Chapter 3: Revenge (or Artemisia's Judith)

"I thought that betrayal was your favorite word..."

"No, no...cruelty. I always think that has a nobler ring to it." - from "Dangerous Liaisons"

Matt

It was like falling into a nightmare. A nightmare from which he could neither escape, nor wake. Reality had turned into a dark dream-all warped and twisted and false-like the images found inside a fun house mirror. Only there was no fun to be had. Far from it. No, there was only this: the anticipation of unavoidable pain. This remote, sinking feeling. Of despair, of doubt, of disbelief. Of numbness, of nothingness. And Matt-despite these numbing, crippling feelings-found himself following dutifully behind Ross and Mello, shuffling without conscious thought toward the casino's elevators. He felt nothing, nothing of the physical world except for perhaps the guiding hand on his shoulder belonging to the woman Gretchen. The tightly clenched hand which kept him moving forward and, paradoxically, bound him into place. Which was good, because without the restraint of those grasping fingers, Matt would have just come to a complete halt in the middle of the casino floor and started screaming: Has everyone just completely lost his fucking mind around here?! What the hell is wrong with everybody in this place?!

This couldn't be happening...

Yet it was happening. We should never have come here, thought Matt. If only I had known, I would have never suggested it. But that was the rub, wasn't it? Mello wasn't one for sharing his plans, his thoughts. And Matt wasn't sure if it was because Mello had spent the last four years on his own, without anyone to confide in, or if it was simply because Mello didn't deem him worthy enough to take into his confidence. The way of the lone wolf. Matt couldn't bear the thought of Mello not trusting him. Hadn't he proven his loyalty enough over these last few weeks? Shown himself willing to do everything and anything for him? Wasn't he good enough? Or perhaps that wasn't it at all. Maybe the problem was he was too loyal, too trusting. Maybe Mello thought he was such a trusting, loyal dog that he would just sit on the sidelines like a good boy while Mello spread his legs for some filthy, wretched gangster...

Matt felt his jaw automatically clench and his hands unconsciously ball into fists as he thought about it.

Even now, standing within the cramped confines of the elevator-the elevator which was taking them all up, up, to whatever assigned ring in hell they were all currently bound for-Matt felt his own suppressed fury begin to rise. Rise, unbidden and unrestrained, as he watched Ross place proprietary hands on the exposed skin on either side of Mello's waist, grasping him from behind, whispering intimately into his ear. Something which Matt could not hear. Don't touch him; he's mine! Jealous, violent impulses made his heart lurch and his hands shake. And, as if sensing an impending struggle, the hand on his shoulder gripped him even harder. Then he heard Gretchen whisper near his ear: "Steady on, Ginger." Matt resisted the urge to just turn around and punch the bitch. But something told him that wouldn't be a wise move. The fact that she was here and not one of Ross's boys led Matt to believe that there was probably something more to the woman than what met the eye. Namely, something dangerous.

Just as the elevator shuddered to a stop, Ross turned to glance over his shoulder at Matt, his expression one of malicious delight, of complete and utter victory. He's enjoying this, the sick bastard-and my pissed off reaction is just making it all the better for him. Matt tried to remain composed, tried hard to not show any emotion, but that would have been like asking the sun not to rise, would have been like asking the moon to just fall out of the sky. The urge to lunge forward and place both hands around Ross's neck and squeeze the god forsaken life out of him was hard to ignore. Every muscle, every nerve twitched with the need to do it. And yet Matt remained frozen, helpless. He looked over at Mello, who had his back to him. Ross still had his hands on him, but Mello wasn't reacting. Do something, thought Matt. Why in god's name are you submitting to this man so easily? The Mello he knew-or thought he knew-would have never submitted. Ever. Not to anyone or anything. He was a fighter, a tiger. He didn't give up or give in. Matt couldn't understand what was happening here. Was he really going to go through with this? he thought. Was Mello so completely worn down by his fight to get to Kira that he had decided to just go and take the easy way out of this-which was, apparently, to lie back and think of England? Matt's head-his thoughts-floundered in a swampy marsh of possible, contradicting motivations.

