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neallorating: explicit | category: F/F | words: 3,540 | chapters: 1/1
summary: In which Mello rings in 2010 with some good old-fashioned lesbian sex and a minor emotional crisis.
•°•°•°•
Near’s bedroom— her tidy little suite in her untidy little makeshift headquarters in a high-rise hotel in Tokyo— is lit only by the shine of the city and the glow of the moon. Because the moon is full and because the city is bright, Mello can see her perfectly. Every little hair on her arms and legs catch the light as she sheds her soft, simple bra.
The only thing Mello has taken off so far are her gloves.
The sight before her is nothing new— they’ve been doing this for a month and a half— but she hums in appreciation at Near’s now-familiar body being bared before her eyes all the same, fondling her chest as she leans in for a lazy kiss.
Near is already turned-on enough to be a bit whiny, making sweet little sounds as Mello kisses and teases her, pushing into every touch and clinging close, like she won’t be satisfied until their bodies fuse together.
Tonight is New Year’s Eve. It’s New Year’s Eve, and the moon is full, and Mello blames the holiday and the moon for how she’s feeling— tenuously, painfully hopeful, an unnerving emotional state which she’s counteracting by incessantly reminding herself that every part of this is temporary, and that she could be dead by the end of tomorrow for all she knows.
There’s a safety and a comfort in pessimism, Mello finds— if she expects the worst, it hurts less when it inevitably comes to pass.
While she’s trying to remember that, sooner or later, she will lose this, by dying or by leaving or, God forbid, by being left, she’s also trying to remember to savor it while it lasts. She might die tomorrow, but tonight, she’s alive, and Near is beautiful and all hers.
Near’s weight in her lap, Near’s spit in her mouth, Near’s slender, talented fingers tugging her vest’s zipper down and slipping inside to cup her breasts— all of it divine, all of it temporary. Mello moves her own hands to Near’s ass, dragging her closer and kissing her way across Near’s jaw to her throat. She smells like cheap soap and sweat, which shouldn’t be sexy but somehow really is.
“Such a cute little slut,” Mello says, licking her pulse-point. “I bet you’re wet for me already.”
“I am,” Near breathes. “You— I’m w-wet. Because of you. For you.”
Her dirty talk has improved since the first time they fucked but remains somewhat stilted, though that is honestly a turn-on in its own way. Mello is the only person in the world to ever have had Near like this: the only one who’s kissed her, the only one who’s felt her up or licked her cunt or made her come. It’s a point of pride, having every piece of Near be hers and hers alone, and Near’s moments of uncertainty or awkwardness are a gorgeous reminder of how completely she belongs to Mello.
Temporarily. Of course.
Near has, in her opinion, absolutely amazing tits. They’re completely symmetrical, and pretty small, which makes them perfectly proportioned to Near’s frame, and— most importantly— they are very, very sensitive. She recently discovered that, if she plays with Near long enough, she can get her into this cute, fussy state, one where it seems like she might either come untouched or burst into tears at any second.
As much fun as she had with that last time, Mello doesn’t have quite that much patience tonight. She wants to fuck Near, and she tells Near as much, whispering filthy and low in her ear as Near’s fingers run through her hair and she absentmindedly squirms in her lap.
“Quit moving,” Mello says, lowering her hands to Near’s hips so she can push her back far enough to tease. She drinks in the sight of Near, reveling in the pink flush of her pearl-silk skin and the way she angles her pelvis for easier access without even being told to do it. The sight of her girl, so pretty it sometimes hurts to look at her, perched almost-naked and eagerly obedient in her lap, waiting to be touched— it’s enough to make Mello’s mouth go dry.
Mello presses her fingers against the very front of Near’s cunt through the fabric of her underwear, then rubs her, firm and a little unkind. Near whimpers. Her hips jerk forward, chasing sensation, which Mello promptly denies her, withdrawing her hand entirely.
Near makes a sound of protest. Mello feigns innocence.
“What’s wrong?”
“You— you know,” Near says. “I wanted…”
“Oh, my bad— did you want me to keep my hand there?”
Near nods.
“Okay.” Mello touches her again in just the same way, and withdraws again when Near tries to stimulate herself.
“Stop it,” Near says, petulant. “You’re being mean.”
“You want me to stop?” Mello asks. “Okay. I won’t touch you anymore.”
Near makes another sound, this time an adorable, ferocious little squeal of rage, and the hand she has in Mello’s hair tightens.
“Don’t tease me!” She cries. “You— you’re d-doing it on purpose, you’re so mean, I—”
It’s then that Mello notices how blown-out Near’s pupils are, and how heavily she’s breathing. Curious, she puts her hand back between the younger girl’s legs and slips her fingers into Near’s underwear, finally touching her directly.
