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The sea is dark and vast and unforgiving beneath him when Phainon realizes he's being watched.
The skin on his nape crawling, Phainon stiffens, slowly slipping his fishing rod into the holder on the side of his boat. It's a misty day around Aedes Elysiae, the coastline hidden in the distance, yet the water is strangely calm and as flat as a great silver mirror. There is nothing here but him, his boat, and the fish below.
There is nothing, at least, that he can name.
There are stories of what lies in the sea. Of shipwrecks and dead men and treasures beyond Phainon's wildest dreams. Of ghosts. Of monsters. Most tall tales, Phainon knows, are rooted from a seed of truth—a truth not meant to be known.
Phainon knows what to do: cut his line, grab his oars, and make a swift egress to the shoreline. He knows this, and yet it does not stop the dangerous, burning curiosity in him that drives him to lean over the side of the boat.
He lets out a sigh when he sees nothing but seawater. He can't tell if it's relieved or disappointed. He checks starboard, aft, and then leans over the point of bow, gripping the wooden edges.
Two molten, slitted eyes stare up at him, widening just like his. The white of the creature's sharp teeth gleams in the refracted sunlight. Its face is familiar. Human.
Phainon gapes down at the water for a moment, fingers so tight on the wood he can feel a splinter in his palm. Then he's hurrying, desperate, stupid, to the aft.
Something passes below him—something dark and long, larger than a dolphin twice over. The water is too deep here for him to make out its details—so deep, in fact, that Phainon would die long before it managed to drag him to the bottom. He clambers back into the boat, panting and dizzy.
When he picks up his oars and furiously begins paddling to the docks, his pulse is still pounding in his ears.
For a week, Phainon reads.
Aedes Elysiae is small and, while not uncultured, lacking in grand libraries. Phainon smiles apologetically as Ms. Pythias unloads a stack of her own history and biology books in his arms, her curiosity sharp even though she does not pester him about his sudden interest in their region.
He reads late into the nights and wakes up exhausted each morning. His mother asks him about his yawning and dark circles over breakfast, but Phainon laughs it off.
"Am I not allowed to read now?" he asks, grinning over his porridge, buoyed by the scraps of knowledge written in his notebook each night.
Audata raises her brows. "The reading isn't the problem. It's that."
Phainon looks to where she's pointing—his training sword, hanging outside along with their farming tools. He realizes then he's barely touched it this week.
"You're right," he says, nodding firmly. "I'll need that too."
"For what, exactly?" Audata calls after him, unanswered, as he hurries for the door.
He's only a mile offshore this time when he spots something breaching the waves.
He knows at first glance that it isn't a shark or a whale. Instead of a single fin, a series of long dorsal spikes crest the water, striped in maroon and white with elegant, feathery tips. It looks not unlike the pattern of a lionfish. He wonders if it's just as dangerous.
The creature submerges, and Phainon grips the hilt of the training sword at his side. It's absurd, really—a farm boy in the ocean with a toy of a weapon, hunting down a creature bigger than his boat. Adrenaline surges through him, bubbling up his chest as a laugh.
He's still huffing at himself when the water begins rippling again, this time much closer to his boat. For a moment, he isn't sure what he's looking at—and then he chokes on his own tongue as the most beautiful man he's ever seen surfaces.
The man—the creature—brushes his hair out of his face. When he looks at Phainon with his golden eyes, Phainon shivers, sword nearly forgotten. He understands, now, why the heroes of myths tied themselves to their boats in siren-infested waters. He feels no better than them in this moment.
"Hi," he says smartly, then winces. In his defense, none of his books said what to do when a sea monster also happens to look like a spirit sent from Mnestia themself to torment him.
The man blinks at him, clearly unimpressed, lowering himself until the water reaches his strong nose, like he might swim away at any moment.
"Let's try that again. I'm Phainon of Aedes Elysiae," he says, and he wants the creature to drown him when his voice cracks on his own name.
The creature's head tilts back, and he laughs a hoarse, deep laugh that makes Phainon flush all down his neck and chest. Phainon watches, mouth hanging open, as droplets of water trail down that long, flexed neck. How the strange marking beneath his eyes crinkles in his mirth.
Smirking wickedly, one hooked canine bared, the creature swims up to the boat. Phainon's heart clatters in his rib cage, fear and arousal in equal measure, as he pulls himself up the side of the boat and outstretches a strong, veiny hand.
