Chapter Text
Tommy hates storms.
It’s not the violent pitching and rolling of the ship that bothers him, nor the incessant torrent of rain or sea spray matting his hair. He could tolerate all the noise, the motion, the permeating wetness, the creaking of timber and the rushing and hollering of his shipmates, if only he knew when it was going to end. An hour is long enough for a storm, and with this one entering its third hour, his nerves are fraying. Beyond exhaustion now, he pulls his weight with the rest of the crew, trying to navigate the hulking ship through the deep, narrow strait that is fraught with danger on all sides. It would be hard to see the rocks at the best of times, but now it’s impossible, and all they can do is hope to make it out alive.
That hope dwindles sharply when there’s a crack from somewhere above, followed immediately by a groan as the mast Tommy has just started to climb starts to give way. The sail had come loose, resulting in him being sent aloft, and now, to his horror, he sees part of the rigging plummet towards him.
It misses, but that hardly matters. Gravity is pulling him away from the ship’s deck, the ship rolling one way as Tommy starts to fall another. He gasps, reaching desperately for something to anchor himself, and finds nothing. A scream tears from his throat as he plummets towards either a broken back if the ship catches him, or the black, frothing sea, and he realizes a moment before it happens what his fate will be.
The sea is bitterly cold as it claims him, a wave immediately washing over his head and smothering his cry. He still tries to scream again, desperate and kicking to stay above the surface for a precious second longer, but even if he was heard and seen to fall no one up on deck will be able to hear him now. The safety of the gunwale is too distant and the sounds of the storm too loud to let him be heard, even if water weren't now washing over his head again.
He goes under, twisting and fighting to free himself from the rigging even as it drags him down. The ratlines are caught around one ankle, the heaviness of the halyard dragging him down. Through the rush of adrenaline he forms an impression of consuming darkness reaching up to devour him, but still he struggles with the ropes around his ankle, kicking desperately to try and get back to the surface.
He can't. He's not going to make it. Panic setting in, Tommy realizes that this is it, even though he still fights against the reality closing in around him. It's too dark to see now, the ropes too tight and binding, and he’s too deep to be able to make it back to the surface with what little breath he has left. He's not strong enough to tear free, but still he tries, refusing to give up. He promised himself he wouldn't die like this; this isn't how his life is going to end end.
It doesn't seem like he has a choice though. Sparks flicker in his vision, his lungs starting to scream in desperation for oxygen they can't have. Tommy struggles against the urge to inhale, fighting against his every instinct as he gives one more frantic tug at the mess of rope. It doesn't give.
And then, through the darkness all around him, the memory of green grass, as clear as the day he ran through that meadow. He remembers the softness of the sun, the uneven bricks in the lane, the smell of freshly baked bread, the kindness of his mother's smile… As his life flashes before his eyes, he feels a flicker of relief that it let him remember her after all these years. The darkness doesn't seem so bad now…
And then he feels something: a hand that can't possibly be there grasping at his arm. He jerks, and his lips part to draw in an involuntary breath of deadly water, only for him to realize he can't. There's a mouth against his, warm lips sealed over his own and air being pushed into his lungs; someone exhales, giving him the breath he needs to cling to life just a minute longer.
He can’t see anything in the darkness, but he’s aware of someone human before him. His lungs filled with oxygen, they move away, reaching down.
Strong hands tug at the rigging that still traps Tommy, dragging him down. He feels something give and struggles to take advantage, but he's stopped by a firm hand holding his leg still. The person then moves back up, and those lips are pressed against his again, another offer of air.
Tommy takes it without thinking, wishing he could cling but also longing to be free of the deadly weight around his ankle. He lets them go, and is rewarded a moment later by the sensation of the restraint falling away, the tangle of rope and the halyard fading farther into the depths.
And then that mouth is on his again, and Tommy has the capacity to wonder how they have breath to give. Arms encircle him, a whole body drawing him closer to the surface, and he realizes that he was only half right: the torso is human, the arms strong and muscled, but there are what feels like tentacles where a man should have legs.
