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his fingers, his greatest weapons

Top!Mello

Bottom!Y/N

Summary: "His fingers are his greatest weapon, capable of doing so much in so little time. He knows all the best spots, the right way to pace himself. And if that can be considered his best weapon, his second-best has to be his mouth, that sharp tongue that produces all the right words at the exact right time."

Author: darlingkirstein (on ao3)

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"Come here."
He makes a demand, a demand you have no choice but to obey.

Mello lounges back in his chair, arms resting lazily on the sides. He's got his legs spread wide over the space he occupies, one of them propped up on top of the other by his ankle. You know exactly what he's doing, and you can feel yourself falling for his trap. He's fully aware of how inviting this position looks, how enticing the comfort of his lap is. Those things are utilized to his advantage.

As soon as you reach him, he swings the leg on top away, opening up a seat for you. His arms grab onto your waist, pulling you backward.

"Good girl," Mello whispers, his teeth finding their place latched around the bottom of your ear. His hands wander, lifting up the bottom of the jacket you're wearing, feeling your skin.

Mello gets the privilege of being fully clothed. The intention is clear; he wants to tease you, wants you to wish to be granted the honor of seeing his naked body, an honor he was sure to deny. All the while, he gets to see something beautiful in front of him.

All you wear is one of his precious leather jackets and black underwear to match. Everything else is on full display, waiting to be admired and touched.

The sight of you in his clothes ... he doesn't much feel like telling you what it does to him. He'd rather show you.

"You'll be good for me, won't you? Don't be too loud."

"I'll be good, I promise."

"Mmhm. Prove it."
Without any other warning, one of his hands slides down your stomach, reaching into your underwear. His fingers slide inside you hard, bringing out a harsh cry, prompted by the lack of patience and sudden nature of his movements.

"Not doing so good on your promise so far, baby girl,"
He teases, the tone of his voice playful. Mello loves the power he has over you, the simplicity of it all, so easy to make you moan.

If only the two of you had the freedom to be as loud as you pleased.

"You don't make it easy."

"Is that a challenge?"
Not waiting for an answer, Mello starts rubbing at you harder, his fingers massaging deep inside.

Your back arches out of instinct.

"You like that, huh? Such a whore for me ..."

His fingers are his greatest weapon, capable of doing so much in so little time. He knows all the best spots, the right way to pace himself. And if that can be considered his best weapon, his second-best has to be his mouth, that sharp tongue that produces all the right words at the exact right time.

Your head falls back.
He's so gorgeous, you think to yourself. I'm so lucky.

Mello has little desire to keep things slow. His fingers work hard, fucking into you with passion, ferocity, and greed. He wants to claim you, showing you just who was in charge of the situation.

The feeling is overwhelming. Your hands reach back, trying hard to steady yourself by using his hips as something to hold onto. Squirming against his touch only makes his fingers rub harder, determined to test you, to locate your limit, and push you far past it.