Home

The ocean had a voice of its own, soft and sweet, tantalizing and enchanting. Alfred sat on the beach each evening as the sun bled deep into the sky and onto the slowly rocking waves of the ocean's surface. He listened to the ocean's voice, waiting, praying, hoping for something that everyone believed impossible. A sun bleached conch sat next to him, half-buried in the pebbly sand.

The dying sun was hot on his tanned skin as he stared out into the line where the ocean met the sky. Every evening it was the same: the soft noise of the waves, the fading cry of gulls as they began to roost, the crinkle of fanning leaves behind him. His fingers found the conch, rubbing the shell subconsciously. The ocean was empty again today - just like every day for the past five years.

Soon stars began to prick at the sky, the enveloping darkness making it near impossible to see where the sky stopped and the ocean began. Alfred picked up the conch, cradling it close to his chest before standing. Another day had come and passed with no sign of a ship, or a storm, or anything out of the ordinary at all. And with nothing to report, he had no excuse. Not tonight.

Alfred made his way away from the sandy beach, following a little broken trail through the low foliage that led to the more remote parts of the small island town. There was little wind, and the air was stagnant and humid, but Alfred didn't mind. The night was refreshing. The heat of the sun no longer pressed onto his skin, the gulls quieted and nothing but the sound of rustling leaves and the lapping of the ocean could be heard across the entire island.

It was relaxing - but nostalgic.

The house he shared with his nana was quiet; the lights were darkened and snuffed for the night. His lips pursed and he hoped that maybe today he would catch a break. He was never that lucky.

In a chair in the corner of the room sat his nana, her hands folded neatly into her lap as she stared out the glass of a window. Alfred knew she knew he was there and immediately dropped his tiptoeing stance in defeat. "Hello, Nana," he said softly, setting the bleached conch on a nearby shelf as he did every night.

"Alfred." Her voice wasn't loud, in fact it was no more than a whisper, but it was sharp and it cut through Alfred more than any shout could. "You missed dinner."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I... wasn't hungry," he mumbled in response, feeling shameful to lie to his grandmother like this. "I'm sorry..."

Instead of the bitingly angry remark he was expecting, his nana seemed to wilt into her wooden chair, her gnarled shoulders hunching in upon themselves as her face bent towards her knees. Caught off guard, Alfred paused. Half of him was torn between rushing to her side to see what the matter was, while the other half wanted to run out of the house entirely. After a moment he sighed, taking the few steps to reach the side of his nana's chair.

Her hand was ancient and wrinkled in his youthful and firm one. "Nana, what's wrong?" he asked softly, trying to ignore the way her spindly gray hair blanketed across her face. This wasn't like her. It was worrisome. "Nana?"

"Alfred, child, you've been at the ocean again, haven't you?" Her face tilted towards him, her blue eyes nearly impossible to discern in the silvery moonlight from the window. Alfred bit his lower lip, deciding to look out the window instead of answer. He had found a small, secluded spot a decent trip from the town to spend his evenings, but there was no point in lying to her again - not when that look on her face told him that she already knew. "You must stop."

A silence deeper than the ocean drifted between them. Alfred released her hand. "I can't. We both know that," he answered bitterly.

"You must," she repeated, folding her hands back together. A long, broken sigh fell from her thin lips. "You will end up like me," she muttered into the night, "Or worse: like your mother."

He straightened, stuffing his hands into his pockets stubbornly. "I'm not like that," he snuffed, turning away from his grandmother. "I never will be."

Unwilling to listen to anything else, Alfred stalked to his room in the back of the house, flinging himself onto his bed and huffing.

Nobody understood him; understood what he was doing or even why. Not even those that should.

The days were long and sweltering. The smell of water and salt and heated limestone infiltrated his nose as he left the small house, making sure his nana was attended to before leaving for town. A crumpled grocery list was tucked into his sweaty palm as he walked down the concrete path, minding the small lizards that basked on the warming limestone.

