WARNING TO THOSE WHO DO NOT CARE FOR SLASH:

that's all fine and dandy, but...

DON'T READ THIS, DAMMIT!

Disclaimer: i do not own the characters that have been subjected to the torture of this story, for my own entertainment as the entertainment of others.

now that that's out of the way...

HEY Y'ALL. this is most definitely my first fanfiction on this site, and it is also, most certainly, the first fanfiction i've written in about 4 or 5 years.

if you are jealous due to my immense talent, fear naught; i am a smart cookie, and have read way too many fanfictions in my day.

but that there was just sarcasm. good ol' sarcasm. speaking of which, this fic is full of sarcasm! i hope you don't mind ^_~

SO! in preparation for the INTENSE READING YOU ARE ABOUT TO EXPERIENCE, i would like to first request that while you read, perhaps you make mental notes about things that could use some improving and things that were awesome, things that were not so hot, and such and so forth; this is crucial! you should let me know what's up so i can set preferences. :)

Enjoy!

To think that waking up to agonizing pain and injury treatment (which also isn't very pleasant, let me tell you) could feel adjacently as uplifting and wonderful as I am feeling now, well, that's unbelievable.

"Finally, you're awake" He says to me, noticing my gaze fall upon him while he works to wrap my right leg sufficiently for the damage it took. He laughs, seeing my multitude of expressions cease at lusty, rested relief. Or perhaps that's just a mix of what I'm feeling, and my face is really scrunched in distaste toward the pressure from the tightness of his bandaging. "I can see through all of that," he begins, "and I feel the need to comment that your instinct – and that of the wrong sort, might I add – seems to trigger when least needed."

I think about that comment, and realise that it's what caused me to be bedridden and covered in bruises and blood. Perhaps I should lay off the carnal desire for awhile and focus on other, less important things... especially in the midst of attack.

Nah, that doesn't sound fun at all.

In my previously successful attempts to grab his attention, I motivate myself to grudgingly begin adjusting to an upright position, knowing that this will hurt... well, like a bitch. As anticipated, I am forced back down to the fluffy pillow beneath my head. And, although I may have predicted that one, the pain is a different story.

Ouuuuuuch.

I groan, and wonder, "Was that even worth it!?" I reason for a short moment, and believe that yes, as there are ways less painful to get the other man on top of me, but what is avoided in pain is made up in "corny", obvious and inexplicable.

He has perched, and looks down sympathetically, but I know all too well that what he really feels is nothing of the sort; he feels like hitting me, because I am an idiot for my questionable intent during the course of battle. In a way, I am glad that I'm almost physically totalled, or I believe he would've done me in himself.

He begins to run his fingers through my shaggy blond locks and I close my eyes and lean into the touch, while trying to discreetly run my hand up his thigh, toward his hip, and maybe to his buttocks... this is yet to be decided.

And now it's been decided for me; he is already onto me, and his face grew sourer each time I had inched my hand up his leg. I pause and ready myself, cowardly, by flinching and hoping for less than a wallop.

Surprisingly, pain is not immediate, but instead the sensation of lips over mine is, shockingly, the alternative. I am content with this reaction, and I dig in for more, kissing him deeply and in wanton. He feels this and runs his hands gently over my earlier discovered sore abdomen. Somehow, I can't complain.

But after this, I get what I deserve; he bites my lip roughly, to the point where I think that blood might draw. But oh wait, I don't know if it can redirect itself into the opposite direction in time to spew out of my broken lip, as a second ago, I was totally turned on.

I groan again; I have been duped. And now, as he pulls himself away, he looks lustfully down at me, licking his lips and removing his lithe body from it's previous sitting place atop my throne, if you catch my drift. This, unfortunately, has left me needier than I had felt when I had woken up, and I lay there flustered and almost literally broken in half. Godess-dammit!

He has retreated into the kitchen, knowing that I would have whined like the 10-year old boy that I was before I had harboured the master sword 6 months ago. And the fact that we have done the deed multiple times since then is apparently not applicable, as he still makes me practically get on my knees and beg to be inside of him. It's some kind of sick joke that I have never understood since this relationship began just 2 months before, and it has gotten old fast.

After having sat there whimpering and nursing a sore lip for a few minutes, he returns, holding a steaming cup of tea and a bowl filled with warm water, as well as a cloth to accompany it. Maddening, yet comforting.

He sets aside the tea and bowl on the nightstand. He motions to assist me into an upright position, and does so painfully, before sitting on the stool beside the bed and beginning his work. He submerges the cloth in the water and wrings it out before dabbing it gently to my face. I assume that I have slight injuries on my face that he felt would heal easily.

My response to this is, of course, childish; I look him in the eye, a pout splayed out on my features. His response is, of course, ignoring it. Why are we so predictable?

He finishes with the wounds on my face and tosses the cloth into the bowl before looking at me, my face still stubbornly presenting a pout. He obviously wants to discuss this, but I am obviously being too butthurt to listen. So he sighs, and he waits. And I sigh, and he wins. Damn.

"Link..." He begins, waiting for me to give some sort of explanation. "some sort" as opposed to "dignified", because there's nothing dignified that I could possibly say, and he knows it.

I was thinking of saying his name in the same expectation, but I had a feeling that I had been too childish about it already, considering my poor end of this "argument", or whatever was stirring. Hopefully this ends with make-up sex, and if not, then I'm still up for angry sex. Hah! Like he would give in to that...

