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Link was stuck yet again because all the other Heroes had so much equipment on them that needed regular maintenance while he was always ready to go. He didn't have to check on his own stuff much: there was no sand for the Phantom Sword, his whip and hammer hadn't even been used, and he wasn't bogged down with any kind of armour. So while Warriors oiled leather straps and Four went about repairing the split rings on everyone's chainmail, Link just had to sit around and be bored.
He retreated into his tent again and pressed his hands to his face. If this was before Hyrule had lectured him on it, he'd have gone snooping around again but—after having to actually apologize for it to the others—Legend and Warriors had done a better job keeping their letters secure. He hadn't even dared check about Time's, because when they talked he'd warned him he might read something much more disturbing than what he already found if he kept that up.
All of Wild's stuff was in his slate, Twilight had had like two letters and they were so excruciatingly boring he'd refused to touch them again. He hadn't even been able to find Four's and for some reason Sky's writing had resisted his ability to translate text. When he'd asked, Hyrule had been surprised because he also had magic that translated for him and couldn't explain it.
And his didn't stop him from reading Sky's writing.
Hyrule had left his bag in the tent.
Link hesitated, but when they'd had that talk about privacy and people's personal things he remembered distinctly Hyrule had said his sketchbook was fair game. It was meant to be public, so Link could look.
He made a face, looked a little anxiously at the tent flap which was still open but... He didn't want to call more attention by closing it. He cracked open Hyrule's bag and dug past a few things on top: a change of clothes, a few items mostly non-magical and there, on top of a full white muslin bag was his leather-bound sketchbook. Link pulled it out and (he didn't look nervously at the door again, he was fine. He had permission.) turned around and flipped through the first few pages again.
As Hyrule had guessed, Link had looked at these before too. It was... interesting to look at them a second time, he supposed. To take his time. He bit his lip and thought back to what Hyrule had said before, about these being people he knew but people who were okay with this: with art.
It looked like a few had posed for him on purpose, although given he'd seen him drawing with nobody in front of him Link wasn't sure that was true. There were sleepy-looking figures, mostly women (or apparently women) lounging or half-asleep, breasts on full display and legs open or closed depending. A few where there was something (semen, Link guessed, after the very embarrassing explanation that had followed his indiscretions) leaking from wet bodies, or fingers or other things inside.
Link's own hand wandered as he looked, the journal pinned to his knees as he thought a little shyly about himself. Sometimes he felt weird about his dick, about being small and inadequate although he soon reached one of his favourite pics of someone who looked surprisingly like Hyrule with a set of straps on his hips and one of those long tools attached to the front, hanging like a dick of his own. If he worked up the courage, maybe he could ask how it worked...?
But then he'd have to talk about this book again, and his prying and Link wasn't all that sure he wanted to do that... No matter how much the idea of smirking down at Tetra with a cock of his own appealed. For now...
For now he half-squinted his eyes, hand between his legs as he chewed on his lower lip and turned a few more pages.
There was the last image he knew he'd seen before, of an unnamed girl with her hand spreading her slit open wide, her finger teasingly poised as if about to slip inside. Link looked nervously at the door again and thought about it... but he wasn't sure he dared. Maybe later—maybe once he was curled up under blankets and safe. Instead, he just pressed the heel of his palm to his dick and turned the page.
There were a few messy sketches here, new ones that didn't make sense at first. He could make out two figures, seated with one straddling the other's lap and hands on their cheeks, but with no features. Another was a different pose, on hands and knees, again with one taller figure eclipsing the other beneath them, with something like a suggestion of pants sagging at the waist and an arm around their chest. A third, smaller one was now three, one of which looked like a dog and Link squinted at it before deciding it was too messy and turned the page.
