a/n: I'm on the fence about whether or not this chapter pushes my rating to "M", and the site's guidelines are pretty vague about it as well. So...if, after reading this, you think I should change my rating, let me know and I'll do so. The same thing applies to all future scenes of a similar nature.

I don't own these people. They've just taken up residence in my mind.

Episode.11: -CONFLUENCE- (Decision)

"As a penalty, I will take the life of whoever is leading the investigation against me at present. He or she is to appear on this channel in three days, on the six p.m. news, and will speak for a ten-minute period. I will be the judge of whether the person shown is legitimate. If I determine they are not, I will take the lives of several top city officials as compensation."

Crouching on her bed, the girl watched her own videotape broadcast out to the city while fiddling with the hem of her skirt. No longer the pinnacle of confidence the creature remembered, her face seemed conflicted and even a little remorseful. Concerned, the creature drew near.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked the human, guessing the tribulation's source. "If they don't cooperate, are you going ahead with your promise?"

For a long moment, the girl was silent, thinking things through. "I don't know," she answered finally. "It's not like I hate Kira now or anything. Meeting and helping him would still be the coolest thing ever. And it's not like killing a bunch of top people in the city would hurt the mob." A hint of her old cheerfulness returned, only to fade into obscurity just as quickly. "Still...what if Kira finds me with him and comes to the wrong conclusion? What if Kira hates me for liking his enemy? And what if he discovers me? He might think I was the real Kira and that I've been hurting his family. I don't want that."

"This isn't like you," the creature said, worried. "But you can't have both worlds. You have to pick a side."

"I know..." the girl said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't want to, though." Snapping her eyes back open, she brightened suddenly. "What if I find Kira first? That way I can get closer to him and help Kira because of that! I'll bet Kira would love to have someone with the eyes and connections! But I won't tell Kira the secret I know about him. That way he can't be killed. And I win, no matter who ends up on top."

"Or both sides want to kill you," the creature objected. "I'm against this."

"Too late." The girl stuck her tongue out. "My mind's made up! I'll just have to hope Kira shows himself soon, and that the city listens to me. It'd be too bad if all those people have to die. I want to find Kira, but I'm not a murderer."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Listening to the chipper voice on the other end of the phone, Clair sighed and waited impatiently for Misa to arrive at her point—assuming, of course, that she'd had one when she began talking, which the young don had begun to doubt.

Fortunately his doubts were soon assuaged. "...so when are you free for another date? I don't want to go dancing again, but wouldn't karaoke be fun?"

The last time Clair had sung aloud, he'd been eight years old and his father had silenced him thirty seconds in with a look that would have killed from a mile away. Locking himself in a booth with an enamored, gullible fool and a microphone sounded more like some sort of primeval torture than a pleasant afternoon's diversion.

Still, better torture than death, and if Misa was the second Kira someone needed to be looking after her. "Would this Saturday be all right?" he asked; it was the same day Mello's rival, as head of the investigation, was slated to appear on TV, and he wanted to see what would happen should he keep her out past six p.m.

She hesitated before replying, but the pause was so slight Clair wondered if he'd tricked himself into hearing it. "Saturday's perfect. I haven't got any commercials or photo shoots or anything. How about noon? We could have lunch too!"

He would be locked in the torture chamber for at least five hours. Clair leaned over his desk and scribbled a note to Mauro telling the man to cancel all engagements on Sunday; he'd need some alone time to recover. "Noon. My man and I will pick you up at your place."

"Ooh, Misa gets chauffered? That's so classy!" The squeaks in her voice made him cringe.

"Anything for you. I'll see you then...honey." Such words felt unnatural in his mouth; he wondered how long he would be able to sustain the flimsy charade. It was for Mello, though. He could try his hardest for Mello.

She babbled on for a few more minutes and finally hung up. Clair kept the cell phone Matt had given him up against his ear. "Matt, you listening in?" he asked once he was certain Misa had really severed her connection.

"Yeah. Damn, you're lucky. What I wouldn't give to be alone in a karaoke booth with that girl..."

"You might get your chance. I'm taking you, not Giovanni."

"She thinks I'm a creep."

