Redeemer

So the morning found him up earlier than originally anticipated. By the time nine o'clock rolled around, Mello was begrudgingly in the kitchen, sipping at freshly brewed coffee and thinking himself mad for actually having risen in the first place. It was as he eyed the sunlit windows that surveyed the gardens and vineyards beyond, that he decided he would award himself another hour or two before returning to the grueling task of speed reading various texts in order to properly respond to L's damnable pop quizzes. That and, well, frankly after the detective's parting comments the previous night, the blonde just needed some extra time to mull over what had happened between he and Light.

Thus, mug in hand, and riding boots strapped on over skin-tight leather, Mello ventured out back through the gardens. The girl was surprised - no, delighted - to see him. Looking up from her chores with laughter upon her eyes. "I thought you'd given up on me."

"Nah," he grinned, approaching the stall where the mare came to meet him, nuzzling the offered hand affectionately.

"She likes you."

"The sentiment's mutual. May I?" he asked, casting the girl a sidelong glance.

She laughed. "As if you have to ask. Saddle's there," she nodded to the opposite wall. "Had I known you were coming, I would have geared her up."

"That's fine, I can do it myself," Mello assured her with a wink and watched the pink flush across her smoothly tanned features. Ah. Refreshing. Ten minutes later, properly geared, Mello was tearing across the property, finding that the cool morning breeze and pure adrenaline worked—in some ways—better than the caffeine itself. But then again, it was a change. An enjoyable one at that. His mind cleared, but the question remained even as he launched over the low wooden fencing: just what had happened yesterday morning?

Something had changed and Mello was not sure when or why or even how. Light had practically confessed what some would call unspeakable feelings for him, catching himself at the last moment but the words were too precise. It was out. Regardless of what he had meant by it, regardless of whether or not he had stumbled uncharacteristically over his words. It was out and it fucked with Mello's mind more than he cared to admit.

What sort of outsider's perspective did L have that Mello was not seeing? What goddamned conclusion had the detective drawn from this particular cluster? And yet as much as he wanted to hear it, Mello cringed thinking about it. Did he truly want to know? Yeah... he did and yet, it frightened him.

It was one thing to share a bed with Kira, another all together to have that developing into something more. Something a shitload more complicated because once feelings and emotions got involved, people got hurt. And yet... did those basic rules even apply to the lot of them? Mello frowned, coming to a halt. The mare protested, spinning twice in place, exhilarated and wanting to continue. It was unlikely that anyone ever allowed her to run like this. He glimpsed up toward the villa. Thoughtful. The curiosity was positively killing him.

Goddamnit L.

Mello spun the mare again and continued to the paths of the lush villa gardens where his pace slowed to a canter and he was just taking it all in, the rich scenery—low orchard boughs, high drooping canopy raining cool shadows down from above. His thoughts continued to relay over the topic, without scratching too much of the surface—quite deliberately. Was it better to leave things as they were? Or allow them to come out?

Mello heard the accompanying gallop drawing up from behind and his ears perked. Someone else was riding? Come from the villa—it could have been his favorite horse handler to keep him company. He’d seen the admiring look in her eyes on every occasion of their meeting, so it wouldn’t surprise him. He did the math, could have also been Linda—he remembered she did have a love of horses, wouldn’t have surprised him to discover she’d learned to ride after leaving Wammy’s.

He wouldn’t have been surprised with either of those outcomes, which only meant that the truth of the matter would surprise him. And it did, because L was on a horse, and L was in riding boots, and L rode extraordinarily well for someone they all though couldn’t stand up straight or sit in a chair normally to save his life. Mello had seen some evidence to the contrary back in Rome, but yeah—L was the last person any of them would put on horseback—unless he was balanced crouching in the saddle…which he wasn’t.

“Seemed like a good opportunity to join you, Mello,” he said flatly.

L with proper posture made him appear so much different from usual—it almost made Mello think that he crouched and slouched on purpose so everyone would underestimate his more capable physique. The blonde raised an eyebrow as if to say as much, but L’s expression belied nothing.

So much for keeping his thoughts to himself a little while longer. His expression did not give him away but he was nevertheless positively certain L was all too aware of the endless questions plaguing him. "'Morning," Mello greeted, pulling himself together and nudging the mare onward. "If I didn't know better," he said after a few moments of silence. "I'd say you seek out creative ways to torment me." The comment was said lightly, in jest. There was even the briefest of smirks upon his lips and there was the fact that, of course, he knew better. He was positively certain that L had sought him out with a purpose. He'd said it himself the previous night: there was always a purpose to what he did.

“Really?” L sounded aloof, “There’s truly a lot more I could do if I wanted to torment you.” Ha.

Mello smiled, God yes, why tempt him? It was no secret to Mello that there was a bit of sadist in L.

“Didn’t know you could ride,” Mello replied matter-of-fact, conceding to that phantom sentiment that L was more than he usually let on.

“I grew up in Winchester,” L replied. “And Deneuve was able to ride, so that’s when I perfected it.”

Ah yes, Deneuve. One of the two detectives with whom L had warred and won their codes. L had told Mello of the wars themselves, but had neglected to mention just how he handled the titles thereafter, so that was an interesting statement. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the topic looming over their heads, and Mello knew he was subconsciously diverting his attention to avoid the inevitable.

L began: “What was it that struck you most about yesterday morning?”

