voracious

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Relationship: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Characters: Matt | Mail Jeevas, Mello | Mihael Keehl
Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, Sharing Clothes, 5+1 Things,
Canon Compliant
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-03-25 Words: 2,245 Chapters: 1/1
 voracious
by VeggiesforPresident (luridCavum)

Summary

Mello steals Matt's shirts. Matt gets a clue.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
As kids, Mello would steal Matt's shirts all the time. It was kind of Matt's fault to begin with;
Matt's favorite Pac-man shirt was getting kinda small for him, instead of throwing it out, he
stripped it off and tossed it to Mello, who was deep in his Geometry homework.

“The hell is this?” He asked, pinching the sleeve of the shirt like it was a dead thing.

“My shirt. It's too small for me, do you want it?”

“Oh.” Mello looked at it again, running his thumb and forefinger absently over the fabric,
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He pulled the shirt off his shoulder and folded it neatly, leaving it between
his textbook and his cup of pens. Then he went back to his homework, and Matt went back to
his DS.

That was just the beginning. A few weeks after that was picture day, and Mello made the
mistake of keeping his chocolate in the same bag as his shirt. It was a hot day, so when went
to change he found his new white button-up mottled with melted chocolate stains.

“Fuck,” He swore. He tried to rinse it out, and that helped a little, but the stains were still
noticeable.

Thankfully, Matt had just had his picture taken, so he pulled off his own shirt – an orange and
green striped button-up – and handed it over. Mello stared at him for a minute before taking
it. Distantly, Matt became aware that he was standing in front of Mello in just in an undershirt
and shorts, and that this felt significant for reasons he couldn't quiet articulate.

But then Mello pulled on the shirt, and the moment passed. He spends a few minutes
adjusting it, buttoning and unbuttoning the top couple of buttons, and messing with his hair.
He makes eye contact with Matt in the mirror and smiles.

“Thanks,” He says with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Matt says, his face getting warm, “Any time.”

One morning, Matt found Mello in the dining hall, eating his breakfast slop fastidiously, as
usual. Maybe it was because it was so early and he hadn't had his hot-chocolate-mixed-with-
coffee yet, but it took him a minute to realize what was different about the scene this
morning.

“Is that my shirt?” He asked, pointing.

Mello was wearing a plain black shirt. This wasn't out of the ordinary, except that his thumbs
were looped through the holes cut in the bottom of the sleeves. That was Matt's signature
move when a shirt was a little too long for him. Mello, on the other hand, would never defile
a shirt like that. He kept all his shirts folded carefully in the drawers, and even went so far as
to sew them up when they started to fray.

“Oh, is it?” Mello asked, looking down.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is.”

“Huh,” He shrugged, “I guess our laundry got messed up.”

He went back to eating, unbothered.

“Is that it?”

He looked up again.

“I'll give it back to you next week.”

Matt huffed.

“Sure, whatever.”

He sauntered off to get his own plate of slop. They were out of regular coffee, so he had to
get decaf, which he thought should be considered a crime.

He didn't get his shirt back. In fact, later on, he spotted Mello wearing one of his signature
black and white striped shirts to bed. At least, Matt assumed he'd be wearing it to bed, since
he paired it with a pair of plaid pajama pants. There was no way Mello didn't know that's not
his; It was way too big for him and the sleeves were long enough to completely cover his
hands.

Matt was about to say something, but then Mello caught his eye in the mirror. He had a
mouth full of toothpaste foam, but he smiled at Matt with his eyes. His hair was back into a
ponytail to keep it off his face, and Matt could see the tag on his shirt flipped up against his
neck, right next to a small freckle that Matt had never noticed. Suddenly, he had the strongest
urge to reach over press his finger against it. His fingers were always cold, so Mello would
jump and probably swear at him.
He didn't do that, because the thought made a weird feeling start to flip around in his gut, and
he didn't know what it means. He didn't say anything, either. Whatever. He had other shirts,
anyway.

The next time Matt caught Mello wearing his shirt was late one afternoon. Well, this time
was less 'catching' and more of 'intentionally offering', but it made Matt feel caught off-guard
regardless.

Some of the kids were invited into town for a special dinner, on account of them getting the
highest exam scores. Mello was among them. Matt was not. This didn't bother him, though.

The problem was that Mello had thought he had a good shirt, but when he pulled it out of the
washing machine, it was pink.

“Can I borrow one of yours?” He asked Matt sheepishly, holding his ruined shirt up for Matt
to see.

Matt took his goggles off to see it properly. It wasn't even fully pink, but dappled up one side
like a scar.

“Yeah, sure,” He said, throwing open his closet. It was pretty sparse, all things considered,
but he was pretty sure he had a couple decent shirts in there.

“Thanks,” Mello said, and dug through it.

He came out with a black button up with an embroidered pattern around the collar and wrists.
Huh, Matt forgot he even had that one. Mello tried it on, leaving the top two buttons undone.
He studied himself in the mirror on the back of the door, tucking and untucking the shirt,
checking himself at various angles.

“Hm. Yeah, this'll work.”

He rolled the sleeves up and tucked the shirt into his pants. Matt's mouth went dry when he
turns to look at him.

“How do I look?” He asked.

“Uhh,” He said, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked... good. So good he made Matt wish
he were going to the stupid dinner, just so he could spend an evening looking at Mello
dressed like that.

Mello just smirked.

“I thought so.”
With that, he left. Matt couldn't be certain, but he's pretty sure he was swinging his hips on
the way by.

Their reunion comes at a much-needed time in Matt's life. He's between between jobs, couch
surfing, and generally trying to fly under the radar. So when he gets a call from an unknown
number that leaves a 9-second voicemail with a job offer, he'd be stupid not to take it.

