refusetofight | For @messageforyou

For @messageforyou

Besides the obvious, there’s one big problem with being dead: it leaves Patroclus with too much time to think. To ruminate. To overanalyze. That was always his tendency, but at least in life, he had Achilles and the war. There was rarely a stretch of stillness that allowed him to wander so deep in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

Not like Elysium. Patroclus wishes he was more like Ajax, always spoiling for a test of strength against the shades of other legends, or Odysseus, chatting and joking so easily with anyone who will listen. Will they ever tire of it? Meanwhile, Pat still feels like his place here is undeserved. His act of bravery at Troy was a fluke. That wasn’t enough for Elysium; Achilles had to arrange that deal with Hades himself.

And what is he doing with that gift? Whiling it away in a chronically dreadful mood. It’s no surprise Achilles would take another lover. He needs someone more exciting and vibrant. He needs a challenge. Hermes is who he needed from the very start. Powerful, divine, worthy.

Now there’s Lyra, to—a beautiful, perfect child. Hermes can give Achilles anything he wants. What can Patroclus give him? Painful memories. Shame and regret. Achilles never says as much—of course he wouldn’t—but Pat assumes.

He lays sprawled on the spongy ground in the center of a glade, looking up at Ixion and fumbling around the corners of this well-trod maze of thought. Méli has surrounded him in scattered offerings: very fetchable sticks, a sandal, a broken arrow, an old bone. She finally gives up her restless pacing to flop down next to him. She shifts to rest her chin on his chest and sighs emphatically. Her gifts don’t seem to be helping.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good company right now, am I?” he mumbles, stroking her soft ears. He wishes he could be more like her. Living in the moment, not a single worry except what fun will be had next …

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“That’s wise,” Achilles hums. He knows that trap: dwelling on what was lost, what could have been and ignoring all the many good things in front of him. And Achilles only had a short, mortal life. How much grief can an immortal life collect?

He slips his hand under Hermes’ chin and guides him into a kiss—soft, then probing, savoring the bright taste of his lips. Something about it makes him think of not-apples. Cheerful, tart.

Achilles breaks the kiss and runs the back of his knuckles down Hermes’ arm. “And how would you like to celebrate?”

Hermes hums softly into the kiss, smiling as Achilles parts their lips and strokes his arm. For a moment, in the soft dawn light giving Achilles a pink hue, it's easy to be overwhelmed by how much he loves this man.

He takes his favorite seat in the world--straddling Achilles' lap. And he allows Achilles in, letting him feel that love so bright it might burst from his chest.

"I can think of some ways," Hermes murmurs as he leans in to kiss Achilles again. It's slower than his usual kisses, more intent on savoring the feeling of Achilles' lips and drawing the experience out. The last couple days have been emotional--between finding out he has a daughter, having one of his rare fights with Achilles, trying to adjust to the idea of fatherhood--and he'd really like a chance to just resettle himself physically with one of the people he loves the most.

Achilles loops arms around Hermes’ waist to draw him close. He knows how exposed they are, but the secrecy of their relationship has worn so thin, he can’t be bothered to care.

It’s rare for Hermes to be so unhurried with his affection. So often his kisses are hungry. Needy. But this is a nice change and Achilles isn’t in any rush to part their lips.

When he finally comes up for air, Achilles smiles and runs a thumb over Hermes’ brow. “Depending on the ways you have in mind, this isn’t the best place. … As handsome as you look in the dawn.”

Hermes smiles at Achilles, for once happy to just take a moment and memorize his face. It's not the first time he's tried to capture a moment to affix in his mind, and he hopes it's not the last. For a moment, he's unbelievably, overwhelmingly grateful for his role as a psychopomp allowing him to have his lover beyond death.

"Alright. If you insist." But Achilles is right. Besides, so close to the Styx, it's likely that Charon will come and it's just rude to have sex with one lover where another will likely see. Hermes cups Achilles' cheeks, running his thumbs along his cheekbones.

"Would you like to go back to the grove that looks like Phthia? The grove with the statue? Or is there somewhere new you'd like to show me?"

