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Jason really only wanted to sneak away for a few hours, he intended to stay in view of the ship. There are more Outlaws now then when he'd started his crusade, and though he adores his crew, there's only so much noise and socializing he can handle.
It was already dark when he’d commandeered the small row-boat and he hadn’t accounted for the thick fog that had begun to seep in. In mere moments he couldn't see three feet in front of him and the waves were becoming faster, lapping against the edge, rocking his tiny boat and slowly spinning it in circles, almost playfully. He would pray if he thought there'd be an answer.
Without warning, something knocks into the side of his boat. Hard. His first thought is that he’s about to be the victim of a shark attack- sharks rarely attack for no reason but they are curious creatures, and he’d rather not lose a limb because a shark mistook him for a chew-toy. He scrambles to grab the paddles on either side of the boat, trying to row away despite not having a clue where he’s going. He’s barely moved from his original spot when the paddle in his left hand is violently yanked from his grip, disappearing beneath the dark waves. He tries to quickly withdraw his second paddle but he doesn’t get far before something grabs onto it. As he plays tug-of-war with the creature in the water, he becomes more certain that it’s not a shark that’s stalking him. The thought isn’t as comforting as he would like.
He loses quickly, the paddle pulled from his grasp in a matter of minutes. He watches his last hope of escape sink into the depths, taking his stomach with it. The waters still, the ocean silent. His legs are shaking, spine taught as a bow string about to snap, breaths coming out in sharp gasps. A sliver of moonlight spears through the swirling fog, letting him see a dorsel fin break the surface of the water before disappearing again.
That doesn't- surely it can't be-
A hand grips the edge of his boat, and then a second follows. They're odd, human at first glance, with tan skin and a workers callouses, but between the fingers is an almost translucent film, like webbing the color of copper, crawling over the rest of the hands like rust. Jason rushes forward, arms outstretched to- to do something- but it's already too late.
The creature-person pulls with far too much strength and the boat tips over, taking Jason and all his supplies with it. The water isn't as cold as he thought it'd be, but it's still a shock to his system and he immediately starts trying to struggle to the surface. His fingertips break through the water only to feel a freezing, slimy hand grasp his ankle so tight that he can't even pull off his boot to dislodge it.
He's dragged deeper under the waves and no amount of kicking or flailing gets him free. His lungs burn with the lack of air, the salt burning his eyes and the building pressure making his ears pop. He struggles until he can't hold his breath anymore, eyes fluttering closed as saltwater floods his mouth, body being hauled into the depths as he loses consciousness.
Jason wakes up gasping for breath. He scrambles onto his stomach to vomit saltwater onto the sandbank he's washed up on. He dry heaves, shaking violently as the cold seeps in and the lingering burn of sea water blurs his vision, each movement making his ankle throb.
The first thing he notices when he can see again is that his shirt and boots are missing, the second is the deepening bruises on his ankle. A handprint. He pushes himself up, scanning his surroundings frantically. His hair is only damp now, annoyingly coated in sand, but indicative of him having been here for a while. How long has he been here? Where…is here?
It looks like some kind of cave, a large one that's more like a grove. The sound of rushing water is loud, and echoing even louder in the cave. It's only drowned out by his ragged breathing. The ledge he's on is close to the water, and he scrambles away from it until his bare back hits the rough rock of the cave's walls.
“Scared, sugar?” A throaty western drawl croons through the cave.
Jason chokes, staring wide eyed at the boy emerging from the rushing waters. At least, it looks like a boy. The same hands that had curled around the edge of his boat brace against the sand as he pulls himself up. Jason's gaze wanders up, over strong arms and broad shoulders speckled with those same copper…scales? His eyes settle on the boys face, strong features framed by golden brown curls. The boy is maybe a few years older than him, with ocean blue eyes and a grin full of monstrously sharp teeth.
“...Who-” Jason's voice is raw and it hurts to speak. “Who are you?” He wills his voice to be stronger even with the metallic tang in the back of his throat.
