A/N: It's short, because I cut it in half. Figured you guys would rather have an update as opposed to waiting another two weeks for the finished chapter. But damn there's a lot going on here.
I apologize for any errors you might find here, editing was slightly rushed this time around.
In any case, I imagine three people will enjoy this chapter. ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.
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Chapter 13
The coffee was warm in his hands, the hot liquid sending waves of heat through its ceramic confines, nuzzling at the tips of Light's fingertips. Gratefully he took a sip of the smooth drink, the mixture of caffeine, milk, and vanilla searing down his throat in a relaxing tangle of ease.
"You look like you're about to have an orgasm."
Light lifted an eyebrow at his younger sister's words, a twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Excuse me for enjoying the finer things in life."
Sayu scoffed. "There's enjoyment and then there's obscene pleasure. You, Onii-chan, need to have sex."
Light deadpanned. "This is not a conversation to have in public Sayu," the auburn haired man murmured before taking another, indulgent sip of his coffee.
"Aw…" Sayu chuckled, eyes sparkling as she regarded her brother. "Innocent little Light is blushing."
Ignoring the comment Light signaled the waiter, hoping the presence of a stranger would divert his sister's mischievous quips at his expense. Not that he expected it to. The small, London café was filled with individuals taking advantage of an early dinner and the crowdedness of the restaurant did nothing to deter the bride-to-be. Her tactics, however, were applause worthy. Light would give her that. She'd always been good at sensing other's discomfort, and Light knew, the moment she'd happily barged into his hotel suite, he was in for it.
The waiter came and went, taking note of their order before heading into the kitchen and leaving Light to sit in silence with his younger sibling.
The weight of the day was already pressing over him, restricting thought and spurring forth a wariness he hadn't experienced since his first week at the Bureau. Though it was unsurprising, too much excitement to fit into a single day. And yet, somehow the hours were still mounting against him, piling over each other like bricks blocking daylight.
Sayu angled a pointed gaze over her own espresso and opened her mouth to restart the grilling.
Light was faster though. "Where's Hachirou?" he asked, not even attempting a casual demeanor, but instead leveling her with a smart look of his own.
The girl glared but took the bait, consenting to give her brother a break. "Well, most of the past month's preparations were done without him. He'd needed to go back to Japan for a few things. I think he felt guilty about that and I know he was pushing it to arrive just before you got here. Thus, he's insisting on managing things himself now, including sending Rei's body back to Japan. Which, apparently isn't as simple a process as one would think."
"You can't just chunk the corpse in the ocean?"
"I suggested it," Sayu chuckled. "But there are so many down there already, adding Rei would only make things smell worse."
Light smiled faintly, taking in his sister's apparent happiness. And really, he hoped it was genuine. Perhaps tinged with fear and uncertainty, but the girl looked joyful. He just wondered how long it could last. "Are you sure about this?" he asked softly, mouth thinning somewhat.
Sayu blinked, not entirely liking where her brother was directing their dinner conversation. "The wedding?"
Light nodded, cautiously broaching into a subject he was sure would distract Sayu from what she'd come here to discuss… and piss her off at the same time. "Matsuda - "
The woman's face fell beneath a dark cloud, a spark flickering on in her eyes like a lighter, singeing Light with her displeasure. "Is twice my age," she interjected slowly, teeth clenched painfully.
Light was careful to keep his cup centered between himself and the volatile female sitting opposite him. "Yes, but if you had decided to marry him Dad wouldn't have disowned you."
Sayu fought the urge to roll her eyes, viciously stabbing a leaf of salad lettuce with her fork. "I tried to make Dad happy!" She snapped. "Even though he was against Matsuda in the first place!"
"Until he found out who'd asked to marry you," Light said evenly.
"Yes," she agreed, anger deflating while memories flashed behind her eyes. "Hachi was Prince Charming and I said no in a foolish attempt to appease our Father." Her eyes fell onto the table, fogging over with a self loathing Light rarely ever saw in the girl. Her cheek came to rest in her hand, elbow morosely propped atop the finely polished table. "That was a mistake, I was unhappy. And Hachirou shouldn't have taken me back."
