Chapter Text
Grind. Slide and flip. Dip down low so the ollie is high, higher than the last. Pop it too low and the truck will catch the end of the rail. Can't call in with broken ribs, again .
It was a good morning to hit the skatepark, Hermes congratulated himself on his decision. He was still tired from work. Overnight shifts always messed with that whole circadian rhythm thing. Really, if he was smart (and he never claimed to be), he would have gone right back home to sleep the morning away, so he wouldn't be half-dead and nearly face-planting into the cash register.
But the sky was clear, and the sunrise was golden, and the cool air rippling through his short, dark hair made him feel like he could fly.
It was a good morning to skate.
Beyond the park stretched a beach, mostly empty because it was a weekday morning during the off-season, save for a few early-bird joggers. Without excessive crowds around, he could hear the ocean waves ebb and flow. Further down, they lapped at the concrete support beams of the pier. The venues weren't even open yet. The big, gaudy Ferris wheel stayed still against the ever-brightening horizon.
Hermes had lived there his entire life, but he hadn't been to the pier since he was a kid. He was grown enough now to actually partake in the games and rides he'd been too young to then. Too bad he was working most nights, and when he wasn't, he was more likely to go to a bar or a concert on the strip. He always said someday soon he'd check out the pier again, but he always forgot.
Kick. Flip. Dip. He liked the song buzzing in his cheap, tinny earbuds. He tried to time his tricks just right with the beat, the chorus, as if he were trying to go professional, as if he were making a video.
Ollie. Too low that time. He stalled the board on the edge of the flat bar rail. He wobbled, arms flailing to keep balance, heart plummeting in anticipation of forthcoming bruises, scrapes, and broken bones. The stall worked long enough to recenter his gravity and hop off safely. He let out a low whistle of relief and rolled slowly around the kidney bowl, getting back his breath and his pulse, before his heart beat a hole through his chest. He pulled at the front of his t-shirt, fanning himself.
Some of the shops along the boardwalk were opening up. Not all, but some. The café. The dispensary. (He knew the owner, so he waved as he rolled by, grinning, saying he'd stop in after his set, even though it wasn't so much a set as a waste of time.) The little tourist tchotchke shop that opened every single day of the year to maximize profit on its cheap, imported garbage. And then, the clothing shop.
Well, one of the clothing shops, since there were actually many along the boards, but this one was the one in Hermes' mind. Death's Door, the black and white sign proclaimed, with a little cartoony skull off to the side, with the rest of the sign and text shaped to look like a speech bubble. He'd never actually been inside, but in the windows hung band t-shirts, most of them black, and hoodies, also mostly black.
And, yeah, there he was. Coming from the café, with a little travel cup steaming in the clutch of long, pale fingers: that guy . He probably had a name. Hermes didn't know it. All he knew was long, light hair tucked under an old, abused wide brimmed hat. Round, purple sunglasses. Layers upon layers of dark clothing and gold jewelry. He wore a long, black leather coat that morning, but Hermes had seen him in a tee and knew there were tattoos on those strong, muscle-wrapped arms. What else did ink curl around in the places Hermes couldn't see?
He, him , that guy , stopped at the door to the clothing store. Blew into his cup. Took a sip. Cringed, because yes it's still hot, you big, beautiful idiot . Hermes sighed and thought about what it would be like to grab those stupid gold necklaces and yank him down to kiss away the burn undoubtedly stinging his tongue.
Hermes lost his board.
"Shit!" He yelped as he plummeted into the concrete bowl, the board flying one way and his body flailing the other.
Slamming into the side of the kidney bowl, Hermes slid down the rest of the way to the bottom, scraping up his elbow and arm. The force knocked one of his earbuds out. He came to rest on his side, muscles aching and skin stinging, panting heavily.
"Uuugh…" He groaned and rolled over onto his back, hissing inwardly.
Alright, no broken bones. (He'd broken enough before to usually tell immediately what was a "I need to go to the hospital" kind of pain.) His left side hurt like a bitch, but that would be fine. Sitting up, he checked his arm - the most painful part - and saw a nice river of blood seeping from the sizable scrape at his elbow. Oh well.
