Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ PITCH ❯ The Collector ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

 

Pitch: (def.) 

A substance commonly utilized to bind materials in construction... Tar pitch appears solid, and can be shattered with a hard impact, but it is actually fluid. Pitch flows at room temperature, but extremely slowly. To attain maximum fluidity, to be used, it must be exposed to heat.

 

Minds are like pitch. To reveal their full potential, they must be exposed to environs that apply stress. They must be challenged.

 

____________________________________________________________< /font>

 

Part 3: (The Collector)

 

Raito's "business" consisted of nothing more than a stop back by the bar to pick up Lawliet's discarded coasters.

 

It wouldn't do to lose the first installment of those curious little peeks into the dark-haired man's mind; he was a completionist, after all. And there was the new one from tonight he had yet to peruse. Raito smiled and thanked the employee that had reserved them for him, tossing them a tip for their troubles. 

 

He'd rather wanted to keep the pen as well, but had refrained on the grounds that the man himself would be much more intriguing than such artifacts, and the pen provided the perfect opportunity to ensnare his acquaintance.

 

Once in the welcoming quiet of his home, Raito flicked on a light and flopped down onto his leather couch and took a pull off of the slim white cigarette that rested between his elegant fingers. He regretted the intermittent habit, but if it wasn't one thing, it was another, when it came to things that would kill you. 

 

Raito turned the new coaster over in his hands, eager to study the scrawls that covered its otherwise plain surface. 

 

He'd told Lawliet that he was correct when the black-haired man had surmised there was insufficient information for Raito to predict his behaviors or state of mind. It sounded right, but it was just not so. There was a wealth of information on these bland pieces of cardboard. He held the latest up over his head at arm's length as he studied it and took another delicate drag off of the cancer stick. He really was quitting. He disliked the smell of smoke on his clothes. This was the first cigarette he'd had in over a month. (Second, he amended, as he recalled the one he'd lit while waiting for Lawliet to take note of him in the back of the bar.)

 

Yes, the coasters gave him quite a lot of insight. And for what they lacked, he'd made up for with observation.

 

It was kind of funny that it was Misa that pulled his attention to the messy-haired enigma. Who knew the chore of helping her make her current boyfriend jealous would have been anything but a pain? She'd practically twisted his arm to do it, but in the end, he'd agreed. He'd sensed her ulterior motive with asking him specifically to help her out...  but it was in his best interest to assist her so that she would stay with her current man. He didn't want to afford her long-harbored feelings for him the opportunity to rear their ugly head. 

 

They'd dated briefly, but he just couldn't hold interest in her.

 

He breathed out a stream of smoke.

 

It appeared that girls were of minimal consequence to him. Sure, they could be attractive, but something within the way their minds worked was at odds with his sensibilities. However, he could claim as much regarding most people.

 

Most...

 

He smiled. But you, dear Lawliet, you have certainly captured my attention.

 

I wonder where you went the other night...? He had fully expected the man with the sublime face to be at the bar the next night. He had taken special joy in the other's tenacity - waiting until closing for the pen that was lent out so grudgingly the previous evening. Raito would have thought the man would be looking for him, ready to demand his property back. 

 

As he'd surmised and tonight's conversation had been proof of, black-haired man was incredibly fun to watch getting worked up.

 

The look on his face when Raito had displayed his affinity for language had been priceless. And behind that, underneath the awkward and prickly exterior, he saw it - a grudging spark of interest.

 

Raito brushed his thumb across his lips. 

 

Lawliet was an odd creature, to be sure, but there was something compelling about him. Something that promised a delectable mind underneath that thick exterior, were you to split it open.  He was sure of it the moment those dark eyes fixed on him and he heard that inflectionless voice. His interest had peaked, curious at the resentment fixed on him in those brief moments and the wall that had slammed down between them the second he had asked for the pen.

 

The pen. He hadn't had any need of one, he'd only wanted to get a closer look.

 

On a whim, he'd grabbed the coaster off of that table, wondering what the man had been writing before the loss of his pen. It was easy enough to avoid Lawliet's eyes until closing time, though the crowds of people had thinned to dregs by then. He knew the owners, so he merely stayed in the back room. (He also knew the code for the alarm on the back door, which had proved useful on more than one occasion.)

