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English
Series:
Part 2 of Gal's Fluffy February
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Published:
2025-02-17
Completed:
2025-02-27
Words:
2,501
Chapters:
3/3
Comments:
32
Kudos:
285
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There's a Beauty in Your Serenity

Summary:

Hermes, after a long few months of work, has finally found time to visit his lover in the underworld.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: PT 1

Chapter Text

Hermes hummed some nameless tune as he flicked through crowds of shades. Normally he was swamped with his job, delivering letters between gods making sure mortals could travel safely and quickly, a boring job in his eyes. But today he had finally made some time in his months of business. He had one goal and one goal only.

Shades watched the bright orange silhouette of the god, a color rarely seen in the underworld, speeding across the empty roof of Asphodel. As the environment slowly shifted from dry, empty and plain, to blue and serenely gorgeous, Hermes quickly darted towards the River Lethe.

A small figure was at the edge, feet dangling just above the murky waters. He grinned and zipped down, landing almost silently next to Tiresias. The prophet glanced in his direction, smiling sweetly.

“Hello darling! I’ve missed you,” he said in his sing-song tone. Tiresias hummed.

“I missed you as well,” he said, his voice soft and rough with some disuse. He rarely talked to other shades so in the long stretches where Hermes wouldn’t have time to visit he’d rarely talk, leaving his voice soft and scratchy. Hermes thought his voice was nice anyways.

“How have you been darling? I’m sorry I got so busy. I would’ve visited sooner,” he murmured, sitting down next to Tiresias. The prophet smiled at him.

“It is alright. I understand you have a job. I am thankful you find time to visit at all,” he said, reaching his hand out. Hermes placed his hand into Tiresias, his cold skin a momentary shock.

“How have you been? Your voice is terribly soft. Who was the last person you talked to?” He asked, squeezing the prophets hands.

“I’m alright. And if I’m honest, you. No other shades have approached and I didn’t want to start a conversation unless it were with you,” he replied, his voice nervous and guilty. Hermes sighed, shuffling closer until he could set his head on Tiresias' shoulder, his wings fluttering slightly. He gave the pale hand intertwined with his a reassuring squeeze. Tiresias sighed softly, his legs swinging idly.

“You should get out… make friends,” Hermes murmured, though there was no force behind it. Tiresias hummed, reaching up with his free hand and running his hands through Hermes’ hair.

“I’m not like you, Hermes. I don’t get along with people. I scare them,” he said quietly, his hand going limp in Hermes’. He tightened his grip slightly.

“They are fools. If I had the option then I would not be out doing my duties, I’d be down here beside you. Anybody who would not choose the same is an unthinking fool,” Hermes said simply, as though it were fact. It may as well have been with how truly Hermes believed it. Tiresias scoffed.

“Thank you dear, though you needn’t lie,” he said quietly, his fingers reaching down to trace through the Lethe. Hermes maneuvered until his head was in Tiresias’ lap. He reached up and led one of Tiresias’ hands down to his face.

“I may be the god of deceit, but with you I would never. You are too important to me,” he replied, his tone determined, and leaving no room for the prophet to argue. Tiresias ran his fingers gently over Hermes’ cheeks, then his nose, then his lips, which the prophet noted were warmer than even his hands. A faint blush crept up his face and a nervous smile graced his lips. Tiresias trace the smile, cold fingers leaving faint traces of contact. His hands slowly trailed upwards to pet through brown curls.

“Your hair is terribly soft. Your wings as well,” he murmured, more to himself than anything as he ran his thumb across the bone of Hermes’ wings. He hummed, leaning into the touch. This was his favorite pastime. Sitting next to the bubbling waters of the Lethe as Tiresias gently ran his cold pale hands across his skin.

Sometimes, when Tiresias would allow him, he’d sit behind him, brushing his long blond hair. His hair was soft and never seemed to get dirty or ruffled by the wind like his did. His body was frozen in time, is how Hermes had put it. That made the prophet laugh. A gentle, lilting noise he wanted to keep in his mind forever.

This was something Hermes wanted to do forever. To be here, in the calm beauty of the underworld, next to his lover forever. If he didn’t have his duties to attend to, he’d spend every second holding hands with the prophet until every mortal forgot of the gods and his existence faded. Though he wondered faintly if Tiresias would keep him there with his past, present, and future memories of him.

He shook the thought off. For at least right now, he could lie here, in his lover's lap, watching his beautiful face. For right now, he could bask in Tiresias’ glory.

