The Penguin Prompting Party: Day Two
Title: Gods of the Underworld
Word Count: 926
Rating: T
Summary: “Together,” she feels his hot breath linger on her ear again. “We shall rule the Underworld.”
Written for tromana, happy holidays!
The way he phrases his words makes a shiver dance up her spine, and causes her heartbeat to quicken-though Teresa Lisbon cannot dis-concern whether the shiver is in response to sexual pleasure as he racks the soft pad of his thumb under the soft swell of her breasts or in disgust, as what he makes her feel shouldn’t be possible.
For Red John is nothing more than a psychopath, who has killed over twenty individuals; mostly women-not limited to Samuel Bosco and his team, but also Jane’s-her coworker, and her friend’s-wife and daughter, years ago. For Red John is the man who not only had a hand in her disappearance, but he is also somebody who shouldn’t be pressed up against her-his voice in her ear, whispering unintelligible nothings as his hot breath lingers causing another shiver to rip through her body.
He shouldn’t be allowed to paint himself into a human being; he should be a monster; not a God.
He snakes his hand just the under the swell of her left breast again, and she can’t help but try and arch her body off the bed as he starts to speak again. “Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe you, Teresa.” He nips playfully at the side of her neck, and she wants so badly to shoot him-to put a bullet through his head, and watch him writhe in pain-watch him bleed-before watching the slow movement of his chest-rise up and down and down and up-come to a sputtering stop, for having put every single member within her unit in such pain-for making them wonder if they’ll ever find her alive, or just an empty hull-throat slit, killed in the way he kills of his women, and his calling card lingering above her naked, battered body-left to remind her team that evil does have a name, does have a form in the world. “You are everything a man desires in a perfect woman; beauty, intelligence, and…” He shifts his mouth to nip at her bare earlobe. “An excellent partner in bed.”
But even if she had her gun, she wouldn’t shoot him-she couldn’t-and they both knew that. He had spared her life, and in some twisted way, she felt indebted to him and she knew in some twisted way, he had come to appreciate her for the tool she was.
For most importantly of all, Red John knew nothing of love. He only knew the appreciation of beautiful and unattainable things, and she is something unattainable.
She doesn’t reply to his comment, but the sudden heat starting to pool beneath the paleness of her black and blue stained cheeks tells a different story entirely.
“Why are you blushing, Teresa?” He questions her, as he shifts to repress his warm bare chest against her bare back and she doesn’t answer him. Her quietness is not because she has nothing to say-in fact, she wants nothing more to move her lips and tell him how she truly feels toward this entire arrangement (because calling it anything more than an arrangement, makes it sound as if she actually wants to be there.)-but she knows the price that she will pay if she speaks out of bounds.
(The colorful blotches that adorn her skin tell that story, all too well).
She remembers back to when she had first stepped into the bedroom; he had demanded that she be quiet and complacent-for the bed, as he had told her while he stroked her hair and held her at a fingertip distance after putting her through hell hours before, is a place where she must pleasure him for he is a God, and she is nothing more than a mere mortal playing a foolish game, at a foolish price-her breath hitches in her throat as she feels his hands moving again, and she wonders just what her team would say if they ever discovered the truth.
He pauses in the gentle movement of his hand and she can feel him sliding one of her nipples in between the crevices of his cool, tough fingers-the pressure he applies is enough to make her whimper-he is a sadist; every time he decides she is not following orders or answering questions to his exact satisfaction he gifts her a punishment, and he gets off on it.
(Though she knows she shouldn’t, she briefly wonders if that is how he feels when he kills and it’s enough to make her sick.)
“I think I asked you a question, Persephone.”
She burrows her brows-the name sounds familiar, but her mind is too foggy to allow for clarity.
“Persephone?” Her voice is soft, but unyielding.
“Have you not heard the story of Persephone, Teresa?” She doesn’t immediately reply, he continues on. “Persephone was the Greek Goddess of Spring Growth in Greek Mythology; she was portrayed as extremely beautiful, but of course-she was the daughter of Zeus and Demeter.” He pauses. “One day, as the myth tells, Persephone was playing in a forest when Hades seized her as his bride and carried her off to the Underworld to rule besides him.” She hears him chuckle softly. “You both share a lot in common, you know? For Persephone couldn’t escape from Hades, and you could never escape from me.” Her breath hitches in her throat, and she suddenly can’t breathe. “Together,” she feels his hot breath linger on her ear again. “We shall rule the Underworld.”