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I lie in an early bed thinking late thoughts
Waiting for the black to replace by blue
I do not struggle in your web
Because it was my aim to get caught—But daddy long legs, I feel that I'm finally growing weary
Of waiting to be consumed by you
-
The worst part is that he’s just so beautiful.
He’s all—golden brown skin and smoldering gold eyes and gold, everywhere, all the time. It gets annoying, after a while. Burns your eyes.
You’d been enamored with him at first. Embarrassingly so. You’re not really ashamed of it—as much as he pushes literally every single button you have, you know that he charms the literal pants off of pretty much everyone he meets.
Not you, though.
Not in, like, a I’m not like other girls type of way. You weren't lying when you said you were stunned by his beauty at first, because you had eyes, thank you, and even you could admit that Ganondorf really was a stupidly pretty man.
It’s just that he then went and he opened his Goddess forsaken mouth. And that was all it took, really.
You didn’t care for his attitude, which was snippy at the best of times and downright callous at his worst. Didn’t care for his snapping, his barking, the way he seemed to jump at the chance to piss you off every single moment he could get.
It enraged you to no end. You were here to do a job, and he was making that job so much more difficult than it had to be. You still stared, because of course you did; he was a beautiful creature, someone you could spend hours studying. But you very much doubted he shared that thought about you, and you didn't care to give him another thing to tease you for.
So you kept it quiet, secret. You only ever looked when you knew he wouldn't look back and catch you, which was difficult, because Ganondorf seemed to delight in making you squirm by staring you down; and he didn't even have the good sense to look away when you glanced back. It was like he wanted you to know. To see.
You tried to set it aside. Ignore it, ignore him, and just do what you needed to do so you could go home. You decided to be the bigger person, his towering stature aside. Diplomats didn’t rip the throats out of the people they were supposed to be discussing treaties with. Diplomats were diplomatic, and you were going to be the most diplomatic hardass he’d ever met if it was the last thing you did.
You will not rise to his taunts, you told yourself every night when you looked in the mirror before bed. You’re better than that. You’re the best diplomat in Hyrule, the Queen herself entrusted you with this mission, and you had never failed her before. You have zero intention of starting now.
But it’s fucking hard.
Arrogant and pissy and smug. They’re familiar descriptions at this point, because Ganondorf is arrogant and he is pissy and he is smug. He’s fucking—lazy and unworried in everything he does, like he knows there’s no way anyone would ever dare defy him, and you hate this guy so much.
And you realize, no. No. You were wrong. The worst part, actually, is that he’s probably right, because Ganondorf is a beast of a man.
It would be easier if he was bumbling, or stupid, or—just. Something else that he just isn’t. But there’s a reason Queen Zelda wants his alliance, his allyship, his—eugh—friendship. His easy arrogance is, frustratingly enough, earned. Everything about him is dangerous and built to genuine perfection. He wields every weapon he picks up like he’s been using them his whole life. You actually don’t think he’s lost a single battle in the admittedly short amount of time you’ve known him, mental or physical. It’s mind boggling.
And you hate him for it.
He’s whip smart, and he’s brutally powerful, and then he had to go and be gorgeous, too. It all drives you up the damn wall.
And now here you are, laying in your bed and trying not to develop some sort of heatstroke. Everything is hot here in the Gerudo Desert, even at night, and you're doing your best not to drown in a pool of sweat right now. Really, all it does is make you even pissier.
You glare at the ceiling of the frankly gorgeous room you’ve been given to stay in. If looks could kill, the poor sandstone would be exploding into tiny little pieces all around you.
But you can't explode things with your mind, so it doesn’t. A great thing for Ganondorf, really; he'd be a dead man fifty times over if you could. Luckily for him, though, you're just a diplomat, and unluckily for you, you happen to despise the guy you’re supposed to be coaxing into being, well, diplomatic.
You shut your eyes tightly, trying to force yourself into slumber through the sheer force of will power alone. You need to sleep, because you have to go speak with him again tomorrow to try and get this treaty finally hashed out, and if you have to do that on a shitty nights rest you’re not totally certain you’d be able to stop yourself from leaping across the table and full on throttling the son of a bitch.
The annoying thing, you think sleepily, is you don’t even think your hands would fully fit around his tree trunk of a neck. He probably wouldn’t even notice. Might even just chuckle, the way he always does when your slowly crumbling grip on your restraint loosens enough to visibly show how much he enrages you with every single thing that he does.
You pause. Rewind that thought. Play it again, on repeat, in your mind, because something about it is tugging at you.
And that makes it click for you, finally. You bolt upright in your bed, hair a mess and eyes probably wild, because no. No. There’s no way. He wouldn’t, right? He wouldn't.
But he would, is this the thing. You know Ganondorf well enough, have spent enough time observing his every little detail now, to know his habits, his little vices, what he likes and what he doesn’t like as if it’s all the back of your own hand. It’s a necessary part of your job, to read whoever you’re supposed to be negotiating with like a book, and you’re damn good at it.
You should have known. Your hatred for him was blinding you, making you assume you two just weren’t a good matchup, an offset pair that simply couldn’t get along. You’d just—assumed. You never assume, but he set you off kilter in a way noone ever had before, and it’s only now that you realize.
This is the worst part, the thing that sends your blood pressure genuinely skyrocketing: the way Ganondorf pisses you off has to be fully, entirely, and totally fucking intentional.
-
So you don’t throttle Ganondorf.
Which—y’know. Score for you on the board, at least.
But what actually ended up happening was, uh. Well.
You’d walked into the meeting already seething. Not a good thing, but you couldn’t help it; the realization the night before had lit a fire under you. You'd been pacing endlessly around the room, cursing him out with language that you think would have made even him flush. You hadn't climbed back into bed, truly worn out, until at least a good couple of hours later.
So. Tired, and mad, and really just sort of cranky. Those were the three things swirling in your head when you walked into that room.
The meeting had started out okay at the very least. One of Ganondorfs aides had opened the conversation without delay, and you'd allowed your associates to field it off and answer their questions, because you didn't think you'd be very fucking diplomatic if you opened your mouth right now.
Your assistants asked questions, and the Gerudo counselors answered. The counselors asked their own back, and your side replied neatly. Demands were made on both sides, and tension remained at a steady hum in the room—the Gerudo and the Hylian people had a relationship that could be described as rocky at the best of times—but nothing exploded into outright arguing. All said and done, the meeting was going remarkably well.
