Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

Warnings: Slash, language (this is Mello and Matt... yaoi and cursing are practically a given, lol).

A/N: This is just a romp. Some nice angst in there for a while, some hotness, and then a sweet ending. Nothing to take seriously. Happy birthday, Matt!


I woke up to my best friend shaking me hard.

"Wake up!" he demanded, his ice eyes gleaming.

I groaned, because I knew that gleam all too well. That was never a good gleam. That gleam usually meant that we were going to get in massive amounts of trouble in the near future, and that my game systems would be taken away from me by Roger as punishment. Remarkably, nothing ever happened to Mello.

I could not, however, go against said best friend, because I almost compulsively obeyed him as a matter of habit. He was simply too... incredible... to disobey. I mean that in the straightest way possible.

"What the hell do you want," I grumbled, shoving him off and sitting up, rubbing sand out of my eyes. I reached for my goggles where they hung safely on my headboard, but he snatched them away.

"Mello!" I accused him, immediately feeling naked. I needed those!

"Not today," he told me. "Today we both have to look hot."

Thatcould not be good. I felt myself start to panic, and tried to calm myself down with little to no success. I managed to keep my voice from shaking when I asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Just do it. I'll explain later."

I sighed, resigned, and literally rolled out of bed, introducing my face to the floor. I had stayed up even later than usual, gaming, and now he was making me get up? What was this, a third-world police state?

It was then that I noticed what Mello was wearing.

Leather. Black leather. Leather that cut off just below his ribs, revealing several inches of taut, milky-white stomach. Leather that resumed just over his ass in the form of skin-tight pants that traced every sweet, sexy curve of his lower body. Leather that let me see his pelvic bone. Leather that laced up in front. Leather that revealed the outline of his balls.

So much leather.

My own pants were getting tight. I was an idiot to sleep in only boxers with someone like Mello traipsing around. Not that I was into guys, of course, just that Mello reeks of sex to anyone of any sexuality, age, race, creed, social status, gender... just fuckin' everyone, all right?

"M-Mello.... you're wearing that to class?" I stuttered. I tried to make it sound like an appalled stutter, but I don't know how convincing I was.

He spun around and showed off his butt, and, unintentionally, his back and his shoulder blades. I managed to get my mouth closed and my eyes off his (rather fabulous) ass by the time he turned back around.

"Nope. We're not going to first period today."

I stared at him, his ass somehow driven from my mind by his words and completely serious expression. He wasn't joking. Mello was going to skip a class? I did it regularly, but Mello?! Blasphemy!

"You'll see," he said impatiently in response to my blank, 'does-not-compute' expression. "Go take a shower! Do your hair! Make yourself attractive."

That remark stung, so I put on my best puppy face and my 'rumpled, adorable' look. "What, I'm not cute now?"

"Of course you are," he snapped. He would have sounded annoyed to anyone else, but I was his best friend and I could tell he was amused. "But I need you to look hot today. Now go do it. Wear what you wore when you had that date."

I cringed. Psycho bitch was psycho. And she'd tried to kiss me. I mean, she was hot(not that she could compare to my best friend in that damn leather), but... bleh. I didn't need to be that close to her and I certainly didn't need that spit on me. Disgusting.

Mello had given his orders, and his leather and the sexy creak it made as he moved encouraged me to go take that shower.

I turned the water hot enough to relax my muscles by force. After, eh, 'fixing the problem' that Mello had caused, I set to work on scrubbing my hair. Smelling good and having nice hair are essential components to being attractive. I toweled myself off and, for a moment, looked at myself in the mirror.

Skinny. No muscles. Pale. Sloppy hair. Dark, dark blue eyes. I'll admit, I did have a certain appeal. But hot? I could do cute but...

Mello, now... there was someone who could do hot...

Stop! I had to change that train of thought. Not only did I have to go back out there without a tent in my towel ('cause, you know, my clothes were out there), but it was kinda gay.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and exited.

