Copyright disclaimer: Were you expecting a joke this time? Ha. Maybe this is the joke. Weren't expecting that, huh? I do not own the Legend of Zelda. But I am desperate to make the people that read this laugh at these things. Wait. Do people read these? Oh, goddess...

CHAPTER 15: Ghirahim

"Ah! Stop it!" The pain wasn't unbearable, but it still felt horrible. Then again, the larger issue at hand was that Gear had me bent over my desk, completely at his mercy.

He ignored my plea. "I like this shivering of yours," he told me as he shoved his fingers into me, all the way to his knuckles. "One could interpret it as nervousness, pain, or pleasure," he trailed off. Or disgust. You left that one out.

"That's enough," I tried to growl, but it didn't sound intimidating because there were tremors in my voice.

"It is not. You have yet to scream." The cold metal pushed into my back became warm with my body heat. I didn't hear him load it, or take the safety off. Was he bluffing?

"Is your gun loaded?"

"Why, would you prefer that I fuck you with it?" How would one that preferred neither option answer such a question? I'm sure it wasn't rhetorical, because he'd moved the gun from my back.

"That was a joke, you imbecile." That was not fucking funny! Jokes make people laugh, not fear for their rectums!

My knees felt weak, and my breathing was ragged. He added another finger and my eyes began to water.

"How do I get you to stop?"

"You do not." He bent his fingers like he was clawing at something, and he pressed into some point that sent flames up my back.

"Mmf—"

"It's here, then? Here?" He kneaded the area and it was almost as if he set my body aflame. The shivering that had pleased him earlier turned into flat out shaking, and my knees could've given out at any time.

He pulled out his fingers. "It seems as though you enjoyed that."

"Fuck you," I said.

"You have it backwards, detective," he said. "You are supposed to say 'fuck me,' and I will comply." But I don't want you to! Get the hell away from me!

He took a hold of my waist and spun me around so that I was on my back. It looked like he was going to say something, but when he saw my face, his eyes widened in alarm.

"You are blushing."

"Wouldn't anyone in this situation!?"

"Are you embarrassed? Did I embarrass you?"

"O-of course, this is perverted," I trailed off.

"You are red, all the way to your ears." He reached out to stroke my ear, I flinched and turned my head away. He was leaning above me, propped on one elbow. Pressing his lips to my neck, running his fingers through my hair, biting my ear, he was almost treating me endearingly. He slid his hand down to my crotch.

"Alright, that's enough of that. I am ready to ruin you."

TWO WEEKS PRIOR

A week after I'd found Kukiel and Batreaux, I'd already finished eight cases. I had to attend court for a few of them to present the evidence, and today was no different. After the very long hearing, I left the courthouse feeling exhausted.

"What were you sued for?" Gear was there. Really? Why are you even here?

"I pushed a terrorist into speeding traffic." My sense of humor was becoming increasingly morbid.

"Ooh, what a felon you are!" I walked away. "Where are you going?" His legs were much longer than mine, so he caught up easily.

Well, wherever I was going, I didn't want him coming.

"I'm buying lunch for my senior at work."

"I will see you later, then." Turning on his heel, he walked away. Whatever, I thought.

After a lunch with Horwell at Pumm's to pay him back for letting me sleep on the bench and watching over me, I tried to figure out what I could do for the rest of the day. I was ahead in my schedule by almost an entire week. I'd file all the cases I'd done so far and then slack off.

There was going to be heavy snowfall again that day. I hurried home, but as I was walking it felt like someone was behind me. I whipped around and once again, I saw a man wearing a white mask and nothing but black, standing a distance away. His mask only had two crescent shaped eye holes. I took a step towards him, but he held up his hand as if to say, "Stop." He held up two fingers and pointed to me, then walked away. I rushed to get into my apartment, almost ran up the stairs to get into my room. I threw open the door.

"What—" Gear was standing in the middle of the room, and surprised that I'd entered my apartment in such away. I was on edge from seeing the masked man earlier, but when I saw it was just Gear, I relaxed. Wait, he's a threat too.

"I thought you were someone else," I sighed.

"How the fuck are you pointing a gun at me when I came to visit?"

"You were pointing a gun at me last time you were here."

"No, last time I twisted your arm. But that is beside the fact."

"Fine, whatever, sorry. What do you want?" I took off my coat and sat down at my desk. He sat on my bed and crossed his legs, smiling.

"Nothing in particular." I never knew what he was thinking.

I pulled out the parchment that I always wrote my reports on and my favorite black pen. Pulling out the photos of evidence, the written alibis and the information I'd gathered myself on a notepad, I got to work. After an hour, my hand started cramping so I took a break. I looked over Gear, whose back was to me. He was motionless.

