OOC: Log Post; Mello/Itachi
Who: Mello and Itachi
Where: A nameless hotel.
When: Oh, hell, I've no idea I no longer remember. Um. Several days ago?
Why: Because Mello and Itachi are absolutely mad.
Warnings: HOKAY *rolls sleeves* Bloodplay and lots of it. Mental games and a shit load of Religious ...everything. Sex and complete utter pwnage of a genocidal ninja. Yes. That's right.
Rating: NC-17, don't click kiddies.
EXTRA: THIS IS FOR YOU MICHELLE :D
In the nameless hotel everything was quiet except for the rapid beating of Mello’s own heart. He had never been a patient person and waiting two days not knowing what would happen between the then and now had been a torture he was only too willing to bear. He tensed at every flutter of sound, strings wound so tight he was merely waiting for them to snap. Mello was an edgy person on the best of days but this was the very height.
Itachi. The name sent a quiet shiver down his spine. He clenched his fingers, nails biting into his palms as he waited. There was simply no way to predict anything that would occur and Mello didn’t mind that half as much as he should have. He wasn’t nervous, it wasn’t nervousness that had him feeling like he was going to crash at any moment, but pure excitement, the unknown. He sat against the edge of the mattress. Waiting.
Itachi observed Mello calmly through the window, his own eyes glinting crimson back at him as they flickered about, precisely assessing their surroundings. No one else was around; no one who mattered anyway. There was no danger, no threat to their appointment. No outside reasons to delay this any longer.
Forming three seals, Itachi allowed the adrenaline to seep into his veins as entered the room silently. His first thought was that Mello was smaller than he'd expected; prettier, fragile-looking in a way that only a fool would underestimate. His second was that Mello had made a good choice in hotels. The room seemed to have everything they'd need.
"You don't want to clench too hard." Itachi smirked, feeling alive. "Might cause yourself some damage."
Mello’s eyes snapped towards him, not feeling the usual failure at being unable to detect him until he was already visible. Itachi was too high above him for that and - he felt a grin tug at his mouth, a smile with too many teeth. Automatically he clenched his fingers tighter before relaxing them all together.
“That might be the idea” He replied simply, trying to steal his breath back after it had been taken away. Itachi was there, right there and a single word echoed through Mello’s head. Perfect. It didn’t surprise him but made him want all the more. He kept his arms at his side to keep from reaching out for that which was above him. “Itachi” He let the name roll off his tongue, tasting sweet and bitter and powerful all at once.
"Mello." Itachi stepped forward into the dim lamplight, removing his cloak with a minimum of movement, still observing. He didn't regularly associate with non-shinobi, and a small, uncontrollable shiver coursed down his spine as he realised that he was unable to see or sense any chakra emanating from Mello at all. Even though he'd been expecting it, it felt odd, out of place. Unpredictable.
Itachi took a careful breath, feeling the oxygen hit his veins in a rush. Mello made him want. Anticipation like this was rare for him, and the sight of Mello there in front of him, in the flesh, made it an actual challenge to control his outward reactions. He approached the bed slowly, his weapons pouch landing on the bedding with dull thud as he slid a hand along Mello's jawbone, tilting that blonde head back far enough to meet his eyes. "Or you could leave that sort of thing to me?"
Mello’s eyes followed the weapons pouch as it landed; everything was sharper, louder, and clearer. Two days, he realized, was a very long time. He let Itachi tilt his head back (though he had no doubts about the difference in strength, whatever Itachi wanted he could very well take) taking in every plane, every inch of Itachi’s face. He didn’t want to rush this, no matter how much he ached for it.
He wondered what Itachi was seeing with those eyes of his and the thought made his expression slide into a sharper smile. The air felt far too thick, and the knowledge of what Itachi could do with the fingers pressed against Mello’s jaw was almost intoxicating. Mello spoke with a calm he didn’t know he possessed “By all means”
Itachi smirked again as the words hit him in dormant, unexpected places. Mello would be conscious of the difference in power - his run-ins with Deidara made that a certainty - but he clearly had nerve. He'd gathered this from their online conversations, but now, as he studied the delicate, haunted curves of that face, it became real.
Even having never done anything like this before, Itachi had an idea of how he wanted things to progress. Taking a moment to remove his shoes and leg wraps, he gestured with his eyes towards the mirror hanging on the wall to the left of the bed. "You should face that."
The mirror? His breath caught as the reason why became apparent to him, knowing Itachi would notice the sound and not caring. He had no intention of hiding his reactions to this, what he thought. He forced himself to not be entranced, trapped into watching Itachi do simple things, slight movements that made Mello feel hot and cold all over.
He moved towards the mirror, fingers creeping to the laces at his side as he did, he loosened them but did not remove anything just shifted so that he could see his own reflection in the glass. Itachi could so very easily stab him in the back, literally. He could so very easily stop the very breath that grew short for him. Mello knew this but despite a lifetime of learning, he did nothing to change it.
“So far,” he said suddenly “Reality is proving fantasy right, Itachi”
The air was heavy, hanging in a way Itachi liked as he watched Mello from beneath his lashes, appreciating the easy elegance of his movements. Fingers on laces, the line of his throat, the eyes watching him intently; in other times and places, he might have criticised someone for showing too much, demonstrating weakness... but instead, Mello had an uncanny knack for making him want to show more.
Kneeling on the bed, he settled in easily behind Mello. He wanted more than just to cut, he knew that now. He knew it as he slipped fingers beneath laces, as he gripped firmly at hipbones through soft skin to adjust their position, as he watched the reflection staring back out at them in the mirror. Not bothering to move Mello's hair, he leaned close, flushing with the heat that Mello's body seemed to radiate and speaking quietly against his ear. "Indeed." He flicked his weapons pouch open with practised ease, noticing how steady his hands were. "You should tell me how to start."
Mello was no stranger to being touched. His body was an instrument as much as it was anything though it readily turned against him. But despite this, the places Itachi’s fingers settled and brushed against faintly burned. Take from me, make me bleed, steal away my trespasses and - Mello’s thoughts danced with the sound of Itachi’s voice against his ear and Mello fought the urge to turn around and taketaketake.
He had asked to be bled and that thought kept his gaze ahead, eyes on Itachi’s reflection as though the layer of glass could possibly make him less striking. He tilted his head to the side and licked his lips before he spoke “So the sinner demands forgiveness” His voice was light, mocking but when he spoke again there was a need lacing his words “Wherever you choose but don’t make it deep. Lightest first for quieter wrong doings”
Itachi's breath caught audibly in his throat. He'd read the words, had known what he was there for, but nothing compared to actually hearing them fall from Mello's mouth, from between wet, wet lips. He blinked, steadying himself. There was time enough to remove articles of clothing and he wanted to start slowly.
The razor-sharp kunai he pulled from the pouch was a favourite, one he'd taken special care to sharpen precisely the night before. The silver of it contrasted strikingly against the smooth skin of Mello's right bicep. Words long buried bubbled up in Itachi's brain as he first flattened the blade - oh - then carefully tilted it, applying just enough pressure for blood to bead satisfyingly - ohyes - against the edge, eyes flickering eagerly up to watch Mello's reaction as his hand completed the action without the aid of sight. Oh yesss.
Mello’s rosary burned his chest beneath his clothes. Itachi’s hand was impossibly steady, the blade like ice against his skin. Mello kept his gaze to the mirror, watching the way Itachi so carefully, and so easily cut him. With Itachi as close as he was Mello heard the way Itachi’s breath caught, the sound sharp in his ear as sharp as the sting of the kunai. Mello’s lips parted, a breath as sharp as the blade as Itachi himself drawn in suddenly.
He didn’t want to close his eyes for a second, didn’t want to blink, drawn to the dark head behind him and in his gaze was something not unlike awe. Against all things, against his own knowledge of what he should be feeling, Mello felt relief like no other. They had hardly even begun. “One” He mouthed, and had he spoken his voice would have been strong. “Red is a beautiful colour” He whispered.
"Yes." Itachi could hear the fascination in his own voice, and he was sure Mello could too. Emotions both familiar and not tumbled through him; the dissonant thrill of blood at his own hands at odds with drawing it from someone who wanted-- no, needed him to was something he had no clue how to control. Moreover, eyes flashing crimson at the realisation, he didn't want to. Not with how Mello was reacting.
He'd been careful. The kunai was only reddened nicely along the edge, and there were two satisfying streaks of fluid reaching Mello's elbow. Switching hands, he held the held the blade just as steadily, just as precisely to the ruined, but no less beautiful skin of Mello's other bicep, cutting and bleeding and ohgodyes.
Fascination. Mello understood this well, he felt it for many things, usually coloured by rage or hate. For Itachi it was coloured by nothing. In that second, in that one word Mello heard it echoed. This fascinated Itachi, and in turn, that made Mello gasp. He wanted to be still, calm, to not fall so far that he couldn’t even hear himself anymore.
But he wanted to keep nothing of this from Itachi. God. This was. God was. Mello knew his eyes were clouded, knew that he was grinning and that it was Not Right to feel so elated. Sticky crimson crimes ran down his skin, tickled his senses, blew his mind. “Two,” He breathed, watching Itachi still though the words he mouthed next were spoken to the sky, to the room, to no one “I kidnapped a little girl, killed her father though I didn’t want to, it wasn’t me but he was mine and his actions are mine too. I fucked a lot of people to get where I am, killed good men and their blood is mine and -“
Lesser crimes these were not, Mello didn’t care. Itachi was beautiful.