Light sighed. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought it up, but he needed to know. As the older brother he needed to know that his sister was serious about the man she claimed to love. He needed to be sure she wouldn't waste her life on a man Light knew for a fact was more capricious and manipulative than he let on. There was no doubt in his mind that Hachirou loved his sister. But there was no guarantee the man wouldn't use her, abuse the childlike innocence she so desperately clung to the same way their Father had. And for that, Light had to know she was prepared.
"You give him too much credit."
Sayu laughed at that, though the sound was far from amused. "The same way people give you too much?"
He nodded, consenting to her bitter inquiry.
"I know who my fiancé is Onii-Chan, better than you do in fact. This is the man I've wondered across the globe with for the past five years. I may not be privy to everything he does, and has done, but I know." She stressed the last word, looking deeply into her elder sibling's eyes, beseeching him to just accept what she desired.
Strands of auburn fell over frowning eyes as Light ran a hand through his bangs, face contorting into a visage of acceptance. It wasn't what he'd truly wanted to hear, and it wasn't a life he'd ever wished upon his sister, but there would be no arguing with her about it anymore. Not now, not ever. Shaking his head at the determination loaded in her stance he finished his coffee. "In that case, I applaud you for going after what you want."
An elegant pair of eyebrows, identical to his own, rose in concern. "Haven't you done the same?"
"…in a way I suppose."
They were back to the concern. Smoothly, their waiter stepped in, halting the conversation for a minute as he cleared away the salad plates and empty espresso cups, quietly murmuring an indication that he'd bring out more. The moment the man departed Sayu leaned forward, intently staring her brother down. This was not something he wanted to discuss with her. He didn't even relish the idea of thinking about it. Oblivion was what he strived for, unfortunately, Sayu had other ideas.
"Onii-Chan?" the dark haired female tilted her head in concern and Light found himself damning her large, doe eyes. "What do you want?"
"…I'm not sure anymore," he said honestly. "For the first time since I got here I'm feeling doubt and I've no idea why."
Sayu's brows knit together tightly. "Maybe if I knew…"
"No!" Light's rebuke was automatic. "I'm not involving you in this anymore than is necessary."
"Well at least try to tell me why you're doubting yourself. That's not the Light Yagami I know!" she snapped, lips pursing together in thinly veiled unease. She had never seen her brother like this. The difference in him was slight, undetectable to anyone who hadn't grown up with him, but Sayu had seen it the moment she'd walked into the hotel room. She wasn't sure Light had been aware of the true state of his own depression in that moment, just laying on the couch, staring stonily at the ceiling. He'd looked tired, defeated, and he hadn't yelled about the fact that Sayu had her own key card to his hotel room. All of which had spelled out dejection. In the hours it had taken her to coral Light into the small, upscale resturant, the man had mellowed out from the rigidness she'd observed in him hours ago. But a hint of that unease was still there. His eyes were darker, heavier, as if Atlas had dumped all his problems right into them.
"You feel guilty," she concluded.
The waiter appeared again, bearing another tray of espresso, cookies the English insisted on calling biscuits but in all actuality were cookies, and two bowls of soup. The scent of garlic and Sumatran coffee didn't mix well together; instead they waged war in tangles of steam over the circular table. However, despite the dish and beverage's incompatibility, Light was glad to see the food.
Gratefully accepting the new cup of caffeinated glory, Light diverted his eyes from his sister and traced patterns around the vegetables floating in the beef broth before him. He didn't say anything and that was enough for Sayu.
"Why?" she stressed, completely ignoring the food laid out in front of her (and to think she'd been the one complaining about hunger).
"I don't know," he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as if he were in pain. Which was a pretty apt description for the wringing sensation rotting throughout his mind. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Fuck, there was no reason for this. And yet, that little monster was still there, eating away at him, clawing apart his stomach and gnawing endlessly on his gut. It was inexplicable. And as cliché as it was to say, he'd really never felt like this before.
"You're feeling guilty because you think you've done something wrong then," Sayu supplied. "You're just like Dad in that regard, righteous to a fault, even when it's not actually your fault." She paused for a moment, lips pursed in thought. "And just like Dad you feel guiltiest when you think you've wronged someone."
