I get a Kick out of You

A/N: Yes, I got trolled by Frank Sinatra. That song just snuck up to me with the one and only f-word.

Lots of love for both reviewers and readers! You're addicting.

/

When I'm out on a quiet spree

Fighting vainly the old ennui

And I suddenly turn and see

Your fabulous face…

(Frank Sinatra, 'I get a Kick out of you')

/

That would make a change of tune.

Ghirahim knew that after hitting bull's eye, Link would not leave it at ignoring him. It was the fourth day, and he still had no significant material on his hands, so there was no way he could wait a while and pour oil on troubled water – that would ruin the progress he had made in getting under Link's skin.

It would be hard, but today would be trekking-day.

The air was humid and sticky, even in the morning. Pomm, the owner of the Lumpy Pumpkin, swore that there would be rain tomorrow, and Ghirahim was almost hoping for it. The sweltering weather had had him tossing and turning in his sleep, waking up sweaty and disoriented. And still, the sky was a deep blue, without a single cloud smeared upon it. Ghirahim glared at it when he exited the hotel in the early hours of morning, when the warmth was still moderate, but the air was already thick and heavy. People claimed that the shadow of trees was cooler than normal shadow, so why wasn't he feeling anything of it?

He hadn't been able to put on his boots this time – not only were they, well, indisposed, they were simply too warm, and one had to make sacrifices. As much as Ghirahim disliked wearing flat shoes and unadorned clothes, the bitter pill was unavoidable. And the skill showed in the ability of still looking simply fab.

He still hated it, but nevermind. It had been a while since he had been all paparazzi-like. Brought back old memories of a time before the initiation of the Demon Lord…

Ghirahim shoved the sentimentalities aside and parked the coupé on the side of the road, far enough from the farm house to hide the car from Link. He made his way over and sighed lightly in relief when he noticed a small light in one of the windows. Apparently, Link had not left yet, though he was up already. It was six in the morning, for crying out loud! Even Ghirahim, who was used to wretched working hours, had been sure that he was too early to witness any movement inside that house, especially with this weather.

He briefly entertained the idea of Link stepping outside to enjoy a cold shower with rainwater in a flimsy outdoor-cabin, but pushed it back when his pulse sped up. What was with that impertinent flicker of hope? After all, he had seen that there was no such cabin, even Link had no sense for such sleazy stereotypes.

Get a grip. Get a fucking grip, honey, or you'll earn the right to be called 'Debbie' after all.

Very chastening idea.

Ghirahim carefully approached the house, taking a detour to avoid the lighted window. He was dressed in simple Bermuda shorts and a tight fitting, gray polo shirt, even someone as attentive as Link could hardly spot him in the rest of morning twilight that still lingered among the trees.

Epona was up as well, as soon as she saw – or rather smelled – Ghirahim, she widened her nostrils and snorted before making her way over to him.

Ghirahim narrowed his eyes. "Will you stay away, pony?"

Obviously using the stable as cover had not been such a bright idea after all. Ghirahim cast a short glance at the still-closed doors before slowly edging away from the fence.

Epona seemed to recognize his behavior from yesterday – and unfortunately, she also remembered that there had been no treat for her back then. She gave a protesting grunt and stretched her neck over the wooden fence, trying to find skin.

Ghirahim flinched and began to rummage around in his bag for the body lotion. Thank fabulousness he had even brought it along, in case that blackmailing pony came onto him.

"I might just like you, you beast… But don't push your luck", he warned Epona and squeezed some lotion on his palm. Epona eagerly sniffed and didn't wait for him to smear it onto a post, instead her thick, wet horse tongue swept across his skin and sucked in the aroma of gooseberry.

Ghirahim suppressed any sound; though his expression was definitely youth-inappropriate.

"Forget that, I hope you get gonorrhea", he growled and wiped his hand clean on his pants.

