in this white wave, i am sinking
His kisses are sloppy, his hands awkward; it takes him several tries before he gets the clasp of her bra undone, and afterwards, face-to-face with her small, unbound breasts, he seems to lose his resolve entirely. She has to take him by the hands, steer them against her modest breasts; guide his fingertips over the soft curve of them, coaxing her nipples into rigid bloom.
Near has always been difficult to read, but Sayu has spent enough time in his company over these past few weeks together to gather some semblance of meaning in the brief, flickering nuances that skitter across the planes of his boyish face. The faint, barely-there flashes of desire, after all, are still desire; even muted, the mere thought of them is enough to make her already dewy center grow slick and hot with anticipation.
His fingers tremble as they undo his own row of buttons; she watches him keenly, with half-lidded eyes, spread out lewdly across his desk in the SPK. It is after-hours, the headquarters having long since been vacated, the empty halls oblivious to the desecration of the current L's work-station; outside the world mills on, oblivious during these later hours of the evening. Near has not turned off the security footage being conveyed to them from the cameras installed just outside of their nondescript skyscraper. The black-and-white visages of clueless pedestrians scrolls across the enormous, wall-mounted computer screens behind them, giving their already depraved union an especially voyeuristic feel. It's perverse, Sayu thinks, but all the same, she likes it.
Near is not adept in foreplay, and Sayu is already impatient with need; once he steps free from the confines of his underwear, she hooks her arms around his slender shoulders and pulls him against her. There is a collision of flesh, and Sayu sighs at the feel of his maleness pressing insistently against her center before finding its way inside of her.
Near's movements are languid at best, with all the grace of an awkward virgin. And although Sayu isn't much more seasoned in the act of carnal indulgence, she takes the lead all the same. She conveys the urgency of her desire by grinding their pubic regions together, causing Near to shudder and close his eyes as he loses himself in the sensation.
Eventually the liquid rhythm of their joined bodies will award Sayu with release she so craves; it doesn't take her long to crest, and when she does, her already vice-like insides will clench around him, inviting him to join her in oblivion. And so he does.
Afterwards, she will close her eyes and absently brush the sweat-soaked bangs from his face. He will lie with his head nestled up against her naked chest, listening to her heartbeat. He pretends that she didn't just call him Mello in the heat of the moment; she's not even consciously aware that she's done it.
This is what their lives are like, in the aftermath of the Yellow Box Warehouse.