![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neallofor lack of a better way to provide information, i'll just put the same things here [tags, ratings, etc] that i have on AO3. if you would, for whatever reason, prefer to read it on AO3 proper, the link to do so is here :3
Rating: Explicit
Category: F/F
Fandom: Death Note
Relationship: Mello / Near
Characters: Mello, Near
Additional Tags: Phone Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Possessive Sex, Awkward First Times, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, POV Near, Female Mello, Female Near
At 10:58 PM on Near’s eighteenth birthday, the phone in the SPK’s main offices rings.
She is the only one left awake. The majority of her agents left hours ago, and Commander Rester, dedicated as she is, understandably retired to bed at a respectable 9:30 PM.
Near rises to answer it. It’s the first time she has moved in— three hours, she thinks. Maybe four. Her joints creak slightly, more crackly than she suspects they are supposed to be at this age.
She lifts the phone from its cradle toward the end of the sixth ring and raises it to her ear.
“Hello?”
On the other end of the line, someone’s soft breath ghosts over the microphone. Near holds hers.
“Happy birthday.”
It is a woman’s voice, low and smoky and utterly familiar.
“Mello,” she says. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“What,” Mello replies, a smile in her voice, “did you really think I would miss your birthday?”
“You did miss the last four.”
“I’ve been busy,” Mello sighs. “I’m sure you have been, too. Besides, who was I supposed to call? Roger?” She laughs. “I don’t think he would’ve put me through to you. Do you?”
Near twirls the phone cord around her index finger and leans against the wall, tilting her head to hold the phone in place. “Probably not,” she admits. “How did you get this number?”
“That’s a secret.”
“I see,” Near says. Objectively speaking, this is a concerning development; there may, she thinks, be a traitor within the SPK. However, it would be a lie if she claimed to regret Mello finding a way to contact her.
There’s the sound of Mello shifting, her hair or clothing brushing over the microphone, and then a very long silence before she speaks again, long enough that Near is about to say something when Mello suddenly asks—
“What are you wearing?”
Near’s brow furrows in confusion. “What I always have worn.”
“Mm. It’s summer, so— linen, right?”
“Correct.”
She wonders, then, if Mello asked the question to prompt Near to ask the same in return. Sometimes people do that. This is something she has learned since Mello left.
“What are you wearing?” Near asks politely.
“I am wearing,” Mello says, breathy, “black lace. It’s this— this fucking expensive set, you know— nice lingerie. I look good in it.”
The description is extremely vague. Near does not know what nice lingerie looks like— she wears the same kind of cotton boyshort underwear every single day and a soft, thin bra. She also does not, honestly, know what Mello’s aim is in telling her this. It seems unlikely that she would call for the first time in five years to gloat about her finery, so there must be some kind of purpose to it, she just—
“I’m touching myself,” Mello announces.
Near drops the phone.
For five seconds, she stands in complete and utter shock, staring at the wall of monitors across the room. And then, hearing Mello say something, voice tinny and distant, she jolts, fumbling to grab the phone from where it hangs against the wall, dangling by the spiral cord.
“What— what is—” she stammers, “the purpose of this call?”
“I was trying to have phone sex with you,” Mello snaps, “but you’re not cooperating.”
“Why— why would you want to do that?”
“Why does anyone want to do anything?” Mello asks, evasive.
“Mello.”
“Ugh. Don’t overthink it. I— hm. I can’t show up and fuck you for real.” She sighs. “I’ve got too much shit to do. I’m not telling you where I am, but… it’s not close to New York City.”
This answer does not address Near’s actual question in any meaningful way.
“I wasn’t aware you were interested in me,” she says.
Mello laughs. “You’re so stupid sometimes.”
Near does not think she is stupid— not in general, and not for this. The insult brings out her inner contrarian.
“You don’t even know what I look like anymore.”
“That’s not— it’s not about that.” Another small sigh, one that goes straight through Near, a stab of arousal in her gut. Mello has clearly not stopped her previously-mentioned activities. “Come on. Who else is there?”
“There are plenty of other people. In fact, I believe there are a total of 6.7 billion worldwide—”
“Don’t be pedantic. You know what I mean.”
Near tugs on the phone cord. “There’s Matt.”
Mello laughs, then, loud and harsh. “Yeah— no. He’s great, but— you know. We’re not really, uh. Like that.”
“I didn’t know you and I were like that, either.”
“Why not?” Mello says, unconvincingly nonchalant. “I’m sure you’re cute enough.”
Cute enough. Near isn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended.
“Maybe you didn’t think I knew about your little crush,” Mello continues, “but— but I— I noticed. I knew. I just wasn’t— I didn’t—” her speech cuts off with a frustrated whine. “I don’t want to talk about it. Do you want your fucking birthday present or not?”
