He knew he was being watched. 

Being aware of one's surroundings was a requirement of life if one wanted to make it through to the next day, especially when said individual was a monster. 

The darknut had long since honed his already sharp senses to the point where he didn't need to do much more than twitch his ears to take in the subtle sounds around him. A quick sniff of the air, so short that his gesture could have been misinterpreted as being an oncoming sneeze, drew in enough of the surrounding air for him to discern friend from foe, even though all he had were foes, given the life he led. These two senses told the canine warrior everything he needed to know about who and what was around him, thus his body could easily prepare to strike out if an aggressive statement had to be made against whatever creature was attempting to sneak up on him. However after raising his head to sniff the wind the warrior found himself smirking instead of snarling.

He was in no danger right now, as the one watching him from behind the bushes had more than enough of an opportunity to end him, if that was his decision. 

So with that in mind the darknut wondered, once again, why it was that his onlooker seemed determined to chase after him with his eyes instead of his sword. It honestly made no sense to him, given that there was nothing that the towering beast had to offer the other. He had long since lost the battle of skill between the two of them, following their original encounter so, so long ago, and yet once again he was the subject of the other's attention. 

Why though? 

He had tried to come up with a reason after the second time the other had fallen upon his place of rest; the first time they had encountered each other the darknut had found himself feeling both panic - a quite unusual feeling for a warrior such as himself he would later admit in retrospective silence - and anger. No. Rage. Rage at the thought that the blonde haired waif who had slain him earlier on had once again decided to make him the subject of his thoughts. Being laid low by the other and then held within his hands after he became nothing more than a consciousness given form had humbled the darknut to the point where he couldn't help but respect the other's battle prowess. And yet the knowledge that he had been defeated by the smaller warrior had burned at his mind, so much so that he had immediately drawn his sword upon the other after letting out a snarl of fury. 

The startled hylian, he had learned of their people after leaving the vandalized tower he had been guarding in order to go on a journey of self-discovery once his body had mended itself, seemed not to know what to do after the darknut had charged upon him. So obviously he hadn't stumbled upon the other for a rematch. So then why? The canine warrior didn't know, and at the time he hadn't cared. All he wanted right then was a chance to reclaim some semblance of pride for himself after his humiliating defeat. The idea that he would be killed once again and then utterly destroyed flittered within his thoughts with the same grace of a moth reaching out for a flame, but the darknut hadn't cared. 

The dance of blades between the two of them had been much shorter than it had been before, as the now older hylian had polished his sword skills to the point where he seemed to move with the wind whenever he weaved his body around one of his well placed strikes. The dark brown hound didn't know what to think when he found himself swiping his sword around as he always did, only to see the other disappear and then reappear in front of him, his sword poised to land blow after blow upon his body. It was only after his weapon had been knocked away by the other that the darknut prostrated himself onto the grass in front of the blonde. 

Crimson eyes glared at the other with respectful disdain as the dark brown hound waited for the killing blow to come once again. When it didn't he found himself utterly confused. 

The hylian, victorious and yet humble enough not to show it upon his handsome face, sheathed his blade and then casually ran away across the hill beyond the small lake where the darknut had been resting. 

Confusion, pure and sweet, erupted within the dark brown hound's mind as he watched the waif scurry away as fast as his booted feet could carry him, all the while the night wind whipped across his short fur like a lover's gentle touch. Sitting there on his knees for who knew how long, the darknut tried as best he could to make sense of what had just happened, yet in the end he could only cock his head in utter disbelief at what had just taken place. 

Why had the waif allowed him to live again, especially when he had been quite clear in his intent to bisect him from the head down?

He didn't know, but the second time he had encountered the hylian he had been less angry when he drew his claymore upon him. 

Once again he had been defeated and once again his life had been spared. By the fifth time such an interplay happened between them the darknut found himself more curious than enraged by the young warrior's ability to best him. Had the hylian been another darknut then it would have been clear that he was attempting to dominate the warrior hound in order to establish a hierarchy amongst them, but since he wasn't then he couldn't. 

Or could he? 