A shadow fell over his body.
Looking up, Hermes saw him standing up there on the edge of the bowl, staring. A butterfly savagely attacked Hermes' guts. With slow purpose, the guy brought his coffee cup to his mouth and sipped, still watching. Well, wasn't that a little creepy and intimidating? Even after lowering the cup, he didn't say a word.
"Hey, boss, what's up?" Hermes grinned and waved, heart still pattering and heat flooding his cheeks.
No response. Okaaaay…
Getting back up on his feet, Hermes brushed off his black board shorts - another bleeding cut on his knee there - and straightened his baggy orange tee. He went looking for his lost earbud, found it, checked to make sure it still worked, then popped both into his pocket next to - oh shit, his phone . Reaching in, he pulled out the slab and felt his heart sink when he saw the crack spidering out from the upper right corner of the screen. Sighing, he shoved it back into his pocket and went to grab his board.
Mister Tall, Goth, and Silent just kept watching him. It was simultaneously unsettling and flattering. Hermes had spent weeks? Months? Sort of ogling the guy in the mornings he could make it to the park after work. Ever since Death's Door opened, really. What could he say? Hermes had a type, and the gigantoid weirdo before him hit all those marks, even if there weren't exactly that many to begin with.
Hermes climbed up out of the bowl slightly awkwardly from the pains in his elbow and knee. He stood up next to the cryptid of his wildest fantasies, giving him a more sheepish smile as he rubbed the back of his kind of sweaty neck.
"Guess the show's over, big man." Hermes chuckled.
The guy just looked at him, eyes unreadable behind his dark, round sunglasses. That close, Hermes could see his own reflection in them; hair a mess, olive-tan face stained with red, a drop of sweat rolling down his cheek. What a trainwreck.
"Aaaalright then… See you around!" He turned quickly to head home, but was stopped when long, strong, cool fingers wrapped around his upper left arm. "Huh?"
Turning back to see what the man wanted, he watched the hand holding the coffee cup come closer. One finger extended to tap his arm, just over the bleeding wound. Hermes' heart fluttered and he had to use all of the self-control contained in his compact body not to totally freak out and look away.
"Oh that? It's nothing! Had way, way worse, trust me. I'm on a first-name basis with the hospital. So! No worries, alright?" Hermes chattered excitedly.
But the other man just shook his head. Then he pulled on Hermes' arm, all but yanking him along. He panicked a little, gripping the truck of his skateboard so that he wouldn't accidentally drop it as he was directed toward… Death's Door. Huh.
The glass front door dinged as he was basically dragged inside. It was dark inside with all the low moody lighting and black painted walls. The deep brown wooden floor creaked just a little under his sneakers. Some sort of post-rock type music was playing from a hidden speaker - not exactly what Hermes preferred, but not bad either.
Looking around as he was pulled toward the back, Hermes realized it wasn't just a clothing store. Oh, sure, there were clothes, and a lot of them! Mostly graphic tees, jeans, and shorts - not unlike his usual outfits. There were also more fanciful get-ups, like his current kidnapper's tastes. But there were also items of curiosity; novelty toys and games, vintage band tour posters, a huge stand-up movie monster costume in the corner. There was a table laden with nothing but little vinyl stickers to pick through. Maybe he could get some of those for his board?
The glass counter at the back held jewelry and iron-on patches. A cash register sat on top, itself absolutely covered in a layer of eclectic stickers. Behind the counter, sitting sideways in a plush armchair, sat a sleepy-looking young man with the floofiest curly white hair. His long, thin legs were dangling over one of the arm rests. He looked up from the comic book he was reading and smiled lazily.
"Oh, hey Charon!" He greeted cheerfully, making some sort of hand gesture. "And… guest?"
Charon . So that was his name. Hermes quickly committed that to memory.
"Hi! I'm Hermes!" Hermes chirped back, raising up his skateboard in greeting since he couldn't exactly wave at the moment.
