Redeemer

When the kiss was finally broken, L’s eyes were wide and rather unreadable, and Mello smoothed the moment over by collecting himself to start the car and mutter: “Where to?” and “Do you want me to lose them now?”

“No,” L managed after a moment. He couldn’t have been shocked, not him of all people who relished a good mindfuck, but Mello entertained the notion as he took to the streets.

“A different location ensures that Veronique hasn’t had the time to tap it—but we’ll have her eyes on us regardless. To lose them will just tip her off that what she wants, is not what I’m prepared to pay—and I’m not talking about sex.”

“Then goddamnit, L,” Mello grunted. “Tell me why Light was sitting next to us the whole time, and you only decided to mention it after he was gone?! And don’t say you didn’t notice him—you sent him, now tell me why.”

L’s gaze trained out the window briefly. “I already told you earlier, Mello,” he said calmly. “There is only so much information I have on what Bella has been up to. Through Veronique and her connections I can access it—Light can’t, and he’s the one walking into the battlefield, not me.”

“You want him to know what he’s getting into…”

“Yes.”

“To protect him.”

“Yes.”

On the other end of the earpiece Matt cursed. Both Mello and L ignored him, because they all knew by now, L was going to do what he wanted when it came to Kira, regardless.

“So is he working with us? Or are you working with him?”

Mello shot L an edgy glance, only idly aware that he could still taste L on his lips—that it was sweet like sugar, and delicately commingled with wine, and goddamnit that should have been the furthest thing from his consciousness.

“Tell me honestly you’re not concerned for his wellbeing in this matter,” L said. “The fact that he showed is proof enough he himself is aware he doesn’t have all the necessary information.”

“But he left before we said anything worthwhile,” Mello countered, driving through the streets, still without a destination. “Unless…you slipped him something.”

L didn’t reply.

“A tracker? A wire? A bloody comlink? You want him to listen in, so you had to have given him something.”

“Correct,” L said after a moment, his British lilt returning over the French accent he’d been using all night. He sounded slightly off and fairly wistful in that sometimes sing-song way he used to speak. “I will link to him when we get there, and what goes on in that room, he will hear. There is no doubt, he will feel that the tap is bugged to track him, so he will most likely dispose of it the soonest he can to avoid being captured just that much longer. If I wanted to sting him, now would be a good opportunity—but I do not have the manpower, and I do not want to bring in another team on this case—so for now, we are following Kira, to see what sort of catalyst he decides to be.”

"You're playing with fire, L.." Mello murmured, hanging a turn at the busy intersection and sure enough as his eyes trained on the rear view mirror, he spotted one of their friendly tails several cars behind. Lovely. "You've yet to tell me where to."

Mello drove casually enough, taking his eyes off the road a second to bring the in-dash GPS to life with a couple prods. The city loaded up on the small screen and Mello paused at a light, gaze scanning both their surroundings and the map in front of him. His progress thus far was not erratic enough to lift any suspicions, so long as their eventual destination made sense in the end. But seeing as the light turned green and L had yet to respond, Mello took it upon himself to drive them into the heart of the city and to one of the grander hotels therein. For the second time that evening, he was forced to hand over the keys to the Masseratti as they climbed out. "Head right upstairs," he told L under his breath, nodding toward the elevators. "I'll deal with the front desk."

* * *

Flashing around the sort of credit Deneuve/L had made getting a suite no problem—heck the hotel staff was practically tripping over themselves to tend to Mello’s every need at the size of the tip he left. He barely noticed however, too busy listening to Matt ranting on the other end of his ear piece. Either the redhead was now openly aiming to rip L a new one, or he’d turned off the detective’s line again—in which case, L probably already knew.

“I should have known!” Matt seethed. “He dangled my walking papers at me last night because he knew he was going to pull something like this! So if I refused, I couldn’t turn around later and chew him out for practically handing Kira a Get-Out-of-Jail-free card!” Matt panted and Mello could practically see him pacing around, running gloved fingers through his hair. “Mell,” he breathed, “Mell—he’s lost the bloody plot. He’s certifiable—I can't work like this! I can't bust my balls trying to lock up the system good and tight and then have L literally just hand Kira the keys! Do something Mello—knock some bloody sense into him before I throw a bloody wobbly!”

Mello was picture perfect calm as he stepped into the elevator; once the doors closed he was grimacing at the breathless rant firing into his ear. "Matt," he murmured sternly, watching the floor numbers illuminate as he passed them on his way up. "Above all I need you cool right now-"

"Mell..."

"I know," Mello cut him off before his lover had the chance to start back up again. "Believe me, I know. But I need you clear headed 'till we get back there. And for the love of God, keep Linda's mic off, unless strictly necessary."

That much got a brief chuckle out of the redhead, but he still did not sound particularly pleased. How could he? L had thrown them all for a loop in the worst way possible. "I don't like this," he was saying as the elevator doors slid open and Mello lost his chance to respond. He'd forwarded L the room number and access code the moment he'd acquired it. Given the empty hall, the detective had already allowed himself in. Mello keyed in the code, slipping inside.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Perhaps for L to ease the act during the downtime they'd earned, at least for a little while, but it was no such thing. He sat quite comfortably upon one of the low seaters nearest the window, by now blackened with the setting sun. But it was the manner in which he sat that caused Mello momentary pause; legs crossed casually at the knee, one arm draped along the back. The reflection in the glass complimented the sight and the blonde shook his head at the continuing bizarreness of it all, locking the door behind him. "I've had coffee and dessert sent up. 'Fraid you won't get a tray for yourself, but figured you'd need it."

”Merci,” Deneuve replied, “But I’m afraid I’m not all that hungry.”

