I….have no explanation for this. Oh wait, yes I do. Liquor and Green Day. Best combination ever.
Disclaimer: Death Note? Yeah, I don't own it. Kinda obvious, don'tcha think? Otherwise, there'd be a full on off-shot detailing Matt and Mello's lives together, because I damn well fucking refuse to believe that they died the way they did. Mello's name was misspelled, 'cause Takada is an idiot, and Matt was boss enough to be wearing Kevlar. Yep. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. ….and holy shit, my Disclaimer was longer than my Author Note for once. WOW. Trippy shit.
"Don't want to be an American Idiot!" The rough voice bellowed, gloved hand wielding a ladle that Matt all but jammed his lips to, singing away without a care in the world. For all the fucks he gave, that ladle really could've been a microphone. And the drunken slurs coming out of his mouth? Those sounded like fucking rock and roll to his blood rushed eardrums, head filled with cotton as he pivoted on his heel and sang away, near stumbling over the empty bottle of vodka on the floor. To his right, the stereo kept blasting away, Billy Joe's sexy voice singing Holiday carrying across the apartment and likely pissing off the neighbors, if Matt's drunken antics hadn't already beat him to it. But again; look at all the fucks he gave!
Just a hint. The number was plunging into the negative zones. Mr. Freeze wouldn't even touch that shit.
Kicking the coffee table in his efforts to spin around and flop into an armchair, Matt tripped and barely caught himself by snagging the edge of his and Mello's flat screen. Expensive was fuck, but it was a must have, thank you very much. Gaming on anything but the highest quality technology around? The fuck do people think he was? Poor? He was fucking rich! Hacking, and hacking…oh yeah, and more hacking! It fattened up the wallet pretty well. "Don't want a nation under the new media!" Matt laughed, music blaring over him and whatever was playing on tv. Some Jersey Shore shit. He flipped the tv off, singing away. "And can you hear the sound of hysteria?The subliminal mind, FUCK AMERICA!"
Somewhere outside the apartment, there came a loud banging. Matt gave the telltale middle finger in its general direction, dropping his ladle-turned-microphone and throwing his head back, lips moving in an effort (albeit a failed one) to sing along with the song, goggles slipping down his neck and getting tangled there in the jumble of necklaces he wore. Cumbersome when it happened, but bitch, it was Mario Star in a bottle, and a piece of the motherboard from his first home built computer. Those didn't go anywhere. They stayed on his neck, 24/7. Even during sex. That pissed Mello off a lot, but hey, if he could wear his rosary while being all sacrilegious and getting fucked into the mattress by his super sexy, redheaded boyfriend, then Matt could nerd it out with his accessories.
It was only fair. Right? Right. Besides, Mello let him wear his dog tag too. On a short chain, it hung in the hollow of his throat, bearing an embossed Old English M that felt really weird against his fevered skin. All….raised up and stuff. He only wore it 'cause Mello bought it for him as some random, I-want-sex-and-you've-been-denying-me present. It was a good reminder to them both as to who was in charge. Er….kinda. Since Mello was the one who bought it…and had it engraved….and yanked him down by it each time they were going at it, forcing his tongue-
Yeeee-aaaah! Not going there. No hard on, thank you. Billy Joe was for singing. Not jerking off. And speaking of the male siren dressed in punk attire, he kept singing, and therefore so did Matt….badly. "Welcome to a new kind of tension! All across the alien nati-o-on, where everything isn't meant to be ooo-ka-aa-ay!" Giggling, he felt his face flush with the strain of the lyrics…or was that the whole bottle of vodka he'd downed? Ah hell, like it mattered. "Television dreams of tomorrow! We're not the ones who're meant to follow! For that's enough to argue-!" Drum solo! He pounded his fists on the top of the tv, head banging. Gotta love when a band gave all the members their moment of glory! But all good things must come to an end, and lo and behold, the lyrics started again, making Matt's grin widen, ears deaf to the increasing pounding coming from...er…somewhere.
"Well maybe I'm the faggot America!"
