Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ Sin or Spend the Night All Alone ❯ Sin or Spend the Night All Alone (Part Five) ( Chapter 5 )

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. Maradonna 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. Also, unsafe sex is stupid sex, and a needless gamble with your life and the person you are with.

 

Author's Note: I take some liberties here with these two's pasts. All I know officially about it is that they were both potential successors to L at the same Wammy's house. I assume they knew each other when they were younger, but I do not have them being close childhood buddies.

 

For: Everyone who has encouraged me to stick with this thing. I hope you enjoy it

 

Song lyrics are in bold

 

 

He is screaming, writhing, his hips trembling, shakes and shocks jerking his legs wildly, biting his already bruised lips, squeezing his eyes shut. Somewhere deep far inside of him the very tip of the long, seven inch dildo is resting up against inner walls I've just mercilessly breached. Matt stops biting his lips, opening those beautiful brown eyes of his and, with short puffs of breaths that move his whole frame, staring up at me.

 

“Oh my fucking god,” my whore praises.

 

“That's right,” I nod, patting his bony hips tenderly as I begin to withdraw the massive dildo. “I'm your god. And you, my little bitch slave, are going to serve me with your life.” With a jerk, I pull the dildo out to just the tip.

 

Matt's head flies back against the bedsheets, already starting to smell like sweat, sin and sex. I hadn't allowed him nearly enough time to get used to having the long, rubber object inside of him; but, if I had, I wouldn't be getting these marvelous reactions out of him now, would I?

 

“You love it, you whore,” I say simply, cramming the dildo back up inside of him with considerable effort. It goes in a bit easier this time, and once it's all the way in him, I twist it, watching him pant, moan, and squirm, on the edge of tears, on the edge of cumming. Those rubber studs are nasty.

 

“Fuckin' hurts!” Matt manages, although he knows that will only inspire me to go further sooner.

 

“That's why you love it.”

 

I roughly pull the dildo out again. There's a long smear of blood on the top few inches, and it's all I can do to resist pulling it out and licking it off... or making Matt lick it off...

 

This time, when I shove the dildo back in, Matt's breath comes out in a purely wanton moan. His face is still twisted up in confrontation of the pain, but his eyes lust for me to push him farther. The very first bead of pre-cum appears at the top of his rock hard sex. More wells up with each thrust of the dildo, quickly turning Matt's virgin ass into something more resembling a well spaded hole.

 

“Look at you,” I smack Matt's sexy bubble butt with an open palm, letting my finger nails rake across the pale white flesh. “Just like a little girl. You've secretly been craving someone to rip your hungry little pussy open, haven't you?”

 

“Fuh- fuh-” he pants at first. “Yes, yesss~,” Matt answers truthfully, drolling out the long, hissing sound as I start fucking him in earnest with the dildo.

 

“Tell me how much you like it,” I encourage him. I want to hear him say it.

 

Matt doesn't answer until I give his buns another firm smack, hissing, “I love it. I fucking love—uh—being your slut. Oh my god.”

 

I slap him across the ass harder, the pale skin going red from the sting. “You're not my slut until I actually fuck you. And that's what you want, isn't it? You won't be satisfied with just the dildo, will you?”

 

“N-no,” Matt gasps, pre-cum drooling down his erection now. “I want you. I want you.”

 

Smiling deviously, I pull out the dildo, sending Matt's eyes flashing in protest. I smack him on the ass again, pushing him so that he'll know I want him to get up. He's looking flustered and frustrated right now, his red hair falling in front of his face and his cheeks flush like where I've slapped him on the ass. But he gets to his knees, and, when beckoned, stands.

 

“I want you to show me that you want me.” I lead him over to the closet. I pull out what I'd been searching for before, a heavy black stand less than half a foot high, entirely metal. Sticking out of the stand is a huge rubber vibrator. Matt's eyes widen. It's far bigger than the dildo I've just fucked him with, especially its girth. I place the vibrator stand on the floor, flipping a switch on the back that makes it start to hum and buzz.

 

“It's just about the same size I am,” I take my sex in hand, shaking it at him. “If you can't take it, there's no way you'll be able to take me either.”

 

Matt races to answer the challenge, stepping forward and straddling the base, staring me in the eyes while he begins to squat down onto the rigid, artificial length. He boldly tries to impale himself on it all at once. What a beautiful fool.