He said it softly enough, and with a slant of understanding rather than cold-hard interrogating curiosity.

"The sudden flip-flop," Mello answered without having to truly think about it. And for a moment he didn't quite want to acknowledge the fact that he was indeed about to go down this road with L and discuss in near-detail what had happened the previous morning, but there was no avoiding it and thus, chewing thoughtfully upon his bottom lip, deepened the explanation. "I don't know what set it off, as if a switch had just been thrown but I can't even remember what I might've done or said to warrant it." His sunglasses were tugged off and perched on top of his head, squinting a bit at the morning brightness that filtered in through the trees. "And..." he hesitated then. "He slipped and spoke without thinking; without a proper plan of action. If there was ever a time I've seen him make a blunder it was then."

“Agreed,” L said. Voyeurism was second nature to L, so he didn’t even make an excuse for having watched, when most normal people would have at least been embarrassed to admit it. It went without saying. It had actually been rather hard for Mello to accept in recent history, that L had a sexuality at all. He was the mentor, on occasion the big brother, and he’d made it so his outward persona—the childish antics, the infantile posture, the sweets, the big round eyes—did not overtly speak of anything even remotely sexual—in fact quite the opposite.

The notion that L and Light—who at the time seemed just as asexual, ironic that—had developed a relationship in the bedroom was as blasphemous as it was bizarre and rather disturbing. Light, ultimately proved he was sex on legs. L—lately L was proving there was much more to him than they’d all come to accept. He was most likely, just as sexual and depraved as his lover and heir were—he’d also seen a lot more of the dark side of human nature than either of them could truly fathom. 3,500+ cases worth.

They slowed their horses down to a walk, side by side, Mello on his mare, L on his sleek white stallion. He and the animal seemed to understand each other, which was interesting.

“I have two opposing theories,” the detective muttered. And that just alluded to the fact that even Kira’s bedroom activities—well, especially Kira’s bedroom activities—were as intrinsic to the case of him as everything else Light did. “I’m not sure which gives Light more credit. The first, is the one I loathe to entertain: he’s acting. His stage has become so intimate lately, that he’s dug down to the deepest reaches of each one of us to play us by. And he does it so well, it’s seamless now—there’s nothing left of him as a genuine person, and everything he does is with scheming ambition and malicious intent. We are all manipulated as it is, and we are aware of it to a point, but he’s taken it further, and where we give him credit that the game somehow has an end, and thereafter is the real him—we’re actually gravely mistaken and there is no end. It’s all Kira’s ploy, and he plays it like a pro. Every gasp, every tear, every word—it’s all thought-out, premeditated and executed with exacting and effective precision. That puts him leaps and bounds ahead of us in the game, and we can’t really hope to catch up.”

That was a rather grating and terrifying perspective.

“You don’t believe that,” Mello countered.

“No,” L replied. “I don’t believe it. But is that because I don’t want to believe it? As much as it pains me, I keep it open on the back burner because he is Kira. That was how he did operate when I first met him. He was essentially a novice compared to these standards then, but if he maintained his MO without variance, then yes, I can certainly see this being the case. It’s an art in which he has achieved mastery. It would mean he is, beyond reason, completely and utterly: inhuman. Not even I can go so far.”

Mello felt the need to chew his thumb at that moment, and then caught himself mid-gesture. “I just don’t get the sense that it’s all an act,” he said.

“Nor do I,” L replied. “If I did, then he would be in a 5x8’ cell without windows for the rest of his natural life.” The detective stroked his steed’s mane. “Which brings me to the second theory, and that’s actually more convoluted. We determined that he was angry at you the night before due to your inability or lack of desire to see through his charades and read into—for lack of a better word—his feelings. Feelings on what? That’s key I think. Feelings on his death—of course. Let’s examine: I killed him, he begged me not to—it was a horrible experience for both of us, but to survive that with the precise knowledge that yes, your lover followed through and indeed ended your life—despite the anomaly that reversed the outcome—that’s the kind of knowledge one does not simply brush away. Or at the very least, the complexity of our relationship withstanding—it’s not something one ignores without some manner of reconciling the resulting psychological ramifications. Such a thing should be between me and him—but you showed him your feelings and grief on the matter—and he has established emotional connections to you that make him crave that—he wants you to sympathize and he wants you to care and he wants you to ultimately console him. He wants to know you missed him, he wants to know that the thought of him dead, wounded you deeply.”

