some tagged me a couple days ago (@katkrisis maybe?). wednesday is just a state of mind though, right? right?
anyways @pinacoladamatata's fishry art did something to me, so i'm writing mermaid smut now i guess. not putting this behind a cut because if you follow my blog you know what you're here for.
Belatedly Henry realizes he doesn’t have a clue what parts Hans has. In all his fantasies he’d been more man than sea creature below the waist, scales beginning at the tops his thighs rather than where they begin in life, just below his navel. He’s never seen anything but smooth tail, a frill-like set of fins where a cock would be, though he swears once he saw the shadow of a slit between them, in the same place he feels something firm now.
Hans nudges at his temple with his nose. Henry hadn’t meant to stop what he’d been doing, but he starts again now; licks into the soft, warm part of him covered by the flap of his gill. Hans’ heart pounds and the throb of it reverberates against his chest.
He tastes more human than he’d expected, too. Like the salt of skin after a hard day’s work and it’s easy to lap at his throat, where he is open and slick and shudders with every flick of his tongue. Henry traces the length of his gill with his mouth. Licks in until Hans is panting in his ear and shoving at his braies. The way he clicks at him, it almost sounds like ‘please’.
One handed, Henry drags his braies down over his hips. Still has to sit up halfway so he can lift up and get them off, and Hans goes with him, keeps him busy with his mouth on his throat until he absolutely has to look away and-
Hans sits on his hip, hands free to wrestle wet linen down Henry’s thighs. He’s flushed from hairline to waist, darker, somehow, in the center of his chest where his heart is. But it’s his lap Henry can’t look away from.
There is a slit between the fins, he’d been right about that. A sheath from which his cock extends, humanesque in shape but with the coloring of his tail, and that’s not so unusual. Only that beside it there is something more that Henry reaches out to curl his fingers around.
He squeezes and it lengthens in his hand.
“You have two,” Henry says, mouth gone dry at the way with just a bit of touching it matches the length beside it. Not as thick as his own, or- not individually, at least. Together he can just barely wrap his fingers around them; when he tries a gap remains between his fingertips and thumb. “Do you put both of them- at the same time?”
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