 

After the first one, he was hooked. He spotted the dark-haired man on subsequent visits and waited to see if he would leave more behind, which he had. Raito had flawlessly acquired each one, delighting in his growing collection. It was obvious that the man, that Lawliet, was incredibly intelligent by the things that tumbled their way onto the coasters while he drank.

 

Tonight, he had discovered even more about his quarry.

 

While versed in high level mathematics and physics, Lawliet also seemed to enjoy philosophy and was able to communicate in a variety of languages: English, Sign Language, French, and German.  It was possible that there may have been more, but the dark-haired man seemed reluctant to discover just how many other languages encompassed Raito's repertoire.

 

Raito smirked and put the coaster down, adding it to the pile of its brethren, riding a self-satisfied feeling of triumph. That's one more point to my name, Lawliet, he thought lazily as he followed a swirling trail of smoke with his eyes. I can see how badly you hate to lose...but you'll have to step it up if you wish to come out on top.

 

---

 

L had been thinking about it all day. The self-possessed young man who embodied that which he hoped to one day achieve... grace, confidence and a self-assured manner... he seemed to offer the greatest challenge to L's goal. Something about him made L certain that further contact would stymie his progress, and should be avoided.

 

Not to be outdone, L mimicked the sort of clothing the brunette had worn - what passed for stylish - and stubbornly avoided how distasteful he found the flashy clothing. He kept to dark colors, his only concession to himself. If he focused on his other self-prescribed task of this evening, the clothes hardly seemed to matter. 

 

Tonight, he would attempt conversation.

 

He was not looking forward to it. In fact, he would be quite happy to disregard the entire thing and stay at home in his sloppy, comfortable clothing, doing what he did best. Perhaps he would do some detective work as well; cake did not encompass his world, after all. 

 

A stagnant mind is a dying mind, he reminded himself. 

 

He had to pursue this, no matter the tedium of it. He put on his coat jacket. While he admired the profusion of pockets, he otherwise found it an unnecessary article of clothing. Much time spent in it, and he was sure he would overheat. Perhaps that is why the stylish felt so unconcerned about fitting in... They were too busy feeling uncomfortable in their clothes to worry about other people. It seemed horribly vain and yet it also spoke of an admirable, if not ill-purposed, tenacity. 

 

Shopping for clothing had been an excruciating process. They'd all looked at him as if he'd come into their store with a hairy third arm protruding from his back. They'd already started apologizing for not being able to help him before he'd gotten five feet inside the door. In his annoyance, he flashed a roll of cash at them and then it was: 'Oh, how can we help you, Sir?' 

 

He much preferred the anonymity of purchasing online, but he accepted that this area was not within his expertise and that he needed a professional opinion. He tossed some money at the nearest salesman who, in his opinion, seemed to dress along the lines of what he was looking for, and spent the next hour being waited on hand and foot, being measured, and being shuffled in and out of clothes until he was quite sure he couldn't endure any more without yielding to some rather homicidal thoughts. 

 

The salesman's chirping voice led L to believe he was unaware of how caustically piercing his tone could be, nor the effect it was having on L for the duration. But perhaps it was willful ignorance. The man was getting a commission, after all.

 

L looked in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself. He frowned. 

 

Clothes make the man, eh? And what is it that inspires what is beneath? 

 

...Or is the majority of the world so shallow, that it doesn't matter? As long as it is wrapped in pretty foil, it's assumed the contents are something desirable?

 

L rolled his shoulders, getting used to the movement of cloth on cloth over his skin while banishing his musings on the state of humanity. If he continued to let himself think negatively, be it applicable or not, he was going to have problems trying to relate to these people. Logically, they were not all the same, no matter how it might appear. He had to allow for the smaller percent instead of dismissing it in these broad generalizations.

 

It annoyed him to do so - it seemed a waste of time - but staying hidden and dwelling in seclusion was not good for one's mental health. And in order to free himself while he still had the chance, he had to put himself out there. Even if he encountered failures, the process of it all would keep his mind from entrapping him.

