11. Where the Crawdaddies Sing

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WHERE THE CRAWDADDIES SING

The Past: Patrick at Ocean View Cafe

Of course he’d known Sato was coming back that day. They’d managed a couple of phone conversations while Sato was in vangill training. In one of those, Sato had told him his leave dates.

“It would take me at least two weeks to swim all the way there from here, and I only get one week off.” Sato said over the spotty connection. “So I managed to persuade my sire to fly me back. That way I’ll at least have some time with you.”

“I’d offer to pick you up at the airport but you know I don’t have a car.” Most of Patrick’s money went to his cell phone bill and his college fund these days.

“Sire will do it.”

“Is he excited to have you home?”

“Sire? Excited?”

“Has he told you what he’s going to cook?”

“The real question.”

Patrick heard someone in the background yelling something crude about Sato’s inability to plow his girlfriend.

“Ooo, am I the girlfriend?” Patrick asked.

“Gimme a sec.” Sato clearly put a hand over the phone but Patrick heard him perfectly when he said, “Just because you wouldn’t know how to shift the important bits, let alone use them properly.”

“Ooo, he’s mad,” said a deep sarcastic voice.

“I get one phone call. Assholes.”

There was some kind of clattering thump noise and then Sato returned.

“Sorry about that.”

Patrick was glowing with pleasure.

“I’ll come find you as soon as I can get away from sire, which won’t take long.”

“I’ll probably be at the café. They keep giving me more and more hours, so I’m almost always there.” Patrick wasn’t at home much these days.

“It took over the old bait shop, right? You like it?

“Yeah, I really do.”

“It’ll be nice to see you actually doing something useful for a change.”

“Oh, charming. Slinging overpriced lattes for tourists is useful ? As if when I didn’t have a job, all I did was cause trouble?”

“Think about what you just said very carefully.”

Patrick made an exasperated sound at Sato, but did not hang up, because he rarely got to hear Sato’s voice and he missed him so badly sometimes it was like one of his limbs had been amputated.

Thus Patrick had known that Sato was coming back that day. He just hadn’t known exactly when. So he’d been keeping an anxious eye to the door his entire shift. Of course the one time he actually wasn’t watching the entrance, because there was a problem with his most difficult regular, was exactly the point at which Sato walked in.

The cafe’s most challenging customer was Eddie McClyck, former owner of the bait shop. He’d sold the building fair and square, but resented the whole town for his decision to do so. He liked shirts without sleeves in primary colors, flip flops, and cargo shorts, and if his style wasn’t enough to insult Patrick’s sensibilities, he always got dark roast, extra sweet, and then gave himself endless free refills with hazelnut creamer. Even his taste in coffee was repulsive.

Eddie seemed to feel that having once occupied the space, he was entitled to it, and everybody in it. It meant he could be there whenever he wanted for as long as he wanted. It meant that he could insult Patrick as much as he liked, with slurs he pretended were hip modern jokes. It meant he never tipped. It meant he opened sugar packets and scattered them everywhere even though the trash was right there. And it meant that any female employees of the café were also de facto his property.

Usually when Eddie was around, Patrick made certain that he was the one to go out and clean the tabletops and tidy the chairs. But there had been some sort of scuffle out the back in the alley, and Patrick wasn’t going to send Veronica to investigate, because she was a thin-skinned human.

It was late enough in the afternoon that only Eddie was still in residence at his favorite table in the window.

“Stay behind the counter, Veronica. I’m gonna check out back.”

Veronica was a glum little thing with graceless movements and stilted speech who did not belong in the service industry. She was of an artistic temperament, and Patrick could foresee her future as either a tattoo artist or an investment banker. She had only recently been hired, so he wasn’t ready to make a concrete call either way. But she certainly wasn’t familiar enough with Eddie to understand the risk. She was intense and focused and a bit nerdy, but she also clearly thought of herself as more edgy and dangerous than she really was.

“Whatever you say, Patrick.” Her tone of voice said You’re not the boss of me but whatever was going on out back got louder.

Patrick didn’t really have time to deal with her attitude.

He wasn’t gone very long. Because out back turned out to be a pack of stray dogs. Patrick had merely growled at them, using a bit of his otter side, and they scattered in panicked confusion.