Achilles looks past Hermes at the world beyond—so tantalizingly close. He thinks of the bustle of Athens just beyond Medea’s window. And further in memory, there’s the starry mountaintop, the beach …

He swallows and meets Hermes’ eyes again. “If it isn’t too much to ask, could you take me somewhere? Anywhere at all ...

“It need not be for long,” he adds quickly, feeling a little like a child asking for a treat. Or maybe a shade from a tragic song, begging his lover to bend the rules of life and death—perhaps to their mutual ruin.

“I miss this.” He nods his head at the sky, at Greece stretching beneath it.

Hermes should say no. It's against the rules for a reason, to let shades in and out of the Underworld willy-nilly. It was cruel to keep on dangling life on the surface in front of their faces, just to take them back home in the dark.

But the yearning in Achilles' eyes is so clear as he looks out at the sun. How can Hermes say no? How can he deny one of the loves of his life, one who stood up to Zeus to him, anything he asks for?

"Helios is a snitch." Hermes smooths Achilles' hair out of his face. "But I can take you somewhere he doesn't look. Someplace beautiful that looks like nothing any mortal in Greece would see." He lets his hands rest on Achilles' shoulders. "Pick a color, love. Green, black, or pink."

For a minute, Achilles isn’t sure how Hermes will respond. He knows his lover can’t resist a bit of mischief, but maybe it’s too much of a risk right now? Maybe he’s asked too much.

Achilles gives a rumbling hum and fiddles with one of the wings on Hermes’ ankle as he considers this unusual response. What could each color imply? A lush grove? He’s seen plenty of those in Elysium. A dark cave? That might as well be half of the Underworld.

Ultimately, only one option really piques his curiosity. He smiles at this curious game and finally says, “I choose … pink.”

Hermes smiles. "Hold on tight. Close your eyes."

He embraces Achilles tightly, staying in his lap and pressing a kiss to his lips, and then there's the dizzying rush of movement. The moment of racing, rushing air, the smell of salt and grass and sea, over in a blink before there's a chance to process anything in the transition.

And now they sit somewhere no mortal in Greece could have ever naturally seen. They sit on a bizarre rock formation that juts from the ground and towers over a rolling, endless expanse of sand and hills made of solid rock, striped pink and white and orange.

The sun is bright and harsh here, pulling out all the individual colors of the striped rocks. The air is dry--perhaps drier than anywhere in Greece, save for perhaps over a fire. From this perch, one can see some strange not-quite-wolf stalking across the sand, head low. On the rock near them, a viper with spiked scales and a strange tail coils and draws its head back, shaking its tail. The tail makes a rattling sound, almost like angry rain.

Hermes leans back a little bit to allow Achilles a better view of the rolling, alien landscape.

"Humans live here, too," he says, smiling out at the desert. "But the land isn't as giving as it is in Greece. They have to be very clever and resourceful to survive. It's very impressive, in my opinion."

Edited 2024-02-08 06:10 (UTC)

It’s almost like falling sideways. Achilles holds Hermes tight through the vertigo. He doesn’t let go, even once they’ve arrived—his hands remain clenched around the back of Hermes’ tunic as he blinks his eyes against the blazing sun. It’s almost as bright as Apollo in a rage.

The landscape around him brings to mind beaches and cliff faces swept by wind and sea … but there’s no ocean in sight. No water at all.

Achilles doesn’t have time to wonder at this oddity, though. There’s a threat at hand and he acts with the speed granted by half-divinity: his hand finds a stone and slings it with uncanny accuracy at the rearing rattlesnake.

On the rare chance that the rock misses, Achilles twists Hermes away, shielding him with his own body. His instincts are still accustomed to mortal lovers who need his protection.

Hermes starts in surprise. The rock hits the snake's body, and it rears back, rattling louder as it... slithers to the side? Unlike most snakes, instead of moving forward to strike or turning back to slither away, it strafes, baring its fangs as blood oozes from its collapsed belly.

"Darling--"

Ah, but Achilles is putting himself in between Hermes and the snake. It's sweet, if a little silly. "Darling. I'm a god. You're dead. The poor thing can't hurt us."

