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cupidscleaver · 1 month ago

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> “It was before you, and it doesn’t matter now.”

Every time Mello tried, by hook or by crook, to get Near to come clean, his efforts were met with this same, polished-to-perfection phrase. No circumstances ever seemed to coax Near into opening up: whether they were lying on rumpled sheets after sex, sipping coffee in the kitchen, or strolling through Greenwich Village in the evening—Near remained unyielding.

“What would change if you answered my question?” Mello asked softly.

“And what would change if you heard my answer?”

It was like a game of poker, each carefully concealing their cards. Still, Mello knew persistence was his only way forward.

Near’s brutally straightforward nature in every aspect of his life clashed starkly with his stubborn refusal to share details about his first sexual experience. In Mello’s mind, there could be a few reasons for this: either it was someone he knew, or it happened so spontaneously and uncharacteristically for Near that it became a difficult topic for him. Which meant it was exactly the kind of story Mello had to uncover.

“Nothing would change,” Mello said, throwing his hands up. “That’s the whole point. Not for you, not for me.”

“Watching your attempts to pry details out of me, I’m inclined to think otherwise. I’m more curious about why this is so important to you. Why do you need to know about my first sexual partner? Are you trying to make sure no one mattered to me before you?”

Mello unconsciously clenched his fists and tightened his jaw—Near’s habit of analyzing his words and actions still got under his skin. But over the years, Mello had learned to keep himself in check. He could’ve said it was just idle curiosity, but Near wouldn’t buy such a cheap lie. Though it had started with curiosity, the more Near pushed him away, the more the story in Mello’s head grew tangled with speculations and suspicions.

“I want to know why you’re hiding it.”

“My past shouldn’t be what concerns you, Mello.”

“That’s exactly why I think…” he hesitated, “…that it might’ve been something… forced.”

If the American Film Academy’s jury could see this scene, Mello would’ve deserved an Oscar. Maybe he could get closer to the truth with cunning? Near’s expression didn’t change, but he tilted his head to the left, as if trying to look at Mello from a different angle.

“No,” he said firmly at last. “It was entirely consensual. You have no reason to worry about that.”

---

A week later, after an eventful day, they were at Mello’s apartment. While the morning had been spent hiding behind stinking garbage bins to infiltrate the heavily guarded BlackRock building, by evening, Mello allowed himself to sprawl on the couch after a warm shower. Near took off his outerwear in the hallway, walked into the living room, and sat next to him—not on the floor. Then, looking somewhere off to the side, he asked if everything was okay.

“More than okay,” Mello replied, tugging at the drawstrings of his sweatpants.

“You helped us a lot today. Tomorrow, Leonard Huntly will be arrested on his way to parliament,” Near said, pausing before adding, “Thank you.”

Mello was something of a freelancer, taking on tasks involving espionage, cyber-hacking, and sometimes even intimidation—especially when it came to law enforcement agencies already familiar with Near’s agents like Lidner, Giovanni, and Lester. In exchange for such assistance, Near granted Mello access to the extensive databases of the FBI and Interpol, giving him significant advantages and resources for his personal endeavors. At first glance, the Huntly case didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but Mello had to sweet-talk an alarm system and then evade an armed guard through endless corridors. With his heart pounding from the thrill and checking around corners to ensure the coast was clear, Mello decided this favor would cost Near dearly.

Near had never said “thank God” before—not even metaphorically—but those were the exact words he uttered when Mello called to confirm he had the flash drive. “More than one life was at stake,” Near explained immediately, switching to an encrypted connection to transfer the files.

Now, Mello was half-reclining on the couch, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. All day, heavy storm clouds had loomed over New York like a leaden slab, but a few hours ago, the sky had suddenly cleared. A gust of wind rustled the tree outside the window, shaking a few dry yellow leaves from its crown.

Near was silent, twirling a strand of hair around his finger, lost in thought. Sometimes, they could sit in silence like this for hours. Mello was slightly surprised when Near expressed a desire to come to Forest Hills, but he didn’t question it—it worked in his favor, sparing him another trip to Manhattan. More and more, their interactions across ten miles felt like a kind of “sex tourism.”

It had been over six months since they’d called a truce in Berlin. Mello wouldn’t dare call it a relationship, but their meetings had become more regular and less tied to pretexts or excuses. Even during Mello’s two-week stay in Florida, Near had called to check in. They’d even discussed a hyped-up movie that Near had deigned to watch.

Mello couldn’t say for sure if Near found their arrangement burdensome. After all, Near had once said he “doesn’t know how to share his life with someone,” but for now, Mello was content with how things were.

“She was a witness in one of our cases and a former FBI employee,” Near said.

“What? What witness?” Mello asked, thrown off. It seemed Near was continuing a conversation he’d been having only in his head.

“My first sexual experience was with her.”

Mello was speechless, but words tumbled out of him quickly.

“With a woman?”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“I just… expected something else. And why the hell did you decide to tell me now? You could’ve at least hinted you were about to drop something like that! We were just talking about Huntly, and then… it’s all so sudden,” Mello caught himself rambling. The truth he’d been so desperate to extract from Near had caught him off guard. This had to be part of Near’s cunning plan to throw him off balance and avoid an interrogation.

“We really needed those files from Huntly’s flash drive,” Near said. “Just like you needed my confession. Honestly, I don’t fully understand your obsession with the details, but this felt like a fair exchange.” He paused, studying Mello’s face to gauge his reaction before continuing. “To answer your question, my only criteria at the time were hygiene and discretion. I wanted our paths to never cross again. Gender didn’t matter.”

