Chapter 1: In which Malcolm gets a little raunchy


THE ORIGINAL, EXPLICIT, UN-REDACTED VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER IS ON AO3.

bit . ly / ao3strategist6

I removed over 3,000 words for this non-explicit version and I toned down the scene. It's kinda vague now. I hope it's still understandable in this state.

And another reminder that I continually fix typos and weird wording on AO3 but have barely fixed anything on FF . n e t.


Walking two feet away, Malcolm followed Rhode in a daze, trying not to step on her dress. From the hallway, she led him into another doorless room, where they passed by more artifacts, including a few glass casings of all sorts of jewelry, as well as several more paintings of beaches and modern cityscapes.

"Really nice artworks," he said, to which Rhode offered an uncaring yeah.

Two rooms later, she pulled open a set of double doors and stood aside to invite him in.

As he stepped inside, a warm glow emanated from hidden ceiling lights, illuminating the light coral and dark teal accents of the room. Malcolm caught sight of a large bed. But as soon as she shut the doors behind him, his attention snapped to her.

Rhode flamingoed, leaning on the wall to take off her heels. He watched her set them down carefully, and remained in his standing state as she laid her hands on him once more.

Still, not a word had been uttered by either in her room. He found something hot in their muteness, as though he and Rhode were hardwired to the most basic of acts. Like the way she so resolutely and incautiously rushed to push his jacket off his shoulders, singularly focused on taking his clothes off.

And when she tossed the garment onto a nearby couch and tiptoed to kiss him again, Malcolm was ever so eager to let his lips return to their new favorite locale. His hands visited destinations new and old over silky smooth fabric—flowy enough to bunch in his grip, thin enough to almost feel her skin. He tried hard not to protest when Rhode pulled away.

"Do you need the restroom?" she asked.

"I was just there," Malcolm said, still distracted by how much of her he could feel over her clothes.

He paused. Why did he need to tell her that?

Rhode, too, ceased her movements. "Tell me your hands are clean?"

"Well, I haven't touched anything since. Besides... you."

You. And, oh, how warm she was. Was that because her skin was flushed? Or maybe because he'd touched her long enough to heat the fabric of her dress? Oh, and what a thought that was.

And, wait— Hands clean? Did that—?

Oh, fuck. In him, he felt this... this hunger. A yearning, impatient—

Rhode backed away. "Can you wait here for two minutes?"

Malcolm just nodded, and Rhode set off for what he presumed was her bathroom. And he just stood there, left to wonder if he was really doing this.

His brain responded with a loud, resounding hell yes.

Malcolm could barely register anything else at the moment. Trying to explore the room, his eyes landed on the bed. It was raised on a platform. It looked like a double at least. Maybe a queen? He counted three pillows. Aside from a little lounge area, there was also a desk and a vanity. For some reason, he kinda expected the room to be bigger? Hmm. Maybe the closet was.

Anticipating Rhode's return, Malcolm began preening at his hair and clothes. Just as he had the thought to reapply his chapstick, he heard the water closet rush. His heart rate spiked when the tap turned on. Rhode would be back in less than a minute. What would he say? What would he do?

When the door opened, Malcolm was still standing where Rhode had left him. She stood by the doorway for a moment. Her eyes swept over him once—then again—before she stalked towards him.

"Can I rip your shirt off?" she said.

He could only gawk for a moment. "Assuming you mean ripping in a figurative manner?"

Inches from her once more, he noticed his impatience reflected in her almost stormy eyes—and his hesitance mirrored in her stillness.

"Yes," she said.

"Go ahead."

His breaths grew heavier as she began to unbutton his dress shirt. Every inhale, every exhale, and every swallow he took felt so loud.

"Just how much experience have you had?" said Rhode as she reached his last button. "Please tell me I'm not going to be the one who has to show you the ropes."

Malcolm gave her an indignant look. "For the last time, I'm not a virgin."

"There's nothing wrong with being one," Rhode said. "But you're probably not going to last very long either way, are you?" she mocked as she tugged his shirt off and shoved him to the wall. She looked at him as though she hadn't just lost a near headful of height. And as she roamed his torso and played with the hairs on his chest, her voice turned all low and gravelly. "I bet you wouldn't even last three minutes with me."

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me," Rhode said, getting in his face.

Malcolm could have rolled his eyes. "That is such a bad line." But his lips chased hers anyway.

To say Rhode kissed him back would have been an understatement. She devoured him. Rhode wasn't stormy; she was a hurricane unleashed. It was almost a blur, the way his mind raced to keep up with all the sensations she incited—from the nips from her teeth to the sting of her nails to the touch of her hands. He was hardly keeping up.

Mindful of every inch of his newly exposed skin, she acquainted herself with his body, lightly scratching his chest, tracing his abs, and then brushing over that old scar on his stomach that had stretched over the years, before her exploring touch found the exit wound on his back.

Rhode didn't even hesitate. But as her fingers gently traced the uneven skin, Malcolm involuntarily flinched, his lips halting against her mouth. She began to retreat—but he pulled her in again, and her hands journeyed elsewhere as she kissed him harder.

Once Malcolm drew for air, Rhode was almost glaring at him. She spoke clearly and with authority. "If at any point you want to stop or do something else, tell me."

Malcolm nodded. "You, too."

"You can say anything—'wait', 'stop', 'no', 'don't'—when you think it's going to get too far. You're free to walk out of here at any time." Her eyes bored into his. "I'll make sure you get home safe. Okay?" she said more softly.

"Okay."

"Now help me out of this dress."

Rhode turned around, gathering her long hair away from her back. Malcolm breathed in wafts of barbecued fish.

He found a clasp, which he undid immediately, and reached for the zipper below it. It seemed like a shame to shed something so elegant. Malcolm began to unzip her dress nonetheless. It was surreal. He was there but not there, transfixed in this surely alternate reality, this dream.

Under the fabric, he found another clasp that held together those delicate chains that framed her bust so exquisitely. Oh, how he now wished he had more fully taken in the sight of her earlier. And so, only a quarter of the way down, he stopped.

"Just making sure," he said, trying not to think how his voice sounded, "you want it off?"

"So long as you're comfortable," Rhode said.

"It's a really nice dress." If he could get one more look at her.

"One I don't want to risk ruining. And if you'll let me show you," she said, turning her head to face him with a smolder, "I look better without it." She pushed her back against him, forcing his eyes shut.

Oh, dear gods.

Down went the zipper—aided by the comfort that there'd be hundreds of photos of her from today.

