‘Oh, fuck,’ Rory moaned, and that was about the last intelligible thing he said for the rest of the evening.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rory’s first day underwater with Fionn had passed in a dream-like blur. During the brief moments when he caught his breath to think about it, he considered the whole thing to be a kind of out-of-body experience. Rory felt he was morehimselfthan he’d ever been before while simultaneously feeling like a stranger in his own body.
Here was the horizon he’d been longing for. He was well over it—under it, even—learning about Bluefolk society at a break-neck pace. Ullapool was far behind and he needn’t ever go back if he didn’t want to. The whole ocean was his to explore. It was everything Rory had wanted and denied his entire life.
Yet somehow his dad and Ol’ Doaty still took up space in the back of his head. Just when he was starting to relax, there they were sneering over his shoulder while he talked about running away with Fionn. What did Rory hope to achieve, anyway? He was a useless piece of shite, wasn’t he? Only good for catching lobsters and making cups of tea.
I don’t need to care what you think of me,Rory told his inner-Hamish.I’m not the real cause of your problems. And I’m not responsible for managing them, either.
The sneering voice retorted along a different track: as for the blue monster… since when did Rory submit to being thrown around by anyone bigger than him? Let alone swallowing cocklike a fucking sissy-boy. Could Rory even call himself a man any more?
You wouldn’t dare argue that with Graham,Rory countered.Even the pricks who make cock-sucking jokes wouldn’t question his masculinity. They definitely wouldn’t dare take him in a fight.
Nor Fionn, Rory was sure. Anyone would have a damn hard time trying to suggest that Fionn represented anything other than a peak male specimen.
But maybe that was Rory’s inner bias talking. He certainly considered Fionn to be a peak male specimen, anyway.
Spending time with Neacel had provided a helpful comparison for Rory to reflect over. For a while he’d wondered if all Minchmen were built exactly the same as Fionn. His glimpses of other Bluefolk had indicated this not to be the case, though there were plenty who fit the same ‘tall and broad’ mould that Fionn had been cast from.
Neacel was the skinniest Minchman Rory had seen so far, and the only one with short-cropped hair. When he was floating next to Fionn the difference was almost laughable, and made the two seem an unlikely pair of friends.
But what Neacel lacked in brawn he made up for in a shrewd kind of savviness that complemented Fionn’s naivety. Rory had no doubt that Neacel knew exactly what he and Fionn had been up to since he left. When Neacel finally returned, Rory had a hard time looking him in the eye.
‘You have gone quite red,’ Fionn told Rory, full of concern and blissful obliviousness.
‘I’m fine,’ Rory croaked back, his vocal chords sore from the noises he’d been making for the past hour.
Neacel swam by and slipped a small plant-like ball into Rory’s palm. ‘To ease your throat,’ he said with a twinkle in his song.
The old Rory would have decked someone for inferring that he’d just enjoyed the pleasure of the guy next him. The new Rory gave an awkward shrug and muttered, ‘Thanks.’
Neacel seemed so genuinely happy for Fionn—and Rory, by extension—that they’d found one another. He bustled around his home making things comfortable for them. Nets were drawn across the cave to make a hammock large enough for two. Neacel lined them with woven blankets that looked like seaweed, with their stray fronds waving in the water. He laid out another platter of food for Fionn and Rory to feast on at their leisure. And he otherwise kept himself unobtrusive, not challenging the way Rory’s curious gaze followed him around and instead offered only a friendly smile each time Rory felt he’d been caught gawking.
By the time it came for bed, Neacel’s hospitality had rubbed off on Rory to such an extent that he began to forget the bizarreness of the situation. Fionn and Neacel were so at home here, Rory felt that maybe he could be, too.
After Neacel waved them a cheerful goodnight and disappeared, Fionn opened his arms and nodded to the hammock. ‘Come. I will show you how to sleep in one.’
Rory swallowed. Fionn had quite recently been teasing and suckling on him like a greedy cock-whore, and yet the prospect of cuddling with him seemed rather more daunting.
‘Could we do it without… without you holding onto me?’ Rory asked.
Fionn’s expression drooped like that of a kicked puppy. A flash of rejection shot through the bond.
‘I’ll still sleep next to you,’ Rory said, uncomfortable that such small gestures could have such giant impact on the person he liked. Worried he might fuck it up. He wasn’t trying to hurt Fionn or push him away right now. He just needed some space.
Fionn lowered his arms and nodded slowly. ‘It has been a long day for you. I am happy just to be by your side.’
Relieved, Rory watched Fionn get into the hammock first and demonstrate how to twist himself up in it securely. Then he took Fionn’s hand and swam into the hammock, nestling back-to-back while Fionn performed the twist for both of them.
Being essentially trapped by the hammock was surprisingly comforting. After a day of drifting in the ocean, Rory found it nice to feel tethered to something for a change.
Still, despite his exhaustion he couldn’t sleep.
Rory stared into the dimly lit corners of the cave through the hammock weave. Fionn was a warm boulder at his back. Solid and comforting.
Strands of Fionn’s hair tickled Rory’s neck, lifted by the water. A similar tickle through the soul bond told him that Fionn was still awake as well. He was dwelling on Rory. On whether he’d done anything wrong.
