Author's Notes: Dark BB x Light written for the 'Let's Whore Out Light' project. It was originally going to be a one-shot, but since it ended up so long, I decided to split it into two parts. I'm posting the first chapter in part so that I have to force myself to keep going, lol.

This is a re-upload. Hopefully, this time it'll stay up. I deleted it the first time because I got an insecurity attack, but I hope that is over... somewhat... a little. If you liked it, please review to help me get through the crisis. Pweeze?

Warnings: Nothing bad for this chapter, but the rating will go up to M for the second chappie. That's where the promised lemon will be. :-)

Disclaimer: Thank God I don't own Death Note!

Summary: Won't you come and play, in the dark?

I write too much these days. Someone make me stop.

+ Play In The Dark +

+ Chapter 1 of 2 +

People often thought that just because B shared L's traits of asocial stupor, his ghostly pallor, his mess of black hair and his stilted way of speech, he was also as good at observing people as he was.

B wasn't. He was better.

The moment he had come to Japan to visit L, he had known. As it often was, though, only the knowledge itself bored itself into his mind while he couldn't quite pinpoint why exactly he had come to this conclusion. Whatever the reasons were, though, B had known, yes, had been able to tell with just a single glance that somehow, L had changed.

It wouldn't dawn on him until a little bit later what it was that had changed.

"So you're here," L said briskly. He was perched on his chair (oh, but he had changed his posture just the tiniest bit, it had gotten a little tenser, B needed to remember that...) and hadn't even bothered to swivel around and give him a personal greeting. The room was silent save for the sound of L scarfing down a piece of strawberry short cake, Watari's uncomfortable shifting of his weight and a thousand computer monitors buzzing in electronic life. B had never shared L's fascination with electric appliances - computers, they were just things, they were cold and already dead, they didn't struggle or scream or buck or run; rather, they were matched in apathy only by the master detective himself.

"Yes, I'm here. I've come all the way from Winchester to see you."

"You stopped by home, I'm sure," L murmured, "How are Near, Mello and Matt?"

Anger sparked inside him and his voice was clipped when he answered, "They're fine. Not that you can't get Roger to tell you any of this any time you want."

"I was trying to make conversation, B."

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas how to go about that - perhaps by asking how I am?"

Silence. Then, "I don't remember asking you to come here." He loaded up another file. The light of the computer dyed his pale skin a sickly pallor, but it wasn't enough to tarnish the striking crimson of the quivering letters floating above his head like a letter written in blood.

B's voice was cold. "No, you wouldn't ask me to come here, would you? If it had been yours to decide, you would have made sure I stayed at the mental institution you submitted me to until my bones had been sucked dry."

Click-clack. "I can't deny that."

Impatience crashed against the cage of B's sanity. He was about to do something - snap perhaps? Laugh? Cry? Hurl himself at L and press first the life inside them and then his eyes themselves right out of his skull until they ran down his cheeks like streaks of wet mascara?

No, he would not do this, he could not do this, although sometimes a voice in his head screamed at him to do it. But no; while he wanted to triumph over him, wanted to best him, he did not want to kill him. If he did, L would not be around to see the phoenix rise from the ashes. It was like a fairytale, was it not? He, who had always been seen as inferior, who had been mocked and belittled and shunned, he would be the one to come back and ensnare them all.

Images flashed before his eyes. Droplets of brilliant crimson shimmering in wild black hair, skinny body dotted by wounds where the knife had kissed him. The black of the belt stark against his pale skin, so pale, black and white, heaven and hell, although not quite heaven because what had to be heaven was the heat of his insides. Mouth torn open by mewls and gasps of both pain and pleasure and eyes wide, so wide, black orbs wild and vivid like tossed-up waves and -

L's voice pierced the mental image and B's attention swirled back to the man in front of him. "You know very well I am not a sentimental man, B," he said without a hint of enthusiasm, picking away at his cake. "If I was, I would have likely have perished a long time ago." Oh, tell me L, something in B called, a bloodhound pursing its noise at a bleeding prey's scent, would you still sound so smug if I made you scream and beg and made noises you never knew you were capable of making?

B smiled, but it was an ugly thing; the grin of a cornered rat. "I did not expect you throw a party in my honor - although I did expect you to at least turn around."

"Apart from meaningless pleasantries, which I know we both are far too intelligent to find any real pleasure in, I have nothing to say to you, B. You are no longer my heir."

