#angel!link

[kaluwa-del-conte]

😈 Devil!Rhett & Angel!Link 😇

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

It hurts to touch him. 

His skin sizzles like butter on a hot pan and Rhett gasps, not from the pain, although that too is sudden and intense, but from the soft smoothness of the angel’s skin. Rhett snatches his hand away, watching in horror as a scarlet afterimage of his fingers rises onto the milky white skin of Link’s arm.

An apology. Hushed one, with pleading eyes and the thud-thud-thudding of Rhett’s heart that Link can hear as clearly as his words. Link shakes his head, the golden leaves of his laurels making a faint tinkling sound that always follows him around. He steps closer, his gaze determined, reaching for the demon in front of him. 

Rhett takes a step back, now pleading with his words. He doesn’t want to hurt Link. Never wants to cause him pain. Never wants to see those sweet eyes flash with agony. Link huffs, his wings fluttering in annoyance. He can decide for himself. He’s old enough, nearly a millenia old, no longer a babe in the heavens. He’s seen the earth. He’s seen the humans. He’s seen the need and where it leads. To entangled bodies and lush moans and ecstasy so potent it has the ability to create life.

Rhett’s blood surges in his veins, rushing into his head, making him dizzy; rushing elsewhere and making him feel light and heavy all at the same time. He watches Link talk about the debauchery of the souls below them. Watches Link’s plump lips move. Rhett wants to bite them. Gnaw and chew and taste. Wants to nibble and suck and lick until he’s breathless and Link is whimpering in his arms.

His arms. Rhett pauses. Closes his eyes, the only way to stop himself from staring at the creature in front of him. Unlike Link’s, Rhett’s arms are rough—gnarled and wrinkled, covered in old scars and fresh scabbed-over wounds. His arms are molten. They’re not a place for a being as pure as Link. The devil’s arms are meant for hurting, not loving.

Rhett’s eyes fly open. His face is on fire. He’d scream, but his breath has been stolen by the icy-blue eyes peering at him. So close. Too close. Link’s hands cradle Rhett’s face, skin to skin, palm to cheek. They burn together. Rhett can smell it. A hint of sulfuric ash mixed with the scent of summer rain turning into a thunderstorm. 

Rhett tries to back away, tries to save Link from himself, from this twisted thing they have been dancing around for centuries. But he can’t. He can’t, because Link’s lips are closing in and Rhett can do nothing else but surrender to their heat. Just once, he thinks. One time and then no more. A taste. It’s all he needs. All he deserves.

A mosaic of groans and whines. Pain and pleasure. Good and evil entwining, burning, destroying, creating, thriving. Rhett can’t breathe. He only knows need and love and desire. He devours Link’s mouth, tasting the divine within him. The air crackles between them, angry and awed. The wind whips around them, horrified and delighted. 

A gap forms between their aching lips. Link pants, begs for more, begs for more skin, more kisses, more debauchery. The devil has never before blushed. Everything in Rhett spins and tilts and twirls. He aches for Link. Aches for something that can’t happen. 

“We can’t. It hurts to touch you,” he finally whispers, with a sob so heart-wrenching the world breaks below them.

Link looks at him and smiles with a sad tilt of his lips.

“But it hurts more not to.”

[rhinkthreeways]

Miracle (Fluffy Version)

It was easy for Link to believe in miracles. He was one of a few that made them happen after all.

Ever since he was blinked into existence millennia ago, Link loved to grant miracles. The smiles of satisfaction, of joy on humans’ faces when they received one was an exhilarating high each and every time. He had been responsible for some big miracles—ones that had gained notoriety with humans. Some of his miracles had faded from the stories told over time. But his absolute favorite miracles were the little ones.

$20 found. Catching the bus before it takes off. Sunsets and sunrises. A simple smile.

The beauty of being him meant you could easily go about your day unnoticed. It was easier this way, he told himself. He had loved humans before, but was bereft when his friends would pass, leaving him alone once more. Being alive for as long as he was, he perfected the art of blending in. 

But Rhett saw him.

It started on the crowded subway train, finagling someone to spontaneously get up to allow the pregnant woman burdened with bags to sit down. Link smiled to himself, satisfaction settling in his heart when he locked eyes with a mountain of a man, a small, playful smirk on his face. Link coughed, but he could feel the same piercing green eyes on him through the whole ride. The suspicion this man could be a temptation was high, but as Link got off at his stop, the man followed and stopped him on the platform.

“I’m sorry...I never do this, but. I’m Rhett,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Would you like to grab coffee with me?”

Link looked between Rhett’s hand and the warm, gentle smile on his face and took the proffered hand. The thought in the back of his mind that this would end disastrously manifested, small and mighty, but Link felt compelled to ignore it.

“Sure. I’m Link.”

From that point on, Link felt more than alive again as he spent more time and learned more about Rhett. Rhett was an archeologist, and a tenured professor at Columbia. He was on a team that had unearthed one of Link’s most favorite achievements. He liked tea more than coffee, wasn’t afraid to try new foods, and a smile that could light up a room. Their first kiss, given at the ice rink in Rockefeller Center, was a textbook miracle that Link had granted over and over again to others.

Link had many relationships in his long life, but Rhett was the first that made him feel like the humans did when they were given a miracle.

Link gave miracles. Miracles were never given to Link.

Until Rhett.