Author's Note -A Talk of Semes and Ukes: Righto. So here's chapter two. The thing is, I've been thinking hard about who to make uke and who to make seme. Obviously, Mello is older, and has the rapist personality, therefore automatically making him the seme. Matt is passive and has the kind of "Meh I don't even care" attitude, but is also kind of evil. So he could be seme and he could still be the uke. The thing with this pairing is that I believe their roles can be switched around. And... based on the direction that this story is heading in, I'm going to have to go with making Matt the seme. Sorry guys. The thing is, Mello's personality doesn't change just because he's on bottom when they have sex. He's still going to be the bat-shit insane rapist that we all know and love, just that he's on bottom now. That's all. If you want to see what I mean, go look at the one-shot I wrote on this account. (PR0N WARNING xD)
Also, I know it's been like, a month since I've updated. Sorry, but I have a life and finals are coming up. So... Yeah. Stupid life. Stupid finals.
Warnings: Yaoi. Boy/Boy. Don't like, don't read.
Summary: After Near is chosen to succeed L, Mello's life is in shambles. However, a meeting with a mysterious redhead changes everything. MxM, AU.
It was then that Mello decided that having a conversation with his mind was probably unhealthy. So he stopped. Instead, he browsed through the case files, giving a small 'ha!' of triumph when he found the address to the dingy little club that was previously mentioned. It was time to do some investigation of his own.
He was going drinking again.
Chapter 1-
The club was, frankly, not as shitty as he had expected.
No, Mello thought idly as he strolled up to the grand entrance, it wasn't shitty at all. And it most certainly wasn't what he had had in mind. When he had read about the supposedly "tiny" drinking establishment nine months ago, he had expected it to be just that- a tiny drinking establishment.
However, even reaching the doors posed to be a problem for the blonde with the sheer number of people attempting to get in before him. Mello (normally) would have impatiently elbowed his way through the crowd if it weren't for the what seemed like millions of other elbows in his way. He grimaced in pain and shifted to the side as one caught him in the ribs. Well, he tried to shift to the side, but was instead met with another wave of people. He stumbled, cursing, into the wall beside him and proceeded to be squashed against it by two busty women, both of whom were probably completely wasted already. He shoved them aside and managed to squeeze his way through to the front. For once, he was rather glad that he was skinny.
"Jesus fucking Christ," He mumbled in irritation, pulling out his ID and flashing it at the man at the door. The man gave him a short nod and moved aside, allowing Mello entrance.
Mello let out a soft hiss and shielded his eyes at the flashing blue lights at the center of the club that illuminated yet another throng of bodies, but this time they twisted and swayed to dance music blaring from the speakers. His eyes moved past the writhing crowd, past the tables littered in the corner with the poor lighting and onto the bar.
The bar.
Fucking yes.
Except there was the small problem of the dance floor in the way. He clenched his teeth, mentally steeling himself, and entered the chaos. Luckily, everyone's elbows were in the air this time, saving him the agony of being jabbed in the face. After what seemed like an eternity of sidestepping flailing arms and avoiding drunk women all of whom seemed to want to latch onto him, he finally made it to the bar.
Once more: The bar.
Hallelujah.
Mello felt some of the previous tension seep away as he sipped a beer. Mmm. Beer. To Mello, it tasted quite horrible, but thankfully numbed his senses enough for him to feel blissfully happy- like he was floating. A feeling that was so wonderfully contrary to his usual disposition, especially after the nightmare of a day that he had had so far. He smacked his lips and rested his cheek on his palm, idly observing the other inhabitants of the club.
There were those that were jumping up and down to the music- Mello wasn't so bothered about them. Most likely they were only at the club to dance like animals and then get laid. They weren't worth paying attention to. Then there were those beside him, drowning their sorrows in alcohol. Mello didn't concern himself with them either, choosing to conveniently forget that he was one of them just last night. His gaze instead shifted past the numerous tables seating happily chatting couples and to the back corner. Two men in black suits stood conversing by a door which Mello assumed to be the back entrance. One of them, wearing sunglasses, Mello noted, scowled at the other and pushed the door open, revealing a set of stairs that led below.
