Yandere Merman Breeds Blind Twink with Eggs

The water in the hidden grotto never went fully still. It lapped the smooth stone shelf where Silas sat with his ankles in the shallows, and that soft, repeating sound was one of the first things he had learned to trust after the wreck. He was twenty-four, slim and sun-starved pale, and he had been blind since a fever in his nineteenth year left him with nothing but pitch black behind his eyes. No shapes. No gray. No flicker of light when Victor passed a hand in front of his face. Only the dark, and the world that moved through it by touch and sound and salt.

Victor had found him half-drowned on the black sand three seasons ago and carried him into this cave the tide could not quite reach. The merman was thirty-one, broad through the shoulders, with a human torso that went cool and scaled where his long tail began. He had fed Silas, warmed him, and refused to let the sea have him back. Silas had stayed because he wanted to. He said it every morning, out loud, so the possessive knot in Victor’s chest would loosen by a finger’s width.

“I’m here,” Silas said now, tipping his face toward the ripple of scales. “I’m not leaving.”

A low sound answered, half growl and half pleased hum. Victor’s tail curled through the deeper pool, the fin brushing Silas’s calf like a question. “You say that,” Victor murmured, close enough that the words landed warm on Silas’s throat, “and still I watch the mouth of the cave. If the current took you, I would tear the ocean apart until I had you in my arms again. You are mine. You have been mine since I pulled you out of the foam.”

Silas’s mouth curved. He knew the shape of that obsession by heart. It should have frightened a man who could not see the teeth behind it. It didn’t. It made his skin heat under the thin kelp-silk wrap Victor had woven for him. “Then keep me,” he said. “You’ve been hovering all day. Your hands keep almost touching me and then they don’t. I can feel you wanting me from across the water.”

Victor’s breath hitched. One clawed fingertip traced the line of Silas’s collarbone, light as a current, careful not to break skin. “If I start, I will not stop at touching. I have wanted to breed you since the night you first slept against my chest and said my name in your sleep. I want my seed in you until it takes. I want you round with my eggs. I want every soft part of you marked as mine, and I want you to ask me for it with that pretty mouth.”

Silas’s cock stirred hard under the wrap. The darkness stayed absolute, but his body had mapped Victor perfectly over the months: the heat of a human chest, the cooler slick of scales, the scent of brine and something sweeter, like crushed sea-plums. He reached out, found the strong column of Victor’s throat, and slid his palm down over a pounding heart. “I want that too. I’ve been hard for you for weeks. I dream about your cock and wake up leaking on the stone. Stop being careful with me. I’m twenty-four. I know what I’m begging for.”

Victor made a broken sound. Both hands settled on Silas’s waist, webbed and possessive, trembling with the effort of gentleness. The claws pricked just enough to make Silas shiver. “Say it clearer. I need to hear you want it while you can still speak.”

“Breed me,” Silas whispered, and the words came out rough and eager. “Put your eggs in me. I consent. I want it. I’ve wanted it every time you washed me and pretended your hands weren’t shaking. Please, Victor. Fill me until I can’t take another drop and then give me more.”

That was the edge. Victor hauled him off the shelf and into the water against his chest, mouth finding Silas’s with a hunger that had been leashed too long. The kiss was deep and tasting of salt, Victor’s tongue stroking into him while one hand cradled the back of his head and the other spread over the small of his back, holding him flush. Silas opened for it, moaning, fingers digging into wet shoulders. He felt the powerful flex of muscle, the way Victor’s tail coiled beneath them to keep them both afloat in the glowing shallows he could not see.

“Mine,” Victor said against his lips, voice gone low and wrecked. “My mate. My sweet blind boy. I’m going to open you on my cock and pump you full until your belly swells with what I give you. Tell me if it is too much. Tell me, and I will slow. But do not tell me to stop unless you mean it, because once I am inside you I will not want to leave.”

“I won’t tell you to stop,” Silas breathed. He rolled his hips, and the hard line of his cock dragged against Victor’s abdomen through the soaked wrap. “God, you’re warm. Touch me. Everywhere. I’ve been waiting.”

Victor’s hands obeyed like a tide. He peeled the wrap away and let it drift, then mapped Silas with his palms: the narrow chest, the tight buds of his nipples, the soft trail of hair below his navel, the slim hips, the curve of his ass. Silas arched into every pass, breathless, chasing the touch he could not see coming. When Victor’s slick fingers slid between his cheeks and circled his hole, Silas spread his thighs without being asked and pushed back.