L took out a lollipop, deftly unwrapping it and sucking it between his lips. “What other feelings did he want you to deduce? The SPK incident? Yes, that too. They did truly horrible things to him, and I know he has not dealt with them in any therapeutic way. So what if his way of reconciling the fact that he was brutally and repeatedly raped at their hands is to essentially reenact the sexuality of it through sadomasochistic measures with you—all the while knowing that in your hands he will not be truly hurt, that in the end the pain will turn to pleasure and you will hold him and comfort him in the aftermath? Let’s say that is the case—consciously or unconsciously. Classic hurt/comfort behavior. In that context, let’s look at yesterday. His anger is childish and begrudging because he doesn’t really want to be angry with you, he just wants to garner the appropriate reaction from you—he wants you to consider his feelings, to consider him in general. You take the creative way around appeasing him, by turning playful and beginning a seduction. That works just as well—he craves that attention. But then you strike him. Why you did is part of your psychology which we are not dissecting—so let’s just say you didn’t strike him because you wanted to cause him harm, but because it’s a turn on. I won’t delve deeper than that—that’s for you to do. But what is his reaction? He’s confused. The game was going one way—a familiar way he was in control of. He’d let his guard down and you surprised him, so his gears switch and he sees this as what I just described in relation to his SPK experience. You’ll hurt him and save him, and this works for him, it helps him get through what happened—except, you hurt him more than he perhaps anticipates, or maybe it’s in your manner—maybe there is a moment where he wonders if this has gone beyond foreplay and what you really do desire, is to hurt him. Not love him, not comfort him after whatever kink the two of you have delved in before—this is terrain he’s suddenly afraid of because now it borders too closely on what actually happened. So he loses control of the game, the façade slips, there’s actual fear and concern ruling him and the only way he can see if you mean what you’re doing or not, is to put an end to it. You’re ultimately concerned reaction over him doing this—and let’s be frank, Kira never just forfeits—is exactly what he was looking for—and he warms again to you, morseo than before because he has his confirmation that you care. His slip up in confessing his love…in this context…may in fact, then—be genuine.”

Shit. Mello had listened closely, paying attention every step of the way and it was almost unnerving that the thoughts he had kept out of reach in the back of his mind were explained so goddamned cohesively back to him. Shit, he hissed again somewhere in the cluster of conflicting thoughts. "And that you do believe..." he mulled on it quietly, chewing on his bottom lip and cursing his lack of a proper cocoa stimulant.

But goddamn. It made sense. Every last bit of it made sense the way L had managed to break it down and explain it back to him. How had Mello not seen it? Was he truly that bloody goddamned weary lately to miss out on the subtle nuances? It was infuriating in a way, which in turn only left him confused and grasping at straws. Because in the end, what was he to do about all this? What was there to even do? "Why is it that suddenly I feel as if I've bitten off more than I can chew?" he said reluctantly through gritted teeth.

L spent a moment sucking on his lollipop. “Mello, I’ve explained Light’s behavior, I’m not telling you to bend to his whim. If you simply let this incident go without looking back, he will fall into step. Sometimes he prefers it that way. What happened was at the mercy of the moment, another time he may have followed through to the inevitable sexual conclusion. Light, ironically, operates on subtleties. If you want to pull away from him, you just do it—you don’t spell it out, you don’t break it to him gently, you just do it and he will figure it out. That’s if you truly do feel like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Except, I think that is your anxiety talking. From what I can see, the two of you need each other and the change in both of you is desirable from where I’m standing. We’ve already discussed the importance of endearing ourselves to Kira through relationships. But have you noticed just how much he has changed you? You’ve matured, you’ve mellowed—no pun intended—you’re able to step back and look at things with perspective when you used to just immediately fly off the handle. Several months ago I would not have definitively chosen you as my heir. Watching the way you’ve handled this case and Kira in particular has swayed my decision considerably.”

Mello shot L a look, puzzled - no, perhaps alarmed was a more suitable term. He blinked, eyes narrowing at the not-so-subtle meaning of those words. Therein lay the ultimate irony, didn't it? It had taken Kira to change him in such a way that he would be fit to fill the roll as L. Add on that it should have been Light himself in his spot right now and the irony was through the bloody roof. Ah, the fates being humorous yet again. "I'm not saying I will pull away but..." But what? The truth of the matter was that he did not want to pull away. That he enjoyed the time spent with the little bastard, all insults aside. It was just part of the charm, of the ever surprising relationship between them. So what was he saying?

He was at a loss. Mello had no bleeding idea what to do because he was just as surprised by the events as Light had been. Because it was not according to plan. In fact, the plan had committed suicide somewhere down the line and left them floating along with the ever changing tide.

Shit.

“Ride with me,” L said, as if that was the answer, and he spurred his mount on, Mello following suit quickly, his thoughts perhaps racing as fast as the horses were. L led him down and around the vineyards to a wooded grove, still part of the property, but rather out of sight of the villa. He slowed up then back to a canter as they headed through a densely wooded path, the flora lush and exotic.

“It’s an impressive piece of land, isn’t it?” L said.

Mello’s eyebrow quirked at the topic having been so suddenly dropped. But this was L, all things for a reason…

“Yeah,” he managed, not really here nor there.

“I considered getting something on the water, but I figured that would be more dangerous ultimately to defend—“ L continued, “unless it was high up on a cliff; but I wasn’t ready to tempt anyone to jump off—so this will do.” he still led slightly, the path winding down and around, and through the trees emerged what seemed to be a small structure of some sort—like a servant’s quarters Mello realized.

They passed it—it was compact and quaint but somewhat luxurious all the same. Long glass doors and windows, like a miniature version of the villa. From his vantage point Mello couldn’t tell if it was lived in—it seemed furnished, but the glare on the windows made it hard to discern exactly what was inside.

“I forgot this was here, actually,” L said.

No he didn’t. He’d led them straight to it.

Mello let it slide. “Servants quarters?” He offered.

“I would imagine,” L replied. “It does belong to the villa, but I haven’t designated anyone to live in it. I suppose it’s good to take note of, for emergency’s case. It’s fully furnished and has all the utilities.” L shrugged. “Just a bit out of the way though.”

He sped up a tad. “We should head back—it’s almost time for afternoon tea.”

