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It's a dreich day.
Dark clouds hang heavy in the sky, their bloated masses threatening to peel open and drench the grey sands below. Whipped to a froth by the buffeting winds, murky waves crash over the shore and lick away any hope of a pleasant afternoon.
The usually bustling shoreline is devoid of any beach-goers, aside from a solitary figure who crests over the low dunes and trundles onto the beach proper.
With a small handcart in tow, fit to bursting with art supplies, John MacTavish hobbles along, hurrying as much as his stiff, swollen knee will allow. The damp always make his old injury flare up, but, numpty he is, John presses on, a man on a mission. His cane is shoved under his arm, useless in the shifting earth.
As the clouds let loose a deep rumble, rivaling the roar of the waves, a fat raindrop lands square on the bridge of John's nose. He huffs and clutches his thick wool jacket tighter around the collar. The military issue coat is well worn, torn by war, just as the veteran who wears it.
Ducking his head to avoid the worst of the downpour, John finds the secluded cave he's been frequenting near the cliffs. The rain is pouring down now, but his shelter dulls the pounding to a muted, soothing drone.
He rakes his fingers through his hair and gives it a light ruffle, droplets flicking from the soaked strands. John sighs in relief when he finally leans some of his weight on his cane. The click of the scuffed tip echoes around the looming walls.
Foreboding to most, John takes solace in the natural formations surrounding him. He'd happened upon it by chance one day, in a similar situation to now. Skirting around the water's edge that sways with the push and pull of the storm, John carefully makes his way to the far wall, where he rests for a few moments.
Dark circles cling under his eyes, puffy and weary where he scrubs his knuckles across. Ever since he caught shrapnel to his leg, he hasn't been the same. Can't sleep right, always in pain… The doctors have tried to convince him to use the morphine they'd prescribed, but it makes him feel wrong, not quite all there in the head. And if there's one thing that remains of his broken body, it's his mind and his hands. He wants no part of destroying either.
John traces the small embroidered bar of soap on the cuff of his sleeve. His sister had stitched it there after he returned from the hospital, discharged from any further service. He still remembers her wounded expression when he openly wept upon seeing it, shouting at her for touching his things. The pain of seeing his familiar callsign had been too much—too raw to handle in the moment. It was a nice gesture. She'd only been trying to help him feel better and he felt awful for lashing out. His family never treated him the same, nor the rest of the town.
That MacTavish lad went to war, and didnae come back the same.
John's gone 'n got the devil in 'im. His punishment for killing his fellow man.
John's still a young man, but he feels ancient beyond his years. A corpse among the living as he shambles through life, trying to ignore the whispers and stares of those who know nothing of the battlefield. He can't find work, and doesn't enjoy socializing any longer. The most he does is leave his family's home to go somewhere pretty to paint. At least his artwork brings in a pittance, enough for more art supplies and food.
He's mostly left to his own devices—is quite sure if he didn’t make it back one day, nobody would bat an eye. Maybe they'd try to look for him, just to put up appearances, but he's sure it wouldn't last long. Nobody wants a useless cripple… None of them have the guts to say it to his face, but he's heard their hushed whispers, thinking John wasn't listening.
So, he suffers in silence, using his one outlet as a means of escape.
With a soft grunt, John throws the tarp off his cart and sets about arranging his supplies. An adjustable easel, oil paints, and a hand-stretched canvas are carefully arranged around a couple kerosene lanterns. The warm glow washes the cavern with yellow light, dancing along the damp stone, chasing the shadows away.
Two blankets are tugged out next. One, he dips in the water. A heavy rock is placed on the corner to hold it in place. The other, he drapes over his lap as he settles on his stool and starts painting.
John's blocked in the basic colors of the cave and starts to build up the details when he sees him. If John hadn't known what to look for, he never would have spied the creature peering at him from the darkness of the inky water.
The second he makes contact with those large, inquisitive eyes, hidden beneath a tangle of hair, net and bone, they dart below the surface with hardly a trace.
John sucks his lips between his teeth and tries not to laugh—doesn’t want to spoil their little game. He pretends like he hadn't seen anything, and goes back to painting. All the while, he's scanning the water.
A vibrant, spined fin pierces the surface, translucent red under the light of his lanterns. It stretches on as the beast's impossibly long tail follows, ending in a broad, flat fin, which smacks the surface with a resounding whap! John jumps, even though he was expecting it, but doesn't retreat. John's not afraid of the monster who watches him from unseen depths.
