#flamulawrites

He invited you over to his place after work to help him gather ‘inspiration’, which ultimately meant walking along the beach of Whitesand Bay and gathering seashells for his handmade pigments for his gallery pieces. Not that you were complaining. A long walk on the beach searching for specific shells was a fantastic way to relax after you spent the last 8 hours at a desk filling your backlog of Wanderer Incident reports until your back ached and your legs were aching to move around. So, when your phone buzzed on your desk, you didn’t hesitate to answer the much-needed distraction, and you really couldn’t help the way the corners of your mouth curved up when you saw his nickname light up your screen.

Hey cutie

Can miss bodyguard

accompany me on a

journey to find some inspiration

this evening?

_______I think I can pen you in after work

___________These reports are killing me

___________________why did Iput them

______________off for so long (,,╥ᯅ╥,,)

then this humble artist

can give you a break from

those evil reports after work cutie (>ᴗ•) !

________________________pfft humble

dun bully me ( •̀ - •́ )9

I can be humble too

________________Ok Mr. Humble World

_____________________Famous Artist

Still sounds like

bullying to me (  •̀ ⤙ •́  )

Buuuuut if you wanna

make it up to me

Come to my studio after work

_____________________Well in that case,

______________I guess I better show up

________________I’ll see you after 5, Raf

____________________________(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

I’ll be waiting cutie~

            The promise of a relaxing evening was the motivation that helped you push through your reports so you could get to Mo Art Studio before sunset. Excitement bubbled in your chest the moment you submitted the final report, freeing yourself from the shackles of paperwork at long last. You quickly stood up, shaking the stiffness out of your limbs, and gathered your belongings, and headed to the parking garage for your motorcycle.

            And just like that, you were off to Mo Art Studio.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

            When you got there, Rafayel was already sitting on the sand, sketchbook in hand, engrossed in whatever be was drawing. He was so focused, you couldn’t help but pause to savor the moment.

            As you watch him work, you can’t help but think back to the documentary you watched last night about coral reefs and the fish that inhabit them. Spending time with Rafayel had sparked an interest in marine life since you started working as his bodyguard – the majority of his paintings were inspired by the ocean, ancient Lemuria, and even when he wasn’t actively working on any pieces, he was always drawn back to the sea, wistfully watching as the waves ebb and flow. Until you found out he was a Lemurian on that fateful summer night, you had simply thought that his affinity for the ocean and its creatures was just another one of his eccentricities. The vivacity and abundance of color overflowing in the coral reef ecosystems truly did suit the Rafayel, with his own tendency to fully embrace all life had to offer.

            In fact, it all reminded you of a specific fish that the documentary featured. It was the – 

“Ah! Cutie, you’re here!” Rafayel’s excited exclamation snapped you out of your reverie. A smile graced his fine features as you watched him toss his sketchbook into the sand and stood to greet you.

“Of course,” you replied, lips curving up in a smile like it was the most natural response to seeing him. “What kind of bodyguard would I be if I left my charge to go on a journey for inspiration alone? What if someone recognized world famous art world darling, Rafayel Qi?”

An offended noise left his mouth even as the smile remained, “Again with the bullying. Miss Bodyguard, I hired you to protect me, not mock me!” He ran his hand through his hair in mock distress.

“Oh noooo,” you replied despondently, even as the corners of your mouth pulled upwards. You played along clasping your hands behind your back and leaning forward into his space, “What ever can I do to make it up to you?”

“Hmmm,” he pretended to think, tapping his pointer finger on his chin, lips pursed and eyes shifting to the side. “How about you accompany me on a walk down the beach.”

You sigh as if this is some kind of hardship. You both know it’s not. It could never be. “I suppose if that’s the only way to earn your forgiveness,” you reached out and booped his nose with the tip of your finger. “Then I’ll just have to oblige your impossible request.”

You quickly turn to start walking down the beach and hear a noise of surprise escape the artist. You don’t see the crimson dusting his cheeks and ears, but you know it’s there.

“Ah – h-hey wait, Cutie” he stammers. He quickly catches up to you in a few strides. “I mean, that’s not the only way you could make it up to me,” you hear the pout in his voice. “Actually, there are other ways I can think of-”

You felt his warm hand take your own and let your fingers intertwine with his.

“Nope, you already chose a walk on the beach, Raf. No changing your mind now, Mr. bullied artist.”

            “Pfft hahaha!” his laugh is music to your ears and melds so sweetly with the gentle sounds of the waves against the shore. “Ah, I guess I can’t argue with that, my darling Miss Bodyguard.

            The two of you walk in tandem, an easy conversation flows, talking about anything that comes to mind, from mundane events of your day at work to the new concept Rafayel is planning for the next gallery showing in a few months. The two of you occasionally pause to pick up a shell washed that has the right shade for his handmade pigments.

            As you walk and talk, your mind keeps drifting back to the documentary you watched. Specifically, it takes you to the part where the narrator spoke about a kind of reef fish. There were two types, salt water and fresh water. Apparently, they weren’t related, but they did share some temperamental qualities. Saltwater angelfish have bold personalities and coloring. Some are aggressive and territorial, some are shy and peaceful. Many are curious and some might even swim right up to divers to check them out. Their freshwater counterparts are known to be intelligent, curious, and elegant. Freshwater angelfish even lock lips as displays of dominance or courtship. Both could also be aggressive or semi-aggressive depending on the other fish around them.

