a real morning after
He hadn't even been sure this would ever actually happen. He'd given up, really, on the idea of ever feeling Mello's hands curling around his wrists and pressing them down onto the blankets. Of ever getting to know Mello's skin with his fingers.
He'd thought if it did happen, it would hurt. It certainly had, at times: the first few seconds especially, then when nails pressed a little too deeply into his skin, the moment his bottom lip split, and when he was turned around, with his arms braced against the headboard, fingers occasionally pinched as their movements rattled it against the wall.
The beauty of it is that he knows he gave exactly as good as he got. Which is why, the morning after, he's waking up in Mello's bed, sprawled skin to skin, still aching and sticky. He smoothes his hand down Mello's side and can actually feel the bruise from the bite mark on his hipbone. There'll be hell to pay as soon as he wakes, but for now, Near lays his head back down against Mello's chest, enjoying the silence.