Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ PITCH ❯ Slowly, Suddenly ( Chapter 5 )

[ 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 5: (Slowly, Suddenly)

 

L spent the next several days fully avoiding his experiment, real food, and people in general.

 

He'd been lax regarding work, he told himself, and submersed his every waking moment into it. At odd times, he would venture down to the kitchen for nibbles of baked goods, but his enjoyment of the sweets had paled. He was quite torn between feeling like a failure with work and feeling like a failure with his attempts to socialize himself. Work, because he had taken so much time away (even though he'd easily been able to justify the need for a little time off). Socialization, because he had let one instance send him scuttling back to the safety of what was familiar - his prison. Were the stone walls of his mind so bad? Should he try to break free, or put up curtains? 

 

Oh, he hated being indecisive.

 

And indecision led to the other dilemma - that little scrap of paper with the blonde's phone number that was burning a hole in the pocket of his coat upstairs.

 

L chewed on a dry scone, slightly worried for himself that he didn't feel the need to slather it with butter and jam or honey, and took a sip of coffee. He was quite content with the sophisticated flavor and texture of the British biscuit, and couldn't fault it for not being obnoxiously sweet. He must be coming down with something. Even his coffee suffered this strange turn of events and was graced with a pittance of five spoonfuls of sugar, instead of his standard of nine.

 

He glanced around the darkness of the kitchen, taking in the quiet calm that was moonlight glinting off the tiled counter top and stainless steel appliances. It was two in the morning, and most people would be asleep by now. Watari, the neighborhood, and even parts of the city. It lent a peaceful air to the slight chill of the kitchen, a pleasant thought to accompany the scone and the twilight hours that remained until dawn. 

 

L scratched the top of one foot with the other as he ate, balancing as easily as a crane, and stared out the sliding glass door into the house's tiny yard. The blue-white light of the moon cast a pretty sheen upon the grass, lending slight color and shape to the sea of darkness. It was serene. 

 

However, he could not languish forever in the embrace of such a scene, content with the muted hum of the black refrigerator or the sometimes whirring of crickets. He could not hide from the world, only emerging as it slept. He would not accept defeat, or dismiss his venture as meaningless if only to assuage his pride and keep the word coward from entering his mind.

 

Why was it so difficult to do what others did so easily? Watari handled people quite well, both in work and personal matters. But L had always seen it as a waste of time. Why spend time in idle chit-chat when he could be advancing a case or furthering his research? And idle chit-chat was what people seemed to expect. They did not like how he cut to the chase and spoke strictly of work, suspects, or his latest hypotheses. 

 

What care did he have of whose family member was celebrating a birthday or wedding? Why endure meaningless, structured exchanges of 'how are you' when the responses were preordained, and deviating from that script garnered you odd looks or the even more awkward situation of adhering to the script regardless. 

 

'Good morning! How are you doing?'

 

'Do you really want to know?'

 

(nervous laughter) 'Of course, why else would I be asking?'

 

'Well, to be honest, I just lost my biggest lead, we've run out of coffee, and Watari is stuck overseas in Hong Kong due to inclement weather.'

 

'That's great!' (smile) 'Well, I have to be going. Have a fantastic day!'

 

L rather despised office settings. Even the hotels he worked out of got that feel if enough people were around. Not to say that everyone was a source of discontent. There were a few that made his job easier, and did not restrict him too greatly, but inevitably they wished to converse on a personal level and L never felt up to sharing nor hearing them give a discourse on the state of their affairs.

 

This was, in part, why he was less successful than he could have been as a detective of his skill. If it weren't for Watari, he wouldn't be getting as many jobs as he currently received. Clients, for some unimaginable reason, liked to put faith in those who were more 'likable' and 'amiable' than those who could best get the job done. He'd lost several jobs in just such a manner that he was later fated to complete (when clients drug their sorry asses to negotiate with Watari for his services - their first choice in detectives being unable to complete the job). Inefficiency at its finest. Pah. And still, they chose people like Aiber over and over again, just because he had a winning smile and a way with words. Damned Nazi. If only they knew the inside of Aiber's head as well as he did...

 

L sat his plate on the counter and drained his coffee.

 

He and Aiber went way back. He'd always disliked the man, his frivolous manner, his laziness, and his cunning, ill-applied mind. The tall, solidly-built Aryan man was a jewelry thief and a con artist. He played at being a detective, but mainly he seemed to do it for the status it afforded him, and the pockets it allowed him to dig into. He was well-liked and was very clean and erratic with his illegal activities, both of which prevented L from easily incriminating him.

