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The sky was clear save for a roiling bank of clouds far off, and the tropical breeze blew mildly when the lookout spotted land for the first time in seventeen days.
Captain Namor of Atlantis was standing on the quarterdeck and scanning the horizon of uniform blue with his well-polished spyglass, as was his habit. When the lookout's cry was taken up by his men and women, spreading quickly across the whole ship and painting everyone's faces in various stages of relief, he lowered the contraption and nodded to his helmsman.
"Hard-a-starboard, then straight on till I can better assess the coast. We shall moor safely tonight."
She nodded and began to turn the steering wheel.
"Clap on more sail!" Namor shouted as he folded the spyglass up and stowed it away in a pocket of his magnificently embroidered coat. His face turned into the breeze, he marched over to the quarterdeck's railing and glared commandingly at his crew. "But take in the aft sail! Work till your hands bleed and she flies over the waves like an arrow!"
His powerful voice carried far and wide, and his loyal seamen and -women did not make him wait. Swiftly, they went to work, and he knew with certainty that un fact, their desire to please him far outweighed their desire to reach land before sundown.
Soon, the sails were set, and the Sub-Mariner was cleaving the waves in front of her in two like a well-whetted blade. The Jolly Roger fluttered and cracked on her highest mast, stark black against the pale sky.
Once again assessing the coast and its amenities through his spyglass, Namor proudly patted the gleaming wood of the railing. "That's my lady. As swift and as sharp as a scray."
The ever-approaching sliver of sand and coastal forest in the distance bode well. He thought he could glimpse the curve of a sheltered bay further north - an ideal anchoring and landing place, well-protected against the storm that had been on their heels for days now and was sure to hit them soon, if not in the very hour.
Yet as he prepared to give orders that would lead them to the safety of the bay, he caught the outline of a shimmering shape in the corners of his eyes. Frowning, he turned his head and re-focused the spyglass. At first, he saw nothing but a craggy, wave- and sun-beaten cluster of rocks - a natural jetty extending from the land into the ocean.
Then, as his eyes adjusted, he noticed the mermaids.
There were at least a dozen he could spot on first glance, and more when he let his gaze wander along the coast and the line of sea-washed rocks. They were sunbathing on the sun-warmed dry stone, or frolicking in groups across the waves, or simply staring at the Sub-Mariner as it approached, their eyes like glittering seashells in their faces. Namor thought he could just so make out the glint of needle-sharp teeth peeking out from between their lips.
"Mermaids right ahead, Capt'n!" came the lookout's voice.
“Hold course," he ordered when a murmur of panic rose from the lower decks. "They're not sirens, you god-afeared freshwater rats!"
The words had barely passed over his lips when they slipped his mind, his attention utterly captivated by the merfolk. Indeed, the creatures in the water had neither feathers nor wings, only scales, marking them as one of the less dangerous species of water-dwelling humanoids. Yet for their lack of a singing voice, they were no less fascinating.
Ever steady on his feet as the Sub-Mariner rolled under him, Namor kept his spyglass trained on a specimen that was swimming particularly close to them - swimming towards them, in fact, leaving their fellow scaled creatures far behind with a speed that was astounding. Their tail, glimpsed faintly through the clear waves, seemed to be painted in a vibrant shade of magenta, and their hip-long shock of hair trailing behind them appeared as if had been hammered from pure silver. Their face - delicate, intent, youthful - grew clearer as they drew nearer by the second.
"Seems like we might have hooked ourselves a friend," Namor said to his First Mate as he took the spyglass down to fold and pocket it. The merman - for a man it seemed to be, upper body flat and lithe, yet healthy-looking - had swum so close that he could see him clearly with the naked eye.
Emma Frost, the sharpest second-in-command any pirate captain could have ever wished for, blew a raspberry. "Or a problem. Mers rarely ever swim this far from their coven - or this close to a human-crewed ship. I advise cautious conduct, my Captain."
But Namor was only half-listening, and the sense of her words was lost on him, anyway. As the mer approached, he leaned over the railing as far as he dared without losing his grip and tumbling over. "He's beautiful... I must have him for my collection."
"Must you really?" Emma grumbled under her breath, but soon relented with a sigh. "Well, I should've expected no less of you."