The viper seems to be trying to make a great show of being able to hurt them, keeping its long fangs bared and its rattle ringing loud as it strafes further and further away. Likely to go lick its wounds somewhere, or perhaps to die.

"They're called rattlesnakes. They make that noise when they're frightened to warn people off." Hermes shifts in Achilles' lap, offering his hand to the snake. It pauses its rattling and its strafing, withdrawing its fangs, like it knows it's in the presence of divinity. "There, there, little creature. My love was just frightened too. Let me fix that injury for you, hmmm?"

So far away from Olympus, Hermes isn't as self-conscious showing that his kindness and mercy extends to animals as well. It seems a sorry thing, for a little creature to die for the crime of being small and having teeth.

Edited 2024-02-09 04:51 (UTC)

Hermes indulged his request and brought him some unfathomable distance to show him this new, amazing place. The explanation, Hermes’ tenderness towards the snake brings a flush to Achilles’ face. Even after he’s dead, his body’s instinct is to lash out, no different from a beast himself.

“Ah. Forgive me, that was— … It was cruel,” he stammers. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Achilles watches the snake relax under the gentle kindness in Hermes’ gaze. This is why he loves him, though; Hermes can see the beauty in anything. Even a strange, scaly beast.

"It wasn't cruel. It was protective. Just as this little creature would have bitten you because it was afraid and wanted to defend itself. All creatures lash out when they feel afraid and vulnerable."

Hermes gathers the wounded viper in his hands. It's an imposing snake, almost three feet long, and its eyes have flared scales atop them that give it a horned appearance. But Hermes allows the snake to settle in the crook of his elbow, and he rubs the injured belly, oozing blood and bone visible. Under his fingers, the skin begins to knit itself back together, the bones rediscovering their proper places.

"This snake is the fastest one on sand. Faster than any snake can manage on sand anywhere else in the world." And of course, Hermes has a soft spot for the fastest of any category. "Sometimes I'll turn into one here, if I just want to enjoy the sun for a while but don't want to attract attention of any extended family who live here."

Off in the distance, the not-wolf glances in their direction. It keeps walking.

Achilles reaches out and strokes the now-docile snake’s scaly hide with the pad of a finger. He sighs. “This isn’t the first time. Pat would chide me when I killed the wayward snakes that came into our shelter. Only looking for rodents, no doubt.”

Yet another thing Hermes and Pat have in common: this respect for all life, human and animal. “He knew just how to handle the snakes so he could carry them to the grass at the edge of the camp.”

But Hermes probably doesn’t want to hear about Patroclus, so he quickly changes the topic. “There are gods here? Some of your kin? What is this place called?”

One thing Hermes has always liked about Pat is his respect and care for animals. He has a soft spot for people who choose to be kind to creatures much weaker than them. He relates well to it.

But he doesn't really want to talk about Pat right now. He's still touchy about last night--just because he chose to put his feelings aside about it, doesn't mean he's not still smarting.

So he latches on to the other questions. Hermes turns his head to look out at the rolling expanse of rock and sand.

"The land itself is called Turtle Island, and it's oceans away from Greece, but this place specifically?" Hermes smiles, continuing to lightly stroke the viper now relaxing on his arm. "It has many names, but Apollo calls it Death Valley, and I find that catchy. This place can go a whole year without rain, and in the summer it can be the hottest place on all the surface, so only the most resourceful survive."

Little creatures like this rattlesnake, so cleverly created just for a harsh and beautiful place like this.

"There are gods here, but we're only distantly related through Gaia herself. They aren't organized like Olympians are, but they have their understandings. Coyote is one of the most powerful, and one of the most likely to talk to people who wander through."

“Coyote …” Achilles says, testing the syllables that feel as foreign as the land itself. He wonders if the god has worshippers. He sees no sign of civilization—no roads, no rising smoke from distant settlements, but he asks anyway: “Are there humans—mortals in this Death Valley?”

Achilles knows the land is hot&mash;he can see it—but the heat doesn’t reach his shade. He remembers the time the Greek fleet spent stranded without wind in miserable heat, but at least they had the sea to provide some respite.