“Don’t tell me you drew up a contract before you slept together?”

“No. But I saw her medical records and made my conditions clear upfront. She agreed.”

Mello closed his eyes, picturing Near standing before a middle-aged woman, a head taller than him, dressed in wrinkled jeans and a tacky top, coolly announcing they were about to have sex, run through three basic positions, and then she’d have fifteen minutes to leave. Or maybe it was a young, pretty girl who just had to sleep with the pajama-clad freak—a kind of charity act? Though, if Near was dressed in normal clothes and not sitting on the floor, he might’ve passed for just a very odd guy with a glassy stare.

“I hope you picked her yourself,” Mello chuckled. “Or did Lidner and Giovanni help you out with that too?”

“No,” Near smiled. “They had nothing to do with it. And the witness didn’t know who I really was.”

“What was in it for her, then? You didn’t keep in touch, right?”

“Her personal motives are unknown to me,” Near said, looking at Mello with a faint trace of boredom. “That’s all I’m willing to share, so I’d appreciate it if we didn’t revisit this topic.”

“Wait, but—” Mello barely held himself back. Questions were already burning in his mind, ones he wanted Near to answer himself, not left to Mello’s imagination. But he’d promised himself not to push beyond what Near was willing to share, so, with a heavy heart, he added, “Thanks for telling me.”

“For clarity: if you’re assuming this event holds some sentimental value for me, you’re mistaken. It was an empirical experiment, and the results disappointed me.”

“In what way?”

“I wanted to understand the sensations physical intimacy вызывает and how it would affect my perception and hormonal regulation. The intensity of the physiological sensations was a fact, but there was almost no emotional response. Only at the peak of orgasm was there a brief moment of losing control, which changed nothing in the long term.”

“Classic,” Mello rolled his eyes. “No surprise you felt nothing with that hyper-analytical approach. Though the first time is almost always a letdown.” He licked his lips and added, “So, what? Have you rethought your approach to sex since then?”

“Definitely. I only discovered the capacity for emotional connection in physical intimacy years later.”

“And with who?” Mello asked slowly, realizing he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“With you, Mello.”

Mello thought he must’ve misheard and blinked skeptically a few times. His mind went blank: not only had Near shared details of his first experience, but he’d also admitted that it was with Mello that he’d felt an emotional connection. This was the same Near who could incinerate you with a single glance if you took one step too close. The same Near who’d bite your hand off if you beckoned him with a finger. How could anyone believe this?

Near frowned slightly and looked into his eyes. The silent scene lasted a good half-minute.

“Judging by your reaction, I underestimated how much this information might affect you,” Near said, breaking the prolonged silence.

“Yeah,” Mello admitted honestly, placing his hand on Near’s cheek and pulling him in for a kiss. Near leaned in easily, moving closer. They never kissed just for the sake of it—only as foreplay—so soon Near’s fingers traced a path from Mello’s face to his neck, then chest, and lower, along his stomach, under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Want me to…?”

“No,” Mello cut him off. “I’ll be on the bottom.”

“Very generous of you,” Near remarked. His tone was, as always, impeccably calm, but a spark flickered in his eyes that Mello could only describe as satisfaction.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just tired and don’t feel like doing the work.”

---

“Maybe you could start moving?” Mello hissed, exasperated, hiding his flushed face in the crook of his elbow. He was lying on his stomach, his own erection pressed against the leather couch, while Near’s painfully stretched him from the inside.

“Not until you relax,” Near replied, lying on top of him and holding his forearms, as if anticipating any attempt to break free. His warm forehead rested against Mello’s upper vertebrae.

“Just admit you’re enjoying this too much and are scared you’ll finish in a second,” Mello snorted.

“You’re insulting my stamina.”

It was true—in an impromptu contest of who could last longer, Near would’ve rightfully beaten Mello. But only because he couldn’t let go and give in to instinct, while Mello surrendered to pleasure easily.

“And how long did your first time last? Did you even enjoy sex with a girl?”

“Given your bisexuality and similar experiences, I’d say you already know the answer.”

“But I want to hear your impressions.” Near stayed silent but, in a sudden impulse, tucked a strand of Mello’s hair behind his ear. The simple gesture sent a shiver through Mello. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I bet you surprised her with your size. You know, for your height. Do you still remember what positions you did? Did she take the lead, or…?”

“You talk too much,” Near stated.

“And right now, you’ve got only one way to shut me up,” Mello said, making his voice sound challenging rather than pleading. Though in truth, he was dying with anticipation. The longer he lay sprawled on the couch, impaled, the more the stimulation at this angle made pleasure pulse through his body. If Near decided to toy with him a bit longer, Mello might’ve stooped to curses mixed with pleas.

But Near met him halfway—literally. In the next moment, their hips collided, and Mello’s eyes flew open as he let out a loud moan.

Near wasn’t one to lavish anything beyond brief, neutral questions like “Does it hurt?” “Should I stop?” “Is this okay?” But what he asked this time, in an unusually heated whisper, made Mello squirm with agonizing embarrassment.

“Do you like it?”

So much I might go insane, Mello thought on the edge of his lust-clouded mind. But saying it aloud would’ve been too much, even though sex between them had long become routine over the past two years.

“What do you think?” With a deft maneuver, Mello flipped them so he was on top. Looking at Near was far more interesting than staring at the couch upholstery. Plus, this way, he could set the pace himself, since Near tired quickly when it came to physical exertion.

“Based on the frequency and range of your voice, I’d say yes. But I’d prefer,” Near placed his hands on Mello’s hips, “to hear it from you.”

