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In the hours where the tides recede, pulling brackish water into the depths of the ocean, it is all too easy to get trapped in a shallow pool, or mired in a gully that’s just wet enough to stay comfortable as one waits out the pull of the sun and moon.
It is here that Dan Heng rests, dull fins winking in the dying sun’s rays, a fisherman’s ropes adorning his tail. The environment is pretty enough, he thinks, as pretty as a maze of mangrove roots and feathers of algae can be.
It is slightly less pretty, by virtue of trapping him, but he is a patient, tolerant creature, and so the wait for the tide’s return is no trouble at all.
The crunch of footsteps that pierce through fog alerts him to the existence of another creature within the vicinity. When he looks up, he sees a man—white hair, golden eyes, and a gentle, unruffled expression—approaching him.
Those eyes scan his entire body, noting the mess of rope that holds him here. They linger on his colorless scales, snag on his long, jagged nails.
“I’ve heard stories of your kind,” the man says, his voice languorous and low.
Dan Heng’s tail sweeps in a wide arc around him, smoothing mud and bowing roots. “Do you believe them?”
So often do mortals venture into the estuary in search of fantastical creatures that can grant every wish, only to fall prey to wicked beasts that sing of empty promises before dragging them under, never to return to the surface.
Gold eyes soften into something akin to a smile. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Dan Heng thinks he might pass him by, might continue deeper into the marshy waters in search of whatever he desires—for if he is here, it is surely power, or sex, or both—but the man merely kneels down and starts picking at the ropes that bite at his tail.
More foolish than the human’s presence here is his lack of preparation. To not even have a knife, when this bog is home to prowling beasts both magical and not, when the more common enemy is the willowy roots that can snap ankles or trap one beneath its slender branches, is beyond stupidity.
The human works quickly. Dan Heng is almost free of the constricting embrace of ropes when another set of footprints squelch in the muck.
“Don’t you know better than to mess with traps that aren’t yours, Jing Yuan?”
Low. Growling. The words are a caress down Dan Heng’s spine, a physical finger that strokes at his fins, making his tail flick.
Beside him, the man—Jing Yuan—stiffens. “Finders keepers,” he says smoothly, although he does not get up. Instead, his hands work faster, tugging at a knot that’s worked itself too tight with Dan Heng’s initial movement.
While Jing Yuan has no metal, the hunter has a sword, sheathed at his back, along with several smaller knives that hang from his belt. Gems encrust their hilts, betraying a status well beyond his dark and ragged clothes.
Even so, there is a smear of black ichor staining one of the daggers, and Dan Heng swallows a growing lump in his throat.
A true hunter, for beyond the misinformed and the foolish who venture into this misty land, there are also the people clever enough—or stupid enough—to make a living from the mythical creatures that make this place their home.
A thrill skitters down Dan Heng’s spine. The hunter wears a permanent scowl, his mouth a downward slash of arrogance. His eyes are a vibrant red-amber, haughty and proud, and something deep inside Dan Heng stirs at the sight.
“What is your purpose?” Jing Yuan demands. He withdraws his hand with a low hiss, the knot still tight against Dan Heng’s scales. “Sirens aren’t sought after, not in this way. Their scales aren’t valuable. Their skin crumbles to dust. Their hair never loses that sea-salt smell.”
Hearing the words, the truth laid bare, is as much of a shock as it is a comfort. They’re talking as if he doesn’t exist, yes, but they know him, know of his kind, and yet Jing Yuan crouches at his side, and the hunter does not go for his weapons.
They are not afraid.
Unbidden, a shiver pulls down Dan Heng’s body. His scales rustle with the movement, dry and gritty. A singsong keen catches in his throat, and Jing Yuan drags a hand down the scales that decorate Dan Heng’s arms, then drift to a stop atop his stomach, just above where flesh turns to scale, where his human body turns to fish.
“Lovely thing, won’t you sing for us?”
Heat flickers in Dan Heng’s belly. Sparks skim across his skin, reacting to Jing Yuan’s touch. It has been long, too long, since he’s indulged, since he’s yielded to his baser instincts, and this yearly cycle in particular has been…difficult. Too difficult to handle alone.
His breath comes shallow, quick, and he can see arousal tighten Jing Yuan’s pants, a wicked temptation.