The blonde followed, sparing the building a glimpse over his shoulder before spurring the mare to catch up with the detective. That had been no random occurrence that L had led him here. There was nothing random about showing him this place but… brows furrowed. What was the purpose? Just what was he trying to encourage without saying so much? It wasn’t like L to beat around the bush but while the detective was not spelling it out bluntly, this was not so subtle either. In fact, it was positively convenient.

“Afternoon tea?” Mello questioned, catching up. “I couldn’t have possibly been out here that long.” And goddamnit, he didn’t even have a watch on him to confirm the hour. But it sure as hell was not time for afternoon tea. Lunch perhaps. He glimpsed up at the sun and frowned. L was fucking with him.

* * *

By the time afternoon tea finally did come around – two hours later – after a brief lunch Mello had grabbed out of the kitchen on his way back from the ride to bury himself in his work, those damned pop quizzes had been returned and he sat in front of the windows, book in hand thoughts elsewhere. Tea was brought, and after just a few sips he had practically forgotten about it. It was difficult to focus when L’s voice still flitted about in his thoughts, tormenting him with truths and observations he had not wanted to look so deeply into. But yet again, his own actions had come back to bite him in the arse. Damnit. Mello cursed quietly under his breath and looked away from the windows to further attempt some headway with the text lying across his lap.

Although the determination was most definitely there, the concentration was not and Mello found himself abandoning the study an hour later, strolling quietly through the hallways, fingers hooking on the two forward most beltloops of his pants, eyes downcast and thoughtful. It was easy to put aside the details that troubled him; it was easy to go on about his day with cool, teasing facades without a worry in the world, but the events of the prior morning and his more recent conversation with L troubled him. Because it had gotten out of hand in a way he had not been ready to deal with.

He had been charged to look after Light in Rome and while to do so was also to keep him occupied in the bedroom since it was just part of the rules, Mello had never considered the ramifications of what future events would bring. Never once thinking ahead to non-immediate consequences. The attachment had been formed on a level he could hardly wrap his mind around. A strange sort of bond he could not – no, did not want to – understand because it extended beyond mind games into a more serious playing field. Light felt for him. It was hard to ignore, impossible to deny. But what was there to do about it? What could he do about it? What of his own feelings? – what of all he had already done for Light’s sake? The sex was only an added bonus. Mello risked his life, he’d gone out of his way many a times to see that he was all right. He’d honestly mourned Kira’s death – and that above all, the tears, the desperation, the sense of loss and hopelessness scared him the most. Because as L had pointed out, it was more than a bout of sympathy.

Mello turned the corner, passing the music room which for now was deserted and after just a couple of steps past the doorway, he paused, lifting his gaze to the double doors, narrowing ever slightly as he remembered yet another detail L had managed to let slip.

The closet was built expertly into the wall. It was big enough to step into and finding the light switch, Mello threw it to explore. The cello case was easy to find, sleek and black against the off-white wall. He plucked it from its spot, lowering the case down to the floor. Mello crouched, running his fingers along the smooth edge, finding the fasteners which he flicked open in unison.

His jaw practically dropped the moment he set eyes upon the instrument inside. This wasn’t a random purchase. L had gone out of his way to make sure this beauty would be here at Mello’s disposal. Knilling’s Klaus Geisler Maggini Cello. He touched the strings, then sliding his hand around its European Maple neck, he lifted it from its velvety bed. Regardless of whether or not L was practically made of money, one did not just happen to spend eight grand on something that might or might not get used. “Damnit L… what are you playing at here?” Mello murmured.

Whatever it happened to be, it might have just worked because the moment the blonde plucked the strings, having to tune just one of the four to his liking, he’d been captured. It was years since he had played but he was pretty sure it would be something akin to riding a bike – something that would come back just as easily as if he had just played a concerto the previous day. To play it here, however, would be asking for unwanted attention before he was ready to give it. With that in mind, he replaced it back into the case which was hoisted off the floor short moments later.

Perhaps that mysteriously empty servant’s quarters would come in handy sooner than anticipated.

* * *

It didn’t come to Mello’s attention right away because he was so otherwise occupied—but Light was avoiding him. It occurred to L quite immediately because Light was wont to leave his side for much of the day.

The chill was just coming into the air at twilight, and it really couldn’t be called a chill, but they were spread out on a blanket across the grass just beyond the main veranda, and L could feel it coming up from the ground, through the fabric and into his bare feet. He was balanced with his laptop, Light lounging beside him, head propped on his jacket, nose buried in a book—which meant Light had to be feeling it in his back—and if he wasn’t now, he would soon.

They’d been having one of those days where barely a word passed between them for hours—but they were never further than 5 feet from each other…five feet exactly. Their brains were both so accustomed to that phantom chain, they did the math without even realizing. It was the comfort of equal but opposite presence and only when L’s mind wandered off the cases he was working on, did he take the time to sketch out thoughts on just why Light was avoiding Mello.

