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Teru Mikami lived to serve his god.
His favorite position was on his knees, chin tilted up to bare his throat, naked and vulnerable for Kira to wrap his fingers around his neck and squeeze. He wore his devotion for his god like a collar, two sizes too tight, digging into his skin and pressing up against his jugular at just the right angle.
He liked when it left bruises, mottled with purple and red spots that littered his skin, evidence of his unconditional devotion to his god. Kira would press down on the welts with his fingertips, and Mikami would moan under his touch, muscles relaxed in a pliant and malleable rhythm, songlike in the way that he matched each beat of Kira’s motions, how he fell forward and leaned into his grip like a desperate, starved thing.
Light revered the way Mikami offered himself up to him, raw meat dripping blood on an otherwise sterile altar, like an oblation to the most nasty and wicked deity. Mikami worshipped him, skin and bones. He’d cut out his own heart and stuff it down his throat if Light so much as suggested it. And Mikami was the perfect follower, obedient and intelligent. Light knew he could count on him.
It wasn’t enough that Mikami just worshipped him—Light had more than enough followers who were ready to lay down their lives for him. But Mikami was different, in the sense that he almost shared a mind with Kira. He knew what Kira wanted before Light had the chance to even send him the message.
Mikami was the perfect disciple. And he responded so well to Light’s praise.
When Light tugged at the leash around Mikami’s neck, his ears pricked up at the faint sound of the man being strangled by his own adoration for Kira. He’d mark Mikami up, his palm striking down on alabaster skin, watching as it bloomed opalescent, and taut muscles relaxing under his beatings like an infant being cradled by its mother. Mikami was only thankful that Kira was touching him, skin to skin, with nothing in between.
And it was an extra treat that his face looked so pretty when it donned bruises in the shape of Light’s palm. A symbol of Kira’s influence. A reminder of humanity’s weakness.
But while God’s brutality was a welcomed gift to Mikami, his praise was a luxury in its own scarcity. He’d pet down the dark strands on Mikami’s head, gentle and warm as he thrusted into his open mouth. Wet, choking sounds reverberated throughout the room, emanating from the abuse that Kira allowed Mikami to endure.
He allowed Mikami to touch him, to give him pleasure. No one else could see Kira so vulnerable, naked and unashamed. Fragile flesh burrowed in between sharp, ivory teeth. Saliva pooled at the back of Mikami’s throat, and Kira would ruin his mouth until the spit was drooling from both corners of his lips. He’d pull out at the last moment and release all over Mikami’s face and his glasses, strings of white cum spilling over his lenses and obscuring his vision.
God showed his trust to Mikami in ways that only the two of them would understand.
When Mikami did a particularly good job, Kira would sometimes reward him with his voice—mellow, lulling, hypnotizing.
“You did good today,” he’d tell him, as he forced Mikami’s face into the bedsheets, suffocating him. “You listened to me so well.”
He filled him up from behind, fucking into him with a violent force, yet tender in its own way with how he curled Mikami’s hair around his fingers and tugged, pulling him up from the bed, lips pressed close to his ear as he let his disciple indulge in a filthy moan—just this once.
His god’s voice was a deadpan when he spoke, yet the contents of the words themselves were filled with a praise that Mikami felt was reserved for only him. After all, Kira was his god. Who else was as devoted, as useful, as indispensable as Mikami? No one. No one could even attempt the feats that Mikami preformed on a daily basis. He served his god endlessly, discarding evil in favor of building the perfect world under Kira’s reign.
Kira would use Mikami’s throat as a handlebar, an anchor as he entered him repeatedly, fingernails searching for a vein to rupture, to paint his skin with the color maroon. Mikami would cut himself open just to keep Kira warm, let his blood spill from his arteries until he was poised right on the edge of passing out. Glorious and defenseless.