Those words, those sins were dripping hot and red from Mello's mouth and Itachi wanted. Unable to help the noise in the back of his throat, he slid a hand into blonde hair, twisting Mello at the neck and restraining himself just enough to kiss him slowly at first, sucking carefully at his top lip. The kunai forgotten for the moment, Itachi pulled methodically at laces as his tongue slipped along the seam of heated lips, only pulling away when the motion of Mello's tunic being removed demanded he should.
Mello was suddenly startled; fingers were in his hair and a mouth hot against his lips. His eyes widened - Itachi was kissing him, Itachi wanted to kiss him - and his mind fought with itself for the smallest fraction of a second (Could he take this path, where would he fall, was this what he wanted, could he let his need take him so far-) before Mello’s own fingers were coming up to press against Itachi’s jaw.
Mello briefly wondered if Itachi even knew what it did to him to hear quiet sounds, to be this close, to be granted this. The moment Itachi pulled away Mello immediately lifted his tunic over his head, brushing his unmarred cheek against his arm as he did. He didn’t care where it fell. “More” He hissed, and he would never be able to decide which he meant. “Can I find forgiveness in this?” He murmured, unaware that he was speaking aloud.
The corner of Itachi's mouth quirked in reply. The lack of visual chakra didn't seem to matter. Mello was beautiful and broken and his in this moment; wanting him, needing what only he could give him. It was intoxicating, enough to send his own blood pooling low and aching as he moved to draw more of Mello's.
Taking a slow breath, Itachi studied all this new skin as he lifted the blade to Mello's chest. Scars of old across so much of his back were marred by fresh, angry-looking marks, obviously Deidara's work. He carefully avoided those as he shifted closer, thighs and hips pressing up against Mello's own; that wasn't the kind of pain he wanted to inflict. No, he thought, pressing the kunai just below the unmarked, right clavicle just as he pressed his mouth to the left side of Mello's neck, that wasn't the right kind of pain at all.
"Deeper, this time?"
“Yes”
He could hardly think with Itachi’s mouth where it was, with his blade against his skin. He smiled and wanted. His fingers itched to curl around his rosary; instead he lifted it behind him, using the mirror as his guide, to caress Itachi’s cheek first, to tug at the hair tie keeping his hair back. Complete, he needed to see his hair down, needed to feel it against his shoulders.
He wanted so much from this he felt like a child, ever hungry for things they didn’t understand and greedy for the things they did. “Make me bleed, Itachi, give me this” It was a demand, a plea, a moan. Mello’s thoughts were silent.
"Mm." The edge to Mello's voice struck a chord deep in Itachi's chest, even as his hair being pulled free made him smile in against the crook of Mello's neck. It seemed he enjoyed Mello's appreciation of symbolism. So much so that he wanted nothing more than to give Mello this, to see where it led them, follow him down... He hadn't felt need like this since-
Watching in the mirror, Itachi made quick work with the blade, drawing it harder and quicker against smooth, unmarked skin. The red that flowed almost immediately down Mello's chest had Itachi gritting his teeth and grunting, pleasure aching through him as he sucked hard on a patch of skin just behind Mello's ear. "Tell me things, Mello." He surprised himself with the words but he let them come. "Want to hear them."
Without thinking words began to tumble from Mello’s lips, rushed and slippery just like the blood that seeped from the neat perfect cut. “This is for the innocent people I killed, the ones who sought the same thing as me but they got in the way, they were in my way and Near needed to be taught a lesson. I needed to teach him a lesson… so I killed them all and wrote their names with my red right hand”
Mello tilted his head so that Itachi had better access, watching them both in the mirror as though he were only looking in on his downfall. “I -“ he hissed in a breath, dragged his fingers through the blood against his chest just to feel the warmth against his fingers, the ache, the sting, it hurt and he needed it so badly he waited for his body to combust “I - don’t regret it enough but it doesn’t matter with this”
Looking up from Mello's neck, Itachi watched him in the mirror as the words began to flow freely. This was what he wanted to hear, see. The blood on Mello's fingers was too bright, arterial and beautiful, and the tang of iron in his nostrils made him blink, hard, but not for long as he drew a breath. Yes. Crossing his arms over, he placed precise cut on the opposite side Mello's chest with one hand while dipping a finger of the other into the thin stream of blood now at Mello's stomach, unable to stop himself from ruining its progress. "More. Why?" He sucked lightly on the shell of Mello's ear.
Despite any attempts otherwise, Mello whimpered, biting down hard on his lip as he tried to catalogue his emotions, what went where - pain, excitement, pleasure, fear, lust, relief - he couldn’t keep up. Unblinking he reached for the hand not holding a kunai “I can’t afford to think about them, I can’t afford to care. I have to go forward - God can’t leave me behind, I need this so I can bring him with me despite all I -“He cut himself off, pressed his lips to the palm of Itachi’s hand and let his eyes close for a moment.
He could feel the blood sliding down his chest, sickly wet and warm, feel each of his prayers being bled out into the open. He could feel Itachi behind him, alive, breathing, listening, punishing - “What do you want, Itachi?” He breathed, words laced with the sting.
Turning Mello's face so that he would take up his complete field of vision, Itachi studied him. Closer, now. He could see the madness dancing in the depths of pretty, haunted eyes, the blood from his own fingers smeared along Mello's jawbone, feel the heated breath fanning damp across his lips. "What do I want?" To hear these 'sins'. To see how this 'punishment' affected him. To find out exactly what lay as the base of Mello's cliff, if only he'd jump.
"I want to see exactly how strong the lock on your door is." Resisting the urge to cut more, Itachi dropped the kunai to pull at the laces on Mello's pants instead, doing his best to not even brush the flesh beneath them. Patience was a virtue, and want easily stemmed when there was a pretty, open mouth so close to his own. He slid his tongue between Mello's lips, taking what he wanted.
Mello had no answer for that - he didn’t know, himself. If Itachi sought the answer here, with this, Mello sincerely hoped he found it as long as he didn’t break it in the process. The kunai fell against the sheets and there were fingers tugging at his laces - Mello opened his mouth to whisper something - what? - but he couldn’t bring himself to remember when Itachi was right there for him to taste. He half twisted around, not caring if he bloodied Itachi in the process, and tangled his fingers in Itachi’s hair.
He could almost smell absolution, could almost feel the stone floors of the cathedral beneath his knees, hear the chants, hear the prayers, the sound of bells, incense, candles - but when he kissed Itachi like a drowning man he could hear nothing but their heartbeats and smell the sickly smell of life.
Heat suffused Itachi's body as Mello turned to him. His openness was intoxicating, and not only due to its physicality; Itachi knew that not many would... not many could perceive it as fully as he was. The knowledge burned hot in his brain as fingertips left heated imprints on his scalp. He'd been precise with the blade, cutting deep enough to bleed but not enough to require suturing, and he let himself enjoy the results of his handiwork, fingers slipping deftly along the skin of Mello's torso, down over a sharp hipbone, sliding along just beneath a loosened waistband.
"How would it count on your list if I wanted more of you." The words were quiet and easy against Mello's mouth. "Would that give, or take away?"
“You should know the answer to that” Mello hissed, sliding his fingers forward and pressing his thumb against Itachi’s cheek. He moved his lips from Itachi’s mouth though it was almost painful to do so, placed hot scorching kisses along his jaw. Itachi was simply touching him now, fingers deceptively gentle and Mello struggled to decide what his body craved more. He covered the hand that slipped beneath his waistband with his own, pressed hard, trapping it against his skin.
His lips curved into a smirk against Itachi’s jaw “Take of me what you want” He murmured and even that sounded more like an order than an answer “I am not nearly forgiven enough for this, not yet. Take Deidara out of my skin and you can have everything I am”
Itachi smirked, widely. Even with Mello's bittersweet taste on his tongue, the damp trail on his jaw, the hand clamping tight on his own, it was those words against his skin that spiked hard through his veins. He liked this game when played with a worthy opponent.
"Everything?" He didn't turn them back to the mirror, instead grasping the kunai and brushing the point of it down over Mello's sternum, keeping it light enough to only prick with every intake of his breath. Wanting to see the stain, he fisted a bloody hand into bright hair, kissing that mouth again as he neatly drew the blade along the line of a rib.
Mello’s groan of approval was muffled by Itachi’s own mouth, as was the hiss of pain. Itachi was a demon and a god (blasphemer, blasphemer and the heavenly chorus can just go fuck itself because -) He released Itachi’s hand, using both of his own to pull closer, wanting the kiss to be deeper as though desperately trying to find his relief in the taste of his mouth too.
His eyes were brighter after he pulled away, just enough space between to whisper, brighter and hungry. “Everything,” He repeated, and he can feel the light in the sound of his laugh, the shiver of his skin “The son sacrificed his body to release the world from their sins. But as much as I love him, I can’t let my eternal soul rest in the hands of another, so I’ll give you my body in repayment for my own forgiveness. But will you be a greedy god, Itachi? I’ve more than my body to give”
Opposite hand, another rib - slice - and Itachi watched yet again as red seeped satisfyingly through split skin. Mello as he was now would be considered a gory mess by anyone else, but to those who understood, to those like him, he was perhaps Itachi's version of art. The realisation filled his smile with irony.
"What you want, I can give." Two more cuts, both precisely an inch below the last. "What else are you willing to offer?"
Mello tilted his head back, biting down on his tongue to keep the sounds in, not because he wants to hide them from Itachi - he doesn’t - but because it’s so close to being ecstasy it is a sin in itself. He laughed again, thick and cruel, slides his fingers to grip painfully at Itachi’s shoulders as the blood stains him further, washing away.