Which might have had something to do with the fact that neither you nor Ganondorf spoke the entire time.
It was unusual, and you knew it set both sides slightly off kilter—though you'd never vocalized it, everybody knew the two of you weren't exactly civil. But Ganondorf, surprisingly enough, kept his mouth shut the entire time.
Maybe it was a blessing from Hylia herself, which struck you as improbable. Maybe he was reconsidering his ways, which struck you as impossible. Maybe he'd slept wrong last night and something hurt in his back and, like you, he didn't wanna fucking deal with that right now. That seemed the most likely, actually.
Whatever. You didn't care. Whatever it was, if it kept his mouth shut, you were perfectly happy to play along.
It was just. Well.
He wouldn't stop looking at you.
Really, you don't think his eyes left you the entire time the two of you had been sat in that room. It was unnerving, to be pinned under his gaze like that; sort of like being in the direct line of sight with a full grown tiger, and staying very still so that maybe it wouldn't leap at you the second you moved.
You squirmed in your chair a little, uncomfortable with the attention. What was he even looking at, anyways? You'd spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time obsessing in the mirror that morning, determined to make sure there was nothing about your physical appearance he could even try to pick at. Your hair wasn't a mess. There was nothing on your face, because you hadn't eaten anything with how much your stomach was roiling. Your clothes (borrowed silk cloths, courtesy of the King himself, that looked like they cost more than you made in a year and were just as soft) were pretty. So...what?
Had you wrapped the cloths on incorrectly? You glanced around the room surreptitiously, but—nope, the Gerudo women on his side of the table were wearing theirs identically, so what in Hylia's name was he looking at?
You looked back at him, and startled a little to see him leaned forward in his seat, chin leaning against the meat of his palm, just. Fucking staring. Blatantly ignoring the aide to his right who was talking about trading and routes and logistics. You couldn't make yourself pay attention to what she was saying.
You could feel your face heating, and you glanced away, the skin of your cheek caught between your teeth. Goddess, why did you feel so nervous? He was just a man, that was all. A man you hated, at that.
...A man who was staring at you with a look in his eyes he got sometimes, one you'd yet to decipher; frow burrowed ever so slightly, eyes lidded low, mouth set in a strangely firm line.
You assumed it was hatred, but that felt off, somehow. He didn't strike you as the type to just, like, stare kind of weirdly at the people he hated. Ganondorf was not the sort of man to sit quietly when he disliked someone. No, you think he'd be wild in his anger; loud and brash, like a wildfire.
For one very wild second, you thought about what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that fire. The way your stomach flipped made you physically jolt.
"—ould be the end of it, then," your junior, Anira, was saying when you finally forced yourself to start listening again. She was smiling slightly. "Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss the final logistics, then?"
One of the aides on his side glanced up at him, but when he didn't speak, she answered. "Yes, that should work. We'll have to discuss amongst ourselves and our council, of course, but I think we will be able to come to an agreement."
Again, they all glanced at Ganondorf. Still, he stayed silent. You wondered if he was zoning out, and had forgotten he needed to end the meeting.
Finally, after the silence moved from kind of tense to ok this is getting awkward, he rumbled, "That will be all. Sav'saaba."
It was like the tension was let out of the room all at once, and everyone started getting up, yourself included. Low murmuring filled the room as people began to slowly filter out of the room.
You were about to leave when he called out your name.
"Stay a moment," Ganondorf said. "There's something I'd like to speak with you about privately."
You'd paused. Anira had glanced at you, concerned, but you had just waved her off with a smile that didn't feel very solid.
You could handle him by yourself for a few minutes. You were an adult.
So. That's how you ended up here, standing across the table from him, feeling very much like prey for some reason.
"Your majesty," you say demurely. You can be chill. You can be so chill. "Is there something you'd like to discuss about the treaty? It was to my understanding that you'd decided to privately speak about it with Her Majesty the Queen, but if there is something I can assist you with before she arrives—"
"I don't want to talk about the treaty," he interrupted, which. Ok. Just cut you off, whatever, that's fine. "I will discuss the signing when Zelda arrives."
His flagrant use of her given name makes you bristle, but you smother it down violently. You are very polite when you say, "I see. Then what was it you wished to speak with me about?"
Ganondorf stares at you. Then, with a strange quirk to his full lips, he says, "You don't like me very much, do you?"
The shock of it makes you fumble. "Er," you say intelligently. Praying frantically to Hylia, you stutter, "I—I'm sorry?"
"You dislike me."
"Um." Your eyes dart away from his, panic rising in your throat. Have you wrecked this entire treaty by being too childish to just tolerate him? Seriously?! "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," you try.
It's weak. It's so weak. His gaze is like molten amber, boring into you, seeing right through it. "Don't insult my intelligence, vala," he says wryly. You don't know what the word means; your Gerudo is frustratingly limited beyond the basics, and you don't have the wherewithal to ask what it means right now. "I have eyes, and you're not very subtle in your disaffection."
You swallow thickly. Fuck. "I'm...I apologize, your majesty." Maybe groveling will appease him? Maybe? You hope??? "I meant no offense, I swear."
For some reason, that makes him frown. Slowly, he stands. "May I ask why?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Your dislike for me."
You stare at him as he walks around the table. Is he serious? "What?"
"Hatred, then."
"I'm—I wouldn't call it hate—," you would, you absolutely would, but like hell you're going to tell him that and, anyway, the word doesn't feel like it fits correctly right now, "—I just...I suppose we don't have very compatible, er, personalities."
Ganondorf comes to a stop in front of you. Goddess, but he's so big. You have to crane your neck back just to keep his gaze, lest you start staring at his stupid perfect abdomen.
"You don't hate me?" He murmurs.
What is happening? "I," you try. He's standing so close. Like, so close. If you reached out a hand less than half a foot, you'd be brushing his skin. "No," you breathe, breath suddenly caught in your own lungs.
The energy in the room is—weird. It makes you unsteady. He's never been so close, so silent, so—you want to say intimidating, but that's not quite right. You can't think of the word.
Slowly, so slowly, his eyes drop from yours to drag down your body; capturing on lips for a moment, then down, to the skin that the Gerudo silks leave open to the air. His gaze feels like a physical brush against your flesh, leaving goosebumps in his wake, lingering for a moment on your curves and bared skin.
He meets your eyes again, and that look is back. The one you hadn't been able to decipher earlier.
What.
The rage that fills you is genuinely unhinged. You take a full step back, face shuttering, and you barely register the flash of confusion on his face before you bite out, "How dare you?!"
