Redeemer

Foot fetish. Oh.

Mello was staring, a little too wide-eyed too because his brain had taken a flight off the proverbial cliff and it was falling. Falling. Until it splattered rather messily with one agonizing thought—oh god, he had just pushed buttons he had not intended to push. There was no cover to keep here, no explanation for any of it. Hell he was sitting in the bath with L! What in the fucking hell was that all about?! And as if that wasn’t compromising enough, the detective was now mewling his pleasure in hushed tones and squirming in the most delectable way possible which had Mello want to flee at top speed as much as it made him want to crawl closer and bask in the effects of those seductive purrs. Fuck. What he did not do, however, was stop. His mind raced—somehow within its splattered existence—and he found himself biting his bottom lip as he ran his thumb along the underside of the detective’s foot with enough pressure, gaping as that smooth neck was bared to him, L’s head tilting back against the edge of the tub with a lengthy sigh upon his lips.

Oh fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. Why was he beautiful at certain angles? Why was Mello suddenly seeing his life-long mentor in this new light? One night of sex could not have done that, could not have changed a life-long perception of L, as bizarre as he was admirable…noble…good…hmmm. Mello had been exploring the flip side of the coin lately, L had opened up enough new facets of his own persona to begin to defy those odd lines he’d previously drawn such a caricature of. He’d proved he was no meekling, no armchair detective, no asexual alien from a realm unto itself… he’d also proved he was human, he was vulnerable and strong, and hopelessly in love… the complexity was a draw, just the way it was a draw with Kira…but at that moment, it may not have been as much a draw as the slender peek of a pale hip through the water, the glimpse of a long thigh, the peeping shadow of a dark nipple.

Mello found his hand inadvertently tighten around L’s foot, and then, he was reaching for the other foot, spreading the sensations that had L’s neck arching further and further back—and Mello could only wonder if the detective was truly as lost as he seemed just then, and did he want Mello to continue? Or would he come back to himself should his heir suddenly cease his pleasurable ministrations…. The question then, was, what did Mello himself want to do at that moment?

He decided that he didn’t particularly want to test the theory and yet… that too-adventurous side of him did. In fact, that side wanted to stop the pleasing ministrations for a moment just to see what L would do; whether or not he’d simply go back to the conversation at hand, whether he’d pretend as if nothing had ever happened, as if he had not been breathing heavily, long fingers tightening onto the edge of the tub, his body writhing beneath the sudsy surface in the most erotic way possible.

Shit. Get a grip Mell, get a fucking grip. Not here. Not now. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it, much less entertaining it this long.

But… the chiding thoughts did not stick. In one ear out the other because Mello was suddenly inching forward, straightening but not stopping, thumbs working their magic warm lips gently grazing an ankle.

The softest, sweetest “oh,” escaped silken over moist lips, and Mello’s eyes fluttered shut to hear it, his own lips pressing more firmly to that pale joint, hands sliding up over a calve, against a knee, to a lean, muscular thigh—and L was very close to whimpering at that point, arms folding back to grip the edge of the tub, holding on tightly, dripping water and suds down a slimly exposed chest, breaching the surface of the bath.

His eyes were closed, their natural darkened shadows made even darker by the smudge of long lashes against high cheekbones and L had pressed his face to a slippery arm, trying to ride out the amazing things Mello’s hands were doing to his leg…

“Should I stop?” Mello at last breathed, and god his loins felt like they were on fire—like they’d absorbed a particularly potent shot of bourbon.

“Probably,” L gasped brokenly, but his body language made no show of reeling in its escalating eroticism, and even though Mello nodded in agreement with the spoken sentiment, he was pulling L’s leg against him, pulling that lithe body closer to him…

L was warm, supple. Mello remembered thinking it that night when everything was on the line and not the slightest bit of thought was being applied to the sex that was shared—and by god, enjoyed. He thought it now, those expert hands gliding upward until it was his own knee that brushed the detective’s thigh and his lips that fell over the would-be panda’s mouth for the second time that night and Mello’s hands slid up a toned chest with the slow caress of an appreciative lover. Blasted hell.

L was accepting him into the cradle of his body easy enough too, and if Mello had thought the detective was fluid before, having him weightless in water was that much more mind-blowing, L arching up to him, so easy to glide against, Mello gripping his hips, pulling him ever closer, the kiss deepening and breathless and interspersed with silly words like “We should stop” said in gasping, half whimpering moans. Oh it was probably true—and they both knew it—they should stop, before the water clapping against them splashed a little too much, before those stifled groans of intensifying pleasure grew a little too loud—before Mello pulled L’s hips into his own, seeking on throbbing instinct to push his turgid length inside that glistening, writhing body a little too hard… oh goddamnit, how could they stop? How in god’s name could they stop the warm, wet pleasure from sliding so fiercely against slick legs, and hard stomachs, how could Mello even hope to pull away when the promise of ecstasy was just that close—just right there?—just…oh god—his thoughts completely scattered blinding across the board with that first penetrating thrust, forcing into the tight heat of L’s body, feeling the detective’s fingers clamp, clawing, over his shoulders, feeing the muscles deep inside do the same—ripping the groan right out of Mello’s throat, sending his heart into a thither, slamming wildly against L’s own as that pale form stilled raggedly against him to adjust to the pain—the pleasure—the—fuck…just oh fuck it felt so good…