Vaguely, though Mello’s thoughts are hardly gathered enough for the rationality that such a thing would need, he ponders if Itachi will understand just what this means when he whispers it. But Mello was born for risks. He thinks about them, as he gasps, as he listens, waits. Near would never do this, would never be so foolish. But Mello knows, he knows that Itachi doesn’t want him dead; he will cease to be interesting. He will cease to entertain. Itachi has no use for such things.
Mello doesn’t trust him. Far from trusting him and that is what makes this so damn cleansing. Matt would kill him, Near would think him a fool, L would not say anything at all and stick a sugar cube in his mouth but Mello simply leaned down again, pressed his mouth hard to Itachi’s ear and whispers “Mihael” as though it is an answer.
It took Itachi a second or two longer than normal to process the unusual syllables in his mind, and once again irony was biting deliciously at the edges of his smile as he recognised them for what they were. Stronger this time though... rushing, euphoric. This creature pressed up against him, in the midst of his beautiful and bloody atonement, had just given him yet another tool with which to take his life.
Even if it was purely symbolic... because it was purely symbolic.
Opening his eyes, Itachi ran his thumb along the side of Mello's jaw; fascinated with just how far he'd taken this, and now aching to see it from all sides. "You'd tell me your name?" Two more cuts, now splitting skin over muscle.
Mello’s mouth falls open, lips parted and he can feel the blood on his face, in his hair. What must he appear to be? He waits for the sting to settle against his skin, waits for the fresh cuts to settle into his mind (and oh it aches, it aches so painfully) before biting, nipping, the edge of Itachi’s throat, teeth not at all gentle.
Dizziness swam about his head and he couldn’t figure out what the cause is, but he just muffled quiet laughter with a quieter moan and breathes hotly against Itachi’s skin “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be thinking the wrong name when you fuck me. You are going to fuck me, aren’t you, Itachi?” He dragged out the syllables in Itachi’s name, smiling because it is so endlessly funny to him at that moment. He has just given a murderer his name. The only feeling he can muster is want.
“Mother didn’t raise me right” He mouthed, no sound to be heard.
It was an answer to the question and perfect in its placement. Just like the bites on his neck, the hot breath on his skin - oh - just like the pretty wounds on Mello's torso, and with it, something tenuous and flimsy between them finally snapped. Itachi groaned, soaking in Mello's madness like heat as it surfaced. Insanity was something he could understand, and now that he was seeing the lock, Mello had handed him several keys.
"Yes." The word was hot and unusual in his mouth, mixing sickly-sweet in with Mello's kisses as he encouraged him further back onto the bed. "Now, I think."
Eager to please and eager to take. Mello hissed in a sharp breath, grinned a grin wide enough to split his face in two and twisted himself just enough to fall back against the sheets. It stung to move, irritated cuts that were carved so perfectly and Mello lapped it up, twisting fingers in the sheets and letting his life spill upon their white.
He parted his thighs wide, pulled Itachi between them and bit at his lip to keep the laughter in. Something inside him was no longer ticking quite right, his admissions had tilted him to far like a masterpiece in a frame that hangs on a wall a little too far to the left. The laughter is quickly smothered, replaced by smouldering, burning; his eyes dark and lips darker, skin darker than that still.
“When the devil offers you a deal there is only one right answer” Mello purred.
"Oh?"
Itachi hissed a breath at the sudden contact, watching the ebb and flow of insanity wash over Mello's features. He wore it well and Itachi let it draw him in, twisting his hips down into the lithe, matching heat of Mello's body, kissing hard at his mouth, his jaw, his untouched (unbloodied) throat.
Not caring (wanting) about blood staining him elsewhere, he dragged his mouth down along clean skin stretched over perfect bones, even as the ends of his hair caught in sticky tangles of red, wanting to count the wounds from close range. The two on Mello's biceps were already clotting, as were those at his (sharp, elegant) clavicle, but the 6 further down had been precisely deep enough and were still flowing. They might continue to flow as they fucked, Itachi wasn't sure, but the thought had more noises catching in the back of his throat. Feeling too bright, hot, he pulled at Mello's laces while sucking at his hip, dragging his teeth as he shifted clothing, waiting.
Mello moaned, writhed, reached for him. “You say -“He closed his eyes tight, gripped his rosary without realizing, the sounds, the sounds sending him spiralling further. “Fuck” He hissed, wanting so much it was driving him blind, and even with his eyes closed tight, even with his lord pressing deadly against his palm all Mello could feel was liquid sin dealing absolution.
He blinked open his eyes, wanting to see as much as feel. “You say yes” And it is murmured quickly, all in one breath because Itachi’s mouth, his teeth feel so fucking good against his skin. He pulled himself up on his elbows, fingers still tight around his rosary and tilted his head, almost not breathing. “And then you stab him in the back - Itachi”
Itachi grinned at that. Looking up from between parted legs, the scene felt etched in perfect detail; Mello so responsive even to the lightest of touches, his maddened eyes framed with the bright, bloody sins staining his jawbone and hair. Itachi wanted to feel him shaking, wanted to see that head tilted back, mouth barely able to draw breath... Yes.
He was unusually impatient. Shifting underwear down off sharp hips , he dropped his lips immediately to Mello's cock, swirling his tongue and sucking a little at sticky, heated skin before slipping a hand beneath to lift it to his mouth, sliding down and around with a grunt in his throat.
Oh fuck. The rosary fell from his fingers, hitting his bloodstained chest with a quiet wet sound to remain untouched. Mello sucked in a sharp breath at Itachi’s grin, at the sight of him between Mello’s thighs, dark hair brushing his skin in delicious ways. At the first touch of a mouth to his cock Mello tightened his fingers in the sheets beside him delirious with what this was, with what they are.
And then - no matter how much Mello wanted to watch him, no matter how perfect Itachi looked right where he was (and he does, beautiful, inhuman, ethereal ) he can’t keep himself from falling back against the sheets again with a soft moan. “Fuck” He whimpered, straining to keep from pressing his hips upwards, from seeking more.
The quirking of his mouth at the sound of Mello's whimpers was not conducive to giving good head at all. Itachi did his best to contain it, the movements of his mouth and tongue as slow and deliberate as he could make them, dropping his head far enough for lips to meet fingers then dragging his tongue back up. What Mello's noises were doing for the tightness in his pants was another story however, and he reached down to loosen the ties a little before reaching for the kunai again. Timing his movements carefully, he scratched the point of blade down Mello's sternum just as he swirled his tongue around the tip of his erection, pressing only hard enough to sting. Mmmm.
Mello’s fingers were slippery with blood, his hold on the sheets was doing nothing for grounding him at all, just making a pretty mess for the maids later. Had he the mind to think of it, he wouldn’t have cared. As it was, his attentions were very much drawn to other things. Namely the fallen god and twice born demon between his thighs with his mouth a heaven and his blade a hell.
Mello tipped his head back, half panting - everything before and everything after, Mello was merely human no matter how much he reached otherwise and - Itachi’s name falling like a loose canon, like the shot he never meant to fire from his lips. There is pain and it is overwhelming, delicious, relieving and there is pleasure, complete, drawing him out - sex is sex and never anything more, objectified and impersonal and yet, and yet. For some reason, for some fucking reason Mello suddenly finds himself unable to breathe.
Interesting. Itachi watches, fascinated, absorbing as much as he can even as Mello reactions make him achingly hard. He repeats them again; once, twice, just to make sure. Mello arches beautifully, and Itachi feels the beginnings of the shivers he was seeking to inspire in Mello's body right as he pulls his mouth away. He licks at sticky lips as he gets to his knees, Mello tasting bittersweet and addictive on his tongue as he pulls his shirt over his head. Then he's rocking back down into exposed hips, skin against bloodied skin, his breath as measured as he can make it but it's hard when Mello's splayed out like this, staining him with want.
"And which of us is that devil, Mello?" Itachi asks, pulling at his clothing, needing no more barriers to this. "Which of us will be stabbed in the back?"
Mello can’t remember ever being so hungry. He bites back a sound at the loss of that heat, but pushes it aside enough to reach for him again, wrapping his arms around Itachi’s neck, threading his fingers into long, beautiful hair. He grips, pulls Itachi closer to him and not giving a damn if that’s more than he should be allowed. He wriggles beneath Itachi, practised at getting out of his leather pants quickly and kicks them away, hooking a leg around Itachi’s and dragging him even closer.
He growls low in his throat, licks a wet line over Itachi’s cheek and when he speaks his voice is calm, measured “Well that depends which one of us is really holding the knife?”
A wet, rough tongue on his cheek and Mello's answer runs through him like a current, drawing the smirk to his lips as he kicks his own pants away. The number of levels to this even at this stage of the game is only making him want it more and he presses his hips down, breath catching in noisy little sighs at the feel of Mello's skin, of Mello's erection hard and sliding up against his own. Fisting his hand in Mello's hair he kisses him hard, wet and messy, sucking at lips and licking his tongue in a way that he'd restrained himself from doing earlier. Hooking one hand down beneath Mello's knee, he brings the other down out of Mello's hair to press two fingertips to his mouth, admiring the contrast of purple, red and pale.
"And the answer to that is, do we really want to know."
Mello arches his hips up, digs the nails of one hand hard into Itachi’s shoulder blades and grips the back of his neck with the other, pulling him down closer, making the kiss harsher. He greedily takes everything that is offered - and fuck, fuck, Itachi needs to stop making those sounds, needs to stop acting just like Mello feels because Mello is starting to forget his own name - trying in vain to simply absorb Itachi’s entire person into his own body, keep him there, soak in it.
