WARNINGS: sex, violence, disturbing images and thoughts, bad writing and all around senseless scribbling. This people have issues.

AU: I guess you could consider it AU since it doesn't have much of a storyline. It fits around anytime the characters in question are still alive. Enjoy.

I owe nothing.

Misa wakes up quietly, unaware she's awake. Her breathing is calm and rhythmical. Her eyes open to slits and she can only see darkness. She's laying on her back with her hands by her side on a soft cotton sheet underneath her, and one above her, covering her up to her chest. Her neck tingles and she feels she's still asleep. She can smell something she can't pin point, it smells like a clinic, and death, and cinnamon.

Her body won't move, she's too tired and she hears her head telling her that it's still too early, or too late, not the time to be awake.

She feels breath on her shoulder and the tingle is hair. Soft feathery hair that smells like a freshly clean morgue. And the breath smells like Christmas coming out of pale, thin lips, on a base of pale white skin.

Her body hasn't move but her eyes can see she's lying in a bed next to L.

Her mind hasn't bother yet with the big, loud, angry questions this should raise.

And she doesn't care for it now. Now, she's lying in bed next to L, who's curled up with his head right by her clothed shoulder. They're both fully clothed but she's not surprised by this.

The light of the night is coming through a big window with the curtains fully open. And that feels odd, and it lingers. She moves her eyes back to the detective, because she's curious and he looks asleep. And that should be impossible, right? Big detectives don't rest. She doesn't know what time it is, but the moon is outside this room and her body won't move.

She feels as tired as L looks. His pale lips are parted and dry, soft puffs of breath quietly mingling with the cool air in the room. His face is relaxed and guarded at the same time. Misa knows that if she were to slightly shift he'd be wide awake, but that's not going to happen because Misa is tired and her body won't move.

His eyelids look like moths. Pale and dusty, thin skin and blue, tiny veins. But his lashes are long and dark and shift lightly with his breathing. His hair is spilled all over the place, is too long and too dark and shiny. She wants to kill him and put him in a frame like art. She wants to preserve his face and his hair because she finds those kinds of things pretty.

His hand is curled close to his lips, almost touching, a whisper of touch, just like his hair whispering to her cheek and his breath to her shoulder. His fingers are long and thin, elegant. She wants those hands in a shelf. And pale, his entire skin is pure white. He's so white he should be in the cover of some magazine she would never buy. There's thin line a notch paler than the rest of the white on his wrist. She's curious and not so awake and not so stupid as to peek inside the arm of the wrinkled white sweater to find out more about the scar. Surprisingly, she doesn't think much of it. It means nothing. The scar is thin and pale and lonely in the bony wrist. Misa sometimes feels like a scar.

His sweater looks like it's swallowing him. He's thin. Too thin. Thinner than Light and she think maybe thinner than her. He looks sickly and he looks like death. Strong and crumbling and like dust in the wind. His collarbones are sharp, stretching the tight skin and maybe if she stares long enough, it will break the skin and ooze a rich dark substance she'd really like to see.

The air is cool. Even with the thin sheet draped around her. And L's body doesn't feel warm. She wonders if he's dead and his breath ghost over her neck like a reminder.

She closes her eyes on her own accord but they open without her consent. They're telling her she missed something. There's something else she needs to see.

There's a tan hand, with long elegant fingers and pristine nails and a wrist free of scar lingering over L's waist.

Light is here. Right next to L. And he's embracing him and that ought to feel wrong but she can't muster enough of herself to care.

Misa is tired. Her hands are tingling but she won't move them. She closes her eyes but sleep is far from her.

Light wakes up with a shuddering breath and hard cock. He opens his eyes to see white. He wonders if he's dead and if he can still get erections in death. In Mu. Nothingness. He tries again, closing and opening and he still sees nothing but white.

A white shirt, a white neck.

L.

L is curled up close enough to not touch him.

His chest feels heavy and his cock is wide awake and Light feels like catching up to it but not quite.

His hand is draped around L's protruding ribs.

L is made of bone and white and Light wants to fuck him and taint him and break him.

He wants to fuck him now.

L feels cold and Light panics for a second, because he's embracing a dead body. His cock is still hard and he's disgusted. And L is breathing and L is asleep.

Too much information is coming in and he feels frustrated. He's never this slow when he wakes up.

Now he's awake.

Because he doesn't remember falling asleep. Last thing he remembers is being in the control room and he remembers words floating in the air but that's not important. He's missing a considerable chunk of his day and L is asleep next to him.

