Chapter 1: The Calibration Ruse
The oceanarium hummed, a low, permanent note beneath everything. Neon fish cut through the water in silent, electric streaks, their world separated from Cronus and Kankri by two feet of polymer glass. A huge moon jellyfish pulsed above the maintenance pool, its ghostly bell contracting with a rhythm that felt vaguely, annoyingly, erotic.
Kankri’s knuckles were white where they gripped the safety railing. He’d been talking for seven minutes. The topic had started as coolant efficiency in sub-aquatic filtration units and had somehow, through the winding paths of his anxiety, morphed into a critique of historical Alternian courtship rituals and their inherent power imbalances.
Cronus wasn’t listening. He was leaning against a console, one hand draped over a dial, looking like he’d been poured into his tight, pearl-gray trousers. His other hand toyed with the hem of his shirt.
“—and the systemic expectation of fluid bonding as a transactional commodity rather than an mutually affirmed expression of—“
“Thermostat’s fucked,” Cronus announced, cutting through the lecture.
Kankri blinked. “What?”
“The sensor. For the kelp grotto tank.” Cronus jabbed a thumb toward the maintenance pool, its dark water shimmering under the work lights. “Reads five degrees too high. Gotta calibrate it manually. Can’t have the featherstars getting chilly.”
“You could use the external probe,” Kankri said, his voice tight. “It’s in the utility locker. The procedure is clearly outlined in the—“
“Nah. Faster if I just dip in and check the internal gauge.” Cronus’s smirk was a practiced thing, effortless. He peeled his shirt off in one smooth motion.
Kankri’s next sentence died in his throat.
Cronus’s blue skin gleamed under the sterile lights, the definition of his stomach sharp, his shoulders broad. He was all arrogant, careless grace. He shucked his trousers, and Kankri looked away, a hot prickling spreading across his own cheeks. When he dared a glance back, Cronus was standing there in a pair of sheer, black bikini bottoms that left precisely nothing to the imagination. The fabric clung, soaked up the light, hinted at the curve of his ass, which peeked out blatantly as he bent to check a valve.
“Cronus, for pity’s sake, there are protocols—“
“Relax, captain. It’s just water.” He sauntered to the ladder, each step a casual flex of muscle. He climbed, the lines of his back dipping into a slender waist before flaring out again. Kankri’s mouth went dry. For weeks now, his sleep had been invaded by dreams of those hands, that mouth, that laugh so close it was a vibration against his skin. Waking up was a betrayal, leaving him aching and furious with himself.
Cronus paused at the top, a silhouette against the rippling surface light. He looked over his shoulder, winked, and dove.
The splash was clean. He broke the surface a moment later with a slick of his dark hair, water sheeting off the planes of his chest. He floated on his back, utterly at home. “See? Perfect.” His voice echoed slightly in the wet space. “You should test it. C’mon. Water’s great.”
That was it. That was the hint. A direct invitation into the water, into the space where he was half-naked and glowing. Kankri had rehearsed a dozen versions of this in his head, late at night, heart pounding. He would say something like, Perhaps joint calibration is prudent, or, The humanoid sensor is, arguably, more accurate. But now, his tongue felt like a dead weight. He watched a droplet trace a path from Cronus’s collarbone down the center of his torso, disappearing into that maddening black fabric.
“I…” Kankri started, his voice a rasp. He cleared it. “The external probe would still be more methodical.”
Cronus swam to the edge, resting his arms on the walkway. He was close enough that Kankri could smell the salt on him. “You think too much. Live a little.” His eyes, usually full of performative charm, were just… warm. Interested. “Get in here with me.”
It was as clear as it was ever going to be. Kankri’s principles, his vow, the entire careful architecture of his self-denial, creaked under a torrent of pure, simple want. His body moved before his mind could veto it. His fingers went to the first button of his high-collared shirt.
Cronus’s gaze dropped to Kankri’s hands, and his smirk softened into something real, surprised. Hopeful.
The second button. The third. Kankri’s skin, pale and freckled, met the damp air. He couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was saying it without saying it. He let the shirt fall.
