Chapter Text
"Mind if I join you?" Ares asked, towering over the table, drink in hand.
Thanatos drew a deep breath, glancing warily across the lounge where the rest of the cast and crew were enjoying the wrap party–drinking, laughing, and dancing together. He felt no sense of kinship or camaraderie with any of them. If he was honest with himself, he'd been phoning it in since day one.
He hadn't had any scenes with Ares–no one had. He was only here because he was very publicly dating his co-star and the industry's latest sweetheart, Aphrodite. To what extent it was a real relationship versus a PR act, Thanatos didn't know, nor really care. It was just a relief to know he'd be spared all the trite, invasive questions about whether his chemistry with her on screen might be an indicator that something more had blossomed behind the scenes.
Thanatos wanted to brush him off and finish his drink alone–but he was already beginning to earn a reputation for being reclusive, a downer, unpleasant to work with. If he didn't snap out of it, his agent warned, casting directors would have no problem finding somebody else. Star power faded, after all–even his.
"Not at all," he lied through a smile.
The corner of Ares' mouth tugged briefly into a smile and he pulled out a chair, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down. He had a commanding presence that Thanatos couldn't only attribute to his considerable height and broad shoulders, and he found himself staring as he took a sip of his drink.
Ares was intense, but he was also intelligent, eloquent–so much so that every profile of the man made sure to temper his macho image by pointing out that he'd actually attended one of the most prestigious acting schools in the world, and begun his career performing Shakespeare with prominent theater companies across London, New York, and Chicago–all to great acclaim. Most of this fell on ears who were quick to dismiss it all as the product of shameless nepotism. After all, his father was one of the most powerful people in the industry: the founder of Olympus Studios–the very empire that until only recently, Thanatos had been beholden to.
But whether the reviews lauding Ares as a young prodigy whose performance as Hamlet had 'set a new standard for the role' were genuine or in-kind didn't really matter. Because the roles Thanatos and the general public were more familiar with were the ones he now played on the big screen–in blockbuster films like God of War, Black Metal, and each of the installments of the ever-successful Spartan franchise.
"You know, I thoroughly enjoyed your work in Sunset Over Paradise," he said, voice rich and smooth as velvet.
Thanatos scoffed, embarrassed by the mere mention of the cliché romance film he'd shot last year. It had performed well, earning a generous profit at the box office–but such things had grown empty and meaningless to him over the last few years. "...Right."
"No, I'm serious," Ares insisted, scooting forward in his seat and leaning over the table on folded arms. "There's nuance there. The scene where Andrew finally reaches for Lilian's hand. The hesitation written over your face. It isn't just fear of rejection. There's something… deeper. It's haunted me ever since."
Thanatos took a swig of his drink and shrugged, but he was brimming inside. He had been proud of that scene; felt he'd managed to elevate the dreadfully uninspired script into something rousing and worthwhile. And yet it had been so easy. After all, all he'd had to do was think of the kind-hearted and gentle boy whose remote, palatial home his star-studded family used to spend their summers in. "...Thanks."
It was a strange kind of self-flagellation that he'd taken to over the past few years. Mining a decade of longing and restraint, guilt and shame for the emotional fuel to churn out one story of boy-meets-girl after another. On one hand, he needed to dig into that soil, rich and loamy and life-sustaining as it was–so he could remind himself that he was still capable of feeling anything at all. On the other, every stellar performance he gave only cemented his position as the go-to leading man for the very kinds of projects that were slowly causing his soul to atrophy.
"How is your brother, Hypnos?" Ares asked. "He doing alright?"
Thanatos sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking away. He reflexively began summoning the energy to recite the spiel his PR team had written for him. Hypnos has taken a step away from acting to enjoy his success and focus on himself. But he was so, so tired, and it wasn't as though his brother's drug habit wasn't already common knowledge.
"Not great," he answered honestly, for the first time in almost three years.
"Relapsed again?"
He flashed a wry smile and hiked his brows in response before taking another swig.
"I'm sorry to hear it," Ares offered with a sympathetic smile. "Recovery isn't easy."
"No," Thanatos mumbled. "I suppose not."
"It's a shame. Always thought he had a real knack for comedy. Timing, delivery, that sort of thing."
"Yeah," he agreed half-heartedly. After all, what other choice had Hypnos had–living in the shadow of a twin who was consistently regarded as the more talented, more handsome, more bookable of the two–than to become the fun one? The quirky one? The clown and the life of the very sort of party Thanatos was stuck in now.
"He's lucky to have you," Ares said.
Thanatos scoffed. He hadn't seen Hypnos in months. If not for the terse, periodic updates their mother relayed to him from the rehab center, he'd have no reason to assume he was still alive at all.
Gods, he didn't want to talk about his brother. Didn't want to have to think about him. Thanatos often wondered if perhaps he'd been less perfect all the time–or hadn't been fucking born at all–Hypnos could have enjoyed more of the spotlight he enjoyed, and wouldn't have been driven to the poison and pills that were ending his career so prematurely now.
Thanatos had grown silent for too long though, so Ares pivoted. "What's next for you? Anything interesting in the works?"
