Redeemer

It was not long after Mello had returned to his studies that Dr. Gregory looked up from where he’d been reading at L’s bedside, to see a familiar, slender silhouette poised just outside the door—one amber eye peering cautiously in.

“What is it, Yagami?” the doctor said rather sternly, as Light seemed to be unsure of his welcome—which was justified seeing as how the doctor didn’t consider him welcome in the least.

“I just wanted to check on him,” came the rather humble reply from the shadows.

“He is resting,” was Dr. Gregory’s curt response. “And he needs to do so without your interference. Unfortunately, I have little say over how you both conduct yourselves while L is conscious and alert—but in this state, where he has no defenses—I want you nowhere near him—am I understood?”

It took a lot to speak to Kira that way—and expect him to listen; but the fact that Light had yet to even cross the threshold of the room; was not even standing fully in the doorway, but half hidden by the doorjamb, seemed to indicate he’d do just that.

“Understood,” Light said after a heavy pause, and his voice was so soft, it was hard to distinguish its character.

There was a moment more of silence, and Dr. Gregory's gaze did not waver from that lithe form—that steely serpent in the grass. He plainly waited until at last, without another word, Kira slipped away, back into the shadows from whence he’d come. And the doctor, released a long shaky breath.

* * *

An eternity had passed, she was sure of it. Not two weeks, but a goddamned eternity since she had been flown out of England to join L in this case, at the time not even knowing that she’d have more familiar company. Linda was at her desk, the screens glaring softly around her; paperwork stacked beside her but in her hand she held a graphite pencil and was shading further detail into the sketch she had started earlier that morning. The one she finally allowed herself to draw because her mind was just that goddamned stubborn.

“Goddamnit it,” she exclaimed softly after several hours, causing Matt to glimpse up from his spot halfway across the room. Just like her, he’d surrounded himself in monitors – of course doubling the number of screens. She had once asked how he could even manage to keep up with all of that streaming data at once. His answer had been a shrug. Every one of them had their own quirks.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t bloody concentrate,” she groaned, dropping her pencil and holding her chin in her hand as her eyes fell over the laptop. “I’m still worried about L.” Stating the obvious. They all were, but some showed it better than others. “I swear my brain has denied that half of this ever happened – or at least not all in the span of a day. I can’t even comprehend it.”

“Don’t blame you.”

Linda was silent a while, thoughtful. “Hey… how did you know to believe him this morning? L. I mean it just sounded like madness but you were the only one to see something the rest of us did not.”

Matt lowered his gaze to the keys, then leaned back in the high backed leather chair, running fingers through jagged red tresses. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ve never truly understood him that well. He makes it nearly impossible to read and figure him out. During the few days we spent on our own, I guess I got used to his mannerisms a bit more.” A shrug. “But just from the childish excitement he was barely containing this morning, I thought that there must have been more than madness. He didn’t look lost as he had last night. It was a risky hunch but…”

“But you were right.” She concluded. “You know… partially I’m glad you were right and he wasn’t fabricating illusions and yet…” the sentiment went unspoken. It was truly a double edged sword because to admit relief at Kira’s unlikely survival was simply unacceptable. But then again, so was L’s grief. They could not accept it. Not to see him mourning, to see him descend and crumble beneath the weight of such grief. Which was the lesser evil?

Goddamnit. When had things become so complicated? Linda truly had had no idea what she was getting herself into two weeks prior. The situation was a whole lot more complex than she had ever imagined.

“It’s fucked up however you look at it,” Matt voiced the shared sentiment quite simply.

Yea. That just about summed it up.

* * *

Linda wasn’t the only one with a short attention span that afternoon. Mello paced before the windows, book in hand but he was sure that he’d read the same paragraph five times in the past half hour. Damnit. He’d gotten some progress, but it was slow going once his mind started hazing and involuntarily skimming over the events that had befallen them these last couple of days.

The desperation, the immediate grief and now… what? An overwhelming sense of relief that had him practically giddy if he did not remain in full control of his emotions. Well. That was just downright unacceptable.

Mello flipped the page, sinking down onto the couch and dropping the text onto the edge of the coffee table, which like his desk had become a cluster of heavily bound books and notes.

It had grown warm in the converted sunroom. He’d pulled his hair back into a tight stub of a pony tail, keeping it for the most part off his face with the exception of a few stubborn strands. Sleeves had been rolled up, the dress shirt kept on by the fastening of only two buttons. Of course he would not give up the comfort of leathers for nothing. Shit. He’d read the same sentence again. The text was bookmarked and shoved aside. His mind on something altogether different. Lifting a notebook off the table, Mello leaned back against the cushions, tapping his bottom lip with the rounded metal edge of his pen.

He flipped to a new page and instead of note taking, it was dates he had jotted down, working from memory to piece together the past month – from their arrival, to the initial encounter with Bella, to the showdown that had warranted L’s capture, the separation of the group, storming the SPK, Light’s coma, Linda’s arrival – Bella’s attack – the awakening and down to yesterday’s date. The last two days accompanied with rough times along with jotted notes.

The fact L had too gained that superb healing ability bothered him to no end. Not because he had it in the first place, but because he could not think of when it would have been possible to implant himself with a piece of the Death Note. There had to be a hole somewhere. There must have been something Mello did not know about. Had L already suspected the notebook’s power by the time they’d separated? But even then – where would he have gained a piece of that precious paper without Light around unless he’d had it all along? Goddamnit.