“Keep dreaming.” If Mello had grown less defiant in everyday life over the years, that wasn’t the case in bed.

Seeing Near like this—open, flushed across his chest, with heavy-lidded eyes and disheveled hair—Mello couldn’t help but try to recall the Near he once knew: the silent, detached boy who seemed above all worldly things. And yet, pinning Near in some corner at Wammy’s, seeking some moral compensation for a failed exam or another second-place finish, had been just as thrilling as pressing Near into the couch now, drawing soft moans from him with every movement.

As his climax became inevitable, Mello leaned down on his elbows on either side of Near’s shoulders and, in a surge of unclouded pleasure, whispered in his ear:

“I fucking love this, and it’ll be even better if…” he caught his breath, “if you do something with your hands.”

“For such a persistent request, you don’t sound very polite,” Near said.

Mello smirked crookedly and leaned closer, their faces just inches apart.

“Not polite enough?” he asked, thrusting his hips with all his might. It was sweet revenge, as the fast pace quickly pushed Near to the edge. Near threw his head back, closed his eyes, and almost simultaneously, as Mello placed a hand on his throat and kissed him deeply, tongue plunging in, Near’s hand found where Mello needed it most.

In the moment of climax, Mello faintly felt Near’s Adam’s apple twitch under his palm.

Perhaps if the way were clear, Near would’ve bolted to the bathroom, but he was pinned to the couch by Mello’s weight. Due to their height difference, Mello’s head, turned to the side, rested in the crook between Near’s neck and shoulder, so he could only see the line of his ear. Near’s chest rose and fell heavily, making Mello feel like he was swaying on waves at sea.

They rarely talked after sex.

For a moment, Near’s fingers reached for Mello’s hair but quickly redirected. It had been Near’s habit to stim with Mello’s hair, but Mello had forbidden it, and now Near’s index finger glided lightly along his spine. Mello could feel each new line drawn at an equal distance from the last. It was as if Near was mentally mapping a chessboard on his back.

“Is this that oxytocin rush?” Mello joked.

“Perhaps.”

“Oxytocin’s the bonding hormone,” Mello clarified.

“Yes, I know,” Near replied, utterly calm.

“Seems like your software’s been updated, and you’re becoming more human every day.”

“People tend to change under the influence of circumstances.”

---

When Near emerged from the bathroom, Mello had already dressed and wiped down the couch with wet wipes—it had seen worse than bodily fluids in its time.

“When’s Lester picking you up?”

“I sent him home.”

“And how are you getting back? I’m guessing Uber’s not an option for you.” Near didn’t answer right away, and Mello, suddenly realizing something, added quickly, “Of course, you can stay.”

Near had never stayed the night before, always heading back to the Bertelsmann Building despite the late hour, weather, or inconvenience to his subordinates who had to pick him up.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay. I’ll need to leave around six in the morning to be at headquarters by seven. Huntly will likely head to parliament around ten, so we need to prepare everything. I probably should’ve asked you first. I assumed—”

“It’s fine,” Mello interrupted. “I just don’t know if I have a spare toothbrush.”

“I brought one.”

“So, you planned this all along?” Mello squinted. It wasn’t that he minded Near finally staying over, but he didn’t like these kinds of antics. Especially since, over the past few months, they’d learned to communicate openly and make agreements.

“Yes.”

“Next time, just text me that you want to stay over. It’s not hard, is it?”

“Are you upset?” Since Near had read countless books on how to communicate as an autistic person, such direct questions had become routine. He now always checked on Mello’s mood to avoid misunderstandings. “Are you upset?” “Did I do something you didn’t like?” “What do you expect from me in this situation?”

Sometimes Mello rolled his eyes, thinking, God, it’s obvious, and other times he had to dig deep to explain his reactions.

“I don’t like being presented with a done deal, got it?” he said. “You decided for both of us, and that feels like manipulation.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Near nodded slowly, as if making a mental note. “Sorry.”

“Alright, forget it. You hungry?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Unfortunately, no book had yet helped Near clearly identify his body’s needs. He rarely knew if he was hungry, tired, or alert. But about a month ago, when Mello had offered to cook pasta Bolognese, Near ate his entire portion and said it was delicious.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Mello said, throwing on a black hoodie and heading to the kitchen. From there, he called out, “By the way, Huntly’s flash drive is on the table. You can take it.”

While water boiled in a pot, Mello started chopping vegetables and tofu. Over the past year, he’d significantly cut back on meat. Thinking back to how he used to devour chocolate bars with ferocity, it made sense that he now prioritized healthy eating. He hadn’t stopped loving chocolate, but he noticed the less he ate, the less he craved it. The first two months were hell—headaches, irritability, and insomnia.

Near sat on a chair, one foot in a white sock propped on the seat, his head resting on his knee, folding origami swans from napkins. Two already sat next to the pepper shaker. The silence wasn’t oppressive—it was soothing.

When only one carrot remained, Mello turned to Near and asked, “Wanna help?”

“What do I need to do? I’m not exactly skilled in cooking. Honestly, I’ve never cooked.”

“Don’t exaggerate. We used to slice bread for lunch at Wammy’s.”

“I didn’t, because I cut myself badly the first time,” Near explained. “And I wouldn’t call that cooking anyway.”

“You’ve got great fine motor skills, so you’ll handle a carrot just fine,” Mello said, quickly setting a cutting board in front of him and handing him a knife.

Near eyed the carrot suspiciously but lowered his knee and brought the knife to its end.

“How should I cut it?”

“In rounds.”

