Beneath dappled light, something in the wind changes.
"I have a question."
There is something potentially devastating in Zelda's voice when she says it. Her tone is flat, like an ocean blanketed by the lull of warm air; the calm before a promised storm. In the shade of the old oak tree, she sits at attention, her hands folded demurely upon her lap, and in spite of how prim she looks perched amongst the cornflower splash of sleepy forget-me-nots, an unmistakable flash of mischief thunders across sea green eyes.
At her right, her knight attendant's finely tuned ears catch the way her voice intones, and it's enough to send his stomach twisting with a trepidation that's usually reserved for journeys far more perilous than a brief excursion to the plains. Crisp narrow blue flares with a gentle warning, but he stays silent—a familiar invitation for her to carry on.
"You promise you'll be honest with me?" His princess wiggles gloved fingers upon her lap and cants her head to the side, her voice deliciously bright with all the spirit of a skylark on the wing.
An impassive Link finds himself pressed up against the tree beside her, his leg extended with one foot tucked beneath the other as though he's settled upon an extravagant chaise and not the earthen blanket of blunted roots. "Depends," he says, flattening his own tone into something unrelenting. It's almost humorous, the way his dull voice floats among the birdsong careening around the northwestern skies, a call answered by the whistle of wind through the grass like a primaveral duet. He drives a jaded expression in his charge's direction.
"Oh, don't give me that look! It's nothing terrible. It's just that…" Zelda brushes a bit of stray bark from atop her golden head, "…well, as you surely have learned by now, I'm a rather inquisitive person…and there are many things that I find myself curious about…"
Still, her tone promises something inauspicious.
Link inhales. "Are you going to ask how children come to be?"
Zelda harrumphs, and the back of her hand comes to meet his shoulder with a playful swat. "Nonsense! Of course I know how they're made! I've studied reproduction. It was a very…brief lesson, but I gathered all of the important elements." She thinks for a moment, bites her lip before she's rushing on: "But, you are on the right track—I want to know more than what any of the tutors will offer on the matter."
It's perhaps slightly worse than he's imagined. Link rubs at his temple with a half curse set at his lips.
"No, Link, please !" Zelda has most certainly anticipated such a reaction from him, because she's quickly latching onto his arm, tugging at the angled pattern of orange along his arm wrap while nervous laughter spills from the both of them. Link can only turn an incredulous face on her, and he eyes her with a mixture of both disbelief and improper amusement.
"I didn't realize that being your knight attendant meant that I had to teach the Princess of Hyrule about sex ." The pink on his cheeks seems to shade deeper with each word, and in her shadow, he feels like a schoolboy admitting something shameful.
Indignation quickly mutes the cunning gleam in her eye. "You're not teaching me about it, per se," she reasons, "you're simply advising me on the matter with a first-hand account. A primary source. Does that sound amenable?"
Link squints. "Is there really even a difference?"
"Tutors only tell you about how it works. They would never dare elaborate on why one might actually want to engage in such a thing," she huffs, shaking her head. "Isn't that just preposterous?"
When they had first set off for Irch Plain beneath the soft bristle of morning sun, he hadn't anticipated lounging with the Princess of Hyrule in the cool meadow air like this. He'd expected that she'd collect her flora and set back off for the castle, their bellies filled with a light lunch and their sinuses irritated by whirls of pollen. But they find themselves here, in the sweet taste of the open air of the wild with only the horses to witness them—the Princess eager to strike up a conversation about sexual intercourse , of all things.
"I'm tired of not knowing things." A new tone—something much softer—displaces his silence. "I hear the maids whisper in riddles. I'm not a child anymore…don't I have a right to know these things?"
He dares a glance at her through the corner of his eye to find that she's right; she's no longer the tempestuous girl baring fangs in the grip of insecurity, but a young, resilient woman handling all shortcomings with grace—bearing burdens upon her shoulders with thunderous resolve. She's picturesque as she sits upon her field, a familiar gleam twinkling in her eye—the one that sparkles when she's on survey, becoming one with the world that dwells beyond any turret or battlement. And then, as if she can't bear to simmer in her thoughts any longer, she turns that breathless look on him again and grips his arm just a little tighter.