Charon made a silent gesture back at comic-book-kid, who nodded in understanding. "Oh, okay! Have fun!" He said, then went right back to reading - Hermes squinted - Terrific Tales From Tartarus . Kooky!
Hermes was pulled once again, this time behind the counter and past a black door with a sign reading "Employees Only - Or Else". The back was mostly storage, stacked with cardboard boxes full of merchandise, probably. There was also a little kitchenette and a table with chairs. Charon pulled him past that, to yet another door. A bathroom.
Man. If this were a dream, Hermes knew exactly where this would lead next. The same place it always did if he let his mind wander a little too much whenever he watched Charon make his short morning commute from the cafe to the shop. Unfortunately, this was not an erotic fantasy drummed up by his hyper-horny 20-something year old brain.
Charon finally let go of his arm. He balanced his coffee cup on the edge of the tiny bathroom's equally tiny sink and laid his sunglasses next to it. Then he reached up to the mirror over the sink and pulled it open, revealing it was a decently stocked medicine cabinet.
Oh .
Hermes felt butterflies again as Charon started pulling out a box of bandages and antibiotic cream. This was completely unnecessary, totally thoughtful, and he felt like he might just melt through the floor. His big, stupid crush was helping him. They hadn't even had a real conversation yet.
"You don't talk much, huh?" Hermes asked, leaning his board against the wall, but Charon didn't even look at him, too busy ripping a brown paper towel out of the dispenser on the wall and then wetting it in the sink. "Hey?"
To get Charon's attention, Hermes tugged gently at Charon's jacket. That seemed to work. Charon turned his head to look at him and, oh, his eyes were gorgeously violet. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Say something, idiot .
"Uh, thanks for this, you know, it's really not that bad. But I still appreciate it! You didn't have to go out of your way for little ol' me." Hermes laughed as he rambled. "Oh, by the way, I always wondered what this store was like inside. I like it! Are you the owner or-"
Charon's eyes darted back and forth minutely as Hermes spoke and it was pretty clear he was looking right at his mouth. Then suddenly, he held up a hand to make him stop. Oh no, he'd done it now. Talking too much, it was a curse.
"Sorry!" Hermes apologized quickly.
Charon put down the soaked paper towel. He held up both hands and gestured - Oh! He was signing . Hermes blushed even hotter. He was such a fucking tool .
"Ah, sorry, I can't…" He shook his head fast. "I don't know how."
Charon didn't seem bothered. He held up one finger, then dug something out of his jacket pocket: A well-worn palm-sized notebook. The kind cops or reporters used. Bits of paper clung to the spiral spine, the remains of messages past. Charon took the pen out from the metal spiral, scribbled something down, then turned it for Hermes to read.
{You talk too fast.}
Hermes gave a loud snort-laugh, then motioned for Charon to hand over the paper and pen. He wrote out a reply, hoping his notoriously sloppy penmanship was at least somewhat legible.
{Maybe you read lips too slow.} He doodled a little face sticking its tongue out before handing it back.
Charon looked it over and actually hand-to-god smiled. Hermes thought he might die .
After another moment of scribbling, Charon turned over the notepad again for Hermes to see. {Sorry for haranguing you, but it would be bad if that got infected.}
His handwriting was so nice. Half cursive, but still clear as day and easy to read. Practical, yet pretty. But Hermes thought everything about Charon was pretty, didn't he? Especially so close, where he could see old scars marked over his cheek and across his unfairly kissable thin lips. Where Hermes could smell cigarette smoke and coffee and soap.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
Charon's expression shifted to something more… concerned? Right, Hermes wasn't replying.
Grinning, Hermes nodded instead of writing something out, then lifted his elbow for Charon to get a good look. Setting the notebook on the edge of the sink, the much taller man picked the paper towel back up.One hand went to help support his arm up. Cold fingers around his forearm felt so good against his warmer skin. It made Charon's paleness all the more pronounced, against Hermes' naturally earthy brown skin.
The cleaning hurt a little when the paper towel met the tender openings of his scrapes. Hermes hissed slightly, though of course Charon didn't notice. His volunteer nurse was a picture of complete concentration, anyway. Violet eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, leaning so close that the brim of his wide, floppy hat almost brushed the top of Hermes hair. So much care and tenderness, even going as far as cleaning up the crusty dried blood that had trailed down his arm to his wrist.
