...you write a secret love letter to Hermes to vent your emotions, planning to destroy it, but Caduceus thinks it's actually to deliver and takes it straight to Hermes, oops... (His minion description says he delivers messages!)

It is in that selfsame moment that Hermes, his focus upon the unfolded parchment in his hand, felt a swift motion pluck it directly out of his fingertips. The man's shocked attention moved upwards, catching your dark, hooded figure hunched over and gasping for breath, the letter crumpled in your hands.

"I'm s-... sorry..." you said, breathless and tight, as if every word was a struggle to push from your lips. Swallowing down air and sense alike, you finally turn your gaze around to sheepishly meet Hermes' own beneath his mask. "It's just... nobody was supposed to... to read theh... this."

Though he cannot see much of your face beneath the cowl of the robe, Hermes has the near-unmistakable notion that you are almost glaring upon the small creation curled up near where he stands. The creation itself is a small snake, very much like the common concept save for the fact that it is intelligent enough to be a messenger and designed to be helpful--apparently too well, if the moment is to be best unraveled from its tangled mess of subtleties.

Hermes turns his eyes back to you. "Caduceus must have misinterpreted the letter as something to be ferried," he says gently, already tasting the lie on the curl of his lips. "I had but just opened it when you arrived--luckily I had not the moment to read whatever mysteries you seem apt to keep, Azem."

It takes a few moments, but eventually the tension ebbs from your body. The words settle into the air between you and the man who had seemingly been moments from learning a horrible, embarrassing truth. Eventually you look down at the parchment crumpled between both palms, then back to Hermes.

"As more senior members of the Convocation can attest to, I am always one for a good mystery or two. You've newly taken the seat of Fandaniel, so I'm sure you'll come to either adore or loathe them in time."

Hermes quirks a brow. "I can't tell if you're talking more of the Convocation or specifically yourself."

You pause, but the silence eventually drags on long enough that Hermes can swear there's an eking of heat from your aura--nervousness? You can feel his eyes, his focus, steadfast and curious, and that alone is enough to make your stomach twist and your heartbeat quicken.

Before he can look any deeper however, you are already shuffling off, carefully clutching the letter in your hands and making the excuse of needing to be somewhere else, apparently--somewhere very important and very much not here.

The details were rather hard to pull out from the hurried babbling of words that rather crashed into one another. But you at last move with such speed that you're already out of sight by the time that Hermes thinks to say anything else, his verdant attention left to ponder.

Alone with his thoughts and the memory of the letter, the words that had been penned so earnestly within, having left such an impression upon Hermes that he could scarcely forget them.

Yes, he answers in silent assurance, there is but one other thing that he finds himself gazing at--though he doesn't feel quite so small and lost as he does beneath the heavens when he turns his loving gaze upon you.

this is a different anon but seeing your talk of a botanist love interest for Hermes just made me imagine that Meteion indirectly confesses for them when she asks Hermes what those feelings mean bc she's curious

“Hermes?”

“Hm?” The sound of a whisper-soft voice pulls the observer from his thoughts. He’d been watching a new herd of deer-like creations lazily graze for a better part of the afternoon, and seemed to forget much of the world around him in that same time. Meteion’s voice served to be the hook that finally pulled him from inside his own mind, and he offers her a delicate smile. “I apologize, Meteion. Is there something you need?”

The bewinged girl’s eyes flick towards the ground when Hermes’ gaze falls upon her. Even with his mask, it’s still a bit difficult for her to maintain direct eye contact for very long.

“What… is it when your chest feels all warm and… tingly?” She brings both hands up and taps against her chest with the tips of her fingers, as if simulating a rhythm as she continues the question. “Like… when you can feel a little bird inside, flapping its wings really quickly.”

“Oh? Like a little bird, you say?” Hermes says, in that tone of voice that Meteion recognizes as curiosity—but not the bad kind. Not like when she asks bad stuff, dangerous things that Hermes says she should never do, like play with the creations designated as ‘predators’ or run too far away from him when he’s on observational duties. This tone is soft and gentle.

Meteion nods. Her eyes flick up to see that he’s turned away from the grazing creations and has placed his full attention upon her. She manages to keep her eyes there as she murmurs, “Yes, but a feeling, not a real bird. This feeling… it happens when you look at someone—but only a specific someone! When you look at them, your chest is warm and it sounds like-“ She taps rapidly against her chest—thump thump thump thump thump—and it takes Hermes several long seconds to work through her words to understand what she’s likely describing.

“That’s what a racing heart feels like, yes,” he chuckles and reaches a hand out to gently pet the top of her head. “But you’re looking for a word for this… feeling?”

“Yes!”

The girl’s expression lights up, overjoyed in the simple but important overcoming of a concept she isn’t familiar with. A little win in the grand scheme of Etheirys, but one that leaves her so happy that she’s almost bouncing on her heels—along with Hermes’ hand yet settled on the top of her head.

Hermes feels pride bloom in his heart, much like he’d imagine of a father seeing his children develop such intricate parts of their being for the first time; Meteion is not far from being his own child, not at least in how he cares for and guides her in these moments of enlightenment. He’s so proud of this moment, in fact, that he almost forgets to explain the emotion she had been describing in the first place. He glances back towards the creations as they grazed. This part of Elpis is peaceful and quiet—one of the reasons the yet-named creatures had been released here for the time being.

Hermes hums after a few moments. “What you’re feeling is… love, I think. Or happiness.”

“It’s not happiness,” Meteion says, growing momentarily braver as she holds her gaze stubbornly onto his own. “I mean, I think it would make someone feel happy too, but… it’s something else. It’s like… if you only felt really happy when you were with a specific person. With a heart that races and a little bird flapping in your chest!”