Mello was sitting on my bed. From where he sat, he gave me the once-over. "Don't dry your hair," he said.

I tried to remember the last time I haddried my hair. This thought must have registered on my face (I needed those goggles back!) because he rolled his eyes. "I mean, let me dry it. Get dressed first. Actually, I'll help," he decided.

He strode to our closet (Rrrr... leather...) and began tossing clothes at me. My black & red striped shirt, black boxers, dark, tight, jeans.

I caught them in an unusual moment of coordination (of which I was very proud) and put them on, trying not to blush as I had to drop my towel in front of him. He wasn't into guys, I knew that, and we'd been roommates for twelve years so it wasn't like he hadn't seen all of me before...

...But he also didn't usually look! Holy crap!

He nodded approvingly as I quickly pulled my underwear on. Then he met my eyes, not even slightly embarrassed. He grinned, and it was somehow simultaneously beautiful and evil.

"This is gonna work," he informed me.

"You still haven't told me what we're doing," I reminded him.

He gestured for me to follow him into the bathroom, which I did. As he picked up our hairdryer, he began to explain. "Okay," he said excitedly, running his long fingers through my hair. I shivered. "It's going to be hilarious. All of Wammy's is gonna be talking about it."

"Mello..."

"No, Matt, no one's going to get hurt. Relax. Trust me."

He gave me the smile that made me trust him, time after time. Yes, I trusted him. I just didn't trust him to stay out of trouble. Or, more accurately, keep me out of trouble and in possession of my game systems.

It didn't matter though, and we both knew it. I'd do whatever he wanted in a heartbeat. I sighed. "Fine. What's the plan."

"We, Matt, are going to convince everyone in this place that we're lovers."

He misinterpreted my silence.

"It'll work," he assured me. "I know what I'm doing."

"Why?" I asked quietly.

On one hand, the idea creeped me out. On the other hand, it might mean more leather. Which was good. On yet another hand (shuck the fuck up, it's a quadruped, okay?), Roger's face... it would be priceless.

"Because no one's done it!" he exclaimed.

My hair was dry. He grabbed a bottle, squeezed some goop into his hand with a funny farting sound, and began to rub his palms together.

I couldn't swallow, for some reason.

"What do you mean, no one's done it?" I managed. "Homosexuality isn't a stigma around here, in case you never noticed; this place is crawling with gay guys."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've noticed, idiot. But they've never taken it as far as we're going to."

"WHAT?" I demanded. My heart double-timed. I wasn't ready for that. I was still trying to figure out if I had been getting hard because of him or because he looked a little like a woman sometimes! How could I be expected to have sex when I didn't even know if I liked guys or girls!?

"Not really," he said, rolling his eyes again. "I know a ton of guys here who have gone all the way with each other, and that's not what I mean. I mean PDA."

"PDA?"

"Public display of affection."

"Oh."

"We're going to PDA so much that Roger doesn't know what to do with us, and if he says anything, we'll say 'it's because we're both guys, isn't it?' and he'll have no choice."

"Mello, I really don't think that anyone is gonna find this-" I started, but I stopped before I could say 'funny.'

Because, the key here was the 'Mello' part.

I wasn't thrilled about the 'PD' part... but that last part... affection...

Maybe it would be a good chance to figure out how I really felt about my best friend, and possibly guys in general. He had always been physical, but physical as in punching, kicking, beating, handshaking, and unabashed grabbing of just about anywhere he chose. Things like that. And I'd wanted to kiss him since, oh, puberty.

And what would this be but the perfect opportunity to be crazy intimate with him, with absolutely no danger of damage to our friendship?

It was perfect. I was never gonna get a better offer than this.

So I finished my sentence, not with 'funny,' but with, "shocking." I smiled. "Unless," I added, "we make it really convincing."

He grinned again and pounded me on the back with his elbow, since his hands were still goopy. "That's the spirit!"

