30 Küsse von M ([Mello x Near]) ================================================================================ Kapitel 1: F*ck Buddies ----------------------- Stichwort: #27 Überflutet/Überfüllt ***** “...” “...” “Bist du ok?” “Ich bin ok, Mello.” “...” “...” “Echt?” “Wirklich. Du brauchst mich nicht dauernd anzufassen.” “Tut dir was weh?” “Mir tut alles weh, aber das ist immer so, nicht wahr? Fass mich bitte nicht an.” Nears Stimme war monoton, aber Mello hörte die leise Ungeduld darin anschwellen, und in dem “bitte” war eine kleine Spitze versteckt, die ihm verriet, dass die Nadel sich schon dem roten Bereich näherte. Dass er sich ziemlich weit in Nears persönlichen Raum vorgewagt hatte, und Near konnte es nicht ertragen. Was Grund genug war, noch ein bisschen weiterzumachen. “Es wir von Mal zu Mal besser,” murmelte er in den Nacken vor seinem Gesicht. Es war komisch, Nears Rücken war wirklich sehr schmal, aber wenn er einem so entschieden zugedreht wurde, hatte er den selben Effekt wie eine massive Wand. Dieser Rücken war hübsch, kühl, und sehr, sehr unkommunikativ. Normalerweise war Mello immer der gewesen, der anderen nach dem Sex den Rücken zudrehte. Aber natürlich mußte ihm Near auch das wegnehmen. Mello schloss die Arme, und Near sass darin fest wie ein kleiner Vogel in der Falle. “Es wird immer nur besser, du wirst sehen ...” “Das weiß ich, sonst würde ich das nicht machen, und nun hör auf mich anzufassen. Bring mich bitte nicht immer dazu, alles zu wiederholen. Nimm die Hände weg.” Mello schloss die Augen, gab ihn frei, drehte sich auf den Rücken, und fragte sich, warum er sich nicht einfach weiterhin drauf beschränkt hatte, liebeskranke Verehrer zu vögeln, die darum bettelten, von ihm angefasst zu werden, mehr, mehr, bitte, bitte. Aber nein, er hatte das hier. Er hatte Near, der nach dem Ficken einschnappte wie eine zickige Auster, und der nicht mehr angefasst werden wollte, sobald man von ihm runtergerollt war, weil er nun mal eben so beschissen besonders und speziell und eigen war. Near, von dem er nach dem Ficken über bewachte Flure wegschleichen durfte wie ein lausiger Einbrecher, damit keiner es wusste. “Deine Schuld,” hatte Matt zu ihm gesagt, als Mello eines Tages beim Schokolade kauen besonders sexuell frustriert ausgesehen haben mußte, “DU wolltest unbedingt den neurotischen Autisten nageln, also leb damit.” Matt hatte Recht. Immerhin hatte Near ihm eine Tafel seiner Schokolade neben dem Bett bereitgelegt, also nahm er sie, und ließ sie langsam zwischen Gaumen und Zunge schmelzen, während er lauschte, wie das Ritual seinen Lauf nahm. Wenn sie fertig waren, wartete Near immer einige Minuten - in denen man ihn auf keinen Fall anfassen sollte - bis er wieder laufen konnte, dann stand er auf, wickelte sich sehr umständlich in seine Decke, sagte keinen Ton, und tapste, ohne Mello anzusehen, ins Badezimmer, und schloss sich ein. Dort badete er dann beleidigend lange. Als müßte er Mello, und alles, was Mello mit ihm machte, so gründlich von sich abwaschen wie Giftmüll. Es war beleidigend, aber es war Mello auch recht. Es war das Signal für ihn, seine Sachen zusammenzusuchen und aus Nears Hotelzimmer zu verschwinden, so dass ihnen beiden peinliche postkoitale Gespräche erspart blieben. Sie waren schon in vor-koitalen Gesprächen miteinander nicht so besonders, es gab keinen Grund, den Teil danach auch noch zu vergeigen. Near kam nie aus dem Badezimmer raus, so lange Mello noch in seinem Bett war. Es war eine klare Ansage. Es war allerdings auch eine ebenso klare Ansage, dass seine Tür in der nächsten Nacht dann doch wieder unverschlossen war. Da war es wieder, wie immer, Nacht für Nacht. Wickel, wickel, wickel. Tippel, tippel, tippel. Klack. Und die Tür zum Badezimmer hatte sich unwiederbringlich geschlossen. Mello zerbiss Schokolade und knurrte. Warum Near unbedingt vermeiden wollte, dass Mello ihn nackt sah, nachdem er sich vorher eine Stunde lang artig hatte durchbürsten lassen, war für eine so logische Person wie ihn wirklich sehr unlogisch, aber so war das nun mal. Im Grunde war es egal ... sie funktionierten miteinander nur in diesen ausgewählten Momenten zwischen Kleider aufreißen und Orgasmus, sobald sie aufhörten, sich gegenseitig das Adrenalin hochzupeitschen, war der Zauber vorbei, und es breitete sich diese fast elektrische Spannung zwischen ihnen aus, die alles andere tötete. Dann fand Mello Near wieder kalt und widerlich, und Near wünschte sich, Mello hätte einen Ausknopf, und alles war wie sonst. Und trotzdem ... er konnte es nicht lassen, denn er war noch nie in seinem Leben so hart und so ausführlich gekommen wie