Poisoned Rationality

Mello had to keep his shoulder still for three weeks. It was doing his head in. In fairness, the surgeon had said that there shouldn\'t be \'significant stretching or trauma\' to the skin-grafted areas, but that hadn\'t stopped Matt scrawling a dictionary definition of \'immobile\' onto a piece of A3 paper and blu-tacking it to the wall next to their bedroom door. Mello glared at it now from the bed. He had recently became reacquainted with an awareness of just how often a shoulder can move, even performing the most mundane of gestures, and logic did state that Matt was right. He should attempt immobility. That did not mean to say that he had to wear the irritating sling.



Elsewhere in the house, just to rub salt into the wounds, Matt was being highly mobile. The last three times that Mello had called, there had been no response. It possibly meant that the redhead had his iPod on too loud, pumping electronic music into his ears, or he was just ignoring Mello. One of the two. There was the distant clattering of housework being done. The washing machine hummed, while a mop was being applied to the mosaic tiles in the large reception hallway. It probably needed it. Neither of them had done much housework for weeks. It was suspicous that it was Matt doing it now though. Mello mentally vowed to check his lover\'s pupils for hint of amphetamines the next time he deigned to visit.



"Bored. Bored. Fucking bored. Bored." Mello breathed, the words popping from his lips. He had a pile of books on the bedside cabinet beside him, but none of them grabbed his attention. He had a PSP with a strategy game loaded into it, but it seemed pointless. He had a remote control for the television that had been dragged from downstairs to languish at the foot of their bed. Mello could feel his brain crumbling to dust in anticipation at the banality of daytime programmes. He briefly contemplated going to the toilet. Not because he needed to empty his bladder, but because it was something to do. It was also quite an adventure to leave the bed, walk across the room and the landing, then perform the action, all without moving his shoulder more than was absolutely necessary. He glowered at the open doorway. He could feel his braincells dying. "Fuck it."



Mello nearly got up off the bed. He wasn\'t in it, he was on it. He even had his trousers and gloves on. He refused point blank to lie in bed all day, even if bed-rest was what had been implied by the consultant. He had had skin-grafts. That did not make him an invalid. He didn\'t move though. Matt had bet him a tenner that Mello couldn\'t stay there for a single twenty-four hours, let alone the twenty-one days that beckoned ominously in his immediate future. Mello reckoned that he could do twenty-four hours. The money wasn\'t an issue. It was the principle of the thing. He would stay on this bed if it killed him. The main problem being that it was actually killing him.



"Fuck!" Mello roared at the ceiling. If Matt heard, he didn\'t come running. The sound of the mop slopping against ceramic continued unabated downstairs. Mello knew that he really did not have leeway to complain to Matt about enforced bedrest. That knowledge did not help at all. Mello closed his eyes and exhaled, nice calming breaths. He opened them again and took up his chocolate. There was a stack of six of them, beside an empty mug of hot chocolate. He had eaten four whole bars within the last two hours. He manoeuvred his laptop onto his thighs and attempted to find entertainment in the cyberworld instead. He had already spent the morning reading all of the on-line broadsheets newspapers, before attempting the tabloids. He started, randomly, with an English one. The blatant political bias, aimed at shepherding the plebs into mob mentality, had annoyed him almost as much as the celebrity gossip. Who cared if Natalie from Eastenders had put on weight during the past eight months? She probably didn\'t need a newspaper catcalling her in the most insulting terms. Natalie should just fuck them and fuck the paper and fuck the internet and...



Mello\'s fingers hovered over the keyboard. A search engine\'s interface stared blankly back at him. He searched his mind for something, anything, which might eat away at another hour. Hell, he\'d settle for entertainment for the next five minutes right now. Nothing came to him. His whole spirit screamed out that all he wanted was to get up and move around. Go outside. Wander into his study and read a book. No, not read a book. He had books here. He just wanted to get up. If he could have gained Matt\'s attention, he would have asked him what geeks found to do all day on the internet. Mello tried to imagine what Matt would reply. Probably something glib, like \'watch crap on YouTube\'.