There were a few nods of recognition as he passed houses and people, the buildings slowly growing more and more clustered until he hit the business district by the docks where all the shops were centered around the boats that brought their goods. The gulls cried loudly overhead, their wings flapping as they dove for bits of paper and garbage from trash bins and tabletops.

Alfred shooed the birds away with a swipe of an irritated hand, stepping into the doorway of a small bakery and checking over his list before heading inside.

The shop was warm, the windows opened with box fans pushing around the hot air from the convection ovens within. Alfred grimaced at the heat, but it was slightly better than being directly underneath the sun. The girl behind the counter gave him a strained smile; her brown hair was tied into pigtails and then tied further into braids to keep the back of her neck cool in the heat. Alfred knew her well, more so than he'd have liked, as they had gone to school together - even graduating in the same class of forty students.

Most people left the island - hardly anyone ever stayed. Many students would leave after graduation to attend universities on the mainland, or entire families would move, leaving a sudden hole in the community that wouldn't be filled again for years. And then there were others – the ones with mysterious disappearances; the ones that were never heard of again, the ones that never came back.

But for those that remained, life was simple, mundane and familiar. Alfred had tried to ignore his classmates after graduation – and they he, but they had all found it to be virtually impossible after only a few months. It was impossible for him to avoid the bakery, and for others to avoid the beach. So Alfred smiled back, just as strained.

"Hello, Angie," Alfred greeted reflexively, pushing his hair from his forehead. He checked his list again. "Two loaves of the wheat, please."

Angie nodded. "Sure thing, Al." With a flip of her braids, she disappeared into the kitchens, leaving Alfred to himself in the trapped heat. Even if the sun wasn't on him, the stuffy air was starting to make it harder to breathe. Angie returned quickly with two loaves of bread wrapped neatly in brown paper sacks. "Will that be all today? No sweets for your nana this time?" she asked, ringing up his current total deftly. "We just baked some apple muffins."

"No, thanks. She's not... feeling well right now. So, just the bread, thanks." Alfred paid swiftly. He grabbed the wrapped bread and nodded through Angie's half-hearted get wells for his grandmother, faking a smile as he left.

He pushed his way outside, breathing in the salty, but ocean cooled air, trying to get a hold of himself. His grandmother wasn't even sick. The heat must be playing with his mind. Alfred pressed a hand to his face, avoiding smudging the lens of his glasses. What was going on with him lately? He felt like is all he was doing was lying and hiding and sneaking around behind everyone's back - to what? Sit on the beach all day? That couldn't be normal.

Frowning to himself, he decided to take the little off-beaten path to his favorite viewing point, to try and clear his head in the shade with the cool ocean breeze. Maybe that's all he needed.

There was something in him, a heavily buried part of him, which despised returning to the small home on the island each night. The ocean had a voice, and it spoke to the deepest parts of him. He had heard sailors speak of it before as they passed through the ports. They spoke of how it whispered and sung and lulled them to sleep within the hulls of their ships. About how the ocean and seas were comparable to mistresses whom one could never part with. Alfred was never sure about that, but he knew the ocean could speak, and he always found himself listening to every hushed word. It spoke to him even as he tried to sleep at night in the little wooden house, it crooned and called and begged for him to return to its side.

But then there was Nana, alone after the deaths of his parents. Sitting in that small house by herself, staring out the glass windows for the same reason he stared out into the tumbling ocean; scolding him each time she caught him staring longingly at the distant shore, every time he ever brought up his name.

The sand gave way and slid under his tennis shoes as the soil slowly turned into beach. Palm leaves scratched as his skin and clung to his clothes as he walked past, the loaves of bread tucked under his arm.

And even now the ocean called to him, the sun glittering on the choppy waves, blinding, warming; beautiful. He felt more at home here, beside the crashing waves, than he did in his own home.

The small alcove by the shore was deserted, as always. Alfred set the loaves down on a large, smoothed rock, casting his eyes out towards the ocean of endless blue as he had done nearly every day of his twenty-two years of life. And yet he still saw nothing. No ships, no storms, nothing to make an excuse of, no real reason to jump in and swim as far out as he could. Not that he wanted to, but sometimes the urge was there.

