
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1195218.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Death_Note
  Relationship:
      Mello/Near
  Character:
      Mello_|_Mihael_Keehl, Near_|_Nate_River
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-17 Words: 6172
****** Lie Cold, Consent ******
by Amarissia
Summary
     A moment of humanity from Near, that's all Mello wants. Graphic M,
     underage, non-con sex.
LIE COLD, CONSENT
Not every place in Whammy's House had a specific purpose. There were the school
rooms, the large dining area, the bustling kitchens, the endless corridors of
bedrooms. But it was the vaguer spaces Near preferred, the corners everyone
else neglected, the dusty air that spoke of solitude. This particular third
floor room had once been some sort of study before falling into disuse, and the
louder, more social orphans avoided it. There was nothing here but untouched
shelves of outdated volumes, furniture battered by years of wear, and long
curtains with lace yellowed and stiff. In an establishment of bestowed names,
no one had bothered to give this place one.
Near liked this room - that is, he felt nothing overtly positive or negative
about it but found himself constantly returning nonetheless. In mid-afternoon,
while the other children grouped together or studied, Near sat on the sun-
drenched, worn-smooth floorboards and built intricate temples or cities with
blocks or matchsticks, or made ornate domino patterns full of mathematical
secrets that were clear only to him. Or, like today, he worked on a puzzle.
Roger brought him the most challenging he could find, usually 2,000 pieces or
more, but whatever the complexity, Near always assembled the puzzle upside-
down, with the shiny white or cardboard brown facing up. He didn't do this to
show off, or even just because he could...in truth, there was nothing to gain
from piecing together a garden scene or the Taj Mahal. But in the finished
blankness, there was something. Something even Near didn't quite understand
yet, and such things were too rare.
And people wondered why he showed no surprise at anything they said, why he
took no pride in being thirteen and beyond the skill of the Whammy's House
tutors.
The underside-overside of this particular puzzle was a marble-smooth, polished
white, and in the moonlight that stretched through the window it showed faint
reflections of Near's surroundings - a corner of the bookshelves, a side of the
dusty desk. If he leaned over the growing rectangle of interlocking,
unintentional mirrors, he could even see himself, though he saw no reason to do
so. There was nothing to look for in the snow-white face that evoked either an
angel or a ghost, depending on who observed him. Nothing in the pale coral lips
or the eyes that shone like wet river pebbles...though Near had wondered before
if there was anything in them, anything in the too-big clothes and L-like
slouch that even Near was unaware of thus far.
Mello made no effort to soften or disguise his footsteps down the empty hallway
to the room without a name. Near would know anyway, it was a trait of his that
verged on the paranormal and even frightened the dimmer students of Whammy's
House. Idiots, Mello thought derisively. Near committed a million things to
memory, why not the sound of everyone who had ever approached him?
Mello was Near's closest rival, and had somehow ended up being labeled Near's
friend, all because he felt compelled to defend and protect the strange boy. No
one but Mello was allowed to harm or challenge Near, no one could taint the
fair victory Mello would have over him. That was hardly a friendship - it was
more like possession. And to top it off, Near - who had probably never
intentionally done an unkind thing in his life - was so damn infuriating. If
shunned by most of the students, the boy was a sort of pet to the staff, no
matter how many times he ignored their cooing and coddling. Even the great L,
during a rare visit, had sat with Near and spoken to him in numbers like a
shared private language.
More than anything, it was Near's lack of emotion that infuriated Mello. What
did being the next L mean to Near? It was wasted on him, like every spontaneous
kind gesture Mello made, like Roger's and Watari's paternal affection, like
everything! Lately Mello had, in desperation, found himself reduced to acts of
what some would term cruelty in an effort to dig some humanity out of Near,
something he could bring to the surface and compete with. He entered the
unnamed room now, ready to continue, anticipating this with pleasure as he did
every time.
Near continued with his puzzle as Mello sat down on his knees behind him, much
closer than Near preferred people to be. He disliked this game of Mello's and
didn't understand it, but to acknowledge this, to fight, would be to admit
defeat. Better to ignore the fingers that began to play with his white hair,
and the warm breath that hovered by his ear.
"Near," the teasing voice called, looking for something more than a simple
"What?" in response. Near had tried it and variations of it before, all to
avoid the next step, which appeared to be inevitable. Hands slipped beneath his
baggy white shirt, caressing his sides first, then the stomach, and upward.
