Percy Jackson One-shots

For What It's Worth (Apollo/Hermes)

I sniffle, bound with a golden rope, sprawled on my ass in the throne room on Olympus. Great. There's no telling what sort of punishment father's going to give me for waking up the fucking Earth, even though it's entirely not my fault.

"There's no sense getting weepy, Apollo," Hermes booms from the end of the room. I twist, my arms are bound to my sides, making it difficult to get myself into a position where I can see him.

He walks toward me looking as always, like a young professional gone early grey from too much stress. I hate it. Hermes is my baby brother, but time and time again he's the one comforting me after I get myself in various scrapes.

"What are you doing here? Come to gloat?" I sound petulant, but I can't help it. This whole situation is beyond unfair.

He kneels at my side and tugs the rope until I'm able to stand on my feet. "Father sent me to keep an eye on you. Seems he doesn't trust you very much."

I scoff, bitter tears springing to my eyes. Worse still, I can't even wipe them away before Hermes sees them. He does it for me. I stare at the floor. "So what? You're gonna drag me around, trussed up like a pig until Father comes back to open a can of whoop-ass?"

"No." He hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and lifts off, his sandals flapping. "I'm going to keep you company until he returns, help you get your story straight. If we work together, we can find a way to get you out of this jam."

I close my eyes, breathing in the wild scent of my little brother, unwilling to let him know how touched I am.

XxxX

Hermes manages to alter the golden rope binding me to pair of hand cuffs with a three foot chain between them. At least I'm able to move around without difficulty now. He summons nectar and ambrosia and watches me eat and drink. We sit on the hearth rug in Hermes' room, though we have no need of a fire.

"I'm not a baby. I can do this without your constant supervision."

He raises an eyebrow and scratches his chin. "Like how you took care of yourself after the quoit ring incident? Sorry, brother. I'm afraid you're going to have to be a good boy with me watching over you. I'm not about to see you fall into another deep depression."

My face burns. I hate it when people remind me of my past failures. I pop an ambrosia square into my mouth and chew it though it tastes like sand. I hate the way he looks with salt and pepper hair and crows feet at his eyes. What is the point of being an immortal god if you let yourself look run down and aged?

I try to recall how he used to look, back in the days when we'd tag-team our lovers. I think I'm going to catch fire if I keep thinking about that. I was such an arrogant shit in those days and I never admitted to why I wanted to bring him along ... I wanted him myself.

He stretches and leans back on his hands, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He's wearing track pants, and I follow the stripe up the side of his leg to his hip, imagining him without the modern attire, back when he'd wear a simple chiton, his legs long, shapely, bronzed by the sun.

I choke down the last of the ambrosia, chasing it with a swig of nectar. "There. I'm fed. What's next? We get down to the legalese or what?"

I'm so tired, I wish I was dead. Then I could just drift about, watching, except, as a god, that would mean I'd fade from the minds and memories of men. The very idea makes my heart ache in my chest.

"No. First you're going to have a bath, and then rest. You need sleep."

I glare at him. "I don't need any of it, Hermes. I'm a god, not some frail mortal."

Still, I climb to my feet. In all honesty a bath and some shut-eye sounds like a dream right now. I'm arguing more out of habit than true annoyance.

He chuckles and follows me as I walk to his bathroom. "You're closer to mortals than you are to the Olympians, Apollo. I think you know that as well as I do." I freeze beside the bathtub, not wanting to examine the truth of his statement. I hear him close the door behind him and then walk across the tiles and stand behind my back.

"It isn't fair," I whisper. I think it's safe to speak freely in here, but I'm never sure of what godlings may be lurking about, listening in, on my father's orders.

He breathes out heavily, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, not in fear, but in anticipation of what could be. That's what he refers to when he compares me to mortals, my ability to see the potential of people or situations where other gods only see what lies before their eyes.

He leans past me, brushing my arm and sending small currents of pleasure running up it. He turns on the water, and then steps back. "I'll have to undress you. I don't think you'll be able to manage it on your own with the cuffs."

"Fine," I murmur. I don't really mind, but still, I don't want to feel so alone anymore. I need someone to confide in, to speak my mind without fear of judgement. My clothes disappear in a swirl of vapor and I turn to him, reaching out my hand. "Come with me."

He nods slowly. I can see he's thinking, probably weighing the risk of how much he stands to lose if he allies himself with me, but it's hard to tell with other gods. Mortals, I can usually read pretty well, but like Hermes said, I'm different.

I turn off the faucet, climb into the tub and lower myself into the steaming water. Hermes climbs in too, surprising me when he climbs in behind me, his legs stretching out beside mine. It's awkward, not being face to face, but then he pulls me back against his chest, wrapping me up in his warm arms and I go with it, not willing to say something that might upset the truce between us.

"You remember the old days?" he asks. "You'd sneak into my room through the window at night and crawl into my bed. And when I'd ask you about it in the morning, you'd say you just needed to cuddle?"

I chuckle. That was back before I got mixed up with Eros, back before father started using me as a guinea pig to test his theories on changing the mortals. My smiles slips. "Hermes, can you keep a secret?"

He grunts. It rumbles through my back from his chest. I take it to mean yes.

"I have a soul, and ... I have dreams." My words are barely louder than a whisper, but I know he heard them.

"And that's why you're so precious, and why I swear I will do everything in my power to make sure father's judgement is fair and lenient."

I rub his leg absently, overcome by the need to touch him, to really connect. I don't care how inappropriate it might seem to others, to need my brother, to look for comfort in the man in charge of jailing me. I feel his cock stiffen under my back, his heart speed up beneath my ear, and I turn my head and kiss his nipple, relishing his quick intake of breath. I want him.

"Apollo?" The question in my name could be read in so many ways, but there's only one way I choose to read it now.

I look up into his eyes and find desire. "I wish I could hate you," I tell him, turning over in the bathwater and holding onto his shoulders, grinding our groins together in a blaze of want. "But I don't think I can, even if you betray me."

He touches my face and I melt into his kiss. As for how my punishment will play out, that can wait until another day.