Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The water splits, enveloping the small group of free-divers who plunge into its crystal depths. Bubbles cling to their forms, gliding over skin and wetsuits, before dissipating into loose clouds as the divers descend.

Simon wants to sigh in relief as the sea caresses his body, but resists the urge. Instead, he closes his eyes to indulge in the serenity, and lets his muscles go lax. His relaxed form sinks, hands clasped in front of him, legs loosely kicking to counter the natural buoyancy that wants to pull him back to the surface.

Slowly, he tilts so he’s almost upside-down, and undulates, using his abdominals and legs to guide himself into the depths. Practiced, smooth, not unlike the motions he’s learned to mimic from the merfolk he’s studied over the years.

Fascinating creatures, ones that had jump-started Simon’s obsession from an early age.

It started with an encounter, when he was child, on holiday with his parents. Dolphins. So playful and curious, they’d splashed about in the surf with Simon until the boy could no longer stand, exhausted to the bone. Simon’s natural connection with the merfolk had left his parents stunned, and Simon unable to stop talking about them for years after.

The lasting impression on young Simon never left him, only strengthened his resolve to find more pockets of merfolk to interact with.

As time inevitably marched on, a pit of regret filled Simon, having never pursued a career in marine biology or oceanography, but he’s decidedly making up for it now.

After retiring from the military, Simon was drawn back to the ocean. He earned his diving certificate and immediately started teaching others, so they too could have the opportunity to experience these amazing creatures.

His small diving company was renowned for its thoughtful and safe practices, protecting both human, and mer, alike. Offering exciting dives with local mers, that no competitors could compare to, Simon holds a niche market that he takes great pride in.

And it’s all thanks to the relationships and trust he’s built with the merfolk around the UK. The task hadn’t been easy, or fast, but well worth the effort. He’s spent his retirement instilling respect and awe for the merfolk he’s come to love, and wouldn’t have it any other way. Anything to spread a positive light on the elusive beings, and continue to keep them safe.

Although not rare, most merfolk are usually wary of humans, and keep their distance. Centuries of hunting and capturing of their kind would make any species cautious. Now protected, the merfolk have slowly started to trust humans again, but it’s not without its challenges.

While most remain distant, the groups that Simon’s earned the trust of enjoy the interaction, and actively seek out the contact when the diver and his employees approach. Some prefer to retreat once the humans leave, only to return when the select few visit. Solitary and private, a way of living Simon can understand, and will never question.

But in seas like this, unlike the comparatively chilly waters he’s used to, the merfolk are more friendly, eager to explore the constant stream of tourists that flock to the warm, Florida waters Simon now meanders in.

Around him, the other divers have already gone their separate ways, impatient to poke around the surrounding reefs. Instructors, same as him.

They work for another retired veteran, Simon’s former captain, John Price.

The draw to warmer climates, and the promise to help with an old colleague's conservation efforts, led Price to Florida, where he now resides full-time, having found it too difficult to part from what should have been a temporary project.

Simon always knew Price was a softy at heart, but he would never say it out loud. They’ve been through too much over the years to give away such a secret. Simon owes that man everything...

Which is how Simon ended up here, answering Price’s call-in for a favor — asking Simon to cover for one of his instructors. An injury left them unable to lead their scheduled dives, right in peak season. Price couldn’t afford to cancel almost a month’s worth of business.

So, with all expenses paid — flight, lodging, food, rental car — Simon readily jumped on that waiting plane. Price must have been desperate for another experienced diver, and Simon wasn’t about to say no to a free trip.

Rarely does he get to visit across the pond. It would be foolish of him to say no, especially with the chance to see species of mers that aren’t common in his stretch.

Oh, and catching up with his captain... That’s nice too. Stupidly expensive cigars, a pier off his private stretch of beach, and nice house nestled in the dunes… Yeah, not turning that down either.

Reaching the reefs below, Simon allows himself to float in place, observing the impressive displays of color from flowing anemone tendrils, branched corals and vibrant fish that dart between them.

It’s a cursory glance, one given in haste as he kicks off to pull in a deep breath at the surface.

It would be far easier to dive with his tank, but Simon doesn’t want to be hindered by his gear. Not today.

Ever since Soap decided to be a cheeky bastard and steal one of his fins, Simon realized he needed to stop relying so much on his oxygen supply. He’d lost his breath too easily chasing the menace...

So, with determination on his mind, and nothing but a skin-tight, full-body rash guard, goggles and fins, Simon is set on increasing his lung capacity. Sinking back down, he counts the seconds, the minutes, and realizes that at a leisurely pace, he’s able to last three and half, before feeling any discomfort.

Not awful, but he knows he can do better. It’s easier when he’s not exerting all his energy in one-sided pursuits.

After sticking close to the boat while he adjusts, he fills his lungs, then pushes for the reefs once more.

While more eager to seek out humans, the resident merfolk can still be elusive. They have their loosely defined territories, but tend to wander where their whims take them. The search for food and shelter is never-ending in their environment, and they must go where the tides lead.

Milling lazily about the sandy ocean floor, Simon spots a small group of lemon shark mers. A rise of excitement wells in Simon’s chest. Not a species that lives in his neck of the seas, Simon can’t believe his luck tracking some down on his first day here.

Mentally marking their location, Simon darts up for another lungful of air, then finds a place among the coral to observe them. Price had given him a rundown of the area, filling him in on which mers and creatures were amiable, and which to avoid, but Simon wants to make his own judgments.

The merfolk chatter with each other in cheerful trills, barks and clicks, much like the nuisance of a mer Simon’s grown fond of. The sounds pull a tender smile to his lips, quickly pursed so he can remain focused.

Similar to humans, each species has their own dialects, but center around a common theme. Schooling sharks, in particular, favor short, sharp noises to go with their mouthy nips, and tactile brushes of limbs and tails.

They’re happy, darting around each other in bursts of energy, play-fighting, and kicking up sand as they search for food. So different from the few sharks he gets to see in the wild back home. Simon’s are more reserved, taking to low hums and calm touches.

Simon watches, careful not to disturb them. He prefers to initially keep himself hidden, so he can get a better idea for how this particular group functions. He also doesn’t want to scare them off if they’re distrustful of humans. One unfavorable look, and they would most likely never return to this area again.

One of the merfolk squeaks when another swims up to her, an offering of food in his arms. Clearly mated, they bump against each other and share a tender headbutt before the female snatches up the fish, and rips into it with ravenous chomps. There’s a fondness in the male’s gaze as his pregnant mate selects another.

Hunger dulled enough to show her appreciation, she pauses, flashes him a wide grin, and nuzzles in close, nose to his neck, where she latches on and closes her eyes.

Curious, Simon watches as she bites down harder and wriggles, her purrs loud enough to be heard even from this distance.

The male waits until she lets go, a deep impression left behind, with no blood to be seen, then does the same to her shoulder. Their tough skin allows for playful bites such as these, no pain or discomfort caused. She laughs and squirms around, tail bending around his as she links her arms over his shoulders.

They’re both purring and nibbling between their feast, intimate exchanges starting to make Simon feel like a voyeur. But, he can’t tear his gaze away as the male cups his mate’s face and tilts it, biting down once more on her exposed throat.

Her expression softens, lips parting and eyelids drooping as she now ignores the remaining food in exchange for her mate’s undivided attention. Back and forth, they nibble, bite and touch, until Simon knows he can’t encroach on their loving exchanges any longer.

He respectfully turns his gaze to the rest of the group, roughly fifteen others going about their business. Simon leans on a rock not completely covered in corals and sea life, and watches them instead.

His lungs are starting to ache and his throat bobs with the need to draw a breath in, but he resists it a beat longer, knowing he can get to the surface quickly enough if he needs to.

Some adolescent mers are being menaces to the adults, darting around them, nipping at their tails, tugging on fins.

One in particular is pushing his luck, continuing his vexations, despite the warnings he’s received already. The mischief-maker is tackled by two mers, who have had enough of his mithering. They tumble in the sand, with barks and yelps, until the large female holds him tight to her chest to restrain him.

He whips around in protest, but can’t break free. It’s not until a third swims up and grabs his tail, that he realizes how much trouble he’s in, and finally settles. One of the males turns the young one's head and squeezes his cheeks together in his hand, growling and baring his teeth.

In an attempt to appease his elders, he trills and sticks his tongue out, feigning innocence. He’s thoroughly scolded, despite his best efforts, and is eventually released. He doesn’t get away without an exchange of gentle nibbles from the adults, which is quickly returned, before the young mer zooms away to cause more trouble. Forgiveness, after the punishment...

Simon’s eyes narrow, not at the display, but at how similar all these nips and bites are to… No. He banishes the thought of Soap’s incessant displays of affection, and tries to keep his mind clear. Pure coincidence. It’s just a social means of communication.

But the gears won’t stop clicking together. Simon’s face goes so red and hot that he thinks the water might boil around his cheeks. Propelling himself to the surface, gasping for air, Simon smacks the calmly bobbing waves and shakes his head.

“Bloody hell…” Simon mutters to himself.

Their various bites are a form of…

Kisses…

And here was Simon, allowing Soap to nibble, poke and prod, and basically fucking court him without even realizing it! And he allowed the sheltered mer to bite at his neck, a seemingly intimate gesture, meant only for mates... Which to be fair, only happened once. But in this case, once seems enough...

Simon wonders if Soap even realizes his own behaviors, having been sheltered almost his entire life in the aquarium. Any of his bonding with other mers had been when he was a pup, leaving him severely lacking in the social graces he would have otherwise grown up with.

Driven by instinct, Simon realizes Soap might simply be acting on what his hormones are telling him to do.

Court the diver he likes so much, so he can make him his mate…

Suddenly consumed by the implications his revelation might lead to, Simon swims back to the boat and clambers onboard.

“Done already, Simon? I figured we’d have to scoop you out with a net, and drag you back to shore.” The captain of the boat is former CIA agent, Kate Laswell — the very woman who roped Price into joining her passion project. She crosses her arms and stares down at Simon from the upper deck, trying to hide the little smirk that wants to creep up.

“Somethin’ funny?” he mumbles.

“Just amazed to see The Ghost all worn out after a little swim. You’re losing your touch, Simon.” She lights a cigarette and takes a short draw, shaking the pack in Simon’s direction to see if he wants one.

“Ah, sod off… I’m retired.” But, he nods his head at the offer. “I’ll tell your wife you’re smokin' again.”

Laswell purses her lips around the filter and shoots Simon a warning glare. She waves her hand dismissively, telling him off. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She’s right, he wouldn’t, but when banter’s started up like the old days, he’s going to play into it. Besides, Laswell probably knows exactly where to dump a body out here, to never be found… Simon’s not risking it.

Hauling himself from the swim platform, he flops into the boat, and rolls onto the deck with little grace. He lays there, catching his breath.

“So, blaming your retirement? Never expected that of you.”

“Think I might still be jet-lagged…” Simon lies as he scoots his way to the side, and slides onto one of the benches, dripping on the white, textured deck. He takes off his goggles and fins and leans his head back.

He changes the subject before Laswell can grill him further. “Found some lemon sharks. You familiar with them?”

“The school with all the young ones?” Laswell’s voice carries down the narrow stairwell as she pads down in her bare feet to meet Simon, shoes long-since tossed into some forgotten container under the seats.

“Yeah.”

“Mhmm. They’re a friendly bunch, but very excitable. Can’t keep them away from our divers once they know we’re around. We haven’t brought any tourists to them yet. With so many rambunctious ‘teenagers’,” Kate quotes with her fingers. “We’re worried someone might get unintentionally hurt. For now, we’ve been the only ones working with them.”

Simon nods and closes his eyes. “If you don’t mind, can you bring me back out tomorrow? I think I’ll be set after that.”

“Sure. You owe me gas money for the extra trip.”

“For this thing?” Simon accepts the cigarette Laswell offers him, and cups it so she can light it. “Tha’s highway robbery, Kate. How ‘bout dinner?”

Laswell taps her jaw and hums, mulling over his bribe, not convinced it’s enough.

“Bring the other half? I’ll pay for drinks too."

“Now that sounds like a deal.”

“’Course it does,” Simon chuckles.

While they wait for the other divers to finish up, Simon slings his arm over the side of the boat and stares over the ocean. He never thought his life could have such a peaceful lull, not after so many years of death and carnage. But, he supposes, everyone must get their chance. A second try at life.

Tapping his fingers against the hull, Simon can’t help but smile when he sees a shark fin pierce the surface, quickly followed by more. The divers aren’t far behind, tailed by the lemon sharks Simon had been so engrossed with.

One of the mers pops up right next to where his hand is and tries to take a cheeky bite. Quick to react, Simon grabs the young one’s chin and growls, giving it a shake. A gentle scolding to warn that it isn’t nice to bite humans. A much kinder reprimand than she’d receive from any of her elders.

The young mer chirps and bumps her head to Simon’s hand instead, grinning up at him to show she means no harm in her overzealous actions.

“Li’le brat,” he coos.

Trilling, the mer grabs his wrist in her hands, and holds it close to her face. Simon remains calm, but his heart-rate spikes in anticipation of pain. He’s had his fair share of bites and scratches, and knows he would only make things worse by wrenching his hand back, if she decides to sink her teeth in.

Instead, she points at the shiny, black lacquer on his nails, then to her clear, milky claws. Letting out a soft huff, Simon scrapes a flake off with his thumbnail and laughs when she wrinkles her nose in confusion.

“I paint them.” His words are lost on her, but she hums in return as if she understands, scratching at another one of his blunt nails until more polish peels away.

Simon lets her scrape until the entire nail is exposed. The mer smiles in triumph, and places her claw next to Simon’s finger, pleased that they’re now the same color.

“Happy with yourself, now tha’ you’ve ruined my manicure?” Simon jokes.

With a final grin, chirp, and flick of her tail, the mer is gone, curious to see the other divers.

Sure, Simon could jump back in, enjoy the opportunity as well, but he decides to stay put in the comfort of the boat. He’s content with what he’s experienced today, knowing tomorrow will offer equally fulfilling interactions.

Besides, his mind is too far gone, caught up once again in what-ifs, how-comes, and, dare he admit it, a tiny sense of pining that simmers beneath it all.

Seeing these beautiful creatures play and cavort around the open ocean sends a pang of sadness through Simon. All he can think of is Soap, and how he’s subjected to living the rest of his life in the aquarium.

Big, strong geezer like him belonged out in the wild, with his kind. Maybe with a pretty little mate to dote over and have lots of pups with... Leopard sharks are social mers, much like these lemon sharks, preferring to school together, most sticking with their families for life…

But not for poor Soap — solitary, not having any clue on what he’s missing. And perhaps that’s for the best. If he was aware, he would probably die of a broken heart in that tank, unable to come to terms with the fact that he’s contained, never to return to the ocean from which he came. A life stolen from him without his knowledge.

At the same time, if he were to ever be released, Soap would be at a disadvantage. While at his peak in age and strength, his handicap couldn’t be overlooked. It isn’t a problem within his sheltered tank, but out in the wild, having an amputated pectoral fin would be the death of him.

Normally fast as lightning, Soap had a tendency to tilt, or lose his trajectory when swimming too fast. His corkscrew maneuvers, which most think are all for fun or show for the crowds, are a means for him to cover up his momentary lapses.

Simon caught Soap metaphorically trip over himself, tail thrashing and webbed hands the only thing keeping him from crashing into a decorative mound of rocks at the bottom of his tank.

Soap tried to play it off, but was clearly embarrassed that he almost ate shit in front of his favorite diver, all while trying to show off. Soap’s balance was fucked, and the mer had to make a conscious effort every day to keep himself upright, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Simon had brought it up right away to his handlers, to little avail. Already stunted socially from living in the aquarium for the better part of two decades, even if fitted with a prosthetic fin, Soap couldn’t safely be released. Although smart and capable in his sheltered life, the aquarists weren’t sure if Soap would be able to hunt, or assimilate himself with any existing schools of mers without getting himself killed.

They’d asked Soap if he wanted a new fin, but he declined, conveying that he didn’t need it. Stubborn fool… Perhaps he didn’t want to admit that it might help him, having survived this long without it…

Simon can’t blame Soap. He knows he’s being sour and unfairly projecting onto him. It’s ultimately his choice if he wants a new fin, or not. After the countless injuries he’s suffered over his career — both careers — Simon’s as bullheaded as the mer.

Either way, Simon pities Soap, in a way that almost physically hurts. He wants the best for Soap, and currently, his best isn’t good enough…

Sighing, Simon lays down on the bench, tucks an arm behind his head, and closes his eyes. The sun warms his damp body, swiftly heating up the black material of his swimsuit. Not that he minds. Simon enjoys the warmth.

He wonders how Soap is doing. He’d had a sit-down with the mer to explain that he would be gone for close to a month. It went about as well as expected...

Time frames aren’t very clear to Soap, other than week by week, so Ghost helps him visualize it by holding up four fingers.

“Four Sundays, Soap.” he repeats, trying his best to make sure Soap understands. “I’ll be gone for four Sundays.”

Soap hums, his brow furrowing as he processes the information, not sure he likes what Ghost is inferring. The mer shakes his head, as if his protest is law, enough to keep his diver from leaving him for so long.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. One of my instructors is gonna take over while I’m gone. She’s nice. You’ll like her.”

Soap bares his teeth in a nasty snarl, one of discontent and thinly veiled anxiety. Ghost can’t help but find the way his nose scrunches to be incredibly cute.

“You bite her, I shave your stupid mohawk off,” Ghost warns.

Soap hisses at that, pulling his lips back further as his dark, grey tongue darts out from between his teeth.

“Then be nice!”

Another hiss, tapering into a heavy sigh of defeat. Soap resorts to whining and Ghost has to spend the next twenty minutes cuddling and consoling before he can leave without the mer howling after him.

It was in that moment, when he walked away with a heavy heart, that Simon finally allowed the realization to wash over him — that what he feels for Soap isn’t normal. It’s more than a bond formed between a diver and a mer.

Simon had only offered his services to the aquarium for a rare chance to learn about a species he’d never seen in the wild. And look at where that landed him — in a confusing mess of emotions with no satisfying answers.

By society's standards, it’s not what a human should feel toward, what most would consider, just another sea creature.

But they’re so human. So achingly sentient and intelligent to be wrongly categorized as anything less than on par with Simon’s kind…

Most won’t see it his way. Maybe he’s just making excuses to justify his growing feelings.

They’ve gotten too attached, in all the wrong ways… Now Simon’s caught up in a taboo mating dance with Soap, neither sure of exactly where it will lead them…

Simon knows he should have seen the signs a long time ago, but he so willingly turned a blind eye to spend another day, another week, another month, all to have just one more minute with Soap.

He wonders if anyone else can see it — the way he smiles at Soap, affection exuding from the human as he touches the ridge of his mer’s cheekbone, tracing to the soft of his cheek, all to hear him purr. Or the way Soap guards him while he cleans, keeping any curious critters away so his diver only receives his touches and nibbles.

From an outside perspective, it’s so painfully obvious that the two are sweet on each other…

But it’s something to be kept hush, even if anyone wants to bring it up.

Grunting, Simon shifts his arm over his face and tries to purge the thoughts from his mind.

He doesn’t know what to do…

Maybe he needs to get laid. It’s been a while. The frustration of going without sex for too long may have clouded his judgment, leading him to pine over a damn mer instead…

Deep down, Simon knows that’s not the case, but the thought makes him feel better — slightly…

Ugh…

Not at all…

He groans, and flops onto his belly, aware that the sun is starting to burn his face, the telltale tingle against his cheeks and nose the first sign. Sunscreen be damned, Simon was destined to burn no matter what…

“Why can’t I be fuckin’ normal?” he mutters into the crook of his elbow. “Dammit, Soap…”

Yeah, that’s right, blame the mer for your feelings…

Seagulls pad their way around the thick pylons, screaming at each other as they fight over scraps under the pier.

Low tide offers the raucous birds an opportunity to gorge themselves on tiny fish that find themselves trapped in tidepools.

Simon silently observes them, taking a sip of his bourbon as they squawk and squabble. He leans on the metal cap of one of the supports and taps the ash from a cigar he’s nicked from Price’s stash.

It’s been a rewarding few weeks. Simon’s finally lost the stubborn sunburn from his first few days, leaving the fair skinned Brit a freckled, tanned stunner.

He’s certainly been the crowd favorite with the ladies, with his deep, gruff voice, foreign accent and impressive form while wearing his diving gear. Not to mention his air of mystery, always wearing a mask, never letting anyone but his diving team see his face. Quite the magnet for attention he prefers not to have, while on the job. He wants to keep his professional relationships just that, having too much experience with how messy things could get, if acted on otherwise.

Simon’s become a master at slipping away unseen though. The second their boat touches shore, he’s gone like a ghost, avoiding any advances as his old call sign reigns ever true.

Past Simon, still full of suppressed frustrations of being forced into early retirement from the military — severe injury, liability to the team, all that bullshite —, would have scooped up one of those lovely lasses in a heartbeat. Without a second thought, he would have bedded and fucked them until they couldn’t walk the next day.

But not now… With age, and therapy, Simon has since mellowed out, now more selective on who he welcomes into his bed.

Men, once a rarity for him to pick up, have become more frequent, a change in his tastes over time. Simon likes to be in charge — lead the pace when he gives into his desires. So, he woos the men he knows will be happy to be under him. It gives him that sense of power he still misses, on occasion. Maybe it’s not the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but damn if it doesn’t feel great to indulge once in a while.

Seeing a pretty bloke stretch his lips over his cock sets his mind ablaze. Simon likes them prone on their backs, so he can kneel over them as he fucks their throats.

Chasing away the thoughts that force him adjust his stance, Simon finishes his glass, pours himself another drink, and tilts back half of the liquor in another, deep gulp.

Fuck, maybe he’s more pent up than he thought…

Not like that matters. He’s not up for the challenge of picking someone up for a one-night stand. He’s had his fair share of being a disappointment, not quite what his admirers expect of him. Large, towering bloke like him was assured to match downstairs, right? Well, he would, if he’d had the forethought to bring his strap. Even if he had it, there was always the ever-present anxiety that his partner would be too turned off to continue.

No matter… Best to pack those thoughts away.

But his mind continues to betray him, clawing at the heat building in his gut, fueled by the alcohol.

Maybe Price would be up for a round, for old time’s sake… Simon isn’t sure if he’s moved on from that part of his life though, and isn’t about to pry. It’s been years, and neither of them have brought it up since Price moved. Not like they were dating anyway, having used sex as a means of release, not affection.

The tide starts to roll back in, leaving Simon with nothing but the sound of the waves lapping against the wooden poles below, and the distant din of the seagulls.

His fishing rod jerks, snapping him from his musings. The handle shifts in the holder it’s locked into, creaking against the post. Simon waits, eyeing the rod until it bends, the line rushing through the metal guides.

Shoving his drink and cigar to the side, Simon snatches up the rod and starts reeling in his catch. Just as he’s kneeling down to net the mahi splashing about in the water, a mer leaps from the surf and nearly steals it from Simon, had he not been paying attention.

The dolphin clicks and grabs onto the low pier, hauling his upper body onto the rough wood, barking his protest at his easy meal being taken from him.

Simon shuffles back, not willing to lose his dinner for the night.

“Hey!” he shouts, trying to deter the pushy mer. “Nowt for you here! Go on!”

The mer bares his teeth and growls, large, black eyes narrowing at the realization that he can’t quite wiggle his way onto the pier.

Still, Simon keeps a safe distance as he quickly dispatches the tuna.

The mer is persistent, changing tactics as it whines and purrs, begging for some scraps. Must not be his first go around… Some of the other residents must feed him, because Simon sure as hell knows Price wouldn’t do so.

The dolphin blinks at Simon, his eyes now wide, eyebrows pitched and close together as he lays on the charm.

“Sure you’re not a siren?” Simon jokes as he guts the fish and starts descaling it. Clearly, it doesn’t understand English, but the light tone in Simon’s voice is enough to keep it settled in place.

It reaches out a hand, palm up as it continues its mooching.

“Bloody hell… Fine.” Simon slips the skin from the filet of firm, translucent white flesh with a sharp knife, and tosses it to the mer.

Greedy and eager, the mer catches it before it hits the deck and stuffs it into its mouth like one would a succulent strawberry.

“You remind me of someone…” Simon muses, relaxing now that he knows the mer isn’t a threat, only hungry and lazy.

Why Simon’s talking to the mer as if he can understand him, he’s not sure, but it’s nice… A familiarity that tastes like home… A good distraction.

The mer cocks his head and rests it on his forearm as he watches Simon cut the slabs of meat into manageable portions.

“A leopard shark, named Soap,” he continues, regardless. “I know, stupid name, huh? The aquarium gave it to ‘im when he was a pup. Said he wouldn’t stop squirmin’ when they tried to handle ‘im — slippery as a bar of soap through their wet hands…”

Simon sits on the pier and scoots closer. He holds out a chunk of fish and smiles when the mer grabs it directly from his hand. The rest of the mahi is safely tucked on his other side, safe from the creature’s clutches.

“It suits him… More?” he holds up another piece.

Of course, it’s taken without hesitation. The mer is purring like an engine now, content to listen to Simon, as long as the human keeps feeding him.

Prime cuts of meat dwindling, Simon offers the bones and head, not sure if they’ll be well received after the feast he’s offered.

But, those are taken just as enthusiastically, the sound of crunching joining Simon’s rambling.

“Didn’t think I’d miss the bastard this much…I wonder how he’s holdin’ up.”

Simon slides closer. Not getting any warning signals, the diver reaches out and touches the mer’s head. It stiffens for a moment, but relaxes when Simon starts rubbing the tips of his fingers against his scalp.

Food forgotten, momentarily, the mer sinks his chin to the pier and closes his eyes, purrs rumbling from his chest.

The familiar sound brings a stinging sheen to Simon’s eyes, which he blinks away before it can gather and fall.

“What do you think? Am I bein’ daft? ‘Ave I lost my mind?”

Simon jumps when the mer thrashes into motion, expecting to be bitten at the sudden display of fear. It grabs its remaining offering and dives back into the water, swimming away so swiftly, Simon thought it had seen the devil.

“I think you’ve lost your mind if you’re talking to merfolk like they can respond to you, Simon.”

Frowning, Simon tilts his head back to see Price standing behind him.

“Scared the shite outta me…” he hisses. Despite the harsh tone, he holds his hand out and makes Price help him to his feet.

“Haven’t lost my touch,” Price chuckles as he hoists Simon up. He pats his arm before letting go.

“What were you waxing poetic about?” Price teases, leaning back against a post and plucking up his stolen cigar. He relights it and takes a few puffs before offering it back to Simon.

Taking the cigar, Simon draws it in deep, lets the earthy notes fill his mouth, sink into his soft palette, and invade the lower cavities of his sinuses, before inhaling it into his lungs. It plumes back into the humid air through his nostrils, only a wisp clinging to his lips as he sighs.

“Does it mah’er?” he murmurs, eyebrow cocked, subtle smirk on his lips. Cryptic talk isn’t uncommon between them, toeing the line of flirtatious, especially now that they’re both retired. If Ghost and Price had their fair exchange of heated conversations in the past, that was between them, and no one else.

Price’s gaze lingers on Simon’s mouth before he shrugs and smirks, biting his own tongue in favor of good company.

“I s’pose not. I see you’ve got dinner for us.” Price tilts his head toward the fish laid out on the pier, only protected from the wood by a piece of discarded skin Simon hadn’t forked over to the mer.

“Mhmm. Mahi-mahi… Fish tacos?”

“I’ll have to run out for some shells and slaw, but that’ll give the fish some time to marinate. Coming with me?”

Simon happily hums out a yeah and bumps against Price’s hip before crouching down to collect his things. Perhaps he can take care of this stubborn desire to rut, after they’ve stuffed themselves, of course… Price has always been a willing, submissive participant, allowing Simon to take control from the bottom.

“You really do attract them everywhere you go,” Price muses as he steals a sip of Simon’s bourbon.

Simon raises a brow and turns his head to hide his light blush. The banter puts him at ease. Makes him feel at home. “Guess I just have tha’ charm.”

“You? Charm?” Price scoffs. “No, I think it’s a gift. I’ve never seen anyone able to get so close, so quickly.”

A soft hum of acknowledgment rumbles in Simon’s throat. While he knows it’s true, Simon never thinks of it as a gift. It’s all about how you approach them. Read them. Once you’re familiar with their social tendencies, it’s easy to gauge the individual.

There’s a vibration in Simon’s pocket — his phone. He ignores it, in favor of gathering his fishing supplies. Their dinner is wrapped in a piece of parchment he’s stuffed in his tackle box, but another series of buzzes distracts him.

“Fuck’s sake…” he mutters.

He hands the box to Price and fishes his phone out, heart dropping to his stomach when he reads:

Hey Ghost. Soap isnt doing great. Txt/call me/the director back when u get the chance pls

… Sent 1943

Not trying to be pushy, but I didnt mention that he hasnt eaten since u left. Were getting worried. Wld u be able to do a video call with him in the morning, our time? I know thats late for u, but were desperate…

… Sent 1946

It’s Soap’s lead handler, Marcy. She wouldn’t text him, knowing he was overseas, unless she was at her wit’s end.

Simon swallows the lump in his throat and quickly texts her back:

Anytime you need, I’ll call. Let me know.

…

Ur the best. 7am thx

“All good, lad?” Price asks as they walk back to his house.

“Don’t know…” Is all Simon can manage.

Hunger, and any lingering arousal is suddenly gone. The thought of eating, or fucking, makes him feel sick…

Chapter Text

It starts like every other day.

Wake up to the gradual brightening of lights in the tank, a considerate way to help shake the sleep from the diurnal creatures within.