“Or is it only the domain of creatures like this?” He gingerly touches the end of the snake’s tail, testing the rattle. How strange, the way an otherwise familiar creature is shaped into something different. Unique. Had Hermes not invited it closer, Achilles might never had appreciated those differences.

The rattle of the snake is made of little hardened beads that grow from the tail, just articulated enough to easily rattle against each other and make a loud noise when done so. Hermes runs his finger against the viper's head as the last of its wounds knits together.

"There are humans here," Hermes confirms. "But you wouldn't recognize their way of life. They don't build cities, make roads, till fields, or conquer new lands. The land is hostile enough that they have to migrate seasonally like birds, and they leave few traces of themselves when they do. There are more people in more hospitable places on Turtle Island, but the cities and roads are south, and they worship different gods, like the Tezcatlipocas."

Hermes allows the hand holding the viper to rest on the ground. It strafes back onto the rock, but it's not in a major hurry to leave.

"Coyote isn't always very kind, but the Texcatlipocas are demanding, and Coyote isn't. I see why many mortals choose to live in his land and forgo the cities in the south."

With all apparent threats neutralized or explained away, Achilles properly relaxes into the space. He adjusts his seat on the stone and contentedly wraps his arms back around Hermes’ middle.

His hunger for knowledge went dormant during his time at Troy, but since his violent purpose has receded, he enjoys hearing Hermes’ tales about the world beyond Greece. He absorbs it as best he can—for Zagreus and Lyra, or whoever else might benefit from his tutelage.

“Coyote … what is he the god of? What is his domain?” That’s how Achilles understands the divine—as it relates to mortal experience. War, the home, crafts, and concepts like love and heroism.

"He doesn't really have one." Hermes shrugs one shoulder with a smile. The snake retreats, slithering sideways once more rather than forward. "It's like Kronos, or Tartarus, or my mum. A lot of the older gods that were born before humans never had a domain, and never picked one up."

Yes, he describes Tartarus as a god rather than a place.

"Coyote is old like that, and he likes the flexibility of having no particular domain." Hermes' smile turns more amused. "But if you want my opinion, he's a fellow trickster. He's a huge liar, a braggart, and a thief besides. But he's very funny about it and doesn't mind laughing at himself, so it's hard to be too mad for long."

In other words, Hermes has a few things in common with Coyote.

Achilles smiles to hear that this ‘Coyote’ is a bit like Hermes. He wonders if the two of them have spoken, and what they might discuss.

“Lord Coyote …” Achilles muses, smoothing his palms over Hermes’ back and sparing a glance at their barren surroundings, as if the ageless god of Death Valley and Turtle Island might suddenly appear in a flash of divine light to warn them off. “He won’t mind a foreign god—another trickster, no less—in his realm?”

He hums and watches the snake retreat, leaving a calligraphic trail in the dust. “Maybe I should have chosen black or green?”

Hermes hums cheerfully, resting his cheek on Achilles' shoulder as he looks out at the desert. It really is a magnificent landscape, though Hermes is quite pleased to be a god of lusher lands in Greece.

"I doubt he'd mind, especially since I'm not interfering with his people or his work." Or whatever passes for work with Coyote. Hermes has never been quite sure what he does all day. "And I'm sure he already knows I'm here. He might rib me about sneaking around lovers next we meet, but this sort of thing doesn't offend him. We tricksters tend to cut each other slack when we wander into each other's territory, because usually funny things happen soon after."

There are unsavory parts of Coyote--he can have a cruel sense of humor, can be careless with mortals, can be thoughtless with his power--but he's quite laid back as gods go, and not the sort to bristle at another god daring to exist in his land.

"The gods down south are a little more territorial, and quite unfriendly to the dead, so we ought not try wandering there."

Achilles shares Hermes’ sentiments; the land is striking, but he couldn’t imagine living here, particularly so far from any sign of the sea.

“I’m perfectly content to stay right here, then. The view is almost as lovely as you are, magpie,” Achilles murmurs and turns his head to press a kiss to Hermes’ brow. He gives Hermes’ thigh a squeeze to remind him of their agenda. “Do you think Lord Coyote will keep his eyes to himself?”

