Note: Sometimes I have writer's block, and sometimes I have the opposite of it, whatever you can call it.
And so you get a daily update (since last sunday) of Lionheart plus two one shots in two days (Counting Scars and The Monster Under My Bed) and a new multichaptered fic.

This fic's gonna have some emotional parts, some crack parts, and I don't know in advance what's gonna happen, I didn't plan anything for this one, except the subject: Matt is NOT gay, Mello is, and is going to use stratagems to get Matt. Will he succeed? I don't know! (ok, there would be no point to this fic if he didn't, right? XD)

But really, here Matt is everything but gay, not even heterosexual with bi tendencies, he's not a homophobic but isn't fond of gay people either. He's a bit cocky too, because that's what he seems to be in the anime and I wanted a very self assured Matt for once. Mello is very gay, but very badass anway. It would be difficult to have him any other way. But oh, the things I'm gonna make him do... muahaha XD

I'm challenging myself on not making things easy and have Matt all 'I am gay for Mello because this is Mello', and I missed the time I wrote MarshMello so I needed to write another fic of this kind. There won't be really dramatic stuff here like in Lithium or Lionheart, it's gonna be emotional sometimes but nothing too bad, I won't depress anyone with my updates for once XD

The title? You know the song by Right Said Fred, right?

I'm too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts
And I'm too sexy for Milan too sexy for Milan
New York and Japan...

Then you can easily imagine what sort of crack I will put in here ^^


Mello
The first class of the day, Roman Civilization, had just begun, and I could already tell that it would be a long, extremely long day. The amphitheatre was almost empty, and I was one of the few students that had actually cared about waking up early to attend a class at 8am. They had warned us, at the end of high school, that you had to be really motivated to succeed in university, and it wasn't a problem for me since I've always loved studying and working my ass off for exams. People had hobbies outside of school. Me, school was my hobby.
But damn, Roman Civilization. It was boring even for someone like me. Why did I have to choose to master in French literature?
I could have chosen german, at least, since it was my native language, but I didn't want it to be that easy. Well, I could speak french fluently too, but it was not the same when you've spoken the language since you said your first words.
And since I was freshly arrived from Berlin, where I was born and had lived until now, I had already studied german history and stuff for years. A little change would be nice, I thought.

Yeah, nice... boring was a better statement. I yawned, the jet lag still affecting me since I had moved only one week ago. My parents had been way too happy to see me leave. I never hid the fact I was gay. I never made any coming out since I don't see why I should publicly state my sexuality. Do heterosexuals come out? No. So I didn't either. I was just myself, and I happen to be the flaming kind of gay guy. But being so open about my preferences wasn't to my parents' likings. My father is in politic and my mother benefits of my father's large income to show off in country clubs and high society charity funds raising dinners. She probably had enough of finding excuses for all the trials her friends made to get me in their daughters' claws.

I, as the son of very important persons, had been put in the Berlin British School from my early years to when I graduated high school, thus I could also speak english perfectly.

So I left for UCLA. I could have chosen Yale or Harvard, but I decided for a place where I could be myself, the two others looking far much too straight ass to me. Oh, I got some looks in the first days, some nasty comments too, but on the whole, things were quite fine and I could get along a few homophobic remarks, I didn't really care. As long as there was no beating, no threatening, it was ok with me.
I even seemed to be a target for girls that thought I would be a nice friend, but even if I'm a flaming gay, talking about clothes and drooling on guys is not my thing. Why do some girls think a gay friend is a must have?
And I'm far from being nice, to tell the truth. My ex boyfriend dumped me because I was too much of a macho. Paradoxical, I know...
I can't help it, I may be homosexual, but I have balls the size of Texas. Virtually speaking, that is. I don't know how they'd fit in my leather pants otherwise (wink).
Ok, I'm really bad at jokes.

Since my mind gave up at some point, I lit on the dictaphone I had fortunately brought with me and that would prevent me from missing anything. But I was soon distracted.

The class was already half done when a redhead walked nonchalantly in the large amphitheatre, passing in front of the teacher with a wide grin, unphased by the man's scolding look, as he interrupted his speech, and took a seat a few rows away from me.
He sat in a manner that screamed he didn't give a fuck about Roman Civilization, and just stayed there, his back against the wood of the row behind him, his legs stretched and crossed in front of him under the table, not even taking a note of what the teacher was saying.
He would have taken a nap that I wouldn't even have been surprised.

At 10am, we were finally freed from a slow agony (death by mind numbing subject, blah), and, gathering my notes and pen, and stuffing them in my messenger bag, I hurried out of the amphitheatre, sparing a look at the redhead who left as nonchalantly as he had arrived, hands in his pockets and... goggles?
He had goggles resting on the top of his head. What the fuck?
I had already thought that his striped shirt was kind of weird, but that guy clearly had a bizarre sense of fashion, if he had one at all. Although I didn't mind his skinny jeans, tight around his long legs. Damn, why did his shirt have to be so long? The jeans were tight everywhere, and the shirt hid the most interesting part...

