BMX Bicycle Lover

Happy #Kinktober to you and yours.

There are some new faces, some old. In fairness, they’re all new faces, seeing as you’ve only been here a few short winters. Many of the townsfolk have known each other since they were toddling along these winding gravel paths that connect the dozen-odd homesteads. You’d never guess you’re the foreign one here; that’s what really sold you on staying. They all put in such an effort to get to know you, to integrate you, which made you feel so at home. Especially Uli.

She’s got one of those faces where you’d never be able to guess her age in a million years. She’s sweet and thoughtful, and some part of you thinks she takes special care of you, seeing as you’ve been a lone female on the road for some time. Maybe she likes having another woman around to gossip with. You’d think with two young kids and a third on the way that she’d be beyond the pettiness, but with a town this small, word spreads fast. Ilia stopped by too, she’s hardly been around since she started her medical studies over in Kakariko.

Ilia’s frustration snagged your attention back to the present. “Like, who would’ve thought that after Sera’s financial woes at the shop, here comes her husband Hanch with a shiny new fishing rod that he’s been ‘saving up for for years’ for.“

“That wouldn’t be much of a shock if Rusl didn’t know how much of a spendthrift he was when he went with him to Castle Town last autumn,” Uli shrugged, lounging on her stoop.

“Worse yet, Sera swears she lost her silver bracelet in the creek, and did you hear her trying to convince poor Link to fish it up from the riverbed?”

“She’s always trying to pawn off her chores to the poor guy,” Uli canted.

“Fado too, he’s just as bad,” you felt the urge to contribute your perspective, “he's always pawning off his chores to Link, who doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.”

Ilia looked like she was chomping at the bit to carry on that dialogue, but Uli cleared her throat to wrangle the conversation; you couldn’t help but crack a grin. “As we were saying, I think Hanch haggled that nifty rod off the guy out by the road out of town using profit from the shop and the silver bracelet.”

“What a sin,” Ilia clicked her tongue, “those two are two birds of the same feather.”

“No wonder Beth hightailed it for Kakariko at the first opportunity, it’s a wonder that Sera let her go.”

“I heard she didn’t,” Ilia started, “but I trust Talo as far as I can throw him.”

“My husband says he’s got a ‘storyteller’s imagination,’” Uli spoke into the hollow of her cup. “I say that’s one way to put it.”

By this time, your attention had already drifted. A familiar clip and clop on crunching gravel had snagged your intrigue, and you were rewarded handsomely. Trotting down the path from the ranch came Link, leaning back lazily in his saddle and squinting past the lowering sun.

“-Shoot, that reminds me, I promised their shaman up there that I’d bring some of my homemade ointments to them… It’s the only time of year mighty thistle is mature, and I’ll need weeks to dry it. Y/N did you get the chance to go wildcrafting?”

“I went out this morning, but I couldn’t make sense of the leaves. They’re foreign to what I know, and I’d hate to confuse one plant for another and suddenly a burn salve is giving you hives,” you droned on absentmindedly.

From the corner of your eye, Uli and Ilia nod to acknowledge the rider as he approaches, mimicking their action just a beat too late. You’d already been staring, unbeknownst to him with the sun shining in his eyes.

“I’ve got a whole book on Ordona Herbology,” Link spoke up, making you flinch; he’s closer than you’d realised. “You can borrow it if you like.”

Something about hearing him speak rattled sense back into your bones. He’s usually so hard to catch for a conversation. You glance at Uli and Ilia, fruitlessly, as they’d both locked eye contact with one another. Just as you were forming the words to politely decline his offer, another voice replaced your own.

“What an excellent idea,” Uli blurted, “thank you for your generosity, Link.”

He nodded, and you blinked back the urge to snap at Uli. She’s got a point. Ilia’s been on edge today, and she looks like she’s ready to bite someone. The poor girl’s probably behind on her studies by taking this ‘vacation’.

“It’s on the bookshelf by the door. I’d get it for you, but Fado said he needs help at the ranch,-”

“I thought it was your day off,” Ilia’s tone sharpened, and just like that, the switch was flicked.

The conversation stilled at once. No, it screeched to a halt, and your dress’s collar felt a thread too tight. When you finally caught Uli’s gaze, the whites of her eyes flicked as she settled back in her seat.

“And it’s not just you, y’know, it’s Epona’s day off too,” Ilia threw her hand out in gesture to the horse, who couldn’t look more at peace by the brook “She’s got to be exhausted, just look at her.”

“I-...” he started, but you saved him from the argument.

“I was just heading out anyway. I’ll pick it up from your house before your duties in the morning,” you sat up, smoothing your skirt. “Thank you, Link, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s on the bookshelf by the door, save yourself the trip,” he shifted the reins to one hand, squinting at the sun on the western horizon, “I’ve got two more chores to do before I’m returning there myself.”

“-Oh, before you wrap up for the day,” Uli suddenly snapped to attention, “could you do me a favour and get me a bundle of firewood?”

By the look on Ilia’s face, that will likely spark another pointed conversation, one you quickly bowed out of with a nod. The two women turned to match your parting wave goodbye, toothy smiles pulling at their cheeks in an uncharacteristic beam as Link trotted up the opposite hill.

The change in direction brought you to the well-trodden path past Jaggle and Pergie’s; they’re tending to an outcropping in front of their home, the couple waddling about their homestead. Sera and Hanch offered broad waves in your direction when you passed, sun-tanned skin creasing into smiles, though not long enough for you to see it drop into a hushed shout. A grin cracked your own expression as wind whipped through your hair, Uli’s additional context clearly fueling Sera’s hisses. Pealing windchimes drown out their skirmish just as you approached the thicket of trees you’d have to pass to reach Link’s house.

Orange sun skipped over a knot of pumpkins along the hill past their house. Still not quite ripe for harvest, but only just. Ordon pumpkins are harvested later in the season than their hearty counterparts, it’s what gives them their characteristic sweetness. Late autumn approaches quickly, and that's a busy time of year for a small farming village. It’s busy for the ranchers too, as early autumn tends to be when most of the pregnancies come to term, and suddenly there are half a dozen doelings and bucklings to care for.

Tall evergreens parted along a well-worn path, slashing notches low on trees tell stories of swordplay training that’s slowly being reclaimed by nature. A flash of movement nearly made you jump out of your skin, what’s got you so on-edge lately? Squinting, you’d made out that squirrel darted across your path, bushy tail twitching at your pass. It didn’t seem pleased by your approach, you made a point of picking up your pace to give them their peace.

The last evergreen parted, and that bole house came into view. Memories of your first time coming to Ordon flashed into your brain, how you feared that every house would be a renovated tree stump. How… antique. Still, he’d clearly put in the TLC to make it look well-appreciated. Painted flags and cloth fluttered around the arched doorway, knots of wood like elegant ironwork around its frame. Rope burned in your palm as you heaved your weight up the ladder to its platform.

Your knuckles raised to knock for reasons beyond your understanding, your head is well and truly in the clouds today. There’s something so charming about how the metal appears lightened where your hand instinctively makes contact with the handle. Unlocked, typical of this village. The door clicked open easily, popping wood and iron hinges yawning open. A fire was lit, though only low embers. What confidence he has in this place to leave a fire while he works, that’s something you’d never find the courage for. Stepping inside, it smelled like bread and pine and smoked maple. You slipped your shoes off out of respect for the owner, despite his nonexistent company. You’re just grabbing the book he said you could borrow, it’s on the bookshelf by the door.

Where on the bookshelf?

A swarm churned in your stomach, anticipation and a feeling of being somewhere you shouldn’t be crept over you. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, why not indulge yourself just a bit? You willed your eyes to rake over the books he has on the shelf. An Almanack, a worn book on weaving fishhooks, a few histories and a Gerudo dictionary. Down by the bottom sat some bound leather spines whose contents are a mystery. Diaries? Maps? Letters? Poetry? You’re not indiscreet enough to indulge that curiosity, no matter how much your fingertips hovered.

An Illustrated Compendium of Ordona and Greater Faron’s Flora. It slid out smoothly, causing the neighbouring books to connect in its absence. A beige-painted cloth bound around the hardcover looks faded, like it’s been in the sun for years. Cracking open the pages only deepened your fondness for the old book as scrawling letters of smudged ink, clearly written by a leftie, described nuggets of insight from the field. This is exactly what you’d need to get Ilia’s herbs with knowledge to spare. You’d only been in here a handful of times previously; most recently, he’d borrowed some of the baskets you’d woven to help teach Uli’s son how to fish. He put his hand on your shoulder when he thanked you, and all you could think was how warm his palm was; you nearly melted into his touch. Then shook it off. How embarrassing it is to have a crush as an adult, but not nearly as embarrassing as your previous dating history. Too few and far between, fun for a bit, and so often disappointing.

In some ways it’s nervousness and a fear or rejection, he’s got to be the most fawned-over man in the town, not that there's much competition. He's charming, polite, and sickeningly sweet. He's too handsome for his own good, it'd get him in trouble if he were in the city. Lucky for you, he's tucked away. But then the insecurity strikes, nagging at your self-worth and sowing doubt in your perception. What makes you so special, some vagabond with no remarkable skills or stunning jewels and gowns. He could marry anyone if he wanted to, could’ve had a harem of lovers, hell, Ilia’s been right there the whole time, and she already nags him as if they’d been married for years. Maybe he’s not even into romance like you think anyone would be, maybe his affections will never extend beyond platonic. Maybe it’s some sense of satisfaction, reluctance to change a dynamic that’s so pleasant and simple. And yet, you yearn.

It only made you wonder what else you don’t know about these books on the shelf and the man who owns them. You’d come here with a purpose, and you’ve got no business to pry, especially not with someone who’d been nothing but generous and kind. But a brightly coloured object snagged your attention. A shield? What a glorious colour, proud red and blue, propped low against the wall like it’s not worth more money than you’d ever seen in your life. It looks so out of place next to an ordinary, albeit expertly crafted, longsword beside it.