Namor pointed at a bunch of his crew that had spent the past minutes loitering around on the aft deck. "You! Bring up the fishing net."
He watched them scramble to obey his orders, and when he turned back to survey the waves, he saw that the merman had reached the Sub-Mariner and was now idly circling her. His purple scales and silver-tinged skin shimmered like a thousand jewels under the midday sun, and there was a distinct spark of intelligence lighting up his gaze.
"Do you talk?" Namor called to him. "Do you speak our language?"
The mer showed no sign of understanding, yet Namor's words seemed to act like magic on him. Abruptly, he changed his course until he was swimming right alongside the Sub-Mariner, sometimes touching her hull with his hands as though he wanted to hold on as he gazed with rapt attention upwards at where Namor stood. Namor could see silvern delicate webbing flex between the mer's fingers.
"The fishing net, Captain," came a sailor's voice by his left shoulder. When he turned, he could see at least half a dozen of his men and women bowed under the weight of a tangle of hemp ropes.
"Very well. Throw it over the side and capture me this creature - unharmed."
They did as they were told. Groaning, they hefted the net up and dangled it over the side, holding on to various ropes and lines so they would be able to pull the tangle back up when the command came. Satisfied, Namor noticed that the merman was making no attempt at escaping – seemingly confused, he was watching the proceedings, unfamiliarity with the concepts of nets or traps echoed in his expression.
Then, the net descended, splashed into the water and sent up wafts of seafoam, and the merman disappeared from view.
“Don’t slack, you lily-livered monkeys!” Namor roared as he strode down the stairs and onto the deck, where the men were struggling with the weight of the net. “Pull! Pull up, or he’ll escape!”
When his words did nothing to aid the situation, he sprang into action himself. Shrugging off his coat, he pushed one of the straining sailors aside and grabbed onto one of the pull lines, hoisting the net up and out of the water through sheer force of will. Finally, the struggles of his men and women ceased, and together they had the net on deck in no time.
Only, when Namor bent over it to marvel at the beauty of his spoils, he found it empty. Emma hunkered down by his side, ignored his dismayed scowl, and pointed at several ropes that were torn and frayed like something had clawed – or bitten – its way out. “Didn’t you once boast that this net could take a white shark and not break under the assaults of its teeth?”
“Accursed beast,” Namor hissed, getting up and shrugging back into his coat, smoothing the creases out of his shirt underneath. “It must be as wild as it is beautiful. Maybe with a harpoon-”
“Yes, maybe, but I’m sorry to say that we do not have the time to experiment.” Quite briskly, his First Mate took him by the shoulders and turned him to face in the direction from whence they had sailed. “I'm afraid that we have a more pressing matter at hands, my Captain.”
Namor did not even have time to be outraged at the casual irreverence in her voice – he looked at where she had directed him, and his eyes widened.
“Storm coming up aftwards!” the lookout called at the same time as Namor hastened back up the stairs to the quarterdeck and shouted, “To your stations! Make the ship steadfast, and sail for the bay in the north! Not one of my crew shall lose their life today.”
It was his fault that they would be surprised by the very storm front that they had held at bay for so long. He had wasted time on the merman, his futile attempt at capturing him – and now, he was sailing away with nothing to show for it.
Fuming, he pushed the thoughts aside and started to give directions to his helmsman. He would bring the Sub-Mariner into that bay, and get his crew to safety.
Then, the storm hit.
Erik watched from the safe darkness of the depths as the waves above him transformed into roiling, rushing chaos.
The belly of the ship he’d pursued was still visible in the distance, a black spot among the lightning-streaked sea. It was bobbing up and down and swaying from side to side, like the nutshells Erik and his coven sometimes gathered at the beach and took back into the water to use as tokens for their games. Soaked with sea and salt, they would all sink eventually – just as this ship would sink, cracked open and spilling its contents all over the sea grounds.
Erik sighed a little wistfully and watched the bubbles of air trundle upwards through the still water. He had been so hopeful when the ship’s sails had first peeked over the horizon – hopeful that it would bring him a human who understood, a sailor maybe, one with a tender touch, and a mate in any case.