But there were times when he didn't know what hurt more: waiting or hoping.

"Oh!" A feminine gasp brought him from his confused musings. Startled, Alfred glanced around the shaded clearing, quickly spotting a woman half hidden in the nearby foliage. His mouth opened and then snapped shut when he realized belatedly that the woman was naked, her full breasts in plain view while her lower half was hidden by a large, fanning palm bush.

Alfred turned around, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Excuse me, I'm sorry. I... I didn't realize there was anyone here."

The woman giggled lightly, the sound almost like bells against the churn of the ocean nearby. It was haunting, somehow. "How sweet you are," she exclaimed jovially. The rustling sound of plants told him that the woman was moving. Alfred covered his eyes with his hands. What on earth was going on? "I was hoping you would come here today," she said lowly from somewhere close behind him, her voice soft, alluring. "I've been watching you, you know."

Alfred stuttered and balked when her hands began touching him, dragging across his clothes lithely as they roamed. "S-stop that!" he blustered, stepping out of her reach and nearly tripping over his own confused feet. "I don't even know how you are!"

The woman stifled another laugh and Alfred decided to chance a glance at her, focusing solely on her face. Her green eyes were jilted in mirth, her nose was strong and lips full; her long, wavy brown hair spilled passed her shoulders. And even though Alfred was positive he had never seen her before in his life, there was something frighteningly familiar about her. "My name is Elizaveta, although I'm not surprised you don't remember me. You were only a baby when we last met. Oh, how you've grown!" She sighed wistfully and turned to stare out towards the ocean as Alfred's brows wrinkled in confusion. "You didn't bring it with you, did you…?"

"Bring what with me?" Alfred looked away again. This was absolutely crazy. Instead he began staring out into the ocean as well, wondering if maybe he could see what the woman saw.

Elizaveta sighed once more. "The conch. I've seen you bring it here every day... Oh... Actually, I have a question for you, if you don't mind."

Alfred shrugged nervously. He had no idea what was going on, and this conversation was only getting stranger and stranger by the second. It wasn't every day when a nudist tourist came to the island, let alone began speaking to him. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed. A woman's naked body wasn't something he found pleasure in looking at. "I... uhm... could you make it quick? My grandmother is waiting for me," he said lamely.

The woman paused. "Grandmother... yes. Actually, I wanted to know... Why do you come here - to this place? Is there a reason?"

Alfred's heart felt like it stopped. His palms were sweaty, the sun bore down on the crown of his blond hair, and the ocean air was thick and almost unbreathable. "I'm waiting," he answered stiffly, moving to pick up the loaves of bread from the rock.

Elizaveta grabbed his shoulder, her hand was small, but her grip was firm. "That conch... they have - or so they say - magical properties. You should try playing it. It can do that, you know."

Alfred said nothing, only staring at the narrow foot path in the foliage ahead. "I have to go."

"Of course, but before you do... I just gave you some valuable information..."

He looked at the bread in his hands. Honestly he didn't think the information all that important, but if she had to bring it up like that, and things were already weird enough as it was... Alfred frowned. "Here," he muttered as he held out a loaf of bread to the woman. "It's all I have."

The woman nearly snatched the food from his hand. "Thank you!" she chirped. "It's been so long since I've had this kind of food."

Alfred nodded and left quickly, following the same trail home that he did each night. That had to have been the most odd and nerve wracking conversation of his entire life. Maybe she had just been hungry, making up stories to convince him out of his food. But she had been awfully specific, too. He shuddered and decided not to think on it any more today.

When he got home, his nana was bent over the stove, her small, frail frame hardly discernible from the furniture. The late afternoon sun spilled through the salt-dirtied windows of the home. Carefully he set down the remaining loaf of bread on the table, only being loud enough to draw his grandmother's attention. "I'm sorry Nana. I tripped and dropped a loaf on my way home. The gulls got to it before I could... sorry."

