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Hermes wakes suddenly when light spills into his room like water from a cracked pitcher. He sits up, eyes trailing along the bright patch permeating the carpet until they reach two pairs of socked feet, then moving upward until they settle on the faces of Hades and Hythlodaeus.
“Good evening,” says Hythlodaeus sweetly, his mouth curving into a smile that shows all of his teeth. Both of them stand there in their regulation nightgowns that Hermes too wears: black and shapeless, reaching down to their calves. The fabric of each of them is rumpled, and Hythlodaeus’ hair is out of its customary braid, falling over his back. Hades’ silver locks are tangled, smushed on the side that he undoubtedly puts to the pillow when he lays down to rest. “Neither of us could sleep tonight,” Hythlodaeus continues, gesturing vaguely with a hand.
Hermes, still dazed and groggy, nods dimly and reaches to his side to turn on the light, engulfing the room in a warm glow.
“What ails you?” he asks, yawning. He is both faintly annoyed to be awoken from his slumber and determined to play the part of the good host; while the Chief Architect has visited Elpis several times before, this is Emet-Selch’s first time and he would hate for his duty as the Chief Overseer to be reflected poorly to the Convocation.
“Oh, I’m sure you know, Hermes,” Hythlodaeus answers, lavender eyes twinkling and his smile never breaking as he turns his gaze to his partner. “Go on, darling,” he encourages. “Like we talked about.”
Hades lets out a long-suffering sigh, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, doing his best to look unbearably bored.
“I’m still not sure this is the best way to solve this problem, Hythlodaeus,” he says, but his voice is resigned. Hermes imagines that Hades, married to someone like the Chief Architect, is quite used to dealing with all matters of the man’s…proclivities. Hermes has not only heard what Hythlodaeus has done with some of the concepts that he has approved, the very man has eagerly told Hermes himself.
“On the contrary, I am quite certain,” Hythlodaeus says, eyebrows knitting together as he presses his hand to the small of Hades' back, giving him a little nudge. “Go on.”
Hades sighs again. “Hermes,” he starts, acquiescing and sauntering toward him, steps silent against the floor. Hermes belatedly realizes that he should stand up, and pushes the covers back hastily, rolling his legs off of the bed until they hit the floor. Hades averts his eyes politely, and Hermes wishes he was wearing his robes. Nothing but his ankles are exposed, but he feels naked under Hades’ clear disgust, whether it is with him or the situation, whatever it may be.
“Yes, Emet-Selch?”
“This is about the offer for the Seat of Fandaniel, as I am sure you have ascertained.”
Hermes lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Oh,” he responds, frowning. “I…”
“You’ll be taking the Seat,” says Hythlodaeus, stalking forward to join his partner. There is something about his gait that is unsettling with only the thin fabric of his nightgown to cover his legs rather than the thick fabric of his robes. He is not walking as any other person would; rather he lopes forward like an animal, a predator tracking its prey.
“I would have some time to consider,” Hermes responds, taking a step back before he knows what he is doing, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the bed. It must strike a nerve in some way, a faint buzz spreading down his calves like he is a baby taking their first steps. “I – I’m not sure whom I would place as my successor here. And I have the Meteia to think about as well, and –”
Hades pinches his nose.
“We don’t have time for you to think about it, Hermes.” He is still looking determinedly to the floor. “I came here to convince you, and –”
“We just think you need a bit more convincing,” Hythlodaeus interjects. “Don’t worry,” he continues brightly. “Nothing that would hurt you, just…a little push. Right, dearest?”
Hades grunts, and Hermes feels an uncomfortable weight drop in his chest, unsure what Hythlodaeus could mean. Surely they don’t mean to…force him to take the job by physical means? Are they planning to abscond with him back to Amaurot, to leave Elpis free of an overseer until they establish his replacement? It seems terribly out of character for their Emet-Selch, usually so diligent and orderly.
“I still find this distasteful,” he says, frowning. “Can we not just –”
“Oh, come now!” says Hythlodaeus. “You know this will be much more fun.”
“Ugh.”
