Redeemer

Light met L’s gaze and held it—long. “You realize, L,” he said, after a tense pause. “That if you take away that piece of the notebook, I will be of absolutely no use to you in this case.”

L didn’t reply, but the grim look on his face was response enough. It prompted Light to elaborate.

“The fact that you and Mello are still breathing right now should at least contribute something in my favor in regards to my using the piece at all. Though I’ll tell you, it’s barely large enough to fit a single character, let alone two full names.”

“I’m sure there’s a larger piece where it came from.” L returned.

Light, snake that he was, didn’t respond, but the truth seemed to melt over that sly look in his eyes. He most certainly had a piece big enough for their names, there was no doubt about that.

L’s gaze narrowed slightly, and he plucked another sugar cube. “Where is your piece, Raito-kun?” He said again. “I hate repeating myself, you know that.”

If he felt as though his lover, who’d been so intimate an hour ago, was suddenly turning on him, he made little show of it. Instead Light…stood up. And if there was one thing no one could probably ever question about Kira, it was his amazing wealth of self-confidence in any given situation. Not many people could stand there nude that way and still emanate such a powerful charisma, and he knew it inside and out. Walking up to them, fearless—beautiful—he had the perfect, svelte body, lightly toned with long, lean muscles, the pleasing jut of hips, the well-proportion squared shoulders, the long shapely neck that supported such a proud head. He wasn’t so badly packaged as Mello had joked either, stereotypical Asian-ragging aside—perhaps that had something to do with his confidence level as well. He certainly didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, at least in the physical arena—except maybe his scars. The blemish of healing bullet wounds stood out almost martyr-like on his narrow golden torso. Martyr like for him perhaps—a reminder of his lowest moments to the others. There were love marks besides, of the bruising variety, which jabbed at L’s own confidence; but the detective didn’t flinch, not even as his vicious lover sauntered up to him, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re welcome to look for it,” Light said. And if ever there was a baiting statement on so many levels—that was it.

L blinked, but said nothing and Light smiled coolly, letting the moment pass. “Then I’m going to take a shower,” he announced. And with that, moved passed them with that same poise and grace that sometimes seemed in itself, otherworldly. Mello’s eyes followed him for a moment, snagging on the grisly scarring down his back, along his shoulder blades. According to L, Halle had put them there, had declared Kira an angel and essentially tore off his wings so to speak during the SPK’s interrogation. Mello had issues picturing the woman capable of that kind of brutality, but considering who it was she’d decided to carve up that way, he figured he could make an exception. As it was, Light seemed to wear the scars as if they were indeed the mark of divinity—no harm, no foul? L hated them though, it was in his eyes, or at least Mello had caught it there when he first learned of the incident.

There was nothing much but intense thought in L’s eyes at that moment, however. He didn’t bother turning to Mello either when he addressed him. “Mello,” and his voice was flat and all business. “Please find the piece of notebook Raito-kun has hidden on him, don’t take it away, just find it. Thank you.”

Mello and Matt stopped.

“Consider the leash cut for now,” L said, stacking the next sugar cube.

The sugary treat couldn't have been placed into his mouth at a worse time. Mello froze, eying L questioningly but not daring to speak immediately. There was something unnerving about this newest order. Sure, it had been brought up when they were still in England, but his findings in the States had left any of them little time to do anything but move to the next stage. It had certainly not been the first thing on his mind the few times he had managed to get Light alone in his own suite. But now that L had brought it up again, he felt as if he had erred in having let such an important detail slip. Little chance to let it happen again now that the direct order was given and by the looks of it, L expected immediate results.

Un-fucking nerving. The lack of emotion, the offhanded way in which he spoke the words. But Mello knew better than to doubt whether or not L knew what he had just asked of him. Light was not about to hand over his secret easily without persuasion and likely not without gaining a few extra bruises to add to the collection. That was the reason that Mello had been addressed and not Matt. The redhead would have been quite content to shove a fist into his face but it would have likely ended at that. He did not have the necessary fire it would take to go into this battle and return victorious.

Mello just hoped he did. Or at least that it would not have to be pushed to extremes L might just regret later down the line. Funny how that worked. A sliver of hesitation at the thought of pounding the truth out of Light, not for his own sake, but L's. It was far too complex to even be questioned. So, at last swallowing the small pastry, he pushed himself up and shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall over the back of the chair.

"Understood," his usual response to such direct orders. It was plain enough. The leash was cut, free reign given until L himself interfered. The playing field couldn't have been made clearer.

He did not bother disarming himself before following the same path Light had just taken. The bathroom door clicked shut and Mello did not wait for Light to so much as utter a word before he threw the heavy shower curtain aside and poised one foot on the edge of the tub, crossing his arms casually over the raised knee. "Let me make this clear," he announced smoothly, no given threat evident upon his eyes as he stared down Kira. Nude and dripping as he was, Mello’s emerald eyes were trained upon Light’s face. "I still say you're more trouble than your worth, but I'm sure L knows what the hell he's doing. I, on the contrary am in here with one specific task. One that can either go smoothly or not. That will be left up to you." Mello even dared a grin, albeit crooked and devious, there was no doubt that the calm, contained air about him spoke of business. That's all this was. Maybe with a side dish of vindictiveness tossed into the mix along the way, but that was yet to be revealed.

It was hard to tell whether Light expected this sort of thing, but those honey brown eyes certainly flashed over dangerous at that moment, the water dripping down that handsome face, forming little teardrops at the ends of his hair. He was definitely calculating, doing the math in his head—and there was a sliver of betrayal in his gaze as far as L seemed concerned; which irritated Mello, because L had asked nicely, hadn’t he? What did Kira truly expect after all? He had a piece of the Death Note, he had their real names and true faces—he had all the damn power he wanted and should have never been permitted to have.

