Chapter Text
Mello stared at first his wallet – empty – and second his phone – half-charged. Beside him on the sectional, Matt used the hotel soap dish as a makeshift rolling tray for what he called “the widdlest blunt for your widdle baby lungs.” He licked a sheet of strawberry-scented rolling paper with eyes meeting Mello’s.
“Well,” Matt said. “You going to call Yagami now, or after he can smell the weed through the receiver?”
Throwing his wallet on the table, Mello shot up from the couch and stormed to their suite’s kitchenette. He leaned on the counter, faux-marble digging into what bare skin his leather vest exposed on his back. Okay, so: before he called Light, he needed a plan. Most of Mello’s encounters with L’s second in command went pretty sour, with Mello asked for more resources and Light insisted he use what he had. The better he presented his case, the less the sharp thumbtack of a man who stood between Mello and his career future could deny him.
Problem: he and Matt spent their last chunk of allotted case money going shop-crazy at a dispensary. Extra problem: a last minute update in their investigation meant he needed to go undercover for a short period and, while having a plentiful supply of edibles and bud, costume work now remained out of their budget. And the third, worst problem was Mello had no idea how to work up a compelling case to get Light to wire them the funds. If he played honest, they’d be screwed. Lying was also a gamble; on the few occasions Mello watched L’s cohort work, he’d been witness to some of the most beautiful bullshitery on Earth. No doubt in Mello’s mind that Light could sniff him out quick.
“Fuck.” Mello rubbed his thumb over Light’s contact info, his phone pockmarked by both grease fingerprints and gouges from him throwing it at Matt. “Okay. All right. You can do it.”
Thank god Matt was in the other room. Fuck letting your friends hear you give yourself a pep talk, sh-eeet.
Light picked up on second ring, his voice coarse but measured. Still, roughness raised an eyebrow: maybe he’d been yelling beforehand? Mello shivered. Figured that he called during a bad mood storm – Mello was practically born under thunder and a dark sky type of luck.
“I need some help with our investigation,” he said. “You see, we ran into an unexpected development, and we don’t have the funds to tackle it properly.”
“What is insufficient about the money you’ve already been allotted?” Nails tapped a dull rhythm behind Light’s question, as though he were already bored of the conversation. “Give me the details.”
“Undercover work.” Mello clipped his sentences, attempting a terse aggressive approach. “It’s out of our budget right now to, um, get the right uniforms. Can you wire us the funds?”
“When I ask you to give me details,” Light cut through, “you do as I ask. Don’t try to weasel around. At the start of this investigation, we made sure to roll in an extra several thousand in local currency to make sure these little unexpected issues didn’t hinder your investigation. They are so frequent with you and Matt. Where did that money go, if not to this undercover work?”
“Well.”
“I won’t give you any more funds with the two of you spending your money on drugs and other proclivities,” Light said. “Consider it a lesson in discipline. If you can’t finish the investigation with the resources allotted, then we’ll put Near on instead.”
Mello opened his mouth but the gesture was met by the click of his line to Light disconnecting. Around his phone he clenched his fingers until the knuckles burned. He buried his face into his inner elbow and screamed into the flesh, teeth scraping spit and soreness. What a huge, fantastical fucker Light was: the personification of a gate between everyone and getting work done. As he removed his mouth from his elbow, Mello considered how long now it’d been since he even heard L’s voice. All requests, all assignments, all of everything handed down from the unknowable detective through his Light – the voice and hands of L.
He stumbled back to where Matt, sunken into the sectional, smoked his now finished blunt. One red-dyed eyebrow raised as Mello sat next to him, hand extended to pass off the smoldering stick. After a deep pull, Mello exhaled cloying curls of smoke before coughing as his baby lungs constricted.
“Got a big fuck you from Yagami,” he hacked up. “Just like I expected.”
“Well sh-eet.” Matt drew out the last syllable of his swear, running a hand through his hair that stayed flat from grease. A luxury apartment and still the guy showered only twice a week. With a sniff, Mello handed the blunt back over and settled his empty hands over his stomach. Tapping fingers in arrhythmic thuds, he licked his lips before speaking an idea he knew was stupid.