"Perhaps," Light murmured into his cup. It wasn't an avenue of thought he was inclined to traipse though at the moment.
Sayu didn't seem to see it his way. "L?"
Damnit. Light internally winced. How the hell did the girl do that? Out of nothing more than an out of sorts expression she managed to pinpointed the exact cause of his duress. Though it didn't do much to help him. L was the cause. The reason, however, still remained elusive.
Sayu took a gulp of her own coffee, expression volleying back and forth between the concern she'd been wearing all day and utter confusion. She settled on confusion. "I don't understand Onii-chan."
"That makes two of us," the twenty year old scoffed.
"No, really, why the hell would you feel guilty about doing something to L?" Sayu gaped. "Given what I know of him the man's a right bastard."
"And what do you know of him?" Light questioned, dully snapping a breadstick in half and using it to swirl his soup around. He'd never been one to play with his food, but now seemed as good a time as any to start in on the bad habits. L did it all the time, stacking sugar cubes and talking with his mouth full. The man was one obnoxious hedgehog, completely unkempt and oblivious while simultaneously observing every last detail. Every ounce of Light's being revolted against the rude detective. Yet, here he was, indulging himself on a nice guilt trip, vacationing from his sanity.
Sayu leaned back in her chair, critically biting her lip. "I only know what Hatchi told me, so I suppose my opinion is somewhat biased. And then there's what's occasionally drudged up from the underground. But he's vicious, using any means necessary to capture, detain, and imprison. I remember Dad talking about him once, how he played a trick on one of the departments to weed out the officers that weren't dedicated to their job. L's an underhanded bastard."
"He's brilliant," Light said, abruptly bringing Sayu's attention back to him. "L is brilliant. And because of that he's dangerous."
"And because of that you respect him." Realization began to slowly build within Sayu's mind, but the girl was too puzzled to truly make use of it. "Respect doesn't mean you owe him anything though. You're working for him purely out of the goodness of your heart," she declared strongly.
And a six figure, hourly salary, but that's not important. Light thought caustically, leisurely sucking soup broth from his spoon. "I'm not working for L out of the goodness of my heart, as you so endearingly put it. You know that Sayu."
"Well I can't help you with that Light because you and Hachi refuse to tell me exactly what's going on. Not that I mind," She said quickly, silencing her brothers retort. "I understand your reasons. And either way, I think you like him."
Light sputtered, gulping to prevent soup from spraying everywhere. "What?"
She smirked, finally drawing a spark back into her brother's eyes. "Yeah, you like L. Which is why you feel like crap using him for this stupid crusade to cleanse the world of its impurities."
"Sayu, the man is insufferable. It takes every ounce of my self control not to punch him in the face every time he opens his mouth." L was a slouching mess of exasperating contradictions, whereas he was Light Yagami, pristine and collected. The only thing the two of them had in common was intelligence.
In his lifetime thus far there had only been one other person who'd ever made Light feel so completely out of his depth, submerged beneath some viscous liquid with an iron weight clamped around his ankles. And Light had thrived on it, devoured it, in the name of research he had submitted to it. L awakened some of that, those feelings, it was only a small portion, but L brought it out. And if the Detective could snag on just a thread, it was possible he'd be able to unfurl everything else. And that was something Light could not afford.
Sayu saw the dilemma in Light's eyes without him having to voice it. "You're both using each other, I think that makes liking each other more acceptable," the young woman concluded, idly munching on a piece of celery. "And last I thought, you enjoyed a challenge, so get over yourself and enjoy the man damnit."
3B
When the murderer returned to the ballroom he didn't mention the table, shattered in several pieces, or the door, decorating the hallway with tiny splinters of wood, or the two security guards Mello was playing poker with. Beyond didn't even acknowledge the teenager he'd kidnapped as he picked his chessboard out of the rubble, meticulously collecting the miscellaneous game pieces Mello had scattered across the floor in his determination to escape. B really didn't seem to give a fuck about his destroyed ballroom, though Mello wagered the new décor fitted B's taste better than the simple luxury The Langham had offered. Crouching before his caricature of a board game Beyond fiddled with the pieces, carefully assessing the position of the plastic gingerbread men he'd taken out of Candyland, setting them out to surround a white knight.
