Matt remembered the hormone-filled hedonism, the supernova chemistry between them in sweat-soaked sheets and pubescent sinewy bodies melded together. The gasps and moans were stifled by the pillow; Matt was pretty sure he could taste sweat (or was it tears?) and his own saliva, but in the swirling vertigo of pain and pleasure, Matt became near delirious as Mello thrust into him, sharp-boned pelvis nearly conforming into the contours of Matt’s buttocks. Matt could feel the muscles in his thighs straining to support his rear-end from Mello’s continually thrusting shaft. Grabbing a fistful of sheets in reaction, Matt only burrows his face deeper into the pillow (oh yes, he definitely tasted his own tears) though somehow, despite the pain and the relentless force Mello applied, Matt found perverse enjoyment in it.

He had an unnatural attraction to the blond, an unholy lust of hormones and chemical romance. Yes, Mail Jeevas loved Mihael Keehl. It was Mihael who was the most human out of all the guises the blond bore. Behind these isolated walls, Matt and Mello were simply Mail and Mihael, with no pretentions between them. With the barriers down, they weren’t prodigies, they weren’t successors to L; no, they were human, they were real. More than real; they were oscillating souls thrumming with biological resonance. It was here, this one pivotal moment, where they didn’t have to pretend. They enacted everything their confused hormones dictated them to, leading to a breathless entanglement that defied everything. Here, they were so vulnerable in their humanity, their impulses and desires and emotions sweeping them away into their own personal nirvana. Let them be cleansed, liberated; after everything the institution instilled into them, Matt and Mello rebelled against the facility by this sinful indulgence.

Matt remembered their first time together very well. It’s one of those momentous occasions in life that is seared into your memory forever, such as your first kiss, your first fuck, growing up, growing old, that kind of thing. There was some seraphic inspiration that sang in Matt’s blood when he entered inside Mello and thrust his hips at a frantic pace, sweat sheening across his body and the animalistic grunts and moans coming from both of them coming off as muffled, with Matt sucking Mello’s neck in a hot kiss while Mello clenched the bedsheets in his hands and bit the pillow to keep from screaming. Once they were spent, exhausted, Mello wanted to have a turn at putting it inside Matt, and Matt obliged.

Mello was relentless, though he could also be surprisingly gentle. There was a tentative prissiness to Mello’s lovemaking, making sure that Matt was comfortable, that they were clean and the atmosphere was just right for them to go ahead and do it. Matt closed his eyes while Mello made love to him in bed at the Wammy House, defying the institution and their will. While they were doing it, Matt could also hear Mello whispering prayers on his rosary, to forgive him for his transgressions and sins. But what sin was there? This was love, pure and simple, though Matt supposed that Mello got off on the fact that he was doing something against his religion, and doing it in a sanctified area that was almost like a church got him off even more.

Then, after the lovemaking had ceased and they cuddled up close together to soak in their body warmth, Matt felt they had one of the most meaningful conversations that Matt ever had in his life, besides the one he had with his mother about his father and the reason why him smoking cigarettes caused her so much grief.

“You feeling sleepy?” Mello murmured as he nuzzled a bit against Matt’s neck and kissed him there, licking the hollow.

“Mm…” Matt said in response, still too dazed to come up with a comprehensible reply.

Mello then entwined his leg around Matt’s, cuddling closer, and Matt felt the blonde’s breath against his neck. “Was this wrong? What we did?”

“Wrong?” Matt said before laughing a little in response. “Seriously, we had our first fuck together and that’s the only thing you’re thinking about? Whether it’s wrong or not? Fuck your bible, fuck your religion, Mello, and just bask in the glorious moment of now. Don’t worry about trivial things like that.”

“Yeah,” Mello said, clutching onto his rosary and letting out a soft sigh, before saying, “You’re right. It was my decision, that we go ahead and do this. Because it’s something that I’ve wanted…needed…all this time…”

“There you go,” Matt said before he closed his eyes and let himself drift off a little bit into dreamy sleepiness, though it seemed that Mello still wanted to talk.