He pushed her dress off her shoulders and was distracted for a moment by the image that was suddenly revealed. Peeking over her right shoulder was a hammerhead shark, its body curved mid-swim. Brushing his fingers over the ink, he thought about how perfectly the animal characterized her in an amalgamation of beauty, grace, and danger.

Malcolm could barely think as Rhode's dress fell into a heap on the floor, but the design of her tattoo stuck out. Where had he seen it before?

When Rhode turned in his arms and began to kiss his neck again, Malcolm realized: "You and Percy have matching tattoos?"

Rhode stopped her efforts and shot him an incredulous look. "Are you really going to talk about my brother right now?"

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Where were we?"

Malcolm turned his attention back to the woman before him. And holy shit. Here was Rhode, a fucking literal goddess, revealing to him the mystery of what parts of her those captivating golden chains extended to.

It was like a mental release, a relief of a sort, to find the missing pieces that fit the unknown. He could see now that the thin links that criss-crossed the valley of her chest wrapped around her neck and her waist. But that was hardly the whole picture.

Previously hidden from view, another set of dainty chains circled her hips and each thigh—connected by the same links like a metal garter. On each of her thighs laid an S-shaped pendant—Thigh pendants? His head really couldn't understand it, but his dick was certainly appreciating the invention—which he noticed were of a hissing serpent and a rose atop a curved, thorny stem. As if that weren't enough, Rhode had also put on a matching golden anklet. That he presumed no guest at her party knew. Like this was all a secret she had kept to herself—and was now sharing with him.

Malcolm touched the chains on her torso. He'd never seen anything like it before, but it completed her air of regality. Rhode looked like the true princess she was. Majestic and elegant and oh so alluring.

"Are you just going to stare?" she said with a hint of a laugh.

He reached for the links draping her thighs. "Can't really fault me for enjoying the view."

She looked proud. "Well, pick up the pace."

"Like I haven't heard that one before." His lips twitched anyway.

Tangling a hand in her hair, Malcolm met Rhode in a searing kiss. He could feel her body pressing onto his chest. His fingers followed her smooth, sloping form. Nearly all bared to him.

He felt a lightness in him as he caressed her, and he swore he felt goosebumps form on her arms. Not knowing if his touch tickled her or if Rhode was just chilly in her state of undress (Could she get cold in water?), he rubbed a comforting warmth into her skin.

It took several moments before he could truly apprehend how Rhode was doing the same, and it eased and exhilarated him altogether that she wanted to touch him here, touch him there. What was she doing? Where would she go next? How intensely could she stoke that delicious heat and tightness settling in him?

Rhode went for his neck again, making him sigh loudly. Her lips traveled downwards. From his collarbone. To his chest. To his stomach. And Rhode kept descending. And—

Oh, whoa.

"Uh, if you're really gonna... shouldn't I, you know..." He pointed his thumb towards her bathroom. "Freshen up?"

In the dim light of the room, Rhode's eyes glinted. "I like you already," she said. "Be quick."

As he toed off his shoes and socks, Rhode settled on her couch and felt up her thighs the way he wanted to again.

"Use the unscented soap," she instructed once he reached the doorway.

In the unfamiliar bathroom, Malcolm hopped in the shower.

There were five dispensers fixed to the shower wall. None were labeled. Malcolm resorted to trial and error, making him apply the different body washes to different body parts.

Naturally, he had to wonder how a shower worked in the ocean. But after a minute of examining the showerhead, he figured there were better things to discover this hour.

Hopping out quickly, he then cursed. There were no towels. Not even towel racks. Ah, but there were tissues—of a sort? (He couldn't give a damn about their makings this instant.) So he shook himself off as best he could and patted himself dry in strategic areas, just so he could put his boxer briefs back on. And though nothing, really, could be done about the rest of him, well, maybe Rhode would like the look of a wet man.

Out in her room, Rhode had her eyes closed under brighter lights as she ghosted her fingers over her figure. When her eyes shot open, they zeroed in on him. "You know, red looks good on you, too," she said.

And if you'll let me show you, Malcolm thought, I look better without it.

Too chicken to say it, he just grinned back.

He set his jeans down on an armchair and made his way to sit beside Rhode. But she stood first. Her jewelry glimmered in the light as she moved closer.

"You don't seem like the type," Rhode said, pinning him under her gaze, "but hit me, choke me, call me names, or secretly record me, and I swear I will turn you into a salmon and eat you."

The rage in her eyes made her look a little inhuman—and reminded him again that she was a god. The very fact heated him.

But joke or not, her warning didn't matter. It was irrelevant. Completely out of scope.

"I wouldn't," Malcolm promised. "Have you ever done that, though? The salmon part, I mean."

Rhode didn't bother to answer. It was a shame, since he was also curious about how she preferred to consume her fish. But right now, she seemed more interested in licking the rivulets of water off his shoulder.

Malcolm burned in the little sucks and open-mouthed kisses that both dried and dampened his skin. And that slight hint of pain from her teeth that got blood circulating in him became only more gratifying as she touched him.

Rhode detached her mouth from his neck, breathing warm puffs on his wet skin. She gave him a bright look. "You used my favorite soap."

I used all of your soaps, he wanted to say.

"It's hot," Rhode said as she breathed in her signature flowery scent on him.

Malcolm kissed her again.

She pulled away with a slight twinge in her brows. "But I usually..." She reached for him, making him whisper a groan. "... don't like tasting soap," she said.

"Uh, no, I... I found it eventually." That seemed to satisfy Rhode. "So you do follow directions."

"I can fulfill requests," Malcolm protested shakily.

She gave a one-note hmm-ed laugh. "You're also clean, right?"

Malcolm scoffed in his near-breathless state. "I thought you assumed I was a total virgin."

"I'm being serious." She teased him more.

"Yeah, I'm clean," he grunted. "I swear on the Styx."

"Good. So am I." Finally, she bared him to her. "Now start the clock."

Instantly, his mind entered a different state. She thoroughly demonstrated her expertise with the male anatomy, taking him higher and higher, and then asking him, telling him, with such plain greed on her face, to let go.

Hearing her say his name, and demand that he'd be doing this for her… Seeing her, this stunning woman, this goddess, this princess down before him…

The faintest voice in his head nudged him and asked if that should have made a difference at all. What did it mean that his body cared?

He suspended judgment and just felt. Felt what it was like to debauch a royal. Felt what it was like to have the naughty princess debauching him. Until…

Ho-ly. Fuuuuck.

Had he said that out loud? Malcolm was so out of it, he couldn't even tell.

