For Guilty One

This story has been written as a prize for the winner of a Mattgasm Competition.   Please read GuiltyOne's award winning story first (link in the author's note), as this is merely a companion piece to that.

Thank you!

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I woke and he was sleeping.    I lay in that languid daze that always accompanied awakening and watched him.    The sun spilled in from a gap in the blinds, picking out highlights in his blond hair, like a halo.   He didn't always look relaxed, even when sleeping, but this morning he did.    The frown lines erased from his perfect face.    

I lay, watching him, for the longest time.    I felt melted inside, sappy and romantic, all those things that you can never admit to without laughing at yourself.    So my mind pushed it away and thought instead of last night's sex.    I heard again the animalistic moaning that had ripped from the throat of this beautiful man; my body reacted physically to the memory of his writhing form, the hot, naked passion that had had us devouring each other.    "Mello."   I whispered, but he didn't open his eyes.   "Mello."     I even kicked the blanket aside, but there wasn't even a sigh to indicate he was stirring.  He had never been a heavy sleeper, more apt to lie awake, fitfully furious, at the slightest sound in the night.   That he slept on now taught me about the exhaustion he must have been hiding, even as it warmed me to know that he trusted me enough to let go while I was here to watch his back.   I left him to it.   There are some angels whose slumber should never be disturbed.    He was as like to take my head off than anything else involving head.

Ignoring one craving, I gave in to another.   The tickling lump in the back of my throat that pricked with the need for nicotine.   Mello hadn't had a problem with me smoking in the room last night, but it felt wrong to do it when he wasn't awake to protest.   Besides, I didn't want to leave him when he was sleeping so deeply.   He had walked into here last night dripping danger and power, unpacking guns to place on the side.   The obvious violence of his new world made me feel like an innocent.    I was the country bumpkin plucked from the picket-fence world of Winchester and circling out of my depth.   It was almost like he was laughing at me, before he'd shed his skin and become my Mihael.   Mine?  I snorted silently at the possessive pronoun.  I needed a cigarette.  

I slowly opened the blinds, just halfway, cringing at the softest sound and praying that the light didn't wake him.    Or hoping that it might.   The window was already ajar, opened when it seemed nothing could have cooled us down in the pre-dawn clinging.   It was through this slither of air that I smoked, lighting it through the crack, inhaling with my lips touching the cold PVC of the windowframe.    I could still taste chocolate.   On my tongue, in my breath, beneath the soothing draft of smoke in of my throat.   I never ate chocolate.    

Like a thing obsessed, my gaze was drawn back to him sleeping and the things of him littered around the room.   The shape of him beneath the quilt; the tousled blond hair turned away from me; the guns and his wallet; the black leather that he had seemed poured into, wriggling his hips long before I'd peeled him out of them.   I took another drag on my cigarette, trying to tear this out of my mind before I risked life and limb making him wake up.    It was the last gasp, the ember singing the paper around the yellowing filter between my fingers.   I flicked it away and sought another distraction.   The usual distraction.    I sat with my PSP on mute, listening to him breathing.     It didn't matter.   This was my latest game and I'd been trying to beat the boss all day yesterday, so the tune was ingrained into my consciousness.    It played with eidetic recall in my mind, as the pixels moved on the tiny screen.   It wasn't better than sex, but it was close.   

He sighed in his sleep and I looked up immediately.   A moth to his flame, I couldn't not.   His hand had risen up before his face and he batted away something unseen before it rested on the pillow again.   Black fingernails against white linen.    "Mello, do you want a coffee?"   I whispered, but there was no response.   He slept on.   I sat poised to move, to pounce onto the bed for a kiss or to make drinks, and it was in that frozen pose that I finally smelt myself.   Sweat-drenched, skin on skin, hungry kisses and grasping hands, the sliding of him under me... I blinked.   I needed a shower for more reasons than just the fact that the sweat had now dried.

I collected up those little plastic bottles of shampoo and shower gel that were complementary with the room and took them into the shower.   I tried to guess whether Mello would prefer violet or lily of the valley, when he made it in here.   Neither, really.   I chose violet at random and lathered it over my skin - the touch of him in the darkness - I would have to stop thinking like this or do something about it.   The shower wasn't working and I'd be electrocuted bringing a game in here.   I did the next best thing and hummed that tune, trying to plan strategies with the pixels in my head, but my rebellious mind had other thoughts to torture me with - Mello's smile and Mello's lips, Mello's hips, Mello's legs, Mello's arse and the noises he made when...

I swear I nearly had a heart attack right there and then in the shower.  Mello's hands materialising from fantasy to snake around my waist and caress the hardness that betrayed my mind.   I hadn't heard the bathroom door opening.   I hadn't sensed his presense.   Ninjas had nothing on one of Mello's stealth attacks.   "Mello."  I hissed, sucking in air.

"I just came to join you."   He nibbled on my shoulder, pressing that lithe body against me from behind.   I could feel him as ready as I was, his need rubbing against me.   

Mello was like that.  I wanted and I waited; he wanted and he came to take it.   My body desired to give in immediately, owned and as willing as he was for the inevitable conclusion, but I still had some pride.   I might be the naive kid flown from gentile England, but give Mello an inch and he took a mile.   I would be in control of this one, thank you very much.    So I took his hands and held those slim wrists between my fingers and thumbs, as I turned around to smile at him.   My fingers entwined with his now, my eyes captivated all over again by the piercing mischief in his blue stare.  He grinned back, coquettish and pretty.    I know that's a funny word for a man, but Mello was pretty.   A pretty, little boy who had grown into a pretty, little man and so hot.   Sex on legs.  That was Mello.      His gaze dipped to drink in the sight of my naked body, his tongue slithering briefly between his lips.    Patches of foam had migrated from me onto him.   They slipped down over his hair and skin.    

"Can't you ever get enough?"   I asked him, playing it cool, though we both knew he would see through it.   I gave no warning, leaning swiftly to claim a kiss, but he was like lightning, too quick in leaning backwards for me to touch him.   My lips bereft, I just stood there savouring him with my eyes, stroking the back of his left hand with one finger.   

Even then he wriggled out, taking over as Mello always would.   "I said I came here to join you."   He repeated, turning around towards the wall.   I'd heard him the first time, but was too busy being entranced all over again by the sight of his slender back and his perfect arse to say so.   "Can you..."   Mello paused, his shoulders doing this little shimmy thing, like he was Marilyn Monroe or something, "do my back please?"   Then he peeped over his shoulder, grinning because he knew that he had won.   To be fair, it was a conquest that was never going to be lost.  In his hand was the lube.

What could I do?   What could I say?    Mello asks and Mello gets, though I was hardly the innocent party here.   In fact, there's a school of thought that says that I was the guilty one; guilty as sin, as I lathered him and me and entered with all the possession and frenzy that our aching bodies demanded of me.    When he screamed my name, over and over again, I knew that it was game over.    Again.  No more whinging about only clandestine meetings, no more worrying about where he was and what he was doing.   I'd settle for this.   I'd follow him anywhere and hide in his shadows, waiting for his call.    If I had to be his secret, then it would be enough.    This - Matt!  Matt!  Oh!  Mother of God!  Matt! - was enough.