 

It was hardly worth the bother anyway.

 

He wasn't being paid to expose Aiber, and if people enjoyed having the man in their employ and being swindled, so be it.  

 

Oh, but he despised the rare times employers had taken him on to work with the blonde. It had taken them all of ten seconds to size each other up and know exactly where they stood. And Aiber seemed to take great pleasure in having L work under him, lording it over him every chance he got. 

 

He also had the infuriating habit of claiming L's work as his own, furthering his reputation, and smiling that million dollar smile as if L hadn't been called in to assist because Aiber couldn't get the job done on his own. He'd given up trying to correct the clients... they only dismissed him as being insubordinate and uncooperative, and threatened him with never receiving work from them in the future.

 

More infuriating than that was the first time such a situation occurred and L nearly attacked them in an uncharacteristic display of well-earned violence. Aiber had diffused the situation, holding him back physically and covering for him. Lack of sleep causing ill temper, indeed. The clients lapped up Aiber's well-played apology and his graceful aknowledgement of L's assistance in resolving the case, along with his wish to work with L in the future. 

 

As soon as Aiber pulled him outside, L kicked him in the face.

 

The man merely rubbed at his square jaw, amusement coloring his light eyes, and L stormed out.

 

L put his empty coffee cup down on the counter and trudged out of the kitchen and back to his room. 

 

Now and then, Aiber requested his hire as an assistant detective just to piss him off.

 

It worked every time. 

 

L closed the door to his room and took his laptop in hand, making himself comfortable on the bed this time, instead of at the simple table he used as a desk. He wasn't sure why the blonde man had popped into his head so fully, unless it was his mind's pathetic attempt to keep him from thinking about that slip of paper and the number he didn't want to call. That and the fact that a certain brunette shared some of the same infuriating qualities as Aiber.

 

But he didn't want to think about Raito.

 

Raito was something to be cataloged and filed away, not something to muse over any longer. 

 

He didn't need to recall that kiss, nor the quality of those lips on his. He'd resolved to put it all behind him that night. But his misbegotten indulgences gave his brain more fodder to clutter his mind while he tried to focus on work. His imagination was shameful, and the thought of ever seeing the brunette again after picturing him in such a scandalous fashion...

 

But he wouldn't. 

 

He was never going back to that bar, and he was never going to see that arrogant, sensual face again.

 

L worked well into the morning, mulling over the phone number the blonde girl had given him. He had been doing this off and on for the past few days, coming to the conclusion that commencing something with her might be the only way to get Raito out of his head. Raito, who had challenged his ability to even be liked by anyone else, and his ability to follow up on someone's interest. It had been so evident that the brunette saw him as an utterly naive shut-in, that he was amused over it. That must have been why he had pushed L to converse with the girl, and why he had challenged L's likelihood of calling the number she'd provided. He must have wanted more to laugh at.

 

Bastard.

 

How did I get caught up in his pace in the first place? I tried so hard to keep him out.

 

I'll call her. That'll show you. And whatever she expects of me, so be it. It can't be helped that she will want something of me, and that I balk at the idea. Every part of this experiment has been the same. All of it has been about pushing past my comfort zone and re-shaping myself.

 

It was a sound line of thought. One that, unfortunately, he had been having since the beginning while coming no closer to acting. The task of calling that number was about as formidable as publicly speaking about his personal interests in a room full of people that hated him.  

 

He spent the better part of the day, in the back of his mind, working himself up to calling. He'd done this previously, but this time he worked a little harder at it, convincing himself that it pertained to his experiment and was utterly necessary.

 

Utterly...

 

Necessary...

 

Raito's warm scent kept filtering into his mind, as insistent as something that needed swatted away. He reminded himself that he hadn't given the business of kissing much thought until it had happened, and maybe he was working this up into something bigger than it was. He hadn't given the blonde a chance... if they kissed, maybe he would see that it wasn't so different from Raito's false advance on him, that it wasn't Raito that he was pining for but intimacy itself, plain and simple.

 

It was four in the afternoon. Was it too early to call? Was Vic even still in town, or had her modeling job moved on by now?

 

That uncomfortable feeling swirled acidly in his stomach. Four was too early, he decided. He would try later. At six, perhaps.

 

Almost immediately, he felt much better and dove whole-heartedly into his work, content that he was absolved for the next two hours at least.

 

---

 

L fidgeted.

 

It was eight minutes past six and counting, and the phone was staring him in the face, patiently awaiting the break in this deadlock L had with himself.

