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Luke stared at the box with utter contempt.
In front of him, lying there quite innocently, was a Hermes Express package, complete with a letter. He had already gotten rid of the piece of paper, ripped it into pieces, and then shoved them out one by one through the window. The wind did the rest, scattering the dozens of pieces far away from his eyes.
Good riddance.
Now, only the package remained.
To be honest, he wanted to do a similar treatment to it. Maybe take the package to the central fire and shove it into the flames, perhaps even cackle a little as he offered it back to his father. A mean smile appeared on his face as he imagined it burning and how his father might react. But then the last thought made Luke have a reality check and forcefully stop his daydreaming. Grudgingly.
Crossing his arms, he fixed his glare on the box, narrowing his eyes as if it were his worst enemy and was actually alive. Alas, it wasn’t. So, by virtue of being inanimate, it won the staring contest.
With a huff, Luke decided it was better to get it over with and see what his dearest father had given him after bothering to remind himself that Luke existed.
Ripping it open, taking more delight than he guessed was healthy, Luke crinkled his nose at the scent that rose—musky, maybe like wood. And utterly disgusting. Covering his nose with one hand, he used the other to finish the job, then paused. With a frown, he took the gift out, flipping it over in his hand as he studied it.
But no, it didn’t suddenly change shape, nor did it explode into sparkles during his inspection. Instead, it remained as it was: a boring shoe. An utterly ordinary sneaker, one of those Converse ones.
What a great load of shit.
Slamming it back into the box, Luke closed it, both to take it out of his sight and to block that scent from escaping. Then he began to pace around the cabin.
Thankfully, it was quite empty at this time. Not that this was all that uncommon, but considering it was his fifteenth birthday, it felt like nothing less than a stroke of luck.
The thought made him pace faster, a scowl twisting his lips.
His birthday. And the gift his father had given him was a pair of completely ordinary shoes.
Huffing, he halted his pacing and stood in front of the box again. With a glare, Luke wondered: was it because he was an Omega? Just because he had a pussy didn’t mean that he didn’t want magical weapon stuff. Since when did having a dick dictate a preference for those things, anyway?
As he pondered this—very angrily—he saw something fly in from the window out the corner of his eye. Before he could react, though, the thing smacked him in the face.
Slowly, Luke lifted a hand and pulled the thing away from his face, blinking as he tried to rein in his instinct to throw it on the ground and step on it. Repeatedly. With his vision now clear, he glanced at it, which caused him to blink again, this time rapidly due to his surprise.
It was the letter—the same one he had shredded into many tiny pieces and sent off to be carried by the wind.
But it was intact.
Alarmed, he examined it, trying to spot any imperfections or signs of damage. However, there was nothing. It looked brand new, as if it had just been penned and sent to him.
Narrowing his eyes, Luke tightened his grip on the letter, wrinkling it, though he restrained himself from tearing it apart once more. If it had reformed once, who was to say it wouldn’t happen again?
With his lip curling in disdain, he resigned himself to the chore of reading it. His eyes scanned the text rapidly, skipping over the diatribe his father was spouting—what did he mean by ‘reddening apple’?—and focusing on something more interesting: the gift.
Apparently, the shoes were actually magical; they just needed a keyword to activate it, and then wings would sprout. Or at least was what the letter claimed.
Suspicious, yet feeling a faint shimmer of excitement beneath it, Luke pivoted and headed straight to the box. Preparing himself for what he knew would greet him, he covered his nose, but even so, the smell hit him. He ignored it as best as he could and took the shoes out, kicking the package away as soon as he held them.
But the scent remained, and it seemed to be coming from the shoes themselves.
What was this? Who was weird enough to scent shoes?
Hermes, apparently.
Whatever. His father could be as weird as he wanted, and Luke wouldn’t care.
Eager, he sat on the ground, took off his current shoes, and put on the new sneakers. Surprisingly, they fit perfectly—not loose in any way, nor tight; it was as if they had been made for his feet. He felt a little weirded out but ignored the sensation and stood up, testing them.
Taking a deep breath, feeling a tingling in his skin, Luke whispered, “Maia.”
