welcome to dreamland

“You’re staring, Ser.”

He lets your words hang in the air for a moment, watching as a cheeky smile grows on your lips, then nudging you with his foot. “I am.” 

“Like what you see?” 

Instead of responding with words, he lowers himself over you. He hovers over your lips. “Always, m’lady.” 

You hum through a satisfied sigh and let your eyes slide shut. Still leaning over you, Dunk gives you a slow kiss, shuffles to lay by your side. 

“You–” he clears his throat, “you’ll be wanting to go home soon, I imagine.” 

Though your brow furrows, you keep your eyes closed. “I haven’t thought about going anywhere. I haven’t anywhere to go.” 

“Of course, but–” Again, Dunk stumbles. You feel him shift against your arm. “You’ll be wanting somewhere.” 

“Oh?” 

Eventually, when he can’t lay still, he just sits up. His shadow laves half your body in cool, while the other half continues to practically melt. 

“I don’t want you to leave, of course, it’s just–” When you open your eyes, he’s hugging his knees and frowning into the distance. He could be wondering after Egg or stalling, but it feels like a while before he keeps talking. “You’re a lady.”

“Of this, Ser, I am aware.” 

“You don’t–You don’t complain but me and Egg can’t be your ideal travel partners.”

“And why not?” You sit up on your elbow, doing your best to look stern as you turn your head up to face him. In the sun, his skin shimmers with a sheen of sweat and the tension in his jaw is making him look especially rugged. He’s just so nervous. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing, I suppose.”

“You suppose right.”

“Only, I’d like–” He cuts himself off again to gesture vaguely at the air. “I imagine you’d like to be…to have a little more than all this.”

“I happen to think ‘all this’ is very nice,” you say, settling down on your back again. “Thank you very much.” 

“It’s not, though.”

Shielding your eyes again, you squint up at him. “What?” 

“It’s alright for the likes of me but…I’d like to give you more. Much more.”

“Dunk, you’ve given me plenty more than I could ever even ask for.”

“I’d like to give you more, that’s all.” He sighs, settles back on his hands and lets his head fall back. For a moment he gets distant again, tilting his head at the sprawling, high grass and towering trees. “It can’t be easy, being married to a knight. Ser Arlan…I’m not sure he was ever in love.” 

The silence comes back and both of you let it sit, still just as easy and comfortable as before. Waves of cool air whistle through the trees, the grass, your clothes. As he realises what he just said, Dunk’s entire body flushes deep pink and he has to fan his shirt at the collar, before giving in to the heat entirely and pulling it over his head. Of course now, he seems even more embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact. 

You want to comfort him and insist you are certainly not complaining, but you’re too busy trying to stifle giddy giggles at the mere sight of him. Broad, thick, with a fine tangle of copper hairs sprawling across his chest. Your own body swells with heat and fighting an inevitably losing battle with your self discipline, you lift your arms and grab at the air until he’s back on top of you. There are more pressing matters than your perpetual lust for your big, gorgeous Dunk, but with the weight and his heat, that’s easy to forget. 

His tongue slides over yours the very moment he kisses you, both of you eager and pent up in this dreamy, sweltering weather. When your fingers wind into his hair, it’s already a little damp with sweat. Only when he’s grunting gently and totally disarmed do you feel in control enough to ask it, right into his mouth. 

“Being married to a knight, hm?” 

He doesn’t even hesitate, just nods against your neck as his teeth graze over your collarbone. It takes your giggling to break him out of his trance and he stills, realising what he’s just insinuated for a second time.

“M–m’lady.” He hurriedly pushes off you, looking down stunned when your grip on his biceps tightens. Even though he lets you pull him closer, he whispers frantically. “What if Egg comes back?” 

“He won’t,” you giggle. “He’s never done gallivanting before dinner.” 

Anxiety is still nestled into his features, his breath short and his round, boyish baby blues wide. Shaking your head, you giggle some more, pulling him back towards your lips. 

“We can talk about it later, if you wish.” 

He mutters your name, apparently in resistance, even as his posture melts against your body and his hand clutches at your waist. “We should…Mm.”

“We will,” you say into his mouth. His lips taste of sugar and citrus and your legs wrap instinctively around his hips and pretty soon, neither of you can remember what it is you’re supposedly meant to be doing. 

The sun continues to blaze and birdsong chirps in the branches overhead. Eventually, Egg does come back and just as you predicted, it’s only to be right on time to sit around the fire and dig into whatever scarce meal you and Dunk have managed to scrounge together. Lit by the flames, Dunk’s hair glows like their embers, and as he laughs at the fitful recap of Egg’s day, his eyebags crease and bunch. Your stomach is full, your heart is full, and somehow, seemingly more than you do him, your knight loves you. It’s not much but to you, it’s perfect.

Now, he’s not on some eat, pray, love shit. There have been no ghosts of Christmas past, or future, or whatever the fuck. It’s just that–He came here, he saw you and he knew he had to have you. As far as he’s concerned, you’re already his. All he’s waiting for is you to catch up, and he knows better than to rush. He’s an animal of prey, a hunter; the kill is sweeter when he’s earned it. That, and he’s met your kind before. If he pushes, you won’t fall and in fact, might use the momentum to take off so far in the opposite direction, all he’ll have at the end of this summer are lofty daydreams and an unsated libido. 