His god would hook his fingers into Mikami’s mouth as he pounded into him from behind with such a force that his glasses would become askew, falling off his face and onto the bed, lost in the sheets that he gripped with whitened knuckles. Then—as though that was what Kira was waiting for all along—he’d remove his fingers from Mikami’s mouth and cover his eyes with both hands, increasing his pace and fucking the breath out of his lungs.
“God, oh God… Oh, my god,” Mikami would chant, prayers in their own form. It was a ritual with the way Kira stretched him open, carved him up from the inside, forced his body to accommodate to his flesh. Mikami was so willing, so desperate, so beautifully pathetic.
“That’s right. I’m your god,” Light would say, a smile in his voice, something sinister and despicable. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, Mikami?”
“Yes, God– anything– anything you want,” Mikami choked out.
“You’re very fortunate to be in the position that you’re in. Do you understand how lucky you are to be serving me?”
Mikami nodded, as best as he could with Light’s hands wrapped around his face. “I do. Thank you, God. You’re all that matters, the only one I see, the one who I devote my life to. I kill for you, and yet I’d die for you all the same.”
He stuttered as he spoke, words choppy and voice breathless, his body depraved of air and of sight, life-force slowly dripping out from the wounds in his neck. A pretty picture, divine and depraved. Mikami’s love for Light was a disease that killed him slowly.
“Good. You’re very good, Mikami.”
A moan, forced out from the back of Mikami’s throat, as he said, “Oh, thank you, thank you. My god, my one and only god.”
Mikami’s name sounded melodic on Kira’s tongue, syllables shaped into birdsong by his perfect lips. Mikami was endlessly grateful to be able to hear it. Not many could say that they knew the sound of their god’s voice, let alone hear their name be woven by the threads of their god’s vocal chords.
Not only that, but Mikami knew what it felt like to have his god buried deep inside him, to feel him empty himself and warm Mikami’s viscera, filling him to the brim with his cum. Mikami was built to take God’s praise, as equally as he was built to take God’s wrath. He felt lucky even under God’s cruel hand, the one that forced him down on the floor, naked, a blank canvas ready to be dyed red.
“I’m disappointed in you, Mikami,” Kira would say during those days. “You’re killing those who have already served their sentences and paid their debts to society. That is not what Kira stands for. I shouldn’t have to remind you of the rules—these are things that you should already know.”
“I’m sorry,” Mikami spoke, breathy, a whimper hidden beneath his words.
His eyes fluttered shut, ready for the first blow, and Kira rewarded him deliciously. A sharp pain landed on his cheek as Kira slapped him in the face, and Mikami moaned, a pitiful sob laced with want and need.
“Hurt me,” Mikami pled. “I deserve it. Cut me open. Make me bleed. Please, God. Show me your wrath.”
“Why should I? I can see that you like it. What difference does it make if I’m just rewarding you with the pain that you desperately seek?”
Mikami bowed his head in wordless submission. “You’re right. Please punish me however you see fit.”
Light’s favorite punishment was stripping Mikami down and tying him to the bed. He preferred to stay fully clothed as he tightened Mikami’s bonds. He’d run his fingertips over his skin, featherlight, observe the way Mikami trembled beneath his touch. His abdomen became concave with each shuddering breath, his chest heaving up and down as he stared up at him with dark, slitted eyes and an aching gaze. With lips parted, letting out soft, trembling pants. Light would remove his tie and use it to blindfold Mikami, and only then would he rid himself of his clothes. Mikami was not allowed to see him naked—not during penance.
He’d stretch himself open with his slender fingers, letting out soft moans every now and then for Mikami to hear. Just a taste of what was to come, teasing him with quiet mewls and the nearly silent sound of Light fingering himself. Mikami would whine, wrists pulling and biceps flexing against his restraints, and Light would slap him across the face for his impatience.
Light knew that the ultimate punishment for Mikami was to render him unable to touch or see his god. Light would dictate every single one of Mikami’s movements, line up his cock, hard and stiff against his entrance, and sink down on it slowly, excruciatingly slow.