Nevertheless, by the time he got back to the cafe, Eddie had Veronica pinned against the creamer stand, big arms to either side of the girl, a sneer that was meant to be a flirty smile on his lips.

Veronica was head down, using her hair as an ineffectual shield, trembling.

“Now, now, Mr McClyck, are we out of your hazelnut creamer? Or was it more coffee you needed? Let me get that for you.”

Patrick attempted to interpose himself between the two humans on the pretext of grabbing for the coffee dispenser that he knew was already full.

“Oh, why don’t you leave us alone, faggy boy. Pretty little Veronica and I were just having a nice chat, weren’t we, honey?” Eddie petted a finger down one of the purple streaks in Veronica’s hair. Pressing closer, so Patrick couldn’t squirm between them.

Patrick contemplated leverage and whether he could physically lift the larger human off Veronica. Patrick was stronger than average for his height and weight, because he was a shifter. But that didn’t mean he had superhuman abilities. He was only an otter after all, he wasn’t a wolf or a bear or anything substantial like that. His people were known for being tricky, and nimble, and fast moving. Not heavy lifting.

“All right, Mr McClyck, if I could just get to the…”

Eddie back-handed him with one meaty arm, hard enough and fast enough to throw Patrick backwards and cut the inside of his cheek on his teeth.

A mouthful of his own blood was not a particularly pleasant sensation. Patrick would’ve spat it out, but then he’d only have to clean it up later. So he swallowed it down and stood back up.

Veronica gave a little whimper and shrank away, squirming side to side to try to get out of Eddie’s arms.

The bell over the door clanged.

Patrick didn’t have attention to spare for a new customer. He only hoped it wasn’t their boss. She was a slight, sweet little human who liked long flowy maxi-dresses and silver jewelry. She would not be able to handle this at all.

But the newcomer clearly took in and understood the situation, because suddenly there was a large masculine body between Patrick and the two humans. The next thing he knew, Eddie had been half-pushed, half-hurled against his favorite coffee table and Veronica was dashing behind the counter.

Maybe she would listen to him next time he told her not to leave the safety of the barista area.

Patrick realized who was fighting their corner and what might happen next quickly. “Sato, try not to break anything or spill any blood. I’m closing this evening, which means I’ll have to clean it up.”

Sato didn’t turn away from Eddie. Instead he just pointed with one arm so Patrick knew that he too was expected to take refuge behind the counter.

“Fat chance.” Patrick refused to move. He wasn’t really in danger. “You might need backup.”

Sato turned his head briefly and gave Patrick an incredulous look.

Patrick pouted at him.

Sato looked just gorgeous.

Sato made a tongue click of disgust, then returned his attention to Eddie, who was not at all daunted by Sato.

“Who the fuck are you? Another faggot?” He pulled out his knife.

Eddie was one of those guys who might have been former military. Or he might have just liked to play dress-up with weapons. In the South it was hard to tell the difference. Whatever the reason, he always carried a knife on his belt. If asked, he would brag about it or claim that it had to do with gutting fish in a sly way that said he could use it for lots of other things too. It was not a fish knife.

Patrick had a moment to be grateful that it was not a gun. Even Sato could be stopped by enough bullets of the right type. Not that he wanted to see his boyfriend cut to ribbons either.

Eddie seemed actually pretty good with that knife. So maybe he had been in the military after all.

But Patrick had forgotten why Sato had been taken from him and that while he’d been learning how to make milk foam hearts, Sato had been undergoing what amounted to merman military training.

Because Sato defended himself easily.

Eddie seemed to understand his opponent and so changed tactics to focus on the weakest person there. With Veronica behind the counter, that meant Patrick.

He charged toward him.

But Sato now had bodyguard training and had always been incredibly protective of Patrick either way, so he responded by lunging and pushing Eddie so hard the man fell into a table, which rocked on its pedestal but fortunately didn’t break.

“Sato! I told you to be careful,” griped Patrick, annoyed.

“I told you to get behind the counter,” shot back Sato, equally annoyed.

He came over, grabbed Patrick by the shoulders, and muscled him around, looking him over carefully.

“What are you doing?”

“He tossed you. Are you hurt? ”

“I’m absolutely fine,. You know I’ve been through worse a million times over. Get off me.” Patrick batted at Sato. “Whoa!”

Eddie came at them again, knife still out.