The light filters through the opening of Soap’s cave, stirring the sluggish mer within. With a grumble of discontent, Soap arches his tail, bows his back, and digs his hands into the soft substrate below him. Yawning, he flops onto his side and rests his head on his arm, not quite ready to rouse himself completely. The fine grains of sand settle back around him, on top of him, as he buries himself, leaving one set of his gills exposed.

He doesn’t want to get up… What’s the point?

Moping around has become his most exciting pastime since his Ghost abandoned him.

The weeks are dragging on. He hasn’t come back yet… Despite the reassurances that the diver would, in fact, return, Soap believes, with every fiber of his being, that he’s being lied to. He’s seen all the different divers and employees come and go over the years.

Why would Ghost be any different? It was only a matter of time.

Soap lets out a pathetic, warbling chirp at the thought. Sand shifts around the mer as he rolls to his other side and forces water through his gills to dislodge the grit.

He wants his Ghost back… He doesn’t like the diver who replaced him. She’s using Ghost’s supplies, taking his place, doing HIS job!

Soap rustles around under the sand again, unable to get comfortable. Growling like a petulant pup, he makes a cloudy mess of his cave as his tail kicks up the fine particles. A stingray that had wandered in during the night darts out, disturbed by Soap’s agitated wiggling.

Soap hasn’t been very nice to the new diver… He hasn’t tried to bite her, like Ghost asked him not to, but the urge to give her a couple warning nips is always on his mind. Instead, he lurks around her, glaring, body stiff, posturing by flaring his gills and flashing his teeth whenever she drifts too close.

She doesn’t put up with his territorial bullshit though. After only one week of his incessant aggression, she’d had enough of his antics, and put Soap in his place, much to his shock.

Hungry, tired, in an all around surly mood, Soap charged her to keep her away from his cave. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to fight back…

Less equipped though she was, the diver squared up with Soap. The slight hesitation he showed toward her challenging stance was all she needed to snap her hands out and gently sink her fingertips into the soft underside of his jaw. Soap grunted and tried to thrash away, but with a soft trace of fingers, the mer subdued, thoughts suddenly fuzzy and vision unfocused.

Momentarily stunned, Soap's entire body went rigid, his eyes rolling back and mind lulled into a trance-like state at the touch alone. Body drifting with the gentle current and forward motion that he'd gained, the mer's muscle went slack the next second. The diver cupped his jaw and continued to stroke the sensitive receptors that assisted his navigation while in dark, or murky, waters.

Locked in the surreal out-of-body experience, Soap could hardly focus as he floated tail-up, his head pointed toward the bottom of the tank, every muscle loose in his catatonic state. The diver supported his head and slowly maneuvered him horizontal again, stroking his flank to keep him calm as he came to with a confused hum.

After guiding him to a safe place to fully regain his surroundings, she cleaned out his cave and came back with an outstretched hand. A small fish from her treat pouch was clasped between two fingers — a sign of peace that Soap turned his nose up to with a sneer. He bulldozed his way past her, head still foggy, and settled in his cave to sulk.

Now, he just glares at her from a safe distance when she enters his tank, hissing at her when she gets too close. Sneaky human with her strange hands... No, he'll leave her be and keep a close eye on her.

It’s not until the daylight glow of the final lights coming on, that Soap sighs and lazily slithers his way out of his cave, blinking against the assault on his sensitive eyes. He stretches again and shakes, attempting to ease the sleep from his weary cartilage and bones. The sand sloughs off him, settling to the bottom.

With the enthusiasm of a sea cucumber, Soap gives a single flick of his tail and drifts to the surface for his morning check-in. Lethargy has overtaken him, his movements sluggish.

He peeks above the waterline, blinking the sleep and moisture from his eyes, to see his lead handler, Marcy, set a bucket down.

“Morning, Soap!”

She sits down on the ledge and pats it for Soap to come closer.

Soap grumbles under the water, but hunger pangs drive him toward her.

“Still sulking, big guy?”

Another mutter.

“I know you’re missing Ghost… He should be coming back in a week though. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you!”

Soap still doesn’t believe her. Since Ghost started working here, nearly six months ago, he hadn’t missed coming in a single Sunday. Sometimes, he’d stop by just to say hi, which Soap really enjoyed. He liked having surprise visits. They felt special...

So, considering the pathetic excuses, Soap’s almost positive that his diver’s abandoned him, having found a new home, wherever he said he was going…

“Are you going to eat today?”

Soap eyes the bucket and sucks on his lower lip. He hasn’t eaten since Ghost left, and he’s starting to feel it. While his kind can go for longer periods of time without food, it’s not ideal. He can tell the aquarists are getting worried.

Any bits of protective fat that once coated his muscular frame have melted away, used as energy reserves in his hunger strike. It’s not to the point where his ribs are showing, but he’s not far off.

They’ve been bringing him increasingly enticing foods to tempt him with this week, each one more appealing than the last.

His stomach growls as he sniffs at the air. Something special is on the menu this morning, he can tell by the smell… If it is what he thinks, it’s certainly cause for investigating.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll eat today, if the offering is good enough…

As much as he tries to contain his excitement, Soap trills when the head aquarist starts to lay the delicacies out on the ledge for him to peruse.

A container of bright, orange salmon roe, sticky and glistening under the soft lighting, immediately catches his attention. Delicious globes of salty, gooey indulgence… It’s like crack to almost any sea-life. His nose hadn’t deceive him.

Soap only gets these indulgent fish eggs once a year, to celebrate the day he was transferred to this aquarium. They’ve deemed it his ‘birthday’, since they don’t know exactly when he was born, and neither does he. Why humans think it’s important to celebrate that, he’ll never fully understand, but he won’t turn down the special treats he gets.

He tamps down his enthusiasm and tries to play indifference. Marcy is trying to bribe him. He won’t fall for it.

The container is pushed closer, the scent close to making him salivate. If a dribble runs down the side of his mouth and is quickly swept away, Marcy doesn’t say anything.

Some fat tiger shrimp are laid out next, twitching as they try to make their escape into the tank. More are jumping around in the bucket, causing a ruckus. Soap’s pupils widen at the thought of chasing them down in the water and crunching on their thin carapaces to get at the sweet meat inside.

His tongue flicks over his lips, leaving a light sheen of spit in its wake.

Oh, they must be getting desperate for him to eat… Squid are the last to be offered, translucent flesh begging to be gobbled down as an appetizer.

Marcy looks hopeful, and can’t hide her forward lean as she waits for Soap to make a decision. She’s so sure of it this time! There’s no way he’ll resist!

Soap sniffs at the squid, places his hand on the platform… —

But shakes his head and rests his chin on the ledge instead. Marcy doesn’t even scold him for leaning on it, too defeated to add to the mer’s misery.

He feels bad when Marcy sighs and purses her lips, but he’s not going to eat. Not until he’s positive Ghost is coming back! If that means he withers away into nothing, then so be it… He has no desire to continue existing if it means living without Ghost.

His stomach rumbles again, but he ignores it. His insides feel like they’re trying to digest themselves…

“Right… I’m going to leave these here, in case you change your mind. I’ll be right back.”

Soap cocks his head as Marcy leaves without another word. A little twinge of guilt overtakes the mer. He pokes one of the shrimp and almost darts after it when it flops into the water, but suppresses the urge. With a wistful sigh, he watches it swim away.

Marcy hasn’t gone through any of their usual morning routines. No checking of his teeth or the state of his mental and physical health. Not even the fun stuff, like practicing sign language, or one of his new favorites, learning basic math from these little cards Marcy pulls from a deck… It’s one of the few things he still likes to participate in, even if he feigns a begrudging attitude.

Maybe she’s given up on him… Which is the exact corner he’s backed himself into, but it still stings, knowing his attitude has impacted Marcy so much that she doesn’t care any longer.

Letting his wallowing get the best of him, Soap is just about to slip away when Marcy returns with a laptop. A wave of relief washes over him.

He clicks to get Marcy’s attention and points at the computer while cocking his head. He’s seen some of the aquarists tapping away on the keys after doing certain tasks, but Marcy never does.

“I have something special for you… Can you see what’s on the screen?”

Marcy places the laptop on an overturned bucket and motions for Soap to join her on the platform so he can see.

It feels wrong crawling onto the forbidden surface, but Soap can’t help but purr at the opportunity to go where he’s usually not allowed. The mischievous side of his nature gets the best of him, more times than not… He hauls his upper half out of the water, partially submerged tail outstretched to counter-balance his weight, and rests on his forearms, dipping his head in close to see what Marcy’s pointing at.

“Not so close, Soap,” she chuckles. “You’ll hurt your eyes.” She moves the laptop back to a reasonable distance.

‘Fish’ Soap signs after studying the background of Marcy’s laptop. It’s a photo from another tank in the aquarium, full of vibrant African cichlids. ‘Pretty’ he adds.

While there are a few species of brilliantly colored fish in his tank, they’re nothing compared to the ones in front of him, showcasing vibrant spectra he’s only seen in fancy humans’ clothing. He’s been told his exhibit showcases the common sea life in California, one of the regions where his species hails from. While not as awe-inspiring, they’re no less interesting or important.

“They are, aren’t they? I wanted to make sure you could actually see the screen. I don’t know if anyone’s ever shown something to merfolk on a laptop before, so I wasn’t sure if your eyes could process the images.”

Soap’s not entirely sure what she means, but he watches anyway as she brings up another screen.

An odd noise rings out when she presses a button with a strange symbol. Soap curls his lip and moves back a fraction, not liking the repetitive, shrill tones.

An image pops up a few seconds later, and the noises, thankfully, stop.

Soap wrinkles his nose and leans in, making sure not to get too close, trying to get a better look as the video pixelates and stutters a few times before coming into focus.

It’s a dim picture, lit by a single lamp in an otherwise dark room. There’s a blond man leaning into a mound of pillows, head resting against the wall behind him, eyes half-closed, as if he hasn’t realized the call had connected. He’s wearing a black tank top, exposing his scarred, muscular arms, one of which is covered in black drawings.

Soap can only see him from the waist up, but he’s stunning… Far more pretty than the fish Marcy showed him. Blinking, the man almost jolts to attention, but smiles instead when he looks right at Soap.

“Alright, Soap?”

A fire sparks in the mer, his eyes going wide as an involuntary bark of surprise erupts from him.

GHOST! It’s his Ghost! Soap hadn’t recognized him without all his scuba gear on. It was so rare to see his face uncovered, let alone the rest of his body. And it doesn’t sound quite like him, his voice tinny and slightly fuzzy over the speakers, but it’s definitely GHOST!

Soap trills and greets him with another guttural bark, a purr following on its heels. He’s gripping at the rubber floor mats in his excitement, claws ripping into the soft material, before he flies into motion.

‘Miss you!’

Soap’s motions are quick, but Ghost follows them easily.

The diver’s spent his free time learning BSL to make communication easier. While not perfect, Ghost is able to follow along most of the time. If he has any questions, he asks a handler, or Soap spells it for him with individual letters.

“I know… I miss you too. You know I’m coming back next week, right?”

Soap stills for a moment, his entire body rigid. He sinks down so he can’t see Marcy’s ‘I told you so’ glare. He gives Simon a meek nod and chuffs in embarrassment.

“So wha’s all this mess with you not eatin’? You daft?”

Soap starts signing so fast Ghost can’t keep up. The webbing between his fingers can make things difficult to decipher. Marcy helps translate for him.

“He thought we were lying to him. He’s…” Marcy pauses as she watches, eyes sad at what he says next. “Heard too many excuses from other employees he liked. They told him they’d visit after they quit, or moved on, and he never saw them again… He was afraid you’d done that to him too…”

“Soap…” Ghost is sitting upright in his nest now, his full attention on the upset mer.

Soap looks at the screen, a kicked puppy taking the place of the large creature.

“I would never do tha’ to you. You understand me? I keep my promises.” He holds his hand over his heart.

Soap mimics the motion, a small smile replacing his frown.

“Now, can you eat somethin’ for me? I need you in top form when I get back. I don’t want a useless lump, dragging his arse aroun’ the tank while I’m tryin’ to clean.”

Soap raises his middle finger, best he can with his webbing, and taunts Ghost with a few clicks.

“Soap!” Marcy gasps and smacks his hand down. “Sorry, Ghost! We were going over which rude gestures he shouldn’t use when in polite company!”

But Ghost is laughing, flicking Soap off in return. “Good thing I’m not polite. Awright, tuck in, ya cunt! I can hear your stomach growlin’.”

That’s all the encouragement Soap needs. Three weeks without eating, and all it takes is his favorite human to tell him to shape up…

He scoops up the squid first and slurps them down with a voracity that makes Ghost chuckle.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to say no today,” Marcy whispers as she watches the mer finally give in to his hunger and devour the rest of the food. She has some fish on standby in case he’s still hungry.

While Soap eats, Ghost tells Soap and Marcy everything he’s been up to while in Florida. He holds his phone up to the screen and shows them pictures of the different species of mers he’s seen so far, promising he’d bring the actual photos so they can see them better.

Marcy holds her hand to her mouth when she sees the massive great white Ghost had been brave enough to approach. The grizzled mer, just over eight meters long, a wall of solid muscle and scar tissue, dwarfed Ghost. It loomed behind him in one of the photos, an air of indifference in its body language as it glanced over Simon’s shoulder at the camera.

Soap is enraptured with all the pictures, especially the great white. He wonders if he will ever get that large, or if he’s destined to be a little runt. Comparatively, of course…

What would it be like to meet them? Any of them? Soap’s always wondered about these things, but this is his home. He’s resigned himself to never knowing. Any memories he has of his pod are fuzzy at best. There’s no connection there for him to miss. But, seeing the photos of the lemon sharks that Simon has grown a bond with, stirs a dull ache within Soap.

Soap tamps the feeling down and licks the remaining goo from the salmon eggs off his webbing. He swishes his hands around in the water and splashes his face off, just to be sure they’re clean, before he leans against Marcy for a scratch on his head.

“There’s a good lad… Let’s not do that again, please…”

Soap rolls his eyes and chuffs. He’d never admit it, but he’s already feeling better. Looks like his one-sided starvation tactic hadn’t been his smartest plan to get Ghost to come home…

“Olright, it’s nearly 0400. I’m goin’ back to bed. Soap…—”

Ghost doesn’t continue until Soap’s looking at him. He points his finger at the mer.

“— Don’t do tha’ again. I’ll be back next Monday. I’ll stop by once I get back. Cheers.”

Soap whines, but waves with Marcy before the screen goes blank and Ghost disappears.

A little wail ekes from his throat, tears welling in his eyes, but Marcy is quick to put his mind at ease.

“Hush, big guy. You’ll see him soon. Hey,” she’s quick to distract Soap, not wanting him to spiral again. “We have a fun event planned for this Saturday.”

Soap wishes he could admit he wasn’t curious, but with the promise of his Ghost coming back, he’s willing to entertain Marcy.

He tilts his head and crosses his arms over his handler’s lap. Resting his head on top, Soap doesn't give her a choice but to stroke his hair. The other employees, handlers or not, don’t give him the same one-on-one time Marcy does, so he’s sure to take advantage of it. It’s not out of spite, but they have so much to take care of. Not all of them can give Soap the time he needs to socialize.

Marcy knows the value of something as simple as touch. She always takes the time to give Soap that extra attention he craves, be it preening, learning — or improving — a ‘human’ skill, or going through a series of challenging exercises. Never once has Marcy treated Soap like an animal, and he’s ever grateful for that.

Despite how massive he is on top of her, Marcy doesn’t complain about him sinking his weight against her legs. His muscular upper body alone, easily three-quarters of her full height, dwarfs her. Even with their differences in build, Soap’s species is on the smaller side, himself reaching the average of close to four meters from nose to the tip of his tail.

“The aquarium’s hosting a sleepover. Adults only. They want to try it out before letting the kids run free.”

Soap raises his head and furrows his brow. He doesn’t know what a sleepover is.

Marcy’s already ahead of him.

“It means they’ll stay overnight, without all the usual crowds, and get an up-close and personal experience with all the creatures in the aquarium. We wanted to see if you’d be alright with letting them come up here to meet you. It’s up to you, but we think it would be fun for them, and you, to meet our shining star.”

Soap isn’t dumb. He knows he’s the main attraction. Hearing that he could meet these humans that he’s so fascinated with, makes him start to purr.

He’s been so withdrawn, that any kind of attention sounds nice. Hiding in his cave during active hours has left the visitors saddened that they didn’t get to see him. On the rare occasion Soap’s poked his head out since Ghost’s departure, he’s paid no mind to the pups, who he usually likes to play games with through the glass.

Their sad, little eyes when he floated past made him feel guilty for being so distant, so he tried not to look at them… He can’t hear much through the barrier, which he’s thankful for. Their morose, little sounds would be unbearable to listen to…

The staff don’t force Soap to do anything he’s not in the mood for, but Marcy’s gentle urging is the step he needs to move forward. Just because Soap’s a rarity in captivity, doesn’t mean a whip is held over him to make him do tricks for the crowds, unless he agrees to it.

Yeah, he’ll admit it, not having Ghost around has made him a grumpy bastard… It would be nice to get some one-on-one attention with new people… Maybe Ghost would be proud of him for putting in the effort.

Soap nods his head and lifts himself so Marcy can feel her legs again.

“You sure? You’re not just agreeing because you feel bad? I know how you get sometimes.”

Soap holds his hand to his heart and nods again.

“Alright. I’ll let the director know.”

Saturday rolls around quickly. Once again well-fed and hopeful, Soap feels the best he has in weeks. It shows as he darts back and forth in his tank, eagerly awaiting closing time.

Saturday means Sunday is right behind, and Monday’s close after that. He’s been keeping track, pestering Marcy about what day it is every morning. Two more days until he sees Ghost, which works well, because he’s sure he’ll be tired after staying up late with the adult humans. This way, he can rest, and be ready for his Ghost to return.

Once the last guests have left for the evening, and the staff has had time to prepare, a small group, less than twenty, filter in about an hour later. They’re carrying bundles under their arms — pillows and blankets, and tight rolls of fabric Soap’s never seen before.

The atrium outside of Soap’s tank is large and towering, giving the perfect space for the humans to unravel their rolls and still have plenty of room to spread out.

Oh! Beds! They’re portable beds. He’s seen his handlers use similar sleeping arrangements whenever he gets sick, and needs to be observed around the clock.

Once they’re settled, they’re given special glasses that are filled with a pale yellow, bubbly liquid. He wonders what they’re drinking, having never seen anything like it. Soap doesn’t need to ingest liquids to survive, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried his fair share. Whatever his handlers offer him, he gladly tastes.

Some aren’t to his liking. There’s two types of brown liquids they’ve let him try: one, far better than the other. The darker one, a deep, bitter concoction, that tastes better with cream and sugar, gives him a little buzz of energy. That one’s nice, as long as it’s gussied up.

The other is a vegetal, herbaceous assault to the tongue, no amount of embellishments able to mask the underlying flavor. He’d been curious, seeing an aquarist dunk a little bag into their cup. Soap regretted the taste-test almost immediately. No amount of honey, milk, sugar, or whatever else they threw in there made him change his mind.

Soap lets the humans get settled. He watches them from a distance, but finally comes close when they approach his tank. They’re laughing with each other, all smiles and easy conversation. When they come up to the glass, he darts down to greet them. He presses a hand to the glass and waits.

Although the human pups are fun to play with, he likes the adults too. Sometimes, their calmer presence can offer more fulfilling interactions. There’s always an overlying amazement that wells in their demeanor. Soap takes the time to study the calm ones. He’s sure they’re doing the same, with similar questions on their minds.

What are they thinking? How are they feeling in this moment? Can they understand each other through the glass that seemingly separates their worlds? Are they really all that different?

One of the humans places their palm on the other side, hands meeting through the thick wall that offers security for the humans, an inescapable prison for Soap.

The man remains calm as Soap sinks further to look him in the eye. Unusual… Typically, when Soap does this, the humans start getting excited and motion for their friends to see what’s happening. Such joy that Soap has selected them over the other humans. But not this one… He observes Soap and smiles warmly at the mer, even as the others crowd around and murmur excitedly.

Soap doesn’t set out to make anyone feel special, only seek out who seems the most interested in him. He’s living his life, and making people happy in the meantime is a bonus.

That’s why he loves the pups, more than anyone. They don’t treat him like a display piece, but another being to interact with. They are so much more willing to play, show no undue awe, and hold no reservations.

Suddenly, the man starts signing to Soap. The mer grins, quick to follow the motions. It’s rare that the general public knows BSL. If they do, they’re usually better than Soap, and he’s left confused at times, but he tries his best to keep up.

He’d wondered initially, how the humans knew he could sign. Marcy explained that they had a placard outside his tank that the humans could read, so they could learn more about him.

It’s nice talking to humans, other than the ones who take care of him. They’re so curious, asking him how he is, what he thinks of all the people, — innocent things like that.

The man is considerate and signs slowly, giving Soap time to read what he’s saying.

They exchange the usual pleasantries. Soap’s answers are rudimentary and short compared to the human’s, but he gets his point across.

Then the man asks him a question no one ever has… His expression turns serious, and Soap has to pause in surprise.

‘Are you happy being here?’

Nobody else is aware of what their conversation entails, but they watch with undivided attention.

The mer isn’t sure how to answer. He grasps his hands together and thinks, eyes darting to the side. He’s… Happy, yes, for the most part. How couldn’t he be? All of his needs are taken care of. He doesn’t have to worry about things like food or shelter. He gets plenty of attention.

But, deep down, he understands that’s not what the man is asking, by his somber face.

Soap is about to answer when the activity coordinator for the night steps in and gathers the group around them. The mer smiles sheepishly and waves as the man is left without a satisfying conclusion to their conversation. He waves back. If his sad smile is any indication, he knows what Soap was going to say…

The humans are led away to other parts of the aquarium to start their night.

Taking advantage of the temporary lull, Soap decides to go for a short kip. His cave is nestled in the back of the tank, in the center of a makeshift reef. It’s private, so he’s not disturbed during active hours if he needs a break from the bustle. Nobody is able to peek in and see him, no matter what angle they’re looking into the tank from.

Soap wends his way through the short, curving pathway and gently shoos away some of the stingrays and octopuses that like to take over while he’s gone. Settling into the far corner, he purrs and rolls around in the sand until he’s closer to the heating element beneath the substrate.

He thought he’d only closed his eyes for a few minutes, at best, when he’s awakened by a series of frantic beeping. Blinking his bleary eyes, he slinks his way out of his cave, confused and still half asleep.

Four weighted sticks have sunk to the bottom of the tank. One green, one yellow, and two red. That’s his indicator that an event is about ten minutes to start, with the addition of the second red one to warn him that he’s running out of time. Realizing he’s slept too long, Soap zips over, collects the rods and pops up so fast at the surface that he splashes Marcy.

“Agh! Soap!” she scurries back in an attempt to avoid the ripples that follow, but her shoes and bottom of her jeans are soaked.

He barks with a playful grin, and hands over the sticks.

Marcy twists the tops to turn off the alarms. “Are you ready to meet everyone? They’re very excited.”

This is the first time they’ve allowed guests to meet Soap. The head aquarist is busy making last minute adjustments, rearranging small rolling desks, discarded buckets and other various tools to open up more space. By the way Marcy is buzzing about in excitement, even more than Soap, she must be nervous. The mer can’t quite place the anticipatory anxiety, but this feels like the start of something new… Like this is more than just a fun event for the humans to partake in.

Soap helps Marcy lower a custom-made platform into the water, a slab of lightly textured fiberglass that divers use to get back into their boats, or onto piers, but modified to support the mer. It’s hooked into place on the ledge and Soap coils up on it, making himself comfortable. This way, he can remain mostly submerged, and not have to fatigue himself by constantly adjusting to keep himself in place.

It seems the rules of him not being allowed on the platform have become more lax over the past week. He’s been testing his boundaries, inching further out until the aquarists give him a little warning. As long as Soap doesn’t try to completely leave the water, he’s welcome to lean and poke around, but only up to his waist.

Any remaining drowsiness is quickly chased away when the door opens. His claws tap on the rubber mats, and he greets the first round of guests with a low trill.

The humans are split into three smaller groups, all getting about fifteen minutes with the mer, getting to see just how intelligent, and like them, his kind truly are. As if he hadn’t already proved himself earlier that night…

It’s laid back, with Marcy answering any questions and translating for Soap when needed. Some of the humans sit on the floor, closer to Soap, others stand behind them, but they all enjoy the intimate setting in their own ways.

The experience overwhelms a few, brought to tears when the realization hits them that although Soap can’t speak in the same way they can, he can understand them and signs and mimics movements back with such efficiency, that it seems wrong to keep him contained.

Some even have the courage to ask as much, to which Marcy explains his situation. How it would take a monumental effort to have things fall into place to reintroduce him into the wild...

“Can you try?” The same man who’d been signing with Soap earlier, asks.

“We…” Marcy’s face falls. “We want to. But we don’t have the funding to do it the way we’d need to… It’s one of the reasons we’re starting new programs, like this, to raise money. I don’t think we’ll be able to do anything for years, unfortunately.”

Soap’s heart pounds in his chest, so many questions welling up. But, they have to be left for later, once the other humans have departed.

He wasn’t aware they were planning anything like this, even if it’s not going to happen in the near future. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it. Too many scenarios, so many inducing anxiety. He shoves the feelings aside, not wanting to dwell on them at the moment. It’s not the time to discuss it further…

When the groups switch out, the man stops to privately talk to Marcy. He pulls a little booklet out of his satchel, writes something in it, then hands her a slip of paper. Marcy takes it, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head and jaw dropping.

Soap can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s heartfelt, both of them exchanging a quick hug and encouraging words before they part.

“I promise we’ll talk more later. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I wanted to talk to you first…” Marcy apologizes, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, as the last group comes in. She composes herself and ushers them over.

Marcy’s apology is enough to put Soap at ease, for now, and he relaxes as everyone filters in.

It goes about the same as the others, but Soap manages to charm one of the humans into giving him a sip of that bubbly drink he saw them partaking in earlier. Marcy gives him a warning not to drink too much of it, but allows him to try it.

The bubbles tickle his lips and burst in his mouth, tingling on the way down. It burns slightly, but in a good way. In a way that he enjoys. Oh, he really likes this one… Not too sweet, with a strange, lingering aftertaste. It’s probably his favorite, only beaten by the various, sweet fruit juices he’s tried.

The tall, thin glass is full. They must have just gotten a refill before coming in…

Soap looks at Marcy. He raises a mischievous eyebrow.

Marcy stares at Soap. Her face pales.

“Don’t you do it, Soap!”

Soap throws the rest back in one gulp before Marcy can shove through the crowd to get to him.

Amidst the laughter, a straggler sneaks in through the door.

Soap doesn’t see him, but hears the latch click once it’s closed behind him. He glances over while Marcy chides him, his grin disappearing from his face so fast, it may as well have been slapped off him.

The world falls apart, crumbling around him until it’s nothing but him, and the man who stands out of his reach.

“Hey, Soap…”

The mer lets out a loud, heart-breaking wail. The visitors hurriedly move to the side as Soap unfurls himself and hauls his entire mass onto the platform. Water sloshes across the floor, reaching past the mats and onto the connected, tiled surface.

The humans have enough space to crowd together, but it’s tight as they avoid Soap’s whipping tail. Cumbersome on land, the mer has very little refinement as he slithers across the floor, able to move with slightly more grace as he reaches the smooth tile.

The mer has no regard for anyone else in his space. The only thing that matters to him right now is kneeling down to greet him, arms open, braced for impact.

Ghost grunts as Soap slams into him, knocking him back on his arse. He can’t keep himself upright as his back hits the floor, overpowered by the elated mer.

Neither seems to care as Ghost latches his arms and legs around Soap, hugging him tightly, enveloped in a wet, but warm embrace.

Everyone in the group, including Marcy, have their phones out and are recording the reunion, brought to silence at the display of pure, raw emotion from the pair.

Soap is a purring mess, chittering with so much enthusiasm that his teeth clack together. He rubs his cheek against Ghost’s and purrs louder when he feels the human’s soft lips press against his jaw. His black mask is quickly pulled back over his mouth, as if he’d never done it in the first place.

That’s something he’s never done before, and only does so now because the bulk of Soap’s shoulders block their faces from view. Soap has seen other humans smoosh their lips against each other. He figured out a long time ago that it’s a sign of affection. The mer loses all self-control when Ghost offers him that special gesture.

With an overjoyed trill, Soap hugs Ghost to his body and starts thrashing side to side, completely overcome and unable to contain himself.

“Olright, olright!” Ghost laughs, but his words hold no bite. “Ease up so I can breathe! You’re crushin’ the life outta me, ya wanker!”

The rest of the group is quietly ushered out, so Soap can have some time to catch up with his favorite diver.

The second the door is closed behind them, Soap trills. The sound mingles with his purrs, distorting the happy vibrations into a deep, pleasing rumble. Raising to his forearms, Soap thunks his forehead against Ghost’s, framing his human’s face with his hands.

Finally alone with Ghost, with no one around to bother them…

There’s a strange glint in Ghost’s eyes when Soap leans in closer. Hunger isn’t quite what Soap would call it, but it’s close. Soap likes it — a lot…

Words cling in Ghost’s throat, breaking forth in a gruff crack as he reaches up and tangles his fingers into Soap’s hair. Their bodies vibrate with the song of Soap’s purrs, lulling them into soothing serenity.

“I missed you,” Ghost finally whispers. Soap wants to cry when he hears his human speak again, words so tender compared to his usual gruffness. Ghost can’t get his words out quite right. The rattling of Soap’s incessant rumbling makes him sound like his voice is quaking.

