Beneath the Waves

The next full moon, I sat waiting for him on the beach. My breath caught as he emerged, glistening and wet. My undersea lover.

The man they pull aboard is injured. And nude. Floating out in the middle of the sea. Not another boat in sight. Eric does his best to patch him up, but communicating is proving difficult.

The man gives his name as Pochuria but doesn’t speak English. He seems fascinated by Eric’s cabin, asking him to name everything in it. Then he draws Eric’s attention to his naked body. He wants some attention, and Eric is primed to give it to him.

When Pochuria disappears, Eric is devastated. It is months before he sees him again, but Pochuria has a secret. Will it destroy any connection they have found with each other?

How bizarre an encounter is Eric willing to share with him?

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“Man overboard!” The call went out, and everyone rushed from their stations to the gunwales on the ninety-foot, longline boat we were calling home for the next ten days. We had been working sixteen-hour days for the last four days. We were all exhausted. It didn’t surprise me that someone may have fallen overboard. The seas were rough today, tossing us around like laundry in a machine. I searched the sea, looking for any sign of someone overboard.

“Here!” someone shouted. We all rushed to that side. Sure enough, there was someone in the water. But it wasn’t one of ours. Everyone was accounted for; all the men peering over the gunwale. Except for the captain, he was at the helm, fighting to keep the ship on course. We should have hunkered down by now, below deck, but we had one last line to pull in.

We threw a life vest out to the guy in the water. Once he slipped it on, he could probably make his way to the ladder we had rolled down for him. That is … if he could still swim. It must be freezing out there, and the man in the water was shirtless. I shivered at the thought. I couldn’t imagine being out in this without the protection of a waterproof jacket and trousers. I even had fleece on under my outerwear to protect me from the cold. It was a miracle the guy was alive.

Against all odds, the guy in the water clung to the life vest and paddled his way over to the ladder. His movements were slow and strained. He was injured. It took every ounce of his remaining energy to haul himself onto the boat. When he crashed down on the deck, we could see the extent of his injuries. One of his thighs had thick, deep wounds as if a boat propeller had caught hold of it. He dragged himself across the deck and collapsed—unconscious.

We all took a step back. The guy was naked. He shouldn’t be alive.

“Let’s get him below deck,” I shouted. I was the first-aid attendant for the boat, so it was my job to bandage him up the best I could until we reached land. He needed stitches—lots of them. The captain would take us back to port. But it would be three days until we got there.

“In my cabin.” I led the way and tossed open my door. I was first mate. I had a tiny cabin to myself. Three of the men were doing their best to carry the unconscious man, but he was a big guy, bound in ropes of muscular flesh. He was weighing them down and slowing their progress.

Once inside my cabin, they tossed him on my cot. Silence. There wasn’t a single sound from the man. For a moment, I thought he had stopped breathing.

I lowered my ear to his nose. Faintly—ever so faintly, he was breathing. I lifted his hand to take his pulse. Stretched between his fingers, a strange webbing. Pink with flecks of green. I touched it. It was rough, like scales. Strange. I wrote it off as a deformity.

I took his pulse and wasn’t pleased by the result. If this guy survived, it would be a miracle. I covered him with a blanket. His wounds weren’t bleeding, and the saltwater had done a decent job of keeping them clean. I would attend to him once he was warmed up.

I went in search of more blankets. We might even have a hot water bottle on board. I found it and headed to the galley to boil some hot water. Cook was there, so I let him do the honors.

Supplies in hand, I headed back to my cabin. There was no change in the guy’s vitals, and he was freezing to the touch. I tucked the hot water bottle against his belly, covered him in more blankets, and climbed onto the cot with him. I wasn’t about to get naked with him, but my body heat should permeate the blankets and help warm him up.

I settled in against him, using his shoulder as a pillow. He smelled of the sea. Briny and fresh. My head rocked up and down with the steady rhythm of his breath.

Having been awake for twenty hours, I drifted off.

I was nearly thrown off the cot, awoken violently from my slumber. The guy was struggling to get out from under me, his arms and legs thrashing.

I rolled off the cot and held his arm. “It’s all right. You’re safe.” His eyes blinked at a furious pace, watching me. He was terrified.

“You’re all right,” I reiterated, but he didn’t seem to understand me. Maybe he had fallen off a foreign boat. Maybe he didn’t speak English. I placed my hand on my chest.

“I’m Eric.”

He fidgeted as his eyes scanned the room. His gaze came to rest on the door. He moved to get off the cot. I held him in place. A difficult feat. He was a powerhouse of strength. I think he just gave up. “Stay put. You’re injured.” I peeled back the blankets so he could see his leg. It looked like shredded meat. So, unlike the other leg, which was smooth and muscular.

