#fireball!link

“This,” Digger shouted as the warning pings of Stasis got louder and more urgent, “is a terrible idea!”

“Yeah!” Fireball’s grin mirrored Digger’s own. The two of them gripped the minecart and each other as they prepared for launch. Whenever they were going, they intended to go together.

The next moment was a blur or speed and sound as they shot into the air. The red rock of the Badlands fell away and the distant cliffs of the land unknown race towards them. The sun was warm on their faces, the wind in their hair and below them was a vast stretch of nothingness that faded to misty greys. And in front of them, getting ever closer, the green wilderness beyond Hyrule.

Then they began to drop.

“Aw,” Fireball said as the minecart started its plummet to certain destruction.

Digger shrugged. Holding up his thumb and forefinger as the wind began to whip his hair upwards, he told Fireball, “We were literally this close.”

“Definitely,” Fireball replied as the minecart fell away from them so that they were sitting on air.

“Maybe next time?” Digger asked as they tumbled into freefall.

“Maybe?” Fireball laughed, his voice cutting through the howling of the wind. “You mean certainly.”

“Certainly!” Digger agreed, unhitching his Sheikah Slate. They’d fallen so far now that the sun couldn’t reach them. While Fireball would have no such troubles, Digger found the chill of the shadows and rushing air rather uncomfortable. He opened his map, squinting at the glowing shrines that dotted it. “Uh. Where were we meetin’ up again?”

Fireball, now upside-down, shrugged. “Dunno.”

Digger was sure they’d discussed it. Or at least discussed the intention of discussing it. Selecting a shrine at random, he said, “See ya there!”

“You bet!” Fireball answered before the world disappeared into blue.

The Ne’ez Yohma was, as always, a bastion of calm. The rippling reflections of the water across the ceiling. The gently swaying lotus seeds as the flowers floated serenely. The distant rumble of the waterfalls.

Digger pitched forward as someone slapped him on the back, almost sending him face-first into the water. Crabs scuttled away in fright as Fireball yelled, “WOOHOO, THAT WAS AWESOME!”

“Bloody hell ya bastard, I think ya fractured my spine,” Digger said, laughing.

Fireball grinned. “Sorry.”

“No worries; I ain’t need a spine when I have you t’support me, big guy.” They both laughed at that, laughed until there were tears in their eyes, until their hearts stopped racing and the adrenaline finally faded from their veins. Then Bazz had come running to see what the commotion was about. The expression the guard made when he saw who had arrived in Zora’s Domain made them burst out laughing again, all while being firmly but politely escorted out.

As they walked across the Great Zora Bridge, Fireball shook his head and did a surprisingly good impression of Muzu as he said, “The two of you are bad influences for the young ones!”

Wheezing, Digger said, “Ya think he means Prince Sidon?”

“It’s not our fault he’s too tall for shield surfing. We couldn’t have known that if we hadn’t tried.”

“Impeccable logic ya got there.” They were leaning on each other for support. Digger could barely breathe from laughing; Fireball had a hand on his aching stomach. Together they tottered across the bridge, plotting out impossible schemes and reckless stunts, charting a course for the impossible.

Another explosion sent a rumble through the ground. A gust of hot air blasted them. As their hearing slowly returned they heard roaring and mad laughter.

“D’ya really think it’s alright to leave ‘im out there?” Digger asked, although he wasn’t concerned enough to risk peering over the rock they’d huddled behind.

“You said you wanted a distraction,” Catfish answered.

Momo nodded. “Couldn’t have picked anyone better! Besides, he sounds like he’s having fun!”

Worse come to worst, it would only be another reset. And if any of them wouldn’t mind being burned to a crisp, it’d be him… Digger shook his head. Every second he left a man fighting alone made his heart beat quicker, twisting in his chest as old guilts threatened to rear their ugly heads. “We need a plan. Fast. Bomb arrows?”

“If I had them, I would have used them,” Catfish growled.

“My bow broke!” Momo added.