“Yes,” he said. “There. Please.”

“Eager little thing,” Victor murmured, and the praise was filthy and fond at once. He worked one thick finger in, then two, the webbing stretching Silas open with slow, thorough strokes while his other hand wrapped Silas’s cock and stroked him in time. Precum slicked the way. Silas clutched at Victor’s shoulders and rode the fingers, moaning into the dark, every nerve lit. He could hear the wet sound of it, could feel Victor’s chest heaving against his, could taste the merman’s restraint fraying.

“Enough,” Silas gasped when three fingers were fucking him deep and his cock was throbbing in Victor’s fist. “I don’t want your hand. I want you to breed me. Now. Pin me down and put it in.”

Victor snarled, soft and starving, and surged them both toward the smooth rocks at the grotto’s heart. He laid Silas back against the warm, water-worn stone, tail bracing, and Silas felt the broad head of something thick and hot nudge his hole. Victor’s slit had parted along the front of his tail; what pressed forward was a heavy, ridged cock, slick with his own slick, pulsing like it already ached to spill.

“Look at me,” Victor said, then caught himself with a rough laugh. “Feel me, then. Feel how much I need to be inside my mate.”

“I feel you,” Silas said, and hooked his legs around the place where scales met skin. “Do it. Fuck me. Breed me full.”

Victor pushed in.

The stretch burned sweet and enormous. Silas cried out, head tipping back against the rock, pitch black sparking behind his eyes from the sheer pressure of it. Victor sank deeper by inches, murmuring praise against his throat, one clawed hand braced beside Silas’s head and the other stroking his cock in long, grounding pulls. When he bottomed out, they both shook. Silas was full to the limit, stuffed on ridged heat, and Victor was trembling like a man who had finally been allowed to touch the thing he had been starving for.

“So tight,” Victor groaned. “So perfect. You were made to take my cock. Made to hold my eggs. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name, only mine.”

“Then move,” Silas begged. “Please move. I can take it. I want it rough. I want to feel you claiming me.”

Victor drew back and drove in, and the first real thrust punched a broken moan out of Silas’s chest. He set a relentless pace, face to face, hips snapping, the water slapping the rocks around them. Every ridge dragged over the spot that made Silas see white inside the black. Victor’s hand never left his cock, stroking him slick and fast, thumb smearing precum over the head while he fucked him open. Silas clung to him, nails scoring wet shoulders, legs locked, taking every inch and begging for more in a voice that cracked.

“Harder,” he panted. “God, Victor, harder. I can feel you so deep. Don’t hold back. I want your seed. I want to be bred. I want to be yours so completely no one could ever take me.”

“No one will,” Victor snarled, and the yandere edge in it was devotion turned sharp. “You are mine. This hole is mine. This cock leaking in my hand is mine. I’m going to fill you until you’re dripping and then I’m going to fill you again.”

He fucked him through the first crest like that, face to face, kissing him messy and deep while his fist worked Silas’s cock. Silas came with a hoarse shout, spilling hot over Victor’s fingers and his own stomach, clenching so hard around the thick cock that Victor cursed and buried himself to the root. The first load hit deep, thick and endless, pulse after pulse of heavy merman seed flooding Silas’s guts until he whimpered at the pressure. Victor didn’t pull out. He ground in through the aftershocks, still half-hard, still obsessive, mouthing at Silas’s jaw.

“More,” Victor said, voice ruined. “I need to give you more. Turn for me. I want you in a mating press. I want to watch your hole swallow me while I breed you properly.”

Silas was shaking and oversensitive and already nodding. “Yes. Flip me. Use me. I want every load you’ve got.”

Victor withdrew just long enough to turn him, careful even in his frenzy, and bent him over the smooth rock with his chest down and his ass up. The position opened him obscenely. Victor’s claws settled on his hips, pricking, and he slammed back in from behind in one deep stroke that knocked the air from Silas’s lungs. The mating press was ruthless. Victor folded over him, tail coiled for leverage, and fucked him in long, pounding drives that slapped skin to scale. Each thrust forced the first load deeper and made room for the next. Silas sobbed into the stone, cock already fattening again, pushing back to meet every snap of Victor’s hips.

“That’s it,” Victor panted against his ear. “Take it. Take my cock. You’re going to swell for me. I can feel it starting. My seed is catching. The eggs are going to take inside this perfect little body.”