The guy was built. If he weren’t injured, I might be looking for a hookup. He looked straight at me and placed his hand on his chest. “Pochuria.”

Right, okay. Strange name. Definitely foreign. I wasn’t able to determine from where, though. I looked him up and down. If he were upright, he might stand about six-four. He was certainly crunched up on my cot, and I was six-one. He had long blond hair framing his handsome face, arranged in ringlets, stunning green eyes, long blond lashes, perfect pink lips …

God damned, the guy was stunning to look at. My cock throbbed at the full sight of him stretched out on my cot. I covered him back up with the blanket. He hadn’t made a move to do it himself. He fingered the edges of the woolen covering, his brow furrowed.

He looked at me, curiosity in his eyes.

I touched the blanket. “This?”

“This?” he repeated.

I shook my head. “No, it’s a blanket.” I touched it again. “Blanket.”

“Blank … et.”

He grunted when I nodded. I wasn’t planning on giving an English lesson today, but it seemed that’s where my evening was headed. He lifted the hot water bottle next.

After we covered pretty much everything in my cabin, Pochuria removed a book from the shelf above my cot and started flipping through it. His fingers traced circles on each page, a look of wonderment on his face.

Okay … he was a strange guy. But he was as sexy as all hell the way he handled that book. So gentle and curious. I imagined what his fingers would feel like on my body.

Stop. Task at hand.

I lifted my first aid kit from my tiny closet and turned back the blankets so I could examine his injury. I steadied my breathing. His thick cock was resting neatly on his inner thigh, and it had swelled, semi-hard. It was difficult to take my eyes off it. I have to admit—I stared. Beneath his cock, his fat, pink balls were poised, glistening, not a single dusting of hair on them.

They made my mouth water.

Pochuria reached down and touched his cock, then pointed at me. I wasn’t sure what he was asking. Did he want to know what it was called, or did he want me to put it in my mouth?

I decided on the former.

“Cock.”

Wrong answer. He tugged at my hand until I placed it on his cock. I wrapped my fingers around its girth and stroked it. Pochuria hummed his approval. It made me feel guilty, the whole thing. What if he was delirious from his injury? Maybe he had a fever. He should be in excruciating pain. I released his cock. “I need to work on your leg.”

I touched his thigh so he would know what I was talking about. I brushed my fingers along the edges of the wounds. He didn’t even flinch.

His flesh looked better than I thought it would. He still needed stitches, though. The tissue surrounding each slice in his muscle was angry-looking; red, the torn flesh beneath a deep crimson. I pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton ball. Pochuria’s hand was immediately on mine, stopping me from proceeding. His grip was tight, strangling my wrist.

“I need to clean it.” I tried to use my eyes to convey I had no intention of hurting him. He scowled and released my hand. With as much care as I could manage, I cleaned his wounds, then went in search of bandages big enough to cover everything. I decided on some large squares of gauze. I taped everything down, then patted his leg and covered him back up with the blanket.

Pochuria sighed, lay back in the cot, and closed his eyes. I would leave him alone for a while. Find someplace else to sleep. Or maybe hang out on the helm for a few hours. I would need to take over for the captain in the morning so he could sleep. I headed for the deck.

The sound of someone stumbling along behind me caught me by surprise. Everyone should be asleep. The waves had calmed while I had been below deck. The sea was still. No one should be stumbling. I turned to the person who had come up behind me.

Pochuria—and he was clinging to anything he could find to hold onto. The narrow corridor leading to the deck was dominated by him. My estimate of his height, being six-four, was way off. He was an easy six-seven and built like a bull. A very sexy, gorgeous bull. His cock and balls swung seductively between his thighs with each step he took.

I peeled my awestruck jaw off the floor.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“Bed.”

“Yeah.” I walked toward him and guided him back to my cabin. He reluctantly lay back down but yanked on my arm when I tried to leave.

“You need to sleep.”

“Sleep.” He tugged my hand toward his cock. He wasn’t giving up on this idea. My chest heaved, my heart hammering as I contemplated what he was asking of me. It had been years since I had been with a guy. Fishing kept me busy. Busy kept me from being swayed by my attraction to men. Kept me from following through with what I desired from them.

But his cock was beautiful.

