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Hermes was beginning to think he was more of a…deviant than he first thought.
He had always known he was different, never able to truly align his goals, his thoughts, his dreams with those around him. He had found solace in Elpis, in becoming overseer. While many of his kind had the ability to pursue their passions, it didn’t make his time in Elpis any less special. To be able to bring fascinating creatures into being, to examine them, to study them, to see them live full lives–
To see them be wiped from existence.
His paradise had also become his personal hell, some nights.
He had his suspicions of what others thought of him. The whispers that would start the moment he turned to leave. That he was strange, that his line of thinking was peculiar and unusual. That there was no point in feeling sympathetic to these beasts they brought into creation. Some part of him still hoped that someone, someday would see the things he saw in others. That they felt the sadness that churned in his breast every time he was forced to put a creation to rest.
Other times, he wanted to unmake those who disagreed just to see how they’d like it.
He had yet to meet anyone like him, anyone with the empathy for the creatures they labored so hard to create. How could others be so dismissive of these creatures? Just because they lacked a soul did not make them any less incapable of feeling. Were others so caught up in their own happiness, their own bliss they could not see their pain?
The more he turned it over in his head, the more it began to seem real. That perhaps he was alone in his thinking. Alone in this world.
“Excuse me? Are you Hermes?”
Your voice had drifted to him, so gentle, so polite. He barely got words of introduction past his lips before Meteion had bounded off to you, flitting just out his reach as she extended her hand in friendship. He fretted as Meteion began to introduce herself to you, still hesitant to have her around others despite finding no one else like him. Except…you are not like anyone, anything he has ever seen.
Meteion had never flocked to someone so readily, so eagerly, so happy to find a new friend. “You’re like me” she had said, taking your hands in hers as she used her abilities to connect to your mind. He was ready to apologize for her forward nature, having never seen her react like this before, but you…
You had merely smiled back, accepting her friendship.
He had been stunned by you, even then.
Your entourage, Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch catch up fairly quickly, showing that you were not alone. He is heartened to see Hythlodaeus after so long, but the red glint of Emet-Selch’s mask caused him some unease, already having ideas of what he had come to speak about.
His nerves were already frazzled, worsened only by turning to check upon the ambystomas and finding one missing. Hythlodaeus thankfully manages to spot the runaway creature, excusing himself to go nab it. He doesn’t even think to ask if they can keep an eye on the others while he runs to grab the one of the tree, thinking only of protecting the creature from harm. He had never considered himself athletic, and he certainly had little grace when it came to fetching the lost ambystoma from the tree.
The ambystoma is a bit more cheeky than he thought, jumping on his face before safely heading toward the ground. He loses his footing, managing to land upside down on a branch that thankfully supports his weight. His back aches something fierce, but he can at least see the creature is safe.
“Are you all right?”
He blames the blush rising to his cheeks on being caught in such an embarrassing position, not your sparkling eyes gazing up at him. They catch the light in a way that’s mystifying, enchanting, his jaw going slack. His eyes are shrouded behind the safety of his mask, for which he is thankful.
“Hermes?” Meteion murmurs, staring up at him. “You’re…red! Turning red,”
“I’ll get down in a moment, Meteion!” he utters just a little too loudly.
“Do you need a hand?” you offer, your expression earnest and welcoming, already making a move to climb the tree yourself.
Grunting, he waves for you to stop. “No, no, I’m fine, if a little embarrassed…” he admits, praying Meteion doesn’t broadcast his feelings for all to hear. “Now, for your own safety, please stand back…” With no small amount of grace, he all but lands face first on the ground, the lush grass doing little to cushion his fall. Groaning from pain, he merely lies there and waits for it to pass.
Soft footfalls approach him, and he thinks it to be Meteion. Looking up, he finds your glittering eyes looking back at him instead. “That looked like it hurt. Are you injured?”
His heart skips a beat.
“Hermes, are you all right?” Meteion asks, and he’s thankful for her worrying after him. Any longer and he would have kept staring at you like some love sick fool… “Quite all right, yes…My apologies for making you worry, Meteion.” he smiles softly, standing to his feet. Unintentionally his gaze travels toward you. “Both you, and…er…”
He’s able to pass off his bumbling as not knowing your name, to which you tell him with ease. Though it follows no usual conventions that he’s heard of, you speak with more eloquence than he’s ever seen in a creation, further confusing his already muddled feelings. “An intriguing name,” he compliments, “somehow reminiscent of a new creation…” he drifts off, the light in your eye telling him there is more to you than being just a creation. “Thank you for coming after me.”
