Death Note

Mello x Mikami

Rating: M / R

Warnings: Slight AU, yaoi, cursing, crack pairing (obviously), spoilers.

A/N: Yay, here I present my guilty pleasure coupling. Yes, my dirty little secret, a strange one even among crack pairings. I think it's Mello's wild nature against Mikami's sedate organization that makes me go fangirl over the pairing. Haha. Well, I guess I'm just weird… And yes. I know most houses in Japan don't have lawns. But. I wanted to make Mello an ass. So nyeh.


This was one of those days when Mello was craving more than chocolate and he'd be damned if he would let that obsessive-compulsive prosecutor turn him down because the time was 'unscheduled'. That little bastard had to have a fucking schedule to breathe, sometimes, and for some reason the almost sadistic blonde reveled in crashing through the protective realm of predictable consistency and paying him a surprise visit.

He had a feeling that the strange attraction he had to this male was due to that addiction to a regular schedule that reminded him of someone… someone from so long ago.

A gloved fist hit harshly against the polished oak of the door. His bike was parked haphazardly on the lawn, something his little fuck toy would love so much when he noticed it in addition to the metallic wrapper of a chocolate bar which had mounted itself in the midst of the rose bush which was coated in thorns as the blooms were yet to reveal themselves. Ah, how Mello got that high off screwing with the oh-so-regular prosecutor's perfect yard work by littering and making tire marks in his grass. The hand, which was not pounding on the wood of the door, was holding another chocolate bar, the corner torn off and melting in time with rough caresses of his moist tongue, turning into a liquid state before he grew impatient and just swallowed. Another harsh knock, and then the door opened slowly. It took him three seconds to open the door, a statistic that Mello had noticed from the first day on. He only deviated if his trip had woken him up.

"Mello. I told you. I'm busy—"

Not allowing the prosecutor to even get so much as another word in, he seized the blue tie which was knotted around his neck and pulled him closer, crushing the black haired male's slightly tinted flesh with his own. He also knew this was an action that upset (and at the same time aroused, and he had learned upon his prior visit,) the male in a Good-God-What-Will-The-Neighbors-Say kind of way. And the blonde knew not to release the kiss until he felt the other male's arms grasping the front of his elaborate leather vest, pleading, needing air. And it was then that the almost crushing lips were pulled away. It was easy to tell by the faint flush on pallid skin, by the dilation of pupils against a red iris, that this deviation from schedule was slowly being craved by the body of the male.

"Fuck your schedule. It's bullshit anyway." A splayed hand upon the chest of the dark haired male forced him back into the living room—the main room in which they usually did their fucking around—the unoccupied hand (as the chocolate bar had been dropped haphazardly on the floor) pulling the door closed behind him. Immediately he felt those dilated pupils turning back on him, shock gleaming in their depths, almost as thought he did not know what was coming to him. But he knew. And Mello very well knew he knew. And that almost sadistically mocking expression spread across his face again as he covered the other male's lip with his own, the most intense kiss he had administered in five seconds. He drew away quickly, though eyeing the figure who was still fully clothed form work, save for the fact his tie was very slightly loosened and his blazer buttons undone.

"You know what I want by now," he stated with a slight glower, gazing through those thin panes of glass into crimson eyes that were almost blank behind them. "Strip."

And his reply was one that almost knocked Mello off his feet.


You didn't say no to Mello. You just didn't. It was impossible. No one ever stood between what Mello wanted and that Mello got or else that person met the business end of Mello's gun. So this was something that momentarily took him aback.

"Obviously you didn't hear me," he stated, advancing on the figure, who had very slightly retreated, "I said. Strip. You're not stupid to disobey someone with a loaded gun, are you?"

And he still met resistance. What was with the sudden resistance? (While Mello had to admit this sudden insolence was almost erotic to him,) it was annoying and quite unnecessary. He came here. He got what he wanted (a cheap fuck, no strings attached). And he left, until he got that craving again.

"You always expect just what you want," he heard the voice of the other male, who had now crossed to a table situated before a dark leather couch, the only difference he had noted in all the time he had come here for his cheap thrills. He noticed he was flipping idly through a hard-back notebook, the cover concealed against the hard mahogany of the tabletop it lay upon. "I said, no. I'm very busy tonight and…"

"Fuck. Your. Schedule." Quickly he had maneuvered through the small space between him, overpowering the male easily, being rather strong for his almost femme physique, and pressing him against the wall behind him—so hard that a photograph mounted in a frame fell askew above them, just another mark Mello was leaving to irritate his resistant sex toy. "I'll take you by force if I have to. Damn it. You can't deny me what you've taunted me with before."

