Redeemer

They rode in silence for the majority of the trip back home – home being a rented flat in the center of the city. It was cheap enough for a last minute quick find they’d needed upon arrival. It was unnerving. The tension thick, pliable. He had no idea what to say and thus remained stubbornly silent, hand gripping the wheel more tightly than necessary as he pushed the Mustang’s dials past what was considered both legal and safe driving speeds. When they at last entered city proper, the vehicle slowed enough so that they would not generate unwanted attention. It was far too late to blast through the deserted streets unnoticed.

When they at last pulled into the rented garage, Matt made no move to lift himself out of his seat, staring out the window as he had been doing through the entirety of the ride. A half smoked cigarette still hung from his lips. Five others had been crushed into the ashtray at his knee. Matt was not pleased. Not in the slightest. Tonight’s events had definitely not gone as anticipated. With a breath upon his lips, Mello killed the engine and pushed the door open, abandoning his lover’s car and immediately making a move for the door.

He had barely made it up the stairs onto the third floor when he heard the redhead’s steps closely behind him, and from the sound of it, Matt was in a hurry. The door was unlocked and pushed open, no sooner did he release the keys onto the nearby table that the heavily gloved fist connected viciously with his jaw. Mello stumbled, not having expected the immediate blow, and definitely not such a brutal one. “Fuck!” he hissed, stabilizing himself with one hand firmly over the back of the couch.

“Have I ever mentioned how much of a fucking asshole you are?” It was not the first time Matt had uttered such words, in fact he had heard them quite often but this was different. His anger was borne out of misunderstanding and betrayal. No worse combination. That coupled with the tension brought about by having spent an evening with none other than Kira himself had clearly set him on edge. Truth be told, it had set them both on edge.

“Once or twice,” Mello returned begrudgingly, touching his split lip gingerly. His fingers came away with blood and he cursed again.

“What happened back there?” the younger man demanded, shoving the front door shut firly behind him. The bolts were thrown out of habitual precaution before he crossed toward him once again. A sixth cigarette was lit. He’d resorted to chain-smoking. Bad news.

“Which part?” Mello begun, barely getting the words out before the second punch hit the opposite side of his jaw, making sure he was sore all over come morning. Beautiful. The blonde scowled but supposed he had deserved the treatment. “What the fuck do you want me to tell you?”

“How about the truth for once? You go out on jobs, don’t tell me what the hell you’re doing and I find out tonight that not only have you been meeting with bloody Kira, you’ve also become quite familiar with the bastard.” Something akin to hurt and betrayal was evident in his eyes, free of the orangey lenses that usually covered them. The goggles had been yanked off minutes prior and tossed carelessly over the entryway table. His vest soon followed. It was warm. Much too warm in here. Or perhaps the adrenaline rush was warping his senses.

“Don’t make assumptions when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How can I when you don’t ever tell me a goddamned thing?” While most people would have screamed, Matt carried his argument in subdued, cold tones. It was almost more effective this way – carried the point more clearly than mindless screaming would have done. After all, it was no secret that should he want to, Mello could out-scream him quite easily. It wasn’t a competition he was about to get involved in. He wanted answers, not hysterics.

“There’s a damned good reason for that,” Mello returned, anger creeping up on him at last as he wiped away the blood that had slid down his chin. “I tell you what is necessary for you to do your job and keep your ass out of the fire.”

“So going to the SPK and shoving your dick down Kira’s throat is not on the necessary to know list, is it?”

Silence. What could anyone ever say to that when it clearly sounded as bad as it honestly was? There were no excuses, no ways to talk himself out of this one. It was just not that easy, nor was Matt that foolish nor naïve. Mello frowned, the look soon turning a scowl as he wiped another trail of blood from his lips. “Shit got out of hand.”

“You don’t fucking say!”

“I was there under L’s orders,” he explained. “Near was attempting to torture a confession out of him, which frankly was fuckin’ stupid considering the bastard’s downright relentless. I went there to both put an end to it and give him a warning. One he didn’t particularly understand, granted.”

“Right.” Anger wafted off his person in waves as he passed him by and stormed into the kitchen, leaving Mello staring after him. Annoyed. “Somehow I doubt L also told you to spill a load down his throat.”

The blonde simply gaped at him. Well, that is what Light had made it out to sound like, wasn’t it? The bastard didn’t exactly go into details concerning what had truly happened in that interrogation room. Of course not. After all, Mello was supposed to be the bad guy here. The point had been to shove him in a tight spot he could not exactly easily talk himself out of. It had worked. “It never got that far,” he found himself awkwardly saying. After all, the truth was almost more painful to admit to than the illusion Light had painted for him.

“Sure as hell what it sounded like,” he returned coldly, plucking a beer from the fridge. The cap was twisted off and tossed carelessly into the sink. Without another word, he stalked past his partner once again. There was little room to escape, however. Not only was the flat fairly small, seeing as it had been a temporary remedy, it also did not yet have all of their equipment. But that didn’t even matter, seeing as they were getting on another goddamned plane across the Atlantic.

“And you believe him!?”

“Shit, Mello!” Matt shouted, loosing his composure at last as he whirled to face the blonde, seeming incredulous and annoyed all at once. “You haven’t bothered to deny any of it, so yeah, for once I have no choice to believe what that bastard said!” It was nothing short of awkwardness that followed. Mello said nothing at first, leaning against the doorframe that separated the small kitchen from the living room with his hands shoved half-heartedly into his pockets. His gaze was lowered, but even that could not be seen beneath the haphazard veil of bangs that partially hid his face.

“I know I’m at fault here,” he said after it seemed as if he would say nothing at all. “Shit got out of hand and there’s no one to blame but myself, don’t think I don’t know that.”

“At least we can agree on something,” the redhead returned dully.

“No sooner was my dick in his mouth than his teeth were attempting to bite it off.” There. He had said it. Albeit through gritted teeth, but he had admitted it nevertheless. It took a moment for the words to sink in. A moment for Matt to change gears and realize what had just been said.