As Rhode caught her breath, mischief danced in her eyes. "I don't think that was even two minutes," she said.

Gods fucking dammit! How could he have missed her play?

"Aren't you going to thank me for it?" Rhode said, on the verge of a grin.

Her words left him stumped.

"No?" she said. "Well... I suppose you haven't been satisfied enough then."

It started out like a tickle. But his grip on her hair tightened as pin needles of pleasure raced in him, lighting a fire in him. If he were more in control, he probably would've cared about messing up her hair. But oh, gods, this absolute hellion was just having a blast torturing him.

Biting his lip hard to stop himself from screaming, Malcolm insisted he wasn't going to lose. No way.

(Except he so was and they both knew it.)

Rhode moved off him, remaining just millimeters away. "Thank me like the good boy you are," she taunted.

Even her breaths were too much. But she hadn't had enough. And fuck, he could literally feel her laughing at him.

Malcolm was making the most pitiable noises. Consumed with too much pleasure, the stings were pushing him past the threshold and into the world of pain.

"Thank you," he pleaded pathetically.

Rhode directed a mirthful gaze up at him. "That's Your Highness to you," she said. Then she elicited a pair of yelps from his traitorous throat.

"Oh, fuck you."

"Don't worry, we'll get there." Her touch grazed over him again.

Malcolm's eyes shut. He was seeing stars. "Thank you, Your Highness," he gritted out, holding back cries of stop it. This wasn't what that was for.

Rhode merely tutted in response.

Oh my gods, fuck you, his mind screamed.

"That didn't sound very convincing to me," she said.

Malcolm still couldn't properly construct any thoughts amid her onslaught of pleasure and pain. But there was this conscious part of him that could comprehend. This inkling that indicated that this inhuman before him was fucking insane.

"Look at me and say it like you mean it," Rhode said.

She brushed a thumb over him, and Malcolm screamed a moan. All the while, Rhode smiled in her greedy-triumphant-entertained way.

He was wrong to have thought she had ever given him any power. She was completely in control, and he was in way over his head.

Malcolm swallowed the remnants of his pride and looked Rhode straight in the eye.

"Thank you, Your Highness," he said, his shaky voice broken by whimpers.

Rhode just smiled proudly as she let him go.

Malcolm caught his breath. Slowly coming to grips with reality, he surveyed himself. He was a mess.

Rhode stood and met his eyes. "Why don't you get on the bed?" she said.

As infuriating as it was to have Rhode barking orders at him, Malcolm was eased nonetheless at how easy she made all this. And, sue him, maybe it was also really hot to see her give explicit directions. Call it decisiveness and clarity. Sure.

Malcolm walked backwards, pulling her with him by the hands. He felt one of his legs hit the bed. Rhode was so close. He could count her eyelashes.

With one more step back, he was sitting on the bed. Rhode's hands escaped his. She pushed him down until he was resting on his forearms, on the softest and smoothest sheets he'd ever encountered.

Her bracelets sounded like soft wind chimes by his ears as she climbed over him. They moved up on the bed.

Malcolm watched Rhode reach down, beneath the scrap of cloth covering her. It would take a Minotaur barging in her bedroom to tear his eyes away. And even then, he'd probably hesitate.

He diligently observed her movements and imagined. And then he got some sort of answer.

"I think I know what you want," Rhode said. "Ask me."

He tensed at her question. Why didn't Rhode just demand this, too?

"If I say no?" he said.

Her playful expression turned serious. "I wouldn't force you."

"That's not what—" he blurted. "I didn't actually mean..."

Rhode's eyes were unrelenting. "Don't get shy on me now. Ask me for what you want."

Is this what it's always like with her? he wondered. Did she always request consent in the form of submission? Because—

"I'm not going to beg you to let me show you a good time," he said tersely.

But the fight in him already began to subside when he caught Rhode's eyes flitting to his taut abs.

She drew her gaze back to his face. "Oh, I don't need you to have a good time. I have myself for that. That was the plan," she said, shrugging despite her occupied hands. "Until you came into my wing. You could just watch."

Her hands traveled back up, over herself.

"Whom would that torture more?" said Rhode, continuing to tease him.

Malcolm's fingers were desperately itching to act.

"And should I want something more," she said, letting out a breathy hum, "I'm sure there are dozens of willing candidates outside who would be more than happy to take your place."

Malcolm's eyes flashed.

Rhode wore an infuriating grin. "Ah. Not a fan of that idea, are you?"

Confronted with the truth, he realized Rhode was right.

Fine.

Malcolm tried not to think too hard—or at all. And he asked her what he desired. (And no other set of words he'd uttered had ever felt so abnormal in his mouth.)

But Rhode paid no heed.

"Your Highness," he added, leaving out any indignation from his tone.

Finally, the divine, sinful scent of her wafted into his nostrils.

She blazed a trail of heat on his skin, streaking her fingers onto his body—marking him as he had her. And finally...

Malcolm got a taste. He breathily groaned at the reminder that they both were wanting this, sharing this experience, just them. A reminder of the highs they were reaching in the basicness, the rawness, they were reduced to.

"Wanna come up here?" Malcolm rasped. He nodded up as he dropped his elbows and leaned back down on her bed. He wanted more. And he wanted to fucking give.

Rhode settled over him with a contagious excitement. "You're exactly what I thought you were," she said.

And of course. It was like she couldn't go ten minutes without poking at this part of him under his skin. Without feeding more firewood to the dwindling flames of irritation.

"Do I wanna know?" Malcolm snapped.

Rhode carded her fingers through his hair. "You already know what you are. That's why you're here."

Before he could sufficiently ponder that, she grabbed a pillow and nudged her head up. "You need to be up here. Lift your head," she ordered.

Rhode rotated the pillow lengthwise and slotted it under his head. They shimmied up her bed in inch-increments to get her to balance on the headboard.

And finally, it was time for payback. He'd show Rhode a good time. He'd make her see it was also her privilege.

Malcolm kissed and nipped at her body. Everything needed to come off.

Unsure and uncaring as to what came over him, he tore the lace apart and flung it across the room, leaving Rhode in only her jewelry.

She glanced at the fallen projectile. "You'll pay for that."

"Or you'll thank me," he said.

Diving in, he feasted to the taste of heaven and sin.

Under the shine of her jewelry, Malcolm savored the taste of her. His fingers traced the jewelry on her legs. Then he gripped her ass and dipped his thumbs into the folds where hip met thigh.