Mello arched an eyebrow, and L turned away from the window, catching him in a black gaze. “They’ve definitely followed us and are now stationed in and around our neighboring buildings—all eyes are fixed here still, but aside from the lip readers I know Veronique makes frequent use of for such occasions—and of course long-distant camera beads—which means she’s watching right along with them—she has no audio at the moment. She’ll undoubtedly drop something once she’s here, which we’ll make full use of after the fact before leaving; but if you’re going to speak to me out of form, do not face any window while doing so.”

L’s eyes shifted down, “And Matt,” he said over his comlink, “She’s well aware that we are wired—Deneuve wouldn’t be dumb enough not to be—that means she has been seeking a way to hack our comlink from the get-go, so I’d appreciate you not saying anything more regarding the situation over a live wire. Thank you.”

And L sounded pissed right then, didn’t he.

“All of you keep in mind, that despite her appearance, Veronique is a necessity for a reason—and she’s very good at what she does.”

"Bloody hell," Mello murmured, shrugging off his jacket. Both handguns were stark white against the fitted black shirt he'd tugged on earlier that afternoon. No use in hiding them now. He dropped his phone and cigarette case onto the coffee table - handguns soon following- and sat across from the detective in his usual half-sprawl fashion. He pulled up his cuff and checked his watch. They had just under an hour and a half until Veronique's arrival on the scene. And while normally it would not be difficult to pass the time, this current arrangement posed a bit more of a problem; if only because they might have bitten off more than they could chew.

The knock on the door, therefore, was a welcomed distraction. Mello rose to answer it, watching the too eager-to-please maid set the tray on the table. He tipped her handsomely with a smile and she hurried off with several words of thanks upon her lips. Returning to his seat, the blonde poured himself the coffee, eyes flicking upward to the detective. Ah, a sour mood it was. Easily fixable—at least in this present arrangement they found themselves in. Mello tsked him, which of course earned him a blink of black eyes.

"Have the coffee, at least," he said, setting the saucer in front of L. And then, upon uncovering the tray of small, delicate looking pastries, pushed himself up, walking around the table to promptly sink onto the narrow seat Deneuve occupied. Mello held a custard pastry in one hand, the free one settling on the back of the couch right beside his would-be-lover's head. Of course, that put him half into L’s lap; one knee upon the cushions, the other draped across the detective's thighs. The look on Mello's features was downright devilish as he threatened Deneuve with the pastry. "Renee-" he lengthened the name with a purr. "You're pouting."

Somewhere deep deep in those brilliantly wide black wells of his, L just had a coronary. Mello could see it there like a little nebula pinpointed inside of his round round pupils and Mello almost wanted to congratulate himself for inducing the effect, if he weren’t simultaneously trying to ignore that nagging little voice that was going: what are you doing? Or maybe that was Matt speaking to him telepathically over the wire? Nevertheless, despite his guise, Mello knew L needed sugar—would probably start foaming at the mouth pretty soon if he didn’t catch a fix, and if Deneuve refused to partake—well, it would have to be forced upon him then wouldn’t it? And if that were the case—why not make it a show for their audience?

Making a show was easy, as Mello slid part of the pastry between his own lips, delighting that L’s eyes had gone ever wider—like a cat who’d caught sight of his favorite treat. His body had gone pretty rigid too—the sort of uncomfortable reaction one would normally expect from L regarding physical contact; but perhaps that was misleading, and his reactions were for the wrong reasons? Mello could probably elaborate that in his mind based on bedroom conversations he’d had with Kira in the past.

Light had often scoffed at Mello’s refusal to believe L was a sexual being. That was certainly the blonde’s frame of mind before Rome—after Rome, he’d allowed for the notion that L was at least human enough to have a carnal appetite, after the villa it had only grown more complex, and now—well, seeing him with Veronique it was almost a given. Begged the question just how much of L was the real L—a question that had been dancing through the spotlight quite a bit lately the longer Mello spent around his mentor. Surely a lot of it was a cover; that the ‘real’ L so to speak was someone very few people got to see in full. Kira liked to fancy himself special in that regard, and maybe he was right… and maybe Mello had in that moment, unwittingly hit on one of L’s greater perversions just then—combining sugar, food and sex. Perhaps that was the reason the detective had gone rigid beneath him, was staring with rapt attention at the obscene way Mello lapped away the custard. Kira most likely would have confirmed as much had he been there—but he wasn’t, and it didn’t occur to Mello he’d indeed found a deeply buried button until he leaned forward, pastry between plush lips, hands slipping into that marvelous silky, and oh-so-fake red hair, drawing Deneuve—L—against him and into a sweet, delectable kiss—to which L at last responded, very…hungrily.

Long, strong-fingered hands clamped on the nape of Mello’s neck, wrapping around his jaw to feed into the kiss more passionately—a kiss that was surprisingly breathless and deep, the sort of deep that raked up the insides and sent shudders down the spine. The sort of kiss that felt good when it shouldn’t have—most definitely shouldn’t have because of who the parties supposedly were to each other…and yet it was almost forgiven because it was a part of their cover, one that L probably had not thought would go so far, one that Mello was certain wasn’t supposed to go this far—was almost partially a joke at the beginning when L first devised it. And yet here Mello was in L’s lap, in his arms, the two of them kissing with a sort of debauched fervor that danced just along the edge of the morality that threatened it… and goddamn that crash over the comlink was most likely Matt dropping his coffee cup… or Linda hitting the floor… or both.

The gesture was broken several moments later, but only because Mello reached behind him to pluck a second pastry from the tray. This one was personally hand fed to the detective, digits brushing eager lips; his own settling against Denueve's jawline because by no means could they afford to ruin it now. Mind racing beyond grasp, Mello attempted by any means possible to shove all sorts of rationality behind a heavily barred door until further notice. It was best if no thought was being applied to this - none other than the case at hand and the cover they had to uphold. Little did he realize that it was not just Veronique who was getting the benefit of the visual show. While L's camera was practically worthless this up close and personal, Mello's jacket had been tossed across the back of the opposing couch and offered a perfectly good view.

