DN -- Fair
Title: Fair
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Mello/Light
Rating: R
Word Count: 424
Prompt: hate!sex
Warnings: pick your favorite
Summary: And maybe it is.
Author's Note: Ohhhh, snap. Kink memes are fun. I scare myself. Written to Melissa Ferrick's "Drive" on repeat.
FAIR
The fucker’s got a gun.
The barrel’s so cool it feels slick where Mello-for who else could realize this jagged nightmare?-runs it along his temple, so slowly it seems loving.
Light pushes his tongue out between his cracked lips, wetting them carefully, trying not to aggravate the bruises that spread in a broken web across his face-so many snowflakes that melt as he moves and burst into violet pain.
Mello curls a finger in the short handcuff chain and pulls upwards just far enough to make Light’s shoulders seize, to send the silver daggers of exquisite pain sizzling down his spine. His captor is a talented sadist with an insatiable vendetta.
Some part of Light shivers with sick glee at the thought that he’s earned every second of his agony.
“Kira will outlive me,” he says.
“They’ll forget,” Mello promises, one long-fingered hand jerking through his matted hair, fingering the impossible knot that holds a strip of dark leather over his eyes. “But I haven’t. It’s almost funny, you know… how much I’ve given. How much I’ve lost. How much you’ve taken away, without even knowing who owned it, not that you’d care.”
The gun barrel grazes his chin, and a cool hand settles, palm soft against his cheek, thumb trailing down the bridge of his nose, over the swell of his broken lips, to the bristle of stubble just beginning to surface on his jaw.
“Pretty fucking funny,” Mello murmurs into his right ear, “huh?”
“Hysterical,” Light replies.
He thinks it’s a clever joke, but apparently Mello doesn’t agree, given that Light’s mangled face immediately meets the concrete, shoved to it by the not-quite-gentle hands, and his breath takes its leave of his lungs.
Next thing, Mello’s straddling his hips from behind, and Light clenches his fingers, fists trembling in the handcuffs’ confines, eyes wide open behind the blindfold, daring to disbelieve the warm pressure against his tailbone.
An almost-inaudible ksshh-krr worms it way into his eardrums over the pounding of his pulse, and what feels like a length of string snakes out of its owner’s hand to fall between his shoulder-blades. Mello leans forward, far forward, chest matching the arc of Light’s aching spine, paradoxical hands caressing his captive’s ribs like a pianist accustoming to a well-worn set of keys.
An agile mouth is hot against his ear.
“You tore my life to pieces,” Mello whispers. “You destroyed me.” He sighs, not discontentedly. “And now it’s my turn.”
Light can feel the smile.
“I think that’s fair. Don’t you?”
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Mello/Light
Rating: R
Word Count: 424
Prompt: hate!sex
Warnings: pick your favorite
Summary: And maybe it is.
Author's Note: Ohhhh, snap. Kink memes are fun. I scare myself. Written to Melissa Ferrick's "Drive" on repeat.
FAIR
The fucker’s got a gun.
The barrel’s so cool it feels slick where Mello-for who else could realize this jagged nightmare?-runs it along his temple, so slowly it seems loving.
Light pushes his tongue out between his cracked lips, wetting them carefully, trying not to aggravate the bruises that spread in a broken web across his face-so many snowflakes that melt as he moves and burst into violet pain.
Mello curls a finger in the short handcuff chain and pulls upwards just far enough to make Light’s shoulders seize, to send the silver daggers of exquisite pain sizzling down his spine. His captor is a talented sadist with an insatiable vendetta.
Some part of Light shivers with sick glee at the thought that he’s earned every second of his agony.
“Kira will outlive me,” he says.
“They’ll forget,” Mello promises, one long-fingered hand jerking through his matted hair, fingering the impossible knot that holds a strip of dark leather over his eyes. “But I haven’t. It’s almost funny, you know… how much I’ve given. How much I’ve lost. How much you’ve taken away, without even knowing who owned it, not that you’d care.”
The gun barrel grazes his chin, and a cool hand settles, palm soft against his cheek, thumb trailing down the bridge of his nose, over the swell of his broken lips, to the bristle of stubble just beginning to surface on his jaw.
“Pretty fucking funny,” Mello murmurs into his right ear, “huh?”
“Hysterical,” Light replies.
He thinks it’s a clever joke, but apparently Mello doesn’t agree, given that Light’s mangled face immediately meets the concrete, shoved to it by the not-quite-gentle hands, and his breath takes its leave of his lungs.
Next thing, Mello’s straddling his hips from behind, and Light clenches his fingers, fists trembling in the handcuffs’ confines, eyes wide open behind the blindfold, daring to disbelieve the warm pressure against his tailbone.
An almost-inaudible ksshh-krr worms it way into his eardrums over the pounding of his pulse, and what feels like a length of string snakes out of its owner’s hand to fall between his shoulder-blades. Mello leans forward, far forward, chest matching the arc of Light’s aching spine, paradoxical hands caressing his captive’s ribs like a pianist accustoming to a well-worn set of keys.
An agile mouth is hot against his ear.
“You tore my life to pieces,” Mello whispers. “You destroyed me.” He sighs, not discontentedly. “And now it’s my turn.”
Light can feel the smile.
“I think that’s fair. Don’t you?”