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The scent is the first thing Hermes notices when he sets foot in the smoking room.
Strictly speaking, there’s no need for him to be here. His hectic lifestyle leaves little room for smoking as a habit, and on top of that he neither cares for the odor of regular cigarettes nor has the patience to roll his own.
Still, it’s a universal truth that the most important things are discussed during a smoke break. And since it’s his first visit to the Hades Corp headquarters as a liaison between them and Olympus Inc, it would be very unwise of him to pass on some insider information, wouldn’t it? So, the trip to the balcony slash smoking room it is.
As luck would have it, the place is deserted—all he can see from his vantage point by the door is several empty and very clean ashtrays. No people in sight means no information, so he would just return to the lobby if it wasn’t for the unlikely smell.
He can’t say it hits him head on. For a split moment he even thinks it’s a trail of perfume from someone who’s been here and left before he entered, so sweet and faintly spicy it is. Cloves, perhaps, and maybe a sprinkle of licorice on top.
But then he spots a trail of smoke curling in the air on the far side of the balcony, and that is how he finds himself halfway there before he even knows it.
When he reaches the supposed source of smoke, he understands why he thought there was no one here. There’s a niche in the wall—probably the fire exit—and it’s so deep that it hides the man standing there completely.
And there’s a lot to hide, Hermes must admit.
The man is broad-shouldered and very tall—so tall, in fact, that Hermes has to tip his head back a little to meet his eyes. Very stylish, too, Hermes thinks as he takes in the man’s no doubt tailored black suit and intricate accessories. Must be someone from the top echelon.
“This smells amazing,” Hermes says with a smile in lieu of a greeting. “What is it? I’d say cloves but I’m not too sure.”
The man regards him silently, and in his golden eyes Hermes reads something akin to surprise. After a short pause, the man retrieves a vintage cigarette case from the pocket of his jacket, opens it, and holds it out, if only somewhat hesitantly.
Inside the case Hermes sees a neat row of hand-rolled cigarettes, which is how his unexpected companion earns another point in Hermes’ books. A man of taste, as it is.
“Oh, thank you,” Hermes says as he fishes out a cigarette, and then puts it between his lips to free his hands and get his lighter. He might not smoke on a regular basis, but a lighter at the ready is a tried and tested conversation starter, so he always makes sure to keep one on himself.
He doesn’t get to retrieve his lighter, though. Before he can even reach inside his pocket, there is a sharp metallic click, and then there is a violet petal of flame hovering politely a breath away from the tip of his cigarette.
So, a connoisseur and a gentleman.
Hermes leans in and lets the fire set the paper alight.
The smoke tastes as good as it smells, if not better. There is a slightest tinge of tobacco, but mostly it’s something very pleasant that he can’t recognize, even with all the vast and colorful experience under his belt.
“I’m repeating myself but this is amazing,” he says a couple of drags later. Then, having reached a conclusion as to the irrelevance of insider information, he holds out his hand. “I’m Hermes, by the way.”
That earns him a silent oh and a flash of recognition on the man’s face, followed by arguably the firmest handshake in Hermes’ entire life.
He doesn’t get to speculate how the man might know him for long. Once their hands are unclasped, a business card holder materializes in the man’s hand. Which is how Hermes gets into possession of a black business card with the Hades logo on one side and just one word in golden lettering on the other.
“Charon,” he says, wondering in his mind how he hasn’t put the clues together sooner. “As in Charon the Boatman.”
The man casts his eyes down briefly, as though shy, and nods.
Hermes finishes his cigarette and stubs it in the nearby ashtray.
“Well, that saves us the introduction at the meeting we’re scheduled for, I guess,” he says then, not quite able to hold back a grin. “What say we use our headstart and grab some coffee before getting down to business?”
Charon regards him for a long moment and nods again.
Which is exactly how it all starts.
***
The word ‘grandiose’ doesn’t do the party justice.
Despite the event being dubbed just a small family get-together, the venue, the menu, and the music are on a level surpassing that of a royal wedding. Hermes has attended quite some of those thanks to his involvement with the media, so he would know.