“Oh,” was the most eloquent response he muttered, lips still hovering over the mouth of the bottle he’d been draining rather enthusiastically. It seemed as if that had been the wrong thing to say because Mello’s placidity shattered within seconds as that green visage was upturned, brows narrowed. “That’s the best you can say,” he stated blandly. “I tell you that I practically had my dick bitten off and you simply oh at me as if I’d just given you the most mundane piece of fucking news. Why the hell do you think I avoided you like the plague at the time?!”

The response received was likely not what he’d been expecting. In fact, the wave of surprise that washed over the blonde’s face confirmed as much. “Had you not tried to shove your cock down Kira’s throat, that wouldn’t have happened.” And with that simple statement which indicated that he was feeling far from forgiving, Matt dismissed the argument all together and sank down onto the overstuffed chair nearest the window, DS already in hand and flipped open to offer him the distraction he sought and believed well deserved.

“You motherfucking son of a bitch!” Mello cursed him in a hiss, incredulous. But such insults had very rarely done anything to earn him favor, or even make his point. Matt was far too used to his outbursts to be so much as bothered by the string of curses – spanning across multiple languages – that escaped the blonde’s lips. It was decided at that moment that he couldn’t stay beneath this same roof with him. Not just then. His anger would have to be bled out else where. Thus, taking but a few seconds to zip up the front of his jacket, he yanked the door open, helmet in hand. “I’m going to go get us plane tickets,” he snarled, slamming the door shut behind him when the only response was a simple “ok”.

* * *

Light pushed L up against the wall, and was met with that stare, that probing, indefinitely haunted, dark, blank stare, L’s obsidian and deeply shadowed eyes watching between a puffy jag of haphazard bangs, following every tick and nuance in Light’s handsome face—studying him, his features memorized, those lines of beauty vaguely scarred with the memory of a cruel Kira-esque countenance—his almond eyes more narrow than they should have been, his mouth just a shadow more wicked. Kira was always there now, despite the surprising control Light was recently exerting over his prior mental breakdowns, Kira was there. Keen, clever, clear…and L had been doing the math for days on end regarding how it had happened.

It had happened in his sleep that was for certain, L’s sleep, those few lapse hours of oblivion he’d stolen for himself on the edge of utter exhaustion—and Kira had found his way in. The glint was forever in Light’s eyes, dangling the notion like a piece of candy—he was Kira—again he was Kira, despite the deal with Ryuk, despite having given away the notebook. L knew it, and Light knew he did—he wasn’t making it a secret because L had realized almost immediately upon the deal’s onset that it was Kira he needed after all, Kira to solve the case with him, to be his equal, to understand him like no one else could.

Kira had a voracious way of looking at him, devouring every absent bend of L’s blank expression until he’d chipped away the familiar and found the truth hiding deep inside—the fascination, which was usually bittersweet, filled with a quiet adoration and mixed with mournful regret. One couldn’t love Kira without being mired in regret. L wasn’t religious, but he supposed this might have been what true sin felt like. There had been a time when he just wanted to hear Kira say it—say he was sorry for the hell he had caused, to understand the gravity of his deeds, but proud Kira would never express regret for his dream. Yagami Raito, however, did. And seeing him penitent upon the realization that he was the world’s most prolific killer—it was wrong. It looked wrong, it felt wrong, it sounded wrong. Kira was his own entity, his own animal, he was Light’s core and not vice versa, and Light without his core was just…empty.

L was sure Light saw the thought flicker behind his eyes, and Light cupped his face and slid a firm thumb against the soft depression of L’s lower lip. Anyone else would have thought L was just not responding to that gesture—filled with the electricity and power-play that it was—that L was master over his every concealed emotion—no, didn’t have any emotions to begin with. But Light knew otherwise, as he met L’s deep gaze with a gaze even deeper, stabbing down inside to find L’s heart and wring it dry, the way Light had been doing for years already. It was his, he had earned it.

His hands were gentle, as he leaned in for that kiss, pulling L to straighten slightly against him, and when he felt the soft flutter of L’s lashes against his cheeks, he smiled—because even just that, was more than L would ever give anyone else.

* * *

It wasn’t that Mello enjoyed showing up unannounced at Kira’s place—haha, what a thought. But L had given him the codes to essentially come and go as he pleased, and so far the arrangement had worked rather well. It was late, but it was common knowledge L rarely slept and Mello supposed since both their lives were on a ticking clock, that Kira was probably not sleeping much either. So Mello keyed in the access codes, retinal scan, fingerprints, all that BS, and walked in—though promptly wished he hadn’t.

Thank god the back of the couch was facing him, so all Mello saw right off was, well the back of the couch…the handcuff chain was slung over and looped around a dining chair that had been dragged over, and Light’s wrists were tangled in the shackles, gathered up over where Mello supposed his head was. He couldn’t see that much. L was the one who suddenly bobbed up into view…shirtless, his pale, wiry, surprisingly lean and muscular frame slightly slick and smeared with something that could quite possibly have been strawberry jam. Best part was that he had one long golden naked Kira-leg draped over his shoulder, the other, equally naked was hooked around his hips. His sudden cease in activity was met with some sort of half-breathless protest from Light when L abruptly stopped whatever it was he’d been doing with the jam.

“L—wha—why’d you-- stop??”

L ignored him and caught Mello in his normal blank stare, as though he wasn’t kneeling there in the midst of some strangely kinky sexual act with none-other than Kira himself—who didn’t know Mello had just walked in on them. Probably for the better.

L blinked. “Did you find something?” He said flatly.

What a many edged question at that particular moment….