“One specific task, eh?” Light said smoothly, his gaze locked with Mello’s. “And that would be?” Except he didn’t wait for an answer, he turned back around to the fall of water as though it was unimportant. It also seemed like that was his answer as to whether this was going to go smoothly. “You’re letting the cold air in by the way,” he said over his shoulder.

"Cold air is the least of your worries," Mello returned off handedly, allowing him to turn for the moment, letting his Highness have his way at least for now before Mello got started. It would be war once he did, and so Light would be given the slight benefit of the doubt. At least for now. He wasn't quite sure why he was bothering, knowing the bastard as he did, but nevertheless Kira was allowed to stand beneath the pouring water and sweep lather from his hair before the cold touch of leather interrupted all illusions of freedom. Mello reached up to turn the shower head away from himself as he leaned forward, but not without earning himself a well aimed splash of warm water. He shook his head, flicking long damp blonde bangs from his eyes as he pushed Kira back against the cold tile.

"I don't care how we do this," he admitted quietly. "I can just as easily bleed you for the truth or not. You've been entrusted into my hands until L deems it enough. For his sake I might entertain the thought of sparing you any major damage, but as usual you don't make my job easy. You never have, so with that in mind, shall I even bother to exercise caution?" His grip was already tight around Light's throat, the black leather of his glove practically soaked by this point but it did not appear to be one of his main concerns. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice the sprinkling of water from above, splashing against the side wall and rebounding onto him.

"Where have you hidden it?" Mello continued, allowing his gaze to sweep the expanse of bare skin displayed before him, noting each scar that stood out blasphemously against that smooth canvas. Plenty of places to hide it and although once upon a time he would not have thought Light capable of using such desperate tactics, there was no other explanation. It was on him all right. In direct touch at all freaking times. That only meant one thing. But where was it? Or more curiously yet, how had he managed to put it there without making himself faint in the process?

Light’s eyes had narrowed to raging slits, but he kept himself contained, even as Mello’s hand tightened around that elegant neck of his, he watched Mello watching him—that scarred gaze sweeping along his body, unabashedly drinking in every bend and curve. Considering Kira had been shot full of holes not 3 months ago, he’d healed rather well, and if he was still feeling any pain from his injuries, he wasn’t showing it. Only the scars showed it, and Mello flicked a finger along one, forcing Light to half snarl at him—a very instinctive reaction.

“Let go of me,” he growled, and Mello hadn’t heard that tone of voice since they’re been together that night in the Interrogation chamber. He’d found the primal chord again, and Kira was ready to bare his teeth.

Ah, back to the caged animal syndrome. Mello arched a slender brow curiously, upturning his gaze to the taller man. Is that all it took to set him off, he wondered. All the words in the world did not matter so long as the evidence of his failure was not within view, and most importantly not the center point of attention. "Then answer the question," Mello returned calmly, releasing him from neither his grip nor his gaze as he extended his free hand to shut off the water, saving himself from getting completely drenched.

Light's eyes slid only to follow his movements to the water. Ironically, Kira seemed vaguely conscious that Mello indeed had the power to hurt him, especially if L had given the okay. It was a sudden and strange transition, from pampered prince to prisoner and again there was that glint of betrayal in his eyes. "Coming from me, I understand how it's hard for any of you to believe it when I say leave it alone. L knows what I'm talking about, I was myself again for several hours not too long ago—and he indubitably realized that without Kira, there is no solving this case or saving our lives. Leave the note where it is. I can't get to it, nor do I have any desire to."

"Did I at any point say I'd come in here to rid you of it?" Mello returned, momentarily surprised by Light's immediate defensive speech. Hand shifted so that his palm was no longer pressing against Kira’s throat, but cupping his chin instead, gripping firmly enough along the graceful lines of his jaw just so that there would be no misconceptions that he was free to move just yet.

The change in hold visibly confused him, and oddly, despite his initially volatile defensiveness, Light seemed to almost submit to Mello's strange new grip. "Then what is the point?"

"The point is that L finds it necessary to know where it is." Simple enough, right? "Now kindly quit stalling. My patience lasts only so long." Particularly under these circumstances, Mello thought to himself. Not expecting a confession anytime soon, he tugged a hand free of damp leather with the creative usage of teeth. There was only so much sensibility one could have through leather, however soft and pliable. "Don't mind me then..." he murmured, using that as his own way to ask permission before running his fingers along the ridges of another scar upon Light’s chest as if looking for something not immediately seen at first glimpse.

Light's eyes widened, his breath catching at the sudden feel of Mello's skin against his own. "You're a smart boy," he said, the edges of his voice slightly ragged; "Surely you can figure it out. But I'm not about to take it out and show you, if that's what you want. I told you already—I can't get to it."

Mello allowed a small smile. "Indeed? Then I’d love to know how you managed to tuck it away in the first place?" It wasn't part of the deal, but he had his own curiosity to sate, seeing that if the tiny piece of note was stashed away and out of reach, then there was the possibility of someone having done it for him. But who, when Light had been under 24/7 surveillance from the moment the world thought him dead?

Light's eyebrow hitched slightly and then his sly mouth spread smartly. "I didn't have any help, if that's what you're thinking. I did it myself, while L was asleep; but I know he's already figured that part out already."

"But still you claim not being able to reach it?" A brief chuckle rumbled in the back of Mello’s throat and in that moment, his hand ascended, releasing Light's chin only to tangle tightly into his hair with a sharp tug. "You're either lying or attempting clever word games yet again." Not that he particularly cared which of the two it was at that given moment, having already decided that he would have to search for the damned thing whether Kira liked it or not.

