Chapter Text
The dank of the one bedroom apartment came from a deadly combination of cigarette smoke, stacked take out boxes, and closed window shades. It existed in a persistent state of near silence save for the gun fire clicks of swift fingers over a keyboard. At one time, a neighbor had boomed the heavy bass of music through the walls, but a single look of unspeakable promises quickly put an end to that. Full days would pass without recognition. The sun would rise, the sun would set, and Charon would be none the wiser.
Charon often spent days unaware of the world outside. Lost in his work and his lack of routine. Sleep came when he passed out. Food was only remembered by the time his stomach noisily protested. If he had nowhere to be, Charon would live out of the same four or five robes he had in rotation.
Numbers danced across Charon's screen and reflected off his glasses. Someone else's money side shuffling from one secret account to another, going from dirty to clean, rinsed under Charon's careful hand. A cigarette dangled from between his lips, smoke huffing out into a noxious cloud and obscuring his vision for just a second.
He was an accountant by trade, technically. Most of his clients preferred not to know him, for their own legal safety more than anything. A safe distance between their questionable activities and his questionable services. They would meet, once, and leave Charon to his duties with minimal interaction.
It allowed Charon to work from home, to never leave the safety of his abode.
It left Charon with a crippling inability to interact with his fellow humankind.
Charon didn't mind. He didn't have much to say anyways.
Charon rested his cigarette on the lip of a half full ashtray and stretched his arms overhead. The joints of his spine popped in a symphony of crackle. He grunted at the discomfort of it all. It stung when his eyes squeezed shut, wetting after being open for so long, and he saw after images of his computer screen. He'd spent far too long hunched over a keyboard again.
A perfectly aligned ray of sunlight hit on target, aimed directly in his eye. Charon winced and glared at the crack in his curtains.
So the sun had rose again. Charon wasn't sure when it had set. He picked up his phone to see how late in the day it was.
The backrest of Charon’s office chair squeaked as he slumped back. The blue glow of his phone screen illuminated his face and he stared at it, contemplating.
He deserved a break.
He opened his phone and almost immediately went to instagram.
Hypnos had signed Charon up for all the social media apps and installed them on his home screen with the explanation of 'keeping in touch with the family.' Charon gave them all a chance, just one chance, and found them all lacking. There was very little that had caught his attention and very little he was interested in. The bird app was screaming into the void and the book of faces was only used for Thanatos' wine aunt memes. It wasn't until one night of curiosity that had gripped Charon did he find something worth keeping instagram around for.
Charon scrolled through the cursory accounts he followed. A blurry picture of a flower from Hypnos. An inescapable meme with a one eyed yellow cartoon character from Thanatos. A poorly targeted ad for a diet program. Until finally. . .
His account.
It was a simple picture that day. A pair of roller skates precariously dangled by their ties, held aloft by two fingers from an unknown source off screen. They were a brilliant shade of orange and a sparkle finish with blood oranged stops at the toe. Someone had painted a detailed set of white wings at the ankles.
They suited him.
The caption read 'Like the new wheels? Can't wait to try them out tonight ;)
See you then'
Charon read the see you then on repeat. Until he could hear the words. Whispered in his ear. Lips against his skin. Like the sentiment was meant for him.
His heart raced, looking forward to one of the only schedules he kept.
Keys jangled in the lock as whoever on the other side struggled with the door. Charon's heart leapt and his blood ran cold. He was quick to shut off his phone, the screen blinking to black, before whoever was on the other side barged right in.
Hypnos practically floated in, like he owned the place. Charon's brother never bothered with knocking and he wasn't about to start then. Sleepy eyes scanned the organized chaos that was Charon's home until, like a moth to a light, he found his brother's computer screen in the dark. His perpetual smile widened at the sight of Charon's tinted glasses.
"Heeeyyyyy brother," Hypnos said, drawing the words out.
Charon glared and looked at his watch. He half hoped Hypnos was early, but no, it was already Tuesday. Charon blinked his eyes, trying to wipe away the fuzz, and remember when the last time he had slept was.
“Who’s ready for a walk?” Hypnos asked, as if talking to a dog.
“Hrrmm,” Charon grumbled and put out his cigarette. The smoke danced through the dark of his room, the cigarette hissing quietly, all of it adding up to a dreamlike quality that he had missed in his workman-like focus.
