EngCan (mermaid brothel au part 2) — no release, I feel you in my dreams

(Yes, part 2 to the infamous mermaid brothel fic I wrote a ways back. Written for fellow EngCan lover Vuri who asked so nicely. Hope you like it!)

There is something singularly lovely about the way the merman moves through the water, the sinuous push of his gleaming tail, the twist of his body as he stretches out on a smooth rock at the bottom of the tank. The merman flicks out his tail, throws sand up around him, crosses his arms across his chest, and stares up at the aquarium’s top, at the bright lights just beyond the surface of the water.

Arthur, thinks of the light caught in the water, of the rush and pressure of being submerged, and touches the smooth glass, taking in the sight of his merman lounging back, hair fluttering around his face. “And he cannot see us at all?” He asks.

Francis makes a vague noise of affirmation in the back of his throat, idly thumbing through a dossier. He looks up, mouth downturned, “Do you plan to watch him the rest of the evening or should I have him taken to a room? As much as I enjoy watching you pine, I have plans to dine with a beautiful woman who will slit my scrotum if I am late.”

Arthur snorts, pulling away from the glass, dragging his fingertips down the cool glass. “I take it you would prefer that I keep this encounter short?”

Francis’s lip curls and his tone is teasing when he says, “It is actually possible for you to be quicker? The poor creature.”

Arthur scowls and leaves the room, Francis’s laughter ringing in his ear as he goes to the room he first visited the merman in.

Francis’s employees work quickly and efficiently because the merman is already bound and waiting for Arthur with a dark glower on his face.

The position, this time, is more stylized. Thin wrists are bound at waist level, behind him, to a sleek silver bar, the merman’s chest is pushed out and shoulders already pink at their curve. A smooth ribbon of red binds him across the middle of his chest, attaching to the bar, tethering him to the same pole. His powerful tail is tied to the pole as well, folded under him and peeking out off to the side, the gossamer fin shimmering just below the still water of the pool.

The merman watches him undress, reach into his sports coat and hide something in his fist, and approach the edge of the pool, wading towards the captive creature.

“Every time.” Arthur says quietly, breath catching, as he touches the merman’s face, fingertips coming to rest just below his chin. He looks at the creature’s mouth, at the scarf slipped between his lips, and he feels heat curl in the pit of his stomach. “You bewitching creature.”

The merman gives him a long look and then glances away, the proud line of his nose tilted up, curling hair shielding most of his expression.

Undeterred, Arthur dips his head, brushing the soft strands out of the way, and mouths the dip where neck meets shoulder, moving upwards to kiss the fluttering gills, tasting salt and metal along the slits of skin.

The merman is tense, jaw clenched. He does not struggle and Arthur doesn’t mind because the merman is warm, chest rising under Arthur’s hands.

“I brought you something.” Arthur whispers, reverence causing his voice to hitch as he traces the disappearing line of flesh where scales begin.

The merman ignores him and Arthur reaches for his face, scowling when he forces the merman to look at him.

“And I did not have to.” He reminds him, voice still level. He doesn’t expect to win over this creature. Francis told him only a fool would.

But Arthur’s always been a little foolish. He opens the one hand still clenched into a fist, a long string of black pearls dropping from his fingers, clinking together and catching the light of the room.

The merman stares at him and then at the pearls, wide-eyed for a moment, and then his gaze narrows and he looks affronted, eyes flashing like a storm and Arthur frowns.

“Then I am glad I only chose a string of pearls.” Arthur presses the pearls to the merman’s skin, letting them roll across his shoulder and down his collar. “Do you know what sort of fantastical things that only the obscenely wealthy might purchase?” He leans close, lips at the merman’s ears. “Evidence of endless wealth’s disease.”

It had been tempting, he remembers, to purchase the devices adorned in pearls and plated in platinum.

In the end, he had shrugged off the salesperson’s pitch, settling on a simple piece of jewelry and ignoring the discerning clientele around him. He assumed the merman would fling the gift to the bottom of his pen once Arthur left.

He slips the strand over the merman’s head, looping it twice until it settles at his collar, gleaming against his pale skin. He dips his head, kisses the area below the pearls and then above and then the merman’s throat.