 

Nine minutes past. L was growing frustrated with himself, and the frustration was making his anxiety worse. 

 

What was the worst that could happen? She wouldn't remember him? She would laugh at him and say it was all a joke? She would be mad that he took so long to call and slam the phone down after venting her temper?

 

Come on, L, at least in those cases it will be done and you can move on and not have this hanging over your head. He should have just done this sooner, but whatever ego he had to speak of had felt rather flat and not up to the challenge his experiment would subject him to.

 

He blanked his mind and dialed the numbers from memory, having stored them after many aborted attempts. It was easy to push them if he thought of nothing but entering the sequence. The ringing of the tone in his ear set him on edge though, ruining the illusion. He wasn't fond of phones. He preferred the anonymity of speaking through a laptop screen with a voice scrambler attached. 

 

The phone kept ringing, and he had to force himself not to chew at his thumbnail. 

 

Finally, the line clicked on the other end. A male voice made an indistinguishable sound that L took to mean 'what do you want?'

 

Her manager? A lover? 

 

"Good evening," L said somewhat stiffly. "Is Vic there?"

 

"Who?"

 

A wrong number?

 

"Ah... Vic," he prompted awkwardly, "a young blonde woman who is a model? We met a few nights ago."

 

The voice resolved itself into something less monosyllabic, and took on an air of familiarity. "Hmn, I'm afraid not," it said with aloof dismissiveness. "Though had she been, I'm sure several days of waiting would have cooled her off." A note of playful mockery lurked within the statement, embedded within the rich tones of that voice.

 

L froze, the phone clutched tightly to his ear. Only one voice had ever been able to wind its way into him, curling in his stomach and flicking it into butterflies like the one he was hearing now. "Raito??"

 

What did this mean?

 

"Well, at least you had some courage to buck up, even if it did take a whole 3 days."

 

Raito's voice was teasing, slipping into an even lower range that reminded L of the sound of it breathed against his ear. The image shivered through him and clutched powerfully in his lower belly. 

 

L was angry. Angry at his reaction, and angry at Raito's return to the game that had been abandoned and buried, or should have been. Also, he was angry at the prospect of being mocked for his apparent lack of fortitude, sore spot that it had been over the last few days. "Well, maybe I was trying not to look too eager," he snapped. 

 

Raito let out a purring laugh. "No, my dear Lawliet, you were merely showing you were not too eager. Trust me, I know how these things work."

 

L practically growled, "Oh, do you?" 

 

Why was Raito the one answering the phone anyway? Did he know the blonde and suggest her for that purpose? Were they involved? Was this truly her number or was it somehow Raito's?

 

"Let me impart you with a piece of wisdom that aptly applies to the pursuit of this sort of endeavor, as well as to life in general," Raito said, pausing for effect.

 

L waited for something profound, an adage or proverb, perhaps?

 

"The early bird catches the worm. Tweet, tweet."

 

"Don't you quote John Ray at me, you--!" but Raito was gone, the line was dead, and the gnawing ache in his belly was as bad as it ever had been, despite his frustrated irritation.

 

---

 

Around seven thirty, L's cell phone lit up and blinked off. He favored it with a skeptical eye, not sure it was worth the effort to retrieve it from head of the bed where it had crash-landed less than two hours ago. 

 

After a moment of deliberation, deciding that curiosity would eat at him too insistently as to not interfere with his work, he stood up from his makeshift desk and shuffled over to it. 

 

He regarded it like it was a piece of roadkill - one that just might not be entirely dead yet and that might be feeling rationally hostile.

 

He picked it up between his thumb and forefinger and was mildly surprised that what he'd received was a text message from the number Vic had given him, which let him know that the number was indeed a cell phone, and likely Raito's own. It read:

 

Guissupo's. 9pm. 

 

Following that was the kanji for moon which was the written form of Raito's name.

 

L ground his teeth together at the pompousness of the curt message, and the fluttering that stirred in his stomach at the thought of seeing the brunette again. 

 

He was absolutely not going. 

 

He needn't be faced with this unfortunate attraction, or endure the rising hopes that the brunette wasn't just playing with him. What would be the point? Unless it was to return the lighter, which Raito hadn't asked for, which he wouldn't. That would be a courtesy the other man did not deserve. Quality, my ass. He'd love to see the snobbish brunette struggle to look sexy lighting his infernal cigarettes with a book of matches.

 

Waiting until 8pm, he sent a text message back. 

 

I have to work.