 

“AGGH!” he cries out delightfully, defiance suddenly lost, boldness instantly regretted. The wide, fat head of the vibrator is sunk up into his hole, but the equally thick mast of it still remains outside, between Matt's shaking legs. Not backing off at all, Matt bites his lip and again tries to push himself further down onto the sex toy, spearing himself on the barbaric thing even though it's clearly agony.

 

He bites his lip so that it bleeds.

 

But the agony clearly is something Matt enjoys as much as he suffers. He wriggles his hips, pants down several ragged breaths, and continues to work himself down the pole. His cock, not fully erect now, but still slightly swollen in lust, leaks a string of pre-cum. Something like a drunken mist clouds his brown eyes as, slowly but surely, inch after painstaking inch of the vibrator sinks into his tight ass.

 

Finally, having taken the entire thing down to the very end, Matt sits heavily on the base, still grimacing as the discomfort from the almost foot long object refuses to go away. He looks up at me as if I'm supposed to congratulate him.

 

Instead, I ask, “Is that it?” He looks confused, then angry. “That's the best you can do? How pathetically boring. It makes me want to go to sleep.”

 

“Fuck you,” Matt spits.

 

“That's exactly what you're supposed to be showing me you can do,” I smirk. Matt curses again, and I say, “Because, even though you seem to want to act the part, I haven't seen anything from you that's different from all the other sluts.” This is not true, but I say it.

 

Matt seems to want to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he lets out a long breath and slowly begins to raise himself up off the vibrator. It is streaked with blood. It's unbelievable, watching that huge thing reemerge from deep inside his lithe frame, and I can't help but stroke myself as Matt, with all sorts of grunts and gasps, lowers himself back down to the base.

 

Matt begins to get into it too. His sex is rock hard once again, the pre-cum oozing stronger and heavier now, particularly whenever he forces himself to stretch back down around the huge toy. He increases the pace, letting out a moan of pure pleasure now.

 

I decide that perhaps it's too much pleasure, and say, “Careful now. If you blow your load just from this, I don't think I'm going to have much use for you.” Matt groans and starts to raise himself off of the vibrator, but I say, “Oh? Did I tell you you could stop?”

 

I turn the vibrator up to the second highest level. Now its buzzing is audible even when it's fully sheathed in Matt's delicious ass. Matt throws his head back in ecstasy, fucking himself on the machine with abandon. He bites his lip, but this time in an effort to stop himself from cumming.

 

“Just like all the other cheap whores,” I say, bringing up my boot and slowly rubbing it against Matt's aching erection. “Going to cum just from having something in your hole, aren't you?” I rub my boot against him and ignore the rope of pre-slime that quickly starts coating the toe. I'll have him clean it later, with his tongue. “Does it feel that good? Do you like that huge thing mashing up your guts, you little shit? Well?”

 

“Yes! Yes, I'm a whore. I'm your whore!”

 

Matt's hips are on autopilot now, bucking up and down. He has a distant look in his eyes, and I can tell that he's going to cum very soon.

 

“You know what I want to see, Matt?” I ask him, leaning over him so our faces are so close that I can smell him. He opens his mouth expectantly, yearning for my kiss, fucking himself up and down on the vibrator stand with everything he's got.

 

“What, Mello? What is it? Anything, I'd-” Matt begins to beg.

 

With a vicious swing, I backhand him across the face. It's too much, too sudden for him to handle, and Matt goes toppling over, vibrator stand and all.

 

“I want to see you beg for it. I want to know that you want it, need it. I don't want to just hear you say it just because you want me to fuck you.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Matt blubbers, and it catches me off guard. It gets me angry. I didn't expect an apology. “I didn't mean to make you mad. I—”

 

I silence him with a kick to his ribs, sending him rolling. The vibrator falls out of him with a slick 'pop', and hums uselessly on the floor.

 

~~Cause it's all you can be~~

 

“It doesn't matter what you meant,” I tell him, standing over him now. “What matters is what I want. What matters is what I mean. And, right now, I mean for you to show me why I should give you the time of day, let alone fuck your slutty ass.”

 

Matt slowly gets up to his knees, clutching at his ribs with one hand while trying to regain his balance with the other. He looks at me with that blend of fear, desire, anger and focus that I'm beginning to grow quite fond of.

