"Matt!"

I heard Mello's shouts, but for some reason, I did not respond. He was downstairs, and I was upstairs. From the volume of the shout, I could estimate that it would take him about forty five seconds to go from downstairs up to where I was, and by that time, this boss would be dead.

The floorboards practically shook as Mello stormed up the stairs.

Twenty-two seconds.

"Matt, you lazy, good for nothing nerd! Get down here!"

Fifteen, and the deathblow had been cast. Time to get up and make it look like I was on my way.

I turned the PSP off and left it on the coffee table before practically running to the door. I knew if Mello had to open the door, then I would have been in trouble. Quickly, I grabbed the doorknob and swung open the door.

Three seconds.

"Matt, what the fuck are you up to in here?"

I shrugged. Mello snarled at my non-informative response, but that was all. His pale blond hair practically rose in fury, almost like a cat's might when angry, and his slender brows furrowed.

"When I call for you, that means haul ass downstairs, Matt."

I yawned, and gave a slight nod. "Yes, boss. I was just putting my pants on. Didn't think you'd want me tearing through the apartment without boxers."

Bingo.

Mello's scowl became more intense as he tried to stop the flush in his cheeks. Some devout Catholic he was. I had known for the longest time that Mello was, for the most part, celibate. He thought sex was distracting from his work. Me on the other hand, well, let's just say my address book in my phone was primarily made up of names like "Cherry" and "Angel", or, my personal favorite whenever I'm up for more than one round, "Veronica".

However, this doesn't mean that Mello never went out. Sometimes, the best way to get information was from those who "partook in less than holy" actions, and in that instance was when Mello and I would work as a team. He would wear his motorcycle garb. The slick black leather that hugged every curve and turn of his figure, the pants with the lace up crotch with the waistband clinging snugly around his prominent hips. Let's just say that even I had to make an effort to remember that Mello was a guy, he was so good looking.

Some nights we would head to clubs and bars, him on his bike and me in my Camaro. We could have ridden together, and we have maybe once or twice, but this way, we appeared less like a team and more like friends meeting up after a party or some shit. Either way, a team is what we were.

With Mello's feminine looks, he could woo the strong bodyguard, muscle men type over to our small table with an untouched pitcher of beer. As docile as his features were, it was in Mello's face that one could see his strength. That strong, unmasked frown Mello possessed, his cold glare, and overtly confident stance. He was only five foot six, which is pretty damn tiny compared to most men, but somehow he convinced them all to bend over backwards for him, and I watched completely in awe.

Me, it was my job to pick up the "less intelligent" of our informants. In other words, my standoffishness and freckles helped us entertain and attract the whores of these muscle men who were often pimps or guys who made money through less than honorable ways.

Not like I have room to talk.

"Not a penny more than ten grand," Mello said firmly later that night. His right knee was crossed over his left, and the toe of his boot occasionally tapped my shin every time I took a hearty sip of the foaming mug of Sam Adams that was before me. Maybe it was the fact that I was drinking period, or perhaps it was the sloppy grin I wore that let him know I was half drunk when the girl on my left began unbuttoning my jeans with her pink-tipped manicured nails. Mello wasn't particularly fond of sexual encounters, much less public ones.

Mello continued conducting business, bargaining over something. Guns I think. Our old ones had worn out, and I think Mello was negotiating for Berettas, fake licenses, as well as ammo and probably a few other guns. Like I said, some girl was undoing my pants at the moment. Actually right as those teasing fingers slid beneath the band of my boxers, Mello gave me a sharp kick that spooked her, but sent me laughing hilariously.

"Holy fuck, Mel!" I slurred, cracking up in a way I only do when I'm intoxicated. "At least let me keep myself amused."

Mello stood up quickly from his chair and grabbed me by the hair, dragging me away from the two ladies and into the hallway of the bathrooms, my pants slipping partially off of my hips. Forcefully, he slammed me against the wall and wrenched my goggles off of my face, still holding a handful of my hair.

"Look, you little shit, I know you're drunk off your ass, but now is not the time for your stupid immoral hobbies."

I chuckled, paying no attention to the fact that our bodies were pressed tightly together, Mello's words literally tickling my ear, for we were so close.

"I mean it, Matt!" Mello hissed, forcing his knee between my legs, pressed right against my groin. I couldn't tell if his next move was going to bring excruciating pain, or provide naught but drunken pleasure.

"If this deal gets messed up, I swear, you are going to regret it."

Mello forced his hands into the front pocket of my jeans, pressing his knee even closer as he pulled out my pack of cigarettes and stuffed one in my mouth, holding a lighter to the end.

