Yaoi Link x The Postman

A one-off tale

It was not because he had been captured that Link crouched, naked, in the hot shadows of an abnormally large mail box, his bare bottom bursting through the rectangular hole that had been carved into it, the edge of which he used as a seat for his thighs. It was actually the culmination of his attempt at normalcy, an endeavor destined for distortion in one so destined for adventure, be that by Fate, or merely by his penchant for the patient accommodation of the strange requests of strange people.

This human sized mail box stood in a secluded alley, far enough from the mid-day bustle to remain undisturbed, of the Castle Town Square. For its size it appeared more like a wooden cabinet topped by a pyramid of red straw, the standard design of mail boxes in the area, sans the human buttocks poking from the receptacle. This buttocks cherished the massaging breeze for a few last moments, until finally the red-capped Postman rounded the corner; he was a lanky, though toned individual in a white singlet and running sandals, and the red mailbag on his back was deflated and empty. He had finished his route for the day.

The Postman retrieved a watch from his bag.

"Ngah!" This nasally yelp was his go-to exclamation for too wide a variety of emotions to list, but here it was satisfaction. Through his nose, as all his words were spoken, he continued.

"Let the seconds lose the rhythm of their march; to re-find their place they can count my steps, which are truer to schedule than time itself! Ngah!" He exclaimed with a fist in the air, and with a bobble of the white tent that had erected in the crotch of his singlet. But his pride turned to disgust as he remembered his apprentice in the box. He pressed a single, scolding index finger into Link's right cheek and held it there.

"But you, boy! In your last outing, by 100 monstrous seconds did your behind fall behind!" He retracted his finger and thrust it back again, though Link noted that the finger seemed to have somehow grown in size in that short interim.

"Like a hare married to the wind - that is what a Postman must be! How is it that such a young man can move so slowly? When you run, your golden locks stand firmly in place!"

The Postman smacked Link's cheek with a loud TSCHHH!

"You are not a Postman, but a Postbox! A postbox married to an ass, and so that is what I have made you! But do not worry." He massaged the pink splotch where he had slapped. "One way or another you shall learn. Speed is my essence. It is in my spit, my sweat, my blood, but a potion potenter even than these I will give you.." The Postman finished by retrieving a bottle of something from his bag, and when he unscrewed it, Link whiffed the distinctive odor of olive oil.

So began only one of the many punishments Link had incurred for falling short of the Postman's expectations, to which he had been beholden since accepting the apprenticeship under orders of the Hylian government. It was a time of peace and all vagabonds, however well they kept out of trouble, were politely, and firmly, encouraged to find steady employment. It was also something of a slap on the wrist following yet another accusation of vandalism, which was in reality a byproduct of the melee Link endured ridding a resident's home of a skulltulla infestation, a service the resident later decided had come at the cost of one too many broken pots and knick knacks that Link did not have the money to replace.

Thus Link found himself answering to The Postman, a man whose eyes of pure black did not seem to hide any deeper emotions, but rather reflected the single-mindedness of his devotion to postal efficiency. His chin was a perfect box, and his slender muscularity as precise as those depictions in anatomy texts which, for the sake of clarity, present the perfect man's body.

For his shifts he embarked and returned at the same second every single day, down to the smallest fraction, and if Link did not follow suit he was punished. The seconds Link arrived late were always translated into a percentage of rest that would be lost for that night.