Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Annals of Fear II	By : DeathNoteFangirl Category: Death Note > Yaoi-Male/Male > Mello/Matt Views: 5803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note and I do not make any money from these writings

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
As soon as they were back in the chalet, Mello launched himself at the bed and lay there with his face buried in the pillow.   Matt stood for a few seconds watching him, not believing for one moment that his husband really did have a headache.   He'd actually been steeling himself for a ranting and pacing session, with maybe a sideline in wall punching.   Matt let his laptop carry case slide from his shoulder and he pondered the wisdom of opening it up to check his e-mails.    Mello lay immobile.   Matt concluded that it was probably best to sort the blond out first, then plug in.

"Mihael. Fuck 'em."    Matt watched the pillow being gripped even harder.   "You project manage me, then slowly initiate a coup from within."

Mello lifted his head and peered over his shoulder.   He hissed out a breath, then flipped over onto his back.   "It's just so fucking exasperating."

"Yeah, man."   Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the pool of light, from the streetlamps, illuminating the turf outside. After a while, he added,   "They should just acknowledge that you're the lord and master of the whole universe and all dissension is fallacy."   He felt Mello's eyes burning holes into the back of his neck.    "Let Century take the lead.   Then, when he fucks up, it will be a really sweet feeling when they come begging you for help."

"You are really not helping."

Matt nodded.   "I'll give you thinking space then."   He reached for his laptop and eased it out of the case.

Mello sat up against the headboard.   "Do you know why we haven't had sex for nearly two weeks?"

"Yes, you told me 13 days ago."   Matt opened the lid and switched the laptop on.   "Can't say I agree with your reasoning any more now than then, but since when did I have a say in it?"

"I just wanted, for once, for them to see you when you're not covered in bruises."   Mello continued, undaunted.   "And this is how they repay me."

Matt sighed.   "Mello, I'm going to be honest now."   He closed the lid before the screen had even loaded and popped the laptop under the bed out of harm's reach.   Then he turned to face his husband.   "They've dumped shit on you since you arrived, but you haven't done much better.    In fact, you've been getting increasingly irrational the longer this day's gone on."    He met Mello's wide-eyed pout head on.   "You're so much better than this.   If you stopped trying to win every little skirmish, then you'd have probably won the war by now."

"Sorry." Mello blinked.

"It's just really beneath you. That's all I'm saying."

"They bring out the worst in me."

"And you let them."   Matt replied.   "So deal with it instead of throwing a tantrum like a girl."

Mello's jaw dropped, his features animated in indignation.   But then he closed his mouth and didn't answer, even when Matt turned away and retrieved his laptop.   There was silence behind him for a long time, except for the occasional sucking and nibbling of chocolate, then the thump, thump of Mello's boots coming off and hitting the floor.    Mello finally became so silent and still that Matt assumed that he'd fallen asleep.   Matt became engrossed in an almighty flame war that had sparked up, in the EHC public forums, after H4x0r6 had told some noob to RTFM.   Bubbles was in there now trying to keep the peace and even she'd been told to GTFO by a friend of the OP.   It was like a little microcosm of a Wammy's House meeting, Matt decided, when the bed suddenly dipped behind him and Mello yanked him by his hair flat on his back.   "... the fuck?" Matt gasped.   "Mello!"

Mello crawled on all fours down Matt's body and took the laptop from him.    Mello slithered off the bed and his husband, onto his feet, and abandoned the machine on top of its carry case.    Then he turned to survey his husband.   "You were only farting around on your forum and you weren't even posting." Mello flicked back his hair, then straddled Matt's lap.    Matt had already risen, propped up on his arms.    Mello hooked a finger beneath his collar.   "I'm sure I remember talk of fucking you senseless and smacking you naked across my lap."

Matt looked hard at Mello's expression.   There was something wrong here.   There was no sly smirking nor any glint in Mello's eyes. He just looked tired.   Matt nodded, "I recall such talk, but that's before you got a headache."

"I recovered." Mello responded, airily.    He lightly traced Matt's jawline with his finger.

