I need more sleep in my life. Thanks for kicking my ass again, but seriously: calm the absolute fuck down. 谢谢。Thank you. Gracias.

Enjoy.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Light was able to put off being near the death note for almost two full days before it became too suspicious that one of the smartest in the investigation was not directly investigating the book. He could talk about it now, provided that he only spoke of what he'd been told and didn't add anything they shouldn't know. He was no longer experiencing headaches whenever he thought of the note—again, as long as he didn't repeat what shouldn't be known.

Kira came out every night to talk with L and the detective noted that Light never showed signs of sleep deprivation—further negating the possibility that this was merely a mental disorder (because—of course, of course—it just had to be supernatural related, not simply natural. L found this both fortunate and disgustingly irritating). What was curious was that Kira seemed to be getting worse each time and he'd sometimes freeze what he was doing and make a horribly pained face; he never told L why. But L speculated (and, undoubtedly, L was probably right). Kira's facial expressions seemed more forced as well, like a poorly fitted mask. Light seemed mostly fine, though he too would sometimes stare off as if he were trying to read someone's lips.

L wanted to help, but there didn't seem to be much he could do with the information he had; how was he supposed to save Light when the fight was inside the boy's mind? He had to bring the fight out if he were to even hope to give aide. He'd come close, he thought, when Kira suddenly pushed him down the night prior; the look was a face of needing power over the situation, it was mixed heavily with a need to control, and not just over L, but over Kira himself.

There was lust clear in the eyes—something L could handle. There was also a murderous intent in those eyes—he was less sure how to handle that . . . though he usually just settled for observing or instigating.

L had almost been frightened, but he remained calm when Kira used Light's body to pin L down by the wrists, face barely hovering about his own as he snarled. Just before L was able to say something inciting, Kira seemed to gain enough control over himself to yell out Light's name.

And Light had then appeared, confused . . . also aroused . . . which lead to embarrassment and apologies. L wanted to explain to him that—contrary to what Light had thought—he had not attacked L in a wet dream invoked reaction, but he wanted to watch the flustered boy more than tell him the truth. So Kira had had enough control to know that Light would have more. L found this piece of information quite interesting. He'd chuckle at the endearment if he'd felt like it: Kira liked him enough to hand him to Light for protection/prevention.

'Interesting,' he had thought, 'quite interesting.'

And Light was mostly fine, just as L had suspected. But also, just as suspected, Light never felt alone in his thoughts.

The whispers.

The whispers wouldn't stop.

And they were getting worse. They only stopped if L held him tight and he hated this feeling. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should be able to get a decent grip on reality without someone else saving him all the time. And . . . why like this? This death note and Kira problem was just that: a problem.

But, then again, he didn't hate this feeling—L was his balance. As embarrassing as it was for him to admit, he trusted no one more than he trusted L. Without really knowing it, he'd always wanted someone like this in his life—someone he could fully depend on no matter what, someone he could trust with his life, someone he could truly talk with, someone he could be himself with . . . no matter who "himself" was that day.

And now that he was once again touching the one thing Kira told him to try and stay away from, he was beyond fortunate to have L. He could feel the call from the book within his fingers and he could hear the whispers like screams . . . and yet . . . he felt like the luckiest person in the world; who else could feel as safe as he did when even his own mind was fighting him. No one else, not even the other investigators in the room observing right now, could see anything wrong with Light nor his behavior, but L . . . L certainly knew. He knew that Light was afraid and nervous for what could happen. He knew that the boy was upset and angry at himself for what he'd done before he'd met L. He knew that the boy was fighting whatever feelings the death note was inciting. He was very much impressed with Light's will alone.

Light felt strangely at ease. Even with the burning of calling power he felt in his fingers, the fire was easily cooled by the chill of the cuff on his wrist that was connecting him to L. Ugh, it was too sweet, even Light could scoff at the symbolism, yet he would have smiled had he not been holding the book; L kept him bound to reality—not just figuratively.

And more than that . . .

More than that . . .

. . . Ah shit. His face felt hot.

"Is Light-kun okay?" L asked with a head tilt. He was staring at Light with his thumb pressed against his lips, analyzing as always. Ugh, how Light loved that look. He loved all the looks he'd seen from L and he wasn't going to let this stupid notebook take away the opportunity to see more. L was constantly giving him reasons to keep going and Light just couldn't help but to love that too.

"Light-kun? Your face is red," L mumbled, nibbling on his thumb. The other investigators looked up from the death note in Light's hands to see if it was true—it was.

'He's so perfect,' Light groaned to himself. Obviously, that couldn't be possible: L was by no means perfect, but he was, undeniably, perfect for Light. Hearing anyone else talk like this would have made Light need to vomit, but now that he knew this feeling—this unstoppable feeling—he understood. He understood why people wanted to believe in soul mates and why people searching for meaning settled for one other person . . . he hated it . . . because . . . he loved it.

