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The boat rocks in a slow, drowsy rhythm, the kind that settles deep into Mike’s bones after long enough, like a heartbeat he’s borrowed from the ocean itself. The wood creaks softly beneath him, familiar and warm, the ropes swaying with quiet little sighs every time the tide pulls them taut and lets them go again.
The sun hangs low, swollen and golden, turning the entire sea into something shimmering. It stretches forever, light catching on every ripple, every tiny wave, until it looks like the world has been melted down and poured flat. It's peaceful, picture perfect fairytale moment, but he can't help himself from frowning, aching.
Mike leans over the edge of the boat, elbows digging into the worn wood, squinting down into the water like if he stares long enough, hard enough, something might look back.
Nothing does. It’s been like this for weeks.
Weeks of quiet. Weeks of empty water and no flash of gold, no laugh cutting through the salt air, no sudden tug at his sleeve or splash to the face. Just the ocean, wide and endless and indifferent. His chest tightens.
Maybe he’s gotten tired of me. Maybe he found someone else. Someone better. Someone who doesn’t stay stuck on a boat all day waiting.
The thought drops heavy and sudden, like a stone straight through his ribs. Mike winces, shoulders hunching as if he can shake it loose, glancing back over his shoulder like he’s been caught thinking it. The dock behind him is empty. Lucas had gone into town hours ago, weaving through crowded market stalls with that easy charm of his, hunting for trinkets and scraps and anything shiny enough to pass off as treasure later. They needed something to show for all this time at sea to keep the bigger ships satisfied so they didn’t decide Mike’s tiny vessel looked like an easy target.
Mike hates it. The lying, the pretending, how small it all feels.
But mostly, right now, he just… misses him.
He looks back down at the water, softer this time, like it might bruise if he stares too hard. Slowly, he lowers his hand, letting his fingers dip beneath the surface. It’s cool, gentle, curling around his skin like it’s trying to pull him under in the nicest way possible. He drags his fingers through it, watching the ripples bloom and fade.
“Hi,” Mike murmurs, voice quiet and a little shy, like he’s embarrassed to be heard even when there’s no one around. His throat tightens, but he pushes through it anyway. “I miss you.”
Nothing happens, the way he knew nothing would happen, but he stays there until his fingers prune, feeling waves caress his wrist.
A hand brushes his.
It’s sudden, cool skin and the faint scrape of nails across his palm, just enough to startle, enough to make him jolt like he’s been burned. Mike yanks his hand back with a sharp yelp, heart leaping into his throat, and before he can even catch his breath, a burst of water smacks straight into his face.
“Shit-!” he sputters, eyes squeezing shut as he throws his hands up too late, already drenched. Water drips from his lashes, runs down his nose, soaks into his shirt. He scrubs at his face, half-blind and coughing, and then he hears it. Giggles. Soft, breathy, barely contained. There’s a snort in there too, quickly stifled, like whoever it is knows they shouldn’t be laughing that hard but absolutely cannot help it. There’s something a little mean tucked into it. Not cruel, but playful in that sharp, teasing way that always seems aimed right at him.
Mike’s already smiling before he can stop himself.
He drags his hands down his face, pushing water back into his hair, slicking it away from his forehead as best he can. It sticks anyway, damp and stubborn, and he huffs a little, blinking the last of the water from his eyes as he looks down. Green eyes, bright and wicked, stare up at him from the water, narrowed in poorly hidden delight. Mike tries to glare back, he really does, but it melts at the edges almost immediately, something softer sneaking in despite himself.
“Real funny,” he mutters, though there’s no bite to it.
Tan hands reach up, gripping the edge of the boat, fingers curling over the wood with easy familiarity. Will hauls himself up just enough to bring his face level with Mike’s, water streaming down his arms, his shoulders, catching the sunlight in a way that makes everything about him look unreal. The rest of him stays below, but Mike can see it anyway, the flick of his tail beneath the surface, long and fluid, scales catching gold light and throwing it back in shifting, iridescent flashes. It’s beautiful in a way that makes Mike’s chest ache if he looks too long, so he doesn't. “I think it was funny.” After a brief moment, he ducks his head ever so slightly, Mike distracted by the curve of his nose. “Hi.”