Not wanting to let go, but ultimately needing to communicate, Soap leans on one elbow and starts signing with his free hand. The other remains on Ghost’s face, unwilling to stop touching him.

‘Early.’

Ghost chuckles and nods. “I wanted to surprise you.”

‘Thank you. Missed you.’

Ghost hums and it makes Soap’s heart race.

He wants to lay here with Ghost like this forever. Keep him from ever leaving again… Something odd stirs inside him, a fuzziness in his head that makes his vision blur, just slightly, around the edges. He blinks his eyes and shakes it off, but the cloudy feeling pervades every nook. It fuels that innate desire to shield Ghost from the world around them — clouds what little impulse control he has.

But it’s a pleasant feeling, one that buzzes through him like a mild electric current.

Stoked by the growing desires that well with this new, euphoric high, the mer drops back down and nuzzles into Ghost’s neck, his lips parting. Wants to return the affectionate press of Ghost’s lips… He feels Ghost tense for only a moment, before melting like putty in his arms and tilting his head to give Soap more room.

Soap’s purrs change, coming from deep within him, rumbling in his chest and belly, hardly able to be heard, only felt. The puddles of water around them ripple from the intensity of it.

His teeth graze Ghost’s throat, gently so he doesn’t puncture his skin as he bites down.

Ghost gasps, but doesn’t pull away. His fingers clutch against Soap’s shoulders before smoothing over his neck, where they link together in a loose tangle.

There’s a new scent that invades Soap’s senses, one that’s subtle, but so intoxicating that it makes him squirm against Ghost. He didn’t realize humans could exude such an alluring smell… He wants to bite Ghost harder, to see if that would make it stronger. But he restrains himself, difficult as it is.

Instead, he widens his bite and gently sucks on Ghost’s neck. His cheeks hollow and eyelids droop as he revels in the warmth that pools between them. Especially between Ghost’s legs, growing hot against Soap’s belly.

“Soap… Hey, ease up…” Ghost murmurs. There’s a shaking hand on his chest, pushing Soap back, insistent, but lacking any true force. That intoxicating scent becomes more powerful. Musky. Undeniably Ghost. Soap has to yank himself back, it hits him so hard. A full-body shudder rocks through him, quaking all the way to his bones, deeper than his marrow.

He’s panting, tail wriggling as he repositions himself.

Ghost is redder than Soap’s ever seen him. He’s learned that the burst of color on his cheeks means Ghost is flustered. Something that only Soap does to him…

Soap starts to pull away, despite not wanting to, and rests his head on Ghost’s belly instead. It’ll keep him from biting again. At least, that’s the idea… The soft squish under his cheek would be so much fun to nibble on.

But that scent… That damn scent is stronger the lower he goes.

His purring grows lower again, eyelids so heavy only a sliver of his blown pupils shows. His jaw hangs slack as he drags the scent into his mouth. Over his tongue, coating the lining of his maw until he can taste it.

“Soap… What’re you doin’?”

But he hardly hears Ghost as he slips down, mindlessly snuffling his way to the source.

Head’s so clouded now, he can’t think straight.

Follow the heady pheromones…

Paths light up in his brain that have laid dormant, opening up to a maelstrom of hormones and instinct that Soap doesn’t know how to handle or navigate, let alone with any modicum of grace.

This is Ghost’s signal to Soap. His willingness to accept the mer as his mate. Drawing him in.

Blinding instinct drives Soap as his teeth catch on Ghost’s belt, tugging in desperate need to rip it off so he can pull the diver’s jeans off his hips. Such a useless barrier, only meant to keep Soap from his mate… It’s cruel… He gives up when Ghost squirms under him, his hand now tangled in his hair, gripping so tightly it hurts. Soap doesn’t mind.

Nose suddenly buried between Ghost’s legs, Soap hums and huffs in deep, hungry breaths.

Yes — YES!

Perfectly Ghost — the blend of musky sweat and arousal is like a shot of adrenaline to Soap’s veins. His tail writhes against the mats, the base of his pelvis grinding down as his slit parts. Viscous, clear liquid dribbles out, responding to Ghost’s needy scent.

He shoves his forearms under Ghost and cradles his waist in his large hands, lifting the man until only his shoulders and head anchor him to the floor. Despite being large for a human, Ghost weighs nothing to the mer, while still filling his embrace so nicely.

Strong. Stocky. Able to take what Soap has to offer. There’s no delicacy to this man. Wrapped in muscle and fat, he’s a perfect match for Soap. But it’s not just his physical strength… Ghost is kind at his core, even if he hides it under layers of fabric, gruff humor and language, and guarded walls that only get broken down with those he trusts the most. Soap wouldn’t want him any other way…

“Oi, Soap…” Ghost’s voice isn’t as forceful as it usually is. He’s sweeter around Soap than with anyone else, but the grit’s still there. His tone carries a hint of warning, one that Soap decides to ignore.

His mate needs him. Needs Soap to take care of that ache that’s so clearly taken over his body.  Soap can help. He can help Ghost feel better. No — feel good.

Soap glances up, but doesn’t move away. His mouth closes over Ghost’s crotch, drawing the fabric of his jeans in. He shudders when the taste fills his senses and hits the back of his throat.

“Fuck, come on… We can’t…” Ghost trails off and bites his lip, like he wants to let Soap continue.

Soap bites down on the bunched fabric and starts tugging on it. He’ll get them off, one way or another. Humans and their damn clothes…

“Soap, stop!” His voice is firm this time, confusing Soap with the mixed signals his muddled brain is receiving.

The mer whines, not wanting to, but he listens and pulls away, a damp spot left on Ghost’s crotch.

Ghost squirms out of his hold, urgent but not like he’s afraid or angry. He’s trembling, hardly noticeable, but Soap can feel it when he touches Ghost’s thigh. His human doesn’t brush him away.

“I told the director I’d do a dive with you tonight. For the event. Let me get ready…”

Ghost clambers to his unsteady legs and uses Soap’s shoulder for support. The mer reaches up and steadies Ghost. He nuzzles against Ghost’s hip, an attempt to apologize for his pushy behavior, even though he’s still keyed up and wanting more. For a brief moment, Ghost rubs Soap's head, before giving it a gentle shove.

Soap grumbles, but there’s nothing he can do to protest. He wants Ghost all to himself, not wanting the guests to invade on their time together. But, it’s a decent compromise to get to swim around with the diver… He supposes it’ll have to do, until they can be alone again.

“I’m gonna grab my gear. I’ll be right back.”

Nodding, Soap stretches out and lets his body roll to the side, a sticky, wet noise accompanying the motion.

Ghost glances over to make sure Soap hasn’t dried himself out. Sticking to the floor could be bad for his skin.

Ghost goes completely rigid, eyes wide and face completely red.

“Fuckin’ hell, Soap…” is all Ghost can manage to breathe out. He quickly averts his eyes and coughs.

The scent of Ghost’s arousal is so thick in the air that Soap can’t think straight.

Ghost is turned on by what he’s seen, and it urges Soap to show off.

Soap chirps to get Ghost’s attention. Hesitant, Ghost entertains him with a side-eye, and trails his gaze down the length of Soap’s body.

Right where his human-like torso transitions to his tail, is the smooth, strong plane of his pelvis. His slit has fully parted, allowing more slippery fluid to coat his belly, and stick to the mats in thick strands.

Not feeling the same hesitation that Ghost is showing, Soap rolls onto his back and reaches down, coaxing out what he knows the diver is staring at. Maybe the human just needs a little encouragement.

Two sticky, black cocks, faded to a glistening grey at their tapered tips, stand at attention for Ghost’s approval. A pulse of thick, natural lubricant drools over Soap’s tail, rolling down his side as the filled organs fully pop out of his vent.

Soap purrs, trying to tempt Ghost into giving him a thorough once-over. He wants to make sure he’s adequately equipped for his mate — let Ghost know exactly what he has to look forward to once they’re alone. One in each hand, Soap presents himself and gives the split base a squeeze, showing off the soft bulges nestled just above his slit. They firm up slightly in his touch.

Two perfect knots to stuff into Ghost, if he’ll have them.

Seated one above the other, the less intimidating of the two cocks bobs heavily in his grip, smaller — comparatively — lined with soft ridges down the length, snaking along the subtle bulge.

A larger one rests below, long and smooth, swelling thickly as it reaches an even bigger knot. The tip dribbles in anticipation, adding to the mess of fluids that promise an easy glide for the impressive offerings.

Ghost swallows and looks away again, but not before eyeing Soap’s cocks like a man starved.

“Put those damn things away.” Ghost mumbles as he makes a break for the door. He throws it open with haste and slips out without another word.

Soap is spurned as the door slams closed behind Ghost. He grunts in frustration and frowns, unsure if he read Ghost’s very clear signals wrong. Judging by the strong scent of arousal, he wants to mate, and Soap is more than ready and willing to provide. Soap understands that now’s not the time, but even a hint that Ghost is interested in a later tryst, would have been nice…

Maybe Ghost wasn’t pleased with what he saw... Soap doesn’t think he’s small… He runs his hands from base to tip, feeling the weight and length. Seems sufficient to him. Plenty large enough to satisfy Ghost, if he’d let him try…

Wallowing in his rejection, Soap encourages his flagging cocks back into his slit and sighs.

With Ghost gone, the intoxicating scent fades, and Soap’s head starts to clear. Only the lingering buzz remains, but it’s not as strong anymore.

Dejected, Soap plops back into the water and flexes his gills to re-hydrate them. He can breathe oxygen through his lungs when on land, but he has to be careful not to let his sensitive gills get damaged.

The rush of water through the feathered organs helps to wash the remainder of his fog away.

It’s as he’s hunting down some clams for a quick snack, that Soap pauses, mid-dig, buried half-way up his forearms, and chuffs.

Everything is so clear in his mind now, the hardwired DNA of his species awakened with his new surge of hormones, and the introduction of Ghost’s… Soap feels silly for not noticing it sooner.

Ghost wants to be properly courted! Of course he wouldn’t want to get right to mating without being made to feel special first! Soap shuffles his hands around in the sand faster, trying to find enough for him and Ghost to share. Ghost has always taken Soap’s offerings in the past, even though he's never eaten them in Soap's company. But that’s alright, he’s just shy and doesn’t like to show his face around anyone. He can eat them when and where he pleases.

Yes, that’s what Soap needs to do… Show Ghost how much he cares about him…

Anything for his Ghost.

Simon rushes through the back corridors of the aquarium, far from where anyone else would be. All of the guests and employees are distracted with the penguins until he’s ready to do his dive with Soap.

He’s got the alarm code to get out the back door so he can retrieve his diving gear from his beat-up Range Rover. Hands shaking, he punches in the code and breathes in deep as he almost stumbles down the short flight of steps to the car park.

He needs to get a hold of himself. This is not the time, or place, to be contemplating having sex with a fucking mer! What the hell is he thinking?!

Gritting his teeth, Simon yanks the boot open and rips his gear out with more force than needed. He must look insane, practically growling and snarling like a beast as he tosses his equipment to the ground in a messy pile.

Slamming the door closed, Simon sinks to the asphalt, buries his face in his hands, and allows himself a single, cathartic shout.

He wants to rip his crawling skin off. Purge himself of these horrible urges that won’t. Fucking. STOP!

JUST STOP!!

He almost let Soap do it… If he hadn’t undergone multiple sessions of resistance and torture training, Simon was sure he would have caved and ripped his own jeans off to let Soap have a taste.

Soap had been so gone, lost in Simon, his eyes glazed, body coiled up, ready to strike like a predator…

And, fuck, if Simon wanted nothing more than to feel his long, pointed tongue curl into his cunt… So eager, wet and warm, perhaps unrefined, but willing to learn. Dangerous with those teeth so close to the most vulnerable parts of him. But that was all part of the thrill... A hunter, turned docile at that hands of Simon, with no need to be afraid of being devoured, aside from how he wants to be. 

Simon knows he shouldn't want this so badly. It's wrong in every sense of the word. Soap's not technically human, despite all their similarities. And he's at the fucking aquarium, where he's contracted and held to a high standard to take care of the creatures he comes in contact with. 

But... It doesn't feel wrong, laying with Soap between his legs, nose and mouth worshipping him like Simon's the best damn thing to ever grace his senses. Nobody's ever looked at Simon like Soap has, so full of unabashed desire.

Not sure how, or when, he got back inside, Simon deposits his gear outside the employee bathroom and locks himself inside. He keeps the light off, so he can’t see himself in the mirror as he wrestles his belt open and yanks his jeans and tight boxers below his arse.

His boxers are drenched, slick clinging to his inner thighs as Simon peels it down further, just enough for easier access.

Has to take care of this… Get the fucking heat between his legs wrangled, so he can act like the professional he’s supposed to be…

No time to waste. Simon bites back a moan as he shoves two of his thick fingers into his cunt. He doesn’t need any prep, he’s wet enough. He leans against the wall, cool tile greeting his shoulders as he grabs the bottom of his shirt and stuffs it into his mouth to muffle himself.

Taking his sensitive cock between his knuckles, Simon strokes himself, eyes rolling back, face pinching into disgusted pleasure as he forces any fantasies of Soap eating him out, out of his head.

Instead, they’re replaced with those fucking cocks… Those incredible, hefty temptations, leading to the soft girth of Soap’s knots. Two... Fucking two! Sure, he knew male sharks were unfairly endowed, but he never entertained the idea that mers would be the same... 

Simon spreads his fingers, imagining what it would be like to take them. It would probably hurt, but the feeling of fullness would be incredible.

His breaths come out hard and fast, whimpers from his efforts getting lost in the makeshift gag. He slides down further, spreading his legs as far as he can with his jeans squeezing his thighs, opening himself up enough to fuck a third finger into himself.

To be locked together with Soap — it’s not something Simon ever thought he’d want. He doesn’t like submitting to anyone, but the thought of allowing Soap to fill him — tongue, cock, even his fucking cum — has Simon’s head spinning. Everything about Soap is big, intimidatingly so, but Simon craves, more than anything, to feel the mass of the mer looming over him once again. 

Dipping his fingertips into his slick, Simon spreads it over his cock and gasps at the smooth glide. He concentrates on the engorged bud, squeezing it tight between his fingers and flicking them back and forth, bullying himself into reaching his orgasm as fast as he can.

His hips are starting to thrust into it, grinding into his fingers, searching for another participant he won’t find.

He’s quick and efficient, working himself to his peak, muscles clenching, velvety walls fluttering around his fingers, before he spills over.

With a low groan, his upper body snaps forward, hunched over like he’s been punched in the gut, one of his legs rising to crush against the other. Hands trapped between his thighs, Simon twitches with each wave of his orgasm, sobs catching in his shirt, dampened by his spit and tears.

His hips rock forward in time with the clenching around his fingers, until he goes boneless, and sinks to the floor. He jolts when his bare arse meets cold tile, the shock helping to ground him.

His juices are everywhere, dripping down his thighs, coating his hands, only worsened as he pulls his fingers out with a wet shlick. Unable to prevent it, his slick gets smeared on the floor as Simon forces himself to his feet.

His mouth is cotton, dried out, tasting of laundry detergent and regret as he lets his shirt fall from his mouth. The fabric clings to his lower lip before peeling away.

That had to be the most shameful wank he’s ever had, and that’s saying something, having made it his secondary job to hide any personal inconveniences while in the military…

Simon cleans up, gets his wetsuit on, careful to adjust it around his overly-sensitive cock, and heads back to Soap’s tank, feeling worse than he did before jerking off…

He’s not sure he can face Soap right now, but he doesn’t have much of a choice…

Chapter Text

The walk to Soap’s exhibit is a long one from the employee restrooms. Long enough to allow the silence to chew into the nagging thoughts that won’t leave Simon alone.

Usually, Simon carries his gear in a duffel, then gets changed on the platform in Soap’s enclosure. It saves him from being stopped by curious guests. While meaning no harm, they like to ask questions, and assume he works for the aquarium, rather than being a contractor who knows very little of the exhibits, other than Soap’s.

At least, that’s what he’s told them. He can list every animal in this facility, but he would never be able to do his job if he were to admit to that. Sundays are his time to relax. Already being in the aquarium, Simon enjoys a nice stroll through the exhibits, as long as the crowds aren’t too dense. Not that he can’t handle it, he simply prefers to have his space, rather than have to squeeze his way around people.

It was actually Marcy’s idea to allow him more relaxed security measures in Soap’s tank. From day one, Marcy has been more than accommodating with him. She sympathizes with his need for privacy, and allows him the space to do as he needs, as he pleases. While Soap’s enclosure has a few cameras, only the one facing the doorway, to monitor who comes and goes, remains on when Simon comes in to clean. Marcy makes sure of it.

Simon isn’t entirely sure what he did to earn her trust so quickly, other than doing his job, but he’s forever grateful for it.

Trust that he feels he’s now breaking, having entertained the idea of sleeping with Soap, not even a half hour earlier…

He can’t allow that to happen again. It’s settled in his head that his and Soap’s inappropriate behavior will be stopped tonight.

For a man of his size, Simon moves with eerie silence. Nothing but the subtle swish of the tight fabric that clings to his thighs eases the stillness. His bare feet tread on the worn carpet, heel to toe in rolling, calculated strides, head level and shoulders squared. Hardly a bob to his step.

A soldier to the core, unable to break from the level cadence that had been ingrained in him decades ago.

The rubbing of neoprene becomes the backdrop to the snake in his mind.

Shhff - shhff - shhff…

You’re disgusting, Simon. Who would want to fuck an animal? Only a twisted, sick man like you, that’s who! Maybe you were meant for it, being nothing but a well trained dog.

Sinking into the pit, Simon blinks and shakes his head.

Ignore it. It’s not true…

That’s right, justify it. He’s half human, right? What’s it matter what’s below the waist? Close your eyes, ignore it, like everything else wrong you’ve done in your life. Nevermind that he’s literally on display for people to gawk at, just like every other creature here.

Not like this. He’s better than this. Has to fight it…

Simon tucks the neck of his hood into his wetsuit, trying what he can to distract himself from the voices that fill the void. Gotta drown out the unbearable noise.

Shhff - shhff - shhff…

Step in time — don’t deviate from the course. Objective’s just ahead.

Deceivingly calm eyes roll to the side. Wild anxiety simmers just below the surface, hidden beneath a solid wall, clawing at the thin veneer to escape.

The dim glow of a nearby tank sends flitting shadows over the walls, stretching to elongated, writhing figures over the darkly painted scenery.

Deep breath. Don’t give in. Push ahead.

Shhff - shhff - shhff…

Simon pushes his thumb into the long scar that mars his cheek. The hypertrophic tissue smooths beneath the pressure, numbed nerves hardly registering the touch. Searching for a reprieve, Simon digs his nail in and hisses when it scrapes over a patch of healthy skin.

But the viper is persistent.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched by someone, that you’ll take anything. Desperate, stupid lad! You’ll get caught. You’ll be found out. But it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?

“Ghost! Hold on!”

The wall cracks. A gasp catches in Simon’s throat, chest hitching as he swallows it down and glances over his shoulder… Another goes up to save him from questioning.

Abandoning his admittedly fast pace, Simon falls into a slower step for Marcy as she trots to catch up.

His heart races, panic steadily rising in his chest in a way it hasn’t reared its ugly head in years.

She knows. She knows what you’ve done — what you intend to do, Simon… She knows your shameful ways!

The main atrium sprawls around them, Simon standing nearly dead-center when he’s joined by the head aquarist. Sound floods back to the diver. The low hum of water pumps. Bursting of bubbles at the surface of large and small tanks alike, churned to life by aerators. The tap of Marcy’s shoes, heavy and loud next to his silent footfalls.

All noises that would never be heard with the usual crowds that inhabit the aquarium. Or a deceitful mind that won’t ease up.

Steeling himself, Simon pauses by the leafy seadragon display and looks to the frilly creatures within to give him support. The subtle glow of the inlaid, indigo lights brightens the serene inhabitants who know not of his plight, but nonetheless provide a sense of peace for the diver. Floating about, the seadragons drift with the artificial current — gentle, just enough to aid their tranquil, meandering pace.

Simon wants to be one of them — not a care in the world. How wonderful would it be to simply exist?

He vaguely senses Marcy slide in next to him. His entire body tenses, ready to be ousted from the aquarium, and forbidden to ever return.

“I was wondering where you were. Soap said you left to get your things.” She pauses and looks up at him. “Thank you so much for doing this, by the way. I know it was last minute…”

Some of the tension eases from Simon’s muscles, guarded shoulders dropping as he hides the sigh that threatens to hiss through his teeth. The diver lets it slowly escape from his nose instead, so he doesn’t alert Marcy to the stress that had been building in every atom in his body.

“It’s not a problem, Marce,” Simon murmurs, eyes never leaving the seadragons. His voice is hollow, hardly convincing. Cold, like a soldier answering orders.

Yet, Marcy persists.

“I can’t believe how happy Soap was to see you. I don’t think anyone else can get a reaction like that out of him. You’re very special to him, you know that, right?”

Warmth invades the icy clutches in his gut, a gentle thaw to the venom that’s invaded his every fiber. Simon clings to Marcy’s words, using them as a means to crawl his way back to reality.

“Yeah… Don’t know what I did to deserve it.” He hides the affection that wants to leak into his words, dripping with tenderness and adoration. Marcy can never know… It would be detrimental — to his reputation, his business, his current relationship with Soap. No, she must never find out…

Marcy places a hand on his arm and gives it a light squeeze. Surprised by the touch, Simon finally rips his attention away from the seadragons and glances down.

Expecting one of Marcy’s sweet smiles, Simon is greeted by a frigid glower that makes him recoil a fraction, before he stubbornly controls the instinctual snap of his muscles. Where the understanding, kind Marcy he knew once was, is now a hardened woman, glaring at him with a deadly fire in her eyes.

“Be careful with how you proceed, Riley.” Her voice is clipped. Commanding. Not her own, befitting that of a soldier in the thick of battle.

SEE! She knows! You’re fucked Simon, you’re fucked!

Simon inhales sharply, wide-eyed, heart in his stomach, and nearly wrenches himself away. But, he doesn’t. He holds completely still, hardly breathing, fight-or-flight sharply leaning to the latter.

“How do you know my —…” His voice is airy and distant, mouth hardly moving as he speaks. He’s not sure if he actually spoke at all.

The fingers on his arm squeeze. Simon seizes, prepared for pain, but only receives a light rub to get his attention.

“Ghost? You okay, Ghost? You zoned out there for a second…” Marcy’s eyebrows are pinched together, concern written over her face. “I knew this was too much to ask for tonight… You don’t have to do it. I know you didn’t have much time to prepare after your plane landed. You must be exhausted…”

Simon looks down at the grounding touch on his forearm and realizes he’s slipped too far. He’s allowing old coping mechanisms to override his usual grip over the chaos that looms in the back of his mind, threatening to emerge at the worst times.

He places his hand over Marcy’s wrist and gives it a light squeeze, before letting go just as fast.

Warm. She’s warm. She’s safe. She’s real .

“I… Yeah, sorry… It’s, um…” He trails off, not wanting to explain how his mind likes to sabotage him. “It’s fine. What was tha’ last thing you said?”

“Oh, I was just saying that Soap’s going mental waiting for you. Might want to hurry, before he tires himself out.”

They walk together through the tunnel that leads to Soap’s tank. Usually packed with amazed guests, the long passageway lays empty before them, nothing but the staggered floor lights to guide their path. Various species of sharks and fish lazily drift over and next to them, following Marcy, recognizing her as one of their caretakers. Ah, the motivation food can wield over a creature, no matter their size.

It’s surreal wandering the passage while it’s so quiet. On a better day, Simon might have laid down on the floor to simply watch and enjoy. Even so, Simon can feel himself calming as he watches a small school of bar jacks part for a couple nurse sharks that bumble their way past.

Marcy is almost cautious as she speaks again, sensing that something is bothering Simon, but is unable to allow him to stew in it.

“I think it’s lovely, the bond you two have. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Simon doesn’t acknowledge her teasing smile. “You’re the best thing that’s happened for him, and this aquarium. I don’t think you’re allowed to leave on any more trips though,” she jokes.

Simon chuckles and shakes his head. “Isn’t tha’ the truth… Bloody muppet tryin’ to starve ‘imself. What was he thinkin’?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was heartsick.”

Simon forces down the desire to shut down the conversation, but he knows Marcy is just messing with him.

They pause outside the locked stairwell that leads to the platform above Soap’s tank.

“Thanks again for doing this, Ghost… Hey, why don’t you stay the rest of the night? It would be safer than traveling home this late. I know you don’t live close… I can bring up one of the cots we keep in storage.”

Simon pauses with his keycard half-way to the door. That is a nice offer… He’s already feeling the fatigue from his long flight, and staying up through most of the night won’t do him any favors.

Marcy keeps pushing, her concern driving her to convince Simon to accept. “I know you’re not a fan of crowds… How about you set up upstairs? I’m sure Soap would be happy to have you close by after being gone for so long.”

Before Simon can think better of it, he nearly blurts out, “You sure?”

Bad idea. BAD idea…

“Of course!”

You know what will happen if you do this… You weak, stupid bloke…

“... Thanks, Marce. I think I’ll take you up on tha’.”

“Great! Right, I won’t hold you up any longer. Everyone’s looking forward to this!”

When Marcy walks off to gather the guests, Simon quickly slips through the door and leans on it to gather himself. What was he thinking, agreeing to stay here? In Soap’s enclosure, nonetheless?

Taking a deep breath, Simon lets the light, briny scent of saltwater calm him. He closes his eyes and counts. Settles into reality the rest of the way. There’s a cool, metal door on his back. Solid floor beneath his feet, toes curling against the mat he stands on. The soft lapping of water against glass.

There… His remaining composure starts to return, enough of a balance in the turmoil for Simon to push off the door, and ascend the steps. The thick, clinging humidity of the enclosed space promises even warmer waters to greet him. And, an enthusiastic mer, who can’t wait for Simon to join him. Despite the anxiety that wants to push its way to the surface once again, Simon feels a welling of excitement as well.

He’s missed Soap, and the thought of having a special dive to catch up with him is enough to set his heart racing, for a better reason this time. Simon’s not even sure what’s expected of this. He’s never done more than clean, then spend some time with Soap before he leaves until the next week.

But this is all about him and Soap, and the ‘special bond’ they have, as Marcy put it. Bloody hell, is it really that obvious? Has Simon allowed himself to be so transparent that others can see how much they adore each other?

With no planned instructions or choreography in mind, Simon supposes that whatever naturally happens will have to be enough…

Simon places his fins down, and is about to sit on the ledge to put them on, when he sees a pile of clams and oysters waiting for him. They’re already shucked on the half-shell, chipped around the edges from where Soap had pried them open with his teeth and claws.

“Really, Soap?” Simon murmurs as he sits down next to the small pile.

It’s carefully stacked, larger shells on the bottom to support the smaller on top, done up in a fancy spiral. A beautiful oyster is balanced precariously on top. Its mother-of-pearl lining glimmers in the low light, setting itself a cut above the other plain shells below.

Simon dips his feet into the water and swishes them around while he appraises the thoughtful gift.

Soap is making this difficult… While humans have their own styles of courting, Simon’s not one to fall into their traps. He’s not the dating type. Never has been…

But seeing Soap’s courting behaviors, subconscious or not — well, they’re sweet and endearing in a way Simon can’t ignore. He pushes the top shell with the side of his thumb. It topples off the carefully arranged pile, slides down the side, and settles at the bottom. A small bead rolls along the rubber mats, quickly stopped with the press of Simon’s thumb.

An oblong, creamy pearl lays indented in the pad of the diver’s finger. It’s far from perfect, by all means lackluster to collectors, but beautiful to Simon. There’s no outstanding luster, or perfectly round shape to it. Instead it's more like a grain of broken rice — blunt, unrefined, but beautifully unique. He rolls the pearl between his thumb and index finger and smiles. He wonders if Soap even knew it was in there, or if it had been pure coincidence. Either way, Simon tucks it to the side so he doesn’t lose it.

What a simple thing to be charmed over… A natural pearl, worth nothing but sentiment, bringing a warmth to Simon’s heart. He hums to himself and grabs a fin. He’s stalling…

As he’s adjusting the strap, his submerged foot brushes against an expanse of rough scales. Thinking it’s a curious dogfish, Simon gently nudges it away, only to shout and yank his foot back when a playful nibble fights back against his toes.

Soap pops up next to his drawn leg and grins. Already purring, the mer folds his arms and leans against Simon’s thigh, his eyes gleaming with overwhelming adoration.

“Goin’ aroun’ chewin’ on toes now?” Simon mutters.

Chirping like the cheeky bastard he is, Soap nods. He patiently waits, watching as Simon grabs his other fin and slowly pulls it onto his foot. The mer can’t contain his wiggle of excitement. His little show of composure quickly wanes as Simon feigns dissatisfaction with the tightness of the heel strap, and readjusts it.

Grumbling, Soap flicks at the tip of the fin. He’s about to bite down on it, but shrinks back with a sheepish grin, acting all innocent, when Simon shoots him a warning glare.

Simon sighs, as if exasperated, and unlatches the strap again.

Soap rolls his eyes and finally points to the feast of mollusks. If Simon’s going to take forever, then they might as well eat first! When Simon pretends not to notice, Soap plucks up the displaced oyster. He holds it up to Simon, wagging it in encouragement.

Simon’s no stranger to eating raw seafood. Whole fish, some still wriggling, aren’t his first choice, but oysters… He’s indulged in plenty over the years.

