Little Moments, #2

by Megan Derr

  Seree grimaced and let him go, turned away. "Nothing. It was stupid. Something I'd do as a merman that humans, in my limited experience, would not enjoy." Especially with him, grandson of the Sea Witch, and unable to hide that legacy—in the ocean, at least. Here in the human world, nobody knew anything about him just by looking, and it was refreshingly wonderful.

  "Oh," Aimee said. "Do you really think I wouldn't?" Seree turned back at the wistfulness in his voice, taken back by the longing etched plainly on his face. "I was hoping to someday see you as you really are. I mean, physically. Damn it." He sighed, closed his eyes. "I mean as a merman."

  Chuckling, Seree pulled Aimé back into his arms, immediately soothed to have him so close. "I knew what you meant. Only, there are things about me I haven't told you, and I am no beautiful merman like my siblings, with a tail resembling sharks and dolphins and all manner of colorful fish. I resemble my mother, and my grandmother, and it makes me feared and loathed, despite the coloring that proves me to be my father's son."

  Confusion filled Aimé's face. "I don't understand."

  Seree sighed, a ball of dread filling his stomach, unpleasant knots tugging at his chest, making it ache and burn. "I suppose it is best to show you, and have done."

  "I'm not going to run away screaming," Aimé snapped.

  "That's what most do," Seree replied, and stepped away before he could reply, hastening down to the beach. He discarded his clothes and left them folded on a nearby rock, held down by a smaller one. Then he dove smoothly into the lagoon, and swam out until he was roughly in the middle of it, giving himself plenty of room.

  He took one last look at Aimé, absorbing his beauty, his curiosity, the memory of all the kisses and torrid nights—and days—they'd shared.

  Then he called up his magic, and let the reversion to his true form overtake him.

  It hurt, and enduring the pain never got easier. The change tore through him like knives, or the quills of a particularly pissed off mermaid from the Sunlit Sea.

  The first thing to go was his ability to breathe like a human. He could speak like one, but it took effort and practice, with vocal chords never really intended for such a use.

  Next came the internal alterations, returning him to a creature that could survive the Deep, where his dinner was whatever swam by that looked tasty, and various plants that had never seen the sun. No fragrant saffron rice, or roasted garlic cream chicken, or salmon cooked in lemon and herbs, or bright vegetables smothered in butter and salt.

  Once his insides were done being rearranged, the magic spread to his outside, flattening his face and taking away nearly all his nose, leeching the color from his sun-kissed skin and altering his hair to be better suited to dark, cold water. His nails turned into sharp claws, spine-tipped fins ran the length of his forearms. His ears changed, too, fins around the edges of them, adapted to hearing sounds that would never reach a human ear. His white skin was overtaken by scales that shifted from palest green around his torso to a brilliant aquamarine at the tips of his arms and where they merged into his tentacles, which were an aquamarine and teal ombre, exactly like his father's tail.

  Unfortunately, the tentacles were all his mother, his grandmother. There was no hiding that he was descended from the Sea Witch, the most feared creature in the ten seas. Everyone who saw him did indeed fear him, for being a terrifying combination of Sea Witch and royal family, with the warrior scars a final blow. Spines, claws, tentacles, teeth, and venom—he was crafted for violence, and his beautiful coloring had never really been able to detract from that.

  He stared hard at the water, enjoying the warmth of it, but cold inside all the same because he could not bring himself to see what Aimé now thought of him.

  But the sound of splashing, swimming, jerked his head up, and he stared in bafflement as Aimé swam toward him—swam fast. For a human, he was impressively fluid in the water.

  He'd thought Aimé would stop a few paces short, and was not prepared remotely when instead Aimé swam right up to him and practically threw himself into Seree's arms, just as he had earlier. That nearly sent them both toppling under the water, but Seree managed to keep them upright. "What in the world?" he asked, acutely aware of the arms wound tightly around his neck, the mouth just breaths away from his own.

  "I was expecting something terrifying, the way you were going on. Like the weird fish that occasionally get pulled up by the fisherman, that look all melted or have weird lanterns hanging from their heads, or something like that. But you're absolutely beautiful—even more beautiful than as a human."

