DN -- Friday the Thirteenth
Title: Friday the Thirteenth
Collection: Fifteen
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 292
Prompt: "Friday the 13th"
Warnings: idk, my bff Mello?
Summary: What a day.
Author's Note: There are a grand total of THREE Friday the Thirteenths in 2009.
13. FRIDAY THE 13TH
Mello’s soaked through.
There’s a petulant twist to his scowl, but mostly he’s just miserable-swathed in wet denim and ruined leather, boots squelching, his hair hanging in his eyes. The word Matt thinks is bedraggled, and it puts him in mind of cats down wells and the brave singsongy children who fish them out again.
It also has bed in it, and drag, and glad if you mix it up a bit.
The rain beats at the windows, jealous that he’s repossessed its prize, as he sits Mello down on the couch and starts peeling off the sodden leather vest, which he tosses aside in favor of laying warm kisses down the goosebump-prickled skin of Mello’s neck and shoulder.
“I walked under a ladder today of all days,” the object of his ministrations mutters. “You know, I thought for years that me stepping on a crack in the sidewalk was what made my mother fall down the stairs.”
Matt imagines Mello has broken a lot of mirrors, too-or that they’ve cracked out of spite upon realizing they can’t hold his reflection once he’s moved.
By the time Matt has retreated and returned bearing hot chocolate, Mello has shed his jeans, the better to curl up on the couch in the fuzzy red blanket, the color of which makes his eyes stand out like scattered Swarovskis. Matt puts the mug in his hands, and slender fingers curl around the painted ceramic, and then he leans in and slides his arms around the bare waist beneath the blanket. At the same moment, he happens to notice that Mello’s damp black boxers are crumpled on the floor by his jeans.
Personally, Matt doesn’t think today is unlucky at all.
Collection: Fifteen
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 292
Prompt: "Friday the 13th"
Warnings: idk, my bff Mello?
Summary: What a day.
Author's Note: There are a grand total of THREE Friday the Thirteenths in 2009.
13. FRIDAY THE 13TH
Mello’s soaked through.
There’s a petulant twist to his scowl, but mostly he’s just miserable-swathed in wet denim and ruined leather, boots squelching, his hair hanging in his eyes. The word Matt thinks is bedraggled, and it puts him in mind of cats down wells and the brave singsongy children who fish them out again.
It also has bed in it, and drag, and glad if you mix it up a bit.
The rain beats at the windows, jealous that he’s repossessed its prize, as he sits Mello down on the couch and starts peeling off the sodden leather vest, which he tosses aside in favor of laying warm kisses down the goosebump-prickled skin of Mello’s neck and shoulder.
“I walked under a ladder today of all days,” the object of his ministrations mutters. “You know, I thought for years that me stepping on a crack in the sidewalk was what made my mother fall down the stairs.”
Matt imagines Mello has broken a lot of mirrors, too-or that they’ve cracked out of spite upon realizing they can’t hold his reflection once he’s moved.
By the time Matt has retreated and returned bearing hot chocolate, Mello has shed his jeans, the better to curl up on the couch in the fuzzy red blanket, the color of which makes his eyes stand out like scattered Swarovskis. Matt puts the mug in his hands, and slender fingers curl around the painted ceramic, and then he leans in and slides his arms around the bare waist beneath the blanket. At the same moment, he happens to notice that Mello’s damp black boxers are crumpled on the floor by his jeans.
Personally, Matt doesn’t think today is unlucky at all.