Archive of Our Own

The thick, briny scent of salt permeated the sea-bound mist, clinging to the damp air and settling on his skin like a slick layer of sweat.

Around him, the ocean lay shrouded in an eerie, muffled stillness, the world stripped down to grey water, rolling swells, and dense white vapor swallowing where the horizon ought to have been.

Zanka stood at the stern, his hands calloused against the coarse fibers of a thick braided rope. The line dragged taut behind his weathered wooden boat, pulling a trailing net that had been sweeping the shallow waters for hours.

In his arms, he handled a long, sturdy pushing pole—a stick. Reaching down through the murky green water, he planted the iron-capped tip against the hard seabed floor and leaned his full body weight into it, hauling the boat forward in long sweeping strides.

He had been at it for hours—no, all day by now—trudging through the submerged paths of the coastal shallows in a desperate bid to catch enough fish to fulfill his daily tribute quota.

Exhaustion settled deep into the marrow of his bones, seeping through every strained muscle until each reach of his arms and every brace of his legs felt like pushing through thick mud.

Zanka reached for a loose wooden pebble from the deck and tossed it toward the center of the netting. It landed with a hollow thwack instead of a wet, thrashing splash. No silver scales glinted beneath the mesh, and the net remained unnervingly still. 

Frowning, he used the blunt end of his pole to hook the towline, hauling a section of the net up to check its integrity. He dragged the mesh across the gunwale, inspecting it inch by inch, but there wasn’t a single tear or frayed hole.

It was strange, really.

Usually, it only took him until the early afternoon, around 2 o'clock or so, to haul in everything he needed for the day—enough to fill his plate and a decent catch to sell for a few extra coins. But he'd been out there for what felt like ages now, dragging the shallows, and not a single scale had found its way into his net.

Did he need to push out into deeper waters? He rarely ever had to, and frankly, he’d have preferred not to.

He turned toward the horizon, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding glare of the afternoon sun as he weighed his options.

By his reckoning, he had about two hours before dusk swallowed the last of the daylight, and he'd rather be anywhere else than out on the open sea once darkness fell.

He rarely ventured into deep water. Most of the village fishermen insisted the biggest hauls could only be found out in the open ocean, but Zanka had figured out a better way years ago—one that kept him close to shore and spared his arms hours of rowing.

His strategy was simple, though it demanded careful timing and plenty of patience. Rather than chasing fish in open water, he relied on the natural rhythm of the tides. During the morning high tide, schools of fish would swim into the warm, narrow tidal channels to feed on the algae growing across the reef flats.

Zanka would position his boat at the mouth of one of those shallow channels and wait. Then, as the tide began to turn and recede, he'd slowly drag his net across the narrow choke point, trapping the fish as they rushed back toward the open sea. It was an efficient method that practically funneled the catch straight into his net, making deep-water fishing unnecessary.

His usual routine had never failed him before. Yet the net behind him hung just as empty as it had hours ago, leaving him with only one option left.

Glancing back at the empty net once more, he knew he didn't have much of a choice. He needed to net at least half his daily quota today, even if he had to make up the rest tomorrow.

With a heavy sigh, he ran a weary hand through his hair. Gripping the long pole once more, he planted its tip against the disappearing seabed and gave one final, powerful shove, sending the boat gliding forward.

Once the pole could no longer find purchase on the deepening seafloor, he laid it alongside the gunwale. Lowering himself onto the bench, he pulled the sturdy wooden oar from beneath the seat and began to row.

Eventually, he cleared the shallows and drifted into deeper waters. Leaning over the side of the boat, he peered into the sea below.

As expected, the ocean floor had long since disappeared into a bottomless expanse of dark blue, a contrast to the shallows he'd left behind, where murky, wavering glimpses of coral, sea urchins, and scattered rocks had still been visible beneath the surface. 

Once satisfied with his position, Zanka reached beneath the bench and pulled out his wooden bucket. He'd already gone through most of his chum over the course of the day despite catching nothing, but he scooped up one last foul-smelling handful—a mash of crushed crabs, fish oil, and guts—and scattered it over his net.

He kept at it, tossing another small handful every ten minutes or so. The oily slick would drift with the current and lure in curious predators, while the sinking scraps would whip them into a brief feeding frenzy directly above the mesh.

He waited. And he waited.

An hour dragged by, and the sun sank lower toward the horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and amber. Zanka kept his gaze fixed on the dark depths below, praying for even the briefest flash of silver beneath the surface. But—nothing.

Where the flip were all the damn fish?

A spike of frustration flared in his chest. He slammed a fist against the boat's wooden gunwale, the impact echoing across the otherwise silent sea as he muttered a bitter curse under his breath.

Fed up, Zanka grabbed the entire bucket of chum, intent on dumping every last drop of the stinking sludge into the water and calling it a day.

He stood up, hoisting the wooden bucket over the edge, when a surprisingly heavy surge of water slammed into the side of his boat. The sudden heave knocked him off balance, nearly spilling him headfirst into the dark ocean.

"Damn it—!" Zanka hissed under his breath, dropping the bucket to the deck with a loud clatter as he threw his arms out, shifting his weight to regain his footing.

As the boat rocked, his eyes darted over the water, catching a glimpse of a wide ripple breaking the surface a short distance away. Fish? he thought, a sudden flicker of hope cutting through his irritation. He quickly snatched up his oar and began to row closer toward the disturbance.

