Burns Over Ninety Percent of His Body.

Game: L4D2
Characters/Pairing: Keith/Ellis
Rating: MA - Gore.
Summary: "Keith - Keith, shoot man, th' hell's wrong wittya?"
Warnings: SAD, hints at sex, gore.

Plan on a lot more Keith and Ellis things. I like the free-range of their duo.
Thinking of Keith as a brother next.
And maybe something with their Momma.
-/rant-

---

They'd grown up together. It was a small town, and it felt like they were the only two boys their age in the world. During the summer heat, they were the only two that would swim at the pond (everyone else would go to the public pool; it was cleaner and safer); during the rainy season, they were the only two dancing and laughing in the rain, or curled up on a couch under a blanket, playing cards with only a single flashlight between them.

When they grew up, things started to get a little more wild. Childhood innocence turned to pubescant risks; and Keith always seemed to get the short end of the stick. Car acidents, goats, tear gas, homeless man as a ghost; anything that was bad that could happen did happen to the boy.

Ellis was always there to laugh and offer a hand to help him back on his feet, talking about what a rush the experience was.

They dropped out of school together, deciding it wasn't for them. They weren't any good at it anyone; they didn't plan on passing. So, without their parents' (Ellis' Momma was glad to get some extra cash on the table; Keith's parents never cared) consent, they simply stopped going. Still on the school's records, they missed so much school that it wouldn't have mattered either way; they would have never passed.

So instead of schooling, they got to working. They were mechanics; it was a pretty lenient job that paid well. They got days off and long breaks during work to do the stupid shit that they wanted to. (Keith mentioned that he thought Ellis had a bit of a daredevil streak in him, and that it would be the death of him; Ellis simply laughed it off.)

They were each other's firsts. It happened in the shop; Ellis was under a car and Keith wheeled him out by the foot. Ellis laughed and joked around with him (it was a long time joke of theirs) until he realized that Keith wasn't smiling and laughing along. And then he kissed him, crushing their lips together. Ellis was stunned and appalled and delighted and disgusted all at once, but he didn't push away bearded Keith; he didn't push away the thin lips; he didn't push away the calloused hands around their dicks; he didn't push away the badly scarred figure clinging onto him so desperately.

They were awkward together; first few days, Ellis couldn't muster up a look at Keith (which was uncomfortable, because they shared a trailer) and Keith couldn't stop looking at Ellis. The period was ended by another one of those kisses and another time with Ellis' back against the wall.

And things worked. Ellis had no complaints; Keith had no complaints - they never said a word to anybody, so nobody else had any complaints they could offer.

In the shop alone, Ellis was bent near a radio, listening to it and the talk of the flu that was going around. And he laughed at it. "Shoot, that sounds jus' like that zombie movie we went an' seen a while back, don't it?" he asked Keith, who was working under the hood of a car, coughing into his arm quite a bit. He stuck his head out and smiled at him with tired eyes, nodding and muttering that they should get some work done. Ellis laughed and shut the radio off ("Should anyone you know contain any of the following symptoms, contact your medical physician-"), coming close to the other to help.

And when the car was finished and picked up, they closed up shop and Ellis sat himself down on their work counter, smiling at his best friend a wicked little smile; a "Come 'ere, sissy" smile. And Keith came over, coughing into his fist a little (Ellis noticed that he looked rather pale, but he was going to catch the cold one way or another; better run with it then) and they started kissing, all teeth and tongues and gasping and murmuring each other's names.

And then Keith started to get weird - like, twitchy weird, weird where you can't control the volume of your voice and you start yellin' in the library weird - and these raspy groans would pass his throat, bubbling noises, as if something was coming back up. And he pulled away, spitting a heap of black ooze onto the floor and doubling over, clutching his stomach. He moaned and Ellis stood, looking at the other with a worried expression.

"Keith - Keith, shoot man, th' hell's wrong wittya?" Ellis's voice trembled and he wanted to approach him but he didn't really want to approach him. Something was wrong; the whole room felt wrong and it was too silent all of a sudden (everyone had looked sick on the street earlier, dear baby Jesus, what was going on?) in the shop and outside the shop. Ellis took a step towards the doubled over figure, watching flesh change from pale to a gut-wrenching pale green.

Then, all of a sudden, Keith's hands went from around his stomach to hanging down by his ears and he stood there in the silence. And Ellis just stared and stared at him, looking like he was hanging by a meat hook. He swallowed and didn't move. And the silence rang and rang and rang in his ears for minutes that felt like hours.

"K-Keith," he stuttered after a moment, looking at him in a panic.

And then something happened that he wasn't expecting. Keith looked up with these eyes that were just black and rotten, the black ooze (was it blood?) from before pouring out of his mouth in heaps. And he let out this sound that wasn't anywhere near human. Ellis panicked; what happened to his Keith? What was going on with Keith? He stumbled backwards and floundered around behind him, lifting up a crowbar and letting out a violent yell and a hard swing and the crowbar slammed into the side of Keith's face and then Keith fell. And then Keith didn't move.

Ellis stood there in the silence for a long while, just staring and staring and staring at the figure with the crowbar in his face, looking like a meat hook.

"A-aw shit," he whispered weakly and sank down, covering his mouth with his hand.

Game: L4D2
Characters/Pairing: Nick/Ellis
Rating: MA - Sex
Summary: Nick always knew the boy had a problem; he just didn't think that problem would have to do with those little shots.
Warnings: Sex, zombie killing, blood, violence, all around 'wtf'ness.

---

From the moment they met, Nick knew that Ellis wasn't right. He took too many risks (full-out melee in the middle of a horde? Kid was nuts.) with his life; he talked about wanting to take a Tank out with just police batons, trying to rope the other three into it. (They were smarter than that, what did he take them for?) Rochelle would pity him with a "Maybe later, hon." and Coach would just laugh.

But Nick had to be Nick - "Ellis, it ain't time to be a dumbass."

And, as always, the kid would respond (ever the obedient fuckin' child) "Okay." and stop talking for a good five minutes.

Those were some of the best minutes of Nick's new life.

