Chapter Text
Urbosa was hesitant to let them go back to the castle alone, no matter how badly Princess Zelda begged, and she ended up only letting them leave with an escort of half a dozen of her finest troops.
Zelda’s legs couldn’t carry her fast enough. Link followed closely behind her, perhaps too closely—he could be forgiven some paranoia after the recent attempt on her life, surely?
It appeared he was willing to risk it, offering his hand or arm to her at every opportunity, which she accepted perhaps a bit too eagerly. Each touch gave her a flash of something new—she took his hand to help steady herself while stepping over a pile of fallen rocks; a flower tucked behind an ear, touch lingering down to ghost over a jaw. She took his arm as they passed by a group of travelers (anyone could be Yiga these days); hands held above her head against a wall, hips pinning hers, legs wrapped around his body to pull him closer. When he was finally able to offer her a hand to help her up on her horse, she hesitated to take it, only because riding would take away every last excuse to touch him until they reached the castle again, but she was overwhelmed with curiosity, and could not resist; hands on his chest, fingernails scraping over his exposed skin, his grip on her hips as he helped her bounce on top of him, taking him as deep as she could.
If Urbosa’s guards noticed anything suspicious about their sudden closeness, they did not comment on it. By the time they made it back to the castle, she was near delirious, jumping off her horse to grab his hands in hers—his lips around two of her fingers, tongue soft and pliant and mouth so warm and wet—dragging him back to her chambers in plain view of anyone and everyone passing by, unwilling to release his hand again until she could touch him in private where she needed him.
She slammed the door closed behind him, and before she could turn to face him, he had her back pressed up against her door, lips hungry on her neck.
“So many people saw us,” he murmured into her skin between kisses, hands tracing up over the curve of her hips to the small of her waist, fingers needy at her flesh.
“They should be glad we’re getting along,” she replied, one hand reaching to pull his hair from its tie so she could run her fingers through it, could pull on it hard enough to redirect his mouth to hers, the other tugging at the hem of his tunic.
“I…” he started, one hand sliding up from her waist to her arm, over her elbow up to her shoulder, where his thumb traced over her collarbone. “Gods, I need you so bad it hurts.”
And yet he wouldn’t take her, she thought impatiently, dropping her hand from his hair to his chin to pull him into a kiss, something messy and inexperienced, but familiar and hungry. It hardly felt like their first kiss—she’d kissed him in so many past lives, so many times, and it felt so correct and instinctually natural, but she had never quite kissed him like this, never in this life, and it still felt so new.
New and unbelievably addicting, she thought, moaning into his mouth. She had only managed to pull his tunic up about halfway, the fabric stuck between their bodies, and she couldn’t figure out how to get him out of his damn clothes without breaking the kiss, not when the backs of her fingers gripping at his tunic brushed against the flesh of his stomach, felt his muscles tense at the contact. She wanted to feel how his body reacted to her whole hand sliding up his body, wanted to see him try to jump out of his skin.
She was lightheaded enough that when he pulled back for air, she let him, keeping her hand under his chin, ready to pull him back in if he tried to deny her. “Tell me what you want,” he asked, voice husky and breathless all at once, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his lips, desperate to taste them again.
“You,” she answered weakly, grabbing at his tunic again and tugging, and he finally helped her pull it off him, revealing the smooth musculature of his torso, giving her hands access to infinitely more skin than she’d felt of his in this life. She couldn’t help but trace over him, memorizing the feel of his smooth skin marred with scars over toned muscle. The texture of him was nearly overwhelming, flooded with half-remembered trysts of lifetimes long gone, framed in the novelty of a new one to spend with him like this.
“I’m yours,” he answered, like it was obvious, like she should have known, “however you want me.”
She wanted him faster, she thought, wondering how much she would have to lead, but unwilling to spend too much time thinking when she’d been plagued with nothing but thoughts for months.
She pushed him back, and he went willingly, until his legs hit the side of her bed, and he sat on it, letting her climb on top of him to kiss him again. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, pressing her hips into his where she could feel his desire for her.
It teased her, pressing up against the outside of her trousers, trapped beneath far too many layers of clothing, and she groaned into his mouth in desperation. “Help me out of this,” she mumbled into his lips.
His hands instantly reached for the buttons down her front, and she really wanted out of her pants faster, but she would indulge him to relieve of her top first, if he so desired. He made quick work of it, despite how delicate some of the buttons were, finally opening up her blouse to reveal her chest to him, eyes feasting on her.