Thus, Mello continued, eying those scars within easier reach but then turning his attention to those that might just prove a problem. Despite having healed fairly well, given the circumstances, not all had been clean, the bullets leaving behind tender ridges that would take much longer to fade. It was those he fingered, strangely lightly as if not wishing to cause Kira discomfort. A humorous thought that, given the decidedly awkward situation they found themselves in.

Light's breathing had shallowed considerably as Mello's fingers deftly slid across warm, slick skin, kneading flesh, fingers trailing against scars. It was the oddly considerate touch against sore skin that brought a surprising stain to Light's cheeks—and either he'd just discovered his modesty, or he was perhaps still in pain...or quite possibly...he was turned on... Mello's own eyebrow hitched, his hand skimming down Light's bare flank, and Light suddenly caught his hand, the modesty facade slipping away to a sudden, dark and dangerous change of expression. He leaned closer to Mello, face to face, and slid Mello's hand up his ribs to a scar. "Perhaps it's here," he said, low and wanton, his own hand forcing Mello's to linger, before he dragged it across his abdomen, the tight ridge of a well-sculpted stomach, the arch of narrow ribs, pressing Mello's hand to another scar--"Or here? Is that your thought?" Light’s smirk turned molten, and he forced Mello's hand around him, quite literally stepping into Mello's arms and lacing his own around Mello's shoulders, "But the notion of shoving a piece of paper into bleeding wounds just doesn't sound like a wise move, does it? There's infection to consider." He was too close at that point, close enough to kiss, and the glint in his eyes, the tilt of his head, the heat of his body, was all so suddenly, terribly inviting...

There was a pause, true enough as Mello’s features drained of all telling emotion which only meant that he was doing his damned hardest to show Kira nothing of the thoughts that were currently flying through his head. Just what the hell was this? Mello's gaze had followed the involuntary trail of his hand, taking both spots into consideration before his attention was otherwise ripped away from the task at hand and Kira's all too infamous sexuality was shoved down his throat. How did the bastard do it? The proper words, just the right sultry tone to his voice, the precise press of bare skin.

"Given the alternative, I'd say the mild chance of infection was the last thing on your mind..." he said, still retaining enough clarity to tighten his hold upon sleek golden brown tresses at the nape of Light's neck. Granted in doing so, he'd only tugged his head back ever so slightly and thus awarded himself an even better angle of the smooth curve of Light’s neck. Stranger still was the fact that Mello had not shoved him away, not just yet at least. Wanting to see, perhaps, what his game was now.

It was the tug of the hair that made Light close his eyes and groan just ever so softly—and here was Kira suddenly playing a damn good submissive role, as though he’d already figured out where Mello’s darker dominant tastes lay. That lush, linear mouth of his smiled, Mello holding him in place, the fact that he hadn’t shrugged him off, shoved him away only seemed to encourage Light in his seduction, and he moved Mello’s other hand to his hip, pressing just that much tighter into Mello’s arms, inching the angle of his head slowly forward again, as though Mello was forgetting his own grip—and Light’s sly grin was at its most satisfying when it was just a breath away from Mello’s lips. “There are other places,” he purred, stealing that first sweet glide of tongue across Mello’s mouth, and when Mello still didn’t jerk away, Light leaned in for the kill, sucking his lips slowly between his own, gradually deepening the kiss…

Fuck. The words were effectively silenced upon his lips at that first flick of his tongue. All retorts for the moment forgotten as Mello found himself not only allowing Light to get away with such a move, but returning the heated gesture. It was shattered seconds later, not because he had come to his senses, but because Light had stepped away from the wall where he'd previously been pressed against. Thus, slick fingers slid up the length of his torso, as if finding every graceful curve and delightful toned muscle to press his palm to Light's chest and shove him back quite forcefully against the cold, dripping tile. His hand did not remain there, however, winding around the arch of Light's back to ascend along his spine, only to come down with a decisive scratch of nails carving easily into his skin. The taste of those lips was intoxicating; sweet, sinful poison one could not turn away after just the first taste. The devil's lips through and through, but still Mello sought them.

Light’s succulent voice ground against the darker pleasure of Mello’s nails raking down his back. He didn’t fight either as Mello shoved him against the wall and swept in to devour his lips—hard and bruising, sucking the breath from him, hands gripping the small of Light’s back, pulling him to arch into Mello’s commanding arms, and Light was pulling him closer, allowing himself to be manipulated any way Mello wanted. Of course it was a strategy at work—Kira was angry that L had set his dogs upon him, and rather obviously wanted to spear L straight through the heart at that moment. But the devil’s nectar was sweet, and the devil’s length was hard against Mello’s leather-clad thigh, which shoved abruptly between Light’s legs as he pinned him completely against the wall…

Ploy such as it may be did not deny the fact that this went beyond a simple ruse; the throbbing heat pressing against Mello's thigh plain evidence that Light's seduction worked wonders upon himself as well as others. A doubled edged sword if he'd ever seen one. Mello was not blind to the anger behind Light's actions, to the way he melted beneath his fingers - the picture perfect wanton lover - as he allowed himself to be manipulated all too easily. Too damned easily. The knowledge did little to clear Mello’s head, however and when at last Mello came up for air, he did not stray far, lips hovering right above Kira's own as he released a hot, shuddering breath. "I know what you're doing," he hissed and lifted his knee ever slightly to press against Light's groin; taunting, teasing, downright fucking cruel as the warm leather rubbed mercilessly against his length.

Light groaned, bowing his head, biting his lips, wet with Mello’s kiss. His cheeks were most definitely flushed, his long lashes fluttering against that glowing, beautiful face. He played the role so well he even convinced himself, and it was most impressive to watch Kira shuffle through strategies like a deck of cards—from arrogance, to violence, to seduction, to utter submission.

