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Skipper has been pissed off since before he set out, because First Mate was supposed to join him and he's not here. Fishing is easier with two people, and First Mate is pretty accommodating so they always have themselves some fun between catches. As it is, Skipper grumbles to himself and hauls all the nets about himself, horny in his clothes and angry about it.
The gulls show him where to fish, the sky is clear and the breeze blows well. Skipper drops the weighted net, then a hunk of pork fat stuck through with hooks, and waits for the fish to take the bait.
He attaches the lines to the pulley, gathers everything, and hauls. It's a big, heavy catch.
Muscles straining, Skipper heaves the leading edge of the net over the rail, lets it spill out as he swings the block hard to port so as not to lose any of the catch. Behind him, there is a loud wet smack, and Skipper is pleased that there is something big in this catch, but hopefully not a shark, they taste shit.
It's not a shark, but it's as big as one. With its iridescent tail and one arm still tangled up in the net, is a merperson, watching him with wide ocean coloured eyes.
"Well well, hello Fishie."
It? He? Looks like a he... whistles and clicks, expression indignant.
"Bad luck," Skipper says.
Skipper fetches his knife and begins to sort and dispatch the catch. The faster he can kill, gut, and get the fish into boxes, the better price he will fetch for them. He tosses seaweed and small fry and a starfish back over the side. Fishie watches him kill a mackerel. Mackerel blood is thin and watery. Fishie's blood is much the same.
Skipper pauses to watch him writhe, abdomen twitching, clearly uncomfortable in his trapped position. Skipper frowns at him, looking for the source of the bleeding. There is a fish hook wedged deep in his rib-gills.
"Can you speak?"
Fishie draws away from him as Skipper approaches, but he can't move far. He grabs a nearby fish with his free hand and lobs it at Skipper with another series of hissing clicks. Skipper laughs.
"Feisty little Fishie, aren't you?"
Skipper grabs the block and pulls the net the rest of the way across the deck, dragging Fishie with it. The mer makes an awful gurgling whimpering noise, his free hand scrabbling uselessly at the hook in his gill. The powerful tail slaps the deck, but he can't get any purchase.
"You’re a funny looking thing. Not a person, not really a fish." Skipper frowns. "You cold blooded or are you a mammal?"
Fishie clicks in his throat again, eyes wide. Skipper goes back to clearing his catch and doesn't turn back to the net until he sluices the last of the guts off the deck.
Fishie is still watching him, still looking uncomfortable, but a lot less scared than previously. Skipper frowns. Shame, he kind of misses that wide eyed expression. Skipper unhooks the net from the block, but doesn't detangle it. He's still curious about the mer.
"C'mon pretty Fishie, let's have a look at you."
Skipper puts a hand on the pretty tail and Fishie recoils, clicking, panicky. Skipper presses his palm more firmly against the strong, slippery flesh. It's like holding a manta ray.
"So, you are warm after all."
Skipper reaches higher, stroking upwards, curious about the place where mostly-fish becomes mostly-human. Fishie is big, long, taller than him if he could stand, so Skipper hauls him across his lap by the web of the net. Fishie lashes out, free hand swiping at him with sharp claws.
"Fuck!"
Skipper is caught by surprise and the claws hurt, but he has always been quick and resourceful.
"Oh no you don't. Little shit."
Skipper lunges for the line and hook still attached to Fishie and grabs and twists. Fishie screeches, all tension dissolved in an instant.
"That's better. Know your place."
That lovely wide-eyed expression is back. Fearful. Skipper grins. He wonders if the mer can cry. It's always hot when they cry because of him. He gives a little tug on the fish hook, just enough to make Fishie whine.
"Don't know what you're complaining for. You can still breathe"
The rapid rise and fall of Fishie's chest is evidence of that. His gills are like feather edged slits in his skin, blue-green toned like his tail. They flutter too. Skipper strokes one, fingertips just creeping under the edge to feel tender, wet flesh within. Skipper sweeps his hand across Fishie's chest and the mer flinches, free hand curling at his side, but he doesn't move.
"Fast learner."
Fishie has nipples, but no navel. Live young, but lays eggs perhaps?
"Are you a dude, I wonder? Don't suppose it matters much. No holes though."
Skipper checks down the length of Fishie's tail, curious. The warm weight in his lap is nice, reminds him of what he's missing without First Mate here. Not that he's going to try and stick his dick into Fishie's mouth. Those teeth look sharp.
"You must fuck somehow," he mutters. "Everything fucks. You ain't that different."