The hunter puts a hand on his hip, surveying the scene before him: Dan Heng, stretched out and prone, with his tangled, creaturely hair and fingers that taper into claws. Jing Yuan, beside him, warm as a furnace, with those sleepy, gentle eyes.
“You would share him?”
Narrowed crimson eyes fix on Jing Yuan, and Dan Heng shivers at the intensity of it, even though he is merely caught in the crossfire. The part of him that is feral and wild, the part of him that makes his kind renowned for their wiles and allure, preens, hungry for a taste. He wants to dip his hands into the flesh of these men, wants to take and be taken, wants them to ravage him so thoroughly that when he returns to his people, they’ll crown him a king.
His vent contracts, an empty flutter. Flames race through his veins, lapping at his skin, as he observes. Sees them size each other up, then sees gold and ruby eyes turn to him.
Jing Yuan’s soft laugh is electrifying, is a bright thunderclap in the misty fog that clings to them, and it reels Dan Heng in, as if Jing Yuan is the siren instead of him.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
Lilted words, a caress so at odds with the laugh that still hangs in the air, yet just as enchanting.
Again, Dan Heng’s vent clenches on nothing, throbbing to the wild beat of his heart, and he struggles against the wave of hunger that claws at his being.
Finally, the hunter nods, short and sharp, and Jing Yuan sighs, gusty and needy. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” he says, his hands motionless on Dan Heng’s tail.
“Blade.”
Jing Yuan sucks a breath in, and Dan Heng feels his hand twitch from where it rests on his scales. “I’m Jing Yuan,” he says to Dan Heng, and he realizes with no small amount of satisfaction that this is the first time they’re both looking at him, and he fairly crumples under the weight of their combined stares.
“Dan Heng,” he manages, and even from his position as he lays, entangled in the trap, he can see the shiver work its day down Blade’s body from the trill in his voice.
Siren’s magic, ancient and powerful, flows through his veins. It makes itself known in his every movement, sharing the confines of his skin with lust, with desire.
Dan Heng barely has time to take another breath before he’s yanked into a kiss; while the tug is rough, Jing Yuan’s hands on his body are soft, gentle, and it’s a titillating dichotomy of pleasure that grows and grows, curling around his bones, wrapping its webbed fingers around his tail and fins.
The rope, too, tugs at him. The bite of it is thrilling rather than cutting, is more fuel to the flame as he struggles to stay upright. But Jing Yuan holds him steady, holds him with firm hands as he slicks his tongue against Dan Heng’s, licking into his mouth with a breathy keen.
Dan Heng feels, rather than sees, Blade crouch beside him. He feels the ropes around him tighten, then slacken and fall off entirely, their frayed ends an exquisite drag across scale and flesh.
Blade’s voice is harsh, impatience roughening his tone, and his hand falls upon Dan Heng’s tail, stroking, caressing. “Strip for us, pretty creature,” he says, his voice imploring.
The hunger in Dan Heng’s blood grows steadily stronger when Jing Yuan does not move, when Jing Yuan nips at Dan Heng’s lips, drawing blood. Blood, that he knows will only serve to stoke the flames of need higher. Blood, that will keep Jing Yuan coming back, even after this day has ended.
He does not mind it, he thinks, if these two men come back to him. Does not mind it, especially if they give him more, more than just this warm mouth on his, more than just the shockingly sharp teeth and gentle tongue that plays in his mouth, making him want. Making him need.
At their side, he hears Blade’s clothes rustle, hears the dark-haired hunter shuffle around, and then a hand—rough, calloused—grazes the flesh around his vent, merely a whisper of touch.
It’s decadent, wickedly alluring, and Dan Heng moans into Jing Yuan’s mouth as Blade strokes at the folds of his vent.
A rush of cold air replaces Jing Yuan’s lips. It’s sharp, biting, more so than the teeth and tongue, and Dan Heng whines, desperate. He wants—fuck, he wants—a finger in his vent, a mouth on his, wants to be pushed to the ground, fucked until he becomes one with the soggy marsh around him, and he gasps around barely formed words, half-blind with want.
He barely catches the faux-annoyed glare that Jing Yuan levels at Blade before he registers pale flesh. Blade is a mess of scars, of jagged, short scrapes and smooth shallow slices long-since healed. Blade’s cock, too, is thick and heavy, but unlike the rest of his skin, it’s flushed red with arousal. Already, a bead of precum shines at the tip.