He's curled up and bend into uncomfortable to look at. He doesn't look endearing, or pathetic, or guarded. He looks like L, curling up and asleep the way L bends and breaths.

He feels cold. Even through the white shirt. L's skin is always cold, but he's warm inside as his member reminds him. He thinks it's because he's so skinny. It's uncomfortable to fuck him. His bones digging into Light like jabs. L's bones are sharp and white and Light wants to see them and stroke them and murmur his entire confession of Kira to his femur, and his clavicle, and to the vertebrae that links his spine to his head.

He wants to part L's white thighs and tear him apart. He's getting restless and L is still asleep. So many times have they had conversations in their own heads, knowing what the other is thinking. He wants L to wake up and think the same he's thinking.

He puts his elbow in the bed, and puts his panic of how did I get here and why is L here behind. His fingers sadly part from touching L to remove the hair in Light's eyes.

Misa is there.

Another wave of panic, much more powerful and strong washes him over.

What the fuck is L, AND Misa doing in my bed?!

She's also asleep. And sharing a bed with him and L. And sharing a fucking blanket.

Light is furious and scared and horny.

He wants to scream and punch, he wants to part L's pretty thighs and come inside him. And he wants to do it here, now, with Misa fast asleep right next to L.

He's determined now. He's going to do it. His mind is wrapping up the idea that he is a sick, sick man but his hand is down again in L's cool skin and he's touching him. His head is behind L's head and his sight of Misa is obscured by L's inky hair like an eclipse.

But his dick is hard against L's ass. And he's grinding, hard. There's too much clothes between them for this to be satisfying, the fabric of L's jeans is rough against him in a way he doesn't care for.

His hand is reaching to unbutton L's jeans because who the fuck sleeps in denim. He's angry, and he's pulsating.

Now he's angrier.

He's sucking for air but he can't reach it. His stomach hurts and he feels a dent in his skin with hollow shape of L's elbow. He can feel him squirming, stiff, trying to shake him off in an uncharacteristic panic that makes him slightly tremble.

"Fuck" he murmurs not as softly or quiet as he wanted.

"Light?"L murmurs quiet and even. L who just woke to being mauled in his sleep with a gasp and sharp precise movements of his limbs. His voice is very quiet and the same monotone tone in which he delivers information, and the ingredients of sponge cake, and treats and recites from memory passages of ancient obscure books so long it will put professors and geniuses to shame all around the world. But there's something in his voice. Something he's never heard before and Light knows it's because he's never seen L sleep before, and he just awoke him with hand down his pants. He hears fear.

"Who the fuck else?"Fuck L. And fuck Misa. What kind of question is that?

L is quiet. He's all wrong tonight.

His hand is slipping back into the position it was, curling in L's limp member and pumping fast and hard.

L is staring at him with those wide eyes like he always does, like he stares in the control room while he's working, like he stares when he's eating, like he stares when they fuck. But the control in the room has shifted and L is on a slippery road, he's not quite himself yet. He looks pretty like that. His eyes are wrong and he's lightly flushed.

"…bathroom" He hears L's harsh, hurried whisper but pretends not to. He's grinding his hips into L, one hand in the front of L's pants, frantic and wanting, and the other is lowering the jeans and pants for skin contact. He wants to fuck L, and he wants L to come and Misa to be asleep.

"Light…" He sounds petty. His voice doesn't waver, even though he starts panting soflty.

His member is free now and rubs it against L's small, naked ass, and he kisses the corner of his jaw, where it meets his cold white ear. L's eyelashes flutter against his forehead and it feels right. But he's standing and dragging L across the room to the bathroom.

He feels dazed. He feels like he's underwater. Blue, and violently calm. His hands and feet are cold and his spine is aching.

He feels restless, panicked and he wants to jump and kick and punch blindly until his mind reorganizes itself and he feels like he's whole again.

He's in pieces, spread wide apart, scattered all over and crumbled and twisted.

He feels fire in his chest and screeching in his head.

His stomach lays heavily inside him.

He wants to purge.

There's something rotten. He can smell it.

He wants to scratch the back of his throat until it bleeds, and he wants to rid of this, of himself.

He wants to crawl out of his skin and tear his body apart and burn.

Misa is next to him.

He's awake without knowing he was asleep. There's something blocking the neurons in his head and he feels less than half of himself and he wonders if he did crawl out of his skin and if he's asleep and if he's dead and what is Misa doing here.