The four of them got off the elevator and walked in a single file death march toward one of the top floor suites. Ross stopped to slide a key-card into the high tech lock, and he opened the door and flipped on the lights. The room was very much like his and Mello's own, but it was larger and gleamed with a sort of futuristic whiteness-its chic, angular furniture accented by sleek, silver underpinnings and an overall antiseptic cleanliness that belied the actions that were about to take place inside of it. Matt felt himself being pushed over to the side, toward a long wall with a large computer work station and an ostentatious looking aquarium filled with multi-colored fish. He was guided-by Gretchen-over to a desk and pushed down into a chair. All these actions barely registered. Because he was staring-glaring-at Mello, who was being guided over to a large king sized bed sitting on a raised dais on the opposite wall. Matt felt a large knot of anxiety wedge into his stomach, lodge inside his throat. His heart pounded like mad, beating out a thunderous refrain of denial. No, no, no! his mind screamed. But outwardly, he was silent. Don't do this, he mentally begged his lover from across the room.

But it seemed it was too late to go back now...

It was quiet in the room, but deafening inside his own head. He barely heard the metallic 'click' of the handcuffs being placed around his wrist; he didn't notice Gretchen's actions until it was too late. His focus had been elsewhere-namely on the bed. And now he was tethered to the desk. Idiot! he mentally berated himself. You're losing your shit, along with your focus! You can't help Mello that way. But it didn't seem like Mello needed any help. No, it seemed like he was just passively following Ross's every directive, without complaint. Nothing-not a word, not a sound of protest came from him as Ross pushed him down into a seated position at the foot of the bed. Mello's face was completely blank, impassive. Then Ross stepped back a few feet and said:

"Well, go on. Take it off..."

There was the flicker, the barest hint of feeling as Mello reached a seemingly hesitant hand up to the zipper on his vest...

No, no, no! screamed a voice inside Matt's head. His hands gripped the edge of the desk he couldn't get away from, gripped it hard enough to cause him actual physical pain. Better that, than the psychic pain that was currently slicing, lancing its way through his heart...

Meanwhile, Gretchen sat at the other end of the work station, casually munching from a bowl of Rocher chocolates as if nothing were amiss...

The moment Mello had his zipper in hand, was about to, in fact, yank it down, Ross held up a hand and said, "Ah-ah. Go slow."

"What?" said Mello flatly. "You want some kind of show?" It was the first time he'd spoken since leaving the roulette table.

"Sure-why not? This is Vegas, isn't it?" Ross answered in a patronizing tone. He then turned toward the computer station: "Gretchen, why don't you turn on some music?"

The purple-haired woman reached up to the shelf just above her head and tapped on an i-Pod that was enclosed within a blindingly white stereo dock. The speakers on the either side of it thumped to life with a raucous string of psychedelic guitar riffs:

I run so far away from you

Don't matter where I've been

Run around the world from you

And here you are again

You're a real jawbreaker

a real crook, obscene

I'd call you a heartbreaker

But I reserve that for nicer things...

"Well..." Ross prompted, turning his full attention back to the bed, back to Mello. He rotated his hand in the air in a showman's gesture which said: "Carry on."

Matt watched as Mello's lips quirked upward in a vague sneer. It was the most blatant emotion he'd shown since the start of this travesty downstairs. Instead of undoing his vest, he brought his gloved hand up to his mouth. And, gripping the leather material between his teeth, he began to tug the garment off one finger at a time. Once it was off, he flicked it carelessly onto the floor by Ross's feet. The act was condescending, almost rude. Ross didn't seem to care though. He was watching Mello like a cobra: upright, hypnotized, and swaying. And any moment now, he would strike.

Mello lifted his other glove. He stripped one finger, then two, then three. Again-once it was off-he threw it onto the floor at Ross's feet. And through it all, Mello didn't look over at Matt, not even once. It was almost like he wasn't there, like he was a non-entity...

Mello brought his bare hand up to the zipper on his vest. And, with a calculating slowness, he began to pull it downward, in a parody of a strip tease. A parody, because the face above the leather revealed nothing, showed nothing, even as more and more naked flesh came into view-

"STOP!"

