I have an adorable Hylian (From the Legend of Zelda) character by the name of Kiore. If you don’t know about me, I am an active Role-Player in a few places.
When I begin writing a new character, I try to write a few things for them, their thoughts on things, and, for Kiore, I wanted to move away from my usual vampires who want to be close, but can’t because people are delicious, to someone who has no problem breaking personal barriers, invading personal space and being an outgoing person.
This is a big change for me!
But, of course, they’re one of my characters, so they can’t be without their hangups. I decided that Kiore was raised in a very repressed home, where something as simple as masturbation was considered ‘evil’ and would send them down a spiraling path into insanity, and eventually genuine monsterhood, turning them into something like a ReDead, or a Gibdo.
Kiore’s perceptions on sex, because of this, are very skewed. He refers to it as “Something married people do”, will often miss when people are flirting with him, and will often just genuinely shut down when someone presses the issue. Due to this, he’s still a virgin, and, as he’s the second son of three children, he didn’t figure he would have a real opportunity to marry.
So, I wrote this little ditty, because I like writing M/solo, and angst ridden characters.
The Evil in One’s Own Hands
By Corax Vox
*Disclaimers: I do not own the Legend of Zelda, nor am I attempting to profit from this. I wrote this for fun, and as an exercise.
There are grammatical errors, as this fic is un-betaed.
Kiore was exhausted. The trip across the expanse of Hyrule Field felt like it was taking weeks, when in all honestly it had only been three days.
The sun was relentless as they walked across the prairie, so, when he saw a copse of trees he decided it would be a good time to rest and get some food.
He pulled the saddle off of the horse that he’d been sold. She turned to look at him and pinned her ears back as he put her on a long lead, and tied her to a tree.
“Go eat some grass, you obnoxious old nag.” He cooed gently. He figured it was all in the tone of your voice for how horses listened to you. But this willful old beast seemed to either know what he was actually saying, or she just outright hated him.
Fifty rupees for a horse wasn’t bad, especially these days. He should of questioned why the ranch seemed so eager to sell the animal that they’d named ‘Storm’.
Storm indeed. She’d tried to eat his dinner the other day, while he was eating it. She’d tossed him twice in the two weeks they’d been traveling together.
He watched as the horse turned her back on him and walked away to inspect a particularly thick clump of grasses.
He waved a hand and let her, deciding to drop his pack under a tall shady tree and have a simple late meal of bread and cheese, with a bit of cured meat.
When he was finished, he leaned back against his pack. Full of clothes as it were it was easy to lean against, soft and comfortable. It was cooler here in the shade, and he settled down, crossing his booted feet at the ankle.
With it being too hot to travel, he instead decided he’d nap, and then travel after the sun had passed its mid point.
He sighed and folded his hands over his stomach, stretching out on the warm grass. His legs and back still ached from riding the horse, who was about as comfortable as trying to ride a Dodongo…
Slowly, the warmth of the day and the exhaustion of the ride caught up with him…and he felt his eyes lose focus…and then close…
The last time he’d been in a Fairy’s Fountain, he’d been in the worst pain of his entire life. The water had been made red with his blood, his white and blue tunic stained and tattered.
He’d been screaming as his compatriots tried to keep him down in the healing waters of the Fairy’s Spring.
This time, there was no one else around. The waters were warm and lapped at him gently, and he wasn’t in any pain. He floated slightly, his head resting against something soft and comfortable, a pillow made of some woven cloth that was far too soft to be anything native to Hyrule.
He heard sound in the water and lifted his head slightly, looking down his own body to the woman that was approaching him.
She was beautiful, looking like a goddess, her vibrantly pink hair spilling down over her shoulders like a waterfall, her clothing was nearly translucent, looking like it was made of spider silk and dew, leaving very little to his imagination. He looked from her vividly yellow eyes, down over the pale skin, to the faint flush of her breasts. He blushed, not remembering fairies wearing things that accentuated, rather than hid.
She smiled down at him, before she kneeled over him, and he realized with a bit of shock that he was very nude.
He looked up at her, as if to apologize, but she simply kneeled over him and settled her weight against him, pressing him down slightly into the warm water, her lips meeting his, warm, wet and sweet.
