Shades of Mystification

BY : Hellagoddess
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 20577
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! I’m beginning to get a bit nervous about the story, so any and all support is MUCH appreciated!

You can thank DUOMI for the early update! And see her beautiful fanart for the story here:
The first looks like a manga cover and made me fall in love with it all the more. If for some reason I ever draw a doujinshi of this story (and it’s been known to happen) I’d be inclined to use this as a cover haha!

Here’s the detail of the painting of Raito that got everyone so tizzy :P Slightly different from how I imagined it but gorgeous nonetheless! Go comment them!

Here’s your new chapter!

Chapter Twelve

He must have fallen asleep.

Raito’s well-established ego wouldn’t allow him to consider that he might have fainted. Fainting is what girls did. Girls and weak-willed people. So he hadn’t fainted. Just fallen asleep rather suddenly or something.

But there was no doubt that he was waking up in a place where he knew he hadn’t spontaneously gone unconscious.

He felt well rested, like he’d been sleeping comfortably for a long time. Judging by the light coming through the closed curtains, he may have even slept through the night.

Turning over, his bare legs shifted against sheets of an unfamiliar blend. No expensive Egyptian cotton here. Puzzled, he sat up too quickly, bringing a hand up to hold his head as the room swam. The surroundings were vaguely familiar and in the five minutes before Raito woke up completely he thought it was quite a nice place to wake up to.

He’d also noted that his pants were gone, but his shirt remained, minus his tie. He observed his AWOL trousers on a chair across the room, crumpled on the seat. He knew for certain then that he’d never taken them off.

Everything, even his dirty clothes before they were washed, were folded at home. No exceptions. There was no way he would have just dumped them there unless he hadn’t at all.

Suddenly everything clicked into place.


He was at L’s house, in L’s bed.

L had…! Oh shit, L had taken his goddamn pants off! That pervert! Raito’s control slipped and a look of flushed outrage crossed his face at the idea.

What the hell had happened?! His heart was suddenly racing. He had to get out of here now. He’d woken up in L’s bed with no pants and couldn’t remember a single thing about getting there. He cast a quick, cautious look around the room before he started to pull back the covers, intent on making it to his pants across the room. And then out of the building, hopefully without the artist even knowing he was awake. Everything could be sorted out later but first he had to get out.

He whipped the blankets back, feet sliding silently down towards the floor when, unexpectedly, L calmly walked around the dividing screen. Raito froze up for a second before retracting his feet, whisking the covers back over himself and pulling his knees up. L ignored the defensive posture and obvious fright that he’d given the other man with his sudden appearance and continued a slow cautious walk into the room. The reason for his gait became apparent from the tray he was carrying.

The scent of whatever was on it reached Raito and his stomach immediately growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten dinner last night, just a few bites of cake. He flushed, embarrassed, and looked away from the approaching artist. L stood by the bedside, hunched over and unmoving until Raito realized what he was waiting for. With an even deeper flush, he hurriedly pressed his legs flat so the man could lay the tray on his lap.

He took a deep breath and looked down, expecting something sweet like muffins, despite the scent from it, but couldn’t have been more surprised. The plate was loaded with poached and scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and grilled field mushrooms. There were slices of toast, dry and buttered, hash browns and baked tomatoes. Sitting to the side of the plate was a large mug of steaming coffee with a bowl of sugar cubes and a chilled glass of fresh juice. Raito’s mouth watered and he had to swallow quickly lest he embarrass himself further by drooling over the plate.

Normally he was so conscientious about what he ate that being suddenly presented with a huge western-style meal was like an unforeseen gift. There was no polite way that he could turn the meal down, not when L had obviously spent over an hour making it, nor when he’d bought it to his bedside as he awoke. So, of course, he just had to eat it, He didn’t want to be rude or anything He picked up the knife and fork that were laid next to the coffee and made the mistake of raising his eyes to meet the artist’s.

L stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other at his mouth as he slid his thumb back and forth across his bottom lip, unknowingly drawing attention to his mouth. Raito stiffened up as memories flooded back from the day before.

They’d…oh God they’d kissed, and L had said…

L must have sensed his train of thought because he took the hand out of his pocket and took the knife and fork from Raito’s suddenly limp grasp. He cut off a piece of bacon, stabbed a bit of egg and held it up to Raito’s mouth.

“Eat, Raito-kun. You’ve had a fright.”

Raito took the fork from him and dutifully ate the mouthful, taking the knife back.

They didn’t speak again and Raito slowly ate the rest of the meal, sipping at his juice once the coffee was gone. When he was done he sat back slightly, resisting the urge to sigh contentedly. It seemed a rude thing to do when he’d been the only one eating. He didn’t get to savor the relaxed feeling of being full though because L quickly stood from where he’d been crouched on the floor next to the bed and took the tray. As he leaned down to take it he placed a quick, light kiss against Raito’s temple and was gone before the gallery owner could react.

His hand went up to his head, fingertips lightly touching the place where L’s lips had brushed. The casual intimacy of the gesture unnerved him and he shivered slightly, pulling his legs back up again.

Feeling slightly trapped, he quelled his own unnatural fears. Raito had never been a coward and he hated to be called weak. So whatever this…thing was he wasn’t going to run from it any longer. Calming himself, he objectively categorized everything about the artist and himself that he could think of, trying to find out if there was any other reason for the artist to kiss him. He always came back to the fact that there was obviously an attraction there. He could remember the first kiss with some clarity and while it hadn’t been earth shattering, it had certainly affected him rather deeply.

His mind quickly shied away from his subsequent uncharacteristic and girly fainting fit, while wondering at the same time if he should get a scan done. There was obviously an imbalance of some sort in his head, possibly a tumor that was causing blackouts…yeah, that had to be it. It had nothing to do with L. Sheer coincidence and timing. Tumor. Yep.