Epona drew up her ears, as if considering what he had said. Though thinking about it, it was more likely she had heard something that was familiar…

Ghirahim barely managed to duck down behind a rain barrel before Link opened the door of the stable, giving Epona the possibility to leave the paddock without having to jump. The mare trotted over to him and rubbed her nose on his shoulder, asking to be petted (Ghirahim was thankful she left, still he could not help feeling like he had just been taken for a ride… figuratively speaking). Link reached up and scratched Epona behind her ears, lightly patting her muscular neck. The horse thanked him by nudging his cheek in a sloppy horse-kiss.

Link smiled.

The movement was so fluid that it took mere seconds until the camera flashed. Ghirahim had reacted on his unfailing skill to capture a valuable sight, and the small display rewarded him with dozens of photos. Link's smile was now documented.

So much for having achieved nothing.

The sound made Link whirl around in alarm, but it was too late to prevent anything. Ghirahim smirked at him and stood up, looking entirely as if the whole hiding had been a finely planned trap.

"My, what a lovely smile. Ever thought of selling it for billboard advertising?"

All gentleness had faded from Link's face again. He marched over to Ghirahim and extended his hand, unmistakably demanding the handover of the camera. Ghirahim simply sneered at him and slipped the gadget back into his bag. "What now? Wanna brawl with me?", he scoffed, finding pleasure in that hard mien that did not resemble the strange impression of appeal from yesterday. He spread his arms in mock-invitation out to Link.

"Get your pitchfork if that makes you feel safer. I don't mind making this even more prestigious…"

Link had clenched his fists, there was no way of telling whether he had been preparing to actually punch Ghirahim. However, the passing mention of the general public seemed to jolt him from his anger. It was so easy to pull his strings… Ghirahim would not admit to have felt a short spark of thrill when the author made a move at him for the first time.

The thought of leaking the photo to the editorial office was indeed lovesome, but Ghirahim never delivered his work by pieces, nor did he keep in touch with SkySe as long as he was busy. Making a call was difficult in this backwater anyway.

Link pressed his lips together, a gesture that came alluringly close to a pout as long as you didn't look at his icy expression. He really did have surprisingly full and curved lips – they had looked childlike on him three years ago, and with the green boy all grown up, they now seemed like the only soft feature in his face.

So Ghirahim hadn't been entirely joking about billboard; perhaps he should consider switching over to advertising industry.

Link walked past him, and Ghirahim flounced along, close enough to be seen from the corner of the eye. "So, where are we going today? You can't hide in your little house all day, you know, it's going to be scorching hot."

The short twitching of muscle under Link's cheek seemed to telegraph: Oh, you don't say.

"And don't even think of doing that horse-thing again. It won't work, alright?", Ghirahim continued, nearly missing a step when the blasted cat strolled up next to Link and tried to catch his attention. His pets sure loved him. Ghirahim only hoped he didn't have more of those nags. He could still see the use in a horse, but that offensive feline…

As usual, Link ignored him and retrieved a watering pot (yellow with a washy flower on it, did that already count as retro-chic?) to supply his small garden before the sun unfurled the full blast. But Ghirahim didn't miss the knapsack sitting on one of the chairs. Apparently, Link was already prepared to leave when his shitty timing had caught up to him.

"You know, I'm amazingly sorry for crowding you like that yesterday. I've just been… starved, if you understand what I mean", Ghirahim began, leaning against the table. Link again gave no indication that he'd heard him, he poured water under the leaves of a squash, making the muscles of his biceps swell. Sweat began to darken his plain shirt.

Ghirahim wasn't put off – he used the information he had gotten from Kina, though he couldn't inject the same enthusiasm. "I can't help but wonder about your method of writing, you have such an indirect style. Though I… really enjoyed the first meeting between the hero and the lady."

Three years ago, Link had reacted to compliments by blushing and nodding humbly, requiting the vows of adoration with that shy smile of his. Ghirahim refused to believe that the death of his fiancée had robbed him entirely of the joy of praise. He just had to find the nerve… he should have coaxed Kina to tell him more. She was better at schmoozing than he was.

