DN -- Karma
Title: Karma
Collection: Fifteen
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG
Word Count: 183
Prompt: karma
Warnings: stuff
Summary: But not this time.
Author's Note: Not my favorite, but it'll do.
16. KARMA
It wasn’t too long ago that he told a blond boy not to go.
It wasn’t too long ago that white hands splayed on his chest and shoved him into the dresser, and his ears rang for the screams.
The words echoed for a long time after the headache went away.
Now there’s white gauze, but the footsteps are steadier today, and they’ve directed their trajectory towards the door.
Not a chance in Special Hell.
This time, he doesn’t tell a blond boy anything.
This time, he lets his hands speak for him, and he pushes Mello down on the bed, springs squealing.
This time, he ignores the startled accusation in the bright blue eyes and kisses his victim, kisses him roughly, kisses him hard.
This time, he digs his fingers into the hot flesh past the edges of the bandage, because this time, it would kill him to let go.
He draws back, lips bruised, heart healing, and smirks down at the amazement and the incredulity and the stunned appreciation.
“Karma’s a bitch,” he tells a blond boy; “isn’t it?”
Collection: Fifteen
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG
Word Count: 183
Prompt: karma
Warnings: stuff
Summary: But not this time.
Author's Note: Not my favorite, but it'll do.
16. KARMA
It wasn’t too long ago that he told a blond boy not to go.
It wasn’t too long ago that white hands splayed on his chest and shoved him into the dresser, and his ears rang for the screams.
The words echoed for a long time after the headache went away.
Now there’s white gauze, but the footsteps are steadier today, and they’ve directed their trajectory towards the door.
Not a chance in Special Hell.
This time, he doesn’t tell a blond boy anything.
This time, he lets his hands speak for him, and he pushes Mello down on the bed, springs squealing.
This time, he ignores the startled accusation in the bright blue eyes and kisses his victim, kisses him roughly, kisses him hard.
This time, he digs his fingers into the hot flesh past the edges of the bandage, because this time, it would kill him to let go.
He draws back, lips bruised, heart healing, and smirks down at the amazement and the incredulity and the stunned appreciation.
“Karma’s a bitch,” he tells a blond boy; “isn’t it?”