Just as he started to enjoy the plush sensation, Rhode took hold of his left hand. Interlacing her fingers through his, she pinned his hand to her bed.

Malcolm's eyes shut as he felt a tingle in his chest burn a path to his throat. He let out a breath against her before resuming his teasing.

Damn, he was so glad that he'd shaved. He imagined telling his past self what he'd be shaving for, and tried not to smile. Past-Malcolm probably would've freaked the fuck out. And after wondering why the fuck and how the fuck ("Obvious" and "Who cares?"), past-Malcolm definitely would've diligently prepared by poring over the latest discoveries surrounding female sexual anatomy.

And sure, he may not have had that much experience—certainly not nearly as much as Rhode possessed—but that wasn't anything studying couldn't fix. This was just another challenge. He'd read enough theory in the past. Nothing intimidating to a committed learner (and Athena knew he loved learning).

All he had to do was follow the scientific method and collect feedback by getting his array of senses attuned to Rhode's cues.

Malcolm stopped messing around and controlled for the first variable, trying to find what did it for her.

He got it in three tries.

Triumph celebrated, Malcolm kept busy.

Yes, there really was no reason to be intimidated by Rhode or by any of this. This was all just a puzzle—one to be taken apart rather than put together.

With his free hand, he added another variable into play. She was warm. And, gods, he really hoped his skin didn't feel cold to her.

After several trials with varying interaction effects (using mostly Rhode's noises and movements as proxies), he celebrated another triumph.

He irrationally mentally prepared for perpetuity.

But there was a third spot to test.

Extricating his pinned hand from Rhode's grip, he reached up to her abdomen and pressed lightly above that bone—

No, it was cartilage, right? Or something else?

A touch of his hand zapped him away from wherever the ADHD train had taken him.

Oops.

Rhode repositioned his fingers, showing him where.

She began moving in fractions of an inch—not far enough to make him lose the vital places he discovered, but just enough to help him tease her from those three sides.

And he continued his ministrations, doing his best to pay attention to the soft noises she made. Malcolm made sure to log his findings and filed the tactics for next time.

Wait. Next time? He wasn't guaranteed that. The realization made him all the more determined to make sure Rhode thoroughly enjoyed herself—and him. He swore she'd get the most from him. He'd give nothing but his absolute best.

Ignoring the protests of his muscles, he continued.

But then Malcolm remembered the feedback he'd received years ago: not to do anything other than what he'd been doing and to just keep going.

He went searching again. He found a particularly effective location-movement-force combo—different than before—and stuck to that.

A minute passed by. Maybe three. Maybe more. And judging by the grip of his hair and the tensing of Rhode's muscles, his plan was working.

Her reactions gave him the drive to keep at it. To just keep going.

But all the ahs and uhs, the hoos and hahs, were worth his persistence.

After exclaimed sighs filled the air above him, Rhode relaxed the fingers in his hair.

Malcolm finally stopped and looked up. Her head had fallen back, blocking too much of his view of her gorgeous self-satisfied face. Nevertheless, the accomplishment felt like a release of its own.

One-one.

Rhode looked down at him, making an amusing picture of a stack of boobs and double chin, framed by a waterfall of hair. "Not bad, Pace," she said, before moving away to sit down in front of him.

All that for a "not bad." Might not have been even eight minutes. And for his first try...

Malcolm sat up and stared at her for a moment. "You want more?" he said. "I'll give you more."

In front of him, Rhode's body called to him again as she said, "Hic Rhodus... hic salta." Complete deadpan.

Malcolm actually laughed, and cared not one smidge how often she'd probably used that line on other guys.

Rhode broke out into a grin and winked at him. And as he settled down in an effort to regain control, more laughs involuntarily bubbled out of him. But that didn't seem to bother her. Rhode simply watched him, basking in his laughter.

"I'll give it to ya. That was good," he said. Why ya gotta be so damn funny?

"Thank you." She beamed with pride. "I wondered if you knew enough Latin. 'Aftoú gár kaí Rhódos kaí pídima' doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?"

Malcolm smiled. "Not as punchy, no."

And somehow, he'd forgotten how exposed he was. But instead of feeling nervous, he took in the moment. He was lounging around with Rhode. In her room. In her bed. Just having fun...

Rhode finally shifted. He wondered what she was planning. When she got up out of bed, she headed over to her bedside table.

And as she poured water from a pitcher into a glass, Malcolm let himself look at her. His feasting eyes made him want to snake his arms around her and press kisses into her soft skin.

"Do you want some water?" she said over her shoulder.

Though she'd caught him, it didn't feel like she was laughing at him this time.

"Water would be nice, thanks," he said.

Smiling, Rhode handed him the glass and watched as he took a gulp. Her bangles clinked when she took back the glass and sipped from it herself. They took a few more sips, trading the glass back and forth until it was nearly empty.

After setting the glass back on the table, she tied her hair, unknowing that he was always a sucker for a woman with a ponytail. He had the urge to touch her skin. And that shark tattoo of hers... Damn. But ultimately, he was content just watching her settle down again and get comfortable.

"Okay," Malcolm said. "Ready?"

Rhode's grin matched his.

They leaned towards each other.

To his surprise, Rhode was gasping after one kiss. He totally wouldn't have expected her to be affected by just one. And for a brief moment, he took offense that she was faking her reactions. It seemed weird, too, considering she had been quiet earlier. And then he remembered where his mouth had been.

Rhode kissed him again and drew herself closer.

She was nearly sitting in his lap. He held her by the hips, imagining what could come later. Now that got him to breathe out a near growl.

But no, that wasn't the plan. At least not now.

Rhode let him flip them over and lean her down. Malcolm started with her lips and began to work his way down with his mouth. He soon had to remove a hand off her to balance himself. It was a misfortune that he quickly forgot once he took a moment to appreciate the sight of her—and was made all the better with her hands busy over him.

He enjoyed her suppleness as he explored the peaks and valleys of her figure, getting her breathing deeply. With more teasing touches, Rhode began to shift restlessly.

Malcolm got up and looked at her, simply appreciating this moment. Right as a question began to form in her eyes, he decided he couldn't wait any longer. He pressed his lips to her skin, and Rhode's fingers dug in his hair again, keeping him close.

He settled down and finally both hands returned to skim over her form. Once he figured he knew what he was doing, he looked up at her as he continued.

Rhode held herself up on her forearms. Her chest rose and fell as she watched him.

As she began to gasp, Malcolm began to tease her. He wanted her wanting.

Rhode gave him a command.

He acquiesced. He was going to anyway. Rhode had just happened to ask. But he could still be delicate.