Suddenly, a fabulous idea struck him.

"It reminded me on a moment in my own life."

There. Link wasn't listening intensely, but he revealed low attention as he watered tomato plants.

Think of something, shouldn't be too hard, right? Lying through my teeth, I was already sorely missing this.

"It was when I…" No foolish love stories, that was lame. "… did an interview…" And no talking about work, that'd scare the kid off! "… not personally, since I was still an assistant at the newspaper." He was getting the hang of it. "There was this actor I had always admired, and I was dying to talk to him. His skills had left me dazzled whenever I saw him in a film, even the short appearances he made on television were wonderful, they filled my heart with…" O God, he was piling it on now. Ghirahim grasped for some kind of positive feeling that wouldn't sound too corny, after all, he was supposed to madly love that imaginary hottie.

"… well, with rainbows. They filled my heart with rainbows."

Fucking RAINBOWS? That's it, Debbie. Get a bullet straight through your brain, and do it now.

Surprisingly, Link seemed grudgingly thoughtful. He hadn't stopped watering his plants, but on occasion, he shot a glance.

There was no turning back now. Rainbows it was.

"I wasn't the one doing the interview that time, so I wasn't allowed to talk to him at all and he wasn't looking at me anyway." Ghirahim swallowed the drama that Link probably didn't view as such. "He was unreachable to me, and frankly, I actually knew nothing about him – like the hero does about the lady."

It was a pretty remote connection, but feelings were hardly about logic, right? Link seemed to believe him. Perhaps he didn't care, but he bought that the scene had touched a string in Ghirahim's self.

You wish, pony-boy.

"So." Ghirahim smiled again and repeated: "Where are we going t'day?"

/

Link was obviously quite sore about the photo, for me made an unrelenting effort of keeping his eyes cast downward while walking. He didn't try to dash off (which Ghirahim was grateful for, since he wasn't too sure he'd be able to keep up if he hadn't been able to catch that fucking cat either), yet he was visibly careful.

Ghirahim wondered why. It was not like anyone expected Link to wear sackcloth and ashes for the rest of his life; if anything, people would drool over him again and all the mothers-in-law would declare him the perfect man. Some guys would kill for the ability of achieving that much with a simple smile.

Ghirahim's smile marked him as a horrible stepson that would still make it worth the while.

"You know, you don't have to say where we are going, but you could give me some sort of signal. Or is this some sort of cross-field-trip?"

It looked as if Link just randomly walked through the woods, Ghirahim had lost his sense of direction long ago. Light filtered through the leaves, and no breeze lifted. It was hot, and having to dodge poison ivy, fallen trees, hives and God-knew-what made it even hotter. It was starting to make him feel dizzy and tired, and he was rapidly losing his patience.

Link regarded him with a frosty lack of compassion and extended his hand again. Ghirahim stuck his tongue out at him. Not that it relaxed him a lot, he wanted to rest.

"Forget it, hon."

Apparently they had maneuvered themselves into a stalemate. It frustrated Ghirahim immensely – Link had accustomed himself enough to his presence to acknowledge that he was no longer alone out here, but he was nowhere near cooperative.

"Are you mortally offended because you feel like I'm doing this solely for money and not out of personal captivation? If so, get over it, I already told you what this means to me." Yes, and he had lied. Well, it would be the high point of his career, so it wasn't entirely wrong to say it meant the world to him.

"Did you, by any chance, watch the movies your books were turned into? I'll take your silence as a No, then."

Link marched on, straight through a small field of stinging-nettles that could not touch his skin through the rugged cotton of his pants. It was probably his way of saying: I honestly don't want to know.

All the more important to tell him, then. Granted, Ghirahim had to take a detour and then jog to catch up with the author who had nearly disappeared in the woods, but it made him forget about his weariness momentarily.

"You see, the films had to be commercially successful, so they made a few minor changes. Really tiny minor changes."