Huh.
Mello had to admit that he hadn't thought of the possibility of another floor. Then again, he hadn't counted on the club to be as enormous as it was either. Hell, he had counted on it being a complete shithole. And a place being a complete shithole completely ruled out having a lower floor. But the staircase was exactly what Mello had been looking for. It would be incredibly easy to reach, Mello thought, especially since the other man in the suit had followed the first down the stairs.
He slapped a tip on the counter and slipped out of his seat, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. Unfortunately for Mello, nothing really ever went the way he wanted it to go.
It was only his luck that he bumped into a large, burly man who immediately whipped around and grabbed the (much smaller) blonde by the collar. "Watch where you're fuckin' goin', dumbass!"
Mello snarled at him, trying to free himself from the man's iron grip.
"Oi, fuckin' apologize!"
And at this point, let it be noted that Mello was never one to let the word "sorry" slip out of his mouth very easily, nor was he one to back down without a fight.
So a fight there was.
Before he knew it, Mello found himself both dealing and dodging blows, yet only thinking about the staircase and how much fucking trouble he was going to be in when Near found out about his attempts at investigating. He supposed that he would have to go into hiding or something- he ducked as the man swung a fist- before Near and his henchmen, as Mello dubbed them, could lay a hand on him. He yelped and attempted to dodge to the side as the man hurled another fist at his face. This time, however, he wasn't quite so lucky. The clenched hand made a hard and painful impact just below his right eye, causing him to curse and stumble backward, only to be grabbed by his hair and flung against the counter. Damn that bigger-than-him man.
By then, most of the people in the establishment had turned their heads in the direction of the fight, glad to witness something interesting. A few people even had the gall to cheer.
Mello was cursing at being only five feet and six inches tall and weighing 114 pounds. Why was he so tiny. Why. The man he was currently avoiding being killed by, however, seemed at least twice his height and weight. Mello was clearly at a disadvantage, which was probably the reason that the crowd wasn't cheering for him. But they, of course, didn't know that Mello had, in his experience of joining the mafia, learned each and every point on the human body that, when put pressure upon, could kill a person or simply knock them out. (1)
Between dodging punches and attempting not to be crushed, the maneuver was rather hard to pull. Yet, somehow, the blonde managed to twist his frame in a way he had never thought possible and reach behind the man's bulky neck, firmly tapping a pressure point. The man froze and promptly collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Perhaps he had tapped a little too firmly...
"Ew," Mello muttered and brushed himself off, shoving the man away from him and onto the ground. Around him, people ogled but quickly averted their eyes when they met Mello's glare. Sullenly, the blonde snuck a glance at the door, disappointment smacking him in the face when he noticed that the men in suits had returned, and were staring at him unabashedly. He flicked them off with a nasty sneer and made a beeline for the bathrooms, eager to get far away from the disconcerting feeling of being watched.
-:-
The bathrooms were nice. Mello had always liked nice bathrooms. The walls were bleach-white along with the tiles on the floor, the sinks and the toilets. The stalls were, like the paper towel and soap dispensers, black. Three sinks were lined up adjacent to the wall where the door stood, and above each was a circular mirror. Mello leaned over the sink and peered into it, recoiling as he saw an ugly bruise forming on his face.
"Way to go, Mello," he muttered sourly, touching his face and wincing. "Now you probably can't even come back without everyone staring at you. Way to go, you fucking idiot. Now Near is going to find out, that stupid little asshole, and he'll-"
"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but do you normally talk to yourself?"
Mello somehow managed to choke on air.
He whirled around, slightly pink in the face, to face whoever the hell had witnessed him going insane.