So, he’s trying. 

Back when he was trading all his bad habits for only slightly better ones, he rediscovered a raging sweet tooth. Apparently, the itch he began soothing with binge drinking in his teenage years, can just as easily be solved with sugar. It means he carries around five packs of gum, a bundle of lollipops and a fizzy drink at all times. He has the kind of diet that makes gym rats like Dunk drop their jaws. You, however, don’t seem to mind. 

Of course, neither do the kids, which means he has to be quadruple-stocked at all times, because if they catch him unwrapping a bar of chocolate, they know they can irritate their way into a share of his sugary spoils. Or, it’ll be especially hot, they’ll have been especially well behaved. Whatever, maybe he's easily convinced but it does still take convincing. The only person who gets it for free is you. 

With lollipops fanned between his fingers like playing cards, he’ll ask, “Want one?” and feel his lips twitch upwards at how easy it is to get you to smile. He makes sure to turn up the chivalry if there are other counselors around. Even if it’s only small, he likes staking his claim on you. Look, he imagines the action says, I provide. Your beaming smile and the way you thank him, perpetually stunned and shy despite a whole summer of these little favours. 

It occurs to him that if it was any harder to impress you, he wouldn’t bother. Like this, it’s so worth the effort that he’s constantly looking for ways to one-up himself. He saves you marshmallows at campfires, makes sure he’s the first to bend down when your laces come undone, and that he’s always close enough on forest walks that he can pluck stray leaves from your hair. Though, of course it’s easy, he thinks. You’re already his. 

When the door opens he doesn’t even notice. Muffled footsteps just about break through his focus and then there you are, standing over him with a smile. He can’t decide whether it’s friendly or mocking. 

“Yes?” 

You offer to help and he scoffs. As you’re sitting down, he insists that no, really, he’s fine. The bench creaks beneath you as you make yourself comfortable and peel an old, chipped-off bit of wood right by your thigh and Aerion wants to say that surely you’d rather spend the night with Valarr, or Dunk, or literally anybody else. What he can’t quite bring himself to say is that the quiet in here is the first time in years that solitude hasn’t felt like a punishment. He’s in here, building a papier mache dragon, and discovering what hippies mean when they recommend meditation. It’s humiliating. 

It’s also far too much work for one person to take on alone, which you tell him as you scrunch and fold bunches of tissue papers into wonky flowers. If you weren’t doing such a good job, he’d argue. Actually, he does argue, but you just keep laughing and eventually, he wants that quiet back.

Somehow, in a move he can attribute only to your surely malintentioned distraction, he stays until it gets dark. It's hot and thick, still syrupy. He looks up and finds you peeling glue-soaked tissue paper from your fingers, and something confusing and totally all-consuming lurches in his chest. Part of him thinks he might cry and then, thank God, you yawn. 

“Get out.” 

You look up, already wearing your teasing half-smile. “What’d I do now?” 

“You’re tired.” He shrugs, tries not to gag when he screws open the silver paint and gets to work adding highlights to his dragon’s scales. 

“Aren’t you? We’ll finish earlier if I stay.” 

Despite himself, he folds without being pressed even a little. “Suit yourself. But no talking.” 

“Alright, officer. Can I ask why?” 

He shrugs again. “I’m tired.” 

The half smile grows fuller and only gets more teasing. Aerion feels a swelling in his chest that grows so broad, so fast, he’s afraid his ribcage will pop right open. For a second, he thinks he can’t breathe, but then you swing open a window and he realises it was only all the paint fumes in the room. Your shorts ride up as you lift your legs up to cross them and desire stirs in the pit of Aerion’s stomach. It dries his mouth out, it makes his head go somehow even quieter. 

Before he even knows what’s happening, his eyelids are drooping and he’s still painting, but the sunlight pouring in is pale, watery and dawn-yellow. You're fast asleep, slumped on the table, an orange tissue paper tulip plastered on your cheek. Aerion reaches to peel it off you–he can’t afford to waste a prop–and finds himself merely tracing his fingers lightly along your face. His breath hitches as if you’ve woken up, and then he swiftly stumbles out of the arts’ cabin, burning up all over and cradling his hand as if the fingers have just been sliced off. Outside, in the dewy, cloudless half-light, he catches his breath and decides to head for an early, solo breakfast. For hours, apart from his own breathing and dull steps wandering around, it’s so, so quiet. 

You groan, blindly flailing in its direction until your hand hits the snooze button. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“How convenient.” She stands and puts her hands on her hips. Until you begin the painstaking process of rolling out of bed, she doesn’t move, head cocked in expectation. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna go.”

Okay,” you say, rooting around in the pale dim light for your swimwear. “I won’t tell you that.”

“I’ve been rock climbing with you every day–”

Under your breath, you mutter your retort. “It’s just hiking, but whatever.”

Tanselle goes on as if she hasn’t heard you. “I’m only asking you to come out for one morning swim–”

“Babe. You see me getting dressed, right? I’m coming.”