Rhode gave him another command.

He ignored that.

She moved to meet him at a faster pace. And, okay, fine, he wasn't the only one in control here. But if he couldn't decide on the rhythm, he could still tease her by varying his pressure.

Rhode gave him a third command, not half a minute later.

Malcolm nearly rolled his eyes. "Will you quit whining?"

"It's my birthday," Rhode snapped. "And maybe I'd stop complaining if you could at least match what you did before. Prove it's not a fluke."

Gods, she really had it coming for her.

Malcolm deployed every insight he had accumulated in the past half hour. He did it all gently, yet with fury.

On and on. And on. And on and on. And on.

His muscles were protesting, but he paid no heed to such protests. And eventually...

"Go a little right," Rhode said, slightly breathless.

He complied.

Rhode keened. "My right."

Malcolm heeded her orders.

Throwing her head back as she moaned, Rhode lost her balance and fell on her back.

The harsh movement made them lose their position. In their moment for limb-rearranging, Rhode placed a pillow under her, and Malcolm stretched his neck.

It took them half a minute to regain what they'd earlier achieved. But soon enough, she was holding him even closer to her.

The heel she grazed down Malcolm's spine sent tingles up his nerves. Rhode trembled, spurring him on.

But suddenly, her grip on his hair loosened. She clung to her knee instead—yet even that seemed a vain attempt. Her muscles slackened. Her hands retreated to the linens. And Rhode began to writhe away and wince.

Malcolm paused. "Are you okay?"

"Why'd'you stop?" she said in another whine. Then she shot up from the bed. "Wait, are you okay?"

"Yeah, no. I was just making sure. You looked... really uncomfortable."

Rhode shook her head. Laying back down, she undid her ponytail to fan her hair above her. Her chest rose and fell as she took deep breaths.

The words she said next echoed in his head. And she was asking him.

"It's..." she explained. "I just need help with the... continuing. You can hold me still. If I were alone, I'd either be done by now or be struggling to keep at it." And in a flash, she met his eyes with a wolfish grin. "But you're here."

The corners of his lips quirked. "Got it."

"I'll tell you," she said. "One of those words."

Leaning down toward her once more, Malcolm restarted slowly before resuming with vigor. He used his energy as well as he could to make her feel like she'd run a marathon.

He got Rhode writhing again.

He imagined the same feeling he'd felt earlier. The prickling, needly warmth. Not entirely pleasant, yet somehow more pleasurable because of it. He imagined the pressure that had built into an overwhelming, all-consuming threat of explosion.

On and on and on he went. And then he heard an oh!

Come on. Come on.

"Oh, fuck." Rhode's legs were writhing.

That's it. Malcolm rubbed and pressed and sucked and licked.

"Mà tòn... Poseidôna!"

Rhode's cursing turned into a mumble of swears, and his mind broke for half a second at how unbelievably hot it was that she resorted not just to expletives but to Ancient Greek, something that the mortal women he'd been with had never ignited in him. This was new. Yet more ancient. More… primal.

It turned a cog in his hardwired brain, drawing out his most visceral urges, bringing out the godly side of him, giving him the potential energy to go longer.

He ignored his own growing need and persisted. Her throaty moans became near screams. And he continued, holding her as steady as he could. He hoped he wasn't hurting her by keeping her still.

He began losing focus as the linens brushed against him. But Rhode's wish resounded in his head again, keeping his strength of will intact.

Rhode squirmed away, yelping. Deciding that he wouldn't stop until she said so, Malcolm kept at it, but dialed back the intensity to a two.

Even at that gentle pace, Rhode was nearly screaming. Her abdomen contracted until she was nearly sitting to face him.

And he kinda didn't want to stop.

Another little effort from him, he thought. Another one. One more. One more. One more.

Rhode fell again. Amid her incessant moaning, Malcolm stopped counting the one mores and set himself on replicating her mercilessness.

Her face screwed up as she let out a long, loud groan.

He heard himself growl as she kept panting and mewling. He needed to free a hand and stop himself from following her. But both his hands were occupied with Rhode. With no other option, he succumbed, thanking and cursing the proximity of the sheets.

Last one. Last one.

He lasted even after he couldn't last. His body was wracked and on the edge of release. He really needed to free one of his hands. But, tempted as he was when one was no longer busy, he had the resolve to lock Rhode's trembling thighs in an iron grip.

Malcolm's job wasn't done. Rhode couldn't even swear anymore. Another high reduced her to a mess of dry sobs.

He. Kept. At it.

When Rhode scrambled for a pillow and screamed into it, Malcolm relented. Partially. But even the lightest brush of his nose had her bucking her hips violently.

And, fuck it, Malcolm wanted more of that.

He wrapped his lips around 8,000 nerve endings and li—

"Oh, Fates, STOP!" she choked.

Right as he loosened his hold, Rhode jerked away from his mouth with another cry, nearly kicking him in the process.

"Fuuuck," she whined. "Oh, fuck." Rhode whimpered faintly in front of him as her sternum quivered.

Unable to take it anymore, Malcolm took his own matters into hand, and he lost it.

A fog cleared in his head and tore his mind in two at the sight of Rhode, still quaking beneath him.

"You good?" Malcolm said hoarsely.

Eyes still shut, Rhode gave him a barely-there nod.

He curled his lips at the thought that he could get her like this.

Malcolm caught his breath, wiping away his hand on the sheets. He felt his jaw ache.

It took several moments before Rhode rose up on her elbows. Still breathing heavy, she looked victorious. "That was a nice birthday gift."

And she had still gotten him to do her bidding, he realized. She still had the upper hand.

But was it so wrong though? Surely, even under her command, it was so much better to be a team than adversaries. Why couldn't it be a coincidence?

Malcolm decided to give up fighting her. What was the point? He liked it anyway. At least right now, right here, he'd gladly surrender.

Rhode seemed to notice the change. "Would you let me tie you up to my bed?" she said, using a lower voice than usual.

Malcolm looked into her eyes with surprise.

"I wouldn't hurt you at all. I just want to blow your mind," Rhode said, inching closer to place her hands on his thighs. "And if it comes to it, I don't want you to accidentally kick me or throw me off. I can't keep you still the way you did me."

His mind focused on her last five words. About to break into an immature smirk, his brain was pulled back to focus the hand now gently wrapped around one of his ankles.

"Well, I don't want to kick you…" Malcolm said.

Rhode's eyes flitted left to right. "That doesn't mean—"

"I am fine with it," he blurted out.