 

He flipped his phone shut and tossed it back on the bed. There. He already surmised I work at night. I have the perfect reason to decline. He nearly jumped as the phone's screen flashed a few moments later.

 

9pm.

 

L bit his lip as he read the brief re-iteration, his heart starting to race a little and his hands feeling slightly clammy. Raito demanded his presence. He seemed to think he had that right, or that L would not refuse him. And what would he do if L did? What recourse did he possibly have? Would he be stubborn and pursue this further? Was he seeking his lighter, and expected L to produce it, even if he did not bother to mention it?

 

L wondered if he should just ignore the message.  

 

He smiled a little to think of Raito's indignation when he neither responded nor showed up as ordered to. Would the brunette occupy a table on his own, lounging in his chair as if it were a throne, trying to look content as he chain-smoked and eventually realized he'd been stood up?

 

It was a laughable image. Just desserts, to the arrogance of him. But, L found he could envision Raito's face all too clearly, and the look in those eyes was hard to face. Why would he imagine patience there, or even a veiled restlessness? Raito in that predicament was not pitiable. L should not feel obligated to appear. At all.

 

But the image made him anxious nonetheless.

 

L's hands felt cold and clumsy as he texted back again. It was twenty after eight.

 

I'm not coming. I'm working.

 

Defying Raito's sense of entitlement felt like he was doing something illegal or dangerous. His hands shook a little as he typed the words, nervous adrenaline racketing through him as he held the phone and waited for a reply.

 

Many minutes passed, and there was no response. Raito seemed to have given up, and the notion was oddly disappointing. It didn't matter, he told himself. Regardless of whatever the brunette could possibly say, he would not be meeting up with Raito anywhere. He sat heavily in his wooden desk chair. He frowned at the darkened display of the phone's LCD and noted that it was twenty to nine. If he left within the next five minutes, he would meet Raito's deadline.

 

But I'm not going to. I'm working, and there is nothing you can say that...

 

L's inner thoughts broke off as the phone flashed in his hands. Heart thudding in his throat, he pressed the buttons that would allow him to read the latest message.

 

9pm, detective.

 

L surged to his feet, nearly upending his chair. How did he know? He cast about for a moment before grabbing the not-so-annoying jacket with all of the pockets, his keys, crammed some sneakers onto his bare feet and thudded down the steps to the front door. In hindsight, he might have preferred some socks, a different wardrobe or, at the least, his wallet.

 

---

 

Upon further reflection, a raincoat or an umbrella would have been an essential accessory as well.

 

L arrived at Guissupo's at one minute after nine with shoes that squelched with water as he walked, and hair that felt wind-blown and equally wet. The staff stopped him in the lobby, taking in his appearance with obvious distaste, and barred him from moving into the dining area. L chafed at the treatment, and the delay that was making him later and later with every passing moment. They were unimpressed by his claim that he was meeting someone and that it was very important.

 

They tsked at him in disbelief and L fought the urge to stereotype the French based on one vexing restaurant experience. 

 

"And what was the name of your supposed guest?" a snooty member of the wait staff eventually asked him disdain when he continued to not be chased off.

 

L glared sourly back. "Yagami Light," he said with mounting frustration.

 

The man's eyes widened slightly and he excused himself to confer with his compatriots. After some hastily exchanged, hushed words, the man returned, looking considerably more affable and offered him a towel with which to dry himself before proceeding.

 

That's odd...

 

L declined, thinking that he would prefer to drip all over their stupid fancy chairs than accept such a belated token of apology.

 

The man paled slightly and tried to insist, but L's glare booked no argument. 

 

"This way then, monsieur." The man led him into the dining area with all of the dignity he could muster with a wet rat trailing and slouching behind him. L made the journey as excruciating for the man as possible, but disliked being such a center of attention. He could see the thoughts in the client's eyes as a bedraggled, dark-haired insomniac plodded after the refined garçon dressed in baggy jeans, a baggy white sweater, and a stylish coat.   

 

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

 

Polite society dined on filet mignon, caviar, and crème brûlée, and watched his miniature circus cross the room with barely hidden laughs, distaste, or horrified amazement. Jewelry glinted in the romantic half-light and chandeliers sparkled expensively. Pressed white linens sat beside the pristine white porcelain plates, matching the flawlessly draped tablecloths and the Rococo-style ambiance of the room. The patrons were likewise perfectly aristocratic, well-dressed and matched to the decor.