The old woman only sighed, long and exhaustive. "It's alright, child," she mumbled, moving away from the stove. Her steps were disjointed, small and painful looking. Alfred almost wanted to carry her to her favorite rocking chair and to tell her not to move. He felt so guilty every time he saw her struggle, but that's all she had ever done her whole life. "Come, help me start dinner, and then I've a few things lined up that need to be done today - spring cleaning after all."

"Nana... it's summer... and I have something I need to do tonight, maybe... can we save some of that for tomorrow instead? There's plenty of time."

His nana stopped, her tiny, gnarled hands laid out on the table for support. "Why? What is it you must do?" she asked, not once looking at her grandson. Alfred remained quiet for a long time, unable to bring himself to utter another lie. He couldn't - not any more. He was getting so tired of lying. "Alfred, don't go." Her voice was weak, all the power and strength that she once held when he was younger was gone, beaten and stolen with time. He wanted to argue, to defend himself and his actions, but he couldn't; didn't. "The ocean... it is a terrible thing, child. It takes and steals and all that it gives back is heartache. Waiting for him to come back... it's like waiting for a miracle that will never happen."

Alfred bent his head. He didn't want to hear it, not now, not ever. He never wanted to hear it when his father never came back from a fishing trip, he didn't want to hear it when his mother drowned herself from sorrow, he never wanted to listen when Arthur disappeared, and he definitely didn't want to hear it as he waited for the impossible return. Just as she did. "What's for dinner?"

Nana deflated, her wrinkled face looking relieved and tired. "Clam chowder. Now come here child, my eyes aren't what they used to be..."

That evening, when dusk was staining the sky a brilliant shade of orange, Alfred feigned tiredness after lifting, moving and dusting almost every surface of the house per his nana's request. Nana had fretted over him for a while until he managed to convince her that he was just going to go to bed. He had waited until he heard the tea kettle whistle in the kitchen, pressing his ear to the crack of the door, straining to listen to his grandmother's slow, jagged steps before making his escape out of his bedroom window, the sun-bleached conch tucked under his shirt as he ran down the broken path to the beach.

The first stars were beginning to twinkle in the dusty purple high in the sky when he made it to the beach, breathless and shaking. The waves were loud like his beating heart, rushing to the sand with fizzing crashes, pulling the sand to and fro. Something inside him was screaming. Now was the moment - here, with the ocean, his life and love - what the crazy naked woman told him, her familiar face burning in his mind; something had to happen. Now.

Alfred pulled the conch out from under his shirt, his feet burying into the sand as he came to a sudden stop, breathing heavily for a moment he stared out into the line where the sky held the ocean. Slowly Alfred put the conch to his mouth, blowing into a small hole in the top of the spiral. How had he not noticed that before? The thought had never even crossed his mind.

The sound that came from the conch was airy, pathetic, and laced with the noise of spittle. It wasn't anything like he had imagined it to be, and he frowned at the shell. His heart ached in his chest and he tried again, producing the same, odd, pathetic noise. Magical properties his ass.

Feeling the frustration and hurt and longing of a lifetime well up into his throat, Alfred threw the conch out into the waves, a shout tearing through his voice as he did so. He fell onto his knees in the sand as the conch made a loud, plopping noise in the water.

That conch... he remembered the day Arthur gave it to him. He had been late to school, running down the path and avoiding as many lizards and gulls as he could. Arthur had been waiting for him just inside the doors, as if he knew Alfred would never intentionally miss school. Arthur's green eyes had been so bright, so clear, relieved that day when he pulled the pink conch from his backpack, handing it to Alfred with a kiss. He had called a gift to celebrate their first three months together, even though they had grown up together. He had told Alfred how much he loved him, and appreciated him.

Three days later Arthur disappeared without a trace.

Where did that love go? What about that appreciation? Had it been a lie that whole time? Because here he was still, loving and appreciating and waiting for him to come back. Angrily he picked up a fistful of sand, throwing it into the ocean too, watching as it only made small, sprinkling noises into the water.