Tommy’s gasp of surprise is, mercifully, stifled by that mouth on his, saving him again. He wants to pull away, to look, but it’s still too dark to see, the water too deep above them. Somewhere below lies the wrecks of hundreds of ships, and that thought chills Tommy as they pause, the mer offering him another lungful of somehow sweet air. He doesn’t get why they don’t push ahead, upwards. Slowly exhaling, Tommy looks up, trying to see the surface; it’s like staring into the darkness for the reflection of a puddle. He knows it’s there, somewhere, but it’s still to distant, too far…
He kicks weakly towards it, finding strong arms holding him down, lips over his again. He accepts because he has to, but wriggles in protest, no longer wanting to be beneath the waves. He doesn’t care what he finds at the surface, he just wants to get there.
And then he fears that this being won’t let him get there. He realizes that perhaps he’s been saved from one terrible fate for another, and the temptation to inhale seawater burns within him. He doesn’t know what this creature is, he doesn’t know if he can trust it.
His struggle against its thickly muscled arm does nothing other than sap his already failing strength. There’s no adrenaline left to give him that extra push he needs, and he’s helpless in that firm embrace. He has to hope it’ll somehow be okay, even as much of his strength leaves him. He’s losing consciousness, he realizes, floating in the pitch black water with arms around his spent body and lips against his, keeping him alive.
He comes to with a start.
Nothing is as he remembers, firm ground beneath him and clear air in his lungs. Squinting up at the sky, Tommy sees the sun and feels its warmth on his naked chest. Why is he topless? How long is it since the storm passed? How long has he been like this? Where is he? Where is the being that saved him?
The only question he can answer is, in a very basic sense, where he is. There’s a thick bed of pelts beneath him, cushioning him from the rocks he’s lying on. The sea crashes lazily against the edge of the rocky outcrop without ever threatening to touch him, and behind him are short cliffs with what looks like a network of caves at the base of them. He wonders how far he is from where he fell in, and if the crew are looking for him. It’s not very likely at all. Everyone knows that there’s little chance of saving someone in a storm like that, and after a customary attempt to spot him, the crew would have turned back to the task of keeping the now-damaged ship from wrecking in the channel.
Tommy is alone, dead to the world. That thought is more than a little frightening.
“You’re awake.”
The deep, lazy voice startles him. Tommy yelps, turning around in surprise and clutching at his chest as he zeroes in on the speaker. A handsome man gazes up at him from the water, his forearms draped over the edge of the rocks and chin resting on them. His dark eyes watch Tommy as he almost hyperventilates, soft-looking lips pressing together again as Tommy fervently hopes and fears that this man is is savior.
“D—did you…?” Tommy stutters, before realizing he’s holding something in his hand. It’s warm, and he glances down at it, wondering how in the world it got there, before his attention is back on the man still in the calm water. “How did I…? What are you…? Am I…?”
The man sighs, eyes falling closed for a moment in a long-suffering manner. “You’re babbling,” he chastises Tommy.
“I’m sor—”
“—I removed your top, yes. You were cold and wet, and I didn’t want you to fall ill. The talisman in your hand helped save you.”
Tommy looks down at it again, at the intricate and clearly powerful markings carved into a material he can’t name.
“This was the safest place to bring you,” the man continues, “so it was only logical I brought you here. We’re two miles from a fishing village called El Rapids.”
“El Rapids…” Tommy murmurs, unable to place it or make sense of the carvings he’s still inspecting.
He loses interest in them in an instant, though, realizing he’s still in the middle of a conversation with someone – someone beautiful – who has saved his life. “Thank you,” he blurts out. “For saving me.”
His words win him a strange smile, as if his rescuer is amused. “You’re welcome,” comes the reply. “Tell me when you’re ready to go”
“Go?” he echoes. “Go where?”
“The village.”
“My ship is gone?”
“Yes.”
Tommy already knew that. He nods, accepting the finality of it. For better or for worse, he’s free from that crew. He always was a poor pirate anyway, more interested in entertaining people than stripping them of their valuables. It’s the loss of a crew and somewhere to belong at sea that upsets him the most. Maybe he can find passage on another ship in this village.
