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The sun sets among the clouds, gilding them, turning Great Sky Island warm even as the floating stones cast its yellow-leafed trees in shadow. Link sits at the top of the Temple of Time, gazing down at the gaps in the rose-peach swells, searching for signs of the life he once knew.
Link’s arm hums, and he lifts his eyes, turning to where Rauru now stands—floats, his bare feet always inches above the soil—beside him. The silver intangibility of Rauru’s form itches at Link; it is in such direct opposition to the inescapable physicality of the arm now inextricably woven into his own. Gray fur, slate-blue nails, bronze metalwork; it has all faded to the same translucent shade on Rauru’s manifestation.
“It’s beautiful,” Link signs, and then pats the wind-worn edge of the Temple’s wall. “Come sit with me.”
It’s irrelevant that Rauru can’t precisely sit. He settles at Link’s right side, and if Link looks away he can almost pretend that the pulsing warmth at his side is external to him. In some ways it is; Rauru’s arm reacts to Rauru’s presence, a reminder of to whom it first belonged. It is Link’s arm now, in every way that matters; its fingers move at his command, and they are as strong as his own, no matter their different shape: blunter, more square, bearing different scars.
“There are two sunsets,” Rauru says, as the sky darkens and the clouds’ colors deepen. “That of the clouds and that of the earth.”
Link has felt this already. “Not three?” he asks. “We are above the clouds.”
Rauru laughs. It’s not unkind. It warms Link’s core, a welcome heat when the sun is sliding away. “The cloud layer is not always at the same height,” he says. His head turns; his long ear brushes across Link’s cheek like a breath of mist. “The clouds are not always here. We merely call it the sunset of the clouds because it is when the sun dips below us in the sky.”
It isn’t what Link expects, but little has been since he woke up. Princess Zelda’s disappearance. Rauru’s existence—and name, which tugs at Link’s mind like a word half-forgotten on his tongue. The Zonai islands. Link can’t tell if it’s been three days or thirty years since he descended beneath Hyrule Castle. He wouldn’t be surprised if Rauru told him that it was neither, and it would be three generations yet until he was born. Stranger things have happened to him.
So he nods, accepting Rauru’s explanation. Then, since Rauru is in a forthcoming mood, Link asks the question that’s been nagging at him since he woke up. “So much has been preserved on this island,” he signs. “But do you know if there are any shirts? This”—he halts, cupping his breasts momentarily in both hands; they are small, but still tug unpleasantly at his chest when he fights or climbs or jumps off cliffs—“is not my favorite situation.”
Rauru’s eyes linger on Link’s chest for longer than Link expected. It’s like he’s seeing the curves there for the first time, which feels impossible; Link’s been walking around topless since he woke up, and Rauru strongly implied that he’d tended to Link even when he was unconscious. There has been ample opportunity for Rauru to realise that Link’s body held this softness layered on top of his warrior’s muscles. The trailing geometric lines binding Rauru’s arm to Link’s torso even trail onto his tits.
There’s no excuse. And yet.
“The gloom dissolved your clothes,” Rauru says, which was what Link had expected. Waking up in unknown places with his clothes gone shouldn’t be a habit, but it sure felt like one. Rarer was the situation wherein he couldn’t easily find a tunic to shrug on and some cloth to bind his breasts in place. “And, as you have seen, long ages have passed since my people lived up here.” He sounds wistful, even as he turns and traces the lines of what clothes Link has managed to scrounge up from scattered chests. A skirt. Sandals. A back harness for his weapons. It’s something. It’s not as much as he’d like. “If any fabric survives, it’s hidden away.”
Link should’ve known better than to expect any other answer. He sighs, and watches Rauru’s attention dip again. It’s not unwelcome; Rauru has been nothing but kind, and Link wants—
Well, Link wants to close his eyes and wake up in Hyrule Castle’s medical wards, Princess Zelda at his side, and discover that this was all a dream. It’s impossible, of course; Link’s had enough visions and dreams to know how to tell when one is real. He’s pretty sure his subconscious wouldn’t be able to manifest something as complicated and real as the Great Sky Island and Rauru’s arm being grafted to his skin, even with the influence of the gloom and the mummy beneath Hyrule Castle.