Testing Soap’s patience, Simon makes to slide into the tank, finally ready, just to make the mer squirm some more. Maybe Simon’s being a bit childish, but he wants to push Soap’s buttons after what he put him through…

With a light shove of his shoulder, Soap blocks Simon from entering. He grumbles and shakes his head, once again holding the food out to him.

‘Teasing me!’ Soap signs, giving Simon the most pathetic pout he can muster.

Simon suppresses the urge to laugh. Yeah, he’s being a little mean…

“Oh, I’m sorry, is tha’ for me?”

Simon’s never had the heart to tell Soap that he places his offerings back in one of the feeding buckets once the mer is out of sight. While they’re nice gestures, Simon’s not about to drive home with a cold, dead herring sitting on his passenger seat. That doesn’t diminish the giddy flutter in his chest, or how his cheeks flush, when Soap carefully sifts through his meals to always select the best for his diver. It’s sweet.

There’s no running this time though… Soap is staring at him expectantly, his hand inching closer. Simon’s convinced that Soap will feed it to him this time, if he doesn’t take it from him first. Against everything in his head telling him not to, Simon takes the oyster from Soap, brings it to his lips, and tilts it up. A burst of salty, tender meat slides onto his tongue. Surprisingly good, considering he isn’t eating at a fancy restaurant, but munching on aquarium cuisine…

In a fit of uncontainable joy, the mer practically flips back in the water, wriggling around Simon’s fins before throwing himself halfway onto the platform. He grabs a handful of mollusks and shoves them onto Simon’s lap. An insistence for him to eat more — the entire pile if he wants it! He continues to ruin his perfect placement, in favor of pushing them closer to Simon.

“Can’t eat them all by myself. Help me,” Simon chuckles as he takes another. No way is he eating more than a few, just to be safe. He’s grateful Soap decided on shellfish this time, and not the fattest damn fish he could get his claws on. Good luck trying to force a bite or two out of that…

Fortunately, the mer is more than happy to share their meal. It’s devoured in a matter of minutes, nothing but a smattering of shells left to show for their efforts.

Simon’s never seen Soap so delighted.

The big, purring mer bullies his way between Simon’s legs, settling his upper body against the diver. Simon’s about to scold him, when all he receives is a tame nuzzling. Okay, that’s fine… Simon won’t deny him a quick cuddle before he gets into the tank. Just because he’s beating back his inner demons doesn’t mean Soap should completely suffer…

The remaining tension in his muscles relaxes as he melts into Soap’s embrace, finding comfort in the way his textured skin rubs against his cheek. Slightly rough where his patterned shark’s skin creeps along his shoulders, almost like fine-grain sandpaper. It fades to the soft skin of a human near his chest, where Simon buries his face and closes his eyes. Soap’s purring vibrates through his head, but Simon doesn’t mind one bit. If anything, the rattling helps soothe him.

He’s so fucking weak, so easily slipping into the entrancing snare that Soap effortlessly drags him back into. His hands trail over the strong muscles of Soap’s back, sinking into the shallow dips, following along firm cords, up to his shoulder blades. They flex as Soap scoots closer, further into Simon’s lap, the mer’s pelvis dangerously close to brushing against his crotch.

It would be so easy to close the distance — rub up against Soap’s slit to rile him up again. But, no! NO, he can’t do that. Not right now…

It’s like Soap can sense the inner turmoil inside him. His lips graze over Simon’s neck, inhaling deeply. Soap reaches up to tug at his hood. Wants to get to Simon’s skin… Tilting his head, the fabric peels from its prison, leaving Simon’s neck exposed for Soap.

Wasting no time, Soap’s teeth are on Simon, voracious as he basks in his warmth and taste.

Simon’s legs squeeze at Soap’s sides, eliciting a pleased grunt from the mer. The dorsal fin that arches from Soap’s spine is abused by the diver’s scrambling hands, trying to find anything to distract himself with. The fin flexes in Simon’s tight grip, making Soap squirm and purr even more.

There’s no winning with this damn mer! Doesn't matter what kind of touches he receives from Simon — rough, gentle, anything — he eats it up like it’s his last meal.

“Fuckin’ gaggin’ for it, aren’t you?” Simon sighs as he grabs Soap’s face and drags him up.

Put a stop to this!

“Listen to me, Soap. I’m beggin’ you to behave right now. Can you do tha’ for me? Please?” He squishes Soap’s cheeks in his hands to help bring across his point.

Soap grumbles, but nods. His disappointment is palpable.

“Good lad…”

He should let go. By all means, Soap knows that he has to keep himself contained, but… Simon pushes his thumbs under Soap’s cheekbones and pulls him closer.

They’re pressed together again, Soap purring low with encouragement as he nudges his forehead against Simon’s.

“Goddammit, Soap…” Simon breathes. Beautiful, blue eyes meet his, blinking slowly. Why do they have to be so glossy and full of overwhelming adoration?

His thumb skirts over Soap’s lower lip. It sinks into the supple flesh, forming a subtle pout as Soap purses his lips against the pressure.

Sighing, Simon hooks his thumb into the corner of Soap’s mouth. Usually hidden from the untrained eye, the elastic skin stretches to accommodate his prodding. The extra folds that gather at the corners of Soap’s mouth allow him to extend his jaw wider than any human’s can. Useful for hunting larger prey, or displaying his full set of teeth as a final warning before defending against potential threats.

For Simon, it’s a distractor — something malleable and soft to play with as he fails to stop Soap from getting closer. He drags his thumb along Soap’s dark, grey gums, watching his lip peel back to expose his deadly teeth. Soap’s pointed tongue darts out, licking at Simon’s finger, teeth chattering together as it disappears back inside, and presses into the sensitive taste receptors lining the roof of his mouth.

A maw that could rip Simon apart without a second thought. Break him down into bite-sized chunks to be swallowed down. Yet here he is, sticking his hand in Soap’s mouth without any fear of repercussion.

And, it’s still not enough… Simon wants nothing more than to kiss it.

“Keep your teeth to yourself… If you bite me, I’m biting back…”

Wrong choice of words... Soap’s eyes sparkle at the thought. He nips at the air, mere centimeters from Simon’s finger, in a playful taunt, hoping to tempt Simon into doing just that.

Simon’s thumb moves away, coated in thick saliva.

This is stupid… So incredibly stupid.

Simon stares at the darker tint of Soap’s lips, slightly parted as he watches, waiting to see what Simon has planned.

He takes Soap’s jaw in his hands.

Leans in close.

And dips Soap’s head down so he can press a fleeting kiss to the mer’s forehead. Simon’s nose buries into Soap’s wet hair, eyes screwed shut as he silently curses his cowardly self.

He just can’t do it… Can’t let this go too far, not with the guests now ready and waiting for the show.

Soap trills, happy for what he perceives is a sweet token of affection. He carefully twists his head out of Simon’s hands and returns the favor with a quick press of his lips between the human’s eyebrows. The hood covers most of Simon’s face, leaving Soap with few options, but it’s welcome, despite the awkward placement.

“Right… Come on, let me in now?”

With an animated cacophony of noises, Soap flings himself into the water and rushes from one side of the tank to the other, unable to contain his enthusiasm. He feels like a pup again, full of vibrant energy and boundless joy.

Ghost actually shared a meal with him! His human took his carefully selected offering and enjoyed it!

And then gave him a kiss!

His first step in proving to Ghost that he’s an ideal mate is going better than expected. Giddy beyond reason, he sifts through all the ways he can further prove to Ghost that he’s his best choice. Strong, a good provider, agile. And while Ghost may have rejected his sexual advances initially, Soap is positive it’s because he hadn’t taken the correct steps to woo him. He’s positive he can right his wrongs.

His back and tail fins pierce the surface as he races back, a slight wobble in his approach. Going too fast to keep himself steady, but he can’t help it! Has to get this energy out somehow!

As he nears the platform, he rolls to accommodate the awkward tilt, and glides the remaining distance on his back. Bumping the side, he motions for Ghost to jump in. Come on, come on, he’s taking too long! Soap has to resist grabbing Ghost and tugging him into the water. But, he doesn’t. He’ll be polite, for now.

The second Ghost is submerged, Soap is all around him, rubbing, purring, nipping at the sturdier parts of his gear. Finally! He works himself into a near frenzy, weeks of buildup bubbling over into a cascade of emotions.

Ghost… His Ghost…

Soap jostles the diver around in the water, clicking, chittering, bumping him with the flat of his tail as he zooms around, unable to bottle up his elation. Ghost swipes at him and tries to catch the mer, but he’s always a step ahead, just out of reach, taunting Ghost with his faster reactions.

He flips around to Ghost’s back, hand reaching out, but pauses when he realizes Ghost doesn’t have his oxygen tank. Soap knows he needs it to breathe underwater. Why would he go without?

Curious, he taps his claws over Ghost’s back and smirks when the diver shivers and instinctively jerks away from the contact. Usually, Soap likes to drum his claws over the metal tank, enjoying the tinny sound it makes, but if that’s the reaction he gets from tickling Ghost’s back, he might forgo it altogether in favor of seeing him squirm.

The mer swishes around to Ghost’s front. He cups his hand and places it over his mouth and nose, mimicking Ghost’s regulator.

‘Not today,’ Ghost signs. ‘Don’t need it, unless I’m cleaning. Been practicing.’

That’s enough to satisfy Soap. He nods and grins, before zipping to the bottom of the tank. He twists so he can see Ghost following after him, much faster than he’s been in the past. Well, doesn’t that make this way more fun?

The guests have gathered and are eagerly crowded in front of the tank, more than excited to see the playful reunion that’s sure to happen.

Ghost and Soap’s antics have become well known, to the point of making the local news in a heartwarming segment. The article drew more visitors every Sunday, just for a chance to see the charming duo. To have a private show is more than anyone could hope for.

Soap pays them no mind, far more interested in doing everything he can to impress Ghost. He lurks close to the sand, eyeing Ghost as he approaches. Having an audience crosses a few of the more showy options off his list, but Soap can work around that. Ghost, without a doubt, would scold him if he made a move to make things sexual again, but Soap isn’t planning to do that anyway.

No, Ghost deserves a proper courtship, not more salacious actions, at least until he’s ready.

When Ghost sinks down next to him, Soap swims in a tight circle around the diver, being careful not to touch him. He has to be strategic — make Ghost desire his touches instead of giving them all at once. He trills as he flicks the tip of his tail near Ghost’s face and bends backwards in a smooth flip.

Dexterous and graceful, the mer is determined to show that he's a well rounded specimen. He’s more than just a capable provider of food. The mer flares his gills and chirps on the upstroke, puffing himself up to look as big as possible. He doesn’t miss how Ghost’s eyes him up and down. His human’s head remains still, but those expressive, brown irises can’t hide how they rove over his muscular frame.

It’s working! It’s already working! Soap darts behind Ghost, then slips between his legs. A little cloud of bubbles erupts from the diver’s nose in shock. Soap doesn’t allow him the chance to protest his bold maneuver. He pops up so his head is level with Ghost’s ribs, then wends his body in sinuous, tight loops around Ghost. Purring the entire time, Soap flashes a charming grin at Ghost as he purposefully rubs up against his wetsuit with each slow pass. He nips at random patches along Ghost’s shoulders and gives him a tight squeeze with his coiled tail before releasing him.

A mating dance — one deeply rooted in instinct. One that Ghost seems receptive to as he reaches out his hand for Soap, palm up and fingers twitching slightly for him to take a hold.

‘My turn,’ Ghost signs with his other hand.

Ghost starts to return the steps of the courtship, and shows Soap his own dance. He purrs when their fingers lace together. A burning fire runs rampant through his heart, beating faster than he’s ever experienced. The joining of their hands is tender, turning Soap’s insides to a fluttering mess as Ghost adjusts his hold, and guides Soap’s free hand on his waist. The mer grips at the soft flesh through his wetsuit. He cocks his head with a soft chirrup, and Ghost smiles back at him.

Soap’s never seen humans dance before, but with Ghost teaching him, he’s more than willing to learn. He practically vibrates in anticipation, having no idea what he’s doing, but going with the motions of what feels right.

His hand encompasses Ghost’s side, and dwarfs the hand he holds. It stirs something primal inside Soap, but he tamps it down, instead focusing on how Ghost slowly starts to sway them side to side.

Any hesitancy that Ghost was showing earlier has melted away. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to put on a good show for the guests, but Soap wants to be selfish and imagine it’s all for him. It has to be for him.

The diver signs with his empty hand, ‘ Follow my lead,’ , just before placing it on Soap’s shoulder. The small distance between them is closed, and their fronts press together as Ghost leads Soap in a swirling waltz through the water.

Soap is utterly done in… He was already head over tail for this man, but swaying through the gentle current, holding each other so sweetly, like nothing else in the world matters. Soap knows Ghost is the one for him. He doesn’t want anyone else. Not even close. He has to make sure he doesn’t screw this up…

Soap clicks in pleasant surprise when Ghost floats back and twirls him, giving him an extra spin for good measure. Soap trills, grin a mile wide as his hair swishes over his face. He hardly registers when Ghost’s hand slips from his fingertips, lingering too long to be an accident. When Soap rights himself, Ghost is gone, leaving the mer stunned and slack-jawed.

He doesn’t want the dance to end… Being that close to Ghost, touching him, purring against him — Soap doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy in his life.

He’s not left alone for long. Ghost breaches the surface for a breath, then rejoins the mer. He circles around Soap, mimicking his first maneuver, before leading him in a race around the tank.

They lose track of time, capering around the enclosure, playing tag, and rough housing. Making up for lost time after being apart for so long... Soap is tireless. He realizes that he doesn’t have to try so hard to woo Ghost. The human goes right along with all his efforts, reciprocating every silly game, every display of affection.

Whenever Ghost goes for another breath, Soap is right behind him. Each time, he leaps from the water, sometimes over Ghost’s head, other times nearby so he can show off his sleek form as he cuts back under the rippling surface.

Ghost is laughing, his teeth bared in a way Soap’s never seen. His human wears his emotions on his sleeve, allowing them all to pour out around Soap. He likes it when Ghost doesn’t use his regulator… He gets to see everything. Every little twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way he mimics Soap’s playful snapping when he gets too riled up with their play fighting.

Soap loves it all.

So much, that he can’t suppress the urge to tackle Ghost when he next breaks the surface.

“Soap, don’t you —...!”

But he’s already got his arms firm around Ghost’s waist, dragging him to the bottom so fast that it’s all the diver can do but to hold on for dear life. Soap corkscrews and finally pushes Ghost through the water at the peak of the spin, clicking when the human goes arse over teakettle, before he can right himself.

Soap’s ready for him when he shoves off a rock for extra momentum and slams into the mer, digging his fingers into his tail and throwing him over his shoulder. Soap can easily break free, but he allows Ghost his victory. He goes slack in his hold, playing dead as Ghost hoists him over his head and displays the limp mer as his hard-earned trophy.

The guests are tickled, taking pictures and laughing, amazed at how in tune the pair are.

Ghost drops Soap and shakes his head when he goes belly-up and sinks to the sand, arm held dramatically over his eyes and tongue lolled out as he settles with a melodramatic flop. He lays there, gills still, until Ghost comes over to check on him.

In a lightning fast flurry, Soap leaps up, snags Ghost again, and shoves him into the substrate. The sand clouds up around them, obscuring them from view. Soap takes advantage of the murky waters and lays down next to Ghost. He nuzzles against the side of Ghost’s face and touches his pursed lips. Ghost risks getting water in his mouth, and nips at Soap’s fingers.

A deep rumble escapes Soap, low in his belly, voicing his pleasure at the playful gesture. Ghost stays in the sand, and doesn't try to get up this time. He must be getting tired. They’ve been playing non-stop, losing track of time.

The ingrained desire to protect Ghost wells in his chest. He takes a quick scan through the clearing water around them, using the sensitive nodes along the soft of his jaw to sense if anything is approaching through the remaining haze that he can’t quite see through.

Nothing. Seems their excitable activities have kept all the other creatures in the tank at bay. Satisfied that they won’t be bothered, their foreheads knock together, a silent check-in.

Ghost gives him a thumbs-up. All good, just resting. Soap drapes himself over Ghost and hums when he hooks his arms around his neck, and accepts his help up. Offering his back, Soap waits for Ghost to grasp onto one of his dorsal fins, and deposits him at the platform.

“Thanks, Soap,” Ghost murmurs as he climbs onto the ledge. “Think tha’s all I’ve got in me tonight… You’re a heavy geezer.”

He glances at the clock on the wall and laughs. “‘Ow’s it been a bloody hour?” he muses to himself. While they hadn’t set a running time for the dive, Marcy had most likely expected something short, maybe twenty minutes max, but she never stopped them.

The few times Soap had cast a glance over the small crowd, they were all enjoying themselves, enraptured by the sweet, affectionate displays Soap was showering over his favorite diver. Marcy stood off to the side to allow the guests their fun, silently observing the two. She seemed reserved, comparatively, but happy to see the duo reunited.

Soap doesn’t pay any mind to the passage of time. Instead he focuses on the bewitching grin on Ghost’s face. His hood is laying next to him, exposing his short, blond hair and cheeks flushed from exertion.

He’s stunning — panting to catch his breath, yet calm and relaxed. Soap wants another kiss from his pretty mouth. Wants to trace the silvered scar that trails from his lower lip, all the way down his chin.

Wants Ghost to nibble back, and bite him wherever he wants…

Soap hovers by the platform as Ghost strips his gear off. Usually, Soap would burn off the last of his energy while Ghost changes. But, not this time… He slowly floats back and forth, eyes never leaving the pleasingly large form of his mate while he sheds his tight wetsuit.

Facing away from the mer, Ghost tugs on the cord of his zipper and lets the drenched fabric peel away in two halves, exposing the criss-crossed scars over his back. It flops down and dangles from his hips, seated low so Soap can just see a hint of the pleasant swell of his arse.

The mer hums and soaks up every little detail he can. His mate is a fighter. A fierce survivor who doesn’t give up. A man who’s seen more than Soap has. While he doesn’t need Soap’s protection, seeing how cruel life has been to his human, Soap wants to make sure he never has to endure another wound again.

A gnarly scar cuts a line parallel to his spine, thick, but faded from time. It curves toward his freckled shoulder, breaking the tan line that’s formed from his weeks in the sun.

No time to dwell on that… Ghost peels the rest of his suit off and steps out of it, stark naked and tempting as goose bumps raise on his skin. His body shudders with a violent shiver. Soap has to restrain himself from launching out of the water to scoop Ghost up and keep him warm.

As Ghost towels off, Soap silently rests his elbows on the ledge and tries to suppress his purrs. An impossible task. The happy vibrations echo in his chest, no matter how hard he tries to swallow them.

Ghost shouldn’t feel the need to put his cumbersome clothes back on… He’s perfectly fine without them. If he’s cold, Soap can think of plenty of ways to stave off the chill. He shifts uncomfortably as pressure builds beneath his slit, threatening to part and betray his thinly veiled arousal.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Soap settles on his new platform so he can relax and enjoy his view. Soap just wishes Ghost would turn around, so he could see his bonnie face again. Maybe he could find a way to make Ghost blush that dusty pink he likes so much…

Ever since seeing it on full display over their video call, it’s all Soap’s been able to think about. Scarred and freckled, just like the rest of him, with a crooked, aquiline nose, a pouty, upper lip that flattens when he forces his neutral expressions, and a long, strong jaw that unconsciously clenches from the very same efforts. He’s too expressive, and tries so hard to hide it when he’s not wearing his mask. A shame, really.

But, those big, brown eyes, framed by thick, blond lashes, are what Soap enjoys the most… A pair of tortured souls that harden to stave off the rest of the world, but soften when they fall on Soap…

To Soap, he’s perfect, despite the perceived flaws he stubbornly tucks away behind his masks.

“It’s rude to stare, Soap,” Ghost mumbles. He’s glancing over his shoulder, whiskey eyes narrowing in gentle reproach.

Soap smirks and makes a grabby motion with his hands, acting like he’s going in for a squeeze on the firm arse that’s still on display. He’s positive it would squish nicely in his fingers.

Simon throws the towel around his hips and shoves the tail-end in to keep it firmly tucked. “Fuckin’ menace…” Ghost grumbles, but whisks his head around so Soap can’t see how red his face is. Not like he can hide it. The color flushes all the way down his neck and over the tips of his ears.

Ghost gets dressed quickly once he’s dry. He looks cozy in a pair of black sweats and a tank top, which he covers with an over-sized, skeleton print hoodie.

Soap’s heart drops. This is usually when Ghost says his final goodbyes and leaves… He huffs and pouts when Ghost kneels down in front of him. He doesn’t want him to go. This isn’t fair!

“Don’t look at me like tha’...” Ghost sighs. His thumb bumps against the underside of Soap’s chin. “I’m stayin’ the night.”

Soap beams up at him and purrs. ‘Really?’ How lucky can he be!

“Yeah.”

A gentle knock on the door has Ghost on his feet so fast, that Soap doesn’t even have the chance to feel disappointed at being interrupted. He slides back into the water and watches, sinking down to the bridge of his nose, limp mohawk the only notice of his presence above the line of the platform.

Simon grabs his mask out of his pocket and slips it on before opening the door for Marcy. For good measure, he flips his hood up just before Marcy’s head pops through the opening.

“Oh, good, I was hoping I gave you enough time to get changed,” Marcy cheerfully says as she brushes past Simon with a cumbersome bundle in her arms.

The diver steps to the side and holds the door open for her, reaching out to help take something, but she’s already unceremoniously plopped it on a dry spot on the floor.

“The guests loved watching you and Soap! That’s all they’re talking about now. Who knew you two could dance!”

A spur of the moment act, really… Scrambling to go with whatever felt natural, Simon ended up playing right along with Soap’s courting behaviors, and he knew it… While Soap had thoroughly ignored their spectators, Simon had been all too aware of their eyes on them, watching their every move.

In the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder if it was too much, but from the outside, it looked like nothing more than a very happy mer, elated over being with his favorite diver again.

Simon is ever grateful for the precedent he’s set wearing a mask, because he knows he’s bright red under it right now. The heat on the crest of his cheeks feels hot enough to burn through the black, skull-printed fabric.

“Beh’er at dancin’ underwater,” Simon lamely mumbles as he unfolds the cot.

Marcy shakes out a bundle of blankets, coughing as some dust flutters into the air.

“You keep these things lyin’ aroun’?” Simon quickly changes the subject while fluffing up a flattened pillow.

“Hm, yeah. We keep some in storage after Soap was bitten by a shark a few years ago. We wanted to make sure someone was always available, if he took a turn for the worst. The blankets are a bit dusty, I’m sorry…”

Simon snorts and shakes his head. “It’s fine. Slept in far worse conditions. Dust is the least of my concerns.”

“Right — military lad, and all that,” she chuckles. Arms akimbo, Marcy does a quick once over to make sure Simon is set for the night. “Need anything else? I’m sure you’re more than ready to get some shut-eye.”

“Think I’m set. Thanks again, Marce.”

“Not a problem… — Soap!”

There’s a soft splash as Soap flinches from being caught spying. He peeks over the ledge, wide, blue eyes blinking with faux innocence.

“Sneaky lad…” Marcy mumbles under her breath. “You leave Ghost be tonight! Let him sleep!”

Soap barks in protest and shakes his head.

“Oh, you cheeky little brat…” she sighs. “If he becomes a problem…—”

“I can handle the slippery bastard,” Simon chuckles. “Don’t worry.”

“Alright… Soap, you listen to Ghost, or I’m feeding you last in the morning!”

Soap pops out of the water and gapes at that, aghast that Marcy could even suggest such a thing!

With a final goodnight, Simon walks Marcy to the door so he can finish getting ready for bed. When they’re out of earshot, Marcy pauses and motions for Simon to follow her down the hall, just to be safe.

“Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah. Just had a question for you. I know we don’t talk much outside of work, and you’re very busy with your own diving company, but, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. It’s late, and I would hate to keep you up any longer, so maybe, if you’re available, we can chat about it over lunch tomorrow? My treat.”

She must have seen Simon’s slightly uncomfortable shift, because she holds her hands up and backpedals.

“Not like a date or anything!” she promises. “It’s about Soap. We’ve got some big plans in the near future, and I wanted to see if you’d like to be a part of them.”

Simon lets out a soft whoosh of breath and chuckles. He hates to admit that he’d been holding it… “Yeah, sounds good, Marce. We can go after I clean, if tha’ works?”

“That’s perfect. Alright, I think we both need to get some sleep. Good night.”

“Night.”

By the time Simon goes through his nightly routine, the full fatigue of his day has caught up with him. Riding high on the dopamine still buzzing through him from his and Soap’s reunion, is the only thing keeping him going as he slips through the door to Soap’s tank. He locks the door behind him, and silently pads his way across the floor, dropping his mask on top of his duffel as he passes.

Soap is curled up on his new fiberglass platform, upper body hunched on the ledge and cheek resting on his forearm as he waits for Simon to return. The blue of his eyes are stained milky white, covered by his nictitating membrane. By the calm rise and fall of his shoulders, Soap has drifted off, despite his valiant efforts.

Tuckered himself right out…

No matter how many times Simon’s seen shark merfolk swipe their membranes over their eyes, he can’t help but find it creepy when they doze with the protective cover exposed, outer lids still open.

At the sound of Simon sitting on the edge of his cot, the membrane glides back and Soap inhales deeply, fighting off the sleep that had overcome him. A sleepy chirp greets Simon. Damn if the warbling trill doesn’t melt his heart…

“Di’n’t mean to wake you,” Simon murmurs.

Soap purrs and reaches his arms out in front of him. No wonder the mer has to be watched when he’s up here… Holes and scrapes line the slip-proof mats, where he’s ripped into the soft material with tooth and claw. Must feel nice… He adds more marks, clawing at the mats and using the leverage to bow into a luxurious stretch. A stretch that shows off the layer of thick muscle that coats his body.

Simon is urged over with more of Soap’s beckoning chirps. So sickeningly sweet… He plops down, cross-legged, in front of Soap, and pats his head. His hair has mostly dried by this point, now sticking up in fluffy tufts and draping down the nape of his neck in loose waves. Simon’s only ever seen it soaking wet and plastered to his head when at the surface. It’s charming this way…

The mer presses into the touch and purrs louder. If he didn’t know any better, Simon would think Soap was incapable of being silent, constantly chatting away with his repertoire of noises. Not that he minds — it’s cute…

Simon’s fingers tangle into the damp locks, further fluffing them up in his hands until Soap has a messy mullet crowning his head.

“You need a haircut,” Simon chuckles.

Soap wrinkles his nose and hisses, flashing his gills at the thought. Something most people should be afraid of, Simon knows Soap’s aggressive displays are always in jest. He’s never snapped at Simon, or tried to hurt him in any way.

“Jus’ a trim, nothin’ more,” he reassure the mer. “I can bring in some clippers and scissors next week. Get you lookin’ presentable again.”

Soap growls when Simon lifts a tuft of hair, and gives it a gentle tug.

“Quit your whingin’. Best get to bed, yeah?” he murmurs. “I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

Soap whines when Simon tries to get up. Two, strong arms are wrapped around him before he can protest. Soap buries his face against Simon’s belly and nuzzles into it.

Maybe it’s the fatigue, but Simon doesn’t try to fight him. In fact, he slumps into the hug, wraps himself around Soap’s head, and squeezes back, far too relaxed for his own good. The mer shuffles his way up, until he’s comfortably seated his forehead to Simon’s neck.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel special with all the effort Soap put into impressing him tonight… While Simon’s had his fair share of suitors in the past, he had his military career, then diving business, to concentrate on. No time for serious relationships, no matter how tempting they were. Sex was fine, but he tries at all costs to avoid anything emotionally intimate. The thought alone makes his skin crawl.

But this… It’s — different. Soap is so genuine and unashamed in his displays of affection, that Simon feels himself slipping down a slope he’s not sure he can claw his way out of…

But, he knows he should …

Yet, he can’t …

Soap makes it so difficult.

Simon wiggles until he can shove his arms between their chests, just enough so he can cup Soap’s face in his palms. The mer trills at the touch and rests the weight of his head in Simon’s tender hold. Stars practically dance in Soap’s eyes as he takes every minuscule touch, and hoards it away like the greedy creature he is.

His tongue flicks out to lick at the heel of Simon’s hand, dipping low to brush against the raised veins and faded scars on his wrist. For a brief moment, Simon’s sure he felt two, wet tips glide against the heel of his palm, but Soap’s tongue retreats too quickly for him to be sure. Probably just imagining things…

Simon unfurls his legs. The space is immediately taken up by Soap. They slot together like their bodies are magnets, meant to be close, unable to be separated, unless by outside force. Up close like this, Simon can really sense how small he is next to the mer. Large, by most human standards, Simon can’t say he’s ever been made to feel this way…

Soap leans in and taps the tip of his nose to Simon’s. The mer’s eyelids droop, and he lolls out that tongue again, this time teasing over Simon’s chin, following the scar up to his lips.

‘Kiss…’ Soap signs against Simon’s chest. The diver has to pull back enough to see him sign it again, before Soap presses his palm into the soft cotton of Simon’s hoodie, and balls up the fabric.

Fuck…

Don’t do this, Simon…

Don’t you fucking do it…

But, the magnetism is too strong…

Soap chirps when their lips meet. His entire body wiggles and eyes widen, irises no longer present as his pupils overtake the ring of blue.

Simon watches through hooded eyes, tickled at Soap’s reaction, driving him to encourage more.

The mer’s first kiss, to Simon’s knowledge, is more than well received. He’s endeared by the awkward way Soap tries to press back, not quite sure how to properly return the intimate contact, relying on his enthusiasm to make up for it.

