An- Well, this is my first interlude as Beyond Birthday. No real spoilers, other than the fact that he exists. I got bored and decided to pop off with this short torture fic for Nilah. Not expecting much for it, but I hope you like it anyway. It was a nice step into what I'm used to writing, not what I've decided to. Oneshot, I'm afraid. Step Lightly

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"Things would be a lot simpler if you merely answered my question, sir." B regarded the man in the chair across from him quietly before drawing his legs up as well and resting his chin on one. There was a red tint to his vision that had little to do with his precious eyes, and more with the fact that…for the first time in as long as he could remember…B was angry.

It was not a loud kind of angry…not a hopeless, despairing anger, or a spiteful, poisonous one. It was not a yelling, heart-in-his-ears event….

It was a process.

One that, he was sure, this man had been working at for years. Finally, finally perhaps, he had perfected it, but nonetheless, it would do him no good in the end. When those dark eyes, so unlike, and yet…so similar, to his own finally rose from the carpet and met his expectant gaze, they were full of reluctance. Hesitation.

Making B angry was a process…not a happening, not an event.

"B should not ask me such difficult questions…"

Because very few things reached B at all, much less mattered.

"…They are hard for a man such as I to answer."

Then again…fewer things angered B more….

"But, sir…."

…Than false modesty, and misplaced arrogance.

"…It's a very simple question, with a very simple answer." The words rolled from his tongue, and simultaneously, two pairs of toes worked their chair fabrics. One twitched in irritation, the other…well, the other was merely a forewarning of the movements to come, because he never could sit still when he was angry.

The other man's shoulders tensed when he eased to his feet, abandoning his chair and with it…any hope of finishing the conversation in a civilized manner. The detective's dark eyes merely flickered upward to follow his, and that at least was gratifying in a different manner. That stroked the darker things in his chest, to know the answer to his question before he himself was ready to divulge it.

Because B wasn't at L's level yet…no, he wasn't, but he knew enough.

At least, he knew L.

And he knew before those pale lips parted, and the second infuriating hesitation, what the man would say. He had his answer.

"No, B, I do not trust you."

But hearing it was so sweet.

He stood for a moment, hunched, maintaining his illusion if for no other reason than to highlight its existence.

Because really, B knew that he wasn't L.

He knew that, really he did, but it was so smooth, and so discordant when he made the change. To see the hesitation in the detective's appraisal of him made it worth it. Every stroke of powder and pen, charcoal and dust, was worth it when L looked at him and paused, just so. It meant that he recognized just what he was looking at, and that it wasn't him, no, it was B. It was another man wearing him…his manner, his expression, his face…simply because they could.

And for a man as intensely private as L had to be, it went beyond disturbing, and on into the realm of frightening.

Because when he dropped the persona, it was as though a wall between them came down as well, and then L was forced to deal with B, not just see him.

"Are you sure, sir?" There was no respect in the word…it was an insult, and felt like gravel on his tongue as he whispered it to the library. The detective paused again, that damned hesitation, and yes, B rather thought he was angry at this point. For L to be intimidated, offset by someone as weak as B should have been unheard of. The tension in the man's frame told a different story, however…one that crawled beneath his skin and set it on fire.

Because if L was uncomfortable with his prodigy, then his prodigy had already surpassed him…hesitation was submission, weakness, and in a man like L…it was inexcusable.

Beyond watched the detective's eyes narrow slightly, and felt a smile tug at his lips. It was far from mirth…merely a twisting of the expression to better suit the thoughts that he was entertaining, because there wasn't an expression that could do them justice. Not the power that he felt when L buckled beneath the gaze of a seventeen year old boy.

No, nothing did them justice…nothing but action.

And it was simple really, to straighten up slowly, stand as Beyond Birthday did, and not L. It was merely a few inches difference in height, a shift of weight, and a lift of the chin and they were suddenly two very different people. Ruffled dark hair and eyes that had seen far too little sleep meant nothing in light of what lay behind them. An old mind, tired and working ceaselessly…and another, younger, colder, and far more willing to push the boundaries of his self control.

He was intimidating the detective.

