InsaneJournal

Current mood:	dirty
Current music:	y Chemical Romance : My Way Home is Through You
Entry tags:	death note, fanfic:death note, fanfiction, matt, mello, mello/matt, nc-17, phone!sex

Fanfic: Death Note, Dirty Talk, NC-17, Mello/Matt
Fandom: Death Note (manga/anime)
Title: Dirty Talk
Rating: NC-17 maybe M (+16)?
Summary: Matt's bored, Mello phones and Matt decides to use this opportunity to his advantage. Phone!sex
Warnings: Slash, phone!sex, dirty language, foul words and adult content. Just what you'd expect from Mello/Matt.
Spoilers: None as long as you know who Mello and Matt are.
Notes: With Mello and Matt talking on the phone so much, I'm surprised there isn't more phone sex fanfics. I seem to be writing smut every time I feel particularly bad about an exam (meaning I'm worried I've failed). Bad for me, lucky for you guys. Sorry, this is hasn't been beta-read. If you spot any mistakes, I'd be grateful if you pointed them out. Thank you!
Feedback: Is what I live for <3


Matt sat in the back of the taxi he had called eying the no smoking sign screwed onto the screen that separated him and the driver with distaste. Despite the ban, he lit one up anyway; the old driver took one look at his appearance and kept silent. It was a shame really. He felt he could have used someone shouting at him right now, a voice to ring in his ears until the sound drilled so far into his brain he snapped back, but there was only one voice that could ever do that and the owner of that one voice was miles away. He took a long drag of his cigarette as he wondered about the job Mello had given him to do. It seemed simple enough; practically stalking an idiotically dense girl shouldn’t be too hard. It would just be hella boring.

He put his feet up on the back seat, making sure to sprawl his limbs out in that lazy manner that irritated the shit out of Mello, hoping to provoke some sort of interesting reaction from the taxi driver, but his efforts were ignored as the old guy continued on driving Matt towards his destination. There wasn’t even the typical under the breath mutter of, “Kids these days… No respect,” that Matt so loved to hear. Feeling slightly more reckless at this lack of enforcing boundaries, he decided to take out something stronger than a cigarette to smoke out of his pocket. Still no reaction.

Crap, this was boring. He wished Mello had let him bring his Nintendo DS for the journey at least.

He was just considering splurging his credit on his mobile on the Internet when its ring tone pierced the dead air. He knew it was Mello without even checking the flashing name on the screen, but he was still slightly bewildered as to why he was calling so soon.

“What?”

“Fuck, Matt, didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?” asked Mello, the slight sound of mirth hidden underneath the snide remark.

Matt breathed in another drag, feeling the drug start to hum through his veins, “So, what are you calling for?”

“I was wondering how long it would take before you got bored,” Mello replied in a gruff, casual tone and Matt could hear the familiar snapping of chocolate in the background.

A small grin attached itself to his face and he was unsure whether it was weed induced or whether it was because he knew this meant Mello was just as bored to the bones as he was, however, he couldn’t let Mello know he knew that. The older man would just get pissed and slam the phone down on him and this nice distraction from the boredom would end.

“There is practically nothing to do in this taxi except watch people in other cars pick their noses,” he replied crudely and emphasising the nothing.

“That explains what other people are doing… But what are you doing?”

“Uh…” Fuck, that last sentence Mello had said couldn’t have sounded as suggestive as Matt thought it did, but whether it did or not didn’t matter because either way it sent an unexpected rush of lust to his head.

“For Christ’s sake, Matt,” came the annoyed growl down the phone, “Don’t fucking tell me you’re high already.”

--

Mello made sure his irritation was audible. It had barely been half an hour since they’d parted and it seemed already Matt was fuelling his macabre habit as quickly as possible. For some reason it pissed him off to think that Matt sat relaxing in the back of some anonymous taxi somewhere whilst he sat alone in the booth of some dingy, dirty bar waiting for an informant. He would need to find some different informants; he decided vaguely as he idly rubbed off some of the crusted grime on his scratched table, ones who knew better bars.

“I’m not doing anything,” Matt answered, “What are you doing?”

Matt must have been more wasted than he realised because he could hear the slight undercurrent of a slur under his words. Mello had learned to recognise those hidden sounds as the beginnings of a good night. He would just provide Matt with all the alcohol and drugs he needed and he’d be as horny as hell. He liked the change in interactions between them when Matt was wasted, because all the necessary boundaries and intellect the stupid fuck possessed were stripped clean until all that was left was rough pushes and the harsh, sharp tangy collision of lips on lips and tongues pushed against each other in a dark, nameless alleyway. The fact that Matt was getting high with a good few miles of distance between the two of them just seemed like a goddamn waste of money. He took a swig of the shot of vodka he had ordered and scowled at the way it reminded him how Matt kissed when he tasted like this and the way that sloppy, drunken mouth became so much more ravenous and adventurous if it were fed enough of the substance he was downing now.

“You’re taking your time in replying… Are you thinking dirty thoughts, Mello?” Matt asked unexpectedly, his voice laced with amusement but Mello could hear the lust purring beneath it all. Or perhaps that was the drink talking, he thought as he toyed with the empty glass in his hands.

“What the hell? No!” he snapped back, aware too late that there was that slight defensive snarl in his voice that practically screamed he’d been caught out.

“It’s not nice to lie; didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

Cocky, son of a …

“C’mon, Mello, I want to know what you’re thinking about now…”

“Fuck off, Matt, I swear to God-”

“God doesn’t like people who like to get jerked off in cemeteries.”

“That was once, asshole!”

