When In Rome
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Cross-dressing, language, crick-in-the-neck sex. If you're looking for literary quality, this has very little. It is porn. Perhaps there are hints of potential plot, but it is mainly porn. If you are under the legal age and/or wish to remain innocent, you should probably leave right now.
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Disclaimer: not mine
Notes: De-anoning from the LJ DN Kink Meme, posted there back before Christmas. (Formally titled Impulse, for anyone who might have seen it there). Only de-anoning now because a) I am in a huge fic slump and I want to reassure people that I am still alive and kicking, and b) I'm actually pleased with how this turned out - but c) also embarrassed as hell. Anyways. You should know before proceeding (because somehow I don't think this has come out yet?) that I have a huuuuge cross-dressing fetish, for everyone and everything. So you can imagine my reaction the moment I saw this prompt, which read as follows:
"Mello/crossdressing!Matt in Japan, right around the time when they were spying on Misa
Matt leaves to get more surveillance equipment and somehow ends up buying a sailor fuku as well. He wears it in front of Mello, who then decides that Matt needs to be "punished" for the impulse buy.
What to include: Arguing, slight roughness (but nothing too painful, mostly just for show), doing it while Matt is still dressed in the sailor fuku."
... So much for all the homework I'd been planning to do that night.
-
When Mello walks in the door Matt's bringing up the latest video feed on his laptop, lying on his stomach on the floor, knees bent. His socked feet sway lazily back and forth in the air as he waits for the feed to load.
They're knee-socks. Mello can tell this because he can see Matt's bare knees, white and strange, faint down of red-gold visible all the way up to where his long legs disappear under a pleated navy hem. A very short pleated navy hem.
Mello is now also in possession of the knowledge that Matt has freckles all over, not just smattered across his cheeks, because the white loose top rides up just far enough for him to see a milky strip of skin just below the small of his back.
He lets the door fall shut on its own, and Matt scrambles to get to his feet at the sound, smoothing the skirt of the sailor fuku over his thighs as he turns to face him. "Ah, you're back," he says. "I set up the microcamera feed like you asked while you were gone -"
Matt is acting like he's not standing there in front of Mello wearing an obscenely short skirt that Mello is frankly surprised covers anything. He doesn't think he's ever seen Matt in so little clothing, period - of course he hasn't, Matt has never worn a skirt before. Ah. Those are... legs if he ever saw them, long slender white. He looks like. What. His arms are bare too but he's seen Matt's arms before. Not his. What is he even wearing underneath? Mello can't see anything and the skirt is... And why is he thinking about. What.
A tight heat is gathering in his chest and in his stomach. He's not sure he wants to investigate why.
Matt is acting totally normal. Except that even when Mello blinks and rubs his eyes, wondering if he is hallucinating from going too long without chocolate, Matt is still standing there wearing the sailor fuku, looking completely at ease.
... Are those barrettes holding the hair back on the right side of his face?
"- and you said you'd buy me a new video game if I worked hard today, so when you leave tomorrow don't forget to pick up Street Fighter III, and go to that place in the mall, they have the best deals -"
"What the hell are you wearing?"
"Huh?"
Matt blinks at him for a moment, then looks down at himself, and plucks at the neatly tied ascot that hangs at chest level, and fucking grins. "Oh yeah. What d'you think? I was coming back from picking up another monitor for the new camera feed when I saw this in a shop window. I just had to pick one up. D'you like it?"
"It's a goddamn sailor fuku."
"Yes, I know." He's still grinning like the idiot he is.
"Girls wear those things."
"Mm-hm." He nods, but doesn't look any more perturbed than before.
"Japanese girls wear them."
"Yes, I've seen them. Walking home from school, going past this place in the street. They're pretty cute, huh?"
"You are not a Japanese girl!" Mello explodes, and the smile is beginning to slip off Matt's face.
"I can wear whatever I damn well want, Mello. It's a free country."
"Not on my watch you don't. Take that thing off and burn it."
