Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

A/N: It started out as a request/ coercion from Living in a Fantasy. A long time ago. And then Miharu is Haruka's Love Child helped me make it spin completely out of control. The request was "Fluffy date fic." Happy really late birthday, Living in a Fantasy!

The title means "I don't speak spinach" and the Spanish is provided by Miharu is Haruka's Love Child. Blame her if it's not right. XD

"Hell the fuck no," Mello said firmly, flipping them so that now Matt was pinned against the wall, and plastered their lips together.

For a moment, Matt couldn't even respond, which was exactly what Mello wanted. Finally, he managed to pant, "Why not?"

Mello's hands were drifting down to Matt's pant line, fiddling with the very-much-hated belt that Matt insisted upon wearing because he thought it looked like some character's belt or something. "Because," he explained breathily, "dates are for guys who're trying to get laid."

Mello shifted and pressed his body into Matt's and Matt let his fingers slip up into Mello's hair, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer, biting down on the lips that were flush with his. "What, you don't wanna get laid?" Matt successfully articulated.

"Fuck yes I want to get laid," Mello replied, emphasizing this by sticking his hand down Matt's pants and grabbing the bulge there, smirking when the other male gasped. "But I don't need to- shit, damnit - go on a, um, d-date to do it. Do you- do you wanna grow a vagina?" Mello finally got Matt's pants off, and now he was dropping to his knees in front of him, dragging both hands down Matt's body, touching.

"We've been- fuck yes- together s-since we were t-twelve. Not a single date. Fuck, Mello!"

Matt was twisting and biting his lip under Mello's ministrations, and for a while the conversation was thoroughly dropped as Matt's fingers curled and grappled for something to hold on to.

A little while later, Mello swallowed and popped back up, grabbing Matt's face and moving in for a deep kiss, letting Matt taste himself. "My turn," he purred, dragging Matt to the couch and bending him over the rickety arm of it.

"Mello," Matt reminded him, working off his own shirt and nudging the other boy to do the same.

Mello stepped out of his boxers, hands everywhere on Matt at once, dipping down to taste his sweat and his skin and to kiss along the scars he had given him in one of their many fights as children.

"Mello. I don't want to do it, but you know I will..." He twisted under Mello, moving his legs in just such a way that they grazed Mello's erection, making his whole body shudder, while disallowing any of the kind of access that Mello really wanted at this point.

"Matt..."

"Since we were twelve, not a single date."

"Fuck... can't we... can't we discuss this-"

"This is the only time I have your undivided attention." He started very lightly stroking.

"But I'd... fucking agree to... nghh... anything at this point..."

"Exactly."

Mello was sure that if there weren't so many hormones rampaging through his bloodstream, he might have been able to think of a coherent argument against that. Sadly that was not an option at this time. He growled, hanging his head in defeat. "You're such a dick."

Knowing that this was agreement, Matt smirked and rolled over, hooking the previously offending leg over Mello's shoulder and giving him a look that made it very, very clear that he was pleased with Mello's decision.

"You're such a dick," Mello repeated, putting the car in park and tugging at his suit coat. "This collar is cutting off my windpipe and the circulation to my brain."

"Shut the fuck up," Matt suggested cheerfully, hopping out of the car. "You look fucking hot. Besides, you're the one who picked this place. I would have gone with Arby's."

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it thoroughly so you can't complain later," Mello grumbled. He climbed out and gave a dirty look to the very-expensive restaurant, sending it hateful thoughts.

Matt rolled his eyes (he knew he should be annoyed and he would have been had it been anyone else, but somehow whenever it was Mello doing the annoying thing it only amused him) and grabbed his... well, his everything... by the front of his shirt, dragging him in without another word.

Wammy had, of course, taught them how to eat at a very-nice restaurant. As potential detectives, they had to be able to blend into any situation. Matt and Mello were no exception. The second they were in the door, Mello's scowl was replaced by a relaxed, elegant, vaguely pleasant-looking but aloof smile.

Apparently they blended in, because when on any other day they would have been thrown out on their asses, this day they were ushered in.