Mello's hand hesitated at Matt's sudden outburst. Ross turned his head briefly, just long enough to soak up Matt's look of profound misery. And, observing the other's expression of utter defeat, Ross's deviant smile widened significantly. Matt knew that the revelation of his own mental agony was only feeding Ross's sick obsession. He knew that his anger, his jealousy was adding more fuel to an already out-of-control, sadistic fire. Knew that his outburst was giving Ross just one more sordid little piece of pleasure to revel in. Yet Matt couldn't stop himself. He was screaming inside, like a pained, dying animal...

A heavy gold foil wrapper smacked him in the side of the face, momentarily distracting him from the obscene passion play taking place over by the wall. It bounced off and landed on the desk's milky white surface, glinting like fairy dust. He turned to glare at Gretchen, who just looked at him from the opposite end of the desk and silently shook her head. No! Bad Dog!

Matt clenched his fists in helpless, frustrated anger. The foil had stung, had hit him hard enough to leave a mark-

-Hard enough to leave a mark?

Matt suddenly turned his attention to the foil wrapper sitting innocently on top of the desk. And he saw, tucked away discreetly within its crackling gold folds, a tiny, glint of precious silver...

Matt's heart began to trip hammer within his chest. The foil was within easy reach of his hands. His head snapped up, and he looked at Gretchen. The woman didn't return his gaze. Instead, she reached up and turned up the volume on the stereo:

Run, desire, run

A sexual being

Run him like a blade

To and through the heart

No conscience, one motive:

Cater to the hollow

Screaming feed me here

Fill me up again

And temporarily

Pacify this hunger that's so cruel

So grow

Libido throws

Dominoes of indiscretion down

Falling all around

In cycles

In circles

Constantly consuming

Conquer and devour...

"...you can leave that on. I don't mind it."

Matt's head turned back at the sound of Ross's voice. Mello had his vest off and was now hesitating over his rosary-the rosary he never took off for anything. The slim, metal cross flashed bright silver against the pale gold of his skin...

A flash of silver...

Matt looked back down at the gold foil wrapper. Then, over the din of the stereo speakers, he heard Gretchen say to him: "You like art, Ginger?"

"What?"

"Art. Paintings. That sort of thing. Me-I love them," commented Gretchen dreamily as she carefully licked splotches of chocolate from her deceptively delicate fingers. She sat on top of the desk, with her leg dangling and one knee-high boot swinging casually back and forth. "My favorite is the artist Artemisia Gentileschi..."

Matt just shook his head at her as if he couldn't believe this conversation was actually taking place.

"Her paintings of Judith are particularly beautiful," continued Gretchen, undaunted. "You know the story of Judith, right? Her town was being besieged by an invading army, so she went to their camp as an emissary to negotiate a surrender. But, seeing that the general of the army was captivated by her-was moved by her beauty-she took advantage of this. She seduced him, and then, with the help of her maid Beulah..." and here the woman paused to suck some more chocolate off her thumb.

"...she cut off his head!" Gretchen finished the story with a wide, enthusiastic grin.

Matt just stared at the purple-haired woman as if she were crazy. But then a slight metallic sound from the opposite side of the room claimed his attention. And, looking over, he saw Ross standing between Mello's legs, his hands working at his belt buckle-

Matt was overcome by an indescribable, uncontrollable fury. He grabbed the gold foil from the desk top, popped out the little silver key, and with his free hand unlocked the cuffs. Gretchen made no move to stop him. He was all focus, all cold, devious calculation as he reached back across the desk and unplugged the slender, long-necked lamp from the wall. Then, without a word, without hesitation, he got up and moved stealthily over behind Ross, looping the end of the lamp's electrical cord around his knuckles as he went-

Ross had pushed Mello back down on the bed, was crawling on top of him. Mello's eyes met Matt's briefly over the man's shoulder, just before-

Mello

-Matt crept up behind Ross and using the lamp's electrical cord like a noose he looped it over the man's head and pulled!

"You goddam motherfucking son-of-a-bitch!" Matt spat as he pulled the noose tight, choking off Ross's windpipe. Ross gasped and flapped around like a fish thrown onto a river bank, but his struggle, his attempt to fight, was completely useless. Not with Matt in his current state. Mello had never seen such a crazed look of murderous rage on the red-head's face before. It was terrifying. It was incredible. It was not like Matt. Not his Matt, anyway.