B had been sitting there, like that, for hours, and Mello was getting concerned. A pensive Beyond Birthday was a soon to be lethal Beyond Birthday. The point was proven fifteen minutes later when Mello's green eyed stare finally attracted B's attention. A small smile pulled at the corners of B's cheeks, dragging a shiver up the blonde teen's spine.
A pair of ruby eyes rose as the body they belonged to unfurled itself from its frog styled crouch, scarlet, tinted orbs never leaving Mello's face. Stalking towards the slaughtered ballroom entryway B's gaze stayed fixed on Mello, the man's neck craning at an inhumane angle in order to maintain eye contact. The contortion made it seem as if Beyond had no fucking spine. A gulp of oxygen thrust itself down Mello's throat while B lazily sauntered out the room, yet Mello felt like he was being watched through the walls.
"Get out," the blonde whispered, shooting a meaningful look of unabridged apprehension at his two idiots.
Number Two shook his head. "We're not leaving you alone with that man."
The two security guards were staring at the youth, but Mello's attention was back on the door, awaiting B's unquestionable return. "Get out."
"Kid - "
"No," Mello snapped. His mouth had thinned into a stern line, lips barely discernable from his facial skin. These men had yet to officially meet Beyond and Mello was damn sure going to keep it that way. He needed them functional, not committed. "Get out or I will shatter your knee caps."
Number Two moved to protest but Number One decided to compromise. Mello had already pegged him as the more sensible of his two. "We'll leave, but we're staying on this floor," Number One said. "If he tries to kill you scream and we'll evacuate the staff as best we can."
"Oh, why not just pull the fire alarm then!" Mello exclaimed.
"He disabled it," Number Two cut in. "Screaming for people to get out of the building is our new fire alarm."
A disbelieving glare fell onto the two idiots, Mello's mind not quite registering the lack of neurons the two security guards possessed. "The hotel is laced with C4," he said calmly. "Evacuate and everything goes boom." Identical expressions of shock blinked back at Mello but he didn't leave them a chance to respond. "Now, if you would kindly leave, I'd greatly appreciate not having to live in a blood splattered ballroom."
"You're so calm," remarked Number One in awe.
Mello could practically hear his words of warning rushing over the man's head.
"You saw what he did to the manager and yet… you're calm."
"Correction," Mello interrupted. "I look calm. Inside, not so much. Now quit staling and leave!"
There was hesitation, blatant and obnoxious, in the way the two backed off, leaving Mello to juggle 52 plastic cards between his fingers. But they left, departing in a stringent silence polluted with warning and damned hesitation.
"Aww… tweedleedum and tweedleedee not agreeing to have a battle?" The childish voice rained over the twinkling chandeliers not two minutes later. There was no way Beyond hadn't seen the guards leave the ballroom, but Mello was more than inclined to believe they hadn't seen him.
"A monstrous crow flew down, they were afraid of getting their eyes pecked out."
B cocked his head, the jerking motion jarring the maniacal grin stretched across his face. "You know the rhyme."
"English was the one subject I was always better than Near at," Mello admitted, taking careful note of the small, plastic, floral print bag Beyond clutched in his hand. "That and tactical assault. He was always too busy calculating the potential fallout of different strategies to just get off his ass and move. Funnily enough though, he wiped the floor with everyone in short range combat. I guess to him there was only one possible outcome to holding a gun in someone's face and firing."
"That's probably why he's number one and you're number two."
"Because he can kill someone without a second thought?" Mello bit out, scooting backwards as B took a seat in front of him. The side of a card clipped the pad of his thumb and he shuffled the deck, a thin line of red marring the pink skin. "That's not exactly a characteristic I'm comfortable with the most powerful man in law enforcement having."
B laughed, eyes shining in amusement and fondness as he looked at Mello. "Oh my Little Dear, that's a characteristic L must always possess. Otherwise, what would he do when faced against people like me?"