            Plus, the freshwater types had a habit of locking lips in displays of dominance or courtship.

All these traits reminded you of another fishie closer to your heart.

A warm hand enveloped your own, snapping you out of your thoughts and your eyes snapped to his sunset ones.

“So, what do you think, Cutie?” He displays 2 scallop shells in between the finders of his free hand, one with vibrant strawberry red striations and the other a paler pink, most of its pigment concentrated and radiating out from the hinge. “Which would make a more lovely pink?”

You pause for a minute to mull over your options. The shade of the more vibrant shell reminds you of Rafayel’s evol and his bold magenta tinged flames. By all accounts, it should be the one you choose, it should fit your bold and vibrant artist. The paler pink, however, steals your attention. Something about that shade looks so right in Rafayel’s hand.

“This one,” your fingertips brush the more vibrant shell, “and this one,” you pluck the paler one out of his hold, “is mine to keep.”

“Oh?” He moved closer into your space. “And why’s that?”

Because it’s the same shade as your lips. Because it’s the same shade as that pretty blush that dusts your cheeks when I make you laugh. Because it compliments the sunset in your eyes. Because the color looks so right within your grasp.

“I just like it more as a shell than a shade,” is your reply.

He hums. “Is that all?”

“Well,” you bring the shell up to your lips, “I suppose the color also reminds me of a certain fishie.”

“Oh?” he tilts his head as he smoothly tucks the other shell safely into his pocket. ““And what fishie might that be, Cutie?”

You reached out your free hand to rest on his soft wavy hair. He closed his eyes and leaned down. Just when he was the perfect height and angle, you ruffled his hair until it was all mussed. “You, Rafayel. Don’t tease when you already know the answer,” you softly scolded with a laugh.

“Hey, hey! Cutieeeee,” he complained as he dodged out of your clutches. His trademark pout morphed onto his face and his eyes glanced up as he tried to put his amethyst hair back into place. “Again with the bullying,” he pouted, “you’re supposed to be making it up to me, not antagonizing me! Are you gonna put it back in place now that you’ve messed it all up?” His blue-pink eyes slid over to you expectantly.

You gave a long-suffering sigh, as though playing with your boyfriend’s hair was the most difficult task known to mankind, and flick a few locks back into place. “There you go, everything is back in place,” you said after a minute and he gave a hum of approval.

The two of you continued you walk on the beach, flirty remarks ping ponging back and forth until a flash caught your eye. You stopped and shifted about until you saw a glimmering spot on the beach in between waves. Rafayel was a few paces ahead until he noticed you hadn’t responded to his latest line, then turned to follow your line of sight.

“Something catch your eye, Cutie?”

You hummed in response, focused on the shiny object and walked over to it. He joined you as you crouched down and stretched out your arm to retrieve the item from the water and pulled an abalone shell the size of your hand out of the water. You held it up to look at it, and rotated it in your grip as clumps of wet sand and small bits of seaweed fell off the shell. The outside of it was a ruddy tone akin to dull bricks. The inside, however, was coated in mother of pearl and its iridescence caught the golden rays from the sun, flashing as you tilted it about.

Rafayel stood opposite of you, crouched in the surf, and gently took the shell from your hold to examine it. With the shell holding his complete attention, you glanced up at his reaction and the sight stole your breath away.

The last rays of golden sunlight dance across the ocean waves, turning the steady waves into tides of ever shifting glitter. The sky is a brilliant display of red, magenta, brilliant rosy shades blending into fiery swipes of crimsons and oranges, sharply contrasted by clouds of lavender, amethyst, and periwinkle.

In front of you stood Rafayel, himself a stunning work of art accentuated by the very elements of his own domain. The sea spray had kissed his right cheek while you both were walking along the waves and left water droplets glittering in its wake. His violet waves flowed gently in the light breeze beckoning you both towards the water. The brilliant sunset served as a backlight to his form, bathing your boyfriend in a warm golden halo, making the rouge dusting his cheeks practically glow, while his brilliant jewel toned eyes shone with mischief and amusement and his plush lips quirked to the side, a smile played on his lips as he rambled about the shell – Not that you were fully paying attention at this point.

Gods the sight made you ache.

You watched his mouth form every word, enraptured by the passion and excitement radiating off of him as you felt the heat rush to your face from the display. Then he paused and looked at you expectantly. After a moment his head tilted to the side and he said your nickname,

“Ah, what was that, Angelfish?” you replied, almost dazed.

You watched as the loquacious artist seemed to freeze and time seemed to slow as you watched his shoulders jolt up and heard his breath hitch. One of his perfectly manicured eyebrows tweaked upward and his dual toned eyes widened. The corner of his kissable lips twitched up and the rosy hue that dusted his cheeks deepened to a crimson that reached the tips of his ears.

Oh.

Oh.

A strangled sound escaped his throat and after a beat your boyfriend seemed to reboot and come back online.

“Ah – Cutie, that’s – you can’t just –” Another unknown sound escaped him.

It wasn’t often you caught Rafayel at a loss for words, and even when it did happen, it never lasted for long.

Oh no, you needed to take full advantage, and your mouth stretched into an uncontrollable grin as you took in his flustered state.

Rafayel’s hand ran through his hair as he tried to piece together some semblance of composure but you refused to give him even a moment as you stepped into his space.

