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“So to ensure the sea remains—” Dimitri pauses. He knows a flanking maneuver when he sees one. “Wet. There is a special fish?”
“That is correct! A fish! But it is not a real fish.” Flayn still retains a youthful manner, her mourning dresses cut low and intricately laced in the fashion of Adrestia, but her hair adds far too many years, cropped severe and close to the chin since losing her brother in the war—a Faerghan affectation. Dimitri is unsure if he worries the shadows heavy under her eyes are from lack of sleep or too much of it, despite how brightly her eyes shine, hands clasped together. Flayn stares at the three little sweets on a plate she had set in front of him. For pastries, they have a vaguely alarming swampy texture to them.
Perhaps he should be more worried about himself. “A fish-based approach to matters of faith is certainly the profes—the Archbishop’s style.”
“It is quite real,” Flayn huffs, and her hair huffs up a little, too. Dimitri tries not to smile. “It is in the shape of a fish beloved by Saint-Cethleann, but not a real fish as one understands it. It is made of cloth and wood! And it is quite large, enough to fit two people. Two men of Faerghus, even! Maybe. If one of them was a somewhat smaller man. Surely you are acquainted with many somewhat smaller men than yourself!”
Flayn is a dear friend. He will risk either a delightful mouth experience or a dire one, but it is a battlefield decision—the only way out is through. He chooses the driest looking sweet and Flayn looks immensely pleased once more. “And you say it must be two members of the crown to puppet this fish to ensure the sea—”
“Most wet and lovely at this time of the year! And tended to by the faithful, for centuries to come!”
“I’m glad to hear it.” This time, he cannot help the smile. But: “I am truly sorry I was unable to protect the people of the Rhodos Coast when—” Cornelia had been inventively cruel to the followers of Saint-Cethleann. He had not known until the war’s end, when reports from the far reaches of the kingdom had started coming in. Something goes a little wobbly in Flayn’s eyes, and with it, Dimitri’s resolve at dignity wobbles completely, too. He—crunches? Crunches down on the sweet in his mouth. “I would consider it an honour to take part in such a treasured tradition. It would be good for us to learn of healing and peace from those whose faith resides in it.”
“And love!” Flayn beams.
Chills suddenly cramp his stomach. Love. “Of course.”
“How delightful of you to have agreed so readily!” Flayn sets another suspect sweet on Dimitri’s plate with great triumph. She is a master tactician and general, he truly never stood a chance. “Saint-Cethleann was especially beloved by my—my brother. It would make him happy to know her traditions were carried on by a paragon of kindness and honour such as yourself.”
Dimitri tries to swallow, mouth swampy.
*
“Boar,” Felix hisses, in the way words can be only be hissed from the mouth of a giant fish head. The entire thing glimmers with delicate leathery sea-green scales of a craft unknown to him, matched to the colour of Felix’s wool leggings. How considerate of the ancient lost traditions of Saint-Cethleann to be so perfectly harmonious with House Fraldarius colours. “She has been known to lie, you know!”
“Yes, well.” Dimitri’s own leggings are a little tight, the wool alarmingly thin. The fish tail bottom he is strapping to his waist barely covers his backside. He has his own battles to fight.
“Do not let her small stature fool you, it is filled with ridiculous amounts of—of ridiculousness. She will tell you what you want to hear to entangle you in indecent acts of whimsy!”
“Felix, if you are still feeling sore about the blade you dulled on those logs—”
“Enough! I know what you’re doing!”
“And yet you take the, ah.” Dimitri wriggles his fish tail. It feels secure enough for its purpose. “The bait.”
Amber eyes flash from the depths of the fish’s mouth. A boot heel loudly hits the wooden floor in protest. Dimitri is all too aware that it is absurd, Felix’s arms and legs poking at awkward angles out of a fish head, making the same sort of fuss he used to do as a child, but—there, lines of shiny scales curled like a man’s hand gripping Felix’s sharp hip. Strong thighs in nothing but the same thin wool, the line of thick muscle carved out by a tempting shadow. How considerate of the ancient lost traditions of Saint-Cethleann to also be so perfectly harmonious with the soft insides of House Fraldarius thighs. Warmth flushes in Dimitri’s chest, hot in his mouth. Maybe he should take up the strange faith that Flayn and the professor have ascribed to, to have such lurid feelings about a man who is half-fish, half-Felix.