Too good, too sinful, too wrong and yet… fuck. It shouldn’t be happening, they both knew it and yet neither had made the initiative to stop. Why? Goddamnit why did he have to fit so snuggly against L’s body? Why did L’s nails feel so immensely good against his damp back, why did each trust feel better than the next? Mello bowed his head, biting back the strangled cry that threatened to spill from his lips; fingers tangling into the sopping mess of the detective’s hair, lips finding his jaw, his neck, his shoulder with kisses and nips and more desperate bites that doubtlessly would leave behind their marks. By god he felt too good; each movement of his body, fluid and light aided by the still hot water that now threatened to splash right overboard as Mello pulled L properly into his lap, knees groaning already at the pain. It was too good. Too sweet, too intense to formulate a proper thought. Lips sought L’s own, demanding, desperate, heated and deep despite their breathless states.

And he kept grabbing L closer, the soap, the water loosing the friction and making it more delicious all the same. Mello pulled L up with him to try and get a better purchase on his body. The dramatic change of angle deepened the act, had L gasping ragged, clinging to Mello, the moans now scrapping quite audibly passed his throat and his fingers dug into skin, twisted through flaxen hair.

“We should stop,” he managed brokenly—a laughable suggestion as neither had any intention of breaking apart just then.

Mello still nodded where his face was pressed tight to L’s collar, “I know,” he breathed, but instead he was pulling L harder into himself—letting gravity work, letting the density defy—and L’s gasping had grown so raw and intense, Mello was pretty sure it was going to send him over the edge, sooner rather than later.

Sure, they should have stopped, just as they should have caught Kira several hours prior. Just as L should have never given him a chance and Mello not allowed him to walk out. But it was too late and he was seated too deeply, too intimately within the detective's body that despite what their rational minds told them, there was no listening. Because it was too good. The sin too pleasurable. And with each thrust, L's nails carved deeper, tangled in Mello’s hair, clinging with a desperation that had nothing to do with keeping up appearances. There was no red hair, no illusion now and it was his mentor's lips Mello kissed, his throat he ravished, that choppy black hair he ran his fingers through whose neck stifled his groans of pleasure as they escalated with each passing minute.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, gasping breaths and hard spasms spilling over strained muscles into ecstasy. Mello leaned his head down, forehead to L's damp shoulder and pressed his eyes shut as his senses tumbled back into place and the rational part of his mind was berating him for what had just happened but he had not yet begun to care because the aftermath of climax still clung to him. He alighted one hand on the side of L's neck, the other supporting him against the rim of the tub and he exhaled shakily, breath hot, ragged.

But yes, they should have most definitely stopped. Life was complicated enough as-is. Somewhere along the too complex cause and effect of events, Mello had transgressed from a Wammy's drop-out, to a reputable mobster, to working in L's employ, to fucking Kira, to becoming L's heir, to loving Kira and now fucking L as well because the detective's appeal splayed unveiled and he just felt too fucking good.

There was most definitely something wrong here.

L’s breathing was still not back to earth level yet either, his arms still rather constricted around Mello’s shoulders, face pressed to Mello’s hair, riding out the shuddering waves of the tingling aftermath. And he seemed at once terribly sated and utterly conflicted—and so very…feeling. Just then, just because sometimes it was not an easy thing to crack L’s exterior, to get inside him, to reach for the heart and squeeze out the vulnerability, the humanity, all the things he’d shut away to live his life the way it needed to be—hardened, smart, desensitized. Ironic that it was someone like Light who’d made the accomplishment first and foremost, someone more like Mello, who managed to render it again—and the blonde could almost feel L searching the bath for those missing pieces of himself, to spackle them into place.

Again, there weren’t words, but this time, Deneuve’s strange detached aloofness was not present—because this wasn’t a cover, this time they’d reached for each other out of a wholly different need. And what L saw behind shut eyes, while giving way to pleasure, while being fucked into passion could have been the blonde—or could have been someone else, a phantom lover who’d possessed Mello’s arms, and held him tight, and promised to return… but that was not something L would confess, and not something Mello truly wanted to entertain, because just then it was hard enough to pull away as it was.

But Mello did pull away after several moments once his heart had calmed itself back down to acceptable levels and his lungs did not seem pained for air any longer. He pulled away with a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of the comfort he had offered earlier, of the understanding they shared regarding previous matters of perhaps... perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew just what L had craved, just what he had imagined in the furthest depths of his mind. It was not such an unfamiliar longing after all. The kiss broken, Mello touched his forehead to L's own, hands on either side of his neck and only then with a flinch that shot right up his leg, shifted and sat back, holding onto the edge a bit too tightly. Strangest of all was that, just as before, it was not entirely awkward. A bit, but not completely. Thoughts and feelings and desire were all conflicted against one another, but perhaps due to the nature of their coupling the awkward aftermath never truly crept forward as it should have.

And sure enough, he asked it as he had the other night, although the content was altogether different. Too-green eyes lifted to look at his mentor, pale skin flushed and ravished. "Are you---" but Mello changed his mind halfway, severing the question with a shake of his head. "You'll be fine... you both will."

