How to Shoot Somebody Who Outdrew You
Apr. 11th, 2008 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darklunaTitle: How To Shoot Somebody Who Outdrew You
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Mello/Near
Word count: 4200
Spoilers: Through Chapter 77.
ObDisclaimer: Not mine! She says, as they both breathe a sigh of relief.
Summary: Near was almost enough of a bastard to be interesting, Mello thought sometimes, but quickly banished that idea, making a mental note to possibly burn it out of his brain if he could find the offending synapses.
Notes: It's naughty, but there's more to it than just naughtiness. (People seemed to disagree with my calling it semi-PWP. *g*) The title is, of course, from Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah." Feedback is always cherished and adored. Thanks and worship to my lovely beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
norrell.
How to Shoot Somebody Who Outdrew You
Mello hated him at first sight, with the pure, uncomplicated certainty of the young, and if it became a bit more, well, complicated over the years, he would never admit it.
The first day Near came to classes, Mrs. Baker introduced him to everyone. He was all icy-pale and sickly-looking, perfectly expressionless. Mello had seen enough new kids to know the look of careful blankness most put on. He'd done it himself the first day, presented to a roomful of strangers with nothing but a name, and that not even his real one. But this kid, he looked at them all as if nothing had ever impressed him, and nothing ever would.
Mello turned to Matt and rolled his eyes. The redhead shrugged, but that was Matt for you, always willing to reserve judgment, even on someone who was obviously a superior little git.
"Why?" Matt had asked him once. "What's so awful about him?"
Matt was allowed to question him, mostly because he really was just curious.
"Well," Mello had said, "he just gets on my nerves."
Mello had worked his ass off, had sometimes shocked himself with how little sleep he needed, how many meals he could skip, how much information he could cram into his brain.
And for what? Always, always, always second. To someone younger, to someone who didn't even seem to try. Stupid fucking brilliant damn Near.
The problem was that Near would act like he didn't care about anything Mello did to him. He never got angry, never went to an adult. He'd let things go for a while, then come up with a retaliation that was coolly planned out and fucking elegant.
Mello knew he was more than smart enough himself to plan something really good, but he was too impatient. He'd get mad and want to strike right away. It made him even crazier that Near had obviously figured this out for himself, and was amused by it. Mello swore, out loud and often, that the little freak provoked him on purpose.
Mello would kick over a castle built of cards, and discover in a few days that all his clothes had somehow gone into the laundry with the whites and turned a sickly gray. He'd steal the House keys and lock Near in his room, and two weeks later, he'd open his own door onto a fucking blizzard of origami, which turned out, on inspection, to be made of all his class notes.
Near was almost enough of a bastard to be interesting, Mello thought sometimes, but quickly banished that idea, making a mental note to possibly burn it out of his brain if he could find the offending synapses.
It didn't matter that most of the other kids were on his side and itching to join in the feud. Mello didn't want troops. He wanted to win, and he wasn't about to cheat to do it.
He was still pissed about the origami incident, a slow burn that got hotter every time he thought about it. He found a certain grim pleasure in not exploding this time. Let Near fucking squirm for once, wondering when the next strike was coming.
Everyone else was outside the day the pressure finally built too high. Mello slipped away and stalked around inside, trying to find the little bastard alone. Something had to give. If you were losing, you had to change the rules, right?
He wasn't sure if Near was actually hiding, or if he just liked to hole up in isolated parts of the House. Probably the latter. Hiding would involve effort, and admitting that something had bothered him enough for him to change his routine.
It was hard enough for Mello to track him down that he started to feel like a bomb whose fuse had been lit. He finally found him sitting in the third-floor hallway, putting together one of those stupid blank puzzles. He slouched against the wall, hitting it harder than he'd meant to, but Near didn't even look up at the noise.
"You need to knock it the fuck off," Mello said.
"I will if you will." He still didn't look up, just clicked more pieces into place.
"Why?" Mello said. He thought he could hear the fuse sputtering in his head. "Why do you have to be like this?"
"I don't know any other way to be." A little shift of his head, and Mello couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel them, sharp and grey, like a scalpel Near would use to dissect him.
He swooped in and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifted him easily, and shoved him against the wall, and Near just looked at him. Not even resigned, more like mildly interested, as if thinking, OK, what else you got?
And Mello suddenly shivered, he was so mad. Because he could hit him, sure, but he'd just stand there and take it, with that damn smug look like he was being patient, and what Mello really wanted was to wipe that look off his face.
So with his vision flaring red at the edges, he hauled him closer by his shirt and kissed him, hard, and Near tried to push him away at first, but then his hands went slack and he tentatively touched his tongue to Mello's. Oh no you don't, Mello thought, and broke away.
That was more like it. Near looked flushed and kind of stupidly dazed. His mouth was a bit swollen, and Mello fervently hoped he'd left bruises when he'd grabbed him in the first place. He grinned, praying he looked even one-fourth as superior as he felt, and walked away.