Mike swallows, trying to gather the annoyance he’d planned on having and finding it slipping through his fingers instead. “Where have you been? You just- disappeared.”
Will tilts his head, water dripping from the ends of his hair, lips already pulling into something teasing. “The water feels fantastic, doesn’t it?”
“No,” he says flatly, reaching forward without thinking. His fingers catch in Will’s hair, gently tugging free a clump of tangled seaweed stuck near his temple. There’s more of it woven through, bits of green and dark strands caught up like he’s been drifting through the seas and letting them claim him. “You look ridiculous,” Mike mutters, picking another piece free and flicking it overboard. “Like a- like a living coral reef.”
“Coral reefs are already alive,” Will corrects lazily, leaning into the touch without hesitation. His eyes flutter shut, expression softening in a way that makes something warm twist low in Mike’s chest. “And it helps me stay hidden.”
“Hidden,” Mike echoes, snorting. “Yeah, because nothing says inconspicuous like glowing gold scales and a head full of sea plants.”
Will hums, unconcerned, tilting his head just a little more so Mike can reach better. “You didn’t notice me,” he points out.
“I did too,” Mike shoots back automatically, then pauses. “…Eventually.”
That earns him another quiet laugh, softer this time. For a moment, it’s just this, Mike carefully untangling bits of ocean from Will’s hair, Will leaning into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, the boat rocking gently beneath them, the sun warming them. Then, when Will opens his eyes again, there’s something a little different in them. Still playful, but deeper, too. “Come swimming with me,” he murmurs, voice dipping, soft and coaxing. “Just for a little while.”
Mike snorts, even as his heart stutters. “Stop trying to siren me.”
Will’s mouth drops into an immediate pout, exaggerated and unfairly effective. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Mike insists, though his fingers have slowed in Will’s hair, lingering now instead of working. “You always do this.”
“I don’t always do this,” Will says, leaning closer, just enough that Mike can feel the cool damp of him, smell the salt and something faintly metallic beneath it. “Sometimes I just want you to come with me. Why won't you?”
Mike hesitates just for a second. The ocean laps gently against the side of the boat, quiet and inviting. He swallows, shaking his head like he can knock the thought loose. “I’ve got stuff to do,” he mutters, even though they both know it’s a weak excuse.
Will watches him for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind the teasing, then it’s gone. “Fine,” he says lightly, though there’s a tiny edge to it now. “I’ll just have to swim by myself.”
Mike frowns, the motion small but immediate, his fingers stilling where they’re caught in Will’s hair. “I can watch you, if you stick around.”
After a moment Will glances away. “Maybe further at sea? I shouldn't be here right now.”
“You said you were hiding, right? Earlier? From what?” Will doesn’t answer right away, and Mike's stomach churns. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Hunters.”
Mike’s hand tightens without meaning to, fingers clenching in Will’s damp hair. The word lands wrong, heavy and cold, and something uneasy curls low in his stomach. He doesn’t pull away, though. Instead, he carefully tugs loose a long strand of seaweed caught behind Will’s ear, slower this time, more deliberate. “Hunters? Who?” His hand lingers when he’s done, trailing down the side of Will’s face, thumb brushing along the curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw, and then his lips.
“Ships from Hawkins. They're looking for one of us with a purple tail, a woman. I don't know her, but I have to hide anyway.” His lips move as he speaks, and Mike's thoughts lag. Pink. They were so unbearably pink, wet against his skin, curved in this little pout. “There’s sharks, too,” Will murmurs, voice dipping just as Mike’s thumb pushes his bottom lip down ever so slightly. His teeth react, nipping the skin sharp enough to sting, closing around the pad of Mike’s thumb in a quick, sudden bite.
Mike hisses, breath catching, his whole body jolting, but he doesn’t pull back. He should, but he doesn't, not when Will’s eyes are still locked on his, bright and glassy and green as cut stone, like the finest emeralds. His tongue flicks out a second later, slow and deliberate, licking over the spot he just bit like he’s soothing it. Or tasting it, maybe. Mike swallows hard. Will draws his thumb into his mouth, just slightly, lips closing around it, and the world seems to tilt sideways. “Will-” Mike starts, but it comes out thin, breathless, like the air’s been knocked out of him.
