A/N: Heh. Hi guys...now, before you all come after me with torches and pitchforks, I just wanna say that I'm really, really, really sorry for the long wait. A ton of things came up and this chapter literally got rewritten at least six times. Even now, I'm a little iffy on this chapter. So, constructive criticism would be really helpful. The whole thing with the fuel line leak actually happened to me a few years ago. The mechanic had replaced my fuel filter only a week before and it ended up completely disintegrating. I didn't realize until I had driven the car around and was completely stunned when my fuel tank was empty after only a day.
I just wanna thank everyone who read through Intangible and Never Mind, and for all of you who commented on the bonus chapter of Beyond.
With this chapter, I found that I should probably say that this is a "prequel" to Beyond. I'm not sure if I've mentioned that before, but if you don't get some of the references, especially in flashbacks, then you might wanna head over and read through Beyond.
Now, there are A LOT of people to thank here. So many of you were there for me while I was working on this chapter, keeping me going, spurring me on.
So, thank you to all of you who reviewed since the last chapter: Trinny Dream, Moot-Kun, Myrah, kikyo1027, thinlimitation, ImaaaChan, Tsunade 225, enchanting minor.ox, twentyfiveraven, Eloquent Catastrophe, Living in a fantasy, RenoLuver, Kaze Kimizu, Demon Hiei's Girl, Party in the Afterlife, Svadilfari, Darsh Stala, Riku-Aura777, ducky-jewell, Daft Punker, naturally morbid, Shikirou, gonzomouse, mariposasabrosa, newo-ikkin-2113, and last but certainly not least, the ever wonderful mrsjeevas, who has been there, prodding me and poking me and lighting a fire under my lazy ass to get me to write this chapter. I was ultimately unable to keep up with her as far as writing (I post this only a few days after Poisoned Rationality had it's last chapter added to dA), but she's been keeping me in stride, bouncing ideas back and forth with me, breaking down this huge brick wall I had set in front of me, and keeping me active with encouragement and ideas.
Well, now that that's all done with, here you are, after more than two months of waiting! You know the drill: read and review!

Lyrics are from Tokyo Police Club's "The Harrowing Adventures Of".

Disclaimer: Huh, all the manga covers have the names Ohba and Obata on them. Apparently I don't own Death Note. Nor do I own "The Harrowing Adventures Of".

Chapter 3 - The Trust of Fear

"To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved." - George MacDonald

Time became something Matt found impossible to grasp during the night, plagued by dreams and nightmares and specters that stood in the corner of the room, in the corner of his mind, watching him from the shadows. One moment drifted into the next, one nightmare morphed into another.

His eyes opened. Darkness. He was breathing heavily. The smell of chocolate drifted over him and there was a hand on his head.

"Shh, you're safe, Matty."

His lips moved, but his tongue felt swollen. He coughed, his throat sticky. His own voice was distant in his ears. What was he trying to say?

He fell asleep again, only to wake once more. It could have been minutes, hours, days since his last waking moment. Still darkness. What time was it?

Synapses tried to connect in his foggy mind. Find the clock. Look out the window.

His eyelids were drooping again though and he couldn't even remember what a clock looked like.

"It's alright," he heard someone saying. Arms were gathering him up, pulling him across the mattress. Someone was holding him.

His face pressed against warm skin and he silently cried.

The next time he awoke, the room was filled with a grey and drab light. The fragile moments before sunrise. It was very, very quiet.

Yellow. There was yellow bobbing before his face. Golden hair. It felt soft against his cheek.

Mello.

Mello was holding him.

The haze was finally dissipating in his head and he finally comprehended that he was cold. He yanked the comforter up to his chin and drew his legs into his chest.

He finally descended into a peaceful slumber and the nightmares faded away into yellow and warmth and a kiss on his lips that would seem like only a dream in the morning.

"Time to get up, Matty," Mello said in a sing-songy voice. "You've got a big day ahead of you."