“I don’t care,” he panted. “If I wanted any of you dead, I could have done it months ago—the fact that I have taken no action to free myself,” and he winced, eyes closed, slender eyebrows knitting as Mello increased the pressure against his straining sex, “Is proof that I am on your side.” He opened his eyes at that moment, and he looked so damn erotic, flushed and wet and breathing heavy—his lips still so close, his body so pliant and palpable—it would truly be so easy to fuck him then and there. “In the end, Mello,” he breathed, “The Death Note will save us, not damn us.”

"No," the blonde whispered sounding breathless, however stranger still was the lack of aggression to his tone just then. "No Light, the Death Note damned you the moment it came into your life." And with those words, he went so far as to brush sopping strands from Light's amber eyes. "L wants to believe you," he told him. "More than ever he wants to believe that you'll pull through in the end." Mello had no idea what made him say this now, what made him divulge such information even as he remained pressed to the devil's own bare body, his own length throbbing relentlessly with the arousal that had been too easily lured to the surface.

He dared one last stolen kiss, bruising, fiery; teeth nipping none-too-gently upon Light's bottom lip. But, after several moments, he forced himself away. Forced himself to think clearly, to step back, obviously rattled, flushed. Mello swallowed dryly and ran his fingers through his hair, still damp. Goddamnit. What was he thinking? Had he even been thinking? His eyes fell to his enemy, and for once he had no appropriate words to spare.

Light looked…stunned. His face altogether a different kind of naked than his lovely body—as if for the first time since Mello had known him, he’d actually listened to what was being said to him—and the words had stuck, the tone in Mello’s voice, the non-threatening tone, the tender gesture, Mello brushing the hair from his eyes. Perhaps everything else Mello had ever done, all the anger, all the violence, all the antagonism—Light had anticipated, but this, this even in the moment of what was quickly becoming a brush of fiery passion—this stripped him to the bone. And if Mello didn’t know better, he’d say the water rolling down Light’s face were tears, and not just water leaking from the ends of his hair. In fact, the closer he looked, the more he was almost convinced, and he had to wonder what had gotten that look to cross Kira’s face—the notion that he was damned, or the fact that L wanted to believe in him.

It was a long moment before either of them found the clarity to pull it together, and Light’s brow knit, his gaze dropping, deep with consternation, he seemed suddenly conscious of how exposed he was, and slowly he stepped from the tub, bare feet on cold wet tiles. He reached out and took Mello’s hand, tugging him over to the sink, to the mirror—he met Mello’s gaze then in the reflection, and lifted Mello’s hand again to his side, to the bullet wound against his ribs and he flattened Mello’s palm to it.

“Here,” Light said. “It’s here, under the skin, like you thought.”

Mello was quiet a moment, watching him intently, curiously. "You've got balls," he commented idly in English in which the message made the most sense. His gaze descended to focus on the scar beneath his hand, taking a moment to touch his fingers lightly to the tender flesh. Right there huh. True enough it wasn't easily accessible. He'd gone through pains to regain some semblance of himself - or rather, of what he had become and Mello thanked Kira with a brief nod, perhaps surprising himself that he had bothered to do so in the first place. It had been a strange several minutes.

He stepped away then, moving past him but paused just after a couple of steps. Silent at first, he then dared to glimpse over his shoulder at Light, still standing before the mirror as if defeated. Mello plucked a plush bathrobe from behind the door and extended it to him. "For both of your sakes', I hope he's right." But he did not give Light a chance to reply, pulling the bathroom door open and stepping through it before any further words could be exchanged. It was closed behind him as if a subconscious effort to give Light a moment's privacy to sort out whatever demons had been awakened then. Mello wished he had such a chance, but there was no time nor opportunity between the moment he stepped out onto the hall and coming once again into view.

Matt was slouched in a chair, furiously thrusting thumbs on PSP buttons, goggles drawn, thoroughly engrossed and purposely ignoring what was going on probably since Mello followed a naked Light into the bathroom. L was seated where Mello had left him, his back to the door, looking as though he hadn’t moved. Mello took a moment to gather himself, pulling into place a perfect façade of business when his mind was actually lingering on the very vulnerable image of Kira he’d just left with.

“He hid it under his skin,” he said.

Matt didn’t bat an eye, still playing his game. “Pretty fucked up,” he muttered, his chin pressed to his chest, muffling his voice.

L didn’t say a word.

Mello drew a deeper breath. “It seems he did it while his wounds were still pretty fresh, slid it inside between the stitches and let it heal over. He can’t access it unless he cuts himself open.”

It was a long pause before L finally spoke. “I had considered something along those lines,” he maintained the level, nondescript tone of his business voice so it was hard to tell what he really thought.

Shit. And Mello was pretty sure the laptop screen L suddenly closed had been a one-way portal into that damn bathroom he’d just come from. L had most likely seen everything, but that shouldn’t have been a surprise—right? Mello should have known that going in, should have known that when Kira suddenly became the hottest thing on two Asian legs.

“Good work, Mello,” L managed, and without turning around, he stood up and headed for the kitchen without explanation.

Mello just stood there for a moment, and Matt piped up again. “I don’t know what he saw on that screen—I just know I’m pretty glad I didn’t see it because I think we’d be having more than just words right now.”

Mello didn’t confirm it or deny it. Instead he walked over to where L had been sitting. His sugar cube structure had been swept away, the cubes back in their plate—that in and of itself wasn’t such a good sign and so Mello raised the laptop screen.

Of course it was an image of the bathroom, and Light had taken to sitting on the floor in the far corner by the window—plush bathrobe wrapped tightly around him—and Mello instinctively reached for the bar of chocolate inside his vest because that seemed like the best option at the moment…

But not even the sweet cocoa was remedy enough just then. Mello stole a glimpse at the laptop's screen before his gaze moved instinctively toward the kitchen doorway. He could hear L opening and closing cabinets, and it didn’t sound very friendly. Something shattered.

