Work Text:
“Fuck!”
Near looks up from the card tower rising from the kitchen table. Across the room, standing at the counter, is Mello, cooking dinner. Or she was, before… Near squints. A drop of blood is blossoming from Mello’s thumb, courtesy of one of her precious kitchen knives. Mello takes great care of her kitchen implements, loves the sharpest of sharp knives, which seems to have backfired on her tonight.
Hissing more curses under her breath, Mello lets the knife fall to the counter with a clatter and bolts from the kitchen, returning with their shared first aid kit. She yanks a chair from the table and unceremoniously drops herself in it.
“I could help?” Near offers, fingers paused on the cards.
Mello shakes her head. “Don’t bother.”
She huffs, rises to clean her wound in the sink, then returns to the chair and unscrews a tube of antibiotic. After a moment’s hesitation, Near’s hands return to her cards, but her eyes remain on Mello. The swish of her blonde hair, her mascara dark against her eyelids. Her creased eyebrow. Her glossy lips.
The crease in Mello’s eyebrow deepens as she applies the antibiotic, and it’s clear she’s muttering angrily in her head, illogical and impassioned and taut with frustration.
“What are you doing?” Mello snaps when she feels Near approach from behind, shoulders tensing under Near’s feather-light fingertips.
Near ignores her, pressing her palms down and smoothing them along the angle of Mello’s shoulders, fighting against her perpetual tightness. “Are you wearing a new perfume?”
“You’ve memorized my scents? Creep.”
Near starts working her thumbs in circles, grimaces at the texture of leather, and slides her hands under Mello’s vest to touch her skin. This way, she can feel muscles shifting beneath, wiry and tightly corded.
“You don't need to do… whatever this is,” Mello grumbles. “I can take care of myself.”
So you say, Near thinks. If she said that out loud, Mello would certainly storm off in a fit of temper, but despite her complaints, she seems not to be suffering under Near’s steady hands.
“You’re so tight,” she says absentmindedly. “Would it kill you to relax once in a while?”
Mello’s shoulders rise, and a shudder goes through them. “Okay, don’t… don’t say it like that.”
Near smiles. “Why not?”
“Just… just don’t.”
Near hums in acquiescence, presses her fingers in, trying to loosen the knots in Mello’s back. Mello makes a soft sound of discomfort, and Near finds herself pressing harder in response.
“Ow, for such a scrawny brat you sure aren’t holding back.”
“How else am I supposed to get you to loosen up?”
“I swear to God,” Mello mutters, turning her head to glare up at Near. “No one asked you to do this.”
“Should I stop?” Her fingers withdraw, ghosting lightly over Mello’s vest, picking up another slight shiver. She runs her palms over Mello’s shoulders, feels her skin burning. A flush crawls up Mello’s neck.
“Do whatever you want.”
Mello continues bandaging her thumb, all the while holding unnaturally still under Near’s hands. Not happy about the vulnerability she’s shown thus far, Near guesses, and works her fingers even deeper, trying to coax out another of her soft sounds. Mello’s so easy to tease, such a pleasure to fluster.
“Oi,” Mello says, when she’s finished. She tilts her head back to meet Near’s eyes, and Near leans forward instinctively. The view of Mello’s dark eyes, upside-down and close up, draws her in like a whirlpool, sucking in her attention. Her hands still.
They could kiss like this, she thinks absently.
Mello is still staring at her, keenly investigating her expression. When she’s satisfied, she tips her head back down and stands.
“Freak,” she says, grinning.
Near gazes at her placidly in response, like a deer. “So you say.”
As Mello returns to the counter, her arm brushes against Near’s, skin against soft white linen. The sensation makes Near shiver, inhaling the scent of apple blossom, pomegranate, lip gloss, and Mello smiles before moving away.