“Can’t do what, my darling Angelfish?” you drawled as you leaned in until you could feel the warmth radiating off his cheeks.

He glared at you, but the only heat in him was burning across his face. “You!” he huffed, “Cutie, you can’t just –” he averted his gaze and, softer, tried again, “You can’t just spring that on me without any warning.”

You veered back into his line of sight and cupped his cheek with your palm so he couldn’t turn away again. “I really don’t know what you’re taking about, Angelfish? What did I spring on you, Angelfish?”

You didn’t think his face could flush more, but you’ve been wrong before, and watched in real time as the color deepened and his eyes turned glassy from the blood that pulsed beneath his fair skin. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch while he took a deep breath.

Then his eyes snapped open and his hands shot out to grab your wrists.

He cleared his throat and took another breath, “Cutie, I should document what you’re doing as evidence. This is clearly fish abuse!”

You huffed a laugh and leaned forward to sneak a peck onto the tip of his nose, “Oh, I would never abuse my beloved fishie. You know that, Angelfish.”

He scoffed. “Stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what? You really need to be specific, Angelfish.”

“THAT!”

You hummed and tilted your head in mock confusion.

He huffed again and muttered, “Angelfish.”

You leaned in and whispered into his ear, “You don’t like it?”

He made another sound low in his throat that could almost count as a whimper and you felt the shiver that ran though him. You filed that away for later.

“No.” He takes a shaky breath “I – I like it. I . . .  like it a lot.”

You hummed, encouraging your flustered boyfriend to continue.

“Maybe . . . Maybe I like it too much,” He pulled back so you’re looking into each other’s eyes.

A shiver raced up your spine and you realized that his hands had long since migrated from your wrists to encircle your waist and hold you close to him. Your newly free right hand moves to the back of his neck. “Oh? My Angelfish likes the new nickname?” you tease and lean your forehead against his.

He hummed an affirmative and nuzzled his forehead against yours. You felt him mumble into your neck, “Cutie, you’ll be the death of me.” And you gave a soft chuckle at his dramatics and raked your hand through his soft, slightly damp hair.

For a moment, the only thing you can hear is the sound of the waves punctuated by the occasional squawk of a gull lulling you further into the moment.

“Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you land on ‘Angelfish?”

You flashed him a smile and both your hands cupped his cheeks. “I was watching a documentary on reef fish –”

“Aww, Cutie were you watching that to learn more about your favorite fishie?”

You squish his cheeks lightly. “No interruptions, Angelfish. But, yes, I may have picked it because of my favorite deep-sea creature.”

He chuckled and you continued, “It talked about angelfish and mentioned freshwater and saltwater angelfish – which aren’t related mind you.”

“Of course.”

“And their personalities reminded me of you. Bold, curious, vibrant, calm or aggressive depending on the other fish around them.”

He nodded along as you spoke, handing on every word.

“Aaaaaand the freshwater ones lock lips to assert dominance. Or for courting,” you added on, and watched as his gaze dropped to your own lips.

He hummed then replied, “Since you see me as an angelfish, then maybe I should act more like them,” and pressed his plush lips against your own.

You briefly pulled back to ask, “So are you asserting dominance or courting, Angelfish?”

The love drunk look on his face was enough of an answer – darkened eyes, pupils blown, flushed face, gaze glued to your own lips – and he replied, “Guess,” before he dove back in. Rafayel quickly deepened the kiss, and his tongue slipped in as you melted against his affection. His kisses were unrelenting, wave after wave of affection and want washed over you as your mouths moved in tandem and he swallowed every one of your gasps and quiet moans. He withdrew a bit and, before you could protest, his teeth sunk into your bottom lip, the sharp points of his incisors just gentle enough to not draw blood – not that you’d complain much if he did.

He pulled back for a moment and licked his lips. “I don’t know Cutie, I think I’m more of a shark, yeah?”

You looped your arms around his neck and pulled him back in, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and kissed the sensitive skin there, and savored the sea salt that lingered on his skin, then latched on, and he gave a delicious gasp as your teeth sinking into his sun-warmed skin. His body curled around you when you placed a gentle kiss on the blossoming bruise and oh how you liked that color on him. So,a you decided to turn the single blossom into a blooming bouquet along his throat, indulging in the sounds your boyfriend made. When you finally pulled back, satisfied with your work, you could practically see the hearts in his eyes.

“. . . Ooooor maybe you’re the shark, Cutie. You’re mauling me over here,” he teased breathlessly.

“I’ll be the shark,” you playfully snapped your teeth at him, playing the part, “And you’ll be my Angelfish, then.”

The darkness had enveloped the two of you long ago, but you had no interest in ending the night with the arrival of the crescent moon. Rafayel had the same idea.

Rafayel collapsed on the couch and raised his hands up in a ‘come hug me’ gesture and sang, “Come jump in the water and kiss me,” Rafayel pursed his lips and grabbed an Artsy Birb plushie from the couch, cradling it in his arms, “Come play with me and our daughter and let’s watch our love leave the ground”

“Oh, I would, but IIII’d be suffering tryyyyying to float the whole time-“

“I can taaaaake the suuuuffering from youuuu.”

You shook you head fondly and replied, “Ooooooh, as good as that sounds, right here I’m just fine.”

You watched Rafayel toss the plush back onto the couch to his right, and raise his arms back up again, “I can taaaaake the suuuuuffering from youuuu.”