“Well.” Near frowns. The discovery that Mello knew of her infatuation in their youth— and has (unfortunately correctly) surmised that said infatuation has stood the test of time and distance— was not something she was prepared to deal with this evening. “… yes. But I’m, ah, in the middle of my office. I’m not even sitting down.”
“You’re smart,” Mello says, directly contradicting her earlier statement. “Let’s— oh— let’s problem-solve, shall we? W-what would you have to do to get on the phone with me somewhere— private?”
Near glances across the room. Her cell phone— one she really only has for emergencies— is laying on the floor next to a large tower of blocks. She thinks it might be dead.
“I have a cell phone,” she informs Mello. “I will need to charge it, however, for several minutes. I can go plug it in. My— my bedroom is in this building, so…”
“Bedroom. Great, yeah, that’s— mm. That’s better. You shouldn’t have your first time in the middle of your fucking office.” A pause. “Gimme the number and go plug in your stupid phone.”
Near rattles off the number associated with her cell phone.
“Got it.” Mello hangs up.
As if in a trance of sorts, Near retrieves her mobile phone and walks to her room. It is, as she predicted, dead. She plugs it into the charger by her nightstand and sits on the edge of her bed. Her phone won’t turn on right away— there’s got to be a little bit of life to the battery, first.
She taps her foot. Checks the clock. 11:03 PM. Twirls a little lock of hair around her index finger, strokes the strands with her thumb, contemplative. Counts the beats of her heart. Her pulse is elevated. It’s to be expected, both from the anxiety of a new and strange situation and from the burgeoning arousal in her gut.
11:04. She tries to turn on her phone. It does not work. Low battery, the screen says. Near gnaws her lip, tugs on her hair. She’s afraid that, if she keeps Mello waiting too long, she’ll change her mind. It’s surreal that she called at all, and the connection feels fragile— too good to be true, almost.
To pass the time and soothe herself, Near glances around the room. The furniture she has here is nice. She was able to pick out whatever she wanted, and could probably have selected more luxurious items, but in truth, she’s always liked things simple, so her bed is large and covered with white sheets and a hypoallergenic down-alternative comforter, and she has a total of nine pillows scattered across it.
11:07. Near tries to turn her phone on again.
It finally powers on. The screen lights up with a call almost immediately, buzzing in her hand.
Unknown caller, it says.
She presses the answer button.
“Hel—”
“I already came,” Mello interrupts. “You took so fucking long to pick up.”
“Oh.” Disappointment drags Near’s stomach down. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Mello huffs. “Are you still wearing all your clothes?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Okay. Do you want me to explain how this works?”
She sounds impatient. Eager, maybe, if Near is being optimistic.
“Please,” Near says.
“So— so. The idea is, like. I describe what I want to do to you. What I’m doing to you. And you’ll do it to yourself, and you’ll pretend that it’s me, and— and you say stuff back. About how you feel, or whatever. It’s, like. You know. Dirty talk.”
“Dirty talk,” Near echoes. It does not sound very difficult. “Okay.”
“It’ll be easier if you put me on speaker,” Mello mentions.
Near takes her suggestion. “The speaker is on.”
“Great. Cool. So first— first, take your shirt off. I want to see your body.”
“You’re unbuttoning my shirt,” Near says, closing her eyes as her own fingers work open the buttons of her linen top.
“Your skin is pretty,” Mello says. “I’m— kissing you. On the mouth.”
“Oh,” Near says. “That’s—”
“You can’t talk while I’m kissing you. I’ll stop.”
Near frowns. “Okay.”
“Is your shirt open yet?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Are you wearing anything under your shirt?”
Near looks down at her own chest. “Yes. It’s a white bra. It’s— soft.”
“I’ll touch you over it for a while,” Mello says. “I don’t want to rush. It’s your first time.” She gives Near a moment. “Are you doing it?”
“I’m touching my breasts, yes. Through my underwear.”
“I bet you have cute tits,” Mello says. “How big are they?”
“I don’t know.” Near frowns. “Not very.”
“Mine are bigger than when I left,” Mello says. “Not by a lot, though.”
Near is at a loss as to the proper response to this information.
“I’m sure your breasts are very attractive.”
“They are.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter if yours are small. That probably looks good on you.”
This is unexpectedly kind, Near thinks. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. Hey, push up your bra for me.”
Near does, and stares down at herself.
“Are your tits out?”
“Y— yes.”
“What color are your nipples?” Mello asks. “They’ve gotta be pink, right? ‘Cause— I mean, you can’t produce melanin.”
