Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ Sin or Spend the Night All Alone ❯ Sin or Spend the Night All Alone (Part Four) ( Chapter 4 )

Sin or spend the night all alone

Masamune Reforged

a Death Note- Mello x Matt fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, nor Matt or Mello. The quoted song is “Me vs. Madonna vs. Elvis” by Brand New. I know, a crazy name for a song like this... I don't even like that band; but this song is absolutely awesome and made me write this.

 

Warnings: Yaoi (Mello x Matt, graphic, kinky lemon: bondage, rough S&M), angst, cursing, alcohol.

 

Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay. Sometimes there's just no room in life, even for kinky fanfiction. Thank you all for patiently waiting. I hope you like it. Also, thank you to ZaKai Stonewall, whose sultry FMA smut-fic “Blind Obsession” really helped give me some great ideas for this scene.

 

Song lyrics are encompassed in ~~...lyrics...~~

 

Part 4

 

I kiss him, and his lips part to let out the fearful breath that the knife inspired. The fear is something I can almost taste, the excitement something flowing up through him that I can almost feel in my hands, clutching his shirt. His lips are chapped, and I gnaw on them with my own until I can taste just the faintest hint of blood.

 

I let the knife drop to the floor where it clatters loudly on the tile. I turn Matt's attention away from it, and back to me-where it should be-by taking my hand and roughly grabbing his crotch. I rub my hand on his rock hard sex through the fabric of his pants, eliciting a small moan from him that lets me plunge even deeper into his mouth. He tastes like gin and godless perversion.

 

His breath is heavier now with me rubbing his dick through his pants. I trail my hand up and away from there, silencing what might have been a protesting groan with a less than gentle nip on his already bruised lips.

 

I can feel the slightly muscled, hard flesh of his abs through his thin shirt; and I know it will be perfectly smooth, without an ounce of fat, once the shirt is gone. I give a rough pinch of his nipple, already hard from the cold, or from excitement. Something like a 'yes' is murmured against my lips as I twist the stiff nub roughly.

 

I'd hoped that he wanted it rough. He'd hinted that he did, but now I knew.

 

I bring my other hand up from the back of his neck, balling it into a fist in his shimmering red hair. I tilt his head back slightly like this, by the roots of his hair, and he murmurs something again and kisses me in return, harder than he ever has.

 

The blood from his chapped lips tastes like liquid metal. His hair smells like the wooden hollowness of freshly burning smoke.

 

~~And your hair smells of smoke ~~

 

As suddenly as I started it, I break the kiss off, watching with a sense of satisfaction as Matt's eyes fly open at my sudden absence. I put a hand on his chest and push away from him.

 

He looks at me expectantly, and I tell him to give me the handcuffs on the counter behind him. He does, and watches as I twirl them on one finger, beginning to walk away from him now and back towards the foyer, back towards the bedroom.

 

“Come,” I say to him.

 

And, without a word, he does.

 

This makes me chuckle to myself as I flip on a light switch in the hallway leading from the foyer to my bedroom. Perhaps it is this, or perhaps it is something completely different, but Matt suddenly stops a few feet behind me. I turn to him.

 

“You're a real bastard, you know that?” he says in a voice that is both neutral and sincere. His eyes look at me without contempt, without judgment. “You're the worst kind of bastard.”

 

Perhaps because he says this without contempt, without judgment, because he says it with an effortless honesty, as a simple, natural declaration of the truth, that it stuns me. I don't know if I can say I feel hurt or surprised.

 

But then I suddenly do feel something, and it is fiery hot and has driven me to kill with my bare hands.

 

“You're no better,” I snap back, my words dripping with venom and judgment and contempt that he dare make this accusation against me. “You're just as much a bastard as I am.”

 

Now Matt smiles. He says, “Maybe. But having a second snake as a pet won't make you any less of one yourself.”

 

I walk the few steps back down the hall towards him now. My answer is, “I don't care. I don't care, so long as I'm the snake in charge.”

 

Without warning, I surge forward and strike a fist square into Matt's gut. I see his eyes bulge, hear his breath whoosh out from his chest. He crumbles to the floor and I stand over him.