If one argued that there was hardly anything surprising about the scale of the party, they would actually be right. It’s far from the first party at Olympus Inc that Dionysus has a hand in, and it’s common knowledge that Dionysus loves parties. Aside from the partying itself, the man takes preparations very seriously each and every time; way more seriously than his other duties, as certain members of their family never miss a chance to say.
Hermes begs to differ on that one, though. In his opinion, one should do what they love and love what they do; he himself is a shining example of that, and Dionysus another. So maybe it’s just that certain family members need to find a hobby other than freezing people to death out of sheer spite. Gardening seems fun, if anyone asks him.
“It’s so good to see you, Hermes, dear. It’s been ages,” Aphrodite purrs as she materializes basically out of thin air next to him. Instantly, he’s hit with the scent of roses with the undertones of blood—Aphrodite can be very creative when it comes to what she uses for her perfumes. “Champagne? Wine? Ambrosia? Don’t tell me you’re driving tonight, dearest.”
“I’m not, no,” he says, and she breaks into a smile that could drive nations into the ground but, luckily for Hermes, has no effect on him. “It would be a waste not to get the most of such a feast! They don’t have anything like this overseas, you know.”
“Speaking of which!” Aphrodite says, her smile turning into a pout; a pretty little thing to which Hermes, once again, has long since been immune. “It was very cruel of you to disappear for so long and not even send a word. I was worried sick, dearest, and that is very, very bad for the skin.”
“You look as dazzling as always, Sis, I assure you,” he replies, and she all but glows from the inside hearing the praise. Given that she glows alright as she is, it’s quite something.
“Now aren’t you a darling,” she says sweetly, her displeasure from a moment ago already forgotten. “But you absolutely must tell me everything about your journeys! It’s been so very boring without you around—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence because it is then that the entrance doors open and the Hades party steps into the hall.
Next to him, Aphrodite lets out a low hiss; when Hermes casts a quick glance at her, he sees her eyes turn vicious green.
And for good reason, he thinks as he lets his attention drift back to the newly arrived.
They look stunning, all eight of them. It’s curious that Thanatos is wearing his mother’s colors instead of the blacks and reds of the Hades immediate family; still a fiance, then, not a spouse and consort to the Prince of the Underworld.
What’s taking them so long, Hermes wonders idly before his attention switches to Nyx’s eldest and anchors there.
Charon is a rare sight at social functions, and all the more precious for it. Surely, the man looks splendid each and every time they meet, but tonight? Hermes has never been a fan of gold jewelry aplenty, and yet on Charon it seems like the rightest thing to ever exist. And wouldn’t it be nice to have those ring laden fingers rest on his waist? He’d more than welcome their weight.
It might be the long time they've spent without seeing even a glimpse of each other due to Hermes’ duties. It might be the from peregrination into celebration of it all on Hermes’ end. It might be Aphrodite’s presence next to him.
And yet.
“Oh, do I sense something in the air?” Aphrodite singsongs, and when he turns his head to her he sees her dress hiding even less of her body and the roses blooming in her hair. “Lust, I’d say, but for whom?”
“I’m sure it’s all because of you,” he says nonchalantly and then snatches two glasses from the tray of a passing waiter. “Cheers to that!”
She laughs happily and clinks their glasses together.
It’s not that he would earn himself too many sidelong looks if he were to approach Charon. It’s everybody’s knowledge that their lines of work intersect; their association has been long since approved by both their sides, and thus set in stone.
Still, he wasn’t born yesterday not to know that Olympus’ lot tends to frown at the Hades folks and their ways. And while it’s nothing to him he would rather not subject his professional associate to such attention.
So he keeps his distance for the majority of the night, only stealing glances here and there. He drinks, he talks, he dances. He loses the sight of Charon. He flirts with Aphrodite, he eggs on Ares, he coos at Artemis and Callisto and all but gets smacked for that.
He’d say he’s having fun. On any other night, he’d say that.
