19Matt compares his time with Mello, and Mello himself, to the seasons.
Some people grow up too fast, some die too young. A century, A year, sometimes a lifetime can be counted in seconds. Sometimes you have to measure it in seasons.
I don't own Death Note.
Mello is unstable, but he's also unstoppable, a force of nature. Whatever he wants will be his.
Matt is no exception. The first moment those eyes turned on him, husky blue and shimmering bright, like moonlight on frozen lakes, he was owned.
Matt wouldn't trade his soul for any man but Mello wasn't just any man... The violence and biting cold of a winter storm trapped in human skin, Mello was incredible. Just to have those eyes on him was almost worth the cost.
"Do you believe this is a sin?" Matt asked in the stillness of the night, Mello's body sliding along his bare skin.
Mello flashed a burning smile, lightning on snow, "Sin is subjective."
Matt decided that Mello could be Sin personified, he'd just have to be damned. Not many men ever held a tempest in their arms, Matt refused to give it up.
Fire, Matt never expected Mello to melt. He'd never expected the blonde to get him out of harm's way. He watched the sleeping man and wondered at what he saw. The scars weren't important. It was the new facet of the man's nature that fascinated him. Spring was melting Mello's winter soul.
Mello was kinder to him, unexpected kisses like a new-hatched butterfly's wings, gentle words like spring rain, and warm embraces, a new growth of climbing roses.
Spring was a stormy season, too. Mello could go from placid to furious, a lake in a thunderstorm. Lightning flashed across the perfect blue sky of his eyes. A few precious days and he was furious. He would win at all costs. The thunder never rolled, he never fired his gun. Matt knew he wouldn't. Heat lightning, not a storm.
The picture smoldered in the ash tray on the table, next to Matt's dying cigarette. "Dear Mello." Mello had sat silent, staring at the curling message for hours, burning it like a brand into his mind. Now it burned like prairie grass in the first drought of summer.
Mello was passionate. When he wasn't planning, he was in Matt's bed. Summer, hot, wild and always over far too soon. A desperate few months of holding on. The last days of youth, stolen too soon.
It wasn't just what they did in bed. It was actually winter outside, but somehow Mello managed to find strawberries; fresh-picked, sun-warm and juicy. They fed them to each other one at a time, smiling like they hadn't in a long time. They couldn't go back, but they could pretend for a while...
Matt knew when fall was coming to Mello's soul. The blonde got broody. He sat staring for long hours, and when he wasn't, he was getting things in order.
Matt knew that Mello knew. He could feel it in his caress; low, longing touches that never seemed to end, like leaves falling against his skin.
Fall was summer dying, and Matt knew, they were dying too, but he'd stay with Mello to the end.
He held onto Mello as everything went white and cold... winter again.