And is that a camera? By the golden gods above, you’d never seen one in person, let alone touch one. That kind of technology has only become more common in the past few years. Naturally, you pinpointed the printed sepia-toned film photos pinned to the oak walls. Photos of Ordon, smiling kids in a group photo, a silly close-up of Fado, and goats. Lots of goats. A grin tugged at your cheek, absently running your finger along a shelf of plants and an ornamental orange cloth that drapes over the end. Late evening sun casts long streams of golden light where specs of dust dance through the space with whimsy that warms your spirit. There’s a fireplace along the far wall, embers keeping a lidded iron cauldron just below a simmer.

He’s such a kind man, Link. Patient, sweet, and an excellent woodsman. The extent of his involvement with that squad of elite fighters that hung out at Telma’s bar in Castle Town is unknown to you. He’s at the very least one of the more important names, so said Rusl when you first arrived. You can learn a lot about a person by how they are with children and animals, you wish it didn’t make your heart flutter. It seems like everyone in the village adores him. So what’s he doing out here on the outskirts… alone. Not just unmarried or childless, where’s his family? None of these photos looks like a set of parents, a rendition of Mayor Bo, some 15 years younger, is the closest there is.

Curiosity burned your good sense. A small, dark leather book lay face down beside a wooden chair, an unrestrained pencil rolling over the page. Turning the book in your hands, without thought, it dropped with a thump as a jolt of movement startled you stiff. The door swung open, creaking loudly as a familiar ranchhand stepped inside.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were still here,” he turned to shut the door, leaving you a frantic moment to step between his field of view to the unknown book, thanking your lucky stars he didn’t seem to notice.

“That was fast,” the words hammered you free of your stunned expression.

“Did you find the book?” He spoke while facing away, kicking off his sandals.

“Yes, I- Yes, it’s perfect, it’s exactly what I was looking for.” You smoothed your skirt absently, leaping to fill the conversation to divert from your apparent snooping. “Seems Fado didn’t need much help at the ranch after all?”

Link only huffed a breathy laugh in response at first, “he definitely needed plenty of help, I just work faster than he does.”

“And the firewood… That’s… nice of you to help.”

He only smiled in response, crossing the room past you. The silence is suffocating, like a thousand moths in your stomach are swarming towards a candle in your throat. Quick, say something. Do something. Why are you just awkwardly standing in the middle of his house. His back is turned to you, only mindlessly unravelling cloth wrappings around his wrists and forearms and hanging them along hooks on the wall.

Initiative finally struck you, and you led your steps toward the bookshelf, just over his shoulder. The proximity brought you closer to him, your fingers finding the compendium he’d offered, yet he froze in your peripheral vision.

“Just grabbing the book.”

Blue eyes flickered to your hand, and his expression softened. A phantom of a smile pulled at his cheeks as he wound the last of the cloth around the hook.

“I should get-”

“Why don’t you… “You both spoke at the same instant, both pausing before he finished his sentence. “...Stay for soup?”

Silence hung in the air, the moths in your gut became an inferno. Recognition clicked, and for an instant your brain defaulted to searching for an excuse; easily granted, you did eat only an hour earlier. But something in your chest, soothing but demanding, spoke for you.

“I-,” the words snagged in your throat, your last opportunity to return to a normal evening. “That would be lovely.”

His lips, curved like a horse-bow, softened into a smile. Gaze dropping, he turned to the hearth and warmth churned in your blood. You found a small wooden chair and pulled it from its home under the matching table. Wracked your brain for conversation, silence stifling your sense and filling your bones with static. Amber light flooded the space, he folded an armful of sticks onto the fire, heat readily springing from the embers. You found your seat sidesaddle on a chair as he dusted his hands. Such a simple, cosy space. Worn, hewn, heavy with the radiating heat from the fire.

“So what makes Ordon goats so special?” an arbitrary question spilt from you moments after spotting a lasso hung by the door.

Link turned, stirring the steaming cauldron with a wooden ladle. He studied you with a wavering expression, and you felt your chest start to tighten as the phantom of a smirk was caught in the amber shadow. It’s like he’s studying you, there’s this expression on his face you can’t quite place.

“I don’t know if I could find the words,” he sounds out mournfully, just enough for you to recognise his tongue-in-cheek response.

“Well, hurry up and find them.” There it goes, your apprehension. The meekness and manners sluffing from your subconscious, and a certain cheeky playfulness took over.

A laugh shook him, for a moment you swore you saw his teeth flash as he pulled his lower lip past them. The steaming bowl settled on the cloth tabletop before you with a thunk. You dared to meet his eyes, blue and flitting with mischief.

“Did you come here to ask me about goats?”

“No, I was borrowing the book, remember?”

“Right.”

You lifted a spoon of fragrant soup to your lips, hardly waiting for the meal to cool. Pumpkin, cheese, corn, carrots and hearty pieces of flaky white fish in a milky broth. You’ll have to look past the corncob and fish bones and a half dozen spices you would’ve excluded if you had a say. Is that… mustard seed? It took all your might not to grimace. It’d be cruel and unusual to expect him to be all that and a good cook. You found your eyes wandering again, trailing to the photographs along the wall as your finger traced a knot in the wooden table.

“How does a ranch hand end up in the possession of a shiny new machine like that?” you feigned an accusatory tone, steepling your fingers and smiling sweetly to steel yourself from another bite.

Link nodded, then scoffed. “I think there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I would know more, but you don’t talk much.”

“Alright, what do you want to know?”

Your smile shifted to a smirk, “first you absconded my question, now suddenly you’re a river of information?”

“I don’t abscond anything,” his teeth flashed as he laughed softly, those bright blues made your heart still. “In fact, I’ll give you three questions that I have to answer truthfully. Anything you want to know. But, there’s one condition.”

“That’s an interesting proposition. What’s the condition?”

“You have to stay for coffee as well.”

The light had since faded, out of the gnarled windowframe and wavy glass, you saw the tips of a deep amber before the navy sky. Your face scrunched in confusion, twirling the spoon in the bowl.

“You drink coffee at sundown?”

“That’s your first question.”

“Hey, we didn’t start yet,” you released the spoon with a thud, you swore the fireplace crackled as if to laugh at you.

He held up two fingers, unflinchingly communicating your first strike. Fuck. He opened his lips to speak, but you didn’t offer him that kindness.

“-Alright, in that case, I won’t hold back with my other questions.”

“And I won’t hold back with my answers,” he folded his forearms as he leaned forward on the table.

“You have pointed Hylian ears, but nobody else in the village does. You’re not native to Ordon, are you?”

He took the time it took to finish chewing a piece of pumpkin to mull over his answer. A flicker of dread panged through your system as you recognised the intrusiveness of the question, a potential sore spot. Nonetheless, he continued, not missing another beat.

“I’m actually from a small village that borders the desert. More of a fortress, really-” he waved his hand, a grin curling his lip slightly, “I can promise you you wouldn’t know it. My mom died in childbirth, and my dad was a knight. I don’t remember much about how I got here. I just know that Bo took me in, and Fado took me under his wing. This house was long abandoned, but they promised to keep me clothed and fed, and I promised to keep myself useful; not that they ever asked.”

“This place definitely has a way of sucking people in,” you sighed sweetly.

He hummed a chuckle into his wooden spoon, “They say it takes a village.”

Link ate like a cowboy. Knees kicked apart and forearm steadying him on the table, not sparing a drop of the hearty meal. All the while, you were calculating how much of the soup can be left in the bowl is enough to be socially acceptable.

“Alright, last question,” your brow stiffened, pausing just long enough to wait for his eyes to swing to meet your gaze. “Have you ever been in love?”

A long pause, your mouth tightens into a shameless grin, resting your chin on your intertwined fingers. He looks stumped. Caught completely off guard. Exactly the juicy, gossipable, burning question that makes your heart skip just a bit. It might just be the closest you’d ever seen him to flustered, as if the popping fire was sucking all the air from the room.

“Yes, I was once,” the chair creaks as he leans back reflectively. “But she’s… no longer with us.”

Your heart froze in your chest. That tingly, girlish flutter struck down with a bitter chill. He spoke with an expression that held a thousand words. Paradoxically solemn and at peace at the same time, a river of ice made you clam up in an instant.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I’m sorry for bringing it up,” you willed your voice not to crack, fumbling over your words.

“It’s quite alright,” he spoke with a smile that halted your sinking heart. “Besides, in some ways, you remind me of her.”

Words trickled over his lips like warm honey, dribbling down his throat and collarbone. A smile cracked your facade, feeling your face warm at the implication and tickling the nape of your neck. For a moment, time sat still, silence save for the fire and chirping crickets in the distant bush. Crickets? Shit-

“Oh, the time, I completely forgot the time.” You hurriedly tidied your dining place, collecting the bowl and spoon neatly and placing them beside the washbasin, “I should really get going, I have an early morning tomorrow. I-I’ll owe you coffee first thing.”

He rose with you. That timidness built your walls again and built them high. This flirtatious scrimmage, practically dripping with sarcasm, was cut short by you pushing it too far. Hell, why did you do that? Embarrassment quickly resurfaced, and before you knew it, you were stepping into your shoes, spinning past the creaking wood door. By the time your feet made contact with the earthy soil, your skin was starting to forgive the burn from the rope ladder. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air, heavy clouds expediting the nightfall.

“Y/N.”

You looked up to the door, but the balcony sat empty. From the door, opened just a crack, came the voice. Had you imagined the voice? Perhaps it’s wishful thinking; you waited for a follow-up. Curiosity with a dusting of sheepishness cursed you to be sure.

“Yes?”

He doesn't answer. Intrigue digs deep, it seems you’re already climbing the ladder. As your mind spins with possibilities, too many of them land on him. What could he possibly say to you to justify these butterflies, what could possibly match these leaps in logic you’re helplessly thrust into? Flickering light crept through the door, and with cautious fingertips, the door yawned open to show his slender, toned form outlined in the light source.

“You forgot the book,” he hummed sweetly.

He held the tome, standing midway through the room. Release tricked through you, the logic ringing true. Ilia will ride you down if you don’t get those herbs before they’re wilted, she’d have your head.  “Ah, thank you.” A trickle of shame made you question the half-dozen assumptions you’d made before you even touched his front door.