Only his hopes had been deceived - yet again. The captain who had hailed him so sweetly had turned out to be nothing but a brute, immediately commanding his men to catch him through deceitful means instead of engaging him otherwise. Beautiful he had looked, strong, but Erik could not find it in himself to regret escaping his net.
Sighing once more, Erik resolved to forget about the affair and enjoy himself instead. With a few beats of his strong tail, he ascended to the surface, where he was promptly sucked into the forceful dance of the storm.
Riding the waves when they were in such an uproar was a treat to all merfolk, and as Erik looked around, he could see many of his peers indulge in the same pleasure. Yet, he kept his distance from them – speaking from experience, he knew they would tease him for today’s escapade, tell him that he was odd for considering humans to be such fascinating creatures, with their malformed legs and their tottering walk and their rackety ships. Erik's coven simply did not understand. And neither would they understand Erik’s regular visits to the local sea witch, who had once consorted with humans, and the secret cache of shapeshift potion she kept him supplied with.
Erik sped down a wave trough and gloried one moment in the thrill of it, before he ascended to the next peak and rode it as far as he could. In the distance, the planks of the ship groaned and moaned as water washed over its deck – and then, like a flash, something bright tipped over the railing and hurtled into the sea.
Erik immediately changed his course and dived down under the waves to investigate. Maybe a bit of sailcloth had come loose and blown away, or a coil of rope – or, if he was lucky, part of the ship’s cargo. It wouldn’t last in the salty water, but would still keep him busy for months with its observation.
Only when he drew nearer, Erik saw that it was no fabric, no wood or rope that was sinking down to the ocean ground. It was a man, and he was not moving.
Quick as lightning, Erik was by his side and grabbed him, holding on so the sailor would not sink deeper. Depth, Erik had found out years ago, was not amenable to humans – and neither was a lack of oxygen, which this particular specimen seemed to be suffering from. Without taking a closer look at the sailor’s features, Erik leaned in and pressed their lips together till he could blow air into the human's lungs.
Then, assured that the man would not die on him this very instant, he gripped him tightly under the crooks of his arms and began to swim towards the coast, and towards dry shelter.
Erik only recognised his catch after he’d already heaved him out of the water and onto the dry sandy ground of the deserted grotto. It was the one who had ordered his crew to have him caught like common fish.
The Captain of the ship appeared younger and less cruel in the soft half-gloom that emitted from the luminous algae which grew on the rocks all around. His features were sharp, his skin painted with a healthy tan, and his body firm and muscled. Somewhere along the way, he had lost the coat he had been wearing when Erik had first glimpsed him, and his thin linen shirt and breeches were utterly soaked. Heavy with saltwater, they clung to him like a second skin, outlining every crease and fold of his limbs.
Well, Erik certainly didn’t mind the view. Throwing his hair over his shoulder, he heaved himself onto the sandy ground beside the sailor and got comfortable watching the steady rise and fall of the human's chest.
Outside, the storm kept on roaring, and at times it seemed to Erik like he could hear the splintering of planks and the cries of sailors over the howling of the wind. Maybe, if luck was on his side, the Captain’s ship would sink, and the man would be stranded here on this coast. He would be obliged to trade with Erik’s coven, would depend on them for talk, for news of the world – and maybe, after a while, he would stop wanting to return to his former existence. He would stay, and bind his life to Erik’s.
Enraptured by the idea, Erik reached out to touch the human’s legs. The flesh of his thigh was firm under Erik’s palm, smooth and a little colder than he’d anticipated.
And it was twitching. Quickly, Erik moved to pull away – only for the Captain’s hand to shoot down and grip Erik's tightly.
“Accursed creature,” the man slurred, struggling to sit up. His hold on Erik was secure, yet not too firm.
Erik grinned, conscious of how it revealed his needle-sharp teeth. “Hello, sailor.”
The captain froze. His eyes, Erik saw now, were of the starkest grey – like the sea when rainclouds hung over it, seeking to obscure the sun.
“You speak?” the human asked, voice laced both with disbelief and anger. “But before-”
“My kind may not be versed in the ways of your kind, but we are not naïve,” Erik interrupted him smoothly. He was conscious of the man’s strong, warm grip, and how it seemed to be sliding up his arm as he spoke. “Why should I tell you that I speak your tongue when I cannot be sure of your purposes?”