***
Everyone was more stressed than usual, waiting to see what L would do next, how he would win. Even the kids too young to understand much about the Kira case picked up on the prevailing mood in the House. Fights broke out more often, and Mello heard the kid two doors down—Royce, or something—crying at night more often. Every damn night, in fact, until Sascha moved herself into his room so he wouldn't be alone.
Matt worked at trying to get into the Japanese police's computer system, but they'd clearly taken some advice from L, and he reported that it was locked up tighter than Buckingham Palace.
Classes carried on, because the teachers were sadistic bastards. Mello pulled an all-nighter, again, to finish a criminal psychology paper. He felt like his eyelids were made of sandpaper, and he still had calculus to do.
Someone knocked on his door as he started trying to look at it.
"Yeah?" he called, half-expecting Matt to have worked a hacking miracle.
It wasn't Matt.
"What do you want?" Mello snapped. Near was the last fucking thing he needed right now.
Near stopped just inside the doorway. "I want to talk about the Kira case."
"L's got it under control."
Near reached for his hair. "I'm not certain he does."
"What?" Mello shoved himself out of the chair and paced, infuriated by how perfectly calm and still Near was.
"I know you heard me."
"What do you mean by that?" Mello said, carefully, maliciously overenunciating.
"On average, L takes two weeks to solve a case. He's been in Japan for over ten months now."
"It's the biggest fucking case ever!"
"I'm worried." He sure as hell didn't look it.
"You think you could do it better?"
"Mello, please don't assign meanings I don't intend to what I say."
"What, then? Why are you telling me this?"
"If we worked together—"
"Not a fucking chance." Mello couldn't believe he had ever kissed him. "Get out."
"Mello—"
He went to the door and flung it open. "Get. The fuck. Out."
Near obeyed, and Mello told himself he couldn't possibly have looked hurt.
***
Then the world ended, and nothing mattered, nothing Mello could do fucking counted, because he hadn't seen it coming, and Near had, and if Mello had to see him, he'd strangle him with his own hands.
He'd never admit it, but for a while there, it was fucking horrible. He didn't mind fighting tooth and nail for every inch of grudging-at-first respect, but it was awfully exhausting doing it every damn second for years.
He kept track of what Near was up to. Usually it was perfectly easy to summon the scorn and fury that drove him. Any time his treacherous body wanted to sleep, any time his mind started to drift, he'd remember how Kira had to die and Near had to lose. Only when he was half-asleep did he ever remember the feel of unexpectedly warm skin and fragile bones beneath his hands.
The long stretch of time during which he assumed Near was assembling his evidence was gratifying. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to grouse about ten fucking months now.
It'd be nice to say "I told you so." And it couldn't hurt to let Near know that he knew where he was. And maybe kick his ass a little. If it became necessary. Maybe it wouldn't; now that he had his hands on one of the notebooks, things were finally going his way.
Or maybe it would. Near certainly had reasons to want to fight, and it would almost be worth the hassle to see him lose it enough to actually take a swing.
He slipped through the lobby of the SPK's current headquarters while it was packed, shucked off the awful bland overcoat he'd worn to blend in, and dropped it in the elevator. He couldn't hear any voices inside the SPK suite, but waited in a side corridor for a while just to be sure. No one went in or left.
Knocking, Mello thought, would be just as effective as walking right in. He rapped on the door.
After a moment, he saw a flicker of shadow at the peephole, and heard the rattle of locks being taken off.
"Mello," Near said, as uninflected as if they'd seen each other yesterday. Someone who knew him less well might have missed the slight, annoyed narrowing of his eyes. He'd barely changed. The same boring clothes, the same blank face. Five years certainly hadn't made him any less infuriating.
"I'm winning."
"For now. Is that why you're here?" His voice was a little different: still soft, but lower, scratchier, as if he used it even less now.
"Yeah. That's why." An invitation obviously wasn't forthcoming, so he pushed past Near, looking back to add, "Didn't you think you would've caught the bastard by now?"
Near gave the little sigh that was his version of out-and-out exasperation. "Expectations are limiting." He wouldn't meet Mello's eyes; he picked at a loose thread on one of the buttons on his sleeve.
We owe this to L. How can you treat it like any other case? "Have you ever felt anything at all?"
"Of course I have. I am human, you know."
"Sometimes I wonder." He stepped closer, mostly to make Near look up at him, and to see his eyes widen at the invasion of his personal space. "Why do you have to be like this?"
Near sighed. "Why do you always ask a question for which there is no satisfactory answer? I could just as well ask why you're the way you are."
Mello felt his hands clenching into fists, and forced himself to try to relax, to at least put on a show of calm. "Doesn't it—"
"Or," Near said, lifting a hand to toy with his hair, "I could ask why you went to the trouble of seeking me out even though you hate me."
"I hate you so much I can't stand it."
Near didn't even blink. "You hate me so much you can't leave me alone?"
"You— Stop that, it's annoying." He grabbed Near's hand and pulled it out of his hair. That got a reaction; Near stared at Mello's fingers around his wrist, face wiped of all expression. This blankness was shock, not a mask.
It was a start. He'd forgotten how gratifying it was to see Near flustered. The slipping of the mask, the faint color in his cheeks—they proved that Mello could win at this too.