Skipper grabs a handful of the net and flips the mer around. Fishie screeches, and Skipper shuts him up but putting the sole of one boot over the thinnest part of his tail fin.
"Go on. Be really fucking funny when you can't swim."
A series of throaty clicks demonstrates Fishie's acquiescence.
Skipper explores his back, the curve of a dorsal fin, more strong smooth tail, but finds nothing interesting. He is getting frustrated now, and pulls Fishie around to face him by his hair.
"What is your stupid pretty face for if I can't fuck it, hmm? Should have just thrown you back."
Fishie's expression brightens instantly, like the sun through clouds.
"You fucker. You do understand me."
Fishie's eyes go wide, free hand scrabbling at the deck. Skipper growls.
The fight is quick and awkward and wet. Fishie tries to claw his face off and misses, then tries to scramble up over the rail and back to the water. Fishie is bigger than Skipper, probably stronger, certainly armed with better natural resources... But Skipper has tools.
He snatches up a fish hook dangling from the edge of the net and binds it around Fishie's free arm. He digs his fingers into the net and pulling the mer back into the centre of the deck, and then grabs up every slack bit of webbing he can to attach to the block until the mer is helpless. And then Skipper tugs on the hook in Fishie's gill again and smirks.
"You thought you'd get away with it, playing dumb? But maybe you're not so smart after all. I expect one of the elusive merfolk will fetch good money back home. Say bye-bye to the ocean Fishie."
This time, Fishie's scream of panic is completely different. Whatever fear of injury he had before, this fear is worse. There are no words, but the series of clicks and whistles are easily interpreted as begging.
Skipper breathes hard, fighting always makes him horny.
"You going to be a good little fish and let me touch you now?"
Fishie blinks, eyes hidden behind several sets of lids, then lets out a whine.
"You know what's good for you. Maybe we aren't so different after all." Skipper stares at Fishie's tail, considering. "Not so different…"
He can see the jut of Fishie's pelvis, so Skipper imagines where his navel would be, then measures down with the spread of his hand and presses along Fishie's crotch. Sure enough, the skin is warmer here, the flesh beneath is different and Skipper grins in triumph as he finds his goal.
"Nice little Fishie with a nice little hole, hmm?" Skipper glances back up at the mer's face. "Blushing? Aww, does it feel nice Fishie?"
Skipper strokes over the narrow slit of the entrance again, then braces both hands over Fishie's tail and uses his thumbs to spread him open. The inside of Fishie is not pink, but a warm, rich purple. Skipper stares at the complicated, alluring arrangement of folds before him. At the base of the slit is a nub, round and shiny, tempting. Skipper rubs over it with the pad of one thumb.
Fishie squirms, helpless, upset.
"Yeah, not so different. There's got to be things we have in common for us to look so alike. And maybe you've got a cock in there too. But this is fun anyway."
Skipper keeps rubbing as he talks, until a sudden warm trickle of wetness makes him pause. Fishie is shinier than before
"So, you do like that? Cute little Fishie getting all wet for me?"
Skipper moves his thumb in faster circles, watching intently as the nub seems to thicken and swell under his touch. Fishie's folds quiver, and this time Skipper watches the slick trickle out of him.
"How wet do you think you need to be for me to fuck you? Maybe it's like people and you don't need to be wet at all. Could just force my way in, even though you look fucking tight." Skipper uses his other hand to try and spread Fishie's slit some more. "Might rip you like that."
Fishie's throat bobs, his panicked clicking far louder now, and Skipper pauses.
"Yeah, you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you Fishie?" Skipper tugs on the fish hook still set in Fishie's gill, and the mer winces. "You don't mind if I cut you here, as long as I don't hurt you there?"
Fishie's jaw quivers, lip wobbling, and Skipper watches for the faintest suggestion of a nod. He rubs hard against the nub in retaliation and Fishie whines and more slick trickles between his folds.
"Well, let's see what other surprises you hold."
Skipper drags the very tip of one finger teasingly up and down Fishie's purple folds, playing with the slick. It's like fish oil but without the greasiness, slippery smooth between Fishie’s vent and Skipper’s fingers. The moment he stops holding Fishie open, his slit starts to close, but the little nub is much more swollen now, and Fishie's flesh parts around it.
"All hot and heavy and ripe for fucking?"
Fishie clicks, unhappy.
