(no subject)
Some Near/Mello. NSFW. Remember that it's been something like five years since I read Death Note, and I basically skimmed the 2nd arc :| Damned if I remember what they're supposed to be like fff.
--
It's always about control and making the other lose it.
Near's the quiet one, the thinker who moves little and takes few actions. He's the observer, who likes to watch the chess pieces move across the board and sets up traps to deliver the result he wants. His expression hardly changes from the vaguely bored look he wears. He pays more attention to his toys than the people around him, because people are just toys to be used and put away as he wishes.
Mello's the opposite, all energy and action, always doing something. Mello thinks as well, but he's impulsive, compulsive, charismatic to a fault, a kind of double edged blade that opened up doors but could easily be his downfall. He'd be the one fucking up the chess match from inside, because Mello never was the one for watching. He's the one who leads the way, looks people in the face with an expression that demands others to, "Acknowledge I'm best".
And it's this acknowledgement Mello seeks -- from who? L's already dead -- that compels him to grab Near's head and force Near to look at his face, because Near hardly looks at people; he always looks past them, even when they're as naked as Mello is. But apparently Mello's not good enough; Near's eyes are still fixed on the window, unclothed legs unmoving.
Mello just wants Near to lose that fucking fish-eyed look.
His hand shoots out to grab the front of Near's shirt, hooking his fingers behind the buttons, drags Near towards him and crushes his lips on Near's, hasty, forceful, biting, trying for some kind of reaction from Near. But there's nothing, and Mello breaks off their kiss -- if something like that could even be called a kiss -- and thinks of just punching Near and laying him out on the bed and fucking him senseless. He stops himself before he follows through, because Near would just lie back and take it, and fuck there'd be no satisfaction in that.
He takes his anger out on Near's shirt instead, ripping the buttons with the kind of reflexive violence that colours all his actions. Near has the gall to just watch him, and simply shrugs off the shirt and leaves it on the floor. But it's Near's sudden, swift movement that catches Mello off guard, the elbow to the chest that knocks Mello flat on the bed. Mello recovers fast because he's energy given a form that constantly strains at the seams, impossible to keep down, stronger than Near, but Near has him pinned. Near places weight exactly at the points that require the least force to keep Mello down, and just waits for Mello's furious struggles to end.
Near places a hand in Mello's hair, runs his hands through it until his fingers are tangled in blonde strands and then stops, his palm digging mercilessly into half of Mello's face like he wants to take it apart and see what's inside. He doesn't even look like he'd care if Mello's face came off in his hand; Near's expression his hardly expressive.
"You're really quite easy, aren't you?" Near says in that carefully neutral voice of his, and that just drives Mello into a frenzy and he bites.
Near's hand quickly snaps back -- Mello takes satisfaction in that -- but that hand's soon crushing his throat (it doesn't take much force) and Mello gasps for air, hands grasping at Near's, he can't breathe. A rush of euphoria associated with asphyxiation, Mello's grip on Near slackens, and Near does it quick, almost business-like in his fucking. He doesn't move half as much as Mello would in the same position, but Near doesn't need to. Near only makes a few thrusts, painfully fast and deep, and Mello comes harder than he ever has before, even though he hates that grey haired bastard. And then it's over before Mello can recover, and Near's pulling on his shirt and pants and leaving to complete that damn blank puzzle.
It never was about the sex. It's about the winning, and Mello knows he lost to Near again.
--
It's always about control and making the other lose it.
Near's the quiet one, the thinker who moves little and takes few actions. He's the observer, who likes to watch the chess pieces move across the board and sets up traps to deliver the result he wants. His expression hardly changes from the vaguely bored look he wears. He pays more attention to his toys than the people around him, because people are just toys to be used and put away as he wishes.
Mello's the opposite, all energy and action, always doing something. Mello thinks as well, but he's impulsive, compulsive, charismatic to a fault, a kind of double edged blade that opened up doors but could easily be his downfall. He'd be the one fucking up the chess match from inside, because Mello never was the one for watching. He's the one who leads the way, looks people in the face with an expression that demands others to, "Acknowledge I'm best".
And it's this acknowledgement Mello seeks -- from who? L's already dead -- that compels him to grab Near's head and force Near to look at his face, because Near hardly looks at people; he always looks past them, even when they're as naked as Mello is. But apparently Mello's not good enough; Near's eyes are still fixed on the window, unclothed legs unmoving.
Mello just wants Near to lose that fucking fish-eyed look.
His hand shoots out to grab the front of Near's shirt, hooking his fingers behind the buttons, drags Near towards him and crushes his lips on Near's, hasty, forceful, biting, trying for some kind of reaction from Near. But there's nothing, and Mello breaks off their kiss -- if something like that could even be called a kiss -- and thinks of just punching Near and laying him out on the bed and fucking him senseless. He stops himself before he follows through, because Near would just lie back and take it, and fuck there'd be no satisfaction in that.
He takes his anger out on Near's shirt instead, ripping the buttons with the kind of reflexive violence that colours all his actions. Near has the gall to just watch him, and simply shrugs off the shirt and leaves it on the floor. But it's Near's sudden, swift movement that catches Mello off guard, the elbow to the chest that knocks Mello flat on the bed. Mello recovers fast because he's energy given a form that constantly strains at the seams, impossible to keep down, stronger than Near, but Near has him pinned. Near places weight exactly at the points that require the least force to keep Mello down, and just waits for Mello's furious struggles to end.
Near places a hand in Mello's hair, runs his hands through it until his fingers are tangled in blonde strands and then stops, his palm digging mercilessly into half of Mello's face like he wants to take it apart and see what's inside. He doesn't even look like he'd care if Mello's face came off in his hand; Near's expression his hardly expressive.
"You're really quite easy, aren't you?" Near says in that carefully neutral voice of his, and that just drives Mello into a frenzy and he bites.
Near's hand quickly snaps back -- Mello takes satisfaction in that -- but that hand's soon crushing his throat (it doesn't take much force) and Mello gasps for air, hands grasping at Near's, he can't breathe. A rush of euphoria associated with asphyxiation, Mello's grip on Near slackens, and Near does it quick, almost business-like in his fucking. He doesn't move half as much as Mello would in the same position, but Near doesn't need to. Near only makes a few thrusts, painfully fast and deep, and Mello comes harder than he ever has before, even though he hates that grey haired bastard. And then it's over before Mello can recover, and Near's pulling on his shirt and pants and leaving to complete that damn blank puzzle.
It never was about the sex. It's about the winning, and Mello knows he lost to Near again.