Link's shoulders had gone stiff again. No doubt he was listening, whether he wanted to or not. Ghirahim smirked and ran his tongue over the corners of his mouth before continuing: "I don't think there was a ballroom scene in the first book, but don't worry, your lady looked absolutely gorgeous in that pink dress, and you can trust me with that… Though it could have been less frilly. Well, and that time when the monster octopus ripped up the hero's shirt, I don't actually remember that happening in the book, but when he threw that bomb at the palace guards…"

Link had stopped in his tracks. The usual healthy flush in his cheeks had mixed with a sudden pallor, spotting the skin with an odd, disharmonious mixture of red and white. Typically, Ghirahim would have made a joke about peppermint drops now, not this time however.

Link looked like he was going to speak. Like his revolt was too strong to be kept inside. He was deliberate about whether Ghirahim was simply making this up, still the mere thought seemed to shake him.

As far as Ghirahim knew, the hero hardly used violence against humans, and he never did so with his sword, as this weapon could only be turned against dark creatures. Fair enough, every infant knew what happened if you threw a bomb at living humans. Link had not taken a large interest in the film adaption back then, and since he hadn't complained about the creative execution afterwards, people had assured he approved of it.

When Link abruptly regained his composure, Ghirahim was more than disappointed. He looked like he had simply flipped a switch in his brain that said I don't care/on.

"There's more, actually. Wanna watch it with me?"

It was nothing but scorn, he knew. So it was strange when a chuckle rose in his chest: the thought of sitting down under a tree in this stifling heat in the middle of nowhere to watch two movies on a small screen was so surreal, different from Link's abstract scenarios. It was ridiculous, in a likeable way.

Link slightly opened his mouth. The sickly white blotches were once again replaced by a healthy, angry blush.

Come on, say 'Fuck you', I won't hold it against you… Not much.

Link bristled and spun around and tramped onward. Ghirahim sighed and followed.

"So much for the sitting-down-part."

Of course. If your characters don't resort to swearing, then why would you.

/

"That's it!"

Was it possible for a smug smirk to be sprayed like a perfume? Link radiated it, and Ghirahim hated him for it.

"It's past noon – why the hell do you insist on hiking all damn day?"

Ghirahim was slowly reaching his limit. He had thought long and hard about simply sitting down somewhere and letting Link wander around. Even though he had no idea where they were right now (trees all looked the same, damn it), the idea of finally resting his exhausted body was all too appealing. He was soaked in sweat, and his hair was sticky and floppy. If determination hadn't been one of his character traits, he would have given up already.

Link glanced at him, his face once again barred, and Ghirahim raised his chin. "No, you're not getting the camera."

He wished he could have avoided that step.

"You can have the memory chip."

He unsnapped the small cap that protected the interfaces and the chip and fished the black piece of plastic and metal out of it. Link regarded him skeptically, then reached out to take the chip that Ghirahim offered him. He didn't bother to examine it; instead he snapped it with an efficiency like he squashed a bug. No pun intended.

"What's it with you and snapping?" Ghirahim rolled his eyes, making an effort of looking disgruntled (which he was) and resigned at the loss he had suffered.

Fabulously wrong. He still had those photos – they were saved on the camera as well as the memory chip, which was rather handy in his line of work. A peer would have known. Link apparently didn't.

"So, are we bros now or what? I want a break." Ghirahim waved his hand in a failed attempt to fan some air onto his face. Link dropped the broken chip into the grass (some nature lover he was!) and turned around to continue walking.

Ghirahim could have punched him.

"That's it, you cretin-"

There was a sound. The soft purling of water. Ghirahim only then noticed that the carpet of vegetation was getting thinner, making space for…

Yes, that 'smell' of smugness was overwhelming by now.

Played for a sucker by a blond. Good thing we're even.

Link pretended to be indifferent again as he put down his knapsack and sat down beside the lightly swaying branches of a weeping willow to take off his shoes.

