Feb 26th, 2005, 03:13 PM
I will not forget...
His hair, spun gold, flaxen silk pressed beyond value; his eyes, great sapphires, cool and mute where they examine my broad chest uncompromisingly; his lithe muscles, eddies of cream flesh whirling and rippling to unblemished art, all of which are never to be lost within my fevered brain. Nayru was, most certainly, a goddess of love, lust, and all things masculine, just to craft with trembling slips of holy hands that tender bulge hiding beneath sweaty, dirty flannel... He reeks of maleness, his perspiration a spicy wine, the musk of his determination utterly intoxicating... And sexuality... Mmmm, that sexuality is a visible ruddiness, smeared across his succulent cheeks and fingers, gripped most tantalizingly around that thick length of sword-handle he fingers as though his only link to life's agonizing plateau.
Madness cloaks our violently-still sonata, Gothic panes shattered to dust, the very floor underneath us crumbling, kneeling before two-thirds of the Triforce: Arabesque power and Aryan courage, interlocking first in battle, secondly, hopefully, in bed...
My pallid tongue dabs at suddenly-dry lips, for wonder of his nipple's flavor. "Link..." the voice slipping betwixt them is husky, rumbling, but my opening remarks fall flat upon his glacial eyes. Conquest of Hyrule's verdant lands seem apathetic now, and I seek only conquest of those glossy lips, to taste soft gum, glistening enamel, and candied tongue... Yet, such remarks can scarcely be made in base words, much less at sword-point! Ah, but to rid him of that cursed Master Sword, to crush his body to mine atop and within satin sheets, to feel his brush against mine-
The bile of my anger cools to a fallow sludge. Boot-tip touches marbled floor, just as crimson robe scrapes gratingly incandescent shards glaring sunset against the indifferent torchlight.
Gilded aura fading tangibly behind me, there is not but the cinnamon of my eyes and the azure of his, save only his sweet, questioning voice: "Ganondorf?"
I can see surprise play across his face as I approach him, cut chest straining valiantly against his shield's cruel weight. My footfalls pound all about him; my rising approach beating back and forth against the granite walls, the juicy lump of his throat bobbing wonderingly off his glittering steel.
That throat... to tongue and lap its warmth, gnaw the broad muscularity of his neck, to stroke with trembling fingertip the quivering excellence of his boyhood, I would renounce this foulness that separates us at the wrist, and gladly offer it up for the chopping... My jaw hangs limp to do so, but fear draws it shut, locked, and bolted.
No! Never! Much renowned of gorgeously Arabesque countenance and eyes of scorching copper, one could easily argue my being quite the pretty thing for all my masculinity. My taut figure ripples the cool waters of all things male, just as the cinder lengths of my hair fall gleaming and pleasing towards both sexes. I am not so easily affected by beauty, of any kind, for I am the very pylon streaking across loveliness' polychromatic sky! I am a seducer, no mere toy of Nayru or any 'love god'.
More so, I share no such fiery ambition for romance; no such desire for normalcy and her pallid sister, homely mediocrity stills the clangorous, uneven pulse shrieking bloodthirsty along these veins.
I am the august Lord Ganondorf Dragmire; a lord, one of power, one of sexuality, one of intellect. Bone-yards wail of my prowess in battle. My exploits in the arts of sex and violence are dually vermillion-writ. Should such a dusty-haired child stay my pride, I would sooner die!
"Not another step!"
Just away from his reach's furthest extent, I cross my arms and laugh deeply, bemusedly, and utterly hollowly, for, despite all my arrogant talk, I very much would give anything to enter his smooth, creamy buttocks, to chance bursting the brazen pebbles of his nipples in my appraising pinch. "I mean not... any... ill intent," I pause, so as to keep from stammering. "I meant only..." My cheeks burn.
"You meant only...?" the question hangs still in the dust-choked air, his legendary blade still trained towards my downcast eyes.
"I meant only to love you."
Fire cools to ice; there is no sound but our labored breath, no color in our drained bodies. The words fell artlessly from my parched lips: "I meant only... to love you..."