The chocolate was snapped into as he stared down at the page, simultaneously running down the list as he ran down the list of events in his mind. Where was the missing piece of the puzzle?

* * *

It was sunset when the first somber chords of Beethoven’s most haunting melody started flowing through the villa halls. A violin, the inhabitants of the place had grown used to—a piano was different; but it was unintrusive enough that no one caught on immediately—the distant melody slipping into rooms and ears like a ghost; familiar and alone and all too beautifully played—which made it that much easier to hear.

As far as anyone knew, L wasn’t awake, and Dr. Gregory hadn’t left his side. Matt had gone back to the PSP because concentration was forfeit, and Mello was altogether ignoring his studies in favor of opening his own private investigation into L’s newest secret. This could have been the detective’s trump card after all—being the certified physician that L was in his own right, he probably anticipated tending to his own wounds after the stitching and no one would be the wiser to his all-too-quick recovery as long as he maintained the pretense of bandages. He hadn’t factored the possibility of his long-state of unconsciousness into things. It had given him away prematurely.

Mello heard the distant sonata in the background of his thoughts, but his focus was elsewhere. Matt had opted for headphones at some point just to kill the heavy pall of silence that seemed to come over the villa with night. It was Linda who honed in on the ambient masterpiece—her head lifting from her work to listen, to soak in the skill of the player; the flare of appropriate dynamics—the controlled pace of the slow melody which spoke of experience—of a feel for the piece rather than just a knowledge of it. And after resting her head on her hand to listen—she finally popped the question to Matt:

“Who’s playing?”

He looked up not because he’d heard her but because he happened to catch the movement of her mouth. A brow was lifted and the headphones thrown back to fall around his neck. “What?”

“The piano,” she explained, looking toward the study’s doors which she had left ajar earlier. “Who’s playing it?”

Oh. Now that she mentioned it, he heard it distinctively and blinked, following her gaze toward the doors as if that would allow them to not only hear it better but figure out the answer. “I’d expect L to be the culprit but…”

But he had not yet risen. Linda had popped in only a couple of hours ago to check on him and find that there had not been any changes in his condition. “Mello..?”

“Doesn’t play the piano. At least not that well as far as I’m aware of.” And now he sounded puzzled but before he could say any more, Linda was off her chair and already gliding toward the door as if drawn like a moth to the flame. Typical. Matt let her go – not that she could be stopped at this point anyway – and returned to the handheld.

Linda covered the familiar trek to the music room quickly, letting the sweep of the melody sweep her off her feet before she even sated the curiosity to confirm its source. One of the double doors had been left open and she peered in, momentarily stunned as the haunting crescendo filled her ears and her heart. She eased her way slowly inside, guided by the melody and the too-entrancing sight her eyes beheld.

Light had not looked up. In fact, he was not looking anywhere but the inside of his own lids with the occasional glimpse toward the keys. The raw emotion behind each note subtle across his features but she saw it and could not help herself but stare, positively enthralled. Somehow she had made it into a chair, transfixed by the way his hands moved gracefully across the ivory, by the way long bangs fell across his eyes as he moved with the melody, giving it a weight the Moonlight Sonata was meant to have. A severe beauty with each movement.

He was simply captivating—beautiful—the music was his voice, and it was genuine—honest, spoke on a level Light himself seemed incapable of ever speaking on. There was raw emotion there, pure, honest—heartfelt…and it sounded so sad.

Linda’s eyes were wide, enthralled—she fought the tears that threatened because she was moved, utterly moved. The way L moved her with his violin—the way he spoke through the chords, so too, did Light, here and now—just like his lover. And he played like a master—nowhere in the files had there ever been any mention of him having musical ability, it was something intimate then, something he kept to himself—but he was sharing it now, with her, even though he didn’t know she was there—didn’t seem to. He was speaking in this secret, intimate beautiful voice—and she heard him, for the first time, she felt like she was truly hearing him—right down to last resounding note, before it faded off into an unearthly quiet, and Light’s eyes finally lifted to see her there.

She flushed once she caught herself in the spotlight, the tables turned. “That was beautiful…” she breathed and then quickly added. “I’m sorry!” And by god, she sounded flustered, pushing herself up. “I heard you from the study, and the door was open…”

Light smiled graciously. “I don’t mind,” he said, and his voice was soft, if not a bit sad. “And thank you. Would you believe I haven’t played since I was fifteen? I only told L recently that I played at all.”

She looked impressed – how could she not? “Sounds like you’ve been playing for years…” In fact it was hard to imagine that he had stopped at all, given the ease and fluidly she’d heard in each and every note. Christ, he’d played it from memory too, hadn’t he?

“I did play for a few years,” he confessed, “Mostly to make my mother happy. I played some recitals for a time as well, but my passion was just lacking by that point, and I stopped. In any event, schoolwork and tennis got in the way eventually.”

Linda caught herself flashing a small smile and sinking back down onto the previously occupied chair. “You keep surprising me,” she confessed, lightening her comment up with an airy chuckle.

Light’s smile brightened a bit. “Do I?” he laughed, noticing how she’d made herself comfortable then. He tinkered with a few keys. “My instructor was a bit of a slave driver—he believed in memorizing the pieces so the notes themselves would no longer be distracting—would make it easier to feel the music by playing it, than by worrying what you were playing. Every piece he had me play—he had me memorize, I got so used to it, I just memorized everything I played whether he taught it to me or not. I was eager to master it when I was younger, I learned rather voraciously.” He tilted his head, crooking a slightly flirtatious smile. “Any requests?”