 

“So, Matt, tell me how you're going to show me this,” I restate the challenge.

 

He doesn't speak for awhile, and, when he does, it's in a very soft voice at first. I almost miss it.

 

“Anything,” is what he says.

 

“I'll do anything to be with you,” he says more firmly now, eyes flickering with bold fire. “I don't care what it takes or how hard it is. I don't care how much it hurts or even if it fucking kills me. I want to be with you. I want to be the one to show you that you're not alone, that you don't have to be, at least.”

 

He...

 

I still manage to wear my demanding mask and say, “And what do you mean by anything?”

 

“Anything,” Matt states again, standing up now even though he's still weak from the unfolding ordeal. “Whip me. Beat me. Burn me. Cut me. Treat me like scum. Make me kill. Fuck me whatever way you damn well please. I don't care. Anything,” he repeats, firmer than ever. “I don't care what it is. I'll do it. For you.”

 

“Are you trying to say that you love me?” I say. The scorn is a reaction, the phrase one of my textbook responses. But, strangely, I immediately know this is not the same situation as with all the others. This time, this one, doesn't merit that mocking question. I regret my words.

 

Matt says nothing.

 

“And what if you do?” Too proud to take back my words, I force myself to advance on them instead. “Will just that be enough, you think, to win me?”

 

Matt doesn't respond at first. Instead, he walks over towards me, getting down on his knees at my feet. I look at him, but I can't figure out the feelings going on inside me. And, I don't have to, as Matt instead says, “I don't know.”

 

“Wait here,” I tell him.

 

He does, and, when I return a minute later, has not moved a muscle.

 

I dangle the leash and collar in front of him and say, “You're going to have to give up all of your humanity if you really do want this. There's no promises here, no safe word, no control.” Even I am not in control. “Do you understand?”

 

Matt nods his head silently. I clasp the collar around his neck, a pure black band with no slack at all.

 

I finger the leash and motion towards the door. “This way, back to the kitchen.”

 

Matt nods and begins to get up from his knees.

 

In a flash of limbs and with a strangled cry, Matt is suddenly back down on the carpet again, right at my feet. I hold the leash high overhead in a fist, glaring down at him.

 

“On all fours,” I command.

 

Matt nods. I kick him again, although not hard enough to send him sprawling.

 

“Not like that, stupid. Bark once if you understand, understand?” There is no need to set rules about if he doesn't understand, or if he disagrees. There is no 'no'.

 

“Now, come,” I give the leash a tug and begin walking Matt toward the bedroom door. I decide to take him on a little test run, circling the wide bedroom once to get him used to this. He follows dutifully, crawling on all fours, head bowed, fiery red hair obscuring his face. I can tell the humiliation is running through him, and my cock twitches at knowing that even this sex-crazed masochist has some boundaries left I can violate.

 

At the door, Matt makes another mistake. While I pause, he continues forward. I let him pass me by just a nose, his hand touching the wooden floor of the hallway. Then I snatch the leash up, jerking him back viciously, throwing him onto his back. He is coughing raggedly. There is blood visible at his hole.

 

Matt takes too long to get back up. So I take my boot and raise up his face with it. “Master leads. Always,” I say simply, tugging the leash up again. It's beginning to make a nasty mark around his neck.

 

Matt nods. He does not bark once.

 

I pull the leash down and forward. I choke up on it, pulling it down and forward again, carrying Matt's head in the same direction, right down into the carpet at the edge of the door. I hiss and lean forward, grabbing a clump of his hair with the same hand holding the leash, yanking him back by it until I'm looking into his frightened eyes.

 

“I must be going crazy,” I say. “Did I just see my pet nod at me?” Matt doesn't fall for the trick question, refuses to shake his head in response. “Of course I didn't,” I break into a mock smile. “Well then, shall we continue?”

 

This time he pleases me. Matt barks. It's a convincing, loud 'ruff', and it makes me smile in genuine amusement.

 

We get to the kitchen without any more problems, and Matt barks and sits down on his haunches when I give him the command to 'sit'. I press the ice dispenser, and the frozen cubes, with nothing to catch them, fall haphazardly onto the kitchen floor. I kneel down on the floor as well, facing him.

