Death Note is full of win. I don't know what to make of the correlation between the amount of time Mello and Matt actually appeared in the series and the amount of fanwork there is out there about them. But I've never cared enough about semantics such as who a character really is to write about them. That being said, this work contains spoilers, so if you haven't seen or read the whole series, leave this 'til later.
This is a look at the last moments of Mello and the reflections he has at that time. Smutty, angry, rough, and sad. Lots of swearing too, because as far as I can tell that's what makes M&M so great. Anger and swearing.
Hope you enjoy the read.
Mello puffed out his chest and preened, tugging at the fluff of his collar, a habit of frustration, desperation. His fingers fidgeted with his cell phone, flicking it open and closed a few times as if something would come of it, someone would call. But he was alone now.
Takada stood with her hands clutched to her chest, fingers white-tight around each other. Her expression wasn't fearful, and, Mello thought sickly, it was rather slutty. As if to say, "if you're going to do something to me, do it now, before you're dead too."
"Hey Matt," Mello droned loudly, standing across the room from his companion and fingering the contents of the top of an end table. "Hey, I'm talking to you."
Matt didn't turn away from his game to acknowledge him. "I'm busy, babe," he replied, raising a gloved hand in a sort of half-hearted wave, a gesture that at once symbolized obedience and resistance.
"Go to hell," Mello growled back, voice low. "What's this knife here for? And the . . . are these toy ninja stars?" He lifted a multi-pointed blade in his leather-clad fingers, rubbing the smooth metal with a frown.
"They're there for the same reason you have a vintage .38 Special in your room," Matt called back. He flicked off his console and pulled the cigarette butt on which he'd been chewing out of his mouth, swung a boot up onto the dirty couch. "I want them. I collect'em."
"Well, at least I use mine," Mello mumbled his reply, slightly taken aback. "What, do you fancy yourself a ninja now? Matt? Where'd you get them, anyway? D'you steal 'em?"
Matt didn't reply. He watched the other man across the room, an arm swung over the back of the couch, a leg bent over the armrest. As much as he loved Mello's crass voice and frequent yelling, it was late and he was in the mood for a good game, and–
"Hey Matt," the voice tolled again, "what're these handcuffs for? Where'd you get them?" The blonde circled the shiny silver rings on the desk with a clothed finger.
"They're for you, bitch!" Matt called finally, jumping from his spot on the couch and marching towards his partner-in-crime. He tossed his mangled cigarette on to the floor with an unceremonious sweep, an intent look in his eyes.
Mello didn't move, but looked a little shocked to see an angry face on the normally laid-back Matt. It usually took a lot longer to get Matt into "yelling-expletives" mode.
The redhead took Mello's wrist into two hands, lifting it to his lips. "How'd you like to be tied-up, huh?" He smiled from behind tinted lenses as he kissed the tender white flesh.
Mello stared back into dark eyes; gasped as cold steel connected with the skin of his wrist.
On the woman's face that same proud look remained. Mello never liked anyone with too much pride.
"Take off everything you're wearing and put it in that box." He gestured with his gun to her person and with his eyes to the box.
Takada let out a soft gasp of surprise, withdrawing a tiny ways into the wall behind her. What was most pathetic, she tried to disguise it, redrawing herself to full height.
Securing his partner into both cuffs of the handcuffs behind his back, Matt pulled him into his front with a hand on the collar of the man's vest and another on the hem of his pants.
"What d'you care where I got 'em, huh? Maybe I did steal them. Maybe the cops are on there way here to get them back. You don't really care, do you?" Matt growled in Mello's ear. When the man tried to jerk away he seized a handful of blond locks and pulled him back.
"You just wanna yell at me. You just care what you get out of it, right? You're a self-serving piece of shit, you know that?" Matt continued gruffly. He grabbed hold of Mello's pointed chin and forced it to turn towards his, licking deliberately along his pale jaw.
Mello panted, grunting against Matt's weight holding him to the edge of the table. "Yeah? Then what does that make you? He who serves that piece of shit?"
