As the masseuse's hands conquered all the sore and aching bits of Light's body through the helps of tea tree and lemongrass oil, the brilliant boy contemplated his lack of success.
He had been at Wammy's half a week and had already had L's duties handed to him, but of course was prevented from exercising those duties and was now only clinging to joint partnership with L as they searched for the brats in a city of millions. As soon as this massage was over he'd tell L his plan as they supped at Next. However, the rapturous multi-course dinner and fake IDs that allowed them the accompanying liquor drove this purpose from Light ever so quickly. As a studious student Light never made time for parties (i.e., drinking) so Light was led drunker than expected to the back of the rented Aston Martin Wammy was driving (L preferred regularity).
"Light," L informed, his seatbelt wrapped around his shins as he refused to sit properly, "please don't enter my suite after nine tonight."
"Why?" Light slurred.
"Because I'm hiring a sex worker and I don't want to be interrupted."
This, out of all the things L had ever said, this statement was somehow the most like a mind game in Light's Tokay-laden stupor.
"Why," he stared, glaring.
"Because I want to."
That made pristinely accurate sense.
"Can I have one too?" was the next question, refusing to be bested.
"If you wish," L said, and asked Wammy to take a right.
So L's escort was delivered with another boy for Light, and Light realized how incredibly virginal he was and how incredibly experienced any sex worker this expensive was going to be and blanched at the opportunity of sexual excess, though it was sorely tempting. His escort was cute and slim and hung, and L's was an Asian boy and in a blurry tipsy moment Light knew he was Choi Siwon flown personally to L for his express and lustful benefit.
"I can't do this," he said when presented with this fleshly gift. His boy was dismayed. An awkward silence fell around the four of them, and L took control.
"If you go two rooms over there's an elderly but spry gentleman who'd like to see you," L told the rejected one. Needing nothing further he left.
Light shakily wandered back to his room, forgetting to thank L for his consideration.
His bed was very large.
And he alone had to fill it, as L romped around with a gorgeous piece of Choi (it seemed definite) not sixty square feet away.
A knocking at the door rescued him from these lonely thoughts and Light's spirits were revived as he staggered over and opened it. It was his escort, playing nervously with the tail of his latex catsuit.
"The older man sent me back to you."
"Oh. I'm a virgin," Light blurted. "I don't really...not with a…um."
As both the never-tried delicacy and salesman of said delicacy the hooker introduced himself as Harlan and began wedging himself into Light's personal space with promises of no pain necessary and going slowly.
"I mean," Light started over, thinking of the romping again, "I want someone blonde."
"What?"
"I like this boy and he's blonde," Light tried to explain through his hangover. "I—"
"I don't have time for this." The hooker pushed Light back into his room and almost leapt onto the doorknob.
"Now you can do whatever you want to me!" cried Harlan after he slammed the door shut, flying to the bed in a gleam of tight plastic and dark hair. He sprawled there, tantalizing and completely approachable.
Light's gaze roved over the barely contained body of this lithe young thing.
"Anything I want?"
"I'm in your power," he cooed.
Power.
And Light figured out the mind game with that simple slip of tongue. His face still pasted over with confusion he stumbled forward and draped himself elegantly over Harlan, who pretended to be flushed and shy.
"Are...are you..."
"No," Light said, not caring what he was replying to, and kissed him.
"You like that?" Light murmured when they finally broke. He nuzzled his neck, thinking of Mello.
Harlan moaned and wrapped his legs around Light, fisting the half-unbuttoned dress shirt feather-light fingers had been undoing. Light bent down to unleash another dizzying torrent of kisses and then remembered his plan.
"Oh." He ripped his shirt away and disentangled himself from the boy's legs. "I'm tired," he explained. "I need to sleep." He flopped over and closed his eyes.
"But," panted Harlan.
"Just leave."
The catboy strutted out and Light smirked into his pillow. "Take that," he hissed at the wall of room.
Something hit that wall with a very loud thud, and Light covered his head with the blankets. He would not allow his victory to be marred and called the front desk to request ear plugs.