She was hardly able to pull her arms free of the sleeves when he pounced on her, rolling her over and pinning her to the bed as his mouth attacked her neck, her collarbone, inching his way down her body, and she whimpered and wriggled under his hold.
“Sorry,” he groaned into her, not loosening his hold. “I just… gods, you’re so perfect,” he managed to get out, before gently taking a nipple into his mouth, lips and tongue laving her with attention until she squealed, hands pulling at where he’d pinned them at her sides.
He released them, pulling his lips off her to ask, “do you want me to stop, Princess?” And she was on fire and she had never felt so slick between her legs and so fuzzy in the head, and she shook her head no as well as she could, reaching to thread her fingers into that soft sandy hair once more, to pull him back down to her so she could feel his lips on her skin again.
He hummed his approval, turning to repeat his affections to her other breast, and she resisted the urge to tighten her grip on his hair and push his head down further.
“Link, please,” she gasped when he lightly nipped her, hips jolting up to press into where his body perched between her legs, because she needed more, and she knew he understood because he had to need her just as badly, had to feel a reciprocal burning for her, tempered only by his unmatched willpower.
Well, previously unmatched, until set against her current impatience.
“Yes, Princess,” he said into her skin, kissing her once more on her sternum before reaching down for her trousers, finally, making quick work of her fittings to loosen them and pull them down, leaving her in just her cotton panties, which she wished he’d taken off, too.
By the time he’d peeled her pants off her legs, one hand wrapped around her ankle to lift her leg so he could kiss up her calf, the other sliding up behind her opposite knee to gently push her legs open, she was ravenous.
“Link,” she complained, because her skin was burning everywhere he touched her and freezing everywhere he didn’t. She did her best to sit up as he held both her legs up and apart, lips hungry at the skin over her knee, eyes hooded with thick lashes and desire. Propping herself up on one hand, she reached under his chin to lift pull his face to hers, and he complied instantly, face crashing into hers with urgency, kiss sloppy between gasped breaths.
He released her legs to wrap his arms around her back, to pull her body into his and feel more of her skin against his, holding her well enough that she no longer needed to prop herself up, that she could reach to feel the muscles of his back tense under her fingertips.
“Princess,” he moaned into her mouth, teeth nipping at her lower lip in impatient desire, sitting back enough to pull her on top of him.
“Hm,” she prompted him, understanding the questioning in his tone, desperately desiring to give him whatever it was he wanted, but not knowing what it was, and not wanting to take her lips off his long enough to ask.
His hands slid down her back to cup her ass, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, pulling a groan from his throat as he lifted her up slightly, sliding his body beneath hers until she straddled his stomach, missing the pressure from his length against her center. She groaned in frustration at the denial of contact, already limited in how much it could relieve her of her needs through so many damn layers of clothing, but before she could squirm in displeasure, he continued shifting her weight forward, over his chest, then his neck.
“Link, what—” she started, attempting to adjust her posture to take her weight off his face, but his arms hooked around her legs to hold her in place, his nose carefully poised over her underwear.
She froze, the heat of his breath over her center threatening to overstimulate her already, the rub of his nose over the cotton of her panties shooting deep into her core in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
“Please, Princess?” He asked into the seam of her thigh, lips teasing her with a kiss there, and she couldn’t figure out where all the strength from her legs had gone, unless that was what made her feel so tight and tense in her core, unless it was what made her feel lighter than air and heavier than stone, what drew her attention down to his face buried between her thighs.
Not a hint of that pretty piercing blue visible around blown black pupils, dark with insatiability, lips parted to accommodate nearly silent breathless gasps.
How could she refuse such sincere desire? She almost wondered how dazed she must look before nodding half-absently, unsure of exactly what he begged her for but certain she would give it to him, and he reached over her thigh to pull her panties aside until there were finally no more layers of clothing between them, putting his mouth to her.
She still had strength to lose from her legs, she discovered, as his tongue traced over her slowly, experimentally, and her lips fell open and she scrambled at her headboard for purchase, finding stability but no satisfaction in the smooth grain of the wood under her palms, and quickly reaching to grasp at his hair instead.
Despite the hunger in his eyes, he mouthed at her slowly at first, savoring her in a way that would have sent quakes through her if the warmth of his tongue on her had not done so already, the heat of desire she had hoped to extinguish under the relief of his touch amplifying beyond her comprehension.