A look of resilient anger rose on the redhead's face, tinting the peach skin a shade closer to that of his hair. He dove and silenced Mello's next retort with a forceful kiss, drawing a muffled groan and a sopping tongue. Mello's moan was broken by a lack of air, his airways contorted awkwardly to reach the man behind him, mouth eager to retaliate. He loved it. He loved angry Matt, angry Matt's mouth on his, his hand against his backside.
Matt slid a hand into the leather pants, slipping down the separation and sticking twin fingers in Mello's hole. He smiled as Mello stretched against him, drawing his back longer and looser; lifted his other hand to the arching blonde's throat.
"Such a little slut. What'd I say about self-serving?" Matt's voice came out in a growl again, reaching forward to sweep the entire contents of the end table on to the floor. What went flying was a pair of antique knives, some dull shuriken and a pile of chocolate bar wrappers and cigarette boxes, and somewhere in the mess, a pair of silver keys.
The redhead slammed the blonde on to the table, bent at the waist, flat against the dark, polished surface.
Takada's brown eyes were searching, deducing. She made a movement to turn around which Mello quickly caught and responded by cocking the gun in his hand with an audible click.
"I . . ." the woman stood still, "before I take off my undergarments, would you hand me that blanket?"
"Sure," Mello replied coldly. He tossed the gray cotton over dispassionately, not dropping his pistol.
He watched as the woman undid her bra, revealing elegant, slim shoulder blades. He got no pleasure from it. She wasn't attractive to him at all. She was too clean, too neat. Needed a few more gouges in her . . .
Takada turned around, now clutching the blanket to her throat. "Are you . . . going to . . . do anything to me?"
Mello's eyes grew wide. Who the hell asks that?! What was this woman waiting for? He gripped tightly at the hilt of his gun so that the leather of his gloves creaked, contemplating that he add some of those aforementioned gouges himself.
"What the fuck kind of a question is that?!" the captor yelled back. His voice, unimpeded by background noise in the empty store room, travelled clearly to Takada. "Molest you? Is that what you mean?!"
Mello, head tipped down, gun tipped slightly to the side, stared hard at her, a mirthless laughter trickling down his breast. "Oh, if it were up to me, sure as fuck I'd have my way with you. I'd fuck you up."
Mello's fierceness intensified, threatening to take over, eyes narrowing, sharp canines bared. In his mind, he was spouting nonsense, words that meant nothing to him, but stirred deep in his victim's mind. Words kept coming, more and more, like an uncapped fountain.
"Fuck, if it were any other time or place or circumstance, I'd take you at once. Probably tease you a bit first . . . I'd take you home to my boyfriend – yeah, and we'd take our turns with you. Maybe both at once."
His breath came out in pants. He had to use all of his restraint to control his grip on the trigger of his short pistol. (Short-barrelled, like his temper, the one he'd never called "boyfriend", until now, used to say.)
But no. Not now. Mello grunted and was unaware if he'd even said those words aloud. His outstretched arm started to shake; he saw Takada's eyes go glossy. "Not this time. Now they're gonna wipe him off of his car like he's common bird shit . . . all thanks to you, and your goddamned importance!" His forehead dripped with a little sweat.
"And no one is going to pay for it!"
"Here we go again, eh, beautiful?" Matt grinned, reached up to slip off his goggles, letting them rest on his neck. He stretched around and unlaced Mello's pants, those gorgeous tight leathers, delighting when the hardness underneath rose to greet him.
One hand on the back of Mello's neck, pinning him to the table, another working the leather pants down to his ankles, Matt smiled a broad smirk.
He smoothed his fingers over Mello's head, picking up a slick of precum in his naked hand. He led his hand back down to his own cock, now exposed over the elastic of his briefs, and soused it in the sticky white fluid.
Mello snarled like a beast, the alpha male. Now seemed a time to bark orders, if not simply to fire up the already heated punk he called partner.
"Well, are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna do something?" the blonde chuckled, his low voice rising from somewhere deep in his chest. He was already well prepared, the memory of Matt's fingers inside him had him feeling raw and empty, all that was left now was –
Mello's breath caught in his mouth, bubbled there. When Matt slid into him, he grinned broadly, teeth bared. He'd gotten what he wanted, so he decided to give a little back.