I couldn’t help myself. I wrapped my fingers around it, leaned over him, and licked his cockhead. It tasted of the ocean. He dug his hand into my hair and clung to me. I sucked his length into my mouth. The tiny cabin wasn’t affording me much room to maneuver. I crouched at the edge of the cot, Pochruia’s webbed fingers raking through my hair. I wet his shaft with my tongue and bobbed up and down, my lips tight. Pochuria undulated his hips and groaned.

The sound nearly undid me. It was deep and haunting, the song of something unknown. He panted and sighed, every sound coming from his throat, mysterious.

Shivers ran up my spine.

I slurped and sucked, delirious with contentment. I loved a good thick cock in my mouth. I sipped at his tip. Even his pre-cum tasted of the sea. I circled the ridge with my tongue, then dove back on, jamming his cockhead against the back of my throat. Pochuria grasped my head with both hands and rolled onto his side. I struggled to follow him there.

With my cheek pressed to the cot, Pochuria hammered into my mouth, fucking my face, choking me—making me gag and cough. For a guy who was injured, he certainly had a lot of stamina. He battered my throat until I grasped his arm for him to stop.

His hips slowed, and he rolled onto his back, slipping his cock from my mouth. I rose on my knees and took his cock back between my lips, sucking gently. With each rise and fall of my lips, Pochuria rolled his hips until he grunted and filled my throat with his seed. It was the saltiest cum I had ever tasted. But I swallowed every last drop and cleaned his cock of any remnants.

“Eric,” Pochuria whispered and brushed his hand across my hair. He moved over and patted the area of the cot beside him. I had nowhere else to be, and I was tired. The desire to cuddle up to this man from the sea was beyond denying. I curled in beside him, laying my head on his muscular chest. He wrapped his arm around me and held me to him. It was nice.

I awoke to find the cot empty.

After a thorough search, we determined Pochuria was no longer on board. Where he had gone was anyone’s guess. Perhaps he had fallen back overboard. I was devastated. The loss I felt was unexpected. Not knowing what had happened to him, imagining the worst, that he was no longer alive, took a toll on me. Upon arriving back in port, I locked myself in my seaside cottage for months. I had no desire to be out there—back on the sea that had taken him.

The night was stormy, and by morning, the coastline was littered with debris. I headed out to see what I could find. If any ships had broken up, there were objects to be found. I picked through the usual bits of plastic and collected them up in a bag. I liked to keep my stretch of beach clean.

The sun wasn’t fully up. I sat down to watch the tail end of the sunrise. Out in the water, I could see what looked like a figure. Snorkelers often frequented my coastline, so it didn’t surprise me to see someone out there. I lifted my hand to block the sun’s rays. The usual glistening black of a wetsuit was absent. Instead, the figure appeared as pink as flesh. I rose to my feet. Bobbing above the waves was a face that had been haunting my dreams for months.

Pochuria.

Now, I don’t know what possessed me, but I went racing into the water fully clothed. Before I reached him, my clothing began weighing me down. Then my feet lost contact with the bottom as the waves washed over me. I tried to tread water, but the wet material hanging from my body was dragging me down. It was pointless. I was drowning.

A tug on my fingers, then Pochuria’s face appeared beneath the water in front of me. He surfaced, gliding up out of the depths. He blinked at me.

“Eric,” he said.

I reached out for him and grasped his shoulders. Somehow, he managed to keep his head above water without moving his arms, even with my weight hauling him down. I could feel his hips shifting back and forth, his legs kicking out a steady beat beneath the waves.

Pochuria’s hands encircled my waist, keeping me afloat. “You’re … all … right.” His English was rough, halting, and he spoke with an accent, but it was an improvement over his not speaking at all—with the exception of his repeating words I had imparted to him on the boat.

He rolled onto his back, taking me with him, my head barely above water, and we shot at an incredible speed toward the shore. Pochuria climbed out of the sea onto the sand alongside me. Whereas I rose to my feet, he remained on his stomach. He peered up at me, anxiety creasing his beautiful features. He rolled onto his back and sat up. He was as gorgeous as I remembered him.

I plopped down on the sand beside him. Where on earth had he come from? Why was he swimming around in the ocean? Again in the nude. Who was he?

“Pochuria …,” I said.

He turned his head to look at me. “Yes.”

His response had been without hesitation, as if he might understand anything I responded with. I decided to try. “Where did you come from?”

“Home.”

Not very helpful. “Where is your home?”

Pochuria pointed toward the sea. “Out there.”

We were on the east coast of Canada in Newfoundland. The only thing in that direction was Europe. It didn’t explain how he had gotten here.

“Where is your home?” I repeated. “Were you on a boat?”

Pochuria wrinkled up his brow. “I looked for you. Your boat left, and I couldn’t find you.”