The stuff on his hands must have been hair gel, because he ran his fingers though my hair again. It felt absolutely mind-blowingly incredible. When he was done, he left behind the perfect scruffy-messy-hot-guy style. How the hell had he known how to do that?

...He had gifted fingers.

Damn it. Don't think about his hands. Especially don't think about them covered in sticky, wet...

"All right. Now paint my nails," he said, leaving our bathroom.

"Paint your... nails? Me?" I asked, bewildered, following him like the puppy I am.

"Yeah. You have better fine motor skills than I do."

I smiled, feeling like a dope, and said, "Would you say... mad fine motor skills?"

He rolled his eyes (he seemed to do that a lot around me), smiling back despite the fact that he was trying to look annoyed. I always had that affect on him. He got mad at everyone else at least three times more often than he did with me, not that he never screamed at me. "Whatever makes you happy."

Actually, what would make me happy would be ripping off Mello's leather and throwing him to the floor, but I wasn't gonna say that one out loud to my straight best friend. That would go over well.

He handed me a small bottle- black, I noticed- and sat down on his bed with his hand on his end table, palm-down.

His intentions were clear, so I shook the bottle like I had seen him and countless girls do and screwed the cap off.

I tried to bend over to get to his nails, but my balance wasn't good enough to reliably maintain that position.

I had to kneel down.

Putting me in the most awkward- and most wonderful- of positions.

I cleared my throat casually and tried to avert my eyes from the faint ball-outline that was, in fact, turning out to be not faint at all, now that I had a significantly closer look.

My hand shook as I held the little brush, so I placed my hand on his to anchor myself. He didn't seem to mind, so I left it there, focused, and very carefully applied the paint.

Ten fingernails, and not one blotch.

I was very proud.

"Good," he said, eying my work critically. "You're good at that. Gamer's hands." His tone was certain and decisive.

"That's what she said," I shot back automatically. Damn it.

Ignoring that, he blew on one of his nails to dry it. I had to look away from his lips.

I must have lost some time, because it felt like only moments later he was dragging me to our door.


It was right in the middle of first period, so there was no one in the hallway. Attendance to class wasn't compulsory, but the classes were so hard that pretty much only Near, Mello, and I could do it and only I ever did. The empty hallways felt like home and I was able to relax a bit.

There was a break between first and second period, during which the most popular place to hang out was the common room. This is where Mello led me.

"Sit," he ordered, indicating a couch.

I did so without even thinking. I'm such a puppy. I'm not even kidding. Right down to the commands. It's terrible. Hm. Doggie style. An interesting proposition...

He sat down next to me, glancing at the clock. I looked too, seeing that it was two minutes until the bell. When I looked back, Mello had his hand down his very tight pants. From the way he was moving it, I could tell exactly what he was doing.

Instant hard-on.

Especially when he closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back of the couch.

"Mello, why are you jerking off in the common room?" I tried to keep my voice under control with moderate success.

"I'm not," he panted. "Well... not really. I'm not gonna take it all the way, it's just..." His hand shot out and grabbed me there, and I moaned a little before I could stop myself. "...to make it convincing. Obvious hard-ons." He groped me. "That's convenient," he said as he removed his hand from his pants and from my dick. "Have a nice dream?" he laughed.

"Uh, yeah," I lied. Actually, I had had my most frequently-reoccuring nightmare the night before. Normally he would have been able to tell I was lying, but at the moment he was probably distracted by his penis. Guys spend a lot of time distracted by their penis. Mello is no exception.

The bell rang and suddenly Mello was on my lap, his hands twisted in my hair, his lips crushed up against mine.

Um... whoa. My brain exploded and somewhere angels were singing. It was better than anything my fantasies could ever have supplied me with. His lips were warm and wet, and then his tongue was flitting over my teeth, and I parted them to let him in.