"This is pretty nice," Matt said quietly, following the waiter. "Even the bachelorette party over there is pretty classy. Keeping it down, and stuff. And it's not very crowded."

Strangely, they were led, not to a table, but in the direction of the back room.

"Um... sir? Where are we going?"

"To your dressing rooms, sirs."

"Our... dressing rooms?"

"Oh, are you already dressed for your performance? Very well, then. You are quite early, so I'll get you a table and some dinner. The ladies paid for your meals."

Matt and Mello looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"What are you talking about?" Matt piped up as they took a seat.

The waiter frowned. "You are the dancers, correct?"

Mello turned his head slowly. "What?"

"The male dancers for the bachelorette party this evening. They reserved the entire restaurant. You are the, erm, entertainment, right?"

Matt gaped for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I told you stripping is your true calling, Mello. Even this guy sees it."

"We're not those bitches' strippers," Mello said flatly.

The waiter turned bright red. "Oh, I... I apologize. Profusely. Your friend is right, though, you would make an excellent... I mean... technically the ladies reserved the entire restaurant, but how about we give you a nonintrusive seat and a discount and call it even?" he asked hopefully.

Mello was still glaring and opened his mouth to cuss the poor man out, but Matt interjected, "You're not the first person to make this mistake, don't worry. Thank you for the discount, that'll be great."

Bobbing his head, the waiter couldn't evacuate quickly enough.

When he was gone, Matt said matter-of-factly, "You should consider a career change."

"He thinks we look like strippers, genius. Like both of us look like strippers."

"Right, but I don't care. It's more than worth it to see your reaction. Cracks me up every time."

Mello scowled.

"This wouldn't have happened at Arby's," Matt pointed out as their food arrived.

Mello ignored that.

"Actually, you're right, it might have. Like that one time in London when-"

"We agreed never to mention that field trip again, Matthew."

"...Matthew?"

Ignoring him again, Mello reached into his suit pants. He frowned. He frisked himself briefly and frowned some more. "Matt, do you have your wallet?"

"Yeah, I-" he patted his pockets. "No, it's not here. I think I forgot to take it out of my pants." He paused. "Tell me you have yours."

"I..."

"Great. What now?"

The waiter returned to collect the bill.

"Um... we seem to have left our wallets at home..." Matt said awkwardly.

"Oh..."

"Can you, like, make a tab?"

"We don't... do tabs... um... one moment, let me get my manager."

He returned a few moments later with an older man.

"Okay. How did this happen."

Mello looked down at himself, wearing a police officer uniform. Then he looked at his lover, who was dressed in a very-tight fireman outfit. "I was kind of hoping you could explain it," he replied.

"How much did we eat? That washing dishes wouldn't cover it? And what are the odds that the bachelorette party's strippers would not show up?"

On the other side of the door, Mello and Matt became aware of the sound of a few dozen girls clapping, cheering, and catcalling.

"That's our cue..." Mello said finally. "We've gotta go out there."

"Wait. What exactly does 'gay strip tease' entail?"

"I... guess we just... take off most of our clothes and make out?"

"...Not so bad..."

"I dunno."

"What," Matt smirked. "Don't think you can do it? Got some performance anxiety, Mr. Big Bad Mafia Man? Afraid of a little nudity? Huh?"

"What?"

"It's okay. I understand if you're uncomfortable about your body."

"What?"

"You don't need to be. You're fucking sexy as hell. But still, I understand if exposing yourself to a bunch of strangers is-"

"Fuck you! I've exposed myself to more strangers than you've even met, Great Indoors!"

"Then get out there and prove it to me."

"I will!"

Now raring to go, Mello flipped on his 'I will fuck you senseless and you will love it' mode, letting his hips sway and his most confident smirk drip across his face.

It didn't require much acting for Matt to look turned on as hell and follow after him.

When yet another of the girls passed out on the floor with blood pooling around her nose, the manager finally gave them the nod, telling them that they could get off the stage.

As they exited, Mello informed Matt, "I am an amazing stripper."

"Yes, Mello, you are."