in diesen Momenten, in denen er es schaffte, Nears Gehirn so dermaßen mit Hormonen zu fluten, dass er aufhörte, Near zu sein. Es war mit nichts zu vergleichen, und es war all diesen Scheiß wert. Mello hörte das Rauschen des Wassers im Nebenzimmer und dachte daran, dass er nie mehr spüren würde wie es war, nach dem Vögeln einfach einzuschlafen. Denn er konnte hier nicht bleiben, das war gegen die Regeln. Sie konnten so einiges miteinander, aber sicherlich keinen Frieden finden, so lange der andere da war. Er würde nun aufstehen, und seinen Part in diesem kleinen Schauspiel erledigen, seine Sachen suchen und verschwinden. Die letzten Reste dieser seltsamen, kurzlebigen Leidenschaft zusammen klauben. Die Stiefel hinter der Couch, die Handschuhe irgendwo beim Kaffeetisch oder wahrscheinlich darunter, die Schlüssel für das Motorrad auf dem Nachttisch, in drei, zwei, eins ... Es piepste. Mello folgte dem Geräusch und fand seine Hose irgendwo unter dem Bett wieder, und in der Tasche fand er sein Telefon. “Was ist?” “Mello? Gut, du lebst also noch.” Mello hob träge eine Augenbraue. “Was sonst, Matt? Dachtest du, er hätte mich zu Tode gevögelt? Schön wär´s.” “Ich will das echt nicht hören, was ihr so macht, mann.” Gab Matt unbewegt zurück. “Ich dachte, es hätte dich vielleicht auf der Straße erwischt. Hast du die Nachrichten gesehen?” Mello lag es auf der Zunge, zu sagen, dass er wohl kaum Zeit hatte die News um Neun anzusehen, während er sich abrackerte, Near ein paar zustimmende Geräusche zu entlocken. Aber Matt vertrug solche Details wirklich nicht, und er konnte es ihm nicht mal verübeln. “Nein. Was ist passiert, ist der Stadtkern in die Luft geflogen? Ist irgendwas mit Kira?” Es machte ihn nun doch nervös. Das wäre wirklich das Letzte - dass Kira ungestört zuschlagen konnte, nur weil Ls Nachfolger zu beschäftigt damit waren, sich gegenseitig die Zungen in den Hals zu stecken, obwohl sie sich nicht mal mochten. Er erhob sich vom Bett, nackt wie er war, den Hörer ans Ohr rangepresst, trat ans Fenster und linste zögerlich durch den Spalt der Vorhänge. Und sah sofort, was Matt meinte. “Oh Fuck.” “Ohne Scheiß, mann. Unwetter, Windstärke 12 und alles. Die komplette Schnellstraße ist überflutet, alle Brücken sind abgesperrt, das heißt ...” Mello starrte mit zusammengebissenen Zähnen auf das Gewühl von überschwemmten Straßen und rotierenden Rettungslichtern. Sie hatten beide nichts davon bemerkt, während sie ihr eigenes kleines Unwetter hier drin abgefeiert hatten. Oder vielleicht hatte Near es auch bemerkt und nichts gesagt, weil es ihm gleichgültig war. Near mußte nie irgendwohin. “.... das bedeutet, ich sitze hier fest.” brachte Mello Matts Satz zu Ende. Und das wiederum bedeutete, er würde wie ein nackter Idiot hier noch sitzen, wenn Near aus dem Badezimmer kam, und dann würde Near erst sehr, sehr brüskiert und ausdruckslos gucken und ihn dann von seinen Leibwächtern entfernen lassen, oder noch schlimmer, sie würden miteinander reden. “Ich fahr trotzdem!” “Mello, falls du keine Arche hast, ist das Selbstmord.” Was mußte Matt auch immer so schrecklich plausibel sein?! “Ich bin offen für Selbstmord! Ich bleibe hier keine Minute länger!” Mello ballte die Faust. Er ließ sich von niemandem verarschen, und von einer so banalen Naturgewalt wie Regen verarscht zu werden, war entschieden zu viel. Er begann, wütend in Nears königlicher Suite im Kreis zu laufen. Dabei fiel sein Blick in einen Spiegel, und er stellte fest, dass er nackt wirklich großartig aussah. Die Brandnarben waren kompromisslos und tief, aber sie zierten seinen Körper wie ein bizarres Mosaik, und er mochte es. Und so, wie Near seine neugierigen Finger darüber wandern ließ, mochte er es auch. Aber es wäre nett, einen Liebhaber zu haben, der einem sowas ab und zu auch sagte. Und nicht immer nur “Würdest du mich bitte nicht mehr anfassen.” “Ich muss von hier verschwinden.” murmelte er düster. “Scheint echt total romantisch zuzugehen bei euch,” kommentierte Matt trocken. “Soll mir egal sein, aber bring dich nicht auf der Schnellstraße um, nur weil Nears Konversation Scheiße ist.” “Du hast recht ...” Mello stöhnte ergeben und wühlte in den Taschen seiner Hose nach seinen Papieren. “Ich muss Schluss machen, ich ruf mir ein Kreditkartentaxi und geh in irgendein verfluchtes Kreditkartenhotel....oder...” Er hielt inne, die Goldene Amex-Karte seines leider verstorbenen Mafiabosses in der Hand. Oder .... Nur dieses eine Mal, nur um zu sehen, was er dann machte. “Ich muss Schluss machen.” “Das sagtest du bereits. Ist dir was eingefallen ... ?” Mello mußte lächeln. Klein, tückisch und verspielt. “Mir ist