Fic: Man Overboard
Man Overboard
Written for i_reversebang & inspired by marourin's stunning art.
Wordcount: 2200
Look like a motherfucking tourist, Arthur thinks as he takes inane photos of the Pacific Ocean. Look like a motherfucking tourist having the best goddamn time of his life.
Arthur keeps the disposable camera up, photographing random ship parts as he scans the crowd through the viewfinder. No one looks familiar, but that doesn't mean anything. He could have picked up an entirely new tail after ducking into that gift shop to shuck his jacket and tie.
An elderly couple importunes him for a photo. He takes their iPhone and forces a smile. "Say cheese!"
As he returns the phone, they gush about the tour company. They've gone whale watching on three different companies and this one is definitely the best. They saw so many whales with this company. They love whale watching. Arthur smiles and nods and excuses himself to buy an overpriced bag of stale trail mix, which he eats because he's starving.
Being on a boat that's heading a fair distance from shore is problematic if any of the men hunting Arthur are on it with him. But if not, then it buys him time to figure out his next move, and, if he's really lucky, may convince them he's left California altogether.
No guarantees either way. Arthur takes a deep breath and surreptitiously searches for life rafts and vests. Might be helpful if he needs to make a water exit.
"We're seeing some movement over the starboard side, ladies and gentlemen!" the captain booms over the microphone, prompting a tourist stampede.
Arthur moves to a less crowded part of the ship. He peers over the edge of the railing and catches a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye.
He narrowly doges a knife thrust in the back, but can't quite avoid a second swipe that grazes his bicep.
There are two men, each armed and staring at him with cold intent. They're clearly hired professionals. Even if Arthur cries out for help, by the time anyone reaches him, he'll definitely be dead or bleeding out. He's unarmed, fatigued after seventy-two hours on the run, and outnumbered.
So he climbs over the railing of the ship and jumps.
He hits the water at a bad angle-belly first. The impact slams the breath out of him, leaves him dazed as he falls deeper into the ocean.
He twists uselessly in the water, disoriented and confused about which way is up. Something very large swims into view-a shark or a manatee or seal, maybe. Arthur doesn't know much about marine life and he's too busy trying not to drown to care.
Whatever it is, Arthur flings his arms out wildly, hoping to catch hold and stop spinning in the water. It pulls away, but he manages to snag onto something-something hard and warm that tears away from the creature.
The object fits neatly into the palm of his hand-almost adjusting itself to fit. A strange tranquility settles over him, his panicked survival instincts calming to a low murmur. Everything's going to be alright, the object seems to whisper to him, which is when Arthur realizes he can breathe underwater.
"What the fuck," Arthur says, his words traveling away from him in air bubbles through the water. Is he still in a dream? He'd checked his totem before he got on the ship. Maybe someone knocked him out and put him under.
This isn't the time or the place to be contemplating this, Arthur decides. First: get to air. Second: get to land. Third: figure out what the hell is going on.
The creature is gone, only the shadow of a fish's tail and what Arthur could swear is a human torso visible in the distance. Probably a trick of the light underwater.
Arthur swims up to the surface of the ocean, relieved at breathing normally again. The ship he was on is sailing away, seemingly nobody having noticed his fall--aside from his attackers. Hopefully, they think he's dead or on the way to it.
Arthur lifts the mysterious object he's clutching out of the water. It's a faceted red gem attached to black necklace made of a material he's never seen before. After a moment of consideration, he fastens the necklace around his own neck and feels that serenity settle over him again. His body feels lighter, more comfortable in the water. Swimming is as easy as walking.
He sets off towards the shore, which is north northeast. There will be a deserted coastline with some rocks he can recover on if he swims ten minutes. How he knows all this information he has no idea, but he suspects it has something to do with the gem hanging around his neck.
* * * * *
Arthur makes his way to land, exhausted but alive. He rolls his totem ten times and comes to the uneasy conclusion that this is indeed reality, and he likely owes his life to a sea creature with magical jewelry.
He pockets the necklace and makes his way into the closest town, which turns out to be Monterey. It's filled with plenty of tourists, which means Arthur fits right in, even in his damp, bedraggled state.
He lifts a couple of wallets and buys himself a truly hideous pair of board shorts along with a Hawaiian button-down. The costume is completed by a sun visor, flip flops, and aviators. His hair is even drying curly.