Because L stood.

And while that was irritating, because he should have been above that, should have been better, he was also feeding the small corner of B's mind that whispered dark things at night when he tried to sleep. L stood, and he was taller than B, but that was fine…because B had his attention. That was a feat…that went beyond a feat and became an accomplishment when L took his thumb from his lips and tucked his hands into his pockets.

B licked his lips, and L watched.

B spoke, and L listened.

"You really don't, do you?"

No honorifics, no submissive words to taint the statement. It was truth, simple and plain, and cold to the older man's ears. B waited, quietly, because B was a quiet person, and L answered him with a small shake of the head.

Such a miniscule motion shouldn't impart so much power.

The fire in his blood flared again, because that was rather pathetic really, but he quelled it favor of the cold things…they were bolder, brasher, and stronger than even his anger could be, and B had always liked power. In any form he could, he snatched it from those around him and held it close.

It was easy, really, to shake his head in mimicry of sadness. The small smile shifted easily enough to a wounded expression, though he could do little with his eyes. He never did have a knack for hiding himself behind them. So while his expression softened, hurt and downcast, his crimson eyes glimmered sharply, waiting, just waiting.

L looked away, dropped his eyes to the side, and B didn't miss the motion, nor his chance at control. "Sit down."

"I'm quite comfortable standing."

B's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice just a shade darker as he reasserted himself. "Sit down."

He'd forgotten how powerful L's stare could be. Regardless, he'd been shaping himself after this man for years now, and if his own wasn't as powerful, it was full of youthful stubbornness, the will to resist simply for the sake of resisting.

And in the end, L eased back into his chair, chin slightly to the side in his discomfort. It was strange, to see something so obviously submissive on the man's face, but it hadn't been very long since…the last prodigy, the last back up, killed himself. Perhaps there was a cruelty in him for using the death of another boy to further his ends, but when he stood straight, as Beyond Birthday, he became a real boy, and not another back up.

Not another puppet. A boy. L wouldn't allow the guilt of a second death to grace his shoulders because of his distance.

The detective drew one foot up, and then the other, bracing himself on the arms of the chair as he eased into his crouch. B tilted his head to the side and appraised him quietly, before stepping forward and snatching at the pant's leg of his jeans. The detective fell upon the seat as his balance abruptly shifted and then disappeared, glowering up at his younger counterpart for daring to touch-

But B wasn't finished yet.

And his expression stilled the words on L's lips, closed them before the request for personal space could even be uttered. For a moment they waited, with the older man's chest and surprise-quickened breathing the only sound. Then B rather thoughtfully reached for him a second time.

To his credit, L didn't pull away from him, but he supposed that would come later. Holding dark eyes, he slipped his hand beneath the curve of his calf and paused, just a taunting second of contact, before tightening his grip and pulling the man's leg away from the chair to rest his foot on the floor. He tried to pull it back up, and B knelt, easing to knees and holding it in place. L tensed, understandably, because as a general rule, no one touched him. No ever touched him, B knew, because B watched.

But B was going to.

Oh, B was going to.

He eased the legs down, unfolded his idol from his protective little ball, and if his eyes dared him to question the motion, L kept his mouth shut. The hands slid from the warmth of his calves up to rest on his knees, contemplating his words. They had to strike deep if he expected L to listen to him after…or ever again really. Some things, once done, could never be repaired.

But B was angry. "Do you blame yourself for A?"

He felt the flex of muscle beneath his palms as the detective tried instinctively to pull his knees up, to hide, and he didn't allow it to happen. Digging his nails into the sensitive stretch of skin between kneecap and thigh, he snared him in place, the flicker of a scowl belying his features. L's breath caught.

Time crawled, and L licked his lips and B didn't let himself blink, because that would give him too much. L's knuckles paled on the chair's arms, and B pushed again, seeking an entrance into the fortress of his idol's mind.

"It was your fault, you know." And his hands loosened their hold, smoothing forward over quivering muscle beneath the denim. L could kick him, and likely knock him unconscious in the process. He always maintained his body, B knew, because when all was said and done, it was his last defense. B wanted to break it. "It was entirely your fault."