B grimaced. "You could still turn around. It is only common courtesy." His voice dropped, taking on a dangerous edge. "...Or so they taught me at the lovely institution you recommended me for."

L paused for just a second before he resumed typing. "It's very good to hear you are recovering well. Now, if you don't have any other business here -"

The piercing scream of his cell phone sliced through his sentence. L wavered a little in shock before he fished the device out of his pocket and held it to his ear. "Yes? Oh... Light-kun. Yes, of course. So did I. Costume party? I see, Light-kun. But no, I'd rather not..."

And then, exactly then, B knew how L had changed. He didn't exactly know what exactly tipped him off - perhaps the tiniest note of excitement that crept into his voice, maybe the way his muscles tensed or perhaps the way the words were drizzled with faint reproach, as though he really did regret he was not coming. Regardless of what exactly it had been, for B, everything fell into place like a puzzle that had for far too long been missing its last piece.

He didn't know how and he didn't ever really want to know, but somehow the master detective had gotten ensnared with someone.

B grinned and it was a good thing that L's back was turned to him because if the detective had seen the manic grin, he would likely have re-submitted his fledgling within a matter of hours.

But L didn't turn around and B turned on his heel, in decidedly better spirits as he strolled out of the Kira Investigation HQ.

It was easy to find this Light - Light Yagami, huh? Oh, what a delicious name - for there weren't a whole lot of people named Light around to begin with and the only person that B could picture L having an interest in was the star student from To-oh.

B narrowed his eyes, observing the boy as he chatted with a group of girls.

Conditioned, meticulously styled hair: vain.
Smug smile: vain and arrogant.
Eyes sharp and focused as twin knives:
vain, arrogant and smart.
Tennis champion, top chess player, rumored IQ of 180 and the man who scored test scores equal to those of L? Vain, arrogant, smart and capable - and soon to be fucking dead.

And while B watched the pretty boy - oh, yes, he was beautiful, and it made B wonder about the nature of L's infatuation with manic amusement - something flashed over the surface of his memory; he saw wings that shone like liquid silver under the sunlight and the dumb struggling of the fly as he plucked off its legs one by one.

B laughed.

It was different from how Light remembered.

Parties, once they were finished, usually remained in his memory as something that had been mildly enjoyable. Allowing him to spin his silver web of sweet-talk, up until this point they had only helped Light along his path of manipulation. Light hadn't been born with a very creative mind, would never be the next Dante, but he was as brilliant when it came to picking up on people's weaknesses as he was eager to slip his influence right through the cracks of their confidence. They surrendered to him, they always did - and up to this day, Light had loved parties for this reason.

Not this time. This time, it was boring. Not only was the air heavy with rock music, cigarette smoke and the stench of alcohol, it was also filled with chatter, laughter and the occasional shrieks that to Light had all bled together to indiscernible white noise as the night had worn on.

"Hey, Light," a girl called, snapping him out of his musings and causing the mask to slip back into place. When he turned around to her, he saw that she was grinning at him coquettishly. "Sometimes you'll space out like that and I'll wonder if you're more than meets the eye."

He recognized her immediately; she was a spunky girl he knew from one of his law classes. She peered at him out of eyes heavily rimmed by black mascara and framed by dyed blonde bangs, expecting an answer.

He shook a charming smile out of his sleeve. "I can only dream, Mitsuko. I'm afraid I'm only a normal student." He paused, deciding to stroke her ego. "Or, as normal as any of us enrolled at To-oh are ever going to be, at least." Light had long since perfected the art of flirting; he knew how to ignite that spark of hope in women; knew exactly what to say and where to touch to feed the flame until it burned bright and clear like fireworks for his victory. They never gave up hope that they would be the one to change him, never ceased to believe that they would be the one to break through, that they were the fucking last surviving rose at the end of a harsh winter. It was what all women desired to be despite claims and displays to the contrary: special.

But they weren't. None of them were.

And thus, Light was bored as he watched Mitsuko open her mouth and unleash a torrent of babble that, met with Light's genius, sloshed to a meaningless puddle at the back of his mind. Soon, her words became a waterfall of white noise and, with an apologetic smile, Light threw back the sleeve of his shirt to check his watch. 9:32 PM. How much longer until he'd be able to make a quiet exit while still being polite enough about it to secure his position as the school's Golden Boy? Perhaps another half an hour...

"I really like your costume," Mitsuko's voice managed to cut through the haze that had settled over his brain. Her tone dripped saccharine sweetness. "It suits you."