Tilting the book to you, the soft leather binding melted into your palm. Warm fingertips brushed yours. The flush in your cheeks heated your soul, and meeting his eyes only solidified your confidence. They were like two pools of icy steel, alive and stunning. Nervous, but his confidence and a steady hand to embolden you, your lack of experience can be shielded by enacting all the things you’ve daydreamed about doing ever since you first came here. A heaviness drew you closer, and you watched his gaze level to yours.

Your eyes drifted shut, a trust fall as your world was enclosed in darkness. Just as you worried you’d been left to stand alone in the middle of his kitchen, you felt a warmth approach you, centring in a gentle palm at the small of your back. Breath ghosted over your teeth, and just as soon, his lips shut in around yours. The kiss was gentle, at first. With every gasp, you drew closer to one another, swirling and dancing your lips together with an ever-renewing fervour.

The kiss naturally parted, his other hand lifted from your hip to brush a strand from your cheek. But you refused. Rejecting this pause and opting to dip back in against his lips, gasping in his breath as he obliged. With the reassurance you needed, the walls around your conscience softened and dissipated like sugar in tea.

“Where do you sleep, anyways?” you breathed the words between dipping kisses.

You took it to the next level by impatiently easing into unburdening him by hooking your thumb under a thick cotton tank. Clutching his green one-sleeve harness that protects his suntanned skin from the grating lifestyle of slinging sacks of feed and wriggling livestock over one shoulder. You’d fumbled with the buckle across his chest for long enough for him to take over, lightly guiding your fingers away so he could unfasten the article.

“You ran out of questions,” he started.

Once again, your hand met the back of his neck, soft hair brushing your fingers as you dragged him in for another crashing kiss. Savouring the taste and feeling your muscles melt just long enough to capture his lower lip between your teeth, biting down hard enough to elicit a soft groan. He’s sweet and pets the back of your hair. Lucky for him, you let him be. Tapping a finger to his lip to be sure he’s not bleeding, you relented to let him turn to open a wide cabinet, unfolding a futon.

“To be honest, I usually like to sleep outside,” he wa speaking while he worked to unfurl the plush mattress, a heavy woven quilt dragged to cover it. “Epona’s got a bedroll on her saddle that I like to use on clear nights, especially when the seasons are so mild here in Ordon.”

“Is that you I hear howling at the moon at night?” You chortled.

Link huffed a laugh. He carried on about the sleeping conditions in the area, and for the first time ever, you wished he’d just shut up. Kneeling to fuss over the cloth, only then did you realise to shut the door fully, kicking off your shoes again in the process. Who knows how long you’ll be here. Before sealing the door, you caught a glimpse of his horse down the ladder by his stoop. Epona lazed on a thick pad of grass, a heavy woven blanket cast over her like she’d fallen into a fast sleep the second she settled.

A hand creeping around your stomach made you flinch. Warmth radiated against your back, just as more warm breath kissed the shell of your ear, his hands tightened at your hip. Turning to meet him, he made an effort to keep you held flush to his chest.

Sharp teeth pulled past your lower lip, peppering past your chin to drag across your pulse, huffing hot sighs across your collarbone. The tone shifted in an instant. Gathering fistfuls of your dress with both hands, he used the outside of his foot to kick your stance wider. A shiver wracked your spine, and you swore he laughed ever-so-softly. At least he had the decency to pull you from view of the window, though the thought of a passerby being nosy still flitted through your mind as he pulled the skirt of your dress to gather just below your navel. There his palm flattened, soft and warm against the softness of your lower abdomen. A flush crept across your face, deeper than before. Further down, Link’s palm slid down to the sinful symphony of skin on skin. Without a shred of cowardice, his palm slid below your undergarments, cupping over your sex, halting there where, for a moment you swore you felt him angle one finger to enter, before dragging the cloth free from your heat. With his guidance they fell to the floor softly, wordlessly stepping free from them and turning. Part of you felt a twinge of embarrassment from the unremarkable cotton undergarments, wishing you’d worn your finer black pair or perhaps the ones with the little bow. It doesn’t even look like he saw them, instead finding yourself interlocked in another kiss. This time was different, a certain heat and hunger motivated you both like a struck match, rapidly eating away at your patience, leaving sparks along your fingertips.

Guiding you to walk, you held him within your grasp with a firm grip on the back of his hair, knees threatening to buckle with each step. How bold, two mirrored hands enclosed around your rump, dancing your tongues to a beat of thundering heartbeats and breathy gasps in your ears. He paused then, stepping back just as your eyelashes began to flutter. Heavy-lidded blue eyes swung to meet your gaze. Gentle hands gripped your wrists, sliding up your forearms to your elbow. He was guiding you, you realised, stepping back, then again.

“Sit,” his husky tone a soft command.

You obeyed without even turning to look, finding firm resistance as your rump fell to a chair seat. For a second, your eyes met, just long enough to see his gaze drag your attention to his foot tapping the inside of your heel. Link dragged your legs apart, shifting one knee, then the other. Your face warmed. Was he smirking at your loose-jawed look of bewilderment? He sank below your field of view, down to one knee, then both. Heat ripped through you like a bolt of lightning as you caught his intention. Once again gathering your skirt in balled fists, you got to watch that kind, sweet farm boy disappear in a smattering of drab fabric.

You’d kill to see his expression right now, but your bunched skirts almost entirely hid his face from sight. It didn’t matter if you saw it coming or not, the feeling of his tongue over your damp, exposed core made you shudder. Your head fell back as you felt the sharp, pointed end of his tongue drag between your folds. Your jaw fell slack. The wetness between your thighs is more than enough to demonstrate your arousal long before this turned physical. Somehow your face heated more, Calloused hands started at your heels, past your calves and along the curve of your inner knee. Finally, those fingertips trailed your inner thigh, ripping a shiver through your system. Sparing no hesitation, he tipped his digits into you just below where he lapped. Slowly inserting his two fingers more and more until he reached the knuckle, then easing them out again. Cruel and slow, until it wasn’t.

This was the most exposed you’d ever been before someone. Here you lie, on the corner of this creaking wooden chair, a man’s pointed ears tickling the innermost part of your thighs. He licked and sucked at that sensitive nub between your thighs in a way that made your back fingertips curl. Hot breath ghosted across your core whenever he lifted slightly, all while pistoning his two fingers within you. Your forehead creased. His grip tightened on your hips as if your heady grip on his hair goaded him further. The softest whimper escaped you when he found that perfect tempo. It's a wonder you didn't collapse out of this rickety chair. The friction of his fingers, curving just how you like it, would've been enough, but the way he sucked and lapped at your most sensitive area made your knuckles run pale. Your eyelids fluttered and hips rolled, feeling that familiar heat start to coil inside you. A bowstring drawn taut. And in an instant, it shattered. The most embarrassing groan forced its way up your throat, and you practically melted into him. A torrent of molten pleasure and light ignited your blood, teetering until it tipped. Withdrawing his fingers and with a last flick of his tongue that made you flinch, you felt his warmth lift.

When he emerged, lips glossy and parted, you could already feel like you might just go again. Unfortunately for you, he rose to his feet, leaving you splayed on the creaking wooden chair with a still thundering pulse. Still gasping, your head rolled back on your shoulders to track his movement. He’d made his way to the hearth and countertop, completely content to carry on like nothing.

"I like that thing you did with your tongue," you sighed. He only hummed melodically in response. So mellow, he hasn't a care in the world.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “How do you take your coffee?”

“Milk and sugar, please.”

“How do you take it?” you speak to the ceiling, letting your head roll back and eyes drift shut.

“Just milk, no sugar,” You could hear his smile as you spoke, but your curiosity was answered as he finished his sentence.”-I’ve already had my dessert.”

“Flirt,” you tsked.

A mortar and pestle lay on the counter; it wasn’t there before. He’s got a lot of plants, so you suppose there’s got to be a lot of sunlight despite the thick forest surrounding the space. How does he bring produce and firewood in? That hatch must lead to a cellar that helps with that burden. That shield, brightly painted and buffed, why’s such a flashy thing just lying around? As your thoughts wandered, the clack of a metal kettle being hung over the hearth snagged your attention. Minutes skipped by, the silence no longer stifling and awkward.

“You never answered my question-” the chair creaked and crackled as you turned to face him, arching your forearm over the chair’s back. “Why do you drink coffee so late?”

“I find it doesn’t energise me like it used to,” he already had the clay mugs in his hand “Besides, I like the taste.”

Satisfied with that answer, you rocked yourself to your feet, your course set to sit by the fire on the futon that served equally as a couch. He dipped the glass jar of ice milk to swirl into the cups, swirling sugar into yours patiently. Finding your seat and leaning to prop yourself on one arm, you accepted the ceramic mug in your hands. It was a touch too warm just yet, wisps of steam tickling your nose as you smelled the warm drink and fresh milk.

“Rusl told me you’re headed out in a couple of days,“ you started.

Link seemed distracted by his drink for a beat, already taking a hearty swig of the scalding liquid. Shaking his head in realisation of the pseudo question, “Yes, I’m headed to Castle Town. I’m presenting some Odronian goods to the royal family.”

“What an honour. That’s quite a journey.”

He settled beside you on the pad of fabric, satisfied with the amount of fussing he’d done with the metal firepoker and settling it down on its rack. With a sigh, he leaned to laze propped on one forearm, holding the mug steady with a raised knee.

“I hear a lot of horror stories of people getting ambushed out on the road,” you harnessed the lull in the conversation to fuss. “Not to mention the roads have all gone to shit, all overgrown and blocked by boulders.”

“It’s not too bad, once you’re on the thoroughfare just a couple leagues outside of Faron, it’s all open plains,” he spoke with a certain confidence, you caught your head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Even if there’s trouble, it’s hard to get snuck up on. Besides, I’m a good rider, and a damn good shot.” He winked; you wanted to bite his nose.

