Part 1 of 2. This story has two parts, and though they relate, they also don't. This first part isn't for the faint of heart, for it involves manipulation, a twisted relationship between L/Light that though pains me to write, must come out. Sexual references, lies, malicious intent and plenty of spiritual taint to go around.

This is a dark story, based on the anime of Death Note, in which both L and Light are emotionally playing one another, from the time Light forgets he is Kira, until the end of what the anime presents. The second part is far more light-hearted and does not involve the concept of doom. This part however, isn't happy at all, and that is expressed with a very dark ending and dual perspectives.

Staid- of settled or sedate character; not flighty or capricious.

Hitherto-up to this time; until now

I own nothing but this twisted first part, a part that makes my muses look at me funny.

"I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright. Who art as black as hell, as dark as night." Shakespeare.

Neither of them thought that they were alike in any way. Both of them closed their ears to the way the investigation prided them on their teamwork, on their flawless ability to mesh together, like gears destined for amity. They were clapped on the back, given congratulatory gestures and praised about their mutual symbiosis, beings that thrived off of one another in the name of justice. They didn't listen, for it wasn't the truth.

The truth was a mottled and frayed thing, a concept that was never analyzed until others were gone. When the voices of man couldn't interfere, both of them thought like they hadn't before, on what their investigation partner, on what their lover, signified.

For the one under the alias of L, his theory lay before him, stacked high like the sugar-cubes he placed in the blackest coffee. Everything had a purpose, a driving force behind what made mankind itself. Even with beings who were unintelligent, there was something in their mind, a spark and flare that could come to life at any moment. It just took one little action, a brush of cold finger-tips across golden skin, or the pressing of a candy-laced mouth against pink lips to ignite that catalyst.

The hypothesis was this: every action had a reaction, and all actions had consequences. With the smallest flicker of that flame, a roaring inferno conflagrated into the night, as consequence of heartless passion. Heartless, for L never allowed himself to feel during this process, during this experiment of wits.

To the outside world, Light was viewed as the embodiment of perfection. From the ground up, the presence of a golden-boy was viewed, in the eyes of those that stood in awe of him. From his neatly pressed shirts, to the faint scent of his freshly scrubbed skin, the young man permeated greatness. Had this been Ancient Greece, his face would have easily been carved into the currency of the times, and his auburn hair would have been adorned with a laurel diadem. In Japan however, he was viewed as a young man with a high IQ who wished in earnest, to have a role in catching the mass-murderer known to the world as Kira.

The speeches Light gave were filled with enthusiasm to all untrained ears, with an emphasis on the justice aspect, and that Kira had to be brought to justice, punished for his crimes. These words, no matter how pretty they were, always made L want to double over in laughter. It was so painfully obvious that the younger male was just acting, and though he would have made a brilliant Hamlet, on this stage, L ran the show, the very script. The words were rehearsed, a dull echo of consciousness that thudded through Light's mouth, creating a synchronization of phrases and sentences that were created to be memorable, casting aside any shade of doubt. It was a brilliant act indeed, and L applauded him for effort.

However, there was no disguising the facts, no matter how beautiful the face was that fashioned such lies: Light Yagami was Kira, and there were beings outside of the realm of possibility. Shinigami existed and they brought forth instruments of death for mankind to toy with, to tempt and delight them with musings of power, of walking as gods amongst the lot of man. He knew that beneath the facade of unblemished skin and hazel eyes, there was a sinister creature in Light, waiting for just a hint of moral ambivalence. Once it appeared, once Light doubted humanity and his own good-nature, Kira would be unleashed once more.

L wanted to analyze, witness and find cause for his suspicions. There was a method to restraining the younger male with the hand-cuffs, and though it was bothersome to have Light around him every hour of the day, it would prove well worth the time. He needed to have a single iota of proof, so that soon, that beautiful face would be behind bars for the rest of his life. Besides, once L set his sights on the truth, he was a most unyielding force to reckon with.

And so, he provided a first strike, a consequence that would work both ways. He began heated implications, late in the night when no others were around, and the security cameras were switched off. When others were far too busy drinking their coffees and looking at new evidence, L exchanged several looks with the younger male, revealing to him that had there been no one around, he surely would have thrown him from the chair and had his way with him.