Simon laughs and sputters when Soap shoves their mouths together too hard and pushes Simon’s head back.

“Gentle, Soap. Let me lead,” he chuckles, only a second before Soap is on him again, heeding his instruction with more restraint.

Caressing Soap’s face, feeling the mer’s arms tighten around his body to cradle him close — Simon realizes he's done for… Maybe a stronger man might be able to resist, but not him… Not when he's being held like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Soap’s hand slips to the back of his head and tilts it back. He flings his arms around Soap’s neck and finally allows himself to let go, and stubbornly ignore every alarm bell going off in his head.

He deserves this.

Soap deserves this.

And who is he to deny Soap, after everything they’ve done tonight?

Humming into the kiss, Simon loses himself in the tides of want, and parts his lips to lick at Soap’s. The mer purrs and tentatively opens, unsure of what Simon is doing. He returns the kitten lick, and flicks his tongue against Simon’s.

“There’s a good lad…” Simon whispers, lips brushing together. He dips his tongue past those sharp teeth, and shamelessly moans when Soap’s eagerly smooths over it.

Soap whines at the enticing sound and delves his tongue into Simon’s mouth, following his lead, but quickly becoming more bold as he feels out the motions. Despite being too eager, Soap catches on with ease, and leaves Simon breathless.

God, if his tongue feels this amazing between his lips, in his mouth, Simon can only hazard a guess at how incredible it would be inside his cunt, or lapping at his cock…

Lost in his fantasies, Simon flinches when Soap’s clever tongue suddenly splits around his, fondling and squeezing at whatever it can reach. Simon’s mind nearly blanks out. So, he hadn’t been imagining things!

Simon gives Soap’s chest a firm press and turns his head to break the kiss, regret filling him when Soap grunts in disappointment.

“What in the bloody fuck, Soap!” he sputters in disbelief. Soap frowns and dips down, looking guilty and worried as to why Simon just raised his voice at him.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m not mad, I promise…” Simon pants as he comes to grips with this revelation. He swipes his hand over his mouth and chin and sighs. “Di’n’t know your tongue was…”

Soap perks up at the reassurance, and sticks his tongue out, proudly displaying the long slit down the center, nearly halfway through the length. The two halves wiggle independently of each other, saliva dripping between the split in crystalline threads. All these months, and Simon had never noticed… Being so dark, the crease is indiscernible once pressed together, as Soap usually keeps it.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Simon breathes. All of his blood rushes south, leaving his rational mind in the dust as he reaches up to touch the forked, black tips.

Urged by Simon’s amazement, and desire to show off, Soap clasps his tongue around Simon’s curious fingers and weaves them together. The tips of his fingers press into Soap’s upper lip as the mer drags his hand in to nibble on it.

Simon’s about ready to throw all sense aside. His body is rigid, shoulders tight and spine stiff while he watches three of his fingers disappear into Soap’s mouth. The sharp teeth that surround them are gentle as he scrapes them along his knuckles, soothing them over with his tongue before popping them back out.

Soap’s eyeing him up like a lavish feast to partake in, and Simon’s setting the table with fine china and gilded silverware. It’s all he can do to keep from ripping his sweatpants off, and Soap can sense it. Simon’s entire body shudders as he’s pressed to the mats, a large hand centered on his sternum as Soap effortlessly pins him.

Soap reaches down and glosses his hand over Simon’s crotch, brushing against his dick through his joggers, before dipping lower to feel the damning warmth between his legs.

At Simon’s surprised gasp, Soap stops, but doesn’t pull away. He’s not as aggressive as he was earlier, but the hunger simmering below the surface is palpable. He’s been achingly patient. He’s done everything he needs to in order to court Simon, and now he’s searching for some reciprocation — if Simon will have him…

The diver grasps at Soap’s wrist, lifts it, and raises his hips just enough to hook his thumb into the waistband. The fist in his hoodie tightens, bunching the printed fabric into tight folds. Soap’s eyes are locked on the sliver of Simon’s hip as he slowly drags down his pants.

His purrs fill the silence, mingling with Simon’s short, nervous huffs.

This is it… He’s doing it. He’s a weak, pathetic man who can’t control himself… Queasy with anticipation, yet pushing aside any thoughts that might keep him from continuing.

Soap’s hands leave him, only to snag at the band of his joggers, claws catching under it in an attempt to hurry things along. Simon lets go and nods.

“Go ahead, Soap…”

He’s made up his mind. There’s no turning back now.

Truly, Soap is fighting every damn voice in his head telling him to rip all of Ghost’s clothes off so he can ravage him, but there’s a single, gentle whisper reminding him that Ghost needs to be treated with care. He’s not another shark, who can withstand the frenzied nature that’s boiling up inside him. He’s armed with neither claw nor fang, only his voice and muscle to fight back with if Soap gets too rough.

Soap tugs at Ghost’s sweatpants and yanks them off in one swift motion, leaving the human in his form-fitting boxers. Simon goes up on his elbows and invitingly spreads his legs so Soap can get between them.

It’s a welcome gesture that Soap can’t refuse…

With a low hum, he sinks down and presses his mouth to Ghost’s inner thigh. His hands rest on Ghost’s hips, fingers pushing under the tight legs of his boxers. Wispy, blond hairs tickle his nose as he nibbles his way up, along skin and fabric, before coming to rest over the damp spot that’s formed on the crotch of Ghost’s underwear. The scent that intoxicated him so deeply, now hits him like a shock to his core, unhindered by thick, oppressive jeans.

Learning from his past admonishment, Soap pauses and glances up at Ghost, fighting off the urge to dive down and partake. His mate is a pretty sight, lips parted, eyes hooded, and head now bobbing eagerly for Soap to continue. His hood falls around his shoulders. Loose folds of fabric form as he lifts the bottom of his hoodie and tucks it under his chin, exposing the small creases his belly forms as he shifts for a better view.

That’s all he needs… Without a second thought, Soap buries his face between Ghost’s legs, nose pressing deep into the darkened spot on the boxers before him. He inhales deeply, taking in Ghost’s heady scent. Such a sweet, tempting musk, even better now that he has barely anything to keep him from it. That same daze is taking over, muddling his brain as he shivers and laps the tips of his tongue over Ghost’s concealed cunt.

His gills flutter and jaw falls open as he latches to the wet warmth, and presses the flat of his tongue to it. The taste isn’t as nice as he expects, masked by the detergent Ghost washes his clothes with, but the delicate hint of his human is enough that Soap knows he needs more.

Not quite willing to drag himself away from Ghost’s crotch, Soap hovers close as he slowly pulls Ghost’s boxers off and watches, completely enraptured, as a clear film of slick clings to the fabric and his weeping slit. The hair on his crotch is darker than on his head, thick, but trimmed, framing his cunt. Coarse, dark blond curls, matted and wet with his delicious arousal.

He purrs, delighted by the unhindered pheromones that draw him in. He could get drunk off the scent alone… The mer dips his head down, between Ghost’s strong, quaking thighs, and takes a deep breath. No unnecessary scents to get in the way now.

His pupils eclipse his irises and gills flare as he grabs Simon’s thighs and jerks him closer, falling to his forearms so he can give Ghost’s tantalizing cunt a proper hello. Tongue unfurling from his mouth, Soap moans as it dips into the slick that coats the softness of his inner thigh, right at the joint.

Oh, he tastes divine … Better than anything Soap’s ever had his jaws around. As much as he wants to dive right in, deep into the source of Ghost’s arousal, Soap presses his mouth to Ghost’s cunt and spreads the slick around his nose and chin, reveling in the scent, getting lost in the haze, coating himself in his mate’s essence. Wants to smell like Ghost, and nothing else. He tilts his head back and rubs it along his jaw, down his neck, over his gills, until Ghost is assaulting his senses, the only thing he can feel and smell.

Ghost gasps at the touch against his drenched, flushed folds, and cants his hips against Soap’s face. The diver’s body is hot and inviting as Soap nuzzles in, catching the tip of his nose on the engorged organ that rests at the top of Ghost’s sheath. So different from his own. And much more sensitive. Ghost whines and snatches it between his knuckles, giving it a few rough strokes to ease his squirming.

Humans must have evolved an extra organ over their sheaths for added pleasure. Soap has to admit, he’s a little jealous, seeing how good it makes Ghost feel. He takes over, and presses the pad of his thumb to the hardened bud and rolls it with a firm press, marveling at how Ghost writhes under him at the touch.

His mate shoves his forearm into his mouth and bites down to hold his noises back. Soap’s purrs immediately rumble deeper inside his chest, subconsciously responding to Ghost’s sweet sounds of pleasure. He can feel himself slipping further into that fuzzy headspace, and allows it to take over. Soap grinds his thumb into Ghost’s small cock again and smirks when he gasps and jerks into it.

Drawing his arm from his mouth, Ghost rests his fingers on the top of Soap’s head and runs them through his hair to get his attention.

“Go on — take a proper taste, luv…” He reaches down and spreads his sheath open, pink folds begging to be given some proper attention. Soap almost drools as he obeys the gentle command. Anything for Ghost… He presses a lewd kiss to Ghost’s lips, before flicking his tongue over his drenched slit, taking a long, appraising lick.

Ghost jolts, hands snapping to Soap’s head to help guide him, keeping him in place as he does it again, dragging his wet tongue along the entirety of his sheath, lapping up the sudden pulse of slick that spills into his mouth. He swallows it down, then teases the prongs of his tongue along either side, hoping to coax out more. Slightly salty, thick and sticky — he can’t get enough.

He’s purring uncontrollably, sending vibrations through Ghost’s cunt, so overwhelming that he keens and ruts against Soap’s face.

Soap’s motions are unrefined, his inexperience showing as he messily mouths at Ghost’s slit. Hell, he’s only ever touched himself in the late hours of the night, hidden away in his cave, seeking any form of relief he can get during the breeding seasons he’s had to endure on his own. He’s never had the opportunity to pleasure anyone else…

But Ghost is a gentle, understanding man. Taking Soap’s jaw in his hand, he guides him up with a soft murmur.

“Here…” He eases Soap’s head back and traces his finger along his slit, up to his neglected cock. “Suck me off. Watch your teeth…”

Thankful for some direction, Soap carefully draws Ghost’s cock into his mouth and does as he’s told. Ghost throws his head back and groans, hips arching off the floor as he thrusts into Soap’s mouth.

“Ah!” he rasps out, voice husky and low. “Fuck! Good lad, Soap, just like tha’ — Nhh!”

Soap loses himself in the unexpected praise, grasping so tight at Ghost that bruises start to form on his flesh. His claws scrape and dig into his waist, drawing pinpricks of blood to the surface. But Ghost never complains, only groans through it and weaves his fingers into Soap’s hair, tugging on the dark locks as he works his hips in short, jerking thrusts.

Soap drops his jaw, presses his thumb to Ghost’s labia, and opens him up, gaping his achingly empty hole, and slowly slides his tongue inside.

Ghost wails and thrashes in Soap’s arms, losing his rhythm, handing over control to Soap as he mindlessly rolls his hips and babbles out more words of praise — filling Soap’s head with reassurances of how good he’s being. How amazing he’s making him feel.

He keeps going, tongue deep inside, until Soap has his nose smashed against Ghost’s mound, his entire cunt inside Soap’s deadly mouth as he fucks the slick muscle into him. Drool mingles with his slippery fluids, dripping down Soap’s chin as he closes his eyes and gets lost in the motions. His hands push under Ghost’s hoodie, grasp at his tank top below, and tear into the thin material.

He could stay here for hours, devouring Ghost, reveling in his noises, tasting him… Never wants to stop.

“Soap! Ah, Soap, ’m gonna come! Don’t stop, please , don’t stop!”

Oh… His sweet, needy mate crying for him rewires something inside Soap. His eyes snap open, dark with lust. He forces the prongs of his tongue apart inside Ghost and purrs when his hands fall to his shoulders and grip so tightly it hurts. Tears roll down the diver’s face, catching in his hair as he rocks once, twice more into Soap’s mouth, teeth bared and eyes screwed shut, nearly screaming with each hiccuping breath. His body jackknifes off the floor, every muscle tensing before falling lax again.

Soap’s shoulders raise as he keeps himself from digging his claws into Ghost’s chest. A gush of pleasantly bitter fluid floods his mouth, dribbling down the corners before Soap can drink it down with ravenous gulps. 

Ghost is apologizing through his tears, weakly trying to shove Soap back, but the mer ignores his pleading, working him through his orgasm, not allowing him to sacrifice his pleasure because he’s embarrassed for some reason. Only when Ghost slumps into a boneless puddle, does Soap draw away.

Saliva and slick trails thickly from his panting mouth, clinging to his tongue in viscous strands as he carefully withdraws. Soap swipes a wrist over his mouth, but doesn’t let the mess on his arm go to waste. He laps it up, before dipping back down to properly clean Ghost up.

Ghost jerks when he drags his tongue over his flushed cock, but doesn’t stop the mer. 

“Bloody hell, Soap…” Ghost sighs. “Don’t think I’ve come tha’ hard in a long time… Mmh, hey, what’re you doin’?”

With most of his ejaculate licked away, Soap isn’t quite done with Ghost. While he thoroughly enjoyed getting Ghost off, he can’t ignore the fact that his cocks haven’t emerged yet. Clearly, he’s plenty turned on, even had an earth-shattering orgasm already, but maybe Soap still isn’t doing something right…

He carefully prods at Ghost’s hole with the intent of helping him. Maybe he’s just shy, or enjoys playing hard to get… Either way, Soap doesn’t mind lending a hand. He starts to slip two fingers inside, but is immediately shocked by a smack on his hand.

“Oi, not with those sharp claws, you’re not!” Ghost hisses.

He wrenches his hand back and pouts. Under Ghost’s stern glare, he chirps a soft apology.

Satisfied that Soap got his hint, Ghost flops his head back against the floor to catch his breath.

Soap rests his cheek against Ghost’s thigh. So warm and slightly damp with sweat… A tempting trickle of creamy slick dribbles down the curve of his arse, quickly chased by Soap’s tongue. Not going to waste if he has any say in it… Soap glances up at Ghost, just to be sure he’s allowed, as he nuzzles in again. The human gasps and flinches, lower lip bitten between his blunt teeth.

“Fuckin’ hell, you liked it tha’ much? Yeah olright, round two, huh?”

Soap blinks sweetly up at him and buries his nose into his wiry hair, trilling as it pleasantly tickles his skin. He doesn’t delve in right away this time. Instead, he peels the halves of his tongue apart and frames Ghost’s swollen cock with it. Ghost snaps his legs around his neck and claws at the mats as he squeezes the sensitive bud, rubbing the base of the split against the tip, gently pushing back the short hood that covers it.

“Ah! T-too much!” he stutters, eyes and mouth going wide as he gasps in shock.

Soap can’t help himself… He wiggles the halves together, tighter this time, just before dipping one of the pointed tips under Ghost’s hood and licking at the smooth head now peeking out from inside. Ghost howls into the crease of his elbow and shoves Soap’s head back, his hole fluttering empty and neglected as he spills into a sudden orgasm.

Ghost has to be relaxed enough now… Soap quickly works his tongue deep inside, fighting against the rhythmic convulsions that squeeze at him, eyebrows knit in confusion as he roots against Ghost’s velvety walls in search of his cocks. Overstimulated, Ghost clenches around him harder, a damn vice around Soap’s tongue as he delves as deep as he can.

Where are they?! He grunts in frustration and pulls back, shooting Ghost a concerned grimace.

“Wot?” he pants, returning the troubled frown. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Soap shakes his head in exasperation. Clearly, there is! Carefully using the pads of his thumbs to open Ghost up wide, Soap spreads his slit so he can try again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Soap!” Ghost chides him softly as Soap desperately shoves his tongue back inside. It doesn’t sound much like a threat as more whines of pleasure take over.

But, he still can’t find them! Is Ghost not actually into this? He’s acting like he is, but… Soap can’t be so sure. Maybe he’s faking it so Soap doesn’t feel bad… It’s not like he would know either way. Soap grumbles in frustration, wanting to stick his fingers in. He could feel everything better if Ghost would allow him to find the elusive base of Ghost’s clearly shy cocks. He would be careful… Go nice and slow. Mind where his claws reach.

Maybe humans’ organs were deeper inside than merfolks’, and that’s why Ghost is hesitant, knowing it might hurt to search that far in. In a protective pocket that isn’t so easy to access. A good design of nature, keeping the sensitive bits safe, but frustrating when needed…

Against his better judgment, he goes for another try, but Ghost is quick to put a stop to him again.

“Your claws, Soap… They’ll hurt me.”

Soap sighs and rolls his eyes.

He hauls himself out of the water the rest of the way and waves his hand next to his slit, where his shafts are proudly on display.

Soap hums his frustrations and points at Ghost’s slit. To make his point abundantly clear, he brings their pelvises together. The thick, dripping organs nestle against the hinge of Ghost’s thigh, bobbing heavily at the touch of their skin. A thick bead of precum rolls down the smaller shaft and drips to Simon’s belly. The diver’s breath hitches. Surely, this is enough of a hint…

Ghost is watching with glassy eyes as Soap brings the lower cock to his sheath and starts rutting against it, in the hopes of enticing Ghost out, one last time. His mate moans at the touch, raising his hips in an attempt to catch the tip on his twitching hole.

Still nothing!

‘Where are they?’ Soap finally signs, beyond vexed.

“Where are wha…—?” It dawns on Ghost. His expression softens and a bright laugh bursts from his chest. “Oh, Soap… Bloody hell, you’re precious… Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have one, let alone two.”

Soap tilts his head in confusion and clacks his teeth around a disappointed chirp. This doesn’t make any sense…

‘What happened to them?’

He tries not to bristle when Ghost falls into a fit of, admittedly cute, laughter. He’d enjoy it more if he didn’t feel like he was the butt end of a joke that he didn’t understand the punchline of.

“Nothing happened to them. Some men don’t have an impressive piece like you do. Come ‘ere.” Ghost beckons him closer, so their hips are firmly pressed together, rough belly scales on soft skin and hair.

Ghost takes Soap’s larger, lower cock in his hand and spreads himself with his other, pressing the tip to his hole with a shaky breath.

“I can promise, you won’t miss it…” Ghost whispers as he starts guiding Soap inside. He squirms and moans when the tapered head slips in like it was made for him. “Now, you’ve been such a good lad. Fuck me.”

Chapter Text

Pleasure is a delectable creature, wont to ensnare and drown when given free reign.

From frantic quickies, at risk of being caught, to nights that last a life-time with lovers he would later think fondly of, Simon is far too intimate with all the facets pleasure has to offer.

Aware that any op could be his last, he sought his pleasures wherever he was able. After nights at bars, at the risk of rejection and ridicule, anonymous hookups in the barracks, fraternization with his captain whenever the opportunity arose… Dark alleyways, tangled sheets, flimsy field desks. Behind humvees, dripping with sweat in the sweltering desert heat, trousers yanked down just enough for access…

Simon thought he’d done it all. Kept it well hidden too. No one suspected The Ghost to fall prey to his temptations with such voracity. Not when he avoided relationships like the plague. Most assumed that meant he didn’t have a hungry beast contained within his flesh, clawing to get out and consume when allowed.

A beast that craves everything from the mer who now has his hands on either side of his body, claws digging into the floor as he watches the diver guide one of his cocks into his cunt.

Pleasure is a vice, one that he uses as an escape from the tortures and injuries of his past, overindulging in the opposite of what he’s suffered his entire life. Sweetness isn’t necessary. Love is far from a requirement. Might go as far to say he’d rather avoid it altogether.

All he needs is the blinding rush of an orgasm, to help get him through.

At least, that’s how he’d been in the past. Simon had been sure he’d moved on from the admittedly unhealthy way he treated and used pleasure to keep his mind from dwelling on the true issues in his life. It’s easier to drown out the mental consequences of his military lifestyle when he has a warm body to lay with. Something to stave off the gnawing pit that lurks in the shadows, awaiting the perfect moment to lash out.

It seems old habits, once drawn from hiding, come back with a biting vengeance.

He’s already had three orgasms tonight, two brought on by the enthralling creature above him. By all means, it should be enough. Plenty satisfying, without going too far.

But what was too far in this situation he’s found himself in? While taboo in ways that should make Simon question everything he knows about himself, he’s already taken that first dip. Get eaten out by Soap. Let his curiosity and needs be sated.

It should be enough…

But, that wouldn’t be fair for Soap, now would it? Simon can’t selfishly take, without offering something equally as satisfying in return…

Sure, a handy or blow-job could do the trick, but it’s not the same… Not when Soap is currently half-buried in his cunt and whining so sweetly about it. It would be wrong of Simon to tell him to stop now…

The cursory ring that ripples across the glassy surface of his desires tempts him further into murky, unknown waters.

There’s no way nobody else hasn’t considered the tantalizing thought of sleeping with merfolk. He can’t be the only one who’s actually taken that leap and done it…

It’s not so wrong… Soap is a consenting being, enthusiastic even, as he falls head-first into their mistake, with Simon leading the charge, ever deeper.

Any straw he can find, Simon will gladly grasp at as he grips tighter around Soap’s cock to keep him from entering him too fast. The mer is eager, pushing into Simon’s fist in attempts to hurry things along, but ultimately obeys his silent wishes when he gives him a gentle squeeze to remind him of who’s controlling the pace.

It’s been a while. He needs this, but he can’t get too greedy. One cock is all he’ll take. Absolutely no knotting. It will be fine. They can enjoy each other once, then never do this again.

Yeah, it'll be perfectly fine . Nobody will ever know…

So he keeps telling himself… It doesn’t help that he’s so stupidly infatuated with Soap, in a way he’s never been with anyone else. Just had to get tangled up with a merfolk… Couldn’t be a nice human lad or lass. Someone acceptable, by society’s standards.

Nope, not for Simon Riley… What about him could ever be considered normal?

Simon ignores the cruel voices that want to berate him for going this far. They’re stubbornly shoved away when Soap moans at the warmth that further closes around him.

Such a low, trilling warble, pouring from dark, parted lips. A trembling hand shoots to Simon’s waist, holding him tightly as Soap miraculously fights the urge to take over. He’s so obedient, doing everything Simon asks of him, searching for direction with those big, imploring eyes.

Soap’s a damn dream. He’s everything Simon loves — easy on the eyes, eager to please, a fast, efficient learner. Someone who can follow instructions, and enjoy every second of it.

Soft noises escape Soap as he pants above Simon, completely wrecked already, whining around pathetic, shaky gasps. Poor lad’s overwhelmed by the wet heat, having never felt anything like it. Slick leaks from his slit, pouring over Simon’s hand. His fingers slip along the mer’s wet shaft.

Quick as a flash, Soap takes advantage of the loosened grasp and purrs with his next thrust.

A loud moan surprises Simon, one so debauched he thinks it came from Soap, until he’s drawing in a deep breath to recenter himself. He’s still hyper-sensitive. Every inch is like molten fire within him. He’s trying to keep himself in check, not get too confident that he can take Soap in his entirety without going slow.

The delectable stretch around the widening bulge of Soap’s cock is a firm reminder that the mer is much bigger than anything else he’s taken.

Soap’s working steadily into him now, falling to his forearm as he pushes into the loosening tunnel of Simon’s fist, and deeper into his welcoming body. The smooth shaft widens, and keeps fucking widening, until Simon thinks he can’t take much more. He pushes his hand to Soap’s belly.

Soap pauses and buries his face against Simon’s neck, panting in his ear. There’s a sudden pulse inside him, then another, followed by a wet warmth that trickles down his arse. Soap fists Simon’s hoodie and grinds in with the next throb, snarling as he desperately holds himself back from shooting off too soon.

Simon chuckles as the ridged cock hovering over his mound twitches and leaks onto his belly, so much that the spindly strand of precum thickens and congeals on his skin. Another heavy bob, and milky white floods the mix, rolling down the shaft and arching in a short spurt toward Simon’s navel.

“Messy lad… Gonna come already, sweet thing?” he muses, as if he’s not completely overcome by the thought of Soap this close to coming inside him.

Any other time, Simon would have been disappointed at his lay for the night spilling over so fast, but there’s a sense of triumph, knowing his pussy feels so damn good that Soap might not last long.

Soap purses his lips and shakes his head, but his gills shudder and eyebrows scrunch together, face pinched in concentration as Simon finally lets go of his cock. Permission to have him, however he wants.

Simon wraps his fist around the drooling shaft above him instead, and slowly moves it down to the split base, giving the soft knot a firm squeeze.

Soap shouts and jerks into the motion, shoving the remainder of his secondary length so suddenly into Simon that the human’s jaw drops. No noise is able to escape Simon as he’s speared open, stopping just short of the knot that immediately starts to stiffen against him.

Simon chokes out a broken moan once the shock settles. The squishy bulb of Soap’s knot rubs against his opening, working against the tight squeeze. Some of it slips in, further firming at the instinctive clench of Simon’s walls.

Simon’s back arches off the floor. He suppresses the groan that wants to escape, not wanting to make too much noise, although they’ve already failed on that front.

Simon’s sure Soap’s about to jam the rest of his knot in right away, with his tight, mindless grinding, but he draws back to mid-shaft, then slowly rocks in again, purring at how Simon’s body easily welcomes him a second time.

Holy shit, he’s gonna lose his mind…

The hand on his waist moves up to Simon’s cheek, caressing it, checking in on his human after unceremoniously impaling him.

“‘M fine,” Simon breathes, overwhelmed by how deep Soap is inside him — how stretched he is around the thick bulge of Soap’s cock. “Just… Try to be a li’le more gentle, yeah? Can’t take too many shoves like tha’.”

Soap nods. His endearing, apprehensive pout is all Simon needs to relax. The diver leans into the hand cupping his face and closes his eyes, allowing himself to luxuriate in every sensation that fills him.

The mer has no right being this charming, buried knot deep inside him… Soap heeds Simon’s instructions and works into him slowly. It’s gentle, sickeningly so as Soap digs his claws into the mat and holds onto Simon’s shoulder like he’ll ascend to another realm if he doesn’t. The mer hiccups out precious gasps and moans, utterly lost in how Simon feels around him. He whines and noses into Simon’s hair, searching for the resolve to hold steady.

Poor lad isn’t gonna make it...

Simon can feel the knot swelling with each meeting of their bodies. He takes both of his hands and strokes along the upper, weeping shaft, admiring the pliable layers of ridges along the aching organ. His thumbs push into the underside, gliding with the copious amount of slick and precum that soaks them both. Simon’s tempted to have Soap pull out so he can switch. Wants to feel each flexible bump slip into him and drag along his walls, but he won’t push Soap too much. Not when he’s whining and losing his rhythm already.

Now it’s a challenge to see just how fast he can make Soap crumble… He deviously squeezes and drags his hands up, taking his time, petting over the textured cock, until he reaches the narrow, spade shaped glans. He collects the dribbling mess at the tip and slides his fingertip over the widened slit, pushing in until a bead of sticky semen bursts around it, and flows down his wrist.

Soap lets out a pitiful wail and yanks himself away, grasping at anything to keep himself from coming. Simon flinches at the sensation of Soap’s semi-hard knot tugging at his hole, not necessarily painful, but enough of a reminder that if they aren’t more careful, they’ll be locked together until Soap’s body decides to let them go. And who knows how long that would be…

A bobbing twitch sends a thick splash of cum against the joint of Simon’s thigh. It rolls down the crease and gets smeared over his skin as Soap scrambles to pinch himself off. Hovering above Simon, Soap’s knots fully pop in his palm, inevitability now his only option. He grimaces and grasps tightly around the swollen knots, squeezing his eyes shut as he wills his body to calm down.

He tries, he really does, but despite his valiant efforts, he can’t contain his impending downfall.

Simon shuffles his hoodie out of the way just in time. Two, pearlescent spurts of cum stain his belly. He gasps and quickly throws the loose fabric over his head, hooking it behind his neck so only his arms are covered.

Soap has his hand wrapped around both cocks, squeezing them together and stroking them as he concedes to his release. Slick and semen spatter up to Simon’s chest in impressive pulses, far more than he’s ever seen from anyone he’s been with.

Simon can’t tear his eyes away from the sheer amount that spills over him. Bloody hell, he’d be fit to burst if Soap hadn’t pulled out. He clenches down around nothing, wishing Soap hadn’t…

To be filled like that — it’s something Simon’s never wanted before. Downright detested during his previous hookups… But when it comes to Soap, dammit when it comes to Soap, he wants everything from him. In a way that makes him feel sick.

He’s gotta be caught up in everything. The heightened emotions from seeing Soap again, running rampant on the buzzing high from their shared pleasures… It’s a gnawing beast in his chest, begging to be released.

And Simon’s holding the leash, letting the line go slack in his clenched fist.

The mer finally stills, head hanging, jaw slack, as he catches his breath. In his hand, his cocks are still hard, dribbling threads of cum that refuse to cease.

“Holy shit, Soap…” Simon mutters as he looks at the mess of quickly cooling cum that’s all over him.

Soap glances up and chirps. It’s meant to sound like an apology, but the pleased trill betrays his true intentions. He’s damned proud of the scene he’s made, soaking in the sight of his mate coated in his spend.

Chest still heaving, he leans over Simon and dips his fingers into the fluids pooling in his navel. He collects it in his webbing, and smears it in a slow path to Simon’s sternum.

Simon can only watch, unashamedly fascinated by the reverence in Soap’s gaze as he pushes his palm into his skin. He should be disgusted. Tell Soap to stop. But — he can’t… The wild flicker inside his chest is too strong to quell, fanned to a roaring blaze from Soap’s touches. The diver props himself up on his elbows, wondering over Soap’s odd ritual.