Goddamnit, Mello cursed inwardly and snatched up his jacket off the previously occupied chair. "C'mon," he murmured; his tone a mixture of frustration and conflict as he snatched up the sniper's sketch and riffle off the table, exiting the suite without any further words. There was no need for them. Not just then. Later perhaps, if there was the need, he and L would talk but he highly doubted any conversation of the sort would be taking place anytime soon.

* * *

"And just how badly did you fuck up?" Matt asked despite himself as he fell into the seat and pulled the car door shut. "I don't particularly care to hear the details of what that interrogation entailed, but if it's something that's going to make a difference in L's behavior toward you, then I'd bloody well like to know."

Mello bit off a bit of chocolate with a particularly loud snap, throwing the Spider into gear. He did not answer right away, reversing out of the spot and emerging into the streets, which by that point, had cleared up at last. Their own flat was not his immediate destination, as if the cool breeze and the task of just steering through the tangled streets of Rome would help him clear his head.

"It should be all right," he told him at last. "I'm not sure what kind of discussion they will have, but my fuckup wasn't as great." Albeit having a hand it and having the ability to put an end to it at any given point, he hadn't. And yet, that had been Light's intention. Vindictive to the last moment and wanting to wound L in the only way he could just then, Mello reflected with a stab of regret.

But what had puzzled him the most were those tears upon that amber gaze, one moment filled with rage, with lust and then... something all together different. As if in that moment when Mello's words were heard for the very first time and the harsh truth sunk in like it hadn't before. Just then, Kira had looked lost. That bothered him. That bothered him a lot and there wasn't a goddamned thing Mello could do about it. It wasn't his department; was not his responsibility. Shit, he didn't even know if there was something he could do. Just then he wanted nothing but to let go of the incident and return his focus to the case at hand.

Easier said than done. He could not forget that hint of desperation in those eyes, just as he could not so easily forget the addicting taste of his mouth. Goddamnit.

* * *

Broken tea cup.

It had cut his palm, and L was curled in the kitchen chair, head down, staring at the bloody stain that kept seeping through the bandage. It was sort of like deciphering a language, learning the letters as he watched the veritable Rorschach spread across the gauze. It was telling him Kira had a new strategy, telling him Mello was more effective than he initially thought, telling him that Light had been sucking everything out of him these past many years and there had been so many times L was ready to give up on him; cast Kira aside, let the logic and reason take over. Why was he holding on again?

That moment of weakness at the warehouse haunted him for the umpteenth time.

Maybe Near had more perspective when he’d sworn that the world needed to be rid of Kira, at one time L had thought that too—back in the beginning, but it had gotten so much more complicated since then. Light had made certain of that, as he continued to make certain of it—he’d used every trick, every ploy every maniacal method to sink his claws in deep and preserve himself; because that’s what it usually came down to didn’t it? Self preservation? Kira was only ever out to save himself, not the world—no, the world he just wanted to control. And if he couldn’t control the world, he had to control whatever was closest to him.

And he was doing a damn good job.

How many times had L already reasoned with himself that he could get over Light Yagami? He’d lost count by now, but the thought kept surfacing. He was strong-willed; to go against Kira he had to be, he could get over Light Yagami, it would take time, so much time; and it would hurt—the devastating kind of hurt that would make L want to just lay there and embrace the blackness; but eventually the pall would lift, and he’d start to remember himself again.

In time he’d shove it off, bury it down, loving Kira had been an indulgent sin—but never really love. Just sex. Perhaps he could get away with that in the end, when he’d forgotten how it felt to lie there in Light’s arms at night, their hands intertwined, slow breath against soft skin, when in every off moment L could see behind Kira’s amber eyes that lost desperation that begged to be—saved? All that would fade away to just the mechanical memories of sex, and one day L would wonder why it had ever mattered.

That would be a lie he’d have to truly work at crafting, but he could do it, he knew he could. It was just that initial period after giving Kira up to whatever fate awaited him—kill switch, SPK, Interpol, Ryuk—whatever there was that would snuff out the Light in L’s life for the rest of eternity—that would be the worst of it. The moment of shock and numbness fading to disbelief, sheer abominable wretchedness—and then nothing. L would be nothing too, he would know what it felt like, being empty, not existing, because that’s where his mind would leave itself—in the nothing, looking for Light—trying to understand the inconceivable fact that he would be entirely and utterly…gone.

And there would never be another one like him.

Not like him.

Not him.

They were equals. Two parts, two halves so melded together and inextricably linked that ripping one from the other would be tearing away precious sinew and leaving shared organs on the floor.

L’s toes gripped the cushion of the seat. Perhaps it would be best to let the Shinigami win. After all, he knew better. For L, living without Light was something he was beginning to feel he could not do. It would be so…boring. So lackluster, so listless, without his other half—without his darkness, his Light. Was it love? What the hell did L or Kira even know about love anyway? Though neither of them would deny, if asked, that they indeed missed the handcuffs. L had seen it in Light’s eyes on numerous occasions—the security of the chain, of always knowing there was that person on the other end—the soul mate, mortal enemy, deepest love—love again—the other half never more than 5 feet away. And yet here they were in separate rooms, both contemplating the outcome of this—of all of this. And here L was, in all his genius, unable to find a logically acceptable reason why he had saved Kira that day.

But he’d been over that with himself. It was now a scientific Given. The rest of the theory would come, but L had saved Light, and there was no arguing that fact. There was only dealing with it. And the longer they were together, locked on a new battlefield—the one that was forcing Kira to survive the aftermath of his own defeat… the harder it was for L to even configure a reason to let him go. He did not want to. He did not want to then, and he did not want to now.

No, he’d won the first round. Kira was his prize. And his prize was beginning to unravel the threads, wasn’t he? L glanced down almost to see if his edge were frayed.

