Poisoned Rationality

"Mello, I need the toilet." Matt had trouble working out how he felt about these moments. His feelings ran the whole gauntlet of emotions. However, they started from a baseline of dread, overlaid with a sense of guilt, that somehow it was his own failure that meant he couldn\'t relax and just trust his lover on this one. After all, their entire relationship had been built upon domination and submission. This was just its logical extremity. It wasn\'t like there were any surprises. Matt knew precisely what was about to happen to him.



Mello rose from his position outside the door. He had been sitting there, as he often did, knees drawn up and gun in his hand. So lost in thought that sometimes Matt could speak and not be heard, or was ignored, though the latter seemed unlikely in Mello\'s current state of mind. Matt had to keep telling himself that, because for Mello to willfully ignore him now was too much to bear. He knew, because Roger had spelt it out, that all of Matt\'s problems began and ended with neglect. Even as patently lost as Mello undoubtedly was right now, Matt could not believe that his lover could be so cruel as to take what he\'d learned and to recreate it.



Mello flashed a smile at the redhead, then stalked over to the chest of drawers, picking up the items which he deemed essential for this procedure. Matt watched him, forced an answering smile and then sat up in readiness. Chains clanged, rattling their links, as he put his hands behind his back. Mello leaned over him, sneaking a kiss before exchanging shackles for handcuffs, then moving on down to similarly secure his ankles. Now came the part which really began the nightmare in Matt\'s mind. A double dose of oxytocin, shortly before a hood was placed over his head and the ends tied around his neck.



The bed bounced slightly as Mello\'s weight was removed from the mattress. Matt swallowed against the panic. He could trust Mello, he knew he could. Strong arms, belying his lover\'s slight form, slid beneath his knees and under his arms, lifting him from the bed. Matt wondered at this. Mello was an inch taller than him, but had been lighter. He must therefore be carrying more than his own body-weight across the short distance into the bathroom.



That part was always the same. Once in the trashed room, it depended upon the required ablutions as to what happened next. Sometimes Matt was secured to the pipes before the hood was removed and Mello washed or shaved him or else cleaned his teeth for him. Sometimes he was bound to the bath rail, after being lowered into the already prepared soapy water. Only then was the hood removed and more oxytocin sprayed. The only time it wasn\'t was now, when the need was to empty his bladder or bowel. Maybe it was because Mello didn\'t want to see Matt cry as his arse was wiped for him. Never once, whilst released from the bed, did Mello leave his side. His touch overpowering, dominating, but always tender. It was as if he cared for a porcelain doll with no sentience of its own.



Matt was being lowered back onto the bed. The hood felt hot and sticky against his face, his breaths heating saliva trapped onto the fabric near his mouth. The procedure started in reverse, shackles replacing handcuffs, kisses at his wrists and on his feet; the hood removed and kisses on his face; the spray pressed up his nostril. "Thank you very much for accepting this, Matty. I know you don\'t understand."



"I\'m starting too." Matt whispered. "Please be patient with me. I will understand. I know I drove you to it." He gazed up into Mello\'s face. The blond was kneeling over him, straddling his body, reaching down to gently stroke his cheek. Tears dripped from Mello\'s chin to splash against Matt\'s chest. "I know it\'s the way it has to be. Don\'t cry, Mihael."



"Why couldn\'t you have just stayed safe? You\'re my responsibility." He bent to kiss him. "You nearly got killed."



"We were on the front line, Mello. You nearly got killed too." Matt kissed him back. "We were soldiers on the front line. It\'s over now."



Mello remained, inches from Matt\'s face, but staring at the pillow beside him. There was so much despair and hurt in Mello\'s eyes, flashing through with grim determination. He could sometimes stare into space for hours like that and whatever he saw in his mind\'s eye, Matt could not penetrate. This time though, his gaze flicked back to meet Matt\'s and a tiny smile appeared. He sat up again and took Matt\'s hands. "Undo my laces." The redhead did as he was told. This, in itself, was changed. Usually Mello stripped himself, refusing to let Matt do a thing, taking over even such mundane actions as picking up a glass and holding it while he drank. Matt was supposed to just be there and be moved. He peeled the leather trousers down to Mello\'s knees and waited. "Suck me off then, you whore."



Matt\'s eyes flared open. This was closer to the Mello he knew and loved. The insults hadn\'t been heard for days, maybe even weeks. Matt had lost track of the passage of time. He obeyed, deep-throating from the off, steadying his breathing through his nose as Mello\'s hands cupped the back of his head and held him there. There was hope here. It was tangible. Matt held onto Mello\'s waist, the chains heavy against his wrists. \'Chúpame la polla\', he heard Mello muttering above him, \'suck my dick\' in Spanish. Matt tried harder, putting his all into it, until his throat burned. Mello was hard as Hell, but he wasn\'t coming. His fingers raked Matt\'s hair, crushing him in closer. The redhead was starting to lose the rhythm of breathing, his mind buzzing with confusion. Was he not doing this right? The muttering went on, always the same thing, like a record stuck. \'Chúpame la polla... chúpamela.\' Matt silently sent out a telepathic message, \'I\'m trying, Mello.\' Then, just when it seemed that Matt would lose the capacity to breathe at all, Mello orgasmed and arched back with a loud sigh.



Matt waited, knowing that to move significantly without Mello\'s guidance was to solicit panic in the blond. He continued moving his tongue over the member in his mouth, that having been his last instruction, until Mello eased it out. Matt was lowered back into lying on the bed, but, at the last minute, Mello turned him over. The chains got caught uncomfortably underneath the redhead and he started to surreptitiously move his hands out. "What are you doing?" Mello gasped, suspicion raging.



"I\'m sorry!" Matt froze.



"Tell me what you\'re doing."



"The chains are digging into my ribs. I\'ll leave them if you want me to."



"I want you to." Mello replied softly. Matt held his breath. Here was the sadist speaking. It was like seeing distorted flashes of what had been forced onto the veneer of the present Mello. But the hands which stroked down his back and arse were gentle. "I wish I could tell you, Matt."



Matt exhaled, gulping. "Tell me what."



"How it is."



"You can tell me." Matt turned his head to peer behind him, but Mello\'s head was out of view.



"No, you wouldn\'t understand."



"I might."



"You went mad, Matty." Mello reached to touch his shoulder. In the same movement he slithered down and entered him, roughly, without preamble.