So of course, it was no wonder that Matt had immediately muted all input volume from their end once the coffee cup had crumbled onto the floor.

"Oh my god..." Linda was uttering several times under her breath, her eyes wide, jaw slack as she stared at the monitors. Because at that very moment, Mello had slid one hand beneath the fabric of Deneuve’s blazer, pushing it off one broad shoulder and the detective's head was tilting back to fall against the couch as the blonde's too-practiced mouth did wonders at the side of his neck.

L’s breathing turned ragged the moment Mello’s tongue made contact with the overly sensitive juncture at the base of his neck—seemed he and Light shared the same turn-on spot, which was as ironic as it was suiting. It only served to encourage the blonde, who was now straddling the detective’s lap rather demandingly—and despite himself, was feeling rather tight in the crotch area. Goddamnit.

Of course—a believable succession of natural events dictated that—since they were already supposed to be lovers—their rather intimate display would only advance to the inevitable sexual conclusion—as all who watched already assumed. It was basically a question of inertia—no one would believe either party putting a stop to things unless acted upon by an outside force: a distraction—knock at the door, overly important phone call, nuclear fallout dropping from the sky—without such an event, they were embarking into territory neither probably anticipated exploring with the other, but was suddenly necessary in order to maintain the charade.

Though Mello wondered at that point, if L really cared anymore? If Light and Linda were anything to judge by, L’s ethics when it came to sleeping with people not only his junior, but nearly his students, was lacking—at best. Seemed a strange irony—which made sense when proper logic was applied, that someone so entrenched in pursuing the worst of society, would inevitably become severely desensitized in the process, and therefore would not care when arms were shrugging off blazers and eager fingers were falling to shirt buttons, and hips were grinding suddenly a little too close.

Not to completely void L of all moral implications—Mello definitely felt a hesitation here and there—both in the detective and himself, as though they were waiting for that anticipated distraction. But it was more than likely that Veronique would not come knocking until their coital bliss reached finality…and most likely Matt and Linda were too busy gaping to initiate said distraction themselves, and… Mello’s gaze suddenly glimpsed a second wire run along the inside collar of L’s shirt, that had most definitely been turned on… oh… oh.

Clever, clever, clever little manipulating bastard. Suddenly the course of Mello’s reasoning switched tracks and L didn’t look like the unsuspecting seductee anymore, because goddamnit, Light was on the other end of that wire—and L was making sure he heard every kiss, every lick, every moan as Kira’s own two lovers enjoyed each other without him…

“You are such a fiend,” Mello hissed into L’s ear, his breath hot against the sensitive lobe. The hushed statement drew puzzled looks from both Linda and Matt halfway across the city, who had not caught onto the double wire Mello had just uncovered. Probably a damned good thing. The blonde slid his hands around the detective, his touch strong and demanding as it tugged the shirt free of his trousers, which left one hand firmly pressed to the small of L’s back. The gesture brought them closer, pulling the older man forward and against him and Mello affixed him with a look. But goddamnit, it was heated and he knew it, too. Kiss-bruised lips half-parted with desire-laden breath; lids heavy, visage too bright. Mello saw the smoldering look reflected in the way L stared at him; too-wide onyx eyes watching him with a sort of quiet question. One that either had yet to figure out because the consequences were just that complicated either way one was to look at it. Where to go with this? The answer seemed clear – full steam ahead and yet… shit.

So much for a simple dinner date. Hard to imagine that the morning had started out with a joke and Mello driving Linda around the city to shop for the occasion. Shit.

“We’re letting this happen…” Linda whispered even though she knew the mics were off and they could not be heard. It felt better to whisper now that everything seemed to have unfolded out of control.

“The cover will be blown otherwise.” Matt said around the butt of his cigarette, but did not sound any more pleased about the turn of events. Perplexed, sure enough, pleased, not so much. “They know what they’re doing.”

Linda cast him a dubious look but did not question it. “I hope so…”

* * *

The problem with Light lately, was that his patience, in a 24 hour period, had diminished next to nothing—at least as far as Misa seemed concerned. She didn’t like the fiercely scowling look plastered across his handsome face at that moment either, but decided against bringing him a second cup of tea, after he’d so violently knocked the first to the floor. She also decided against asking him what was wrong—but figured it had something to do with Ryuuzaki. It always did. The obsession just never went away did it? In fact, it only seemed to get worse…

* * *

There was something of an inherent conundrum when the situation was examined in context—nevermind out of context, out of context it got so disturbingly messy to even want to consider; dancing around the notion that L at some point, had planned to actually go here. Go this far? Mello wasn’t sure, wanted to think not; but in the same way that Light continually disappointed the hope that he was better than what he seemed—L too had begun to pick up that habit. He was darker and more corrupt perhaps than they ever wanted to believe, or even dared to consider as children. This proved it. This proved a lot more than L’s fading ethical perspectives as far as fucking Wammy alums was concerned as well—it proved a deep seated faith in his own ability to manipulate based on sexuality, on character deception—on deception in general...on the basic principles of jealousy and how they afflicted Kira, inadvertently reflected on how they afflicted himself. But fuck—here they were, and Mello was now doing a different kind of math—whilst tricking his mind into accepting the notion that fucking L wasn’t as bad as he might have wanted to make it out to be.

The want was there, they successfully maneuvered that one—Mello had brought it onto them both really with his oversexed performance. God knows, L’s latest fiendish deception had just triggered the sort of anger in Mello that made him want to slam the detective back against the couch and fuck the pain and punishment right into him for being such an arsehole. But therein lay the rub—because when all was said and done, this was L—he was alpha male here, employer, benefactor, mentor, obvious antagonist—so did Mello truly have to stop and take into account, just who was topping who in this debased sequence of events?