It was the worst when they had to stand watch together. The boy would pick at his nails or his toes or just not stop talking ever. And it was normal for him to just ignore the boy as he blathered on about the fighting or the zombies or Keith or whatever. It didn't matter. He would hear it, but never pay attention.

But sometimes it was nice when Ellis would fall asleep, either propped up against the wall with his head falling and rising and falling and rising, or he'd fall asleep next to him, and his head would fall on his shoulder. He'd wake him up after a few hours, and will his shirt to dry faster - the boy drooled like a bulldog when he was exhausted.

And, as usual, Ellis picked the worst time to bring up some new idea he wanted to work out. They couldn't find any adrenaline, and the zombies were surprisingly sparse that day; the sun was hot and everyone (or thing) seemed to be sluggish - they lingered in areas they'd already cleared, and their scent didn't seem to attract anything. Yet.

Rochelle and Coach had gone ahead to find any new supplies that could be used - supplies they definitely seemed to need. (Ellis seemed to get jittery when they didn't have any shots on hand - he'd talk more than normal.)

"So Keith an' me, well, we were jus' goin' on in an' all of a sudden, he - "

"Ellis, it's not really time for that." Nick said as he gazed out the window. Overalls repeated his usual response, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he looked out the same window. They took idle shots at the sparse zombies, watching as the blood exploded into the air, or an arm would go flying off. Ellis would make little cat calls when he got a good shot in, and chat about it to Nick ("Woowee, didja see that one, hell, that was great!"), who would grunt or reply in two words at most ("Great job" or "Whoopdedoo" or something else smarmy and insulting that would go right over the boy's head).

And then he started to get jittery. He watched the boy's fingers twitch on the wall and his tongue flick out over his lips every now and then, and he would say something that didn't quite make sense about anything relevant that they'd been involved with in their travels or anything that seemed to be related to anyone.

Nick was absorbing himself in his shooting when he felt a hand around his wrist. It was tugged back and away from his trigger and he grunted, glaring at the face that was suddenly way too close to his-

"Ellis, what the hell - "

He was silenced by a feminine mouth pressing needly against his own. Sputtering and swearing into it, he glared a little angrily at the boy (who's lips were chapped and actually felt pretty nice) and eventually weasled his way out of his hold. "What's yer goddamn problem, Ellis?" he snapped, glaring a little bit.

Ellis looked at him with just this... look, this goddamn look that stunned and shocked him all at once. And he just hissed a "fuck" under his breath and grabbed the back of the boy's neck and crushed those girly ass lips against his own and the boy let out a surprised noise before kissing him back desperately. They kissed and bit at each other, each emitting feral noises and curses at one another. This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong but that look the boy gave him was imprinted in his mind (it was probably the lack of anything exciting that got his pulse fucking racing that good way that he seemed to thrive off of).

They were all hands and teeth and pressing and need as Ellis undid his shirt and he ran his hands up the back of the boy's, and he didn't realize what was going on until his pants were hanging low on his hips and the boy was sucking his dick into his mouth. A strangled sound passed his lips and he twisted his fingers in the back of the boy's shirt and let out another violent "fuck", unsure why this was so fucking great and so fucking hot and so fucking wrong.

And Ellis' lips curled perfectly around his dick and it was great - he looked so perfect down there, so absolutely perfect. And he could only think that something was wrong when he saw those angelic lips curl up into that smile.

It was too fucking late when he saw that puke bomb go flying behind the boy and near the door.

He heard the Horde screaming and he felt the boy suck harder and he swore loudly. "What the fuck're you thinking, Overalls?" he snapped angrily, tugging at the back of his hair, unable to keep himself from thrusting forward into the pleasant feeling of the boy sucking harder on his dick. "Son of a bitch - "

Ellis pulled back and smirked up at him. "Better start shootin', Nick," he said simply, swallowing him back into his mouth. Nick would've punched those perfect lips into those fucking teeth if they weren't around his dick.

He could hear the screaming and the pounding and the gurgling at the door and loaded his gun, a loud groan passing his lips. And he carefully pulled his gun close and gripped it tight, almost terrified - almost. He'd shot these bastards before - just with a little more help. And no one distracting him with fucking devillish lips.

The zombies tore down the door in minimal time, swarming the bile and finally catching his smell. They gazed at him with bleeding eyes and twisted features and he shot the first one right between the eyes, ready to kill these fuckers - Ellis ran his tongue along the vein at the base and he moaned, almost missing a shot - almost.

It was an interesting twist of feeling - the sexual thrill was amped up by the fact that they could fucking die that dumb fucking kid-

Another shot between the eyes.

But jesus christ the combination was so great, so fucking great. The zombies were dying and their heads were exploding and they were falling in fucking heaps and jesus christ jesus christ that boy was just hitting all those great spots -

There went an arm.

He moaned and his hips lurched forward, pressing deeper into his mouth - he couldn't hear Ellis, but he could feel the hands clutching onto his hips tighter than they had before. That outta show him. His expression twisted as he felt a hand claw at his arm and there it went and then that tongue -

Two legs.

And fuck, they were running thin, and god dammit, some blood hit him on the cheek and fuck -

Three more headshots and the zombies were done - and he was too. He tensed and came, moaning viciously. The boy could hardly contain himself - he straightened and leaned against him, burying his face into his neck as he ground forward into his hand. Nick, panting and hazy, dropped his gun and slid his hand into his already undone pants, stroking his cock fast and hard.

The boy panted and gasped in his ear, and then his hand was wet and he let out this low moan. They gasped in the freshly-made stillness, stained and unkempt. When Nick came to himself, he swore seven times under his breath and thrust his hands against the boy's chest.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Ellis?" he yelled, fixing his pants before reaching out to grab the boy by the front of the shirt. The boy was just grinning dopishly, his hands held up and his lips swollen. Nick glared at him, before swearing and pressing his fist violently into his chin, throwing him down and turning away. He swept a hand through his hair, fixing it and looking out the window. No zombies; no nothing. Just warm stillness.

Ellis was rubbing at his bleeding lip, tucked away again and looking like nothing had ever happened when Rochelle and Coach returned, each with a bag hanging off their shoulder.

