english isnt my first language, i hope you can correct my mistakes!
forgotten face - meronia
this loneliness is killing him. but why? near has always been alone by himself, when in the wammy's house, when working in the kira case, but things don't feel the same as before.
mello isn't here.
near misses the unique bittersweet scent of chocolate on mello, even in his mouth, when their lips touched each other, he could also feel the taste of mello's cheap lip balm, of his favorite chocolate bar. it's like a sugary burst, a very intense moment of them to be forgotten right after.
27, living alone in america, playing alone with his toys, his favorite robot and solving cases- it doesn't feel the same when he was working on the kira case years ago. maybe it was his first case, or maybe it was mello, who isn't here, who disappeared long ago, leaving near behind.
things don't all feel the same as before.
he has started to forget mello's face
what does he look like? what does he sound like? how does he walk around?
“years have passed by”
“but still- i can't remember your face for a single day”
“mihael, wake up”
nate sits still beside the cold grave, eyes shutting, long hair running down to the ground. he still twirls his hair like before, still keeps his habits like before, but doesn’t have his happiness, his love like before.
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Relationship: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Characters: Matt | Mail Jeevas, Mello | Mihael Keehl
Additional Tags: Worship, Church Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Catholic Prayers, Kissing, Altar Sex, Top Mello | Mihael Keehl, Bottom Matt | Mail Jeevas, Canon Compliant
Series: Part 23 of Death Note Kinktober 2024 | @dnkinktober
Summary: When Mello goes missing again, Matt goes to church.
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When Mello doesn’t return to the flat for several days, Matt drives down to the Catholic church about an hour away. It is said to be favoured by the Mafia, with the security it provides ensuring that it can remain open for twenty four hours every day. Matt is reassured at the very least that regardless of Mello’s proclivity to mania, his tendency to drink a little too fast and sometimes snort one too many lines of coke, that shit doesn’t fly in the house of God. By the time Matt collects him, Mello is usually cold hard sober.
He pulls up outside of the building, grinding his cigarette butt into the ashtray on his dash as he acknowledges the bright red neon cross glowing above the doorway. At three in the morning, it haloes in the dark, a stark reminder of God. Matt has inherited the Wammy’s atheistic outlook of the world, all that is unexplainable now presumed to be understandable at a later date. He envies Mello’s ability to remain in close proximity with the discomfort of ignorance. To believe that everything happens for a reason greater than himself. It is pleasantly naive. Matt gets out of the car and slams the door behind him.
“Mello here?” Matt asks the two mafiosos who guard the doors.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Friend of his.” Matt digs deep into his jean pockets and pulls out a purple chocolate wrapper. British imported chocolate was hardly uncommon if you knew where to find it, but no one was as picky about brand consistency as Mello and as the two men look at one another momentarily, Matt knows they have little to challenge him on.
“He arrived yesterday. He’s the only one in there right now.”
Matt gives a brief nod and walks into the foyer. Leaflets and posters neatly line the walls, declaring solutions to societal woes through God’s omnibenevolence. Matt considers whether Mello looks at this selection of material, decrying homosexuality as a sin and drug use as an abominable act, and feels himself to be lesser. Perhaps he seeks refuge in the exclusionary nature that organised religion encourages; a reminder of the House in its intolerance of anything deemed inadequate.
The church is rather underwhelming for one that is so obviously revered by the local crime syndicate. Large, stained glass windows dominate the walls, the darkness of the early morning muting their colours, the saints condemned to a fate of mundanity until the sun rises. The pews hide in the shadows cast towards the back of the chapel, dusty hymn books and bibles remain neglected. It is the altar which is afforded the blessing of light, a variety of candles carefully positioned to carve out an invitation to prayer at the foot of the platform, before a model crucifixion.
This is where Matt always finds Mello kneeling, with his head bowed in such a manner as to let his hair veil his face. His ungloved hands are clasped together before his chest, almost earnest. Slowly, Matt approaches him from behind listening for his hushed voice in the silence. He had interrupted Mello during prayer one too many times to know such a risk was never worth the blonde’s subsequent irritation. As Matt arrives close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder, Mello’s silence is unmistakable.
“Hey, time to go.”
