A/N: Note the rating, this is rather heavy in comparison to some of the other things I've written wow, I'm becoming such a slut. Whatever. I just think of Mello as such a sexual being, and sorta rough. Ergo, this is the result. This is part of a group of one-shots that may or may not be posted (AP classes kill) with the central character known only as Mello's Girl. Enjoy.
There Were Two in the Bed
By: Ginny
She recalled how she could always tell how he was feeling simply by his position in the morning.
On the nights he actually got a full nights sleep, he'd wake before her and pull back the covers and pull off her PJ pants and her underwear and caress her into wakefulness to the point that when she was finally conscious she couldn't deny him.
She knew his day had been practically tiring when the next morning she'd wake to his head resting against her naked chest, ear over her slowly pulsing heart, after having collapsed there the night before right after climaxing. She'd probably have her arms resting across his back, before gently stroking his golden hair in an attempt to softly wake him up. He'd grumble and blink wearily and finally push himself up and kiss her and get dressed, dragging his feet the whole time.
She knew he was worrying when after theyd fall asleep she'd reach over to pull him close and suddenly he wasn't there. And she'd worry and roll over and sniff his pillow to make sure he hadn't been gone long and then splay out so that he'd have to move her when he came back and maybe she'd wake up and smile, knowing he was back. But she'd never actually wake up till the light was shining in and he was back, almost like hed never left except for the smudge of chocolate in the corner of his mouth and she'd know that he'd been binging again because chocolate and sex and prayer were the only things that could calm him down. So she'd lean over and lick the smudge and reach her hand into his boxers and try to console him the only way she could, but he'd grumble and glare and finally roll over, too exhausted for even that.
When he was feeling insecure, she'd wake up to find him watching her carefully. Her head would lie in the crook of his arm and his fingers would trace her throat, caressing the bite marks with a look of regret for hurting her, but a level of smugness at the fact that she was marked as his. And she'd smile at him, proudly, because she loved being his just as much as she knew he loved being hers.
She knew he was afraid when in his sleep he'd reach out and spoon her, a death grip around her. He'd shake as he'd dream and whimper softly so she'd stay silent even if she was being crushed. Eventually, he'd shout or yell or scream into her shoulder, muffling the tortured sound and jolt awake. He'd halfheartedly check to see if he had awakened her. And she'd pretend to sleep, even though he could tell she was awake, so he'd roll over and they'd both try to forget this ever happened and when morning came he'd be as far from her as he could manage because he was just so damned embarrassed because she was not supposed to see him like that because no one was supposed to see him like that. So she'd get up, grab a few chocolate bars from random places in the room, strip, and slip back into bed. She'd hand him the bar and he would munch it appreciatively, still turned from her. So she'd lay and wait and sometimes he'd roll back over and give her choco-flavored kisses and let her take him away and sometimes he wouldn't.
She knew he was angry, or frustrated (only sometimes with her) when she'd wake with a groan and feel sore and recall almost being torn in half the night before. She'd gingerly sit up and he'd let his eyes flick over her and the nail marks on her hips and the wincing, grimacing look on her face. If he was still mad hed grip her neck and kiss her deeply, till she was senseless and dizzy, letting his teeth run along her lip. If his rage had cooled, he'd hand her one of his chocolate bars in apology and kiss her cheek, a promise to be gentler next time.
She always knew when he felt regretful because she'd wake to find him clutching his rosary, having fallen asleep in prayer. So she'd slowly retract the beads from his hands and slip them over his head. And when his fingers twitched, grasping for something that wasnt there, she'd lace her fingers in his and kiss his knuckles.
She knew when he was feeling jealous because she'd wake with a raw throat and remember how every move he had made the night before had been designed to make her groan deeper, moan longer, scream louder. Sure, it was all to piss the mafia men off, make them all hot and heavy when they couldnt have Mello's girl, but she couldn't say she minded.
When he was feeling confused, she'd wake to find him stalking back and forth across the room before pausing and slouching in the arm chair, chocolate in hand. Once, she saw him finish his chocolate, scowl, adopt a crouched stance in the chair, bring a thumb to his mouth, pause for a few minutes, then shake his head and continue his pacing.
When his inferiority complex got the best of him, she could always tell. She'd wake to his lips on hers and when they finally parted he'd inquire as to whether she'd meant the things she'd said the night before. And she'd recall the questions: was she hot, was she wet, was she ready for it, did she want it, did she like it, was he good, was he great, was he the best she'd had, was he good enough? Yes, y-yes, oh yeah, oh god yes, ah! yes, so good, more than great, best one she'll ever have, and then she'd stop no matter where they were because this is the question he really wants answered so she'll beam up at him and tell him that he exceeds expectations a million fold. And a smile will flint across his face before it crumbles into a smirk and suddenly the rhythm is picked up a million fold and the talking is over. So when he'd ask if she meant it all, she'd nod and for a moment he'd look relieved before he'd scoff and comment on how she had been screaming so loud she probably didn't even hear what he was asking, she's such a slut. So she'd grip his ass and say, I'll show you slut.