OOC: log post - Mello/Itachi
Who: Mello and Itachi
When: After this thread and before this post. Which means we've taken three weeks to do this log, but then, my snail's pace of logging is possibly legendary by now. *_*
Why: Because Mello had a Christmas present for Itachi. :3
Warnings: Same as for the last log, only less: sex, minor bloodplay, religious overtones, and Itachi smiling, ie, what amounts to some sappy fluff between two insane killers.
Rating: NC-17.
Itachi chooses to arrive outside the hotel, stepping silently along the roof before dropping down to the windowsill of the room, grounding his chakra for balance. He's taken Mello back to his apartment twice already, so he can only assume that Mello wants some neutral ground on which to talk this time. An odd, constricting feeling settles in his chest - part anticipation, part curiosity, part something he's not sure he wants to classify - and it quirks at the corners of his mouth. Whatever this thing is that they're doing together, it's never boring or dull.
He enters quietly as usual, the room amusingly familiar as his eyes settle on Mello's form.
Mello is sitting at the edge of the bed this time, watching the window and thumbing the beads of his rosary. It's not around his neck this time, just wrapped several times around his wrist and he takes comfort in that, though he feels vaguely empty. He takes his time in grinning, letting his eyes wander over Itachi lazily, smugly, because he can. He doesn't say anything, lets his actions speak for him.
Itachi's taken to wearing street clothes more often since meeting with Mello to better blend in with the regular world, and he slips out of his black cotton drill jacket, laying it neatly over the desk chair as he feels the drag of Mello's eyes over his body. Metal buttons and buckles clink against wood as he turns back to face him, leaning casually against the desk and returning that grin with a smirk.
"Mello." Itachi folds his arms across his chest, waiting. "What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"
Mello shrugs and rises to his feet "Sometimes nice boys end up in bad places." It takes a moment longer than he had originally planned to toss his rosary onto the sheets, watching the body of Christ on the cross settle facedown against the sheets. All the better, Mello thinks and the thoughts drip through.
"I said I had a gift, didn't I?" He muses and smiles, head tilted at an angle so that he looks rather like a broken doll.
The leather creaks as he falls to his knees at Itachi's feet, head half way bowed and hair curtaining his face. His heart is racing - the absence of his rosary is almost like longing, the excitement of this is exactly the same. "I don't have any perfume or tears to give you, but, we make do with what we can." He grins to hide the smirk.
"You've acquired some new property."
Itachi's eyes follow the fall of Mello's god to the bed before flickering up to his face, watching him carefully. His heart, always steady, always a consistent thump-thump-thump, speeds up inexplicably at the look on Mello's face, the set of his body, the tone of his words.
Even though he's taken to showing more and more of himself to Mello than he has to anyone else, he contains his outward reaction until Mello does something so unexpected that it pushes the air out of his chest. He blinks, his arms falling slowly to his sides as he stares at the kneeling form below him, letting Mello's words process for a moment. Does he mean...?
Catching his breath, he reaches down to tilt Mello's head up, searching his face with eyes gone involuntarily red as if that will help him gain an answer. "And what exactly is it that I now own?"
Mello bares his throat and lets his lips part, not making a sound louder than the quiet exhale of air and just as quiet inhale (and if he’s breathing him in someone stop him-) and reaches to take Itachi’s hand. He places Itachi’s fingers over his eyes, closing them and licking his lips.
His body feels light and he wonders (and it would be six forty am there, to convert yen to euros it would take- , flamingoes are pink because - , Near is not human and -, and the tower of Babel came crashing -) what the feeling that laces his heart, his pulse and the pin pricks over his skin, is.
"This." He breathes and pulls Itachi’s palm against his forehead, opening half-glazed blue eyes to stare.
Itachi has no clue what to think as Mello confirms the half-formed conclusions in his head. His thoughts race, off-kilter and unbalanced and he attempts to ground himself with the feel of prickly-hot skin beneath his palm; Mello is his, his to take, to own, and suddenly the offer itself is unbolting a door kept well locked, allowing a dangerous sort of want to bubble out from within.
Itachi has almost no control over his body's actions as he pulls at Mello's hand, dragging him up high enough so that he can reply in the only way he's capable of while his mind is still processing this. He presses their mouths together, the slower movement at odds with the racing of his heart as he urges Mello back towards to bed.
It’s so impossibly easy to surrender, Mello finds, and so incredibly hard to stop himself from throwing his arms around Itachi’s shoulders and returning his kiss as though signing the contract, finishing the deal - and so he doesn’t. The fingers of one hand tear the band from Itachi’s hair and tangle in the dark strands, pulling slightly as Mello’s knees hit the bed.
Surrender implies so many things Mello doesn’t know how to do or be, but tonight he’s not going to fight the way Itachi might expect (and he knows better than to assume anything about what he does or doesn’t, he won’t be making that mistake) and when he lets himself fall back against the sheets he splays himself like a possession, someone bought and paid for.
Whatever flimsy hold Itachi has over his reactions snaps at the rush of Mello against him, unrestrained and impulsive. He kisses back hard, a grunt deep in his throat as his hair is pulled free and his mind with it. At the sight of Mello there on the bed, a void that he hasn't realised was aching, that he's long since not bothered to acknowledge, is suddenly present and chokingly full. He falls to meet him, grounding his knees either side Mello's hips as he presses his mouth hard up against his ear and growls, almost helplessly, "Mine."
"Yes," Mello hisses in return, near moaning at every little move, sound and expression Itachi makes. Yes, he thinks, fucking yes. Mello arches up against him, arms returning to their place around his shoulders and oh he likes this. There is nothing left to lose in his mind, he doesn’t know where his rosary is, he doesn’t care because whatever sanity it offered he has momentarily given up for this. For this, for the blade that is smothered under his pillow, for the hair beneath his fingers, the lips against his ear.
"Again." He shivers and knows Itachi understands "Again."
"You're mine," Itachi growls out again, clearer this time and far more deliberate, far more real, even if the knowledge of it still floats oddly in his mind. He knows why Mello wants to hear it, feel it, just as much as he now wants to speak it; a compulsion grown out of only a few weeks contact and still tasting surreal on his tongue, but already strong enough to be driving this.
"Mine," he whispers again, dragging his mouth down along the side of Mello's throat, sliding hot fingers up underneath his top, along smooth, addictive skin and not bothering to wonder how his hips are now somehow flush down against Mello's because his brain really isn't in contact with his body at that moment.