Oh, but he loved Arthur still. The way the older boy had spoken about the ocean, as if it was their home, how he had paddled row boats out so far with him that they almost couldn't see the island anymore; the way Arthur had smiled and talked and touched him. He missed it - and he was the idiot that had thrown his last keepsake of his love into the ocean.

Alfred kicked off his shoes, prying off his sweaty socks before running into the rough ocean waves, falling over in his panic when a particularly tall wave pushed against his knees. When he went under, he flailed a bit in shock, quickly recovering and running his hands along the bottom of the water, feeling only sand and the occasional slimy rock.

"Fuck, shit, fuck," he cursed as he resurfaced for air, his glasses gone from the perch of his nose. Not that he cared right now. Where was his conch? Arthur's conch? How far did he throw it? Did the current carry it far? Why didn't he bring his goggles?

A broken sob tore through him, and he hunched forward into the salty water, letting the choppy waves crash into his face. Maybe he could be just like his mother and give up - throw himself off the cliff side of the island, or just drown himself here, right now. It wouldn't be that hard right? Just keep swimming until he was too tired and just... stop. He always did want to see how far he could go.

He wiped the water from his face, unable to tell if there were any tears mixed in. Is all he needed to do was swim; just go. At least in the end he would be with the ocean like he wanted, and maybe even with Arthur.

But before he could start, a heavy wave washed over his head, pushing him further back towards the shore. Something that felt like a hand gripped his bicep and pulled him even further out of the water. His senses were disoriented and his heartbeat was loud in his water-logged ears. It wasn't until the felt the familiar sensation of sand under his back did he pry open his eyes.

"I... what?" His voice was raspy and he coughed, stray water rumbling in his chest. A pair of green eyes - so familiar and bright, came into his blurred view. Immediately his hand came up to rub at his own eyes. He must have gotten too much salt in them because he was definitely seeing things.

A hand pulled his own from his face. "Alfred, what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?"

Alfred's eyes snapped open, staring into those green eyes once again. "A-Arthur?" he asked, disbelieving. It wasn't possible, though. Those eyes smiled, lips parting and grinning around teeth; yellow-blond hair wet and plastered to his face and neck. Alfred reached up and touched "Arthur's" cool, moist cheek. "B-but... everyone was convinced... Y-you just disappeared... I mean... where have you been?"

"Waiting for you," he answered, clasping his hand over Alfred's and leaning into his palm. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to figure out how to use the conch." Arthur smiled and leaned down, touching his lips against Alfred's.

The sensation was sweet and familiar and Alfred found himself pushing upwards into it. He had missed this so much, everything about Arthur made his heart ache and beat erratically. But his brain soon caught up with the situation and he pushed the other man away, confused and lost. "B-but... you're dead!" Alfred found himself exclaiming. The moon was beginning to rise higher and higher into the sky; all but a sliver was illuminated and bright against the darkening sky.

Arthur's face was just as conflicted as Alfred's. In his arms he held what looked like two pelts, the short fur still glistening with ocean water, and in his hand he held the conch Alfred had thrown back into the waters. "I... I understand your doubts, but Alfred. I'm alive - I'm real. I've spent the past five years waiting for you to call for me. I can't... there's no one else out there for me."

Arthur crawled back to him, dropping his things and dragging his hands and knees through the sand to lean over Alfred. "We're so much alike, Alfred. You haven't a clue as to how much. Please, let me show you?"

"Arthur... I have no idea what you're talking about." Alfred's breath came short as Arthur began placing small, loving kisses to the sides of his face and neck, easily making his mind draw a blank, and his protests die on his lips.

"The ocean has a voice, doesn't it?" Arthur started, mumbling between kisses. "It speaks; it calls for you, doesn't it? It tells you to come home - but you don't know what it means."

His breath hitched. "But... I... How?"

"You live on land, but you were born in the ocean, Alfred." Arthur sat up, running a sandy hand along the length of Alfred's arm. "And you've grown into such a handsome man. All of my fears have been put to rest."