The scene is a still-life, a painting of the deftest strokes and the most shockingly bare of palettes. My powerful build is the very aspect of Ares, whereas my obsession is a Venus.
"G-Ganondorf...?" His response is ill-prepared, the sword falling slack-ways to his side, the shield equally proving to heavy for the awe-struck lad.
My name resonates lowly, trembling in the awfully still chamber. My name seems unfamiliar with his glossy lip, his tongue tripping over each syllable, taken aback, yet admonishing, and, most of the three, questioning.
The gap between us clears with each crunch of shattered panes underneath my boot-heel. My tough hands flex restlessly at their sides, hesitant as to whether I should bring them up. "You've grown these past seven years, kid," I tumble through speech, attempting to, in some small way, assume a modicum of the old confidence. "I admired your spunk, I'll admit it... But now..."
"But now, I'd rather taste your spunk than admire it."
The words, though crude, are effective, his knees liquify at such powerfully sexual words, collapsing his sweet figure sprawling against mine.
My fingers comb through his luxurious mane, that silken gold, pressing alabaster cheek to onyx armor while I take in his scent... Mmm... Such a gentle, docile musk, despite his legendary prowess with that bluest of blades... Its tendrils hook hungrily into my raw synapses, prompting my free hand across his clothed back and down the rough, masculine napes of his buttocks.
The paling boy yelps in suprise, and I lower my lips spread to his, now tasting the tongue I had so long dreamed of touching... this youngest, most desirable of flesh, hardly seventeen years old...
Shrinking from my embrace, the tender plain of his cheek falls hot upon my breast, warming, once more, my icy armor. "No..." Link mutters, rationalizing all-too-late, "I-I... Zelda... I've fought so long for her..."
Though my body cries for want of release and utterly animalistic pleasure, my hand loosens at his rear, just as my grip softens... Considering his panting protestations carefully, my throaty whisper into the elven-tipped lobe of his hear are capped with the most affectionate of kisses, "How has she thus far repaid you, huh? Hiding from you behind a mask! Stealing seven years of your life!"
"I am the evil before you; she is the evil behind your back... Which of us will you embrace?"
The silence following is unbearably long. My fevered mind races at his wordless, pained expression... Perhaps I've been too rough? Perhaps I were to make him weep? How could I ever, ever hope to repay those busted sapphires, the iridisence forever crushed, his dreams forever snuffed? How could I ever hope for love from one such as him? How could-
His lips timidly press against my throat... And those tears in his eyes are warm, a springtime shower... Perhaps we've both been burning...
And should the flame burn at both ends... We could meet in a passionate conflagration...
The great doors of my personal chamber swing open, a flawless eddying of marble, alabaster, and ivory... my portrait, a ferious depiction of my conquest of Hyrule, hangs imperiously over the great, silken expanse of my bed, pillows and sheets strewn haphazardly across the titanic frame, candles twinkling all alongside the dressers and tables.
That angry image leers knowingly down upon me, as though it understands that the boy-child clasping to my side represents Hyrule's final conquest, the frigid bitch Zelda's ultimate ruination, and the overall glory of former foes.
As for Link, beloved Link, flaxen Link of azure eye and sweaty skin, his dusty travelling clothes have long since been stripped and cast away, as have all my thick armor and torn leathers. I stand towering before him, the two of us naked before each other, our masculinities throbbing, expecting...
Our rippling muscles both yearn to clash, fingers interlocked, our luxuriant manes forever tangled, the cindered and the gilded.
As instructed, although summer yet melts the candle of June, my august fireplace of blackest ebon roars crackling flames, and torches spew forth their heat into the room, scalding our flesh and intermingling our aromas... Of course, as I've come to learn as the only male Gerudo amidst the Gerudo warrior women in the desert inferno, passion is best served afire.
His lithe chest and succulent fingers already ruddy in the heat, just as his cheeks and kissable throat are yet bronzing and wettening in the unmitigated heat, the very ardor with which I shall KNOW him.