“Oh, fuck,” Mello murmurs, awed at how wet Near is just from getting kissed a lot and felt up a little. “You’re soaked.”
Near throws her hands over her face. “I t-told you.”
“Well. It’s too bad you’re mad at me, or maybe I could keep touching you—”
“No, no, please— please touch me.”
“I don’t know,” Mello says, though she keeps her hand right where it is.
“You said it— you said you would. You told me you wanted to, and now you’re just going to l-leave me alone?”
“What was it I said I would do?” Mello asks. “What do you want? Go on— remind me.”
“Mello.”
“I want to hear it, Near. The actual words.”
“You said,” Near says darkly, shakily, “that you would fuck me.”
“That’s my girl,” Mello says. “So needy.”
“Yes.” Near catches her by the wrist and holds her hand still as she rubs herself against Mello’s fingers, slick and hot, never breaking eye contact. “I need you.”
A stab of molten arousal hits Mello like a bolt of lightning. Near is the only person she can think of who can say I need you and not make Mello want to either throw up or roll her eyes. These flashes of vulnerability, the cracks in Near’s armor, have become something of an obsession of hers since they first started messing around. Watching her prim little rival, always so put-together and sharp-witted and cool, turn into a squirming, pleading mess under her touch— it’s what Mello imagines it might feel like to see the Aurora borealis, or, if she’s being less romantic, a very endangered species of frog.
It’s rare. It’s special. It’s hers.
Temporarily, she reminds herself.
“Lay down,” Mello says, uneven, “and take off your underwear.”
Near rolls off of her and lays face-up on the bed, mussing the previously-neat sheets as she fumbles to finish undressing. Watching her, Mello gets this feeling in the pit of her stomach— a warm, fond, terrifying sensation, one that’s new-ish but quickly becoming all too familiar.
Fuck.
When they first had sex, mere hours after Mello took back her photograph, she thought it would make for a perfect arrangement— she was attracted to Near, and Near was clearly attracted to her, but there was nothing resembling affectionbetween them, so she thought she wouldn’t have to worry about things getting messy.
It took less than two weeks for her to start doubting herself, less than four for her to realize her mistake, and now, at exactly six weeks, it dawns on her that she’s fucked for life.
Near, the last person in the world she should want, has somehow become the only person she wants.
She hates herself for it. She would hate Near for it, too, except she can’t hate Near for anything when she’s like this. The beautiful, cold little ingenue, the girl who will bring about the death of a god unless Mello beats her to it, gazes up at her like she hung the stars and the moon both. Here in this room, when it’s just the two of them alone, it doesn’t matter that she’s only ever been second-best, because Near practically worships her. Near needs her.
Mello drapes her body halfway over Near’s, propping herself up on her right elbow and placing her left hand between Near’s legs again. As the pads of her fingers slide over the slippery, velvet skin of Near’s vulva, Near slides her own fingers into Mello’s hair, clumsily dragging her closer. Mello is high on this, electrified by Near’s desperation, and she’s nothing if not greedy, so of course she tries to pull out just a little bit more of it.
“Beg me,” she says, voice low, her mouth to Near’s jaw.
Part of her expects Near to throw a fit— Mello has already tested her patience, teased her past the point of frustration— but instead, she draws in a shaky breath and says:
“Mihaela, please.”
The use of her real name knocks the wind from Mello’s lungs. The feeling, the one she knows but refuses to name, reaches a fever pitch. Her skull buzzes with it. Her limbs prickle with it. She wants something very, very badly, something she doesn’t deserve and cannot have.
“Please,” Near says again, whinier, because Mello is just sitting there, motionless, instead of doing what she promised to.
“Nathalie,” she murmurs, because if Near’s going to go there, she will, too. “I’m sorry, angel. You just beg so pretty.”
Without hesitating further, she presses her middle and ring fingers into Near’s cunt, smiling as Near catches her bottom lip with her teeth, eyes squeezing shut. Mello wishes she had a fucking camera trained on the two of them, risk be damned, just so she could watch this over and over and over.
She’s not yours, Mello reminds herself. Not really.
It’s temporary.
But God, she wishes it wasn’t.
This is the most frightening thing Near makes her feel, the very worst one— more and more, she makes Mello want to stay. Not just for a little while after fucking, not just for the night, but stay, period. Indefinitely. Forever, maybe. She’s been fighting that desire as best she can, but tonight, with the full moon bright and the New Year looming and Near clinging to her like she’s a lifeline instead of a catastrophe waiting to happen, Mello gives in.
