The gentle trickle of the fountain, the cool air on his bare (somewhat sore) skin, and Hermes’ loving touch sets Achilles utterly at ease. It’s almost as if the two of them could be normal lovers, basking in the glow of their lovemaking and discussing their lives. He moves his hand to stroke a wing, smoothing out feathers between the pinched pads of his fingertips.
Achilles hopes acting as Athena’s left hand will have the added benefit of making Hermes a less visible target for any kind of attack or retaliation from Olympus’ enemies. He selfishly hopes Athena and Apollo will take most of the blows, should it come to that. Hermes is fast and clever, but his older siblings have more raw power.
“And you’re a fine liaison with the Underworld. Lord Hades doesn’t seem to mind you as much as the rest of his family.” Hopefully it stays that way once he learns of Hermes’ dalliances with one of his shades. “He’s only beginning to warm to Lady Athena. And he barely tolerates Apollo. I suspect he’s too like Zeus.”
"Probably doesn't help that Apollo's all light and the Underworld is all dark. He's miserable when he has to come down here, and he makes it everyone's problem."
Hermes hums softly as Achilles strokes his wing. He stretches it out, inviting more touch.
"You think that Hades will ever more than tolerate the rest of us, or is he just eternally doomed to be a grump?"
Hermes genuinely wonders. He doesn't blame Hades for estranging himself from the family after what Zeus did with Persephone--Hermes was the messenger throughout the sordid affair, and then the secret-keeper after, so he had a closer view than most. But he knows that Athena has hope that one day the family might not be so stilted and strained, and perhaps the relationship can warm one day. He hopes for all their sakes that it happens. No one benefits from a cold family relationship among gods.
Achilles runs his pinched fingers along Hermes’ primaries, pressing the tiny, glowing fibers back into place. The feathers are still nice and fresh from his last molt; there’s not much cause for preening, but it’s a good excuse to keep touching Hermes.
He hums in thought at the question and looks up at Ixion through the thatched branches of the willow overhead. “Your lord uncle seems to change at a such a glacial pace. I’ve no idea if that’s typical for gods of his age, or simply unique to him.”
Hestia and Poseidon don’t seem that way. Or at least, not the same way. “But he is changing. I’ve seen evidence of it in my years of service.”
Zagreus and Persephone have helped that along. As have Hestia, Hermes, and Athena’s visits. Achilles sighs through a weak smile. “It’s not your nature, I know, but be patient. Maybe another century or two will warm him to Olympus.”
Hermes sighs, eyes fluttering as he relaxes into the preening, as unnecessary as it is.
"You know me. Patience doesn't come easy. You think it would at my age, but nope."
Sometimes Hermes wonders if he'll ever get old, or if he's a bit like Hebe and he will always have a young appearance and disposition no matter how much time passes. Age is strange for gods anyway--Aphrodite is older than Hestia, Hades, or any of their siblings, but she looks young enough to be a blood sister of any of Zeus' children. Hephaestus is close to Hermes' age, but he looks like he could be verging on being a grandfather, were he a mortal.
"I think that nothing is really typical for age, at least with gods. I think it's all about how we feel about ourselves and the world." And Hades has an old disposition. Hermes wouldn't be surprised if he always has.
“Mm. I suppose that’s true, even of mortals.” Ever since Patroclus’ death, Achilles has felt old, even if he was only thirty-some odd years at the time. He became so exhausted by his mistakes and the world that helped make them. Hermes is helping with that, though; Achilles feels like he’s slowly reclaiming some of his former youth.
“Maybe Hades will start to see the world differently now that power has shifted in Olympus. He won’t feel quite so taken for granted—maybe he’ll even feel his work is valued.”
Achilles pauses his preening to tilt his head and tuck a lock of hair behind Hermes’ ear. “Keep including him in Olympus’ deliberations and listen to his opinions. He may change more quickly for it.”
Hermes smiles as Achilles plays with his hair. He curls his fingers in Achilles', gently laying each curl out over his lover's shoulder reverently.
"Athena already wants to do it." Hermes pauses, almost as if in thought. "...You know, no one ever took his throne. Pop left it empty, even when Dionysus came along and Aunt Hestia gave up her throne so he could have one. I think Pop expected Uncle Hades might come home, one day."