Watari handed a disk to L the next morning. "I think he found you out, L."
L was all disgust. They reviewed the the taped encounter together and Wammy graciously paid no heed to L's desire to watch the lengthy makeout session precisely nine times. Once L found the escort's error he pouted over his computer, picking at his toenails and watching the steam rise from his coffee. Then he became nervous, had to brush his teeth, flip through a half dozen cases, and pout again, still feeling ill at ease. Perhaps he had misjudged Light's intelligence. Had the ploy been too obvious? Would it have been over-obvious had there not been the verbal slip-up?
The only way L was to be soothed was by beating Light in something again, and that could—and would—happen today.
"Ahhh," Light stared. L was wearing clothes and by that, dear reader, from Light's perspective, this means clothes Light himself approved of, and Light approved of dark denim that hung to toned thighs and he also approved of shirts that revealed the muscles capoeira had formed when L shifted just right.
"I dress as is needed for a case," L explained, remarking Light's even assessment of his body.
"What case is this?"
"I'll explain on the way. Watari is tracking the campers—eyes on my face, Light. We're heading to Michigan Avenue."
"Breakfast first?"
"It depends on the level of alcohol still in your system."
"I sort of have a hangover," Light lied, not sure what he was gaining by deception as L pressed his hand to Light's forehead.
"Alright," said L, his hand moving down to cup Light's cheek. "Downstairs to breakfast?"
"Mmhmm," Light sighed without meaning to. L's touch was always so soothingly cool. His eyelids fluttered as L's hand fell away. "That felt good."
"Misa isn't here, Yagami," L monotoned, walking away to the elevators.
Light blushed as a sort of righteous self-anger welled over and followed, keeping a cautionary distance behind.
Feeling as though the tonnage of bags he was weighed down with was absolutely nothing to his straining arms, Light was in the middle of a philosophical battle with L. They'd already argued and debated and come to the same conclusions and changed history just by conversing, and both boys were unconsciously glowing as their emotions for each other bordered on a rough meeting ground (L, total captivation, Light, consumed with everything that went on inside L's mind).
Making a conclusive end to their worldly and materialistic day the two entered one last store on their way back to the hotel. L explained that he needed to check the paperwork for a few gems that had arrived that week.
"Mr. Saitama!" The manager of Tiffany's burbled. "Welcome! Ah! And this must be Mr. Kirihara!"
Light bowed, easing into his rather frivolous role, too mentally busy deciphering he and L's conversations to notice all the employees clinging to the walls and the dimmed lights. He should have paid attention with more vigilance, as he was caught utterly off guard when L dropped to one knee in front of him.
This had the effect of making the proposal that much more genuine.
Light didn't hear an employee gasp on cue. He was staring at the little blue box in L's hand as it traveled, up, up, up...
L could not be serious.
The manager grinned.
The platinum ring inside gleamed a Tiffany's gleam.
"Will..."
Yes," Light gasped, blinking back tears as L stood and kissed him on the forehead. His inner fury was giving him the emotion needed to be the blushing betrothed and he almost didn't feel the kiss at all.
L, feeling a rush of a faultlessly opposite emotion, whispered, "You're beautiful," in Japanese as he slipped the ring onto Light's finger. It fit perfectly.
"The police will be here in two minutes," L continued in Light's native tongue, disguising the sentence with a kiss beneath Light's ear. "This is the Huntington-Siress case, and you solved it ten minutes ago." The sentence finished with the briefest graze of teeth against earlobe.
Light wiped his eyes and made exclamations as roses and champagne were handed to him and the rest of the staff. He clung to L's arm, shaky and too giggly, and L wondered, for not the first time nor the last, whether Light realized how staggeringly perfect he was. Light himself was transfixed with adrenaline. He'd solved a case meant for L. And the entire right side of his head was all tingly and whenever L smiled (because L was doing much of placid smiles and effortless, suggestive little things with eyes and hands and shifts of his body) Light's gaze kept wandering to L's lips.