She’ll let herself hope, if only for tonight.
As she starts slowly, deliberately fucking Near, her fingers curling and the heel of her hand rocking against her clitoris, she mutters nonsense into Near’s skin about how good and sweet and beautiful she is. A month ago, Mello would have found this unbearably humiliating, but now, she privately pleads with the heavens to let her keep it.
Spare us, she prays, kissing Near’s shoulder as Near whimpers. I know I’m rotten, but she’s not. If you let me keep her, I think I can learn to live right. If we both live, I’ll change.
Most of the noises Near is making aren’t words at all, but nevertheless resemble a prayer of sorts, and Mello imagines that they’re somehow in the same place, hoping against hope, longing for the almost-impossible.
Maybe if they both wish hard enough, they’ll make it.
“Kiss me,” Near gasps, and Mello does, crushes their mouths together and keeps fucking her in precisely the same way and at precisely the same speed even as she pushes her tongue past Near’s teeth. The muscles on the inside of Near’s thighs twitch, and her body trembles, and Mello thinks she might be crying a little.
Mello would burn down the whole world for her.
When Near gets close, she breaks their kiss in favor of hyperventilating and incoherently pleading, half-words and half-sounds, and Jesus Christ, Mello has never seen anything better and she bets she never will. There are tears, just a few, on Near’s face, and she’s flushed all the way down to her tits, clutching Mello’s hair so hard it hurts.
“You gonna come?” Mello whispers. “Are you gonna be good for me, come all over my hand?”
“Y-ye— yes,” Near gasps out, “Mel— Miha— oh God, please, please, please, please—!”
She comes, then, with a muted scream, her nails digging into Mello’s scalp and her cunt spasming around Mello’s fingers, so helpless and so beautiful that it makes Mello both a little wetter and a little sick. She works Near through the aftershocks until she’s well and truly finished, kisses one of the tears on Near’s cheek, then pulls her hand away and licks her fingers clean.
After she rolls off of Near, the salt of her tears and the tang of her cunt still on her tongue, she draws the younger girl close, pulls her in and tucks her against her chest. The moments after Near’s orgasm are always sacred to her, the intensity of Near’s ecstasy evoking a tenderness from deep within Mello, one that’s all but forgotten outside of Near’s bedroom. When she sees Near fall apart, Mello sometimes briefly thinks that she could actually—
“Mello,” Near says softly, drawing her out of her shadowed mind. “Can I…?”
Mello stares at her, uncomprehending, for a long moment, until she suddenly understands what Near is asking.
“Oh.” She swallows. “Yeah. Sure.”
Near doesn’t reciprocate every time. Sometimes Mello doesn’t want her to, if she’s in an odd mood or in a rush, and sometimes Near can’t, because Mello often wears her out. Tonight, Near is still shaky as she positions herself over Mello, her hands keeping the slightest tremor as she pushes Mello’s vest all the way open and delicately kisses her breasts, but as she continues to work her way down Mello’s body, her movements grow steadier. By the time she’s worshipping Mello’s hips, her caresses are confident, and she nimbly unlaces her leather pants before working them off Mello’s body, careful and precise.
“You don’t have to,” Near says once the garment is set aside, “but I would really like it if you took off all your clothing.” She rubs her face against Mello’s abdomen, almost like a cat or something.
“Oh,” Mello breathes again. “I mean— I can.”
She shrugs her way out of her vest and removes it. Near pulls her underwear down her legs and puts them with her pants. It only occurs to her after she’s completely nude that she’s never had Near in quite this position before. When Mello has allowed her to get her off in the past, she’s had Near do it while laying side-by-side, her hand on Mello’s cunt, her mouth on Mello’s mouth. Now, though, Near is settled between her thighs, hands on her pelvis, eyes on her cunt.
Mello isn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but the staring goes on for long enough that she starts to feel uncomfortably exposed.
“What the hell are you doing?” She snaps.
“Sorry,” Near says, finally moving her right hand to Mello’s cunt, brushing her thumb from her entrance to her clitoris. “I was just— admiring.” She repeats the motion, a little more firmly, and Mello bites back a moan. “The way you look is very appealing to me. Is it okay if I use my tongue on you?”
“Jesus,” Mello says, scandalized by Near’s directness despite having very-recently spoken in far more vulgar terms. “Sure. Fine.”
“Thank you,” Near says. “Please feel at liberty to correct me at any point. I haven’t done this before.”
“Obviously,” says Mello, though it comes out more strangled than sarcastic since Near chooses that same exact moment to experimentally mouth at her clitoris.
“Oh,” Near murmurs.
“What?!”