Matt got it.   This was S&M by numbers.   Mello performing because he felt like he had lost ground to make up.   Too stubborn to just go to sleep; too full of injured pride to just let it go.   Matt spoke levelly,   "I don't mind waiting until you've caught up on your sleep and..."    Then he was knocked sidewards by the force of the slap that connected with his cheek.   "Oh!"   His lower half was trapped beneath Mello's viselike legs.   His abdomen had little pivotal movement.   Matt's side twinged at the suddenness of inertia.   He held his face and peered up at Mello.

"Sit back up." Mello purred.

"What? So you...?"

"Sit up, guapo."   Mello smiled.    Matt warily straightened, trying to read what his husband had in mind.   "Like you were before, with your arms out behind you.   That was nice."

Matt just knew that Mello was going to hit him again.   This was like cat and mouse.   His cheek stung, but Matt leaned backwards, supported on his hands.   Mello smiled, but there was no warmth to it, just a forced playfulness that didn't touch his tired eyes. Sure enough Mello's right arm swung this time and Matt toppled into the opposite direction.   Even though he had known it was coming, he couldn't stop himself falling.   "Fucking shit."   He mumbled, his arm bent at the elbow over his face.

"Sit up, guapo." Mello instructed, calmly.

"What the fuck is this?" Matt gasped, beneath his arm. "Is it sex or...?"

"I would like you to sit back up, guapo." Mello cracked his knuckles while he waited.   "And I would like you to learn to do that quickly."

Matt swallowed, "Let me take my goggles off.   I've got no replacement here."    He saw Mello's arm extend, a finger crooked to receive them.    Matt pulled off his goggles and draped them over Mello's finger.   They were half-dropped, partially thrown, onto the lid of the laptop.    Matt sat up.   He was smacked into the opposite direction, this blow bashing his ear, which hurt like Hell. "Fuck!"

"In your own time, guapo."   Mello clicked his tongue.   Matt sat up, tensing, but nothing happened.   "Oooh! That was quite fast. You get a prize!" Mello leaned forward, gathered Matt into his arms and snogged him, deeply, passionately, ending with a series of tiny kisses, until he drew away.   "Beautiful man."   Mello smiled, then hit him hard in the opposite direction again.   "I'm waiting."

It was getting more difficult to get back up.   Mello knew how to throw a punch, even if this was open-hand slapping.   There were wiry muscles behind each blow that were leaving Matt's head ringing.   He rose, straightened his arms behind him and was immediately knocked down again. He was faster this time, sitting up before Mello could even remark.

Mello grinned delightedly.   "That's my good boy."   He cooed, soothingly; his hands cupping and caressing the throbbing mass of Matt's face.   "Because you were so fast that time, we're going to pause for you to take your top off.    But you have to be quick about it."   He kissed Matt gently on the lips and sat back.

Matt unzipped his gilet, willing his hands not to shake. Without the support of his arms, he fell backwards onto the bed, which hindered his attempts to remove anything.   His mind reeled with trying to fathom this out.    It was now somewhere between sex and a beating.   Was it comfort and hurt?   Mello's self-professed favourite.   Or whatever version of that that had formed in Mello's warped, sadistic fantasies?   As Matt fought to pull his shirt over his head, he felt Mello's hand flexing over the bulge of his cock through the denim.   Definitely sex then.   Right.   Matt abandoned his shirt and gilet on the bed behind him and sat back up. It took a bit more courage to lean back on his hands, but he did it.

"Aww, you're such a good boy." Mello grinned, kneading Matt harder through his jeans.   "You do know that you're going to get repeatedly hurt, don't you?   But if keep on being a good boy and rushing back for your punishment, then you will be rewarded.   Do you understand the rules, baby?"

Matt nodded.   He was becoming erect under Mello's ministrations and he knew that Mello could feel it.    "I understand."