He stopped ranting, aware that his cock doesn’t seem to care if this conversation leads to phone sex in the middle of some dank, depressing pub. He cursed that goddamn silky laugh that brushed against his ear as though Matt’s there, breathing heavily into his neck as he laughs completely unashamed at the nameless pair that’s stumbled across them in some public toilet of some gas station somewhere or the same laugh that washes over his navel when he finds that sensitive area Mello can’t stand Matt’s tongue touching without his knees buckling and coming way too soon.

“I hate you,” he said simply and he hated the way it sounded like surrender rather than a defiant attack.

“That’s not what you told me last night,” Mello can practically hear the bloody smirk Matt’s wearing down the phone line.

He considered ordering another drink from the bar for a brief moment, but his trousers have become unfortunately tighter than he would like them to be from these provocative conversations with someone who seems to be made up of nothing but sex today, so he decided against it. He considers simply hanging up on the punk, but Matt’s devilishly mimicking those small, weak and helpless noises he makes when he’s close to throwing his head back, finger nails digging deep into Mello’s back, spasms gripping him until he comes and they're both covered in a sticky, sweaty mess and he knew that to cut him off now would be a crime against his hormones that he can’t find it in himself to commit. It’s like the younger man’s become one of the many addictive substances he intakes because Mello's pretty sure he’s become hooked on the sounds he can tear out of Matt with hurried touches from fingers, dry lips and vicious teeth. Suddenly, he can’t stand to hear Matt imitate those noises, he wanted to be able run his hands over his pale chest and bite and nip until he really draws the real vulnerable gasps out of full half parted lips.

He shifted around in his seat, eyes darting around and immediately glad that the seat he’s chosen is tucked away in some far corner of the room where none of the fading dregs of society drowning in their beers can see him. His hand slipped into between his legs somewhere during the process of this realisation with the intent of rearranging his cock throbbing against the zip of his trousers so he’s more comfortable, but somewhere along the line his hand’s got distracted and started to gently stroke his erection. He hated the fact that he’s hard, the fact that his hips are slowly betraying him as he’s rocking into his hand and most of all he loathes the fact that Matt is the one causing him to do this. He’d get his revenge when he saw the bastard next, God; he’d practically rape the goddamn horny punk if he’d been in reaching distance right now.

“Mello,” Matt’s mischievous voice seemed to hum against his chest, “I bet you’re thinking about fucking?”

Mello wanted to tell Matt that there was no way in fucking hell he was coming anywhere near doing something even close to wanking at the sound of his voice, but he found he couldn’t choke the lie out so he settled for the next best insult he could grasp, “I’m going to fucking hurt you so bad when I get hold of your bloody ass, Matt.”

“You sound kind of breathless… You are touching yourself, aren’t you?”

Mello knew he was pretty fucked now; if he was worried about where the conversation was going before he knows it’s damn near inevitable now, “Why the fuck do you keep asking?”

“I want to know if you’re touching yourself, Mello. I want to know what you’re thinking about… Are you thinking about us fucking?”

Mello was aware that his hips were rocking in rhythm with Matt’s ragged breaths and he bit his lips to prevent the gasp that wanted to escape, “Shit, Matt, shut the hell up.”

“Damn, you can be so hard to talk to sometimes, I guess I’ll just fuck off then and leave you alone,” Matt said, making a poor attempt at pretending to sound disappointed.

Mello’s half way between telling him to go to hell or just letting that wicked voice fill his ears with more hushed dirty words like ‘fuck’ and ‘hard’. He couldn’t care less if someone were to see him now; if he gets caught jerking off at least he has more sex life than the pathetic people in this dwelling. Since when has he cared what people think anyway?

“So, what if I am touching myself? Not a fat lot you can do about it being trapped in a taxi and everything…”

He grinned at the way Matt’s breath hitches and Mello can just imagine him in the back of the taxi with his hand wrapped around his cock, some sort of cigarette hanging limply from his mouth and perhaps even giving the driver the finger when he sees the disapproving looks reflected on the mirror. He knows the tables have turned and he enjoys the idea of Matt being the one to hang onto his words, like it should be.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about, Matt?” He can hear his jagged intake of breath and takes that to be a yes, “I was thinking about how warm your mouth is around my dick, I was thinking about your face when you come. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He was vaguely aware that he hadn’t kept his voice quiet enough and it seems to be echoing around the silent pub, but when the small gasps and groans travelling down the phone line sound like sex personified, he continued stroking himself and decided he doesn’t care.

“You’re dirty, Mello,” Matt’s voice is strained with arousal and barely heard moans. Mello can vividly imagine the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the blush covers his cheeks and he doesn’t even bother to try and restrain the sounds flowing out of his mouth by biting his lip the way Mello does, the way he’s doing right now.

“Thank you, Mr. Obvious,” he managed to bark before sucking in a deep breath at the shuddering sigh he hears that sent shivers down his spine.

His muscles were tightening, his fingers cramping and his cock was starting to feel almost painfully raw but he’s so close to an orgasm, nothing else but the pleasure building and Matt’s heavy breathing matters. He can hear the laboured sounds escaping from the younger man’s throat, the swear words and curses that follow and the knowledge that he’s pushing Matt over the edge is enough to make him fall apart. Somewhere in the middle of his own orgasm he heard Matt’s impulsive cursing and knows he’s coming too.

The content silence that followed was just full of the silent electronic buzz covered with their panting. Mello’s relaxed into the wooden seat he’s been sitting in, the uncomfortable, sticky mess in his pants added to the list of sensations he could feel. Feeling slightly shaky, he quickly took off his jacket to cover the obvious damp spot as he left the bar, fuck the meeting with the informant.

“So, you think you can tell your driver to just turn the hell around?”