It was a thought that lingered with the dark brown hound's mind for several weeks as he traveled about the newly erected lands which had risen from the sea. Amongst his people there was a simple truth for which one had to accept, that being that whoever had more power than the other in combat was to be the dominant between them. Because their cast was all male this was necessary, as all darknuts were born with the fires of conquest deep within their bellies. 

Being hired on by other creatures as living weapons or sentient shields was seen as a natural conclusion to the life they made for themselves, what with their grueling training beginning from the moment they weaned themselves free from their fathers's chests in their people's efforts to control the flames within them. The struggle to claim dominance over another darknut was one that was ever constant while living within the camps hidden away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, as one day's victory might be turned into a week long series of defeat if foolish pride clouded a budding warrior's senses.

Defeat was not the same within the darknut hierarchy as it was for many other creatures, as when another male defeated you your body would then be made into the object of his amusements. 

The darknut in question shuddered as he recalled the times when, during his youth, he had challenged an older, more experienced warrior to a duel in order to test the skills he had made for himself. He had been soundly defeated by the other in less than a minute. Which in itself was already shameful, however having his tail, which had been docked as a sign of his puphood coming to an end, being yanked up was humiliating beyond all belief, given that it was fairly common for such duels to be watched over by a throng of other darknuts. However what came next was nothing short of soul crushing. 

The victorious warrior, if he had any respect for the one he had defeated, would at least give his conquest time to mentally prepare for what lay ahead, but for him there had been little respect shown, seeing as he was nothing more than an arrogant pup looking to step into a battlefield he was not prepared for. Thus after spreading his rear open like an old book, the victorious hound had taken him there in the middle of the training field while dozens of others looked upon the two of them in silence. 

He could still remember the pain of being stretched ever so wide by the massive girth which lay in between the meaty calves of the older male. The yelps of surrender he had released following his humiliation being made public was something that still haunted him on those nights when the moon was at its fullest, and yet despite this the warrior behind him gave him no quarter as he was shown his place beneath him with rough, brutal thrusts. Over and over again their bodies crashed into one another with a fury that made it seem as though he were being spanked instead of being given the sweet relief of sensual pleasure, something that he rightly deserved for challenging a battle hardened warrior. There was little ecstasy to be found within the motions of the other darknut's cock spearing deep into his body, though he was remiss to admit that he had grown hard as the hidden bundle of nerves inside of his rump were violated with bruising force. Thankfully he did not lose himself to such humiliation, as that would have made him seem as though he were still a pup in the eyes of those around him, yet it was a small victory that he took little enjoyment out of as he stared up into the tattooed face of the older warrior hound who bared his teeth at him. The interplay of their bodies coming together again and again in rough passion continued on for what seemed like an eternity but in truth was no more than twenty or so odd minutes, in the end though the elder male shoved his all natural spear deep inside of his rectum with all the tender force of bludgeoning hammer and then inseminated his tailhole with his potent load. 

The feeling of being so utterly dominated the elder darknut had filled the youth with a sense of shame and discontent, the likes of which was only alleviated by the fact that none of his clansmen thought to laugh and jeer at him. This was a natural occurrence to their race, after all, thus there was no sense of inner disgust to be felt for his loss to one who had more power than him. The stinging in his rear was more than enough to make him realize his error, though, as his ass felt as though it were on fire once the last drop of seed had saturated his guts. When the elder darknut pulled himself free from his ass with an unsubtle pop he said nothing to the younger male, save for him to get stronger before thinking to challenge him once again. These were the words that the soiled warrior-in-training took to heart as he slowly pulled himself up from the cum stained ground beneath his aching ass. 

It took a lot of time and patience for him to hone his fighting style into a dangerous form, the likes of which allowed him to lay low another male around his own age, but once he did the feeling of defeating another felt so very sweet. 

The downed warrior didn't resist him as he forcibly raised his legs into the air and then introduced his manhood deep within his clansmen's rump. Instead he simply looked at the other with the impassive stare that all of their kind mastered while accepting the proof of his defeat with hard grunting huffs. No darknut would ever moan out during such a time, as it would have been seen as a submissive gesture, the likes of which was only meant for the male who the submissive one had promised himself before fighting the other in ritual combat specifically designed for mating purposes. To do so in any other moment would have been seen as childish and weak, something for which the young darknut had to do away with after the same warrior defeated him later on that week.

