cleverprongs

Part four, baby.

2008-03-12T03:47:39Z

It's finally fucking done. Doney done done.

Title: Second and Third
Author: cleverprongs
Beta'd by: l0onyl0opylupin
Series: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG13 for language
Spoilers: The little canon of Matt and Mello's backstory
Summary: Days O' the Wammy's House

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

“I think we both know why you’re in here,” says Roger.

Matt thinks about it. HE thought it was some sort of mandatory meeting that all the kids had to go to—why else would he AND Mello get called in?

“A Very Wammy Meeting?” Matt giggles at his own joke. Roger glares at him and waits for the laughing to stop.

“No, Mathew, we are here to talk about a certain foul habit you’ve seemed to develop.”

“But, sir, ‘Matt’ isn’t sort for anyth-”

“That’s quite enough, Mathew. Now, if you will kindly remain silent while I speak.”

Mathew. Where the hell had Roger gotten that?

“I was sifting through the files yesterday and happened upon your download history. You have been frequenting many sites, I have deduced, that involve human females and the nakedness thereof. Kindly tell me what you have to say for yourself.”

“I…I was…searching for reference photos.”

Roger raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, it’s true. You see, I want to be a forensic artist. You know…look at skulls and stuff and then, er, recreate what the faces might have looked like to help solve crime.”

Matt had no idea he was so damn creative. He’d better role with it.

“But, Mathew, you have shown not the slightest bit of aptitude for art. You made Linda cry with your rendition of her.”

She only cried a little, Matt thinks, and that was because he accidentally gave Stick Figure Linda a penis. But he erased it, didn’t he?

“That was an inside joke, sir. I’m really quite talented.”

Roger is unfazed by the lie. “Good. Then you will take weekly art lessons with Bernice.”

Bernice? The logic teacher?

“Yes. We are trying out a new course called the Logic of Art. You will serve as the Guinea Pig, and it will serve as your punishment. It’s a win-win deal, which you have lost.”

Matt furrows his brow.

“Don’t furrow your brow at me. Furthermore, we will be installing a filter on your computer, and you will only be able to visit an online dictionary, thesaurus, and encyclopedia henceforth.”

Whatever. Matt could just hack it.

“And I will be performing weekly checks to make sure you haven’t hacked it.”

“Damn,” says Matt.

“Don’t fucking curse,” says Roger. “By the way,” he adds, as an afterthought “you are ranked third in the institution.”

“WHAT?”

“Precisely what I said. Don’t know what that says about the institution. But yes, Mathew. Near is first, Mello is second, and you are third. A distant, dim third.”

Matt actually sneezes out of surprise, which had never happened before. Roger wipes his glasses disdainfully.

“Very well, off you go. Your Art Logic lessons will begin this Tuesday and will last from seven to ten pm. Good day.”

Matt wipes his nose and leaves.

When Matt comes back to his room, he finds Mello on his bed, staring at the wall and looking livid.

“What’s wrong, Mello?”

“Two and three tenths of a point, that’s what’s fucking bloody wrong mutherfuckingfuckinghell. FUCK!”

“What?”

“That’s how much Near beat me by. That small of an amount. But I can’t fucking reach him however small it is.” Mello pauses, looking thoughtful. “He must die by falling into the toilet and drowning. It’s the only solution.” Mello gets up and looks around wildly. “Have you got a wrench?”

“What for?”

“To rig Near’s toilet, motherfucker!”

“Mello, you can’t do that.”

“Why not, bitch-ass?”

“Because—Hey, I am NOT a bitch-ass! Because I don’t own a wrench. And because you know nothing about toilets. And because that’s a stupid way to murder a marshmallow.”

Mello flops back down on the bed. “You’re right. He would probably just get his bottom wet and nothing else.”

Matt resents the mental image. Mello slowly seems to become a normal human again. “So, what did Roger need to talk to you for?”

“He wanted to tell me that I was a bad child who looked at porn. And that I’m third at Wammy’s.”

“WHAT?”

WHY was everybody having this reaction?

“Yes.”

“No you aren’t.”

“YES I AM. I’m not stupid, Mello. You know I do well on all those tests. And I have good technical skills and hand-eye coordination and depth perception and crap.”

“Hm. I guess you’re not lying.”

Matt would’ve fumed if he hadn’t just been shamed by Roger. He was getting used to it.

“Fine. So Near is first, you’re second, and I’m third. That’s how it is. Now, what are you actually gonna DO about it? Besides complain at me?”

“I’m gonna beat him.”

“At what?”

“I don’t know. I just will.”

“And does this plan involve a certain toilet?”

“No, I’m serious. I need to be the best.”

“Okay, sure, be the best you can be. Hey, if I get my Game Boy to work again can I show you my pokémon?”