“I’m sure Ilia will have something to say about the effect on Epona,” you hummed into the fragrant drink, refusing to meet his smug grin.

Link’s lips curled as he lowered the steaming drink from his mouth, “I’m sure she will regardless of if I leave or not. Epona will get plenty of rest before and after. Besides, she goes crazy for the apples they have this time of year in the market.”

Besides being a horrible cook, if you’re being fair, you should credit him for how well he makes his coffee. There was only a hint of bitterness, but it was rich and fragrant on your tongue. You found yourself studying his expression once you looked past the swirling milky drink, trying to gauge if he was changing the topic or genuinely gushing over his steed. It seems he caught your gaze, a smile striking across his face.

“Don’t worry about me now,” Link lifted to sit upright, resting over his knees with his ankles kicked apart. ”I’ve got enough people doing that for me already.”

There was an accent in his tone, he still had the proper and tight accent of those in the city, with their soft r’s and broad a’s. The Ordonians had a more quaint, salt-of-the-earth way of speaking. Still, Link’s tone made it clear he wasn’t native to the village. It must’ve made Link stick out like a sore thumb whenever he did speak. Perhaps that’s why he’s so rarely spoken.

The chirping meow of a cat snapped you from that thread of thought. Your gaze focused as he pulled a small cat to rest on his thigh. It trilled passively, curling its tail and dragging itself under his forearm. A mackrel tabby with a stark white underbelly, short, sleek hair aglow with amber firelight.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” you started, sitting upright to match his posture. You made the effort to scratch tuft of soft fur just under its chin, its eyes closed to focus on your affection.

“I’ve got a few, but they tend to come and go.”

The cat tilted its head into his bicep, gliding the top of its furry head along the bare skin before turning to repeat the process. You could hear the purring from where you sat, rhythmic huffing purs from a well-loved critter.

“This is Anika, she’s the smallest.”

“How did you find so many cats?”

“The more I left Ordon, the more I came to see how many animals don’t get proper care. I guess I never knew how many strays there were outside the province." His face was tranquil, eyelashes covering his gaze as he scruffed the white fur.

“What a bleeding heart you are.” A mischievous smirk couldn’t be fought as it crossed your face.

“I do what I can.”

“How many cats do you have?”

“Six… six cats, unless you count Sera’s, who I always end up caring for,” he shifted in his seat, straining to drag a small bundle from beside the fire.

Anika immediately sprang to alertness, its hooking tail high as he slipped a single small fish from the packet. She sank her fangs in the fish, turning to scamper off without a moment’s thanks. It seems the humour registered for him too, as you both chucked at the dine-and-dash you’d witnessed. Just as suddenly as she arrived, Anika slinked through an open window and into the night.

“Ungrateful little thing,” he sang into the cup before he kicked back the last sip of his drink.

“I think you’re just easy to walk all over.”

“Owch,” Link scoffed. “That makes two of you.”

What a mischievous, cocksure look he’s got plastered over his face. What a blessing it is to see it dissipate when you started to tug the drawstring that kept the bodice of your dress together. There goes that smug look, now softened and concentrating on you. You shrugged the top of the cotton gown free to the thin shift beneath. The bulk of the dress kicked to the side with a decent effort, a shred of embarrassment panged through your system as you tracked his gaze over the tent of your nipples through the linen. A certain achy, squirmy feeling ignited within you.

That dumbfounded look finally eased from his expression, and he made quick work of unravelling the sash around his waist, lifting his white shirt over his shoulder to let the firelight lap at the contours of his skin. It’s your turn to look dumbfounded, but you haven’t the same paralysing reaction as him. Sturdy hands rose to guide you to his lap when you hiked your knee over him, holding him fast to you without a moment’s rest. Now only the scratchy cotton of his beige pants separated you, the skirt of your shift leaving you delightfully bare across his lap.

Neither of you spoke, you didn’t need to. Sheer instinct guided you to take his length in your palm from under your skirt as he practically clawed at the fabric to free it. He was warm, a soft layer of skin betraying the steel inside. Even pressed to your entrance, his lower lip twitched in tune with his cock. Lowering yourself down onto his lap, he made work of kneading your upper buttocks, spreading the sensitive skin at the very inner part of your thighs. Fingertips on his collarbone helped guide him to lie flat, enjoying the control of this view. Every time you shakily lifted yourself off him, it only emboldened you to bring yourself down lower and harder. The burn was slowly easing. You were climatizing to his body more and more as your hips rattled and rolled into his.

From this angle, he was a vision. Pale brown hair, messy and scattered, some strands plastered to his forehead from sweat. The way the glint of firelight catches on his molars when he gasps, carefully gliding those calloused palms up your waist. His tight stomach, the curl of muscle leaving sunken lines down to his groin. Link was looking at you like a tall glass of water after being stranded in the desert for days. A sinister thought caught in your brain like a snagged thread, inspired by the towering angle over him.

“Ilia says you’re riding too much lately at work, that you’re wearing down poor Epona. How do you like it when you're ridden all day long?”

“If this is riding, then I wouldn’t mind doing it every day,” his lip curled into a grin that exposed his canine. Every other word was cut with a sucking breath, “Now, can we please stop talking about Ilia?”

Your face caught on fire, your body scrambling to delegate the rush of blood to your face and core at the same time. A gasp surged through you, his hips lifting subtly, starting to match your rhythm. His voice made you crazy, husky, and an octave or two lower than you’re used to. Such a shame he’s so quiet.

When your thighs started to burn from the strain of lifting your entire body weight, the timing couldn’t be better. If you were to enjoy this thoroughly, you’d best drag this out as long as you can. That building pressure of pleasure was left at a steady midway point, but you refused to let it fade.

Dragging your hips forward and back, you pitched forward to plant a hand beside his head. In an instant his hand shot to rake his fingers up the base of your neck. A thin sheen of sweat made the feeling when your skin slides against his made every movement headier.

The most embarrassing whine croaked past your lips, and your clitoris found that pressure it desperately sought by grinding against his groin. Swivelling and swirling your hips offered a delicious feeling of control over him, grinding him into submission.

And what a scandalous symphony of noise you’d orchestrated. Sinful slapping of your bodies intertwining, the breathy groan you can rip from him when you take him as far as he’ll go, the crackling fire harmonising with the inferno in your blood, the sounds of his calloused palms sliding up your torso to cup your breasts. A sharp cry squeaked through your mouth when he rolled your pebbled nipples between his fingers, and his eyes lit up with the discovery.

The grinding of your hips became involuntary and erratic, free from any tempo or sense. His breath hitched. Your eyes locked, you could hardly believe the view beneath you. You’d kiss him if it didn’t jeopardise this exquisite friction. Suddenly, his teeth bared and his head rolled back, exposing his pale, long neck. The way he bucked and rolled under you threatened your grip, clutching sheer willpower to not topple over.

It was all so much, his name rang in the air in cries and whimpers as your body teetered on the edge of infinity. Only to topple and shatter around him. Vision blurred, your core shattered and shivered, singing you with a heat that ripped you from head to curling toes. His forehead was creased, brows pinched. Chest heaving, he withdrew himself frantically as your ecstasy only barely began to falter. The pearl glint of his upper molars enraptured your attention as you witnessed him come undone from your touch. You felt him shake, shudder and roll beneath you, spilling himself on his thighs behind you, dribbling between them to the blanket. In the moment, some deep facet of your psyche was disappointed. Nonetheless, a soothing hum of bliss quickly overrode any other emotions.

Only then did his face start to soften, so too did the muscles in his neck as those heavy eyelashes finally lifted. Collapsing onto him was only natural, and a laugh raddled his chest as you met his smiling lips with ones that matched. Though you were each breathless, the gasping kiss you shared only extended the time it took to get your breath. But it was non-negotiable.

Heat slid from your muscles, and a chill clung to your sweat-dappled skin. His kisses graduated to pecks, and gravity shifted as he carefully handled you, like a rag-doll, to lie on your side on the futon. To your horror, he rose, blanket in hand. By the time it took your foggy mind to grapple with the situation, his logic clicked into place. If you know this man well enough by now, he’s empathetic enough to recognise the chill you must be feeling.

Three, two,- there it is. A fresh, warm blanket was guided by confident hands to guide the soft weave over you. Of course he’d grab a fresh blanket for you, probably cleaned himself up too. Even after everything you’d just done, you hadn’t expected his soft, molten skin to glide against your spine and his body heat to settle behind you. Naturally, you found yourself lifting your head to allow his bicep to serve as a pillow below your ear.

“Link?”

He sounded groggy when he hummed in response.

“Thank you,” he couldn’t see the devilishness in your smile.

“You’re so welcome, Y/N,” the warmth of his breath on your neck gave you shivers. “You seemed like you enjoyed yourself.”

In truth, you did. More than you ever had before, girlishly twirling your hair. Your fingers never quite got you to feel like a struck bell, ringing with ecstasy. It’s embarrassing and thrilling in equal measure to need someone else to help you.

“I was talking about letting me borrow the book, cowboy. The sex was alright,” you sang sweetly.

His petting hands stilled just before you felt his chest rattle with laughter along your back. Despite it all, you couldn’t fight the bubbling chuckle either.

“What an improper houseguest you’ve been.” his lips touching your outer ear made you flinch as he whispered low and frivolously.

“Me?” Your brow furrowed. “I’ve been nothing if not grateful for everything. I thanked you for the book, I thanked you for the soup, took my shoes off at the door… I recall praising you for that thing you did with your tongue.“ The feigned outrage sank deeper, deep enough for you to shift to face him to make sure he’s listening. “You want me to kiss your feet and bow when I did all the hard work that time?”

Your thighs still burned from the unfamiliar strain, a soreness that you’ll be grateful for in the morning. His words twisted in your mind, digging for reason he eventually delivered. Slipping his arm from under you, Link raised himself to his forearm to whisper in your ear.

“Then why did you look so guilty when I came in?”

It felt like you’d just been punched in the gut, the wind hesitating to reenter your lungs. A beat of humour struck you; he’s too observant for his own good. He clicked his tongue thrice to express his disapproval. Just then, you caught the curl in his lips as he crawled farther over you. Your shoulders fell flush to the futon, feeling caged both by his words and his forearms that were now planted beside your shoulders.