It came down to the most obvious possibility first: he still didn’t know how to recover his slip-up from the morning before, or essentially deal with the feelings Mello provoked in him. That choice had L’s vote. The other choices included some cliché sentiments: Light was feeling ashamed and embarrassed about the incident from the perspective of the S&M. Unlikely, given the chance, L was sure Light would suffer the ignominy of being beaten or spanked for the sake of kink quite willingly. Of course Light could still be feeling slightly burned about Mello not so outwardly returning his feelings, or coddling him over his problems. Maybe in that infantile segment of Kira’s frontal lobe there was some lingering of that—but not so much to dwell on at present…

* * *

The first note resounded with surprisingly impressive acoustics the moment the bowstring came down with a languid lick across the strings. Furnished it might have been, but the tall ceilings and wide open airy sun room carried sound better than Mello could have possibly expected. Sheets were set over the furniture to safeguard it until use. One now lay crumpled on the floor, feet away from the tall chair that had been turned around to face the wide span of windows. Leather creaked softly, skidding against polished maple. Mello was hesitating, thinking perhaps too much time had passed to be able to produce something with the same ease he had once played.

It had practically been second nature once and Mello grinned despite himself, forehead touching the cool, ornate wood as he remembered the arguments and the horrified looks reflected across the faculty of Wammy's House when each concerto he was entrusted with turned out just a tad different from the same streamlined classical bullshit everyone else took so much pride in reproducing. What was the point in copying someone else's work without applying even an inkling of creative effort? Mello’s left hand fell to the strings, fingers falling with ease to the familiar positions.

Within minutes his apprehension passed and while still slightly rusty, he found himself warming up to cliche classics that were more master than rust. It was easy to lose himself then, to give into each swaying stroke and let everything else crumble away, all but the deep melody that filled his ears and resonated against his chest. As if all the answers previously kept away were suddenly within grasp and ready for the taking. But it did not seem to matter so much. It all felt trivial in the grander scheme of things and he realized with foreign clarity that he'd simply... worried too much. What use was that? Since when did he - of all people - beat himself up over unexplainable questions of the heart? That was not like him. That was silly. No, it was stupid.

Mello’s brows furrowed as his left hand glided quickly along the neck, hitting perfect notes in quick succession. He was testing himself. Testing the dexterity that might just have been lost with the years and yet, he found it firmly in place as the quick run was then drawn out on a single note. Mello awarded himself with a smirk and square of raspberry cocoa which he sucked deliberately, allowing it to melt on his tongue.

L knew what he was doing in not only purchasing the instrument, but also in making it known that it was available. At such a convenient time, too. Bastard thought of everything.

* * *

They were sitting on the remnants of an old stone wall that bordered the lower edge of the garden when Light turned to him and slipped his arms around L’s waist, nuzzling affectionately into the crook of L’s neck. The detective’s gaze slid warily to him, but he didn’t call anything immediately to attention, keeping Kira content by rubbing that special button in the back of his neck that made him purr.

There was a fairly good view of the sun setting over the vineyards from their vantage point, and granted L had been the one to press the idea of a walk around the property, and Light had followed, as quietly and behaved as he used to be back when he was still professing his innocence during the Kira case. But his sugary affection at that moment was not so much strategy as it was a schmaltzy diversion—it really only honed L’s attention in on the matter at hand.

“What do you think of Mello?” L said rather bluntly.

Light stiffened and covered it over quickly. It would have been imperceptible to anyone but L.

“Don’t ask me that,” Light said with a slim shade of defensiveness.

“Why not?”

“Because you know what Mello and I have been doing.”

Light rested his head on L’s shoulder, arms still linked around him, gaze on the landscape. He was leaning against the waist-high garden wall and L was crouching on top of it, which made him that much taller.

“That’s not what I asked,” L replied, still rubbing Light’s neck with one hand rather nonchalantly. “Of course I know what you’re doing, we’ve been over that. I want to know what you think of him.”

“In terms of being your heir?” Oh now Kira was playing dumb—and that was as much a dig at L’s methods as it was a genuine and rather paltry attempt to avoid the subject…ha. Kira wasn’t going to impart with information too quickly, and this was almost prime timing to slam him with blunt observations, which was what Light was now expecting…ironically L held back, fingers still expertly working the nape of his lover’s neck to keep his hackles from rising—almost literally.

“If that’s what you think I’m asking,” he replied.

“Doesn’t matter what I think you’re asking,” Light said, “I know what you’re asking, but I’m not going to answer.”

“Then there’s no point in pursuing this conversation,” L answered.

Light pulled back, amber gaze meeting black one—neither yielding in the least. “Are you jealous?”

L blinked—more like a bored cat than an owl. “I’m not playing this game with you, Light,” he said flatly.

Light’s expression belied nothing. And L followed it up with: “Do you want me to be jealous?”

“Of course not.”

L snorted. “It would serve two purposes in your favor—it would cause a rift between myself and my heir, and it would feed your ego to have us both vying for your attention. Unfortunately for you, I have no intention of engaging in either.”

“No, I wouldn’t want that,” Light said, feigning innocence rather quaintly.

“Ah, so you’re genuinely concerned?” L muttered, feigning honesty.

“Of course I’m concerned—I love you,” his tone was all sugar.

L’s eyes narrowed, but the sun was shining in them. “Don’t say that,” he muttered.

Light’s arms tightened around his lover. “Why, you don’t believe me?”

“Not when you say it.”

Light smirked, “Do you love me?” he asked. And this game was fairly despicable.

“You know the answer to that,” L replied steadily.

Light scoffed. “You certainly have a funny way of showing it.”

“I haven’t tried to kill you in several days,” L replied, the barb firmly and knowingly in place. “That should count for something.”