“Why rounds? Wouldn’t cubes or sticks be better?” He adjusted the knife’s angle with each suggestion. “Or maybe half-moons? Different cuts affect the dish’s taste and texture, don’t they?”

“I said rounds.”

Near nodded but immediately asked, “How big should they be? Five millimeters? Thinner so they cook faster? Or larger?”

“Five millimeters is perfect,” Mello replied, unsure if Near was messing with him.

“If I can’t get the size exactly right, how much deviation is acceptable? A couple of millimeters matter?”

“Are you kidding me?” Mello growled. “Should I get you a ruler? Just cut. I don’t care how. Carve it into roses or meter-long chunks for all I care.”

“A meter-long carrot wouldn’t fit in the pot,” Near said, looking up with a clear hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Near!”

“I was joking.”

Over dinner, Mello asked about Huntly, and Near filled him in on the backstory. They usually didn’t discuss cases that didn’t involve both of them, but this time, Mello was already neck-deep in the investigation.

The tofu and vegetables didn’t earn a compliment from Near—he only nodded gratefully when Mello took his empty plate. So, the pasta Bolognese had been a bigger hit. Or maybe he’d been in a better mood then to offer praise.

They could’ve watched a movie, but Near declined, citing exhaustion and an inability to focus. He couldn’t fathom watching a film “in the background”—the jumble of voices and sounds slipping from his attention threatened sensory overload.

Mello had never seen Near in that state, but according to him, it wasn’t pleasant.

Instead of a movie, Near said he needed to think and sat on the floor by the couch. He pulled a deck of Tarot cards from his shirt pocket and began a spread. Mello watched with mild interest as “The Fool,” “The Sun,” “The High Priestess,” and “The Tower” landed on the laminate, then grabbed his laptop and started working.

It was eleven when Mello made the bed with fresh sheets and pulled back the blanket, inviting Near to climb in. Near stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the covers. The bedside lamp stayed on as Mello, propped against the headboard, scrolled through Instagram.

“I never thought I’d be able to sleep in the same bed as someone,” Near said softly.

“Well,” Mello drawled, “we slept together at Wammy’s when your room’s roof leaked. Not sure you remember.”

“I didn’t sleep a wink then.”

Mello looked up from his feed and studied Near, who was lying on his side, wrapped in the blanket up to his chin. His grown-out hair fanned across the pillow. His pupils nearly swallowed his irises.

“Why not?”

“Unfamiliar setting, sounds, even smells. The streetlight hit at the wrong angle. The room was warmer than mine. Little things I can’t easily ignore.”

“Are you saying you won’t sleep here either?”

“I don’t know. Lately, your presence has been calming, so I’m hoping it won’t be an issue, even though we’re not at my place.”

“Just don’t wake me up if you get bored.”

“That wasn’t my plan.”

“And in the morning, just lock the door when you leave. Getting up at six isn’t in my plans.”

“Alright,” Near smiled. “Good night.” He turned away, slipping out of the light’s circle.

---

On the edge of sleep and wakefulness, Mello felt someone take the phone from his hands. It was probably morning already. He often fell asleep watching cooking shows on YouTube or historical documentaries.

A few hours later, after waking, showering, and heading to the kitchen, he found a note on the table. Near’s handwriting hadn’t changed since Wammy’s—still small and meticulous.

“Thanks for dinner. Doubt I could replicate it, but I suggest you witness my culinary disaster soon.”

As the TV broadcasted live footage of Huntly’s arrest outside parliament, Mello recalled Near’s words about how people change under the influence of circumstances.

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cupidscleaver · 1 month ago

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Translation for Волшебные слова by

Colour_Palette on AO3:

Having finished all his tasks, Mello picked up his phone.

Not a single notification.

He could’ve gone to the gym or taken a swim at the Hilton, but his mood wasn’t exactly conducive to physical activity. Especially since just a few days ago, he’d been in New Jersey, meticulously tracking the route of a suspect in a series of abductions, where he’d had to clock twenty-five thousand steps a day. The suspect remained just that—a suspect—while the real criminal had given himself away. Right after the arrest, Mello returned to New York. Near wasn’t there. He’d flown off to Switzerland, only briefly mentioning the night before that a scandal had erupted in Bern involving a biotech clinic specializing in gene therapy. Mello didn’t pry for details from Near, but after digging through a few databases—some official, some less so—he came across a new drug for neurodegenerative diseases. And missing patients from clinical trials. And the muddled statements of the CEO and his deputy. If Near, as L, had gone to the crime scene himself, and overseas no less, it meant he was personally invested in the investigation.

Mello refreshed his Twitter feed, then opened his chat with Near. There’d been no reply to his last message since yesterday.

M: Is it true the Swiss have a terrible accent?

He mulled over whether to write something today, but ultimately set the phone aside. Let Near keep fawning over Alexander Lütner—the drug’s lead developer. Mello still had some self-respect. Near had mentioned Alexander Lütner during their last two phone calls. Well, “mentioned” was generous—more like he stayed pointedly silent while the faint clatter of dominoes hitting the floor echoed in the background. Mello knew the types: there were petty, pathetic criminals not even worth mentioning, talentless loudmouths pretending to be geniuses, and then there were those like Lütner. The ones Near deemed worthy of an intellectual showdown. For instance, when Mello asked how the interrogation went, Near’s response was a single word: “Intriguing.” That was enough to understand why he’d flown to Bern in person and how much he was relishing the game of equals.

For about half an hour, Mello tried to refine the code for a bot meant to scrape and analyze data from news forums, detecting patterns and predicting the likelihood of a terrorist attack. But every run returned an unknown error, and by the fifth attempt, he was close to hurling his laptop at the wall.

