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 is still staring ahead in astonishment when Matt’s hand comes from behind him, reaching toward the faucet to turn it off. Then, very gently, his hands travel to the jagged tip of Mello’s rubber gloves and Matt peels them off slowly, tossing them into the tub. He parts Mello’s hair and leans forward to kiss the nape of his neck, and he kisses him for a long time before speaking up.

His eyes dart to the bind marks still visible on the skin of Mello’s neck and shoulders, and, running his fingers gently along the fading bruises, he mouths, “Does it still hurt?”

The older boy sighs, eyes closing at last as he leans back, and, swallowing hard, he replies,

“Sometimes, yeah…”

Sometimes it still hurts, and, God, Mello loves that sometimes it still hurts, because sometimes he thinks he can almost feel L’s long fingers on him again, and sometimes he gazes at himself in the mirror, naked, looking over his shoulder at the bruise marks as his slender hands slide down the curve of his arm.

“Come here,” Matt whispers, pulling Mello back toward him, and Mello allows him to pull off his top, and then Matt has to stop for a moment, because there are still so many marks on Mello’s back that haven’t healed. He thinks about this every night—every night when Mello has fallen asleep and Matt gazes at his friend’s naked back, long and beautiful and slender and still covered with bruises and scratches, and, every night, Matt runs his fingers along them, wondering when finally they’ll heal.

Now he leans forward, sliding his hands along the bony angle of Mello’s shoulders and down to his arms, and Mello knows from the sheer gentleness of it that Matt regards him like some kind of rare jewel, and he remains still as the hands slide to the small of his back and then comes the soft brush of hair against his spine as Matt leans in to kiss him there.

Mello is lovely, and Matt genuinely enjoys running his hands along his back and his hips and through his hair and he thinks to himself that Mello will probably let him screw him then—like that, hard and desperate, from behind, leaning over the side of the tub without Mello ever turning around to see his face—but that’s not how Matt wants to do it.

Brushing the hair away from his shoulder, Matt leans in and, turning the boy’s face toward him, he grins and reaches for the elastic on his goggles. He pulls them off and kisses Mello briefly.

“Hey,” Matt says with a gentle smile, and he is beautiful in that moment, thin and elegant and somehow very childlike, green eyes sparkling behind long red hair.

“Hey,” Mello replies, and it makes Matt grow quiet for a few moments as he marvels at how Mello is the kind of guy whose entire sex appeal can somehow reverberate in one spoken syllable.

Matt’s eyelashes flicker a few times before he speaks again, drawing closer as almost to kiss the other boy, and, one hand running softly through Mello’s hair, he mouths, “First, I’m going to pick you up—“

He closes his eyes and kisses Mello,

“—and take you into the bedroom…”

Placing his goggles on the bathroom floor, he brings his other hand to Mello’s hair as well and brushes the strands away from both sides of his face,

“…and then,”

He kisses him again,

“…I’m going to take off your trousers, and—“

He tilts his head, continuing to kiss him,

“—and then we’re gonna play Mario Golf…”

He smiles against Mello’s lips, trying not to laugh as he holds his head hard in place because he knows the boy would otherwise withdraw so he can stare at him funny.

“…I’m kidding,” he laughs softly, “We’ll play that after I fuck you.”

They’re forehead to forehead, staring into each other’s eyes, and Mello bites his lip in a way that makes Matt absolutely love him, because he knows he’s stifling a laugh.

“I don’t like Mario Golf,” comes at last the reply.

“Sucks for you then, don’t it?” Matt replies gently, and he kisses him again, and then, very slowly he withdraws, and, rising to his feet, he reaches his hand out to Mello.

When he takes it, Matt all but lifts him off the ground by the wrist, but instead he draws him into his arms and, for several moments, he merely holds him tight, burying his face in Mello’s neck and inhaling as he closes his eyes.

The bathroom is a complete mess, with stuff thrown all over the counter and the various cleaning supplies scattered on the floor, the bath still foamy and unwashed and there’s mildew growing here and there on the wall.

“Right now, I’m happy,”

Matt whispers, lips sliding against the cartilage shell of Mello’s ear, and now he picks him up. He likes carrying Mello, because, despite his terrible diet, Mello is always very light and practically weightless in his arms. This has been true since they were children and Matt would lift him so Mello could reach whatever it was that they got stuck up in a tree or whatever dessert from the top shelf of the pantry they weren’t supposed to have or so he could gaze through a high window to spy on whatever girl might be undressing.

“See anything good?” Matt would ask, arms tight around Mello’s legs as he lifted him higher, and Mello would ask him to take a few steps closer to the wall, and then, after several moments of quiet, focused attention, he would report that he thinks she might change into pajamas sometime soon, but he can’t tell for sure.

They were around fourteen then, and they were both curious about sex, and about girls and about wanking, and at the time neither of them had any experience with any of these things, so they tried things with each other, anywhere from kissing to masturbation and even to oral sex, and then, one day when they were studying in Mello’s room, Matt asked him if he knew how to put on a condom.

Mello, who had never even thought of such a thing, laughed at the question, but he realized his friend was serious when Matt told him that

“…I have some in my room.”

That day, they locked the door and tentatively experimented with condoms for the first time, and also that was the first that time they had sex.