"Slippery little pervert, aren't you?" Skipper puts two fingers just above Fishie's nub, holding his edges apart, loving the flutter as the mer squirms away. "Let's get you nice and ready for my cock. Bet we can have you real loose in no time Fishie."
The slick makes it possible for Skippers fingers to push in, but it's still so tight and Skipper twists his wrist and angles his fingers to find the best way into Fishie's vent. His knuckles bump and rub over the swollen nub, and Fishie whimpers as everything gets slicker and wetter around Skipper's hand.
"Either whatever you guys fuck with is real small, or no one has ever been up here before." Skipper grins. "Tight little hole, but nice and wet."
Skipper pulls back, then thrusts in, spearing Fishie open around three fingers. His tail fin smacks the deck, spine arching, and Skipper smiles. It's difficult to tell what he can feel, but when Fishie next writhes, something firm and smooth nudges Skipper from within.
"What have we here?" Skipper turns his hand over, no longer caring so much for thrusting as he tries to catch hold of the thing which prodded him. Fishie whines and clicks, but Skipper just tugs the fish hook until he stops. "Hold still Fishie. Maybe this is why you're so tight."
Skipper's fingers grasp and slide over the thing again and again. He growls when Fishie whines, squirming to get away. Skipper removes his fingers and just for a moment sees a glimmer of the thing, wet and shiny and brighter than Fishie's purple folds, before his vent closes.
"Keeping your cock hidden away in there? Don't worry, I ain't gonna cut it off." Skipper braces both hands over Fishie's tail and uses his thumbs to spread his vent open again. "Gonna make you show me. Do you think if I get you wet enough it'll just slide right out? Let's try."
Fishie writhes under his thumb as Skipper presses hard on the swollen nub at the base of his slit. The clicking in his throat dissolves into whistles, gills fluttering in little spasms, and another trickle of slick slides between Skipper's fingers. But it's not enough. Skipper leans in, and Fishie seems to realise what he's about to do because his wriggling increases, tail slapping the deck as much as he is able whilst bound so tightly. Skipper squeezes tight around the mer's hips, and licks right over the nub protruding from his vent.
Fishie is soft, silky smooth, his slick tastes clean and fresh – like mirin dressed over salmon sashimi – and he's warm. Skipper sucks at the opening of his slit, held wide by his thumbs, and hums as he drinks down everything Fishie has to offer.
Fishie clicks in panic, but he's still so wet. It's working, even if he doesn't want it to.
Skipper moves lower, fixing a kiss over that round smooth nub, the texture so different from the feathery wet folds, and Fishie arches into the contact.
"Feels good, huh?"
Fishie shakes his head violently, blushing purple.
"Bodies don't lie Fishie. Can't wait to get a look at you."
Skipper dives right back in, sucking on the nub, licking it with the flat of his tongue and teasing with the tip. He moves back to Fishie's vent proper, and groans at how open it is now, the flesh supple with pleasure. When he dips his tongue inside, he feels the bright, hard thing pushing him back. It tastes saltier, but still delicious, and Skipper starts to lick in broad strokes across the vent and nub and the emerging tip of Fishie's cock as it pushes out from between his folds.
It's no wonder Fishie was tight, his cock is long as Skipper's forearm, smooth and tapered and glistening. Skipper licks along the sides of the shaft as it emerges, his curiosity on hold until the mer feels good enough that he won't shrink back into himself right away. There is a slight flare to the tip, leaf shaped, and a little divot just like the hidden vent which leaks thick salty fluid when Skipper presses a
wet kiss there. Fishie is flushed, mouth hanging open in silence, and Skipper seizes his opportunity and shoves three fingers into his vent.
Fishie screams – a series of clicks so fast that they are continuous – but Skipper just twists his wrist and angles his hand to stroke deeper. Fishie's insides are textured with fluttering ridges, sweetly gripping at Skipper's fingers as he thrusts and strokes. Fishie's cock throbs, twitching, and soon Skipper's hand is soaked with slick and more drools down from the tip of Fishie's cock. Skipper pulls back and uses his fingers to spread Fishie's vent wide.
Fishie clicks and whistles, expression defiant and embarrassed all at once.
"Got you all wet and ready now, haven't I little Fishie?" Skipper gloats. "Are you going to cry again when I fuck you, I wonder?"
Fishie's eyes go wide, apparently still surprised that Skipper intends to follow through on his threat. He thrashes, abdomen heaving as he wriggles to get away. Skipper reminds him once again that a little rope and a sharp fish hook give him all the power. Fishie gnashes his teeth, screeching, but Skipper pays him no heed, and opens the front flap of his own overalls. His cock springs into his hand, he's been hard a while.
