Of Gods and Angels

BY : Pseudo Hanyou
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 1275
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor do I make any profit from this fic.

Chapter 5: Sin


Mikami had all but rushed back to his apartment as soon as Kami dismissed him. The sound of that cool, calm voice echoed in his mind, goading something that should not have been present: Desire. When the hand of God came into contact with him, he felt something he could only describe as absolute exultation. That was what he had sought during his service: Recognition.

Deliverance.

Within moments of entering through his front door, his knees met the carpet with an audible thud, his body wracked with tremors as his hands threaded themselves into his own hair, fingers gripping at the strands harshly. The thoughts that plagued his mind were nothing less than sinful. Terrible, blasphemous images of his god, caressing the back of his neck, lips brushing lightly over his own. He tugged at his hair harder, tears welling in his eyes, as he attempted to will this sin away. This was not acceptable, not allowed. His place was to serve without question, to please Kami in all things. His reaction to being in his god’s presence should have been exultation, honor. It should not have produced this carnal aching he had felt, building further upon each word that had passed from Kami’s lips.

Mikami was struck with the sudden fear that Kami had been fully aware of his state during their encounter. How foolish he must have seemed: Fighting to even his breaths, to hold at bay the blatant desire to throw himself at Kami’s feet and offer his body like some pathetic, wanton whore.

No, he told himself, Kami did not want flesh. He wanted justice, loyalty, the reassurance that Mikami would always carry out his will with no complications or questions. These human desires were below him and Mikami’s cheeks blushed brightly from the shame of being unable to stop himself from reaching his hands down to unbuckle his belt, slide his zipper down with rushed motions, and reach inside of his pants to cup his hardness which had been throbbing from the moment he first entered the hotel room.

He rose up on his knees and emitted a long, drawn out groan from behind gritted teeth at the feel of his hand coming into contact with his own cock. His underwear provided a frustrating barrier, and soon he reached inside of those too, his warm palm wrapping around his hardness, squeezing it painfully as though in hurting himself, he was serving his god by punishing himself for his disrespect. “Forgive me, Kami…” He breathed as he brought his hand forward; stroking his length, then back again. The air was cold between his teeth as he sucked in his breath, muttering apologies and curses, his own words surprising himself.

Mikami was never one to give into indulgence, but this aching was something that demanded relief, lest it drove him mad. His cock was throbbing, the blood in his veins pulsing with each jerk of his hand, until he fell back onto the floor, panting, his fingers finding and sliding through the juices that had pooled at the tip of his erection. His groans had evolved into broken sobs, punctuated with each movement, each stroke. Heels ground into the carpet, he arched his back, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth until he tasted the metallic flavor of blood trickling onto his tongue. “Nngh, Kami, forgive me, forgive me…” He repeated over and over, his movements becoming faster, more heated as beads of sweat formed on his brow. Every nerve in his body was on fire as he closed his eyes and imagined the cool hand of his god in place of his own. The light scrape of teeth, whispered adoration…

Heat pooled in his groin, aching, pushing, until he took in one, ragged breath and released his sticky, hot fluid into his palm, onto the cloth of his underwear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He panted, like a prayer, a plea for forgiveness that fell on deaf ears as he rode out his release, closing his fingers around the head of his cock, jerking his hips into his hand like a starved whore.

The tears came immediately, stinging his eyes and burning his cheeks, flowing as they would from a newborn child. Mikami was reborn, dying with shame, breathless, and strewn over the carpet. Upon composing himself, his eyes darted over the room in fear that the Shinigami had returned to see him in this uneven state. Pulling his hand away and sitting up, the lawyer looked down at his undone pants, his wrinkled shirt, and the large, wet stain that had formed on his undergarments. How had he allowed himself to become so disarrayed?

He allowed his head to fall forward, squeezing his eyes closed against the liquid salt as he allowed his mind to settle around what he had just done. What had just occurred was…unforgivable. A sin. A crime against Kami. No matter the excellence in his service, no matter how flawlessly he judged, he was now amongst the ones who required judgment. He had given himself over to indulgence, to selfishness.

Yes, he resolved, Kami would indeed punish him for this crime, had he been present. And so Mikami took it upon himself to carry out his own sentence. It was right. It was pure. It was what Kami would have him do.

The lawyer rose, unbuttoned his shirt in haste, and draped it over his arm as he slipped out of his shoes and removed his pants. Lastly, he rid his flesh of his undergarments, marked with evidence of his crime and bunched them into a ball along with the rest of his clothing.

Taking large strides into the kitchen, he discarded the tainted garments into his garbage bin and removed the bag, tying it nine times before placing it on the floor next to the sink. That done, his movements followed his line of vision to the drawer that held his utensils. Opening it, he removed a small paring knife, one of a set of two, and closed the drawer. This would be the instrument of his purging. His sin would bleed out of him through his wound and he would be pure once more.

His first instinct was to mark his face so the world would know the evidence of his deeds. With his trembling right hand, he brought the tip of the blade to his cheek, holding it against the flesh. One downward stroke and he would be able to drag it down the length of his face, purifying himself and performing penance in the name of his god. Kami would…

Kami would not have him visibly mark himself to where questions would be asked. Kami would have him be discreet in all of his actions, as was expected of him. “My will is your will.” He murmured as he lowered the knife, finally resting it on the flesh covering his second rib on the left side of his torso. “My flesh is your flesh…” His eyes closed, his head falling back with his mouth agape as he pressed the sharp metal into his skin, applying pressure until he felt it pierce. “My blood is your blood.” Slowly, methodically, he drew a straight, two inch line in his skin, his blood emerging from the wound almost immediately and trickling down his side, over his hip, onto the floor below. “For you, my life is forfeit.”

The wound complete, he allowed the blade to clatter to the marble tile, his hand immediately covering his affliction, gathering the blood on his fingers before bringing it to his lips. “I taste of my sin,” he whispered, his other hand clenched as to not cry out from the stinging pain of the cut. “I ingest the crime that has been committed against you, that it may never be forgotten.” His pink tongue darted out, lapping the blood from his hands, before reaching down once more and retrieving the remainder that continued to bleed from his wound. “Flesh of your flesh. Blood of your blood. I offer my suffering as restitution, Kami. Kami-sama…” Once again, he tasted his own lifeblood, drinking it down as an offering to Kira. “Kami-sama, forgive me. Look upon your disciple and know that he has repented.”

Mikami slid down the kitchen wall to the cold floor; his legs sprawled out before him. He was forgiven; he had paid for his sin. And oh, what a luscious sin it was. Leaning his head back against the wall, he recalled Kami’s words:

“You will be permitted to look upon me.”


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