Matt x Mello

BY : Genevieve
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 8281
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.

“Mello would like that, wouldn’t he,” comes L's quiet voice, all speculation and composure.

He smiles, eyes closed and lips parted, yes, of course he would like that, and with a strange mixture of admiration and envy he thinks he would have liked to meet Kira, just to know what kind of person actually made a suitable rival for L.

“Ah yes, Matt-kun,” L continues, not taking his eyes off Mello, “there is one more thing we haven’t put on.”

It’s something else they obviously don’t use on suspects and something else he brings out because, even though it’s cheesy, he thinks it would be less intimidating and more amusing to Matt, and it comes around Mello’s neck in a simple loop and clasps in the front and Mello is quietly okay with it while L is doing it and starts being somewhat less okay with it when it hooks to a leash and L hands it to Matt.

When he finishes staring cluelessly and begins understanding, Matt promptly switches to trying to make Mello understand that this is something he had nothing to do with and is really quite uncomfortable with and that yes, he knows it’s really the other way around and oh God, please don’t hurt me when you’re untied.

“He can’t hurt you, Matt-kun,” L says quietly, as if reading his thoughts, “Isn’t that right, Mello?”

Matt’s eyes roll nervously toward L, his fingers cold and sweaty on the leash.

The great L really is quite thin and delicate, bony articulations protruding in elegant lines under innocent white skin, voice soft and low and limbs long and slender, and he knows he is vulnerable—with calm acceptance he understands both the extent of his capacity for deduction and the gnawing reality of limitation, and this is curiously fascinating to Matt, who, very slowly, feels the leash slip out from in-between his fingers and begins instead to reach for the still-open briefcase.

The sterile sharps.

“He can hurt me pretty bad when he gets loose,” Matt replies, and, standing behind L, he can feel the cool sway of black hair against his cheek as he reaches his arm around the bony ribcage and, thin blade between his thumb and forefinger, runs a gentle line from the collar down, white cloth coming apart in a soft tear.

Mello stares in bewilderment, wondering when L will tell him to stop it and whether to be infuriated or aroused.

L says nothing, but he breathes in surprise when, hand tight around him, Matt brings the blade just under the jugular notch and, staring at Mello, murmurs,

“You do understand what kind of relationship he had with Kira, don’t you?”

Mello stares at Matt in panic, then at L, and he truly does not understand how L can put up with this, and really he’d much rather have that sort of thing inflicted upon himself than have to watch the precious L—

“I don’t think that Mello-kun really wants to play Kira,”

L says quietly, torn shirt hanging loose against his thin shoulders and ribs protruding slightly through the soft flesh beneath. His black hair falls in a gentle cascade against him, all silence and childlike innocence, and when the blade has really gone so far as to cut and down come the first dark beads of blood, at last Mello begins to feel afraid, and, tears lining his eyes, he whispers for Matt to please stop.

Matt’s eyes dart to gaze at L, who looks back in silent approval, and so, looking back at Mello, Matt leans his head closer to the slender curve at L’s neck and, very slowly, runs his tongue along the white skin.

“No,” he says with more courage than he has ever shown toward Mello, “I don’t think he does.”

Staring directly at the blonde, he closes his lips on the side of L’s neck and bites very softly, and, startled, L closes his eyes and emits a very quiet gasp that sends shivers down Mello’s spine.

Then Matt’s long fingers claw at the frayed edges of L’s torn shirt and draw them laterally, pulling them away, and they are both astonished by just how thin the older boy is and how strange it is that this fragile waif really has the unwavering cooperation of several world leaders.

Is this really the great L, lank and vulnerable and heart-wrenchingly childlike, dark eyelashes fluttering shut over soft black eyes and naked white limbs falling gracefully into Matt’s arms in a final act of surrender; is this really the secret international detective responsible for almost single-handedly finding the mass murderer Kira and putting him to justice, and is he really a full decade older than they are?

Staring at Mello through diffuse strands of hair, Matt continues kissing L’s neck, arms tight against the white abdomen, and L’s hands are actually urging him on, long digits tracing the bony ridge at his mandible, and when at last the black eyes open, he looks directly at the blonde, saying nothing as he brings Matt’s fingers to his lips.

Mello gazes back, transfixed and desperate and hopelessly defeated, and he thinks he loves them both, and he doesn’t know if he’s pleased or miserable, but certainly he is infinitely amused.

Certainly this is more torment than he thought he was in for, but Mello had a raw taste for masochism and what they did to him hurts exquisitely in the most fascinating way.

L allows Matt to kiss him, and he allows him to hold him up and to lap at his chest, but what really gets Mello is that he lets him – no, he all but leads him – to unclasp the buckle at his belt and unravel the metal fly, and, yes, to have at him as Mello had only dreamt of doing (and oh, how he’s dreamt it!), leaving the blonde stunned and mortified and speechless, and when at last he finds his voice, it is with strange despair that he whispers,

“Oh, God—Matt…”

The younger boy looks up from L’s chest and replies,

“You wanna know what it’s like, is that it, Mello?”

And his fingers dance at the thin elastic stretching across the white skin below, tracing the edge and tugging it downward, and then he falls to his knees and his hands grasp the cloth hanging loose at L’s bony hips and he flicks his gaze back to his friend, who is nodding slowly.

Matt’s eyes roll up to look at L, who gazes back in approval, slender digits brushing through red strands of hair.

Please, Matt…

It’s Mello who asks him to proceed, body frozen and eyes glistening with intense desperation, and, Matt knows he’s doing this because Mello can’t, so, looking back at L, he tugs at the cotton edge and, gently, lovingly, pulls it down, fingers sliding against the soft skin at his thighs.

This will be forever etched into Mello’s memory.

This may well have been the most erotic scene he’s watched.

To be continued…

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