“Can I wait a little longer?” Tommy asks, unsure as to why it’s suddenly so important to delay his return to any semblance of civilization. He feels like there’s something he needs to process, and that he needs a little time to work out what it is. He nearly drowned. He wants to sit in the sun, soaking up its warmth, a little longer.
“If you like,” the man shrugs. “Should I leave you alone?”
“No,” Tommy decides a little too quickly for it to really be a conscious decision. He reconsiders, and then decides he meant it, a blush no doubt staining his cheeks as he studies the man’s handsome features.
No, not quite a man, he remembers. There had been…limbs…Those hadn’t been legs brushing against his as they rose from the ocean’s depths, and they hadn’t been a fin either.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Tommy prefaces, hoping his curiosity will be forgiven, “but what are you?”
For a moment he thinks his question will go unanswered. He can’t name the expression he sees in those eyes, the man’s expression carefully betraying nothing, but it seems unsettlingly close to dread. He wonders what there is to dread about the answer.
“I’m a mer,” he eventually says, and there’s definite resignation in his voice as he elaborates: “but my lower half is that of a mimic octopus.”
Tommy’s jaw almost drops off completely. “You’re…!?” he squeaks out, excitement soaring. “You’re really…!? Oh wow! I mean, I know merfolk are shy, and you prefer to keep to yourselves and that’s totally cool, I get it, humans are unpredictable and shitty, but wow! I can’t believe it! You’re…I mean, I know merfolk are said to be some of the most beautiful beings, but I had no idea just how beautiful, and you’re…You saved me! Oh god, I can’t believe it! I owe you so much, I owe you my life, I’m never going to forget this, although I know no one will believe me when I tell them what happened.”
To his surprise, the mer is blushing. Tommy pauses, backtracking, trying to figure where he went wrong.
“We’re not beautiful,” he’s corrected.
Oh, he said that.
“You are!” Tommy has to argue, because there’s no way he’s accepting the alternative. He’s leaning forward now, towards the mer, and the arms that had been resting against the edge of the rocks withdraw.
“Don’t pull away!” Tommy protests.
His words make no difference.
“I’ll be back,” the mer promises, drifting further from Tommy. Through the water Tommy can now see the dark shape of eight tentacles propelling the man’s body away from him.
“But…” Tommy calls out weakly, not sure what else to say. It half occurs to him to jump in after the mer, but by the time the thought fully forms the other man has slipped beneath the waves.
Tommy watches his shadow dart away, and really hopes that he’ll come back, and soon.
It feels like hour have passed, and yet the sun has barely moved, still climbing in the sky. It seems unreal to Tommy that only a few hours ago he was woken before his watch to help battle the storm, and now he sits, bathed in sunlight, all alone in the world. He found his shirt drying nearby and pulled it on to protect him from the sun, and since then has had nothing to do but contemplate life, his options, and the talisman around his neck. He fingers the strange item idly as he gazes out over the calm sea, wondering how long he should wait before giving up on the mer’s return.
Unlike a lot of sailors, Tommy is a fair swimmer, so trying to make it to the village the mer mentioned is one option, although he has no idea where to really go. North, would be his best guess, but other than that vague idea of a direction to head in he has nothing to go on. There isn’t even anything around to help him create a craft or float when he gets tired: the flat, rocky outcrop he’s on offers dry space away from the ocean for now, but nothing else.
He doesn’t really have any option but to wait, and he’s terrible at waiting. The markings on the talisman, which feels oddly warm to his touch, as if its absorbing the sun’s warmth the way glass or metal might, only hold his interest for so long, before his mind starts to wonder. It flits over details here and there, finding nothing of interest to settle on without an outside source of stimulation.
Inevitably, he starts to sing. At first he only hums a random string of notes, the sound rising from his chest and hanging on the air around him, but then the notes start to form a melody, his voice rising in strength and words flowing from his tongue with effortless ease. It’s a song half-remembered, coming back to him as he drifts in its embrace, each word rising up to take its place after the next. It soothes him, despite the melancholy lyrics.
The words that flow settle on the tip of tongue in readiness for him to give them life, but they falter and fade, snuffed out as Tommy’s eyes go wide and he cries out in surprise.
“How long have you been watching me!?” he demands.