"Sleep in your own bed," I grumbled. I went back to writing. Ten minutes or so passed, and Gear shifted on the bed.

"Link," he said.

"Yes?" I answered, still writing.

"Link," he repeated, his breath catching. "Ah, mm... Yeah, yeah. Ooh, shit, suck harder," he moaned quietly. I ignored him. "Fuck, I'm gonna come," he breathed. "swallow it, fucking take it—"

"What the hell are you doing on my bed!?" I turned to look at him.

"What? I'm reading." He was on his side, propped up by his elbow and flipping through a fashion magazine with a bored expression on his face. I stood and leaned over him to see if anything so derogatory was written. There were only photographs.

"What were those noises you were making, then?"

"What noises?" No way in hell am I describing that. He was grinning.

"Nevermind," I mumbled, and turned back to my desk. He took my wrist and yanked me onto the bed, pinning me down. I frowned.

"A prediction," he said. "Soon enough, I'll have you on your knees." How annoying.

I shoved my knee into his crotch as hard as I could. He coughed once and, temporarily paralyzed, collapsed on top of me. I pushed my shoulder in his chest to lift him up, then dragged him off of the mattress. I lugged him across the floor, picked up his shoes and lugged him out of the door. I set his shoes next to him neatly and shut the door.

The next morning, at 5:30 exactly, there were two sharp knocks on my door. I wasn't especially attentive in the mornings, so I opened the door wide.

"Can I help you?" I slurred. I was met with a punch to the chest that sent me flying to the ground.

"I am glad we could resolve that easily," Gear said, stepping over me and into the room. I peeled myself off of the ground, trying to inhale that air that'd I'd lost. "You can go back to sleep," he said.

The sun hadn't risen yet, and I crawled under my covers.

When my alarm sounded two hours later, I stumbled to my desk to turn the ringer off of my phone. My head was pounding, and I grasped it as I sat on my bed.

"You are the most restless sleeper I've ever come across," Gear said from the window. I jumped; I'd forgotten his presence.

"Well?" I said.

"I had free time so I dropped by."

"Who has free time at—oh, nevermind." I turned on the light, which had made the pain in my head much worse.

"You have a migraine?"

"Probably."

He pointed to the webbed part of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. "Pinch here for one minute and breathe deeply." I thought, Why not, and went along with it. The pain didn't go away, but the point took the edge off.

I didn't understand why he'd punched me in the chest and then tired to help dissipate a headache of mine.

"Thank you," I said.

"What are you doing today?"

"Investigating a patricide case. What are your plans?" I asked, just to humor him.

"I'm bombing a building," he said with a smile. "Will you come see my masterpiece?"

"Where, what time?" I could get there early and clear the people out.

"The abandoned cinema in South. Five o'clock."

"Why?"

"My boss wants to threaten your boss." I narrowed my eyes. He wasn't going to say anything else. I could tell by the smug look on his face that he would only become more vague.

"I'll see you there," I said.

"It's a date," he said, and left. What did he do while I was sleeping? I looked to the window where he had been sitting. Did he only watch the snow? There were so many questions to ask about him that I could only ask the useless ones, the ones that sat on the surface.

Gear gave off convoluted signals. Yes, not mixed, convoluted. It was too complicated, it seemed, for it to simply be 'mixed'. I never knew if he was bluffing or if he really was going to hurt someone; I couldn't read him at all.

I was distracted for the majority of the day. While investingating the patricide case, which I was sure was a hoax, I found my mind elsewhere.

Would calling the authorities violate the terms of his blackmailing me? Perhaps I could call them after the fact, because I'd look like an accomplice otherwise. But people could still get hurt in the meantime. Should I bring a first aid kit? What are you supposed to do when you learn of planned acts of terror!? Gear had me walking on very thin ice.

"Detective?" someone said. "Detective, are you still there?" I was on the phone with Fi.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm here."

"Are you alright? Have you been sleeping well?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?"

"The culprit came forward for the patricide case. It was a distant relative. The police are asking that we hand over the case."

"Yeah, okay. I thought so."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Mhm. I've gotta go, I'll talk to you later." I hung up and sprinted all the way to the abandoned movie theater. It was four thirty, and I burst through the old cinema's haphazardly boarded up doorway.

The air was thick and stale, and snow had fallen through the holes in the roof.

"Hello," I called out. "is anyone there?" Sometimes students would skip their classes and hideout in abandoned buildings. I checked under the seats, opened every door, and went to the projection booth. There was no one in the building. I rushed out and walked down the street. My watch read 4:50. Were the bombs in the basment? I hadn't checked there!