"Shit, what happened here?" Coach asked, a big grin on his lips. Nick stared moodily out the window, jaw tight as Ellis laughed.

"Had a bit of a problem here, Coach!" he chirped, as if it weren't obvious. Rochelle set the supplies down and reached into it, handing the boy an adrenaline shot silently. No one said a word about it (Coach and Rochelle glanced at each other oddly) as the boy tucked it into his belt loop.

"Really fuckin' crazy day, Coach," Nick finally muttered, just staring out the window. Ellis just smirked a bit, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he looked out the same window.

Found this QUITE funny. 'cause with my luck... y'know.
It'd come true. o_o;...


You are the lone, coldhearted sonovabitch who would like nothing better than to break hearts and make little boys cry. You live solely for yourself, and you don't give a damn what others think. You used to be nice and kindhearted - but past experience has taught you that people will always take advantage of you when given the chance. You maintain an aloof, impenetrable exterior - but deep inside you is a boy just waiting for the right person to love you for who you are.



Which Gravitation character are you? by Rin.

Title: Sex--Not Love.
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello, implied L/Mello
Rating: NC-17 - For masturbation, and the classic! -thumbs up- |D
Disclaimer: They're not mine--if they were... I dunno, but it'd be different.
Summary: Fuck.
Spoilers: Only if you've not finished the series~
Word Count: 1,183

Author's Notes: AND AS BY POPULAR DEMAND--here is some fun Matt/Mello stuff.
Yah. We'll totally roll with it. And, as expected, there's SOME angst--just not as much~
<3

I wish I could write better smut...TTATT

...I wanna write a fluffy story next! D:

---

Gasping.
Clutching.
Grinding.
Moaning.
Arching.
And the slamming, the slamming, the sounds, the thrusting the thrusting the thrusting--

Mello craved it. From head to toe, all he could think about was IT; Matt's lips and his hands and his tongue and his words and his pure throbbing COCK. Oh god, and it sliding in, and then back in farther, and harder, and rougher--an audible groan passed his lips from his place on the couch and he trailed gloved hands up and underneath his (for once) loose shirt, fingertips pinching and taunting and teasing his own nipples. His lips parted and he tilted his head back, strands of hair hanging backwards and revealing the long discolored flesh—his scar, running from the side of his face to his neck, to his shoulder and stopping.

Another groan passed his lips and his free hand undid his pants carefully, sliding inside and clutching the already hardening shaft within the tight confines. His breath hitched and his breaths came out in heavy pants, his knees coming close to each other and the tips of his boots tilting down in the sheer pleasure of it all.

“I’m back,” A clear voice rang out, but that didn’t stop the blonde from his actions, and his breathing became heavier as he heard the other remove his boots and drop the bag of cigarettes and chocolate onto the table that was more like a stool. His head slowly turned as the other started closer, gazing down at him; at his writhing form, his arching spine, his quick fingers, his fast hand. “…is something bothering you Mello…?” he whispered softly, eyes half-lidded.

He slid around the couch and reached out with his own gloved hands, sliding the other’s pants off of thin, boney hips. The entire length of the blonde seemed to leap into the air, Mello’s hand still clenched around it, hiding the shock of the suddenly cold air from the most sensitive part. The younger carefully raised his goggles and stripped himself of his gloves and vest, his gaze sliding up to meet the green eyes of the other, and gazing at his flushed cheeks and slicked, parted lips.

The tip of his tongue flicked over the crown of the other’s length and his hands slid around the base.

The pretty blonde nearly-screamed in pleasure and curled his spine, brows curling upwards and back arching and his entire body just writhing already, under the soft flicks of his tongue, then the hard sucks that were placed as his mouth engulfed ‘til halfway. His entire body trembled and his eyes clenched shut, another soft cry passing his lips—but really, all they were after the initial rush of pleasure were overly loud gasps for air, or soft coos; Matt had become adjusted to this. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered gently, wiggling his hips, hands knotting in the other’s hair.

The brunette slid back and kept his finger at the tip, teasing the slit there as his other hand slid up and down entire length, tongue tracing the strong vein at the base. He gazed up at him and closed his eyes halfway, carefully pulling one of the other’s nicely shaved testicles into his mouth, absorbing it into the warmth and sucking a bit harder, eyes closing halfway and glistening.

He moaned softly and stroked his hand up the other’s length, watching that little frame writhe and arch and moan in pleasure. Mello’s head snapped to the side and he grit his teeth, jaw tightening and his hips thrusting upwards towards the other’s hand. The mouth was removed and all he could do was growl in disappointment, eyes on absolute fire, needing that release that was causing his cock to throb so roughly, so brutally, so intensely it brought tiny little tears to his eyes.

The brunette chuckled and undid his own pants with deft fingertips, letting them hang loose around his own boney hips. He tilted his head to the side and watched the blonde—his chest heave, and his lips part, and his eyes haze over--…

He was thinking about him again.

A sad sigh passed his lips and he reached out, turning the other over and propping him up against the back of the couch, biting his shoulder. The blonde let out a shrill, pleased sound, hips raising just a bit more as his pants were lowered down a bit more.

It felt so GOOD when Matt had his fingers in that tight hole of his, his hips propped up and his head resting against the couch, sweat gathering on his neck and cheeks, cock jumping. As the first finger slid easily passed the ring of muscles, he couldn’t help but moan, eyes closing tightly and small tears stinging the corners. The finger was quickly joined by a second, then a third—today wasn’t one of the days for a fourth, or even the whole damn thing, though.

“D-damnit, Matt, more,” he ordered, snapped, barked, glaring over his shoulder at the other, “please, god, more…” he only ever said please at times like this; or if he was brought to shame. But Matt never did that. He looked at him and grimaced as he saw it was Matt, tilting his head down and waiting.

The brunette slid his fingers back and leaned over him, rubbing the head of his cock against the other’s entrance. It was dry; but that blonde bundle DID like things rough. Oh well.