“Call me Grant.” The man grins, and then halts Jason's words before he can even think of them when he pulls himself from the water. Densely packed muscle covered in a thin layer of fat makes up his torso, leading down to his waist where the copper scales shine more orange, converging with spots of black and white. The further out of the water Grant rises the less sure Jason is of what's going on.
He's heard of mermaids before, obviously. He's even heard whispers of mermen before. But those stories typically ended in disastrous storms or immediate bloody death. The old sailors never tell stories about mermen with odd accents abducting lonesome pirates.
“What the fuck.” Jason croaks, unable to tear his eyes from the strong tail Grant is dragging behind him.
The sound Grant makes resembles a laugh, a harsh, barking noise that bounces off the high walls of the cave. He's closer to Jason now, barely an arms reach away and his eyes study Jason hungrily.
“Just so you know, I probably taste horrible. And all this meat on my bones is muscle so it's gonna be shit to chew through, and-” Jason's rambling is cut off by Grant’s fingers digging into his jaw, forcing his cheek against the wall of the cave and baring his throat.
“You sure are a pretty thing.” Grant croons, completely ignoring Jason's yammering.
Grant presses his cold nose to the hollow of Jason's throat, inhaling deeply, trying to ingrain the scent into his memory. Saltwater (naturally), the metallic tang of the blood rushing through the pirates veins (it makes Grant's teeth ache), and beneath that is worn leather and gunpowder, herbal tea and fresh ink. Overpowering all of that is the scent of musk, sweat and grime that's accumulated and clings to his sailors skin even despite the surprise ocean bath. It's heady, lingers on Grant’s tongue and settles at the back of his throat.
Jason shivers where he's pinned to the cave wall, but he doesn't smell like fear anymore. Grant presses his tongue flat to the flesh of his human's throat, feels the blood pump, hot and rushing. Adrenaline, the faint spice of anger beginning to fester, but his boy stays exactly where Grant put him. Grant rakes his teeth together, makes an insistent clicking noise he knows humans don't understand, his fins shudder. It's immensely satisfying, to have something so strong and pretty hoarded safely in his territory, something so uniquely dangerous submitting to his whims.
He has waited so very patiently. He hadn't wanted to, at first. Had strained against the advice of Joey and his mother alike. What would either of them know? His mother, formidable as she is, is only human. She wouldn't understand the instinctual laws of merfolk, where only the strong survive, fight, take from each other to satisfy the vicious urges the depths demand of her children. Joey understands, he feels the pull just like any other, but he does not truly know. He's spent so long denying the nature of a shark he probably hasn't ever even experienced a proper hunt. What would a Zebra shark know about a Bull sharks courtship?
Grant had stalked the pretty pirate for long, gruesome cycles. Jason, the other humans had called him. His mother tells him that is the name of a hero from old myths, another who sailed the seas under the patronage of a goddess. Grant is sure that his Jason is a gift from something otherworldly, the flash of white in his hair proof that the divine had touched him, the poisonous green of those eyes when Jason's wrath permeates the air a sign to all who bare witness to the drops of ichor mingling with his blood.
Jason, his Jason, is the kind of pretty that humans do not know how to appreciate. The kind of strength few can match, the kind of grace other humans envy. Golden skin broken up by silver scars, a map of the horrors he has fought and survived. Workers hands, with blood of scum trapped beneath his nails.
Joey has always had a fondness for human poets, but Grant has never held the same interest. The people they write about are hardly worth sparing a glance to. Frail, delicate things wrapped in finery they didn't even fight for, with doll faces and milky skin. Dreadfully boring, at best, offensive at worst. Nothing like Jason, born from the sea like the old love goddess, surely made just for him. With curls dark and wild as the ocean's abyss and eyes the color of her surface when the sun kisses her. Skin like Greek sand and a face that easily matches any of their statues, sharp and defined and sculpted with love.