Mello thought for a while.

“Sure.”

Matt accidentally lets out a genuine, high pitched “Yay!”

“Damn pokétard. Oh, and Matt, where in God’s name did you get that you had good depth perception? Because my nose begs to differ.”

Matt blinks.

“Better luck next time?”

Mello looks thoughtful.

“Sure. Why not.”

***

Fin.

...A Bit More Crack, I Feel

2007-09-23T06:50:41Z

Title: Matt's His Own Grandpa
Author: Cleverprongs
Fandom: Death Note
Rating: PG13 for langauge
Notes: I have most likely paraphrased the song, and was too impatient to wait for my lovely beta.
Apologies: to the creators of Death Note, and also Willie Nelson

Ten or so Wammy’s House children were being taught logic by a shriveled teacher named Bernice, a stern woman who had clearly seen better days. Though most students were listening to the lesson with rapt attention, one boy was desperately trying to figure out the song “I Am My Own Grandpa.”

“Surely not!” Matt had thought upon first hearing the song. “That rarely ever happens.”

But yet, sitting in the class where Mello was frantically scribbling notes, Matt was sure that somehow, someway, the man in the song was his own grandfather.

As the aged teacher began to point at the board with emphasis, Matt went through the song in his head.

Many, many years ago
When I was twenty-three
I was married to a widow who was pretty as can be
This widow had a grown up daughter
Had hair of red
My father fell in love with her and soon the two were wed

Okay, Matt thought. Simple, simple logic. (Finally, a legitimate use.) This man had married a woman old enough to have a grown-up daughter, whom his father then married.

“When, in making an argument, an original assumption is incorrect…” Droned Bernice.

Because his father was married to his (the man’s, not the father’s) stepdaughter, the man’s stepdaughter was also his stepmother. (“My daughter was my mother, for she was my father’s wife.”)

So far so good.

“And so, we can tell that since assertion A is shown to be false by conflicting example, conclusion C is irrelevant in manners of…” Bernice continued, noting a red-haired boy who was clearly failing to pay attention.

So, because than man was married to the mother of his stepmother(/daughter) he was his own stepgrandpa!

“Yes!” Matt yelled, “It checks out! IT CHECKS OUT! He really is his own grandpa!”

He looked up to see the entire class staring at him at horror. Mello looked particularly revolted, and mouthed something to the effect of ‘No sex tonight!”

Matt opened his mouth to explain himself, but the withered teacher had already whipped out a dunce cap—from seemingly nowhere—and placed it on Matt’s unsuspecting head. The same hand then jerked him to a stool in the corner of the room that he had previously failed to notice. Bernice shoved his bottom on the stool rather roughly, with a cry of “so you may think about what you have done!”

And there he stayed in his dunce cap, stunned and frightened. When he thought Bernice was sufficiently out of earshot, he tried to comfort himself with a little song.

“I am my own grandpa,” he sang. Slowly, quietly, voice edged with tears. “It sounds funny I know, but it really is so. I am my own. Grand…paa.”

Second and Third--Part Three

2007-07-26T03:16:37Z

Title: Second and Third
Author: cleverprongs
Beta'd by: l0onyl0opylupin
Series: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: PG13 for language and shonen-ai
Summary: Days of the Wammy's House

Part One is here.

Part Two is here.

A sharp slap to the forehead wakes Matt up at eight in the morning. It takes him a little while to process what is going on, because normally there is nothing in his bed that would react that way to him sleeping…oh right, Mello.

“Did I not tell you to set the alarm?”

It’s too bright in the room at this obscenely early hour; Matt would really like his goggles. He gropes around his bed to find them. Mello grabs both of Matt’s hands and sharply turns him so that he’s looking up at Mello’s glaring face.

“Pay attention, Matt. This is the Kira case. This is L’s life on the line. This is the only reason we’re in this fucking orphanage.”

Mello leans in for dramatic effect and Matt lets out a yawn. They both take a minute to let the horror of what Matt has done sink in.

Mello grows slightly purple with rage and leans in farther for a good, stern scolding. Matt finds the whole ordeal outrageously funny. Perhaps, Matt thinks, he can lighten the mood in an odd way and then they can have a good laugh and go back to sleep as God intended it.

As Mello begins to open his mouth to scold Matt, Matt leans in to kiss Mello, proud of his crafty, spur-of-the-moment plan.

For one very long second, Matt can only think that, dear Lord, what he is kissing doesn’t feel like lips.

He pulls back and sees Mello looking deeply repulsed.

“Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Please tell me that you didn’t just kiss my nose. Please.”

Mello wipes a bit of Matt-spittle from his nose. Matt tries to change the subject by going back to sleep.