Her expression stays skeptical until you’re opening the door but the second you do, the smile that lights up her face makes any lingering complaints wither on your tongue. Which is lucky for her, because it’s fucking freezing.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, rubbing your arms up and down as Tanselle side-eyes you. Even though a thin morning mist hovers on the horizon and the sky is a pale, wintry blue, you force an enthusiastic smile. “Sorry, I meant, oh my God, yay! Let’s go.”

Morning dew squeaks under your trainers and flicks against your ankles. By the time you reach the lake, your socks are damp but your jacket is clinging to you with patches of sweat. It takes inordinate amounts of self control to bite back more petty resistance, but as Tanselle pulls off her clothes, your groggy-early-morning bad mood dissipates. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to give her what she wants, though.

“I can’t get in that.”

“You said–”

“That I would come with you.” You throw your hands up. “Which I did.”

She crosses her arms and just her hip out. This is her pouting posture but in a velvety jet black bikini with gold beads holding its straps together, all it does is distract you.

“You said you’d come swimming with me.” Arms still folded, she walks towards you. She makes you stand in silence until she’s close enough your noses are brushing. “Which means you actually have to do some swimming.”

“Yeah, I mean–” She raises her eyebrows but your eyes dart to her lips. “I didn’t think it’d be so cold.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

You match her stance, crossing your arms too. “I could get sick.”

“I’ve been doing this all summer.”

“Yeah, well.” You’re still avoiding eye contact. Now though, it’s because of what you know you’ll find in Tanselle’s gaze, the truth she’s daring you to speak aloud. “If you’re gonna stand this close to me, I’m gonna have to kiss you.”

She huffs out a laugh. “That was good. Almost had me letting you change the subject.”

“Okay,” you groan, throwing your arms out wide. As you pull off your shoes, your balance falters and she offers her arm to lean on. “If you’ve been doing this all summer, then I guess I’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh,” she says, noncommittal and teasing. She waits as you peel off your t-shirt and grins as you shiver and frown. Her smile is innocent enough but in her eyes is a knowing, near-malicious glimmer. “I guess you will.”

“Oh hell no.” You whine and splutter your way into the lake, keeping your hands raised even when you’re chest deep. Teeth chattering you look around for Tanselle, already shaking your head. “Did you hear that! I said–” 

She cuts you off by splashing to the surface, apparently done circling around you like a shark. 

“This is insane,” you complain. “You’re insane.” 

“Stop pretending to shiver, it’s not that cold.”

“Not that–” you blanche. “Are you–Do you have, like–I don’t know, but there’s got to be a diagnosis for that.” 

She tilts her head, fixing you with a deadpan expression. Then, her face goes slack, distant. As a realisation dawns on her, she gives a frown tinged with as much concern as displeasure. “Is it really that bad?” 

“Yes. I would much rather be enjoying this.” As you talk, you try lowering your arms into the water. It’s ridiculous; there is steam coming off your body right now. “I don’t enjoy being a buzzkill.” 

“You’re not.” 

Busy gasping and swearing as the water turns your fingers slick and icy, you miss her earnestness. “Can your, uh–Y’nkow–get sealed shut. Like, by ice?”

Tanselle rolls her eyes and swims away from you. You make a harsh, winded sound but if she’s going deeper, you’re following. Pretty much instantly, you realise your mistake. 

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Okay, I get it,” Tanselle says curtly. “You can go if you’re gonna be like this the whole time.”

“I–” You cough, splutter, neck deep and only getting deeper. When you try swaying your arms to tread water, they move only a fraction of the  way they’re meant to. You cough again. “I don’t think I can.”

Now normally, you’re a perfectly good swimmer. This is not a case of some daring kid getting too in over their head. No one is supposed to swim in water this cold. You’re surprised you even made it this far. No matter what you try, your limbs stay stiff and unyielding, growing less and less cooperative as you grow more panicked. 

Tanselle turns and immediately notices something is wrong. Another point on your ‘Is A Strong Swimmer’ scoreboard. She gasps and sweeps closer, one arm around your waist and the other rubbing a useless but thoughtful hand up and down your hip. 

“Sorry,” you breathe out. 

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think…I had no idea it could get this bad.”

“You really can’t feel the cold at all?”

“I mean I guess…I’m just accustomed to it.” 

You try a chuckle, though it comes out more like a sob. “Fuckin’ mermaids, man.” 

“We don’t…We don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want.” 

“Why not?” You give her a stuttering shrug. “Pobably a good time, if I’m about to die and all.” 

“Stop, don’t.” Again she shakes her head, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Let’s go back.” 

“We don’t have to.” 

“I think we literally do.” 

She pulls you to the closest bit of shore, on the opposite side of the lake. It’s far from your clothes and towels but comes with the minor bonus of what will soon be the pier’s sun-warmed wooden slats, instead of clinging dry mud. As she’s silently swimming back and forth to figure out the logistics of pulling you up the ladder, you lean your head back against one of the pier’s thick wooden poles. 

“Hang on, hang on.” You have to repeat yourself a few times before she comes over, wrapping her arm around your waist again. “I might be good now. We can go deeper.” 

“Are you kidding?”