His steps halted just as soon as he made it past the threshold, hand still lingering on the doorknob. The world froze, or rather he did as eyes widened – the scene sinking in slowly as realization hit: he was witnessing the very thing he had dreaded. Certainly this wasn’t truly happening and he would wake up at any moment with a nightmarish cry and Matt still half-draped over him. But when the scene didn’t fade away into a million pieces and L still remained staring at him intently, clearly expecting a response, Mello gaped. Lips parted but no immediate words escaped him. It was as if they were silenced, stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue and refusing to come out. It took several tries and clearing his throat once or twice before he managed to get himself under some semblance of control.

Still, the expressions that crossed his mind bordered on horror and disbelief. Special emphasis on horror, however. “L-I…” He paused, swallowing dryly as he forced his gaze to look anywhere but the blank look in L’s eyes and the now flailing leg that emerged from behind the back of the couch as Light realized that their privacy was no longer exactly private. In fact, their alone time had been interrupted by the last person he had likely wanted to see just then.

“Yea—” Mello said at last, looking intently past them and at the small kitten that trailed serenely across the living room. Wait. A kitten? He had almost gotten himself under control, about to report his findings when that simple four-legged creature went and distracted all determination he’d mustered to really and truly ignore the fact that L had just been licking strawberry fucking jam off Kira’s very naked body. “Shit!” he hissed, pressing a balled gloved fist to his lips so that no further words escaped him just then.

“Something wrong?” And L couldn’t truly be asking that with that confused and blinking stare. Light on the other had come to the unwanted realization, that lovely leg of his flailing as he tried to regain some dignified position, impossible as that was in handcuffs.

“Goddamnit L,” he growled, “Is that Mello?”

L unconsciously hooked a long-fingered hand around Light’s leg to stop the flailing, and pushed another hand passed the view of the couch—Mello’s view—to either steady him, hold him down, or keep him occupied…oh god. There was a sudden hissing and aggravated groan gritting out from Light’s normally controlled voice, and Mello convinced himself that it was only a flash of his horrible imagination that L’s hand was moving down there…somewhere.

“L—stop,” and Light sounded like he only wanted him to stop because Mello was now an audience.

“Calm down, Yagami-kun,” L said blankly, “He can’t see you.”

“L!! Goddamnit!!” Light’s hands were twisting in the handcuffs with exaggerated frustration, but L’s gaze was still trained on Mello. “Did you find anything or not?”

Clearly Mello was making one hell of an effort to ignore the fact that Light was most definitely getting distracted in ways he did not care to think about. Or rather, he had thought about several times in the past – but this was different. This was L. This was the man he’d looked up to and adored for the great majority of his life. Not the man he’d ever thought would be caught dead giving the world’s most wanted criminal a handjob while carrying on a perfectly normal conversation.

There was most definitely nothing normal about that. Nothing. Again Mello tried to rein the visuals in. Still he held onto the door, but after a moment managed to slowly – very slowly indeed – push it shut behind him. “Yeah-“ Put it behind you, goddamnit. So what they’re fucking, you knew that, you’ve known that. But walking in on it, however, was a completely different story.

“Yeah,” he repeated with strained composure, once again wondering about the kitten that had hopped onto the back of couch and was now watching him curiously, thus bringing his gaze dangerously close to that of the action. Fuckfuckfuck!

“We’ve managed to track down the source of the movement to Italy. Rome to be precise. Seems like the bastard was never in the States to begin with and was simply giving orders overseas. But I’m convinced there’s more to it than this. Every link leads to a dead end, which leads me to believe these are bigger fish we’re dealing with—just like you said.” As he said it, a slight frown that had little to do with the horrifying situation taking place right before him just mildly masked by the couch, and more to do with what news they had dredged up, which hit a little too close to home for his liking. Too suspicious. Too fucked up to wrap his mind around.

“Italy?” And Mello half expected L to start chewing on his thumb if his hand wasn’t otherwise occupied in between Light’s legs—moving faster—and it seemed for a moment that what his hand was doing and what his mind was suddenly focused on were completely detached from one another. And yet, he did not untangle himself from Light’s now struggling body. Light was definitely protesting, painfully aware that L was pretty much about to rob him of any remaining dignity in front of Mello and Mello was trying to keep his distance, goddamnit he was trying, but Light was struggling more—ultimately drawing more attention himself, caught between ecstasy and aggravation, growling and hissing and gasping—strangled moans and straining fingers caught under handcuffs, and L was not about to let him go until the whole thing was properly ended.

“L—stop—,” and that was almost pleading… a tone Mello’s eyes widened at, because he was feeling just as raped as Light must have been feeling, and suddenly there was that look in L’s eyes. A shadow that flickered over slightly more narrowed lids that implied quite definitively that he knew exactly what he was doing and it wasn’t altogether sexual—not from the moment Mello walked in. This was dominance play, over Kira, over Mello, over their warring egos and endless confrontation, he was, in this one bizarre and utterly uncomfortable situation taking away Kira’s pride, and deflating Mello’s bravado and rendering them both pretty much helpless under his very meticulous control. Damnit, couldn’t he just yell at them like a normal patriarchal figure?

“L—ah—sto—,” Kira was pissed, but at a complete loss, legs straining, toes curled, and L had a firm grip on his thigh that would most definitely be leaving fingerprints—and yet all the while L maintained complete eye contact with Mello.

“If it’s Rome you’ve pinpointed, it leads me to think there are more followers of ‘God’ involved than we first initially considered—Kira’s power in the hands of the Church is a thing to be very much concerned over. That’s if we are dealing with a case of the church being in possession of a Death Note, or if a sect of the church has seceded to follow a new god who has very much proved he had divine power….or at least established that illusion for the world.”

Mello had to wonder if L talking about Light being god was what ultimately sent him over the edge—possibly, since he strained at last under L’s ministrations, a hard strangled gasp, and tightened muscles—writhing, arching, choking the chain before he went completely boneless. L seemed pleased with the outcome, but didn’t make much show of it, and Light’s following silence thickened the air with a tension that could be cut with a knife.