And inwardly as well as outwardly the dominant male smirked as he un-clicked the handcuffs he had looped through the back of his pants, one hand still restraining the other male. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he cooed, almost mockingly. "You can consent and I'll be gentle," his tongue, the taste of chocolate still on his mind, slipped from between his lips like a thick, pink sea snake sliding from it's homely crevice in the ocean to the dried sands of a beach, lapping against he pale flesh partially obscured by the locks of black hair that fell just to his shoulders. This was something he knew to make the prosecutor melt—a plan which was successful.

"… I… consent."

A smirk.

"I may still use the handcuffs."

However, for now, the hard steel of the metallic cuffs was tossed aside, within arms reach, as both hand traveled down, messily untucking the shirt which was neatly in his pants, hastily undoing a think black belt that held on the pants tightly, and soon the zipper and button were undone, one still gloved hand slipping down into the now loosened waistline. And he felt his body almost shudder as he felt that first gasp.

"This.. is the last.. time…" Victory gleamed within him as he noted the voice was already growing haughty with arousal. It took so very little to get his male in a flustered state, he sometimes almost wished for more of a challenge. Thought is reward was fine enough. "Next time… I won't let you… Ah!"

The male's head jerked back and his hands now on the leather vest gripped; Mello grinned almost wickedly. Oh, how he loved dominance… thought he knew that this male was only someone to keep his need satisfied, to give him sex, an escape for his frustrations.

"Just shut up and give in, you slut. You'll always let me do whatever the hell I want to you, because you know you damn well need this as badly as I do. Fucking whore. You disgust me."

Ah yes, dirty talk. He knew that was another of the other male's little points that made his body react whether or not his mind was able to process it or not. And, admitably, he got a rush out of calling the male a whore and a slut as he gave in to every demand.

And slowly a gloved finger slipped inside the waistline of the boxers, which clung to the muscled form of the male, running gently, oh so gently, against the now rather erect bulge in his pants. Oh God. This was almost too damn easy.

"So hard for me already," he murmured to pants and gasps as his hand moved around to encircle the shaft of the other male's cock. He'd learned before that leather had a nice texture against the other male's cock, making it easier for him to cum that if Mello would use his bare hands. Thought he did always tend to stop just short of making the other male orgasm in his own undergarments (there was one time when he had not stopped soon enough, though, to rather amusing results…) much preferring him to cum heavily during their sexual activities as a unit.

"Hnnn… You… know my turn ons too damn well…"

Enough of this. He didn't have fucking time for foreplay today. He'd fuck this wanton slut senseless and leave him begging for more like he always did—usually on his knees in the shower, now Mello started to recall it.

With only a few deft movements, he had resituated them—Mello now seated on the comfortable leather of the large couch, smirking seductively at the male whom he had drug along and stood before him.

"You're doing the work today, bitch," he stated, grinning in a victorious manner. "Consider it your punishment for resisting me."

He knew he needn't say more; he felt those hands undoing the button and the zipper of the tight pants that clung to his very form. And he knew he made the other male's job easier by forgoing any undergarments today.


"Fuck you. Takes your damn pants ff and ride me."

His orders were obeyed with no resistance as the dress pants slid from the somewhat notable hips, pooling around feet that Mello just now noticed were bare, before being stepped out of. This was usually how they had sex—each member of the duo half closed, no more clothing than necessary removed unless Mello found himself particularly horny. And, while the image of the other male stripped fully riding his hard cock was appealing, he didn't have time for that bullshit.