“I know but–” 

“You literally can’t hold yourself up.” 

“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Because your entire body is numb?”

You open your mouth, then close it. “I’m just saying. If you wanna swim, I’m probably not gonna die, actually.” 

She says your name and sounds pained, though you can’t tell anymore if that dip in her brow is because she’s frustrated or about to cry. 

“I am fine, seriously.” When she doesn’t move, you shut your eyes and imagine you’re drawing warmth from her skin around your waist, from the steady breaths fanning towards your neck. “Y’know, if you’re gonna stand this close, I really am gonna have to kiss you.”

With your eyes closed, you can’t see the extent of her reaction. You’re grateful, though, that she elects to follow your lead, in ignoring that you aren’t standing. That you’re currently shivering like a traumatised dog and being rendered so immobile by a relatively unimpressive body of water, that you have to use your girlfriend as a human pool floatie. Or, not human. 

“So, I have a question,” you mutter. She cradles your face and just about gets you to open your eyes. “What actually…Like, what are you?” 

She breathes out a laugh, then hums in contemplation. “Well, it’s–” The sound that comes out of her mouth is airy, warbling, like a scream echoing on a cave wall. Despite yourself, you flinch backwards. 

“Sorry, um–”

She laughs more heartily. “No it’s okay, uh–” More laughter. “I think the human word for it–the one you’d know, anyway–is mermaid?” 

You blink at her. “You don’t have a tail.” 

“Should I?” 

“I don’t know, I guess–” Whatever brilliantly intelligent thought was about to come out of you gets cut off by an especially jolting shiver. Immediately, Tanselle begins moving you towards the ladder, but you grip her arm. “Hang on, wait. So, do you like, need the water? Like to recharge or…” 

“Recharge?” 

“I don’t know, I thought maybe it was food for you, or something. I don’t know.” 

She falters. “Well, I mean, it’s good for me to be in it.” Her gaze flits downwards to watch her legs kicking gracefully with a forlorn pout.  

“So let’s stay.” 

“But–” 

You pull back against you, gripping her shoulders. “Let’s stay.” 

Your urging comes through yet another shiver, and Tanselle looks you up and down, frowning lightly. Before you can insist anymore that you’re totally, completely fine and definitely not going hypothermic, she tugs you even closer by the hips. 

“You’re cold.” 

“Very good,” you joke, giving her a mock-approving nod. “What else can you tell about me?” 

Her fingers trace delicate lines up and down your waist, your spine. She rests one hand between your shoulder blades and pushes until your chests are flush against each other. Your noses, lips foreheads brush together. 

“Hi,” you say through breathy, nervous laughter. 

“Let me warm you up,” she demands. 

“How…” you swallow, but can’t come up with more than that. “How?” 

There’s just about time to see Tanselle’s smirk before she’s on you. The difference is immediate; her warm, wet tongue filling your numbed lips, as her body presses you further against the pier’s wooden post. Her thigh comes up to press between your legs and instinctively, you’re grinding against her. The friction creates a tiny ripple of heat where your bodies meet, which only makes you move faster, chasing every bit of the sensation you can get. When Tanselle takes her heat from your mouth and moves it to your neck, sucking below your jaw, you let out a cracked, aching moan. 

“Holy shit.” 

“It’s good?” she murmurs.

“Good?” Another stuttering moan. “I could cum just like this.” 

She hums in amusement and pulls away, probably just to hear you whine. “Well, hold out for me. I’m not done.” 

You wet your lips, subconsciously searching for her mouth, and blink at her again. “What–” 

Once again, she gives you barely any time to think, let alone get your words out. She ducks under the water’s surface, leaving tepid ripples in her wake. Her hands stroke your legs up and down, rub at the curve of your ass, then hoist your thighs onto her shoulders. All you can do is stare, stunned, at the water, as she presses soft kisses against you through your bathing suit. She waits until your hips are rolling absentmindedly against her face, to pull them aside, nuzzling her face into you and sending gentle ripples wafting on your skin. 

You have to bite your lip to keep the mewling moans brewing in your throat from coming out, to echo on the lake’s surface. One arm reaches back to grip the post behind you, steadying your slow, desperate grinding to bring more friction. Tanselle’s tongue is on you now, lapping in slow, shallow strokes at your clit, then running the tip of her tongue across all of you. With every lick, the water suctions around your most sensitive spots and soon, no matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to hold every sound back. 

Of course, it took so long for you to figure out how to get comfortable in the water, that time has ticked swiftly by. What was once a dim, blue-toned woodland, is now chirping and rustling with life. The sky is all pastels: yellows and pinks and faint streaks of the impending summer-blaze-blue. Above you on the pier, something thuds. 

“Shit,” you whisper. Opening your mouth was a mistake, because out comes another choked moan, your hips rolling uncontrollably and Tanselle’s arms coming up to wrap around your hips. You try tapping her arm but she must be too lost in the throes of pleasure to notice. Steps sound above you. Heavy, sure-footed, about-to-take-a-dive steps. Which can only mean one thing. 

