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.

“L wasn’t gentle with you, was he,”

Mello says, because the scratches still alive in the skin of his back are a delicious reminder that L wasn’t gentle with him, either.

But the more Mello has at Light, the more he understands that, unlike himself, Light probably wanted it gentle.

He can’t deny, however, that he can see just how lovely it must have been for L to devour Light with the full extent of his sadistic desire, because, really, Mello knows that he, himself, is every bit as beautiful as Light, and maybe that’s why he gets so hot thinking of himself tied up, too.

He would have a go at himself if he could, really.

Mello would stare at himself in the mirror for hours, naked, and press his face to the glass and stare deep into the piercing blue eyes that stared back with all the wicked intensity that was his fiery core, and, fingers leaving in their wake an opaque residue, he would whisper silent things to himself that Matt couldn’t hear from the other side of the room, but it was amusing no less, because the way Mello wanted himself was both creepy and somehow very erotic.

Mello can’t help remembering, then, that somehow he reminded L of Light, and the thought crosses his mind that it would be very malevolent and lovely to be tied along with Light, together, especially because he knows how much Light would hate it.

It’s a shame they have to kill him, really.

Mello thinks he would love nothing more than to return him to his rightful owner.

But it was L, wasn’t it, who put him here in the first place.

It seems cruel, but Mello knows better than to doubt L’s judgment, and, also, Mello knows better than to judge L’s taste, and it is with humble fascination that he admits to himself that, as far as taste goes, this was of his finest sadistic ideas.

Beautiful. Vulnerable. Powerless. Perfect. Naked. Subjugated.

That’s what L made of Kira.

Oh, L knows.

This is practically a gift.

There stretches a malicious smile across Mello’s lips as the long digits of his hands begin prying at the binds, and when, alarmed and reluctant, Matt asks him what in the hell he thinks he’s doing, Mello’s laugh comes dark and fluid when he replies,

“How else are we gonna f*ck him, Matty?”

And it’s pure pleasure, Mello thinks, to feel Light’s body stiffen beneath him at the sound of his words, and he thinks almost that he’s undoing the binds merely in hopes that Light would try to fight back.

Ooh, it would be nice, wouldn’t it, to wrestle with him, naked flesh on naked flesh, Mello really would love to see who would win at that.

“I thought you’d ride him,”

Matt replies simply, but soon they both quiet down, because Mello has finished unfastening the last of the binds, and, even despite his disapproval, Matt finds himself oddly fascinated at least as much as Mello as he watches Light’s wonderment at being freed.

There are pressure marks all along his skin at least as deep as those Mello had, red and fibrous at regular intervals across his chest and stomach and waist and also his shoulders and one of his arms, and, very slowly, Light raises himself by his elbows, brown eyes gazing softly at his hand as he rotates it around by the wrist.

He says nothing; he neither protests the lewd things Matt and Mello must be thinking nor cackles evilly at the wicked fate he is now free to unleash upon those who did him wrong; he neither breaks down in tears nor thanks the Gods for sparing him; and only silence, again, just long silence, and just blank, unreadable understanding as he turns the limbs around in the joints that have lain stiff in place for so very, very long.

And least of all expected is what follows then, when, composed as ever, he looks again at Mello and asks,

“I understand there’s something you’d like in return.”

There is pure intensity between them.

“Yes,” Mello replies, not taking his eyes off Light, “that’s right.”

“In that case,” Light says softly, closing his eyes with all the elegant composure of a trained politician, “I guess it can’t be helped.”


Mere moments ago—wasn’t he reluctant just then? Wasn’t he virginal, wasn’t he the least bit repulsed or afraid—

Wasn’t he the good son?

Oh, Light is definitely a very interesting person.

If only Light were still dressed, and if only Mello had his gun so that he could point it at him and ask him with reserved hostility to take off his clothes.

But there’s the next best thing, so, his gaze trained on Light, Mello replies,

“I want you to undress me. Slowly.”

And Matt feels suddenly that his throat has gone dry with a wave of terror because, certainly, Mello asked this not merely for the sake of eroticism.

There is still in the buckle of his belt the sterile needle with the phenol injection inside.

And there falls on Matt a very unsettling sense of understanding when, without any sign of surprise or hesitation, Light undoes the latch and buckle on Mello’s belt and, without so much as batting an eyelid, proceeds directly to the fly.

Light indeed is very sharp.

Matt feels his limbs go numb and his airway go brittle as he wonders at what point exactly Mello began to realize that Light understands their reason for coming.

That he all but expected them.

And, far more frightening—

—that it’s almost like he knows something about it that they don’t.

To be continued…

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