Excerpt from "Song of the Mer"

After the first surprise of his encounter, John had pushed him away and began shouting at him not to touch him. It had taken awhile for things to settle down after that.

Once inside the warm house, Finnian was quick to shuck off the foul-smelling covering Patty had given him. But his natural state appeared to upset John for some reason. The older man had draped a fluffy thing over Finnian with wrappings for his arm and a length of rope that tied around his waist. Once this was on, he'd calmed down considerably.

"Who are you? Can't you talk? Look, I remember you talking at the beach. I didn't understand you but you were talking. And singing, too." John squinted at him, scratching his hair absentmindedly. "Well? Can't you say anything?"

The young man grimaced and then began making a series of gestures too complicated for John to figure out. He held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. Charades was never my thing, you know? Let's try something else." He hunted up pad and pencil and handed it to the stranger.

The redheaded boy looked at the implements as if he didn't know what to make of them. First he sniffed at the pencil. Finding it unsatisfactory he dropped it on the floor. Then he tore off a piece of paper and stuffed it in his mouth. Grinning at John, he began to chew as if his life depended on it.

John jumped up and grabbed at his jaw. "Hey! What's the matter with you? Are you crazy? Spit that out!" By digging in his fingers, he induced the young boy to open his mouth and John fished out the wet pieces of paper, shivering a little as his fingers slid over the wet lips.

He was trying to keep the touching to a minimum. But it was difficult when he did things like this. The teenager had been quick to discard that filthy, disgusting coat he'd been wearing. But after that he had been completely unconscious of his nudity, wandering around the cottage naked until John had forced him to put on his old bathrobe. He had handled the bathrobe as if he didn't know what it was to put on clothes; John had been forced to manhandle him into the thing and that had caused his fingers to brush across the tender skin more often than he'd liked.

The boy had a curious new smell, such as what he recalled from sniffing at Katie when she'd been a newborn. But Katie never smelled of strawberries. Also the redhead's skin was as smooth as a girl's and, from what John had seen of it, as unblemished as one's. And the thought of exploring that skin and finding out for himself just how soft it was held an appeal that no amount of denial in his mind would push away…

John silently thanked his lucky stars that Benji and her family weren't here. There was no way he could talk about this guy and make it sound good. How the hell could he explain to Benji about not mentioning how this kid had rescued him from drowning? How could he explain why the hell this boy had kissed him as if they were old lovers instead of people who didn't know jack about each other?

He ran his hand through his bedraggled hair and sighed. As if that sigh had summoned him, the boy sat next to him and patted John on the cheek. He ran pale fingers through the gray-flecked strands on John's head and stared at him anxiously as if wishing to relieve John's distress. The touching was tender without being forceful and John permitted it for a second before stiffening and drawing away from him.

"Dammit, kid. You can't go around just touching people like that. You'll get arrested for sexual harassment for sure." He batted away the boy's reaching hands and then changed the subject. "Well, seeing as how you're hungry enough to eat paper, maybe I should get you a proper meal. Might as well make breakfast. It's about time for it." He gave the kid a sardonic look that was answered only by a grin filled with blindingly white teeth.

John wasn't a gourmet chef by any stretch of the imagination. But his years as a bachelor and later a widower had forced him to become fairly competent in the kitchen. Now he pulled down some pans, set up two breakfast plates along with knives and forks and began whipping up one of his favorite morning dishes-scrambled eggs.

He finished preparing the eggs just how he liked them: firm on the bottom and a bit runny on the top. With a light sprinkling of salt and pepper, they were done to perfection. He scraped some off into Finnian's plate, already loaded with bacon strips along with thawed, heated and buttered biscuits. The lad stared at all the food and then eyed John as he sat down in the chair opposite.

"Well, dig in." John lifted a fork and watched the redheaded teenager grasp and pick up the fork. He held the table implement with a tenacious grip of all five fingers clenched around it. John shrugged to himself and dug into his food.

Finnian watched him carefully, noting which tool was used for which function. He mimicked John's every move and managed to consume his meal without undue fumbling.

The alien fare was a wonder and delight. Everything was unfamiliar and yet each bit of food held its own charm. One nibble of the brown and tan strip (John called it bacon), however, and he'd dropped it, grimacing at the taste. The pale yellow mound was very good, tasting like saltwater and the creaminess of oysters only not quite.

Finnian sat back in his chair, the fullness in his stomach bringing him a soft kind of contentment. He licked at his lips and saw John's eyes fix unerringly on the movement. The black part in the middle of the man's eyes dilated and he did it again, watching the blue in the mortal's eyes get darker and his breathing quicken just a little.

John had shown Finnian much tenderness and kindness since he had shown up at his home. His looks just now showed he was definitely attracted to Finnian and the former merman decided to see if he couldn't push that attraction into something else.

He walked to the other side of the table, watching John's eyes fill with alarm. Before the other man could move, Finnian sat in his lap, winding his arms about John's neck. John reached up to push him off only to have Finnian kiss him again.

The plush pink lips slid across his, sucking and eager, but with a curious awkwardness. The kid kissed like somebody who was new to kissing and yet found it the loveliest sensation. The kid shivered, nestling deeper into John's embrace.

John's heart pounded as the boy's strawberry scent got stronger, wound through his senses, encouraging him to nibble at the plump lips. Instead of rejecting him, his arms tightened around the young boy, pulling him closer, settling him more firmly in his lap.

Finnian wriggled on John's lap and then his eyes popped open. He could feel something happening underneath his body. There was an unfamiliar hardness poking him under his legs and he didn't think it was coming from himself. He wriggled harder and heard John groan.