“Do you feel that? Feel how tight I am?” Light would whisper, his soft pants ghosting over Mikami’s lips. Mikami would nod eagerly, and Light would say, “Use your words. I want you to tell me what you’re feeling.”
“I feel you. I feel all of you,” Mikami breathed out. “You’re so warm. You feel so good. My god, I am unworthy of you.”
Light nodded. “That’s right, you are.”
Deprived of the sense of sight, and unable to touch Kira with his hands, Mikami could only feel him through the sensation in his cock and the weight of his god sitting on his lap. Kira would rock his hips in a circle, grinding in slow motion, reducing Mikami to what was essentially an object for sexual pleasure. How fortunate he was, to be able to satisfy his god in such a way. Mikami was only one human picked out of thousands of Kira’s followers just to be used by God himself. For that reason alone, he was special.
“It’s a good thing you have such a nice dick,” Light said. “And you’re handsome, too. Makes it that much easier for me to fuck myself on your cock, since I have this nice view to look at. Pretty little thing. All mine. You’d be wasted on anybody else.”
Mikami whined at his words, bucked his hips up instinctively, feeling Kira clench around him. Kira reached behind himself and pressed his hands down on Mikami’s thighs, effectively pinning him to the bed.
“Stay still,” he said. “Do you want me to let you come?”
Mikami nodded.
“Then you just sit there and you take it.”
Another nod, eager and frantic. “Thank you, thank you. You’re so good to me, even when I don’t deserve it. You’re such a generous god.”
Light took his time riding Mikami, listening intently to the sobs and moans that the man beneath him tried hard to stifle. He really was beautiful—an elegant figure that directly contrasted with how strong he truly was. He was lithe with fair skin, his black hair framed his face as well as those glasses he wore. Mikami stood out in a crowd, not for any specific peculiarity, but for the exact opposite—his mundane beauty. There wasn’t anything particularly unusual about him, and that was exactly what made him so perfect. He held a casual allure, with simple flesh that hugged a skeletal structure. Ordinarily gorgeous. Almost like a model.
Light moaned as he impaled himself on Mikami’s cock, placed his palms over his chest, warm and sturdy, just to anchor himself. He lifted his hips up and down, relishing in the burn he felt from the stretch that Mikami provided him. The lewd sounds that left Light’s mouth were nothing more than a calculated method of riling Mikami up.
Mikami himself was not only loud during sex, but he was expressive, too. Even with the blindfold, Light could infer what he was thinking and feeling just from each subtle movement in his face. Worrying his lip between his teeth with furrowed eyebrows and tense shoulders meant that Mikami was trying not to react. Parted lips, a flushed face, and a bowed head meant that Mikami had begun the first stages of releasing self-control, heading closer toward the eventual complete demise of his inhibitions. Light looked forward to seeing Mikami lose himself in his god’s touch.
Then, the repeated clenching and unclenching of his fists, which usually demonstrated Mikami’s desire for something more.
“Do you want me to cut you up?” Light asked, and Mikami nearly broke down and keened just from the suggestion.
It took a moment for him to collect himself, catching his breath before he responded.
“…My god, I want for nothing.”
“I’m asking you a question,” Light spoke sternly. “I expect that you answer me with honesty.”
A shuddering inhale. More clenching of the fists, fingernails digging into his own palms.
“I… I’m sorry– Yes. Yes, please. Please, make me bleed.”
“That’s it,” he cooed. “You’re charming when you beg.”
It was an offhanded comment, but Mikami whined at the praise. Light grabbed the razor blade in one hand and used his other hand to map the planes of Mikami’s abdomen, caressing his chest, fondling the nipples that perked up at his touch. His palm stopped right above Mikami’s heart, beating unnaturally fast, and Light’s mouth nearly watered at the promise of the blood that flowed just underneath the barrier of his skin—pale and elastic, smooth with a few faint scars left behind from their past encounters.