Cronus pushed himself up, water sluicing off him. “Yeah?” he breathed, the word barely audible.
Kankri nodded, a stiff, jerky motion. He toed off his shoes, fingers fumbling with his belt. His mind was a screaming chorus of doubt, but the ache in his gut was louder. He needed to be in that water. He needed the distance to be gone.
He stood in his plain, boxer-style shorts, feeling exposed and ridiculous next to Cronus’s liquid confidence. Cronus just watched, his expression unreadable now.
“The ladder’s slick,” Cronus said, his voice low. “Here.”
He reached out a hand.
Kankri stared at it. That was the hand from his dreams. He took it. Cronus’s grip was strong, calloused from guitar strings, and he helped guide Kankri down into the water.
The chill was a shock, a gasp that ripped through him. It was bracing, clarifying. And then Cronus was there, close, their legs brushing underwater. The filtered light danced blue patterns over Cronus’s face.
“See?” Cronus murmured. “Not so bad.”
Kankri was trembling. He wasn’t cold. He was a live wire. He opened his mouth to say something—what, he didn’t know—but all that came out was a shaky exhale. He let his forehead fall forward, resting it against Cronus’s slick shoulder. It was a defeat. A surrender.
Cronus went very still. Then one hand came up, slow, and settled on the small of Kankri’s back. It was a brand.
“Kankri?” Cronus’s voice was quiet, confused by this uncharacteristic silence.
This was the moment. Kankri tilted his head up. His eyes scanned Cronus’s face—the amused curve of his mouth, the dark eyelashes spiked with water. He leaned in, closing the last inch of space.
And kissed him.
It was clumsy. Desperate. All pent-up hunger and no technique. Kankri’s hands came up to clutch at Cronus’s shoulders, holding on like he was drowning.
For a second, Cronus froze. Then he melted into it, a low sound in his throat. His mouth was softer than Kankri had imagined. His hand tightened on Kankri’s back, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned completely in the weightless space. The water lapped around them, the jellyfish pulsed overhead, and Kankri’s world narrowed to the slide of skin, the taste of salt, the shocking, perfect heat of another person.
Cronus broke the kiss first, breathing ragged. He searched Kankri’s face, his eyes wide. “Holy shit,” he whispered, a genuine laugh bubbling out of him. “Was that… were you…?”
Kankri couldn’t speak. He just nodded, his fingers tracing the ridge of Cronus’s shoulder blade.
A brilliant, unguarded smile broke across Cronus’s face. He looked younger. Relieved. “Okay. Okay, wow.” He leaned in to kiss Kankri again, slower this time, a promise. His hands slid lower, dipping beneath the waistband of Kankri’s soaked shorts.
The touch was electric. It was also a siren.
Principle. Vow. Hypocrisy. You are compromising your entire ethical framework for a fleeting biological impulse.
Kankri jerked back as if burned. The warm water suddenly felt like ice.
“No,” he choked out.
Cronus’s hands dropped away. “What?”
“I can’t. I can’t do this.” Panic flooded him, sharp and clean, washing away the desire. He pushed against Cronus’s chest, scrambling for the ladder.
“Kankri, wait—“
“The calibration is complete!” Kankri’s voice was too loud, echoing off the tank walls. He hauled himself up the ladder, his body heavy and clumsy with shame. He snatched his shirt from the floor, not bothering to put it on, just holding it like a shield.
Cronus stared up from the water, the easy joy wiped from his face, replaced by raw bewilderment. “What the fuck was that? You started it.”
“It was an error in judgment. A moment of… physical weakness. It won’t be repeated.” Kankri couldn’t look at him. He focused on a drifting piece of algae. “Please finish the calibration and report the findings. I have… I have inventory to attend to.”
He turned and walked out, his bare feet slapping on the wet tile, leaving Cronus alone in the glowing, silent water.