“They are pink,” Near confirms awkwardly.
Dirty talk is admittedly not something Near is practiced at in any way. She isn’t familiar with what it even should consist of. Despite her ignorance on the topic, she gets the distinct sense that Mello is not overly practiced at it, either. Her commentary is not particularly erotic.
It doesn’t actually matter, though, that Mello’s attempts are clumsy. The fact that Mello is on the other end of the line, trying to turn her on, is arousing in and of itself.
“Cute,” Mello says. “Okay, I’m— feeling you up. I’m pinching your nipples and stuff.”
Near does it to herself. It is mildly pleasurable.
“Do you like that?” Mello asks. “You like how I’m touching you?”
“I like it,” Near says, and finds that saying it out loud makes it a little truer. “I like having— um. Your hands on me. They feel nice.”
“Yeah. Yeah, and I— I love your pretty little tits.”
The praise is very nice, thrilling in a way Near didn’t anticipate. She moans.
“I wanna touch you like this for a long time,” Mello tells her. “I want to— to pinch you and grope you and— until you’re, ah, squirming and— really turned-on.”
“O-oh,” Near says, uneven. “I—”
“Are you doing it? Do it harder. Pinch yourself, like— like, kind of mean.”
Near whimpers.
“God, that’s a good sound,” Mello says. “I’m— gonna. I’m gonna start again.”
“You’re going to— to yourself?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I— fuck, I like listening to you.”
“Should… should I…?”
“Keep feeling yourself up for now,” Mello commands. “I told you. I want to do it to you for a long time.”
“Right.” Near hesitates. “It’s just— if you’re touching me, how are you touching yourself?”
“I’m not,” Mello says. “You’re touching me.”
Near is not certain that this scenario is completely mechanically sound, but she does her best to imagine it. Mello touching her breasts. Her own hands between Mello’s legs. Or just one hand, maybe. She isn’t sure where the other one is.
“I’m touching you,” Near says. “On your— clitoris.”
Mello moans. “You sound ridiculous.”
“Oh.” Near is disappointed. “I’m—”
“No, no,” Mello interrupts. “Keep— oh, shit. Keep going. You’re touching my fucking clit. I’m— I’m wet for you.”
Near feels herself flush. Nevertheless, she perseveres.
“Well, you’re… while you’re, um. Pinching me. I— I slide my hand up your leg? And I put my fingers on you. In you. No— on you.”
There is an obscene, strangled sound of pleasure from the other end of the line.
“Grab your tits,” Mello gasps out, voice wavering. “Do it— hard, like— as hard as you can stand it. You’re— you’re driving me crazy.”
Near does it. It’s painful, but not in a way she minds. She whines, getting more into the scenario, driven a little mad herself by the idea of Mello’s hands on her, harsh and unkind but so, so wanted. “M-Mello, you’re being— you’re being too rough.”
“You love it,” Mello says. “You wish I was even rougher, I bet.”
Mello didn’t give her permission or the command, but Near grabs a pillow— smaller and firmer than the others, familiar to her for this particular purpose— and jams it between her thighs. She turns over onto her front, her left ear against the sheets, eyes on the phone. The position pushes the pillow against the bed and the center of her crotch against the pillow. Her hips roll of their own volition, and she stifles a whimper.
“Near?”
“I’m here,” she says. “S-sorry. Um— I— I do like it. You being rough. But I only… I only like it because it’s you. I w-wouldn’t let anyone else do it.”
“You shouldn’t let anyone else touch you at all,” Mello says, sounding miffed.
This confuses Near. The arousal and the small amount of stimulation to her clitoris has begun to chip away at her cognitive abilities, but even so, it seems like an unusual thing for Mello to say.
“Are you saying I— belong to you?” She wonders, tilting her pelvis to press her vulva against the pillow more firmly.
The soft moaning on the other end of the line stops abruptly.
“I. I, uh. That was just—”
“I do,” Near interrupts, grinding down again. “I’m y-yours. If you want me.”
“Yeah,” Mello says, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. I want you. You’re— you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” Mello sounds so pleased with her, so proud, that Near thinks she could cry, maybe, if she were the crying type. “You’re mine. You’re so good, and you’re all mine.”
“All yours,” Near says dreamily, feeling a bit like she’s floating. “I’m good. You want me.”
“I want you. You’re very good.” Mello curses softly. “Are you fingering yourself?”
Near startles slightly, freezing. “No.” A pause. “I have, um. A pillow. It’s between my legs.”
“Do you know how to?”
She has tried it before. Her results were unimpressive.
“Technically,” Near says. “I don’t like it that much.”
“I’ll just eat you out, then,” Mello tells her. “Fuck. Are you wet? Tell me how wet you are for me.”