Pillow over the head, good good. Blanket up to cover the pillow that is over the head, yes. Good. Quite good. No one will find him here, he, the boy who kisses the noses of the angry.  He stays still and quiet.

“Please come out of that burrow, Matt. I promise I won’t scold you.”

Matt stays very still, for if he does, he is sure that he Mello will not be able to see him. He, the boy who kisses NOSES.

“Ol’ Kissy-Nosey, they’ll call me!” wails Matt from beneath his blankets.

“That will only happen if I share the tale. And believe me, I will not. I don’t want to be known as Ol’ Kissy-Nosey’s first victim. The one who started it all.”

Mello dissolves into a fit of cackling. Matt clenches his jaw.
His jaw is still clenched when Mello swiftly pulls the blanket and pillow off Matt.

“Really, Matt. I’m not angry. It’s just that I’ve never ever pictured you as the sort who would go for the nostrils. And it was a bit shocking. And I think I’m developing a cold, so I hope you don’t mind being sick.”

Matt, still too mortified to produce a response, covers his eyes with his arms and refuses to acknowledge that he ever woke up.

Mello still hovers over him.

“Are you going to speak to me, Matt?”

Matt shakes his head.

“Oh, for Fuck’s sake,” says Mello.

A second later Matt feels warm, awkward lips on his. And can vaguely smell chocolate and sort of taste it, too. He is flooded with relief, mostly because he is kissing a non-angry Mello, and a little because this doesn’t involve any sort of nose.

Matt realizes that he still has an arm covering his eyes and shifts so that it is almost around Mello’s waist.  In the back of his mind, he notes that he has never been quite so comfortable and moves to kiss Mello’s mouth from every angle he can get at, admiring his own impeccable aim.

Someone’s tongue may or may not have been out when there was a brief knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Elderly Eleanor, the closet thing the Wammy’s House had to a counselor.

Matt instinctively retracts his tongue and flings Mello off him and the floor with a dull thud.

Matt and Mello look at Eleanor.

Eleanor looks at Matt and Mello.

Mello blushes for the first time in recent history.

Eleanor’s jowls tremble.

There is much blinking all around.

“First off,” says Eleanor, “Roger would like to see Mello in his office at 2:00, and Matt at 2:30.”

“Second off…never mind.”

The door clicks shut and Matt can hear mutterings of “Not that kind of orphanage!” from the other side.

Mello glares at Matt.

“What?”

“The tongue was a bit extreme.”

Oh dear God, Matt thinks. I was trying to lick my chum.

“I…like…girls?” Matt states.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I didn’t mean to…I had no plan to…I thought it would be funny if…you look. Look like girl—blonde, very…taste nice. Sorry. So sorry. Don’t hit, Mello. Don’t hit.”

“Let me get this straight. You didn’t even…want me to? I just gave Eleanor an acute heart attack because I decided to, erm…kiss Ol’ Kissy Nosey?”

“Don’t call me that!” Matt snaps.

Mello’s mouth curls into a grin.

“Now who’s the schlampe?”

“I…leave me ‘lone. And wake me up before you go to Roger’s office.”

Matt returns to sleep, with all sorts of horrifying dreams waiting for him.

A Little Bit of Crack

2007-07-24T08:12:44Z

I...couldn't sleep. So I bring you Matt and Mello purchase Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Because they totally would.

Title: Mello/Matt and the Late Night Book Release
Author: cleverprongs
Beta'd by: absolutely no one
Rating: PG 13 for excessive use of words beginning with 'F'
Series: Death Note
Warnings: This will make no sense unless you are a rabid fan of both Death Note and Harry Potter. (Haha, I just wrote "rabit fan.") And also, I'm sorry.

Mello glared at Matt.

“You look perfectly ridiculous, you know.”

Indeed, Matt did look very ridiculous when he dressed up as Ronald Weasley.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Matt, gesturing to his homemade Hogwarts robes. “I thought it turned out rather nicely, all things considered.”

“Ron,” Mello seethed, “does not wear goggles. Take them off.”

“You do realize, Mello, that Draco doesn’t have a blonde bob, right?”

Mello muttered something about Pansy Parkinson. Indeed, Matt soon realized that Mello was wearing a Hogwarts skirt rather than Hogwarts trousers. The skirt rustled slightly in the wind.

“You…put on a...cross-dressing…you know what? Never mind. We’ll be the last to get our books if we don’t hurry.”

“Like I’m letting those filthy muggles get a book before me.”

Matt dearly wanted to point out that Mello was a muggle, and a boy muggle at that, but instead he merely sighed followed him to the bookstore.

Mello and Matt arrived, panting, at the bookstore at ten till eight, just when the crowd began picking up. When Mello realized that he would not be first in line, he punched Matt for general tardiness (which Mello had caused) and went to steal the ticket from whichever whiny child had gotten Ticket Number one.