Alfred sat up as well, squinting his eyes against the dark to try and see Arthur better. "What do you mean "born in the ocean"? Arthur you're not making any sense."

The blond sighed. "Do you remember those tales your... ah... mother would tell us? About the seal people and their magical skin? It's true Alfred. We're called Selkies in some places, we exist. We do."

"What on earth are you talking about? We? Arthur -"

"I've spent my time on this island looking for your skin, Alfred," Arthur continued on, his piercing green eyes looking straight into Alfred's. "While Elizaveta held onto mine. For ten years I looked for your skin. I had ten years to fall in love with you, and only three months to love you. But then I found out who had your skin and I had to leave. I wanted you to call for me, Alfred. I wanted to come back and give you back your skin and for you to tell me how much you loved me, too. Alfred, you have no idea what I've done for you."

Alfred shook his head. "No. No I don't. Stop. Just... stop! Shut up!" He pushed away from the man with Arthur's face and Arthur's voice and touch. This wasn't real. He was dreaming. Today had been such an odd one, that anything was possible. The wind cut through his soaking clothes and he scurried to his feet, trembling with confusion and fear. Seal people? Honestly? "I... I have to go."

Arthur looked heartbroken, his hands fisting into the sand on either side of his knees. "Alfred..." he picked up the conch. "If you change your mind... take this. I'll wait forever."

Alfred's heart skipped a beat at those words. His palms were sweaty as he hesitantly took the conch from Arthur's hands. Even if this man was an imposter, at least he had his final memento of his long lost love back. "Thank you," was all he said before running back up the path towards his house.

He waited until he could barely hear the words of the ocean, until there was dirt and not sand beneath his bare feet, until his head stopped pounding with nonsense and he could think clearly. He sat against a palm tree, his head bent to his knees.

Had that really been Arthur? He looked so different, yet exactly the same. Older, happier, wiser. It almost felt as if he had stabbed himself in the chest, leaving like that. Arthur's heartbroken face - was that what his face had looked like when he found out Arthur had left?

But seal people? Of all things? That was something he couldn't quite grasp. And for Arthur to insinuate that he or they were these seal people... he didn't know if he should label it as preposterous or wishful thinking. And even if he did entertain the idea – what of his mother and father? What were they? Thieves that stole children? Of course there had been rumors about how he resembled neither his mother nor father, but of course there was always something like that being said, and his mother had assured him…

No, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think at all.

Alfred peeled off his wet shirt and slung it over a fern, curling up on his side on the dirt, grateful that the air was warm and humid and the insects hadn't come too far from the ocean's waters. For hours his fingers traced nonsense images into the dark soil until he fell asleep, unwilling to return to the small house on the hill. He wasn't sure what was home anymore.

He woke up feeling sore and tired, the first rays of early morning just beginning to shine through the fanning leaves overhead. His shirt was stiff, but he pulled it on over his head anyway, standing and trying to stretch out his sore muscles. The conch lay on the ground and he picked it up gingerly, examining it in the purple light of pre-dawn. He looked down the path towards the ocean and then the opposite direction towards the house.

Now was the time. Now he had to choose. He had to go home.

The conch was heavy in his hands as he took the first step towards the ocean, a feeling of his grandmother's brittle hands breaking their grasp from his shoulders the further he walked.

Soft and sweet was the ocean's voice against his ears, just as it always had been. The sand was cool between his toes as he gathered his courage and blew into the conch once more. He watched the water for a long while, his shoulders slowly drooping and his courage waned. Maybe it all had been a bad dream? But that certainly didn't explain waking up on the dirt by the beach. Maybe he had almost drowned and then dreamed Arthur up? That seemed a lot more likely.

Alfred was pulled from his thoughts by the bark of a seal. He dropped the conch as the animal waddled onto shore, shaking water from its head. Ever so slowly the seal began change, its bones looking as if they were re-arranging themselves beneath its skin. Alfred flinched at the sight, choosing rather to look away from the display and hide his face in his hands.