As he glided toward the spot, a sharp, faint scratching sound scraped along the exterior of the hull, followed by a dull thump. He looked over the gunwale, his pulse jumping briefly, only to see a tangle of waterlogged driftwood scraping against the boat.

Strange—he hadn't seen any debris out here just a moment ago. He leaned over to inspect the hull, letting out a heavy sigh when he confirmed the wood hadn't gouged a hole in his boat.

He cast his eyes back toward the horizon and swore internally. Shit—he only had about twenty minutes before the sun fully dipped below the edge and engulfed the ocean in pitch darkness.

Reaching down, he struck a match and lit the small glass lantern mounted on the bow, its yellow flame casting a weak, flickering ring of light around his tiny skiff.

Just his damn luck. He’d just have to swallow his pride and make up for the missed quota tomorrow.

He was about to stow his gear when something broad and heavy passed beneath the boat, lifting the skiff ever so slightly as an unnatural swell rolled beneath the hull. The water churned for a moment before settling back.

Zanka frowned, peering over the gunwale into the lantern's wavering reflection. Whatever had passed beneath him had been far too large to ignore. 

A shark, perhaps. Or another predator cruising the deeper waters. It would certainly explain why the fish had vanished without a trace. Clicking his tongue, he made a mental note to try a different stretch of the coastline tomorrow.

Deciding he'd had more than enough of this miserable day, Zanka sat down, dug his oar deep into the water, and began rowing steadily back toward shore.

Once the hull finally scraped against the familiar shallows of the shore, Zanka hauled in his pitifully empty net. He wrung the excess seawater from the mesh before shoving it unceremoniously beneath the bench. Rolling his damp pant legs up to his knees, he vaulted over the side of the boat, his bare feet sinking into the wet sand.

He grabbed the mooring line and dragged the boat farther up the beach, securing it around the trunk of a nearby palm tree to keep the tide from stealing it during the night.

With a heavy sigh, he turned his back on the darkened sea and began the trek home. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and he'd need to be up well before dawn if he wanted any hope of making up for today's miserable haul.

What he failed to notice in the darkness were the fresh, jagged scratches gouged into the side of the boat. They stretched across the damp wood in long, uneven streaks, as though something with impossibly sharp claws had raked its way along the side.

Then again... in the dead of night, they could just as easily have been mistaken for the scrape of hidden reef rock.

The pre-dawn light was a heavy, slate-grey, swallowing the coast in an airless haze as Zanka set out into the water. Long before the village had even begun to stir, he was already out on his boat, long stick in hand.

He reached down into the murky dark beneath him, planting the iron-capped tip against the seabed and leaning his weight into it with a muffled thump against the ocean floor, propelling the boat forward in steady glides.

A single droplet of water landed cold on the back of his neck. He paid it no mind at first, brushing it off as a stray splash from the tip of his pole as he lifted it for another push.

Then another drop hit his shoulder… Then two more spat against the wooden deck.

Zanka paused, wiping the moisture from his brow before glancing up at the dull expanse overhead. Had he risen just a little later, he would've realized the oppressive grey wasn't simply the lingering gloom of early morning, but a thick, bruised blanket of low-hanging storm clouds.

It was raining.

Damn it. Just his luck again.

Within minutes, the light drizzle turned into a relentless, blinding downpour, sheets of grey rain hammering the surface of the sea.

Zanka clicked his tongue. The wind had shifted, the swells were already beginning to build, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. This was no passing shower.

He glanced back over his shoulder toward the coastline, but the shore had already vanished behind a wall of white mist and heavy rain. He was too far out, and trying to turn back now against the rising swell would take too long, leaving his tiny boat vulnerable to being swamped or flipped.

Looking around for shelter, he squinted through the deluge, scanning first to his right, then to his left. Through the thick curtain of rain, a dark silhouette gradually emerged—a small, rocky islet, if it could even be called that.

Squinting against the biting rain, he made out a decently sized rock formation with a jagged cave opening near the waterline. The overhang looked deep enough to shield him from the worst of the wind, and the natural arch appeared wide enough for his boat to slip inside with room to spare.

If he was lucky, there might even be a narrow patch of dry ground where he could beach the boat and wait out the storm until it was safe to return to the mainland.

Making up his mind, Zanka gripped his pole tight, jammed the tip down into the seabed, and began desperately propelling his boat toward the dark maw of the cave. 

Zanka eventually made it inside, and for once, luck was actually on his side. Just as he'd hoped, there was a small, sheltered patch of dry land tucked deep within the cavern.

Skewered into the sand were weathered traces of others having taken refuge here before—a few charred logs, a heap of rope, and the faint, soot-blackened ring of an old fire pit.

Tying his boat securely to a jagged rock near the water's edge, Zanka climbed out and sank onto the dry sand. He pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe the water from his face, though it did little good with his clothes already soaked through.

Looking back toward the mouth of the cave, the downpour outside had become a relentless wall of white, the sea beyond little more than a blur of crashing waves and rain. The storm wasn't breaking anytime soon. He was stuck here until it passed.

Exhaustion finally caught up with him. Zanka eased himself onto the sand, tucking one forearm beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. He stared toward the cave's entrance, watching the rain whip the open sea into a churning froth. Just as he was about to close his eyes and turn away from the storm, something at the edge of his vision gave him pause.

Out in the open water, framed right in the center of the cave's narrow opening, the blinding curtain of rain seemed to warp. It wasn't just a wave, nor was it a swell.

Through the grey blur, a silhouette gradually took shape—a dark, impossibly large form half-lost behind the sheets of rain. Distance and the storm made it impossible to tell what he was looking at.