"Light?" L repeated, getting no response from the boy who kept starring at the death note, his face turning redder and redder. Finally, Light met his eyes.

"I love you."

Light snapped his mouth shut as soon as he heard himself say those words; he hadn't meant to say them, but when he saw L's eyes they'd just slipped out! He flushed brighter in embarrassment; how could he have let those words out? It's not that they were untrue, but . . .

Wow L's face was red.

Could his eyes get bigger?

This observation brought more blood to Light's face. He shifted the death note into one hand to grab onto the cuff with the other; both hands tightened around what they were holding.

Oh no, oh no, he'd said it. He'd said it . . . out loud. Oh no, oh no.

"Ah," L muttered, his hand now covering his mouth while his face burned red. L's heart raced too quickly, like he'd just sprinted a kilometer without sweating. He couldn't believe it . . . well, he was pretty sure about that already, but it was just another thing he'd never expected the boy to actually say out loud. Light had said it out loud . . . he couldn't believe Light had said it out loud.

Not to mention that he was able to say it while holding the death note.

"U-um," Light mumbled, his eyes also widening. What was he supposed to say? It was true, after all, he just didn't ever plan to say it, especially not . . . oh no, not again. He swiftly looked over to the other investigators after he remembered they were not alone. Why, oh why, did everything embarrassing his brain decided to do have to be in front of everyone?

The sight that greeted him actually made him snicker: Mogi had Matsuda in a half head lock, half mouth cover. Matsuda was waving his arms around as he struggled . . . perhaps for oxygen. It looked like Mogi had jumped the man as soon as Light lost control of his filter—probably to keep the idiot from saying something even more embarrassing than verbally admitting such affection. His father was sitting down with one hand over his forehead; his whole demeanor said what he was thinking: not this again.

Light admitted to himself that this was pretty funny. He set the book down as calmly as he could considering that he could feel his pulse in his throat.

"Excuse us," L stated, also as calmly as he could. Then he promptly grabbed the chain and pivoted around toward the door, tugging Light along with him. They had left the room and the door was still shutting when L turned back to Light and growled, "You!"

The investigators only saw L shove Light against the wall and attack the boy's mouth with his own before the door finally shut.

Mogi sighed as he felt Matsuda go limp in his arms: he'd probably just saved the man's life today. He let Matsuda crumble to the floor before he stood up straight, wiped his brow, and smiled. Good deed for the day? Check.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Light's heart beat even madder still now that L was kissing him.

"You," he growled again between bites and presses of their lips, "are evil."

Light smirked into the current kiss. He opened his mouth to retort something witty but all that came out was a needy sound as L took the opportunity to create a detailed map of the boy's mouth with his tongue. Light didn't know when L's hands had tangled themselves in his hair and he didn't know when his hands had found their way under L's shirt. He did notice, however, that they were slipping to the floor.

Light began again to say something—probably L's name, he couldn't remember—but L added weight to push them completely on the ground so that L was straddling him.

'Oh that's hot, too hot,' Light groaned in his mind as it quickly turned to mush. L was on top of him. Holy shit. 'He's on top of me, oh man, oh man,' his mind continued, overheating from reality.

He let out another less than innocent sound when he realized that L was also clearly losing himself to their actions; the proof was rubbing against Light's stomach. Light let out more shameful sounds as L pulled his hair down, gently forcing Light's head up and exposing the boy's neck. Light thought he may have whimpered, but he didn't have time to reflect on that as L was now engaging him heatedly.

Their hands roamed, L keeping one firm on the nape of Light's neck, the other pressing along his throat, chest, and face. Light, most of the time, wasn't sure where exactly his hands were, but they never came out from under the detective's shirt.

Light was sure he was making far too much noise, but the sensation he was feeling everywhere was enough to make him not really care.

The passion was definitely present, but Light felt the deeper intensity in L's movements . . . it was like a wordless reply to what he'd said earlier. If his face weren't already as red as possible, he'd have blushed again. He was a wreck and he knew it.

His eyes finally cracked open slightly until they went wide. He jolted and squeaked, "L! Camera!"

L paused his movements for a moment to turn his head from Light to glance at the wall: sure enough, he was met with the sight of a blinking, recording camera. He turned back to Light and was met with an infinitely better sight of Light panting, his eyes back to half lidded, and his neck still quite exposed.

"Mhmm," he grumbled distantly as he brought his mouth down to the boy's neck.

Light melted before regaining some humility and saying, "A-ah, hey—ah—L, stop it: camera."

"Mhmm," he repeated, grinding down onto Light as he sucked at his neck.