"Please, Link, enlighten me!"
His brow furrows. "Shouldn't you speak to Urbosa about something like this?"
"I love Urbosa to bits but I am in no need of a sermon. I want to talk to a companion. A friend . "
Oh, how good it feels to hear that, he thinks. Link yields to the warmth bubbling up in his chest, and Zelda is so eager, so endearing that he can't stamp out the playful smirk that begs to ripple across his face.
"Does it drive you a little wild to know that there's finally something I know about that you don't?"
Beneath narrowed eyes, Zelda's lips quirk at the edges. "…Perhaps only slightly." There's a subtle hint of a whine in her voice when she says it before she sighs. "I am perfectly willing to admit that, yes. So share your wisdom, oh wise knight." She dips her head in mock regality.
Link scrunches his face up, unconvinced.
"Unless…" Zelda pops back up to attention and raises a thin finger to her chin in thought, "…unless you haven't actually been with a woman before." She doesn't give him a moment to object before she's pressing on, a flick of her hand fluttering at her side: "Well, that's alright. I suppose in that case, I shall find someone else to ask. Perhaps someone at the stable by the exchange might—"
"—I've been with women, Princess."
Link's head snaps to look at her, a small flicker of triumph dancing in his limpid blue eyes; but he finds Zelda's own verdant set narrowing smugly, and Link, having fallen right into her trap, quickly finds himself withering in despair.
" Women ! Plural!" Laughter rumbles up through the Princess' chest, her joy undeniable in the way that the observation practically explodes from her. "Even better—so then, you should be able to shed much light on the matter."
Link glances around as though he were discovering the plain for the first time, anguished eyes soon fixating on the distant silhouette of Hyrule Castle that looms on the horizon. Hylia help me, he thinks.
"…I suppose." He grumbles his concession through half-clenched teeth.
"Oh, fantastic !" He hears Zelda clap her hands together in victory. "Believe me, you are providing a wonderful service!" Link isn't entirely convinced that he is, but before he can say anything else on the matter, the Princess is quickly chirping up again: "So! How does it all start, then? Walk me through it precisely ."
Link inhales deeply, nearly choking on the loamy scent of the plain that fills his head as it wraps him in one explosion of backwoods. He notices the way curiosity flickers up again in her eye. It's disarming—has him less secure than any monster the kingdom's grueling terrain has thrown his way in months past. She has him firmly set in the crosshairs, and there is little he can do but submit.
So the ever resilient Link steadies himself and begins.
"Alright...well…imagine you've gone to a festival," he starts, blood already simmering. "And let's say that when you're there, you meet someone who you think is really handsome. And they're so handsome that you can't stop looking at them." He fights to keep from sneaking over at her himself. "You realize that you want to touch them. And…you can tell they want to touch you, too."
"How do you know?" Her voice is small, laced with curiosity.
"You just…do," he replies. "Maybe you find their eyes lingering on you a little longer than normal. They find little reasons to get close. You'll just know. There's a little spark that happens…and you follow it." He smiles as an unfamiliar sense of ease comes to nestle against him. "It'll tell you what to do."
"I see," Zelda says, nodding. "And then what? You lock eyes with a pretty maiden at the local tavern and rent a room? Do you already have a special one set aside?" There's a giggle breaking through her voice before she's even finished the thought. Though Link has come to know the many shades of the Princess over the last few months, he thinks that he might hate the way mischief looks on her—charming. Enticing. A delicious little blade set against the small of his back at all times.
"It's not like I prey on women!" He nearly spats, the pink across the bridge of his nose shading into scarlet. "It's only happened a couple of times, and when it did…I just spoke to her. Got to know her. Tried to figure out her personality and get an idea of what she might enjoy."
She cants her head. "What do you mean?"
"What do you mean?"
"How do you make those calculations?"