He looks genuinely surprised. "What?"
"I—I should have known! Goddess, you really are just the biggest asshole this side of the valley, aren't you!"
Ganondorf reaches for you. You don't see the way his brow furrows. "Vala—"
You take another step back. The word flies completely past your head. "It was fine," you say hotly, "when you were just some dick who I could ignore. It's fine, I thought! He's just like that! It's not like he's, he's pissing me off on purpose! But no! You are!"
"I—"
You turn on your heel, stalking towards the door. Your neck feels hot. It's indignation, you tell yourself, but you know that's not the full truth. You're humiliated. "I was willing to take the jabs lying down. I was going to be the bigger person, okay, I was ready to just let it slide, but you do not get to fucking jerk me around and then ogle me!"
You realize, horrified, that your eyes are burning. Fuck, why are you crying? Why did you let him get to you?
Hurried footsteps follow you to the door. "Senator, I apologize, I meant no offense!"
"Then what did you mean?" You say. "What, just gonna have a bit of fun tormenting the delegate you've decided to torment? Well, I'm not going to just sit here and be humiliated by you."
"Humiliate?" He echoes, incredulous.
"Yes!" You whirl around, forcing the tears threatening to spill down into some deeply repressed place inside of you. You keep your eyes focused on the wall just to the right of his head because you can't look at him right now. If you look at him, the humiliation of this entire situation will overwhelm you, and you'll start actually crying. "Humiliate! You do not get to stand there and pretend to be attracted to me just to have a quick laugh! Find some other poor fuck to laugh at!"
Ganondorf looks genuinely stunned. His mouth opens and closes, like he's trying to say something but can't find the right words; but you have no patience for that right now.
"Good evening, your majesty," you snarl.
When you leave the room, the door closes behind you with a slam.
-
Well, you're definitely going to lose your job.
A cool breeze brushes your skin, and you turn your head from where it's been buried in your pillow to look outside. Your rooms are high enough up that you're able to see the sky, the burning desert sun hanging low in the horizon and branding the room a beautiful golden tone. It's gorgeous. You wish you could appreciate it more than you do right now, but you're just not in the mood.
You've been holed up ever since you fled Ganondorf, steadfastly ignoring the concerned gazes of the people who saw you running. Somewhere between the hasty jog from the meeting room to your own quarters, the burning rage in your stomach had twisted into misery. You'd been catastrophizing in your room ever since, mind too busy jumping to the worst case scenarios to tend to any of your other duties.
You don't know why you're so upset. This is par for the course where Ganondorf's concerned. It's just that—he makes you so mad. So mad. And this?
This hit too hard.
Because the fact of the matter is that, yeah, you'll admit it: Ganondorf is fucking gorgeous. Exactly your type, if he just wasn't so rude all the time. And he drives you crazy, and now you know it's on purpose, and it's all just a bit much for you.
And then he goes and insults you like that. Not verbally, not out loud, but you know it was an insult, because in what universe would he ever want you? He hates you. You know he hates you, because why else would he be so contrary all the time?!
You understand that you have to apologize, smarting feelings aside. You can not be the reason this treaty falls through—Queen Zelda put her trust in you when she sent you to him, and you'll be damned if you let her down.
So—you'll apologize. Easy. Blame your outburst on a lack of sleep, which is only a half lie, and beg him not to take his anger out on your people or the treaty you've all worked so hard to hammer out.
You think, glumly, about going to get something to eat. Maybe some water, because you think all this heat is really starting to get to you. But you can't make yourself move, frozen by your own overthinking. Silently, you send a haphazard prayer to Hylia for some guidance.
Nothing happens. But of course.
You sigh for what feels like the millionth time. Goddess, why are you moping? You should be angry. You are angry, really, but it's fizzled out into an exhausted little ember in the back of your head. You wish you had something to do to take your mind off of it all, but with no more meetings for the rest of the day and everything else you could possibly do already divvied between the other delegates, you're left with nothing.
So you just kinda. Lay on the bed, tired and grumpy and just feeling out of sorts.
Silent.
It's no surprise that you fall asleep.
In your dreams, you're back in that Hylia forsaken meeting room, except it's empty this time, and everything looks strange; hazy and unfocused. You look around, but no one is here. You blink slowly, feeling very far away. And then, on a sluggish turn of your heel, you look behind you.
There Ganondorf stands, that inscrutable look on his face, and he's saying something but you can't hear him.
"I can't understand you," you try to say, but nothing comes out. Your mouth won't move.
His eyes are blazing. He reaches for you, slowly, and when he touches you his skin burns. Because it's a dream—because you're vaguely aware that this isn't actually happening—you don't shy away. Instead, you gasp, leaning into his touch and covering his hands with your own.
"Vala," he murmurs, and this time you hear it ; a deep rumble from his chest that doesn't even sound human. You don't know what that word means—vala, not Senator, not your name, vala—but you like the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. The way his teeth flash when he says it, the way his tongue wets his bottom lip ever so slightly.
You're staring. You can't stop staring. His palm brushes up the side of your neck, hot and heady, and cups your jaw. It dwarfs your head completely, and the thought makes something heated fill you from head to toe.
"Ganondorf," you say, and in your dream, his grip tightens.
But it's not needed. When he leans down, plush lips parted, you don't pull away.
-
It's knocking on your door that wakes you up with a jolt.
Immediately, you're mortified. Your entire body feels flushed, like you've been running, or—something else. Get a fucking grip, you scold yourself as you drag your body out of the bed, still half asleep. He humiliated you, moron, stop fantasizing about him.
Blearily, you glance out the terrace again. It must be late in the night, you think. You can't have been asleep for more than a few hours.
You make your way to the door. It's a heavy thing that takes almost your full weight to push it out.
Ganondorf looks sleep ruffled. His hair is unbound, draping around his shoulders and brushing his waist, and when you glance down, you swallow when you see him barefooted. It's enouhg to stun you into silence for a long, long moment. He's clad only in a simple pearly white sirwal, chest bare and his usual golden adornments nowhere to be seen. You do your best not to think about that when you force your eyes back to his. You can't imagine you look any more put together, anyway; you'd tried to sort yourself as you reached the door, but you hadn't really put much effort into it because you hadn't been expecting him of all people on the other side.
"Vala," he says quietly, just like in your dream, and you try not to jolt.
"Your majesty," you say. Your voice doesn't shake, but it's a near thing. "It's late. Can I help you?"
