A/N: This is to all of you loyal readers who waited so long.

Oh, and if you've ever seen the movie Real Genius, you may recognize a small part of this chapter...LOL. Giving credit where credit is due.

I really have no explanation for the first part of this. Insert clueless shrugging here. I'm sorry for any mistakes, I'm very very tired.

"What would I do without your smart mouth

Drawing me in and you kicking me out

You've got my head spinning, no kidding

I can't pin you down..."

-John Legend, All of Me

When Hades' eyes opened, his first thought was that his dreams had become disturbingly realistic over the past several months. Of course, the majority of those could be blamed on the messenger, but Hermes couldn't possibly have been responsible for this most recent one…or could he?

Hades rolled onto his side, narrowing his eyes as he thought about the possibility. Had Hermes' interest in Hades grown to the point of obsession? There was always a chance.

Hades exhaled, wishing he could fall back asleep. The room was still dark, and his mind was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He pulled his blanket over his shoulder and closed his eyes. Then…

"You smell good," a voice breathed into his ear.

Hades knew that voice. "Please let this be a cruel joke," he muttered without opening his eyes. "You're not here. I'm dreaming again."

"I'm afraid reality doesn't get much more real than this," the voice said in a comically solemn tone.

Giving up on sleep, Hades sat up with a sigh. As he did, the torches on his wall burst into life, illuminating Dionysus's face. The flames danced with cheerfulness that Hades wished he himself could feel. Alas, the lord of the dead would never be known for his sunny disposition. He settled on casting Dionysus a dark look. "What are you doing in my bedroom? And in the middle of the night, to boot."

"I couldn't sleep," Dionysus said matter-of-factly. For once, he looked surprisingly sober.

"So you decided to watch me sleep?!" Hades demanded. "I didn't peg you as a creepy voyeur. Your followers should add that little tidbit to one of your hymns."

"But you weren't asleep," he said innocently. "Doesn't that make it a little less creepy?"

Hades opted not to answer. Instead, he crossed his legs and arranged a blanket over his lap. "I had a very strange dream," he muttered, staring at the weave of the blanket intensely.

"Oh?" Dionysus said delicately. "Were you dancing naked on top of Zeus's throne with all of the Muses screaming and throwing grapes at you?"

"That sounds like your dream. Not mine."

"It is my dream," Dionysus said languidly. "For some reason I have it whenever I eat feta cheese."

"Hermes was in the dream," Hades said after a long, incredulous pause. "But I'm not entirely sure whether it was my dream or one of the messenger's twisted subconscious adventures."

"You've always been sure in the past," Dionysus pointed out, and Hades couldn't deny that he had a point.

"I hate it when you're right," Hades said disgustedly.

"Besides, I dream about him all the time," Dionysus went on as though Hades hadn't spoken at all. "One time we were riding on the back of a giant crow and it was telling us limericks…"

There would be no shutting him up now. With a resigned sigh, Hades lay back down as Dionysus continued to prattle on. His voice became a low hum in the background. Unwittingly, the king's eyes began to drift shut as visions of impish eyes and a sparkling white grin swam to the front of his mind.

Being summoned to Olympus for early-morning meetings was not high on Hades' list of favorite things, but he always showed up anyway and made sure to do so in an awe-inspiring manner. This particular morning found him sweeping through the golden gates with his dark robes snapping around his ankles, every hair brushed into his place and silver crown atop his head.

The palace was still quiet. Breathing in the crisp morning air, Hades paused in the middle of a marble walkway and took a moment to gaze around with his keen eyes. Olympus really was an impressive structure; the king was usually too busy despising his relatives to admire their dwelling place, but here in the wee hours of the morning with no one to catch him, he did just that.

The sun, magnificent in its power and beauty, was peering over the horizon, just beginning to illuminate the vast land of Greece far below. The white marble that the palace had been built of sparkled in the light, shining just as brightly as it had when it was new even though it was now centuries old. Turning around, Hades gazed at the mountains in the distance. If he squinted, he could see the snow on their peaks. Then his gaze fell to a lower portion of the palace, only attainable by a long flight of stairs. What he saw made him freeze.