Matt groaned into the pillow, Mello's statement only barely comprehended by his brain. He wanted more sleep. He cracked an eye open and was greeted by the sight of his lover's waist at eye level. A strip of creamy skin peeked out from between the bottom of the leather vest and the top of his pants. He was struck with a very strong urge to reach out and run his finger along it.

It took a few more shakes and at least one threat of injury before Mello impatiently shoved him out of bed and into the shower, refusing to give him a good morning kiss until he was bathed, dressed, and dosed up with enough nicotine to make him tolerable. Matt was still blinking drowsily as he took a seat on the couch in the living room and a cup of tea was placed into his hands.

"I feel like I've got a foghorn going off in my head," he mumbled as Mello came and set one of his laptops down on his thighs.

Smiling slightly, Mello leaned forward and brushed the auburn hair back with his palm. His fingers played idly with the errant strands. "You haven't had a good cry like that in ages, I'm not surprised."

Matt blushed as he sipped at his tea. There was a tenderness in his lover's touch that seemed almost unwarranted. "God, you are being too nice." He paused as he went to take another sip before lowering the cup from his mouth, staring down at the laptop screen. There was a large list of names and addresses presented before him. "What is it I'm supposed to be doing?"

"Find your mum and dad in that list," Mello replied. "I'm going to get some coffee."

The moment Mello was in the kitchen and out of eyesight, he released a long breath, hands on the kitchen counter and his head bowed.

That was it. Letting go had been that easy. Just a few words and it was done.

It was in Matt's hands now.

Mello felt out the realization in his head, mouthing the words, getting a feel for it.

Getting a feel for not being in control.

The mere thought made his hands shake as he poured his morning coffee, causing the pot and mug to tremble, threatening to spill the steaming liquid down Mello's front and all over his fingers.

"Found it!" Matt called from the other room and he nearly dropped the pot right there.

Taking a deep breath as he set the pot back down, he crossed himself for strength before walking back into the living room where the redhead was busy copying down an address and phone number onto a piece of paper. "Where are we heading then?"

Matt straightened and Mello saw that he already had a cigarette between his lips. The cup of tea was empty on the coffee table. "Swindon."

"Mum must have changed her name. Pity I can't remember her maiden name," Matt said as he cracked the car window open slightly. He shivered from the burst of cold air that rushed in and swiftly shoved his cigarette butt out into the billowing snow. The scrap of paper clutched in his free hand rustled in the fierce wind until the window shut again. Mello had lost count of how many cigarettes Matt had gone through already.

Too many for Mello's liking. As the smell of smoke grew heavier, the taste of his chocolate began to fade away.

"You could call Roger. He's probably got her in your file."

"It's alright. If Dad's out, he'll know where she is." The redhead smiled, leaning his head against the window. "He will tell me." The last bit came out like a threat.

Mello glanced over at his lover, a bit surprised at the tone of his voice.

Everything about Matt's stance was wrong. His smile was cold and bitter, his PSP was still in his pocket, his body was relaxed in his seat. Matt was actually opting for a moment of peace and quiet.

A rather malicious sort of quiet, but quiet nonetheless.

Biting back an irritated noise, Mello turned his eyes back to the road. He didn't like how far away Matt seemed. "What's gotten in to you?" he mumbled, though he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

Matt looked over curiously, lighting up yet another cigarette and taking a long drag. "You're the one acting strange," he said sharply. "You seem fucking excited about all this. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to shove me back into my parents' arms."

Mello scowled deeply. "If you're going to be an ungrateful brat about it, I could always catch the next flight back to Japan."

The redhead froze and Mello had a brief moment of unexpected panic. Matt was bare and vulnerable, ready to hide away within himself at the first sign of danger.

The likelihood of frightening him off for good had never seemed more certain.

He was about to apologize, but Matt spoke first.

"I smell petrol."

Mello blinked in confusion. "You...what?"

