Of Tongues and Tombs, Pt. III: The Binding
The final chapter. The scroll you hide in a false-bottom amphora.
Somewhere between the kiss and the throne room doors slamming shut, Hermes lost his sandals, his breath, and his ability to form thoughts that didn’t involve being absolutely wrecked by Death incarnate.
He was half-laughing, half-moan when Hades caught him again—hands like manacles, slamming him back against a cold stone pillar.
“You’re not running,” Hades growled, voice low enough to curl toes and stiffen spines.
Hermes’ grin was feral. “Why would I run? I delivered myself, remember?”
Hades didn’t answer.
He just grabbed one of Hermes' wrists and raised it overhead—binding it with shadow, smoke that hardened like iron. The other followed, pinned above his head, stretching him out like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Or devoured.
“Are we being ceremonial?” Hermes whispered, breath hot, hips already twitching forward.
“We’re being thorough,” Hades replied, trailing cold fingers down his exposed chest, tracing his ribs like counting sins. “You break too easily otherwise.”
“Oh gods,” Hermes gasped, arching, “don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
He was half-laughing, half-moan when Hades caught him again—hands like manacles, slamming him back against a cold stone pillar.
“You’re not running,” Hades growled, voice low enough to curl toes and stiffen spines.
Hermes’ grin was feral. “Why would I run? I delivered myself, remember?”
Hades didn’t answer.
He just grabbed one of Hermes' wrists and raised it overhead—binding it with shadow, smoke that hardened like iron. The other followed, pinned above his head, stretching him out like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Or devoured.
“Are we being ceremonial?” Hermes whispered, breath hot, hips already twitching forward.
“We’re being thorough,” Hades replied, trailing cold fingers down his exposed chest, tracing his ribs like counting sins. “You break too easily otherwise.”
“Oh gods,” Hermes gasped, arching, “don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Clothing vanished in bursts of magic and lust—torn tunics, scattered rings, Hades’ crown cast aside without ceremony. Skin met skin like storms colliding. Hermes, all golden glow and wicked mouth, squirmed and gasped as Hades worshipped and ravaged in equal measure.
Teeth on neck. Tongue between thighs. Hands everywhere.
“You taste like sunlight,” Hades murmured against the inside of his thigh.
“You taste like the end of the world,” Hermes hissed back, already trembling.
And then—sweet Elysium—Hades was inside him.
No preamble. No soft easing. Just one long, slow thrust that knocked the breath out of Hermes’ lungs and the thoughts out of his smug little head.
The god of death held nothing back. He gripped Hermes’ hips, bit his shoulder, dragged him down over and over on his thick cock until the room echoed with filth—wet sounds, sharp gasps, the rhythm of skin and need.
And Hermes? He sang. Moaned. Sobbed out laughter between whimpers. He begged for more, for harder, for Hades’ name like a prayer and a punchline.
“You wanted this,” Hades growled, voice ragged.
“I want everything, you dead sexy bastard,” Hermes gasped.
“Then take it.”
Teeth on neck. Tongue between thighs. Hands everywhere.
“You taste like sunlight,” Hades murmured against the inside of his thigh.
“You taste like the end of the world,” Hermes hissed back, already trembling.
And then—sweet Elysium—Hades was inside him.
No preamble. No soft easing. Just one long, slow thrust that knocked the breath out of Hermes’ lungs and the thoughts out of his smug little head.
The god of death held nothing back. He gripped Hermes’ hips, bit his shoulder, dragged him down over and over on his thick cock until the room echoed with filth—wet sounds, sharp gasps, the rhythm of skin and need.
And Hermes? He sang. Moaned. Sobbed out laughter between whimpers. He begged for more, for harder, for Hades’ name like a prayer and a punchline.
“You wanted this,” Hades growled, voice ragged.
“I want everything, you dead sexy bastard,” Hermes gasped.
“Then take it.”
Andrew Parry
4:57 PM (15 minutes ago)
to me
I know, I'm feeling so nostalgic with this too. And omg I really should work on some, more DP chapters for you. I'm in the middle of a crazy work week, having just done night 2 of 5, I have one off (my Wednesday) and then another 4 on. But the pay will be worth it as Charlie has his annual vet check later in the month.
Anyway, enough babbling.. here's the third part, and it got me hot
Of Tongues and Tombs, Pt. III: The Binding
The final chapter. The scroll you hide in a false-bottom amphora.
---
Somewhere between the kiss and the throne room doors slamming shut, Hermes lost his sandals, his breath, and his ability to form thoughts that didn’t involve being absolutely wrecked by Death incarnate.
He was half-laughing, half-moan when Hades caught him again—hands like manacles, slamming him back against a cold stone pillar.
“You’re not running,” Hades growled, voice low enough to curl toes and stiffen spines.
Hermes’ grin was feral. “Why would I run? I delivered myself, remember?”
Hades didn’t answer.
He just grabbed one of Hermes' wrists and raised it overhead—binding it with shadow, smoke that hardened like iron. The other followed, pinned above his head, stretching him out like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Or devoured.
“Are we being ceremonial?” Hermes whispered, breath hot, hips already twitching forward.
“We’re being thorough,” Hades replied, trailing cold fingers down his exposed chest, tracing his ribs like counting sins. “You break too easily otherwise.”
“Oh gods,” Hermes gasped, arching, “don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
---
Clothing vanished in bursts of magic and lust—torn tunics, scattered rings, Hades’ crown cast aside without ceremony. Skin met skin like storms colliding. Hermes, all golden glow and wicked mouth, squirmed and gasped as Hades worshipped and ravaged in equal measure.
