Chapter Text
Several years from now, Chad will remember the sight of Robert stoning another merperson to near death during the spawning season they met with blunted edges to the violence and fond, soft nostalgia.
The Chad of today has been courting a merman with dull scales and a deep singing voice that seemed to contain all the beauty in the world for all of a week. Not a day ago, he'd been internally celebrating his first accepted courting gift, a rock he'd found with a big, pretty crystal poking out of it since the guy was always hanging out in places with tons of pebbles and stones.
He'd been displaying his scales without getting close, doing tricks out of the water to show off the flexibility and strength he'd confer to any babies. He'd had to perform them pretty far away, to avoid braining himself on the seafloor, but he'd been confident he was making a good showing and proving he would win the fight to top in a casual mating.
With this new revelation of exactly why the merman likes rocks so much, he's pretty sure that distance had been for the best.
Watching the other black-haired merperson go limp and slide into the water, thoroughly rejected, he is both moments from freaking out, and devastatingly turned on.
Holy shit. That could've been me.
Now, he wanted to stick around during the incubation period and feed the guy so the eggs and embryos inside wouldn't absorb due to stress. (Or worse. Finding skeletons of solo nesters who thought they could go it alone and ended up starving or being eaten shortly after giving birth, not always by predators, is always a disturbing sight.)
Chad has never done that. He's a high-demand specimen, most spawnings. People just saw his vibrant scales, beautiful muscles, and extremely powerful swimming ability and just fell all over him at first sight before they even heard his singing voice.
Which is fortunate, because it's the one thing that might get them to turn away.
He hasn't sung for the current merman he's courting yet, but he's been working at it so diligently in other ways he's confident he won't be needed to expose how bad he is at it.
He swims a bit closer, trying to look uncowed by the display of violence. Maybe this guy really would put up a good fight and Chad would end up having to be the one staying in the nest, gravid with eggs.
He'd have to pick one that aligned with his own taste, too, then. Isolated away from predators, enough room to swim a little, with a view of the sky and a little comfortable. Preferably a tide pool? Those were pretty, and would give him something to do. Then he could get fed every time the water rose with little risk of getting attacked by predators or harassed by other merpeople trying to mate with him while he was slowed down.
He's still thinking of nearby sites that match the criteria as he creeps closer, uncharacteristically cautious. The dull-scaled mer stares him down unblinkingly when he settles into the freezing shallows in front of him, wide shoulders squared and ready to prove his patience and worthiness. One hand rests on the courting stone, and Chad can't help the smug fin-flare that follows.
He likes the gift. He used it to hurt another suitor, but not Chad. Yet.
This close, Chad can see the camouflage dappling over the guy's two-tone tail, like the shadows of the sun through water, or seal pelt over a pale underside.
After about thirty minutes of Chad just sitting there, waiting for either acceptance or rejection as his above-average body heat warms the water, the mer finally sighs, adjusting the kelpwoven pouch on his side. Not something Chad usually bothers with, additional drag just slows down his hunting.
"You're still not scared off after seeing that, huh?"
Fuck, that voice. Deceptively low for his size, and rumbling, it reminds Chad of an underwater quake.
He shakes his head. He doesn't want to offend, not after spending so much time courting this fucker. He will not fuck this up for himself at this stage.
"You can talk, right? You're not some stunted single-parent cannibal?"
Chad scowls, which he hates doing, because it makes his beautifully sculpted face look ugly as hell. But the habit had been present since he was a guppy and joined the same school as Alice, and no matter what, he couldn't unlearn it.
"Yes, I can talk. I'm not a fucking - barbarian, or something."
"Well, you didn't really give off the impression of someone who was here for conversation, either," The mer points out, more than a little catty, and Chad pulls himself a little closer to listen, helpless to the draw of his natural tone. "I mean, all that scale flashing, dancing, and tricks, I almost could've thought you were a particularly determined, mute, and blind dolphin, if it weren't for you looking like spotted red coral."
He raises the rock, shifting his position up on the basalt beach, and Chad flinches.
"This was nice, though. Really helps me with gutting my catches."
Chad's face puckers, and the happy expression on the mer's face stills.
"You picked it because it was pretty, didn't you."
Chad allows himself the vulnerable position of covering his face with his hands and rolling over onto his back. "You hang out around a lot of rocks, okay?" He mutters into his palms, "Was I supposed to know what you liked just based off of the sound of your voice, huh?"
There's a touch on his shoulder.
He startles, yanking the obstruction away from his eyes. The mer has descended from his perch and joined him in the water, giving him an indulgent look. Yes!
"I mean, most people just try to jump me once they figure out the plain-ass guy is also where the ugly-ass whale song is coming from, and then I have to brain them with the rocks I like so much." He snarks. "So you're already doing better than that lot."