“Shh,” she cooed to him as she slid her hands up his chest. She then sat back against his hips a little, parting the robe for him, dropping it from her shoulders where it simply evaporated into the water, like mist in the sun.
The fairy smiled down to him. “I will soothe your wounds, and treat what ails you,” she cooed quietly, before she lifted her hips, and slid gently against the length that had very much begun to react to her against him.
He drew a breath, wanting to apologize, wanting to explain, wanted to be sure she wasn’t offended by his reaction, before she put her finger to his lips, and rolled her hips up against his, sliding warm, soft, wet flesh against the hard ridge of his erection. She moaned softly, grinding her hips down against his, rubbing against incredibly sensitive flesh.
He wasn’t sure what he should do with his hands, but, after a little while of this, he finally settled them on her legs, his fingers going from resting lightly on her soft smooth skin, to beginning to dig a little, wanting to pull her down against him as she shifted her weight forward, and then back again, sliding herself up against him, and he felt her tremble with each pass.
He looked up at her, her hands resting on his chest, pressing her breasts forward, pinned between her arms, practically baring them for his view. He shivered as she bore down on him again, a low groan finding its way out of his throat.
“Do you like that?” she asked, smiling down at him, her voice holding a breathy tone.
He breathed a soft pant and looked up at her, instinctively trying to find his way into her warm body.
“Do you like that?” she repeated, her voice soft and husky, a whisper for his ears alone.
“Yes,” he said, voice strangled and rough, shifting back against her, trying to roll his hips up and forward.
She reached up to stroke his dark hair out of his face, leaning forward, so he could smell the heated scent of her, honey and flowers. “So do I,” she whispered, and began to shift her hips with more determination, rolling them hard against him, though not permitting him to enter her.
She ground her body against his firmly, her hands resting on his shoulders as she lifted from him only away enough to slide back, and then grind upwards again. Though the motion was delicious for the Hylian beneath her, it wasn’t enough to bring him to his peak.
She, however, began to moan, pushing her sensitive nub against the ridge of his shaft, her beautiful face flushed with desire and effort, breasts beginning to bounce against her chest as she bucked against him.
She cried out suddenly, a sound Kiore had only heard through particularly thin walls at Inns, her fingernails digging into his chest. He savored the pain, because it was such a stark contrast to the pleasure below, as he felt the fairy twitch and tremble, her warm sex attempting to draw him into her.
As it passed she panted, smiling. “Oh,” she breathed, rolling her head back. “That…was delicious.” She stroked her fingers over his jaw as she sat back. She then smiled, wiggling slightly, and Kiore could feel her fluids coating him, the heat of her sex against his.
The fairy woman leaned forward gossamer wings fluttering, and pressed a kiss to his lip, before she reached between them, lifting that aching, wet length from where it rested on his lower stomach, and began to position him against that hot wet entrance.
She smiled down to him, her body beginning to part for him. He wanted to push up into her, drive the full length of his aching body right up into hers, join them, complete the act. But as he felt himself slide into her, she looked down at him and with a smile on her face, screamed the most horrifying sound Kiore had ever heard.
The Hylian jerked awake, disoriented, flushed, flailing a little as the screaming hadn’t abated with his waking. He groped for his weapon, hauling the sword in front of him too confused to grab for his shield.
That stupid horse was pounding something into the ground with rapid slams of her hooves, screaming all the while. It was dark, he’d slept longer than he’d intended so it took him a little while to make out the tiniest arach he’d ever seen, before the horse pounded it into oblivion.
He panted some, and sat down where he stood. The horse looked at him, apparently angry that he’d gotten up, before she ground her hoof and the rest of the arach into the ground, just a stinger and part of a claw left sticking up out of the dirt…turned her back on him, and resumed eating.
Kiore slid his hand through his hair, shaking his head. His face felt flushed, and the arousal from the dream had become a very real, very insistent ache in his groin.
He tossed his sword down where it fell with a dull ringing thud, and dropped back to rest against the saddle and bags again. Night had officially fallen, and though he should build a fire, perhaps eat something more…he was not in the mood for physical labor, nor was he particularly hungry.
