Note and Warning on series: some of the stories within this series (and this one in particular) include themes of abuse, including sexual abuse. The stories are non-chronological and any of the darker stories will be warned for.
If you are reading this series and only want the fluffy and/or comfort bits without the darker bits, I suggest just skipping this part and going on to the next. I think the series will actually hold up if you skip the bits like this one, you'll just miss a bit of the nuance. You can still enjoy, for instance, the Hermes/Charon dynamic I've created without all the 'oh, by the way, Zeus is a real creep in this one' bits.
Also, it occurs to me to make it clear that the contents of this fic in no way, shape, or form are the 'reason' why Hermes is aromantic, or even why he hates being held down (as may come up in future fics). Both of those facts are integral to who he is, not shaped by trauma or life experiences. Just in case anyone reads this and is worried and/or assumes that is where this is heading. Not to say that Hermes won't carry trauma, just that... it doesn't cause his sexual orientation, romantic orientation, or natural need for freedom.
Warning: sexual abuse (mostly but not entirely non-graphic)
Story
It doesn't hurt.
It's an honor, he says. A new and important domain to rule, he says. His strong hands are gentle and the hug is warm and it feels good. Sitting in his father's lap. All that warmth and attention directed to him and only him. You just need a little training, he says. His voice is fond, and caring, and gentle. Loving. Hermes is being held.
A tongue is in his mouth.
Hermes doesn't know how he feels. He came to these arms willingly, enthusiastically, desperately. His father's attention, his embrace, it is everything. He is being held so firmly in his father's strong arms that it would be hard to escape the hold. Not that he tries. It was never his father'sstrengththat pinned him down. All Zeus ever had to do was to ask, to invite.
It doesn't hurt. His body sparks at the sure, experienced touch, fingers and tongue and lips, hot and sensual. His skin drinks in the contact eagerly, his intimate places sing as they are expertly suckled, massaged, kneaded, bruised.
His father's dick is buried so deep inside his depths Hermes swears he can taste him on his tongue as his own pleasure ripples through him and spills over.
It doesn't hurt. It never hurts. His father isn't hurting him. It feels good.
His wings lie flat against his scalp, the wings at his ankles fluttering as if he were in flight, except his father anchors him to the earth even as he leads them both to completion.
It doesn't hurt.
It feels good.
It doesn't hurt.