Or so he hoped.
He can’t seem to help himself when it came to you, knowing exactly what Emet-Selch was here for but unable to be apart from your presence for even a moment. Though Emet-Selch had requested you had waited outside, he had put his trust in you. If Meteion could sense no ill will, surely you would mean no harm. Your calm and cool demeanor acted like a balm to his soul, wanting someone to be there to anchor him.
He had always felt differently than others, about returning to the star. Never saw the point in facing your death when there was so much good to be done. His mood once again affects Meteion, wringing her hands silently in the corner as they all converse. The words to ask you to take Meteion flow from his lips naturally, making him feel strange once more. He hardly trusted her with anyone, save himself.
But the sight of your retreating figure with Meteion’s hand in yours, your smile beaming at his young creation in order to brighten her mood…
No…no. It wasn’t right. You were Azem’s creation, a member of the Convocation’s familiar! He had no business looking at you that way…
Yet…he couldn’t stop himself. The spark had already kindled the flames of his desire. Oh how he burned.
He adored your inquisitive mind; that despite your lack of knowledge of their world, you were just as astute and intelligent as they were, asking questions, formulating theories. It impressed him more and more that Azem could create such a convincing familiar, one that seemed no different from the rest of them.
He had never heard anyone else speak of Dynamis, to even acknowledge its existence. Though your terminology had differed, that you knew of the concept only endeared him to you with every breath you took, his eyes never straying from you for long. He was always waiting, always looking for what you would do next. He couldn’t stop the way his heart began to race when you had looked at him so attentively, so focused as you hung on his every word while he explained Dynamis. It took all he had to not fumble, not look at the subtle parting of your lips, the way the sun shone on your cheeks…
He was a mess.
You continued to awe him, to make him not feel so alone. He had left Meteion in your care again, leaving you to whatever adventures his creation wanted to get up to. Meteion, true to her nature, had shared his innermost feelings, and innermost thoughts. As he saw you there standing in that field with Meteion at your side, he couldn’t help but wonder about how good you would feel in his arms. It felt as if he had to restrain the urge to touch you.
“Wait! I want to show you something first.” Meteion had demanded, taking him by the hand. She could be quite strong when she wanted to be, and with you waiting expectantly, your gaze so warm and inviting, who was he to refuse?
Meteion drags him into the field where you await him, your hands folded neatly before you as you kneel before a grouping of Elpis blooms. They are as white as ever, their color unchanged. Before he can question it, Meteion turns you with a determined look. “Go on!” she implores, with a little nod.
Giving her a silent nod, you kneel before the flowers, their glow warm on your face. Closing your eyes, he merely allows himself to enjoy your visage without guilt, until the warm glow turns cool, the Elpis flowers before you shifting to a moody purple…a sad purple. The sight shocks him to the core, having never seen the blooms change colors around anyone else. Meteion gazes up at him sadly, her wings drooping. “You’re not the only one, Hermes. Others feel sad too. You’re not alone.” Meteion murmurs, willing her heart to reach him.
He’s unsure what to say. Meteion has once again spilled his deepest thoughts, but from the look on your face he finds himself unable to be upset. There is a look in your eye that tries to offer him comfort, a comfort that no one else had ever offered because no one else could understand.
Except for you.
He wants nothing more than to take you into his arms, the emotion within him beginning to well up, but he can’t, not with Meteion here. Removing his mask he lets you see him, the real him. He tells you of his pains, his woes, his doubts and his fears, and you sit there attentive and wonderful and…and…strong…
He groans. His breaths are heavy.
He is alone now, having bid you a good night. The thought had crossed his mind to bid you to come back to his rooms, to chat over tea, or perhaps coffee. But with how his thoughts have wandered…to where they have veered…
He knows his intentions of inviting you back his rooms are not wholly pure.
He prepares for bed the same as any night, having sent Meteion to her place of rest until the next morning. The night is quiet, the beasts preparing for slumber much like their creators, but no, his eyes are still wide awake, even behind the darkness of his eyelids.
For in his mind, you are there.