He swallowed and shifted in the bed, knowing deep down that he was lying to himself, but happy to play along with his mind. He’d never played well with others anyway. He blinked, avoiding childhood-trauma memories about sandpits and stolen buckets, bringing himself back to the matter at hand.

However, making a decision as important as this wasn’t as simple with only one real kiss to go on. He needed more data before he concluded his feelings on the matter. He’d kissed many women in his lifetime, often, and only one man, once. It was only for his own peace of mind…and it was the only logical way to go about it. Now, how to ask…

L came back a short while later and by then Raito was prepared. But at the sight of the artist, Raito seized up a bit and the carefully weighted opening line he’d equipped himself with crumbled to dust in his mouth. He tried to salvage it regardless.


The artist seemed surprised by his tone and sat on the bed next to him where Raito had indicated.

“How may I be of assistance? Is it that Raito-kun is still hungry? If so, I have made something for myself, I could shar-”

“No, no it’s not that.” Raito looked away, realizing he’d never thanked the artist for the meal. “It was…good. I enjoyed it.”

The small accomplished smile that quickly flowed across the artist’s face made Raito flush before he stuttered out a quiet thank you.

“Raito-kun is very welcome. It was the first time I have accomplished such a breakfast meal. I much prefer waffles and other such sweet morning foods. I was unsure what consisted of Raito-kun’s normal breakfast fare, since I am not from Japan. Nor have I had the chance to often view Raito-kun as he prepares his breakfast.”


The gallery owner quirked an eyebrow, taken aback. There were quite a few questions suddenly crowding his head but there was time for them later. Now that the man was actually there, and staring at him with that blank look on his face, Raito’s carefully orchestrated plan went sliding sideways.


The artist inclined his head to show he was listening and Raito refrained from squirming under his gaze. He’d never met someone who made him so uncomfortable and happy at the same time. He couldn’t for the life of him, remember what he’d wanted to say. He scrabbled around, feeling quickly out of his depth. Where had his usual charming, intelligent self gone? He was never this…inept. For a second he wondered if this was how Matsuda felt all the time. He had a newfound respect for the man that he managed to get out of bed successfully in the morning with all this uncertainty looming over him. He’d never yell at him for filling the sugar bowl with salt ever again.

“Ah…” He started and then immediately cursed himself for his un-verbose start. “May I…what I mean to say is can you…ah…?” This had gone so much better in his head. At a loss, he made a vague gesture with his hand and L’s head tilted further to the side as a hand slowly rose, on its inevitable way to the artist’s mouth. Raito watched it, knowing that once it got there, all his plans might be shattered.

Therefore it was quite a surprise to them both when the gallery owner suddenly moved forward and, grabbing the escalating hand between his own, pressed his lips firmly to the artist’s.

It was awkward to say the least.

Neither of them had closed their eyes and when it finished they both looked a little askance at one another.

This second kiss had been nothing like the first and Raito wondered if he’d made a mistake. A part of him was cheering, thinking that this proved he wasn’t inclined towards men, but it was only a small part. The rest of him was yearning to give it one more go, to see, if maybe there was something, he just had to try as little harder next time.

L was touching his lip with his fingertips and Raito watched as his eyes widened and he suddenly looked up – catching Raito staring at him.

“Raito-kun!” He whispered, urgently, huskily, hunger in his eyes flaring to life. The sight of such sudden emotion made Raito freeze like L had suddenly grown a horde of tentacles. Raito was Japanese. He knew what would have followed if the artist actually had.

In the absence of flailing feelers making an attempt on his body, Raito opened his mouth to reply, to explain the kiss but didn’t get there because the artist had lunged at him, connecting their lips once more. And it was like the first all over again.


The lift door slid shut behind him and Raito rubbed his shoulder, thinking he might have a bruise. L had banged him into the wall pretty hard. Even though he felt the man was being playful about it, he didn’t seem to know his own strength well at all.

As he’d been about to leave, walking towards the lift, smilingly fending off the artist’s hands which were trying to entreat him to stay; L had suddenly spun him around and thrown him up against the wall next to the lift, mouth on his, hands fisting in his hair.

After a time, Raito had squirmed out of his grasp, saying it was too soon and he couldn’t have possibly made his decision on the walk from the bedroom to the lift. L had a petulant cast to his face but took the news stoically.

“Visit soon, Raito-kun.” He’d said as the doors shut, hands in his pockets.

Raito closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall. He winced and stood properly again, running a hand through his probably very disheveled hair. He should start taking a comb every time he went there.

He had a lot to think about.

On the bed, after his first attempt at kissing another man willingly, he’d been overtaken by the sensation of it all. L’s mouth on his, their fingers entwining, L’s hands on his face, his body. He’d put a quick stop to that, catching the artist’s nimble fingers as they tried to slide under the blanket covering his waist.

“I have to think about this first. I…don’t know if this is something I want yet.”

L had blinked slowly at him then sat back, knees coming up, blank expression sliding over his face. His eyes flicked down to the bulge in the blanket, which he gazed at appraisingly.

“It seems some components of Raito-kun are in the process of making that decision for him.”

Raito looked down and then flushed, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Suddenly realizing he hand no pants on, he shot a look at the artist who just stared at him.

He cleared his throat, annoyed when L didn’t take the hint and leave. If anything, his blinking came less often, giving him more time to observe if the gallery owner decided to sprint for them. Raito coughed again, louder, and L finally stirred.

“I have some syrup, if you would like it, Raito-kun. It is for coughs and illnesses such as you seem to have developed in the last few minutes.”

Raito resisted rolling his eyes and patiently asked the man to pass him his pants.


Hope you all enjoyed it! Please review!

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