He typed in the URL for YouTube, then sat scowling at the home page there. He had nothing he wanted to search for, so he investigated the most popular videos of all time. Leona Lewis\'s \'Bleeding Love\' had received nearly 73 million hits. Mello made it through one minute and four seconds into her song before reversing out again. He did find a clip of Ronaldo scoring a great goal though, which also opened up possibilities around something to search for. Football! The beautiful sport! The greatest goals of all time! After ten minutes of watching miscellaneous sporting legends, he found one entitled \'Croatian Hooligans\'. It was amazing. The Bad Blue Boys of Dinamo Zagreb and Torcida of Hadjuk Split fighting it out for three and a half minutes of violence. They were setting fire to their own stadiums in choreographed flames, all to the soundtrack of Venom\'s \'Die Hard\'. Mello watched it three times, making a note to ask Matt to download the music for him, before getting side-tracked into \'Real Football Factories: Balkans\'. He was still watching that documentary twenty minutes later, when Matt appeared with another hot chocolate.



The redhead skirted the bed, like he was afraid that Mello was going to leap up and pounce on him. "Doing alright?"



"Sssh, I\'m watching this." Mello mumbled, then paused it. "Yes, I\'m doing fine. Why?"



"Just thought you\'d be bored out of your mind by now. I keep expecting you on the stairs trying to sneak into the kitchen."



"Matt." Mello fixed him with a stare. "If I wanted to get up, I\'d get up. You\'re the one who\'s putting stupid signs up. I\'m the one who knows what\'s best for my shoulder and therefore I\'m quite content to be sitting right here. Are you high?"



"Huh?"



"You\'re doing housework."



"Yep. It was starting to smell down there." Matt kept on the far side of the bedside cabinet. It was impossible to see his eyes behind his hair and goggles. "Need anything else?"



Mello pointed. "You\'ve taken speed."



Matt smirked. "What do you want for your tea?"



"Answer me, yes or no." Mello growled.



"Yes."



"Why?"



"The house was starting to smell."



Mello sighed. "You don\'t have to take speed just to do housework."



"You want me to do housework sober?" Matt shook his head, like that was a preprosterous statement to make. "Need any more painkillers?"



"Go away. I\'m not talking to you while you\'re high."



"\'kay. I\'ll be back in about twelve hours then." Matt began to saunter away towards the door and Mello saw half a day opening up before him, like a great, yawning, black hole, full of pain and misery. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Matt waited expectantly halfway across the floor. "Yes?"



"Thank you for the hot chocolate."



"You\'re welcome."



Mello exhaled. "Ok, you can come and speak to me. But I\'m sending you out if you start talking random gibberish because your tongue is going faster than your brain."



"I don\'t talk random gibberish on speed. I\'m the after drugs example that the government tries to cover up."



"You\'re doing it now, Matty." Mello frowned. "Oh! Come on, I\'m reduced to watching documentaries on YouTube about football hooligans from the Balkans. They take guns into their stadiums and then set fire to the place with themselves standing in it!"



Matt shifted position. "Are you in these documentaries?"



"No Matt." Mello glared. "Why would I be?"



"Pyromaniac, Slavic psychos. I mean, like, is it genetic?"



Mello stared at him. "You\'re not amusing you know."



Matt grinned. "I\'m going back downstairs. If I don\'t take the clothes out of the tumbler drier and fold them, at the exact moment it stops, then I have to iron them." He shuddered, this clearly being beyond the call of duty. "Or hang them up in the bathroom, when the shower\'s on, so the creases steam out, but then they go a bit soggy."



"I\'ve been starved of intelligent conversation and the Almighty sees fit to send me you. Oh joy." Mello pointedly placed a finger over his mouse, ready to restart his documentary. He watched Matt jog out onto the landing and leap down, two or three stairs at a time, until he was out of view. If the redhead hadn\'t admitted drug use, then that would have been evidence enough. Matt didn\'t normally move that fast for anyone. Mello reviewed the conversation in his head, hating the fact that he had come out of it sounding like the nagging prude. Yet, in another light, it was hopeful. Matt continued to do things of which he knew that Mello disapproved. Each time he did it, it was like the demons of the last days at their flat were being even more thoroughly exorcised. Matt could hide, throwing smokescreens up around his inner thoughts, while acting out the part he was given, but actions like this showed the rebel to be alive and well inside. Mello smiled faintly and wished he would come back. In lieu of that though, Mello would watch the end of the documentary and console himself with the notion that, no matter how violent and reckless he became, he would always have better justifications than the football tribes.



