Secret

Notes: This one's pretty short, but I like the way it came out. And it amuses me to have the pairing hat trick: I've now written all the possible combinations of two for M, M, and N. :-)

Secret

Bored is bad enough, but bored and horny is even worse. Mello's sprawled on the ratty couch, half his attention on the surveillance. Not much going on at three in the morning. Nothing's happening on Matt's end either; Mello checked in with him a couple of hours ago.

They don't deliberately teach you not to sleep at the House, but everyone learns. Mello grabbed a few hours' nap, grudgingly, yesterday, and probably won't even feel tired until tomorrow.

So. Bored, alone, pent-up horny, and stuck here. Mello heaves a sigh and flings his head back. He can do something about two of those, at least.

He hooks a finger into the vest's zipper and slowly pulls it down. The air hits his skin like diving into a pool; he trails his fingers down his chest and feels kind of pleasurably shivery.

He lets his mind wander. Matt... Matt's so fucking hot, but he's only bi if you get him drunk. Sometimes Mello can imagine it anyway, imagines that Matt slips into bed with him, not drunk, not high, not anything but wanting. But right now he can all but taste the Guinness that was on Matt's tongue the first and only time he kissed him, and that's no good.

Near, he thinks. Near on his knees.

"Oh, hell no," he says aloud, but there's no denying the thought hit him with a jolt of heat.

What would he think if he knew? Mello wonders, and grins. He'd be pissed, I bet. Pissed and a little hot.

Or maybe he's thought of it himself, because certainly Near's twenty different kinds of freaky, but no eighteen-year-old has ever not jerked off. Mello wants to be annoyed, or at least thinks he should be, but that heat kicks a little hotter as he imagines Near coming, biting his lip, maybe, so he won't say Mello's name out loud.

You probably think you're in charge, Mello thinks, and puts him on his knees again, looking up, a bit hesitant, but surely a certified damn supergenius can figure out how to give head.

He unlaces the pants and peels them open, the air even more like a cool kiss now that he's bared skin that's actually hot; brushes his fingers along his cock, barely touching, like someone might who isn't quite sure of what he's doing.

Not bad, huh? he tells the Near in his mind, who's looking up at him with wide grey eyes and slightly parted lips.

But even in his mind, Near's not entirely cooperative. He's kind of a tease, actually. He curls cool, pale fingers around Mello's hip, and skims the length of him with the other hand, not even gripping, staring up at Mello's face the entire time.

Get on with it, Mello thinks, but he doesn't mean it, and the Near in his mind smiles in that wicked little way, and moves closer, close enough for Mello to feel his breath on his skin.

He closes his eyes and strokes himself, the Near in his mind finally getting with the program, pressing a kiss onto Mello's hipbone as if he can't help himself. Then his mouth wraps around him, small and hot and slick. He learns Mello by taste and touch, and Mello deliberately slows his hand, and tries to still his hips, because he'd sure as fuck never come just because Near put his mouth on him.

He fumbles for the lube in the debris on the end table, grabs it, glides some on, because in his mind Near's getting turned on, too, and a little sloppy.

He adds a tug at the top of his stroke, and gasps. In his mind's eye he looks down at Near, at Near's mouth on him, hears his breath coming fast, knows he's hard too.

Take care of yourself if you want, Mello tells him. Near's embarrassed, but after a moment he slips his free hand into his own pants, and Mello tightens his grip and quickens the pace, almost almost. Then Near looks up at him, still feeling awkward, but he has to see, and he can't say Please, but Mello hears it anyway, and he arches off the couch and comes and comes.

There's no one to hear him, not really, so it doesn't matter how loud he is. And if there's a name somewhere in the stream of gibberish and obscenities, well. No one but Mello will ever know.