“You taste good.” Near licks her again, inexpert but not the slightest bit shy. “And you’re very pretty.”
“Shut up,” Mello says, breathless, flustered. “God. Fuck. Okay, I’m. So. You— you know what to do with your fingers already. How I like it.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“If you— you can do something kinda similar with your mouth, and that— that’ll work. Just. It might— take longer.”
“Would you prefer I use my hands?” Near asks, earnest. “If your orgasm will be more satisfying with manual stimulation instead of oral, I can switch over part-way through.”
“I don’t know,” Mello blurts. Her face feels hot. “I— it’s fine. I don’t care. I don’t— I don’t fucking know.”
Near nods again, solemn. “I’ll make an effort to gauge your reactions and decide accordingly.”
“Fine, oh my God, just stop— stop t-talking.”
To be fair, Near complies with her request, so Mello doesn’t have any real grounds for being angry, but also— also. She also takes Mello’s clitoris between her lips and sucks very gently on it while looking up at her, all eager-to-please, doe-eyed devotion, and Mello fucking melts. She buries her hand in Near’s hair and presses herself to Near’s face and moans, breathy, when Near whines against her.
“Fuck,” Mello says. “Yeah. Just like that. That’s— you’re so good.”
Near’s eyes flutter shut and she makes a quiet sound of bliss, tonguing Mello’s clit and squeezing Mello’s hip with her left hand.
She’s not a natural prodigy at this, Near— everything she does feels nice, mostly, except for one minor incident with her teeth, but left to her own devices, she probably wouldn’t be able to make Mello come. Of course, Mello doesn’t leave her to her own devices, and Near takes direction well. Mello tells her harder, or faster, a little higher or a little lower and Near adjusts accordingly, lapping at her cunt like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted to do. Between the heat of Near’s gaze and the serious, diligent attention she pays to the task at hand, it takes less time than Mello would have expected for her to be very, very close to coming.
“Oh, fuck, oh God,” she’s gasping, pulling on Near’s hair hard enough it has to hurt. “Near, fuck, Near, oh my fucking God don’t fucking stop, don’t you d-dare stop—”
Near hums and continues, insistent, her mouth keeping almost perfectly consistent rhythm and pressure until Mello starts shaking badly enough to make her lose contact. Her tongue is quickly replaced with her right thumb, and her left hand shoves Mello’s hips down with unexpected force, holding her mostly-still.
“Oh— oh, God, N-Nathalie—”
Near’s flushed, wet face, her expression determined, is the last thing Mello sees before her eyes slam shut and she comes, sweating and shaking and cursing, under Near’s dedicated touch.
She’s still catching her breath when Near crawls up her body and kisses her cheek. She can smell herself on Near’s face, faint but distinct.
“Thank you,” Near whispers. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
Mello reaches for her, a little weak, tilting her head and catching Near’s mouth with her own. She feels heartsick. If she lives through this case, she doesn’t know how on earth she’ll find the strength to walk away.
Maybe she just— won’t.
Maybe it would be okay, if it was Near, to stick around.
Except… fuck.
Even if they both do live— an outcome which is far from guaranteed— she doesn’t know whether Near will want her afterwards. Mello was cruel to her when they were children, and she killed half Near’s team, and she’s scarred and wretched and broken.
Near makes a quiet, pleased noise and opens her mouth a little, pliant under Mello’s attention, and Mello tries to set aside her despair.
“Will you stay tonight?” Near pulls away to ask, cradling Mello’s face in her hands.
“I don’t know,” Mello says, though she wants to.
“I want you to,” Near says, gravely serious. “I want you to stay.”
The ache in her voice sounds just like the longing in Mello’s heart. A small part of Mello, something minor but buried deep, snaps in two.
In the morning, she’ll return to believing in nothing but the inevitability of loss, but for now, she’ll cherish what is still hers and pretend things might actually stay like this.
“Jeez. Fine, fine. Don’t have a conniption.” She gathers Near in her arms all over again, hides her smile in the crook of Near’s neck and thinks about how pathetic it is that something so inconsequential could make her glow inside like this.
“What time is it?” Near asks. Her arms wind around Mello, circling her waist and holding her close as can be.
Mello turns her head to check. “Oh, shit. Two minutes past midnight.” She kisses the crown of Near’s head. “Happy New Year.”
“We were kissing, then,” Near says. “At midnight.”
“Yeah— yes?”
“It’s supposed to be good luck.”
A slow, warm smile spreads over Mello’s face. She’s so far gone for this girl it isn’t even funny.
“That’s good,” she says, petting Near’s hair tenderly. “We need all the fucking luck we can get.”