 

L made his way down the stairs, freezing when he heard the lighter tone of a female voice.

 

It came from the kitchen. He could hear Watari as well. 

 

I wonder if I can slip out without them noticing...

 

He moved carefully down the steps, not wishing to have an impromptu introduction with Watari's lady friend. He had things to do, after all and he did not need to be delayed. 

 

The steps creaked, but he had almost gained the door, when he heard the female voice call out in delighted surprise, "Lawliet?"

 

L's hand had actually been about to grasp the doorknob, about to gain his freedom. He'd wanted to avoid this longer, being certain he would make a bad impression. Thus foiled, he turned, trying to find an acceptably social smile in his sack of previously cast-off facial expressions. It felt dusty. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she bustled over to him and gripped him in a rib-cracking hug, before making a fuss over what a snazzy dresser he was.

 

L looked over her head at Watari. It was a helpless sort of look. The older man shrugged at him, unable to assist. He was on his own.

 

But, this was practice too, was it not? 

 

"L-kun! I can call you that, right?" she gushed, deciding she preferred the nickname. This was fine with L. The nickname was what practically everyone used anyhow, and felt much less personal. "Watari made it sound like you never left the house!" The British woman looped her arm through his. "And yet here you are going out on a date, am I right?"

 

"Ah..."

 

She giggled. "Don't be shy, dear. I knew from the moment I saw you that you must have met someone."

 

Well, no, L thought, the only person I've met, I am quite sure I do not like. He's quite conceited and insufferable, you see. It was easy to carry the conversation in his head, but in the end he merely nodded, confirming her false supposition.

 

She squeezed his arm in delight, and gazed up at him. "You're such a handsome young man." She pinched his cheek affectionately. "Just look at those giant dark eyes and that luminous skin! What's she like? I'm sure she's gorgeous."

 

At a loss for what to say, particularly in the face of what he assumed were compliments and the warm stream of chatter, he found he did not want to disappoint the kind British woman who was trying to make him feel welcome. "Ah... she is a brunette. With beautiful eyes," he offered haltingly, wondering why in god's name he was he was describing the pen-thief and not some imaginary girl like a SANE person would. He was also disgruntled by the knowledge that he did, apparently, find Raito's eyes to be very pleasing to look at.

 

"Oh?" she cooed indulgently. "What else? By the way, you can call me Celia."

 

"Thank you, Celia" he said politely. "But I'm afraid I do not know her very well yet."

 

"Come now, you must know something if she's got you all flustered like that."

 

Flustered? I am not flustered. "She knows several languages?"

 

"How cute! Your face is turning pink, dear. Have you kissed her yet?"

 

An image rose unbidden to L's mind. Raito's hand on his collar, his perfect face drifting closer, the heat of his hand on L's chest.... L recalled the way he had stopped breathing. If Raito had been female, or if L himself had been, was that the sort of moment in which a kiss would happen? Raito's lips had looked soft and inviting...

 

But why would he even think of such a useless thing regarding that arrogant, smirking pain-in-his-ass? It was ludicrous. He'd much rather kick that pretty face than engage in something so base with him. "No, I have not," he said stiffly.

 

"Mmmhm, Watari did tell me you were shy. Don't worry though - these things have a way of happening all on their own... You'll be standing there, gazing into each other's eyes, you'll drift closer, and next thing you know, you'll be kissing like you were born to it!"

 

Her brash words and starry-eyed scenario painted a rather vivid scene before L's eyes, nearly a replay of what had happened, and it caused a tightening in his gut. He found he could picture quite clearly exactly how it might feel to press his lips to the young man's... to part those soft lips with his tongue... to halt the flow of impetuous words with the heat of a lingering kiss... 

 

"We just met," L protested, as much against himself as to her. What am I thinking?! His mind felt sullied. Irrevocably dirty. If he did encounter Raito again, he would definitely strike him in the face before doing anything else he'd thought of... For stealing his pen. Yes.

 

She tsked at him. "Well, I don't want to keep you. You must be so excited to be seeing her again! I can't wait to hear how this turns out!" 