You’re only just pulling your arm down from the post when Dunk splashes into the water, close enough to send up a spray that you grimace away from as it hits your face. Barely taking a breath, he immediately takes off in the opposite direction and you let your shoulders drop. You tap Tanselle again but still, she refuses to surface until she’s coaxed an orgasm out of you. Lucky her, you’re getting exceedingly closer, when even the teasing kisses she’s returned to are sending small waves lapping at your skin. You’re back to biting your lip and trying to watch her beneath the surface, urging her to quicker with a terse grip to her hair. She ignores it and actually, you could almost swear she just slowed down. 

Dunk is on his way back and your instinct is to wrap your legs tighter around Tanselle. When he resurfaces, he immediately makes stunned eye contact with you. Just as quickly, he breaks out into a dopey smile. 

“I thought I recognised those shoes.” His head tilts slightly. “Isn’t Tanselle with you?” 

Her tongue laves over your clit and you turn a gasp into what you hope is a breezy laugh. “Oh yeah, she’s…” You wave your hand vaguely towards the deeper end of the lake. 

“Yeah?” His eyebrows dip but he nods over in the direction he first swam in, nodding. “Yeah. must’ve just missed her.” 

“She’s fast,” you excuse, voice wobbling. Dunk’s goggles turn him cartoonishly bug-eyed, and he takes them off to get a proper look at you. 

“You alright?” 

“Fine.” Your breathing stutters as Tanselle’s nose brushes your clit. She’s nuzzling into you again, as if she’s trying to part your entire body with just her mouth and crawl inside. Dunk nods again, slow and swallowing. If you were properly cognizant of anything right now, you could swear he’s blushing. Before you can truly think anything of it, he’s off again, offering you a friendly farewell and gliding through the water. 

After he’s done a few laps, he pulls himself onto the bank, taking a breather right by your and Tanselle’s heap of clothes. As if she can sense the coast is clear, Tanselle’s head pops over the water.

“Is he gone?” 

“Kind of.” As subtly as you can manage, you nod in his direction. He doesn’t notice, head tipped back and basking in the faint rays of sunlight coming over the horizon. The air is still cool but the illusion of warmth is even reaching you. That, or your entire body really has just gone numb. 

Tanselle’s mouth is back on your neck, with less heat than before. Her hands run up and down your hips, squeeze your ass. As you open your mouth to complain, she bites and you let out a surprised moan. Dunk lifts his head, looking straight in your direction. 

“Hey, uh–fuck,” you whisper. “Remember when I said Dunk had left?” 

“Mhm,” she hums, serene and unbothered, teeth still grazing your collarbone. 

“He’s sort of looking right at us.” 

Tanselle pulls away, just enough to look you in the eyes as she speaks. “Do you think he can tell what we’re doing?” 

As she asks, her hands creep upwards to toy with your nipples. She teases you with almost-kisses and when you cut a glance back to Dunk, he’s still looking, albeit more shyly now. 

“I think anyone could tell what we’re doing.” 

She gives you another satisfied hum and slides her hand downwards to cup you through your bathing suit. “Should I stop?” 

“I don’t know, I–”

“I’m asking if you want me to stop.” 

“Oh my God,” you whisper into her mouth, legs hiking up around her hips instinctively. Two fingers are giving you languid strokes and she’s watching for every minute change in your expression. All she’s doing is being vigilant, thoughtful, but being under her gaze at all makes you simmer with so much heat, you almost forget you’re underwater at all. Slowly, agonisingly slow, she slips a finger inside you. 

“Don’t stop,” is all you can say, over and over into her mouth as she slides another finger in and grips your waist. 

“Fuck Tanselle.” This time, you let your moans ring out, echoing all the way over to where Dunk is now making a concerted effort not to look. It doesn’t stop you from staring though, his broad, thick form slouched over itself, his head hanging either in shame or bewilderment with what to do about the situation in his swimming trunks. 

As pleasure builds and builds in the centre of your body, your hips rock to meet it and you whisper into Tanselle’s ear again, desperate and panting. 

“I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m so close.” She doesn’t slow and you don’t shut up, too lost in the feeling now to even notice what Dunk is doing. As you clench around her fingers, she coos praises into your skin. 

“So pretty, baby. I love how easy it is to take you apart like this.” She licks a strip over the spot she bit earlier. “Fucking delicious, you know that? I could never get enough of you.” 

You whine through when she keeps going. She’s clearly just trying to draw more loud, lurid sounds out of you. You, for one, are happy to let her. It goes until you literally can’t take anymore, and by then you’re cumming all over her fingers a second time, shuddering so hard the water visibly ripples around you both. 

Dunk is still on the bank, so you take your time getting out, floating aimlessly and then racing, swimming and then splashing your way to shore. You expect more timid avoidance but when you reach him, Dunk is looking right at you, gaping awe all over his face. 

“Seems like you had fun.” 

“We did,” you say with a waggle of your eyebrows. “We’ll leave you to it, then.” 

He watches after you with wide eyes, just shy of asking you to stay, you’re sure. The whole way back to you and Tanselle’s cabin, you’re raucous with laughter and dripping all over the camp green, so electrified that, the second you get inside, she pins you to the bed for round two. 