Mello was just as speechless. And L had proved a point, he was pretty sure, it was just going to take a few hours of recovery before he could discern what that point was. …

The church-thing however was one view he did not want to consider and yet had been the first thing on his mind since the moment they had uncovered such troubling information. And yet, his voice failed him the moment Light’s own voice became nothing more than gasping, desperate incomprehensible groans.

L had not just done that.

Mother of God, he had not just done that. Mello sighed, summoning whatever patience was still available to him as his hand curled instinctively around the crucifix which hung loosely from his neck. With another breath upon his lips and a slight tug, he leaned back against the door. The ultimate distance that could be achieved without simply bolting out of there, which was something he did not want to do. He would not show such weakness. He would not sink so low when it was plainly obvious that L was playing games with them both. His reasons were once again incomprehensible, but surely enough he must have them.

Or at least Mello would like to think so.

“We’re currently pulling up a few names and digging deeper. I’m hoping to have some sort of concrete answer by this time tomorrow. I’ll come back once I can tell you more. Either way, I plan on personally following the leads and going down there.”

The decision had been made sometime between the moment he left Matt behind, staring at multiple screens and typing furiously away, searching for answers only he seemed to be able to find, and opening the door that led to yet another test, yet another experimentation. Another lesson. One he had not wanted to learn but was subjected to nevertheless. He would follow the leads to Rome whether or not that was L’s plan. He would follow because there was little time to waste and only he had the connections to ask the right questions while remaining firmly underground in the public’s eyes. Already another month had passed with little development. The clock ticked loudly.

L at last put a finger to his mouth in thought—and Mello flinched slightly—he didn’t want to think that L was already more than familiar with the taste of Kira’s body that he could just orally ignore whatever essence was still on those fingers—no, this was just his normal habit. Goddamnit. But L’s pondering visibly deepened, and he at last released Light’s leg, unhooking the languid limb from his shoulder, and standing up. L was still half dressed, thank god, because the last thing Mello wanted as a proper night cap was L stark naked in front of him. No offense to L—but Mello was fried, and he was trying to keep that last bit together.

“I want to wait and see what you come up with tomorrow before I make my decision,” L said flatly, shuffling over to the laptop on the other side of the room. “But there’s a possibility we’ll be following you to Rome as well. Time is running out, and this is the only solid lead we have.” He paused and Mello had his hand on the door, hoping beyond hope that he could leave now that this whole bizarre moment was over. But L had that last little kicker up his sleeve, as always.

“Oh Mello?” He said, snatching something off the coffee table between two spindly fingers and dangling it at the blonde. A pair of keys.

“Please unlock Raito-kun, thank you.”

Mello’s face twisted, and he stood there slightly dumbstruck before his motor skills kicked in and he reached for the keys. What…WHAT? What the fuck? L didn’t spare him a glance, absorbed by the computer, at least in appearance focused on his work…and Mello ventured over to the couch.

He felt Kira tense with his approach, and the two of them were sucking it in, grinning and bearing it so to speak, as Mello had to grab Light’s wrists to actually find the keyhole. There was far too much tension there at that moment, and even though Mello had kept his gaze completely narrowed in to the task at hand, he couldn’t help but glimpse the bend of Light’s figure over the plush pillows. He would have cursed at this whole goddamned setup, but he undid the handcuffs, and tossed Light’s unlocked limbs away from him.

Light was equally angry, and he promptly stood up—shamelessly nude so Mello got a nice full eyeful of Kira’s sleek lean figure and unfortunately shapely ass, before that anger manifested. Light didn’t look at him, didn’t even bother to turn around, just automatically smacked the nearest thing off the table—a water decanter—which crashed and shattered loudly to the floor as he stormed off down the hall without a word. The bedroom door slammed dramatically shut moments later and L just ignored the entire scene.

Mello stood, transfixed as water spilled across the floor with a messy crash. He lifted a brow, daring a small grin at the fact that he had managed to overcome whatever test L had just put them through. After all, he hadn’t snapped. He had delivered what news he had, however awkwardly, and did not bolt from the room at the first chance he got. Light on the other hand… Well, he supposed it was always easier to argue in some semblance of clothing. The blonde actually plucked the larger shards of the decanter from the floor, depositing them in one hand before carrying and disposing the pieces in the kitchen. “Was there anything else..?” he asked quietly, pausing halfway toward the door.

“Not at this moment,” L said, still transfixed on the screen, he was crouched in his seat like usual, though still shirtless. Mello detected a few discolored patches across his flank, bruises…and for some reason the idea of Kira hurting L made him angry. Then again, it looked as if L had the upper hand here. “But please do get whatever information you can to me ASAP. In the meantime, I’ll alert my contacts in Rome that my associates are coming and have things prepared.” He paused for a moment, and then turned his head to face Mello. “Given the unfortunate time frame we are working with, I regrettably may have to resort to riskier tactics than I normally would approve of…highly risky, Mello. Please be forewarned…we are going to need Kira’s many talents for this.”

Mello probably flinched slightly at the statement, but due to his already heavily fortified defensive tactics given what had just happened with Light, he took the whole notion in stride. And L…smiled. “ Good work, Mello,” L finished and he meant that in more ways than one.

That was also Mello’s cue to leave—at last. Next time he would definitely be knocking before entering.

L watched him go, waited for the doors to close before his false attention on the laptop immediately redirected. He stood up abruptly and moved down the hall with purpose, throwing open the bedroom door unannounced. Light was waiting of course—absolutely furious, though curiously had not bothered to dress. The violence was in his eyes, however, though L knew ahead of time that was going to be the way of things, so he was prepared to catch Light’s fist when it came flying at his face.

“You fucking bastard!!!”

But L was quicker, using Light’s momentum to twist him back, topple him down hard onto the bed, scooping both his wrists in one hand and pinning them over his head. Light was still spitting and swearing, but technically L hadn’t finished from before, and that was forefront on his mind. He hadn’t planned for Mello to waltz in—not at all, had used the situation to his advantage, but that didn’t mean he had no intention of truly finishing what it was he had started.