"Interesting?" He scoffed again and shook his head before downing the last of his drink. "No."
Ares tilted his head at him. "And what might you find interesting?"
Thanatos shot him a defeated look. As if it wasn't obvious. He'd waited virtually his entire life for his miserable contract with Olympus to run out, and now, five years later, all he had to show for it was a filmography made up almost entirely of trite romcoms. All summer blockbusters, sure–but he was starving for something–anything–with a little more substance.
Ares sighed. "You and I… we're not meant for this, are we?" he lamented. "These parties."
"Part of the job," Thanatos shrugged, frowning at his empty glass.
"Looks like they're having plenty of fun without us, though," Ares observed. "Think I'll nip into my room early tonight."
Thanatos fought the urge to roll his eyes. As if he gave a damn what time the man planned on going to bed.
Ares cast a cursory look around the party, and his hand crept meaningfully across the table. "You're… welcome to join me?" He offered, brushing a finger against the back of his hand–the faintest whisper of a touch, wrapped in a veil of plausible deniability.
Thanatos pulled away, concealing the suddenness of the reaction by coughing into his fist. "Excuse me," he said, making certain to sound as though he were apologizing for the cough, rather than the way he'd shrunk back in what must have looked like disgust.
Ares withdrew his hand, disguising the motion by grabbing his glass and looking across the room as though something had caught his eye. "It's alright," he murmured over the rim as he took a sip. "The staff here are… discreet."
Thanatos reigned in the mixture of embarrassment and panic he felt before it could reach his face. "I'm not sure I understand," he said flatly.
Ares slouched into his seat with a sigh. "Nevermind, then," he said, putting on a polite smile. "I apologize. Didn't mean anything untoward."
Thanatos bit his cheek, stealing a sideways glance at his company. To say that Ares was attractive would have been putting it mildly. He was classically handsome–with strong, chiseled features and a deep baritone voice that made desire coil in his belly.
After all, what Ares Mycenae was best known for–more than anything else–was for being a sex symbol with the kind of body one found sculpted in marble at a museum. His abs were on the cover of another men's fitness magazine every month, while his charming smile ensured copies of People, Cosmo, and Vanity Fair flew off of the stands. His image sold expensive colognes, designer jeans, and fast cars–and his countless talk show appearances never failed to include a segment where he removed his shirt and flexed his pectorals, or the pretty, blushing host was invited to feel his biceps–all while a live studio audience whistled, swooned, and squealed with vicarious delight.
Not that Thanatos wasn't a sex symbol in his own right. His image was just softer, and his target audience younger–women closer to his own age who had grown up watching him play the role of Jonathan Tanner on TV, devouring the fluff pieces from teen magazines about what he found attractive in a girl, and taping the clippings inside their school lockers.
If Ares Mycenae was the seductive bad boy that jaded housewives fantasized about having a steamy affair with, then Thanatos Skoteinós was the sweet boy next door that girls could safely imagine taking home to their parents.
It was a bit of a joke, honestly. Every aspect of his image being plucked and pruned to be as sexually appealing as possible, yet simultaneously squeaky clean and wholesome. In the end Thanatos didn't feel sexy at all; rather more like some artificial thing created in a lab, so far detached from the very concept of sexuality as to be completely devoid of it.
But that was just the thing, wasn't it? The sexuality he was meant to project wasn't real. Wasn't his own.
Thanatos looked around the room again, finding his costars and crew all over each other, and resentment bubbled inside of him. It felt ridiculous, having so much of this bottled up in him, never to act on, never to experience for himself. He wanted it so badly. To let himself be pursued, embraced, and touched–by a man.
He wiped a bead of condensation from his still-chilled glass and swallowed. "Discreet, you said?"
The corner of Ares' mouth twitched into a brief smirk that was gone in the blink of an eye. He reached into his jacket pocket idly, his eyes still scanning around the lounge, and produced a keycard.
"If you'd like to continue our lovely little chat," he said, and slid it across the table. "I'll be up shortly."
Thanatos furrowed his brows at the key, tucked in a sleeve with the room number scribbled on it: 748.
He was trying to think of what to say, how to backpedal, but Ares had already gotten up and walked back to where the others were preparing a round of shots. They toasted to something Thanatos couldn't quite make out over the thumping music, and knocked their glasses back.
He darted his eyes around the room furtively, checking the corners, the doors, behind him, above him. Satisfied no one was looking, he took the keycard and slipped it into his pocket–where it burned as he watched Ares make his rounds from one cluster of merry guests to another. Thanatos couldn't help but notice how well he fit in among them–drawing bubbling giggles from the women, and boisterous cheers from the men. The longer he watched, the hotter the keycard burned, and the more he realized he didn't just 'find Ares attractive'; he wanted him.
Thanatos lingered at the party for a few more minutes before slipping away and heading for the elevators. His mouth was dry as he stepped inside and pushed the button for the seventh floor. His own room was on the eighth.
The buttons are right next to each other, he told himself. An easy mistake to make.