"Yours," Mello repeats, tilts his head right back and shivers, breathes, groans. He’s burning up already and they’ve not even started, he wants and he wants and he wants and feels as though nothing short of forever will satisfy him. Luckily, he smiles, inwardly because his mouth is too busy moaning, luckily he -
Can’t remember what he was thinking. He lifts his hips up, hisses at the fingers against his skin and pleads more. He wants Itachi mad with this. He wants him to be so mad with this he can barely stand it. He wants Itachi to feel just like he does. His fear will never outweigh the pleasure he takes in knowing that Itachi already does.
"Yours," He says again, just shy of a whisper.
The words shiver through Itachi like a drug he didn't realise he was addicted to. He groans openly against Mello's throat, wanting to possess him in a way that almost startles him with its intensity because he is Itachi, and Itachi doesn't need such things. Except, of course, when he does.
His body moves on instinct, mouth nipping at Mello's throat and jaw as his fingers pull at zips and laces, until he has the bare expanse of Mello's chest beneath him. The physical contact allows his mind to settle a little, and as he works his teeth and tongue slowly downward to explore those perfect, fresh scars left by his own blade, he smirks inwardly and wonders exactly what price Mello will demand in return for this giving. It's not a negative thought, or even a cynical one. The price is merely expected, and, Itachi realises just as his mouth closes over a nipple, the thought is a welcome one.
Mello’s thoughts hiss at him (not yet, not yet not ye- oh) but the more skin Itachi touches his mouth to; the more Mello wants to claim him in return. He starts to tug at Itachi’s clothing, out of breath already and grinning so wide it almost hurts him. "Are you going to fuck me, Itachi?" His laugh falls from desperate lips "I want you to fuck me, oh," and Itachi really needs to stop making small things feel amazing.
"Can you make me scream? You can break me you know, you can break your own things." He doesn’t know how he’s still managing words, doesn’t know why he keeps talking, but he doesn’t care to think about it. He just wants Itachi everywhere.
The words tug low in Itachi's gut the way they always do when Mello gasps them out in that way he does, and Itachi wonders exactly how difficult it would be to say no to him. He lifts his head enough to help Mello pull his shirt up and over, and with a murmured "Fuck, yes," against Mello's lip they're kissing again, a hand fisting tight in blonde hair as hips press hard and down. Mello's mouth is hot and open, allowing his tongue to dip in as he pleases and Itachi doesn't care about the noises escaping his throat because Mello is so obviously his to break.
"Oh, I'm going to try," he gets out between kisses, and a part of him waits even as he helps Mello pull the rest of their clothing off, because there's a hand in Mello's eyes that has yet to be played, one that he's curious to see.
He's going to drown in this, in the sounds Itachi doesn't bother to hide or bite back. He lets go of a sound, not quite a moan and half a whimper, muffles it with Itachi's kiss. Not yet, not yet, he thinks desperately, presses his hips upwards in return. He wants so much more. With Itachi's skin now bare he eagerly slides his hands over it, like a child just given his favourite treat.
He's never been happier to hear words such as those and kisses Itachi harder, faster, moves against him like he's going to die without whatever this is. In an instant, Mello thinks he just might. The burning of the blade beneath his head only grows hotter. This is mine. He is mine. All mine. All mineminemine.
Heat prickles Itachi under the slide of Mello's hands and he presses down harder against the bare skin beneath him, moving with every response Mello gives. He wants to hear, feel, taste more, and yet even in his impatience it almost feels too quick when he presses inside, Mello's heat driving an intense rush up his spine as he takes. He bites down hard close to the base of Mello's throat, hissing out a breath before hooking an arm under arching hips and rolling them over, because he really wants to see this for what it is. "Mihael," he grinds out, but what he's really saying is show me what's mine.
Mello can hear laughter in his head, wild and untamed and everything he's feeling right now. He moans and presses down against Itachi, hands pressing hard against his chest as he continues to ride him, faster and faster. Now, he thinks, now now, and slides his hands over Itachi's shoulders, pauses to readjust, lean forward just enough to slide both hands beneath the pillow.
He doesn't move for a long moment then groans deep and low, presses his thighs hard against Itachi's side and takes him deeper, deeper - just a moment more, just another moment -
A ghost of a smile spreads across his lips, his fingers curl around the edge of the blade and in his eyes scream mine. He draws his back, lifts the blade carefully and slides it closer to Itachi's skin. His heart is thudding rapidly in his chest, he's damn sure it can be heard but he doesn't stop or hesitate, he has long crushed the fear so that the only way to find it would be to cut it out of his very body.
Yes, Itachi thinks as the body above him moves and the faintest, familiar whisper of metal on cotton reaches his ears; the ace of spades that's been lurking in Mello's eyes all evening. He doesn't take the time to see what Mello's intention is, although he knows it's not lethal. He doesn't because his reaction is almost Pavlovian; programmed to occur by years conditioning even through the haze of pleasure now surrounding his mind.
It's almost ironic. Not fifteen minutes ago his thought process had been completely thrown by Mello offering to become his own personal property, and now. Now, even in the midst of them fucking (and oh god it feels good), the actions come automatically: catching that wrist, twisting it and pressing the blade in Mello's hand to his throat with just enough pressure to bring blood. All in the space of two steady heartbeats.
Itachi smirks, stilling their hips. "It's a little too soon for black widow, isn't it?" His eyes gleam crimson with the dare.
Mello can't breathe but he's not going to stop now. His eyes flash with the challenge, the dare and he smiles. "Not planning on eating you, Itachi." And just like everything else Mello does its sharp and fast and messy and nothing at all like Itachi's careful surgeon-like scars. "I'm just claiming what is already mine." His voice wavers at that moment, not out of nervousness but a rush to get the words out, to say them as viciously as he can.
He can't seem to let go of the blade, can’t seem to move for that moment, just stares down at the god he just tried to rip from his throne and collar and the laughter in his head ceases to be, ceases to fill his head with rough confidence and in that moment, Mello might be complete.
The silver glint of the knife contrasts sharply with gold. The sting of it is unexpectedly soothed by Mello's rough words; the unfamiliar feeling of his own blood sliding down to stain the sheets not the only thing trapping the breath in his throat. He stares up at the fallen angel sitting astride him, taking him in with more than just his heated body, and want flushes through him, heady and unchecked. Can I let go to this? he thinks in the space between and the answers fall only faintly shy of where they need to be. He only needs to ask the question.