Light’s head was probably spinning at that moment at how fast L had him pinned, and captive and utterly at a disadvantage, which was about when L pushed between his legs and deep inside and Light just stiffened and groaned and arched against him—his face flushed red with anger and passion, and he couldn’t make up his mind whether to enjoy it, or get more angry…though judging how his body just fell into synch as L manipulated his legs into the best advantageous position as he pounded against him, he was quickly forgetting to stay angry—it didn’t stop the curses from gritting out between clenched teeth, in between ‘ohs and ahs’ and L could only briefly hope Mello hadn’t forgotten to tell him something, because he was no longer at liberty to come up with anything clever if interrupted now…though he figured Mello would probably be knocking before entering from here on in.

* * *

“Shit,” was the first word out of his mouth the moment the door was closed behind him. He stormed down the hall, at last releasing all the tension he had been holding in for L’s benefit. Or rather, his own. Mello grimaced as he reached the bottom landing, loosing the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Fuck!” It felt as if it was the only words that fully encompassed the frustration and annoyance he’d felt just then. Sure enough he hadn’t knocked. Sure enough he had barged into rooms not his own, but God damned if he had been prepared for not only walking in on such a scene but being forced to remain as if nothing was happening. As if L himself was not taunting Kira until he was a writhing mass against the black leather couch, until he was spilling over those same digits the detective always chewed so intently upon. Fuck!

With a mild shudder that lingered somewhere between horror at what he had witnessed and the intriguing mental images he’d just dredged up, he plucked the helmet off the BMW’s seat, starting it with a smooth purr. Certainly having him release Light from his bondage had been unnecessary. After all, what had L been thinking? Never mind that the sight had been nothing short of vaguely enticing, but that was one particular detail Mello simply forced himself not to dwell on. Kira was a good-looking bastard and enough snide remarks and innuendo had volleyed between them in the past; clearly there was tension present but it had been nothing more than that. Warring egos riding precariously close to the lines; lines that Mello crossed during that damned interrogation, awarding himself all the worst consequences. Never again!

It didn’t matter! The visor was shoved down over narrowed eyes and he took off, spinning himself around to emerge onto the highway.

“You look like hell,” was Matt’s ever-so-eloquent greeting; the words muttered around the butt of his cigarette halfway across the room. And yet his eyes had hardly lifted off the multiple computer monitors that had been lined up in front of him.

No response was appropriate just then. None that would make sense. None that would truly explain any of what had just happened. After all, he shouldn’t complain. Already he’d been made to explain circumstances that were just beyond his control. This was another. And this time, even Mello did not understand what L’s reasoning for such a test or experiment or whatever the fuck it was had been all about. Thus, the door was barely pressed shut and locked, and his keys dropped carelessly on the table, that he had yanked the cigarette from his lover’s lips, taken a drag of his own before crushing it into the ashtray. The chair was spun around before Matt even had a chance to question what the outburst had been all about and next thing he knew, his lips were being crushed with a kiss; the immediate taste of smoke and familiar lingering taste of chocolate assaulting his senses just as quickly as were the still-gloved hands which pushed his shirt halfway up his back.

Breath was an unfortunate requirement, however, and thus Matt took that moment to question him, however through a startled (yet mildly pleased) gasp. “Shut up,” was Mello’s only response, tugging his gloves off with his teeth and tossing them aside so that he may properly assault the soft, pliable bare skin beneath the redhead’s shirt. Leather-clad knees fell onto the chair on either side of his waist, straddling him and rather effectively silencing any further comments or questions.

Mello kissed him furiously, nipping upon the soon-bruised bottom lip, running black-polished nails along his back, twisting his fingers into the redhead’s hair with unmatched intensity. It usually spoke of anger or built up frustration better left unquestioned. And so as he sunk down onto his knees with a cat’s grace, yanking open the button fly of Matt’s jeans, the younger man was rendered to fleeting thoughts and quiet groans; that talented mouth eliciting the most delish sounds from his lips with each bob of the blonde’s head and languid lap of his tongue along throbbing, sensitive flesh.

It was then that a faint beep and message repeated itself across all monitors. “Mello…” Matt gasped breathlessly, daring a sidelong glance at the flickering screen. It was as if he’d said nothing at all. And had it been something of little importance he would not have bothered to tug half-heartedly on his lover’s jagged blonde strands. “It’s from L…” he groaned the last word, throwing his head against the tall back of the chair, teeth gritting to stifle a cry.

“Fuck L,” the whispered words caused him to shiver, hot breath and soft lips grazing his heated length. Perhaps it was the comment itself, or perhaps the intensity with which he said it that was the most surprising. As if nothing in the world mattered just then. As if Mello had not spent a great majority of his life working to become something in L’s eyes only to reach this moment in time where it did not matter. Had something happened? It would most certainly explain the assault – one which he was certainly not complaining about. But all further thoughts dissolved as Mello’s lips enveloped him a second time, the ministrations fierce and demanding. Fingers curled tightly onto the armrests, teeth painfully grit as his body shuddered only minutes later, spilling hotly past his lover’s lips and leaving him gasping for the air that had just been denied.

More surprisingly still was that Mello stood just as gracefully as he had descended, practically making a show of clearing away any evidence from the corner of his lips with a languid flick of his tongue before rescuing half a wrapped chocolate bar off the desk. Teeth bit viciously into it with a satisfying snap as he leaned over Matt’s still shuddering frame to look briefly at the screen and without so much as a response to their mentor, turned away. “Get some sleep. A decision will be made tomorrow night,” he said with the same business tone that indicated no questions should indeed be asked and what had just happened was but a distraction, which would be continued within a few hour’s time. A single white and gold handgun was removed form his belt and set down on the desk, its silver cross glistening in the faint light. One would think it planned. “Either way I have plans to follow this lead to Rome within a couple of days, regardless of whether or not they have plans to follow.”