"Even if I hadn't specified you, Giovanni would have made you switch places with him at gunpoint. He's heard me sing before. Get me Mello on the phone and cut the tap."

"You're that bad, huh?...Here you go." The sound of a phone ringing supplanted Matt, which in turn gave way to another familiar voice.

"Why are you on the Misa phone?" Mello asked, mouth obviously full of chocolate from the thickness of his speech. "Matt can hear you, you know. Hello, Matt."

"I made him stop listening in." It was Clair's turn to pause and muster his courage. The events after Misa's departure the previous evening had sent him to bed smiling, feeling oddly at peace; and he had to know why as soon as possible. He also simply wanted to see Mello again as soon as he could, wanted a reason for Mello to hold him again since it had felt so wonderful, and believed he'd created a feasible alibi. "Are you free today?"

"Well, that depends." The blond's voice grew coy. "What can I do for you? Last night, by the way..."

"Last night I asked you for help with Misa," Clair interrupted, his heart fluttering at the mere thought of the events to which Mello had referred. "Can you teach me today? We can clean up your apartment...so I can show it to her if I need to...I'm seeing her on Saturday at noon..."

"Excellent. Keep her out for at least six hours."

"I'm not an idiot." Clair smiled, glad he'd been able to predict Mello's thoughts. "What about today?"

Mello pondered, or pretended to ponder, the situation. "Well, I've already done some cleaning myself, but I suppose it couldn't hurt if you stopped by to give it your approval."

"Pick me up at one, then." His stomach had begun to nervously somersault; he ordered it to behave. "I want to ride the motorcycle again."

"Anytime, Vampire. Anytime. You're a very welcome passenger." Mello chewed thoughtfully into the phone, making Clair salivate in turn. He'd done it. Today he'd find out what kind of a monster he was dealing with, once and for all. Last night had been a prelude, a hint, an eye-opener he hadn't expected but which in hindsight seemed all too obvious.

He set down the phone after saying goodbye, his head light and his stomach heavy. Today would be the final test.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

J had finished processing the database for fingerprint matches by noon the day after he began, and by twelve-thirty the owner of the prints sat down behind a hastily erected screen in the Special Unit office for interrogation. By twelve-thirty-five all Near had gotten out of her was her name and impressions of the place.

"Miss Deacon," the white-haired boy asked testily, squeezing a ball of modeling clay in one hand until it began to peek out from between his fingers, "will you be finished soon?"

"The overall dimensions of your place, however, are so awkwardly long that it must be terribly hard to decorate anyway, though whoever thought of using those two colors for stripes on your sofa must have been colorblind, because I really can't see someone who knew what they were doing pairing those two shades. Come to think of it, the entire factory must be colorblind for no one to voice an objection, though if someone with a lot of power proposed the combination I can also believe all the workers would keep quiet. I have a cousin who's colorblind, but he's not in the furniture industry. He's an engineer. Engineers are also very strange people. Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" The young woman's cheeks flushed pink. "Please forgive me! It's just so hard for me to hold a conversation with someone I can't see. Why do you have a screen up, anyway? It would make me far less nervous if you'd just show me your face, sir. I'm a very good judge of character just by seeing a face, but you needn't be afraid. If I see anything bad I'll break it to you lightly. Now, what did you want to ask me?"

Near rolled his clay into a perfect sphere, then smashed it between his palms and began poking a pattern into the flattened surface. "I sent J to bring you here because your fingerprints were found on some pieces of evidence for a very important case. Look at the envelope and tapes he will be handing to you. Do they look familiar? J, the tapes."

"Roger." Stiffly the android handed over the videos and envelope; accepting them, Harriet's face scrunched into a studious frown. Then, she brightened.