 

“So remember whose snake you are.”

 

~~Who will cast the first stone? ~~

 

Matt gags slightly, finally getting a breath. I smirk and step over to his front.

 

“Agh- gh- Fuck-” he coughs. “Shit- What the hell'd you do that for, you fucker?” Matt chokes out painfully.

 

I shake my head, cock my leg, and kick him dead in the stomach.

 

This time a string of spit, not obscenities, ropes out of his mouth and onto the carpet. Matt gags and wretches heavily, eyes screwed up in surprise, pain, and glorious fear. He clutches his ribs, coughing and retching so hard that I wouldn't be surprised if he puked.

 

I step over him again, turning him over onto his back with my foot. I wear boots with steel tips, and if I'd wanted to, I'd have broken every single rib in that skinny, sexy body of his.

 

I take that steel tipped boot and nudge his hands away from his stomach. Matt doesn't resist, and his hands fall limply to his sides as he looks up at me with bleary submission and a silent plea to not kick him again.

 

I gently rest the heel of my boot on his crotch, rubbing his still rock hard erection with the heel.

 

“I did it because I wanted to,” I answer him calmly, “and because you wanted it too. Look at you, popping wood from getting beaten up! You can't tell me shit about who's a bastard.” I look down at him, watching his expression as he catches his breath and tries to will the pain away.

 

After a minute, I grab him by the arm and pull him up roughly. When he has his feet somewhat under him, I finally drag him into the bedroom.

 

~~You can sin or spend the night all alone. ~~

 

I turn on the lights, throwing the handcuffs onto the king-size bed. I prefer it with the lights on; I like to see every little detail, every tiny sign.

 

Matt has his feet under him now, standing fixed in the middle of the room. I approach him and grab his chin, tilting his head before leaning in and giving him a brief, savage kiss. This time, though, he gives me no response.

 

I brush this setback aside, knowing full well I will have plenty of noisy, sweaty, convulsing responses from him later. Instead, I decide it's time to get him out of those clothes.

 

The first thing to go is his vest, and, as I tear it off of him, he only turns slightly to not have his arm ripped off along with it. Wearing just his tight fitting, striped, long sleeve shirt now, Matt's lean frame is too much to resist. I run my hands up and down his chest, to his abs, back up to his chest. He's looking me in the eye with the deadest, most even lack of emotion I've ever seen on anyone who has realized what I have in store for him.

 

I bend down and snap out the pop-out knife that I keep on my boot. Matt sees it as I flick it open, but doesn't even blink. He does take in a quick breath as I suddenly slash the blade upwards. It cuts a perfect line up the front of his shirt. I rip the rest of it open, exposing his bare, pale flesh to my eyes for the first time.

 

I decide it will not be the last time.

 

I dispose of the rest of Matt's clothing, courtesy of the knife and years of training myself with it. Despite his tight clothing, I do not cut him. Not yet, at least. All that remains are his briefs, and they are tented straight out. Even though he's hard and wants this, Matt stares at me with that same, dead, blank gaze.

 

It is not an angry gaze, but a scrutinizing one. Being almost buck naked in front of a fully dressed man about to dominate him does not seem to faze him at all.

 

“Now take mine off,” I tell him. He moves forward and raises his hands, but I take a step away and shake my head, saying, “No, no, no. Pets don't get to use their filthy paws.” I grab him firmly by the jaw again, spreading his gums so that his white teeth are barred like fangs. “Use your mouth.”

 

This gets a toothy sneer from Matt, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he takes a step forward and leans forward in towards my chest, starting on the zipper of my leather jacket. After a minute and several different angles, he has the zipper clenched between his teeth, pulling it down so I can casually shrug it to the floor. He goes to start on the shirt, which is physically impossible with just his mouth, but I tell him to leave it by pushing him down on to his knees.

 

Matt knows what to do. The buttons on my leather pants prove difficult for him, and by the time he has unmade them all using just his teeth, tongue and lips, he is panting slightly, red hair askew from pressing against my leg. His entire jaw is wet with his spit, as is his brow with a forming layer of sweat. Not once during the ordeal did he pause, and I reward him by brushing off a dangling bead of saliva from his chin with my gloved hands.