I ran to the entrance. It was nearly five o'clock, and just as I thought that I didn't have enough time, I was pushed forward by a strong gust of hot wind and a deafening sound. Just as I was going to fall flat on the ground, two toned arms caught me. I looked up.

Gear.

I shoved him with enough force that I fell on the ground instead, and whipped around to see the damage. The row of shops were all ablaze, and the smoke emanating from them in thick, dark clouds covered the sky. I felt sick to my stomach.

I couldn't accuse him of lying; I shouldn't have trusted him in the first place. I hadn't believed most of his threats, I'd only thought he was a crazy man that was unnervingly strong and seemed to always have weapons on hand. But now—

"Why do you look so scared? You did not believe anything I said about a terrorist?"

"No, I just thought you were off."

"Off?" he pulled out a compact mirror and stared at his face. "Where?"

Rational thought came back to me. I stood and ran to a telephone booth down the street and dialed the fire station.

My voice was shaking. "There's been an explosion," I said. "Across the street from the old movie theater in South. I don't know if there were any people... All the shops are burning."

"We've dispatched a team. What's your name—"

"Dispatch another, no, two more." I hung up and turned. Gear was standing in front of the cinema, watching his "masterpiece" as it erupted into more and more chaos. Windows were exploding and burning debris fell into the street.

He was smiling, like an artist proud of one of his works. I'd never wanted to hit someone so much. So I left him there, walking home. I didn't want to fight. I wanted to kill.

At home, the news was covering the story already.

"Though it isn't known who could have done this act, police are currently investigating suspects from certain organized crime syndicates. Which syndicates, exactly, has not been disclosed to the public."

He escaped. I thought he very aspect of him coming into my house was horrible, but I knew that he would. He'd be there the next day, and the next day. He was controlling me before, but now that I knew he was a terrorist, he was the puppeteer and I the puppet.

He came again as I'd predicted. Skyloft was quiet, we were asked to stay in our homes for a day or two; police had found remnants of almost twenty different types of bombs.

Two sharp raps on my door. I answered with my head down. It probably looked like I was resigned, but I was hoping to see whether or not he had any weapons under his cloak.

"Afternoon, detective. Did you have nightmares about me?" Gear brushed past me.

"But of course."

"You seem on edge." He pulled my chair to the window and sat down gracefully.

"Guess so, I don't have much to do since I can't do field investigation today."

"Does such a thing make people as paranoid as you?"

"I also have a guest that I am never prepared for."

"But I've been visiting you for such a long time."

"Most of the time it's called breaking and entering."

"Same thing."

"In what world," I mumbled.

"What would prepare you?"

I considered saying another blunt quip, but I answered seriously.
"Knowing something about you."

"Oh?" He seemed amused. "Are you interested in me?"

"I wouldn't call it interest. More like anxious curiosity, I always have to be wary of you. You're a complete stranger and I never know what you plan to do. Well, I suppose that to be curious you need to show some amount of interest. Thinking about it in that aspect, perhaps it could be considered 'interest.'" I was thinking aloud and I hadn't meant to say so much.

"Interest is a form of attraction," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Then curiosity can be defined as an attraction to the unknown," I answered.

He smirked. "You are attracted to my unknown."

"Don't say it like that." Somehow, we were having a normal conversation.

"Well? What are you curious about? I will answer four questions."

"You're just going to lie, aren't you?" I said flatly.

"I will fabricate where fabrication is needed." I wanted to test it out.

"Who are you?"

"Ask a more specific question," he said with annoyance.

"What is your profession?"

"I do the dirty work for my boss. Murder, kidnappings, theft, plenty of bombings. I used to be a hacker, so I do a lot of digging through the files of big companies like yours." He smirked again, I was really getting tired of his stupid face and it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to restrain myself. He continued:

"My boss and I are, for a lack of better terms, at the peak of a mountain. We are so far above the others in our business across this overflowing toilet of a city that they all come to us for help. Though I was once in the Imprisoned, I received one hell of a promotion. And next you'll ask, 'Oh, most gorgeous Gear, please endow me with the knowledge of your employer.'" Please don't think that I would ever address you in such a way.

"My boss has many names, none of which I am entitled to tell you. He owns numerous thriving businesses in Skyloft, and if there are any signs of failure, he sells the business. He is strict and unforgiving, and such virtues have guaranteed him success."

"Why are you so... involved with me?" Though the conversation was flowing unnaturally well, at this question an eerie silence ensued. With a blank face, he stared into my eyes with unfaltering power. With such a pause, I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"You are the epitome of obliviousness."