“Everything all right…?” Matt asked, lighting up a cigarette and allowing that sweet essence of nicotine calm his thundering heart. Irony, really.

“We’ll see. I have to make a few calls,” he returned, retreating into that thoughtful murmur that indicated the rotating gears in his mind. “I’ll have arrangements made for us before we arrive this time so that no time is lost.” His phone was produced out of his jacket pocket – jacket which soon was thrown over the back of the couch – and flipped open. An array of numbers quickly dialed as he strode from the living room. International, Matt noted with a lifted brow. To this day there were some things about his partner not even he knew. Things kept silent not for his benefit, but because Mello just like all the prodigies created by Wammy’s House, operated on the basis of secrecy. Thoughts went for the most part unspoken. It was nothing personal, just another bad habit.

* * *

The irony was this time when he walked in, he expected the kinky sex—or was at least prepared for it. What he wasn’t prepared for was the overwhelming aroma of freshly baking chocolate that hit him in the face—square in the face—and every bit of mind power Mello had recruited to hurtle himself over the newest L-mindfuck, just seeped right out of his brain. There was a difference between hard chocolate—the kind he often gnawed on while deep in thought, the satisfying and almost violent crack of logic and reason at work each time his teeth snapped off a piece—and the sort of chocolate that enveloped…distracted. His first thought was—oh my god, what is that smell? In a good way. His second, was a little more hard-hitting…this was Kira’s doing. He’d decoded the chocolate.

Mello’s eyes probably widened in that angry-deer-in-headlights sort of way, when his pupils shrank to non-existent pinpoints at not only the realization, but the platter of brownies on the tall glass dining table, just sitting there, practically steaming cocoa into the air amidst heaps of case files and a plethora of laptops all running on overdrive, flipping screens of footage and news reports and classified police data and images of Rome..the Vatican…

That was what Mello was there for, instead his eyes went back to the brownies, and he focused in on them, not moving closer, not daring to reach out and snipe one while no one else was in the room. They looked…perfect. Probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. The slightly flaky tops, powdered with cocoa were craquelured with a deeper, darker-almost black chunk of smoldering cake, and the cake itself gooey with melting pools of chocolate just oozing, warm, inviting…delicious…

“L’s not here right now.” And that was Light’s matter-of-fact voice wafting in from the kitchen. “So help yourself, I’m not going to eat them.” He hadn’t even come into the room yet and he knew exactly what Mello was gawking at—which pissed Mello off to high hell. Where did this guy—where the hell did this bastard—get the right to be so goddamned perceptive all the time?

“Then why did you make them if you’re not going to eat them?” Mello meant for it to sound firm and snarling and not even remotely friendly, but he couldn’t shove off that distant-sounding wave of awe before the chocolate.

Light at last appeared, still looking like an Abercrombie model, and leaned nonchalantly in the doorway, arms folded across his narrow chest. Mello tried to detect that gleam of manipulative satisfaction in his eyes. It was there.

“Why would I make anything like that?” He shrugged. “For L.”

Bullshit. This was his new strategy at work.

Then he smiled in that golden-boy-gone-bad sort of way and hitched a slightly arrogant eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s a peace offering. But I’ll leave that up to you.” He waived the remark off a second later, circling around to the string of laptops. “But don’t let them go to waste, I hate wasting food.”

That goddamned son of a bitch. There truly was no better term that encompassed all Mello felt just then toward Mr. Perfect in all his designer clothing and expensive cologne. Baking once again as if that were the most natural thing in the world. As if any given person off the street would expect to walk in on Kira himself baking a bloody pan of perfect brownies for no reason what so ever.

Oh, there was a reason and Mello knew it. Knew it well enough to give the table wide berth even if his senses told him otherwise. Even as his fingers were twitchy to pluck one off the plate and sink his teeth into that molten core of chocolaty goodness.

Goddamn him.

Not only did Kira have him utterly distracted from the reason of his visit, but he did so while L was not even around to monitor him. Tricky. Granted the cameras still rolled and several hallways away, an array of monitors recorded their every move, but L had not been there. It had been there Mello had checked first before begrudgingly returning to Light's rooms, having expected to find the older man here.

Where the hell was he?

Narrowed greens kept shifting back to the antagonizing plate, even if his attention did not utterly fail him, keeping an eye on Light all the while. Noticing properly for the first time the investigation that had gotten under way during his twenty-four hour absence. At least they had managed to untangle themselves long enough to do some of the work, he mulled somberly and tugged his gloves off, setting them on the back of a chair beneath the second layer of leather that followed as his jacket too was set down.

"Have you come to any conclusions?" Mello muttered, motioning at the screens with a nod. It was a half-hearted attempt, but he just might have managed to keep the majority of the animosity out of his voice. A wonder, if not a downright miracle. The brownies remained untouched. Is this what L had planned by leaving them alone when he knew Mello would return with news that evening? They'd been working together, true enough, but never in the literal sense of the word. His orders came from L and L alone, and only L was privy to whatever information he and Matt might have found. Never once had he spoken directly to Light regarding the case. Never once had they also been left alone.

The aromatic scent of chocolate was overwhelming. Despite himself, Mello casually lifted one off the plate, never taking his eyes off the screens as if nothing had ever happened. His determination faltered only once he took a bite, having perhaps expected it to be decent at best, but finding that the bastard had nailed the damned things all too well. The rich cake seemed to melt upon his tongue, causing him to catch moist cocoa from his lips upon a digit, which was promptly licked away. It was too easy to forget who had baked the pastries until he heard the soft typing of a keyboard before him. Damnit. It was as if he could -see- Light's smile without even seeing his face. He didn't need to. His reaction had been enough, thus stubborn as Mello was, no comment was made - neither good nor bad, but he feared his silence already gave too much away.

Since when had the fucker learned how to bake?!

