Thank you to the lovely Guest reviewer (s?) for your comments; I really appreciate it! It's been a rough go lately so I am writing more slowly than my normal, but it's coming along. 3 Hope this is alright, it's a bit different from normal. Was in the mood for ... softness :P

The American Mafia had to answer to a teenager with the same haircut all good Catholic schoolboys had worn in Prague in the 90s; sitting unconventionally on a zebra print couch, a relic of old world criminality displayed like a Playboy spread: Mello.

Fuck the title of Don – as he'd given away the name L, Mello let Rod Ross have it. Whether they called Mello boss or not, it was him who had become the head of the bloated corpse of Organized Crime, and he would be the one Kira wet his prison cot over.

It was so glorious to enact his devilish plans with this sparkling pride, this champagne bubble of self-love lifting his spirits and spurring his manic resolve. It was erotic to be so powerful, to dominate the syndicate, to pistol whip men old enough to be his father. He liked telling the President of the United States to suck his dick over the phone. He jerked off once imagining it actually happening.

God, Mello had fucking loved himself right up until he sloughed all his perfect skin off in an explosion.

It had been Matt's idea – not the burning alive part, but the dynamite. Matt was insane about explosives. He did the math for Mello's missile, he told Mello he wished he could have seen the helicopter blow, wanted to watch debris fly up close and in-person – shame for the dude who died, though, he said. Matt didn't give a fuck about anything and he hadn't met enough people in his secluded orphanage life to know how to give a fuck about anyone. He was 18, now, and actively trying to book a ticket into Mello 's personal space. He was also a talented, callous, and beautiful cyber-terrorist who frequently praised Mello's nefarious deeds and sent him pictures of his new tongue piercing pressed into assorted phallic objects.

Everything was so great before the explosion, before the destruction of the pretty face Mello had made his signature and based all his self esteem on, that when Mello was crushed afterwards by an equal and opposite karmic dread, he had texted Matt I'll pick you up at the airport. - M within days of his bandages coming off.

Looking in the mirror had become a ritual for Mello; his reflection was his altar. He was fortified by the sight of himself well dressed and dangerous. The effect was entirely changed when he studied himself scarred. His cheek was an angry, dark, rippling landscape. His hair had been singed off and was only curling around the tops of his ears now, so the ghastly melted mar dominated his head. He felt like a victim for the first time ever. He felt ugly.

Matt had been worried, of course, when Mello told him that he was recovering on a cot in Hollywood with a bleeding burn and a killer fever.

Now you're hot in two ways lol was how he expressed that worry.

They had matured into something almost identical to sexting without acknowledging or labeling it. Mello was sometimes 90% sure they were in a casual long distance romantic relationship, and sometimes thought they were both kidding. Mello still sent Matt a lot of risque pictures. Matt noticed when he stopped.

You can show waist down since you're so self conscious :/ he sent when Mello told him that the scar that wrapped around his chest and throttled his scalp had rejected a graft.

I'm not self conscious, Matt. It's not something you'd wanna see. -M

Don't tell me what I like to see :(

When Mello sent him a frowning mirror selfie, just a photo of himself in baggy sweatpants with a pink stripe of damaged tissue splitting him in half, Matt said Holy shit you look BADASS! DAMN!

That reaction was part of why Mello told him to go ahead and come on over. He'd always promised Matt that he would put him up in an apartment when he moved out of Wammy's, anyway. He could rely on Matt's devotion to him; Matt had proved over and over that he was loyal to Mello's cause no matter how bloody and dirty the work got.

To be honest, Mello was also impatient to see his best friend. Now, he felt like he needed someone on his side more than he ever had. He felt alone and destroyed and needful. He had spent years sexualising himself until he really believed he was sexy. How was he supposed to think of himself now?

He could do with hearing Matt call him BADASS! a couple more times.