He replaced his hand with the edge of the razor blade, scratching lightly at Mikami’s collarbones and back over to his nipples. He didn’t press down hard enough to draw blood, but Mikami still gasped and twitched at the sharp sting of the cold metal felt against the sensitive buds.
“Where do you want me?” Light murmured, although the question was merely an illusion of choice. Light didn’t care what Mikami said—he’d mark him up wherever he desired.
“Anywhere,” Mikami begged. “Everywhere.”
Light nodded, pleased.
“Good. That’s a good answer.”
Mikami was distantly aware of the fact that he was still buried deep inside of his formidable god. That feeling strayed further and further away from his conscience when Kira chose the first spot where he would leave his mark. Now, all Mikami could focus on was the way the blade dug into his skin. Kira always went slow, making sure that Mikami felt every motion, the way his skin separated, opening itself up for the foreign object that invaded the epidermis. The blood beaded out from the initial cut, as Kira sliced him further, starting beneath his ribs and following the line down until he reached just above his hipbone. Mikami let out a shaky exhalation as his skin was breached, warm blood trickling down his left side, pooling in the dip of his Adonis belt.
Light leaned over, incidentally grinding down further onto Mikami’s cock, and licked along the cut he had just gifted him, soaking up the blood with his tongue, rolling the flavor around his tastebuds. Mikami’s thighs shook, his breath hitched, and Light tongued his wound further, tracing as much as he could reach in the position he was in, opening up the slit into something wide and obscene. He moaned against Mikami’s skin, sending vibrations throughout his system, before he rose back up to watch Mikami’s flushed face and heaving chest, feel the way his cock twitched inside of him, pre-cum leaking from his tip and soaking Light’s inner walls.
“Oh…” Mikami gasped. “Oh, God. Feels so… so good.”
Razor-sharp metal against taut skin, Light crept the blade higher up toward Mikami’s chest, slicing him open like a gift package. Quivering muscles shaped the stream of blood like stones in a river, a picturesque view of nature. He cut directly down the middle of his sternum, lacerations reminiscent of an autopsy incision. He divided Mikami’s lungs in two, as though he was already dead, a corpse laid out still and bare for his benevolent god to pick apart.
The silver blade was now tainted with Mikami’s blood, as well as Light’s hand, leaving red fingerprints along his naked torso as he spread the viscous liquid all over his skin, slippery and warm. He brought his fingers up to Mikami’s mouth, spread the blood over his lips like milk and honey. He leaned forward and pushed his fingers past Mikami’s teeth, then licked into his mouth as he simultaneously finger-fucked the wet opening. The kiss was messy and brutal, Light’s middle and forefinger was the buffer between their lips, and Mikami was leaning forward desperately, choking on the appendages in his fruitless attempt to get closer to his god.
“Taste yourself,” Kira spoke, his voice echoing all throughout the room, “and be grateful that you live in my world. This blood of yours belongs to me. Your life, belongs to me. Every fabric of your being, every breath you take, every movement you choose to make, all of it is mine.”
“Yours,” Mikami responded once Light had removed his fingers from his mouth. “My life is yours. My will is yours. My god, my one and only. I live to serve you.”
Light nodded, caressed Mikami’s jaw with his fingertips for a brief moment, before pulling away from him completely.
“Beautiful,” he muttered absentmindedly as he stared down at Mikami’s naked body, stained with his own blood. “I’m glad I chose you.”
Mikami blushed at the compliment, and the reaction was unorthodox, strangely chaste, considering their present situation.
Light carved Mikami up just the way he liked it, and each wound was a sigil that sealed Mikami’s fate, symbolized his fidelity and subservience to his almighty god, Kira. Soon enough, it was hard to tell where the cuts started and where they ended, blood smeared all across his chest and torso like he had bathed in a red stream.
Light’s cock was pressed up stiff and leaking against his own abdomen, and he leaned forward to grind it against Mikami, slathering it in his ichor. He let the head of his dick trace one of the gashes he made on his lower belly, the folds of the slit gently caressing his flesh, warm and slick, blood gushing out faster with the outside interference.
