A/N: Dedicated to the wonderful foreverMATT (from whom I haven't heard in a while and it makes me fucking depressed), who introduced "Fight Club" to me. It's not all that connected but inspired me to write this oneshot. Also, I used one quote from it. Go find it, folks.
Face first into a pillow, you take in a quick breath. He's messing with you again. Playing around. Oh, how you wish he just did his job but it's never simple with Mello.
Your knees and elbows are weak from the hours you've spent in front of your precious console friend, and yet you keep yourself up.
For him.
And for yourself.
Your body shakes lightly in the anticipation, as if poison was feeding on your flesh.
That poison, you know it is him.
His blond hair that slide down your neck as he leans over your back... Must've took the rosary off.
He hums into your ear and now you really shudder, probed by his invading index. Just a little. He won't do it dry today.
"Please" you whimper, fingers clenching on the once white sheet under you. It used to be soft and clean, now it's a reminder of how dull past was before him. Mello rubs his finger in and out, making you furrow your eyebrows from the unpleasant feeling that sends sparks of excitement to the pit of your stomach. At the very beginning, you hated this power he had over you.
His nose is nuzzling just behind your ear as he breathes in deeply.
"What?" he whispers, and his voice almost makes you beg. Almost.
You push back, just to get more of him, to feel his skin over your spine, sweating just like yours. You think it's one of the best parts, that you both always end up so tired. Why? Who knows.
Mello's tongue darts past the barrier of his lips, wetting your cheek. His index pushes in even more and you moan just as it leaves the place you wanted it to be in. It's never easy with the blond.
"Mello..." you breathe out, elbows shaking under the strain. He says nothing and after a moment three of his fingers tap at your lips. You open up eagerly but he lingers on the border, watching as your tongue tries to get it's treat. Finally he gives in and jostles your mouth nearly unbearably.
You suck, rolling your moist appendage between the thin bones you've learnt to cherish. No, the preparation isn't for you. It's for him, to let him go in deeper, faster, sunk into your most intimate places without warning and without hesitation.
He takes the fingers away. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the black polish, now glistening from saliva, brushing at your cheek. His expression is unreadable. You lean into the touch but it's gone as quick as it's started.
"Hey" you grunt out, eyeing him from behind the damp bangs, now crimson as they are soaked. He'd dragged you out of the shower and as the result puddles of water decorate the bed. He greets you with a small smile, his fingers just staying out there, not quite touching and definately not prodding.
You moan in what you hope is disapproving manner when his other hand starts brushing down your back, gently touching the shoulder blades and dipping down the spine in one long, long line, ending on the cease you want him to invade. He's too much and you knew it, knew it from the moment he smirked at you that night, half of his face bandaged and smelling of death. He seems like Death himself, taking away your breath, your mind and your resistance, leaving no place for something other than admiration.
You jump up when his fingernails scratch down your left buttock.
"Mello!" you let out a strangled gasp as you hear him chuckle. Trying to push yourself down onto the teasing fingers, you feel his stopping hand on your hip. He starts humming an "a-ah", like he's talking to a child but nothing matters anymore as he'd done it, he really had, and the feeling of being stretched by three of them at once rips a pained howl out of your throat.
Your muscles clench, trying to force the intrusion away, but you silence them and relax, second by second. He hasn't even touched that part of you yet and you are already painfully erect, hands digging into the covers and your head between them on the sheets. You gasp out, throwing out obscenities as he doesn't care, he simply doesn't care and pushes them in and out, in and out until it rubs your gut raw from the inside.
Mello is the law, he is God himself and at that moment you don't even care you are moaning like a slut.
"More..." you pant out, biting at your lower lip as his other hand splits your back until it bleeds. You want him inside, his delicious hotness stretching you whole and the only thing stopping you from it is that you are not sure if you won't cum there and then. He chuckles again and you find yourself thrown on your back.
The sheets are a complete mess now, damp with sweat, blood, water and precum. He looks down at you and you can't seem to look away. You stretch your hand out, just to test it, is he even real? How did you become a possesion of such a gorgeous man?
Suddenly eveything crashes because he is in. You howl again, like a deer dying in the jaws of a wolf, because at once he's where you both want him to be. However, as he's sunken to the hilt, he stops, slowly pulling your knees up and encouraging you to wrap your legs around his hips, which you do.
Obviously.
How could you not, when he's staring at you like that, his eyes saying mine, mine... like a mantra? Like you were a precious thing to him, some kind of a fucking jewel.
You realise you are crying when he starts moving again, hands at the both sides of your head and still staring. You are a heaving, panting, moaning mess under him and yet the only signs that he's aroused are this deliciously pumped up with blood organ now rubbing your insides and the light blush on his cheeks... And the way he bites at his lower lip ever-so-slightly... There are more signs than you've thought and it's not that you see them because you finally cared enough, it's that he's let his guard down this time.
And suddenly, you are so proud, so fucking proud of yourself for making it happen, for being there for him and needing him. You can't stop now, no way in hell and you pull at his hair gently, forcing his lips down to where yours are waiting.
It's gentle but more freezing than his thrusts, loving but filled with unknown sadness he always has. Sweet like the chocolate he devours and bitter like the nicotine on your tongue.
You roll your hips and he gasps, burying his face in your neck and moaning: "No, just a little bit more, please, just a little bit..." It's the only moment, or one of those rare moments - to see his true self. To get possesed, to follow obediently, completely, like a dog he likes calling you.
And then, after all that, when you are both spent and worn-out and his head is resting on your shoulder as he snuggles into you like a frightened child, listening to your heartbeat for a goodnight song, you wonder...
Maybe self-destruction is a way to truly live..?