“Requests?” Linda repeated, eyes widening ever slightly. Oh, she was positively doomed. He couldn’t possibly know her passion for the classics – that was impossible regardless of whether or not she had entertained the thought just the other day that he was a bloody mind reader. “Ah…” she bit her bottom lip and after a moment’s consideration and a shifty look aside, made her request. “Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in E flat..?” of course she had to make a question.

Light’s smile broadened at the uncertainty in her voice. “That was my mother’s favorite, actually,” he said, and didn’t hesitate to fall into the delicate notes, which he played with such an elegant and refined hand—the melody filling the room almost ethereally, and Linda couldn’t help but sink down further against the cool brocade of the chair, draping over the armrest to watch him play…and to just—as she slowly became aware—to watch him…

* * *

It was as the music started back up again that it dawned on him that someone had been playing from the beginning. Mello blinked, interrupting the train of thought that was on a doomed trajectory right off the cliff, and listened for a moment, turning instinctively toward the sound of each gracefully falling note.

Mello walked across the house through brightly lit corridors toward the music room, a teasing comment ready upon his tongue—figuring Linda had at last relented to her other passion, but he froze upon reaching the doorway and seeing her there so very lost and enthralled. Her gaze fixed on the piano, a small smile upon her lips as she let the melody wash over her much in the same way she did when L played. Much as Mello had done himself. But… L was still upstairs. Then…

Closer inspection splayed a look of surprise across his features as it revealed Light’s graceful form sitting in front of the grand piano and yielding it artfully for Linda’s benefit – or was it? Well shit. Mello never even knew the bastard could play. Was there anything Light couldn’t do? He had to wonder, and Mello leaned against the doorway, reluctant to interrupt.

Light continued to play, and when Chopin had left his fingers he smoothed into Pachelbel's Canon in D, which he began traditionally, and much to Linda’s delight started to take liberty with, his own variation on the piece seeming to come from some place inside him Mello never would have guessed was there.

It was actually quite remarkable to hear him play—to see him play—he was so bloody natural there at the bench, those graceful fingers which were capable of such horror, also capable of such beauty. And then there was the irony, that while L had played till his heart seemingly bled through the strings of his violin while Light was bedridden—here was Light doing something of the same while L was still lost to the waking world upstairs.

Whether Light was aware of L’s playing, no one had bothered to ask, and L hadn’t picked up the violin since. Was it then just a matter of the two of them being that much more alike than they already were? The thought struck Mello as probable. He also wondered if L knew this about his lover—had he procured a piano for the purpose? Or was this yet another surprise Kira had secreted away.

Nevertheless, Light was the very picture of lovely and Mello couldn’t help but watch…

Sometime during the private concert, Linda’s lashes had fallen down against pale cheeks, the faintest of pleased smiles upon her lips as she allowed herself to drift off to a lull. It was too easy to get lost in the melodies Light provided without prompting—ah the Requiems, Lacrimosa, ah Mozart—too easy to just forget all else and focus on the feel of the music, the lethargy brought about as she draped over the armrest and simply… listened.

Mello’s attention, however, was not so innocent. The gloss black finish was smooth beneath his hand as he approached; fingers touching the edge and reflecting a hazy mirror image back to him. Light glanced up and Mello offered a smile, faint and partly hidden by the fall of loose strands but there all the same. He trailed that light touch then, along the edge of the grand piano, each movement graceful which only meant he was up to something. But it would not become so painfully apparent until those devilish fingers dipped down the side of the piano and straight for the keys – brushing a single wrong note which earned him a reproachful look from his lover and in turn widened Mello’s grin. Mello tilted his head, inching closer and that hand followed, trailing softly up along Light’s arm as the blonde walked his way oh-so-slowly around him. He leaned down just at the precise moment to allow the warmth of his breath to fall against the side of his lover’s neck, knowing what it did to him and delighting in it before Mello slipped his hand inward to slide up the smoothness of Kira’s throat and ever so slowly, tip his chin upward. No reward came at the end of the taunting move, however, and Mello carried on to the opposite side of the piano, pausing only briefly with a glimpse in Linda’s direction before firmly placing both hands on the edge of the instrument and hoisting himself up onto the sleek, black body. His own body slid forward with a cat’s delightful grace, slow and precise with each shift of his knee.

Sometimes one had to wonder just which of them was truly the devil in disguise. Particularly when those deft fingers reached out, body flattening against the glossy surface and with one hand, Mello flicked open the three top buttons of Kira’s shirt. His grin was positively devious. The challenge was on.

Light’s eyes reflected that very sentiment, his fingers still stroking the keys with a power and hunger echoed in the way Mello stretched himself flat across the sleek finish, those tantalizing fingers parting the fabric of Light’s shirt, just barely whispering down his chest—and the aim was to distract him, the aim was to get away with as much as humanly possible before Linda opened her eyes and caught them there—as Mello crawled closer, balancing to lean in—lips just there, hovering near Light’s, and Light smiled—but kept playing—and they were not quite kissing, just breathing each other in, feeling the cresting flush of desire coursing through their bodies at the delight of this new game—deviant as it was.

It was exciting to think Linda would catch them, it was equally exciting as Mello slowly moved just barely against Light’s cheek, Light ever so slightly tilting his neck to the side so Mello’s lips could brush that pulse so gently; his warm breath rendering his lover breathless—and still Light forced himself to maintain the melody, the dynamics of which seemed to mimic his own intensifying heart rate and shortness of breath.

