Poisoned Rationality

Mello switched on all the lights in their flat, as he made his way into the front room. He headed straight for the bottle of whisky on the side and poured himself a generous dram, before knocking it right back. "Right, I\'ve promised to buy you a house, pulled a gun on a group of minors, eaten a fucking burger and nearly got us killed. What else would you like for your birthday?"



"Oh come on." Matt protested, sitting down on the arm of the armchair. "You only had two bites out of the burger and, technically, you just let them see the gun. I was the one who actually had it in my hand."



With a loud sigh, Mello advanced, yanked back Matt\'s head by the hair and kissed him hard. His fingers unzipped the sleeveless jacket and his hands ran down Matt\'s chest, pinching his nipple through the fabric. "Well?"



"Well, what?" The redhead replied hoarsely, his throat bared, a smile on his face.



"I can practically hear you scheming!" Mello accused. "Nothing\'s changed. Birthday or not, your body is still... in fact it\'s worse! You\'ve been in two car crashes and you\'ve been shot, since I said that we\'re going to wait until you\'re healed. Yet you\'re looking at me like it\'s going to happen."



Matt\'s hand slid up the leather of Mello\'s inner thigh; it stopped over his groin. He blinked innocently behind the goggles, the smile growing wider. "But you want it. Despite that rational voice going on and on in your head, you want it so it leaves marks."



Mello gazed down appraisingly, smiling fondly, but he didn\'t move Matt\'s hand. Instead, he reached down and pulled up the striped sleeve to view one of Matt\'s wrist, pursing his lips at the redness still there. The sores were much better though. Mello let go of his lover\'s hair, hooking his arm around Matt\'s head to support him as Mello bent him backwards in order to similiarly inspect his torso. The older bruises were much more faded, though the newer ones had grown in shades of purple and yellow. More worryingly, there was blood on his gunshot wound dressing. Matt hung his thumb off the lacing at Mello\'s flies and massaged, as best he could through the leather, with the rest of his fingers. "Didn\'t I forbid you to touch me?"



"Yeah." Matt grinned against Mello\'s stomach, then peered up cheekily. "I\'m helping you make up your mind."



"Top off." Mello pushed Matt until he was sitting upright on his own again and tugged at his jacket. Duly shed, the elbow length gloves and striped, long-sleeved shirt was next. Mello leaned over the back of the armchair to run his eyes over his lover\'s back. There was a brand new, angry bruise over his shoulder, but the welts seemed a lot calmer. It was taking all of Mello\'s willpower to ignore the pressure on his genitals; even through the leather, Matt was having an effect. A gloved hand stretched out to run gently over Matt\'s back, then to press the shoulder. There was a sharp moan from the back of the redhead\'s throat. "Just reminding you what pain feels like, so you\'ll stop trying to undo my belt." Mello bent over to kiss the top of Matt\'s spine and his belt buckle fell apart. "We need to change the dressing, you\'re... leave my laces alone." He thoughtfully stroked the top of his lover\'s head. In truth, Mello was as desperate for this as Matt was, but he prided himself on control. On assessing the situation and acting according to what was right. "Matt! Fucking Hell! Who\'s in charge here?"



"You." Matt finished undoing the laces of Mello\'s flies and gripped the waistband. As he slipped off the arm of the chair, on his knees on the floor, the redhead used the force of inertia to pull the leather trousers down over his lover\'s hips. Mello never wore underwear. Matt pushed his goggles on the top of his head and looked up at the blond with a triumphant smirk. "I thought of something else I want for my birthday."



Mello rubbed his own face with his hands. It was getting harder to remember what was right. He tried to focus on the remembered sight of blood on Matt\'s dressing, as a point of sanity and something which had to be dealt with. Matt\'s mouth was around his dick and it was becoming too difficult to concentrate. It had been days, maybe a week, and so much had happened that it felt like a lifetime. Mello\'s balls ached with wanting; his legs were becoming weak. He leaned against the chair for support. His hands embedded themselves in red hair and he made a conscious decision just to let go. Stop taking control, let Matt take him to the brink and over. He closed his eyes and his whole point of focus descended to the rising sensation at the base of his balls. When Mello came, it took over his entire body, sublime and intoxicating, almost spiritual. He threw that notion out of his head, unable to deal with Catholicism right now, and rode the waves of orgasm back into himself.



