Title: Toxic
Fandom: Death Note
Pairings: Matt/Mello
Summary: He wants to cry because he wants this to be real so badly that if it's not, he really might fucking kill himself.
Warnings: Slash, language. This is unbeta'd, so. . there could be mistakes I haven't spotted.
Rated: M for handsy boys.
Word Count: 1,630

Mello pissed Matt off.

He didn't ring, he didn't write, he didn't give any kind of warning that he was going to waltz back into Matt's life and turn it all topsy turvy, reopening all the nerves and wounds Matt thought he'd buried a long time ago. He'd wanted this to happen as much as wanted to pour peroxide into his eyes, he decides when he looks at Mello and how much he has changed. Reminding Matt how long he'd been gone.

Matt was fine, he was in control, goddammit. He'd gotten over Mello. And now, the bastard just shows up on Matt's fucking porch like he's the King of the World, demands his help, and reduces his will power to rubble. Matt feels as if he is twelve years old again and got caught sneaking a snack after lights-out; anxiety creeping through his body, tensing for an expected punishment.

Asking isn't in Mello's vocabulary, Matt understands this. What he doesn't understand is why Mello can't get some other jackass to do his dirty work when he couldn't even let Matt know he was alive after he left the Wammy's House, let alone call and chat once in a while.

The silence is awkard and Matt stares down at him, Mello's long, leather clad legs spread and streched out as he lounges on Matt's stoop like he owns it.

Matt almost wants to ask what he'll get out of it, just to be spiteful, since the chances of him giving into Mello are always, have always, been very high. But, Matt knows this will only irritate Mello, so he doesn't, choosing instead to walk up the steps and unlock his door. Ignoring Mello is the only way to catch his interest, Matt learned that trick long ago, courtesy of Near. Of course, it works, Mello indignantly huffing and standing to force a combat boot between the door and the frame before Matt can get it shut all the way.

"I've been waiting out here all night for you to get home, and you're not going to invite me in?" Mello raises an eyebrow at Matt through the crack, the small bit of light that escapes illuminating the raw scar trailing down half of his face, the rest covered in the murky blackness.

"You're not a fucking vampire. If you really wanted to get in, I'm sure you could," Matt responds, rolling his eyes and giving up, his will power not strong enough to deny Mello entrance when every nerve is his body was begging for him to to grab him by the black leather of his collar and see if he tasted the same as the days when Matt would sneak quick kisses while Mello had been asleep.

Mello doesn't say anything as he follows Matt through the hallway that leads to Matt's apartment, the old numbers peeling off half the doors and the chipping green paint aged and cracked, dingy grey carpet beneath their feet.

By the time they enter Matt's 'home,' Mello isn't surprised to see the studio apartment resembles an old flea-market booth, stacks of half broken electronics piled around the room while scattered randomly through it are a much smaller number that looked like they actually work. The television takes up half the wall with several gaming systems haphazardly plugged into it and Mello wonders how Matt hasn't caught himself on fire yet.

He glances over at him, Matt now opening the fridge, the clinking of bottles and the humming of all the devices that are plugged in the only sounds as he rummages around.

"Would you like something to drink?" Matt offers as he leans back up, clutching a soda.

"I'll pass." Mello responds disdainfully.

"If you're worried about cavities, I don't think you should be. The chocolate's probably already sealed that fate."

Matt rolls his eyes and decides a statement that ignorant doesn't warrant a response. He glances around before discovering a worn futon covered in DVDs and empty video game cases. He walks over and pushes them off before sitting himself down and turning his full attention to Matt.

"So are you going to help me or not?" Mello spits out like an accusation, hands together and sitting on his lap as he stares at Matt from across the room.

The question makes Matt feel guilty and he doesn't like it. Mello should be the guilty one, godfuckingdammit. What did Matt do wrong? What has he ever fucking done wrong? The bottle in his grasp slips, shattering on the tile with a sharp crash, tiny shards scattering across the black and white patterns and day glow orange liquid pooling around his feet.