"Oh. Just..trial and error, I suppose." Link wets his bottom lip nervously. "You want to figure out what she likes. Touch her, or...or kiss her in certain spots. Things like that." He clears his throat. Zelda turns her attention out towards the plain and hums in consideration, and Link's grateful that she's tucked away in thought, unaware of the way he's grown so close to detonation; the last thing he wants is for her to see the way he tints pink at such things.
"Hypotheses. Experimentation. Analysis," she whispers out across dandelion seeds that sail past her lips.
Ever the scholar, he thinks fondly.
"Simpler than that, even. You're overthinking. You have good instincts–you just need to follow them."
There's a small, inquisitive sound that hums warmly in her throat. "I suppose I never gave much consideration to the different ways you might pleasure someone." Her voice is only a little more than a squeak, splits around her penultimate word as though she's cursing Hylia above.
Her knight does well to answer in spite of the way his tongue ties. "You never let your fantasies get the best of you?"
"You know as well as I do that I don't have a spare thought for fantasies these days."
Link nods. "I understand."
He does, really. He's well-versed in her fears, in her goals and in the unbidden anxieties that wrestle her until the small hours of morning. What he doesn't truly understand is how he can listen to such a plaintive thought and still find himself wholly burnished by the prospects of fantasies she might grant herself.
"Some examples, then?" she asks, brows raised. Oddly enough, Link finds it a little easier to carry on now; beneath the nerves, there's something quite nice about speaking to her this way, so open and amicable. But with each passing word that falls from him, something flickers at the base of his throat, a squall of embarrassment knotting at the edge of his voice as their exchange drags him further into unknown depths.
"One can use their hands…their mouths…either can be more pleasing than just intercourse. Important for pleasing a woman, I'd say. Anyway," he carries on with haste, acutely aware of perspiration beading beneath his collar at certain thoughts that dart across his mind. "Once you've connected with this person and the progression feels natural, you'll end up with a kiss, and…is something wrong, Princess?"
He turns to find her lips pressed together in a thin line and her chin crinkled with tension, but Zelda's soft laugh breaks through such an apprehensive look when she finds his glance laid on her. "Nothing. It's just that…I've yet to experience my first kiss." She unveils the truth quietly, her cheeks as pink as spun sugar. It's hardly a revelation; Link has never once assumed she's ever been with a man in any capacity before.
"Sorry. Well, I mean, not sorry ," he fumbles, "there's nothing to be sorry about…It's perfectly fine that you haven't…you shouldn't feel bad..." Hylia, have mercy ; he's powerless against the avalanche of words.
Golden hair brushes against her shoulders when she shakes her head. "But I do , because I'd like to know what it feels like," Zelda whines.
"Your first kiss usually isn't anything special." Something in his chest tightens, mostly because the idea of Princess Zelda herself whining for a kiss is proving to be far too stimulating a notion. "It's really just something to get over with. Really, no one's first kiss is a good one."
"Oh." Zelda goes quiet, curiosity muted and replaced with a scintillating silence that promises something more. Link lowers his guard down, and his shoulders have only just settled a smidge before her soft request has tension knotting in them once again.
"So," she drones, fingers mindlessly clamping around the stray scorpion grass along her thighs, "if it isn't anything special…might you be willing to kiss me, then?"
Link swears that the entirety of Hylia's creation stills beneath them. That the notes of birdsong are plucked from the air, swallowed into silence so that the warblers can steal their furtive glances and see what happens next. That the winds cease their sighs to hear his response and that the hordes plaguing Hyrule go silent in a moment of respect for the poor Hero. Surely, the brilliant Princess ought to comprehend the magnitude of such a request?
"Princess…that is…"
A terrible idea , is the phrase that sits heavy on his tongue. Tugs gooseflesh across his arms and wrenches something familiar behind his sternum. But low in his belly, it isn't terrible. And it isn't terrible for a few rather terrible reasons; he imagines he'd like it. Would like it tremendously .
Perhaps, then, 'a terrible idea' might truly suffice.
