Come Undone

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of it's respective characters. However, I do own Layla Levandi and the situations as seen here. Please do not use them without my permission. I also do not own the song Come Undone by The Used

"You're a fucking asshole." Layla snarled, the corners of her lips going up viciously.

Mello let out a frustrated growl, narrowing his blue eyes at her. His hands clenched instinctively and he raised his shoulders.

It had been another one of their pointless arguments as usual. God Layla could be so fucking bratty when she wanted to. They had been shopping earlier in the evening mainly for groceries and cigarettes. When they had reached the checkout counter, the cash register girl had given Mello a wink. He couldn't exactly help it, she was cute and the corners of his mouth had formed a small grin.

Layla however, had noticed. He could tell by the way she abruptly shifted away from him, her hips jutting side to side angrily. She had been cold to him for the rest of the day, only responding to his words with grunts and annoyed sighs. Mello knew he'd just have to bide his time and eventually she would explode.

After he had been doing dishes in the sink she had strode over to the refrigerator and had promptly told Mello in no uncertain terms that he was an asshole.

"I saw you looking at her!" she sneered, advancing on Mello and pointing a long fingernail in his face.

He fucking hated when she did that, and he contemplated breaking her goddamned finger off. Still though, he tilted his chin upwards and gazed down at her, as if to remind her who was in power here.

"So what? I can't look at people without your permission?" he said, fighting to keep his tone low and even.

She looked a little flustered, and Mello thought for a moment that the conflict would be resolved as soon as it had begun.

But, then Layla spoke again, "You didn't just look, you smiled at her too. I saw it!"

Mello rolled his eyes, "So I can't smile either? Jesus Christ, do you honestly think you're the only woman I've seen naked...or snogged?"

He'd had other women before Layla. It had been hard to resist those womanly, supple bodies that had been thrust at him when he was beginning in the mafia. He had been ravished by his own hormones and those women had been easy prey. It wasn't like he ever thought he'd come into contact with Layla again, and to wait for her would have simply been unreasonable.

However, it appeared that she did believe that she was the only person he had ever been with and he could see the faint glimmer of hurt in her eyes.

Before she spit in his face that is.

Reacting almost on pure instinct, he backhanded her. She clattered to the floor and Mello knew that this would be a long evening.

Before he could make any kind of move, she kicked him sharply in the shin. Pain shot up his leg and he let out a roar as he clattered to the floor.

His eyes narrowed viciously through both pain and rage and he clamored over her.

Layla got two good hits on his jaw as he straddled her hips. Goddamn it, he couldn't stand when people hit him, it was the kind of disrespect someone of his status couldn't and wouldn't tolerate.

"Don't you fucking hit me!" he snarled, grabbing her face roughly. His thumb was pressed so hard against the hollow of her cheek that he could feel her teeth beneath the skin.

She became dead silent and he could see her grey eyes daring him to hit her. His father had once said that Estonians were well known for their silence and Mello knew that Layla was no exception to this rule. Someone could toss her in boiling water and she wouldn't make so much as a whimper if Mello told her not to. It was that kind of loyalty that Mello appreciated, hence why he kept her around for so long.

By now, she'd wedged her knee in between their chests and was attempting to shove him off of her. Mello himself had always been competitive and he pushed himself against her, pleased to see her flush in rage.

He shifted and grabbed a handful of her silky brown hair at the roots, pulling her head roughly to the side. Then, Mello pushed himself harder against her, close enough to press his lips heatedly to hers. He could taste blood on her lips, from biting them. Then, Layla's small hands formed fists against his leather vest and she gave one last, furious shove before clenching her fingers in the material, pulling him closer against her.

He violated her mouth with his tongue, pushing roughly, searching for surrender which he knew would not receive so easily.

Mello pulled away from her, pushing his forehead into hers. She was panting now, her face flushed and eyes mixed with both rage and lust, the way Mello's eyes look constantly when he thinks of Layla.

There was just something about her that he could never let go of, no matter how hard he tried. She was the only person in the world who could soothe his anger with her gentleness and yet, also the only person who wasn't afraid to spit on him. Layla always caved in the end of course, but Mello had to admire the heated struggle she gave him every time. And God, it never failed to turn him on, seeing her furious with him. They were like wolves, ripping at each other's throats until satisfied.

Then, Mello pulled himself off of her, standing over her as if he was asserting his dominance again. She only looked at him with lusty, hateful eyes.

"Get up." he said thickly, "Get on the bed and take off your clothes."