* * *

It wasn’t clear if either Matt or Linda suspected what had taken place between them in the first hours of dawn. By the time either of them were up and ordering room service, L was back at his perch on the couch, and Mello was tending to injuries sustained and almost forgotten about since the night before. Maybe Matt glimpsed a love mark on L’s neck at some point, and maybe Mello only imagined he did…

The day however, did unfold as L had predicted. A slew of Asian’s being gunned down in what was quickly becoming an epidemic, and had tourists of all nationalities fleeing for the border. No retaliation from Kira for hours—which had some families declaring they had gotten him. A declaration quickly followed by the death of several mob generals almost to prove that they hadn’t. But the deaths were contained, and there only to make a statement… L presumed it was Bella’s doing, and that Light had yet to act. Nevertheless, the detective was on eggshells, because even though he was more than certain Light was fine, and just biding his time, waiting to make his move once the board was set—nearly a week passed with still no movement from Kira-Proper.

Bella acted accordingly, setting up her pawns and knocking them down, and the deaths of random Asians remained out of control. In fact, L himself stepped up and agreed to assist the Roman Policia to do what he could to get the situation under order—an act which had the mob unsure which way to turn, because L was, after all, almost as big of a threat as Kira.

Mello was not sure he agreed with the maneuver, L had enough cards stacked against him as it was, and now not only did the mafia have at least 20 more contracts out on him in addition to what had been—Bella’s eyes were pointedly fixed back in his direction as well, being that she had not anticipated his return to Rome so soon if at all…which was ridiculous, considering she was still under the impression she’d killed Light with the notebook—and Light, she knew, was indeed L’s lover. To presume L was grieving was fine, to assume he wouldn’t lash out for revenge—well, that was just silly; so the move was in accordance with the charade… but dangerous all the same.

It was, of course, a diversion. L was blatantly buying Light breathing room, having by the second week presumed that Kira was in some way, pinned down and unable to act… there had been no contact or glimpses of Light in any way shape or form, and L’s anxiety was visibly mounting.

Another week went by, and L’s patience was forfeit—which had Mello, back on the field, almost actively searching Kira out…

"We're fooling ourselves here," he grumbled, sitting not behind the wheel, but comfortably atop the Ducati, which had been parked on the side of the road. His voice was half muffled in his helmet and truly, he was only speaking quite pointlessly to himself. The modular front was thrown up so that he could snap into the bar of chocolate that was mysteriously produced from the inside of his jacket. Ok, it was a bit softer than he tended to like them and thus the snap was quite unsatisfying, but it served its purpose all the same.

He tapped one foot impatiently on the raised cobblestone sidewalk, free hand alighting on the raised gas tank as he scanned the surrounding plaza from behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. This was a joke. Patience or not, there wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to find Light like this. Kira wasn't stupid. Kira wasn't parading about the streets with a bloody flag over his head declaring for all the world to see "here I am!". With a shake of his head, Mello stashed the chocolate bar away, shoved down the front of the helmet and revved up the motorcycle, taking a moment to glimpse over his shoulder before darting back out onto the road.

This was almost as conclusive as aimless wandering. A free somewhat enjoyable ride, perhaps, but frustrating all the same because there truly was no lead, no aim. No one knew where to look, and even though Mello had gone back to the scene of the gunfight those many nights ago, he did not honestly expect to find anything. It would have been foolish of Light to remain in place knowing that they would deduce him nearby. Foolish to set himself up as a sitting duck. No, that would hardly be the case. But of course, because Mello was looking this closely, he also kept spotting random individuals that might or might not have been Kira. Damnit. It was another hour later before he pulled over and freed himself from the helmet completely, setting it down on the tank. Gloved fingers ran through his hair. "Anything of note on your side?" he asked dully over the comlink.

"Nada," Matt responded promptly but with no more enthusiasm. Goddamnit.

There was a pause as Matt was obviously mid-boss fight, before he said, “L’s concerned about a rumor Veronique leaked to Deneuve, that the Safariano crime family has someone in their custody who seems to be an Asian-Caucasian mixie of sorts—kinda young too.”

Matt must have received a rather biting glance from L at that remark because a moment later he was mumbling an apology. “They’re touting to having gotten a confession out of him that he’s Kira—then again Mell, they probably clipped off all his peripherals to get that sort of information to begin with—there’s no telling whether it’s Light, or some poor bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time. You might want to head over to where Safariano and his crew spend their free time regardless and see if you can pick anything up… I’d recommend ‘cover of darkness’ and all that,” there was another pause as Matt applied himself to the boss fight. “Whoever they’ve got in their saucy grips, is most likely experiencing the worst pain of his life—but let me reiterate that we have no proof of his identity, so there’s no need for a repeat performance of the SPK incident, if you catch my drift—eh? Proof of Life and identity confirmation and all that first—savvy?”
Mello just barely contained laughter at Matt’s earlier comment, followed by the pause and muttered apologies. So like him. But he listened intently all the same, running down a mental list of family names until it rung a bell. When it did, he blinked, lifting a brow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but they’ve got a villa out in Ottavia.”

“Yup,” the redhead mumbled after a brief hesitation—needing to finish off the boss fight, or to hit pause so that he could look up at the screens, it was impossible to tell. Mello had long stopped questioning how his lover operated.

“Bloody hell that’s half hour Northwest of here.”

“Then you best start moving~” was the only input Mello received from the other end.

The blonde scowled. “You’re spending too much time with L,” he grumbled, shoving his helmet back on.