This time, the hands withdrew just long enough to return with wet fingertips,
to circle the boy's pale nipples slowly until they puffed and firmed and felt
strange beneath the cotton garment.
Mello's breathing had become heavier now, and his palms rubbed against the
erect little nubs as though he were cupping the breasts of a young woman. But
there was nothing feminine about Near, despite his delicacy and softness and
long-lashed prettiness, and nothing human either, it would seem. His small body
tensed and made slight shifts of discomfort, but his toy still held his
attention. Near's nimble fingers hardly fumbled as Mello pushed his collar
aside and latched his mouth to the boy's neck, sucking gently at the slightly
quickened pulse.
A few moments passed, then Mello's damp lips left their place and ascended to
brush against the left ear. "Feel something, will you?" he said, each
successive word more forceful. "That's all you need to do."
"I don't understand," Near murmured, words he never used except in connection
to emotions. Mello was led by his feelings, was that why he hated Near's cool,
unfaltering logic?
"I'll make you, then. Don't worry," Mello spat, with the sudden anger he was
known for. "Just play with your damn toy."
His hands were moving faster now beneath the white shirt, groping the slender
adolescent body with alternating care and roughness. It was like a physical
manifestation of Mello's behavior, cruel one moment and protective the next.
Was Mello looking for something, as he shifted the cotton fabric to get his
rougher fingers over every smooth inch?
As Mello's anger faded again, his touches became purely sensual - something
that Near had no way of recognizing. The boy only knew that this was not like
Watari's approving pats on the head or the occasional squeezes he endured from
the House's older girls. Near had never been touched this way before, but he
knew already that he wanted it to stop.
"Mello."
"What, Near?" The question had a hint of laughter in it.
"I'm busy."
"You don't have to do anything. I told you."
"What are you doing?" A long, telling pause. "Do you refuse to answer because
you don't know, or because you don't wish to tell me?"
"Because you wouldn't understand. I'm not something you can figure out, Near.
You can't predict me."
"I know you won't stop if I ask you to," Near said quietly.
"Fair enough," Mello laughed, unbuttoning the billowing white shirt. "Good. Now
just be good."
"Mello..."
No other words would come as the garment, the oversized protection, was taken
off and put aside. Near wasn't cold, and he wasn't exactly embarrassed to be
bared this way, because rationally, there was nothing shameful or sinful about
being half-nude. Far more disturbing was the greater access Mello had now, his
chest pressed to Near's white back, towering over him from behind, and the
hands tracing his flat belly before wetting the nipples again. Worse, Mello was
drawing him back, making it harder to lean over the puzzle.
"Mello," Near tried again, but his cold voice shook a little.
"You're so small and soft," Mello murmured. "Are you small everywhere? I'm
bigger, I know I am."
"I don't know what you - "
"You're such a child." Palms and fingers grasped at Near's narrow hips and
pushed something against the seat of his jeans. It was warm and stiff and for
some reason, Near couldn't process what his anatomical knowledge told him it
must be. "Mmm, yeah...you feel good. I bet you've never even touched your own."
A tongue tracing the line of his jugular up into an ear couldn't distract Near
from his jeans being unfastened. He gasped almost without sound as they were
slowly edged down. Mello yanked him up roughly to push the pants and underwear
to his knees, but once Near had slumped down again and begun to shrink like a
wilting flower, the hands went gentle again, trying to spread him out.
"I knew it, I knew you would be soft and white all over." Mello traced the
bones that curved down toward Near's groin, then stroked the bare and narrow
inner thighs. "Take it in your hand. C'mon, offer it to me."
"No, Mello - "
The hand cupped and lifted, and the hairless flesh nearly disappeared in
Mello's grip. He was rolling it like clay or a water balloon in his fingers and
palm, and with his other hand the blond grabbed the cuffs of Near's jeans one
at a time and yanked harshly. Once he had the pants off and tossed aside, Mello
went for the plain white boxer-briefs that dangled uselessly below Near's
shaking knees.
But these he took his time with, drawing them down in a rhythmic, almost
teasing fashion. When they were free Mello didn't throw them, but instead put
them between his hand and Near's soft penis, and continued stroking him through
the thin cloth.
"C'mon," Mello murmured in an oddly patient voice. "You're old enough. Get
hard."