Desire pulls at Dan Heng like strings; he wants, so very badly, to suck Blade’s cock to the back of his throat, to reduce this harsh cutout of a man to desperation and wanton moans. But even though he is free of the trap, even though his need pulls at his body in a physical tug to get closer, to drink kisses from glistening lips and bestow pleasure from his own, he waits.
He is a siren, he reminds himself. He cannot—oh, but he wants—but he cannot, and so he lets Blade pull him into a kiss, lets Blade knock Dan Heng’s hand away from his cock with a growl, and succumbs.
Where Jing Yuan is all soft edges and gentle serenades, and the tug of his mouth is perhaps the only unforgiving thing about him, Blade is jagged, is rough as he sweeps in, taking Dan Heng’s mouth with vicious pleasure.
It’s a wicked sensation, full of heat and need. More blood pools in Dan Heng’s mouth, as salty as the open ocean. Their teeth clack, and Blade snarls, a savage, ruthless sound that makes Dan Heng burn hotter, burn wilder.
Jing Yuan shifts to kneel behind Dan Heng, comforting and steady, and Dan Heng pulls away from the clash of teeth and tongue to look—Jing Yuan is naked, those half-lidded eyes fixed on Dan Heng, before he looks behind Dan Heng to Blade, a challenge clear in his gaze.
These humans are both dangerous, yes, but Jing Yuan exudes something timeless, something ancient in its ferocious patience. It’s a dissolute pull, a whispered promise, and Dan Heng wants it more than he wants Blade’s kisses, so he twists, tearing free of Blade’s grasp as the hunter growls in annoyance.
Jing Yuan’s cock is hard, glistening with precum, and as Dan Heng watches, it twitches, a tempting sight.
Dan Heng flicks his eyes upward. A golden gaze. A lazy smile.
“Well? What are you waiting for, Dan Heng?”
His name sparks lightning through his entire being, and however much his blood sings to drag these humans beneath the waves, to be the siren he knows the folklores sing of, both the wane of the tides and his ravenous hunger are too big an obstacle to overcome. Today, they will not die. Dan Heng will partake in this pleasure while it is alive and fresh, instead of waiting until the breath leaves their lungs, until they still at the bottom of a watery grave.
Driven by that incessant hunger, he leans forward, paying Blade’s enraged snarl no mind, and licks at the tip of Jing Yuan’s cock.
It’s salty. A little bitter, a lot good. Jing Yuan’s head falls back in pleasure as Dan Heng suckles, as he wraps his hand around the base, feeling warm, velvet skin beneath his cold hands. He pulls moans from Jing Yuan’s lips as he works, his hands stroking, pumping where his mouth cannot reach.
Curving around Dan Heng’s waist, Blade’s fingers find his vent, and a burst of stars scatter beyond Dan Heng’s vision. Smooth, raven-blue hair tickles Dan Heng’s back, and he feels Blade’s breath hot on his neck.
Dan Heng echoes Jing Yuan’s moans, sealing his lips around his cock. He sucks; it’s messy, it’s wet, and it’s just what he needs. He forces himself deeper, forces himself to take more, and he cups Jing Yuan’s balls in a gentle, careful hand.
Above him, there’s a choked gasp of pleasure, and Jing Yuan’s hips roll forward, pressing the head of his cock to the back of Dan Heng’s throat.
It’s—fuck, he’s coughing, and it’s a little too much, too soon. But Jing Yuan doesn’t chase Dan Heng’s mouth as he pulls off. He lets Dan Heng blink away the haze as best he can, gasping.
All he can see is Jing Yuan, his cock bobbing before him, dripping now with saliva and precum, and Dan Heng whines, so very needy.
“What is it?” Jing Yuan murmurs, and he strokes himself, pressing the head of his cock to Dan Heng’s cheek, sighing as Dan Heng licks at the head. “What do you want, Dan Heng?”
“Want—” he’s slurring, he’s lost to the fog of need, but Jing Yuan is patient, more patient than Blade’s touch as Blade presses his advantage and plunges two fingers deep into his vent.