“Please, Emet-Selch?” Hythlodaeus asks, turning his gaze back toward Hades. “We are in the privacy of his bedroom and everything! Think of it as no different than what you and I get up to when we are alone.” His eyes look impossibly large, lips turning down into a childish pout. It is not a secret amongst those holding positions of authority on Etheirys that the current Emet-Selch is absolutely taken with his husband, and would do whatever he asked should Hythlodaeus only resign to a little begging. And now, watching Hades melt before him, the seemingly permanent pinch between his eyebrows smoothing out, another great suffering sigh exhaling from his lips – Hermes realizes just how true that claim is. He is not sure it bodes well for him.
“Yes, alright,” Hades relents, and reaches a hand forward. Reflexively, Hermes finds himself reaching out with his own hand to take it, but Hades startles him at the crest of the moment: instead of grasping around his fingers, he pushes Hermes back against the bed until he trips over his heels and falls onto it gracelessly. “So long as you keep the details of our private life private.”
Hades’ face is bright red, and Hythlodaeus looks delighted.
“Of course, darling,” he says. “And this, of course, will be between the three of us.”
It is not until this moment that Hermes realizes what they intend to do.
“Wait,” starts Hermes, but Hades does not stop, moving forward until he is close enough to sit on Hermes’ lap and stifle his thighs. And Hermes shamefully leans back instinctively, waiting for it. But instead of doing – well, Hermes is not sure what he expects Hades to do. Perhaps to kiss him forcefully, or to lift his robe and present his cock? But Hades simply tugs at Hermes’ nightgown and lightly pulls, jerking his chin forward.
“It will be easiest if you disrobe,” he says, and Hermes watches as Hythlodaeus nods approvingly behind him.
“Are you going to…”
“To what?” asks Hythlodaeus, raising an eyebrow. The smile does not leave his face. Hermes doesn’t respond, and just gulps as he raises the hem of his nightgown slowly, hands shaking.
“Go on, say it,” says Hythlodaeus, placing a hand on Hades’ back, rubbing comfortingly.
“He doesn’t have to.”
“Hades,” says Hythlodaeus, eyes rolling as he looks sidelong at his husband. He doesn’t sound angry, not really, just exasperatedly fond as he drops the formality of his title. “This isn’t seduction, we are here to put him in his place. Now, of course we will be gentle, but we do not need to wait for something so trivial as consent.”
“If you say so,” Hades murmurs, and then turns back to Hermes, eyebrows knitting together again.
“So you –” starts Hermes, finally letting the words dance over his tongue. “You’re going to – to have sex with me. We’re going to have sex.”
Hythlodaeus laughs. “It’s so kind of you to put it that way.”
Hermes smiles uneasily, unsure of what else to do with his face as he pulls up his gown until it’s over his chest and then over his head in one fell swoop. He feels terribly exposed like this, and though the temperature of the room is controlled and pleasant, he can feel his nipples harden under the air. He has never been naked like this in front of another, not even Meteion, who knows him more intimately than anybody. But how can he deny one of the members of the Convocation? How can he fight against one of the greatest mages on Etheirys?
“There’s no need to be scared,” says Hythlodaeus. “Like I said, we will be gentle. Isn’t that right, Emet-Selch?”
“Yes, yes,” says Hades, finally deigning to touch Hermes. And when it comes, his hands are warm against Hermes’ stomach, sweeping across it gently before he digs his fingers into the waistband of Hermes’ smallclothes and pulls them off. Hermes lets him, cringing inwardly, but unable to act.
“Gorgeous,” Hythlodaeus murmurs, and Hermes chances a glance at him. There is nothing remarkable about his privates, he doesn’t think. His penis is still flaccid with stagnant fear, and beneath it, his cunt is nothing special. It’s just a cunt, covered in sparse black hair, with the folds of his labia peeking out beneath his slit.
He shrugs, and Hades nods approvingly.
“It is a rather nice cock,” Hades says, taking it into his hand, rolling the foreskin between his thumb and forefinger.
“I bet Meteion likes it,” Hythlodaeus says, peeling his own nightgown off and tossing it to the side, the motion met with a scowl from Hades. “Though it would be nicer were it…well, erect. But soon enough!”
“Really?” Hades asks, but he doesn’t remove his hand from where it’s working at Hermes, who is embarrassingly beginning to grow hard. Hermes feels a fleeting moment of gratitude – there is no need to bring Meteion into things – but then Hades plows onward. “Can you not be bothered to fold it, if you are going to take it off? And are you not wearing your underthings again? You are going to be the death of me, Hythlodaeus.”