"We need to be going now," L said in English once he'd downed one glass of champagne and he'd spoken with the plethora of officials who'd invaded the store. He grabbed Light's purchases with one hand and Light himself with the other and the two bowed their way out.
Nothing needed to be said. Light knew exactly what L was doing, and L knew that, and it was only until halfway down the block Light came out of his self-adulation and realized they were still holding hands, and it annoyed him that L knew when the realization occurred and dropped the ringed hand at once.
"I can't believe you used a sex worker to try and figure out whether my so-called power-hungry tendencies transferred over to the bedroom," Light said before he realized that L had set another trap.
"What?" L stared, mouth open, his arm frozen perpendicular even though the taxi had pulled up to the curb not two seconds before.
"I, uh..." Light ducked inside the taxi to cover his blush.
"You asked for one," L said, slamming the door after he got in with a forcefulness that made Light twitch. "The Drake, please," he told the driver.
"Yeah," Light mumbled. He concentrated all his energy on glaring at the gum on the door handle.
"You think that means I was trying to figure out your fetishes by fulfilling your request?"
"Well, yes—"
"And why?"
"Be...because..." Actually, he had absolutely no idea if L truly wanted him or not.
L was patient, and waited for Light to force out something plausible.
"Because B said you wanted me."
"Oh," L smiled, "that makes perfect sense. The manipulative homicidal forest man is always right."
Neither spoke for the rest of the ride to the hotel.
Light realized he was still wearing the ring that evening, reading in bed. He'd have to return it to L in the morning. As he was a frequent admirer of pretty things and the ring was exceedingly pretty indeed, he slipped it off to study it more intently.
On the inside, engraved in perfect characters, was one word.
Ichiban. Number one. The best.
A few seconds later there was a knock on L's door.
The warmth and damp and smell of shampoo that floated out when the door opened made Light take a step backwards in alarm. No, L's brashness wasn't about to be exhibited: he was, thankfully, wearing a towel.
A towel slung dangerously low on his hips as his skin glowed from the heat of the bathroom, still dewy from a shower. The seventeen year-old boy watched a single drop of water run down L's perfectly carved collarbone, drip between the firm muscles of his chest, thread through abs, and hit the terry fabric. The body was an irking aide-mémoire of how L's last evening hours had been spent.
"Here's the ring," Light said more slowly than he intended.
"Thanks." L switched hands holding the towel and and it dropped a bit lower on the opposite hip.
"You had it made for me?" Light asked, wanting to make conversation to stop himself from looking further for any substantial proof that L's escort had actually touched the body before him. This backfired: L's hair was still damp and the wavy tendrils framing his face and falling into his eyes were absolutely distracting, so Light now stared at his bunny slippers and wondered why on earth they were bunny slippers. Then he remembered he had just asked L a question.
"I asked you a question."
"I know." L's eyes narrowed. "The ring's mine."
"The engraving on the inside..."
"I'm a fourth Japanese."
"That's cool," was the lame reply.
L smiled and went to close the door right as Light spotted a bite over ribcage.
"L? L, can I see your laptop? I want to check my email."
Feeling as if his entrapment on the filthy tent floor had been vindicated, Near straddled a dazed Mello and poked at his face.
"This is why you don't take unlabeled drugs."
Mello croaked something intangible, but Near must have known what it meant because he leaned in closer with a frown.
"I locked it. He can't come in."
Mello groaned.
"You'll be fine. You already threw up. You won't die and the effects aren't permanent but you need to stay prone."
"Liar."
Near grinned a tiny, evil, perfect grin, leaning in until curls brushed bangs. "You're right. I just like you under me."
Mello blushed and scrabbled at the floor, but was still too weak to do more than flail.
"No." Near pushed at arms and head." Stop it."
"Ungfth."
"Shhh," Near soothed. He kissed Mello's cheek. "You want a full recovery?"
Mello stilled as if bolted.
"Thought so," Near smirked, giving him a hard stare before tipping Mello's head to expose golden, smooth neck.