Their first kiss was forceful, yet soft as a brush of feathers against parted lips. Both of their eyes remained open, and as their mouths moved, reveling in the taste of tongue and sugar, it was still a battle of wits. Light's eyes fluttered when L gripped his back gently, applying pressure on Light's hip-bone. But still, the younger man's eyes refused to close.

When all clothes were strewn about and foreplay commenced, both of their eyes shut, if only for a millisecond. Both of them wanted to see who would lose control first, though on the surface it was about tender love-making. Light nipped at his neck, and L made sure to leave many an indention with his fingernails on the younger male's back. They crested above and beyond their climax, and L knew it had everything to do with what he was truly thinking about during their carnal acts. It was not about how he loved the boy, for he didn't. It was not about having excellent sex with him, and then tossing him away. It was about knowing that what he was doing was controlling the beast within Light, the creature that would inevitably come forward very, very soon, with a little more prodding. Lions only lashed out through the bars in which they were caged if they were tempted with meat first, and the same concept applied here.

If he caught that beast before it snarled, he could wire the jaws shut with the muzzle of a life-sentence, which was enough to make L succumb to the throes of pleasure, if only for a little while.

All the while, L was seeing the monster that he bedded, time and time again. Kira was there, as Light moaned in ecstasy against his own body. Kira was there in the glazed-over look in his eye as they rocked together, forming a rhythm that knew no true end. Kira was there every-time L allowed the younger male to dominate him, and as they made each other feel the pinnacle of all sensation, there was far more going on that could be determined at a side-glance.

It wasn't about attraction; it was about control, even if the youth had no idea about it. There was so much more going on beneath the sleep-tossed covers in the middle of the night. Libido was fashioned by governing hands, and the lips that fabricated sweet words. Pleasure rang out on soundless voices, hushed by trembling mouths. They rolled around on the mattress, again and again on a bed of blades that dripped with their life's blood. For, L thought with apathy, this would indubitably result in the end of both of their lives.

Their serial and sometimes mutual climax marked the beginnings of a dark passion-play between the two of them. Soon, the music they shared of equal culpability would swallow them whole. As L allowed his eyes to slip closed, knowing full well his lover was deep in dreams, he wondered if he would wake up in a new realm all together, in a place without end. Every time he woke up and found himself still breathing, L knew he had succeeded.

For now, L knew that he had Light precisely where he wanted him, dangling on the tips of his fingers like a beautiful marionette. Nothing would dissuade him from his course of action, nothing in the least.

When there was no one around, Light pondered what had become of his life up until this point. All of the exams, the studying, and his passion for justice had molded him into the young man that he was on this day, up to this point. He knew that who he was had a large part to do with his father, the Chief of the police force. He saw the way that his father struggled each and every day to make the city a safe place for his family to live in, how all of the long nights and blood-shot eyes amounted to less than nothing on the statistics for crime-rates. He wished there was a way he could help his father when he was younger, but his father just shook his head and clapped him on the back, urging him to get back to his studies.

And study he had. He loved the burning feeling of knowledge, the thirst that was quenched each time he solved a complicated math equation, or finished translating a book in English for extra-credit. Others were in awe of him and sometimes he was asked why he did it, why he was so smart. He simply laughed and said that he enjoyed studying and it was never a burden to look at equations or read in another language. Besides, he didn't want to dally away his time with television, or mindless Internet surfing; what he was doing was bettering his mind, and the future that he would come across would be a bright one.

At least, that was what he had earnestly believed, right up until his final years of high-school. Something changed in his pursuits, in his over-all vision. The people who he called his friends became dull, recycled copies of personalities and forced, awkward smiles. His teacher's lessons became a low-pitched drone in his ears, and though he listened, he knew that he would have a better chance of understanding the material if he was left to his own devices, far away from the distraction of humanity, of the ennui that it brought him.

He wanted to escape his boredom, the vicious cycle that had become of his life. Wake-up, stretch, eat something healthy or miss breakfast all together, sit in lessons, go to tennis practice, dodge the lingering looks from his class-mates, force conversations, walk home while reading a book that he found partially was all the same.

