BY : hColleen
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 2497
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.

When you break it down to its most basic parts, human behavior is very simple. A stimulus causes a response that leads to a reaction. If the reaction is favorable, the response will be continued and learned. If the reaction is unpleasant, the chances of the response being repeated are lower. At their very basic parts, all human behaviors hold to this simple formula.

The complications arise when prior response sets are not known or when what the individual defines as favorable is not known, though these are one and the same. Definitions of favorable and pleasurable arise from repetition of response sets.

It began as a yelling match. It was an argument that had more to do with screaming than what was being said. Need for release drove it, release of pent up anger and frustration, need to not live up to the expectations put upon him, even if only for a moment. Screaming led to trading blows, and somewhere in the ensuing brawl, Mello lost himself to the pain Matt inflicted. Matt lost himself and took pleasure in his friend’s whimpering pleas, took pleasure in his body even as his fists continued to pound into Mello’s back.

They tried to forget, shame filling them both when they remembered once more who and what they were. They tried to pretend it didn’t happen. Tried to deny they wanted it to happen again.

Their next fight resulted in the same behavior, only faster. Their arguments were more frequent, often starting over something as trivial as how one greeted the other. It got to the point where they couldn’t be in the same room without starting to argue. They were fine on the phone or even yelled conversations through open doors would remain civil, but as soon as they were in the same room, the sniping began.

The question came down to how to control a response set that was wildly out of control. Once Mello was able to define the problem, accomplished by sending Matt on an extended stakeout mission, it took him only a couple of hours to find a solution. It was simple, really, in theory. Limit the activation of the response set to a particular location or other cues. Basic training and conditioning. And, with a strong enough scenario, it could be accomplished in one trial with only minor retraining needed later.

The question became what would be a strong enough stimulus to cause Matt to be conditioned before he realized what was going on. That took considerably longer for Mello to work out.

In the end, Mello asked Matt to meet him in a hotel to report when he was finished with his mission. Mello had done as much research as he could in the internet and had everything he thought they would need. There were leather leg and arm shackles attached to the bed. Though more difficult to fasten, they were less likely to leave marks around his wrists. On the table lay an assortment of whips and floggers. One bedside table supported several paddles and a couple of different styles of riding crops. The other displayed a collection of lubes, some designed to decrease sensation, others to increase it.

It was more complicated than he figured it would be, but Mello managed to strap himself spread eagle face down on the bed. His legs were easy, one wrist was moderately difficult. The other wrist required more mouth work than he’d ever done to get the cuff fastened so it didn’t open when he pulled on it.

The bed and tables were positioned so that Matt would have to come fully into the room and down the short hallway between the door and main room before seeing them. Mello intended to start their fight as soon as the door was opened. Once it was closed, the rooms were soundproofed enough to contain their noises, no matter how loud they got.

Finding something to argue about was easy. Matt was three minutes late. “It’s about fucking time,” he shot out as soon as the door opened.

“Well, excuse me,” Matt sneered. “Fucking traffic jam. I gotta piss.” The declaration was followed by the sound of the bathroom door closing.

Mello counted the seconds until the door opened again. “Bastard,” he growled.

“The fuck?” Matt’s voice ricocheted around the room, shock making it brittle.

“What the fuck do you think it is?” Mello shot back. “If you can’t figure out what you’re supposed to do, you…”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Matt ordered.

Mello twisted to look at Matt. This was a first, and if he read it right, a promising start to retraining.

“You’re a fucking bastard, Mello. What the hell?” He walked over to the table, fingering a few of the whips and floggers before turning to Mello. He looked down. “Context, isn’t it?” The words were softly spoken, the roughness he’d adopted while working as part of Mello’s mafia group dropped. He usually hid the fact that he had been third at Wammy’s and was probably as smart as Mello, just less driven.

“We need it,” Mello replied, as close to admitting as he’d come. He was twisted on the bed, only really able to see Matt through one eye, his vision obscured by his hair. Not the best view to try and judge his friend’s reaction. Added to that the fact that Matt wore goggles and high collared sweaters and it was almost impossible to read him. If Matt was thinking, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by tossing his hair out of his eyes so he could see better.

Matt picked up one of the floggers and moved next to the bed. “You’re right,” he murmured, his voice still soft. He sat on the bed. He reached up with a gloved hand and pushed Mello’s hair out of his face. “Why?” he asked, his voice indicating he already knew the answer.

“I need this, and I need my friend back,” Mello whispered, a lot closer to the truth than he ever expected to get. “I think you need it, too?”

“So, is this like a relationship now?” Matt asked, the ‘street’ lacing back through his voice.

“Oh, fuck off and beat me already,” Mello spat back. He yelped as Matt spanked him hard.

“Got a gag in here?” Matt asked.

Mello glared at Matt until he was spanked again. “In the bedside drawer,” he admitted after another yelp.

Matt grinned as he stood. “Good to know.” He tested the weight of the flogger in his hand and then brought it over his head and down on Mello’s butt. After the answering scream, Matt gloated, “I think I wanna hear you for a bit. Ya scream better when you’re strapped down.”

The lashes were fast and hard. Mello’s screams melded one into the other, a constant wail as he struggled against his bindings, thrashing on the bed. Though, for all his attempts to get away, Mello felt a sense of peace descending on him. Under Matt’s beating, his identity, his insecurities melted away. Need for more, arousal filled him. His hips rose to meet the lashes.

Matt saw this, understood it at some basic level. He didn’t analyze it, though. What mattered was the lovely shade of red that covered Mello’s skin. His lashes started to spread, covering Mello’s legs and back. The screams didn’t bother him. He enjoyed them. He liked making Mello scream. It was soothing, cathartic in a way.