Matt had swallowed. With final kisses, he withdrew his mouth, but remained, breathless and panting, leaning his head against Mello\'s abdomen. His fingers trailed, in tiny, tickling movements up and down the back of Mello\'s thighs. When the blond bent to kiss his forehead, Matt opened his eyes and smirked up, wantonly. Mello laughed and slid down the chair to meet him at eye-level. "You are such a fucking arsehole, you are." Mello smiled, pulling him in for another kiss, using his body weight to push Matt onto his back and lying on top of him. The base of the settee scratched against his arm. "Who told you that you could take the initiative?"



"It\'s your own fault." Matt continued with that incorrigible smile, emerald eyes glinting. "You were the one who stood too close looking really fucking hot."



Mello grinned, his hand running over Matt\'s shoulder, down his side, until he met with the fabric of the bandage. "Oh shit!" Mello blinked, remembrance rushing back. Matt immediately locked his legs over Mello\'s, pinning him on top. "Let me go, Matt. I\'m serious."



"So am I." One of his arms snaked around Mello\'s waist. The other unzipped his leather vest. "Sometimes I obey the unspoken commands, not the crap coming out of your mouth."



"Fuck you!" Mello barked, reaching behind and in front of himself to ensnare both of Matt\'s wrists and to slam them against the carpet above the spill of red hair. Automatically, his thumbs pressed, as if attempting to break the bones beneath.



"Halleujah!" Matt grinned. Mello bucked, wriggling out of the hold of his lover\'s legs, and kneeling to stop himself becoming so entrapped again. "Oh shit, you\'re starting to think again. Just when we were getting somewhere."



Mello bit his lip, staring down, then just started laughing. "Matt, you are such a fucking whore! Just let me change your dressing and..." It occurred to him that the wrists under his hands were not fully healed and that he was hurting them again. "Lie there and do not move." He stood, pulling up his trousers, but only tightening the laces enough to keep them from falling down. Once out of the proximity of the redhead, searching through the First Aid box, Mello\'s thoughts became a lot clearer. He lingered there to ensure that they were so, as he considered his options. The facts presented themselves. Matt was right, of course, after all that had happened, the lure of strapping the redhead to something and engaging in violent sex was unbearably strong. Matt would certainly be complicit. It would also help Mello reassert his authority after that performance out there just now. However, Matt was his own worst enemy at times and definitely didn\'t know what was best for himself at this very second. He was hurt and bleeding before they even began. Mello gripped the sterile pad, still in its wrapper. Changing the dressing was the important point here. No, looking at the wound to find out why it was bleeding again, after nearly a week of healing, was the priority.



Back in the front room, Matt appeared to be lying precisely as he had been left. Flat on his back, his wrists crossed over his head on the carpet. His knees were up, jeans and boots still on. However, the cigarette burning between his lips proved that falsehood. "Ohai."



"How much have you drunk?"



"Three cans." His gaze slid to the opened can half underneath the coffee table. "And a bit."



Mello shrugged. "Seeing as you were practically an alcoholic when I came and fetched you back out of the gutter, you can\'t be drunk." He considered it. "Maybe tipsy."



"You do exaggerate sometimes." Matt removed the cigarette and tapped it into the ashtray beside the lager.



Raising his eyebrows dubiously, Mello crossed to the sideboard to pour himself another whisky. "Sit up, so I can find out why you\'re bleeding." Matt did as he was told, sitting on the settee without a single wince, though Mello counted at least five wounds that should have hurt him. "You know that it\'s because I care that I\'m not jumping on your bones right now, don\'t you?" He watched Matt shrug, as if it was of no consequence, and it occurred to Mello that everything that the redhead had done in the last two minutes had been a lie. Concealing his movements, his pain, his feelings; doing it even though the reality was transparent. It irritated Mello. He wanted to lash out and he wanted to wrap his lover in cotton wool, never to be hurt again. The conflict came out in deliberate words, aiming straight for chinks in the armour noted over the past few weeks. Mello tested the question in his mind, \'Mail, why do you need me to hurt you?\' But asked it aloud in Spanish, "Mail, ¿Por qué necesitas que te haga daño?"



The seductive surety fled Matt\'s features. He turned and stared at Mello with wide eyes, fear flashing through. Then it was gone, replaced by a hardness that seemed only to have appeared in the past couple of days. Mello mourned the passing of an apparent innocence, which had probably been faked in the first place. Matt spoke evenly, in English. "Probably for the same reason that you need to hurt me, Mihael."