He brought Near's hand to his mouth and scraped his teeth over his palm. "You're right. I can't. But you." He raised his head. "Don't try to pretend you're an innocent bystander."
"I never said I was."
"You're not gonna stop me."
He hadn't made it a question, but Near shook his head anyway.
Mello tore at the shirt cuff, not caring if he ripped it, and one of the buttons did fly off. Near didn't try to pull away, but Mello felt his arm tense. Was his pulse fast?
"What—"
"Hush," Mello said, rather more gently than he meant to. "Y'know," he said, and that was better, much more offhand. "You wear these stupid shirts that cover you up," he said, popping the first button open. "But all it does..." He leaned close enough to brush his mouth over Near's collarbone. "...is make me want to taste right here." He licked at the hollow at the base of his neck, and Near gasped softly.
Mello looked up. "Oh, I'm gonna have to do that a lot more." He did it again right away, in fact, and popped another button. It was going to get annoying holding both their hands up.
"All right, over here." He tugged Near toward the couch. When he stumbled slightly, Mello pounced and pushed him down, and joined him before he could try to get up. He undid the last few buttons and pushed the shirt out of the way. Near looked even more dazed than last time, and, more tellingly, he had shut up. Mello grinned, and went for his neck again, sucked hard enough to turn the skin pink. Near's hair smelled like pear shampoo. Mello almost hadn't expected him to smell like anything at all.
Near shifted in a way that was almost squirming, and slipped his hands into Mello's hair.
"Nuh-uh," Mello said, extricating himself. He took both Near's hands and held them over his head, anchoring them with one of his own.
"Mello." He actually sounded kind of pissed. "No one's touched me in five years."
"Oh, shut the fuck up." Why did he have to say shit like that, anyway? "It's a little late to object." He slid his hand down and toyed with the drawstring of Near's pants. Near gave a breathy little moan that he tried to turn into a protest, but Mello wasn't fooled. "Hmm. That's what I thought."
He kind of wanted to get rid of the gloves, but that would've been too much like admitting he wanted to touch Near for real.
Except he did; he wanted to feel how he was affecting him.
He stripped one off with his teeth and tossed it aside, and it was definitely worth the knowing little look Near gave him, because when Mello put his hand back on his chest, he felt like he was burning up. No one else had ever felt this.
"Lift up," Mello said, and pulled off pajama pants and briefs at once, and pinned Near's hands again before he could react, though, Mello couldn't help but notice, he didn't even try. "Oh," he said softly, "you are white all over." Even the sparse, fleecy hair at his groin was pale. But the blush had spread all the way down his neck. Mello licked at the flushed skin, and Near half-whimpered, but then controlled it...too easily. That wouldn't do at all.
"Show me how you touch yourself," Mello said.
"I—" Near began, but stopped.
"Don't try to tell me you don't."
"I wasn't going to. Why are you doing this? I already said you were winning."
Said it like it was nothing. You need to fucking feel it. "I just wanna see. Damn it, don't interrogate me," he snapped when Near looked like he was going to ask another question. It would probably have been Why, then? and Mello didn't feel like dealing with that one. "Can't you quit thinking for half a fucking second?"
"I don't know."
"You're hopeless." That answer was so typically Near. "C'mon. Show me."
Surprisingly, Near didn't argue any more. Even more surprisingly, he was kind of rough with himself, gripping harder, stroking faster, than Mello would have thought. He watched in helpless fascination for a moment, but shook it off and bent close to whisper again. "What do you think about, when you do it? You think about me?"
"I...yes."
"Tell me."
"So...so you can make fun of me?"
"I would not," Mello said, genuinely offended. "Tell me."
"A... About touching you."
"Yeah?"
"About making you..."
You couldn't, Mello thought, but this was too good to interrupt; Near just needed one little push over the edge.
He put his hand over Near's, careful to touch only his fingers, and moved with him. "That's good, huh?"
"Yes."
"Are you gonna come?"
Near squeezed his eyes shut, but he nodded.
"No, look at me. Tell me how you feel."
"Mel... Mello. Please."
"Please...what?" He couldn't quite seem to catch his own breath.
"Please...touch me." It was a shockingly husky whisper.
"Hmm." He pretended to think it over, but he shifted his hand as if by accident, brushing hot, hot, slick skin.
Near cried out, thankfully drowning out Mello's involuntary gasp; and then he was coming hard, another wordless cry torn from him, arching off the couch; and Mello drank in the sight, because, really, who would ever have guessed Near could be like this?
He recovered way too soon, and looked at Mello searchingly, and Mello, dizzy and more turned on than he'd ever admit, had to get the fuck out.
***
He tears the picture to shreds, and lights the pieces on fire.
It's the only smart thing to do with it, and he can't stand to look at the fucking thing, at the boy he'd been, at the words on the back. Can't stand, either, to think of Near remembering to retrieve it from the House and carrying it with him all this time, knowing Mello would come looking for it. It's hideously presumptuous. It breaks the rules.