Sato, looking exasperated, whirled to face him with his forearm up. The knife clanged against something hard and inhuman.

Sato’s spurs were out! On land? Was that even possible?

Sato did something that trapped the knife between two of his spurs. Then he flicked and twisted his arm. It snapped the blade in two, leaving Eddie with nothing but the stubby end and a shocked expression.

“What the hell, you bastard?” said Eddie, master of polite speech.

Sato moved behind Eddie, one forearm across his neck, spurs pressed up against his throat like a massive serrated blade. He started frog-walking the bigger man toward the door.

Eddie tried to jerk away.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. These are very, very sharp and your jugular is very, very close . Try it and you’ll be very, very dead.”

Eddie allowed himself to be marched to the door.

“Patrick,” said Sato, “a little help throwing out the trash.”

Patrick dashed over and pulled open the door, gesturing them through with a flourish.

“Hello, is this 911?” he heard Veronica say loudly behind them. She’d called cops? What possible good would they be? “Yes we have a man with a knife. Well maybe two or three knives and more than one man, but only one of them is an asshole. Can you come and...”

Sato shoved Eddie forward, out onto the street. The man stumbled and tripped.

Patrick shut and locked the door behind him, flipping the sign to closed even though there were four hours left on shift.

“What do you mean the deputies are all on lunch break ?” Veronica’s voice rose in annoyance. Patrick’s shoulders relaxed. Guess the cops were gonna prove his point. “You want us to come in to file an incident report? But it happened here . Don’t you need to collect evidence or whatever?”

Another pause. Veronica looked around the cafe. “No, nothing is broken. There’s no blood or anything. No one is seriously injured.”

Patrick patted Sato’s face in a condescending way. “Good job there, babe.”

Sato crossed his arms and glared. “How do you always get into these situations? How much trouble did you get into while I was away?”

“Welcome home, snookums!”

“Will you please stop with the dumb human pet names?”

Veronica’s voice was rising again. “What do you mean there’s no point and there’s nothing you can do. Just Eddie? What the hell, just Eddie? He pulled a knife! He touched my— Oh my god, she hung up on me!” Veronica glared at the phone in her hand, dumbfounded.

Patrick hid a smile. “Welcome to small town life.”

Sato said, “Nothing ever changes here, does it?”

Veronica looked at Sato, eyes wide and adoring. “And who exactly are you?”

Sato, characteristically, ignored her and focused on Patrick. “You sure you’re okay?”

Sato’s spurs had retracted. His arms were back to looking like normal human arms, only a lot more muscular than last time Patrick had seen them.

“I’m the one who was groped,” grumbled Veronica. “You broke his knife. Were you using sai?”

Patrick glared at her. “Seriously, Veronica?”

“What? Raphael was my favorite.” She kept staring at Sato with something akin to hero worship in her eyes. “You’re like a ninja or something, right?”

“Or something,” said Sato.

Patrick snorted. “Veronica, this is Sato Daiki, friend of mine. Sato, this is Veronica O’Kip, new hire, doesn’t listen to instructions.”

Veronica gave a funny little bow. “Sato-senpai.” She paused, then straightened, shuffling her feet awkwardly.

Patrick blinked at her. What did she think she was doing?

“Look, I’m super into anime.” That explained the purple hair. She continued. “So are you an actual ninja?”

Sato was still evaluating Patrick for injuries out of lowered eyelids. Or just checking him out. Patrick tsked at him.

Sato turned to give Veronica his attention.

She swallowed and blushed bright pink.

Patrick nodded to himself. He’d gotten that way too, especially early on when they first met, and later when they were first dating. When Sato made that jump from friend to lover. The way he looked when he was concentrating on a person was overwhelming. Patrick wasn’t delighted to see that attention focused elsewhere.

“Martial arts training does not a ninja make,” Sato explained. Or, no doubt, thought he explained.

“Can I see them?”

“What?”

“Your sai?”

“No.”

“They’re very well hidden.”

“They are.”

“Can you teach me?”

“No.”

“If you’re quite done now…,” said Patrick to both of them, pretending to be a lot more annoyed than he was. He knew his eyes were desperately combing over Sato’s face. Cataloging how he looked different, logging the shadows under his eyes, and the lines at the sides of his mouth that had never been there before.