His eyes fell back on the phone. He opened the chat and saw Near was typing—his heart leapt in his chest, so much so that it made him sick of himself. Without overthinking, he hit the call button. After one ring, a familiar voice answered:

“Mello.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you calling me?”

“No answer for that one,” Mello said smugly. He loved throwing Near off with irrational actions or words.

“Well…”

“Isn’t it, like, half past one in the morning in Bern?”

“Correct.”

“And you’re not sleeping?”

“Excellent observation,” Near said, without a hint of sarcasm.

Mello snorted and tilted his head back onto the headrest. From the ceiling, a burning lamp stared down at him, orbited by a lone mosquito like an artificial sun.

“What were you going to write me?” Mello asked.

“What I was going to write, I’ll write.”

“Rough day, huh? You’re not in the mood.”

Near only sighed softly into the phone, saying nothing. Ending the call on such a flat note, barely even starting it, felt absurd, so despite his interlocutor’s obvious coldness, Mello made another attempt:

“What are you doing?”

“What does that mean?”

“Just asking.”

“Sitting.”

“On the floor or the bed?”

“On the floor.”

“Big room?”

“Twenty-five square feet and a small balcony on the northwest side.”

“What about the bed?”

“Schramm Werkstätten brand. Hand-assembled. Double bed,” Near finished the sentence in German after naming the brand.

“Could we both fit on it?”

“It’s a double bed, Mello,” he replied, now in English.

“Got it,” Mello chuckled. “What are you wearing?”

“The usual.”

“Shirt or pajama top on bare skin?”

After a pause, Near answered:

“The latter.”

He seemed to be catching on. Mello grinned widely, anticipating his own mischief. Near probably got a similar thrill from interrogating Lütner.

“Is the shirt buttoned up all the way?”

“The top three buttons are undone.”

Mello was sure Near was torn between answering honestly, as logic dictated, and acknowledging that the subtext was too obvious to ignore.

“And if… if I asked you to unbutton them all?”

Now. This was the moment Near would hang up. Mello could almost hear the dial tone cutting him off from the Bellevue Palace hotel room in Bern, but no. Near stayed silent for several long seconds—his mental gears had never worked so loudly—before saying:

“Mello.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re asking me to unbutton all the buttons.”

“Excellent observation,” Mello shot back, throwing Near’s earlier quip at him.

“It’s a clarification,” Near said calmly. “Your request implies an action without practical necessity.”

“Why not?”

“Then I’ll venture a hypothesis that you’re attempting to initiate an interactive exchange based on verbal stimulation and sensory compensation, which in turn…”

“…I’m trying to have phone sex with you!” Mello only regretted one thing—he couldn’t see Near’s face. Though he could guess: it was probably as impassive as ever. At most, Near might’ve leaned forward slightly.

“So,” Near said, “I interpreted the situation correctly.”

“And what do you think about it?”

“I don’t have experience with this, but I know people experiment with various forms of intimacy, including without physical contact.”

“Then relax and answer my questions,” Mello cut in before Near could launch into a barrage of sexology facts. “Do you miss me?”

“I don’t think I’m familiar with that feeling.”

“Really? It’s been about a week since we last saw each other.”

“Eight days.”

“Exactly. I was thinking about you just yesterday. Imagined staying over at your place. First, we’d watch a movie, then move to the bedroom. How’s that sound?”

“I’d agree,” Near replied, as if discussing an extra clause in a contract. “Go on.”

“Unbutton your shirt completely and take it off slowly.”

A faint rustle of fabric came through. The mere thought of Near obediently following his instructions sent a tingling warmth through Mello’s lower abdomen. He could touch himself now but decided to hold off. The fun was just beginning.

“Done.”

“Are you lying down?”

“No.”

“Then lie on the bed.”

“Why should I change my position?”

“What’s the most comfortable position for you to masturbate?”

“If we consider masturbation from a comfort perspective, the optimal position is either lying down or half-sitting with back support, however…”

“Near,” Mello called, not hiding the hint of desperation in his voice. “You’re not supposed to theorize. The point of phone sex is to turn off your brain and do what feels good to you.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” Near said sincerely. All the experiments they’d tried in bed so far had been Mello’s initiative. Though “experiments” was a stretch for what were mostly basic positions and the occasional blindfold. Even for that, Near needed hours, sometimes days, of mental preparation before agreeing.

“Fine,” Mello shrugged. “Then help me relax. When was the last time you masturbated?”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar,” Mello snapped. “You’re not seriously shy about this, are you? Tell me, did you jerk off at the orphanage?”

“There weren’t conditions for privacy at the orphanage.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t understand why, if you’re the one trying to get off, we’re talking about me.”

“It turns me on,” Mello said bluntly, placing a hand on the obvious erection under his sweatpants. “I want to know how you masturbate. What you think about. Do you strip completely? Close your eyes?”

“So you view my self-pleasure as a tool to stimulate your own fantasies?” Near asked uncertainly.

“God…” Mello groaned in frustration. Maybe phone sex was a doomed idea from the start. Or the problem was that he’d given Near too much room to overthink, and, of course, Near had dissected the situation into its components, killing the mood entirely. “Alright, let’s make it simpler: you answer only ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ And I’m counting on your honesty. So, have you masturbated in the last two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Were you thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

Mello inhaled sharply. His fingers impatiently slipped under his underwear. That damn “yes”—said almost instantly, without hesitation—was probably the most candid admission he’d ever heard from Near.

“Were you in bed?”

“No.”

