Escape

Thank you again for all your wonderful support! I can't believe we're at Day Five already. I guess we're entering the 'hot phase', and hell, it's fun. Rainbows for everybody, for making this such a lovely experience!

/

If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain

If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain…

(Rupert Holmes, 'Escape')

/

It had not been a comfortable night for Ghirahim – not the most uncomfortable of his whole night, since those didn't involve sleeping at all. But on the list of unpleasantries, it was a solid What the hell.

The rain had stopped sometime in the night, however, Ghirahim hadn't been to tempted to run out into the wet, muddy darkness on his own.

He was more tempted to do different, stupid things that didn't require him to leave this shed.

Link had used a narrow insulating mat to sleep on, and he currently turned his back to Ghirahim and instead faced the wall. His breathing was deep and even, so if he was awake, he was a very convincing actor. It was slightly irksome how he could sleep so peacefully after experiencing this evening that had left Ghirahim, tired as he was, lying awake for quite a while. Perhaps the demonstration hadn't been memorable enough.

And now you're just looking for an excuse to do it again.

It was not like anything was wrong with that – though Ghirahim was much more used to everything playing by his rules, and those never involved shady sheds, storms and guys who really did not talk.

He'd not actually been lying down, but sitting while he slept. His body was tense and still ached from the hard surface (a rhinestone-encrusted bag had proven to be insufficiently soft as a pillow-replacement), and it was hard to believe he had even rested for a minute. Exhaustion could do surprising things to domesticated people.

Ghirahim was glad he'd brought the insect repellent along, although Link had given an indignant sneeze when it was sprayed (that had been rather cute actually). And he had some basics, like sunscreen and the body lotion that stupid horse was after, but that was nowhere near his normal supply – there was not even a shower to begin with, and after a whole day of sweat and wildlife, this could not go without notice.

Ghirahim carefully stood up, wincing when his joints creaked in protest and dull pain lurked through his back. The air was cool and moist, in a different way from yesterday, and the sky was baby blue again. Ghirahim didn't let himself be fooled – it'd be hot again after yesterday's downpour. Supposedly, it was better than a constant drizzle.

Ghirahim brushed back his hair and straightened his crumpled clothes the best he could before running his tongue over his lips and slamming his palms together: loud enough for Link to jerk awake and into a sitting position. If he thought that was alarming, he had never witnessed Ghirahim slapping someone in the face.

"A sickly sweet sunrise for you, sugar-shine – in case you ever take up speaking again, try repeating that at approximately eight thirty in the morning. Aside from short-term therapy, move it."

Link blinked up at him in a drowsy way that made him seem younger and somehow no less attractive (so he had no right possessing it!) and ran his hand through his tousled hair. His hairdo was easier to look at when he wore it like that… Well, a bit. The out-of-bed-chic should only apply to people who had actually slept in such an article of furniture.

Ghirahim cocked his head in a parody of patience. He was hungry, he felt grimy and he was not working in that condition. There were limits to how far he went for his profession, and they ended when he was bedraggled (Ha-ha.) like this.

"You know, moving. Out of this forest and somewhere civilized, that'd be terrific."

Link blinked again, staring at him as if Ghirahim had suddenly started talking in another language. Then he did something unexpected.

He dropped onto his mat again and closed his eyes.

It was Ghirahim's turn to blink (quite an exciting way of Morse-communication this morning). He had gotten used to Link ignoring him – sooner or later, Ghirahim had always teased something out of him. Disobeying him this clearly was… new.

Ghirahim considered taking a photo, but decided to save that trump-card for later, when the scenery revealed more about the author himself. There was no way he would let this slide, though. He was the Demon Lord, and Link had yet to acknowledge that title's full extent.

It took his muscles some effort to move smoothly, but it was a mere question of control. Ghirahim straddled the blond in a fluid motion, putting only so much of his weight on Link's hips to let him feel the closeness of his body instead of crushing him. It strained his legs, and his traitorous pulse sped up, but Ghirahim didn't let that on; his eyes sparkled mischievously when Link's snapped open.

"Never turn your back on the enemy, hon… Could be fatal."

He nestled his thighs up against Link's sides and leant down until the ends of his hair lightly tickled the man's cheek. He could feel Link drawing a fitful breath, his eyes wide with dumbstruck shock. The last bit of sleep was gradually fading, and his Adam's apple shifted when he swallowed mechanically.

"Lucky for you, we're not enemies – I'd call it companions in misfortune."

Ghirahim ran his hand through Link's hair, feeling the surprising wiriness of those seemingly soft strands. His tongue flicked against the corners of his mouth, and blue eyes followed the motion. Ghirahim faintly noticed that his voice had naturally dropped into a low murmur.