The movement is graceful and sure as he flips them back over, his breathing again steady against Mello's ear as he presses the blade to the same place on Mello's throat. His own blood spots beautifully on pale skin and Itachi feels alive, aching as he pushes his cock deeper inside. "I'm yours, am I?" and he wants the answer to be yes.
"Mine," Mello hisses, he's dazed for a moment, high on this, high on the sight and smell of Itachi's blood (blood that belongs to him, is all his, and now it can't ever be denied) "until you breathe your last breath." And then he is lost in a moan, tilting his head back. He grips Itachi's hand, the one holding the blade, and jerks it against the skin of his throat deeper, thrusts back though he's lost his fucking mind.
That's all Itachi needs. He'd not been looking for this, had actively discouraged similar situations in the past. Sex is just sex and to be tied to anyone else is death. And yet. Now he's falling all too willingly with the pull of those words from Mello's lips as he not only answers the challenge, but stares his own death in the face to say it. Mine, he is mine, and his mind is blinding white with the knowledge of it.
He keeps enough resistance in his grip to prevent Mello from doing himself any major damage before dropping the knife to the nightstand, partly because it's served its purpose and partly because all he wants is to fuck Mello hard enough that they both see stars. Fisting a hand in blonde hair, he jerks Mello's head back enough to arch his throat, but he doesn't watch the blood spill from the wound even though he wants to. Instead he kisses Mello hard, tasting, shivering, before meeting his eyes relentlessly and the word is a growl against the other's mouth when he says it: "Yes."
Mello tries not to look smug, tries not to be the Icarus who scoffed in the face of the sun when his wax wings did not melt but the old tale is rewriting itself in his tangled thoughts even as he kisses the sun with desperate, needy kisses. He bleeds, feels it against his skin and the smell overwhelms him almost, mixing with the smell of sex and sweat and power.
Later, later when his thoughts are back in their cage and Itachi is composed and there is nothing to be said between them there might be questions. Mello can feel their birth in the back of his mind but it doesn't matter now. Now all that matters is groaning low and deep, jerking Itachi roughly deeper, and again and again and again.
"That's going to scar," Mello croons when he can manage to drag his mouth away, because he is equal in this. Equal; owns and is owned and this is how their game is going to go now.
The smirk on Itachi's face isn't one of exclusion, but rather the clichéd expression of the cat with all the cream. "You say that like it's not... exactly what you... intended," he manages, and he's surprised that he can, given how flooded his mind is now that he's unbolted that lock... now that he's given Mello what he has. Not all, but enough. Enough to take their game to the next level, and perhaps then some.
He slings Mello's leg over a shoulder and it bends back nicely beneath his weight, right to Mello's chest and oh, that must stretch and ache, but he hasn't forgotten Mello's dare to break him. The very thought has pleasure suffusing just about every nerve in his body as he slams inside, still gripping hard at Mello's hair, tugging roughly at his cock, sucking mindlessly at blood he doesn't mean to taste as it stains the shoulder he's biting down on, before pressing his bloodstained mouth to Mello's ear, words hot and urgent very, very deliberate. "My little fucking whore."
The lips against his ear are wet with blood, and the words that are said are the boiling point. He lets out a sound that is half a sob but mostly a moan, longing and something, something else Mello couldn't name in this state had he tried. There is a delicious ache in the way his body is stretched and his eyes shutter closed in an almost wince, his lips are parted so he can hiss in breath that Itachi seems determined to steal.
"It will ...ah..ache later," he breathes, smug in his experience, smug in his position, but delirious as he always is, with no grounding, nothing, just Itachi above and within him, tearing him apart. He doesn't think he could beg for it harder. "Yes, yesyesyes" He cries and arches his back up, open and willing for everything and anything - all of it. "Itachi," he breathes the same way he whispers his prayers.
"Oh I hope... so," he grinds out, because he wants it to and later the irony of that will hit him as he realises just how many things ache; ache because he's let Mello make them, because he's let him rip a hole inside him even as another is filled. Now, he's lost in only this, in the way Mello arches and moans and gasps only for him and he takes more even as he gives, movements becoming less and less controlled, pushing and shoving as the heady spiralling balance of it makes his head spin.
Not bothering to wipe away the blood he presses his mouth to Mello's, wanting to taste his own name as Mello whispers it, drinking it in and desperately wanting more. "Yes... Mihael..." and he couldn't stop this now even if he tried.
It is his name that is his undoing; quite probably always will be. He hears it so seldom, can hardly recall and he's so close already; Itachi is fucking addicting like this, out of control, just as desperate as Mello himself and that makes it perfect. He kisses Itachi hard as he comes, mind going blissfully blank for a long moment, one hand tangled in Itachi's hair, the other gripping his shoulder as though it would hurt him to let go.
"Fuck," He hisses and thinks, there is no way out now.
It is Mello breaking open that is his undoing, addictive and intense and his. He hadn't intended to let go so soon but the wet heat on his hand surprises him and suddenly, Itachi's feeling Mello's rush everywhere; shuddering and desperate, the fingers in his hair and the nails biting down on his shoulder only intensifying the sensation because it is all his doing and for just a moment, right as his mind is blissfully white, right as he kisses Mello like he might never get the chance again, he has a perfect glimpse of what wholeness might feel like.
Pulling his mouth away, he drops his forehead to Mello's and just breathes, the prickly dampness of Mello's skin matching his own as he slowly stops moving. "Uhuh," is all he can manage, and he doesn't bother to hold back, kissing Mello's mouth again, a scarred cheekbone, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead and sighing in a way he didn't remember he was capable of.
It takes Mello longer than it ought to to get control of his breathing, and so he doesn't try too hard. Just takes shallow breaths and clings until his head stops spinning enough. He makes a quiet sound of contentment as Itachi seems to come down from it all just as hard as he is, lets his eyes stay closed as Itachi kisses his mouth, a marred (ugly, broken, failure) cheek.
He slides his fingers over Itachi's back, touch gentle now instead of demanding, until he can't find the energy anymore and relaxes completely beneath him, sated and far too pleased with himself. He shifts slightly and smiles up at Itachi even before he blinks open his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but can't bring himself to, a niggling thought in the back of his mind that something is just waiting eagerly to catch up.