Naturally, as he rested, his mind began returning to the feel of the fae woman against his body.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid his mind of the warmth of her body, the softness of her breasts, the warm wet against his…
He panted, uncomfortable, before he shifted his gaze to glare at the horse as if this were her fault. She blissfully and ignorantly continued to eat her grass, snorting pleasantly while the Hylian sulked.
If she’d have waited five more minutes to scream about being attacked by something less than the size of a rupee, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Yes, he’d of probably shamed himself in his sleep, but that would have been preferable to … this.
The dream had almost been enough. He had been so close.
He put his hands over his eyes again, and tried to think of something else…anything else, but the desperate ache in his lower body would not be ignored. He bit his lip, trying to will himself back to sleep, but the visions of the dream kept returning to him…and, the more he tried to fend off the thoughts, the more insistent they became.
The ache was becoming a throb in time with his heartbeat. He looked down to the tent he’d pitched beneath his tunic, drew his legs up to hide it from his own view, or maybe trap it between his thighs, and made a soft little sob. He wasn’t weak or insane, he didn’t need this. He could ignore it, and it would go away!
But, as the minutes slowly ticked by, it didn’t go away, and to his own horror, he found his hand sliding down, wanting to feel some kind of relief.
He couldn’t do this. This was the mark of a mad-man, doing this would drive him insane in time, and he would never be able to stop. It would allow evil into his heart, and he’d become one of the monsters that he occasionally encountered in his travels.
But, he pressed his wrist to the rigid, miserable length…and it felt so damn good.
He rolled onto his side, his arm between his thighs, honestly trying not to grind on his wrist, if he didn’t use his hand, it didn’t count, right? But the pressure was seductive, the friction making him shiver, and he felt himself find a rhythm, a slow roll of his hips.
Maybe if he just did this till he fell asleep, he’d be okay…
But, sleep didn’t come for him, just the soft sound of his own breath as he buried his face in the bend of his arm…and eventually, he lifted his tunic, pulled open one of the buttons that held his trousers up, and pushed his hand into his pants.
He slid fingers around the swollen shaft, gripping it tightly in his hand, feeling it twitch at the contact. For a moment he didn’t move, as if startled by this hasty decision, flesh against flesh, but the insistent ache of his body prompted him to movement.
Maybe…if he just did this till he fell asleep…he wouldn’t… need to finish. To complete this horrible act he was being driven to commit. He pushed his fist gently against the length, moaning quietly. He bit his lower lip, because it was too good. Nothing this evil should feel this good.
But he supposed that’s how it got you.
He drew his fist back up again, squeezing. He wasn’t sure exactly how to go about this quickly, considering the few other times he’d been driven to this had been as equally desperate and shameful, and it always felt like it took far too long. He knew he was going to hate himself afterwards if he didn’t fall asleep quickly, but as he pushed his fist back down again, finding that delightful friction, he wasn’t entirely sure that he would be able to fall asleep any time soon.
He would just…do this until he fell asleep. He was not trying to complete this, just…soothe the desire.
He felt his rough hand grip delicate, tender flesh, rolling the loose skin of his member up over the fluid-slickened head of the shaft, and the way the skin swallowed it made him tremble. He felt himself want to moan again, as his fingers rubbed against that sensitive spot where his head met shaft, so he bit his lower lip hard, not wanting to give his body any of the satisfaction that he could choose to deny it. He shifted against his pack, resting his shoulders against the ground again, propping himself up a little on the saddle and bags he’d been using as a pillow, looking down at the engorged length he was gripping standing up lewdly out of his open pants.
Why had the goddesses seen fit to do this to men? He wondered briefly, as he wrapped his other hand around the base. Was it a test? The fingers of his left hand curled around the middle of the shaft…and he began to stroke, finding the faltering push/pull of fingers against flesh that he was noticing to be more wet than he’d started out. If this was a test of the Goddesses’ he was failing. When he looked down, he noticed a clear fluid beading at the tip, slick but sticky.
Ick. A prelude to the end, he supposed. He wasn’t going to finish this, he.. was just going to do this till he fell asleep again.
He dropped his head back, and tried to ignore what he was doing to himself. He tried to find the memories of the fairy woman again, and when he found the right one, he bit his lower lip, and let them rise up unbidden. He felt the memory of her warm sex against his, her soft breath, sweet scent, the way she arched her back to drive her hips against him, pressing her breasts up to the air.