Matt drove his knee hard into Ross's back, slamming him face first down into the mattress. His grip on the electrical cord was white-knuckle tight. Mello tried to cover Matt's hands with his own, tried to take the cord from him. "Let me finish it," he said softly.

"Back off, Mello," Matt growled. And then he gave the noose another vicious yank. A choking, gurgling noise issued from Ross's throat. His face had turned a dusky shade of blue.

Mello didn't know what to say or do. There was nothing for him to do, except wait idly by while Matt finished killing Roland Ross. Mello grabbed his vest from the floor and put it back on. He saw that Ross had ceased to move, was now completely still, yet Matt continued to sit with his knees digging into his back, continued to hold onto the make-shift noose around his neck. Matt's expression was still one of cold, remorseless fury.

"He's dead," Mello said to him at last.

Matt still didn't move. Mello looked around the room, waiting. Sometime during it all, Gretchen had taken the opportunity to slip away. But that was okay; she was no threat to him...

"He's dead, Matt," Mello repeated. He reached out and shook the red-head's arm. Matt started and blinked, like a man awakening from a deep trance. Mello watched him look down at the dead body on the bed. And then ever so slowly, he got up and slid his feet to the floor.

"Are you...okay?" asked Mello. Matt's face was unreadable, frozen. Several heartbeats passed before Matt answered:

"I want to leave."

Mello just nodded. "Alright, we will. There's just one more thing I've got to do before we go..." And Mello walked over to Ross's bedside table and opened the drawer. He recoiled a bit at what he saw there-and began to thank his lucky stars that he didn't actually let the guy have his way with him. Mello then pulled out a wicked looking serrated blade from the small white table. His determined gaze met Matt's numb one from across the bed.

"I'm going to take his head," said Mello.

"Why do you suppose we only feel compelled to chase the ones who run away?" - also from "Dangerous Liaisons"

Matt

He had simply walked out.

He hadn't wanted to stay inside the room, not while Mello was busy cutting off Roland Ross's head. Not while he was still so goddamn angry. Not while he was still unsure with whom he was angry...

He needed to go outside and clear his head.

And so Matt had left without a word. He had simply crept away. The last thing he'd spied before going out the door was Mello leaning over the bed with that god-awful knife, a look of cold-blooded, reptilian determination on his face as he grasped Ross's hair by the scalp-

Matt shook off the image. He couldn't believe any of the shit that had just happened. It all seemed so unreal, so dream-like. No, actual reality was out here, in the middle of the casino hall. With all the blinking neon lights and the clanging slot machines and Bacchanalian hoots of joy and amusement. That's what he had originally wanted. That had been his real intention in coming here. Not the sordid, bloody mess he was currently involved in. Just what the hell was happening to him?

He had murdered two men in cold blood over the mere space of two weeks. All because of Mello. Mello-who was like an infection, a parasite inside his brain. Mello, who made him do things he wouldn't normally do. He was like a drug, and Matt was completely addicted to him. And just like someone on a drug, he ended up doing all these crazy things...

Matt walked by the geometric fountain in front of the casino. Walked by it and headed on down to the Strip. He didn't bother looking up to see where he was going. He just kept walking...

"Matt!"

Matt stopped at the sound of his name being called. And looking back, he saw Mello jogging toward him from down the street-a beautiful, drug-like hallucination in black leather. And yet, he was real. Almost too real. He came to a halt just a few feet away from him. The two of them stood facing one another on a cracked and broken sidewalk outside of a noisy Irish bar. The pub's neon sign flashed red and green across Mello's face, dappling his skin in rainbows. There was a lost look in his eyes, one that normally would have moved Matt to take him in his arms, but this time Matt didn't move. What he said instead was:

"You're a complete asshole, you know that?"

"Yes."

"I can't believe you didn't warn me about all this shit beforehand."

"No."

"I thought we were partners, Mello. Partners. And partners tell each other things."

"I couldn't tell you my plans. Not for this."

"And why the fuck not?"

"How was I suppose to say it?" Mello raised his head, a hardened look covering his face. "Hey, Matt! I'm going to go over to this casino owned by a sadistic lunatic who wants to fuck me. And then, when he gets me up into his bedroom, all 'in flagrante delicto,' I'm gonna-"

"-Shut up!"