Fishie's tail slaps the deck, but he doesn't move and Skipper slides the head of his cock through the thick pre-cum which dribbles down Fishie's shaft. The mer's cock is smooth and ever so warm against his own and Skipper grins.
"Pretty cock you have there. Wonder if you'd rather be fucking me with it instead?"
He moves the head of his cock down and rubs it against the swollen nub, watching Fishie's vent gape and flutter.
"Or is there some sweet bit of tail out there you want? You gonna imagine that I'm them when I fuck you?"
He twists the fish hook.
"I'm not gonna let you forget where you are Fishie. You're mine. All strung up tight and all wet just for me."
Skipper leans in close, and Fishie's eyes go wide and round. Skipper is expecting to be snapped at, but as he draws near, Fishie turns away with his cheeks flushed. Skipper crows.
"You want it. Even if you can't admit it to yourself."
Skipper takes his cock in hand and starts to drag the head up and down, distorting Fishie's slippery folds.
"Twisted little thing, for all that you want to pretend to be so sweet."
Skipper notches the head of his cock against Fishie's nub, pressing hard until the mer meets his eyes again, then takes one last long look at the wet, open folds of his vent, before he thrusts up and in. His cock slides deep inside and Fishie's ribbed walls rub him delightfully. Skipper groans, fitting his hands around Fishie's ribs, just under his gills, bracing his weight on his arms as he pulls back and begins to set a bone shaking, punishing pace. Fishie clenches around him, gripping his cock with completely different muscles than any human partner.
It's warm, it's wet, and it's fantastic. Skipper snarls in vicious joy as he hammers into Fishie hard enough make the mer begin to click and whistle again, cheeks purple and lips damp where he pants. He grinds his cock deep inside, and the change of angle makes the mer whine. Skipper grins, pulling out almost all the way, threatening to leave Fishie empty, and Fishie whimpers, tail smacking into the deck in an aborted attempt to thrust upwards towards Skipper.
"Knew it. Knew you were just a sweet little slut really."
Skipper fucks deep into him again. Fishie's mouth falls open, throat clicking rapidly, eyes half closed.
"Yeah, that's it. You just enjoy yourself pretty Fishie. If you're real lucky, maybe we'll see what you look like when you come?"
Skipper alternates fucking Fishie hard and fast with deep, hard grinds of his hips relishing in all of the noises Fishie makes and the wonderful array of sensations from the fluttery folds of his vent and the more ribbed textures within. Fishie's cock throbs and wriggles between their bellies, slightly prehensile, twitching like it's searching for something. Skipper pulls back, just keeping the head of his cock rubbing against Fishie's folds and his very swollen nub, and leans back so as to get a better look at his prey. The mer is dripping slick, writhing to get back on his cock, but Skipper wants to see that wide eyed fear again too.
"Wonder how long you could go for, Fishie?"
Skipper uses his thumbs to gape Fishie's vent, teasing the head of his cock between folds which try and suck him back in.
"Could I fuck you all day? Pump so much cum into you that you can't hold it all? Or would you like that?"
Skipper leans in close, still keeping his cock only just resting against Fishie's wet opening.
"Maybe I should stop?" Fishie's eyes go wide suddenly, Skipper grins. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? Perhaps I should make you beg for it?"
Skipper pulls back a little more and Fishie writhes, tail flailing. Skipper twitches the hook set in his vent, just as a reminder, and Fishie falls still, panting, vent clenching and gaping around nothing.
"Beg."
Fishie clicks in his throat, his tail smacks the deck.
"Not good enough Fishie." Skipper teases the head of his cock between Fishie's folds again. "Beg for it."
Fishie makes a pathetic whistle in his throat, a click which dissolves into a whine, and as Skipper waits, the mer meets his gaze, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"Pretty Fishie," Skipper purrs, and fucks deep into him.
With every thrust, Fishie seems to grip him tighter, body undulating around his cock, his long cock writhing and throbbing between them. Skipper growls his pleasure as tears track down Fishie's cheeks, fucking harder.
Skipper feels his orgasm pull up from his balls, the hot inexorable throb which drives his hips to smack harder and harder, drive his cock as deep into Fishie's sweet hole as he can so that he can sink his seed deep within. He holds Fishie's waist with one hand and curves over the mer, breath and voice caught in his throat as he comes. It's an amazing orgasm, luxurious and long, each rock of his hips brings new waves of sensation and pleasure as Fishie quivers around him. Fishie's cock coils and undulates between them. Skipper smirks, glancing down to see Fishie flood over his own abdomen with sweet-salty slick and cum. The mer clicks and wails, and as Skipper watches, Fishie’ss cock throbs again, swelling briefly. The divot at the tip widens impossibly, and then four little round things spill from him.
