Where He Meets The Sky

US x UK

R15

Author's Notes:

My entry for the USUK Anthology from a while back. I tried so hard to keep this suggestive but non-explicit, haha. Hopefully, it still came out okay. The 3,000 word limit didn't really agree with me. . . .

Oh, and by the way, the poem at the end (which is not included in the anthology) is half a rough translation of a Chinese song, and half my own creation. It started out as just the translation, but then I realized I could make it rhyme, so I just went with it. My poetry-writing skills are a bit rusty. ORZ

RipperJak, this one's for you!

Warnings: Merman AU

-x-x-x-

Where He Meets The Sky

Alfred had been drawn to Matthew's little beach house get-together by the promise of sun, alcohol, and an irresistible ocean view. What he hadn't expected was that a spontaneous seduction would also be included in the deal — and by Matthew's boyfriend, no less.

Whether or not it was intentional was, of course, debatable.

At least, in the beginning.

Arthur Kirkland had sea glass eyes and pearl skin; he had coral lips and seashell fingernails and starfish hair. Alfred was captivated in a way that he couldn't find the words to describe. Arthur was no overconfident charmer, no brawny, Greek-statue heartthrob, but he was unspeakably — almost sinfully — beautiful. Beautiful in the grace of his movements and the resonance of his voice; beautiful in the lines of his slim, ribbon-like body and the silkiness of his skin. Beautiful in the sweep of his pale eyelashes, the arch of his nose, the crest of his fine cheekbones as he dangled a wine glass between two fingers and laughed at something that had been said and hardly spared Alfred a glance in between.

Alfred couldn't understand it. He was young, he was handsome, and he was very desirable — as he'd been told on frequent occasions. Yet . . . Arthur barely seemed to notice he was there. In fact, Arthur seemed perfectly at ease with their non-acquaintanceship; even when Matthew had introduced them, he'd merely flicked his sea glass gaze over Alfred once before turning back to his conversation with Victoria.

Alfred had never wanted someone's attention more desperately in his life. He was, in that split second, insanely jealous of Victoria and her simple, dark-skinned prettiness.

If only . . .

If only Arthur would just, for a moment . . .

In the wake of his silent dilemma, Alfred never even entertained the idea that being attracted to his brother's boyfriend was an immoral, dishonorable thing. The fact that Arthur was Matthew's had already slipped his mind. Perhaps it never properly registered in the first place. All Alfred could think of was tearing Arthur's crisp shirt and swim trunks off right there on the sand and learning the textures and shadows hidden in his sleek body — then parting him, taking him, and possessing him like lost treasure.

God, he wanted him like he'd never wanted anyone else.

They spent the morning and afternoon by the water, basking in the late summer heat and catching up with each other's lives, reminiscing about the good old days in between sips of the cold champagne Francis and his girlfriend, Bella, had brought in a cooler. The conversation swung like a pendulum from topic to idle topic.

Alfred's gaze slid over to Arthur again. He watched how a sliver of skin, a flash of bare hip beckoned at him as Arthur stretched, and his own fingers dug into the sand as a shudder climbed his spine.

Why did no one else notice Arthur's indescribable attractiveness? Francis and Bella were comfortably arm-in-arm; Francis, the habitual and seasoned philanderer, had only given him a dismissive glance. Victoria was friendly toward him but equally unaffected. Even Matthew — if Alfred were in Matthew's position, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off Arthur. He'd be yanking Arthur into his lap and kissing him breathless and shoving his hands into his clothes, spectators be damned. But the most Alfred saw Matthew and Arthur do was sit next to each other and occasionally brush hands while they chatted like old friends. There wasn't even any of the self-conscious hair smoothing or the casual leaning inward that indicated at least a little romantic interest.

Desire was driving Alfred crazy. His palms were hot with perspiration that had nothing to do with the warm air, and the insides of his thighs were all but shaking. Not wanting to make a fool of himself, he stood up, spun out an excuse, and went back inside the house.