Mello walks, and he can feel that it's cold, bitingly so, but he doesn't care. He's not sure how the fuck he ends up back at the SPK's building, but there it is.
He sits on a bench across the street, and glares at the doors. No, he thinks. He isn't sure if he's arguing with himself or with Near, and that just pisses him off more, because he's always there, isn't he? Mello can't even be alone in his own damn head.
He wishes he could want to shoot him, but knows he let the moment pass him by. He wishes he could exorcise him, drag their lives apart. But a part of him has always been afraid that what he'd be left with wouldn't feel like enough.
"Damn you," he says out loud.
***
He picks the lock of the alleyway exit, and the one of the door in the stairwell. The hallway is silent, except for the faint hum of the central heating.
Mello noted Halle's entry code earlier, and he punches it on the keypad, half-thinking that surely someone has changed it.
The light turns green, and Mello hesitates. Too easy, he thinks. Why?
He'll never know if he stands here like an idiot.
He pushes the door open with a soft whoosh, and walks into the dim room. His eyes go straight to Near, a huddle of white in all that grey. He's alone. Mello hears the snip of the scissors as he cuts into one of those paper construction kits. He doesn't look up. Of course.
"We weren't done," Mello says.
"No."
"You're not scared?"
"No."
He felt it too, then: the moment Mello's finger froze on the trigger. "You probably should be."
Near sets the scissors aside and looks at him, and Mello silently curses himself for the half-step back he just barely manages not to take. "Mello, what is it that you want?"
I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I want to hit Kira until his face is bloody meat. I want the world the way it was. I want to hurt you. I want to touch you. I want something to break so I can stop feeling this way.
Near gets to his feet, and crosses the room to stand in front of him. Mello stares. Of course he knew Near could walk, but he can't remember him ever actually approaching him.
"What?" Near says. "What do you need?"
If he tries to answer—if he tries to move—he'll fly apart into so many pieces, no one will ever be able to put them back together.
Near takes a step closer, hesitates. "Mello? Will you let me?"
"You think I trust you?" he says, but it's reflex, and Near knows it.
Near almost smiles. "I don't have to hold you down, do I?"
Mello blinks at him, lost for a moment because all the rules have changed and he's not sure when that happened. "No," he says simply.
Near leans in and licks his neck, then bites down, not gently. His breath is coming short already, and his hair still smells like pears, not smoke, and Matt's been so damn careful since the explosion... Mello closes his eyes for a moment and says on a shaky breath, "I mean yeah."
Near lifts his head and gives him a quizzical look.
"I mean," Mello whispers, and heat sparks all through him before he's even asked. "Yeah, you have to hold me down."
Something flickers in Near's eyes that looks too much like the ache in Mello's throat feels, and he catches both his wrists in one hand and holds them up as much as he can, just over his head, like Mello did to him. With the other hand he pulls down the vest's zipper and just kind of shoves everything out of the way, leather and chains and beads and all, and drags his fingernails, sharper than they were, down Mello's chest and stomach. His mouth lingers on Mello's neck as he works at the lacings of the pants, touches too light to be called kisses, tracing a line of heat up to his earlobe. "Beautiful," he whispers, barely louder than his breath. "Always."
"No," Mello says. "Don't. Don't do that." He doesn't think he can stand it.
"Whatever you want," Near says, a sharp edge of sarcasm creeping into his voice. He peels the leather open and wraps his hand around him, not moving, just gripping tight, but that's almost enough. "You don't have to beg," he says into Mello's ear in a hot rush, "but no one will ever know if you do."
Mello tries to shift against his hand, but he isn't budging. He licks his lips. "Near," he breathes, and if he'd known how hot this was, he might've tried it years ago. "Please..."
"OK," Near says, and his voice is gentle, but his hands aren't, one still pressing Mello's wrists hard into the wall, like he really does get that this is how he needs it, the other moving fast and rough. Mello sags against the wall and just gives himself up to it. The information about the rules was a payment, but this... this is a gift.
"I hate you," he manages to say.
"I know, M."
He can hear the smile. "I hate you... so much... ah, fuck, Near." He can't look at him too long; it's too much. Near's crazy smoky eyes pinning him more surely than his hand, the mask of indifference fallen away; the lines of his face seem sharper, purer. Mello lets out a shuddery gasping breath as he comes, and just for this one instant, it almost doesn't matter who's winning.
He leans forward, still breathing hard, and Near lets go of his wrists and winds a hand into his hair, gently now. He might sneak a kiss at the corner of Mello's mouth, but it doesn't seem worth objecting to.
"I know you're leaving," Near says.
I have to. "Yeah."
"It's all right." He steps back.
Mello does up the laces again, touches the rosary reflexively. "Quit that."
There might be a crack in the calm Near put back on so easily; there might be regret beneath the mask. Mello shakes his head, zips up the vest, and starts toward the door.
"Mello?"
He looks back.
"When this is over..."
"Didn't I say I'd wait for you at the finish line?"
"Oh," Near says, and smiles, possibly the first real smile Mello's ever seen from him, and that gave away way too much, but the rules have all changed, and maybe that's not so horrible. Maybe, when they win, Mello will come back, and see what the new world feels like.