"And that's a reason?"

"Think about it—a crime syndicate's leader's dog starts following you around, and you—"

"If you're going to lie, you don't have to answer the question at all." He raised is eyebrow as if saying, excuse me? I continued. "If you were going to keep going, it would basically imply that I'm being targeted by your boss. No matter what justification you already have for that already outrageous notion, what would the plan have been? Gain my trust and then take my life? As if you'd try that. You've had plenty of chances to kill me."

He tilted his chin up in superiority and stared down his nose at me.
"You are sharp, detective." Don't look down at me from your high horse and then compliment me. It doesn't fit the image.

"My next question, why did you suddenly want to tell me about yourself?"

"To prepare you for my visits; that was the point of this entire game."

"Two lies in a row?" I watched him tilt his head to the side and narrow his eyes.

"Even the bad guy has a sense of honor. I think it would be fairer if you knew something about me, considering I know almost everything about you." He came closer and loomed over me. "So, tell me: what do you masturbate to?"

"Could you stop with the blatant sexual harassment?"

"Blatant? Maybe I could be more tactful and—" I cut him off with an exaggerated sigh.

"Should I tell you?" I pretended to pace around in deep thought and stopped closer to the door.

"I have been waiting patiently for your reply." I gestured with my finger for him to come closer. "Well?" he said expectantly. I gestured again for him to lend me his ear so I that could say it with a low voice. He did so, and I got a whiff of his heavily musky cologne and held in a cough.

"Sometimes I imagine you," I whispered slowly, "in handcuffs. And the bed is shoved up against the corner," I breathed. "I have the keys to your handcuffs, but I want you to keep them on. I think you look better with them. So as you crawl to the cold metal bars to beg for me to free you, I laugh because you've got at least 40 years in prison awaiting you."

"Kinky," he said sardonically. My plan was to throw the door open and shove him out while he was still confused, but he started whispering to me instead. "It's similar to the fantasies I have of you," he said with a smirk. With that, he opened the door, stood in the doorway and bowed grandly before leaving, door clicking shut anticlimactically.

"Wait, what?" Should I take him seriously? Should I ignore him? What did that even allude to?

Needless to say, he had me at my wit's end for the rest of the night.

A week passed. The police still hadn't found their culprit in Gear, and four people had died, buried under the rubble.

"The explosion could have been much worse," a police detective said on the news. "The snow extinguished the flames before they could travel much further. If not for the snow, the flames could have traveled down three or four blocks. There was, without a doubt, tireless planning that went into this bombing."

I was investigating two missing middle-aged women while Fi texted me the news video. I watched it, and silently cursed Gear for once again invading my thoughts.

I typed furiously a message to him while waiting to cross the street. If I had his number, then I might as well rant to him.

You killed four people to "threaten" my boss. Do you realize how low that makes you? You need help. You really do. I can't believe this!

It became a very long, angry paragraph, but I deleted it. It could be traced back to me.

The light changed and the crowd of frozen Skyloftians began to walk across the street. As I put my phone back into my pocket and pulled my gloves on, I bumped into someone walking the opposite direction.

"Excuse me," I said, looking up at the very tall, bulky man. Oh.

He was wearing a white mask with an upside down happy face, and black clothing. He put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Are you alright, friend?" he asked with a kind tone.

"Yes, thank you." He removed his hand and continued walking, singing,

"Six days, six days, six days."

When I got home, the heater was already on, and Gear was sitting in front of my window. The more appalling thing, however, was that I wasn't surprised to see him. I took off my coat and my snow boots, falling into my desk chair. I was tired.

"Hello," Gear said.

"Hello." I rested my head on my desk to collect myself before I began writing case files. I sat up and loosened my tie.

"What is wrong with you?" Gear asked.

"Nothing, I'm fine," I replied automatically. I unlocked my desk drawer and pulled out a stack of blank card stock to write my findings on. Without I pause, I threw myself into writing. I didn't stop for about thirty minutes, but I threw my pen down when my hand started cramping.

Gear came to the desk to see what I was doing.

"Do you practice calligraphy?"

"No."

"Oh." We didn't speak anymore, but he leaned over me even as I continued writing. As I was writing, I yanked open one of the top drawers and found my reading glasses, pushing them up my nose. I stopped momentarily to rip off my tie and undo a few buttons on my shirt, then proceeded to writing as violently as I had been before.

"It's becoming illegible," Gear breathed down my neck. He was right next to me, and I flinched. "Are you tired?"

"Yeah," I said, standing up to stretch. I raised my hands over my head, thinking only of sleep.

"Link," Gear said next to me. "I did say that you were oblivious, correct?"