After pacing restlessly around the kitchen and splashing water on his face from the sink, he considered jerking himself off in the bathroom, but the idea was embarrassing and discourteous. And he knew it wouldn't work — because yes, his body wanted Arthur, but his mind did, too. It was a battle that had to be fought on both fronts.

Unfortunately, only one possible outcome of the situation presented itself to him in his fervor: he was going to have Arthur. Whatever it took. Whatever he had to sacrifice. Whatever he had to make everyone else sacrifice. He needed Arthur; they didn't. Now . . . the only question was, how?

"Looking for something?"

Alfred spun around.

The most innocent smile played across Arthur's lips as he leaned against the door, hands loosely gripping his elbows. His eyes, out of the brightness of the sun and within the shade provided by the house, glowed like underwater stars. The top three and bottom two buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair had been tousled to perfection by the ocean breeze.

Alfred's throat closed. His heart began pounding so hard against his breastbone that he could feel it in his tongue.

"I came to check on you. You looked . . . slightly unwell." Arthur flowed across the kitchen, bare feet quiet on the tiles. He stopped in front of Alfred. "Your brother was worried," he said, voice subtle.

"Oh."

"Incidentally, we also ran out of sunscreen." Arthur looked around, eyes glancing casually off the polished surfaces. Alfred felt the abrupt loss of his attention like a pinch to something fragile inside his chest. "Do you know where there might be a bottle of it?"

"In the bathroom cabinet," Alfred managed. Arthur thanked him with another sweet smile and glided past, a pulse away from touching him. The hem of his shirt fluttered across Alfred's knuckles. It was only because Alfred was stunned by his very presence that he didn't reach out and catch Arthur's body up against his own and run his hands over his skin to see if it was truly as soft and flawless as it looked.

He was still standing there in a daze when Arthur returned a few moments later with his find.

Arthur blithely skirted around him and was heading for the door when he appeared to check himself, hand stilling as it stretched out for the doorknob. Alfred — who had been staring helplessly at his back, trying to think of a plausible excuse to detain him, to have him to himself for just a few more seconds — found himself being drawn forward almost outside of his own volition, a bedazzled fish caught on a reel. As if Arthur's body possessed a pull so strong that it was a force of nature in itself.

The few yards between them shrank down to nothing. They were practically pressed back-to-chest now, inches short of actual contact, Alfred's mouth hovering unintentionally behind the creamy shell of Arthur's ear. Arthur seemed as calm as ever, but Alfred's breaths were coming harder, almost forcing their way out of his lungs; his mind had been blindsided into incoherency by lust. All he could think of was reaching around Arthur's waist . . . forcing Arthur out of his clothes . . . edging open his thighs . . . exposing him . . .

"In other words, nothing short of rape," Arthur breathed. For some reason, he sounded amused. Startled, Alfred instinctively drew back, putting distance between them again. "Oh, you thought I didn't know. You thought I was oblivious, is that right?" His voice remained light, just shy of playful. He turned, meeting Alfred's eyes.

Alfred's blood was bubbling with heat. He couldn't trust his own tongue.

Arthur brought his pale hand up to face level, and his thumb touched Alfred's lower lip, his fingers spanning over Alfred's cheek like slender shadows. His eyelids lowered halfway; his lips moved slowly, sensuously as he spoke. Alfred couldn't look away. "I am never oblivious, despite what may have led you to believe so. This is what I do. This is my ability. My pride. Nothing escapes me."

His hand stayed on Alfred's face as he leaned in closer. Alfred could feel his own breath meet the pad of Arthur's thumb, moistening and warming it. Around them, the air stood completely still, as if afraid to move.

"You're an animal," Arthur said mildly, so close that Alfred could almost taste his words. His eyelashes flickered as his gaze slid up to Alfred's, then down to the curve of Alfred's mouth behind his thumb. Back up again, glittering. "A beautiful animal." He pressed closer still; Alfred could feel the cool contours of his body almost, almost, touching him.