Arthur rests one hand on merman’s tail with thumb brushing against the merman’s slit. The merman shifts and then stops, clenching his jaw. Arthur realizes, then, that the ropes have less give and the merman is, effectively, bound in place.

It shouldn’t, but it makes him shudder, a delighted smile flicking across his face before the merman can see. He hides any more smiles into the hollow of the merman’s throat before pulling away, eyes bright. He thinks of the patrons in the exclusive store and says, “You really should be thankful to have me as a patron and no one else.” He tangles his fingers in the strands of pearls and then pulls sharply, the pearls pressing into the merman’s flesh, painfully between the lines of his gills. “There are some truly disturbed people in this world.”

The merman meets his gaze evenly, breathing lightly through his nose.

Arthur kisses him, hard. It’s awkward, his tongue curling against the barrier of that blasted ribbon and an unyielding mouth. Arthur yanks the strand of pearls, again.

The merman makes a sharp noise, head tilting back but Arthur follows, though he gentles his kiss, puling away with one, lingering peck.

The merman is red in the face, translucent lashes framing wide eyes.

Arthur can feel how hard he is, the heat pooling between his thighs, and wants to relieve himself, palm away the ache and press into the warmth of the merman.

Fingers dipping into the merman’s cloaca, he brushes against the smooth walls of muscle, wondering at the tightness, and then withdraws, familiar wetness staining his fingers.

The merman’s hands curl into fists, scarlet in his cheeks and spreading down his neck to his chest. Arthur kisses his warm cheeks, strokes the merman’s tail, and shifts, water splashing and rushing between his legs.

Arthur almost moans when he slips two fingers past the merman’s slit and the merman whines, the muscles in his arms tensing. The merman’s head falls forward, eyes shut, panting when Arthur removes his fingers, wet fingers sliding across the bright scales, before he adds a third.

There’s a sort of desperation in him when he leans forward and kisses the corner of the merman’s mouth, cradling his mouth and shifting so he is almost straddling the creature, his erection pushing against the other’s stomach.

Wet fingers tangle in the merman’s hair, wet strands clinging to his skin. The water shivers around them and Arthur unties the ribbon of the merman’s mouth. Grasping his jaw, though, Arthur pulls away, mouth bruised and wet and tugs away the sodden ribbon. The merman snarls at him, lips curling back, but Arthur’s grip turns cruel, fingertips curling into the merman’s face.

“I do not want to threaten you, darling.” Arthur begins, voice shredded, the ends of his tone hoarse. “So do not make me.”

The merman’s expression is utterly hateful but Arthur kisses him, again, before releasing him, soothing away the pink skin with gentle fingertips. The merman snaps at him and Arthur just grins.

“It is truly appalling how much I adore you.” He admits. The merman’s lip curls, but still blunt teeth ruin the affect.

Arthur still decides to be mindful of where his fingers are.

He dips his head, sliding back, and presses a trail of kisses down the creature’s neck over his collarbone and down his chest. He doesn’t realize it, but he is grinding down on the creature’s tail, the scales pleasantly rough against his bare skin, smoothed by the cover of water.

He can hear the harsh panting of the merman above him, broken by half-strangled whines and Arthur wishes he knew enough to know what sort of sounds they were, if they could be deciphered to understand the emotion the creature was voicing.

If the merman could speak, if there was no chance of his vocal cords already being ravaged by the harsh atmosphere of land, he might be able to ask, to know.

Arthur is nearly submerged in water, looking up the merman’s face, hands on either side of his waist. The merman’s eyes are closed and Arthur presses the heel of his palms into the merman’s tail, earning a quick flash of violet before the merman’s scowl returns.

Arthur nuzzles the line where skin meets scale, white easing into soft violet. His cheeks are wet from water splashing against him and Arthur rises, letting his palm slide against the merman’s slit.

He stares, for a moment, at his merman, at the flush of his face, the curve of his mouth, and the grace of his limbs, at the hollow of his throat, and says, hushed, “You truly are a terrible, bewitching creature.”

Arthur wonders if it’s wrong that he doesn’t regret a thing.

Because when he smothers his own cry, climaxing just after the merman, he realizes that he doesn’t.

And, kissing the lax, bruised mouth of the merman, wet fingers trailing down his chest, Arthur knows he would do it again.

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