Perhaps Ryuk deserved his win—and Light deserved to die, and L just needed to sleep. At long last. Whichever way he formulated, he could not win this completely in the end. There would come a time when Light would simply cease to exist, and there was no hope his soul, his energy—whatever it was men put their faith in as comfort at the thought of death—would be gone. L could not hope to be reunited with him in any elsewhere, he could not console himself with the notion that some Higher Being would have mercy on its fallen angel and offer him redemption. Light simply would just…not...be. And L knew that was a concept he could not live with either… though sometimes, it was exactly what he wanted…

* * *

Fiery.

There was no other way to describe it. No other way to put into words the heat with which they fell into one another, lips bruising, teeth biting, tongues warring for control. Gloved fingers tightened into damp tresses at the back of his neck and Mello yanked that head back just enough so that he may look into the clear blue of his lover’s eyes. Watch the glimmer there present, the arousal – which was also very much portrayed hotly against a leather clad knee – the anticipation.

God. And it was probably not a good idea to recall exactly what had brought this onslaught on in such fury—best to ignore that Mello initially reached for Matt’s lips with the lingering taste of Kira on his own. He pushed it aside, shoved it off, told himself he felt nothing for the devil and Matt was all he needed… but he was probably lying. Nevertheless, lust was lust—love or otherwise.

Mello could just about feel himself shudder at that expression, wanton and daring all the same. Butter in his hands and yet Matt so very much aware of his effect on the blonde. He flashed him a faint grin, seductive in that way only he could be without even trying. And that, just there, was the appeal. The pull that had driven Mello to yank him away from the pub crowd and into this less than decent bathroom whose painted walls had likely seen better days – and undoubtedly worse. But they had never made it to the wall and it was one of the narrow sinks the redhead leaned against, practically sitting on the mildly damp surface and finding that he did not particularly care.

He tasted of smoke and ale. Two particular things that one would not think could be in any way appealing and yet, mixed with that all-too-familiar taste that was all him, that was all Matt, Mello could not help the faint groan that tickled at the back of his throat.

Breathless, lungs bursting for the air that had been denied, he broke the kiss, tugging at the leather of his gloves with his teeth and spat it carelessly aside. Black painted nails carving shallow pink lines along his lover’s back, indulging the need to touch that bare skin; to feel the warmth radiating off his body at that moment, to run his hands over the familiar contour of toned muscles. Impatience won over within minutes; his mouth leaving behind an array of nips in its wake, claiming that smooth expanse of neck and shoulder, claiming his property as he had claimed it each and every time.

Matt was his unlike anything else in this world.

Because of moments like this – because Mello delighted in the feel of the redhead’s fingers burying into his hair, gripping him tightly, desperately. Because he delighted in the way Matt tilted his head back, practically falling against the rusted mirror with the faintest bit of grace and yet just then, in their urgency, it caught the breath in Mello’s throat. Just like the guttural cries of frustration elicited at each teasing touch.

“Come on!” Matt gasped, tugging fiercely at the back of the blonde’s jacket with an all too suggestive roll of hips that pressed them ever-so-intimately together. The belt was undone, Mello chuckling huskily through the task with sharp, effective yanks. Jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped and parted just enough to reveal the throbbing length which was soon planted firmly against Mello’s palm.

Head hit the mirror with a resounding thud. Matt cared only enough to grip onto the corner of the wall high above him, holding himself up as back arched, hips leaning into that touch, into the feel of expert fingers that were decidedly attempting to drive him right up the fucking wall. “Goddamnit, Mello!” he hissed, teeth biting down sharply onto his bottom lip as he fixed his lover with a particularly deadly glare. If only that look had ever worked on the volatile blonde… which… by god, was he laughing at him?

Indeed, Mello was chuckling quietly, leaning closer so that the husky sound of his voice drove home right at the redhead’s ear. “What’s the matter?” he taunted even then. Even as his already snug pants had long become particularly uncomfortable at the groin.

“Don’t do this-“ Matt gasped through gritted teeth. “Not now, goddamnit. We don’t have the time. Just fuck me, already!”

Ah, just the words he loved to hear. The words he had longed for from the very start despite whether or not both knew the outcome of this little romp that had been initiated behind a closed bathroom door in a lush hotel suite. The door had been locked. There would be no interruptions, not that either truly cared at that point.

And so as the laces were undone and the only thing available to them – liquid soap from the nearby dispenser – was utilized, slopped messily upon his cock, Mello bore into the too-hot, too-tight willing body with a careful intensity that belied his earlier torment. Slow at first, careful, allowing his lover a moment’s pause to accustom himself with the intrusion – painful either way regardless of how damned prepared he was, but oh so delightful – before pounding into him in earnest.

Lips chapped, eyes firmly shut, Matt hardly knew what to do with himself. One hand clinging desperately to the top of Mello’s jacket, right beneath the shoulder blades, keeping him close and holding himself up all at once. Half-tangled in his own jeans, there was very little he could do to remedy the situation as their choice of a “flat” surface was the traditionally concave sink. Ha. He cried out against the fabric of his shirt, stifling the sounds of pain-laced pleasure as best he could with each mounting thrust the blonde bestowed upon him.

The sight was a torment. Mello swallowed dryly, hand falling to the mirror on the side of his lover’s head; the less-than-clean surface fogging beneath his palm. He bowed his head, free hand firmly attached to Matt’s hip, black polished nails carving half moons into smooth skin and adding to the marks he had left just earlier that morning and several times before that.

There was nothing romantic about it.