  "I…" Seree couldn't think of what to say to that. In all his years, no one had ever called him beautiful except his parents. His sisters had as guppies, before the rest of the world taught them to be afraid of him, but no one else. Even his few lovers, always interludes that lasted days at best, always called him things like fascinating, unique, powerful. They left him feeling like a specimen they'd enjoyed playing with, rather than a person they'd enjoyed spending time with.

  Aimé kissed him, mouth clear and fresh from the lagoon water. His fingers slid with easy, eager familiarity into Seree's hair, and if he cared it was thicker, and oddly slick now, he made no show of it, only kissed him harder and deeper.

  Seree kissed him back fervently, tentacles coming up to tentatively hold him, waiting for that moment when Aimé recoiled, realized he was kissing a man who was really a monster.

  But Aimé only shivered and clung more tightly, feeding at his mouth like he might die if he stopped.

  It made Seree dizzy with relief, that Aimé still wanted him, had not yet realized just how horrifying he really was.

  When they eventually drew back, Seree stared at him. With his proper eyes, colors were more vivid and beautiful than ever, bringing Aimé to life in all new ways. Seree wanted. His tentacles shifted restlessly in the water, his sensory arms releasing the soft, shimmery blue liquid that was essentially a lubricant. He was desperately grateful that even if Aimé noticed, he wouldn't know what it meant.

  "Feels strange," Aimé said breathlessly, squirming in Seree's hold, and it was only then he realized he still had some tentacles wrapped around him. He immediately let go—and Aimé pouted of all things. "I didn't mean in a bad way." His face went suddenly scarlet, and he started to let go, pull away, and only then did Seree notice the far-from-soft cock that had been occasionally brushing against him.

  Perhaps he should start paying more attention to what was and not bracing himself for what he expected. Aimé had never been what he expected, and it was part of what made him so delightful.

  Seree gave in to himself, to his wants and desires, ignored those parts still quavering that he was a monster, repulsive, scary. He dragged Aimé back in close and took his mouth in a hungry, biting kiss, tentacles coming up to close around him—arms, legs, torso, keeping Aimé right where Seree wanted him: at his mercy.

  He slid his attentions from Aimé's perfect mouth to kiss along his jawline, then down the delectable line of his long, beautiful throat. Aimé moaned as he tilted his head to grant better access, shivering in Seree's grasp, cock still unmistakably hard against Seree's torso. "S-Seree—"

  "Yes?" Seree managed, nipping at his throat as he wrapped a tentacle around Aimé's cock, eliciting a startled cry that struck all the way to his bones and made him hungrier, needier, more possessive than ever.

  That earned him even more moans, and restless, eager movements, silent pleadings for more.

  Which he was more than happy to give. He used his heavy, thick, tapering tentacles to spread Aimé wide while keeping him carefully braced with head above water, and pushed a slender, straight tentacle, already slick and ready, inside him. Normally he loved to watch Aimé ride his fingers, but claw-tipped as they were right now, that just wasn't possible. But he could feel everything just fine, if not better, through the sensitive feeler tentacles that were also used in mating. Which, delightful as that could be in the Deep, he'd always enjoyed it immensely
on land, too. Especially with this delightful prince whose love had broken a curse.

  "Oh, gods," Aimé gasped out, almost wailing, clinging so tightly that his nails would have left divots if Seree was still human. As it was, his scales meant he barely felt it. "That feels—" He did wail that time, as Seree pushed deeper, twisted and turned just so. "Seree!"

  Chuckling, low and smug and happy, Seree slowly and carefully added a second tentacle.

  "You—" Aimé moaned again. "You're going to kill me."

  Seree just continued to fuck him, bring up more tentacles to touch and tease and torment, until Aimé was reduced to a desperate, writhing bundle in his grasp, until he screamed Seree's name loud enough to startle nearby birds.

  He trembled in Seree's arms as he slowly calmed, hot, panting breaths washing over his cool skin. Finally he slumped, resting his head on Seree's shoulder, one arm looped loosely around him, the other still wrapped in a tentacle.