Mello stalked around the settee, setting down his whisky. He dropped to his knees, leather hitting carpet, and kept his gaze steadfastly on the bandages that he unravelled. Inches from his face, Matt turned his head to breathe out the smoke he had just inhaled, then put out his cigarette on the ashtray now beside him on the cushion. Different emotions swam through those green eyes and, noting them, Mello was reassured. There wasn\'t much blood on the dressing, though enough to have seeped through. The wound wasn\'t bleeding now. Mello cleaned it with non-alcoholic, anti-bacterial wipes and applied a clean dressing. It must have been knocked when their car careered out of control on the Downs. Suddenly that felt like a metaphor for their entire existence right now. He wrapped his arms around Matt\'s waist and kissed his stomach. "I fucking love you, man."



After a pause, Matt reached down to hold him too. "Ditto, even though you\'re doing my head in."



"Tell me what to do then, Matt." Mello whispered, feeling suddenly very small. When he closed his eyes, it was like they were still in that car, spinning around, courting death or injury. There was silence from above. "You\'ve checkmated me. I know what I want to do and I know what I should do. I just don\'t know what\'s right anymore. I know I want you to be happy." Mello could hear him breathing against his ear, but no words of wisdom were forthcoming. Matt was obviously trying to assimiliate this unfamiliar territory and work out what his reaction should be. "I want you to stop pretending. I want to know what\'s going on in your head."



"Right now?"



"Yes."



"Well, mainly I\'m wondering if you\'re going to kick my can over, because your foot\'s gone awfully close to it."



Mello pulled back and looked into his lover\'s apologetic face, then peered back to see that his boot was indeed touching the lager. He reached back to lift it out of harm\'s reach and handed it to Matt. "Ok." Mello stood and peeled off his own jacket and top, throwing them onto the armchair. He stared down at the redhead with an utterly predatory, sadistic smile. Cruel eyes took in the startled expression on his lover\'s face. "So be it." Slowly, with infinite care, Mello pulled his belt out of his trousers and wrapped it around his hand. Matt sat frozen, his lager can halfway to his mouth. He blinked once, as if hypnotised; then his gaze tore away from the belt and travelled upwards to meet Mello\'s eyes. His mouth, now around the lip of the raised can, curled in the tiniest half-smile. Mello grinned back, "I think you\'d better lose your boots and jeans, don\'t you?"



Matt took a final gulp of lager, set the can down in the relative safety of the floor at the side of the settee and shuffled forward to undo his boot buckles. Above his head, Mello had found chocolate and bit off a square with an ominous crunch. Another cigarette was lit and socks followed boots in the pile beside the settee. Matt leaned back to pull free his belt, as his goggles were taken off the top of his head by Mello and dropped onto the coffee table. A pause to flick ash into the ashtray, then Matt eased himself out of his jeans and sat there smoking in his boxer shorts. A glance upwards had him quickly disrobing from those too. Matt sat there, as naked as the day he was born, his body a patchwork of abuse, exhaling smoke and looking absolutely unconcerned that Mello now had two belts in his hands. "I lost the boots and jeans."



"I can see that." The blond reached down to take the cigarette out of his lover\'s mouth and to carefully extinguish it in the ashtray. The latter was placed out of harm\'s reach on the coffee table. Swooping down by the armchair, Mello picked up the discarded striped top. "Now, you manipulative, little shit, let me have your hands." Matt held out his arms in front of him and had his wrists tied together, tightly, with his own shirt. Mello\'s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Matt\'s head bowed to hide his own mirth. "I don\'t know why you\'re laughing. It\'s still going to hurt."



"\'kay." Matt looked up, biting down his smirk. "I\'ve just never seen compassionate sadism before. Sorry, carry on."



"Mary, Mother of God! I\'m so going to wipe the smile off your face!" Mello snapped. "You\'re driving me up the wall. Turn around."



Matt did as he was told, kneeling on the cushion. As he hung over the back of the settee, Mello pushed a smaller cushion between it and the entrance gunshot wound. Matt laughed out loud, head disappearing upside down behind the settee to muffle his giggles. He only stopped as his head was yanked back up by his hair and something forced over it. It was his own belt, already looped, pushed down to tighten around his neck. This was a new one. Mello had never tried to strangle him before. Memories of the Sussex Downs spiked insidiously in his mind. Mello had lost control of the car and nothing Mello ever did was accidental. Matt gulped, finally afraid as the belt was pulled and leather closed in around his windpipe. It was difficult to turn his head to see why his lover was so quiet. "Where are you going?" He rasped, catching movement beyond the armchair.