He had tried to steer his thoughts elsewhere since arriving at his living quarters. His nightly routine failed to distract him, his body so used to the monotony he could perform it without thought, leaving plenty of space in his mind for you to occupy. Cleaned and dressed for bed, he tried flipping through sheets of paperwork he had put off, concepts that needed approval to be sent to the bureau. His thoughts drifted to you still, wondering how Azem could create a familiar so full of life, so beautiful–
He’s not immune to feelings of desire, but it had been so long. He could feel it clawing at his feet, ready to sink its teeth into him and only through sheer will and self control did he keep such feelings bottled. The mortification he would have felt if you had seen how clearly he wanted you…
Grunting, he ushers himself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. It does little to calm the heat in his belly, and there’s no need to disrobe again just to take a cold shower. He’s better than this, feeling such hunger for another’s creation, for Azem’s familiar. He chants it over and over to himself until he gets in bed, safe under the sheets.
Sheets he could have dragged you into. Already he can see your face alight with curiosity and wonder as he goes into his theories on the intricacies of Dynamis, eager to aid you in your quest. Jotting down ideas and hypotheses into the late hours of the night. To hear your laughter, to see you smile…to take your hand and press his lips to it, needing to feel your warmth. To feel your lips against his own.
His length gives an insistent throb. Try as he might, it’s not going away. He needs to take care of this here and now. The thought gives him unease, once again feeling strange and unsure, but the thought of your smiling face already pulls his hand to reach into his trousers and wrap around his cock.
What sounds would you make, he wonders? Would you allow him to lead you to his bed? Fall down into the covers with him, allow his hands to explore your body? Would you let him disrobe you with care, take things slow, want to feel you, all of you?
He licks his hand, lacking the patience to find some sort of oil or cream to make this easier. No, it was about the quick chase, the spur of the moment gratification now. Precum begins to leak from the tip, aiding his stroking motions, his cock hard and heavy in his hands. Emerald eyes unfocus as he imagines yours staring up at him, imagines your hands stroking his cock. Your head resting against his thigh, eyes half lidded as you gaze up at him, asking if this was his intention all along, to get you in his bed and he would say yes, yes it was.
You’d laugh then, at his honesty, but he knew he could not lie to you. You would lick his shaft, beginning to tease him for harboring such naughty thoughts about you. What would he do if Azem found out? How would he be able to defend himself?
The thought sends a shock of pleasure straight through him, the thoughts of guilt and a taste of the forbidden mixing in a delicious cocktail in his veins. You’d take him into that pretty mouth of yours, lips wrapped around his cock, his hands finding your hair to make you take more of him. The thought of using Azem’s familiar so lewdly, to face the next day as if nothing ever happened, as if he had not bobbed your head up and down upon his cock as he chased his pleasure…
The coil in his belly winds tighter. He’s steadily pushing himself to the brink.
You would tease him, he thinks. You would pull off of him, your lips stained with his precum and your spit, grinning as you climbed up his body. Even with your face right before him, he’d be transfixed to your hand grabbing his cock to line up with your entrance, eyes focused on the sensation and visage both of you taking him inside your body. You’d be so hot, so wet, so tight, he’d be robbed of breath.
You’d take his hands in yours, holding them so sweetly as you ride him so filthily. You’d move his hands to your hips, urging him to hold you, to grab you and slam you on his cock, to ruin you. His mind would say he couldn’t what if someone would find out, what if Azem got angry–
The thought only makes him fuck harder, makes the fantasy that much more real. Watching your smug look fracture into bliss as he fucks up into you, slamming you onto his cock just as you had asked. Bringing your lips to his for a kiss, several kisses, needing everything as he held you close and ravaged you. All the passion, all the pain, the hurt, the suffering, unleashed on you via his wayward lust, until…until…!
He cums, groaning your name with a shout, working his cock through his orgasm, clinging onto the last bits of his fantasy. His name broken on your lips as you come together with him, collapsing in his arms as his seed spurts deep inside you. Having to face Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus knowing what he had done–
He groans again, sinking into his pillows as the afterglow begins to settle in. His hand is covered in his seed, sighing as now he needs to get up anyway to clean himself. He doesn’t move just yet, eyes closed as he allows his breath to calm, for his body to return to a restful state. Each breath grounds him a little more, able to think a little more clearly.
Though the burn has subsided and his desire sated…still his thoughts drift back to you.
“I could tell you all about suffering.” you had joked, though one look in your eyes told him it was founded in truth. “But I’m glad I could be of service. Let’s have no more brooding, eh?”
You had looked at him so…earnestly. With so much understanding and empathy. Not the confusion or bewilderment he was used to. Perhaps you did not truly understand his outlook, his view on this life, but you understood him. You saw his pain for what it was, and let him know he was not alone.