He actually wanted to kiss him again, unprovoked, just to experience that sudden rush again because Link was defenseless, vulnerable even…

"So let's make sure that our relationship doesn't get too wayward…"

Tension flickered when Ghirahim leant even lower. He dragged one hand lazily across Link's chest, feeling his breath hitch, and ever so slowly rolled his hips. Fresh heat sparked in his limbs before the sun had even reached him, then he touched Link's cheek and – gave it a small pat.

The spell was broken instantly. Ghirahim chuckled and got up before winking at Link.

"Glad you agree. I'll be outside then, taking a provisional shower. You're welcome to join me, watch me, stand on your head or whatever you do when you're trying hard to not think about sex."

Link gasped at the suggestion, struggling to his feet. It was nice to see that his blood-pressure seemed to be low in the morning, that made him seem less annoyingly commendable.

Though that didn't mean Ghirahim didn't take advantage of that.

"Oh, and before you ask, chatterbox, I play for both teams, and in case I damn well feel like scoring a goal-"

Ghirahim dodged the shoe that flew past him, grinning widely when Link promptly picked up the second one. That guy definitely lacked violence – and that made him all the more fun to tease. Not that it calmed his racing heartbeat or the persistent disappointment in the back of his mind. Sure, so they hadn't kissed… That week was fucking short, actually.

"Don't throw those away, I won't carry you if you don't find them anymore!"

Ghirahim waved amusedly and then ducked.

/

Bathing in streams was definitely hyped for nothing. And where people in movies always got those scenic waterfalls, Ghirahim didn't know – this stream was absolutely flat, and, what was even meaner, damn cold. Flowing water didn't seem to care much about temperature and made Ghirahim jump back when he first set foot into it.

He put his hands on his hips and frowned. Aside from his shoes, he hadn't taken anything off, and he was still torn between keeping his clothes on and letting them be washed along with his body, and taking them off to make sure that nothing disgusting got caught in the fabric. He should have brought a spare set of clothes… Along with a tranquilizer gun for that author with ants in his pants.

Ghirahim absolutely hated that figure of speech as long as he was out in this wilderness.

He took a step forward, cold water instantly gurgled around his ankle. The streambed was pebbly and uneven, and Ghirahim had to spread his arms to keep his balance as he awkwardly stumbled forward.

Good grief, if he'd see someone wobble around in water, he would sneak up behind that guy and push hard. Luckily, people as cruel as him were rare these days…

There was something coolish that fell upon him; it might have been a shadow. Ghirahim noticed only briefly how the back of his neck seemed to escape the persistent warmth.

The next thing was the feeling of two hands pressing firmly against his shoulder blades and shoving him. For-ward.

Ghirahim's reaction was fast enough to brace his upper body from crashing into the stream bed, but water splashed everywhere, soaking him and making him blink against the spray. His elbows scraped painfully over the stones.

No point getting pissy now. He'd suppressed that once, he could do it twice. He was familiar with being sent to the ground by that idiot, and all he had to do was…

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING DIME NOVELIST, YOU'LL REGRET THAT!"

That was all part of the… plan.

Ghirahim rolled over and leapt up, drenching the rest of his clothes and sadly not Link, because said coward had wisely backed off. If Ghirahim had been watching him closely, he could have seen the tingling brightness in those usually harsh eyes, a glimmer of waking life.

However, Ghirahim wasn't in the mood to be attentive, and perhaps that was all the better.

He lunged at Link before the blond could turn tail and run (or whatever he would have done) and flung him towards the river. The movement cost him his momentum of speed, so Link caught himself before he could trip over the pebbly ground. When Ghirahim followed up to give him a final and satisfying push, Link pulled his arm, wrapping his own arms fleetingly around Ghirahim's waist to yank him around – a funny mixture of wrestling and tango.

Ghirahim felt that he was losing balance, seconds away from crashing painfully backwards into the stream. Instinctively, he changed his strategy and buried the fingers of his free hand in Link's knotty blond hair, dragging him along.

It ended with a huge splash and at least a mouthful of swallowed water. Shallow water couldn't be trusted.

"Uuh…"

It was the second time in two days that Ghirahim made this noise. This time, it was due to the fact that he'd almost choked on this dirty water and his arm was buried under Link's body.

He was breathing quickly and had to squint hard to get a clear vision. Water dabbled along his ear, creating a weak pull that failed to wash him away. The diamond on his earlobe floated slowly like a small, blue fish.