"Someone must have given you the wrong tapes, I think, because that's my handwriting on the envelope but there's no reason for this to be involved in a case of any kind. Unless of course you're a talent agency, in which case I'm honored to have your attention and am willing to work right away! Any sort of job is fine, but I feel bound to tell you that I won't do anything that's too explicit. All those racy pictures of girls are in such bad taste, and anyway, I keep looking at their skinny little bodies and wonder if they don't get cold, prancing around with hardly any clothing on and next to no skin on their bones. I just don't understand what's so attractive about a bunch of young ladies who are probably catching hypothermia from wearing outfits that are essentially handkerchiefs on strings. Come to think of it, why don't people attach strings to their handkerchiefs to begin with? The string could then be attached to a belt loop and then the person wouldn't lose their handkerchief, since they're such easy things to misplace, being small. Though I suppose most handkerchiefs get mislaid because the owner lends them to someone else who either steals them or forgets to give them back. I've done that more than once, though usually I catch myself and return whatever it is I've borrowed right away. I'm a very firm believer in efficiency, you see."

"That's good to know," said Light, his eyes squeezed shut in frustration as he crossed his arms on Near's side of the screen. "So am I. And it would be most efficient if you told us for what occasion and with whom, if anyone, you prepared those tapes and addressed that envelope."

"I should think the tapes would be self-evident, if you've watched them. I tried my very hardest with all the different styles and poses to be just like the models I see on TV and followed all of Misa's instructions to the letter. She was a great help, Misa; without her encouragement I wouldn't have thought of sending a modeling portfolio to J-TV in hopes they'd show their sponsors. I didn't know it worked like that. I always figured--"

"Miss Deacon," Near interrupted, "it doesn't. Those tapes must have been recorded over, because you did not appear on any of them. Did you give this 'Misa' the tapes when the two of you were done preparing them?"

Harriet grew indignant. "Recorded over? There must be some mistake, then, because Misa wouldn't do a thing like that to me. I look up to her an awful lot, and so you could imagine my delight when she approached me one day when I was visiting my father and Mr. Arubogasuto was showing her off, along with some of the other girls who work for the agency he owns, and asked me if I'd like to try my hand at being a model too. We bonded instantly—I know that sort of thing usually only happens in the movies, but I really do feel like from the very beginning Misa and I had so much in common. Have you ever discovered someone you thought was too good for you really could become a friend? It's one of the nicest things I've ever felt in my life. I wonder why she hasn't called me since?"

"What's Misa's last name, Harriet?" Kyoko asked, feeling like she should contribute something; Light shrugged ruefully, already searching the Yoshida Productions database for any models named "Misa".

"Amane. But she goes by Misa-Misa in everything she does. She does an awful lot—commercials and runways and magazine ads and, she told me, maybe even a movie. She wanted me to fill in her slot in case she decided she'd rather be a full-time actress and not a model any more. That's why I can't believe she'd tamper with my tapes. What was on them? I can't imagine Misa doing anything that would attract the attention of anyone who'd call what they were doing a 'case'. Unless--" She sat up straighter. "You are really working for the city, aren't you? You aren't stalking her or something? People do that sometimes, stalk Misa. She told me about that too, and how she had been so scared when a man rushed at her with a knife. It was to show that an idol's life wasn't all glitter and lights, you see, which I thought was terribly kind of her. But I'm always very safe and alert when I go walking, so it should be fairly hard to stalk me."

Light cleared his throat, having found Misa Amane's profile in the Yoshida database and already combing the computer for more information. "Thank you, Miss Deacon. That should be all. J will lead you out. I apologize, but for the sake of our investigation we'll have to request that you not tell anyone, especially Misa, about our bringing you in here."

"Oh, you needn't worry. I'm very good at keeping secrets. Why, just the other day--"

The sliding door closed while she was in mid-sentence, and both Kyoko and Light heaved consecutive, heavy sighs.

"What do you think?" Light asked Near, who had abandoned his clay in favor of several small model trucks. "Can she be believed?"

"If not, that was the most incredible act I've ever heard," Near replied, running a truck up his leg and down his arm. "Overall the only thing I can say is that bringing her in person was most likely a careless error. We should have contacted her by phone; the chance of bugs, now that I reconsider, was likely lower than first expected. At least most of what she says seems so nonsensical that, even if she should report this, no one will believe her or be listening to begin with. The only question remaining is...what to do about this Misa Amane? From the testimony, it seems most likely that she should be the second Kira; yet supporting Kira would be odd for her if her livelihood, like Miss Deacon's, is reliant on organized crime."

"I'll do more research," Light offered. "In the meantime, however, we have to deal with this coming Saturday's news broadcast. How is the second Kira planning on deciding the person shown is leading the investigation or not?"

