[fic] Death note, "Second Place"
Second Place
Death Note
L/Near/Mello
...not safe for work due to sexual content. AU from chapter 58 on. Mild spoilers for characters' behaviour (is that even spoilers?) for chapter 58 on. Feel free to imagine the boys whatever age makes you happy. Myep.



Both boys stopped before they quite ran up to him, Mello taking a few steps backwards when he realized how close he'd come, Near instead slowing and walking up.

"Welcome back, L," Near said quietly.

L looked from Near, his face calm and vaguely pleased, to Mello, lurking by the gate, his hands white-knuckled on the iron bars.

"Thank you," L said.

***

At eleven in the morning on Monday, L called Near into the room he'd taken as his office while he was at the Whammy House. He crouched on the chair and stared at Near past the looming bulk of the desk.

"You wished to see me, L?"

L couldn't even tell if there was much excitement there; he knew the first thing Near would have had to ponder was whether or not this was a declaration of Near as his official successor. But Near had seemed to acknowledge this option and fight down any sign of enjoying it.

"Near," L said, nodding. "Please take a seat if you want to."

"Thank you, L."

"Tea?" L gestured with a crooked wrist.

"No thank you, L."

"Fudge?" Roger had brought L a plateful of home-baked fudge and L had been snacking on it most of the morning.

Near's eyes flicked towards the half-full plate. "No thank you, L."

L settled back again, scratching at an itching toe with his other foot. "All right. Let's begin, then. You've been doing best out of everyone here, haven't you?"

One of Near's hands rose, curled a lock of hair around his finger. He tugged lightly, peering at L. "I have, L."

"Do you think you're ready to become L?" L asked. He picked up a square of fudge and tapped it against his lower lip.

Slowly, Near took a breath in, then let it sigh out. "I believe so, L," he said. "I've read through your cases and they all seem logical enough, even if some of the steps in-between seem -- out of my area of abilities. I do think I could still improve in those areas."

"Do you know how?" L asked.

Near was briefly silent. "I presume once I have more experience these things will come naturally."

L nodded and bit down into the fudge. After a moment, he opened his mouth again; the fudge had his teethmarks in it, but he hadn't bitten the edge off fully. "And... why do you want to become L?"

The lock of hair sprang free from Near's finger and absently Near grabbed hold of another, winding it around. "It's what I was trained for, L. All my life's goals have surrounded finding the distant ideal of you and turning it into a reality for me. I believe I have the mental and physical capabilities to be of use, as my test results have also indicated."

"To be of use?" L asked.

Almost uncomfortable, Near shifted his weight to his other foot. "As much use as you have been. It is... admirable? What you do and how you think, I mean. I believe myself to be capable of it, so..."

L nodded slowly. "And Mello?"

"L?"

"What do you think of Mello?"

Near didn't quite sigh. "He has a lot of potential," Near said. "But he is obsessive. Too emotional. I'm quite aware of how much he hates me, which makes it difficult to work with him."

"Do you hate him?"

Hesitating, Near said, "I... dislike him, perhaps, because of this. I certainly dislike how much of a hindrance he is."

"I see," L said, and nodded. "I will meet you again tomorrow at eleven. Please be prompt." He knew Near would ponder everything said in that meeting. "Are you sure you don't want a piece of fudge?"

"...No, thank you, L." Two locks of hair, curled from how hard Near had been tugging them, stood out from his head.

***

Monday at one in the afternoon, L had Mello come into his office. Mello walked in with his hands shoved deeply in his pockets and stood uncomfortably, knees turned inward and bent slightly, a defensive crouch.

"Tea?" L asked.

Mello's tongue flickered out across his lips. "No, thank you," he muttered. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Fudge?"

Mello's dark eyes flickered to the plate, and he tugged a hand from his pocket a little uncertainly, reaching towards it. "...if you don't mind?"

Gaze serious, L nodded, pushing the plate towards him. Mello bit his lower lip, seeming to war with himself for a moment, then plucked one of the few remaining squares, bringing it to his lips and licking at it. Trying, L thought, to make it last so he could resist taking another of L's dwindling stash.

"I hear," L said, "you've been doing very well in the programme here."

Mello's mouth hesitated against the fudge and his lips twisted into a bitter expression. "Not as well as Near," he said.

L's brows raised. "No," he said. "But very close. Roger always speaks of the two of you together."

When Mello ducked his head forward like that, his bangs obscured his eyes. "I don't let things go without a fight."

"Mm. No, you don't, do you?" Watching the way Mello was toying with the fudge, L reached out and took another square for himself, mouthing at it. "Do you think you're ready to become L?"

Mello's head jerked up, his expression stunned. For a moment, L saw hope flicker across his features, and then suspicion and paranoia crept in at the edges, twisting his features. "...L? What do you--?"

L nibbled at his fudge thoughtfully, watched Mello's eyes focus in on that movement and the stain of chocolate on his lips. "Do you feel you're ready?"

Mello seemed to almost sway dizzily. "L, I -- I--"

"Honestly, Mello?"

