There's no moon, and the Black Lake is a vast nothingness, almost as if it has sucked colour out of the night. Draco walks toward it with purpose, armed with new knowledge gleaned from his afternoon spent in the library, and a well developed sense of entitlement bred into his family line over generations.
He pushes the image of Potter's smug face from his mind even as he tells himself that after tonight it will be different. When Draco goes into the Great Hall for breakfast and tells his house-mates that not only has he swum with the Merfolk, he's spoken with them as well, Potter's name won't be heard again for months, regardless of the fact he's one of the Tri-Wizard Champions—like that means anything at all.
Dark water laps at the edge of the lake. It looks cold, and Draco can see nothing of what's beneath the surface. Suddenly swimming with the Merfolk doesn't seem like such a good idea after all. How will he even find their village when it's obviously so dark beneath the surface?
He lifts his chin, looks out over the lake. Why should he go to them anyway? He's a pure-blood wizard, a Malfoy. The Merfolk are merely beasts. The bloody creatures should come to him upon his command, and be happy to do it. He says one word, the sound of his own voice almost unrecognisable as his throat makes sounds it was never meant to make. He pauses. Says a few more words that screech, hurt his ears, make his right eye twitch.
Long minutes pass, and he tries again. He grows chilled as a breeze blows over the surface of the water. Finally, cursing, he turns away.
Something breaks the surface of the lake behind him. Draco stops, mid-step. There's a sound not unlike the words Draco spoke to the lake, but it's harsher, almost...
Draco spins on his heel, ready to give the ungrateful creature a tongue lashing it'll not soon forget, and then he sees it.
It's the first time Draco's seen one of the Merfolk up close, and this creature is very close. It reclines in the shallows, close to the shore, tail fin floating on the surface, one finned arm sculling just beneath the surface. It's male, and not as long as Draco expected. Perhaps it's an adolescent, a youth. "A merboy," Draco whispers. "Wait until they hear about this. I bet that poor excuse for a Care of Magical Creatures professor has never seen one of you so close before."
The creature lifts an eyebrow, tips it's head to the side. It speaks, but whatever it says is far outside of Draco's grasp of the language.
So Draco says his own name in Mermish.
What apparently passes for a smile on the merboy's face is, quite frankly, terrifying. Dozens of tiny, needle-sharp teeth line the boys mouth, and bulbous yellow eyes widen. It says a word, something Draco can't quite follow, not with the cringing and twitching. The sound has a most peculiar effect on his nervous system.
The boy laughs again, and then he beckons.
"You must be out of your bloody mind," Draco says, though he creeps close to the edge of the water. "I'm not going in there." He crouches by the edge, trails his fingers in the water. It's not as cold as he expected, but he doesn't know what's down there.
The merboy doesn't understand. He waits, swishing his tail so gently it barely causes a ripple, and he beckons with both hands.
There's a voice in the back of Draco's mind that sounds remarkably like his father. Potter did it, it says, and it's barely faded away into the back of Draco's consciousness before he's shucking off his robes and unbuttoning his shirt. Draco swims with Merfolk, another voice whispers. Draco speaks the Merpeople's language. He smiles, drops his trousers, and clad only in his pants, steps down over the grassy bank and into the shallows.
The merboy swims away from Draco, still beckoning as he walks into the lake. Silt drifts to the surface, swirls around Draco's legs, and the water rises. It covers his calves, his knees, as high as his thighs before the merboy stops swimming backward and makes slow circles around Draco as he stands in the water. Draco can see the beauty in the creature, though it is a beast, monstrous, so different from wizard-kind in almost every way, but Draco is drawn to its grace, its form, the way it undulates as it swims ever decreasing circles, never taking its eyes off Draco in the centre.
When he feels fins and tail brush against his legs, he doesn't shy away. When webbed hands trail over his thighs, he only watches, looking down as the creature slides through the water on its back. He can't see much in the dark, the merboy looks black, a hint of deepest green, sometimes midnight blue through an inch of water before visibility is gone. Every touch is soft, unthreatening, even the rasp of scales is gentle.
Draco lets himself be herded deeper, until the water reaches his waist, his chest, then when he refuses to go further, the boy stops, and they face each other. The merboy's tail disturbs the lake bottom. Dirt and scraps of weed swirl around Draco's feet. He feels as though he's being examined, like he is the curiosity, and he supposes he is to this creature, for of course he has never shown himself to another Hogwarts student. Draco is the first, he is the only, and he lets himself smile at the thought.
The merboy smiles back, lips stretching wide over a maw of teeth, then, body undulating in the water, he comes closer. Draco barely flinches back as the boy wraps a hand around the back of Draco's neck, presses its wet and slightly slimy cheek against his. "Oh," he says, pulling back just a little, not enough to break the boy's grip, not enough to offend, he hopes. "Is that how you say hello?"
Another hand touches him, sliding down his chest. The eyes follow, and the creature has to pull back as it looks. Draco jerks as a clawed finger tucks into the waistband of his pants, tugs. "I suppose," Draco stammers, taking a step back, but the merboy comes with him. "I suppose you don't wear clothes. Don't understand them?" He can't see anything that might be considered clothing on the boy, he wears nothing but a necklace of tiny pebbles around his neck. "I wear these to, err, to cover my, err, privates."