Surely Mello’s own remarks to Veronique at the restaurant regarding their sex life put Deneuve on all fours at the edge of a knife—surely that meant that Deneuve liked to submit and be dominated… surely L expected to play the role in full… or would L fight him the way he fought Kira? From what Mello understood it was often a battle between them, and usually Kira ended up flat on his back—L a more than successful seme. But then again…Light loved to be the manipulative uke—Kira relished the pain and submission, bloody masochist that he was.

Ah shit, and was Mello rationalizing this situation more than was necessary? Did he just make the move and see how the detective would react? The fact that he was growing angrier by the moment the more he understood just what L had been plotting—perhaps all along—had him ready to claim full rights as seme by force. Was this even about Veronique at all? About Deneuve? Or was this just about Kira—as usual? A grand and elaborate ploy to put this scenario into effect to essentially make Kira jealous… of course, there was the aftermath to consider… the sort of aftermath that occurred when L washed off Deneuve and returned to his normal self… how would he react to Mello attempting to dominate him then? Oh goddamnit…

This was perhaps the most Mello ever had to consider while sitting on someone’s lap. The thoughts flying in and out of focus at an alarming rate, and doubtlessly reflecting back in those partially obstructed eyes. Nevermind the fact that they were put on the spot as far as Light was concerned. There was still Veronique to worry about, and that was the biggest worry of them all. Because she had an easier access to them, she was waiting to see the ball drop, waiting for the moment either of them faltered along this too complicated game they’d set up for themselves. The lack of audio was helpful, but not as helpful as the lack of visual could have been just then and there, the erotic sounds of fucking could well be faked – this could not.

One thing was for sure – they were going to have some serious words once all was said and done. Because Mello would not be set up this way; would not be used this way and even though he still ardently argued the fact that L had actually gone so far as to plan it to truly go this far, it was the best conclusion he could come up with at that precise moment.

And that was why L’s shirt was suddenly being shucked off with firm determination, Mello ripping the fabric away and sending it flying halfway across the room. He pressed a bruising kiss to that bare pale throat, teeth nipping perhaps a little harsher than he’d intended because, goddamnit, not only was he turned the fuck on, he was annoyed. Never a good combination as a select few of his lovers had already come to find out. Or perhaps a marvelous one, depending on whom you asked. Nails raked the newly bared flesh, leaving behind angry reddish marks in their wake along L’s shoulders and upper back; down his sides to where it stopped abruptly at the bridge of his trousers.

Mello had done worse for the sake of cover, for the sake of that extra bit of trust. In fact, he’d done more than he’d readily admit to. This was a piece of cake, bothering him only because it was not some faceless stranger, it was not an insignificant wasteful lump of brain power in his way to his goals. It was L. Fuck. But L – Deneuve – was making it easier to dispel those inhibitions with each ragged breath that escaped sugar-flavored lips, with each firm grasp of strong hands intent of relieving Mello of his own shirt which was hanging low at his elbows one moment and upon the floor the next. Pale fingers were kneading at his back; blunt nails sliding along scarred flesh and Mello gasped, that bothersome sense of morality tumbling off into the abyss.

It became a rush and brutal act in the heat of that junction—there was nothing else just then to dwell on but the anger and the throbbing deep in his own loins, and Mello was tearing expensive clothes away from them both—heaping it in piles the way he was sure Veronique expected to see if she were to abandon her voyeuristic post and walk in at that moment.

If L didn’t know Mello was pissed, he was going to figure it out soon enough—but Mello was sure he knew, that pale and lissome form suddenly so erotic in the way it writhed and rose toward every deepening nip and scratch. The pained gasps emanating from a normally reserved throat—and shit Kira and L were made for each other weren’t they? Or had at least been giving each other lessons… tough to imagine even days ago that Mello would ever see or want to see L in this light—but every smooth and pallid curve was pleasing to him just then—and he got it. He figured out what Light already knew—even if the understanding didn’t last beyond this point, he got it—strong fingers gripping sharp hips and wrestling long legs.

L tasted so damn sweet—it had to be part psychosomatic because it seemed impossible for anyone to be flavored so palatably—but considering what he ate, perhaps it wasn’t too hard to believe. Nevertheless, Mello was enjoying it, and enjoying more the sounds coming from the detective naked now and supine beneath him. The long red hair was perhaps the last bastion in perception at that point—the only thing drawing that line through the bleak reality—and it was such an extraordinarily expensive thing of quality, so firmly fitted, that Mello could bury his fingers in it, and not fear it coming right off. Which was good, because part of him needed the illusion, as he pulled free his cock, burying his face in the juncture of L’s neck to position himself…and yet… part of him didn’t. Part of him suddenly fantasized that the wig was gone, that it was L completely—submitting utterly to his heir—that Mello was conquering his place in the world, one he’d fought so hard for, for so long—that when he pushed hard and deep inside—the ragged, keening whimper he tore from L’s throat was just so absolute, it was worth it.

They were like that a moment, Mello gasping sharply in the detective’s ear, L gripping onto him firmly in that initial instance of pain prior to the pleasure that would soon follow. And it did, by god it did. The whole thing was instantly all too perverse and erotic to avoid. Moreso as Mello leaned up just enough to gain that proper leverage – found quite readily given the hitched breath from the detective’s throat – and his gaze met those abysmal black eyes. Whatever passed between them was not explainable by words just then, as both were far beyond that simple comprehension. And by god, he was fucking L. Truly and utterly with each strong thrust of his hips, burying deep and merciless within the all too eager and pliable body beneath him. True to the nature he’d described in vivid detail to their dinner guest, Mello soon grabbed his mentor’s wrists, much to L’s surprise it would appear by the widening of sex-laden eyes. Grabbed them and forced them down sharply against the couch and while L did not necessarily fight him outright, the blonde spotted the resistance evident in the strong muscles of his arms, and felt it against his hands. But, seeing as he had the advantage, the blonde grinned devilishly and thrust harder. The groan that touched the detective’s lips was delectable at best. It sent shivers down Mello’s back.