"I do not know," replied Near. "I don't want to go on television, though, so we will have to think of a solution in addition to investigating Misa Amane."

Light smiled as J came back in the room and dismantled the screen. "Don't worry, Near. I already have."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was one-thirty. Clair stood in Mello's bedroom, trying his hardest to relax; but relaxing didn't come naturally to him, despite his frequent shows of nonchalant lethargy, and the electrifying young man pacing the floor wasn't helping matters any. Every move Mello made set Clair's nerves on end, no matter how much the young don tried to smooth them down.

Fortunately Mello himself seemed oblivious to the struggle. "If I'm reading you right," he said, walking in a slow circle around Clair while looking the don up and down with such intensity Clair felt pinned to the spot by those hypnotic dark eyes, "you don't want anything too bad for now, just ways to show Misa you care."

His throat dry, Clair nodded; this was a good idea, right? "Things that will keep her close, but not too close."

"Got it. I'll start soft and work up." Oh dear, Clair thought. And yet...oh, yes. "First there are casual touches--" --Mello paused and wound his fingers through Clair's-- "cuddling on the couch and all that crap." He slung an arm around Clair's shoulders and hugged the other boy near companionably. "You can feel her side up if she's leaning against you." His hand began to move up and down while still holding Clair protectively against him. "Leaning against you is a very good sign," he continued, tightening his grip around Clair's waist so the other boy fell against him and remained there. "It shows she wants to be near you. If she's cuddling in addition to leaning, that's even better. She probably wants more."

Clair stopped abruptly in the middle of rubbing his head up against Mello's shoulder and, squirming out of Mello's hold, stepped backwards. Mello acted like he didn't notice.

"But judging from your behavior on the first date alone, you've already sent the signal that you've progressed beyond that. You've also bypassed most no-tongue kisses with her, though if you repeat them like so they have the effect of boosting expectations." Starting on the side of Clair's neck, he began to massage his lips spot by spot around the don's head, ignoring the way Clair's pale skin had begun to quiver beneath him. "You just keep going"--kiss-- "and going"--kiss--"until she's putty in your hands..."

Clair didn't appreciate that description at all, considering the weakness in his knees and the jelly wobbling in his head that had once been his brain—and what was worse, that he was enjoying the sensation of powerless Mello's presence exerted on him. Liking something was one thing, but surrendering was quite a different matter. Surrender was for the weak, and Clair wasn't ready to accept that label onto himself just yet.

"...at which point you head for the lips to seal the deal."

Although Clair stared expectantly at this piece of news, Mello waggled a reproachful finger in his face instead. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Vampire. This is merely a hypothetical situation. I can't get too distracted in the middle of a lesson."

Clair stared at the boy in obvious outrage, but Mello didn't relent. In fact, he even stepped back and looked his pupil up and down with a critical eye. "You're shaking," he pointed out smugly. "Are you even sure you want to do it this way? There are other methods of getting close to someone, though I have to admit they're a lot less fun. Still, just letting her have her way all the time should be enough. She's an idol. There's probably nothing she likes better than being the star."

"I can't do that," Clair replied sharply, angry at Mello for toying with him despite having practically asked for it. "I won't let that—that woman—run my life. If that's the only suggestion you've got, go home now. Because I quit." He lowered his head, unable to hide his true feelings; but he spoke softly in a shameful half-hope of remaining unheard. "You really only seek to torture me?"

Mello smiled crookedly; if he'd heard the confession, he showed no signs. "Me? Go home? But we're in my home. And you can't leave until I give you a lift back. You were the one who wanted to ride the bike again, so don't give me that look." Something was wrong. Where was his chocolate bar? Mello should've been eating chocolate during an argument like that. "You're willing to fondle the girl but you won't let her boss you around? What kind of a power addict are you?"