Hermes doesn't know why. Had his father convinced himself that what he'd done wasn't so bad, and Hades would come to his senses? Did he think the allure of Olympus would be too great? Or did he have some love for his brother, and missed him? Whatever Zeus could feel that resembled love, at any rate.
“She is wise indeed.” Achilles gives a self-deprecating laugh that jostles his neatly-laid curls. “She certainly doesn’t need my approval, but she has it regardless. That’s the right approach with Lord Hades.”
Achilles wonders if Hades knows about his empty throne. Persephone might well have told him, but would he consider it a touching gesture, or an empty one? The latter, most likely.
“I’m surprised to hear that thrones on Olympus are finite.” Couldn’t Hephaestus make as many lavish thrones as they need? He gives a teasing smile and pinches Hermes’ side. “You should have given up your throne. It’s not as if you sit still long enough to use it.”
Hermes snickers, rolling away from the pinch. "I can't give it up to Dionysus, though! He'd never let me live it down. Besides, Auntie is happier next to the hearth anyway. I think she was looking for an excuse to shake the throne."
Hermes snickers again, putting his chin on Achilles' chest. "Besides, no one trusts Hephaestus to make more thrones. Last time he did, it was a trap for Lady Hera because he was still mad she disowned him as a baby, and she was stuck to it forever until Dionysus finally hunted Hephaestus down and got him drunk enough to agree to fix it."
Every god has a funny story about how they were elevated to Olympus, it seems.
Achilles barks a laugh. Who would have thought gods—immortal beings of such power and majesty—would play so many petty tricks on one another? Certainly, some of those stories trickle down to mortals, but Achilles often wondered how true they were.
He turns his eyes upward again, and imagines what Olympus must be like. His mother tried to describe it a few times; she spent most of her time in the sea, but often visited Olympus to petition Zeus or visit Hephaestus. But he feels like his imagination must fall woefully short.
“I suppose more thrones lie empty now. Will they remain that way?” he asks, and resumes stroking Hermes’ wings, well aware that this is a gloomy shift in topic. “Or do you suppose new gods will rise—at least to replace Zeus and Lady Hera? They’ve left so much behind … thunder, the sky, marriage, childbirth …”
Hermes snuggles close, closing his eyes and focusing on the gentle stroking of his wings. It’s a gloomy topic, but a legitimate question.
“Pop and Lady Hera had a lot of children they didn’t give a throne to, for one reason or another. Usually because they didn’t like how they looked.” Hebe’s childish appearance wasn’t impressive enough, or Eileithyia was too plain. Hephaestus only got a throne because he built it, and even their superficial leaders couldn’t dismiss the power of his work. “Hebe’s getting a throne, and my sister Eileithyia is too since she’s picking up marriage and childbirth. I don’t know what we’re doing for Pop’s power, though. Athena’s taking the sky, but she’s not temperamental enough for thunder.”
Perhaps other gods will rise. They probably will. Hermes hopes they’re stable gods, at the very least.
In the wake of so much upheaval and loss, it’s good to hear gods and goddesses are coming back to fill the void. Maybe that will ease some of Hermes’ grief.
“I hope Lord Prometheus is welcomed back.” Achilles only met him the one time, but it was enough to make a good impression. “If he wants a place on the mountain, that is. I imagine he’ll be enjoying his time among humans for a while to come.”
Once more, Achilles gingerly traces a finger down the side of Hermes’ nose, around his mouth where the cheetah’s tearline was. “And if we’re lucky, he’ll treat the world to a few new and interesting beasts.”
"I hope he is, too. I like him. He's good at riddles." And he has a gentleness to him that Hermes gravitates towards, one that isn't common among gods. The sort of gentleness that makes it so easy to fully and unabashedly love people that are utterly powerless in comparison to him.
Hermes hums, smiling as his face is traced. "I look forward to whatever he makes up. I wonder what might be next?"
And with that, he shifts. He shifts into a cheetah again, the weight of his paws heavy on Achilles' chest, and he rubs his sandpaper cheeks against Achilles' neck, purring low and long.