As soon as he uttered the words, wings appeared beside the laces, automatically tightening them. Then they began to beat wildly, and he laughed, delighted, as he rose from the ground. Unfortunately, that sheer joy was short-lived; he soon lost control and started zipping around the cabin without rhyme or reason, colliding with the beds, the walls, and even the ceiling at one point.
A little desperately, he tried to grab onto anything his hands could reach, but without success, until he finally managed to secure his grip on a bed frame. He tightened his hold, his palms digging into the wood painfully, yet he still felt himself slipping as the wings continued to beat and drag his legs along with them.
Luke’s mind raced as he went over possible solutions, but panic clouded his thoughts. Then, a sudden burst of clarity hit him, and he exclaimed, his voice rising an octave, “Maia!”
Immediately, the wings receded.
Relief washed over him as Luke climbed down from the bed, collapsing onto the ground as soon as his feet hit the floor.
Staring at the ceiling, he thought that maybe it hadn’t been the cleverest idea to test the winged shoes alone, especially not inside. But, Luke admitted to himself, he still found them amazing—even if they stank and had come from his father.
***
Luke could admit that he was using the shoes everywhere.
It’s not that he was particularly attached to them; they were simply useful—very useful, he had to admit. He had lost count of how many times his cabin had won Capture the Flag simply because they made his job much easier. After all, flying out of reach once he got the flag made it very difficult to be caught.
Even so, the smell bothered him, not as much as it had during the first few times he used them, but it still made his nose wrinkle when he remembered to check. Fortunately, it seemed to be getting less intense, finally fading after all this time.
To be completely honest, he found it very surprising that the smell had lasted this long. His own scent didn’t, which made maintaining his nest more annoying since he had to mechanically go over all his things and rub his scent on them one by one when it started to fade—several times a week, at that.
Why did his father’s linger for so long?
Alphas are just that smelly, Luke concluded resolutely, nodding to himself as he sat beside Annabeth near Thalia’s tree.
“Why are you nodding?” Annabeth asked, curiosity in her big gray eyes as she looked up at his face, making Luke’s heart swell in his chest.
“Just thinking that Alphas smell funny,” Luke answered, unable to resist the urge to give her nose a boop.
The pup went cross-eyed before she huffed and shooed his hand away, glaring at him. She might have been trying to appear intimidating, but Annabeth only succeeded in looking even cuter, which prompted him to boop her again.
“Stop it!” she whined, a pout forming on her lips—not that Annabeth would ever admit to such a thing.
A wave of affection washed over him as he rubbed his wrist on top of her head, scenting her. She made a show of grudgingly accepting it, but the little Beta leaned her head in his direction, almost like a sunflower turning to the sun. It was adorable.
Pulling his hand back, Luke smiled as Annabeth’s cheeks slowly turned red with embarrassment, though she tried to distract him when she asked, “Is the Alpha comment because of your new shoes?“ She glanced at them and sniffed. “They do smell a little funny.”
“Yeah, it’s a present from my father, and you know how gods are,” Luke answered, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
“Ah,” the pup let out a sound of understanding, though she didn’t seem to understand it at all.
Annabeth hadn’t been in hearing range when he last spoke with Hermes, too busy being suffocated by his crazy mother. She hadn’t heard their argument and only knew, superficially, that Luke wasn’t fond of his father, though she didn’t seem to get why.
It was not surprising that she didn’t, not when her mother cared enough to guide her to Thalia. In contrast, Hermes had let him wander the streets for years, never once answering his prayers.
Now, he gave him a pair of magical shoes.
Where was this interest during all those years? Where was his father when Luke was forced to sleep on the cold ground? When he had to scour the trash for something to eat, getting sick for days? When monsters appeared?
As his mood soured, Luke pressed himself against Thalia’s tree, searching for a sliver of comfort in the woody shell of what remained of his friend.
But there was no scent of ozone, like the crisp smell of an incoming storm—equal parts dangerous and protective. No hugs, no laughter, no clumsy rumbling she’d make when he was distressed.
There was only the harshness of wood and the sourness of his misery soiling the air.