Charon shifted to stand, his ass having fallen asleep and his legs creaking from his horrible posture.
“Come on,” Hypnos said, patting his thighs. “Lets go. Who wants walkies?”
Charon shot his brother a bland look. He groaned in the back of his throat and signed to him to wait, heading to the bathroom for a shower. He might not care much what other people thought about him, but he wasn’t going to leave the house in sweats, smelling like an ashtray. At least not like a complete ashtray. Just half an ashtray.
Hypnos made himself at home and raided Charon’s near empty fridge. There was an assortment of condiments and Hypnos went for the mustard.
Ignoring whatever trouble his brother could get into, Charon went to the bathroom, turned on the spray, and let the shower wash away the grime of however long he had spent at his computer. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the water steam up his bathroom and prickle his skin. Behind his lids, he could picture the skates. A smile twitched on his lips.
Strange how something so innocuous could be so titillating.
They gave way to a sinful laugh that pierced Charon’s ears, full lips that curved into mischievous smiles, dark eyes that could see right through him.
Charon turned the water to cold.
Two sharp raps on the bathroom door told Charon he was taking too long.
“I know its tempting, but don’t fall asleep in there,” Hypnos said from the other side. “I mean. . . I’ve done it once or twice and accidentally waterboarded myself. So I guess if you’re gonna do it, keep the washcloths away from your face.”
Charon shut off the water.
He dressed in his normal outfit suited for the outside world, all dark draped clothing and a long coat, and Hypnos was always patient enough for Charon to put on all his jewelry.
“Ready?” Hypnos asked when Charon finally placed his hat on his head.
Charon gave one solemn nod and together they left his apartment.
____
It was 9 at night and Charon was settled in his bed. Blankets pulled aside, pillows propped up against the headboard, and phone in hand. He sat in the waiting room of the stream, watching the place holder placard with its stylishly illustrated wings letting him know that the ’show would begin soon.’
Charon was half hard from the anticipation alone.
He shifted in place, pressing his back against the pillows and digging his heels into his sheets. He had dressed down into his sweatpants and that was all. Having once attended one of these showings stripped bare felt too revealing and wearing a shirt was far too stifling. He made sure to keep his other hand free, but resting innocently on his thigh.
He wouldn’t touch himself. Not yet.
Charon flicked his eyes to the time at the top of his screen and saw it was a minute to the hour. Some days he wished that the placard would fade and everything would begin early, just once, but the punctuality was one of the many things that attracted Charon in the first place.
The clock ticked over.
The screen changed.
Charon breathed in deep, ready for the ride to begin.
The camera turned on as it always did with the owner leaned in far too close, one hand off frame as he turned it on. He wore an expression of vague curiosity before it blossomed into an award winning smile.
“This thing on?” the man on the other end asked, knowing full well that it was. “Okay. Good.”
He shuffled back from the camera and it shifted into focus, giving Charon a full view of whatever new ensemble he had concocted for that evening. No matter what it was, it always made Charon’s breath catch in his throat.
That evening it was a tight fitting t-shirt that stopped somewhere around his sternum showing off a well toned midriff. The shirt read LIVE FAST in a slanted red rushing font that looked as if they were racing across the stretch of his chest, leaving behind drop shadows that faded from orange to yellow. Obnoxiously bright orange, sinfully short shorts hugged muscular, shapely thighs.
Dark hair slicked back haphazardly and looking rakishly windswept. Skin sun kissed and perfectly unblemished over every last inch. An array of earrings ran up both his ears, colored like the sunrises Charon so often missed.
Those chestnut pitch eyes seemed to see Charon, even through the screen.
“Hey there everyone,” Hermes said. “I hope you’re just having the finest of evenings. Its so good for you to see me.”
Charon could practically say the words by heart by that point. He’d heard them so many times in the exact same well practiced annunciation that he could hear the quick precise intonation in his sleep.
Charon’s cock leapt at the sight of Hermes, but he only fisted his sweatpants, the fabric tight in his hand. Not yet, it was still too early.
Charon wanted this to last.
The intro out of the way, Hermes sat back on his bed.
“So the other day I was out and about, you know as you do, and I decided to check out what I thought was a sporting good store. You know, getting ideas for you all and what not.”