 

Before he could say much of anything in his defense, she was pushing him out the door with a smile. 

 

On the stoop, feeling thoroughly harried, L decided that he was quite amenable to the thought of a drink to calm his nerves despite wanting to swear the stuff off after that rough night he'd had. He stood there, erasing the suggestion she'd planted in his mind that he would want to be kissing anyone, or had romantic predilections of any sort. 

 

Women... were they always this...insistent?

 

L tugged at the collar of his jacket, and set off through the misty drizzle that hadn't yet decided if it would ever become rain.  The concrete sidewalk splished with every step, crunching also as the soles of his unfamiliar shoes ground against tiny loose pebbles. It was a nice night. Illumination from the street lamps reflected off of the suspended and threading not-rain like flickering droplets caught on lines of spider's web. The air felt clean, if not somewhat humid, as if the pollutants in the city air were being dragged down from the sky to be buried into the earth. People were a rare sight. They were probably tucked in at home, nice and dry, or waiting out the drizzle in any of the convenient establishments along the roadway.

 

He didn't mind the weather. It had often been like this in England, so it merely reminded him of his previous home. He'd liked it there for the most part and wouldn't mind going back but, for now, his business was in Japan. Before this, he had stayed in Germany for several months. It was not strictly necessary to change locations for his work, but living in different locales and immersing oneself in the culture and language could yield unforeseen benefits down the line, be it a piece of trivia or a perception that assisted in his deductive work. Plus, he enjoyed traveling, as did Watari.

 

Japan, however.... Japan was quite possibly the most removed from what he knew. Customs, and patterns of thought were far removed from the European standard. Every day offered him something new or different to be cataloged and filed away for later use or reflection. 

 

Perhaps this atmosphere was what reminded him so forcibly of the stagnant nature of his mind. 

 

Cases changed, information was fluid, suspects and witnesses formed a steady stream that was constantly evolving, and in the middle of it all, he was the same. He was secluded. 

 

For years, no, for most of his life, he'd been content with the limits of influence, the minimal contact he kept with a select few and his whole-hearted dedication to his profession, believing it to be symptomatic of being good at what he did, of being successful. Somewhere, he could not recall how or when, that belief had begun to experience a ripple. 

 

That ripple grew, and fanned out, irrevocably drawing his attention and forcing him to see things in a different light. All of a sudden, he felt a great void between himself, those he worked with from time to time, and even the cases themselves. It was all too distant. He was too analytical, too sterile, having experienced but a fraction of all that he knew. And somewhere along the way, he had begun to wonder if the state he existed in was anything like what others would consider living. He suspected not.

 

He also suspected that if he waited much longer to stretch his boundaries, he would find those boundaries to be inflexible walls, sealing him in with his regret.

 

Discomfort, embarrassment, fear, happiness, pleasure - these and more were part of living. They were sharp stabs of color in his otherwise drab world. Happiness was an elusive feeling he'd experienced when indulging his sweets fetish. Pleasure, when he advanced a case exponentially, or even solved it with a flash of inspiration. Discomfort and embarrassment were fast becoming his bedfellows, as he continued his nightly forays. Fear, he had no use for.

 

He made his way to the bar he'd been haunting for the past week.

 

Once inside, he automatically scanned the faces for one in particular. He was uncertain, as he sat down, whether it was relief or disappointment he felt when he saw that person was not in attendance.

 

No matter.

 

He took out his shiny silver pen and began his ritual of covering the papery surface of his coaster in ink while his drink sat sweating upon the table. A waitress shot him a dirty look five minutes into it, but said nothing. Perhaps if they gave him two coasters, this would not have been a problem. He mentally shrugged. There was always next time, and by now they likely wouldn't question him when he did make the odd request.

 

L took a sip of his cocktail, something that someone else had been having up at the bar. He felt rather done with whiskey, and since he'd decided that he would be stepping further out of his zone this evening with an attempt at conversation, he figured a sweeter drink could be allowed. The bartender called it a Mai Tai, when asked. L mostly got it because of the juicy wedge of orange and the stemmed maraschino cherries that garnished it. He pulled one of the cherries off of the thin wooden skewer, and popped it in his mouth, savoring the saccharine rush of flavor.

