DN -- Cues
Title: Cues
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Mello/Near
Rating: light PG-13
Word Count: 308
Prompt: "feathers"
Warnings: post-coital fluff
Summary: Mello has lots of good ideas.
Author's Note: This was written anon-ally at a kink meme ages ago. I decided it needed a proper home. XD
CUES
Gritting his teeth so that he won’t smile, Mello pulls out, reeling, and drops to the mattress next to Near-Near, who is flushed pink and hazy-eyed; Near, whose narrow chest is jumping, rise-fall-rise, with hitching breaths; Near, whose lips curl upward at the corners, his socks rustling on the tangled sheets as he shifts.
The cool ambient air drifts in eddying currents against his skin, sending goosebumps prickling down his arms as the sweat gathered along his spine goes cold.
Near shivers, a tremor that makes a visible progression from his head to his curling toes, and stretches over the edge of the bed, reaching towards the floor. Before Mello can articulate a sufficiently sardonic inquiry, Near’s pale angles rearrange properly on the mattress again, and now he’s clutching Mello’s coat and smirking like a cat.
He sits up, damp white bangs bouncing just slightly, and puts it on, threading white arms through black sleeves and raising the feather-lined hood over his head.
One would have to remove three of Mello’s fingers before he would admit how striking he was finding the effect.
And even then it was only because he’d be needing at least two fingers on each hand if he intends again to rouse from silent, stoic Near the half-hoarse, guttural animal’s scream that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He reaches out and flicks at the feathers where they’re drifting into Near’s face.
“Do you think I should take my wardrobe cues from you?” Near prompts.
Mello raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to ask me that,” he remarks.
Near’s nose scrunches in confusion, and Mello’s heart collapses like an accordion.
“Why not?”
Mello folds his hands behind his head and looks blithely at the ceiling.
“Because my advice,” he answers, “is that you never wear anything at all.”
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Mello/Near
Rating: light PG-13
Word Count: 308
Prompt: "feathers"
Warnings: post-coital fluff
Summary: Mello has lots of good ideas.
Author's Note: This was written anon-ally at a kink meme ages ago. I decided it needed a proper home. XD
CUES
Gritting his teeth so that he won’t smile, Mello pulls out, reeling, and drops to the mattress next to Near-Near, who is flushed pink and hazy-eyed; Near, whose narrow chest is jumping, rise-fall-rise, with hitching breaths; Near, whose lips curl upward at the corners, his socks rustling on the tangled sheets as he shifts.
The cool ambient air drifts in eddying currents against his skin, sending goosebumps prickling down his arms as the sweat gathered along his spine goes cold.
Near shivers, a tremor that makes a visible progression from his head to his curling toes, and stretches over the edge of the bed, reaching towards the floor. Before Mello can articulate a sufficiently sardonic inquiry, Near’s pale angles rearrange properly on the mattress again, and now he’s clutching Mello’s coat and smirking like a cat.
He sits up, damp white bangs bouncing just slightly, and puts it on, threading white arms through black sleeves and raising the feather-lined hood over his head.
One would have to remove three of Mello’s fingers before he would admit how striking he was finding the effect.
And even then it was only because he’d be needing at least two fingers on each hand if he intends again to rouse from silent, stoic Near the half-hoarse, guttural animal’s scream that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He reaches out and flicks at the feathers where they’re drifting into Near’s face.
“Do you think I should take my wardrobe cues from you?” Near prompts.
Mello raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to ask me that,” he remarks.
Near’s nose scrunches in confusion, and Mello’s heart collapses like an accordion.
“Why not?”
Mello folds his hands behind his head and looks blithely at the ceiling.
“Because my advice,” he answers, “is that you never wear anything at all.”