Will hums. The sound is soft and vibrating, like a little song, something's tempting. Mike feels it all the way up his arm, straight to his chest, his head, like it’s rewiring something inside him. His thoughts go fuzzy at the edges, slipping, catching on nothing. “There's-” Mike tries again, voice unsteady, his free hand hovering like he doesn’t know where to put it. “Sharks?”
Will nods. It’s a small movement, barely there, but Mike feels it, the shift of his mouth, the press of his tongue like he's bobbing his head. Before he can stop himself and possibly think better of it, he presses his thumb down, just slightly, against the flat of Will’s tongue. Will’s eyes flutter. That tiny, soft reaction, lashes lowering, expression going hazy and almost dreamy, like Mike’s the one doing something to him-
Mike’s other hand moves without permission, coming up to cup Will’s jaw, fingers spreading along his cheek, tilting his face just enough to keep him there, to keep him open. Mike inhales sharply, like he’s just realized what he’s doing, but he doesn’t stop. “...How many?” he manages, voice rough, like it’s being dragged out of him. Will hums again instead of answering, and it's not a real response but it's so good anyway, sending another wave up Mike’s arm, making his grip tighten just a fraction. He presses down again and Will's clips close around his finger, sucking ever so slightly, and Mike yanks his hand back like he's been burned, thoughts racing, breath uneven. He wishes his chest was the only thing that felt tight and restricting right now, but he throbs and for a second it's all he can focus on.
Will let's out a little noise, something sad, looking up a him. Mike crosses his arms quickly, like that’ll hide anything, like that’ll steady him. It doesn't, but it's the best he has right now, and he's kind of seconds away from going insane.
“... Not too many,” Will says after a moment, like nothing happened. Mike knows he's just being nice, but the conversation helps his heart settle. “Maybe six or seven.”
“That’s-” he starts, then stops, shaking his head. Before he can finish, Will shifts, hauling himself higher over the railing. The wood presses into his stomach, into his waist, water streaming down his sides as he leans further into the boat. His hips trail off to his tail, but there's enough give to it that Mike could probably grab handfuls of him and see his skin push out between Mike's fingers where he's softest.
“Come swimming with me,” Will coos again, coaxing. He leans in just a little more, and it forces Mike to look at the way his body curves against the edge of the boat, the way the sunlight catches on his skin, on the faint sheen of water still clinging to him. His nipples were just a shade darker than his lips, pebbled from the cold air. Mike considers getting him a blanket, but he can't tear his eyes away. “Come into the water,” Will whispers. His hand lifts, slow and certain, fingers curling into the fabric of Mike’s tunic. He tugs, pulling him forward. “Come play with me.”
Mike’s hand drops to his wrist immediately, gripping it. Not exactly rough, but firm, a little drunk on his closeness. Will stills at the touch, lashes fluttering again, that same too-pretty expression flickering across his face. “You’re going to be seen,” Mike mutters lowly, forcing the words out. His grip tightens just slightly. “You can’t just- come up like this. It's dangerous.” Will frowns, and for some reason, that makes Mike push further. “Where have you been?” he asks again, expecting an answer this time, the question slipping out sharper than he meant it to. “It’s been-” he falters, jaw tightening. “It’s been a while.”
Will goes quiet, playfulness drained from his face, his eyes somehow sweeter, raw and honest the way Mike liked him best. “You missed me?” There’s something different in the way he asks it, like it's something he needs more than wants, waiting for Mike's answer like a fish waits for bait. Probably a bad metaphor, but Mike's head isn't all there at the moment.
“Yeah,” he responds immediately, the honesty hitting before he can stop it. His grip loosens without him realizing. “Yeah, I did. I missed you-” he huffs a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I missed you so bad I thought you just- left.”
Will’s eyes flicker. “Left?”
“Yeah,” Mike mutters, looking away for a second before forcing himself back. “I just… thought maybe you found another crew. Or- or someone else.” The words sound stupid the second they’re out, but he doesn’t take them back.
