Untitled
"--stoppleasestoppleasestop!" She's sniveling and soggy, whimpering uselessly in Japanese as he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks.
"Shut the fuck up," Mello snarls, dragging her up to eye level to stare at her coolly. He releases her hair long enough to slap her, the thunderclap of it ringing in his ears where the useless train of syllables was. Her lip is split now, teeth bloody, eyes huge and wet and scared. She's a simp and even worse: she's useless. She's told him absolutely nothing about the Japanese police force, nothing about Kira, nothing but an endless plea to savemesavemesavemesaveme occasionally interrupted by pistol-whipping and great, heaving sobs as she struggles against the handcuffs and writhes against the chair.
He can see from her expression that the sobs are about to start up again, so he grabs her jaw and leans in, pulling out his pistol and lowering it to her temple. It's just within her peripheral vision, gleaming in the dark light of the warehouse's old bulbs, and her eyes widen even further, but she stills, quiets. His voice is deadly calm. "I told you to shut the fuck up."
The blood on her lip is distracting, shining wet against her ashen skin, tears already streaking it down to fall in fat splotches on her collar. He presses his fingers into it, into the hollow of her cheeks, and smears it. He feels powerful, dangerous. Grinning wickedly and not moving the gun, he shoves two fingers between her swollen lips and pumps them, fucking her mouth with his hand obscenely.
She chokes, gags, and cries until she gets the hang of it, fellating his fingers inexpertly as he stares at the cracked corner of her mouth. When her teeth press too hard against his knuckles, he pulls his hand away and slaps her, streaking blood and spit across her cheek and she sobs.
It only takes a minute to uncuff her legs, recuffing her ankles to the armrests. She's too weak and scared to fight him until she realizes what the new position looks like, and by then it's too late. Her skirt falls high up her thighs, revealing white panties and a few dark wisps of hair. She's not wet, but he didn't really expect her to be. His knife blade flashes in the light and she freezes in terror, but he's careful as he cuts the fabric away, revealing her.
He's almost aroused by the sight of her, so bare and vulnerable, and he takes a minute to idly toy with her with one hand as he moves to kneel in front of her. "So tell me more about your father?" he asks conversationally, pinching her clit viciously. She shrieks and her chest heaves, but she looks away from him fiercely, eyes bright with tears. "He's a policeman, yes? Working on the Kira case, and your brother, too. I want to know more about your brother. I want to know more about the Note."
"Please don't do this--!" she cries suddenly, and he's on his feet, hand wrapped around her jaw again.
"What did you say?" he demands, the barrel of his pistol digging painfully into her temple next to her eye. The wire of his lean body is stretched taut and his hands are shaking. A wicked light of inspiration flits across his face and he trails the gun, almost lovingly, down the side of her face to her split lip, pressing in at the corner of her mouth. She can feel the barrel click against her clenched teeth. He leans over her. "Open your mouth. Open your mouth or I'll break your fucking teeth." She can feel its details intimately sliding between her lips as he smiles at her.
"Mmm, good girl. You just do what I say and I won't hurt you; you know that, right? I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to tell me what I want to know. I know you know," he murmurs encouragingly to her as he moves the gun around in her mouth, coating it with her saliva. She makes a sound of protest, but he shushes her, leaning one hand against the chair behind her so he can speak in her ear. "Shh, shh. I know you can't talk right now. You've got a full mouth, and talking with a full mouth is rude, isn't it? Here; let me help you with that," he coos, pulling the gun from her lips with a smile full of teeth.
Despite the saliva, the barrel of the gun isn't very slick, and Sayu is painfully dry. She screams as he slides it home, trigger shield nestled against her perineum. "So," Mello says, returning to his conversational tone, "So talk."
"Oh god, please don't do this!" she gasps, fists clenched tight and pulling mightily against the cuffs.
"Hm, that's not what I want you to say," Mello says thoughtfully, and he clicks the hammer back.
She can barely breathe through the sobs now, has bit her lips bloody and raw. He clucks soothingly and strokes her hair but draws the barrel out, slamming it in again. Something in her eyes is breaking as he fucks her on it, thumb slipping up to rub her, even though the dry friction is too much. "I don't know anything, oh, I don't know anything," she moans desperately and tries to move away from his hand and the gun.
"That's a pity. It's also a pity I don't believe you."
"I don't know anything!" she screams in rage, but even as she screams, her head falls against her breastbone and she slumps. He grins at her and draws his hand away, gun still inside her, to lick his thumb and continue, and that makes all the difference. Soon her hips are moving in minuscule thrusts toward the gun and her nipples are peaking against the dirty cotton of her blouse. The gun is moving easier and he twists it slowly, carefully sliding the hammer back into place.
"You like this." She's silent, tears pouring down her face. "You do. So you have one of two choices: tell me what I want to hear, or tell me how much you want this."
Her head shoots up, eyes pleading. "Please...."
"Please what?" The hammer clicks back again and her face falls.
"Please," she whispers brokenly, fucking her hips toward his hand. "Please. I...I want it."
"Say you want to come. Say you want to come from my fucking you with my gun. Say it."
"Please...," she shivers, fingers curling around the armrests. He can barely hear her. "Please. Please shoot me. Please shoot me...."