  "All right?" Seree asked softly. Would Aimé regret it, now that he'd calmed down? Would sense bring on the fear? The aversion?

  Aimé gave a shaky laugh, but as he lifted his head, he looked simply as messy and flushed and happy as he always did in the aftermath of a good tumble. "More than, although I'm glad I don't have to explain my sex life to anyone because this would be tricky." He dragged Seree down into a kiss. "What about you? Did you come? I don't know how to please you in this form. It's so beautiful; I don't understand what I'm supposed to hate. You don't look like the pictures my great-grandmother painted, but I guess I don't know enough to understand why your looking different is bad. All I see is that you're absolutely stunning."

  Seree kissed him for that, tangled him up close, simply savored he was there and thought Seree beautiful and desired him. Simply him. Not a prince of the Deep or a warrior of the Deep or a naughty thrill as the witch's grandson.

  Drawing back, panting softly, Aimé said, "You still haven't told me what to do to get you off like this."

  "You already did it," Seree said with a laugh. He wrapped one of his slender tentacles around Aimé's cock. "I do have a mating strand, as it's called, but that's only necessary for reproduction. All the fun lies with the sensory arms." He lifted a couple of them out of the water. "I most often keep them tucked away, since they're extremely sensitive and it can get distracting quickly. But this lagoon is quiet, and I like being able to feel you, even if it's akin to keeping myself semi-hard. I'm surprised you're taking it so well. But as I said earlier, there are things about me you don't know."

  "That's tied to the way you look."

  "Yes," Seree said with a sigh. "You know the Sea Witch?" When he nodded, Seree added, "She's my grandmother. Her eldest daughter fell in love with my father, and I was one of three children they had together, but the only one to come out looking like my mother and grandmother. It's made me not popular in the Deep. Only the fact I have royal colors spares me. The court was never fond of my mother, they were always convinced she must be a spy or something. But she loved my father, and her children, deeply. All she ever wanted was to escape her mother. They're where I get my magical acumen as well."

  "That sounds like a horrible burden to bear," Aimé said. "You can't help your birth, your family. You shouldn't be punished for things beyond your control, crimes you never committed, choices that others made. I don't understand how people can look at you and not see that you're absolutely beautiful—inside and out, human and merman. Look at what you did for your sister."

  "Stole her 'true love', you mean?" Seree asked with a smile.

  Aimé snickered and kissed him again. "Sorted out a mix-up, let's say."

  "Something like that." Seree resumed the kissing, the touching, until Aimé was writhing in his arms again, begging and ordering and finally simply screaming before going utterly lax.

  He whimpered as Seree carried him to land. "It's a good thing my family knows better than to expect me to rejoin them anytime soon."

  "What do they do here? They don't really seem the sort to enjoy roughing it."

  Aimé snickered as he sprawled in the surf, completely untroubled by the tentacles wrapped around his ankles as Seree remained in the shallows, where he could still breathe through his lower set of gills, the ones high on his neck useless until he went into deeper waters. "They get drunk and say all the stuff they can't say anywhere else, about all the people they can't stand but have to deal with, that sort of thing. I like this much better."

  "You prefer sex to saying mean things? Shocking."

  That got him more snickering. Aimé lifted up on his elbows to better look at Seree. "What can I say? My true love is a merman of many talents."

  "I'm surprised you're so eager. I would think seeing me this way would be a bit more off-putting at first."

  Aimé's cheeks flushed. "When you grow up on stories of merfolk, it's inevitable that you'll wonder at some point how they do certain things."

  "Certain things," Seree replied dryly. "You can just say fuck. It's what we were just doing. The whole lagoon smells of us now."

  "Bet the fish don't like that."

  "The fish will be fine. At least until I eat some of them. So you used to wonder how we fucked down in the Deep?"

  "Did you never wonder how humans did it? Before you started coming up here?"

  "I didn't have to wonder. I had lessons. They weren't quite as accurate as I assumed, but I muddled through all right. Like to think I've gotten decent at it."