Digger sighed. He absently rubbed the jade ring on his finger. Things will work out. “I’ve got a few shockos, but they’re like tickles to t’bastard.”

“It’s a silver hinox, what do you expect?” Catfish punched the rock. “Fucker just won’t die.”

“Maybe we can force its eye open and then Stasis it-”

“Its’t forcin’ part that we’re stuck on,” Digger pointed out. “W’need enough damage to drop ‘is hand, then we hafta open that damn eye. T’stompin’ means we can’t get close to him, otherwise-”

There’s a cry of pain that quickly gets louder as Fireball flies through the air to bounce off a tree and land in a heap in front of them, smouldering slightly.

“-otherwise, that happens,” Digger finished. “Well time’s up, boys. Looks like we’re goin’ with my plan.”

“What’s your plan?” Catfish asked with trepidation, while Momo punched the air in a welcome display of enthusiasm.

Digger grinned. “I’m thinkin’ of it.”

“Down here, ugly!”

The hinox turned to the little Hylian in his strange squeaky skin. He was holding a bow, but that didn’t bother the hinox. Almost mockingly slowly it raised its warty hand to cover its most vulnerable part – even if the Hylian had fired it wouldn’t have mattered, as its eye was already protected by a thick, clear lid.

Which was why it didn’t see the boomerang fly towards it. The hinox roared in pain as the weapon sliced deep gashes in his skin. It pulled its hand away instinctively. There was a twang. Three shock arrows found their mark. Its eyelid protected the monster from almost all of the damage, although the yellow light left it temporarily blinded.

Which was why it didn’t see Digger, jumping into the air and flipping onto his shield. It didn’t see Momo swing his hammer, catch the shield as it soared overhead, and send it flying. Didn’t see Digger leap, boomerang back in hand, ready to strike.

The hinox heard him, though.

“From Fireball, with interest!”

The boomerang’s blade, with all if Digger’s weight behind it, dug through the lid and into the soft eyeball beneath. The hinox staggered backwards. Digger kicked off, pulling the boomerang out so that the hinox’s eye juices ran freely down its face. It screamed and flailed. Its unarmoured belly lay exposed.

He wasn’t sure why, but that night stuck out in his mind with sharp, almost blistering clarity. It was one of those moments he had accidentally, unintentionally ingrained in his mind, one he’d thought too hard and long about cementing in his memory for no reason other than to remember as much of it as he could. He remembered the smell of bodies, the low, murmuring thrum of occupancy audible no matter what proximity you held to the stadium; the underlying knowledge of the sheer quantity of souls so near you. It had hummed through Honey’s head as he arrived, parked his car a short ways away from the back of the stadium, perfectly far enough into the game and far enough from the end that he could stand to be there, get involved in the sport and the competition of it all, without risking a headache or panic. He could sit on the hood and listen to the distant roar of fans and players, involve himself in it all without being fully within. Fireball understood. He knew the specific, neurotic way his mind seemed to work, how it shut down when there was simply too much. He knew of this, the special way he supported him without compromising himself. There were other times, times he’d brave the noise and the light and the mass just to catch a glimpse of him in his element. He understood. He appreciated. Honey had sat, legs crossed, eyes closed, heart full as he imagined Fireball on the field, hair and smile shimmering as if spun from gold, as if full to bursting with the essence of the sun itself. The smell of smoke from a small cluster of smoking workers nearby stung at his nose as it wafted towards him on the breeze.

That steady glow of life had dimmed and dimmed and dimmed before it winked out as the game ended and people flowed from the building, drunk and happy and bursting from their very skins like overripe grapes, intoxicated happiness and joy blazing and billowing from them like solar flares. He remembered it had begun to drizzle then, a slow, cool wetness settling over everything, cooling sun warmed concrete and beer fueled tempers. Honey had pulled his hood over his head, hugged his bare knees to his chest as he watched the stream of patrons spill from the stadium, foam fingers bent, face paint smeared off, cheeks warm and hearts happy. Misted rain slowly collected on the outward curve of his cheekbone, until it formed a small droplet, just heavy enough to roll down his face. By then, the stadium was nearly empty, the last few stragglers staggering dizzily back to their cars. The light and the noise and the bursting aura of a crowd was all gone now. The building sat cool and peaceful in the rain now, a wide, black shadow against the orange of the night sky. He remembered the low humming rumble of thunder some dozens of miles away.