was eingefallen. Ciao, Matt.” “Äh, vergiss nicht, selbst wenn es Near ist, es ist IMMER noch Mord, bau keinen Schei –“ Klick. ... Nears Bett war weich, und es roch angenehm. Es roch natürlich ein klein bisschen nach Kleber und Holzleim, weil es Nears Bett war, aber es war unzweifelhaft, dass die kleine verwöhnte Made täglich neues, duftendes, frisches Leinen bekam. Es war absolut nicht akzeptabel, dass nur Near alleine was davon haben sollte. Mello hatte lange nicht mehr in sowas gelegen. Er versank darin wie in einem zuckerwattigen Traum. Er merkte ziemlich spät, wie seine Muskeln schmerzten und seine Nerven summten. Diese hitzige Vögelei von eben war schon fast nicht mehr wahr, aber sein Körper erinnerte sich noch. Es gelang ihm sogar, etwas zu dösen. Er wurde erst wieder wach, als er merkte, dass ein Paar schwarzer, runder Augen ihn anstarrte. Träge wie eine Katze öffnete Mello seine Lider einen Spalt. Ah. Near hatte also zum Schlafen exakt den selben weißen Schlafanzug an, den er auch den ganzen Tag über anhatte. Wer hätte es gedacht. Er sah durchscheinend und unwirklich aus in der Dunkelheit. Seine Hände drückten zerstreut eine Gummiente. Sein starres rundes Gesicht war angespannt. “Du bist noch da.” Die Stimme war kalt, und ein bisschen fragend. “Near ...” schnurrte Mello, als sei das alles selbstverständlich. “Du hast sicher nichts dagegen, wenn ich ne Runde schlafe.” Es ertönte ein erbärmliches Fiepen, als Nears Hände sich um die Gummiente zusammenkrampften. “Schlafen ...? In meinem ....” Es wurde still, und Mello konnte förmlich spüren, wie Near überlegte, was er nun tun sollte. So lange hatte er fieberhaft nach Wegen und Mitteln gesucht, Near aus der Bahn zu werfen. Dabei war es so leicht, wenn man ihm näher kam. So leicht. Schließlich sagte diese leise, tonlose Stimme: “Ich kann nicht schlafen, wenn andere Leute in meinem Bett sind.” Wenn Nears Stimme Emotionen hätte transportieren können, wäre das nun Trotz gewesen. Niedlich. Mello klappte ein Auge auf und sah ihn prüfend an. Near hatte seine Ente weggelegt und stand immer noch steif vor dem Bett, weiß wie ein Gespenst. “Ich bin nicht irgendwelche Leute, Near. Und außerdem habe ich mich eben viel mehr verausgabt als du. Dazuliegen und immer nur Das tut mir weh! zu wimmern ist keine Glanztat, weißt du.” Für eine Sekunde hätte man fast sagen können, Near sähe verletzt aus, wenn das möglich gewesen wäre. “Warum bist du nicht etwas höflicher, Mello?” “Warum lässt du dich nicht anfassen, Near?” Er bekam keine Antwort. Mello hatte kein Zeitgefühl mehr, aber er war sich sicher, dass Near noch sehr lange dort stand und starrte. Er beschloss, einfach nicht mehr hinzusehen, und ließ die Augen wieder zufallen. Nears entrüstetes kleines Gesicht war gleichzeitig nervtötend und hinreißend, und das wiederum war anstrengend, und er war müde. Irgendwann spürte er, wie sich die Decke neben ihm hob, und eine zierliche Gestalt neben ihm ins Bett kroch und warnend sagte: “...aber du bleibst auf deiner Seite.” Mello mußte im Halbschlaf lächeln. “Keine Sorge, ich schände dich nur, wenn ich ausdrücklich dazu aufgefordert werde.” “Das ist überhaupt nicht witzig, Mello.” “Doch, ein bisschen schon.” “...” “...” “Ich mag es nicht, weil es zu viel ist.” Mello öffnete die Augen. “... was?” Near sprach mit ihm. “Wenn wir ... es ist einfach viel. Wenn wir es machen, dann ist es ... es ist viel.” Mello stützte sich auf und versuchte, Near in der Dunkelheit auszumachen, aber er sah, natürlich, nur diesen schmalen Rücken und einen Haufen silbriger Locken auf dem Kissen. “Viel von was? Ficken? Schmerzen? Leben? Mir?” “Allem.” “Ist das schlecht? Oder ist das gut?” “Es ist einfach viel,” murmelte der schmale Umriss neben ihm. Also wurde Near tatsächlich müde, wie andere Lebewesen auch. “Und dann will ich nicht mehr. Und dann sollst du mich nicht anfassen.” Mello sah ihn an. Was Near da sagte, machte nicht viel Sinn, aber es war wohl so eine Art recht aufrichtiger Versuch, Mello etwas zu erklären, was in ihm drin war, und das war irgendwie rührend. Bizarr und hoffnungslos, aber rührend. Er neigte sich vor und atmete den Duft dieser weichen Haare ein. “Geh zurück auf deine Seite, Mello.” Er grinste und küsste ein nacktes, fahles Stück Hals, das er über dem Kragen entdeckte. “Ich glaube, viel ist gut,” sagte er und kroch folgsam wieder zurück. “Nacht, Near.” Near zog sich zusammen wie ein Igel. “Ich weiß, dass du das glaubst. Gute Nacht, Mello.” “...” “...” “Near?” “Was?” “Wetten, dass ich viel früher aufstehe als du?” “Du kannst das nicht lassen, Mello, oder?” “Nein.” Kapitel 2: The Nightly Disease ------------------------------ [A/N: Ahaha. Äh. Ich habe dann irgendwie angefangen, die 30 Küsse auf Englisch weiterzumachen. Ursprünglich dachte ich, könnte sie doch irgendwie zweisprachig schreiben. Dann dachte ich: “Du bist doch bescheuert.” Also hier die englische Original. ^^* *** The Nightly Disease It´s like a natural law. When you´re a boy, and another boy offers to get you off, you don´t say no. There are no exceptions to this law. It doesn´t matter whether you´re dumb or smart, courageous or timid, loud or quiet, laid back or high maintenance. It doesn´t even matter whether you like the other boy or hate him for several complicated reasons. It´s a silent and visceral agreement that doesn´t rely on thoughts or affections. It´s the connection between two dots - between guilt-ridden pressure and much needed release. A simple equation. If someone offers you release, you take it. It´s summer, and it´s hot, and the air refuses to move at all. The heat is choking any trace of breeze, and Mello is spread out on his bed and finds it difficult to sleep. He almost always does, his body is humming with restless energy. He is a human beehive in that respect. In his mind, he secretly takes it as a compliment, from himself to himself. He´s heard Roger say once that it´s always the complex and intelligent kids that have problems to rest their busy little heads at night, and Mello knows he is the most complex and intelligent of them all. With one exception. Tonight, it´s not his head that keeps him awake, though. But he chooses not to think about that, because it has nothing to do with being smart. He´s tried books, but to no avail. He has opened and closed all the drawers on his desk several times, but nothing in there managed to keep his interest. He´s circled his small room a little until it started getting ridiculous. He has tried staring out of the window eating chocolate, but he felt like a lunatic freak after a while. The futility of it all has driven him into bed. Then, an hour ago, he has kicked off his blanket in frustration. A while later, he took off his shirt. When that didn´t work, he took off the rest. And now he´s spread out, panting and naked, and the heat sticks to his skin, and he knows it´s not going to go away until dawn, and it drives him insane. And that´s when he hears a creak from the door, and a square of faint light floods over his exposed body, a square of light with an angry small silhouette in it. “Gah!” Mello is mortified. He struggles to grab something to cover himself with, but he finds nothing. He must have kicked that blanked really hard. All he can find is his black shirt, which he places over himself as strategically as possible, before he looks up again, face flushing with anger and shame. He hardly finds the time to wonder why he gets a nightly visit from the least likely and least welcome person on earth. Near never visits anyone´s room, ever. What are you doing here? Would be the obvious question, but Mello is far too naked to think about it right now, instead he stammers: “C-can´t you knock?!” Like someone who was caught red-handed doing something bad, even if he didn´t. Instead, it´s Near who´s intruding on him in the middle of the night. But it´s Mello who is embarrassed for some reason. It´s not fair. “Get out!” he manages. “This is not your room!” Despite of this, Near moves closer. He looks … with a slight twinge of glee, Mello discovers that Near looks like crap. His puffy face is almost comically miserable, he has bags under his eyes, and even his silvery curls look distraught. Mello wants Matt´s digital camera, he wants it bad. “Sleepwalk somewhere else, you freak”, Mello barks, baring his teeth in a ferocious gesture that is, as always, completely lost on Near. “You need to stop.” Is the grave reply. Near´s eyes are very dark and his gaze is hovering on a point somewhere beneath Mello´s face, as usual, carefully avoiding contact. There´s a hint of accusation in his eyes and a trace of irritation in his voice, which, all in all, is more emotion than Mello has seen from him in the entire last year. Near´s hand whisks a strand of curls from his pale face in what seems to be a rare notion of exaspiration. “I hear you, you know. You make noises. I can´t sleep. You´ve made noises for hours. You need to stop.” Mello groans. He knew it had been a bad idea of Roger´s to put them into adjoining rooms all along. Roger seems to have hatched some kind of secret plan, as if they´d become genius super friends by living close to each other. Instead, Mello now has to put up with the prodigy pestering him about his precious sleep. “Near, I