Arthur allows himself the luxury of eating a big, greasy dinner and checks into a motel. He should probably keep moving, but everything aches and he's had maybe twelve hours of sleep in the past three days. He's pushing the limits of what a body can physically take.
He heads into the shower and examines the necklace. For the first time, he notices that the gem seems to pulse, almost like a heartbeat. When he opens his mouth, he finds he can, once more, breathe through the water.
Unsettled, he steps out and hides the necklace underneath the sink. He towels off, eager to pass out, and opens the door.
There's a man in the bedroom, ransacking the drawers in search of something. Arthur shifts into a fighting stance, ready to use his wet towel to bludgeon. He kicks the bathroom door shut behind him quietly.
"I believe you have something of mine," the intruder says in a low, husky voice. He's muscular and heavily tattooed, ink mostly visible through the thin white tank top he's wearing. He doesn't look like a thug or a hired gun here to kill Arthur, which means he's probably interested in the only thing of value currently in Arthur's possession: the necklace.
"There's nothing here," Arthur says, gesturing to the hotel bedroom. "You've looked through my stuff."
The man moves with supernatural speed, pinning Arthur back against the door before he can react. "You lie," he murmurs, bending forward to sniff along Arthur's neck. "I can smell it on you."
"Who are you?" Arthur asks, though he has a sneaking suspicion. The tattoos look familiar, reminiscent of the markings on a fish tail.
The man pauses, breath hot against Arthur's throat. "You may call me Eames."
"I'm Arthur." Arthur stays very still. They're roughly the same height, with Eames having a small weight advantage. Under normal circumstances, Arthur is confident he could take Eames down. But Arthur's buck naked and not in top fighting form.
There's also the reaction Arthur's cock is having to Eames' physical proximity--that is, getting hard. Because Eames is fucking gorgeous, and Arthur's mouth fills with saliva at the thought of sucking those perky red nipples through Eames' tank top.
It's a completely inappropriate line of thought when one is being threatened, but the cock wants what it wants.
"Arthur," Eames purrs in a way that makes Arthur's dick twitch desperately. "Where is it?"
"I'm not sure what you're looking for," Arthur replies, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. "You'll have to be more specific."
Eames presses Arthur back against the door with a palm to his sternum. His arm is like steel-hot, tattooed steel. "You know. You took it from me."
Arthur brings his arms up and twists, breaking free of Eames' hold. He savors the flash of surprise in Eames' gaze and dances away a few feet, retakes a fighting stance. "Let's say I don't have it, but I know where it is. What's that information worth to you?"
Eames' eyes flickering across Arthur's body from his mouth to his chest to his semi-hard cock and back up again. Eames takes a step back towards the bed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk as he peels his tank top off. "This is what you want?"
Arthur stares, slack-jawed, as Eames kicks off his shoes and pants, revealing mouth-watering miles of flesh, traced in dark ink. This is not where he thought the negotiation would go.
Arthur stumbles forward into a biting kiss, even as his mind is abuzz with how bad of an idea this all is. Not that he's in a state to listen-he's sleep-deprived, full up with greasy food, and horny as hell.
Eames is neither gentle nor passive. He kisses Arthur messily, wet with sharp bites to Arthur's lower lip. He wrestles Arthur's body closer, grip bruising as he shoves a leg between Arthur's, grinds a growing erection against Arthur's thigh.
Determined not to let Eames win the battle for dominance, Arthur pushes Eames backwards onto the bed and straddles his knees. Eames doesn't try to fight. He wraps his arms around Arthur so that the lengths of their bodies are pressed together, both of them writhing on the bed.
I shouldn't be doing this, Arthur thinks as he breaks away from kissing Eames, feeling lightheaded. There are a million reasons why he shouldn't, but his brain can't seem to articulate a single one when he's got such a perfect set of pecs beneath him, skin that just demands to be licked.
So Arthur slides down and fastens his mouth to one red nipple, sucking to his heart's content. There's groaning, though Arthur isn't sure whether it's emanating from him or Eames. Not that it matters. He switches to the other nipple, rasping lightly with teeth, and feels pressure on his shoulders pushing him towards Eames' dick.