“In the shower?”

“Yes.”

“Next time, I want to watch. Will you tell me what you were thinking about?” Mello didn’t immediately realize the question required a detailed answer and was about to rephrase when he heard:

“I imagined us having sex.”

Mello stopped breathing, as if he’d been punched in the gut. His teeth bit his tongue painfully, his hand freezing and gripping the base of his cock to keep from losing it.

“What positions?”

“You were on top, moving fast, holding my neck tightly.”

“Where were your hands?”

A brief pause.

“On your waist,” Near answered evenly.

Oh, fuck.

Mello squeezed his eyes shut, his abdominal muscles tensing involuntarily as his pants and underwear slid to the floor. His mouth opened in a silent half-growl, air rushing into his lungs—cold and starkly contrasting against his burning body. All he wanted in that moment was to pounce on Near and make all his wet fantasies real. He’d even stoop to hot, incoherent whispers: “You’re so fucking good…” and ride him hard, relishing the triumph of watching Near’s internal safeguards crumble.

Mello let out a low moan into the phone. In response, only slightly heavier breathing. Inhale. Exhale.

“You like it when I’m on top?” Mello asked, knowing he had to strike while the iron was hot. It was unlikely Near would ever be this open again.

“Yes.”

“What exactly do you like?”

“I don’t…” A hesitation. “I… I like that you take the initiative.”

Mello smirked and muttered:

“But you don’t like being the bottom.”

“It’s important for me to maintain control. And you know how to make it good for both of us.”

“Funny,” Mello said absently, continuing to stroke himself slowly, deliberately sensual, as if Near could see him. “What are you doing now?”

Near was silent, but his steady breathing didn’t suggest he was joining in Mello’s little game.

“Fine, don’t want to talk, don’t. Then I’ll tell you what I like and what I want. Deal?”

“As you wish.”

“If I were in your hotel room right now, I’d make you lie on the bed first. I’d pull off your shirt, your pants. But I’d leave your underwear on for now. I’d suck on your chest, stomach, neck, chin, then shove my fingers in your mouth and make you lick each one thoroughly, and then…” He gripped himself at the base. It felt like he could really feel Near’s tongue—wet, warm. “I’d breathe heavily in your ear while stretching myself. For you. And you’d only be able to watch—flushed, hair a mess… Fuck.” A faint crackle came from the other end, like the phone being shifted. “And, you know, I wouldn’t go further until you said something.”

“What?” Near’s voice had changed. It was lower.

“‘I want you, Mello.’ Only if you said those magic words would I straddle you, watching your expression change. You always close your eyes and bite your lower lip when you enter me,” his hand moved faster now, racing toward the finish. “I’d tease you at first, taking an agonizingly slow pace, but then… Like you wanted, I’d fuck you hard. Getting you to moan is a tall order, but this time you’d whimper under me, saying, ‘Mello, don’t stop.’ Your hands would grip my waist, bruising my skin, and you’d thrust up, going so deep I’d see stars… I might even…” Mello moaned, barely holding himself back, “I might even scream from pleasure, Near…”

The orgasm ripped through him like an electric shock, wrenching a hoarse, broken moan from his chest.

Silence.

And darkness.

“Near,” Mello called, dazed, looking up at the lamp. “Hey?”

It took him a moment to realize the power had gone out, cutting their call. With his phone’s flashlight, Mello made his way to the bathroom, cleaned up, got dressed, and went to the window where the signal was better. The neighboring buildings were swallowed by darkness too.

He was about to call Near back when a message came through.

N: Yes, to my taste, the Swiss have a terrible accent. And the service: no tissues by the bed.

Mello smiled, recalling Near’s earlier words: “What I was going to write, I’ll write.”

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cupidscleaver · 2 months ago

Text

Translation of Deathnote: Moans in the night by saintiablondie:

Wait... wait. He snorted because patience wasn’t one of his virtues, though he had others, that particular one was overshadowed by his stubbornness. It had been two days since he’d seen Near, and it wasn’t like he wanted to know about him, but... even though he hated him with every fiber of his being, a part of him needed Near to feel complete. Without Near, he was like a bomb without a timer, building pressure, more pressure, even more pressure that took the form of flames on his skin and... tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, the deafening sound rang in his ears, because the mechanism for his explosion wasn’t set.

“Near...” he sighed deeply, “I hate you so much,” he murmured as he sat on his bed.

He had to find him. It was three in the morning, neither late nor early, he thought. Sleeping was for fools, and waiting was for cowards. He left his room as he was, in pajama pants, barefoot, grabbing a chocolate bar on the way. He bit into the candy, feeling his heartbeat slow slightly before rising again as he reached Near’s room. He had to be there, surely. He inhaled as he felt the chocolate drip down his fingers, switched hands, wrapping the candy in its foil, and licked the sweet remnants off his fingers. He narrowed his eyes and opened the door. Very slowly. What else could he do? Being there was humiliating enough, but if he didn’t see him and close that circle—if he didn’t tell him how much he hated and despised him—he felt like he could commit murder. A simple crime compared to what Near’s calm breathing on the other side awakened in him. That damned bastard, lying there so peacefully, sleeping.

He narrowed his eyes as he stepped over a train perfectly arranged in a tunnel, and further below, a sprawling city. As he moved his long legs between the tracks, he took care not to disturb anything. He understood the irritation that would cause Near, and yes, he hated him, but he preferred to hurt him himself rather than mess with that junk. He took another bite of the chocolate and approached Near. Finally, he was so close... his heart raced.

“Near... wake up!” he said, leaning close to his ear, gently shaking him by the shoulder.