"I'm not going to fondle anyone," Clair shot back, offended and aggravated. Mello had stopped on purpose, he was certain now, and it made his blood boil. "And if anyone's abusing power, it's you. Ever since we met, you've been playing around with me--"

"And whose fault is that?" Mello asked, his voice angry but his face amused. "Oh no, it's not Vampire's, it can't be. Nothing is ever Vampire's fault, because he's been handed everything his entire life." He began to back Clair into a corner, tone growing more and more fierce with every step; Clair tried to maneuver his way out but soon found himself trapped. "Vampire doesn't understand the sacrifices that some people have had to make. Vampire doesn't know what it's like to be number two, because he's been on top all of his life. Usually he can get beyond that, but every now and then he shows his spoiled little boy side, and that's when congressmen start plotting and people start dying. But oh no, Vampire didn't do anything."

Clair's hands balled into fists at his sides, and he trembled with anger, but he curved his lips into mad parody of a smile. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, his voice tinged with denying laughter. "You, who plot conquests while your supposed rival is probably jailing both Kiras as we speak! Why did you really come to me? Tell me! Kira was an excuse, wasn't he?" A revelation was slowly dawning on him. "You felt threatened by me and now you're trying to bring me down. I should kill you for—"

Mello grabbed Clair and held him close, ignoring the way the don squirmed in his arms as sparks shot up and down his spine. "Don't jump to conclusions, Vampire, or you'll have a lot of messes to clean up," he warned the boy. "I've had my eyes on your progress for a while, I'll admit that, but I only came to you because I knew you could help me. You think I could jerk around someone who has anything to offer me? I didn't need you before, but I do now, and I wouldn't dare indebt myself to anyone I didn't respect. There's nothing more pathetic than a man who owes his soul to slime.

"I'm trying to help you, because you can help me. But you won't be of any help if you can't get your mind out of your fairy world and down into the gutter you're ruling! If your father brought you up to believe your position in life was a given, he was a heartless bastard wiring you for self-destruction. Don't try to hit me, you know I'm right." Mello's grip slid down to Clair's wrists and tightened, but his pupils were pinpricks and no longer looking at his captive. "At least you've never had false hope. You've never found a way out, a hand reaching out for you and calling you special when no one else you knew got selected, only to find you were just one of dozens of other kids, all just as special and some even more so. You've never had number one dangled in your face like that; you lost it by your own hands, but that's not the same as having no control. You need to take control, after feeling that helplessness. You need to do whatever it takes, use whatever means necessary, hurt anything in your way...just to have what you thought was going to be yours all along."

Staring, Mello snapped out of his reverie as suddenly as he'd entered it. "That's the real world, Vampire. You've only scratched the surface. Now do you want to win or do you want to remain standing still while everyone else outraces you?"

Clair couldn't speak, afraid of something he'd seen in Mello's face and yet glorifying over it. For a moment—just a moment, as he'd spoken about losing something that had never been his own—the blond had seemed almost vulnerable, almost hurt. And in that instant, Clair had seen through even the long speech, through even the infuriating taunts and half-promises, the withheld kisses and the moments where self-control broke down. It didn't matter that the trappings were different, though Mello had become hung up on the particulars. Deep down, both boys were the same. Mello, whom he'd come to for advice when normally he would never dream of such a concession—Mello, too, could crawl and rail and be deprived. Mello, too, knew what it was like to never be good enough.

The knowledge leveled the field again, gave him strength."I want to win," Clair said with quiet sincerity. "I want Kira to pay for what I've had to go through." He gave the blond a sly, suggestive grin, determined for the crisis to pass as quickly as it had fallen. "I believe you were teaching me how?"

Mello smiled, the tension sliding off of his body as he let Clair go, and returned to the business at hand as if he'd never broken down—denying it had happened? Clair wondered. Yet, although he frowned and chewed his lip in thought, he neither spoke nor moved towards the don.

"What's wrong?" Clair asked, worried that the other boy was rethinking the situation. He couldn't have gotten this far only to be turned away. He wouldn't accept that.

"I've been going about this the wrong way," Mello said, frowning harder, and Clair relaxed—for a moment. "Here. You do to me what I tell you to."

A nervous lump rose in Clair's throat; he swallowed it down and managed a smirk. "Self-indulgence?" he asked. "Doesn't that hurt your cause?"

Mello grinned and faced Clair squarely, arms hanging loose at his sides. "Not really," he admitted, but would not explain himself further. "Where were we?"