 

Raito was no exception, L noted as they arrived at the table, though the brunette's expression was one of slight surprise and nothing more as he took in L's appearance and his eyes lingered on the pool of water gathering beneath L's feet.

 

The garçon bent to Raito's ear and apologized profusely, inquiring at the same time if this was indeed the guest he had been expecting.

 

L dripped miserably on the floor, the air conditioning starting to make him shiver, as the brunette made a display of surveying him with a critical eye. "Not entirely," Raito said loftily, "but I suppose he'll do."

 

L felt his hackles rise at that and the small smirk that twitched at the corner of Raito's lips.

 

The french waiter pulled L's chair out for him and indicated that he should sit, though L could see that the man's eye was twitching at the thought of the soon-to-be-ruined silk of the seat.

 

"Is there anything you require, monsieur?" the man asked in a fawning manner, as if desperate to get back into the brunette's good graces.

 

Raito thought for a moment, an indulgent smile spreading easily across his face. "Yes, a bottle of Chablis, if you will."

 

The man perked up. "Right away, monsieur." 

 

He turned to his task, but Raito called him back almost instantly. "Just one other thing," the brunette said off-handedly, waving him close, that pleasant expression still gracing his face. His voice was pitched low, but L could still make it out. "I wouldn't recommend you treat a guest of mine in such a manner again if you value your job... Comprenez-vous?" 

 

The garçon gave a haggard smile. "Oui, monsieur. Je suis désolé." 

 

Raito waved him off with a curt hand and turned to L. "I imagine you weren't actually that late. Only a minute or two after the hour?"

 

"More or less," L said begrudgingly. "It seems you had that perfectly timed." He was referring to the final text message. Raito must have somehow guessed that the flaunting of such knowledge, L's natural curiosity, and his dislike of being late would conspire to have him rushing to make this meeting before he had time to reconsider. But how had Raito known how long it would take him to make the trip?

 

"Of course." The brunette smiled at him, infuriatingly self-satisfied and gorgeous. "A minutia that is likely eating at you quite thoroughly."

 

"One that you will surely be elaborating upon?" he challenged.

 

"In time," Raito acquiesced, brushing the matter aside and focusing on him with singular interest. "For now, might I comment on the... unusual choice of your attire for this evening?" 

 

The prince was amused at his expense. Just great. As if he weren't feeling insecure enough, and ill-at-ease in this room filled with old money, Raito was going to make sure he dwelt upon it in excruciating detail. 

 

"I'd rather you didn't." In the moment, he hadn't thought about what he'd been wearing. Now he was sorely regretting that oversight, feeling at a disadvantage while he faced off with the impeccably-dressed brunette. "Water doesn't agree with me," he added in a surly tone, just daring Raito to comment further.

 

The gleam in those ruddy amber eyes indicated that he would, and with great pleasure, but L was temporarily granted a reprieve as the wine arrived.

 

Raito accepted it graciously, allowing the garçon to uncork the bottle and pour a single glass before dismissing him. He picked up the cut crystal wine glass and contemplated the pale yellow liquid. "Would you like a glass?" Raito asked.

 

L shook his head. He didn't need wine, he needed explanations and then he needed a warm change of clothes. He shivered.

 

"Are you sure?" Raito held the drink out to him, meeting his eyes over the proffered glass. "It would help to warm you up." 

 

Raito's demeanor and his voice were regaining that teasing surety and suggestiveness that L found to be so maddening and compelling. His eyes promised other ways of warming him up. "No, thank you," he said faintly, dropping his eyes.

 

"I insist." The muted sound of a glass being set on the tablecloth before him made L look up. Raito gave him a brief glance that said he refused to be argued with, then set about pouring the second glass for himself. 

 

L hated being told what to do. He considered leaving, and letting the brunette stew in frustration at having been disobeyed. Raito was going to string him along insufferably if he stayed, he was sure of it.

 

"Don't cause a scene, Lawliet," Raito said simply as he set down the wine bottle, as if guessing L's intentions. 

 

L's hands fisted upon his knees under the table. So arrogant! As if the brunette were orchestrating pawns and had every little thing within his control, and could predict behavior on a near psychic level. He would not subscribe to this sort of thing!

 

"It's still raining outside, Lawliet," Raito informed him, using the opportunity to roll his name upon his tongue like he was savoring it. It had the usual effect, settling in his gut with insidious intent, and distracting him from his plan to storm his way out. "And," the brunette reminded him, "you have questions that you want answered."

 

L's eyes unwittingly followed Raito's crystal glass as it tipped to the brunette's lips. Damn him.