“Mello, LET GO!” cried Near, clinging onto his ticket for dear life. “I arrived early specifically so I could get the book as soon as it was released! Ow!”

Mello had seized him by the hair.

“And who the fuck are you supposed to be?” screeched Mello. “Collin-fucking-Creevey? Collin F. Creevey is not fucking albino! You are unfit! You are a disgrace! Now, give me the ticket!”

“Please unhand me, Mello. I can see up your skirt.”

Mello dropped near and covered his front-bottom-area in one swift movement.

“You could not! Prove it!”

“They were Slytherin-themed. Isn’t that outdoing it a bit?”

But Mello had already run off to find Matt.

Mello rounded a corner and found Matt giggling in the Sexual Health section of the book store with a Hermione. And he was giggling because they were doing naughty things!

Mello, who had already had his night ruined quite enough, thank you very much, shoved the Hermione out of the way and licked Matt’s neck defiantly.

“This Goggle-Ron is mine, bitch,” he said to the frightened girl.

“Mello, quit licking my n—stop! What on earth? You normally keep your spittle to yourself. And she was nice. She complimented my trousers.”

“That’s because she wanted in them.”

To Mello’s fury, Matt saw no problem with this.

“Look, Pansy,” said Matt, interrupting himself with a giggle, “you’re loosing sight of why we are here. This is a very big event, and it is to do with Noble Harry, not you.”

But Mello had quickly hidden behind a bookshelf and dragged Matt with him.

“Are we having book-release sexy sexy?” asked Matt.

“No, idiot. Near is coming and I want to ambush him for his ticket.”

Matt left to go to the back Sexual Health section.

“3…2…1…WOOOOOOOOOOOOT,” yelled the crowed. Collectively.

Mello cried bitter tears as he watched Near scurry up to purchase his copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

“There, there,” said Matt, crying a little behind his goggles. “I’m sure Harry will triumph in the end!”

Mello picked a wedgy caused by his Slytherin underwear.

“Yes, Matt. I’m sure he will.”

Second and Third (Part Two)

2007-06-24T06:36:44Z

Matt is flying down the hallway, or at least something close to flying. Mello, who still has him by the wrist, is running down the hall so quickly that Matt’s feet aren’t given much opportunity to touch the ground between leaps. He would tell Mello to slow down, if he had any breath to say it with. They run until they are out of the building and past the sports facilities, finally collapsing at the expanse of grass between the football fields and the gardens.

“Matt, I can’t let Near win. I can’t.”

Matt does have to admit that this is an awful time for Mello to always be one step behind Near.

“Are you crying?”

“Fuck off.”

Matt sits alone in his room, contemplating the meaning of “fuck off.” Fuck off means going in to hug someone and being shoved away. It means making an ill-time joke and being spat on. It means having your Game Boy taken away and then thrown at you. Now he will never be able to catch ‘em all. That Mello is a cruel boy.

Matt abandons the thought of his Game Boy ever working properly again and takes the opportunity to flop dramatically on his bed. Instead of being angsty and glorious and seductive, Matt feels his head crash against the wall and screams “OH MY JESUS FUCK!”

Mello hears through the wall that separates their room.

“Jesus fuck will not save you now! Shut up so I can study! Bastard…” Mello trails off into barely audible cursing, then into a stream of German that is truly nasty.

“I am not a schlampe, Mello. It is you who is the scarlet woman.”

Mello appears in Matt’s door way, beet-red from anger, with bits of sweaty blonde hair sticking to his face. Matt tries very hard not to laugh, but that does nothing to prevent the “tee-hee!” that comes out of his mouth.

Mello makes as though to raise a fist at Matt but gives up half-way through the motion, remembering that Matt is considerably stronger and would laugh even harder if Mello were to try to beat him up.

“What was that interesting little arm-flop, Mello? Do it again! It was delightfully fruity.”

Mello explains to Matt why he has been so terribly upset. Tells him that he knows it’s childish and irrational and immature, but he would like nothing more than to draw obscene things on all of Near’s stupid little toys and then throw them into a swamp and no, a swamp doesn’t exist anywhere near the Wammy’s House, but if he tried he could perhaps make one and then place Near in it too. Then he, Mello, would be indisputably number one. Matt stares at him blankly.

“English, Mello. English. Besides the naughty words I made you teach me, I don’t understand a thing in German.”

“Oh. I just said that I want to get something to eat.”

Matt knows that it can’t possibly take five times as long to say that same sentence in German as in English, but he knows that asking Mello to repeat himself truthfully will distract Mello from his apparent forgiveness. Matt stands up and gets ready to accompany Mello to the cafeteria for some pre-lunch chocolate.