She fisted her fingers in his hair, tension in her body already too high to withstand, whimpering at the how delicately he teased her, how seemingly effortlessly he fanned the flames consuming her, pulled her tighter and tenser and closer to a cliff’s edge she suddenly almost feared.
“L-Link,” she managed to stutter out, too tightly strung to care how throaty and guttural her voice rang back in her ears, because his grip around her legs tightened, a fierceness in his eyes that sent her heart thumping out of her chest and against his mouth.
Straining against his hold on her, she began a gentle rock against his face, nearly unable to hold herself back, and he took enough mercy on her to release one thigh for mobility.
He hummed into her, perhaps in encouragement or satisfaction or desire or maybe even impatience finally uncovered underneath such an iron will, but she was too far gone to try to identify the noise, realizing instantaneously that the approaching cliff had reached her, that she had made no effort to slow its approach, that she was already starting to fall.
Her hips stuttered in their movements, hunching over herself as he gripped her thigh more tightly once more, jaw dropped in a silent breathless scream as the orgasm washed over her, intensity squishing her eyes closed as she rode his face in release.
His tongue didn’t relent as she descended, slowly finding use in her lungs again, gasping desperately to fill them with air, legs numb (and only now starting to still from a trembling she hadn’t had the mind to notice, before) until he followed her when she tried to lift herself off him, and she cried out at the overstimulation, accidentally pulling his hair tighter.
He groaned in response, allowing her to sit back to put her weight on his chest. She struggled to catch her breath, to refocus her vision and meet his gaze once more, still nearly dizzy, and she was shocked to find no reduction in the hunger in his eyes as he stared up at her. One hand traced lines up and down her thigh as she recovered, grounding her until she could breath and speak and almost think again, except the sight of him underneath her, nose and cheeks and chin shiny with her moisture, sent her head spinning again.
“Gods, Link,” she breathed, hanging her head for a minute, only turning to face him again when his hand left her thigh, and she watched him drag his thumb over his chin and lick her off his fingers. “You’re—” she started, unable to place what word felt right to her—insatiable, debauched, irresistible, intoxicating—everything fell short on her tongue, which still salivated over him, his hair mussed up from her grip in it, eyes still black with want, cheeks wet with her pleasure as he savored her taste.
She felt a hollow ache between her legs she couldn’t quite describe, but fully understood, and immediately made to satisfy the need, pervasive through the temporary relief he had granted her.
It hadn’t been enough to completely ease the aches she felt for him, and she knew he needed relief, too.
Before she could even maneuver herself to straddle him properly, where she could press against where she needed more of him, where he could feel how soft and warm and wet she was for him, her gaze followed his free hand, the one he had released from her thigh, stuffed into the waistband of his trousers, stroking himself lazily.
She wanted to swat his hand away, to replace it with hers, to lean over him and repay the favor, feel the weight of him on her tongue—
“Sorry,” he said a little breathlessly, pulling her gaze back to his face, where he didn’t look all that sorry. “You were so—”
She didn’t want an excuse, hardly able to justify the irrational feeling of jealousy, leaning down to kiss him to stop whatever perverse words he was about to share with her, swallowing his voice down as her hands snaked down his torso (which she wished she could feel more closely), chasing his, fingers eager to wrap around him.
He groaned into her mouth when she found him, his own hand guiding hers to find the right pressure the right speed, showing her how he found pleasure, and she felt even emptier between her legs.
“Inside,” she breathed on his lips, squaring her hips over his, wondering whether he could pull his pants down just enough from this position to slip inside her. “Inside, Link, please,” she asked again when he hardly reacted to her earlier plea, save for the slight tightening of his grip around her hand.
“Now?” He asked, eyes widening a little, as if he hadn’t expected it, as if she had surprised him, and she nodded, pressing her face into his neck to try to gain some mental clarity without his tongue so close to hers.
She had hoped he would understand the urgency of her request, hoped he would pull at his own trousers enough to free him from their confines, pull her panties aside like he had before, and meet her need with some expeditiousness. Perhaps infinite previous iterations had not taught him how much she valued alacrity, because instead, he turned to press a kiss to whatever part of her head he could reach, and extracted himself from beneath her to properly finish undressing the both of them, frustrating her further until he gently pushed her onto her back before she could even get a good look at him.
“Link—” she protested, reaching for his hips to pull him closer, wrapping her legs around him to pull him in, feel him press against the inside of her thigh, tantalizingly close but still not close enough.