Arthur obliges, bends down to take a beautiful, hard cock into his mouth. Eames is slippery with precome, seawater salty, and Arthur laps it up. Powerful hands come down on Arthur's head as Eames begins to thrust. Arthur barely avoids gagging as Eames fucks his face, struggles to breathe as Eames holds him down.
Eames gives a few last, wild thrusts down Arthur's throat, indifferent to Arthur's choking as he comes. Arthur swallows most of it and sits up, coughing and hard enough to cut glass.
Arthur spits in his hand and haphazardly thumbs at Eames' hole. Eames watches Arthur through slitted eyes, spreads his legs, and bites his own plush lower lip when Arthur slides in.
It's raw, rough, and not slick enough. Arthur doesn't care as he slams in, vaguely aware of Eames' soft pants with every thrust. Arthur grabs hold of Eames' legs, folds him in half and shudders at the beautiful tight heat. Arthur's been strung out for too long to last, and he groans as he empties himself inside Eames.
The last thing Arthur remembers is collapsing onto the mattress. He doesn't think his head makes it to a pillow before he's asleep.
* * * * *
Arthur wakes up an empty bed, the bathroom door ajar, and housekeeping banging on the door. A glance at the clock reveals he's been asleep for fifteen hours. Jesus.
The maid banging on the door lets herself in, freezes when she seems him naked in bed, and backs right out immediately. He shrugs and goes back to sleep.
* * * * *
The necklace is gone, of course. Arthur confirms this the next time he wakes up-mostly to take a piss-and half-wonders if everything involving Eames was just a fever dream. Doesn't explain the dried come in his eyebrow, though. Or the way his jaw aches.
Arthur cleans himself up and books boat passage to Alaska. There's no sign of his pursuers, which is good news. Now he needs to take the opportunity to go to ground.
He picks a few wallets and buys himself a small laptop so he can do some work on the trip.
After scouting out the cruise ship and assuring himself that none of the other passengers are there to kill him, Arthur settles on deck in a lounge chair with his laptop. He's arranging transportation to his safe house when he notices a flash of movement.
He stands and walks to the railing. The water is dark, waves choppy in the wake of the ship.
There's something gliding through the water: a large, dark shape with a familiar tail barely breaking above the waves.
Fin
Poll Fic: Man Overboard
Written for i_reversebang & inspired by marourin's stunning art.
Wordcount: 2200
Look like a motherfucking tourist, Arthur thinks as he takes inane photos of the Pacific Ocean. Look like a motherfucking tourist having the best goddamn time of his life.
Arthur keeps the disposable camera up, photographing random ship parts as he scans the crowd through the viewfinder. No one looks familiar, but that doesn't mean anything. He could have picked up an entirely new tail after ducking into that gift shop to shuck his jacket and tie.
An elderly couple importunes him for a photo. He takes their iPhone and forces a smile. "Say cheese!"
As he returns the phone, they gush about the tour company. They've gone whale watching on three different companies and this one is definitely the best. They saw so many whales with this company. They love whale watching. Arthur smiles and nods and excuses himself to buy an overpriced bag of stale trail mix, which he eats because he's starving.
Being on a boat that's heading a fair distance from shore is problematic if any of the men hunting Arthur are on it with him. But if not, then it buys him time to figure out his next move, and, if he's really lucky, may convince them he's left California altogether.
No guarantees either way. Arthur takes a deep breath and surreptitiously searches for life rafts and vests. Might be helpful if he needs to make a water exit.
"We're seeing some movement over the starboard side, ladies and gentlemen!" the captain booms over the microphone, prompting a tourist stampede.
Arthur moves to a less crowded part of the ship. He peers over the edge of the railing and catches a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye.
He narrowly doges a knife thrust in the back, but can't quite avoid a second swipe that grazes his bicep.
There are two men, each armed and staring at him with cold intent. They're clearly hired professionals. Even if Arthur cries out for help, by the time anyone reaches him, he'll definitely be dead or bleeding out. He's unarmed, fatigued after seventy-two hours on the run, and outnumbered.
So he climbs over the railing of the ship and jumps.
He hits the water at a bad angle-belly first. The impact slams the breath out of him, leaves him dazed as he falls deeper into the ocean.
He twists uselessly in the water, disoriented and confused about which way is up. Something very large swims into view-a shark or a manatee or seal, maybe. Arthur doesn't know much about marine life and he's too busy trying not to drown to care.