It was her birthday, right? He could do this for her. (And maybe for himself, too.)

So, Malcolm was on his back again. As Rhode climbed atop him, he realized he now had not one, but two memories of them in this position.

This time, she was touching him, taking her time to study his front profile. Strangely enough, he found he only barely felt that overload, like from when Rhode had hosed compliments on him about his artistry.

Resting a forearm by his ear, she cupped his cheek with her other hand and let him kiss her for a while. His hands traveled to her hair, burrowing in her tresses, carefully pulling strands away from her dangly earrings.

He had more to work with, with her down here, so he made sure to reap the benefits. As they kissed, Malcolm stroked over the skin and bone of her neck, honored by the vulnerability she entrusted to him. In this moment. In this entire night. This first-class ticket to an exclusive adventure.

Hopping over the clasps of her body jewelry, he swept down the curve of her back and filled his palms with her ass. His fingers brushed down her thighs, along those snake and rose adornments. And up and down again he went, letting his hands roam while his limbs still had freedom.

When Rhode sat up, he rose up with her, adamant on keeping his lips on hers. Her smile ended their kiss anyway. Their foreheads touched as she laid a hand on his abs and began leaning him back down.

But Malcolm stayed there, content with kissing her jaw as he began grazing his fingers through her hair.

"Show-off," Rhode said. She didn't seem to mind, though—and took a moment to trace the product of exercise, diet, and DNA.

He flashed her a grin.

At Rhode's next attempt, he let her push him back to the bed.

Malcolm swept her hair off her shoulders and noticed how the light reflected off them in a pretty glow. His hands traveled down her arms and then to her ass again. Because he could.

Touching her felt almost therapeutic. This sort of softness didn't exist at Camp Half-Blood.

Rhode took his left hand in both of hers. She kissed his palm, then kissed his wrist, sparking a heat in him. Malcolm watched as she produced at will a silky rope of water and circled it around his left wrist. He wondered if she did this often.

This felt more familiar. Like when his heart raced when brought to a fight. When his senses screamed about dangers. When his mind evaluated that he could win the match.

But there was nothing to be lost here with Rhode.

Not knowing what to say and also not wanting to kill the sensual vibe, he let their breaths and the odd rustle of the sheets fill the silence.

With a few more kisses to his wrist, Rhode placed his hand on her chest. Malcolm gazed up in wonder.

"Before this past hour," she said, "you made such valiant attempts to keep your eyes off my boobs. But it seems you're actually an ass man."

Malcolm could've laughed at her remark. "Oh, I'm not particular."

Her eyes closed for a moment as she let him play. "Your hands tonight beg to differ," she said.

On either side of the X on her chest, Malcolm brushed his knuckles against her skin. "Were they feeling left out?" he teased.

"Not anymore."

He did another sit-up to perform an act so indecent, he could never tell a soul. He tried not to think about what had come over him to even attempt it.

Rhode let him work on her for a few seconds, before pushing him back onto her mattress once more.

Malcolm snickered and, just to get a rise out of her, sat up again. For a third time, Rhode pushed him onto his back. This time, she willed the bind around his left wrist to pull towards the side of the bed, keeping him down.

Just as she picked up his right hand, she paused and met his eyes. "Do you want more water?" she said.

"Sure."

They shared the glass again and proceeded to return to the task at hand. Materializing three more cords of water, Rhode bound Malcolm's wrists and ankles to her bed, one by one. She took a long moment to admire her work—and his body.

"How is this?" she said softly. But her eyes blazed darker. (Or was that simply because of the shadow from her hair?) "Is this okay?"

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Comfortable?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're not straining anywhere?" Rhode's fingers ghosted his thighs again.

"No, I'm good."

He began to twitch from the brush of her fingers, which traveled down the back of his knees, then up again. Her hands were so close to where he wanted them. But Rhode kept up her teasing. And she took her time, raking her eyes over the body sprawled under her.

Just moments ago, Malcolm had figured he'd feel self-conscious in this position. But to be looked at the way she was looking at him now, to be touched the way she was touching him now... he couldn't remember a time he'd felt sexier.

It was so hot. To be under her, between her, wholly surrounded by Rhode. At her mercy. Just caught in her web—

Malcolm pulled back his limbs violently. The restraints immediately came loose.

"Wait! Shit." He chuckled nervously. "Oh gods. Ha. Sorry. Just gotta remind myself you're not Arachne or something."

Fuck! FUCK!

Inflamed with mortification, Malcolm focused instead on priorities. Arachne was in Tartarus, he told himself. Captured by Annabeth. Slashed to bits by Percy. There was no way she or her creepy-crawly descendants were out for him right now. Spiders didn't live underwater. At least not this deep.

It was actually funny. No need to feel embarrassed. No. Big. Deal.

Taking expansive breaths, he tried to slow his thundering heart as his eyes consumed the view before him.

Before him was Rhode. He was with a sea nymph goddess, not a monster. A soft, feminine princess, albeit a sharp-tongued vixen. Also a great hugger who smelled like flowers. No, she didn't have pincers. And what crawled over his skin was her jewelry and her long strands of hair, not dusty cobwebs of spider silk.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Rhode said. "You know, we really don't have to. There are other—"

"I'll tell you," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"I've…" he began quietly. DO IT, he told himself. "… legit thought about trying this before." It was difficult to meet her eyes, but he persisted anyhow. "I'll tell you."

And if that didn't just up the heat in him.

Tonight he'd run with it. It served him well so far to take bounding leaps and trust she'd catch him. He wanted more of her. More from her. More her.

But a part of him doubted his choice to surrender all control to this goddess who knew how to torture him. Or... well... that was the appeal, wasn't it?

Rhode's bright eyes fixed on his. "We can try things. Tell me what you like and don't like."

"'Kay."

Rhode's fingers brushed across his skin and ticklish spots. Malcolm fidgeted.

"It's nice," he said when she paused.

Rhode laid kisses on him, just wet enough that he could feel them as she moved on to other parts of him. She was all over him, giving him rewards for his surrender.

See, this was definitely a good idea. Malcolm only wished he could touch her and hold her against his body.

"Is there anything I should absolutely avoid?" Rhode asked.

"Not particularly."

Oh hell no, there were so many things.

"Well," he said, "as far as I know, I'm not into being hurt either."

"I won't."

"And please don't tickle me."

"Okay."

He was sure there was more, but he didn't want to think through them now.