The gamer leaned forward."Can't you smell it? It's coming out of here." He pointed a gloved finger at the one of the air vents, currently blasting warmed air into the car.

"I can't smell a fucking thing with all the damn cigarette smoke!" he snapped. Then, just as suddenly, he softened and inhaled slightly. The scent of gasoline was, indeed, present.

"I thought you said you didn't care about my smoking habits," Matt said snidely.

Mello sighed in frustration, trying to keep his eyes on the road as well as searching for the source of the smell. "I don't, Matt! I didn't mean-!" He cut off, quickly running his hand over his face. "Look, can we please just talk about this later?"

Matt's face set into a stony expression. "Pull over."

"Matt-"

"Just pull over."

It took the blond nearly a whole minute to comply, though everything in his being, both the side that craved control and the side that wanted to make Matt happy, screamed at him not to. Before the car even came to a full stop, Matt had opened the door and stepped outside, boots crunching in the snow and hair flying in all directions as the gales tossed it about.

The snow storm that had been forecast this morning had caught up to them. The wind was swirling viciously, kicking snow up from the ground in blinding waves of white.

The redhead stuffed the paper with his father's address into his pocket to keep it from blowing away, inhaling deeply and then exhaling a cloud of smoke before walking around to the back of the car, head bowed against the wind. His face was hidden in fake fur and flashes of red.

Mello watched in the rearview mirror as he began trudging out, towards the road, back in the direction they had come. A strip of slush, brown and dingy, was all that separated his lover from the few cars that came rushing by. The blond tensed, some sort of protective mechanism kicking unexpectedly into gear, though the animalistic side, the more violent and controlling side kept him in his seat.

"Fucking bastard," he swore under his breath. If Matt was going to leave, he wasn't going to stop him.

But then, Matt was walking back towards the car, leaning over and examining something in the snow closely, a puff of grey pouring from his mouth every few steps. He came up to the driver's side and opened Mello's door.

"Get out."

The blond sneered up at him, fully prepared to have a fight on the side of road if need be. The words brought back a slew of memories of another time, another snow covered road, that same tone in Matt's voice, the same look in his eyes. "Are you going to put me in handcuffs?" he spat icily.

Matt gave a sigh of exasperation and leaned down. Mello tensed, putting his arms up to stop Matt from leaning down any further. The redhead gave him a confused look, glancing down at the limbs impeding him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm not doing this again."

The gamer laughed humorlessly. "I'm not asking you to do anything but let me look at the dash."

Slightly taken aback, the tautness in Mello's muscles uncoiled and Matt leaned the rest of the way over to get a look at the gas gauge. "Thought so," he said vaguely, though his words slurred together slightly from the cigarette between his lips. "I think we've got a leak in the fuel line." He straightened and sat down on the edge of Mello's seat, tapping ashes onto the snow.

The blond turned his gaze to the dash and saw that the fuel gauge was dangerously close to empty.

The tank had been nearly full when they left the apartment.

"Think we can fix it?"

Matt shrugged, inhaling lightly as if he were considering it. "It all depends on where the leak is." He stood, dropping the cigarette and crushing it into the snow with his foot. "When I signal you, turn the car on, 'kay?"

Mello nodded his understanding. Matt turned to leave and then paused, snow eddying and swirling about him. Then, without warning, he bent down and kissed Mello firmly on the lips.

"Just trust me, alright?" he said, almost inaudible over the wind howling around them.

Mello nodded dumbly, a wave of gratitude and affection rolling over him. He barely even registered Matt standing and walking to the side of the car, his lover's words still imprinted sharply in the front of his mind.

Trust me.

Those words held so much meaning, so much depth. Trust meant more than that, meant more to people like them. A Wammy's child didn't simply place their life in someone else's hands unless-

"Okay!"

Mello suddenly jerked back to the present. He could see Matt waving his arm to him out of the corner of his eye. He was crouched down in the snow, craning his neck to look under the car.

Mello turned the key.