But this, this he must also keep caged inside his heart. Like the rest of the beast of him. Love has ever been a sickness and his mouth would only track stains on the inside of those—no, he has already asked too much of Felix, to have him returned to his side in friendship despite his failings, to accompany Dimitri to this far village on the coast to bring a small amount of inscrutable fish-filled joy to someone who has already lost so much to the war.
No, today they will simply be Dimitri, fish bottom, and Felix, fish top, and it will have to be good enough.
“Felix, I am truly grateful that—”
“Your Majesty!” A musical little knock at the little cabin door. Flayn peeks in, looking all around. “If you are indecent, you must let me know! At once!”
Felix screeches, pulling his fish head lower over his thighs. A pity. “Don't knock and then open the door before someone answers!”
“Please,” Dimitri says. “Here, it's just Dimitri. I am only a fish bottom.”
“Curious, I thought—no matter! It is time! The festival of watery abundance awaits!”
A single little village on the Rhodos Coast had evaded Cornelia’s war hounds and headsman by taking to the cliffs, digging shelters deep into the sandy loam. Dimitri is still unsure of the details of how they had survived those five years—the paths they’re taking through are treacherous even as he picks his way with his good eye, but surely that isn't deterrent enough. By what blessing of Saint-Cethleann had they hidden so well and needed so little as to avoid the outside world so completely? If he was a man of faith, he would have liked to pray to her, to perhaps be granted such rare peace deep in the dirt.
“Are you thinking about sleeping in the dirt again!”
How like Felix to know at all the wrong thoughts. There is no avoiding his fishy glare. “Have you not noticed? The defense of these cliffs is remarkable. They are not a warlike people and yet it is the keen mind of a war tactician that set these paths.”
“Of course, boar,” Felix grumbles. “What else could sharpen even the meekest person’s instinct for war? There was only one outcome here. These people would have been slaughtered by that witch without second thought, if anything less had been done.”
“My brother also thought the same,” Flayn says, putting her hand on Felix’s arm to steady herself as the steep path turns from soft earth to coarse sand.
All the villagers have hair like the spring sea. Brilliant seafoam with a sprinkling of dark weedy green, not unlike the professor’s when they were new at the academy. Dimitri knows what is expected of him and Felix, but the moment the bonfire is lit with a roar on the beach and the waves glow orange with sunset, melting land and sea into one long stretch of gold, it is like he is the one holding the sun hot on his tongue instead of letting it disappear under the horizon, unable to swallow the whole of this down. He does not remember seeing such people at peace as this for years, thought such things lost or mired forever and the ache of it is sudden and sharp, having it shown to him so freely. And Felix—Felix is bent over, thin wool stretched tight over his thighs, impatiently waiting for Dimitri to drape himself over his back to join their fish as if Dimitri had any such right to do so in the first place.
“You told me it was important for the morale of the people, so get on with it!”
Dimitri is sure he told Felix no such thing. But: “Felix, there is something I need to tell you—”
“Boar, don't you—”
“Felix, let me say my piece—”
“Do you think I’m here because I think the sea will cease to be wet if we don’t do this? Do you think Flayn thinks the same? Do you think these people think that?” Felix’s ass wobbles a little with the force of his words.
“Of course not, but you have become a—a dear friend to me. You must understand, my intentions, I worry that they may not be as you think.” Dimitri lays a hand on Felix’s ass, hoping to soothe the bristling scales. “I do not want to deceive you about my feelings while we are so, ah. Intimately joined. You see—”
“Don’t you dare confess your feelings to me while I’m dressed like this!” Felix's ass wobbles even more furiously. “Just put your fish in my fish, boar!”
“Ah ha!” Flayn calls out. Guilt sits tight in Dimitri’s throat; he came here as a favour to her. “I see you are both parts of the fish! How delightful!” Flayn is passing herbs over the bonfire, the white smoke rising into the quiet twilight. The sun has set, the gold crushed into the deep velvet of night. No villagers remain; only the boisterous waves, the newly risen north star, and Felix.
Dimitri feels like he has ruined something delicate again. “Flayn, I am so sorry. I should have simply done as I had promised and not. Not—” He sighs.