The eggs are no bigger than almonds, faintly blueish and shimmering in the puddle of Fishie's cum. Skipper stares. Fishie pants, flushed, gills heaving, and then he too looks down to see the eggs resting on his belly and panic overtakes him instantly.
Fishie bucks, tail slapping and twisting, hands clawing at the net. The movement dislodges Skipper's cock from the warm, wet folds of his slit, and nearly sends one of the eggs sliding to the hard deck. Skipper catches it in his palm, curling his hand around the egg protectively. Fishie trills in anguish and worry, but he doesn't stop writhing, and Skipper snarls in annoyance as he is forced to grab the end of the fishhook and tug viciously on the mer's wounded gill. Fishie falls still instantly, panting, eyes wide.
"That's better. Stay fucking still."
Skipper uncurls his hand, once again revealing the four little eggs lying on Fishie's tummy.
"Eggs?" Skipper confirms.
Fishie whistles, nodding affirmatively.
"Does this happen every time you fuck?" Skipper asks.
Fishie shakes his head, whistling low, almost crooning.
"No... so, fertile season for you I suppose? Bad idea to lay them out here though, surely?"
Fishie clicks and whistles in rapid undulation, clearly trying to explain something very fast, but all of it is incomprehensible to Skipper.
"Fucking- shut up!" He tugs the hook again. "Your language is stupid."
Carefully, he turns one of the eggs around in the silky puddle of cum and slick with the pad of one finger.
"Do you want me to put them in the water?"
Fishie screeches in alarm.
"Alright, so that's a no."
Skipper touches each of the eggs in turn, aware of the way Fishie is watching him, caught in between abject terror and some warmth at seeing his eggs being treated gently.
"Where do I put the eggs, Fishie?"
Fishie blushes, eyes flitting down to his cock, still fully exposed.
Skipper slides his hand over the thick smooth muscle, and Fishie nods faintly, so Skipper continues until his thick fingers are slipping again into the sopping wetness of Fishie's fucked open vent. Cum and slick mix, coating Skipper's hand as he pushes deeper until Fishie whines.
"Here?" Skipper curls his fingers, making Fishie meet his eyes. "This is where the eggs go? Inside you?"
Fishie nods, biting his lip.
"They need to be warm and wet, huh? There gonna be space once your cock slips away?"
Fishie nods again, but more urgently this time.
"They need to go in there before your cock shrinks back?" Skipper doesn't even wait for the confirmation before he wraps a hand around the slippery base of Fishie's cock. "Better keep this interested enough not to hide away then, mmm?"
Fishie whimpers, and Skipper licks him.
Fishie's cock tastes just as good as it did before, and it's no hardship for Skipper to pop the faintly flared tip into his mouth and suck as he gathers up the first of the eggs into careful fingers, letting it slip in between Fishie's fluttering folds. He doesn't pause there, but follows with his fingers, pushing the egg down and down into that tight, wet channel, flooded with his own cum, until he can reach no further. He feels Fishie clench around him, internal muscles drawing the egg away from his fingertips, safe inside.
Skipper sits up to watch the second time, still keeping one hand stroking casually at Fishie's cock, as he gathers the egg and slides it deep into Fishie's vent. It feels strangely satisfying to see the shiny blue eggs sinking into a well of his own slippery white cum. When he pushes the third egg in, Skipper's thumb brushes over the nub at the base of Fishie's vent. The mer moans, cock twitching and dripping more saltly pre. Skipper grins, fucking Fishie with his fingers once the egg recedes.
"Not quite done are you Fishie? Want a little more?"
Fishie trills softly, eyes half shuttered by his translucent lids.
"Let's take care of this one first though, mustn't leave it behind."
Skipper scoops up the last egg, sliding it through creamy cum and Fishie's lovely open folds, pushing as deep as he can until the egg is safe within. Fishie doesn't flinch away or struggle when Skipper slots the head of his cock against his vent.
The push this time is soft and spongy. Fishie's walls still tighten around him, but now it's like suction instead of clenching, and Skipper groans as he slides in deep. Fishie keens, whistling softly, cock twitching. Skipper leans close over him, grinding his hips in deep, fucking through the mess of his own cum and Fishie's slick with leisurely rolls of his hips. Fishie trills to him, and when Skipper glances down, the mer leans up and kisses him.