Scuttling over, Annabeth nestled against his side, sensing something was off, but she was too young to know how to comfort him. In moments like this, he missed Thalia as deeply as he missed the breath in his lungs. Viscerally. Pushing those thoughts aside, Luke let his nose brush the top of Annabeth’s head, noticing how she was instinctively projecting her scent to soothe him. It was a calming aroma, neutral like most Betas, but with a distinctly childish edge that came from her age; hers reminded him of new paper and fresh ink, layered with a subtle metallic quality beneath.
Family.
With a sigh, Luke rested his cheek on Annabeth’s head, feeling the tension trickle away from his muscles. Gradually, the sourness in the air faded as well, allowing the pup’s own scent to return to its usual state—discreet, like most pups were.
For a long moment, they didn’t move or talk, simply watching the horizon beyond Camp Half-Blood’s barriers and savoring each other’s warmth.
Then, Luke took a deep breath and rose to his feet in one smooth motion.
“Come on,” he said, reaching out a hand to Annie. “We need to head back if we don’t want to get caught by the harpies.”
She pouted, lips jutting out stubbornly, but gave in when he raised an eyebrow. Before taking his hand, however, she turned back to Thalia’s tree and hugged it, whispering, “Bye, Thalia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The sight brought him pain.
Thalia was supposed to be here. She was the one who protected them, who acted like a sire to Annabeth. She was supposed to be his—
“Let’s go back, Annabeth,” he said again, his voice carefully controlled to hide his pain. Not in front of her. Never in front of her.
“Okay,” she whispered, placing her hand over his and letting herself be led back to her cabin.
Once there, Luke sent her in with one of her siblings, smiling and waving goodbye as she was led inside. His smile faded as soon as she was out of sight, and he turned, heading straight unto his own cabin.
Closing the door behind him, Luke sighed heavily and walked to his bed—his nest, really. There was nowhere else he could make one in this crowded place, though the older Omegas from Cabin Ten kept insisting he needed a private one soon. Easier said than done, especially when they had as many beds and rooms as they wanted, while in Cabin Eleven everyone had to fight for a scrap of space.
Distracted by his thoughts, he nearly missed the package at the foot of his bed, halting as soon as he spotted it. With furrowed brows, he moved closer and saw the Hermes Express symbol—though this time, there was no letter.
Why was his father sending something again so soon?
Hesitating for a moment, he opened the box and suffered—quite valiantly, in fact—against the assault on his nostrils from the scent, which was somehow stronger than before. Inside, he found the fluffiest blanket he had ever seen.
Instantly, his mood shifted, and he snatched the blanket out, taking it straight to his bed and trying to fit it into his nest. It didn’t even cross his mind that it smelled like his father—only that it was perfect nest material.
Frowning in concentration, Luke tried to place it somewhere that didn’t look too messy, but the blanket was large and didn’t fit as easily as his other, less-than-quality items. Not that he was complaining—it was big, fluffy, and exactly what he wanted. After some arranging, he managed to make it look less wonky and decided it was good enough for now.
Giddy, he kicked off his shoes and crawled into his nest, melting into the bed as he rolled over to his new blanket, burrowing his nose into it. Which promptly made him sneeze and grimace as he realized his father’s scent was embedded deep in the fabric. How had he not noticed before adding it to his nest? It felt strange to have someone else’s scent in his safe space—the only scents he’d ever had in here, aside from his own, were Thalia’s and Annabeth’s. But the blanket…
Furrowing his brows, Luke tried to think of something, then a flash of insight crossed his mind. Scuttling closer to the blanket, he tilted his neck and rubbed his scent glands over it as best he could, trying to overwrite his father’s scent with his own. But when he leaned back to sniff, he found he’d only managed to mix their scents. His father’s was still as strong as ever, barely faded, and it overshadowed his entirely—unlike when he used to do this with Thalia.
With a huff, Luke decided it was good enough for now. He’d figure out something else later. Nestling into the blanket, he closed his eyes, unconsciously breathing in the mixed scent as his worries began to dissolve, his body relaxing until everything around him started to fade away.
***
He didn’t figure out something later, as he had discovered.
The scent stubbornly persisted, and he found himself hiding the blanket whenever his siblings and the other campers were nearby. He didn’t want anyone knowing about it in his nest. However, he couldn’t deny that he used it, especially when everyone else was already asleep.