Unfortunately, I didn't think past the first thing that popped into my head: "In my defence, you are a terrible person to fight with or against, because the adrenaline starts going, and you're always wearing that damned suit..." I say, referring to that skin-tight, show-all, sexy body suit of his.

And, telling from his body language – having stiffened and gone wide-eyed – he was rather shocked that I had said something like that, rather than an apology or, you know, something dignified. But oh, no, I wasn't done yet...

"And then," I begin, trying to throw him off the metaphorical horse, "There's the cowl, and it brings with it a curiosity as to what level of mind-blowing it would be to be on top of you and watching you love it whilst wearing it. There is not one thing that isn't sexy about your battle wear, and it is unbeknownst to you why I would turn away from the enemy after you had thrown a dagger at them, tackle you to the ground, and practically screw you on the spot? In all honesty, you have no idea what you do to me?"

After this, I think Sheik's brain had imploded, because his response consisted of one delayed eye-twitch.

I smirked, and as I picked up the now not-so-scalding cup of tea, added "I suppose you were lucky that your aim was off and didn't kill the stupid stalfos, or else I would've had my way with you right then and there."

This last bit seemed to snap him back to reality, and he shook the moths from his temporarily vacant head and looked at me while I sipped on the tea quaintly, which was quite ironic considering what had just been said.

I place the tea back on the nightstand and take his hand "Sheik..." I begin, "I know it seems like this is mostly a physical relationship, and that probably made you think it more so than you had previously thought, but it's not just because I want to have sex with you, it's... because I love you... and, want to make love to you, and... I'm sorry that I pulled that shenanigan and landed myself in this bed, and... I thank you, for looking after me." I spoke hesitantly, hoping it was a good, maybe dignified explanation, as well as anything else he may have been expecting me to say.

He gave a small smile and shut his eyes, opening his mouth slightly to signify that he was going to say something in reply, and since I pretty much just poured my guts out like an idiot, it had best be good.

"Link, you have by far the worst self control of anyone I have ever met." He observes. Odd, you'd think that after yesterday's experience, he would know this by now.

"... I don't know about that; if Navi yells out at me when I least need the attention, I would call that first place." Lies. I have her totally beat. Sheik, sporting a large grin, knows that I'm also not fooling anybody. And I realise how pathetic it is to try to scapegoat a fairy.

"You think I don't have a hard time myself ignoring any feelings I get when I watch you fight? Or when you do anything, for that matter?" He asks, to which, I have the most awesomely true retort:

"If that's so true, sexy shadow boy, then why do you tease me endlessly?" HAH! I have taken the win.

He laughs, "Because it keeps you wanting more, and wanting always, does it not?" He smirks, taking his hand and slowly rubbing it up and down my leg, "And right now you can hardly sit up, let alone please me," he finishes with a wink.

I am astonished. "WHAT!? That's it. Let's go. Right. Fucking. Now." Okay, he's just asking to get fucked senseless, and if he thinks that serious injuries will stop me, he doesn't know how full-throttle my sex-drive is right now. I rip off the blanket that was covering my lower half, much to Sheik's surprise, and yank the night shirt over my head, discarding it, and moving toward the bottoms... where my hands are stopped dead in their tracks by Sheik's own.

"Link, I think it's time for you to rest again. Once you've healed, we can, but right now, this isn't the best idea." He says, concerned and probably regretting his playfulness a moment ago. "Besides, climax will tense up your muscles and add to your soreness."

"Sheik, you don't understand how sexually starved I feel right now." I say, curling my fingers up into 'angst-y hands'. "I would think that you would get that from yesterday's thoughtless actions, as we haven't gone at it in over a week, and-... Are you trying to kill me?!"

At this point, he has taken to kneeling over my body, obviously careful not to make any contact or friction at risk of getting raped, and leans toward me to place a gentle kiss to my lips.

But alas, it is a kiss that I can't help but roughly return. Lucky for him, he had known that at this point, my hands would be all over him, and he has locked his fingers with mine, using our intertwined hands to push against my chest and force me back against the headboard and away from his lips.

"Do you have any intention to cooperate, Link?" He questions, and after seeing me consider this, he returns to me, and I decide to give in to his loving kiss, and return it just as sweetly.

He removes his hands from mine, and wraps his arms around my neck, allowing me access to his mouth to let my tongue mingle with his, in a way that is not sexual, but an action of affection.

The kiss soon turns into small pecks until we part completely. He looks into my eyes and rubs the back of my neck with his fingers in a small circular motion, which causes me to close my eyes and sigh in contentment.

He brings his hand up into my hair and runs his fingers through it comfortingly. "I love you, too, you know, and that's why I can't risk your life for you desires, even if you would die happy" He states before kissing my temple. He detaches himself from me to grab the forgotten cup of tea and hands it to me, which I take a sip of. He then searches around the bed for my discarded night shirt, and leans over the edge to grab it and rights it before handing it to me to put back on.

Before he gets the chance to rise from his sitting position, I put my hand to his waist, which makes him turn his attention back to me, and I take his chin in my hand and direct his lips to mine for one last kiss. "Thank you," I say appreciatively.

"Anytime." He replies, "Get some rest." He smiles, tidying up the bowl, cloth, and now empty cup before leaving me to recover.