"Kissing," Clair murmured, drawing close to the other boy; but he felt himself be pushed away. So Mello wasn't relinquishing control.

Though his face seemed almost wistful, Mello shook his head. "I remember being a little beyond that, though if you're patient we can practice that at the end. Now, you have to be careful with this and judge your timing properly, because some girls are sensitive. Try putting your hands behind my neck and rubbing my shoulders."

Obliging, Clair felt the blond sag beneath his touch and, encouraged, rubbed harder. This wasn't so bad. He could do this one to Misa very easily...and as for Mello, he could to this to him all day...

His victim, however, had other plans. "Yeah. Yeah, you're good at that one." The words sounded a little rushed; was Mello nervous now? Regretting he'd handed over the reins? He'd underestimated Clair, that was obvious, hadn't taken into account that anyone who'd spent almost all their life seeking approval rose to challenges all too easily. "Do my sides now. Gently. You just brush your fingertips across their—ah!"

Encouraged, Clair repeated his motion and watched with satisfaction as Mello shivered at his touch. He wasn't sure if he could do this to Misa, but for the time being it certainly was fun. "Am I not doing it right?" he asked, stepping a little closer as if needing to prove he was serious. "Isn't it nice?"

Mello didn't answer; his eyes were closed and his whole body felt limp beneath Clair's fingers, as if the blond could barely stand. "This was a very good idea you had..." he mused. "I think I like teaching you. But you still aren't quite getting it. Linger for a moment like this." His fingers danced across Clair's sides, and it was the don's turn to gasp slightly. "Show how much you love touching the other person. If you do it right, you end up even happier than them." Clair wondered if that were the present case; the boy's tenderness came as a surprise. "Try again."

Clair did, concentrating hard on getting the movement right, and succeeded.

"Very good," Mello appraised, drifting a hand down the side of Clair's face and kissing the corner of his mouth lightly. "You get a reward." Clair felt satisfaction flush into his cheeks, then winced. The rush had started to hurt as it flooded through the rest of his body. It wasn't supposed to hurt. How could he get that to go away?

"Next," he ordered, feeling the first mist of perspiration frost his brow. "What's next?"

Slowly, Mello placed Clair's hands against him on either side of the rosary hanging from his neck. "I thought you might get bored with that after a while. So if she seems to be bored too...do her breasts."

Clair recoiled, but Mello merely smiled knowingly. "Here. We'll do one hand each. It's not so bad. The funny thing about people is, men's nipples are just as sensitive as women's. Just try. Like this." Gently removing Clair's shirt, he demonstrated.

Mello's hand all over his torso, so different from the harsh way he'd grabbed Clair's wrists, made the boy's entire body throb; he began to move his own hand in a mock puppetry as the pain increased, now strangely flavored with enjoyment. Anything he wanted this badly and had gotten so close to obtaining in the past, after all, couldn't possibly be harmful. And if Mello could be broken the way it now seemed he could...

The blond leaned in, slowly kneading the skin of Clair's chest as the boy barely suppressed a moan, deaf to anything but the roar of his own blood and numb to anything but Mello's touch against his skin, blind to everything but the wide array of stars bursting onto his half-lidded vision. He didn't want Mello to be broken anymore, he wanted to break underneath the pressure, to stop fighting and let whatever happened happen...but he kept imitating the motion in fear that surrender would cause him to lose the boy's respect.

"Am I doing it right?" Clair whispered, caressing Mello as Mello caressed him back; and his voice, thick with longing, was tinged with desperation. "What's going to happen to Misa? Will she do as I say?"

"Harder." Mello's voice was nearly a pant. "We're done with gentleness. Harder." Clair obliged, improvising by resting his head affectionately on Mello's shoulder to put the full weight of his upper body into the motion, and Mello nipped the exposed skin of his neck with equal fondness.

"Of course," the blond added breathlessly, "I don't know about doing something like this to cute little...Misa-Misa...but just to complete the routine...move your hands from her breasts to her hips--" he positioned himself accordingly, gingerly resting his fingertips on Clair's pockets, "and work your fingers in...just to see what happens. But do so at your own peril. Because the result's kind of like—this."