It was just so fluffy.
But he knew that situation wouldn’t last forever, and the Cabin Ten Omegas were always on his case about finding a private nest.
With that in mind, Luke set out to find a suitable spot. The problem was, he had no idea where to look. He couldn’t exactly barge into the Big House and claim a room; Mr. D would likely turn him into a dolphin for even thinking about it. Most of the other Omegas in camp had their own rooms in their cabins, but Cabin Eleven didn’t offer such accommodations. There was no space for such privileges. Besides, most of his siblings and the other campers were Betas, with a few young, toothless Alphas scattered among them.
As it stood, Luke was currently the only Omega child of Hermes present, on the verge of full-fledged adulthood while most of the other pups were significantly younger than he was.
He had to carve his own path and figure things out on his own. So here he was, walking through the forest with a backpack filled with his nest items—his other nest items, to be precise, since he didn’t have the heart to completely dismantle the one in his cabin. He searched for a clearing or any safe spot where he could hide when needed—or at least that was what the others had advised him.
Cursing under his breath, he wandered through the woods until he stumbled upon a tree with a decent nook in its trunk. Scuttling closer, Luke tested the space and was delighted to find it spacious enough to comfortably fit both him and his belongings. It was hidden and safe, a satisfied feeling rising in his chest as he slipped his backpack off his shoulders. Best of all, it seemed there were no nymphs around to kick him out, as if the stars had aligned just for him.
Feeling inexplicably happy, Luke began to sing-song to himself as he cleaned up the little nook, clearing away leaves, branches, and any other debris. However, on his third sweep, he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as an instinctual urge deep within him screamed to run and hide.
But he was no coward.
His lips curled to reveal his fangs as Luke scanned the area restlessly, backpedaling until his back pressed against the trunk of his chosen nest.
Suddenly, a musky scent filled his nostrils, and despite his instinctive tension, he felt an unexpected wave of relaxation wash over him. His muscles unclenched, and the low rumble in his chest, which he hadn’t even noticed before, faded away.
Confused by his own reaction, Luke barely had time to process it before a familiar voice—one he hadn’t heard in a year—broke through the air.
“Luke,” Hermes greeted, a fond smile spreading across his face as he emerged from behind a nearby tree, his footsteps silent as he approached.
Immediately, a scowl formed on Luke’s face as he pushed himself away from the trunk he had been leaning against and glared at his father.
“Dad,” he replied, his tone clearly lacking in enthusiasm.
Hermes hummed, approaching uninvited, which made Luke’s hackles rise. He instinctively moved to stand in front of the nook that marked the entrance to his new nest. Halting, his father glanced at him, and for half a second, a vexed look crossed his face before morphing back into that affable, pitiful expression that made Luke want to scream. He wanted to yell at him for not staying or at least giving a sign—something, anything.
Why did his dad choose now to appear?
Slowly, that same woody scent enveloped him, gentle and soothing, causing Luke’s hackles to lower and his frown to deepen as his nostrils flared despite his best efforts. Frustrated with himself, with his father, and with the world, he covered his nose and glared at Hermes. “What do you want?”
“Can’t a father see his son?” Hermes retorted, a guileless smile on his face as he continued to release his scent.
Unsure, Luke shifted on his feet and cast a glance at his dad. A flicker of hope ignited in his chest—maybe his father had changed? No, Luke steeled himself. His dad hadn’t visited in so long; why would things change now?
There had to be something else.
“You don’t do that. What do you want?” Luke repeated, his tone sharp, a hiss barely forming between his teeth. He kept himself positioned firmly between his father and his nest, every muscle in his body tense.
For half a second, Hermes narrowed his eyes, and his scent turned sour before shifting back to its usual soothing quality. He approached Luke, brushing off the warning growls, until he grasped Luke’s wrist and pulled it away from his nose. Instantly, Luke was overwhelmed by the intensity of his father’s scent, so concentrated it made him feel slightly light-headed, causing him to wobble in place.
“I’ve come to see you, my son,” Luke heard his dad say, holding him in place by the elbows.
Composing himself was difficult with the overwhelming scent surrounding him—was it an Alpha thing or a god thing? Luke looked up at his dad, a sullen expression cast in his direction, before pulling his hands away.