* * *

They were still sitting there, the picturesque sight of peaceful, when Mello thundered by several yards away, no doubt having lost track of time. It wasn't until he had passed that his brain processed what he'd caught out of the corner of his eye and glimpsed over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't imagined it. And sure enough, picture perfect it was. The blonde chuckled and shook his head, detouring toward the stables.

"There you are!" The outburst had him practically skidding to a stop, hand against the doorframe where he'd caught himself to peek into the workroom. "Been looking all over the place for you," Matt said, unburying himself beneath the array of laptops and wires and god knows what else he managed to tangle himself into - and somehow make it out with practiced ease.

"Lost track of time. Something happen?"

"No, but Linda had wanted to drill you earlier. She's been locked away in your study for the majority of the afternoon. Where the hell did you disappear off to?" It was honest curiosity that made him question it because while generally it was easy to deduce what was going on when both Mello and Light mysteriously disappeared, Light had been glued to L's side for the great majority of the day. A strange sight, but reassuring nevertheless, he supposed, to know where Kira was at all times.

"Jus' been out riding to clear my head." Which, in of itself was not a lie. Quite the contrary, they were two truths warped into one. But due to the nature of the circumstances, it was best that the redhead was not immediately familiar with the quaint servant's quarters hidden away in the lush gardens. "What was it she wanted?"

"What do you think?" Matt scoffed, nodding sideways toward the hall and thus accompanying him back to the study.

Two paces in Mello groaned. Naturally she wanted to drill him on the previous night's conversation. And in turn, B. Damnit. He couldn't say that he was particularly in the mood to delve back into the mind of that particular psychopath just when he had managed to give himself a break. Behind him, Matt chuckled as Mello opened the door and Linda's eyes immediately darted up to look at him. Before she could get a word out, however, he held up a hand. "Before you ask anything," he said, skirting around her to pry open one of his desk drawers. A memory stick was found and promptly tossed across the way to her. "That's the case along with what I've been able to piece together."

Linda blinked at it, and while it looked as if she might be insulted at first, winked, gathered her things and practically bolted from the room with a hurried thanks tossed over her shoulder.

"That's cheating," Matt grinned, sinking down into the couch.

"No, it's thinking fast."

"And this?" the redhead asked, trying as he might to keep the amusement from his tone as Mello approached him, leather clad knee already pressing against the couch cushion, hands extending to firmly capture inked wrists.

"A distraction. There's far too many lately," Mello muttered, bowing down over his lover's sprawled body.

"Just a distraction?"

"Yea," the blonde grinned. "Shh..." he teased, touching a finger to the redhead's lips before sliding it downward along his torso, only to hook it beneath the metal of his belt buckle, which was yanked open with little resistance.

"Linda's bound to come back..."

"Likely."

"You twisted fuck."

* * *

It wasn’t that Light looked wounded, it was that he sobered up. That was L’s intention—a game to push away the games Light was using to hide from him. It was the wrong comment at the precise moment to sting the way it was meant to, and Light went from looking sober to looking naked. They faced each other, stark gazes intertwined, and Light’s arms had loosened, and L had stopped his ministrations—and if a thousand words could be said in their silence, they were—and equally heard.

Light pulled away then, but L caught him. There was a moment of struggle, but the detective was immovable, and in a moment he had Light trapped against him and was kissing him forcefully. His lover fought him for only so much longer before he was clinging instead—clinging and clawing deeply at L’s arms, into his hair—angry and miserable at the same time—the fissure split wide when he’d had it so tightly pinched closed all day. L always knew how to poke, where to poke, to get it all to spill fiercely out.

“I hate you,” Light growled, panting. He only said it because he meant the opposite—but that went without saying. It only ever went without saying when he meant it. And L tasted like sugar, but that was to hide the bitterness, and he only truly tasted like sugar before Light bit him, and then he tasted like blood—but neither of them cared.

Other than rare circumstances—such as several that had happened in Rome where things were unavoidable and in some cases, strategy—L and Light did not make it habit to conduct their sex life in public. And whereas the villa’s wide expanse of property almost ensured them privacy—Mello had only just stalked by moments earlier.

“I’m not fucking you out here,” Light growled, and as angry and miserable and laced with passion their make out session was, neither had broken away.

“Who says you’re fucking me,” L managed, long fingers constricting somewhat tightly around Light’s throat—it wrangled half a snarl and half a gasp from his often too-conflicted lover; who only kissed him back deeper. L had to rise up on one knee to balance, and as it was, much of his weight was now dependent on Light’s own resistance. They were like two rams who’d locked horns—it was a constant problem.

“Mello just walked by,” Light grit, and L scoffed against his ear.

“So?”

“I don’t want him to see us.”

“Yes you do,” L replied deftly—correctly. “As much as you want me to see the two of you.”

“You pervert!” Light hissed, “You’ll watch no matter what I want.”

“That may be,” L replied, and he had to dig his fingers into Light’s back to keep him close; “But it doesn’t change the fact that the only way you think either of us can prove our love for you is to be jealous of one another.”

“Fuck you, L,” Light growled.

“Not today,” the detective growled back. To illustrate his point, he managed to slam Light to the cool grass and pin him there with one swift and far-too effective lunge from the wall. The air rushed out of Light’s lungs on impact, and he found himself staring up into the detective’s pale face, rather stunned.