She eased herself up slowly, taking time to rub her shoulders where she had been pressed against the tile. Standing, she sauntered in front of him, Mello's eyes focusing on the curve of hips and thighs through her leather pants.

He stalked behind her until they reached the bedroom, where she perched on the end of the bedpost. "You want my clothes off so badly, Värdjas? You take them off."

Blood rushed between Mello's legs and he fought back a shudder.

Pushing her down on the mattress Mello began to untie her heeled boots with a kind of practiced ease. He didn't bother with her socks, merely moved up to unbutton her leather pants and slide them down her hips where he tossed them on the floor.

Her long hair was spread out on the bed like a huge fan and her eyes looked almost heavy with want. Striding over to the side of the bed, he sat down at her side and slid a gloved hand down over her black panties. He could tell that they were soaked with her own lust by the way his hand slid, frictionless over the material.

Not bothering to remove the cloth, Mello delved a leather covered finger inside of her. Layla wouldn't take her eyes off his, and he began making slow 'come hither' motions with his fingers. She would flush, but she merely stared refusing to cry out, refusing to surrender.

He used his thumb to stroke at the little aroused nub, smirking ever so slightly when her hips bucked at the contact. Still though, she furrowed her brow heatedly at him, biting down hard on her lip to keep from crying out her pleasure.

Still though, Mello kept at it, patiently stroking away at her. She would eventually give in. She merely stared at him, Mello noticing the way her skin was becoming more heated and flushed with every stroke.

But, she refused to release, to give in to the pleasure Mello was generously giving her. He could tell by the way her muscles were tightening in her legs and how her jaw was clenched. He wanted to see her lose herself in his touch, to come unraveled, come undone, like bits of string on a ball of yarn. Sighing, he leaned forward, yielding to her.

"I will never look at another woman." he murmured in her ear.

Then, she surrendered. Her released poured from her, and she wrapped her arms around him. Her breasts crushed against his chest as her hips thrusted against his hand. She called out his name, so gutturally that it almost sounded like she was in pain.

Layla slumped suddenly, her breath coming out in hot, ragged sighs against his neck. The mere sight of her so vulnerable sent fire shooting down his loins and he groaned.

"Oh god, just feel it."

He took her hand and pressed it against his rigid sex.

Layla could feel him pulsing with want and wordlessly her fingers tangled in the laces of his leather pants. Mello shucked them off, pushing her hands away as they slid down his legs. In the meantime Layla had found the zipper of his vest, unzipping it swiftly and shoving it off his shoulders.

She placed both of her hands carefully on his neck, her long nails brushing against his skin just enough to make goosebumps appear on the unscarred flesh. Soft, tender kisses were placed against his flesh and Mello knew that he had been forgiven for letting his smile wander.

She'd somehow conjured a condom in her fingers and Mello bit back a moan as she slipped it over the silken skin of his sex.

Mello positioned himself atop her, trailing his fingers in her hair and pulling (much more gently) on the strands.

He entered her smoothly, and she let out a sweet hum of pleasure.

His heart throbbed in his ears as he stroked her, slowly and reverently. Mello's hands reached to slip behind Layla's back and he pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. Pleasure seeped into his brain as he could feel her nipping pleasantly at his neck and shoulders.

That was the best thing about makeup sex, the utter pleasantness of being in one another's good graces again.

The bed springs groaned in protest as Mello's hips picked up speed and he could feel Layla's hand go to his side to clench at the bed sheets. He was achingly close, but he held out when he saw the pale pink flush that was beginning to creep into her cheeks.

Slowing down his rhythm made Layla let out a keening cry and she begged in Mello's ear to never stop. But he wanted to take his time, feel the tendons of her shoulders and arms tense under his grasp. He watched the way her eyes clenched shut at tears of pleasure spilled down her cheeks.

No other woman could ever make him come undone like this, see through him to the marrow. Something he both loved, and hated at different times in his life.

When his release finally spilled from him, he found he'd been staring at her, gaping into her bright grey eyes. They took over his own like a vicious storm and he had to tear his eyes away from the intensity of her.

He collapsed on her, snuggled against her femininity. He shuddered, then reached blindly around for a blanket which he threw lazily over them. She hooked her arms around him, her fingers tangled in his hair.

Layla began to hum a song mildly in his ear and it took him a moment to register the lyrics that she purred in his ear, "Hate me, I'll be your loaded gun..."

"Burn me," he replied, "I'm waiting to come undone."