Mello smiled, brushing fleeting kisses along the side of Light’s neck and the graceful contour of his jaw. A light touch, teasing and promising so much more – all of which was left to the imagination, crueler still by the fact that Light knew full well what Mello was capable of doing to him—was attempting right that very second. Another button was undone and Mello touched him in earnest then; gliding a hand up along Light’s chest to cup the side of his neck. Lips drew closer to Light’s own lusty mouth but the kiss was just a ghostly hint of the heated memories shared between them.

A tease.

A taste; tongue flicking ever so delicately along Kira’s bottom lip.

Light’s eyes fluttered closed, his senses drawing Mello in where Mello hovered just beyond the threshold of touch; and after that tempting flick of tongue, Light bit his bottom lip, lids lifting to fix Mello in a molten gaze—and the bastard had yet to miss a note. His pacing changed, the dynamics—the crests and falls of nearly distracted crescendos; but he maintained the melody, even as Mello’s seeking hand slid into Light’s shirt; fingertips coasting down the sleek contours of trim muscle—finding the tight bud of a dark nipple—pinching it until Light gasped, and Mello was again teasing that most tender of spots on Light’s neck—where throat conjoined with collar…his breath breaking hot and wanton just there and Light shuddered deeply.

His playing sounded somewhat strained at that moment, and Light fought to keep it together—but he was most definitely trembling with a heady desire, cheeks flushed, eyes dewy and inking over with a thickening passion. In the study there’d been no game, nothing to stop them from pushing flesh into flesh and fucking deep and hard and gratifying—but this was different and maybe there was a part of Mello that wanted to rip Light away from the piano, throw him on the floor and fuck him until God forked over the keys to heaven—and maybe Light wanted to be thrown to his knees and fucked until he saw stars; but that was not how this game was played…at least not yet.

Mello did however stretch those tormenting fingers down to Light’s denim-clad thigh—earning another shudder, and Light was panting, breathing shallow and weighted as Mello drew lazy circles—just there—so close to that oh-so-very responsive part of his lover’s body without actually touching him, and the pressure of Light’s fingers against those ivory keys seemed to increase exponentially with the strain of that particular threatening passion…
Oh, how he longed to take it further and yet this game - this challenge - was too precious to pass up. Mello smiled—lazy and seductive and decidedly evil as he shifted his attentions back up to Light's smoothly toned chest, biting his bottom lip, watching, waiting. Too content, it seemed, to lay there for a few moments and just watch Light break apart around the edges, but the bastard - oh he had yet to miss a goddamned note! Challenge indeed.

The song wound down and Mello chose that moment to lean close, lips claiming the first heated kiss, which he did not allow to linger for more than just a few teasing seconds. "Keep playing." He growled lowly, clamping his mouth to Light's exposed throat - marking him albeit faintly. "Bach," came the quiet demand into his ear. "Fantasy & Fugue in G minor." So it was not only Linda who knew her classics. The secret was out.

Light’s teeth pressed tightly on his bottom lip, Mello’s breath doing terrible things to him as it shuddered warmly in his ear—his eyes were closed, pulling together the concentration it took to stroke those notes, hands over fingers—he was certainly brilliant wasn’t he? The music coming from him aimed to reach into Mello’s soul and twist—but that was Light on a whole sometimes, wasn’t it? And Mello palmed his throat, thumb gliding over Light’s Adam’s Apple, constricting ever so gently as Mello’s lips clamped to the delicate spot over his pulse—and sucked hard.

He stopped only to smile as the small gasping tripped over Light’s lips, and he trembled, eyes shut tight, trying to ride out the pleasure—and Mello could see his hands shaking, but Light didn’t relent—one did not get Kira to give up the game so easily, even if he was painfully hard, and pining to be ravished most likely right there on the piano bench…

Linda opened her eyes, having stirred with the uncertainty of notes falling heavier than they perhaps should have been at times, marring the melody so that even in her sleep it sounded off to her. Her gaze peeled open and settled face to face with the all-too-unexpected game of seduction taking place right there in front of her and Linda stifled a gasp, quickly feigning sleep again to avoid the rather mortifying possibility of being caught voyeur.

If Mello noticed Linda was awake, he did not show it. Perhaps he simply did not care. This was too good, even if he was afflicting himself through his own challenge. It was typical—each and every time he had set out to fluster his lover, the results were the same, albeit a tad better controlled. It was the way Light's pulse throbbed against his hand, against his lips; the way those soft breaths befell lush lips; the faint tremble despite the stubborn control exercised over the keys. It was impressive. It was downright arousing. The things they managed to do to one another were incomprehensible considering that only a couple of months prior, each would have rather cut off their own pinky than interact civilly for more than five minutes at a time.

Look at them now.

"How long can you keep this up?" Mello whispered into Light’s ear, devilish fingers trailing downward a second time - bold enough to forcefully yank the top button of Light's jeans undone.

The breath stuck there in Light’s throat, and God it was delicious, his pause over the keys—the chords resounding like his own ragged breathing before he pulled together enough coherency to strike the next measure—it was an interesting musical result actually—anyone with a knowing ear would be able to tell something was amiss with the player, but still, the notes themselves were correct—albeit, staggered.