Since he can’t have that, Link will take the possibility of pleasure from this encounter. He shifts on the stone, turning to face Rauru fully. Crisp air yawns to his left; Link thinks most people would be concerned about having such a drop so close by, with nothing to prevent him from falling. Link has spent too much time soaring the wind, both on his own and with Rito friends, to think anything of it. There’s water below. Even if there wasn’t, Rauru has drawn him from the edge of death once; Link trusts that he’d be able to do so again.
“You said you could no longer touch the world.” This is another thing Link has been thinking about since he first met Rauru in the soft light of dawn. “But I have your hand. How much can you still feel from it?”
Rauru hesitates. Maybe that’s because Link is, while waiting for the answer, gently resting his right hand upon his breast. He hasn’t started touching himself yet, not really, but he’s very aware of the different texture of Rauru’s skin, the way fine fur feels against his bare skin. It’s only a matter of time until his nipple swells taut beneath his palm and his intent becomes obvious.
Link waits. The last dregs of the sun’s light glisten on the horizon, breaking through the clouds from below. The moon’s glow, silver as Rauru’s hair, begins to trace Great Sky Island’s edges instead. As colors begin to fade, Rauru says, “More than I have felt in many years. Not as much as you can, Link.”
Then Rauru shifts, almost like Princess Zelda does when Link is teasing her, his legs spreading further apart as he leans closer. “What are you offering, Link?” he asks, and his breath doesn’t reach Link’s lips, which is a shame. “Why are you offering this to me?”
There’s barely enough space to sign with Rauru this close. “I want to,” he signs, and his eyes trail avariciously across Rauru’s body to ensure it’s clear what kind of want this is. “If your arm is going to be part of my body for the rest of my life, then…” He falters for a moment. Rauru’s hand feels clumsy for the first time since he woke up. “I want to like you. I want you to feel the pleasure I have from your arm, not just the practical function of how I grip a sword.”
His chest is tight—lungs clenched in sudden worry that Rauru won’t like this proposition; nipples hard from the hope that he will—and his face is burning.
“I would like that,” Rauru says, and Link’s uncertainty resolves into satisfaction. Rauru straightens and gestures at his own body. “But I am a ghost, Link; I don’t know if I can reciprocate anything you’re going to show me.”
“Then we’ll find out together.” Link stretches his right hand out to trace the edge of Rauru’s cheekbone. There’s an electric hum as they make almost-contract; it buzzes through Link’s bones, soft and insistent, and Link lets out a surprised moan at the feeling.
Rauru makes a frustrated sound. His left hand reaches for Link’s right, and for a moment there’s a frisson of sensation, a spark of pressure, before Rauru’s fingers pass wholly through Link’s skin.
Link swears, one-handed because that’s all he needs, and starts undoing the few buckles it’s worth removing. His weapons and shields are already off to the side. The stone is not comfortable, but it’s not worth going elsewhere. Besides, there’s something hedonistic about doing this here, at the pinnacle of an old temple, exposing himself to the sky and the eyes of someone who died long before he was born.
The night air cools swiftly this high above the surface, and soft gusts of wind draw goosebumps on Link’s bare skin as he spreads his skirt on the ground in a facsimile of a bedroll. “Do you like what you see?” he asks as he settles there, leather straps still wrapped around his ankles and torso, legs spread to bare his cock and the wetness already welling from between his folds.
“Yes.” Rauru rests a hand between his own legs, breathing quickening. “I like it very much.”
Link smiles. Every time he’s taken a new partner, he’s found new joy in the experience. This one may be a little stranger than normal, existing on another plane as he does, but that just means yet more spaces to explore. Exhilaration and adrenaline are fond companions as Link touches himself in teasing ways, using his left hand to stroke himself a few times and watching the way Rauru matches the motion on his own body, squirming just as much as Link despite the difference in their situations. “Talk to me,” Link signs, one hand glistening and the other night-dark. “Tell me what you see. What you like. I’m not going to talk to you much once I start.”
“I understand,” Rauru says, and his voice is already deeper with desire. “Your body will tell me everything I need to know, Link. Please, let me see how pleasure transforms you, how it’s spoken with the movement of your muscles and the arch of your spine, and all the secrets unlocked beneath your clever fingers—and mine.”
