Maelstrom
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the respective characters.
-
-
One foot in the door and already the boy was clawing at B's chest, raking bunches of white material into his hands. Teeth nipped at B's lips, Mello's tongue pushing desperately against his teeth. Beyond smiled, fingers ghosting up the leather of Mello's jacket as the boy forced his back to the wall.
Mello. Little Mihael. Only seventeen and already so uninhibited. Impassioned. Violence bloomed in this child's mind and thrived in his hands. The boy was so consumed by his lack of control, so consumed by phantoms; he was willing to let B ravage him to the point of brutality. And Beyond was only too willing to oblige that need because he felt that same craving. L.
Mello strained, pressing his body flush to his. His lips caught on Beyond's teeth in his haste, fingertips denting the skin at the nape of the other man's neck. He swallowed the drops leaking from the small tear on his bottom lip.
"Please," came the gasp. Beyond touched the heaving throat with his lips, caressing the quivering flesh with the tip of his tongue.
"Of course, my little Mihael," he whispered, drawing the boy up into his arms.
"L." Mello gasped the name against his skin. "L…"
Beyond smiled. To hear that name drop from those lips, to hear that desperate whine force the name onto him, oh it was an ecstasy that not even murder had coaxed from him. Every time he claimed L's little pet, the experience increased the pleasure hundred-fold, knowing that the figure rocking so frantically underneath him was giving himself to ghosts. Only, Beyond was no ghost, and the boy knew it. That manifested itself in the hardness of his kisses, in the raw, reddened welts left purposely in Beyond's back. Mello probably wanted infection to set in.
Yet still Mello clung to him, as did Beyond to him, both holding onto the last vestiges of a man they had adored, worshipped, and hated.
The older man dropped Mello onto the bed, spidery fingers pulling unhurriedly at the thin cotton of his shirt. He was aware of the boy's impatience, and he continued to undress slowly. Mello tore at his own clothes, slithering out of the tight leather with ease, before he knelt naked in front of Beyond.
"Come on," he demanded, voice high-pitched with repressed frustration and need. "Move, dammit!"
Jeans slid down skinny legs, and Beyond allowed himself to be yanked into a bruising kiss. Hands skimmed the smooth surface of his chest, thumbing at his nipples but racing downward far quicker than B liked. Mello's coupling was quick, fierce – he had no head or the patience for foreplay. Making a displeased noise in his throat, he shoved Mello away, forcing the boy on his back.
"You know how much I like to play our little games, Mihael. The last thing I want from you…" he lowered his head, teeth closing hard on Mello's ear, "is to be disappointed." Those last words left his mouth in a hiss.
Mello felt his groin tighten in response to the fingers now running over his body. Long, graceful fingers, hands he had spent his last few years at Wammy's House fantasising about. He hated that Beyond was the one wielding them in the way that he desired. Beyond was the one fucking him, not L. He closed his eyes, hand closing over dark hair now at his waist, imagination taking over.
"L. L. L. L…"
The name pounded the air between them, drumming an endless rhythm. Beyond took his pleasure in Mello's body, stretching the torture into the early hours of the morning, until the boy was near unconsciousness. His begging had grown more and more incoherent; trailing into garbled nonsense until Beyond granted mercy and allowed him to come. The boy came with little more than an exhausted cry on his lips, collapsing under B's weight when the older man reached his own orgasm.
Mello felt spindly arms wrap around him and pull him possessively against Beyond's chest. Disgust flared, a mixture of shame and fear that burned in his stomach. But he couldn't pull away, not when he was so tired and close to passing out. He felt fingers patting softly, affectionately, against his hair, and the gesture sent a pang of loneliness bolting inside his chest.
"Mello," the man whispered, feeling wetness against his fingers. "You're crying, Mello-yellow."
Mello-yellow. Hearing that nickname made him feel like throwing up. Matt had dubbed him that when they were kids, a habit that everyone else at Wammy's picked up within a week. Even L had used it, tenderly dropping the nickname when he stroked Mello's head, smiling in the knowing way that only L could.
Beyond used it mockingly, Beyond made a mockery of everything that was L. He was nothing more than a cruel parody. But he was all that Mello had left.
"I love you, Mello."
Beyond's spidery fingers tightened commandingly on his wrist and Mello flinched.
"I love you," he whispered in return, "L."
The teeth pressed into the nape of his neck retracted as lips curved into a cruel smile. The maelstrom inside Mello howled its agony, swirling with impotent rage. He did nothing. Because this brutal satire was all that he had left now that L was dead.
-
End
-
A/N: Once the notion of Beyond/Mello struck me, it just grew on me more and more. Deliciously dark and twisted, yes, and that works perfectly for me. Feedback and reviews would be much love.