Mikami gasped, twitching, feeling the sting of the cuts run deep within his bones. Heat spread throughout his body and rivulets of sweat rolled down his neck. Sharp, biting pain was planted in the stigmata Kira created, and the roots of his agony grew inside Mikami’s muscles, his organs, wove in between his rib cage, and cradled his heart.
Light fisted his cock with his blood soaked hand, groaning softly at the slippery feeling, the wet friction that he’d denied himself thus far. When he decided he was fully lubricated, Light gently lifted himself up off of Mikami’s cock, ignoring the way he whined from the loss of sensation, and spread Mikami’s legs apart to gain access to his hole. The head of his cock kissed the rim, tight and fluttering underneath Light’s touch.
Mikami’s god opened him up, slow and raw. He couldn’t help but tense up beneath him, unprepared for the sudden intrusion, whimpering at the sharp pain he felt between his legs. Kira stroked his thighs up and down with warm hands, shushing him softly.
“Settle down,” he said. “It’ll feel better if you relax.”
Kira fucked into Mikami agonizingly slow, his cock dragging in and out of his hole at a leisurely pace, as though he was trying to draw out the pain for as long as possible. Mikami could feel every inch of his god inside of him, spearing him apart, and he cried out when he finally quickened his pace. There was no build up—Kira went from deep, unhurried strokes to fast, demanding thrusts. He was rewriting the blueprint of Mikami’s body from the inside out, etching his name into the walls of his flesh.
Mikami couldn’t stop the noises he was making, broken cries and shouts, mumbling, oh God, oh my god, over and over like an incantation. Light’s tie was slipping off of Mikami’s face but he let it happen, delighted in the way he could now see his glassy eyes, tears streaming down his face, cheeks flushed rosy pink—and what a pretty sight that was. Mikami’s cock lay stiff and neglected against his navel, and Light pressed down hard on it with his hand. He let Mikami grind himself on his palm, finding it endearing how expressive he was, how badly he needed release.
“There you go,” Light hummed. “Keep going, just like that until you come.”
Mikami bucked his hips up faster, sloppier, always so eager and encouraged by his god’s praise. He came first, ropes of white spurting out over his chest, spilling onto the blood soaked skin of his abdomen. Light reached out to smear the two fluids together with his fingers. He brought those fingers back up to Mikami’s lips, coaxing them to open up, slipping the digits inside past the clenched barrier of his teeth.
“Suck,” he said.
Mikami obeyed.
He licked and sucked, moaning around his fingers as Light continued his pace, fucking Mikami harder and faster to chase his own zenith. He took his fingers out of his mouth and placed both hands on either side of Mikami’s hips to pull his body down with each thrust, listening intently to the way Mikami cried and screamed out from the high sensitivity. He laid there and he took it—he was good like that, perfectly willing to endure everything Kira had to give him. Pretty like a doll, yet easily maneuvered like a toy.
When Mikami’s god came inside of him, it was always so very quiet. He’d grit his teeth, possibly biting his own tongue, grunts and moans trapped inside an unwilling throat as he spent himself inside of Mikami. Still, Mikami basked in the rare moments that he did get to hear a soft gasp, or watch the way Kira held his mouth open and closed his eyes shut tightly as he buried himself in as deep as he could go, like he just couldn’t help himself. Mikami did that. He made a god—his god—feel so good that he became unraveled inside of his guts.
Kira stayed inside for a brief moment before pulling out slowly, watching as blood and cum spilled out of Mikami and onto the bedsheets. A sinful combination, red mixed with white, to create a color much like the blush on Mikami’s cheeks. He was exhausted, blissed out, and already anticipating their next encounter. When Light leaned over, he wiped a tear on Mikami’s face with his thumb—uncharacteristically gentle given what they had just done—before he left to go wash himself off.