“What if I went to L?” He shuffled his head to see Matt directly. “Like, in-person to plead our case?”
“No way that would work.” The blunt, perched in the corner of Matt’s lip, jiggled as he spoke. “So, one, we don’t know where he is and that’s on purpose. Would take like at least a week to triangulate this guy into our vision.”
“Pft.” Mello pushed Matt’s shoulder. “A week? Are you trying to be humble now? Is this your new phase? Just fucking track his cell phone.”
“I’m not being humble,” Matt said. “Shit’s hard!”
“Oh, shit’s hard? Try getting told that if we can’t do this case, we’re going to get put in baby jail while Near gets to play with all our toys. Move on dot com, and give me a real reason that this won’t work.
“Okay, asshole, how about that L has like perma-banned all Wammy freaks from his abode because he doesn’t want anyone to step in on him railing Yagami?”
Mello closed his eyes and inhaled, weed-smell mixing with artificial strawberry scent. Doubt scurried around his head. These were excellent points Matt brought up, but far more compelling to Mello was how unreasonable Light was being. If he could just talk to L, face-to-face, some friction had to spark a compromise. Mello didn’t work well over the phone; he was an in-person type of showman.
“I know it’s a risk,” he said, eyes cast down to his fiddling fingers. “But I’d rather take the risk than submit to Yagami’s ‘discipline’ shit just to be one-upped by Near.”
Yellowed fingernails scratched over five-day scruff as Matt contemplated things. He plucked the blunt from his mouth, rolling its spit-darkened paper between two fingers. At last, after another second of silence, he sighed in the same tone Mello knew from his successful childhood persuadings of his partner.
“All right,” Matt said. “Let’s go hack our boss’ fucking cell phone.”
Finding the location was, exactly as Mello figured, not easy but doable. Matt managed to get a lock from a coterie of bakery purchases made from a smartphone located in a condo stateside. With some small-time coin wrangled through a few short cybersecurity scams – “Work smart, not ethically,” Matt sang – Mello booked a first class ticket on a flight he struggled through with the aid of three gummy-worm edibles. Their effects cradled him all the way up to the blue front door of one Eraldo Coil almost three days after his and Light’s phone call. He knocked twice, and settled back on his heels. Showtime.
Light, at least the first two times Mello met him, was a weapon for a more civilized age: clothes tailored at all angles, vibes impeccable, and contrasting dramatics and efficiency in his work. Though how he came to be in L’s employ escaped even Matt and Mello’s three a.m. research rummaging, his competency remained a fact proven by its own continued existence. No one, save the mysterious ol’ L himself, finished cases as resolutely as Light. Both previous meetings had been rescue missions – Light coming in deus ex machina style to sweep Mello and Matt’s fumbled cases into the done pile via some top-tier deduction. His presence was, in a word, towering despite both he and Matt being longer in bone than Light.
That same presence opened the door and loomed over Mello’s spirit. Light raised his eyebrow with a frown bending his cupid’s bow lips, hand still gripped on a copper handle ready to slam the door closed again. Mello took a step forward, and in doing so took in the entire of Light’s visage. Black pearl-snap shirt, maroon trousers, and at the neck a leather collar. Eyes wide, Mello shot his gaze to the gold tag dangling off the collar: Oh fuck. That collar said “Baby.”
As edible-addled fingers rotated the tag and “Baby” around in Mello’s head, discovering new implications at each angle, a familiar voice shouted from over Light’s shoulder.
“Who is at the door, baby?”
“Your nephew.” Light didn’t trip over his lie; it slid out with organic contempt. “The blond one.”
“Let him in.” L, all wild black curls and loose clothes, popped into view with a hand on Light’s shoulder. He waved at Mello. “Hello again. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“He shouldn’t have come here.” Light’s grip on the door handle stayed firm. “This is dangerous, for us and him.”
“Oh, now that’s not a very hospitable attitude.” Finger curled under the leather, L tugged Light back by his collar. “Go kneel by the couch. Obviously you’re in too much of a mood to be courteous to guests.”
Faint pink dusted Light’s cheeks as L removed his finger, wrapping that hand around Light to manhandle him away from the door. After receiving a nod from L, Mello stepped inside with mind spinning. The foyer was narrow, with a long hallway both Light and L were half-way down.
