Hypnos stretched slowly, starting with the slight curling of his toes, up the elongated muscles in his calves and thighs, through the long length of his torso, down the flesh of his arms and into his fingertips. It ended with the extension of his large, dark wings; they were not black, as his twin's were, but rather a deep yet lovely grey, peppered with the occasional black-tipped feather. Hyp folded the wings against his back and sat forward to look at his visitor.
He knew who she was, of course. Because he knew her mistress quite well. Better, he was aware, than he should but he could not regret that, despite feeling somewhat used. Truthfully, Hypnos knew whatever boon Hera had sent Iris to ask of him, he would do it; there were still tender thoughts for the Olympian queen in his heart, even now.
But a god had his pride, so he had no intention of leaping too swiftly just because Hera said jump. Or rather, she'd sent her messenger to say it for her. Which was, he supposed, the very point in having a messenger. He considered, for a moment, getting one for himself, then discarding the idea as impractical. A messenger would probably wake him too often.
Throughout his internal debate, he kept his heavy-lidded eyes fixed upon Iris. Which was certainly not a hardship. The titaness was simply beautiful in both form and face. Almost too perfect. She should be carved of marble rather than living flesh, that seemed more logical somehow. He wondered if she would like to meet his brother. Than needed more exposure to women outside their family to help him overcome his discomfort with the opposite sex.
He did not say any of that, however. Instead he asked in his slow and lazy drawl, “What request does the Queen of Heaven need ask of humble Sleep?”