It's me. I have a job for you. Call me back at –

And just like that, his childhood best friend is back in his life. His childhood best friend
turned mafia boss, apparently.

Despite being ostensibly teammates, most of their transactions are done over the phone; At
least, they are until the mafia HQ goes up in smoke and someone needs to pull Mello out of
the rubble. He never expected his irl reunion with Mello would be while half of his skin is
bubbling off, but well, beggars/choosers and all that.

Anyway. Matt patches Mello up in his tiny, rundown LA apartment, and from there they
travel across the country, following the Kira case wherever it needs them to go.

Then, one night, it happens. They're in yet another shitty rundown motel on the east coast,
just finishing up surveillance on Takada and Light. Matt is fresh out of the shower, in nothing
but boxer shorts, toweling his hair dry. Mello, on the other hand, is on the bed across from
him, scrolling idly on his laptop. Only, he's wearing Matt's shirt. The shirt he specifically
took out to wear after his shower.

“The hell?” He says, kicking the box spring, “That's my shirt.”

Mello doesn't look up.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Can I have it back?”

Now he looks up, glancing at Matt and then back at the screen.

“No.”

Matt blinks.

“Why not?”

Mello sighs and sits up, shutting the laptop with a click. He makes no attempt to hide the way
his eyes sweep Matt's body.
“Seriously,” Matt says, trying to ignore the way the heat is rising up his neck, “You were
always so weird about that back at school, what gives?”

“Really, Matt?” He asks, giving him a pointed look.

What the hell is that supposed to –

Oh.

Oh, duh.

For a genius, Matt can be pretty fuckin' stupid sometimes.

They didn't have good lives, as a general rule. Hell, they were both orphans before the age of
10, then groomed to be world-class detectives not long after that. Now, caught up in this Kira
nonsense, he can pretty much guarantee that the rest of it is going to be nasty and brutish and
short. But that doesn't stop Matt from reaching over and placing his hand against Mello's
jutting hipbone, or pulling him in by his rosary. When their mouths connect, Matt pictures the
trembling graph that is his lifeline, and he knows this moment, however brief, will be a high
point.

Mello takes his face in his hands and kisses him. He kisses like he lives: full throttle,
desperate, his tongue tracing over Matt's crooked teeth with no prelude. Matt skates his other
hand over the bulge in Mello's underwear, earning a gasp, before it finds his other hipbone
and pulls him close, knocking the two of them back onto the bed, the blond half-on-top of
him, his hips bracketing Matt's knees.

The sex is somewhere in-between frantic and tender. Matt smells of shampoo and cheap soap
and the greasy Chinese takeout they had for dinner, and Mello smells like chocolate and
leather and laundry detergent. They make quick work of the few clothes they have on, save
for the-shirt-that's-supposed-to-be-Matt's. They bite hard enough to leave marks that won't
fade by morning. They grab, pull, twist at each other, trying to get ever closer.

If he's being honest, Matt has never cared about much in his life. He had his games, and his
computers, and when that wasn't enough, he had his drugs. But now, feeling Mello shudder
around him as he tugs on his dick, he has two thoughts in quick succession: One, why hadn't
they done this sooner? Two, fuck, he wishes they had more time.

Mello seems to read the thoughts on his face, because he wraps a hand around the back of
Matt's head and pulls him closer, panting into his mouth as Matt work his dick. Matt wants to
memorize just the right speed and pressure that makes him lose it. He's known for a while
that Mello is an active participant in all things, and apparently, that includes sex. That is to
say, Mello is fucking loud. He moans into Matt's mouth, around his tongue, and it vibrates
down his chest. Matt can't get enough. He pumps harder, faster, frantic, and Mello responds
in kind, canting his hips and practically mewling with pleasure.

In the end, Matt gets come in his eye and on his hair, but he gets to return the favor down
Mello's throat, so it's not that bad. Mello, for his part, does his best to swallow, but he doesn't
get all of it, so a few fat droplets dribble out the side of his mouth. It's a good look on him.
Matt goes boneless afterwards, strung out like he'd just run a marathon. More than that, it
feels like he'd just done the one thing he'd been wanting to do literally his entire life.

Mello comes up and wraps his arm around his shoulder, like he used to when they were kids.
Only this time, he kisses Matt's jaw before resting his head on his chest.

"Shit, man," Matt says breathlessly.

Mello chuckles.

"You can say that again."

“Shit, man.”

Mello's laugh rumbles against him.

With his hand that isn't trapped under Mello, Matt gropes around the nightstand for his
cigarettes. He puts one between his teeth, but his hand is a little shaky and he can't get it to
light.

Of course, then Mello takes it from him and gets it in one go.

“You're welcome.”

"Figures," He grumbles.

"What can I say, Matty? I'm the best," He says with his signature smirk.

Matt laughs.

"You're somethin', that's for sure."

Mello pinches his nipple. Matt yelps.

"Aw, fuck you."

"Well, if you want to..."

Matt... Considers it for a few seconds, but the languid post-orgasm tired has begun to creep
his way into his belly.

"Ehh," He says, "Tomorrow, maybe."

He can feel Mello smile.

The blond starts playing idly with Matt's chest hair.

They don't say anything for a little while after that. The two of them are illuminated gold in
the dull light of the lamp on the nightstand. Matt pats Mello's head, running his fingers
through his blow-dry soft hair. He lets the gentle, curving path of Mello's fingers against his
chest lull him to sleep.
It reminds him of when they were kids, the two of them against the world, only now that
takes on a much more literal meaning. In the morning, they will have a job to do. They will
have surveillance to record and wounds to patch up. But for now, they have this. They have
each other. For right now, that's enough.
End Notes

i think my 13 yr old self would be proud of this fic and thats what matters. anyway, this was
inspired by a tumblr post by allaboutthems, thanks for the inspiration!!

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!