"Inhale," he said.

I did so and the sweet waves of tar, smoke, and nicotine flooding my lungs and blood. Not like it helped very much, but it did enough to calm me down and I nodded.

"Good. Just keep smoking, and don't say a word."

The two of us headed back to the table, where the two ladies had vanished.

"It seemed like your buddy here was getting distracted," chuckled Mr. Beefy, a half smoked cigar hanging between his lips. "I sent the girls to the dance floor."

"I'll go too!"

I motioned to get up, but Mello grabbed me by the ear, ignoring my yelps until I sat down.

"Good," Mello replied. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to wrap this up quickly. I have ten grand with me right now, cash. You have the guns with you. I suggest an exchange tonight. No contracts, no papers, no record."

The man's greedy eyes lit up as the two of them shook on the deal, Mello's tiny, gloved hand enveloped in his thick, calloused one.

We made the trade almost immediately. By this point, the alcohol had started to wear off a little bit, although I think it was mostly due to my frequent bathroom trips and my cigarettes. By two-thirty am, we were loading the merchandise into the trunk of my sports car, and Mello was sitting in the drivers seat.

"Aww, fuck, I wanted to-"

"No, Matt. You're not driving."

I honestly don't remember much of the ride back to the apartment. I fished a joint out of the glove box when I ran out of cigarettes and lit that up too. Mello barked at me to roll down a window. Pot smells like shit, but you can't tell when you're high.

"Trade went well?" I asked when we had locked up the apartment for the night and I crashed on the sofa.

Mello nodded, pouring himself a small glass of hot sake and taking a shot. I smirked.

"Thought you didn't drink."

Mello shrugged. "I'll go to confession this week. With your behavior, avoiding alcohol and other substances completely would be impossible."

I frowned and grabbed a hold of Mello's belt loop and pulled him onto the sofa with me.

"Look, buddy, there's nothing wrong with a little liquor here, a little sex there. You need to relax. Trust me, recreation improves concentration."

Mello shook his head and reached for the sake bottle, pouring himself another glass, then another, and a fourth. I took the bottle and poured myself one as well, completely un-doing all the sobering up from earlier.

"You know, Matt," Mello sighed, his cheeks rosy pink as he sprawled across the sofa, leaning his head on my shoulder. "I've never actually gotten drunk drunk. Like fucking . . .piss drunk."

"Oh? Really?"

Mello nodded and took another sip of the sake, which was starting to cool. Cold sake burns like rubbing alcohol and gasoline. He sputtered and coughed, grasping at his throat, and knocking over the side table, lamp, as well as the sake.

"Fucking-a," he coughed.

I wrapped an arm around Mello's shoulder, wiping the sake from his chin with my sleeve.

"You alright?"

He shook his head and pressed his palms against his knees. Probably trying to shake the uncomfortable sensation from his mind.

"It burns."

"Let me cool it off, then," I smirked. God that was so fucking cheesy, but I did it anyway. Mello turned towards me, confused almost, and I directed his lips towards mine. Normally, I'd pass it off and say I had no idea what I was doing.

No. I knew exactly what I was doing. Kind of.

Mello grumbled slightly, almost in protest before shifting his position so we could kiss more comfortably. All at once, it seemed slow motion, yet so fast. Mello's hands, still gloved, clutched at my shirt, uneasily at first, but then tighter, and more so out of desperation. The kiss was sloppy, but I could deal with that. Hell, we were both pretty intoxicated, what did it matter?

Guilt gnawed at the back of my mind as I felt a cool leather glove push underneath my shirt and press against my stomach. Mello must really be drunk to be doing this. Why was I even doing this? Admittedly, I am a sexual deviant whenever I become involved with anyone, but I never even considered myself bisexual. Yet, here I am, being undressed by the most attractive person I have ever met in my life, and with someone who before now had been completely out of my reach and could have never been bought with money or charm.

Mello's lips had now moved from mine to my neck, and rested at my collarbone. For someone who was celibate, he certainly knew what he was doing here, nipping sharply over the area.

"Hey, Mel," I grumbled, more so to muffle any sounds of satisfaction. "We really should quit this."

Mello grumbled and put one hand over my mouth.

"Shut up, Matt."

I bit my tongue and obliged as Mello shoved my shirt farther up and over my head. My muscles quivered as a warm tongue caressed one nipple, then the next. I placed my hands behind my head to support my neck, chewing on my lip to withhold my slight groans. Shaking with what might have been anticipation, Mello bit the tip of his leather-clad forefinger, tugging off his glove. I didn't quite see where it fell before the icy tips of Mello's pale fingers stroked along my tight abdomen, resting atop the metal button of my Levi's.