Draco rolls his eyes skyward. The creature can't understand him, of course not, and Draco doesn't have the words in Mermish to explain. He can say 'hello', 'my name is Draco', and 'would you be so kind as to show me the way to the train station'. He's not sure that phrase will ever be useful.
Suddenly, there's a webbed hand down the back of his pants and he's wrapped in slippery limbs and he's being dragged out into the deep water. "Hey," he squawks, panicking, suddenly sure that the merboy means to drown him. He thrashes, flailing, but the boy holds him in strong arms, and once they are still, it looks down at him, head at an angle as though it's trying to figure him out.
All right, so perhaps it doesn't plan to drown Draco. It's still very undignified, having to cling to a beast to stay afloat. Draco can swim, but he doesn't like his chances of making it to shore before the creature catches him, providing he can escape from its grip in the first place. He only wishes the creature would take its hand out of his pants.
Draco doesn't think that's going to happen. The merboy holds him up and out of the water with that hand on his bare arse. Draco kicks his legs, but that's not what's keeping him afloat, it's the massive tail that slowly sculls the water. The two of them bob there, still looking at each other, and Draco can see the creatures gills, he can see the texture of the skin, can feel it as his bare chest presses against the merboy's body.
The merboy's finger is still tucked into the front of Draco's pants. He tries to ignore it, but eventually he gives in, risking offence as he pushes at the creatures wrist.
The creature lifts another eyebrow and pushes Draco's pants down.
"Oh, no," Draco protests. "Not what I meant, not what I meant."
It's too late. The tips of the boy's fingers stroke the length of Draco's cock as the boy looks down between them. The boy makes a soft, rumbly noise in his throat, nothing like the spine fusing screech that is the Mermish language above the surface of the water. Draco can only assume that it is a noise of pleasure, because he's making his own, and it's not dissimilar. He curses his traitorous appendage as it begins to rise, as it tends to do at the slightest attention. Normally he has a pile of books to conceal such events, or a desk to hide beneath, but there is no hiding the fact that he is becoming erect while in the hand of one of the Merfolk.
The boy doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he makes that same noise again, only louder, and he rubs himself against Draco. With one webbed hand on each cheek of his arse and his pants shoved down to his thighs, his cock trapped between his belly and the strangely soft scales of the merboy, Draco gasps and kicks, but all thought of getting away, making the boy stop, is gone. He clings to the creatures neck, arms slipping on slick skin, and tries to thrust back against the boy, though he doesn't need to at all. There's something about the graceful undulations of the boy that's so arousing that Draco isn't quite sure what to do with it or how to think about it.
It's wrong, of course. This is one of the most disturbing taboos, like finding flobberworms attractive or rubbing off against a hippogriff. Except Merfolk have minds, inferior to wizard-kind they may be, but they have reason, language. This isn't like messing around with a household pet.
No, this makes Draco like one of those eccentric old pure-bloods they whisper about when they think he can't hear, one of those who 'take liberties with the house-elves'.
Draco shudders, but he doesn't fight. It feels too good, the boys pelvis, hips moving against him, the boys strange penis—wide at the base, tapering at the tip, slippery and smooth—wiggling against Draco's belly. He'll just... Once it's over he'll never come back, and he can forget about it, but just for now...
The merboy seems to be moving with purpose now. He's making no effort to rub himself against Draco; all its effort seems focused on Draco's cock. The boy slides down Draco's body, tail rolling like a flicked bedspread, over and over, like it's trying to...
Draco feels the head of his dick catch on the rim of an opening below the creatures penis. "Merlin, " he gasps, while the boy lets out a low keen and repeats the movement. Draco jerks in shock, but it's too late. With the next slow movement the merboy makes, Draco feels himself slide a little way into cool, slick tightness.
Instead of struggling, Draco freezes, staring into the merboy's bulging yellow eyes. Then the boy flicks his tail, and Draco sinks all the way in.
The merboy falls still, arms wrapped around Draco, fins fluttering softly against Draco's skin. He presses his cheek against Draco's, rubbing his face, his lips, all over Draco's. Draco thinks he's trying to kiss him, and he doesn't like that idea—all those teeth, the boy's fishy scent—but apparently that's not the merboy's intention. Other than that, Draco's only consumed by the pressure around his cock. He's inside the creature. He's thought about this kind of thing, about fucking. Girls, boys, he's thought about it while he's been behind bed curtains in the dormitory, or in his bed at home.
He never dreamed the first time would be like this.
He's past the point of wanting to pull away. It feels too good. All he can think about now is the craving for friction, for movement. He shifts his hips experimentally, and moans. The sound is answered by a trilling from the merboy, and answering movement.
The boy starts slow, undulating, twisting, holding Draco around the waist as he writhes in the water. Clawed fingers spread over the top of Draco's arse, strong arms keep him in place, but he's not thinking about getting away. The pressure and motion around his cock, the chill of the water, the slick cool flesh under his hands and the soft trills that vibrate through the body pressed against him wipe his mind clean.