The cry that passed those pretty chapped lips was amazing, and the small thing cried out, gripping the edges of the couch ‘til his knuckles were white under his gloves. Matt’s breath hitched and he slid his arms around the other’s waist, pulling him up and holding him to his chest. Mello panted, knees on the couch still, head raised high over the other’s, his hair sticking to his neck.

The thrusts were rough; they were brutal; they were everything Mello fucking needed. He arched and cried out as they hit his prostate over and over and over again, his cock throbbing and jerking already, and he let out a loud cry. “J-jesus—fuck—MORE, MORE, L--!!”

If that didn’t break the brunette’s heart, he didn’t know what did. He thrust harder and faster in and out, stroking his cock from base to tip quickly by this point. Mello cried out and arched, moaning again as he exploded onto the other’s hand. He trembled horrendously, eyes shutting tightly, and, once Matt spilled inside and dropped him, he toppled forward, his head on the cushions and his ass still high in the air, droplets of cum trailing down the inside of his thigh.

Matt was mad again. He heard his stomping footsteps and the angry flick of his lighter, and he remained in his position for a moment more, standing and adjusting his pants. He swallowed and stepped to the table, eyes half-lidded and cheeks still flushed. Chocolate was clutched and grabbed and he pressed it to his lips, taking a bite, eyes half-lidded. What a mess he was turning that little brat into.

Fuck.

Title: Too Young
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello, implied L/Mello
Rating: R for a brief blowjob
Disclaimer: They're not mine--if they were... I dunno, but it'd be different.
Summary: “Mello,” he whispered, gripping the other tighter, “Mello, god damnit, I’m sick of this..”
Spoilers: Only if you've not finished the series~
Word Count: 1,162

Author's Notes: Ahh! I don't know what to think of this one. :\ I'm actually not too proud of it--while I wrote it, I kept getting random IMs and texts and phone calls, and it kind of broke my streak. I mean, it's the third part (possibly the final) but I feel like I could have done more.

But I DO like the premise. Maybe I'll go back and rework it--I dunno.

---

Listless blank eyes just simply… stared. Up at the ceiling. He could feel the blonde’s touches, but he couldn’t feel the blonde’s touches. Those hazel eyes slowly closed, halfway, not the entire way. Thin hands clutched at the blankets and he let out a little bit of a cry as he spilled himself onto the other’s tongue, that mouth releasing him with a lewd ‘pop’.

The blonde hurriedly spat it out into his hand, wiping the sticky white mess onto the blankets, nose curled in distaste. Matt’s chest heaved in his effort to breathe, uncovered eyes trying to focus on the ceiling fan, heavy gasps passing his lips. He turned his head slowly towards the other and he tilted it carefully, eyes half-lidded, a weak smile crossing his lips.

“S-sorry..” he whispered, sitting up carefully. “I know how much you hate that…” His shoulders slouched and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at him. A sad smile slid onto his lips and he stretched a hand out to touch the other’s shoulder, only to have it bat away, slapped at, and an angry glare from green eyes. The brunette’s shoulders hunched a bit and he looked down, sighing a little bit.

Matt gave a lot of blowjobs—but rarely ever received one. But that was because of the fact that he always came too fast, and into the other’s mouth. That wasn’t a right reserved for him. Oh no. That was something that was reserved for that reoccurring remembrance—that reoccurring image—

L.

His stomach churned and he had to stand up and lean out the window, just so he wouldn’t get sick. But the light hurt his dark-adjusted eyes, and he hurriedly returned to the confines of the dark room. He could hear Mello fixing his vest back on and lacing his boots, adjusting his gloves—he turned to face the other with a sad look in his eyes.

“Mell—“

“Matt, just shut up,” the blonde finally whispered, his back to the other. Matt had his back to him as well, but at least had the courtesy to look, look, at him. The blonde continued to stare forward, “you know that it doesn’t make it any better, no matter what you say. So don’t even bother.” He adjusted his gloves the rest of the way and was about to leave when Matt decided—enough was enough.

His hand reached out and gripped the other’s shoulder, and he forced him around, hearing the growl and the snarl—he didn’t even care when that fist hit his jaw, simply allowing his head to snap to the side as he accepted it. Those hazel eyes looked up and met the green, a strange shine in them; something that wasn’t usually there with Matt. Sorrow. Distress.

That never happened to Matt—he wasn’t supposed to feel those things, right?

“Mello,” he whispered, gripping the other tighter, “Mello, god damnit, I’m sick of this..” he shook his head twice and pulled the other’s shirt into tightly drawn fists, shaking him a bit. “I’m fuckin’ sick of this!! He’s dead, okay? He’s DEAD!!” he shook him again, glare settled on his brow. “You need to grow up and get rid of that memory—it only brings you down!!”

He turned his head to think for a moment, and faced Mello again as he thought of something to say, taking a breath, when the other chimed in, “You fuckin’ idiot.” He whispered softly, eyes half-lidded. “You’re such a fuckin’ brat—you’re worse than Near, damnit; at least he acts more mature than you. You’re older than he was and—and—“ he trailed off and shoved roughly against the other’s shoulders, forcing him off and away, and placing a well-aimed punch to his already-tender jaw.

“You’re such a brat!! Stop actin’ like I’m yours!!” he stomped his foot, boot making a loud ‘thud’, and kicked the other in the side, hearing his breath hitch. “I’m not anyone’s god damn property!! I’m not yours, I’m not Rod’s, I’m not Nears—I’m not…” but at this second, there was a slight pause, before he continued. “I-I’m not property!!” He turned his back to the other and growled furiously, but Matt could hear those tears under his breath. He stood, wiping the blood from the freshly-made split on his lip. Would he do what he normally do; stand in the background and watch the other stomp away…? With a frown, he slid on his pants and hurried after him, listening to his yells and growls and barks of anger, following them to where he was knelt down, holding chocolate, his other arm around his legs.

He stood behind him, gazing down, hearing the other sniffle a bit and whisper a few incoherent things. His bare hand tugged the other up by his forearm and pulled him to his chest. He threaded his fingers through his hair, listening to the yells and snaps and absolute ferocity of the other’s words. But not the words.