At that point there was nothing I could do save to watch Mello, his nose barely centimeters from my skin. Every whispered breath summoned patches of gooseflesh along my stomach. Mello's lips motioned soundlessly against my hip, sending my blood into a boiling fury that send my vision swimming before my eyes.

"What was that?" I mumbled.

Mello paused for a moment, as still as pale marble, before glancing up at me. Being childhood friends, I had seen virtually every expression, every contortion of one's face possible from Mello, ranging from anger to sheer joy. Never before in all my memories had I seen such a look as he gave me then. Imagine the intense gaze a lion throws the gazelle as he stalks, his figure low to the ground, ready to spring. The arch of Mello's back was prominent, yet smooth, and he moved further up on me. His clothed chest pressed against mine with the beads and cross of his rosary imprinting upon my skin as his lips brushed my earlobe as he whispered.

"Denying you has been so difficult, Matt," Mello murmured. He voice shook as if he were admitting a long-hidden secret, as if he were trying so desperately to hide his thoughts from the God whom he loved so much.

I chuckled, my concentration still slow from the liquor, but slowing regaining its usual strength.

"It must have been terrible for you, Mel." I smirked.

He kissed his way back along my jaw, my chin, to my lips. Thin and pale, but warm, they lightly caressed my own, almost cautious, mumbling a soft "yes" before silencing me. I longed to wrap my arms behind his back, crush our slender figures together in passion, but I refrained. Instead I pulled my hands from my sleeves, shaking my shirt off at last, and let my hands run over Mello's shoulders and down his sides.

Cold. All I could feel was the uncomfortable rub of that chill leather, the slick, yet entrapping animal skin. Cold. It was an excellent description for Mello, yet this was not the Mello I felt in my arms now.

Without bothering to be discrete, I looped my finger into the ring of Mello's vest and tugged gently, unzipping the zipper and pushing the unwanted garment off of his shoulders. I pressed my hands against Mello's chest. Thin, muscled, paler than all save the winter snow, but I could feel his heart racing, his blood pounding beneath my fingers and against my palms.

Still cold. Still chill, but finally human and alive.

At this point, Mello was now straddling my leg, one knee in between mine, pressed against my groin painfully, and the other barely brushing the outer side of my thigh. I brushed my fingers in succession over his nipples and he moved forward only an inch, but it was enough of one. Out of both discomfort and pleasure I moaned into his mouth, and he did the same. My fingers dug lustily into his shoulders, the heat from between us radiating, forcing my skin to become flecked with a small beads of sweat as my jeans only became more and more restricting.

Mello pressed his hands into the coarse fabric of the sofa, pulling away from our kiss in haste. For a moment I was afraid he had become sober, and I feared that there would be no resolution for me that night.

But of course I was wrong.

Sitting on his knees, Mello's quick fingers darted to the laces in the front of his pants. I was never quite sure how he tied them without the result being a big, droopy and unflattering bow hanging in front of his crotch, but somehow he managed. I watched as he tucked his thumbs into the leather waistband, and then paused, obviously contemplating something. Perhaps he –

"Matt. What are your jeans doing, still being on?"

My heart jolted in my chest. No question or order was needed. Clumsily my fingers scrambled at my belt buckle, the metal clasp clattering as my hands shook. Seeing me as being too slow, Mello took over. He laid his hands atop of mine gently and undid the buckle, popping open the button and pressing down on the zipper with his thumb. All of this was done with complete expertise, as if he had rehearsed before, physically or otherwise.

Our positions changed to this and that as elbows bumped here or foreheads knocked there. In the end, we landed back where we had started, the two of us on our knees, staring each other down, waiting for the other to give, and move.

And then, despite the throbbing ache in my pants, I cracked.

At that moment there was nothing I wouldn't have given, no human life I wouldn't have sacrificed to pull Mello against me, force my shaking hands between that tight leather and cold skin, and envelope my fingers around his warm erection. No price would have been too much to pay to witness Mello at his weakest, and most vulnerable moment much less to be the immediate cause of such downfall. My blood boiled with anger and irritation at the thought of how many others, men and women, have looked at Mello and thought the same exact things as me and had attained nothing. Here I was, the perfect opportunity to be satisfied in more ways than one thrust right up under my freckled nose on an open platter.

Yet I couldn't do it.

............................................

A/N: Hey, guys! My second shot at a fanfic. It's coming along slowly, but that's only because of college. Don't worry, it will be finished! Please feel free to leave reviews, and criticism. :D