Mello is away for Near's next birthday. Near tries not to let it bother him. It's not like anything would have happened. Last year, the next morning, Mello had woke up groaning and swearing and ignoring Near like nothing had happened. There was no reason to have expected any different.
Mello is in Southampton for the summer on a residential creative writing course. Near isn't sure how creative writing fits into his being-the-next-L ambitions, but it must be important, or he must be really good at it, for Roger to have let him go.
Near's 13th birthday is even quieter than his last. He seems to get worse at making friends as he gets older, not better, like he is going backwards. He may even tell Roger to not bother with a cake next year.
He goes down in the middle of the night, like last year, but just ends up curling up on the sofa and thinking. He must have dozed off, for the next thing he knows, he hears someone in the kitchen. Cupboards open, papers rustles. Near sits up. His instinct is to scuttle upstairs – he doesn't want to see anybody – but what stops him is the ridiculous hope he feels that it is his birthday, and that Mello is not on the moon, but in the next town.
He gets up and goes into the kitchen.
Mello is standing in front of the cupboard with a half opened chocolate bar. His head is back and his eyes are closed like he has never tasted it before. He seems to feel Near's gaze on him them and snaps upright, eyes open and narrowing.
"What?" he says, indistinctly, through a mouthful of chocolate. "I'm hungry."
"They don't have chocolate in Southampton?"
Mello swallows and glares at him. He puts the rest of the bar back in the cupboard without bothering to wrap it up properly and goes to the sink, gulps water straight from the tap, like finding a glass is too much effort. Near wonders if he is drunk again.
"Did you get kicked out?" Near asks him, as when straightens and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
"No!" he snaps. "I just- it's just not what I thought it would be, OK? I'll go back tomorrow."
He pushes past Near out of the kitchen.
After a moment, Near follows him. He expects the older boy to have gone up to bed, but instead he is sprawled in an armchair and looking at nothing. Near wonders why he isn't going upstairs. Perhaps he has had a fight with Matt.
"It's my birthday," Near tells him, for want of anything better to say.
"What do you want, a fucking song?"
Even though he knew it was coming, the disappointment still stings.
"No cake this time?"
Near looks at him sharply. He didn't think Mello remembered.
"It's all gone. You should have come sooner."
Mello laughs, softly, so as not to wake anyone up. "There was still some left this time last year."
Near just looks at him. His heart has started to beat horribly hard. He has never felt more like a child.
"Come here."
Near comes, stupidly, stopping before his knees not quite between his legs. Mello grabs him by the pyjama shirt and tugs him forward easily. His mouth is hot and tastes better than Near remembers, of chocolate and metal.
Mello's arms go round his waist and he takes Near's tongue between his teeth, doesn't let go until Near's hands are on him and he is squirming.
"Mello," he breathes. He leans back into the older teen's hands, not sure if he wants to get away or not.
"I hate you," Mello tells him, almost thoughtfully, and does it again. This time his hands go down and around Near's thighs, lifting him up and into his lap, and Near lets him, getting his arms around his neck for leverage.
Mello bites his down his neck, playfully, and Near's hands go into his hair and drag him back when he tries to move away. Mello laughs in his throat, goes lower and bites harder. Near bites his own lip to keep from squealing. His nails dig into Mello's shoulders.
This is what I want, he realises distantly. Not make outs, not necking, he wants-
He groans out loud as Mello's teeth come down a little too hard.
"Shut up," Mello hisses.
Near wriggles more comfortably in his hands, barely hearing him, feeling the strength in them. He could make me, he thinks deliriously.
He gets a hand between them both and goes for Mello's pants, determined to give something back. He fights to get his hand inside, not an easy task with all the buckles and zips and his inexperience, and Mello keeps trying to stop him, like he's not sure he wants to go this far, but Near won't let him.
"Jesus, Near," he whispers, when Near finally gets his hand inside. Near doesn't know if he's pleased or merely shocked. He holds his hand over the burning skin tentatively, not sure what to do with it, when Mello, never one to be outdone, growls and gets his own hand easily into Near's pyjamas pants.
He comes with Mello's fingers in his mouth, biting down when he wants to yell, and feels Mello convulsing against him as he comes down.
When he feels he can move, Near sits up cautiously, the mess disgusting between his legs. Mello slumps back beneath him, boneless and still. Near climbs off him as carefully as he can.
"When is your birthday, Mello?"