He’d managed to shave off five minutes and arrive a bit quicker, however Roman traffic was unforgiving. Half hour later Mello was turning onto Via Alfoso Gallo and the Ducati eased to a low purr as he came to a halt toward the end of the street. “I’ve got visual.” However, there truly was not much to see here. The street was ridiculously quiet and the villa’s high walls and lush trees did little to aid him. “Sunset’s in an hour, I’ll return once it’s dark. Till then I’ll scout the area and see what I can find.”

* * *

Ottavia was Rome’s Jewish Ghetto, oddly enough. Seemed Safariano and his brood wanted to make an impression that even though the territory was distinctly one of that religious nature—it was only because they allowed it to be so. Then again, rumor had it that several of Safariano’s nieces had married jewish, and that they were trying to make nice… but Mello was appropriately skeptical. Nonetheless, he did some area scouting, leading the Ducati through cramped, ancient streets, whipping around the quarter before finding an unmarked little pastry shop near the The Portico d'Ottavia, where according to L, they served the legendary torte di ricotta e visciole and also fresh-made, irresistible crunchy biscuits with sultanas and nuts at sunset. Of course L’s stomach would know a detail like that about a little hole-in-the-wall place. Nevertheless, Mello was still biding his time, and stopped to partake.

What L hadn’t mentioned was that the shop was run only by women, who were more than happy to serve the handsome and rather seductively dangerous blonde. It allowed Mello to fully make use of his charms too, and he was still smiling when he stepped back out onto the street, with Matt ribbing him firmly in the ear for being such an unabashed flirt.

The sun was setting over the archaic quarter, and Mello finished off his biscuit, with the full intention of mounting the bike and heading back over to Safariano’s walled off villa at the end of the Tiber. It was a stone’s throw from Travestere—where much of Bella’s own activity was seated just beyond the most ancient bridge in Rome, the Ponte Fabricius. If Safariano had taken it upon himself to capture and torture “Kira” well then Mello supposed the battle lines were quite literally drawn by those very present borders.

L confirmed over the com as Mello mentioned it in passing, and literally a moment after he revved his engine, ready to depart, he caught the oddest thing out of the corner of his eye…someone was tailing him.

“Lovely,” he muttered, and Matt knew the tone of his voice.

“What is it?”

“Tail,” Mello muttered. “Maybe Bella’s, could be Safariano’s, though I doubt it—I haven’t caused any trouble yet.”

“Lose him,” Matt said firmly.

But Mello was too busy squinting, because the figure across the way he’d pegged on sight as being far too interested in him, was there, just beyond the corner of the crumbling edifice of a building… waiting for him.

“Not yet,” Mello said, the strange subtle suspicion marring the inflection of the statement, and he shut the bike.

“Mell—,” and there went that reprimanding tone again, but Matt knew bloody well he was helpless back in his cozy little headquarters. Mello wasn’t listening, not as he dismounted the metal beast between his legs, and stalked briskly to that side street, where his shadow had already fled deeper into the alley. He heard the footsteps echo along the cobble walk, and it seemed deliberate, but Mello broke into a run anyway, chasing his tail into the alley, until he was quite literally in the shadow of a degraded palace that prominently marked the history of the ghetto.

The past loomed foreboding in the structure, shadows dropping heavy through dilapidated porticos and archways, and Mello drew his gun, because just then, it seemed like a stellar idea.

The footsteps so prominent a moment ago, were gone now—more than enough proof they’d meant to lead him here, where no one else was looking, and as Mello plastered up against a crumbling wall, gun to forehead, sliver cross dangling with purpose against a black-gloved hand, he caught the movement through a corroded corridor behind him—and he whirled.

“You get one warning,” he sneered, taking aim at the shadow of a figure not five feet away.

Of course he wasn’t prepared for the smooth sultry voice that answered him so very smartly at those words. “Only one warning? I thought you liked me better.”

Light was suddenly leaning against the doorway then, hands casually tucked in the pockets of a long trench coat, the natural sweep of his hair trimmed back to normal since Mello had last seen him, but those molten eyes were alive as ever—and those plush, smirking lips… so very goddamn good to see…

The moment was frozen and the weapon wavered because Goddamnit, this was not who Mello had expected to find. It was who he had considered finding within the retreats of Safariano’s villa, but not here; not out on the streets leading him along in such a manner. In one motion, the gun was lowered and Mello’s free hand ascended to where the com rested in his ear, promptly disconnecting input from his end. What led him to do it, he did not know. After all, this was what he’d been looking for, right? They’d been out to find Kira, to apprehend him, to bring him back kicking and screaming if there was a need.

Or was that ever the point? L said they had a deadline, and yet the detective was now impatient. Because Light was not at his side? Or because Light was being too silent, too cautious as he orchestrated his grand scheme?

“I can’t imagine you’ve come here for a stroll…” Mello’s tone was chipped, but god did his insides throb and twist as he beheld Kira. An addiction like any other. A more dangerous drug than anything mankind could fabricate. And one he could not allow himself to indulge. Not now. Not on these terms.