 

Today, he was less serious, in a way. His scribblings were mostly comprised of patterns and laughable attempts at drawing. He worked on tying the cherry stem in a knot, something he could do typically only when the stars properly aligned themselves, while he tried to make the representation of his drink glass not look like an epileptic elephant.

 

He glanced blandly at the bar. Patrons were thronged around it, two people deep. None of them looked particularly stimulating.

 

That queerly anxious feeling briefly racketed through his chest at the thought of engaging one of them. It was one thing to think dismissively upon them, but quite another to be dismissed.

 

He turned back to his coaster, abandoning the drawing of his glass for one of an eye. In his mind, it was a dark, ruddy amber. The black and white did nothing to capture this however, and he felt somewhat irritated over the fact.

 

This is pathetic.

 

He looked once more to the crowd, scrutinizing them with a will. He would find the most likely person to accept his overtures amiably. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to look for someone who was already drunk. Maybe then, if it went poorly, they wouldn't remember the encounter.

 

His eyes scanned them. A woman would be easier to approach due to the fact that most people frequenting such an establishment would be looking to enter into a relationship, typically someone of the opposite gender. 

 

He did not feel like he was any sort of prize, but didn't think himself too awful-looking to be considered.

 

Right then. Perhaps the blonde on the left?

 

"Is this seat taken?"

 

L whipped his head towards the sotto voice. 

 

Raito. 

 

A tremor coasted through him at the unexpected intrusion and the sudden exposure to deep, amber eyes. It was due to irritation at being bothered, surely, he told himself unconvincingly. The other's smile tugged at things in his lower belly. He ignored it.

 

"Yes, it is," L answered gruffly, turning from the brunette to resume his evaluation of the people at the bar. The last thing he needed was this sort of distraction.

 

Raito paid him no mind, and was soon lounging gracefully in the seat opposite him, watching him with scarcely hidden amusement.

 

L endured it for the whole of ten minutes until even he could not withstand the pressure. 

 

"What do you want?"

 

"Nothing." Raito smiled engagingly. "I was merely in the area, and you looked like you could use some company."

 

"I need nothing of the sort."

 

"Oh?" Raito managed to look mildly surprised, though L knew he was not. "Were you not considering approaching someone up there for the last several minutes?" Raito brought the tip of an unlit cigarette to his mouth. L followed the motion, watching sensual lips take the tip of it between them, languidly. 

 

L's second thought was that he did not wish to experience second-hand smoke. The first thought did not bear mentioning and was wrapped up in his inability to look away and the way Raito's lips quirked up into a curling smile.

 

"I've been rude, Lawliet..." Raito said, the smile spreading into a covert leer, his voice smooth and velveteen. L watched as lips released the slender white object to form words, feeling oddly unable to focus his eyes elsewhere. Raito's face was all he could see. It was almost as if it were pulling him in and entrapping him. "I have yet to wish you good evening." 

 

That voice had power, and the effect slipped through L unerringly, making him uncomfortable.

 

"There is no need," L said dismissively. "I did not request, nor do I desire your presence. We are strangers, and I would prefer to keep it that way."

 

Raito leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His expression had not changed. If anything, there was an extra sparkle of light in his eyes. "And what do you desire, Lawliet?"

 

Raito's voice crawled down L's throat, past the constriction in it, to settle in his belly like a warm, live thing. 

 

The brunette was patiently awaiting his answer, something in his demeanor indicating a smug satisfaction that was not evidenced in his expression or anywhere else that was obvious.

 

L found he had no answer he could possibly give, so he shook his head. It was a small triumph when he was able to root his eyes back to the bar.

 

"I think I've figured out part of what you are playing at," the brunette said amiably, settling back in his chair.

 

"Is that so?" L damned his eyes for sliding back to the young man. "And what, exactly, do you believe you have discovered?"

 

Raito practically preened under the return of his gaze.

 

"You are trying to bolster the fortitude to speak with someone. You're unnerved. People intimidate you."

 

L glared at him. 

 

"Scared," Raito mouthed evilly. He lit up his cigarette then, as if to use the small act of inconsiderateness to annoy L to the best advantage.