And then, he managed to find himself as a part of an organization to stop the mass-murderer, christened by all the world as "Kira." This killer thought that he could just kill off people, one at a time, reigning an unrestrained judgment to the world as they saw fit. Now this was interesting. There was something about catching this criminal, about winning against this unknown foe that clung to the shadows that made Light's heart race and his pulse pound in his veins. The thought of being a part of something so brilliant, so fulfilling gave his life new direction.

The funny thing about finding direction however, was in realizing that a mistake had been made along the way. His partner-in-arms whom he had spent so long hand-cuffed to, made a roommate and frayed his patience on a daily basis was beginning to look at him differently. It began with a few stray looks, a few lingering glances as they analyzed evidence and debated over possible scenarios with their gathering of clues. Once, as he licked the whipped-cream off of a hot-chocolate that Watari prepared for him, he caught L staring at his mouth out of his peripheral vision. Light took a sip, closed his eyes, and wondered just what L was envisioning in that sharp mind of his.

He found out weeks later when everyone was long gone, Watari had retired for the night, and Light insisted on looking over some files with L, one final time. All they were doing was scanning names and data, looking for any possible clues. Light was willing to do just about anything to clear his name, for he was disgusted that L thought Kira and him were the same person.

It just took a brushing of their hands, chilled and tapered fingers against the warmth of his hand to send him into another plane of living entirely. There was desire in their bodies, a symbiotic jarring that wanted to be fulfilled, lest it shatter the very foundation of their lives. Their mouths met in a tangling of lips, in an awkward meshing of mouths. Tongues clashed, hands ensnared themselves in pitch-black hair, and they took each other several feet away, on a couch that their co-workers always sat on.

After that, something started to feel different about the sex, about the carnal-driven tendencies of their bodies. They spoke in heated whispers about what they felt, about how a pair of lips there and two fingers there inspired in them high degrees of satisfaction. But it was all on the surface, all a living game of actions and scripts, one that L was controlling. When others claimed that they were working together, better than ever, both of them knew better. It had everything to do with how high the stakes had been placed, and how their actions were leading to a consequential aftermath that would know of an end, very soon.

It was rather brilliant when, the day after Light realized that epiphany that he remembered who he was, and how his volition on life changed. He remembered the smooth surface of the black notebook, how it thrilled him to write names on the pages of the Death Note, time and again, ridding humanity of the evil that had slipped through the cracks in the justice system. He remembered Ryuk's incessant laughter, his details, and the way that he was on neither side, no matter how interesting the show proved to be. And above all, he knew a way to get rid of L, to get rid of the adversary that was standing right in his way.

The night before he knew L was set to die by his hand, they made love with a ferocity that stole his breath. He felt as if he was trapped in the fabric of a lightning storm, every sense and pore filtering light and endless heat. Light knew what that represented: on this night, everything that made Light Yagami Light Yagami was dying, and the escaping of the warmth served as a physical swan-song of his actions. Justice would come over him in his dreams, drenching him in the current of judgment, and Kira would look at the world with new eyes, forging a new world by the might of his own hands. Light Yagami as the world knew him, would be dead.

But for now, they lay together, whispering and speaking in low-tones, just like they had done before. L was to his right, kissing his shoulder-bone every so often, and Light gripped L's cold fingers in his own, knowing that tomorrow night, he would be sleeping alone, without his enemy and best-friend, without his lover and only adversary.

"We'll see each other tomorrow," L whispered, the shutting of his eye-lids against Light's shoulder representing how deeply L fabricated his trust of him.

"Yeah," he managed to say "tomorrow. Get some rest, L. We'll see each other soon."

It was as if there was a goddess in the room with them as they slept. Both knew what the next day would represent, what the following sunrise and rain-fall would mean for the both of them. The goddess etched the words onto a golden scroll, writing the words in a flowing script with a golden-quill. A curse was formed then, of inevitable meetings and living duality to fulfill those words.

L Lawliet died the following day, and his body was placed in an unmarked grave. From the MU, from the shadows of the ether that ensnared all of mankind, he waited. Some of the spirits, the ones that had physical form wandered around aimlessly, shouting on voices that weren't voices that their loved ones were waiting, both over and beyond the rainbow. All nonsense on tongues that weren't tongues.