“Why not?” Light smirked, having noted that Mello cut the input on the com. “It’s a lovely palace.” He laughed then, beamed was more like it. “You should see the look on your face,” and his voice had thickened, purred, and he was approaching fearlessly, without concern that Mello could again raise the gun to him. Not now—or was that Kira being far too cocky? Mello considered doing it just to surprise him; but Light was steadfast on his game, wasn’t he, here they were, considering that he’d been caught, was being tortured, had failed in his grand ambition—and here he was in the flesh to flaunt it otherwise.

“Mello,” he breathed, being so bold as to drag the back of his fingers down the scarred side of Mello’s face—a sensation that had nerves singing, and Mello fighting not to show Light just what he was thinking… but Light was leaning in for the kiss—for the kill, so very sure that Mello would reciprocate as that undeniable electricity bounced between them, jarring, invigorating, sublime.

“Tell me you missed me,” Light whispered, his lips just a breath away—but he paused, because as usual, he wanted to know that Mello felt the same—he wanted Mello to react, he wanted Mello to grab him by the hair, pull him close, and kiss him breathless… he certainly wasted no time, did he?

“Mell! Mello, come in!” Matt was hissing into the mic and Mello could picture him there, leaning forward in his seat, PSP forgotten on the desk, as he typed furiously to coordinate satellite schematics. It wasn’t good form to simply shut off all communications without a warning, particularly after having mentioned the presence of a tail. But… Mello was not listening, or rather he was listening without paying much attention. Those amber eyes held him in thrall, those kissable lips.

His features would not betray him, however. Not so quickly. But as Light leaned forward, dangerous, daring, the blonde’s resolve decided to fade because he had missed him. Because he had been looking forward to finding him, because those lips were sweet and his touch sent shivers down Mello’s spine. Because Mello had earned the right to the kiss Kira proposed at that precise moment; gloved fingers tangling into neatly combed tresses at the nape of his neck, mouth demanding, tongue tasting him as if it were the first time and the last. “Bastard,” he hissed against his lover’s lips and there was anger in the gesture, in the grip that held him there. Anger for what had happened, for what was still happening. Because Mello knew despite showing himself, Light had no intentions on being ‘captured.’

Light met his challenge, however, met his anger, let Mello deepen the kiss almost violently, both hands now gripping Kira against him, tongue scraping on teeth, teeth biting on lips, sucking away air and logic and rationale and all things bloody holy—until even breaking away was a brutal act, and Light, now flushed, pressed his forehead to Mello’s: “Come with me,” he said, ragged, panting. “Come with me tonight.”

What? What!? It was the sort of invitation Mello could never have anticipated—dancing along a line of audacity only Kira would attempt.

“What?” he managed as Light pressed him up against the wall, for once actually asserting his height over his younger lover, assuming a superiority, a dominance Mello was not altogether accustomed to from him. But it practically went unnoticed, as smooth, silken lips brushed Mello’s jaw, his scar, sucked his throat, traveled his neck, hitting all those tender, secret places Light knew drove the blonde mad—and it was there in his tone as it was in his actions, that hunger—he’d been missing, wanting, needing—Kira set on his great ambition, was still desire’s victim, and he pronounced it with fervor in those deep honey tones, as he kissed Mello possessively.

“Come with me tonight,” Light said again, his breath hot and broken and entirely too delicious tickling the whorl of Mello’s ear. “Set the world aside and come with me.”

It was ludicrous—the very suggestion, the very notion that the world could be set aside for a night, with all that was falling apart, with all that hung in the balance—and only a god could ask that couldn’t he? And expect the answer to be yes?

But Light was so close, his every touch, every yearning trick and ploy prevalent, the pull of his lips, the play of his fingers, over Mello’s neck, up his face, in his hair—long affectionate strokes that spoke of passion and adoration—that just spoke at all, like the uncanny thud of Mello’s heart inside a hollow chest. Kira had grown perfect in that moment, because he knew every secret of the universe, he could translate the cosmos, could rip the heavens down and wrap them around the world, and blot out everything that wasn’t just the two of them.

Mello was panting against him, breathing him in, ready to believe like he had that day in the villa, that it was just that simple… to let Kira win.

No.

Not win—never win. Shit.

“Mello, goddamint, answer me!” And Matt was on the verge of calling in the cavalry. Hell, L himself was probably going to come out after him, and slowly Mello reached up to click on the input.

“It’s alright, Matty,” he breathed, and he barely trusted his voice. “I’m fine, I just…” he paused, his gaze trapped, purely and honestly trapped by Light’s just then, and Light’s gorgeous, ravenous eyes were not going to ease their grip even for a heartbeat. “I’ve gotta maintain radio silence for awhile,” Mello managed. “I’ll link up again as soon as I can—just sit tight.”

Shit.

But that was as good as signing his soul away on the dotted line, wasn’t it? And for that, the devil smiled, and kissed him again…

* * *

Matt was left staring at the screen where a little dot showed the location of the Ducati outside the hole in the wall cafe. It was with an odd, misplaced sort of foreboding that he exchanged a look with L as if seeking there the answers Mello was obviously not volunteering. The blonde was reckless more often than not, but he did not make a habit of cutting communication without warning or explanation. It did not feel... right. And for some reason Matt felt a tickling bit of anger bubble up somewhere within him as he looked away from the detective, leaning back in his chair and studying the splay of monitors before him.