People were coming into the room now, but I couldn't possibly have cared less. My hands were on his hips, slipping to the ass I had quite correctly categorized as fabulous, pulling him closer to me. My world was Mello- the scent of him, the taste of him, his warmth, his hair, his skin.

I felt him smiling smugly in our kiss as more and more people's eyes were attracted to our obnoxious PDA.

"I knew it," I heard one of my ex-girlfriends say.

Well, maybe she was right.

Because I was certainly enjoying this. "Mello..." I gasped into him. I wasn't faking.

Breathing heavily, he broke the kiss and kissed his way down my neck, to the crook, and then right back up, claiming and utterly dominating my lips again. He forced my head to tilt over the edge of the back of the couch and scooted up to kiss me from above.

I was in serious danger of coming in my pants, and my hands slid up to the bare skin at his midriff of their own accord. It felt even more incredible than it looked, and that was seriously saying something.

His tongue was talented. He obviously had experience, and I had a feeling that all the chocolate had something to do with it too. He always had something in his mouth. Quite the oral fixation. ...Sexy.

Oh yeah. I was into him. I was sooo into him. I was so into him that it wasn't even funny anymore.

And he didn't stop, which was the best part. He didn't stop, and he pressed more into me, moving his lower body against mine. I hated being so vocal, but I couldn't help but groan with the pleasure that shot through every nerve of my body like lightning or electricity when you try to plug something in and somehow get shocked.

"Okay, okay," he said, stopping.

No! No stopping! Why was he stopping?! That's not what my groan meant! It meant the opposite! It meant take me now!

He started to pull back so I caught him by the wrist, wrapped the other arm around his waist, and tipped him over onto his back, pinning him.

"Interesting," he murmured, but I silenced him with my mouth, ravishing his with my own. He gripped the back of my shirt and pressed up into my kiss.

I wanted to drag him back to our room. I wanted him to be a whole lot more naked than he was, and, ideally, I'd like to be naked too.

"Mello..." I panted. "I want to..."

"Our room," he replied, his breath just as heavy as mine.

So I stood up, not breaking the kiss, pulling him after me.

Making out, touching, groping, stumbling over everything, we scrambled to our room. I locked the door behind us.

The moment I did, he broke away, laughing. "Did you see their faces?"

"H-huh?" Honestly, I hadn't. I'd been too preoccupied with his face and what it had been doing to mine.

"They were horrified! Imagine what they think we're doing right now!"

Trust me, I had been imagining it. In painfully exquisite detail.

He licked his lips and I had to look away. "You taste good," he said approvingly. "It's too bad you're not into that. We'd be good together."

"Uh... y-yeah. Well, now that they think we're lovers, now what?"

"Oh, we're not done. We haven't gotten a reaction out of Roger yet. I've GOT to see that face. I can't die in peace until I do."

"Oh..."

Okay, so it was definitely just a scheme then. That... kind of hurt. On one hand, I was scared to go through all that again, only to get another raging hard-on, all in vain. On the other hand, I enjoyed it. On yet another hand (quadruped, remember? There's one more hand, in case I wanted it), I was horny as Hell and I wanted him to do something about it.

"All right, finishing touch," he whispered. "Make it loud."

I perked up. That sounded like a lead-in to a blowjob if I'd ever heard one.

"I don't care how you do it. Jerk off if you need to. But make it sound real. You've had sex; imitate the sounds she made. I'll be the guy."

I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, so I just moved to obey. I actually hadn't ever had sex (and somehow my best friend didn't know this?), but I knew what sounds to make... still...

Well, it was a good excuse to take care of this. I was about to burst.

So, me on my bed, he on his bed, too far away, I gasped and moaned, and he made breathy sounds of effort. I called his name as I came in my hand, and he muffled a chuckle. "You're a damn good actor," he whispered. "Why didn't I know that? You almost convinced me."

"Yeah..." I said quietly.

"Well, I'm gonna go take a shower. I got kind of into that." He paused, then covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. "You take one too when I'm done! They'll think we showered together when we both come out wet!"