“I forgot how humans can be! How silly! Here.” She places her herbs into his hands. The smell of burning mint engulfs him. “It is said that Saint-Seiros did not love war, that she planted in her garden many wonderful things that could soothe and give peace. It was the same of Saint-Cethleann, and she wanted to fill her garden with things that could give love. If you wish to join your fishes more readily, this will come to your aid in a most vigorous manner!”
“Define vigorous,” Felix glowers. He has taken off the fish head, long dark hair mussed and sticking wetly to his forehead. Angry red lines have formed at his bare collarbones where the fish head’s weight had rested. The waist of his leggings rides low, offering an abundant trail of hair that leads down under the wool. He smells like he been at sword forms all day, both salt and dirt. He looks undeniable. Dimitri wants him, just like this.
“Or steadfast! It is as you please. This is all the ritual demands. Speak of love in the morning if you must, or in twenty years, as men of Faerghus do, or do not.” Flayn gives her head a little shake, and for a moment, Dimitri thinks he sees something of the ancient sea in the motion and the shadows. “I will now join my people in the water, and I ask that you do not peek! I would consider it most rude for you to look upon our naked forms. Goodbye!”
The bonfire gives a little laugh of a crackle. The herbs hiss gleefully in Dimitri’s hand. “Um,” Dimitri says.
Felix pushes him to the ground. Dimitri’s fish tail creaks in surprise.
Dimitri cannot taste Felix’s tongue in his mouth, but it is hot and wet, clumsy as Felix licks eagerly at his teeth. All those long years of hunger open him up, and he wants with a desperation that shakes right through him. He doesn’t know much of desire but he wants to be laid bare on the ground and eaten whole just like this, given to Felix’s teeth nipping at his lips and throat.
“Let me,” Felix breathes, touching his cheek, his jaw, and gently, the thin scars that map the skin around his eyepatch. As if Dimitri was something that Felix could still actually want, like this. “Let me—”
The herbs burn up completely in the bonfire, the air around them grass sweet and heady, but he knows of nothing else in the world except Felix’s delicious weight straddling him. “Whatever you want, ah. Felix—”
The hot grind of Felix’s hard cock against his own strips a moan from him. All he can do is grip at that delicious sharp curve of Felix’s hip, finally, finally, letting himself come undone under the violence of Felix’s mouth biting its way down his neck. There has never been a time when surrender was a thing he could allow himself, and the obscene thrill of it now, to give Felix from his body whatever he wants—it is a dangerous fever under Dimitri’s skin, making him spread his legs, offer himself up in service. And Felix—he just looks so alive, winter skin flushed splotchy red from neck to navel, triumphant gaze sharpening and pinning Dimitri through the throat and to the ground, leaving him fighting for each hazy, herb-clouded breath. Long dark hair sways at Felix’s back, enchanting in the twilight and—oh, the beast inside Dimitri strains at its cage at that, wants to pull Felix under him by that hair alone. Begs to please Felix instead.
Felix smirks as if he can see every profane thought that clouds Dimitri’s brain by the minute, then spits messily into the palm of his hand.
“I believe I said—” Felix grips Dimitri’s definitely now too-tight leggings with the other hand, and rips them down the crotch with ease. “Let me handle this.”
“Oh,” Dimitri says, bewildered.
“Oh,” Felix says.
“This isn’t—monstrous—usually—I’m not—” Dimitri gasps as Felix glares savagely down on the situation in between his legs.
It is only fitting that a man who has lived as a monster for so long would have a cock turned to this—the skin is dark, a leathery green, smooth barbs leading toward a grossly engorged base. In the cool night air, it is as if he can feel each single barb, so sensitive that when Felix shifts slightly to glare even more at it, a sob threatens to wreck Dimitri’s throat. It is hideous. The need to bury his cock in a hot wet hole is overwhelming. He is certain he will die like this, hands digging desperately in the sand least he turns his perversion on Felix; a monster untouched.
“I’ve seen all of you there is to see. You think this—” Felix’s spit-wet hand grasps him, even those long fingers dwarfed by his obscene size, but the firm grip is—Felix, is so commanding, he spills all at once all over Felix’s hand.