Iit wasn't until he lifted his zippo to light up the cigarette between his lips that the little tugging voice in the back of his mind perhaps... clicked. The flame never lit. In fact, the lighter was thrown sliding across the desk; the headset dropped on the keyboard and Matt was striding away from his station out onto the balcony, slamming the sliding doors with finality behind him. Because despite whatever faults, despite all his quirks and often puzzling personality gimmicks, the one thing the redhead was not... was stupid.

And regretfully not as numb and impassive to the world as everyone was expertly lead to believe. Half the time, perhaps, but not in every event. And just then, when his suspicions were more than likely right—when he could practically see in his mind's eye what had just caught Mello's attention with an iron fist, he wanted nothing more than that passive ability to enable him to look the other way. But he'd been looking the other way for months now, hadn't he? His knuckles were white against the railing; teeth grit and unseeing eyes on the streets below.

"Goddamnit, Mell..." he breathed.

* * *

“What’s going on?” And Linda had come out of the shower at the wrong moment. Her hair toweled up, plush robe wrapped around her body, though seemed rather deeply parted in the middle—a flash of supple flesh that caught L’s attention almost immediately, and the detective visibly did a double take.

“I’m at a loss,” he said, index finger hooking thoughtfully over his bottom lip, but his wide doe-eyes were still on Linda, until she realized she’d neglected to pull her robe all the way closed. The blush reached her face in record speed, but perhaps the fact L was looking at all was a good thing… for her.

“Huh?” And she tried to salvage her dignity with grace, but still only ended up fumbling, especially when L’s gaze managed to rise higher than her bosom and fix her eyes in his own. “Matt,” he said, and the redhead was out on the balcony looking more distraught than Linda had seen him in a while.

“Oh my God, is Mell okay?” She gasped, because only one thing could have that sort of effect.

L held up a hand to calm her. “He just cut his input indefinitely,” he mumbled; “We’re pretty sure, he made contact with Light.”

She gaped. “What?—I thought…” I thought Light was captured, was what she wanted to say, but they’d never really determined that had they? And L was looking far too relieved for that to be the case just now. Odd. Here it was, Light sequestering Mello far away from Matt’s grasp—making contact with Mello above L even, and L was… relieved? Most lovers would be fuming jealousy… but Linda supposed the reassurance that Light was not holed up in the basement of some mafia stronghold was the sort of news L had been hoping for. Matt on the other hand…

“Mell cut his radio?” Her observation was thoughtless, until she did the math… and Matt’s body language seemed to say it all. “Oh,” her entire expression darkened. “Oh damnit.”

L’s reaction was less supportive than most would be—seemed he was indeed at a loss, torn between the three of them—but he wasn’t about to offer false comfort to the redhead, not when he didn’t entirely sympathize—because as subtle as it may have been, L and Matt were increasingly conflicting over Kira, the more Light got away with. And just then, L was too busy relieving his mounting anxiety, to want to engage in drama of this variety.

Linda frowned nonetheless, and once again it seemed pointedly apparent that L had no scruples, not when it came to people. With crime he was brilliant, but his people skills flat-out sucked.

It was up to her, then, to try to do something about the situation. If there was anything to do at all. She had her doubts as this was beyond her reach. Nevertheless, frowning, Linda let her gaze linger on L just a short while longer before padding quietly barefoot toward the balcony. She opened the door gingerly, sliding it just enough to squeeze through and then promptly shut it behind her. "Hey..." she murmured quietly. When Matt did not respond, did not so much as shift, she reached out to touch a hand to his arm. It was tense beneath her fingers.

"Not now, Lin..." Matt grit out and her frown deepened with concern.

"Do you want to talk?"

The chuckle was surprising because it was something she would have expected out of Mello, but it spilled from Matt’s lips with such bitterness that she was taken aback. "There's nothing to talk about."

Linda exhaled and did the only thing she could think of because it was clear that Matt would not have any of her talking methods just then. She slipped her arms around him from behind, forehead resting against his shoulder. She felt him stiffen, but encouraged by the fact that he had yet to throw her off, she tightened her hold, fingers curling into the soft material of his shirt.

Worst of it was that there truly wasn't a damned thing she could say to reassure him, to make him feel better. Because they all understood the situation, however fucked up it all was. They understood the complicated dynamics of it all. It remained unspoken but they were all too aware of the firm grip Kira had managed to secure around Mello's heart, much in the same way he had L's all those years ago. That was not to say that the blonde's attentions had completely shifted, but his actions were no less hurtful.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, half muffled by the soft cotton shirt, she felt Matt shake his head.

He tolerated it a moment longer, before he at last straightened—and even if it wasn’t outright throwing her off, it was indeed deliberate. “Not now, Lin,” he repeated, and perhaps for the sake of argument he sounded more composed—no less aggravated, but more composed. And perhaps there was a part of him that wondered how the hell this had happened. When did he fall asleep on the watch, that his life-long partner in all things had been lured away so almost-completely? And maybe Mello hadn’t outright turned coat, but fucking the devil was very near to it—and he didn’t care. The sonfabitch didn’t care in the least. Like L, he was going to do what he wanted, he was going to do what pleased him, and all means no matter how outwardly noble they appeared—were at their root serving one purpose—and it was a bloodyfuckingselfish one. The both of them, King and Heir. They liked fucking the sin, and they weren’t about to give it up for anything.

“Just leave me alone,” Matt muttered grimly, and not once did he look her in the face.