"I had nothing to do with it."

And L suddenly seemed to notice the palms slipping up his legs, and grabbed at them, too late. When the long, cool fingers slipped around his wrists and tried to pull them away, B's nails bit in again. His own fingers wrapped themselves around the detective's hips, annoyed with the amount of fabric beneath his palms because he was sure this would much more effective if there was nothing there.

L pulled, and B held on.

L looked at him, and B watched him steadily, noticed the faint hitch in the man's breath when he flexed his fingers in their forbidden grip. The detective nearly whispered his complaint. "Remove your hands."

"He trusted you." B countered. "…To save him. He thought you would see his pain and save him from the pressure you were putting on his fragile mind."

The brows knit over the bottomless pits of his eyes, and B pushed again. "You killed him, L."

B rested his elbows along the smooth lines of the detective's lap, and lowered his head slowly, smirking. H pressed his mouth to a knee and exhaled against the denim, warming it. "You killed him…crushed him like a moth seeking your attention."

L sat straighter than could possibly be comfortable for someone of his posture, and B reveled in the part of his lips, the quiet, uneven rhythm of his breath. This was L falling off his pedestal, and B intended to drown him when he finally hit the bottom. He rested his cheek on the man's knee and slowly worked his thumbs over the hem of his pants. They slipped beneath the shirt to dance over skin and L trembled. A mere touch, so faint so smooth that B wasn't even sure he'd found flesh until the shiver came in its wake.

"Let go."

The red tint at the edge of his vision had little to do with his precious eyes, but it did cast a wonderful tone onto the detective's skin. B watched him blankly, nuzzling the inside of his thigh and trailing his nose inward. "You let him die, L, you watched it happening, and you did nothing."

Here, he scratched the pale skin that he'd yet to lay eyes on, and oh, L shivered again when the sharp nails bit.

"You let him die."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know better than the rest. What it takes to be you. How easy it is to fall apart. To break." He grazed his teeth over the hollow, still maintaining his boundaries for the moment. The tension in L's body is electrifying, powerful. He was easy…he was weak.

It was infuriating.

The grip on his wrists tightened, honestly tugging, and he didn't like that. That was resistance, that was futile. Instead, he allowed one hand to move, and forcibly guided it beneath his shirt, for a moment blessed by the sensation of taut skin against his fingertips…

And then L's grip became the iron hold he remembered from his earliest disobedience, the biting, hard tension that scolded him without words. For the first time in his life, B ignored it.

"Take it off."

"No."

A simple command and a simple refusal, but underneath that was the dangerous knowledge belied by the honesty of it. L knew what he was doing, what he wanted. He was fighting back. While that eased his anger somewhat, the dark beast in his chest laughed, excited by the prospect of a struggle. Would L really fight him? Would he dare?

B chuckled, letting his crimson eyes fall to the small stripe of skin exposed by their tense position. His fist hovered, balled in L's shirt, and the other held him still, refusing.

He lifted his head, letting it tilt to the side as he stared, his expression shifting into something predatory, something…unexpected.

L's grip faltered.

"Take it off, L."

He let his tone plead where his eyes refused. L looked away, for the first time, glancing at the door, and the hand that remained at his hip tightened into something painful. B's lips pouted, all the while increasing the pressure until he was sure he was bruising the detective, he had to be. A faint hiss of breath and L's eyes snapped back to his face.

B felt dangerous.

"Now."

L faltered, just slightly, and lightened his hold on B's wrist. It was all that he needed, and he wrenched back with all his might, the sound of tearing fabric filling the quiet of the library. Another gasp of pain as the sleeves and hems caught on his thin frame, but then the shirt lay in B's fist and L's chest lay bare.

He felt L's eyes on him but didn't grant him the intimacy of meeting his eyes again. Instead, they roamed his frame, wandering over lean ribs and the tight stomach. The hand released it's harsh vice, soothingly petting over the exposed line of hip as though in apology.

B's eyes did not apologize.

Because L was weak.