A sea stack, perhaps. Or a trick of the weather. Yet it remained where it was, untouched by the restless rise and fall of the ocean around it.

As the rain lashed against the sea, a cold sweat crept over Zanka's skin. He stared, waiting for the shape to dissolve into the storm or shift with the current.

It never did. Then, as another heavy sheet of rain swept between them, the silhouette was gone.

Zanka sat upright, a cold prickle of unease creeping up his spine. He rubbed his knuckles hard against his eyes, shaking his head.

Was he finally losing it from exhaustion?

He hadn't slept worth a damn last night, tossing and turning, and he'd dragged himself out of bed before the sun was even up. It had to be a trick of the mist... and a tired mind.

Then came a sharp, wet tearing sound, followed almost instantly by a heavy SPLASH that echoed through the cavern—somewhere inside the cave with him. Zanka was on his feet in an instant.

He reached for the wooden pole resting beside his boat and gripped it tightly, angling it toward the darkness as his eyes swept the cavern.

"Who's there?!" His voice rang off the damp stone walls. "Show yerself!"

Zanka began poking his pole—hi stick—into the shallow water near the edge, prodding at the dark depths in a desperate attempt to drive whatever creature or animal was down there away from the shore and force it to swim off.

Without warning, the end of the pole was snatched violently downward. The sudden, immense tug yanked Zanka off his feet, sending him tumbling headfirst into the shallow, foaming water.

"Fuck!" he gasped, coughing up a mouthful of briny seawater.

Zanka immediately scrambled back up to his feet, brushing the wet sand off his clothes and wiping his mouth with the back of his dripping sleeve.

His heart was hammering against his ribs as he retrieved his stick, backing up until his shoulders pressed against the solid stone of the cave wall. He scanned the dark interior of the cavern, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

The sound of the roaring storm outside seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a soft, unnatural sound echoing off the wet rocks.

Is that... giggling?

Another splash echoed to his left. Zanka’s grip tightened around the heavy wooden pole still clutched in his left hand, while his right instinctively reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the cold, worn handle of his knife.

Eventually, the soft, unnerving giggling faded into silence. The water swelled and parted with a wet, heavy slither as something moved steadily toward the small shore.

A head poked out from the dark surface. 

A person? What the fuck—wait, no.

As the creature loomed closer, the water rippled around a massive, powerful tail—no, a fin? What the actual fuck?

The creature rose slowly out of the shallows, water cascading off his slick, dark skin, sharp dorsal fins, and damp locs that clung to his broad shoulders. He had a pair of webbed, fin-like hands, tipped with long, razor-sharp claws that glinted wickedly in the low light.

Under him, a long, powerful tail trailed through the water, its deep, dusky purple scales blending seamlessly into the dark tan of his skin before fading into a broad, finned tail that swayed slowly.

His eyes glowed a vibrant, piercing magenta in the dim interior of the cavern, the pupils slit like a reptile’s and utterly inhuman.

He was grinning—a wide smile revealing a mouth packed with sharp teeth. Golden rings adorned his locs, catching what little light filtered into the cavern and glinting with every subtle turn of his head.

Zanka’s breath hitched, the knife trembling ever so slightly in his white-knuckled grip.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

He dragged his gaze across the creature's features, taking in the slick, webbed hands, the sharp teeth, and that massive tail coiling beneath the surface. 

He’d heard stories—mostly tall tales passed around by children or old drunken sailors at the docks—but he had always dismissed them as pure nonsense. 

After all, he’d spent almost his entire life working these waters, day in and day out, and he’d never seen a damn thing.

Until now.

He wasn’t stupid, by the looks of it, this was a mermaid—merman—merfolk, or whatever cursed term belonged to the creature in front of him.

Zanka found himself, for once, terrified in the very sea he had worked his entire life. "Stay back!" he barked, his voice betraying a faint tremble despite his best efforts.

He thrust his stick forward, splashing the water violently between them to keep the thing from coming any closer.

The giggling started up again. Without warning, the creature dipped beneath the dark surface and swam—moving impossibly fast straight toward him!

SPLASH!

A webbed, clawed hand darted out from the churning water and seized the tip of his pole. With a sudden jerk, the creature pulled, yanked Zanka forward off his feet. Zanka stumbled wildly, losing his balance entirely, and pitched face-first toward the rising tide.

Zanka splashed down hard into the shallow water, coughing out a spray of foam as he scrambled onto his knees. His right hand whipped out, flicking the knife open and aiming the gleaming blade straight at the creature’s chest.

The creature didn't recoil, though. Instead, he slowly raised his webbed, clawed hands in a mock gesture of surrender, his tail swaying in heavy slaps against the tide behind him.

A low, purring chuckle vibrated in his throat as he leaned down closer, his glowing magenta eyes fixed on Zanka with unblinking fascination. His grin widened, displaying those deadly, sharp teeth.

"Put the toy away, my little human," the creature murmured, his voice smooth and velvety, seeming to reverberate straight off the cave walls.

He glided closer through the shallows, the water rippling smoothly around his chest. "I’ve been trailing your boat since yesterday... watching you struggle to get a catch, watching you get so beautifully angry. You put on quite a show out there!"

He tilted his head, his golden-ringed locs dripping water as a clawed finger playfully traced the surface of the tide between them. "I was almost sad when you rowed away last night. Imagine my delight when you walked right into my den today."

"You..." Zanka spat, his knuckles turning white around the hilt of his knife as he forced himself to stay grounded. "What the hell are ya?"