Rhode nosed along his ear and began to kiss his face. As she peppered his nose and cheekbone with pecks, Malcolm calmed, soothed from all worry. Her mouth reached his, finally allowing him to do something in return. Their lips were probably swollen at this point.

And he thought about other possibilities, wondering if she liked... switching. What if she—

Well. Oh, damn.

The vision wouldn't leave him.

"You like that?" Rhode said. Her fingers wrapped around him.

Malcolm flushed under her gaze, getting even hotter under her touch.

What? No, she couldn't read his mind.

And he wasn't questioning his desires, but he certainly wasn't going to share them with her. Or ask her that.

And it was one thing to think it, but another to do so smack dab in front of her. While he was unable to escape her curious mind.

Still, it wasn't like she knew.

Oh, but she seemed to know some things, though. Like the fact that he would've enjoyed whatever they were doing now. She could do a lot with that now that she knew.

How 'bout the fact that she already was? The fact that, even if he told her to stop right now, the potential of a threat—because this certainly had the makings of a threat—would continue beyond tonight. She'd still know.

What the fuck? Surely, this had gone too far. Rhode knew too much. She was holding a deep, dark part of him, a delicate piece of glass tied to the depths of his soul. And she could crumble it so easily if she merely wanted to.

"Malcolm, stop thinking, okay?" she whispered into his neck. "Just feel me. And enjoy yourself."

Malcolm took a breath and flung away his fearful thoughts. He gave a faint nod (for her reassurance), and he reminded himself he trusted her—with this secret and with his body.

He paid no mind to mosquito bites and bruises from training. He thought not of scars from Chicago or New York City or Long Island. At least not until Rhode ran her fingers down his chest, teasing him with light scratches, and stopped near that huge-ass blemish.

"Does this hurt?" she said gently.

"They don't hurt. At all."

Rhode sucked at his skin in the crook of his neck. She kissed his lips again and he tugged at her lip, doing the most he could for the only part of her he could reach.

Ultimately, Rhode was still calling the shots, and too soon, her mouth was too far. And then she lost the chains draping her chest. (He would've also said no.) But he couldn't complain too much. Because what she did next...

"You're going to catch plankton like that," she said with a grin.

Malcolm shut his trap with a twinge of embarrassment.

With a little laugh, Rhode treated him to a show. After a few minutes, she kissed him again—then pressed herself against him. She built a delectable friction on his torso, and she licked and sucked and breathed on his skin.

Her long mane fell over her head and onto his face, tickling his skin. Scared he'd think of Arachne again, Malcolm focused on the smell of her hair—on flowers and seafood barbecue.

Rhode pressed her lips to his skin. Then she slithered over him again.

Ohhh.

Remembering Rhode's command, Malcolm released the muzzle in his throat and freed the noises that wanted to escape. "Oh, gods, that feels good."

He felt so embarrassed saying it, but Rhode rewarded him tenfold.

Relaxing again, Malcolm felt like his body was sinking into the bed. Rhode continued entertaining herself with his body, drawing out intermittent reactions from him.

She teased him again. She did things that felt illegal. And she was heading down—

Malcolm held in a breath. "You can't do that again. I cannot take it if you have other plans in mind," he said, smiling as Rhode laughed.

Flinging her hair off her face, Rhode glanced at him as she crouched over him.

Rhode played with his body some more, digging her fingers into his muscles, caressing the most neglected parts of him until he felt needy.

Then her hands returned to her own body. Right in front of his face.

Malcolm pulled at the restraints. They weren't budging. "You're such a tease," he grunted.

Rhode tittered as she shook her head. It would've sounded sweet if she weren't so devilish.

And this was all getting really annoying. A good annoying. But, oh gods, it was getting worse.

"Do you want this?" she said.

There it was again. The Rhodian paradox. Why was it that whenever she gave him the power, it only led to his further submission to her?

Malcolm stopped caring. He didn't ask nicely, but Rhode didn't seem to care this time. Or maybe what excused him was his acknowledgement that she would be in control.

Rhode reached for a pillow and patted his side, commanding, "Up."

The angle change was a blessing. She was closer this way. And even more tantalizing because he still couldn't do anything.

Rhode's tickling tresses on his skin made him shiver. Malcolm's eyes shut when she finally rocked herself on him. He met her movements. Gods, he was so ready.

"One second," she said.

From the bottle that appeared in her hand, she pumped out a squirt. Tossing aside the bottle, she prepared them and teased him again. A faint moan escaped his lips.

When it finally happened, Malcolm could hardly believe his life.

Sighed groans erupted from both parties.

Every second, Malcolm knew, eleven million pieces of information crossed the human mind. One could capture forty-ish pieces and consciously store around seven. Demigods had greater awareness, and Athena's children could process yet more. But in this moment, Malcolm could only manage three: warm, wet, and snug.

They stilled as she accommodated him.

Gods, it had been a while since he'd last felt this. But Rhode felt different. Better. This must have been what it was like to be with a goddess. Or actually…

Idiot! "Rhode, wait! Get off me," he grunted.

In an instant, she scrambled away, knocking the wind out of him as she balanced her weight on his stomach.

And amid his oofs, he nearly missed the effusive flashes in her eyes. The panic. The tenderness. And—through the cracks—the disappointment.

Malcolm shoved away his prickling guilt, focusing instead on the ease that washed over him at the white lie in the blue-green.

Setting her hands beside his head, Rhode looked down at him expectantly.

He answered the question still blaring in her eyes. "Protection."

With a deep exhale, Rhode's alarm was replaced by a calmness. "There's really no risk of pregnancy or disease, I swear."

The room was loud with their breaths and the faint noises of underwater glugs. The smell of their need lingered around them. And underneath those long eyelashes, Malcolm caught nothing but sincerity.

Right. Of course. She was a goddess. She'd done this for thousands of years. She clearly knew what she was doing. Oh, how very convenient.

Malcolm let out a breath. "Okay."

At his nod, she began again, drawing out another sigh.

"Good," he said.

So very, very good.

Green into gray, they moved with a cadence growing out of sync, making them groan and huff. With only so much he could do tied down, Malcolm let her lead. Let her do whatever she wanted to him.

Through sloppy kisses, Rhode set a rhythm. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulders, and her jewelry was biting into his skin. Her tongue dipped into his collarbone, teeth grazing and nipping at his skin.

Leaning back, she let out an uhhh and sucked her teeth. "You should see yourself."

Nah. He was totally fine with the view he had. The view of this voracious woman. Slightly out of control. Pleasured. Wanting. Determined. With her messed up hair tossed around in her movements. Mouth ajar in sharp pants. The sweat on her skin lit by the muted glow of her room.

