"To some, a monster, and to others, a leader. Either way, I became god."
"Did you really? Do you think God becomes trapped?"
Having just earned your doctorate, you decide to work in the Azkaban Secure Facility for the Criminally Insane. There, you...
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Quickly, you split apart from Tom, spinning around at the 'bang' of the door closing. Everything screeches to a resounding, earth-shattering halt. Because Hestia Jones is stood in the doorway, slack-jawed and frantic. She looks terrified, horror seeping deeply into her features, into every pore in her body.
And she has seen you.
"Hestia – no, it's not what it looks like!" You call out desperately, striding towards her, reaching out and raising your hands in surrender.
"Get away from me!" She screeches shrilly, shaking intensely, tears gathering in her eyes as she snarls at you. "What the hell have you done?"
You can't help but recoil at her tone, before steeling yourself. It seemed best to treat her with caution, like a wounded animal. The glance you give Tom shows you that he's thinking the same – or at least closely to you. Though, he seems to be regarding her more as prey. And very, very suddenly it feels as though you're hunting together, stalking towards your next meal.
"Hestia," You say soothingly. You're acting far calmer than you feel – your heart is hammering against your ribcage, blood pounding in your ears. But, you're not afraid. You're terribly excited.
She backs herself up against the door, scrambling with the lock to no avail before giving up. Instead, she frantically, urgently, searches her pockets, scrabbling to find something that is simply not there. Hestia seems to realise this, letting out a gut-wrenching sob. "How could you?"
You shush her gently. "Let's just talk this all out." You glance at Tom, who's also slowly, covertly, edging his way towards her. He's rigid, wound completely tight, and his jaw is set. He looks positively predatory. In that moment, there is no you, Tom or Hestia. There are only two, big, great ugly beasts ready to tear their prey apart.
Hestia hisses and spits at you, a glob of saliva landing at your feet. There's conviction in her eyes, but she probably knows her fate just as well as you and Tom do.
Tom nods at you, as Hestia's eyes flutter closed for just an instant, and then, suddenly, you're upon her. You and Tom are working in tandem, in complete synchronisation. There are no individual moves or desires between you any more. You are almost one being.
Her head swiftly meets the door to the cell with a thunderous bang. It incites a pitiful yelp from her. There is dent in the door from the force of the hit. In a flurry of limbs, she's brought to the floor. Hestia resists you every step of the way, growling and yelling out for help. The screams aren't out of place in Azkaban. She lashes out, trying to scramble to her feet, but you quickly have her pinned down, flat on her back, with Tom holding her wrists above her head. Hestia snarls, shaking her head to the side and trying to kick up at you fruitlessly.
She looks absolutely frightened. There isn't a moment where she's not struggling against Tom's hold on her wrists, or trying to catapult you off her chest. Hestia's breathing heavily, terrified whimpers leaving her between ragged pants. You're straddling her chest now, one leg splayed either side of her ribcage, your hands clamped down on her shoulders as she wildly tries to escape you.
"Tom," You grunt, shoving Hestia harshly back to the floor. "What – fuck – what do we do with her?"
He pulls her wrists together to hold them in one hand, and with the other gently caresses your face, brushing a loose, wily piece of hair behind your ear. "We can't let her go."
"No, we can't." You agree. For a split second, you've relaxed too much into Tom's touch, and Hestia begins to pull herself upwards with a loud, agonising battle-cry.
Instantly, one of your hands balls into a fist, striking her hard across the face. Distantly, you can feel the shift of her nose beneath your knuckles and the sickening crack that follows, then the pain blooming over your fingers. And then, you do it again. And again.
You strike her face until her nose is a bloody, swollen mess, and she's pleading with you to stop. Her cries fall on deaf ears. Eventually, you pull back as her head rolls to the side, tears streaming down her face, collecting and moving her blood as they did so. Your knuckles are slick with blood, and hurt to move. Unclenching your fist causes you to wince, but the pain is secondary to Tom.
He looks absolutely wrecked. That fucking insane grin is on his face – the one that shows too many teeth. The one that's a primal, violent threat to everybody but you. There's a few scattered dots of crimson across his cheeks. Tom looks absolutely enamoured, completely drunk on power – completely drunk on the sight of you straddling the limp body of a member of the Order, covered in blood.
"Will you kill her?" Tom asks, his voice simultaneously, deep and breathless.
"Will you ask me to?" You retort. You're equally transfixed by him as he is by you.
"I want you to kill her." He breathes, gazing at you reverently.
