(no subject)
Title: Letting the Days Go By
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Mello/Matt
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2372
Note: Part of the whole series I am doing, but only the first two paragraphs might seem strange if you haven't read them.
The series starts with Something That Is Mine Alone, then Box of Rain, Thunder of a Distant Storm, False Spring, How Certain the Journey (Part I), This Journey's Hurting (Part II), and finally Dusk. And then this story. :)
Sometimes, like tonight, Matt would lie awake and watch Mello sleep, wondering how he had unexpectedly gotten so lucky. It hadn't been supposed to turn out this way. At first, it appeared Mello had been meant for L, his reward for all his hard work, for giving up his life to follow the path Watari wanted of him. He was the princess waiting for the hero, trained and educated to be the perfect partner. His own actions had chosen that fate for himself, though it had always been intended for one of them, a bunch of genius kids raised to be whatever L (and Watari) needed them to be. Perhaps Watari would have chosen differently for L; Matt thought he likely would have, but he wouldn't gainsay his choice.
Mello had thought he was getting away with something then, that his relationship with L was a secret, at least from the adults who worked at Wammy House. Matt had never had the heart to tell him that he was doing what was expected of him, following a path already laid out at his feet just waiting for him to walk it. Had he known that, he might have changed his course, as he had never liked doing what other people expected him to do. But that would have been silly, a pointless rebellion that would only have made him unhappy. So he kept his silence.
And then there was Near. He and Mello had some sort of dysfunctional mutual obsession going on, seemed to be some kind of sick and twisted soulmates. Matt had rarely seen two people so Meant To Be, if they ever got their heads out of their asses long enough to see it. Perhaps Matt could have helped with that, maybe he even should have, but who could really expect him to go against his own interests like that? He wasn't some sort of saint, not even close. And really, they should have been able to figure it out on their own; they were both supposed to be geniuses after all.
Even Roger had seen it, wanted them to be partners after L died. And together they probably really would have been the perfect detective, two halves fitting together seamlessly into a whole greater than either. But Mello was too impulsive, too easily hurt, and Near was a disaster when dealing with emotions, so despite all that chemistry, it hadn't happened.
Now, somehow, Mello was here, with him, where he'd never been meant to be. Who would have thought it? Matt had known for a long time that he was merely a bit player, the hero's best friend and not the love interest, the dark horse never meant to be in the race at all. He had accepted that, expected to lose, and never tried very hard to change things. He tried to be content with what he had and not wish for more. Not much point in dwelling on things you couldn't have, or so he had always thought. So how had he wound up winning after all?
He didn't have the relationship with Mello either L or Near would have had. Mello's feelings for Matt were less intense than they had been for either, a storm rather than a hurricane. But maybe in the end that was better. He lit a cigarette in the dark, sure now he wasn't going to get back to sleep. Mello made a soft noise and moved closer, an arm wrapping around his waist, but he wasn't really awake and Matt made no move to change that, just lay there smoking and thinking while Mello held him in his sleep. Perhaps Mello's love for him lacked something compared to what he felt for others, but it was more tender, too; without all that incredible force, that binding that could tie two people together or strangle them, to complicate and foul things up. Gentler and less intense didn't always mean worse. Maybe he really wasn't complete without Near, but Matt loved him just the same, even if he were broken.
Mello stirred again, more awake this time, pressed his lips absently against the side of Matt's neck. “You ok? Why are you awake?” he asked, yawning.
Matt slid an arm around him, stroked his back, curled his fingers over a bony hip. “I just couldn't sleep, that's all.”
He snuggled closer, ran a hand down Matt's side comfortingly. “Are you worried? Need me to distract you?” Mello turned his hand so his painted fingernails scraped Matt's skin lightly, drawing it over his hip and tracing patterns on his stomach, dipping lower and then moving back up, teasingly. Matt caught his breath.
“I don't need you to, but you know I won't say no, either.” He ground out the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray without looking, shifted so he could wrap both arms around Mello, turning onto his side so he could hook a leg over his hip and press them both together as they kissed.
“Mmmm,” Mello breathed, a slow, contented smile spreading across his face as he rocked his hips forward so their pelvises rubbed against each other, creating friction that felt sweeter than any candy. “One might almost think you were waiting for me to wake up.”