Link stared at him with an expression that resembled bewilderment, though Ghirahim wasn't sure it was that. For long seconds, both of them lay on their side in the stream, hair and clothes soaking wet. Ghirahim had hated Link's careless haircut from the moment he saw it, but seeing the strands turn into a shade of dark forest honey, flowing in the current…

"Get off my arm already, you village idiot. What are you, five? Your mother should have taught you that only cowards sneak up from behind!" Ghirahim had always been good at hypocrisy (it was a given in his line of work), yet somehow, his lips twitched, unable to keep a straight face. His voice was the next one to follow, secretly trembling with laughter. It would have been a weakness at any place except for this streambed.

Link grunted quietly and pushed himself up to free the arm trapped under his body – obviously missing the glint in Ghirahim's eyes when the journalist pounced on him the moment he could feel his limb again. They rolled a few feet downstream, trying to restrain the other. Ghirahim soon lost count of the small bruises, adrenaline drowned the flimsy pain.

Suddenly, he was pressed into a small basin, a wave brushed over his face and for a split second, water covered him.

Then Link let go of him and gave the front of his polo shirt a none-too-gentle tug to resurface him.

Ghirahim gasped for air and shook himself like a wet dog – and grinned slyly.

"That's a tie, right?"

Link raised an eyebrow (damn him, that was a skill that Ghirahim had never mastered!), seemingly prepared to push him back into the stream, and Ghirahim snorted dismissively. "Talk about suppression of the media."

The mention of the public seemed to sober Link, who had sat back in the water with a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips, and Ghirahim inwardly cursed when the noncommittal stiffness returned. It was still half a game of luck to coax the author out of his shell, and he was still clearly refusing to talk.

"I bet I swallowed a fish or something… And at least half the stream", Ghirahim continued, gauging how far he could go. Link hadn't shown a negative reaction to tender approaches (or what Ghirahim described as such since 'tender' was not in his repertoire), he seemed to fall into a state of shock like a deer in headlights. And then he pretended that nothing had happened.

It was bound to provoke Ghirahim, but he couldn't give in. Instead, he began examining his knees and elbows while the water merrily purled around them. His wet hair stuck to his skin, though he had tried combing it into the usual order.

"Let me guess, you're one of the guys who watches Wrestling on TV and ignores the warning Do not try this at home, and the only reason you didn't do a chokeslam on me was that you missed your body suit."

A tiny smile flickered over Link's face before he shrugged, not bothering to take stock of his own bruises, though he watched Ghirahim with mild interest, like you would look at a butterfly fluttering past. He seemed to have relaxed somewhat again, and although Ghirahim was tempted to push his luck, he figured it was better to fool around some more. Even if his thought were aching to go into another direction.

You're here to work, and you've wasted plenty of time already. Would it be too much to ask to take your mind off sex? That's quitting-time-activity!

Yes, so he'd considered this from day one, but that was before he knew how stubborn Link could be. Ghirahim sighed regretfully, earning a curious glance, and stood up. Rivers of water gushed from his drenched clothes, and he smirked at Link with evident self-satisfaction.

"Need a hand, dar-Link? Of course, you might stay here as well – I'll just get those dry real quick."

Ghirahim held out his hand, and it was pointedly ignored. With a broadening smirk, he peeled up the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

/

Friction? Well, who knew it existed.

Ghirahim was still grinning to himself as he carefully applied first his body lotion and then sunscreen to his skin while his clothes lay drying on the stony shore.

No, not all of his clothes.

Not that he would have minded taking them off (if he was getting an irregular tan because of that underwear-barricade, that pony would suffer!), but it would doubtlessly make Link uncomfortable – he lived for that, however, he was quite sure that as soon as Link felt that something was expected of him, he'd bolt.

Perhaps that was why he had quit writing? It was certainly possible. As far as Ghirahim knew, his fiancée had always supported him, and since he wasn't close to anyone else (beside those pesky animals, and they were useless at a press conference), he was missing the encouragement.

But he had the whole wide world cheering for him; it didn't make much sense to Ghirahim. Even if Link was extremely picky in his taste in people, it was hard to believe that nobody could get to him – widowers weren't such a rare occurrence, and the internet was mostly anonymous. Some kind of… self-help group would do the job.

No, that was not the key. Ghirahim ran his tongue along the corners of his mouth and slid the dental chewing gum he was using as a substitute for a toothbrush (only temporarily, because he preferred the real thing) into his other cheek. Maybe it was just a writer's block, or he lost his nerve in the face of the high expectations for his final book. Ugh, sissy.

"Are you sneaking up on me again, love? You know I adore surprises."