You let out a sigh of fake exasperation and walk over to your boyfriend. “Fiiiine, but only if you answer a question or twooo.”

His eyes lit up and a smile broke over his face, “Of course!”

You stare him in the eyes, a sweet smile gracing your face, and gently grip his chin between your forefinger and thumb. Your eyes crinkle in delight as you watch a light flush warm his cheeks and ears and his eyes dart town to your lips for a second. “Ok, so did you contact Thomas and the customs agents about that pigment before he, theoretically, gets in trouble?” You asked quickly.

Rafayel freezes like a child caught doing something wrong. His smile thins and his lips twitch as he guiltily averts his gaze to the side, a strange sound escaping his throat.

A huff of a laugh escapes your mouth and you say, “Call Thomas, Angelfish. Then I might consider jumping,” you punctuate with a light peck to his plush lips. As you pull back, you smirk at his wide eyes and brighter flush gracing his face.

When you turn to leave the room, you hear Rafayel scramble to grab his phone off the coffee table.

“Hey, Thomas, is me, about that pigment? Yeah, so turns out I don’t need it anymore, I figured out something else. Oh? Customs said the package never showed up? That’s so weird. Ah, well .. . Aaaaaaanyway, I gotta go, masterpieces to paint, art to create. See ya!” And with that you heard a light thump of his phone hitting the couch followed by his footsteps as he caught up with you in a few quick strides.

“Now, jump in the water, Cutie!” he catches up to you in no time and playfully tugs on your wrist, coaxing you back towards the couch.

You pause as if deeply considering your options and tap your pointer finger of your free hand against your lips with a hum. “I don’t know . . .”

“Cutie . . .” Rafayel whines. You feel him lift the wrist he has a hold on and the soft press of his plush lips against your fingertips.

“Ah, the things I’d do for you,” you say with a sigh as your fond smile seeps into your voice. You finally turn to face him and are rewarded with the sight of Rafayel looking up at you through his eyelashes and affection practically dripping off him. You can’t resist the urge to give his forehead a light peck in return, just as you all but strip over his own feet when he leads you both backwards to the couch.

When his calves hit the base of the couch and you both topple over, you squeak as you loose your balance and Rafayel lets out a grunt as your forehead colliding with clavicle.

“Ow, Cutie, I think you broke my collarbone,” your boyfriend woefully whines and loosens his grip on your waist with his right hand, fully committing to the bit. “Are you gonna take responsibility?”

You smile into his neck, press a quick kiss then look up at him and say, “Oh no! My poor Angelfish has a broken fin? I’ll have to take him to the hospital.” You tug your right hand out from under his shoulder where you grabbed him when you fell, and bring it up to cup his warm, pink cheek. He pouts, but leans into your touch. You take a moment to appreciate the adorable display before your cuteness aggression takes over and you tilt your head back to his neck. “Or maybe I’ll just have to eat you instead!”

“Wha-”

You sink your teeth into his flesh and whatever he was going to say is cut off with a gasp and his ‘injured’ arm suddenly regains its strength. You sooth the bite with a kiss and say, “Such a shame we’ll have to end the night here.”

And with that you start to pull back from his embrace.

Until his arms pull you back to his chest.

“Wait-no, Cutie, I – ” Rafayel stammers out, flustered and flushed. He averts his gaze, takes a quick breath and gazes at your eyes, pout in full force, but ineffective with his brightly tinged cheeks and ears. The look reminds you of an angry kitten. “Are you sure you’re not a siren, Cutie? Or maybe a piranha?”

You huff out a laugh. “Only for you, Angelfish. Does it still hurt? How about I kiss it better, Darling? Wouldn’t want to ignore my responsibilities.”

A strange strangled sound escapes his throat and his face somehow turns a deeper shade of red, his arms pressing your even closer against his cheat and you can feel his heart hammering against your own rib cage.

You won’t be leaving the couch anytime soon

-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--==-=

Later that night, when the time comes where responsible adults with things to do the next day would part ways, the two of you linger. The time comes that he should go home and get back to the studio and you begrudgingly walk him to the door, he saunters to your side and starts singing, “There are other ways of persuasion, there are other roads to the so-ul,” his arm snakes around your waist to hug from behind and he rests his chin upon your shoulder. “There is so much power, so much power, but there’s no puppet heee-re.”

“No, Circe, I can’t!” You reply, dramatically stepping away, “Back at home, my wife awaits for me, he is everything, my Rafayel-ie,” you awkwardly rhyme, “And he’s all my power, all my power, but its been 2 long mooooonths. Oh! 2 long months since I have seen my wife, and now the god of tides is out to end me life.” You kneel down and take his hand, like a knight would take the hand of a maiden, “So, I beg you Circe: grant us mercy, and let us puppets leave.”

“. . . Rafayel-ie?” he asks, mischievous grin adorning his features.

You shrug. “Oh please, Circe, let me go home to my handsome, talented, amazing wife, Rafayel-ie, inste-ad”

A laugh bubbles up even as red tints his ears and dusts his cheeks. Rafayel grips your hand and pulls you up, chest to chest, gazing into your own eyes. “There are many ways of persuasion, I can’t let you go, but how about I make you my bride instea-ad?”

You blush and bury your face in his neck this time, a strange sound escaping your throat.