Matt hadn't been, not really, but it wasn't completely unexpected. He hadn't tried to wake him, but he hadn't gone out of his way to prevent it either. Not that he ever knew for sure what mood Mello would be in when he woke up, of course. This one, though, a potent combination of sleepy, affectionate, and horny, was one of the reasons he loved Mello. It was a side of him he doubted anyone else had ever seen, something special just between them. He purred deep in his throat as Mello buried a hand in his hair, tilting his head to the side, and nipped sharp little bites down the side of the throat he had bared. Yes, he thought. I am incredibly lucky to have this.
Not that Mello seemed to realize how desirable he was. He really should have noticed by now, but maybe he was just so used to it that he didn't realize it was anything special. It wasn't like he'd ever had a normal life for comparison. Not like Matt, who had had nearly as normal a life as any of them could manage after he left the closed hothouse environment of Wammy House. But all it had taken was one phone call from Mello and he left the life he had worked so hard to build behind without looking back, let it blow away like ashes on the wind. He could die here and he would still have no regrets.
He reached out and groped Mello's ass through the silk boxers he wore to sleep in (black, like every piece of clothing Mello owned; Matt sometimes teased him that he must actually be colorblind, that it was the only possible explanation for his monochrome wardrobe), caressed his inner thighs and nuzzled his neck, smiling when he heard him moan. This wasn't necessarily what he had expected to happen when he agreed to help him catch Kira, but he was certainly not complaining. Sure, he had never been attracted to any other men besides Mello, but he wasn't at all unhappy with their sex life, was very pleased with it, in fact; far more so than he had expected to be. He could have laughed at the sudden mental image of what the guys who had been his friends before, in his other life, would think, the looks on their faces, if they could see him now, tugging Mello's boxers down with his teeth just because he could.
Matt nuzzled his stomach, enjoying the smell of him, the feel of his closeness, even the hot, salty taste of his skin as he licked his hipbones, first one, then the other, hands still caressing Mello's inner thighs, fingers lightly grazing his balls, waiting until he shifted his weight and groaned before he took his cock in his hand, licking up and down the length of it at a leisurely pace, enjoying the tension he could feel in Mello's body, the rapid beating of his heart and the raggedness of his breathing, suddenly loud in the nearly silent room as the crappy air conditioner in their apartment turned off, its background noise only really noticeable now in its absence.
Mello rarely let Matt finish a blow job and it was even more rare for him to allow Matt to top him, though it did happen. Not tonight, though, but he didn't mind, not at all, when Mello pulled him off him, kissed him again, hot and needy, sweaty body pressed to his so tightly that he thought could feel every ridge and ripple of scar tissue, every sharp bone beneath the skin. Maybe to someone else it would have felt strange, maybe even been a turn-off, but to Matt it felt beautiful, beautiful like the trust and affection Mello gave him, like the gold of his hair in the sun and the flash of his smile when he laughed, here in the dark where there was no one else and he could almost pretend there never had been. Just the two of them, in a bubble of safety they both knew was temporary, a quiet space of aroused bodies rubbing against each other until they both felt ready to scream from their mutual need, shared desperation.
And if Mello were a bit too impatient tonight (this morning?) and wasn't quite as careful as he should have been, if the sensation when he thrust inside was a burning ache rather than a relief, that was okay. Even the pain had an edge of sweetness to it, as though it had somehow been coated with Mello's signature chocolate. Even if fingernails dug just a bit too deeply, drawing blood as he began to move, making Matt moan and arch into it, meeting each thrust as pain turned into pleasure and pleasure became the desire for more, an endless thirst for this, just this: this feeling inside him, the one that made him growl and hold on tightly; even then, he would never complain. He loved even these small pains, lost beneath the onrushing tide of orgasm only to return later, slowly, in bits and pieces. Even those remnants he treasured, reminders of pleasure, of Mello, carved into his body. And he loved most of all the gasp Mello made when he came, the look on his face, the way he looked at him afterwards, murmuring “Matt,” in a voice that managed to be both rough and tender at the same time, like the sharp bite of whiskey mingled with the sweet smoothness of honey, the sore throat remedy he could just barely remember his mother giving him when he was a young child who still believed fate was kind.