He was sensing everything now. Feeling her rake her nails over his stomach. Appreciating the pressure building through him below.

"Tied down under me," Rhode said through her panting. "Your bedhead, blazen eyes, sheen of sweat... Lipstick stains on your skin. Smelling of my soap." She groaned. "And you're moving so desperately. Such a wreck, greedy for a good time. You want me so much, don't you?"

A string of yeses and fucks burst from Malcolm's throat, inciting an even hungrier look in Rhode's eyes. "Yeah?" she said. "Tell me. Tell me you want me."

"Fuck, I want you." In his delirious state, he repeated the words without a care.

Rhode kept at it with force. Her hands traveled over him.

At one point, she missed, causing Malcolm to yowl.

"I'm so sorry!" Rhode squealed.

"'S okay."

Rhode was more careful this time. Or just slower. Then her rhythm grew more erratic and she began falling towards him.

"Help me," she said.

The ropes binding his ankles lengthened. Though she still had him tied up, he could move enough now. Malcolm gave her muscles a rest and surged up.

Despite the smarting pain, the pause had made for a good cooldown to catch him from losing himself. To have him take it all in. Why not take their time?

But Rhode began to move, and then they were mismatched in rhythm again. And this just wasn't...

"C'mon," Rhode said. "C'mon. More."

Malcolm fulfilled her request, intense enough to get her face scrunching.

"That okay?" he checked.

"Yesss," she gasped. "Yes. Yesss."

There was enough, then there was more than enough. That was Rhode. Hedonism. Indulgence. Immoderation. To hell with Atlantis. She must've come from Sybaris, because nothing else could ever feel this good.

More came with the right amount of speed and force, slickness and friction. More came with no escape.

Craving his release so desperately, willing to do anything to reach his high, Malcolm finally caved, practically begging her for release.

Rhode's had the audacity to laugh. "I wasn't going to stop you or make you ask for permission," she said. "It seems I conditioned you well."

Malcolm's cheeks lit aflame. "Seriously, fuck you."

"Yes," Rhode said with another chortle and a roll of her hips. "Exactly that. But— Oh..."

And how could he hate her at all when she was gasping and humming atop him like this?

"Mm. Thank you for asking," she said. "Good boys deserve to be rewarded."

Malcolm wanted to insist to her not to call him a good boy. But he couldn't argue against it. And why would he disagree, especially when a good boy was what she wanted?

Rhode stayed true to her word and led him yet closer to the edge. When Malcolm opened his eyes, he saw her concentrating as she looked at him.

Any annoyance in him had vanished, and something told him he should feel guilty she was abstaining from her own pleasure. But he also felt special that she was making this extra effort for him.

Reaching for her, Malcolm was held back by her restraints. "Wanna touch you," he said with a groan of frustration.

Rhode smiled for a sec at him. Sitting up, she did what he couldn't do.

Blood rushed to his face and neck. His eyes snapped shut. His head lolled back.

And Malcolm was gone.

The sheets were sticking to his back. And the ropes of water grew tauter, restraining him even more as Rhode continued.

And it was all too much and he was squirming so desperately from the stinging pleasure as a tingling fire rose up his torso and rippled through each limb. He tried to grab something to ground himself, yet clutched nothing but air, and the fire and heat and frenzy in his chest kept building and building and building like little explosions threatening to trigger a kill switch that'd shatter him to pieces.

Already flung off the edge, he started teetering off another cliff, like a never-ending freefall that once more that night pulled him into a world of pain.

But this time, Malcolm welcomed the sensation. He wanted to feel again what too much pleasure felt like. He wanted Rhode to keep going. Let her take from him what she wanted.

This was just like his runs, wasn't it? Heart racing, muscles howling, he could push his limits. He wanted to withstand the discomfort. He would do what felt impossible.

After what felt to Malcolm like an eternity spent in an agony of pleasure, Rhode hissed out words he didn't recognize. Judging by the precious cries torn out of her throat, it was her turn for relief.

She fell towards him. Both bodies continued to writhe as their greedy owners gasped and hissed and whimpered, drawing out the last bits of bliss from and for each other.

Malcolm felt lightheaded. Catching his breath was difficult with Rhode on his chest, and he became extremely conscious about how deeply he was breathing. He didn't want it to seem like he was trying to push her off or was complaining about her weight on him. But that was fine. He could manage this, too.

As his lungs filled with oxygen, he tried to take in all that had happened between them. Just... "Whoa."

"Yeah," Rhode said. "That was..."

He laid there, unable to move. His muscles were spent and his eyelids too heavy. He was too conked out to think straight. But he was conscious enough to notice he now felt clean, if not sweaty.

"Thanks," he said through a breath, knowing it was her. "Happy birthday, Rhode."

Against the crook of his neck, Malcolm could feel her lips widen. "That's Your Highness to you," she said breathily.

Malcolm huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes under his lids. "Happy birthday, Your Highness."

The last thing he heard before his brain shut down was a murmured thank you.


Malcolm dreamed he was walking down an empty beach, with rays of sunshine kissing a pleasant warmth into his skin.

He felt his hand being tugged and fingers slip through his grasp. Jet black hair and a white dress appeared before him, billowing in the wind as the woman at his side took off towards the water.

She laughed as she marked the virgin sand with a trail of footprints, somehow never managing to reach the waves. Chuckling along, Malcolm ran after her.

Under a summer sky, their feet touched down on more and more beach. And as he got closer and closer, his breath began to shorten.

A faster runner than he'd figured. The thought made him grin.

Then finally, strands of black were blinding him, and he felt her cheek turning to catch his lips. With a last laugh, she turned in her arms to face him.

But the darkness in his vision persisted. The tide had risen into a tsunami.

He was going to drown.


AN:

I did my best to take the explicit bits out of this chapter and to tone it down in other ways. I don't know where exactly this site draws its line between M and forbidden.

I'd prefer to totally say "screw you" to FF . n e t's rules (perhaps I still did, idk), but I also don't want this site to delete this fic or my entire account in some unannounced Great Purge. (Hey, if it happened in 2002 and 2012, maybe they'll do another round in 2022.)

But enough about all that. We can talk about children's fables! The idiom Rhode used that Malcolm kept laughing at is based on one of Aesop's stories known as "The Leap at Rhodes" (link in bibliography on AO3). It means "Prove it, here and now" or literally "Here is Rhodes. Jump here."

And finally, another survey! Just 3 quick questions.

bit . ly/feedback-ch6