Shit. He caught me staring, and that's only then that I realised I had been standing in the alley and blocking his way. He didn't say a word, grinned at me, and pulled his goggles over his eyes.

I could have said he got me from hello, but he didn't even say hello. And as I stepped aside, he walked passed me, his eyes forgetting me in a split second and left, heading for the parking lot.
I considered following him but it would probably have been creepy.

I had two hours to kill before lunch, so I decided I would write down the rest of the previous lesson from my dictaphone, and settled in the library across the campus.

But there, sat at a table, my pen dangling between two fingers, my earphones plugged and the monotonous voice of the teacher making my thought drift far away from Roman Civilization once again, I found myself trying to analyse the redhead in stripes. Was he gay? I couldn't tell, really.
Sometimes it's easy to tell. Like with me. I mean, I walk around in tight leather pants, a sleeveless zipped leather vest, long hair, and I know that even the way I walk screams rainbows.

Sometimes it's also easy to see when a guy is totally straight. Sometimes you know by the disgust in their eyes at your sight, or by a general attitude, I sense it although I'm unable to explain it.

But that guy, I didn't know for sure. Or better said, I somehow sensed he was straight, but I wished he was gay, that would serve my interests much better.

Matt
I knew it had been a good idea to go to the university after I graduated high school. You could show up anytime in class, teachers didn't even tell you anything if you didn't take note, and.. who am I fooling?

I most of all knew that my parents wouldn't let me in peace if I didn't pass the exams, so, free to do what I wanted or not, it didn't change the fact that I would have to be studying seriously at some point.
But above everything, what made me wake up early this morning (not early enough since I was late anyway) was the thought that my parents had sacrificed ten years of summer holidays to be able to pay for my inscription. And probably more even if they never raised the subject, but we already lived in a crappy apartment, ate meat only on special days and getting fancy clothes was out of question.

So I was quite surprised the day of my eighteenth birthday, on the first of february, a few months ago, when my father proudly showed me the present that was waiting for me in front of the apartment complex: a bright red Chevrolet Camaro from 1970.
I knew that the car itself hadn't cost much to him because I knew that our neighbour had abandoned it two years ago in the bottom of the parking lot, rusty and not even in working state. But I could easily figure out how many hours, days, months it took my father to put it back in shape and make it look so fantastic.
That's why this car is my baby. It represents so much to me, and even if I considered selling it many times in the previous months when I was seeing my parents struggle with money issues every end of the month, I never could, and I think that I would have broken my father's heart by doing that.

So yeah, I was going to have to be a bit serious with university.

I've never had a problem attracting girls. Actually, it began when my voice changed and I lost my kid timbre. Even my striped shirts, skinny jeans and combat boots suddenly became attractive (my mother bought cheap clothes by lots and I probably have enough of the same attire for five years still). But what did the most were my eyes.
I have to say that I love my eyes. My mother's eyes. Blue, very very blue, and almond shaped. On her, they look like they're always smiling, but my father says that on me, they look like I'm mocking life.
Well, that's probably half true, I'm quite light headed.

But from the day I got my car, I became a magnet. It bothered me, at first, that girls liked me because I had a cool car, but I quickly forgot that point when I realised I could get laid whenever I wanted.
My backseat probably saw the whole high school girls and some that weren't even at my school as well.
I had secretly named my car the Love Machine.

I grinned when I exited my car on the campus parking, as a group of girls squealed at my sight.
I caught some "he's cute" or "I wonder if he has a girlfriend", and would probably have spared them a second glance but they were not my type. My type? Curvy petite brunettes with hazel eyes. Not that I spit on others, if they're cute enough, I don't mind giving them a ride. Pun and all, you see what I mean.

So I strode across the campus and reached the amphitheatre. The lesson had already started for a good hour, but I entered nonetheless, and sat at a random place.
I made myself comfortable and listened.
I'm that smart, yes. I register everything, when I care to make the effort. I wouldn't have a hard time finding what I had missed at the library later, or I could ask any chick here, one caught my eye, that could be a good way to get her in my Love Machine. A pretty brunette at the first row, with long curly hair and big boobs. I like big boobs. She seemed the studious type, many pages already filled with her handwriting under her left elbow, she was scribing frantically.
But she was too fast to leave at the end of the class, and with that guy standing in my way, I didn't have the possibility to run after her.

I took the guy for a chick at first. Long blond hair, a very delicate face, clear eyes, probably grey or blue, I don't remember, but when my eyes travelled down to see if that blonde could do it, ahem... Retaliation, hormones, quick.
No boobs, and an obvious bulge in his tight pants. Queer. It was written all over him.
He was staring at me and when he snapped back to reality, I realised that my eyes had done the trick on him. I grinned, because it was quite flattering to be that attractive, but I pulled my goggles over my eyes, I didn't want him to believe I was a fag.
I'm not really a homophobe, but well, I'm a bit uncomfortable with people like that.
I left as soon as he swept aside, not wanting to let him time to do or say anything. I shuddered at the thought.

I saw the brunette head for the parking lot so I decided to follow her.


Note: So, tell me, what could be next, hm?