Note: So now we're gonna see if Mello's mouth brought him some trouble... hehe, enjoy!

Matt
Boy toy? BOY TOY?
The blonde fag had crossed a limit, and hearing him assert my person as an eventual homosexual object for him to play with was one thing my mind could not even begin to process. My brain sizzled and I became mad, totally mad.
I didn't even think twice before putting my plans of strangulation into motion. I wanted to choke that little bitch to death. Not only was I NOT gay, but the sole idea I could be used by someone like him was disgusting.
He was pretentious, cocky, big-mouthed, unnerving, and he was gay. There was no way I would be assimilated to this shit.

Of course, I wouldn't kill him, I was angry but I wouldn't go to jail, I was not stupid (although I could probably live in jail with the idea I shut his big mouth, it would bring me enough warmth and fuzziness inside to stand a life in prison).
But I hoped for a brief moment that I would scare him enough for him to stop his little game and leave me alone forever.

Unfortunately, I was quickly pushed back as his hand gripped my wrist with such a strength that I thought he would break it, his grin not leaving his face once, and his right leg snaked around mines to trip me on the couch.
I fell backward and briefly feared that with such a bruising force and backfighting skills, he could as well rape me if he wanted. But to my surprise he didn't follow in the fall, letting me land on my back on the couch while he proudly stood in front of it, not even losing his balance.
"You're so moody." he sighed, crossing his arms as he mockingly smirked at me from above.

My blood was boiling. I was beyond mad at him. Not only for calling me a boy toy, but for the humiliating position I was in, and above all for the fact that there seemed to be nothing that could take away his confidence.
I jumped on my feet, an unusual rage making me act like I never did before.
I tried to punch him, hard. I wanted to hurt him, beat him, make his stupid smile bleed and finally win against the cocky bastard.

Shit. How did he do that?
I suddenly suspected him to have practised some martial art. He smoothly caught my wrist and pulled me to his left side and down, my body easily following with all the strength I had put in the missed punch, and I found myself neck stuck between his legs as he swiftly threw his right leg above my shoulder as I fell on my knees.
His thighs were holding me like an iron grip, and even in that uncomfortable position, I couldn't help but think that he was way more muscular than he seemed to be. And that I was lucky I didn't fall the other way around otherwise I would have had his crotch right against my face. Urgh.

"I don't want to ruin your hopes, but it would be better for you to understand now that you can't win that battle, before you get hurt. Not that I can't control my own attacks, but I'm somehow becoming a bit annoyed with you now and would gladly hurt you a little bit, just for fun. So don't tease me with your poor attempts anymore and leave. Unless you're finally agreeing on a good fuck with me, you have no reason to stay."

My eyes went wide. I tend to do that a lot lately. Well, I tend to get reminded of gay sex a lot lately, too, that's why.
Fuck, I hated him so much! It's such an unpleasant feeling to hate and want to beat someone to a pulp and be unable to!

Mello
I guess that if he had known about my abilities to fight, he wouldn't have even tried.
I had taken sambo lessons for years, back in my native Germany. I was not particularly the sportive kind of guy but being gay had brought me my share of antigay violence and stuff and since I also wasn't the kind to suffer in silence, I did what was necessary to be able to fight back.
I had tried karate and muay thai first, but it hadn't been my cup of tea. And then I, after a scholar trip in Russia, discovered the art of fighting that the russian special forces used, and was really impressed by the way they used their bodies. Imagine muscular and strong-built soviets in tight black fighting apparel snaking and crawling and almost dancing around their opponent in deadly grips, breaking spines and cracking necks like mikados.
It was for the beauty of the men first, and for the fight itself after some time, when I began to really appreciate the sport as months passed by and my skills increased.

It was funny at first but I knew very quickly that he couldn't fight back at all. He was weak, light as a feather and he couldn't even keep his balance. So much for being such a macho, I knew girls that were stronger than him!
I verbally threw him out of my apartment as I let go of him, getting bored. He looked at me with eyes as wide as plates and I noticed that it was his trademark each time I suggested gay sex to him. Funny.

And then it was back, the disgust in his eyes. And as much as I always ignored that kind of look, and that it didn't usually do anything to me, this time it bothered me.
Don't misunderstand me, yes, I thought he was amazingly sexy, but right now, all I could see was a stupid homophobe, and the anger that was slowly building in me took the best of my feelings. No lust anymore, no game, nothing.
I wanted him out of my place and my life. I hated him.

"Forget about the pants and don't even get near me again." I spat, and he left. He was seething, I could see it, but there was nothing he could do, after all, and for once he was smart enough not to try anything but go away.

