akin to regret lace his words; but he continued gracefully onto another topic, and I didn't ask.
Then there were those...other nights, the nature of which varied as unpredictably as his moods during my initial encounters with him. Some of these evenings, he would enter the room, and the energy crepitating around him told me all that I needed to know before he strode over and claimed my body; sometimes on the bed, sometimes against the wall, and others, on the very floor.
It was always passionate, and as I got stronger, the demon lord would get rougher, more sadistic as he took his pleasure from me. After I would awake from these nights of...vehement ecstasy, it was not uncommon for me to note a number of purple bruises on my flesh, usually accompanied by bite marks, deep scrapes from the spirit's fingernails. I grew less sore as time went on.
It was usually somewhat violent; the demon had his distinct penchants, and little need now to restrain his malicious streaks. However, on rarer occasions, there were those other evenings. Sometimes after our conversations, and sometimes in the middle of the night, his supple, tender touches rousing me from sleep without announcement. He was gentler these nights, even affectionate, and while these encounters lacked the fervent, rapturous passions of those rougher carnal episodes, they were more intimate, more emotionally gratifying. I don't mind admitting that I would grow to await these nights with a great anticipation.
A/N: Again, some details deleted. See last chapter for A/N updates.
He never called me "pet" during these latter sort of evenings.
I never again referenced the tormented dreams, the hallucinations during the year immediately after Demise's defeat. But the marks on my forearm never faded, and they served as a constant reminder of the fear I had in the Realm: The idea that, perhaps, a great deal of my actions were directed by Ghirahim's calculating outside influence, that perhaps everything I had done, had felt, came from some external, supernatural effect that Ghirahim himself had devised.
These thoughts would weigh my mind the first weeks I spent with him. But then I'd feel him enter the room, would meet his eyes, and the worries would inevitably quiet when I felt the energy sparking between us. As I felt him taking me, sliding into me so wonderfully, I ceased caring by what means I ended up in the dark spirit's implacably sadistic embrace.
One day, I stopped worrying about this completely.
Perhaps about a month after I first woke in his guest chambers, I went wandering through one of his libraries. I was searching for a book he had referenced, a tome on enhancement of swords' magical abilities. I was in the wrong section, I knew immediately, by reading some of the darker titles on the shelves; but as I turned to leave, one of volumes snatched at my vision. I paused, midstep, glancing at the spine: "Supernatural influences on Human Behavior: A Treatise of Demonic Hauntings and Possession."
A chill glided up my spine. I hardly dared to breathe. I slowly rotated my body toward the tome, studying its leathery brown binding. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I cautiously scanned the library for his presence, noting no indication of the sword spirit's proximity. I lifted a careful hand and withdrew the book, slowly, as if to make no possible sound against its shelving. As I carried it to one of the elaborately carved mahogany desks, I willed my heart to stop hammering quite so fast, sure it was pounding fiercely enough to echo throughout the stone walls of the whole castle.
I laid the book down gingerly, and with trembling fingers, I found the section I wanted. I sat slowly, my eyes already devouring the text on the brittle pages. While uncommon, there have been documented cases of humans and other creatures being haunted, sometimes possessed, by demonic entities.
Feeling my blood pounding ever faster through my arteries, I allowed my eyes to skim further down the page. Common signs of hauntings include nightmares, unexplained scratches and bite marks on the human's flesh, noises and displacement of objects in the home, and visions and hallucinations of the entity.
A wave of nausea rolled sickeningly over my body as I recognized all but one of the descriptions. I had been sure the demon was haunting me, and indeed, he had nearly admitted as much; but the haunting itself was not the subject of which I sought confirmation. Hungry for more information, I continued reading as the book narrowed on the subject matter of my troubled concerns:
Demonic possession is rarer, and while a demon may possess a human which draws his fascination, the human typically must have expended significant energy in displaying interest in the being.
My eyes drew further down the page, practically hearing the adrenaline pounding in my ears as I found the section I wanted:
Signs of possession are varied. Common ones include: Significant lapses in memory, fits of seizures, uncharacteristically violent actions and moodswings toward loved ones, pre-cognition, and a sudden acquisition of ancient languages. Acquaintances report the sound of multiple voices speaking from the possessed individual.
My eyes narrowed at the last part, frowning in confusion. While my actions may have been...somewhat uncharacteristic in motive, nothing had been more violent than usual. The other signs of possession really didn't apply to the obsession I had experienced, either.
Beginning to feel doubt clouding my suspicions, I moved to close the book, eager to replace this incriminating tome.
I never even felt his presence, so engrossed I was in the treatise.