Soap pauses. Lets the sticky pads of his fingers trace over the prominently raised stem of the ‘Y’ that’s permanently branded down Simon’s middle, branching off in cruel, mangled antlers just under his clavicle.

Soap purrs as he worships the scar, tender despite how he’s matting the hair of Simon’s chest with his spend. The trail thins as Soap’s palm envelopes Simon’s throat. But, he doesn’t squeeze, only smears the fluids around, directly where he should have a set of gills, if he and Soap were of the same species.

He realizes what Soap is doing — marking him with his scent, claiming him so no doubt remains on who they belong to. Just as Soap had rubbed his face and neck all over his cunt before eating him out, Soap now wants to return the favor… Wants them to reek of each other, to ward off any potential suitors.

Simon’s heart races when Soap drags his hand over his chin, along his jaw, before pressing two of his fingers to his waiting lips.

Soap is making sure that Simon is fully aware of his intentions. That this isn’t just sex for the mer. He wants Simon, in whatever ways he’ll have him. Needs him to accept his final steps of their courtship.

A strange emotion wells in Simon, one unfamiliar and terrifying. One he’s not entirely sure he’s ready to confront… The intimacy sets off an adrenaline response. His heart rate spikes, leaving him breathless. Nauseous… Unsure of himself, and what’s about to transpire.

The fingers press harder, parting Simon’s lips. Bitter salt greets his tongue as he grits his teeth and salivates at the promise waiting on the tips of Soap’s claws.

Fool that he is, Simon stares into Soap’s eyes, realizes this is the stupidest thing he will ever do in his life, and shoves aside any inhibiting voices in his head.

His breath shudders as he opens, and allows Soap to push the remaining semen into his mouth. Although acrid on his senses, he accepts Soap’s ceremony without complaint, and groans around his fingers.

He closes around Soap, cleaning what clings to the mer’s hand. Claws rest near the curve of his throat, scraping with probing curiosity. They pull back when Simon gags, leaving his mouth with strands of saliva that snap away and fall down his chin.

Soap stares at him, surveying his coveted mate with a reverence Simon feels small under.

Their lips crash together. Soap is voracious as he chases their combined taste, tongue worming into Simon’s mouth with a desperation that he returns in kind. He flings his arms around Soap’s shoulders and grabs at his hair, giving him no choice but to crush their bodies closer.

Drink in the bounty of affections.

Devour each other until there’s nothing left.

The feelings of unease that always sabotage Simon turn to a creature of greed. He’s allowed to enjoy this… He’s allowed to give in to his desires and take what he’s been craving his entire life — to be accepted for who he is, with no qualms or fear. Soap doesn’t care for frivolous things such as these…

Take what Soap will give you. Indulgence has been so far removed from your life for too long. Take. Consume. Forget. It’s okay, let him claim you as his mate. Claim each other… Nobody has to know. Only you two.

They get lost in each other, tangled together in a tight embrace. The aching fear subsides, and Simon allows himself to fully enjoy Soap’s touches. No more denying himself… Simon deserves this.

Simon murmurs when Soap parts to tug off his hoodie. His shredded tank top goes with it, lost in the pile nearby. Naked and laid bare for Soap, Simon sighs as the mer traces his scars, marveling at the patterns they create over his body. His purring is deep once again, vibrating through Simon with each pass of his hands.

A palm comes to rest in the crook of his knee. His leg is raised and tilted to the side, spreading him open. Simon’s not shocked to feel Soap’s cock prodding at him again.

Simon looks up at Soap and chuckles at the pleading look on his face.

“What, you think I’m gonna say no?” he murmurs. He reaches down between them and takes up Soap’s smaller cock. “Gonna come in less than a minute again?”

Soap hisses and nips at Simon’s neck, a sense of urgency in how harsh the bite is. Simon bites back, much to Soap’s delight. The rumbling purrs increase, rattling through Simon’s bones.

“Eager…” he muses. “Mmh, now be patient for me. Got somethin’ nice for you.”

Soap huffs, but agrees with a less than patient nod. His knots have returned to their relaxed state, softened once again to allow the mer a second chance at burying into his new mate to properly consummate their courtship.

Simon chuckles and reaches down, trailing his hand under Soap’s cocks, exciting the mer. His entire body flinches when the human’s fingers dip under the base of his knot and slip into his vent.

Seems like Soap’s never tried fingering himself… The mer almost crumples to the floor as Simon squirms three of his fingers in a flat line further into his slit, already tight from his cocks. It opens to a warm, silky pocket once past the initial layer of muscle.

Soap groans when Simon starts to massage the hidden base of his cock. Slick squelches out around his fingers, coating his hand as he carefully eases deeper, all the way to the third knuckle. Soap’s body easily accepts him, rhythmically spasming against the foreign sensation of being penetrated. Oh, this is something he’ll have to remember for another time…

“Next time Soap, I promise.”

Sucking his lower lip into his mouth, Simon presses two of his slippery fingers to his rim and circles the tight ring. This is so fucking stupid… Anal isn’t something he’s often on the receiving end of — too intimate, too much trust needed, hardly willing to be given — but, he wants to give Soap everything…

Simon throws his head back and moans when his middle finger breaches his hole, slowly sliding in, so easy with Soap’s natural lubricant. His own arousal adds to the glide, dripping down his taint.

Under Soap’s enthralled gaze, he fingers himself open, faster than he normally would, but he’s not willing to test either of their patience any further. He works his third finger in, hissing at the slight burn, but doesn’t stop.

Sufficient enough… He’s probably still too tight, but Simon’s willing to take that risk. Little bit of pain never killed anyone…

“You need to be gentle at first… I don’t do this often…”

What a lie, he’s never done this . Taking two cocks at once, with the ever increasing threat of being knotted by both… What the fuck is he thinking?

Simon isn’t as controlling this time, and lets Soap take the lead. His hands draw away and rest on Soap’s forearms as the mer holds his lower cock steady, and presses into Simon.

The diver’s toes curl, the intrusion foreign, but so intensely intimate that he fights back the urge to tell Soap to stop. He breathes through his nose and squeezes at Soap’s arms, eyes screwed shut as he adjusts.

“Ah! Soap!” he gasps when the head of his cock fully slips inside, tight muscle forming around the subtle taper. It feels incredible…

Soap pauses, waits for Simon to nod, then delves deeper in short, smooth thrusts. His slick is more than enough to keep the friction low. Simon falls victim to the bite of tension, quickly melting to pleasure as Soap takes his time easing in.

His ridged cock hasn’t even entered him yet, just rubs against Simon’s folds, the head kissing his dick with each upstroke. The textured shaft sends jolts of pleasure through Simon. He’s succumbing to bliss already, head resting on his balled up hoodie, eyes rolling back as Soap finally comes to rest against his arse, deeper in his guts than anyone’s ever been.

Soap isn’t in much better shape. If Simon’s cunt was too much for him, this is even worse for his composure. The mer huffs at the tight squeeze, but at least doesn’t look like he’s about to spill over at any second.

Simon swallows when Soap pulls out, a slight grimace on his lips. Soap kisses it away, purring against him to help pacify the sudden void. A soft hiss echoes in his ear, followed quickly by Soap’s teeth nibbling on the shell.

He’s clinging to Soap’s shoulders now, breaths coming far too fast as the mer slowly starts to fuck him, taking his time, savoring how Simon’s body reacts to him.

More kisses to the side of his head.

Simon’s lost in it, head reeling. Soap feels too good… Pleading whimpers echo the wet smack of skin. Any of his usual compulsions to hide any signs of vulnerability melt away. Soap’s allowed to see him fall apart. It’s alright…

Another hiss.

Simon laughs breathlessly when he realizes it’s a mimicry of a hush. An attempt to calm Simon as he spins himself up. More nibbles litter his body, anywhere Soap’s teeth can reach, some gentle, some with the intent to mark and claim. Simon rolls his head to the side and moans when Soap takes it as an invitation to bite harder.

Oh, fuck!

Simon flinches when he feels the longer canines indent his skin, almost sinking past the delicate barrier. But Soap stops himself and licks over the angry mark, humming his apology. He taps Simon’s chin with a knuckle and gets him to pay attention. Glassy eyes, deep in the clutches of lust, attempt to focus.

‘Hold me,’ Soap signs.

Without question, Simon does as he’s asked. He throws his arms around Soap’s shoulders and wraps his legs around his tail, heels pushing in.

He’s feeling dangerously out of his mind, too absorbed with how fucking incredible Soap’s cock feels so deep inside him. Soap reaches between them, angles his upper cock down, and teases Simon’s sodden folds. He easily slips inside, but only after swirling the tip around a few more times, just to watch Simon snarl with need.

A hand claps over Simon’s mouth to stifle the wail that rings out from the human. Pleasure rips through him, his mind going blank as Soap stuffs him full. Fuller than he’s ever been.

There’s not a single rational thought running through his mind any longer. All Simon can process is the electric pleasure flooding his veins, tingling through every nerve. He squirms under Soap, writhing as if in pain, only clenching tighter around the mer.

Soap cradles him in one arm, lifting him from the floor to protect his back from rubbing against the unforgiving mats. Leisurely, as if he’s not lifting a massive human from the floor, he leans on his free forearm and starts fucking Simon in earnest. His large hand supports the back of Simon’s head, fingers curling around his skull so the diver can give in to basking in the pleasure, and nothing else.

He’s babbling out pitiful nonsense, pleading for Soap to fuck him harder. To mark him more.

Make him his.

Simon’s sinking into a pit of near delirium, giving into his base desires. Doesn’t want Soap to ever stop.

It’s terrifying, but in a way that exhilarates him. Makes his skin prickle and pupils dilate. A thrill unlike any other.

Each thrust into his body is another stab of pure ecstasy. He can feel each bump, bulge and ridge of Soap’s cock, catching on the most sensitive parts within him. Can feel his cocks rubbing against each other through the thin wall that separates them.

He starts biting back… Urged by Soap’s constant nipping, he growls and lunges when Soap gets close enough. His teeth are met with thick skin, not quite as rough as the rest of the tough shark’s scales that line Soap’s tail, but certainly stronger than his own. Soap growls back and shoves into Simon harder.

The lower knot starts to catch on his abused hole. No apprehension remains. He’s in too deep. He wants this so badly…

“Don’t you dare pull out again! Knot me!” he demands, before he can comprehend the words coming from his traitorous mouth.

That’s all the permission Soap needs. Like hell is he going to question Ghost.

Pressure is steadily building in his knots, threatening to engorge past the point of being able to properly bind with his mate. Needs to get them in now if they’re going to make this official.

He nods, rests Ghost back on the floor, and moves his hand to the small of his back, tilting his hips up. The angle opens Ghost up more. As if on cue, a gush of slick leaks from Soap’s sheath, giving him everything he needs to stuff his human.

Wants to get them in...

NEEDS to get them in!

Soap’s tail thrashes as he grinds his swelling knots against Ghost. Coated in their combined slick, grunting with the effort of squeezing them past the already tight stretch of Ghost’s holes, the couple doubles down.

Ghost moans beneath him, pushing back against the swelling bulges, rolling in tight, haggard circles to encourage them in.

They’re not gonna fit… There’s no way. Soap’s already too hard for this to work.

But, they’re both nothing, if determined.

There’s a sudden give. The thickest point of his larger knot suddenly slips past the limit of Ghost’s rim. That’s all he needs. The mer snarls, the tight squeeze short circuiting any sensible parts of his consciousness that may remain.

The knot fully seats, tying them together. A cry of painful pleasure erupts from Ghost as Soap’s second knot forces its way into his cunt with a wet pop.

Both knots take, bulging to their full width inside Ghost so there’s no room for doubt.

Soap wails out a purr-laced whine, eyes rolling back and jaw hanging slack as he drools down his chin, tongue lolling out as he comes the second their bodies fully become one. It rocks through him even harder than the first.

Even with his knots plugging Ghost up, some of Soap’s thick, sticky spend dribbles down the curve of Ghost’s arse, spurting heavily around the tight seals. Soap’s lightheaded, vision blurred, but that doesn’t stop him from bullying his way deeper, making sure no more can leak out.

Ghost is squeezing him like his life depends on it, deep, rhythmic clenches around him, milking the mer for everything he’s worth, not letting a drop remain.

Soap can feel his spend fill Ghost to the brim, sloshing back along his cocks, to remain there until his knots go down.

The animalistic side of Soap’s instincts tickle at the back of his brain, telling him he’s done such a good job stuffing his perfect mate full. There’s no way his seed won’t take. He’s wracked with a full-body shiver, thrilled at the prospect of Ghost growing fat from their coupling.

He’s not even sure if Ghost can carry their litter. Nobody’s taken the time to give Soap a proper sex education, past the stern warning to only masturbate in his cave, strictly when the aquarium is closed for the day. There’s never been the need to, being one of the few captive mers in the world. The chances of him meeting another are next to none…

But that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing.

Euphoria wells inside him at the thought of the pretty little pups they’d make. Strong, hardy sharks, maybe with Simon’s wheat-blond hair and gorgeous brown eyes. Soap fruitlessly grinds into Ghost, unable to move much more than a fraction, knots tugging at the human’s tender holes.

Ghost tightens again in response. Soap is the one to whine this time, his cocks responding with a pitiful twitch to give Ghost more of what he wants. He’s trying, but he’s running on empty. Maybe if he hadn’t wasted his first orgasm by spilling it outside…

Soap tamps down his disappointment and strokes Ghost’s face instead, his erratic purring evening to a dull rumble in his chest.

Ghost is fucked out, lost in the depths of post-orgasm bliss. His hips are still lazily grinding against Soap’s slit, riding out the remaining waves of his release.

“Bloody hell, Soap…” he sighs, body finally relaxing and sagging into the mer’s arms.

Soap clicks in response, wishing now, more than ever, that he could speak Ghost’s language. The things he’d tell him… How much he loves him. How he never wants Ghost to leave him again…

So, he does the next best thing, and tilts Ghost’s head back.

They’ve already come this far, locked together in their mating bond. He just needs to solidify his undying loyalty to Ghost. Prove to him his devotion.

He salivates as he presses his teeth into the firm muscle of Ghost’s neck, right where his shoulder meets sturdy column, and bites down. The sharp, serrated bone pops through Ghost’s skin, easier than any scales and bone he’s broken through. He breathes in. Revels in the sharp hit of adrenaline and copper that floods his senses. Blood beads around his snarl before dribbling down the corners of his mouth in scarlet threads.

Ghost gasps and grimaces, but doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t struggle. Only pants and exposes his teeth through the pain, a single tear mixing with the blood as it drips down his chest.

He’s put his own scar on Ghost, his pride for all to see, the only one freely given, and taken, with no malice. When he pulls away, Ghost is grinning through the pain, affection shining thickly, despite the haze.

Ghost shakes in his arms, horrendously brittle, only for Soap. He’s never seen his human so vulnerable, giving everything to Soap, including his perceived weakness.

Soap laps at the wound until the bleeding slows and finally tapers to a manageable ooze. He admires the large ring. Traces the edges with his claw, unable to hide his pleased smirk. Now everyone will know they belong to each other. He’s left no room for doubt.

“Soap…” Ghost whispers. “Come here…”

Soap purrs, blood still on his lips and chin. Ghost links his arms around his neck and pulls him close. They share a kiss, laced with the metallic tang of blood and semen, the scent of their bond, the rush of knowing each other in such an unbreakable way.

When Simon pulls away, he opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, purses his lips, then shakes his head, as if banishing the thought from his head. Instead, he grabs Soap’s face, pulls it down, and nuzzles against the mer’s neck.

To Soap’s delight, his blunt teeth sink into his throat, just below his gills, in the same spot he’s bitten Ghost.

The experience is rapturous, flooding him with a rush of emotions Soap never thought possible. It’s overwhelming to the point where tears spill over his cheeks. They drip down onto Ghost’s head, but the mer can only sniffle and sputter around the onslaught. He holds Ghost tighter, supporting the back of his head and tilting his own back further to give Ghost more room.

Ghost bites harder, his teeth not made to pierce flesh. Especially not Soap’s. But that’s okay, Soap understands. The gesture is far more important than anything else.

Ghost can’t even manage to draw blood, working his jaw back and forth until it’s sore and Soap’s throat is wet with his spit. When he draws back, panting, there’s nothing to show for it. The mark doesn’t even bruise, but it’s enough for Soap. He can still feel the press of his mate’s teeth long after they’re gone.

Soap gives a gentle tug, and sighs contentedly when his knots refuse to budge. The longer they stay locked together, the better. But, Ghost won’t be comfortable laying on these mats for much longer. Rolling to the side, Soap tucks Ghost to his chest and holds him tight. He reaches over to the nearby cot and swipes up the blankets, creating a nest on the floor for his mate to rest on.

Safely huddled in Soap’s arms, Ghost sighs and settles into the mer’s hold. Soap’s bicep is used as a makeshift pillow, the rest of his arm curled to support wherever it can.

Fond kisses are exchanged, lazy from Ghost as he fights off the exhaustion that threatens to overtake him. They both know they’re not going anywhere, anytime soon.

So, Soap does what any good mate should. He keeps Ghost as comfortable as possible, and ‘talks’ to him. Soft, endearing noises that lull Ghost into a trance-like state. The gentle clicks and purrs slowly encourage Ghost to fall asleep, unable to fight his weariness any longer.

Soap watches him. Traces the slack line of his lips with his thumb. Admires the way his brows relax and frown lines smooth in his repose. He pushes his thumb into the soft flesh and smiles when Ghost’s nose scrunches. The diver sucks his lip between his teeth and chews on it, chasing away the itch.

He pulls the blankets tighter around Ghost, sheltering him from the outside world. He’d do anything to protect him…

Ghost murmurs in his sleep and burrows into the warmth, cheek pressed tightly to Soap’s chest.

Soap can feel his gills and skin starting to ache from being out of the water for too long, but he ignores it. He’ll bleed for Ghost, if it means keeping him in his arms like this for as long as he can…

One more breath. One more beat of their hearts. Another twitch at the corner of his mate’s mouth as he dreams.

Soap can’t take his eyes off Ghost.

It takes a while, long enough for Soap to succumb to a light doze, but he swiftly awakens when his knots start to release their grip.

Ghost stirs in his hold and curses under his breath, dragged from his sleep at the strange sensation. His eyes flutter open, utterly spent and hardly able to stay alert.

While wanting to remain in the intimate tangle, both of them are sensitive and raw, more than ready for their binding to end.

Soap strokes Ghost’s hair in attempts at keeping him relaxed, encouraging him to stay where he is, instead of trying to prop himself up. Ghost grunts at the withdrawal, body flinching as Soap finally slides out with a telling flood of their combined fluids.

“Fuck…” he grumbles, face twisted in discomfort. He dips his fingers into the warm mess that’s narrowly avoided soiling his comfortable nest. With the twitch of his abdominals, more seeps between his thighs.

Soap agonizes over the loss. He hums discontentedly and nearly reaches down to keep what remains inside Ghost, but refrains when he sees the relief on his mate’s face at being freed. Ghost squirms at the exploratory touch on his thigh as Soap gathers some of the expelled semen.

His toes dig into Soap’s tail. The silent warning is enough to keep him from doing anything else.

“Not gonna be able to walk straight for days…” Ghost huffs. He sits up and groans, immediately shifting his weight to his arms to keep the pressure off his lower half.

Soap clicks low in his throat and bumps his head against Ghost’s shoulder. The human leans into his touch and turns into his mohawk, breathing in deep.

“I’m olright,” he whispers. “Just knackered.”

Ghost manages to sit properly, still favoring his weight shifted away from his abused arse. He chances a glance down his body and lets his head flop back when he sees the destruction left behind from their successful mating.

“Never seen so much cum in my life… I’m fuckin’ filthy. Need a damn shower…”

Ghost casts a wistful glance over his shoulder and sighs. He looks conflicted, like walking out that door is the last thing he wants to do right now.

“I’ll get one in the mornin’…” he finally concludes.

There’s only one solution in Soap’s mind. He can at least help Ghost get more comfortable until then. He gently pushes Ghost down into his nest and gets to work with careful swipes of his tongue.

“Ugh, stop! I’m angin’...”

Soap chirps and shakes his head. He has no idea what ‘angin’' means, and he’s not about to stop to ask. He doesn’t mind cleaning Ghost up. It’s only polite of him to do so. Most of the aftermath on Ghost’s torso has dried, so Soap concentrates on the mess between his legs.

Ghost concedes with a heavy sigh. He’s too tired to protest further.

“Fine… At least behave yourself...”

Soap takes his time, savoring the act of preening over Ghost, without getting riled up again. The need to rut has dwindled. Soap’s cocks have respectfully retreated back into his vent. He doesn’t think he could go another round, even if Ghost begged him.

Seems the sentiment is shared. Ghost lays in his pile of blankets, eyes closed, hand resting on Soap’s head so he can give him non-verbal taps if he’s particularly sensitive in certain areas.

Ghost is on the verge of falling asleep again by the time Soap’s finished. He nuzzles his way up Ghost’s front, until their lips lock in a sleepy kiss.

Soap thinks he likes kisses better than bites… They send thrilling sparks through his body. Muddles his brain until he can’t think straight, only able to concentrate on how nice Ghost’s lips feel against his. It’s dangerously addictive.

“So, di’n’t miss the cocks, didja?” Ghost chuckles when Soap finally gives him a chance to breathe.

Soap trills and shakes his head. He’d be a fool to say he did.

Slowly, the spell breaks and the unwelcome clutch of reality creeps back in.

With Soap’s help, Ghost sighs and manages to get to his feet and gets dressed. They clean up the evidence of their mating soon after.

Soap aches the entire time, pouting when he swipes the last of their spend into the small trench meant to funnel excess water away from the platform. He huffs when Ghost rubs his head, a gentle attempt at lifting his mood.

With the washing away of their remaining mess, Soap can feel the mood change. Ghost is acting shifty, constantly looking at the door, rechecking the mats and Soap’s neck, and pressing his hand to the bite mark the mer had left behind on him.

Ghost digs around in his duffel until he produces a skull-printed balaclava, and pulls it over his head. The long neck covers up the mark, hidden further by the thick hoodie he fluffs up around his throat.

“I’m gonna pass out now,” Ghost murmurs. He’s standing next to his cot, body angled away from Soap, eyes fixed on an insignificant spot on the floor.

Soap chitters until Ghost looks at him. He reaches out and tugs at the bottom of Ghost’s sweats and points to his lips.

One more kiss… If he can’t keep holding onto Ghost all night, he wants to feel his lips one more time.

Gingerly, Ghost kneels down on the floor and takes Soap’s head in his hands. “One more…”

It’s achingly sweet, full of silent words, left unspoken. Yeah… Soap thoroughly enjoys how humans show their affection. It makes his heart race and the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a goofy smile.

“Night, luv…” Ghost whispers with a final peck and pat on the cheek.

Soap wants to grab him and drag him back. His hand is already stretched out, about ready to catch Ghost’s sweats again, but he behaves, just as Ghost always asks him to…

But it’s so hard when all he wants to do is be with Ghost!

In a silent fit, he tosses himself into the water to relieve the dryness that’s become almost unbearable. Splashing around and making a mild ruckus, he uses the noise to cover up his displeased chittering.

Unbelievably, Ghost hasn’t moved from where he plopped down on his cot, face down, body half-covered under his blankets, arm draped over the side. His feet stick out at the end, slightly too tall to fit completely on the meager bed.

Soap stands vigil for as long as he can, until his body starts to sink under the weight of his own exhaustion. He jolts when he hits the sand, shocked by the soft impact. Slowly, he swims to his cave and curls up in the back.

The heated substrate no longer holds the same comforts it used to. He craves the touch of his mate so viciously, that the mer feels it crawling under his skin.

He tries to sleep. Wants to be good for Ghost and do what he’s supposed to, but he can’t get comfortable! Tossing about, he finally gives up after making a disaster of his cave, so thick that he can’t see through the sand.

This isn’t going to work. He needs to be close to Ghost.

Stealthily, the mer swims back to the surface and curls up on his personal platform. He’s not sure if this will only be used for special events, but he’s gonna take advantage of it for as long as he can. Soap rests his chin on the ledge, gills submerged. He feels a little better, seeing Ghost sleeping nearby.

But Ghost still isn’t close enough, just out of reach. Knowing he shouldn’t, Soap grabs the nearest leg of Ghost’s cot and starts to drag it over.

Ghost snaps out of his sleep and is upright in a second flat, hand reaching for an absent weapon on his hip.

Soap lets go, holds his hand up, and chirps to put Ghost’s mind at ease.

The diver scoffs, but relaxes and lays back down as Soap pulls it the rest of the way across the floor.

“Wha’s wrong?” he murmurs, cheek buried in his pillow, now laying on his side so he can see Soap better. “Miss me already?”

‘Yes…’

Without another word, Ghost reaches his hand out. Soap takes it before he can change his mind. Getting as comfy as he can, Soap keeps Ghost’s hand tightly gripped in his own, careful not to extend it too far. His mate is already in the clutches of sleep once again, too tired to see the satisfaction in the mer’s eyes.

Hand-in-hand, the newly bonded mates bask in each other’s presence, cradled in the comfortable silence together.

Soap can’t think of anything better.

Chapter Text

After all these years of being retired, Simon thought he would have forgotten the comfort an old, hard cot could bring. Perhaps it was the promise of structure, brought back to memories of the field.

An 0500 wake-up call. A shitty brew, steaming in the cold morning hours, blood-shot eyes peering over the rim of the paper cup, savoring every scalding sip, despite the subpar quality.

What a fucking joke it was, sleeping better on the meager fold-out, than in his own bed. Expensive, adjustable memory foam, with cooling sheets, apparently useless… No, give him a slab of rock, and he’s good to go. No nightmares. No tossing or turning. Just solid, calm sleep.

What the rose-colored glasses regretfully failed to remind him of, was that with time, comes change. And with change, the advancement of age, and the stark pain that radiates from his back as he slowly rolls onto it. Countless injuries certainly don’t help his plight. Or being presumptuous that he could take two fucking dicks with no consequences…

No, he’s not a spring chicken any longer… Simon groans, but doesn’t open his eyes. He’s not sure what time it is, but he can tell it’s been a while since he drifted off. Soap is gone, having his own morning routine, Simon’s sure.

That’s more than alright. Gives Simon time to process his surroundings again. He hadn’t moved all night, curled up on his side, holding Soap’s hand, and now his spine is paying for it…

He closes his eyes and stretches, trying to work out some of the kinks. Despite sleeping so well, he’s exhausted. His entire lower half aches, but… It’s a good pain. A pain that reminds him of last night. Of Soap…

Soap…

Simon drapes his arm over his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. What’s he gone and gotten himself into? It’s not like he should be surprised. He went along with Soap’s courting. Flat out demanded Soap knot him…

And the bite… Right on the crux of his neck and shoulder — something he’s seen on every pair of shark merfolk he’s been around.

Simon gingerly touches his neck and sighs again. He’s really gone and mucked this up… Soap would have stopped if he told him to, but — Simon didn’t want that.

In the heat of the moment, all his head was screaming was do it, do it, do it! The viper had no presence, drowned out by pure, unadulterated desire.

Just as it is now… Hidden, buried under a warmth that’s settled in Simon’s chest, creeping into his belly, unwavering. A soft, incredulous laugh bubbles from his throat when he pushes into the bite again.

You’re off your trolley, Simon…

As he waffles between dozing off again and attempting to rouse himself, a soft knock makes the decision for him.

Simon grumbles and kicks his legs over the side of his cot, groaning with the effort. He feels like he’s been run over by a train… Taking a moment to rub at his tailbone, Simon shakes the remaining sleep from his bones.

A nearby slosh of water distracts him. Not too far from where he stands, Soap lazily drifts by on his back, scratching his belly as he unhinges his jaw on a satisfying yawn. The joints pop back into place, not bothering the mer in the least.

“Mornin’, Soap…” Simon murmurs.

The smile on Soap’s face makes his heart race, rekindling that growing warmth. His cheeks flush when Soap purrs at him and swishes his way over.

Yeah, he’s down bad for the mer… It’s an odd feeling, being infatuated like a teenager with their first love. And, maybe for Simon, this is his first… Where he’d usually see himself off, he finds that he doesn’t want to do that with Soap. He wants more. It’s not lost on him how much of a mess this is, but now’s not the time to work through that… There are more pressing matters at hand.

Like the sleepy chirp that beckons him over.

‘Morning,’ Soap signs. ‘Kiss.’

“So demanding…” Simon muses. He’s not sure he fully likes this feeling. While pleasant, it makes his chest tight, and threatens to raise his paranoia, but Soap has an odd way of quelling the fires of unrest, replacing them with his own, soothing smolder.

Soap purrs and playfully takes Simon’s ankles in his hands, using him as an anchor so he can sway back and forth in the water, unable to contain his drowsy joy at seeing his mate.

There’s no way they’ve had more than four hours of sleep, but the lack thereof isn’t enough to dissuade Soap’s cheeky behavior. Just makes him sluggish.

“A quick one. Gotta let Marcy in.”

He cringes as he peels off his balaclava, regretting that he ever put it on. Old habits die hard when trying to hide from the rest of the world, shame too great to handle in that moment… The fear that someone would find out what they’d done, soothed by the comfort of old coping mechanisms.

His tender flesh tugs where his open wound and fabric have melded together. Dried, coagulated blood gives way, most remaining on his skin, instead of tearing away with the mask.