“Leave your coat, keys, phone and wallet on the table,” L called out. Mello dropped his few pocketed items into a white dish, then hung his jacket on a set of three hooks – two of which were taken by a trenchcoat and long red leash. He swallowed before heading after the other two. Not much to speculate on as to who that leash was for.
Once out of the hallway, Mello wandered his eyes over the living room’s simple interior. A couch and armchair faced each other around a long coffee table – itself clean except for two coasters. His view of where Light knelt on the floor next to where L sat was unobstructed, and when Mello found L’s gaze on himself, he shot his eyes to the hardwood floor.
“You’ve surprised me.” Fingers carded in lazy strokes through the auburn crown of Light’s hair, and L leaned his chin on his free hand, eyes still tracking Mello as he shuffled further into their tableau. “I didn’t think you or that other boy had the skill to track us down.”
“Just followed the cupcake deliveries,” Mello said – exhausted by how hard he had to work to sound collected. Sh-eet! He was in L’s home, walking through a veritable Rosetta stone of the detective’s life, yet all his attention laid square on the man supplicated at L’s feet. Their lamps cast a golden glow over Light, enshrining his submissive posture as though a pretty statue. His hands laid neat over top each other, an elegant, controlled curve to his bent neck, and more captivating still was his commitment to stillness: a civilized weapon at rest.
“Still, that’s a lot of work outside your assigned duties,” L said. “What made you put in the effort to visit?”
“Well.” Mello drew out the one syllable, focus wavering as he noticed Light’s back stiffening. “A few days ago I asked Light for additional funds so Matt and I could finish our investigation, but he didn’t accept my request and denied me the funds. But I thought I might present our case better in person, since he can’t hang up the phone this time.”
The fingers in Light’s hair stopped their stroking, and L slid his hand down to grasp Light by the scruff of his neck. A soft whine let out from between pink lips.
“Is that so?” L squeezed his hand. “How interesting that this is the first I’ve heard about that conversation. Light, tell me. Did you make the decision to deny Mello’s funding request without Master’s permission?”
“They don’t need extra money.” Light tilted his head up, straining under the weight of L’s hand on. His brown eyes shone with earnest frustration. “I know those two just spent the emergency funds we allotted on marijuana, and I’m not going to reward them wasting investigative resources on drugs.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” L shook his head, his fingers tangling into a firm grip on Light’s hair. “Try again, baby. Did you make this decision without Master’s permission, yes or no?”
A smug warmth curled the corners of Mello’s lips. That was right, fucker. Time to answer for being a huge jerk – even if Mello couldn’t argue anything Light said was untrue. Light shifted his gaze from L to Mello: fraternal twin looks of pleading and poison. He swiped his tongue across his lips and sighed.
“Yes, Master,” Light said. “I didn’t ask your permission before making the decision.”
“I see.” L released Light. He turned his eyes to Mello, who shrunk under their intensity. Some part of his weed-enhanced lizard brain scattered at the attention. “Let me ask you a question, Mello. Are you aware of mine and Light’s relationship?”
“Yeah,” Mello shrugged with shoulders clicking. “I mean, I know you’re in one.”
“Light is my submissive. He and I are in a contract where his submission is twenty four seven. All day, every day. When he misbehaves, I discipline him.”
Sharp breath sliced through Mello’s nose as the leather collar, leash, and kneeling all swirled through his head. The puzzle pieces, all in place, like a finished puzzle. He groaned at the comparison. Even with the edible steadily leaving his system, the leftover stupidity did him no metaphor favors.
“Now,” L continued. “It appears Light made a financial decision on the phone with you and did not consult with me. He also withheld that decision from me, clearly because he knew his behavior was unacceptable. Do you consent to be here while I discipline Light? If not, you need to leave.”
Dry mouth intensified as Mello rolled his tongue over his teeth. A tempting and terrifying offer lay out for him. In his fingers buzzed bad decisions and boring ones, both tempting in their own ways – but Mello knew his answer.
“Yeah,” he said. “I consent. I’ll stay.”