"What does it look like I am?" the creature grinned, his powerful, glistening tail breaking the surface with a fluid sweep to emphasize the point.

And Zanka—damn it—found himself mesmerized. His eyes traitorously trailed down the creature’s frame, tracing the slick, muscular contours of his dark chest, the faint, fluttering slits of his gills resting along his neck, the sharp ridges of his dorsal fins, and the mesmerizing sway of that massive tail cutting through the tide.

Every loc in his hair caught the dim cavern light, glinting with golden rings as water cascaded down his shoulders. He was terrifying, yet there was a magnetic grace to him that made it impossible to look away.

The creature smelled nothing like the fish Zanka hauled from the sea every day. It was subtle, but every breath seemed to draw him a fraction closer before he caught himself.

The creature—obviously noticed. A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest as he glided even closer, closing the distance until he towered directly over Zanka in the shallow water, his shadow swallowing the fisherman.

Zanka snapped out of it, cursing under his breath, and thrust the knife directly toward the creature’s throat.

The creature reached out, using a single, long claw to lightly trace the flat edge of the cold steel, casually nudging the tip away from his face as if it were nothing more than a stray twig.

"You can call me Jabber," the merfolk purred, his slit-pupil eyes fixed on Zanka with a hunger that felt both predatory and intimate. "Though… I can be whatever you want me to be, human."

Before Zanka could process the threat, Jabber’s webbed fingers clamped around the flat of the blade. 

With a flick of his wrist, he effortlessly yanked the weapon right out of Zanka’s trembling hand, sending it clattering into the deep water behind them.

Zanka hadn’t even processed the words. His eyes were drawn to those glowing magenta irises.

How could a creature be so… beautiful?

The creature grinned, and before Zanka even realized what was happening, he’d been pulled away from the shore and into the deeper reaches of the cavern.

Outside, the storm still raged, but inside, the sea had settled into an eerie calm. The water rose to Zanka’s chest, though he could still keep his footing against the rocky floor.

He could feel Jabber’s massive tail brushing lazily against his legs, the smooth scales gliding over his skin.

The cavern water swirled around Zanka’s chest, warm compared to the biting rain outside. The loss of his knife left his hand empty and twitching, but his pulse wasn't hammering from terror—strangely enough.

Underneath the surface, he could feel Jabber's massive tail coiling between his legs, the dark, smooth scales brushing against him with tantalizing slowness. Every scrape sent a shudder straight up Zanka's spine.

Jabber leaned in, closing the space until his slick chest pressed flush against Zanka’s dripping shirt. He brought his webbed hands up, resting his broad palms flat on Zanka’s shoulders, his long claws digging just deep enough into his skin to hold him in place.

Zanka tilted his head back, his breath hitching as Jabber's face slid into the crook of his collarbone. The creature flicked his long tongue out, running it slow and wet up the side of Zanka’s neck, tasting the seasalt on his skin.

Zanka gasped lightly as the damp tongue dragged across his neck, a sharp tremor running through his spine. Without thinking, his hands moved on instinct, coming up to rest flat on Jabber’s waist—right where smooth, dark skin fused into glistening scales.

Damn it. He’d really lost his mind, hadn't he?

Before he knew it, his hands had begun to explore. Zanka slid his palms up the sides of Jabber's torso, feeling the slick, cool texture of his skin and the distinct ridge of his ribs.

His fingers trailed higher, brushing over the sharp, membrane-stretched edge of the dorsal fins flaring from Jabber's lower back. The fin twitched against his knuckles at the touch, vibrating with a low, tense heat.

Against him, Jabber’s grin only stretched wider, those glowing magenta eyes darkening as his slit pupils dilated into thick black pools.

Driven by a sudden impulse, Zanka surged up, tilting his head and sinking his teeth deep into the crook of Jabber’s neck, right above where his dark gills flared and twitched against the damp air.

Jabber let out a low, ragged moan that reverberated straight through the water, his gills fluttering wildly in a sharp gasp as his entire frame shuddered against Zanka’s chest.

His clawed hands dug harder into Zanka’s shoulders, the sharp tips puncturing the wet fabric of his shirt and breaking the skin, drawing small, hot beads of blood that quickly dissolved into the churning sea. 

Jabber’s tail swept heavily beneath the surface, sending warm waves swirling all around them.

Zanka pulled back, his chest heaving as a thin string of saliva stretched from the bite mark on the creature’s throat to his own open lips. Below the raw mark, the faint slits of Jabber's gills flared wetly with every ragged breath he took.

Strangely enough, a smear of deep, luminescent green blood was left glistening against Zanka’s mouth—thick, cool, and smelling sharply of sulfur and iron as it seeped from the creature's neck.

Jabber’s slit pupils dilated until the vibrant magenta of his eyes was almost entirely swallowed by blackness. He let out a low, breathless laugh, his webbed hands sliding down Zanka’s bleeding shoulders to cup his jaw, his sharp claws lightly scratching against the fisherman's chin.

"I thought it was going to take a lot more to seduce you, human," Jabber purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his thumb dragged over Zanka's green-stained lower lip. "This is a nice surprise."

An instant wave of heat flushed through Zanka's chest—irritation and adrenaline, tangling together in his gut. Arrogant bastard.

Without giving the merfolk a chance to mock him further, Zanka lunged forward, closing the space between them in a single surge.

He gripped the back of Jabber's scaled neck, pulling the creature down and slamming his mouth onto Jabber’s in a hard, bruising kiss.

