Beneath the Waves

M/M Fantasy Shifter Erotica

"Man overboard!" The call went out and everyone rushed from their stations to the gunwales on the ninety-foot, longline boat we were calling home for the next ten days. We had been working sixteen-hour days for the last four days. We were all exhausted. It didn't surprise me that someone may have fallen overboard. The seas were rough today, tossing us around like laundry in a machine. I searched the sea, looking for any sign of someone overboard.

"Here!" someone shouted. We all rushed to that side. Sure enough, there was someone in the water. But it wasn't one of ours. Everyone was accounted for; all the men peering over the gunwale. Except for the captain; he was at the helm, fighting to keep the ship on course. We should have hunkered down by now, below deck, but we had one last line to pull in.

We threw a life vest out to the guy in the water. Once he slipped it on, he could probably make his way to the ladder we had rolled down for him. That is … if he could still swim. It must be freezing out there and the man in the water was shirtless. I shivered at the thought. I couldn't imagine being out in this without the protection of a waterproof jacket and trousers. I even had fleece on under my outerwear to protect me from the cold. It was a miracle the guy was alive.

Against all odds, the guy in the water clung to the life vest and paddled his way over to the ladder. His movements were slow and strained. He was injured. It took every ounce of his remaining energy to haul himself onto the boat. When he crashed down on the deck, we could see the extent of his injuries. One of his thighs had thick, deep wounds as if a boat propeller had caught hold of it. He dragged himself across the deck and collapsed—unconscious.

We all took a step back. The guy was naked. He shouldn't be alive.

"Let's get him below deck," I shouted. I was the first-aid attendant for the boat, so it was my job to bandage him up best I could until we reached land. He needed stitches—lots of them. The captain would take us back to port. But it would be three days until we got there.

"In my cabin." I led the way and tossed open my door. I was first mate. I had a tiny cabin to myself. Three of the men were doing their best to carry the unconscious man, but he was a big guy, bound in ropes of muscular flesh. He was weighing them down and slowing their progress.

Once inside my cabin, they tossed him on my cot. Silence. There wasn't a single sound being emitted by the man. For a moment, I thought he had stopped breathing.

I lowered my ear to his nose. Faintly—ever so faintly, he was breathing. I lifted his hand to take his pulse. Stretched between his fingers, a strange webbing. Pink with flecks of green. I touched it. It was rough, like scales. Strange. I wrote it off as a deformity.

I took his pulse and wasn't pleased by the result. If this guy survived, it would be a miracle. I covered him with a blanket. His wounds weren't bleeding and the saltwater had done a decent job of keeping them clean. I would attend to him once I got him warmed up.

I went in search of more blankets. We might even have a hot water bottle on board. I found it and headed to the galley to boil some hot water. Cook was there so I let him do the honors.

Supplies in hand, I headed back to my cabin. There was no change in the guy's vitals and he was freezing to the touch. I tucked the hot water bottle against his belly, covered him in more blankets, and climbed onto the cot with him. I wasn't about to get naked with him, but my body heat should permeate the blankets and help warm him up.

I settled in against him, using his shoulder as a pillow. He smelled of the sea. Briny and fresh. My head rocked up and down with the steady rhythm of his breath.

Having been awake for twenty hours, I drifted off.

I was nearly thrown off the cot, awoken violently from my slumber. The guy was struggling to get out from under me, his arms and legs thrashing.

I rolled off the cot and held his arm. "It's all right. You're safe." His eyes blinked at a furious pace, watching me. He was terrified.

"You're all right," I reiterated but he didn't seem to understand me. Maybe he had fallen off a foreign boat. Maybe he didn't speak English. I placed my hand on my chest.

"I'm Eric."

He fidgeted as his eyes scanned the room. His gaze came to rest on the door. He moved to get off the cot. I held him in place. A difficult feat. He was a powerhouse of strength. I think he just gave up. "Stay put. Your injured." I peeled back the blankets so he could see his leg. It looked like shredded meat. So unlike the other leg that was smooth and muscular.