"Stop! Stop!" Matt exclaimed, almost frantically, and the blond swiftly turned the car off once more. He stood, looking pissed off, wiping the snow from the front of his legs; large wet spots were left in their wake. "Fucking thing is practically hemorrhaging fuel."

"So I take it you can't fix it."

The redhead seemed to bristle at the comment. "If it were just a loose fuel hose I could fix it. I don't even think the fuel filter is in one piece anymore."

Mello was already getting out his cellphone to find the number for a tow truck and a mechanic. Matt climbed back into the car, rubbing his hands over his forearms with a shudder. His thighs stung as the melting snow began to numb his skin, spreading and seeping slowly through his jeans. A yawn built up in his throat but he fought to hold it back.

It slipped through and Mello gave him a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing with a frown.

After a few moments of conversing, Mello disconnected the line, but then began dialing in a new number. "It'll be an hour or so before they can get a tow truck out here and take us into town." He opened his door and began to step out of the car. "Get some sleep if you want," he added, almost as an afterthought before climbing out of the vehicle.

Mat crawled into the back seat of the car to sprawl out along the seats, his head resting in the crook of his arm, his damp legs sticking to the leather upholstery. He was wet and cold and shivering, but he suddenly felt very comfortable. He could hear the sound of wind beating on the windows and Mello's voice as he spoke to someone on the phone, muffled and distant in his ears.

It felt very safe here.

After only moments, he was drifting somewhere between the world of being awake and the endless mystery of slumber. Mello seemed to be speaking to him now from inside his own head.

"Mind if I join you?" His words curled around him, warm and soothing, and Matt nodded tiredly, eyes still closed.

One moment, he heard Mello clambering over to the front seat, the next, his head was lolling back against Mello's stomach and gloved fingers were lightly running through his hair. There was music playing faintly from the crackling radio, a noise that was meant to drown out the sound of the wind.

"Mello, the radio..." he began endearingly.

An arm slid lightly over his waist and hugged him gently. "I know, go to sleep."

When Mello was sure Matt was asleep, when the rise and fall of his chest lengthened and slowed, when his whole body relaxed against him, he released a slow breath and leaned his head back against the window.

Inside, the radio was still playing music, sporadically fading in and out over the speakers, white noise bordering on overpowering the lyrics.

The harrowing adventures of

You and I when we were captains of

Submarines made of steel

Discovering the seven seas...

Outside, the wind rushed past, whipping in every crack and crevice, whistling and roaring to a fierce crescendo before petering out into a gentle hum.

Out there, the world was uncaring. In the car, it was a fuzzy line between protection and dominance.

And that little nagging issue of trust.

Mello bit his lip to keep himself from groaning aloud. The fear that had sprung up in his chest when Matt had leaned down towards him...

Was it a lack of faith or an overload of doubt?

If it was doubt, then perhaps something could be salvaged. But if the issue was faith...

Your ghost did you wrong

When he wiped your spit on the table cloth

I am here to fight

And let your blood in the dim moonlight

Two wrongs making right...

Absentmindedly, Mello fingered the rosary around his neck, taking solace in the fact that, for the next hour, Matt was right here, lying against him.

Matt, who asked for nothing and took whatever he was given.

But when he awoke...

Suddenly, their crappy room in LA seemed very, very distant, so very small in the scope of Mello's mind. Irreplaceable, irrecoverable, with no strength beyond that which a memory possessed.

Mello hugged Matt closer, stricken with a sudden urge to sob, though he had no idea why. A sliver of selfishness inside of him wanted to shake Matt so that he might be consoled, but instead he kept himself focused on the whistling wind and the discordant harmony it created against the tune playing over the radio.

The harrowing adventures of

You and I before our eyes lit up

Shadows cast in the night

Led me to your old home

Set the tables for two alone

Pass the salt, pour the wine

Because I'm alright if you're alright...