"Oh . . . fuck, yes! Yes!" Mello cried with all his might, in an almost sarcastic way, mimicking those women in the American movies they sometimes watched together. He laughed, full and rich and proud, another voice joining him.
"Haha! Like that, do ya?" Matt grinned, sifting through thin strands of blonde hair, occasionally tugging. "It's not even all in yet!" He gave a great shove with his hips and sunk completely inside.
Mello groaned long. The pleasure was intolerable, so strong and so hot. He thought briefly of how sex was without Matt. Nothing. It was absolutely nothing.
"Come on, I wanna see some blood!" Matt teased, thrusting hard into the back of narrow hips. It was very rare he could get away with such carelessly crude words. He either risked being shot, or could look forward to the reward of Mello's unrestrained laughter. "It's 'cause you're such a slut," he continued, "it doesn't even hurt you. You're hardly worth fucking."
The blonde, panting, straining against his handcuffs so the metal dug into the flesh of his wrists, continued to laugh, though it was weaker, disrupted by gasps for air. His composure was permeated with the feeling of the other launching himself at his backside, thrusting on with mechanical precision and unseen strength.
"Oh yeah, then why do you keep doing it then?" Mello retorted. The sudden warmth of Matt leaning over and pressing himself to him made his eyes grow wide.
A soft, low, familiarly nasal voice sounded near to Mello's ear. "Because I love you."
Mello let his grip slip weakly on his gun hand. Takada looked shocked, but unmoved emotionally or physically by his outburst. Her open mouth appeared to be trying to make words but none surfaced her glossy lips.
The scarred man was angry. He was over-the-top livid, as was his typical state, but at the same time mournful, feeling helpless, and most of all, done. He was done. The rest was up to Near. And for once, that didn't make him any angrier.
What good did yelling and acting up do him now? It wouldn't get him anything, this time.
"Of course I don't want to violate you. That's why I gave you the blanket."
Mello noticed a few things in the heat of the moment. He realized in his dazed, lusty state that he'd likely never seen the surface of this table before. It was always covered with debris, but now it was cleared for the sole purpose of their sex. He noted that his bare stomach against the polished wood would develop welts from the sticky friction, not that he cared.
And he realized that in the years he'd known the boy, (turned man, turned criminal by him,) he knew nothing about Matt. Not his favourite food, the dreams he had when he was a child, the position he normally slept in.
Mello felt a spell of pain groping his insides, a pain that had nothing to do with Matt's consistent pressure inside him, or squeeze on the parts of his body that were pinned to the end table. For a skinny punk, Matt's hands on his shoulders were surprisingly strong.
Matt's breath in his ear made Mello feel something he hadn't before, and the deliberate strokes into his back made him fight and clench against release.
"Matt . . . " Mello panted, in a nearly foreign tone, preparing for their dual climax, the moment when they forgot about everything except each other, ". . . I love you too."
Hands firm on the steering wheel, Mello pondered how long ago that encounter was. Probably two or three days. But it was so late into the night, he wondered if that even counted as a day. And how long since Matt died? Less than three hours. If he hurried, he could reach the body before anyone attempted to desecrate it with an autopsy. He probably wouldn't be able to get anywhere near it without being arrested, though . . .
Moreover how long had he been driving? 25-30 minutes? It was supposed to take only half an hour to get there, but that wasn't in a clunky old truck, it was in Matt's gorgeous car, with Matt's gorgeous hair blowing in the highway wind and his lips on the stub of a cigarette . . .
Suddenly something reached into Mello's chest and pulled. It was truly the exact feeling he'd expected the moment he heard of the possibility of a shinigami. Like a clawed hand digging into his ribs and tearing, and he started to grin with that utterly pathetic image in his head.
With one last move he turned the steering wheel sharply right, sliding his boots off of the pedals on to the floor of the truck.
Before the truck crashed into a wall, hands tight on the steering wheel, Mello died.
So, minor formatting issues. Do you think I should make the flashback portion in italics? I thought about it, to clearly seperate the two settings, but I don't think that's the feeling I want.
Thanks for reading, reviews will be appreciated.