Matt did return. He appeared an hour and half later with a pile of folded, clean clothes, and a ham sandwich on a plate balanced on top of them. "How\'s it going?"



"My brain is slowly melting out of my ears." Mello informed him. "I\'m sorry for everything I ever did to you. I know I\'ve already apologised, but now I\'m really apologising. I\'m never going to be able to adequately make it up to you."



"Oh crap, you\'ve moved from bored to penance." Matt handed him the plate. "I brought you something to eat. I mean other than chocolate. Have you just been lying there doing your own head in? Isn\'t there more football hooliganism you can watch on YouTube? You seemed to like that."



Mello released the rosary he had been clutching and stared at the sandwich. "I\'ve been like Satan Himself to you."



"Let me see if I can find you some. Is it just Balkan violence that\'s good or should I look for tribal senselessness in the rest of Europe?"



Mello shook his head. "I don\'t even know how you survived sanely." He bit his lip. "You\'ve given me books and games and a computer, I gave you nothing."



"You did." Matt nodded reassuringly. "You gave me your cock and the great puzzle of trying to understand the processes of your mind. I have an idea. I\'ll find you a puzzle. Have you done the Times crossword yet?"



"Yes. First thing this morning."



"Have you done the crosswords in all of the broadsheets?"



"Yes."



"Every crossword in the entire world\'s newspapers?"



"Yes."



Matt blew out his cheeks. They were red from the burning drug inside and he kept blowing the hair from his eyes. "You used to sit for hours on your bed at Wammy\'s. You were never bored then."



"I had coursework and exams to do."



"Then find some coursework and exams to do. \'Phone Roger or let me call him. I\'m sure that Wammy\'s House could provide you with academic stimulation." He stopped as Mello glowered at him. "That\'s better. You\'ve reversed out of the black hole that is Catholic angst."



"That wasn\'t Catholic angst. It was humanitarian angst."



"Whatever." Matt grinned. "I\'m making you a chocolate cake downstairs, so you have something to look forward to."



Mello smiled weakly. "That\'s really nice of you, thank you, Matty."



"If you won\'t call Wammy\'s, then call Southampton College. I\'ll sort you out a fake identity, go enrol in some distance learning courses. You like learning. Go see what they can offer you."



Mello shook his head. "You do get some daft ideas at times. But thank you for trying to amuse me." He languidly took a square of sandwich and bit into it. "Will the chocolate cake be coming while it\'s still hot?"



Matt chuckled and left him to it. Mello stared at the birds flying in the distance outside. Covering the same patch of sunlight sky, no doubt over the ocean that was sensed and smelt but never seen from their house. Why did they never go to the beach? It was twenty minutes drive away at most and that only because the roads through the forest twisted so far out of their way. He was suddenly filled with a desperate urge to go there, to kick around on the sand and watch the waves crashing back and forth. He thought of persuading a pale redhead to accompany him into the sun and his imagination failed him. He checked the college\'s on-line prospectuses. He made some selections.



Matt was back at evening time, kneeling on the bed with his top off. "Do you want to get up to have your tea? I know it\'s driving you mad in here."



Mello bristled. "You think you can trick me into not staying here for twenty-four hours? We have a bet."



A slow smile spread across the redhead\'s features. "You took that seriously? Awww, man!"



"Matt." Mello growled in a warning tone. "I\'ll have my tea up here, thank you." His gaze took in his lover\'s torso and down to the waistband of his jeans. "Will you be staying or are you still speeding your tits off too much to hang out with me?"



"Was that, \'please Matty come and play with me, cos I are teh bored\'?"



"Do you even speak English?" Mello frowned. Matt bobbed his tongue out and started to back off the bed. "Matt." The redhead turned. "Please come and play with me, because I am the bored."