He doesn't much care what that might be, right then. He wants to sleep and stay wrapped up in this, messy and bloody and peaceful.
Itachi's limbs begin to slacken, matching Mello's as the need for sleep tempts him just to roll off and curl. Fragmented thoughts prickle through his sated, hazy mind, vaguely warning him, but he follows temptation anyway, lying back on bloody sheets and feeling ridiculously smug. They're both a mess and in desperate need of a shower but for once Itachi couldn't care less. All he wants is Mello curled in against him and he pulls him close, warm and willing, the self-satisfied smirk only fading from his face once sleep overtakes them both.
Mine. All other thoughts are rescheduled for the morning.
***
Mello wakes the way he does everything else - with a sudden jerk and hiss before settling down. He is never pulled from sleep like a gentle lover is led from the sea, and he sees nothing wrong with this way. Usually he sleeps only with Matt and Matt has his own reasons for jerking awake. His mind is still brightly foggy, colours and thoughts swirling about in his head as he tries to place where he is.
It doesn't take long, hardly a second but the hazy confusion is enough to slant his emotions towards the restless side. He finds his body curled with Itachi's, long limbs wrapped and interwoven, and for some reason his fingers are still tangled in dark hair (had they been originally or had that been something done in the throes of sleep -).
This is....odd. Mello's heart is beating evenly but sharply, each beat a defining thud that twists something in his chest. He doesn't know what to think. What he has claimed cannot ever be unclaimed and he doesn't know how to react or how to think. He feels - he doesn't have a word or a space for it. He remains still and ponders, something not fear but not courage either snaking it's way towards his tongue. He will not speak. He will not.
Itachi is pulled into consciousness at the jerk of a body beside him. His mind, conditioned through years of training to be alert even straight out of sleep, registers almost immediately that it's Mello and therefore no danger. With that assessment out of the way he begins to catalogue everything else out of habit, eyes still closed, heartbeat even and sure, his body completely still: they're in the usual hotel room. His clothes are nearby, as are his weapons. No other chakra is present. Their legs are tangled together and there are hands in his hair, which he's not sure how to feel about other than it's vaguely pleasing, vaguely awkward and presents no real obstacle to leaving. He's sticky, but that's nothing a shower won't fix. Then there's an ache at his throat where he'd allowed Mello to... oh. Oh.
And now Mello's stiffening slightly beside him, clearly sifting through his own thoughts of the night before just as Itachi's mind is flooded with them; with how much he let go, with how much he let Mello see, hear, have for his own. He fights the urge to recoil, rolling instead onto his back as he attempts to contain this new... vulnerability? Yes. Unusual. Strong. Dangerous. And completely Mello's fault.
What's done is done, and panic only makes one weak. He chooses to wait instead, quietly moving a hand to his face to rub at tired eyes. How would these new playing pieces fall?
Mello decides firmly that the emotion he's feeling right at that second is awkwardness. He hisses in a breath and then releases it and afterwards feels as though he can take on this situation. He shifts, lets Itachi's hair fall through his fingers and stretches them. Odd. Something strikes him again, another emotion - he is calm. He doesn't want to move, he just doesn't comprehend.
When Itachi moves Mello's eyes fall to his face, his throat. He leans closer, sleep making his limbs slow, and presses his lips to the exact opposite of the place he had scarred the night before. He doesn't know what this is, or what the fuck either of them is thinking. But he will gain his footing where he chooses.
"Itachi." It's more of a greeting than a question, and Mello sighs sleepily after it falls from his lips, voice just as rough as the rest of him.
Something in the sound of Mello's voice, in the heavy, sleepy movements of his body soothes Itachi, allowing his mind to settle from fight-or-flight mode into something more closely resembling a normal morning haze. Albeit a morning haze still punctuated with awkwardness and questions.
He wraps an arm around slight shoulders, encouraging Mello to curl in against him because physical contact is something he can make sense of, if nothing else. Besides that, it's... well, it's sort of nice to be waking up next to someone he-- he-- hmm. Next to someone who is his? Maybe. He resolves to try and categorise how he feels about Mello later, when his synapses have been spiked with the required caffeination, and instead he presses light kisses into Mello's hair which really shouldn't smell so good because it's fucking with his impulse control, damn it. He does it again.
Mello half smiles and does curl against him, unable to resist when its so damn comfortable. He doesn't make a habit of staying with his lovers, only Matt and he would just as soon call him a child than a lover. He wants to make a permanent exception in Itachi's case and immediately crushes the thought.
He licks Itachi's skin instead, lazily as is every move, not sexual just intimate. "What is this?" he half mumbles, asking the question he knows both wanted to ask.
...or he can think about it now, pre-strong green tea. It's a simple question, but he knows what Mello means. What is this? Itachi lets his head flop back on the pillow, thumbing at Mello's bare shoulder as a pleasant little shiver runs through him at the warm touch of tongue. What is this? He knows that being with Mello is intense. Raw. Addictive. Completely foreign to anything he's experienced with anyone else, and not just because he's allowed himself to spend the night when he makes it a point not to. Whatever it is, it has a hold on his mind and body. He's just not sure he can categorise it right now. Or even if he wants to.
On the other hand. "I'm not exactly sure." He knows the tone of his voice betrays just how uncertain he is. He's just quietly amazed that he doesn't much care. "What would you like it to be?"
Mello shivers for a reason he can't quite place, clings to Itachi in a way he would be ashamed of, had they not been who they were. The answer is both comforting and fitting - Itachi doesn't know either and that makes his own confusion fair. They don't need to name this, not truly and it is only the part of him - the part Wammy owns every inch of - that demands labels and profiles.
It is too early for this, he smirks and then smiles because it is too early for utter satisfaction. "I would like it to be chocolate and coffee." And the smirk is back. Not too early after all. "Room service, more sex like that and then we can figure out why the fuck-" and he stops, slides a hand over Itachi's stomach "why the fuck we've started to need this." He is utterly relaxed, despite the content. This is not trust. This is - This is -
Itachi.
A smile spreads lazily over Itachi's face. He feels this is both reasonable and justified, given the early hour and on how many levels he gets what Mello means, and so he allows it. Right up until he pulls Mello's mouth against his own.