Whatever it is, Arthur flings his arms out wildly, hoping to catch hold and stop spinning in the water. It pulls away, but he manages to snag onto something-something hard and warm that tears away from the creature.
The object fits neatly into the palm of his hand-almost adjusting itself to fit. A strange tranquility settles over him, his panicked survival instincts calming to a low murmur. Everything's going to be alright, the object seems to whisper to him, which is when Arthur realizes he can breathe underwater.
"What the fuck," Arthur says, his words traveling away from him in air bubbles through the water. Is he still in a dream? He'd checked his totem before he got on the ship. Maybe someone knocked him out and put him under.
This isn't the time or the place to be contemplating this, Arthur decides. First: get to air. Second: get to land. Third: figure out what the hell is going on.
The creature is gone, only the shadow of a fish's tail and what Arthur could swear is a human torso visible in the distance. Probably a trick of the light underwater.
Arthur swims up to the surface of the ocean, relieved at breathing normally again. The ship he was on is sailing away, seemingly nobody having noticed his fall--aside from his attackers. Hopefully, they think he's dead or on the way to it.
Arthur lifts the mysterious object he's clutching out of the water. It's a faceted red gem attached to black necklace made of a material he's never seen before. After a moment of consideration, he fastens the necklace around his own neck and feels that serenity settle over him again. His body feels lighter, more comfortable in the water. Swimming is as easy as walking.
He sets off towards the shore, which is north northeast. There will be a deserted coastline with some rocks he can recover on if he swims ten minutes. How he knows all this information he has no idea, but he suspects it has something to do with the gem hanging around his neck.
* * * * *
Arthur makes his way to land, exhausted but alive. He rolls his totem ten times and comes to the uneasy conclusion that this is indeed reality, and he likely owes his life to a sea creature with magical jewelry.
He pockets the necklace and makes his way into the closest town, which turns out to be Monterey. It's filled with plenty of tourists, which means Arthur fits right in, even in his damp, bedraggled state.
He lifts a couple of wallets and buys himself a truly hideous pair of board shorts along with a Hawaiian button-down. The costume is completed by a sun visor, flip flops, and aviators. His hair is even drying curly.
Arthur allows himself the luxury of eating a big, greasy dinner and checks into a motel. He should probably keep moving, but everything aches and he's had maybe twelve hours of sleep in the past three days. He's pushing the limits of what a body can physically take.
He heads into the shower and examines the necklace. For the first time, he notices that the gem seems to pulse, almost like a heartbeat. When he opens his mouth, he finds he can, once more, breathe through the water.
Unsettled, he steps out and hides the necklace underneath the sink. He towels off, eager to pass out, and opens the door.
There's a man in the bedroom, ransacking the drawers in search of something. Arthur shifts into a fighting stance, ready to use his wet towel to bludgeon. He kicks the bathroom door shut behind him quietly.
"I believe you have something of mine," the intruder says in a low, husky voice. He's muscular and heavily tattooed, ink mostly visible through the thin white tank top he's wearing. He doesn't look like a thug or a hired gun here to kill Arthur, which means he's probably interested in the only thing of value currently in Arthur's possession: the necklace.
"There's nothing here," Arthur says, gesturing to the hotel bedroom. "You've looked through my stuff."
The man moves with supernatural speed, pinning Arthur back against the door before he can react. "You lie," he murmurs, bending forward to sniff along Arthur's neck. "I can smell it on you."
"Who are you?" Arthur asks, though he has a sneaking suspicion. The tattoos look familiar, reminiscent of the markings on a fish tail.
The man pauses, breath hot against Arthur's throat. "You may call me Eames."
"I'm Arthur." Arthur stays very still. They're roughly the same height, with Eames having a small weight advantage. Under normal circumstances, Arthur is confident he could take Eames down. But Arthur's buck naked and not in top fighting form.
There's also the reaction Arthur's cock is having to Eames' physical proximity--that is, getting hard. Because Eames is fucking gorgeous, and Arthur's mouth fills with saliva at the thought of sucking those perky red nipples through Eames' tank top.
It's a completely inappropriate line of thought when one is being threatened, but the cock wants what it wants.
"Arthur," Eames purrs in a way that makes Arthur's dick twitch desperately. "Where is it?"