The final slap that the man delivered to his son's head effectively knocked the young boy unconscious, leaving him swaying lightly from the ceiling where his wrists had been hung.

In the few moments of hazy disorientation before everything went dark, the redheaded boy could hear his mother's saying "that's enough" followed by distant sounds of quick, awkward steps, though from what, the boy couldn't tell.

He came to after what felt like only moments, but had to have been longer because he could no longer feel his hands. The strip of cloth that had been used to bind him was cutting viciously into his skin.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm getting you down."

He blinked a few times to make the room stop drifting in and out of focus and finally saw his mother beside him, reaching up to try and cut through the cloth with a kitchen knife. It was slow work and he squirmed with a groan.

"Mum, it hurts," he quietly whined.

One of her hands closed down roughly on his hip. "Stop moving!" she snapped. She inhaled sharply, and gave a jerk as she let out a short sob.

Head still in a fog, it took him a few moments of staring with half-lidded eyes to fully see the dark mark beneath his mother's left eye. It looked a nauseating green color in the gloom of the basement. Something sparkled as it drifted along the discolored skin.

She was crying.

"Mum, what's wrong?"

Her nails dug mercilessly into his hip. "Keep quiet, Mail," she hissed. "You'll wake your father!"

She finally managed to cut through the material and let him down into her arms, hugging him tightly before sitting him down to untie his wrists.

"Why does he do that?" he whimpered as his mother began to free him. "Why did he hit me?"

"I've told you a hundred times not to play in the attic," the woman scolded, her words wavering oddly as her shoulders shook. "You know your father doesn't like you to be up there."

"My games are up there, Mum!"

He whimpered when the woman gave him a gentle slap on the cheek. "Don't you raise your voice like that at me!" She looked quite cross with him, brow furrowed in irritation. "Do you understand?"

The young boy nodded quickly, sniffling as he began to cry.

At the first sign of tears from her son's eyes, the woman seemed to break, taking him in her arms again and holding him close. "Oh, Mail," she murmured as she stroked his hair. "Your father works very hard for the both of us. I need you to be well behaved for me so things will go a little more smoothly around here."

"H-he do-doesn't have t-t-to h-hit me," he sobbed very quietly against his mother's shoulder.

The woman pulled back, reaching down to quickly finish releasing the young boy's wrists. "Well, after a long day," she began slowly, tucking a strand of red hair behind the small child's ear. "Your father likes to relax. He loves us both very much and he worries about us."

"Then, why does he hurt me?"

She opened her mouth, then hesitated, staring out past her son's head for a few seconds. "Because sometimes...he worries about us too much. Like when you go and play in the attic. He's...he's worried that you might hurt yourself. He likes to know that you're safe, so he likes keeping us close."

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Then why does he hurt you?"

His mother looked confused. "What are you talking about? I just tripped in the bedroom this morning, Mail." She gently touched the bruise with a very forced smile. "I'm just a clumsy person. Your father would never hit me."

"You're lying to me!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "He gave that to you, and the scratch on your arm and that dress that got torn! He was the one who did it! You just keep lying to me and letting him hurt me too! I hate you!"

CRACK!

The boy stumbled back a few steps, holding his cheek. That slap had been much harder than the first.

"Don't ever speak like that to me again!" she screeched, looking livid. She roughly clutched his already bruised wrist and began dragging him towards the stairs.

"Mum, please," he pleaded weakly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Keep your mouth shut!" she ordered, letting go of his arm and pointing up the stairs. "Get up to your room, right now!"

He hesitated, trying to bite back the sobs as tears began dripping from his chin. "Mum, I'm sorry-!"

"NOW!"

With a frightened yelp, the boy quickly dashed up the stairs not even bothering to check if he was okay when he tripped and scraped his knee on the last step.

And as he lay in his bed, crying quietly into the darkness, he could hear his mother come up to bed. There were hushed voices followed by scuffling and a loud thud and then nothing but the uneasy silence.

The whistling in Mello's ears had stopped. Now there was only an annoying rapping.