“How long are you—?” Veronica looked crushed but determined to still talk to Sato. But the moment Patrick said anything, Sato’s attention swiveled entirely back to him.

“I’m fine, stop worrying,” Sato said.

Veronica clamped her lips shut, wide eyes darting between Sato and Patrick, growing huge with comprehension, or supposition, difficult to tell the difference.

“Sit down,” Patrick ordered his boyfriend, pointing at the table furthest away from the counter. “What can I make you to drink?”

“I don’t know, what can you make me?”

Patrick knew that Sato didn’t enjoy coffee. But he had been raised in a somewhat traditional Japanese household, at least during his teenage years, so Patrick suggested, “Matcha?” He contemplated offering to mix it with fish sauce, but that would probably disgust Veronica and he doubted they had any in the cafe. He thought the idea sounded tasty so he made a mental note to try it himself sometime. Maybe with a hint of seaweed?

“Sure.” Sato went to sit where he’d been told.

“I thought you said he was a friend,” accused Veronica, “Seems like a lot more than just a friend.”

Patrick took a leaf out of Sato’s book and chose not to say anything in reply.

He made himself a matcha latte, too. Nothing traditional about it, but he liked the milkiness. “Veronica, I’m taking my break. You can flip the sign back to open if you feel okay to handle the counter by yourself for a bit. Eddie won’t be returning anytime soon.”

“You’re going somewhere?” Veronica looked worried and was clearly still shaken. Patrick thought full responsibility for the counter might be good for her – take her mind off things for a while.

He pointed to where Sato was sitting. “I’ll be right there.”

“Is he your…?” She let the sentence trail off.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, probably yes.” Patrick decided it would be better to have her on their side. She needed the distraction, so he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “I did good, right?”

“So sexy,” agreed Veronica with feeling.

Patrick grabbed up the two drinks and then leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Hottest thing on two legs.” Or more properly, one tail.

“You’re a lucky bastard,” agreed Veronica.

“Right?”

Patrick flounced over and sat down, set one matcha in front of his boyfriend. Merfriend? Fishfriend? Fuckfish? No moniker seemed to work for what they were.

“Here ya go, babe.”

“Babe? Why?” Sato arched his brows.

“What? No one’s gonna tease me .” Remembering their last phone call.

“Those assholes,” said Sato with something akin to tolerance.

Patrick felt a stab of jealousy. Did Sato have other friends? Merman friends?

Sato sipped the green drink, made a face. “Too sweet.”

“This is the South. It’s all too sweet, hon.”

“Hon?”

“You clearly don’t like babe . Honey? Hanii?”

Sato shifted uncomfortably, glanced over at Veronica who was riveted (there was no one else in the cafe).

“Oh, she knows,” said Patrick.

“Knows what, exactly?”

“Just knows .’

Sato didn’t push, he never did. He always let Patrick keep his secrets and practice his tricky ways. It was very frustrating of him. Patrick had forgotten how annoyingly calm and sanctimonious Sato was. The more teasing and eccentric Patrick got, the more Sato became the opposite.

Sato relaxed back in his chair. It creaked under his newly muscled bulk. Whatever else vangill training was, a great deal of it was clearly physical. Patrick wanted to see what Sato looked like under that tight t-shirt more than anything.

“You can use them on land,” he said. They both knew he was referring to the spurs.

Sato looked smug. “Just found that out myself. Your fault. Thanks, I guess.” He flipped his forearms over and back again a few times.

“Always blaming me. Will this work in your favor, do you think?”

“Most assuredly,” said Sato, even more smug.

“You’re really good at it, aren’t you? Being a vangill?”

Sato didn’t answer that, but he was emitting smug now like sea spray. Patrick had always known that there was going to be a time when Sato became really good at something. Patrick was unsurprised it turned out to be merman stuff. Sato had always been more at home in the sea than on land, obligated but uncomfortable among humans. Sato excelled at being a vangill because he excelled at being a merman. It made Patrick jealous and worried. Although he wasn’t sure why or what about, exactly.

“Did you miss me?” Sato asked, out of the blue.

Patrick couldn’t help but grin. “Of course not, why would I miss you?”

“Liar.” Sato let it slide. “How’s senior year going?”

Patrick brightened. Oh, right, Sato hadn’t heard. Patrick too, could excel. Last time they’d talked he was only applying to colleges.

