|cecaelia (cecaelia) wrote in areyougame,|
@ 2008-10-03 22:47:00
|Current location:||I only played through LttP, shh.|
|Entry tags:||*legend of zelda, author: cecaelia|
Clinched, Legend of Zelda (Ganondorf/Link) R
Fandom: Legend of Zelda
Rating: soft R? to be super safe.
Warnings: noncon/Consent Is An Issue, McAngsty, slash. Lavender prose--it's not purple! Honest.
Word count: 726-ish. See, I did actually trim this one sentence a bit.
Summary: Ganon plus Link equals wall!groping and implied orgasm! Yay.
A/N: Sorry it's late; hope you like it anyway. ^^; Legend of Zelda etc. etc. property of Nintendo; any and all errors are my own.
Prompt: Ganondorf/Link - in the dungeon - "These bonds are a little tight."
The world comes back to him in a rush, all smeared crimson fire and hot stone, sharpened by a wash of agony through his shield arm. Leather pinches as he moves, nipping at his wrists, threatening more pain if he pulls further--his hands are bare, pinned flat to the wall, and they're empty.
His shield is gone. His sword is gone.
His clothes are gone, too.
"Where's Zelda?" They're the first words he thinks of. Link snarls to keep his voice steady.
It's too dark for him to see far.
He knows that laugh.
"Awake at last." With a tromping of boots and the slithering clatter of armor hidden in silk, Ganon slides free of the shadows. The tall Geroudian makes no secret of looking him over; Link's face heats in shame. "And defiant to the very end." Ganon smirks. "The goddesses chose well."
Already too close, he leans in and clamps down hard on Link's mottled shoulder. Ganon's hand is too large, too rough--nothing like a maiden's hand--and he is too precise to be gentle about twisting the bone back into its socket.
Link shudders, biting down a scream, and spits in Ganon's face.
"You're welcome," the taller warrior says calmly, wiping himself clean with bone-white, blunt-ended fingers. They're hard hands; nothing about battle or spellcraft is delicate. They glisten with Link's insult, pale and sleek. "You know, your manners could use a little work."
"Well!" splutters Link. He has to say something. "These bonds are a little tight."
Ganon lifts wet fingers to Link's lips, pushes between them--Link gasped, ready to shout, to bite, and now Ganon's fingers are in his mouth and he can taste himself there, just faintly.
"It was necessary," the Geroudian rumbles, low and dark, nearly purring. "For your...condition."
"Can't breathe," says Link, dizzy, telling himself it's his injury--Ganon's right, blast him forever; Link won't be going anywhere soon. They both know it.
"My fine, noble adventurer," there's laughter in Ganon's voice as his hands roam lower, "you couldn't speak if you couldn't breathe."
Link squirms sideways, trying to press into the wall, to get away, succeeding only in grating his back on the stones. Ganon's touch is satin by comparison, certain and steady and sleek.
It's too hot in here. Link's breath is coming hard and fast. There is a shortage of air in this dungeon. There must be.
He's starting to sweat. No man has ever touched him before, and no one has ever...no one.
Not Zelda, he doesn't want to think of Zelda, not here, not now. The breath goes out of him and it's nearly a whimper.
Ganon smiles at him from under that wild shock of red hair, that heavy bristling mane like a desert lion's. His eyes are gleaming, huge and dark in the torchlight, but Link knows that they're golden, harsh and hot.
"Really? It was all my idea?" The words are twisted, wry. The wizard's grin dies back to a smirk. "I see."
The straps have cut into Link's wrists, chafing them, just at the edge of drawing blood. Between that and the hot swift insistent touches, he's betrayed.
"Yes." The word tears loose before Link can stop it, and he didn't know he could be held there, that even blunt-nailed fingers could dig and squeeze and stroke. Ganon is against him, pressing, rubbing, still clothed, all silk and leather, and in one spot his trousers are hot and close.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, it's nothing, nothing, Link hates it, hates this room and this man and what they're doing, what he's doing--his hips buck forward, their mouths are together, apart, they bit each other--he's so angry, too angry to hold on anymore. He grinds against Ganon's thigh as hard as he can, screaming defiance, and Ganon's pressed his mouth into Link's shoulder, the injury there, fastened himself on it; he murmurs low, steady words in guttural Gerudo speech, and the pain disappears.
They're both trembling. Ganon's pants leg glistens white.
"Link," the name is short, harsh, bitter. Ganon's tongue moves just above Link's palms, harsh restorative phrases that burn without touching. He says it again, hard, demanding. "Link."
But Link has nothing at all to say.
Discretion has always been the better part of valor.