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Dark eyes watch him go to his classes in the morning, then watch him come home from work in the evening.
They don't disappear under the surface when Ryan stops to stare out at the ocean like they used to. Recently they've been staring back with what he likes to imagine is anticipation alongside plain-old curiosity.
"Don't you have fish to terrorise instead of stalking me?"
"Not at the moment, no."
Ryan slips from his bed like he's done every night for the past few months and treads the familiar coastal path down to where the streetlight fades and the shoreline is hazardous. He doesn't cut the soles of his feet anymore, now that he knows where the most jagged areas lay beneath the shallow waves, so he's quick when he picks his way across, heading straight toward the lounging silhouette of a boy who exists only to corrupt and kill, if the tales of his town are to be believed.
Sometimes he can't help but believe those tales, because he hears Naim's voice in his head even when they're apart, dreams of scales that shimmer like sequins, and isn't scared like he knows he should be—like he's been told to be.
Naim turns to him when he approaches and retreats into the water with a splash and a smile that reveals sharp fangs. A webbed hand rises, outstretched.
"I swear, one of these days you're gonna fuckin' actually eat me."
"One day, maybe."
He hadn't run then just like he doesn't run now. Ryan accepts the hand and allows Naim to drag him in, his legs sliding against a thick, powerful tail. He doesn't think the idea of running has ever crossed his mind, in fact.
The two of them spin with the tide, getting swept this way and that.
Ryan kisses Naim like they've been separated for more than just the day, fervently begging against his lips, "Please."
Far down the coast, in a cove that Ryan's come to think of as theirs, he lays Naim down on warm, dry sand and watches his tail to separate into two legs freckled with iridescent scales.
They shift their forms in order to lure in the foolish, the townsfolk say. Do not be fooled, for they are not like you—they are not like us.
Naim's skin is smooth under his tongue when he kneels to lap up the salty droplets trailing around his sensitive thighs. Ryan pries them apart and sweet, melodious whimpers cause simmering heat to pool low in his stomach. Fingers tangle in his hair, making what's probably already a terrible mess, worse. Naim yanks him up until they're face to face and breathing shakily into each other's mouths.
Dark eyes reflect the stars above like mirrors. Naim looks at him with more love than he's ever felt from any human.
After unceremoniously hauling off his soaked shirt and shorts, sparing a second to hope they don't get washed out to the depths from wherever he's chucked them, Ryan wraps his hand around Naim's already-leaking cock. He sucks marks that are sure to bruise into his neck, right under his pretty gills, while flicking his fist rhythmically. Ryan rubs the silky scales around the base and tip under the pad of his thumb, earning himself more strained noises.
He takes his time; they have all night.
It's strange to think about how, before this—before Naim—he used to spend the hours between dusk and dawn doing what he could to stamp down this side of himself. He used to resent that he always craved more than this stifling, fear-mongering town, rotten all the way to its core like a bad apple.
This is a safe place. We are protected.
When he was younger, he used to throw stones at other boys and let them throw stones right back. It would be especially painful on occasion, and he'd feel anger bubbling inside him as hot blood trickled from his wounds. It was the only thing other than fear he thought he'd be able to feel for a long time, but not anymore—not since the windowsill in his bedroom became crowded with a row of delicate shells, varying in size and shape and colour. Ryan will look at them nestled under the sparkling line of the sea on the horizon in the moments after he wakes and before he sleeps, recall Naim presenting them, telling him where he'd found each one, and feel happy.
Soon, he'll leave; find a place that doesn't demand he smother his soul in exchange for the illusion of peace.
A place with the boy who's rolling his hips into each stroke and tugging desperately at his hair.
Ryan grins into Naim's neck, knowing that with those inhuman senses he'll be able to feel the dizzy energy surging through him.
He moves his hand down, using the wetness that coats his fingers to ease the process of stretching Naim open, murmuring words of praise and reassurance in his ear until he's properly writhing for something more.
His knees sink further into the sand when he guides himself in, exercising restraint until he's fully taken, though it's hard, because Naim feels like heaven.
"Move, Ry. I need—"
"Shh. 'S alright, I've got you."
Naim nods trustingly, his lashes fluttering, then Ryan starts rocking slowly, slipping in and out, again and again.
He kisses Naim as he moves, sucking on his lower lip and tracing the pointed ends of his fangs while pleasure steadily brings the heat in his stomach to a boil.
Ryan hitches Naim's legs more securely around his body, the way they clench at his sides urging him to fuck him faster; deeper. He circles one of Naim's thin wrists and pins it above his head, entwining their fingers loosely. As he repeatedly hits the places that make Naim moan the loudest, he leans his weight on it, using it as leverage.
It doesn't take more than a few thrusts for Ryan's brain to turn fuzzy and the entire world to narrow. All he can focus on is Naim's body arching into his, fitting perfectly. He snakes his free hand between them, pumping Naim without any of his earlier finesse until he finishes with a gasp, his sharp teeth piercing Ryan's lip just enough to have him tasting metal.
He's unsure if that's the final straw, but he squeezes Naim's waist and the next time he drives his cock as far into him as he can, he comes, every nerve shuddering; lighting up as if struck by matches.
Aching, yet not quite ready to stop, Ryan carries on fucking him, albeit at a much lazier pace. Naim always flushes so beautifully when he's told how good he looks, all filled and sated and whining while pretending he couldn't care less.
Night is threatening to tip over into day by the time he finally flops onto his back, bone-weary and completely spent. They lay side-by-side, listening to a flock of gulls start up an abrasive chorus in the distance.
"Sorry for biting you," Naim murmurs, his chest still heaving.
"Don't worry about it." He can't remember the last time anyone had apologised for hurting him—intentionally or otherwise.
"Thought you'd accuse me of trying to eat you. Again."
Ryan laughs, turning to nose at Naim's cheek; heart swelling with how much he adores him. "You've never outright denied those accusations."
"Because it's ridiculous, and even if we did eat people—I wouldn't eat you."
"That's the most romantic thing anyone's said to me, sweetheart."
Naim swats at his arm, an amused huff brushing Ryan's face. "Only 'cause you're too… muscly to make a good meal out of. What's that saying? I'll save you for a rainy day."
"At least make it a very rainy day."
"I'll consider it," he replies, dropping the most tender of kisses to Ryan's temple. "Come on, we should go."
By morning, they're gone from the cove.
By end of summer, they're gone from the town.