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Mello/Near
Word count: 4200
Spoilers: Through Chapter 77.
ObDisclaimer: Not mine! She says, as they both breathe a sigh of relief.
Summary: Near was almost enough of a bastard to be interesting, Mello thought sometimes, but quickly banished that idea, making a mental note to possibly burn it out of his brain if he could find the offending synapses.
Notes: It's naughty, but there's more to it than just naughtiness. (People seemed to disagree with my calling it semi-PWP. *g*) The title is, of course, from Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah." Feedback is always cherished and adored. Thanks and worship to my lovely beta,
norrell.How to Shoot Somebody Who Outdrew You
Mello hated him at first sight, with the pure, uncomplicated certainty of the young, and if it became a bit more, well, complicated over the years, he would never admit it.
The first day Near came to classes, Mrs. Baker introduced him to everyone. He was all icy-pale and sickly-looking, perfectly expressionless. Mello had seen enough new kids to know the look of careful blankness most put on. He'd done it himself the first day, presented to a roomful of strangers with nothing but a name, and that not even his real one. But this kid, he looked at them all as if nothing had ever impressed him, and nothing ever would.
Mello turned to Matt and rolled his eyes. The redhead shrugged, but that was Matt for you, always willing to reserve judgment, even on someone who was obviously a superior little git.
"Why?" Matt had asked him once. "What's so awful about him?"
Matt was allowed to question him, mostly because he really was just curious.
"Well," Mello had said, "he just gets on my nerves."
Mello had worked his ass off, had sometimes shocked himself with how little sleep he needed, how many meals he could skip, how much information he could cram into his brain.
And for what? Always, always, always second. To someone younger, to someone who didn't even seem to try. Stupid fucking brilliant damn Near.
The problem was that Near would act like he didn't care about anything Mello did to him. He never got angry, never went to an adult. He'd let things go for a while, then come up with a retaliation that was coolly planned out and fucking elegant.
Mello knew he was more than smart enough himself to plan something really good, but he was too impatient. He'd get mad and want to strike right away. It made him even crazier that Near had obviously figured this out for himself, and was amused by it. Mello swore, out loud and often, that the little freak provoked him on purpose.
Mello would kick over a castle built of cards, and discover in a few days that all his clothes had somehow gone into the laundry with the whites and turned a sickly gray. He'd steal the House keys and lock Near in his room, and two weeks later, he'd open his own door onto a fucking blizzard of origami, which turned out, on inspection, to be made of all his class notes.
Near was almost enough of a bastard to be interesting, Mello thought sometimes, but quickly banished that idea, making a mental note to possibly burn it out of his brain if he could find the offending synapses.
It didn't matter that most of the other kids were on his side and itching to join in the feud. Mello didn't want troops. He wanted to win, and he wasn't about to cheat to do it.
He was still pissed about the origami incident, a slow burn that got hotter every time he thought about it. He found a certain grim pleasure in not exploding this time. Let Near fucking squirm for once, wondering when the next strike was coming.
Everyone else was outside the day the pressure finally built too high. Mello slipped away and stalked around inside, trying to find the little bastard alone. Something had to give. If you were losing, you had to change the rules, right?
He wasn't sure if Near was actually hiding, or if he just liked to hole up in isolated parts of the House. Probably the latter. Hiding would involve effort, and admitting that something had bothered him enough for him to change his routine.
It was hard enough for Mello to track him down that he started to feel like a bomb whose fuse had been lit. He finally found him sitting in the third-floor hallway, putting together one of those stupid blank puzzles. He slouched against the wall, hitting it harder than he'd meant to, but Near didn't even look up at the noise.
"You need to knock it the fuck off," Mello said.
"I will if you will." He still didn't look up, just clicked more pieces into place.
"Why?" Mello said. He thought he could hear the fuse sputtering in his head. "Why do you have to be like this?"
"I don't know any other way to be." A little shift of his head, and Mello couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel them, sharp and grey, like a scalpel Near would use to dissect him.
He swooped in and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifted him easily, and shoved him against the wall, and Near just looked at him. Not even resigned, more like mildly interested, as if thinking, OK, what else you got?
And Mello suddenly shivered, he was so mad. Because he could hit him, sure, but he'd just stand there and take it, with that damn smug look like he was being patient, and what Mello really wanted was to wipe that look off his face.
So with his vision flaring red at the edges, he hauled him closer by his shirt and kissed him, hard, and Near tried to push him away at first, but then his hands went slack and he tentatively touched his tongue to Mello's. Oh no you don't, Mello thought, and broke away.
That was more like it. Near looked flushed and kind of stupidly dazed. His mouth was a bit swollen, and Mello fervently hoped he'd left bruises when he'd grabbed him in the first place. He grinned, praying he looked even one-fourth as superior as he felt, and walked away.
***
Everyone was more stressed than usual, waiting to see what L would do next, how he would win. Even the kids too young to understand much about the Kira case picked up on the prevailing mood in the House. Fights broke out more often, and Mello heard the kid two doors down—Royce, or something—crying at night more often. Every damn night, in fact, until Sascha moved herself into his room so he wouldn't be alone.