It may have been no more than willpower, considering Mello's certainty, that
kept Near able to disobey. The boy was breathing as shallowly as one can and
yet remain conscious, his mouth hanging slightly ajar like he was about to
scream or gasp. Near did neither, only silently breathed and blinked and
grasped one puzzle piece after another like lifelines. He put them in the
correct spot, on the first try, every time. Another wave of fury rippled
through Mello and he grabbed the boy's wrist, twisted it until the piece was
dropped, and pulled the struggling arm away from the toy.
Now Near showed a little panic, emitting low, almost droning, closed-mouth
screams, little bursts of the hysteria that interrupting his work caused if it
was done so suddenly or forcefully. Mello snickered, a triumphant sound, and
yanked the boy's body onto his lap, restraining him easily with one arm and
getting so damn hard from all of this.
"Be quiet. What if someone hears you, hmm? Do you want them all to come in and
see how weak you are? Or maybe they won't think it's weakness. Maybe you like
this, huh? They'll think you want it, and everyone will be touching you from
now on. Why do you think Roger works here when he's so clueless with kids?"
Mello's voice eased into an oddly soothing tone, his curled hand continuing the
gentle and useless strokes. "I've heard things. He likes pretty boys. One hint
to him from me, and no more alone-time, Near. He'll know he could do anything
and you wouldn't say a damn thing."
The intermittent, humming yelps grew louder and louder, and though their
location was isolated, Mello realized they would need to be quieter. "Ssh, stop
that and listen. Be good and I won't let anyone hurt you. I'll keep protecting
you. That's it, there's no point in making noise. This is just between us."
"What do you want?"
"Cooperation would be too much, I'm sure, so I'll settle for you not fighting.
Just relax."
"Please go away."
"That what you want? Well, if I go away..." Mello grabbed one of the larger
puzzle pieces and shoved it in his back pocket. "Then I'm taking this."
No noise this time, but Near's shoulders slumped like his soul itself was
deflating in defeat. A single tear rolled quickly off his porcelain face and
splashed Mello's forearm, and he could feel the boy's heart beating as rapidly
as a baby bird's. Perhaps this bothered Mello most of all, that he was not
immune to the tenderness Near brought out in people.
"Ssh, I'll give it back, I promise." Confident that there would be no more
fighting, Mello now had a hand free to tilt Near's head back onto his own
shoulder, exposing a slender, flawless expanse of shoulder and neck to kiss and
gently suckle at. "Be good for me and you'll get it back when I'm done."
Mello was well-experienced in this sort of playing with other (willing)
partners at the orphanage, and with even the most fumbling and nervous, every
one had eventually been relaxed by one kind of touch or another. It wasn't
working with Near, he refused to be soothed no matter how gentle Mello was, no
matter how he rocked the boy and whispered promises that he wouldn't do
anything that would hurt.
The thirteen-year-old had stopped fighting, but his surrender would not be
complete until he untensed and allowed himself to feel pleasure. The organ in
Mello's hand remained soft, and the china-doll body on his lap felt like a bow
string pulled taut.
What the hell was wrong? Near didn't welcome any human contact, but it didn't
make him panic. Could someone have hurt him to make him hate intimate touches?
If anyone did, I'll kill them, Mello thought furiously, and decided to ask. He
would feel bad if correct about this, but admitted to himself that he wouldn't
stop either way.
"Near, ssh." Mello paused his stroking and exploring to wrap his arms around
the boy in a way that was meant to be comforting. "Has someone else done this
to you?"
Near's breathing didn't jump or change speed as he shook his head.
"Tell me the truth. I won't tell anyone." The same response, movement that
brushed the hair like white satin against Mello's chin. "I'm the first to touch
here, and here? Are you sure?"
"As far as I can remember," Near whispered. He wished he could just sit still
and not react to Mello's game, he wished his nerves would stop jumping.
"How much do you remember before Whammy's House?"
"Nothing."
Mello didn't believe him, but decided to let it go and not risk triggering his
troublesome conscience. His hands began to move again, determined to find the
most sensitive spots on this baby-like skin. He couldn't help but marvel at how
small Near was, as easy to enclose and contain as the doll he resembled. He
would force emotion out of the doll without shattering him, somehow.