A pale hand shot down on the pages, forcing the book open at the chapter I had just read. A chill swept through my body at my discovery, and I felt a cold sweat break at the dread that was filling my stomach. I didn't move, paralyzed in the chair while my breath seemed caught in my chest. The white demon just stood over me, and I felt his hot breath moisten the back of my neck.
He flipped the page with a quick grace, and my eyes caught a section at the very bottom.
While hauntings may be accomplished by a multitude of dark spirits, possession may only be realized by uncommitted entities, those with no permanent physical attachments to other objects or persons.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise, immediately recalling the image of the sword spirit's beautiful dark blade.
I turned, my mouth parted to address him, but when I saw the white spirit, he was already striding silently across the room, his silver hair tossed to the side as he exited, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
He did not visit me that night. I scarcely slept, spending the night staring at the ceiling in uncharacteristic introspection.
I sought him out the next morning, finding him poring over several books in one of his less lavish studies.
Ghirahim sat up at my approach, draping an arm elegantly over his chair, leg crossed over the other as he scanned me with his observing brown irises. Those same brown eyes flashed surprise when I strode over, startled at the benign intensity that burned in my blue gaze. I stopped in front of the spirit, staring at him, for the first time since our reunion having full possession of the knowledge that while he had haunted me, while he had caused those dreams and visions, everything else: My obsession, my mad exploit for his emancipation, my zealous unwillingness to see him perish in Shadow, was not influenced by any sort of enchantment by him – any overtly supernatural, anyway.
I lowered myself to my knees directly in front of his chair, and the white-clad spirit just continued watching me with interest, his pale head tilted indulgently. A small smile of amusement played over his silvery lips when I placed my hand tentatively on his leg. He acquiesced when I buried my hand in his soft, silvery locks and gently, hesitantly pulled him down toward me, pressing my lips against his without any sort of finesse.
That was the first time I instigated our more intimate encounters. It wouldn't be the last.
Days stretched into weeks, weeks into months, and as time went on, I found my spiritual and psychological wounds from the Goddess quest begin healing, their scars fading away as I truly rested for the first time since before the voice of destiny called. My days were spent reading and roaming around parts of the castle, never failing to find something of interest that would capture my attention.
Using some of the stationary in his library, I began writing of my adventures, journaling them, and working through some of the unresolved pains that still lingered. My evenings were spent conversing with, and otherwise entertaining the demon lord, experiencing some of the greatest pleasures and sensations I would ever realize. I'd never been so free of responsibility, and after those grueling months of pressure, the liberation was rather intoxicating. I felt emancipated in the pale spirit's quiet captivity.
As it would turn out, my carefree days as the demon lord's pet were not interminable.
A/N: So many reviews!
AerieTigre: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed.
Tapix
There really aren't, though the rape/torture ones definitely have their moments. *stares off into the
distance*..Often.
ButterflyBabyBlue
I'm glad it came as a pleasant surprise! And yeah, it was really hard seeing him being gentle the first
time, at least.
Teapot-sama
Ahh, glad people appreciated the emotional S/M here!
Sarah
Oh, I'm not great at updating quickly, at all... I just had most of this finished already. But I'm glad
you're enjoying this! Also glad you liked the shadow beast. :)
I wish I could insert some more lemon, but I'm officially in Panic Mode this semester. There's going to
be one more chapter in this story, but I'm thinking of starting up an associated work after my finals
are over in a month, with a bit more lemon...well, more on that later. :)
I know EXACTLY what part of the shadow temple you're talking about! I wonder if that's sad or
awesome... going to go with awesome. :)
sun-flavour
lilyrose225
See above comment! More on it later.
Grin Evilly:
Thank you! I hope you enjoyed.
MrMyshka:
Thank you very much for the compliments on imagery! I remember when I used to write FF before,
that was a problem I had that I tried to work on.
There's one last chapter to this, so it is coming to a close, but I'm really glad peopl eseemed to enjoy
this.
Lemon-len: Aw, thank you! I'm glad you liked the first chapter! honestly, I intended it to be one-
shot... That clearly worked well. XD
You know, I've never really been a fan of Yaoi, either, but Ghirahim is so deliciously androgynous, he
fit the small category of slash themes I like. But I don't really care for the usual Pipit/Groose/Other
male character themes.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for the compliments.
Person
Vembra Isles
bunnylali
Hahaha, I'm glad you enjoyed reading it! I do try to include some plot to my porn.
I'm glad you liked it! Words can be one of the hottest aspects of sex, so *of course* I was going to
include dialog. Especially Ghirahim's fabulously eloquent dialog...yes...*nods enthusiastically*