“Ohhh I’ll make you myyyy bride instea-ad,” his voice is pure velvet and your legs turn to jelly.

“Rafayeeeeel . . .” your strangled voice whines, muffed from your spot against his neck, “Raffie, Angelfish, Darling, Sweetheart, Pearl of my eye, Fish of my Heart . . .”

“I remember actions of passion,” his melodious laugh bubbling up as he tries to carry the tune, “I have been in love once befoooore, Oh, she was a brilliant hunter! Her beauty and strength make my heart soooooar. Yeah, that’s the Cutie I adooooore,” he continued, relishing in the flush practically making your cheeks glow and the way your hand grip the back of his shirt.

If your brain wasn’t overheating, you may have laughed at his cheesy lyrics, but all you could think to do at the moment was press closer to his body in a vain attempt to hide your blush, overwhelmed by your fondness for this ridiculous, beautiful, doting, clingy fish.

Your voice is muffled as you say, “You’re the real siren here. How can I let you leave when you’re being all enchanting and sweet like this.” You feel his own embrace tightening around you at your words.  “So. Not. Fair.”

You’re suddenly hyperaware of the door to your apartment looming a few mere feet away from your back.

Nope. You can’t do it.

You take a step forwards, still buried in Rafayel’s sternum, and he follows your momentum, taking a step backwards and Rafayel makes an inquisitive hum. Then you take another step. Then another. And another. And another until you’ve walked him all the way back into your apartment, coming to a stop as his back bumps against your bedroom door.

You pull back just enough to look up at him and the soft look on his face dissolves whatever remaining shreds of reservations you had. His mouth rests in his charming smirk, high cheekbones dusted pink, purple locks falling artfully over his half-lidded, twilight colored eyes peeking out under his long eyelashes. Your heart skips a beat and your breath is stolen by the enchanting sight.

“What’s up, Cutie?” he asks and tilts his head to the side. “Haven’t had enough of me yet?”

“Never,” you reply, barely louder than a breath.

You watch as his eyes widen and feel his own heart stutter under your fingertips where they rest against his upper back. You glance down to his Adam’s apple as his swallows, throat quietly clicking.

“I could never have enough of you, Rafayel,” you say, earnestly, “And I never will have enough of you, my ridiculous, sassy, gorgeous, creative, brilliant, enchanting, sweet Rafayel.” With each adjective you say, his pink blush deepens, his eyes widen, and his fingers tremble ever so slightly.

“Ah – Cutie that’s – I –” Rafayel stumbles over his words. He averts his eyes, head tilting to the side as he tries to compose himself. He shakily takes a breath and you’re so close, you can feel the warm air he exhales fan across your cheek. He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and he turns back to you, gaze dropping to your lips for a second before he speaks again.

Just as you open your own mouth again.

In tandem you both say:

“Can I stay tonight?”

“Stay the night”

A beat passes.

Then your lips meet. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head and one of your hands reaches for the door handle of the room.

He pulls back from the kiss for a second when the door swings open.

“I will never, ever have enough of you either, Cutie,” Rafayel says lowly, voice dripping with sincerity and eyes full of adoration, and smile just barely tugging his lips towards his trademark smirk. Then he surges forward, diving back into your mouth while walking the two of you back into your room towards the bed.

Oh, you truly could never get enough of him.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The next morning, Rafayel’s phone is going off with a call from Thomas. You can distantly hear the custom ringtone demanding your boyfriend’s attention where you vaguely remember Rafayel throwing his clothes and you feel the bed shift and his warm body moving away from you. Alas, truly a tragic morning already. One of your eyes cracks open to see the grey light of the early morning just beginning to filter through your curtains.

“Who is it?” Rafayel asks, sleep making his voice rough. “Rafayel? No. Nope, I don’t know anyone by that name. Who am I? My name is nobody, nobody, nooo-body.” And you hear him end the call and a soft thud as he tosses his phone somewhere on the area rug under your bed. His warm weight returns to you, his head rests against your chest, warm breath from his nose fanning against your sternum, arms circling your torso, long legs tangling with your own. He releases a deep sigh like a content, affectionate, overgrown cat. One of your hands reaches up to scratch as his scalpe, and he snuggles ever closer as your fingers card though his hair. If he started purring, you doubt you’d be surprised.

“Mmmmm my Beloved Bride . . .” he slurs softy, somewhere between a murmur, a whisper, and a prayer.

You almost miss it. Your eyes snap open. You almost pause your movements in surprise. You almost think you dreamed the words up.

He hums against your chest again.

You glance down and stretch your neck forward and press a kiss to the crown of his head, feather light.

“My Beloved Husband,” you breath out.

As you fall back asleep, you feel him smile against your chest.

It's close to Ebb day and Raf is just not having a great time. He's moodier and more clingy than usual and, strangely, his usual graceful self is nowhere to he seen. Rafayel is tripping over himself, cursing his clumsy legs and wishing he could just swim around in the cool buoyant waters with his tail instead of having to act like a human. You, in an effort to make him feel a little better, tell him that you loves every version of him, human, lemurian, scales or toes, human, fish, shrimp, blobfish or blowfish. Rafayel scoffs at the comparison to a blobfish ot shrimp doesn't deny the blowfish comparison tho and you decide to reassure him just how much you love him.

