Chapter Text
Link stumbles through the corridors like a newborn fawn. He’s so unstable that he's ricocheting himself off the walls to stay upright. His breathing goes ragged and it has nothing to do with the exertion. When he turns a corner and sees the door to his room, he’s like a demon fresh out of hell, born in the blackness, seeing the sun - no, his salvation - for the very first time. Release is imminent. Palpable. His skin tingles. His mouth waters. He tumbles through the door and catches himself on the bed.
The second the door slams behind him, his heaving breaths turn into groans. He kicks off his boots and peels off the top half of his uniform, letting it slap on the floor. He runs a palm down the front seam of his pants and it’s so good he can’t even stop the way he flexes into the pressure. He just moans out loud into the empty room, like he wasn’t able to do for the past few hours, and thinks of Zelda in her dress again, then out of it.
Before he lets go, a small, barely perceptible voice of reason breaks through the roiling waves of desire. It tells him to stop making this mistake. That Zelda is off-limits. An impossibility. All things Link already knows and has spent countless occasions reminding himself. He knows that every slip-up is like tying brick after brick to his body at the same time he struggles to keep his head above water. And it's only a matter of time til he’s dragged into a dark, wet oblivion.
But he bargains with the voice anyway. He’s been so good since coming to the castle. He can get back to where he was. He’s only having this problem because Pierre brought that goddess-forsaken Iggy Juice. He just needs to do this one more time, and he’ll be done forever. And he's so pent up, it's not like he’ll need to think of her for long. He’ll go fast. And that has to count for something.
Her eyes form in his mind. Bright green, like sunlight through tree leaves. He thinks of the way her face pinches. Her thumb on his chin. He sighs, knowing defeat is upon him, and if he’s going to be weak, he’s going to do it thoroughly. So he pulls his weeping cock out, and the voice of reason goes sputtering into the deep.
An expletive shoots from his mouth as those first few pumps wash over his nerves like an electric balm. Zelda’s presence lingers on him from having just danced with her, so he has no trouble recalling the exact way her frame felt in his hands. He thinks of her straddling him on the ballroom floor, his hands at her bare waist and her thumb on his lips. She’s naked, save for that dainty silver chain around her neck.
He has no idea what her naked breasts look like. No idea how she’d want to be touched. What she’d sound like getting worked up. He wants to know those things very badly, perhaps more than he cares to know his own name. But he doesn’t know these things, so he decides them for her.
He gives her tits pretty pink tips. A little puffy, and swollen because she’s horny. He makes her gasp when he slides a finger over one. And when he takes her thumb in his mouth and sucks, that silver chain glitters as it’s suspended over the ligaments that pop out of her neck. Her thighs are soft, smooth, and porcelain-like as they mold around his hips.
A pathetic noise escapes his throat. He’s gripping the headboard, and the joints of his bed groan as he writhes against his hand. Fuck. He might come before he even gets to thinking about her cunt, and if this is the last time he does this, he absolutely needs to think about her cunt before he’s through. So skips the fantasy forward and imagines her grinding up against his cock. All slick and ready. It’s a beautiful picture he paints for himself, and he jerks himself faster.
Zelda rides her horses hard, so he thinks she’d ride him that way too. He pulls on himself a little too roughly, thinking about how she’d come down on him. Heavily, with her full weight. And he’d take it, everything she’d give him. He’d let her demolish him. Until there’s nothing left of him but rubble. He’d grip her hips to bring her down even harder. So he could be buried in her completely.
It’s then that a sweet, familiar smell infiltrates his nose. He knows this smell. It’s -
And he’s at the door at once, sword drawn at his hip and ready to strike. His dick is still wet and hard and out in the open. And it’s still so raw, so furiously desperate, it might fall off his body in mutiny. He bites back a groan as he suppresses his need. It’s going to have to wait.
Because he knows that smell.
Mighty bananas.
He knows they’re here and they mean to do harm.
Over the roar of his desire, he focuses his senses. There’s a muffled voice and a crash, followed by a rush of wind past the door. Then heavy, frantic footsteps. Link wrestles himself back into his pants one-handed, slips his baldric over his shoulder, and then cracks the door. Fledge is there, stumbling to the ground. He has a bloody lip, and he looks dizzy.
“Fledge? What happened?” Link speaks quickly, sizing up the situation.
“There’s-” Fledge is a bit slurred, “Yiga.”
It’s just as Link suspected. But his stomach drops at the confirmation anyway.
“How many?” He asks.