"Now that's a wake up call I can see myself getting used to."
When: After this thread and before this post. Which means we've taken three weeks to do this log, but then, my snail's pace of logging is possibly legendary by now. *_*
Why: Because Mello had a Christmas present for Itachi. :3
Warnings: Same as for the last log, only less: sex, minor bloodplay, religious overtones, and Itachi smiling, ie, what amounts to some sappy fluff between two insane killers.
Rating: NC-17.
Itachi chooses to arrive outside the hotel, stepping silently along the roof before dropping down to the windowsill of the room, grounding his chakra for balance. He's taken Mello back to his apartment twice already, so he can only assume that Mello wants some neutral ground on which to talk this time. An odd, constricting feeling settles in his chest - part anticipation, part curiosity, part something he's not sure he wants to classify - and it quirks at the corners of his mouth. Whatever this thing is that they're doing together, it's never boring or dull.
He enters quietly as usual, the room amusingly familiar as his eyes settle on Mello's form.
Mello is sitting at the edge of the bed this time, watching the window and thumbing the beads of his rosary. It's not around his neck this time, just wrapped several times around his wrist and he takes comfort in that, though he feels vaguely empty. He takes his time in grinning, letting his eyes wander over Itachi lazily, smugly, because he can. He doesn't say anything, lets his actions speak for him.
Itachi's taken to wearing street clothes more often since meeting with Mello to better blend in with the regular world, and he slips out of his black cotton drill jacket, laying it neatly over the desk chair as he feels the drag of Mello's eyes over his body. Metal buttons and buckles clink against wood as he turns back to face him, leaning casually against the desk and returning that grin with a smirk.
"Mello." Itachi folds his arms across his chest, waiting. "What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"
Mello shrugs and rises to his feet "Sometimes nice boys end up in bad places." It takes a moment longer than he had originally planned to toss his rosary onto the sheets, watching the body of Christ on the cross settle facedown against the sheets. All the better, Mello thinks and the thoughts drip through.
"I said I had a gift, didn't I?" He muses and smiles, head tilted at an angle so that he looks rather like a broken doll.
The leather creaks as he falls to his knees at Itachi's feet, head half way bowed and hair curtaining his face. His heart is racing - the absence of his rosary is almost like longing, the excitement of this is exactly the same. "I don't have any perfume or tears to give you, but, we make do with what we can." He grins to hide the smirk.
"You've acquired some new property."
Itachi's eyes follow the fall of Mello's god to the bed before flickering up to his face, watching him carefully. His heart, always steady, always a consistent thump-thump-thump, speeds up inexplicably at the look on Mello's face, the set of his body, the tone of his words.
Even though he's taken to showing more and more of himself to Mello than he has to anyone else, he contains his outward reaction until Mello does something so unexpected that it pushes the air out of his chest. He blinks, his arms falling slowly to his sides as he stares at the kneeling form below him, letting Mello's words process for a moment. Does he mean...?
Catching his breath, he reaches down to tilt Mello's head up, searching his face with eyes gone involuntarily red as if that will help him gain an answer. "And what exactly is it that I now own?"
Mello bares his throat and lets his lips part, not making a sound louder than the quiet exhale of air and just as quiet inhale (and if he’s breathing him in someone stop him-) and reaches to take Itachi’s hand. He places Itachi’s fingers over his eyes, closing them and licking his lips.
His body feels light and he wonders (and it would be six forty am there, to convert yen to euros it would take- , flamingoes are pink because - , Near is not human and -, and the tower of Babel came crashing -) what the feeling that laces his heart, his pulse and the pin pricks over his skin, is.
"This." He breathes and pulls Itachi’s palm against his forehead, opening half-glazed blue eyes to stare.
Itachi has no clue what to think as Mello confirms the half-formed conclusions in his head. His thoughts race, off-kilter and unbalanced and he attempts to ground himself with the feel of prickly-hot skin beneath his palm; Mello is his, his to take, to own, and suddenly the offer itself is unbolting a door kept well locked, allowing a dangerous sort of want to bubble out from within.
Itachi has almost no control over his body's actions as he pulls at Mello's hand, dragging him up high enough so that he can reply in the only way he's capable of while his mind is still processing this. He presses their mouths together, the slower movement at odds with the racing of his heart as he urges Mello back towards to bed.
It’s so impossibly easy to surrender, Mello finds, and so incredibly hard to stop himself from throwing his arms around Itachi’s shoulders and returning his kiss as though signing the contract, finishing the deal - and so he doesn’t. The fingers of one hand tear the band from Itachi’s hair and tangle in the dark strands, pulling slightly as Mello’s knees hit the bed.
Surrender implies so many things Mello doesn’t know how to do or be, but tonight he’s not going to fight the way Itachi might expect (and he knows better than to assume anything about what he does or doesn’t, he won’t be making that mistake) and when he lets himself fall back against the sheets he splays himself like a possession, someone bought and paid for.
Whatever flimsy hold Itachi has over his reactions snaps at the rush of Mello against him, unrestrained and impulsive. He kisses back hard, a grunt deep in his throat as his hair is pulled free and his mind with it. At the sight of Mello there on the bed, a void that he hasn't realised was aching, that he's long since not bothered to acknowledge, is suddenly present and chokingly full. He falls to meet him, grounding his knees either side Mello's hips as he presses his mouth hard up against his ear and growls, almost helplessly, "Mine."
"Yes," Mello hisses in return, near moaning at every little move, sound and expression Itachi makes. Yes, he thinks, fucking yes. Mello arches up against him, arms returning to their place around his shoulders and oh he likes this. There is nothing left to lose in his mind, he doesn’t know where his rosary is, he doesn’t care because whatever sanity it offered he has momentarily given up for this. For this, for the blade that is smothered under his pillow, for the hair beneath his fingers, the lips against his ear.
"Again." He shivers and knows Itachi understands "Again."
"You're mine," Itachi growls out again, clearer this time and far more deliberate, far more real, even if the knowledge of it still floats oddly in his mind. He knows why Mello wants to hear it, feel it, just as much as he now wants to speak it; a compulsion grown out of only a few weeks contact and still tasting surreal on his tongue, but already strong enough to be driving this.
"Mine," he whispers again, dragging his mouth down along the side of Mello's throat, sliding hot fingers up underneath his top, along smooth, addictive skin and not bothering to wonder how his hips are now somehow flush down against Mello's because his brain really isn't in contact with his body at that moment.