He came up on his knees, leaning over the detective's legs as he watched blessedly smooth, pale skin working slowly as the man breathed. In, out, he saw the tension in his stomach, the faint red marks of his abuse. Oh, glorious, so very glorious, so harsh, so real…

Finally, he met the man's eyes again, and L took a deep breath. Skirted his eyes at the door, because he didn't know what would happen if someone walked in, and it scared him that 'caught' was the only term he could approach the situation with.

Missed B ducking his head.

And jumped, oh he jumped when B ran his nose up the muscled line of his inner thigh.

"Stop!" His hands panicked where his eyes did not, and B suspicion that L knew exactly what was happening only grew at that. His smirk broadened when L's fingers twisted into his hair, firmly pulling him back.

But not enough to hurt him no.

Which, really…was never enough at all.

B paused, his head fully in L's lap, and waited. Waited, because if he waited long enough, L would relax, would make this okay, because L was weak. It was L's fault to begin with, for making him angry, for making him want to hurt the detective. B was patient enough to wait.

Just wait.

"B, you have to stop this."

And there, he tried to shift the blame, and B only chuckled. "That's what they told you when they put A in the hospital. After he stopped eating."

L flinched. But it wasn't his place to stop the punishment.

"B, that's enough."

"Enough… Watari said that too." B drawled, reveling in the shivers of pleasure the tight hold in his hair allowed. His eyes slid closed like a cat's, his voice still quiet as he taunted. "When A refused to sleep."

"B."

"And when did, he had nightmares…he was so tense that you haunted even his dreams." B opened his eyes again. "Did it make you feel powerful, to affect a boy so? To hold his future in the palm of your hands and then crush it from him with nothing more than your silence?"

He felt L's exhale on the crown of his head as he tilted his head up slowly. The detective allowed it, and he knew then that he'd won. He'd broken in, because L's eyes met his with a kind of desperation that he couldn't name. Too long, these demons had haunted him, pulled him down and trapped him against the cold stone of his own resolve. B watched him fall, watched the stone crumbling away with each passing breath, and his hands kept moving. Slowly, stroking up his sides, spanning the flat plane of his stomach, petting down over his hips.

The hold loosened. So minutely that B had to pull at it to be sure that it'd happened, but it was there. Weakness. Painted like fine crystal through his mind, the fragile wall of his conscience and its restrictions.

B dropped his head quickly; opening his teeth on the denim and the smooth skin he could scent beneath it and bit down. The man trembled, and B felt the muscles beneath his teeth tense further as he punished the man's thigh with a brutal grip.

L cried out in surprise.

B felt the blackness in his chest writhe, sheer empathic pleasure trailing tendrils down his spine as L remained still beneath him, his breath ragged, his nails biting the back of B's neck, his shoulder.

But he didn't pull away.

B soothed it after, releasing the spot after only a second's pain and nuzzling the tenderness until it was gone. A thought struck him, and he chuckled to himself before allowing a glance at L's expression.

"Do you even remember what he looked like?"

L nodded dully, and B slipped his hands to lace behind the detective's hips. L's eyes widened again, and with another furtive glance in the direction of the door, he pushed at B's shoulders. "That's enough."

B's anger flared again, and he leaned back and brought the detective with him, dragging him to the edge of the seat. He clutched at the chair arms in surprise at the sudden movement, but drew himself up again when B's eyes glittered sharply just below his chin. "It's not enough L."

Sitting back on his heels, reveling in the feel of L's legs beneath his arms, he ducked his head again.

L pushed at him. "B, I said enough."

"No." His lips grazed the angry marks his nails had left and whatever had been supporting L gave out. "It isn't."

His tongue was almost as smooth as the skin beneath it. He tasted the fine sheen of sweat upon the detective's hip and thought it wonderful. His lips pressed against the marks gently, so gently, and then parted so he could press his teeth there, just light, taunting. A threat.

L's nails dug into his shoulders beautifully.

God, his skin.

B felt the heartbeat beneath his teeth and tongue, and slid upwards to press slow kisses along his side. Four, he managed, five, before L's damnable common sense interfered with his ministrations yet again, and he shoved B.