A smirking man stood in the corner, leaning against the white walls and smoking a cigarette.
Wow, Mello thought. I must have been hit pretty damn hard in the head not to notice that. Ew. Smoke.
The man was, to say in the least, a bit odd, because Mello could not see his eyes. Scratch that, he couldn't even see the top half of his face. A pair of orange-tinted goggles were strapped over his eyes, causing his red hair to fall in a disarray over the top.
"Take a picture; it'll last longer."
Mello jumped again, slightly startled by the man's voice cutting into his thoughts. Not having a comeback ready at the tip of his tongue, the blonde just sneered at him and turned back around to face the mirror. Damn, that bruise looked ugly.
"Are you going to answer me at all?" He asked. Mello detected a slight accent below the layer of Japanese the man was speaking.
Mello shot him a glare from the mirror. "No."
"Well, at least you said something. There's a start." The man blew a ring of smoke into the air of the small bathroom.
Wrinkling his nose, Mello turned back toward the man with an expression of distaste. "Go smoke somewhere else, asshole."
The man simply gave him an amused smile and tilted his head back, blowing another smoke ring at the ceiling.
Mello frowned. "Oi, are you even-"
"Why should I answer you when you don't want to answer me?" The man asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.
"Because if you don't, I'll shoot you in the fucking face," Mello growled. He had almost forgotten about the revolver in his back pocket. "And my shit is my business."
"In that case, it's not your business to tell me to go smoke somewhere else, is it sweetheart?"
Mello fixed him with the most disgusted expression he could muster. "Don't call me that, you creeper."
"Well you haven't given me a name, sweetheart."
"And why the hell should I do that?" Mello raised an eyebrow. "And stop calling me that before I hurt you."
The man gave a half amused grimace and backed away slightly, hands in the air as if declaring that he didn't mean it. Except Mello knew that he did mean it, because the man chose that moment to comment on the disgusting bruise that disfigured his face, along with how his violent tendencies were kind of cute. Cute. At this point, it was already clear that Mello's patience was close to it's end, considering the bar fight that he knew he was going to get chewed out for, the bruise, and the lost opportunity to investigate. Having all added up, it was really no surprise when Mello just kicked the now rambling man in the groin, hard, causing him to fall to the ground in pain, and then stormed out of the bathroom, muttering about stupid, annoying, nosey redhead assholes.
-:-
The said annoying, nosey redhead asshole was talking on the phone. To be more accurate, he wasn't talking, he was whisper-shouting. Generally when one whisper-shouts, it means that they are in a position in which actually shouting would be a very bad idea.
He was currently whisper-shouting at one of his bosses while stalking a blonde man with hangover. At least, it looked like the man had a hangover from the way his brows were furrowed and how he seemed to want to have an aversion to light.
"Matt, are you still there?"
"What do you think?" He hissed back. "Kind of can't afford to chat right now!"
He could practically hear the eye-roll on the other line. "You were supposed to be reporting back by now."
"Yes, I know that, thanks." That fucking woman, Matt growled in his head.
"Then what, pray tell, is the hold up?"
Matt groaned softly and ran a frustrated hand through his flaming hair. "I'm a bit busy with the job your boss assigned me. Talk later, yeah?" And then he hung up. Not even two seconds later, his phone buzzed in his hand, the name 'Kiyomi Takada' appearing on the screen. He blocked her number and amused himself by imagining her outraged expression rather than thinking about the consequences of his small but bold action.
He peeked through the alleyway he was hiding in and cringed as he watched the man wipe his bleeding lip with a crisp, white sleeve. That would surely stain. The clothes were too small for him; the pants did not reach his ankles nor did the sleeves reach his wrists. Matt vaguely wondered where he had got them from. He shuffled through the messenger bag that was slung over his shoulder, giving a victory smile when he finally found what he was looking for- the files.
