A/N: Just some drabble that turned into over seven pages of MxN goodness. I tried a new writing style here, as I'm sure you'll notice. More note on it at bottom—I don't want to muddy up your opinions of it by saying more!
I wrote this while home sick from school. It's not amazing. But it's my stream of emo MelloNear consciousness. Indulge.
… I need to get on here more…
Don't own Lego. Don't own Transformers. Don't own Batman or the Joker (though I would like to live a day in the life of Harley Quinn). Definitely do not own Death Note.
WARNING. Pretty graphic sex between two guys. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
& & &
Occasionally, Mello would come visit Near. He would intrude, with his golden wheat field hair and his obnoxiously sexual leather attire, and Near would let him inside SPK headquarters every time. Mello would stand at the door, pressing the intercom button over and over. He would page Near until Near was finished doing whatever he'd been doing—sometimes it was Transformers, sometimes Lego—and Near would answer.
Within ten minutes, Mello was upstairs, sitting in Near's main room and just looking. He'd make sparse comments on Near's childish mannerisms, or insult him every so often for not offering him food or drink. Near would then offer Mello food and drink. He would not apologize, because that was what Mello wanted. He would step away from his toys and sit with Mello. They would talk.
The conversations were never something that one could call "civilized." Near was perfectly polite, of course, but Mello continuously insisted on something Near was doing wrong. Near sometimes wondered why he kept letting Mello inside his headquarters. Mello would never ask for information on the Kira case. His pride was more than that. He believed that he would solve this without any help from Near. To Mello, it was hardly about Kira anymore. It was about doing something he'd failed to do as a child: surpass Near.
Rester did not approve. Gevanni hated it. It just made things awkward with Halle; her sharing of information with Mello put her on bad terms with all the SPK members. Having him there just made it worse. But Mello paid no mind. He never did. He just came and went. Once a month, twice a week—it was inconsistent, to say the least. Near never asked Mello when he was coming next, because he didn't look forward to these visits. He just enjoyed them while they lasted; enjoyed being cared for, if only for an hour or two.
On his first visit, Mello was intercepted by a very concerned Anthony Rester. Rester cares deeply about Near, and was riled up to see Near's sworn enemy knocking on their door (metaphorically, of course). He used the intercom to ask harshly the reason for Mello's presence. Mello responded coolly that he "just wanted his photo back" and that Near would know what he was talking about. Near did.
Mello was let in, after several guns and one switchblade had been removed from his person. Near was more than a bit surprised to see Mello's face after so many years. A scar obstructed the once flawless skin on Mello's face—a burn, to be precise. The burn's scabby talons reached across the left side of his face, the skin risen and slightly bloody. Mello may have been agitating it. Presumably, it was the result of a botched explosion that Mello had initiated two months ago.
That explosion caused the death of Soichiro Yagami, along with a vast majority of Mello's mafia men. Near did not ask questions. Mello did not give him opportunity to. Mello took his photo and left, being sure to kick a dice tower that Near had erected that day. Rester and Gevanni were both furious at that, but Near told them that everything is temporary. They let it go.
Mello came back a month later. This time, he only brought one gun—a custom-made Magnum with his name engraved on it. Not his real name, of course. His alias. Mello was far from stupid. In fact, he was quite close to being the complete opposite of stupid. He knew better than to leave any trace of his real name. He let his gun be held in a special room where he supposed they kept the guns of visitors.
Upstairs, Mello kicked over a few Transformers. Near righted them, but said nothing. Mello's face was sporting a rather disgusted scowl. "Still acting like a 7-year-old, I see," he said smoothly, his frown transforming into a cocky smirk.
Near just looked up at Mello, his large grey eyes drinking in everything about Mello. He gazed at the older man's dark red jacket with a fur-lined hood, cropped to end around his last rib. He let his eyes run over the leather that anyone but Near would find tantalizing and alluring—a zippered vest that clearly showed Mello's well-toned abdomen and tight drawstring pants—but Near was Near, and as a result, indifference was the only thing that reached Near's emotional compass as he looked at Mello. Mello's golden hair was clean, yes, but it hadn't been cut or trimmed in a very long time. It was coming down in wisps that, in Near's opinion, looked sloppy yet far more fitting than the closely cut pageboy haircut Mello used to wear as a child and young teenager. Mello wore black boots, boots that were more than obviously crusted with blood. Near didn't think further on that.