Slowly, Mello's free hand closed into a fist. "...Near is better than I am," he said, pure loathing curling in his tone. "I think I can do this. I think I have the abilities. Sometimes I get to an answer far, far faster than anyone else. I ... But I'm not good enough yet. I'm not, I --"

"Thank you, Mello," L said softly. He licked his fingertips. "Do you hate Near?"

"Near has everything," Mello rasped, his voice dark and strained. "Near is perfect. Near gets everyone's love and respect and there's none of it left over. Nobody looks at me. Nobody--" Mello brought himself up short, drawing a shaky breath in. "...and he has all that and he still looks down on me."

"You believe Near looks down on you?"

"I know he does," Mello spat. "He's glad to put me in second place. I'm not stupid, I can tell when I'm being hated. He hates me and he dismisses me. I'm nearly as good as he is; he's got no right to do that. And everyone else -- I'll help them or hold their hands as they walk and they're perfectly fine with that until Near does something again and then they're all gone. He -- he --" Mello was silent for a moment. "...Yes, L."

"I see," L said. "And why do you want to become L?"

For a moment, Mello almost looked stricken. "What? But--"

"Please answer, Mello."

Mello took a sharp bite of the fudge and used the moment he needed to chew in order to recover his composure. "I admire you," he murmured, then looked away from the startlement passing across L's face. "...Am I not supposed to?" he asked. "From the beginning, we've been supposed to want to become you. How... How could we do that if we didn't admire you? We've studied all the cases you've given us permission to study, tried to think like you might think. What would it mean to be picked as your successor if we didn't -- feel you were important? Anyone could call themselves L, but it would only matter if they were the one you picked, if they were the one you looked at -- to be worthy of your attention, it's--"

L watched him carefully.

"...not something I am," Mello finished. He started to turn away. "I'll go--"

"Wait," L said. "I'd like you to think over your words. Meet me tomorrow at eleven again."

"...L?" The sound in Mello's voice was an uncomfortable one, sharp-edged and desperate.

L tilted his head. "...Feel free to take another piece of fudge with you as you go."

***

The next day, neither of them seemed particularly happy to be in the same room as the other, let alone facing L across a desk, the decision apparently finally about to be made.

L watched them for a long moment, waiting to see if they'd crack, but neither did; the tension was too great, perhaps, for them to move from under it.

"You are both," L said finally, his tone thoughtful, "firmly in second place."

They both jerked as if they'd been hit.

"This is not a bad thing, necessarily," L said. "You're tied, after all, and there's nobody ahead of you, but neither of you are ready. You've both made some poor judgments on yourself and others in your methods."

Mello said nothing, as expected; it was always his problem that he believed in his own failure far too much. Near cleared his throat and though his gaze was stricken he refused to let any of that cross his face. "L," he said. "Can you explain so I can know how to improve?"

"Gladly," L said. "Let me begin... mm. Like so. You do not hate Near, Mello."

Mello's face twisted with rage and grief; L wondered idly if this would prove too much for him. "I do," he spat. Beside him, Near's face didn't twitch, not at all. "I hate him. He's always... always laughing at me. He's always --"

"You do not hate Near, Mello," L said again. "You have convinced yourself you have."

At his sides, Mello's hands clenched and unclenched. "Near is -- to me, he--"

"This is the truth," L said mildly, peering at Mello, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "You admired him and were competitive, but Near's ego and confidence means he had no need compete back, and you twisted your feelings to resentment. But if you did not still admire him, you could not resent him. You rely too much on instinct, and you refuse to consider the meaning behind your feelings. What is that saying? Ah, yes. 'The unexamined life is not worth living'. If you do not distance yourself from your feelings even as you acknowledge them, you can make little progress." He paused, briefly. "Near."

Near straightened. "L?" he asked.

"Your emotionlessness is not as much an asset as you think it is," L said. "Your analytical mind is good, but it lacks intuition and instinct. Even if a chance is very small, it may be important to take note of it if your instincts tell you it is the right one. You try so hard to be only analytical and unbiased that things seem to become inevitable when instinct might instead show you the way out."

Confusion began to cross Near's features. "L? But analysis is--"

"Important," L agreed, eyes not moving from the flickers on Near's face. "But you would be surprised at how many cases I've taken where analysis only gets me to point B; to get to point C, the rest was equal parts instinct, hope, and analysis."

"...But L, I..."

"Moreover," L said, "your disdain for the more instinctive, emotional approach has likely helped cause this problem between you and Mello. You can still follow a method of your own without disrespecting another. Though, Mello, you should not have made yourself more emotional and uncontrolled to spite him."

Both boys were silent.

"Together," L said, softly, "You two would make one truly fantastic detective." Put their strengths together, and they'd remind him a little of Light, he thought, before everything had fallen apart. "As you are now, you are crippled."

Still neither of them said a word, and L nodded after a moment, dabbing with his fingertips at the pastry crumbs on the plate beside him. "Think on these," he said. "I look forward to great things from both of you. Come see me any time you wish."

***

L was not surprised when Mello crept into his room and stood by the side of his bed that night. He'd not been sleeping anyway -- had been laying there thinking over case details and eating a nighttime snack, in fact -- but he wasn't displeased by the look on Mello's face.