"Oh, but it would be so beneficial!" Zelda rushes to add before he can find the end of the thought. "I'm so utterly lost with things of this nature, and I'm certain that the first time I shall ever kiss a man will be on my wedding day. And with a stranger, no less." Her voice falls to a hush. "It would be nice to have this moment with a friend. Please?" And before Link can grapple with an adequate breath, Zelda turns, doe-eyed and pliant, sunlight flickering across the seafoam of her eye and she's suddenly far too beguiling for his luck. "I know it's a bit odd to ask you to do something like this with someone you aren't attempting to…" her eyes flit away for a moment, just long enough to find a thought, "…rent a tavern with. But it would really mean a great deal to me."
Link doesn't quite know where to start. Perhaps at the absurdity of it all. Perhaps at the quiet truth that, if she were any other girl, in any other lifetime, he would spend an evening with her; wouldn't think twice about making her breakfast the next morning and every morning after and he'd slip a ring on her finger and raise children with her in one of the sleepy villages out east. He's held those thoughts since the day he'd knelt before her and pledged his life. But he doesn't lead such a life that would ever allow him to do just that, so he holds his tongue and pretends to have never known such things at all.
He's in danger, he knows—but her eyes are flitting back and forth between his own and there's the faintest please at her lips, and Link finds himself lost to the perfect storm of her.
"Okay. I can do that for you."
He doesn't think he's ever heard anything quite like the squeal she lets out.
"Perfect! Oh thank you, Link, thank you!"
She's quickly bounding to face him, settling upon her shins and tucking gold strands behind her ears. Zelda leans in, expectant and willing; deep breath , Link thinks. He tries to ignore her shy smile, her eyes widening in curious jest as she watches him assess just exactly how to approach such a thing.
She's fully ignorant to the way he burns.
"How about this—close your eyes. Let me lead. And if you need me to stop, just tell me so. You promise you'll tell me?"
Zelda nods curtly and obeys, folding gloved hands and resting them upon her lap. Eyes gently closed, she looks so well-behaved, the docile student that he knows her to be. Link leans forward, suddenly a little overwhelmed as their faces grow closer to one another; he sees every spot in the dim constellation of freckles across her cheeks, conspicuous under the natural lighting, and he's suddenly painfully aware of the length of blond eyelashes fanning out across her cheeks, demure and soft, her eyelids close enough to place the gentlest of kisses upon them.
Her brow trembles slightly when she feels his fingers meet her skin, the leather of his gloves following as he traces her jawline up to her ears. And then, she feels her head being angled, primed for him, and she nearly opens her eyes to inquire something when suddenly there he is, lips ghosting against hers, feather light until he presses just a little harder. She can't deny herself the small hum that melts from her when she feels Link's tongue sneaking across her lip, softening her up, encouraging her—convincing her to melt against him in return. His mouth works like a small ripple of a wave, detaching from her lower lip for just a moment before surging against her once more, and when he's finished with her, he pulls away, his parting so achingly slow that both are certain they'll kindle if he moves too fast.
Electricity and wires and temptation run between ears in lieu of the divine whispers they'd been designed for.
"Was that okay?"
When Zelda opens her eyes, Link's own fall to the spot where his lips had just been, his fingers still against her and a mindless thumb grazing along the apple of her cheek. Between his tender touch, she blinks as though stirring from a nap. "I thought you said it wasn't supposed to feel like anything special."
His tunic hides a pounding heart. "I tried to make it nicer for you."
"You succeeded." Her stammer is barely contained.
Link can only accept the compliment with a humble nod and pulls away, pressing himself back up against the tree and shifting uncomfortably in his place (for reasons Zelda will never be able to detect with such inexperience.) Whatever soft sounds have melted between them fall into uneasy silence, and it's the gentle swells of curiosity and panic that come to rest in the space between them. The memory of one another—her skin beneath his fingers and his thumb brushing across the bloom of her cheek—proves haunting, imprinting against them and dragging both down into a brume of incredulous thought. It feels like hours spent in the hush, and when Zelda's small voice finally commands his attention at this side, it sends him shivering like the air isn't bright and sweet and singing with a song of spring.