 

Matt looks slightly puzzled at this until I say, “Suck me with your ass up in the air. Same as last time.” At that, his eyes focus with a look of comprehending terror at the ice cubes, already beginning to melt on the tile floor. But a rough tug of his leash has him barking in the affirmative and assuming the position soon enough.

 

His mouth is heavenly on my sex, bringing me back to full swell quickly.

 

“Lift that ass higher,” I tell him. Reaching down, I pick up one of the ice cubes and roll it in my hands, the cold and wetness clinging to my skin. Matt raises his hips, but obviously can't bark in response with my length embedded in his face.

 

I drag the ice cube slowly down the ridge of Matt's spine, feeling him shiver slightly as I reach the base. Fingering the nearly gone ice cube, I spread him with my other hand and feed it into his newly stretched crevasse. It goes in easily. Matt moans heavily around my cock.

 

I repeat the process, dragging cube after cube over his back, only to feed it into his ass, impossibly hot like a furnace. A small drip of bloody water begins to flow out of Matt, and he's shivering and shaking from the combination of the extreme temperatures and the uncomfortable position he's in.

 

When all of the ice cubes are melted away inside of Matt's burning heat, I sit back and let him deep throat me for a moment. I pull the leash gently, indicating that I want him to stop, and he does.

 

I push him backwards now, sending him onto his back on the cold tile, his legs splayed wide open, completely naked, blood smeared over his sexy frame, already sporting several black and blue areas.

 

Gripping my slick cock, I aim it down and at Matt's waiting pucker. A ray of hope shimmers in his eyes, and he lets out a long breath in expectation. I place the bulbous head, slick with his spit, at the entrance and push very gently. Matt's eyes shut...

 

Pushing so gently, the flare of my impressive sex simply glides up and over, rubbing Matt's rosebud opening. He might be stretched a bit from the vibrator, but it won't be going in unless I want it to.

 

Looking down into Matt's face as his eyes re-open, I decide it'll be fun to tease him a bit.

 

“No, please,” Matt is so sex crazed he forgets not to speak. “Please, I need it.”

 

“You need what?” I tease, pushing against him gently. Again, just not hard enough.

 

“You! Your dick! Please! I need you inside of me.”

 

I slap my cock against his hole, continuing the tease. “Did you just tell me what you need?”

 

“No-yes... I mean...” He barks. “I'm sorry- Just- Please! I—”

 

I silence him with a heavy slap across the cheek. But Matt is beyond warning now. He's lost control, completely drowned in his lust. He bucks his hips in a futile effort to impale himself on my shaft, continues to beg, “Fuck me! Please, Mello, fuck me! Please! For the love of god.”

 

“I didn't say you could speak, did I?” I slap him again and again. But there's no stopping him now. He's gone, and absorbs the slaps without any change. He continues to slur filthy encouragement, wanton beggar's cries. “Did I?!?” I yell, my knuckles beginning that familiar dull ache as I keep backhanding him, harder and more frequently now.

 

“Mello, I'm sorry— I- But- Please! I need- I—”

 

“I didn't give you permission to speak!” I want to punch him now, but know it'll surely knock him unconscious. Completely gone, Matt continues to beg for me to enter him, and I know my slaps are getting useless. I stop hitting him and straighten up slightly. “Well...” I begin. On the counter, I see the whip. “If you're going to speak,” I grab it, “then I want to hear you scream!”

 

I bring the whip down. It connects on the right side of Matt's chest, catching the sensitive, already brutalized flesh of his nipple. He is beyond words now, and I'm rewarded with a surprised scream instead. I bring the whip up.

 

“And don't disappoint me, Mail.” I bring the whip down.

 

It lands on his stomach, welting red. It lands on his face, opening a new cut. It lands on his shoulders, his arms, his neck, his sides. I flog him with sharp, quick strokes, all the time relishing in his shouts, half pain, half excitement now.

 

He looks up at me with bleary, out of focus brown eyes.

 

And I lose control, and the next thing I know, I'm inside of him, his heat like a fire encasing my bare flesh, his muscles gripping me fast.

 

I stare into his eyes as if I were intoxicated by them.

 

~~You're a drunk ~~

 

For one, long, meaningless moment, Matt's eyes are wide open. Still, auburn liquid trapped in two perfect circles, those eyes are seeing me, a slightly scrawny, blond monster covered with scars, but they are not focused me. He might as well be blind in this moment, because although the image will stay with him forever, it will be chained at the bottom of the cavernous, inaccessible depths of his soul. He is not seeing; he is merely feeling. But what I am seeing, what I am looking at as I stare down at him, red hair matted haphazardly to his forehead, blood and sweat streaking his alabaster flesh, what I am seeing is what he is feeling.