He glances past you into the room, taking it in. You watch his throat bob, and then mentally smack yourself, because you seriously need to get a grip. "May I...come in?"
Hesitation. This feels weird. You feel weird. "It's late," you repeat, because it's all you can really think to say right now.
Ganondorf gaze burns into you, eyes a little soft and pleading in a way that is totally unfamiliar to you. "Please," he murmured.
You blink. This is unfamiliar, dangerous territory; you should say no. Apologize briefly, send him on his way, and accept your fate in the coming morning. But—it's the most blatantly demure he's been since you met him that first day in the throne room, which leaves you fumbling for a response. Do you turn him away? Would he even go if you did?
You study him, his pensive eyes and furrowed brows, and think, somehow, that if you said no, he wouldn't argue with you.
Right now, you know that if you said go, he'd go. That alone compels you to step aside, hand held open as a silent invitation.
You close the door behind him when he enters. Slowly, he takes in the room as if he's never been inside before—and perhaps he hasn't. It's his palace, but the place is frankly massive, towering high over the rest of Gerudo town and burying deep into the sandy desert with halls and basements you've only seen bare glimpses of.
You stand with your back to the door, lip worrying between your teeth.
"I—"
"Can—"
The two of you speak at the same time. He blinks at you, something halfway humored on his face, and waves at you to continue first.
"I...want to apologize," you say stiffly after a momentary pause. "For my behavior earlier this evening. It was unbecoming of me, and disrespectful to you. I completely understand if you no longer want to work with me anymore—all I ask is that you do not turn away the treaty when Her Majesty presents it to you. Though my actions were distasteful, I hope that you will not let that reflect on the rest of the staff or on the work we have put in to unite our peoples."
There. You said it. It's as good as an apology can be, you reason, and you hope it'll make him reconsider taking his anger out on the rest of your people.
But Ganondorf is shaking his head. Your stomach sinks for one terrifying moment—and then he says, "No, vala, you misunderstand. I didn't come here for an apology." He hesitates. "I came to apologize to you."
What. "What," you say out loud.
"I never meant any offense," he begins lowly. "I...realize that I have not been as clear with you as I should have been."
"What?" You say again. Because seriously. What.
Ganondorf just kind of—looks at you. "I'm apologizing," he says, and now there's something about the glint of his eye; like whatever nervousness that had been held inside of him before this was draining slowly out of his body, and it left behind a sort of—humor? Maybe? "I'm sorry."
"I," you say. "You. Uh."
"I want you to understand something," he says, and takes a single step forward. "My position as Voe'atta means that my people respect me greatly. Rarely will they challenge me, or push back against me when I become..."
"A prick," you offer snidely, and then mentally kick yourself. Stop! Fucking! Provoking him!
But Ganondorf just smiles at you, sort of boyish and in a way that makes your stomach do that weird flip again. "A prick," he agrees, laughter in his voice. It makes your skin heat, because you've never heard him laugh like that before. When Ganondorf laughs, it is smug or rude or. Or. Something else. It's never soft. Not like this is.
Your entire body feels sort of dizzy. You can't understand what's going on. "You—you're always staring at me. I didn't—I thought you were trying to get under my skin."
For a moment, you worry you've mispoken again, because he looks genuinely wounded when you say that. But then he says, beseeching, "I'm sorry," he says. "I—thought you knew. I never meant to discomfort you."
Slowly, you let your hands drop from behind your back. "Today," you say. "The entire meeting. You were staring. Why?"
"I like watching you," he says, immediate and honest. "And today you were so tired, and so quiet, and I was—worried. About you."
And. Ok. There's a lot to unpack there, all wrapped up into a couple of short sentence, but for some reason the thing that sticks out is: "You like watching me?"
He takes another step toward you. "I'm always watching you," Ganondorf says, soft, and you feel a little bit like prey right now. "You are so fiery, so eye catching. Like the sun above, lighting up every room, and just as beautiful."
Your heart genuinely fucking skips a beat. "Oh," you croak, because that's really all you can get out right now. You misread this entire situation so badly it's starting to genuinely embarrass you. Is the temperature rising, or is it just you? You, and your skin that feels flushed from head to toe?
"I said earlier," he continues, "that my people never question me. And that is true. But you are different. You do not cater to my every whim, or back away when I snap." Something in his eyes shifts, and that damned look is back on his face. "Nobody has ever pushed back. I thought that was how I preferred it, until I met you. Until you fought back, so fiery, so bright."
He's right in front of you now, molten gaze burning into your own. Your heart is beating hard enough in your ribcage that you think he must be able to hear it. "Your Majesty," you say, shaking for reasons you can't understand.
And then he's leaning down and pressing his lips to your own.
Kissing Ganondorf is a fucking experience. Your hands fly up to his wrists, not to pull him off of you like you should but just because you need something to hang onto as he drives you nuts with just the press of his lips. Somewhere, in the singular part of your mind that hasn't completely melted out of your ears, you think that you should send a damn thank you card to whoever taught him to kiss, because. Oh. Oh. Oh, hell.
It's like taking in a gasp of air after being underwater for too long; or maybe it's the slide of cool, fresh water down your throat when all you've had is the heat of the desert sun beating down on you for hours. You don't know. Your brain has fully and totally gone blank, too captured by the slide of his mouth against your own.
Ganondorf gets more confident when you don't immediately shove him off, and the kiss turns a little hotter, a little filthier. When he nips at your bottom lip, you gasp, and it lets him lick into your mouth, tongue twining with your own. You feel sort of drunk off of it, a muffled whimper escaping your throat as he presses you harder into the door. He breathes hard through his nose at the sound, one hand sliding down to cup your waist, and—fuck, he's so big, he could cover you completely and still have room to spare and you didn't know that was a thing for you but apparently it is because it makes your core clench painfully around nothing.
You want him, you think as your arms reach up to twine around his neck, to drag him a little closer, a little deeper. When your nails dig into the back of his neck, he groans, low and rumbling in a way that makes your cunt pulse needily. Oh, goddess, you want him so bad it's actually making you dizzy.
There's a hardness poking at you, fucking thick, and you roll your hips experimentally, grinning a little at the way he jolts and then presses back against you to grind.
He breaks away suddenly, sucking in a hard breath. "Fuck," he croaks, and he's staring at you like you're something unreal, something grand, and everything inside of you gets all twisty. And then, suddenly, his hands are dropping to your thighs, and you're yelping unelegantly as he hauls you up. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, and Hylia above you know you already said it but he's so wide, your legs are straining just to try and fit around him.