 

My pants are wet with his spit too, and I wipe them off on his hair.

 

~~Brass buttons on your coat hold the cold, ~~

~~In the shape of a heart that they cut out of stone~~

 

I do not wear boxers or underwear, and as I kick off my pants, leaving just my black shirt and gloves, my sex swings in front of Matt's face. Whether it is this sight or the taste of leather, Matt licks his lips, making me smile.

 

“Soon,” I promise him. “You'll get your treat soon enough.”

 

He doesn't seem to like this, and glowers at me dubiously, angrily. I imagine working on taking my clothes off without the help of his hands for the past half hour has worn his patience thin.

 

“Stand up, slut,” I command him. And he does, but his face darkens further into a snarl at the word. Strangely enough, he seemed to love this dirty talk back at the bar, and I wonder if his anger now is some kind of act. Is he provoking me? Me?

 

“Now what?” he dares to ask.

 

I answer him by shoving him backwards onto the bed, not caring that he's far enough away to not fall completely onto the mattress, hitting his lower back hard on the foot of the mahogany bed frame.

 

I turn away and grab a small bottle of lube from a dresser near the closets. Matt has pulled himself up onto the bed's linen now, and catches it when I throw it to him. “Go ahead and start loosening yourself up,” I tell him.

 

I consider this to be quite nice of me. I hate getting lube on my gloves, and the alternative is quite painful... although not for me... I turn away again and bend down to retrieve some 'tools' from one of the three boxes in the closet, the one in between the box of chocolate bars and the box of firearms.

 

I only get the chance to grab one of the large dildos when something hits me in the back. It's the bottle of lube, and the thrower is sitting up on the bed and glaring at me.

 

Rather than lose my cool, I stand up straight and tell him, “You know, I don't have a problem using your blood instead; but even your slutty ass is going to need something to take me all the way.”

 

I stalk over to the bed. Matt's still looking at me with that composed, defiant contempt, and it's beginning to piss me off. I somehow have gotten the handcuffs in my hand again, and twirl them absentmindedly as I wait for his apology. When nothing but that same old, dead look comes from him, my anger flares a bit more.

 

“I don't need the foreplay, Matt,” I tell him, standing over him now and twirling the handcuffs. “I'll rape you dry, if that's what you want.” My cock twitches at the idea, even though it's absurd. It would never fit... “If you apologize, maybe I'll give you a second chance.”

 

Always slightly angry, slightly angry and bored. That pretty face of his doesn't seem to change much. He sat at the bar with it, together under my arm in the far back corner with it, in the kitchen staring at the sex toys with it. That same fucking face...

 

I want to see that face stretching in fear. I want to see it brimming with lust. I want to see it twist and contort as he cries out in pain.

 

Before I know it, I bring the still-twirling handcuffs up. With a vicious, unrestrained violence, I lash out and crack them across his face. He falls backwards onto the bedsheets.

 

Matt's face does change. Now it has blood trickling slowly from a nasty cut on the side of his head. The expression, regrettably, is still the same.

 

~~You're using all your looks that you've thrown from the start ~~

 

I have his hands tied behind his back now, on the floor in front of me, on his knees, blindfolded. The blindfold is a heavy, but soft, satin material, and there is no way Matt can see anything now. Finally I take off my shirt, revealing what is a jagged and ugly scar running over my left breast, a souvenir from my first, and only, unsuccessful attempt to break into the mafia underground.

 

I step in front of him and raise my boot to right underneath his chin, so that he can feel it. Matt bows his head slightly, as if already knowing what I am going to ask of him, but then stops. I lower my foot to the ground, next to his knee.

 

“Kiss it,” I tell him, “but stay on your knees.” Matt bends forward awkwardly, arching. He's so skinny that the small bones of his spinal cord are clearly visible under his skin. He kisses the boot, completing the ritual, and raises his head expectantly. “Now,” I say, dropping my voice so that it is heavier than my twenty one years of age, “show me how much you want to be my slut.”

