Matt x Mello

BY : Genevieve
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 8296
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

There's a number of things that Matt loves. But mostly it’s Mello.

And there are all kinds of reasons that Matt does stuff, but mostly it’s because of Mello.

Which is why, fingertips brushing lightly against the white skin at L’s thighs and head tilted curiously upward, Matt thinks that this feels somehow strange and somehow foreign, like driving a car in the wrong gear or listening to his iPod in mono or trying to vacuum on a hardwood floor—

He’s supposed to be doing this for Mello, isn’t he, because Mello is tied and bound and can’t do this, himself, but, curiously transfixed on L’s soft eyes, he understands at last that, really, he’s doing this for himself.

Whatever he’s come to figure out—whatever they have both come to figure out—oh, certainly L has figured it out first, isn’t that right, and it’s nice, isn’t it, that there is at last one point of reason and consistency, and that is that L knows.

It’s worthwhile to mention that, for the record, it’s also nice that, even though he knows, L doesn’t get mad, and that’s why Mello asked him stuff and that’s why Mello told him stuff and that, among a hundred other reasons, is why Mello liked him.

And other than respect and awe and admiration, therefore, there always has been simple love and the reassuring calm that came with the knowledge that L knows and that L doesn’t get mad.

So this is okay, Matt thinks, this is okay that this is for himself, and this is okay, the way L looks at him, and this is okay, that it’s been ages since he’s done this for anyone other than Mello and that he’s actually wanted to do this for anyone other than Mello, and I still love you, Mello, you still know this, right, you still know…?

Big, childlike eyes gaze up at L, and the older boy smiles kindly and brushes his fingers through Matt’s hair,

Yes, this is okay.

And, yes, he still knows.


Matt’s eyes close very slowly, and, left hand tight against L’s thigh, he reaches tentatively with his right, and there again is the familiar warmth he’s come so well to know, the hot slide of flesh against the membranes at his lips and bitter wetness of arousal and, beautiful and raw, the desperate utterance of approval, the digits hard in his hair and muscles tight against the palm of his hand, and long before, hair sliding and skin glistening with sweat and lips pressed hard against the flesh behind Matt’s ear, Mello will ask him with the most sincere tone of desperation what it was like when he went down on L, Matt understands that it’s lovely, L is lovely, and, to be honest, he would not at all mind doing it again.

And, really, it isn’t until at last the hands at Matt’s hair grow tight and rigid and the flat stomach goes strained and hard and all but forces him in place for the last brittle moments that he remembers that this is also for Mello, and, tearing himself away, he opens his eyes and rises to his feet and, grasping Mello’s face with moist hands, he forces his mouth tight against his, wet and messy and glistening white, and Mello’s eyes close shut and he presses hard against Matt, breath coming fast and shallow through his nose.

They don’t speak, they merely kiss for several minutes, Mello’s long hair swinging and sticking to his face as he reaches for Matt with raw desperation, biting and licking and lapping at him and don’t swallow, you bastard, come closer, I want more.

Matt can barely breathe, and, hands hard against Mello’s shoulders, he finally detaches himself from him and turns his head away. Mello reaches after him, chest rising and falling with inhalation, and he licks slowly at his lips, frustrated and dissatisfied.

Poor Mello.

When Matt turns his head back, blue eyes gaze at him in melancholy defeat, and with gentle affection he runs his knuckles against the side of Mello’s face. Eyelashes tightly shut, the older boy leans toward his hand with quiet longing.

He really wants it, doesn’t he.

Matt begins kissing his neck, and, trying hard to maintain his composure, the boy murmurs,

Please, Matt—

“Yeah?”

“Please.”

Matt’s face is very close to Mello’s when he whispers,

“You want me to give it to you?”

Eyes closed and breathing hard against him, Mello whispers back,

“I want you to give it to L.”

Matt freezes.

“I—what?

“He’d let you, Matt, you know he’d let you do it.”

“I—“ he lowers his voice even more, “boss, you know I can’t do that!

“Stop being such a pussy for once, Matt, God, just do it…”

Fuck.

What to do.

His back turned to L, Matt knows that L knows, because L always knows, and there’s no way in hell Matt can do that, but also he knows that it’s either that or Mello and L—

Damn it.

“Stop blushing like a dumbass and fucking look at me,” Mello hisses, and even now, tied and bound, he’s unquestionably in charge, and so, wishing for once that he could hide behind his goggles again, Matt raises his head back.