“Several, I think. I don’t know,” Fledge drags his sleeve across his lip.
“Are you okay? Any worse injuries than your lip?”
“No, just my lip and I got punched in the side,” Fledge hangs his head. “I don’t think I can stand yet. But I’ll be okay.”
“Okay. You can crawl into my room and lock the door. Take care of yourself and stay hidden," Link says. He looks down the hall. He needs to get to the princess. Fast. "I'll come find you later," Link calls as he starts down the corridor.
Link’s mind rushes twice as fast as his legs. The Yiga are here for the princess, and maybe the King. They have to be. They must’ve taken advantage of the Luchirian’s presence. Despite the extra forces, everyone has been focused on the dull proceedings and been bored out of their minds. So their guard was down. Link’s guard was down. He should’ve never even gone back to his quarters. He should’ve escorted Zelda personally to her room and kept a watch tonight. The King will still have his personal guard around, but Zelda is vulnerable. He berates himself internally. He had planned to come back, he just… Gods, he just wanted some relief first. Needed it. Still needs it. But there’s no telling what crimes he would have committed if he was posted outside her door in his condition, knowing she would be winding down, undressing on the other side of the wall.
There’s a snap behind him, and Link banks to the right. An arrow whizzes past his ear, barely catching a few strands of hair. He somersaults forward and lands on his feet, facing the source of the arrow, but he thrusts his sword up before he even stands and looks. His sword makes contact with something firm, but fleshy. As Link straightens, a figure in red comes into view. It’s a Yiga soldier, impaled on the end of his sword, still holding a demon carver above his head. The soldier goes limp, dropping to the floor, and Link unsheathes his sword from his torso with a sickening sound.
He’s being followed. Maybe by only one, and Link probably still has a head start now that this one is dead, but there’s bound to be more. He still has to be fast. He takes off again, heading up the stairs, around the corner, by the handmaiden’s quarters and through a sitting room. Link’s quarters are relatively close to the Royal quarters, but separated by the family’s close assistants. Easy for him to reach her for protection, but not so easy to allow him free, unmonitored access. A detail he curses as he hops over an ottoman and avoids the corner of a table. But thankfully, the sitting room is bereft of a single soul as he flies through it. He hopes the Yiga haven’t reached this far yet.
He flings himself around a balustrade and shoots up the staircase like a rocket. He tries not to imagine what could be happening to her if he’s too late. If a Yiga has so much as breathed the same air in her vicinity, he has several creative ideas for those demon carvers that all involve a separation of Yiga limbs from their bodies.
He skids around another corner and bounds up the final curve of stairs. Everything so far is in its right place. No broken furniture or pottery. All curtains and carpets lying perfectly straight and unstained. Things appear undisturbed. He doesn’t smell bananas. The torches still crackle, but other than that, it’s just the sound of his footsteps and heavy breathing. But his heart still feels like it’s leaping out of his throat. He knows it won’t stop until he finds her whole and intact.
When he finally reaches her door, he slams into it like a battering ram. It opens easily, and he lurches into her room as it swings open and smacks the wall. He steadies himself on her armchair and looks around, but she’s not there.
“Zelda?” he calls, sounding panicked and ragged.
There’s a shift from behind her dressing screen. Zelda’s head pops out from the side, eyes wide, wearing a startled look. But she appears otherwise unharmed. Safe. Link’s shoulders drop as the relief pours over him. He could kiss Hylia’s feet.
“Link? Was that you that busted through my door?” She looks him over once, eyes trailing over his indecent, haggard state. “What’s going on?”
Self awareness coalesces around him like cold air. He’s standing in her room in nothing but his uniform pants, baldric, and scabbard. No shirt. He’s not even wearing shoes. In all their travels they’ve seen each other in various states of… somewhat undress. But it’s been rare, and this sort of thing is never acceptable in the castle. So he has the decency to feel a pang of embarrassment. Which leads him to remembering his very hard erection, which is still very much present between his legs. And without the top half of his uniform, everything is much more exposed. It’s very possible that the outline of his dick is visible, but he’s too afraid to look down and lead her attention to it.
“Why is there blood on your sword?” Her voice is tinged with panic.
Oh. Thank goodness she’s distracted by the blood.
“Yiga. In the castle,” he manages to say between panting breaths.
Her eyes get even wider, and she shrinks, shifting her gaze around the room. “What? How do you know?”
Link just holds his sword up. The blood is still shiny in the torchlight.
“Gods above, that is terrifying,” she says.
“We need to get out of here. Quick,” Link says.