The quickly darkening sky dropped shadows deeply into the hollows of L’s features. “Of course, why we love you at all is sometimes a complete mystery to me,” L muttered, fingers making quick work of the buttons on Light’s shirt, parting fabric to reveal skin. “—and that’s saying something.”

Light’s face twisted angry at that, and he struggled harder, but L had both his wrists scooped in one hand, pinning them over his head. Light bucked, but it was all part of ritual, because when could Kira ever freely give himself to L? And when could L ever freely give himself to Kira? It was rare. But by the time they’d torn clothes away, and were pushing and grinding each other into the ground, nails raking up dirt, clawing skin, Light’s moans lost in the space of the ether, it was fully dark out.

“We’re missing dinner,” Light panted, cheek pressed firmly to L’s shoulder, “They’re going to think we killed each other.”

“Probably,” L managed, as incoherent as Light was with every brutal thrust, but Light still waited for the detective to complete that thought.

“Let them,” L breathed, “It’ll keep them on their toes.”

* * *

Indeed, it was already fifteen minutes into dinner and while Light had in the past made it a habit to being fashionably late, L was usually the first one at the table, but the pile of pastries and desserts remained untouched, on the opposite side Light’s seat also remained cryptically vacant.

“I wonder what happened…” Linda commented at last several minutes into the meal.

“They’re either trying to kill one another or shagging viciously into the ground,” Mello offered casually without looking up from his plate. And while he placed a piece of chicken into his mouth, half the table had practically spit out theirs. “What?” Linda asked incredulously.

“I’m not sure that was necessary, Mello,” Dr. Gregory commented, touching a napkin to his lips and regaining his composure, to which the blonde merely shrugged because hey, they all knew it to be the truth. And since one thing usually led to the other, he was more than likely right on both points.

“They were still outside half an hour ago,” Matt jumped in. “I’m sure L’s stomach will have him shuffling back in sooner or later.” His smirk was subtle but present nevertheless. Granted, that might also have something to do with the particularly pleased mood he found himself in at the present moment; being fucked mercilessly into any given surface tended to have that general affect on him. So what if he’d been forced to find a different colored shirt to hide the beads of blood on his back? Worth every minute. Then again, sex with Mello generally tended to be. And no one had ended up in the hospital yet. That was a wonder.

The conversation was quickly steered away from the topic of what L and Light may or may not have been doing out there and danced across a number of idle topics before Mello was put on the spotlight. “Caught up with all your work yet?”

He blinked, a sliver of bread and cheese halfway up to his mouth. That had been the good doctor, which was particularly awkward given the fact that Dr. Gregory only tended to drill on L for the most part. “Yeah, mostly…” Mello responded slowly, brow lifting as he shoved the bread into his mouth. Linda – bless her! – saved him without even realizing it. “Has L said anything regarding the scores?”

Across the table, Matt stiffened as the conversation suddenly plummeted into slightly more testy territory, his gaze lifting to look at his lover. “Nothing yet,” Mello muttered, taking a sip of his wine in order to mask his mild annoyance that the detective had indeed been too silent regarding his work thus far. And he’d done plenty between those goddamned evil quizzes and massive essays written in the wee hours of the night. Still no word on how he stood against the grand competition. Damnit.

“I’m sure you’re doing fine,” and Linda tried to rescue the topic, perhaps recognizing her mistake. “He’s said it himself that you’ve been working your arse off… it must be showing.” Matt cast her a look and Linda’s jaw snapped closed, silencing her attempts. It was best to play it safe.

“No need to quiet her, Matt, it’s fine. I know what I’m up against. I suppose the fact that L has yet to berate me on any given result thus far is a blessing.” Besides, there were plenty of other things L had been tormenting him with anyway. Schoolwork almost seemed insignificant, but oh how Mello knew it wasn’t. Despite all that was going on, despite the distractions and sidetracking, he was still responsible to come up with proper quality work. L’s expectations were a bit too high to simply laugh it off.

“Linda, are the files helpful?” Gears switched again.

“Yes, I’m halfway through the case file and crosschecking your notes. Feels like there’s a whole lot missing, but it’s starting to come together.”

“And what’s the situation in Rome like at the moment?” Ah back to business.

It was Matt who shrugged. “Little change. Near’s been quiet as a bloody rabbit, Bella’s running operations as expected. She thinks herself unchallenged. Why that brat has yet to move in for the kill, I don’t understand. She’s in his bleedin’ back yard. On the other hand, Misa is still at large. She vanished completely off the map, which in itself is an accomplishment all things considered. She’s carrying out judgments worldwide, while Bella’s taken to using the notebook for her personal gain at this point. There’s a mild stir in the Roman underground, but nothing anyone has caught onto just yet. Families have fallen quiet across Italy,” he cast Mello an intent look. “Either lying low or on momentary hiatus.”

The blonde frowned, spinning his fork against his plate in thought. Lying low huh? Even though he’d received a hit only days prior? But that was just the thing… his affiliation to the Italian mob did not include carrying out dirty jobs. This was a test in trade for favors called and lives lost. A test to see just where he stood in the grander scheme of things, which only meant that by being practically bound to this villa, the assassination must be damned well planned to make it seem that he had indeed carried it out. Damnit. He had yet to discuss the details of that particularly unfavorable topic with L, the latter clearly had some issues regarding the entire situation and Mello was not keen on broaching the subject so soon, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

Dessert had been served by the time they heard the sound of the garden door opening and closing, followed by the quiet murmur of familiar voices. Ah, not dead after all. A shag it must have been.