"No. Fuck you. Why should I? It's mine, and I happen to like it."
"It's a distraction and unnecessary. Maybe you don't realize this, but we cannot afford distractions, Matt! Like you don't have enough of those already! Do I have to remind you who the dumb sod was that let Amane and the monkey-man slip by us in New York in the first place, because he was too busy playing video games to watch the fucking feeds closely enough?"
"They're clothes. Who the hell're they going to be distracting?"
Mello could answer that, but he is too pissed to give Matt the satisfaction. Even if Matt's soft-shadowed ivory stomach stands in sharp contrast to the treasure trail he can see between the loose, short hem of the top and the waistband of the skirt, and he has to wonder what the destination of that trail looks - No.
"Maybe I get tired of sitting on my ass wearing pants all day."
OK, what.
"They're pants," Mello says. Cannot believe he's even saying this. "What the hell is there to get tired of? And while you're out shopping for skirts and - and accessorizing, something important could be happening with Amane and we would never know about it because you're too busy looking at cute shoes!I am not going to lose to Near just because you can't control your impulse buying!"
Matt's face twists briefly before settling into ice. "Mello? Two things. One. It's one sailor fuku. One. One sailor fuku that I didn't even go out of my way to buy on the way home. You might 's well tell me that getting and setting up more surveillance equipment is a waste of time too. One goddamn little sailor fuku, Mello. It's not the end of the fucking world."
"And barrettes. And girls' socks. And whatever the hell you're wearing under that. And fucking shoes –"
Matt cuts in sharply. "And two. Two. Yes, my shoes are cute. No, they're not for fucking, or for wearing while fucking, for that matter. Get over it."
Matt is not even making sense any more. "What the hell have you been smoking today, bastard?" he demands, and usually that's a joke-question, but not now, not today.
"My usual, thanks. By the way, I really appreciate it when you stop trusting that I'm clean," Matt bites out.
"You're going to quit smoking. And you're going to go get changed right now, and then you're going to give that damn thing to me so I can set it on fire." Mello glares when Matt doesn't move. "What the hell are you waiting for?" he snaps, impatient. He doesn't like Matt's sullen silence.
Matt gives him a patient, exasperated look that he really, really hates, as though he is speaking to a toddler. "You're not the one who makes my rules, Mello. You're not my boss either - or did you forget that, too?"
Matt's wrists are fragile-strong under his tight grip as he springs forward, and squeezes.
"Ow! Dammit, Mello, what the hell's that for?"
"I may not be your boss," he hisses, up against Matt's ear, and tries to ignore how his hair brushes so softly against his cheek. "But I'm still the one in charge of this investigation, and you are still the one who does what he's told. And you're going to learn to remember that. You are going to learn how to pay attention for more than five minutes at a time - right now."
One way or another, he is going to get Matt to do what he's supposed to.
Mello pushes Matt backwards until he hits the wall of the living room, hands still locked tightly around his wrists, and pins him there, staring him down even though Matt's gaze is sliding away like it always does when somebody gets too close. He locks both of Matt's hands in place with his left, and reaches between them to wrench Matt's face back up and towards his own.
"Look at me," he commands.
Behind the lenses of his goggles, Matt's eyes are still flickering away, to a point somewhere beyond Mello's shoulder.
"Look at me," he says again, and yanks the blasted things off his face, sends them skittering across the floor to disappear somewhere under the couch.
Matt makes a distressed noise in his throat as they disappear, a sort of wanting whimper, and it's such a pretty sound that Mello decides, impulsively, that he should make it again.
"Matt," he says, and lets his voice soften, drop into low and husky tones, coaxing and deceptively gentle. Matt's response is a gratifying shudder, a fluttering of eyelashes that he can't hide behind a dim orange barrier any longer. Mello feels his lips curling into a grin, in spite of himself. "Matt, you're a good boy, right?"
His cheeks as slowly tingeing pink as a tide of blood rises. "I don't know," Matt says, and the annoyance has leaked out of his voice like helium out of a balloon. "Am I?"