They get to the hallway when Mello doubles back to his room to retrieve an ominously large book. Matt waits for an explanation but receives none. Instead, he settles for looking scholarly while Mello walks with his nose very close to the book, muttering loudly enough that Matt can hear him, but just softly enough that Matt can’t make out any individual words.

Matt tries desperately to create some kind of conversation, but finds that it’s impossible to do so with a person who is already talking quietly to himself.

Once at the cafeteria, Matt plops himself down at his regular table while he waits for Mello to get his chocolate. Mello doesn’t seem to notice that Matt has stopped walking with him as he goes through the line, grabs a few chocolate bars, and sits at the same table as Matt without so much as looking up from the book.

Surely, Matt thinks, Mello will look up soon.

Mello continues to mutter.

“You know that’s insanely creepy, right?” asks Matt.

Mello gives a full body twitch.

“Ack! You surprised me. Don’t do that to me when I’m reading—it’s like me taking away one of your games as you’re playing it.”

“Which you did. My Game Boy lies broken and dying on my floor.”

“That’s hardly the point. This is much more important than your games. If I’m going to get ahead of Near, there are certain things I need to improve on.”

“Like what?”

“Logic. Psychology. Criminal psychology, specifically. You realize how Near always does slightly better than me in those classes, right?”

“Well…yes.”

“It is because he is more logical than me.”

“I suppose so.” Matt wonders what has gotten into Mello.

“So I’m going to improve my skills, and behave and think more logically and rationally than Near ever could.” Matt looks over at the other tables and spots Near, who is calmly completing his third 1000-plus piece puzzle of the day. Then he looks back at Mello, whose eye gives an involuntary twitch.

Mello, Matt thinks, fails to see the problems with this reasoning.

“Mello, perhaps you ought to put the book down and go get some regular food. Lunch is about to start and you always get a bit crazy when you haven’t eaten. Now let’s take this book,” Matt delicately picks up Decoding the Criminal Mind, “give it back to the librarian, and eat.”

Mello retrieves the book that Matt has placed beside and uses it to thwap Matt over the head.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“You want me to eat? Go get me some more chocolate. I have things to read. Levels of logicalness…logicality…Levels of Better than Near to reach. And you, quite frankly, are not helping.”

“Okay. Fine. But if I get you more chocolate and be quiet about your book will you play some video games with me tonight?”

Mello thinks this over.

“Will you tell the cafeteria ladies that the chocolate is to ease your womanly pains?”

“My womanly whats? Oh never mind. I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

“Okay. Then I’ll play with you tonight.”

Matt lies in bed, staring at the ceiling again. Earlier that day, he had resolved to behave himself. He had bought Mello some more chocolate (while he clutched his abdomen and wailed about it being his time of the month) and ignored the fact the Mello refused to eat a decent lunch. He had refrained from making farting jokes while Mello read his book. He had even walked Mello back to his room in silence.

But now it is about three in the morning and Mello has yet to show up for the video-gaming fun.

When Matt goes to enter Mello’s room, he finds that the door is locked, but he can see that the lights are on.

“Mello! Open up! You’ve made a promise that you haven’t fulfilled and it displeases me. Now come out! I’ve got the new Spider-man game!”

After knocking on the door for several more minutes, Matt tries to get Mello’s attention by sticking two of his fingers under the door to give a rude gesture. The fingers are promptly stepped on.

“I’m really busy Matt. Could you kindly fuck off? And throw these wrappers away from me?” Mello slips seven or so chocolate bar wrappers under the door.

Matt walks defeated back to his room to enjoy his new game by himself. But after a couple minutes of playing, he finds that it’s not much fun if Mello isn’t there to comment on the spandex Spidey suit.

He could, theoretically, go back into the hall and kick and punch the door some more, but the walls are already paper thin, so Matt simply talks through the one the joins their rooms.

“Mello. Meelllloooo. Mellooloo. Meelolololo. MELLO!”

Something hits the wall with a dull thud.

“MellymellyMeloopyloppy.”

“WHAT, MATT? WHAT IS IT, YOU GODFORSAKEN TWO-YEAR-OLD?”

A brief silence, and then…

“Wanna play a video game?”

A very loud sigh, and then…

“Only for a little bit. And don’t ever call me Meloopyloppy again.”

Sitting in his room, Matt watches in horror as Mello beats him at a video game for the first time Matt can remember. After all, it is he, not Mello, who dutifully stares at screens all day.

Even though the game is over, and Mello’s side of the screen is flashing “WINNER!” Matt notices that Mello is still gripping the controller with a vengeance, and the veins in his forearms are sticking out in a way that could not possibly be misconstrued as attractive. Mello’s mouth is set in a grimace.

“Mello, you won. You can calm down now.”