Not the setting, not the downright fucking they indulged in, lustful and downright raw to the core. And yet, as Matt cried out sharply, biting into his own bicep and the thin cotton fabric of his shirt, shuddering at the sensation of a final thrust and the hot spill of his lover’s pleasure deep within him, the redhead clung fiercely to him as if he lay then on a bed of goddamned roses. The setting hardly mattered when it was that finalizing sensation he craved with each touch, each kiss. To lose himself in the heat of the moment where nothing else mattered and there was no threat in the world, nothing more to worry about than each other and the relentless ecstasy that threatened to devour them whole and left them shivering against one another, gasping for breath, trying to regain the senses which were for the moment clouded white and fuzzy around the edges.

But that sweet-sweet release did not come. Not like he had wanted it to. Not like it had been promised and Matt cried out sharply as deft fingers tightened mercilessly around his throbbing length, keeping that last bit of pleasure at bay. Sharp curses touched his lips and the back of his head struck the mirror a second time, clawing at his lover’s back through his desperation. “Mello-” Matt groaned through gritted teeth, ready to kill. And yet, as he watched, his lover withdrew from him, only to step back and bow down over the redhead’s squirming hips.

Those beautiful whorish lips wrapped around his length, replacing the fierce grip that kept him so painfully close to release. The redhead gasped sharply, eyes widening in a mixture of disbelief and surprise before those soft lashes were pressed into flushed cheeks. Ever thoughtful, wasn’t he? Matt heard himself laugh, albeit the sound warped by the stifled cries that ripped past his lips against the soft fabric of his shirt. It was the least he could do to keep their less than innocent activities undiscovered.

Shivers racked his body and Matt fell limp against the sink, shaky hand just barely keeping him up. Breath failed him, senses blurred, unfocused. Mello had ascended, flicking his tongue against his lover’s lips so that Matt could taste himself upon that fleeting kiss, causing him to shudder.

“How thoughtful of you…” he mustered breathlessly several moments later to Mello’s delight. How could he have possibly composed himself in such little time? Sometimes he had to wonder just how the guy managed. But the flush was still upon those features; haphazard blonde strands plastered to his forehead. Composed but not unaffected.

“I thought so myself,” Mello purred, leaning closer and that look in his eyes was predatory. After everything that had just happened, the fire was not extinguished. In fact, the fire was never truly extinguished between them. “Come…” he murmured quietly, lips hovering so very kissably close. “I’m not done with you just yet. As good as you taste, Matty, I’d rather see you bound to the bed and begging me for release before the night is over.”

The redhead just about choked, coughing quietly as he attempted to lift himself off the sink, accomplishing the feat with a bit less grace than generally demonstrated. Mello, however, only grinned, not so much as waiting around for a response as he plucked his gloves off the floor, checked himself briefly in the mirror and proceeded through the door and right back into the moving throng that occupied the ever slightly dingy bar. Matt watched the door slam shut on its frame with an unabashed look of disbelief upon his face.

The bastard had just left. The bastard left and expected him to follow obediently, craving that promise, craving that touch, the heat of his kiss.

Damn him. He was right.

* * *

The room was dark but for the lights of Rome beyond the glass doors. L smelled his cologne before he’d even noticed someone had entered and it dawned on him oddly that he had fallen asleep. It was late now—almost 11pm, and it was as quiet as that black abyss he had been dreaming of. He stirred slightly, sensing the presence beside him, stiffening only because he wasn’t prepared when those long arms wrapped around him from behind, held him close, pressed a kiss into his hair before they were gone again.

L twisted around but caught only the graceful line of Light’s back as he slipped from the kitchen. He was dressed, groomed—another expensive suit—god, had he been asleep that long? And so deeply?

“Raito-kun?” He called after him, but his voice was heavy and lost in the shadows. “Kira?” And that was strange.

He didn’t get a reply…save for the front door suddenly closing, and L found himself completely alone.

Light was gone… and the room was dark again.

* * *

It was quiet there, atop the bridge with the river running smoothly beneath him. Quiet in the way only the night could be quiet, blanketed by a gloom of darkness despite the ever-present lights of the city still illuminating the winding streets and amalgamation of villas and modern apartment buildings that sprawled out immensely before him. The car had been parked on the bridge, tires just barely missing the sidewalk. He'd needed the fresh air, needed to stop and just stare at something other than passing headlights for a while. The Colosseum was visible from there, or rather it's tallest ruins, illuminated in pale yellow light and set against the blackened horizon. To the north lay the Vatican City, now long closed to the public, but not even that earned his attention for very long just then.

"Scheiße," Mello cursed under his breath, lowering his head. This wasn't right. None of it was. "God, what's happened to me?" he murmured in his native German, so very rarely spoken now-a-days as necessity had forced them to rely on English and Japanese for everyday communication between the four of them.

"You're losing your focus." Not God, but the voice of reason nevertheless.

Matt had gotten out of the car without even having been detected. He stood a short distance away, hands shoved into his jean pockets as a lit cigarette dangled form his lips. His goggles were perched on top of his head, allowing stringy strands of blood-red to fall over his eyes. He leaned back comfortably against the railing, not looking away from the star he had been apparently watching for some time.

Voice of reason indeed.

How many times he had filled that role over the years was a count Mello had long lost track of. Too many times Matt had been the blonde's only saving grace; the only thing that brought him back to himself. Matt knew him well. Matt knew what to say at any given time, despite his mood or annoyance level. For so long he had been loyal; abandoning the safety of Wammy's House to follow him into the real world that had in a moment of bad news, crumbled to nothingness. Abandoning that one certainty in order to follow him across the world on a hunt that proved to be more dangerous than anything any fifteen year old boy should have been expected to face. But he'd been there every step of the way, behind the scenes and kept from harm. Ready to save Mello's ass instead. Ready to give him the backup needed, ready to pull him out of the flames that threatened to engulf him and call off this chase much too soon. Ready to smack the sense back into him when all else seemed lost and pointless. What more could he have ever asked for?

