A/N: Another MxM oneshot, with a bit of a 'darker' atmosphere. Oh yeah, and maybe the title doesn't make sense... it just sounded good for the story, though. Nevermind.
-And please read the text written in italics! It is related to the story at some point.
If you're feeling like it, review and tell me how to improve, what you like, don't like, etc...
Crimson Fire Scar
A footprint in the soft soil, filled with dark red blood. Raindrops falling and crinkling the dull surface with clear stains. The form getting invisible with the dark paint that is washed away, replaced by blind water.
Everything is getting forgotten.
Pain is being washed away.
The air blew warmly through the apartment and brought the smell of burnt plastic with it from the street below. The old couch was covered with torn blankets and pillows; a blond young man was draped over the fabrics. He was asleep, one hand clenched into the tight black leather over his chest, one resting on the edge of the couch. The air from the broken air conditioning wove through his messy hair, revealing the burnt skin of his left cheek.
The only sound that filled the dusty air was the traffic noise coming from the street underneath their apartment and the rattling engine of the air conditioner.
Suddenly the monotonous background sound was interrupted by a sharp inhale – it had escaped the mouth of the redhead kneeling in front of the couch, motionless for minutes, maybe even an hour.
One hour of watching the blond man, sleeping. Glaring at him with anger burning in his eyes, almost rage. But then, after just glaring, his gaze had become desperate. Longing. After some time, his real emotions had been rolled up, unshielded. Through the orange plastic lenses over his eyes his gaze had become desirous; his eyes, the windows to his soul, may be covered, but still open.
The strongest thing that was now aching inside of him was the desire that was in his eyes. Desire to own the slender body his gaze was glued on. Desire to caress it, to kiss and hold it. Desire to get hold of the closeness, the safety it was promising to him.
The warm, sticky air brushed over the injured skin on the redhead's neck and he cringed. It was the spot where the sharp fingernails of the blond had scratched and torn his skin apart until the red leaked through. After the redhead ripped it open again with his own nails, it was bleeding slightly now, a second time; when he touched the wound his fingertips were moistened with thin red blood.
He glared at it – the longing, desiring look still in his eyes. The sharp, metallic smell filled his nose when he lifted his finger. Metallic, sharp, dark and bitter… just smelling his own blood almost made him sick. Too bad it filled every inch of his body.
His teeth clenched together, he shook his head to shake off the sentiment that was grabbing him. It was about to drag him down if he didn't pay attention…
Instead, his eyes settled on the fair skin of the angelic face that belonged to the blond lying on the couch. His lips were a thin line which he had to kiss, so soft, so light – they held the promise of care. Closeness.
Matt leant in closer, stopping a few inches from the scar marked face in front of him with hesitation. Warm, black leather creaked when the man stretched his legs a little in his dream.
And then the redhead's lips enclosed his soft warm mouth. The dry taste of sleep leaked through the slightly parted lips. Dry and sweet.
When the redhead's cool fingers touched his neck, the blond groaned and his eyes opened. He stared at him – through blue, unshielded irises. They couldn't reach beyond the tinted goggles of the redhead, left the gentle expression in his green eyes shadowed.
Strong gloved hands grabbed his shoulders, the blond's fingers touching him a few inches below the bloody red mark he had caused on his neck.
Both were holding their breath and the sound of rushing cars filled the room before the redhead sighed in despair with a sound that was close to a growl. Mello's blue eyes were still glaring at him.
"Don't think that I wouldn't notice that, yeah?" the blond man snapped at the other who was kneeling before him. The young redhead licked his lips.
"No." he said with his firm voice.
"You remember? I'll hit you for every fucking kiss, right?" he said. His voice wasn't filled with anger – he just remembered the redhead of the deal they made. The one that had caused him the wound he had re-opened with his own fingernails after it had just been healed.
Matt kept his shielded eyes on the blond man, without showing any surprise or consideration.
Silence filled the air again before the redhead bent down again, slower, more careful to the lips of the angelic blond.
His lips enveloped the other's, brushing over them, caressing them; he let his desire for closeness take him over; until the kiss was interrupted by the other man who bit into his bottom lip.
He withdrew his mouth with a hiss that shot sharply through the warm, sticky air.
"I'm meaning it, Matt! Remember your fucking neck!"
The redhead turned his face away from the blond and brushed over the wound.
His eyes blinked behind the tinted plastic before he closed his fingers around the straps of his goggles and pulled them over his head.
His eyes opened again – revealing the gentleness and care in the green; green tinted windows to his soul, giving away unfiltered sentiments.
Sentiments he usually wasn't able to show in front of him. Not for the reason of getting hurt – because he didn't mind the pain. But for the reason of the rage that it caused in the blond. Because this rage disabled Matt to stay with him; he hid his eyes for the pure reason of staying with Mello.
But now he couldn't stand the shield in front of his eyes anymore. They were nothing but barriers to him, barriers he didn't need now. Barriers that separated him from what he wanted-those blue eyes.
They looked at him, firmly. There was no move coming from Mello; finally, the redhead let his lips sink onto the mouth of the other. In the kiss, he felt the blond shaking his head – a sign that he wouldn't break the deal.
"I don't mind, Mello." The redhead muttered. His voice sounded surprisingly cold, it was contrasting with the plea of his eyes.
Their lips touched again; the redhead closed his eyes because he felt wet drops of tears forming in them; he wrapped his arms around the blond's neck, the fingers of one hand were combing through the strands of the messy hair when the young man lying on the couch started returning the kiss passionately.
Mello responded with a hot kiss; the tiny moves of his lips that he made were as determined as the man himself. Proud, self aware, full of control. Control over the redhead, and control over himself – because there was no way that he wouldn't keep his promise of hurting him afterwards.
He played the game he wanted to play on him. And Matt loved to play along with him; because the reason why he didn't mind earning the pain and wounds from Mello in return for physical contact was not only that what he got in return, the closeness, was worth it.
It was also because he liked the wounds he got – because it was him who gave it to Matt. It was Mello's mark on him.
To him, the bruises on his back and hip, the scratches on his neck and the gripping marks on his wrist signed that Mello was there.
It showed that he had Mello with him – and that he was even able to be close to him. Be close to him, and feel the nearness he longed for. And how close he could be to him was shown by his wounds.
Those wounds were both the ticket and the prize with the name of 'Mello' on them, both in one; so why would he ever complain about earning them, if they were a present from him?