“I got in!” he crowed, knowing he was grinning like a fool.

Sato seemed genuinely pleased. “Smart boy. Which one?”

Patrick couldn’t help but brag. “All of them! But only one gave me a big enough scholarship to actually attend.” He pretended to pout.

“Oh? Was it not your first choice?” Sato played along.

Patrick couldn’t help himself, he let the grin spread all over his face again. “It was my top pick!”

Sato looked even more delighted. He was almost smiling. “Jiggly Yard?” he guessed.

“Yes! The drama department!”

Sato looked self-satisfied, like it was something he’d achieved, not Patrick. “Of course you did.” He was not surprised at all. “You’re going to be way too popular for my sanity.”

“I really am. Plus there’ll be so many queer kids around. It’ll be awesome.”

Sato visibly shuddered. Patrick was well aware that he hated the idea of living in a big human city, but he was prepared to do it for Patrick.

Sato frowned. “Do we use that word?”

“ Queer ? Yeah, apparently it’s been reclaimed .”

“If you say so.” Sato didn’t look convinced.

“They don’t allow you on the interwebs at all during training?”

“Nah. Just the one phone call every few months. I always used that for you.” Sato didn’t offer further info about what it was like. Patrick wondered how much he’d be able to get out of him about it this week. Or if Sato would remain closed-mouthed about vangill training forever.

“As you should.” Patrick was still delighted that Sato used his one call to talk with him, every single time. Sato had given Patrick messages to pass along to his sire about how he was doing. It was why Patrick paid for a cell phone he really couldn’t afford. So that whenever Sato got that rare chance to call, he could always reach Patrick.

If Mr Sato minded that his son spoke through a Patrick-shaped mouthpiece, he never complained. He absorbed information about Sato without fuss, as he always had. He’d never once questioned Patrick’s presence in Sato’s life. Unflappable and uninterested were probably Mr Sato’s two defining character traits. Patrick might have been annoyed if it hadn’t worked in his favor. He had enough love in him for Sato if his father could not, or would not, care.

Patrick wondered sometimes if Mr Sato even really registered that he had a son. Did he think of Sato as his spawn, merfolk style? Were they nothing more to each other than genetics passed along in a single encounter twenty years ago?

“I missed you,” said Sato, suddenly, as if continuing their earlier conversation.

Patrick dipped his head, acquiescing to the serious tone. “Fine. Yes. I missed you too.”

Sato’s eyes darkened. Patrick remembered that look all too well. If they were alone, Sato would’ve jumped him.

Suddenly nervous, Patrick started to babble. “Was it awful?”

“Missing you?”

“No, idiot, the vangill. Conscription. Military service. Whatever it was pretending to be.”

Sato shrugged. “Not really.” But that’s what Sato always said.

“Was there hazing? Were you bullied?” Did you bully others? One never knew with Sato. Patrick was confident in many things, but Sato having a strong moral foundation, without Patrick, wasn’t one of them.

“It was fine .”

Patrick frowned. “Did any of them flirt with you?”

“Vangill are supposed to be breeder studs.” Sato looked over at Veronica, cleaning the slop trays. She didn’t seem to be paying close attention to them, but anything was possible.

Patrick made a face. “No gays allowed?”

“Nobody said as much, but it was certainly implied.”

Patrick understood. Sato wasn’t like him. Sato could pass as normal . Well, normal for a merman. “So long as you stayed safe.”

“You don’t care?”

“Does their opinion or knowing the truth about us count for something? Are they important to you? Do they have to know about me? Do they have to know about you?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t care. I want you to come back to me whole and undamaged. Nothing else matters.”

Silence while Sato stared at him, wanting something more.

“I missed you waiting for me after school. I missed snacks in your bed. I missed you in your bed. I missed swimming with you,” Patrick found himself admitting.

“You missed not having my house as a refuge and a pantry.”

Patrick grinned. “That too.” Also, it was lonely to walk home alone in the dark. It was lonely to swim in the bay without company. He’d taken to swimming more up into the delta waterways, like a true river otter. Except that was where his family swam, so he had to do it at times of day when they weren’t around. Like early in the morning. It had been lonely. Soon he’d found himself spending less and less time in his otter form and more and more time as a teenager amongst teenage humans, serving them at the café, partying with them late at night.