“Oh, you would never return to the Star without me,” Hythlodaeus chuckles, and Hades makes a little aborted motion with his shoulders that Hermes assumes is an assent. Despite the casualty the sentence is uttered with, there is something terribly intimate about it all, and perhaps it is the discomfort of witnessing such a thing that makes Hermes blurt out what he does next.
“I’ve never – done that with Meteion,” he confesses. “I’ve never done that with anyone.” It is the shameful truth. In all of his several hundred years he has never once taken a lover. That is not to say that nobody has caught his eye, but he knows that it is not right to inflict his dreadful loneliness onto another.
Hades, frustratingly, doesn't look all that surprised, rather the corner of his lip turns up thoughtfully as he continues what he is doing. Hythlodaeus, however, claps his hands together excitedly.
“Never! Well, how lucky for us. And truthfully, Chief Overseer, I am impressed. If I had Meteion’s young cunt by my side at any given time, I just would not be able to help myself!”
Hermes swallows down his disgust at Hythlodaeus’ comment and turns his gaze back to Hades instead. It’s not as if he has never given into the thought of lifting Meteion’s skirt, of pressing his lips against her, but he knows that these desires are just a product of his weakness. Of his unique despair, which he should not feel.
“Well –” he starts, feeling like he has to explain himself, but Hythlodaeus cuts him off, shaking his head before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Hermes’ lips. Hythlodaeus’ mouth is impossibly soft, and his tongue feels strange when it pushes against Hermes’ own. It doesn’t prod with curiosity or questioning, rather it demands, pushing its way between his lips and slipping inside softly.
It feels horrible. But at least it has distracted him from the way that, between his legs, Hades’ hand has moved from his dick down toward his cunt, two fingers slipping inside. Hermes isn’t very wet, and the fingers feel strange inside of him; obviously foreign and nothing like when he touches himself. Hythlodaeus continues to kiss him sweetly as he lays Hermes back and climbs on top of him, straddling his chest like he is doing something so mundane as mounting a gwiber to take a leisurely flight. Hythlodaeus is certainly wet, smearing his juices over Hermes' skin, and his cock is already half-hard against Hermes’ chest, poking out of the thatch of purple hair there, as pleased as a child on their fiftieth nameday.
“Hades knows what he is doing,” Hythlodaeus tells him, his tone almost conspiratorial against his lips, his neck, as he mouths at it like a starving man. “We wouldn’t want to hurt you, after all.” His purple irises shine brightly, and Hermes gets the feeling that he might very much like to hurt him. “We’ll make it feel good for you.”
“I think –” Hermes starts, trying to get some semblance of control over the situation, though his words are muffled against Hythlodaeus’ tongue working at him, his teeth poking into his lips. “I think Emet-Selch will fit alright.”
“Ah, Hermes.” Hythlodaeus surprises him by pulling away as he responds. “You show your naïveté in thinking that Hades would settle for one cock inside of you.”
By the time Hermes registers what that means, Hythlodaeus is already coaxing his weak protest to quiet, his hand steadied against Hermes’ fast-beating heart.
“Shhh,” encourages Hythlodaeus, pressing a finger to his lips. He rocks back and forth, and Hermes can feel the way Hythlodaeus’ pussy rubs against him, the folds dragging along the flat panes of his stomach. It feels itchy and strange, and he longs for his nightgown. At the very least, Hythlodaeus has grown completely hard, and his dick no longer pokes at the muscled swell of Hermes’ chest; rather it sits flush against his own stomach as if it is proud of what it is doing. “Let Hades open you up, sweetheart.”
Hermes shivers. The endearment is to throw him off as much as it is to lovingly annoy Hades, Hermes assumes, and he hates to admit that it is working. Between the impending penetration and Hythlodaeus’ sweetness, he doesn’t – doesn’t know what to think, how to feel. Nobody has ever called him that before, but this – he doesn’t want it like this, and his cheeks burn red and hot against the air, making him shiver.