“How many are there? Where are they coming from?”
“I’m not sure...” he trails off. They’re good questions. There are probably more on their way to her room. He’s not sure he can take the chance to go back the way he came with her. He could probably fend them off from a sneak attack, but he’s had a glass or two of wine. It’s not a chance he’s willing to take.
She doesn’t say anything then, just stares at the ground, also calculating. A realization passes through her face.
“The river tunnel,” she says, eyes snapping back to his.
“River tunnel?”
“Yes! It’s a secret escape route. A tunnel underground that opens up to the moat. Rapids run through it, and there’s a Sheikah raft there ready to go.”
A secret passageway? Seems plausible, but he’s a little put out. This seems like something he should’ve known about. He narrows his eyes. “I didn’t know this existed.”
“Almost nobody does. It’s relatively new, just repurposed as an escape route because the technology only recently became available to make it useful. Only my father, a few Sheikah that built the raft, and myself know,” she pauses. “And now you.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry I never told you sooner. I think most of us had forgotten about it.”
The situation is too pressing for his petty scruples. He inhales again and is glad to still smell clear air. He doesn’t think it’ll stay that way for long. “There’s no time. We’re taking it. How do we get there?”
“I’ll show you. It’s very close. Made to be a fast escape.” Then she steps out from behind the screen, and Link nearly passes out.
She’s wearing a nightdress, if it could be called a dress. He’s never seen anything like it. It’s little more than a slip of pale blue slinky, flimsy fabric held up by straps as thin as a few strands of hair. It clings to her body at the chest, waist, hips, and thighs, and for the first time in a long time she looks like a human woman with a human woman body. A ruinous, human woman body. Link’s jaw goes slack and his throat starts to constrict.
If she notices him ogling her, she makes no indication. “It’s just outside my hall, around the corner between my father’s room and mine,” she says, taking fast steps toward her door.
And it’s then that Link realizes that she isn’t wearing any brassiere. No smallclothes. The faint outline of the shape of her nipples is visible, and Link feels like he might choke. She’s moving fast, so her steps are not smooth and, Din strike him down, he’s never seen her breasts move like that. He needs to stop seeing her breasts move like that or he’s going to bust right here, right now, if he doesn’t faint first. And then the Yiga will catch up to them, and then they’ll both die in a gruesome bloodbath, and then Hyrule will cease to be.
He squeezes his eyes shut, then turns to follow her, vowing not to look at the way her ass might be moving too.
She’s right, it is close. There’s a bookcase against the wall. She steps in front of it and tugs a book out with a heavy clunk. She then uses it as a handle to pull the bookcase open. Just enough for them to both slip through. There’s a dark, cramped corridor behind it that curves down in a spiral staircase. The steps are steep and uneven, and Link can feel the crude cut of the stone under his feet. It’s a fall risk, especially in the pitch black. But the darkness is a welcome reprieve from Zelda being in his line of vision.
They pad their way in tense silence down several revolutions of the stone spiral until a dull roar winds its way towards them from ahead. A blue glow opens up as the ground flattens. The staircase spits them out in a cave, lined with glowing blue stones, burgeoning from the walls in luminescent stone bouquets. The ground glows too, with that same blue marbling the ground like the seams between muscles. The light is dim, but with Link’s eyes adjusted to the pitch black, it’s almost too bright.
The roar fills the entire room now, and Link realizes it’s coming from a rushing river before them. Zelda makes her way to a round, oblong structure tied down next to the rapids and then crouches down to touch it. Mercifully, her figure is far less visible in this lighting. He can walk without stooping.
“This is the Sheikah raft,” she says, a glint of excitement in her voice.
Link has just enough brain cells back online to assess it himself. He crouches next to her and pokes it with his finger, indenting it with ease. It feels… insubstantial.
“This is not like any raft I’ve ever seen.” He sounds doubtful.
“There’s not much to it,” She explains, running her palm around the bloated, smooth edges. “It’s basically just an air-filled balloon. It doesn’t even need power. The real genius lies in the construction of this material. Something we’re calling ‘rubber.’ It’s sturdy but has enough give to cushion crashes. And it’s waterproof.”
“We’re supposed to get in this thing?” Link’s tone does not lighten.
“Yes!” Even in the dark her eyes light up. “Think of it like a canoe, but surrounded by a donut-shaped octorok.”
“I can puncture octoroks with my dullest weapon.”