The stream wasn't large at all, and much cleaner in comparison to the lake Link had used for fishing. The water was ankle-deep, knee-deep at most, but the current was strong. The streambed was covered with smooth, brown stones, making it pleasant to look at, however probably painful to walk on.

Ghirahim wasn't willing to care right now. He slumped down onto the grass (gracefully, of course) and put his bag aside, running his hands through his hair. Link hadn't wasted any time to wade into the stream, and Ghirahim watched him with an unnerved expression while sipping on lukewarm water. How that guy could have the energy to flounder about, he had no idea. Ghirahim hated the very idea of getting into motion again, though he had to if he wanted to avoid sore muscles. This morning hadn't given him any time for yoga.

He took off his shoes to gives his soles some rest and began stretching languidly. His legs had tensed up from walking and struggled to flex into the right angles, and Ghirahim soon broke out in a sweat again.

When he pulled his elbow up over his head, he caught Link looking at him – judging by his mixture of confusion and curiosity, he had no idea what purpose the wrenches served. He promptly turned away when he sensed Ghirahim's attention and bent down to splash some water into his face.

Ghirahim smirked and lowered his arm again. He'd bet money that Link now wondered how flexible he actually was…

All in due time and temperature, caveman.

Ghirahim briefly considered joining the blond in the stream, but his feet felt numb and hot, and he had no desire to make them raw on those rocks. And frankly, he wasn't going to get up now. He pulled his bag behind him and slowly lowered himself on the ground, for once forgetting about bugs and dirt. The murmur of the flowing water was soothing, and there was a small hint of a cool breeze that made the branches of the weeping willow whisper.

Ghirahim's eyes slowly drifted shut.

/

Something dropped on Ghirahim's cheek, gliding across the cup of his ear and disappearing in his hair.

His consciousness was strangely dull, almost paralyzed. Ghirahim cracked open an eye and blinked slowly. His head felt stuffed and was pounding, and his mouth was dry.

I'd be extraordinarily pleased if these were not symptoms of a heat stroke.

Ghirahim blinked again and quickly took survey of his body (as quick as his sluggish mind could do, at least). He wasn't feeling terribly good, but he was neither nauseous nor suffering from fever. There was still a chance his groggy condition was due to the facts that hadn't slept well and had hardly eaten, so the exertion took a heavier toll on him.

Ghirahim groaned slightly when he sat up – and blinked again. He didn't remember this puffy white clouds being there this morning, when he hadn't yet been too busy hiking through the jungle. And he was pretty sure normal clouds should not move this fast.

"Uuh…"

It was a sound Ghirahim generally reserved for the sight of speed traps or guacamole. The first growl of thunder reached his ears, and another drop of rain fell on his arm. They were still few, as long as the clouds were conglomerating. The sultriness was even heavier now.

Grass rustled softly next to him when Link appeared out of nowhere again, and Ghirahim would not have admitted to actually feel a spark of relief to see that he didn't face this weather alone.

Falling asleep on a tanning bed was idiotic. Falling asleep on the grass somewhere in the wilderness was… normal, maybe, and so dumb you should get watered twice a week for it.

"Before you start your motor mouth again, yes, I am indeed fine, thank you for your tremendous concern", Ghirahim snapped. "I thought it wasn't supposed to rain till tomorrow!"

Link raised his eyebrows about an inch at him. Ghirahim couldn't tell whether the author was concerned about him, but he did pay more attention to him – someone as pacific as him possibly felt guilty, even though Ghirahim had tagged along uninvited. That guy sure had the luxury of weakness.

And he was never trusting a farmer again.

Ghirahim abruptly got up, the movement made him slightly dizzy. He firmly shook his head and dusted off his clothes before giving Link the most soldierly look he could muster. Granted, it wasn't easy when a drop of water hit his nose and reminded him on the rapidly darkening clouds.

"You still refuse to talk to me, and I could care less about that right now, but I did give you the chip, and this is a crisis situation for me." He wasn't lying that much, a city slicker getting into a thunderstorm while being surrounded by trees was making him positively uncomfortable. This seemed to be a day full of half-truths.