"Link?"
"Yes, Princess?"
Quiet, and then:
"I feel the spark."
She sounds almost forlorn as she speaks. As though he's torn something apart within her.
His lungs feel like they're overflowing with water when he tries to swallow. "…you do?"
"Yes." Her whisper flees from her harshly, her heavy stare still focused out across the plain, avoiding his own.
He could stop— should stop, if he's being entirely truthful. But in the end, he's only a man, one crafted of stardust between the Goddess' adoring hands for her descendant, a construct of affection that has transcended the ages. How much longer is he expected to sit idly by and simply acknowledge it? Fate has brought him this far—perhaps he's meant to let it carry him further.
"...will you tell me more?" he mumbles, inching closer.
Zelda's voice lulls beneath such a curious flare. "It's like my body is asking for more of something, but I don't know how to oblige it." He notices that yearning in her eyes, glassy and distant. "Will you tell me more?" she asks, the inquiry threaded through unstable air.
There is an invitation edging between her words that has his voice failing him. Shoulds and woulds and coulds battle for dominance behind the blue of his stare, swirling among the storm of ifs and buts . And when she can no longer bear his silence, she finally turns to him, eyes needy and bursting with longing.
His answer comes silently, as nothing but an easy shift in her direction.
"Relax," Link begins. "Close your eyes again. Think about your kiss again. He might kiss you in other places, too." Hesitation follows, a silent thought, and then he presses his thumb to her jaw, his half lidded eyes meeting her own, "—here—" against her neck "—here—", at the slight crest of her collarbone, "—and here. And the spark will keep growing. And then—forgive me, Princess—he'll undress you, and if he has any sense at all he should kiss you some more. In places that are normally covered. Your chest…your legs…" His voice falls to a whisper that rings with the colors of twilight. "Down there ." He watches the way she tips her head back against the tree and sighs, something so distant in her silken eyes.
"You okay?"
"Yes. It just all sounds very nice," she whispers back, the hint of a smile flickering at her lips.
"What do you feel?" he murmurs, preoccupied by the way her mouth curls at the edges—missing the feel of her against him.
"Something—" she lets her hand float against her abdomen, "—here."
"Good, that's good. And then you proceed the way the tutors taught you. Add in a few things here and there, depending on what you like. And when you're ready to give in, you'll be warm and wet and…" his breath is heavy against her, like warm air blown against a chilled windowpane. "…and perfect for him." He conjures up a man to play along in the dangerously delicious fantasy, and it isn't long before he's stepping into the role himself —imagining her warmth and wetness around him, and oh Goddess, what a divine thought it is.
Zelda's eyes fly open, malachite daggers carving into him.
"For him . And what shall it feel like for me?"
He swallows. "Hard to say, exactly. I'm not a woman."
"But you've been with them—how did they feel after?" Zelda's voice softens when an afterthought works its way into her brain. "Did you kiss them all that way?"
Their eyes lock.
"No. I didn't."
He's playing with fire, a pyromaniac far too comfortable in the waxing heat. He's grown close enough to see the enchantment of such a thought wrapping around her and watches as she wrestles just free enough to form another thought: "And what happens when you…" she licks her lips, eyes darting south before meeting his own again, "…what does that feel like?"
She is an enchantress, power lingering in her hushed tones and softly wrenched features. The slight intonation of her voice like a siren's call luring him into Kitano Bay.
"It tingles," he mumbles, newly immune to even the slightest hint of embarrassment. "Sometimes it gets a little hard to see straight. Like my body just shuts down. Hard to explain."
Link, as wild as he's been driven by the predicament, does not know the true extent to which Zelda finds herself spiraling: indeed, it becomes difficult for her to imagine pleasure and pain uniting to serve her in such a way. But when she considers the ache in her belly, the strain between her thighs and the thought of Link feeling good—that Hylia had blessed her with architecture that could make him feel good—everything becomes a little too unbearable.
"So you really cannot tell me about what your lady friends feel?"
