I wrote a ficlet
I was highly bored this morning so I wrote a ficlet. It is Ganon/Zelda and based on nothing in particular, just because I fail like that. Also this is the first time I've written in first person/present tense in years, so please be nice if you comment.
For a moment I feel as if I have not heard. “I cannot,” I finally manage to say, my voice sounding as hollow and weak as I feel in his domain. “Not now, Ganondorf.” I hurl his name like a curse.
He whispers my name like a prayer, curling the echo of it sweetly around words I find harder to accept. “Yes, now. I did not wait so long to have you again to be denied. I could have had your life, but I spared you instead. Do you remember? Zelda?”
I remember; he is not the sort of man to be denied. His skin seems to glow with Power and an odd sort of Courage, a combination declared anathema by men without count. I believed that, once, before my fall. Now their very presence fills me with hunger.
That feeling sweeps over me without warning, building upon itself, consuming me like a plague, and like a throb between my legs it’s sexual in its allure. I try to shield myself from it, still hiding. My back connects with the wall sharply and my body grows tense with animal fear. The child in me wants to run, but I know I never could. I need him, loath as I am to admit it; we are hopelessly entwined in the ancient struggle that will outlive us for years without count. Without him I would be lost. I cannot turn my back on him now.
“I remember,” I finally say, immediately hating myself for the words yet helpless to stop their flow. “Come here.”
He approaches me now, imperceptibly growing closer; my fevered mind can barely track his progress. His yellow eyes by contrast are sharp with sly intelligence, crawling up and down me as if I am prey, burning their gaze into my frame with almost painful intensity. In the face of that stare I can feel my willpower fleeing, escaping me to cower in the withered rushes beneath my slippers. Doubtless I am common and plain to him, a pale pretender, weak and ineffectual. He is magnificent.
He takes me by the shoulders before I fall; I am swooning, I realize with slightly embarrassed anger. He feels so warm against me, his power so temptingly close - and it is only now that I realize he is waiting for what I must do. With a trembling hand, I touch his face, concentrating on the feeling of scratchy stubble beneath my fingertips. Concentrating on all the times I've done this before with the sole intent of making what's his mine. I let out a heady sound of need as I close my eyes and reach into him with the uniquely Hylian magic gifted to me by the goddesses, searching for the very essence of his being.
Against me, Ganondorf groans - whether in agony or ecstasy I can’t tell - and bites down on the skin of my shoulder hard to stifle his cry. I never feel the pain. Instead I am consumed by the feeling of Wisdom and Power joining, a sensation so intense that it both slices like a sword and caresses like a lover. This is no anathema, to be reviled by wise men, but instead something cherished, nurtured, praised by gentle and rude alike since time immemorial. This is a sweeter joining by far than any other, I think deliriously as I ride the magic high - until I am abruptly forced free of his body, gasping and wet when I crawl back into my own.
Finally, he lets go of me. I can’t hide the tears on my face, can't master the overwhelming guilt I feel. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to feel this good.
For a moment I feel as if I have not heard. “I cannot,” I finally manage to say, my voice sounding as hollow and weak as I feel in his domain. “Not now, Ganondorf.” I hurl his name like a curse.
He whispers my name like a prayer, curling the echo of it sweetly around words I find harder to accept. “Yes, now. I did not wait so long to have you again to be denied. I could have had your life, but I spared you instead. Do you remember? Zelda?”
I remember; he is not the sort of man to be denied. His skin seems to glow with Power and an odd sort of Courage, a combination declared anathema by men without count. I believed that, once, before my fall. Now their very presence fills me with hunger.
That feeling sweeps over me without warning, building upon itself, consuming me like a plague, and like a throb between my legs it’s sexual in its allure. I try to shield myself from it, still hiding. My back connects with the wall sharply and my body grows tense with animal fear. The child in me wants to run, but I know I never could. I need him, loath as I am to admit it; we are hopelessly entwined in the ancient struggle that will outlive us for years without count. Without him I would be lost. I cannot turn my back on him now.
“I remember,” I finally say, immediately hating myself for the words yet helpless to stop their flow. “Come here.”
He approaches me now, imperceptibly growing closer; my fevered mind can barely track his progress. His yellow eyes by contrast are sharp with sly intelligence, crawling up and down me as if I am prey, burning their gaze into my frame with almost painful intensity. In the face of that stare I can feel my willpower fleeing, escaping me to cower in the withered rushes beneath my slippers. Doubtless I am common and plain to him, a pale pretender, weak and ineffectual. He is magnificent.
He takes me by the shoulders before I fall; I am swooning, I realize with slightly embarrassed anger. He feels so warm against me, his power so temptingly close - and it is only now that I realize he is waiting for what I must do. With a trembling hand, I touch his face, concentrating on the feeling of scratchy stubble beneath my fingertips. Concentrating on all the times I've done this before with the sole intent of making what's his mine. I let out a heady sound of need as I close my eyes and reach into him with the uniquely Hylian magic gifted to me by the goddesses, searching for the very essence of his being.
Against me, Ganondorf groans - whether in agony or ecstasy I can’t tell - and bites down on the skin of my shoulder hard to stifle his cry. I never feel the pain. Instead I am consumed by the feeling of Wisdom and Power joining, a sensation so intense that it both slices like a sword and caresses like a lover. This is no anathema, to be reviled by wise men, but instead something cherished, nurtured, praised by gentle and rude alike since time immemorial. This is a sweeter joining by far than any other, I think deliriously as I ride the magic high - until I am abruptly forced free of his body, gasping and wet when I crawl back into my own.
Finally, he lets go of me. I can’t hide the tears on my face, can't master the overwhelming guilt I feel. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to feel this good.