“It’s not,” you stammered, “I wasn’t-“

“Mhmmm,” he hummed with his bit lower lip. “It’s not, you weren’t,” he mocked as you spoke.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” caught under the spotlight, you were paralysed like a startled deer. “I was-... curious. You’re so reserved, you hardly talk. I just wanted to know a little more about you.”

It seems that any anger he’s feigning is entirely facetious. Link snickered as he nipped at your throat, down your collarbone to where your heartbeat hammered. He took his time to respond, like he’s dragging out your sheepishness as long as he can.

“And you didn’t think to stop by and ask?” He hummed before the tip of his tongue slid back up the side of your throat.

A shiver ripped through you. He had a point. “I suppose you’re right. But, cowboy, does it make you feel better or worse that I’d gladly do it again if it meant I’d end up right here, right now all over again?”

Those steely blue eyes met yours, and frigid timidness ceded to a creeping ember of passion. That ember became an inferno once again, now brighter than ever. He caught you red-handed. Still, your eyes glance to the shadowed space where his chest hovered over yours, and you couldn’t help but recognise a familiar length just beyond a rippling abdomen. The blankets capturing this heat made your body almost immediately trickle with sweat. It’s about time you shed the last bastion of privacy you had left, lifting the thin shift over your shoulders and leaving it to pool by the rest of your clothes.

His fingertips left sparks along your skin, a shiver electrifying your senses. Another damn laugh from a creeping grin, those arching eyebrows levelled, and a new seriousness overtook him. That achy, needy feeling reared its head higher with every heartbeat. When his forearm parted from where it sat beside your shoulder, you shifted your posture to wrap your calves around the back of his thigh. Link angled the head of his cock at your entrance, heady and desperate. His eyes flashed up to yours, almost to study your reaction, as he gently rocked forward.

“Hahhh,” you whined. He looked nothing short of infatuated.

While your hand snaked through the back of his hair, his full length had slipped within you, leaving your legs shivering at his flank. Your fingernails drag along his back when he quickens his tempo, only to drop it to a glacial pace; flickering up to your reaction just in time for him to slam himself back within you. What a tease.

Here, on a futon in the middle of his living room, you’d found yourself spayed open for him. The sound of his strained breathing, hot against your ear, drove you nearly mad with lust. His hips snapping and rolling into yours made your back arch and flex with desire. Despite it all, the heat of the blanket, crackling fire, and the friction between your bodies became too much to bear. You flicked the blanket free, kicking your leg to rid the unnecessary layer. A crashing sound of stone and leather startled you from your haze, only slightly. It didn’t sound broken, whatever it is. But when your hand haphazardly crept toward the item to push it out of the way, Link was an explosion of motion. The surprise of it all made your head spin, he'd withdrawn entirely, and your eyes instinctively slammed shut. A whir of motion and the strangest whooshing sound.

What you saw when you opened your eyes made your whole fucking world flip. Horror erupted from your brain in scrambling, skipping seconds, horror too immobilising to let loose the scream bubbling in your throat. A monster, a beast before you, over you. Your thought flickered to the sword by the bookshelf, instinctively clutching the blanket for comfort.

The beast looked just as horrified, deep grey fur along canin limbs, streaks of white- it’s a wolf. Its eyes looked just as scared- wait, aren’t you not supposed to look a wild animal in the eyes? You shot for the sword, and you heard skittering behind you. Where’s Link? You thought as your slippery palm sent the teetering scabbard clacking to the floor.

A glance over your shoulder, it’s… what is it doing? The wolf, stark blue eyes cold and intense, pawed and scraped at a small cloth satchel with an ornate clasp. This was your chance to make a break for it. A bolt of adrenaline struck your bones like lightning, your slippery feet went crashing toward the door to another blinding whoosh.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice screamed behind you.

Confusion and a lack of traction thanks to the dragging quilt made you slip in your place, stern arms catching your collapse. Brown hair hangs in your peripheral vision. Looking up, it’s Link; your eyes darted to the wolf. No wolf.

“Shhh-“ Link pulled you tight in a bear hug, your heart thundered in your chest. Did he… he shushed you? “Shhh shhh sh… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“What, what-… just happened? Did I hit my head?“

He held you close, the warmth of his embrace draining the paralysing hormones that bogged your mind. Even when you collapsed into his embrace on the floor. The kinship and kindness in his grip had no need for lust to bring warmth to your chest. He seemed rattled, though in more of a flushed kind of way. It makes no sense.

“I um…” he gulped hard. “Y’know when the Twilight fell? When everyone was plunged into darkness?”

Confusion wracked you, your brow pinched in anxiety as the perplexing words he spoke made you certain you’d hit your head.

He continued, scrambling over his words, “The- the,- when everyone became a spirit. When everything was probably really scary, and you didn’t know why. Hyrule Castle had the big crystal around it?” He must be able to tell that his words sound like lunacy, though you hadn’t been to Castle Town in a decade or more. “Shit,” he spat.

He shuddered in frustration, like he’s sifting his mind for the words that aren’t coming. Your eyes drifted to study him, scars you’d never noticed peppered his ivory skin. The cold floor permeates a chill through your tailbone, even with his legs curled around you. Just as the cogs in your mind turned, his voice raised your attention.

“The legend of the hero you hear, the group Rusl is in that helped him kill the King of Evil?” His words earned a level of confidence and calm that seeped through his embrace. “I am he, I drew the Master Sword and sealed the Twilight.”

Your mind was spinning as he spoke, recognition and a new emotion registered in your psyche: embarrassment. Embarrassment of what you’d done, bare and messy, scrambled hair and sweaty skin as you lay before a legend.

“This birthmark on my hand,” he shifted his grip to show you, “it means I’m special… protected by the Goddesses. When I touch the Twilight, I take the form of a wolf- but I don’t become a spirit.

“Is it still you in there?” You blurted with a nervous quaver that made you cringe. His free hand slipped to intertwine with yours, clammy but tender.

“Yes, yes it’s still me,” a certain calm softened his expression. “Same mind, different body.”

Soft brown hair draped and curled effortlessly around his pale cheek, flickering amber from a soft crackling fire. The artefact looked like it was pulsing like a heartbeat, a din of magic or otherwise alive within it. The corners of your vision flitted with black specs like confetti, peaceful. Calming. Enchanting.

“What happens if I touch it?”

“Don’t-“ his tone was sharp, a muscle in his neck flexed like it does when he’s stressing over missing livestock. “It’s… reversible, it just might be… alarming.”

“More alarming than having your lover turn into a beast from within you?” Finally, the humour of the circumstances cracked through the room.

His cheeks finally got some colour, tinging a rosy pink that swept over his nose. There are those blue eyes, the same colour, same shape as the beast’s.

He laughed softly, “I think you’d be surprised. Either way, I’d rather not risk it. I’m sorry, truly, for scaring you like that. I shouldn’t even have it here in the first place,” his sorrow translated to a self-flagellating frustration.

“How did you turn back?” You posited, squinting at him as he rocked back to lift a string of thick pearls that’d been ripped from the satchel.

“See, usually it’s the Master Sword. Just touching it would turn me back. Once my quest was done, I put it back and sealed it deep in the woods. I had this crystal,” he gestured to a stony, inky black crystal with humming orange engravings that’d been kicked across the room. “It's made of potent Twilight magic. A spirit of the land gave me these pearls that will banish the Twilight from my body, same as the Master Sword.”

“So you can change at will.” The tension had entirely drained by now, curiosity and a palpable urge to touch him again overtook you.

He only nodded in affirmation. A concerned gaze still raining down on you, Link didn’t seem to expect your reaching up to him to be with the intention of pulling him into a kiss. But it did, now it was his turn to try to make sense of your reaction. As far as you knew, the Master Sword was in those children’s stories your parents read at night, and the only proof of its existence was on the stained glass windows outside the castle before it collapsed. There’d been heroes in the past, seeing as every other mother names their child after him with the hopes of a blesséd baby. Go figure this one is the real deal. It would’ve been nice to know that sooner.

In truth, the horror of it made you feel alive. You can save the whole what the hell is he even talking about for another time. Something about the fear you felt and your fight-or-flight response mingling with the crashing hormones of desire sparked something you’d never imagined. And also, as much as you might like to spare him the praise, it did feel like penance to serve him in thanks for his sacrifice. You can worship the body of the legendary hero in honour of his protection, but Link? He’s just your neighbour.

The floor was cold and hard on the back of your thighs, but the taste of his lips and breath warmed you with feverish heat. Suddenly you could hardly control yourself, squirming closer into him, sucking his tongue past your teeth. Not just want, need. He studied you curiously, parting the kiss just for you to watch his expression shift when you palmed his cock. You’d worked him rigid in seconds; once again, his posture shifted.

The warmth surged to his member, soft and hard like iron encased in pale, hot satin. Your fingertips traced the rosy tip, spongy and smooth, and it flinched under your curious touch. Gliding your hand back, slow, then forth, made his eyes flutter to your grip on him. An urge for friction grew, but you flexed your self-control to instead take this slow. He flinched again under your touch, soft and paradoxically hard with your grip around his cock. He strained, but his hips couldn’t help but shakily rock into your palm. With the fear of death out of the way, the pool of lust in your gut resurface in your conscience. He must’ve lost his patience with your tantalising touch.

Unexplainable gears in your brain wound and spun, urging you to unhook your legs from his flank and shift your balance to flip over. Struggling for traction, your heels started skipping and slipping on the wood floor, damp from the steamy bodies. You’d found yourself enjoying the feeling of the clean, cool floor along the length of your body. Just as you were going to ask where he was, he’d fetched a pillow to slip under your chin. How sweet. You should’ve seen it coming. On your belly, your arms raised to hug the pillow, partially battling how exposed you felt, especially before greatness.