Ganondorf pulls you away from the door, head dropping to mouth at your throat, and you whine, needy, as he carries you over to the bed and lowers you onto it. One hand comes up to brace himself.
Everything is moving so fast; you feel genuinely dizzy. When Ganondorf's tongue licks into the hollow of your throat, sharp teeth scraping your skin, you gasp loudly, head tipping backward almost outside of your own volition. He rumbles, pleased, and you feel his free hand snaking down across the planes of your stomach, pushing the fabric of your borrowed night shirt up your chest and pressing his hand against your tummy like a hot brand. You squirm at the touch, genuinely trembling, and manage a strangled, "Y—oh, fuck, your Majesty—!"
He groans again, deep in the back of his throat, and the sound makes you whimper somewhere high in the back of your throat.
But then he pulls away, leaving you gasping for breath and overwhelmed, confused, and, yeah, okay, horny out of your mind. Your thighs rub together, craving some sort of friction, and you stare up at him, bewildered. Why'd he stop?
But Ganondorf's pupils are blown wide and he's panting for breath as well. He tugs at your shirt, needy and a little clumsy in a way that he literally never is, and you scramble to help him, leaning halfway up and pulling it up and over your head. You have no time to feel any sort of self conscious about sitting shirtless in front of him, because almost immediately he's ducking down to take a nipple into his mouth, searing hot and slick. Your hands fly into his hair, fingers tangling around the crimson strands like a vice. It's so soft. You know that's not what you should be focusing on right now, but it's just—it's so soft. Of course it's soft. Why would you expect any different?
His tongue circles your nipple, suckling, and when he takes it between his teeth you gasp. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking against the pebbled tip of it, and you push his head closer to your chest, hips rolling as you try and find some sort of friction to grind against.
Ganondorfs hands fly to your waist, and you squeak when he drags you to the edge of the bed. When he breaks away from your chest, you try and press him back, but he just starts kissing down your body, lips hot against your stomach as he gets lower and lower until he's kneeling on the floor in front of you, which—Goddess, that can't feel great on his knees, but he doesn't even seem to notice.
His hands slide down, warm calloused palms sliding against skin, and you lift your hips up to help when he hooks his fingers around your sleep shorts. He drags them down slowly, until they're hanging halfway off of one ankle.
You're trembling, and he's staring at your twitching, glistening cunt, and you are just. So fucking overwhelmed. When his hands spread your thighs just a little wider, you can't help the way you shy back, just a little.
Ganondorf pauses. He looks up at you, brow furrowed, hands stuttering on your skin. "Vala?"
"M'sorry," you say. "Sorry, I just—this. This is a lot."
He hesitates. "I'm—I apologize, I never meant to pressure you into—"
"No," you say immediately. You flush. "No. I like it. This. I like you. I want you. I'm just, uh. Uhh."
Slowly, like he's soothing a spooked animal, his hands stroke small circles into the skin of your thighs. "Relax," he murmurs, confidence regained. "I'm going to take care of you, sweet thing, I swear."
You suck in a gasp of air. Goddess, you feel like you're overheating. "I know," you say. "I know you will. Just. Be gentle. Please."
"Always, sweet thing," he breathes, halfway soothing, halfway reverent, and when his fingers brush your thigh, you don't jolt away. You couldn't move if you tried, your heart caught in your throat and your breath coming in short, quick gasps.
And then he's pushing forward, one massive hand on your thigh and the other brushing against your glistening cunt, and everything zeroes into that one point of sensation.
There's no time to overthink. You can't think anymore—can't tell if it's his palm holding your squirming legs still, his massive fingers against your cunt, the breathy gasping noises from his mouth swallowed by your skin as he pumps his finger deeper into you, but something about it drives every thought out of your skull as your lean back on your hands and gasp.
His touch is soft at first, just moving through your folds with a barely there touch. Like he's exploring, or—something. You whine, and buck your hips up, trying to entice him a little, 'cause you want him to fucking touch you.
Ganondorf huffs a laugh, and then he's kneeling down and sinking his sharp teeth into the meat of your inner thigh; not enough to break the skin but enough to be on just that side of delicious and oh fucking shit, he's gonna drive you crazy, isn't he?
His fingers are teasing you, barely there flicks against your clit and slow drags through your folds and teasing circles around your entrance. You don't think you've been this wet in your life, and he's barely even touched you. Slowly, his teeth release your skin, and he licks against the mark he's left, soothing and wet and just. Tasting.
And then, slowly, Ganondorf sinks a finger into your cunt.
There must be something about this, you think, feeling seriously fucking insane; something he just genuinely loves. Because he's kneeling for you, tongue laving against your inner thigh and hand buried in your wet pussy, and he's groaning like he's the one getting fingered right now.
"Your Majesty," you gasp, "you—fuck, fuck, please, wanna—!" And you don't even know what you're asking for, only know you want more, want Ganondorf pressed closer, deeper, want him buried inside your ribcage where nothing else can ever get him. Fuck.
"I've got you," Ganondorf gasps. His fingers are slick against you—your own fault, you think hysterically—and there's only a little strain when he pushes another finger in. You whine, high and breathy and embarrassing, but Ganondorf just mouths at your thigh. "You're okay, vala, we're okay—I've got you, sweet thing, fuck, so fucking beautiful clenching around my fingers—!"
"Ha—mm!" you choke when he curls his finger against that sweet spot inside of you. "Fuck, I—please."
He pauses. Then, like years of stress melt out of him at once, Ganondorf presses impossibly closer with a throaty groan. "Vala," he murmurs, somehow so soft and sweet when he's got two fingers buried in your cunt, and you seriously think you're going to fucking die. "So pretty, sweet thing, so fucking pretty for me, aren't you? So good, so soft, knew you'd be fucking soft."
"Fuck," you gasp. You circle your hips gingerly, trying to coax him a little further, a little deeper, and he complies easily.
"Think about you all the time," he rambles. "Sa'oten, you have no idea what you to do me. So smart, so gorgeous—you drive me crazy."
You can't find the wherewithal to reply—really, you don't think you could speak if the Queen herself was holding a knife to your throat right now. Still, your head tips back when Ganondorf pushes another finger in with the first; a bigger stretch, but with a burn just on that side of delicious. "Oh, fuck," you babble into the emptiness of the room, silence broken by your own babbling and the mortifying sound of you squelching on his hand as you start rocking your hips in time with him. "Oh, fucking—gonna—you—your Majesty—!"
