If You Love Something

There was something to be said for learning a new way of life. It was a difficult process, disheartening and sometimes even terrifying. It must be traumatic and awful – the change from sea to land.

Arthur watched Alfred every day, teaching him how to eat and what to eat, helping him walk by taking small, shaky steps around Arthur's cramped home on the tiny island. He wondered what it was like, to have half of your very being ripped from you and stolen, never to be felt or seen again. How painful it would be, both physically and mentally. Arthur's heart ached for Alfred. The man had given up everything he knew for Arthur, and Arthur knew he would never be able to replace the hole that the ocean had left.

But he did his best to fill it with love.

"How are you today?" Arthur asked as he prepared breakfast that morning. It had been two, long, upsetting months for the both of them. Alfred was so determined to 'remember how to be a human', so ready and eager and beautiful with excitement, that whenever he fell or made a mistake he became discouraged and moped. Arthur let the porridge to warm over a dull flame, seating himself next to a drowsy Alfred to take the once-merman's hands into his own. "Alfred?"

The sandy blond blinked slowly. "Tired," was his lethargic response. "… Really tired."

Arthur frowned, letting go of Alfred's hands to hold his face instead. "Would you like to go back to bed, love? Nothing hurts, does it? You're simply tired is all?"

Alfred's smile was wan, unnaturally dim and worrisome. He didn't want to admit that there was something wrong, that he ached everywhere today, didn't want to scare Arthur or create problems so instead he raised a finger to his lips and said, "I'll be fine if I can have a kiss."

"You smarmy…" Arthur sighed in relief, shaking his head with a chuckle before leaning in for a long, warm kiss. Alfred met him hungrily, nibbling at the tongue that invaded his mouth, licking and biting and simply allowing himself to be consumed in the heat – one that started in his stomach and sprouted into his chest, making his heart beat faster and the dull ache disappear if only for a little while.

He wondered if it would ever go away.

Everyday Arthur would take a small raft out to the coral reefs to study the small and colorful native fish of the island. Sometimes he let Alfred come if he asked, but most days Alfred didn't. Instead the sandy blond would walk down the beachside, letting his toes drag through the sand as he picked up different seashells and bits of coral that washed up on the shore. He would pocket them to show to Arthur later, humming happily to himself as he ambled along.

Arthur found the habit adorable, smiling and examining each shell Alfred produced – occasionally telling the man something about the life of the muscle or snail that had lived within. But he always worried, wondering how large the seashell collection in the bedroom was going to become before everything simply fell apart. Until then, he took Alfred's excited and proud smiles, cherished the mirth in those perfectly blue eyes, and tried to memorize everything about them.

Arthur was out surveying on the boat, the sun just beginning to crest in the cloudless sky. Alfred stood in the surf, letting the small waves lick at his feet as the sand dragged across his toes in the water's wake. It was still such a strange and tantalizing sensation; as having feet and toes was still new to him. Whenever Arthur touched them he would let out a shaky breath upon reflex, so unused to the feeling that he was.

On the ground he had found a little chip of coral, bright orange and still vibrant. He clutched it in his palm as he watched Arthur from the shore, worried that some horrible fate might befall his beloved human, even though he knew there was a very slim chance of anything of the sort happening. Alfred sighed and glanced at the coral bit again. It reminded him so vividly of the crown that represented his part of the ocean; the feeling of being one with the currents and life – a breathing thing beneath the waves. It was a life he found extremely difficult to put into words – even more so when Arthur questioned him about it. How does one describe being alive?

A large wave crashed into his knees and with it, it brought the despair that had been building up within him. He turned, stumbling in the wet sand with a small cry and returned to Arthur's house, trembling with regret and sorrow. He filled the bathtub with warm water (he had found that it was soothing for the unexplainable aches and pains), lining the bottom of the porcelain tub with shells from his collection and stripped himself of the constricting clothing that Arthur insisted that he wear.

The water was quiet and lifeless, the shells scratching along the bottom of the tub as he slipped inside. He did not make a very good human at all. There were never the right words to use, he was always confused by the strange technology that other villagers would show him, he could barely even walk right, and he was sure that he embarrassed Arthur more than he made Arthur happy. That was all he wanted – to make Arthur smile, to love him and be loved; just like Arthur wrote in the little bottled note. As a human he couldn't even be Arthur's mate.

Frustrated tears crawled down his face, falling into the water with tiny plopping noises. Alfred sunk lower into the water, crying silently to himself. He had done the right thing, hadn't he?

Arthur didn't find him until the water was cold and his fingers and toes had become wrinkled and numb, a strange phenomenon that had amused Alfred at first, but now it only served to remind him of his choices. "Alfred?" Arthur called out into the small house. He set down his bag, the equipment inside clinking against the ground as he began to move through the rooms of the house. Alfred hadn't been waiting for him at the shore, and he normally wouldn't venture into town by himself, so that only left the house.

When he knocked on the bathroom door, there was the noise of a soft splash, and he cracked the door open. "Alfred?" he asked in a worried tone, waiting for the once-merman to tell him to leave. When he didn't, Arthur opened the door further and with a small cry of dismay, hurried to Alfred's side. "Alfred what's wrong?" he urged, taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. Alfred was curled up, his chin in his knees as he stared glumly at the shells that decorated the bottom of the tub. "Alfred…"

"Do you love me?" Alfred asked suddenly, his watery voice low and thick with seeping emotions. "Do you Arthur?"

Arthur relaxed. "Yes, of course I do. Why do you ask?" He wrapped his arms around Alfred's naked shoulders, but the sandy blond only shook his head.