He crossed one leg over the other, making a dramatic show of it. The move showed off white ribbed socks that ran up over his knees, lined with two bands of orange at the top. Charon’s eyes were solely focused on the way one bare thigh pressed up against the other.
“Turned out it was a specialty shop?” Hermes laughed, bouncing his leg and leaning back on his palms. “Apparently there are these droves of people who buy roller skates and nothing but roller skates and roller skate paraphernalia and helmets and jackets and uniforms. Even little roller derby bobble dolls.”
Hermes rolled his head back, revealing the thick column of his neck, his smile curled up in a playful groan.
“For a moment I was in heaven,” he said. “I could have talked with those gals all day about their interest, but I think I might have done too much questioning and not enough listening. You all know how it is.”
Hermes gave a quick wink to the camera, his head bopping to the side to do it and his earrings dancing with him.
Charon swallowed and tightened his fist. Not yet.
“But they were kind enough to take a lot of my money, did you know roller skates are expensive?” Hermes leaned forward, almost making a show of dipping low, and when he sat back up, the roller skates from instagram hung from his fingers. They glittered in the circle light that was set up just off camera, the one that reflected ethereally in Hermes’ eyes. “But I think they’re worth it.”
The roller skates dangled from his fingers, swaying gently from the momentum. Hermes looked directly into the camera, directly at Charon, and he smiled. Sinful and sweet at the same time.
Charon couldn’t wait any longer.
Not taking his eyes off the screen, he slipped his hand past the elastic waistband of his sweats.
“I figured tonight, I’d show off a little bit,” Hermes said, as if he didn’t show off every time he was on camera. As if it didn’t come effortless to him. “Because I’ve been practicing.”
Hermes scooted on his bed, shifting to the side, and propping one foot up on it. The laughable impractical, tiny shorts hiked up the curve of his thigh. Charon traced the way the shape of Hermes’ leg dipped, the spot where it stopped being leg and became more interesting.
Charon wrapped his fingers around his dick.
“Apparently, you have to really mold.” Hermes shoved his foot into the skate with a grunt, his leg kicking as he held it up in the air. “The leather around your foot and even then you got to break.” He pushed in once more and his heel snapped into place. “It in.”
He sighed and smiled, still holding his leg high, and using impressive core strength to keep his body upright. He twirled the white laces around his fingers and began sinching them up, nice and tight, making each pull of his hands a little show of their own.
“I did go through a fair amount of skates, had to try on half of the damn store to be sure, but you know.” He turned to face the camera again and gave another good yank. “I saw these bad boys from the window and I was instantly in love.”
Hermes finished off the lacing with a perfect bow, his fingers far more delicate than they had been putting it on.
“When you know you know. You know what I mean?”
Charon nodded in agreement. He moved his hand, stroking his dick in slow deliberate motions as his eyes tracked Hermes’ body. He tried to go slow, to twist his wrist and trail his thumb. To pretend the evening was sensual in nature and not utilitarian, but he’d give out soon. He’d forgo any flair and formality and descend into quick, efficient pulls of his cock.
The shape of Hermes’ hip, the way his waist bent and creased as he went to pick up the second skate, the curve of his jaw. All of it. Charon coveted the sight greedily.
“Call me easily distracted by something pretty, but I like something shiny.” Hermes pulled the second skate on with more gentle ease than the first, slipping his foot past the neck and letting his hand run up over his sock clad calf. “And just a little bit of sparkle.”
He draped one leg over the other and rotated his foot in the air, making sure to look directly in the camera as he always did. Always aware of his captive audience.
That one little movement was enough to stir Charon’s blood even more.
“So I bought the damn things,” Hermes said. He shrugged, casually lacing the second one up, as if they were having a simple conversation. “Call it a splurge buy or a stupid impulse or retail therapy for a bad week, but I am officially the proud owner of a pair of gaudy skates and a helmet I refuse to use.”
Both skates on, Hermes placed them on the bed, knees bent and leaning back on his elbows.
“And if you see me skating around town.”
Hermes leaned back, resting against the bed and held onto his lower back. He propped his hips up in the air, his barely covered ass leaving the bed, and let his legs reach up into the sky.
“Feel free to say hi.”
Hermes stared right at Charon.
“I like it when people say hi.”