"EVERYBODY FREEZE!"

Mello and Matt hit the dirt immediately, despite orders. As it turned out, Wammy's training overrode any other authority, both consciously and subconsciously. Face pressed into the filthy stage, Matt took a moment to wish he was wearing more than just his tiny undies. At least they were full of money.

"No one move. This is the INS. We have received reports of an illegal immigration service being run with this restaurant as a front. We have proof that everyone working under the employ of this restaurant is an illegal immigrant. If you cannot present your papers, you will be deported to your country of origin."

Matt whispered to Mello, "I don't think we have papers..."

"We don't exist," Mello hissed. "We don't even have real driver's licenses. We don't have birth certificates!"

"Fuck."

"But we don't work here. Maybe they won't ask us any-"

"You two, on the floor! The gay strippers who work here!"

"Fuck."

"Can you present proof of your legal residence in this country?"

Mouth open, Mello looked from Matt to the man in the uniform. When he spoke, he did his best to cover up any remaining traces of his English accent. "Um... yes. Yes we can."

"A driver's license will be sufficient for the moment."

"I... can't drive..."

"A social security card, then."

"...I don't really have one of those either, so..."

"Are you sure you can really present proof of your legal residence in this country?"

"...Apparently not..."

They turned to Matt. "Can you?"

"No..."

The leader of the little group turned back to his men. "Add these guys. Not only have they got no papers, they're trying to cover up an accent of some kind."

The largest of the men cracked his knuckles, and then sudden Matt and Mello's world was dark.

When they next opened their eyes, they were on the side of the street somewhere.

Matt sat up first, rubbing his head. "...I don't think that this is standard procedure..."

"Really, Matt? You don't think it's normal for the INS to leave people unconscious on the side of the street in..." he looked around, "...Why are we in Mexico?" He jumped to his feet, ignoring his spinning head. "Why are we in Mexico? What the fuck? Mexico?"

"Hey!" someone yelled in English.

"What'dya want, asshole!" Mello demanded.

"What do I want? I wanna know why you're so pissed off to be in my home, blondie!"

Matt knew where this was going, and he didn't even bother trying to stop it. Once Mello got going, there really wasn't a point...

"Because I was brought here against my will and I just woke up on the side of this disgusting street and-"

Matt thought that the world had been going dark a lot, lately.

When they next opened their eyes... again... they were in prison, and a guard was shaking Matt awake and asking if they wanted their phone call.

Which they did. Desperately.

Unfortunately, neither of them had their cell phones, and the only number either of them had memorized was Near's.

"You knocked over my block tower. You set my stuffed bear on fire. You put ants in my bed. You died my hair blue on Easter. You died my hair red on Christmas. You put fireworks in my closet. You put laxatives in my milk. You locked me in my room. You locked me out of my room. You pushed me down the stairs. You told the girl I liked that I had herpes. You told Mr. Wammy that I gave her herpes. You stole my homework. You stole my bed sheets. You colored all over my white puzzle. You gave my pajamas polka dots. You dumped paint on me. You dumped rice in my hair. You switched the heads of my dolls. You gave my dominos to the dog I talked Mr. Wammy into giving me. You got this dog so drunk that it threw up on my carpet. You told Mr. Wammy that the dog kept throwing up everywhere and he took it away. You buried my favorite bear. You broke my train tracks. You shaved my hair in my sleep. You burned my fourth-grade thesis. You deep-fried my cell phone. You put holes in every sock I own. You purposely broke the springs in my bed so that they creak every time I move. You are the reason I don't sleep. You are the reason I have no friends. You are the reason I hate my life. In conclusion: rot in prison, asshole."

Near slammed down the phone.

Wawaaaaa, wawa waaaaaa, waaaaaaa. Wawaaaaaa wawawawawa... waaaaaaaa... Mello adjusted his sombrero so that it wasn't blocking his harmonica-playing. Wa waaaaa, wa waaaaaa, waaaaaaaa...

Matt, hanging his arms on the thick steel bars of their cell, looked over at him and gave him a long, hard stare. "You're really terrible at dating, you know that?"