Chapter Text
Rochefort was irritated.
It had been some time since his crew had caught any merfolk, and the next public market was in just a few days. If they didn’t catch any today, they would miss the market for the first time in a year.
Usually, Rochefort was quite lucky when it came to catching merfolk, always being able to snag a few on every fishing trip. Unfortunately, these last few expeditions had yielded nothing for him. It was most likely due to overfishing, as the merfolk trade was experiencing a boom in recent months, with plenty of amateurs looking to make a quick buck taking to the water for the first time.
As a result, the merfolk were terrified, fleeing the waters around Paris and moving to new feeding grounds. Rochefort’s secret spot was far enough out of the way of the normal fishing grounds, in the waters that housed plentiful amounts of them. He went out much farther than most fishermen did, which was always a risk depending on the weather and water conditions. But it was a risk that had continued to pay off time after time, and he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. Especially now that the prices for merfolk tails had reached an all-time high. Demand for their meat for sushi had exploded in recent months, triggering an unprecedented increase in prices for live specimens.
Rochefort caught them for every sub-category: breeding stock, exotic pet trade, meat processing, and scientific specimens. Lately though, he’d found more success in finding breeding stock, having been extraordinarily lucky in recent months. Breeding stock was always in demand, especially the more rare subtypes of merfolk.
But there was one type of merfolk that rarely made it’s way to market: males.
For a reason nobody could figure out, mermen were very rarely caught, especially ones meant for breeding. They were almost like unicorns these days, and finding one that was carrying eggs was akin to finding the holy grail. A pregnant merman hadn’t been found in quite some time, at least two years, and it was the one type Rochefort had not yet been lucky enough to find. He’d found mermen before, but never one that was pregnant.
Which is why just a week into breeding season, Rochefort had set sail for his spot, hoping to catch one at long last. Mermen were much more likely to breed at the very beginning of the season, while mermaids waited much longer. If he was lucky enough to catch one, he could sell it for a fortune and even retire if he truly wanted to with how much money he’d make from the sale. But Rochefort intended to keep doing this for as long as physically possible, as he took great joy in the merfolk’s suffering.
Though, he did hope secretly that he’d be able to catch one fit for consumption, as he’d been craving mermaid sashimi lately. Hopefully, he’d be able to catch a few.
In the end, luck had shone upon him.
It’d been early in the day at sea when Rochefort heard a commotion out on the deck. His men were yelling about something, hearing gasps coming from the side of the ship where they dropped their nets. Rochefort sighed, knowing that it was most likely some sort of fight instead of anything interesting, and continued with the task at hand.
A few moments later, there was a knock on the door of his private quarters, sounding quite urgent.
Rochefort gathered himself and opened the door, seeing the face of the head fisherman on his crew. He was excited about something, which meant that they’d most likely caught something.
“Captain Rochefort, you need to see this,” the fisherman gestured excitedly, face lighting up. If he was this excited, then it must’ve been a particularly good catch.
Rochefort nodded, pushing past him and striding over to the side of the boat where his men had gathered, hooting and hollering at something he couldn’t see.
When he’d gotten close enough, he shoved his way through the throng of his men that had gathered around their catch, expecting the usual pretty mermaid.
What he hadn’t expected, however, was something quite like this.
Ensnared in the net was a young merman, thrashing violently to no avail as he hissed and gnashed his razor sharp teeth at the hands that were trying to touch him.
And he looked utterly breathtaking.
Rochefort’s breath was taken away at the sight of the merman, young and absolutely gorgeous. His eyes were the color of the sea itself, his chestnut brown hair plastered to his neck and face. He looked boyish, almost innocent. His ears were the downturned, pointed ones that all merfolk shared, the ends of them a brilliant sky blue. He was certainly young, and Rochefort guessed that he was around the age of twenty-one in human years. So not too young, thank goodness. But he was still young enough to be at peak fertility, and strong enough to be bred multiple times over.
His chest was broad, but not too much, and he was quite slim and completely hairless everywhere Rochefort could see. On his sides were a set of three gills, the skin around them the same blue as his ears. They were flexing with exertion, sputtering as the merman struggled in his bounds, gasping for breath, needing water.
His tail though, was striking.
It was long and slim at the end, but more bulky up near his hips. His fluke was in the shape of a V, sharp with rippled edges and two dorsal fins on his hips. The body of the tail was a baby blue color, with the fluke and dorsal fins a much darker shade of blue. The colors met in a striking ombre effect, making it look almost glowing in the early morning sun.
What attracted his attention the most, however was the large slit just under the vee of where the merman’s human half met his tail.
It was bulging slightly, appearing wetter than the rest of his body, translucent fluid oozing from it to create a sheen over the length of it. His hips were also larger than a typical merman’s, bulging slightly with extra bulk, with a slight bulge to his stomach as well.
The boy was pregnant.
Rochefort’s cock stirred in his pants at the delectable vision this young man made before him.
He was writhing on the deck, soaked but beginning to dry out slightly as he lay in the sun, sharp nails clawing at the rope of the net around him. His face was contorted in anger, blazing fury in his eyes as he scratched and bit at Rocherfort’s men. He was hissing and snarling, managing to catch a few of his men’s fingers on the edges of his teeth. Still, his men jeered at the boy, egging him on and kicking at his prone form as he flopped on the wet deck.