 

"Could we keep this short? I'm cold."

 

"Drink your wine."

 

L scowled and took a sip. He wasn't exactly enamored of the taste, but Raito was right in that it would warm him up. He closed his eyes and drained the glass, hoping his lack of class would hurry to tip the brunette's hand. He put the glass down with slight triumph and was galled to see Raito had the wine bottle at the ready to refill it in almost the same instant.

 

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" L asked suspiciously, hoping to goad the brunette into some sort of reaction.

 

"Are you suggesting that I should?" the young man returned smoothly, arching an elegant brow. "Would that make you more amiable?"

 

L was so shocked at the unexpected reply and innuendo that his cheeks flushed hot before he could kill the reaction. His only option to cover it was to hide behind sipping his wine, which he did rather hastily.

 

Light was watching him, his chin propped upon his hand. "I thought to have dinner, but if you would rather, my skill with cooking French cuisine does not pale too terribly when compared to this establishment's repertoire."

 

It was a miracle that L did not choke right then.

 

Raito was inviting him over and offering to cook? Perhaps that was all it was an invitation for, but even the thought of being alone with the brunette, even the possibility of something like the kiss happening again made his body flush hot and his stomach somersault in a way that was not conducive to drinking. 

 

A sly smile lazily curved the brunette's lips. "Though, I do suppose if you are so paranoid as to accuse me of getting you drunk... you would likely think my offer is nothing but a veiled attempt to poison you."

 

L shook his head, the most he could do as his muted coughing fit persisted. Maybe he should get out of here while he still could; his companion's eyes were looking way too playful and focused. He couldn't help that he found the other man to be attractive - but he did not wish to have that exploited and rubbed in his face. He didn't want more of these fake advances that would end in such embarrassingly unfullfilling ways. And they would. Raito was sizing him up and cataloging every response, every reaction he had, watching him with those knowing, scandalous eyes.

 

L dug in his pockets for his wallet, intent on paying something for his consumed beverage and getting away from the brunette's toxic, gravitating pull. 

 

Coat pockets.... 

 

Jean pockets...

 

L frowned and patted them down again with dawning horror. 

 

My wallet...

 

In his mind's eye, he could see it on the room of his floor where he'd left it. In his great hurry, he had left yet another extremely important item behind.

 

"Is something wrong?" 

 

L's eyes snapped up to see Raito watching him with unconcerned amusement. "Ah... well..." he didn't want to admit having been looking for his wallet at this stage as it would expose his planned exodus. On the other hand, if he lied about that now, it would come out as soon as the check came. "I seem to have misplaced my wallet."

 

"How rude, Lawliet. Are you that eager to part from my company?" Raito's voice retained a dismissive playfulness, but a sharp edge crept in on its heels. "Is dinner so abominable that you would wish to leave prematurely after that grand entrance you made, insulting me further?"

 

L swallowed and bit his lip. So the brunette hadn't been as nonchalant as he'd appeared. It made L painfully aware, once more, of his pauper's clothes while in the company of the kings and queens who presided here and the miserable, cold dampness of the garments as well. His throat constricted as he felt the compounding badness of the situation, and the many ways he had contributed to it and was continuing to make it worse. His head bowed dejectedly. "I'm sorry. I--"

 

He broke off as Raito stood up and pushed in his chair. "What are you doing?" he whispered in a near panic, noting that Raito had left no means of payment on the table. "Raito!" he hissed in a desperate undertone, catching at his sleeve.

 

The brunette had that bland look on his face, and it sent anxiety crawling up L's spine. L would have gladly paid the bill, but to be left with no means of doing so...

 

"What are you doing?" the brunette threw back at him. "We're leaving. Come on."

 

The panic eased a little. A little. "But--"

 

Impatience marked Raito's features. "Have you never heard of a tab? I dine here frequently. It's covered. Come." The brunette beckoned him like a dog brought to heel and he didn't know what else to do but slink after him. All eyes seemed to follow them across the room. Within the whispers, he caught snatches and pieces of the other man's name.

 

Just who was he that he had a tab at such a fine restaurant, and that he had enough clout to be able to threaten the staff and garner whispers from a room full of wealthy people that apparently knew his name?

 

Raito whipped out his cellphone as they approached the door and placed a brief phone call. He then grabbed a large black umbrella that rested in the entryway, and opened it with a practiced motion as he stepped outside. 

 

"Is that yours?" L's teeth chattered the question as a gust of rapidly cooling air whipped against him. The weather certainly hadn't improved.