His vision goes, nothing but a sea of black fog. Dan Heng is adrift, a lost vessel among its endless expanse. When Blade pets across sensitive muscle, Dan Heng pitches forward; when Blade draws out, Dan Heng is caught in a whirlpool, unable to move until Blade thrusts back in again, crooking his fingers up, and Dan Heng cries out in pleasure, a trembling warble.
“Speak, little siren,” Jing Yuan coaxes, dragging his cock against Dan Heng’s lips. “Tell me what you need.”
“My mouth,” Dan Heng gasps, and his words are swallowed by pleasure; he is drowning, held up by Blade’s fingers alone, and it’s good, a swirl of heavy pleasure that coalesces in his belly. Blade’s fingers are heavy in his vent, and the weight of him against his back is so very solid, so very there. “Need you—need you to fuck my mouth.”
Jing Yuan’s groan is a whisper of a thing, laced with desire, and there is blatant need taut in his breath, lining his flesh. When he pushes into Dan Heng’s mouth again, he keeps a hand pressed to the back of Dan Heng’s head, fingers tight as he tugs at tangled, matted hair.
What was a thick, languid fog before is now razor-sharp pleasure soaked in thorns. Dan Heng whines, he keens, fingers sinking into the strong muscle of Jing Yuan’s thighs as he rocks his hips, pushing his cock deeper into Dan Heng’s mouth. Satisfied moans drip from Jing Yuan’s lips, and Dan Heng is too dazed to focus on his expression; he yields, he submits, and he’s as pliant as seaweed in the current as Jing Yuan fucks into his mouth, his cock pressing against his throat.
“Good,” Jing Yuan murmurs, his voice silky. “Just like that, Dan Heng.”
Hard, fast, it’s blindingly good, a debauched sort of intimacy that Dan Heng revels in. Bowed over his back, Blade’s fingers push deep into his vent, spread him wide, and Dan Heng is lost in the dual sensations; he cannot gasp in pleasure, for Jing Yuan thrusts into his mouth; he cannot rock back against Blade in a plea for more, for he is well and truly pinned between their warm bodies.
Rough hands pull Dan Heng back, back until Jing Yuan lets him go with a crackling sigh, until the juncture of Dan Heng’s tail and skin presses against the thick length of Blade’s cock, wet and warm. It’s not unwelcome, but he’s empty, even more so now with Jing Yuan a pace away, his golden eyes fixed on the hunter behind him.
“Think you can have him all to yourself?” Blade’s voice is a low growl. It tugs a shiver down Dan Heng’s spine, his scales rustling. It’s soft. Sensuous. Completely at odds with the arrogance that still laces his words. Dan Heng looks back over his shoulder—how can he not?—and Blade smirks at him, a sharp slash of teeth against the foggy backdrop.
Blade sits on a throne of his clothes, his jacket spread across the ground, his legs spread over the jacket, and his grin is smug, lazy, as he tracks the sweep of Dan Heng’s eyes, the way they catch on his scarred body, the peak of his nipples.
“Come here, little siren,” Blade says, and Dan Heng is deliciously trapped, is unable to move as Jing Yuan pushes him back to Blade’s chest. Jing Yuan once again fills his mouth, thick and heavy, and Blade grinds against the small of his back, warm and unyielding.
Calloused hands crawl up his body, caressing his fins, pressing into the divots of his scales, and Jing Yuan fucks into Dan Heng’s mouth, pleasure written across his face. It’s so much, is blindingly good. That haze of release presses ever closer, and yet it’s not enough. Blade’s cock twitches against flesh and tail, an undeniable allure that drips precum onto flesh, and Dan Heng moans and shudders, caught between their bodies as they use him to chase their own ends.
Above him, Jing Yuan gasps, easing Dan Heng off his cock with a broken moan. “Can’t,” he bites out. “Your mouth is—is too good. So good.”
The words are a luxurious caress down the length of his body, and Dan Heng groans, he whines at the loss. It’s devastating, and he’s unmoored, empty, without anything to fill his vent or his mouth, and even the wet press of Blade’s cock on his lower back doesn’t ease the ache.
“Not like that,” Blade mutters.
Now that Dan Heng is free of Jing Yuan, he lets himself be pushed to the ground, the dirt and pebbles beneath his back softened by the map of clothing that stretches across the sands. Gentle hands, so at odds with Blade’s rough exterior, roll him until Dan Heng is facing Blade, until Dan Heng looks up into blazing carmine eyes.