The mer, bobbing low in the water just a short distance from him, looking up at Tommy with an expression of utter astonishment. His dark hair is wet, plastered to his head, and his eyes are wide. “You were singing.”
Tommy bristles at that, a little hurt. “Shouldn’t I?”
“No, it’s not—” the mer hastily insists, but his protest dies on his lips. He looks away, eyes downcast as he speaks again: “I’ve never heard anything so beautiful before.”
“Oh,” is the best Tommy can manage, before shifting closer to the edge of the rocks, worrying. “Don’t you sing?”
There’s a soft huff. “I do, but not like that, no.”
He’s not sure what to say in response, and for a moment silence fills the space between them.
“Anyway,” the mer continues, clearing his throat and coming in even closer. He draws his hand up from beneath the surface of the waves, revealing two stoppered bottles. “You should drink. Here.”
The moment Tommy realizes what’s stowed within the bottles, he realizes his thirst. He reaches out, more grateful than he can express as he works the cork free and carefully tastes the first drop of fresh, clean water.
“Mm!” he murmurs, savoring the next sip, and then the next. After that he finishes the bottle a little quickly, smacking his lips in satisfaction when it’s done. “Thank you!”
The second bottle is pushed onto the rocks next to him, but Tommy is more focused on the mer in front of him, who is carefully avoiding looking at him.
“Do you have a name?” Tommy asks, wanting to break the tension threatening to build.
There’s a pause, a clear moment of hesitation, before he has his answer: “Wilbur.”
Tommy chews his lip, wanting so much more than that but not knowing how to ask. He knows nothing about this mer beyond his name and the fact that he saved him from not only drowning but also dehydration. He also gets the sense that Wilbur is waiting, as if he’s going to take him towards the village he mentioned.
“I owe you a debt, Wilbur,” Tommy says sincerely.
Wilbur shudders visibly, and then shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”
“I do!” Tommy insists, leaning forward on one hand again as he sits on the rocks; the other toys with the talisman. “You saved me! You’ve helped me! If there’s anything I can do to repay you, I want to!”
Wilbur at last looks up, his dark, captivating gaze searching Tommy for something. At length, he gives a soft little sigh, something about it a little defeated. “It’s not about payment.”
“What is it about, then?” Tommy asks. “Why did you do it?”
“I heard you calling.”
Tommy is taken aback. How could anyone have heard him over the howling of the storm? How could anyone have noticed his presence in all that chaos?
He takes too long to think of what to say next.
“We should move towards the village,” Wilbur tells him. “You’ll want to get there before nightfall.”
“Is there really nothing I can do?” Tommy blurts out, a little helpless at his inability to show gratitude. “Because I want to! I know I don’t have any money left, but I’m sure I can get some and I can buy you anything you like, I can save up or give you my—”
“—a song.”
The answer stuns him into silence, and Tommy wonders if he heard correctly. Below him, face turned away but not enough to hide a flush of discomfort, Wilbur’s reaction tells him he did.
“A song?” he echoes.
“Yes,” Wilbur breathes, and then looks up as far as Tommy’s chest, where his hand is now clutched tightly around the necklace. “Your name, and a song.”
It seems too easy. Tommy stares for a moment, and then relents. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Well, my name is Tommy. As for a song…”
One forms on his lips before he’s even thought about it, the words suddenly more real to Tommy than they ever were before; it’s as if he finally understands what the song means. As he starts to sing it’s almost like he’s hearing it for the first time, and as he lets it flow through him he sees the growing wonder on Wilbur’s face. The mer comes in so much closer, even as Tommy changes his position and lets his feet dangle over the edge of the rocks and into the water.
There’s a strange magnetism between them, and Wilbur settles so close his hand almost touches Tommy’s thigh where he grips at the rock. In turn, Tommy can’t look away. He can’t pull his attention from the mer, nor stop the sweet melody that feels like it’s spilling from the bottom of his heart. He wishes they were closer. The water is so much calmer now, clear and inviting, and, without even considering what he’s doing, Tommy follows his instincts. Still singing, he slips back into the ocean and finds Wilbur gasping but reaching out to steady him regardless.