The other didn’t even flinch, just opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times, and closed them again. “You should be sleeping, Mello,” he replied, monotone and indifferent.

“Sleeping is for the weak. Snap out of it,” he said, grinning in the dim light.

The smaller one sighed and half-sat up, his white hair nearly covering his face entirely. “What do you want?”

Mello’s smile vanished, and his face twisted. How dare he speak to him like that? As if his very presence didn’t matter at all. It was as if it made no difference whether Mello was there or a tree, and that wasn’t his intention.

“Get up, or I’ll make you get up with punches,” he growled, grabbing Near by the collar of his pajamas with such force that a button popped off and hit him right on the chin.

The smaller one looked at him, and this time his black eyes paid attention. “Do you miss me so much, Mello, that you came to see me in the middle of the night?”

The blond twisted his face, sneering with his upper lip raised. “I didn’t want to see you...”

“Then why are you here?” he said with disdain.

Without thinking twice, Mello leaned forward, pushing Near back onto the mattress, pinning him down with both hands around his neck, utterly furious. The chocolate bar was long gone by now, lost somewhere. This was the first time Mello had done something like this, and Near was surprised. His eyes... his eyes finally showed something, though Mello couldn’t tell what. He tightened his grip on that fragile neck.

“Mel... n-no p-...!”

Near gasped as the air left his body, trying to push Mello off, but it only made things worse. The more he struggled, the tighter Mello held him. Their eyes locked, and as Near’s vision blurred, he could see his own reflection in Mello’s blue eyes through his tears. Meanwhile, Mello was suddenly too heated to notice anything beyond the fact that Near was finally paying attention to him. And that he had complete control over this boy. But then, the timer kicked in, cutting off that imminent release of energy, and he let go of the soft neck when he felt the throat give under his fingers.

“I hate you so much... Near,” he murmured as he released him.

“I don’t,” Near replied nonchalantly, coughing and rubbing his neck as he adjusted his vision.

Mello’s blond eyebrows shot up. “What did you say?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said as calmly as he could. “That would imply a feeling, and I don’t have any for you.”

“You’re a damn crazy bastard!” he shouted, gripping Near’s shoulders against the bed.

“Look who’s talking—the guy who comes to my room in the middle of the night just to tell me he hates me,” Near said with a mocking tone.

“Because...”

Damn it, his head felt a burning stab that reached his lower abdomen, constricting it.

“Damn it!” he cursed, pressing two fingers to his forehead as if that could quell the heat, while beads of sweat dripped down, glistening on his skin.

Near laughed. “What’s wrong, Mello?”

The blue-eyed boy stared at him intently. “You’re what’s wrong, and I hate that it’s like that.”

Mello’s slender fingers moved to Near’s buttons, ripping them open to expose his chest, then went to the elastic of his pants, tracing the faint line of barely-there white hairs.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mihael?” the smaller one asked, sinking deeper into the mattress under Mello’s weight.

Mello’s long fingers gripped Near’s chin tightly to silence him. “Don’t call me that!” he ordered, his blue eyes wide before narrowing sharply. “Don’t worry, N-A-T-E,” he whispered, spelling out his name. “Doesn’t it feel uncomfortable?” he said as he began pulling down Near’s blue pants along with his underwear, revealing his penis.

Near smirked. “You think you scare me?”

Mello returned the smile—finally, a reaction—and twirled a lock of Near’s hair around his finger. “Ever thought about letting it grow long? I think it’d suit you,” he murmured, running his tongue over his lips. “Why would a little investigation scare you?”

As he spoke, his hand moved over Near’s shaft, which began to respond to his touch, and he let out a faint gasp.

“Investigation means taking risks with your choices, and if you mess up, you just apologize,” Near said haltingly.

Mello felt his chest collide with Near’s, his rosary glinting against their pale skin, and he could already feel the overwhelming heat in his pores.

“Apologize?” he chuckled softly. “Should I apologize for something that’s making you feel so good?” He pressed his lips lightly, feeling the hardness of his own member stiffening against Near’s pelvis. “Though you could always scream for help if you don’t want this.”

“Please... someone... help me,” Near said softly, almost mockingly. “You’d better stop touching me before someone comes and sees us like this.”

Mello lifted himself slightly, his golden bangs falling over his eyes. “For once, you’re not going to act like a baby?” he whispered heatedly as he began to stroke Near’s erect member, moving his fingers slowly up and down. The blond’s lips grazed Near’s chin, then moved along the pulsing neck of the silver-haired boy.

“Ngh-h!” Near moaned, half-complaining, as his eyes began to fill with tears of pleasure. Between the caresses, kisses, and Mello’s wet tongue sliding over his skin, he felt like he was mentally in hell. His voice resisted weakly, though he wanted it to continue. Mello didn’t stop; on the contrary, he craved more of the control he held over Near.

“Mello, please...” he pleaded as small tremors coursed through his core, hardening him further. “Please...” he moaned as Mello began nibbling his earlobe. “Mello... no... oh-h...!”

“Feeling close to coming?” Mello whispered, moving to his lips to claim them.

First one, then the other, then both, plunging his tongue into the warm cavity that felt so delicious. He felt Near return the heated kiss, their breaths as hot as their skin. Mello captured his mouth partly on purpose to keep him from speaking, his heart racing with the adrenaline of the moment.

“Want to come?” he said, more a command than a question, pulling back slightly from Near’s lips before diving back in, his tongue slipping between Near’s teeth.

Near could only moan and nod. Then the movements quickened on his now-wet cock, while Mello’s throbbed beneath his pants as he rubbed against the other.