"There's no way in hell you would have gone along with that-"

"-you're damn right, I wouldn't-"

"-which is kind of my point, Matt. This had to be done. Had to. This was a job-a very discreet job, done under contract, for Rod Ross-"

"What?"

"Rod hated his younger brother. Feared him a little, I think. He wanted him gone-wanted him out of the picture-and I offered to make that happen for him. All without his dear Papa ever knowing it was him. Now, I'm taking his head to L.A., to Rod..."

Matt laughed mirthlessly in response to all this information. "I can't believe you. Plotting and scheming all this time. And Gretchen?"

"I really do have a stolen bag of diamonds from Zelda. Worth about four million in American dollars. I used it to pay off Gretchen." Mello sighed. "I'm gonna be completely broke now, except for the bounty I'm going to collect from Ross."

"And tell me, just how far were you going to let Roland get with you before making your magic 'move'?"

"God! I can't believe you are still hung up on that..." muttered Mello.

"Oh, I'm definitely still 'hung up on that!'" Matt said, mimicking his words.

"That wasn't fun for me, Matt," Mello said in a low, steely voice. Matt could see the angry little vein pounding vividly against his left temple; it seemed to throb in time with the flashing neon. "Do you honestly think I wanted that asshole's hands on me? Do you know how much self-control that took-and may I remind you, that 'self-control' is not, and has never been, my middle name here..."

Matt had no answer for that.

"Well?" prompted Mello.

Matt lowered his head. "I honestly thought for a second there you were going to let him..." he let the words trail off miserably.

"What?! God, no! No fucking way! That asshole wasn't getting his dick anywhere near me-" Two girls in bright yellow flounced skirts exiting the bar swiveled their heads in tandem at Mello's words. And immediately burst out laughing as they disappeared down the sidewalk.

"Mind your own goddam business!" Mello yelled behind their backs. The door to the bar was stuck open, and loud, acoustic music filtered out into the night like a light through the clouds:

I wanna sit you down and talk

I wanna pull back the veils

And find out what it is I've done wrong

I wanna tear these curtains down

I want you to meet me somewhere

Tonight in this old tourist town

And we'll go...

Low rising

'Cause we've gotta come up

Low rising

'Cause I fear we've had enough

Low rising

'Cause there's no further for us to fall

Low Rising

All, for the love of you...

Mello

"You know, it's funny-I had a noose on me, too. It was the only thing I could think of that would make it past the metal detectors. But you got to use yours first..."

Matt was still glaring at him. He was still angry-furious even-though he'd confessed to absolutely everything. Everything. The four feet of space between them seemed more like an ocean: cold, vast. Impossible to cross.

Something had to give.

Finally, Mello said: "Matt, don't hate me."

A sharp bark of derisive laughter cut through the air. "That's the problem, Mello. I don't hate you. Far from it. In fact, if anything, I love you too damn much."

Mello bowed his head at this, partly to hide the small smile that was now playing at his lips. It was stupid how those words could move him like this, could make him feel like an innocent school boy on a playground, experiencing his first crush, the very first taste of love. A kind of innocence he thought was long lost...

"I love you, too," he said with complete, unadulterated feeling. He then crossed the empty space between them and took the red-head into his arms. He kissed him with a laser-focused passion, with a soul-driven lust that demanded everything: his body, his mind, his soul. It was a kiss which said: Stay with me. Stay until the end. No matter how this turns out. Whether I succeed or fail. I want to live with you; I want to die with you...

The kiss broke. There were catcalls and shouts from passing cars, from other people on the street, all of which Mello ignored. He could feel Matt's gloved hands slide into his own, tugging, pulling him away from the prying eyes of the Vegas streets. Matt backed him into the alleyway next to the noisy Irish bar and with a strength that Mello found surprising, Matt slammed him up against the bar's dirty bricks, kissing him with a violence that overwhelmed him like a sudden wave. It was intoxicating. Intoxicating, because it was usually Mello who was the more forward, passionate one, the one who was in control of all their lustful couplings. But not this time. This time it was different. This time it was Matt pulling at his belt, forcing his tongue into his mouth, taking him with the force of a blitzkrieg. His Matt. Mello let him. And he loved it.

