Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: PDA (Patreon)

Deep beneath the surface, in sunken cracks where sunlight is a stranger and the only masons are worms, there lies a drowned boudoir. It is the heart of an ancient seamount. And though its fires are long-since extinguished, its vast chambers still burn. Firefly squid and lanternfish and cnidarians of all kinds decorate the great black walls of its largest chamber, chained in place or trained to hover just so, or otherwise grown from the dormant rock in deliberate patches. For the black walls are obsidian. They are polished to a mirror sheen. And the glowing creatures that dwell there ring a vanity of staggering scale.

“Is my tie straight?”

The voice was dark and deep. It spoke in aquan. None of the luminous creatures dared to answer.

It had been some months since the Kraken last found release. And being a schemer of no small talent, he had since amused himself by penning a pair of letters. He had, after all, an abundance of ink.

My Dearest Buckle, read the first. I cannot stop thinking about you. Though I know ours must remain a professional relationship — squid pro quo for safe passage through my waters — I cannot stop myself wishing for more. My hearts beat at the memory of your touch. My arms ache to hold you. My tentacles ache to do yet more. Can we not meet? Perhaps we can devise some rendezvous on pretext of a business dinner? I cannot be seen to play at favorites among the land dwellers, and so your partner must remain in dark waters as it were. But know that you are my favorite. My most precious privateer. I would prove it to you in the flesh. (Or rather, in your flesh.) —K

The second letter read much the same as the first, saving only a slight alteration in salutation. And the answers, when they came drifting down amongst the usual glimmering tribute, were much the same again.

Hell yeah! Kraken sex and lobster! said the first.

Can’t wait! Will wear my crab bib and nothing else! said the second.

The Kraken fastened his many cufflinks, gave himself a rakish wink in the mirror, and grabbed a wallet-chest from his hoard. It always paid to tip well at these places. Keep your dates wide-eyed and impressed, and it would take them that much longer to grow suspicious. For even if there was no practical benefit to keeping his lovers ignorant of one another, petty schemes always made good practice for the grander variety. Besides which, it was fun to keep the plates spinning for as long as possible. It’s why he had all those arms after all.