 

"I am not scared," L hissed. 

 

"Prove it," the brunette said with a cavalier lifting of his brows. "The blonde over there has been looking your way."

 

I am scared, L thought, contradicting his own bravado. The sinking feeling returned like quicksilver, flowing through his blood with sudden force. Ice, which turned his hands cool, sloshed willfully in his stomach. 

 

But it wasn't a normal variety of fear. It was resigned, deeply rooted aversion. His mind insisted that continuing his experiment would end in such badness that even he had not yet perceived the shape of it. Solitude was safety. He was risking his equilibrium with this mad behavior he insisted upon, and for what? Did he truly believe that engaging others was the key to escaping the prison he was disappearing within? Weren't these walls constructed for self-preservation? 

 

Suddenly, his mind felt like the safe place to be, and this limb he had crawled out upon was the danger he should be avoiding.

 

He found himself looking back at Raito blankly, all of these things running through his thoughts like the flickering digits of his computer's diagnostic scans. Fast. Too elusive. Pertinent.

 

Raito was encouraging him in his insane plan, was pushing him, throwing him off by shoving him into things before he felt ready. Why? To what purpose? 

 

Raito's handsome face was composed, nonchalant, but there was a sharpness lurking within him. That mind was not idle. The veneer of innocent interaction saturated but did not obscure it.

 

L recognized all of this, but could not dismiss the challenge. Something in him fought against backing down.... of losing to this person. The prickling of irritation, the way he felt tilted off balance, the strong compulsion he felt to stay and dissect the intriguing and infuriating mystery that the brunette presented. It lay hot on his tongue and his chest pounded with it.

 

Raito's eyes slipped shut as he pulled in a breath of smoke from his still-burning cigarette. Like watching slow-motion, the movements were unhurried, precise and infinitely drawn out. 

 

It was entrancing.

 

L tried to focus on the challenge, on setting his mind upon the task of speaking with someone at the bar, or the blonde at least, but the endeavor seemed elusive and hard to grasp. Long lashes shadowed jeweled eyes that reflected every shift of colored light in their surroundings. They were like dark honey, rich and perilously sticky - easy to become lost and enmeshed in. 

 

"Do you smoke, Lawliet?" 

 

Those eyes were too distracting. He opened his mouth to answer, but Raito spoke before he could.

 

"Would you like to try?"

 

There was that quirk to the brunette's lips - that deceptive smile - and then an elegant hand held the filtered end of the portable vehicle of death out to him for his consideration. 

 

Slim fingers curved away from him, the cigarette's usable end facing towards him as Raito's elbow rested upon the table. The position allowed him to look oh so comfortable as he waited to see what L would do. 

 

If L were to acquiesce, his lips would brush the backs of those smooth, tan fingers. Warmth and trepidation trickled through him at the thought. To take into his mouth the very thing that had rested between the other's lips... it would be an indirect contact, but one that made him think of what direct contact would be like. He would breathe in the heavy, nicotine-laced smoke, feeling the warm skin of fingers pressed to his lips, all the while, dwelling upon the hotter sensation that Raito's lips would have provided.

 

Once, twice, the temptation and the imagining of it spiked through him.

 

"I don't smoke," L told him, for lack of anything better coming to mind. It was said unnecessarily - Raito had obviously gathered as much.

 

"Are you certain you wouldn't like it?" the brunette asked, eyes burning into him, seeming to address his earlier thoughts and not his useless words.

 

Raito's hand drifted closer, almost enough to place the proffered cigarette to L's lips. The knuckles of his fingers caressed L's cheek encouragingly. Honeyed eyes swallowed him as they drifted down to brush his lower lip. "How do you know, if you aren't willing to try it?" 

 

His sultry voice belied the limits of the statement, leading L to believe that yes, the brunette was talking about a great deal more than smoking.

 

L moved away from the touch, brushing Raito's hand aside before his resolve crumbled completely. The suggestive turn their interaction had taken was making him feel unsettled and at the other's mercy. He had to discourage it. "It lowers my already flagging opinion of you, that you would poison yourself with such things," he said disparagingly, referring to the cigarette. He injected as much disdain into his tone as he could muster.