Time ticked by slowly for Alfred. He was confused, shocked and most of all, lost. A moist hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see Arthur standing before him, the pelt of a seal wrapped about his shoulders not unlike a cloak. "You called me back," was all he said, his voice tight with something that sounded close to sheer joy. Alfred nodded slowly, his hand reaching out to touch the fur about Arthur's shoulders. "I didn't think you would."

"How couldn't I?" Alfred made a disbelieving noise. "So you're really... one of those..."

Arthur nodded. "And so are you. You always have been, Alfred. Your skin was stolen when you were so young... I was afraid that something had become of it. Fortunately that's not the case."

"See, you keep saying that, but... I don't know. I mean, I've always been drawn to the ocean, but so are normal people - you know, sailors, marine biologists, people who are trying to find mermaids and shit, but... I don't know... It's hard to believe."

Arthur cupped Alfred's face in his damp hands, the early morning light reflecting off the curves of his handsome face. Alfred missed seeing that face. "Do you trust me, Alfred?" Arthur asked, rubbing his fingers under Alfred's eyes.

Alfred pursed his lips and nodded. "I more than trust you, Arthur. I love you. I did then, and I still do now." He paused, looking past Arthur towards the calm ocean. "I love you more than the ocean."

"I... you... hah." Arthur gasped out a laugh. "You're still just as charming as I remember." He pressed his lips onto Alfred's, smiling into the kiss when Alfred responded much more positively this time. Alfred's fingers wound around Arthur's neck, tangling into his wet hair. "There's so much more I want to remember..."

"If you mean what I think you mean," Alfred started, pressing his nose against Arthur's cheek like he used to do back when he was seventeen and carefree. "Then I wouldn't mind, but I'll admit that I'm rusty."

Arthur's face fell into a serious line, his hands resting on Alfred's shoulders, trembling slightly. "I'm afraid to ask... but has... has there been..."

"Anyone else? No. And you?"

A breathy sigh of relief pushed through Arthur's pink lips. "No, no of course not. Just you - my Alfred, my love." Alfred smiled, rolling his shoulders to dislodge Arthur's hands before taking them into his own and pulling him towards the more shaded part of the alcove, where the sand became solid earth spotted with soft mosses and grass. "I want to make up for these past five years," Arthur said, kissing Alfred gently on the side of his mouth. "I love you so much."

Alfred sat on the ground, pulling Arthur with him, noting with a flush that Arthur was entirely naked with the exception of his seal skin. "We won't get those years back, Arthur, but we can definitely make up for lost time." Soon Arthur's mouth was on his, tasting bittersweet like the salty ocean. His clothes were peeled off clumsily as Arthur fought with the zipper to his shorts as if the blond couldn't remember how the contraption even worked.

When Alfred was naked, Arthur set his seal pelt aside, carefully watching Alfred as if he would steal his skin at any moment and run. Alfred only chuckled, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck and laying down, pulling the other man on top of him, their naked bodies flush together in the soft pink morning light. And this was a feeling he definitely missed as well: the feeling of being loved – rocking his hips up into Arthur's and listening to the other's pants and moans as well as his own. He forgot what it was like to be loved, rather than confined.

Alfred spread his thighs, tucking his nose into the crook of Arthur's shoulder and neck. "Please," he whispered hoarsely, grinding himself against Arthur as best he could.

He could feel Arthur swallow against his cheek, Arthur's hand slowly moving down his body to stroke his cock before carefully nudging his fingers against Alfred's tight entrance. Alfred winced at the once familiar intrusion, Arthur's fingers were clammy and slightly moist from the ocean, but there was nothing else to smooth the slow process over. He nudged his face even closer to Arthur's skin, hissing out sharp breaths as he was stretched, his lips kissing at Arthur's shoulder whenever the pain was a little too much, but he didn't want to say anything - didn't want to ruin the moment. He trusted Arthur, even after all this time.

Arthur breathed his name into his hair, his fingers curving and rubbing against Alfred's prostate. "O-oh!" Alfred's toes curled into the dirt, his back arching and his breath hitching. "Oh, shit. Arthur... Don't stop."