Truthfully, although Light was known for being rather meticulous with the way he looked, he hadn't put much thought into his costume that day. Earlier, after he'd turned in front of the mirror with his eyes narrowed to slits and listened to Ryuk very nearly splitting himself in two laughing at various clothes Light had tried on, Light had simply settled for one of his father's old police uniforms. It didn't seem worth the effort to hunt for the perfect costume for such an insipid party.

He gave Mitsuko's generous cleavage a pointed look, dark amusement curling up his lips. "So does yours. It does highlight your... assets."

Shrill giggles drove shards of glass into his ear drums. "Thank you," she cooed, "I chose this because Megumi recommended it to me, and then I -"

Someone caught Light's eye and he looked up. In the haze of the surprise that spilled forth, the girl's voice was completely drowned out. Someone walked down the stairs to the basement party and heavy boots were the first thing Light saw, followed by tight-fitting leather pants which led up to narrow hips adorned by a flash of flat, shockingly white stomach. When Light's gaze swept up over the tight, black shirt to the newcomer's face, a complicated tangle of revulsion and surprise tied his stomach into a hard knot.

The glare of the light bulbs crept over the newcomer, revealing piercing eyes partially hidden amongst a shock of jet-black hair. Their gazes interlocked - mild mahogany eyes meeting stark black - and it was only then that the name of the man in front of him echoed in his head. Standing before him, dressed in form-hugging leather and slamming his eyes right into Light's, was none other than -

"Ryuuzaki," Light breathed, left eyebrow cocked. Light was a complete master of his own emotions, but this outfit was enough to make even Light gasp that name in bewildered disbelief. Mitsuko blinked, then turned around; once her eyes fell upon L, she gaped at him with a half-surprised, half-intimidated expression on her face.

What the hell is he doing here? Once the first tendrils of shock had dried up, dread curled up inside Light's stomach as he put down his glass of Bailey's and made a beeline for the detective. Their eyes remained glued to one another as Light made his way through the masses, none of the faces he passed registering in his brain; when he came to a halt in front of the detective, Light raised one eyebrow.

"Ryuuzaki," Light greeted. The needle in his voice only scratched the surface. "What are you doing here?"

"Wasn't it you who invited me to this party in the first place, Light-kun?" the black-haired man replied pleasantly.

Light scowled. "Yes, but you refused, Ryuuzaki - and with that outfit..." He trailed off, giving the other man's attire a pointed look.

"I was under the impression the event you invited me to was a costume party," he replied. An expression was hovering over his face that seemed to be in the middle of deciding whether it wanted to be a scowl or smirk. "According to my observations, what I'm wearing pretty much constitutes as a costume."

"...That it does, indeed," Light agreed, disdain on his face as he continued to look at the other man's body. Although it was very skinny, almost gangly, Light had to admit that the costume was very effective at shadowing its flaws. Instead, it highlighted its attractive points, like bringing out the smooth alabaster of his skin by putting it in such shocking contrast with all the black. Surrounded by the jacket, his sharp hipbones, which at another time may have looked unhealthily malnourished, looked attractive, even enticing. Much could be said about his unconventional choice of costume, but nobody could accuse the detective of having picked one that didn't suit him, in its own way.

Still, Ryuuzaki in leather was just so wrong on so many levels that even Light's genius brain couldn't count them all and so he only sighed, flexing his eyes upon the older man's dark pools. As though the other man could read his thoughts, Ryuuzaki gave him a mild smile and said, "Don't worry, I do not plan on staying long. In fact, I have come only to give you this."

It was only then that Light noticed that, clutched in the other man's fist, was a crumbled piece of paper. Rolling all the possibilities of what this could mean around in his head but not coming to a satisfactory conclusion, Light grudgingly lifted his own hand, shuddering as his palm grazed Ryuuzaki's long, pale fingers.

Secretly, although he had always known it was silly, he had always expected Ryuuzaki to feel cold to the touch - but when the man's fingers opened and he pressed his palm flat against Light's, warmth erupted that traveled right through the tips of his fingers into the auburn-haired man's body. Ryuuzaki, with an unreadable smile, withdrew his hand. Light closed his fist around the piece of paper.

"What's this?" Light's eyes were searching Ryuuzaki's. He was met with the limitations of his deceptive skills, however, when he was only grazed by yet another smile that was maddeningly mysterious.