After a curt nod, L turned his focus back to Light, who in the absence of a hand clutching him let his head droop onto L’s thigh. With easy strokes L beckoned Light closer and whispered in his ear. His soft coaxing went on for a short but discomforting amount of time. Rolling on his heels, Mello drifted his attention around the room rather than watch the intimate discussion. He recognized a few spines on floor to ceiling bookcase as titles written by Wammy grads, plus a small collection of tourist knick-knacks cluttering some shelves. More peculiar was the series of framed watercolor art arranged around the living room – landscapes, buildings, all of them so detailed and specific to be assumed real places.
His art appreciation severed at the sound of Light, his knife of a voice gone honeyed.
“Yes, Master,” Light murmured. “I understand.”
“And you know what to say if you change your mind?” L waited for the repeated affirmation of Yes, Master before tapping Light on the nose. “Then go to the bedroom, undress, and bring back out five implements. Your choice which five.”
In a single sinuous movement, Light swept up to his feet. Hands locked together at his front and head bowed, he walked through to another hallway until disappearing from Mello’s vision. L coughed, caught Mello with a grin, and pointed to the couch.
“Sit,” he said. “I want to ask you about these funds.”
Mello launched into the spiel he prepared on the plane – something, something, unexpected expenses, something integrity, please give money please – and at finishing, he released a long exhale. For a moment, L didn’t speak but pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A grimace fought to ruin Mello’s presentation: not thinking. This load of lies was best eaten hot from the bullshit oven, not mulled over until lukewarm. In the midst of his half-sulk, L laughed – shooting Mello’s shoulders up to his ears in surprise.
“I don’t really care why you need the money.” Sliding one foot after the other to the floor, L shook his head with another full chuckle. “To be honest, I know you spent it on drugs. That doesn’t bother me. I’d prefer, however, you don’t bother Light with these types of requests. He’s very sensitive about paraphernalia.”
L dragged the word in exaggerated horror, and startled a laugh from Mello. He licked his lips, their dryness faded only just so.
“Thank you,” he said and regretted the genuine response instantly. Who said thank you to L? Grieving widows, or sniveling local law enforcement whenever he solved a murder, that’s who. Mello was a seasoned investigator himself, near to L’s level.
“It’s not trouble.” L shrugged. “I appreciate you and your partner, whatever his name is, putting in so much effort to find us. Very impressive, to both myself and Light. Though I doubt he’d say so.”
Summoned by his mention, Light stepped from the shadowed hallway into the living room again. Long athletic legs grew into a pelvis molded by belt ad angels – the abdominal V dripping tan skin down to a manicured nest of light gold pubic hair from which sprouted an upward curved erection. A smattering of chest hair blended into the smooth torso, dotted on either side by two brown nipples pierced by silver barbels. Mello wiped sweat from his upper lip: fuck! Light gleamed hotness, rocketing to inferno levels with the incandescent devotion beaming from him as he looked at L.
“That’s my good baby, getting everything just like I asked.” L ran his hand up the back of one naked leg, stroking the back of his knee while Light’s cock twitched. “Set out the instruments on the table and ask Mello which he wants used on you.”
Light’s mouth opened with a wet pop and his leg trembled – the body language of a toddler contemplating a tantrum. Biting back a smirk, Mello leaned forward on the couch. Okay, drama: now this was the show he stayed for.
“Master,” Light sniffed. “You can’t expect me to just let him choose.”
“I can, and I do.” L pinched Light on the thigh. “Any more attitude, and I’ll let Mello do the spanking.”
Mello went flush as L winked at him, and he shot his eyes away – still feeling the burn of Light’s glare as he followed the wink’s trajectory. Whine strangling out from the back of his throat, Light set out his five chosen implements on the coffee table before stepping back.
“Mello” – Light stopped with a choked whine as L pinched his thigh again.
“How do you address guests, baby?”
Light shut his eyes and pinched his lips, another bought of back talk shaking his legs.
“Sir,” he amended, “will you please choose what Master will spank me with?”
“Yeah,” Mello nodded. “Let me take a look.”