He had files on everyone he was supposed to follow, everyone he was supposed to kill. The part he prided himself on was that the files were not given to him by his boss. No, he had found every tiny bit of information on his own. It was only to be expected from someone that was as much of a genius as he was. His boss had always told him that he would have been so much better if he wasn't so damn lazy. But Matt enjoyed being lazy, so that was that.
The redhead flipped through the folder and pulled out a small stack of papers held together by a paperclip. These were the files on his target. They contained every detail about his life- his birthday, medical history, hair and eye color, height. Anything you named, it was in there. Even his real name, which no one was meant to know.
Because everyone left traces, that was what enabled Matt to find any information he could ever wish to look for. Well, almost any information. (There were some files that he couldn't get to no matter how hard he tried. He assumed that those were L's personal files.) The information most vital to his assignment sat, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. The man, ("Mello," Matt had noted after glancing at the paper), was in line to become the next L. Neither Matt nor his boss knew if L had chosen yet- but if everything went according to plan, it wouldn't remain a mystery for much longer. L was to die, and the easiest way to get to someone was through the people closest to him. That was Matt's job- to infiltrate. And it was what he was best at.
Mello, however hard he tried to escape, was screwed.
-:-
Mello slapped a bandage on his bruise and winced. Perhaps he should not have done that so forcefully.
"Ow," He whimpered and pressed a hand to his face. "Ow, ow, ow."
Really, the troubles a bruise could cause. Not only did it make his face look horribly mutilated, it also hurt. A lot. Every time he frowned, for fuck's sake. He always frowned. Mello sniffed a little and grabbed the mostly-melted bag of ice sitting on the counter, pressing it to the bruise with a soft hiss. "Cold," He muttered. "Cold, cold, cold." But then it soothed the pain as it had been doing for the last eight hours. The last eight hours that he had not slept or done anything productive at all whatsoever.
Mello snuck yet another glance at his shirtless reflection, wincing at the bags under his eyes, his tangled hair, the bruises on his ribs. He really did look like shit. And he was skinnier than he last remembered. How long had it been since he had last eaten, again? He ran a finger along one of his protruding hipbones in distaste.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang. He looked at the time. It was nine in the morning. Who the hell called at nine in the morning? Near, that's who.
Grumbling resignedly, Mello held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Mello."
"I said 'hello', not 'Mello'."
"Mello."
"Whatever would you be calling about at this time, I wonder," Mello said in a complete monotone.
Near sighed. "I have received some rather unsettling information about what Mello was doing last night."
"Have you, now?"
"I clearly remember instructing Mello not to interfere with the case any further. By going to Death Note last night, Mello has been going against what I told him to do."
"So that's what that place was called," Mello mused. "Thanks."
There was a silence on the other end and Mello wondered if he had finally annoyed Near to death. So he said, "You can't control me anymore, Near. You've already taken the position of L. You've kicked me off the case. You've destroyed everything that I've worked towards. There's nothing left to threaten me with." And he put the phone down.
Damn, that felt good.
Mello took another look in the mirror, cringed, and decided to eat something.
-:-
Near was just a little bit livid.
Frankly, he was sick and tired of Mello's shit. Even if he was the apathetic super-genius out of the Wammy's Orphanage group, it didn't mean he didn't have emotions. He just didn't let them get in the way of life like Mello did.
Speaking of the blonde, Mello, in Near's opinion, had to be the most irritating human being on the face of the planet. He had never encountered someone so completely capable of pissing him off. And then Mello claimed, in his high-and-mighty tone, that Near had been controlling him and had been "destroying everything he had worked towards". As if Near would sink that low. Mello, perhaps, might have done that if given the opportunity. But not Near. Near was far more superior that that. He was better than to do something so petty.
At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
But Near disliked dwelling on thoughts so useless, so he went back to building his enormous card tower. He had built the entire city of New York so far, and was currently working on constructing the Empire State Building. He was almost finished, as well. Just three more cards, and he would have done something that no one else would have ever had the time or patience to do before.