"I highly doubt he'd shoot you in the head," Mello answered. If only he was one hundred percent certain with his answer, but lately his faith in L had been waning. And like any other animal, B sensed the coming fear.
"Why?" the murderer baited, nonchalantly unzipping his brightly colored bag, fingers diving into the contents.
Mello shuffled his deck of cards, watching the red, black, and white pieces of plastic merge into a fluttering, grey blur. "Because he'd want you alive."
B paused in his rummaging, lips pursing, waiting for Mello to continue.
"The minor criminals he catches, organized crime units, terrorists, they get sentenced appropriately. L testifies against them in court and they get sent to prison." A red nine of hearts skillfully flipped through Mello's fingers. "The higher scale cases on the other hand, those that take longer than a week to solve, those criminals get the Death Penalty. No trial, no question, just a short drop and a sudden stop. Then there are the others…" Mello's eyes narrowed, not on B or his cards, but the thought he was currently turning over in his mind. The cards were dropped to the side and a chocolate bar materialized from the pocket of the blonde's jeans. "The cases the public doesn't hear about L getting involved in, the crimes he thrives on, invests in, you never hear about what happens to those criminals once caught."
"And I fall into that category?" B asked cordially, a dainty smile that didn't quite fit on his face turning his pale lips upward.
"You do now." A piece of chocolate was snapped from the bar, wrapper crinkling as Mello chewed slowly.
Laughter ran from Beyond's throat, deep and just as smooth as the confection Mello ate. "I am flattered you think so Little Dear," B said, carefully pulling out a series of small vials, each with a long black cap, from the floral bag and setting them in a neat little line between him and Mello. They were nail polishes, at least fifteen different colors standing on the marble floor.
"Pick a color," Beyond instructed once the last color was set on the floor.
"What?" Mello gawked, not entirely comprehending what he was being asked to do.
B sighed, as if praying for patience, but the action was over exaggerated. "Pick a color, I'm going to paint your nails."
Mello stared at the mass murderer for a moment, chocolate hanging from his lips in creeped out disbelief. "Like bloody hell you are."
"Yes well, I imagine Hell to be quite a bloody place indeed, so it's nice to see we're in some agreement about this. Now pick a color." B hissed dangerously, daring the boy to refute the command. "If you're having trouble selecting something that may be complimentary to your skin tone, might I suggest Brisbrane Bronze?" he said, calmly selecting a bottle of dark brown paint, his narrowed eyes smoothly transforming into the wide, childish gaze Mello saw him dawn most of the time. Not that the façade would fool the teen, the man was a murderer and Mello would never allow himself to forget that fact.
Sweeping his eyes over the selection of polish, Mello's gaze paused over a startling shade of bright pink. B caught the movement and fluidly scooped up the lacquer.
"You're a Pisa of Work," he stated blandly. "Not a bad choice. It suites you."
A scowl etched itself firmly over Mello's face, but he shoved the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth and held out his hand, obediently waiting for Beyond to begin his newest for of psychological warfare.
The pink was bright, so much so that even clashed with the black top containing it in the glass tube. It was a violent color, commanding attention, making a statement. It was also the same color Mello remembered Matt's hair being, though secretly he prayed the gamer had dyed it back to his customary red. But the pink was Matt in a nutshell, as had been proven on multiple accounts. It was bold, yet easy to underestimate. Mello realized he was putting a little too much stock into the simple color, connotations be damned. It just wasn't healthy to compare his best friend to a bottle of nail polish. But it was comforting all the same and Mello couldn't help the guilt bubbling in his throat. He hadn't thought about Matty in awhile, too concerned with everything else, too concerned with himself to contemplate the effect his disappearance was having on his best friend. So he chose the pink. Commemoration and a vain reminder.
The cool liquid spread over the protein of Mello's chipped nails, filling in the imperfections and adding a bright gloss to the usually dull nail. B's hand was steady as he dipped the brush into the paint and carefully applied it to Mello's finger tips.
"L kept his involvement in the LABB Case secret," the murderer said conversationally.
Mello's chin rested in his hand while his elbow was propped on his knee. "Yeah." He didn't know where the murderer was going with this conversation now. He never did.