Chapter 2: PT 2

Summary:

Hermes is hit by a terrible cold, only worsened by the freeing temperatures of the Underworld where a certain prophet resides

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermes shivered harshly, the cool air of the Underworld hitting him especially hard today for some reason. He flitted through crowds of shades, unusually slowly, the small wings on his head and feet struggling to hold him up well. He wasn’t sure why he was so cold but he quickly figured out why flying too high with weak wings was a shitty idea.

The wings on his head and feet slowly came to a stop, too cold to keep him afloat as he suddenly tumbled down towards the grasses of Elysium and the River Lethe. His mind raced as he watched the murky white waters approach.

Landing in the Lethe with his wings too weak to free him could be detrimental. His breathing picked up as he tried to twist in the air. To take the blunt of the ground rather than gentle hands of the Lethe.

His back landed against the grass of Elysium so hard the wind was knocked out of him. He could hear the bubbling of the river right next to his ear and his body shuddered. He gasped for air, curling into a small ball as he clutched his chest. The cold made breathing excessively difficult as he coughed and took shallow gasps.

“Hello?” He heard a familiar voice, worry clear in his tone as someone ran to his side. He writhed harshly, his heart beating painfully against his chest. He wheezed quietly, leaning into Tiresias’ hand as the prophet traced the bone of his head wings. “Hermes?” He asked again, grabbing Hermes’ limp body and pulling him into his lap. He winced slightly as Tiresias moved him. His ribs felt like they’d all been shattered and he felt broken.

“It’s s-so cold,” he murmured, his voice raspy and soft. Tiresia adjusted his position slightly, wrapping his black robe around Hermes’ body. He nuzzled against Tiresias’ chest taking small breaths as the shivering died down and the wings at his feet slowly flicked back to life.

“What happened?” Tiresias asked. Knowing anything about the prophet most would simply assume Tiresias would have known something like that, but at some point in their relationship, Hermes had come to know that Tiresias could rarely, if ever really see gods in his visions.

“I don’t know. The cold down here just hit so much harder today and my wings faltered and I fell,” he said, placing his head against Tiresias’ chest. The prophet gently ran his hands through Hermes’ hair and over his wings.

“Is anything broken? Can gods break themselves?” He asked, the last question more a voiced thought than a direct question.

“Yes but we usually heal fairly fast. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And worse breaks can take longer to heal,” he replied, his voice low and bitter.

“So do you think anything is broken?” Tiresias asked again, looking down at him. His lips were pursed as he looked at him, his blindfold folded enough for him to notice the worried look Tiresias must have had.

“My ribs certainly. I think a few are fixing themselves but it hurts a lot,” he answered simply. He could feel the bones healing themselves but every rattled breath he took was like inhaling arctic air.

“Can I do anything?” Tiresias asked, his hands gently leaving feather light touches across his chest.

“Just… hold me. Don’t leave. Please,” he whispered. Tiresias held him tighter, only loosening his grip when Hermes winced lightly.

“I would never,” he said, his voice determined as he looked down at Hermes. The god smiled faintly, leaning against the pale arms that held him close. He slowly let his eyes close and his body go limp against Tiresias’ chest.

------------------------------
Hermes woke up slowly, his mind foggy and his memories of whatever had led him to sleeping practically non-existent. He turned over and the sharp pain in his chest made him gasp. Right. He had fallen and Tiresias had found him. He said he wouldn’t leave him, yet the only thing that remained of Tiresias was his warm black robe that was laid over his waist.

“Tiresias?” He called out, his voice shakier and more broken than he thought it would be.

“I’m right here,” the prophet replied. He was sitting on the bank of the Lethe, legs dangling just above murky waters. Hermes let out a sigh of relief, sitting up slowly.

“I thought you’d left,” he mumbled, chuckling nervously. Tiresias turned to him, frowning.

“I told you I wouldn’t. I’m not lying,” he said. Hermes nodded and slowly dragged himself over to Tiresias’ side, cloak still wrapped around his shoulders. He set his head against Tiresias’ side.

“How long have I been asleep? Father will kill me,” he said quietly.

“A few hours at most. Zeus will have no reason to be mad with you. If he is I will have Hades talk to him,” he said, kissing Hermes’ face. Hermes laughed quietly, his nose scrunching up.

“I suppose I should get back to work now,” he said sadly, moving to stand up. Tiresias snatched his wrist and pulled him back down quickly.

“Absolutely not. You can barely move at half of your normal speed. I’m not going to let you start flying all over the place,” he said firmly, glaring at Hermes. The god huffed quietly.

“I have too. I’ve been hurt worse before. I’ll be fine. Father will really hurt me if I don’t get back quickly,” he said, holding Tiresias’ hand. He kissed the prophets pale knuckles and each of his finger tips, then his palm. “I’ll be fine I promise darling,” he said reassuringly. Tiresias sighed but nodded.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?” He asked, holding Hermes' hand tightly.