"Get off!" Breathless, broken, weak, begging, a thousand words and their equivalents came to mind, drawn the depths of his genius like a floodgate, and B laughed. He laughed, because this is exactly why he hated L.

Hated him so goddamn much.

He sprawled on the ground, not stiff and awkward, as B would. No, he let himself fall wide open because Beyond Birthday was laughing, and L would see him. He would see the way the pale shirt hung from his frame, just like it did his, and he would see the way he smirked, smiling as he laughed under his breath, like he never, would.

Split in half, torn in two, and that was just so damn funny.

And L didn't leave. He didn't get up and walk away, didn't kick him to make him shut up, nothing…never even moved back into his chair properly.

And B had done that.

He eased off of the floor again, fluid because L was stiff, easy, because L was so hard…watching him, his dark eyes glittering with intelligence and the haze of his self-loathing. "If you'd said that to him…perhaps he would have lived."

Eased up, to reclaim his place in L's lap, run his nose, his lips up the smooth line of his stomach and chest, push him back and lay him open, open. "Would you say it to me, L?"

Smoothing his hands up the man's stomach, and the crimson glint had nothing to do with his eyes, even though he did see the red numbers. "Would you say it to me?"

"B…stop this." And his eyes were dark and empty and cold, and they hurt, and that was good enough for B. He nipped sharply, and L twitched, and B could only imagine how he must be screaming.

"Do you know how he died, L?"

The hands came up to push at his shoulders again, and B grabbed his wrist, his eyes narrowing. "He slit his wrists, sir."

L closed his eyes.

B pressed his mouth to sensitive skin and grazed his teeth over it, feeling the shiver in his idol's frame. He muttered quietly, lips brushing his toy with every word. "He slit them right, no help, no time…"

And the detective's arm shook in his grip, trembling with his tension and the pain that B was forcing him to accept. Breaking in violated his carefully laid walls, his taboos and his lines…all destroyed because B was angry. A man such as L shouldn't buckle beneath his will, nor anyone else's. He trailed his nose up the palm and a finger, resting his cheek there in a mockery of affection.

"Look at me."

L refused.

B snatched his chin forward, and those eyes were open again, wide.

"What's my name?" He held those eyes, that hand so close, his breath washing warmly over the cool fingertips. The detective curled in on himself, tugging at his own hand like something stolen from him. "Say my name."

"No."

B pushed, shoved, battered…because he needed this. "Say it."

He needed it.

"…Beyond."

"…Beyond…not Back-up, Beyond." Before the words forming could leave L's lips, Beyond slipped his first and middle finger into his mouth. There wasn't warning, not a chance in hell that he was relinquishing his hold now, and L writhed.

"Oh…oh, B…."

Pushed at him again, when he moved his tongue just, so, and L hated himself for it. "B, stop, stop now…let me go, B…no…"

And when he suckled gently, and the detective's spasm made him stop fighting, words spilling past his lips. "Ah, no….B, no, stop…"

And when the detective curled around him slowly, his other hand gripping the back of Beyond's neck, B could feel the changes in him. "…B, that's enough, let me go, B, let me…."

Slipped them out slowly, sank back down, grazing his teeth at the base. "…Beyond! Beyond, stop! God, B…"

Held his eyes until they closed and then worked harder, his fingers slipping up slowly to wrap around the detective's smallest finger. The voice was rough against his ear. "…you have to stop, Beyond, you have to stop…I can't let you…Oh…"

Just a touch.

"…I, Ah…"

L was so weak.

"…Please!"

And he pulled, snapped his fist to the side sharply, and there was a shriek as L's finger cracked in his grip, his nails curling over B's tongue and that hurt, but his finger was broken. He held it while L gasped, panted, keened, refusing to let him withdraw though he tasted the blood on his tongue and felt the bone pressing against his palm.

Heavy, heavy breathing, pained and sharp, and L's dazed eyes looked back at his, and the anger was there for him to see. The betrayal, the truth, the heartache, the reality of his existence…all there, brought into focus.

"Don't let me die like him, L."

The words rung hollow in his chest even as L's eyes widened.

"…Don't let me die like him."