One has to appreciate that after a long night working with the collection of fuckers that is the Mafia, a drink or two to alleviate the mind may just be in order. Just a little something to clear the slate and prepare for a fitful eight hours of sleep to prepare you for the hell storm that will be tomorrow.

What one doesn't have to appreciate as much is when those one or two drinks escalate to five or six… or ten. Unless, of course, you're a closet homosexual with the sexiest best friend alive like me. In that case, you better fucking appreciate it, 'cause a chance like that doesn't come around every time you snap your fingers.

So, as that generic closet homosexual with an extremely inebriated, completely fuckable, tight leather-clad blonde on my hands, I was thanking the heavens.

Mello didn't drink too much, unless of course something stressful was going on, like trying to track down a mass-murder with a supernatural weapon. In that case, he drinks like your average Irish drunkard. I compliantly paid glass after glass of whiskey, until the blonde was so drunk off his fine ass that he actually managed to drop his chocolate bar down the sewer as he stumbled down the street.

I latched onto his arm. "Fuck it, Mel, you're not gettin' that back any time soon."

"BUT I WANT IT, FUCKTARD," Mello screamed nearly incoherently into the damp night as I dragged him in the opposite direction of the bar and toward the apartment we shared in downtown Los Angeles. I rolled my eyes, straining under the effort.

"And I want your ass, but that's not gonna happen when you're sober, now is it?" I mumbled under my breath sarcastically as we approached our door. I drew the keys from my vest pocket and unlocked the door with one hand as I held the drunken blonde in a choke hold with the other.

Mello struggled awkwardly, trying his very best to extract himself from my grip. "No you don't," I grunted and picked him up over my shoulder when he tried to bite my leg. "You're a fucking animal." I kicked the door closed behind us and carried him through the apartment kicking and screaming.

I finally managed to throw him down on his bed, still spitting as many obscenities he could think of at me. "You better let me the fuck go right now or I swear I will pour acid on your X-Box, boner-biting fuckface!"

Okay, I admit it, I wasn't quite what you'd call sober. But I was lucid enough to know what was going on, and to know that I'd remember whatever possibly regrettable things I may or may not have planned to do to my best friend that night. So, me and my tipsy ass discarded by near-spent cigarette and crawled over him, straddling his legs to keep him from kicking me in the crotch—I might be needing that. I slammed his arms down on the bed, holding them firmly by his elbow.

And that's when the whiskey started floating to his head.

"Hey, y'know, Mattle, I might actually like this," I froze. "That is, if I were gay."

The look on my face was similar to one you might receive from a twelve-year-old if you told them to take apart a space shuttle and put it back together again. That "what the fuck" expression was all over my beet-red freckled face.

"That's right. If I were gay, I'd totally fuck your ass," Mello bragged, even though he was still pinned beneath me. I outright laughed in his face. "Nah, nah, hear me out," He said, trying to wiggle to a sitting position. I sat back on my haunches and watched as he did so. "Yeah, just, my dick, up your ass," He moaned, and I could feel it in places my late mother would be ashamed to know.

"How romantic," I raised an eyebrow and scowled in Mello's general direction, trying to keep up my façade. I hoped he wouldn't be able to remember anything in the morning. Hell, he'd emptied a whole bottle of whiskey—he better not remember.

Mello tilted his head cutely, running his tongue around his alcohol-tainted mouth. I bit back another moan. "Nah, bro. I think we could be romantic. Y'know, the whole dinner and a movie thing. Maybe candlelit, too! Long walks on the beaches at sunsets—the cheesy stuff I know you love."

Well, I had been staring at his icy blue eyes I knew so well, but when he turned them on me, I almost couldn't stand the lust building up behind those irises. I crawled closer until I was practically in his lap. "You think so?" I murmured huskily in his ear. From our close proximity, I could feel a shiver run down his spine, as well as smell the whiskey contaminated chocolate on his breath. One of my hands slipped over the waistband of his leather pants, loosening the laces down the front.

I watched his chin jerk to the ceiling blissfully before those steamy eyes set on me again. "Of course, that's if I were gay. Get your cold-ass hand out of my pants," he slurred.

Okay, I jumped. I retrieved my hand in record time, flush returning immediately to my face. Mello just laughed at me. "Oh, it's okaaaaay," he drawled. "Maybe some other time."

That caught my attention. Damn it, Mello! I tried to sort through all of these mixed signals, but I'd drown long before I ever parted that sea. Before I could realize what he was doing, Mello pushed me with impressive strength back against the bed. He sat on me—right over my groin, I might add—and placed two gentle hands on my shoulders. He leaned down. "But I'll be right behind you, if you know what I mean." He winked, and I snapped.

I grabbed his hands and pushed him off of me. "God damn it, Mello," I growled at him.

"What? I'm just saying, if I were gay…" He smirked at me, his bedroom eyes still piercing me every time he glanced my way. He looked down at his hands grasped within mine. Though it was far more an escape attempt on my part, Mello found it amusing. "Look, you're even holding my hands!"