The years following his first victory saw him gaining less and less defeats, up to the point where he was ready to challenge a master warrior for the right to both a claymore and the stylized platemail for which all darknuts wore. To this day he still wondered if the warrior who he had bested had used his full strength against him, as the other seemed to not go all out as he could have, however it didn't matter in the end, because once the older darknut's rump touched the clan's fighting arena he acknowledge that the younger was ready to move forward with his life. 

Gaining his armaments and then leaving his village was a forgone conclusion, as all darknuts left home once they came to this point in their life, the lot of them only returning to breed a new generation into the world after they grew gray around the muzzle or if they had fulfilled over one hundred contracts from those beyond their border. For him, his first and only contract had come in the form of a magical bind that had locked him into the stone tower he had silently been set to guard. The details of how he had gotten himself into such a situation were quite sketchy, as such magicks were not all that familiar to the dark brown hound. Regardless, he had resolved himself to fulfill his duty all the same, even while knowing that only death would free him from the invisible contract in question. 

And then the little hylian had appeared…

Thinking back to that moment and to this one, where the other was once again peeking out at him with shy innocence, the darknut wondered if maybe, just perhaps, the waif was trying to say something for which he had no words for? 

Not being familiar with hylian customs, as their kingdom and people were so scattered that it was nearly impossible to stumble onto a settlement filled with their lot, the dark brown hound wondered just how their males would handle such a thing? He doubted that they had such customs as his own race, seeing how the blonde had more than enough opportunity to take him as a submissive, if he so desired. And yet...he didn't. Was it because his people did not share such affections for other males, seeing as they were a people who had females, something that the darknuts could never produce thanks to how their species' biology worked. But if so, why return to play this twisted game of hide and seek?

It didn't make sense, however his pride and an ever growing hunger to know what he did not understand bayed him to test a theory. 

The chance to do so came easily enough, as being naked as he was right then, something which was a given, seeing as he was thigh deep within a glittering blue pool of water cast within the shadow of a waterfall roaring nearby, allowed the darknut to show off his lightly scarred body before the watchful eyes of the little hylian. The darknut had stumbled upon this little piece of paradise earlier on after chasing off a cult of wizzrobes who had been in the area. He never liked the magically inclined creatures, given how his tattered memories told him that one of their lot had been the perpetrator behind the spell which had bound him earlier on. After they were gone and he had settled himself down to rest, the dark brown hound had shucked himself out of the makeshift clothes he had woven together for himself from some robes he had found inside of a cave he had stumbled upon months earlier, seeing that his armor had been completely ruined earlier on. 

With all of this in mind, he slowly set about cleaning himself of the dirt and bugs which had thought to latch themselves onto his short fur with the bar of soap he had made. Running his sud covered hands along the contours of his eight foot tall form, the warrior hound rolled his body around in a sensual manner that would have quickly attracted the attention of another darknut. Usually such gestures were only made to males who were of an equal age and strength, as flirting with someone lower was seen as reprehensible, while doing so with those above one's rank was considered to be disrespectful. 

At first nothing out of the ordinary happened, the young hylian hiding behind him simply fixated his blue gaze along his muscular form as he would any other male who was bathing in the river. A slight hint of uncertainty danced within the darknut's mind at this point, but it was pushed aside when he turned his gait around to show off his front. Again, he heard nothing, but the scent of arousal, potent as it was for every male of adult age, sang across the air and into his black nose with a sweet promise of something dark and delightful coming into existence. 

Now of course this didn't mean all that much, as the hylian could have just been naturally attracted to other males and thus didn't know it, and so would unconsciously grow firm within his trousers at the sight of any attractive male standing naked as the darknut was. Not a thought the warrior hound wanted to contemplate, but it needed to be done in order to make sure that his suspicions were real. Upon reaching around his tattoo covered chest to wash under his armpits, the darknut flexed his biceps in such a way that it would have been obvious to those of his people that he was attempting to flirt with them. Rolling his tongue along the hollow of his armpit was a habit that he picked up after noticing how deep and heady his own scent could become when he left himself washed for so long. A consequence of his former contract, as it were. Nonetheless, lowering his arms and then performing a series of exaggerated stretches, the likes of which there was no reason for him to bother with if he was truly intent on washing himself, the dark brown hound moved his herculean body around while letting a few grumbles of pleasure slip free from his muzzle.

