Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. (I've typed this so many times, now. O_O)

Warnings: Adult themes, homosexuality, language, and mentions of abuse and rape/incest. If you are uncomfortable reading about these themes, I urge you to reconsider reading this fanfic.

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Matt was playing his games again. This was normal and I was by now completely used to it, but he was taking it a bit further than he normally did. For example, he hadn't moved from that spot in four days. If I wanted him to eat, I had to bring him food. He had taken to peeing in a bottle, which, quite honestly, worried me. He slept occasionally when he couldn't fight it anymore, sitting up, his game on pause.

I'd seen him camp out before when he got a new game, but never like this. He'd always taken a bathroom breaks at least...

So I was understandably concerned, and on the morning of the fifth day, I decided to confront him.

I approached him slowly. One never knows how Matt will react to his gaming being interrupted. He'll even snap at me if I catch him at the wrong time. Scary stuff.

Halfway to him, as I planned what I was going to say and what my last words would be, he leaped to his feet, threw down his controller like a football after a touchdown, and commenced his victory dance.

Relief swept through me as he started in on 'Walk Like an Egyptian' for a few seconds. He had beaten it, the madness was over, and I would be allowed to dismantle his camp that was starting to mold. Seriously. Burger King (because I sure as Hell wasn't gonna cook) is fun, but five-day-old wrappers are not. You should see it. They start to decompose and... yeah.

The game must have been harder or special for some reason I couldn't comprehend, because he looked more pleased with himself than he usually did after beating a game. Normally, it was pretty much accepted that he'd eventually beat any game he tried. All he needed was time and a few dozen cans of Monster.

Anyway, he danced hard, almost frantically, and grinned at me. He grabbed me and kissed me, which was nice because it had been five days but was also slightly disgusting because he hadn't brushed his teeth in that time.

"I beat it, Mels," he sighed happily, his manic energy gone and replaced with his normal intense calm. "It's supposed to be nearly impossible, and I beat it in less than 100 hours. No one does that, Mels!"

That explained his excitement. Haha, my boyfriend beats everyone else at being nerdy! Take that, Near! I grinned back at him, trying to be the supportive boyfriend when I actually wanted to pin him down and get the layers of grime off his teeth. Still, his jubilation was endearing. "I'm proud of you!"

He grinned wider. "Thanks, Mello!"

He hugged me tight.

The smell almost caused me to vomit, but the fact that it was the one I love in there under all the 'ew' made it bearable.

He wiggled away from me. "I've gotta take a shower. I reek. And then I'm gonna come out here, I'm gonna get on my stomach, and you're gonna fuck me senseless." With a grin like the Cheshire cat, he slipped away in the direction of the bathroom.

Leaving me with a very uncomfortable hard-on. He can't just say things like that and then disappear! He usually took quick showers, but here I was, out here, alone, and I'd be out here alone for about fifteen minutes.

...I could wait sixteen minutes. I pounded on the door. "Brush your teeth, too."

I listened for his consent and wandered back to our room.

So he wanted it doggie-style, huh? It was his favorite (He's a puppy, through-and-through), but he usually saved it for special occasions. What day was it? It wasn't his birthday, I usually remembered that. Was it a holiday? He was originally from England, was it a British holiday? I hadn't paid attention at Wammy's, too busy failing to beat Near to think about holidays. What and when was Boxing Day?

I commanded my mind to figure it out as I stripped and got on the bed, posing myself in one of the various ways that made him have to stagger over to me. Sometimes he came right on the spot. That's always a boost to the self-esteem.

He came out, finally clean (let the Church say amen!), not having bothered to dress himself, as I knew he wouldn't.

Matt walked right up to me, got on top of me, and kissed my breath away. He was so sweet, tasted so good (now that he was Matt + hygiene), and as his fingers slipped into my hair, I deepened the kiss. He began to move against me, as if I needed the friction to get it up for him.

When I had reached the limit of my patience, I flipped him and, if you will, "fixed the problem" for both of us. (No, you don't get a description. If you want to see it then date Matt. Except he'll turn you down because he's madly in love with ME.)

As we lay together, bodies entwined, I pulled him closer and nuzzled into his hair. He sighed in content.

"You," I murmured in his ear, smiling, "are a very strange creature."

Suddenly my arms were empty and he was on the other side of the room, pressing his back into the wall, a strange mixture of terror and fury in his eyes that I had never seen on anyone, let alone him.

"Don't. Call me that," he said lowly, dangerously. "Don't call me that ever again, Mello."

I blinked at him, uncomprehending. What the hell?!

