"If You Want Something Done", Death Note, Misa/Light, pegging
BECAUSE SOMEONE IN THE FANDOM HAD TO DO IT.
"Misa," Light begins, as calmly as he can manage. He tries to press his knees together, but his ankles are restrained far enough apart that it doesn't really work. "This is cute, but I have work to do. We both have work to do."
"But you always have work to do." Misa pouts. There's something almost ridiculous about the way she looks, crouched between his spread legs, naked as he is except for the very shiny and very pink strap-on, her expression girlish and full of mock-hurt. "Even Kira can make some time for his girlfriend, right?"
"Look, I know I've been busy--"
"And now," she interrupts, all determination, "you're going to be busy pleasing Misa-Misa for a little while."
Before he can come up with another excuse she drags her fingers up the inside of his thigh. It takes a huge amount of effort for Light to suppress a shiver of pleasure.
But he can't ignore the spike of heat that goes through him when Misa slides her hand around his cock.
This is all wrong. He is a god, he is the architect and savior of a new world, and Misa is his servant--he absolutely cannot be here, on his back, wrists and ankles cuffed to the bedposts. He can't be lying here submissive while a woman strokes him, while she does something to the strap-on so it makes a humming sound like a distant motor. It's not in his plan, and what is not part of his plan simply does not happen.
"You know, Light," Misa purrs (and Light's breath catches in his throat as her other hand moves under him, fingers wet and deft). "I told you when we met, I wanted to be your girlfriend. I want you to love me. And it makes me so mad that you won't let me try to make you happy."
"This--ah--won't make me happy," he replies, but the words turn into a mewl as two of her fingers press into him up to the knuckle. Misa laughs, a giggle that's as much genuine delight as I-told-you-so mockery.
"It won't hurt for long, trust me. I've done a lot of research."
He tries to will himself not to be hard, to let his anger overcome the overwhelming physical need. She strokes him with one hand, flexes and moves inside him with the other, and he tries to tell himself it'll be over soon and she'll leave me alone and then we can forget this ever happened. But she stops suddenly, makes a little disapproving noise, and Light groans--as much out of pure want as the shift of power away from him.
"Not yet, Light." She leans up, suddenly, positioning herself so that her hips almost fit between his. A fine flush spreads across her face; the strap-on is humming a little louder now. He can feel it buzzing and tickling close to where her fingertips rest.
He isn't sure why he notices the earnest expression on her face now, the odd combination of pleasure and the sincere, all-consuming adoration he'd seen in her the first day they met. But when she says "I love you," not only does he know just how much she means it, but how dangerous it really is.
Then the strap-on is nudging at him, sliding awkwardly in as she pushes forward.
It hurts and it doesn't. He bites his lip, furious with himself, furious with her, and then Misa is kissing the corner of his mouth, her breasts soft against his chest. Her hips rock minutely and it takes him a second to register that he's the one who just moaned, not her.
She lowers herself onto him so that her belly presses against his cock, rubbing and shifting as she breathes, gasps, thrusts again. She moves a little more forcefully and something bizarre happens, something that makes Light grab involuntarily for the edges of his handcuffs just so he can have something to hold on to. Some part of his mind is still screaming not possible, not good, not according to plan, but the words are becoming indistinct in a red haze of anger and lust.
He doesn't know where Misa learned this or where she got the idea. After two or three more thrusts he doesn't particularly care. Another few thrusts and he realizes that her tongue is sliding slick and hot over his own, that she's giving him a fierce and undeniably real kiss. He's no longer coherent enough to think of not kissing back. He tries not to make noise, but Misa is absurdly persistent, fucking him harder and harder, hitting some deep nerve ending that jolts rational thought out of his head completely.
All at once it's too much. The orgasm roars through every part of his body, making him buck and writhe uncontrollably; he doesn't even hear the sound he makes. The cuffs bite into his wrists and ankles hard enough to bruise and he doesn't care. He's never come so hard in his entire life.
Above him, Misa rocks faster and deeper; as Light's head begins to clear and the tension drains from every muscle he's aware that she stiffens and grinds into him not once but twice.
He doesn't hear himself groan at the sight of her coming, long and shuddering.