He rubbed his sweating palms on his pant legs, studying his reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator as it began its ascent. His clothes felt tight around the collar, and he plucked at the back of his shirt, trying to shake away the sweat gathering there. His stomach lurched as the lift stopped, and some part of him expected the seventh floor to look different from the eighth. But of course, it had all the same halls, All the same doors, all the same carpet in the same nauseating pattern. He followed the signs that directed him. 701–24 to the left, 725-49 to the right.
"Good evening, sir," a woman bowed as she passed in the hall, pushing an empty room service cart.
"Evening," he mumbled back, ducking his head. Could she tell? Sense it? That he didn't belong here? That he was out of his depth?
Just when he thought he was in the clear, she blurted after him, "We hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mr Skoteinós!"
His face flushed with heat. Of course she'd recognized him. He already had to look suspicious, anxious and sweaty as he was. He could imagine the tabloid headlines already: Thanatos: Dazed and Confused - Could Addiction Run in the Family?
The anxiety in his chest began to bubble over. There was one thing he could do to mitigate that risk though–one thing he could do make himself feel in control again. He stopped in his tracks and spun on his heels. "Actually…. Could you help me?"
Her face brightened as she turned to face him, her cheeks a flustered shade of pink. "Of course, sir. What um... what can I do for you?"
"I'm sorry. I'm just a bit lost, is all," he fibbed. "I… can't seem to find my room?"
"Oh?" She raised her brows, watching expectantly as he dug into his pocket.
"H-here–" he stammered, showing her the key to his own room.
She studied it for a moment, then smiled. "You're on the eight–the eighth floor, sir. This is the seventh."
Thanatos mustered his best look of bafflement. "Oh–" he shook himself. "Could have sworn it said seven. Some party downstairs," he joked, before taking the key back.
She laughed–a charmed, giddy thing. "I can show you to the elevators?" She offered happily.
"No–" he blurted. "No, I know the way. I'll just um… take a lap, if that's alright. Walk the drink off a bit. Thank you."
"Oh, alright then," she said, disappointment casting a shadow over her cheerful expression. "Good evening, Thana–Mr Skoteinós. Let us know if you need anything." She did a humble gesture resembling a curtsy, but seemed rooted to the spot, unable or unwilling to move.
The look on her face was one Thanatos knew all too well. As though he were the sun, and she wanted nothing more than to bask in his warmth a little while. He swallowed his indignation and pride. He might be out of his depth with Ares, but this, at least, was familiar territory: giving away little pieces of himself. He'd done it so many times and for so long, there were hardly any original parts left anyway. "...Would you like an autograph?" He offered.
Her blush deepened, and she chuckled nervously, shaking her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't impose–"
"It'd be my pleasure," he lied and checked her name tag, "...Julia."
"Oh," she tucked and untucked her hair from behind her ear twice before finally digging into the pocket of her apron for a notepad and pen. "Well, if you um... okay."
He accepted them from her gently, letting their fingers touch just long enough to give her something to tell her friends about later. "Who should I make it out to?"
She seemed to hesitate, considering her answer. "...Jules?" She suggested, shifting on her feet anxiously. "Um, all my friends call me Jules."
"Of course," Thanatos smiled and began to scribble onto the notepad.
Jules–
Thanks for helping this poor, lost soul find his way ;)
–Thanatos
"There we go," he handed it back to her.
She studied the note, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you so much," she swooned.
"Thank you," he nodded, waiting for her to look back up at him before punctuating it with, "Jules."
She stammered for a moment, then shook it off. "I'm sorry. I know this is LA and we have famous people here all the time but... well, I-I've been a huge fan of yours since the Life In Erebus days."
He huffed a little laugh through his nose and smiled, the predictability of the whole exchange as grating as it was oddly comforting. "I appreciate that. Thank you."
"We're all rooting for Hypnos, by the way," she added. "To um, get better."
Thanatos forced himself to smile a little longer, already feeling his patience beginning to wear thin. "I'll be sure to tell him that," he said through a pang of guilt. "His fans' support means a lot to him. More than you know."
Julia nodded solemnly. "Anyway, um... yeah," she perked herself back up. "If you uh, need anything... Well, that's what we're here for," she chuckled.
"Of course," Thanatos nodded again, with a little more finality this time. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Jules. Have a lovely rest of your evening," he said, and finally continued down the hall–not letting his smile slip until he rounded the corner. After all, a little good faith was a small price to pay to make sure that the people who ran into him would remember how nice and charming he was, rather than how tense, curt, or strange.
But tense was exactly what Thanatos felt as he watched the numbers of the doors climb.
740, 742, 744, 746…
If he didn't know any better, he'd swear something was different about door 748. That it was somehow bigger than or further apart from the others. He glanced over his shoulder to look down the hall one last time before taking out the keycard Ares had slipped him.
It wasn't as though it was some point of no return, he told himself. He could open the door, take a peek inside, and simply head back to his own room. Have a little laugh about it later as he slipped into the crisp, undisturbed linens waiting for him there.
He swiped the card, clamminess overtaking his fingers when the little indicator light blinked green. Holding his breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.