am naked.” “Yes…”, Near says, as if he didn´t notice it before. And then, for whatever reasons, he shuts the door behind him and slowly starts to stroll towards Mello´s bed. Mello is embarrassed, and that is the last thing he wishes to feel with Near in his room, and it infuriates him and makes him nervous. He wants to die. No, he wants Near to die. Now. “Come any closer, and I swear I´ll break your arm!” It sounds pathetic, and he knows it. He doesn´t exactly feel big and bad at the moment. He is alone in his bed, and he has no clothes on and Near has. Near stops for a second and blinks. His voice is reprehensive. “I know you´re not that stupid, Mello. I don´t know why you want me to think you are.” Mello wants to hiss something in protest, but he can´t. Because he knows Near is right. Harming Near would be a defeat, not a victory. It would only land Mello in detention, supervision, or out on the street. It would only be a proof that Mello is indeed foolish, which is why he will never do it. He can´t do anything but glare, as Near places his impertinent, uninvited little butt on his bed, and continues to stare at that spot next to his face. It´s aggravating. But more than aggravating it´s strange. “You can´t sleep either,” Near informs him. Mello snorts. “So you are a genius after all.” But the scoff isn´t real. Mello doesn´t feel smug at all. He shifts nervously as he feels his body become really aware of their closeness, every muscle of his sleek body is tensing. Near is so close, and somehow it feels as if the small shirt that covers so little of his body gets magically smaller and smaller. Near seems to be completely unaffected by this. Mello begins to wonder if Near himself has any idea what he is doing here. “I was thinking”, Near says promptly, his empty stare still missing Mello´s face about a few inches, “I could probably help you with that.” Mello has no idea what this is supposed to mean, but he laughs it off to be safe. “I´ll never need your help with anything! And since when are you the helpful type anyw...” Their eyes meet. It´s most likely an accident on Near´s part, he really must be tired, and it´s a bit of a shock, for both of them. Mello´s face twitches. And then, a moment later – Near´s face twitches, too. Mello almost can´t believe he saw it. It was only a split second, but it was there, a nervous twitch, as if Near has a reason to be embarrassed as well. There´s still no emotion on that pudgy face other than fatigue, but there is no mistake. And with a rush of sudden unnerving certainty, Mello knows what they are about to do. There is a unique, unexplainable magic in knowing you´re about to get off together. It´s nothing boys would ever talk about, but´s it´s alluring and scary and irresistible, and it erases everything in its way, shyness, embarrassment, or hate. It´s that powerful. Near lowers his gaze, and his eyes snap into focus like a lense. They are both very quiet, and Mello´s skin starts to tingle when he realizes that Near is now openly examining him, absorbing every inch of him that he can see, which is a lot. Mello lets him. He figures that it´s easier for Near to look at his body than into his face, which is kinda sad, for Near, but he lets him. He feels a little chill and wonders if Near has ever looked at him like that before without him noticing it. He can´t quite fathom how Near could be interested in things like these, but he is a boy after all, they both are. He feels a nervous lurch in his stomach as Near raises a pale, delicate hand towards him. “What d–“ Mello bites his tongue. Mello can´t ask, because Mello doesn´t want to hear him say it, because if Near said it, it would become real. Mello doesn´t want it to happen, but he does. And then it doesn´t matter, because it´s going to happen anyway, and he will let it. His mattress shifts a little as the other boy crawls into bed with him. Mello figures that it´s all right, because it´s for practical reasons, right, it´s not like they´re cuddling or anything. His heart is pounding in his chest, and now he can feel that Near is shaking too. His pale round face still doesn´t move, however, every other part of him does. Mello wants to gasp and bites down on his lip. He must be very, very quite now, he knows, because the slightest disturbance might kill all this now, and Mello doesn´t want that. He is shaking all over, a lot of it is lust, but most of it is panic, because he is scared of what will happen, and he is scared that it won´t. Both seems equally frightening really. Instead he watches, motionless and mesmerized, how Near´s hand softly crawls