Work Text:
Hyrule’s prince consort wears two rings, one on each hand. On his left hand, he wears a simple gold wedding band, the symbol of eternity, the only symbol that can dare try to represent the boundless extent of the love he shares with his bride.
He never aspired to be a prince, only to be hers. But it is being hers that has made him a prince, and for that reason alone, he loves to hear her call him my prince. He knows she loves to say that, to remind them both that he belongs to her. And though he usually just calls her my love, when he says my princess or my queen it is not to signify her regal status; it is because she is his, and she would be his princess and his queen in any lifetime, whether her parents are monarchs or paupers.
Queen Zelda and Prince Consort Link feel like little more than paupers themselves now – albeit happy ones – still living in a modest home in Hateno Village while Hudson's construction crew works laboriously to repair the castle. They are building their kingdom anew, not unlike Rauru and Sonia did so many centuries ago.
On his right hand, Link wears a ring that Rauru graciously gave him at their final farewell so that he could continue using the abilities of Ultrahand, Fuse, Ascend, and Recall.
He is grateful to have his arm restored. He much prefers touching his beloved with his own hand. The prospect of doing naughty things to her with her ancestor’s hand is just… no. It’s just no.
But is naughty the right word? Now that they are married, there is nothing illicit between them.
And yet, some things still feel naughty. Irresistibly so. Especially today; he is planning to break some unspoken rules, to cross a line that may not exist but probably should.
He knows how much she loves it when he takes charge, and he has a special treat planned for the two of them. At least, he hopes it will be special. He hopes it won’t hurt her. He hopes it won’t hurt him. He hopes it won’t break his dick.
He is nervous to try it, but excited, hard already just thinking about it. He spends the entire morning getting everything prepared, and his princess doesn’t know what he is planning, only that he is planning something.
“Don’t watch,” he whispers into the unseen, a message intended for Rauru. He hasn’t spoken with Rauru in months, not since the ancient patriarch’s spirit finally found peace and moved on to the great beyond, but Link doesn’t know whether that realm allows for its residents to watch over their descendants. Usually, he hopes it does. But today he wants privacy for himself and the princess that he and Rauru both love dearly, though in very different ways.
The irony of his request isn’t lost on him. What they are going to do will not be in a private place. Their flesh-and-blood contemporaries might see, if they look. Robbie and Purah might have a clear view from their clifftop laboratory if they look out the window with a telescope, and they have occasionally proven themselves rather nosy. But it can’t be helped. What Link has in mind can’t be done inside the four walls of his humble abode.
He returns to the house to retrieve her, seizing her with lusty kisses. He knows when he presses his body against hers that she can feel his arousal, and that this confirms what she suspected all morning, that he is planning… something. And he knows from enough experience by now that his arousal precipitates hers, as hers does to him. He knows that when she feels that hard bulge poking her through their clothes, it won’t be long before her own arousal also makes its way through her clothes.
He takes her hand and leads her outside and helps her onto the giant stallion, a horse sturdy enough to easily transport two Hylians. He climbs up behind her and she takes the reins, waiting for him to tell her where to direct the horse. As they ride out of view of the villagers, he rubs his crotch against her behind and grabs her cleavage in his hands, leaning forward to kiss her neck and whisper in her ear, “I’m going to do such naughty things to you when we get there.”
She doesn’t speak but her breath and her pulse quicken. He knows instinctively that she is already starting to get wet, so it is no surprise what he feels when he slips a hand down the front of her pants to finger her, his princess gasping and twitching at his touch but trying to focus on guiding the horse.
They ride most of the way with his hand in her pants and his dick pressing against her ass. He whispers dirty comments in her ear but reveals nothing specific about what awaits them, pausing between husky utterances to bite her earlobe, or to tell her to steer the horse to the left or the right.
He is almost drunk with arousal knowing what he’s going to do to her. And he can tell that she is likewise aroused not knowing what he’s going to do to her.