Oh hey, he loved this part! Matt cheered. "I'm not a part of the redneck agenda!" Arms pin wheeling, he made get up! motions, though to who was not clear. Maybe the Princess Peach and Link plushies resting by his shelf of games across the room. Well, they had every right to sing and dance too dammit! And that Peach, she was a hottie. Matt would plunder her castle any day. "Now everybody do the propaganda! And sing along to the age of paranoia!"
Pound-pound-pound!
Drums again, bleeding into the chorus with every bit of grace as a drunken-Matt frowned. Oh wait…. He shrugged it off. Whatever. "Welcome to a new kind of tension! All across the alien nation, where everything isn't meant to be ooo-ka-aa-ay!" He pushed away from the tv, stumbling over his own two feet, but coherent enough to keep up with Joe. "Television dreams of tomorrow! We're not the ones who're meant to follow! For that's enough to argue-!"
The heavy guitar and drums filtered through the air, lighting and gunshots controlled by skillful hands. Matt embraced them with open arms, literally, and kept banging his head in rough sync with the music, sleeves jerked up as he sank to his knees and started to, shocker, air guitar. His tattoo, the same M embossed on his dog tag, looked odd against his blushing complexion, and the worn stripes of his shirt, but he barely dwelled on the oddity of his own style. He knew he was a freak. That's what made him so cool! Men in ratty bunny suits, Supernatural demons, keyblade wielding kids and guys with eyeliner. That was his shtick, and he was damn well proud of it. Heh, speaking of guys with eyeli-
"MATT!"
A gunshot cut through the music, and he yelped, falling back on his ass as the front door was kicked open, a booted foot planted against the fragile wood. Leather, shining and slick, covered the long leg that connected to the foot, and Matt blinked, slowly drawing his gaze up, up, until he was staring into the face of rage incarnate. His boyfriend. And he looked pissed. ….well, he always looked pissed, especially the way he tended to squint with his kohl lined eyes. But now wasn't the time for semantics. An angry Mello was never good for anyone. He was no exception. "Uhh…" tongue heavy against the roof of his mouth, Matt pushed back on his palms and heels, but carpet wasn't his friend; he only got a serious case of rug burn, and it gave Mello time to kick the door closed and come stomping towards him, gun loose in his right hand. "H-hi Mello…?"
"Don't you hi Mello me, you sonofabitch! Do you have any fucking idea how long I've been out there knocking?" Jamming his heel down into Matt's stomach when the redhead made to move away, he growled and towered over him, barrel pressing into ratty, sweat soaked red locks and twisting sharply. Matt whined, and he did it harder. "Twenty…fucking….MINUTES! Twenty minutes, Matt! I told you I'd be back at five o'clock sharp. You were supposed to let me in, idiot. Or did you forget that you 'accidentally' flushed my key down the sink?" His lips taut in a cold leer, Mello leaned over enough to catch the dilated pupils and smell of vodka wafting off Matt's skin. He sneered. "Thought so. Our fucking landlord came up here, you dumbass. He heard the music, and you singing, if you can even call it that. Threatened to kick us out for noise violation if I didn't make you stop."
Matt whimpered, trying to explain himself. "But…but Mello…" desperate, he glanced around. Princess Peach and Link watched sullenly. Fuck, some help they were. Traitors. "It's…Billy Joe," he finally stammered, pointing shakily to the pounding stereo system. Green Day still blasted away, moving back into the chorus and mingling in an eclectic hoard with the trash on tv.
Mello hitched a nearly hairless brow. Taking the gun away from Matt's head, he pointed, pulled the trigger, and a loud bang made the redhead jump, horror filling his eyes.
T-the stereo!
The system sputtered out a few more haphazard notes, broken and shot, and then completely died, cutting off all noise in the room save for the tv. But that received its own bullet, right dead in the center, making Matt cry out and reach for it, as if it were a dying lover. Hell, it might as well have been! Other than his Xbox and PS3, those were his prized possessions! "No! Mello!" Matt's eyes burned with tears. The tv…dead! How was he supposed to plunder castles and rescue fair damsels now? He didn't see Mello willingly wearing a poofy dress and letting himself get locked up in a castle some-
Hey now, that wasn't a bad idea. "Oi, Mello. Would you be willing to.."