Both boys pressed, rotated; Clair's hips bucked forward of their own accord only to meet Mello's halfway through, and his hands, half-mad, went flying up, raking across Mello as he attempted to stabilize himself. Still short of breath, he swatted the rosary out of the way and his mouth closed dumbly over the zipper of Mello's vest, not sure of exactly what he was doing but knowing with searing certainty he wanted to. "And then this, right?" he asked faintly, clamping his teeth down and pulling until the vest hung open and he was wrapped around Mello's waistline, working his tongue into Mello's bellybutton for no other reason than it felt so good to be doing something, anything, instead of just standing there and letting Mello order him around, play with him—Vampire wanted to play too, wanted to rule the playground—he could feel Mello's own hips jerk forward again and knew he'd gotten to the other boy at last—so he could be broken, so they were the same--

But Mello wasn't an easy sovereign to topple. "It's a good try," he murmured, and his voice, though strained, was silk against the raw symphony blaring in Clair's ears. "But you're missing the point a bit. If that's how far you want to go...this is how you do it..." Pulling Clair to his feet, he knelt instead and bit down on the zipper on Clair's pants, fingers undoing the button at the top. Wrapping his arms around Clair's legs, he licked Clair's bellybutton in teasing homage once, then pulled down on the zipper with his mouth.

And the world exploded.

So it seemed, at least, because something blew apart within the young don; he felt the pain build to a snapping point and then every inch of him suddenly ignited...and the only thing that would put out the inferno had suddenly ended up on the floor under him, taking the rest of his clothes with it, so Clair latched on and fell, feeling Mello twist beneath him...fire was nothing new to him, he had risen to power amid fire, it had never failed to entertain before and having it in his own body was the most excruciatingly beautiful thing he'd ever felt.

But it still needed an outlet. Blindly he stripped away the black leather keeping him from his goal and sighed in satisfaction as he heard the other boy cry as he followed through on his intent. He could feel the flames pouring from him into the other boy, heard and felt Mello shuddering beneath him, struggling to regain control, and the sound and the feeling between his legs were worth more than a million ovations from his followers, because they were all just pieces in a game but Mello—Mello transcended the games, the whole stupid farce—Mello was the world, and Vampire was ravaging the world, was burning it to ashes with desire and passion, with his will, just like he'd always dreamed of doing.

Arms pulled him close, and he fell into a tangle of blond hair and pale limbs, felt himself be rolled over and oh! Now Mello was the one razing the universe, pouring out flames of his own, and Clair embraced the new fire to himself, gasping in pain but aware that he would never again in his life be so stimulated, so alive, as he was in the moment, so he had to make it last somehow, any way he could—he twisted up and pulled the boy back down; their legs entwined as they convulsed and panted and cried on the floor, their motions those of agony but their expressions transcendently blissful.

At last all that was left was a puddle of near-drunken euphoria, giggling on the floor as one half massaged the other half's feet and both licked the sweat off the other's body, the salt more delicious than any chocolate ever could become. Clair's brain still buzzed and tingled, though he felt incapable of thought and so lay sluggish and sated for the time being, twisting his neck and prying Mello's mouth open with his own. It didn't take too much provocation; Mello succumbed easily, one hand around Clair's back and the other still working Clair's body beneath his fingers, sending waves of desire coursing through the don to which at present he lacked the strength to respond. Just continuing the current was all right, though; he felt dimly aware of doing the same thing to the blond boy, all reserve burnt away by a fire that already he missed, already he craved again. He'd discovered something addictive, he could tell; but Clair had been addicted to danger his entire life and the feeling was nothing new. No, there was something else flavoring this new opiate, something strange and alien but at the same time welcome, because he'd been waiting nearly twenty years for it to come along and set his mind at ease.

For this first time in his life, Clair Leonelli knew what it was like to be totally, completely, mind-killingly happy. The loathsome turns his life had taken? Gone. His father's expectations, and even Mello's harsh words to him before? Gone. The girl for whom he was supposed to be preparing the apartment? She had never existed. This was all that mattered, having this feeling and keeping it close to him, and he'd destroy anything that interrupted his supply without a second thought.