“After a year,” he retorted, though it lacked the sharpness he intended, coming out wobbly instead.
Fuck. He didn’t want to seem weak. He felt like a little pup again, abandoned by his sire, and it was pathetic—just a little pathetic Omega.
Briefly hesitating, Hermes sighed deeply before speaking. “Our last meeting… wasn’t ideal, I can admit that. But I’m here now.”
With a click of his tongue, Luke turned his back and retreated into his nest, muttering, “What difference does it make?”
Sullenly, Luke ignored his dad, who leaned down to peer inside the nook, observing him. He felt the weight of Hermes’s gaze but stubbornly refused to look up as he busied himself with arranging his nest from scratch. It was disconcerting to have someone watch him in such a vulnerable moment; it felt oddly intimate. The last time someone had seen him making a nest, it had been Annabeth and Thalia—his family.
But then again, Hermes was his father, theoretically. So maybe it wasn’t so strange after all.
Maybe.
His dad hadn’t said a word and let Luke work in silence, which, in a way, was a relief. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost pretend he was alone.
But as soon as he pulled out the fluffy blanket, Hermes’s scent spiked, the musky notes somehow becoming even muskier.
Luke paused, sniffing the air with a furrowed brow. There was an odd sensation now, an instinct urging him both to run and to stay—a tingly, unsettling feeling that prickled under his skin, sending a rush of warmth low in his gut. Casting a sidelong glance, he noted his dad’s expression hadn’t changed at all. Ignoring the strange sensation as best he could, he rubbed absently at his scent gland—it itched—and, with a final sweep, tucked the blanket against his chest, adjusting it as he finished the last touches of his nest.
A small smile crept onto Luke’s face as he looked over his nest, a sense of deep satisfaction settling within him. It was as if a piece of himself had finally fallen into place, steady and whole. Yet, something else stirred beneath the surface—a subtle shift, like some dormant part of him had come to attention.
“A beautiful nest,” his father said, breaking the silence and reminding Luke he wasn’t alone. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, a giddy warmth washed over him at the praise.
He wasn’t happy his father was acknowledging him.
He wasn’t.
He was completely over it.
“I’m still angry at you,” Luke shot back, forcing the giddy warmth away and reminding himself that he had every reason to be angry.
This man had left him to fend for himself on the streets, and with a mother who was anything but stable.
With a heavy sigh, Hermes appeared almost human, his sadness somehow genuine. “I understand, my son, but please let me try to be here for you now.” He looked up at Luke, tilting his head just enough to expose his neck—a gesture that caught Luke off guard, especially from an Alpha, a god. “I’m trying.”
Taken aback, Luke’s mind raced as he struggled to process this uncharacteristic shift in his father’s demeanor. Yet, the child within him—the needy pup who longed for his father and had never truly faded—whined insistently in his ear, drowning out his better judgment and the hurt that simmered beneath his ribs.
In that moment, Luke caved.
Tentatively, and feeling more vulnerable than he liked, Luke scuttled closer to the entrance, his eyes scanning his father’s face. “You won’t leave? You’ll be here?” he asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. Narrowing his eyes, despite feeling as fragile as glass, he added, “If you leave again, I’ll hate you forever.”
Crooning low in his chest, Hermes leaned over, his scent enveloping Luke as he extended a hand to cradle his cheek. “I’ll stay.”
Despite himself—despite all the hatred, hurt, and anger that lingered within him—Luke felt a flicker of comfort unfurl in his chest. A glimmer of hope emerged, suggesting that he could have what other pups, normal pups, had: a real father.
Hermes gently rubbed his thumb along Luke’s cheek, coaxing him to relax. He let out a soft purr, a sound of contentment, but it quickly turned to confusion as he felt a wrist brush against his neck. Luke snapped his eyes open, but Hermes merely shushed him, his scent spiking again.
“Parents scent their pups,” his dad explained, though his voice carried an odd tone, and the glimmer in his eye made Luke want to hide.
Yet Hermes wasn’t wrong. Luke had seen parents scenting their children countless times, and deep down, he longed for that bond, even if he would never say such a thing out loud. But he had never seen it done with neck glands before…
Maybe it was normal?