Matt worked at trying to get into the Japanese police's computer system, but they'd clearly taken some advice from L, and he reported that it was locked up tighter than Buckingham Palace.
Classes carried on, because the teachers were sadistic bastards. Mello pulled an all-nighter, again, to finish a criminal psychology paper. He felt like his eyelids were made of sandpaper, and he still had calculus to do.
Someone knocked on his door as he started trying to look at it.
"Yeah?" he called, half-expecting Matt to have worked a hacking miracle.
It wasn't Matt.
"What do you want?" Mello snapped. Near was the last fucking thing he needed right now.
Near stopped just inside the doorway. "I want to talk about the Kira case."
"L's got it under control."
Near reached for his hair. "I'm not certain he does."
"What?" Mello shoved himself out of the chair and paced, infuriated by how perfectly calm and still Near was.
"I know you heard me."
"What do you mean by that?" Mello said, carefully, maliciously overenunciating.
"On average, L takes two weeks to solve a case. He's been in Japan for over ten months now."
"It's the biggest fucking case ever!"
"I'm worried." He sure as hell didn't look it.
"You think you could do it better?"
"Mello, please don't assign meanings I don't intend to what I say."
"What, then? Why are you telling me this?"
"If we worked together—"
"Not a fucking chance." Mello couldn't believe he had ever kissed him. "Get out."
"Mello—"
He went to the door and flung it open. "Get. The fuck. Out."
Near obeyed, and Mello told himself he couldn't possibly have looked hurt.
***
Then the world ended, and nothing mattered, nothing Mello could do fucking counted, because he hadn't seen it coming, and Near had, and if Mello had to see him, he'd strangle him with his own hands.
He'd never admit it, but for a while there, it was fucking horrible. He didn't mind fighting tooth and nail for every inch of grudging-at-first respect, but it was awfully exhausting doing it every damn second for years.
He kept track of what Near was up to. Usually it was perfectly easy to summon the scorn and fury that drove him. Any time his treacherous body wanted to sleep, any time his mind started to drift, he'd remember how Kira had to die and Near had to lose. Only when he was half-asleep did he ever remember the feel of unexpectedly warm skin and fragile bones beneath his hands.
The long stretch of time during which he assumed Near was assembling his evidence was gratifying. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to grouse about ten fucking months now.
It'd be nice to say "I told you so." And it couldn't hurt to let Near know that he knew where he was. And maybe kick his ass a little. If it became necessary. Maybe it wouldn't; now that he had his hands on one of the notebooks, things were finally going his way.
Or maybe it would. Near certainly had reasons to want to fight, and it would almost be worth the hassle to see him lose it enough to actually take a swing.
He slipped through the lobby of the SPK's current headquarters while it was packed, shucked off the awful bland overcoat he'd worn to blend in, and dropped it in the elevator. He couldn't hear any voices inside the SPK suite, but waited in a side corridor for a while just to be sure. No one went in or left.
Knocking, Mello thought, would be just as effective as walking right in. He rapped on the door.
After a moment, he saw a flicker of shadow at the peephole, and heard the rattle of locks being taken off.
"Mello," Near said, as uninflected as if they'd seen each other yesterday. Someone who knew him less well might have missed the slight, annoyed narrowing of his eyes. He'd barely changed. The same boring clothes, the same blank face. Five years certainly hadn't made him any less infuriating.
"I'm winning."
"For now. Is that why you're here?" His voice was a little different: still soft, but lower, scratchier, as if he used it even less now.
"Yeah. That's why." An invitation obviously wasn't forthcoming, so he pushed past Near, looking back to add, "Didn't you think you would've caught the bastard by now?"
Near gave the little sigh that was his version of out-and-out exasperation. "Expectations are limiting." He wouldn't meet Mello's eyes; he picked at a loose thread on one of the buttons on his sleeve.
We owe this to L. How can you treat it like any other case? "Have you ever felt anything at all?"
"Of course I have. I am human, you know."
"Sometimes I wonder." He stepped closer, mostly to make Near look up at him, and to see his eyes widen at the invasion of his personal space. "Why do you have to be like this?"
Near sighed. "Why do you always ask a question for which there is no satisfactory answer? I could just as well ask why you're the way you are."
Mello felt his hands clenching into fists, and forced himself to try to relax, to at least put on a show of calm. "Doesn't it—"
"Or," Near said, lifting a hand to toy with his hair, "I could ask why you went to the trouble of seeking me out even though you hate me."
"I hate you so much I can't stand it."
Near didn't even blink. "You hate me so much you can't leave me alone?"
"You— Stop that, it's annoying." He grabbed Near's hand and pulled it out of his hair. That got a reaction; Near stared at Mello's fingers around his wrist, face wiped of all expression. This blankness was shock, not a mask.
It was a start. He'd forgotten how gratifying it was to see Near flustered. The slipping of the mask, the faint color in his cheeks—they proved that Mello could win at this too.