She's asleep too. Calm and deep. Her chest rises in slow motions and her hair is sprawled in neat golden rivulets across the sheets like gold treads. The moonlight is caressing her features and she's not wearing make up and she looks so pretty. And petty. And if L were a good person he'd help her because she doesn't deserve to die or go to prison for the rest of her life. She doesn't deserve a death note or a Shinigami or to be the second Kira. But L has a whole in his chest and his head and he feels hallowed and nothing more. He's going to charge her and send her to her death because it's what she deserves.

He feels weak and shaky and someone is touching him, he hasn't been awake for a half a second but he wants to run and push out the hand inside his jeans and he lashes out an elbow and he's about to kick and reach for the Swiss blade hidden in the leg of his jeans when he hears the cursed hiss.

"Light?" what is Light doing in his bed? And Misa? And this is not his bed. His head hurts and his member is half hard but he wants to sleep for years and he's half tempted to push out both of them or kill them.

"Who the fuck else?" Light is angry. Good. There something almost like joy in making Kira angry. But L doesn't feel joy. L doesn't feel much anymore. He's tired and done.

Sex is a tool for a detective. Much like interrogation and visiting the crime scene. He visits minds and pokes and uncovers truths while lying on his mattress. Or pressed against a wall, bend over a table or on his knees. He gets what he needs to solve a case, nothing more. He never felt pleasure from it. It was work and separated in it's neat little box in L's brain.

Light is rubbing his member again, bringing it back to life again.

He wants to close his eyes and come and shudder and go back to sleep.

This is not helping you solve the case.

Everything in his body is telling him to stop. This makes no sense. Everything is wrong. He doesn't know what he's doing, or why he's letting this happen. He doesn't know where he is or what he is saying and he wants and wants and wants.

He focuses on Amane's breathing. She's so pretty he wants her to die. He wants to finish the case now and he doesn't care how.

Part of him wants to have them both killed and be done with it, another part of him want to kill them himself, another part wants them to kill him, another one, the detective, is still trying to look for answers, he has too many questions and little time.

L is made of many parts that don't sum together.

His breath is ragged and he's weary. He wants to fight Kira off him and kill him, his touch is burning him and he feels disgusted.

"… bathroom…" his voice feels heavy and his head too light. He's going to pass out and come. He doesn't want to see Amane's pretty face and golden hair while Kira bruises his rear.

He wants to burn and dragged everything with him.

And he's being half dragged and half carried. His muscles are in conflict with his brain, rising a rebellion and refusing to obey. He's going to faint. Or die. His chest is too tight and there's blood in his lungs.

This is L. Snapping.

There's no time. He's bend over the sink and his breath is fogging the mirror. His eyes are burning and he wants to tear his eyelashes and poke at Lights eyes and shove his head to the mirror. Light who is leaning behind him and fucking him. He feels raw and violent and Light is hurting him but neither care. He wants Light to bash his head to the mirror and fuck his corpse. And Misa to watch.

He feels like he thinks people feel when they want to cry. But he's not crying. He hasn't cry since infancy. He's used tears and sex as weapons before but it doesn't feel right now. He's losing control and Lights is coming inside him and jerking him off. He's so turned on and lightheaded he's gone blind.

Snap.

He's dragging L who for some reason still refuses to move or do something else than stare spacey at infinity and murmur to himself. Light can't understand what he's saying, too low and strange, and he doesn't care, he doesn't care for L's mouth right now. He's aching and sweating and his fingers are slippery but he's holding L's hand and L's holding his and is almost like a movie and a song.

He didn't close the door to the bathroom or turn on the lights. There's no time. No time at all. L is dying and so is he and Misa is asleep and he wants her awake to shake her and kill her.

He can see L's breath against the mirror but his face is obscured by his hair. He's oddly quiet. There's no grunting or moaning or gasping. L sound like a whore in bed. He's campy and mocking and hot. And Light loves it. The faker he sounds the harder he gets. He hates it when he's chatty. Profiling him as he sinks his cock in his ass and banging his head against the head board. Telling him he likes fake things and identifies himself with them and attaches. Light is a good profiler too. He whispers in his ear, harsh and moist how much he likes to be victimized, play martyr, be abused, because L is a terrible person who does terrible things and probably went to something terrible in his childhood, maybe he was sexually abused or scarified for a hell demon or both, and making himself into an object and a target for pain and despair is the only way he can live with himself. He needs to be punished and L knows it, and that makes Light love him. L is a tragic song nobody wants to hear and Light is writing the final verse.

When spills his seed he sees heaven and hell blurred into one. He's shaking and he can't hold himself upright but somehow he's holding L too. This is too deep and strange and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and a scream in the back of his subconscious mind. But he ignores it because its warm inside of the detective and he wants to hold him and run his fingers to L's hair and say how much he loves him and then gut him with the pen he writes in the death note.