“Oh hell no.” You whine and splutter your way into the lake, keeping your hands raised even when you’re chest deep. Teeth chattering you look around for Tanselle, already shaking your head. “Did you hear that! I said–” 

She cuts you off by splashing to the surface, apparently done circling around you like a shark. 

“This is insane,” you complain. “You’re insane.” 

“Stop pretending to shiver, it’s not that cold.”

“Not that–” you blanche. “Are you–Do you have, like–I don’t know, but there’s got to be a diagnosis for that.” 

She tilts her head, fixing you with a deadpan expression. Then, her face goes slack, distant. As a realisation dawns on her, she gives a frown tinged with as much concern as displeasure. “Is it really that bad?” 

“Yes. I would much rather be enjoying this.” As you talk, you try lowering your arms into the water. It’s ridiculous; there is steam coming off your body right now. “I don’t enjoy being a buzzkill.” 

“You’re not.” 

Busy gasping and swearing as the water turns your fingers slick and icy, you miss her earnestness. “Can your, uh–Y’nkow–get sealed shut. Like, by ice?”

Tanselle rolls her eyes and swims away from you. You make a harsh, winded sound but if she’s going deeper, you’re following. Pretty much instantly, you realise your mistake. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” 

“Okay, I get it,” Tanselle says curtly. “You can go if you’re gonna be like this the whole time.”

“I–” You cough, splutter, neck deep and only getting deeper. When you try swaying your arms to tread water, they move only a fraction of the  way they’re meant to. You cough again. “I don’t think I can.” 

Now normally, you’re a perfectly good swimmer. This is not a case of some daring kid getting too in over their head. No one is supposed to swim in water this cold. You’re surprised you even made it this far. No matter what you try, your limbs stay stiff and unyielding, growing less and less cooperative as you grow more panicked. 

Tanselle turns and immediately notices something is wrong. Another point on your ‘Is A Strong Swimmer’ scoreboard. She gasps and sweeps closer, one arm around your waist and the other rubbing a useless but thoughtful hand up and down your hip. 

“Sorry,” you breathe out. 

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think…I had no idea it could get this bad.”

“You really can’t feel the cold at all?”

“I mean I guess…I’m just accustomed to it.”

You try a chuckle, though it comes out more like a sob. “Fuckin’ mermaids, man.” 

“We don’t…We don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want.” 

“Why not?” You give her a stuttering shrug. “Pobably a good time, if I’m about to die and all.” 

“Stop, don’t.” Again she shakes her head, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Let’s go back.” 

“We don’t have to.” 

“I think we literally do.” 

She pulls you to the closest bit of shore, on the opposite side of the lake. It’s far from your clothes and towels but comes with the minor bonus of what will soon be the pier’s sun-warmed wooden slats, instead of clinging dry mud. As she’s silently swimming back and forth to figure out the logistics of pulling you up the ladder, you lean your head back against one of the pier’s thick wooden poles. 

“Hang on, hang on.” You have to repeat yourself a few times before she comes over, wrapping her arm around your waist again. “I might be good now. We can go deeper.” 

“Are you kidding?”

“I know but–” 

“You literally can’t hold yourself up.”

“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Because your entire body is numb?”

You open your mouth, then close it. “I’m just saying. If you wanna swim, I’m probably not gonna die, actually.” 

She says your name and sounds pained, though you can’t tell anymore if that dip in her brow is because she’s frustrated or about to cry. 

“I am fine, seriously.” When she doesn’t move, you shut your eyes and imagine you’re drawing warmth from her skin around your waist, from the steady breaths fanning towards your neck. “Y’know, if you’re gonna stand this close, I really am gonna have to kiss you.”

With your eyes closed, you can’t see the extent of her reaction. You’re grateful, though, that she elects to follow your lead, in ignoring that you aren’t standing. That you’re currently shivering like a traumatised dog and being rendered so immobile by a relatively unimpressive body of water, that you have to use your girlfriend as a human pool floatie. Or, not human. 

“So, I have a question,” you mutter. She cradles your face and just about gets you to open your eyes. “What actually…Like, what are you?” 

She breathes out a laugh, then hums in contemplation. “Well, it’s–” The sound that comes out of her mouth is airy, warbling, like a scream echoing on a cave wall. Despite yourself, you flinch backwards. 

“Sorry, um–”

She laughs more heartily. “No it’s okay, uh–” More laughter. “I think the human word for it–the one you’d know, anyway–is mermaid?” 

You blink at her. “You don’t have a tail.” 

“Should I?” 

“I don’t know, I guess–” Whatever brilliantly intelligent thought was about to come out of you gets cut off by an especially jolting shiver. Immediately, Tanselle begins moving you towards the ladder, but you grip her arm. “Hang on, wait. So, do you like, need the water? Like to recharge or…” 

“Recharge?” 

“I don’t know, I thought maybe it was food for you, or something. I don’t know.” 

She falters. “Well, I mean, it’s good for me to be in it.” Her gaze flits downwards to watch her legs kicking gracefully with a forlorn pout.  

“So let’s stay.” 

“But–” 

You pull back against you, gripping her shoulders. “Let’s stay.” 