“What… do you want from me Mello..?” he finally whispered, simply the holding the other to him, a sad look in his eyes. He clutched him closer, and buried his nose into the top of his head. “I’ve given you all I fucking can—love, support, sex—do you want my life too, Mello…? Is that what you want…? Y’should know that I’ll do anything… Fuck, Mello…” Tears started to slide down his cheeks as he clutched the other closer, as close as he could go, without them being the same person, and breathed in the scent of his hair.

Mello was limp and silent in his hold, the chocolate bar falling to the ground. But, a moment later, his hands were sliding around the other’s neck, arms looping around him. Matt knew what this was—Mello just wanted to be let go of, so he’d try anything to get him to let go.

“I want an answer, Mello,” he whispered softly, and that made the blonde jerk—a flinch, if one could call it that.

“…you’re still too young.” He whispered weakly to him, pushing the other away. “You don’t know… that in this world… You push other’s out of the way to get stronger.” He turned his back to the other and dipped down to pick up the chocolate bar, eyes half-lidded. “I’ll do that to you some time. And, yeah, more likely than not, I’ll want your life. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you…?”

The two shared a bitter smile and a forced bit of laughter, before Matt lit up a cigarette, pressing it to his lips. The blonde stared at him, green eyes half-lidded. “Get me, Matt; I don’t want anything else from you. I want your loyalty, your abilities, and your stamina—I don’t want anything else.” He turned his back and sat on the couch, taking a bite of chocolate. “I’m not looking for… anything else right now.”

Matt went back to the shared bedroom and sobbed.

Title: Hallelujah
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello, implied L/Mello
Rating: R-ish
Disclaimer: They're not mine--if they were... I dunno, but it'd be different.
Summary: He knew the truth. God, did he know the truth. Those green eyes were never his. Never. Those heart-shaped pink lips, usually chapped and rough; those gorgeous blonde locks that he always loved to play with and curl around his fingers. None of it was EVER his.
Spoilers: Only if you've not finished the series~
Word Count: 1,043

Author's Notes: I have a couple theories on the orphan-factor of the prodogies. I'm not even really sure if they were orphans--I'm pretty sure they were, I'm quite forgetful about the series, if you can believe it--but I always saw Matt and Near as coming when they were younger. Like, their genius was discovered when they were two, or three, and their family brought them to live and stay at Wammy's. But, with Mello's attachment to L, it was more likely than not that he never had a family. That L was the only thing he had, and when Near came and tried to take that away, it spurned a hatred between the two that none could ever rival. Matt fell for Mello from an early age, but kept more towards the background, to be there for moral support and as a friend.

But this is really just for this series of mine; I have many different takes on the four, but this is the one I'm running with right now.

Sort of a continuation to 'Taxi Ride', only from Matt's POV.

---

He knew the truth. God, did he know the truth. Those green eyes were never his. Never. Those heart-shaped pink lips, usually chapped and rough; those gorgeous blonde locks that he always loved to play with and curl around his fingers. None of it was EVER his.

That smile was false when it was directed at him. That laugh was forced. Those gasps, as real as they were, would never be directed towards him. Those green eyes had a different image on them, in them, surrounding them; an image of a completely different person. And sometimes, even, in the middle of their passion, that name would fall from his lips. It wasn’t even a name; but they both knew so much better than to acknowledge that fact—just like he knew better than to acknowledge the fact that it had happened.

But damnit, it hurt.

Heavy breaths passed his lips as he pressed them against the other’s pulse, listening to him whimper and coo and moan; listening for his own name amongst those noises, only to hear none. Nothing of the sort. Oh god, no, that wouldn’t EVER happen.

A sad smile slid onto his own chapped lips and he pulled the little blonde closer to him, kissing him softly, sweetly, feeling those chapped things part underneath his tongue, and that bubble-gum pink and chocolate tasting muscle dancing with his own cigarette flavor. That alone made him smile and he spread the other’s legs wider.

God damnit, it hurt so bad.

Especially when it was over and the blonde was so disgusted with himself that he had to dress in a hurry and stumble his way out of the room, on wobbly legs. He knew the blonde thought he was asleep when he stretched on the couch, but he was always wide-awake. He was always listening for any sound of pain and discontentment from those perfect lips. Smoke drifted casually up to the ceiling fan, which pushed it instead towards the window, and bare, calloused fingers flicked the ash to the floor next to the bed.

That’s when it came in from underneath the door. It was near silent at first, only slightly building volume, and he knew what it was; he’d seen it before a dozen—a hundred times, even. Those gloved hands covering his beautiful, albeit scarred, face, and boney shoulders rocking with the force of those quite sobs.

After all these years, recovering from the heartache wouldn’t happen to the poor thing.

Opening the door silently and leaning in the doorframe as he watched Mello sob, all he could think about was walking over and wrapping his arms around him and just holding him there, holding him in his soft and gentle and loving embrace. But that would get him a few curses, a rant, and more likely than not a good punch or two to anywhere the blonde could reach.

“I’m sorry,” his soft voice cracked out, those gloved fingers lacing in his tousled blonde hair, “I’m sorry, L, I-I’m so sorry—I need it though… I need that comfort; damnit, L, w-why would you like to me…??”

Hurt tore at the brunette’s heart-strings and he felt the cigarette break in half between his fingers. He dropped it and carefully put it out with his bare foot—the pain was excruciating, but nowhere near as bad as the pain dripping from his heart and the corners of his eyes. He stared across at the pretty little blonde, who was doubled over himself as he sobbed, apologizing over and over and over to the empty room about how god damn sorry he was that he had slept with Matt again.

Distaste settled in Matt’s mouth and he watched those heaving shoulders again, not wanting to touch the boy—not if it disgusted him that much. The hurt only slid faster down his cheeks than and he reached up to hurriedly wipe it off on his arm, closing the door behind him quietly. He covered his eyes with his hand and slid down the flat of the door, tilting his head back.

Mello’s sweet voice was still whispering the long-dead man’s name, over and over, and he knew that his heart would forever be locked firmly in the palm of that amazing and wondrous man that had caught so many in his net and reeled them in—he was no exclusion, and neither was Near. The two of them; it would never have affected them as harshly as it affected Mello.