Hermes can feel three fingers inside of him now, Hades’ thumb pressing curiously at his labia as he turns his fingers upward and crooks them like he is beckoning Hermes forward. A strange noise pulls out of Hermes’ throat. He has fingered himself of course, fucked himself on a faux cock even, after the creation was enthusiastically approved by the Bureau – it’s not frowned upon to do such things in private, it’s even considered healthy – but this feels different. He’s never put more than two fingers inside of himself, and even so, his are long and thin where Hades’ are thicker. And his nails are long, poking at the sensitive skin of Hermes’ cunt. Hermes works with all manners of creation, from small and harmless to large and dangerous, and he keeps his nails short so as not to harm them. Hades has no need of such things, not the most eminent Emet-Selch, Keeper of the Underworld.
“Enough of that, dear,” calls Hythlodaeus, finally moving off of Hermes, the movement graceful where Hermes knows that he himself would clamber unceremoniously. “Let’s get him wet. It will help.”
“Would you like to do that, or shall I?” Hades asks, sounding almost bored. “You do enjoy licking at mine.”
Hythlodaeus grins, a small dimple pressing into his left cheek. “Oh, but you so love to bury your tongue in mine. Shall we both have a try? Two tongues for two cocks?”
“The best idea you’ve had all day,” Hades mutters, and Hermes can hear the way his knees shuffling over to make room make the springs of the mattress twang softly. He doesn’t even try to get up, to resist, weak as always, so different from his peers. And they want him for the Seat of Fandaniel. It all feels like some sort of elaborate joke.
“You love my ideas,” Hythlodaeus says, laughing softly. Again, Hermes can’t help the sharp tinge of jealousy at his chest: their banter feels so intimate, so natural, and he feels so strictly like an outsider, an object. He is no different than one of the creations that Hythlodaeus stamps an approval for at his desk.
“Hmph,” mutters Hades, but then a tongue is moving against the underside of Hermes’ cock, and he can’t concentrate on what they’re saying anymore. It shouldn’t feel good, but the sensation is so unique and different to anything that he has ever felt. He barely has time to register the strange slide of wetness against him before there’s another tongue there, pressing against his labia like Hades’ thumb had before. It presses like it is asking for entrance, demanding it, and Hermes tries – he tries to have control over his muscles, to press his thighs together, but he can’t – he can’t move. It’s all too overwhelming.
“Hades, darling,” mutters Hythlodaeus after some time (Hermes has certainly lost track), his breath hot against Hermes’ cunt. “Do you mind disrobing? Really, we are in private, and I think he must be wet enough by now.”
Hades does not answer with words, not yet – he continues to lick at Hermes’ cock – so it’s him, then, that was moving up and down the shaft and nipping slightly at the foreskin – swirling his tongue around the tip in a practiced motion. Shamefully, Hermes has felt himself leak from both his dick and his pussy, and Hythlodaeus greedily drinking from it like a parched man at Hephaestus’ forge.
“Mmm, yes,” Hades agrees. “As…unorthodox as this plan is, I can admit it has some merit.” Hermes can picture him shaking his head, his golden eyes glinting in the dim lamplight bloating the room.
“See? And now Hermes will feel so good for us, like this.”
“You are correct, of course,” Hades says resignedly, and then he rises up so that Hermes can see him snap his fingers, the robe and underthings appearing in his hands afore his naked form. He is regimented about it, as Hermes might expect, folding them and placing them gently on the other side of the bed. Hermes shyly takes the moment to observe, chastising himself even as he continues to do so: Hades’ cock is larger than Hythlodaeus’ is, and Hermes wonders if those are the genitals he was born with or if he has enhanced them for this occasion. It would barely take anything for a mage like Hades to extend his shaft, to make sure it pressed against Hythlodaeus’ inside of him like one plate against another moments before an earthquake. Etheirys does not have many of those, of course, and any damage is easily repaired by the Words of Loghrif, but Hermes is familiar with them all the same. This, however, will be unlike anything he has ever known. He closes his eyes.
“You go first,” suggests Hythlodaeus, who has also drawn himself up on his knees so that Hermes can see the eagerness reflected in his eyes. “I want to watch before I join you.”
Hades is silent – too aroused, perhaps – but Hermes does feel the tip of him press against his slit. He is sure is cunt is gaping for him after the way they have prepared him, violated him; betrayed by his own physiology. He bites his lip to brace for it.