"Yours," Mello repeats, tilts his head right back and shivers, breathes, groans. He’s burning up already and they’ve not even started, he wants and he wants and he wants and feels as though nothing short of forever will satisfy him. Luckily, he smiles, inwardly because his mouth is too busy moaning, luckily he -
Can’t remember what he was thinking. He lifts his hips up, hisses at the fingers against his skin and pleads more. He wants Itachi mad with this. He wants him to be so mad with this he can barely stand it. He wants Itachi to feel just like he does. His fear will never outweigh the pleasure he takes in knowing that Itachi already does.
"Yours," He says again, just shy of a whisper.
The words shiver through Itachi like a drug he didn't realise he was addicted to. He groans openly against Mello's throat, wanting to possess him in a way that almost startles him with its intensity because he is Itachi, and Itachi doesn't need such things. Except, of course, when he does.
His body moves on instinct, mouth nipping at Mello's throat and jaw as his fingers pull at zips and laces, until he has the bare expanse of Mello's chest beneath him. The physical contact allows his mind to settle a little, and as he works his teeth and tongue slowly downward to explore those perfect, fresh scars left by his own blade, he smirks inwardly and wonders exactly what price Mello will demand in return for this giving. It's not a negative thought, or even a cynical one. The price is merely expected, and, Itachi realises just as his mouth closes over a nipple, the thought is a welcome one.
Mello’s thoughts hiss at him (not yet, not yet not ye- oh) but the more skin Itachi touches his mouth to; the more Mello wants to claim him in return. He starts to tug at Itachi’s clothing, out of breath already and grinning so wide it almost hurts him. "Are you going to fuck me, Itachi?" His laugh falls from desperate lips "I want you to fuck me, oh," and Itachi really needs to stop making small things feel amazing.
"Can you make me scream? You can break me you know, you can break your own things." He doesn’t know how he’s still managing words, doesn’t know why he keeps talking, but he doesn’t care to think about it. He just wants Itachi everywhere.
The words tug low in Itachi's gut the way they always do when Mello gasps them out in that way he does, and Itachi wonders exactly how difficult it would be to say no to him. He lifts his head enough to help Mello pull his shirt up and over, and with a murmured "Fuck, yes," against Mello's lip they're kissing again, a hand fisting tight in blonde hair as hips press hard and down. Mello's mouth is hot and open, allowing his tongue to dip in as he pleases and Itachi doesn't care about the noises escaping his throat because Mello is so obviously his to break.
"Oh, I'm going to try," he gets out between kisses, and a part of him waits even as he helps Mello pull the rest of their clothing off, because there's a hand in Mello's eyes that has yet to be played, one that he's curious to see.
He's going to drown in this, in the sounds Itachi doesn't bother to hide or bite back. He lets go of a sound, not quite a moan and half a whimper, muffles it with Itachi's kiss. Not yet, not yet, he thinks desperately, presses his hips upwards in return. He wants so much more. With Itachi's skin now bare he eagerly slides his hands over it, like a child just given his favourite treat.
He's never been happier to hear words such as those and kisses Itachi harder, faster, moves against him like he's going to die without whatever this is. In an instant, Mello thinks he just might. The burning of the blade beneath his head only grows hotter. This is mine. He is mine. All mine. All mineminemine.
Heat prickles Itachi under the slide of Mello's hands and he presses down harder against the bare skin beneath him, moving with every response Mello gives. He wants to hear, feel, taste more, and yet even in his impatience it almost feels too quick when he presses inside, Mello's heat driving an intense rush up his spine as he takes. He bites down hard close to the base of Mello's throat, hissing out a breath before hooking an arm under arching hips and rolling them over, because he really wants to see this for what it is. "Mihael," he grinds out, but what he's really saying is show me what's mine.
Mello can hear laughter in his head, wild and untamed and everything he's feeling right now. He moans and presses down against Itachi, hands pressing hard against his chest as he continues to ride him, faster and faster. Now, he thinks, now now, and slides his hands over Itachi's shoulders, pauses to readjust, lean forward just enough to slide both hands beneath the pillow.
He doesn't move for a long moment then groans deep and low, presses his thighs hard against Itachi's side and takes him deeper, deeper - just a moment more, just another moment -
A ghost of a smile spreads across his lips, his fingers curl around the edge of the blade and in his eyes scream mine. He draws his back, lifts the blade carefully and slides it closer to Itachi's skin. His heart is thudding rapidly in his chest, he's damn sure it can be heard but he doesn't stop or hesitate, he has long crushed the fear so that the only way to find it would be to cut it out of his very body.
Yes, Itachi thinks as the body above him moves and the faintest, familiar whisper of metal on cotton reaches his ears; the ace of spades that's been lurking in Mello's eyes all evening. He doesn't take the time to see what Mello's intention is, although he knows it's not lethal. He doesn't because his reaction is almost Pavlovian; programmed to occur by years conditioning even through the haze of pleasure now surrounding his mind.
It's almost ironic. Not fifteen minutes ago his thought process had been completely thrown by Mello offering to become his own personal property, and now. Now, even in the midst of them fucking (and oh god it feels good), the actions come automatically: catching that wrist, twisting it and pressing the blade in Mello's hand to his throat with just enough pressure to bring blood. All in the space of two steady heartbeats.
Itachi smirks, stilling their hips. "It's a little too soon for black widow, isn't it?" His eyes gleam crimson with the dare.
Mello can't breathe but he's not going to stop now. His eyes flash with the challenge, the dare and he smiles. "Not planning on eating you, Itachi." And just like everything else Mello does its sharp and fast and messy and nothing at all like Itachi's careful surgeon-like scars. "I'm just claiming what is already mine." His voice wavers at that moment, not out of nervousness but a rush to get the words out, to say them as viciously as he can.
He can't seem to let go of the blade, can’t seem to move for that moment, just stares down at the god he just tried to rip from his throne and collar and the laughter in his head ceases to be, ceases to fill his head with rough confidence and in that moment, Mello might be complete.
The silver glint of the knife contrasts sharply with gold. The sting of it is unexpectedly soothed by Mello's rough words; the unfamiliar feeling of his own blood sliding down to stain the sheets not the only thing trapping the breath in his throat. He stares up at the fallen angel sitting astride him, taking him in with more than just his heated body, and want flushes through him, heady and unchecked. Can I let go to this? he thinks in the space between and the answers fall only faintly shy of where they need to be. He only needs to ask the question.
