Mark me

BY : Artemis
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 2364
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: Mark Me

Rating: R, bordering on NC-17 for mature material

Pairing: Kira/Mikami

Word count: Exactly 800.

Warnings: BDSM, UST, and blood-play.

A/N: Written for the dn_yaoi LJ group's yaoi competition

Summary: Naked, his arms bound in an aching, painful way, the ground cold against his bare knees, his collar chained to a ring in the wall, his eyes blindfolded tightly and a sharp blade being run over his skin, Mikami realized what fear really was.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. I just borrow the characters and warp them beyond all recognition.

Mark Me

Naked, his arms bound in an aching, painful way, the ground cold against his bare knees, his collar chained to a ring in the wall, his eyes blindfolded tightly and a sharp blade being run over his skin, Mikami realized what fear really was.

Fear was something he had long since learned to deal with, since meeting his Master. It was imperitive for any scene, and added to the thrill, but with the feel of such a sharp blade ghosting across the sides and back of his neck, scant inches from slitting a vital vein or artery, should His Master feel such a whim, Mikami learned what real fear was.

His Master could hurt him severly, kill him, with one slight push, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

Mikami shivered.

He heard His Master laugh darkly, before the blade moved back further, away from his neck and onto the shoulderblade.

Their was a slight noise, and suddenly, a sharp, searing pain slit through his skin, and Mikami cried out.

The blade was turned, and the sharp edge of the cold metal bit at the skin on his shoulder blade, slicing it apart with a horizontal cut, and Mikami could feel his warm blood start to ooze on his back, his mind hazy from the pain.

Mikami bit his lip, determined to endure it. His Master had told him that this was necessary, and it hadn't even crossed his mind to refuse.

“You bleed quite a lot, Mikami. Did you know that?”

Mikami felt His Master make another cut, and he whimpered slightly.

“Such soft flesh you have. No wonder you're always so responsive.”

Mikami felt the blade slit his skin once more, and he bit his lip hard, determined not to cry.

Stopping and starting, the blade made short, straight cuts, criss-crossing and overlapping, before it stopped again. He felt His Master's mouth come down upon his shoulder, and Mikami could feel him licking the blood up, his breath hot against the torn skin.

“Hurts, doesn't it?” He whispered. “Pain isn't always so fun.”

The blade descended again, slicing through the skin quicker now, as if His Master had learned how to control it with greater ease. Mikami grit his teeth as he felt the blade turn in the same stroke, doing his best to endure the fire on his back.

“Interesting. You're hard, Mikami. Did you notice that?”

Mikami hadn't. All he had noticed was the agony in his shoulder, and the hard, cold pavement of the basement pressing into his knees, but, of course now that his mind had heard it, Mikami realized that he was hard.

How had that happened?

“Perhaps part of you likes this. Did you ever think of that? Maybe part of you likes being hurt.”

His Master's voice was low, taunting, and as the blade cut through his skin again, Mikami felt a sharp stab of arousal go straight to his center as the pain stabbed at him once more. Another cut, and he cried out, moving slightly, though this cry was distinctly different then that first.

“You do enjoy this. You do. I never knew you were such a masochist, Mikami. What hidden depths you have.”

The blade slashed his skin in two quick strokes, and Mikami felt his mind start to go numb.

“Nearly there. Just two more to go.”

Another cut, another burst of pain. Another stab of foreign lust to his nether regions, as Mikami clenched his eyes shut, despite already not being able to see.

“One more.”

The last was long, slow, drawn-out, and Mikami cried out for a last time.

“All done.”

A wet cloth was wiped across his skin, then nothing.

Slowly, Mikami felt his hand restraints removed and heard the chain from the wall disconnect from his collar. Gently pulled up from his knees to stand once more on unsteady legs, the blindfold was quickly whisked away, and Mikami's eyes met the satisfied brown of His Master.

“Well done. Come see, Mikami. It turned out well.”

His Master guided him over to a chair in front of a mirror, prearranged in the darkened basement. His Master positioned another one behind him, reflecting the reflection of the cuts on his back into the mirror so Mikami could see.

It was a mark. A scar. A permanent fixture, to let all know who he belonged to. Mikami's eyes strained in the dark light, picking out the katakana and a lone kanji.



“I rather like it,” His Master said, reflecting upon it thoughtfully. “Don't you?”

“Yes, Master,” Mikami replied, breathless. “Thank you.”

His Master turned him around, a dark look in his eyes.

“You're welcome,” He whispered, before kissing him fiercely, and Mikami felt all the pain of his mark being washed away.

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