Disclaimer:

I don't own Death Note, but dear God do I wish I did. It's one of the few that makes me squee like a fangirl.

He curled his toes into the leather sofa, and wished for fabric. The console fell from his fingers and he took his leisurely time cracking each knuckle. Smoke spiralled up, dispersed before it hit the ceiling, and blue eyes counted cracks from behind tinted goggles. In the next room, the couple were shouting and yelling about someone called Janie and that got Matt thinking about the name Jane, Jane Doe and if he'd just be a male version of that. He didn't know what the male version was, couldn't have given a fuck in different circumstances.

But Mello was late.

The tick of the clock seemed to reverberate in his head. He picked up the console and turned up the volume, taking solace in a world where if you died, you got resurrected again anyway.

The door slammed open ten minutes later, and Matt's shoulders relaxed, though he didn't bother to look up. And then Mello was on him, flinging the console to the other side of the room and pressing cold lips to warm ones. The cold belied the warmth inside, and Matt took no time in finding it, sweeping his tongue across his best friend's so as to ask for entrance, and then groaning when he was granted it. The sound of the zipper being pulled down seemed odd and mechanical in the world of hands, tongues and fingertips. Mello's were cold and he dragged them across Matt's naked chest. The red head hissed, and it was only then that he realised his cigarette was gone. He didn't bother looking for it.

The world could burn down and he wouldn't care if Mello was here.

There was nothing gentle about it, harsh touches and bloodied scratches. Red marks where teeth had nicked skin and then been sucked blazed out from their pale skin, daring the world to comment, but there was no one there, just the cracks in the ceiling. Rough tongues and friction, gruff groans and shouts of nearly-there names that didn't mean a fuck to either of them. Frenzied panting and sweaty skin, worth the grit-your-teeth release moments later.

The leather was sticky and it hurt to move to make room for Mello, but he did it anyway. The blond curled into his side, and let his hair hang over the scar mark on his face. Matt traced the pattern with his tongue and Mello made a breathy sound. He reached down, grabbed a new cigarette and found the old one stubbed out on the side. He didn't question it. Mello was always one step ahead, was always looking after him in his own way. The flick of a lighter caught his attention and Matt watched as Mello lit his cigarette for him. Something curled in his stomach, warmth and uneasy happiness, because he'd always hoped someone would light it for him. It was an intimate act, and Matt pushed the feelings to the back of his mind with a hard kiss that tasted of smoke. Mello pulled away, made a face and said, " I fucking hate smoke, you 'tard." And Matt smirked and said, " Not going to quit for you, pansy." And Mello had poked him in the side with a finger gun, then sighed. His eyelids were half shut, and Matt wanted to know what had happened, what he'd done.

But in the end it didn't matter. Mello was curled into his side, warm and breathing and there. And he hoped that when they went, they went together, because then they'd never have to be alone again.

A/N: Not too impressive, but I will write a DN chaptered fic soon. As soon as I finish Tension, I'm on it. Matt and Mello. There aren't enough of them.