He remembered gently jolting awake, head having slowly come to rest on his knee, nodding off at the subtle warmth of the night, the dull steady whisper of rain on the ground and the hood. He remembered Fireball’s voice, low and stirring and just a tad hoarse from all the shouting and hollering he must’ve done during the game; Honey knew how he got when he was in his element like that.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Honey had blinked at him, clearing the grogginess from his eyes as he sat up. He remembered the soft, slow smile that had begun to spread automatically across his lips when he recognized Fireball before him. He was dressed in his usual post-game outfit—an old t-shirt, a pair of dark gray joggers, and his running shoes, his hair swept into a quick, messy bun, his gym bag slung over one shoulder—but something about it still stirred something in his chest, made him shift to sit up a bit straighter. He lowered his damp legs from his chest, let them hang off the edge of the hood, press against the cool, wet metal. He remembered working to twist the smile off his mouth, feebly attempting to turn it into a soft pout, his lower lip stuck subtly out. He remembered the way Fireball chuckled, teasing and warm enough to cast Honey’s gaze to the neckline of his shirt, where beads of sweat and mist had soaked into the fabric and darkened it a few shades.

“Hi,” he had said, voice soft and shy enough that it seemed a stiff wind might steal it away.

“Did you really wait up for me all this time in the rain?”

Honey had shifted a bit, hands pressed to his pale, moist thighs. He nodded. “It wasn’t so heavy. I didn’t want to get in the car just to get back out a minute later.”

He remembered the small, playful grin that had danced across Fireball’s lips then, the way he looked at him as he stepped closer to Honey, hand coming to brush gingerly against the exposed skin at his hip where his shirt had ridden up a bit.

“You know I’m always late, though.”

Honey had exhaled softly from his nose then. He remembered Fireball smelled of sweat and the musk of athleticism and whatever mixture of cologne and body spray had been hanging in the air of the locker room, but beneath it all, he smelled like woodsmoke and sweet sharp spice and comfort, and heat; soothing, familiar heat. He remembered the heat wafting from his face, still hot as the sun from exertion and the blood rushing through him.

“I didn’t mind.”

He remembered the rain on his lips, cool and slick and earthy, some imperceptible barrier between them. He remembered the burn of cinnamon on his tongue, the sharp, sweet sting of spice at the corners of his mouth, the ruddy heat it called up on his cheeks, in his chest. A soft sound somewhere between a hum and a sigh slipped from him, flowed and disappeared in the warmth of his mouth. He remembered the weight of his hands on his hips, of his body pressing into his, so ablaze it seemed he’d swallowed a piece of the sun, so fiery it seemed to be melting him from the inside out. He remembered parting his lips so easily when Fireball’s tongue played at the crease of his mouth, the low, needing moan that rose in his throat, that he fought to hold back even when Fireball’s hands bore down on his hips, fingers pressing into soft skin and urging him minutely forward. He remembered burning, roaming touches, kneading subtly at the top of his ass, then inching slowly over the curve of his thighs, ghosting over warm, sticky skin, pressing them apart and slowly grinding against his crotch.

He remembered his voice in his ear as he moved to press blazing kisses over his cheek, soft and rich and smooth, enough to stir up another moan in his chest, barely held back by his lip bitten between his teeth: “Oh, Honey…”

He remembered his hand on his chest, gently pushing him to stop. He remembered the heat swimming through him then, the hazy way he dug through the heady desire broiling in his chest, the lust burning in his belly, worsened only by the lazy, lingering kisses Fireball was still peppering across his neck.

“We should get out of the rain,” he had murmured. He remembered the way his cheeks warmed as he added, “There’s plenty room in the car.”