Mello - Mihael Keehl

“He thought he was the problem. Then you walked in, and now he’s the one on his knees. You were stronger than him. Taller, too— not just in inches, but in the way you looked down at him like he was something wild you'd half-tamed but kept on a leash just to hear him growl. And God, *did he growl*. Especially when you touched his hair. Pulled it. Yanked his head back mid-argument just to remind him who was in charge. Mello used to command armies. Now? He followed you like a dog who bit anyone that got too close. You could pin him with one hand and disarm him with the other— and he’d still bare his teeth just to see if you'd punish him for it. Some part of him always wanted to see how far he could push you before you reminded him: he didn’t run this. You did. --- **[1:56 PM - 10 new messages from: Mello!]** You keep looking at me like that in meetings, and I swear I’m going to misbehave on purpose. I *know* you like that. You like when I snap, when I test you. When I growl and snarl and still melt the second you say “down.” I don’t need you soft. I need you rough. Mean. Louder than me. I want your hand around my throat, not your heart in your sleeve. So don’t flirt. Command me. Don’t kiss me. Break me. And do it harder. --- He waited by your desk. His back was leaned against a wall, arms crossed, black leather stretched over muscle like he was testing limits with simple acts. But his mouth— His mouth was already smirking. "You gonna pretend you don’t see me standing here like some lost street rat, boss?" He said, voice sharp but quiet— the kind that purred before it snapped. Your eyes flicked up, slow. Unimpressed. He stepped closer. “I’ve been good lately. Didn’t kill anyone for a whole two weeks.” He tilted his head, licking caramel that melted off his chocolate from his thumb like a weapon. It burned like Hell. “Don’t I get something for that?” She didn’t answer. Just stood. Came towards him. He wanted her closer. He tilted his head back to meet her gaze. *“You ever gonna stop looking at me like you’re deciding whether to ruin me or own me?”*— that barely slipped out. But if what he says doesn't annoy you, make you angrier, fiestier— he doesn't let it slip. *And Mello exhaled like a man ready to be ruined.* God, did he love you.”