At some point, he escapes to the garden adjoining the hall. The garden is pretty large, so he makes his way a little deeper into it where the music and the sounds of revelry are still audible, but in a pleasantly muffled way.
It’s fresh and cool here, and somehow it’s a more welcome respite than he thought it would be.
As he makes another turn, he smells cloves and nutmeg—he now knows it’s nutmeg—on the nightly breeze.
Huh.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says as he approaches Charon and plops on the stone bench beside him. “Tired of the commotion?”
Charon exhales a cloud of smoke and huffs softly.
“Thought so. They’re a noisy lot, I’ll give them that.”
An arched brow, a tilt of the head.
“Oh fine, I’m noisy too. But I can keep my mouth shut! For a while. If you’d like me to.”
Another huff, a click of the cigarette case, and then another one as it lands, open, on the bench between them.
“Much appreciated, dearest colleague.”
It just slips his tongue, a simple and easy thing, and he only registers its effect when the tiny purple flame wavers minutely before catching at the end of his cigarette.
“Uncalled for? You’d rather I don’t call you that?” he says after his first drag, the delight of which is somewhat spoiled by the possibility that he’s made a poor choice of words. He’s no stranger to bad news, but this time it’s not something he doesn’t really mind; a piece of news in and of itself.
Charon clears his throat and shakes his head resolutely.
The second drag is as smooth as silk, and just as pleasant.
“Well, good to know!”
They spend some time in silence only interrupted by the whisper of smoldering paper and distant sounds of music.
A silver and enamel pocket ashtray joins the case on the bench; Charon stubs his cigarette first, Hermes follows suit.
There’s no reason for him to stay here for long, and it’s hardly wise, yet he doesn’t move an inch. He could just ask Charon if the man wants him to leave—that would only be the most efficient way to go about it—but the words seem to stick to his tongue and refuse to be spoken. Another piece of news.
It surprises him no small amount when Charon rises from the bench and stands right before him, his hand outstretched.
Then he notices it, the change in music coming from the hall. Contrary to the one from before, it’s slow and plaintive and sweet now.
Like offering wine dripping from an altar.
Like honey on a summer night.
Like smoke.
“A dance?”
Charon casts his eyes down and nods.
“Oh, I’d be delighted.”
His hand feels so small when Charon’s fingers with their heavy rings close around it, and there’s just something about that feeling that seems to unlock him. So when Charon’s other hand prudently lands just below his shoulder blades, it’s so easy to say, “Lower, if you don’t mind,” and easier still to let a sigh of contentment escape his lips when Chraon hesitantly obliges.
It’s nothing like he imagined at the beginning of the night.
It’s a hundred, thousand, million times better.
***
Charon asks him out to dinner.
Of course, it’s not the first time they’re eating somewhere together. There have been lunches at the diner near the Olympus Inc headquarters, coffee and cakes at the small chocolate house you won’t ever find unless you know exactly where to look (and Hermes does know because guess who helped Eurydice to find a place for her shop when she started), not to mention all kinds of weird and delicious street food made by the folks Hermes is on good terms with.
Still, this time is different because it’s Charon who takes it all upon himself. And just like anything Charon does, it’s grand.
First off, Hermes receives a lush bouquet of pure white lilies with an invitation card tucked neatly amidst the blossoms.
The courier that delivers it happens to be someone Hermes knows, and the expression on the guy’s face is absolutely glorious when Hermes appears in the doorway wearing his homely tank top and booty shorts combo to sign for the delivery.
On one hand it comes as little surprise since Charon tentatively inquired if Hermes would be free on Friday night about a week ago, and he said yes. On the other hand, though, he’s still adjusting to Charon’s charmingly old-fashioned ways, and for someone like Hermes it’s quite a change of pace.
The card tells him the time Charon will pick him up and little else. There’s no name of the place they’re going to, no recommendations on the attire, no nothing; just a single line in a very neat handwriting crawling over the milky expanse of the card, signed C.