He groaned and shifted slightly. Matt was still in his arms. His eyes cracked open and he saw a man waving to him from outside the car.

"You called for a tow truck?"

Mello groaned again, shaking his lover slightly to wake him. They stepped from the car, Matt leaning against the blond and rubbing his eyes tiredly. The snow was still falling, but the wind had finally died down.

"You two look beat," the man joked as he finished hooking their car up to the tow truck. The patch on his shirt said that his name was Neville.

Mello did his best to smile, though the man's cheeriness was beginning to get irritating.

He drove them into town, a drive that had to have been less than hour, but felt like days. Matt fell back asleep almost immediately, taking the seat between the door and Mello's frame, his head lolling against his friend's shoulder, all three of them packed in tightly together. It smelled like grease and oil and the sharp tang of metal, but it was also warm and snug.

Mello looked at the clock on the dash. It was nearly 2 o'clock. Neville seemed to notice his gaze and chimed in.

"Sorry it took a little longer than predicted. Roads have been Hell today, what with the snow."

"Yes," Mello murmured, remembering checking the weather report on his phone shortly before crawling into the back seat. "A snow storm passed through, didn't it?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was in no mood to talk.

Matt shifted a bit beside him, roused slightly from slumber. Mello cradled his head with his arm and lightly stroked his hair.

"Don't be so difficult," the younger man rasped with a slight grin.

"Right," Mello replied awkwardly. He turned back to Neville with a very forced smile. "Meteorological observations are one of my favorite pastimes. Perhaps we could get into a rousing discussion on atmospheric thermodynamics as well?"

Matt snorted quietly beside him and said nothing more.

Mello did not take the news at the mechanic's well. Visibly, he handled it very calmly as they told him that his fuel filter had basically disintegrated and a proper replacement wouldn't be available until tomorrow, though Matt could see the irritation bubbling up in his eyes before he jerkily shoved his sunglasses over them. On their way outside, the redhead pulled his PSP out of his pocket, as if it would protect him from the older man's rage. Matt kept waiting for the dam to break, for Mello to overflow with anger and frustration and a long string of obscenities.

However, he behaved uncharacteristically sane and understanding as they left the mechanics and made their way down the street to McDonald's, the only restaurant open in the small town, for a late lunch.

The place was packed with families and screaming children, all of them griping about the sudden snow storm and how the roads were a mess. Whenever Matt glanced up from his game, he could see Mello standing ominously still, eyes hidden behind his oversized sunglasses and his hands in his jacket pockets.

Matt could see the outline of his lover's fist around his handgun in his pocket. With each twitch of the blond's fingers, Matt gently nudged the man's hip with his own before sidling slowly back and out of Mello's personal space.

Just enough contact to keep him calm, just enough room to avoid injury if he snapped.

A calm Mello was possibly more frightening than a maniacal, blood-thirsty one. In a calm state, Matt was more hard-pressed to balance him, more frantic to find the sore spots that were meriting such a chilling response and soothe them accordingly before everything went to Hell.

They reached the counter and Matt said he wasn't hungry. Mello asked for a large order of fries for him anyway, then ordered a burger and a hot chocolate for himself.

"I'm sorry, sir," the young woman behind the register said, grimacing apologetically. "Our hot water machine is broken. I'm afraid we can't serve any coffee, tea, or hot chocolate."

Matt felt compelled to hurry forward from his place behind his lover and chimed in, "A chocolate shake then." He paused, risking a glance at the blond. So far, so good. No one was dead with a bullet through the face just yet. "Make it two."

The woman quickly entered the order into the register and Matt fished the money out of his pocket, if only to prevent having to guess whether it would be cash or a gun coming out of Mello's jacket.

The moment the woman was gone to obtain their food, Mello put his arm around Matt's waist and pulled him close before the redhead had a chance to sneak out of reach again. "Thank you," he whispered, squeezing the man tightly.

