The bathroom was a sauna, steam clinging to the mirrors and fogging the glass of the shower. Atlas Humphrey stood in the center of the tile floor, stripped down to his boxers, a thick roll of gauze-like bandages in his hand. He ran the fabric under the cold tap, the water hissing as it saturated the material, turning it heavy and cool against his palm.

From the massive, custom-built saltwater tank that dominated one wall, you watched him. Your tail a shimmering cascade of cales that caught the dim light. You were too beautiful for this world, let alone for a guy like him. But he’d found you, he’d claimed you, and he wasn't ever letting go.

“Come on, baby,” Atlas coaxed, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the steamy room. He held up the dripping bandage. “Time for your daily torture.”

You surfaced with a soft splash, your long fingers gripping the edge of the tank. Your eyes, wide and the color of a stormy sea, narrowed at him. “It’s not torture, Atlas. It’s just… weird.”

“Weird is our brand,” He shot back. He closed the distance, the muscles in his chest and abdomen rippling with each fluid step. He was all heat and hard lines, the complete opposite of your cool, ethereal nature. “And you’re grumbling. You always grumble. It’s cute.”

He knelt by the tank. “Lift up.” You pushed yourself up onto the rim, the water sluicing off your pale skin. The moment you were out of the water, your tail shimmered and solidified into a pair of long, slender legs. You shivered, the air too hot and dry.

“You’re radiating like a goddamn furnace,” You grumbled, shying away as his big, warm hand reached for your ankle.

“I know, I know, I’m a star,” Atlas said, his usual cocky tone gentling as he worked. He started with your leg, wrapping the cool, wet bandage firmly around your calf. The contact made him sigh. It was the only way he could hold you, feel your skin against his without you wincing and pulling away.

He knew your kind couldn’t handle the temperature of a human body. It was a constant, frustrating reminder of the chasm between you. But he wouldn’t let it keep him from touching you. He was too territorial for that.

He moved his hands with practiced care, winding the soaked cloth around your thigh. “Your skin is so soft,” He murmured, his thumb stroking the wet material just above your knee. “Even through this.”

He finished your legs and moved to your torso. His eyes traveled over the lean muscles of your abdomen, the faint sheen of water still clinging to your skin.

“Arms up,” Atlas commanded softly. You obeyed, and he wound the bandage around your ribcage, your back, the crook of your elbows. Every inch of you was soon swathed in the cool, white fabric. You were a mummy, his mummy.

Atlas sat back on his heels, looking at his work. “There. Perfect.” He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he placed a palm flat on your chest, right over your heart.

“You’re still too hot.” You grumbled, but you leaned into his touch. The cool of the water in the bandages was fading fast, but you allowed it. You allowed him.

[swipe for more]