Link groans at Rauru’s last words and draws both his hands up his ribs to squeeze his chest. He imagines, as he does so, what it would be like if Rauru did this himself, if he were exploring Link’s body as urgently and vividly as he so clearly wished he could. Link rolls a nipple in Rauru’s fingers, and Rauru says, “You like it a little rough, don’t you? I shouldn’t be surprised by that; you’re so comfortable in so many situations. Of course it takes a little more to get your blood going.”
It’s the of course that sets Link shuddering. The knowing tone, the fondness, the curiosity that beckons Link to show his limits. He pinches his nipples, tugs on them, scrapes Rauru’s thick fingernails into his soft skin until red lines linger. It used to take more to leave marks; the gloom has taken resilience from his body, made his lungs scream for air sooner and his muscles tire more quickly than he wishes.
But he has enough endurance for this, to sigh with the sweetness of pain and let out a breathy whine as Rauru keeps talking.
“You take such good care of yourself. Your body is trained to perfection, able to scale the highest cliffs and delve into the deepest caves, but like this?” Rauru’s laugh is half a groan. His hips roll into his hands; Link wishes he could see beneath the cloth draped over Rauru’s groin, but he’s sure Rauru would be showing him if he could. “You’re so vulnerable like this, Link. You’re taking yourself apart, and you’ve barely reached below your waist. What else can you show me? How do you wish I would touch you?”
“Cock,” Link signs rapidly. He slips his fingers—slides Rauru’s fingers—between his lips as the word registers in Rauru’s eyes. It’s easy, so easy, to imagine Rauru teasing him like this. His fingers are thick, and taste a little like dust and a lot like sweat, and the short fur tickles the top of his mouth as Link sucks on his fingers.
Rauru swears. He rises to his knees in a swift motion and leans forward with a growl that makes Link very aware of how sharp his teeth are. It sets his heart pounding, blood rushing down to his cock with a speed that leaves him a little dizzy, especially when Rauru thrusts his right hand forward at Link’s face until it meets the fingers already in that space.
There’s a pulse, blue-green light blinding Link so close to his eyes, and then Rauru’s hand starts moving, finger-fucking Link’s mouth at an urge that isn’t quite his own.
Link gasps, his whole body lighting up at this unexpected situation. He grabs for Rauru with his free hand, finds only mist, and collapses to the ground in an undignified sprawl. Rauru stays with him the whole time, insubstantial except for the arm that isn’t wholly Link’s anymore. He’s kneeling over Link, hair spilling over his back, enveloping them in a see-through cloud. Link’s body tingles with the cool mist of Rauru’s presence, his skin prickling with desire for weight that doesn’t come.
“I wish it were my cock in your mouth.” Rauru rubs his thumb along Link’s jaw. “I want to feel it thicken in your mouth, since it’s staying soft against my hands. Do you think I could make you cry with my cock? Would you like that?”
Link nods. His eyes are already watering from the pace Rauru has set, from the depth that he’s reaching for. It aches in the best way. Link hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t even thought of hoping for it, when he offered himself to Rauru. The practiced firmness to his thrusts is at odds with the gentle sorrow of Rauru’s interactions with the constructs scattered across the island, but Link is used to that; there are many people who want something different in bed than in life. If Rauru wants to claim him and mark him the way he hasn’t been able to manage with anything else for however long he’s been haunting the world, Link wants to learn exactly what he’ll do.
Rauru smiles, and Link is once more aware of the blunt points of his teeth. If Rauru were fully embodied, Link would want those teeth on his breasts. As it is, Link makes do with digging his fingers into soft tissue and imagining it’s Rauru biting down and sucking. “When I’m done with your mouth, I’ll tend to your cock,” Rauru says, a clear order.
It’s timed well. Link wants nothing more than to reach down and slide his fingers across his hard length. Link whines instead, and keeps his fingers running across his chest, his hips, even his throat as he wishes something were between his legs. He’s too wet to find any friction from his own thighs squeezing together, and the tingling brush of Rauru’s own crotch briefly making contact doesn’t help. It’s just another reminder of what he can’t yet have.