"You like to do as you're told, right?" Mello continues, and presses in closer until his left elbow and forearm are pressed against Matt's, pressing against the wall, and the knot of Matt's ascot is digging into Mello's breastbone. He can feel Matt breathing. "All this misbehaving is just because you're not being told in the right way."
"Is it?" Matt's voice cracks a little, but there is no panic there. Good. He wants Matt's full attention for once, not blind fear.
Mello's mouth is right by his ear now. He can't see his eyes any more, but he can feel Matt's palms beginning to grow sweaty under his own, and lets the grin on his face curl wider.
When he catches Matt's earlobe between his teeth and bites down, Matt's body jellies, and he lets out that wanting whimper again.
"Mello, wh-what - fuck -"
Well, that's handy. Mello nips him again, hard. He can feel how Matt's heart is beating against the walls of his chest like a prisoner as he lets out another whimper. He pulls back far enough so that he can look into Matt's eyes, wide and blue, dark and confused, rimmed with pale lashes that most girls would envy, if only they could see them. His cheeks are stained with embarrassment, or something else.
This time he lets himself think that, like this, bewildered and exposed, the sailor fuku does kind of suit Matt.
But that's not the point he's trying to make here.
He leans back in, expelling his breath across Matt's previously abused ear, and Matt shivers again, leans into him, as though expecting, hoping for more. Mello tightens his grip on Matt's wrists, and shoves his body more firmly against the wall. Matt is tense like a deer beneath him. Mello lets his tongue flicker over the outside edge of Matt's earlobe, damp and slick and barely there.
Then he presses his lips to it, rather than use his teeth as Matt clearly expects.
He pulls back, steps back a few feet, releasing Matt's wrists as he does. Matt drops his hands, and stares at him, still pink, rubbing his wrists with the opposite hand absently.
"Mello, what're you -?"
"I have something for you," Mello says, and he's pleased by how calm his voice sounds. "A game, if you will."
He knows Matt knows it's not what it sounds like, but he's said the word that is almost magic where Matt is concerned, and so he has his attention, for now.
"What is it?" Cautiously.
"The challenge is to stay on task for more than five minutes on something that is not a video game or your car," Mello tells him. "You have to follow my every direction exactly, or you're not going to like it."
"What's in it for me?" Matt asks, fingers compulsively resettling his shirt, which he is used to wearing much longer, Mello knows.
"You'll like it," Mello says. Or I'm not doing my job.
Matt is still breathing somewhat erratically. Mello is, on the whole, pleased with himself. "OK," Matt says. "What... what do I have t'do?"
"Pay attention and follow my lead," Mello tells him, and reaches out to grab his hand, yank him towards him. Matt stumbles a little, catches himself by splaying his hands across Mello's chest.
The kiss is so hard that Mello feels their teeth click momentarily, and his jaw throbs and buzzes as he clenches his fingers in Matt's hair and coaxes his mouth against his own.
Matt's not really reacting. One hand drifts down and pinches the back of Matt's neck, hard, and he yelps, moving instinctively forward to escape it, which is really all that Mello wants. He finally gets the idea when Mello catches his lower lip between his teeth and tugs. He seems to react to biting, if nothing else. And then Matt is kissing him back, slow and hesitant, out of sync with his own motions, but Mello doesn't care because at least he's responding.
Mello likes the way the leather of his gloves rubs against skin, and judging by the way Matt's fingers jump and thrum against his shoulders when he slides one gloved hand up under the back of his loose top, fingers and palm, so does Matt. The friction of the leather catching at Matt's smooth skin is making the muscles of his back roll and shift, and Mello closes his eyes and leans harder into the kiss, forcing Matt's mouth open with a probing tongue.