A part of Tommy realizes that his decision was stupid – his clothes are now wet through again – but as Wilbur’s hand alights on his arm and slowly guides him in, he can’t regret a thing. Strong arms hold him close, tentacles moving strongly in the water to keep their heads above the gentle waves, and Tommy sees in Wilbur’s gaze something he’s never known before. There’s no small amount of awe in that look, but it’s the look of longing, and of affection, that hits him hard.
His heart soaring, Tommy lets the final line of Wilbur’s song – it’s Wilbur’s song, he’ll always think of it as such from now on – drift on the warm breeze that stirs around him. He means to smile, but there’s a heaviness to what he feels, something momentous about it he can’t quite place. He knows he wants Wilbur to give his approval of more than just the song he’s bared his soul to offer, and his heart races as he waits for Wilbur’s reaction.
When Wilbur speaks his voice is strangely choked, the words not what Tommy wanted to hear. “You’re not human.”
Tommy falters, his heart falling.
“Your voice…” the mer continues, still seeming dazed.
“W—what about it?”
To his surprise, Wilbur moves in even closer, a tentacle curling around Tommy’s ankle as a hand comes up to caress his cheek. The touch is gentle, tender and careful as their bodies press flush against each other, and interest flares to life within Tommy’s body. The arm wrapped around his waist holds him impossibly close as his own lock around Wilbur’s neck.
“Siren,” Wilbur murmurs.
The fleeting thought of protesting the accusation dies on Tommy’s lips as Wilbur presses his own to them. There’s nothing else in the world that matters more than Wilbur’s kiss, nothing that has ever crystallized his purpose into a single, wonderful moment like this.
He doesn’t think twice before kissing back, following the longing that surges within him and barely needs to whisper its desire before he’s giving in to it. He holds himself against Wilbur, and Wilbur to him, hands caressing and exploring as he surrenders to this new, fulfilling experience. A crack in his soul he hadn’t even realized was there is soothed by Wilbur’s touch, warmth flowing into those dark, untouched spaces. He doesn’t want to let go. He never wants to let go.
When the kiss eventually breaks for more than a moment, Tommy finds his chest shuddering, his heart still racing. His lips feel as tender as Wilbur’s look, and his gaze lingers on the damp swell of Wilbur’s lips, longing to taste them again.
With great resolve, he draws his attention higher, seeing that Wilbur’s gaze is still lowered, his dark lashes beautiful against the paleness of his skin.
“How long do we have?” Tommy asks.
Wilbur looks up at him, the depth of feeling in his gaze robbing what little is left of Tommy’s breath. “The village is under an hour away, if I take you.”
“And will you?”
Wilbur nods. “Yes.”
Tommy doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s almost midday. With the bottle of fresh water Wilbur brought him, he feels no urgency to leave this place, or to pull away from Wilbur’s embrace.
“I’m in your debt again,” Tommy hears himself murmur as he strokes Wilbur’s cheek and watches the mer lean into the touch. His responsiveness is mesmerizing, everything about his body beautiful. At least two tentacles now embrace Tommy, entwined around his legs, and he feels secure in Wilbur’s embrace, safe and cherished. He never wants to pull away.
In a bid to remain as close as possible, he leans in again, his offer murmured against Wilbur’s lips: “Is there anything I can offer you in return?”
This time Wilbur doesn’t protest the offer. He doesn’t argue that it’s not about payment. Instead, he kisses Tommy, sweetly at first and then with a growing hunger.
“Let me call you mine,” Wilbur pleads, “just for a while, just until the sun sets. I’ll see you safely to the village, but before then…”
Tommy chokes on the emotion rising within him, blinking away the stinging of tears as he leans in and kisses Wilbur again. The request fills him with such joy and relief, and yet such sadness. He wishes he could stop the sun in the sky and live in this moment forever. He doesn’t want to accept, because to accept means to acknowledge that this is just for a brief moment in time.
Instead, when they part for a moment, foreheads resting together and fingers gentle against each other’s cheeks, Tommy speaks softly, his words a binding promise:
“Yours,” he murmurs.
Because in that moment, as it will be forever, it’s the truth.