across his exposed hips and disappears underneath that small piece of black fabric. The hand doesn´t hesitate a bit, it knows where it wants to go, and Mello doesn´t mind, he doesn´t mind at all. He doesn´t realize how hard he is until petite, surprisingly warm fingers close around the sensitive flesh and make him squirm in inevitable delight. He has no idea when or how this happened. He feels weak, so ashamed, he wants to scream, and he wants to cry, and he wants it to go on. The hand playfully, teasingly, feels its way up and down his length. And the fact that it´s Near´s hand almost makes Mello´s head explode. He whimpers and tries to shut it out, but he can´t. He knows these hands. He has observed them, grudgingly glared at them many times, working on cubes and matches and toys with flawless skill, and with a jolt of guilty pleasure, he remembers that Near has gifted hands. And that in this context, it is quite fortunate. He lets out a soft moan and tries to accept that he will actually benefit from something Near can do, as his hips are trembling against that grip. A little breeze of air hits him as Near gently removes the piece of clothing so he can look. It scares and pleases Mello that Near wants to look. Mello almost doesn´t dare to peek down at what Near is doing, but he tries. Near has rested his delicate chin on Mello´s leg and looks up to his cock as he plays with it, with the same distant interest as he would look at one of his useless dice constructions. It´s almost comical. Mello would laugh if it wasn´t his cock. Near´s soft curls are brushing Mello´s slim thighs in a way that feels far too good. It occurs to him that his erection must appear enormous from where Near is looking, and he wonders if the other boy is probably impressed, and he gets even harder just thinking about it. His breath is flat and brisk in his chest. He is panting, he realizes, like a dog being crushed by summer heat. A tantalizing, sweet pang explodes in his aching loins as the hand continues to squeeze him, and Mello decides he can´t bare to look at Near doing this any more. He stares down at him and tries to wrap his mind around the concept of his rival giving him pleasure, but he can´t. It´s mind-boggling and humiliating, it´s like vertigo, and Mello screws his eyes shut and presses his face into his pillow. He wants to forget that it´s Near, he wants to forget everything but the intense, beautiful pain that he is getting from it. He moans, desperately and longingly, into the unfeeling fabric as he remembers that one of the main attractions of getting off with another boy is guilt. The other boy is really getting into it now, pressing and releasing him at will, and Mello crushes his heels into his mattress, trying to hold still, to not impatiently grind his hips into the other´s touch, because he doesn´t want to give him that. He tries to maintain a hesitant, soft sway to not give himself away too much, but it´s getting harder and harder to hold back. Mello hears himself softly cry out into the pillow, grabbing bits of mattress and sheet with his hands. He wants to grab his tormentor instead, claw into white, soft, pallid flesh, but that would remind him of who it is, and he can´t have that, he just can´t. And then, he suddenly stirs in shock as he feels a pair of lips press a little kiss on to his stomach. Mello freezes, gasping for air, a cold shiver running down his spine. It´s against the rules. It has to mean nothing. There can´t be kisses, because kisses are something. It has to mean nothing, or otherwise it doesn´t work, and especially not between them. “... the hell you think you´re doing?” he mutters into the darkness, his voice strained and hoarse from all the cries he bit down. He realizes that he sounds bashful, and it annoys him. “Y- You can´t do that. It´s not how it w-works.” There´s no reply, but Near doesn´t try it again. Instead, he intensifies his efforts, and Mello shivers and melts into his touch and almost manages to forget once more. But not quite. He is aware that it is Near now, and somehow it doesn´t bother him that much. It even fascinates him, as it dawns on him that Near must do this to himself too, as all the other boys do. The touch he applies to Mello, the way he is working him, is much, much too good for it being the first time. Near is good at this. And since Mello doubts that Near has a wank buddy somewhere, it means the he does it to himself at night, like everyone else, and it´s a delicious thought. It means he is just a desperate horny little boy like all of them when the lights go out, and that thought pleases and