It starts off innocent enough. He laments to you about how much his legs hurt - tingly and achy and stiffer than usual, like they're not his own. Complains that he kept tripping, missed steps while going up and down stairs, spilled his melon yogurt drink all over himself and the floor earlier before you arrived, and he had to lick his wounds (ice his bruised shin) and clean up the mess all alone. He's frustrated because usually the man is beauty and he's grace he's Mr. Linkon Sta- so he's not only sore from the looming effects of Ebb Day, but also because he keeps tripping and banging his legs into things.

Like Raf is all upset about the newfound clumsiness because he's usually so graceful and he has a few bruises/a large bruise on his leg. You both sit on the couch in the studio, Rafayel leaning into you pouting, and you are comforting him.

While cuddling, you drag his legs onto your lap and coddle him a little because "aww my poor fishie" and rubs up and down his legs because they feel prickly and sore. You vaguely wonder if there was some truth in the original Little Mermaid fairy tale where the mermaid constantly felt pain with every step she took on land. Rafayel mentions that he smacked his thigh into his desk earlier when he was sketching something. You get a brilliant idea while you absentmindedly run your hand along the part of his leg resting on your lap: A massage!

You offer to give him a massage to help with the bruising and tingly feeling in his legs. Rafayel pulls you into a clingy hug and happily accepts your offer with a fond smile.

So Raf takes off his pants, leaving on his boxer-briefs while you get up and head to the medicine cabinet and grab an ointment from the bathroom. You settle back on the couch and bring his legs back into your lap and you start rubbing it into the dark bruises marring his pale flesh. You're enjoying the feel of his slender tones legs and Raf is enjoying the attention bc he's Rafayel and the massage is also helping ease the leg pains from the upcoming Ebb Day. Everything is innocent and coupley and intimate in the way that doesn't need to go further or ask for more.

so far.

Until you start to work on his thighs and you notice how the bit of supple fat bouncing back with your ministrations combine with his lean muscles tensing as you work on particularly sensitive bruises and its all over at that point. You feel your resolve starting to slip until you see Rafayel's relaxed expression and you drag your mind back from the gutter. You strengthen your resolve to finish the massage without anything devolving when you know your boyfriend isn't feeling well right now.

You ask Raf to turn onto his stomach so you can get he back of his thighs and loosen up the tendons. You naively think the change in position will help you refocus. Yeah, because then you can just focus on helping relax his muscles and ease out some knots and loosen his sore tendons and not his beautiful face or the noises escaping his plush lips. He agrees to turn over - albeit a little reluctantly because he was getting comfortable and relaxed from all the attention and feeling your hands moving smoothly over his skin.

He does so and sighs into the plush cushions of the couch, practically melting as she eases the tension out of his muscles, fully blissed out. Meanwhile YOU ARE FIGHTING FOR YOUR LIFE. BC you had meant for this to be RELAXING DAMN IT! This was supposed to comfort her boyfriend and help him relax and feel at home in his skin again, but goddamn do you wanna BITE his upper thigh as soon as he turns over. Because, really, why on earth did you think this was a good idea and would help you refocus because now you have a his thighs and perfect butt resting across your lap and somehow YOU THOUGHT HIM TURNING AROUND WOULD HELP YOU FOCUS!? You bite your lip, take a grounding breath, and start reciting the Deep Space Hunter mantra over and over in your head.

Soon enough though, Raf is feeling relaxed and frisky as she loosens up the . He starts moving subtly against your lap and couch and soon enough you feel him against her lap. Your resolve snaps.

"Hey, Raf, Sweetheart," You say, voice somehow even, "Does that feel good?"

You watch his head nod, face still buried in the cushions, hips still moving against your lap. You hear him make a sound somewhere between a whimper and an 'mhmm'

And with that, you decide to just go for it and bite the back of Raf's upper thigh. He yelps and bucks against your lap. And it's all over from there. Innocent massage has been forgotten, you now have a ride-able fish dinner.

=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Soon Raf no longer has a single large bruise on his right thigh. He now has 3 dozen hickies scattered all around his thighs and ass. Fish got MAULED. He complains later, but it's not like he didn't get his own revenge on the you you the next day - Ebb Day.

Pouts that if he had his tail he "wouldn't have been mauled"

"There." You say casually.

"Huh?"

"You wouldn't have been mauled there. That still leaves your shoulders, pecks, neck, waist, back, hands - "

Rafayel sulked a bit when he was left on read, but he also couldn’t help the spark of excitement at getting to surprise you with a visit today. The two of you rarely got the chance to see each other since you had both been busy lately – the due date for new gallery exhibit for his paintings was fast-approaching with Thomas breathing down his neck, and you had been sent on back-to-back missions to No-Hunt zones because an increase in Wanderer sightings.

But today was different! Rafayel had managed to send Thomas on a wild eel hunt to track down a totally natural shade of a bright bold green that was – ok, just, technically – it was derived from something that technically counted as a potent poison, which made it kind of illegal, but that was the sacrifice made for art. AKA Thomas’s sacrifice of his entire day explaining to customs why he needed to import the poisonous pigment, and get off of Rafayel’s back about finishing those paintings.

So, instead of sitting on a ladder bent over his umpteenth canvas of the week, he happily sauntered over to your apartment door. He tightened his grip on the paper take-out bag in his left hand, excited to surprise you with your favorite drink and dish from the café the two of you usually met at and couldn’t wait to see your face when he presented the surprise. He preened at the thought as he tapped the code onto the keypad.