"Shut up." Closing his hand over the back of Matt's neck, Mello yanked him to his feet and started leading him towards the bedroom, ignoring the smoking technology that had Matt in tears. "You're getting in the shower, you fucking idiot. You reek. What the hell made you drink so much anyway? Boredom?" Sarcasm dripped off his tongue, easy as the multiple shots, and them tumblers, of vodka that had gone down Matt's throat. "Jesus Christ. See if I ever leave you alone again." Mello kicked the vodka bottle aside, blue eyes narrow and inflamed. Matt was no match for him, and even drunk off his ass, he knew better than to disobey. Look at what the bastard had done to his precious technology! He was lucky nothing more valuable had gotten a bullet. Like his ass. Or his dick. He needed that.
"M-Mello…can I just…."
Mello all but threw him into the bedroom, shoving past and starting the shower in the adjoining bathroom. Steam began to pour out within seconds, and he emerged in a cloud of misty white, gun set aside and gloves stripped off. "Whatever it is, no." He started stripping Matt of his clothes, taking no pity when the gamer mewled and tried to squirm away, batting drunkenly at his hands. "Don't even try," Mello snapped, getting his boots off somehow, then his jeans and Guitar Hero boxers. They were all tossed aside, and Matt was led into the bathroom, forced towards the tub. "Now get your sorry ass into that water, Matt. I'm gonna brew some coffee, make some food. I hate it when you're drunk. You're an idiot."
Matt, hesitating at the sight of the steaming water, couldn't help a small giggle, eyes slurring over to the blond stomping out of the room. "Hey, Mello…." he stepped into the tub, whimpering as the water scalded his legs. Fuuuuck. Weren't you supposed to take cold showers when you were trying to sober up? Though he didn't really want to sober up. He liked being like this. It was fun! "Am I an American Idiot?"
Nearly out the door, Mello turned and deadpanned, looking at him sit completely down in the sudsy water. "….yeah Matt." Lips quirking into a cruel smile, he picked a bucket up, making Matt blink. The fuck did that come from? "You're an American Idiot." Mello dumped a whole shit ton of icy cold water on his head, showing no mercy as the freezing liquid trickled down the back of Matt's neck, his chest, icicles against his blushing flesh. Matt hollered, and Mello tossed it aside, smirking. "Any more questions?" He rapped his knuckles on the top of Matt's skull, and the redhead winced, sinking chin deep into the water, pouting pathetically at his lover's lack of affection.
"…..will you see if my Green Day CD is ok? When you shot the stereo, you might've…." he paled, Mello's furious gaze more frightening than any boss or monster. "…I'll be quiet now."
"Good," Mello rapped him again, and he stormed out, closing the bathroom door behind him with a loud SNAP. Matt's temples throbbed at the noise, and was sad to feel the liquor finally beginning to wear off. Aww, just when things had been getting good too. He hadn't even gotten to finish the song! Stupid Mello. Cutting him off like that. It took a real grade-A bastard to do such a thing. The whole world was full of jackasses and bastards, but lucky him; he was dating the king of the assholes. Though he did have a nice one…all round, and pulsing, and so eager to suck down his fingers or cock and- "Matt! Quit daydreaming and take your damn bath! Don't make me come in there and scrub you down myself!"
Matt yelped, snatching up the loofa Mello so often used and dunking it into the water. He didn't feel like getting drowned by an overzealous blond with an obsession for cleanliness. Fuck knows Mello was annoying enough without trying to kill him. "…." lips pursed, Matt started singing under his breath, just to spite his neighbors, the bitchy ass landlord, and his beloved, oh so sweet lover. Hmph. Jerk face. Couldn't give him five seconds of privacy. Well fine. If he was an American Idiot, then Mello…
"Welcome to a new kind of tension! All across the alien nati-o-on, where everything isn't meant to be ooo-ka-aa-ay!"
Yep. The end. Don't question it XD
~Az