"You're pretty fucking egotistical to think I'd just jump back to your side like a well behaved dog."

Mello barely glances at the broken glass, as Matt's response is much less dramatic than he'd expected.

"Which doesn't change the fact that I still asked," Mello replies, his attention not on Matt but on his pockets as he reaches into them for the last, silver foil covered bar of chocolate he has on him.

Matt tries not to focus as on Mello's tongue as it darts out to capture each crumb that falls from his lips. It's been so long and all he can think about is Mello Mello Mello.

"I didn't think you'd ever come back, you know," Matt finally responds, stepping past the glass, the thick crunch of it beneath his boots. When he's out of the worst of it, he bends over to unlace his shoes, slipping them off and pulling his white socks off after them.

Mello doesn't acknowlege this, just watches as Matt leans back up and meets his eyes. "When you told me you were leaving, I told you good luck. You remember that?"

"Yes." Mello's voice comes out as a harsh whisper before he clenches his jaw.

"You told me that if I asked you to stay, you would. And I told you to go, and wished you good luck." Matt's voice is bitter now as he walks towards Mello, words coming out in an unrestrained rush. "You didn't want me to ask you to stay. You would've fucking hated me if I'd even suggested you stop chasing after Near. You were obsessed with him in the way you never were with me. I couldn't even bother competing. I thought about it for years, why you'd bother telling me that when you knew yourself it wasn't what you wanted."

Matt stands over Mello now, staring down at him, fingers digging into his palms.

"You know what conclusion I came to? Wanna know what I think, Mello?" Matt doesn't wait for an answer, choosing instead to press on, "You knew I'd hang onto anything I could of you. You knew I would never be able to look at a candy bar or some blonde bitch without thinking of you. You knew I was hopeless. There wasn't even a chance of me having a normal life after the Wammy's House. I was trapped the day I stepped foot on that doorstep. You offering me that choice was nothing more than giving me the illusion that my opinion mattered. You would have left regardless."

Matt stares and Mello's gaze is unwavering. "You really don't give yourself any credit, Matt."

"For what? For not even having a chance against you and Near? I knew it was a waste of time to even try. And now life outside of the Wammy's House seems to go by in slow motion. All I can see is how pathetic everyone really is. How fake everything is. I want to just go back to being mind numbingly unaware, dammit."

Mello reaches a gloved hand towards Matt and places his fingers along his jaw, letting them brush against the pale flesh.

Before he can protest, Mello is dragging him down, pulling him against his chest, fingertips digging into his side.

"You don't what to go back to being numb and you know it," Mello's voice ghosts across Matt's ear, and, for a moment, Matt's wondering if he's having a terrible acid trip and is lying on the floor alone, but then Mello's lips are on his and he can care less if it's a manifestation of his psyche when he's tasting chocolate and saliva.

Mello is the right amount of rough and tender as he prods and nips, in turn, at Matt's bottom lip. And then the tenderness is gone and it's rough kisses, hands pressing and straining against each other.

Matt thinks his senses are going to overload as Mello unzips his pants, Matt still leaning over him. Coherent thoughts are gone, thank god, as he thrusts against Mello's palm.

Please Please Please.

And Mello's hands are around him and stroking and Matt chokes back words as the try and tumble from his mouth. He wants to cry because he wants this to be real so badly that if it's not, he really might fucking kill himself.

His hands are propped against the back of the futon as he tries to keep himself upright but it becomes more and more of a struggle as his knees weaken, each stroke tearing down his resolve and ripping his logic at how fucked he is to shreds.

And then there is bliss. The mind numbing bliss that Matt wanted before, only in a completely different way.

"Please, God," Matt whispers as he finally lets himself collapse against Mello, knees hitting the floor and head landing in Mello's lap.

His breath is raspy as his draws in air, "What is wrong with me?"

Mello places a hand on Matt's head and lets his fingers slide along the scalp, "Just follow the leader, Matt. Just follow the leader."

A/N: Thoughts? First Death Note fic. . . so I'm a little nervous :/