As he stepped through the threshold, he was greeted with the lovely sound of your voice singing melancholic lyrics with a piano accompaniment and clock-like ticking sound. Rafayel felt the corners of his lips turn up and he chuckled fondly. This must have been part of that musical you’d been obsessed with lately. You had been telling him to listen to it, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. He slipped out of his shoes and quickly found you in the kitchen. A pile of freshly washed dishes sat drying on the counter while you stood before them with a towel in hand, back to him. He quietly placed the bag of food on the table by the doorway as you lamented to the electric kettle and (probably cold) cup of tea in the seashell pink mug he had painted for you during a pottery painting date. It’s not often he catches you performing, so he decides to lean against the doorway and enjoy the show.

The duet with yourself ends with a spoken ‘very well’ and a few final notes from the piano and he watches as you drop the dishtowel on the counter, as though preparing for the next song. Rafayel tilts his head, watching as you take a deep breath.

“Penelope,” yearns the singer from her phone speaker.

“Is it you?” you sing, and Rafayel takes a breath, thinking for a second he’s been found out, “Have my prayers been answered?” and the music from your phone continues and you don’t turn around.

He settles back against the door frame.

“Youuu look different,” he startles” your eyes look tired, your frame is lighter, and your smile, torn,” you sing out, voice sounding gentle and warm. And DAMN does Rafayel feel a little called out. Sure, he hadn’t been sleeping a ton from those deadlines he had for his next show, sure he tended to put on a smile, but the one he had when he arrived was genuine.

“Is it really you, my love?” you sing as if he isn’t hanging on your every word, his cheeks and ears warming.

“I am not the man you fell in love with,” you change chords and body language turns self-conscious and guilty. “I am not the man you once adored, I am not your kind and gentle husband, and I am not the love you knew before.”

Rafayel crosses his arms and shifts from his spot in the doorway. Some little part of his mind is telling him to leave, to interrupt you, to not be here, but his feet are rooted to the ground, wrists chained to the bit of wall, his shoulder nailed to the trim.

“Would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change, would you love me all the same?” you continue, oblivious to the turmoil in your boyfriend, an continue to sadly serenade the kettle, “I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love.”

You move up an octave, “What kind of things did you do?”

Rafayel shifts uncomfortably, uncrossing and crossing his arms, and his gaze flicks away to the bag on the table then back to you as the question weighs on him. He wants to interrupt. Oh, how he wants to change your focus, to distract you from that question. Instead, he’s still stuck to the door frame, unwilling to break the moment, even as his heart sinks from the question.

Your voice lowers again to stand in for your imagined duet partner, “Left a trail of red on every island, as I traded friends like objects I could use, hurt more lives than I can count on my hands, but all of that was to bring me back to youuu,” you brush your fingers against the smooth pink surface of the kettle as you let the line sink in. “So, tell me, would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all I've dooooone? The things I can't undo, I am not the man you knew, I know that you've been waiting, waiting.”

As you mournfully sing along with those lines, Rafayel’s arms constrict around his torso, tighter with each admission of guilt, closing himself off from the past, the regrets that tug at the corner of his him, a gossamer caress of memories he can’t quite reach, and choices he’s made and the silent whispers of choices he doesn’t quite recall making. His jaw clenches and gaze averts from your back to roam around your kitchen, restless and uneasy.

He hears your quick intake of breath and higher, “If that’s true,” and his eyes snap back to your figure, still unaware of his presence. “Then could you do me a favor, just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace.”

Here it comes, he thinks expectantly, the moment ‘Penelope’ banishes him like the monster he is, tells him off for his crimes and deceptions, and this changed character’s story ends with him alone. He shifts again, bracing for the blow of rejection and disdain.

“See that wedding bed?” Your voice sounds slightly detached as you gesture behind you to the table where the takeout Rafayel brought awaits. “Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here,” you sing out as you sweep your arm back to your side, straight out from your shoulder, and with a quick flick of your wrist, direct your imaginary duet partner away.

There it is, he thinks sardonically, complete rejection for all he’s done, it only makes sense for every wrong he’s committed. His arms tighten around his chest just a little more, his jaw clenches just a little tighter, his breath comes a little shallower, the pain in his chest, just a little sharper.

You take another breath and drop an octave again, still unaware of your boyfriend curling in on himself behind you, your voice starting out just slightly quieter than usual, “How could you say this? I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat, carved it into the olive tree where we first met. A symbol of our love everlasting! Do you realize what you have asked me?”

You take in a breath; Rafayel distantly notices while flashes of faint, timeworn memories from times long past project themselves behind his twilight eyes and ancient wounds his body never felt bleed anew.

You belt “The only way to move it, is to cut it from its roots-” another quick breath.

“ONLY MY HUSBAND KNEW THAT, SO I GUESS THAT MAKES HIM YOOOOUUUUUUU!” Your voice rang out interrupting yourself, and you jostle Rafayel out of his thoughts, regrets, memories, and he freezes. His gaze snaps up from the point on the cupboard to your back again. You take another quick breath, while his own is stolen from his lungs. His heart skips a beat, feeling like it could shatter or burst from those words. His lips part but no words spring forth.

“I will fall in love with you, over and over again-” the notes start off soft as you duet the singer, growing more confident and willful as it continues. “I don’t care how, where, or when-”

Rafayel’s arms drop.