Mello felt Light’s eyes slide toward him, could swear he saw that devilish little smirk hitch his full, linear lips, but when he glanced Light’s way, the bastard’s true expression was as nondescript as L’s at that moment. He’d always been good at that routine, hadn’t he? His strategy of course was to ignore the fact that Mello was eating his brownies in order to get Mello to continue to eat them—and now this whole power play had gone from violence, to sex, to food—what was next, board games? Bad enough after the first one, Mello would truly have had no qualms about eating the rest—but that would give Chef Kira far too much pleasure. No if he wanted the damn things, he’d have to do it nonchalantly as background to a larger task at hand. That seemed to entail actually working with Light, discussing the case without L around to mediate. Which begged the question—was that Light’s purpose? Or L’s?

L was not around, or he was watching, and it aggravated Mello to even consider that he and Kira had set this up to test him. Couldn’t be. They might have been fucking, but they weren’t buddy-buddy—both Kira and L still had their own separate egos to cater to, as did Mello. Nevertheless, Light was tapping a constant steady flow of words against his keyboard, and looking rather intent doing it. Early on L had sworn to only give ‘Kira’ very limited access to the outside world—if at all, however judging by the looks of things, there were next to no limitations at all. The current world of the web was alive and kicking on all of Kira’s monitors—it was the one in front of him that Mello couldn’t see that seemed the most interesting at that moment.

“Not so much conclusions,” Light said, pausing to read his screen. “But possible further leads.” It was slightly jarring how all pretext of antagonism left his voice when he was actually discussing the case at hand, and ironically Mello thought of Soichiro Yagami at that moment.

Light glanced up, and it pissed Mello off how he managed to look so attractive on a daily basis considering who he was. But Lucifer was always the most beautiful, wasn’t he? For a second there Light seemed to catch that odd thought fleeting across Mello’s features—and there was a strange pause—strange not because of a sudden tension or aggravation, but because he seemed to contemplate Mello almost in the same manner. Then Mello deliberately bit into the brownie and the moment was gone.

Light continued on in his normal way. “In the past 24 hours I’ve managed to personally infiltrate a worldwide ring of prominent Kira supporters. It took a bit of excessive creativity to get into, I've been working on it all night. Luckily, the ideals they're so stuck on are the ones I created, so I basically have all the answers they want to hear. I probably know what they're thinking even before they do... I need to be noticed in this group in order to lure out those who hold a more powerful position. They think I'm a devout follower, what I want them to begin to think is that I may be something more...” He obviously seemed proud that he was able to actually be Kira for these people, and Mello’s brow scrunched—questions forming on the tip of his tongue around the enveloping chocolate flavor that seemed to own him at that moment. He was on brownie #2 without even realizing.

Light however, hadn’t finished patting himself on the back. “I’ll tell it to you, the way I told it to L, so we’re all on the same page here,” he purred in that polite slightly tenor voice, the one he used when he was playing the genius role and not the godly one. “It's been a rather long discourse. I had to engage in a rather elaborate debate against others who were questioning some of the finer points of Kira's intentions and methods. I assisted some of the more prominent members of the ring in the discussion, who eventually realized I knew more about what I was saying than even they had considered in the context of their world views. Obviously I haven't told them who I am but I'm counting on them considering it as a possibility eventually. It's my full intention to climb the ladder of this ring to see who's at the top, but we're not talking about a quaint message board or anything. There was some serious security involved, they've even flown under L’s radar...but frankly, I knew where to look. Of course, L is free to monitor everything I say to them, outwardly it will sound as if I’m going against all of you, but we’re all well aware that’s the way it needs to be if we’re going to get anything accomplished here. It's all for the benefit of the case after all.”

* * *

“Are we nuts?”

Matt said this around half a smoldering cigarette, his attention trained on the screens in front of him. “Just a random thought. I’m not normally in the habit of questioning L, but it struck me last night and I needed to just step back and look at it with some perspective. We’re letting Kira be Kira…freely. I mean, just look at the way this guy talks,”—and Matt was following the conversation on the Kira-worshippers message board, L had given him access. “Whether he’s working with us or not, you know every word coming out of his cyber mouth he utterly believes. He’s off his rocker, notebook or no notebook, and here we’re gonna fly him here, drop him in the middle of his own psycho-church, and let him play god… is it just me? I mean really?”

Matt dragged his cigarette down to the tip and snorted. “I told him that you had the mafia back off of contracts on L’s life for the time being,” he said. “Light tells me he’s relieved. He’s relieved. Kira’s relieved L isn’t going to die. Could you look outside the window, Mello, cause I think hell might be freezing over…”

Mello spared him a slight grin. Leave it to Matt to put the circumstances in blunt perspective like that. "It isn't just you, believe me," he murmured around a particularly tasty chocolate square, watching the screens just as intently. "We're all out of our bloody minds as far as I'm concerned. I've no plans to trust the bastard regardless of what L has been led to believe. Not even I'm that blind."

His gaze flickered to the window that had popped up on the screen mere seconds prior. Glad was he? He had to wonder if Light had expected this course of action at all. As it stood, Light wasn't the only one tiptoeing on both sides of the playing field, but then again Mello's job was a little easier in that aspect. Trust had already been earned - no, demanded quite forcefully several years back; his reputation established enough that favors could be called and cold, collected words were enough to reason with those that mattered. It would be those which would also feed him the information later on. As bloody Catholic as most mafiosos claimed to be, Mello had always found slight missing links in their... devotion. He would get the names needed; the true names of those who faced the public with saint's names as well as saint's faces. This group ran too deep. This would get ugly.

But would Light persevere? That was the true question, wasn't it? Could he truly keep his head focused on the case when his ego was fed and inflated beyond incomprehensible measures? After all, at last, he would earn his place in the world as the living god he'd sought out to be.