Charon jerked harder and tried not to reach his normal pace. It was still much too early. But with a look like that, his hand moved of its own accord.
Hermes giggled, that lilting little laugh, as if to a joke someone had said, and rocked his head back. His earrings gently jingled against one another. He kicked his skate clad feet in the air with glee before rocking back to sitting. He rolled to upright and immediately hopped to his feet, a brief burst of energy that Hermes was known for. A breathless continuous being that could probably go on and on if his viewers let him.
Charon would let him.
Hermes leaned forward, resting his hands against his knees, and smiled into the camera. Smiled at Charon.
“Do you like?”
Charon nodded and jerked a little faster, his pants dancing with his hand.
“Good,” Hermes said, his smile pulling at the corner in the most adorable way possible.
And they both knew it.
Hermes bit his lip, did that little laugh again, all the small moments that turned what should have been a detached show between strangers into something far more intimate. The way his giggle echoed through tinny cell phone speakers might as well have been in Charon’s ear.
“Well how about the rest of it?” Hermes asked, standing upright.
He planted both skates on the floor and spun in place. The sounds of plastic wheels bumping over wooden floors rumbled through the phone. Hermes spun, hands out at his sides, and showed off the rest of his uniform. The shirt had been pulled taut and tied in the back, just to make it a little more tighter across his chest. The little orange shorts hugged the curves of a generous ass and did little for modesty. There were words written on the back of them that Charon couldn’t quite make out until Hermes stopped.
EAT ASS
Each word only slightly distorted from the shape, leaning in to meet one another like the arc of a valentine’s heart. Soft folds of plush cheeks poked out of the bottoms of the shorts that could do nothing to contain Hermes.
Hermes swayed back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing, hips bouncing from side to side, and he leaned forward slightly to push the offending words back to the camera. He looked over his shoulder to see who was still paying attention.
Charon was paying attention.
He whined in the back of his throat, memorizing each and every detail. The dimples in Hermes’ back, the shape of his spine that disappeared under his shirt, even the way his legs spread slightly.
Charon’s hand stuttered and he gripped too tight. A damp spot stained his pants.
“Well I thought it was funny,” Hermes said, circling back around. He spun just a little too far, his hips still turning and his arms limp and spinning like a flared skirt. But his eyes.
His eyes stayed focused.
“There are a couple of things I like about these skates, you know,” he said. He slid backwards slowly, floating just the few inches, until his legs hit the bed. “I like the freedom of them. The speed.”
One by one, Hermes lifted his legs backwards and crawled up onto the bed. Not needing his hands to balance himself, letting them dangle at his sides, not blinking. As if entranced. Chin tilted low to make his eyes hungrier as he stared Charon down.
“I like how fast I can go,” Hermes said, on his knees, on the bed, wheels still spinning. “Do you want to go fast?”
No Charon screamed in his mind, but his hand disagreed and cheered Hermes on.
“Rolling down the street, wind in my hair.” Hermes crouched backwards, leaning back to sit on his skate. One hand trailed over his thigh, the other over his stomach, worshipping himself exactly as Charon would. Touching himself in all the places Charon wanted to touch. “Sometimes I close my eyes and I’m the only one there. Its like I’m flying.”
Hermes closed his eyes then. He didn’t often, but when he did, it was as if he was taken to another place. His mind transported to a spot where no one could reach him. Where he was above it all.
His head rocked back again in performative ecstasy.
“Wouldn’t it be great to fly?” he whispered, more to himself.
The hand on his thigh trailed up, pulling at the scant bit of fabric of the shorts and revealing more and more inner thigh. His other hand snaked up the taut hem of the shirt, pushing it up and skewing the words.
Hermes sighed and let his head drop down, let his gaze pierce right through Charon once again, pin him to his headboard and hold him down.
Charon whimpered and bucked up into his hand.
The chatter had died down. It would come back and oh how Charon wished the mile a minute speech would come whispering back into his ear, but the show dipped into a rare natural lull where Hermes vamped. Fingertips disappeared under the hem of his shorts. His shirt lifted to reveal a finely sculpted chest and a pert nipple. He ran his hand up his shirt, up out the collar, and up to his face. A pink tongue came out and licked his fingertips.
Charon hated how long he failed to last.