They had both known their family, if only for a short while. He could remember his mother’s face; and Near had that brother of his he could always think back towards when things were hard. Mello was the only one who had been an orphan since he was born; they didn’t know how, but somehow, he’d gotten to Wammy’s. More than likely, his mother had left him on the step and never looked back. L had been the only one in his life, ever, that had come close to family.

L was his brother—L was all of their mentor and role model and fucking hell how did Mello even stand on his own for all the time?

The sobs from outside the room were getting just a bit louder and he knew those tears were starting to dry up, and he turned his head to face the room he knew the other was in. He wanted to take care of him, fucking hell, did he. But that would only make the blonde mad and reject him more, more, more…

So he sat there, as close as he could get without getting screamed at, and let his presence—or rather, absence—comfort the sobbing blonde. Maybe his absence kept L there; maybe Mello shouldn’t have called him. Truth be told, he was only needed for little, stupid thing. Stupid, stupid things, like keeping track of Near, and his skills. Damnit, it hurt just to think like that.

“Mello,” he whispered gently, silently to the other, “I love you.” He looked at the ceiling as he heard the other sob their mentor’s name, and a weak smile slid onto his lips.

Mello had never been his; and, as much as it hurt, he was fine with that.

Title: Taxi Ride
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello, implied L/Mello
Rating: Maybe R for a crudely and one-second long smut description? -shrug
Disclaimer: They're not mine--if they were... I dunno, but it'd be different.
Summary: Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he never came back.
Spoilers: If you finished the series, none.

Author's Notes: Ohhhh god. What a sad one to write. Loved to do it though. With Tori Amos' "Taxi Ride" on repeat and talking to my precious little L-muse~ I <3s her~ But yeah.
Woo.

---

A small hand found the elder’s larger and clutched for dear life. Even if the dark-haired male didn’t like direct touch, he wasn’t about to let go; not for the world. The little blonde looked at the ground, with little tears stinging the corners of his eyes. The dark eyes of the elder faced the boy and those green eyes looked so desperate, strands of blonde hair falling into them. His hand clenched a bit harder, followed by the second hand, holding it tighter. Those long black sleeves fell over his wrists and one slid off his shoulder a bit.

“L,” he whispered in a weak and cracking voice, “please don’t go, please,” he tugged a little bit, just a bit harder, as he gazed at him with those sad green eyes. “Y-you can’t… “ he gripped tighter and tilted his head down, the sounds of small little sobs passing his lips.

Those plain black eyes looked him over, before the male removed his hand slowly and knelt before him, touching his shoulder with his fingertips. The blonde raised a tear-stained visage to the other, before throwing his arms all the way around his neck and clutching for dear life.

“Mello,” the elder whispered, reaching out to carefully tuck those blonde locks behind his ear and tilting his own head to the side, “don’t worry. Chances are more than 90% that I’ll be back shortly; it shouldn’t be too complicated a case.” A kiss was placed to a banged-temple and the little blonde closed his eyes tightly, watching him go with those green eyes. “I’ll be home sooner than you can imagine.”

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he never came back.

Green eyes that should have never become hurt and pained and destroyed opened halfway and gazed at the ceiling fan in the old, beat-up apartment that he and his partner in crime had found. It was cheap, and he was sure that fan would fall and destroy both of them, and that the ceiling with it’s mold and the walls with the paint flicks, the stains, the peeling of the wall paper would fall sometime soon and they’d be homeless again.

Sitting up as silently as he possibly could, as not to disturb the brunette stretched out under the thin blanket on the rotten mattress near him, he stood and pulled on his coat, taking a chocolate bar out of the pocket. His booted feet were silent ‘til he was actually outside, looking around, cold puffs of air; clouds, as he remember L saying, jokingly; passing his lips as he took breath after breath. He pulled his hood up and his coat tighter around himself, the large scar covering the left side of his face stinging a bit in the cold.

His footsteps were even on the pavement—one, two, one, two, one—until he realized he’d just walked around in a circle and was in front of his apartment again. His solution was to simply sit on the front porch, hood hiding his gaze from the rest of the world, and his coat supporting just a bit of warmth.

His memory slid towards the tousled black hair and the tired but kind black eyes of his mentor and main caregiver. Of the way he would eat—it was so odd, he could remember he and Matt and Near all talking about it one time, even if later they had bullied Near to the point of crying—and of the way he rarely slept. Of the way he would talk to them until they were asleep—of the way he would sometimes fall asleep next to Mello’s bed, if only for a short while. He’d never heard Near or Matt talk of that.

He could remember the way he smelled; like strawberries and cake and paper; and the way he spoke—such authority, and such brilliance—and just… him.

L.

His hand raised and covered his face, and he took a couple deep breaths to calm himself, the last one coming out in a shuddering breath. It still hurt. After all these years—just remembering the impact it had made on all three of them. L was dead. Simple as that. No remorse, no sorrow—not really.

He longed to hear the other’s knowledge; his joys; hell, even his scolding, if it meant he was still there, still alive, still AROUND for them. He clenched his eyes shut and whispered the name, before doubt and anger crept into his mind.

As much as he loved L, why hadn’t he decided on an heir? Why had he kept his mind straight? Had it been meant to go to Near? That he couldn’t even comprehend; Near wasn’t his favorite, was he? The way that the white-haired wretch had treated him—like property, like a little toy that he had to manipulate. His gaze slid up towards the stars and he looked at them, sighing a bit.

Then that trail of thought lead towards Matt, with that kind smile and those special, kind and loving touches meant only for HIM. The way he would calm him and comfort him—the way he would keep him from remembering things, if only for a little while. His lips parted a bit and he took a bite of the chocolate.

The way the other always brought him the drugs—the ANYTHING he asked for, without a second thought about it. What did Matt think their relationship was? Love? No, no, that couldn’t be it—couldn’t possibly… It was a horrible thought. Matt quite possibly loved him, but he knew where his heart belonged—if he even had one. Matt was close to him. Matt was amazing. Matt was his everything while they pursued a way to beat Near to the finish line; but when it came down to it, he was very much-so L’s.

Even after all of the time that had passed.