The poetry Jason writes is potent as any sirens song, Grant had hardly listened to the words at first, too utterly enchanted by Jason's voice. Low and smooth and woven by Euterpe herself to wrap around beautiful words, a gift from Erato designed to ensnare all those lucky enough to be caught in its web. Grant was first trapped in its thrall under the silver gaze of the Moon, whose gentle tide carried Jason's voice, outshining the other members of his crew by a mile as they joined together to sing the shanties Grant had grown used to.
Perhaps it is because of his gift of hypnosis that Jason chose only to divulge his writings in hushed whispers, far away from his ship, where only the sea and the moon could hear. A waste, really. If you didn't know that Jason masqueraded as Red Hood, Bain of every kingdom on the coast, you'd sooner think him a scholar than a pirate. Easily passable as a prince, if he tried. Another reason for Jason to keep his passions hidden, Grant supposes. He has no complaints though, this means it is only him who gets to know Jason's secret, the only one to bear witness to Jason when he has taken off the facade of Hood, stripped to the most vulnerable parts, ripe as fresh fruit for Grant to sink his teeth into.
“...What do you want with me?” That lovely voice breaks Grant from his reverie, brings him back to the treasure he's so long sought after. Those pretty eyes are glowing faintly, red rimmed from salt water and still staring him down defiantly. Like he has any hope against Grant. It's so cute, makes him want to sink his teeth in. Leave a pretty set of marks so Jason and every other barnacle on land or sea know that Jason is claimed.
“You.” Grant says it simply, like that answers Jason's question at all. He scowls, temporarily forgetting that the man in front of him is a 6 foot long sea monster.
“Fuck off, that's not an answer.” Jason snaps.
Pretty, feisty thing. It makes Grant bare his teeth without thinking, a mockery of a human expression spreading across his face. His mother will be so pleased when he brings his mate home. She's been asking after grandchildren for ages.
“Will you fight me?” Grant asks idly, reverent even. Like a marriage proposal. That thought more than anything else is what makes Jason recoil, eyes narrowing at the creature, laid out on his stomach without a care in the world, cheek resting on his crossed arms while that monstrous tail swaying through the air softly.
“Uh.” Jason blinks. Swallows thickly. “No, I don't think I will.” He rejects with as much dignity as he can muster.
It must wound his pride, Grant thinks, knowing that Grant is so much stronger. Humans are so backwards about their concepts of strength. Still it makes disappointment grow in his chest that he will not be able to win Jason proper. He's half tempted to do it anyway, but he knows his mate. If Grant takes without Jason agreeing to the fight, then he will leave the moment he's won. If he wins. No, Grant must be patient still, much as he's loathed to wait even a second more. It will be worth it in the end, he tells himself.
“Fine,” the monster pouts, “Are you hungry then?” Grant goads enthusiastically. Jason's immediate thought is that this is the monster's way of fattening him up before eating him, but Grant is looking up at him like the village children asking him for stories. It wouldn't do for him to lose his strength, he supposes. He'd rather at least try to fight than starve because of his own stubbornness.
“I could eat.” Jason concedes, although he hasn't relaxed any. That's fine, Grant knew this would take time. Human courting is so different from merfolk, it will be an adjustment for them both. Grant is sure that Jason will be happier once he sees how well Grant can provide for them both, once he's secure in the knowledge that he will be taken care of.
“I will find dinner.” Grant announces proudly, pushing himself up to start towards the water. “Keep well, beloved.” Jason could not predict the kiss if he tried. He didn't even know that mermaids knew how to kiss. But Grant is good at it, better even than some of Jason's human partners. If it weren't for the pervasive taste of salt water and the press of too sharp teeth against his lips, he'd never believe it was a monster's cold mouth pressed to his own. Grant swallows the sound of protest he makes, pulls away before Jason can throw a punch. Sends the cheekiest fucking grin over his shoulder before he plunges back into the water and leaves Jason staring dumbly, still pressed against the wall.
Fuck, Jason thinks, I can't believe I'm gonna fuck a mermaid.