Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme

[dn_kink]

Welcome to the Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme!

How it works:

* Comment anonymously with a kinkfic request. All requests must contain a character or pairing/threesome/moresome (any combination of guys/girls/shinigami/whatever are OK, crossovers are fine too), and at least one kink. If you need inspiration, check out this huge list of kinks by eliade.

Comments

Mining for Cocoa, part 7

[anonymous]

His words were cut off when L, after noticing the lemonade glass- one of the few survivors of their struggle- within arm’s reach, dipped a hand into it, fished out an ice cube and placed it on the base of his back.

“That’s cold!” Mello yelled even as L slid the cube up his spine with a single finger.

“I thought you might like it,” L said, a little sadly.

Mello, even as he threw back his head and his mouth formed the word God, was practically spitting. “No… you know what I…”

L would have liked to take a moment to admire him just then, all wiry limbs and hints of muscle twisting themselves into knots as he slammed himself backwards with aggressive, uneven movements, but the look in Mello’s eyes was murderous and besides, each pound of the younger man’s hips left him reeling with the scorching heat and friction. So L cupped the ice in his hand and moved it around in his palm a little, allowing it to melt significantly, numbing his skin, before slipping the hand down between Mello’s legs and seizing his erection.

Mello swore incoherently, his body contorting like it was trying to escape and seek more all at once. There was freezing water dripping down between L’s fingers, and his successor’s arousal felt scorching hot to his chilled hand. Ignoring the wild stream of curses that hissed from between Mello’s teeth, L began to move his hand, sometimes gripping almost as tightly as he had done before, sometimes giving merely a teasing stroke that left Mello whining in frustration, occasionally shifting up to slide icy fingertips over the sensitive head. The blond’s body was tensing irregularly, sending thrills through his own limbs; their hips met over and over as if frantically attempting to coalesce; the table was rocking beneath them with such violence that the lemonade glass tipped over and spilled ice across Mello’s outstretched arms.

L could feel the pressure beginning to build, deep in the pit of his stomach, and he could sense his thrusts becoming jittery and uneven, the full force of his weight on Mello’s back, leaving the smaller man gasping.

“Nn… you can’t… without me…” was all Mello said, but L understood and, with a supreme effort of will, suppressed the sensation, squashing his orgasm before it had a chance to escape.

Despite temporary success, L knew that it was beyond his power to keep it under control for very long- his hips were jerking slightly, despite his every attempt to remain still- and so he acted quickly. Feeling that the chill of the ice had vanished from his hand, he pulled it back and as Mello screamed at him, apparently convinced that this was all a deliberate plot to torture him, again took the bottle of cherry syrup. His fingers were already slick, with water, with chocolate, with droplets of pre-cum, but the liquid lent them a pleasingly cool slipperiness and he applied it liberally, allowing it to drip down over his wrist.

Mello’s reaction to the renewed pressure of L’s hand was if possible even more violent than it had been when L had been holding ice: he juddered, his erection twitched palpably, and even while the touch was relatively gentle he uttered a yelp. It was obvious that the pause, brief as it had been, had only heightened his sensitivity.

L grabbed Mello’s hips with his other hand and tilted them a little as he again began to pound into them, and at the same time he tightened his fingers and pumped Mello fiercely, relishing the desperate sounds that he tore from the blond’s throat. As he had thought, the syrup helped; the movements of his hand were rapid and fluid, although a little sticky- but any disadvantage was more than compensated for by the way the blond shuddered beneath him, the way he rocked his body, now forwards into L’s hand, now backwards into his thrusts. He was not even cursing any more, just uttering hoarse wordless cries interspersed with L’s name. Not a codename. Not an alias. Just the one letter.

“L…!”