But that greatness wasn’t so virtuous as he kicked your knees apart to accommodate him. Your face heated in the pillow, daring to tilt your hips to invite him further. He groaned, it made you shiver. Taking it a step further, you lifted your hips from the floor as if to beg for him to fuck you. If it took any longer, you’d have made peace with shedding your dignity and begging him, but he did you the kindness of pressing the head of his cock to your dripping folds.

The pillow muffled your cry as he re-administered himself. It nearly forced the air from your lungs. Be began to rock in place over you, his tight core dragging over your flank and nudging high inside you. That same intensity as before returned almost instantly, and suddenly it’s like nothing ever happened. But something did happen. Something that’s been nagging at you.

“Link”, you mewl, a tone that’s likely indistinguishable from your regular cries. “Link, can I- can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he panted, clearly straining to slow his pace.

In an instant, your mouth had been sapped dry. Lust had clouded your good sense, whatever of that you had left. For a brief moment, the room felt so silent that even the fire held its breath.

“What if you…,” you pulled your lower lip through your teeth, the flush in your cheeks blossoming into a blazing scarlet. “What if you take me, take me as the beast?”

For a beat, you thought he didn’t hear you. Had you gone too far again? It’s too late to back down now. What had you gotten yourself into, only time will tell. The silence lingered for a moment, and you clutched the pillow to your face for an entirely different pursuit. Even still, you felt him twitch within you.

“In my twilight-… wolf form?”

You nodded into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut, buried in darkness.

“Y/N, I don’t know, it could hurt you,” he explained with a softness in his tone you’d never heard before. “I mean- I…, it’s me, but… the anatomy might not be the same.”

“Might not?” Your confusion piqued, “You’re not sure it’s the same?”

He sighed gruffly like he’s struggling for words, “I mean, yes, but- well… I wasn’t exactly finding myself aroused in that form, especially not when it comes to other wolves. I can’t exactly talk when I’m in that form. It may be… large, and unfamiliar to your...”

Your nose scrunched against the pillow, “I fail to see the problem.” Finally, you turned, a grin pulling at your cheek as you caught a glimpse of his bewildered expression over your shoulder. You crossed your ankles, arching your back to exaggerate your view. “Please, Link. I want it,” you tilted your hips again in the way he liked, grinding circles in the open air to entice him. Anything, anything you could do to get him inside you already.

“Are you absolutely su-“

“Link,” you shouted, multiple forms of frustration flaring before a giddy grin overrode all else, “has anyone ever told you you talk too much?”

His laugh sounded like warm honey. In your frustration, you’d buried your face in the pillow again, leaving you entirely surprised when he hooked a single finger inside you. A whine erupted from you, and your spine arched and flexed for more. Your knees kicked farther, practically sobbing into the fabric. A warm pair of hands kneaded at your bottom, spreading and working that sensitive skin at the inner apex of your thighs.

“I’m going to change… remember, I can’t talk when I’m in that form,” his voice trailed off. “It’s still me, okay? I promis-“

“Yes,” your own voice came out like a breathy moan.

There’s that whooshing noise again, you were half tempted to lift your head to see it better. But your curiosity was cut short by a shift in the pitch of the panting you’d become accustomed to. Heat radiated from above and around you while your body wrestled with the apprehension and taboo of what you were inviting. It’s a thinking, feeling, consenting human above you, the same one whose lips and tongue made you come undone around him not long ago. Are you scared or invigorated? Both? Or something else?

A wide, wet tongue dragged across your shoulder, a cold snout nudging your hair to expose your neck. Your body involuntarily shuddered. Good goddesses, what if someone were to walk in right now? Does that door even lock?

“Link,” he froze in utter stillness as you spoke. “Please don’t stop.”

He made a grumbling sound that almost sounded like a growl. You lifted your head, finding the guts in you to drink in the situation. The wolf’s figure was large, larger than you expected. Entirely surrounding you, capturing you. Paradoxically sleek and hulking. Familiar eyes tracked your expression, your eyes trailed the ornate patterns of white in his fur, around his jowls, along his underbelly. He even had his blue earrings, how charming. Metal dragging sounded like a chain, your head turning the other way confirmed your suspicion. An iron fetter hung limp along his forepaw.

There were so many questions, but frankly, you’d rather they wait. Your eyes trailed lower, to the abdomen of the beast over you. A slick, pale red length stood at attention between his thighs, naturally angled.

He seemed timid at first, taking his length in your fingers, then palm. He flinched, soft skin a sheath for hot iron. It brought you some sort of twisted delight to see him chuff and squirm when you dragged your finger along the pink ridges of his tip, particularly sensitive just below the narrow slit at the apex of his cock. He flinched again. And the noise he made was punishing, a breathy, low sigh. You shuddered, butterflies in your chest refocused to a steady pulse between your thighs.

You found it in yourself to twist and shift your body below him to roll to your belly once again. Breasts pressed into the wood floor, you knew what he liked. You felt him shift behind you. For a second, you swore you heard him lick his chops. How corny.

A slick, foreign pressure pressed against your entrance with conviction, bulbous and hot. You swallowed hard. Soft fur tickled your bare shoulder blades, the heat from his form spreading a less wicked kind of warmth that countered your goosebumps. He settled low, and you tilted your hips to invite him. The tip of his cock slipped in, just barely, yet you let out the most embarrassing whine. He flinched within you, his muzzle panting softly above you. Your neck flexed and back arched, he shifted closer, grinding into you further, it was… much larger.

“Link,” You croaked when he pushed himself far enough to make your fists ball.

His hips rocked back, the temporary withdrawal only making you crave the feeling of him gradually working himself back in. He’s so gentle, but somehow you could tell it was just him being polite. Those paws planted on either side of your waist locked you in place, the slope of your spine creating a sinful silhouette that’d make a Goron cry.

Even when your legs began to shake, the size of the foreign cock inside you was still just shy of its entire length. Yet every time he withdrew a few inches, he slipped just a little bit more with every grind of his slender hips. You sank farther into the floor, your collarbone flush with the lacquered wood. Before you knew what was where, your eyelids were fluttering as Link finally found his tempo. Slow and steady was ceding to a thundering, ragged pace. Untamed and punishing.

With your cheek pressed to the wood, you strained to see that blue-eyed beast over you. Sharp eyes rendered hazy and unfocused by carnal lust that rocked your entire form. Mouth slightly agape, with the razors of fangs and the hot panting breath, he was a vision. Cold eyes, sharp and fierce, you’d pity any beast that challenged him. His ears flattened to his head. Yet here you lie, only you can make him pant like this, only you can make him come undone like this just from you offering your body in tribute.

The pressure increased, stretching you from within in a way that made tears swell in your eyes. The pain, the pleasure, you couldn’t help but whimper and whine in a way you’d never heard from yourself before. He too was making a huffing sound that never made you doubt how much he was enjoying this. Even the sound of this sinful coupling was enough to push you over the edge, yet you’d swear he’d gotten larger. With the pressure just right, the internal assault on your cervix made your vision start to blur, and a low, buzzing inferno was building in your core.

He sounded close, he keeps readjusting himself, paws catching the nook where the top of your thighs meets your stomach. He’d locked you in; there’s no going back now. It’s just what you need, you need Link. Now impossibly large, his member within you fucked you right to the edge of shattering, eyelids fluttering as a storm of ecstasy crashed through you. Your toes curled, and your vision darkened. Consciousness fluttered as the most devastating, earthshaking orgasm wracked through your body. For a moment you swore you saw every colour and none at the same time. A dragging, intense wrenching feeling threatened to pull you from your peak. He whined, shivering over you as he seemed to wrench backwards.

A new sensation swirled in you, pulsing and sporadic. His panting halted as you felt him pulse his seed within you. Fur slumped against your back, he shuddered and panted over you. Your body gradually slipped from that peak, the beast within you remained still over your shoulder. The pressure throbbed inside you, his presence steady and twitching. He held his ground, though you felt movement over your shoulder. Finally, that whirring, whipping sound churned over your shoulder, after a pause, a jolt of electricity made your entire body shudder before he slipped from you. A palm, pale and familiar, planted beside you and molten skin lowered to scoop you unto him.

“Are you hurt?” He stammered, the grin slipping from his face.

“No, not at all, Link.”

“Because, y-you sounded like you were-“

“It was fantastic, truly,” you stammered, the sincerity in your expression tracks. “Was it good for you-“

“-Yes”, he couldn’t seem to stop fumbling over his words, that grin cracking his expression. A giddy laugh bubbling past those white teeth.

You wilted into him, easily finding unwavering warmth against his chest. Never had you felt so intertwined with someone. Safe, hale and sated. Just as your mind started to drift to how you’d carefully approach Ilia with the request of a contraceptive tea, Link’s voice rattled his chest from under your temple.

“You should join me, to Castle Town. It’s a lovely ride this time of year.”

“Are you sure it’s not dangerous? I s’pose you would know best,” you lifted slightly to eye the corner of his jaw.

He laughed, it shook your chest with his. “If you’re not scared of getting fucked by a wolf beast, you won’t be scared of much else.”

There was a warmth in his tone, like a wash of pride painted his words. Proud of you. The sentiment made you soft, settling against his form and wrapped up in his limbs, and he in yours. The gears and cogs in your mind clicked and spun just enough to actually consider his words. Hell, why not? An excuse to get closer to him, actually closer, no need for snooping when he’s not looking. An excuse to see the countryside in late autumn, see the castle’s progress in rebuilding, how the heartbeat of Hyrule is thrumming louder than ever. Still, opportunity knocked.

“I don’t know,” you started, a curl of mischief pulling at your cheeks. “I can’t say I’ve ever fucked a moblin before.”

You knew full well that wasn’t what he was after, but the shock on his face made the quip well worth it.

Days like this are hard to explain to someone who's not from a place like Ordon. It's a certain kind of tranquillity that you can only reach from years of rapport, decades of responsibility and camaraderie. The rhythm follows the same as the day before, steady and familiar. Thoughts wander through your consciousness like so many leaves on a winding river. Forgettable and memorable in equal measure. On days like this, the village is quiet. Like everyone had come to some predetermined agreement to communicate in nods and smiles, stowing any conversation for another day. Everyone’s needs are known and handled before the thought to ask even arises, even the weather obeys the silent commitment. It's the perfect time to sit in and watch the ranchhands at work.