The man, however, appeared hardly to be listening. His gaze was focused entirely on Erik’s body, slowly sliding down his bare chest and shimmering tail. Then, his breath leaving his lungs in a soft exhale, he reached out and smoothed a palm over Erik’s scales.
Erik twitched, but otherwise held still. He could hardly take off the man’s hand by the wrist while his presence was still so new, so shiny and intriguing.
“What is your name?” asked the sailor after a while, voice rough from what Erik guessed wasn’t only the saltwater he’d swallowed. Still, he kept touching Erik, his hand wandering steadily upwards until it came to a rest on his shoulder.
Erik worked hard to suppress a shudder. The human’s palm was dry, warm, almost searing against his skin.
“Erik. I am called Erik.”
“Erik,” the man repeated, and now there was no doubt as to the desire in his voice, his gaze, his touch.
This time, Erik did not care to hide the tremor in his body. “What is yours?”
“Namor of Atlantis, Captain of the proud Sub-Mariner.”
It was spoken with such certainty, as though Erik was supposed to know what Atlantis was – not that he didn’t, but he’d known many a sailor who had called themselves Atlantean. Nowadays, the word held barely any value.
“I saved you,” he said instead. “Does that not merit at least some thanks?”
“Saved?” Namor arched a slim eyebrow at him. Had Erik been any weaker of will, he would have found the gesture bewitching.
“I found you in the water after you were washed overboard by a wave,” he replied dryly, tamping down on his attraction. “You were drowning.”
Namor gave a huff of indignation. “I was not washed overboard, I jumped – precisely to capture you. It was not you who found me, it was I who found you.”
“You were unconscious.”
“Like that ever stopped me,” Namor growled, and then he was hauling Erik in by the waist and pressing their lips together in a cool, salty, sandy kiss.
Erik gasped, which invited Namor’s tongue to plunder his mouth. He let it happen, well aware that he could end this any time he wanted – though Namor was stronger than he looked. Maybe some Atlantean blood was flowing through his veins after all.
Moaning into the kiss, he pushed those thoughts aside. The wet slide of Namor’s lips against his was sending tingles down his spine, making goose bumps spring up on his arms, and he had every intention of enjoying this for as long as it lasted.
In fact, he was so engrossed in the kiss that he only noticed Namor’s reversing their positions when his back hit the sandy ground. His breath was knocked out of his lungs, and then Namor gripped his wrists and pinned them down on either side of his head, effectively trapping Erik under his body.
“How’s this for capture, then?” he murmured as Erik squirmed fruitlessly under his weight.
Despite his vexing position, Erik bristled, his gills flaring. “A poor attempt at best.”
That earned him a harsh nip at his collarbone, and then another one into the soft tissue of his shoulder. He yelped, excitement rushing hotly through his veins. None of his previous mates – merfolk, every last one of them – had ever treated him so. So roughly, like they knew he could take them, could take their strength, their kisses, the marks they left on his body. Marks which testified that he belonged to them.
His head was spinning from the force of his attraction. Erik craned his neck to urge their lips back together. He needed the touch, the warmth, craved it even.
But Namor pulled back and kept him at an arm’s length, a triumphant grin revealing two rows of pearly white teeth.
Erik sobbed. “Please,” he murmured, and when that evoked no reaction, he hissed, “please.”
“What prize are you willing to pay, my pearl?” Namor’s voice was soft, a caress, yet the hardness digging into Erik’s hip spoke from another tale. “What will you give me in return for this?”
The decision was an easy one to make. He had never belonged with his coven – not really. And here was his chance to get away, to live in a world he had dreamed of so often and longed for even more.
As steadily as the heat coiling in his gut permitted it, Erik replied, “Everything.”
At dawn, after the storm and an uneasy night had finally passed, Namor stepped onto the sandy beach of the mermaid bay and towards the wave line. In his arms, he was cradling Erik’s precious weight.