arouses Mello. His hips are shaking violently now, and panic numbs him as he realizes how hard he is about to come. What builds inside him is huge, and it scares him, it scares him out of his mind. His body arches upwards and his body becomes one tense, sleek curve, as his muscles contract and all guilt and all pain is washed away. His mouth tears open for a silent cry, and he dies a little as he comes against the other boy´s soft touch. The moments after are nothing but daze and humming nerves. Mello wants to think again, but he can´t, because his body is too busy twitching. A lot. All of a sudden, his bed feels soft and inviting, the night feels so much better, and all the energy is drained from him through sweet exhaustion. The first thing he sees after the dizziness decreases is Near cleanly wiping his hand on his bedsheet. That, of course, means that Mello will have to sleep in that sticky mess, but it´s all right. It´s his after all, and somehow Near taking it with him to his room would feel weird. He struggles to find his voice, and when he does, he says the only thing that´s appropriate in a moment like this. “Th-thanks.” It´s the first time he says anything like that to Near. It´s the first time he says anything normal to Near, even if the circumstances aren´t. After a while, Near replies, in an unusually throaty and shaky voice, “You´re welcome.” Only now Mello realizes that Near hasn´t spoken through any of it. Maybe he´s just shy, but Mello has a feeling that Near avoided speaking on purpose, because he feared that the sound of his voice would turn Mello off. Near is cautious like that. And he is probably right. There is nothing to be said, or done, anymore. When the game is over, it´s over, that´s how these things are. One has to be careful not to attach meaning to things like this. Mello turns to hide his face and listens as Near gets up from his bed. One more minute, and he will be gone. For good. Suddenly, curiosity lights up inside Mello like a spark, and he raises a little to peek at the other boy. Mello wants to know something. His hopes aren´t high, because Near is, well, Near, but he wants to know. He wants to check. He catches Near off guard as he reaches out for him, touching the spot between his legs. For a second, Mello feels something hard forcefully throbbing against his hand, but then Near backs away from him, and it´s gone. He can´t fight a malicious grin as he hears Near´s small feet shuffle towards the door. “I would reciprocate,” he sneers, “but I loathe you. Sorry.” Near stops indignantly, and his voice is cold and dismissive, as always. “I did that to help you sleep, Mello, not to give you ideas.” “I would never touch you, Near.” There´s a little pause, during which Mello hears Near shuffle on, and then the soft, cool voice replies: “I wouldn´t want you to.” “Watch that thing in your pants while you cross the corridor,”Mello taunts as the door closes behind Near, “don´t knock anything over. And say Hi to Roger from me when you happen to run into him!” Taunting Near after this is like the icing on the cake. Mello lies in his bed, satisfied and still, and thinks about what Near might be doing alone in his room now. He has a pretty good idea of what it is, and it makes him smile. It´s a nice thought. An exquisite thought, even. And holding that thought, Mello softly, peacefully falls into a deep and wonderful sleep, just as Near had intended. Kapitel 3: Agreed. ------------------ “Here´s a bet,” Mello said. “I bet I can name three undeniable facts that you and me agree on.” “...” “...” “Why would I want a bet with you?” “Because you wanna see what I came up with. Come on!” Near was interested in that, actually. He and Mello were famous for never agreeing on anything. In 80% of these cases, Near swore that Mello was disagreeing with him just because. They were standing across each other in the hall. Mello had picked one of the rare moments where Near was actually standing to corner him with this. The other boy looked unusually giddy considering it was Near he was talking to. His large, mad eyes were glinting like shards of ice. Or that was what Near would have thought if he had been thinking in purple prose. Near raised his hand to perform a twirl in order to stimulate his brain. “Ok,” he said. He chose a spot on the nearby wall to fix his eyes on, as Mello made him nervous by taking another step towards him. The funny thing about it was that Mello actually seemed nervous as well. If Mello wanted to win this game easily now, he could simply state something like “The pope his catholic”, or “The earth is round.”, but