But anger and the right to appease his wrath would come very, very soon. He just had to wait for his little lover, for the one who no one else suspected but him to have a wrong moment. All the time he stood patiently, gathering his memories and thoughts, collecting them the way that a thief stole a scattering of coins, standing for years and years, waiting and watching. He hoped that Light could feel the way his eyes were boring in the back of his head, the way that the shadows always seemed a little bit menacing when he was walking around at night, or in his hotel room. He wished that, every time he made mindless love to Misa, or to Takada, that he would never be satisfied and always found himself disgruntled. For, little murderers were never supposed to be happy when ghosts lingered.

And then, the hour of judgment chimed, thundering through his rib-cage like a literal jarring to his soul. With every slice of the minute hand, L knew that Light's time was coming to a close, and that the curtain would fall in tatters without any thought of standing ovations and roses.

L willed himself to come forth, through the mesh that held the MU together in a mess of stitching and he walked into the Yellow Box, knowing fully of the scene that would take place. There was Mikami, making a fool of himself on the ground, disillusionment hitting his heart like a well-timed whip to the face, scarring his existence for the rest of what remained of his life. Near was there as well with the notebook and L felt a need to tell his the one who succeeded him that he needed to get rid of it immediately, lest it taint his own mind-set.

And there, like a mad-Hamlet, was his once lover and friend, bleeding on the ground. L longed to sink down to Light's level, to sneer in his face and ask him in a voice of thunder and crashing waves how it felt to know that you were mortal at last. The taste of mortality was that of copper and ashes, guzzled down with a mixture of arsenic and a dash of salt. Sins always did have a way of catching up to everyone.

Somehow, miraculously, Light managed to stand. He laughed and laughed, and with the faint glow of the light-bulbs in the warehouse, his eyes gleamed red for a moment, flashing like the murderous eyes of a grim-reaper, sent to hack down souls with his scythe.

For the briefest moment, L felt something like pity hit his breast, the place where a heart once beat. No. His heart was nothing more than the food for maggots and worms, holed through again and again by a Shinigami's hand, and a malicious student's will. L had no heart, not anymore.

Light ran and L urged for others to follow him, no matter what they would see. On legs that weren't legs at all, L wavered and watched his once partner running, gripping his injured shoulder and body, nearly limping into the fading twilight. L had the time to conjure a little ability with his time in the MU, just for this moment. L willed for a corporeal form of Light to cross the side-walk with him, a grim parallel of who he was up until the sham of a man he was now. No. This was no man that was fleeing from people who he had once worked with. This was a misguided soul, possessed and taken over by the evil of his own mind, the evil of his intentions. Light was nothing more than the rot of humanity, and he would be dead very, very soon.

But not just yet.

Light fell on the steps, and in the spatters of leaking blood coating his face and torso, he looked like something out of a macabre painter's dream. His eyes were glazing over, the hazel that had once so infatuated L, but they refused to close. It was almost as if he was expecting for help to come, for a forgiving hand to reach through the world between the worlds and give him a second chance, another opportunity to right the wrongs.

Now was L's turn to hold back laughter. If Light truly thought there was such a thing as second chances, he was truly mistaken and not as bright as others had once proclaimed.

Hazel eyes opened wide and L knew what Light was seeing between the rafters: a spectral form in a loose-fitting white shirt, wrinkled jeans, and the same hunched position that he always wore. He was not here to mock him at this moment, but to take him. It all depended on when the Shinigami decided to write Light's name in his own notebook.

Eyelids opened wide, dark lashes fluttered, and the faintest ghost of a smile lingered on Light's lips. It was almost as if he was pleased to see L, one final time, even if he believed it to be a figment of his imagination.

The body would remain, but the soul was tethered, a writhing and spectral thing that began drifting, up and up into the black night. L wouldn't let that happen.

With a primal snarl, L snatched at it, heedless of Light's screams that were truly his own, screams of fury and the anticipation of pain, of a hell with the man he had killed.

They tumbled down and down, into the passion-play they created. The curtains closed, the music of the instruments faded away, and a single rose fell from up above, landing on the wooden stage.

They would meet again, sooner than they knew.

End of Part I