Ugly. Ugly! His song was great! It sounded like it was echoing from the deep pit of a cave, a set of beautiful sequences in low tones magnified into magnificence, going on for hours and forming complex self harmonies. Chad had been determined to court him as soon as he heard it! It was a miracle he'd had some self respect and hadn't tried to mate with him on. . . the spot.
Oh.
He really had almost gotten himself killed, huh.
"Hello? Earth to. . . What is your name, actually?"
Chad snaps out of his own head to the merman looking at him with concern, and blurts out, "Chad. You were just, uh, so handsome I got caught up in looking at you."
That earns him a skeptical eyebrow raise. "Compared to you? Chad, come on."
Hey! If this guy is going to be Chad's mate, at very least for the next year, he doesn't get to put himself down. That just makes Chad look like a cheap bitch who settled for what he could get!
"Well, what's your name then, or am I just going to have to call you a bitch in my head while we're wrestling in a nest?" Chad demands, trying to keep the horrible screech of irritation out of his tone.
It gets him a laugh. "Robert, after my father, and his father before him. Kind of a tradition for every first male in a clutch, so who knows how many are swimming around now?"
Robert. Chad absorbs the name and imprints it into himself, vowing to never forget it.
"Well, Robert," Chad purrs it, and flicks his tail ostentatiously to move a little closer, until they're nearly chest to chest, Robert eyeing him warily with one hand on his courting gift. "Do you want to have sex sometime this year in a place I've picked out, or do you want to wait around until next spawning season?"
Robert stares at him, seeming genuinely caught off guard. Chad doesn't provoke him by reaching for the rock, but instead slowly draws himself up until he's looming over him, hands planted on the beach bed on either side of his torso. His long tail with sleek, gray-edged fins brushes against Robert's shorter one where their slits are hidden, swaying from side to side in the waves' current, and it's like a bolt of electricity lances out from the point of contact.
"Or," He muses, "Right here, right now?"
Robert's hand on the rock tenses and relaxes as he considers Chad's offer.
"And you're not going to mad if you get pinned down instead of me?" He checks, and Chad puffs his chest out. He's still pretty confident that still won't happen, but with the revelation of his potential mate's ruthlessness, there is a hint of doubt. He accepts it with open arms. "I'm not a bitch, but I know it's a possibility, yes."
"Show me the nest."
Chad celebrates in his own head and withdraws into the water, Robert following after. He has to slow down to make sure he can keep up, Robert's ambush-predator length tail not quite as good at prolonged trips as his own long, skimmer one, but that just gives him more time to flirt.
The first time they get approached by a pretty, large male, circling around Chad and giving him a smouldering look, he hisses protectively and lunges. Nobody is taking Robert from him! He's so close!
Robert seems genuinely surprised at him passing the opportunity up to stick with him, but the guy didn't even sing at either of them before coming close! No gift! No nothing! Again, Chad isn't easy or cheap!
By the third time Chad chases away a suitor, Robert's moved into being firmly exasperated, one hand on his rock and looking ready to stab the next merperson who tries.
Fortunately, they arrive at the beach Chad remembers scouting just before mating season began a month and a half ago right as high tide reaches the area he's picked out.
"We're here." Chad guides him up into the shallows, towards a tide pool with a large enough size to hold three of him. It doesn't have as much life inside as he'd like, but there's plenty for any spawnlings so eat so long as the clutch isn't something insane, like twelve or more. He hoists himself over the lip and checks, but there isn't any occupants he has to chase out. He knew he picked a good one.
He helps Robert get up and inside, too, and then stays put while Robert runs his own inspection, looking begrudgingly impressed.
"I didn't expect something this spacious, to be honest. How many are you planning on, if this is what you went with?" He sounds a bit nervous, and Chad shrugs.
"As many as we get."
"I'm sorry to disappoint, but it probably won't be too large, two or three max on my part, I think. I don't eat enough for more, even if you do." Robert shakes his head, and then divests himself of his kelp bag and the courting gift, lodging them between a pair of the surrounding rocks to they don't move.
Chad frowns. He'll just have to work extra hard to bring him both very fattening, and very impressive specimens for his diet and fuck him again when he makes more eggs, then. It'll be hard work, and might take more time, though.
He slides into the tide pool, and almost without even thinking about it, starts to circle the rim. Robert watches, and then follows his example, beginning dancing around each other in an ancient, instinctive ritual. His mind sharpens, the spiral tightening, looking for weaknesses in Robert's posture, ways to pin him down, which rocks will provide the best angle, and Robert is doing the same, keen-eyed and claws extended.
Tighter.
Tighter.