The merman had at last submitted to his charms, bent to his will, as Namor had always known he would. And apparently, he had come prepared – what was now hidden under the wet linen of the shirt that Namor had taken off was not a tail, but a pair of very human legs. Every now and then, Erik would pull away the fabric to stare at his new limbs, equal parts of fascination and bemusement in his gaze.
When he once again did so, Namor finally asked, “You don’t regret drinking that potion yet, do you?”
“No.” Erik experimentally wriggled his toes and looked quite amazed when it worked. “And anyway, the effect will wear off in a few days’ time. I am not even sure that it would be worth your while to teach me how to walk…”
“Certainly not,” Namor murmured and leaned in so close that he could feel the heat radiating of Erik’s slightly flushed cheek. “In fact, you will not have to walk at all, my treasure. Not if I get my way and keep you right where you belong for as long as the potion lasts – and where you belong is in my bed.”
That made Erik blush only the harder, and he hid his face at Namor’s neck and mumbled something unintelligible. Namor grinned triumphantly, and when he looked up, his mood lifted even more.
There, just past the barren rocks where he had first spotted the merfolk only the previous day, the Sub-Mariner lay anchored. Her sails were drooping slightly, and her hull looked a bit worse for the wear than it had before the storm, but she appeared to be right and whole. In fact, a jolly boat had already been launched and was now making straight for the strip of beach where they were standing. Namor squinted, and thought that he could just so make out the shadowy figure of his First Mate standing on the quarterdeck and gazing in their direction.
They talked no more when the boat landed, and Namor carried Erik to it through the knee-deep water and helped him onto one of the benches before climbing in after him. None of the sailors at the oars spoke – they just glanced at their Captain, at the beautiful man by his side, and then started to row them back to where the Sub-Mariner was gently bobbing up and down on the azure waves.
After the jolly boat was heaved back into its mounting, Namor was the first to jump on deck so he could help Erik back into his arms. The roughened planks of the Sub-Mariner felt achingly like home beneath his bare feet – he had lost his boots somewhere in the storm – and when he turned, his trophy once more cradled in his grasp, he saw his crew going about their work like he had never been gone.
“I held down the fort for you, my Captain, don’t worry,” Emma said from where she was descending the stairs to the helm. All the while, her gaze was appreciatively glued to Erik’s almost bare form. “And I think I’m correct when I say that you appear to have made a catch.”
“Yes, and a jolly good one.” Quite proudly, Namor carried Erik past her, revelling in the hungry stares the merman garnered from several members of the crew. Just before he reached the door to the Captain’s cabin and shouldered it open, he turned to his First Mate. “And now it is my duty to introduce him to some human behaviours. Set sail for the sheltered bay in the north, and make sure that we are not disturbed until I call.”
The look Emma shot him was positively conspiratorial. Then, she gave a lazy salute and turned to climb back up to the quarterdeck.
The last thing Namor heard before he pulled the door closed behind them was his First Mate shouting, “You heard the Captain, you squalid land rats! On your stations, hoist the sails, and put your backs into it!”
The familiar fall of hectic footsteps followed, intermingling with the soft smacking of the waves on the hull – yet all Namor could feel, hear, see, and taste was Erik as they tumbled onto the cabin’s broad bed and began putting the time they had to good use.
“And how does this feel?” Namor murmured in Erik’s ear. His breath was hot and wet against its tender shell, and Erik knew without needing to see that it was flushed as dark as a violet snail. He moaned, before he remembered that his voice had also other uses.
“Good, my Captain,” he panted, and his words were close to the truth. It felt amazing even, to kneel on the soft mattress as Namor took him, impaled him on his cock, kept him locked in his embrace so that Erik could move neither forward nor backward. All he could do was hope – and beg.
Apparently, the latter was expected of him the most. “Tell me just how good it feels, pearl,” Namor hissed, pinching one of Erik’s nipples while his other hand kept him upright and quite in place.
For a few heartbeats, Erik painstakingly grappled for his vocabulary as Namor continued to fuck up into him slowly, maddeningly so, interspersing his thrusts with artful nips at Erik’s neck and shoulders. In fact, Erik couldn’t remember how long it had been since Namor had manhandled him into this position – or how long since he had carried Erik into his cabin like a prize, proudly having shown him off to his crew beforehand.