The movement is graceful and sure as he flips them back over, his breathing again steady against Mello's ear as he presses the blade to the same place on Mello's throat. His own blood spots beautifully on pale skin and Itachi feels alive, aching as he pushes his cock deeper inside. "I'm yours, am I?" and he wants the answer to be yes.
"Mine," Mello hisses, he's dazed for a moment, high on this, high on the sight and smell of Itachi's blood (blood that belongs to him, is all his, and now it can't ever be denied) "until you breathe your last breath." And then he is lost in a moan, tilting his head back. He grips Itachi's hand, the one holding the blade, and jerks it against the skin of his throat deeper, thrusts back though he's lost his fucking mind.
That's all Itachi needs. He'd not been looking for this, had actively discouraged similar situations in the past. Sex is just sex and to be tied to anyone else is death. And yet. Now he's falling all too willingly with the pull of those words from Mello's lips as he not only answers the challenge, but stares his own death in the face to say it. Mine, he is mine, and his mind is blinding white with the knowledge of it.
He keeps enough resistance in his grip to prevent Mello from doing himself any major damage before dropping the knife to the nightstand, partly because it's served its purpose and partly because all he wants is to fuck Mello hard enough that they both see stars. Fisting a hand in blonde hair, he jerks Mello's head back enough to arch his throat, but he doesn't watch the blood spill from the wound even though he wants to. Instead he kisses Mello hard, tasting, shivering, before meeting his eyes relentlessly and the word is a growl against the other's mouth when he says it: "Yes."
Mello tries not to look smug, tries not to be the Icarus who scoffed in the face of the sun when his wax wings did not melt but the old tale is rewriting itself in his tangled thoughts even as he kisses the sun with desperate, needy kisses. He bleeds, feels it against his skin and the smell overwhelms him almost, mixing with the smell of sex and sweat and power.
Later, later when his thoughts are back in their cage and Itachi is composed and there is nothing to be said between them there might be questions. Mello can feel their birth in the back of his mind but it doesn't matter now. Now all that matters is groaning low and deep, jerking Itachi roughly deeper, and again and again and again.
"That's going to scar," Mello croons when he can manage to drag his mouth away, because he is equal in this. Equal; owns and is owned and this is how their game is going to go now.
The smirk on Itachi's face isn't one of exclusion, but rather the clichéd expression of the cat with all the cream. "You say that like it's not... exactly what you... intended," he manages, and he's surprised that he can, given how flooded his mind is now that he's unbolted that lock... now that he's given Mello what he has. Not all, but enough. Enough to take their game to the next level, and perhaps then some.
He slings Mello's leg over a shoulder and it bends back nicely beneath his weight, right to Mello's chest and oh, that must stretch and ache, but he hasn't forgotten Mello's dare to break him. The very thought has pleasure suffusing just about every nerve in his body as he slams inside, still gripping hard at Mello's hair, tugging roughly at his cock, sucking mindlessly at blood he doesn't mean to taste as it stains the shoulder he's biting down on, before pressing his bloodstained mouth to Mello's ear, words hot and urgent very, very deliberate. "My little fucking whore."
The lips against his ear are wet with blood, and the words that are said are the boiling point. He lets out a sound that is half a sob but mostly a moan, longing and something, something else Mello couldn't name in this state had he tried. There is a delicious ache in the way his body is stretched and his eyes shutter closed in an almost wince, his lips are parted so he can hiss in breath that Itachi seems determined to steal.
"It will ...ah..ache later," he breathes, smug in his experience, smug in his position, but delirious as he always is, with no grounding, nothing, just Itachi above and within him, tearing him apart. He doesn't think he could beg for it harder. "Yes, yesyesyes" He cries and arches his back up, open and willing for everything and anything - all of it. "Itachi," he breathes the same way he whispers his prayers.
"Oh I hope... so," he grinds out, because he wants it to and later the irony of that will hit him as he realises just how many things ache; ache because he's let Mello make them, because he's let him rip a hole inside him even as another is filled. Now, he's lost in only this, in the way Mello arches and moans and gasps only for him and he takes more even as he gives, movements becoming less and less controlled, pushing and shoving as the heady spiralling balance of it makes his head spin.
Not bothering to wipe away the blood he presses his mouth to Mello's, wanting to taste his own name as Mello whispers it, drinking it in and desperately wanting more. "Yes... Mihael..." and he couldn't stop this now even if he tried.
It is his name that is his undoing; quite probably always will be. He hears it so seldom, can hardly recall and he's so close already; Itachi is fucking addicting like this, out of control, just as desperate as Mello himself and that makes it perfect. He kisses Itachi hard as he comes, mind going blissfully blank for a long moment, one hand tangled in Itachi's hair, the other gripping his shoulder as though it would hurt him to let go.
"Fuck," He hisses and thinks, there is no way out now.
It is Mello breaking open that is his undoing, addictive and intense and his. He hadn't intended to let go so soon but the wet heat on his hand surprises him and suddenly, Itachi's feeling Mello's rush everywhere; shuddering and desperate, the fingers in his hair and the nails biting down on his shoulder only intensifying the sensation because it is all his doing and for just a moment, right as his mind is blissfully white, right as he kisses Mello like he might never get the chance again, he has a perfect glimpse of what wholeness might feel like.
Pulling his mouth away, he drops his forehead to Mello's and just breathes, the prickly dampness of Mello's skin matching his own as he slowly stops moving. "Uhuh," is all he can manage, and he doesn't bother to hold back, kissing Mello's mouth again, a scarred cheekbone, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead and sighing in a way he didn't remember he was capable of.
It takes Mello longer than it ought to to get control of his breathing, and so he doesn't try too hard. Just takes shallow breaths and clings until his head stops spinning enough. He makes a quiet sound of contentment as Itachi seems to come down from it all just as hard as he is, lets his eyes stay closed as Itachi kisses his mouth, a marred (ugly, broken, failure) cheek.
He slides his fingers over Itachi's back, touch gentle now instead of demanding, until he can't find the energy anymore and relaxes completely beneath him, sated and far too pleased with himself. He shifts slightly and smiles up at Itachi even before he blinks open his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but can't bring himself to, a niggling thought in the back of his mind that something is just waiting eagerly to catch up.
