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.

While it goes without saying that Matt thinks Mello is pretty, it
isn’t this alone that made Matt like him the way he did.

Mello had a sort of enchanting, living air of magic and gold, danger
and blood and sex and fire that was simultaneously overwhelming and very
intriguing to Matt and, really, to almost everyone who knew him.

This is particularly notable now—now that the long strands of his hair
pour shimmering down his naked shoulders and the slender angle of his back,
smooth and heavy and golden in the dim light of the infrared lamp.

His legs are bent long and elegant on either side of Light’s waist,
his arms reaching back with quiet intensity, and the white angles of his
canines glimmer vicious behind his red lips.

Oh, he’s never before felt anything toward L other than innocent love
and pure, unwavering admiration—but this—really, this was the first time
ever in Mello’s life that he went so far as to covet something L had.

He could see easily why L liked this boy so much.

Mello in many ways was toughened through life and largely unfazed by
the various people he met – beautiful or hideous, dependable or false,
violent or quiet or conniving – but of everyone he’s known, Light was somehow
the only other person he’s met who was somehow as enchantingly wicked as
he, himself.

He can feel it even now, even in the ongoing silence between them and
even as Light’s expression, despite it all, remains entirely unreadable
behind the soft cascade of his hair.

Light doesn’t complain. He doesn’t say anything. But there is, quite
intentionally and very much for their eyes to see, the slightest smile
painted all across his lips, and he maintains his cool fantastically even
as his long eyelashes come down over his eyes and the bony protrusions
of his hips move as of their own accord against Mello.

“Come closer,”

he breathes, beckoning to Mello with his hands, and, interest piqued,
the younger boy leans forth, hair sliding as he reaches with his arms around
Light’s neck and brings his mouth to his. He gasps almost in surprise at
the sudden feel of Light’s arms sliding around him, too, and, unused really
to being so far seduced, he feels himself somehow melting, delirious, almost
like finally he managed somehow to break through the specular surface of
the mirror and have at last at himself.

How hard it must have been, he thinks, how hard for L to resist this
living, breathing seduction—this luxurious, fine poison of a boy, who really
wanted all along to kill him.

L is stronger than that, Mello knows, and Mello is stronger than that,
too, but if not for the sharp focus in his mind, Mello knows that he, too,
could easily fall, easily drown in the sheer delight of liquid poison,
in Light’s arms, in his mouth, in the wet vapor of his breath—


He murmurs, words ghosting ethereal against the tremulous membranes
of Light’s lips, and slowly the slender digits of his hands curl around
the hair at Light’s neck and he just barely breathes before again he seizes
his mouth, thighs sliding warm and slick on either side of his bony waist,
and as just barely the two catch a glimpse of one another, they feel it,
they can tell—

They both know it; they both want it.

What follows, then, is expression of raw arousal as both reach blindly
for each other, wetly, clumsily and without direction or knowledge or aim
and whispering only broken words and parts of words—

It’s Light then, who, arms tight around Mello’s back, draws him suddenly
closer, raising his back up from the mattress to meet him, and he holds
him hard in place, breath coming shallow and moist through his nose and
voice desperate as he moans very softly into his mouth—

His voice alone sends electric waves of arousal through Mello’s skin;
his breath alone against his throat runs his blood alive with liquid fire,
and the glistening tip of his sex hard and aching wet, insistent, moist
with the pained frustration of neglect and running visibly with thin white
rivulets down the length and onto Light’s skin beneath—

Matt would tell him many times thereafter how delicious they looked,
how enticing it was to watch Light fuck Mello, how very pretty Light’s
chest was, glistening slick with arousal and sweat when, carnivorously,
Mello slowly ran his tongue along the naked skin and rigid protrusions
of his nipples, and how, hard and dripping wet, Mello’s sex looked really
good enough to eat, and Matt breathed deeply and held his breath, and it
was all he could do, he would tell him, to hold himself back from interrupting
them to have a taste—

Of each of them

Of both of them.

Silenced perhaps by desperation, Mello breathes only whispers and thoughts
as, delirious with the aftershock of restraint, he dismounts clumsily from
Light’s hips, thighs aching and tender almost from strain as, hot and dyspneic,
he manages to turn himself just enough away from Light before falling forth,
face down and red palms gripping the mattress as the wet locks of his hair
scatter disheveled over him, and, before, hand reaching absently for his
own betrayed, neglected member, Light can begin to wonder what and how
and why, there comes Matt’s soft voice from the other side of the room
as, with quiet understanding, he answers what was never asked—

“That’s an invitation,”

he says as slowly he now walks closer, approaching the bed and Mello’s
exhausted, sweat-slicked form, and he can’t help grinning in appreciation
as his gaze falls slowly on the naked figure in a way that he knows Mello
can almost feel.

“He wants you,”

Matt says to Light, and he actually turns toward him just enough to
meet his gaze from behind the soft scatter of his hair, but soon his attention
turns again to Mello, and, fully smiling now, he brings his hand down to
the narrow place where Mello’s waist meets his back, and he runs the long
tips of his fingers down the hot, still-scarred skin to his hips and then
the subtle curve of his behind—

“He’s saying,” Matt croons, and now it’s almost a whisper,

“he’s saying, fuck me, Kira,”

and, for a moment, Light’s eyes glimmer with strange desperation almost
like sorrow, and maybe it’s because he’s not Kira—

or maybe it’s because he’s heard these very words before.

But, smiling behind long, red hair, Matt resumes trailing his long fingers
along Mello’s behind, until, unable now to hold back, he reaches between
Mello’s thighs and, beckoning them apart with an air almost of reprimand,
he bites hard at his lip as he presses deliberately inward, deep, down
to the knuckles, and gazing down with malevolent satisfaction as visibly
Mello trembles and emits a stifled cry of masochistic relief, Matt whispers
to Mello,

“Yeah, I wanna watch him give it to you like that, too.”

And then, before Mello can moan in reply, there comes the naked sound
of flesh echoing crisp against naked flesh and Mello’s cry comes again
muffled against the sheet beneath when, smiling, Matt slaps him again,
and while he hasn’t much to say but for the quiet gaze in his warm eyes,
Light can understand that this is something Matt does because it’s something
Mello wants

Several moments more pass on before, eyes still trained on Mello and
fingers still deep inside him, Matt says to Light,

“You’re hungry for him too,”

And then, pulling out at last, he turns around slowly, and, green eyes
flickering as his gaze meets Light’s, he begins to approach him, bending
lower as gently his fingers close around Light’s fingers around his hard
member, and it’s red and dripping wet with frustration, and as, drawing
closer still, Matt brings it to his lips, he murmurs,

“You really do taste so nice,”

and he, himself, doesn’t really know to which of them he’s speaking.

He licks slowly at Light, eliciting strained sounds of tentative approval
and failing restraint, and then again brings him into his mouth, sliding
past his lips and inward against his tongue and the back of his throat,
and, breathing quietly through his nose, at last he pulls out and licks
softly at his lips, fingers still running against the slick length aching
hard in his hand.

“Go on,”

he says, turning again to look at Mello, and it’s okay that Light doesn’t
say anything, because he doesn’t really need to say that, Kira or not,
there is something about him now silently burning with aggravation, and,
equal or not, there is something also about Mello and the way that, through
neither words nor gaze nor sound, he calls almost desperately to him from
his very core, that fills Light all anew with the unmistakable urge to



To be continued…


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