“You’re quite stuck on that part of it, aren’t you?” Hermes laughs and ruffles Meteion’s hair before pulling his hand away. “But I suppose yes, what you’re talking about would be a form of love.” He pauses a moment. “Is… this a feeling that you’ve been experiencing, Meteion? Is there someone specific that makes you feel like that?”

The girl quickly shakes her head, so fast that it makes the feathers on her ears puff up a little. “No! I mean, not like this—I already know that I care about you an awful lot, Hermes!” She wrings her hands together for a quick moment before her gaze falls again, but this time its less from nervousness and more in her focus to find the right words to the thoughts in her mind. Words that are a bit difficult at times, but Hermes is patient all the same and waits until she speaks. “I feel that. Love. I can feel it coming from another person whenever they’re around you.”

Hermes’ lips press together into a tight line. It lasts for only a second, barely a breath, before it’s gone once more and he’s smiling wide. Meteion can feel that he’s hiding something—she’s never told him before, but she knows when he’s covering up something in his heart. It feels almost like the times when she’s pulled a blanket over her head and all the sounds around her get muffled up and soft. He’s doing that to his heart, a little bit. Even when he smiles.

“I sure hope it’s not Emet-Selch that feels like that around me,” he says with a chuckle. Meteion’s response is nearly instant.

“No!” she exclaims. “Definitely not him! He feels grumpy and strict whenever he visits…”

“Well, good to know he’s not a secret admirer then—not my type of person most of the time.”

“Type?”

Hermes shakes his head and settles himself back down atop the small hill overlooking the herd of creations. Meteion sits down neatly beside him, legs tucked and hands clasped together on her lap. “I’ll explain that another time, preferably after you’ve picked up a few more things dealing with relationships. But tell me then, Meteion, who might this person be you seem so keen to ask about?”

“Well…”

She knows she has to choose her words carefully. Meteion has no fear of being reprimanded—Hermes would never get angry at her for asking a question, he’s said as much and she trusts him dearly—but she knows that there is something peculiar about the way he and that other person feel about one another. She doesn’t know enough to put words on it, or even the sense to unravel the relationship beyond the fact that they felt happy when they were together, but…

“There’s that one researcher that comes around a lot,” she shakes her hands for a few moments to try and help her thoughts form the word. “Botanist. They are a botanist—the types of scientist that works with plants! Yes! The one that you gave that pretty flower to a few weeks ago.” The one that makes your heart sound like a little bird whenever you see them.

“The flower? You mean-… yes. I know whom you’re talking about, Meteion. And… this person…?”

She nods her head as the man’s words trail off, feathers puffing up and eyes almost gleaming with a sense of excitement. “Yes, yes!” she says, “That person has that feeling whenever they’re looking at you. The-“ she taps her chests again as before, “-the warmness and tingling in the chest! Not happiness but… more! What was that called again, Hermes?”

The man stares at her. “…Love. That’s what I said it must be.” Even beneath the mask, she feels the emotion behind the muffling blanket wrapped around his heart turn warmer. “The feeling is love, Meteion.”

The girl’s expression brightens like the sun. “I think they ‘love’ you Hermes! Lots and lots! They feel like… like you do! When you gave them that pretty flower…”

“…I see,” he says, so soft that it’s hard for Meteion to hear. She wonders for a moment if he is sad, but his heart feels too warm to be sad even though he’s very quiet. Like there’s birds in his chest right now! For a moment she wonders if he will say more, but instead Hermes simply turns his attention back towards the peaceful creations as they slowly move from one side of the grassy clearing to the other.

He doesn’t speak for a long time after that. Even in the silence, however, Meteion knows she doesn’t need to worry. Hermes’ heart feels hot and bright even though he’s quiet—maybe thinking of that person? She can’t tell for certain outside of the emotions that gently flow from his soul—but given that there’s a smile on his lips every time she glances over to the man’s face, she has to figure that whatever meaning came from what she described of that person, it makes Hermes feel really happy.

And that makes her happy too.

its true! the ancient greeks loved smaller penises because they believe it signified enlightened minds iirc? which is why hermes could never let anyone know about what hes packing lest they think less of his work and achievements rip big dick king

“It’s not s-something to be proud of, you know.”

You glance up from between Hermes’s splayed legs, eyes curiously finding his gaze of glittering emerald settled upon you. He looked vaguely debauched already; robe pushed up, skin flushed, stomach muscles tending with every motion of your lips and tongue. The fact that the man can so much as think while your mouth is upon him is a surprise—moreso that he can string together an entire sentence. Apparently you’re not doing quite as good of a job as you thought (though the man’s soft moans but a moment ago would say differently).

“A smart man is one who should not be… d-driven by such base… e-emotions alone.”

Drawing back, slowly enough so that your tongue drags up against the underside of his still-twitching cock—and oh, you feel him shudder from that—you say, “When I come from, that’s quite the opposite. I mean, size doesn’t matter all that much at all one way or another—but I happen to like the tool you have-“ a single finger teasingly traces over the shape of Hermes’ dick. He had been about to say something, but the words are shattered by the mere touch. “-and I think you quite enjoy all the things I’m doing to you anyway.”

“Twelve above,” he whispers. The words are so tight and soft that they’re barely recognizable beyond the sounds that make them up. “Perhaps I truly am in the wrong t-time then….”

Between the man’s flushed face and the sound of ripping grass on either side of him where he’d moved his hands earlier, you’re not quite sure what’s more endearing. Perhaps it’s all of it together, all the little details swirling about to culminate in this single, beautiful man who had been so word-fumblingly shy when you asked to suck his dick—all that and thensome which makes you want to tease him until he begs and shakes.

It’s the least he deserves, you think.