"I wasn't trying to be mean," I explained, forcing my temper way, way down with every ounce of self-control I had in my body. "I don't think you're really strange, I just thought it wasn't normal what you do, camping in front of your game and then wanting to fuck, I mean."

"Not strange!" he practically spat. "Creature!"

"What...?"

"After what I told you, how could you call me that?!" he shouted at me. He still hadn't moved away from the wall.

I lost it.

I stood confidently and strode over to him. I would not be shouted at. "Told me what?!" I yelled right back.

"About my parents!"

"You've never told me anything about your parents! Ever!"

He frowned to himself. "Yes I have..."

"No you haven't," I insisted, trying to regain control. I hated shouting at Matt. Everyone else, a-okay, but something about screaming at him...

Especially since he had started faltering, doubting himself now. "Yeah I have... about my dad... and my mom... haven't I?"

He wasn't shouting anymore, so I stopped too. "No. Matt, I've never ever heard you say the word 'parents.' Or 'Mom' or 'Dad.' You never talk about it. Them, I mean."

He made a sound. It was like a laugh, but it wasn't one. "That explains it, then."

I reached out to take his hand, half-expecting him to pull away. He didn't. Actually, he squeezed it. "What happened?" I asked him quietly. I brushed a lock of burgundy hair off his forehead. "How'd you get to Wammy's?"

He brought our interlocked hands up between us so he could look down at them, playing with my fingers.

"It's not about how I got in," he started. "That was the best day of my life. It's about the nine years before that."

I forced myself to be patient and let him tell his story. If he hadn't told me, he hadn't told anyone. Ever.

"I told you I'd never had a boyfriend before you."

I nodded.

"I've always been scared... didn't you ever wonder why I took it so well our first time? We didn't even have lube, Mels."

"You're tough," I said hesitantly. "And I tried to take it easy on you..."

"No one has it easy the first time. You said you couldn't sit down properly for a week after Rane took you for the first time."

"Rane wasn't gentle," I reminded him.

"We're digressing," he said firmly. "My point was, you weren't my first. My first was... " his voice faded off.

"It won't change anything," I said quietly. "There's nothing you could do that would make me not want you." As a contrast to my sincerity, I playfully (and gently) trapped his thumb with mine.

He shook his head, but to clear it, not in dissent. "I know. Yeah. Okay. It was my father." He shook his head again.

Okay, that was creepy, but I could deal with it.

"It was rape, of course. I was little, I didn't like seduce him or anything."

My mildly-creeped-out-ness exploded into anger that boiled my blood, but yet again I forced it back (I was on a roll today, seriously, this was a record).

"Matt I-"

"Let me get it all out," he interrupted patiently. "After that, after the first time I mean, he did it just about every night. I got used to it, I guess. I mean I knew it was wrong and stuff, but... I dunno, he was gentle. And people adapt, you know?" he said uncomfortably.

I nodded in support. Of him, not of his father.

"Yeah, so when I was old enough to enjoy it physically, not 'cause it was, you know, my father, I started asking for it, and for specific things." He was shaking, but he managed to remain composed in every other aspect of his appearance. Even his voice was steady, if quiet. "He was disgusted when he saw that I was enjoying it, and he started calling me 'creature,' and variations of it. Like 'fucking creature' or whatever else you can come up with. He stopped being so gentle, and it didn't feel good anymore, it hurt like hell, and that's what he called me while he was fucking me, which didn't feel so good either. So that's why I'd like you to not call me that."

I could only stare at him in stunned disbelief. "And... your mother?" I managed to ask.

He shrugged, but it was a loaded action, hiding something else. "She liked to watch. I found out that he did it to turn her on, and then he'd go fuck her brains out. Twisted, huh?" He laughed. Again, it was not really a laugh. It was more of a bark.

I grabbed him and pulled him into me. "Who else knows this?"

"No one."

"Wammy?"

"No one."

"How could you get used to something like that?"

I felt him shrug, again, in my arms. "Stockholm's Syndrome's a bitch."

"Did Child Services find out or'd they die?"

"They just never came back. I got home from school and they were gone. I waited around for a week or two, but my teacher noticed that I was looking more neglected than usual, and I ended up in Wammy's, and the rest, you know."

My mind was blown. I'd get my men on it the next day. By the end of the work week I'd know if Mr. Pedophile and Mrs. Voyeur were still alive and, if they were, they wouldn't be by the end of Friday. I'd make sure of the last part personally.

I realized there was no way I could fix this. I was still gonna murder his parents, of course, and, come to think of it, I would have my most well-endowed man... or men... rape Mr. Pedophile first. Just call me Karma, and do your best not to piss me off. But still, it wouldn't take it away. It wouldn't undo the damage.