Not daring to close his eyes, Charon bucked forward. He clutched the phone so as to not drop it and brought his face too close. His vision dominated by the nymph that licked his fingers, that was just shy of touching the strain in his own shorts.
Charon bit his tongue and ruined his pants.
Hermes gave one last lick of his hand and grinned as if it had all been a joke. He laughed and extracted his hands and reached behind himself to grab an ankle. He pulled his leg to the side at an awkward angle.
“Maybe one day,” he said. “You’ll catch me taking a running leap over a ramp and on that day we’ll see if I can fly.”
He bent his body, showing off incredible flexibility, bringing the skate closer to his face, and spun a wheel with his finger.
Charon puffed out a sigh and flopped back against his headboard. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached for the tissues by his bed to clean up his mess. He listened to Hermes prattle on, slipping into the kind of music he listens to when skating, how he likes to shut the world out.
Once clean, Charon flopped onto his side and held the phone in both hands, cradling the little world Hermes lived in like a precious bird.
He listened to Hermes talk, watched the lulls where he slipped into something more desirable. Teased and laughed and moaned at his own ministrations.
The little outfit stayed on the whole time.
Hermes didn’t strip. He never revealed himself bare on camera. It was stated in plain, clear letters that he would never do a nude show. He only ever showed as much skin as he needed. He didn’t need to show all that much. At least not for Charon.
The first time Charon had come across him, he had been dressed in suit pants, a smart button down, tie, and suspenders. Feeling himself up under his pants, shirt untucked, a right awful mess.
He had enraptured Charon from the first second.
“I’m not particularly fond of certain things,” Hermes said, running his hand up the bed between his legs. “There is a time and a place for ah–!”
He ran his hand over the grossly ignored bulge in his shorts and the effect of it was instantaneous. The way he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip in sweet delirious pleasurable pain. A want that was almost bare and honest. Just enough to make Charon’s spent cock twitch with pathetic interest.
There wasn’t enough time left to the stream to indulge in that particular recovery.
Charon instead pressed the little dollar sign button at the side and sent Hermes a generous tip. There wasn’t much that Charon did with his money, there wasn’t much he wanted to spend it on, but he was willing to give it to Hermes. As a thanks. For his orgasm.
For his company.
Charon watched the rest of the stream without doing more than lay on his side.
“Well, thanks for spending the evening with me,” Hermes said, winding back down to his default of charismatic performer. “I had a very good time and I hope you did too. Remember, take care of yourselves because I care about you lots. Bye.”
He gave a little wave that was typical of his outros, but that time he pulled his leg up close to his chest and tugged on the band of his socks. The elastic snapped against his skin.
And the time ran out.
Charon sent Hermes another tip.
____
Charon had precisely two regular schedules that he kept up with: Hermes’ biweekly streams and his once a week outings with Hypnos.
Every other Tuesday, Charon would go to Hypnos’ apartment and wake him up so that he got outside. And on the other Tuesdays, Hypnos would go to Charon’s to make sure he didn’t work himself into an early grave. At one point or another, Thanatos had been the one to take them out, see the sun once in a while, but his priorities shifted and he came around less and less.
Hypnos and Charon kept the tradition up.
It was good to get outside.
Every Tuesday, Charon and Hypnos would walk in near silence to the coffee shop that was the midpoint between their two apartments, share an hour or two of more near silence, and then part ways until next week. It wasn’t much, but Charon appreciated the time he spent with his brother.
Doing better than Hypnos, Charon actually knocked on the apartment door. It was only when he didn’t get an answer that he would unlock the front door, fully expecting to find his brother asleep.
What he found was Hypnos sprawled out on a beanbag in the middle of his main room, large plastic bag filled with opaque smoke pressed to his lips and breathing in deep. His eyes opened lazily at the sight of his brother and a puff of marijuana laden smoke flew from his lips.
“I knew I was forgetting something,” he said, voice sounding clogged and muted.
Charon rolled his eyes and stepped inside. Hypnos followed him with his gaze all the way to Charon shoving his hands under Hypnos’ armpits, and lifting the boneless entity off the floor. Hypnos went to take another puff, but Charon plucked the bag from his hands.
“Aw c’mon Charon,” Hypnos whined. “It’ll go to waste. And you know what mother always said. Waste not want not.”
Hypnos paused, still not fully standing under his own power.