* * *

“I think I’m insulted,” L muttered.

“You and me both,” Light grumped beside him, and they were coming upon the dining room realizing that everyone was in their proper place, eating their meals, discussing mundane dinner subjects. “At least now I know if I want to murder you during dinner and escape, I can get away with it.”

“Unfortunately you have a point,” L deadpanned, and that was the part of their conversation everyone at the table got to overhear.

Light stopped just outside the door, L had the audacity to walk inside: “You all get demerits for not coming to check if I was still alive,” the detective said, holding up an index finger as if giving a lecture. Truth be told, there was probably reason to worry at the sight of him—he was caked in dirt, shirt torn, blood spattered, a particularly large blotch resembling running teeth marks staining the fabric at his shoulder. There was ground debris in his hair, and his lips were puffy and split.

Linda’s mouth tumbled open, Mello and Matt went owl-eyed, and if Kira wasn’t standing just out of sight (God-knows what condition he was in, but he was apparently hiding it with more shame than L had) the doctor would have literally sent the dogs after him.

“L, what in God’s name—?!” Gregory gruffed.

L waived the remark, grabbing a platter of desserts, loading it up with as much as he could carry, before balancing Light’s entrée on the other hand. “We were abducted by bears,” he said, completely flat, not even a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “but the demerit thing still stands. Mello, you should particularly worry.” And that was L’s parting words as he shuffled back out of the dining room, handing the covered entrée to the silhouette that was Light, before the two of them took off down the hall.

They dragged themselves into the master bath and stripped down as L ran the tub and Light shoveled ravioli into his mouth. “I’m starving,” he growled rather voraciously, face scratched, lips bloody, filthy from head to toe. He hadn’t undressed all the way either, too involved in gorging himself, so L had to assist him and drag him over to the giant tub. They both sunk down in the water, groaning, and clamoring for their meals.

“The bloody nerve,” L muttered sinking up to his neck in the warm sudsy bath, cramming an unidentified pastry into his mouth.

“I thought you weren’t looking for anyone to find us,” Light countered, deliberately kicking L under the water.

“No, that was your worry,” L mumbled, mouth full. “I don’t care if they brought popcorn to watch.”

“Either way,” Light continued, “I agree with the demerits—well deserved.”

L wolfed more cake and nodded rather aggressively. Of course their conditions were truly only due to sex, L and Light had no safe words—not like Light and Mello. If something hurt, if something drew blood, nicked a vein, broke a bone—‘no’ and ‘stop’ didn’t cut it if the other party was unwilling to cease and desist. There were no safe words in the world of L and Kira, and that was well understood. It was a battle, if one or the other wanted to end it, they had to fight for it. Likewise, if they wanted it at all, they had to fight for it. It didn’t always end up so gory, blame it on the outdoors air and that whole animal instinct thing. Blame it also on the notion that each of them knew they would heal more quickly than normal—that seemed to be the go ahead to inflict more damage than usual—but god it was gratifying.

Nevertheless, libidos were satisfied for the moment. And Light could tack this on as another excuse to further avoid Mello.

“You still haven’t told me about B,” Light said, balancing his food over the soap.

“Not while we’re eating,” L replied.

“I’m going to tie you up and torture it out of you,” Light mumbled back.

“Not while we’re eating,” L replied.

* * *

Awkward silence followed, and Mello was the first to laugh. Dr. Gregory looked appalled. “Bloody hell. He’s either out of his mind or has turned exhibitionist. I’ve seen enough to know when to go in with a search party or not.” Mello snickered to the other’s embarrassment and finished his coffee.

Five minutes later Mello was bursting shamelessly through the bathroom door, holding it open just so that he could hang inside, and with a grin at Light’s wide-eyed expression and L’s usual deadpan, challenge the detective’s earlier statement. “I negate that demerit on the simple fact I was well aware you two were enjoying a particularly healthy shag, regardless of the fact neither the good doctor nor Linda wanted to accept that as a plausible reason. Besides,” he paused, biting back the widening grin he felt wanting to spread across his lips. “I’m confident in your abilities to take care of yourself in a skirmish,” this he said directly to L, casting him a meaningful look. Sure, as if he was going to end up dead that easily. Kira might not know that particular secret, but Mello was well aware of the details. And with that, he added, “Enjoy.” He accentuated with a nod and backed out. “I’ll be in my study. Yell if you need me.”

Light’s brow knit. “He’s challenging you?”

L tilted his head back and gobbled a strawberry tart. “Seems so.”

“Is he stupid?”

L shrugged, “Let’s hope not, because if he is, he’ll be failing the next quiz I send his way.”

“You mean you’ll make him fail it.”

L slid Light what could only be described as an innocent look. “I would never do such a thing.”

“That’s harsh,” Light muttered, rimming a finger in ricotta cheese, but he was smirking as he said it. “I had a professor try to fail me once because I made him look bad.”

“And?” L replied.

Light grinned, “I made him look bad.”

“Spiteful,” L deadpanned.

“Look who’s talking,” Light simpered, finally setting his cleaned plate aside, he sunk down in the water as low as L was and sighed. “It was a healthy shag,” he purred.

L arched an eyebrow. “Most people would call our sexual habits unhealthy.”

Light shrugged. “Well, we’re not ‘most people’ so we don’t have to worry.”