Sitting on a bench near the edge of a lower walkway were two people, one with an unmistakable mop of curly black hair and the other with a golden lyre resting on his lap. To his horror, Hades felt an irrational surge of rage flood through him. What were they doing together?! The king could hear Apollo's words echoing in his head…

"I'm in love with Hermes…there are things about him I simply can't hate…his eyes…his humor…his laugh…"

And suddenly, he had to know what Apollo was saying to the messenger. He found himself storming down the stairs before he could think twice.

Before he knew it, he was standing behind the bench glaring daggers at the back of Apollo's head. As though he could feel the glare, the healer almost instantly turned around. There was a vague look of surprise and—Hades inwardly (and outwardly) seethed—amusement in his eyes. "Lord Hades…what a surprise," he drawled in his perfect voice.

"Surprise?" Hades sneered as Hermes turned around. "Surely you knew I was supposed to be here this morning. I thought you knew everything."

Apollo smiled, though the expression was all teeth and no warmth, and Hades forced himself to focus solely on the archer's face as unjustified anger continued to surge through him. He couldn't look at Hermes. Not now.

"I knew you were supposed to be at Olympus this morning, attending a meeting with my father and Poseidon in the throne room," Apollo agreed, "not standing behind Hermes and me looking like you wish to tear my head off."

Raw power crackled through the air as Hades snarled at his nephew's impudence. The morning seemed to darken and a nearby vase of flowers shattered into pieces with a loud crack! It angered Hades further to see that Apollo didn't look at all fazed. He remained a picture of cold, unflappable beauty and perfection, and Hades couldn't help but wonder if Hermes saw the blond god that way. With that thought, his anger deflated. It was replaced by cold, hollow emptiness.

He turned away from the two young gods, wrapping his chlamys more tightly around himself, and began to climb the stairs. By now he was probably late for his meeting, and for what reason? His adolescent feelings, whatever they may be.

He wondered if he was going insane and then snorted to himself.

"Hades, wait!" a voice shouted, but Hades ignored it, quickening his pace.

"Stop!" the voice insisted, a suddenly a hand grabbed the back of his chiton. Hades whirled around and came face-to-face with the messenger.

"What?!" he demanded through bared teeth.

"Um—you forgot to say hi to me earlier," Hermes joked feebly.

Raising one of his dark eyebrows, he looked directly into the messenger's eyes. "Hi," he drawled sarcastically.

Looking into his eyes was a huge mistake, Hades quickly realized. As Hermes stared back at him, the king was flooded with memories from his dream. He could feel their shoulders touching, feel the warmth of Hermes' breath, feel his lips against that olive skin…

I can't deny this anymore.

Was it his imagination, or had the messenger moved closer? He was aware of his breath quickening along with his heart rate, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was wondering how it had come to this.

There were hands touching his chest, pressing a palm directly over his racing heart. Hermes was definitely closer, closer than he had ever been in the realm of consciousness, and at this range he wasn't the annoying, bubbly, happy-go-lucky brat that Hades had hated. He was beautiful, with sculpted cheekbones, perfect lips, and eyes that spoke of wondrous things without saying a single word.

Seemingly of their own accord, Hades' fingers had drifted up to Hermes' face; his thumbs brushed over those lovely cheekbones, touched his lips, stroked his jaw, and the king was entranced as he watched the messenger's eyes flutter shut.

It was almost pure instinct when his arms wound around the slender waist and his lips crashed against the younger god's so hard that it nearly hurt.

"Finally!" Hermes breathed against his lips, but Hades didn't get a chance to ask what that was supposed to mean because the messenger seemed to be growing taller. They were eye to eye now, and so close that Hades could feel it every time Hermes exhaled, could count all of his freckles if he so wished. The king managed to glance down just long enough to see that the herald was floating above the ground before hands grasped the back of his head and wrenched him forward. Hungry lips claimed his and hands tangled in his hair with a passion that Hades was distantly beginning to suspect had been pent up for a long while. But then those lips parted ever so slightly, and Hades nearly gasped when he felt Hermes lick his bottom lip.

It wasn't long after that when he lost all rational thought.