It was also times like this that Mello wanted to thank the powers that be that Light had gotten used to forgoing underwear while wearing jeans…because that simple flick of wrist, and the zipper of Light’s fly was being drawn down with a most debauched effect. Mello could feel the heat of his lover’s body radiating against his hand, leaning close enough to smile like the baiting monster he was—the loose ends of his hair brushing Light’s bare chest as Mello slid a errant thumb over Light’s straining sex—still most painfully trapped in the confines of his clothing regardless.

It wasn’t a wrong note—merely a very hard one that Light fell upon, the resulting moan strangled in his throat as the chords echoed around them. Mello perhaps heard the gasp behind him that did not belong to Light, but he pretended he didn’t because this was too much fun.

Linda on the other hand had flushed bright red because she was wise enough to know where Mello’s hand had vanished to—and judging by Light’s dramatic distraction at the moment—it was just…oh God. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen…and part of her, despite herself, was hoping to see more…

And it was likely that she would get to do so, considering that Mello had no intentions of stopping anytime soon. Not when Light was so delightful as he sat there, squirming beneath the merciless grip upon his sex, and the lips that hovered so very close to his own. Mello was grinning, the fiend, and tugged at the heated flesh. The hesitation in the notes gave him away once again, but the bastard had yet to truly butcher up the melody. Stubborn to the last straw - but how long could he keep this up when the distraction was so very... taunting?

Mello shimmied forward, leather skidding against the sleek polished surface; free hand hooking behind Light's neck and twisting into lengthened strands. He tugged. Hard, drawing a sharp gasp from his lover as lashes fluttered shut. "She's awake you realize..." Mello whispered breathily into his ear, tongue catching the lobe. Warm and sensual. Irresistible.

“I don’t care,” Light panted, fighting hard to maintain some desperate modicum of composure as the warm tickle of Mello’s breath whirled his ever-so-sensitive ear. It was barely working—Light was quite lost, and Mello’s fingers continued doing terrible things to him—taunting grip firm and massaging around Light’s aching length—drawing from him gasping ragged breaths—the melody notes growing more staggered the more flustered Light became.

Of course the thrill of exhibitionism made it all the more exciting—and partially because he knew Linda was watching, Mello clamped a stern hand over the nape of Light’s neck and yanked him into a harsh and bruising kiss that had Light keening his deep appreciation—his fingers planted firmly on the piano keys—a lingering note echoing off mid-measure.

Linda couldn’t help but look in earnest—as frozen to the spot as she was. She couldn’t move, it would be too awkward to make it so blatantly apparent that she’d caught them; and neither Mello nor Light looked as though they were going to end this erotic game of theirs any time soon, so Linda stayed put, trying to feign sleep—but as they kissed she found herself gaping—utterly captivated by the combined magnetism of their molten sexuality. She’d had a tough time picturing it—any of it really, the couplings that seemed to be amiss between this circle of her peers…and mentor no less…but now—the way Mello’s fingers gripped Light’s hair, their lips entwined—passion and seduction and shades of dominance play, those amazingly erotic sounds Light seemed to be stifling as Mello’s hand teased and taunted in his lap—concealed behind the piano….Linda swallowed dryly and tried to ignore the warm flush between her legs just then…

Mello wasn't particularly sure what had brought on this sudden streak of evilness, but as the note faded, broken only by the sound of ragged breaths and the soft creak of leather, he was all the more aware of Linda's strained - transfixed - presence several feet behind him. It was thrilling, to say the least. Poor girl. She was tossed head first into the midst of chaos, and now this. As if the last few days had not been damaging enough.

Light was at last allowed to come up for air, but he would not escape so soon. Lips pressed to his throat, teeth nipping, tongue flicking. Demanding, possessive. Fingers tightened around his length, pleasuring him in earnest - his ultimate goal to drive Light positively out of his mind. And alas, it seemed to be working quite well, Mello noted as one hand lifted from the silenced keys to dig into his bicep. "You seem flustered..." Mello breathed into his ear and Light tightened his grip with a shuddering curse upon his lips.

“Goddamnit, Mello,” Light growled, Mello’s grip on him quickening, bringing him closer and closer to an apex of pleasure which he wouldn’t be so quick to teeter off of if the blonde had his way. Light was just gone—giving into it, unable to focus anywhere but that heavenly friction. And then perhaps, two words no one would ever hear from the likes of Kira again—“You win,” at that Light let go of the keys, instead wrapping his arms around Mello’s neck—pulling him closer, a kiss demanding and passionate and desperate for completion—and Mello grinned—breaking away for just a moment to revel in his victory—drinking in his flushed lover—panting and so obscenely turned on.

“Can I get that on tape?” the blonde purred, stroking a single finger down Light’s cheek—the skin there hot and pink.

Light’s eyes lifted to his—dewy and inked almost black with need, “I’m going to completely deny it come morning,” he breathed—despite his ragged condition; “Just come down here and fuck me.”

Oh poor Linda.

Her eyes widened - catching just enough of the whispered exchange between them - and for a moment thought that Mello wouldn't comply. After all, the blonde had yet to move, watching Light's glorious state with a sense of perverse victory. Oh goddamnit. But to her dismay - or perhaps denied pleasure - Mello leaned back and smoothly swung his legs around the edge of the piano, sliding back down to the floor with overwhelming sensual grace that had her staring. Did he even know the power he wielded over people? Was he even aware of the sexuality that emitted from him in waves?