The act was too goddamned good and yet… how much of it was an act?

Was L’s cock not throbbing between their bodies, moist with precum from the obscenity they engaged in for all wiling parties to watch? No, the desire was more than definitely there; the response was true even if the show was exaggerated for Veronique’s – or Light’s – benefit.

* * *

Matt had stopped watching the moment clothes went flying. Digging out his PSP and busying himself with it, giving only half a ear’s attention to what was going on in that too expensive hotel suite several minutes away. Linda was beside herself and he had yet to figure out if it was because she was enjoying the show, felt outraged on his part, or ever slightly betrayed that L was fucking – sorry, being fucked – by someone else. She was too complicated a specimen to figure out as far as her affair with L was concerned; the girl adored him from the get go and that obviously had grown with her along the years, but surely she must not have devised some sort of perfect fantasy. Surely not. After all, L’s obsession with Kira was not a secret.

As for himself, it was best to tune it out lest his brain spill out and commit suicide upon the desk right before his eyes. Would not be the first time he’d envisioned the sorry event, but this above all other things Mello had done through their years working together just about topped it. It was absurd as it was unbelievable. Surely he was not of the same mentality that L had no sex drive to speak of, but there was one hell of a difference between knowing about it and doing it. Bloody ruddy hell, this was complicated and Lara Croft had just jumped off a cliff. “Fuck,” Matt muttered and lit up a cigarette.

* * *

It didn’t take long however, for even the show itself to fall away and become nothing more than witness to desire tearing through its fabric, unbridled and grinding and ragged with panting breaths, and thrusting bodies. It hurt. It hurt so fucking good—a thick knot of passion—stripped raw of games, left with a pulsating carnality voracious in appetite and ripe with struggle. It was a struggle to keep L pinned and pull him close (arm under back, body undulating with Mello’s own—God, like a snake, like a serpent, fluid, weightless, sublime), a struggle to fuck him raw, and keep him moaning, because Mello’s control was scattering fast away and spiraling into a determined battle to rut and throb and thrust, to tangle with sweetened lips, and long fingers—to hate and love and want and fight all at once—and at the same time marvel at how the sex itself didn’t just destroy L and Kira where they fucked outright; because it was so goddamn transcendental, the both of them, it was so goddamn divine…

That little last bristling thread of control snapped within minutes as L groaned low and long into Mello’s ear, nails tightening into Mello’s shoulder blades. Perspiration beaded his forehead; the back of his neck. There was no rhyme or reason to it anymore, just that inexplicable fiery pleasure sparking between them until ecstasy washed over him with a hushed cry and powerful tremble. Dimly in the back of Mello’s mind, through the wave of pleasure that numbed his senses and clouded anything other than the press of bodies, he felt L’s own release—in the shuddering of his body and the wet splash of his pleasure trapped between them. His breath broken, stricken, frayed at the edges, Mello did not so much as attempt to utter a word, be it a curse or otherwise. He simply lowered his head; forehead pressing to L’s damp shoulder as he strived to regain some semblance of control over himself. Goddamnit.

* * *

Linda looked rather shell shocked when she walked over to Matt. He didn’t glance up, however, he just sensed it.

“Tell me you didn’t watch the whole bloody thing,” he said, trying to guide Lara across a glowing blue pool of doom, balancing at that particular moment, on a silly stone column rising from the ground…oh the funny little irony of that particularly phallic symbol.

Linda didn’t return with much. She just sat down on the couch next to Matt. “I think we should fuck,” she said—distantly and rather vacant.

Matt scoffed around his cigarette.

“I assume you’ve reasoned this out?”

“Definitely,” she said. “Everyone else is fucking each other but us.”

“You were fucking L just the other night,” Matt added as though it were helpful.

Linda just nodded. “Oh yeah, right,” she said. “I almost forgot.”


“He might be insulted if he heard that.” A pause. “On second thought, no he wouldn’t. Nevermind.” Matt’s hand left the console only long enough to pluck the cigarette from his lips, tap it against the ashtray and return it to its original spot, shooting a variety of strange looking denizens of the dead all the while. “Oh god fucking damnit, Lara!” he hissed as she tumbled into the blue swirly mass.

Beside him, Linda stiffened, looking at him wide-eyed. “What? All right, we don’t have to fuck.”

“Huh?” And this time Matt did look up because he felt that he’d missed half the conversation somewhere along the lines and seeing as that was not typical behavior for himself, he just needed to make sure.

But Linda was getting up, looking fairly disgruntled—and not necessarily about Matt turning her down.

* * *

Okay, so what was this?

Three minutes later, the air having cooled around them, the reality sinking in like a heavy, sluggish weight over the fading afterglow of intense pleasure, and Mello found that question rising to the forefront of his brain… what was this? He was lying naked on top of L, inside L, the detective’s anchoring fingers against the nape of his neck, absently stroking as though to comfort… comfort—L used to comfort him when he was younger, when the pressures got to him, when he needed to explode, and every last kid on the recess yard had taken cover for fear of suffering Mello’s wrath—L was there to calm the storm…and when he wasn’t, Mello wished he were.

He used to sprawl on his bed, and wonder where the detective was, what he was doing, what amazing case he was solving like the brilliant person he was. It was always such an immaculate notion for the longest time—most Wammy kids thought that way—L’s mystique bordered more on heroic, than dark and shady… ah shit, and when he wasn’t around, Mello would badger Roger to let him know when he would be—Mello badgered Roger a lot.