He was a particularly feisty merfolk, refusing to give up despite the situation he was in.
Oh, how Rochefort would enjoy breaking the boy, mind, body, and spirit.
In that moment, he made a decision: he wouldn’t take this boy to market. He was far too beautiful to slaughter for his meat, and the thought of watching someone else put their hands on him and defile him made jealousy stir hot and ugly in his chest. No, he would keep this boy. Keep him to breed for himself and use to his heart’s content. With each moment he watched his men touch this beautiful boy, that feeling of jealousy grew, making him curl his lips in a snarl. Nobody was allowed to touch the merman except for him. If any of his men were to touch the merman again, Rochefort would cut off their hands and feed them to his boy.
He needed to know this boy’s name, needed to hear his voice.
So, with a snarl, Rochefort pushed through his men and got down on one knee, now eye level with his new prize.
At the sight of Rochefort, the boy hissed, trying to leap up and attack him. But Rochefort was quicker, standing up to grind the heel of his boot into the merman’s slit, eliciting a high, choked off whine of pain from the boy.
“What is your name, boy?” Rochefort commanded, voice stern and demanding.
The merman said nothing, glaring at him with icy anger, jaw clenched and refusing to speak.
So, this was how it was going to be. If the boy was going to make this difficult, then Rochefort would just have to make him talk.
With a curl of his lip, Rochefort ground his heel into the boy’s slit harder, smirking cruelly at the boy’s sharp gasps of pain, the bucking of his hips.
“I asked you a question, pet,” Rochefort spit, “and it would be wise to give me an answer now.”
The merman narrowed his eyes at Rochefort, lips curling into a sneer as he obeyed.
“Charles d'Artagnan,” d'Artagnan spat, with no shortage of venom. “If you unhand me now, I will spare your life.”
Rochefort just laughed, sharp and cutting at the boy’s gall to threaten him.
“Do you even know who I am?” Rochefort demanded, smirking at him.
For a long moment, d'Artagnan looked him up and down, taking him in. Then, he smiled, quite amused.
“Of course I do. You’re the pirate who dresses like a smug peacock,” d'Artagnan laughed, earning him a few laughs from Rochefort’s men. Rochefort sneered at them, staring them all down until they stopped laughing, looking at him with fear in their eyes.
Rochefort scowled at the merman, swiftly drawing his rapier and bringing it to the boy’s throat through the net, the tip just barely scratching the skin there. d'Artagnan gasped, flinching away as much as he could in his current position.
“I’d choose your next words very carefully, boy, lest I slit your throat,” Rochefort grit his teeth, pushing the blade forward just enough to draw a bead of blood.
But instead of being afraid, d'Artagnan simply cocked a brow in challenge, meeting Rochefort’s steely gaze head on.
“You won’t kill me, because I’m worth far more to you alive than I am dead. After all, if I’m dead, you can’t breed me,” d'Artagnan relaxed against the deck, no longer trying to put up a fight. It seemed that the boy had finally accepted his fate, knowing what awaited him. But just because he’d stopped struggling, didn’t mean that he was just going to give his submission to Rochefort freely.
At least the boy knew that he could do nothing about the situation, that he was trapped and bested.
But Rochefort already knew that this boy’s complete and total submission wouldn’t be so easy to earn. He knew that this little spitfire wouldn’t give up that easily, that he would have to work for it. That just made it all the more fun for him in the end.
No, Rochefort still had his work cut out for him. It would just make the boy’s eventual submission to him that much sweeter.
As if d'Artagnan could read his mind, he spoke.
“But know this: I won’t go quietly and my submission will not be earned so easily. You’ll have to beat it out of me yourself, and I look forward to seeing you try,” D’artagnan was calm, his tail no longer thrashing, but now gently swishing side to side.
Rochefort withdrew his blade from d'Artagnan’s throat, returning it to its sheath. With a final grind of his boot to d'Artagnan’s slit, he leaned down until his breath was ghosting the boy’s cheek.
“I look forward to breaking you, Gascon,” Rochefort purred, watching as the boy beneath him shivered at his words. Rochefort pulled away, removing his foot from the boy’s tail as he stepped back and motioned for his men to pick the boy up.
“See to it that our guest is taken to the holding tank and properly acclimated,” Rochefort hummed, “and if I catch any of you touching him more than is strictly necessary, I will cut off your hands and feed them to my boy.”
He could hear a few gulps from his men, watching them nod solemnly as a few of them began to lift d'Artagnan from the deck by the ropes of the net, carefully watching their hands.
As Rochefort turned to make his way back to his private quarters, he was stopped by the sound of d'Artagnan’s voice.
“Wait! Will you tell me your name? I’ve told you mine and it’s only fair that I know the name of my captor,” d'Artagnan called out to him.
“You may call me Comte de Rochefort,” Rochefort mused, “but I’d much prefer if you called me sir.”
From d'Artagnan’s general direction, Rochefort could hear an amused huff, which brought a smile to his face. It would be far more difficult than he’d expected to break the boy completely, but he would enjoy it quite thoroughly, and enjoy it even more the more the boy resisted.
Rochefort smiled to himself, knowing that the games had only just begun.