Matt tastes like ash and ramen, with a faint hint of chocolate, and it should be disgusting, a combination like that, considering how much he objects to Matt smoking in the apartment and eating his cheap trashy food, but it isn't, and he's not objecting now. His tongue is slick and giving under his own. His ears are ringing. He feels more than a little giddy. The heat in his stomach is building, one spark at a time, migrating down from his chest where anger had made its nest.
He has to grab Matt's hand with his free one and put it at the small of his own back before Matt gets the hint, and runs his fingers over Mello's own bare strip of skin, the leather of his gloves pleasure against that sensitive skin. He is about to switch hands to forcibly direct Matt's other hand, when Matt finally appears to realize exactly what is happening to him, and lifts his hand on his own to cup and stroke Mello's scarred cheek with one leather-clad thumb. It sends a jolt of electricity straight to his brain.
It takes a minute to process that and let the sensation flow through him; nobody touches his scar, and he'd always thought that scar tissue was supposed to dull touch, not intensify it.
They're moving too slowly. The heat in his stomach is barely within the limits of control. It's not just in his stomach any longer. His pants are beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. Mello draws his hand around to Matt's stomach, and follows his trail down to the edge of his waistband, where it rests, and the sound Matt makes in his throat as he does this is one that Mello thinks he can very much agree with.
"So - so you're -?" Matt pants as they break apart for air. He's very pink now, and there's the hint of a bulge lurking beneath his skirt that's gratifying to see.
"Shut up," Mello says, and to his everlasting surprise, Matt shuts up without another word. He grins into the next kiss, and scrapes gloved fingertips up Matt's chest, hard, raking over his nipples several times before returning to rub them to hardness with his thumbs, and grinds their hips firmly together. It's good to see that Matt is beginning to mirror him, stroking softly across Mello's clad chest before going for the zipper and letting his vest fall open before doing the same. Mello's nipples are already little nubs under Matt's touch; his gentleness is, in its own way, just as pleasurable as a stronger response. Matt is moaning into his mouth, and Mello bites at his lips again, then dips to one side and goes for his other ear, and Matt's knees give out.
"On your feet," Mello says, hoisting him up to stand properly. "You're going to touch me now."
"Mello," Matt says, breathlessly. "Mello, I -"
"I told you to shut up," Mello shoots back. He doesn't care if Matt has questions, which he does, judging by his tone. He doesn't care if Matt wants to slow down and maybe even stop, although his physical reactions tell him that stopping completely is one of the last things on his mind. "You're following directions, remember? Prove to me you can do this. You better not be thinking about your damn games or needing a cigarette, or blue balls are going to be the least of your worries."
Matt looks at him. Mello can't quite read the look in his eyes, but he's too impatient now to care.
"Touch me," he demands. "Are you thinking only of touching me?"
Matt nods, but doesn't answer in words, and as Mello unbuckles his studded belt and slides it free, he begins to tug off his gloves.
"Matt," Mello says, firmly. "Leave them."
He knows Matt wants to say something about leather and how easy it is to stain and ruin it, but Matt stays quiet. He thinks he catches a glint in Matt's eye that he doesn't entirely trust, but for now he is doing what he has been asked to, which is unlacing Mello's pants and slipping a hand inside.
His palm on Mello's cock makes a shiver run up Mello's spine, and he slides his own hands around to cup and squeeze at Matt's ass through the short skirt as Matt's hand begins to move, somewhat roughly and awkwardly, on him. His hands grip hard and involuntarily at his buttocks as Matt runs his thumb over the head of his cock, circling there for a moment before returning to quick jerky strokes. Matt's hips buck briefly forward. Mello palms Matt's ass again and slides his hand downwards until his fingers are bumping the back of Matt's thighs.
And Mello loses his grip, because now Matt is kissing his collarbones, kissing down his chest, wet sucking lingering kisses that make the heat in his stomach grow higher, and his cock jump in Matt's firm grip.