* * *

Light didn’t dream, not often, not usually. He’d been told by a variety of lovers that he looked like an angel when he slept; he supposed this was the reason. Misa had said it on a regular basis when they were living together—sleeping together—Takada had mentioned it when he woke up pressed against her bare shoulder one morning, wrapped in her far too loving arms. The woman had never been as strong as she wanted him to believe. Mikami hadn’t exactly referred to him as an angel…but that went without saying, the implication was there in his adoring face as he sat next to the bed on his knees staring in awe at his sleeping god. Waking up to that sort of fanaticism was just never as glorious as Light thought it should be. But he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the way Mikami had worshipped him in every way. And L… of course L had commented on it as only one could comment on the same dull fact. He’d first noticed during the Yotsuba investigation, when they were handcuffed—he still noticed to this day—and he continued to point out the oddity, to him anyway, that Kira, of all people, was blessed with the rarest ability to sleep in utter peace, without guilt, without worry, without remorse.

Of course L would say that. L rarely slept. And when he did, his body was usually tied up in knots—scrunched positions, fretful tossing—there was no sleeping peacefully for him…not by himself anyway. In Light’s arms he was more settled, like a child who’d knocked himself out running in circles, pale cheek squished on Light’s shoulder, thumb firmly planted between his lips—the rest of him dead weight anchored to Light’s body. Light would only notice if he woke up in the wee enough hours to catch L so vulnerable. Otherwise L woke up before he did, and was already hard at work before the first rays of dawn.

Point being however, Light didn’t dream. Not usually, not often—and he couldn’t quite remember if it had always been that way. He’d rarely lost sleep over schoolwork, never fretted over tests, piano recitals, tennis matches, debate championships—dating was easy, girls threw themselves at him, followed him around, gave him tokens of affection, silly little love letters, huddled in groups to giddily discuss his every finer point. Friends looked up to him—he was the one with advice, the one who had all the answers, the one who’s poise and ability just commanded respect without him ever having to lift much of a finger at all. It just came naturally to him, which made it so utterly boring. L had chastised him once, not long ago, when things were at their worst and Light was on his knees, an utter wreck, having lost the one piece of himself that had ever meant anything real to him—he’d had it all, and he threw it all away. Wasted brilliance, wasted youth, wasted beauty. It was an odd thing for L to address, made Light wonder in hindsight if L had envied the normalcy of Light’s perfect life, since there was nothing about L even remotely normal. It wasn’t jealousy he detected but sadness—regret…disappointment.

And yet, for as much as L had trumped up that Yagami Raito was the person he’d fallen in love with, recent events had only cemented the notion of how wrong L must have realized he was. Yagami Raito—perfect as perhaps he had been—was essentially boring, useless and mundane—brilliant with no outlet to use it, cultured, talented and companionable with no need to use it, and beautiful with no reason to use it. L would have never spared him a second glance if not for Kira. Just as L was well aware only Kira could solve this case. Only Kira could catch Kira…and only Kira could ever defeat…L.

Maybe it was that last thought, as he had been discussing it with the members of the ring—that made Light dream that night. As it was, the ring—at least the circle he was quickly adopted into, was comprised of top minds. There were no Sakura-television advocates among these people. They were the cream of their crops, brilliant, accomplished, the very people Kira always knew would understand and support his work. The very people he wanted left standing when all the trash was cleared away. And they were well aware that they were the chosen—he’d been more successful than L had led him to believe about the reach of his influence. These people had gotten it—they’d seen and interpreted and learned and knew…and he loved them for it. He wanted them to know who he was—suspicions were already stirring. The notion that he was Japanese had been brought up in roundabout ways many times by a variety of prominent members, and the eagerness with which they wanted to make his real life acquaintance was beyond encouraging. These were his people and they were looking for him.

They’d formulated a fair amount of theories about what had become of Kira. Given recent events with the 5th Kira weeding out whole prisons, any ordinary follower would assume Kira was still active—hit a speed bump perhaps, but undefeated. The ring had assumed nothing of the sort. There didn’t seem to be one significant member among them who’d even considered the current Kira was the true one. They knew, because they were involved, because among their numbers were the ones behind it. They were also fairly certain that whatever had become of the real Kira, was L’s fault. From there it was split down the center between those who believed Kira was dead—caught and executed in secret by L and his associates—and those who believed Kira was alive, and being detained somewhere. Arguments on both sides were strong of course, and it was basically a no-brainer that the ones in favor of Kira being alive, were the ones using the 5th Kira to flush out information.

They were brilliant minds, but Light had the information to make them all take a second look at their theories. To some, he had an extraordinary ability to think outside of the box; his theories in favor of Kira still being alive, giving most of them pause. To others, he had too much to say about the matter, as if he knew, for certain, what the truth was. And that he was counting on. Those were the ones who wanted to meet him—and he knew he had to be convincing enough on sight to make them believe he was indeed who they were hoping he was. It wouldn’t be hard either. L had seen it immediately.

The notion that Kira was L’s prisoner had planted itself in formidable brains. As soon as Light infiltrated their ring, they would already know L was behind it. He was on L’s leash, and his church was looking to sever that tie to free him…and kill L. The Death Note would fall into his hands, the 5th Kira would be eliminated, Ryuk would win his game, and with L and Mello’s real names…it would be a quick end to a long war. Of course, he’d have to do it before L realized that trusting Kira was futile—hence avoiding that whole Kill Switch issue; but Light was confident it could be done.

It was perfect and it was all completely in his favor. Every step and measure had the world poised to be in Kira’s hands once again—and all obstacles eliminated for good.

So why then, if the plan was so appallingly perfect, was it giving him nightmares? Why did he wake up that morning, tangled in sheets, drenched in sweat with his heart hammering madly in his chest?

The network message blinked on the screen from the bed table:

Light, all warrants on L's life on behalf of the mafia have been revoked. Worry about the Kira supporters and I'll take care of the rest.

-M

And Light stared at it for a moment, collecting himself. He leaned over and typed in the response. The plan was still perfect…he could even win Mello over if he worked hard enough at it. The damn brownies worked like a charm…he was so unabashedly Kira in front of all of them, and it was the necessary tactic they had all accepted.

So why, just then, did it hurt so deeply inside…