There is no relief, no warmth. Of course there wouldn't be, even the most human of base pleasures are denied him. There is only the shiver shock of sensation forcing him to feel the whole of his body too sharply, too much. The warm weight of Felix’s thighs is the only thing keeping him tied to this world, and they edge him to madness. “Felix, please.” His cock leaks even more profusely as he begs, his strange watery slick pooling uncomfortably onto his stomach. It's warm, smooth and solid—
An egg. Felix holds it up. It looks more reptile than bird with its pale blue leathery shell. It nestles neatly in his hand.
“I think I understand what is happening here.”
There is nothing to understand, Dimitri thinks hysterically, screwing his eye shut. His cock has not softened in the least through this ordeal. He will always be a monster.
“You’re a virgin.”
Dimitri chokes. He chokes again, clamping down on something ugly that has crept up in his throat. “Do you mean you’ve—”
“That is none of your business.” Felix scowls. “But you have—” Felix’s mouth works outrageously. “Your body. You. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s natural—”
“Felix, you misunderstand! None of this is natural!”
The manner in which Felix braces himself resolutely is the same as when he walks through a sword form—with the sole intent of victory. But when he leans down to kiss Dimitri, it is slow, almost delicate. His lips are chapped but his tongue wets the path thoroughly, and Dimitri immediately opens for him again, spit sliding down his chin. Like this, he isn’t—he isn’t afraid to lift his hand from the sand. Touches Felix’s jaw, mapping the turn of the bone there, fingers trailing through that tempting wetness. Felix’s chest presses against his so closely, he thinks he can hear the blood coursing through the heart, and Dimitri does understand.
He could stay like this and kiss Felix forever, if a man such as himself was allowed such a grace in this world. Wants to not be afraid of giving Felix everything he wants until Felix, too, is made a mess. Wants to kiss the corner of Felix’s mouth where he knows Felix keeps that small pleased smile of his. Felix, undeniable in all things.
Dimitri loves him. His stomach cramps. Of course.
“Dimitri.” Felix bites at his cheek, tugs at Dimitri’s hair. Undeniable. “They need to come out. Let me do this for you.”
The slick slide of Felix’s hand on his cock is unlike any madness he has ever lived, wet enough that every pull on a sensitive barb is like fingers deep in a half-healed wound. A raw nerve lighting sparks of pleasure-pain inside him until his entire body is over sensitive, held together only by Felix’s tight grip. Felix groans softly every time his fingers curl around the tip of Dimitri’s strange cock, pulling more slick over his hand. Long strands of dark hair stick wetly to his mouth, to his hand. Dimitri wants to do the same to Felix, see his cock flushed hard against his stomach as he strips him bare of everything but pleasure but—Felix—Felix is right. There is a heaviness in him, a fullness that he knows must be more eggs that need to come out, and each tight, deliberate stroke pulls a whine he has ceased trying to bite back into his mouth.
“Next time.” Felix grinds against him, his own leaking cock and Dimitri’s slick staining his leggings dark, and it is this, Felix still taking his pleasure so liberally from Dimitri’s body, that has his heart beating hard in his throat, undoes everything that has been pulled tight to breaking in Felix’s hands. “Next time, you will put that thing of yours inside me.” Felix closes his eyes and Dimitri is helpless to watch the softness at his mouth, kisses him over and over to keep it there as Felix shudders. “And you will come for me—ah. Dimitri.”
Dimitri groans, pressing his face to Felix’s neck as he spills all of his eggs in between them. Felix smells of salt and sea, and Dimitri doesn’t need to taste him to breathe him deep.
*
“It may be,” Dimitri starts delicately, staring resolutely at the cabin wall behind Flayn’s shoulder. “Perhaps as we are not adherents of Saint-Cethleann, we have a different understanding of what is steadfast or vigorous.”
The fish head and the pitiful remains of the fish tail glitter threateningly from a pile on the floor. Discarded armour in this strange campaign. A week remains of the ritual and a quick look this morning confirms that he is still under the, ah. Influence. Dimitri wonders faintly if he will be made to fish bottom with what must surely be only the most bare remnants of tail and scale.
Instead of glaring at Flayn, Felix has turned his glare toward the little plate of breakfast sweets that has been laid in front of him. Dimitri watches several expressions cross his face before Felix settles on challenging the breakfast sweets to a duel inside his mind, pink spots high on his cheeks. Dimitri adores him.
“But the ancient lost traditions of Saint-Cethleann!” Flayn clasps her hands together. “Were they not considerate enough to be perfectly harmonious with the colours of House Blaiddyd”