He brought Near's hand to his mouth and scraped his teeth over his palm. "You're right. I can't. But you." He raised his head. "Don't try to pretend you're an innocent bystander."
"I never said I was."
"You're not gonna stop me."
He hadn't made it a question, but Near shook his head anyway.
Mello tore at the shirt cuff, not caring if he ripped it, and one of the buttons did fly off. Near didn't try to pull away, but Mello felt his arm tense. Was his pulse fast?
"What—"
"Hush," Mello said, rather more gently than he meant to. "Y'know," he said, and that was better, much more offhand. "You wear these stupid shirts that cover you up," he said, popping the first button open. "But all it does..." He leaned close enough to brush his mouth over Near's collarbone. "...is make me want to taste right here." He licked at the hollow at the base of his neck, and Near gasped softly.
Mello looked up. "Oh, I'm gonna have to do that a lot more." He did it again right away, in fact, and popped another button. It was going to get annoying holding both their hands up.
"All right, over here." He tugged Near toward the couch. When he stumbled slightly, Mello pounced and pushed him down, and joined him before he could try to get up. He undid the last few buttons and pushed the shirt out of the way. Near looked even more dazed than last time, and, more tellingly, he had shut up. Mello grinned, and went for his neck again, sucked hard enough to turn the skin pink. Near's hair smelled like pear shampoo. Mello almost hadn't expected him to smell like anything at all.
Near shifted in a way that was almost squirming, and slipped his hands into Mello's hair.
"Nuh-uh," Mello said, extricating himself. He took both Near's hands and held them over his head, anchoring them with one of his own.
"Mello." He actually sounded kind of pissed. "No one's touched me in five years."
"Oh, shut the fuck up." Why did he have to say shit like that, anyway? "It's a little late to object." He slid his hand down and toyed with the drawstring of Near's pants. Near gave a breathy little moan that he tried to turn into a protest, but Mello wasn't fooled. "Hmm. That's what I thought."
He kind of wanted to get rid of the gloves, but that would've been too much like admitting he wanted to touch Near for real.
Except he did; he wanted to feel how he was affecting him.
He stripped one off with his teeth and tossed it aside, and it was definitely worth the knowing little look Near gave him, because when Mello put his hand back on his chest, he felt like he was burning up. No one else had ever felt this.
"Lift up," Mello said, and pulled off pajama pants and briefs at once, and pinned Near's hands again before he could react, though, Mello couldn't help but notice, he didn't even try. "Oh," he said softly, "you are white all over." Even the sparse, fleecy hair at his groin was pale. But the blush had spread all the way down his neck. Mello licked at the flushed skin, and Near half-whimpered, but then controlled it...too easily. That wouldn't do at all.
"Show me how you touch yourself," Mello said.
"I—" Near began, but stopped.
"Don't try to tell me you don't."
"I wasn't going to. Why are you doing this? I already said you were winning."
Said it like it was nothing. You need to fucking feel it. "I just wanna see. Damn it, don't interrogate me," he snapped when Near looked like he was going to ask another question. It would probably have been Why, then? and Mello didn't feel like dealing with that one. "Can't you quit thinking for half a fucking second?"
"I don't know."
"You're hopeless." That answer was so typically Near. "C'mon. Show me."
Surprisingly, Near didn't argue any more. Even more surprisingly, he was kind of rough with himself, gripping harder, stroking faster, than Mello would have thought. He watched in helpless fascination for a moment, but shook it off and bent close to whisper again. "What do you think about, when you do it? You think about me?"
"I...yes."
"Tell me."
"So...so you can make fun of me?"
"I would not," Mello said, genuinely offended. "Tell me."
"A... About touching you."
"Yeah?"
"About making you..."
You couldn't, Mello thought, but this was too good to interrupt; Near just needed one little push over the edge.
He put his hand over Near's, careful to touch only his fingers, and moved with him. "That's good, huh?"
"Yes."
"Are you gonna come?"
Near squeezed his eyes shut, but he nodded.
"No, look at me. Tell me how you feel."
"Mel... Mello. Please."
"Please...what?" He couldn't quite seem to catch his own breath.
"Please...touch me." It was a shockingly husky whisper.
"Hmm." He pretended to think it over, but he shifted his hand as if by accident, brushing hot, hot, slick skin.
Near cried out, thankfully drowning out Mello's involuntary gasp; and then he was coming hard, another wordless cry torn from him, arching off the couch; and Mello drank in the sight, because, really, who would ever have guessed Near could be like this?
He recovered way too soon, and looked at Mello searchingly, and Mello, dizzy and more turned on than he'd ever admit, had to get the fuck out.
***
He tears the picture to shreds, and lights the pieces on fire.
It's the only smart thing to do with it, and he can't stand to look at the fucking thing, at the boy he'd been, at the words on the back. Can't stand, either, to think of Near remembering to retrieve it from the House and carrying it with him all this time, knowing Mello would come looking for it. It's hideously presumptuous. It breaks the rules.
Mello walks, and he can feel that it's cold, bitingly so, but he doesn't care. He's not sure how the fuck he ends up back at the SPK's building, but there it is.