Mello cleaned then off with a stray towel that had been strewn on the floor, pulled his boxers back up and rested against Matt, his head on his chest, eating chocolate with his eyes closed. Matt looked at his face and suspected he would soon drift back into sleep. That was okay. Maybe he would even be able to join him in a bit.
“Love you,” he whispered and watched Mello smile.
“I never knew you were such a sap when we were kids,” he teased. “But I love you, too, even if you are a dork.” He lifted his arms, reaching for him, and Matt was glad to meet him halfway for a kiss, a kiss to seal their partnership as well as a token of their love for each other.
And that was the thing, after all; the reason that what they had was still special, even if it were a defiance of fate rather than something meant to be: even though they were lovers, Mello was still his best friend as well, perhaps even first, even after over four years apart. Yes, their partnership worked because Mello took and he gave, he demanded while Matt yielded, but Matt felt no resentment of these truths. It was the way things were and he was content that it be so.
Matt knew that being here, in this bed with Mello sliding into sleep next to him, curve of his spine so close he could reach out and touch it as Mello turned onto his side and curled into a ball, was only due to luck. Whether it was his good luck or Mello's bad, he could never decide, but he was grateful for it. Every moment they had together, every smile, every word or gesture of affection Mello ever gave him was stolen, should have been someone else's, but he took them all the same, hoped that this time that felt almost enchanted, a magical gift unlooked for but infinitely precious, would never end.
Mello could have called anyone; almost any of those who had been at Wammy House would have gladly helped him, been honored to have been asked. The orphanage had practically been a secret society, with secrets kept even from the members themselves, but it had left its mark on all of them and created a bond not easily broken. Despite what Mello thought, second best was still impressive, special; still respected by those who knew (and they had all known, hadn't they?). Any of them would have answered him, but he had chosen Matt. That was something no one could ever take away from him, even if he never saw Mello again after the case was over. So, yes, he had no regrets, despite knowing he could quite possibly die and would almost certainly be left alone, abandoned after Mello finally laid his demons to rest and moved on to the life he was supposed to have lived, the life that waited for him even now if he only reached out for it. As Matt curled around Mello and felt himself finally drift towards sleep, he only knew that they were happy and that that was something that neither of them would ever forget.
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Mello/Matt
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2372
Note: Part of the whole series I am doing, but only the first two paragraphs might seem strange if you haven't read them.
The series starts with Something That Is Mine Alone, then Box of Rain, Thunder of a Distant Storm, False Spring, How Certain the Journey (Part I), This Journey's Hurting (Part II), and finally Dusk. And then this story. :)
Sometimes, like tonight, Matt would lie awake and watch Mello sleep, wondering how he had unexpectedly gotten so lucky. It hadn't been supposed to turn out this way. At first, it appeared Mello had been meant for L, his reward for all his hard work, for giving up his life to follow the path Watari wanted of him. He was the princess waiting for the hero, trained and educated to be the perfect partner. His own actions had chosen that fate for himself, though it had always been intended for one of them, a bunch of genius kids raised to be whatever L (and Watari) needed them to be. Perhaps Watari would have chosen differently for L; Matt thought he likely would have, but he wouldn't gainsay his choice.
Mello had thought he was getting away with something then, that his relationship with L was a secret, at least from the adults who worked at Wammy House. Matt had never had the heart to tell him that he was doing what was expected of him, following a path already laid out at his feet just waiting for him to walk it. Had he known that, he might have changed his course, as he had never liked doing what other people expected him to do. But that would have been silly, a pointless rebellion that would only have made him unhappy. So he kept his silence.
And then there was Near. He and Mello had some sort of dysfunctional mutual obsession going on, seemed to be some kind of sick and twisted soulmates. Matt had rarely seen two people so Meant To Be, if they ever got their heads out of their asses long enough to see it. Perhaps Matt could have helped with that, maybe he even should have, but who could really expect him to go against his own interests like that? He wasn't some sort of saint, not even close. And really, they should have been able to figure it out on their own; they were both supposed to be geniuses after all.
Even Roger had seen it, wanted them to be partners after L died. And together they probably really would have been the perfect detective, two halves fitting together seamlessly into a whole greater than either. But Mello was too impulsive, too easily hurt, and Near was a disaster when dealing with emotions, so despite all that chemistry, it hadn't happened.