 

"No," Raito said easily, then turned to look down on him. "Why are you standing in the rain? Get under here. The cab won't be by for a few minutes at least."

 

L cautiously sidled under the black canopy, still uncertain of the state of the brunette's mood. "You took a cab?" he asked, testing the waters.

 

"Of course. I'd hardly make the walk when the forecast called for rain. I suppose you didn't bother to check such a thing before heading out?"

 

"Ah... no," L said quietly, feeling scolded. Why was Raito so skilled at affecting his moods like this? He'd started this evening being angry, justified, and wary. Now he was reduced to this dismal state of feeling like the world's greatest disappointment or a kicked puppy. He wasn't sure which was worse. And all the while, he was feeling the coldness that filled in when Raito's smiles were absent.

 

If the brunette was so displeased with him, shouldn't they be parting ways instead of allowing this to drag on? Why would Raito insist on his company?

 

Miserable. Cold. Why had he even left the house?

 

He was no closer to discovering anything he'd intended, and for his troubles, there was even more that he wished to know.

 

L crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself in order to keep a little warmer, or maybe to reassure himself. Either way, it didn't help much.

 

The car pulled up after a few more minutes of silence. Raito opened the back door and ushered L in before following suit.  "Home," he said to the driver, then closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the seat.

 

It was one more instance of clout, to add to the growing pile and L couldn't stop himself from asking. It was too irritating not to know. "Just who are you?"

 

Raito turned to him, head still upon the seat as if he were quite weary, and an amused smile played at his lips. "Is that all you wish to know?"

 

"There is quite a deal more, but I think that is a fair place to start."

 

"Hmmm," Raito purred in the back of his throat. "And what is my reward for answering?"

 

L faltered slightly as that insidiously sensual mood rolled over them, drying his throat and making his heart race uncertainly. "I have nothing you want..."

 

"Are you certain of that, Lawliet?"

 

L turned quickly from Raito to face the front of the car, unprepared as always for the affect of his name on those lips. He sank back into the leather seat in silence, not trusting his own voice to manage the simple yes with which he would have replied. He nodded instead and held his breath.

 

Leather creaked and Raito's husky voice spoke into his ear. "I don't think you are."

 

He was unable to speak as desire washed heavily over him. Unable to think, he was only able to want. 

 

He closed his eyes against the overwhelming force of it, shuddering at the touch of Raito's lips upon the side of his cheek.

 

"The girl you knew as Vic," Raito murmured, brushing a hand over L's collarbone and igniting the horrible lust even further, "she doesn't exist. Her name is Hal, and I arranged for her to talk to you and give you my number, though she later complained that she would have rather provided her own."

 

"W-why?" L struggled to get out.

 

"I was testing you," Raito said, pulling L's mouth to his, and plunging lustfully inside.

 

L nearly moaned as his mouth was ravished so hungrily, and the brunette's heady scent enveloped him. It was only through fear of being heard by the driver that he crushed the noise in the back of his throat.

 

His head swam, as he struggled to keep pace with the brunette, trying as well to understand why this was happening.

 

It was no use, however. All he could think of was Raito's hot mouth against his, and the hand that had found its way under his shirt to burn his chilled skin like a brand. 

 

Fingertips teased at the waistband of his jeans and it was almost more than he could take. He grabbed at that hand, trying to pull it away, nearly sobbing at the pleasure as he was ignored and they brushed against hardened, clothed flesh.

 

He struggled out of Raito's embrace then, breathing heavily. Which was just as well. Moments later, the car had rolled to a stop and the driver announced their arrival. 

 

Raito uttered a few words to the taxi driver, something about settling payment next time, keeping it succinct, but being unable to completely mask the roughed quality of his voice. Then L was being pulled from the car, into the night-time drizzle. The umbrella, this time, was apparently unimportant because it remained a passenger in the taxi as the vehicle pulled away.

 

L couldn't have said what the walk up to Raito's house looked like, nor would he have been able to pick out the front door if shown a lineup of images. But he could have said with certainty, the feeling of it pressing against his back as the lock slid home and Raito's body molded to his.

 

The moans he'd been suppressing escaped as Raito's hips rocked against his, and his coat was dragged halfway off his shoulders, pinning his arms.

 

His body ached unbearably and his mind turned to thoughts of skin moving against skin, fast making his wet clothing even more unbearable and the craving so strong, he needed to give it voice.

 

"Ra...ito," he gasped out in a voice he didn't even recognize as his own.