Elbows rested on the cold steel railing, burying his face in his hands. The seconds ticked away; digits slid through messy tresses of gold. "I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore."

Matt frowned and cast him a sidelong glance. "What L said earlier rattled you. I remember when you cared for nothing other than seeing that bastard incarcerated or six feet well underground but that's changed hasn’t it?"

Fuck him, he was right. Mello allowed his eyes to slide toward Matt, a soft breath upon his lips. He wasn't even sure how to answer that; or if there was even a proper answer he could give him. But was he right. Something had changed, and perhaps it had been gradual, or perhaps L's words had pushed it along.

It mattered now what happened to Kira despite it all; it mattered because the situation had become all the more complicated. The well of tears upon that amber gaze had done it. The obviously emotional reaction he'd gotten out of L had done it. The situation was doomed. Damned to fail at all costs not because there was no emotional investment in the bizarre relationship, but because there was. There was far too goddamned much of it to be healthy. All of this time Mello had not wanted to believe it. He had wanted to pass it off as a phase, an infatuation, a reason to indulge. And maybe that was what had bothered him all along. It wasn't the fact that L was fucking Kira. It was the fact that L was not only fucking Kira, he was also in love with him. And Mello's greatest sin that evening was not that he had acted on his own volition, but had allowed himself to be used by Kira against L. Used as an instrument that would stab L's heart. It was the only thing Kira had just then to lash out with, thrusting his betrayal in L’s face trying to incite the jealous lover syndrome. The broken heart.

Had it worked? It had done something. L wasn’t happy—slamming kitchen cabinets, breaking things. He was yelling and tossing objects about the way Mello was prone to, but he wasn’t necessarily reserved in his demeanor, though Mello hadn’t exactly stuck around to get the full scope of it. Kira hit a nerve, Kira meant to hit a nerve—but was that a personal nerve in L’s own being? Or was it just that much more convoluded. L just as well could have been angry that Mello had fallen for Kira’s wiles, or had stepped so easily into the trap. Perhaps it was a test like everything else—and Mello had failed. Or perhaps, to the blonde’s credit—he’d used his own wiles back to seduce Kira into telling him where the notebook piece was. Yeah, sure, that was it.

Point being Mello knew what he felt in that bathroom—that sudden splitting fissure of doubt, of sympathy…of sexy, goddamnit, and it wasn’t the first time where Kira was concerned. And while it was near impossible to tell what the hell L was thinking half the time—it had pissed him off… and maybe, just maybe—it had hurt him. And that was the part that rubbed Mello raw.

"I know you..." it was the second time Matt had said those words to him that day, pushing himself away from the railing in order to come closer and much to Mello's surprise, casually draped his arms over his lover’s, cigarette held carefully between two fingers. He exhaled a smoky breath to the side before turning those lips to the scarred line of Mello's jaw. Even several years later the gesture drew light shivers down Mello’s spine; long pale lashes falling shut against his cheeks.

"And I know that had you truly done something wrong you would have told me, if only so that I could kick your ass now and be done with it." The comment drew a smile, albeit small and strained, from Matt’s lips. "You're beating yourself up because reason tells you one thing and your beliefs tell you another. It's so like you..." the latter was a whisper. "The guy's been our enemy for years and now you worry about the fate of his soul." The redhead chuckled and the sound was low, deep within his throat if not sultry. "Just as you worry about what your actions might've done to their relationship-"

"No," Mello interrupted at last. "It isn't their bloody relationship I worry about but what it's doing to L."

And there it was, laid out plain and simple. The source of his grief and apprehension. "I think it's killing him. All this time it's been killing him and only now is it so bad that we've started to see it."

A breath was loosed and again those lashes fell. Mello shook his head and forced himself to relax, leaning back against him. "I told him how L was trying to believe in him. Was that wrong of me? I fuckin' told him the truth and everything changed. Instead of arguing, he showed me exactly where he'd hidden the piece of note. He was fuckin' crying. I told him the truth and all the games ended and he crumbled. Why? Why!" the latter was a hiss but the question was rhetorical. He could not expect Matt to have an answer. He did not expect anyone to have a proper reason for the endless mysteries that made up that all too complex relationship.

"You're a mess." Again Matt stating the obvious. It was part of the reason Mello adored him. He needed that brutal honesty every so often, needed that harsh clash of reason to shatter the conflicting emotional mess he often sunk into. The business face could only last so long under given pressure.

There were only a few months left. Their trail was hot, but elusive. Could they do it? Could they honestly get through this deal in one piece? Gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the cross at his front. But just then Mello knew the strength would come from the arms that enveloped him and not the cool piece of silver pressing painfully against his palm. Blasphemous thoughts. His gaze trailed toward the long walls in the distance; the Basilica that resided within them. Perhaps he would have to make it a point to visit after all. Perhaps there was still something left to learn.

There was always something left to learn.

It was then that the beeping sprung to life and they both shifted, glimpsing back at the com that had been installed into the two-seater's dashboard. Two simple words black against the stark white screen: He left.

Too simple and to the point. Mello sighed, weary and broke away from his lover's hold, but before he could reach the driver's side door, the keys were swiped from the engine as Matt just about dove across the convertible's side. "What are you doing?!" Disbelief flashed across the blonde's features; disbelief and utter confusion.

"You must sleep even if he doesn't," the redhead explained, crushing his cigarette underfoot. "There's a tracking device on Light wired to our system. We'll know where he is at all times. Protest all you want," he interrupted as Mello opened his mouth, obviously to complain and likely shout a few curses at him. "I'm taking you home if I have to knock you unconscious and carry you up the stairs myself."

That abruptly put an end to any protests he could have had, looking dumbstruck instead. It was not often that Matt went against orders, be them from himself or especially L. But nevertheless, it was refreshing. And likely just what Mello needed.