“Hmm. Maybe something strange?” he muses. “A rabbit with deer antlers, perhaps? Or a beaver with a duck’s bill—”
Achilles’ thought is cut short by the change in shape. He grunts in surprise, then laughs when he realizes what’s just happened. Hermes’ cheetah fur is scratchy and coarse against his bare skin, but the deep purr more than makes up for it.
“You’re not about to rush off again, are you?” he asks, scratching fingers deep into Hermes’ cheek fur. As he shifts his attention to rubbing his fuzzy chin with the back of a knuckle, Achilles sighs. “Ah, but you have the sky to hold, I suppose. I can’t keep you forever.”
The cheetah purrs louder with the attention, turning his head into the scratching, but then makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. Hermes abruptly turns back into himself, pouting as he leans on Achilles' chest.
"I'd almost forgot about that. I don't want to go."
“We’ll have many, many more moments like these, now,” he soothes, looping his arms around Hermes’ waist. “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your siblings, or let Lady Athena think I’m distracting you from your duties.”
She’s probably watching them like a hawk. Or an owl, as it were.
He gives Hermes’ sides a squeeze as he remembers something: “When you take the sky from Lady Hebe, tell her to come around to the Temple of Styx. I’ll finally see those braids done.”
Hermes hums unhappily, but Achilles is right, of course. He still has important things to get to, and Athena will notice if he slacks off to spend more time with his lover.
“She’ll be very excited for those braids. I think she likes you,” Hermes says, kissing Achilles softly before turning to grab his chiton. He throws it about himself carelessly, but as usual, it still looks perfect as he clips it and puts on his belt.
“Luckily I was able to brush up on my technique with the girl-shades who came through. It wouldn’t do to disappoint Lady Hebe after this long wait.” Achilles pulls on his own tunic with considerably less grace, thanks in large part to its length. At least he doesn’t have to fuss over armor anymore.
“I’ll rest easy knowing a god with so much strength and endurance is holding the sky.” He winks and drags a hand down Hermes’ arm, following the flow of his athlete’s muscles—still feeling a tad amorous. “And who better suited than Lord Atlas’ own grandson?”
Hermes purrs, draping his arms around Achilles’ neck and kissing him. Once. Twice. A third time.
“I thought you were trying to encourage me to leave. You’re really bad at it.”
Ughhhhh why does Hermes need to have responsibilities? Why can’t he just spend all his time talking sweet nothings and having sex with his lover in Elysium?
Achilles frowns and casts around for a way to fix this.
Suddenly he cups a hand to his ear. “Ah! Do you hear that? It sounds an awful lot like Theseus. And … by the Styx, I think he’s headed this way!”
This is, of course, a lie. Poorly executed as ever, but the effort put into its performance is laudable. Achilles spins Hermes around by the shoulders and shoos him along. “Quickly, love. He’ll be upon us soon, and begging for your blessing.”
Before Hermes moves out of reach, Achilles gives his bottom a parting slap for good measure.
Hermes laughs loud and bright at the poorly done ruse, allowing Achilles to turn him around. The laugh turns into a giggle as he’s smacked, already on his way.
“Alright, alright, I’m going. I wouldn’t be able to stand having to listen to him talk.”
His wings start flapping as he takes off, turning midair to wave at Achilles. “Bye, darling. Hebe will be by soon, I’m sure. Be ready for her to needle you for gossip while you braid her hair.”
“Farewell, clever cheetah.” Achilles does his best to keep a straight face, but it finally breaks at Hermes’ giggle. He returns Hermes’ wave with a smile and a matching laugh. It’s a relief to see Hermes off like this—to know he’ll return again soon. Their relationship has involved far too many careful good-byes, given in the shadow of danger and uncertainty.
Achilles watches Hermes until he’s out of sight, then turns to gather flowers fit to embellish a goddess’ braids.
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Achilles hopes acting as Athena’s left hand will have the added benefit of making Hermes a less visible target for any kind of attack or retaliation from Olympus’ enemies. He selfishly hopes Athena and Apollo will take most of the blows, should it come to that. Hermes is fast and clever, but his older siblings have more raw power.