 

Raito seemed to anticipate his request, because after a moment of renewed, passionate kissing, he found himself being promptly divested of his jacket which hit the floor with a sick, wet plop. The shirt gave more of a struggle, causing the brunette to curse under his breath as the cloth clung insistently to L's arms and stubbornly clutched at his head.

 

L fought it off and was rewarded, when he surfaced, with the glorious view that was Raito's bare torso. He felt very nude, suddenly, in nothing but his jeans, but the way Raito was looking at him made it hard to be self-conscious and had him thinking of being able touch all that beautiful, tanned skin.

 

He wasn't in his right mind. If he had been, he might have noticed several things on their way to what he later discovered to be the bedroom. Even if he had noticed then, it probably would not have made a difference with this fire raging under his skin.

 

He passed the leather couch and the table beside it, which had a pile of small, flat objects living atop it, and entered the hallway, dragged onward by the tight grip of Raito's hand upon his arm. 

 

The lines of Raito's back were beautiful. The broad planes of his shoulders, the curve of muscle that followed the path of his spine and the trim taper of his waist... it was all so unerringly perfect. Just like the darkened amber eyes that glanced back at him from time to time.

 

It might have been embarrassing, had L caught a glimpse of himself in and mirrors, to see himself in such a state, obediently trailing behind the brunette as if he were love-struck. He might have quailed at the sight of Raito pulling him into his arms and devouring him so thoroughly while sliding his wet jeans off of his body or perhaps he would merely have been biting his thumbnail to the quick as he was walked backwards, mindless with the feel of hands upon his skin, until Raito was pushing him down upon the bed, pressing between his thighs.

 

Heated kisses consumed him, arching his hips into the ones that moved so tantalizingly against his. It was his own desperate hands that caught upon the top of Raito's pants, as they curved over Raito's firmly sculpted backside, identifying the barrier and attempting the button. It was doomed to failure - his coordination while the brunette rocked against him was worse than pathetic and garnered a breathy laugh from his partner as a noise of pure frustration escaped him.

 

Raito pulled him up into a sitting position, claiming his mouth as he worked his pants off with one hand. Lips and tongue and hot wet heat slid passion into him until he was nothing but a container for it. He was nothing but desire as a hand trailed up his thigh, teasing him, playing coy to his aching flesh. 

 

He wrapped his arms around Raito, drowning in smooth skin and and muscled flesh, wanting. Wanting, craving, but unsure of how to proceed. Maddening hands traced his thighs again, coaxing them wider, spreading them apart until L felt utterly exposed. 

 

It was the slick, hot pressure against his sensitive skin that made sense of it all. It was in the sharp stabs of pleasure as Raito kissed his neck and forced his body to take him in. It was in the way Raito's hands tilted his hips and guided them into a mind-breakingly patient pace to meet his long thrusts. Every inch of flesh caressed his insides with unapologetic pleasure, building him up, building it up - this hurtling, desperate impatience, the need to feel this harder and deeper until both his mind and body were shorted out from it.

 

L rocked his hips upward, urging the hips meeting his to move with more urgency. Raito faltered in the breath of a stifled moan, his body tensing slightly, before regaining himself with a hastened pace.

 

Affected. This suave, sensual, collected individual is affected?

 

It was truly hard to believe.

 

But the evidence lay in the harsh breaths of his partner, the failing rhythm of their joining as each movement became more crucial, more debilitating, more powerfully felt. 

 

Raito's lips found his neck as L clutched his body even tighter, spilling his name in broken syllables that twisted L up from the inside out. His mind narrowed to those two points of contact - heated lips upon his throat and the movement of Raito inside of him, burning up his nerves, making his belly clench in rolling waves so intense he was sure he would explode. 

 

"Come for me, Lawliet," Raito's raw, husky voice panted in his ear. "Only me."

 

If L was doomed once by those scandalous words, he was doomed twice by the sound of his name. As if with those three syllables, Raito had licked him up and down and swallowed his burning need whole. 

 

His body seized, arching his back and forcing a sound from his lips that couldn't be suppressed by bitten lips and will alone as release flooded through him savagely, tightening every bit of his body and squeezing mercilously around Raito deep inside of him.

 

"God," the brunette uttered, muffled against his neck, his body tensing and shuddering like it were caught in a gale.

 

As sensation paled enough for him to breathe, L was dimly aware of Raito collapsing on top of him before he utterly blacked out.

 

 

____________________________________________________________< /font>

TBC

 

A/N: Some days I really wonder how I can write stuff like this and post it for others to read. 0_0 (hides)