"I want you to feel good, too. Tell me where my hands feel good." Saliva and
fingertips coaxed the pale nipples erect again, but flicking at them only made
Near squirm in protest. Rubbing his flat little stomach likewise provoked no
response. "Okay, how about here?"
Mello pressed lips and tongue to a bare, fragile shoulder and worked back to
the elegant curve of neck. Near showed a dislike of being made wet, that was
all. The blond nuzzled the delicate shell of Near's left ear, bit lightly at
the lobe, then kissed at the tiny patch of skin behind it. The faintest shudder
went through Near immediately, and for the briefest moment, the hunched and
hard muscles of his back relaxed. Mello's approving "mmm" sound told Near he
had been caught, but he did his best to repress the barely audible squeaks that
were coming out.
Mello's mouth was practically burrowing into him, pressed against that
traitorous spot and biting with lips only. "Good, good," he said, and his hand
and the white underwear returned to the softness between the child's legs.
"Breathe deeper, just let it happen and it'll happen..."
No! Near didn't dare say it for fear of what Mello might do if angered, but it
rang through his brain, and streams of words and numbers that swirled in
complex, interlocking patterns. What control he had over his perplexing body,
he would keep. That burst of tingling nerves Mello had found behind his ear was
worrisome, but it wouldn't work with the hand that was touching him down there.
Mind over matter, the mind shapes reality as one perceives it, therefore with
proper concentration and discipline...but Mello's dry lips continued to nudge
his ear, and Near's flaccid penis twitched just slightly.
Mello blew a long stream of air through his pursed lips. Near wondered without
much hope if he was giving up, but no such luck.
"You give me no choice. Looks like we're moving on sooner than I expected.
C'mon, let's get you...right there. Good." Mello had dragged a nearby rug up
next to the wide puzzle space, and maneuvered Near down onto it on his back.
The boy's breathing went rapid and shallow again as he was laid out and
observed like a feast for Mello's hungry eyes. Legs parted, with Mello between
his knees, pushing them further apart and up a little. It felt like a
sacrificial position, like he was an unlucky Mayan whose spilled blood was
called for to nourish the sun. Blond Mello hovered over him, smiled as he
brought his face close to Near's and let his sun-hair fall upon the child made
of moonlight.
"Have you been kissed? Don't bother lying."
He didn't, there was no need. Turning his head did no good either, Mello
grasped his chin and forced it back, and what followed was a struggle of will
and brute strength. In the latter, Near had no chance, and he dared not bite
the tongue that took its time gaining entrance. This kissing was a sloppy act,
and while held in place he couldn't avoid taking part. His tongue was swept up
by the probing of the slick invader, the grunts of refusal he made swallowed.
Why did people like doing this with each other? It was just another way for
Mello to dominate him, it was no different than the times that Mello played
with his hair and couldn't be slapped away, or put his hands under Near's shirt
and let them roam...but this was more personal. Everything today dug into him
deeper.
Finally Mello released his mouth and sat back. Trying to catch his breath
without losing composure, Near turned his head to look at the half-finished
puzzle and began to grasp at the pieces, one at a time. His slender white
fingers trembled, moved with less than their usual speed and dexterity, but
still he snatched up the loose pieces and fit them into place. Hardly a pause,
hardly more than a sweep of his eyes over the puzzle, and he put them into
place.
Mello felt his face grow hot, a fire behind his eyes that was always kindled by
Near's superiority. He was in charge here, in this at least he would not be
beaten. The tube of gel was in his hidden pocket, kept on him because you never
know when a liaison might occur, and Mello was angry as he retrieved it and
spread the chocolate-scented stuff over a few fingers. Lucky he remembered his
promise not to hurt, or the entry of the first would have been faster and Near
might have screamed rather than whimper with surprise and discomfort.
Instinctively he tried to move, hoist himself up and off, but a hand gripping
his hip served as both restraint and warning.
And he had tensed. God, he was tight enough already, but the panic had
contracted his muscles so that Mello's finger was actually drawn slightly
further. Near's eyes were squeezed shut, and his hand hovered just over the
puzzle mess and froze there, shaking against the pieces and making them chatter
like teeth.
"You need to relax, or it'll hurt."
"Stop," Near whispered, and his voice sounded so young. "Please, Mello."
"I'll make it better, but you need to try," Mello said patiently, digging his
finger deeper and around, watching Near's face closely for the winces of pain
to become something else.