"I said I wasn't hungry," Matt replied, trying to hide his slight smile.

"Yet you ordered a shake as well- fucking hell, there's a damn kid trying to crawl up my leg!"

Looking down, Matt saw a small boy, probably no older than three, clutching the leg of Mello's pants, eyes wide in curiosity.

Matt was trying vainly to hold back his laughter. "Kids love you, Mels," he teased. "Though I can't help but wonder if it's the chocolate or the fact that you occasionally act like a five-year-old that draws them in."

At that moment, a woman came rushing by, scolding her toddler son who was in the process of trying to climb his way up Mello's leather pants, hands tightly fisting the material. She was already muttering a hurried apology before she had even dislodge the boy from his new plaything.

"You should be more careful with your child," Mello advised as the woman straightened, her son in her arms. He smirked widely. "What if I had just snatched him up?"

Eyes widening in fear, the woman quickly darted back to her place in line, hugging her child close to her chest as if she would never put him down again. Matt mouthed an apology to her behind Mello's back.

"Jesus, Mels, you don't have to be a bastard to her," he whispered.

Mello pinched the redhead sharply in the side before he grabbed their order off the counter as soon as it came, shoving the two milkshakes into Matt's hands. Without another word, he was making is way to the entrance, pulling the redhead along with him.

"You just like to needle people where ever you go, don't you?" Matt asked as they made their way down the street.

"I was doing her a favor," the blond replied. "That kid was just begging to be kidnapped." He watched as Matt sipped experimentally on his milkshake, how his lips curled around the straw, how he shivered lightly when he swallowed, how the street light reflected off his goggles and seemed to make his eyes glow. "So, is it safe to assume that you're back to your normal, submissive self?"

"Yes," Matt said, his cheeks turning red and Mello could tell that it wasn't from the cold. "Sorry."

"Good," the older man stated with a grin. "Because if not..." He leaned over and whispered suggestively into his lover's ear. "I'd have to put you in your place."

Matt's heart fluttered wildly in his chest as Mello's hot breath skated down his neck. He gave a shy smile and ducked down to hide his blush in the fur of his jacket. "Well, if that's the case..." He leaned over and shoved Mello with his shoulder, just enough to make him stumble.

The blond flashed him a dangerous look that didn't fade until after they arrived at the hotel, after they checked into a room, until the door was slammed and locked behind them. Even then it didn't disappear. Instead, it morphed into a hungry expression and a low growl in Mello's throat the moment they were alone.

There was no waiting around, no time to change or shower or anything really. The second the food was set aside and Matt's hands were empty, he was slammed up against the door, one of Mello's hands enclosing his wrists behind his back the other running through his hair to dislodge his goggles. The fell to the floor with a muffled clatter and the gloved hand came up to his scalp to press the side of his face into the wood.

Instinctively, the redhead seized up in fear and his diaphragm jumped, ready to press out a scream from his lungs. Then, he caught a glimpse of Mello smirking behind him, eyes half-lidded and hazy and the noise turned into an abrupt gasp.

"Don't think I didn't see that," his lover whispered, a flicker of concern in his emerald irises. "Are you scared of me, Matty?"

The gamer opened his mouth slightly, hesitating with his answer. They had been rough before, many times before. And each time, it was alright, because it was Mello, the man that Matt trusted his life with.

But flashes of his childhood zipped by in his brain now, and for a brief moment, he forgot where he was, who he was, forgot Mello's face and the sound of his voice and that it was him who had his hands on his body.

"Yes..." he answered slowly. "Sometimes."

The hand around his wrists tightened agonizingly and he bit back another cry. Just as quickly however, they loosened and released his wrists.

"No!" Matt groaned, arms flailing to find his lover's hand again. His head was still being held down, his temple pressed painfully against the door.

"I love you, Matt." Warmth enclosed him as Mello's body pressed against his, kissing down his neck, nuzzling his shoulder, pulling his gloves from his hands. "I do, I really do."