He drove his shiny new custom Camaro to LAX to meet Matt, dripping with aloe gel and apprehension. Traffic was infuriatingly bad, which gave him plenty of time to grind his teeth.

He would have been early even if Matt's flight hadn't been delayed by 20 minutes, so he bought himself a coffee while he watched the gate for brushes of red hair, suggestions of stripes. He didn't know what Matt would wear, but he could guess: Matt had a thing for this one shirt, and rarely wore anything else. Finally, he spotted Matt shuffling around a family of four, looking tired and slumped. The only major change in his appearance since Wammy's was the addition of a wallet chain, which almost looked cool but became nerdy when Matt pulled a Kirby wallet out and put his passport away inside. He bloomed when he looked up from his fidgeting and saw Mello standing there at the end of the corridor.

Matt's enthusiasm boiled Mello's stomach acid a little – Matt hurried to close the distance between them, a duffel bag banging against his hip as he speed-walked through the crowds, and wrapped Mello up in his arms without hesitation, squeezing.

'I can take that.' Mello said, indicating Matt's book bag, which he'd lowered to the ground at their feet when he flung himself at Mello's chest.

'Damn.' Matt breathed. 'You look so different. But like the same.'

'Sure.' Mello liked when people stared at him, but not like this. He twitched his hair over his raw left cheek. 'Let's go.'

Matt whistled when he saw the car. He had a big goofy grin on, contrasting the heavy baggage under his eyes. Something in his face wasn't connecting anymore.

'It's a bit of a drive.' Mello said.

'What's a little more travel, hey.' Matt said. 'It's fucking hot here, huh? Jesus. It was raining when I left.'

'It doesn't rain much in L.A.'

'No kidding. So what's up?' Matt was alternating between staring dazedly out the window and looking at Mello with a lopsided, baffled smile as they pulled away from the airport and onto the freeway.

'I got the day off to settle you in.'

'Brilliant.'

'You brought a lot of shit.'

'Yeah, equipment. My businesses don't... like, run on air.'

Matt's "businesses" had evolved from basic phishing scams and false advertisements to credit card fraud, identity theft, exploits. Some of his activities were pointlessly destructive fun; others were lucrative, multi-tiered ventures that had made him an independent millionaire without Roger ever knowing about it. It was thanks in large part to his generosity with his ill gotten fortune that Mello had been able to fund many of his own big moves before he'd gained access to the Mafia's purse and started investing on his own.

Without Mello, Matt would have been fine. 'I don't know why you want on the case.' Mello said while they drove. 'You can just live here. Rent free.'

'Eh. I'd get bored.' Matt said.

Mello cleared his throat, exaggerating leaning over the steering wheel to check if the road was clear so he could look at Matt when he said, 'You don't trust me to entertain you?'

He'd forgotten how awkward and halting Matt's laugh was, how red his ears got. It added charm to the increasingly bold person Mello had been getting to know over text. 'I trust you with whatever, dude.' Matt said. 'You know.'

Matt's electronics ended up everywhere in Mello's apartment. They coated the floor like stringy tar. It would be cumbersome to put so much as a coffee mug on Mello's glass table in the living room, now. Mello offered Matt a drawer in his dresser to put pants and socks in, and a few hangers for all three of his threadbare old shirts. Matt simultaneously exploded over the space and shrunk into it – he took up a lot of visible floor and not a lot of any space that mattered. He kept his arms close to his sides and his narrow shoulders hunched as he followed Mello around on a tour.

When the packing was done, Matt put his feet up on the couch cushions and tilted his head back over one arm, pulling a cigarette out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it in his teeth. 'Do you know how to smoke on a plane?' he asked Mello, meeting his eye upside down.

'I wouldn't need to know that.'

'Just do it, is how. What are they gonna do, shoot you down?' he chuckled, and then sighed. 'Well, actually, I do it into the drain in the sink. I'm sort of tired. Am I sleeping with you?'

'Only one bed.'

'Now?'

'If you want.'