“This was real, right?” Mello said, as though in wonder of the entire transaction that took place.

“Mmhm.”

“I mean…God, I don’t know how to even describe it. It’s beyond words.”

“Yep.”

“Like, that was the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I swear to God, when we did it and you were inside me, that was…fuck, and then when I took a turn inside you, the entire thing was just…amazing.”

Mello then turned onto his side so that his back was now facing Matt. Matt curved inwardly towards Mello and wrapped his arms around the blond, holding him safe and secure against his chest, letting the heat from sex and the warmth of their bodies seep onto him. Even if Mello thought that doing this was against his precious religion, he damn well enjoyed it, and Matt could tell from the satisfied flush on Mello’s cheeks that his sexual appetite had been sated.

--x--

They always lived through impulse and spontaneity; it was the kind of hedonistic principles that the both of them abided by. Their electrified encounters always left them breathless and gasping for more. Sometimes Mello would top, sometimes Matt would top, but either way, it was a mutual beneficial relationship where they brought out the best and worst qualities in one another. Mello would sometimes insult Matt and treat him like a doormat, while Matt would revel in the need of being useful to someone and simply took Mello’s behavior. Was it abusive? Matt didn’t care. This was the kind of relationship that worked for them. He didn’t care if Mello spat on him and kicked him in the crotch or cut off his testicles with a rusty pen knife. All he knew from then on that he would follow Mello, to the ends of the world and the reaches of outer space if need be. And if, for some reason, there’s some godforsaken dull afterlife out there, then he would be together with Mello there too, even though Mattt didn’t really possess an ounce of faith. Unlike Mello, who clutched onto his rosary everyday recited the prayers to himself every evening, as though it were a mantra that would ward off the evil that was Kira. Kira was a supernatural evil; there were shinigami after all, as confirmed through L. But prayers seemed pretty useless in the face of something that mocked and embodied death all the same.

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Matt reminisced about those days at the Wammy House, were they exchanged secret breathless encounters and trying to hide it from the other children, from L himself. Though somehow, and Matt suspected that L just knew that Mello and he had that kind of relationship with one another, though he didn’t rebuke or condemn them for it at all. In fact, he never mentioned it. But then again, Matt juts knew that L knew that they were having sex and in a relationship, because nothing would escape the great detective’s notice. They were all aspiring to be like him, after all. Matt knew that Mello was conflicted about his relationship with Matt; it conflicted his religion, and Mello thought himself a sinner for performing sodomy on Matt. But really, Matt didn’t care about the outdated notions of the Bible, the Holy Book or whatever you wanted to call it. He knew that what they had was raw and real. It simmered and sizzled. The chemicals in their bodies reacted to one another, and they were atoms and matter and stardust from a long ago implosion from the Big Bang, star children. Star children made from star dust and star children as in brilliant prodigies.

Matt knew that Mello would come back. He always did. Somehow, Matt could never leave him, and he knew that Mello would come back to claim what was his. He never wanted to share Matt with anyone, and he coveted Matt jealously and would chase off Near whenever he would try to interact with the gamer. Though really, Mello didn’t need to worry. Matt simply had nothing to say to the albino. Besides, Near wasn’t’ his leatherclad god.

Mello came again, and fucked Matt hard into the leather couch that they’ve pilfered from god knows where. The blond was feral, relentless, and needy—he needed to show his domainance over the redhead, to claim him, to mark him to taste him. Mello topped that night, and he fucked Matt senseless until tears pinched out of the corners of his eyes while he bit into his sleeve to muffle the screams that were emanating from the pain and pleasure the Mello offered him. Once Mello was finished, releasing his seed inside him , Mello pulled out and then started to clean himself up. Matt proceeded to do the same.

“So,” Matt said while Mello slipped on his leather pants, leaving his chest bare. God, he looked so beautiful, liked a blended angel in a Botticelli painting. “Got all the vitriol out of your system?”