"I remember LA pretty well." Beyond had finished Mello's thumb nail and moved onto the boy's pointer finger. "It was a blur, but an identifiable one. You know what I remember most?"
"The sound of your flesh cooking to a medium rare?" Mello deadpanned.
B paused in his manicure, a reminiscing expression of glee twinkling over his face. The expression sent chills through Mello's veins but he refused to shiver. "No, although that was a highlight. What I remember is drugging the individuals I killed. They wouldn't feel anything that way, not really… I tried to make them comfortable before I killed them and it wasn't a lot of fun."
"It was rather counterproductive if you ask me," Mello remarked, fighting to wrench his hand from Beyond's grip. His mind kept telling him to move, to run, there was no way this conversation would be seeing a happy ending, yet he fought to stay seated, having his nails painted pink by a serial killer. "I saw the reports, pictures, humane you are defiantly not Uzhas. Yet, the victims probably didn't feel a thing."
"It's easier if they don't struggle," B commented, focused on his nail work. "You don't bite your nails," he observed, hoisting Mello's pale appendage higher in the air and keeling over it so his nose was grazing the knuckle. "But you need to cut them more; they seem to keep breaking due to length."
"Yes, well, this way when you finally decide to off me you'll have a painful struggle on your hands as I try to gorge your eyes out."
Beyond continued to stare at Mello's finger nails, the teen helplessly caught, internally floundering, under the intensity of B's scrutiny. Hot breath ghosted over Mello's skin, the puffs of warmth wrapping his palm in a thin layer of sweat. His think fingers were dwarfed by Beyond's large hands, effectively caging Mello's arm in their spidery grip. He was letting the murderer too close. Far too close…
"How would you kill someone?" B asked suddenly, tearing his eyes from Mello's hand. The movement caused the miniature paint brush to slip, drawing a thin line of pink down Mello's finger. "And tell me why you'd do it that way," B murmured, watching the paint dribble slowly towards the teenager's knuckle. Mello had the faint impression B wasn't picturing the liquid as paint. A curious expression turned over B's face and, unexpectedly, the murderer brought Mello's hand to his lips, kissing the back of the appendage. Red eyes suddenly fixed themselves over Mello's face, the ghostly orbs just daring the blonde to protest. Beyond's lips parted and a long tongue darted out, tasting the pale flesh.
The action was hypnotic. Mello stared, unable to turn away as Beyond's tongue leisurely moved over the nail polish that had spread across his skin. The pink paint smeared, mixing with the salvia from B's mouth. Skillfully Beyond moved his tongue over the back of Mello's hand. He paused briefly to press a deep kiss to the teen's knuckle before continuing to lick his way up Mello's finger. Green eyes widened as Mello realized just what Beyond was about to do, but before he could wrench his hand away from the murderer's face, B deposited the length of Mello's finger into his mouth, slowly sucking the ethyl acetate off of the white skin.
Mello's breath came faster, catching in his chest. This was… unexpected. No, no, no, not unexpected this was... thrilling. And that was wrong. Oh so fucking wrong. Beyond Birthday was lapping a pink carcinogen off of his finger and it made him delirious.
Where the fuck had any of this come from?
The man's tongue was skillful, warm, and oh so bloody hot. The muscle moved forcefully, wrapping itself around Mello's finger and drawing the slim appendage further into B's mouth. How was the man not gagging, Mello wondered as that adroit tongue elicited another gasp from his mouth. The sensation, the warmth of B's mouth, it radiated excitedly down Mello's arm, lulling his brain into a thick haze of disjointed thought.
He needed to pull away. Pull far away. But he just stared, lips parted, mouth drying as slow gasps of air filtered past his lips.
B sucked harder.