Will stares at him, fond. A lot fonder than he should be, considering the things Mike wants to do to him. “Not possible.” Mike’s chest tightens at the way he says it. Will’s frown deepens, gaze dropping briefly, like he’s choosing his words carefully now. “My pod kept me at home,” he breathes after a moment. “There’s been more hunters lately. They’re… worried.” Mike’s stomach twists. “Jonathan knows you’re good,” Will adds quickly, eyes flicking back up to his. “He knows you wouldn’t-” he stops, then shakes his head slightly. “But the others don’t, and they didn’t want me near any humans. Not for a while.”
“Have any of you gotten caught?” Mike questions, voice tight. He shifts, lowering himself onto the deck so he’s closer. Too close, maybe, but he can’t bring himself to stay standing, not when Will is right there, not when everything about him pulls.
Will doesn’t answer. There’s a sudden splash as he drops into the water, and Mike flinches instinctively, jerking away from the spray that follows, but it barely lasts a second before Will is back again, hands finding him with eerie precision. His fingers wrap around Mike’s knees, steadying himself, using him like an anchor as he rises just enough above the surface, pulling himself up just enough. His cheek presses to Mike’s thigh, damp and warm all at once, breath ghosting through the thin fabric and hitting Mike’s lower stomach in soft, uneven puffs. Mike’s whole body reacts before he can stop it. His abdomen tightens sharply, hips twitching forward, sucking in a quiet breath through his teeth.
Will's eyes flick down immediately, tracking the movement, lingering there just a second too long before drifting back up, slow and knowing.
“Will?” Mike tries again, voice rougher now, like he’s forcing it past something thick in his throat. It’s half a question, half a warning, mostly an attempt to ground himself.
Will just hums in response, shoulders slumping, relaxes. He turns his face slightly, nuzzling into Mike’s upper thigh, the movement slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how far he can go before Mike pulls away. Usually by now, he would have come up with something new for them to do, some random conversation or walked away, embarrassed. He doesn't, even though he should. Will’s hands slide, dragging up along Mike’s legs, fingers pressing in just enough to be felt, just enough to leave a trail. They hook around his waist, circling him, holding him in place. “I want to play,” Will murmurs.
The words are soft, but the way he says them, low and almost breathless, sends something sharp and electric through Mike’s chest. Mike exhales sharply, his head dipping forward for just a second, like he’s been hit. His hand moves before he can think about it, dropping to the top of Will’s head, fingers threading into his damp hair. Will's lips graze his length through his pants, sucking ever so slightly to pull water from the fabric, and Mike fists his hair, pulling him up. “Will-”
Will comes up with the motion, lips parting slightly, breath catching just enough to be heard, a choked whine leaving him. “Come swim with me. You want to, don't you?”
His mouth is-
Mike shouldn’t be looking at his mouth. Wet. Pink. Full in a way that makes his thoughts stutter and skip. Perfect, his brain supplies uselessly. Will swallows, and Mike follows the motion. “Yeah,” Mike hears himself say, the word slipping out before he can stop it.
Will’s lips curl immediately, a small, pleased grin tugging at the corners. For a second, his teeth show, sharp and long, and then, just as quickly, they soften, retracting slightly back into his gums like he’s hiding them, making sure he doesn't scare him. Mike is the furthest thing from scared right now. “Yeah?” Will echoes, tilting his head, sinking just a little lower in the water. His grip tightens as he does, tugging Mike closer to the edge inch by inch.
“You want that?” Mike feels himself throb, heavy, and Will's eyes flick down, needy, before coming back up to his own. “You want it?”
“Mhm,” Will coos softly, eyes wide and shining, pupils swirling. “I want it so bad, Mike. Come swim with me.” His fingers curl tighter in Mike’s shirt, pulling. “Come into the water.”
“Whatever you want,” Mike murmurs, the words slurring together a little, his thoughts slipping out from under him like sand. “I’m not a good swimmer, though.”
“I know,” Will says gently, almost sweet. “I’ll take care of you. I just want to show you something.”
Mike swallows, his hand still tangled in Will’s hair, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along his temple. “What are you going to show me?” A filthy part of himself waits for Will to stick his tongue out, maybe waiting patiently while Mike takes himself out of his pants, letting Mike tap it on his tongue before sliding on.