They arrive at a secluded beach on the southeastern shore of Hyrule, and it is well into the afternoon by the time they get there, pushing into the evening; the coast is already shaded by the hilly continent behind them to the west.
“Sex on the beach?” Zelda ponders aloud, slowing the horse to a stop. Link neither confirms nor denies.
“It’s always sounded like fun,” she continues, more to herself than to him. “I just hope I don’t get any sand in my you-know-what.” She isn’t always shy about the dirty, vulgar, delicious words they use for their parts, but when he’s in charge, she defaults to a more demure role.
He stashed a blanket here this morning, but it isn’t for keeping the sand out of her you-know-what.
He grabs her again when they dismount, kissing and groping her ferally, then forcing himself to pull away. He has to restrain himself just a little longer.
“Take off your clothes,” he orders; it is going to be that kind of encounter, the kind where he’s bossy and she obediently submits to his demands, waiting to see what will happen. She loves it when he does this, and he knows it, and this knowledge drives him. He was her humble servant for years before they discovered how much they both love the occasional role reversal.
She does as she’s told and soon she’s standing there fully nude in the soft sand and salt air, and he is too, having stripped quickly, so close now that he’s starting to lose his mind.
“Get in and lie down,” he tells her, gesturing toward a boat he’d claimed from Lurelin Village and brought to this beach.
She glances briefly at the boat and then back at him, and he knows what she’s thinking: sex in a boat, not on the beach. That could be even more fun as the boat rocks and sways on the water; less risk of sand in places it doesn’t belong.
She lies down on top of the blanket he laid in the boat earlier, one he’d selected for minimal friction, and rests her head on the thin pillow he added for her comfort. She spreads her legs without needing to be told. Such a good girl.
He climbs into the boat and positions himself between her legs, feeling again to make sure she’s wet enough, and she is, she’s drenched and she’s dripping; the extent of her arousal seems to match his own. His own is also dripping, and throbbing, and raging, to the point he worries he won’t be able to hold out as long as he needs to just to get this started.
He presses his feet firmly against the inner transom of the boat and pulls her hips toward him, her back sliding easily atop the blanket, until her wet center just brushes against the tip of his cock. He winces at the wonderful feel of her desire for him, trying desperately not to lose control just yet. He pushes her legs back until her knees meet her chest in a position meant to allow for good stimulation and deep penetration, but he doesn’t penetrate her, not yet, and he can tell she’s getting antsy waiting for it.
She reaches down to take hold of his dick, trying to pull him into her but he grabs her hand to stop her. “Naughty girl,” he chides, and usually when he says that he means it playfully, but this time there’s an edge of frustration to his reprimand as he worries her touch might trigger him too soon. But he does not wish to speak with harshness to his beloved, ever, and so, contritely, he softens his voice and tells her, “Just hold on.”
But hold on is not a good choice of words. He needs to make sure she doesn’t hold on. He places her hands behind her knees where she can hold on to herself, holding her legs to her chest, keeping her body in the right position.
He eases the tip of his cock into her slick entrance until he can feel her just starting to stretch open to him, and he pauses there, only the very tip wedged inside. He’s about to lose his sanity, and he can tell she is too.
Everything is ready now. He braces his feet again and makes sure to keep his body weight on his hands and knees and not on her, making contact with her in only one place, the place where he can feel her eager throbs like a ticking time bomb urging him not to delay further or it’ll be too late.
He takes a deep, anxious breath. He reaches up past her head and grabs the hilt of the dull, decayed traveler’s sword he’d stashed in the boat when he was setting things up. Her eyes follow his hand, and he can read the confusion on her face. He knows she knows he would never dream of hurting her, so what place does a sword have in lovemaking?
He grins nervously and winks at her, silently hoping this goes as well as intended, and he taps the blade lightly against the side of the boat.
Instantly the attached Zonai devices roar to life, the boat and his body surging forward with the impetus of the twin rocket engines. Her body slides forcefully toward him and impales itself on him as the motion gives him a thrust deeper than he’s ever achieved with his hips. The look on her face might be surprise, or might be terror, or might be euphoria, and he feels his own face matching hers in expressing all three. They are now at the mercy of the laws of physics.
