M is for Mine

BY : Steph Ow.
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 1407
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.

Written for the death note kink meme.


“Mello,” Matt spits like a curse, when the knife touches his hip, and Mello knows he’s reaching that line. Pushing the edge of the envelope. Playing chicken. Matt’s arms jerk hard and the headboard rattles.

The handcuffs dig into his skin and so does Mello’s knife. His wrists burn, and so do his cheeks, hot a not a little frightened. The blade is cold, but Mello’s tongue lapping up the trickle of blood sears across his skin like a brand.

“Mello,” he says again, only his resolve is weakening. His arms jerk again and Mello reaches up and grabs his goggles, dragging them painfully down his face. The catch on his nose and his hair and he breathes out a sigh of frustration, then draws a slow breath through his nose to calm his nerves.

“Matt. Matty.” Mello licks his hip and then draws another line down, connecting with the other. It’s not deep but it stings in the worst sort of way, and that knife is far too close to his cock for comfort. Mello puts the hand with the blade down on the bed to shift his balance, and Matt tries to knee him in the side of the head, to get him the fuck off. His friend glances up at him absently, and reaches a gloved hand down, grabbing Matt’s knee and pushing it flat on the bed.

How is it that Mello always ends up with more clothes on than Matt? He’s on his stomach between Matt’s legs, still in his pants, still in his gloves, still in his leather vest, one hand braced on the bed keeping him from putting pressure where Matt wants it the most. Wanted it the most. All this pushing the edge of the envelope is going a little far and the fright is starting to seep in.

But Mello is licking him again, and his buttery glove is sliding smoothly up Matt’s thigh, firm comforting pressure on hot skin and then curling around his cock in the most convincing of manners. Matt whines from between clenched teeth as Mello draws another line up again, like a zig zag.

“Matty,” Mello croons, and Matt has always hated being called that, “don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Matt snarls, instantly, hips thrusting upwards now that the oh-so-sharp knife isn’t directly over his skin any more. The fact that he’s handcuffed to his bed, naked, makes it a pretty easy lie to spot. “That fucking hurts, you little bitch. Would you...”

Those clever hands have procured lube from somewhere, and Mello is sitting up between Matt’s legs again, slowly pulling his gloves off. Matt’s throat goes dry and he forgets what it was he was saying. It probably wasn’t important anyways.

Mello, concentrating fiercely, strokes a thumb from Matt’s bellybutton, and down, and down, and down. And then his index finger pushes forwards sharply and all of a sudden Matt is practically levitating off the bed because his best friend is finger fucking him and there are showers of sparks going off behind his eyes.

It hurts, but if Matt wasn’t a little bit masochistic he’d probably have freaked the moment Mello got the knife out anyways.

“Now stay still,” Mello warns, lifting the blade again and Matt cries out as his fingers crook, and shudders and writhes. Mello looks up, absolutely annoyed.


“Your fault,” Matt points out, weakly, “not mine.” His hips rock again, and Mello glares at him harder. So he takes a very deep breath through his nose and tries to be still.

“You’re trembling,” it sounds like he’s teasing, but Matt doesn’t miss the tiniest note of reverence in Mello’s voice. The knife touches his skin and pushes, and draws down in one last, smooth line. It only wavers a little towards the end. And it feels, to Matt, who is breathing in huge hysterical gulping breaths, like dying is something worth living for. The fresh blood springs up, and Mello lowers his mouth to lick it away, dropping the knife to the side.

Matt cranes his neck, trying to see, but Mello jerks his fingers again and lights explode behind Matt’s eyes. He’s distantly aware of Mello’s lips wrapping around him and his fingers scissoring, and then he thinks of absolutely nothing at all.

When he catches his breath again and opens his eyes, Mello has un-cuffed him and drawn his hands down, and is rubbing his wrists absentmindedly, helping circulation return.

It’s isn’t until the light is out that Matt figures out, exploring with his fingers (because he is a bit of a masochist) that the zigzag pattern carved into his hip is an M.

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