"Okay."

Laughing to himself, he strode into the bathroom, and when I heard him step in and the water hit the porcelain, I couldn't hold back the tears.


That's how he found me when he came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later.

I didn't notice him at first, so I jumped about a mile when he said, "Matt?"

"Shit!" I yelped, immediately rolling over so that he couldn't see.

"Matt, I already know you're crying," he said matter-of-factly, sitting next to me on my bed. I rarely cried, especially in front of him, so I couldn't even pass it off as nothing. Because he knew it had to be something. His weight indented the mattress and caused me to roll into him a little bit. He was so warm.

I rolled onto my back, forcing my face to stop crumpling, but without my goggles I was entirely exposed. He could see right through me.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Actually gently.

That was one of the many things about him. He could be so gentle and so cruel, sometimes on a minute-to-minute basis. And for someone like me, calm and generally pretty chill, that was the most exciting thing a person could be. He made life endlessly interesting when no one else could hold my attention.

Maybe it was that tone, then, that made me say it, or maybe it was just the ever-present fact that I couldn't go against him, but I answered when I knew what I should have done was stay quiet or make something up.

"I don't want to pretend again."

His face softened. "Is that all? Matt, you could have just told me that. I wouldn't make you go along with it. There's a couple other guys who would have done it, no problem."

I shook my head. "Not that."

He tilted his head, wet, golden hair falling to one side. "Then what?"

"You're really fuckin' thick for a genius," I informed him.

I saw him bristle at that, but his worry somehow overcame his indignation. "Answer the damn question, asshole."

"I don't want to pretend anymore," I repeated, sighing. It had been nice while it lasted, having him as a friend. "I don't want to pretend anymore that I'm into girls. I don't want to pretend anymore that I'm not in love with you. And I don't want to pretend to be your lover anymore. I want to actually be your lover. Your... boyfriend. I understand that that probably creeps you out, and I don't blame you."

I stared at the ceiling, Mello stared at me.

"Matt," he said finally, "I am so. sorry."

That was not what I had expected. 'Get out of my room, faggot,' was what I had expected. 'Well, okay,' was what I had expected. 'Well obviously,' was what I had expected. An apology was not.

"What?"

"If you like me, then all that stuff I talked you into doing, just because I wanted to mess with people, was about the jack-ass-y-est thing I could have done to you. Damn, I grabbed your junk. I'm sorry."

I opened my mouth but no sound came out until, "Um... it's okay?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Uh... because you're into girls?" I said, confused.

He grinned, and my heart sped up. He was so beautiful. "I am? Wow. That's good to know. If I'm straight, I definitely need to stop fucking guys. Thanks for the heads up."

I stared at him. "You're gay?!" I demanded.

He stared right back. Then he burst out laughing. "Where the fuck have you been?" he managed to say. "Have you seen my ass? What straight guy has an ass like this?! And leather midriff shirts. Damn, Matt! You painted my fingernails not two hours ago! And you called me thick?!"

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said.

"Because I thought it was obvious! Honestly, everyone in this building knows which way I swing. Except, apparently, for my best friend."

"But... you said you wanted to make Wammy's think we were gay."

"Lovers," he corrected. "Everyone already knows I'm gay. And it was about the PDA anyway, remember?"

"But... I've seen you looking at porn."

He rolled his eyes, leaned over, snatched a magazine from under his mattress, and tossed it at me. "Playgirl, fucker."

"But you're Catholic!"

"So?" He shook his head. "Matt, not all Catholics hate gays, you know."

"But-"

"Matt! I'm a fag, okay?! Like you! And I'm crazy about you! Accept it!" he ordered.

"O-okay."

"You're such a puppy dog," he sighed, and leaned over and kissed me dead on the lips.

And my head spun, and my blood raced, and my nerves sang, and in his kiss I tasted love.

I didn't pull away.

After all, that would be going against him.