Luke wouldn’t know. So, he just swallowed back his discomfort and let his father scent him. The unease flickered beneath his skin but gradually faded as he began to acclimate to the sensation.
Before long, he found himself purring once more.
Hermes smiled.
***
Luke felt strange.
He drew in a deep breath, trying to ignore the near-unbearable warmth gathering low in his gut, though a shiver still crept over him. He’d been feeling strange for days now and had initially chalked it up to a cold—his new nest was out in the forest, after all, and he’d spent countless hours outside training, seeking solitude, or even, unexpectedly, spending time with his father, who seemed to be keeping his promise.
But now, all he wanted was to retreat to his nest, seclude himself for a few days, away from all the clashing, overbearing scents that crowded his sensitive nose.
A shiver prickled down his spine, and Luke couldn’t ignore the urge any longer. Rising carefully from his bed, he moved quietly through the cabin, where every pup was deep in their sleep, as he had been—until he was forced awake by that odd, uncomfortable feeling. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, digging at him from somewhere deep in his gut.
He wanted something, though he couldn’t name it, and the ache only grew sharper the more he tried to push it aside.
Stepping outside as quietly as he could, Luke felt the air hit him, somehow both soothing and aggravating, each brush of it against his heated skin sparking fresh shivers. His nerves felt frayed, every inch of him too raw and exposed, and all he wanted was to return to his nest—somewhere closed off, where he could finally rest.
Ignoring the harpies, who, unexpectedly, barely spared him a glance as he slipped by, Luke moved through camp in a fog. His feet carried him forward, guided by some instinct he couldn’t quite name, leading him onward while his mind floated somewhere distant, out of focus.
Soon, with a deep sigh of relief, he reached his nest and hurried inside, burrowing into his blankets and breathing in through his mouth. Gradually, he relaxed a little, but soon another wave of heat hit him and he whined a bit, though he was too out of it to feel embarrassed by the sound that escaped him.
Shivering, he gasped and struggled to steady his breathing, feeling sweat making his skin sticky and his clothes cling uncomfortably to him. It was strange, a deep rational part of his mind noted, since the night was cold. But he didn’t listen to it, couldn’t actually.
As he gasped, he suddenly caught a scent—musky, woody, familiar, and strangely irresistible—on the air. He needed it. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he followed it almost blindly, grasping the soft object and burying his face into it desperately, taking deep gulps of air. It almost calmed him down, until another wave hit him, an itch growing between his legs, prompting him to rub his thighs together as prickles of pleasure coursed up his spine.
Then, something slick and warm released from him, wet and sticky.
In the back of his mind, he recognized what was happening, a part of him cursing for not realizing it sooner. But in that moment, he was too lost in the haze to heed that inner voice, overwhelmed by the sensations that crashed over him.
He had no sense of how long he’d been lost in his stupor, only that he had somehow burrowed deeper into his blankets. Then a scent, potent and alluring, washed over him, making his knees feel weak—he would have fallen if he hadn’t already been lying down. Unconsciously, he propped himself up, clutching the blankets as he squinted toward the tree nook that marked the entrance.
There stood Hermes, his blue eyes fixed on Luke, intense and unblinking.
For a moment, neither of them moved, but then the scent thickened, enveloping him and settling heavily in his nest. If he’d been thinking clearly, he might have found it rude, but instead, a moan escaped his lips as slick pooled beneath him, mingling with his own scent in the air.
Hermes’s nostrils flared, and his gaze deepened, darkening with an intensity that sent a shiver down Luke’s spine. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he crouched and squeezed himself into the small space, his larger frame fitting awkwardly against the snug entrance—Luke’s hindbrain noted this with a strange, giddy thrill.
Before long, his father loomed over him, and Luke felt too dizzy to care about much of anything—he needed something, desperately. But then, suddenly, the blankets were being yanked away from him. When Hermes reached for his special blanket, Luke hissed, baring his fangs in warning.
For a heartbeat, everything was quiet, then his father’s voice broke through, rough and low, “Luke, I can help you. Let Dad help you.”
