♥︎ MellodraMattic Valentine's Playlist ♥︎

He slid his hand down Mello's thigh, caressing it in spite of the tight leather sculpting his legs like Matt’s own personal punishment. He fantasised about burying his teeth into his calves and leaving his mark, but he restrained the primal urge to cannibalise Mello in broad daylight and continued burying his fingers into the fabric with a relentlessness that didn't go unnoticed by the blonde.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He muttered, extracting Matt's hand away from his leg. All day Matt had been touching him like a horny teenager with no impulse control. Mello had assumed the apartment had possessed him, too much time sat at the computer screen staring at footage of men he didn't recognise and cared about only so much as to satisfy Mello's demands. They had now found themselves in a rather small, dusty cemetery where they sat on a bench, the February chill forcing them close to one another as they stared at rows upon rows of dead strangers laid before them.

"Nothing." Matt responded sulkily. He slid across the bench away from Mello until he was practically draped across the opposing armrest. Kicking his feet up to replace the distance between them, he began to push the toes of his boots into Mello's ribcage. He was wearing a large coat, so he feared his provocations did not have the intended effect of irritating Mello, but it was only a matter of time before the latter stood up, a scowl engraved across his face.

"I can tolerate your bullshit, Matt, but it's fucking difficult when I have no clue what you want from me." The winter sun cast a halo around Mello's head, and Matt winced in response to its radiance. Sometimes, Matt couldn't look at Mello too long without feeling the sensation that his natural radiance was blinding him. Mello translated Matt's grimace as nothing more than typical awkwardness.

Mello began to walk away, his eyes idly glancing across the names of the corpses beneath his feet as he ambled into the labyrinth of graves. None of these were newly deceased; if the dates didn't clarify as much, then certainly the neglect of their memorials did. No fresh flowers lay on the mounds of soil, but instead ivy crawled up the stones as nature repossessed the lives of those who walked across this earth once upon a time. Mello wondered lazily what his own grave would look like, if he was granted such a gift of memoria.

Matt stumbled after Mello until he caught up to him, grabbing his sleeve. He had thought that by now the fear of waking up to an empty bed would have withered away. Apparently, such feelings still embedded themselves into his subconscious with enough certainty that he felt compelled to follow Mello when the distance between them grew too far to be bearable.

Mello stopped and turned to meet Matt's yearning stare, saturated with desperation. Even the amber tint of his goggles could not conceal the intent of his affection towards the other. Matt pressed his body up close against Mello's, a curious finger tracing down the beads of his rosary before he took ahold of the cross and brought it to his mouth, pressing it inverted against his lower lip.

"Matt..." Mello frowned, watching as Matt slipped the dead body of Christ into his mouth. It felt heavy on his tongue, the sting of metal just like the taste of blood from a fresh wound. As his mouth filled up with saliva, Matt wondered if such fluid would corrode the image of faith Mello wore with pride, tarnished by an act of explicit blasphemy.

He decided he didn't actually care to find out. With the rosary still dripping from his lips, Matt pressed them against Mello's, his hands framing his ashen face as he dragged his fingers through his hair. He breathed softly through his nose, listening for Mello's sigh of relief to punctuate the tension that often arose when Matt made the first move. Instead, he remained still, as if he had forgotten how to breathe at all. Matt opened his lips a little and used his tongue to press the cross against Mello's mouth, inviting it into his body.

Mello broke away, the rosary falling down damp against his chest, "Not here." He muttered, his eyes darting across the cemetery with an uncharacteristic self consciousness.

"Then where?"

"Anywhere else. This is sacred ground."

Matt laughed, "Since when have you been so concerned about the dead, Mihael?" His thumbs gently stroked Mello's cheeks. He was having a really hard time restraining himself today, and the rush of blood to his crotch only exacerbated his desire to wrestle Mello to the ground and take him out. However, he knew the conflict in Mello's conscience was worth the wait.

"Lay it off. Show some respect." Mello tried to disengage, but Matt was leaving little room for him to struggle against. He attempted to step back, his heel clipping against the grave directly behind him. Heat rose to his face in recognition, and staggering back into Matt's embrace, a silent prayer of forgiveness formulated like clockwork in his mind.

"Admit it, darling. You're already gone with the sin. What's a little more going to matter?" Matt tilted his head, a smirk sliding across his face, "An extra few minutes in confessional, perhaps?"

His desire was pathetic, he knew that, but Matt could not hold back his urges much longer. He teased his lips against Mello's, his hands wandering down his neck, his chest, then to his crotch. He tenderly massaged the convexity.

"Joy. He is risen."

"Shut the fuck up, Matt." Mello made to swat those groping hands away, but Matt wasn't giving up. He undid the threading of the laced fly with a flourish that only came by habit, and Mello glowered in disbelief.