The picking up part is no less grand. Hermes would bet money on the fact that people from his block not only have never seen a car like that in their whole lives, but also never suspected such cars even existed. The car is sleek, so black it seems to absorb the orange glow of streetlights, and very Charon in its antique glory. If Hermes weren’t made of sterner stuff, he would probably feel intimidated by it.
When Charon opens the passenger door for him, he can almost hear a collective gasp of his neighbors followed by hushed gossip that is spun on the spot. He grins wider and lets Charon close the door for him once he makes himself comfortable on the leather seats.
The restaurant Charon takes him to is lavish, to put it mildly. Hermes half-expects the doorman to tell him that people wearing jeans and bomber jackets are not welcome here, but the man greets them warmly without even batting an eyelid. The same goes for the administrator who then leads them to their table in a secluded spot of the hall.
“Should’ve guessed you’re a regular,” Hermes says teasingly when the latter leaves.
To that, Charon casts his eyes down briefly; something he does when he’s feeling self-conscious, as Hermes has learned in the course of their relationship.
“We can go somewhere else if this is not to your liking,” the man signs then.
In the way his hands move, Hermes senses an apology coming. Which absolutely won’t do, so he’s quick to nip it in the bud:
“No need to fret, my dear boatman. This is very much to my liking, I assure you.”
Charon coughs delicately and immerses himself in studying the menu he probably knows by heart at this point. Hermes grins and takes his menu as well.
They’re well into their dinner when he starts noticing the signs.
If his date was a random someone, such an outing would definitely imply making a mess of the inviting party’s bedsheets for dessert. But his date is Charon, prim and proper to the point that he takes the couch every time he spends the night at Hermes’, which means the dessert is going to be some exquisite sweets and nothing more.
That’s what Hermes thinks until he becomes aware of the said signs. They are subtle and unobtrusive, but he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t notice how Charon’s gaze lingers a split second longer on his uncovered neck and fingers holding a stemmed wine glass.
Very promising, if you ask him.
“See something you like?” Hermes asks innocently as he lets the glass stem slide a little between his fingers.
That earns him a sharp intake of air from his date, followed by another delicate cough.
“You are very… captivating,” Charon confesses then, not quite meeting Hermes’ eyes. In Hermes’ opinion, that’s very sweet of him; so sweet, in fact, that he can’t help teasing the man just a little bit more.
“Even despite my inappropriate attire?” he says, and the slightest twitch of Charon’s fingers tells him he’s hit dead center.
“Not despite it, I’m afraid,” Charon signs, his eyes still fixed on the spot in the air somewhat above Hermes’ pierced ear.
“In this case, how about we move this somewhere you can take your time ridding me of it?” he says point blank because honestly, it’s been ages, and while he appreciates the courtship he wouldn’t mind his back finally getting acquainted with some flat surface in Charon’s apartment.
Charon makes a distressed little noise.
“I would rather not,” he replies then, the reason behind it made perfectly clear by the way his eyes dart to Hermes’ glass and stay there.
“My dearest colleague, I never get drunk, remember?” Hermes says. Upon a short consideration, he wipes the smile from his face and adds: “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I won’t push. And I don’t mean just now, if you’re not into it in general, that’s also—”
“You have no idea what you do to me, Hermes.”
He can’t say exactly when or how it became a thing between them, all this not calling each other by names. It just happened, so when Charon became BB in Hermes’ messenger and he himself became birdie in Charon’s, it seemed like the most natural thing ever.
Which is why it feels so novel when his name slips from Charon’s fingers, and it goes straight to Hermes’ head and his cock at the same time.
And for all that he’s never tried to imagine what Charon might have sounded like, he can almost hear it now—a low rumble of a voice, rich like earth and just as solemn.
“I would like to find out,” he says when he finally finds his own voice. “And I don’t break easily, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I would still rather not put your resilience to the test.”
“Nobody says we have to go full throttle from the very start, right? And even if we do—honestly, between the two of us, you’re the levelheaded one, not me. So I don’t see why anyone at this table should be concerned about my wellbeing in the first place.”