"Good," said Mello, then hit him.    There was blood in Matt's mouth now, metallic and warm. He spit it out, as he sat back up, and Mello sent him flying again.   Matt felt the world slow down to a crawl, all sound and vision stretched; then it rushed back to normal and he rose up. His left arm nearly gave out under him, but he stayed there, swaying very slightly.     "Oh, you poor, little thing." Mello clucked, shifting down slightly to give himself room to unbuckle Matt's belt and to unbutton his flies.   One leather gloved hand slid inside to free Matt's genitals, while the other snaked out to pinch Matt's nipple almost flat between finger and thumb. Matt's arms began to shake, protesting so much that he would lose the fight to stay upright any second now; but Mello was giving him a hand job and pleasure and pain were coursing through his body.   Then, in the instant before his arms gave way, Mello commanded, smoothly, "Lie flat, little man."   And Matt landed on his back in blessed relief.

Mello stood up, unzipping his coat and letting it drop from his shoulders to the floor.    He was fondling himself through the leather of his trousers, which, to Matt, was a good sign.   Because if Mello was hard, then sooner, rather than later, they were going to have sex; which meant that there was a slightly lesser chance that Matt would end up punch-drunk and permanently reeling before this was through.   For good measure, Matt spit out more blood and spoke as clearly as he could, "I belong to you to," he had to pause to spit again, "do with what you..." and then stopped under a choking fit.

By the time Matt recovered, Mello was standing with his back to him in front of the window.   Whether he was stretching or striking a pose in the midst of a frozen dance, Mello was showing off his figure to good effect.   He had stripped down to his trousers and they hung with the flies undone.   Matt could see the dangling belt and the ends of the laces.   Mello let his arms drop slowly and spoke to the glass.   "I want you naked."    His voice, the tone, the words, shot straight from Matt's ears to his balls.   He was aching around his middle and his face smarted painfully, but he still twisted upwards and undid his boots.    His jeans and boxers soon joined them on the floor.    Mello didn't turn around, but he must have heard Matt sit back onto the bed.    "I want to whip you bloody.   I want you over my knee, so I can smack your ass until you cry for mercy."   His words were so precise, so measured; and one gloved hand was slowly gliding down his own torso to his thigh.   "But I will only do that with your belt."    His left hand flicked backwards and out, palm up, waiting to receive it.

Matt stared at him, but Mello's back was unreadable.   The great scar running, vivid and scarlet, down over one shoulder; the broad, surprisingly muscular shoulders; the tiny, almost effeminate waist; and Mello's backside, tight and perfect beneath the leather.   Mello was in a strange mood.   Matt knew that, if his treatment so far was anything to go by, then this could go too far.   Matt closed his eyes. Pre-cum was already running down his cock. It was a foregone conclusion.   He wriggled off the bed, tugging and yanking at his belt until it came free of his jeans.   He folded it into three and placed it carefully into Mello's left hand.   He was rewarded with Mello turning to peep over his shoulder, with the most beatific smile on his face.   "Good boy. Now let me hurt you."   Mello strode forward and sat on the edge of the bed.   He grinned up at Matt, showing his teeth, and Matt, both wanting this and anxious as Hell about it, sank down, then spread himself onto his front across Mello's lap.

The lashes stung.   Mello gave no quarter, using his full strength to direct the twice folded leather onto Matt's buttocks and thighs.   While his other hand stroked Matt's hair, so tenderly, and the words, which emerged as a constant stream, were consoling, "Poor boy, my poor baby, having to get so hurt. It's ok, Mail, I've got you, it's alright.    My poor, beautiful boy, having to endure your punishment."   With the belt relentlessly falling, until the juddering gasps and tiny moans became an actual cry of pain, that Matt just couldn't swallow back.    Now Mello paused.   "Awww, baby boy."   And bent to kiss him on the small of his back.    Mello twisted and Matt blinked back tears to find his striped shirt being offered.   "Would you like to bite down on this?"   Mello asked, kindly.   "If it's hurting you too much?"

Matt's breathing came in ragged pants.   It was hard work to draw air into his lungs, while hanging half-upside down.   He knew that he could just get off.   It was taking all the strength in one leg to stay in place as it was.   He knew that.   Mello knew that.   Matt's arse was screaming its protest, ablaze with agony, but he took the shirt and bit into it.   Even as he did so, more tears fell and he could feel himself sinking deep inside.   Matt realised that he had no idea if he was enjoying this, but his cock was straining for orgasm and he hadn't made it stop.    He ground his teeth against the shirt and balled the skirt of the valance sheet, where it touched the carpet.