"Bend over that headstone for me, sweetheart."

"What? No, absolutely not."

Matt's tone turned cold suddenly, that humorous accentuation cut short to something more aggressive, "Are you exactly in a position to be talking back to me? You think you're some kind of saint? Is that it?" He grabbed the back of Mello's head and pulled it back. Being the slightly taller of the two had its advantages, "Stop acting holier than thou and bend over the headstone. I won't ask again."

Mello hissed in response to Matt's roughness, but turned around reluctantly, stopping short of lowering himself over the memorial. It was so old that the engravings had been worn down to illegibility, nothing remaining that could identify the corpse below. Matt shoved him down so that he fell over the top of the stone, his upper torso against the back with his legs flailing out behind him.

"You son of a bitch!" He spat in irritation, but Matt ignored him as he yanked his trousers down, easing them around his ankles. He slipped his finger in the waistband of underwear, pulling it back with a cruel slowness that only furthered Mello's humiliation. One thing Mello hated more than an act of sacrilege was exhibitionism. He had never felt compelled to fuck in public.

"Calm down." Matt reverted to his more relaxed tone, his hand now buried in the warmth of Mello's boxers. He stroked Mello's hard cock, eliciting a poorly repressed gasp from his partner.

Leaning forward to pin Mello beneath the weight of his own body, Matt purred in his ear, "You filthy sinner... Getting off to death." Before Mello could retort with a derogatory comment, Matt slapped his spare hand over his mouth, "Don't try to deny it. Your excuses are meaningless."

Mello writhed against Matt's restraint, but to little avail. Trapped between the heavy warmth of his body and the implacable solidity of the grave felt like a purgatory of sorts. He was aroused, he couldn't deny that, but he was not comfortable, and the anxiety of losing control was not one he was well acquainted with. This was certainly not the first time Matt had dominated him, but he typically granted Mello the illusion that he was still the one directing the performance. In this instance, Matt clearly was lacking his usual generosity and it made Mello wildly edgy.

Matt pulled Mello's underwear down, revealing him to the cemetery. It was fucking freezing that morning and Mello shivered instinctively. Matt wanted nothing more than to take a step back and admire the man in all his glory, but he knew that Mello would be quick to escape if he were given the chance to do so. He instead satisfied himself with stroking Mello's arse, noting the goosebumps arise from the cold with delight.

"You need warming up?" He cooed, his index finger pressed against Mello's rectum, "I don't know if you really deserve it." Mello tried to say something against the palm of his hand, his words damp against the skin, but all that he could come out with was muffled and incoherent.

Mello was usually the one to bring the necessities for their trips outside the flat, planning in advance what their excursions would entail so that he usually had what they needed to hand. However, Matt was almost certain that if he reached into Mello's jacket pocket, he would be unlikely to come across a packet of lube, and he sure as hell had packed nothing of the sort himself. That being said, he wasn't merciless, even towards the damned. Matt quickly brought his hand to his mouth and spat on it, moistening his fingers before inserting one into Mello's arse. He did so carefully, watching as the other tensed suddenly, before seemingly relaxing into the discomfort, or at least succumbing to his position.

"Good boy. See, things are easier when you behave."

Retracting his finger, Matt pushed it back in, establishing a rhythm that Mello adapted to. His fingers clawed at the headstone, and he was suddenly very appreciative to be wearing gloves. It was a small comfort to be had given that he was simultaneously contending with the sensation of his ribs being crushed and the pain of penetration. Who knew such circumstances could elicit greater feelings of gratitude? The Lord really did work in mysterious ways.

Sensing that Mello was calming down, Matt removed his hand from his mouth, "How does that feel?"

"Good..."

"Just good? Maybe it's time to get serious about this then." Matt had intended to go slow, to build up Mello's resilience, but he was losing his composure. He slipped three fingers into Mello's arsehole, grinning as the other shrieked. What a drama queen.

Mello's body ached as it acclimatised to the new feeling of tightness, his legs going numb. He tried to focus on silently cursing Matt in every language he knew, but gradually the pain subsided to something more tolerable, and he arched his back as much as he was able to in his compromised position to lean into it.

Mello got complacent when he was in this state, Matt had come to realise, and while it made things easier in the sense that Matt was given more room to play without Mello's objections, he was hardly about to miss an opportunity to exploit the other's weakness. He brushed his blonde hair away from his neck and left a trail of kisses down his nape, wanting to mark every inch of skin that presented itself to him in an almost obsessive manner. The soft hum from Mello's lips only further encouraged him.