“Huh? Oh, I guess you’re right.” Mello lets the controller drop to his side and leans against Matt’s bed.

Looking at Mello, who has finally let his guard down, Matt finds that he looks awfully pretty in that frail sort of way. Mello would make an amazing girl.

“You would make an amazing girl,” Matt tells Mello.

Though Matt had been expecting some sort of outburst, Mello merely cracks one eye open and asks “But in that really manly way, right?” as he pulls another bar of chocolate out of his pocket.

“Not quite.”

Normally Mello wouldn’t tolerate the sort of banter that led to statements characterizing him as feminine. Matt realizes how truly exhausted Mello must be.

“What will you do when you go back to your room?” Matt asks.

“Um. Probably finish that book, note the key points, apply them to recent cases and start on another book.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that,” Matt says, patting Mello on the shoulder. “You’re going to stay here long enough for me to make sure that you get a bit of sleep before your next day of Crazy.”

“Matt, I’m not having a sleepover party with you, if that’s what you’re implying. That would be laughable. It’s what Linda and her little friends do. I hear can hear them at it through my wall.”

“Well, we won’t braid each other’s hair or anything. Last time I tried that you hit me.”

Matt goes to his closet and retrieves his extra blankets. He is busily arranging them in a comfortable way on the floor so Mello will have a place to sleep. When he looks up from his task, he finds that Mello gotten comfortable on his bed.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor, Matt. If you’re going to force me into a slumber party, you get to endure your own filthy carpet.”

“Fine,” says Matt, using a stuffed bulbasaur as a pillow. “G’night, and no sneaking back to your books.”

“G’night, Matt. No sneaking to your pornography.”

Matt closes his eyes and tries to ignore the fact that his carpet actually is quite stinky. His neck hurts a bit and he shifts to what would be a more comfortable position, had the thumbtack he had lost weeks ago not found its way into his side.

“Oh my shi-”

“MATT, shut up. Oh, and will you set an alarm for six in the morning? I don’t want to sleep away my self-improvement time.”

“Sure.” Matt unplugs his clock, insuring that nothing will wake him up. “I’ll set it.”

Reclining against Bulbasaur, Matt tries to gather the blanket about himself and pretend the floor isn’t so bad after all. But he finds that blanket always fails to cover his feet all the way, which shouldn’t be a big deal, because he’s accidentally left his sneakers on. And the rest of his clothes.

He locates his pyjamas and tries to change under the covers, but can’t see what he’s doing and spends five minutes trying to shove his head through the armhole.

“For chrissakes, Matt. It’s not as though you’ve got a bosom that I might accidentally see. You are quite flat. Just get into your clothes like a normal person. I’ll even look away.”

Relieved, Matt properly sheds his clothing and is in the act of pulling on his sleeping pants when he discovers that Mello has failed to look away.

Matt throws his goggles at him.

“You really ought to stop doing things like that.”

“Aw. But your pasty skin looks so lovely. It very nearly glows in the dark.”

Matt now deeply regrets ever suggesting that Mello stay in his room, but knows that it’s too late to kick Mello out. Back under his spare blankets, he tries again to relax but grows steadily colder and notes the blankets feeling steadily thinner. In his mind’s eye, he is sure his toes are turning blue. He can just see Mello finding him in the morning, dead of hypothermia, with a fixed expression of quiet desperation on his face, his toes like frozen blueberries.

The image becomes so vivid that he leaps up and into his own bed, terrifying Mello but not really caring. He flings the covers over himself and sidles up to Mello for additional warmth. All a matter of survival.

“Zaah, Matt, scoot over. I can feel your toes and that’s just weird.”

“But you’re warm. And you smell like chocolate. I’m staying here.”

“Fine, but if you wake up and find that you are on the ground, it’s because you’re cold and smell like gamer.”

“Okay. G’night, Mello.”

Mello squirms so that he is no longer in contact with Matt’s feet.

“G’night, Matt.”

FIC: Second and Third (Part 1)

2007-05-30T06:37:00Z

Title: Second and Third
Author: cleverprongs
Beta'd by: l0onyl0opylupin
Pairing: Matt/ Mello
Rating: PG13 for language
Spoilers: The little cannon of Matt and Mello's backstory
Summary: Days O' the Wammy's House

This is my first fanfic EVER, and I like to imagine I'm charming. Constructive criticism, if disguised as compliments, is welcome. So. Erm. Here:

“And fat, too.”

Matt looks up from his video game, temporarily unaware of where he is or why Mello is curled up at the foot of his bed. Snarling. Like a very angry, very blonde, monkey.

“Uh-huh,” Matt agrees, not knowing what to. He only has one life left in the game, and he doesn’t want Mello to mess it up just yet.