 

Matt does not move for a moment, considering how best to meet this order. Finally, he scoots forward slightly on his knees, bending over again and placing yet another kiss on the toe of my boot. Then another, slightly above it, and another above that, and a third, and a fourth, faster and more frantically, leaving small, tiny, shimmering sheens in a trail up the leather.

 

Matt reaches the high top of the boot, a few inches below my knee. He pauses, licks his lips. Then, with renewed vigor, he shuffles forward and begins to kiss the flesh just above the cut of the boot. His lips are wet, but hardly qualify as soft, chapped and abused by the cold weather and his subjugation to my foot. But it is still a pleasant sensation, and I let out a long breath through a smile as I watch Matt, bound and blindfolded, slowly work his way up past my knees, kissing me reverently every centimeter of the way.

 

He reaches my thigh, turning his head to lick and suck at the muscled flesh. He trails his tongue over my skin as if it were a delicious treat, and alternates between kissing and sucking softly until he reaches my groin. He lets out a weakened, hungry breath, and leans forward further, taking my balls into his mouth and tonguing them with fast, stabbing lashes, pushing his nose deep into my crotch, forced to inhale my scent.

 

The constant attention to this area begins to work its magic on my sex, making it swell larger and wider, until it is at half mast and brushing against the side of Matt's head. I reach down and pat it against him, smearing my first traces of pre-cum over his cheeks, marking him as my own.

 

He instinctively opens his mouth and makes blind attempts to lean forward and take me inside. Matt, as it turns out to my pleasure, is a voracious cock hound. I tease him, slapping him a few times on either side of the face with my growing swell, leaving small, wet marks. Finally, Matt gets lucky and, moving his head just in time, catches the front of my sex in his mouth. He latches on, scooting forward eagerly and trying to take it all in his mouth. Looking down, I can't help but smile at the obscene sight of my large, long, uncut cock just beginning to disappear into his willing, oh so wet mouth.

 

Matt runs his tongue up and down the small portion of my almost fully inflamed cock, occasionally switching to flitting it over the sensitive flare of the head. His reward is an increase in the issuance of my pre-cum, more precious than most men's blood. I take up that red hair of his in a fist, pulling him further down my length until I can feel Matt begin to gag on it, throat constricting involuntarily around me.

 

I imagine that behind the blindfold his eyes are begging me to stop, silently pleading with me to be gentle. It's too much for me to resist and, although I know it probably will take away some of the excitement, I reach up and quickly undo the blindfold. I want to see those beautiful brown eyes.

 

The blindfold falls to the floor. Matt's eyes do not disappoint.

 

I take my other hand and grab him firmly by the neck, thrusting my hips forward at the same time. Like a hot, velvet glove, the slick muscle of Matt's throat grips my cock as I push it all the way down into him. He chokes for real this time, bound arms twisting uselessly behind his back, tear stained eyes begging in futility for me to stop. Around the impossible girth of my cock he manages only to elicit an inaudible groan and a string of drool.

 

I can feel frantic streams of breath issuing from Matt's flaring nostrils. He's adjusting now, and although a few tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes, there's no doubt that that helpless plea for me to stop is no longer in them. He can't help but cry, even though he's most likely prepared for far worse. Being used as a sex toy for a sadist's pleasure is one thing, but a log of hard cock blocking air from reaching your lungs is another.

 

Slowly, slowly, I began to back my rock hard sex out of Matt's mouth, each inch emerging covered in a gleaming shine of spit and mucus. When only the very flare of my head is resting on his tongue, I twist Matt's head violently by his hair again and thrust straight back into the hilt. This time he does not protest, and the frantic breaths from his nose show me he is making the adjustment.

 

Again and again I repeat this, pulling out slowly only to impale Matt's beautiful crying face on my sex, steadily building a faster and faster pace. Positively face-fucking Matt, I begin to leak a steady stream of pre-cum down into his bruised gullet. I look down at him and can't help but feel a thrill surge through me as I use this brilliant, sexy thing as my toy. A mess of saliva and pre-cum from the pool forming on Matt's chin drips heavily down onto his naked knees. His cheeks are fiery crimson from a lack of breath, and his eyes are shut in concentration.