None of them seemed to mind when you'd come sit up here, they don't often notice either. You've clearly become a regular enough fixture of the landscape to no longer be a figment of curiosity to the livestock. Sometimes you’ll bring a book, other times you'll do some weaving or sewing; it's quiet enough to be alone, all while not being too terribly isolated. Wispy clouds rarely blot out the sun that basks your skin in a warm blanket and illuminates the scent of evergreens beyond this quiet paddock.

There's usually a schedule for who's ranchhand each day, and it seems like Link's been picking up Fado's slack lately. Not that he seems to mind. Fado says Sera needs help at the shop, Sera says he’s just lazy. Like these things always go, the truth is probably in the middle. Part of you always loves it when Link is taking the shift, sometimes he'll bring one of the village kids to shadow him. It's like you're learning along with them, all while sparing yourself from the backbreaking work. Sure, Fado is a good teacher, but they always listen to Link more. They adore him, practically nipping at his heels wherever he goes. Saucer eyes watch him as if he might evaporate into thin air if they lose sight of him for even a moment. 

Today, Link is handling the ranch, today's pupil had long since turned in for the day. He takes to the saddle like he was born to it. Sweeping like a breeze through the paddock with the commanding presence of a Clydesdale, his face is the image of tranquillity. He seems like the quintessential dreamy village boy that you read about in those cheap romance books they sell by the fortune teller in Castle Town. But he's the real thing. It makes you wonder what he's doing stowed away down here in the country. 

A familiar white mane emerged from behind a hill, the cyan-blue coat of a yearling tucked under the arm of the familiar rider. The poor thing must've wandered off, swept off its hooves and returned to the comfort of the herd by an all-knowing rancher. How easy it must be to be an Ordonian goat, have every need patiently tended to. He slipped from the saddle with catlike ease, gently lowering the youngster to its mother who nonchalantly trotted to greet it. Even when he makes the work look easy, it's still a physically demanding job that commands daily strain. A thin layer of sweat makes suntanned skin catch the lowering sunlight on his bare shoulders. 

His gaze flashed toward your direction, returning a weak smile as he approached. Your chest tightened. He often left his horse to graze as she pleased, releasing the reins to her. They both knew that no matter how far she’d wander, she always came back; often, only a rhythmic whistle would kick her into a sprint in his direction. Those two have some sort of spiritual bond; twice now you've seen him round up the livestock bareback, his input often redundant. For reasons beyond your understanding, you posed as if you were looking up from being otherwise occupied, lifting your gaze from a book that you hadn't read a word of in half an hour. 

He came to find a space in the grass beside you, resting his forearms on bent knees. Every other time you'd been up here when he's working he'll come up and sit with you. Sometimes he'll ask how your day was, sometimes he's just sitting in sheer silence, just basking in the setting sun amid a long day’s work. 

Around this time of day, distant frogs start to peep, those heralds of the nighttime stir in their ponds down by the village. From there the fireflies start to arouse, lighting up thick ferns along the treeline, and the nighttime wildlife assumes its station. Like Link’s duties as a farmhand, these creatures assume daily tasks too. A steady, reliable clock that's been followed for thousands of years, and thousands of years to come. 

"Y'know… I never really asked you but, why did you leave Lurelin?" His voice cut the silence like a warm knife through butter. 

"I've been here for months and you never thought to ask?"

"Didn't want to pry," he shrugged, taking a long blade of grass between his teeth.

"After the Twilight, everything was different. Sure, we were safe from the curtain, but the people changed. They were meaner, jaded. I think a lot of people just couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that we were really safe from evil," you felt his eyes on you as you lamented, the words just kept coming. "It's hard for people to go back to caring about others when they'd spent months wondering if they'll make it the next morning after another Moblin raid."

Your words settled in the air to create a steady silence, only rippling waves on a motionless pond of his presence. While the conversation reached a melancholic calm, the surrounding woods were alight with song. Birds began their last act in one final crescendo, a soaring hawks chwirk to one another in a call to their mate. All over a constant chorus of bleats and huffs from the regular livestock, it's not strictly true to say Ordon is a quiet place to live. 

"Since' we're asking questions, why did you stay in Ordon? You did all that and just went back to normal afterward?"

"The people here are genuine, they look out for each other. They're all like my family. And also-" You watched him mull over his words as if he was tasting them in his chops. "It's kind of all I know. I never cared about my reputation, the glory, none of it."

White sunlight tipped into amber as the evening approached, your eyes trailed along a winding wooden fence along the grass' perimeter. You fidgeted with a piece of grass you drew, folding and tying it in an unknowable pattern. A smirk cracked your face, and the caress from a cool breeze emboldened you to share your burning challenge. 

"I don't believe you."

"Pshht" air slips past his teeth in exasperation, he blinked slowly at the horizon. 

"You killed the demon king, freed the world from the Twilight- the entire Kingdom kissing your boots. The realm was in your debt, you could've had gold, castles, hell, you could've married the princess - could've become king. You could've bought Ordon, could've made it a new Hyrule Castle."

"I never asked for glory or even acknowledgement at all for what I did… I just- I think I just really wanted things to go back to normal, back to when it was simple."

"And did your dream come true?"

"Yes and no, the village kids are safe and I'm back on the ranch… but the kids are growing faster every day," there was a melancholy in his tone, as proud as he might sound. "Ilia's set up in Kakariko, Malo's there too. Rusl n’ Uli's baby was born, but I think Colin's most excited about not being at the bottom of the pecking order now."

"Y'know there are some people that don't believe in this whole hero thing at all," you sighed, it made him huff a soft chuckle. 

"Is that so," he spoke, low and frivolous. 

"They say it's a fairytale parents tell their kids to get them to go to sleep- make them think there's an order to the world," your words made him stir with an emotion you couldn't detect, only pensively rubbing the back of his hand. "Or that it's made up by the royal family to keep people compliant, that the royal bloodline is special or whatever."

He nodded along to your allegation, a conspiracy theory, really. The kind of thing people with too much time on their hands and spite in their hearts conjure up. The kind of thing you came here to get away from. In truth, you didn't even know that the so-called hero was from here, for all you knew he'd married the princess and lived a life of luxury. But he's different, it's intriguing. Rolling hills with proud evergreens lining a thick wilderness were the obvious choice over a life of servants and grovelling city folk. 

"What do you believe?" His voice reached an octave that rattled in your bloodstream, low and smooth. 

"Do I believe some country bumpkin could kill the King of Evil and save us from some horrible doom?" A sneer that manifested on your lips, plucking that piece of grass on his lips between your fingers, he barely seemed to notice, only dreamily watching the sky. "I'll take your word for it."

"It was tempting, the power," the words make his forehead wrinkle in thought. "But power corrupts people, makes them behave not like themselves. Hearing people cheer my name at parades, it was so odd. I didn't like it." 

You lean back on your forearms, studying his expression and digging for meaning. It's an easy enough reason to grasp, but that's the thing. There's a darkness to his words, the kind of sternness that comes from experience. 

"How benevolent of you," you smirked, eyelids falling heavy. You put that same grass between your teeth, the taste bitter on your lips.

"I'm not-" he seemed to have caught himself mid-sentence, truncating some elaboration. "You're trying to rile me up, it's not gonna' work."

"I think it already has," the words croaked from your throat, flowing off your tongue before you had the chance to censor them. "Besides- I think you like it.” 

He shifted in his posture, turning to plant his near hand beside you and bridging much of the distance between you. In an act of spite or otherwise, he'd tossed the strand of grass from your lips in a weak underhand toss that made a goat stop and consider the object with its snout. It didn't stop a certain humour from registering in his eyes. He leaned in and your blood ran chilled with anticipation, smelling his pale skin as his body heat approached. He smelled like trees and goat milk soap, musk and leather. 

For a moment the world was still, quiet. No birds, no bleats, silence hung in the air. Heavy branches held their ripe apples, captivated by your exchange. Before you knew what was where, warm skin under your cautious fingertips melted into your palm, your exploring hand taking an expedition across broad shoulders. Thick, scratchy cloth with lazy stitches across their hems gave way to more skin. Across his bicep, muscles warped and body heat intensified, your eyelids drifted closed. Foreign breath ghosted across your bottom teeth. 

Your lips touched and it felt like lightning in your chest, carnal thirst for each other's blood substituted by cautious movements. Part of you felt the timidness in his movement as if you'd open your eyes to see him a visage of bashfulness. You leaned in against soft lips that met yours, digging your fingers into his bicep, spurring him closer. He obliged, shifting his body weight all while you impressed further. Suddenly he shifted as if to withdraw, you dug deeper. Again, he withdrew, and you were left like a canoe without a paddle. 

"Not here," his tone a soft murmur, barely above a whisper. 

"No? Seems romantic," your words failed to get his attention, his gaze lingered on the winding wooden fence-gate on the far end of the pasture. 

"No," he started, but you wouldn't let him finish. 

"It's more exciting, don't you think," a finger on his chin dragged his face back to meet you. "Out here in the field, in the open, under the sunset."

"Someone might see."

"That's the danger of it all," you breathed, but boldly cut you off in retaliation. 

"I'm not scared of danger," a knowing flicker of mischief lit up his eyes for a moment before sobriety stymied the thought. "C'mon, let's go- let's go to the barn."

His voice was smooth and low like warm honey, part of you wondered if he knew how that tone would affect you. It made your mind so hazy you didn't even notice an upturned palm to guide you upright.

"What happened to not caring what others think of you," you held steadfast, testing the limits of his patience as a smile pulled at your cheeks. 

You got to watch the words register on his expression as he rose to his feet. At first, he blinked in confusion. Then he must have considered your challenge, turning to stand in a way that blocked your view of the setting sun. He lazily pushed his hair out of his face with raking fingers, you tilted your chin to look up at him. 