"He contacted me four years ago," Matt whispered, still clutched in my embrace. I noticed that his hands were fists against my back. "He was being civil so, I, you know, talked to him. It was on the phone."

Good. Phone records. They would make it easier to find him and rip out his prostate, cut off his dick...

"He asked me how I was doing."

... beat him with it.

"And I told him I was good. We talked about what we were into, he laughed when I told him I was a gamer. And he asked if I had a girlfriend, and I told him I was gay, and told him about you, and he hung up halfway through. He hasn't called since."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. But I wasn't. If I was the reason the soon-to-be-gender-neutral rapist stayed off the one I loved, then I was all for it.

He shrugged. He always did that when he was most upset. He was the 'bottle it up' kind.

"He probably thought he made me this way. Maybe he did, but I don't think so. I mean, I really love you, and I've never noticed a girl, ever. So yeah. Two days ago was the anniversary of that call. So I got a new game a few days before it and got into the game so I could be completely submerged by the time it was the actual day, and then proceed to play straight through it. It's how I deal."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah."

Something occurred to me. "If you got raped so much, then why do you always want bottom?" Damn it, I'm so blunt. Why am I so blunt? Why can't I use that "tact" stuff that L was always trying to teach me?

He shrugged for about the millionth time that day, for about the billionth time in his life. "Because I don't like hurting you."

I sat down on the bed, pulling him onto my lap. He put his arms around my shoulders and his cheek on my head. I rested against his shoulder. Horny bastard with no tact that I am, I love him enough to be able to cuddle naked with him and not jump him.

Seemed like the wrong move, after what he had just told me.

"Wait, do I hurt you?!" Horror flooded me. If being with me was anything like being raped... I was harsh but I didn't want to make him bleed...

"No. Don't worry." He smirked. I couldn't see it, of course, but I could hear it when he added, "Well, except when I ask for it rough."

I couldn't help but smile at that one.

We sat in silence for a long while. I really don't think I could have let go. I was sure that, tough or not, if I let go, he'd break. He didn't try to get away, so maybe he felt the same.

Well, he'd gone nineteen years without breathing a word of it to anyone. He might be tougher even than I gave him credit for.

"It's stupid to be afraid of a word," I realized slowly.

"What?"

"It's stupid."

"I'm not afraid of it..." he said, his voice small, hurt.

"That's why you wouldn't play that one PC game I got you, right? Black and White? Because the character had a "Creature."

He flinched at the word. It was enough of an answer, and he knew it.

I was stronger than him and I exerted all of it on his thin frame, pinning him down, straddling him, and rendering him completely helpless. He whimpered, struggling, but he didn't have a chance against me. It was practically my job to be stronger than people. That, and smarter.

What I squeezed his wrists, he actually cried out in fear, biting his lip to stop himself.

"Mello, please..." he begged. Not the way I was used to him begging. My resolve wavered, but not for long. I dug in with my nails and he stopped talking.

"Stay still," I hissed. He went limp.

When I was sure he wouldn't try to break away, I released his wrists. He didn't move a muscle.

I moved my hands to the sides of his face, seizing it. Tears slipped out of his eyes as he stared up at me, fear undisguised.

"Stop crying," I growled in my best Mafia voice, loudly, right in his face.

He squeezed his eyes shut, obedient.

I swooped down upon him, freezing an inch from his lips and, lighter than a feather, I kissed him. Our skin barely made contact, barely touched, light enough for his nerves to sense it more than actually detecting it.

I loosened my grip on him until it was just my fingertips, and I placed another petal-touch on his lips.

His eyes flickered open.

"You beautiful..." I whispered, breathy.

I kissed him again.

"...beautiful..."

Another kiss, even lighter, if such a thing was possible.

"...beautiful creature."

He burst into the tears he had been restraining for so long and flung his arms around my neck. "Don't call me that," he sobbed, kissing me hard, over and over, wetly. "I love you. Don't fucking call me that. I love you. I love you."

"I love you too," I whispered around him. I stared him in the eyes, our faces so close that we were sharing breath. "And you should know- if he tries anything... if he shows up here somehow... I will kill him. And I'll go to jail. And the other prisoners will be too scared to make me their bitch, and I'll quickly rise through the ranks until I can turn in all the members of my branch of the Mafia in exchange for my own freedom and come back to you."

He laughed through his tears. "That was oddly specific."

"I have that skill," I said seriously. "I'm also excellent in bed and disturbingly intelligent."

"This I know," he agreed.

"But then, so are you."

"True," he laughed.

I smiled at him, gently, and stroked his cheek. Seeing that I was off guard, Matt yanked me down so that I fell right on top of him.

He held me tight, and I held back, and we were, for all intents and purposes, the same creature.