Again, nothing was done by the hylian to show that he liked or disliked what he was seeing, though the scent of lust did grow ever more potent as the darknut worked to contort his body into a series of positions, the likes of which were almost acrobatic in nature. 

Reaching down to cover his sleeping genitals with one of his meaty hands, the dark brown hound massaged his heavy cock to wakefulness with the tips of his calloused fingers, while at the same time he used his other hand to caress his painted balls as though they were ripe berries in need of picking off the vine. The feeling of the pressure he elicited upon himself as he stroked and rolled and squeezed his manbits nearly made him moan, but he repressed the need to let out a call of passion. This wasn't about self-pleasure, at least not right now. Instead he focused on scrubbing the soap he carried along his rising manhood until the mushroomed head of his titanic cock throbbed with need. That darknut had to bite into his lower lip kept him from calling out to the blonde; it had been quite some time since he had released the seed contained within the sacks of flesh in between his legs, and in feeling the eagerness to expend himself his body urged him to ignore the waif who seemed to not know what he wanted in favor of howling his release out into the afternoon sky. 

He resisted though, a testament to his self-control if ever there was a test to be made for such a thing.

Still nothing, yet the scent of male need was now so strong that the darknut knew for an almost  certainty that the hylian desired him. Yet that wasn't enough. After all, it was quite normal for a to desire the body of an elder warrior, as what a young male often saw in front of him was more often than not an aspect of himself that he wished to bring into being, usually through years of hard discipline and training. With that in mind the warrior hound wanted more. He wanted to hear the hylian's cries of pleasure ring inside of his ears because the other desired him. No. Needed him. 
Needed his strength. His power. His masculinity.

The possessive canine would accept no less from a submissive he claimed.

Turning around once again, the dark brown hound dipped his herculean bulk into the water, thus allowing the suds to be washed free from his body. Pulling himself back up a few seconds later, he shuddered from the cold. He never liked it when his baths could freeze the skin beneath his fur. Yet he was not one to complain of life's hardships. Shaking the water free from his short fur as best he could, the darknut resisted the instinctual urge to lick himself dry and instead moved forward so that he could place his hands along the bank in front of him. Once done, he then wiggled his rump free from the cool moisture still clinging to his backside. 

The sound of hitched breath caught the darknut's attention faster than an arrow passing by the side of his face.

A small chuckle escaped his throat at that point. 

Pulling himself up, the warrior hound felt nothing short of victory as he marched through the lake over to where the waif was hiding in the bushes. 

Caught by surprise by the suddenness of such a bold move, the blonde was powerless to resist the dark brown hound's hand grabbing ahold of his neck and then lifting him up so that their eyes could meet once again. 

Fear and arousal and embarrassment colored darkened the bright blue orbs as the darknut looked the blond up and down as though he were a piece of steak left out for his approval. Seeing the other nod at him, the hylian tried to say something, anything, to get himself out of this very awkward position, however there were no words that would detract the darknut from what he planned to do next. 

The sound of tearing clothes echoed throughout the small forest loud enough to make many smaller animals turn their heads in confusion. The hylain's yelp of surprise startled them away moment's later. 

The smaller warrior grunted after he was tossed onto the ground, his backside quickly began to complain about the unforgiving treatment he was forced to endure as he was completely unprepared for such a rough show of affection. Because that was what this was, right? 

He couldn't be sure, however when the darknut pounced on top of him like a feral wolfos, the blonde gasped in surprise. 

Panic erupted inside of the hylian's mind, as a voice inside of himself told him that this was it, he was going to pay in blood for all his peeping...

"Mine." The darknut said in the common tongue, completely shocking the hylian who had thought him nothing more than an intelligent beast. 

Link would have spoken up in question as to what that single line had meant, not that he needed to be told, given the possessive look within the crimson eyed creature's gaze, however the air inside of his lungs had decided that now was the time go on vacation, as not a peep left him. Not even when he felt the larger male's twitching hardon press flush against his own rising erection.