If it were anyone but them, it might be sweet. The moment in itself is tender enough in concept.
Two boys, the damp of the concrete steps soaking past leather and jean, and even the air is cold, frigid. Morning air, the sky streaked with colors and still dotted with stars. 7am air, because they never sleep anyway.
Who really needs chocolate at seven in the morning?
But the cigarette is warm, the smoke is warm, spiced, still tastes like cherry.
And the mood is hot. It scalds with an impatient tap of foot, a string of words that could be a curse or a prayer.
They're on the steps of a church, who could really say? But that was religious politics. Boring.
"Mello."
Another drag off the cigarette.
"Mello."
Vest is pulled up on shoulders and the foot keeps on tapping.
"Mello!"
Third time's the charm and Mello turns a vicious glance. What a snake.
"What the hell do you want Matt?"
At least the foot's stopped tapping.
"Calm down will you? Here, take this."
The cigarette's offered over, pinched between gloved fingers and Mello just stares at it with a look of disgust and it's another of those moments where Matt's pretty sure he's going to get punched.
"I'm not touching that. It's fucking rancid Matt!"
Matt just holds his ground. If he gets punched he gets punched. It's not like it hasn't happened before.
One night means a lot. Twelve hours without any lead. It's enough to have them both peeved. But Matt's got nicotine and Mello's only got chocolate, and as much as a little sugar can do to a temper, Matt's pretty sure nicotine's got it beat.
"Shotgun."
"What the fuck are you spouting about?!"
When there's no fist connecting to Matt's jaw, he sighs and stares at the cigarette.
"A shotgun. The nicotine won't hit you as hard and it won't fuck with your lungs if you take a shotgun drag Mello."
"Just shut the fuck up Matt!"
And because that's not a definite no, Matt sucks in a healthy drag until he can feel the smoke slither warm and spicy into his lungs. A hand, the same one holding the cig raises to tangle in blonde hair and pull Mello's face down.
It's not the same kind of kiss they usually share. Matt's lips ghost over Mello's and when Mello opens his mouth to hiss a complaint for the pull of hair Matt lets go a breath, and the smoke curls out from the creased corners of their mouth.
It spills over the swell of Matt's lower lip and then Mello's presses against him and he sucks the smoke down until Matt's breathless and panting. He sucks it down like he sucks on chocolate, sucks on his lip when he's thinking, and sucks on Matt's cock when he feels so inclined.
Matt groans, why not right? Mello's tongue is flicking out, demanding entrance and Mello's lips, though dry and chapped, taste sweet with the lingering flakes of chocolate and Mello's teeth clash hard against Matt's and for a soul searing moment Matt thinks it will go on and he'll end up on his knees on the steps of the chapel.
He can smell incense, strawberry shampoo, and sweat and Mello's hair and fair skin's dotted and speckled with the light from the strained glass windows and he really is beautiful.
Matt would never say that out loud.
He wishes that sex was the case though, his cock's throbbing adamantly and his fingers twitch in their grip on the hair and Mello's moaning like a slut, like he wants to be slammed against the church wall and had his pretty way with.
Matt knows if he did such a thing he'd earn a kick for his troubles. Maybe…maybe…
The moment passes quick though, and Mello's pulling away, licking at the spit on his lips, abused and bruised from the kiss.
"Let's get the fuck out of here."
'"Yeah…"
Matt doesn't count on something so tender taking place again, except when Mello's fast asleep and curled into a ball between dirty sheets and Matt can hold him the way he wants to sometimes and see his face lit, sickly in the glow of monitors and TV. Slow. Easy.
He's surprised he got out of this without a scratch.
The church bells ring above them, the cigarette gets ditched on the ground, Matt doesn't feel he'll need it again, and Mello's quiet.
They'll fight again, and fuck when they get back to the shit in the wall they call home and late at night while Mello's asleep and the moment's past, Matt will lay awake and hold Mello the way he can't when Mello's awake and think about that moment again. Shotgun kiss; To pass something on in an intimate way, to kiss the barrel of a gun in your final moments.
It may not be perfect. So what? It's still love, and it's still human.
If Mello's the bittersweet chocolate. Matt is the shotgun kiss.