Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme
Welcome to the Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme!
How it works:
* Comment anonymously with a kinkfic request. All requests must contain a character or pairing/threesome/moresome (any combination of guys/girls/shinigami/whatever are OK, crossovers are fine too), and at least one kink. If you need inspiration, check out this huge list of kinks by eliade. ( Read more... )
How it works:
* Comment anonymously with a kinkfic request. All requests must contain a character or pairing/threesome/moresome (any combination of guys/girls/shinigami/whatever are OK, crossovers are fine too), and at least one kink. If you need inspiration, check out this huge list of kinks by eliade. ( Read more... )
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Right?
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It's the first time in weeks that Matt's had the chance to truly relax. He should probably be sleeping - Lord knows he's deprived himself enough recently, with bad dreams every time he tries, sleeping light as a feather so that he can hear any sound Mello makes that might require his help - but instead he's sprawled across the couch mashing buttons like crazy as he absolutely destroys Azure Kite on the pure white field. The fight would be harder if he hadn't capped out his characters in this save file, but this is supposed to be relaxation time. And pwning bosses has to be the definition of soul-soothing.
The sound of smashing glass from the bedroom sends him bolt upright. He pauses swiftly, and rolls of the couch, scrambling to his feet.
Mello is awake. Glass is being broken. This can't possibly be any good.
Oh no. It must be that Mello's ( ... )
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"I'm a monster," Mello says, voice savage. "Look at me, Matt. Look at me."
Make up your mind, Matt is tempted to say, but won't. "I'm looking," he says.
"Do you not see what the fire did to me?" he demands, and rolls over so abruptly that Matt is forced to let go.
"I see," Matt says, and his heart aches in his chest. Weeks of pus, and blood, and bandages. Burn creams, and painkillers, and nightmares every night of waking up to find Mello dead, or burning up in the middle of an inferno. "I know, Mello."
"It took away my last defence," Mello says. His shoulders shake briefly, then still. "It stripped off my masks and left me with the ugly truth. How can you bear to look at me, Matt? I'm... I'm hideous. All that ugliness on my skin. Outside now, as well as inside. How - I can't -"
And now his ( ... )
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He chokes, but Matt knows Mello well enough to have an idea of what he is thinking.
You can't pretend you still want me where there are whole people out there, who are beautiful on the inside, and the outside.
"You're wrong," Matt repeats, and crawls back towards him. Smoothes his hands over Mello's bandage-wrapped chest as he draws near enough; the rough fabric catches against his palms, but the sensation warms him. He straddles Mello, carefully, cautious of his wounds, and grips his wrists tightly, so he won't have a chance to push him off again. Matt bends downwards, and kisses Mello's lips once again.
Mello is a physical person; he always has been, and always will be, more content with action than words, because he knows all about lying, and twisting the truth. ( ... )
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Muscles quiver under his caressing fingers, and Matt continues downwards at last, painting a trail down Mello's stomach with his tongue, skipping his groin to lift his right leg to his shoulder as he lies between them, and makes love to Mello's inner thigh. He drags fingers over the sensitive nerves running down the sides of Mello's leg, mouthing past his knee and down his calf until he is kissing down the top of Mello's right foot.
He really hopes Mello will not kick him in the face. He's never tried this before, but as he slips the daintiest of Mello's toes into his mouth, Mello's back arches ( ... )
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He pushes one saliva-slick finger into himself, working himself open. If Mello weren't injured, it would be easier to get him to do this part, but Mello is hurt, not just in body but in heart, and if worship is what he needs to heal, Matt will give him everything he can, without question.
Second finger. He finds his own prostate and pushes against it, shuddering. Mello's hips are beginning to buck; Matt is having trouble breathing as Mello forces himself down his throat. He removes his other hand from the ( ... )
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"Mello," he moans, body twisting as he rides harder. "Oh, Mello, so good, so good -"
Mello's face is flushed, his good side expressive as ever, the rippled skin on his bad side trying as hard as it can to follow suit. His bandages are slipping, revealing more reddened flesh. His body drips with sweat; despite his position this is still more energy than he's exerted in a long time, now. His eyes all but glow, ragged hair sticking to glistening cheeks, gathering at the base of his neck.
Before, Matt remembers, as heat builds to an almost unbearable limit within him, Mello was an angel, perfect face, perfect hair, perfect, unblemished slender body, a beautiful lie - because Mello has never been an angel, and he never will be, Matt knows this, and doesn't care. He doesn't need to be an angel. He just has to be himself to be as ( ... )
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I love it!
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