“No matter how long it’s been, YOU’RE MIIIIINE!” You belt out.

A lump forms in his throat. He tries and fails to swallow it.

“Don’t tell me you’re not the same person!” you fling your arm out in front of your body, take a quick breath, “You’re always my husband-“

His eyes burn and he can’t blink it away, can’t look away for a second, his very existence would cease if he did.

“And I’ve been waiiiiiting, waaiiiiiitiiiing,”

“Cutie,” his voice is a soft gasp, all he can get out really, while choking back the sob digging into his throat threatening to escape.

You don’t hear it, too caught up in the finale, continuing Penelope’s lines, “Waiiiiiiiting, waiiiiiiting-”

Rafayel takes a step away from the threshold towards you, legs unsteady, but he needs this, needs to be near you.

“Waiiiiiiiiting, Waiiiiiitiiiiing-”

Another step, his own choked up voice threatening to interrupt and shatter the moment.

“WAAAIIIIIITIIIIING! OHHHHHHHH!” You belt out, spinning around for dramatic effect, only then, do you see him.

You take in his stricken visage in a second. One hand is reaching out for yours, plush lips slightly agape as if about to call out to you, his watercolor eyes wide and wet, a blush igniting his ears. You sing the last line unconsciously, maybe because you had been listening to the soundtrack on repeat for the last month, maybe because you had sung these songs so much, they were second nature like a muscle memory, but one look at Rafayel’s face told you that you needed to finish it.

“Foooor,” you sing the last line, your voice gradually softening as you gently take his outstretched hand and close the distance between the two of you in half a stride. Your other hand comes up to cup his cheek. A tear squeezes out of the corner of his eye and you brush it away as you rub your thumb along his cheekbone under his eye. "Youuuuu."

As the music blasting from your phone swells, Rafayel feels his entire being scraped raw. Far too visible, far too exposed, far too transparent as his from crumbles and melts into your embrace, tucking his face into the space between your shoulder and neck. You can feel the shaky exhale of his breath ghost across your neck, goosebumps rising in its wake. Your own fingers gripping the fine fabric of his white shirt, dragging his body even closer, and his arms encircle you, his left coming to rest at the small of your back and his right wraps around your back to anchor on your left shoulder.

You listen for the next instrumental cue, committing to the moment, as the peak crests and pull back from him just enough for your lips to ghost along the edge of his jaw for the last few lyrics.

“How long has it been?” you murmur, expecting him to answer with the 2 months you were apart.

“800 years,” he replies, and you can hear the fond smile seeping into his voice.

You snort, a mental image of jellyfish climbing trees and shark grazing in a pasture flash in your mind, and pull back a little more, adjusting your position to rest your forehead against his, allowing you to gaze into the colorful eyes you adore.

“I love you,” you sing along, barely above a whisper. Rafayel joins the duet with the one line he can predict.

Your lips brush in a chaste kiss, enjoying the intimacy of the moment, embracing each other as the song fades out and the only things that exist in the world in that moment are the two of you. The deadlines don't exist, the wanderers, non-existent, the world outside of your kitchen, moot. 

Suddenly, the rich resounding cry of an organ blares from your phone as the Overture from The Phantom of the Opera takes over the moment. You both physically start from the loud overture, jerking closer into each other, and then dissolve into laughter. Your hands clutch onto his shirt as you almost double over, his own taller frame leaning over yours, shoulders shaking and giggles and snickers bubbling up from the emotional moment. The dramatic organ music and laughter is discordant, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

After a moment, and after managing to catch your breath again, you lean in close and place a kiss on the corner of his grin before detaching yourself from the hug to pause the music. Rafayel follows close, hugging you from behind and resting his head on your shoulder when you reach the counter.

“You know, Cutie, I thought I was here to surprise you,” he says with a teasing lit, into your hair, “I never expected that you would propose to me today.”

You pat his cheek behind you has you flip through your music app to throw on some background music, and settle on some soft classical instrumentals, “What proposal, Angelfish?”

“You called me your husband, Cutie,” he replies, "I'd say that counts."

“Those are the song lyrics, Sweetheart,” you say with a fond smile.

“I dun care,” he leans his head against yours.

“I thought you wanted a romantic proposal, with firework and rose petals and flying fish spelling out your name, maybe a seagull flash-mob on the beach” you tease back.

He huffs out a laugh against your neck and you can feel the fond smile gracing his face. “And I thought I was supposed to be the siren here, luring you away to your doom with my singing, not the other way around.”

“Well, you see, Angelfish, the thing about that, is that you did that ages ago,” your fingers card through his lavender locks to scratch at his scalp. “It’s only fair that I get a turn to lure you away, too.”

He hums in reply.

“What did you want to surprise me with, anyway?” You ask, curious about his surprise visit. “Weren’t you busy with a new collection for that upcoming gallery opening?”

“I sent Thomas on an errand so I could see my beloved muse,” he replies vaguely. Then freezes. He stands straight up and shifts to your side, “Ah, right, Cutie,” if he had a tail it would be wagging in excitement, “I stopped by our café, and got your favorite!” and with that he starts leading you to the table with the forgotten bag of take-out.

He takes your favorite dish and drink out of the bag, along with a container and drink for himself. Playfully, you clink the cups together and settle down to enjoy this treat.