Hello I'm Mea. I'm a bit of an idiot so shaaaa
This is my first DN fanfic and I've been to much to post it until now. Please tell me how bad it sucked or if it was ok please et me know what I need to improve upon. And YES I know its short. I chickened out of writing the full on lemon.
Warning: Contains yaoi and a bits of lime. Boy on boy ahead as well as angst. No like? No read. Seriously hit the back button...NOW if you are a homophobe. Or if this pairing ain't your cup of tea.
Disclaimer: Mea does not own any characters in or pretaining to Death Note and all of its spinoffs. She likes to dream though and lets leave it at that.
His lips cover mine. His hands trace the skin of my arms before slipping to feel up my sides. How I became shirtless is news to me. I can feel the way his heart thrums beneath my hand as I fist it tighter in his shirt. He loves me. I can feel it. I know it. Sadly, he'll never say it. It's a game we play you see. The first to break is the first to lose. Strangely that person is me. For all my talk of being superior to him, as soon as he gets me alone, I'm helpless to his hands, his mouth, his lips, his goddamn eyes. Those eyes that taunt me. Those eyes that will forever haunt me.
He pushes me harder against the mattress as he drags his mouth from my mouth, down my jaw, and he stops at my neck. He loves to tease me. He licks softly at my pulse point. I bite back a moan. I want to last a few moments longer. He glances up from my neck, his dark eyes gleaming mischievously and I felt a small smile against my skin. He sucked hard on my pulse. My body arches against his, crashing our hips together. He chokes lightly but I'm done. I moan, loudly.
"I- luh-OVE you!" I cry out as he moves our groins together in a rhythmic motion. He pauses, ignores my whimper of protest, and stares at me. His eyes, those damn dark eyes, study me and I almost curse him. Almost. His mask slips and I see it. I see him love me back.
He, finally, strips off his shirt and I reach up to stroke at his deathly pale skin. You're beautiful, I tell him. He stiffens. No matter how many times we've done this, he still can't stand being touched. I argue with him that that's ridiculous. He shrugs and takes my mouth again. He kisses me soundly until I'm putty in his hands. He moves lower, back to my pulse point and I sigh -I actually sigh!- as his hands stroke lower; caressing my ribcage, scraping his nails over my nipples, which draws a sort of keening cry from me. Then he goes lower, massaging the flat of my stomach- as if I'm not submissive enough already!- before finally-
I wake up. I sigh before collapsing back down. He's not here. Why would he be? He's gone. I did this. My own personal hell. I turn over on my side. Why the hell did I have him killed again? Oh yeah, my fucked up pride. Well deadly sin, look where you got me. A cold bed, a headache, heartbreak, and the weight of lies and the world. Worth it? That twisted part of my mind, the current dominant me that rules, whispers yes, even though my sane half sobs in the background that its not right anymore.
I get out of bed, because I have to. I face my dad and the others, because I have to. I display a wonderful, caring persona because, let's face it, the only one who knew otherwise is dead. I secretly kill because it's all I know now. Everything. I'm stuck here. The sick twisted domineering part is satisfied. But the real me, the me that I need to remember, sits quietly, waiting and almost fading fading from existence. I wonder briefly if that side will die and if so, will it go to its lover? Maybe.
I crave what used to be. I crave the banter, the sex, the mind trips, the way he looked at me softly when he thought that no one else was looking, the way he knew. He always knew. Always.
Doesn't help him any now, does it? I think sarcastically. Doesn't help me now either. After all. I am trapped.
Phew well, I'm done fer now. Reveiws make the world go round. Later.