“I’m here,” he breathed into her neck, lips brushing her skin there, the warmth teasing her, “I’m here, Princess,” he said into her ear, voice so breathless she had to writhe beneath him in want.
Sensing her neediness, but incorrectly guessing what it was that would satisfy her, he slipped a hand between their hips to trace over her, exploratory for only a few seconds before he slid a finger inside her, whispering something into her ear that she couldn’t hear over her own panting, moving her hands up to his back to scratch her nails over his skin, hips working desperately against his hand.
“More?” He asked, and she nodded before he could finish the single syllable, turning to face him, hoping that seeing the need on her face would encourage him to hasten, but she was met only with eyes hungrier than hers as he slipped a second finger inside her, curling them forward, slowly working at her until she cried out, throwing her head back to see something other than such starved eyes staring into hers, that it might clear her head enough that she could tell him what she really wanted, what she needed from him.
He took advantage of her exposed neck, kissing it again, nipping lightly over where her neck met her collarbone, fingers tireless inside her, humming praises into whatever part of her skin his mouth worshipped, and she had to stop him or it would be too late.
She fumbled at grabbing his wrist between their bodies, something of a whimper escaping her throat when he complied with her protests, slowing too soon.
“Should I stop?” He asked softly, already pulling his fingers from her, pressing one last chaste kiss to her sternum before sitting up over her, and she could hardly believe how composed he seemed to be, even with eyes clouded black by desire, and she clenched her hand around his wrist to keep him from pulling away completely.
“Gods, Link, more, I need more, I need you…” How could she possibly be expected to tell him what she wanted when he looked at her like that? Like he would do it, whatever she asked, as soon as she asked it of him? Like he wanted it as badly as she did, perhaps more, but would wait as long as she asked? Like he had wanted it ever since that day in the training yard, had felt everything she felt, and decided that he would wield the sacred blade if it got him closer to her?
Like he wanted to hear her say it, needed to know that she wanted it the way he did, before he would deliver? Like he was willing to push her to every limit to hear her admit it?
It was the least she could do, to proclaim it to him, she decided, especially if he would happily oblige. “Make love to me, Link, please,” she said, watching the shift in his face as he processed her request.
The corner of his mouth quirked, smug at his well-earned victory, and he pulled his hand out from between their bodies to lick his fingers once more. “You’re sure?” He asked.
She nodded, eyes stuck on his tongue tracing up and down his fingers, the ache between her legs so intense she tightened her legs around his hips to feel him press harder into the seam of her thigh. All he would have to do would be a slight shift his hips, and he could press closer, perhaps even inside…
“We’ve only just met,” he reasoned, finishing with his fingers, reaching down to wrap around himself, to rub himself over her, tease her.
“We’ve known each other since before Hyrule,” she argued, wondering how long it would take him to re-learn that she was quick-witted, that her tongue was sharper than his, and she was just as eager to use hers as he was his.
“And you’re ready to know me again?” He asked it teasingly, a kiss over her jaw, pressure over where she could take him, poised for entry. She could hear the sincerity under the mocking tone—she had denied him at first, because she hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t, either, really. In most lifetimes, they were not given the luxury of time, and she doubted they would be given such a gift in this one, either. Yet she had happily wasted it, fearful of how much power he would wield over her if she gave in.
Power she was now desperate to relinquish, knowing what kind she held over him in return.
“Yes,” she breathed, reaching her arms around him to pull him close as he filled her, slowly, gently, as if she hadn’t been begging for him. No matter how tightly she gripped his hips with her legs, he managed to sink into her slowly, letting her feel every inch of him begin to satisfy her ache, pulling a groan from her throat.
“Fuck, Princess,” Link breathed into her ear as he bottomed out, lifting his hand to her hip where he traced his thumb over her skin. “Gods, you’re…” He began to pull out, just as slowly, frustrating her with how inefficient her attempts at holding him in her with her legs around his waist were. Before he could leave her completely empty, he pushed back inside, a little faster this time, making her gasp.
She reached to thread fingers in his hair once more, to find a solid grip there as he worked up into a rhythm, reaching places she didn’t know existed, filling the ache she’d been desperate to relieve.
It was ancient, primal, familiar and foreign, the feeling of him inside her, his voice in her ear frantically whispering her praises, holding her so closely she was sure they must be one, pushing her closer and closer to the same cliff’s edge he’d already taken her to earlier.