Near's eyes drove Mello insane. They were always the same, no matter what Mello did or said. Just big, dark grey pools that observed endlessly. Mello dropped to crouch before Near. His feet were flat on the ground, his knees up and pointing forwards as the back of his thighs pressed against the back of his calves. His face rested at Near's level. "So, Nate," he breathed, sneering, "how's it going?"
Mello's teeth had obviously not been attended to that day; his breath smelled faintly of alcohol, but mostly of morning breath and chocolate. Near did not flinch away because that was rude.
Near only blinked, the first change in those eyes Mello had seen yet, and he responded quietly and courteously, "It is 'going' well, Mello. I presume you're speaking of the case? Or have you suddenly taken an interest in my well-being?"
Mello snorted, moving to stand again. "Good one, sheep cripple. Not this time. I was just wondering just how slowly you're getting to the answer compared to me." He shrugged and walked off towards the exit.
It went from there.
The third visit was Mello's most tame. He came inside, this time with no guns or knives, and rode the elevator up to Near's floor. He didn't kick anything aside this time, only pushed a Lego castle out of his way before sitting down with his legs crossed where it had been moments before: in front of Near. Near had been in the process of placing a Lego piece onto the castle, but instead placed it on Mello's knee. Mello laughed. Near did not.
Near continued to build on Mello's knee, a small smile slowly growing on his face. An hour passed. A small town rested on the foundation of Mello's knee. Mello smirked at the pale boy before standing up. The town came crashing to the floor, ruined. Mello left.
The fifth one was where Near received answers to questions he did not ask directly. Mello came in, this time with a 9mm Beretta handgun. They took it. He let them. He went up to where he always did and walked over to Near. "Hey, freak," he greeted. His tone was snide and on his face was that ever-present smirk.
Near nodded at Mello. This time, the only toy in sight was a small action figure, and it was safely in Near's lap while Near worked at a computer. This was not because Near knew that it would be subject to Mello's toy torture. No, it was because this model was Near's favorite. It was a limited edition model of The Joker, from the Batman comics. Mello knew this toy from when they were children. One time, a boy had tried to take it from Near, to tease him. That was the only time Mello had seen Near violent. Near had clawed at the other young boy's eyes until they bled, kicking and biting and scratching. Mello did not approach Near. He sat in a chair a few feet away from him.
Near said dully, "You're going to need bandages for—"
Mello laughed. "Shut the fuck up, Near. I'll tell you the story, if you really want to hear it. Just stop staring at my face like it's as big of a freakshow as you are in general." He rolled backwards in his chair, propping his bloody boots onto the long table that housed the many computer monitors that Near used for work. Four up and down, four across. All widescreen ones, 20 inches. Near had the funds, that was for sure.
Mello sighed, pretending to be bored of telling the story. He wasn't. He'd never told anyone. "After I blew up that warehouse, I didn't expect to get out alive. Somehow, I did. I couldn't feel the left side of my body. I was there for a while. I'm not sure how long it was, exactly." He took a chocolate bar from his jacket and snapped a square off. It was dark chocolate. Not that Near was looking. "My skin was melted with my clothes, I couldn't think straight at all. I don't know how long it was before I found my phone. Somehow, it hadn't been harmed. I called Matt. Told him I needed help. Been surviving on disinfectant, Matt's encouragement and a healthy dose of painkillers since then."
"So Matt is alive and well?" Near's eyebrow raised. He wasn't looking at the screen anymore.
"Yeah," Mello said. It was the first response he'd ever given Near without a curse word, insult or cruel laughter. "To be honest, I didn't even know if his phone would be the same. Guess he was waiting for me to need his help this whole time," the blond mused, smiling to himself.
Mello left, but not before patting Near on the head and mussing his hair. He left his chocolate bar for Near to clean up. Near cleaned it up, despite Rester's volunteering to do just that.