“Mello... I... I... mhg!” he gasped between labored breaths. “I’m going to c-”

His words were cut off by Mello’s tongue invading his mouth, demanding and possessive, tasting his saliva. “You’re going to come?” he said, nibbling Near’s lips. “I want you to. Now.”

Near moaned louder as his hands met Mello’s, gasping as he released his semen between Mello’s longer fingers, his lower abdomen contracting multiple times. Mello kept stroking his semi-erect, sticky cock, continuing even as Near resisted amid shudders that felt like tickles, preventing him from moving.

“Mello, stop... wait... Agh!”

Ah, music to his ears and a thrill to his hands, which moved to the lips he was kissing. He slipped his fingers into the mouth he’d been kissing, moving them between Near’s tongue and gums, coating them with the saliva dripping down his chin. His erection throbbed as he felt Near suck on his fingers, his saliva making wet sounds in his throat along with the contractions of Near’s body signaling his orgasm. Mello pulled his fingers from Near’s mouth and moved to his balls, coated in semen, then to his entrance, which felt tight and sticky as he grazed it with his fingertips. He pressed a finger inside, the heat of Near’s interior enveloping it, then added another, feeling the pressure of his body clenching before opening up. He kept caressing that spot, making Near’s body arch back and forth, seeking friction. Meanwhile, his other hand continued moving over Near’s cock, which soon grew erect again between his fingers. He smirked before sucking on Near’s neck without leaving marks, making wet sounds with his saliva—he’d learned long ago not to leave mottled circles on Near’s neck.

His hips rose over Near, and he entered him in one motion, feeling the shudder in his fingertips and Near’s deeper moans in his ear. He moved in and out, noticing Near spreading his legs to let him go deeper.

“Mello...” Near whimpered, “please, no... ah-h!... p-... oh-h!..."

“Feel good, Near?” he purred, feeling Near’s legs tighten and his cock melt again in his palm. “Damn, you must’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he said with satisfaction.

He moved his fingers with wet sounds, nibbling love bites on Near’s chest and nipples, holding his hips. He felt the shudder in his own skin, as if the release was still coursing through him. So tight and wet, it set him ablaze entirely. “Still need more... or is my touch just that good?” he said with a mix of allure and mockery.

“Shut up and put it in already,” the smaller one ordered between moans, his white bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Mello would’ve liked to keep teasing him longer, but he needed to release that violently sudden energy that had overtaken him. So he pulled down his pants, spread Near’s legs wider, and entered him without caring if it hurt. Honestly, he didn’t care much either way.

“Oh-h, Mello! Ah! Agh!” Near moaned and moaned as Mello thrust into him repeatedly.

It was true—his interior was so warm, wet, electrifying, and gripped him so tightly that it made his cock harder. He wanted, craved, to split him in half with his thrusts if he could. They went on, neither knowing how long, feeling their hardness, their gasps, their contractions.

Near was ecstatic, delirious, and sweaty, with Mello’s body moving forcefully inside him, opening him up and making every part of him tremble, even parts he hadn’t imagined could. His pelvis ached from the repeated thrusts, and he even felt a painful pressure in his abdomen. Tears of pain and pleasure streamed down his face, but he couldn’t help begging Mello to continue. This time, it was so spontaneous and heated.

Now, he was bent over the bed, hands behind his back, held by Mello’s, his lips parted, letting saliva drip onto the pillow to muffle his moans as Mello pounded into him mercilessly, gripping his hips with his other hand to keep him from pulling away. Another shuddering orgasm cascaded through him, and he couldn’t hide the moan escaping his lips. He couldn’t see the blond’s face, but he was sure Mello was smirking, smug about his skill in giving pleasure.

Mello flipped him over, because at some point, Near’s body had surrendered to him. He hooked one leg over Mello’s shoulder while spreading the other, pulling his throbbing cock out of Near’s body. His erection twitched, rising in tension.

“No... please,” the smaller one gasped, “put it back in.”

Mello laughed heartily but wanted to be back inside, though he’d have preferred to leave Near wanting. Still, he felt the need to give him everything he couldn’t quite name within himself. He spread Near’s legs wider, making them ache a bit, and moved his hips toward him, forcing Near to grip the sheets as Mello entered him again in one thrust. Near sealed his lips with his hand to keep from being heard and squeezed his eyes shut. Mello’s cock slammed into him repeatedly. Meanwhile, his free hand moved over Near’s hypersensitive erection, the tickling in his lower abdomen turning into small convulsions until he shuddered, spilling over his stomach. Inside, he kept gripping Mello’s cock, which continued sinking into him despite Near’s trembling, now lying in a pool of who-knows-what.

“M-More…”

“You sure?”

The only response was an urgent moan, which seemed enough. Time and reality dissolved in that moment as he thrust into him forcefully, holding those small legs that tensed as much as Near’s insides, until Mello felt it: the release of pressure in his stomach, exploding in spurts of white that dripped from his cock down Near’s backside as he pulled out, nearly filling him completely with his semen.

“Damn...” he muttered, collapsing until he caught himself with his palms on the mattress. “Do you think we did the right thing, Near?” he said, his golden hair covering his eyes, only his silver rosary glinting on his chest.

“No one really knows what’s right or wrong,” Near said, catching the cross of Mello’s necklace and caressing it. “Even if a God told me with certainty what’s right, I’d decide for myself what’s right or wrong.” He sighed, steadying his racing heart and feeling his cheeks burn. “I’m like you,” he said, as the back of his hand moved to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I believe what I do is right.”

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