 

Raito released him from the cloying cage of his intense eyes. 

 

"Hmn," the brunette said contemplatively, lounging back in his chair again, casually creating distance between them. "Not a mark of intelligence, to be willfully destructive... But alcohol and solitude are poisons in their own right, and ones to which you have subscribed." Disapproval moved like hidden razors as he spoke in an pleasant, off-handed sort of way. "I hardly think it fair of you to judge me upon a single vice."

 

Raito partook of the cigarette in practiced motions, pointedly showing that he would not alter his behavior no matter what anyone's opinion of him was.

 

"I rarely drink," L said in his own defense, wondering why he felt the need to justify himself. He could not tell for sure but it seemed to him that Raito might indeed care what his opinion was, though his actions spoke loudly to the contrary. Either that or the brunette truly did not care what L thought of him. In the wake of the dissonance that caused in him, he felt himself withdraw, uncertain of how to react.

 

"Yes, well, I was going to quit," Raito responded in kind while pondering his diminishing cigarette. 

 

"I see you are doing well in that regard," L commented derisively.

 

Something about the brunette's body language changed and he gave the impression of becoming closed off. L found himself regretting his flippant remark, but at the same time, he felt smug that he had discovered a chink in that unflappable, suave exterior.

 

"Touché," Raito murmured with a fake smile.

 

He took another drag off of the cigarette, a clipped version of his previous grace, and killed it in the waiting ashtray before its life was due. "Enough about me and my habits. What of yours? I do believe you came here for a purpose and opportunity is waning. Fear is the thief of success, after all, and hesitancy is the killer of time."

 

L settled back into his own chair, folding his arms across his chest. The added barrier made him feel more secure as things shifted once more. "I find I dislike your assumptions about me."

 

"In proportion to their accuracy, I'm sure." There was a stiffness in Raito's swift reply, and a sharpness that L did not care for.

 

"Think what you will," L returned. "Not that such a behavior was ever in doubt."

 

Raito took L's tone with what appeared to be an intellectual grain of salt. He rested his chin on his hand and surveyed L with an air of listlessness, as if he were bored but somehow still engaged. It was too fast a change from the flash of ire to be wholly real. "You make a practice of speaking your mind."

 

It wasn't a question, not really.

 

L watched Raito watching him and said, "Oftentimes."

 

"Your instant aversion to me became a source of intrigue... Just what is it that caused that reaction?"

 

L remained silent. He wasn't sure himself, only aversion was not the correct description. Something about the young man simply made him react. Irritation was frequently breaking the surface, but when it wasn't... he was sinking beneath the pull he felt towards those eyes and the mind that shone through them. 

 

"If I were to fawn over you as you seem to have expected, would that alleviate your troubled mind and send you on your way?"

 

Raito ignored that in favor of continuing where he left off. "And, if you find me that distasteful, it hardly seems right that you would prefer to suffer my presence when such a bounty of minds await you a mere few feet away. Look at them, Lawliet. Look at how splendid they are," Raito was waxing poetic and sarcastic in the same breath. "And yet you balk from them, and your goal, and continue in my acquaintance. Don't you think that paints a different picture than the one you are leading yourself to believe?"

 

L stood, his annoyance peaking. "The devil I know is preferable to the devil I don't know? How trite, Raito."

 

"You like being in control, and avoid situations that cannot offer you that assurance." The words were delivered quickly, the intensity in them unplaceable, as was the flashing in those amber eyes. It could have been irritation, an epiphany or even spite that colored them. The brunette gave the impression that he wanted to rise to his feet as well, to match L, but he did not move to do so. "You fear it, them, and it is a lie to say otherwise."

 

"Don't presume you know me," L bit out. Just a little more. Just a little more and he would be well and truly angry. He could use that anger... it could give him what he needed to pry himself away from this table...

 

Raito stood slowly, his hand skating over L's where it lay clenched upon the table as he leaned in close to speak in L's ear.

 

L shuddered to stillness as silky hair brushed his cheekbone. He detected the faint trace of an elusive, expensive cologne mingled with another, natural, more heady scent. 