Mello looks up at Matt, his eyes red as if he has been crying, or as if he’s high. There is still something hauntingly beautiful about him, even in this erratic state, and Matt feels an urge to run his fingers through his soft golden hair, before guiding him out of the church and back into the car. To make him promise that they’ll leave this city and forget about the Kira case to find another purpose in life. An ambition that doesn't rip him to shreds like this.
“Matt… My guardian angel.” Mello whispers, nearly too quiet for Matt to hear.
“You alright?” Matt asks in response – Mello was typically vexed by Matt by the time he would come to fetch him, as if his arrival broke some kind of fantasy of divine salvation he had erected in his head. Matt never expects the softer language or the affection to return for a few days as Mello confronts lingering hangovers and whatever religious revelations he endured during his periodic hysteria. Even then, such affections are small, quiet things whispered in the bedroom. Matt has never known Mello to speak to him in such a way in public.
Mello takes Matt’s hand as a means to pull himself up onto his feet, “I am now that you are here.” His breath smells like booze, and Matt wonders if the men on the door had been covering for him.
“Come on, man, we need to get you cleaned up.” Matt sighs. He never judges Mello, as often as Mello would take the opportunity to act morally offended by the redhead’s crack pipes and needles. However, there is something increasingly exasperating about how Matt so often chases Mello, as if it is a given that he will be there to take him home. Matt swallows his fear to enter those dark spaces Mello frequents to pull him out every time. Matt can never say Mello returns the favour.
Damn right, I am your guardian angel.
“No… Let’s stay.” Mello pulls Matt’s sleeve. It is a small gesture, but one that was reminiscent of something more. That silent pull of a sleeve in the dark. Two boys in a dormitory.
A kiss.
Matt feels Mello’s lips on his, soft and full. An apology, or at least an appeal to their relationship. A declaration of love in a sacred space. Matt takes Mello’s face in his hands and gently eases him away from his own.
“Here, Mels?”
“Where else can I worship you?” God, he really is fucked. Matt shook his head. Mello is bound to regret this. Matt opens his mouth to object but Mello cuts him off, “I thank God for you everyday, Matt.”
Matt blushes, despite himself. His frustration at this stupid bastard for scaring him so often aside, he cannot deny how his heart aches when hearing such a sentiment from Mello. Matt is not well acquainted with God, but there is something about the manner in which Mello’s devotion flows out of him, Matt can taste something close to a miracle on his lips.
Matt’s eyes dart to the entrance, to which Mello smirks, “They know not to come inside.”
Fuck it. Matt leans back in and the two press their bodies close as they fall into the deepness of the kiss. They stumble up onto the platform until Matt feels himself being pressed up against the altar table. He plants a hand behind him, in an attempt not to fall upon it.
Mello has other ideas. He disengages before shoving Matt onto the table so that he lies flat along the surface, his face contorting slightly on impact. Even Matt feels they are engaging in a rather overt expression of blasphemy here, but as Mello crawls on top of him, his hair hanging down and framing his face, Matt understands what is meant by omnibenevolence. Unconditional love is the best way Matt can describe how he feels about Mello.
“Thank you, Lord, for the blessings you have bestowed onto me.” Mello begins unbuckling his belt, and Matt swallows, his dick tight against his underwear in anticipation of what the blonde intends to do to him here. He finds his own hands peeling his jeans down beneath Mello as they both expose themselves hurriedly. Spiritual consequences be damned.
“You have provided me with more than I could imagine, more than I ever deserve, in Mail Jeevas.” Matt doesn’t know whether it is Mello pressing his erection against his own or the way in which he says his real name that sends a shockwave of sensitivity up his spine, causing him to moan quietly. His hands grab Mello’s hips as he spreads his legs, arching his back as a means to push himself closer to Mello’s body.
Mello spits on his palm and begins to rub his own cock, his other hand gently caressing Matt’s face, “Lord, I am a sinner, and yet you have extended your mercy and grace by bringing an angel into my life.” Matt closes his eyes and hums gently against Mello’s thumb stroking his cheek, smiling when the blonde plants a kiss there.
“We praise you and give you glory.” Mello moves his hand down to grab Matt’s thigh, and with his other hand, directs his dick against the rim of Matt’s ass, thrusting his hips so it goes in all at once. Matt gasps, his nails digging into Mello’s hips as he processes the sharp sting of being entered.