Not that Achilles cares. With the exception of Aphrodite, most gods could probably care less about the sexual exploits of strangers. He just hopes a trickster wouldn’t make sport of it somehow.

"Maybe. Maybe not. He's not very predictable." Hermes loops his arms around Achilles' neck, pressing an uncharacteristically slow kiss to his mouth, taking his time to taste his lover. "But I don't care if you don't."

If Coyote wants to be a voyeur, let him. The worst Hermes sees him doing is teasing him, and he can withstand that.

Hermes runs his fingers through Achilles' hair. It glitters in the harsh desert sun, which makes anything that could possibly reflect light shine. "How do you want me?" Hermes murmurs, captivated by his lover, so bright and beautiful in the light. "Anything, any way, it's yours. Just ask."

Hermes wants to spoil Achilles. Wants to show his appreciation for all his love and support. But there's also a part of him that wants to keep Achilles interested, stay new enough to be interesting, because a part of him still nags that Achilles may lose interest one day or decide he's not worth Pat's discomfort, and that insecurity was pulled at and irritated last night.

"I could be silver," Hermes offers, his hair growing silvery gray, age coming to his face, delicate and handsome as he smiles. "Or I could be Thermusa." And he changes again, once more the dark-skinned woman with long fluffy hair and black wings that spread from her temples and ankles. "Or something else, if you so want."

They’ve flirted with the idea, of course, but watching Hermes shift his shape like this, Achilles feels a sudden twinge of … what? … Sadness? He can only think of Hermes twisting himself to fit in. With his family. To please Zeus. To find love, or something like it.

And why change? Because he thinks he isn’t lovable just as he is? It’s not hard to imagine. Not when Hermes’ earliest memory is his mother’s revulsion.

“Hermes,” Achilles breathes, stroking his knuckles over a black wing. He meets his eyes through the mask of Thermusa. “You needn’t change to please me. I want you. I love you as you are.”

Thermusa’s face is more openly expressive than Hermes’. Eyebrows going up, eyes round in surprise.

Then he averts his eyes, spreading one black wing to allow Achilles more space to stroke it. His lips press together, struggling to organize his thoughts.

“…I am me. In a way,” he says, still using the same voice and face as Thermusa. “I have a shape and face that usually feels most comfortable. But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it feels more comfortable to be a woman, or a different age, or an animal, and it’s still me because that’s the skin that feels most comfortable in the moment.”

It’s hard to explain. Hard to explain what it means to have a shape that usually feels like himself, but sometimes feels too much and being able to shift into a different, more comfortable shape like changing clothes. And it’s hard to explain the comfort of being accepted in these other skins, these other shapes that can feel right in the moment.

But Hermes would be lying if he said Achilles wasn’t picking up on a real insecurity. Hermes doesn’t mind lying, but he doesn’t want to lie to Achilles.

“But… I just…” Hermes really struggles giving his insecurities voice. His own issues with being vulnerable aside, what will Achilles say? ‘I promise to always love you, no matter how boring you may some day be’? ‘Even if Pat says to never speak to you again, I love you enough to stay with you anyway’? ‘I promise that I love you even if you’re not constantly trying to entertain me’? Would Hermes ever believe him, regardless of how sincere he seemed? And if Hermes did believe him, how long before Hermes’ doubts creep in again, pulling them both in an exhausting cycle of putting Hermes’ insecurities to rest just for them to rise again?

Hermes lets a sigh out of his nose, giving Achilles a lopsided smile. Even on Thermusa’s face, it’s the same rueful smile Hermes often wears. “I just want to keep things interesting, love.”

Achilles cocks his head ever so slightly, golden curls shifting with the motion. Skeptical. Curious. Even as Thermusa, he can tell Hermes is still holding back. But right now—after Lyra and Maia and everything with Pat—it doesn’t feel right to force it.

Hermes needs comfort. They both do.

“Then how I want you is how you’re most comfortable. If Thermusa is the shape, then …” He pulls him into a kiss, as ardent as any. Even if his feminine shape has more curves, more give under his hands, Hermes’ lips still taste every bit the same. Vibrant and daring. “That’s exactly what I want.”

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