“Does it hurt?” Matt had asked, and it was out of genuine curiosity, and even though Mello said that it did, and even though the whole thing was awkward and uncomfortable and overall bad, Matt thinks to this day that nobody else he ever slept with, woman or man, was ever as beautiful or as sexy as Mello looked beneath him that day.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers against the boy’s ear, “we’re going in the bedroom.”

Mello’s long arms come around his friend’s neck and they are kissing as Matt carries him there, walking slowly and nearly stumbling.

When he’s reached the bedroom, Matt realizes that it’s an even bigger mess than the rest of the apartment, with stuff all over the floor and all over the bed, and he stops with Mello in his arms, looking down at it and trying to figure out how to clear stuff off the bed before putting his friend down.

Mello isn’t making it easier on him; his face buried in Matt’s neck, he kisses and nips at the skin there, and Matt can hardly focus at all, let alone try to find a good place on the bed to lay Mello.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs after this has gone on for a while, and he falls down on the mattress with the boy still in his arms, on top of papers and books and clothes and who knows what else, and as they continue kissing, they reach for the various items under and around them and toss them haphazardly to the floor, and also they try with some success to pull and tug at each other’s clothes.

“Matt, you’re wet,”

Mello says against the other boy’s ear, red strands brushing soft and featherlike against his lips, and his hand is on him, just outside his briefs, and, kissing Mello’s neck and the skin on his shoulder, Matt replies, “yeah?” and presses into Mello’s hand as if by reflex.

Mello allows him to kiss his neck a bit longer before he finds his voice again, and, now sliding his hand under the white elastic, he murmurs back, “Yeah,” and Matt smiles and exhales as the long digits brush past the slick member, and then, pulling his hand out, Mello brings his fingers against Matt’s lip, pulling it down a little as he whispers,

“Wanna taste?”

He watches the glistening white trail down the corner of Matt’s mouth and then his tongue reaching out to lick at—and then green eyes dart toward Mello, and Matt takes the boy’s hand in both of his and brings it to his mouth.

“Are you wet, too?” he mumbles around the long fingers, and his voice is soft and low and breathy, and Mello thinks he’s hard just because of that.

“Wanna touch me and find out?”

he replies, now kissing back, but Matt answers,

“No,” and, cradling Mello’s face, he presses the boy closer to him, “I wanna watch you do it.”

There comes a low chuckle issuing from Mello’s lips, low and throaty as he presses closer,

“Matt, you pervert.”

And he kisses him a few times more before withdrawing and, brushing the hair away from his face, he rises to his knees.

Matt is already touching himself when Mello begins undoing his fly, hair swinging forth and covering his face as he tilts his head down, and, hooking his thumbs at the sides of his trousers, he looks up at Matt, pulling then down slowly.

He most definitely is wet, and hard and aroused, and, swallowing slowly, Matt lets go of his own member and starts coming closer to Mello, but the older boy stops him.

“What is it exactly that you wanna do?” he asks, one hand at his mouth and the other hanging limp at his side, and, looking up questioningly, Matt replies,

“I wanna touch you.”

Mello looks up with feigned curiosity,

“I thought you said you wanted to watch me do it.”

“Is that what I said?” Matt asks, eyes darting from Mello’s face down to his member and back. He’s still moving closer, but Mello stops him again, hand outstretched and reaching in his hair.

“Yeah, so watch, don’t touch.”

Matt stops in place, the tip of his tongue already sliding past his lips to lap at him, but he doesn’t. He licks his lips instead and looks up at Mello, partly smiling in frustration.

“Okay,” he says at last, drawing back and absently beginning to touch himself again.

Mello laughs and then he begins to move closer to Matt, and, holding the hard member in one hand, he brings it very close to Matt’s face, just barely brushing it against his lips, and, exhaling slowly, Matt gazes at it and then up at Mello, and he doesn’t really need to say anything, because Mello knows exactly how hard this is making him.

Mello strokes himself very slowly, the tip just barely brushing against Matt’s lips, and it greatly amuses him to watch Matt fight back the urge to lick at him. This goes on for a few minutes until, at one point, Matt can’t hold back anymore, and, exhaling hard, he reaches forth and runs the full length of his tongue along the slick underside, and then he draws back and desperately takes the end of it into his mouth, and he thinks he’s never tasted anything so good in his life.

But then he remembers that he’s not supposed to do that, so, heart beating fast, he draws back quietly, lips glistening wet. He rolls his eyes to look up at Mello, who is biting his lip to keep from crying out, hair partly covering his face.

“Was that good for you, Matty?” he mouths, one hand brushing through his friend’s hair.

“Yeah,” comes the reply, dry and desperate as Matt begins to stroke himself again, harder now, and he tilts his head to kiss the palm of Mello’s hand.

“You want more?”

“Can I?”

Mello strokes himself slowly, and Matt watches with strange fascination as the liquid white runs moist against his long fingers.

“Will you fuck me after?”

“God, yeah, yes, I’ll fuck you,” Matt replies, and he has to stop touching himself, because he thinks he might come right then and there if he kept going any longer.

Mello considers, looking down as he continues running his hand against himself, and then, finally, he murmurs,

“Cmere.”


To be continued…


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