Title: Disillusioned

Summary: Many people believed that when Mello was bested, he threw a tantrum. They'd be wrong. He came to my room.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or anything referenced. Everything in here belongs to someone that ISN'T me.

Warnings: Sexual content, cursing, all the stuff that makes life great.

Author's Note: So I don't know where this came from. I was just thinking about our favourite M's (candy aside) and this popped out. But I would like to dedicate this lovely piece to MY Mail, Mello's Favorite Reject, whom I love.

...

The date is January 25th, 2010. It was early in the morning, far too early for me to be up, but I couldn't sleep anymore, so I decided to lose myself in these mindless games I so loved. I didn't know for sure where Mello was, but I knew he was safe out there, gallivanting around for the Kira case.

I couldn't help but stare at the pixels blankly, not following Mario in his noble quest to rescue the princess, and after a while I saved and shut the game off. Then I let my shoulders slump a bit more and leaned back into the well worn cushions of that old couch that holds many memories, most of sex or cuddles. I was thinking about Mello; there wasn't exactly a pattern to my thoughts about him, just the same blonde hair and cutting grey eyes.

I'd been in orphanages all my life. My own intense blue eyes usually made couples hesitant to adopt me; I made them uncomfortable. The older I got, the more I shut out the world until I wasn't even in the adoption program because they called me too sullen. I went to Wammy's when I was seven, because I took apart a computer and put it back together in hopes that it would run better (my efforts were for naught, because the thing was old as hell and shot to shit). Apparently that was more than I should have been able to do, so they shipped me off to Wammy's.

Near came to Wammy's when I was ten. I was knocked down on the list of rankings and L's successors from first to second. I think L was disappointed, because I could have done it if I'd applied myself, but I've seen so much death and pain that being a detective doesn't appeal to me.

Mello came when I was eleven. Five years I was at Wammy's… I spent most of it sleeping or gaming. I had three or four roommates that I couldn't tell you anything about. The classes were easy, the students grew an aversion to me like I had a plague and the teachers had a problem with me gaming during their classes. I suspect L had something to do with them letting it go.

I painstakingly pulled myself away from my games to watch the little blonde terror. He came in with a presence and his anger problems were proven when some mistook him for a girl. He didn't beat the kid up, actually, but he pranked him. He was the king of pranks, really. He was interesting.

He quickly rose to second, which I didn't really care about, and maintained his place there, learning everything at an incredible pace. He grew and learned and evolved everyday and I watched the progress silently. I don't think he knew I existed. Not until one day I climbed the bell tower to be alone and found him there, brooding about being bested. A friendship blossomed and I studied with him, helped him with some of his pranks and became a sort of sidekick. All the while I fell in love.

Many people think that when he was bested by Near, he threw a hissy fit and destroyed everything in his path. They'd be wrong. He came to my room. At first, he came in and brooded. Then he came in and ranted to me while I gamed, telling me about his past and his pains. Then he'd come in and study 'till he passed out, stay in my room overnight.

Then we got older. When we were both fourteen, hormones were raging and our bodies were developing and we were finding sensations we'd never felt before. He came in one day to rant to me and found me masturbating, which I shamelessly finished with a cry of his name.

He began doing different things when he came in my room at night. Now he didn't yell himself hoarse, he experimented on me. He started shy, testing the waters, finding what we both liked. It only took a couple of months before we both found what we liked and an orgasmic medium. He came into the room and threw me on the floor, fastening a collar on me and tightening it just so that I couldn't scream, so no one would know. He was vicious and domineering and all of the aggression of his past (which isn't mine to tell) and always being second best faded out while he took it out on my all too eager body. It helped of course that during our taboo acts I vocalized how amazing he was to me and how he was always the best in my mind and body.

It always differed. Sometimes he would be dressed and out of the room before I was off of the floor. But sometimes he would stay overnight, fucking me so long and so hard that I wouldn't be able to go to class the next day. He never told me how much I meant to him, but I always knew by the small kiss he'd plant on my forehead when he was done.

My thoughts were cut short when Mello came into the apartment, softly, so unlike his loud and commanding presence I'd come to know and love. He ate a chocolate bar while laying out the suicide plan to me and when he was done, I agreed without a thought. He looked up at me with a quizzical look on his face and asked me why.

I leaned forward and kissed him in response to that. I was never good with words like he was, but I was good with actions and I poured everything I needed to say into that kiss.

I climbed into his lap and wound my arms around his neck. He took me then, gently, in a fashion he'd never done before and I knew we were going to die. But I was alright with that. Because when he was finished and I was settled back on the couch, he traded out his famed chocolate bar for my hand and kissed my forehead, murmuring and apology to me.

It wasn't quite a love confession, but it was enough for me.