"If you're not still enough you'll throw up again," he warned before leaning down and licking a wet line from collarbone to the corner of Mello's mouth. A weak tug at his shirt was swatted away with glee.
"No," Mello shuddered, "I meant," and he tugged Near down for a proper kiss.
Mello woke up and shoved the heavy weight that was Near's actual physical form off his sweat-drenched frame. He found the box of sleeping pills and threw them across the room to exact superficial revenge, and the noise of it (he knocked over a lamp in the process) woke Near up.
"What?" Near whispered.
"I threw the stuff."
"Mmm." Near tried to curl around Mello again and was startled to find the bed empty. "What'd I do?"
An exhausted Near whose mental faculties weren't in overdrive and used too many contractions was an irresistible Near and Mello crawled back into the bed. (From Near's perspective, a dewy, glowing Mello wearing only a tiny pair of black boxers crawling across their—their—bed to him made Near shrink back try to quell his shaking.)
"What?" he whispered again, sharper, to prove that he wasn't ready to be taken full advantage of yet, though his heart was racing. To Mello, the tone reminded him of his almost drugged domination and he gurgled.
Near's frown was dimmed by the sleepiness in it. "Y'okay?"
Mello shook his head. "Where's Matt?"
Thinking he meant to find him, Near pointed.
Mello crowed and ran to the door to snap the deadbolt in with another resounding yelp, and fell onto the bed again with an eagerness that made Near hold a hand over his heart as if to prevent it from being heard.
Thinking to reverse the dream and prove to subconscious Near that Mello was in very action the one who would do all the ravishing and that the dream hadn't heated up any part of him at all, Mello bent over a now quivering Near and grinned, teeth catching the light from the window.
"Please," Near whimpered, but the ventured plea was unprofitable: Mello slumped over and fell into REM again as the rest of the sleeping pills kicked in. Near prodded and shoved until Mello was in a comfortable position with Near's arms around him and, too angry to sleep, held Mello and counted primes.
Not a particle of memory of the entire night remained in Mello's mind the next morning and he whined about sleeping too deeply. Near only made guttural frustrated noises in his throat and looked away.
Matt did not want to know, ever.
What he expected was Light ready to leave for Uruguay, and what L received was a glorious explosion of a thousand paper cranes when he opened the doors connecting he and Light's joined suites. They were scattered in a shattered rainbow around the entire room, and fifty or so had been piled against the door to fall around L's feet when he entered.
The first crane was unfolded to reveal the words, I win, printed in neat, perfectly proportional letters.
L was anal enough to open and read every one and they never differed, except for the last folded flat beneath Light's pillow on his perfectly made bed.
I will always win.
L stuffed this note into his pocket.
Just as Light planned, there was now a knock on the door, and L was bombarded by the manager of the hotel who took the time to patiently explain to L that there had been a mistake with L's paperwork and his identity had been compromised and he was now required to stay in the hotel for the rest of the week in hiding, and would he please answer the telephone ringing madly off the hook inside Light's suite? It was Arkansas' police department, and they were angry. And would he care to take breakfast in bed, or would he prefer the concierge staff to deliver from the surrounding area?
The loss of control was surreal. L felt for the crane in his pocket and hated himself.
"Wow, onii-chan! And you're the manager of all this!" Sayu's feet fluttered as she pressed her hands against the window, standing on tiptoes for a glimpse of the sea.
The Yagami family had paused to stare blissfully at the blue and emerald of France's coast as Light led them around the chalet, which he had explained was Wammy's summer residence. This was a half-truth—the campus had been temporarily abandoned by the school but with a succession of phone calls had been restored to glory in a matter of days. Another call and his family were vacationing nearby at the school's expense and Light was lapping the flattery like cream.
"Yep." Light shoved his hands in his pockets, frowned, then folded his arms.
"I'm proud of you, son."
Light grinned and then told them they'd be moving on to the east wing and they could see the campers as they worked. With a gesture from him they were herded through a door to a gallery, Light walking behind.
B followed at the rear, never taking his eyes off of Light.