Hermes couldn't help his giddy smile at the warmth wrapping around the inside of his chest.
When his elbow had finally been gently ointmented with a large, wide stick-on bandage applied, he looked up at Charon. "Thanks!" He said, knowing at least he hadn't said that too quickly. Charon made a simple sign and moved his mouth, soundlessly telling him "You're welcome." Hermes beamed.
Of course, there still was his knee. Not that Hermes was one to take advantage of another's kindness (not all the time anyway, though he could admit he had a selfish streak), but, well…
He hopped up on one leg, continuing to hop while he pointed at his bleeding kneecap. Charon's head bobbed up and down as he watched Hermes. Then he gestured at the toilet for Hermes to take a seat, which he did after flipping the cover down. He balled up his hands and rested them on his thighs, waiting.
He watched Charon get down on his knees…
Oh no.
Pulse pounding, Hermes swallowed thickly at the vividly erotic thoughts that sprung to mind. There was nowhere else his imagination went. This was his crush - the object of his distant desires - there before him. On his knees. So close to being between Hermes' legs. So close to…
He clutched his hands a little tighter. Don't get hard. Don't get hard. Do not .
Charon was completely oblivious to the boner-induced psychological meltdown raging inside Hermes. The man just attentively tended to the wound with just as much care as before. When Hermes tensed up in his struggle - please don't look at my dick, please don't look at my dick - Charon glanced up at his face.
Hermes. Was. Going. To. Die .
If anything, Charon just seemed concerned. He looked back down at Hermes' knee and blew some air over the wound, trying to soothe it. Oh, what a big, stupid, sweet idiot. But all that did was make Hermes writhe a little despite all of his effort to control himself. Charon was breathing on him. Their skin was touching. He was practically straddling Hermes' leg. Hermes shifted uncomfortably again, praying Charon would just hurry up and move away already.
Ointment. Bandage. The slow dragging feeling of Charon's hand sliding down his shin. Soon now. Charon moved to get up.
Then he stopped. Hermes watched in breathless horror as those stupidly pretty eyes quickly panned up his thighs and right to…
NOPE!
Hermes screeched . He seized Charon's big floppy hat and violently shoved it downward, covering not just his eyes but his whole face. Hermes jumped up, body blazing with embarrassment and adrenaline. He tried to run and nearly tripped over Charon. Regaining his balance he bolted out of the bathroom. Then he whirled back around to grab his - stupid peice of shit - skateboard, and then he ran like a robber from a bank through the store and outside, hearing only a faint "byyyyye" from the lazy comic-book-kid behind the counter before the door slammed shut.
The morning sun burned his eyes from being inside. His chest burned, too. Hermes threw down his board and swiftly skated off, racing his way back to his apartment. Thank god there still weren't many people around. And thank fucking god his dick finally calmed down.
"You are such a jerk," Hermes seethed, at his own body, at himself.
Hermes crashed into his studio apartment. Slamming the door, he chucked his keys on the counter of his pitifully small kitchen and dropped his board unceremoniously next to his equally dinky couch. He kicked off his shoes, flinging them in opposite directions. One knocked into his plastic trash can and it toppled over. Dealing with that later.
With a loud and dramatic groan he flopped onto his unmade full-sized bed, face down into his pillow. He screamed as loud as he physically could into it. He'd finally actually met his giant goth crush, then immediately ruined it .
Done screaming, Hermes rolled over onto his back. He felt awful. For a fleeting moment he thought about avoiding the beach altogether. There were other skateparks. No, that wasn't him. He'd panicked and ran away in the moment because he'd been so horrified, but he knew the better thing to do was to go back. To apologize.
I'm so very truly sorry for ruining your act of compassion by getting an erection, because I've been watching you like a pervert for months, and even just the slightest bit of closeness to you makes me want to ride your cock like it's the prize bull in a rodeo.
Hermes grabbed his pillow and screamed into it again.