Matt chewed the inside of his cheek a lot. Mello had already noticed, and they'd only been back together for 4 hours. He followed Mello into the bedroom, biting at his lip and saying 'this house is sort of shit. Why isn't there a floor?'

Mello had ripped most of the carpets up in the apartment, since the carpet had gone mouldy, and put two big shaggy rugs down in the living room. 'I don't know, Matt. I don't spend a lot of time here.'

'Cool, whatever.'

Matt dived into the bed. He really was tired, evidently, because he was asleep within minutes. There wasn't even time to wonder if he had anything other than sleeping in mind. Mello laid down with his back to Matt, turned the lamp on, and read his novel silently while Matt dozed.

Mello hadn't taken a day off in a long, long time. He couldn't let himself get used to it.

After an hour, Matt shuffled around and put his nose into Mello's hair, exhaling deeply. His hands curled at Mello's back.

'Are you awake?' Mello whispered, shifting slightly to peek at Matt. There was no answer. Matt's face was slack, and he was still. Mello rolled onto his back and lifted his arm up so he could scratch Matt's hair with his acrylics, making stripes behind his ears. Just like he used to. Matt's breath on his shoulder was warm and sweet.

It was hours before Matt jerked awake. He settled his head more definitely onto Mello's arm. 'I was scared this would be weird.' he said.

'You make everything weird.' Mello told him. He flicked his page, bookmarked his place, and put the book aside. There was no point reading when Matt was talking.

'You know what I meant.' Matt yawned. He flung his arm over Mello's stomach. 'I like your crop top thing. It's fun and flirty.'

'Is that what it is?' Mello grumbled.

'Yeah, why? Were you going for like, something else?'

Mello rolled his eyes.

'And I like your nails. Do that thing on my back with your nails.'

'You're demanding.'

'I'm trying to soak it all in.' Matt's voice started to get quiet. He fell asleep again for a couple minutes, leaving Mello to his book again. 'Hey, what time is it?' he asked when he opened his eyes again.

'1700.'

'Can we order in something to eat?'

'Sure.'

'Can I shoot your gun?'

'No.'

'Do you have any weed?'

'No.'

'Damn.'

Mello called in a pizza order while Matt whispered 'ask for extra sausage' in his ear.

'Do you mean that?' Mello asked gruffly, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

'No, I want pepperoni.'

'Half pepperoni and half greek.'

Matt smoked in bed. The smell and sight of smoke made Mello nostalgic. Everything Matt did was like a balm on his sore spots. Matt had a cooling effect on anger.

'You keep doing that.' Matt said, when Mello flattened his bangs over his scar before laying down again, face to face with him. 'Covering it up with your hair or whatever. Does it hurt?'

'Not badly.'

Matt touched the sensitive edges of the scarring flesh with one of his soft fingertips. 'I'm starving.' he whispered. 'When's the pizza coming?'

'I literally just called.' Mello whispered back. 'It's gonna be at least twenty minutes.'

Matt's mouth started to twitch. 'But maybe, uh...' - he snorted - 'maybe I could get some sausage now.'

Mello stared. 'Really, Matt?'

'I mean... or we could just keep gazing into each other's eyes. Whatever, really. Up to you. Hey -'

Mello leant forward and pressed his lips onto Matt's. Just to shut him the fuck up. It was so easy. It was as logical as shaking someone's hand after meeting for the first time.

Matt said, 'Oh shit, finally, right? I was like, not even, like... I didn't actually -'

Mello had to kiss him again to shut him up. Matt wasn't a good kisser. He held his mouth open and froze like a deer in headlights. At least he smelt good, heady and hot. He felt like a coat-rack under Mello's searching hands, but that coat-rack was Matt's body. If it was Matt's body, it was everything he needed it to be.