* * *

“Safariano doesn’t have anyone captive,” Light said rather confidently, leading Mello from the palace and down a side street. “That was a lure I knew would get you and L to crawl out of the caves you’ve been hiding in these past several weeks.” He laughed a bit, “It’s so easy to spread rumor among thieves, especially when they’re scared.”

And Kira crooked a knowing glance back at the blonde, “And they are scared,” he said. It was the sort of statement that spoke of something on a deeper level—spoke of his master plan, which until that moment, Mello thought they’d at least gleaned.

“No,” Light said, waiving off the dangerous sentiment, “I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere near the villa right now—,” he checked his watch casually; “it’s probably going to start to reek very soon, if it hasn’t already.”

Mello’s expression went owlish. “What?”

Light was grinning from ear to ear, and that was about when Mello noticed the man standing outside a shiny black car directly across the street from them. Instinctively he reached for his gun, but Kira held up his hand. “No need,” he purred, “He’s with me.”

Mello’s face darkened as the apparent driver opened the car door for Light, who motioned for Mello to get in ahead of him. Mello’s hesitation spoke volumes. Dealing with Kira mano a mano was one thing, but there was more to this equation. Light, however, was not about to start taking no for an answer, and almost in the interest of curiosity, Mello slid into the car, and Light slid in beside him.

“Safariano and his captains are all dead in that house—,” Kira said nonchalantly, though there was more than just a tinge of darkness to his voice. “As of many hours ago. About the time I seeded the rumor L so predictably acted on. Bella is going to know very soon what she’s up against—it’s all already done, quite ahead of schedule actually, which is why I thought tonight would be a good excuse to take a small break.”

His smile was smooth like butter, and Kira had been far busier than they’d anticipated—a fact that became painstakingly obvious as the car cruised off in the direction of Caligari’s neck of the woods, and his niche estate on the lower bank of the Tiber. They cleared the gate security, and just as Mello was pondering how to handle this situation, noting several armed guards patrolling the perimeter—Light laughed.

“Relax, my love,” he purred, getting out of the car, again, the driver opening the door for him as though he were a celebrity, or worse yet, the bloody don himself. In fact, it was becoming very evident… that Kira was the one calling the shots here. And just what had he promised Caligari to suddenly receive such royal treatment at this mobster’s hands?

Mello turned to Light almost to ask, because even though there was a veritable army of men around the place, none of them seemed very… coherent… or conscious that Kira was indeed in their midst.

That’s when Kira’s expression scrolled up, like the bloody Cheshire cat. “I’ve had the beautiful opportunity lately,” he said, leading Mello through the ornate doorway of the grand old house, “To use the Death Note in a way not even I had ever imagined before. It struck me on my trip over from Sicily, watching a man I’d used as a cover—his behavior, when he’d already been condemned by the notebook was extraordinary—it got me to thinking just how far I could take it. Of course as always, there’s been some trial and error,” he paused, because Mello had truly and honestly stopped dead in his tracks. He’d met with Caligari mere weeks earlier, and some of these very same men, were now standing about—sentinels always yes—but not one of them cast him a single glance of recognition his way.

“What is going on?” He said at last, and he was absolutely certain just then, that he was not going to like the answer.

Light scoffed. “Oh them? They’re all dead,” he whispered. “They just don’t know it yet.”
Mello was reeling. Rooted to the spot and reeling at unimaginable speeds because the last couple of weeks had just caught up with him.

For perhaps the first instance in all the time he'd been dealing with Kira, Mello was positively at a loss. There was no typical flailing response, no outburst, no demanding questions being shouted at a million miles an hour. He just stood frozen, eyes moving slowly between each of the zombie-like men in their midst. When the moment at last paused, it was not quick but more of a wheel losing speed and coming to an eventual stop. Mello lifted a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and covering his eyes briefly before pushing his bangs out of the way. They fell right back into place, if perhaps a bit more haphazardly. This was no war he was accustomed to, although perhaps that was their biggest mistake. The playing field was quite different, but they had been treating it like something familiar.

Light had upped the notches and increased the risks accordingly. He had all the information he needed, much thanks to L, and he was setting up the board in the most effective way possible without the slightest bit of detection. Were it not for the false tail and arranged meeting, he would have continued to evade them and slip right through their fingers.

"What have you done..." Mello murmured, only then lifting his eyes to the alluring devil he kept for a lover. His expression, as his words, were not accusing but... toned down if not the slightest bit sad. It was one thing to speak of the past, to throw careless jabs and make offhanded comments about Light's chosen 'occupation'. This... this was something altogether different and maybe it did not matter so much to L. Or maybe it did, but on an entirely different level. It was a matter of justice, of who was right. Stubbornness at its best.

“Sorry,” Light shrugged, but he was amused, and if Mello’s dour expression communicated the level of gravity to him—Kira was too wrapped up in his impending victory to really care at that moment. “I broke the rules of how to deal with the mafia. For a fact I know L has been fidgeting over how I aimed to go up against an army—perhaps this was not the plan from the start—but you must admit, it’s relatively flawless.”

His hubris was back. In full force it seemed, as he glanced around. “They’re running around capping innocent tourists hoping upon hope that Kira is dumb enough to just flaunt himself around in public with the rest of the Asians—meanwhile, I’ve already completely infiltrated them, and am in their midst—utterly. Not to mention… the rest.” He kept it cryptic, because Mello’s expression continued to darken as he spoke—perhaps that initial cloud of relief and desire was lifting since the palace.