He sits on a bench across the street, and glares at the doors. No, he thinks. He isn't sure if he's arguing with himself or with Near, and that just pisses him off more, because he's always there, isn't he? Mello can't even be alone in his own damn head.
He wishes he could want to shoot him, but knows he let the moment pass him by. He wishes he could exorcise him, drag their lives apart. But a part of him has always been afraid that what he'd be left with wouldn't feel like enough.
"Damn you," he says out loud.
***
He picks the lock of the alleyway exit, and the one of the door in the stairwell. The hallway is silent, except for the faint hum of the central heating.
Mello noted Halle's entry code earlier, and he punches it on the keypad, half-thinking that surely someone has changed it.
The light turns green, and Mello hesitates. Too easy, he thinks. Why?
He'll never know if he stands here like an idiot.
He pushes the door open with a soft whoosh, and walks into the dim room. His eyes go straight to Near, a huddle of white in all that grey. He's alone. Mello hears the snip of the scissors as he cuts into one of those paper construction kits. He doesn't look up. Of course.
"We weren't done," Mello says.
"No."
"You're not scared?"
"No."
He felt it too, then: the moment Mello's finger froze on the trigger. "You probably should be."
Near sets the scissors aside and looks at him, and Mello silently curses himself for the half-step back he just barely manages not to take. "Mello, what is it that you want?"
I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I want to hit Kira until his face is bloody meat. I want the world the way it was. I want to hurt you. I want to touch you. I want something to break so I can stop feeling this way.
Near gets to his feet, and crosses the room to stand in front of him. Mello stares. Of course he knew Near could walk, but he can't remember him ever actually approaching him.
"What?" Near says. "What do you need?"
If he tries to answer—if he tries to move—he'll fly apart into so many pieces, no one will ever be able to put them back together.
Near takes a step closer, hesitates. "Mello? Will you let me?"
"You think I trust you?" he says, but it's reflex, and Near knows it.
Near almost smiles. "I don't have to hold you down, do I?"
Mello blinks at him, lost for a moment because all the rules have changed and he's not sure when that happened. "No," he says simply.
Near leans in and licks his neck, then bites down, not gently. His breath is coming short already, and his hair still smells like pears, not smoke, and Matt's been so damn careful since the explosion... Mello closes his eyes for a moment and says on a shaky breath, "I mean yeah."
Near lifts his head and gives him a quizzical look.
"I mean," Mello whispers, and heat sparks all through him before he's even asked. "Yeah, you have to hold me down."
Something flickers in Near's eyes that looks too much like the ache in Mello's throat feels, and he catches both his wrists in one hand and holds them up as much as he can, just over his head, like Mello did to him. With the other hand he pulls down the vest's zipper and just kind of shoves everything out of the way, leather and chains and beads and all, and drags his fingernails, sharper than they were, down Mello's chest and stomach. His mouth lingers on Mello's neck as he works at the lacings of the pants, touches too light to be called kisses, tracing a line of heat up to his earlobe. "Beautiful," he whispers, barely louder than his breath. "Always."
"No," Mello says. "Don't. Don't do that." He doesn't think he can stand it.
"Whatever you want," Near says, a sharp edge of sarcasm creeping into his voice. He peels the leather open and wraps his hand around him, not moving, just gripping tight, but that's almost enough. "You don't have to beg," he says into Mello's ear in a hot rush, "but no one will ever know if you do."
Mello tries to shift against his hand, but he isn't budging. He licks his lips. "Near," he breathes, and if he'd known how hot this was, he might've tried it years ago. "Please..."
"OK," Near says, and his voice is gentle, but his hands aren't, one still pressing Mello's wrists hard into the wall, like he really does get that this is how he needs it, the other moving fast and rough. Mello sags against the wall and just gives himself up to it. The information about the rules was a payment, but this... this is a gift.
"I hate you," he manages to say.
"I know, M."
He can hear the smile. "I hate you... so much... ah, fuck, Near." He can't look at him too long; it's too much. Near's crazy smoky eyes pinning him more surely than his hand, the mask of indifference fallen away; the lines of his face seem sharper, purer. Mello lets out a shuddery gasping breath as he comes, and just for this one instant, it almost doesn't matter who's winning.
He leans forward, still breathing hard, and Near lets go of his wrists and winds a hand into his hair, gently now. He might sneak a kiss at the corner of Mello's mouth, but it doesn't seem worth objecting to.
"I know you're leaving," Near says.
I have to. "Yeah."
"It's all right." He steps back.
Mello does up the laces again, touches the rosary reflexively. "Quit that."
There might be a crack in the calm Near put back on so easily; there might be regret beneath the mask. Mello shakes his head, zips up the vest, and starts toward the door.
"Mello?"
He looks back.
"When this is over..."
"Didn't I say I'd wait for you at the finish line?"
"Oh," Near says, and smiles, possibly the first real smile Mello's ever seen from him, and that gave away way too much, but the rules have all changed, and maybe that's not so horrible. Maybe, when they win, Mello will come back, and see what the new world feels like.