He reached under and found Silas’s nipples, pinching and rolling the tight buds with the pads of his fingers while his claws traced delicate threats around them. The stimulation was sharp and strange and good. Silas moaned, confused by the tight ache building behind his chest, by the way each twist of Victor’s fingers sent a hot pulse straight to his hole. Victor fucked him through it, relentless, and came again with a guttural sound, flooding him with a second thick load that made Silas’s belly feel heavy and warm.

“Victor—something’s—” Silas gasped.

“I know,” Victor said, and his voice had gone wonderstruck and savage at once. “Your body wants to feed what I’m putting in you. Let it. Let me.”

He kept teasing the nipples, fucking deep and slow now, grinding the head of his cock against the place that made Silas shake. A third orgasm built ugly and huge in Silas’s spine. When Victor pinched both nipples and thrust in to the hilt, Silas came untouched, striping the rock, and something gave in his chest. Warm liquid beaded and then leaked from the swollen buds, thin and sweet, running over Victor’s fingers.

“Milk,” Victor breathed, awed and starving. “You’re lactating for me. My mate. My bred, dripping mate.”

He didn’t stop. He fucked Silas through the leak and the tremors, emptying a third heavy load into him while the milk slicked his teasing hands. Silas felt his belly round, a gentle, impossible swell low under his navel as the fertilized eggs took and settled, heavy and warm, stretching him from the inside in time with the cock still plugging him full. He was sobbing with pleasure, stuffed, leaking from his nipples and from around Victor’s shaft, and he had never wanted anything more.

“Don’t pull out,” he begged, voice wrecked. “Keep it in. I want to stay full. I want to feel them.”

“You will,” Victor promised, and finally stilled, buried deep, arms wrapping around Silas’s middle so one palm could cup the new, tender curve of his belly. “They’re mine. You’re mine. I’m going to keep you round and leaking for as long as you’ll let me.”

He gathered Silas up with obsessive care once the worst of the shaking passed, still joined, and sank them both into the warmer pool where the stone formed a cradle. Silas floated back against Victor’s chest, blind and boneless, milk still pearling from his nipples and trickling down his ribs. His hole fluttered around the thick cock keeping every drop and every egg sealed inside. Victor cradled him like something holy and dangerous, one arm under his knees, the other stroking the swell of his stomach in slow, possessive circles.

“Beautiful,” Victor murmured. “My pregnant mate. Look at you—no, feel yourself. Feel how full you are.”

He guided Silas’s hand down. Silas gasped at the firm, rounded give of his own belly, at the way the eggs shifted faintly when Victor’s cock twitched inside him. “I can feel them,” he whispered. “God. You really bred me.”

“I will do it again,” Victor said, and bent his head. His mouth closed over one leaking nipple, and he suckled gently, tongue working the bud until more warm milk spilled across his tongue. Silas moaned, oversensitive and melted, one hand fisting in Victor’s wet hair. Victor drank from him like a vow, switching to the other nipple when the first ran thin, humming his pleasure against the swollen flesh. Between swallows he spoke against Silas’s skin, promises poured out in a voice gone soft and utterly unhinged with love.

“I will never let the tide take you. I will feed you and fuck you and keep these eggs safe until they are ready. I will drink from you every night. You will wake up full of me and go to sleep fuller. No one else will ever touch you. Say you want that.”

“I want that,” Silas said, and meant it down to his bones. The darkness was the same as always, pitch black and complete, but Victor was solid around him, inside him, obsessive and tender and his. “I’m yours. Breed me whenever you want. I’ll beg for it.”

Victor licked a last drop of milk from his nipple and pressed a kiss over his heart. For a long moment they floated, bound, blissful, the grotto whispering around them. Then Victor’s hand drifted lower again, cradling the egg-heavy swell, and his cock gave a slow, interested throb where it still plugged Silas open. His mind was already moving, bright and possessive, through the hours ahead.

He would let his mate rest, yes. He would wash the spend from his thighs and feed him sweet kelp and fruit and hold him while the eggs settled. But when Silas woke—when that pretty hole clenched in his sleep and those nipples started leaking again against Victor’s chest—he would roll him onto his back in the shallows and slide back in before Silas had finished saying his name. He would fuck another load into the swollen belly just to hear him sob with how good it felt. He would suckle him dry and then breed him until the milk came back. Tomorrow, and the day after, and every day the grotto held them.

Victor smiled against Silas’s throat, already scheming the next time, and tightened his arms around the mate he had no intention of ever letting go.