Mello stood and walked around the table. On his neck he felt two pairs of eyes – L’s cool amusement and Light’s liquid anxiety – as he studied the five choices. Among the objects was a rectangular paddle, covered in a black leather and studded on one side with blunted spikes. Imagination conjured with no effort how Light’s pert bottom might bear those spikes, the skin dappled by dot bruises and speckled blood. His thoughts captured by it, Mello knew he had no other choice. He handed the paddle to Light, who took it with a bitter “Thank you, Sir.”
“Hand me the paddle.” L took the implement from Light and rolled its handle in his palm. “Now ask Master for your discipline, baby.”
Light dropped to his knees, bent until his forehead touched the floor. His spine rippled in the arch – each vertebrae ridge bold enough under the skin to count.
“I’ve misbehaved and need to be corrected,” Light breathed. “Please punish me, Master, so I might learn from your discipline.”
“Do you hand your body over to me?”
“Yes, Master. My body belongs to you.”
“Do you hand your spirit to me?”
“Yes, Master. My spirit is yours alone.”
All Light’s previous ire toward Mello dissipated eager, breathless recitation. In fact, none of his encounters with Light before matched what scene lay before him. Was that so surprising? Not really. Mello was an interloper, who in Light’s eyes had done nothing to earn his or, more importantly, L’s respect. His position above Light here was despicable.
But L, the implication clear in Light’s voice, was worthy of every submission handed to him.
“Then you’re ready to be punished.” L patted his thigh. “Over my lap, baby.”
Light slipped over L’s lap in a fluid motion, settled into position with minimal readjustment. The small scooches and tilts L caressed Light with appeared to be tactile excuses. A look of pure contentment spread on their faces, and longing struck through Mello. A hunger, unfillable, hollowed his stomach in urgent desperation for such happiness. To the two people whose scene he stumbled into, this confluence of power – L spanking Light, touching him in gentle domination beforehand, and weighting the paddle against Light’s back side in soft taps – was nourishment.
“Since you’re our guest” – L’s voice pulled Mello from his romantic mulling – “how many hits do you think suits the punishment?”
Mello pinched his chin in thought. His tongue peeked out, mimicking a pose he saw Matt do when trying to understand tipping. Numbers flew through his head. How did one calculate the right quantity of a spanking? After a moment of fruitless inner debate, he gave up proper spanking mathematics.
“Fifteen,” he said, reciting Matt’s favorite number. “Fifteen should do it.”
“A fair number,” L murmured. He set the paddle on Light’s back before laying his bare palm against Light’s ass. “If the paddle falls while I warm you up, three more hits will be added to Mello’s fair fifteen. Understood, baby?”
“Yes, Master.”
L started off with feather taps, each one making a whisper of noise building into fleshy cracks with each succeeding spank. Eyes roiling in his skull, Mello rubbed his tongue on the roof of his mouth. His skin jolted with every quiet squeal Light breathed out – noises lush and melodic in their own erotic suffering. He’d thought Light a weapon, an instrument of pure cruelty and beguiling violence. Yet, now Mello reconsidered that classification. Sure, Light was indeed an instrument but one more akin to a violin – which, tuned by skilled hands, played music perfect enough to make one weep. Tears clung to the corners of Mello’s eyes as Light’s yelps grew. Sh-eet: his cock was hard enough to make him cry.
At the tenth stroke of his palm, L rested his hand on the reddened mound of Light’s ass and circled his thumb there. A moan fluttered free from Light’s lips. How long had it taken L to learn how to play Light – to make him sing rather than slice with his taut wires? Mello couldn’t come to any conclusion except that the display he watched was the result of detail work, intense training for both parties. Taming and maintaining such a balance between themselves must’ve been a game only two intelligent freaks delighted in.
“Perfect, baby.” L picked up the still stationary paddle from Light’s back. “You’ve been perfect for Master. Color?”
“Green,” Light gasped. His tone verged on a sob, though his face remained dry. He shot his eyes to Mello and flushed a deeper pink. Tucking a loose hair strand behind Light’s ear, L grinned and patted his behind with the paddle’s flat side.
“I can see you enjoy having an audience.” The tender taps L smacked against Light’s ass made a soft, bewitching noise – pap, pap, pap. “I think our guest is enjoying the view as well.”