But surprisingly, the pain doesn’t come. He knows that he’s stretched around Hades’ cock, and he can feel the way he comfortably buries himself to the hilt, the wet skin of Hades’ pussy against his own. He is thoroughly open and slick for him, more than he has ever been when he fucks himself. Hermes imagines Hythlodaeus – smaller, but still nearly five ilms, and an average thickness around – pressing himself inside next to his husband, and he can feel his chest begin to expand and contract like the fluttering of a petalouda’s wings. There’s no way –
“Emet-Selch, I don’t think I can –”
“Hermes, sweetheart, do be quiet,” says Hythlodaeus with a gentle touch to his cheek. Hermes shivers in vague disgust, but whether it is at the gesture or the way he can’t help but hesitantly smile back at Hythlodaeus’ fond look, his charm, he does not know. “How does he feel, Hades?”
“Tight,” grunts Hades, an uncharacteristic rasp to his voice. “This is his first, remember?”
And then, Hades begins to move, in and out at a pace faster than Hermes would have expected of somebody so composed. Quick thrusts, the folds of pussy slapping against Hermes’ skin, it makes him groan involuntarily when Hades’ cock hits against the soft walls inside of him. It has undoubtedly only been a moment, but it may as well be an eternity for how it feels; Hermes imagines his cunt must look so stretched out, and he gulps in fear when he sees Hythlodaeus shuffle over.
“I think we’ll need to get him on his hands and knees,” he says, thumb and forefinger on his chin like he is doing no more than considering potential changes to a concept before he allows the approval. “I’ll get under him, and yes – like that.” Their hands are on his skin like paint to a blank canvas, staining it, and Hermes can do no more than obey as if his body were in control, as if – as if one of the highest ranking government officials wanted him this way and he had no choice. He thinks this darkly, resentfully, and then chastises himself for the treasonous thought.
Before he knows it, he lays over Hythlodaeus’ grinning face, braced on his forearms, knees pressing into the mattress. Hades wastes no time burying himself back inside.
“Hello,” says Hythlodaeus, taking Hermes' chin in his hand, running a nail over the cleft of it softly. Hermes wishes he wouldn’t be so gentle, but before he can even think about saying anything, the fingers of one hand slip inside of Hermes’ mouth, and the other curls around his back possessively. His mouth keens around them embarrassingly as Hades uses a thumb around the rim of his cunt to pry him open for his husband. And then – Hermes cannot see it, but he knows it from the sheer fullness that he feels – Hythlodaeus is working his way inside. His face spans several emotions as he does, mouth screwing up in determination as he pulls Hermes down onto his cock – both their cocks. Hades is undoubtedly sinking lower on his knees behind him as he continues to move in and out, just the slightest bit. And then – pure arousal and relief as he fully manages to replace Hades’ thumb inside of Hermes.
“Stars above, Hermes,” says Hythlodaeus in wonderment, his voice nearly a whisper. “We’ve never done this with another person! Only creations meant to withstand such things. And you – oh, doesn’t he just feel incredible, Hades?”
“This is truly something else,” agrees Hades, voice undone in a way that almost sounds unnatural for the man, with his clear, nasal tone. It hurts, how he is stretched around them in a way he did not know was possible. But as if they are oblivious to how it feels for Hermes, or more likely, as if they don’t care, the two of them move in tandem, as if they are one. Hermes feels abashed, chastised like he is violating something secret. But even so, his cock bounces along Hythlodaeus’ stomach, and it is so sensitive with feeling that he fears he might finish after what is only a few minutes. The tip of it is flushed nearly as red as his cheeks burn, and he aches, he hurts, the feeling of it all unfamiliar and unbearable.
“I think – Hades, I think he might finish soon. And I –”
“Yes, yes,” Hades interrupts. “Go on, I know what you wanted to do.”
Is – is he not supposed to finish?
Hermes swears he chokes in his throat as he thinks of it, humiliated to realize that he is whining as tears form in his eyes like he is a child. And with that thought, he has the horrifying realization that Meteion can feel this. She’s just next door – she doesn’t need to sleep, and no doubt lays awake in her room feeling his terror and panic, but worst of all, how cock-achingly hard he is. Does that stir her attention? Is her small clitoris engorging itself, her folds puffy and wet? Are her nipples hard, wrinkled and protruding over her tiny chest, aching for his hand? It feels like some outside force is racing up his shaft, along the vein until it stops at the tip to poke at it, forcing pre to leak out.