Then the mortal was standing up, struggling to disengage himself from his embrace, that same panic from the beach returning.

What the hell was going on? John was not gay and he certainly wasn't hot for some boy less than half his age! "Look, kid, get off me. You hear me? Get off!" he yelled and shoved the redhead so he landed on the floor.

The kid sprawled on his butt and looked up at John. Bewilderment and reproach filled his eyes and John turned his head away, determined not to be made into the bad guy. "Look, kid, you're nice and all and I'm grateful for the save on the beach. But I'm not gay so you're just not my type."

Finnian's brows creased. Gay? What did that mean? Why was it important to John and why did it cause him to reject Finnian just now? He stood up, hiding the wince as he placed his weight on his feet once more, and gestured at John. He pointed at John's lips and then his own and made a motion with his two hands to signal kissing. He smiled and stepped towards John again only to have the man backpedal out of his reach.

"Dammit, kid, don't you listen? I'm NOT gay and I don't want you kissing me again. Got it?" He scowled at the red-haired boy for emphasis. Hopefully he'd get the message.

The redhead halted. His face darkened with sadness and his lower lip trembled. He sniffled and then tears filled the turquoise eyes. They flowed down his cheeks and over his chin.

The poor boy looked so lost and miserable and a crushing guilt collapsed over John. He'd never meant to upset him and the kid certainly didn't mean him any harm. "C'mon, kid. Don't cry. It's not the end of the world."

The boy lifted his hand to his face and touched his wet cheeks. He drew it back and his eyes widened. He wiped both hands over his face and waved them wildly at John. Now the older man didn't know what he wanted. The kid didn't appear unhappy now so much as he was upset by the crying. "What is it? Kid, I don't understand."

The boy continued to touch his cheeks and look at his hands as if the sight of his own tears were a source of fascination for him. Was he stoned or what?

John sighed. All he'd hoped for was a quiet week alone to mourn and brood over his lost family. Then he'd been subjected to Benji's brats, the lovely if rapacious Emma Bannington and now this kid stirring up all sorts of unwanted feelings. "Look, I've got some old things you can wear. They'll hang on you but you can't wear my bathrobe all day. Soon as we get you suited up, we'll call the cops and let them deal with you. All right?"

Finnian frowned. That smelly human had mentioned cops, too. They didn't sound altogether nice and John acted like he was trying to get rid of him. He grabbed at John's arm and made a slashing motion with his arm, trying to indicate his displeasure.

"We've got to find a way for you to communicate. This dumb show is getting old." John wandered into the living room and picked up the discarded pad. He held it in front of Finnian's face. "Do you know how to read or write? Yes or no?" He nodded when he said yes and shook his head when he said no.

The kid shook his head and John sighed. "Right. Then we do this the hard way." He scribbled a few things on the pad and held it up to Finnian again. "This is the alphabet, okay? Let's start with that."

Maybe the kid's education had been lacking but he was a quick study. Less than an hour later, Finnian had grasped the pencil on his own and was writing down words as fast as John could spell them. He seemed especially enthralled by John's name, writing it down repeatedly as if he couldn't get enough of it.

"So what's your name?" Finnian gazed at him blankly and then looked to the piece of paper. He searched through his lessons for an "f" sound and started writing the appropriate letter.

John looked at the result of his efforts. "Finein?" He pronounced it "Fine-Inn" and Finnian shook his head at the sound. He tried again and again before producing a name that John gave the proper pronunciation.

"Fineein. Fineein, is that it?" When the boy beamed at him, nodding, John felt absurdly happy. "Huh. Weird name but Fineein it is. Got a last name to go with that?" It took a bit more prodding on his part before he came to the conclusion the boy had no other name. John shrugged. "Well, that ought to make it easy for the cops to figure out who you are. That name and that hair would stick out in any crowd. So where are you from?"

The boy's face went blank as if he didn't know how to answer. He looked from John to the pad and at the walls as if he could penetrate them with his gaze. Then he began to point out the window and made undulating motions with his hand.

"What does that mean? Wind?" Fineein shook his head impatiently. He picked up the pad and made wavy lines on it and then motions with his arms as if he were swimming.

"The sea? Is that what you mean?" John pointed out his window towards the direction of the ocean for emphasis and Fineein's face broke into a smile. Really, the kid had the most wonderful grin. John wondered how anybody could keep his teeth looking so white. He blinked and averted his gaze, feeling a little dizzy for some reason. "Um, so you're saying you come from the sea? Or do you mean beyond the sea? You know, like France or England or something."

Fineein shook his head so the red strands whipped across his face and pointed towards the lines on the pad again. "So it is the sea. That doesn't make any sense. How can you come from the sea? Did you fall off a boat?"

Fineein shrugged as if the question was unimportant. He was impatient to learn other things. He began pointing to parts of his own body. John realized he was asking for their names and began reluctantly spelling them out. He sensed no good could come of this particular exercise and found his jaw clenching when Fineein pointed at parts like his ass, nipple or crotch.

Finnian didn't understand what was wrong now. John had been extremely helpful in getting him to know the language. He'd picked up so many words now and could form crude sentences on his own. But now the man was faltering and glancing away from his body when Finnian was trying to learn the words for certain parts. What could be the problem?

He pointed at the middle part of his body again-the part John had called "penis"-and saw a brick red flush rise over the big man's neck. Finnian wondered what it was about this part that made the mortal so nervous.

John stood abruptly and gathered up the writing materials. "You know what, Fineein? I think you've had enough lessons for today. The next time we do this, I'm getting out our Scrabble set. That's got to make it lots easier. Now if you don't mind, I'm taking a shower."