By the time the pizza came, Mello had sucked on the tongue ring and given Matt a couple hickeys. Matt liked being bitten. He liked tracing the lines of Mello's stomach and digging his fingers into Mello hips. He didn't stop breathing, talking, whispering, licking his lips, fluttering his eyelashes. Mello wanted to hold him down and make him be still and make him quiet. He was starting to, starting to push one of Matt's wrists into the mattress and roll on top of him, when the doorbell rang.

'Great.' Matt said, jumping up and smoothing down his shirt. 'I'll get it.' He scurried out into the hallway.

Mello wandered into the living room. He watched Matt sweep cords off the coffee table and put the pizza box on top. 'Do you have beer?' Matt asked.

'No. We can go get some.'

Matt shrugged. 'Tap water's good too.'

Mello didn't feel like breaking the seal on the apartment. He sat next to Matt.

'Are you against the death penalty?' Matt asked, around a mouthful of crust.

'Are you going to eat the crust and leave the rest?'

Matt shrugged. 'I'm going to have some of the pepperonis.'

'Infuriating.'

'Yeah. So? Are you?'

'I don't care.'

'So like, the problem with Kira is that Near has a problem with him.'

'Holy fuck, Matt! Take that back!'

'Nah. Think about it.'

'I won't. I have watched Kira kill. You know what happened in Prague.'

'I've watched you kill in, like, my mind's eye, and I only want to take you down in a metaphorical, sexual way.'

'Kira killed my Family.'

'And does that make you sad?'

Mello's fingers twitched. 'None of your business.'

'I was just wondering.'

They lapsed into relative silence. Mello put a glam-rock album on. Matt made fun of the cheetah print ankle socks Mello was wearing.

Mello wanted to rediscover himself, again and again, until he found someone he liked nestled somewhere in his guts like an entombed fetus.

He had hoped it would be good enough for Matt to accept him, and to think his sins were cool, but actually he wanted Matt not to pick up on them so intuitively and point them out so brashly. The pretty veneer he'd constructed had obviously burnt away. If only he could ask Matt: who should I make myself out to be now? How would you like me? Unfortunately for him, Matt seemed to really like the burnt-out husk, so he wouldn't be any help.

If there was a God, Mello would definitely want to fucking kill him. He would kill Kira, at the very least. Matt didn't get that. Matt didn't understand hatred or envy or passionate blood-lust and Matt didn't really get image either – he didn't try very hard, socially, or know how to try hard. He didn't make any friends or influence any people. He was simple. He just loved and was loyal, and made bombs and scammed people.

Luckily, Matt's mood wasn't dampened by the seriousness of their over-dinner talk. He shifted sideways on the couch after they'd finished eating, slipped his greasy hands into Mello's, linking their fingers, and tipped his head forward until his lips brushed Mello's. Matt was impervious to tone changes, as well as Mello's moods. Totally unflappable.

His limbs had a way of finding Mello's soft spots – Matt's knee dug into Mello's thigh when he crawled into his lap, his chin knocked Mello's cheek while they tumbled backwards onto the couch cushions. Mello started to get impatient, manipulating Matt's body a little roughly out of defensive necessity, to save himself from bruises. He shoved Matt's shoulder into the back of the couch and pulled him by the hair until he was draped more delicately over Mello, like a bird's wing, with his feathery hair curtaining them off from the rest of the world.

It was so indulgent to be confident in each other, like this. Mello wondered why he'd ever doubted the sincerity of their flirting, now that he felt Matt hard against his leg.

'Can you not say anything?' Matt muttered when Mello pushed his thigh against his crotch. He had his full weight on Mello, his full mouth on Mello. What a fucking idiot, to think Mello hadn't noticed his erection a long time ago.

'I'm not.'

'But talk to me.' Matt said.

'What do you want me to say?'

'Whatever. Anything.'