There it was, that was the spot. Near's whole body jerked when he touched it,
but it was a few seconds of careful rubbing before the pressure around Mello's
finger began to loosen. He added another finger to double the power of the
assault, and Near made some urgent, not-exactly-hurt sounds, but his eyes
remained closed, and his expression showed nothing but confusion. Mello roughly
edged closer to Near, his kneeling legs shoving the boy's higher and opening
him a little wider. Slowly and against his will, Near was relaxing, going limp
under the weight of forced pleasure and the horror of this.
"C'mon, get hard," Mello murmured. "It'll make this so much better."
Mello's free hand had returned to its earlier work, with very little success.
By the time he had gotten Near to begin to stiffen, three slick fingers were
inside him, stretching and plundering. With no warning, the blond put his hands
beneath Near's knees and pushed them up still further, and moved into position
to unfasten his pants and lubricate himself. Trembling and looking lost, Near
had continued to work on his puzzle as though finishing it would allow him to
escape all this, and focusing on the increasingly-larger white rectangle had
kept his focus on something other than this molestation.
But when he felt Mello press against his bare bottom, Near cried out, and one
of the last pieces fell from his fingers. Mello felt bad for him - he was,
after all, awfully young and innocent to be taken this way, especially for his
first time - but there was no way he could hold back. Mello knew he would go
mad if he didn't have Near, now. He felt so sweet and clean and pink inside,
and soft like every other part of him was. The child's eyes were open now,
staring up with pleading and terror, but Mello only felt his usual fascination
for them. He had never been able to properly identify the color of Near's eyes,
only that they were shining and wet. Flooded, now.
"It'll be over sooner and hurt a lot less if you relax. I promise."
Spreading the pale cheeks as best he could, Mello carefully eased the head of
his erection inside, slowly so he wouldn't tear anything. God, so exquisitely
tight. Sex was the only thing better than chocolate, chocolate didn't give him
this dizzying sense of power and delicious ache in his groin. It almost hurt to
be inside Near, but as he slowly slid further, Mello realized that logical
little Near was trying to relax as he'd been ordered. His eyes were squeezed
shut, his baby-doll face screwed up in concentration, he was whispering
something so softly and rapidly that Mello had to strain to hear.
"Ichi, ni, san, go, hachi, juusan, nijuu ichi, sanjuu yon..."
The Fibonacci sequence. Math, one of the many
Every
subjects Near was better in. Fire burned behind Mello's eyes again and made him
grit his teeth. How stupid could the little genius be, provoking him at a time
like this? Mello pushed the last couple inches in in one thrust, drawing a sob
of pain. Either Near had gotten the message or lost count, because he
immediately switched to reciting the elements of the periodic table in
alphabetical order. Near had always beaten him in science too. Mello grabbed
one of the slender white wrists and slammed it roughly down beside Near's head,
holding it to the floor.
"Stop trying to win," the blond hissed, his eyes flashing with a dangerous
glint of insanity. "You win everything, but not this, not here."
Languages next - Near repeated verbatim the first lesson of their Intermediate
French textbook until his other wrist was pinned in warning. By now, Mello had
begun to thrust, and he did so very slowly, fighting the impulse to think only
of his own pleasure and rip the infuriating child open. Near could already
speak every language that was heard at the vastly multicultural Whammy's House,
while Mello was fluent only in Japanese and his native Russian, with a fair
command of English and a few others.
Near must have realized that all these attempts at distracting himself were
only annoying Mello further. He went quiet awhile, save for whimpers of pain
and not-pain, which one could hardly call pleasure since Near clearly took no
solace from it. Mello checked and was startled but not surprised by the blood
dripping onto the old rug, and feeling a twinge of remorse, he leaned back over
Near and kissed the few tears that he could find on the pale cheeks, nuzzled
his face against the pulse that raced in Near's neck and the white locks that
were as fine as a baby's. Mello stimulated that sensitive spot behind the boy's
ear, and worked his way a little lower, intending to taste Near's stubborn
little mouth once more.
He found that Near's lips had begun to move again on their own, whispering in
his first tongue, English. Mello was able to follow just enough to realize the
boy was reciting a poem, in a perfect cadence broken only by the jolts of
Mello's thrusts.
"'Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,
A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.
Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent
To weariness' and pardon's watery element...'"
