If L ever entertained the possibility of dropping his sharp logic for a moment, he would say that Light was poisoned. Poisoned and sick to his cold core. And, logically, one doesn't stick his tongue down the throat of someone so toxic. But that would require admitting something as absurd and esoteric as this whole poison theory to begin with.

Still, if one was being illogical, one could think that those toxic fingers gripping his arms were likely to bleed all of their noxious elixir into his very veins. And, given the frantic beating of his heart, L knew, logically, that any poison would have made it all the way to his extremities by now. Surely, it was not any sort of poison, however, that made his veins (and skin and mouth and senses) tingle in that dying sort of way. Like the crackle of electricity leaving a turned-off computer monitor. Not that L turned off his many monitors much these days.

But if L were to be illogical, he would be tempted to muse that if Light were a deadly toxin, surely - logically, even - L was the antidote. Judging, at least, by the subdued way that Light leaned against him and the soft noises of curiosity and approval slipping out of that pretty, narrow throat. And the hands gripping L's sweatshirt and hair only supported that theory - logically, of course.

And, as Light wheeled L across the room in his chair to be pressed against the wall, L was at least 82 certain that the feeling in his guts - like the bottom had dropped out - was caused merely by the shock of it all. Not by any sort of poison transmitted by the contact between L's thigh and Light's hardness. That would, of course, be ridiculous. But L did feel his heart pause for a moment in its usual cadence. Still, it would be illogical to assume that it had anything to do with any inherent toxicity in the Yagami boy.

If L were a different person, he might play around with the idea that Light - in addiction to being poisoned - was a drug. Because L had never felt quite so light-headed and unfocused. And he knew that Light wasn't anything special. Not anything more special than a genius with access to the NPA and with the ability to kill masses of people with something as simple as the stroke of a pen, it seemed. But L had no natural, logical explanation for why his fingers were hooked over the waist of Light's pants, or for why his mind tuned out everything except for the slide of Light's tongue along his own.

And L, despite his own obvious genius, had no logical explanation for why he could so easily separate Light-Kira from Light-Attractive Boy With His Hand Up My Shirt. L was the sort of logical being that knew that no part of Light could be left pure of that poisoned, rotting part with the hands of a reaper.

But, were he a bit more illogical, L might be able to find a million reasons why he would continue allowing Yagami Light - the killer, the poison, the drug - to begin divesting L of his clothing.

The intoxication felt good.