Archive of Our Own ^beta

"It's hot..."

"Do quit your whining. A few more minutes and we will be at the spring."

"But I'm hoooot, anata..."

"For the forty-second time, you know I do not understand a single word of Twili. Besides, you are practically half-lizard yourself. One would have thought you might thrive under the desert sun."

"Not a lizard, and the Twilight Realm isn't nearly this dry or hot..."

"Eugh, stop leaning on me! I do not care to be drenched in your sweat!"

"That's not what you said last night when we-"

"Both of you stop your bickering or we are turning straight back for the fortress this instant."

Behind their master's back, the two lieutenants continued  to give each other the proverbial stink eye. Ghirahim stuck his prodigious tongue at his sometimes-lover, and Zant bared his needle like teeth in kind.

All three men were in varying states of heat-induced irritability.

The Twili was, understandably, not acclimated to desert environs and was suffering mightily under the thick layers of clothing he wore. (Although, for the sake of some strange modesty, he absolutely refused to take off so much as a thread in public.)

The sword spirit was more than a little annoyed by his companion's complaining and did not understand why he was doomed to hear such inane prattle.

And Ganondorf, quite honestly, was this close to gutting them both and leaving them for the buzzards.

Luckily for all parties involved, however, the bathing caves and the cool springs within finally came into view. With an excited squeak, Zant perked up with renewed vitality. He nearly bowled the demon and his master over as he sprinted down the dusty path. Quickly disappearing into the gloom of the cave, his yips of glee could be heard echoing within.

"That be-clogged freak is going to give himself emotional whiplash one of these days," Ghirahim muttered.

"You speak for a great many of us," the Gerudo agreed.

The bathing pools themselves had been used for centuries by the women of the master's tribe. Though it had been centuries since their use, the cave and spring had remained remarkably intact and functional.

By the time they caught up, the Twili had already stripped down to his smalls and was splashing gracelessly into the deepest and largest pool. In one corner his armor and robes had been unceremoniously heaped into a pile, including the coif that usually covered his neck and head. His wet, mousy brown hair was tousled every which way as he waded to the shallow shelf on the far end of the cavern.

Ghirahim, for his part, was much more dignified in unclothing himself. Granted, he had only to snap his fingers and his garments would de-materialize into nothingness, but at least was not throwing all poise and grace to the wind.

Seeing a shallow basin that flowed into the larger pool, the sword spirit quickly chose it as his bathing spot. He conjured a small bowl for himself as he crouched just out of the reach of the water itself. Placing it under one of several small waterfalls that fed the spring, he waited for it to fill before dunking it over his head.

He sighed in quiet pleasure as the dirt and grime and general filth of the past few days flowed away with the rivulets down his exposed back. Ghirahim, for one, did not care to be unclean. The battles of the past several days had left him very unclean indeed.

Once he was somewhat wet, he began to scrub himself with a bit of white sand in lieu of actual soap. Briefly he was reminded of days long past when his master's previous incarnation as demon king would sharpen his sword form with sand and a whetstone. This was a crude and poor substitute, to be sure, but he supposed there was no helping that.

"What are you doing?"

The demon jumped somewhat as he was broken out of his reminiscing by Zant's airy voice. He had evidently just pulled himself out of the pool, dripping wet as he was. He must have been gifted with the slithering and silent movement of an eel as well, for the demon had not heard him coming. Ghirahim scowled over his shoulder at the Twili before turning back to his task with a sigh.

"Surely even you are capable of that deduction," he rumbled. "Have you never sharpened your scimitars after a battle? Being a sword spirit myself, I must attend to my body in a similar way. If do not, I begin to lose my edge in a very literal sense."

"Oh," the other replied simply. "I see." Zant was quiet for several moments. His face was drawn into a curiously thoughtful expression as he rocked back and forth on the balls of feet.

Tilting his head to one side, the Twili asked, "May I... may I help you?"

Ghirahim could only blink and arch one thin eyebrow. Rather nonplussed by the request, he merely shrugged after a moment. "As you wish," her replied evenly.

The Twili cracked a small smile as he took a handful of sand. He began by methodically rubbing down Ghirahim's bare shoulders. First he worked the sand in clockwise and then counter-clockwise, rubbing the pale skin clean of impurities.

At first, the demon did little more than sit stock still as the Twili worked. Yet as Zant began to massage the entirety of his back - up and down, back and forth - he felt himself leaning into the gentle albeit inexpert touch. Eyes sliding shut, the sword spirit arched his spine against those kneading fingers.

"Hmmm..." Ghirahim purred in pleasure. This moment between them was simple, sensual, and seductive - their sum of their relationship to a tee.

"[Mm, my sweet one... You like that, yes?]" the Twili warbled in his native language.

Zant nuzzled gently against his partner's damp neck, sweeping aside strands of wet hair. He pressed his thin lips to lightly kiss the demon's sand, running his mouth over the delicate ridges of his upper back. Inhaling the tang of Ghirahim's metallic scent, he hummed low in his throat-

-and promptly sneezed as sand flew up his nose.

The sword spirit laughed lightly as the Twili's expense. "Careful," he chided, reaching back with one hand to ruffle Zant's short locks, "or you will end up inhaling the entire desert, darling."

Pulling away - only somewhat reluctantly - Ghirahim reached again for the bowl to wash away the last of the grit. Before he could finish bathing, however, the Twili piped up with another question.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to wash off in the main pool?"

"Hm, perhaps," Ghirahim conceded, "but suffice it to say I do not care for excessive amounts of water."

Apparently the sword spirit had been too indulgent with his lover in that moment. For Zant was very much inclined to take some rather drastic liberties with his demon. A downright devilish smirk appeared on the Twili's lips as a little idea to shape in his mind.

Before Ghirahim could sense the mischief running round in the other man's brain, long arms clamped tightly about his midriff.

"What are you- Zant. No, Zant, don't you even dare. No no no no no let me go! If you even think about it, I'll roast your heart on a spit- You tassle-slinging imbecile- For shadow's sake, I'll rust-!"

SPLASH!!!

From where he was dozing on the opposite end of the pool, Ganondorf lazily opened one eye just as Zant jumped with a kicking and screaming Ghirahim in tow into the pool. The Gerudo grunted once before spreading his arms on the ledge behind him and leaning back into a more comfortable position against the rock. He sank into the cool water up to his broad chest, sighing as he tuned out the indignant squawks and raucous laughter of his minions.

"I swear by all that is fashionable and decent that you will die a long and linger death!"

"Only if you can catch me~!"

"Get back here, you little- Gah, stop that! Master, help me!"

 But the demon's cries for assistance were thoroughly ignored as Ganondorf shut his eyes again. Goddesses know why I put up with the thrice-damned fools, he sighed inwardly even as a humored smirk curled at the corners of his lips.