Mello took a moment to wonder where Near had picked up something as sentimental
as poetry, but no longer than that. He was close, so close to the peak, and
rode it like a cresting wave with a cry of satisfaction. Once he finished
spurting into the abused darkness, Mello sat back on his ankles to catch his
breath and wait for strength to return to his limbs.
Only after about a minute did he think to look at Near. One of his arms lay on
the floor where Mello had pinned it, with faint but visible bruising all around
the wrist. Near's head was turned to the right, cheeks wet but eyes open and
fixed with determination. The soft fingers of his other hand held the
penultimate piece of the puzzle and were stretching toward the correct vacant
spot.
Mello thought briefly of snatching it away, but as his exhilaration faded he
noted more soberly that he had already beaten Near, and could afford to be
magnanimous. The blond eased himself out carefully, trying to objectively
analyze the amount of blood on his penis, the rug, still slowly trickling out
of Near to dot Mello's fingers. Not enough to be harmful. No lasting damage. If
Mello hadn't been so smart he might've been able to believe that, but he felt
strangely numb about it all, and unable to regret.
Near shivered and made a gasping sound as Mello pulled out, wincing but not
looking up, only whimpering as he was half lifted, half dragged until he was
practically on top of the puzzle. Close enough to fit in the piece he held, and
he did so with a sigh of faint relief.
"Mello..." The voice was halting, as though it hadn't been used in years.
"Please..."
Mello understood. Typical of Near, he had just been raped and all he cared
about was his stupid puzzle. Mello fished the stolen piece from his pocket, to
return it as promised, but now that it was smeared with come and blood, he
wondered if Near would really want to touch it.
"I'll put it in for ya," the blond said, as a friend might. "Here, show me
where it goes," he added, though of course there was only one space left.
He carefully turned Near onto his side to face the game, and Near protectively
curled his legs up in a half-fetal position. No need, Mello had no intention of
taking him again, at least not yet. He fitted the puzzle piece into the spot
that Near weakly indicated, and afterward took hold of the child's hand and
made it move over the smooth expanse of the completed rectangle. He thought
Near might be calmed now that it was finished, but without warning, the boy
started to shift in alarm and even made an attempt to drag himself away.
Odd enough for Near to react to anything at all...it seemed unlikely that what
had been done to him was just affecting him now. Mello grabbed Near's legs to
keep him from getting away, and when he pulled them straight, there was the
answer. An erection (smaller than his own, Mello noted gleefully) was pointing
unwillingly out from the hairless smoothness between the boy's clasped legs.
Here was the chocolate icing on the cake of his triumph, just when Mello had
given up hope that Near had anything in common with other teenaged boys.
"Very good," Mello said approvingly. "Better late than never."
Despite the pain he must have been in, Near was fast, and Mello had to grab his
wrists and pin them above his head to keep him in place. Making the same
panicked, closed-mouth screams as before, the boy tried to curl up tighter and
squeezed his legs protectively together. Kicking did no good from this position
as Mello's hand, rougher than Near's and stronger, moved over the soft white
skin of his thighs, at last yanking them apart and reaching between.
"Mello, please!" Near cried, and the fact that he'd nearly shouted almost
shocked Mello into letting go.
"This part doesn't hurt at all, I swear. Damn it, you need to learn this
anyway, it feels good. Just stay still and breathe."
Mello's earlier question was now answered - Near had definitely never
experienced this before. He seemed confused by what the hand that cupped him
was doing, and his little body continually jerked and spasmed at the new
sensations he was apparently so sensitive to. Mello felt a vicious thrill at
being the first to triumph over Near, the first to undo him like this and make
the cold doll into a real boy who was subject to human pains and pleasures. And
the sight of him restrained and nude like this, white and silver like a sliver
of moonlight cast on the floor, was breathtaking. With those baggy clothes off,
Near wasn't merely pretty, he was exquisite.
"Doesn't that feel good?" It had to, it was basic anatomy, and Near's breathing
had sped up, but tears were rolling down his cheeks again.
Yet, for just a moment, the eyes regained their usual large-pupiled intensity
and chill. "Mello," the child gasped, voice shaking with fear or outrage, "will
this...make us even?"