“You were caught in my trap,” Blade says, and he pushes two fingers into Dan Heng’s vent. “That means you’re mine.”
Choking, smothering fullness. Dan Heng gasps, he keens, he whines for more as Blade works him open, as Blade suckles kisses to his neck, working down to his chest. His body is taut, strung tight with pleasure from earlier affections, and when Blade licks at the dull scales scattered around his waist, Dan Heng moans, aching and low.
He sobs, arching his back, wanting more, more of those wicked fingers, delighting in the push and pull, the way Blade strokes at smooth, delicate muscle, trailing kisses back up his body.
He’s not so far gone in hazy delight to where he can’t see Jing Yuan get up, and Dan Heng tracks the movement, watching as Jing Yuan settles behind Blade with a drowsy little smile.
When Blade gasps, Dan Heng keens, clenching around those fingers in him which curl and then still, and Dan Heng watches in rapt attention as Blade’s face shatters into broken rapture. He knows—and oh, what a lovely thought that is, as Blade shudders against Dan Heng’s body, as his cock twitches, weeping precum.
“Stop,” Blade snaps, and Jing Yuan laughs, the sound static in the air.
“Don’t like it, siren hunter?” Jing Yuan asks, and Blade scowls, burying his face into the curve of Dan Heng’s shoulder, mouthing at flesh to muffle a moan.
Still, Blade’s body twitches, and breathy little gasps escape him, and Dan Heng breathes a satisfied little warble. He’s trapped under Blade’s body, yes, but Blade is just as trapped beneath Jing Yuan’s fingers. But that small notion fades away as Blade continues to push into Dan Heng’s vent, and he moans into Dan Heng’s chest, eyes dazed.
“You said the siren is yours, yes?” Jing Yuan murmurs. He does something that has Blade gasping, something that has Blade’s fingers begin to tremble from within Dan Heng’s vent. “But consider—you can be mine.”
Blade’s body jerks, a broken moan torn from his lips. His mouth moves, yet nothing but short, gasping breaths pour out, and he does not stop the movement of his fingers, does not even slow as he works Dan Heng toward completion with frightening dexterity.
Not once has Dan Heng been brought to the edge so fast. Not once has he let himself yield to the throes of pleasure in such a reckless fashion.
Blade’s fingers press deeper, and he spreads them, stretching Dan Heng wide. At every movement, every whispering press of fingers against soaked flesh, Dan Heng writhes and moans, lost to a riptide of bliss. He wants to be flat on his back, he wants to have Blade fucking into him so gods-damned deep that he can’t swim tomorrow. He wants, he wants, and it’s so blindingly good, so wickedly delightful that he wraps a hand around Blade’s wrist, urging him deeper, demanding more.
“Please,” he gasps, and Blade curls his fingers up in an exquisitely decadent motion.
“Please, what?” The words trail off into a breathy moan, and Dan Heng keens, delighted. How lovely it is to be part of the reason this stoic hunter breaks, how wonderful it is to lose oneself in the effortless pleasure it provides.
Another gasp, one Dan Heng echoes as he struggles to climb atop his mounting desire. “Need you,” he says, and it’s true; he’s achingly empty, all too aware of Blade’s cock pressed into the scales of his body, and he moans as Blade shifts, as Blade turns his head to hiss behind him, and, in one smooth motion, rises up over Dan Heng’s body and sheathes himself fully in his vent.
Oh, it’s so good, is exquisite; he’s so full, and everywhere is Blade, Blade, Blade. Dan Heng thrashes, his hair snagging on buttons, on zippers, until Blade pins him down with such ruthless ferocity that he stills, shocked into submission.
Above him hovers a fallen angel, his blue-black hair a thick curtain around them, and Blade presses Dan Heng deeper into the ground, into the hard-packed soil barely soothed by threadbare fabric. Their shared breaths are shallow, are quick and panting, and Dan Heng whines, he moans as Blade thrusts, hard and sharp, into his vent.
Although he’s a creature of the ocean, although the hidden magics of the depths run in his veins, Dan Heng is a fiery phoenix, a scorching seraph. He’s burning alive, a charred remnant of what he once was, ash spinning into the sky. Blade is gasping, is shuddering above him as he fucks in and out with frenzied abandon, and Dan Heng looks beyond the sweep of his hair just in time to see Jing Yuan sink into Blade’s body.
