Mermaid's Cove

11

Moria

We sit in his castle, but nothing is the same. The smell of my son, like the ocean and me lingers but is fleeing. Youin sits across from me, at a desk, his heheh on his hands, which are spread open in front of him, as if he were holding something.

I close my eyes.

It's hard, I guess, trying to chase after a love long gone. If it were ever ours. What is love? What do either of us know of love?

"Youin." I whisper.

His gaze is ripped from his hands, up to me. They soften, and glaze over. He goes back to his hands. His long, elegant fingers.

The melancholy sits in the room with us fully formed and older than either of us. I wish I had some rum. A cigar. Something. Something to take edge off.

"Cigar?" He asks, a bubble of water swirling into its shape, and solidifying. I nod softly, standing, crossing the room. I take it from his hand gingerly, careful not to touch him.

I put it to my lips, and search my pockets for my lighter. He offers his instead, the flame lit, a small, derisive smile on his face. I lean down, letting my cigar make contact, blowing out a plume of smoke.

The next steps, I think, will be to get drunk, and get naked. Sex is the way we communicate after all. It's easier. The base nature of us both.

I begin unbuttoning my shirt. It's not unpleasant at all. Sex with Youin is wholly gratifying. Pleasure that can't be measured.

Youin looks up at me, those blue eyes troubled. He seems torn. Between what he was and what he is.

"Moria...you are truly afraid of me?"

I sit in his lap, and stroke his hair. I must calm him of course.

"Your love is violence," I murmur, taking his ear between my teeth. "And before I did not mind as much, because I loved violence."

"...And now?"

I pull back and smile. "And now I have changed."

He looks away. "So have I. I am closer to what I was. Before. Before I met you."

I nod, and open his robe. He shifts, and looks down at my hand, at the hand softly touching his broad chest. I kiss his neck. He's tense.

"I was not afraid," he says suddenly. "But I did long for you."

Our noses touch, as I look him in his eyes. He looks back into mine. His hand raised, I watch it. His eyes dart to it, as if he can't control it, as if he must watch it too.

He cups my cheek tenderly, his thumb swiping against my cheek. I close my eyes. I don't have a home. The Demise is as close as I could ever get. And him. His touch. His house is on fire, submerged in flames and ash but it's my home.

And I forgot...every house is not on fire.

"Forgive me..." he murmur. "I did so miss you, Mine."

Mine. That wretched name. That beautiful title. His. Why can't I shake him? He would never let me would he? And why do I care? Why am I not angry as I should be? I am the great captain Moria how could I be so weak?!

"Did you kill the Alanteans?"

His eyes sweep my face, his long flowing hair falling into his face a bit. "...Hm."

I nod. He's beautiful. Chiseled from stone, a true god. He is perfect. His large hands curl my face, keeping me still. He would've had me on my knees by now, taking him as deep as I can go and deeper.

I am your god. I know what you can take.

And I feel alive at the thought. How pathetic, but something zings along my spine.

"Will you take me, water god?" I ask, trying not to sound desperate.

"Soon. I must take you in first. How many years has it been? 7? 8?"

"10," I whisper. "A decade since you were taken. Since you left."

"Oh..." he coos, his lashes hiding his eyes. "You missed me didn't you? Missed my touch as much as I missed yours?"

I shake my head, pure defiance. He chuckles boisterously. "I would...imagine you. Your form would take shape in my mind."

"I was doing fine without you," I glance away, pursing my lips.

Youin, of course, takes my defiance in stride, as he usually does laughing once more, kissing my lips gently, a light peck.

"Is that so," he murmured. "So you carried that child. My son. And birthed him. All on your own?"

I nod softly.

He hums sadly, pulling me into his chest. "My poor baby. Oh mine...it was hard for you was it not? Not having your god to comfort you? Guide you?"

I close my eyes, balling my fists. fucking bastard.

Yes.
It fucking was.

He would've held me. He would've been an asshole the whole time but at least...I would've been alone.

"I know," he whispers. "Moira...I should've been there. But now I'm here. And you will never...be alone again."

And it's a promise and a threat and we both know it. He wraps me in his arms, cocoons me, but he doesn't fuck me. He doesn't even try. He just holds me. There seems to be two sides to him now. The primordial side, all wrath, and hard edges, cruelty. And the side I made, shaving down his hard edges with my soft skin, rounding him out, softening him, just a bit—just enough.

"Treat me kindly," I ask once more.

And he just holds me, because he isn't one to lie.