The fin disappears, nothing but ripples left in its wake. John holds his breath, enticed by the lengthening rings that stretch toward him.
The tip of a long, plumed ear pops up, flicking as it tries to hone in on the sound of John's non-existent breathing. It pokes further up, and swivels when the softest hint of a snort comes from John. Gone, just as fast.
Seconds later, the water domes and breaks as the creature lunges right next to John. He's a terrifyingly beautiful nightmare, a myth come to life. An amalgamation of man and fish, formed by the depths of the seas, massive beyond comprehension. His skin is a smooth, silvery-blue from head to tail, sides streaked with red markings and covered in scars. A wild mane of crimson, feathered tendrils cascade from his shoulders, laid flat to his body without the support of the water.
Nobody would ever believe John if he dared to breathe a word of his well-kept secret. He's seen the paintings on early explorer's maps—had always believed there had to be a kernel of truth to the depicted leviathans and monsters that protected the borders of the world. All the stories of sirens and denizens of the deep have to be more than pure legend.
It's not John's place to bring that knowledge to the world though. A man so shunned by his family and community deserves to indulge in the company of the giant merfolk he's become horribly infatuated with, without the threat of being exposed.
His companion hisses with a flex of corded muscle, body lurching from the water in a messy slop of powerful coils. For a creature so confident in the water, he lumbers onto land with little grace, using his arms and the muscles of his tail to writhe closer.
The first time John had seen him, almost a year ago now, he'd been paralyzed by fear, sure that he was about to be devoured by the massive beast. A case of wrong place, wrong time, driven to the cave to escape the unexpected storm that had disrupted his painting session on the beach. But, the merfolk had seemed just as shocked to see John in his hideaway, both of them scurrying to opposite sides of the cavern, where they stared at each other for what felt like a century, waiting for the other to attack. Which was laughable, considering Ghost's size.
John calmly places his paintbrush down, swivels on his stool to face the creature, and expectantly holds his arms open. A grin splits his face and he laughs when happy clicks echo around the high chamber.
"Hey, Ghostie..." he murmurs. "I've missed ye."
Sitting on his stool, John has to tilt his head back to grin up at the merfolk he fondly calls Ghost. To think he'd ever been afraid of him… Nothing but a giant softie, once they got over their suspicions of each other.
He sighs when an arm as big around as his torso carefully engulfs him, a clawed hand cradling his head so he's made to rest his face against Ghost. John clings to Ghost's cold, wet bicep and nuzzles against it.
It's been a few weeks, and John's been missing Ghost awfully. Ghost only comes to the cave when it rains, when the cover of the grey skies obscures him from prying eyes, a trick of the imagination if he's spotted. What was once a convenient place for the merfolk to rest, quickly became their meeting place.
Tears sting John's eyes, but he blinks them back. If only he could stay here, but he knows that's not a feasible option for either of them. But this is the only place he feels happy, safely hidden away with Ghost. The merfolk doesn't judge him. Doesn't think any less of him because of his injuries. And John's sure Ghost would never say anything mean or hurtful to him. Ghost takes John as he is, and doesn't want to change a thing about him. Something John's own family doesn't have the decency to do.
A deep, thrumming purr vibrates through John, chasing away the melancholy that's taken hold. It gets stronger when John presses another kiss to Ghost's arm. The dorsal fin that runs down the length of Ghost's spine quivers, sticking straight up in a display of affection. It rustles the thick ropes of repurposed fishing net that hang in heavy drapes from his back—an odd fashion choice that John thinks suits Ghost.
It took John a while to learn all of Ghost's unique means of communication, but he can tell just by body language and sound how Ghost is feeling. The merfolk isn't able to speak as a human can, but his expressive clicks, rumbles and hisses are more than enough for John to get his point.
Thick, white-blond hair sticks to John's face as Ghost rubs his head against him, purring away like he's trying to break John down to his basic elements.
"Oh, you sweet thing, I know... It's been a while."
John can barely get his arms around Ghost's head, reaching for the rope that holds his creepy mask to his face. Almost human, but massive with sharp teeth, the cracked skull plate pulls away. John tries not to think about the creature it came from.
"There you are…" John murmurs, pressing his hand to Ghost's cheek.
