The lukewarm water beats down on my scalp and shoulders, the pressure too intense to be really enjoyable, and I wish it was hotter.

I sigh, moving a sodden hank of my long hair away from my forehead.

Not even the simple pleasures of life, like basking in a long hot shower, is something a convict is afforded in prison.

The guards are going to force me out before I can ever determine if the water temperature will change, if given the opportunity.

My silent monologue on the injustice of prison is interrupted, suddenly- the pattern of darkness behind my closed eyelids changes, and I feel the unease of another presence invading my personal space.

I open my eyes to see Eugene Krabs looming over me, backlit by the flood lights.

He leans his face in close to mine, and whispers against the corner of my mouth where it hits the plane of my cheek.

“Do you have shampoo, lad?”

I grind my teeth as I back up, raising my fists defensively.

Although I’ve known Eugene a fairly long time, I will never, ever get used to his peculiar habits -and especially not when I’m at my most vulnerable, stark naked and drenched.

His pale beady eyes are as empty as the cloudless sky at high noon as he waits for my answer.

The water drips from red lobster skin into a streaming rivulet that threatens to run into his eyes, but he doesn’t react.

He just stares at me.

I wonder darkly if he ever reacts to anything besides losing any money.

“No” I say, finally, crossing my arms. “I can’t afford it.”

I spit the words at him, raising my upper lip in a sneer, knowing how much money he has.

Mr Krabs leans into me again and tells my sneering upper lip “me either.”

It’s a fucking lie, unless the ruling did take all his money from all his tax evasion.

Which I doubt they took even a portion of his wealth.

No- this was a power move.

I feel a hot wave of indignant rage bubble up from my core and break in my throat-he’s so insistent to claim my personal space as his own, now and whenever he feels, just to whisper the simplest and barest of words.

It’s never important, he could easily just speak up and get the point across.

He could leave me the fuck alone.

I’m reaching my absolute limit of tolerance.

“Krabs” I snarl, and his red face is blank as always.

“Anasui” he mumbles.

His breath is making the already cooling water on my cheek colder.

Dammit, he’s fucking with me.

“Fuck you” I spit, and smack my lips onto his with ferocity.

When I pull back to see the repercussions of my spite, he is as blank as ever, although I think I see a slight darkness flicker over the empty eyes. “I said, fuck you Eugene!”

My voice is louder and shriller than I wanted as I grab his shoulders and push my mouth against his again, tasting fish.

The world has faded at the edges to a pulsing red, and I recognize it as the rage that fueled the murder I was convicted for.

I’m going to make Eugene pay for the repeated abuse of my bodily privacy, and this is how.

I don’t really know how I expected him to react, but pretty far down on the list was to push me bodily against the linoleum wall and kiss me back ravenously, like I was a cool kelp drink at his failed business.

Maybe I thought he would snap at the impertinence of my blatant homoeroticism, and strike me with his big claws.

Although I guess I had really intended to mash his buttons to the breaking point, I found I was enjoying being so thoroughly kissed by the enormous lobster, and having his claws trail my waist and down, between my thighs.

He moves the sodden curtain of my hair away from my neck with a surprising gentleness so he can bite me there; a gesture that makes me groan deeply, despite myself.

To my immense surprise and a small delight, Eugene is groaning too.

It sounds like the rumbling of a distant thunderstorm.

“Mm, Anasui ...”- it’s very quiet, almost drowned out by the staccato slap of the water on the tile floor. “You taste like money.”

He has my hard hot erection in his vice-grip claw, and I feel his own pressing insistently into my inner thigh.

His lobster biters graze my neck and shoulder as he pumps his claw, stroking me hard and fast, feeling cuts.

My breath is getting shallow, and my legs shudder as I reach the apex of my climax. “Oh fuck, MR KRABS ...”

A sharp rap rings out, echoing across the tiled chamber with authority.

Eugene turns his red head to gaze at the source, although he doesn’t let up his full body press.

I crane my neck to see a the guard Demetri sneering at us, twirling his baton.

“Time’s up!” He barks, gesturing to the exit pointedly. “Break that shit up.”

Eugene looks down at me briefly before he backs away, claws up obediently.

His beady eyes are as empty as ever.

Maybe whatever brief expressiveness I saw earlier was just a trick of the light ...

When I’m done toweling off and dressing- which proved to be a challenge because of the insistent hardness of my unsatisfied cock- Krabs is nowhere to be seen.

Gone back to his own cell, I imagine.

The cell I’m escorted past as I make the trek to my own.

Our eyes meet as I pass, and he’s looking at me now in a new way, like a predator businessman watches his money.

I recognize how thoroughly I have fucked myself over, because I see a very clear promise in his expression that I will never know personal space again.

It doesn’t make me angry, now, I realize, with some amusement... in fact, that promise lingers in my mind as I finish what we started in that spartan prison shower, with the thought of Eugene’s lobster cock deep in my ass.