“I came home.” I pointed in the direction of my cottage. Its bright blue shutters were reflecting the sun’s rays, making the place look cheery.

“I want to see your home.” Pochuria grabbed my arm. “But I don’t know if I can walk.”

“Are you injured?” His thigh bore the thick, white scars of the wounds we had found him with. The rest of him seemed intact. Perhaps he had pulled a muscle bringing us ashore.

“No. I’m just …” Pochuria looked out to sea and flexed his feet, drawing my attention to them. They were flat and wide, and his toes were webbed like his fingers.

A sinking feeling descended on my gut. What the hell was he trying to tell me? That he wasn’t physically able to walk? Because of his feet? I searched the horizon.

Where the hell had he come from?

“I’ll help you.” I knew he was capable of some movement. He had followed me toward the deck while on the boat. Stumbling steps, mind you. But he had managed.

I hoisted him to his feet with his help. He was heavy. Before long, we were struggling up the beach toward my cottage. With each step, his legs began behaving. It wasn’t that they didn’t have the strength to propel him forward. His thighs and ass muscles were in fine form. He took the last few steps on his own. I hung back to watch him. My stomach fluttered at the sight of him.

I rushed to open the door for him. My cottage wasn’t much. Just a large room containing a sofa, dining table, and a kitchenette down one wall. A small bedroom and a bathroom with an intermittent shower. That and the pellet stove for warmth were all I needed.

Pochuria wandered in, wonderment dancing across his face. It made me smile. He moved from object to object, lifting and examining them. He settled on a book and handed it to me.

“This has a story in it,” he said.

“Yes, yes, it does.” I looked at it. Fitting given my latent occupation. Moby-Dick.

Pochuria pushed the book toward my chest. “Say the words.”

“Read it?”

“Say the story.”

All right. I guess we were reading for a bit. I stoked up the pellet stove and sat on the sofa. Pochuria hovered beside me. He touched the sofa with his hand first, then settled his bare ass on it. I handed him a blanket. I could get him some clothes later. For now, I was enjoying his nakedness, and it didn’t appear to be bothering him.

I opened the book and started reading. Pochuria’s eyes went wide with fascination. We were there for hours. Every time I tried to stop, he would push the book until I continued. I was halfway through the story when Pochuria nodded off. I set the book down, relieved. It was tough going, Moby-Dick. Any longer and I would have been falling asleep myself.

“Hey.” I touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes and smiled. I shot back to the far side of the sofa from him. Someone had sharpened his teeth into points like a shark’s. My breath heaved in and out of my body as I scanned my brain, trying to land on an explanation.

Pochuria covered his mouth, his eyes wide, pleading. “Please … don’t run from me.” He blinked, and tears flowed down his cheeks. This seemed to surprise him more than my reaction to his teeth. He swiped his fingers across his face, collecting the tears, then tasted them.

The blanket he’d had wrapped around his body fell away.

“Who are you?” I asked. This time, I wanted a real answer.

“Pochuria.”

“Not good enough.”

He sighed and tugged the blanket to his chest. “Prince Pochuria of Sorantopia.”

“And where is that?”

“I told you.” Pochuria pointed toward the window. “Out there … in the sea.”

“Beneath the waves …”

Pochuria looked around the room. “Water?” He rose to his feet. The blanket landed on the floor. I gripped the arm of the sofa. His body was sculpted and gorgeous, glistening in the warm light of the pellet fire; his cock long and thick. I nearly reached for him.

“You want a drink of water?”

“No.” He stepped toward me. “A bath of water.”

I blinked, dismissing the bizarre conversation we’d been having. “I have a shower.”

Pochuria screwed up his face in confusion.

“Falling water,” I said. “Lots of it.”

“Take me to it.”

I rose and headed for the bathroom. Maybe he was cold and wanted to heat up in the shower. My mind wasn’t accepting anything he had told me so far.

I turned on the water. Pochuria pressed up behind me, his chest to my back, his mouth breathing warm air across my ear; his cock jammed against my ass. “Join me in the water.”

I felt weak. There was no way I could deny him. He was too beautiful to pass up. And I hadn’t been able to get him off my mind. Thoughts of Pochuria drowning had plagued me since the day we had scoured that boat looking for him. I hadn’t stopped dreaming about him.

I unlatched my pants and let them fall to the floor, pooling at my feet. Pochuria grasped the bottom of my shirt and lifted it off over my head. He kissed my shoulder and tugged at my underwear until I yanked them down. My boots and socks were last. Everything ended up in a heap by the sink cabinet. I stepped into the shower ahead of him.