Mello moans because he thinks words might escape him, but catches the ends of a reply before it disappears into the swirling haze of want that has overrun all of his senses and then some. “Fuck me hard enough and we might find out either way” He opens his mouth without thinking about it, curls his tongue around Itachi’s fingers, and watches him with wide, darkly amused eyes.
Itachi smirks around a breath - "As if I needed more incentive," he gets out, breath catching because, fuck, Mello's mouth looks pretty around his fingers. His eyes devour every movement, watching that tongue as the feel of it intensifies the sensations between their hips, making him want it elsewhere. Next time, he thinks, registering hazily that Mello's already infiltrated certain defences.
It's seemingly an understatement that Mello isn't concerned with pain and Itachi figures that his fingers probably aren't a requirement, but he wants to draw this out a little longer, wants to give in to this overwhelming urge to touch Mello all over. Reluctant as he is to draw his fingers away, he does anyway, stilling their hips long enough to slide them down between Mello's legs before pushing them roughly inside, Mello's face hazing over in his eyes as the heat of it makes his cock ache for more.
“They call this want” Mello hisses in the space between, and it is all he can do to not descend into incomprehensible babbling and oh - oh, god. Mello makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, and digs his fingers harder into Itachi’s shoulder, blunt nails cutting skin. He wants to tell Itachi that he’s not going fast enough, that it isn’t all that necessary but he heard the way his breath caught and for all that Itachi is a genius, Mello is one too. He’s not about to rush something Itachi wants when he did promise everything.
He smiles instead, pants, pushes back against those fingers, any hurt it might have caused completely blocked out by everything else. And fuck it, he is still bleeding, Itachi is covered in sickly red, it’s everywhere and Mello feels distantly that any minute now, he’s going to want to be screaming for more of this.
"Yes," Itachi replies simply, because he gets it and he's not in the mood to form complete sentences now, not with the noises Mello's making as he fucks him with his fingers, not with the way he's rocking down against them and fuck, the panting too, the bloody wounds, the mental game they've played to get them to this point and yes, in that moment, Itachi understands what want really is.
He gets to his knees, gripping tight at the back of Mello's thigh and god he's a sight. His eyes drag down over that reddened, heaving chest to watch his own fingers as they slide in and out, quick and rough, but he tires of it more quickly than usual, wanting just to take. Slicking his cock quickly with saliva, he pushes inside, impatient and needing and oh god yes.
Mello barely makes a sound then, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, his eyes go wide and then slide shut and his head falls back roughly against the bed. He can’t think for a moment, can’t think at all and that is almost, almost a relief. But then - true to his nature, true to his desires, true to this - Mello isn’t quiet anymore. His breathing is harsh; his moan is deep and dragged out.
It’s not comfortable and Mello knows on a basic level he should let his body adjust but that would require the use of logic Mello isn’t capable of applying - so he doesn’t bother, instead he hitches in a breath, and wraps a leg around Itachi, pulling him forcibly deeper. He spreads his hands out over the sheets, outstretched on either side, bloodied, violated, wanting and gasps out Itachi’s name, a smirk playing at the edges of his smile.
Itachi hisses, pleasure jolting up his spine as Mello moans like the sound's been ripped from the back of his throat, then jerks him in deeper. He takes a moment to balance himself on his knees because all that beauty below him would go to waste if he didn't watch it from this angle, and he moves his hips slowly once, twice, before the heat of Mello's body makes it impossible to wait. Drawing back, he grips at Mello's thigh with what he knows to be bruising force and before slamming in hard, then again, and again, over and ohgod over, what would usually be measured movements overtaken by pure want.
“Yes” Mello groans and fuck, fuck, fuck. He recites a psalm over and over in his head, thinking the words in time with each brutal thrust. Eventually and he doesn’t know when, the words start escaping from his mouth, issues as breathy, lust filled moans “my Shepard… and I shall not… want” He has to pause, to meet each thrust, to stare at Itachi and to laugh and grip sheets tightly so he doesn’t reach with greedy hands. And more, oh moremoremore “Yet I walk through the v-valley of the shadow of -“ he shivers, licks his lips and tastes blood, smiles “death. I fear no” and how long will it be until he can see through Itachi’s very soul - “evil - Yes!”
Itachi's eyes widen at the words spilling from Mello's mouth before clamping shut as he slams inside again, smirking through breathy grunts as they register in the blood-red haze that is now his mind. This is why he's here, why he's fucking Mello hard enough to feel the burn of his knees rubbing on blood-soaked cotton, the sweat gathering on his forehead, the jolt of life up his spine as Mello's bleeds out on to the sheets with each movement. This, he thinks, sliding a blood-slicked hand tight around Mello's cock and stroking hard, is all about making Mello fall.
Mello can’t decide if it is the thought that Itachi can’t restrain himself (the noises, the strength, the bruises he knows are going to develop on his thighs, and does Itachi himself realize what he is showing him here?) or the hand on his cock that makes him whimper like a little whore and spread his thighs wider, thrust up into a bloodied grip and struggle to keep up with the pace.
He feels sweat beading on his skin, running the blood that has dried on his face, his arms, and his chest. He gasps for air, finds oxygen wanting and jerks out an arm to pull Itachi down, wanting his mouth instead, fuck the angle.
Itachi knows it's not any one thing responsible for this feeling quite so intensely good (touch games blood pain cliff yes), but Mello's needy little noises and the wanton motions of his hips are a definite help. He willingly falls with Mello's pull, crushing their mouths together as they meet halfway, the slap of their hips interrupted for only a second as he pauses to readjust his knees, before he rolls them down hard again. He's grateful for the depth of his self-control as tightness is coils low in his belly, aching nicely but not urgently just yet as he devours Mello's mouth and fists a hand in his hair, pulling hard, determined to see him broken below him.
Mello moans into the kiss as though it is putting air into his lungs, giving him room to breathe though that is the furthest from the truth. Mello arches his back, pushing himself up, taking, demanding more and more of what Itachi is offering. He’s so close already, so close to the edge (and he doesn’t know which, the physical or the edge Itachi has been dancing him towards from the beginning) that it’s making him desperate.
His hands slip over Itachi’s skin, his shoulders, his throat; mapping out his trials over pale, beautiful flesh. He bites at Itachi’s lips, hisses at the pull to his hair and laughs though it is muffled, broken and quiet.
The air around them feels thick like honey, muting out even the smallest signs of their surroundings; shapes, noises, lamp-light. All of it blurs into insignificance as Itachi focuses on Mello splayed out beneath him and takes what Mello's giving him in return, every nip of his teeth, every slip of his hands making Itachi want to groan and lose himself even more. He disentangles the hand out of bloodstained hair to push back at Mello's thigh again and adjusts the angle of his hips, slamming in harder, faster and god he's close, so close, but he wants nothing less than Mello completely undone and he pulls away from that heated mouth so he can focus on heavy, hazy blue eyes, aching to see the exact moment of Mello giving in.
Mello bites back the please, because he’s not sure what he’s asking for, not sure what more he wants. (To stop pushing him so far because he’s afraid of the end result, he’s afraid of how the pieces of him with glint and how jagged they will feel against everything he is) He can’t think, can’t focus and can’t even remember the last time he’s been so delirious with this.
Mello doesn’t want Itachi to pull away and he makes a sound, something like a whimper but far more demanding. He licks his lips and moans at that, wanting to tempt Itachi back into kissing him but it’s hard to concentrate on tempting when he’s going to, when it’s fast and deeper and - oh god oh god -
Mello’s body tenses, his eyes close and his fingers grip the sheets so tightly his knuckles go white - “Itachi” He breathes and that’s all it takes. His back arches again, an unholy moan of absolute pleasure escapes from his lips and he comes as though it’s ripping the forgiveness right out of him, staining his blood black and fuck, he wants nothing more for it to keep going.
Itachi keeps pushing, moving, his body not letting him stop, not letting him tear his eyes away as Mello, as he-- Ohgod, then there's wet heat spilling over his hand, a hot body tensing and arching and shuddering beautifully beneath him, around him, unrestrained moans and, fuck, the ragged gasp of his name filling that syrupy air, but-- "Fuck, Mello..." The words are ground out from between clenched teeth because it's the look of pure need on Mello's face that has Itachi following him over the edge, uncontrollably, pressing their sweaty foreheads together and gasping against Mello's mouth, because there is nothing, nothing that compares to the pleasure spiking in his veins at that moment.
Yes, yes, yes yes yesyesyesyesyes. Mello chokes back a sound of something when he hears Itachi’s curse, eats it all up like he’ll never have it again though he’s damn sure he won’t let that happen. He wraps his arms around Itachi’s shoulders, kisses Itachi once, twice, at the corner of his mouth. Pleasure has uncurled and wrapped around him, masking everything, the stings, the stretch, everything blinded by the dark hair that he wraps around his fingers, the body still deep within his own, and the face he’s almost longing to run his fingers over.
He can’t help but feel ridiculously pleased with himself and breathes quietly back so that the words won’t escape anywhere else “That’s not my name”
Itachi stills for one heartbeat, two, letting the significance of what Mello's just said sink into his endorphin-flooded brain, before lifting his head lazily. He eyes the expression on his face seriously for a moment, raising one eyebrow dangerously before a rare, genuine smile suffuses his face.
"Under the circumstances," he murmurs, still acutely aware of just how much of their bodies are touching, how much of Mello is soaking into his skin, "I think we can say Mihael one, Itachi, zero."