Mello hit the floor and was on Light in the same breath, spinning his lover around on the bench so that he pressed a knee to the cushioned surface between his legs, one hand pressing to the side of the piano for leverage, while he leaned down to demand yet another kiss. But he was no longer playing and Light was soon gasping sharply at the nails that carved red ribbons into his back. For a few moments they disappeared out of sight but the bench was hardly appropriate for such strenuous activities and so when Mello rose, his shirt unbuttoned, Linda swallowed dryly, wishing the floor would open up to swallow her whole. Or... Christ, she did not even know.

But Mello backed up, motioning Light with a single finger as he sank into the cushions of the nearby chair with a characteristic sprawl. His grin was devilish, seductive. The look in his eyes downright predatory. Fingers plucked the laces of his leather trousers undone. "Come here..." he hissed. It was always a game. Always a challenge. But he'd won, had he not? Thus, it would be played on his terms...

Light rose from the piano bench—which seemed a feat in his state—his back to Linda, whose eyes, no matter how she tried to hide the fact that she was awake (poor thing attempting to keep up those pretenses when both men knew she was watching)—were darting from Light’s statuesque figure to Mello’s sprawling exquisiteness. She couldn’t even begin to piece together the possible images of the oncoming scenario—with Mello so wolfishly expectant there in the chair, fly unlaced, patches of skin peeking through without shame. Light took the first few steps toward his predatory lover before Mello held up a hand, and with a slyly arched eyebrow said: “Take off your clothes.”

Light stopped mid-motion; perhaps for the first time fully conscious of how heavy Linda’s gaze was on his back. For her part, she’d nearly just died at Mello’s order, her heart beating shallow and heavy, the raging blood in her veins flushing her cheeks all shades of bright pink. Her eyes were glued to Light, though she couldn’t see the way his own eyes narrowed a bit at his demanding partner; understanding this was the price he had to pay for forfeiting the game. Ah. So be it.

Light’s movements were fluid with the sort of elegance he wielded so damn naturally. Shrugging off the unbuttoned shirt, open jeans already loose around his slender waist, he simply had to let them drop and step out of them—barefoot, as was his growing habit; whether rooted in his homeland traditions, or some contagious tick he nicked off of L—it worked to the purpose at hand—no awkward grappling with stubborn clothes—he simply had to shed them like a second skin before he was bared in all his near-divine glory. Tall, svelte figure gracefully toned with long, lean muscles. The scars on his shoulder blades seemed something out of Christian mythology—and was the first time Linda had seen them at all—or even knew of them; they weren’t accurately described in the files. Of course, being that Light had his back to Linda, she didn’t quite get the same view that Mello did—that proud, erect column of flesh he’d only been mercilessly teasing moments earlier. But alas, Linda was seeing Kira naked nevertheless—naked, and about to completely and utterly submit to Mello’s desire.

"Com'ere gorgeous," Mello purred in the English more appropriate for such a statement. It earned him a narrowed look from his lover, but Mello could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of those lush, kiss-bruised lips. Green eyes watched him intently, drinking in the sight of that beautifully bared body, whole and so very much alive beneath the dimness of twilight and pale yellow lamp-light. Light complied at last, half-way expecting to be practically yanked off his feet the moment he was within reason.

Mello had other plans and still wearing that too-evil smile, motioned him closer still. He was holding his chin up, elbow resting against the armrest, and yet the moment his free hand fell to his lap, parting leather and palming the throbbing arousal he'd been nursing through all the torment, Light released a shuddering breath. As if the sight wasn't invitation enough, Mello threw his head back, pale lashes fluttering against his cheeks as lips parted with a single drawn out word: "Kira-"

He was upon him within moments, bare knees sliding against leather-clad thighs and the upholstery beneath them, straddling Mello's lap quite shamelessly to tangle long fingers into his hair and press a crushing kiss to his lips. Against the rules perhaps.

Fuck the rules! As far as Mello was concerned, it was all going according to plan.

He grabbed Light’s hips tightly, fingers digging into smooth flesh—there was a moment of adjustment, as Light was kissing him, and Mello was pulling him closer and Linda was wide-eyed with her jaw on the floor—a moment for Mello to situate his lover over that demanding, turgid length of flesh, before pulling Light down into his lap, penetrating him thickly so that Light tossed his head back, keening one of those deliciously amazing sounds he was usually prone to at the height of his submission.

Mello watched with devious fascination—it always empowered him to take Light this way—Kira this way—to enter him, fill him, claim him—fuck him raw, and Mello shifted his hips, Light’s fingers clawing into his shoulder at the too-intimate sensation, bangs already damp, in his face, head bowed, eyes closed—riding out the pain that always came with this pleasure, and Mello guided Light’s hips into a slow satisfying rhythm at first—teasing him every so often with a deepening thrust that made Light moan.

Light was normally tight, ironically enough, and if Mello wasn’t pounding him into the mattress or the floor or the bath tub, entering him could be a rather drawn-out and erotically strenuous process. In fact, fucking him slowly like this usually had Light trembling and whimpering and severely over sensitized almost to the point of tears depending on how Mello decided to draw it out. It wasn’t their normal mode of behavior, and Light’s stamina was more robust when they were fighting and clawing and thrusting—but this particular episode was exhibitionism at its best. Not only did Mello enjoy taking Light like this, watching him from below, guiding him to a degree but essentially forcing him to debase himself for his own pleasure—but he enjoyed showing his lover off this way to Linda, and the more Light made him proud with his delectable antics of sexual abandon—the ragged breaths and keening moans and the fluid way he could undulate his body on Mello’s lap—the more Mello wanted her to see.