Mello told him about how, two days before, he had gotten shorted on his change at a drive-through window. He told Matt it had pissed him off so bad when he noticed that he'd wanted to take it out on someone. He said, 'I would have turned around and shot every fucking cashier in that joint if the parking lot was empty, but I couldn't find a space' while he fumbled Matt's jeans button open and started to feel the fabric on the front of Matt's boxers.

'I'll give you 2 dollars if you want it that bad.' Matt said. He had put his face into Mello's clavicle to hide, but Mello could feel how hot his skin was, so what was the point?

'It was the principle of the thing. I was thinking about how easily people still think they can cheat me.'

'Who ever cheated you?' Matt asked, and then said, 'I'm gonna -' and then came.

'Just that one person as far as I can think. And L. And now you. That was fast.'

'I'm not cheating you; I'll do you.'

'Wash your hands first.' Mello said.

'Wash yours.'

'Yes. Wash mine.' He put his fingers at Matt's mouth.

Matt opened it and licked the cum off. Mello had wanted him to do that as punishment for all the teasing pictures Matt had sent him of licking sign posts and staplers and his own middle finger.

Matt struggled clumsily off Mello to go wash his hands when he was done.

Mello liked looking at his own legs almost as much as he liked looking at Matt between them. He opened his fly and stroked himself a few times while he waited for Matt, thinking about how hot he must look, how good his hand must have been for Matt to have finished so fast, how long Matt must have been waiting – touching himself to Mello's image. Matt masturbating over him was one of Mello's favourite fantasies.

'Oh, shit.' Matt said when he walked back around the couch. 'Can I -'

Mello snatched his sleeve and helped him maneuver his clumsy ass back onto the couch, since he was so useless. 'Sit back down,' he snapped, 'and why don't you use your mouth?'

'Ok, yeah.'

'You don't talk.' Mello said, voicing his earlier inspiration. 'Yeah. I'm gonna shut you the fuck up.'

Mello had a few favourite wet dreams. One was the thing about Matt stroking himself while he looked at a picture of Mello, another was Matt wanting him so bad that he came in his pants over it. Another, putting his gun in Matt's face and making him lick it.

Matt probably knew what he'd done, with those pictures he'd been sending over the past year, because he was grinning ear to ear when he licked Mello from root to tip.

'Actually, will you suck off my gun?' Mello panted, searching for it where it had slipped down from his shucked waistband.

'Are you serious?' Matt answered, pausing with his chin touching the inside of Mello's thigh.

'Yes.'

'Ok, yeah. Is that safe?'

'No.'

'Ok, yeah, I will. Give it here.'

To Mello's delight, Matt made up for his poor kissing technique by swallowing long, tubular things like he'd been practising. He probably had been. Fuck, he definitely had been. Mello helped him pump his cock with one hand while he held his glock steady, watching Matt spit on it.

'I can swallow if you tell me when.' Matt said. 'Like I'll put your dick back in my mouth.'

'Oh, can you?'

'I mean, probably.'

Mello laughed. 'Let's find out.' He put the gun on the coffee table, on top of Matt's fucking messy wires, and pushed Matt's head back down. Matt seemed to like being dragged around and talked to like that. Mello liked talking to him like that, too, and pulling his hair.

When Mello came, thinking about slapping Matt and telling him to suck it, imagining just this same scene as the one in front of him, but a little more extreme, Matt sputtered most of it back out. Mello just made him eat it again. No problem. He liked watching Matt suck his own fingers.

'You're surprisingly useful at cleaning that up' he said, patting Matt's cheek, 'for such a picky eater.'

'Oh shit, Mello, that's so funny, thank you.'

'Anytime.'

They looked at each other. Matt was bobbing his head a little, agreement or embarrassed squirm. 'I might go back to bed.' he said after a moment. 'I have a lot of sleep to catch up on.'

Mello followed him, though he wasn't particularly tired. He wanted to be there when Matt sighed and cozied up to him, to feel the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck. He let Matt hug him tightly from behind, nose on his neck and knees slotted like puzzle pieces. It was good to be wanted.