His ears had picked up the soft crunching of pebbles, though Ghirahim hadn't been sure where it had come from. When he turned his head, Link mustered a defiant look and proceeded to leave again. He was holding something plastic-packaged – Ghirahim hastily waved at him.

"Grow a sense of humor already, I won't force you to rub this stuff on my back – though I don't mind if you do."

Link still looked dubious, so Ghirahim shot him a honeyed holier-than-thou-smile. "Don't get ahead of yourself, now. I can do it myself, just so you know, I'm fabulously springy."

Link rewarded him with a dry I bet you are-look, but he seemed to feel more comfortable now and sat down in a regardful distance. Unsurprisingly, he had kept his wet clothes on and left a small trail of water drops.

"So… I take it you're a late riser?" It was actually one thing that made the guy look human. Ghirahim caught him nodding briefly while Link was rustling with the plastic package, then the author suddenly looked up and titled his head. He breathed in, and Ghirahim had the weirdest of déjà-vus.

"You're not, by any chance…" He fought a chuckle and flicked back his hair. "If you could bring yourself to keep less than a fucking mile distance, we can pursue the mystery of gooseberry scent. There."

He held out his hand (for the second time today, and it kind of reminded him on a cheesy knight's tale), and Link considered it for a moment before actually scooting closer and sitting beside him. A faint blush crept over his cheeks when he shyly sniffed the skin.

Like master like man. Though Ghirahim absolutely wouldn't have minded Link licking his fingers.

Link still avoided looking at him directly, probably due to the lack of clothes. The kid seriously didn't know what he was missing… However, Ghirahim needed his facial expressions to at least guess what Link was thinking. And besides – undressing was all the more fun when somebody else did it for you anyway.

Ghirahim slipped on his slightly crumpled clothes and sat down again. He wasn't sure whether he imagined Link sniffing very quietly. "Where are we? I want to go back to the hotel. Shower. Change clothes. Eat something." He spit out his chewing gum and folded his arms before staring expectantly at Link.

The blond locked eyes with him for a moment. Then he offered him a piece of chocolate-coated instant-waffle. Ghirahim cringed: not only were there unholy chemicals in those waffles, the chocolate was all melted! He tried politely to keep a straight face. "Uh… No, thanks. It's unhealthy."

Link's glare was telling. It's not going to kill you. He obviously didn't have the faintest idea.

"Do you even know what kind of toxic waste they stuff into that pastry to keep it juicy? And that fat is hell on the skin!" Ghirahim shook his head in disgust and looked away.

Link was not impressed. He ate the rest of the waffle with unrelenting pleasure and licked smears of chocolate off his fingers. Well… Chocolate was tasty, there was no denying. It was simply off the list, for Ghirahim kept iron discipline with his eating habits. He mercilessly smothered the little voice of temptation and went to fetch his bag. He was getting hungry.

Link still seemed to be in a snit, so Ghirahim set to smooth his ruffled feathers – he took out a plastic juice box and poked the straw into it. "Wanna try? It's not a love potion, I don't need that. It's good for you."

Link appeared skeptical, but he took the juice box and sipped the red liquid.

Ghirahim had been wrong about something: Link was well-bred. Because he was fighting hard to not spit the liquid out. His lips quivered slightly and he grimaced before forcing himself to swallow.

Ghirahim snickered and took a gulp of the potion. "I never said it was delicious, well, they had this nasty affair some years ago about the recipe that allegedly used fluids of several bugs… They have reformulated it, of course."

Link looked horrified – it amused Ghirahim to no end, actually.

"It's nutritious, you see, and a nice substitute for coffee. Tastes better if you lace it with rum, a bit like Pina Colada. If you can follow my thoughts."

Link jumped up and stomped back to the shed, leaving Ghirahim grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Some of us have a reputation to maintain", he murmured and swallowed the rest of the drink without batting an eye over it.

To his surprise, Link didn't stay away to sulk. He carried his knapsack, which he had seemingly packed up again, and produced a small, faded pot. Ghirahim raised his eyebrows questioningly and scrunched the juice box up. "We're not catching bugs now, right?"

Link screwed the pot open and dabbed his fingertips into the waxen, mostly colorless content. It smelled vaguely like herbs and… shortening. Ghirahim watched curiously when Link reached out and rubbed his fingertips gently against his elbow.

"I might be allergic to that", Ghirahim put in, though it sounded like whining even in his own ears. The salve stung a bit on the tender skin of his scratched elbow, but Link avoided touching the not yet fully formed bruises with a somnambulistic sureness, his fingers seemed to tingle on the skin, the coarseness of his calluses added to the effect. Ghirahim cleared his throat when Link let go of his arm again to rub the salve onto his own bruises. It had to be some kind of horse liniment, but for once, Ghirahim took no notice of the pun. The simple sensuality made his blood pool.

