“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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no subject
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.”
no subject
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.”
no subject
“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?”
no subject
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.
no subject
Achilles watches Hermes until he’s out of sight, then turns to gather flowers fit to embellish a goddess’ braids.