Jabber let out a sharp, muffled gasp against Zanka's lips before melting entirely into the collision. 

Beneath the surface, Jabber's massive tail swirled, rising from the depths to wrap itself tightly around Zanka's lower body. The smooth scales coiled around his waist and thighs like a python, pinning Zanka’s hips flush against the creature's muscular torso.

The heat radiating off Jabber’s body was overwhelming in the cool water. Zanka felt Jabber’s clawed hands slide down his back, digging into his skin through his drenched shirt to hold him close.

Every time their mouths parted for air, Jabber surged back in, his sharp teeth finally breaking the skin of Zanka’s lower lip. The metallic taste of blood mingled with salt as Jabber lingered for the briefest moment.

Zanka hissed, more out of instinct than pain. Before Jabber could pull away, he bit back, his own teeth catching the merfolk’s lower lip just hard enough to draw a thin line of dark green blood.

Jabber froze for a second, then let out a low, rumbling chuckle against Zanka’s mouth, his slit-pupil eyes gleaming with unmistakable delight.

Zanka pulled away, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his lips slick and bruised.

Though, before Zanka could catch his breath, Jabber hooked his sharp claws into the collar of Zanka’s drenched shirt and shredded it down the center. He tossed the rags into the dark tide, leaving Zanka’s chest bare to the humid cave air.

Instead of shrinking back, though, Zanka cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively snapping to Jabber’s shoulders. He dug his fingers hard into the sleek, dense muscle, pulling the merfolk right back into his space until their bare chests slammed together.

Jabber bellowed out a hearty, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through the water and straight against Zanka's ribs. He was thoroughly riveted by the human's audacity, his tail tightening its coiled grip around Zanka’s hips to keep him still.

"Satisfy me, human," Jabber purred into the column of Zanka's neck, his hot, damp breath raising goosebumps along his collarbone as his claws trailed lightly down his spine, "and you might just live."

Zanka’s eyes darkened at the threat. He shoved his palm hard against the base of Jabber’s sternum, driving his weight forward to force the creature back.

The sudden, stubborn push caught the merfolk off guard; with a surprised grunt, Jabber released the muscular coil of his tail, unwinding it from around Zanka's hips and letting him drop back onto his own feet in the shallow current.

Freed from the python-like grip, Zanka backed up a step, his chest heaving as water lapped heavily at his ribs.

He stared at the creature in front of him—the glowing magenta eyes, the razor-sharp grin, the faint slits of his gills flaring wetly along his neck as green blood slowly washed into the tide.

Zanka had no idea what he should do now. The situation felt completely surreal, as if he would wake up from this bizarre dream any second now, back on his boat, bone-dry and sensible.

Jabber floated casually in the deeper water, his tail fanning the dark depths below as he watched Zanka with an amused, expectant glint in his pupils.

Zanka took a slow, deliberate step forward, wading deeper through the churning dark water toward him.

His hands moved almost on their own—reluctantly at first, but driven by a raw, gnawing curiosity. They hovered just above the creature's lower body before alighting onto those fascinating scales covering Jabber's hips.

Zanka was careful, keeping his broad palms well away from the sharp pelvic fins flaring dangerously from either side of the merfolk's waist. Up close, the scales weren't uniform.

Near his flanks, they were small and rounded like iridescent coins, but farther down toward his thighs, they transitioned into tight, overlapping diamond-shaped plates that shimmered a deep, bruised violet beneath the water. 

He had never realized he’d be so utterly captivated by a creature like this. Jabber was gorgeous in a terrifying way. No matter how many alarms blared in the back of Zanka's mind, he wasn't put off by the thought of what was happening.

Gods help him, he wanted this.

Zanka slowly ran a palm down the side of Jabber's tail. The scales were dense and slightly rough against his skin, like cold leather carved from stone.

Amused, and clearly growing impatient with the tentative touching, Jabber reached down and wrapped his webbed, clawed hand firmly around Zanka's wrist. He guided Zanka's hand downward, pressing his palm right between the firm, muscular swell of his tail.

Zanka’s fingers brushed against something soft hidden amidst the scales—a smooth, concealed opening tucked along the creature's lower anatomy.

Zanka yanked his hand back fast, his heart slamming against his ribs. "Shit—" he whispered, the realization hitting him all at once.

Jabber chuckled, a low vibration that rolled straight out of his chest and rippled through the water. Keeping his grip firm on Zanka’s wrist, Jabber used his free hand to trace his sharp, webbed claws along the tight slit Zanka had just discovered, parting the protective sheath slightly before dragging a single, long clawed finger directly over the sensitive, thin crease hidden inside.

The scrape of that sharp claw looked like it hurt, making Zanka wince. But when he looked up at Jabber's face—the creature’s heavy-lidded eyes were dark, his mouth slightly open as his breathing hitched, unmistakably aroused by the friction.

Zanka swallowed hard, a throbbing heat pooling in his own groin as he felt himself getting turned on, growing harder despite the cold sea water against his skin. The howling storm outside the cave faded into distant noise.

Reaching out again, Zanka carefully brushed his palm over Jabber’s slit. The scaleless skin hidden beneath the protective sheath was surprisingly smooth, hot, and completely different from the rough scales of his tail.

He pressed two fingers against the tight seam, tracing the center line down to the base and dragging them back up to the top. As the heat radiating from the creature intensified, the slit relaxed, slick fluid weeping from within to lubricate the entrance.