“Ha! So you admit it! Near is fat. Fucking fat. And smelly.” Mello has a triumphant gleam in his eyes, which Matt ignores.

“Oh, that was what you were going on about? Mello, you know full well that Near isn’t any fatter than you are.”

Mello looks like he’s ready to cry. Matt pauses the game to undo the mistake.

“No, no. I didn’t mean you were fat. I meant that you’re both skinny.”

He sees the tears forming now.

“Underweight, even. With girl-like frailty. Model-esque…can I just go back to the game?” His goggles are fogging up from all the anxiety.

“Only if you admit that Near smells.”

“Near smells like a public lavatory on a hot summer’s day, as his mother did before him,” says Matt. Mello looks like he could kiss him, which Matt ignores.

Matt flicks the game back on. This sort of thing is an almost daily occurrence at the Wammy’s House. After a long day of seething envy, Mello plops himself down in Matt’s room and rants and raves about Near. If Mello really set his mind to it, he would come up with insults that had a bit more credence than “smells bad” and “is fat.”

After a few minutes, Matt is again completely immersed in his game, only occasionally hearing phrases like “great, hairy donkey” and “stupid as fuck-all” over the sounds of the game. He’s about to get to a new level when Mello yanks him back to reality. By the hair.

“Gyaah! Jesus Chri-”

Matt drops the controller in shock as he is actually dragged away from his PlayStation. When he is a few feet away, Mello sits on his lap to prevent him from getting up. The shock and indignity of it all leaves Matt with no escape route, and in the end he settles for crossing his arms and feigning a look of apathy. He wants to give off the vibe that if Mello hadn’t pinned him down, he would choose be there anyway. Chillin’. The goggles fog up again.

“Dammit, Matt, could you please listen to me when I talk to you?”

Matt tries to choke out something about the character in the game, who will surely die if Matt isn’t returned to his original place at once, but what comes out is a strangled cry of “Glasfomop!”

Mello shrugs and casually examines the bit of Matt’s hair that he’s still holding. Matt wants to die.

“How odd. I didn’t know how much red there is. Or is it auburn?”

Matt sits horrified as his face adopts the same colour as his hair, thoroughly wishing that Mello would get the hell off him, which is what is exactly what he tells him to do.

“Why?” asks Mello, rooting his feet firmly into the carpet.

Matt shoves him off with no small amount of force, and lets Mello know that he is heavier than he looks.

It’s only seven thirty at night, but Matt is already tucked snugly into to bed, Pokémon pyjamas on, trying to convince himself that he isn’t gay.

An hour passes. Matt’s eyes become bloodshot from starting wide-eyed at the ceiling, as though it would offer him some advice on his sexuality.

“Just go with your heart!” he imagines Mr Ceiling saying.

Matt considers the possibility that he is both gay and insane before rolling onto his stomach and plunging the pillow over his head to drown out his own thoughts.

Mr Ceiling chuckles softly.

By eleven thirty, Matt has abandoned all hope of sleep. He stands on his bed, goggles askew—hadn’t he taken them off?—looking wildly around his room for something to distract him. He finally settles on his computer. Porn. Porn is the answer. He will look up pictures of naked girls and all heterosexuality will be restored!

After half an hour of porning, Matt still cannot tell if he is straight or not. Yes, the girls are theoretically hot, but the problem lies in the fact that he is picturing Mello in their underwear.

Girlfriends! He’s had them before! Surely that makes him straight. He crawls back into bed to think it over.

He went out with Rachel for about a week, but that was probably because she was a female version of him. They broke up because he stole her favourite striped shirt. Bitch. It looks better on him anyway.

Linda. Three weeks, but they called it quits after he shoved his tongue down her throat in a fit of pubescence. After that, neither could look the other in the eye without falling into fits of snorting laughter.

Jessie. Two weeks. Cute, blonde and...a lot like Mello. Matt lets out an audible groan before flopping on his bed falling into a restless sleep.

Matt dreams that someone is clicking a mouse. This mouse-clicker (dark figure, hooded) emits stifled giggles at fairly regular intervals before continuing the clicking. Maybe it’s a Ringwraith. Or a Dementor.

The clicking slows down considerably. Matt goes back to some different dream when a piercing cackle sends both his eyes flying open.

The dark figure turns out to be Mello, in his usual all-black get up, laughing at the porn Matt had accidentally left open on the computer.

“It would be better if they weren’t bent over like that.”

Matt is still not quite awake, and mutters something that sounds horribly like “bend you over” before rolling back into his covers for more blissful sleep when Mello starts his banshee laugh again. Matt jolts straight up, sees a buxom blonde doing unmentionable things on his computer screen, and immediately tries to think of any plausible excuse for the images.

Mello is pointing at the screen now, choking on his own laughter.