Furrowing his brows, Luke struggled to focus on Hermes’ face, but another wave of heat washed over him. He swallowed back a whine, attempting to bury his nose in the blanket when a hand gripped the back of his neck with a low growl, pressing him against something else. He nearly bit down with a hiss, but then the scent hit him—musky and inviting. Almost instinctively, he leaned in, brushing his nose against the source and inhaling deeply, drinking in the aroma as if he were gasping for air.
“Such a good Omega,” Hermes murmured into his ear, his warm breath sending shivers across Luke’s skin and igniting a thrilling sensation within him that drew a moan from his lips.
Luke was good; his father was saying he was good.
Hands glided over his back, one slipping lower to nudge beneath his shirt, traveling toward his front—the touch a welcome chill against his heated skin. He was so relieved that he didn’t register the hand moving lower until it brushed against the soft folds of his pussy, causing him to jolt and whine. With a husky drawl, Hermes whispered, “You’re so wet for me.”
Choking back a moan as the fingers rubbed against his pussy, Luke buckled slightly and whined, his voice breathy, “Dad.”
Faster than he could react, the hand withdrew, and he was pulled away from the scent. He nearly whined in protest, but then hands began tugging at his clothes, and soon he was bare—a relief to his heated skin.
“So pretty,” Hermes murmured, his large hands gliding over Luke’s sides before gripping his hips tightly for a moment. The pressure was so intense that Luke wondered if there would be marks on his skin afterward, sending another rush of warmth through him and making him shudder as slickness trickled out once more.
“Eager too,” his dad murmured, a trace of amusement in his voice, though it seemed strained as he readjusted Luke’s limbs, which was easy enough since he was limp.
Gripping Luke’s hips, Hermes drew him closer, wrapping one arm around each leg and bending them back to spread him open. The sensation made Luke whimper, his head falling back in response.
A hand caressed his legs, and soon a warm jolt of air brushed over his inner thigh. Luke heard his father muttering, his lips grazing the sensitive skin with each word, eliciting a frustrated sob from him; he needed something.
He needed it now.
“I’ll take care of you well,” his dad promised, his voice growing huskier as he added, “So well.”
Then, he began to place open-mouthed kisses on Luke’s inner thigh, teasingly brushing his teeth against the skin and sucking gently as he traveled lower. Luke clawed at the sheets beneath him, unsure of what to do with himself. Suddenly, he threw his head back, a long, breathy moan escaping his throat as he felt fingers parting his pussy and something warm and wet lightly flick against his clit.
The touch was feather-light, but Luke was so sensitive.
As if encouraged by the sound, the tongue pressed more firmly against him, and soon Luke was a moaning mess, arching his back as Hermes sucked on his clit. His tongue lapped over Luke’s pussy like a hungry man, those eyes fixated on him with a dark, animalistic gaze that made Luke feel both like prey and filled him with a thrilling shiver down his spine.
He felt a finger press in, producing a wet sound, but it didn’t hurt—he noted that in the back of his mind—as it entered easily. Hermes continued to lap at his pussy while thrusting his finger inside, a warm sensation blossoming in Luke’s lower belly. Soon, a second finger joined the first, then a third, overwhelming him with gasps and sobs. The sensation intensified, building within him until it erupted, causing Luke to arch his back and let out a keen cry. He grasped Hermes’ hair tightly as his hips bucked and he spasmed in pleasure.
Shivering, his legs twitching, Luke let his head fall back, going limp. Soon, he felt himself being maneuvered again, adjusted until his front pressed against the ground, his hips raised and supported—barely—by his trembling legs.
He didn’t have to worry much about that, as hands soon gripped his hips tightly. Hermes leaned over him, draping himself across Luke’s back and enveloping him in warmth and that familiar musky scent. With a low rumble, his dad nipped at his ear before lightly rubbing his face against Luke’s neck—scenting him, a primal part of Luke noted, relishing the moment.
Then, something larger than the fingers began to push into him, stretching him in a way he had never experienced before. Luke choked back a sound, clawing at the ground as he instinctively tried to pull away, but Hermes growled in his ear, tightening his grip on Luke’s hips and effortlessly holding him in place.
In response, Luke let out a sob.
