DN -- King Midas
Title: King Midas
Collection: Fifteen
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 234
Prompt: King Midas
Warnings: some language, underage sex
Summary: It's like some barrier has been broken.
Author's Note: I really like this one. True story.
2. KING MIDAS
Mello turned fifteen three days ago.
It’s like some barrier has broken, some dam has cracked, some floodgates have swung open, and everything-everything-
Matt takes him on the floor the first time, a mess of arching and writhing, teeth clenched, breath short, and the friction between his skin and the carpet carves angry red burns onto his shoulder-blades, sore spots that chafe beneath his clothes, marks to match the bloody trails he’s scoured and scattered among Matt’s ribs.
Three days later, the white heat of the memory has bleached the guilt, and their hips brush as Mello pushes past him to get to the closet, and a shudder like an earthquake racks his frame.
Matt’s fingertips blaze across his waist, and there are coats at his back and Matt flush against him, and then the bed, and the rumpled tangle of disheveled sheets-
The love-what must be love, what has to be because he’s read books, and nothing else would hurt this bad-makes him sick to his stomach where he lies listening to Matt breathe. It’s just too much, and there’s too much other shit all mixed in, and it alternately clenches and churns.
He kisses Matt’s forehead and crawls from the bed and to the bathroom, where he stares down the unblinking porcelain and wishes he could vomit up the pain.
Everything he touches turns to sin.
Collection: Fifteen
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 234
Prompt: King Midas
Warnings: some language, underage sex
Summary: It's like some barrier has been broken.
Author's Note: I really like this one. True story.
2. KING MIDAS
Mello turned fifteen three days ago.
It’s like some barrier has broken, some dam has cracked, some floodgates have swung open, and everything-everything-
Matt takes him on the floor the first time, a mess of arching and writhing, teeth clenched, breath short, and the friction between his skin and the carpet carves angry red burns onto his shoulder-blades, sore spots that chafe beneath his clothes, marks to match the bloody trails he’s scoured and scattered among Matt’s ribs.
Three days later, the white heat of the memory has bleached the guilt, and their hips brush as Mello pushes past him to get to the closet, and a shudder like an earthquake racks his frame.
Matt’s fingertips blaze across his waist, and there are coats at his back and Matt flush against him, and then the bed, and the rumpled tangle of disheveled sheets-
The love-what must be love, what has to be because he’s read books, and nothing else would hurt this bad-makes him sick to his stomach where he lies listening to Matt breathe. It’s just too much, and there’s too much other shit all mixed in, and it alternately clenches and churns.
He kisses Matt’s forehead and crawls from the bed and to the bathroom, where he stares down the unblinking porcelain and wishes he could vomit up the pain.
Everything he touches turns to sin.