The weight is heady, is firm and good. Dan Heng moans as Blade gasps, as Blade sinks deeper into Dan Heng’s body with a broken shudder.
Oh, he’s so full, and he wants nothing more than to sink into the earth, supported only by Blade’s cock and Jing Yuan’s weight, arms around his shoulders to keep him up. He wants—ever so badly, he wants—wants them to keep going, to never stop, and he writhes and keens under Blade’s iron grip as he’s fucked, a brutal sort of pleasure.
It’s a short stretch of eternity later that’s heralded by Blade’s mouth on his, that’s accompanied by the tang of blood, by velvet-soft lips. With it, Blade’s movements stutter, and he moans and twitches, shaking, and Dan Heng welcomes that shattering orgasm that rushes through Blade’s body like a sweeping gale.
Limp, Blade presses close, his breath ragged in Dan Heng’s ear, shuddering as Jing Yuan takes what he needs; he is ruthless, pounding into Blade’s body. Blade shakes, burying his teeth into Dan Heng’s shoulder with a groan.
It’s that prick of pain that topples Dan Heng over the edge. His vent contracts around Blade’s cock as he gasps, his orgasm a wave of euphoria that breaks him, shatters him, and pieces of himself spin across the sky in a sparkling display.
It’s a frightening revelation. Every time Jing Yuan sinks into Blade’s body, Blade moans, and Dan Heng keens, dazed, as Blade’s cock twitches inside his vent. His orgasm is a lingering thing, drawn out and rhythmic in its resonance, and it is only when Jing Yuan pulls, that heavy weight lifting, does Dan Heng sigh in dazed satisfaction.
He floats in a haze of sensation; his fingers are light, his tail even lighter, and as such, he doesn’t quite realize when Blade pulls out until he sees Jing Yuan above him, his face flushed and smug.
He strokes at his cock with a quick, casual hand, but his breaths come heavy and labored, and golden eyes drift closed. For a charged heartbeat, all is silent. Not even the creatures of the estuary dare breathe. Dan Heng’s world narrows; it is only him, him and Blade and Jing Yuan, and when Jing Yuan shatters with a low groan, spilling onto Dan Heng’s belly, they all exhale a weary breath.
Dan Heng swipes at the milky liquid on his stomach, pressing his fingers to his mouth, and Blade looks away with a soft exhale, almost a scoff.
“Problem, hunter?” Jing Yuan asks.
Blade’s huff is brusque, but his voice is less so as he stands up and picks at his clothing, mud-strewn and damp. “No, but it’s late, and I need to reprime the traps so I don’t miss out on something of real use.”
Clouds gather in Jing Yuan’s eyes, a veritable storm. “Surely this was well worth your time?”
“Perhaps.”
With wide eyes, Dan Heng takes in their entire exchange. His whole body aches—his vent and tail, yes, but also his skin, where the cold nips at the blunt memories of teeth embedded in flesh. How casually these humans discuss matters of carnal pleasure. How blithe they treat sex. His kind are a feral species, and yet…these—
Cold sweeps over his body, and the incoming tide laps at his tail as Jing Yuan turns halcyon eyes on him. “And you, ocean devil? Would you say it was worth the effort of draping yourself in ropes like they’re the finest of human jewelry?”
Jing Yuan’s eyes twinkle—amusement shimmers there, but no judgment, and Dan Heng does not like the sensation of feeling seen. It sticks to him worse than the spend on his belly. He shifts, feeling cold mud sink between scales.
“I didn’t mind it,” he admits, and Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle.
From his side, Blade looks on with a scowl. “I’ll leave the trap here,” he mutters. “Maybe something is stupid enough to fall in it again.”
A shiver claws its way up Dan Heng’s spine. An open invitation—for more. For both of them.
But it’s dark, and the tide whispers in with songs of home, and the fog creeps in faster too. Dan Heng merely watches as Jing Yuan takes his leave, not a hair out of place as he shrugs on a loose white jacket and chestnut colored pants. Blade, too, stalks away, his black coat hanging off his shoulder, and it is only then that Dan Heng is able to slip back under the blanket of brackish water, making for the open sea.