InsaneJournal

Current mood:	enthralled
Current music:	Springtime for Hitler

Fanfic: Death Note, Closet, Mello/Matt, NC-17
Fandom: Death note (anime/manga)
Title: Closet
Pairing: Mello/Matt
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: If you don't know what happens to Matt and Mello, you're going to get spoiled. Chapter 98
Summary: Mello needs to go something reckless with Matt one last time.
Notes: maxychan asked for closet!sex ages ago. I don't know if you remember, but you did :D. So, this is for you?
Warnings: Slash, closet!sex, slight claiming, basically porn. Oh, and spit.
Beta-read by kefanii! Thank you so much! This would be completely unreadable without her. I really don't have no idea how to properly thank you across the internet, so I'll just repeat myself lots of times. Thanks :D
Feedback: Is what I live for <3 Feel free to request kinks too or anything else you might want.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. I just play with them and return them unharmed. Sorry about the bite marks, but they're pretty hard to control.



Mello can’t tell Matt they could both be dead by tomorrow.

He’s done what he can to make it as clear as possible to Matt without those devastating words leaving his lips. He’s mapped out the plan in perfect detail until it trails off into vague nothings about what will happen to Mello. They both know it’s not because he hasn’t planned that bit yet. It's clear why this is where the plan falls apart and nothing is said, nothing is written. They're both aware with frightening precision that part of the plan because it’s mapped out in their heads even better than the rest is written down on scattered papers and computer screens.

Matt must know why they’re not working today. He must know why Mello’s not tried to crush that goddamn Final Fantasy game into a permanent ‘Game Over.' He must know why Mello’s splashing his money out on every impulsive buy. He must know why they’re sitting in the restaurant of Matt’s choice with the goggled hacker eagerly wolfing down everything edible in sight and Mello idly picking at anything that isn’t chocolate with disinterest.

He must know they’re going to die tomorrow.

Mello does, every second of the day since he made that decision on the phone with Halle. He can practically hear his last moments chasing after him. He can hear the shrill, cacophonous sounds breathing down his neck so hard that if they were corporal the skin there would be ragged and bloody. He’s never taken much time to think about death; there’s never been any point, no time to waste on such a pointless thing. He's always understood it's inevitable. One fact that he never considered, however, was that he would just lie down and sacrifice himself to it, practically throw open his arms to it and embrace it all for the sake of Kira, for the sake of L. He always imagined his end as a bloody, glorified battle, a furious fight where the earth would singe and burn and he would never be forgotten.

But now, there's a high chance he's going to fail and give everything to Near. If he doesn’t succeed in escaping death, he’s nothing but Near’s tool. The very thought of it drives him mad, he can feel the fury tightening in his neck, almost as if it’s strangling him. He wants to do just that to somebody, crush somebody’s windpipe to prove that he can impact any-fucking-thing he wants to. He can fight, scratch and bite his way to the top, but instead it’s possible that he could fall permanently into second place by this time tomorrow.

Second-fucking-place. The title he’s been rebelling against his entire life will be stamped across his very gravestone if the plan goes how it’s likely to go. He’s not aiming to die tomorrow, but the possibility is so great that he dreads not being able to jump over that fate.

He draws in a shaky breath that seems to go down like acid for his nerves, stinging and burning but reluctantly melting them away. Kira has to be defeated, whether he dies or not is not the important question. Besides, perhaps it will be fun to look death straight in the eye instead of running from it. God knows, Mello doesn’t want to grow old and die like a boring simpleton.

“Mello, you gonna eat that?”

Matt’s voice cuts through the bitter haze over his thoughts and he realises it must have shown because Matt’s poorly hiding one of those ‘I’m-worried-about-you-but-I’m-not-gonna-say-it’ looks he’s been shooting him recently.

Wordlessly, Mello pushes the burger he hasn’t touched towards the other man, the man who once again baffles him with his blasé attitude. Matt took this day like any other: relaxed and completely indifferent. The way he chose Burger King of all places to have a meal was like a defiant slap to the notion this was his last meal. Mello wants to burn that tranquil mask into cinders and choke on the grey, clotting smoke that would issue from it; wants to rip through Matt’s serene face and caress the sweet, tender fear he should find beneath it all. Looking at the red haired punk now as he idly picks out the gherkins in his burger, he doubts he’d find it. It’s exasperating, how calm Matt can be in a time like this.

Even now, the scrawny man is so happily content with his burger and carefree it sends a surge of the need to do something reckless through Mello. Having barely registered the action in his own brain, he leans over the table and closes the distance between them so fast and so close his cheek brushes against Matt’s. Matt's eyes widen in shock behind his orange goggles as Mello playfully bites his lip, only to turn away and take a bite out of the burger in the hacker’s gloved hands and sink back into his seat. He can tell by the wary expression on Matt’s face he was expecting more than that, like he’d been expecting Mello to spontaneously decide to hurt him or something along those lines. Today Matt's been flinching whenever Mello moves too fast, bracing himself whenever the blonde moved towards him, and stiffening whenever Mello touches him. It's the only acknowledgement Matt gives that he understands they could be dead tomorrow. It's a small crack in that carefree armour Matt has built around himself, so tiny it's barely even there, but it's enough. The minuscule opening is all Mello needs to pry it open with his black-varnished fingertips and see the knowledge eating away at Matt.