 

It is uncomprehending horror, the horror of being aware that something is happening, something enormously traumatic and, in this case, painful. It is horrifying to come to know the extent of this suffering, and it is pure fear; blind, bound and brainless. It is pain so fierce it cannot be fully digested in one moment. And that is why the moment is meaningless.

 

But, like all moments, this too passes. Matt's eyes slam shut, his mouth parts in a grotesque grimace.

 

He screams.

 

I pull out of him, only to thrust back in the next instant. He is boiling and tight, and it takes all the effort I can muster to rip his insides apart with my cock. The blood is hot, there is enough flowing from his ravaged hole to pass as an aid. He will need a doctor after this is over, and, even if he gets one, too much more might break him for good anyway. I do not slow down. I fuck him with long, deep, ravenous thrusts.

 

From the empty, nonsensical throes of sound that are Matt's screams comes a word. “Yes.”

 

I pause momentarily, but there it is again, “Yes.” Amid tears and the flow of blood abandoning his body. “Yes. Yes.” Amid insufferable pain. “Yes, please.” Amid tattered breaths and wordless noises. “Uhn, yes. Yes.”

 

There is nothing I can do but thrust my hips down and forward, balancing on my toes, holding myself up with hands planted on either side of his chest, just an animal with one base, burning desire, I bury myself inside of him.

 

“It hurts.”

 

I bury myself inside of him.

 

“Please.”

 

I bury myself inside of him.

 

“More.”

 

Buried inside of him, I freeze.

 

“More!”

 

I am giving as much of myself as I absolutely can.

 

There is no more.

 

Matt's eyes fly open. Twisting his body beneath me, he snarls and lets out a moan, then begins,

 

“Mo—”

 

And he freezes too. There is a look of stumbling comprehension, then horror, a different breed of it, a purely human incarnation of fear. He squints and looks away, revulsion, disgust, hate pouring out of his expression. It is this kind of fear.

 

A wave crashes through me and I am falling through the center of the Earth. The descent lasts only a moment. My consciousness lands in the lake of fire and my body shakes with terrific heat.

 

With one hand, I grab the side of his head and make him face me. With the other I raise the whip.

 

He looks at me with that fear painted on his face. It is a fear that brings me no joy.

 

I ask him, “Why?” and strike him with the whip as hard as I can.

 

He howls, tries to turn away. “Why are you scared?” I strike him again. He screams. “Why?” I strike him again. He cries out. “Didn't you want this?” Again I whip him, again he jerks and lets out a noise like a lamb assailed by hungry wolves. “What.” Again. “Are you.” Again. “Scared of!?” Again.

 

I thrust into him with each lash of the whip, producing new marks on his flesh with each blow. Not like before, I whip him as hard as I can, out of control now. There will be scars, despite the close proximity limiting how much damage I can inflict. He is convulsing around my cock and I am again thrusting into him.

 

“Why?”

 

His body answers only with tremors and shakes.

 

I feel empty and desperate inside, close to climax and lost in misery. I try to destroy his body, his chest and shoulders lined with red scrapes and bleeding cracks. I can feel his rock hard cock each time I grind mine into him.

 

“Why?”

 

His mouth answers only with screams and breaths.

 

I whip him and grip his neck with a choke that could kill. I am on the edge of losing myself inside of him. I feel empty and hallow inside. I have nothing except for him. And what is that?

 

“Why?”

 

His eyes answer only with that fear.

 

I give up. I drop the whip and bury my face in his hair. Tears come, and I let out a pathetic, strangled, choked sob. I stop thrusting into him, my cock softening quickly. I want to die.

 

“Why are you afraid?” I ask him one last time.

 

He answers. “Be...” I twitch in surprise. “Because...” It takes time for him to get even this word out, voice lost and fragile.

 

“Because I think I'm in love with you.”

 

~~And you're scared ~

 

“I just...” He starts and stops. I can feel him swallow heavily. “I just hope you love me back.”

 

Inside, something breaks open, and I cry into his hair.

 

~~It's ladies night, all the girls drink for free.~~