Where: A nameless hotel.
When: Oh, hell, I've no idea I no longer remember. Um. Several days ago?
Why: Because Mello and Itachi are absolutely mad.
Warnings: HOKAY *rolls sleeves* Bloodplay and lots of it. Mental games and a shit load of Religious ...everything. Sex and complete utter pwnage of a genocidal ninja. Yes. That's right.
Rating: NC-17, don't click kiddies.
EXTRA: THIS IS FOR YOU MICHELLE :D
In the nameless hotel everything was quiet except for the rapid beating of Mello’s own heart. He had never been a patient person and waiting two days not knowing what would happen between the then and now had been a torture he was only too willing to bear. He tensed at every flutter of sound, strings wound so tight he was merely waiting for them to snap. Mello was an edgy person on the best of days but this was the very height.
Itachi. The name sent a quiet shiver down his spine. He clenched his fingers, nails biting into his palms as he waited. There was simply no way to predict anything that would occur and Mello didn’t mind that half as much as he should have. He wasn’t nervous, it wasn’t nervousness that had him feeling like he was going to crash at any moment, but pure excitement, the unknown. He sat against the edge of the mattress. Waiting.
Itachi observed Mello calmly through the window, his own eyes glinting crimson back at him as they flickered about, precisely assessing their surroundings. No one else was around; no one who mattered anyway. There was no danger, no threat to their appointment. No outside reasons to delay this any longer.
Forming three seals, Itachi allowed the adrenaline to seep into his veins as entered the room silently. His first thought was that Mello was smaller than he'd expected; prettier, fragile-looking in a way that only a fool would underestimate. His second was that Mello had made a good choice in hotels. The room seemed to have everything they'd need.
"You don't want to clench too hard." Itachi smirked, feeling alive. "Might cause yourself some damage."
Mello’s eyes snapped towards him, not feeling the usual failure at being unable to detect him until he was already visible. Itachi was too high above him for that and - he felt a grin tug at his mouth, a smile with too many teeth. Automatically he clenched his fingers tighter before relaxing them all together.
“That might be the idea” He replied simply, trying to steal his breath back after it had been taken away. Itachi was there, right there and a single word echoed through Mello’s head. Perfect. It didn’t surprise him but made him want all the more. He kept his arms at his side to keep from reaching out for that which was above him. “Itachi” He let the name roll off his tongue, tasting sweet and bitter and powerful all at once.
"Mello." Itachi stepped forward into the dim lamplight, removing his cloak with a minimum of movement, still observing. He didn't regularly associate with non-shinobi, and a small, uncontrollable shiver coursed down his spine as he realised that he was unable to see or sense any chakra emanating from Mello at all. Even though he'd been expecting it, it felt odd, out of place. Unpredictable.
Itachi took a careful breath, feeling the oxygen hit his veins in a rush. Mello made him want. Anticipation like this was rare for him, and the sight of Mello there in front of him, in the flesh, made it an actual challenge to control his outward reactions. He approached the bed slowly, his weapons pouch landing on the bedding with dull thud as he slid a hand along Mello's jawbone, tilting that blonde head back far enough to meet his eyes. "Or you could leave that sort of thing to me?"
Mello’s eyes followed the weapons pouch as it landed; everything was sharper, louder, and clearer. Two days, he realized, was a very long time. He let Itachi tilt his head back (though he had no doubts about the difference in strength, whatever Itachi wanted he could very well take) taking in every plane, every inch of Itachi’s face. He didn’t want to rush this, no matter how much he ached for it.
He wondered what Itachi was seeing with those eyes of his and the thought made his expression slide into a sharper smile. The air felt far too thick, and the knowledge of what Itachi could do with the fingers pressed against Mello’s jaw was almost intoxicating. Mello spoke with a calm he didn’t know he possessed “By all means”
Itachi smirked again as the words hit him in dormant, unexpected places. Mello would be conscious of the difference in power - his run-ins with Deidara made that a certainty - but he clearly had nerve. He'd gathered this from their online conversations, but now, as he studied the delicate, haunted curves of that face, it became real.
Even having never done anything like this before, Itachi had an idea of how he wanted things to progress. Taking a moment to remove his shoes and leg wraps, he gestured with his eyes towards the mirror hanging on the wall to the left of the bed. "You should face that."
The mirror? His breath caught as the reason why became apparent to him, knowing Itachi would notice the sound and not caring. He had no intention of hiding his reactions to this, what he thought. He forced himself to not be entranced, trapped into watching Itachi do simple things, slight movements that made Mello feel hot and cold all over.
He moved towards the mirror, fingers creeping to the laces at his side as he did, he loosened them but did not remove anything just shifted so that he could see his own reflection in the glass. Itachi could so very easily stab him in the back, literally. He could so very easily stop the very breath that grew short for him. Mello knew this but despite a lifetime of learning, he did nothing to change it.
“So far,” he said suddenly “Reality is proving fantasy right, Itachi”
The air was heavy, hanging in a way Itachi liked as he watched Mello from beneath his lashes, appreciating the easy elegance of his movements. Fingers on laces, the line of his throat, the eyes watching him intently; in other times and places, he might have criticised someone for showing too much, demonstrating weakness... but instead, Mello had an uncanny knack for making him want to show more.
Kneeling on the bed, he settled in easily behind Mello. He wanted more than just to cut, he knew that now. He knew it as he slipped fingers beneath laces, as he gripped firmly at hipbones through soft skin to adjust their position, as he watched the reflection staring back out at them in the mirror. Not bothering to move Mello's hair, he leaned close, flushing with the heat that Mello's body seemed to radiate and speaking quietly against his ear. "Indeed." He flicked his weapons pouch open with practised ease, noticing how steady his hands were. "You should tell me how to start."
Mello was no stranger to being touched. His body was an instrument as much as it was anything though it readily turned against him. But despite this, the places Itachi’s fingers settled and brushed against faintly burned. Take from me, make me bleed, steal away my trespasses and - Mello’s thoughts danced with the sound of Itachi’s voice against his ear and Mello fought the urge to turn around and taketaketake.
He had asked to be bled and that thought kept his gaze ahead, eyes on Itachi’s reflection as though the layer of glass could possibly make him less striking. He tilted his head to the side and licked his lips before he spoke “So the sinner demands forgiveness” His voice was light, mocking but when he spoke again there was a need lacing his words “Wherever you choose but don’t make it deep. Lightest first for quieter wrong doings”
Itachi's breath caught audibly in his throat. He'd read the words, had known what he was there for, but nothing compared to actually hearing them fall from Mello's mouth, from between wet, wet lips. He blinked, steadying himself. There was time enough to remove articles of clothing and he wanted to start slowly.
The razor-sharp kunai he pulled from the pouch was a favourite, one he'd taken special care to sharpen precisely the night before. The silver of it contrasted strikingly against the smooth skin of Mello's right bicep. Words long buried bubbled up in Itachi's brain as he first flattened the blade - oh - then carefully tilted it, applying just enough pressure for blood to bead satisfyingly - ohyes - against the edge, eyes flickering eagerly up to watch Mello's reaction as his hand completed the action without the aid of sight. Oh yesss.
Mello’s rosary burned his chest beneath his clothes. Itachi’s hand was impossibly steady, the blade like ice against his skin. Mello kept his gaze to the mirror, watching the way Itachi so carefully, and so easily cut him. With Itachi as close as he was Mello heard the way Itachi’s breath caught, the sound sharp in his ear as sharp as the sting of the kunai. Mello’s lips parted, a breath as sharp as the blade as Itachi himself drawn in suddenly.
He didn’t want to close his eyes for a second, didn’t want to blink, drawn to the dark head behind him and in his gaze was something not unlike awe. Against all things, against his own knowledge of what he should be feeling, Mello felt relief like no other. They had hardly even begun. “One” He mouthed, and had he spoken his voice would have been strong. “Red is a beautiful colour” He whispered.
"Yes." Itachi could hear the fascination in his own voice, and he was sure Mello could too. Emotions both familiar and not tumbled through him; the dissonant thrill of blood at his own hands at odds with drawing it from someone who wanted-- no, needed him to was something he had no clue how to control. Moreover, eyes flashing crimson at the realisation, he didn't want to. Not with how Mello was reacting.
He'd been careful. The kunai was only reddened nicely along the edge, and there were two satisfying streaks of fluid reaching Mello's elbow. Switching hands, he held the held the blade just as steadily, just as precisely to the ruined, but no less beautiful skin of Mello's other bicep, cutting and bleeding and ohgodyes.
Fascination. Mello understood this well, he felt it for many things, usually coloured by rage or hate. For Itachi it was coloured by nothing. In that second, in that one word Mello heard it echoed. This fascinated Itachi, and in turn, that made Mello gasp. He wanted to be still, calm, to not fall so far that he couldn’t even hear himself anymore.
But he wanted to keep nothing of this from Itachi. God. This was. God was. Mello knew his eyes were clouded, knew that he was grinning and that it was Not Right to feel so elated. Sticky crimson crimes ran down his skin, tickled his senses, blew his mind. “Two,” He breathed, watching Itachi still though the words he mouthed next were spoken to the sky, to the room, to no one “I kidnapped a little girl, killed her father though I didn’t want to, it wasn’t me but he was mine and his actions are mine too. I fucked a lot of people to get where I am, killed good men and their blood is mine and -“
Lesser crimes these were not, Mello didn’t care. Itachi was beautiful.