“C-c,” says Mello between gasps.

“I can explain—er, what?”

“Ca-coun,”

“What, Mello? WHAT?”

“Counter sex!” Mello manages to gasp, before actually rolling on the floor laughing.

This is possibly the most embarrassed Matt has ever been in his life. There is nothing for him to do but step over Mello and delete the evidence of his naughty journey through the internet. Click. Gone is the blonde. Click. No more “hwat guurls!” Click. Click. Click. What they hell was he thinking, falling asleep with all of that up?

Mello, wiping the tears of laughter off his face, turns to face Matt.

“You know Roger sees that, right?”

Matt, who has cleverly deleted his history, is now much less pleased with himself.

“Roger sees the porn?”

“Everything your computer opens or downloads is also sent to him. He can access what you’ve been up to by going to a folder with your code. You didn’t know that?”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have chosen last night to look at the Kitchen Karma Sutra.”

This sends Mello into a fresh fit of cruel giggling.

“Jesus, Matt, they weren’t even pretty.”

“I know.”

“Just very naked.”

“Yes, Mello. I know.”

“Did you wank to it?”

“Gah! No! Don’t ask me that! Go away, you creepy, creepy little boy.” Matt crawls under his covers and prays for the release of Death. It does not come. Instead, Mello silently crawls under the covers with him and scares Matt shitless when he turns around to grab a pillow.

“You can’t go to back sleep. There’s an assembly we’re supposed to go to in twenty minutes. That’s actually why I came in. But I got distracted.” Matt closes his eyes and pretends not to hear. There is no assembly. This is a Saturday, damn it, and there is only sleepy time.

Mello takes Matt’s pillow and pulls Matt’s blanket around himself. “Busy, busy,” he says. “We’ve got to go.”

Matt looks closely at Mello. From the looks of his face, he didn’t have a very restful night either. His skin is pasty and the areas beneath his eyes are slightly purple. Fully awake now, he tries to ask Mello what the assembly is for and receives no answer.

“Mello. The assembly. What’s it about?” he tries again.

“Eru.”

Great, now Mello is speaking in nonsense words.

“What’s an eru?”

“The same thing as an L. That’s what the Japanese call him.”

“L? Mello, L! We have to go to this. Quickly. I want a good seat. And so do you.” Matt seizes Mello by the shoulders, drags him out of his bed, and leads them both out the door and into the hallway.

“Matt, sexy though they are, you can’t go to the assembly in your Pokémon jim-jams.”

Matt looks down, sees a Pikachu grinning up at him, and darts back into his room to change.

Pants off, jeans on. Shirt off. Striped one on. Jacket. No. Vest. No! Yes, the vest. Yes. Good, good. No! Goggles! Gone! Oh, goggles on. Good, very good. Sneakers or boots? Sneakers or boots? Sneakers! No! Boots! No!

Mello lets out a groan. “Oh hurry up. This is ridiculous. You’re wearing practically every bit of clothing you own. We’ve only got five minutes left, fashionista.”

“Who the fuck let you in? I’m changing!”

“Yes, but not well. Your trousers are still unzipped. Up it goes. Very nice. Now let’s go.”

They both start down the hall before looking at each other and grinning madly. L. The genius they are competing to be. The break out into a run as they head towards the assembly hall.

Mello and Matt have shoved their way up to the third row, just close enough to see that Near has made it to the first row. With Tonka Trucks. Matt sees that Mello is fuming, and pats his head in a very unhelpful way.

“I hate him,” says Mello.

“I know you do,” says Matt, now unhelpfully patting Mello’s shoulder. “I know.”

“You’re going to have to stop that patting business. It’s making me want to do unkind things to you.”

Matt withdraws his hand immediately and waits for Roger to emerge and tell them what has happened to the greatest detective in the world. The room nearly silent, with the exception of fingers drumming, hearts racing, and Tonka Trunks vrooming. Finally Roger steps up to a microphone.

“Those of you who follow the news are no doubt aware of the recent deaths of criminals. The nature of the deaths rule out coincidence as a solution. This is the work of a mass murderer, who is informally known as ‘Kira.’ I’ll give you all a moment to appreciate the pun.”

Nobody does. Roger continues.

“The Japanese police force, the NPA, have requested and received L’s assistance in solving the case. Given the unexplained phenomenon surrounding it, this will easily be L’s most dangerous case to date. As such, he wishes to speed up the process of choosing a successor.”

Nervous glances all around. Mello clutches Matt’s wrist.

“With that in mind, I would like you to make a most sincere effort with all your studies and tests. Also, please prepare yourselves for any interviews L may choose to conduct.”

The children are given a Stern Look.

“You are now free to go.”

cleverprongs

Part four, baby.

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