Teeth on neck. Tongue between thighs. Hands everywhere.
“You taste like sunlight,” Hades murmured against the inside of his thigh.
“You taste like the end of the world,” Hermes hissed back, already trembling.
And then—sweet Elysium—Hades was inside him.
No preamble. No soft easing. Just one long, slow thrust that knocked the breath out of Hermes’ lungs and the thoughts out of his smug little head.
The god of death held nothing back. He gripped Hermes’ hips, bit his shoulder, dragged him down over and over on his thick cock until the room echoed with filth—wet sounds, sharp gasps, the rhythm of skin and need.
And Hermes? He sang. Moaned. Sobbed out laughter between whimpers. He begged for more, for harder, for Hades’ name like a prayer and a punchline.
“You wanted this,” Hades growled, voice ragged.
“I want everything, you dead sexy bastard,” Hermes gasped.
“Then take it.”
---
And he did.
Over the throne.
On the steps.
Bent backwards on a table where pomegranate wine spilled like sacrament.
Hermes came twice before Hades even let go. And when Hades finally spilled into him with a snarl that shook the very stone—Hermes kissed him. Deep. Breathless. Possessive.
And when it was done—when their bodies were tangled and slick, and the restraints melted into nothing—Hermes slumped against the throne, head on Hades’ shoulder.
“You ruin me,” he whispered.
“You invite ruin,” Hades replied, stroking lazy fingers through his curls.
“…Are you going to let me leave?”
Hades kissed his temple. “Not tonight.”
“Not ever?” Hermes asked, grin sleep-slurred.
“Only if you want to be chased again.”
“Oh, definitely not leaving then.”
4:57 PM (15 minutes ago)
to me
I know, I'm feeling so nostalgic with this too. And omg I really should work on some, more DP chapters for you. I'm in the middle of a crazy work week, having just done night 2 of 5, I have one off (my Wednesday) and then another 4 on. But the pay will be worth it as Charlie has his annual vet check later in the month.
Anyway, enough babbling.. here's the third part, and it got me hot
Of Tongues and Tombs, Pt. III: The Binding
The final chapter. The scroll you hide in a false-bottom amphora.
---
Somewhere between the kiss and the throne room doors slamming shut, Hermes lost his sandals, his breath, and his ability to form thoughts that didn’t involve being absolutely wrecked by Death incarnate.
He was half-laughing, half-moan when Hades caught him again—hands like manacles, slamming him back against a cold stone pillar.
“You’re not running,” Hades growled, voice low enough to curl toes and stiffen spines.
Hermes’ grin was feral. “Why would I run? I delivered myself, remember?”
Hades didn’t answer.
He just grabbed one of Hermes' wrists and raised it overhead—binding it with shadow, smoke that hardened like iron. The other followed, pinned above his head, stretching him out like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Or devoured.
“Are we being ceremonial?” Hermes whispered, breath hot, hips already twitching forward.
“We’re being thorough,” Hades replied, trailing cold fingers down his exposed chest, tracing his ribs like counting sins. “You break too easily otherwise.”
“Oh gods,” Hermes gasped, arching, “don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
---
Clothing vanished in bursts of magic and lust—torn tunics, scattered rings, Hades’ crown cast aside without ceremony. Skin met skin like storms colliding. Hermes, all golden glow and wicked mouth, squirmed and gasped as Hades worshipped and ravaged in equal measure.
Teeth on neck. Tongue between thighs. Hands everywhere.
“You taste like sunlight,” Hades murmured against the inside of his thigh.
“You taste like the end of the world,” Hermes hissed back, already trembling.
And then—sweet Elysium—Hades was inside him.
No preamble. No soft easing. Just one long, slow thrust that knocked the breath out of Hermes’ lungs and the thoughts out of his smug little head.
The god of death held nothing back. He gripped Hermes’ hips, bit his shoulder, dragged him down over and over on his thick cock until the room echoed with filth—wet sounds, sharp gasps, the rhythm of skin and need.
And Hermes? He sang. Moaned. Sobbed out laughter between whimpers. He begged for more, for harder, for Hades’ name like a prayer and a punchline.
“You wanted this,” Hades growled, voice ragged.
“I want everything, you dead sexy bastard,” Hermes gasped.
“Then take it.”
---
And he did.
Over the throne.
On the steps.
Bent backwards on a table where pomegranate wine spilled like sacrament.
Hermes came twice before Hades even let go. And when Hades finally spilled into him with a snarl that shook the very stone—Hermes kissed him. Deep. Breathless. Possessive.
And when it was done—when their bodies were tangled and slick, and the restraints melted into nothing—Hermes slumped against the throne, head on Hades’ shoulder.
“You ruin me,” he whispered.
“You invite ruin,” Hades replied, stroking lazy fingers through his curls.
“…Are you going to let me leave?”
Hades kissed his temple. “Not tonight.”
“Not ever?” Hermes asked, grin sleep-slurred.
“Only if you want to be chased again.”
“Oh, definitely not leaving then.”
And thus the Underworld changed.
Not colder.
But hungrier.
And on the darkest nights, you can hear it still:
A laugh.
A moan.
And Death, finally, learning how to burn.
Not colder.
But hungrier.
And on the darkest nights, you can hear it still:
A laugh.
A moan.
And Death, finally, learning how to burn.