Clean but for the knowledge that he is going to come, and inside this creature, inside this boy that is not even human, that cannot speak his language, whose name Draco does not know. Draco is used to delaying his orgasm, drawing it out, and with his own hand he can. The boy on his cock is not moving fast, nor is he thrusting wildly, but it's new, and it's wrong, and it serves to heighten Draco's arousal to the point he cannot hold back.
He comes, crying out, the sound carrying over the surface of the lake. Water splashes, the merboy keeps rolling his body, fucking himself onto Draco's cock, making that sound that Draco never thought Merfolk could make, but if he is the first wizard to do this with one of the Merfolk, then how would anyone know that this is a sound they are capable of?
Draco's cock is still twitching inside the creature when it releases him, moving back away from Draco with one swish of it's tail. His cock slides out, the cold of the water only a few degrees less than the temperature inside the boy, but it's still a shock. He didn't want to be free of it, and when he watches the boy dive a little piece of Draco is sorry to see him go.
But he's not gone. The water swirls around Draco's legs as he kicks to keep himself afloat. Slippery hands pull his pants all the way off, grip his ankles, part his legs, slide up the inside of his thighs, spreading him open. He feels tendrils of the boy's hair, tickling his skin like weed, swirling and brushing over the soft tender flesh between his legs.
Draco is more shocked than afraid. If the creature wishes to drown him, he cannot accept that it would let him fuck it first.
The boy moves fast in the water. Draco feels the ripples of his tail as he lifts himself, and then the boy is between Draco's legs, spreading him open with hips and strong solid tail instead of hands. He slides between Draco's thighs, and Draco once again finds himself staring into the creatures eyes.
Something touches his arse, and Draco remembers the creatures strange penis. The tail undulates, and Draco remembers the rolling, shifting attempts the boy made when trying to get Draco's cock inside him. Draco realises that he's expected to return the favour.
"I... I don't think— No, I'm not sure—" he stammers, but the boy cannot understand him. He flicks his tail and the tip of his tapered cock breaches Draco's hole and then slips out again.
Draco pushes on the boy's chest, trying to make him understand, but the tail comes up again, the boy's cock slips back inside him, and this time it does not slip out. Draco gasps as the finger-like tip slides deeper. The boy starts trilling again, thrusts up with a splash, and Draco feels the wider base stretching him open, the narrow tip deep inside. Draco finds himself straddling the merboy as it lies back, it's body almost horizontal. The boy undulates, Draco falls forward onto the boy's chest, and Draco's own weight drives the boy's cock all the way inside.
All he can do is groan and scrabble with wet fingers at the boy's slippery skin. Because of the position and the movement, the bank comes closer, the small dark pile of Draco's clothes becomes visible. When he can think past the cool ache in his arse, the slow rolling thrusts, he realises he's never going to be able to tell anyone about coming down here, about swimming with the Merfolk, about speaking with the Merfolk because for a start, he can't communicate. He can't get across to the boy that he doesn't want this.
The boy jerks his tail, sending a spray of water over both of them. He speaks, a rush of grating sound, and the words make Draco twitch and arch. The boy jerks again, droplets rain down on Draco's back and the boys cock touches a place inside him that makes him cry out and thrust against the intrusion.
Instead of pushing away, Draco pulls the boy to him, wrapping his legs around the boy's tail, rocking against him. His movement seems to break the boy's momentum, but they're close to shore now, only feet away, silt swirls in the shallows. Another jerk of the boy's tail and he hits the bank, sitting up against it, and Draco could stand and escape, merely walk away, but he can't now. It barely even crosses his mind. Instead, he wraps his arms around the boy's neck, plants his feet on the sandy bottom, and he rises and falls on the boy's cock, searching for that place again.
He finds it just as the boy resumes trilling. Draco's hard once more, and he wraps his hand around his cock, strokes quickly as he drives the merboy's strangely shaped cock into his prostate again and again. The boy begins to speak non-stop in Mermish, and Draco comes with his spine tingling and a rush of cool within him as the boy's semen is released.
When the sounds of their cries and splashing dies away, it seems very quiet. Draco's cheek presses against the clammy skin of the merboy, and he watches the surface of the water lap at the boy's nipple, his arse still full of the boy's cock. Draco doesn't want to move. He's exhausted, could sleep, though the breeze coming across the lake makes him shiver.
It's the boy who pushes Draco away. He takes Draco's hand, looks with curiosity at the tips of his fingers. Draco sees that they're wrinkled, his skin is sodden, and with a sigh he lifts himself off the boy, grunting as the boy's cock slithers from his body.
With a regretful look down at the merboy, he steps up onto the bank. Lake water slides off him in sheets, something thicker, slick, runs down the inside of his thigh and he grimaces. He turns away, finds his clothes, dresses before he turns back.
The merboy is out where it's deep, watching Draco. Draco stands on the bank and looks back, he lifts his hand in a still wave, and then he drops his arm to his hip.
The merboy sinks down into the water and is gone.