He loved every dirty minute of it.

Matt

It was a kind of forgiveness. But it was forgiveness that came with a price.

Matt was just as surprised by his actions as Mello was. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was Mello's voice next to his ear, low and erotic, whispering all the wicked things he wanted Matt to do to him. And Matt complied with every request. He had never felt so turned-on and desperate and dominant all at once. It had never been this way between the two of them. But Matt found himself acclimating to the new role easily as he pulled off his right glove and brutally shoved three of his fingers into Mello's eager, willing mouth. He blocked out the fact that they were mere feet from the sidewalk, that he could hear the pub door opening and slamming shut, could hear people laughing drunkenly nearby. The public setting only added an element of danger to their indiscretion, an extra spiciness to the dish. A bitterness to the sweet. After Mello finished sucking on his fingers like his life depended on it, Matt shoved his hands down the back of his leather pants, going for the gold. Mello hissed as he inserted one, two, then three digits, his chest cavity vibrating along with the bass line coming through the pub's wall. Matt knew that the bricks, his hands, all of it had to hurt, but Mello took every bit of it, took Matt in, and his acquiescence only served to spur him on. When he leaned down and whispered that he was going to fuck Mello right there against the dirty alley wall, Mello only responded with a breathless, "Please."

Mello

With nothing going for him but spit and animal determination, Mello wrapped his legs around Matt's torso as he braced himself against the wall, braced for Matt's inevitable invasion. He did not disappoint. Neon colors danced over the bricks as Matt pounded into him, a kaleidoscopic grid of electric reds and greens. Matt sucked at his collarbone, biting him, claiming him. Mello's head thumped uncomfortably against the bricks as he felt himself lost to the sensation of Matt inside him, the beginning thrill of that special spot inside of him getting played, pushed, in just the right way. A way that would make his spine go rigid and his vision go white and his insides collapse into jello. Closer and closer it came, higher and higher it built, with each brutal, calculated thrust. Mello's eyes rolled back into skull and his head fell back. "Matt, I'm gonna-"

"-don't you dare come yet, Mello. I'm not through with you-"

"-but, Matt-"

"No buts-" There was a gasp and Matt lifted his head and looked into Mello's half closed eyes, his face turning green, then red, then green again. Mello gripped his shoulders, riding him harder, faster until-

Matt

He tried to hold out. He did his damndest to hold out. But he just couldn't, not with Mello looking at him like that, riding him like that-

His orgasm hit him so hard that his knees almost buckled and he and Mello nearly ended up in a pile of trash bags stacked haphazardly by the wall. Shivers of pleasure racked his body as he felt Mello convulse around him, waiting as commanded for Matt to finish first. Slowly, gracelessly, Mello let his legs slip to the ground where they instantly gave and he was tossed against Matt, grabbing on for support. He was surprised to hear laughter issuing from the Russian's mouth. Then Mello said, "Goddam Mr. Jeevas, how you still manage to surprise me. That was the best make-up sex EVER."

The question lurking behind that last seemingly innocent sentence hung in the air, in Mello's eyes. Eyes which asked: They had made up, hadn't they? Surely they weren't still fighting, not after that?

Matt answered him with a wide grin. He grabbed Mello in an affectionate bear hug. "Hey, I'm parched. What say you and me go into that pub over there and order drinks?"

They exited the alley, arms linked, heads tilted together in genial, post-coital conversation. "You know you got that backwards, right? You're supposed to buy me drinks beforehand."

"What can I say? I like to color outside the box."

"You mean the lines?"

"Exactly."

"Why my dear Mr. Mail Jeevas, I think I love you."

"Do you? Enough to let me go to L.A. with you? Enough to really, truly be partners?"

Mello froze on the sidewalk. Then he put his hands on Matt's shoulders and looked him in the eyes and said:

"Partners. Lovers. Best friends. Through L.A. Through Kira. Through everything."

"Through the end." Matt nodded.

"Through the end," echoed Mello.

Through the end…

End/Fin.

Author's note: Thanks everyone who read and reviewed this piece, especially Carottal! I went back and gave it a more special ending for you guys! And a special thanks to my beta Jorgmund Piper-I loved the new word choices you put in. Thanks!