Everything is wiped from his mind except the sensations of his body being pushed into hers with explosive impulse… the vibrations as the boat skids over the surface of the water, shaking them both like a tsunami… the rapturous feeling of her tight walls shuddering tumultuously as they encase his pulsing cock. There is so much happening where their bodies join that he can’t tell which tremors are his, or hers, or the boat’s; both of their quaking orgasms are superimposed onto the roaring turbulence of their rocket-powered ride. He knows only that the experience is wringing him dry of every trace of pent-up need that was mounting all day, and with it, every drop of his semen pouring into her.
He is utterly empty now; he has given her everything he had to give, his body spent, his mind void of conscious thought. He feels used up, depleted but blissfully sated: mission accomplished. The biological imperative to transfer his seed into her has been so thoroughly achieved that it will take him some time to replenish his stores.
His refractory period, usually fairly quick, is now sitting in an armchair at the back of his drained mind with its feet up and a cigar in its cynical mouth, laughing at him, telling him that this time he has overdrawn his balance and if he wants to have fun like that again, he’s going to need a very long rest.
And he does want to. That is, after all, their round trip back to shore: Recall.
As the boat’s forward momentum begins to slow and the turbulence gives way to a smooth glide over the water, her face, like the motion, becomes more serene; he feels her intense spasms and squeezes beginning to subside as her body finishes milking his for the last drops of his seed as if he had any more to give.
Somewhere behind the mental haze he remembers what this is all about – a shared experience with his princess, who looks as blissfully depleted as he is, staring up at him with silent awe in her wide emerald eyes.
Trembling and panting, he kisses her, chastely, all the naughtiness gone quiet, needing time to reboot. He hopes she enjoyed it as much as he did. Usually he is so attuned to her that he can read her with certainty, but in this moment it takes brainpower to process even minimal input, and he struggles to think at all, to know whether her gaping mouth means she’s pleased.
Her legs slip down and wrap around his hips, and she lifts a hand to his cheek, and he knows. It takes no mental function to know her touch. It is as natural to him as his own heartbeat, a force all its own that surpasses the need for brainwaves. That touch means she’s pleased. That touch means love.
He wants to just lie on top of her with his cock buried inside her as they have done so many times before in their soft bed at home, but now they both are feeling overstimulated and need a comfortable position to rest. He pulls his dick out of her, a sloppy dribble of fluid spilling out with it, and tries not to collapse as he clambers toward the boat’s bow where he can lean back and gaze mindlessly at the warm lights of the two communities visible from here: their home village next to the snowcapped Mount Lanayru, and Lurelin Village to the south.
There is something reassuring and heartwarming about seeing the mundane village lights glowing in the fading evening, proclaiming survival and resilience in the face of all that has transpired over the last hundred years, reminding him of the ordinary, simple, sacred lives of the inhabitants of their kingdom. This is what Hyrule is all about: its people. The people they both would have given their lives for, and nearly did.
With as much strength as he can muster he pulls his queen into his arms and drapes the blanket over her. She leans against his chest; his cock, soft and wet, rests against her back. She hasn’t ever minded sleeping in the wet spots they make in their bed, rather likes it in fact, and she seems perfectly content and comfortable now. There’s assuredly a wet spot on the blanket too, but he doesn’t feel where it is; the blanket covers her, and she covers him, and they snuggle together against the cool air coming down from the snowy mountain.
He can sense her just beginning to drift off, the familiar rhythm of her quiet snores starting to set in. He kisses the top of her head, her soft hair tickling his face. He has no capability of much conscious action or thought, but this gesture is an instinct that requires none, second nature to him now. “Good night, my love,” he whispers.
“Good night, my prince,” she whispers back, and then her snoring resumes, as the gentle rocking of the boat on the calm Necluda Sea lulls them both into a deep sleep.