Cronus watched him go. He slowly sunk until his chin touched the surface. The thrilling heat of a minute ago was gone, replaced by a profound, sinking chill. He stared at the spot where Kankri had stood, where the hint had finally, beautifully, not been a hint at all.
Then it was gone.
He punched the water, a futile explosion of spray. “What do you want from me?” he growled to the empty room. The jellyfish drifted on, indifferent.
The jellyfish drifted on, indifferent.
Cronus hauled himself out of the water, the air biting his wet skin. He didn’t bother drying off. He just yanked his trousers on over his sopping bikini bottoms, shoved his feet into his boots without socks, and grabbed his shirt, holding it in a wadded fist as he took off after Kankri.
The hallway outside the oceanarium was all sterile white light and echoing tile. He saw Kankri halfway down, shirt still clutched to his chest, shoulders hunched.
“Hey!” Cronus called, his voice bouncing off the walls.
Kankri flinched but didn’t turn, walking faster.
Cronus broke into a jog, his bare chest heaving. Water dripped from his hair, leaving a trail. He caught up, stepping in front of him, blocking the way to the administrative offices. “Stop. Just stop.”
Kankri halted, his eyes fixed on a point past Cronus’s shoulder. His breath was coming in short, sharp huffs. He looked like he was about to shatter.
“What was that?” Cronus demanded, his voice lower now, strained. “You can’t do that. You can’t kiss me like… like you meant it, and then just bolt. What is wrong with you?” The hurt was raw, stripping away his usual smirk.
“I told you. It was a mistake.” Kankri’s voice was thin.
“Bullshit. That wasn’t a mistake. A mistake is spilling coolant. That was… something else. You looked at me. You touched me.” Cronus ran a hand through his wet hair, frustration tightening his features. “For six months, I’ve been going out of my skull. You have any idea what that’s like? Wanting someone who treats their own body like a fucking museum exhibit? Do you even want me? At all? Or is this just some… some philosophical experiment for you?”
Kankri’s eyes snapped to his. They were wide, desperate. The words tumbled out in a frantic, airless rush.
“I have dreams about you almost every night they’re so vivid I can feel them when I wake up and my body aches and I want you I want to break the vow I want to but it’s like there’s a wall and it’s so much harder than it should be and your hands when you touched me back there it was too much and not enough and I don’t know how to do this I’m not used to being touched and more than anything I just want you to sit on my face and don’t touch me but that’s not something I can ask you to do!”
He slammed his mouth shut, horrified. His whole face flushed a deep, furious red. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
Cronus stared.
He blinked slowly, water trickling from his temple down his jawline. His brain, usually so quick with a sleazy comeback, stuttered, replayed the last part, and then rebooted.
A slow, dawning comprehension smoothed the hurt from his face.
“No,” he said quietly. Then, stronger. “No no no. That is absolutely something you can ask me to do.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious, hushed tone. “Just to be clear. Yes please. We’ll come back to the dreams in a second but Kankri, I get it. That’s all fine, I just need you to communicate with me. We can go at your pace and if your pace says you don’t want to be touched yet, then I won’t touch, ok?”
Kankri just stared at him, trembling, the crumpled shirt a barrier between them.
“My pace is… confused,” Kankri whispered.
“That’s allowed.” Cronus’s smile was small, tentative. Not a performance. “Your pace can be a confused, non-touching pace. I can work with that. I just need you to talk to me. Not at me. To me.”
He reached out slowly, giving Kankri plenty of time to flinch away, and gently took the wet shirt from his hands. He shook it out and, with careful movements, draped it over Kankri’s shoulders. The fabric was cold and damp, but it was coverage.
“You’re shivering,” Cronus said.
“I’m not cold.”
“I know.”
They stood there in the bright, silent hallway. The hum of the oceanarium filters was a distant memory. Cronus, shirtless and dripping. Kankri, wrapped in a damp shroud, his confession hanging in the air between them, already shifting from a source of shame into a possible, terrifying roadmap.
“The dreams,” Cronus prompted softly. “What happens in them?”
Kankri closed his eyes. “You’re late for inventory. And you’re very, very sorry about it.”