"Oh! My good baby."   Mello's arm rose and the belt began its relentless descent and rising again.   "Taking his punishment, because his master wills it.   It's ok, guapo, I've got you, baby.   I've got you and I love you."   Mello's hand, stroking the hair back from Matt's tear-stained and sweat-soaked face, away from the bruised cheeks.   "You're such a good boy."

Matt felt the rising, floating sensation begin.   The separation of body and spirit that he thought might never happen, it had taken so long to arrive.   Subspace, blessed subspace; that beautiful plane of soaring, giddying wonder.   He knew, on some deep level, that he was still being lashed.   He could hear his master's voice comforting him.   Yet he could feel nothing, but gratitude and the endless wonder of life.   He wanted Mello to beat him until he broke, just never stop.   He was flying. Free.

Then somehow he was on the bed, facedown on the quilt, with his knees on the carpet, unable to take his weight.   Matt's legs sprawled, but Mello was above him, on top of him, and Matt was being fucked with vicious abandon.   The other plane tinged the edges of consciousness.   It was no longer a flying above, but a cushion against the world.   Matt was still sobbing.   He could hear himself sobbing, though his mind felt disconnected and unable to identify with the being shedding tears and spit into the fabric. Through the sobs, he could hear his own desperate words, "Por favor, no pares." Please don't stop.   "Por favor, no pares." And there must have been an orgasm, because Mello was climbing off him and, when Matt slid off the side of the bed, both it and his own cock were coated with his own cum.

There was breathlessness and aching; and the dull realisation that this was going to seriously hurt in the morning.   And Mello was there with a bowl of warm water and a First Aid kit.   But Matt just wrapped his arms around Mello's waist and tried to hold on, though he slipped down and ended up sprawled at Mello's feet instead.   It didn't matter. He just wanted to lie there, in his own blood and filth, at Mello's feet. It was alright.

Mello had put down the bowl and kit.   He spoke from a hundred miles away.   "Tengo que limpiarte, Mail. Vamos, guapo."   But Matt didn't want to be cleaned up and he didn't want to go anywhere.   He wanted Mello to just sit down and be worshipped for that gift of flight.   He opened his mouth to say so, but no words came.   Like he'd been rendered mute. "Estás totalmente fuera de tí."   Matt knew he was out of it.   He was still half in subspace and...

He fell with a whooshing of time and space, which collected around him and conspired to run at a normal pace.   The mental comfort blanket was a memory, fleeing even as he tried to reach for it.   Dull, ordinary reality was back, with his body already starting to throb and burn.   Matt exhaled, "Joder."   And reached for his cigarettes, which were on the floor by the side of the bed.   His arm felt like rubber, barely under his control.   Mello stooped down and lit one for him, popping it into Matt's mouth.   "Gracias."

"De nada."

Matt sucked on the smoke.    It was weird. He was hearing English as Spanish and he said so, "Estoy escuchando todo en Español."

Mello chuckled. "Te amo, Mail."   There was a kiss on Matt's forehead and a conspiratorial whisper.   "Estamos hablando en Español."

Oh! They were speaking in Spanish.   That was why he was hearing it.   But Matt couldn't understand why they were speaking in Spanish. Nor the why of anything much really, but that he had a cigarette and he was smoking it; and he was in the arms of his master, and he had been good.   Then the cigarette was smoked and Matt was being lifted, carried through the air, with his body pushed to its pain threshold; and soothing, cool water washed over him.   Everything was still so disjointed.   Maybe he wasn't completely clear of subspace after all.

Matt was cleaned, dried and a gel was rubbed into his wounds.   He was carried back to the bed and lay there, shivering in the cold, while Mello stripped the quilt of its cover.   It was dropped back over him with no cover on at all.     Matt sought, automatically, to cocoon himself in it, but Mello was beside him, naked and holding him.   It felt good.   "Abrázame, Mail." Mello whispered and so Matt cuddled him, until blessed darkness fell.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Annals of Fear II