Ganondorf crooks up his fingers again, curling against the spot that makes you sing. He kisses his way up your thigh, until his mouth is panting hot air against your cunt when he says, "Ganondorf, sweet thing."
You gasp. Your head is fucking spinning. "Ganondorf," you breathes, just to taste the way it sounds on your tongue, and Ganondorf—Ganondorf fucking moans.
"Vala," he gasps—and then his tongue is burying itself inside your pussy.
There are loud, breathy moans echoing in the room, and you don't know where they're coming from. It's you, you think deliriously, but you don't think anybody has ever pulled these kinds of sounds out of you before, and it's—it's—
"Breathe," against your trembling cunt, and you suck in a huge gasp of air. You hadn't even realized you'd stopped breathing.
Ganondorf's tongue, searing hot, splays flat and wide as he licks along the entirety of you, stopping briefly to suckle at the apex. Whatever he's doing with his tongue is fucking exquisite, and has your entire body writhing on the bed, a little unhinged. You don't even realize a hand has left his head to cover your face until he's pulling away. It leaves you confused and trembling—why did he stop? Why—
A hand, warm and calloused, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away from your face. "Don't hide from me, sweet thing," his deep baritone rumbles. "I want to see you when you fall apart, okay? Let me see that pretty face when you cum."
You whine, high in the back of your throat, but you can't do anything but listen to him. Your hands fall shaking to the sheets, fingers knotting in the silks as you try to find some sort of grounding.
And then Ganondorf's back at your cunt, and oh, fuck. Fuck.
His tongue does slow, deep circles around your clit, stopping every now and then to flick it with the tip of his tongue, and part of you wishes he'd go faster but there's something about the slow sensuality of it all that has you quaking. A king, on his knees, his face buried in your pussy and his mouth suckling at your wetness like you're the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.
It's a power trip, is what it is.
His tongue moves back down, lapping at your twitching hole, and when he snakes it inside of you, like he's trying to drink from the very source of you, you tense around him. The grip you have on his hair can't be gentle, but he groans when you yank at the mussed locks, dragging him closer, deeper. He's into getting his hair pulled, you think, feeling all sorts of insane. Yeah, okay. You can get behind that.
You're grinding against his face now, hips jerking up and down as he eats you. His hands come up to your hips to hold them—not in place, but to help you jerk against his mouth a little harder, a little faster.
Ganondorf moans openly into your cunt as he lets you use him to get off—and for some reason, that's what does it.
When you cum, it's genuinely violent; sort of like a huge wave crashing against you all at once
He crawls up your body, and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue as it twines with your own. The tang of it makes your still-sensitive cunt pulse again, and though you just came, you're already squirming against him.
"Want you inside," you gasp into his mouth. Fuck, you feel so empty. You bet he'd fill you up so fucking good, thick and long and absolutely ruining you for anyone else, and the way you want it makes you physically tremble.
Ganondorf groans into your mouth. His hands, still wet, cup your breasts, teasing the soft flesh and pinching your nipples. "Sa'oten—that's all you need, isn't it?" His pupils are blown so wide that the gold of his eyes is consumed by it, reduced to a thin ring. He chokes when your shaking hand starts scrambling against the waist of his sirwal. "So fucking needy," he snarls as you finally reach inside. His hips jerk as your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, fucking into your hand once, twice. "You just need me to fuck all the thoughts out of that pretty little head of yours, don't you, vala? Just need me to—fuck—take c-care of you?"
You're already nodding, so far from words that you think if you tried to speak all that would come out would be garbled speech. Goddess, his cock is so big in your hand. You don't think your fingers are even touching when you wrap your fist around it.
One of his hands leaves your breast to start yanking at his trousers, pushing them down just far enough that he can pull his cock out, and you look down to watch, literally salivating, and. Oh. Holy fuck.
You don't realize you've spoken out loud until he stifles a laugh into your throat, but you're not even embarrassed about it, because. Seriously.
The thing is—logically, you knew Ganondorf was a large man. And, of course, unless he was the least fortunate man alive, you knew that meant he was probably proportional in, er, other aspects. You'd just had your hand on his cock, for Hylia's sake, you'd felt him. You knew.
But knowing is so different from seeing, you realize. Because. Holy fuck.
Ganondorf is packing.
His cock is massive. That's literally the only word that comes to mind, because it just—is. You can't eyeball a length right now, but you know enough to know it's going to be a stretch.
Ganondorf presses his lips your cheek, a moment of tenderness in the midst of everything, and it makes you shut your eyes and let out a trembling sigh. "Gonna take care of you, sweet thing, gonna make you feel so good," he soothes into the skin, and when he nuzzles into you, you press back, breathing him in. "Fuck, want you to watch. Can you do that for me, vala? Watch me?"
You look back down. He's weeping from the head and painfully hard, it looks like. Fuck, he's this turned on just from eating your pussy? Talk about an ego boost. "M'watching," you breathe, and you hear him grunt quietly.
Your racing thoughts are broken by Ganondorf shifting above you; slowly, as if not to spook you, he lifts his hand and spits into it, then he reaches down and wraps his fist around his cock. The low hissing sound that escapes between his clenched teeth makes your breath hitch.
Entranced. That's the only word you can think of to describe yourself as you watch him slowly fuck into his closed hand. "Fuck," he grits out. "Shit—shit. Wanna be inside you, sweet thing, wanna fuck you so bad."
"Yeah?" you manage. Your blood is rushing with anticipation.
"Mhmm," he hums. Ganondorf lowers his hips slightly, the tip of him brushing against your slick heat. The sensation is like a brand, and both of you gasp at the same time. "Fucking—Sun Above, want you so bad."
His cock slides up and down the folds of your glistening cunt, slickness and his own spit covering the head of it. You feel like your eyes are glued to the sight. He wants you to watch, he asked you to watch, and you feel like if you looked away right now, you'd actually just keel over and die on the spot.
Ganondorf pauses at your entrance, and you can see him squeeze the base of himself. "Keep breathing, vala," he says, and then slowly, so fucking slowly, he's pushing into you, and.
And.
You can't find words for it. You think anything could say would be an injustice to the feeling of his fat cock pushing into your slick heat. All you know is that everything in the world stops—everything zeroes into the feeling of him inside of you, around you. The scent of him, the taste of him, everything about him. Him. Ganondorf.
