A/N: I usually don't do author's notes at the beginning of a chapter, much less a story, but this one demanded it. This is one that's pretty much my commentary on the sexualization of Death Note, and by that measure needs a lot of warnings. It covers many pairings, will probably turn out incredibly kinky, and will include a fair bit of shota (although that won't be the main focus). I update as frequently as I can, but I would recommend watching if you're going to read, I can be unpredictable sometimes.
I hope you all enjoy it! (after all, pervertedness is what most of you probably came here for...)
Ja, mata
-Cursed-Blessings
The skyline, barely visible over the trees of the courtyard, showed the last edge of a rainbow sunset. Matt admired the swirls of smoke fiercely cutting through the silhouettes as he forced out a long, sharp breath.
Suddenly a crush of fingers hit the back of his head, causing him to choke on a burnt-down cigarette. He rolled over, trying to expel it from his throat, littering the deep green grass with lewd globules of ash.
"Jesus, Matt!" Above him was Mello. "'The hell do you want your dying thought to be, at least I had that one last fag?"
"Mine'll be better than yours," Matt retorted as he struggled to get the last bit free from his throat, "at least I really got around. You fricking bender."
The glass radiated cold onto his arm, causing goosebumps to crawl and spread like ivy over brick.
L withdrew from the window; let its maroon curtain fall back into place, watching the limb with unconvincing interest. It was his manner of removing himself from the scene taking place outside.
He backtracked to his desk. The files there would certainly be of some importance. At the very least, they would be of more importance than a pair of ten year-olds roughhousing in the courtyard…large, bulbous black eyes began to dart nervously over a set of manila folders. He could open any one of them; begin to solve any of the cases he had recently been procrastinating with.
The folders lay untouched as L slowly crossed the room, feet transitioning from velvety oriental rug to an unforgiving bare floor. Something was drawing him back towards the window.
It wasn't curiosity.
No, to the contrary, it was a need to confirm the knowledge that made him uneasy.
He knew exactly what happened when the children of Wammy's sneaked out during the night. He was aware of what shameful activities took place amidst the trees.