*Near knocks on Mello's door, fingers crossed behind his back. He wants him to be home, he has an idea. An idea and a picnic basket.*

*Near arrives home, with a soft sigh, and it's so obvious in the way he smiles and moves and walks, the way he didn't come home last night and did now, the same clothes, the messy hair, the cautious steps, and the way he says nothing, avoiding conversation, and heads straight for the bath.  The most 'I'VE HAD SEX AND IT WAS GOOD' crossing of a room ( Read more... )

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 ( Read more... )