“There’s treasure,” Will whispers, and maybe Mike is a terrible person because all he can focus on is the way the tip of Will's tongue darts out when he pronounces the letter T.
Mike lets out a faint, breathless huff. “I bet there is.” Will gestures behind him with one hand, like it was proof. Instead, Mike focuses on Will’s throat, the way it moves when he speaks, the subtle bob of it, the way water beads and slides down his skin. It's probably tight. Warm.
“Yeah,” Will continues, leaning in just a fraction closer. “A whole sunken ship. You want to see it, right?”
“Yeah, I want to see it, baby-” His fingers tighten slightly in Will’s hair, tugging without meaning to. Will inhales sharply at that, a small, surprised sound, and Mike feels it like a spark in his stomach. “You’re so pretty,” Mike mumbles, the confession slipping out of him before he can stop it, soft and awed and a little wrecked. “So pretty.”
“How pretty?” Will asks, voice lilting, curious in a way that feels almost dangerous, the mole above his lip so dark and stunning. He licks his lips again, nice and slow, lashes fluttering.
Mike doesn’t hesitate before hitching his hips up a little, his free hand dropping to Will's throat, pressing his thumb against Will's adam's apple, dragging it down. “The prettiest,” he barely manages to respond, breath catching. “Princesses have nothing on you, Will- you’re like…” he shakes his head faintly, words stumbling over each other. “Like sunlight. One of a kind. Prettier than any other mer, or any human-”
Will’s smile widens, and then everything lurches. Mike doesn't even have time to react or to straighten his thoughts, hands yanking him forward. The water hits him like a wall, freezing and violent, swallowing his choked out scream before it can fully leave his mouth. It tears the air from his lungs, rushes in around him, over him, pulling him down, flooding his ears and his mouth and his nose.
Hands tighten around his shoulders, a little muffled laugh reaching him just seconds before lips press against his.
___________________________________
Lucas huffs loudly. “Of course,” he mutters, shoving the mop across the deck with way more force than necessary. The wood squeaks under it, soapy water streaking in uneven lines. “He sends me out to barter for half the day and he’s not even here to clean his own deck. Typical. Absolutely typical.” He gives the mop another aggressive shove, like the wood personally offended him. From the map room, Dustin’s head pops out, hair already a mess like he’s been wrestling with charts instead of reading them.
“Where’s Mike?” he asks, blinking against the light. “We need to figure out where we’re going next before we accidentally sail into, like, a whirlpool or a war zone.”
Lucas doesn’t even look up. “No idea,” he says, shrugging. “Maybe he ditched us for an inn.”
Dustin squints at him. “No way. Max already claimed the only decent one in town and you know they have that whole you can't stay where I stay rule.”
Lucas pauses mid-mop, considering that. “…Right,” he admits, then scowls again, pushing the mop harder like it personally betrayed him. “Then I have no idea where he is.” He slumps a little, glaring down at the bucket like it might offer answers. It doesn’t. “This was supposed to be his night,” Lucas adds, voice full of grievance. “His chores. I’m not doing his chores for him.”
Dustin raises an eyebrow. “…Then why are you doing his chores for him?”
Lucas freezes. Very slowly, he looks down at the mop in his hands. Then at the deck. Then back at Dustin. “…Huh.” There’s a beat. “Wait- no,” Lucas snaps immediately, straightening up like he’s been accused of something criminal. “I’m not doing his chores. I’m- maintaining ship hygiene. There’s a difference.”
Dustin folds his arms. “Uh-huh. With his mop.”
Lucas glares. “It’s our mop.”
“You’re literally scrubbing his side of the deck.”
“It’s all one deck!” Lucas shoots back, louder now, jabbing the mop into the wood for emphasis. “That’s how decks work!”
Dustin doesn’t even flinch. “So you admit you’re cleaning it.”
Lucas opens his mouth, hesitating, before taking a deep breath. It wasn't worth another fight right now. “…Shut up,” he mutters finally, grabbing the mop and aggressively dunking it back into the bucket.
___________________________________
“Holy shit-” Dustin chokes, the words cutting off halfway. His face cycles rapidly from confusion to horror to something like scientific fascination. “What happened to you?!”
