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 wanted Light to take him from behind because Mello is a dirty,
perverse little boy with strange fascination almost to feel himself subjugated.

Mello had wanted this of Matt many times, and, ever the loyal friend,
Matt would be only ever too glad to oblige.

 Rough and hard and sweaty and hot, they’d cling on to each other,
wet and gasping and clawing and violent, because both of them liked violent,
because the more violent they played, the more helpless and desperate and
frustrated they’d get to see each other collapse in each other’s arms.

But that’s not how it goes with Light.

Mello wanted Light to take him from behind, but Light doesn’t do it
rough.

Far too well-mannered for that, Light leans gently over Mello’s back,
and, long arms enveloping softly around him, he urges him gently upward
to his knees.

“Not like that,”

he whispers against Mello’s ear, and, astonished and at a loss for words,
Mello allows himself to be raised.

He gazes ahead oddly and then actually gasps in surprise when he feels
Light’s mouth against the skin just under and to the back of his ear, wet
and proficient and so dangerously affectionate that Mello hears himself
whisper,

“…but L was rough with me,”

almost as though he expected to somehow startle Light, but he doesn’t:
in an impressive display of focused attention, the older boy continues
merely to kiss his neck even as he croons,

“Oh, was he?”

“Yes,”

Mello exhales hoarsely, shivers trailing all throughout him when suddenly
there comes the hot sensation of digits firmly taking hold of his member,
and, touching him with oddly strong gentleness, Light draws him closer,
and against his back Mello can feel the velvety warmth of Light’s slender
body, from the rigid flatness of his chest to the bony angles of his narrow
hips to his hard, hot member deep inside him;

“That’s terrible,”

comes the reply, almost inaudible against the delicate folds of cartilage
at Mello’s ear, and, maddeningly incapacitated, Mello finds himself somehow
helpless and mute as he means to reply that no, he liked that L was
rough with him
, but the words remain hopelessly lodged in his throat
instead.

It’s aggravating. Infuriating.

And so is the way that, attentive and careful, Light’s long fingers
brush the hair from Mello’s neck so he can kiss him more, and the almost
suspiciously undeniable talent in those long fingers as they move warmly
along his member, softly, lovingly, in a way that renders Mello powerless
and astounded in Light’s arms.

Don’t give in, it’s only seduction,

Mello hears himself scream somewhere within the vast reaches of his
mind, but while Light may, in fact, be merely a very fine, delicious poison,
he is all comforting affection and luxurious warmth, and no matter how
loud Mello screams within his mind, he is somehow curiously unable to produce
a single word aloud.

And when he feels the soft lips pressing gingerly against the still-sore
scratches on his shoulder, Mello realizes that, despite his talk of feigned
compassion, Light must understand that violent is something Mello
asked for, and that he is hardly accustomed to gentleness like this.

But he can’t help it all the while, and he fights uselessly against
the overwhelming urge to surrender to the hands that hold and touch and
caress him, because even as he knows that Light is manipulative and even
as he knows that Light is seductive and even as he knows that Light is
very sharp and that he never loved anyone, it’s just so good, so
undeniably good
, and the more desperately Mello finds himself struggling
to regain control, the more he realizes gradually the extent of L’s strength
in somehow remaining nevertheless admirably cerebral and actually having
Light locked up.

This is all very entertaining to Matt, who knows all too well what Mello
doesn’t like and that what Mello doesn’t like is losing control to someone
slick and quiet and somehow one step ahead, and he is infinitely amused
to see that even as he all but detests Light and the way he managed somehow
to control him entirely with submissive gentleness, Mello is clearly subject
now to his own accursed arousal, and he is helpless, unnervingly helpless
in Light’s arms.

How many people, Matt wonders, have suffered exactly this—this fully
conscious, maddening helplessness in Light’s arms—oh, that’s how he
killed, isn’t it
—quietly, softly, lovingly, and even as his ill-fated
victims cried internally in forlorn despair, they knew already, didn’t
they, that they already are too far gone.

And, ever the loyal friend, Matt prepares to say something or save Mello
or somehow intervene when suddenly he catches Light’s soft brown eyes gazing
at him warmly from behind Mello’s shoulder, and, as if reading his mind,
Light murmurs,

“How selfish of me,”

And, again, impressively composed, he continues quietly,

“But there is something you want, too—isn’t there.”