Zanka allowed his fingers to sink slowly into the parted seam, pushing past the soft, pulsing folds of internal skin. It was impossibly plush and scalding hot inside—a tight, muscular chamber that easily swallowed his fingers, the inner walls clamping down with instinctual suction.

Jabber let out a thick, rumbling moan that vibrated straight through the water, his head snapping back as his dark locs splashed into the tide behind him. 

Since Zanka couldn't see what he was doing beneath the dark, churning water, he had to rely entirely on touch. He carefully slipped his middle finger deeper into the tight, slick heat of Jabber's slit, his knuckles disappearing past the soft fold of skin. 

Feeling along the hidden walls, Zanka’s fingertip brushed against a firm, spongy node tucked near the upper curve of the cavity. Guessing its purpose, he applied a light, deliberate pressure, circling his finger directly over the sensitive, raised swell.

Jabber’s eyes shot wide open, the dilated blackness of his pupils flashing in the dim light. A sharp, loud moan tore from his throat, echoing off the wet cavern walls.

Instinctively, his hands slammed into Zanka’s shoulders, his sharp, webbed claws digging deep into the muscle, puncturing the skin and drawing a fresh sting of pain from the fisherman. Though, despite that, the creature’s mouth curled into a wild, breathless grin, his sharp teeth glistening in the dark.

Seeing that reaction, Zanka felt a dark surge of pride. That had to be it.

Smirking right back through his heavy breathing, Zanka curled his finger and pressed firm, continuous pressure directly against the spongy knot once more.

Jabber gasped, his body going rigid as his massive, heavy tail thrashed violently beneath the surface, sending a sudden surge of warm water swirling around Zanka’s chest.

Zanka pulled his finger free with a slick, wet sound before plunging it right back in, earning another loud, shuddering moan that tore straight from the merfolk’s throat.

Keeping a steady, rhythmic pace, Zanka slid his finger in and out of the tight, sweltering heat, using his index finger to massage and stretch the sensitive rim of Jabber's entrance before carefully pushing both fingers inside together.

Jabber’s internal sheath yielded to the pressure, stretching readily to accommodate him. Feeling the muscle give, Zanka continued to work the slick opening until he managed to ease a third finger past the fold.

At the added fullness, Jabber’s head lolled back against the cavern wall, his throat exposed and his massive tail twitching erratically beneath the surface as ragged gasps escaped his chest.

Suddenly, Zanka felt a heavy, internal shift right beneath the palm rest on Jabber's lower belly. Something within the protective slit pulsed and pushed outward, forcing Zanka’s hand slightly out of the way.

Zanka’s eyes widened as the hidden organ slid free from its internal sheath. He looked down through the dark, rippling water. Even in the dim cavern light, it was unmistakable.

Extending to its full length, the merfolk’s cock emerged—a slick, smooth shaft flushed a pale, translucent pink that almost seemed to glow beneath the dark tide.

Unlike a human's, it was sleek and slightly tapered, with faint, pulsing violet veins tracing its length. Near the swollen, rounded tip, soft, translucent ridges flared out slightly, glistening wetly in the water and radiating a deep, pulsing warmth against Zanka's submerged thighs.

"What the fuck?" Zanka muttered under his breath, staring down into the water where the smooth  length throbbed gently against his thigh. He looked back up at Jabber, his own face burning hot despite the cool air.

Jabber’s heavy-lidded eyes were dark, his chest heaving as the faint slits of his gills twitched wetly along his neck. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his razor-sharp teeth, his clawed hands tightening their grip on Zanka’s bare shoulders.

"You brought it out, human," Jabber purred, as his webbed hand reached down, his sharp claws lightly tracing the hot, pulsing length between them. "Don't tell me you're backing out now."

"…Shut yer mouth," Zanka rasped, his face burning, though the spark in his eyes made it clear he wasn't going anywhere. Reaching back into the water, Zanka slid both arms firmly beneath Jabber’s tail and lower back, bracing his body to lift the merfolk up.

Jabber let him, going surprisingly pliable, his webbed hands resting on Zanka’s bare shoulders. He was far heavier and denser than Zanka had expected—built of thick muscle and heavy, solid bone—but the buoyancy of the water helped bear the weight.

Chest heaving with the effort, Zanka waded through the shallowing tide until his feet scraped against the grainy slope of the cave's sandy shoreline. He hauled Jabber out of the water, letting the heavy tail drag through the surf before dropping the merfolk back onto the damp sand with a wet thud.

Without giving Jabber a second to mock him, Zanka immediately crawled forward, straddling his hips and settling heavily on top of him. Wet sand coated their skin as Zanka pinned Jabber’s shoulders down, staring into the creature's glowing magenta eyes.

Jabber’s heavy tail flapped restlessly from side to side against the wet sand, the thumps sending vibrations straight up through Zanka’s knees. Beneath the drenched fabric of his pants, Zanka could feel his own hard length straining against the wet fabric, desperate for release.

Unable to handle the teasing proximity any longer, Zanka lifted his hips slightly and ground himself hard down against Jabber’s front, driving his wet pants right over the creature’s slick, swollen length.

A ragged groan tore from Zanka’s throat at the sudden friction.

Below him, Jabber let out a sharp, breathless gasp as his back arched off the sand. His webbed claws dug deep into Zanka’s bare back, his slit pupils dilating into pure blackness as he wiggled beneath the fisherman, rolling his hips up to meet every desperate grind.

"Yes, just like that," Jabber hissed through bared teeth, his tail coiling tightly around Zanka's legs to lock them flush together.