 

"I know you," Raito's rich voice breathed into his ear.

 

The closeness and the warm heat of the brunette's body joined with the liquid intensity of those three, sure little words. It was damning how profound the effect upon him was, and L couldn't deny the electric jolt that speared through his body as lips briefly graced the delicate flesh of his earlobe.

 

"Don't disappoint me, Lawliet," Raito warned softly, in the same tone he might use to entice someone into his bed.

 

"Don't force your expectations upon me," L said in an equally quiet but harsh tone, willing his voice not to betray the tumultuous state his emotions were in. He did not want to admit how compelling he found the brunette to be, and refused to buckle under his manipulations or rash assessments. He absolutely was not holding his breath, nor was he wishing for that mouth to continue its treacherous ministrations. He did not want to be kissed and he did not enjoy the brunette's company, contrary to what the other man might believe.

 

So, L realized, he was being hypocritical in denying the truth. So what? It was all he had, and the only thing allowing him to keep something embarrassing from happening. If Raito were to crook his finger and beckon to him in that sultry tone, would he not follow the brunette home and allow this game to continue? At this rate, such an atrocious scenario was not as unlikely as it should be.

 

It was appalling.

 

L knew next to nothing about the other man, except that he was a distraction from L's purpose in making these trips into the belly of society, and that he was someone L could not afford to become further involved with. L could not guess at Raito's true intentions and that made him someone L could not take lightly.

 

 It was still too early to be paranoid that the brunette had approached him, somehow guessing at his profession and possibly even his identity. It was no secret and certainly he was not the most sought after detective in the world, due to his proclivity for only taking cases that piqued his interest, but he preferred anonymity. It just made things easier.

 

"What are you thinking about so intently?" Raito asked, startling L as he realized the other man had pulled back enough to face him.

 

"Work, actually." And where should he rest his eyes? Meeting the ones before him was not a good choice, but neither were the perfect lips that beckoned his gaze in their stead. Looking away entirely seemed a better option, though it could be taken as a sign that he was intimidated. "I shouldn't have stayed here as long as I have."

 

"Your work requires you to keep strange hours? Not many professions operate in such a manner..."

 

"You assume I mean to return to work now? It is equally likely that I have an early start tomorrow."

 

Raito smiled humorlessly. "And it is equally likely that neither is the case." L's eyes trailed upward to warily meet muted amber. "Regardless," he continued, "you do not look the sort to indulge in a decent night's sleep."

 

The tingling heat of Raito's hand left his and skirted faintly across the delicate skin beneath one eye, tracing the dark smudge that framed it as the property of an insomniac. 

 

"You're observant," L said. "But perhaps I was merely trying to politely extricate myself from your acquaintance. I had quite different plans before you intruded."

 

This garnered an amused look from the brunette, and even a small laugh as he pulled away. "As you will, mon petit hérisson."

 

L bristled at the address, then cursed inwardly, knowing that that behavior was exactly why Raito had chosen such an animal. My little hedgehog? Asinine. "I don't need this," he muttered. Being likened to a small, spiny, disgruntled creature with large dark eyes and a solitary nature did not set him in the best of moods. "If I can sit here talking to you, I'm sure it'll be much easier with someone else."

 

"Be my guest," Raito said, settling back into his chair with the air of someone who had just won a brilliant hand of cards. He tapped a cigarette forward from the soft pack and put it to his lips. "You may find, though, that I am an excellent conversationalist." He lit the cigarette and took a long, relaxed pull from it as his eyes flicked back to L.

 

Annoyed, L swiped Raito's lighter from the table before pushing into the crowd that swarmed thickly between the tables and the bar. It was a small victory if he had impeded Raito in continuing the leisurely enjoyment of his vice, but the thought of inconveniencing him, if only a little, was a pleasing one.

 

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TBC

 

A/N 2: Part 4 is half written, and picks up right where this leaves off. I'll get it up as soon as humanly possible - time, unfortunately is at a premium. Damn these classes. (Too bad writing boy-pr0n is not considered a job skill ;P)

 

Hope you enjoyed the update! :]