No, it wouldn't, nothing would. Near would always be smarter and more level-
headed and better. Near would succeed L, all anyone talked about was how alike
they were; they even looked alike, fueling rumors that they were somehow
related. Near would be the next L, even if it could never mean as much to him
as it would to Mello. And Mello? He knew Near would never divulge what had been
done to him, but Roger could find out anyway, or Watari, or sharp-eyed Matt who
was always telling Mello he should just leave the kid alone.
Even if Mello was only fifteen, raping a thirteen-year-old was a serious crime.
Damn it, no one knew, no one would ever realize, what an infuriating creature
Near was, and Mello had only reinforced the innocent-child mask by making him a
victim. No, they would never be even. The best they could hope for was a life-
long battle, and Near didn't play games like that. Not with people.
"No," Mello said forcefully, speeding up his strokes and hoping the louder
string of urgent whimpers would clear his aching head.
"Then...why?"
Because I can't think of anything but you. You're everything.
"Because you're nothing," Mello hissed. "I don't care how fucking smart you
are, you're a freak. A pretty toy for me to play with. You'll be the next L,
you'll take that from me, so I'm gonna take whatever I want from you."
Near's upper body lurched forward, like he was going to vomit, but instead he
was finally shouting, crying out in fear of the unfamiliar intensity. Maybe
feeling like he was plunging off the edge of a cliff, as Mello had his first
time. Mello had aimed him so that not only his own fingers, but the puzzle too,
were now sticky with globs and tiny puddles of semen. He released the bruised
wrists, but no effort was made to move them. Near's head fell in exhaustion to
his outstretched arm, and he turned his face toward the floor, breathing
raspily through parted pink lips.
As was typical of Mello's temperament, now that he was sated he felt much more
companionable. An uneasy smile formed beneath his pin-prick blue eyes, and he
ran his fingers gently over a bruise on Near's hip, careful not to press it.
"We made a mess. How 'bout I go draw you a bath?"
Near's eyes were open and clear, blinking in a fixed and normal rhythm, though
what he was looking at, Mello couldn't tell. One of the boy's small hands
inched timidly from above his head, turned palm-down, and grasped at the smooth
surface of the puzzle marred by splashes of milky white and blood red.
Unperturbed, Mello placed a gentle kiss on Near's temple and stood up,
refastening his pants as he did so.
"I'll be right back. I'll get some stuff and clean you up, so stay right
there."
With one ear to the floor, Near was able to hear and count Mello's calm
footsteps as they exited the room and grew softer and softer with distance. In
his mind, even through the shock of minutes before, the boy was able to view a
floor-by-floor plan of the vast Whammy's House estate, and trace Mello's route
to the infirmary that would be empty this time of night. Near could see the
elder boy's progress and location as exactly as a person following him would,
and he lay still until Mello was more than halfway down the stairs at the end
of the corridor.
Then, and only then, the pale child put pressure on his hand, then forearm,
then elbow, and gingerly propped himself up a little bit off the floor.
Absently he took note of the bruising Mello had left on his wrists, hips and
thighs, and winced just slightly at the stinging pain inside. So this is what
it was to feel literally torn. He couldn't analyze the feeling properly through
the hurt of it, and this made the boy recall a line from another poem he had
once seen. Pain has an element of blank. Blank was a word people sometimes
ascribed to Near's doll-like face and unchanging expression, but now it seemed
to have penetrated to the inside too.
No use trying to run or hide - Near knew he couldn't stand unassisted, and he
wasn't about to anger Mello again. But he felt compelled to draw himself up at
least to an almost-sitting position, braced by his arms and biting back a groan
as he kept pressure off his backside. Worse than the pain there was the feeling
of dirtiness. Near was fussy about keeping very clean, and so carefully kept
his eyes averted from the sticky mess on his thighs and the back of his legs.
And the puzzle, the pristine white surface. His hands clutched at it for
comfort and felt the grotesque stains upon it soil his palms and fingers.
Trying to wipe it clean only smeared it further, destroyed even more of its
purity. Near saw now, with a numb frown, that he could no longer see his
reflection in it. This was a small mercy.
Note: Poem quoted from by Near is "After Prayers, Lie Cold" by C.S. Lewis.
Other poem referred to in passing is by Emily Dickinson, who annoyingly did not
title her works. This work in no way endorses child abuse of any kind, it is
purely the fiction of a disturbed mind. I do not own Death Note or any of its
characters, though I am acquainted with a few of them, and Gaia help me if they
ever see this...
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