Near didn't really know how insults and jibes had gradually turned into rough kisses. All he knew was that on Mello's twelfth visit, they were not conversing briefly in the main room. They were in Near's bedroom, with the fragile semi-albino shoved against the wall as Mello ravaged his mouth. Near hadn't any experience in sexual or even semi-sensual contact. Ever. Mello, on the other hand, seemed to have a library of erotic handbooks in his mind. He only needed to open one to drive Near insane.
At first, it was just kisses. Then, it was kisses accompanied by hasty groping. It progressed from there.
Every so often, Mello would stop when Near, face flushed and pride somewhere in a dark corner of his brilliant mind, would ask him to. Usually, he ignored the timid pleas for a break.
Mello never touched Near lovingly. He never kissed him with passion. He touched him roughly, taking what he wanted. He kissed him with anger and spite and fire, wishing for Near to be burnt just as much as he had—both literally and figuratively.
It was not until Mello's sixteenth visit that their fumblings and rushed gratification went to another level. A level without clothes. It started as Mello holding Near's erection in his hand and jerking him to completion. He left after that. Near never figured out for sure why he didn't force Near to take care of his needs as well.
On the next visit, Mello introduced Near to the world of oral sex. He performed fellatio on the frail boy, then took care of himself in the bathroom before leaving. Near asked if he desired assistance, but Mello ignored him. Near wanted Mello to do these things more than just infrequently. He never knew when he would get his freedom from the sexual tension Mello imposed upon him. It could be a few days, a week, and sometimes a month. It was rarely that long of a difference between visits anymore, though. Mello almost never left for a whole month.
On the eighteenth visit, Mello came wearing something different. Yes, it was springtime, but Near hadn't anticipated leather hot pants. Those shorts were extremely revealing, and a roaring 90% of Mello's lean, limber legs were exposed. He wore his usual midriff top. Near was ready for Mello, meeting him at the elevator. Mello hadn't brought any weapons this time. Near informed Mello that his shorts were very distracting. Mello responded, "That's the point, cotton wad."
The nicknames had been getting progressively more affectionate. If that's what affectionate was. Near wouldn't know.
The trip to Near's bedroom seemed incredibly longer than any other expedition yet. Once inside, Mello pushed the smaller boy into the wall like always, but today he was doing something different. Instead of touching the younger boy incessantly, he was rubbing his groin against Near's. That moment was the moment that Near knew for a fact that today, there would be no awkward one-way pleasures. It was all going to be mutual.
Mello whispered in that incredibly sexy whisper he had mastered many years before as a prostitute in New York City, "You want this, Near? You want my hard cock balls-deep in your tight little ass?"
Near had never heard such explicit words from anyone, ever. He simply whimpered and looked at Mello, unsure of what to do. Mello pressed him harder against the wall, growling. Near squealed, and Mello's eyes widened. Near instantly froze, becoming silent. Mello's motions stopped as well. Something inside the fiery blond seemed to have snapped just then, and he shoved Near towards his neatly made bed, watching the pale frame of his rival and almost lover climb onto his bed. Near pulled one knee up to his chest and started to fiddle with his hair, but Mello would have none of that. He pulled Near's hand away from his hair and started to unbutton the younger boy's shirt.
Before long, Near was naked. Completely, utterly nude. In other words, helpless. And Mello was loving it. He was still clothed as he sat on the younger boy's thighs. Near was lying on his back, and his eyes were closed. He gripped his sheets tightly, face flushed red. He was afraid, but still so wanting, and it drove Mello crazy. The blond Mafioso grinned from the sheer joy it gave him to bring out such raw emotion from the usually stone-cold Near.
He ran his hands all over Near's chest. Near whimpered and squeaked quietly, but nothing more. Mello wanted screams. He spread the detective's legs and pushed three fingers into Near's mouth. "Suck," he ordered simply. Near did. He coated the three fingers with saliva, drool running from his mouth when Mello moved his fingers in and out of the small boy's mouth. Near, always eager to please, pursued the digits with his tongue, rubbing circles and pressing into each knuckle with the sides and tip of his tongue. Mello was taken aback, surprised at the compliance and general sex appeal of these movements. Near took off Mello's shorts. Mello didn't punish him for it. He smiled confidently as Near stared at his erection.