All he wanted was L’s recognition. And if that meant pushing Matt into the background; stepping over and on anyone in his way; then he would do it without a second thought. L and being L were the only important things. Matt was third; fourth; even fifth on his list. But he saved room.

The touches were different than L’s; than Near’s; than anyone’s. Matt wasn’t tender, but he wasn’t brutal. He wasn’t cruel. His hands massaged and soothed, and his teeth claimed, and his nails raked and it made him ache and cry out for more more MORE—but it was not a problem, no way. He could leave Matt, unlike the way he could leave L. He’d done it before.

A flinch went through him and he looked towards the horizon, and the steadily rising sun. It couldn’t be morning already, could it? He hasn’t slept a wink. His brows laced and he tilted his head to the side slightly. Such impossibility… He closed his eyes tightly and raised himself to his feet, stepping inside, and up the crumbling and crooked and creaking stairs, opening the door to the apartment and gazing at a fully-dressed and smoking Matt.

Those brown eyes raised and met Mello’s, and the gaze locked for a minute, before it separated as Matt stood. Shortly after, they were simply hands and tongues and bare clothes and lust and it was perfect for the time.

When it was over Mello couldn’t bring himself to look at Matt, let alone touch him again. While the other slept on his stomach in the bedroom, Mello was stretched out on the couch and not asleep, his mind wandering, wandering again, towards L. Those tired black eyes and the uncomfortable slouch in his shoulders…

Sleep finally crept on him and an unnoticed tear slid from the corner of his left eye

Title: Title and Registration
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG-13 - for those IMPRESSIONABLE KIDS OUT THAR
Disclaimer: They're not mine--if they were..I dunno, but it'd be different.
Summary: Why was he even doing this still?
Spoilers: None, really. At least, not that I can see.

Author's Notes: I was feeling kinda bored and lonely, so I turned on my Death Cab for Cutie CD. It ended up on this song and I kinda just... stuck with it. I love the song.
Towards the end, it kinda gets... crappy. I don't like it. I'll probably go back and rework it at some point, but right now, I don't feel like doing that.

---

Why was he even doing this still?

Hazel eyes closed, blocked by a pair of bright-orange goggles as he fumbled through the glove-compartment of that car he drove—god, how much of a wreck could it be? Sighing a bit to himself, he continued his search, those gloved-fingers scratching through tousled red hair. It wasn’t long ‘til he pulled out the false set of papers for the day, looking it over and tilting his head to the side.

“Jesus, Mello,” he whispered faintly, around a cigarette he always had between seemingly-permanently chapped lips. He groaned a little bit and flipped over the sheets. It wasn’t that… it wasn’t terrible… it just wasn’t accurate. At all. Seventy-five years old? What was he thinking?? Leaning back, he glanced at the sleeping blonde in the back seat, laying on his side and curled up, before gazing at the cop standing next to his car.

If this was Mello, he would’ve slammed on the gas and been gone, out of the cop’s reach by that point—because Mello was just that good.
No.

Instead, Mello was stuck gazing at the fake papers, looking up at the cop with a bit of a grin, flicking over the corner and handing it to him. What a bogus thing. But the cop took it and stepped away. He kept an eye on the rearview mirror, looking at him, and when he saw that confused look—SLAM.

He was speeding down the road at the fastest speed he could go, glancing back towards the cop every now and then. It was a good chase before they finally lost the cop, a big grin of pride crossing his lips as he stopped his car at a gas station, sighing a bit. He heard a soft mewl and a groan, followed by the creaking sound of leather on leather, and looked back at the little blonde as he slowly started to wake.

His head tilted to the side as the boy looked at him with a groggy look on his face, hair sticking up in random directions. The younger, who raised the goggles onto the top of his head, reached out to touch the other’s cheek. “Mornin’,” he murmured to him, smiling as the boy giggled and nuzzled his hand.

He loved the mornings. Mello was so innocent and sweet. He never got mad. He never yelled. He said thank you and accepted kisses without a struggle or a fight—but it only lasted so long.

Today was one of the short ones. He came to while they were sharing a soft kiss, his green eyes widening as he shoved him back and yelling a curse—Matt didn’t bother to think about which one it was anymore. He shifted in his seat and gestured that the front was open, and the other should take his spot on the make-shift throne. He looked over at him and smiled sadly at him. The blonde slammed the doors as he sat in the car, booted-feet propped up on the dashboard.

Gas was pumped, and Matt leaped back into the car, quickly driving off. It was easy enough. Not a problem at all. And by the time the man noticed, they were already gone.

It was silent again, only the sound of wind rushing by, and the small sound of chocolate breaking. Sighing a little bit to himself, he reached out to touch the other’s thigh, only to have his hand slapped away and a glare aimed at him. What a surprise…

The worst part of the day was yet to come, though. And it happened when they pulled over, to make ‘camp’, for the night. He sighed and closed his eyes halfway, leaning back in his seat. Mello started to bitch at him, and the younger glanced for a moment, sighing a bit. The offer to stay at a motel was given.

This time it was accepted.

He pondered on it as he started down the road, thinking about the other’s usual reaction—hitting him in the shoulder and snarling an insult. He stopped in front of the motel and closed his eyes halfway, sighing a little bit to himself. He watched the blonde start in, get the room, and come back with a key.

When they were in the room, Matt made his usual spot on the chair—he was rarely given the luxury of a couch, and it always worked to prop his feet up. His DS was un-pocketed as he heard Mello climb into the bed, glancing at him. He didn’t turn the game on yet. Instead, he slid up and stepped over to the other, leaning over the bed to watch him sleep.

Why was he only peaceful when he slept…?
An angel..

He dipped down and kissed his temple, not even flinching when the other had his gun pressed to his temple. He remained motionless, to allow Mello to remember where he was, and that he was safe, before climbed into the bed behind him, arms snaking around his waist. He listened to the other bark another insult and ignored it, simply holding him close, the DS—which was pink—discarded on the nightstand, and his hands sliding up the front of the other’s shirt, playing with his belly.

The blonde was asleep first, like usual, leaving Matt in the dark.

A small smile crossed his lips.