For some time Charon regards him, his hands clasped and silent, and Hermes can easily imagine the mental scales the man is weighing the pros and cons on.
“Two conditions,” Charon supplies at last, the movements of his hands precise and crisp yet betrayed by a somewhat conflicted look on his face. “One: there will be no rush whatsoever, and you will guide me through it all. I will not do anything you don’t ask me to.”
“Deal,” he breathes out without a second thought, feeling his mouth go dry at the prospect. “What’s the other one?”
Much to his surprise, the hard line of Charon’s lips softens and curls up the tiniest bit at the corners.
“We finish the dinner first. I would very much like to hear your opinion on the local Red Velvet .”
Hermes’ heart, always so steady and reliable, actually skips a beat.
“I can write you an honest to goodness essay. By hand, if you like.”
A short hoarse sound escapes Charon’s throat; a laugh, Hermes realizes giddily.
“I appreciate the gesture, but I like it better when you talk.”
“Oh, that I can do alright,” he says, his voice full of promise and his blood a sparkling wine in his veins.
Charon fixes him with an unreadable look, and raises his hand to catch the waiter’s attention.
It’s not long after the cake is served and finished that Hermes gets to deliver on his promise. He talks in the car, and then in the elevator, and then in Charon’s dimly lit hallway, and he only shuts up after he pleads, “Kiss me,” and Charon promptly delivers on the promise of his own.
And then Hermes is talking again, trading words for more kisses, more touches, more skin on skin. By the moment his back hits the silk of Charon’s bedsheets and the man himself kneels down between his spread legs, he’s holding onto the last thread of coherence; that doesn’t stop him, though.
He talks and talks and talks. What Charon does to him in return is slow and thorough and inexorable, and Hermes would probably die several times over the course of it if he could. Good thing he can’t.
“Told you I was going to be alright,” he says much, much later as they rest on the freshly made sheets. “But I have to say it’s a crime you’ve been depriving me of this—of you—for so long.”
To that, Charon hums apologetically and plants a kiss on his shoulder.
“I look like I’m going to forgive you just like that? Well, guess what, I am.”
Charon seems to give it some thought. Before long, his hand comes hovering above Hermes’ back, the tip of his index finger the sole point of contact between them.
“N-O-T Y-E-T,” the man spells on Hermes’ skin, and Hermes shivers when the finger trails a couple tentative inches down his spine.
“Okay, I retract my statement, forgiveness can wait indeed,” he rapidfires then, squirming suggestively under the touch. He’s not having enough of this anytime soon, is he? “Now if you could please keep going in the direction you’ve so wisely taken. Fingers, tongue, whatever you give me, just—please.”
Charon hums again, in appreciation this time, rearranges himself next to Hermes, and kisses his shoulder once more.
And then gives him both.
***
“You smell like my brother’s cigarettes,” Thanatos comments flatly, his eyes on the contents of a steaming paper cup in his hands.
Pitch black coffee tasting like the very same pitch, Hermes guesses by the other’s frown. It’s honestly beyond him why Thanatos always forces himself to drink his coffee black—in Hermes’ opinion, the man is ninety eight percent likely to be a double milk, maybe half a teaspoon of passion fruit syrup if he’s feeling adventurous type of person.
Then again, Hermes is pretty sure Thanatos has long since given up on sleep and thus runs solely on caffeine and kisses from Hades the Son. So maybe it’s just that the kisses weren’t on the menu tonight. Who knows.
“Ran into him on my way here, yeah,” Hermes chirps because there’s no use denying it, not when the spicy, warm scent of the stuff Charon puts into his smokes as of late seems to cling to his very skin.
Thanatos gives him an unimpressed look.
“It’s four in the morning, Hermes, and we’re at the docks.”
“I didn’t say exactly where I ran into him, did I? Or when.”
“Or in what manner.”
Ah, so he knows, Hermes thinks as he watches Thanatos’ expression turn even more unimpressed.
