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When Polyphemus wakes in his cave, his heart already pings with excitement. The sirens come to visit today, his favourite audience to play with and for. Rolling out of his weaved hammock, he happily moves the rock covering the opening of his home to shepard out his sheep, a smile quickly appearing on his lips when he sees the swarm of sirens swimming through the ocean around the island, a couple hauling themselves up onto the rocks. It's not long before he spots his favourite, long inky-black hair streaked with the beginnings of grey, bright blue eyes that reflect the ocean. She waves up at him from the rocky shore just below the mouth of his cave, singing up to him and calling him closer. He knows by now not to follow her call into the sea, but to instead bring her to him, so he kneels down and snatches her up, taking her waist in his fist with a delighted giggle from her, before making his way back inside, shooing the lingering sheep out to allow himself a little more privacy with his personal muse.
Plopping her down in a small bucket, though it seems to fit her perfectly, Polyphemus drops down in front of her with a thump that creates small waves in her water, crossing his legs and patting around until he finds his pan-flute. Rocking slightly as he plays for her and listens to her sing along, Polyphemus can feel his heart thud and flutter in his broad ribcage, can feel an invisible force pulling him to shuffle closer to her bucket, his cheeks warming as she reaches out to touch his pec. Delicate fingers run through the woolly hair across his chest, scratching harsh lines over his skin with dark claws, small fingertips brush against metal adornments that makes his heart stutter, and his playing falters slightly, his breath hitching slightly and forcing a discordant note through the pipes of his flute, earning a pleasant giggle from his siren.
"What do you want to play this time, dear Polyphemus?" She melodically hums as she traces shapes through the coils of chest hair.
"Mm…" he sets his flute down beside them as he thinks, though a idea quickly presents itself in his mind, "Can I eat you, Peisis?…"
For a moment, the siren simply cocks her head and scoffs back a giggle. He’s not sure what was funny about his question, but he must’ve made a good joke. After taking a moment to contain herself, she pats his chest and gives her response, "You really want to get rid of me, dear? I thought I was your favourite!"
That idea quickly sours his mood, a pout playing on his lips and a deep furrow creasing his brow as he shakes his head, "Never, I’d never wish to be rid of you. I want to eat you, not be rid of you or stop our songs."
"Oooh," she draws it out like a beautiful note before continuing, "then we play pretend! I do it all the time. Though, usually we pretend we’re not eating them."
"Pretend…?"
Small hands reach out to grab his and pull them closer, "Pretend! Like you can roast me over a fire, but without actually burning me, or act like you’re chopping me up without actually cutting me, and you could hold me in your mouth without chewing or swallowing me! How’s that sound, darling?"
The warmth already in his cheeks spreads out to cover his whole face, the idea settling in his mind, being able to prepare and taste her without losing her forever to his stomach. "Yes. It sounds nice…"
After piling together some leftover firewood and setting it alight with the last few burning embers of the fire that had kept him warm through the night, he plucks her from her bucket and lays her over a leftover branch, wrapping a fraying rope around her waist to the wood to hold her still. She already looks delicious as she clings to the branch and curls her tail around it, saliva already starting to pool under his tongue. He holds her high over the flame, trying his best to avoid actually cooking his siren meal, and slowly spins her on his spit, a smile playing on his lips as she wriggles and giggles. He can be patient. Though that does become more difficult as thoughts start to swirl; what she must feel like between his teeth, if she’d crunch or squish, if she’d taste closer to man or fish, or maybe something entirely different, if she’d glide over his tongue or if her scales and gills would catch on his tastebuds. He’s never eaten a woman before, he wonders if they taste different from men. Maybe they’re softer.
He’s brought back to the moment when he feels something drip onto his lap, only now realising he’s been drooling. Wiping his chin clean, Polyphemus lifts her away from the fire and instead sets her down on a stone tablet, gently, or as gently as he can, untying her from the stick and simply staring down at her for a moment. Though she seems just as delighted as before, her scales seem too dry, and her breathing sounds scratchy. With a soft furrow, he reaches a hand into the bucket of salt water she’d used as a small pool, waving off extra droplets, and runs his wet palm over her body, rehydrating her scales and skin and trying not to shiver when her coarse tongue laps across his skin and drinks from the drips covering his palm. Once she’s coated in salty water once again, Polyphemus climbs up to his feet and searches for a knife hanging on his walls, unhooking one and bringing it back down to his seat, thumping down and making her body jump slightly.
She’s beautiful.
He wonders what her insides look like.
He rests the point of his knife against the stone to his siren’s side and tries to remind himself not to slice through her. As he rolls the blade over her stomach, he cuts it a little too close, opening slim, surface-level wounds dotted along its path, but his siren doesn’t yell at him or complain, she simply hisses and whines, her arms stretching out above her and her eyes shimmering. He won’t cut deeper, despite the urge. Instead, he simply repeats, a little lighter than before, over her tail. He cuts less of her this time, only nicking her scales, though blood still beads up. When he moves his blade over her throat, both of their breaths quiver together.
He doesn’t cut her.
After dropping his knife beside them, he doesn’t bother building anymore anticipation, finding it already too much. He grabs her wrists and forearms and picks her up, tips his head back and lowers her tail-first onto his tongue.
She tastes like the ocean, but the trickle of blood adds a delicious pang of metal. The salt on her flesh and scales makes her somehow both glide along his tongue while also creating a subtle layer of grit. Her tail tangles with his tongue and they huff together, she squirms against his lips and between his teeth, against his tastebuds, and she moans ever so softly. He wants to chew. He doesn’t. He wants to hear more. He sinks her further in his mouth and seals his lips around her ribcage, swirls his tongue and softly swallows the build of saliva and saltwater and blood. She gives him exactly what he wants. Every beautiful noise she makes is melodic and harmonious, laced with air and song and heat, and each one only makes him want more.
More.
More.
More.