Those words, those sins were dripping hot and red from Mello's mouth and Itachi wanted. Unable to help the noise in the back of his throat, he slid a hand into blonde hair, twisting Mello at the neck and restraining himself just enough to kiss him slowly at first, sucking carefully at his top lip. The kunai forgotten for the moment, Itachi pulled methodically at laces as his tongue slipped along the seam of heated lips, only pulling away when the motion of Mello's tunic being removed demanded he should.
Mello was suddenly startled; fingers were in his hair and a mouth hot against his lips. His eyes widened - Itachi was kissing him, Itachi wanted to kiss him - and his mind fought with itself for the smallest fraction of a second (Could he take this path, where would he fall, was this what he wanted, could he let his need take him so far-) before Mello’s own fingers were coming up to press against Itachi’s jaw.
Mello briefly wondered if Itachi even knew what it did to him to hear quiet sounds, to be this close, to be granted this. The moment Itachi pulled away Mello immediately lifted his tunic over his head, brushing his unmarred cheek against his arm as he did. He didn’t care where it fell. “More” He hissed, and he would never be able to decide which he meant. “Can I find forgiveness in this?” He murmured, unaware that he was speaking aloud.
The corner of Itachi's mouth quirked in reply. The lack of visual chakra didn't seem to matter. Mello was beautiful and broken and his in this moment; wanting him, needing what only he could give him. It was intoxicating, enough to send his own blood pooling low and aching as he moved to draw more of Mello's.
Taking a slow breath, Itachi studied all this new skin as he lifted the blade to Mello's chest. Scars of old across so much of his back were marred by fresh, angry-looking marks, obviously Deidara's work. He carefully avoided those as he shifted closer, thighs and hips pressing up against Mello's own; that wasn't the kind of pain he wanted to inflict. No, he thought, pressing the kunai just below the unmarked, right clavicle just as he pressed his mouth to the left side of Mello's neck, that wasn't the right kind of pain at all.
"Deeper, this time?"
“Yes”
He could hardly think with Itachi’s mouth where it was, with his blade against his skin. He smiled and wanted. His fingers itched to curl around his rosary; instead he lifted it behind him, using the mirror as his guide, to caress Itachi’s cheek first, to tug at the hair tie keeping his hair back. Complete, he needed to see his hair down, needed to feel it against his shoulders.
He wanted so much from this he felt like a child, ever hungry for things they didn’t understand and greedy for the things they did. “Make me bleed, Itachi, give me this” It was a demand, a plea, a moan. Mello’s thoughts were silent.
"Mm." The edge to Mello's voice struck a chord deep in Itachi's chest, even as his hair being pulled free made him smile in against the crook of Mello's neck. It seemed he enjoyed Mello's appreciation of symbolism. So much so that he wanted nothing more than to give Mello this, to see where it led them, follow him down... He hadn't felt need like this since-
Watching in the mirror, Itachi made quick work with the blade, drawing it harder and quicker against smooth, unmarked skin. The red that flowed almost immediately down Mello's chest had Itachi gritting his teeth and grunting, pleasure aching through him as he sucked hard on a patch of skin just behind Mello's ear. "Tell me things, Mello." He surprised himself with the words but he let them come. "Want to hear them."
Without thinking words began to tumble from Mello’s lips, rushed and slippery just like the blood that seeped from the neat perfect cut. “This is for the innocent people I killed, the ones who sought the same thing as me but they got in the way, they were in my way and Near needed to be taught a lesson. I needed to teach him a lesson… so I killed them all and wrote their names with my red right hand”
Mello tilted his head so that Itachi had better access, watching them both in the mirror as though he were only looking in on his downfall. “I -“ he hissed in a breath, dragged his fingers through the blood against his chest just to feel the warmth against his fingers, the ache, the sting, it hurt and he needed it so badly he waited for his body to combust “I - don’t regret it enough but it doesn’t matter with this”
Looking up from Mello's neck, Itachi watched him in the mirror as the words began to flow freely. This was what he wanted to hear, see. The blood on Mello's fingers was too bright, arterial and beautiful, and the tang of iron in his nostrils made him blink, hard, but not for long as he drew a breath. Yes. Crossing his arms over, he placed precise cut on the opposite side Mello's chest with one hand while dipping a finger of the other into the thin stream of blood now at Mello's stomach, unable to stop himself from ruining its progress. "More. Why?" He sucked lightly on the shell of Mello's ear.
Despite any attempts otherwise, Mello whimpered, biting down hard on his lip as he tried to catalogue his emotions, what went where - pain, excitement, pleasure, fear, lust, relief - he couldn’t keep up. Unblinking he reached for the hand not holding a kunai “I can’t afford to think about them, I can’t afford to care. I have to go forward - God can’t leave me behind, I need this so I can bring him with me despite all I -“He cut himself off, pressed his lips to the palm of Itachi’s hand and let his eyes close for a moment.
He could feel the blood sliding down his chest, sickly wet and warm, feel each of his prayers being bled out into the open. He could feel Itachi behind him, alive, breathing, listening, punishing - “What do you want, Itachi?” He breathed, words laced with the sting.
Turning Mello's face so that he would take up his complete field of vision, Itachi studied him. Closer, now. He could see the madness dancing in the depths of pretty, haunted eyes, the blood from his own fingers smeared along Mello's jawbone, feel the heated breath fanning damp across his lips. "What do I want?" To hear these 'sins'. To see how this 'punishment' affected him. To find out exactly what lay as the base of Mello's cliff, if only he'd jump.
"I want to see exactly how strong the lock on your door is." Resisting the urge to cut more, Itachi dropped the kunai to pull at the laces on Mello's pants instead, doing his best to not even brush the flesh beneath them. Patience was a virtue, and want easily stemmed when there was a pretty, open mouth so close to his own. He slid his tongue between Mello's lips, taking what he wanted.
Mello had no answer for that - he didn’t know, himself. If Itachi sought the answer here, with this, Mello sincerely hoped he found it as long as he didn’t break it in the process. The kunai fell against the sheets and there were fingers tugging at his laces - Mello opened his mouth to whisper something - what? - but he couldn’t bring himself to remember when Itachi was right there for him to taste. He half twisted around, not caring if he bloodied Itachi in the process, and tangled his fingers in Itachi’s hair.
He could almost smell absolution, could almost feel the stone floors of the cathedral beneath his knees, hear the chants, hear the prayers, the sound of bells, incense, candles - but when he kissed Itachi like a drowning man he could hear nothing but their heartbeats and smell the sickly smell of life.
Heat suffused Itachi's body as Mello turned to him. His openness was intoxicating, and not only due to its physicality; Itachi knew that not many would... not many could perceive it as fully as he was. The knowledge burned hot in his brain as fingertips left heated imprints on his scalp. He'd been precise with the blade, cutting deep enough to bleed but not enough to require suturing, and he let himself enjoy the results of his handiwork, fingers slipping deftly along the skin of Mello's torso, down over a sharp hipbone, sliding along just beneath a loosened waistband.
"How would it count on your list if I wanted more of you." The words were quiet and easy against Mello's mouth. "Would that give, or take away?"
“You should know the answer to that” Mello hissed, sliding his fingers forward and pressing his thumb against Itachi’s cheek. He moved his lips from Itachi’s mouth though it was almost painful to do so, placed hot scorching kisses along his jaw. Itachi was simply touching him now, fingers deceptively gentle and Mello struggled to decide what his body craved more. He covered the hand that slipped beneath his waistband with his own, pressed hard, trapping it against his skin.
His lips curved into a smirk against Itachi’s jaw “Take of me what you want” He murmured and even that sounded more like an order than an answer “I am not nearly forgiven enough for this, not yet. Take Deidara out of my skin and you can have everything I am”
Itachi smirked, widely. Even with Mello's bittersweet taste on his tongue, the damp trail on his jaw, the hand clamping tight on his own, it was those words against his skin that spiked hard through his veins. He liked this game when played with a worthy opponent.
"Everything?" He didn't turn them back to the mirror, instead grasping the kunai and brushing the point of it down over Mello's sternum, keeping it light enough to only prick with every intake of his breath. Wanting to see the stain, he fisted a bloody hand into bright hair, kissing that mouth again as he neatly drew the blade along the line of a rib.
Mello’s groan of approval was muffled by Itachi’s own mouth, as was the hiss of pain. Itachi was a demon and a god (blasphemer, blasphemer and the heavenly chorus can just go fuck itself because -) He released Itachi’s hand, using both of his own to pull closer, wanting the kiss to be deeper as though desperately trying to find his relief in the taste of his mouth too.
His eyes were brighter after he pulled away, just enough space between to whisper, brighter and hungry. “Everything,” He repeated, and he can feel the light in the sound of his laugh, the shiver of his skin “The son sacrificed his body to release the world from their sins. But as much as I love him, I can’t let my eternal soul rest in the hands of another, so I’ll give you my body in repayment for my own forgiveness. But will you be a greedy god, Itachi? I’ve more than my body to give”
Opposite hand, another rib - slice - and Itachi watched yet again as red seeped satisfyingly through split skin. Mello as he was now would be considered a gory mess by anyone else, but to those who understood, to those like him, he was perhaps Itachi's version of art. The realisation filled his smile with irony.
"What you want, I can give." Two more cuts, both precisely an inch below the last. "What else are you willing to offer?"
Mello tilted his head back, biting down on his tongue to keep the sounds in, not because he wants to hide them from Itachi - he doesn’t - but because it’s so close to being ecstasy it is a sin in itself. He laughed again, thick and cruel, slides his fingers to grip painfully at Itachi’s shoulders as the blood stains him further, washing away.