  "If that's you at decent, I'll never survive you at excellent." Aimé sat up properly, naked, golden, and covered in sand. "I admit all my filthy imaginings of how merfolk fucked do not compare to the reality."

  Seree's nose flared, the merman equivalent of brows shooting up. "Sounds like your imagination kept your hand quite busy."

  "Quite," Aimé said with a grin. "Still not sure if I got anything right. It never occurred to me some of you came with tentacles." He wriggled his brows. "So if I asked would you tell me? Explain the difference between tentacle and non-tentacle sex in the Deep? How did your sister put it? How you sand each other?"

  "No, do not learn anything from my sisters," Seree said. "That way lies trouble."

  "What kind of trouble?" Aimé asked, and shrieked in delight as Seree dragged him back into the water.

  Tatterlay

  AN EXCEPTION

  Riot's side of the bed was empty when Coroe woke up, but that wasn't really surprising. Coroe only woke early when he had no choice; Riot seemed to do it purely from habit.

  Rolling out of bed, Coroe sorted through his wardrobe and finally settled on the robe his mother had given him for his most recent birthday—a soft green wool, fine as silk, and she'd embroidered it herself with white flowers and yellow dragonflies. Then he carefully brushed out his hair, and fussed over how to arrange it.

  Normally he just bound it in a braid and went on with his day.

  But normally he wasn't hopelessly smitten with a gorgeous man with nearly twenty years on him, who could do infinitely better than a young soldier who worked at the edge of nowhere, with nothing to recommend him but a wealthy family he rarely saw or spoke to.

  Well, all right, the wealthy family was normally more than enough to make a lot of people try to put up with him. But Riot wasn't the sort to be tempted by wealth. Thankfully, he seemed to see something worthwhile in Coroe.

  And now that he was home, with all his clothes and jewels and such, he could really work on convincing Riot to stay with him forever.

  Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He just didn't care. Nobody had ever felt so right—in battle, in bed, in just the day to day moments.

  His face flushed, heat curling through him, as thoughts of just how damn good in bed Riot was. Coroe liked to think he made a good show, but Riot left him feeling like a fumbling boy all over again.

  Shoving the distracting thoughts aside, he finally braided his hair, wound it up into a crown, and finished it off with a pale wooden comb carved to look like flowers on a branc
h. He then pulled on his boots, buckled on his sword and bracers, and headed out.

  Normally he would have needed to be up with dawn, to run morning drills, make rounds, see what the duty roster had in store for him. But Ashtor had granted him a couple days rest to settle back in after being gone for months, and Coroe was going to enjoy every second.

  He'd enjoy them even more if he could find Riot, but there was no telling where he'd gotten. Coroe had introduced him to everyone at dinner last night, and they'd all teased him mercilessly for coming home with a lover, but he'd been so exhausted he barely remembered most of the evening.

  So where was Riot likely to have gone? Well, he leaned toward formal, polite, and proper, so he was probably off introducing himself again to Ashtor. Last night had been more about not falling asleep in their dinner after pushing hard to reach Tatterlay.

  He headed into the great hall, and sure enough, Ashtor, Riot, and Menda were sitting at one of the long tables, conversing avidly. What was Menda doing there? Usually he was long in his fields by this hour. The man lived and died for his grapes.

  Coroe hesitated when he was still some paces away. They seemed like old friends, the three of them, chatting and laughing and clapping one another on the back and shoulders. They were all close in age. Unlike Coroe, who felt suddenly very much like a child.

  It was fine. He and Riot had been getting along marvelously. They were bonded; nobody could compete with that.

  It still felt like someone had just stabbed him in the heart with a metal wyrm spike. Was Riot realizing how much better off he'd be with someone his own age?

  Then Menda glanced up, and happened to see him, breaking into a smile and lifting a hand in greeting. "There's the man himself."

  Riot immediately turned, and Coroe's heartache eased at the smile that lit his face, the hand that extended. He took it, and Riot reeled him in to sit across from him, then nudged a plate toward him. "Saved you some food, since I know how much you hate sweetbuns." He motioned to a group a little further down the table, and they passed down a pitcher filled with coffee that was still hot and fresh and utterly perfect.