Link sobs, more from frustrated want than from the half-choking thickness of Rauru’s fingers in his mouth, and Rauru makes a pleased sound. He withdraws his hand, and Link lies there, panting as Rauru traces his lips.
“I would kiss you now if I could,” Rauru says. Link wishes he could, that he could have Rauru’s tongue pressing against his as Rauru’s hand reached down his body. He kisses Rauru’s fingers instead, since they’re there, and Rauru laughs. “You’re such a good boy,” he says fondly. “Shall I give you what you need?”
One-handed, Link signs, “Please.”
The angles are strange. It’s weird to look up at Rauru above him and feel his own arm stretching down his body. Link could close his eyes, remove one realm of discontinuity, but he likes seeing Rauru above him too much. Rauru’s chest heaves with panting breaths, and Link loves knowing that he’s doing that to Rauru, that even without direct touch this is so good for him.
Link spreads his legs, plants his feet on the ground, and grinds his hips up into Rauru’s fingers. The first touch is like lightning, quick and bright and Link shouts with sensation. “More,” he signs, begging even though he’s not sure Rauru is looking at his hand right now. “Please, more.”
Rauru delicately gathers Link’s slick. He’s so precise that Link can’t even push into his fingers; he just keeps them at a constant distance until his fingers are coated, hot and slippery, and then he shoves down with the heel of his hand and it’s all Link can do to keep his legs from collapsing at the sudden pressure.
Link’s eyes slip closed after that. He can’t help it. Rauru’s fingers find his cock, and the blend of intention is guiding his fingers—Rauru’s desire and Link’s self-knowledge—means that Rauru is touching him perfectly. Link thrusts into Rauru’s hand, and Rauru’s fingers dip into his opening, and Link wants more, needs something sharper than the sweet slide of skin against skin, but there’s no good way to get that when Rauru’s a ghost possessing his own hand. The closest Link can get is echoing the idea of Rauru’s teeth biting into his shoulder by using his own nails.
Then Rauru says Fuck and his whole body tightens, lowering onto Link’s, mist-soft but still not meant to occupy the same space as Link’s physical form. It feels like a waterfall washing over him, or like stepping out of a sauna into the snow, or like the first moment of freefall.
It feels like the tide, surging in response to the moon.
Link comes, his orgasm washing over him in time with Rauru rutting into him, skin meeting insubstantial skin and Rauru’s need for release resonating with Link’s own. Link knows, in that moment, the way Rauru’s cock would slot against his, the way Rauru’s seed would spill across his stomach in a wash of fire so very unlike the shiver currently tightening his core.
The answering pulse from his own body is unexpected, but not unwanted. It feels good to soak his own thighs and Rauru’s hand and the ground beneath them. Link knows he’s going to regret it later, when he needs to clean the one skirt he owns, but right now all he can feel is sweeping bliss at the release. His cock is soft and oversensitive against Rauru’s hand, so Link pulls it away, lets it rest on his chest instead, absently rubbing a nipple in pleasant aftershocks.
Rauru sits back on his knees after a moment. Link doesn’t miss the chill he brought. He does miss the overwhelming awareness of Rauru’s presence, the doubled sensation that heightened both of their orgasms. Link smiles at Rauru where he’s framed between Link’s legs and signs, “Good.”
“Yes,” Rauru says, clearly still out of breath. His hands are at his sides. He stares between them, then slowly raises his eyes to Link’s with a smile. “That was— That was very good.”
Link stretches, his body wholly his own again, limbs singing with the sweet ache of exertion. He shouldn’t stay out here in the open air; it might be a warm late summer night, but he knows how quickly his body will chill, sticky as it is. “Baths?” he asks as he gathers up his gear.
“I think some still work.” Rauru rises to his feet. They seem a little closer to the ground this time, almost touching. “Come. Let me show you the way.”
Link follows him. With every step, he’s reminded of how much pleasure their bodies brought each other. It would be nice to learn how to summon such a response intentionally. Link smiles at Rauru’s back, plans starting to click together in his head.
Perhaps, if the baths are indeed in good working order, he’ll be able to coax Rauru into a repeat round before it’s time for bed.