You could choke on it. The stretch is painful, even after orgasming and with the combined wetness of his spit and your slickness—but you like it. You like it so much, and you have to keep taking in short gasps of air because the oxygen in your lungs feels like it's being punched out of you. He's saying something, but you can't hear it; maybe praises, maybe cursing, maybe just him, also gasping for air as your gummy walls suck him in deeper and deeper.
It feels like it takes forever for Ganondorf to bottom out. Every time you think he's getting close, he nudges another inch into your cunt, and both of you choke on it every single time. Goddess, Ganondorf's just—he's so big. You saw it, you know it, but he's so big.
But eventually it happens. His hips are pressing against yours, and he's trembling on top of you with your arms wrapped tight around his neck, literally shaking with the effort to hold still. "So fucking good," he's babbling in your ear, "so good, so—tight—!"
The pain is still there, but it's less now that all of him has been crammed inside of you. Relax, you tell yourself. Relax. He's inside, he's bottomed out, you just have to relax. Your cunt flutters a little, and you feel him jerk, moaning directly in your ear.
It takes another few painstaking moments before you've collected yourself enough to finally say, "O-okay."
"Yeah?" Ganondorf's hand has landed on your thigh, holding it open and tensing every so often. You can feel him dig his fingers into the meat of it when you speak.
"Yeah," you breathe. "Yeah, I'm—you can—"
He pulls out shallowly, then gently pushes back in. Your words fizzle out into squeak. You were expecting it—of course you were, you were the one who told him it was okay to move—but it's still—it's. A lot.
He thrusts shallowly at first, like he’s still testing the waters of what you can handle, and every time he does, it forces a punched out little ah out of you. But then he starts pushing harder. Deeper. Faster.
It’s like everything stops mattering except for him, inside of you. Fuck the treaty, fuck your job, fuck all of it if it means Ganondorf will stay inside of you like this forever.
His hand squeezes your thigh every time he pushes all the way in, and it would be painful, but honest to Goddess, you can’t feel anything right now but the delicious drag of his cock inside of you.
“Fuck,” Ganondorf says. He’s fucking you hard now—rough and with nothing left to hold back. There’s sweat dripping down him, and it makes you feel so fucking good, because you’ve never seen him sweat, ever, point blank. There’s a power in it, you realize. Here is a man who has never been out of control a day in his life—and he apologized to you. Got on his knees for you. Was so overwhelmed by you that he sweat.
Your eyes actually roll back in your head when you cum. It's not violent, like it was when he was kneeling before you, but there's still no warning to it—there's simply the moment before, hanging off the egde of a cliff, and the moment as it happens. It's like a slow wave of sensation, staring from the apex of your thighs and traveling through every nerve ending in your body. It's earth shattering in its own way.
You understand, now, why they call it 'the little death'—because you think if you died right now, you'd be perfectly fine with it. He fucks every other care out of your head, slower now as he feels you spasming around him, your twitching cunt milking his cock as you ride out the waves of it.
You try to say his name, but it comes out as a garbled moan instead, tears springing into your eyes as the oversensitivity hits. Ganondorf fucks you through it, steady and powerful, and it shouldn't be as composed as it is but he powers through it somehow, teeth gritted and eyes wild, so wild.
"You can take it," he snarls, hefting your leg up to change the angle just a little bit, and he closes his eyes as he chokes on his own moan. "C'mon—fucking—take it!"
And you can't do anything but comply. He doesn't give you any other choice.
Everything about this is depraved, you think—just complete and utter filth. You're getting fucked so hard that you can already feel the flames of another orgasm flickering in your clit, your pussy clenching around him and your throat raw from the constant stream of GanondorfGanondorfGanondorf that's been stuttering out of you ever since he pushed you over that first edge. It's like a screwed up little back and forth; a game you don't really know the rules to, but keep playing anyways, helpless to the way it renders you completely and utterly wrecked.
He's a stark contrast to your own moans and whimpers; he's gone so quiet, the only sounds escaping him muffled cursing and grunted moans, like he's afraid if he opens his mouth he'll say something he's going to regret.
You wish he'd speak—wish he'd say something, anything, to distract you from this endless spiral of ecstasy that's threatening to burn you alive. But at the same time, you don't really blame him. It's like he's lost his mind, and you think maybe he has, because he's staring down at where you're connected, like he's entranced by it. Like he can't tear his eyes away no matter what he does. And you can see that look is back, the one he always has that you've never been able to understand. Brow furrowed, teeth a little bared, eyes lidded, and it's—
It's—
(him, staring you down the first time you walked into the throne room. him, every time he teased you, pissed you off, got you to snap back at him. him, in the meeting room, asking you if you hated him. him, in your room, looking at you like you were something precious.)
—hunger, you realize as you tremble around him. It's hunger. It's always been hunger.
His thrusts are getting a little shakier, a little more desperate, and you know he's not far off from it now—and, you realize, utterly stunned, that neither are you.
Maybe it's the overstimulation. Maybe it's the way his hand snakes down, shaking and sweaty, and calloused fingers start circling your clit, quick and wet and dirty. Maybe it's the way he's been reduced to chanting, throaty gasps of your name and cut off curses and "vala," over and over and over again. Whatever it is, it has you sobbing, genuine tears dripping down your face as the overwhelming feeling of it all gets to you.
"Gonna come," you warble, and his eyes snap up to your face again, hips stuttering. Whatever he sees, it makes him snarl, sacrificing just a little bit of speed to slam into you that tiny bit harder.
When you come for the third time, you think you might be drooling. You have no idea. You're so far away from your body, the only sensation narrowing down to the tingling euphoria dripping through every part of you; the only feeling dissipating into just his fat cock, piledriving into you over and over and over; the only thought in your fucked out head his name, his face, his eyes. Ganondorf, Ganondorf, Ganondorf.
It's—everything. Like the first taste of ambrosia on your tongue, ruining you for anything else.
It takes you a frankly embarrassing long time to come back to yourself, but when you do, you realize he's not far behind you. As your still ongoing orgasm milks his twitching cock, he sucks in a huge gasp of air, like he's just broken through the surface of water. "M'gonna cum, sweet thing," he chokes out. "Gonna cum, gonna—"
You somehow find the wherewithal to pull him closer with your still shaking legs. When his hips stutter, you manage a gasped, "Inside, want it, want you inside—"
His entire body spasms. And then Ganondorf doubles over, back bowed and a cut off whimper escaping him right into your ear, and cums.