He's dwarfed by the deep-sea giant, a mere plaything treated so sweetly. John closes his eyes and sighs when Ghost kisses his chest. A mouth one would expect to be packed with sharp fangs is instead full of blunt, human-like teeth. Ghost isn't a predator, despite his intimidating presence.
Tugging on a strand of hair, John distracts Ghost enough to pepper his face with kisses. While his flesh is cool, his skin is smooth with a slight iridescent shine on his scaleless body. Ghost rumbles and closes his eyes, happy to be loved on, until he grows restless.
He retreats only long enough to retrieve the blanket in the water. Ghost dries out quickly on land, but they've come up with an easy solution. Looping his long body around itself, Ghost forms a tight coil, then drapes the blanket across the top. He helps John place his waterproof canvas tarp over it.
Once satisfied with the placement, John pats Ghost's flank and nods. Ghost offers his help and lifts John up. Many a valiant effort had been made to scale Ghost on his own in the past, John too stubborn to allow Ghost's help, but he's too damn slippery to get a decent footing. He'd gotten over his wounded pride long ago—would never admit that he now enjoys how it feels to be carefully cradled in Ghost's hands.
John settles into the slight dip at the top of Ghost's coils and covers himself with his dry blanket, making himself comfortable. He can still feel the slight chill of Ghost's body, but his own heat soon warms it. Ghost fusses and readjusts until he sees the pinched lines in John's face relax, the positioning of his tail perfect to support his knee just right.
Time means nothing within their cave. A world apart from the outside, where John can forget everything else. Ghost drapes himself on top of his tail, careful not to jostle John, and sighs heavily. He blinks at John with those big, doe eyes and smiles. No, this isn't just a separate world, this is heaven. There's nowhere else John would rather be.
Listening to the dull thrum of rain, John closes his eyes. There's an occasional splash—Ghost using the fanned end of his tail to carefully spread water over himself—and the sound of Ghost breathing. He lets the soft vibrations of Ghost's purrs lull him into a light doze.
He awakes to a shift of coils, mumbling sleepily, but not paying much mind. Just like anyone else, Ghost gets cramped up and has to readjust. But the wiggling continues, until John sits up in dazed confusion. Ghost has shifted his tail so John now sits toward the end.
Realizing he accidentally woke John up, Ghost rumbles a soft apology. Not one to be ashamed, Ghost doesn't hide the sticky, navy blue cock that has started to peek from the slit where human torso meets tail.
"What's got you all riled up?" John teases. He pats one of the red stripes on Ghost's tail and watches as Ghost fully emerges. It's nearly as long as he is, more like a thick tentacle the way it tapers from a thin tip to thick base. Has a mind of its own too, curling around Ghost's hand as he reaches down to coax it the rest of the way out. There's no way John could ever physically take it, but they have their work-arounds that are just as fun.
Ghost flicks his ears, a noisy, rattling click coming from deep in his throat. John knows the sound all too well and chuckles, "Oh, aye? Is that what you want? Poor thing, being so patient while I slept."
He shrugs off his coat and starts to unbutton his shirt when Ghost scoops him up. Leaning up against the side of the cave, Ghost maneuvers John until he's comfortably lying on Ghost's forearm. John hurriedly gets the final buttons undone and stuffs the loose fabric behind him, then wrestles with his trousers until he can peel them down to the linen wraps. He silently curses that he decided on the wraps today, but they support his legs better than without.
He barely has time to weave his arms behind Ghost's thumb and pinky before the giant merfolk is on him. Body draped down Ghost's large forearm, John throws his head back and grins when Ghost presses his lips to his bare torso. He loves the gentle kisses. The way the tip of Ghost's nose nuzzles against him, deep breaths drawing in his scent. Ghost takes his time. Savors the warmth of John's skin.
There's a certain thrill being handled by a massive creature like this, completely at Ghost's mercy. An ancient instinct in him screaming danger being so close to a maw that could devour him without a second thought. Not that he would ever have to worry about such a thing. He luxuriates in the affection, more than happy to let Ghost do as he pleases. He wanders lower—glances up at John with a playful rumble—and licks a thick stripe up his torso.