"I'm not sure what you're looking for," Arthur replies, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. "You'll have to be more specific."
Eames presses Arthur back against the door with a palm to his sternum. His arm is like steel-hot, tattooed steel. "You know. You took it from me."
Arthur brings his arms up and twists, breaking free of Eames' hold. He savors the flash of surprise in Eames' gaze and dances away a few feet, retakes a fighting stance. "Let's say I don't have it, but I know where it is. What's that information worth to you?"
Eames' eyes flickering across Arthur's body from his mouth to his chest to his semi-hard cock and back up again. Eames takes a step back towards the bed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk as he peels his tank top off. "This is what you want?"
Arthur stares, slack-jawed, as Eames kicks off his shoes and pants, revealing mouth-watering miles of flesh, traced in dark ink. This is not where he thought the negotiation would go.
Arthur stumbles forward into a biting kiss, even as his mind is abuzz with how bad of an idea this all is. Not that he's in a state to listen-he's sleep-deprived, full up with greasy food, and horny as hell.
Eames is neither gentle nor passive. He kisses Arthur messily, wet with sharp bites to Arthur's lower lip. He wrestles Arthur's body closer, grip bruising as he shoves a leg between Arthur's, grinds a growing erection against Arthur's thigh.
Determined not to let Eames win the battle for dominance, Arthur pushes Eames backwards onto the bed and straddles his knees. Eames doesn't try to fight. He wraps his arms around Arthur so that the lengths of their bodies are pressed together, both of them writhing on the bed.
I shouldn't be doing this, Arthur thinks as he breaks away from kissing Eames, feeling lightheaded. There are a million reasons why he shouldn't, but his brain can't seem to articulate a single one when he's got such a perfect set of pecs beneath him, skin that just demands to be licked.
So Arthur slides down and fastens his mouth to one red nipple, sucking to his heart's content. There's groaning, though Arthur isn't sure whether it's emanating from him or Eames. Not that it matters. He switches to the other nipple, rasping lightly with teeth, and feels pressure on his shoulders pushing him towards Eames' dick.
Arthur obliges, bends down to take a beautiful, hard cock into his mouth. Eames is slippery with precome, seawater salty, and Arthur laps it up. Powerful hands come down on Arthur's head as Eames begins to thrust. Arthur barely avoids gagging as Eames fucks his face, struggles to breathe as Eames holds him down.
Eames gives a few last, wild thrusts down Arthur's throat, indifferent to Arthur's choking as he comes. Arthur swallows most of it and sits up, coughing and hard enough to cut glass.
Arthur spits in his hand and haphazardly thumbs at Eames' hole. Eames watches Arthur through slitted eyes, spreads his legs, and bites his own plush lower lip when Arthur slides in.
It's raw, rough, and not slick enough. Arthur doesn't care as he slams in, vaguely aware of Eames' soft pants with every thrust. Arthur grabs hold of Eames' legs, folds him in half and shudders at the beautiful tight heat. Arthur's been strung out for too long to last, and he groans as he empties himself inside Eames.
The last thing Arthur remembers is collapsing onto the mattress. He doesn't think his head makes it to a pillow before he's asleep.
* * * * *
Arthur wakes up an empty bed, the bathroom door ajar, and housekeeping banging on the door. A glance at the clock reveals he's been asleep for fifteen hours. Jesus.
The maid banging on the door lets herself in, freezes when she seems him naked in bed, and backs right out immediately. He shrugs and goes back to sleep.
* * * * *
The necklace is gone, of course. Arthur confirms this the next time he wakes up-mostly to take a piss-and half-wonders if everything involving Eames was just a fever dream. Doesn't explain the dried come in his eyebrow, though. Or the way his jaw aches.
Arthur cleans himself up and books boat passage to Alaska. There's no sign of his pursuers, which is good news. Now he needs to take the opportunity to go to ground.
He picks a few wallets and buys himself a small laptop so he can do some work on the trip.
After scouting out the cruise ship and assuring himself that none of the other passengers are there to kill him, Arthur settles on deck in a lounge chair with his laptop. He's arranging transportation to his safe house when he notices a flash of movement.
He stands and walks to the railing. The water is dark, waves choppy in the wake of the ship.
There's something gliding through the water: a large, dark shape with a familiar tail barely breaking above the waves.
Fin
Poll Fic: Man Overboard