Lovers challenge (fanfic100)
Title: Elsewhere
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Characters: Malon and Ganondorf
Prompt: Lovers
Word Count: 222
Rating: PG-13 for nongraphic sex
Summary: An interaction.
Author's Notes: Ooh yeah, baby. Dim those lights and pour the champagne. Table of doom and destruction!
Her mind wanders as they make love, drifting over waves. Lines from songs slide through her and she thinks of, briefly, strumming her guitar, running her fingers over the cool wood and plucking at the taunt silver strings. She rolls over, laughing at the image, and busies her fingers elsewhere.
She kisses the angle where shoulder meets neck and remembers summers spent in the open fields. When he runs his hands through her hair, she thinks of the wind against her face, the air rushing around, smooth as silk against her skin. When his hands move downward, she dreams about lying in the soft sweetgrass, the spring green blades brushing her arms. He reaches up and pulls her closer, and Malon sees the blinding brightness of an afternoon sun.
He thinks of darkness. Of the shadows in the temple and the hidden corners where magic swirls and dully shimmers. He traces the curve of her spine and the flare of her hips and in his mind he sees the massive, sun-bleached statue who stand watch over the gold desert. He recalls his first time inside, lost in the curling mazes, hair damp with sweat that drips down and stings the eyes.
She smiles and laughs and pokes and prods him until he does, too, but neither say what they're thinking.
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Characters: Malon and Ganondorf
Prompt: Lovers
Word Count: 222
Rating: PG-13 for nongraphic sex
Summary: An interaction.
Author's Notes: Ooh yeah, baby. Dim those lights and pour the champagne. Table of doom and destruction!
Her mind wanders as they make love, drifting over waves. Lines from songs slide through her and she thinks of, briefly, strumming her guitar, running her fingers over the cool wood and plucking at the taunt silver strings. She rolls over, laughing at the image, and busies her fingers elsewhere.
She kisses the angle where shoulder meets neck and remembers summers spent in the open fields. When he runs his hands through her hair, she thinks of the wind against her face, the air rushing around, smooth as silk against her skin. When his hands move downward, she dreams about lying in the soft sweetgrass, the spring green blades brushing her arms. He reaches up and pulls her closer, and Malon sees the blinding brightness of an afternoon sun.
He thinks of darkness. Of the shadows in the temple and the hidden corners where magic swirls and dully shimmers. He traces the curve of her spine and the flare of her hips and in his mind he sees the massive, sun-bleached statue who stand watch over the gold desert. He recalls his first time inside, lost in the curling mazes, hair damp with sweat that drips down and stings the eyes.
She smiles and laughs and pokes and prods him until he does, too, but neither say what they're thinking.