Ilia bit her lip, turning away from the window as the sun set outside. It had been nearly six years since the defeat of the Twilight Army, but that time of evening, when shadows descended and the sky clung to its last light, still carried with it a passive feeling of anxiety and unease. Here in the house of her former lover—well, unrequited crush—with the birds outside chirping and squirrels chattering as they prepared for winter, she almost could forget about it all. No, forget was the wrong word—how does one forget something one hardly remembers?—but move on. She could almost move on.
All she needed was the one thing she didn't have, the one person. They had moved on without her, leaving her this house and all their belongings. She had been here far too long to keep pretending this was just a visit, like she once had, or a short housesitting for an old friend. But she could imagine them sharing this space together, perhaps, her and them.
Ilia reached down to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head, and then kicked off her capris. Both were placed on the table, folded, next to the dress which had already been set aside for her meeting tonight. She had an hour, maybe an hour-and-a-half, before her attendance would be expected at the village's Town Hall—and given harvest season was nearly upon them, she knew she could expect it to be a stressful, drawn-out affair. It wouldn't do for her to show up already in mourning.
So, for the time being, she decided to pretend that Link was still here.
Ilia traced her fingers lightly up her arm, wondering what it would feel like if it were theirs: their arm, their fingers. She imagined that it had been their shirt and trousers she had folded up so neatly beside her dress, that it was their chest she was tracing now, their fingertips brushing lightly down her own, across her nipples.
“Link…” she whispered, her back pressed against the wall, her hips and shoulders pinned gently with the strength of her own imaginings. “Link, we have a bed…”
Still, she slipped her thumbs gently under the waistband of her panties, tracing lightly along her hipbones before slowly tugging them down. She reached down and picked them up off the floor, noticing that they were already a touch damp. She imagined Link crouching down to remove them, then tracing their hands up her legs, kissing lightly up her thigh, their nose pressing playfully right there, just left of her sex.
Ilia was definitely turned on, now. She granted herself a single touch, a quick kiss, one finger against her labia. Then she quickly escorted herself to bed.
Her sheets were soft, an imported cotton, and Ilia slid into them easily. She imagined holding them open for Link to climb in beside her, cozying up against them, enjoying the feeling of their flesh against hers. But her bed was cold, and it shattered the illusion. She lay there for a while, hugging her pillow, her sheets and comforter pulled up as high as they would go, putting aside her fantasies for just a moment to simply appreciate the sensation of soft fabric against her skin, of her skin against itself, her feet and legs sliding softly against each other as she waited for warmth, her idle hand lightly grazing down her stomach, her hips…
Ilia pressed herself onto her back. This is how things would start, her here, her body relaxed, her legs spread gently, Link pressed softly against her, their lips kissing lightly down her chest. She would be a little impatient; “fuck me,” she'd whisper quietly; the words escaped her lips even now, as her fingers slipped in-between her folds and slowly circled at her clitoris.
“Ahh…” Ilia gasped into the air. “Mm… Yes… Just…”
She reached down with her other hand and guided her fingers onto her nib, moaning deep. Their lips would meet hers, just like this, her back slightly arched, her mind lost to the careful ministrations of their hand. And the kiss would be long, and passionate, even as her legs clamped tightly around theirs and her spirit screamed out for more. She'd break away, arch her hips, call their name, press their hand lower…
Something fluttered against her face, abruptly throwing her out of her fantasy. Her eyes flew open. A large moth had flown in through the open window, and had just tried alighting on her skin.
“Eww! Go! Shoo!” Ilia did her best not to fall straight out of bed as she batted the creature away. Night had fallen fully, by now, and as Ilia chased the bug out the window, she caught the cool breeze against her chest, caressing her skin, giving her goosebumps, as her bare nipples prickled against the darkness. She closed the window tightly, rubbing her arms for warmth.
Then it was back into the warm embrace of her covers, just as quickly as her chilled body would allow.
She took the top this time, nestling into Link's arms, pinning their body gently with a kiss, grinding her hips softly in an admixture of playfulness and lust. There wasn't an insect in the world that could keep her from this, she thought, pressing her palm against her crotch, imagining it was something else, her lover.
Ilia moaned into her pillow. She wanted to come.
She pressed one finger deep inside of her, then slid it out and added another, massaging her clit the whole time. It wasn't a position she was able to maintain for long, soon falling to her side, feeling her toes curl as a reflection of the digits inside her, losing the concentration to even think about Link as she fucked herself hard in their bed.
She was glad she had closed the window, or else she was sure her moans would have been audible to any passersby.
Ilia squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering to herself, as she brought herself to the edge. And, a moment later, she came, gasping, her whole body curling and shaking with the tremors of orgasm.
Gingerly, she slid her fingers out of her body and collapsed, waiting for the world to return.
Her first thought was of Link, and gods, how good it must feel to fall apart, totally spent like this, pressed against someone. The afterglow lasted for ten full minutes, and she let herself bask in each and every one.
Then she crawled out from under the covers, standing and stretching beside her bed, appreciating the limberness and slight soreness that accompanied her every time she masturbated. She felt clean and renewed, despite the fact that her hand reeked of sex. She would need to wash up before she got dressed. She walked over to the basin with a contented sigh.
When Ilia finally stepped outside several minutes later, the night air welcomed her cooly, and she greeted it with a smile.