"If you want my name," the man says, voice rough with misuse and heavily accented from a native tongue Phainon can't quite place, "you must give me something of equal value in return."
Phainon stares at him—the line of his jaw, his broad shoulders, the heavy swell of his chest. He thinks he would give away anything this creature asked of him. "I gave you my name," he says instead.
"Yes," the creature says slowly. "Like a fool."
Phainon sets his jaw, glares at the creature, and takes the outstretched hand in his own. "How about this?"
The creature's eyes widen, his tanned cheeks going ruddy. Phainon can barely hear over his pulse pounding in his ears. "Very well, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae," he says softly, tongue curling around Phainon's name like he's tasting it. "My name is Mydei."
And then he drops Phainon's hand and sinks below the waves.
The next time, Phainon is ready for him.
He can't help his grin as Mydei's long, gleaming form swims through the shallows around the sandbar on which Phainon is fishing. He reels in his rod quickly, making sure not to hook one of Mydei's flowing fins, before wading out towards him.
"Couldn't keep away, could you?" Phainon calls, hands on his hips and heart hammering in his chest.
Mydei lifts his head from the water, tilting it like an animal. "What predator would I be, to deny an easy meal?"
Phainon freezes as Mydei's mouth splits in a grin, his shark-like canines clicking together. He couldn't move even if he wanted to as Mydei lazily swims closer—but he doesn't want to. He knows, like some sort of primordial sixth sense, that Mydei won't harm him. That he could kill Phainon with a well-placed bite, could drag him over the continental shelf and let the pressure kill him if he hadn't yet run out of breath. That he would never do anything of the sort. It is the act of a madman to place his trust in a being he just met; perhaps Mydei has rendered him one, because he stands strong as Mydei circles him, his huge body dragging along the reeds and sand.
And then Phainon yelps as Mydei smacks the back of his knees with his tail, sending him stumbling, and suddenly he's on his ass in the water, Mydei on top of him. He is so terribly heavy, the place where his human torso meets his monstrous half pressed to Phainon's groin, and Phainon makes a pathetic noise in his throat as his cock kicks.
Mydei laughs, his hands planted in the sand on either side of Phainon's shoulders, leaning over him. "Willing flesh always tastes better," he says, shifting his weight against Phainon's hips. "Would you like that, little sun? To be my feast?"
Phainon curls his fist into the sand, getting a handful. "Such arrogance, Mydei. Thinking you're the only hunter here."
Then he throws the sand in Mydei's face, using the moment Mydei coughs and scrubs at his eyes to hook a leg over him and flip them. It's only possible because of the buoyancy of the water—Mydei must be hundreds of pounds heavier than him with that massive lower half. He's winded but grinning with triumph when he gets Mydei on his back to straddle him.
For one heartbeat, there is a look on Mydei's face that chills Phainon so much he shudders: it is the look of a man who should be dead and lived to tell the tale. Who is expecting to die once more. Then Mydei settles beneath him, arms splayed out to float, his hair drifting about him like a halo.
"Very well, mortal," Mydei says. "Do what you please."
Phainon stares down at him—the markings that line his body, the gold cap on his single braid, his heavy-lidded eyes. He is without scar, without blemish, without flaw. Something beyond demigod, beyond titan. A myth made flesh, only for Phainon to witness, the same way only Phainon will ever know how Mydei's eyelids flutter when Phainon skates his hand over his chest.
Phainon catches himself with a gasp. In a rush, he rolls off of Mydei, coming to sit a foot away from him. "What would please me is for you to come home with me. I don't see that happening, though."
Mydei shifts onto his side. "This is my home, you know."
Phainon glances at him with a rueful smile. "The sandbar?"
"Don't play dumb," Mydei snaps, splashing him with water. "The oceans of Amphoreus have been my kingdom since your village was nothing but a few tree stumps in a meadow."
"A lonely kingdom, I'm sure."
"Perhaps," Mydei says, a curious, low tone to his voice. "Fish are not skilled at conversation or combat."
"Will you tell me about it?" Phainon asks, turning to him. "Your home? Your past?"
"The cost will be high," Mydei says, straightening up to push himself back off the sandbar. "Do you think you have something worthy to exchange?"