Vaguely, though Mello’s thoughts are hardly gathered enough for the rationality that such a thing would need, he ponders if Itachi will understand just what this means when he whispers it. But Mello was born for risks. He thinks about them, as he gasps, as he listens, waits. Near would never do this, would never be so foolish. But Mello knows, he knows that Itachi doesn’t want him dead; he will cease to be interesting. He will cease to entertain. Itachi has no use for such things.
Mello doesn’t trust him. Far from trusting him and that is what makes this so damn cleansing. Matt would kill him, Near would think him a fool, L would not say anything at all and stick a sugar cube in his mouth but Mello simply leaned down again, pressed his mouth hard to Itachi’s ear and whispers “Mihael” as though it is an answer.
It took Itachi a second or two longer than normal to process the unusual syllables in his mind, and once again irony was biting deliciously at the edges of his smile as he recognised them for what they were. Stronger this time though... rushing, euphoric. This creature pressed up against him, in the midst of his beautiful and bloody atonement, had just given him yet another tool with which to take his life.
Even if it was purely symbolic... because it was purely symbolic.
Opening his eyes, Itachi ran his thumb along the side of Mello's jaw; fascinated with just how far he'd taken this, and now aching to see it from all sides. "You'd tell me your name?" Two more cuts, now splitting skin over muscle.
Mello’s mouth falls open, lips parted and he can feel the blood on his face, in his hair. What must he appear to be? He waits for the sting to settle against his skin, waits for the fresh cuts to settle into his mind (and oh it aches, it aches so painfully) before biting, nipping, the edge of Itachi’s throat, teeth not at all gentle.
Dizziness swam about his head and he couldn’t figure out what the cause is, but he just muffled quiet laughter with a quieter moan and breathes hotly against Itachi’s skin “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be thinking the wrong name when you fuck me. You are going to fuck me, aren’t you, Itachi?” He dragged out the syllables in Itachi’s name, smiling because it is so endlessly funny to him at that moment. He has just given a murderer his name. The only feeling he can muster is want.
“Mother didn’t raise me right” He mouthed, no sound to be heard.
It was an answer to the question and perfect in its placement. Just like the bites on his neck, the hot breath on his skin - oh - just like the pretty wounds on Mello's torso, and with it, something tenuous and flimsy between them finally snapped. Itachi groaned, soaking in Mello's madness like heat as it surfaced. Insanity was something he could understand, and now that he was seeing the lock, Mello had handed him several keys.
"Yes." The word was hot and unusual in his mouth, mixing sickly-sweet in with Mello's kisses as he encouraged him further back onto the bed. "Now, I think."
Eager to please and eager to take. Mello hissed in a sharp breath, grinned a grin wide enough to split his face in two and twisted himself just enough to fall back against the sheets. It stung to move, irritated cuts that were carved so perfectly and Mello lapped it up, twisting fingers in the sheets and letting his life spill upon their white.
He parted his thighs wide, pulled Itachi between them and bit at his lip to keep the laughter in. Something inside him was no longer ticking quite right, his admissions had tilted him to far like a masterpiece in a frame that hangs on a wall a little too far to the left. The laughter is quickly smothered, replaced by smouldering, burning; his eyes dark and lips darker, skin darker than that still.
“When the devil offers you a deal there is only one right answer” Mello purred.
"Oh?"
Itachi hissed a breath at the sudden contact, watching the ebb and flow of insanity wash over Mello's features. He wore it well and Itachi let it draw him in, twisting his hips down into the lithe, matching heat of Mello's body, kissing hard at his mouth, his jaw, his untouched (unbloodied) throat.
Not caring (wanting) about blood staining him elsewhere, he dragged his mouth down along clean skin stretched over perfect bones, even as the ends of his hair caught in sticky tangles of red, wanting to count the wounds from close range. The two on Mello's biceps were already clotting, as were those at his (sharp, elegant) clavicle, but the 6 further down had been precisely deep enough and were still flowing. They might continue to flow as they fucked, Itachi wasn't sure, but the thought had more noises catching in the back of his throat. Feeling too bright, hot, he pulled at Mello's laces while sucking at his hip, dragging his teeth as he shifted clothing, waiting.
Mello moaned, writhed, reached for him. “You say -“He closed his eyes tight, gripped his rosary without realizing, the sounds, the sounds sending him spiralling further. “Fuck” He hissed, wanting so much it was driving him blind, and even with his eyes closed tight, even with his lord pressing deadly against his palm all Mello could feel was liquid sin dealing absolution.
He blinked open his eyes, wanting to see as much as feel. “You say yes” And it is murmured quickly, all in one breath because Itachi’s mouth, his teeth feel so fucking good against his skin. He pulled himself up on his elbows, fingers still tight around his rosary and tilted his head, almost not breathing. “And then you stab him in the back - Itachi”
Itachi grinned at that. Looking up from between parted legs, the scene felt etched in perfect detail; Mello so responsive even to the lightest of touches, his maddened eyes framed with the bright, bloody sins staining his jawbone and hair. Itachi wanted to feel him shaking, wanted to see that head tilted back, mouth barely able to draw breath... Yes.
He was unusually impatient. Shifting underwear down off sharp hips , he dropped his lips immediately to Mello's cock, swirling his tongue and sucking a little at sticky, heated skin before slipping a hand beneath to lift it to his mouth, sliding down and around with a grunt in his throat.
Oh fuck. The rosary fell from his fingers, hitting his bloodstained chest with a quiet wet sound to remain untouched. Mello sucked in a sharp breath at Itachi’s grin, at the sight of him between Mello’s thighs, dark hair brushing his skin in delicious ways. At the first touch of a mouth to his cock Mello tightened his fingers in the sheets beside him delirious with what this was, with what they are.
And then - no matter how much Mello wanted to watch him, no matter how perfect Itachi looked right where he was (and he does, beautiful, inhuman, ethereal ) he can’t keep himself from falling back against the sheets again with a soft moan. “Fuck” He whimpered, straining to keep from pressing his hips upwards, from seeking more.
The quirking of his mouth at the sound of Mello's whimpers was not conducive to giving good head at all. Itachi did his best to contain it, the movements of his mouth and tongue as slow and deliberate as he could make them, dropping his head far enough for lips to meet fingers then dragging his tongue back up. What Mello's noises were doing for the tightness in his pants was another story however, and he reached down to loosen the ties a little before reaching for the kunai again. Timing his movements carefully, he scratched the point of blade down Mello's sternum just as he swirled his tongue around the tip of his erection, pressing only hard enough to sting. Mmmm.
Mello’s fingers were slippery with blood, his hold on the sheets was doing nothing for grounding him at all, just making a pretty mess for the maids later. Had he the mind to think of it, he wouldn’t have cared. As it was, his attentions were very much drawn to other things. Namely the fallen god and twice born demon between his thighs with his mouth a heaven and his blade a hell.
Mello tipped his head back, half panting - everything before and everything after, Mello was merely human no matter how much he reached otherwise and - Itachi’s name falling like a loose canon, like the shot he never meant to fire from his lips. There is pain and it is overwhelming, delicious, relieving and there is pleasure, complete, drawing him out - sex is sex and never anything more, objectified and impersonal and yet, and yet. For some reason, for some fucking reason Mello suddenly finds himself unable to breathe.
Interesting. Itachi watches, fascinated, absorbing as much as he can even as Mello reactions make him achingly hard. He repeats them again; once, twice, just to make sure. Mello arches beautifully, and Itachi feels the beginnings of the shivers he was seeking to inspire in Mello's body right as he pulls his mouth away. He licks at sticky lips as he gets to his knees, Mello tasting bittersweet and addictive on his tongue as he pulls his shirt over his head. Then he's rocking back down into exposed hips, skin against bloodied skin, his breath as measured as he can make it but it's hard when Mello's splayed out like this, staining him with want.
"And which of us is that devil, Mello?" Itachi asks, pulling at his clothing, needing no more barriers to this. "Which of us will be stabbed in the back?"
Mello can’t remember ever being so hungry. He bites back a sound at the loss of that heat, but pushes it aside enough to reach for him again, wrapping his arms around Itachi’s neck, threading his fingers into long, beautiful hair. He grips, pulls Itachi closer to him and not giving a damn if that’s more than he should be allowed. He wriggles beneath Itachi, practised at getting out of his leather pants quickly and kicks them away, hooking a leg around Itachi’s and dragging him even closer.
He growls low in his throat, licks a wet line over Itachi’s cheek and when he speaks his voice is calm, measured “Well that depends which one of us is really holding the knife?”
A wet, rough tongue on his cheek and Mello's answer runs through him like a current, drawing the smirk to his lips as he kicks his own pants away. The number of levels to this even at this stage of the game is only making him want it more and he presses his hips down, breath catching in noisy little sighs at the feel of Mello's skin, of Mello's erection hard and sliding up against his own. Fisting his hand in Mello's hair he kisses him hard, wet and messy, sucking at lips and licking his tongue in a way that he'd restrained himself from doing earlier. Hooking one hand down beneath Mello's knee, he brings the other down out of Mello's hair to press two fingertips to his mouth, admiring the contrast of purple, red and pale.
"And the answer to that is, do we really want to know."
Mello arches his hips up, digs the nails of one hand hard into Itachi’s shoulder blades and grips the back of his neck with the other, pulling him down closer, making the kiss harsher. He greedily takes everything that is offered - and fuck, fuck, Itachi needs to stop making those sounds, needs to stop acting just like Mello feels because Mello is starting to forget his own name - trying in vain to simply absorb Itachi’s entire person into his own body, keep him there, soak in it.