Mello returns to listening to the sounds around them. It’s a collective buzz of families munching away at their burgers, kids complaining about the lack of action from their free toys, a teenage couple on one side of the room, an old bearded trucker sitting by the window on his cell phone, and a rather strict looking couple with their daughter who have been glaring at Matt and Mello since they sat down. He crosses his leather clad legs, slides his arm across the bench where he’s sitting, trying to decide whether they’re extreme Christians of the homophobic kind, or animal rights activists who disapprove of wearing something else’s skin. The latter idea causes him to glare back. Either way the cow he’s wearing as trousers was going to die, whether it was destined to be shoes or the meal Matt’s tucking into and to be frank the bloody thing should be honoured that he bothers to wear it.

He watches the kid sitting between the couple bite into what is clearly a beef burger and decides it's neither his choice of clothing material nor his sense of style that’s bothering them, because the teenage girl with her boyfriend is dressed like a cheap hooker. It must be the display he had with Matt a minute ago. He grins, almost predatorily; if they had a problem with that, they’ll be calling him the devil himself by the time they’ve finished their meal. He hopes the sight burns their eyes out because they’re still glaring at him and the nerve of it makes him want to spit at them. They’re going to be risking their lives tomorrow, to save the world from Kira and more importantly, avenge L. Despite this possible martyr action, they have some judgemental couple with sticks up their arses giving them daggers over their fries.

He lets Matt shovel down his food, letting time lure the younger man into a false sense of security and waiting for that tension, only so slightly evident in his shoulders from the incident earlier, to fade. Mello uses the time to plan what he’s going to do, how he can simultaneously open up the chip in Matt’s armour and offend every single fucker in the diner without committing indecent exposure. He’s mapped out his actions in his mind, but throws them away when Matt begins sucking on the straw on his milkshake. He chooses to act on reckless urges, to throw himself to chance and see if the ‘fates’ or God are really on his side.

He practically throws himself over the table and forces his lips against Matt’s, his fingers pressing into the back of Matt’s skull and holding him in place. The other man impulsively thumps Mello on the chest, the action accompanied by a strangled, shocked sound muffled by Mello’s mouth covering his. The hit stings, but Mello supposes he deserves that for catching Matt off-guard so violently. He responds to Matt’s small protest by digging his nails into the back of Matt's head and moving his head to the side slightly so he can get a better angle to roam the other’s mouth. Matt still has the remains of the milkshake he was drinking floating around in his mouth and, holy fuck, it’s chocolate flavoured milkshake! The way Matt’s mouth tastes like chocolate sends a thrill through him and soon he’s vaguely aware that he has his knee on the table, ready to crawl over and straddle Matt’s lap, when someone has the nerve to tap him on the shoulder.

It’s the damn father with the stick up his ass, staring at him as though he’s angered God or something. So, he did plan this reaction but he’s still pissed at being interrupted anyway. Mello makes sure he fixes him with his best glare before speaking.

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“I don’t think it’s very appropriate to be behaving in that kind of manner in a family environment.”

Before Mello can answer, Matt’s voice unexpectedly cuts through the air. “Wow, you talk just like a text book.”

Mello can’t help but snort into his hand, the melancholy shadow hovering over his thoughts cracking a little at the look of genuine amazement on the hacker’s face. He half suspects that Matt might be doing this for his entertainment, but the look of scrunched up anger on the father’s features, as though he’s just been spat on, is funny either way. The scene reminds him of when they were still school children in Wammy’s House, making wisecracks in the face of an over-bearing teacher. For an odd moment he feels like he's back where everything was a test, where nothing was real, where everything was safe – a place where they wouldn’t die if they failed.

Once he’s got his breathing under control again, he turns back towards the man, the wide grin still evident on his face. He's about to ask the man what the hell he plans on doing about it, interested in his reaction, when he sees something far more appealing. The closet door next to the bathrooms is wide open. It’s practically begging to be invaded by his presence.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not caring whether he sounds convincing or not, “We’ll go somewhere more private.”

He gets up, ignoring the man’s gruff thank you, and roughly grabs Matt’s arm so he follows suit. Matt looks slightly confused as Mello drags him along, but as the blonde pulls him into the closet a sly grin creeps onto his face.

“What are we doing in here, Mello?” he asked as he closes the door, “Stealing cleaning supplies?”