“And you’re a fine liaison with the Underworld. Lord Hades doesn’t seem to mind you as much as the rest of his family.” Hopefully it stays that way once he learns of Hermes’ dalliances with one of his shades. “He’s only beginning to warm to Lady Athena. And he barely tolerates Apollo. I suspect he’s too like Zeus.”
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He hums in thought at the question and looks up at Ixion through the thatched branches of the willow overhead. “Your lord uncle seems to change at a such a glacial pace. I’ve no idea if that’s typical for gods of his age, or simply unique to him.”
Hestia and Poseidon don’t seem that way. Or at least, not the same way. “But he is changing. I’ve seen evidence of it in my years of service.”
Zagreus and Persephone have helped that along. As have Hestia, Hermes, and Athena’s visits. Achilles sighs through a weak smile. “It’s not your nature, I know, but be patient. Maybe another century or two will warm him to Olympus.”
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“Maybe Hades will start to see the world differently now that power has shifted in Olympus. He won’t feel quite so taken for granted—maybe he’ll even feel his work is valued.”
Achilles pauses his preening to tilt his head and tuck a lock of hair behind Hermes’ ear. “Keep including him in Olympus’ deliberations and listen to his opinions. He may change more quickly for it.”
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Achilles wonders if Hades knows about his empty throne. Persephone might well have told him, but would he consider it a touching gesture, or an empty one? The latter, most likely.
“I’m surprised to hear that thrones on Olympus are finite.” Couldn’t Hephaestus make as many lavish thrones as they need? He gives a teasing smile and pinches Hermes’ side. “You should have given up your throne. It’s not as if you sit still long enough to use it.”
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He turns his eyes upward again, and imagines what Olympus must be like. His mother tried to describe it a few times; she spent most of her time in the sea, but often visited Olympus to petition Zeus or visit Hephaestus. But he feels like his imagination must fall woefully short.
“I suppose more thrones lie empty now. Will they remain that way?” he asks, and resumes stroking Hermes’ wings, well aware that this is a gloomy shift in topic. “Or do you suppose new gods will rise—at least to replace Zeus and Lady Hera? They’ve left so much behind … thunder, the sky, marriage, childbirth …”
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“I hope Lord Prometheus is welcomed back.” Achilles only met him the one time, but it was enough to make a good impression. “If he wants a place on the mountain, that is. I imagine he’ll be enjoying his time among humans for a while to come.”
Once more, Achilles gingerly traces a finger down the side of Hermes’ nose, around his mouth where the cheetah’s tearline was. “And if we’re lucky, he’ll treat the world to a few new and interesting beasts.”
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Achilles’ thought is cut short by the change in shape. He grunts in surprise, then laughs when he realizes what’s just happened. Hermes’ cheetah fur is scratchy and coarse against his bare skin, but the deep purr more than makes up for it.
“You’re not about to rush off again, are you?” he asks, scratching fingers deep into Hermes’ cheek fur. As he shifts his attention to rubbing his fuzzy chin with the back of a knuckle, Achilles sighs. “Ah, but you have the sky to hold, I suppose. I can’t keep you forever.”
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She’s probably watching them like a hawk. Or an owl, as it were.
He gives Hermes’ sides a squeeze as he remembers something: “When you take the sky from Lady Hebe, tell her to come around to the Temple of Styx. I’ll finally see those braids done.”
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“I’ll rest easy knowing a god with so much strength and endurance is holding the sky.” He winks and drags a hand down Hermes’ arm, following the flow of his athlete’s muscles—still feeling a tad amorous. “And who better suited than Lord Atlas’ own grandson?”
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Suddenly he cups a hand to his ear. “Ah! Do you hear that? It sounds an awful lot like Theseus. And … by the Styx, I think he’s headed this way!”
This is, of course, a lie. Poorly executed as ever, but the effort put into its performance is laudable. Achilles spins Hermes around by the shoulders and shoos him along. “Quickly, love. He’ll be upon us soon, and begging for your blessing.”
Before Hermes moves out of reach, Achilles gives his bottom a parting slap for good measure.
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Achilles watches Hermes until he’s out of sight, then turns to gather flowers fit to embellish a goddess’ braids.