Prompt: Death Note, Mikami/Light: Hero worship - I'll do anything you say.
Word count: 1807
Summary: My purpose is always clear, even when control is lost.
A/N: I had so much fun writing this, so I hope it is enjoyed. The style is rather different to what I usually write, so concrit would be very welcome.
I was early. I made sure that I was, partly because I would hate to waste your time and partly - selfishly - so that I would see you like this, the light from the corridor framing you in the doorway like the god you are, perfect as you are. I wonder if the lighting in here is too dim, but you don't seem to be bothered by it. You walk towards me, and I draw a slow, deep breath to stop my nervous gasp. Being in your presence is breathtaking. There is a panicking in the back of my mind that asks me what would happen if somebody learnt of our meeting, if it was me responsible for giving the world your secret. It is calmed by my rational mind. Of course, you have thought of things like this, and there is no need for me to worry. It is not, after all, my job to worry.
You're very close to me, and then your hand is on my arm. This time I do gasp. I can't help it. I meet your eyes as well as I can with our close proximity. It's hard to focus. My eyes fall to your lips, and for a moment I have an almost overwhelming urge to kiss you. I must have leant forwards, if only a little, because my lips are pressed against yours. I can feel your smile against my mouth, and the only way I can pull myself away from you is by lifting my hand to press against your chest. Even through your jacket and shirt, I can tell you are well-muscled, and I'm gasping again. Your lips are on mine again, smiling still, and I'm certain it wasn't me that time. Your tongue brushes my lower lip, and the room seems far warmer than it did just minutes before. I hear you murmur, and I don't know what you said. I push myself away to look at you, to ask you without words what it was. I don't feel as if I should speak, as if the sound of my voice might break us apart, and I have never wanted anything less.
You don't say a word either, though I know you understood me. You kiss me, and my hand is on your cheek before I know it. I hesitate, just for a moment, and you kiss me harder. I cling to you like I have done to nobody else for as long as I can remember, my hand fisted tightly into the fabric of your jacket. My knuckles are pressed against the zip when you pull me closer. I think it should hurt, but it doesn't register. I realise instead that my hand is still at your cheek, skin soft under my fingertips. I follow your cheekbone to your hair, and I am lost in it immediately. My fingers tangle in it, and I hope it doesn't hurt you. I'm breathless, but you seem so relaxed. You're so at ease while I can barely think.
You pull away slowly, and still I stumble slightly. You aren't looking at me. You aren't even facing my direction, but I'm so very conscious of my imperfections. I am so very conscious of what you are and what I am not. I wonder why you met me here, briefly, before I feel your chest pressed against my back, and I turn without thinking just enough to put my lips to your jaw. I think you're smiling again. Your smile is subtle and knowing, a perfect expression of you yourself. It seems a rare occurrence, and I am honoured to have been graced by it. I don't know if there were words in the outward breath that brushed my cheek. I don't think so, but there is a sense of guilt that I am not certain. I try to pull away, but you keep me here, tight against your chest holding the hands that want so much to reach up, to touch your skin, your hair, prisoners at our sides.
I don't know what to do, what I am supposed to be doing. I draw in a shaky breath when you release my arms. When you pull aside my hair to brush your lips along my neck, I fear I am not breathing at all. I wonder then what you are thinking, as if I might understand it. I wonder how my hair feels in your hand, or how my skin feels beneath your lips. I wonder what you think about my body so close to yours, and whether your drifting thoughts are as heated as my own. There is a desperate want that seems to glide along my skin, as much as I try to oppress or deny it.
I'm suddenly dizzy, as if the world is spinning, before I realise that it was, and you have caught me between yourself and the wall. Your lips are at mine for barely a second, and I seek them automatically when they leave me. I'm fighting against myself. I want to plead with you, but I want so much not to speak, and the product is a sigh that has some trace of my voice in it. You answer with a step back, and if I had any rationality left before this, it has now completely disappeared. I can't help myself, or maybe I simply have no will to. I have only the will to touch your skin, to feel it beneath my fingers and for you to feel the way I do without so much as your hands over me.
Your jacket finds the floor before I truly realise that I have moved. My desire to be close to you, much as I have tried to ignore it - it isn't just or becoming - has rushed forward in its most physical form, and while I can chide myself mentally, the discipline does not manage to reach my hands. They're at your chest, a finger occasionally sweeping between the buttons of your shirt, catching, my fingertips pressed to the heat of your skin. They still when I feel beneath them your heartbeat. It of course isn't unexpected, but it seems so amazing that your heart beats just as my own, and yet there is such a difference between us.
The moment of stillness is broken by your step backwards. Without thinking I reach and pull you back to me. Forceful and selfish is so unlike me, or I hope it is, when it comes to you and what I must do for you, nay what I want to do for you, but here I am, pulling you close to me and kissing you with more passion than I have for a long time, as if I would become one with you, starting with my mouth. My hands are on your chest again, and my fingers more consciously slip between the buttons of your shirt. One button slips loose, and my hand slides over your skin before I can stop it. I am so lost in what is beneath my fingertips that it is only when I am pushing your shirt from your shoulders to pool upon the floor that I realise that the hand that I had believed to be idle has undone the remaining buttons.
I force myself to pause. It would be unjust not to step back from you and look at what I have exposed. Your body is as beautiful as I would have expected, more beautiful even. The dim light throws every contour into perfect relief, and it is all I can do to take a breath and keep my hands from their desires. It is yet more difficult when you step towards me. Your hand is outstretched, and you take my own to pull me against you. I think my heart is thrumming twice as fast as yours. I draw a deep breath and another, and then I am kissing your neck, breathing in the smell of soap and skin. The way you hold me is perfect. I am pressed so firmly to your chest until you loosen your hold just enough for me to continue kissing down. I don't want miss an inch of your skin. You look so peaceful and at ease with your eyes closed like that, although your breath is coming quicker.
I don't know whether the sweat is from my hands or your skin, but it makes touching you even more intoxicating. I'm on my knees before you, but my hands do not leave their paths dancing over your waist. All I can do is stare up at you. I can feel heat on my face and I don't know if it is my skin flushing or the heat from yours. My mind is spinning and I lean against you before I fall to the floor. You're hard against my cheek and I am no more steady. I look up at you again, and the guilt that the lust I feel produces is quickly drowned by it. There is such want coursing through me. My breath is more ragged that I would like to admit and I hope, as I turn my head and my mouth is upon you, with what is left of my mind that you will not push me away.
Your smile is there again, so comfortable and easy, and your hands find mine and begin to ease me up towards you again. I linger where I am, not keen to bring myself back to your level, but I stand as you have wordlessly instructed me to. I take a deep breath and calm myself, and my mind is once again mine, to an extent at least. I can feel my lust for you resting just beneath my skin, as if at any moment the need may rise to touch you again, feel you, taste you.
I am close enough to you that with my previous actions I am surprised at the composure I manage to keep until the room spins once more and the table I had been sitting at before you arrived becomes my bed. I lay upon it as you placed me and ignore the stab of embarrassment that tells me to turn my face from yours so that you might not see the lust in my eyes. You are looking at me, and I will do nothing but keep the contact you have made. My body shows my lust whatever else I may do to hide it. I have never felt such desire as I feel for you now, and with it comes something that I had thought, but never truly understood until now. I will do whatever you say, and those things that you don't need to say. Anything for you.
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