“Of course,” he said, nodding. Tiresias traced his face gently before cupping his face and kissing him.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said and Hermes was flying off. Tiresias heard the quiet hiss as his little bird took flight but he didn’t call out. Hermes was too insistent. He wouldn’t come back. He knew how much the little god feared Zeus and his wife. A reasonable fear in his eyes.

Notes:

Okay. So AGAIN. Early post, yippe! I got sick today so I have free time baby! Worse reason to have free time but free time nonetheless. Thanks so much for reading this and leaving kudos and comments! Chapter 3 will likely be up in a couple of days though it might just be released on the day of the prompt which will be the 26th.

Chapter 3: PT 3

Summary:

Final Day of FF for me!!

Hermes tries to bring his lover flowers.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermes grinned goofily as he shot past Charon, giving a small rushed hello as he followed the River Styx. He held a small box close to his chest. The red water of the Styx gently changed into the lava of Asphodel, and then, finally, the Lethe. The waters he knew his lover adored.

He spotted the dark splotch that was Tiresias and his speed picked up. He looked at the box, that stupid grin still plastered on his face as he zipped towards the prophet.

“Hello darling~!” He called, drawling as he flew down and sat neatly next to Tiresias. The man hummed in acknowledgment, that sweet, fond smile that Hermes adored crawling across his face.

“Hello Hermes,” he said, his voice much gentler than the last time he had seen him. He’d been getting out, Hermes realized, his eyes bright and face splitting with a grin.

“I brought you a gift!” He said, his tone bright and ecstatic as he placed the box in Tiresias’ lap. The prophet frowned deeply.

“Hermes… I can’t accept these. If I touch them they’ll die,” he said apologetically. Hermes’ face fell, his wings drooping with his shoulders.

“Oh,” he murmured, clasping his hands in his lap. Tiresias reached over and grabbed his hand.

“I’m sorry my love. I wish I could accept,” he said, gently squeezing Hermes’ hand. Hermes forced a laugh.

“It’s alright darling! I should’ve known better to bring life down to where Death resides!” He said teasingly, hiding the hurt as best he could. Tiresias frowned deeply, reaching to hold Hermes’ face. The god pulled away a little more harshly than he intended, lifting into the air quickly. “Well that’s all I came for. I better get back. I’ll see you later darling!” He said as happily as he could. He didn’t give Tiresias a chance to respond before he was in the air, shooting off. The grin fell in an instant. He was stupid to think flowers would survive in the underworld.

 

Hermes whistled softly as he passed through the Underworld’s gates. He greeted Charon with a small smile and followed the Styx dutifully. The previous meetup still stung but he hadn’t seen Tiresias in too long.

He watched as the red of the Styx drifted to pink, and then the murky white waters of the Lethe.

Tiresias wasn’t sitting at the edge of the water for once, instead settled in a group of Shades. Hermes grinned and fluttered downwards, landing silently behind Tiresias. He snuck up and wrapped his arms around Tiresias’ waist, who gasped and nearly elbowed him in the nose.

“Hermes?” He asked, his voice lighter and free of the raspiness it usually held when he was away for long stretches of time.

“Yes!” Hermes said giddily. Tiresias shooed the other Shades away and turned to Hermes, cupping his face.

“I have something for you,” he said, his voice shaking with an excitement Hermes had never heard in him before. Hermes laughed softly, floating through the air as Tiresais led him forward.

“What could you possibly have that I have not stolen already?” He asked, his tone teasing and light. The prophet scoffed and waved him away as he rifled through a small bush. He pulled out the same purple box Hermes had brought him all those months ago. Hermes took it cautiously, tugging on the lid. Inside were four orange and purple crocus’.

“How did… What?” He asked, head tilted. Tiresias chuckled, a huge smile splitting his face.

“Lady Persephone grew them.”

“She can.. Oh my gods– Darling you shouldn’t have!” He cried, throwing himself at Tiresias and kissing his face. The prophet smiled and hugged Hermes. For weeks he had tried to think of a solution but Tiresias, ever clever, got to it first. He thinks for a moment that this is one of the reasons he loves the prophet. He is a god of cleverness and tricks, and yet Tiresias meets his smarts.

Notes:

Wowie~. I've been, HUGELY busy with writing my book so this is a bit late but I hope you like it! Thanks for all of the kudos and stuff on this!

Notes:

So I did just write this this morning but honestly I think it's pretty cute. I have a mortal Hermesias AU planned out because they have consumed me. Anyways thanks so much for all the love I've gotten on this and any other fics I appreciate it so much ^^

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