“Was that mom?”
Charon groaned and guided his brother to the bathroom for a shower. He stood by the door and knocked on it every so often, knowing full well Hypnos would fall asleep if Charon let him. After nearly an hour of coaxing his brother around the house, getting dressed, and sober enough to stand on his own two feet, they left for the Tartarus Grounds.
It was a particularly mediocre shop, technically a chain with three storefronts over the city, and was well frequented by the 20 something up starts that populated that particular stretch of town. An amalgamation of elements that Charon despised. Thanatos had been the one to pick the spot and simple inertia kept them going.
“Mocha latte cappuccino iced tea please,” Hypnos said, half flopping over the counter.
Their regular barista, who had infinite patience for Hypnos, laughed.
“We have a new chocolate chip macchiato if you want to try that out today?” he offered.
“Please and thank you!” Hypnos said, eyes closing and not opening again.
“And the same large black coffee?” the barista asked of Charon.
Charon tapped his chin in thanks and nodded.
They waited among the swirling crowd of too many people, standing between the counter and one of the deflated looking couches designed for maximum, corporate comfort. It was their usual post, close enough to the counter for Charon to stuff napkins into his pocket for later, but enough for him to intimidate the current occupants of said couch. Charon typically took off his wide brimmed hat, not needing to look more of a scarecrow than his too tall visage already painted, but he chose to be terrifying that day to get the other patrons out of the way faster.
Hypnos leaned against Charon, either fast asleep or pretending to be. When the couch opened up, Charon gave his brother a gentle nudge, and Hypnos tumbled limply over the arm, nestling his cheek against the folded hands. He only sat up when Charon returned with his sugar monstrosity.
As he always did, Charon removed his hat and set it on the arm of the couch, to fully settle into the quality time with his brother.
They enjoyed what little of the morning was left. Charon sipped his coffee and let his eyes fuzz and fade, not taking in details of the world around him. Idly, Hypnos would make off hand comments about this or that, but they flowed right through Charon. He responded with soft grunts or nods, but otherwise didn’t engage.
The irritation of being out of the house was quick to build up that day.
Whether Hypnos noticed or his drink was simply deceptively addictive, but it wasn’t long before the telltale sound of air being noisily sucked up through a hollow straw. Hypnos kept trying to drink the nothing in his cup until Charon took it from him, leaving a plastic straw to dance up and down between his lips. He spit it out into his hands.
“Time to go?” he asked.
Charon nodded.
He walked his brother out the door and, with Hypnos’ assurances, let him wobble home himself. He was pretty sure Hypnos didn’t have his eyes open.
Amused, Charon shook his head, and turned to head to his own apartment.
And promptly smacked right into a flurry of enigmatic animated limbs and a too long scarf.
The force of it was enough to stagger even brick house Charon and his coffee flew from his hand. The cup danced through the air, aimed right at the offending attacker, and hit him square in the chest. Long since gone cold, the coffee spilled and did little more than stain a white shirt.
“Oh shit,” the white shirt owner hissed. “Dammit I just washed this.”
Charon froze.
An icicle went ramming through his heart at top speeds, skewering it until it stopped beating all together. His feet rooted in place and his arms mimicked rigor mortis with such fine tuned accuracy that Charon thought he might have died.
He wished he were dead.
There, drenched in Charon’s cold coffee, standing far smaller and more diminutive than he had been on Charon’s phone screen, was none other than the man of his fantasies.
Hermes.
His hair was styled the same and he wore the same earrings that danced with every movement of his head, but other than that, he was shockingly normal. Well, normal compared to the man Charon saw twice a week. In jeans and a plain t-shirt, wearing a light jacket and an oversized scarf. It was almost a disguise, an alter ego compared to the man that invaded Charon’s dreams on a near nightly basis. An attempt to look normal.
Still, to Charon, he stood out.
A brilliant beacon among a sea of plain faces.
Hermes’ brows rose in alarm and there was no anger to be found.
“Are you okay?” Hermes asked. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I know I can be a bit of a bowling ball when I’m in a hurry and I hit you pretty hard huh?”
Charon didn’t move. Charon couldn’t move. He could only hold his hand in the air, fingers still coiled where a cup once was, eyes wide and terrified.
Like staring down a predator.