"Shut up." Mello walked away into the bedroom, then into the kitchen, where he rumaged around in drawers. He appeared behind the back of the settee, where Matt could see him again, with a roll of gaffa tape in his hand. This was liberally stuck over the cloth bindings, round and round until it would take a Stanley knife to untie Matt at the end of this. Then it was unrolled down to the sideboard leg and secured with several laps around that. Matt experimentally tugged on it, but he was held fast. "Comfortable?" Mello smirked, looking very pleased with himself. Matt coughed and nodded. Mello leaned in for a long kiss, before stepping back to fit a ball-gag into his lover\'s mouth. "Much better. God, you\'re gorgeous. I love it when you get that look in your eyes. You only get it at times like this." Matt\'s eyes widened. "You\'ll never know. It\'s not like I can take a picture of you." Mello walked away to wander around the flat, leaving Matt frowning in wonderment.



The cushion beneath his stomach was removed to be replaced with a pillow, which wrapped around to cover the exit wound too. It was held in place with a folded bath-towel, which in turn was secured with gaffa tape wrapped around Matt\'s waist. A tea-towel surrounded his ankles, then more gaffa tape. This was tightened around the wheel of the settee. There was another crunch of consumed chocolate and, just when Matt was wondering what on earth the blond was going to do next, the belt whipped down searing a strip of his backside. A boot, against the back of his knee, stopped him jolting backwards. The belt around his neck tightened until his breath snorted out in ragged gasps through his nose. Matt forced himself to relax. Mello was not going to kill him. Memories of that reckless car ride pricked doubt into his mind and he fought harder to relax. The belt came down again. His balls were aching, so turned on by this treatment.



The pressure was released on his windpipe and hands ran over his body. Mello was on the settee with him, spooning behind him, roughly wiping the red hair out of Matt\'s face. He kissed the tracks, where his tears fell. His hand fondled Matt along his hardness. "How come I never put you in a collar, like a real slave?" He asked, watching as the redhead gulped painfully and squeezed his eyes shut to blink away the tears. "You\'re right, I did need this." Mello shrugged. "But you? I\'ve never seen you break so early. I\'ve seen you panic before, but that didn\'t count because it wasn\'t for real. You were panicking a second ago. Watari, Matt?" He was asking their safe word. Matt\'s head rose, blazing defiance, and he shook it. "No? Ok."



Mello left the settee and the belt came down twice more, across Matt\'s already bruising buttocks and his shoulder. The leather around his neck closed in until his face turned purple, then was released again. The belt hit the back of his thighs. Matt was sobbing into the top of the settee, when his head was lifted and the gag removed. He gasped for breath, as Mello wiped his face with an ungloved hand. "What?" The redhead spluttered out at last.



"I\'ll say it then. Watari." Mello smiled, covering his lover\'s face in kisses. "Because the way we\'re going today, one of us should learn to say it. Mind you, I\'m still going to fuck you. That\'s a given." He remained crouching down. "Straight after you tell me what\'s wrong."



"I\'m fine." Matt rested his head on the top of the settee.



"Mmm." Mello surveyed him appraisingly. "It\'s not being tied up, that turns you on more than anything else in the world. It\'s not being hit, that\'s next in line. Which leaves me two possibilities, maybe three. The third being very unlikely, as that one is that I\'m wrong." He winked. "So either it\'s that you are hurting way too badly or... no, you\'d brazen that one out. It\'s having this around your neck." With all the triumph of a master detective, Mello removed the belt. He peered at the redness it revealed with a mildly fascinated leer, then kissed the marks left there. Finally, he met Matt\'s gaze with a satisfied look on his face. "Yes, much better. You know, it\'s so much easier just to tell me."



"I trust you."



"It\'s not about trust, Matt. It\'s about what works and what doesn\'t." Mello stood. "Right, time to take advantage of your position and have you hard and fast." He returned to the other side of the settee and brought down the belt again. Matt shrieked, not expecting it. "And that\'s for fucking lying to me. Don\'t do that." The belt came down a final time, before Mello knelt on the settee again and kissed each laceration and bruise. As Matt\'s trembling thighs threatened to give way, Mello locked himself behind and entered him with all the rough frenzy of his latent sadistic nature.