You know, for the rest of your life, you will never forget the noise of it. It's fucking exquisite; the best sound you've ever heard, better than song, better than—anything, really. The feeling of his cum inside of you will haunt you; like a craving you never knew you had, but now that you've gotten a fix you'll never escape it.
He empties himself inside of you, face screwed up like his orgasm is brushing just that side of pain. The feeling of it is overwhelming, searing hot, and your cunt clenches around it.
Holy fuck, you think, staring at the roof and utterly dazed. Just. Holy fuck.
As he pulls away and you feel his cum dripping out of you, you think you might even say it out loud, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care, shaking and dripping with exhaustion.
The second thought you manage to have is that your vagina fucking hurts.
Ganondorf stands on shaking legs—a genuinely impressive feat—and you whine, too fucked out to formulate a coherent sentence but knowing you miss his warmth with your sweat gradually cooling on your skin. He disappears from your vision for a moment, then reappears with...something in his hand. You don't know what it is, but he presses it between your legs, cleaning you up. You flinch away from it at first, cunt still hot and sensitive to the point of discomfort, but he's gentle with it. Granted, it doesn't feel great anyways, but your appreciation for him still skyrockets.
Both of you are sweaty and panting, and your body kind of aches but it's a good sort of ache, and you're so fucking exhausted you feel like you're going to drop into unconsciousness the second you shut your eyes. Ganondorf throws the cloth somewhere behind him and collapses to the side of you, which you appreciate greatly—you don't much feel like getting crushed under his weight after getting the fucking of a lifetime, thank you very much. He rolls onto his back, breathing heavily, and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you close to his side. You go easily, curling into him and burying your face into his throat, and he kisses your sweaty forehead with a hum. "Did so good," he whispers, and your heart twists. "So good, vala, so good for me, m'so proud of you."
You take a slow, shaky breath in through your nose, and it's full of the scent of him. He smells so good, earthy and with a sort of spice, and that combined with the slow, gentle circles he's rubbing into the small of your back makes you close your eyes, sleepy.
"I'm sorry," you croak into his throat.
"For what?" he mumbles. "You were wonderful."
"Not that," you say, though you smile anyhow. "I meant—being an asshole. Making you come here tonight. Etcetera."
You feel more than see Ganondorf grin against your skin. "I don't mind," he says. "I came here of my own volition, sweet thing. I enjoy a chase."
You can feel yourself squirming. "Still, though," you say. "I wouldn't have fought with you so much if I'd known."
"I like it when you fight back," he says immediately. His free hand sneaks down, stroking briefly against your still sensitive cunt, and you feel a full body shiver pass through you. There's laughter in his voice when he says, "And I assume you liked it too."
You catch your teeth on the skin of his neck, a little warning, but he just he rumbles appreciatively. Somewhere in your brain, you tick off a little box, because—Ganondorf likes pain. Yeah. That tracks. That totally tracks.
"I hope you know I don't usually do this," he murmurs suddenly into the crown of your forehead.
"Hmm?" You're so tired, you almost don't hear him.
"The...ravaging late in the night," Ganondorf clarifies, awkward. He kisses your head gently, and it makes your heart do a funny little ba-dump. "You just—you make me lose my senses sometimes."
You blink. Then, slowly, you shift upward in his arms until you're leaning your weight on his chest and facing him full on. "Is that why you were so hellbent on winding me up?" you ask, incredulous.
He has the good sense to at least look sheepish. "I meant what I said," Ganondorf murmurs, nose brushing against yours. "I like it when you fight back. Sometimes it felt like the only way I could get you to even look at me."
You gape at him. "It—wasn't," you say.
"Well, I know that now," he says with a good natured roll of his eyes.
"No, you don't understand." You swallow thickly. Quietly, you admit, "I'm always looking at you. Always. Just. Not when you can look back."
It's Ganondorfs turn now to look incredulous. "Why?"
"You make me nervous," you burst out. You trace a finger across his chest, trying to distract yourself. "All the time. And I. Uh. Thought you were making fun of me. So. The staring didn't seem very appropriate, from my end. I didn't wanna give you another thing to make fun of me for, and wanting to screw the guy you supposedly hate isn't very, "
His eyes focus on your own. And then, quietly, he begins to chuckle.
"It's not funny," you say flatly.
"It's a little funny," he says, eyes glittering. When you open your mouth to argue, Ganondorf pulls you a little closer and presses his lips to yours to silence you. It's so sweet and gentle you can't even be mad about it—a different kind of kiss than all the others he's given you tonight. "Don't pout, vala. It's endearing."
You open your mouth, then hesitate. You've ignored it ever since you'd met Ganondorf, but you figure now's as good a time as there'll ever be. You reach up and push a stray curl out of his face and behind his ear. "What does that mean?"
"Hm?"
"Vala," you clarify. "You call me that all the time. I think you've used my name maybe twice since I came here."
He blinks at you. And then something amazing happens.
Ganondorf flushes.
"Uh," he says, and you have to literally pinch yourself so you don't snicker at his fumbling. "It's—uhh."
"Very succinct, your Majesty," you say innocently, and then yelp when he leans forward and nips your bottom lip with his teeth. "Ow, fuck, you—okay, dick, I get it, m'sorry!"
He grumbles, but leans back anyway. And then after a moments silence, he says very awkwardly, "Sunlight."
You blink, lip still smarting slightly. "Sunlight?" you echo, baffled.
"It's a term of endearment," Ganondorf clarifies. He looks obviously embarrassed. "It's—the Sun is an important aspect of our culture and religion, and that...reflects. On our language. I said it earlier—you're very bright, and very endearing, and very warm. Like the sun." He meets your eyes again, something vulnerable sitting in them. "Sunlight. Vala."
Your breath catches in your throat. Because—fuck, he's so sweet. You thought he was just a pretty asshole but he's so sweet when he wants to be; so handsome and so good and kind of viciously funny, too, and. Oh no. Oh, fuck, it makes everything you are melt into this little puddle of useless goo vaguely shaped like a person.
And this is not the worst part, but it is the part you hold very quietly and very secret inside of you: when you kiss Ganondorf, it's because you want to.
When you pull back, it isn't far, nose brushing his. "Well," you whisper, sort of shakey and sharing his breath, "that's all right, I suppose."
-
Adagio breezes fill my skin with sudden red
Your hungry flirt borders on intrusion
And I'm building memories on things we have not said
Full is not heavy as empty, my nearly, my love
Not nearly, my love, not nearly—Give me the first taste
Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever
Darling, just start the chase, I'll let you win
But you must make the endeavor