"Yeah," I responded, preoccupied. He put his hands on my hips, and pressed against my back. "What are you doing?" I asked aggressively.

"Helping you to relax," he said. "How gallant." Expertly undoing my belt, he pulled at the waistband of my boxers.

"Stop," I said firmly. "I'd relax more if you left." I pushed him back, and something in the shape of a gun poked the back of my head.

"I was hoping that you'd acquiesce, but I see I'll have to threaten you. Take off your shirt." Panic froze me to the spot and Gear unbuttoned my shirt from behind, sliding it down my shoulders. It didn't come off completely, my cuffs were still buttoned so it hung from my wrists.

"Brace yourself on the desk." With the tip of his gun in the middle of my back, he pushed me so that my torso was flat on the desk. Gear never gave me any chance to fight back. From the very beginning, it was 'do as I say because your life is on the line.'

Gear pulled my pants off easily and slid my boxers down slowly, as if toying with me. For a few seconds, the gun was removed from my back and I heard a squirting sound. As soon as the weapon was returned, however, a chilling burst met my entrance. It was something thick, cold and slimy. Gear circled it with his finger.

"Chuchu jelly lube," Gear announced. "It is heat activated."

"Please stop," I said, and my revulsion with Gear was near palpable.

"Scream for me, then. When you scream sincerely that 'it hurts, it feels so good,' I will stop." He forced two fingers inside of me then, and I gasped. My eyes were watering. He pumped his fingers in, out, in, out.

"Ah!" I said, voice catching. "Stop it!"

Gear continued to defile me with his fingers then, and my skin only grew hotter. He flipped me around and slammed me on the desk and, after exchanging a few unkind words, he said,

"I am ready to ruin you."

"You've been doing that all this time," I panted, looking at him with a derisive expression. "I think I'm... I'm a different person now, and it's your fault." I snatched his gun and aimed it at him.

"It is not loaded," he said, and suddenly entered me. The gun slid out of my hands and clattered onto the ground. Whatever is inside of me is not supposed to be there. It is hot. It is scalding. If it stays any longer, I think I'll overheat.

"Gear," I choked, "take it out."

"My name is Ghirahim," he told me as he began to move slowly. "Say it in the bout of passion soon to overcome you." He thrusted harder, deeper, faster. I became weaker and as the pain folded into pleasure, I hated myself. To punish myself, I bit into the skin of my arm.

"No, detective, that just won't do. You can't leave evidence," he said, and my eyes widened when he took my arm and licked the bite mark I'd left. It was then that I noticed the intense look on his face. I don't know how long we'd been going, but I'd had two orgasms though Gear, or Ghirahim, was still going with energy.

"Ghirahim, I think I'm losing my mind," I whimpered, punctuated with a moan that I tried to stifle. I was a mess, but when Gear came inside of me just then, I was more than a mess. Over the months since I'd met him, I'd began to unravel with bad luck, bad decisions, paranoia and the like. But in that moment, I was beyond that. I was truly falling apart.

I wanted to ask him, Why did you do this to me? Why didn't you use a condom? I couldn't get the words out. He left. It wasn't snowing outside for the first time in a week.

I stayed in the shower for an hour and a half, reveling in the comforting warmth of the water. It was four o'clock in the morning when I got out, got dressed, and walked to the 24-hour convenience store.

"You alright, kid?" The broken old woman behind the cash register asked me when I came to her with a can of lemon-lime soda, four wrapped cupcakes and a box of cheese crackers.

"No. No I am not, but thank you."

"You'll catch a cold. Seven rupees." My hair was still wet, and I didn't care at the moment. I handed her the money and began to walk out.

"Kid," the woman called. I turned to look at her. "Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them as much." I nodded and made my way home. There, I stared into the ceiling and ate my junk food, then vomited it all up.

Six days later, the meaning of the masked men's warnings came to light and Ghirahim's actions faded in comparison.

A/N: Do you know what I am going to ask? Well, good.

Who is Gilmore Kiffen?

I will be accepting answers for a week, so 28 July to 03 August. In the event of a tie, I'll ask five questions though PM that I will conjure up (out of my ass lol). Whoever gets most of them right wins. They will be random, but I promise to stick in one LoZ trivia question if a tie occurs.

SO! What did you think about Link's first time? I tried to be less descriptive than Gear's very lusty kiss-and-fondle scene and the scene in the chapter "Ice."

And of course, the apology! My family's moving so they expect me to help them pack their stuff up, even though I moved out a while ago. So that's what I've been doing, instead of writing inappropriate GhiraLink fanfics and responding to comments and PMs. I'm on it now. Sorry for the wait!