"I'm not sure," Phainon says honestly. A life spent in a farming town has not given him the same stories Mydei must have. "But I'll find something."
"Be sure that you do," Mydei says, his grin sharp. "Or I'll decide the price myself.
When he hasn't seen Mydei for a fortnight, Phainon begins to think the worst.
"Going out again?" Hieronymus asks as Phainon grabs his tackle from the backyard. "Are you trying to stock the entire village with salted mackerel for the winter?"
Phainon winces, scratching at his hair. "Perhaps I've taken a fondness to it."
"To fishing," Hieronymus says doubtfully, but he nods up at the night sky, the wispy clouds shifting like gauze over the moon. "Be safe out there, boy. All sorts of things lurk these waters at night."
Phainon's laugh is dry. "You don't know the half of it," he says, waving a hand over his shoulder as he heads for the docks.
He spends hours trawling the sea, until the moon is high in the sky and his shoulders burn and twinge at every movement. Anything could have happened, he knows. Perhaps Mydei has moved to waters with better hunting, or perhaps he's sick, hurt, dying—or perhaps he grew tired of a pining farm boy who could offer him nothing but an inexperienced fuck, were their anatomy even compatible.
He hugs the opposite coastline on the way back. A warm-watered river empties to the sea here, and all sorts of creatures come to the shore as summer rolls in. Despite the roiling in his gut, Phainon beaches his boat and climbs out to walk through the sand, glittering with bioluminescent algae like the stars beyond the sky.
It is during this aimless wandering, the tide crashing around his ankles, that Phainon sees something strange—an old dock, long since abandoned by all but poachers, and something massive hanging from the overhead hook. It could be nothing—a tuna, maybe, or a shark, or even a porpoise, left until the light of morning. Phainon runs, anyway.
It's not until he's almost up at the dock that he sees the truth: a huge creature, caught in nets and hung overhead. Footprints in the sand show a group of people had been here, and all left, quickly. The captured creature snaps their head towards him, the moonlight gleaming off their eyes and their long, elegant fins.
"Mydei?" Phainon calls tentatively, hands up as a peace offering as he steps closer. "Gods, what have they done to you?"
"They've done nothing," Mydei grits out, his bound arms flexing within the nets. "Except wound my pride, perhaps. They ran when they realized I could speak."
"I'll cut you down," Phainon says, grabbing his hunting knife from his belt and rushing to Mydei's side. Mydei is too big for the netting, the lines cutting deep into his tail and twisting across his chest and shoulders; Phainon has to carefully, gently, slide his fingers beneath each line to find enough give to cut the rope without cutting Mydei too.
"Don't stand too close," Mydei warns. "You won't enjoy me falling on you."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Phainon says, trying to stay light despite the way his voice shakes with anger. "I can think of a few scenarios where I'd enjoy you on top of me."
There's a long moment of silence that Phainon wilts beneath, his shoulders rising to his ears. "Mydei, I'm sorry," he says, keeping his eyes down on where he's still cutting rope. "I shouldn't have said—"
"Get me out of here," Mydei interrupts lowly, "and maybe I'll reward you. You seem like the eager hero type, always ready to save the damsel in distress and get his kiss at the end, aren't you?"
Phainon's face burns with humiliation. He hopes the cover of night hides his blush. "I'm not saving you for a reward, Mydei," he says seriously, glancing up at him. "I would do this no matter what."
Mydei smirks. "I know. You're just easy to tease."
Phainon rolls his eyes fondly, getting a thigh beneath the curve of Mydei's tail. "This next set of lines should free you."
"Good. I've been in here far too long."
Phainon makes the cut—steady and firm, avoiding Mydei's skin. Mydei slowly slips free onto Phainon's thigh, and Phainon lowers them both, until Mydei is laying on the dock with Phainon leaning over him.
Mydei flexes his arms, then his tail, slapping it against the dock for good measure. Phainon's mouth runs dry as he watches the muscles down Mydei's body bulge with the movement. He's never quite seen Mydei from this angle—the only time he could have, he was on top of him. The markings on Mydei's human half continue down to his tail, where his mass softens at his core, a thin line running for a few inches. Phainon's eyes go wide as he realizes what he's looking at.