"Not exactly, no. But…it would be so easy for you to find out." He inches even closer, craning his neck as though he might press a kiss along her pulse point. "When you're alone in that big, fancy bed of yours…and you think about your handsome man…and your spark comes to life. You just take care of it."
"I don't know how to fix it," she murmurs, eyes quietly searching for something in his own.
He would slay ten thousand beasts if it meant she'd hold that same gleam in her eye each time she looked upon him.
"You experiment," Link whispers in a tone forged of fire and ice.
Zelda exhales, and she leans back against the tree and brings the soles of her boots to lay flat on the ground, her knees creating slight peaks. She spreads her legs gently and places a hand between them, winces when she brushes against herself. "Would it be…here?" She hardly notices the way Link pales, the way the slight wrinkle in his brow smooths out when his idle expression heats up.
"I'd say higher," he mumbles, eyes fixed on the soft bend of her wrist.
She slides her hand up. "Here?"
Link cocks his head to the side. "Little more."
"Here?"
"Seems too high now."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Link just— show me."
It takes a moment—a long moment thickened with dread and embarrassment—for both to realize exactly what happens next. It isn't until Link's fingers are curling tensely against Zelda's own that she realizes what she's done, and it isn't until he watches the swallow work its way down her pretty little throat that he understands just exactly where his hand is. Their eyes lock, wholly sunken into a type of fear neither recognizes—and yet he hasn't torn away, and she hasn't writhed out from beneath him, and their hands are still simmering against one anothers as they sit cradled between straining limbs.
"I should have asked—"
"No, it's—"
They fall silent together. And even still, neither moves, and it's as though both are adhered to spot, their hands still connected between her legs and practically pinning her to the base of the tree. Link can see how her brow rumples, the way her cheeks lift in slight apprehension beneath such an appealing flush, the shallow breaths urging her chest up as she braces for his touch. Composure fractures.
"Please?"
Link stills, though his silence isn't marked with indecision; in the respite, he calculates. He weighs and reasons, and, truthfully, it doesn't take very much to concede to the hunger that's worked its way up from the depths of him—to the boiling blood that threads among muscle and bone. Beneath dilated pupils, he surrenders to her needs; really, hasn't that been his purpose since the very beginning?
"Does this help?"
And then, without the slightest hint of effort, he presses two flattened fingers against a spot that sends her reeling.
" Oh !"
"And then you can move like this."
The Princess gasps beneath his touch, and it fuels Link in a way he hasn't expected; has him thinking he could move the Dueling Peaks if she asked for it. He can practically see sparks in incandescent irises, slivers of jade thinned out by pupils blown wide. Link softens the taut strain of his hand and diverts the focus into his fingertips, and Zelda can only watch them as they trace along her body in a circular motion. She soon closes her eyes, and he feels her hips twitch up into him—something involuntary. Each gentle pulse against her clothed core sends a promising burst of heat up through her body.
And suddenly, she is the predator, seeking that rose-colored destination with an intensity that's flared to life from nothing. And she has no one to blame but herself; she's allowed her curiosity to best her, yet again, and now she finds herself trembling beneath his hand, an indelible appetite gnawing away at her, teasing her with the promise of something far grander than anything she's come to know. Zelda brings her hands to the hem of her riding trousers, and Link feels something grow taut deep within him as he watches her fumble with the buttons along the front.
"Can you—can you…try to…?"
"Sure. Sure ." His voice is so harsh when it falls from him. Strangled, though both are far too preoccupied to notice.
Link's skin pricks up at the sight of the soft color of undergarments poking out from beneath the dark fabric of her trousers. She slows him, only briefly, taking his fingers and placing them against the last barrier separating him from a spot more sacred than any temple or altar in Hyrule, and Link has to squeeze his eyes tight to keep from shuddering against the hint of damp fabric. With each fraction of surface he crawls across, his breath grows more and more shallow, air escaping him entirely when he coaxes the lip of her underwear up and finds the hint of fine golden hairs caressing his fingers.