Hermes waited on an answer. When he didn’t get one he leaned in a little closer, ducking into the shade of Charon’s hat. Charon could see the beginning definitions of his chest peeking out of the V neck of his stained shirt. His mouth quirked in that half smile Charon knew so well.
“Hello?” he asked and it sounded like a laugh.
Charon looked down to the growing coffee stain rorschached across Hermes’ chest. He finally managed to jolt to action and reached into his pocket, grabbing a fistful of napkins that he had stolen. Without thinking, he pressed the napkins to Hermes’ chest and attempted to mop up the stain. It wasn’t working and all Charon managed to do was lay his hands on the body that he had wanted to for so long.
He almost froze up again and almost dropped the napkins.
“Ah thank you thank you,” Hermes said, plucking the end of his shirt out to hold it taut and make it easier on the both of them. “But I think we’ve lost this one.”
Careful not to look Hermes in the eye, Charon swallowed and kept attempting to clean up at least one of his messes.
“Looks like you got a little on your. . .”
Hermes reached out and swiped at the front of Charon’s jacket. He pat at Charon’s shoulder in gentle smooth motions, as if flicking dust away. Charon stopped his futile attempt at a garment cleanse and managed to look Hermes in the eye. Hermes rested his hand on Charon’s shoulder, the smile he wore unlike anything Charon had ever seen from him before.
It took a moment before Charon realized.
He wasn’t trying to seduce him.
Hermes flicked the brim of Charon’s hat, tilting it back on his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hermes asked. “You seem a little dazed. I didn't hit you too hard did I?”
Charon pulled back and away. Away from touching Hermes, away from Hermes touching him. He quickly signed without thinking.
no I’m okay
“Oh!” Hermes said. He moved his hands quickly and spoke in another language. Sorry. Didn’t realize you were hard of hearing. Are you okay?
Charon’s world dropped out.
Hermes had given up so much about himself in those little streaming sessions. He talked about his day and when he moved and what he liked. He talked about hobbies, new and old, and little habits he picked up. It was almost like Charon knew the man intimately and in some ways that was true.
He did not know Hermes knew how to speak his language.
His hands fumbled as he tried to answer.
not hard of hearing, just mute
Hermes smiled again, that same strange smile that was both familiar and foreign so far away from the bedroom.
I’m still sorry, Hermes said. “Can I buy you a new coffee?”
Charon wanted to say no. He wanted to scream no. His fingers rose, ready to sign no, but only held in place. His neck held stiff when he tried to shake it. A perfect mannequin before Hermes.
“I insist,” Hermes said, not waiting a second longer for Charon’s answer.
The hand he rested on Charon’s back was like a brand. There were very few people who could maneuver Charon around, could make him do something he didn’t want to do and push him in places he didn’t want to go.
Hermes proved himself to be one of them.
Back into Tartarus Grounds they went and back into the serpentine line that ran through the claustrophobic shop. The barista seemed surprised to see Charon again, but no less amused.
“Another large black?” he asked.
Charon nodded dumbly.
Hermes leaned over the counter to order a tea latte, leaning into his hand as he gazed up at the menu to say the words just right. A glimpse of the flirtatious nature that he held behind the camera, slipping out in micro doses. Enough for Charon to overdose when he was already so saturated.
When Hermes paid, Charon couldn’t help but think Hermes paid with money he’d given him.
Charon fully intended to take his drink and go, but Hermes pulled on his sleeve and jerked his head in the direction of an empty table.
“Come on,” Hermes said. “I can’t go anywhere with this shirt so I gotta cancel my plans. Make it up to me and sit and chat for awhile.”
Every fiber in Charon’s being yelled at him to run. To get out of that crowded place that had already so thoroughly overwhelmed him and away from the danger that smiled up at him so sweetly.
He allowed himself to be dragged to the table. On reflex, he took off his hat and placed it on the table.
Hermes took the booth seat, leaving Charon with his back to the crowd, the effect of it shutting the world off from Charon’s perception and making Hermes the sole focus. Just as it would have been had he been back at home, curled up around his phone. As he would that evening.
Charon became distinctly aware of the singular horrifying fact.
He jerked off to this man.
Charon situated his jacket and hoped the way Hermes’ presence instantly drew out a certain effect on Charon wasn’t apparent.