But that night Sato got to walk him home in the dark like the old days.

Home being Sato’s house, of course. His sire was already in bed, having, surprisingly, remembered to leave the porch light on for them.

The Past: Sato at his sire’s house

Sato couldn’t believe that he’d arrived home; had to break up a fight at a café over a human female, of all things; and then sit across the table and make small talk with his own boyfriend. When all he really wanted was Patrick naked and underneath him.

Luckily for his sanity, that happened quickly enough once they got home. His sire was a heavy sleeper.

Sato simply dragged Patrick up the stairs, Patrick giggling like a mad thing and suggesting they visit the kitchen first.

“Only if you want to be bent over the counter,” snapped Sato.

“I’m a little too short for that.”

“There’s a step stool somewhere.”

“Seems complicated.”

“Agreed,” said Sato, picking him up and tossing him over one shoulder.

Sato barely registered that everything in his old room was unchanged. Over a year he’d been gone, and the place felt like it had been frozen in time.

He tossed Patrick onto the futon and followed him down. Trying to touch as much of him as he could with every part of his body.

Patrick whined at him about too much clothing.

Their arms got hopelessly tangled as they each tried to take off the other’s shirt and pants. They ended up exactly as Sato dreamed. Naked with Patrick flat on his back and smiling up at him. Sato crouched over him like some four-legged land-bound predator.

Patrick’s hands were on his waist and up his back. Confident and needy.

Sato fell forward again with his elbows either side of Patrick’s neck, almost nose to nose.

Patrick was sparkling up at him, those fathomless dark eyes bright and inquisitive.

“Did you think about anything else but this while we were apart?” His tone was teasing. This was the Patrick that Sato loved so well. Not the capable one at the café.

He answered by kissing Patrick then, melding their mouths. This was a thing they’d learned to do together. This was a thing they were really good at. The way Patrick melted under him. The way Sato could sweep in with his tongue, exploring all the warmth of that mouth, as he might explore an undersea cave. Searching for hidden treasure, but knowing that the treasure was the cave itself.

“Horny bastard,” accused Patrick, when they had a breather.

Sato examined his face to see if he was serious. But it was just Patrick being Patrick.

“You’re not wrong.” He kissed Patrick again. Exploring again. Letting his hands rediscover every part of this boy that belonged to him.

“What did you get up to while we were apart that makes you so desperate to prove all over again that I’m yours?”

Did Patrick seriously believe that Sato would cheat on him? Would find someone else? Could find someone else? Sato never noticed other people. It had only ever been Patrick.

“You really want to discuss what I’ve been doing, right now ?”

“Why are you still talking?” wondered Patrick, who was the one who started chatting and teasing in the first place. Who was the one who never shut up. Sato just wanted to kiss him.

Sato took that as permission. He didn’t bother to explain himself or the vangill. There was nothing to explain. He had done everything he had been told, to the best of his abilities. Which had, ironically, made him the best there. But he hadn’t socialized. He had spent his limited free time thinking about Patrick. How soon he could get back to him. What they would do when he got there. All the different things he wanted to do to this small lithe body, writhing underneath him like it was now. Why did he need to say such things out loud? Patrick should already know all of this. Nothing had changed. He had been this way from the start. Would always be this way. Patrick was the one who had changed. Patrick was the one who needed the reminder of what they were to each other.

This was all Patrick’s fault.

Sometimes Sato thought he wanted Patrick so badly it was like he wanted to eat him whole. Actually devour him. Like the rumors surrounding his mermaid ancestors, sea monsters who dragged people down beneath the waves not for seduction but because they enjoyed the taste of human flesh. He didn’t think modern mermen were supposed to want like he wanted Patrick. But maybe it came with the spurs, as if all of him was a throwback to a time when shifters were creatures of the Deep Dark. When they were the monsters of myth and fairy tale.

Patrick made the best noises in the world when he was turned on. Little trills and chatters and chirps and sighs and moans. He wiggled in the best way, too. As gracefully in bed beneath Sato’s hands, as he was in otter form beneath the waves.

Sato gave him all of his weight. Locking him down, letting him feel the new muscles that he’d developed during training. Enjoyed Patrick against him with every inch of his stupid human skin. With all the amazing pleasure, that this, his second form, his second-best form, his inferior self, his incomplete being, could enjoy another thing. A thing that had to take place on land and in this form. A thing that yet, within it, still contained all the motion of the tides – the inevitable push and pull of waves.