He's snapping too.

Too.

She can hear they're done. They'll crawl back into the bed and continue to ignore her. Maybe they know she's awake, and she's been awake and paralyze in hell. Burning in green angry flames.

L Lawliet. It will be easy. Few strokes of the pen and the ghost gangly detective will be gone forever. Her mouth is watering.

Light Yagami. That will be even easier. Misa hates him so much. She'll make his death a painful one. She doesn't need him, she doesn't want him. When she touches him she wants to jab pointy objects into his eye sockets and scream. She wants to have his babies. Golden beautiful babies. Named them Kira and live in a mansion with a torture cellar and keep L as a pet. She wants to see him naked and withering. Maybe have his babies too. Porcelain babies and named them like the alphabet. She wants to kill them all. Write every name of every person to the end of the world. She could do it. Trip and go mad and overboard and no one can stop her.

She feels the mattress sink and she knows they're back. They stink of sex and vengeance. She feels oddly imposing but she knows they don't care. They can't stand each other nor be apart. L doesn't want to solve this case because he still wants to be with Light, and Light won't kill L yet because he's having so much fun fucking the World's Greatest Detective every night. And there's a ring to it too. If Misa were in Light's shoes she probably wouldn't kill the detective either. Their egos are so big Misa feels she can't breathe. She's paralyzed and nailed to the bed. Her martyr cross.

They're quiet. The night is quiet.

It's coming to an end.

Its morning now and she can finally move. She on her side now. She still doesn't know if she's slept or disconnected. She doesn't feel rested or alive.

Her eyelids open and the room is bathed in soft oranges and pinks undertones. The light is warm and protective and she's breathing air and she feels at ease again.

L is awake too. He's staring at her like he knows all her secrets. He probably does. L has those eyes that can reach inside your skull, deep into your soul and stare and judge and show you what he sees in his mirror-mirror eyes. He has eyes made of nightmares and tales of forbidden knowledge. Misa has many secrets that she doesn't care to share but she doesn't mind L knowing them and making her feel naked.

He looked sickly and beautiful with the moonlight, his beauty submitting to oddness with sunshine. His skin looks warm and soft and she wants to touch his sharp cheek and kiss him, his lips a pale touch of rosy pink. He's nothing again. Light vanishes him, and that she finds funny. The light is bright before it becomes blinding.

Misa's eyes are pulsing but L's eyes are wide and dark and sucking her sadness. His pupils are shrunk and she can see the rings of pale blue that is almost gray. Framing the mirror-mirror eyes of truth. Like still water.

She feels like she know his secrets too. She has seen into his soul throughout his pretty blue eyes.

L is made of mischief. Of great detective tales and courage and darkness and monochromatic voice.

But here, at dawn, she can see L Lawliet. A boy with blue eyes and grim soul. He's pitiful and beautiful. He's worth killing without breaking him down first. A kiss of death. She can see herself sleeping with him, soft kisses and warm hands, and suffocating him with a pillow as they both reach they're peak. He doesn't fight her.

His face is as stoic as ever but it looks wrong. Misa's face is also stoic, she's not thinking of anything and she's not feeling anything. She's at blank. They seem equal right now. In Light's bed, at dawn.

She reaches out to his pale hand and intertwines their fingers.

L doesn't move.

Misa's hand is over his. Its warm and small and soft and she smells like clean laundry and strawberries.

Her hair is a tangled mess, she's not wearing makeup or a stupid expression. Her facial muscles are relaxed into a mimic of his worldly stoic mask. She looks older. Beyond her years. Mature, and so fucking beautiful.

He's holding her hand. The faintest of grips on her perfectly manicured limbs, and staring right at her. There's no barriers in her eyes yet he feels naked. He feels like smiling and kissing her and taking her out of here, out of this bed, of Japan, away from Light and running away together. He doesn't love her. She's as dangerous as Light. Even more, because she doesn't care.

She can kill both him and Light without so much as bating her false eyelashes. She'll go to their funerals and cry and screech and shrilly little voice and go home and marry another lost soul and maybe kill him too, go out and smile and act and put on a shit act that works because no one ever looks beyond it. No one ever thinks there's something beyond Misa Misa. The serial killer, the vicious vamp, the femme fatale. The woman that is here, warming his hand with promises and beautifully horrible truths.

Maybe next time it will be Light who stays asleep in a bed and him and Misa who go to the bathroom for a hard fuck. Her grip is telling him she'll kill him if he does. His grip is telling her he expects it.

It silent here.

He's dying.