Mello grunted, before he slipped on his shirt and rosary.

“I don’t speak Neanderthal,” Matt said, before Mello finally graced him with a proper answer.

“I needed that,” Mello said. “Anyway, we gotta track down this Kira bastard. And I’ve got an idea formulating in my head. I somehow rose into prominence within the Mafia.”

“You sucked a lot of cock,” Matt guessed, and Mello leered at Matt.

“I have my ways of manipulating other people,” Mello said. “I’ve got charisma. I’ve got charm. I can negotiate anything and anyone if I wanted to. And you Matt. You come into this too.”

“Another suicidal venture, I’m guessing,” Matt said, while Mello nodded solemnly.

“We might not make this out alive. But we won’t die a statistic. We’re doing this out of our own free will, not because justice wills it, or L wills it, but because we, Mihael and Mail, are the modern day catastrophists. We’re figures of revolution, and if it means we gotta get down and dirty, doing unsavory things, killing other people, just to catch this rat bastard Kira, then it will be worth it. We know fifty ways to save the world…right?”

“I remember,” Matt said with a certain fondness in his voice, before his expression became more serious. “I guess if now’s the time to pray to God, I might as well. Even though I think your religion is a bunch of bullshit, if there are shinigami in the world, then, hey, maybe there’s a God to. But I’m not kissing His holy ass. I’m telling him that he’s on fucked up pup if he allowed things such as Kira and the shinigami to even exist in the first place.”

Mello’s mouth tightened. He fooled around with the rosary around his neck, though Matt guessed that Mello was having a crisis of faith as well. He struggled with his religion, praying to his God everyday and reciting the mysteries, though none of his prayers went answered. Instead, there was only this beautiful, blasphemous hellhole left behind in God’s legacy, and there was a psycho madman who claimed to be God. A shallow, fallible man. A brilliant fake of a fake in the first place? Who knows.

“I prayed for you, Matt,” Mello said softly. Matt looked towards him, wondering why the sudden serious demeanor. Usually there was inchoate rage and insults and snarky witticisms exchanged, though this thoughtful portrait of Mello looked almost submissive, which Matt didn’t like. Matt appreciated the gesture, though he thought prayer was simply as bullshit as positive affirmations—saying a bunch of nothing. But Mello, in this sincere gesture, prayed for him in good faith, and Matt would accept that and maybe be even a little touched by that. Mello took serious faith in his God, and who was he to spurn Mello’s faith? Though Matt had no faith in God, he had faith in Mello, and Mello had faith in him. That’s what fueled him during the nights when the nicotine addiction got so bad and the urge to burn the cigarettes into his skin became unbearable.

“Matt…I’m scared out of my wits,” Mello admitted. “This shit is just..unbelievable. Surreal. And we have a killer that can kill with just a name and a face. Of course, extra precautions were taken before hand, though in this age of digital information, anything can be dug up and stored and preserved in amber for everyone to see. In this Information Age, there is only the collective will of the people distorting things into their own sense of truth, into their own small ponds of shallow understanding. What is truth? What is justice? Are we really doing this for noble reasons? Does God will it? I don’t know. But I’m so damned scared.”

“I can’t say that everything will be okay,” Matt said, before wrapping an arm around Mello. “But I can tell you this I’ve got your back, partner.”

“Yeah,” Mello said. “That’s the best that the both of us can hope for, is it? Well…I had a plan to make Kira squirm, put him under pressure. And that is to kidnap his sister. Sayu Yagami.”

“Holy shit Mello,” Matt said, before staring off to a corner and saying. “Holy shit.”

“There will be no turning back,” Mello said, his gaze hardening. Though Matt could tell he was conflicted by this choice. Though Matt knew that once Mello put things into motion, he would become an unstoppable force due to momentum.

“We’re not gonna let that bastard get away with his shit. We have to do it.”

Matt nodded. Eyes unseeing.

“You know I’ll follow you to the end of the world, buddy.”