What disturbed him was when Mello’s screams turning into pathetic whimpering mewls. Matt paused long enough to recognize the word ‘please’ falling over and over again. When he slowed down even more, the begging turned to ‘don’t stop.’ He bent over and grabbed Mello’s hair, wrenching his face around until he could see his friend’s eyes. Even as he pleaded with Matt not to stop, Mello’s face was serene, more relaxed than Matt had ever seen it.

“What’s gotten into you?” he demanded.

“More, please, Matt,” Mello begged, his voice hazy. “It’s good.”

“You’re a sick ass bastard, Mello,” Matt declared as he dropped Mello’s head. He let the flogger fall to the ground, his mind whirling in directions he never anticipated. He knew about the scene. It was impossible to be part of the Mafia and not know about it. He knew what was going on, intellectually, and it scared the shit out of him.

But, the thought of failing Mello scared him more. He looked at the bedside tables. The one on his side had paddles, the other had lubes. He reached over for one of the shorter paddles and brought it down on Mello’s already purpling ass. A sound of release greeted his effort, not a scream, not a whimper but somewhere in between the two. And something in that sound went right to Matt’s groin, stirring to life the arousal that had come to accompany beating Mello. He hit Mello again and the sound was repeated, as was the effect.

A grin curved Matt’s lips. He could get used to this, the power, the control, the sounds that Mello made.

He couldn’t get used to the fact that even baggy jeans managed to get tight. They would have to go. He dropped the paddle on the bed and stripped, even his gloves and goggles, something he’d never done with Mello before. Their escapades had previously only resulted in moved or torn clothing, not complete nudity. But now, it just felt right.

He knelt on the bed, over Mello’s hips, and bent over his friend. “Should I fuck you, bitch?” he growled into Mello’s ear. The whimpered plea, the rise of Mello’s hips were unmistakable. “Well?” Matt pressed, pulling Mello’s hair back until his head came off the bed. “Should I?”

“Fuck me, please,” Mello’s voice was hazy, but the words were clear.

“You’re a whore,” Matt declared, and then bit Mello’s ear because it was there.

“Yes,” Mello hissed out, the pleasure lacing through his voice obvious.

Matt blindly reached for some lube, not really caring which he grabbed. Not that they really cared much about it before, using whatever was around after the first time caused Mello to bleed. He didn’t care what he grabbed, only that he grabbed something. He heard several things hit the floor, but one stayed in his hand.

With Mello’s ear still in his mouth, he blindly opened the bottle and squeezed its contents on Mello’s ass. Matt used his erection to spread it around to where it needed to be.

Mello begged, pleaded, swore, hissed, his voice wavering between hazy and desperate. Every bit of pain drove his being, who he was supposed to be, the frustration of not being quite good enough, from his mind until everything was pure and clean.

When Matt’s shaft filled him, even that was driven from Mello’s mind, replaced with fullness, satisfaction and a deep sense of rightness. He was and that was all. And Matt was with him, in him, his body pressing against all the lashings, making them ache and sting again. He wanted to thrash, to buck back into Matt’s thrusts, but the restraints prevented him from moving. He was completely at Matt’s mercy. And he was completely at peace.

Matt was forced to release Mello’s ear. Though he couldn’t move much, something niggled at Matt’s mind that ripping off Mello’s ear was a bad idea, even if it was an accident. He pressed his hands into the bed, giving himself the leverage to really pound into Mello, to take him hard and slow. He ground his hips against Mello’s ass, deliberately irritating the sensitized skin just to hear Mello whimper. He took his time, occasionally nipping at Mello’s back, teasing it, just to hear Mello beg.

To watch Mello writhe and stretch his bonds as far as they would go was more intoxicating than the sense of power he felt while beating him. To know that he, and he alone, could see Mello like this, could make Mello like this, filled him with the desire to never ever let anyone else see Mello like this. This was for him alone.

Which is just what Mello wanted, the small part of his brain that could think that way informed him. The information was lost in the flood of sensations and need. He needed more. He moved his hands to Mello’s hips and pulled them up as high as he could, effectively stretching Mello to the limit, preventing him from moving anymore. But, in this position, Matt could hammer into Mello’s body fast and hard. The slap of skin, Mello’s renewed screams, the tightness around his shaft all drove him to move faster and harder. He felt Mello come, felt his body draw his in deeper and he kept fucking Mello. He could hear Mello begging, pleading with him, though the words didn’t fully register, and he kept thrusting his shaft in and out as hard and as fast as he could. His vision sparked with colors he’d never seen before and his whole body felt like an electric current was running through him and he continued moving until the current was so strong his body locked, pulsing deep in Mello’s ass, a scream torn from his throat as he came.

And it passed too quickly, leaving him breathless and weak. Matt collapsed onto Mello’s body, struggling to relearn how to use his lungs. The whole world trembled.

It was a long time before either of them could move or even speak. When he felt he could form words, Matt growled, “No one is ever to see that again.” He pushed himself to the side in time to see Mello smirk. “Bastard.”

Mello only shrugged as well as he could. His arms were starting to hurt. “We both got what we wanted.”

Matt shook his head. He squirmed along the bed and started working the fastenings of the leather shackles. “How the fuck did you get these fastened?” he demanded. “Who helped you?”

“I used my mouth,” Mello replied irritably, drawing his arm under his chest as it was freed.

Matt reached over for the other arm. “I’ll have to get you to show me,” he said, his voice implying he didn’t mean refastening the restraints.

Mello drew his other arm down and rolled a little to the side, leaning against Matt. His legs weren’t really bothering him. “If this works, I will,” he promised.

Matt draped his arm over Mello possessively, drawing a slight hiss of pain. “Just see if it doesn’t.”

A/N Enjoy...leave cookies or something...

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