Somebody waits for you, kiss her once for me

[ottermuse]

HO HO THE MISTLETOE!Somehow, you're in a castle. You don't know how. You don't know why. All you know is that the place is huge, richly furnished, and packed with guests. The decorations seem to suggest a holiday, but exactly what holiday isn't necessarily clear: some people might see a Christmas tree, others a Menorah, others star charts marking

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[hylianxsheikah]

He fought, of course--not struggling, as that would have been pointless and undignified--but by leveraging his weight against the god's hold by gradual degrees, subtly testing the strength of that grasp. To his frustration, nothing he did seemed to come remotely close to breaking it.

Against opponents who had the advantage of strength and height and weight, which in truth was most of them, a Sheikah's strategy was simple: find the opponent's flaw and target it with swift, unerring precision. Why then had he failed to do so? Why did it seem there was no weakness in the god to exploit, no limitation to his strength? He was not even fazed, his voice infuriatingly level when he spoke.

"Is it not clear?" Sheik's voice, on the other hand, would tighten no matter what effort he made to control it. It was as though the subtlety and sly detachment of the shadow had fled him completely, leaving charged emotion in its place. He didn't only feel angry, he felt alive. His hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger, the muscles of his forearm flexing in the god's grasp--only one hand free was all he needed, when he was pulled so close that he was nearly off his feet. "Perhaps you'll understand when my blade finds your throat."

[hylianxsheikah]

The strange white eyes examined him dispassionately, and it angered him all the more that the god was so evidently unruffled; he could not know why he held him captive. The only sign of anything more than detached contempt was the hand tightening around his wrist, until Sheik drew in a hissed breath and attempted again to jerk free. His only advantage, perhaps, was the god's apparent unwillingness to do harm to this body, his lady's body, and he stubbornly fought to keep his grip on the dagger.

"You would claim as much." Did the god think some small pain would make him bend? He who endured the shadow's hunger? "Yet I know this: perhaps I cannot defeat you here and now, but you cannot defeat me so long as I inhabit this body."

[hylianxsheikah]

He fought still the painful grip on his wrist, tight enough to almost flex the delicate bones, gritting his teeth and holding fast to the dagger for as long as he could. In the end, though, it slipped from his numbing fingers and clattered to the floor between them, and there was nothing to prevent the god from pulling him closer. Sheik imagined he could feel the depths of the god's power, a charge in the air around them, centered in the hard form that held him captive. His hands braced against the armor, almost clinging to it.

"You would have to kill us both to take her from me." His voice was almost a hiss, soft and furious. "Or are you really so arrogant as to believe you can break a contract bound in shadow? You who are no true god, only a fallen one."

[hylianxsheikah]

Likewise, there was some satisfaction for him in hearing the level tone finally break, the dangerous well of power and anger rippling underneath. A satisfaction and a strange chill, a fission along his spine--the god's dark voice was strangely compelling, as though the power within him could draw and bind him as the shadow did.

"I have no fear of you or your power." No, it wasn't fear, precisely, but something in him that seemed to awaken more and more with every word and gesture exchanged between them--though he would not be drawn or bound, would not let a mere display of arrogant strength quell him. "The shadow is as old as the goddesses, and I am part of it; even one such as you can be withstood, and defeated."

[hylianxsheikah]

He dismissed that as a lie, or as inconsequential--how could it matter much when the god was obviously lowered and defeated now? The tale was unknown to him, but a god who wandered that strange Hyrule in the same trap as the rest of them could not be so ancient and powerful a god as that. No matter what he felt like now, when Sheik was almost pressed against him--

His eyes widened when the god spoke again. Did he sense, too, how Sheik was drawn to him, helplessly drawn in spite of his fury and loathing, how he nearly clung to the god's armor, how he had stopped fighting his grasp when he had lifted him this close-- "I won't struggle like a fish on a hook," he said tightly. "Either unhand me or kill me--or do you intend to hold me captive forever?"

[hylianxsheikah]

That split second opening should have been exploited, would have been exploited at any other moment--he was Sheikah, he was a shadow, he could have slipped away when the god let go of him, only to catch him around the waist an instant later. He could have at least tried, yet he only braced his weight against the entrapping arm, flinching the slightest bit when the god gripped his chin.

"No. It was made under durress, and your influence. You manipulated her." The white eyes were strange, very strange: depthless and limitless, as though by gazing into them he could see through all of time. Restless, discomfited, he shifted against the god's grasp. "As you are--as you are manipulating me."

[hylianxsheikah]

His fingers caught briefly at the god's hand; he didn't know what he intended--maybe simply to stop him pulling down the mask, but it was too late to stop him or even to make a reply to that infuriating reminder, before the god's mouth covered his. He shifted again, lithe and vital, without truly trying to break away; the god's arm held him fast, his mouth demanding and compelling, the power in him like a force pulling him in. The teeth on his lip made his breath hiss, and his kiss came hard in return; he refused any kind of surrender.

[hylianxsheikah]

The god's mouth smothered the sound he made, a quiet grunt in his throat as they came together again, the mouth on his almost as hot as a brand, the hard arms holding him mercilessly close. It was rough and almost brutal, and yet he was not only inured to roughness but galvanized by it. More satisfying than attacking with the dagger was closing his teeth on the god's lip, finding the sleeves of his tunic and digging his fingers into the fabric and the muscle beneath.

He tore away again at last to breathe, turning his face away, the sound of his panting overloud in the small room. "What..." are you doing, he meant to say, but it seemed not to matter: he didn't want it to stop. But damn it, why with him?