"No, it\'s teh. More stress on the \'e\' sound and like put your tongue against the roof of your mouth and like click it down."



Mello sighed. "Is Leet even a spoken language?"



"Nope."



"Then why are you trying to get me to speak it?"



"\'Cause it\'s fun." Matt grinned. "Ok, I\'ll bring your tea up here and then come and play with you. What entertainment have you got to offer me?"



Mello rolled his eyes. "Nothing! Just my sparkling company!" He realised it was, perhaps, the wrong tone. "What were you planning on doing?"



"Grouting tiles."



"It will be more interesting than that."



"Sold." Matt leaned in to kiss him. The bed bounced under his movements and he cringed. "Sorry! Did that move your shoulder?" Mello just glared. "Sorry." He eased himself away. "I\'ll go and get your tea." He darted away the instant he was off the bed. Mello\'s glare faltered with the sight of his lover\'s departing torso and backside. He found himself instead appreciating the kiss, his mind\'s eye following through to where that may lead. It was a new puzzle. How to achieve orgasm whilst not moving his shoulder. Mello narrowed his eyes. Too easy. How to achieve orgasm, whilst punishing Matt for drug abuse, without moving his shoulder. That opened up a lot of possibilities. He was weighing up the pros and cons of each, when Matt returned with a tray. He had cooked him roasted chicken with vegetables and gravy. A roll of hot bread accompanied it. "There\'s the chocolate cake for dessert."



Mello beamed his thanks, adding mischeviously, "I can assure that that\'s not all of my dessert." He started to eat, noting how Matt had ensured that nothing on the plate was too big to be eaten just with a fork, without it seeming obvious that Mello\'s food had been cut up for him. "This is delicious, thank you."



"You\'re welcome." Matt opened a can of lager and carefully sat beside him. A moment later, a Nintendo DS Lite was produced from his jeans pocket and the redhead started playing a previously paused game. "World six has really jumped up. This coin is really fiddly to get. You need a mini-mushroom and there\'s not one in the level, so I have to go back to the previous level, finish on a double number, open up the mushroom house and time it just right. Then I have to avoid the bloody boos, as a mini, and wall jump up a really long, narrow gap. It\'s already pwned me three times. I know what I\'m doing now though."



"Oh good." Mello swallowed his piece of chicken. "Would you like me to do it for you?"



Matt frowned incredulity. Whatever retort he had been about to make was bitten back as a better one presented itself. "Yes! Yes, I would like you to do this for me!" The game was closed and thus paused. "I\'ve already got you into the room and you\'re mini. Just run the gauntlet of boos and get up the gap then."



Mello\'s fork froze for just a fraction of a second, halfway to his mouth. He schooled his features to look blase. "Ok, not a problem. Let me eat my meal first." He concentrated on the food, attempting to ignore Matt\'s inane grin. Mello couldn\'t. They both knew that he was heading for a failure and Mello suddenly couldn\'t contemplate the knowledge that Matt was going to witness this and crow over it. Asking for a practice session first would be tantamount to admitting defeat. Mello could not do that. He glanced sharply at the game on Matt\'s lap and snapped. "Is that the game that you bought from the shop at the clinic this morning?"



"Yes."



"And how many worlds are there?"



"Eight."



"And you\'re on world six already? And you\'ve been doing housework?" Mello frowned. "You\'re going to have that finished today, then you\'ll be moaning that you\'re bored."



Matt chuckled. "You know what, Mello? I think I want to get my own coin. It\'s for the personal satisfaction." Amusement danced on his lips. "It wouldn\'t be the same if you got it."



Mello shrugged, then cringed as his shoulder moved. "As you wish. The offer\'s there."



"Noted." Matt unpaused his game and immediately began rapidly clicking the buttons. Mello ate in silence, until the redhead cheered. "Woot! I has got my coin!"



"Congratulations."



"Thank you."



Feeling as though he had lost ground to make up, Mello turned the eating of his chocolate cake into a spectacle. His tongue snaked out to lap at the spoon, chocolate sauce sucked in and the cream licked from his lips. Mello marked his success as the moment when Matt was forced to pause his game again in order to watch. "Sorry, am I putting you off?"