Because there was the fear there, the old fear and paranoia and need, but there was also an unusual determination. He was fidgeting, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"Yes, Mello?" L asked.

Mello drew in a slow breath. "L," he said, and leaned down. "I just--"

And, of course, L knew what Mello wanted. He'd suspected for some time, and had known the day before, when Mello was in pain and still watched his mouth. And there were several options he could take -- but Mello had clearly examined his feelings, refused to let his insecurities speak, and had come to the side of L's bed in a display of that. Perhaps it was a play to his deeper need for acknowledgement, but he was taking steps for it. L had thought he might not.

"Shh," L said, and pressed a long-fingered hand to his cheek, leaning up to kiss him.

He'd meant to keep the kiss relatively chaste -- a poor idea to rush this, particularly when he wanted to see how much Mello was willing to demand for his own, and how much he was not -- but Mello's mouth tasted of chocolate and, more surprisingly, Mello was kissing back. Mello's kiss was inexperienced, a bit awkward, but he certainly knew how to use his tongue.

Not a bad kiss, overall, and Mello seemed disinclined to stop, and so L saw no reason to. He let his eyes close a little, tugging Mello slightly closer with one arm around him. Mello's arms had wrapped around him; one was tangled almost too-tightly in L's hair, the other grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt.

About the time Mello started to make soft, throaty noises into the kiss, L opened his eyes and saw Near watching them from the doorway.

That also wasn't too much of a surprise; Near would have followed Mello when Mello left the room, of course. The expression on Near's face was fairly telling -- resignation and fear, a sudden shocking loneliness. Rejection, L thought, hurts; no surprise that Near, who had never been toppled from first place before, would be suddenly afraid of being second, rejected, useless.

L tilted his head to bare his throat as Mello, small whimpers escaping, mouthed along L's jaw to L's throat. "Near," L said.

He felt Mello freeze against him, but didn't loosen his grip, keeping Mello crushed against him. He lifted his other hand, gestured to the doorway. "Do you want to come here, Near?"

Near hesitated, but after a moment he padded over, bare feet silent on the carpet. "L," he said softly, one hand curled in his own hair. "I, I'm--"

"Do you want this?" L asked, and didn't flinch as Mello buried sharp teeth into his neck. He patted the bed beside him, on the other side from Mello and slowly, uncertainly, Near crawled up onto the bed.

"It's not appropriate to," Near said, and then, "Yes."

L nodded, and tugged Near in closer.

Near's hand moved across L's chest lightly, fumbling with his t-shirt, utterly inexperienced. This was, L thought, a boy who probably never touched himself; that thought wasn't much of a surprise either.

Mello hesitated, turning his head so his cheek was pressed into L's shoulder, staring down at Near. "L, I ... Near, I don't want to sleep with you."

Near snorted, softly. "...Feeling's mutual," he said, though his hand continued to move, sliding under L's t-shirt to touch his chest, moving slowly, tracing out lines of muscle.

For a moment, L wasn't entirely sure how Mello was going to respond -- but then Mello just shivered, took in a deep breath, and straddled one of L's thighs. "...as long as we're clear on that," he muttered, not-quite-venomous, and bit at L's ear.

L closed his eyes as the two of them pressed him back into the bed; they were acting as if they were hungry, almost starving for him, and it was nearly as much as he could do to hold on, slide one hand against the front of Near's pants to cup him through them, keep the other arm wrapped tight around Mello as Mello thrust against L's thigh. It was wild and a little less controlled than he'd have liked; perhaps, he thought, it wasn't entirely a good system that would make both of them so terribly ravenous under all the layers of issues and denial. He'd have to have words with Roger.

Mello came first, arching into L, his fingernails clawing red lines down L's back. He cried out, loud and harsh, wetness slowly seeping through the front of his pajamas as he shook and thrust through the aftershocks. Near, in contrast, was almost completely silent through it, one hand in L's open pants, rubbing, his eyes closed and mouth trembling with the effort of maintaining his composure as L slid his pants down his thighs and stroked him.

Finally, Near choked out a soft, reluctant noise, coming across L's hand and wrist, leaning forward to press his face to L's shoulder.

L sighed, softly, as Near slowly relaxed. Mello was already asleep, sprawled against him. Near was close to it himself, blinking sleepily, though his hand was still moving on L. "Rest," L said.

Near frowned faintly. "But L," he murmured thickly. "You..."

The issue came down, then, to that Near wanted to; Near acting on desire and instinct was rare enough after all, so L nodded, closed his eyes, let Near stroke him through orgasm.

After, he waited patiently until both of them were still against him, and wriggled out from between them. He headed to the washroom first, to clean up, wiping down with a paper towel and washing his arm off in the sink. He passed back into the bedroom and looked at the two of them.

They'd curled closer in their sleep; Mello had an arm slung over Near and didn't seem to know it was there, and Near's head was ducked, pressed forward, head almost touching Mello's shoulder.

It wasn't perfect yet, L thought, and might need more otherwise-unnecessary things to get them where they needed to be. But, he decided as he turned to head down to the kitchen for a midnight snack, well.

It was a start.