"What the hell are you doing? Did I tell you that you could -?" His voice falters, because Matt's just found a very sensitive spot on the bottom of his ribcage and is taking advantage of the way his breath quickens at that kiss. "Nnn - did I say you could do that, Matt? Stop that. Get back up here -"
"No," Matt breathes against Mello's bellybutton, fingers of his free hand dragging heavily down Mello's right side. He tongues the rim of it, rough and insistent like a cat, and Mello loses control of his breath again for a second.
"Hhn -"
Matt's almost on his knees in front of him, what the hell does he think he's -? He's not really going to -? But then he'll have lost the game because he'll no longer be doing what Mello is directing. And Matt hates to lose at. Any of them, it doesn't matter what. And Matt's other hand is still moving on his. And it's really hard to concentrate. But he can't - can't let Matt do this.
"Matt. Stop. You're losing, jackass," he snaps, and pushes at his shoulders. Matt just nuzzles back in, nose rubbing the skin just below his bellybutton and dipping in before it's replaced by his tongue, circling and probing, breath hot on his stomach.
"I don't care," Matt mumbles into his skin, and what kind of response is that from someone like Matt?
He grabs for Matt's hair, but Matt just sinks lower, tongue trailing down his belly. When the hot warmth of Matt's mouth lands beside his erection, and his tongue swipes an arc around the base of it before lapping its way up the underside, he stops trying to yank him up, and instead concentrates on guiding him to where he wants him.
Mello sucks in a sharp breath as Matt presses an almost dainty kiss to his tip before parting his lips to take him in. The wet moving heat is almost too much; he grips Matt's hair hard and tries not to thrust; choking will end this experience very unpleasantly. Matt's head bobs back and forth, teeth scraping lightly along his sensitive underside, and he bites his lip hard, trying to remember why it's so important that Matt stop something that feels this good. Watching his member disappearing into the depths of Matt's mouth isn't helping his thought processes either.
Somehow, Matt's underwear is down around his thighs, and Matt has pushed his skirt up far enough so that he can touch himself freely as he continues to suck and lip at Mello's cock. It briefly occurs to Mello that Matt is wearing panties, but then his tip is bumping the back of Matt's swallowing throat, and he can't help himself any longer, he thrusts forward into Matt's mouth and feels the muscles of Matt's throat relax and pull him deeper and oh god that feels good. He thrusts again, and oh shit, he's. He's got to stop this before he.
Matt releases him with a wet pop before that happens, and Mello makes a grab for control again, and pushes Matt back hard, so that he's on his knees, sprawled backwards with arms across the arm of the couch. He doesn't quite have the momentum to pull himself back up, and Mello has to move quickly before he does. He drops and catches hold of Matt by the backs of his thighs and lifts, and Matt slides up onto the couch arm and then tips backward when Mello puts a hand on his chest, and as first one leg and then the other is hitched up over Mello's shoulders, he slides Matt's panties fully off and drops them to the floor.
"Ow - Mello, you'll give me a crick in the neck -"
Mello ignores him in favour of peeling off his gloves and sending them to join underwear and the long-since lost goggles. Matt's blue, blue eyes are glazed and glittering. His skirt is not long enough to stay put covering his erection, and pools around his waist. God. God.
Mello leans in and wraps his hand around it, and bare skin to bare skin is a shock to both of them as he begins to pump him. When Mello's fingers tap against Matt's partly-open mouth, Matt takes them in without question and coats them eagerly with saliva.
He has to let go to spread Matt far enough to allow his fingers access. Matt is panting, writhing, in part to try to find a more comfortable position, in part from need. He rubs his first finger against the tight ring of muscle and pushes in slowly. Matt tenses, but only a little. He's watching Mello to see what he does next. Mello buries the finger before pulling back far enough for the second one to join it.
"Uh - Mello -!" Matt's face is very red now, and he's twisting uncomfortably on the couch. "That hurts, don't, I'm good, just touch me, you don't need to put it in -"
"Matt, shut up," Mello growls, and thinks he feels something, and presses in hard.
"Owww fuckfuckfuck that's -"
Mello moves his fingers again and this time strikes gold.