Your urging comes through yet another shiver, and Tanselle looks you up and down, frowning lightly. Before you can insist anymore that you’re totally, completely fine and definitely not going hypothermic, she tugs you even closer by the hips. 

“You’re cold.” 

“Very good,” you joke, giving her a mock-approving nod. “What else can you tell about me?” 

Her fingers trace delicate lines up and down your waist, your spine. She rests one hand between your shoulder blades and pushes until your chests are flush against each other. Your noses, lips foreheads brush together. 

“Hi,” you say through breathy, nervous laughter. 

“Let me warm you up,” she demands. 

“How…” you swallow, but can’t come up with more than that. “How?” 

There’s just about time to see Tanselle’s smirk before she’s on you. The difference is immediate; her warm, wet tongue filling your numbed lips, as her body presses you further against the pier’s wooden post. Her thigh comes up to press between your legs and instinctively, you’re grinding against her. The friction creates a tiny ripple of heat where your bodies meet, which only makes you move faster, chasing every bit of the sensation you can get. When Tanselle takes her heat from your mouth and moves it to your neck, sucking below your jaw, you let out a cracked, aching moan. 

“Holy shit.”

“It’s good?” she murmurs.

“Good?” Another stuttering moan. “I could cum just like this.” 

She hums in amusement and pulls away, probably just to hear you whine. “Well, hold out for me. I’m not done.” 

You wet your lips, subconsciously searching for her mouth, and blink at her again. “What–” 

Once again, she gives you barely any time to think, let alone get your words out. She ducks under the water’s surface, leaving tepid ripples in her wake. Her hands stroke your legs up and down, rub at the curve of your ass, then hoist your thighs onto her shoulders. All you can do is stare, stunned, at the water, as she presses soft kisses against you through your bathing suit. She waits until your hips are rolling absentmindedly against her face, to pull them aside, nuzzling her face into you and sending gentle ripples wafting on your skin. 

You have to bite your lip to keep the mewling moans brewing in your throat from coming out, to echo on the lake’s surface. One arm reaches back to grip the post behind you, steadying your slow, desperate grinding to bring more friction. Tanselle’s tongue is on you now, lapping in slow, shallow strokes at your clit, then running the tip of her tongue across all of you. With every lick, the water suctions around your most sensitive spots and soon, no matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to hold every sound back. 

Of course, it took so long for you to figure out how to get comfortable in the water, that time has ticked swiftly by. What was once a dim, blue-toned woodland, is now chirping and rustling with life. The sky is all pastels: yellows and pinks and faint streaks of the impending summer-blaze-blue. Above you on the pier, something thuds. 

“Shit,” you whisper. Opening your mouth was a mistake, because out comes another choked moan, your hips rolling uncontrollably and Tanselle’s arms coming up to wrap around your hips. You try tapping her arm but she must be too lost in the throes of pleasure to notice. Steps sound above you. Heavy, sure-footed, about-to-take-a-dive steps. Which can only mean one thing. 

You’re only just pulling your arm down from the post when Dunk splashes into the water, close enough to send up a spray that you grimace away from as it hits your face. Barely taking a breath, he immediately takes off in the opposite direction and you let your shoulders drop. You tap Tanselle again but still, she refuses to surface until she’s coaxed an orgasm out of you. Lucky her, you’re getting exceedingly closer, when even the teasing kisses she’s returned to are sending small waves lapping at your skin. You’re back to biting your lip and trying to watch her beneath the surface, urging her to quicker with a terse grip to her hair. She ignores it and actually, you could almost swear she just slowed down. 

Dunk is on his way back and your instinct is to wrap your legs tighter around Tanselle. When he resurfaces, he immediately makes stunned eye contact with you. Just as quickly, he breaks out into a dopey smile. 

“I thought I recognised those shoes.” His head tilts slightly. “Isn’t Tanselle with you?” 

Her tongue laves over your clit and you turn a gasp into what you hope is a breezy laugh. “Oh yeah, she’s…” You wave your hand vaguely towards the deeper end of the lake. 

“Yeah?” His eyebrows dip but he nods over in the direction he first swam in, nodding. “Yeah. must’ve just missed her.” 

“She’s fast,” you excuse, voice wobbling. Dunk’s goggles turn him cartoonishly bug-eyed, and he takes them off to get a proper look at you. 

“You alright?” 

“Fine.” Your breathing stutters as Tanselle’s nose brushes your clit. She’s nuzzling into you again, as if she’s trying to part your entire body with just her mouth and crawl inside. Dunk nods again, slow and swallowing. If you were properly cognizant of anything right now, you could swear he’s blushing. Before you can truly think anything of it, he’s off again, offering you a friendly farewell and gliding through the water. 

After he’s done a few laps, he pulls himself onto the bank, taking a breather right by your and Tanselle’s heap of clothes. As if she can sense the coast is clear, Tanselle’s head pops over the water.

“Is he gone?” 

“Kind of.” As subtly as you can manage, you nod in his direction. He doesn’t notice, head tipped back and basking in the faint rays of sunlight coming over the horizon. The air is still cool but the illusion of warmth is even reaching you. That, or your entire body really has just gone numb. 