Zanka ground his weight down once more, the friction driving a low grunt from his chest before he reached a hand back, blindly navigating to Jabber's slit. His fingers slid back inside, stretching the hot, tight muscle in rhythm with his hips.

Jabber was growing even more impatient with the heavy layers separating them. Growling under his breath, he reached up and pressed his wet palm flat over the hard, prominent bulge trapped in Zanka's pants.

His sharp claws snagged on the waterlogged fabric, turning the movement into a struggle, but Jabber persisted until he managed to pop the top button.

Zanka cursed softly, fumbling with the stubborn zipper before furiously shoving his pants down his legs and kicking them off entirely. The wet fabric clung to his skin, taking far too long to shed for his liking.

Once he was free of the damp weight, Zanka bit his lip as Jabber reached right back out, wrapping his slick, webbed hand around Zanka’s swollen cock. The creature's palm felt smooth and cool against his overheated skin, yet the subtle friction of the webbing between his fingers sent a sharp jolt through Zanka's nerves.

A low, trembling groan tore from Zanka’s throat, his knuckles turning white where he braced his hands in the sand on either side of Jabber's head as the merfolk's grip tightened.

Without loosening his hold, Jabber slid his webbed hand lower, using his palm to guide Zanka’s throbbing cock directly against his own sleek, translucent pink length.

He aligned them tip to base, trapping both of their swollen shafts flush together within the single, tight, wet cup of his large hand. Then, with a low, rumbling chuckle, Jabber began to jerk them off together.

It felt amazing. Any remaining hesitation or lingering logic vanished completely into the roar of the storm outside.

All Zanka wanted right now—desperately, with his blood hammering in his ears—was to fuck Jabber.

Breathing heavy, Zanka broke the alignment of their cocks, pulling his hips back just enough to free his shaft from Jabber’s grip. His mind raced as he scrambled to figure out the best position, his hands slipping on wet skin as he tried to adjust over the massive, muscular tail beneath him. He ended up straddling the creature, bracing his knees firmly on either side of the heavy fin.

Reaching down with a sand-dusted hand, he guided his hot, throbbing tip to the slick slit in the middle of Jabber’s tail, aligning himself directly over the warm, inviting opening he had just worked open.

Lowering himself, Zanka rolled his hips slowly, sliding the swollen head of his cock up and down the wet length of the crease to coat himself before prodding the entrance. Gritting his teeth, he pressed forward, driving his hips down to force his way inside.

Jabber’s internal muscles tensed instantly around the intrusion, the hot sheath yielding with a tight, pulsing suction that swallowed Zanka deeper with every inch.

"Fuck—" Zanka groaned through clenched teeth as he fully sheathed himself, his shaft throbbing against the scalding depths of the merfolk.

Jabber threw his head back against the damp sand, a loud, breathless moan tearing from his throat. His gills flared wildly to catch air while his tail twitched violently beneath Zanka's knees. His hands flew upward, sharp claws digging deep into the bare skin of Zanka’s back, leaving stinging red trails in their wake as he held the human against him.

The initial sensation inside was overwhelming—it was almost numbing. The internal canal was extraordinarily tight, the powerful muscles of Jabber’s tail constantly pulsing and contracting in waves that actively sucked Zanka deeper with every shudder.

Breathing heavily through his nose, Zanka pulled back until only the tip of his head remained lodged in the tight rim. Then, with a low growl, he drove his hips forward again.

The heavy, slick lubrication coating Jabber’s interior allowed Zanka to slide in and out with a wet, seamless glide, allowing him to set a steady, relentless pace as he pulled out before plunging straight back into the sweltering heat.

"Yes—keep doing that!" Jabber gasped, his voice raw and breathless as his head thrashed against the sand.

And who was Zanka to disobey? After all, he was only human.

A smirk pulled at Zanka’s lips. Setting his jaw, Zanka adjusted his position, shifting his weight higher on his knees to shift his angle. Instead of thrusting straight in, he hitched his hips upward, aiming his cock sharply toward the top curve of Jabber's tight internal cavity.

With sudden precision, Zanka slammed his hips forward, sinking all the way back in until he was buried to the hilt. The broad head of his shaft struck the spongy node directly with a hard strike.

The sharp, wet smack of skin meeting skin rang out above the roar of the surf outside as Jabber’s entire body went rigid. His massive tail twitched violently, thrashing against the damp sand as a high, loud moan tore straight from his throat, echoing off the cavern walls.

Inside, his muscles clamped down, contracting around Zanka's shaft in a series of breathless pulses that sent a wave of pleasure straight up Zanka's spine.

Taking advantage of the reaction, Zanka leaned into the angle, pulling back just far enough before thrusting upward again, driving his head straight against that spongy spot a second time.

Jabber shuddered violently, his mouth hanging open as a loud, broken cry tore from his throat. The muscle of his tail thrashed restlessly beneath Zanka’s knees, the fin slapping the sand and splashing dark water over their legs, while his sheath clamped shut, pulsing tightly around Zanka's cock with every movement.

Seeing the reaction, Zanka kept the angle fixed. He drew back and hit the sensitive spot again, setting a punishing pace. Each upward thrust slammed into the exact same spot, sending fresh tremors through Jabber’s body. 

Jabber’s claws dug into Zanka's lower back, his fingers squeezing hard as his lower body twitched and arched off the ground to meet every strike.

Before long, Zanka’s thrusts lost all trace of a steady rhythm, turning fast and erratic as Jabber keened desperately beneath him for more. The merfolk was practically mewling, his earlier arrogance completely shattered as Zanka fucked him hard and fast, slamming into him over and over without mercy.