"Rethinking your reward, hero?" Mydei says, chuckling as he runs his hand down his body to his sex. He splays his thick fingers over it, and Phainon makes a pitiful, animal noise he knows he will never live down.
"Of course not!" he hisses, tearing his eyes back to Mydei's face. "I would never ask something like that of you."
Mydei leans back on an elbow, his golden eyes hooded as he looks Phainon over. "No reason to act so prim and proper. My people have never been uptight about sex."
"Your people?" Phainon asks, his curiosity swaying him from the topic at hand. "Merfolk?"
Mydei's smile is hard to read. "Kremnoans, Phainon."
Phainon sways as it all comes together—the books he read from Pythias, the tales he's heard from passing travelers, the superstitions of local fisherman. "You're Mydeimos," he whispers. "The lost prince of Kremnos."
"Someone did his homework."
"Are you dead?" Phainon asks, crowding over him. "Did you shipwreck, or did you fight Phagousa to the death? How did you get turned into a merfolk? Were you—"
Mydei grabs him by the jaw and pulls him into a kiss.
Phainon gasps against Mydei's mouth, grabbing his shoulder to steady himself. Mydei's lips are softer than he expects, moving against him with a level of experience Phainon can only match with enthusiasm. When Mydei licks at the seam of his lips, Phainon opens up with a moan.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that—only that, by the time they're done, Mydei is on his back with Phainon propped on his chest. Mydei's hair gleams with bioluminescent pinpricks, a crown of stardust, and Phainon has a terrifying thought that he could be content with this for the rest of his life.
"I hope your reward was worth the effort," Mydei says, his chest rumbling beneath Phainon.
"Don't make it a habit of getting into trouble," Phainon says, his grin crooked. "You can just ask me if you want a kiss."
Mydei cuffs him lightly over the ear, laughing, and Phainon laughs with him.
They meet nearly every day after that.
Sometimes, they compete at fishing. Mydei always wins unless Phainon gets to use nets—and then he usually still wins, anyway. Sometimes Mydei clambers into the boat with him, nearly sinking it, and lays against Phainon as Phainon reads to him.
Most days, Phainon's only free time is at dusk. Then, they meet at a nearby cove Mydei shows him, so guarded by rocks Phainon has to tie his boat further down the beach and swim. Then, Mydei cooks meals out of their catch and whatever ingredients Phainon brought from home, and Phainon bemoans every time that he can't bring Mydei into a real kitchen to work his magic.
The air is thick with summer humidity and night blooming flowers when Phainon swims into the cove to look for him, shaking his hair like a dog as he surfaces.
"Mydei!" he calls brightly at the familiar figure laying by the campfire.
Mydei shifts, and a low, pained groan echoes in the cave.
"Mydei," Phainon says, with more urgency. "Are you alright?"
Mydei barely manages to lift his head from the sand. "Phainon," he says. "Please."
Phainon moves faster than he ever has in his life, splashing through the water and all but crawling onto the sand beside Mydei. "What's wrong?" he asks frantically, checking Mydei for wounds. "Did more poachers find you and—"
His questing hand finds Mydei's lower stomach, distended and hot, and Mydei whines a broken, high-pitched noise. Phainon snaps his hand away, horrified as he looks at Mydei's abdomen, and then makes the mistake of looking lower.
Mydei's sex is swollen and leaking with slick, the head of a pointed cock peeking from his slit. His folds, usually so tightly closed the seam is nearly invisible, are puffy and reddened. He smells sweet and salty in turns, his scent curling around Phainon and making him shiver.
"Are you—" Fury floods through Phainon, so incandescent it makes him dizzy. The thought of someone else touching Mydei—of impregnating him—while Phainon pined uselessly after him makes him want to burn everything around them to ash. He takes a deep breath, focusing himself on the more pressing issue of Mydei's pain. "Are you pregnant?"
"No," Mydei snaps, his sharp teeth bared, and it is only through his trust in Mydei that Phainon doesn't flinch. "The eggs are infertile because someone didn't fuck me soon enough."
"Eggs," Phainon whispers, and then: "You wanted me to fuck you?"
Mydei's inhale is ragged, eyes falling shut, like he can't believe what he just heard. When he opens them again, his face hardens with determination, jaw set. He grabs Phainon's wrist, guiding Phainon's hand towards his slit, and Phainon lets him without a second thought.