"So the least you can do is to allow some form of communication, and I don't care how you do it."

Ghirahim's overconfidence had always bordered to impudence – he wore it well, and characters weaker than his tended to surrender to his dominance. Link hadn't been susceptible to that, but it was too late to back out now.

The hermit narrowed his eyes, bristling visibly at the arrogant tone. A drop of rain seemed to dive into his blond hair, another landed on the bridge of his nose.

Then he nodded gruffly and jerked his head to beckon Ghirahim to follow.

/

Hell broke loose.

Most people dubbed it like that if they witnessed a mass panic in the subway or a seasonal sale in a mall. While Ghirahim faced those situations with almost bored calmness, a summer storm in lovely Faron was different.

The shelter they had found was an open wooden shed, obviously meant for hikers that wanted to rest a while and make a picnic (the forest was usually charming, though it lacked linear walks and signs). It was furnished with a table, a solid bench and a trash bin. The place seemed to be rarely used and was mostly clean, but Ghirahim hated it nonetheless.

"I thought you'd have a chalet or something, it's not like money is your problem anyway."

He huffed and sat down on the bench. The rain was pouring strongly, and it was a good thing they had made it here before they were drenched. But that didn't stop Ghirahim from grumbling; after all, this place didn't even have sanitary installations!

"It's the worst thing to happen because I'm stuck with the man who redefines the term of a rotten conversationalist – and who stared at me while I slept." The last comment was just a jab, but Link seemed to rummage enthusiastically in his knapsack when he heard it.

Ghirahim frowned. Right on, cowboy. You get the rare chance of witnessing the whole of my incredible looks for half a week, and you choose that moment of all to gawk? If I didn't know you were jailbait, you'd creep me out.

Still, it seemed oddly disarming. Ghirahim sighed and took an apple from his bag. He was actually starving, so he didn't mind the bruises the fruit had taken from being carried around all day. The pounding in his head had gotten a little better by now, and weariness blanketed everything.

"So, how long is this gonna take?"

Link chewed on something that looked like a sandwich with strangely green filling. He slightly titled his head, then shrugged.

"We're not staying here, right?"

Link bit his sandwich with a finality that said (eating habits could actually say anything?): You're welcome to leave anytime.

Ghirahim groaned and spit out a pit, earning a glare. "I can't sleep here, it's filthy!"

His protests were in vain. Obviously Link wasn't going anywhere, and Ghirahim had no idea where they were. Nor was he prepared for camping – apparently, Link was. Ghirahim's pride refused to take notice of that.

"I know you don't want to hear about the movies, so how about we play the game your way? I keep silent and you guess." Ghirahim didn't wait for a nod and stood up, then sat down close to Link. The author regarded him with a silent warning, but aside from pressing his hands over his ears or running out into the rain, there wasn't much he could to. Other than punching, and Ghirahim didn't worry about that.

"Keep in mind that there is this one moment of rare tension before the lady is forced into total seclusion."

The drumming of rain on the roof was fainter now. Ghirahim exhaled quietly before leaning over and pressing his lips to Link's.

Perhaps this was what it felt like to be hit by lightning when you were made of metal; electricity seemed to flow through his body, igniting his nerve endings and showering him with a cool shiver. Link's lips were coarse and compact, his breath slid across Ghirahim's cheek as the air seemed to flee from his lungs. He smelled of sweat and stream and wet earth and he was excruciatingly wonderful to kiss…

There it was again, the disturbing feeling of want, the surge of passion. Ghirahim pulled away, his pulse racing and his blood humming in his ears. He forced a flamboyant smile for Link's face, which was flushed and blank with shock. Taunting him would have been so much easier if Ghirahim's knees hadn't been as squishy as pudding.

"Well… I'm over at my half of the shed, then."

Not sleeping, because I kissed a fucking rainbow.