Oh Filthy

BY : Atalanta Pendragonne
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 1144
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.

There were no windows, of course, in the room he shared with B. And no clock. A had never developed (was discouraged, really truly, but it hurt his head to think of it, from developing) a strong sense of time, but he knew that the light and dark they were given varied wildly in length, even after they must have known that A and B would figure out that much.

A tried not to wonder why they still did it.

Still, when it was dark was when A tried to rest, because when it was dark he knew there would be no tests, no questions, no hypotheticals and no examinations.

It would be soothing, if not for B.

B liked the dark, and moved in it as if there was never such a thing as infrared cameras. A knew they watched, knew they must be watched, but B didn't care. How could he not care? A cared.

It didn't happen every night-cycle, but this is how it would begin. A would be trying to sleep, or fading into sleep, and then he would feel the hot crawl of B's breath on the nape of his neck, feel the brush of his fingertips or the press of his palm on his arm or cheek.

"A... A," B crooned in A's ear. Softly, ever so softly, no louder than it had to be, so close. "Why would you sleep when it's so lovely and dark? I'm lonely, A, lonely when you go to sleep and leave me."

A lay still. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, B would leave if he kept still, go find some other amusement in the small dark room. Intermittent reinforcement, yes, how could he know that and have it still be the same? But it was. "Please leave me alone," he whispered, "Please, B," and he didn't let himself be ashamed of the begging in his voice, because if it worked, if it would only work, it would be worth it.

"Smile, A, you should be happy when we play," B laughed, cupping his hand over A's mouth, and A knew there would be no reprieve that night. This was made clearer when he felt B's weight dent the bed behind him. "I'm happy." A could feel his other hand pluck at the blankets, prodding between the sheets with inevitable slowness only to seize A's hip with an abruptly bruising clutch.

"Stop," A whispered, but the sound barely made it past his lips, because of course B wouldn't stop, when it got this far he never did.

"Stop? Oh no, no, A, don't hurt me so, you'll make me think you don't love me anymore," and his voice was such a perfect sham of sorrow that it made A sick to his stomach, and then he dug his nails into the soft flesh of A's belly, grabbing at his sparse flesh and twisting, a small bright pain to remind A just how cruel he could be.

Never loved you. Never never never. And it was true, of course it was true, for all he had never known, could never remember a time when it wasn't B and A and the room and the tests. "Nothing has changed, B," he said wearily, knowing it wouldn't help, knowing that nothing would help, that he could only endure.

"A, sweet A, you break my heart." More laughter, and then the filthy wet squirm of B's tongue behind his ear and oh, filthier still, the creep of his hand under the thin cotton of A's pajama pants, worst because he knew all along that was what B wanted.

"Please," he couldn't help whispering, and "Please no," because of course B would twist his words, and it didn't matter then anyway because B's hand was already moving, pulling and yanking and that traitorous thing was already swelling and thickening and wetness stained the corners of his eyes in humiliation.

"Please yes, you should say," B chided. "Please, B, and thank you."

He tried, A tried, to just keep still, to just let him, until he got bored and wandered off, but B kept rubbing and tugging like he wanted to pull the nasty thing at the root, and if only he would, if he would then A wouldn't be twitching and whimpering while B laughed in his ear and licked at his neck, and "Please," he whispered again, wanting it to be over.

"See, A? You can be polite, it's so much nicer when you're polite," and he bit down on A's earlobe, and A bit down on his lip, because otherwise he would cry out, would disgrace himself further, and he was already squirming and wriggling to the motions of B's hands and it was horrible, horrible...

...and with an explosive shudder, it was over. A could feel B pressed hard and eager against his back and quaked with dread that it was going to be one of those nights, but B merely laughed again, merely patted A's shoulder and slunk off to be filthy somewhere else, and A lay there trembling and sticky and promising himself, promising himself once more that he would find a way to stop B from doing that ever again.


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