Simon winces as he kneels down and takes Soap’s jaw in his hands. He feels so privileged to be this close to Soap. Touching him, simply being allowed in his space, knowing him better than anyone else ever could… What Simon had anticipated to only be an opportunity to learn more about shark merfolk, turned to something so unexpected that he’s still not sure he believes it’s happening…

He showers Soap with a quick succession of syrupy pecks all over his face. Ugh, what’s become of him? Fucking lost his mind…

Soap purrs through them, only encouraging Simon. The mer attempts to deepen the light kisses, but to no avail. Simon swiftly avoids Soap’s sly grab, aware that Soap has no pure intentions going through his head. He slips away with a click of his tongue. “Naugh’y… No time for tha’, an’ you know it.”

Soap trills and smirks at Simon. His claws knead deep into the mats, muscles tight, like he’s about to launch himself at his mate. The low, warbling taunt is different from Soap’s usual, vibrating call. Deeper, full of desire…

Simon purses his lips and blushes yet again. God, he wishes he didn’t blush so easily, or as dark as he does. He can keep a straight face when needed, but that doesn’t help when you’re bright red.

Marcy knocks again. Simon’s taking too long. He’ll play it off as not hearing her the first time.

“Oh, Soap…”

The mer perks up, eyes darting to meet Simon’s like he hadn’t been staring at his arse as he was walking away.

“Don’t tell anyone, especially Marcy, abou' what happened last night. We need to keep this between us… We can get into a lot of trouble…”

Soap pouts but nods. It hurts Simon to tell Soap to keep himself contained, when he knows he’s so happy and excited, but the consequences are too much to even contemplate. He hides the guilt by slipping the loops of his everyday, black mask over his ears.

“Morning lads!” Marcy greets the guilty lovers when Simon lets her in. She’s hauling a bundle of buckets in with her, all full to the top. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mornin’. Well 'nough.”

Marcy hands Simon the buckets from her left hand and shakes it once free, glad to have some blood flow again. She flicks on the delayed lights and chuckles when she sees Soap is already at the platform. The soft lighting is a welcome reprieve on Simon’s eyes. Nothing like being sore, tired and suddenly paranoid, only to be blinded on top of it.

Simon rakes his eyes over the room, making sure that they hadn’t missed any evidence from what had transpired last night.

Nothing… Looks clear, aside from some new, suspicious scratches on the mats.

“Did he bother you much last night?”

Oh, if only you knew…

“Would you believe me if I said he was a perfect, li’le angel?”

“Not at all!” Marcy laughs.

How she has this much energy after being up most of the night with the guests is beyond Simon.

“One of those is Soap’s. You mind feeding him while I get the rest of the tank?”

Simon sets the buckets down and checks through them. Most have been scrawled over time and again with sharpie, looking more like a child’s school desk than a vessel for food. He finds one with a little bar of soap etched onto it.

“Aren’t you special, with your personalized bucket?” Simon deadpans. “I’m jealous.”

He should have guessed it was Soap’s, full of herring and other assorted seafood that his tank mates aren’t privy to. Most of the buckets contain a slurry of fish and plant matter, meant to be tossed into the tank for the inhabitants to chow down on.

Marcy tosses the contents of a few buckets in and watches. When the waters clear and fish are still crowded around, she adds another. Saturation feeding, she calls it. Once the fish lose interest, she moves on to feeding the larger creatures by hand.

While she’s distracted with the hungry sharks, Simon hands the bucket over to Soap. He’s not sure how they usually go about his feedings, but he figures Soap has it covered. He contemplates sitting down next to the mer, but decides against it. He’s still insanely sore from last night, and doesn’t trust himself not to grunt and groan as he tries to settle in a comfortable position on the mats. No need to draw further attention to himself.

Soap looks quite smug about his special bucket and nods at Simon as he takes it. Simon can’t contain the fond smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. This damn mer has no right being so effortlessly charming…

Almost immediately, the contents are dumped onto the platform so Soap can start sifting through his breakfast.

Marcy glances up and rolls her eyes at the mess Soap’s made, but doesn’t say anything. Typical Soap behavior.

He’s more absorbed than usual, picking over fish and invertebrates like a jeweler assessing the clarity of a diamond

Two piles start to form.

Soap lays each fish next to each other. Squeezes them to test how fat they are. Ponders over his lofty requirements. One of the herrings is subjected to a more thorough inspection. Soap pushes his thumbs into the extended belly, squishing it around with an intense expression of concentration. His lower lip juts out in an endearing pout and eyebrows pinch together.

Once he’s found what he’s looking for, his claw easily splits the belly open, scales and skin giving way to sharp nail. Translucent, yellow eggs spill over his thumbs. Chirping in delight, Soap places the fish belly up in the left pile, balanced between two others to keep the roe inside. He licks away the film that clings to his fingers, not letting any go to waste.

He finally taps the pile closest to Simon and points at him. It’s the pile with the split open herring…

‘Eat!’ he signs emphatically, not willing to take no for an answer.

Simon’s whole face goes red. No fucking way is this muppet expecting him to eat all that…

“I’ve never seen you so generous, Soap,” Marcy raises a brow and brushes her hands off on her trousers, already finished with her part of the feedings by the time it’s taken Soap to section out his food. “No need to worry about Ghost. We have our breakfast waiting downstairs.”

Simon swallows his sigh of relief. He needs to figure out a way to let Soap down gently about sharing his food. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep stealthily disposing of the mer’s offerings, before he catches on. He’s sure it’s only going to get worse from here…

“Here, how about’ I go get a shower an’ some food? I’ll bring it up here to eat with you.”

Soap trills at that and quickly scoops up what he’d set aside for his mate. He shoves it back into the bucket and swims over to Marcy so they can go through their morning routine while he waits.

“That’s perfect. Food should be here in twenty minutes or so.”

Simon scowls at his reflection. This time of the morning, the employee locker room is empty, with no need for Simon to worry about being walked in on. Doubly so, since most employees, aside from other divers, don’t use these facilities. Tucked away in the farthest reaches in the backrooms of the aquarium, Simon feels safe enough to stand nude in front of one of the sinks to assess the damage from last night.

He paws at the bite mark on his neck — red and irritated from rubbing against his balaclava all night.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters under his breath.

Soap did a number on him. Damn mer couldn’t keep his teeth and claws to himself… His body is littered with bruises, scratches and marks, most unintentional, some clearly possessive. After seeing Soap slit that fish’s belly with no effort at all, he can’t imagine what would have happened to him if the mer didn’t have any self-restraint.

But… He likes the marks… Simon pushes his fingers into the mating bite and hisses. It’s itchy and crusted over, fibers of his mask sicking in the wound. Knew he shouldn’t have slept with it on, but the impulse to conceal was far too great to ignore…

Best stop mithering it, before he makes it worse. He cups his throat instead, watching as his neck bobs against the light pressure.

He shakes his head at the flushed reflection that stares back at him. There’s not a hint of regret in his eyes, despite the tension in his muscles. His free hand presses into the marks on his hip, purpled bruises larger than what the pads of his fingers can encompass. Oxidized scrapes of blood decorate his sides and ribs. A new form of war that Simon thinks he can easily sink into.

What’s wrong with him? He should be whipped into an utter frenzy of panic, wondering how he’s going to handle all this, but all he can feel is — calm. Acceptance. Dare he say… Pride…

A warm trickle of slick leaks down his thigh, his body reacting to the very thought of the bond he and Soap now share. Has anyone other human experienced something like this? Sure, marriage is supposed to be a sacred bond, but this… This is visceral. Violent with the drawing of blood. The marking of each other’s bodies with their fluids until there’s no doubt that they belong to each other.

The sticky film of Soap’s spend clings to Simon’s skin. He can still feel Soap on him, around him — inside him…

Simon lets out a shuddering breath and swipes away the thread of arousal from his thigh. His middle finger trails along his puffy slit before retreating, far too sore to even entertain more action. But, it’s the thought of Soap alone that has him feeling this way, when he knows he shouldn’t, be it his own conflicting emotions or physical pain.

He drags himself away from the mirror and pulls the curtain on the last stall in the row of showers. As he stands under the spray, Simon watches the scalding water wash away any remaining traces of Soap from his skin.

He carefully scrubs at the bite mark until it’s bleeding again. Streaks of red pool at his feet, thin in the torrent of searing water, but it’s a necessity to make sure the wound is clean. He needs to get rid of the previous scabbing to assure a fresh start for proper healing.

The bite throbs, but Simon enjoys the dull ache. It helps to push aside the mire of thoughts all fighting for real-estate in his head.

He knows he should be more concerned than he is, now left to his sabotaging brain, but it never comes. He’s relaxed, keeping the anxiety that wants to creep up at bay.

Simon wants to think that, maybe, he’s managed to gain a better hold on his vices, but last night, from his mild panic attack, to actually becoming mates with Soap, proves that he has less control over it than he thought.

Trepidation clings in the back of his mind, but the overwhelming affection blinds him. Simon’s not sure which is worse, highly aware of both emotions fighting for control.

He reminds himself that he’s allowed to have this… He can be happy. Feel wanted and needed.

But…

He can’t set aside the things he saw while in Florida… He’s seen the mated lemon sharks and how they work in tandem with their partners. Never far from their mates, only straying from each other’s sides to hunt or assist the pod. The bonds are beautiful, a deep connection unrivaled by any other, but how would it work for differing species?

... With an aquarium bound mer and a foolish human who let his lust get the best of him?

Too many thoughts, emotions and scenarios are running through his head for him to be able to parse them out in a helpful way. He can dissect them later, in the safety of his flat, where he can spiral on his own time.

There’s one thing for sure. A feeling he can’t deny.

He’s fucking ravenous… Maybe once he gets some food in him, he’ll be able to think more clearly.

For now, he swallows down any emotions, as he always does.

Entire body flushed pink from his scalding shower, Simon wraps himself in a tropical towel, adorned with colorful fish and reefs, and digs around in his duffel until he finds his medkit. Ol’ reliable, same one he used in the field, refreshed when needed with new supplies. Why get rid of a perfectly good military kit in favor of a subpar civilian one?

His mating mark is now free from any bacteria housing debris, left with nothing but hollow, lightly weeping pockets. Simon spreads some antibiotic ointment around the bite and covers it with a water-proof plaster.

He gets dressed, dons his black mask, and shuffles his hoodie to cover the edges of the bandage. He’s gonna be fiddling with the placement all day, but it’ll do for now.

From a secluded alcove, Simon eyes the luncheon tables set up in the main atrium. He’s aware he looks like a right spooky bastard, but that’s the point, now isn’t it? He knows he'll be bombarded with questions about Soap if he’s not fast enough to snag a plate and run. If it wasn’t for the gnawing hunger in his gut, he’d be more open to some casual conversation. When it comes to merfolk, Simon breaks out of his shell like no other.

Most of the guests have been served, only a few hovering in their indecision. He stands by a tank of drifting jellyfish, subject to the soft flow that keeps them mobile. The lights within pulse in a constant flow of colors, transforming the clear creatures into vibrant globes.

Simon watches the tables from the corner of his eye, acting like he’s absorbed in the tranquil display, until the last guest has taken their seat. He swoops in once it’s clear.

As he’s scooping eggs and sausage links onto his plate, he shifts to the side when someone else joins him, just in the corner of his vision. Probably back for seconds, now that everyone’s been served… He scoots further when he gets crowded up against, trying to dissuade with some closed off body language.

“Was hoping I’d catch you before you slipped away.”

Bugger…

Simon centers himself and puts on his best ‘diving instructor’ mask. Not much different from his usual attitude, but certainly more amiable when dealing with the public.

“Tha’ so?” he says as he places a large scone on his plate.

He makes sure to keep his eyes relaxed, aware that he looks too stern when he frowns, lines creasing his forehead and corners of his eyes if he unintentionally scowls under his mask. Navigating the ins and outs of normal civilian conversation has given Simon more than one headache, but what he lacks in social graces, he makes up for with his raw passion for what he does. Seems to have worked well for him so far.

He just wishes it isn’t when his stomach is noisily gurgling its protest at having his breakfast just out of reach.

The man who interrupts his attempts at sliding under the radar is at least gracious.

“I won’t keep you long. Name’s Kyle Garrick.”

Simon pauses as he reaches for Mr. Garrick’s hand. That name... He’s all too familiar with it. It couldn’t be… “Garrick… As in Garrick Boating Suppliers?”

The man lights up, pleased that Simon is familiar with his business. “One in the same.”

Simon lets out a soft huff and takes Kyle’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Simon Riley. Nice to meet you, Mr. Garrick. I use your glass bottom boats for my diving company. Bloody mint vessels.”

Garrick Suppliers have some of the best small to mid-sized boats in the field, more affordable than most of the competition, while still being reliable and highly sought after. Simon doesn’t get star-stuck, but he’d be remiss to not show some extra respect to the man who owns the business that keeps him in business.

“Please, Kyle’s fine. Glad you like them. I recognized the ‘22 model I was taken out on.”

“Taken out on? You went on a dive with us?” Simon wracked his brain, trying to remember. He was sure he would have recognized a name like Garrick on his calendar.

“Last week. A private dive with Farah. She was wonderful. Told me about this aquarium, actually, if I hadn’t had my fill of merfolk.”

Now that made sense. Farah must have recognized his name as well and penciled him in for a private dive in Simon’s absence. His waiting list was booked out four months in advance, more during the summer months. In the case of high priority clientele, Simon, as head of the company, was usually the one to handle them. He would have to remember to thank Farah for taking this on while he was gone…

“Anyway,” Kyle moves on quickly. “Was hoping I’d get a dive with you, with your reputation and all, but I was told you weren’t available. Farah told me all about Soap and I knew I had to see him. I didn’t think I’d actually see you here, with you being across the pond and all. What a treat! You and Soap really get on, don’t you?”

Simon turns his head to a jar of raspberry preserves sitting nearby to hide his blush. “Yeah… Been cleanin’ ‘is tank for the beh’er part of the year now. Formed a good bond with the bloke over the months.”

Kyle chuckles at Simon’s choice of words. “So you view him as a person?”

Simon pauses as he spoons a hearty helping of jam onto his plate. “Wha’ do you mean?”

He’s playing dumb, knowing how these conversations tend to go, devolving into a bloody mess of arguing over person-hood, biology, evolution, and nasty jabs against his own character when all else fails.

“You know what I mean. Everyone else here views Soap as an animal… Highly intelligent, able to communicate like any human can, but — different…”

Kyle is staring Simon down now, intent on his reaction. Simon feels like an insect under his prying gaze, wondering when the hat will drop.

He taps the spoon on the edge of the jar, red, seed-filled gel dripping down the side as he gives no strong tells.

“Come on, I know you see it just as well as I do! Merfolk are special! Soap is special… I had a full conversation with him! He’s not just some creature for us to gawk at…”

Simon realizes he’s been holding the spoon too long and sets it down, eyeing the mess that somehow got on his hand. “Do you really think that?” He has to be sure. Doesn’t want someone making an arse of him…

“Yes! Seeing them with Farah in the wild, then coming here, made me realize that we misunderstand them to a fault! I know this isn’t the time or place, but if you agree with me, here’s my card. Let’s meet up and talk about this.”

After a final exchange of pleasantries, Simon walks away from the breakfast buffet with Kyle’s card in his hand. He thumbs over the embossed edge before slipping it into his pocket.

How interesting…

“Olright, Soap! Ready to eat?” Simon shouts as he climbs the stairs.

The sudden splash and clang of a bucket is all the answer Simon needs.

He grimaces as he places his plate on the ledge so he can roll his sweatpants above his knees. He sits next to Soap and settles in. The warm water is enough to get him to focus on Soap, instead of rolling around the brief conversation that wants to take over his thoughts. He smiles when Soap nudges between his thighs so they can have a quick cuddle.

‘Hurt?’ Soap asks, concerned when he sees the subtle twitch at the corner of Simon’s mouth as he spreads his legs open wide to accommodate his tail.

“Jus’ a li’le sore. Nothin’ to worry abou’,” he reassures Soap.

Soap purrs and tucks his head under Simon’s chin. Marcy has long since parted to help the other employees feed the rest of the aquarium, giving them ample opportunity to enjoy each other.

Not minding that his food is getting cold, Simon sighs contentedly when Soap envelopes him in a tight hug. They burrow into each other, cheek to cheek, nosing into hair and skin, sharing kisses and nibbles. Simon isn’t afraid to admit he enjoys a good cuddle with the mer.

Soap takes his time nuzzling along Simon’s neck. Lips, teeth and tongue mouth over the freckled column, nose settling into the hollow of Simon’s throat, where he stills and simply breathes in his mate. His eyes are closed, serene as he purrs and absorbs the quickened rate of Simon’s pulse. The diver swears he has arrhythmia with how Soap makes his heart beat so wildly in his chest.

Impish by nature, Soap can’t resist attempting to further stir Simon up. His eyes snap open and teeth close over his throat. Being trapped in the jaws of a predator should elicit fear, but the icy grip that sinks into Simon’s bones is far from the need for self-preservation. He sighs and holds still, hands lightly trailing up Soap’s ribs as the mer adjusts his hold.

Soap is gentle, far from the image of a horrific beast seemingly about to rip Simon’s throat out. Instead, the mer shifts his attention, and starts to shred into the bandage over his mating bite, teeth tearing apart the outer layer before Simon can stop him.

“Oi! I know you wanna see it, but tha’ needs to stay on! It’s gonna get infected if it doesn’t…”

Soap grunts and plops his forehead against Simon’s chest, throwing a brief fit at being so rudely denied! He thrashes and chitters for a few seconds before huffing and settling down. Clearly, it’s rude to hide Soap’s lovingly given mark.

“You done? Can we eat now?” Simon chuckles.

A perfect distraction. There’s no way Soap will decline a chance to eat with Simon. The diver watches intently as Soap makes short work of half of his food, before slowing down enough to ‘enjoy’ the rest of it. He’s barely through his first few sausages when Soap turns his hungry gaze to his plate.

A curious claw pokes at one of the links.

“Want one?”

Soap nods and takes the piece Simon breaks off for him. The mer already eats a high fat diet of oily fish, so Simon’s not concerned about the fat content in the sausage. What he’s not sure about are the spices mixed in with the minced meat. He stops Soap before he can pop it in his mouth, most likely prepared to swallow it whole.

“Chew it.”

Soap begrudgingly does as he’s told. His eyes quickly light up in sheer joy, pupils blown wide, after a few exploratory chews. The burst of new flavors sends his delicate receptors into overdrive, tongue working the robust mix throughout his mouth to experience every facet he can. The mer rumbles and reaches for a full sausage.

“Guessin’ you liked it, hm?”

Soap nods enthusiastically and purrs as he munches on the next one.

Soap is permitted to have some human foods and drinks, but usually only small tastes, as the aquarium prefers to keep him on what he'd eat in the wild. But, how couldn't the rules be bent when Soap gives the aquarists his masterful puppy eyes?

Not much is known about how merfolk can digest certain types of processed foods, but Simon can't deny Soap when he chirps and helps himself to more. How can he possibly say no when Soap is enjoying it so much? That would just be cruel…

Soap is allowed free reign of Simon’s plate, and he gladly samples from the remaining delicacies. Simon tells him what each item is before he tastes them. Soap’s quite fond of the sausages, eating almost all of them, but he turns his nose up at the scrambled eggs. What a shame. He’d been so excited to try them, most likely thinking they would be similar to the fish roe he loves so much. Simon wonders if he’d enjoy raw chicken eggs more. The gooey, viscous texture would most likely be appealing enough.

But, all is forgiven when he’s given a piece of blueberry scone, topped with a thick helping of raspberry jam. Soap licks the jam off and presses it to the roof of his mouth. His teeth clatter together as his senses are bombarded by the sugary treat.

Simon’s already slathering another piece for Soap. He presses it to Soap’s lips and smiles when he takes half of the length of his fingers into his mouth, not wanting to miss a crumb. His tongue parts to lap at both fingers at the same time. Cheeky brat…

“Olright, stop guzzlin’ down my food an’ eat yours!”

Soap’s reaching hand is gently shooed away as he tries to nick the rest of the crumbly scone. He lets out a soft bark, a laugh, Simon’s come to learn over the months, and digs into what’s left in his bucket. They eat in relative silence, taking the calm moment to enjoy being near each other.

With Simon’s plate empty and set to the side, a familiar fish is pushed toward the diver to make up for what Soap’s eaten.

Simon purses his lips. He really doesn’t want to, but sharing food is a very important form of bonding… He’s graciously given a large portion of his breakfast to Soap. It would be impolite of him to not take what Soap offers in return.

Soap has saved the roe stuffed fish, just for Simon. How considerate… Simon understands it’s Soap’s favorite. He’s sacrificing the choice pickings of his meal for his mate, wanting him to be well fed and happy.

Simon hides the shudder in his breath when he dips his finger into the cold, open belly. He scoops out a small dollop of roe and pops it into his mouth before he can think about it. Fishy brine floods his mouth as he tongues the roe toward the back of his throat and swallows.

Bloody hell, he’s gonna end up getting sick if he keeps this up… This is food meant for creatures who aren’t affected by parasites or bacteria in the same way humans are. He’s not eating carefully selected fish, fit for human consumption. What might not bother Soap, could very well be an awful few days of reckoning for Simon.

Yet, when Soap holds the flaps of the fish’s flayed belly open and insists for Simon to take more, he doesn’t stop his hand from reaching out again.

Banishing the alarms in his head, Simon takes another scoop and shoves it down without chewing.

It’s worth it to see the look of sheer admiration on Soap’s face, tickled that Simon is seemingly pleased with his exchange. Before Soap can offer again though, Simon politely holds his hand up and shakes his head.

“I’m full, you can finish it.”

For the sake of my stomach, and sanity, please finish it…

Soap presses once more, wiggling the fish in Simon’s direction just to be sure. At another firm shake of Simon’s head, Soap licks the remaining roe out before downing the fish with a couple loud crunches.

Hunger sated, Soap pushes his bucket and Simon’s plate to the side. Simon’s not even given a chance to shout as Soap slams into him and pins him to the mats, purring and chittering as he rubs all over him.

“Soap! Soap, you're a menace!” Simon grunts from under him, trying to shove him off. He pushes his forearm into Soap’s shoulder, but doesn’t put much effort into fighting back. His teeth clack together when Soap butts against his forehead, coming in for an eager kiss.

Simon laughs and lunges to meet him, arm falling to the floor to leverage himself, lips grazing —

“ SOAP! Get off him!”

They scramble apart, wide-eyed from recoil stronger than an electric shock. A spear of ice directly to the heart at the horrified shout that breaks them from their trance. Soap whips to the side and disappears in the water before either of them can fully register the panic in Marcy’s voice.

The lead aquarist is by Simon’s side before he can fully drag himself from the ledge. She helps pull him to his feet and hauls him away from the lip of the tank, using herself as a shield in case Soap comes back. Simon’s never heard Marcy raise her voice, so he knows she’s appalled by what she’s witnessed.

“Are you okay?! Did Soap hurt you?”

His heart is in his throat, mask in place so fast he didn’t even realize he’d put it back on. What exactly had she seen?! Did she see them kissing, or just Soap looming over Simon, pinning him down with the diver struggling under his weight? Either way, it wasn’t a good look…

“I’m fine. No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Marcy’s eyes are wide, fear shining bright through the shock. She doesn’t look angry… That’s good, he can work with that.

He pushes on. Keep talking, don’t let her ask too many questions. “Swear down, ‘m awright, Marce. It was all my fault. I got ‘im spun up, an’ we started rough housin’. Nothin’ different from ‘ow we play in ‘is tank.”

“Are you sure? He looked like he was about to take a bite out of you…” Marcy didn’t look too sure about Simon’s claims. She rakes her eyes over Simon, checking for any scratches without being pushy about it. Although he's signed plenty of forms about potential injuries due to typical workplace dangers, he's sure she's got alarm bells going off in her head about lawsuits and doctor's visits if he were hurt.

“I’m sure. You know ‘ow he can get. Overenthusiastic. Bit daft when he gets excited. Bloke doesn’t know ‘is own strength sometimes.”

Marcy purses her lips, but lets go of Simon’s arms and takes a step back. She glances over at the tank to see Soap nervously watching them, looking so guilty that Simon feels his own cheeks heat up. Way to play it cool, Soap… Simon glares over Marcy’s shoulder while she’s distracted, and shakes his head, silently warning Soap not to say a fuckin’ word.

Seems the mer gets his hint. Soap chirps and slips under the surface, leaving nothing but a gentle ripple in his wake.

“Nearly had a heart attack…” Marcy sighs. She leans against the standing desk against the wall and runs her hands over her head. She pauses with her palm over her mouth and levels Simon with a concerned stare. "... This can't happen again."

“I wanted to wait to bring this up during lunch, but… I’m seeing too many warning signs that I can’t let go. Not when you have to get back in Soap’s tank to clean this afternoon… I know you have a lot of experience with merfolk. We wouldn’t have hired you if you didn’t.”

Simon can feel the air still in his lungs, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve also worked with merfolk for a long time. I’ve dedicated years to studying and researching them before I took my job here, when Soap’s first handler retired. I’ve been noticing some behaviors in Soap the past few months, and it would be wrong of me not to say something…

“Soap’s a unique lad, having had very little contact with other merfolk, so he’s prone to getting attached to humans as he would his own kind. Kind of like a replacement pod, adopting humans to fill that void he doesn’t have. He’s formed a very strong connection with you in particular…

“With his age and attachment to you… Oh, please don’t take this the wrong way, I don’t know how else to say this, but I think he’s trying to court you. I don’t know if he even knows he’s doing it, having no frame of reference, but I’m afraid it might get out of hand if we don’t try to de-escalate this behavior.

“Shark mers can get aggressive during courtship, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t think Soap would intentionally hurt you, but hormones can do strange things to merfolk, especially when they don’t have any pod-mates to correct them… If Soap views us as his pod, then we may need to start acting like it.”

Simon exhales slowly, realizing he’s been holding his breath. He’s fighting off the panic he’s been able to shove aside up until this point.

Oh, Marcy, if only you knew how deep I already am in this…

“You think it’s tha’ serious? Do you really think he’s courting me?” He plays into her ignorance of events, just barely managing to keep the crack in his voice from being too noticeable. He’s been in far worse situations in the field. He can handle lying about having bonded with Soap, not even a few meters from where they now stand, under twelve hours ago… Becoming mates with Soap, something so unheard of, he’s sure Marcy would have his head if she found out.

“I do… I mean, it makes sense. Him not eating while you were gone, how he was showing off for you last night — more so than usual… He always gets moody when you leave.

“As long as we get this under control, it won’t be that big of a deal, I promise. He should calm down with getting so physical with you. Just don’t play into his advances anymore. You can still be friendly with him, but maybe try to find a way to set some boundaries. And if that doesn’t help, I can talk to him, and we can come up with a way to let him down gently. We need to get this under control before autumn. If he goes into his breeding season in this mindset, we might have an even bigger problem on our hands. But until then, I don’t want him getting the wrong idea that he can court a human…”

“It’s kinda sad, innit?” Simon tries to act like he’s not freaking out, even though he feels like he wants to throw up. “Soap bein’ stuck here withou’ any other mers to take as a mate?”

“It is… Trust me, I think about it all the time… But, we can’t lead him along. We can talk about it more over lunch, but for now, be careful, and start laying some rules down. I’ll make sure to keep a close eye while you clean today. Let’s try to keep the rough housing to a minimum...”

“Yeah, olright, Marce…” Simon agrees.

She pats Simon’s arm and smiles ruefully at him. “I know it’s a bit awkward, I’m sorry… Right, we’re close to opening. Best get everything cleaned up. Are you going to stick around until noon?”

Simon catches the top of Soap’s head gliding past the ledge, a fearful eye blinking at him as he eavesdrops on their conversation.

“Think I might try to catch a nap before then, but I’ll be back in time.”

Before anything else can be brought up, Simon quickly gathers his belongings, and slips out the door without another word.

Chapter Text

Like a coward, Simon flees. With Marcy's words hanging over his head, he fumbles in his pocket for his keys and almost drops them as he rushes out the employee doors. 

He squints against the bright, mid-morning light that greets him. The sun is already baking the asphalt at hardly 1000, bright blue, cloudless skies promising no relief. Simon knows he should suck it up and wander around the aquarium until noon, but he needs the space to breathe and get this anxiety under control.

"Rough housin'... Simon, you bloody idiot... Rough housin' my arse," he hisses under his breath.

Of all the stupid shite that could have come out of his mouth, that's what he went with? The most childish, stereotypical excuse known to man? Great job! Couldn't make it any more obvious that they were very clearly not rough housing!

But, Marcy seemed to buy it, which is as much as Simon can ask for.

His beat up ‘81 Range Rover greets him at the back of the car park. Patches of rust litter the once forest green, now dingy spruce, frame. Years of being parked in shoddy storage lots, and by the sea, haven’t done it any favors. It’s a relic — an ancient beast of a bygone era, as his younger employees love to jest. But Simon can’t bring himself to part with it; they’ve been through so much together… He’ll run them both into the ground before he replaces it, and maybe have a day of mourning after.

Simon rolls down all the windows, pops open the top half of the boot, and lays the back seats down. His nap is going to be a hell of a sauna, if he can even sleep, but he’ll make due.

Shucking his hoodie and t-shirt off in one go, Simon stretches diagonally across the converted seats on his belly. Hoodie tucked under his head, he lays in the stifling heat, already feeling the sweat bead along his spine and shoulders. It’s no worse than being cooped up in a tent with no less than twenty men in the middle of the desert. At least it doesn’t stink as bad…

He stares out the open boot, heart racing, eyes flicking back and forth. The unease bubbles in his blood, threatening to spill over. Guilt eats away at the corners of his mind for leaving Soap like that, but it would have looked more suspicious of him to stay and talk to the mer, instead of waiting until noon. He sure hopes Soap will understand...