John gasps and arches into Ghost's wet tongue. Long, pointed, and dexterous, Ghost knows exactly how his little human likes him to use it. John's legs spread as far as he can stretch with his restrictive trousers. He'll pay for the ache later, but right now, he doesn't care. Another lap, leaving a slimy trail. It doesn't take much to get John hard, precum mixing with the the saliva that drips down his body. Ghost teases him, until John digs his nails into his fingers, begging Ghost to touch him properly.
Finally, Ghost snakes his tongue down, just the tip swiping along John's cock. His pupils widen at the taste. Low, knocking clicks echo around the chamber.
"AH!" John gasps with a full-body jolt, able to feel the vibration through him.
All he can do is hold on for dear life as Ghost twines his tongue around him. His cock is fully encompassed in writhing muscle that coils and tightens in rhythmic strokes. Relentless in the pursuit of bringing John pleasure. There's another slick sound—the wet squelch of Ghost's free hand fisting his cock. One day, John's going to convince Ghost to let him take care of his needs for once, but so far, he's had no luck. He's sure it's out of caution, the way Ghost worries over him.
Ghost presses his forehead to John's chest, one eye looking up to make sure he's doing alright—isn't in pain. Gasping, John nods, "'M good. Don't stop, please…"
John whines—can't help it with the overwhelming pleasure that rockets through him when Ghost noses against his chest, brushing against a hardened nipple. Ghost brings him closer, until they're smashed together. Skin gliding against each other. The pressure of Ghost rubbing into John like he's trying to mask his scent with his own, until they form something new, only them. Hot breaths puff against John, heavy, quickening with each pull of Ghost's tongue.
"More…" John begs, squeezing Ghost's fingers to emphasize his need.
A deep rumble. The weight subsides, strings of sticky saliva snapping from their bodies with a flick of Ghost's dark tongue across his lips. Ghost moves lower, until he's between John's legs. His lips drag across John's cock, parting to close over it. John throws his head back and shudders. Teeth scrape against his pelvis, his cock rubbing against the roof of Ghost's plated mouth.
Ghost teases him, playful mischief flickering in his eyes as he innocently blinks at John. John's about to gripe at him to get on with it, cut short by a smokey purr. Slithering out between his legs, Ghost laps along the cleft of his arse. He presses harder, parting John to tease the tip of his tongue against his rim.
John lets go of Ghost with one hand and weaves his fingers into his damp hair, holding on for dear life. Before his injury, John hadn't been a stranger to secretly stealing away in the night to meet up with other men to have a bit of fun with. The sex was good—satisfied an itch his hand couldn't achieve on its own. But none of that compares to how Ghost's tongue slowly parts him. The way it wriggles against his softening rim to spread his spit around, before working into him with hungry prods.
Heat, want, desperation—John's head reels as Ghost sinks deeper. Stretched around the slick give that forms to his insides like his tongue was made to be there. So full, made to take until he's at his limit, panting like a dog. No human could ever make him feel this way. Delve so far into his core.
There's a moment of suspense. A final check-in; the twitch of a finger against Soap's head. Soap manages a pathetic good and Ghost gets to work. Slowly, he drags his tongue out, until only the tip is inside, then shoves it back in with a sloppy squelch. John cries out, mouth open on a breathless gasp. He surrenders to the indulgent sensations, trusting Ghost to hold him where he can't support himself.
His head lolls back with a drawn out moan, looking over his shoulder to make sure Ghost isn't neglecting himself. Quite the opposite. Ghost is leaking slick and precum over his belly. He grinds his palm against the underside of his cock, two fingers holding his slit apart while he slips one inside. His tail thrashes. A glob of pearlescent white trickles onto his skin. Rolls down the side of his tail in a sticky trail. John groans at the sight, unable to tear his gaze away. Wants to be down there to help Ghost. Maybe play with his cock so Ghost can finger himself more easily. Next time—he's determined.
Their noises are obscene. The wet glide of Ghost's tongue fucking into him, drool dripping down Ghost's chin and throat. The gravelly chuffs and moans mingling in the echos of the cave.
John clenches at Ghost's finger, his cock jumping in the mer's mouth. He's close. Each delve inches deeper inside. John can see the outline of Ghost's tongue pushing his lower belly out. He lets go of Ghost's hair and presses his hand to the squirming bump. Ghost's eyelashes flutter, eyes glazed over, utterly overtaken by his desire to make John feel good. He meets the pressure with a slow push, making sure John can feel his tongue licking at him through skin, fat and muscle.