But Misa hears it, and lets him wonder why she's smiling so hugely as she reaches down to finally switch off the vibrator.
"Misa," Light begins, as calmly as he can manage. He tries to press his knees together, but his ankles are restrained far enough apart that it doesn't really work. "This is cute, but I have work to do. We both have work to do."
"But you always have work to do." Misa pouts. There's something almost ridiculous about the way she looks, crouched between his spread legs, naked as he is except for the very shiny and very pink strap-on, her expression girlish and full of mock-hurt. "Even Kira can make some time for his girlfriend, right?"
"Look, I know I've been busy--"
"And now," she interrupts, all determination, "you're going to be busy pleasing Misa-Misa for a little while."
Before he can come up with another excuse she drags her fingers up the inside of his thigh. It takes a huge amount of effort for Light to suppress a shiver of pleasure.
But he can't ignore the spike of heat that goes through him when Misa slides her hand around his cock.
This is all wrong. He is a god, he is the architect and savior of a new world, and Misa is his servant--he absolutely cannot be here, on his back, wrists and ankles cuffed to the bedposts. He can't be lying here submissive while a woman strokes him, while she does something to the strap-on so it makes a humming sound like a distant motor. It's not in his plan, and what is not part of his plan simply does not happen.
"You know, Light," Misa purrs (and Light's breath catches in his throat as her other hand moves under him, fingers wet and deft). "I told you when we met, I wanted to be your girlfriend. I want you to love me. And it makes me so mad that you won't let me try to make you happy."
"This--ah--won't make me happy," he replies, but the words turn into a mewl as two of her fingers press into him up to the knuckle. Misa laughs, a giggle that's as much genuine delight as I-told-you-so mockery.
"It won't hurt for long, trust me. I've done a lot of research."
He tries to will himself not to be hard, to let his anger overcome the overwhelming physical need. She strokes him with one hand, flexes and moves inside him with the other, and he tries to tell himself it'll be over soon and she'll leave me alone and then we can forget this ever happened. But she stops suddenly, makes a little disapproving noise, and Light groans--as much out of pure want as the shift of power away from him.
"Not yet, Light." She leans up, suddenly, positioning herself so that her hips almost fit between his. A fine flush spreads across her face; the strap-on is humming a little louder now. He can feel it buzzing and tickling close to where her fingertips rest.
He isn't sure why he notices the earnest expression on her face now, the odd combination of pleasure and the sincere, all-consuming adoration he'd seen in her the first day they met. But when she says "I love you," not only does he know just how much she means it, but how dangerous it really is.
Then the strap-on is nudging at him, sliding awkwardly in as she pushes forward.
It hurts and it doesn't. He bites his lip, furious with himself, furious with her, and then Misa is kissing the corner of his mouth, her breasts soft against his chest. Her hips rock minutely and it takes him a second to register that he's the one who just moaned, not her.
She lowers herself onto him so that her belly presses against his cock, rubbing and shifting as she breathes, gasps, thrusts again. She moves a little more forcefully and something bizarre happens, something that makes Light grab involuntarily for the edges of his handcuffs just so he can have something to hold on to. Some part of his mind is still screaming not possible, not good, not according to plan, but the words are becoming indistinct in a red haze of anger and lust.
He doesn't know where Misa learned this or where she got the idea. After two or three more thrusts he doesn't particularly care. Another few thrusts and he realizes that her tongue is sliding slick and hot over his own, that she's giving him a fierce and undeniably real kiss. He's no longer coherent enough to think of not kissing back. He tries not to make noise, but Misa is absurdly persistent, fucking him harder and harder, hitting some deep nerve ending that jolts rational thought out of his head completely.
All at once it's too much. The orgasm roars through every part of his body, making him buck and writhe uncontrollably; he doesn't even hear the sound he makes. The cuffs bite into his wrists and ankles hard enough to bruise and he doesn't care. He's never come so hard in his entire life.
Above him, Misa rocks faster and deeper; as Light's head begins to clear and the tension drains from every muscle he's aware that she stiffens and grinds into him not once but twice.
He doesn't hear himself groan at the sight of her coming, long and shuddering.
But Misa hears it, and lets him wonder why she's smiling so hugely as she reaches down to finally switch off the vibrator.