So what was this now? What was he supposed to feel about it? Was he supposed to feel at all? Or were they to just pick up the pieces and continue the charade? Like nothing had happened… like L had done to Linda… but not Light. No, Light wouldn’t let him get away with it…

But the problem here was that Mello truly had no time to think about it, to inquire, to torment himself over the endless questions that would likely remain unanswered because it had been a necessity. A necessity to keep up the charade.

Mello had no idea how long had passed, but he would not put it past Veronique to come knocking within the next several minutes. To catch them prior to all composure so she could have the supreme advantage. Damn her. But then again, seeing as half of their dinner discussion had been sexually charged, it wouldn’t matter. Right.

He was thinking too much again. But he was also finding it nearly impossible to simply summon up that previous nonchalance; his mask hidden somewhere beneath the layers of scattered clothing and sex. Shit. But seeing as L was not saying a damned thing, it was up to him to do so. Summoning the best casual tone he had given the circumstances, Mello murmured faintly into L’s ear, “You all right?”

That was about when L defied all expectations. He took a moment, then stretched a bit, smiled slightly, and purred in his native accent: “Yes, that was lovely, thank you.”

Mello leaned up just enough to look down at him, a trademark look of puzzlement upon his features. Just then and there L confirmed the long-suspected rumors that he was the strangest, most bizarre person on this earth. Right. One thing was for sure, it helped Mello settle – at least for the time being – and rise to his feet. The coffee was now quite cold, but he took a swig from it nevertheless before padding off toward the bathroom to wash. Damned bastards best have enjoyed the show, because it was a rare treat not to be enjoyed so soon again.

Those were definitely the thoughts Mello was forcing through his head as he stared into the mirror, freshly slapped water running down the back of his neck. He had to force his mind otherwise what had just happened on the couch was threatening to replay in all the most erotic ways…

Didn’t help that L suddenly swept by into the room behind him to draw a bath. Mello’s eyes squirreled up again, watching the detective’s reflection in the mirror—the long pale line of his naked back, scored with Mello’s own nail marks. The red hair was still throwing him, especially from behind—he didn’t know this person just then… Deneuve?

“Veronique is probably going to pay us a visit very soon,” L said still in his native accent, still sounding rather sated, sinking down into the hot soapy water. “Let her in, offer her a drink, and I’ll be out shortly.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, red hair dangling freely over the side of the tub.

Mello mumbled a response, and made motion to leave, but L’s voice stopped him.

“Mello,” he said in that soothing tone. “Don’t be angry with me.”

Mello’s hand was resting against the doorframe and for a moment it seemed as if he wasn’t going to reply, but then he glanced over his shoulder at the detective half submerged in the hot water. “Right now I can’t afford to be,” he said coolly. “Once this is over, you tell me whether or not I have a reason to be angry and I’ll think about it.” His tone was gruff but not nearly as aggressive as it could have been.

L’s eyes opened and fixed on him—seemed he was on the verge of doing that deep thinking thing that Mello was trying so hard to avoid.

“Alright,” he said calmly, softly. “Once this is over, we’ll both know, won’t we.”

A brief nod was Mello’s only response, but his gaze lingered a tad bit longer before he slipped out, leaving L to his stew. Clothes were plucked off the floor; his own put back on, L’s shaken off and carried into the bedroom to be laid out so that he may look presentable whenever he managed to make it out of the bath. Mello took a few moments to run his fingers through his hair there in front of the mirror, smoothing out wrinkles from his shirt and redrawing the appropriate amount of eyeliner. Returning to the sitting area, their coffee table was cleaned up. He slipped one handgun into his jacket which remained where he’d previously set it over the back of the couch, the other was slid into the back of his pants beneath the hem of his shirt.

He was lighting up one of his cloves as the room phone rang. Not a habit he sought to pursue – Matt smoked enough for the four of them combined – but it had been a good excuse earlier, and now a casual habit he had to keep up for the sake of their cover. The phone was answered and the front desk thus informed him that Veronique had arrived to see them. “Send her up,” he told the man and counting silently in his head, strode to the door in time to pull it open before she even had the chance to knock. His easy smile was in place, cool and complacent as he leaned into the doorframe, pushing the door open so that she could move past. “Come on in…”

She was pleased, she was downright beaming. “Renee is in the bath,” Mello purred, “He’ll be out soon. Can I get you a drink?”

Of course she already knew that, and of course she gracefully accepted, and of course she sat right on the very couch Mello and Deneuve just had sex on, her face smirking triumphantly as she crossed her legs and stretched her arms over the cushions—as though to soak up the lust that had only just been splayed there.

“Almost,” she said, “I almost didn’t believe you at dinner.”

Mello’s lips spread knowingly, and he scoffed. “Ask me if I care whether you believe I’m fucking Renee or not.”

She laughed and accepted the drink, and about then, L emerged from the bath, wrapped in a dark silk robe, hair long and shiny and loose around his shoulders. “Sex was the topic of dinner,” he said rather bluntly, most, if not all of the playfulness gone from his voice. Unexpectedly he helped himself to one of Mello’s clove cigarettes. He lit up like he’d been doing it forever, and smoked it just as expertly. “Now it’s business, Veronique.”

Mello’s eyebrows rose, because this was L’s lead after all, and the games just then, were apparently off. That was fine, and he poured himself a drink—in fact, he went so far as to pour L one too, and hand it to him on just as intimately familiar terms as they suddenly were, before comfortably settling into the wide armchair across from Veronique.

“Very well, Renee,” the woman smiled. “I’ll begin with the most shocking and work my way down.”

“By all means,” Deneuve muttered, dragging on the clove.