That's all it takes to do John in. He comes with a wrecked shout, hips jerking against Ghost's mouth. A feral glint sparks in Ghost's hooded eyes. His tongue gives a final, noisy click as he splits John just past his limit. He's never felt so full. It wriggles in place, milking John until he's wrung dry, and Ghost is sure he's squeezed out every drop.
John's eyebrows scrunch together and he bares his teeth with a soft hiss as Ghost slowly pulls out. Leaves him feeling hollow, but so satisfied. Ghost kisses his belly. Rests there a moment to make sure his human isn't about to pass out on him. John lets out a giddy laugh, head spinning with endorphins. Dragging his trousers back up, he lets Ghost place him on his shoulder so he can fully tend to his own predicament.
Still buzzing, John murmurs encouragement into Ghost's ear. He plays with the red tufts and chuckles when Ghost's face flushes a deeper blue. He can see muscles of Ghost's torso tightening. His tail draws into a twitching pile. Ghost makes the sweetest noises, shallow gasps and warbled grunts and moans. He's using both hands now—three fingers deep in his slit, pumping steadily in and out—the other hand firmly wrapped around his cock.
"That's it, Ghostie," John croons. He presses a kiss to the side of his head, but doesn't look away. "Good lad."
Ghost's cock twines around his hand at the praise, going rigid as he spills a flood of shimmery cum over himself. Knuckle deep in his vent, his slit quivers and clenches in time with each copious pulse.
John doesn't think he could ever tire of seeing his companion get lost in the throes of pleasure. A fleeting moment where it's just the two of them, and nothing else matters. What he wouldn't give to be able to have this every day. Not just the sex, but the thought of having Ghost by his side, without the pain of having to leave and never knowing when they'll see each other again.
John tries to shake the sorrow. Doesn't want to ruin the moment by being sad about what they can't possibly have.
Ghost shifts; a gentle nudge to warn John that he's about to move. They slide down to the cave floor like Ghost has been deboned. He flops onto his belly and crosses his arms under his head, leaving enough space for John to carefully drop down and join him.
Immediately, John is set upon by the happily purring merfolk. He basks in Ghost's doting. The gentle nuzzles and contented huffs as Ghost kisses over him. The way he adjusts his arm so John can't escape—as if he'd want to do that.
Everything is perfect in this moment.
John touches Ghost's cheek and smiles. Can't tamp down the affection that swells within him.
"I love you, Ghost…" he whispers.
The fin on Ghost's back stands on end and rapidly shakes, his ears perking up to full attention. The adoration in his soulful brown eyes cuts through John's chest like a knife. No words are needed. There's no doubt in his mind that Ghost loves him back just as much, maybe more.
"Do you think…" John cuts himself off and shakes his head. No, it's stupid—impossible really.
Ghost tilts his head and moves closer, his sign for John to continue.
"I don't know where you go when you're not here, but… can you do me a favor while you're gone?"
Ghost nods. Of course. Of course he can.
"Do you think you can look for a new place for us? Somewhere that looks promising for me to live?"
It won't be easy going out on his own, but he's sick of this. He can't do it anymore. If he has to spend the rest of his life wondering, he'll surely go mad. He needs to get away from the disgusted stares and talking behind his back that worsens every day. He's not wanted. His family would be happy to be rid of him.
Ghost can find them a home where nobody will bother them. Where Ghost can come and go as he pleases, without the worry of being seen. John would rather the uncertainty than what he endures now.
"I can't stand being away from you. The only thing I look forward to is seeing you. I know it's a lot to ask…"
Ghost interrupts him with a soft chuff. He traces John's face with a knuckle, his smile tender with understanding. He nods again. Yes, anything for you.
The rain has stopped and the sun is low in the sky when John leaves their cave. For once, his heart isn't full of agony, but hope. Something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. He's left his canvas and easel in the cave. A memorial for all the time spent there and the good memories that outweigh the bad. A painting of gold-washed rocks and dark water that reflects the light of his lanterns, only a ripple to tease of something that lurks below.
As he drags his cart behind him, he looks once more to the sea. In the distance, a red fin raises high in the air, and slaps down on the surface before disappearing from sight. John waves, even though he's sure Ghost can't see him, and knows that the next time they meet will be the last time either of them will be alone again.