Mello turns to quickly inspect the small space. There’s just enough room for the two of them, a broom, and two small cardboard boxes. He grabs a handful of Matt’s shirt, feeling the cotton fibres twist under his hands as he pulls the other man to him. Matt tries to say something, but Mello kisses him softly on the lips before pulling away to stare straight into his eyes, which are thankfully not obscured by those ridiculous orange goggles because Matt’s had the sense to take them off for once. They are not in this closet to steal cleaning supplies, talk, or even think.

The pale face Mello can see in the dim light looks slightly shocked, but he’s not really surprised by that. Matt’s probably stunned that Mello can do anything softly, let alone do something like kiss with no uncontrollable force behind it. He can see the little light that’s seeped in through the cracks of the door reflected in Matt’s eyes almost as clear as he can see his thoughts whirling away behind them, digesting this new piece of information, tearing it apart, predicting options and outcomes like a true Wammy’s kid should.

Fuck it, he thinks as he pushes Matt against the wall, lips roaming his mouth before either of them can think any longer. There's only a certain amount of time they can be in the closet before some spotty staff worker discovers them here, a certain amount of time before tomorrow comes, and a set amount of time before the Reaper’s pendulum swings towards them like a scythe (would it cut through them, or swing past in a cold, dangerous breeze against their skin?).

They kiss anything but gently this time. It’s demanding and harsh, a rush of the need to get this done now powering them both. Mello slips his tongue into Matt’s welcomingly moist mouth and moans as Matt runs his fingers through his hair, feeling the hacker’s lips twitch into a smile at the sound. Mello knows it’s because Matt wants them to be caught. Matt can be filthier than he is sometimes, and Mello would love to know where he got that adventurous streak from. He supposes he’ll never know now, so he moans a little louder as Matt slides his hand under his shirt and wraps around his waist, just so he can hear the small sounds the other makes, which he swears to God, if Matt wasn’t a grown man, he’d call them giggles.

Mello’s mouth travels to Matt’s neck, tongue swirling over his skin before biting down hard and revelling in the gasp it draws from him. They’re both working at each other’s trousers, eager and impatient, Matt growling in a frustrated tone as he tries to undo the criss-crossed laces on Mello’s leather ones in the dim light. Mello’s already got his hand on Matt’s dick by the time the hacker’s pried his trousers open, enjoying the way he yelps into his mouth at the touch.

The gamer pulls away, the sudden lack of chocolate milkshake and cigarette ash on his tongue leaves Mello confused until he feels Matt’s spindly fingers grasp his hand, leading it to the mouth Mello was devouring a moment ago. He groans when Matt starts sucking his fingers, his lips working around them, warm, wet tongue pushing against them. Their eyes are locked as Mello uses his free hand to tug down the other’s jeans, Matt making distracting, suggestive noises that pleasantly vibrate through his fingers as he works them down.

When’s he’s finally got them off, Matt rubs the bare skin of his legs against Mello’s exposed flesh, expertly using his knee to draw their bodies closer together. Mello pulls away from him, finally taking his fingers out of that maddeningly seductive mouth to grab Matt by the shoulders and turn him around. They can be nice later, for now it’s all about the release.

He enjoys the way Matt hisses as his fingers enter him, the way his back arches and his breathing becomes heavier. Once his thinks he’s done a good enough job, he lets Matt spit into his hand as Mello digs his teeth into his neck again, determined to leave a mark (give the guys in autopsy something to talk about). When he finally enters him, Matt curses loudly and Mello likes the feel of how he squirms between him and the cold wall. He waits briefly for the hacker’s breath to even out, before reaching round to stroke his hard cock in time with his thrusts.

The faster Mello rocks into Matt, the louder his breathing gets and the more incoherent the sounds and babbled curses escaping his lips become. He bites Matt’s shoulder as his orgasm hits him, grunting at the feel of the hacker getting tighter around him. Matt’s warm hand covers Mello’s on his cock, both of them now stroking him until he comes, sticky semen covering both their palms, and probably his shirt.

They dress and clean themselves up in silence, nothing needing to be said between them. They’re both glad that one of the boxes contains nothing but toilet rolls and rudely use them to quickly clean themselves up; Matt borrows Mello’s jacket to cover the mess on his shirt before they leave.

Mello seizes Matt’s arm possessively as they step out into the blindingly fluorescent light and makes sure he gives a little nod to the old trucker sitting at the table outside the closet with his jaw hanging open, as Matt fixes his oranges goggles back into place. As he attempts to leave he smirks defiantly and gives the finger to the homophobic-stick-up-his-ass father, who looks like he’s just been slapped. Matt stops Mello and drags him in the opposite direction towards to counter, where he orders another chocolate milkshake. The family Mello’s been glaring at get up to leave, haughtily storming past them and into the car park. Mello makes sure he gets a good look at the number plate of their car as they drive off so he can use it to look up their address later.

Matt laughs as Mello tells him the end part of the plan for tomorrow. If they both survive, they can give the snooty family a nice, dirty, public display of what they didn’t see on their front lawn tomorrow.