"Shit–," Zanka panted, his chest heaving as sweat mixed with sea spray on his skin.

"Keep going—fuck, you feel so damn good!" Jabber gasped back, his head thrown back as his jaws snapped shut, his webbed hands hooking tightly around Zanka's thighs to pull him down as deep as he could go.

Zanka didn't stop—he didn't want to.

He pinned Jabber’s thighs firmly to the sand, planting himself so he could maintain that sharp upward angle. He pulled back until his head almost slipped out, then drove forward with everything he had, slamming his weight into that spongy wall again.

Jabber’s back bowed high off the sand. His gills flared wide, dark red tissue straining as he gasped for air, his throat clicking with choked-off sounds. The dense muscle inside his tail squeezed around Zanka, spasms rippling down the organ, trying to trap Zanka inside.

Zanka leaned down, pressing his chest flat against Jabber’s sternum until he could feel the hard, rapid pounding of the merfolk's heart against his own ribs. 

Reaching down into the space wedged between their stomachs, Zanka wrapped his fingers tightly around Jabber’s flushed pink cock. The skin felt smooth, wet, and burning hot to the touch.

As Zanka kept up the fast, shallow thrusts into Jabber, he began to work his hand on Jabber's shaft. He stroked up and down, pressing his thumb hard against the soft, flared ridges near the tip, smearing the slick pre-cum spilling from the head.

"Ah!" Jabber cried out, his voice cracking. He reached up, his webbed hands clutching Zanka's forearms, his nails digging into the skin as his tail trembled violently between Zanka’s hips.

Zanka matched the motion of his hand to the strike of his hips. Every time he drove upward into the spongy knot, his hand squeezed and pulled up on Jabber’s length.

The combination completely broke the creature. Jabber’s tail thrashed sideways, scattering wet sand and water across the floor of the cave. His hands curled, the long webbing stretching tight, and the pink length in Zanka’s grip swelled even larger.

"I'm—I'm gonna come—!" Jabber gasped, his eyes rolling back as his insides clamped down.

Zanka gave three fast pumps of his hand while slamming his hips up one last time, driving his head straight into the node.

Jabber gave a high, shattered cry, his head snapping back as his pink cock throbbed violently in Zanka’s palm.

Thicker, warm fluid erupted from the tip, spurting in heavy pumps over Zanka's hand and stomach. Inside, the merfolk’s opening contracted in tight, frantic waves, pulling and milking Zanka's cock so hard that Zanka couldn't hold back his own release any longer.

His vision went hazy around the edges as he buried his face into the side of Jabber’s neck, his teeth catching the delicate skin above the creature’s gills. 

Zanka ground his hips up into that spongy knot three more times—short, desperate thrusts that sank him deep into the merfolk.

Each strike brought another shattered gasp from Jabber, whose body twitched helplessly beneath him, his pink length still spurting over Zanka's abdomen.

On the third thrust, Zanka slammed his hips and froze as his own climax tore through him. A low, guttural groan burst from his chest, swallowed by the roar of the storm outside as another heavy wave crashed against the cave’s mouth, sending a spray of seawater.

His cock throbbed violently inside Jabber’s tight hole, spilling inside. Jabber’s internal muscles greedily clamped around every throb.

Zanka collapsed forward, all the strength draining from his limbs at once. His arms buckled, leaving him lying heavily on top of Jabber, their sweat-sheened chests heaving in unison as their racing heartbeats hammered against each other.

He remained buried deep inside, his body heavy and utterly drained. Zanka tried to summon the strength to push himself up, but his arms felt as heavy as rocks against the wet sand.

His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. 

Zanka woke up to the blaring light of the midday sun burning through his eyelids. Shielding his face with his arm, he squinted against the harsh glare and listened to the distant, shrill cries of gulls wheeling overhead.

The swaying motion beneath him made him realize he was lying in his boat, having likely drifted ashore while he was out cold.

What the...?

Before he could process it, a figure stepped into his line of sight, casting a wide shadow over him. Zanka sat up abruptly, his muscles aching as he blinked to clear his vision.

Standing before him was a man with dark tanned skin and long dreadlocks resting on his shoulders. He was standing upright on two legs, wearing simple, worn trousers that clung loosely to his frame—was he a local villager? 

A wide, strange grin stretched across the man's face.

Zanka scowled, his voice gravelly from sleep. "Huh? Who are ya?!"

The man raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin only widening. "You were passed out cold in the middle of the water, man, so I towed you back in!"

Zanka’s brows furrowed deeply. Right... there had been a massive storm. He’d taken shelter in that cave to escape the waves and then fell asleep.

How could he have been so reckless?

Damn it, he hadn't caught a single fish, either. He really needed to make up for lost time now if he didn't want to go home empty-handed.

"That still doesn't answer my question," Zanka grunted, rubbing the back of his neck.

The man beamed, placing a hand on his chest. "Oh right, yeah yeah! My name's Jabber! You’re awfully rude, considering I just saved your life!"

Zanka sighed, the realization settling in that the guy had actually pulled his boat ashore before it capsized. He didn't like being in debt to anyone, especially strangers.

"...Nice to meet ya," Zanka muttered, standing up from his boat and stepping out onto the firm ground to stretch his stiff limbs. "Come with me, I’ll treat ya to a meal or something."

Jabber’s grin stretched even wider, and without a second thought, he fell into step right behind him.