"- holy fucking shiiit that's goo~d Mello, Mello -!"
Mello presses in again and Matt's back arches, and while he's almost incoherent with pleasure, Mello adds a third finger and buries them deep, growing impatient. It's nice to see Matt laid out and helpless like this, but it's not enough, he wants. Wants more, wants to be in him, close and tight and hot and all Matt. Matt's pained grunt turns to a long moan once again, and that's enough, he's done with fingers, he needs to be in him two minutes ago. He pulls his hand back, spits on his palm and slicks himself quickly before tilting Matt's hips up, positioning, and pushing in hard.
"Fuck, Mello -!" Matt's legs spasm and yank Mello towards him, and Mello sees sparks in front of his eyes. Matt is so tight. It's impossible to move. It's impossible not to move. Matt's knee-jerk reaction pushes him into motion, and he grips Matt's hips hard and begins to thrust.
"Oh Mel, Mello, yes, please, oh please, oh harder - Mello -"
Mello's shuddering as he presses in harder, Matt's engulfing heat and his moans and his sweat matting the uniform against his skin, the scent of him as he writhes under Mello's touch, all this and he can feel himself getting close, closer, wonders if Matt is getting close too.
He thrusts straight into Matt's sweet spot just to see the white lines and angles of his body as his back arches up and his hips leave the arm of the couch, dragging Mello in all the way to the base.
His skirt has fallen across and covered the gap between top and bottom that revealed the dip of his bellybutton; it's going to wrinkle badly, a fact that Mello observes with a very distant part of his mind. He can still see his stomach rising and falling rapidly underneath the material, though. Matt's fingers scrabble at the cushions, and his hair falls back from his face in a damp tangled red mess. The only freckles still visible on his body are on the knees that frame Mello's shoulders; the rest are obscured by the glow of body heat and pleasure.
It must be the endorphins coursing through his body as he thrusts in over and over. Matt's kind of beautiful like this. Something deep in his gut twists, and the inner fire leaps.
Mello bends in and turns his head, kisses the inside of Matt's knees, first one side, then the other, and his muscles jump and tremble under his lips, legs squeezing tighter around him, and Matt comes, hard, and with an incoherent cry, and then it's not just his legs squeezing Mello tighter but his whole body clasping Mello close and deep. He comes too, a few moments later, light-headed, and grits his teeth to keep from making a sound or mouthing his name.
Matt's legs slip off his shoulders and wrap around his waist as he pulls out, which takes him off-balance and brings him tumbling down on top of Matt; he catches himself before he can smack his head on Matt's shoulder. It's not very comfortable; both of their legs are kind of dangling off the couch in midair, but at the moment he feels too satisfied to care.
Lips brush his forehead almost tenderly, and one of Matt's hands twine with his own as they lie there, breathing, legs tangled. Mello's are beginning to feel a bit numb, but he still doesn't have the motivation to move just yet.
He guesses this is probably not quite what should have happened when he'd set out to teach Matt a lesson, but he doesn't think that either of them, even him, really care.
His awkward angle means that he has to practically fall off Matt and onto the floor to get off of him, and Matt sniggers at that, still lying there with his skirt around his waist and come splattered up the underside of it, looking content. One of the barrettes is almost falling out. His eyes are half-closed, and Mello looks at him, looks, and wonders what comes next.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Matt says, cracking one eye open and half-smiling at him.
"Fuck you," Mello says, and Matt's delighted burble of laughter makes something twist in his stomach.
"Been done."
Mello rolls his eyes, and pulls his knees up to his chest. "... You still haven't told me what the hell possessed you to buy that damn thing in the first place."
Matt's grin is wide and sly, but tells him nothing. He shrugs, and stretches, top lifting up to reveal the smooth pale expanse of his narrow stomach. Mello looks away.
"When in Rome, right?" he says, still fucking grinning, and moves to smooth the skirt back down over his thighs.
"You are such an idiot," Mello tells him, but if he had to guess, he doesn't really mean it.
-