Dedicated to: Kaitlyn and Margaret -- two people I'll always treasure. (And to Hannah because I love her.)
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Mello/Matt
Fandom: Death Note
Warnings: Sexual innuendo, sexual situations (non-explicit), some language.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, Matt, Mello, or anybody else mentioned in this fic. I don't even own the plot (mostly). I just like to exploit characters in my own twisted world, then tie them up and stash them in my closet. Chu.~ 3
With You (Romance Is As Simple As Un, Deux, Trois)
Un -
Love was merely a fancier word
for the despicable lust
that threw him into this world
of misery and malice.
(Funny, that letter M.)
~
"Can I sit with you?"
Matt's head jerked up so fast he could have sworn he felt whiplash, rusty-colored hair flashing through the air (ahh, whoever knew he was a poet?), and he stared at the divinity (for surely no human person would ever acknowledge this worthless existence he had? - save perhaps that pedophilic maniac, Roger) before him, his own shocked black eyes meeting friendly brown. Numbly, Matt nodded and when he looked back down at the cheap video game in his hands, he found that they were shaking.
This isn't happening, his mind laughed at him. This isn't real and it's a dream and you need to open your eyes and come back to this miserable, warped world because whatever fantasy you're conjuring up is - but his mind switched tangent at lightning speed and kept running.
Nobody ever talks to you. Nobody sees you, nobody cares about you, not one person in this Wammy's Orphanage place cares after three weeks, five days, seventeen hours, and --
Matt was relatively unsurprised to learn that the small sound effects emitting from his game couldn't distract him from the low purr of content in the other's throat, and the entirely uninhibited pose the other, older boy exhibited as he sat down next to Matt, legs spread open wide. Somehow, Matt had the feeling that the blush he felt painting his cheeks had nothing to do with the fact that he was outside, sitting on crackly brown grass in midsummer, wearing a sweater and heavy black pants.
"What game are you playing?" the boy continued in a entirely friendly manner, seeming genuinely interested as he cocked his head to the side, allowing honeyed hair to spill carelessly over his shoulder. (In fact, Matt was more surprised by the intensity of the boy's eyes on his face as they demanded an answer.)
"I-I..soccer," Matt answered after a minute, voice low and stuttering as he dared to raise his eyes to meet the other's; however, instead of giving Matt that "Shit, there's something wrong with this kid" look that he was so pathetically accustomed to and all but expected - they were outside, after all, and some boys not far away had organized the very same game - the other boy merely laughed.
"You're really funny," he told Matt, and Matt found that the boy's radiant smile was contagious.
---
Deux -
Love was a simple arrangement of humans
for the betterment of the gods.
(Of course, nobody took into consideration
that perhaps
humans are meant for other things.)
~
(Snap.)
Matt enjoyed the cracking sound the unlucky chocolate bars made as he snapped them into pieces, breaking the individual little squares apart and stacking them into compulsively organized rows on the tabletop in front of him. The pink tip of his tongue stuck out between his wretched, misshapen teeth as he worked, slightly frowning in concentration.
(Snap. Snap snap.)
"Why are you breaking that into pieces?"
Matt nearly had a heart attack - then something even worse happened: as he spun in his chair, his careless hand hit the neat stacks of chocolate and sent them into an unorganized, messy rubble heap. He gave a regretful sigh as he scrutinized the pile with the agony of an OCD person, not noticing the half-bar of chocolate that had dropped from his pale fingers to the floor until the honeyed-hair boy gently curled Matt's hand about it.
"What is this stuff anyway?" the boy asked, eyes the same color as their objective shining curiously; Matt stared in disbelief, but his lips glued themselves shut and his cheeks flared once again, and so the boy's question remained unanswered. However, the boy - by now, realizing that Matt wasn't very talkative - simply went about another method.
"Cho..co..late?" he read out slowly from the wrapper in Matt's hand. "Chocolate? Oh, I've heard of this. Can I try some?" And without waiting for Matt's jerky nod, he brought the redhead's hand to his soft pink lips (Matt's eyes couldn't help but follow), bit off a small tidbit of the chocolate, and grinned in amazement, moaning his appreciation. "By the way," he added, mouth brown and sticky. "I'm Mello."
Matt smiled. "Mello...l-like a marshmallow?" he said softly, hardly believing he had. Mello grinned.
"Sure. Just like a marshmallow."
---
Trois -
Love was how not to ask
the simplest of questions
but know instinctively.
(Because that is your nature
as a lover.)
~
Left, right, x, circlesquaretriangle in quick succession, a rapid fire of R2-R1 and--
"I'm going to beat this fucking game," Matt muttered under his breath, quietly, hunching against the bed so that the words were barely in hearing range, but manga-reading Mello (spread thinly on the bed like butter) knew that the comment was meant for him, and so he looked down and at the redhead's pinched, determined face and had to giggle.