“You disapprove?” he says instead, feeling very much like a cat that got the cream. Quite literally, he adds to himself and feels his grin widen.
“I’m not my brother’s chaperone,” Thanatos replies with a huff. “Besides, what’s my potential disapproval to you?”
Hermes gasps in mock-hurt.
“Why, Thanatos, it means a great deal to me! I wouldn’t want to become intimately familiar with your scythe, you know."
That, of all things, has Thanatos smile. Well, not exactly, because the man never, ever smiles, but in Hermes’ books the slight upturn of his lip corners qualifies as a smile nonetheless.
“I would opt for a sickle,” Thanatos says then. “Harder to miss that way, you know.”
Hermes chuckles, amused rather than offended.
“It’s not my fault you guys are so big! I mean height-wise, of course, I wouldn’t know if—”
“Of course, Hermes.”
For some time neither of them speaks. Thanatos busies himself with drinking his coffee while Hermes watches the water, thinking about the similarities between it and the silken sheets that a certain king size bed is made with.
“He’s a great guy,” Hermes says at length, the mirth in his voice all but gone. “Very gallant, doesn’t mind me being, well, me, knows an awful lot.”
And on top of all that, careful to a fault, he doesn’t say because, first, Thanatos doesn’t need to hear that from him, and second, it’s something Hermes would like to keep to himself and himself alone. Can’t blame a smuggler for the smuggler’s ways, right?
“I imagine it can be quite… challenging,” Thanatos says, and when Hermes turns his head he sees the man’s eyes fixed on the lazy waves before them. “Talking to him, I mean to say.”
“Oh I don’t know, I’d say he’s very easy to talk to,” Hermes counters because it’s true. “In my experience, he can actually get very chatty when it’s about something he’s into.”
Antiques, wine, ways to make good coffee. Hermes’ penchant for blabbering in the thick of it; his inclination to give voice to each and every spark of pleasure Charon strikes out of him. These sorts of things.
“Oh,” Thanatos breathes out, and Hermes can’t help being fascinated by how much emotion this stoic man can fit into a single exhalation of a sound. “Oh, I see.”
“You didn’t think someone like me didn’t know how to sign, now did you?” Hermes says, outright teasing.
Thanatos, however, doesn’t rise to the bait. “Most people don’t, nor do they care to learn.”
“Well, good thing you and I are not most people,” Hermes says because he supposes it’s also true. “Or just people, if you will.”
Thanatos sighs and downs the last of his coffee in one go.
“Good thing indeed.”
Suddenly, the near-dawn air thickens around the two of them, and the next thing Hermes knows is the signature toll of the bell, distant for now yet unmistakable. And it is then that he spots the boat he’s been waiting for, quickly approaching the pier.
So it’s a double assignment, huh. Who’d have thought.
“The end is nigh?” he prompts as he watches the empty paper cup turn into dust and scatter from Thanatos’ hands.
“Yes,” the man replies, taking a quick look at his watch. It’s custom-made, Hermes was once told, and its hands move in patterns only Thanatos can decipher. “But you have some time to get your job done before I start on mine.”
“I won’t keep you waiting, you’ll see.”
“You will oblige me a great deal.”
He’s already several steps away from the spot he was in but a moment ago when Thanatos' voice reaches him again, not the tiniest bit hindered by the sea breeze.
“And Hermes? Save the Friday night next week, if you please. Mother is hosting a family dinner.”
***
Liked by mother.night and 444 others
bird.of.passage Some renovations!
poppymilkftw okay phallic symbols as entrance door decorations aside, whats up with replacing the photos seconds after you post it. i know i saw charons old rowing team tshirt in the background, i KNOW it. whats goin on
bird.of.passage ;)
zigzagging awww, congrats you guys!!
thnts Once again, drop the name of the wine you want me to bring, if you please. Thank you.
fast_and_furious Second that.
poppymilkftw really guys am i the only one who finds it super weird??
bird.of.passage ;) ;)
poppymilkftw that is NOT an answer
fast_and_furious Oh, leave them be, Hypnos.