“Where have you been?!” Lucas adds immediately, striding forward, then stopping short like he’s just remembered Mike might be contagious. His hand hovers awkwardly in the air, like he wants to grab him but also values his life. “And- why do you look like that?!”
“Put clothes on!” Max gags from across the deck, already turning her back and throwing an arm over her eyes like she’s been personally attacked. “Oh my god, I can see everything, Wheeler!”
Mike just shrugs, which is a terrible idea because it makes him wince immediately, his whole body tensing. There are scratches dragging across his back and thighs, mostly his shoulders, dick sore and aching, red and a bit swollen where it hangs. “I found treasure?” he offers, like that explains literally anything.
“Who cares about that?!” Dustin blurts, scandalized, already darting forward. He grabs the nearest sheet and flings it around Mike like he’s putting out a fire. “What animal mauled you?!”
Mike clutches the sheet around himself, belatedly attempting modesty, even as he’s still grinning like this is the best day of his life “No, no, it wasn’t- ” he starts, then just shrugs again, immediately regretting it. “It’s fine.”
“It is not fine,” Lucas says, pointing emphatically at Mike like he’s presenting evidence in court. “You look like you were almost turned into dinner-”
“I wasn't-” Mike snaps, offended. Then, after a beat, he shakes his head. “Well, not for too long-”
“For too long?!” Dustin echoes, voice going up an octave.
Max slowly lowers her arm, peeking back over her shoulder despite herself. Her nose scrunches immediately. “…Okay, that’s worse,” she decides. “That’s definitely worse.”
Mike, completely unbothered, just grins wider. “We should sail north,” he says, like they’re not in the middle of a crisis. “There’s a sunken ship. Tons of gold. Enough to feed us and like- an entire town for months.”
Dustin squints at him. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m not-”
“You’re absolutely changing the subject!”
Lucas leans slightly toward Max, lowering his voice like Mike can’t still hear them. “Is it scurvy?” he whispers, deeply concerned. “Does scurvy make you… like this?”
Max looks Mike up and down again, slower this time, taking in the scratches, the dazed grin, the general vibe. Her expression shifts. “Oh- gross-”
“Gross?”
“It’s worse than scurvy.”
Lucas frowns. “Worse than- how is that worse than-”
“I think,” Max continues, ignoring him completely, “he has a lady. As in a woman actually slept with him, of all people.”
“Mike?” Lucas stammers, full disbelief, like the idea alone is physically offensive. “No way.”
Max looks back to Mike, at the flush on his cheeks and the way he holds himself high as he walks to the bunks. She shudders in disgust, shaking her head. “Definitely a woman.”
Lucas follows her line of sight, narrowing his eyes. “... I just can't picture it. Maybe it's something else?”
“I'm telling you, he got laid.”
“Mike? Getting laid?” Dustin pipes in, and Max sighs, shoving him away from her. “With who? Some girl from town?”
“There's no way he slept with a girl-” Lucas continues. “Can either of you picture him and a girl together? Maybe he just got stuck in some bushes-”
“Or maybe it's a man,” Max adds, and the other two freeze. Lucas pauses, going to respond, before his face shifts into something more considering.
“Maybe it was that pretty letter carrier lady-” Dustin argues, frowning. “You think Mike being with a man makes more sense than him with a pretty girl?”
“There are pretty men too,” Lucas responds, and Dustin hesitates. “Shouldn’t we just ask him?”
“Ew, no,” Max dismisses, shaking her head. “I'd rather not know.”
“Well that's just not fai- shit-!” Dustin cuts off, a stream of water pelting the back of his head. He leans over the edge of the ship. “What the hell was that-?!”
“Probably just a fish,” Lucas dismisses, clapping him on the shoulder. “You're mopping that up, by the way.”
Max rolls her eyes, huffing. “You're both idiots.”
“Hey-!”
Dustin opens his mouth to respond, but another stream of water hits him directly in the face, cutting him off, making him sputter. When he looks over the edge, there's nothing there but water dripping out of his hair.
“You look like a wet rat,” Lucas comments, snickering, and Dustin shoves him hard.