 

After awhile, I decide that I want something different. Still gripping the back of Matt's head, I begin to squat, pulling him forward, bringing him with me, my cock still embedded deeply down his throat. Matt begins to shuffle forward, but I slap him on the cheek and say, “Stay kneeling.” I squat all the way down, pulling Matt's head forward so that his back is arched out in front of me, ass in the air and his hips wobbling to keep balance.

 

“I didn't say you could stop sucking, did I?” I ask, making him resume his duties with renewed vigor. Despite the strain from the uncomfortable position, Matt begins to bob his head up and down my length, even to the point of deep throating me on his own. I knew he'd be a fast learner.

 

With Matt pleasuring me of his own accord, I release his hair and reach out, running my hands over his pale white back and up to his behind. I dig my nails into the toned, but still soft flesh, spreading him apart lewdly. With my other hand, I take a finger and press it against his rosebud entrance. The resistance is beyond firm.

 

“You suck cock like a pro, but you seem to be pretty tight back here,” I say aloud. “Could it be that you've never let anyone fuck you before?” He answers with something that resembles an affirmative, and it makes me grin as I run my fingers over the nearly quivering ring of muscle. “Well isn't that rare?” I muse. “Most boys need to be fucked a ton of times before they figure out that they're hopeless whores who just want to be treated as slaves, but you knew even before you gave away your cherry?”

 

Gripping his buns apart with one hand, I begin to ruthlessly slide a finger inside of Matt. It takes a good amount of pressure before I can slide it in. Not wasting a second, I begin to add a second finger, causing Matt to groan in protest, sending a chord of pleasant vibrations around my cock and only encouraging me to molest his ass with deeper, rougher stabs.

 

“I don't care if you saved yourself for me or whatever, Mail,” I warn him. “I'm going to fuck you my way, and it's going to hurt.” I twist and spread apart the fingers that are buried inside of his quivering hole, stretching him in preparation. “Usually I wouldn't even bother touching you. Usually I would just spear you bloody without any of this foreplay bullshit.”

 

His hole is impossibly tight, and the few millimeters I can wriggle my fingers are hard fought.

 

“But, with you, I don't think I'd be able to even get halfway inside with this tight ass of yours. Oh, I'd rip you apart and get off to your screams, but I wouldn't be able to get all the way inside of you; I wouldn't be able to fuck you properly. Most boys can't take me all the way on their first time, you know.”

 

I roll my fingers up and around inside of him, and there it is. Like a dog crashing into an invisible electric fence, Matt's whole body suddenly stiffens, his legs bucking so that he nearly loses his balance, his hole squeezing me tighter than ever before. I smile at this, and the second time I massage his prostate with my forefinger, I can feel him moan in pleasure around my rock hard sex.

 

I manage a third finger inside of him, but barely past the first knuckle and it will go no further. I stop and reach down, taking him by the chin and raising him up to look at me straight in the face. His face is a mess, drying blood in a slight arc under the cut near his eye, brow covered in sweat, lips puffed and covered with a mess of pre-cum. Still, I can't help but think how beautiful he is.

 

“But you, Mail, you, I want to be all the way inside of tonight. You, I want to fuck properly, with everything I have, until you're crying out my name and begging me.”

 

“Do you want to know why? Why I'm doing all this for you?” I ask him. When he doesn't say anything, I add, “It's alright, you can speak. Tell me, why do you think I'd lower myself to actually touch you there, to actually prepare you so I can fuck you properly?”

 

After a moment, Matt whispers, “I don't know.” He looks away from me, down to the floor.

 

I raise his chin up to look me in the eyes and say, “It's because you want it too, Mail.”

 

A string of puzzled emotion plays out across Matt's face until I stand and beckon him to do the same. I lead him forward until he is standing in front of the bed. I take a deep breath.

 

“They all think that they want it too, you know,” I begin. “They think they know what's in store for them- the one's I give a choice to- and that they'll be able to deal with it. They think they'll enjoy it too, that it will be like what they're used to, what they want. Oh, they want to please me. Of course they do.”