"Princess…" he breathes against her, and though his voice is full of warning and wanting, Zelda only seems to heed the latter; she bucks forward, inching Link's hand further, closer to a drenched core that begs for more of him. "Fuck," he closes his eyes and whispers, the expletive soon lost in the soft sigh of the wind. There's hardly any room to breathe past the thought of her—past the reality that he's touching her, that the teasing fantasies he'd swallowed down long ago are fashioning themselves into reality. And even just the hint of her beneath him is more marvelous than any daydream that's ever kept him simmering in the privacy of his quarters.
Zelda gasps when he drags his touch around her, against her—as he skims against the edge of her garments. "That's—that's very nice…that's…oh…" Her voice is nothing but a string of consonants tapping against air, headless and ethereal.
"Do you like that?" he asks, eyes dark and his finger dangling against curls.
" Very much so," she whines, her eyes watching as his fingers disappear further beneath the fabric. Zelda bites her lip and squirms around in search of something— anything to get more of this feeling. She leads him there, and Link can't keep from dropping his head and sighing into her flushed neck when he finds a patch of soaked gold.
"Hands work differently than cocks," he says, attention concentrated so squarely on her that he doesn't notice the way he strains against his trousers. "Hands are helpful."
Zelda's lips part around a gentle oh, back arching slightly as she wills more of herself into his hand. "I'm sure your lady friends were satisfied—it seems you're quite capable with them." She can hardly manage to speak past the fragmented breaths.
"No complaints yet." The slight hint of humor in his voice doesn't make it all the way to his hungry eye, and Link tears another cry from her when precise fingers begin to move with waxing speed. "What does it feel like Princess? Maybe you can teach me a little something today." He hums, voice manipulated into a gentle purr. "Tell me."
"It's like something is climbing." She swallows, fingers curling into the soil around her. "Rising…"
"That's good. Let it. Go there." Please.
"L-Link…" she whines, thighs tightening around his hand. She writhes beneath him, her rear wriggling further into the base of the tree as she arches into him.
"Yes, Princess?"
This feeling doesn't just run through her—it burns her veins as it courses through her, singes her spine. It cradles her in its iron grasp and whispers into her skin; leaves her frantic and wholly at his mercy. Begins to unravel all that holds her together.
"More, please—harder," she whimpers. " In ."
"As you wish."
So further he delves, and Zelda cries out into the open air, her bliss a melody he's never known; her body's call, beckoning him closer. It's scandalous. It's sacrilegious. It's delicious .
"Goddess—" she breathes into him, rocking frantic hips against his meticulous fingers. The timbre of her voice melts into something lower, deeper and darker as it sings for him. Link spirals his thumb in the same, perfect spot.
" Gods, Link…" she's whining in disbelief, crying under a blissful sigh. Hearing his name spoken like that—he doesn't think much else can eclipse it. He's drunk on the way it sinks squarely between his ears; sends tremors through his body like he's on the verge of breaking apart entirely. He wants more of it, more of her—all of her.
"Keep going. Keep going." He can hear himself saying. Begging .
"Yes—I—" Her voice peals nervously. But he can see in the way her neck strains, the way the furrowed bark of the tree tousles her hair when she shoves her head back into it, the way her feet point inwards and her heels dig into the ground, in the way her mouth flounders open around the name that dies in her throat—he has her where he wants her.
And even more importantly, he has her where she wants to be.
"Keep going, Zelda. That's it."
"Link…" The broken whine of his name hangs in the air like a drifting leaf on the wind as she watches his knuckles pulse against her. Tunes herself to the call of his own wanting that comes in his powerful grasp and his heavy breathes.
"Shh, it's okay." His whispers, a plume of smoke bristling past her reedy whimpers. "Keep going. Good girl, Zelda. What a good fucking girl you are."
Her sharp gasp pierces the air. She turns to him, it's only then that she can truly understand the depths they've fallen: she finds the electricity of blue eyes grown lupine through the thin ropes of blonde strewn across her face. His jaw is set, like that of a predator skulking through the thicket to sink teeth into a pulsing neck, and she nearly gasps aloud at the weight of such a look: he could devour her whole, and she'd thank him for it.