This time he did moan, feeling his legs trembling some, wanting to push up against an imaginary lover, though he’d never committed that act before, his body seemed to know the routine, as if it were something he’d already practiced, his hips shifting, legs trying to part and find purchase so he could grind up into the fist at his base, and the other hand stroking with more passion than he’d thought capable.
He shuddered as he began to lose himself in the pleasure of it, forgetting that he had been told it was something only the insane did, and, to his future horror, he began to enjoy his little bout of self abuse.
Just…till he fell asleep… He promised himself as his pace quickened, and he felt the pleasure build, low and tight in his body. He curled a little, his heels digging into the ground as he tried not to thrust up into his own hands, hot huffs of breath escaping his lungs.
He knew he’d gone too far when he felt his testicles tight against the base of his length, he knew he’d taken it too far when that delightful tension in his body began to flutter, and the pumping fist just wouldn’t stop. He felt that moment of relaxation that told him there was no stopping this now…
Thankfully, he had enough sense to pull his shirt and tunic up to his chin…
The orgasm didn’t take him so much by surprise, as it just surprised him. He gasped and cried out, his fist pulling and rubbing hard as he felt himself empty hotly onto his stomach, his right hand holding his shirt up away from the ejaculation, twisting convulsively in the thick fabric, pressing it to his face as he moaned, his left keeping up the desperate stroking. He grunted with the next wave of it, curling up a little, even his toes in his boots curling with the intensity of the second wave, the third less so…the fourth was a easier on him…fifth barely a twitch.
He panted softly, his eyes coming open to look at the tree and the stars above him. He felt better. He didn’t ache any more, and he felt warm, and heavy, and…
…he was dripping, feeling a rivulet of fluid beginning to trail down his side.
He sat up, looking down at himself, the ejaculate glittering mockingly under the starlight, and he frowned wiping his hand off in the grass in disgust.
Now that he could actually think, he realized how absolutely -monumentally- stupid his plan had been. Rub it till it goes away, till he fell asleep? Did he actually think that would work?!
He carefully opened his tunic and pushed it off his shoulders, before he pulled off his shirt and used it to clean the sticky mess off of his stomach as best he could, embarrassed and disgusted at the quantity of it.
What a weak, insane, lustful creature he was. He thought angrily, even as he cleaned the clinging sticky mess off of his finally flagging erection. He growled at the way it felt, too sensitive for him to do a very good job of it, and then, after checking to be sure there was none on his pants, he flung the shirt away from him, and jerked his pants back up again, fighting with the button. He turned around to dig a fresh shirt out of his pack, and after pulling it on, he flopped back down on the ground, feeling vaguely sick…and a whole lot better.
He felt more relaxed, the tension that had been in his shoulders was gone. His back didn’t ache any more, his legs not sore from the ride. His groin didn’t ache desperately and he felt like closing his eyes, and falling asleep.
Was this the beginning of his decent into insanity? Was this the lulling comfort of a mind gone mad because of masturbation?
He didn’t feel mad. He felt warm, and a little fuzzy, but not crazy. He didn’t even feel compelled to do it again at the moment. He just felt…comfortable. Yes, a lot ashamed of what he’d just done to himself, but…physically, mentally, he felt fine.
He had been repeatedly told that people who touch themselves in such a fashion were on a quick road to depravity, and insanity, eventually, becoming some horrible creature skulking about in dark caverns. And he believed them. He believed them so much that he had spent most of his teenage years wishing these things wouldn’t happen to him.
But… he thought to himself as he shifted his gaze to look up at the clouds blocking the stars. He’d walked in on several of his fellow soldiers doing this very same thing, some of them more than once. And they were brave men, with a good head on their shoulders, not one hint of madness.
He frowned and drew his legs up. Hyrule was warm this time of year, and he didn’t need a blanket, but he found himself wanting to hide beneath the heavy wool anyway.
This whole thought process was beyond him at the moment. He looked over his shoulder at the shirt he’d flung from himself. He’d…deal with that in the morning.
Along with everything else.
He sighed, feeling warm, exhausted, and comfortable, his thoughts still in turmoil over the act, the feared consequences…but eventually, they quieted, and the Hylian was able to get back to sleep.