While Link vetted his tiny injuries, he just watched him, ignoring his scraped knees and his other elbow. If Link felt uncomfortable, he didn't let on; he finished the treatment and looked up to fathom why Ghirahim hadn't mimicked his actions.

Clearing the throat didn't seem to have done much good, it was still rough when Ghirahim opened his mouth.

"Will you kiss it better?"

Once again, Link did not resist when Ghirahim leant forward to press his lips against his.

It was intoxicating in every sense of the word. A frisson ran down his spine, cooling and warming his skin at the same time. Despite himself, Ghirahim reached out and slid his fingers through moist fair hair, mussing it gently. His lips shifted, opening a fraction to let the tip of his tongue pass through and playfully nudge the closed mouth.

He didn't feel Link's breath across his cheek – because the author was holding it. His body was stiff with tension, his blue eyes wide open, but they were slowly drifting shut as Ghirahim caressed his scalp. He whimpered softly, then exhaled, his breath tickled skin. He tasted a bit like chocolate and bitter remains of potion and a hint of spice nut, a taste that Ghirahim had almost forgotten for years.

He flung his arms around Link, pressing him close, kissing him with sudden ferocity until both of them were panting. At some point, Ghirahim hadn't even realized that his ten fingers were entangled in Link's hair, his blood pounded in his ears. Their lips were still brushing within an inch, warm air gushed back and forth between them like a whispered secret.

Ghirahim still felt lightheaded when he slowly released Link, his heart drummed like the collective loudspeakers of a disco.

He forced himself to stay still when Link lifted his hand to his own lips and touched them carefully, his expression as cryptic as ever. Then he looked up again, his tongue quickly swept over the slightly pink skin as if tasting the flavor of peppermint Ghirahim had left there.

Link breathed in again and offered the salve again, smiling allusively.

/

The hiking continued along the stream. There was no way of telling whether Link had actually taken account of Ghirahim's wish to return to the village, and the path he took remained a mystery. For once, Ghirahim was fine with trotting along.

"You're still opposed to do a writing-interview, then?", he drawled after a while – judging by the position of the sun, it was afternoon when they took a break to wait for the worst of the heat to pass. Without the shadow of trees, it was exhausting to march on, and Ghirahim was fine with cooling his feet in the stream. The water was deeper here, and the current weaker.

Link yawned and languorously watched his lower legs dangle in the stream. For someone who insisted on scurrying through the whole damn forest, he could be quite lazy.

"I can to make advances to you", Ghirahim added and earned a sudden blush that made him chuckle. "Advances in communication done from the vertical position." The blush deepened at that.

"You sure have a dirty mind for someone who writes virginal books."

Link glared at that.

"You're cute when you're trying to be derogatory. The thing is, we can do the guessing-stuff all day long, and I can even stick to the topics you want – and if it's about the cleaning of your roof rail. As long as I do the writing, I can cope with it, and it will be fabulous."

Ghirahim stole a peep. Link seemed to be pondering on his offer.

"All I need is some proof that you approve of it. A photo, some puppy-eyed lines, that should do."

Link splashed some water on him (and on Ghirahim as well, though he didn't mind that much right now, as the wetness made clothes cling), then firmly shook his head.

Ghirahim rolled his eyes. "What now, I practically babied you!"

Link gestured by spreading his arms and pointing his fingers at him.

"Yes, so it might cause some stir, and you'll get a few guests, but you've got your pitchfork. 'Sides, just tell them to fuck off."

Link raised one eyebrow. Ghirahim huffed. "You'd better not compare those to me. Damn it, you pansy, I built you a rainbow bridge! And you know something?" He waved dismissively. "I lied about that actor."

He shouldn't have said it. Why had he done it?

Link didn't react as expected; he didn't even seem surprised. He just reached backwards where both of them had placed their bags and took out Ghirahim's camera. Then he threw it into the stream.

Ghirahim instantly leapt up to save it, though he already suspected what soon became nasty truth: the gadget was done.

"You knew it," he hissed with the dripping camera still in his hands.

Link allowed himself the slow smile of the cat that drowned the canary. Ghirahim yanked him into the stream once again.

/

When Ghirahim got to his hotel room that evening, unsatisfied desire still burned beneath his weariness, despite of that feeling, he felt strangely good.

Too good to notice the folded newspaper waiting ominously for him on the nightstand – that would take until the next morning.