If fire caught his cheeks before, Mello knew his face must’ve been burnt to an aroused crisp. He laughed, the sound of it strangled by his nerves, and tucked his hands over his burgeoning erection. As though he had any choice but enjoying the scintillating vision of the bruising glow painted over Light’s muscled ass; as though anyone in their right mind wouldn’t be on the lustful edge watching the most controlled man alive be tugged loose and pliant by a skilled master; and though Mello strained against his own arousal, even more thrilling was the lack of relief. All he was allowed now was to watch.
“Mm!” Light buried his face into his hands and muscles locked all down his prone body. “Yes, Master.”
“So proud and in control until you’re on Master’s lap, getting your bottom spanked. I think you want everyone to know how well you take discipline, how you thrive under it.”
Flipping the handle in his palm, L laid the blunted spikes to Light’s pink cheeks.
“Up,” he ordered and Light stood. L stood as well and maneuvered his arms out so Light gripped the chair back. Taut in this new position, Light shook as L spread his legs to a little more than shoulder width apart. Mello couldn’t look away – the caress inherent in the firm manhandling captivated him. When at last Light was bent to L’s liking, the room roiled in anticipation from every party.
“Count,” L said. “Every hit. I want you to count them.”
His arm swung out and came down hard, ricocheting a sob from Light.
“One,” Light let out in a wet gasp.
Smart red dots broke the handprint-covered canvas of Light’s ass, each new spank bringing another splatter of bruises. Light wailed, though he didn’t squirm or fight the hits. His muscles flexed under beautiful marred skin, and Mello gasped as the fifth spank drew blood. It’s slow trickle down the previously unmarked flesh of Light’s thigh was soon companioned by more thin blood drips. The pain looked awful, and yet to watch Light bear it coaxed Mello near to a touchless orgasm. Even the friction of his underwear against his cock, the small rocking of his hips to relieve an inch of his need, didn’t compel Mello near as much as the steady, shining torture decorating Light as he sobbed each count.
“Fifteen,” came out as a cry – the final number. Mello expected an instant bridge collapse. All those hits had to be too much weight for the delicate structure holding Light aloft. But neither L nor Light fell from position. Instead, L turned on his heel and beckoned Mello from the couch.
“Do you want to touch him?” L asked as Mello came to his side. Up close, the damage was more breathtakingly grotesque and the beauty more skin crawlingly real. An urge went through Mello – to ask if he could lick Light’s wounds, to taste where his real-life tormentor had his “lesson in discipline” – but it faded. Wired into him as instinct was his own place within this power game. Mello was a guest: he took what he was given.
He hovered his hand over the curve before brushing fingertips down the blood and bruises. Light whimpered, and Mello hesitated. Rather than jerk away, he dropped his palm flat to where warm flesh filled his cupped hand. A curling moan, this one bereft of whining, rewarded his fondling. When Mello took his hand back, the surface was smeared by Light – his blood, his skin, his pleasure. L patted Mello on the bicep with an indulgent, but uncompromising smile.
“I’m glad you came here,” he said. “But it’s time for you to go.”
Mello returned to his and Matt’s hotel having washed his hand a total of twenty times in the single day’s journey – but the sensation never left his flesh. In a selfish, guilt-ridden move, he didn’t give Matt the details. His story about convincing the great detective to give them money wasn’t a lie: L did approve their funding request, although with it they were given new instructions to speak with Roger from Wammy’s about further finances. He just kept all the rest – every horny second of it – to himself and his hand later that night.
A few weeks later, as they wrapped investigation, Matt tossed a package into Mello’s lap as he sauntered in from the hotel breakfast buffet. It was rectangular, with no return address, and opened to sheets upon sheets of tissue paper. Matt already left the room with a carton of pancakes, claiming he was going to hotbox the bathroom, so Mello didn’t hesitate to rip the sparkling white paper asunder. Underneath was a framed watercolor of a coffee table covered by five spanking implements: detailed in enough loving accuracy to send Mello right back down onto that couch, in that living room, with two pairs of intense eyes on him. He flipped the frame over, where neat handwriting listed an address beneath a note.
“If you ever want to play again, come find us.”