 

I smirk at the way he looks at me and push him backwards onto the bed.

 

“They look at me and think they'll do whatever it takes, whatever I want. They start to convince themselves that, no matter how bad it gets, that they'll be fine with it, because it's what I want.”

 

I look down at him and pause, wondering if he's following, if I'm even making sense. He gives a small nod, as if I needed his permission to continue, and it makes me want to laugh. I reach down and mess his hair playfully, putting a knee on the bed and making it so that I'm hovering over him.

 

“But, Matt, they don't want it, and, in the end, it always ends the same way.”

 

I stroke the side of his face tenderly, then I scrape at his cut so it begins to bleed again.

 

“Even the ones that come here willingly end up fighting to get away.”

 

I caress the slight muscle of his pecs, then I twist at his nipple so he bites his lip in pain.

 

“They all end up unable to handle it, unable to handle me.”

 

I rub his rigid erection, then squeeze it until more tears come to his eyes.

 

“They think they want to please me, but they don't have any insight into what that means. They think they can cope, but they never expect it to be so painful. They think they want me, but they don't have any idea who I am.”

 

I tear his skin open so that the blood oozes.

I twist his nipple until it threatens to tear off.

I squeeze and pulls his most sensitive area until he passes out.

 

I look down at him for a moment. Then, almost idly, I look around until I spot what I need, over in the corner near the closet. When I am sitting back on the bed again, Matt is still passed out cold.

 

An uncompromising slap wakes him well enough. On auto-pilot, he begins to curse and fight me, but I bat away his punches and put a finger over his mouth to silence him. His brown eyes register who he is looking at, where he is, and he shivers. In front of his face I am holding a large, studded dildo.

 

“It's because you're not like all the others,” I tell him. “You don't want the same things I do just because that's what will please me. You want it too. Isn't that right?”

 

Matt nods. I stand up from the bed and show him the dildo, kicking apart his legs at the same time. He seems to realize what is going to happen.

 

I don't need to, but I say, “It's only going to go further from here. It's going to start by me opening you up with this toy. It's going to hurt like hell.” I pause and gaze down at him. How is it that he still seems ready for all this?

 

Grabbing one of his long legs, I raise it high up until it's resting on my shoulder, scooting him closer towards me. Then I grip his hips, pressing the tip of the sex toy up to his flesh. He's breathing hard now, and inciting me with those imploring brown eyes of his.

 

“Do you think you're up for it?” I ask, stabbing forward roughly with the rubber cock.

 

Matt lets out a strangled cry, throwing his head back and grimacing. His leg, up on my shoulder, kicks wildly and his body squirms in protest, but I have a firm hold of him. I tighten my grip on his bony pelvis, his slight abs fully outlined as he takes deep, ragged breaths.

 

“Oh? But that's barely one inch,” I mock him, twisting the dildo so the little bit in him rotates, the rubber studs grating heavily against his insides. He groans and arches again, but this time it's not so much out of pain.

 

I stop and leave him like this. Quickly, Matt's eyes flash at me, and he says, “M-more.”

 

I lean forward, lazily twisting the dildo back and forth inside of him. I kiss and bite him softly. “More? More of what?” I ask, smirking as I tease him. “You'll have to make it clearer than that.”

 

“Please- more! Stick it in more. Fuck me. Please!”

 

I grin and tighten my grip on the dildo. My lips hovering over his, tasting his breath, I say, “Only because you said please.”

 

I slam the dildo all the way inside of him. His scream is deafeningly loud. I almost cum right there.

 

~~If you let me have my way, I swear I'll tear you apart ~~

 

-end part four

 

The longest part by far... I really didn't want to cut out anything here, and it is probably too long, but... Well, at least we've achieved penetration! (of some kind...)

 

Again, thank you all for your support. I hope you enjoyed it. Let's keep our fingers crossed on the next part getting finished in the near future. I really wanted to have the whole thing finished before posting this part, but you guys have been very good, and I figured that I might as well share what I've got so far.

 

Please tell me what you think. Your reviews are like fuel for me, so keep the train going!

 

~masamune reforged