Mello pried his tongue free only to move his head a fraction of an inch and suck on Clair's lip ring, his own head apparently still swimming as well. "Welcome to the real world, then, Vampire," he whispered drowsily around the obstruction, and the words absorbed themselves into Clair's impressionable mind until he nearly believed everything else in life had not only vanished, but been a fleeting nightmare from which he'd awoken in Paradise. "It took you long enough."

"I'll never leave again," Clair promised, noticing tears had begun to bead in Mello's eyes. He'd made Mello cry? Why? Lifting his head though his aching neck protested, he kissed the tears away. "Tell me you won't either."

Mello rolled on top of Clair again. "Well," he purred, his toes kneading into the balls of Clair's feet until the don could barely contain all the pleasure overloading his system. "What do you think?"

Clair smiled and held on tight once more, savoring the pressure he could feel already rebuilding itself inside of him. The ride would be slower this time, he figured, but no less exciting. "I think you're going to have to prove yourself to me again."

Mello's devil smile seemed crowned with a halo from Heaven. "I intend to."

It was, if possible, even better the second time, for as Clair felt Mello shove his fire back into his body a thought drifted across his mind that built his spirit up again and tore his mouth open with peals of chest-shaking laughter. He hadn't been caving to Mello all this time because he was weak; Mello plainly needed him just as badly. No, he'd been afraid of losing Mello from the very beginning, afraid even when offended to kill the boy or send him away forever, and now Mello surely felt the same way about him. If Mello wanted the joy to last, if he wanted a continuing supply of his fix, he had to do whatever Clair asked, for the real power had lain in Vampire's hands all along. Mello couldn't refuse Clair anything from now on.

The blond wouldn't mind his newly sealed servitude, the young don mused to himself as Mello finished and let himself be dominated in turn, tears of pain and happiness definitely beading at the corners of those beautiful flinty eyes. After all, it was a power Clair fully intended to use for their mutual benefits.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Matt stopped by the apartment two hours later at Mauro's request after a quick detour a supermarket to help Mello restock his chocolate. After knocking several times and getting no response, he adjusted the box of candy in his arms and tried the door handle. Thwarted by the lock, he dug around in his tuxedo pocket until he found his key and opened the door.

Carrying the box into the bedroom, calling for the two seemingly absent young men, his burden fell from stunned fingers as he stood in the doorway. Lying in the corner, arms still entwining each other, with clothes rumpled and strewn underneath them...only the rising and falling of two pale, sweaty chests showed they both were still alive...and Mello was actually resting his sleeping head on Clair's forearm...Mello was letting himself be comforted, letting himself be held...and he was at peace...no, they both were; he'd never known Clair could smile like that, so carefree and childish. Why, oh why, did he have to look so like a child as he lay there, bare-legged and clinging to a human landmine...

Matt sat down on the bed, feeling it was rude to stare, but he couldn't help himself. And they hadn't even made it onto the bed? For crying out loud, it was less than ten feet away! Would it have killed them to aim a little better? Or...could they not wait even that long...

Shoulders heaving, he stood and pulled the blanket off the bed, laying it gently over the pair so they wouldn't get cold. "That's right, Vampire," he said softly, trying to tame a tremor in his voice. "It wasn't so scary, was it? I'll bet you liked it. I'm sure he liked... liked you back...that's great...I'm happy for you both...I wanted this too..."

He'd wanted something, he knew, and had been wanting it for a very long time. Abstractly he wished his best friend all the luck in the world, and the young don all the happiness the past twenty years had denied him. Distantly, logically, as Matt the bodyguard and as Mello's sole confidante, he could give the couple on the floor, resting after what was no doubt the most exhilarating afternoon of both young lives, all the blessings his goodwill could contain. But there was something else, something tainting his earnest well-wishing, a shadow he could not and did not want to tame.

The door closed, leaving the sleepers to their recovery and their companionship; a pair of goggles fell to the ground, closely followed by a body sliding into a seated position. His frame shook, the heels of his palms dug into his exposed eyes, eyes that could not see a full foot in front of him—fitting shortsightedness for such a selfish bastard, he told himself. He had no right...Mello was all that mattered, and if Mello was happier with Clair, then his happiness would become his friend's as well...so really, he was happy...if Mello...Mello...

But he wept for himself anyway.