"Arthur," Alfred whispered, just to experience the motion of his own lips gliding over Arthur's skin.

Arthur merely smiled. "Tonight, after dusk, after everyone leaves and Matthew is asleep . . . come find me. Where the water meets the sky." His thumb swept away from Alfred's mouth, and for a moment, they were so close to kissing that Alfred believed they were — until Arthur took half a step back, letting the rest of the world rush in to fill the gap between them. The spell of the moment was broken.

He left while Alfred was still dazed, the door shutting firmly behind him.

After Arthur's departure had registered properly, Alfred collapsed to his knees on the tiled floor, mind reeling. What had just happened? Arthur had sounded so tantalizingly cryptic, so full of promise. And yet Alfred realized that though he himself felt so intensely alive, so thoroughly enthralled, so utterly bewildered . . . they had hardly even touched. Despite the emotions roiling inside him, nothing had changed. Not on the surface. He was still alone and unsatisfied and unattached, and Arthur was still out there, serenely free-floating, an unpinned butterfly.

He could only sit there in disbelief, the ghost of Arthur's touch on his lips and his whisper lingering in his ear.

Tonight, after dusk . . . come find me. Where the water meets the sky.

X

The temperature along the beach had dropped by nightfall, the sand as silvery and cool beneath the soles of Alfred's feet as the moon that hung high above his head in the sky. He slowly made his way down the wooden steps, leaving behind a darkened house and a slumbering Matthew, and immediately felt the pull again. He didn't try to resist it; he let it guide him, and soon he found himself standing at the edge of the shore with the cold water lapping expectantly at his bare toes.

Arthur was nowhere to be found on land. But in a way, Alfred hadn't really thought he would be. He took a deep breath to steady himself and turned away from the shore, toward the inky horizon. For a few seconds, he saw nothing but the endless, shimmering expanse of water, awash with moonlight, and something in him half-panicked.

Then his eyes found Arthur. The air rushed out of him in a heartbeat, mingled with the wind.

Arthur stood in the ocean, up to his slender hips amidst the gentle waves, his back to Alfred, absolutely still. His pale, pale skin was luminescent in the dark; it turned silver where the moonlight touched upon it and deep blue where the shadows draped themselves in ribbons and caresses across his body. He wore nothing but the light and darkness of night. Even so, the frigid water didn't seem to bother him at all.

Alfred began to step into the water after him, but he only managed to get to ankle-depth before Arthur spoke.

"Stay where you are." Alfred paused, uncertain. "You'll freeze to death if you come in with me. Go back onto shore; I'll join you in a moment." Gone was Arthur's earlier deliberate seductiveness, his devilish intimacy. Now his voice was distant, pristine, hauntingly dulcet, as if the night had added an extra element to it . . . or as if it had unlocked his full potential, his consummate beauty. Hearing his words echo across the water sent a tremor through Alfred, and he backed out of the water without further hesitation. The two of them stood in their places without moving for what seemed like a lifetime.

Eventually, Arthur turned toward him. His eyes were so bright, they burned an intense green sharp enough to cut through the darkness. His appearance was fierce, but soothing; inviting, but forbidding; nearly human, but so ethereal, all at once — he took Alfred's breath away without trying, without ever giving it back.

"Alfred Jones," said Arthur, still not moving out of the water. Alfred's name fell from his lips like droplets of crystal. "Heed me closely. You now face an important decision. You may accept everything that I have to offer you in terms of physical pleasure, and forever live in torment until the day death brings you mercy, or you may walk away from me with your fate still in your own hands and never again feel the temptation I have brought upon you." His tone was expressionless; Alfred knew somehow, without a doubt, that he was repeating the speech from long-ingrained memory. "You have it upon my word that I will let you leave me unharmed, should you so choose that path. This is a decision only you can make. Consider it carefully."

Alfred watched him, watched his mouth move, tried to make sense of what he was saying. It wasn't that he couldn't hear him — no, Arthur's voice was the only thing he could hear — it was that he didn't understand. He didn't understand why. It sounded so harsh and exaggerated, so dramatic. Almost like an elaborate joke. Yet . . .