Her fingers pressed divots into the muscles of his back, straining against their tension as she clung to him, hardly able to get close enough even when he couldn’t get any deeper. Whatever sweet nothings he panted into her ear, she’d have to ask him to repeat later, because she couldn’t think outside of good it felt to feel him like this, the primal craving he satisfied, the desperation finally relieved in rapture.
She clenched him tighter when she climaxed a second time, breathless gasps tearing from her core as the waves of pleasure washed over her, as he held her through them, kissing the skin below her ear until she tremored in the aftershocks, just lucid enough to watch him frantically pull out of her before spilling onto her stomach, groaning into her neck, teeth teasing at her skin there until he stilled over her, catching his breath.
As they each slowly found their ways back to their bodies, she began to comb her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in the softness of the sandy locks, the perfect length for her to grab a fistful, for her to comb through like this, and he hummed into her neck in satisfaction.
When he finally lifted himself off her, he seemed to realize the mess he’d made, sitting up rather suddenly and a bit shakily, as if surprised.
“S-sorry, Princess,” he mumbled, desperately reaching for the nearest piece of fabric to mop up the mess, ignorant of the smile forming on her face at his sweetness.
“Zelda,” she corrected him, because it was silly for them to take such formalities, given their familiarity, but he appeared not to have heard her, bunching up the trousers he’d discarded earlier to clean her up. Only after he’d gently wiped her down did he finally turn to see her face, cheeks flushing darkly at the way she must be smiling at him.
He tossed the bundle of fabric back onto the floor, lying down beside her, letting her tuck her head against his shoulder, reaching her hand over to rest on his chest, to feel as much of him next to her as she could.
She wondered how many times he’d held her like this, with different arms. Did her head always fit nicely against his shoulder? Did she always kind of like the way he smelled after sex?
“You’re sure you are ready to get to know me again?” He asked quietly, thoughtfully, hand shifting to grab at hers, to trace fingers over the back of her hand. “Actually.”
“Yes,” she said into his shoulder, angling her head to look up at his face, which hadn’t turned to look at her. “In every way.”
He hesitated, fingers anxious over her skin. “What if you don’t like me in this one?”
It was such a vulnerable confession, one she hadn’t been prepared to hear. She couldn’t help but smile at the innocence of it, at the preposterousness of it. How many reincarnations, souls born before the kingdom of Hyrule, tied as closely together as the Triforce, always in orbit thanks to a divine gravitational pull, and he was worried that she wouldn’t like him? She found herself horribly endeared by such a sweet worry. “Then you should find some comfort in knowing that I liked what you just did, at the very least.”
That pulled the corner of his mouth up and earned her a playful glare, winning her back the attention of those pretty blue eyes of his. “I’m serious,” he said.
“So am I,” she argued. “I like at least one thing you can do with your mouth, you can always fall back on that if you are truly insufferable.”
“Princess—” He began to protest.
“Zelda,” she corrected him, knowing it would take some time for any correction to stick. It always did. “And you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve liked you every time before. And I’m pretty sure you’ve been less likeable.”
He smiled a bit more at that, eyes tracing over her face for a few moments before returning to hers. “You’re pretty sure?” He asked.
She smiled, kissing the part of his shoulder she could reach without turning her head too much. “Pretty sure. You don’t always have such sexy scars all over you,” she said, tracing one hand over a long scar over the right side of his chest.
“You’re impossible,” he rolled his eyes, turning away to face the ceiling again, unable to fully wipe the smile from his lips.
“And yet, you still like me,” she reasoned. “There’s hope for you, as unlikeable as you fear yourself to be.”
He closed his eyes, fingers grasping at hers until their hands clasped together over his stomach. “I suppose…” He mused. “It feels silly. We did this backwards, didn’t we?” She hadn’t taken him to be the thoughtful type, to wax poetic about anything, given how quiet he’d been before, how direct and action-oriented. Did anyone else get to see this side of him? Something territorial awoke in her as she wondered if it was just for her. “There’s still so much we have to learn about each other.”
She traced her finger back down the scar on his chest again, wondering where he got it. “Yes,” she agreed, turning his words over in her head. “I, for one, am looking forward to it.” He could start by telling her how he got each and every one of his sexy scars, if she had her way. “Aren’t you?”
He looked back at her again with a fondness in his eyes that melted her heart far too easily. “Yeah,” he said, eyes tracing her face once more, like he was still learning how to memorize it. “Yeah, I am.”