"Here’s the thing," he turned before you, planting a foot on either side of your lounged ankles, "you're in my ranch. And I have a knack for getting misbehaving critters to go where I want them to."

"Oh is that what you'll do," manifesting your calmest tone. "Ride me down on your horse, whoop and holler and whip your lasso until you round me up?"

His body language spoke for him. He's nothing if not intimidating, the way amber sunbeams splay around his silhouette made him look like a Golden Goddess descending unto you. Reluctantly, you raised your palm to meet his, and he effortlessly raised you to meet him. As polite as the gesture was, he hardly offered you much time to brush the grass off the back of your dress before he led you to the painted barn. You'd left your book behind, you realized. Hopefully a goat doesn't eat it, but frankly, you'll have to take that risk. 

Beady eyes linger on you. Onlooking livestock lifts their heads from the grass as you pass, considering your presence, but carelessly returning to their grazing. Maybe they can sense the heat in your chest, your rapid pulse. Perhaps they taste your wicked thoughts in the late summer breeze, knowing which of them involve their master. Maybe, maybe not. More likely they're not thinking about much at all, just the next possible meal they can scrounge for and enjoying the autumn sun. You were practically skipping, it's like the ground was rising to meet you with every step. Anticipation burned in your chest as the sturdy gate groaned to welcome you inside.

This barn is worn and honed, with years of tender care and thoughtful woodwork. Sturdy crossbeams and thick wooden pillars have kept generations of prized Ordon goats in fine fettle. A community's labour, spotlessly cleaned and attended. It's a marvel of handcrafted ingenuity, the pride of the village. This place is cleaner than many people's homes, but the splendour must have been lost on your company. 

In an instant he was all over you. You'd barely found time to catch your breath before his mouth enclosed around yours, eagerly resuming their previous meeting. Resistance against your back meant you'd met one of those sturdy wooden pillars and he cornered you in. A warm hand at the small of your back, a relentless onslaught on every inch of exposed skin. Soft hair brushed against the side of your cheek the more he leaned over you. Even when they move with a desperate thirst there's still a kindness to his hand’s grip, he pressed himself against you like the missing puzzle piece.

"Maybe your magical powers will rub off on me, what boons might I get for sleeping with the legendary hero?" You murmured, seizing a newfound opportunity.

He laughed into your mouth, your lips parting only barely as he dipped back over you.

"Can't sleep yet, there's work to do," he smothered the conversation with another persistent kiss.

"Maybe the light spirits will split the sky and bless me," you gasped.

There was a strange delight in mocking him, riling him up with reminders of his auspicious status as a hero. He was so keen to dismiss it all and some part of you felt like he secretly occasionally enjoys the worship, as humble as he might want to come off as. And maybe it's your way of saying thanks for his sacrifice, his courage. Or perhaps you just like seeing someone so sickeningly sweet squirm. Well, not so sweet anymore. Searing fingertips trailed up and down your spine, daring to bunch more of your skirt in his fist. 

"Oh the hero in green," you raised your voice in a mimicking tone, reciting the cries of fawning Castle Town citizens "Link has saved us all."

"Shh," he cooed, silencing you with another crashing kiss.

But you felt him smile, laughing at your mockery. 

Before he had the time to silence you or give you some snide remark you bit down on his lip. He flinched, grinding to a halt as the playful nip didn't seem to compute for him at first. Another bite and your hips swayed against his. Firm resistance met you, his hands shifted in unison to your hips, keen to pursue that motion. There's a mischief under that innocence. He feigns like he's this sweet country boy who blushes and simpers politely at flirtatiousness, but there's more to him than that mask he wears. He likes the mocking, pestering jabs you make, no matter how he might act like he'll brush them off.

With a shift in movement and weight, you stepped into him, softly grappling his shoulders and pushing. He lightly fell onto the stack of hay behind him, pink cheeks and lips warmed the colouring of tanned skin from days of work in the hot sun. As much as you might like to think otherwise, he only permitted you this control—out of politeness or otherwise. Every part of you knew picking you up and throwing you would be nothing to this man. You'd heard the legend of him besting armoured men thrice his size, a whirlwind of steel and green. Tale of him challenging Gorons barehanded, swinging a hundred-pound iron ball like it's nothing. Hell, you'd seen him firsthand stop a charging goat dead in its tracks. His letting you push him on his back into a pile of yellow hay is only an illusion he's allowing you to believe. 

But as your lips part and he's on the ground before you, an uncharacteristically devilish grin dances across his expression. Your tongue ran heavy as he dragged his thumb below the blue sash that ran across his waist, dragging up the border of white cloth to lift his shirt. Legs kicked slightly apart, lifting his shirt to reveal a chiselled abdomen for you to touch. He knew what he was doing, and you'd be remiss if you didn't acknowledge the sting of warmth that clutched your core. 

You both knew what was at stake, a lowering sun and basking the countryside in amber light would mean Fado would want to see the goats brought in any minute. It made this unexpected encounter ever more exciting, urgent, necessary. Neither of you had the liberty of having the time, or patience to fully undress. He loosened the rest of his sash, lifting his shirt over his shoulders as your knees buckled, collapsing around him. You'd barely had time to kick off your undergarments, haphazardly grabbing fistfuls of a scratchy dress' skirt. Blue eyes drifted down to your figure, collapsing into his lap. He sighed as your weight connected with his, already delighting in the friction. 

Years of life on this farm left warm muscles curving and contouring his form, only then did you clue into a handful of white scars that scattered across his skin. Your consideration was cut short, though definitely not from a sense of bashfulness. The way he grabbed the back of your neck could be argued to be aggressive, but you both had a similar urgency, and your lips were sloppily colliding again. It felt good to be over him, there's a thrill in having him captured between your knees, and how his breath deepens whenever you'd drag yourself over the sturdy bulge in his lap. 

This steady friction you developed could spark a fire in this dry hay for all you knew, heat and butterflies formed a steady inferno in your gut. A hand on the back of your hair kept you grounded in his reach. His tongue lashed again yours, hot lips colliding and drawing in a soulful rhythm you'd developed. Like a spur in a horse's flank, stern fingertips urged the back of your thigh closer, you gathered that was your cue to hurry up already. 

Soft skin was electric with heat, you gasped against another crashing kiss, fingers tightening around your hair as your fingers dragged lower. What felt like scars peppered his rippling abdomen, for a second a twang of sorrow struck your chest. Quickly overridden, a palm struck your rump in an unexpected crack of pain. He looked pleased by your surprise like he'd finally shed that illusion of an innocent do-gooder farmhand. With renewed fury, you made quick business of unfurling the rest of his clothing. 

His cock sprang free, but you didn't get a chance to get a good look as it was shielded by layers of fabric from your skirt. The eager tip is easily aligned with your entrance, guided by your thumb. Slick heat lowered into him, and the initial entrance made your forehead wrinkle from the unfamiliar pressure. But you quickly adjusted, and he entered you fully with lifted hips. Your fingers fumbled for grip, finding soft brown hair in your knuckles as you ground yourself onto him. He groaned, and your spine flexed. Sweet spit danced over your tongue from the exertion, hanging agape and crying softly. 

He wants to grip your hips and urge your tempo on his lap like reins as if he weren't the metaphorical steed in this instance. Your core began to aching with with a feverish, achy warmth that made you gasp and cry when he'd pull you back down onto him. He filled you up just right, just enough that you'd winge from strain whenever he'd take a moment to savour the feeling of being buried to the hilt. 

Sweat beaded on brown strands across his forehead, down his pale jaw that fell open from his panting. Fluttering eyelids strained to hold eye contact with you as you rode him harder, feeling him twitch and fumble beneath you. Your own ache came on hard and fast, a sternness overtook you and your hands planted on either one of his shoulders, locking him into place. His eyes widened, captivated by your intensity, steely blue and full of fire. Another slap on your flank, you could barely contain yourself. 

Your skin slid against his, warm and dewy and fierce like a summer storm. The building intensity in your core from his rutting cock made you sway back in ecstasy. You could almost hear his breathy groans under your whimper, he gripped you hard. Cascading sparks released through every heartbeat, muscles across his abdomen flexed as he bucked up against you. Pulsing seed spilled into you, clutching your waist as if you'd even dream of lifting from his lap just yet. His groans were so sweet, he shuttered with ecstasy as his face softened and grinding steadied. 

Part of you couldn't imagine separating from this moment. Just panting, suddenly feeling the presence of the late summer breeze ghost over your skin, a consequence of a steadying internal temperature. Gravity collapsed and you found yourself plummeting into him, he caught you against his shoulder, he easily slipped from within you. 

Under your temple his heart was still thundering, his Adam's apple flexing as he halted his gasping to gulp. A mist of sweat made his chest glint in the lowering sun that soon would promise starlit darkness. Your muscles eased, worry faded, sinking into a relaxation that wrapped your limbs into his. A gentle caress on your shoulder slid down your spine and back, tender and kind. 

"Do you feel any supernatural powers?" He mocked, voice husky and deep.

You exhaled in a chuckle, his chest rattled in laughter under your laze. He'd earned that cheap shot at your earlier implication. The supernatural feeling you felt didn't come from any mythological being, but a forgiving, humming, post-orgasmic bliss that settled deep in your bones. But he’d come to deserve much worse for suddenly stripping you of an ocean of body heat, but you already knew what he'd say in response.  All the while his arm reached to grab his white tank, gently slipping his arm from beneath you. It's cruel, really. To assume you were finished with enjoying him. Maybe he knows, maybe he's about to invite you to his house, spend precious few hours of sleep together before a new dawn brings new responsibilities. Maybe he'll toss you under his arm like that young goat he returned and let you worship him for hours. But alas, his work commands him to bring the precious livestock indoors, distant coyotes’ yipping serving as a sobering reminder. 

"You're right, I didn't go to the parades only because I didn't want the limelight," aligning the rest of his clothing as he spoke, shifting to a crouch as he buckled a clasp at his shoulder. 

You sat up in intrigue, propping yourself on your forearm in the hay bale that suddenly grew more uncomfortable by the second. 

"The truth is," he continued, "I just plain don't like cities."