Tanselle’s mouth is back on your neck, with less heat than before. Her hands run up and down your hips, squeeze your ass. As you open your mouth to complain, she bites and you let out a surprised moan. Dunk lifts his head, looking straight in your direction. 

“Hey, uh–fuck,” you whisper. “Remember when I said Dunk had left?” 

“Mhm,” she hums, serene and unbothered, teeth still grazing your collarbone. 

“He’s sort of looking right at us.” 

Tanselle pulls away, just enough to look you in the eyes as she speaks. “Do you think he can tell what we’re doing?” 

As she asks, her hands creep upwards to toy with your nipples. She teases you with almost-kisses and when you cut a glance back to Dunk, he’s still looking, albeit more shyly now. 

“I think anyone could tell what we’re doing.” 

She gives you another satisfied hum and slides her hand downwards to cup you through your bathing suit. “Should I stop?” 

“I don’t know, I–”

“I’m asking if you want me to stop.” 

“Oh my God,” you whisper into her mouth, legs hiking up around her hips instinctively. Two fingers are giving you languid strokes and she’s watching for every minute change in your expression. All she’s doing is being vigilant, thoughtful, but being under her gaze at all makes you simmer with so much heat, you almost forget you’re underwater at all. Slowly, agonisingly slow, she slips a finger inside you. 

“Don’t stop,” is all you can say, over and over into her mouth as she slides another finger in and grips your waist. 

“Fuck Tanselle.” This time, you let your moans ring out, echoing all the way over to where Dunk is now making a concerted effort not to look. It doesn’t stop you from staring though, his broad, thick form slouched over itself, his head hanging either in shame or bewilderment with what to do about the situation in his swimming trunks. 

As pleasure builds and builds in the centre of your body, your hips rock to meet it and you whisper into Tanselle’s ear again, desperate and panting. 

“I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m so close.” She doesn’t slow and you don’t shut up, too lost in the feeling now to even notice what Dunk is doing. As you clench around her fingers, she coos praises into your skin. 

“So pretty, baby. I love how easy it is to take you apart like this.” She licks a strip over the spot she bit earlier. “Fucking delicious, you know that? I could never get enough of you.” 

You whine through when she keeps going. She’s clearly just trying to draw more loud, lurid sounds out of you. You, for one, are happy to let her. It goes until you literally can’t take anymore, and by then you’re cumming all over her fingers a second time, shuddering so hard the water visibly ripples around you both. 

Dunk is still on the bank, so you take your time getting out, floating aimlessly and then racing, swimming and then splashing your way to shore. You expect more timid avoidance but when you reach him, Dunk is looking right at you, gaping awe all over his face. 

“Seems like you had fun.” 

“We did,” you say with a waggle of your eyebrows. “We’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Tanselle hums softly to herself behind you, one leg sprawled by your side and the other pressing against your back as she slathers you in suncream. Her palms slide warm on your skin, massaging under your shoulder blades and skimming down your waist. When she’s done, your body hums all over with electricity, desire tingling at the ends of your fingertips and making you dizzy when you stand. Your head only clears when you’re treading water, cool all over and likely making the twenty minutes of rubbing each other down obsolete. 

“C’mere,” she calls, swimming circles around you and sending waves lapping against your cheeks. She, too, keeps her head half-submerged, but without all the spluttering you’re doing.when the water rises to cover her nose. 

When you’re close enough, she grabs your shoulders. You expect her to pull you under; this game is a familiar one, so you don’t thrash or kick. Instead you simply squeeze your eyes shut and let the cold swallow you. It bubbles in your ears and the lakebed fronds coil and flutter around your ankles. Grains of silt rustle against your calves, your palms. When Tanselle lets you up, both of you gasp with quiet, childlike laughter. 

She dunks you again, then you her. When she pulls you under the final time, she goes down with you, letting go so you can keep yourselves below the surface. After swimming another circle around you, she coils an arm around your waist. You feel her laughing but with your eyes squeezed shut, you don’t know what she’s planning until she’s doing it. 

Her kisses feel weightless underwater, lips like gentle surges in the current, fingers like little fishes as she brings her other hand to your waist. You have to surface to take a gasping breath but she waits for you, clamping her lips back onto yours the second you’re back under. She giggles into your mouth and you feel, rather than see, the bubbles fly out of her nose. Another laugh and you realise she’s saying something, whispering to you, there in the deep, green water. When you press your hands to her back, roaming upwards to caress the space between her shoulder blades, you try not to think about it, tell yourself it’s just the thrill of touching her. Really, it’s a test, and sure enough: her chest is rising and falling, the bubbles wafting against your face really must be coming from her. Your hands roam further, sliding up her neck and trailing her collarbone. Shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist and then–Her hands. 

Between each finger is suddenly a patch of skin, not supple and warm like the rest of her, but slippery and hard, slightly cool like a thin sheet of wet rubber. You surface again, far less gracefully this time. Gasping, splashing, you wait and watch as she stays under. A shiver runs through you and with the sun blaring directly on our skin again, it’s undeniable how cool this water is. Yet here you are hallucinating, having your grip on reality melt swiftly away. Because that must be it, you think. Everything is fine, normal, totally and completely explicable. It’s just the heat that’s getting to you.