"It's an address, of a hotel very close to here. The Luxe hotel, door number 216. I have something I wish to discuss with you there. As much as I would like to stay," with that he let his eyes trail over the party attendees with a smug look on his face, "I have things to do, and so do you." He leaned in abruptly, bringing the scent of oil and something sickeningly sweet with him that made Light's nose wrinkle in a mixture of defiance and disgust.

"Light-kun," he whispered, gently nudging the words into Light's ears, "We have a lot of things to discuss, so you may want to hurry."

With those ominous words, he retreated and Light released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Light was reduced to doing little other than stare as the detective turned around with a lazy wave and shuffled away and it was only when he had vanished completely that he noticed he'd been clutching the address with a little more force than was perhaps necessary.

It hadn't taken Light very long to excuse himself from the party. Mitsuko and a few of the other girls had voiced their displeasure and attempted to get him to stay, but he had assured them that he merely had a mild case of migraine. The promises to call them each the next morning had pacified them enough and he had left soon after, bridging the distance to the hotel with brisk walking.

The Luxe hotel wasn't far from campus and Light had passed it many times on his way to school. When he reached it, he found it silhouetted against the pale moon, its surface studded with dots of bright light. He paused in front of the hotel, trying to compose himself.

It was completely silly of him to be so nervous, of course - the Luxe was a hotel like any other, even if, with its impressive size and delicate spires, it did somewhat look like a castle out of a fairytale, only one that no child would ever read. A bad feeling, a premonition almost, settled somewhere inside Light's stomach and the terror it left there shot shards of impulses through his nervous system. Light shook his head, quietly scolding himself. There was no logical reason why he should feel this way about this - he knew that Ryuuzaki frequently changed hotels and he knew that there was nothing suspicious about him requesting Light's presence there to discuss matters. It wasn't even the first time it had happened - on all accounts, it shouldn't have felt nearly as sickening as it did.

But the feeling wouldn't budge as he entered the voluminous lobby (strangely empty) and the terror that clung to his skin didn't peel off even as he entered the elevator (the walls seemed to close in on him - he had to get a grip on himself, and fast).

Hesitatingly stepping out of the elevator, he approached the door over which the numbers 216 were written in elegant, golden font. For a moment, the auburn-haired man just stood there, fighting against the impulse to whirl around and run, run as far as he could, just run, run and -

"The door is open," a voice - Ryuuzaki's - called from within, trapping Light and snatching away the last chance at escape he may have had. Shaking his head and firmly telling himself that he was better than this, Light reached for the door knob, took one more deep breath and then yanked the door open.

His shadow splayed across the floor. It made him look twisted and distorted, like a creature of darkness. Light sucked in his breath.

The room was filled with a silence that was not a silence; rather, it was like someone screaming just below his hearing. A thickly sweet stench hung in the room and memories of bright, cheery mornings on which he'd dug into a delicious breakfast consisting of toast, butter and... jam crept into his mind. They were images that could not have stood in greater contrast to the situation at hand.

When Light called, he was almost surprised he still had a voice. "Ryuuzaki...?" His words seemed to be swallowed whole by the room, as though there was a creature lurking in one of its corners that feasted on them. The premonition had thickened, was an almost tangible thing now. When he took a few steps into the room, darkness descended upon him, robbing Light of his vision. How can the room be this dark? Aren't there any windows?

The light switch! Light began to fumble for it, his movements jerky. As his searching fingers bumped against the switch and it was with what was almost a sigh of relief that he made the move to flip the switch and -

- and while the light switch didn't make him see anything, the sun-bright flare of agony at the back of his head did. Light groaned as brilliant stars exploded in front of him, his hands flying to his head while a slew of obscenities crushed against the back of his teeth. Light, in his pain, couldn't comprehend what exactly had happened, but instinctively knew he had been attacked. He was just about to whirl around when –

A flush of something moving, racing toward him, connecting with his cheek.

He gasped, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air. Everything around him was swirling, his vision alternating between darkness and blinding light. He had to get out… had to escape… he had to –

When the third blow crashed against his temple, it robbed him of his consciousness. His mind tumbled down a cliff of chipped rocks and was swallowed whole by the darkness that waited there. Light's body collapsed and harsh laughter ripped through the room once he had fallen. Light didn't hear it, but if he had, he would have thought that this laughter was perhaps the most terrifying thing he'd ever heard.

Author's Notes: Uhhhh, cliffhanger, yes? :D

Yes, I know B doesn't look exactly like L, but I had to have Light mistake him for L, so bear with me, please. :-)

When will the next chapter he up? Hell if I know. It should get very interesting and very M-rated, though. Kyahaha.