They lunge at the same time and collide in the middle of the pool, spray flying into the air furiously as they begin the tussle. The competition for who fucks who is vicious, Chad slamming Robert into the bed hard enough to bruise his back at one point before he slips away, and Robert restraining him with arms behind his back and wrapping his tail around him, cock emerging from its slit and preparing to penetrate, before Chad breaks the grip with a roar and thrash of his entire body.
After who knows how long, Robert, smaller, less well-fed, an ambusher not built for stamina, begins to tire. Maybe if he'd been the one to pick the nest, stacked the deck in his own favor, he'd have won.
But Chad had pursued him. Courted him. And now, both of Robert's hands forced over his head and back pressed to the rocks at the edge of the pool by Chad's weight, tails firmly entangled and cock fully sheathed in his tight slit after a final tumbling struggle over the stone, he's the one who's come out on top.
Stinging claw marks down his back tell the story of how hard Robert fought to the very last moment, and Chad breathes deeply, the lungs attached to his chest gills working overtime in the less oxygenated air.
He growls his victory in Robert's face, dominant and determined for him to submit, temporarily lost to spawning instincts. Robert gives a spluttering, rusty and reedy whine, tilting his face back and presenting his fluttering neck gills for Chad's inspection. Good.
Chad begins to move, undulating his tail, and buries the sound he makes into Robert's skin as he figures out the best angle to thrust. Fuck, he's almost cool inside, compared to the scorching heat of his cock, and it makes Chad want to immediately bury himself to the root and poke into his egg pouch, add to the one or two that are probably already inside. Warm him up, make him a better home for his eggs so they'll grow quicker, and he can feel them stirring at the base of his cock as the frenzy grows. The water in the tide pool has been frothed into foam, and Robert is keening, fucking forward to meet his thrusts.
Eager, eager little mate, making so many pretty sounds, so ready for him to lay inside, to cum with him and fertilize his eggs, and Chad kisses him, hard.
He's smothering him as they rock together, keeping him quiet so nothing comes upon them even as unlikely as the possibility is, when Robert lets out an impatient little grumble and bites at his lip.
Chad crushes him against the rocks even harder, sinking his own teeth in as both revenge and claim, and grinds in against the loosened entrance to his pouch until, with a little grunt against his mouth, the head sinks in and the circle of muscle locks around the underside to keep him anchored.
"Hhnndon'tstop!" Robert gasps, wracked with tremors, and the muscles in Chad's pouch start to squeeze. The eggs fight their way up the channel of his dick as his mate spasms inside, and Chad moans, "Oh, hell, keep clenching on me—" while he lays one, shit, two, "Holy fuck," three, four, "Robeeert, you're the perfect carrier for them, such a gorgeous voice, like a fucking siren, milking my cock like this after letting me court you, and you were acting so cold earlier, needed some good dick to melt that ice, you're taking it so well—" five fat eggs into his pouch, and by the end of it he's shuddering and weak and empty while the internal mechanism at the base his cock switches channels from his egg pouch to the gland next to it and prepares to actually fertilize Robert's eggs.
Robert could probably push him off at this stage, but he doesn't.
Instead, he keeps fucking himself on Chad's dick, his occasional pleased and gravelly hums mingling with Chad's choked moans bouncing off the rocks, their cocks rubbing together inside. He takes the reins and drives them both higher, scraping his back against the rocks, fucking fighting against Chad's hands not to dominate but to complete their mating in full as his slit tightens like it's trying to suck him.
"I know, it feels so gooood," Chad gathers the strength to croon, "Just stay here and I'll feed you every high tide, fuck you like this as muuuch as you like because you're just meant to take my cock, make sure no one else will fuck with our clutch. I'll bring you sharks, and giant clams, and tuna, and whatever the hell else our guppies are craving—"
"Urchins." Robert rasps, "I can already tell, so many urchins."
Chad's head pops out of the chamber on one overambitious thrust, then presses back in and he feels the softness of an egg pushing back from from inside the gaping hole. Robert locks up around him with a startled, furious little shriek, fluid gushing from his cock onto Chad's and the partial completion of their coupling now visible to the eye as he moves in and out. His tail flails, slapping and writhing against Chad's scales.
Cute, is Chad's last thought, before Robert's hands break free of his loosened grip and wrap around his neck.
"If you pull out, I'm killing you." He snarls up at him through a layer of flesh-ripping teeth (like Chad's) in addition to shell-crushers in his throat, tightening his fingers. The rush of oxygen deprivation descends, and it's all Chad can do not to react instinctively to the threat against his life.
His new mate is so hot. God, Chad is so glad he didn't try to speed through this, the afterlife separating him from Robert prematurely would've been a tragedy.