Near is, she knows, wet. She tucks her right hand under her weight and slips it beneath the waistband of her shorts, cupping the front of her sex. She’s hot, and a little swollen, and her fingers come away slicker and shinier than she expected.
“I’m— Mello. I’m r-really wet.”
“God. I knew it.” There’s movement on the other end of the line again. “Can you— can you make yourself come?”
Near whimpers. “I th-think so.”
“Pretend it’s me,” Mello says. “Shit, wait, let me— I’ll talk. You fuck yourself.”
“O-okay.”
“I want to— I wanna lay you out. Push you on the bed, get you naked. And… I want to touch you. Every fucking inch. I’ll kiss— God. Your neck. I would kiss your fucking neck and grab your tits and put my mouth on your pretty little fucking cunt, and I would— I would f-fuck you with my tongue, and I would make—” Mello takes a shuddering breath— “I’d make you fucking come. Jesus. I wanna touch you, wanna taste you— do you like it? Do you like what I’m doing to you?”
“I love it,” Near promises, turning her face towards the mattress, halfway hiding. “I— oh— your t-tongue feels so good—”
“I’m— ah, I’m feeling you up, I’m k-kissing you, I’m— I’m grabbing your ass, sucking on your fucking tits, l-licking your clit— are you gonna come? Near— fuck, I wanna hear you come.”
The imagined physical configuration has become nonsensical, devoid of any basis in reality. Mello’s hands and mouth are everywhere at once. Near wants that, she realizes— wants for Mello to claim every centimeter of her body, for Mello to do whatever she pleases with her, for Mello to own her—
“I’m— I’m close,” she manages, movements frantic as the coil of heat in her abdomen tightens, electric shocks moving through her body with increasing intensity and frequency. She wishes fiercely that Mello were here, touching her for real, kissing and licking and groping her like she’s saying she would.
“That’s my good girl,” Mello says, and Near sobs. “You’re gonna— gonna come for me, even though you’re s-so far away and— and you haven’t seen me in ages, but you k-kept wanting me. Didn’t you? Did you— want me?”
“A-always,” Near stammers.
“Say my name when you come. Please. Say it, I—”
“Mello.” Near squeezes her eyes shut, moving one hand to her hair and pulling on it, hard.
Mello makes a gorgeous sound for her. “Near.”
Near thrusts against the pillow once, twice— and on the third motion, she starts to fall apart, forming the vaguest shape of Mello’s name in the midst of her incoherent whining.
“Near,” Mello moans, “fuck, you— oh, God, you feel so— God, gonna fuck your pretty little pink fucking cunt so good you cry, so you— you’re gonna beg me for it, I fucking love you— I— I love fucking you—”
Some unknown but significant number of miles away, Mello comes, panting and whimpering and calling Near hers, and Near listens, smiling, loose-limbed and half-delirious in the aftermath of her orgasm and the glow of Mello’s approval.
It’s the best birthday she has ever had.
For several minutes, neither of them say a word. Near lays there and stares at her phone and listens to Mello breathe. She still doesn’t have Mello’s number. It’s private.
“Hey.” Mello eventually says. “Near. Are you there?”
“I am here.”
“That was hot,” Mello tells her. “You did well.”
Near smiles. “Thank you. You did, too.”
“I know,” Mello says blithely. She hesitates for a long moment. “You should get some sleep.”
“Probably,” Near acknowledges. She is drowsy, but also feels resistant to the idea of getting off the phone, especially since she doesn’t know when she’ll hear from Mello again. She wants very badly to see her.
“Goodnight,” Mello says, “angel.”
The pet name is unbearably hokey. Near grins. Angel, she thinks, gleaming with pride.
“When will I—” Near yawns. “Will I hear from you again?”
A very long silence follows. Thirty seconds, at least. Near has to check to make sure the call is still connected.
Then, finally, Mello speaks.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll— I will call you again. Soon.”
She sounds like she means it.
“Okay,” Near says, very pleased with the answer. “Well. Goodnight.”
Mello makes a weird sort of kissing noise into the phone. “Bye.”
The line goes dead.
Near sleeps incredibly well that night.
Re: Talented brilliant show stopping
Date: 2024-04-14 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-04-14 03:48 pm (UTC)This was really great! It's very fun to watch them stumble through phone sex hahaha the way that Near is initially surprised and confused (because Mello is also being a total dweeb about the whole thing) was really funny. Their dirty was hot too, I love how possessive your Mello gets, and how into it Near is. The dialogue/scene you've set up is the perfect amount of funny/awkward/sexy, hehe.
no subject
Date: 2024-04-14 05:53 pm (UTC)