One card...
Two cars...
Last card...
THUD.
Near's eye twitched dangerously as New York City in all it's magnificent tarot card-glory crumbled to the ground around him.
He turned toward the door, careful to keep his emotions off his face. "Can I help you?"
To his surprise, the person that stood in the doorway was not someone that he normally worked with. To be precise, the person was a complete stranger. Near stared.
The stranger smiled. "You're Near, right?"
Near didn't answer, but instead continued to stare.
"Sorry about your tower," Said the stranger. "That must have taken a looong time."
"How did Stranger-san reach this level? No one is allowed here but me."
Stranger-san giggled. "Stranger-san? Oooh, that sounds so mysterious!"
Near stared at her again in silence, unwilling to repeat his question. Stranger-san picked up the hint.
"Well," She said and she pulled out a pistol from somewhere in the folds of her short skirt. "It took a bit of persuasion, you know?"
Near discreetly scooted backward. "There are security cameras all over this building, Stranger-san."
"Ugh, I knooow! It took Misa foreeever to get them to stop working!"
Crap, thought Near. He reached for the phone lying only a few feet away, but withdrew his hand with a yelp as a bullet whizzed by his arm. Near stayed frozen as the stranger (who called herself "Misa") approached him, her high heels clicking on the tile. Misa smashed the phone with her heel.
"Sorry, sorry," She said with a wink. "Misa-Misa had to let you know she was being serious." She spun lightly on the spot, her frilled skirt fanning out around her. "Don't you think I look so sexy with a gun~?" Another giggle.
Okay, Misa was a complete psycho.
She continued her maniacal giggling, prancing toward the long desk along the right wall of the room, but kept her gun pointed at Near's head, ensuring that he would not try to escape. She opened a few drawers, shuffling through papers and prodding at the multiple screens lined up on the desk. "Hmm... Where's the file?" She pouted and turned back to Near, beckoning him toward the desk. "Don't think you can try anything just because you're cute, 'kay?" Near sent her a look of utmost loathing. She just winked. Again.
Before Near could actually conjure up a brilliant master plan involving fake files and knocking out the annoying woman next to him, the gun was pressed to his temple. The metal that should have been cold was hot from just being fired. Near flinched backward.
"Misa told you not to try anything, 'kay?" Near glared at her and she shoved the gun harder against his skull. "'Kay?" Near nodded, gritting his teeth.
"Good boy," She gushed. "Now make Misa-Misa happy and tell her where you keep the files~" Near shook his head. She kicked out at him, catching him in the stomach. Near fell backwards and clutched his abdomen in pain.
"Now, now, don't make Misa hurt you," She said. Near refused to speak, staring at the ground instead. "You won't help me? Okay, fine."
The last thing Near saw before he felt a blow to the base of his skull and everything went dark was Misa logging onto his computer.
Goddamnit.
-:-
Mello was sitting at a nice table in a nice café in a nice area.
God, he felt so out of place.
He could feel the people staring at him in all his leather-clad, bruised glory as he sat there and sipped a chocolate milkshake. It was like a serial murderer sitting in a playground and reading Atonement. And crying. But Mello found it kind of amusing anyway. He nearly burst out laughing as a small child ran away upon seeing his ever-permanent glare.
... Sometimes he worried about his mental health.
It's about time, man.
Oh, not you again, thought Mello exasperatedly.
Maybe you should eat something.
I am eating something.
No, you dumb fuck, you're drinking something like you always do. How about actual food?
Mello paused for a moment. Are you my conscience?
There was no answer to Mello's query, and the blonde had to, if reluctantly, conclude that he was insane. Ah well, Mello thought and took another slurp of milkshake. Fuck, what a wonderful milkshake.
Out of reflex, the blonde looked up when the café door opened. And then he choked on his milkshake.
In the doorway stood the same asshole from the previous night, and wow that sounded so wrong.
