She always loved the flowers. They were possibly the only reason she tolerated the mortal world. She never shared the extent of her mother's love (she would say obsession) for the fertility and agriculture of the earth.
The very image of a pure, obedient daughter, Molly reveled in the tiniest of rebellions. This field was off-limits, but who was to stop a goddess from enjoying the fruit of her labors? She was, after all, responsible for the beauty bestowed upon the flowers.
"Oh aren't you lovely?" She whispered as her eyes fell on a beautiful black rose, the only one in the vast field, dark, forbidding and giving off an aura of dangerous temptation.
She was never one to resist temptation, regardless of what her mother might think.
She plucked it, skillfully avoiding the thorns and placed it tentatively behind her ear. Wishing she had brought a mirror along with her, she cast her eyes around for a pool or lake of some sort.
"Black suits you," said a cold, deep voice from behind her. She twisted around quickly, heart hammering fast. Her blood ran cold.
Sherlock smirked at her, his green-blue eyes cold and fixed upon the flower in her hair. His slender fingers reached out to her and she took a frightened step back. He chuckled deep in his throat.
"Now, now, little goddess, you needn't be frightened."
"You're the Lord of the Dead," she managed to say, her voice strained. "Of course I should be frightened."
"I prefer King of the Underworld," he replied easily, taking another step closer to her and she nearly tripped trying to back away from him. He gave off the exact aura of the flower in her hair, that of dangerous temptation. "I see the Olympians have done good to alter your perception of me, little goddess."
She wouldn't argue with him there. All she knew of the King of the Underworld was from her mother, and Demeter had painted him as a cruel, disfigured old man who willingly ruled the dead with an iron fist. The Sherlock she saw now wasn't even in the slightest like that image. This Sherlock was young, thin and pale, dressed in robes of black, with high-cheekbones, full beautifully shaped lips, cat-like eyes whose color was shifting between green, blue and some other she couldn't put a name on, and with a slender, long neck that made her mouth water suddenly.
He smirked that infuriatingly smug lop-sided smirk, like he knew exactly what was on her mind right then. He advanced upon her again, and she backed up against a tree.
"Your advances are not welcome, my Lord," she squeaked, as he placed a hand directly above her shoulder and leaned in closer. His eyes blazed suddenly.
"Then explain to me-" he said darkly, nuzzling her neck, goose bumps rising on the skin there, "-why you smell of desire, my little goddess?"
"I do not!" she shouted indignantly, squirming to get away, but he grabbed her waist and pulled her tighter against him, his hard lean body pressed up against her soft, petite one. He pulled her brown hair to one side and she choked back a moan when he trailed his full lips down the scented column of her neck.
"Please," she stuttered out, "please, my Lord Sherlock, let me leave, I beg your forgiveness, please- oooh!"
He sucked hard on the place on her neck he had bitten moments ago, stopping only when he was certain there would be a mark.
"Now why would I do that?" He said his eyes now boring in her brown ones. "Why should I just let such a lovely flower slip from my grasp when she so willingly wanders into my garden?"
"Because my mother-"
He snorted derisively and tilted her chin up with the hand that wasn't gripping her hip painfully hard. Their lips met and Molly stopped thinking. His mouth forced hers open and she let him, bringing up a hand to bury it in his dark curls, just as his played with the brown locks at the back of her neck.
She had kissed before, mortals and gods alike, but those kisses were only at festivals and lasted the merest of moments. They did not make her feel like she was drowning. She latched onto him, both hands now burying into his hair and bringing him tighter, closer to her. He smelled intoxicating, like ambrosia and nectar, smashing away her inhibitions one by one.
She made a soft noise of disappointment when he pulled away from her lips, but immediately moaned when he raked his teeth over her collarbone, pulling away the strap of her dress from her shoulder to expose more of her skin.
"Do you want me?" He mumbled against her skin, and she looked at him in surprise. This was the first time since their encounter that his voice had sounded like that, almost pleading. His eyes were begging her as he stopped his ministrations and rested their foreheads together.
It was not a look she could have thought the King of the Underworld to be capable of forming. "Do you want me-" He kissed her again, chastely this time, "-as much as I want you?"
She shivered. There was something in his voice, the deep, deep voice that made desire pool in her center. But she couldn't just agree to whatever he was asking for. Mother wouldn't like it one bit. Mother would be so angry. Mother would lock her away if she agreed to Sherlock. Sherlock was taking advantage of her, that's what Mother would say. Mother would want her to resist temptation.
He kissed her again, mouth ravaging hers in an all consuming kiss that made her feel as if she was on fire.
She never was one for resisting temptation.
A/N: Hello all! Being a while, hasn't it? I missed you, my dear readers. Now, a lot of you wanted to see a Sherlolly based upon the story of Hades and Persephone. I made it into a Mythological AU. Sorry, but the muse wouldn't co-operate!
Now the real story of Hades and Persephone started out horribly dark with Hades raping Persephone before abducting her to the Underworld. I couldn't do that to Molly! (Or Sherlock)
This will be a short one, probably two more chapters that are already written (in my head as well as half a draft) because I prefer my Molly to be Hestia. Quiet, radiating power in the background is how I see Molly.
The next chapter will have loads of plot, sorry if this one is a bit….smutty.
Anyone else get a little wet thinking about Benedict in black leather? Ehehehe…
Like it? Hate it? Want me to stop writing and burn this fic? Let me know!