Now, somehow, Mello was here, with him, where he'd never been meant to be. Who would have thought it? Matt had known for a long time that he was merely a bit player, the hero's best friend and not the love interest, the dark horse never meant to be in the race at all. He had accepted that, expected to lose, and never tried very hard to change things. He tried to be content with what he had and not wish for more. Not much point in dwelling on things you couldn't have, or so he had always thought. So how had he wound up winning after all?
He didn't have the relationship with Mello either L or Near would have had. Mello's feelings for Matt were less intense than they had been for either, a storm rather than a hurricane. But maybe in the end that was better. He lit a cigarette in the dark, sure now he wasn't going to get back to sleep. Mello made a soft noise and moved closer, an arm wrapping around his waist, but he wasn't really awake and Matt made no move to change that, just lay there smoking and thinking while Mello held him in his sleep. Perhaps Mello's love for him lacked something compared to what he felt for others, but it was more tender, too; without all that incredible force, that binding that could tie two people together or strangle them, to complicate and foul things up. Gentler and less intense didn't always mean worse. Maybe he really wasn't complete without Near, but Matt loved him just the same, even if he were broken.
Mello stirred again, more awake this time, pressed his lips absently against the side of Matt's neck. “You ok? Why are you awake?” he asked, yawning.
Matt slid an arm around him, stroked his back, curled his fingers over a bony hip. “I just couldn't sleep, that's all.”
He snuggled closer, ran a hand down Matt's side comfortingly. “Are you worried? Need me to distract you?” Mello turned his hand so his painted fingernails scraped Matt's skin lightly, drawing it over his hip and tracing patterns on his stomach, dipping lower and then moving back up, teasingly. Matt caught his breath.
“I don't need you to, but you know I won't say no, either.” He ground out the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray without looking, shifted so he could wrap both arms around Mello, turning onto his side so he could hook a leg over his hip and press them both together as they kissed.
“Mmmm,” Mello breathed, a slow, contented smile spreading across his face as he rocked his hips forward so their pelvises rubbed against each other, creating friction that felt sweeter than any candy. “One might almost think you were waiting for me to wake up.”
Matt hadn't been, not really, but it wasn't completely unexpected. He hadn't tried to wake him, but he hadn't gone out of his way to prevent it either. Not that he ever knew for sure what mood Mello would be in when he woke up, of course. This one, though, a potent combination of sleepy, affectionate, and horny, was one of the reasons he loved Mello. It was a side of him he doubted anyone else had ever seen, something special just between them. He purred deep in his throat as Mello buried a hand in his hair, tilting his head to the side, and nipped sharp little bites down the side of the throat he had bared. Yes, he thought. I am incredibly lucky to have this.
Not that Mello seemed to realize how desirable he was. He really should have noticed by now, but maybe he was just so used to it that he didn't realize it was anything special. It wasn't like he'd ever had a normal life for comparison. Not like Matt, who had had nearly as normal a life as any of them could manage after he left the closed hothouse environment of Wammy House. But all it had taken was one phone call from Mello and he left the life he had worked so hard to build behind without looking back, let it blow away like ashes on the wind. He could die here and he would still have no regrets.
He reached out and groped Mello's ass through the silk boxers he wore to sleep in (black, like every piece of clothing Mello owned; Matt sometimes teased him that he must actually be colorblind, that it was the only possible explanation for his monochrome wardrobe), caressed his inner thighs and nuzzled his neck, smiling when he heard him moan. This wasn't necessarily what he had expected to happen when he agreed to help him catch Kira, but he was certainly not complaining. Sure, he had never been attracted to any other men besides Mello, but he wasn't at all unhappy with their sex life, was very pleased with it, in fact; far more so than he had expected to be. He could have laughed at the sudden mental image of what the guys who had been his friends before, in his other life, would think, the looks on their faces, if they could see him now, tugging Mello's boxers down with his teeth just because he could.
Matt nuzzled his stomach, enjoying the smell of him, the feel of his closeness, even the hot, salty taste of his skin as he licked his hipbones, first one, then the other, hands still caressing Mello's inner thighs, fingers lightly grazing his balls, waiting until he shifted his weight and groaned before he took his cock in his hand, licking up and down the length of it at a leisurely pace, enjoying the tension he could feel in Mello's body, the rapid beating of his heart and the raggedness of his breathing, suddenly loud in the nearly silent room as the crappy air conditioner in their apartment turned off, its background noise only really noticeable now in its absence.