"Oh," Phainon says softly. Mydei splays their intertwined fingers over himself, and Phainon presses down, rubbing through the slick. He's never slept with a woman—or anyone, for that matter—but he's sure human slick isn't this texture, thick and sticky like jelly. He withdraws for a moment, lifting his hand to the firelight to see the slick webbed between his fingers. It is some primal impulse, some desire hot between his legs, that makes him shove two of those fingers into his mouth.
"Phainon, don't—" Mydei gasps, shooting upright, but it's already too late. Phainon tears up as a taste sweeter and richer than honey fills his mouth, his moan so forceful he doubles over with it.
He sucks his fingers clean, even licking his palm, as Mydei watches in shock. "Gods, Mydei," he says when he's done. "How am I ever supposed to go back to human food when I've tasted ambrosia?"
"Haikas," Mydei says helplessly, affection and real concern tinging his voice. "Did your mother never teach you not to eat strange things?"
Phainon laughs, giddy, a pleasant warmth flooding through him. "I would taste you even if it were the most fatal of poisons."
"I'm banning you from reading poetry," Mydei says, cheeks flushing, before his expression sobers. "Phainon, my fluids will have—adverse effects on a human. I wanted to warn you before you ever ingested it, but I should have known you're no better than a stray dog."
"It was worth it."
Mydei opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but then his back arches, mouth open on a silent groan. Phainon hovers over him, watching as Mydei's stomach contracts, as his slit leaks. He realizes that his own cock is so hard it aches. That he feels a fever growing, an itch beneath his skin.
"Mydei, I think—" Phainon grits his teeth, adjusting himself beneath his soaked chiton, the touch barely easing the pain. "I think I'm going to die."
"Maybe," Mydei says, eyelids fluttering. He's panting so heavily that drools spills from his mouth, and Phainon reaches out with a shaky hand to wipe it off. "And it's your own damn fault."
"Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" Mydei hisses, and he's reaching down, shoving his fingers into his cunt. It's not fingering, Phainon realizes—he's searching for something. Phainon tears up with need as he watches Mydei dig at himself with brutal efficiency before something pops free and falls to the sand.
Mydei's chest heaves as he lays back down. Phainon leans over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his feverish forehead. "Can I help?" he whispers against Mydei's skin.
Mydei's breathing slowly calms, but he's still shaking and shivering, sweat pouring off of him. "Get those out of me," he says, patting blindly at the sand, and Phainon sits up to look for whatever came out of him.
He gasps when he sees it, picking it up reverently—a single white pearl, as big as a grape, shining brilliantly in the light of the fire. "You made this?"
"No, I put it in there for fun," Mydei says dryly, but his eyes are still squeezed shut, his body tense with pain. "Shove your hand in there and get them out. They're keeping the eggs from passing."
"Not a romantic bone in you," Phainon chides, already climbing on top of Mydei to straddle his tail. "I'll get them out, Mydei. But I'm doing it my way."
"What does that mea—"
Mydei's question breaks on a long, hoarse moan as Phainon licks over his slit. Every sense in his body lights up as he laps up Mydei's slick—Mydei's sweet taste, the velvet softness of his cunt, the wet sound it makes as Phainon teases his tongue inside. His cock bobs against Mydei's tail, his arousal so unnaturally strong he's dizzy with it.
"Aphrodisiac," Mydei gasps out, strained, like even one word is hard for him. "Phainon, don't—"
Phainon grabs Mydei's hips when he tries to squirm away, shoving his face against his cunt. Mydei's thin, beautiful cock lengthens as Phainon eats him out, curling out of his slit and drooling against his stomach. Leaning on his elbow, Phainon wraps his hand around it, exploring its inhuman shape and smoothness.
Phainon can tell Mydei's close when his tail starts thrashing beneath him, rubbing against Phainon's cock. Phainon ignores it, taking the opportunity while Mydei is distracted and loose with pleasure to gently squeeze the fingers of his free hand inside him. Pearls line the inside of Mydei's cunt, and he carefully, lovingly, pulls them loose until Mydei clenches around him and whines through his orgasm. Phainon's whole body jerks as slick fills his mouth, his eyes rolling back, and it isn't until he's collapsed onto Mydei's stomach, Mydei's cock sticky against his cheek, that he realizes he came in his loincloth from nothing more than the friction of Mydei's tail and how his slit squeezed around Phainon's fingers and tongue.