“L’s Kira is quite dead,” Veronique announced. “From what I understand, he was working with L for several months, trying to take down Bella and her church of so-called Kira worshippers. The thing was a ploy on Bella’s behalf not to lure out L, but to lure out Kira, to then win him over, and once he was properly set at the helm of his own church, thinking that those people were his flock and his followers—they aimed to tear him down and get him out of the way for good. So that Bella could ultimately rule the criminal world unchallenged as a false idealist with godly powers.”

Deneuve settled in a chair beside Mello, but didn’t say anything. Veronique continued. “Seems it went according to Bella’s plan for a while, there was a rash of visual confirmations on the real Kira, who matched a profile of a supposedly dead Japanese police detective—young too, 23 years old. That particular death was a cover up by L to hide Kira’s identity and take him into his employ. This was all told to Bella, by Kira himself. And you were right, L and Kira were lovers. There was interference by an American agency about a month ago in an attempt to capture Kira away from L and put him to proper justice. L liberated him, and secreted him away—something Bella decided not to risk…”

Veronique paused, and sipped her drink. “Have you heard of a Murderer’s Notebook, Renee?” she said.

L took his time to answer. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

Veronique smiled, “Then when I say that Bella wrote down Kira’s real name, you’ll know what I’m referring to.”

Both Mello and L kept their expressions contained—but they knew what that meant. And it didn’t mean what Veronique thought it did. It meant that Kira—that Light—had just then learned how immune he truly was… to the Death Note.

It was several moments later that Mello released a dry chuckle, exhaling a cloud of sweetly scented smoke upward. It was about then that he began to worry about just how much she knew. Because while Deneuve had no involvement in the events which had taken place a month prior, Mello had been very much involved and his features were as distinct as any. The stakes had just been raised a notch. "Ruthless little snake, isn't she." It was a disconcerting thought just how much she knew of Bella's involvement with Kira a month prior right down to conversational details. Veronique truly did have ears everywhere, which in the long run might just pose a problem. Then, should he come up in her reports, it could easily be discounted with the fact that Deneuve had his own resources on the inside. Thankfully, both Linda and Matt were blissfully quiet on the other end of the line. Mello had to wonder just what was going through Light's head at that moment as this opened a whole new set of opportunities. As it stood, Kira was unbeatable - truly divine - and now he knew it. Shit.

“What confirmation did she have that Kira was dead?” Deneuve said calmly.

“There is no escaping that book,” Veronique murmured, “Bella proved that many a time over when she was staking her claim to it. And once she wrote his name down—all contact from his end, ceased. In fact, even L fell off the map—undoubtedly mourning his lover.”

“L is normally off the map,” Renee said with a certain degree of disgust in his voice.

“Oh then you’ll love this,” and Veronique swigged her drink. “Bella claims not only to have met L in person—but to have captured and tortured him as well.”

Deneuve scoffed. “Impossible—he wouldn’t come out of his cave if he were the last person on earth.” But almost as a curious afterthought he added, “What did he look like?”

Veronique laughed at the derisive tone. “Bella said he was Asian and looked like a raccoon.”

Deneuve’s expression was priceless—as though that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “As ugly as we’ve always expected then?” he smirked.

“Seems, very much so,” Veronique purred. “And Kira was supposedly handsome, so I’m not sure where the draw was.”

“L probably had to handcuff Kira to himself in order to bed him,” Deneuve laughed and Veronique thought that was the best joke she’d heard in a long time.

Of course L was testing to see how much she knew, and apparently she didn’t know that. Mello found himself inwardly flinching regardless, at the way they talked about L… despite the fact it was L himself doing the talking. It still cut somewhere, hit too close to home, to those collective few at Wammy’s who’d been equally cruel to the degree that Mello had to beat them for it. But he also knew that in the circles with which men like Deneuve and women like Veronique spent most of their time—this was the general regard for L. He was so envied for his power and ability, that his competition was left with little else than to take personal stabs at him behind his back in order to make themselves feel worthy.

“In any event, Bella didn’t have him long—inflicted damage, but not fatally before several of L’s agents spirited him away.”

Mello waited for her gaze to shift in his direction at that remark—but it didn’t…nevertheless, he couldn’t help but sense she knew exactly what was going through his mind just then.

He heard the distinctive intake of breath on the other side of the comlink, but his features betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. Of what they were all thinking. "And she allowed this?" Mello asked with what could have been incredulity or possibly a hint of triumph. It would not do well to outright pretend he knew nothing of it if she had some information, but he was not about to hand her the satisfaction of the upper hand on a silver platter either. "It seems ridiculous that anyone wielding that much power could have made such an elementary mistake," he lifted a brow. "Or am I to think that Madame Sforza's reign of terror is not so closely knit as she would have us believe?"

"Mell- you're getting cocky..." Matt warned him, having caught the nuance of Bella's real name as a competitive jab his lover was all too prone to make whenever given the chance. It put them that extra step above Veronique, which Matt was getting the distinct feeling Mello was beginning to dislike quite ardently, it might have stimulated her to fess up further information but it was a risky move all the same.

If L was unhappy with the remark, he played it off nonchalantly, crushing out the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

“These were apparently men of particular,” Veronique hesitated, “…skill. And Bella was fairly confident Kira—still alive at the time—assisted them. He was playing both sides it seemed.”

“Then I’m saddened to hear of his death,” Renee purred, “He seems like an interesting challenge. Am I to assume then, that he had heirs to continue his work? Or is Bella maintaining the cover of the ‘real’ Kira in order to divert suspicion from her own activities.”

Veronique shrugged. “Either or, the judgments work in her favor to perpetuate Kira’s existence despite the contrary. Only the highest of the inner circle know she usurped him.”

Deneuve’s eyes shifted up. “Then tell me who. Tell me Bella’s plans now that Kira has been disposed of—I want to know everything, Veronique—names, families, affiliates—whoever she wants to pocket, who she wants to align with and who she wants to dispose of.”