Dropping to one knee, my hungry lips seek his palm and linger there, reluctant to ever part from that curiously supple and creamy flesh. Nevertheless, my husky voice chokes out the words, "Link... I would yet have you for a bride... I beg of you on stooped knee, before Nayru, most devious of the goddesses, to recant our sworn rivalry, and wear my ring." Wrought within that iron circlet is the Gerudo seal... MY seal, placed upon all those in my service, of my propriety...
Naive, innocent, and shaking towards the last, Link's hands silently fumble for the ring, his fingers so nervous as to drop the ring into my palm time and again, so that I pull him atop my knee and straighten his splayed fingers, affixed the blackened steel to his otherwise alabaster digit.
Nursing his ringed hand, Link stands, hobbling towards his matrimonial bed and collapsing face- forward upon Hylian silk and Kokiri cotton, allowing my own anxious caress of his back's kindest ripples and tastiest muscles with both wolfish hand and ravenous mouth...
The brine of his sweat is as candy to my indfferent tongue; his broad, powerful shoulders seem as though a rounded maiden's, just as his winded breaths seem more a maiden's than a warrior's.
Nevertheless, the rounded, rectangular cut of his buttocks, whilst forever the comeliest of attractions, and the pulsing, burning manhood battered between his trembling thighs signify his sex all too clearly. Bidding him roll to face me, I lowered myself upon his dream-like face, my lips tracing the smoothness of his eyelids, the power of his throat and chest, the sweetness of his abs and navel, in which I swirled my pallid tongue, then scooped into my torrid mouth his pulsing member, chancing a suckling stroke against his flawless helm, proceeding down his average but excellent length hungrily.
Unrestrained, hitherto innocent, his gasps and cries are elegies to his lost childhood, exultations of his crystalline future, more over, praise of his truest love.
My steady, unhurried speed delights him, as does my stroking thumb and forefinger, kneading at his delicate pouch.
My ministrations, though newfound, are inherently expert, and he spends himself within my thirsty throat in a matter of minutes, surrendering both to unparalleled ecstasy and the cool, sweat-soaked sheets, biting the tip of his forefinger to keep from screaming his love... All his affection pours forth in my name, "Ganondorf..."
I remind him eagerly of his husband's dire need, and, with little hesitation, his legs spread wide in welcoming his lover, his master. Asking softly after his safety at the length of my piece, he firmly shakes his head and squeezes about my waste with his own strong thighs, prompting my entrance and my hands siezing upon his chest and brazen nipples, the only darkened spots on his otherwise-unblemished figure.
Building up, as before, a steady rhythm, it pains me to see him biting back his cries, to see him clenching sheet and pillow, whatever softness could still the massive, horned thing pumping away inside of him, but eventually this does little to stem my lust, my arid passion, as it builds faster and careless, bringing with it the wails of my partner, slamming him gently into the bed with each quivering thrust.
My fingers, too, play at his nipples, as though to distract him from the monstrous worm rippling through his backside, his...
His unadultured, purest HEAT...
The sweat soaking the sheets, the wetness all about me... the sugary, candy wetness building with... building with....!
I collapse upon him, my seed spilling fruitlessly throughout him, whilst his emptied, half-
hardened stickiness spasms the last of its juice against my belly... Recalling my stupid, stupid play at him, my undermining of his feelings, the very reason that he cast Zelda aside and fled into my arms, tears begin to well up, and I draw him near me, kissing fatherly the forehead nestled up at the crook of my neck.
"I'm sorry..." the words come, strangled mercilessly in a sob. "I didn't mean..."
He shushes me, a finger to his glossly lips, sweat fraying his golden locks and pasting our hair together, as our faces are merely inches apart... "Ganondorf, I... I love you..." the words are whispered alongside a satisfied (although pained) earnestness.
Pressing him to me, I can recall little else of our first night, save only that we fell under sleep's spell in total bliss, complete fulfillment, and unparalleled happiness. Though I consider myself certainly the 'husband' in our relationship, he branded me just as much his with those four little words than did all my yearning, all my bravery in my approach, and all my cleverness in stealing him away from Zelda. I shall always burn for Link for his caring, scalding brand, just as he shall always burn for me. Love, I believe, is a fiery thing, though the most satisfying of all my endeavors, with Link both my favorite conquest... and conqueror.
Fin
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