“I know that, but this is much sturdier. We mixed chuchu jelly with the blue liquid from the guidance stone, then coagulated it in the ancient furnace. Took some trial and error to get it right, but this consistency right here,” she slaps the side of the raft with the flat of her hand, and the whole thing vibrates. “This was the best meeting point between buoyancy and durability. Perfect for the sort of apparatus you could float on.”
“Has this actually been tested in the water?”
“Oh, yes! Several times. Purah is particularly fond of the ride, but I’m better at steering it. There’s a rather crude mechanism we built to direct its course,” she points at two leather ropes affixed to the front of the raft that are long enough to be held by an operator sitting in it. “Like horse reins. They don’t work very well, and we’ll still hit some walls, but they give at least a little bit of control around the turns.”
Link is not convinced. And he guesses his face says as much because she adds, “It’s only been a year and a half since we tried it,” as if that was supposed to win him over.
Suddenly a thunk resounds from the staircase passageway. The Yiga. They must’ve found the secret passage. Dread flickers through him. There’s no time to debate. Zelda apparently is in agreement because she’s already untying the straps to free the raft. Link unties the two on the other side. They lift the raft into the water and it floats, to his mild disbelief. They leave one rope tied to a stake to anchor it to the land while they get in.
She climbs in with some difficulty, but once she’s in, she settles into the center.
“Alright, Link. In you go,” she says, wearing a smile that tells him she will not entertain any arguments.
He tries to give her space when he climbs in behind her, but when he sits down, she ends up between his knees. The raft is about the size of half a twin bed, so there’s not an abundance of space. Her legs are bent awkwardly in front of her as she holds the reins, but he’s backed up as much as possible and his shoulder blades are already flush against the bouncy swell of rubber behind him. There’s maybe four inches between her back and his front. As long as they’re not jostled around too much, they should be able to maintain a manageable distance. But can already feel the excitement building in his core as she sits there like a sinful delicacy between his legs. Link swallows hard to ease the dryness in his throat, and severs the rope tying them to land.
There are other ropes affixed to the inside of the raft, hung up like festival lights, that are meant to serve as handles. Link hangs onto them as the raft’s speed quickens in the moving water. Zelda aids their progress with gentle pulls on the reins. She leans into each turn, smoothing out their course. It’s not too fast, gentle and flowy as they lilt over waves. But it’s enough to blow her hair just to the point of grazing his nose. The luminous stone deposits throw rings of blue sheen that slip over her hair as they pass through the tunnel. It’s almost meditative, and just as he starts to relax and chances a moment to breathe her in, the raft drops. Zelda squeaks as they splash down over a steeper grade, but they remain dry. Link’s legs squeeze a little, but he manages to keep them from pinching her.
“Oh, I forgot how fun this is,” she says. Her voice is bubbling.
Suddenly the tunnel curves, and their raft knocks into the wall. He thinks it’ll pop like an octorok, but it just bounces, and they’re wrenched the other way, her hair smacking him in the face from one side, then the other. Reflexively, he hooks an arm around her waist to keep her from flying out, steadying himself with his other hand grasping one of the side ropes. “Oh!” she squeaks again, probably as startled as he is by the contact.
The waters stay rough, so he keeps his arm around her, and she doesn’t seem to mind, wiggling in her seat to settle into his grip.
He’s got her between his legs with his arm around her waist, in that feeble excuse of a dress. He can feel the warmth and softness of her skin under her thin nightdress. She bumps against the insides of his knees as she leans into her efforts, making no attempt at reducing the contact between them, and he feels each small touch like a spark over his skin. As they meander, with each turn, drop and twist of the waters, the waning safety of the few inches between their bodies thins to nothing, and then she’s pressed up against him.
It’s terrible. He has his face over her shoulder and he can feel every shift of her body. Even without the Ignoble Pursuit, he’s sure he’d get immediately hard in this situation. How could he not? He tries not to think of the way her back is pressed to his bare chest. Her hair tickling his sternum. And he definitely tries not to think of the way her ass is scooted up against his still-hard cock. But it’s her ass. Soft and warm. Her ass, that his gaze has lingered on several too many times. On horseback in front of him, or just walking. Bent over on her knees to catch critters. He wasn’t strong enough to hold himself back the night after she made him eat a frog, and he thinks he might need to throw himself into the river if he had any hopes of making it through this cursed raft ride.
“Hang on, Link,” Zelda says, leaning back into him to speak. “It’s going to get a bit rougher.”
“Rougher-” even he can hear the hysteria in his own voice.