He felt the added weight of the male's knees on either side of him as he straddled him, his tight entrance waiting inches above his hard cock. Gloved hands found their way onto the pallid hips of the male straddling him, not looking up into those crimson eyes he knew were dilated, but instead down at the other male's erect cock. Goddamn. Sex was such a disgusting animalistic desire…

He soon let his cobalt eyes close as he felt the pressure of the other male's entrance gradually lowering itself down around his thick member. His exhale was heavy one, pleased by the sudden pleasure he felt by the pressure—especially as he felt the first bits of penetration. He felt his body heat rise as lower and lower he felt his little fuck toy move, taking amore and more of his aching cock deep inside. Of course he heard those pants and gasps from the ebony haired figure who was going about his given job oh-so-slowly, (rather notably, far too slow for Mello's preferences,) but for some reason, they weren't doing much for him this afternoon. He felt as though he were deaf, only able to feel at the moment; seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

Perhaps he was just allowing his mind to dance along a fantasy that usually caused these raging erections and sudden sexual cravings. Yes, this little prosecutor was nothing but a substitute, a complete physical invert of…


For some reason it was his name that grasped him almost painfully from that reverie of some rival from long ago committing these sinful acts as opposed to the figure with whom said actions were being completed. He couldn't help but smirk, body heat raised and his heart throbbing in his ears as he leaned up somewhat to place his lips against the flushed ones of the other male.

"Fuck, Mikami…" the blonde said, a mocking tone rising into his voice, "you loose little slut. It doesn't even hurt you any more, does it?"

His reply was merely a deep groan as he raised and lowered his body on the thick member that was deep inside him. The blonde had to admit he was damn thankful that the dark haired male shut his pretty little face at times like this. It was a lot easier to cum if he could have his little fantasies and not be troubled by the fact that the one he was currently fucking (though he wasn't really doing the work) was not the one he wished he was.

His eyes were closed and he had to admit, it was getting damn hard to breathe. The air was getting thicker, almost like some solid substance had diluted itself within the very molecules that made up air. All he could hear were his own pants and heavy breaths as he felt his body grow overwhelmed by the situation. Unconsciously his hands, which had somehow located themselves to the overly long white dress shirt, which his little bitch wore, clenched tightly to the rough material. For some reason, this was more intense, more heated then before.

And think it only fair, he let the name of the dark haired figure who was maneuvering himself up and down the long shaft of his control-obsessed 'master' for the time being slip from his lips. It was hard to bring himself to say it, for deep inside, he knew he would cum for another, even thought he was physically with this man. He was only a replacement, a marionette, a tool to take out his frustrations.

"Aaahhh.. Mikami… g-good…" he murmured, no longer able to string together a logical sentence, no longer able to really express himself other than with his breathing.

He felt slender digits wrap around the curve of his shoulders and grip tightly.

He knew what this meant.

"God…" he heard this slip form the other male, interpreting it as merely one of those pointless words which were so often let slide form loose lips during acts such as these. "It feels… Aaahhh.. I'm… Going so…"

The feeling of the blonde's tight muscles clamping around his member which was already almost past the point of being able to go on anymore was enough.

Feeling himself slip over the edge was not something he was waiting for. Sure, orgasms felt… well, orgasmic, but he wanted his fantasy to go on just a little more.

"That's right…" he murmured, painted nails almost ripping into the rough material of the dress shirt, "cum you slut. Cum."

He heard the weakened cry and the heated liquid splash onto the intricate leather on his chest, knowing the troublesome white stain would not affect it (thank God) but he found a humorous thought that the blue tie around the neck of the other male would not be so fortunate.

"Good… little… fucktoy…" he groaned, feeling his own cock move beyond redemption, his hot cum filling the insides of the male so much that some of it he could feel dripping out of his tight entrance onto his own flesh. And for a moment, they both were still.

All he could hear was the breathing of his partner.

All he could feel was the heat of his partner.

Yet his physical partner was not the one who had brought him to orgasm. Only one male was able to do that, and he was miles away. (Well... technically two men… but…)

Suddenly he felt the shifting of his partner, and a low voice murmured in his ear.

"4:35," this caused Mello to glance at a clock which read in oddly green letters 4:02, "Miheal Keehl."

He could almost feel his heart stop at that instant.

So all of this had been a plot just to take his life.

"…Very good."

Mello. Miheal. One-upped by an obsessive-compulsive man addicted to a schedule once again.

Somehow, it felt even more hollow this time.


A/N: A lot of my fics seem to end up a lot shorter than I planned, haha. X.o; Thos was supposed to have a few more pages, but I kind of liked this as an ending point. Yeah, it had a tiny bit of implied MelloNear and MelloMatt (if you really read into it) but I mostly used the main pairing here.

I may or may not submit this to a contest. I think it's a bit lacking, but hey… Worth a chance.

"It's my turn to use you." – Mello, ch. 79