This was victory in a sense, not so much over Kira, but over Mello’s former life—the one Linda knew him from, Second Best, Schoolyard Bully, Intolerable Brat—this was Mello’s victory unto himself, fucking Kira slow and senseless while he remained in control was just the manifestation of all he had become—at least in that moment.

Mello had to suspect whether part of Light’s maddening performance was just that – a performance for Linda’s sake, which in turn turned them both on to unimaginable extremes. And yet, he’d seen him like this before, clawing and tugging and not knowing what the hell to do with himself because the pain was great and the promise of blinding pleasure so very close. It made Mello shudder just watching him, gritting his teeth at the throbbing sensation of that willing body pressing itself so intimately against him, of the demands each shift of hips insinuated at. He wanted it – Kira wanted this more than anything right then and there. And the thought – the knowledge that Linda witnessed it now was just too erotic to pass up. It hadn’t been Mello’s initial intention as he had meant only to seduce Light and take this elsewhere, but it had soon whirled out of control.

Perhaps it would make her understand. Perhaps it might even nudge her case study along. Mello stifled a chuckle, lips pressed to his lover’s throat, bringing them together in such a way that Light bit his lip against a cry. “Itai-“ he gasped and Mello groaned, nails digging into that scarred back, causing it to arch gracefully. What a sight they must have made then. Joined together in such a way in the throes of passion, thundering hearts and uneven breaths with each smooth thrust of hips. But, regardless of how hard Light tried to take control, to press deeper, harder against him, Mello kept that strong hold on his hips. Controlling the situation to the very end – slow movements that had Light positively out of his mind, bowing against him in the desperate brink of pleasure – to the painfully deep thrusts that would have alerted anyone within range had Mello not clamped a hand over Light’s mouth. That alone only seemed only to arouse him further.

Linda was beside herself.

And Mello sensed as much, but that wasn’t necessarily why he decided to wrestle Light’s straining arms behind his back and clamp them there like the prisoner he was, holding Light captive as Mello jerked his thrusts harder upwards into his lover’s heaving body—using the leverage he had in that stifling grip to pull Light down and down again into him as he drove upwards until Light was practically sobbing the pain-pleasure from the brutally intimate penetration—and Mello continued to keep his other hand firmly wrapped across Light’s mouth—muffling those staggeringly erotic cries. It was almost a picture of Kira—hostage—being taken against his will as punishment; but Mello already knew that was how the bastard liked it best, wasn’t it?

The night in the bathtub had only confirmed how truly debauched Kira’s appetites had become—and maybe Yagami Light had been different once upon a time; before a certain rogue detective put him in permanent bondage 24/7—an act that ran the gamut of brilliant strategy to a base and carnal desire not too unlike what they were doing now—so maybe L was inherently to blame for brining this out in Kira. After all, Light had suffered imprisonment in a variety of forms all due to his relationship—professional, criminal and otherwise—with the detective; he was essentially even now, living in a state of permanent bondage—serving a lifelong criminal sentence that had for all intents and purposes rendered him the property of said detective—even if L had been merciful by referring to Kira as his ‘ward’ rather than ‘prisoner.’ In order to survive, Light was forced to turn his base need for freedom and world domination into a carnal need for bondage and submission—intrinsic dichotomy; placing Kira at war within himself hence rendering him unable to achieve his full ambition—and God was that ever a game L had deliberately set up.

It made Mello realize just why L and Kira played on a level that much higher than his and Near’s and Matt’s heads—because while Kira was overtly enjoying these duels of sex and sexuality with Mello—the high stakes, the highest stakes—freedom and sanity and brilliance, justice and life and death—that was what he played with L. So of course the detective didn’t worry himself with petty jealousy over sex and carnality and debauchery—he was the high roller and this was the Saturday night poker tryst.

God, and wasn’t that ever a reminder of why Mello had ultimately wanted the title he fought so hard to attain? Because even now as he held Kira, prisoner to his desire, slave to his sex—Kira was still playing, toying, teasing—and not altogether in danger of sacrificing anything on the large scale. What was the stake here? His dignity? No, he was an exhibitionist—this was child’s play then, even lost as he was, Kira knew this was how it was supposed to go. And his climax would be genuine, if the straining, weeping, rigid shaft of his sex was anything to judge by—his pleasure and pain and desire and need to connect with Mello was genuine; but L had an altogether different ownership on Kira no one else could reach—and Kira himself, especially lately, was most certainly clinging to it by a thread at times.

L’s games were so subversive and brilliantly intuitive—and bloody divine—by the time anyone realized what they were or had the privilege of understanding them even at a fraction of their full brilliance—he had already taken the bloody field. That was why he was L.

God in heaven it was brilliant and clear in that one moment of blinding pleasure that had Mello driving into Kira that much harder because he wanted that—wanted him that way—all or nothing—and he knew his fingers would leave their red imprints across Light’s mouth, those wanton and agonized cries emitted from that breathlessly beautiful throat, spurned there on the edge of Mello’s cock, until Light was whimpering madly, spilling deeply, and Mello was joining him—claiming him—to spill his seed inside Kira, to understand the brilliance that was L…that was divinity itself just then—and Mello held Light until it hurt; gasping, gritting, grinding, and they at last wilted bonelessly against each other—even though Light couldn’t move—still trembling and hurting too much to even make the attempt.