And then the rapids pick up. She jostles in his lap, and it rubs him. It rubs him. His erection is rubbing against the princess’ ass. The friction is delicious in the same measure that it’s torturous. Her flesh is ample enough that it cushions his cock horrendously nicely, and there’s just enough pressure and movement against the underside of his head to be stimulating, even through his pants. His cock twitches against her and sends sparks of heat through his core. It clouds his mind and dizzies his senses.
He tries to squeeze his thighs around her to keep her still, but that just makes it worse because it locks her against him and increases all their points of contact. He holds back a gasp. If he just ground his hips against her, he could push himself over the edge. But he absolutely cannot do that, despite how his cock is damp and weeping and demanding he do exactly that.
“I didn’t realize this would be so nerve-wracking for you,” she calls over the splashing. He was hoping she wouldn’t notice the crisis happening behind her, but it seems she’s misread his reaction as fear. He supposes that’s better than the truth.
She turns to speak to him, and her face is so close he can’t even see her eyes. Just the tip of her nose and her lips over her shoulder. A small smile stretches the lines of her lips in the dim blue light. She slides a hand over his wrist, the one wrapped around her waist, and says “Don’t worry, Link. I’ve got you.”
It’s usually the other way around, whether they’re on a horse or he’s towing her around by the hand to avoid monsters, or when he’s slashing them down at her feet. Link always has her. He’s always protecting her. Which he enjoys thoroughly, probably more than duty demands. But here, she’s in her element and he’s along for the ride. She’s got him. And he’s hers, and he loves it. He already belongs to her as her knight, but he wants to belong to her in so many more ways.Thoroughly and completely. When she says things like that, he almost feels like he could.
He can’t speak because he’s afraid he might say something stupid like I’m all yours or gods, I’ve missed you so much , or you can have every single piece of me. So instead he buries his face against her neck and breathes hotly against her hair. Strands of it catch on his lips, and he inhales her harder, until some strands wrap over the tips of his incisors. And his heart swells with it, just to have a piece of her in his mouth, even if it’s not her lips or her skin or all of the other pieces of her he wants to taste. Heat pools in his pelvis as he tightens his hold, and when she rubs her thumb across the base of his wrist, he has to concentrate very hard on not seizing her neck and to put an open-mouthed kiss there. It may be his imagination, but he thinks he feels her relax into his arms before she takes up the reins again.
He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. Does she know what’s happening behind her? He needs to get it the fuck together. He’s pretty sure she’d be appalled at him experiencing a sexual release essentially on top of her as they’re escaping from danger. She might accuse him of being the danger, and he’d be reassigned. Banished to some far corner of the kingdom until the time came to fulfill his duty. But worst of all, he’d never see her again, and then he’d never be able to hear her laugh or her sarcastic remarks or see her eyes light up ever again.
Pretty soon, in his attempt to grip her tighter, his arm creeps up below her breasts until they’re essentially lying on his forearm. He can feel their weight, and the way they move with the motion of the raft. Feeling them might be worse than seeing them, but Link can’t help but think of that too. How gorgeous they are in that not-dress, and how nicely they’re probably heaving right now. He pictures the tenting of the fabric over her nipples from before, and both hopes and fears that that memory is burned into his consciousness forever.
It’s then that a glowing, marbled wall of stone moves into view and races straight towards them. Zelda leans back and yanks on the reins to try to turn them, but they go careening into it. Link braces himself for the collision, hanging onto Zelda so tight he thinks he might pop a lung. He keeps his stranglehold on the rope handle on the side of the raft to keep them inside it. On impact, the two of them are knocked around like gnats in a hurricane. Zelda makes a punched-out sound and then a wave of water rebounds off the wall and goes crashing over them.
When Link opens his eyes, they’re both still in the raft somehow, but they’re spinning down the river with the luminescent stones circling around them in a disorienting swirl.
“Are you okay?” Link calls, water spraying from his mouth.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Sorry, I forgot about that turn. It’s a bit tight.”
“A bit?” Link says as the spinning continues.
“It’s the worst one, I swear!” she calls back to him.
Then Link realizes that he’s still holding her, and she’s still scantily clad and still rubbing up against him and now she’s wet. Before he can stop himself, he looks over her shoulder and immediately feels the need to repent. Her dress is drenched and suctioned to her chest. And with each revolution of the raft, the glowing stones light every plane of her chest. He can see the full form of her tits under her dress, including the puckered shape of her nipples.