Veronique smiled. “Then you must refill my glass, my dear, because it’s going to be a long night.”

* * *

The sort of information Veronique doled out was the kind of thing police agencies across the world would have slit their wrists for. She branched out families to a degree not even used by L, down to the lowest thief. She knew children wives and lovers, and the conversation quickly went from chit chat over wine, to the three of them circling computer screens—provided by Veronique, to see the Mafioso genealogy in its fullest picture. Bella’s was a game of strategy, she was building an army, and taking out her adversaries, but always construing moves to her greatest monetary benefit. And by the time Veronique was finished, there was nothing more Kira could have possibly hoped for, to complete the task he’d set before himself. If Light played out his own strategy to the sort of perfection he was so often prone to—by the time Bella knew what hit her, it would be much too late. And L had just provided it for him completely.

Veronique didn’t know this of course, and when the sun was at last peeking over the Roman horizon, she was finally donning her shawl to leave.

She bid Mello a fond farewell, then turned to Deneuve, who waited by the door, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to kiss him full and deep before pressing up against his ear to whisper: “Your lover works for L.”

Deneuve smiled, and against her own ear said: “You think I don’t know?”

That was their parting exchange, too quiet for Mello to hear, but the glance he received from L after Veronique had left was proof enough. Of course, neither of them could let down their hair just then, because Veronique had probably tapped their room something silly over the course of their last several hours.

“I’m exhausted,” L announced, rather convincingly. “Dion, come curl in bed with me.”
Oh so this is where the post-sex cuddling came in. Blasted hell. Mello had sunk down onto the couch just as Deneuve pleaded weariness and chuckled, glancing outside to see the rising sun. "I suppose we should," he murmured, body stretching along the length of the couch. He made it look practically sexual without the slightest bit of effort, turning to cross his arms over the pillows stacked against the armrest. Then, his gaze fell on the couple remaining pastries upon the coffee table and he reached to steal a particularly chocolaty confection, savoring it quite greedily. L wasn't the only one in need of a fix.

"Very well," he said and pushed himself up.

He was once again giving off the unmistakable imagery of a cat on the prowl. His shirt was off and slung over one shoulder even before he reached the bedroom door, crawling into bed moments later, having tossed his clothes into the corner chair. The sheets were cool and far too comfortable. Expensive things of the softest cotton and far more pillows than anyone ever knew what to do with. He made himself at home, sinking into the mountain of down pillows on his front so that the line of his back disappeared in a graceful arc beneath the sheets low upon his hips.

So much for getting back that night. By now Linda must have surely collapsed where she sat. Either that or they were both so hyped up on enough coffee and sugar it would make L proud.

L dropped his robe and slid into form beside Mello, in fact, he stretched himself out against Mello’s body, wrapping an arm around him to pull him close—lips suddenly on his neck, trailing up along sensitive places to his ear, where in between the talented swirl of an obscene tongue, L whispered: “We sleep for a little while, and then depart. Speak of nothing ordinary until we shed all the clothes we’ve worn here and debug them. Chances are, we’re loaded with taps.”

Of course Matt and Linda were privy to that as well, being as how they were literally in Mello’s ear.

“I’ll have everything ready,” Matt said, “I’m keying in a stop-off to the Maseratti’s GPS where you can run the scans before you come back.”

“Good,” L murmured, still rather effectively disguising the communication as foreplay. He wound himself further around Mello, as the blonde lifted up to pull the detective partially beneath him, their lips brushing, before L made his way around to Mello’s other ear. “She knows who you work for,” he said. “Chances are she knows more about you than that.”

"I had that impression," Mello murmured to the former, and dismissed the latter quite promptly as well. "That's fine. For all her knowledge, her trail will fall quite short should she get curious," Mello said, lips buried in silky strands of red, breath warm against the detective's neck. "I've gone to lengths to ensure that I'm not traceable," he assured him. His actions might have been brash in the past, but never once had he undermined the importance of secrecy, of keeping his true identity as well as his origins hidden. The early mistake of using his code name in LA could no longer be remedied, however, but that too was of little incident just then. With a stolen, more lingering kiss Mello settled against the detective, draping one arm across a smoothly toned chest.

And why did that last lingering kiss taste suddenly far too sweet? Why did that thought suddenly wedge itself in Mello's mind as he listened to the steady drum of L’s heart? The detective’s long fingers were soothing—massaging circles against his scalp, that after awhile started to feel bloody amazing—and Mello found himself sighing his appreciation, tilting his head back into the touch, it was suddenly almost natural to feel L’s lips against his own again—the kiss deepening of its own accord, and they weren’t even using it as a cover.

“Ummm,” Linda muttered, and Matt seemed to be wondering the same...
He tapped on the keys lightly a few times, then voiced his interruption smoothly as if completely unaware of what was happening on the other end of the line. “We’re logging off and getting some shut eye. Ring me up when you’re on your way back so that I can be on the line.” The unspoken message was clear – and get some bloody sleep yourselves. Matt severed the connection before a response could be given and ushered Linda off to bed. They both needed it after that too-lengthy night.

His lover’s voice did cause Mello pause, but not in the guilty jolt someone else might have reacted with. He ended the kiss almost reluctantly because L just tasted that goddamned sweet and leaned his head back down; lips brushing that pale jawline and neck as he did so. He got the impression that both of them were ever slightly hesitant to close their eyes – at least Mello knew his own reasons. Clarity would surely come once his brain was allowed to shut down for a few hours. L… whether or not he’d actually sleep at all was another question altogether. And so Mello thought nothing of it as he made himself comfortable against his mentor’s warm body, letting long lashes fall shut. Now if only his mind would stop whirring.