Mello moans because he thinks words might escape him, but catches the ends of a reply before it disappears into the swirling haze of want that has overrun all of his senses and then some. “Fuck me hard enough and we might find out either way” He opens his mouth without thinking about it, curls his tongue around Itachi’s fingers, and watches him with wide, darkly amused eyes.
Itachi smirks around a breath - "As if I needed more incentive," he gets out, breath catching because, fuck, Mello's mouth looks pretty around his fingers. His eyes devour every movement, watching that tongue as the feel of it intensifies the sensations between their hips, making him want it elsewhere. Next time, he thinks, registering hazily that Mello's already infiltrated certain defences.
It's seemingly an understatement that Mello isn't concerned with pain and Itachi figures that his fingers probably aren't a requirement, but he wants to draw this out a little longer, wants to give in to this overwhelming urge to touch Mello all over. Reluctant as he is to draw his fingers away, he does anyway, stilling their hips long enough to slide them down between Mello's legs before pushing them roughly inside, Mello's face hazing over in his eyes as the heat of it makes his cock ache for more.
“They call this want” Mello hisses in the space between, and it is all he can do to not descend into incomprehensible babbling and oh - oh, god. Mello makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, and digs his fingers harder into Itachi’s shoulder, blunt nails cutting skin. He wants to tell Itachi that he’s not going fast enough, that it isn’t all that necessary but he heard the way his breath caught and for all that Itachi is a genius, Mello is one too. He’s not about to rush something Itachi wants when he did promise everything.
He smiles instead, pants, pushes back against those fingers, any hurt it might have caused completely blocked out by everything else. And fuck it, he is still bleeding, Itachi is covered in sickly red, it’s everywhere and Mello feels distantly that any minute now, he’s going to want to be screaming for more of this.
"Yes," Itachi replies simply, because he gets it and he's not in the mood to form complete sentences now, not with the noises Mello's making as he fucks him with his fingers, not with the way he's rocking down against them and fuck, the panting too, the bloody wounds, the mental game they've played to get them to this point and yes, in that moment, Itachi understands what want really is.
He gets to his knees, gripping tight at the back of Mello's thigh and god he's a sight. His eyes drag down over that reddened, heaving chest to watch his own fingers as they slide in and out, quick and rough, but he tires of it more quickly than usual, wanting just to take. Slicking his cock quickly with saliva, he pushes inside, impatient and needing and oh god yes.
Mello barely makes a sound then, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, his eyes go wide and then slide shut and his head falls back roughly against the bed. He can’t think for a moment, can’t think at all and that is almost, almost a relief. But then - true to his nature, true to his desires, true to this - Mello isn’t quiet anymore. His breathing is harsh; his moan is deep and dragged out.
It’s not comfortable and Mello knows on a basic level he should let his body adjust but that would require the use of logic Mello isn’t capable of applying - so he doesn’t bother, instead he hitches in a breath, and wraps a leg around Itachi, pulling him forcibly deeper. He spreads his hands out over the sheets, outstretched on either side, bloodied, violated, wanting and gasps out Itachi’s name, a smirk playing at the edges of his smile.
Itachi hisses, pleasure jolting up his spine as Mello moans like the sound's been ripped from the back of his throat, then jerks him in deeper. He takes a moment to balance himself on his knees because all that beauty below him would go to waste if he didn't watch it from this angle, and he moves his hips slowly once, twice, before the heat of Mello's body makes it impossible to wait. Drawing back, he grips at Mello's thigh with what he knows to be bruising force and before slamming in hard, then again, and again, over and ohgod over, what would usually be measured movements overtaken by pure want.
“Yes” Mello groans and fuck, fuck, fuck. He recites a psalm over and over in his head, thinking the words in time with each brutal thrust. Eventually and he doesn’t know when, the words start escaping from his mouth, issues as breathy, lust filled moans “my Shepard… and I shall not… want” He has to pause, to meet each thrust, to stare at Itachi and to laugh and grip sheets tightly so he doesn’t reach with greedy hands. And more, oh moremoremore “Yet I walk through the v-valley of the shadow of -“ he shivers, licks his lips and tastes blood, smiles “death. I fear no” and how long will it be until he can see through Itachi’s very soul - “evil - Yes!”
Itachi's eyes widen at the words spilling from Mello's mouth before clamping shut as he slams inside again, smirking through breathy grunts as they register in the blood-red haze that is now his mind. This is why he's here, why he's fucking Mello hard enough to feel the burn of his knees rubbing on blood-soaked cotton, the sweat gathering on his forehead, the jolt of life up his spine as Mello's bleeds out on to the sheets with each movement. This, he thinks, sliding a blood-slicked hand tight around Mello's cock and stroking hard, is all about making Mello fall.
Mello can’t decide if it is the thought that Itachi can’t restrain himself (the noises, the strength, the bruises he knows are going to develop on his thighs, and does Itachi himself realize what he is showing him here?) or the hand on his cock that makes him whimper like a little whore and spread his thighs wider, thrust up into a bloodied grip and struggle to keep up with the pace.
He feels sweat beading on his skin, running the blood that has dried on his face, his arms, and his chest. He gasps for air, finds oxygen wanting and jerks out an arm to pull Itachi down, wanting his mouth instead, fuck the angle.
Itachi knows it's not any one thing responsible for this feeling quite so intensely good (touch games blood pain cliff yes), but Mello's needy little noises and the wanton motions of his hips are a definite help. He willingly falls with Mello's pull, crushing their mouths together as they meet halfway, the slap of their hips interrupted for only a second as he pauses to readjust his knees, before he rolls them down hard again. He's grateful for the depth of his self-control as tightness is coils low in his belly, aching nicely but not urgently just yet as he devours Mello's mouth and fists a hand in his hair, pulling hard, determined to see him broken below him.
Mello moans into the kiss as though it is putting air into his lungs, giving him room to breathe though that is the furthest from the truth. Mello arches his back, pushing himself up, taking, demanding more and more of what Itachi is offering. He’s so close already, so close to the edge (and he doesn’t know which, the physical or the edge Itachi has been dancing him towards from the beginning) that it’s making him desperate.
His hands slip over Itachi’s skin, his shoulders, his throat; mapping out his trials over pale, beautiful flesh. He bites at Itachi’s lips, hisses at the pull to his hair and laughs though it is muffled, broken and quiet.
The air around them feels thick like honey, muting out even the smallest signs of their surroundings; shapes, noises, lamp-light. All of it blurs into insignificance as Itachi focuses on Mello splayed out beneath him and takes what Mello's giving him in return, every nip of his teeth, every slip of his hands making Itachi want to groan and lose himself even more. He disentangles the hand out of bloodstained hair to push back at Mello's thigh again and adjusts the angle of his hips, slamming in harder, faster and god he's close, so close, but he wants nothing less than Mello completely undone and he pulls away from that heated mouth so he can focus on heavy, hazy blue eyes, aching to see the exact moment of Mello giving in.
Mello bites back the please, because he’s not sure what he’s asking for, not sure what more he wants. (To stop pushing him so far because he’s afraid of the end result, he’s afraid of how the pieces of him with glint and how jagged they will feel against everything he is) He can’t think, can’t focus and can’t even remember the last time he’s been so delirious with this.
Mello doesn’t want Itachi to pull away and he makes a sound, something like a whimper but far more demanding. He licks his lips and moans at that, wanting to tempt Itachi back into kissing him but it’s hard to concentrate on tempting when he’s going to, when it’s fast and deeper and - oh god oh god -
Mello’s body tenses, his eyes close and his fingers grip the sheets so tightly his knuckles go white - “Itachi” He breathes and that’s all it takes. His back arches again, an unholy moan of absolute pleasure escapes from his lips and he comes as though it’s ripping the forgiveness right out of him, staining his blood black and fuck, he wants nothing more for it to keep going.
Itachi keeps pushing, moving, his body not letting him stop, not letting him tear his eyes away as Mello, as he-- Ohgod, then there's wet heat spilling over his hand, a hot body tensing and arching and shuddering beautifully beneath him, around him, unrestrained moans and, fuck, the ragged gasp of his name filling that syrupy air, but-- "Fuck, Mello..." The words are ground out from between clenched teeth because it's the look of pure need on Mello's face that has Itachi following him over the edge, uncontrollably, pressing their sweaty foreheads together and gasping against Mello's mouth, because there is nothing, nothing that compares to the pleasure spiking in his veins at that moment.
Yes, yes, yes yes yesyesyesyesyes. Mello chokes back a sound of something when he hears Itachi’s curse, eats it all up like he’ll never have it again though he’s damn sure he won’t let that happen. He wraps his arms around Itachi’s shoulders, kisses Itachi once, twice, at the corner of his mouth. Pleasure has uncurled and wrapped around him, masking everything, the stings, the stretch, everything blinded by the dark hair that he wraps around his fingers, the body still deep within his own, and the face he’s almost longing to run his fingers over.
He can’t help but feel ridiculously pleased with himself and breathes quietly back so that the words won’t escape anywhere else “That’s not my name”
Itachi stills for one heartbeat, two, letting the significance of what Mello's just said sink into his endorphin-flooded brain, before lifting his head lazily. He eyes the expression on his face seriously for a moment, raising one eyebrow dangerously before a rare, genuine smile suffuses his face.
"Under the circumstances," he murmurs, still acutely aware of just how much of their bodies are touching, how much of Mello is soaking into his skin, "I think we can say Mihael one, Itachi, zero."