“What’s your name?” Hermes signed as he spoke, assaulting Charon with a double language. His hands moved just as quick as his voice did.
Charon spelled out his name slowly.
“Charon,” Hermes said, just as carefully. “Am I pronouncing that right?”
Charon nodded and took a sip of his coffee. It was still too hot and burned his tongue, but Charon swallowed the pain and his pride. Hermes drank his latte much more gingerly and did not look anywhere except at Charon. Normally, Hermes captivated Charon’s full attention. Having the full force of Hermes’ attention in return was devastating.
“What do you do for a living, Charon?” Hermes asked.
accountant, Charon said.
Hermes seemed almost amused at the answer, recognizing the mismatch between Charon’s dark, gothic, gold laden appearance to the profession typically associated with spreadsheets and pocket protectors.
what do you do? Charon asked without thinking.
He already knew the answer.
“I’m a clerical consultant,” Hermes said. He rolled his eyes. “It sounds really boring, but I actually enjoy it a lot. Visiting hospitals and corporations and realigning their systems to run more efficiently. Its like a puzzle and I like solving puzzles.”
He paused to give Charon a quick once over and Charon was reminded of the lulls in his streams, where they would shift to something more sensual.
“I do a little technical writing on the side, too,” Hermes continued. “Taking on freelance jobs here and there, odds and ends. Little side gigs to make money. I’m kind of that type that needs to keep moving.”
That was a surprise to Charon, but at the same time it made sense. Of course Hermes didn’t rely only on his streams for income, that they weren’t his main occupation and just a side thing.
Although he might have been able to survive on Charon’s tips alone.
“I was actually on my way to meet a client,” Hermes said fishing out his phone. “I should let them know I need to reschedule.”
i’m sorry, Charon said, moving to leave.
“No no no, sit,” Hermes insisted, not looking up from his phone and waving Charon to sit back down. “We’re old friends, they’ll understand. Look I’ll even call them a bitch and it’ll be kosher.”
Charon carefully put his butt back in the chair, not wanting to disobey. There was so much about this man that Charon didn’t know, a true enigma. He had thought Hermes bared his soul along with his flesh on those streams, giving Charon the false fantasy that they shared something intimate.
It shattered with reality hitting him in the face like a wrecking ball.
But Charon needed to know more.
where did you learn to sign? Charon asked before Hermes could get a word in edgewise.
Hermes’ brows rose. He smiled into the lip of his latte before setting it back down to talk to Charon, even though he didn’t need to.
“I like learning new languages,” he said. “You could say I’m a collector. I’m pretty fluent in 13, getting better at my Russian. But theres a lot where you learn one, the others come pretty easily. And I’ve found it to be helpful in certain situations.”
Hermes leaned on the back of his hand and simply looked at Charon.
“Like now.”
Charon finally recognized the way Hermes looked at him. One that he’d seen many times before. Heavy lidded and sultry smile, dimmed down in the context of a public venue, but familiar all the same.
Now, he was seducing.
Charon took another scalding sip, his eyes darting to the exit, wanting nothing more than to take him and his erection home.
“I’m keeping you,” Hermes said.
Charon should have been falsely polite, shook his head and insisted that of course Hermes could never be a bother to Charon, but fear froze him in place.
“Alright,” Hermes said, leaning back and laughing. “I release you from all social obligation, we’re even. Thank you for indulging me, Charon the accountant.”
Shaking slightly, Charon rose to his feet. He clutched his coffee to his chest like a religious symbol that might protect him and managed one large step towards the door.
“Oh Charon,” Hermes said.
Charon slowly turned back to look at Hermes over his shoulder. Hermes leaned into his hand again, smiling dreamily up at Charon.
“Normally people ask for the name of who they’re talking to,” he said.
Charon’s throat closed up. He knew. He had to know. He had to know why Charon didn’t ask. That Charon didn’t ask because he’d recognized his celebrity, that he knew Hermes from his internet presence.
That he knew Charon jerked off to him.
“Hermes, by the way,” Hermes said with a quick wink.
It was painful to get Charon’s body to move again, but he nodded solemnly and continued his escape. He wondered in just how poor taste it would be to go home and relieve himself to Hermes’ instagram.
It wasn’t until he was in the safety of his dank apartment did Charon realize he left his hat at the table.