Sato realized that making love to Patrick was less like being in the ocean, than it was like being the ocean itself. That he could work Patrick over, and leave him wet and damp and shipwrecked beneath him. That he could spend himself into exhausted nothingness like the sea did during a storm. Crashing and roaring out pleasure.

He felt that much more calm afterwards. That much more at peace. That much more of the ocean. The storm of them together on land was more true to the sea than swimming in it on a string of summer days full of heat and stillness.

This thing that they did together in Sato’s old room, in Sato’s sire’s house, in the box that was the prison of his exile, in the dry world of an alien species, was more in harmony with Sato’s soul than any moment of vangill training. It felt more right than any second he could remember from his childhood, swimming with his mother’s pod, his beloved younger sister trailing behind him.

He had missed Patrick more in one day then he had missed his pod during the whole of his landbound exile.

He didn’t tell Patrick any of this.

But afterwards, when Patrick lay, quiet for a change, limp and satiated, and cuddled in his arms, Sato made a decision. He would serve his time with the sea people. He would do his duty, as the spurs required of him. But in the end, he no longer belonged to the sea. He belonged to Patrick. He would follow Patrick the way driftwood followed a current, with rings and grains and DNA that recorded where he’d started out but with no concern for where he ended up.

Patrick amused himself trailing a finger through the puddles of spend left on his stomach, mixing the two of their essences together.

Sato watched him with heavy lids.

Patrick glared at him. “Smug,” he accused, accurately.

Sato grabbed Patrick’s hand and licked the cum off of it.

Patrick gasped, then made a face. “Seriously? Gross.”

“It tastes like the ocean. It tastes like us.”

Patrick shivered, made the little involuntary throat purr that said he was turned on again. “Why are you so good at this?”

Sato shrugged. Was he? Was that the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him?

“Why should I bother to ask? You’re good at everything.”

“No. I’m good at everything to do with you.”

Patrick snorted.

“I don’t really care about anything else. So I’m not good at it.”

Patrick started playing with Sato’s hair. “You’ve got red streaks in it now? How did that happen?”

“I’m outside all the time on two legs, running on beaches in the tropical sun.” Sato held up an arm, the color of wet kelp in the sun now. “I’m a lot tanner than I was, too.”

“Has your tail color changed?”

Sato laughed because it was such a surprising question, but he supposed it made a strange kind of sense in Patrick’s logical little brain. If his hair lightened from sun exposure, why wouldn’t his tail?

“Sun doesn’t affect my true form. It’s the same blue it’s always been.”

Patrick let out a long sigh, like he was reassured. Perhaps he was. “Good. Too much of you has changed, something needs to be the same.”

But Patrick was the one who had changed. He was independent now. He had learned to survive without Sato. Sato was grateful for that, of course, but he was also jealous and frustrated. He had always preferred Patrick dependent upon him. But now Patrick didn’t need him. He had his job, and his human friends, and a whole life that had gone on without Sato. That appeared to have been successful without him.

Patrick had plans now. Plans for college. Plans for moving away. Plans that included Sato, but only as an afterthought.

He’d accept it. If it meant that he got to have Patrick. If this was the only way to convince Patrick to wait for him. To convince him that he was worth waiting for. Then Sato would let go of being Patrick’s only . Let him stray even further into the world of humans. Into the dangers of a big city. Into a place where he couldn’t protect Patrick, and couldn’t keep an eye on him, and couldn’t keep him safe.

This was the price that his people, and the sea, and his spurs demanded of him. For the one millionth time, Sato questioned whether it was worth paying. Whether he was shelling out a cost for his freedom in severing tethers not just to the land, but to Patrick. Patrick who was growing beyond him. Away from him.

But then Patrick wrapped thin, strong arms tight around him and peppered his chest with tiny kisses, made more of those little murmurs of pleasure. And Sato knew that Patrick was worth everything, every risk, and that he would follow him anywhere, even into a concrete city full of loud, angry humans. Sato would pay whatever price his people asked of him, so long as at the end of it he could return to Patrick.

Unfortunately for both of them, the ocean does not honor promises made on land.