Suddenly Mello was on his back, Beyond's body stretching over his, pressing down against the slender teenager. Smirking B raised his head, lips trailing in a tight pout off of Mello's finger. "You have a dark side Little Dear, this is I know very well." An unfamiliar expression fell into Beyond's dark, red eyes. The taunting, heated quirk of B's lips sent tendrils of charred pleasure over Mello's skin. It was suggestive, as if the murderer wasn't profane enough. "Let it out Little Dear," B whispered, demanded as he hung over the blonde, pinning him to the floor. "Tell me how you'd murder. You know you're not alone with that desire. Every human has this fantasy, the blood saturating their skin, staining their clothes, abandoning all sanity and fully embracing that warm, dark area of the mind they'd normally ignore." Beyond's forehead came to rest against Mello's, blood, red orbs alight and shining into the teen's lost, green gaze. The nail polish lay forgotten on the floor. "Tell me your fantasy Little Dear."
His senses were in overdrive. Beyond's words moved through his ears loudly, accompanied by the spinning heat of the older man's body. He couldn't move, but god could he feel. The sensations were everywhere, as if his nerves were drugged, forced to experience the brush of ever clothing fiber, every breath, every touch of foreign skin brought against them. To feel so much at the hands of Beyond, it was frustrating. More so because nothing was happening.
Yet, despite the surprise and unease filtering through Mello's skin, the boy could think. Through the cloud of confusion and raw sensation Mello saw his thoughts brilliantly. And maybe it was because the question was a simple one, something he'd already contemplated. What sane person didn't ever ask themselves that question How would he kill? Efficiently, effectively, he'd kill dispassionately. That was the ideal, and it made the answer to Beyond's question easy.
"I wouldn't kill anyone," Mello said, tracing the contours of B's face, avoiding eye contact. "I'd hire a hit man."
B chuckled, pushing himself backwards, off of the teen's chest, but still straddling the boy's hips. "And how would they kill the victim?" B inquired lightly, allowing Mello to prop himself up on his elbows, shaking tangled, blonde locks from his face. The boy would need a hair cut soon…
"I'd leave it up to them to decide," Mello answered smoothly. "They'd be professionals after all, my only requirement is swiftness."
B nodded, tapping his finger against his lips in thought. "Would there be pain?"
"What?"
"Would the victim feel pain?" B reiterated, gazing intently on Mello's face. "Think about it Little Dear, this is very important."
Mello's eyes narrowed to slits, but he mulled the question over. "Yes," Mello stated finally, minutes later, the syllable coming slowly over his tongue. "They'd need to feel pain."
"Good." B smiled in approval. "You realize my mistake then."
"Your mistake?"
"In the beginning," B announced as if it were obvious, "when I stole the pain from my victims. I eased them into their deaths. I shouldn't have done that. People need to feel pain when they die. Otherwise, how else will they know they've lived?"
Mello turned to the side, a cascade of loose hair falling over his face as he stared at the floor. Did he agree with that? Would he agree with that? The blonde cast his eyes over the floor, searching through the pattern of marble for some answer, some way out of Beyond's maze of sanity. Because it all made sense. Every word, it all clicked in Mello's mind, the simplicity of it was startling, which made everything all the more upsetting. Mello glanced down at his hand abruptly, the faint wetness of B's slyva still lingering over his phalange.
Three pink nails smiled brightly up at him and the blonde nearly hurled. The phantom of Beyond's body still hovered over him, the warmth now centered on the area B occupied over his legs, but the spirit of the sensations were still there. The physical excitement, Mello didn't have enough experience to properly place it, but reveling in the after effects, B smiling at him serenely, the teen fought back the urge to shudder. Things shouldn't have looked like that, so crystalline, sharp with a stinging clarity. Not with Beyond, the sick, twisted murderer as the one who made the advances. He was better than that.
He'd been taught better than that. And yet, look how easily he had fallen.
B smirked, feeling the self loathing practically ooze from the child, and he leaned forward, effectively capturing Mello in his grasp. "What's the last thing someone feels when they die Little Dear?"
Mello shut his eyes, squeezing the image of Beyond from his retinas. But he could still feel the man, pressed flesh against him, body heat pulsing against Mello's skin, fingers digging into his arms. Thick, black hair tickled against the blonde's cheek as B's lips brushed intimately against Mello's ear lobe, releasing a think whisper into the air.
"Regret."
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A/N: We've passed the half way point. I'm expecting there to be twenty chapters total, so the countdown begins.
Thanks for reading!