Light's eyes squeezed shut as he let out another horribly embarrassing moan. His hips moved up on their own and he pulled L closer to him. A full minute of melted Light later, reality hit him again, "L," he groaned out, mentally reaching for sanity, "We're in the m—ah, haa—middle of a hallw-way!"

"So we are," L drawled lazily as he began attempting to removing Light's shirt.

"Mm," Light whined, desperately trying to keep rational thoughts, "Anyone could leave the room and see us!"

"Mhmm."

"L!" Light partially whined, partially moaned; L had decided to suck below his ear and pull him even closer so that their chests touched. L was sitting up perfectly straight to get more body heat and Light could tell that the detective was seriously on the verge of stripping them both. Light's shirt was barely on at this point anyway . . . when had L freed him of a sleeve?

"Light?" L replied tantalizingly, whispering the response into Light's ear.

The boy shivered and instinctually pushed his hips toward L once again. Firmly, reaching for his last piece of sanity, Light lectured, "L, we cannot have sex in a hallway."

"This isn't sex," L rejected, one hand picking at the button of Light's pants. He mumbled quietly, ". . . yet."

"It's about to be," Light retorted, pushing L back as much as he could . . . which, admittedly, was only about 3 inches from his face.

L pouted, "I do not want to walk all the way to the bedroom."

Light could have rolled his eyes if he wasn't as equally amped. There was no possible way he was going to do anything further in the fucking hallway that was directly next to the door any one of the investigators—his father included—could open at any time and see two geniuses humping like jack rabbits. They'd already done too much judging by their lack of control both mentally and—more obviously—physically.

He was not going to bone in this hallway. No. Nope. No. End of discussion . . . shouldn't have even been a discussion. But how to convince L? L didn't care so much about modesty or even decency. Honestly, it would be a little rude of them to keep doing this. Light groaned inwardly: the other investigators were probably not coming out because they knew what was happening. Ugh.

That's when he had a flashback that was helpful . . . though decidedly a bit disturbing:

'Ooh, I like it when you beg.'

He bet he knew someone else who would like it too: Light bit his bottom lip, tugged at the bottom of L's shirt, and when he met the man's eyes with his puppy dog eyes, he begged, "Please? L, can we go to the bedroom, please?"

L gulped. Yeah, he did like that. Light finished his semi-faux plea by gently nipping at L's bottom lip. The detective hopped up, ignoring the blatant tent in his jeans, and pulled Light's arms to help the boy stand.

Light smirked. Off to the bedroom they went.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Mogi was far beyond feeling embarrassed by these things. Originally, he'd felt like he was infringing upon the two, but now he couldn't bring himself to be bothered: he wasn't observing the two willingly after all. They just kept doing things in front of everyone. He didn't blame them for their passion; he remembered how he and his wife had been when they first met . . . and sometimes still. He understood the passion.

What Mogi couldn't tolerate, however, was Matsuda. The man—fortunately still unconscious on the ground—just did not know how to hold his tongue in front of the chief. Mogi knew that Soichiro didn't have a problem with L and he wasn't truly bothered by his son's relationship, but he was bothered by the vulgarity of Matsuda's words—and rightfully so. Soichiro was still recovering from a gunshot wound, he didn't need this extra torture.

So, now, Mogi shook his head and turned off the monitor showing footage of the two now sinking to the floor. He knew where this was going and no one needed to see this . . . especially since they could hear it if the room remained silent. He saw Matsuda begin to stir, so he turned on some music to muffle the sounds until the two stopped (he hoped they would stop before things progressed too far). The music playing was loud enough to block the sounds to everyone but him, since he was closest to the door.

He successfully distracted Matsuda until he was certain that the boys were no longer fraternizing in the hallway. He was pretty sure he'd heard a tone in Light's voice that he'd never expected to hear before he heard nothing. He deemed it safe to leave the room.

He sighed and shook his head again: the boys had definitely gone to continue elsewhere.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Well, that's chapter 27. The next chapter should be up by the end of April (if not sooner). I wanted to have this up sooner, but I had an exam this morning and didn't want to fail. Ya'll need to understand that I have just as much of a life as ya'll do, which means I've got other shit that comes before writing.

. . . but you ain't wrong: reviewing speeds up the process, and yes, I like to respond to reviews (sorry to the guests who aren't logged on). So please, PLEASE review : D it helps me get a feel for what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong (writing-wise). So please review and thank you to all of ya'll that have ^ . ^ . . . also, I don't know if Mogi has a wife, but it's my story and he does : P

~Aia~

p.s. What is sour?

Hint: lemons are sour . . .

p.p.s. Did this feel short? Because it felt short to me : / lack of dialogue, maybe?