Skipper leans into the kiss automatically, not thinking with the head atop his shoulders, continuing to fuck as he explores Fishie's mouth. Fishie is eager, thorough, and the underside of his tongue is rough and strange as he licks into Skipper's mouth.
Skipper makes to move back, to breathe, and Fishie bites him. Skipper flinches, but Fishie's sharp teeth are set into his lip, holding him there. Fishie croons, tongue lapping against Skipper's own and Skipper feels himself get dizzy from the lack of air. The croon intensifies, soft vibrations which travel from Fishie's throat down Skipper's body to where they are joined. Skipper rolls his hips – helpless not to – and his cock throbs, balls twitching and tightening as his orgasm overtakes him without warning.
Skipper groans, blinking, raising his head from Fishie's shoulder. He feels groggy but sated. When he turns his head, Fishie licks his cheek.
"The fuck?"
Fishie trills again, soft, almost... happy.
"Feel full now, huh?"
Skipper leans up, hissing at the sensation as he pulls his cock free from Fishie's puffy, warm folds. The mer wriggles at the sudden emptiness, but before Skipper has a chance to pet him and feel for himself, Fishie's cock is slipping away, sliding back inside, and his vent shrinks and closes until there is nothing but a soft divot.
Skipper rubs his palm over the space, seeking out the edges of Fishie's vent, but when he finds them, there is no more give than there would be between two threads of woven fabric. Fishie clicks to distract him from the endeavour.
"Well don't you look satisfied and smug?" Skipper scoffs.
He stands up, hating that his thighs feel shaky, and tucks his wet cock away, fastening the front flap of his trousers. He takes up his knife again, and begins to cut the netting which holds Fishie so securely.
Skipper has several long days of repair ahead of him now, but one ruined net seems like a good trade for a fantastic fuck. The sense memory of Fishie's sweet, wet vent and the slippery nub swelling beneath his tongue will keep Skipper in jerk-off material for months.
And the tears, the whimpering... Skipper steps around behind Fishie to cut the last ropes and grins. Yes, it was worth it. The moment Fishie is free, he moves to pull the hook from his gills but it doesn't come free. Fishie clicks rapidly.
"Fuck- Can you do nothing for yourself?"
Fishie shoots him a hard glare, eyes narrowed, and Skipper flips him off – though he doubts the mer knows what the gesture means – before stepping over him again to take hold of the hook. It does not come free easily, but Fishie does not scream. When Skipper meets his gaze, his cheeks are wet with tears, eyes shining. Skipper reaches down and drags his thumb through them.
"Pretty Fishie, crying for me."
Skipper sucks the tears off his thumb, stands up and gives Fishie's tail a nudging kick with his boot as he steps over him and away across the deck.
"Go on, fuck off."
Skipper unties his boat from the buoy and returns to the tiller, checking the clouds on the far horizon and the position of the sun in the sky. When he looks back to the deck, Fishie is still there.
"Oi! Did you not hear me? Get lost Fishie."
Fishie doesn't go.
Skipper tries not to look at Fishie, lounging on deck as he sails back to dock. The injured mer twists around, leaning on his tail and half climbing to reach the barrel of fish and rice where Skipper's catch rests.
"Oi! Don't you dare!"
But Fishie merely grins, and helps himself.
"Cheeky shit. I could still skin you, you know."
Apparently Fishie is immune to his intimidation now, and Skipper simmers in impotent irritation, wondering why he doesn't feel angrier, ignoring the voice in his head that asks why he doesn't follow through on his threats.
Fishie chomps his way through two more fish before they come within shouting distance of the dock, and Skipper sets the tiller and stomps down onto the deck.
"Get lost!"
Fishie trills.
"Go! You stupid fish-tail. Get out."
Fishie clicks, head on one side Skipper huffs, snarls.
"Other humans might actually hurt you," Skipper grits out between clenched teeth. "I know you understand me, now fuck off."
Fishie heaves himself up, perching on the rail of the boat. He glances down at the water, then back at Skipper.
"What?"
Fishie smiles at him. Chirrups.
There is a long, tense, drawn out kind of moment, and then with a shimmy and a splash, Fishie is gone.
Skipper guides his boat back into port, happy with his catch, happy to have gotten off, and doesn't think about those wide eyes when he goes to bed that night.