"Cum for me, Princess. Please. "
She obeys like the good girl she is, stars exploding behind her eyes as she sobs his name once more.
The second time she comes crashing down, his mouth is on hers. She begs him for more almost as soon as she finds herself drifting in that headless space, floating for just a moment before she's barreling back down the earth, practically commanding him when he teases a ceasefire. He starts again gently, lets her savor the faint taste of wildberries on his tongue before he drags her through the brilliance of pleasure again.
"What have I done?" he asks, his smoky inquisition tugging a small laugh from his Princess. She only tugs at her lip and drives her hips further into him, and Link acquiesce to send her soaring again, her open mouth gasp dragging along his satisfied smirk.
The shadows begin to spread as the sun slips into its initial descent. Against the tree, Zelda has collapsed against him, stretching the crisp blue of his tunic as she clings to his body. He admires her this way, wilted against him; a pliant pile of shambles at his side. His hand still dwells between her legs, and he lets a delicate fingertip trace along the inside of her thigh. Two hearts pound against one another, Link's own quickly hammering inside his ribcage when he considers just how much of a soaking mess he's left her.
It takes a few moments for their breaths to settle, and Link finds himself turning an eye towards the throb that still yearns against the front of his trousers.
"I imagine," he hears Zelda start through fractured breaths, "that it must have been twice as enjoyable for your tavern acquaintances."
Link's circle halts on her thigh. "Why?"
"Well," she says, hazy eyes dwelling on the hand between her legs, "because they weren't your friends. Because you chose to be with them…you weren't just providing a favor." She clears her throat, the fog clearing. "I must admit, Sir Link," she laughs, a little weakly, and the reappearance of his title dawns a sense of doom low in his belly, "I…" she bites her lip, "...I admit I'm rather envious of them." She smiles politely, humorously unaware of just how disheveled she appears at his side. "And I will not lie to you…the spark is still there." She sits herself up a little taller. "But I don't regret this in the slightest—you were…"
She meets his eye, and one look has Link thinking he might like to lay her down and ravish her right there.
"…you were enchanting . And I am very grateful for it. I shall remember this so fondly."
He can only stare, all clouded eyes and parted lips. She squirms beneath his look.
"W-what is it?" she squeaks, the melting pink at her cheeks deepening yet again.
And still he is silent, eyes crinkled slightly at the edges.
"As far as favors for friends go…" he leans in and murmurs curtly into her, "...this is the best favor I've ever had to do for one. I'd be happy to grant more." He dips his head and drags his tongue against her neck, and his stomach plummets when he catches her groan in his ear.
As if they'd never paused at all, her breath is strangled. "And what…what other sort of favors might you do for a friend?"
The soft sound of lips pulling from her skin. "Whatever said friend wishes for."
Zelda pulls her head back to look into his eyes. "What of your mouth?"
"I'll taste her for hours, if she wishes."
"Where?" she breathes, eyebrows knit and the ache between her legs grows needy again. Link wriggles two fingers against her slit and grins.
"And what of your…" Her lips falter around a plosive consonant.
His grin widens."My cock?"
"Yes," she nearly gasps around the word.
"I'll make it so they hear her screams back at the castle, if that's what she wants."
She melts into his touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
"Do you mean that?"
"Would I lie to you?"
He wouldn't dream of it. And, deep down, Zelda knows this—knows that he'd follow her to the ends of the earth and into hell if she asked him to.
The gentle ache pulses between her legs, unsatiated. She can only tug at his collar and pull him closer, a soft no lost in the cradle of his mouth, thoughts of hell and the ends of the earth easily superseded by him : the slight slope of his nose, the way his throat bobs beneath her hungry eyes, the ridge of his shoulders—that part of him that haunts her from beneath stifling stretches of fabric.
Bits of him to occupy her until that fateful day arrives.
He for her, and she for him.
More, more, more.