“It’ll feel good soon enough, Thēsaurós,” Hermes rasped in his ear, his voice low and husky. As he released more of his scent, Luke shuddered, slickness oozing from him in response to the stimulation, allowing the cock spearing him to enter more easily.
And just as his dad had said, as the cock slid inside him, Hermes’ hips rocked lightly, sending sharp spikes of pleasure coursing through Luke, leaving his mouth agape.
Soon enough, the god found his rhythm, leaning back and sliding his hands from Luke’s hips, his palms gliding over his heated skin before settling on his shoulder blades. Pressing his weight down, he held Luke firmly against the ground as he began to snap his hips forward faster.
Powerless, Luke could only moan as he heard the wet squelch of the cock thrusting inside him, warmth flooding over him in waves. He shuddered again, feeling himself spasm around the thick length, causing Hermes’ rhythm to falter for a moment. Then, the god cursed something in Greek and gripped Luke’s neck, pulling him back until his back pressed flush against Hermes’ chest.
“You feel so fucking good around my dick,” Hermes murmured, tilting Luke’s head to the side until their lips collided. He pulled at Luke’s lower lip before kissing him fiercely, leaving bruises, never ceasing his thrusts as he devoured Luke’s moans.
Before Luke could catch his breath, Hermes pressed kisses against his cheek, trailing down his neck until his lips found the swollen scent gland. He pressed a soft kiss to it before lapping at the sensitive area, prompting Luke to throw his head back and grind against the cock.
His dad groaned against Luke’s skin, then sucked harshly at his scent gland. The hands on his hips urged Luke down as the rhythm grew wilder and more intense, losing all coherence and resembling a wild animal pounding into him.
Releasing Luke’s gland, Hermes grunted, positioning his lips near Luke’s ear as he pressed him down against the ground, pinning him beneath his weight. “Do you enjoy being mounted, Savrós? Do you want my knot?”
A knot. That was what Luke needed, a part of him cried out. He shuddered, whining desperately as he thrust his hips against his father’s, choking out a sob, his voice raspy and broken. “I do, please.”
“Ah, fuck,” Hermes groaned, burying his face in Luke’s scent gland as the pounding quickened to the point where Luke could barely breathe. “You’re so sweet.” As he sank deep into Luke, the sensation made Luke choke back a scream and sob, spasming around the cock inside him. This elicited a growl from Hermes, who tightened his grip just short of painful, his hips snapping forward violently a few times until he buried himself deep inside. Whispering possessively against Luke’s neck, he said, “And you’re mine.”
Without fully coming back to himself, Luke whispered breathily, “Yours.” His father responded with a croon, rubbing his head affectionately against Luke’s shoulder.
With a moment to catch his breath, Luke barely had time to process it before he felt the cock inside him growing larger. A primal part of him surged with giddy delight, while another part screamed in fear as he began to stretch, gasping from the pain. Digging his fingers into the ground, he tried to crawl away, but Hermes simply pulled him back, delivering a warning bite to the back of his neck, which made Luke sob. “It hurts, Dad. It hurts.”
Crooning in his ear, Hermes gently caressed Luke's sides, attempting to soothe him. Soon, though, he moaned low into Luke's ear, and Luke felt it—the knot finally settled inside him, warm gushes of cum filling him. He whimpered, taking a deep breath, but quickly stifled a gasp as his father sucked harshly against his scent gland once again.
His father rocked his hips, sending jolts of pleasure through Luke, even with the knot restricting his movement. Between licks on the gland, he heard him chant, “Mine, my sweet boy, mine.”
Instinctively, Luke turned his neck to the side, exposing it to Hermes in a sign of submission—he wasn’t fully aware of his actions, only that it felt right in the back of his mind. His father’s scent immediately took on a pleased edge, the musky aroma intensifying, making Luke feel so light-headed that he barely registered when Hermes’ fangs pierced his scent gland, causing him to scream.
A rush filled him, warmth flooding over him and overwhelming his senses until he briefly went blind, seeing stars. When his vision cleared, he found Hermes lapping at his neck, still joined by the knot.
As he slowly returned to himself, Luke couldn't help but wonder how he had been so foolish and naïve. The gifts, the meetings, that letter—he had reached the right age for his first heat, and his father had been waiting for it.