God damn he enjoyed making Mello feel good. Mello would never find anyone else who could make him feel this way. Yes, perhaps Matt was jealous of the men Mello associated himself with, even if he knew there was no threat to their relationship, but he wanted to lock Mello away and have him all to himself. He hated being alone, his mind wandering to ridiculous conclusions that someone else would find his boy as fascinating as he did. Just the very thought caused Matt to retract his fingers.

"Matt..." Mello mumbled, dazed. He looked like a ragdoll, tossed over the headstone, "Keep going, you bastard."

"You think you deserve it?" Matt straightened his back, toying with his belt buckle, "Confess to me, you whore. I don't owe any gratification to a sinner like you."

The noise Mello made in response was markedly more anguished than the soft gasps of satisfaction he had been giving himself over to until now. He tried to push himself up but Matt quickly pinned him down between his shoulder blades, pressing his lips against the curve of Mello's ear, "Repent."

Mello was shaking, be it under the weight of Matt's force or his demons, none could be the wiser, "Forgive me... Fuck, Matt!"

"For what?"

Mello's voice had become light and almost wispy, "For being so undeserving of you."

Matt hadn't expected that. He ran his tongue from the bottom of Mello's ear down his neck and rested his lips where the collar of Mello's vest prevented him from going further. This man had hundreds of transgressions he could admit to, crimes that Matt knew even he would find difficult to reconcile with, but was it really Mello's inferiority that he deemed to be his worst crime?

"Damn right." Matt replied, shifting himself so he could attend to his hard cock, "You aren't worthy of me at all, are you now? You do nothing but take from me, and you know what? I'm not dealing with that anymore." He held his dick just so that Mello could feel it against his arsehole, like a threat, "I'm going to fuck you to death, Mello, do you understand?"

Mello's reply was too quiet for Matt to hear clearly, so he wrapped his hand across Mello's throat and forced his head up, repeating the question again.

"Yes, Matt."

Without providing a warning, Matt penetrated Mello, thrusting his hips quickly so as to fill the latter up immediately. Mello gasped, quickly biting down on his lower lip in reflex. It fucking hurt, even with all the preparation, and Mello did wonder, albeit briefly, if the bright light of heaven was aiming its beam at him from the distance. What a stupid way to die. At least there might be a discount on funeral expenses.

Matt felt enormously pleased with himself to be in such a position, Mello submitting to him with none of the bratty bullshit he delivered as a means to stay in control. His body was so warm and he could barely bring himself to pull back long enough to push into Mello with the amount of force he wanted to. If it was at all possible, he would rip Mello apart, bury himself deep into his flesh, and experience the depths of the man he loved that not even he himself could reach. He wanted more and with every push, he felt the flames of his desire grow stronger, more persistent. He moved his hands to Mello's hips to get better control and because a voice in the back of his head warned he might snap Mello's neck if he wasn't careful.

Mello's mind was a mess of conflict between the rush of pain he was being subjected to and how turned on he was in spite of it. He agonised in his desire to release and managed to cry out as much to Matt before he felt tight grip around his erection, with Matt's thumb pressed against his tip.

"Don't you dare think about coming before me, bitch." He hissed. He was possessed, he thought to himself, this voice belonging to some demonic force that dwelled within but had yet to see the light of day until now. Not that Matt felt particularly concerned about this revelation. He was horny and right now he was enjoying himself far too much to be thinking about the implications of what he was saying. Knowing Mello was nearly at his limit only made him more aware that he was approaching his own climax.

Moaning, Mello could feel the pressure grow beneath the restraint and prayed to God that he would be granted relief from his predicament soon. He would inevitably chastise himself for such a request later on but right now he was desperate and could barely see the grass below, his vision disorientated in the heat of the act. It took him a moment to realise that it was tears that were responsible for his visual impairment, and as they slid down his cheeks, his only reasoning was that his body was leaking elsewhere to make up for the fact he wasn't allowed to orgasm. He wouldn't have been surprised to see blood start dripping down the headstone.

Matt pulled back, then shoved himself one final time into Mello, letting out a groan as he came. His hand loosened on Mello's cock and it was only a moment before Mello desecrated the grave.

Matt disentangled himself from Mello and pulled him up, quickly zipping up his fly as the other tentatively pulled his own trousers up, still unsteady on his feet. Matt was worried he was about to fall over.

"Come on, let me help."

"Go away."

"Suit yourself." Matt couldn't help but smirk a little. He kissed Mello's cheek, the taste of salt causing him to pull back and inspect Mello's face carefully, "Was I too harsh?"

Mello's gaze had averted back to the headstone, unceremoniously marked with his biological gift of life. There was a metaphor in there somewhere that he was hardly in the mood to search for,

"Just don't make promises you can't keep, Matt."

"What?"