Matt x Mello

BY : Genevieve
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 8296
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.

“Again,” Mello whispers when at last he finds his voice, and, long hair hanging limp against his face, he fights uselessly for composure.

L says nothing. His dark eyes gaze at Mello without expression and without emotion, and then he reaches for the boy’s face with one hand and continues staring at him, white fingers sliding against his cheek, and Mello tries to kiss them but he can’t quite reach, so he doesn’t, and instead he watches them wander to his chin and then his shoulder until finally they move away.

God,” Mello sighs, trembling under his touch in utter humility, and he feels weak and dizzy and so aroused that it hurts, it really hurts.

Fuck me, oh, God, please, please fuck me.

There are chains and leather bands fastened and buckled and locked all around his naked body, layer upon layer firm and tight, straps that will leave marks and cuts when at last they come off and he’s worn them for so long that his skin begins to burn and go numb under the pressure.

“It hasn’t been easy for Mello,” comes again the quiet voice, and L’s fingers trace a line down Mello’s chest, passing over the hard ridges of the binds, and, eyes fixed on the long digits, Mello says hoarsely that no, it really hasn’t.

“You’re probably very tired, isn’t that right,” L continues, withdrawing his hand and stepping back, and Mello watches as he paces around to his side and then reaches for a latch that has come loose and threads it again.

Sure, he’s tired, yeah, and it hurts and everything, but he likes that L is touching him and he likes that the reason he can feel the binds shifting and re-tightening is that L is handling them and he likes that L is talking to him and, really, he can’t think of a better reason to be tired.

“I’m fine,” he begins saying, but then he stops because L’s fingers are at the nape of his neck and then he inhales quickly when he kisses him, and the fingers slide around to his face and come loosely against his mouth and L asks him to please try to be quiet, and before Mello can point out that he hasn’t said anything, all at once comes the sharp pain of intrusion, and Mello’s scream comes muffled into the digits at his mouth.

Matt looks up with a start, and, amused, gazes at Mello, whose head is bowed, hair falling disheveled over his face and breathing hard into L’s hand, and, waiting for him to calm down, L remains silent and does not withdraw his fingers all the while.

“I wonder,” he says, now pressing them farther in, “if Mello can really handle this.”

Mello’s chest rises and falls with hard breath and, voice hoarse, he murmurs, “I can take it.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mello-kun,” L replies, “I’d hate to think we spent all this time putting this together for nothing.”

Mello begins to reply but again is silenced when the fingers go farther in, and he tries not to cry out like last time but he can’t help it, and, lips sliding against the shell of his ear, L mumbles for him to please be quiet.

“You’re wondering, aren’t you,” he whispers, and, breath hot and moist against L’s hand, Mello nods,


And he can feel the lips stretching to a smile against his ear and L bites at the cartilage shell when he replies,

“Yes, I did. And no, he didn’t like it.”

It’s really too much, L being so close and touching him like that, and Mello finds it somehow very interesting when L talks about Light, and he wonders what exactly he did to him and whether it was anything like this and was it okay that Light was only seventeen, or maybe it was, in England.

“Did you tie him up,” Mello asks, and it’s out of genuine curiosity, and, very simply, L replies,

“Yes, I did.”

“Like this?”

“Far worse.”

Mello’s eyes go big behind his hair, and he wonders how much worse it could possibly be, and then he remembers that not only was Light a suspect, but that he was the actual culprit, that is, he was actually Kira.

“Do you know what we’re about to do, Mello-kun?”


“Can I trust you to stay calm?”


“Does Mello want me to do with I did with Matt?”

Blue eyes stare ahead incredulously, and for a moment Mello thinks he has lost himself entirely, and he hasn’t answered yet when suddenly he feels L’s hand on him, and he clenches his teeth to hold himself back from—

“Tell me,” he says, voice hoarse and broken, “what was it like—what was it like with him.”

Long eyelashes flicker against his neck and L replies,

“Is that your new love interest then?”


“Please try to be quiet.”

Oh, God, are—are you going to do it now—“

It’s more a plea than anything else.

“I’m going to do it.”

If Mello could turn his head enough to look, he would love to look – he would love to see L’s face and his thin body against him, he would love to see how he’s touching him and how those white hands are running along the curve of his back and holding his waist, but he can’t see anything and, really, he’s too overwhelmed to look at all, so he merely hangs his head down in the desperate subordination he’s wanted to feel for so long and stares ahead from behind his hair, and just before L proceeds, he gazes at Matt and, very calmly, asks him if he would mind terribly helping him hold Mello down.

“Oh—um—okay,” the younger boy replies, brushing his hair back and walking over to them.

Mello rolls his eyes up toward him in absolute despair, and it’s almost frightening how clearly he can see the torment, and L doesn’t have to tell Matt exactly what to do, because Matt knows, he’s known this look of despair and torment since they were children.

And also Matt knows that what Mello wants isn’t tender consolation, and he smiles wickedly at the blonde as he tilts his face up to his.

“It’s what you’ve always wanted, Mello,” he whispers, lips brushing against his, and then he looks up at L, then back at his friend. “Try not to scream too loud, Mello, L’s gonna give it to you.”

Mello closes his eyes when Matt kisses him, but he still screams, loud and raw and muffled and Matt holds him hard and tight until at last he’s subdued, long limbs hanging helpless against the binds, and, very quietly comes L’s patient voice against his ear,

“Yes, he cried, too.”

To be continued…

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