And Mello really had to fight to come back to himself in that moment anyway…

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, finding that the world took a moment to return, finding that all senses were suddenly too bright, too aware. Mello blinked the bangs from his eyes, wiping the sweat off his brow and tilted his head just enough to catch the flushed gasping mess that had become of Light, crumbled there against his body in the aftermath of their passion. It was madness, all of it.

Mello exhaled, moistening chapped lips as he leaned his head against the chair’s high back; knuckles brushing lightly along that flushed cheek. He had to spare a small smile. It was a wonderful sight and ever slightly endearing. “You all right..?” he asked quietly, a positive contradiction to the overtly dominating presence he’d just wielded moments before. Just another piece of the too complicated puzzle for Linda to ponder on when she picked up the pieces of her own brain (likely after quite cold a shower).

Light didn’t have a voice, but managed to nod slightly, eyes still quite closed, reeling himself back in, breath still broken and heavy, albeit slowing—and that too was endearing, and Mello wound an arm around Light’s slick waist, pulling him close despite the fact that they were still quite intimately attached to each other and the movement made Light hiss as oversensitive areas sang in protest; but Mello cupped a hand around his jaw and brought him forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t the sort of kiss they’d been tormenting each other with this whole time, it was altogether different—breathless yes, but affectionate now—tender—it spoke of a sad and almost desperate sort of longing—lost and searching and happy to find itself there in the other’s arms. Light melted into it gratefully; fully wrapped then in Mello’s embrace and Mello was flushed with a strange sensation perhaps he’d denied before—or perhaps it hadn’t been there until now; this first union with Light after his resurrection—after Mello had grieved at his loss—it was a sentiment at once surprising and comfortable and spoke of an extreme and warming satisfaction—a new briar in their ever-complicated cycle of gameplay; but it didn’t feel much like a game then—it was something else completely…something more.

Mello’s eyes snapped open, his hands moving to Light’s jaw, breaking the kiss that gently. “I don’t love you,” he said—and it sounded like a game, but seemed almost necessary to define that kiss and set up that last bastion of this torrid affair he had with Kira.

Light’s heavy and sated lids lifted and Mello found himself all too quickly stricken in that honeyed gaze. Debauched, debased, conquered—it didn’t matter, Kira—the bastard—had the power to take back all the cards with his eyes alone. His kiss-bruised lips were moist and quirked into a knowing smile; he paused for a moment, searching Mello’s expression and his smile spread just a little more.

“Yes you do,” he purred.

Perhaps it would have been best to say nothing at all. Mello scowled, hating him in that moment for contradicting his words; for reading too deeply – perhaps too truthfully. Damn him. “You’re too bloody cocky for your own good,” he muttered but his suddenly defensive stance was not lost on anyone. Goddamnit Kira. And then the topic was changed all too quickly. “Dinner is soon,” such a simple comment and one so suspiciously telling. “Might want to get cleaned up.”

Right. Nice save. Get your shit together, goddamnit.

Flustered to no means, Linda remained silent, her mind switching gears a bit more quickly than theirs had despite her obvious squirmy behavior, which was now strictly on hold. She dared spy on them through half closed lashes, however, hoping to catch a proper glimpse before they turned her way, but there was no such luck. Light still remained firmly in place on Mello’s lap, keeping them for the most part, obstructed. The exchange had been a surprise, but then again… maybe it was a mistake to be surprised after the gloom that had set over the villa just over twenty four hours prior. She had not fully understood it then, but Mello’s grief had not all been for L himself; there had been more to it than that, which she could not lay a finger on.

Sure, she’d known there was something between he and Light, but never once did she consider the sort of emotional extent it so obviously reached. Now it made sense. Christ, did it make sense and at the same time… it frightened her. First L, and now Mello? How? Of course she could see the attraction. She could see the sensual lure Light wielded expertly, but so did Mello – they toyed with one another, this much she had already known so this… this attachment… where the hell had it come from? How was it even possible?

Had anyone else caught on?

It was easier to feign sleep now that she let her mind work out those details, resting heavily against the armrest, one hand tucked beneath her chin. Her mind was cruel, however, and no sooner had her eyes pressed closed did she see the wanton expression cross Light’s face; the smooth expanse of his body bare before her. She flushed and hoped her hair would do something to cover it. Now that they were not so distracted, it would do good to remain still.

She heard Light smirking at Mello’s response—his chuckle slightly haughty, but all the more telling, and then he hissed as Mello apparently helped him off his lap a little more quickly than Light was perhaps prepared for—nonetheless, they kissed again—and through the slit in Linda’s vision she saw it was Light who’d grabbed Mello as he was standing, pulling him by the jaw into a parting lip lock. Mello still seemed defensive, but melted against Light’s lips easily enough, and Linda found herself wondering: wouldn’t anyone?

But Mello left then, stalking passed Linda and out into the hall. Light…took his time, deliberately. It was at that moment Linda felt his attention on her, even from across the room—she was the only one there, like the rabbit hiding from the fox she tried her best to stay willfully asleep—eyes tightening as she sensed him approach on bare feet, knowing he was still nude, knowing he still exuded that irresistible sexuality, all the more erotic now that he had been so thoroughly debauched by Mello. But Light had put on a show, hadn’t he? And his sly lingering nearby made Linda know he was aware he’d had an audience.

She heard him smile, could almost sense his body close as he passed—and when she was certain he left, she still waited that much longer to make sure—he really had.