And, frozen in mid-thought, Matt finds himself suddenly perplexed and
astonished, because, fact of the matter is, this was actually something
that Light realized even before Matt did, himself.

Dumbfounded, Matt understands suddenly that yes, there really is something
he wants, and that, really, all along, even as it was Mello whom Light
was touching and even as, all along, it was Mello to whom Light was whispering,
Matt, who was perpetually unused to attention turned to his own likes and
not-likes, had all along wanted Light, himself.

“Tell me,”

comes again Light’s gentle voice, forever pleasant and deceptively colored
innocuous,

“was there anything he allowed to you?”

Silence.

Matt blinks. My God, he shivers despite himself, it’s almost
like he knows
.

This was not a question delivered with intent to prompt response; it
was almost confirmation, an acknowledgement of something present really
in both their minds.

Matt feels his throat dry as he swallows, eyes trailing tensely down
Light’s face and then the soft curve of his naked shoulder to his long
arm encircled loosely still around Mello sweetly aggravated in his embrace.

No words are exchanged between them, then, when, very slowly, Matt paces
alongside the bed and finally climbs in behind Light.

There comes the soft clicking of clasping metal and the quiet rustling
of cloth and then the gradual, gentle depression of the mattress as, silently,
Matt draws closer to Light.

Matt says nothing, but his fingers tremble visibly around his nevertheless
hard member, and, tremor pulsing all throughout, his other hand comes gently
on the delicious flesh of Light’s slender hip as he takes hold there and
slowly guides himself inward.

Ahhhn…!

Matt exhales, undeniably desperate and pleasured despite himself, and
Light is so beautiful, so precious, so warm, that it’s almost like L somehow
prepared Matt to do this just for the time that this moment would come.

Light doesn’t need to say anything more, he doesn’t need to speak or
comment or turn his head or look back at Matt or ask, because Matt is already
smitten, and it’s with conscious, independent consent that he brings his
arms around Mello and around Light and that he holds him close as he thrusts
faster and whispers silent, desperate, incoherent things into the silken
swing of Light’s hair and kisses and bites and licks him, and, long after,
breathless, exhausted and spent, Light has collapsed with remarkable grace
on Mello’s partly-conscious form, Matt continues still to move against
Light with nervous, careful desire to be gentle, kind, to be considerate
and warm.

Oh, it might have hurt, it must have hurt, it was gentle, wasn’t
it, that Light wanted, and was Matt gentle, did Matt remember to be gentle,
did he lose himself, driven overly by his own pleasure just then perhaps—was
it good—did he like it—was it okay—

Very slowly, he withdraws, clothes now wrinkled and damp as he backs
gently away from Light’s sweat-slicked body heaving softly over Mello,
and, himself short of breath, he watches with childlike curiosity as the
thin, white streams trickle wetly down the tender curve of Light’s inner
thigh.

Oh, he can almost imagine L smiling perversely to himself at such a
sight, preparing clearly to devour the prey so deliberately defenseless
before him, and Matt’s hands tremble still as now he leans closer, fingers
again grasping at the narrow, tremulous hips as he tongues gently at the
liquid white—

And even through Light’s quiet, meticulous reserve, Matt can feel him
shiver involuntarily, helpless at last despite himself, and this is somehow
infinitely fascinating to Matt, who therefore continues lapping at him,
hands grasping more tightly and tongue flicking against the moist, tender
flesh until there is nothing left and he has all but licked him dry—

And then, somehow oddly proud that he’s managed to elicit from Light
an actual gesture of unmistakable, involuntary surrender, Matt smiles to
himself with juvenile triumph as he rises again over Light and then leans
in to kiss him—

It’s Light’s voice that comes suddenly, and while he hasn’t moved even
so far as to turn his head, his tone comes very serious and clear—

“There isn’t much time.”

And this is what it takes to break the spell.

Alarms of unmistakable danger flash all at once in Mello’s mind as,
with one fast motion, he jumps wide awake from the bed and scoots about
three feet back toward the wall, understanding quickly that something is
very, very wrong—

Oh, but they’re done for, aren’t they, it’s just too late now.

Both Mello and Matt stare ahead with trepidation as, in a devastatingly
predictable display of calculated elegance, there come at last the dreadful
words—

“There is no other way. I’ll have to kill you.”

 

 

To be continued…

 




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