where would be the point in that. Near knew better. Near knew Mello wasn´t lame like that. Mello always tried. Hard. Mello tilted his head to one side. He looked madder than ever, but Near didn´t really care much since Mello always looked some stage of mad. He licked his lips before he spoke. “Fact one. You and me,” he said, his voice firm, “Are sexually attracted to each other.” And that was the precise moment where Near should have said: I quit. But he didn´t. He had agreed to take part in the game. Instead, he simply did what he had agreed on, and replied according to the truth. “Yes.” There was only so much as a shadow of a nervous twitch on Mello´s face. Near couldn´t really tell, he wasn´t good at reading expressions. And then he came closer. As if it was tic tac toe. And not a betting game. Near was confused. He twirled his hair some more, steadily looking out to his safe spot on the wall. The wallpaper was coming off. Someone would have to notify the caretaker. It looked shabby. Mello was so close now that Near could smell his scent. He didn´t like how much he liked it. It was hard to explain why, too. Mello smelled like socks and dirt, like all the other kids, maybe with a little spicy note of chocolate in it. But he liked it. He wished it would go away. “Fact two,” Mello said in an atypically wavering voice. “If I kissed you now, you wouldn´t stop me from doing it. You would not encourage it, and you would wonder why it´s happening, and you would pretend to be indifferent about it, but you will not stop me.” Now that was a much tougher one. Near gave it much thought. He almost wished by now that Mello had said “The pope is catholic.” Gathering facts from the bottom of one´s very own emotions was a much harder task. But in the end, he had to admit that Mello had prepared this really, really well. “Y-Yes.” It was hard to look at anything else but Mello´s eyes by this point, because the boy took up most of Near´s line of sight. There was some kind of sparkle in them that Near couldn´t quite put his finger on. He was also under the impression that his own knees were not properly supporting his weight anymore, which was ridiculous since he was really small. If he fell now, he would fall against Mello. The blond boy was licking his lips before he went on. It was weirdly mesmerizing in close-up. His tongue was rosy. His lips were too. Near twisted his white curls for support, to no avail. If he fell now, he would fall against Mello. “Fact three,” Mello finally said, hovering over Near like a cat over its prey, wearing a pretty twitchy smirk, “You have realized by now that this whole bet was an elaborate plan to kiss you. You could call me on this now and walk away, and make me look like a fucking moron, but you won´t. And you´re still wondering why this is happening, but you know you will not oppose it, because you are aware that somewhere deep inside you, you want to try.” Technically, that wasn´t a fact...it was more of a string of several different facts at once. Which, technically, meant that Mello was cheating, and Near was free to leave. But he couldn´t move. Watching Mello shivering like that was really interesting. It wasn´t even cold. Near wondered why he himself had goosebumps all over when it wasn´t even cold. Maybe there was something wrong with the air conditioner. Or maybe there was something wrong with them. But most likely, it was the fact “We are sexually attracted to each other” proving itself. Amazing. The last answer was feeble and soft, like the faint whisper of a dying person. “Yes.” For a second, Mello looked like he was about to have a heart attack, which in turn meant Mello looked exactly like Near was feeling, which again meant it was probably the first and only time where their feelings were remotely in tune, which -- The thought remained forever unfinished, because something happened right then. It was the first time in his life that Near was kissed. And, as it turned out, it also was the last. Near didn´t mind. As Mello had predicted, he never stopped wondering what it had been about, but he always remembered it as a good thing that had happened to him. Even over the years, with continents and worlds and much, much hate between them, Near had been plotting in the back of his mind, how he could get back at Mello for this particular incident. Plotting and thinking and twisting scenarios how he could trap Mello in the same way, and make him feel what he had felt back then, and maybe, maybe make him do it again. But he never found a way. He simply wasn´t that good. Hosted by Animexx e.V. (http://www.animexx.de)