"I would not love me," he said bitterly. "I am a pathetic human. I have no strength, I stumble and I fall, other humans stare at me when I cannot use a … a phone; I am half of what I once was and… and – why would you love such a thing as me, the way I am now? I cannot even be your mate!" His hands clasped onto Arthur's arms in front of his chest. "I'm unworthy."

"Don't be silly," Arthur argued. "You changed your whole life. You gave up almost everything that you are simply to be with me. You're brave, Alfred; brave and beautiful and sweet and if anyone is unworthy, it's me. So please…" he sighed, dropping his sentence. "The water's cold, you'll get sick. Come now, let's dry you off."

Alfred allowed himself to be moved from the tub of cold water, dried down with a fluffy towel and escorted to their bed. Arthur had stripped himself as well, pulling himself close to Alfred's shivering body and sighing with his head resting on Alfred's shoulder. "I love you, Alfred," Arthur mumbled just as Alfred began to drift asleep.

He was tired, but rested when he woke next, surprised to find Arthur still curled up by his side. Alfred smiled, tentatively raising a hand to brush his knuckles against Arthur's cheek. Ever since he had revoked the ocean Arthur had been his only constant and that… that was a soothing thought. He may not have the everlasting rush of currents or the whisper of water in his ear, but he would have Arthur – loving, teaching, and always present.

"I love you, too," he said just as Arthur's green eyes began to flutter open. Alfred's hand moved to the back of Arthur's head, pulling the scientist into a sleepy kiss, their lips fumbling and tongues dragging lazily over teeth. "I love you, I love you," Alfred breathed between kisses, his voice growing more and more desperate with every declaration. He loved Arthur wholly and completely, but words only proved so much. "How do I show you I love you?"

"You already do," was Arthur's bland answer, but he sat up and rummaged through a drawer in the nightstand, retrieving a clear bottle of liquid. "But I'm sure that's not what you want to hear." Arthur took Alfred's hand, holding his palm upwards before drizzling the liquid onto Alfred's fingers. "Remember how I would… touch myself before we had sex? How I said it was a bit necessary?" Alfred stared at his hand a moment before nodding slowly. "I… I want you to touch me like that, Alfred. You can, without the webbing on your fingers. Would you?"

Alfred stared at his hand. He remembered watching Arthur reach behind himself, his fingers stretching the muscle of his entrance – to make things easier for him. "You want… to be my mate again?"

"We always have been, Alfred," Arthur said with a disbelieving laugh. "And… the human term for it is lovers. We're lovers and we always will be."

It was as if that simple sentence had filled Alfred's confidence in himself. His smile had returned, lopsided and endearing as his hand moved to Arthur's ass, letting his fingers trace the man's entrance before carefully pressing two fingers inside. Arthur let his head fall to Alfred's shoulder, trusting the once-merman to prepare him, and letting the feeling of being touched so intimately warm his breath as he huffed against Alfred's tanned skin.

Arthur reached between them, palming Alfred's slowly growing erection. He wondered if it felt any different, if the sensations of his hand on Alfred's cock were warmer or maybe brought more satisfaction. A light flush was brought to Alfred's face and Arthur kissed him, demanding more with his tongue and teeth, his free hand grasping for the bottle of lube to slick Alfred's cock.

"Allow me, love," Arthur mumbled, pulling Alfred's fingers from his entrance and carefully guiding Alfred's cock inside instead.

Alfred gasped, his hands flying to his mouth as Arthur sank down onto him. It was reminiscent of the times he was a merman, laying in the sand with Arthur pushing himself down along his length. But now there was so much more feeling, he wasn't sure if it was supposed to be this explosive, this warm, this erotic. "Arthur," he moaned, his hands running over his lover's chest as he breathed deeply. "Arthur, o-oh…"

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked breathlessly, picking himself up and sliding back down, over and over, watching Alfred's expressions closely. Never before had he been this involved in their sex, only going through the motions until it was over. But now he wanted to see everything, wanted to hear his name in hundreds of different tones from that watery voice. He wanted to make Alfred happy and satisfied and he never wanted to see the man so alone and upset like that ever again.

They were so close, his hand fisting his own cock as Alfred tried to find something to do with his own, his hands scrambling across Arthur's skin before gripping Arthur's ass cheeks and squeezing. Arthur was so close, trying to keep his rhythm as he rode Alfred. His thighs began to tremble from exertion and Alfred's name was on the tip of his tongue just as he was kneed harshly in the back.

"I'm so sorry!" Alfred blustered, his face flushed and chest heaving. "My – my legs – I don't… know what to do with them. I didn't…" But Arthur wasn't listening – didn't care. He continued as if nothing had happened and Alfred pulled a pillow over his face, groaning out broken sentences until they both finally reached their climaxes, falling into a tired and sweaty heap.

Alfred pressed his face into the crook of Arthur's shoulder. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad…?" Arthur pulled away from Alfred, brushing a loose strand of hair away from the sandy blond's face. "Do you mean about that little kick? Of course not, in fact I hardly noticed. Don't fret over it." He smiled, kissing the underside of Alfred's jaw lightly. "Besides, the more we practice, the better it'll get."

And even though he had no magic to call to his whims, no power, nor nothing to govern, Alfred couldn't believe he was able to make Arthur say such things. He may be a weak human, but now he had Arthur – would always have Arthur, and that gave him greater happiness than all of the oceans in the world could.

Unimportant Notes: I forgot I had written this. Oops.