The vivacious blond retrieved those fingers from Near's mouth and pressed a wet index finger to Near's most anticipated body part (anticipated by Mello, anyway). Near sucked in a breath. He was not afraid. Instead, he was mostly curious. That, and willing.
Mello pressed that finger in, and had to bite his lip to withhold a tense gasp. Tight. Near was very, very tight. Mello prodded around, trying to make room for his first finger before he dared to try another one. Near squirmed. Mello told him not to, firmly. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Mello had secured enough space in Near's impossibly tight passage for another finger. He pushed in his middle finger. Near squealed again, and Mello had to stop himself from forcing his length inside the fragile teen right then and there.
Two fingers became three, and after two spreading motions, Mello pulled out of Near's entrance. He held his cock in hand and pushed inside Near. Near cried out; it wasn't from pleasure. Mello pushed further, knowing that the pain would be short lived. He didn't console Near's quietly crying form as he invaded the other male's most private area. He just pressed on.
Near gasped and whined as Mello's torture turned into an explosion of light before his eyes. He arched his back, and Mello wasted no time in scooping the small boy up and onto his lap. He sat upright, with his knees bent. He thrusted upwards into Near's body, taking great pleasure in the moans and whimpers that escaped kiss-swollen lips. Mello took advantage of Near's thrown back head, attacking the pale neck with kisses and sucks and many, many bites. Near's neck was littered with red spots and bruises, but neither male cared.
Near held fast to Mello's shoulders, crying out each time his prostate was hit. His climax came the moment Mello's hand engulfed his throbbing erection. Mello filled Near soon thereafter, only pulling out after his afterglow had passed. That was around ten minutes. For that ten minutes, Near simply held onto Mello, and Mello breathed onto Near's shoulder raggedly. After that ten minutes, Mello lifted Near from his then soft penis and placed him onto his bed, ignoring the wide grey eyes that followed him as he dressed himself.
It went from there. Mello fucked Near almost weekly, then twice a week, then three times a week. Eventually he was coming to Near every other day.
Near loved it just as much as Mello did—if not more. He adored the feeling of Mello's warm body, his hands and his tongue. They kissed frequently during sex. Never more than three times, but that was enough for both of them. Near occasionally called Mello to request his presence. Mello always made himself available.
One day, Mello had just finished settling Near on his erection when the smaller boy burst into tears. Mello didn't ask. Near didn't explain. Mello kept going, and Near went along with it. He moaned like always, only this time through tears. Mello would never ask, and Near would never explain. It was a phenomena that both of them knew not to question.
Mello was always the same. Rough, then tender when he kissed Near. Harsh, then careful as he handled the fragile male after they finished. Near was predictable, for the most part. Occasionally, he would make demands or request quietly yet desperately that Mello stop for a moment. But most of the time, the pale, light-haired detective would moan, whimper, whine, and even give that delicious, maddening squeal that Mello loved so much.
On one visit, Mello and Near were lying in Near's bed after their orgasms. It was one of the rare occurrences when Mello allowed them to have sex face-to-face; this time in the missionary position. Whenever they had sex facing each other, Mello ended up staying for hours, just lying in bed with Near.
Near turned his head to face Mello. Mello had already been staring at the detective. Their eyes met and Near said matter-of-factly, "I love you."
Mello blinked. "You don't know what you're talking about," he replied, his tone dull.
"I love you, Mello."
Mello sighed and made to stand up and leave, but Near grasped his arm. Dark grey orbs met his icy blue ones and there was a small moment where Mello could have sworn over his dead mother that he saw despair and upset in Near's eyes. But it was gone quicker than Mello could look closer. "Please…. Please stay," the childish detective whispered, his eyebrows coming to furrow together.
Mello pried himself loose of Near's grip and left, dressing himself as he went. Gevanni saw him, but ignored. He was used to it by then. Mello left the high floor, collected his gun at the lobby, and rode home on his bike.
