Chapter Text
”So this is what a mermaid looks like”
The sentence escaped in a throaty breath. Steve shuddered, but the man seemed not to have heard him. Steve couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. All the stories he had heard, everything he had learnt about them in school and read about them in the papers was wrong. Mermaids were beautiful.
Society didn’t like mermaids. They were ugly fish-like creatures, not really people at all. They had seaweed like dripping hair like a ghost from a nightmare, rolling over their faces.
They had hollow cheeks and bulging fish-like cold, cold eyes. Their skin would be greenish, as if they were carrying the plague, and their arms bony and cold to the touch. Their legs, if they had legs, would be covered in slimy green scales, with webbed feet and hands, and claws at the end of their fingers. They carried of and ate babies, or lured children to drown when the tide went out.
Steve had always doubted that last piece of Intel. He really didn’t think mermaids could sink battleships by luring sharks to bite holes in them. He didn’t think mermaids could command sharks. But he had always known, in the back of his mind, that mermaids were monsters. Creatures, more animal than human, things to be feared and turned away from.
This pretty much disapproved anything of the sort.
The man, no the boy, on the cusp of manhood, standing in front of him, was most definitely a mermaid, and the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.
His hair was dark and cut close to his skull in uneven tufts, as if someone had gone loose on him with a pair of sheep-shearers. It seemed almost endearing. His face was open and relaxed, with high cheekbones and a clear gaze. Steve scoffed; the boy had tried for a beard but ended up with something that looked like a circle growing around his mouth and down his chin. Not a very successful first attempt. His lips were lovely, pink and plump, but Steve quickly turned his thoughts away from them. He already had more distractions than he needed.
The youth was tanned; Steve could see the markings where his skin would usually be covered by cloth. He had taken his shirt of and for that, Steve was grateful. His skin was healthy and almost glowing; the muscles in his back working as he lifted the heavy water jars and emptied them into the tub.
Steve finally let his gaze glide downwards again, he couldn’t help it. The boy had taken of his breeches but left his loincloth on, which provided an excellent view of his legs and left quite a lovely suggestion of the shape of his hips. But though Steve lingered at the sight of those hips, the boy’s legs were magical.
Strong, tanned, well-shaped legs for every intent and purpose, but they were covered in scales. Not the kind that Steve would have expected, that is, slimy green fishy scales. These were lovely.
In the shadow of the room they were barely noticeable, but every time the boy fetched a new urn he passed through the ray of sunlight that came through the small window. His legs sparkled. The skin was still visible, but seemed to have jewels imbedded in it, as if every inch of it was covered with sparkling drops of water. They shone like gold, with the clarity of the rarest amber.
The boy hurried along his task with an air of nervousness, casting glances at the window every now and then. Steve behind his screen could only thank his nervous disposition that had prompted him to hide when he had heard the boy come in. Had his presence been known he most certainly would not have gotten to see this.
“Tony!”
The boy flinched at the angry voice, quickly slugged the last of the urns across the floor and then hastily pulled on his garments. After making sure his legs were properly covered and his breeches tied around his ankles he scrambled out of the room and up the stairs as the owner of the voice gathered momentum to properly fling his wrath at the boy. The cursing could be heard even down in the cellar where Steve stood. Apparently the owner of the voice considered the time it had taken for the boy to fill the tub far too long.
Steve did not emerge from his hiding space until he was sure that the boy apparently called Tony had disappeared up the stairs for good.
That night, though his companions tried to drag him into conversation, he remained distant. He found that somehow his gaze always fixated on the dark haired boy who sometimes slipped through the crowded room.