All this time, Mello and Matt and probably even Linda had considered L’s method of “incarceration” to be ridiculous. Keeping Light in the lap of luxury—more like a babysitting gig than a punishment, and maybe it was—but look, just look at what the bastard was capable of without the detective’s supervision. So did that mean L knew after all what he had been doing? Had, being the key word, because Kira was free and unchecked just then—and standing on the brink of an accomplished slaughter…

"Flawless..." Mello repeated under his breath, looking past Light at nothing in particular and everything at once. And to think he'd actually gone out of his way to make sure Light had secured support here. Laughable at best. They were miles behind him with no hopes of catching up. It could all be ended so quickly, however. All there was to do was to take out Bella, and they all knew her name. Games. Always games. No, Kira was not sorry. Not in the least because it was this sort of thing that empowered him, that inflated that divine ego he was so very proud of and had been missing in Sicily. Because this was Light at his best. What was there to be sorry for?

His gaze was still settled on something off to the side when Mello asked, "Why did you bring me here?" Perhaps the realization of just how deep over their heads they were brought him back to reality away from those amber eyes and lush lips. Back to the matter at hand. Back to the fact that he'd shut off all communication and there hadn't been the slightest attempt to contact him since. Because Matt and L knew—oh god, they knew didn't they?

“You know why I brought you here,” Light replied.

Mello fixed him in a sober gaze, still edged with sadness, still weighted and heavy and pressing into the shadows of the floor. What was the unspoken answer? Because Kira missed him? Needed him? Wanted him? It was almost hard to imagine, faced here with this sort of power—this godly judgment to literally render an army of men to his divine will, ensuring they served him before they dropped dead at his ordinance—that an earthly lover of any kind could ever compare. How had L ever put that strategy into play, and wield it so successfully? And was it still in play? Or was this… was this the end? The last? Here on the eve of Kira’s great massacre, he was to celebrate with one last hurrah before wiping the board completely.

“You’re doubting me,” Light said, and his eyes narrowed, because he read Mello’s thoughts—translated them through the dimming of his gaze. “Even after all this, you haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Have you, Light?” Mello said. “Have you chosen a side?”

Light’s jaw snapped shut.

Mello continued, his voice tinged with a solemn wisdom. “L always said that when faced with your true ambition—when the crown of your achievements was placed firmly before you, he did not trust you to walk away. It’s a test, you realize—all this. Why I let you go, why L keeps you free. It’s time to choose, because you’re on the precipice—teetering on your own apex, it’s time to pick which way to fall.”

And Light’s face had darkened further, but not with bitterness—just contemplation. “We’re not there yet, Mello,” he said. “Soon, but not yet.”

Mello was grim.

“And I’m not sure it’s me who has to do the choosing,” Light continued. He paused then, paused for a long moment. “You’re free to go,” he said. “I’m not holding you here.”

"I know..." And that was the problem wasn't it. No one had forced Mello to come here, no one had shoved him into the car and dragged him kicking and screaming to this soon to be crypt. "Fuck..." Mello breathed, turning away. He reached up to pry the codec out of his ear, turning it over in his hand several times. Shit. This was temptation at its worst. The forbidden apple dangled clearly before him and yet the choice was not so clear. Because, goddamnit, he had missed him. Missed that touch, the fervor of that gaze, of that kiss. But... no, it wasn't so much the consequences as it was the chip of responsibility on his shoulders. One he had already shrugged off nearly a month prior and here was this chance to make it right but... that wasn’t' really their intention though was it? L did not truly want Light caught—not yet.

It felt as if it had all suddenly gone back to ground zero. Months of familiarity and acceptance draining away to come full circle at this moment in time. But as Light had said... they were close, but not yet there. So where in the hell did Mello’s hesitation come from? Why such conflict when not an hour earlier, he'd been more than willing to tangle himself beneath the sheets with Kira. Had this small revelation of the grand plan made such a difference? "Fuck..." he hissed under his breath, clenching the codec in his fist.

Light was waiting, as it was so obvious Mello was at a crossroads. The blonde looked around again, at the men just there, and they would shoot if shot upon, and they’d do whatever Light said, because Kira had written their names down and commanded them to. And this was just one household—a household of powerful and dangerous men in their own right, most likely lured here by name, and contained here as well. Just as Safariano’s household had been. And Kira was slaying them in quiet, behind the walls of their respective strongholds, so that by the time anyone knew the difference, he’d have paved half his way to the throne. And considering he’d already proclaimed the majority of his plan complete enough that he was comfortable taking a break such as this—then god only knew what was set to happen. What was already irreversible.

It was too much power for one man—as the Death Note ever was—but this, in the hands of this brilliant mind who could orchestrate all this, what could he do from here? Kira could, with enough will and wit and patience, quiet certainly, take over the bloody world. Not every man woman and child—but those influential enough, those in control, and that would put him in the highest state of power—and he knew it, he could do it—if L stepped out of his way. If L was not hanging in the wings, waiting to come back in and stop him, after this present plan was done.

Or had Light already taken care of that? For all Mello knew, L and Matt’s and even his own names could have already been written down—and here was Light, saying goodbye with one last shot of passion before the inevitable…