"You're so cute when you get pissed off like that," Mello remarked casually, but the pale hand with the short, jagged, black-painted fingernails that slid slowly, slowly down Matt's shoulder and chest until it reached a most sensitive nipple, suggested something a bit more sensual; Matt squeaked, and once again, the annoying tinkly defeat music sounded from the gameboy.
"Maybe I should take a break," came Matt's voice from somewhere below all that red-colored mop, "and amuse myself otherwise. Hmm?" The gameboy dropped to the floor, and a bold glove-covered hand quietly pulled down the invading one until the even-quieter sounds of unzipping could be heard.
Mello prided himself on being able to make Matt moan quite so loudly.
"You're really bad at this, you know that?" Mello remarked matter-of-factly, with a giggle hidden just behind his words, as he withdrew his hand and returned to his manga, as after a few minutes Matt wordlessly held out the video game towards him with a pleading look.
---
Quatre -
Love was knowing that you have to let go
and yet
wondering if there was a chance
(to start over and, this time,
be truthful.)
~
Matt never liked it when Mello avoided his eyes (and stared at the floor) because usually it meant something really, really bad. And so he silently panicked as he stood facing thin, gawky Mello in the dark, deserted, blandly-decorated hallway, and only half-wished that Mello would speak; the other half wished that Mello would never open his mouth, would go back into his room, and abandon that suitcase he kept banging against his thin scabby knees.
"L's dead," began Mello (to the floor in a very quiet voice), and Matt wondered whether Mello or Near had been chosen; secretly, he rooted for Near, so that Mello would never leave him (but only ever because he was used to having Mello around - he refused to believe in attachment).
"Roger said both Near and I should replace him," continued Mello (his voice getting quieter), and Matt felt a little confused, because why then was Mello standing with him, when he could be with his precious rival Near? (But Matt refused to think like that, and pushed his jealous feelings into oblivion for now.)
"I'm running away," concluded Mello (his voice all but silent now), and Matt said nothing (and quietly decided to follow).
---
Cinq -
Love was the butterflies in Matt's stomach
as he checked the Caller I.D. on his phone
and realized that it was Mello.
(Like fucking pygmies
doing acrobatics.)
~
The first impression that Matt had was that Mello was not a little kid anymore.
Having deserted the bright pastel-y colors of his youth, the black skin-tight fabric clung to Mello's body like a glove, fitting exactly the right regions on his ever-slim body. He seemed to favor uninhibited clothing - as he always had - and the boldness in his posture gave a great air of dignity, elegance, and confidence. He was taller, thinner, and gave a more overall impression of power - or maybe it was just the deep "Fuck off" look in his eyes that seemed to do that.
There were obvious changes: scarring that finally cast off the youthful, girlish look that had always seemed to haunt Mello; shaggy, unkempt hair that suggested secrecy, law-breaking, and danger. Matt's experienced eyes, however, were drawn instead to the more subtle hardness about Mello's darkened eyes and mouth, and the tired slump in Mello's shoulders that begged for a break from the harsh reality of their world.
The first thing that popped out of Matt's mouth happened to be, "I beat the soccer game."
Mello laughed hoarsely, as if for the first time in months. "About fucking time."
And it was just the same as it was before.
Mello...like a marshmallow?
Sure. Just like a marshmallow.
---
Six -
Love was the adrenaline pumping
through Matt's system,
leaving him breathless and aroused
(as Mello's experienced mouth worked over
all the right places of his body.)
~
The highlight of Matt's overly long, overly difficult, overly secretive, overly boring days were in the evenings, when Mello finally retired from guard duty on that suspiciously cute little girl (for Matt refused to call that blonde slut by her name) and returned to their shared hotel room. He loved pretending not to notice Mello's arrival, pretending absorption into whatever stupid fucking video game he was playing on his precious gameboy, until Mello got tired of calling his name (the time shortened every day) and moved to surprise him in a most ticklishly pleasant way.
Matt loved that Mello's grin always appeared at the "thunk" that signalled the gameboy's daily engagement with the floor because Matt's hands were suddenly much more deliciously occupied. Matt also loved the purrrr that would sound from Mello's throat in greeting, acceptance, and anticipation for the hot, hot sex that always followed.
Sometimes they never made it to the bed that was so disproportionally large to their tiny, pale, furiously intertwining bodies. Sometimes they traveled to the kitchen counters, the sofa cushions, and even once the beautiful bay window that offered a splendid view to them and an even better one to onlookers. Matt had to admit that the monstrous price they paid nightly was fair on account of the soft plush plum-colored carpet that never quite managed to hide all of their stains.
It greatly amused Matt that the staff never wondered.
---
Terminaison -
Love was what he felt for Mello,
and what rested in Mello's heart
for him.
(Case closed.)
Matt smiled.