Mello/Matt fic: Unfinished Business
Title: “Unfinished Business”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: mild R for strong language and sexual implications
Summary: In times of need, there is one person Mello knows he can turn to. Mello/Matt. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.
A/N: There might be some confusion with the mini-dialogues. I thought I’d clear it up beforehand: the first one is right after the explosion that killed Yagami Soichiro; the second one is Mello leaving the Wammy’s House; the last one is before Takada’s kidnapping.
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
“All right, who is this and how the hell did you get this number!? Come on, I can hear you breathing!”
“M-Matt… I need you…”
“Who… Mello!? What’s wrong!?”
“Matt, come, please… I’m in so deep this time… real shit…”
“Mello! I’ll be right there. Where are you?”
“That shitty hotel… Just come at once, damn you!”
* * *
“Fuck! Fuck! It’s unbelievable! You’re one sick fuck, you know that!? Answer me, dammit!”
Mello turned on the water and slid down on the floor, his back against the wall. The rickety door was locked. He could hear Matt screaming on the other side of it, swearing, cursing with the foulest words imaginable. Mello swept his fingers over his damp forehead, brushing the brittle fringe off. His hair smelt of burn. The flesh over the left side of his face melted and shriveled, a bright eye gleaming like a drop of sea water over the scarred skin.
Fragments of Matt’s shouting reached him through the walls.
“…like a fucking drama-queen… had to go out with a bang, didn’t ya?.. little piece of shit, you only ever think about yourself!..”
Mello cast a single glance at the mirror. His reflection stared back at him with undisguised animosity. “At least I’m not pretty anymore,” he thought wearily.
He rose and stepped out under the shower of Matt’s cursing.
“Holy shit,” Matt breathed. It wasn’t even an exclamation, not as in “Wow, you look terrible!” or “That gotta hurt!”; Matt simply stared him in the eyes, completely ignoring the ghastly scorchmark.
He came closer, squeezed Mello’s shoulder. His breath was strawberry-scented; he must have been chewing one of those funny fruit-flavoured kiddies’ bubble-gums, the “Love is…” sort.
“Stop fucking yelling,” Mello muttered, feeling the silence had grown too thick. “You’re giving me a headrush.”
“It’s gonna heal like this,” Matt observed.
“Gee, thanks, doc! Like I didn’t know that!”
Mello lowered himself on the chair in front of a dim cheval-glass. A pack of Kleenex, some common med stuff and a bottle of fresh water was all they had.
“Well? I didn’t call you for nothing, y’know,” he barked at Matt.
“I’m no doctor, M,” Matt said hesitantly - and set to work, having immediately earned another glare from his ‘patient’. “You’ll be damn lucky if you get no infection. This is so fucking serious! What were you thinking?”
“That they know my name. And that NPA is allied with Kira. And now he probably knows everything too.” Mello started shaking. “Shit, I screwed up. Really huge this time.”
Words broke out like spring water from beneath the half-melted ice cover. Hysteria flooded him. With dry eyes and parched lips, he recounted the past events inconsistently, clenching his fingers around the edge of the table. Matt didn’t interrupt him. When he got over with the improvised medical procedure, he peeled the dirty clothes off Mello’s body and forced him in bed. The peeping sounds of the gameboy buttons lulled Mello to sleep.
* * *
“What are you doing? Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? What did Roget tell you?”
“I’m leaving, Matt. Right now. Get out of my way.”
“What!? Why!?”
“None of your business. Just please stay out of this.”
“I’m not letting you go until you tell me.”
“L’s dead, okay? Happy?”
“What the… fuck?..”
* * *
When Mello woke up it was already noon, and two days later.
“D’you want a beer?” Matt asked nonchalantly. In response to a muffled ‘hmph’ that seemed addressed to the pillow rather than to him, he tossed Mello a bottle.
“Tastes like donkey piss.”
Matt grumbled something and turned back to his videogame. A few minutes later Mello stirred and said huskily: “Smells like one too. God, I hate this place.”
“Your pick, not mine.”
“Do I need to draw a fucking non-smoking sign with your blood all over the walls!?” Mello snapped as his partner lit a cigarette. Matt snorted and blew the smoke out in the open window.
Fever broke off a few days later. Mello lay in bed watching the ceiling, breathing in and out, the simplest form of respiratory gymnastics that he was willing to perform.
“I’m going to New York tomorrow,” was his greeting to Matt as the red-haired youth came in with a small pack of groceries.
“We’re going,” the answer came. Mello opened his mouth to protest and ended up saying the incoherent, ‘mm-hmm’.
By nightfall Mello felt good as new. His wounds skinned over and the heavy burn-marks over the left side of his face didn’t look as frightful as he’d imagined they would. He was brimming with lust for action and odd exultance that only came with the unfinished business.
Matt was packing, a cigarette compressed between his lips.
“Put that thing out,” Mello demanded and wrinkled his nose.
“Quit bossing me around.”
Mello narrowed his eyes on the threshold of a challenge. His nostrils flared, sucking in the vaguely suffocating aroma. As Matt passed by the bed to reach the nightstand, Mello grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him down, and clasped the cigarette between his fingers.
“Come again?”
Matt’s eyes darkened behind his smoky goggles. Mello sneered and rolled up his sleeve before dropping hot ash on the pale skin.
“I said come again.”
“What’ll you do?” Matt laughed hoarsely. Mello licked his lips. Matt had always been a lot of fun. He pressed the tip of the cigarette to the bend of his elbow and proceeded along the length of his arm, rewarded with a long sensual hiss. He pulled Matt on his lap, curled his fingers in the soft wool of Matt’s pullover. He leaned in closer, pressing himself against Matt, and clamped his lips over Matt’s, and revelled in the sugar sweetness of strawberry flavour, and tobacco, and some cheap booze. Matt shifted, wrapping his legs around Mello. Mello’s tongue glided along the side of his neck, pointing a moist dot behind his earlobe. Matt embraced his neck, a line of neat round burn-marks disappearing beneath the striped sleeve.
“You are and always will be,” he breathed frantically, “fucking gorgeous! Nothing can spoil you, Mello!”
The young man smiled, nipping the skin on his neck, never letting the other see his satisfaction. “Cut that sweet bullshit, Matt. Must I do everything myself?”
* * *
“I’m the only one who can do it.”
“I know.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t a question, you know.”
“I do.”
“Matt… We’re probably not gonna live through this mess…”
“I know, Mello. Now cut it; let’s go.”
December 17-18, 2007