"Enjoying your chocolate cake?"



"Oh yes." Mello smirked. "Are you?"



"It\'s making me want to put things into your mouth, if that\'s what you mean."



Mello sniggered. He eased another spoonful of cake and cream between his teeth and onto his tongue. His eyes closed as he savoured the taste. Then opened abruptly. "It\'s a pity that you\'ve taken amphetamines. I need to be immobile and you won\'t have the self-control to be as still as I need you to be."



"I bet I could."



"Matt, you\'re fidgetting just sitting there."



"I\'m playing my game."



"Not at the moment you\'re not and you\'re jiggling the bed."



Matt smiled. "You normally like me jiggling the bed."



"Give me a blow job."



"Ok." Matt gulped down lager and put his game down on the bed, before sliding down, under Mello\'s plate. "Did you want to finish your cake first?" He asked, as his fingers deftly untied the laces at Mello\'s flies.



Mello bobbed his tongue out. "I can do both."



"This I have to see." There was a moment of cautiousness, while Mello\'s trousers were pulled down slowly, in an attempt not to move his shoulder. "So far so good."



"Mm." Mello ate another spoonful of dessert, his attention on his lover. "Now see if you can put me off my game." His tongue lapped at the chocolate sauce. His lips closed over the cake. Matt didn\'t reply, he simply lay between Mello\'s legs and became absorbed in his task. "Oh my God!" Mello found it increasingly difficult to sit still, arching upwards into Matt\'s burning face. He abandoned the plate on the bed, three mouthfuls of cake left on it. With the intensity of the intoxicated, Matt\'s tongue and teeth worked over and over on the same spots until pleasure and pain blurred and Mello erupted into the back of his throat. "God! Mail! Mail! Yes!" His lover continued to lick, cleaning him, until Mello had to reach out and grab a handful of sodden hair. "Mail, stop now. Oh God!" His hand drew away clammy. "You\'re sweating buckets. Drink something!"



Matt rose, smirking. "I just did." Nevertheless, he dived across the bed in the direction of the bedside cabinet. The mattress bounced heavily under his weight.



"Mail, you fucking arse!" Mello clutched at his shoulder, glaring at the remainder of the cake, that had upended on the plate beside him. "Get out of here speeding!"



Matt cringed. "Apologies." He\'d secured the lager though and that was glugged back until the can was empty. "You ok?"



"I hate it when you\'re off your face. You turn into a prick." He scooped up cake and smacked his hand at the crumbs. "But the blow job was great, thank you."



"You\'re welcome." Matt grinned. He watched as Mello attempted to fasten his flies with only one hand. "Want some help there?"



Mello gave him a withering look, though his eyes pleaded. There were mixed emotions in eyeing his partner now. He wanted to kiss him, shake him and cheer him in equal measure. The blatant drug-taking, in itself a rebellion against Mello. Mello wanted to encourage the independence without approving the action. He wanted Matt to leave and stay; to talk and to be silent; to hug him and to keep his distance. "Yes, some assistance would be appreciated. Thank you."



"You\'re welcome."



Mello watched Matt, as he approached and bent over the task of dressing him again. So hot that the sweat was practically steaming off him, fingers fumbling now in Matt\'s zest to do this, his mind running faster than his motor responses. Mello wondered what right he even had to attempt to save him now. "Thank you." Mello stared as Matt stood. An intense wave of love crashing on the shores of the hatred that he felt for what Matt was becoming. "Go and sort yourself out. Cool down. Get a proper drink."



Matt smiled. "Ok."



Mello waited until the redhead was nearly at the door, then he called out. "Mail. I miss you. When you\'re off your face on drugs, I miss you." He flashed a smile of reassurance, as Matt turned and stared. His green eyes registered doubt even through the haze of the amphetamines. "Come back and entertain me?"



Matt nodded. "Of course." He might have winked, though it was difficult to tell beneath the misting goggles and the red hair plastered over them. He gushed out. "Be right back." Then left the room.



Mello stared into his wake. "I hope you will."