The next day, I arrived twenty minutes before the first class of the morning and headed for the administrative office of the university. I wasn't even in the office itself, crossing the corridor, that I heard him.
"Please, I know we're not supposed to switch classes after the year has begun, but I need to. I'm pretty sure you can help me." he was purring to the black haired secretary who was trying to oppose.
Not even waiting for the woman to let me in, I entered.
"As much as I hate it, I support his request. Either him or me, but one of us has to switch classes, you wouldn't want to be held responsible for a murder in class, would you?" I said as I realised he had come here for the exact same reason as me. I didn't have much choice than to do my best so the secretary would agree to let one of us switch classes, since it was for my own interest too.
I guess the look in his eyes when he turned around and saw me was enough of a hint for the secretary to understand that murder was probably not an understatement, considering the electricity suddenly floating around us.

When I saw the woman stir the required forms from a plastic case and hand them to the redhead so he could apply for another class, I left, satisfied I wouldn't see him in the amphitheatre anymore, and didn't even have to bother with the switch since he would be the one to.
I contentedly snapped large chunks of a chocolate bar I had just stirred from my bag as I sat on a bench close to the amphitheatre, waiting for the first class to begin.

I was looking down, daydreaming, when a pair of red converses came into my sight.
I looked up and saw the redhead walk past the bench, he looked so angry he didn't even see me. Blame my big mouth, but I couldn't keep it shut, the occasion was too great to tease the object of my visceral hate.
"You could at least thank me for helping you convince the chick."
He stopped cold, and his body turned to face me.
He approached, slowly, tensed, and stopped before getting too close. I hated him a little more for the security perimeter he was putting between my gayness and him.
"I don't need your help, I don't want you to talk to me, and I don't want to have anything to do with a dirty creature like you, so leave me the fuck alone, 'kay?" he spat.

Matt
I went too far. I knew it the moment I uttered the words 'dirty creature' and that his eyes clouded. I never expected someone like him to actually have feelings. But there were silent cracks slowly breaking his mask and I felt bad.
I wondered why since, after all, he was the one asking for it, with all his leather and ass swaying and cockiness and tease, and I shouldn't feel sorry for telling the simple truth.

But the fine traits of his face froze, his eyelids closed several times as he looked at me, his expression suddenly rid of any malice, and I saw his pupils dilate, making his usually very clear eyes almost black. His lips were slightly parted, and although I expected him to reply with some mocking sentence of his, he said nothing.
His traits weren't even tensed or angry, just simply blank, or at least that's what I thought until he brought a hand to his face to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. His hand was trembling.

Not for long though.
But it wasn't rage or anything similar, which I would rather have expected from him.
He stood up, and it wasn't because he was something like one inch or two taller than me that I felt suddenly threatened. His darkened stare, his whole body so clearly in control as his hand stopped trembling and that he uncurled from his sat position oh so slowly, I felt in such a bad situation that I almost expected what came next.
A cold punishment.

His fist connected to my face. Hard. Painfully.
I fell backward and landed half on my butt, half on my side. The blow had been amazingly fast and powerful and I could see stars dance behind my closed eyelids as I was almost knocked out. Clearly, I should watch my mouth around him, the guy was a fighter.
I tried to stand up and was greatly helped by his hand gripping my shirt and pulling me on my feet, but the joy was short as he punched me in the stomach and let me fall on the pavement once more.
Through my choked coughs, I could hear some people scream around us, and when I could breathe again and opened my eyes, I saw three guys try to intervene. But they didn't need to stop him, he was already calm as a lake, glaring at me as he stood still. But this time he wasn't smirking or anything, his face was so cold he could have frozen a volcano with a single look.

Mello
I don't give a shit about what people think of me. Insults don't touch my confidence. I like who I am, the way I am, and if people have a problem with that, they just can fuck off.
But sometimes, people need to be reminded that they're no better than me, or better, that I am not of a lesser kind than them. The redhead obviously thought high of himself, and he's been irritating me for far too long, so I finally decided that he should learn to respect people. Calling me 'dirty' meant too much for me to ignore the comment. It wasn't what it did to me, since it was doing nothing, but the meaning he put into that simple word.
I was not a gay rights defender, I was way too little involved in opinions and clichés to give a damn. I was gay and I lived my life for myself, not in the eyes of people around me or for some search for approval.
But putting my sexuality on a level that qualified it as something dirty, making me dirty as a person just pissed me off to no end. It was relinquishing something genetic to an abnormality, like if gay were responsible of their sexuality, like if gay sex, gay love, gay relationships were staining the earth and had no right to exist. If I should be ashamed of being gay, then I could as well bash him for his red hair, after all. It was all on the same level for me.

"You two, come with me. RIGHT NOW!"
A security guy came to us screaming, and soon had us following him to the security center against our will as he pulled each of us by one arm.
He practically threw us on a chair in the office where an older security officer was sat, behind a huge wooden desk, and stood behind us, his arms crossed.

I guess we were in trouble...