“L is doing this for us, you idiot,” the blonde mutters, “yeah, you heard me, not just for me, for us, and he’s like, busy and shit, with important meetings and police stuff and cases but he’s like spending all this time with us, and damn it, Matt, he freaking let you give him head, how many people do you think he lets—“

“Kira—“

“Shut up!” Mello rolls his eyes, “Okay listen, Matt, seriously, don’t be stupid and revert back into your whole ‘oh no, stuff is so whatever’ attitude, do you understand that he’d let you—“

It’s L’s hand on Mello’s cheek that ultimately quiets him,

Shhh…” he says, brushing his fingers softly along the wet skin and under moist strands of hair, “I know this is difficult, but please try to calm down, Mello-kun.”

“L, he—“

“Please just hold on a moment.” L turns to Matt, who is staring at him in panic, fishing absently through his jeans pocket for the cigarettes that aren’t there,

“What does Matt-kun want?”

Matt’s fingers stop at his side and he looks up at L, eyes darting as he thinks, “Ah—“

“Matt, come on—” Mello interjects, but a slow wave of L’s hand silences him.

Matt looks down to his feet, then up at Mello, then at L, and then up at the place where the walls meet the ceiling and really what he wants is to be back home, curled on the couch in his sweats and watching cartoons with an In-N-Out shake in one hand and a bag of Doritos in the other, but he thinks that’s not really an answer that Mello wants to hear, which makes him wonder if he should tell him just to see him get pissed off again, and that makes him smile, which does the job as far as making Mello pissed off, and, running out of what little patience he had, the blonde snaps,

What…?!

“Nothing,” Matt replies, looking down at his feet again and raising his hand to his mouth to hold back from laughing, then he waves his other hand absently, “I was just—yeah, sorry, okay, yeah, so…”

Mello flips his head up to L in exasperation and, infinitely annoyed, he cries,

L…!

The older boy rubs at the bridge of his nose, eyebrows raised and smiling with a mixture of frustration and amusement, and he calmly shushes Mello again.

“If Matt does not want to tell us what he wants, then maybe he wants to tell us what he doesn’t want.”

Matt rubs at the back of his neck, growing quiet as he tries to collect his thoughts.

“I, uh…” he thinks, “I don’t want…”

Really, he isn’t terribly used to seeing so much attention directed at his own personal wants and not-wants, and now that he’s put on the spot, he finds that he doesn’t really know, himself.

“Okay,” L understands, and, with a gentle hand, he turns Matt’s face to his.

“Tell me what you do with Mello.”

“Ah—“

Matt blushes immediately.

“Matt-kun,” comes L’s quiet voice, “it’s okay.” He raises his chin again, “just look at me right now. He won’t hurt you. Just try to relax for a moment. Look at me.”

Very quietly, Matt’s eyes roll up to gaze at the older boy, whose unwavering stare is dark and soft, and, batting his eyelashes slowly, Matt replies,

“Um. Uh—well—“

“It’s okay—go on.”

Matt lowers his voice, feeling Mello’s stare at his back, “you mean like, like what we do when—“

L nods.

“Okay, so—“

“It’s fine,” L says when again Matt stops, “he knows you’re telling me because I asked.”

“Okay. Okay, so,” Matt swallows quietly, eyes darting to the corner of the room, “so he, Mello, he, um, he lets me sleep with him, and, uh,” he slides a strand of hair behind his ear, “like, uh, that, I mean, what—“ he looks up at L, “what you and I—“

L nods, allowing Matt to continue,

“yeah, um, so that, and also,” he blinks, hand scratching at the back of his neck, “we, I, he, he also, that is, he likes when I, that is, when I’m, uh,” he murmurs very quietly, “on top, and,” he swallows again, “and I mean, I, uh, I mean, we both like that, and,” he feels his face becoming more and more flushed, but he really tries to continue, although his voice has grown more and more quiet and now he’s down to mumbling, “and also the other day he let me wash his hair, and, um, I mean, maybe that’s not what you meant, uh, is—is that what you meant…” he trails off, looking at L shyly.

L gazes back, again brushing his hand through Matt’s hair, “and that’s all stuff you’re fine with.”

“Y—yeah, yes. I—I mean, more than fine, I mean—“ he stops mid-sentence, cheeks burning red.

L nods, smiling kindly. “I understand.”

Matt nods back, looking up at L and then at the wall and then back at L and then back at the wall, but definitely not at Mello.

“Don’t worry about him,” L says softly, “just look at me right now.”

Matt looks up, trying very hard to listen to L and to focus on what he says instead of whether and how Mello will kill him later.

Black eyes gaze at him gently, “Go ahead,” he says, slender fingers wrapping slowly around Matt’s hand, “show me how you do it.”

The younger boy stares, gasping silently, eyes big and mouth dry, and, with his free hand, L brushes the hair away from Matt’s forehead and leans in to kiss him there, and then, looking at him again, urges him to go on.

“O—okay,” Matt says at last, and, eyes closing, he licks his lips in concentration and, almost inaudibly, murmurs, “okay so, so—so lie down.”


To be continued...


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