Not that Erik had really minded. If Namor had wished it, he would have let the Captain take him in front of all the sailors on board, and then some.
When he took too long to answer, Namor tangled his fingers in Erik’s long hair and pulled till Erik keened. “Speak, creature!”
“Oh, better than good,” Erik gasped, aware that he was slipping into a babble. “Amazing, incredible. I love your cock inside me- you fill me up so good, make me feel so-”
“Do you love being my little cockslut?” Namor whispered in his ear as he gripped Erik tighter, began to rock into him harder.
“Yes. Aah, yes!” Erik’s toes curled up in pleasure, and suddenly he was grateful for Namor’s keeping him upright – his legs were trembling, so weak and inexperienced that he would’ve fallen over had the man decided to let go of him. “Please, please, take me, fill me, give me everything- Ngh!”
Namor chose that moment to pull Erik down onto his cock entirely, till he was buried in him to the hilt, and there he kept him until Erik was trembling with the sensation of overwhelming fullness. He squirmed, sobbed, keened, but Namor’s grip proved unrelenting.
“I love the way you feel when you’re wrapped around my prick, my pet,” Namor crooned softly. In the tautness of his body, Erik could feel the sheer effort it cost him not to start moving again. “So hot, so tight. I should keep you tied to my bed all day and night, and so well filled that you won’t be able to think of anything else but me and my cock inside you.”
Erik’s responding moan was so loud that he himself was surprised – it was more of a wordless scream, really, a plead to Namor to make true on his words, to keep and hold and take. And Namor understood. Growling, he finally let go of Erik and flipped him over onto his back before plunging right back into him, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head and setting a punishing pace.
Erik cried out, with no choice but to let it happen. He hooked one leg around Namor’s waist in a desperate attempt for leverage, in a desire to meet the man’s thrusts, of which every single one made him slide a little higher on the mattress, but it was no use. Pleasure had clouded his thoughts, made it hard to string together even a simple phrase, and so he could only moan and sob as Namor chased his own climax.
After an amount of time that felt like a heartbeat stretched into an eternity, Namor came with a cry that he muffled against Erik's shoulder. Erik shuddered at the hot sensation of the man’s seed filling him up, coating his insides. He sighed, tried to buck his hips in the desperate search of friction against his own leaking cock, but Namor had collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and nuzzling Erik’s neck. His lips felt as hot as a brand against Erik’s oversensitive skin.
“Please,” Erik finally whispered when he couldn’t take it anymore, when the feeling of fullness became too much, when he couldn’t stop the tears from brimming over and pearling down his cheeks. “Please, I haven’t yet- Please, let me, please-”
“Of course, my pearl.” Namor exhaled shakily against his collarbone, making Erik shudder, before he hoisted himself onto his elbows. “How rude of me.”
“Very much so,” Erik chuckled, but shut up when Namor pulled out and flipped him over onto his belly. At least the silken bedspread was admirably cool on his sweat-soaked skin, providing a much-needed contrast to the branding heat of Namor’s touch. Erik groaned as his over-sensitive cock brushed against the fabric and sent shards of pleasure-pain up his spine.
Then, he yelped when he felt Namor spread his buttocks and kiss him there, felt him lap up the seed that had started to drip from his well-used hole. Instinctively, he tried to shrink from the strange sensation – and was stopped by Namor’s hands clamping down around his waist and on the small of his back.
“You have not yet experienced even a fraction of the wonders I can perform,” Namor murmured against his skin, the vibrations making Erik shudder. “Let me show you this. You won’t regret it.”
Erik exhaled deeply, then settled back down on the mattress and grabbed a pillow to hold onto. His heart was beating so fast with arousal that he feared it would burst right out of his chest. “I trust your judgement, my Captain,” he hummed.
He had barely finished when Namor took his permission for what it was, leaned back down, and started to generously apply his tongue to wringing the most profane sounds from Erik’s throat. Erik keened against the pillow, then bit it to keep from moaning. Unsurprisingly, it did not work.
And as Namor's ruthless ministrations went on, Erik found he did not regret giving his permission at all – as little as he regretted his promise to Namor, and as little as he would regret it in the days to come. Of that, he was more than sure.