Arthur finally started to leave the water, his slim frame rippling with grace, salt and liquid sliding off his body in rivulets. As he approached, he said softly, clearly, "Humans are foolish, impulsive, fragile things. However, they are the only beings my kind cannot live without. To aid us in obtaining what we require from them, nature equipped us with what they are unable to resist. These qualities are all we have. But they are all we will ever need." He came to a stop a few feet away from Alfred, free of the ocean.

"If you choose to fall in love with me," he continued in barely a whisper, "tonight will be yours, and I will love you in return for the handful of hours we have left together. I will tell you that you're the only one I've ever wanted, ever needed. But come dawn, I will leave you, and you will never see me again. Even as the recollections of those around you fade — for I was never meant to mean anything to them — you yourself will never be able to erase me from your mind. Such is the curse of my love."

"What . . . are you?" Alfred asked at last. Arthur smiled faintly.

"Choose, Alfred. Then you will know." He held out his arms, his offering. His perfect, beautiful body, laid bare beneath the sky and the stars, white and smooth and precious. Inviting the imagination to drink it in, to fondle it, to please it.

Alfred looked at him. Swallowed. "You'll let me go? If that's what I want to do?"

"Yes."

"But you won't . . . if I sleep with you." Alfred knew that what Arthur would give him was more than that. Far more. But it was the only way he could phrase it.

Arthur said quietly, "No, I won't. Your heart will be mine forever."

There was to be no bargaining, no pointless cajoling. That, Alfred understood. It was either his life, or his love — there was no having both at the same time. The wider rules that bound and governed him and Arthur weren't for him to question, or try to change. But he did know he would suffer no matter what choice he made, because there was no true difference between the two options. Arthur might have said otherwise, might have promised him a bittersweet alternative, but Alfred knew that he himself would live in torment for the rest of his life no matter what he decided to do.

He had no choice to make, because while there might be someone else out there for Arthur . . . there would never be anyone else for him.

Alfred gazed at the ocean, watched it move gently, steadily, the calm inside him deepening into something more permanent with every ebb and flow. He let it seduce his willing senses; then he looked away and walked into Arthur's waiting embrace.

X

The sky paled gradually, from jet black to dark plum, to cresting navy, to downy gray. Alfred felt tender fingers brush the hair from his forehead, felt a gentle hand on his hot cheek. There was one last wordless kiss upon his mouth, light as love, and his fist was uncurled, something placed in the center of his palm; then Arthur's shadow moved away. Alfred listened to his quiet steps travel across the sand, the delicate splish at the shore's edge as his feet met the water. A pause.

Then a longer, deeper splash as his sleek-tailed lover left him to return home.

Alfred didn't open his eyes. Instead, he listened. And for the first time, he heard everything that he hadn't noticed before — the shifting wind, the soft rise and roar of the ocean, the crying albatrosses. And what he didn't hear, he felt: the gritty sand beneath his back, the sting of sea salt in his eyes, the emptiness inside his chest. The feather-light weight in his hand.

He slowly closed his hand around the tiny seashell, and let the tears come.

X

From the faraway shore of the ocean

Where you slowly disappear

Your visage once so blurry

Now so achingly sharp, so clear

I don't know what to say now

The words are lost on my tongue

I can only hold them in the depths of my heart

And know that you were the one . . .

I walk along the water's edge

And watch the tide ebb and flow

I keep trying, with mind and heart

To memorize the waves before they go

Want to tell you "I love you"

But the words are scattered to the wind

Turn my head, expecting to see you

There's no one there; I've lost you again.

If the ocean could bring back love long gone

I would wait a lifetime by the shore

If you could come back, if I could let go

I'd ask for nothing more

If the ocean could carry away my regrets

The way it carries every river and stream

I'd forget the hurt, the tears, the longing

Let it take away my love like a dream.