Distantly, Hermes feels hands on him again, shifting in position until they turn him over to his back, his body like a spinning top around the point of Hades’ dick. He grimaces at the metaphor in his head, staring at the ceiling and trying to concentrate on something else, the swirls in the paint, or the softly pulsing glow of the lamp – anything but how they’ve left their mark all over his insides and how badly he needs to orgasm.
“You’re so beautiful, Hermes,” says Hythlodaeus. “Not as beautiful as my Hades, of course, but a wonder all the same.” His thumb is running over Hermes’ chin again, and then his cheek, feeling as rough as a burlap sack although his touch is light and soft. Hermes closes his eyes so that he does not have to see the look on Hythlodaeus’ face, but this soon proves to be a mistake: something warm is engulfing his cock, wet and tight around it, and immediately he knows that it is Hythlodaeus’ cunt.
“What are you doing?” he asks, although he of course knows. He refuses to look. The way his voice shakes sounds pathetic.
Surprisingly, it is Hades who answers, speaking up from his place between Hermes’ thighs. He kneels on the bed like it is a throne. “Come now Hermes, you’re smarter than that. What does it look – sorry, feel like? You should open your eyes, you know. My Hythlodaeus looks beautiful when he…” He trails off, as if the sentence is not fit for polite company.
“Rides cock, Hades, you can say it,” Hythlodaeus coaxes, chuckling. Every time the name leaves Hythlodaeus’ mouth – Hades – Hermes winces.
Hermes imagines Hades wrinkling his nose, but looking impossibly fond as his husband indulges in such lewd phrasing, and his mouth slackens as Hythlodaeus continues to speak.
“I have to put on a show for my husband, of course, and besides…”
Hermes feels his hot breath against him as he leans down, his presence felt despite Hermes’ resolute stubbornness, his eyelids squeezed so tightly that it hurts. He speaks lowly, but the sound might shake a thousand men for how loud it sounds.
“If you finish inside of me, you might get me pregnant. Wouldn’t that be a delight?”
The world seems to bottom out. And by the time he registers the enormity of Hythlodaeus’ sentence, Hermes can’t help it: he lets out an unbecoming whimper of fear. He does not want that, does not want the world to know that he is responsible for impregnating the husband of…of Emet-Selch. Nobody would believe what had happened here, and then he would…he would forever be known as the one who took Hythlodaeus against his will, filling him with his seed and giving him a child before his husband could.
He would lose everything.
But still, as Hades fucks into him, and as Hythlodaeus moves himself up and down on his cock, he feels that terrrible and great pull in his vulva, moving up his dick. The sensation is familiar and his thoughts, unfortunately, turn to Meteion again. And it is all too much. It takes naught but the thought of her body beneath him: the sheer overstimulation is enough to make him shoot inside of Hythlodaeus, who stutters against him and moans as he does, raising his arms over his head and closing his eyes.
Like some sort of morbid domino effect, he can feel the way it spurs Hades into his own orgasm, driving himself inside of Hermes to spill, hot and wet. He can feel it leaking around Hades’ cock to trickle down his thighs. Hermes thinks that he might be sick.
“I’m – I’m –” he tries to apologize, to make any sort of noise come out of his mouth, although he doesn’t know what it is that he apologizes for. For his thoughts of Meteion? For his cum, leaking out of Hythlodaeus’ cunt? Or worst of all, for enjoying it as he was taken against his will; for the way his hole aches even as Hades carefully slides out of him, for the way his cock, still half hard, flops against his stomach as Hythlodaeus lifts himself off of it.
By the time he opens his eyes, the two of them are sitting side by side on the bed, Hades already reaching for his nightgown to cover himself. Hermes scrambles for his own. But Hythlodaeus stops him with a touch to his wrist, and Hermes watches as his other hand finds his husband’s thigh. It rubs softly before he turns and engulfs Hades’ mouth in a kiss.
“Don’t be sorry!” Hythlodaeus says, tone joyful as he finally pulls himself away from Hades. Hermes cannot stop the look of confusion on his face as he stares back. It is unbecoming, he knows that it is unbecoming. “There is nothing to apologize for, Hermes. Just accept the seat of Fandaniel, and all will be forgiven.”