"You should stop," Matt said, approaching the brooding blond who was currently hogging their living room couch. "If Near said that, he probably means it. Either that or you've fucked the poor bastard up worse than anything else ever has." Mello ignored Matt. The redhead sighed and grabbed his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. "You're becoming addicted," the hacker said firmly.
Mello raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the cancer sticks in Matt's hand. He almost chuckled, but didn't. Matt did, though. It was more a condescending laugh than a chuckle. "Exactly."
And Mello went back anyway.
He kept doing…whatever he was doing with Near. He continued for months, each time staying a little longer in bed than he'd initially intended. Each face-to-face fuck got closer and closer together until they hardly ever had sex with Near's back to Mello's chest, being bounced on the blond's lap. It was always reversed. Mello would sit upright, with his knees bent. Near would sit on his cock, facing him, with his legs on either side of Mello's waist, knees bent. It was either that or missionary position. Mello would listen to Near's breathing when it was all said—moaned, rather—and done. He would pick up Near's toys from the floor if they were messy. He would gently run his fingers through Near's hair—but that was only if the younger boy was asleep. He would nod when Near told him "I love you" but never say "I love you" back, because that just wasn't Mello's style. Love wasn't his style.
Mello didn't know what love was. He hadn't ever been in love, and he never knew his parents long enough to love them. He cared about Matt, but the kind of friendship he and the redhead had was now mostly based on loneliness and a symbiotic relationship. Matt needed Mello. Mello just needed someone to talk to. Their close friendship from their childhoods was long gone.
But Mello knew enough about what love was supposed to be to know, in his heart of hearts, that he was in love with Nate Rivers. After months of feeling nothing but sexual attraction to Near, he found himself thinking of him, all the time. He loved Near. And there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't dare tell the detective, because it would just make things complicated. Adding to that, he just didn't have the guts.
Mello knew he was going to die. He had it all planned, and he still had no idea what exactly possessed him to plan this so Near would be fine, but he would probably die. He didn't feel upset anymore that Near would beat him. He didn't even see it as a matter of winning. It was the question of Near's safety and Near's safety alone.
Mello was going to die for the one person he'd ever loved. And it made him sick to his stomach knowing that Near would never know why.
So the last time they had sex, Mello was sure to give Near all of himself. As in, everything. He gave his dedication, his passion, his tenderness, oh, and his virginity. Near didn't argue or question it, but he knew that something was wrong when Mello—domineering, bossy Mello—impaled himself on Near's cock. And Mello knew that Near knew something was wrong. And as always with things that would require communication, they just ignored it. Near didn't ask, and Mello didn't explain.
"I love you," Mello said, forcing the words from his throat as he looked at Near gently. The smaller body next to him on the bed turned his head to lock his gaze with Mello's. Mello repeated softly, "I love you, too. Even though it's hard for me to say, I…. I really think I love you."
The next time Near saw Mello, it was in a body shelf. Near nodded to the coroner, confirming the identity of the burned body. Near looked down at the original burn. These new ones were inflicted after Mello had been killed by Teru Mikami's death notebook. The Death Note. It had caused so much pain, snuffed so many opportunities. Near walked away from the coroner and the body shelf, making a decision. He would never let feelings or emotions rule him again. He was N. He couldn't waste time on grief. There were cases to solve and criminals to catch.
Nate River never forgot Mihael Keehl. He never will. But the sorrow he had for the loss of the only person who ever mattered to him had to be pushed aside. He indulged it every so often, tears falling when he was most alone, but those moments only lasted so long before there was another call from some police force, somewhere in the world, asking for help. And N was always there to help. His job wasn't to grieve a lover that would never come back.
His job was justice.
& & &
WOW. THAT WAS LIKE. SAD.
If you didn't notice, I tried this writing style where it was really vague-ish but really specific about actions, not so much feelings. It's kind of an extreme omniscient viewpoint, I think. Anyway, tell me what you all think!
Please, please, PLEASE forgive me for not being around for a while. It's been HELL. School, medical stuff, all that jazz. So take this super emo story as compensation, yeah?