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Andrew found solace in the way the waves lapped at the sand. There was something so dependable about the ocean: Something so alluring with the way it could soothe or kill, with a purposeful curl of a wave, a well-placed rock.
He supposed Neil was like that, too. The halfling was splashing happily in the parameters of Palmetto Bay, basking in the moonlight and the high tide. Andrew was sat at the water’s edge, watching him frolic through the waves.
When Neil had first arrived, claimed himself to be Neil Josten, a mere changeling, Andrew had seen right through it. Fae couldn’t lie, but Neil was a halfling, his soul enshrined in the spirits of the ocean, the merfolk. His mother had been caught and impregnated by his father, resulting in a dangerous hybrid, able to lie and disappear into the ocean and cure the effects of age with a teaspoon of his blood. Andrew had been able to divine this all within a week of Neil’s arrival in the small town of Palmetto, tagging along with Wymack’s band of magical merry-men, paradoxical at every turn.
And by Kayleigh, everything Neil did was paradoxical.
Like when he’d finally convinced Andrew to let him stay by defending Kevin when his brother, the hideously spoiled fae prince, demanded a duel.
And when he’d accompanied Andrew and Kevin on a quest to recover Kevin’s cousin, Jean, and Nicky’s love, Erik, from Riko’s gruelling clutches. He’d let himself be captured, sacrificing himself for Kevin and Andrew’s assured escape.
When he’d come back, auburn haired and blue eyed, Andrew had finally acknowledged his own truth: He was irrevocably and inadvisably entranced by the half-merman.
“‘Drew,” Neil called, coming to the surface. “Come for a swim. The water’s warm.”
Andrew gave the merman an unimpressed glare, both for the nickname and the suggestion. He wasn’t sure when Andrew started letting Neil have those liberties—calling him affectionate names, asking him for things and Andrew giving Neil that leeway—but he was lost in it now. Ever since they had exchanged truths atop of the cliff-face, just left of Palmetto Bay, he’d been gone. Swept out to sea, one might say. Andrew had bared his wrists and Neil shed his few layers of cotton clothes, both of them whispering truths in the small space between them. Andrew hadn’t heard the grating, high-pitched tone that he usually heard when lies spilled from someone’s mouth, instead letting himself be enchanted with how good the truth looked on Neil’s lips.
He stood, already without shoes, and took off his shirt and shorts, leaving them beside all of Neil’s clothes: It was ridiculous that Neil had to undress completely to change into his mer-form, but Andrew never complained when Neil willingly put his lithe form on display. Just in his boxers, he waded into the water till he was knee-deep.
Andrew liked few things in this world, but the ocean was one of them. Dependable and adaptable and honest, it was.
“Hi,” Neil said, resurfacing close to where Andrew stood. He let himself lean back, the tail drifting closer to the water’s surface. It was a blue akin to the shade of his eyes, glistening and gorgeous: White spikes lined Neil’s spine, venomous but relaxed, laying close to Neil’s skin. The small, web-like fins that grew from the shell of Neil’s ears fluttered when Andrew dragged his finger alone Neil’s jaw.
Andrew looked and looked and looked, at the scales, the scars across his torso, the rivulets of water that trickled down Neil’s shoulders when he lifted his head out of the water. Neil let him, a small smile dancing across his lips. His teeth, pointed like a shark’s in this form, shone like pearls in the midnight light.
Andrew could sense change on the horizon. He could sense the imminence of truth as it neared closer. He was sure Neil could sense it too: Something about his posture suggested that he knew his time was drawing to a close. But Andrew never asked. He told himself he didn’t care.
Andrew was never good at lying to himself.
“Yes?” Neil asked, claw-shaped nails hovering over Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew nodded, letting Neil slide his palms over the swell of his neck and up into his hair, moisture plastering Andrew’s hair to Neil’s lithe fingers. Andrew pulled Neil by the waist, scooping up his tail into his arms and lifting Neil out of the water. They had a few minutes before Neil’s lower half would turn back into his naked and exposed two-legged form, so Andrew carried him out to the beach and laid him on the sand.
Neil was flushed and impatient, as always, but never took more than he was given, and always appreciated what he was given with awe-struck eyes and reverent gasps of Andrew’s name.
Fucking hell. It was just making out, just some kissing, but it seemed to undo Neil every time. Andrew lost himself in that, too. It was so easy to cede control, to relaxed his grip on the reigns, with Neil.
The lore said that a teaspoon of a merfolk’s blood could reverse the effects of ageing and illness, much like the ground powder of a unicorn’s horn. The lore also claimed that merfolk could command the oceans and persuade the tide, and that a merfolk’s promise was a vow only escapable by death.
How something so powerful had deemed Andrew as worthy was as abstract as truth itself. Andrew willed himself to ignore upcoming disaster, willed himself to forget the lies that had themselves woven around Neil like a protective cage. Instead, he pressed his lips to the seawater that collected in the dip of Neil’s collarbone and whispered Neil’s true name when the scales gave way to a navel and the soft crease between Neil’s hip and thigh.
The ocean could kill and caress. It could soothe and subdue. It was predictable but unknowable at the same time, just like truth itself. Andrew liked that.
He especially liked it when the embodiment of the untamed sea cursed his name to the stars, back arched and toes curled against Andrew’s calves.
Really, Andrew could think of nothing else better.