"My, my, as impatient as ever." Arthur smiled, pulling back to look Alfred in the face. "Please tell me if I hurt you, I don't want this to be a bad memory."

Alfred made an exasperated sound. "Sorry if I sound sappy or something, but you're here, with me after all that time. Nothing can make this a bad memory." He paused, shifting a little bit to fit underneath Arthur better. "And... well... we'll have the rest of our lives together, right? What's one bad day compared to the rest?"

"Are you... do you mean...?" Arthur's astonished expression gradually melted into joy as Alfred nodded. He touched their foreheads together, both of them grinning widely. "You have no idea how happy that makes me, love. I just... I cannot even imagine... you..."

"Arthur, don't worry about it. You know me. I don't need any fancy words to be wooed. So how about we finish this up right here?" His smile turned into a flirtatious smirk.

Arthur laughed softly. "Of course, of course." He gave Alfred's prostate another nudge with his fingers before pulling them out, touching the head of his cock to the puckered ring of muscle. "I'll go slowly."

The ocean whispered softly nearby as Arthur inched his cock inside of Alfred, petting at Alfred's hair and arms to reassure the sandy blond man beneath him. Alfred writhed. His nails scratched at Arthur's back as his hips rolled back and forth at the burning sensation of being filled once again. "Move, please. Just... move."

Arthur hunched forward, kissing at Alfred's neck as he complied, pulling out and sliding in with shallow thrusts, slowing down again each time he heard Alfred hiss or gasp unpleasantly, despite the other's protests to go faster. The sun began to rise higher and higher in the sky, coloring their skin with light masked by breaks of swishing shade from fanning leaves. Their pants and moans, smacks of lips and skin, grew louder and louder, overshadowing even the song of the ocean in their ears.

Alfred came first, holding Arthur close as his orgasm ripped through his body, semen spurting between their bodies. Arthur smiled, kissing Alfred sweetly, thrusting inside Alfred as deep as he could before coming as well, Alfred's name on his lips as his limbs shuddered under his weight. Arthur pulled out of Alfred slowly, falling next to his love and they wrapped their arms around one another. "I love you so much," Arthur mumbled into Alfred's ear.

"I know, you've said it about a hundred times by now." Alfred's blue eyes were sparkling with mirth as he stared at Arthur, his fingers running up and down the blond's spine. "But I understand why, and I love you, too"

They held each other close, simply listening to everything; their breaths, the cresting waves, and even the waking gulls. When they heard the first noise of daily life beginning in the nearby town, Arthur sat up, tracing his fingers along the curve of Alfred's cheek. "I think it's about time we returned home."

Swallowing all of his doubt, Alfred nodded, taking Arthur's proffered hand and standing. He followed Arthur to the beach, watching as the blond began to scrounge through a cluster of wet rocks until he pulled out a craftily hidden pelt, the small, brownish fur still oily and glossy as if it were still upon a living seal. Arthur set his own skin upon his shoulders, pulling the seal mask over his own head with a smile, saying, "Just put it on and let the ocean embrace you once again, love."

Reluctant, he followed Arthur's example, trying not to wince as he watched the strange, disfiguring process of a human becoming a seal.

And it was painful. Everything changed - how he saw things, how everything smelled and sounded and felt. The sun was tingling on his skin and it felt... right. Arthur was next to him, nosing him towards the lapping waves, their whiskers tickling together.

Alfred nudged back, his heart soaring and limbs awkward. But right now, more than anything, he was excited to see how far he could swim.

This is a fic exchange with americaengland/Trumpet-Geek! Our prompt was "ocean" and I'm pretty sure I took it and rannnn. I posted this on tumblr a while ago, but I've fixed it up and I guess… A few thoughts I had while writing this was: "Wow, that's a lot of ocean references." And also Alfred's nana is supposed to represent what's holding Alfred to the island vs. the ocean or moving away. Yeah.

Aiee A/N from hell!