He fails to restrain a groan through his nose, and he does it right in her ear. She notices, and he feels her ribs expand as she inhales sharply. He likes that too, and another low, traitorous noise escapes from his throat. She stops breathing then, and her back and shoulders tense up against his torso. But the rapids are still rough, and the friction against his cock doesn’t stop. He’s balancing on the razor edge, and he thinks he might actually come, with Zelda in his arms. With her drenched body sealed tight against him.
He makes little frustrated, strangled sounds through his teeth during the next few bumps and turns, throwing hail Hylias to the gods that he doesn’t bust, but it’s building and building and gods, are his legs starting to shake?
Suddenly they splash land into a lull. It’s still.
There’s glowing stones passing overhead at a smooth, slow pace. They’re still floating along in their raft, but it’s a pool of calm waters. Now most of the movement in the raft is coming from the way he’s panting heavily over her shoulder. His legs have thankfully stopped shaking, but he’s still on the razor edge of climax. He could burst at any moment. His grip around her ribcage is just as tight, and he thinks he feels her breathing hard too. He can’t move, can’t adjust, but can’t let go either because he’s afraid any modicum of friction will do him in. And then he feels her try to turn to say something.
“Link-” she starts to say.
But he clamps his arm around her to keep her still.
“Don’t. Move,” he manages to choke out.
So she stays where he’s holding her. They float along in near silence, both breathing roughly enough to make up for the new calm in the water. He rests his temple against her cheek, puffing into her wet hair, too aware how it’s sticking to his chest, and how every drop of water from it feels like magma. He tries not to think about how badly he wants her. How unbearably good, unbearably right the pressure of her body against him feels. How much he wishes he could hold her like this all the time.
Just when he thinks he’s got his wits about him, their speed picks up. She shifts and reaches over to peel his hand from the rope on the side of the raft. Wordlessly, she brings it to her opposite hip, and Link’s hand is met with soft, warm flesh against his fingers. The jut of her hip bone is solid against the heel of his palm. She squeezes his fingers, letting them sink into her skin. At the same time, her other arm slips over Link’s forearm and presses it harder against her ribcage.
What is she doing? he thinks wildly. He’s only just barely keeping it together. This is the opposite of the goal. This was going to destroy him.
She turns slightly, so she can make sure he hears her, and says quietly, “This next part is a straight shot, but it’s steep and bumpy.” Her voice drops, and in a low register he’s never heard her speak before. “Hold me tighter.”
And then the raft tilts down, and they start to drop. As they go over the edge, his cock drags one long stroke against her, and Link knows this is it. There’s a drop from the base of his spine and he cries “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” out loud as he feels his climax finally end its pursuit, and he lets it drag him down with the force of a thousand bricks.
His hand widens over her ribcage as he pulls her closer. His body moves on its own, hips bucking into her without his permission. He holds her hip down in the place where she put his hand, and pushes himself into her, raking the underside of his length against her ass. She makes a yelping sound, and her knees clamp together. And then he thinks he feels her arching against him, and over her shoulder, right at the neckline of her chemise, Link sees the point of her nipple emerge over the fabric. The sight of it makes him moan from depths of his chest, and he’s sure he’s taken a Moblin foot to the face with more restraint.
It’s less puffy than he thought and even in the low light he can see that it’s darker than the pale pink he imagined. But it’s perked and pointed and it’s perfect because it’s hers, and he’s seeing it, all while he’s holding her close and violently coming apart. And he didn’t think he could come harder than he already was but his hips snap at the sight of her and he can do nothing but give in, whining against her neck while his body shreds itself apart, all with the girl he loves wrapped in the circle of his arms.
Hot dampness pulses at the head of his cock, and he rides it out til he’s spent completely, clinging and rocking against her. Distantly, through the haze of his orgasm, his senses start to coalesce. Pinpricks of water hit his face and pull him from the murk. They’re still dropping down the rapids, and the ride is still rough. Zelda’s holding the reins tighter than he’s ever seen anyone hold anything. He has just enough of his faculties to hope she doesn’t feel his come through the soaked layers stitched between them.
Then she says “Link, there’s something warm-”
Which is the worst possible thing she can say, but before he can panic about it, the blue glow is gone, replaced by pinpoint lights twinkling in the sky. They’re airborne, having been shot out from the tunnel above Hyrule Castle moat. The raft goes one way, and Link and Zelda go another, and then they all go crashing into the water in three heavy splashes.
For once, he doesn’t struggle against the waves as they close over his head. As he’s suspended underwater with Zelda’s hair fluttering at his cheeks, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He never had a chance at keeping his head above water. He knows now that from the moment he met her, he never left the sea floor.