He rapidly forgot what he was thinking about. On the next page, there was no possible way to mistake Warriors for anyone else. He was seated on a downed log (one of a dozen possible in their last few camp sites), arms up and fingers dug into his hair to pull it up off his neck. His body was... Link had to swallow as he looked, palm heavy on his dick. He was shirtless, which was rare around the camp: Warriors was one of the most shy, only undressing when he was about to bathe or changing clothes and even then Link had...
Actually, no, Link realized. He'd never seen Warriors fully undressed before because he would've remembered that scar that Hyrule had drawn in. He'd seen the edge of it along his arm, dark warped flesh that crawled up his forearm and, here, up the outside of his upper arm before wrapping up over his shoulder towards his spine. Half his back was empty, untouched by it, just smooth lines of muscle suggested in a few strokes of graphite before that scarred flesh returned and danced along the line of his hip before it vanished.
And there next to it was the little dips of flesh at the base of his spine, like thumbprints of someone cupping his waist. The thick muscles defining the center of his back dipped in the middle, a line that only grew deeper as his eye travelled right back up to his raised arms.
Link swallowed hard. If he asked, he wondered, would Warriors ever let him touch that? If he did, what would he even do? There had been a few pictures of men in Hyrule's art, even a few who had let someone do things to them. He flipped back to check them, to think about it, but it wasn't the men in the art he was picturing but Warriors pretty face and light smile and his back—
Were his scars really that bad, Link wondered? Had he let Hyrule see and touch them if not the rest of them? Were they—was he—had Hyrule used that toy on him or let him suck it—
Link felt like his eyes wanted to roll back in his head. He whimpered, panting for breath and ground down into his palm at the thought of Warriors mouth on his dick until he had to stop because it hurt even if he wanted to keep going through the shooting spikes of pleasure that had faded to just vibrating nerves. He kept his fingers there, toying back and forth over his pants and just stared.
He hated that Warriors was this beautiful. It was so hard to look at him, to know him and know he was everything he appeared to be: sweet and friendly, kind and patient, and so damn pretty it hurt... but he wasn't going to be interested in someone he called little brother. Link pursed his lips and tried to look through the sketchbook again but every picture he just thought of him.
Warriors kissing him. Warriors' hands between his legs. Warriors cock—
"Hey Wind," Hyrule said.
Link just about threw the book shut. He sat up, mortified, and looked back at him, feeling sure everything was painted on his face. It must've been, because Hyrule looked at him then at the notebook and sighed.
"Ah. I see." He groaned and then to Link's utter shock something like embarrassment crossed his face too. "—You looked at all the new art too, didn't you?"
"I won't say anything about it," Link stammered, remembering hard how unhappy Warriors had been he'd gotten into his letters—Letters, he remembered, that had had a lot to say about their brother's hands and lips and mouth and cock, too, in very poetic (and crude) language. Suddenly, he wondered at Hyrule having drawn it at all and felt a little vindicated at the obvious regret on his face.
At least he wasn't the only one who was getting in a bit of trouble.
"Yeah I shouldn't have done that," Hyrule said. He held out his hand, and Link rapidly gave him back the notebook, not sure he wanted to be caught having looked at it after how much he'd disappointed Wars before. "I forgot and had wanted to record a thought—anyways, it looks like you had fun."
Link wanted to cuss him out for that, but he couldn't deny the heat frying his face even as they spoke. He looked anywhere else and swallowed. "Your art's nice," he mumbled. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Try not to think too hard about it."
Link narrowed his eyes at him. "Does Warriors know you're staring?"
Hyrule raised his eyebrows back. "Well I plan to tell him later to check on it. But if you wanted me to ask if one of the others might pose for some work—"
It was tempting. The thought, to ask Hyrule about the belts and the cock came and he half-started to open his mouth before reason reasserted itself. He thought back to the unfinished sketches on the page before Warriors' art, and the dog that might have had markings like Twilight and...
"No thanks," he squeaked, and he fled the tent for anywhere not under Hyrule's far too perceptive eyes.
He already had more than enough to think about tonight.