He doesn't much care what that might be, right then. He wants to sleep and stay wrapped up in this, messy and bloody and peaceful.
Itachi's limbs begin to slacken, matching Mello's as the need for sleep tempts him just to roll off and curl. Fragmented thoughts prickle through his sated, hazy mind, vaguely warning him, but he follows temptation anyway, lying back on bloody sheets and feeling ridiculously smug. They're both a mess and in desperate need of a shower but for once Itachi couldn't care less. All he wants is Mello curled in against him and he pulls him close, warm and willing, the self-satisfied smirk only fading from his face once sleep overtakes them both.
Mine. All other thoughts are rescheduled for the morning.
***
Mello wakes the way he does everything else - with a sudden jerk and hiss before settling down. He is never pulled from sleep like a gentle lover is led from the sea, and he sees nothing wrong with this way. Usually he sleeps only with Matt and Matt has his own reasons for jerking awake. His mind is still brightly foggy, colours and thoughts swirling about in his head as he tries to place where he is.
It doesn't take long, hardly a second but the hazy confusion is enough to slant his emotions towards the restless side. He finds his body curled with Itachi's, long limbs wrapped and interwoven, and for some reason his fingers are still tangled in dark hair (had they been originally or had that been something done in the throes of sleep -).
This is....odd. Mello's heart is beating evenly but sharply, each beat a defining thud that twists something in his chest. He doesn't know what to think. What he has claimed cannot ever be unclaimed and he doesn't know how to react or how to think. He feels - he doesn't have a word or a space for it. He remains still and ponders, something not fear but not courage either snaking it's way towards his tongue. He will not speak. He will not.
Itachi is pulled into consciousness at the jerk of a body beside him. His mind, conditioned through years of training to be alert even straight out of sleep, registers almost immediately that it's Mello and therefore no danger. With that assessment out of the way he begins to catalogue everything else out of habit, eyes still closed, heartbeat even and sure, his body completely still: they're in the usual hotel room. His clothes are nearby, as are his weapons. No other chakra is present. Their legs are tangled together and there are hands in his hair, which he's not sure how to feel about other than it's vaguely pleasing, vaguely awkward and presents no real obstacle to leaving. He's sticky, but that's nothing a shower won't fix. Then there's an ache at his throat where he'd allowed Mello to... oh. Oh.
And now Mello's stiffening slightly beside him, clearly sifting through his own thoughts of the night before just as Itachi's mind is flooded with them; with how much he let go, with how much he let Mello see, hear, have for his own. He fights the urge to recoil, rolling instead onto his back as he attempts to contain this new... vulnerability? Yes. Unusual. Strong. Dangerous. And completely Mello's fault.
What's done is done, and panic only makes one weak. He chooses to wait instead, quietly moving a hand to his face to rub at tired eyes. How would these new playing pieces fall?
Mello decides firmly that the emotion he's feeling right at that second is awkwardness. He hisses in a breath and then releases it and afterwards feels as though he can take on this situation. He shifts, lets Itachi's hair fall through his fingers and stretches them. Odd. Something strikes him again, another emotion - he is calm. He doesn't want to move, he just doesn't comprehend.
When Itachi moves Mello's eyes fall to his face, his throat. He leans closer, sleep making his limbs slow, and presses his lips to the exact opposite of the place he had scarred the night before. He doesn't know what this is, or what the fuck either of them is thinking. But he will gain his footing where he chooses.
"Itachi." It's more of a greeting than a question, and Mello sighs sleepily after it falls from his lips, voice just as rough as the rest of him.
Something in the sound of Mello's voice, in the heavy, sleepy movements of his body soothes Itachi, allowing his mind to settle from fight-or-flight mode into something more closely resembling a normal morning haze. Albeit a morning haze still punctuated with awkwardness and questions.
He wraps an arm around slight shoulders, encouraging Mello to curl in against him because physical contact is something he can make sense of, if nothing else. Besides that, it's... well, it's sort of nice to be waking up next to someone he-- he-- hmm. Next to someone who is his? Maybe. He resolves to try and categorise how he feels about Mello later, when his synapses have been spiked with the required caffeination, and instead he presses light kisses into Mello's hair which really shouldn't smell so good because it's fucking with his impulse control, damn it. He does it again.
Mello half smiles and does curl against him, unable to resist when its so damn comfortable. He doesn't make a habit of staying with his lovers, only Matt and he would just as soon call him a child than a lover. He wants to make a permanent exception in Itachi's case and immediately crushes the thought.
He licks Itachi's skin instead, lazily as is every move, not sexual just intimate. "What is this?" he half mumbles, asking the question he knows both wanted to ask.
...or he can think about it now, pre-strong green tea. It's a simple question, but he knows what Mello means. What is this? Itachi lets his head flop back on the pillow, thumbing at Mello's bare shoulder as a pleasant little shiver runs through him at the warm touch of tongue. What is this? He knows that being with Mello is intense. Raw. Addictive. Completely foreign to anything he's experienced with anyone else, and not just because he's allowed himself to spend the night when he makes it a point not to. Whatever it is, it has a hold on his mind and body. He's just not sure he can categorise it right now. Or even if he wants to.
On the other hand. "I'm not exactly sure." He knows the tone of his voice betrays just how uncertain he is. He's just quietly amazed that he doesn't much care. "What would you like it to be?"
Mello shivers for a reason he can't quite place, clings to Itachi in a way he would be ashamed of, had they not been who they were. The answer is both comforting and fitting - Itachi doesn't know either and that makes his own confusion fair. They don't need to name this, not truly and it is only the part of him - the part Wammy owns every inch of - that demands labels and profiles.
It is too early for this, he smirks and then smiles because it is too early for utter satisfaction. "I would like it to be chocolate and coffee." And the smirk is back. Not too early after all. "Room service, more sex like that and then we can figure out why the fuck-" and he stops, slides a hand over Itachi's stomach "why the fuck we've started to need this." He is utterly relaxed, despite the content. This is not trust. This is - This is -
Itachi.
A smile spreads lazily over Itachi's face. He feels this is both reasonable and justified, given the early hour and on how many levels he gets what Mello means, and so he allows it. Right up until he pulls Mello's mouth against his own.
"Now that's a wake up call I can see myself getting used to."