Mello rarely let Matt finish a blow job and it was even more rare for him to allow Matt to top him, though it did happen. Not tonight, though, but he didn't mind, not at all, when Mello pulled him off him, kissed him again, hot and needy, sweaty body pressed to his so tightly that he thought could feel every ridge and ripple of scar tissue, every sharp bone beneath the skin. Maybe to someone else it would have felt strange, maybe even been a turn-off, but to Matt it felt beautiful, beautiful like the trust and affection Mello gave him, like the gold of his hair in the sun and the flash of his smile when he laughed, here in the dark where there was no one else and he could almost pretend there never had been. Just the two of them, in a bubble of safety they both knew was temporary, a quiet space of aroused bodies rubbing against each other until they both felt ready to scream from their mutual need, shared desperation.
And if Mello were a bit too impatient tonight (this morning?) and wasn't quite as careful as he should have been, if the sensation when he thrust inside was a burning ache rather than a relief, that was okay. Even the pain had an edge of sweetness to it, as though it had somehow been coated with Mello's signature chocolate. Even if fingernails dug just a bit too deeply, drawing blood as he began to move, making Matt moan and arch into it, meeting each thrust as pain turned into pleasure and pleasure became the desire for more, an endless thirst for this, just this: this feeling inside him, the one that made him growl and hold on tightly; even then, he would never complain. He loved even these small pains, lost beneath the onrushing tide of orgasm only to return later, slowly, in bits and pieces. Even those remnants he treasured, reminders of pleasure, of Mello, carved into his body. And he loved most of all the gasp Mello made when he came, the look on his face, the way he looked at him afterwards, murmuring “Matt,” in a voice that managed to be both rough and tender at the same time, like the sharp bite of whiskey mingled with the sweet smoothness of honey, the sore throat remedy he could just barely remember his mother giving him when he was a young child who still believed fate was kind.
Mello cleaned then off with a stray towel that had been strewn on the floor, pulled his boxers back up and rested against Matt, his head on his chest, eating chocolate with his eyes closed. Matt looked at his face and suspected he would soon drift back into sleep. That was okay. Maybe he would even be able to join him in a bit.
“Love you,” he whispered and watched Mello smile.
“I never knew you were such a sap when we were kids,” he teased. “But I love you, too, even if you are a dork.” He lifted his arms, reaching for him, and Matt was glad to meet him halfway for a kiss, a kiss to seal their partnership as well as a token of their love for each other.
And that was the thing, after all; the reason that what they had was still special, even if it were a defiance of fate rather than something meant to be: even though they were lovers, Mello was still his best friend as well, perhaps even first, even after over four years apart. Yes, their partnership worked because Mello took and he gave, he demanded while Matt yielded, but Matt felt no resentment of these truths. It was the way things were and he was content that it be so.
Matt knew that being here, in this bed with Mello sliding into sleep next to him, curve of his spine so close he could reach out and touch it as Mello turned onto his side and curled into a ball, was only due to luck. Whether it was his good luck or Mello's bad, he could never decide, but he was grateful for it. Every moment they had together, every smile, every word or gesture of affection Mello ever gave him was stolen, should have been someone else's, but he took them all the same, hoped that this time that felt almost enchanted, a magical gift unlooked for but infinitely precious, would never end.
Mello could have called anyone; almost any of those who had been at Wammy House would have gladly helped him, been honored to have been asked. The orphanage had practically been a secret society, with secrets kept even from the members themselves, but it had left its mark on all of them and created a bond not easily broken. Despite what Mello thought, second best was still impressive, special; still respected by those who knew (and they had all known, hadn't they?). Any of them would have answered him, but he had chosen Matt. That was something no one could ever take away from him, even if he never saw Mello again after the case was over. So, yes, he had no regrets, despite knowing he could quite possibly die and would almost certainly be left alone, abandoned after Mello finally laid his demons to rest and moved on to the life he was supposed to have lived, the life that waited for him even now if he only reached out for it. As Matt curled around Mello and felt himself finally drift towards sleep, he only knew that they were happy and that that was something that neither of them would ever forget.