The arousal and the head high mix, leave him thrusting on complete automatic, and when he cums he feels the tug and yank of it all the way down to the tips of his tail as ecstasy blinds him to anything but itself. He freezes on top of Robert, filling him to the brim, until pearls of it leak from around the plug of his cock and run down his sides, smearing onto the rocks.
Fuck, Robert just keeps rippling around him, siphoning his cum deeper to soak into the open maw of his pouch, and he doesn't know how long he can hold this position, his tail is sliding off the stone—
Robert stops choking him, and Chad sways from side to side for a moment, and then falls down into the water with a splash, cock slipping free and already retreating back into his slit.
Bubbles rush past his vision as he sinks to the bottom, and lands softly on the sea grass lining it. It tickles the scratches. The waterline went down by about a third due to the intensity of their dominance fight, so it's a bit more cramped. Above him, a blurry body plunges into the water, a fresh flurry of air bubbles following, and Robert nearly slams into him, frantic and wide eyes followed by fingers and claws checking for any serious damages.
Chad lets him fuss, his perception of the world almost hyper-real as clarity from the orgasm settles in. Every touch feels like it's interacting with five times his skin it actually is, the brush of water displaced by Robert's movements like a loving caress, the slick scrape of their scales like Robert's claws down his back. Chad stares up at him, gray-dappled scales and pale underside on display, thin fins flickering and flaring with worry around creased eyes and a frowning expression. Thick cum is still leaking from his puffy slit as it closes back up, and diluting into the water.
He smiles, and pulls Robert close.
Presses a kiss to that unhappy mouth, and feels it lighten, one edge quirked upwards.
Just a couple more minutes like this can't hurt, right? Then he'll go hunt.
He ends up sleeping until high tide starts to pull back and jerks awake. The sun is starting to go down, and Robert is curled up next to him, burrowed into his side and siphoning away his body heat, gills fluttering with his breaths.
The dance of the setting sun across his dappled scales could be endlessly mesmerizing, if Chad didn't have work to do. He untangles their tails gently, and rolls Robert over into the warm divot Chad has left in the tide pool bed of vegetation. Robert's brows furrow, and Chad stills, hands hovering and tense. And then he snuggles into the warmth, a sigh of bubbles leaving his nose, and stays asleep.
Chad resists the urge to bite him, because that would wake him up, and asserting his claim so blatantly might get him stabbed.
He wiggles excitedly as he hoists himself out of the pool and slaps wetly onto the damp sand, and then drags himself the short way to the waves as fast as he possibly can.
He's gonna catch the best, the most impressive, the biggest damn thing he can handle for Robert's first meal. He's going to get lay in a nest with a mate he gets to keep for a whole year who's perfect song will beckon him home to feed him strips of flesh and help him pick bones out of his teeth, and he'll escort him everywhere for the whole incubation period to drive off anybody who stresses him out even slightly, and it's going to be great.
Chad thinks of that domestic fantasy all the way through his hunting, discarding target after target, ranging farther and farther afield. He finds flaws in every possible candidate (too small, too skinny, maimed so taking it down would be too easy to be impressive) and as the night grows long he comes across a colossal squid and a sperm whale fighting at the edge of deep water and nearly considers it before realizing that was the second dumbest possible mistake of his life. Robert just made him stupid as hell, apparently.
He comes across a swarming school of tuna devouring a bait ball, surrounded by opportunistic sharks, manages to take down the shiniest one, nearly a third again the size of himself, fight off the scavengers, and surface from the water briefly, watching the sky.
Huh. The stars are starting to disappear.
. . .
The stars are starting to disappear. Which means it's morning. High tide is here, and Chad is almost eight hours away by swim from the nest.
He's going to miss the first check-in. Robert's going to think he left him.
Chad rushes back as fast as he can, towing the tuna slowing him, but by the time he gets there, high tide is long gone. He has to wait another three hours until the earliest possible point he can get to the nest with his prize, and check if Robert had stayed after he failed to appear.
He flops across the sand, struggling to haul the meat that's roughly three times harder to move out of water than in, and finally abandons it at the final stretch to haul himself into the pond. He's dirty, covered in sand, and in so much disarray, Robert would probably laugh hoarsely at his appearance if he saw him instead of being cold or standoffish, or dare he imagine, sweet.
Instead, there is nothing.
No greeting. No song. Not even a splash other than the motions of Chad's swimming. He checks the rocks, and Robert's things, the courting gift and the woven bag, are gone.
He ducks under the water to search one last place, his heart rising into his throat with panic.
The bottom of the tide pool where he left his mate sits empty.
Chad bursts out of the water and keens in anguish, howling his sudden self-loathing and sorrow to the sky as sea birds startle and take flight.