Tossing about, Simon finally succumbs to an uncomfortably sweltering nap, spiked with nightmarish scenarios that keep him on edge.

A harsh series of raps against the side of his vehicle nearly makes Simon jump out of his skin. He shoots up to his elbows and whips his head toward the offending sound, only to see one of his diving instructors, Farah Karim, leaning through the window.

“Saw your piece of junk when I pulled in. You look like death warmed over, Simon…” Ah, Farah… Never one to mince her words.

Dazed, and a touch delirious from the heat, Simon gawps for a few long seconds at Farah, wondering if he's dreaming or hallucinating. He finally breaks the awkward eye contact to fish his phone out of his pocket. 1130. Must have turned his damned alarm off without realizing it, if he'd even set it in the first place...

“Shite… Sorry, I forgot to call you when I got in yesterday. Came back a couple days early. You made the damn trip here for nothin'..."

Simon lifts himself from the seats with a groan and shakes his head. Farah said he looks like death… Well, he feels every bit of it. Drenched in sweat, still so bloody sore, and now parched on top of it all — he’s sure he looks worse than death. He pulls his t-shirt back on before Farah can see all his bruises, not bothering to put on his mask. Too damn hot for that. That’s the last thing he wants to feel, stifling, non-breathable fabric clinging to his sweaty face… The dark, form fitting tee isn't doing him any favors, but he doesn’t have another clean tank top, thanks to Soap ripping his up last night.

“All good. I’m just relieved I don’t have to deal with your terror of a charge any longer.”

Simon slides out of the Range Rover and rolls his stiff shoulder. “Did Soap not behave?”

Farah snorts. “No… I had to make him go tonic a couple weeks ago. He was being aggressive and charged me. I didn’t fancy getting bitten…”

“Fuckin’ hell, I’m sorry Farah… Di'n't think he'd do tha'... I'll have a chat with 'im to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Marcy's words of warning ring in his head. Courting mersharks can get uncharacteristically aggressive... Soap, already missing Simon, and horribly depressed, felt like he had to keep his territory safe in case his center of affection returned. Obviously, Farah did the right thing to protect herself, but it's a shame that events had to lead to such a course of action.

"Head home, I'll take care of it. I’ll pay you extra, since you've come all this way."

“Not with you looking like that. Let’s do it together and get it done faster, so you can get home as well.”

A tempting offer. The earlier he gets to lunch with Marcy, the sooner Simon can get the hell away from everyone and just. Fucking. Sleep. Then, he can figure out what he's going to do about this whole mess.

Nestled in a vaulted atrium with ambient music filtered throughout, Soap’s tank is the beating heart of the Ashika Aquarium. It’s a sprawling exhibit, with multiple levels for guests to experience all parts of the beautifully constructed environments and creatures within. Aside from some dim lights that frame the edge of the floor, the massive room is dark, so the sights take front and center. From the magnificent focal point, the amorphous tank branches into large offshoots, some areas deep and cavernous, with sandy sediment and sparingly placed rocks, and others densely packed with kelp and sea grasses, swaying gently with artificial currents.

The ground level is where Soap spends most of his time interacting with guests, sticking close to all of his easily accessible comforts. His cave is hidden in the reef near the center, having the most space to give him sufficient room to retreat and rest if he needs a break from the crowds.

Soap's tank was originally made to house large species of sharks, but those plans were modified once he came into the aquarium’s care. Having been set to open only weeks before his unexpected arrival, the aquarists scrambled to accommodate their new, coveted addition.

Merfolk are a rarity in captivity. The legalities of keeping them are already a minefield to navigate. Add in the pushback from conservationists and activists on the ethics of keeping them from their natural habitats, and most aquariums don't even bother to try.

But Soap is one of the few cases that makes an easy claim for his extended stay. The pink and white scar, cut deep into Soap’s side, is impossible to ignore. A gnarly reminder of the trauma he’d endured as a pup.

It's common practice for some fishing companies to lay out long stretches of net, left to sit overnight to allow fish to become ensnared. As a result, larger unsuspecting creatures get caught up as well, from dolphins and sea turtles, to the occasional merfolk.

Soap, hungry, curious pup he’d been, found himself separated from his pod and became tangled in one. Far from his family, scared and hurt, the frantic pup struggled until he was wound up beyond means of escape. He tried chewing apart the tough, synthetic ropes, but couldn't make it through the unforgiving braid.

Whipped into a panic, Soap managed to embed the rope in his pectoral fin. His little claws couldn't loosen it enough, and the rope slowly started cutting off his circulation. Driven by blind instinct to break free and stop the pain, Soap did the only thing he could think of, and started gnawing through his fin.

Bleeding and terrified, the pup sobbed with every bite of his last-ditch effort. His body went into shock by the time he'd gotten halfway through, pieces of his own flesh still stuck in his teeth.

He’d been found the next morning, close to death and nearly bled out, but somehow still alive. If it hadn’t been for one of the fishermen calling in the Coast Guard, he would have died.

With his pod nowhere to be found, Soap was taken to the nearby aquarium, where the resident vet removed the remainder of his mangled fin, amazed that he’d survived his ordeal. They did their best with the equipment they had, but were ill equipped to take care of any merfolk in their facility, especially one so young. By their estimate, he couldn't have been older than six to eight years old, no longer than a meter — small for his age. How a leopard mershark had found himself in such deep waters and lived, was a miracle in itself.

At the time, new laws had recently been placed in the US, banning any permanent housing of merfolk. While they could offer shelter to Soap while he healed, they would have to go through the process of reintroducing him to the wild, with a pod he may not be familiar with. Being so young, it would be incredibly dangerous, and may have ended with the pup being killed.

They didn't have a choice. He had to be sent where the laws were more relaxed. A task on its own, trying to find an aquarium that could meet the specific needs of a juvenile mershark.

So, that’s how Soap ended up in the UK, a little over two decades ago. At the prospect of having such an incredible creature in their possession, Soap was shipped overseas, where he should have only been kept until he was strong and old enough to stand a chance of being rehabilitated, but time, and money, has a funny way of making people forget.

Soap drew flocks of visitors to the aquarium. People wanted to see the little pup once he was allowed in the public eye. He was feisty, loved attention, and the kids adored him. Seeing a merfolk grow through their stages of life was so rare, and now people from all over the world could see it for themselves.

So, here Soap remains, unaware of what his life could truly entail, far away from any of his own kind.

What was once blissful ignorance, now stands on the precipice of being disturbed forever.

The Sunday crowds aren't enough to keep Soap's mind preoccupied. Not after being scared half to death by Marcy's untimely interruption. His tank mates can feel the anxious energy in his agitated movements, and give him a wide berth as he darts around. Soap paces the glass, back and forth, itching for open expanses he has no memory of, but suddenly so deeply craves. The walls of his tank, for the first time in his life, feel like a prison keeping him contained. His exhibit is plenty large for him to comfortably stretch his fins, but he still feels choked.

Grunting in frustration, Soap grabs a nearby rock and starts rearranging the reef. It helps him think — calms him down. The aquarists don’t like him moving too much around, but right now, he doesn’t care. Right now, he needs a physical outlet.

He’d only caught bits and pieces of what Marcy and Ghost had said with his sneaky eavesdropping, but what little he gathered worries him. Ghost had told him they could get in trouble if Marcy found out. If she just did — Soap is beside himself at the mere thought.

He shoves his shoulder into a large rock and pushes it against the pile he’s already formed, when a knock on the glass catches his attention. It’s one of his handlers, signing at him to stop. Of course they can't let him get away with his anxious coping mechanisms. With a huff, he abandons his precarious project and zips past the aquarist with an incensed flick of his tail. Fine… He'll go back to following the winding wall of his tank.

Back and forth, back and forth, not paying any mind to the patrons. He can't, not right now. Out of the corner of his eye he can see some human pups chasing him, laughing and trying to get his attention. Bless them, they think it's a game, one Soap is usually eager to indulge them in. He feels guilty as he breaks from the glass and heads for less accessible sections of his tank. He doesn't have the mental capacity to give them the attention they deserve.

Soap creeps deeper in, to parts he rarely visits during open hours. He wiggles around in the kelp, tangling himself in the long strands, trying everything he can to occupy his mind until he can see Ghost again. With an exasperated huff, he finally settles, held in place by the slimy plants. Curious fish swim by, some stopping to nibble at the vegetation around him. But the guests can still see him, deep as he is in the man-made forest, and are clearly enthused by his antics.

This isn’t helping… He doesn’t want to be on display right now. Soap untangles himself to find some actual reprieve from prying eyes. While the aquarists are astute, they're unaware that Soap has made himself multiple dens throughout his tank. He grows tired of bedding down in the same place every night, and occasionally needs a change of pace. Like today...

Soap makes sure he's well hidden before moving a cluster of coral away from his den. It's smaller, cozy, and currently occupied by a giant Pacific octopus. The cephalopod doesn't move as Soap invades its space. Pouting, the mer reaches for the red octopus, and gathers its malleable body into his arms. Tentacles wrap around Soap's limbs and back, but the creature doesn't struggle, not even when Soap gently starts to stroke its mantle. His fingers press into the soft flesh, kneading just lightly enough to massage it. As much as he’s tempted to squish it around in his hands to relieve some stress, he learned from an early age that octopi aren’t too fond of such touches.

With a soft chirp, Soap flops onto his side and absentmindedly plays with the tentacles that try to suction to his face. He wants Ghost… Needs him to tell him everything will be alright.

Noon takes far longer to roll around than Soap would like. He's at the platform waiting, halfway draped on the rubber mats, tracing where he and Ghost had become mates. A perfect distraction from the incessant pit in his stomach. Half-hearted purrs rumble through him as he thinks about how pretty Ghost had been, laid out under him. Strong, but soft and warm in all the right places. How tight his body had been around him, perfectly made for his knots.

But, it’s not just the sex that brings this gentle sense of euphoria… It's also the way Ghost looks at Soap, like he's both the human's downfall, and the best thing to ever happen to him.

Soap smacks his forehead against the mats and chitters. He’s so in love, it hurts! And now that might be in jeopardy…

Come on, Ghost, come on! Hurry up! He can't take much more of this agonizing wait!

His head snaps up and he raises himself to his elbows when the door opens, only to growl when he sees his least favorite diver enter with Ghost. Why is she here?

"Soap…" the diver greets him warily.

'Mean hands,’ he signs back, equally apprehensive. He makes a shooing motion with his hands, as if that’ll make his point that he doesn’t want, or need, her here any longer.

Ghost is back. Go. Away.

Ghost catches the interaction and pauses. "Is tha’ what he’s been callin’ you?” He fails miserably at trying not to smile. "Tha’s not nice Soap."

Soap points a claw at Ghost’s replacement then signs ‘Not nice!’ with angry gesticulations, throwing his emotion into it.

"She can be, if you’d give her a chance. I heard you were bein' mean to Farah, not the other way around…"

Soap smacks his hands on the floor, puffs out his gills, and hisses from the depths of his throat. He'll show Mean Hands, mean...

"Really not helpin’ your case..." Ghost crouches down in front of Soap and offers a soothing stroke over his hair.

Soap’s lower lip juts out, jaw set in an attempt at defiance, but he leans into the gentle scratches along his scalp. Like hell will he deny his mate’s sweet touches, even if he’s miffed.

"Look, Farah's gonna help me clean, then I'll see if we can find a few minutes to talk." Ghost lowers his voice so only Soap can hear. "I'm sorry abou’ running away like tha’ earlier... Let's keep the touches to a minimum for now. Marcy's gonna be observing. C’mon, don't look at me like tha’..."

The biggest, wettest pup eyes do nothing to change Ghost's mind. Soap sulks on his platform while Ghost struggles to get back into his wetsuit. It hasn't had enough time to dry, and clings and catches with every attempt at pulling it up his legs. Farah stands nearby and chats with him, facing away to give him some privacy.

“Fuckin’ — ugh! Hell!” Ghost snaps and plops back on his arse, atop the sad pile of his gear. He looks like he's pissed off and in pain…

Soap chirps in concern and starts to inch his way out of the water when Ghost gives him a stern shake of his head.

“Farah, get started withou’ me… It's gonna take me a minute, and an embarrassing’ amount of wigglin’, to get into this thing…”

“Sure. I'll start by the shark grotto, and we'll meet in the middle?”

“Sounds good.”

Soap perks up when Farah grabs her supplies and marches past him. He flashes his teeth on a taunting shark's grin and flicks his tongue between them with a low rumble. She rolls her eyes and ignores his posturing, knowing it’s all for show. Soap waits until he can't see Farah any longer, then clambers his way out of the tank.

“Soap, stop…”

Pausing, Soap taps his chest then signs, ‘help’.

Ghost takes only a moment to consider, before closing the distance, awkwardly scooting over with one leg partially out of his wetsuit, the other clinging most of the way up his thigh. 

Soap situates himself so he can lean on the wall, and purrs when Ghost sits on his outstretched tail. It would be so easy to scoop Ghost up and cuddle with him, but he remains focused. He has a very important task at hand!

Carefully, he squirms his hands into the wetsuit leg, holding it open for Ghost to more easily wriggle into. Once they've gotten his lower half suited up, it's easier to stretch the damp material up and over his chest and shoulders. Zipping up is easy enough with Soap holding the two halves together while Ghost tugs on the cord.

Legs on either side of Soap's tail, hands resting between them, Ghost leans forward with a heavy sigh.

“Knew I shoulda grabbed my spare,” he mutters. “Thanks, luv.”

A low trill vibrates in Soap's throat.

‘You're welcome,’ he signs back. Eyes low to avoid any chiding stares Ghost might give him, Soap cups the diver's arse and pulls him up his tail until he's slotted against him, crushed in a hug.

His mate tries to push his arms between them to create some distance, but Soap vehemently shakes his head and squeezes harder. Soap needs this… Ghost makes the silliest little squeak, and Soap has to resist squishing him more to hear it again.

Finally, Ghost caves and hugs him back with a grumble. The mer takes as much as he can, before Ghost really has had enough this time, and carefully pries himself away. Ghost does that same paranoid glance around the room like he did last night, before sighing and resting his forehead against Soap's shoulder. He takes a deep breath, and fills Soap in on what Marcy told him outside, leaving the mer reeling. His ears droop and eyebrows pinch together, utterly shattered.

“Soap, what's goin' through your head?”

What's going through his head? What’s going through his head?! Too much of everything, that’s what! Anger and betrayal. The ripping of the veil that's started to be drawn away from the seemingly idyllic life he's been living.

The fact that Marcy doesn’t approve of him taking Ghost as his mate, just because he’s human, and Soap isn't… That she would even fathom that he would hurt Ghost. He would never do that! Sadness simmers in his chest at the thought alone — that Marcy doesn’t trust him… More than anything, that hurts the most. Soap understands that Ghost isn’t another mershark, and that he needs to be gentle with him. He’s not incapable of having restraint! Yes, breeding season is rough on him, because he’s never had a means of release! He’s not stupid!

But, it also brings the full confirmation that he is viewed as being vastly different from the humans who observe him from the other side of the glass. That he will always be deemed as lesser in intelligence, in some form or another. Can’t do this. Do that instead. Just a silly creature who doesn’t fully understand what’s going on around him. To them, he's just a showpiece, a source of entertainment for the masses who don't see him for who he actually is.

For so long, he’s simply accepted that this is how it has to be. That it’s okay to be treated in such a way, as long as he had his handful of humans who would stand up for him. Out of everyone, Soap felt like Marcy tried not to treat him like he’s anything less than a person, but painting Ghost a picture of the mer being unable to control himself, leaves Soap so demoralized, he’s not sure how to handle it. 

“Soap?” Ghost takes Soap’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. Both of Soap’s hands have balled into tight fists as the anger he tries so hard to control starts to boil over.

Soap doesn’t like any of this. He shouldn’t be treated like this. He should be allowed to have anyone he chooses as a mate, and he wants Ghost! He loves him... There's nothing more that he wants, but to spend every moment he has with Ghost, being close to him, kissing him, touching him. 

The mer trills sadly, unclenches his hands, and smooths his thumb over Ghost’s cheek. This isn’t fair, and he tells Ghost as much. His mate watches carefully, stroking Soap’s tail to sooth him as he goes off with infuriated passion.

When Soap finally exhausts the extent of what he can effectively communicate to Ghost, he gently takes his mate’s jaw in his hands and buries his face against his neck, right over the bandage on his mating bite. Soap squeezes his eyes closed and breathes Ghost in as he fights back the furious tears that threaten to fall.

This isn’t fair.

Ghost hugs him. Whispers soft words of reassurance as he plays with the cartilaginous fins on Soap's elbows.

“You 'ave every right to be angry, Soap. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Tha' said, I don’t think Marcy is bein’ malicious, just watchin’ out for both of us. Not sayin’ she’s goin’ abou’ it the right way, but, try not to hold too much of a grudge… She cares abou' you.”

Soap sniffles when Ghost urges him to lift his head.

“We’ll let things settle for now. Keep a level head, we'll be olright.”

‘Okay.’ Soap’s not happy about it, but Ghost is right, about needing to be careful at least. Forgiving Marcy might take some time…

“Chin up, luv. We still have some time together, yeah?”

Once again, Ghost is his voice of reason. Soap doesn’t want to squander what precious minutes remain before Ghost has to leave. They share a few kisses and nibbles before Soap slides back into the tank, followed by Ghost not long after.

The mer makes sure to avoid Marcy’s astute gaze, wanting nothing to do with her, or her unfair policing of his choices.

The fancy cafe Marcy suggested they have lunch at is far out of Simon's comfort zone. It's a busy little place, with a small garden patio out back and limited seating in the dining area. The few tables inside weren't even an option. Too crowded, with people bustling in and out, walking too close for Simon's taste.

Not like he can hold it against Marcy. The cafe is walking distance from the aquarium, and it is her lunch break that she's sacrificing to discuss plans over. He just wishes she would hurry it up a bit… He's feeling rather exposed, despite his layers.

Don't get him wrong, Simon will eat almost anything, but when he's tucked away in the corner of a cutesy rose garden, with a trellis of purple clematis at his back, he sticks out like a void in space. Dressed in all black, wearing his medical mask and combat boots, hoodie sleeves rolled up, leaving his tattoos exposed, Simon looks like he belongs in a biker bar, rather than this pastel wonderland. He's sweating something fierce, but can't take his hoodie off, not wanting to expose the bandage on his neck. Add in the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, and he looks like the grim reaper waiting for his next victim to croak.

Simon ignores the stares from another table as he lowers his mask just enough to take a sip of his tea from a delicate cup. He could easily hold it in his palm, but balances the hand-painted porcelain between three fingers on its tiny handle. An umbrella of soft pinks and purple casts much needed shade over the ghoul amongst fae.

His leg starts to shake, the heel of his boot tapping aggressively against the ground. It's doing nothing to help how sore he is from the hips down, but no amount of shifting is helping anyway. Gotta get the nervous energy out somehow. In need of a distraction, he pulls his phone out of his pocket to catch up on work emails. Not like it helps… He glosses over the words on the small screen, deleting redundant chains, opening some, but not truly comprehending what he's reading.

His mind is far too preoccupied with the events of the past day, not even a full twenty-four hours… With an annoyed huff, Simon scrubs his knuckles over his dry eyes and keeps them there to block out the rest of the world for a moment. He's not sure if he can face Marcy right now. Wants nothing more than to duck out, and go the fuck home. While every rational part of his brain is trying to tell him that their meeting is about some plan they have coming up for Soap, Simon can't help but think that the topic of his and Soap's recent behavior might come up again. Simon's been in worse conditions in interrogations before, but he's feeling so vulnerable and frayed right now, that's he's worried he might slip up.

Come on, Simon. You're ex-SAS… Start actin' like it.

Lowering his hand, Simon breathes out of his nose, in through his mouth, and tries to tap into that stoic indifference he'd once worn in his many layers of masks. It's been — a while — to say the least, and he's finding it difficult to call back to his training in such a state of mind, but gradually a piece of his old self surfaces as a wall of protection. What Simon wouldn't do for his skull mask right now. That would help calm him. The tightness of the old fabric against his face, acting like a subtle compression to his nerves, sounds like a blissful retreat from reality.

Ten minutes of silent steeling later, Marcy comes trundling through the back gate, carrying a couple cardboard boxes, looking a right mess huffing and puffing across the garden.

“Coulda helped you, if you'd asked…” Simon at least takes the topmost box and places it on an empty seat to lighten the load. Marcy plops the other one down on top and dismisses him with a cheerful wave.

“It's nothing! Exercise does the heart good! Oh, what kind of tea did you get us?”

Simon takes the ridiculous, flowery pot and pours her a cup.

“Orange pekoe. Tha’ olright?”

“Lovely.”

As they wait for their food, Marcy doesn't waste any time and pops the top off one of the boxes and pulls out a thick binder. She scoots her chair around so she's sitting next to Simon.

“Right, let's get to it then…"

All cheerfulness bleeds from Marcy, overshadowed by a deep frown. She hesitates to open the binder, and sighs when she finally does. Simon, concerned at her sudden shift in demeanor, peers over her shoulder as she fidgets with the corner of the first page.

Official Rehabilitation & Release Program: Ashika Aquarium, UK — Case #3: 'Soap' the Leopard Mershark

"Marcy, is this…—"

"Yes… It’s not public knowledge yet, but we'll be making an official announcement by the end of next week.”

Simon's heart leaps in his chest, breath stilling as he reads over the heading once again. This is… Unexpected, to say the least. He doesn't know how to react. Any joy that he should feel, knowing that Soap will have an actual chance at freedom, is bogged down by a flood of conflicting, selfish emotions.

“Why now, all of a sudden? I thought Soap was deemed unfit for release.”

Marcy purses her lips and flips through a few pages. She taps her finger against a solid wall of text, all legal jargon that Simon tries to absorb with a quick scan.

“A lot can happen in a month… The last few countries that allow facilities to keep merfolk, have finally come together and made a decision on its legality. Any remaining merfolk in aquariums have been given two years to be released. During that time, the government will be checking in on progress. If, at the end of two years, Soap isn't ready, then he'll be moved to a sanctuary in New Zealand, with other mers like him.”

A tear drips from Marcy's cheek, narrowly missing the paper.

“Sorry… I just… We were given no warning, no time to prepare properly. I've been trying to keep a level head since I found out, but it's not been easy, especially having to keep things vague with the guests last night. I've hardly even known a week, myself. And of course, we have to raise most of the money ourselves. We're only receiving a small grant; a joke really. It's all a bit — overwhelming."

It's not easy seeing Marcy like this. Always so upbeat and passionate, despite the stresses of her job, it makes Simon realize that he's not the only one who has to act like he's okay all the time. Shove down the bad for long enough, and it will push back eventually, whether you want it to, or not. Marcy's in a similar situation as he is, running on very little sleep while hosting a special event, then having to go over this stressful information when not fully prepared… Marcy has his sympathy.

"And I've been working with Soap for so long, I'm afraid I've grown quite attached, and a touch overprotective, shame on me... Oh, the aquarium won't feel the same without him. I'll miss him so much.”

Simon places a comforting hand on Marcy's shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. He does his best to listen — fights off the burning questions that force their way to the tip of his tongue, where he physically has to bite them back, until indents are left behind. This is a fucking wrecking ball to the brittle wall he'd tried to fortify, debris now crashing down around him. But he doesn't have time to scoop up the crumbling mortar and stuff it back between the cracks. Marcy is still talking, and Simon has to at least pretend he's listening, not running a thousand 'what if' scenarios through his head.

“Phew, come on Marcy, keep it together girl,” she peps herself up as she dabs at her eyes with a napkin. “For goodness sake, I didn't ask you here to watch me cry. I can do that on my own time, now can't I?

“Honestly, this is a good thing. Soap deserves more than this, difficult as it is to let him go. He's a strong lad, I know if we can get him fitted with a new fin, he'll be just fine. What I'm worried about are his social skills… While he does well with humans, he doesn't know a thing about merfolk culture or interactions. I'm so scared that he'll be too overbearing and accidentally get himself hurt. And we haven't even started scouting out any potential places for him to be released. On top of that, we need to find a partner to aid him when he gets to that point. There aren't enough friendly schooling mersharks in the area, so he's going to have to go somewhere else…”

Simon snaps back to attention at that.

“I might be able to help with tha',” he offers. “I could give you Price and Laswell's contacts. I'm sure they'd be happy to help. They're getting along nicely with that school of lemon mersharks I told you abou'. I spent a lot of time with ‘em, and their pod might be a good fit for Soap. They're high energy, enjoy Price's divers, and should soon be interacting with tourists. There are a lot of young ones, so it might be easier for them to accept a new member, even of a different species.”

Simon thinks he may have broken Marcy, the way she has to fight off more tears, but she keeps a stiff upper lip and nods enthusiastically instead.

"I can't thank you enough. You're an absolute angel."

Simon almost snorts, he's so taken aback being called an angel. Yeah, okay. He lets out a soft huff instead and searches for Price's business number in his contacts. Marcy needs a win in this chaos she's been thrown into, and Simon is more than happy to provide. Anything for Soap. Marcy jots down Price's information and takes a bite of a chocolate biscuit, scattering crumbs over her work. The tension starts to ease, and Marcy appears to have tapped back into her usual, chipper self, even if it's a mask, just like Simon's.

“Now, before I go any further, I wanted to offer you a spot on the team. I've already discussed it with Director Shepherd, and he agrees that you'd be an excellent asset. We'd keep you on as a full-time contractor, if you accept the position. I know you have your own business to take care of, but we feel like with how close you and Soap are, that Soap would really benefit from having you around throughout the process. Nobody seems to get him, quite like you do…”

Simon doesn't even need to think about it. Of course he'll accept the new contract, but there's a lot he needs to do to make sure his company can stay afloat in the meantime, all things he can figure out once he's in his right mind again. Just the thought of being able to be around Soap more, without it seeming suspicious, has his spirits lifting some. This could be perfect… If Price agrees to take Soap on for the last phase, then Simon can make an easy case for traveling with the mer, to help more easily integrate him from a sheltered life, to being in the open ocean. And then, maybe, Simon could — stay… He doesn't have many ties, just his business and a couple friends. No family to speak of. While it's a big sacrifice, he'd be willing to give up everything.

Reel it in, Simon…

Damn, getting way too far ahead of himself…  One step at a time. Simon smiles under his mask and nods, like his brain isn't still planning a million steps in the future as fast as it can process it.

“Yeah, I'd like tha’, Marce. Give me a few weeks to find a new diver, an' I'm all in.”

Marcy grabs the edge of her seat and hops the chair back to the other side of the table, Simon's sure as an excuse to cover up how thrilled she is.

“Brilliant! Alright then, let me introduce you to Phase 1!” 

Marcy hands a binder to Simon, then opens up the second box.

Phase 1 is a new line of Soap themed merch. While the aquarium already has plenty featuring the mershark, this run seems higher quality, all with special gold tags attached. Marcy lays out a variety of keychains, some folded shirts, hats, and an assortment of cups and glasses, ranging from cute designs for kids, all the way to classy styles for adults. 

But what admittedly catches Simon's attention the most, are the various sizes of plushies, namely the one Marcy has to uncoil from the large box. He makes a show of interest on everything presented to him, but picks up the biggest stuffed toy in the pile with a soft hum. It’s easily a meter long, with all of Soap's markings and scars beautifully sewn in. He acts like he's inspecting the quality of the stitching, when he's actually squishing the hell out of the toy to see how soft it is.

He notices Marcy's amused smile and quickly holds it in his lap instead, arms tight to keep it secure. It won't fit on the table, and it would be a shame for it to get dirty on the ground… Absentmindedly, he pets the short, bunny-soft fabric as he reads the tag. 

All proceeds on every golden-tagged item go directly to Soap's rehabilitation fund. Make sure to get your personalized certificate of authenticity at checkout!

His eyes bug out of his head when he sees the price at the bottom.

“Five-hundred pounds!” He flinches at how loud his voice is in the small garden, and waves apologetically at the nice couple now glaring at the hulking, weird goth hugging a merfolk plushie like someone's gonna take it from him.

Marcy, on the other hand, can't hold back her laughter.

“We're only making twenty of those. The others are far more reasonable.” She pauses and studies Simon for a moment, her cheeky grin melting into something softer. “Keep it. That's the prototype the company sent us.”

“What, no I'll pay for it. If it's for Soap…” Simon starts to protest, but Marcy holds her hand up.

“That wasn't going to be for sale anyway! I was thinking about raffling it off, but… You should have it. Consider it a sign-on bonus.”

Simon stares at Marcy for a moment before nodding. “Olright… Thanks.”

If there's an anonymous donation to Soap's fund once it's officially open, that's Simon's little secret to hold. 

“You're welcome. Well, at least I know the plushies will be a hit. The merch will roll out right after our announcement. We've already had a very generous donation at just the mention of a fund, so it's a hopeful start."

After eating and packing everything up, Marcy leads the way back to the aquarium, Simon carrying everything this time, giant plushie slung over his shoulder. It's over, he's home free, more than ready to take the long drive back to his flat, where he can finally have a stiff drink, and pass out until the morning. Simon holds back a sigh of relief as he hands Marcy the boxes and gently places his Soap lookalike into the passenger seat of his Range Rover.

“Our first meeting will be next Sunday, at 2pm. Just introductions, going over basic timelines, things like that. Nothing crazy, yet. Hopefully, everyone will be able to make it. Oh, this is so bittersweet… I'll see you next week." Marcy pauses when Simon leans out his open window and taps her elbow with an acknowledging, loose fist. "And thank you, for being a part of this. It's going to work out beautifully.”