The guy was built. If he wasn't injured, I might be looking for a hookup. He looked straight at me and placed his hand on his chest. "Pochuria."

Right, okay. Strange name. Definitely foreign. I wasn't able to determine from where, though. I looked him up and down. If he was upright, he might stand about six-four. He was certainly crunched up on my cot, and I was six-one. He had long blond hair framing his handsome face, arranged in ringlets, stunning green eyes, long blond lashes, perfect pink lips …

God damned if the guy wasn't stunning to look at. My cock throbbed at the full sight of him stretched out on my cot. I covered him back up with the blanket. He hadn't made a move to do it himself. He fingered the edges of the woolen covering, his brow furrowed.

He looked at me, curiosity in his eyes.

I touched the blanket. "This?"

"This?" he repeated.

I shook my head. "No, it's a blanket." I touched it again. "Blanket."

"Blank … et."

He grunted when I nodded. I wasn't planning on giving an English lesson today but it seemed that's where my evening was headed. He lifted the hot water bottle next.

After we covered pretty much everything in my cabin, Pochuria removed a book from the shelf above my cot and started flipping through it. His fingers traced circles on each page, a look of wonderment on his face.

Okay … he was a strange guy. But he was as sexy as all hell the way he handled that book. So gentle and curious. I imagined what his fingers would feel like on my body.

Stop. Task at hand.

I lifted my first aid kit from my tiny closet and turned back the blankets so I could examine his injury. I steadied my breathing. His thick cock was resting neatly on his inner thigh and it had swelled; semi-hard. It was difficult to take my eyes off it. I have to admit—I stared. Beneath his cock, his fat, pink balls were poised, glistening, not a single dusting of hair on them.

They made my mouth water.

Pochuria reached down and touched his cock then pointed at me. I wasn't sure what he was asking. Did he want to know what it was called or did he want me to put it in my mouth?

I decided on the former.

"Cock."

Wrong answer. He tugged at my hand until I placed it on his cock. I wrapped my fingers around its girth and stroked it. Pochuria hummed his approval. It made me feel guilty, the whole thing. What if he was delirious from his injury? Maybe he had a fever. He should be in excruciating pain. I released his cock. "I need to work on your leg."

I touched his thigh so he would know what I was talking about. I brushed my fingers along the edges of the wounds. He didn't even flinch.

His flesh looked better than I thought it would. He still needed stitches, though. The tissue surrounding each slice in his muscle was angry-looking; red, the torn flesh beneath a deep crimson. I pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton ball. Pochuria's hand was immediately on mine, stopping me from proceeding. His grip was tight, strangling my wrist.

"I need to clean it." I tried to use my eyes to convey I had no intention of hurting him. He scowled and released my hand. With as much care as I could manage, I cleaned his wounds then went in search of bandages big enough to cover everything. I decided on some large squares of gauze. I taped everything down then patted his leg and covered him back up with the blanket.

Pochuria sighed, laid back in the cot, and closed his eyes. I would leave him alone for a while. Find someplace else to sleep. Or maybe hang out on the helm for a few hours. I would need to take over for the captain in the morning so he could sleep. I headed for the deck.

The sound of someone stumbling along behind me caught me by surprise. Everyone should be asleep. The waves had calmed during the time I had been below deck. The sea was still. No one should be stumbling. I turned to who had come up behind me.

Pochuria—and he was clinging to anything he could find to hold onto. The narrow corridor leading to the deck was dominated by him. My estimate of his height being six-four was way off. He was an easy six-seven and built like a bull. A very sexy, gorgeous bull. His cock and balls swung seductively between his thighs with each step he took.

I peeled my awestruck jaw off the floor.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"Bed."

"Yeah." I walked toward him and guided him back to my cabin. He reluctantly laid back down but yanked on my arm when I tried to leave.

"You need to sleep."

"Sleep." He tugged my hand toward his cock. He wasn't giving up on this idea. My chest heaved, my heart hammering as I contemplated what he was asking of me. It had been years since I had been with a guy. Fishing kept me busy. Busy kept me from being swayed by my attraction to men. Kept me from following through with what I desired from them.

But his cock was beautiful.