Mello tried to duck and be as unnoticeable as possible. Unfortunately for him, Lady Luck was a bitch, and the redhead saw him anyway. He, to Mello's surprise, didn't even spare him a second glance and instead strolled up to the counter, fiddling with his gay-looking orange goggles. The man wore a similar striped shirt to the one he had worn in the bathroom, except it wasn't purple this time, as well as a deerskin (Mello wasn't exactly sure as to the material) vest and boots. It was sufficient to say that the man's taste in clothing was rather odd, yet it suited him. Not that Mello cared, of course.
Happy that the redheaded man had simply walked past, Mello sat up in his chair once more, closed his eyes and went back to enjoying his drink. His bliss lasted approximately twenty seconds.
Let it now be said that the chair in front of him, when pulled out in a certain angle, made the most annoying screeching noise that Mello had ever had the displeasure of hearing.
His eyes snapped open in a ferocious glare, targeting whichever poor soul that had dared to disturb his short-lived peace. Of course it would be the redhead. Of course.
Mello sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You couldn't just leave me alone."
The man grinned cheekily. "Now where is the fun in that?"
Mello continued to glare and the man continued to grin.
"So, are you ever going to tell me your name?"
"No."
"Okay, then, you asked for it," said the man. "Sweetheart it is."
"Do you not remember what happened the last time you had the balls to call me that?"
"I nearly lost them?" The man smiled and Mello had to refrain from repeated face-palming.
"Yes, but you don't seem to care either way."
"Really, now? Oh, by the way, my name is Matt."
"I don't really care."
A waitress strolled up table and held out a coffee, which the redhead took and sent the her a smile and a 'thank you', causing her to blush. Mello rolled his eyes as she stammered a 'n-no problem!' and fled.
"Women," He muttered in disgust.
"What's wrong with women?" Matt raised his eyebrows. At least, Mello assumed he did, but couldn't actually tell with the goggles and the hair.
Mello threw his head back an groaned. "Fuck... don't even get me started. Every fucking girl I've ever known... All they do is ask for expensive shit-"
"Do you like men, then?"
"Wha- NO! What the fuck?" Mello exclaimed.
Matt snorted, looking amused. "You don't like women, so I kind of assumed-"
Mello pushed his chair back, duplicating the hair-raising noise from before and stood. "Okay, that's it, I'm leaving. I don't even know why I started talking to you in the first place." He stalked toward the door.
Matt, as expected, stood as well and followed him flailing his hands around. "No, no! Don't leave! C'mon, man, I was joking!" Mello ignored him and kept walking. "At least tell me your name!"
Mello paused to flick him off.
In the moment that he paused, he had stepped off the sidewalk and onto the road in such a way that caused his ankle to twist with a sickening crack. He stumbled in pain, straight into the path of a speeding vehicle and barely registered the shout of "Mello!" from somewhere on his left. He only just managed to wrench himself out from directly in front of the car, but was still caught in the ribs by the side-view mirror. He let out a yelp and was flung to the curb, with which his head made (extremely) painful contact.
"Oh my god!" Matt was leaning over him, looking absolutely horrified. "Oh my god, are you okay? Holy shit that fucking car, oh my god your head, you're bleeding! Oh fuck, what do I do?"
Mello blinked at him.
"Say something, for fuck's sake!"
"Ow," Mello said and promptly passed out.
(1)- That was an AWFULLY written sentence. Also, I don't actually know those pressure points. I just thought it sounded cool ;w;
A/N: I WROTE SOMETHING. -dies- As you can see, it's longer this time. By like... 1500 words. So I've introduced Matt! Yay! I apologize if I characterize him wrong, but you do realize that you can't exactly characterize him right if he only has like... 3 talking scenes. Or 2. I don't really remember. Anywhoo, there's a bit of exposition with Near... and... tune in for the next chapter! :D
Yes. Matt is the bad guy.
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