He could remember why he did this…

Title: Running Away
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: Meh... PG-13? PG, for language?
Disclaimer: They're not mine--if they were..I dunno, but it'd be different.
Summary: They always seemed to be running--always.
Spoilers: Some, more towards the end of it.

I was a little bored, and turned on my music--'Repeat Offender' by Trapt popped on. It just fits them so FUCKING well.

...It's just a little bit of nothing, really. Drabble-ish. Meh.

---

They always seemed to be running--always. Mello always lead the way, leaving first, and then Matt would have to go and find him afterwards. The damn eccentric brat... He would be there one moment, with a piece of chocolate in his teeth and a nostalgic look in his eyes, and the next, when Matt looked back, he'd be gone, all of his things, boots and coat gone as well.

He didn't understand what exactly went through the boy's mind at times like these.

His eyes were too far gone to be real, by this point in time, so there was no telling any longer. When they were kids, he'd been able to read him like a book. Everyone had.
Now that everything was different, and everything that the boy had gone through... No one could be sure.

Those gloved hands were strumming on his leg right then, the plain eyes of the blonde glaring up at him--he knew better than to think that Mello was mad at him. He raised his goggles up slightly, so his own eyes could meet the boy's, who curled his nose in distaste. With a slight grunt, he raised and slid the goggles down. "I like 'em on." he drawled, lips pursed ever so slightly.

"Oh, really, do you?" Matt murmured, as he had a bit of an inability to see at the moment. Mello nodded, and he knew this by the feel of the blonde hair on his cheek. The skinny male was climbing into his lap, and Matt's large-compared-to-Mello hands encircled those thin hips, the brunette glancing up at him.

Now, more commonly, when Mello got like this, he'd want Matt to keep quiet and either fuck him, or be fucked. Today was different. Something very different. His arms encircled his throat, and he nuzzled under his chin. Hmm. This was strange.

"..Mello..?" Matt asked, taintively, jerking as the other shot up and glared at him. But it wasn't one of his usual furious glares. Oh no. It was gentler--and in a flash, it was gone, everything was, and Mello wasn't there for the moment. He was standing, fixing his gloves, his hair, and stretching his arms over his head. What was wrong with him now? The boy started to walk over to where they kept their coats and boots and anything of the sort, pulling that big, furry-hooded coat on, and those big heeled boots.

Matt rose, his sleeve falling off of his shoulder. Mello glanced at him, sneered, and started to walk outside. Matt had to hurry to catch him and pull him back.

"G-get the fuck off me, are you daft, lemme go..!!" Mello yelled--the boy had a tongue on him when he chose to have it--and started to punch at the other, kicking his legs. Matt kept him tight, eyes closed, shaking his head. No. Mello was going to talk this out, not just run away from it.

"So it's me, right? Whenever we get close, you run away--what is it that you fucking WANT MELLO!?" He finally snapped, forcing the blonde around and staring at him, snatching his wrists in his hands. The blonde snarled, looking away and raising a knee into his gut hurriedly. His hands sought out, found, and clutched one of his pistols, aiming it at Matt, who had released and sunk down slightly at the rough motion. He snarled down at him.

"Run away, no!!" He yelled, snapping at him, cocking the gun. "I don't fucking 'run away'. I escape--I get the hell away from these damned feelings--I don't 'run away'!!" he kicked the other's shoulder and forced him onto his back, leaning over him. "I fuckin' hate you, Matt, I hate you, you... you daft.." Those eyes seemed to change for a moment, morph into something lost and hopeless, before the blonde stomped out of the building. He hadn't brought anything but the chocolate bar from his coat pocket.

Matt sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. No, Mello wasn't running away this time.

So the boy was running away from his past. Probably meant he didn't want him around. Matt was a big reminder of them all, especially L... God, L, that must have been it.

Anything that made him think of the one thing that made him realize his flaws, his strengths, his weaknesses--that one person.

...Fuck, Mello was so confusing, and Matt hurt a bit too much to want to focus. He groggily stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he placed himself in front of his computer, hurriedly setting back to work. Even if Mello didn't want him around, he'd still be there, the fucking loyal dog he was.

..But he couldn't work with Mello gone. The boy stood, put his shoes and coat on, and hurried after the boy.

He was snarling and had just shot up, into the air once, before he continued his storming. Matt was silent as he watched the other fiddle with his chocolate, and walk to the sidewalk, following him.

Their boots made a hollow, empty 'click' as they hit the wet pavement, the snow falling around them in masses. Their boots clicked in almost unison, Matt just half a step quicker than Mello's. Made sense, slightly. He sighed as he watched the boy. He must have noticed him, just decided against saying anything.

"You're not supposed to follow me, y'know." Mello murmured as he stopped, his hood up, turning to face Matt. The brunette stopped a little ways off, hands in his own pockets.

"I'm your little lost puppy, remember?" he joked, a dopey grin crossing his lips. Mello's eyes flashed and he stormed over, glaring up at him. Matt prayed that the boy wouldn't bite him with the way his teeth were grinding together.

"Like fuck you are." Mello sneered finally, turning and walking faster. Matt quickened his pace. Mello started running--so did Matt. "Just leave me ALONE!!" But Matt wouldn't. Oh, no, Matt wasn't about to leave the boy alone. Not after all of that. The boy snapped off a piece of his chocolate, revealed his pistol yet again, and shot a warning round towards Matt, it going over his shoulder. His eyes glinted. "Go home. I'll be there later."

Matt, with the fear of being killed, did as told.

Mello didn't return home that night. Or the day after, or the day after. Matt sighed as he packed their things--two bags. All that they needed. All they'd ever needed. He slung one over his shoulder, the other in his fist, as he left the house.

And, like that, he was searching for that lonely blonde.
He ended up doing that.
Matt wasn't the lost puppy--Mello was. He was the puppy that was constantly getting lose, and needed his friend to find him again.

A game of cat and mouse.

But the two were getting so tired of running.
Of this struggle to keep what they'd already given to one another.
Of this struggle to slow the world down.

When the world did stop for them, it was strange.
Quiet for a while.

But Mello and Matt were both appreciative.