Phainon lolls his head to look up the length of Mydei's body—his belly, still rounded from eggs, the swell of his breast, his hair curled around his face. "Mydei," he says seriously, words clumsy from orgasm, "you're the most beautiful man in the world."
"And you're the most foolish," Mydei huffs, but he reaches down to stroke Phainon's hair, his tiny smile fond.
"For you, always."
Mydei tucks his head, looking away, and Phainon kisses his way up his body until he's braced above him, their mouths inches apart. "Do you feel better now?"
Mydei sighs tiredly. "The eggs are next, but they'll pass easier now."
"What do I need to do? Massage you? Help you sit up?"
Mydei turns his head to meet Phainon's gaze. "Fuck me."
Phainon freezes, a nervous laugh squeaking out of him. "Are you sure? I'm not exactly experienced at all this. Maybe another merfolk—"
"No," Mydei growls, reaching down to grab Phainon's ass and pull them flush. Even through his clothes, Phainon can feel the wetness, the heat, of Mydei's slit and cock, his toes curling at the sensation. "It has to be you."
"But why?"
"I only made eggs because of you," Mydei says, arching up against Phainon's groin; Phainon is already growing hard again, his head spinning from the aphrodisiac. "If you don't want to fuck me, I'll take care of it by myself."
Phainon kisses him, desperation leaking into it as he grinds down against Mydei. When he parts, spit webs between their mouths that Mydei swipes up with his tongue. "There is nothing I want to do more than fuck you right now," Phainon says, and Mydei laughs.
"Then what's stopping you?" he says, hiking Phainon's chiton up, and Phainon frantically strips out of his loincloth to lay back down on top of him.
The whimper that leaves him at the wet slide of Mydei's cunt against him is humiliating, but he can feel Mydei's shiver. "Come on, little sun," Mydei says, reaching between them to grip the base of Phainon's cock with one big hand. He guides the tip to his slit, his grin tired but pleased.
Phainon chokes on his breath as he slowly pushes inside. Mydei is soft and hot, so unlike fucking his own callused fist. His forehead drops to rest on Mydei's collarbone, his body twitching as he tries not to instantly come.
"You're doing so well," Mydei murmurs, and it sounds teasing just as much as it sounds satisfied. "You're going to get me pregnant on your first try, aren't you?"
"Yes," Phainon gasps, tears welling in his eyes. "Please Mydei, I'll fuck you as many times as we need for it to take, I'll fuck you every mating cycle, please be mine—"
"Ridiculous," Mydei says, raking his fingernails lightly down Phainon's back. "You've been my mate since the moment you offered me your hand."
Phainon snaps his head up, cock pulsing precum inside Mydei. "Really?"
Mydei's grin is predatory, his canines flashing. "The perfect prey. All I had to do was look at you and you gave yourself to me."
"I'll do it again. I'll give you anything you want, Mydei, I swear it."
Mydei hums thoughtfully. "And if I want your heart?"
"I'll feed it to you," Phainon says, his thrusts growing frantic. "I'll rip it out myself."
"Good boy," Mydei says, his cunt squeezing around Phainon. "Now do your job and breed me."
Phainon cries out as he fucks Mydei harder, tears spilling freely down his face. He braces his hands on Mydei's chest, squeezing his pecs until the flesh spills between his fingers. It is the most satisfying sight of his short life to watch Mydei's bravado slowly fall away, his mouth falling open and eyes rolling back, his whole body rocking in time with Phainon's hips. Phainon leans down to bury his face in Mydei's shoulders as he grows close; when he comes, it's with his teeth lodged in the crook of Mydei's neck, Mydei's cunt pulling him deep as he follows Phainon over.
Mydei rolls them on their sides, Phainon's cock slowly softening inside him. Breaths intermingling, Phainon can feel their heart rates slow together. When he finally opens his eyes, Mydei is watching him, his pupils huge.
"How was that," Phainon mumbles, sleepy and content. "Will the eggs pass now?"
Mydei's brow raises. "You thought you were done after fucking me twice? You shouldn't have eaten me out and poisoned yourself. Besides," he says, "I thought you were going to try until it takes."
Phainon's eyes grow wide, his cock twitching, and Mydei laughs.