"I know," came the choked reply. "I'm fine now."

Mello growled in his ear and yanked his hair roughly, dragging him over to the bed before throwing him, fast first, onto it. The redhead scrambled to get onto his back, to keep his eyes on Mello, to remind himself that there was no reason to be afraid. The blond climbed onto the bed like a predatory cat, stalking it's prey. Hands slipped under his shirt, pulling it up his body and over his head. Kisses covered his face and neck as he felt nimble fingers removing his belt; Mello was practically purring in his ear now.

Yes, Mello was the cat and Matt was the mouse. This was all play before the kill.

A knee slipped between his thighs and the redhead couldn't contain his groans, shifting his hips as his jeans gradually grew more uncomfortable.

But Mello wasn't removing his jeans. He was removing his own belt now and tying his hands to the headboard with it, fastening the cross-shaped belt buckle at the insides of his wrists. He sat back, straddling the redhead's waist, wearing a Cheshire grin. He brought his arm back and Matt flinched instinctively, waiting for the slap he knew was coming.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mello exclaimed, leaping up and off the mattress, pacing agitatedly at the foot of the bed. "Fucking hell, Matt, you're flinching before I even touch you! You actually think I'm going to fuck you when you're like this?!"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Yes, actually, you've done it before."

His remark was met with a very dark glower. "That's not what I mean, Matt," he spat, his tone acidic and sharp. "You said you were afraid of me."

"Yeah, okay, I said I was afraid of you sometimes," the gamer corrected. "If I know it's you, then it's not so scary."

Mello blinked once, twice, realization beginning to appear in his eyes. "If you know it's me..." He took a step towards the bed. "If you know it's not your father, you mean?" He saw Matt give him a small nod. "You were scratching yourself up last night, trying to call for help." He gestured to the redhead's arms with a jerk of the head.

Matt turned his head as best as he could and took in the fading, red scratch marks running down his upper arms. How had he missed them?

Mello seemed to have read his mind. "You don't even look in the mirror in the mornings, do you?"

"How long did it go on?"

The older man had finally stopped pacing now, arms crossed over his chest. He watched Matt's eyes drift up his chest and he knew that he was probably envisioning unzipping his vest. A heat began building low in his abdomen, close to his groin. "You were fine once I held you."

"And if you keep holding onto me, I'll still be fine." Matt blushed deeply, pulling lightly at his bonds. "Could you make up your mind about whether or not you're gonna fuck me? My wrists are starting to ache."

"Deal with it," the blond snapped automatically, slowly crawling back up onto the bed.

"Matty, you're sure about this? About seeing your parents?"

"Yes." The response seemed almost too swift.

"Just say the word and we can go home."

"Mello, I'm fine. Now will you just shut up and fuck me?" Mello leaned forward to argue further when the redhead thrashed beneath him, a fiery look piercing through a curtain of red hair. His eyes almost seemed to blaze, shading chocolate brown with a seductive red. "Will you just get to it before I knee you in the gut?!" Matt threatened with snarl that was all sex.

With a smirk, Mello sat back on the redhead's hips. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." The tone in Matt's voice had softened, but the defiant fire in his eyes still burned. The ease with which he had answered raised a sliver of irritation in Mello's chest, but he pushed it aside. He would deal with it tomorrow. They would worry about it tomorrow.

Tonight, he was going to chase away the demon's that plagued Matt's mind, marked his arms, made him shake and cry into the emptiness of the night.

"And that's why we'll be alright." Matt's head snapped to the side as Mello finally slapped him across the face before crawling down and hurriedly removing his jeans. Matt lost himself in the hasty movements, unable to tell when Mello had left those hickeys on his chest, when they had finally stripped themselves of the last piece of clothing, when he started begging for more, when Mello finally complied. By the time he managed to catch up, Mello was placing a tender kiss on his lips before he thrust his hips forward to enter him roughly.

"I won't let go of you, Matty."