I was seriously considering slugging him out of his drunken stupor with a solid fist to his pretty little scarred-up face. That would have been hard to explain in the morning. With one more push, Mello fell back again, and I pinned him down without mercy this time. "Mello. I want to you to fuck me," I clearly snarled in his face.

"Y'know," He shook his head. "I just don't see myself in you." He laughed at his own ambiguous pun. I had to admit, that was pretty good for someone as smashed as he was.

I gritted my teeth, holding myself back from offering him up a nicely dealt knuckle sandwich. "Stop. Fucking. Playing. Games. With. Me." I shifted my weight with each word, effectively shaking my blonde drunk into some possible form of lucidity.

His face looked like he just got off the Mind Eraser roller coaster. "Hey, Mattie-kins, I mean, we've never really hugged or kissed…" He started off again, and I pushed away from him. Frustrating as it was, I was prepared to settle for Lefty for tonight's fucking. Fortunately, (or possibly unfortunately) Mello saw me make a stern and threatening move toward the door. "Wait!" He shouted out, and I stopped in my tracks.

"What do you want, Mello? I'm not screwing around anymore," I scowled.

"Let's try it. Get over here and drop those drawers," He said with an incredibly sexy growl. I broke down, and any frustration drained from my body when I saw those eyes gazing at me lustily from the queen-sized bed. Seeing no sign of a bluff, I hesitated, listening for another jab at me. It didn't come.

Instead, a very awkward and clumsy Mello threw himself off the bed and into my arms, where he crushed his lips against mine. Alcohol and cigarettes mixed together between our tongues, and I gratefully pushed him back onto the bed. His hands tried to unbutton my tent of a pair of pants, but his fingers felt too heavy with whiskey. I shoved him down.

"Mel. You're drunk. Just let me do everything…" I smirked, thoroughly enjoying that relieved look that came over his face as I crawled over him.

…

I certainly had fun.

If Mello's moans were any sign, I'd say he had fun too.

In the morning, the blonde awoke with a wicked hangover, and before he could notice me—butt-naked, mind you—in his bed, he lunged out of the room and into the bathroom to discard all of the fries and whiskey he'd consumed the night before.

I made a mad dash around the corner to my room. The door quietly clicked shut just as I heard the toilet flush and a gruesome sigh come from Mello, along with a few curse words. As silently as I could, I tugged on some sleep pants, still listening to the blonde beyond the door. The coffee maker was clicked on. The leather couch hissed as one of its two cushions was depressed. The TV was turned on, and in a moment the news was blaring through the house before the Mafia boss scrambled for the remote and turned the volume down.

Mussing up my bed and flipping on my electric blanket for good measure, I slipped out of my room with a fake yawn. I plopped down beside my best friend, as if nothing had happened.

"So I had the craziest fucking dream last night." Mello stated plainly, running a hair through his tangled locks.

I bit the inside of my mouth. "What about? Did Near kill you this time?"

"Nah. I had a dream you and I fucked." I laughed. "But that's not really the weird part," he cut me off.

"Oh?" I kicked a Wii remote by my foot across the floor to the TV.

Mello watched it skitter across the hardwood flooring. "I dreamt I was on bottom. And I fucking feel it. You know when you have those dreams you broke your arm or something, and you wake up with your arm aching? That's my asshole right now."

My mental personality did a little dance. He may have slightly remembered, but he believed it was a dream! "That is pretty fucking crazy, man." I rolled my eyes and stood to go toast up a set of Pop-Tarts.

"I kinda liked it."

Boom—Thud—Crash! Yeah, that's the sound a Matt makes when he trips over the edge of the coffee table, followed by the dragging down the lamp on said table, and having the unprotected light bulb shatter all around my head. "Fuck me dead."

"I told you, you fucked me." Mello laughed at my klutziness as he retrieved the broom from its place beside the TV. "But hell, I wouldn't mind doing that for real some time. Call me shameless, but I'd totally swing the other way for you." He winked at me as I held still, not wanting to get any shards of glass in my scalp.

"And you presume I'd just go along?"

"When have you not? You sure had fun last night. Do it so I can fucking remember it, you coward," He turned the broom around and jabbed it into my stomach.

I stood up, already redder than the sleep pants I was wearing. "Yeah, that's right," Mello leaned the broom against the couch. "I don't remember anything. But I don't think I'd normally you in my bed, jizz on the sheets, and my asshole flaming on any normal night after being wrecked—unless we fucked."

I couldn't speak. I just stood there and took it.

"So now, I don't remember our first time because you were a fucktard and took advantage of me. But it's okay. Karma's a fucking bitch." That evil look came over his face again. I paled. His eyes narrowed. I could feel the nasty intent just radiating in ominous red waves from his being.

He cracked his knuckles.

I gulped.

A/N: Okay, this is a half-songfic-like-thing that randomly popped into my head about two hours ago. The song this brief story goes to is called If I Were Gay by Stephen Lynch. I don't own that song or the lines I used from it, Death Note, Wii, or Pop-Tarts. C:

Thanks for reading hope you liked it! I sure did, haha! :D

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