Archive of Our Own

Your story’s short. A dead end, really.

L offered you a deal after you were inevitably caught – life in maximum security, or ten years of working for him.

The reward?  A clean record and eventual freedom. Two years ago it was the easiest choice imaginable, but now you’re starting to wonder if it’d be worth it to turn yourself in to the authorities just to never hear another order from his fucking lips.

You’re his eyes and ears, the hands he holds the gun with, and probably one of the many pawns in the chess set of criminals he’s deemed skilled enough to use for himself. 

You’ve never actually seen any of his other field agents- most might not even make it to freedom, given the nature of the job, but L always maintains that backup will come if something goes wrong. 

You never needed anyone to finish the job for you, so you don’t care if it’s a lie to make you feel less disposable. You won’t be. You can’t.

What’s infuriating is that you do feel disposable, no matter how much he has to rely on your skills to solve his cases. L can be dismissive, sarcastic, or unreadably (insufferably) polite, but for god knows what reason you just wish that at least once he would show he cares that you come back alive. He doesn't – in the two years of working together he hasn’t even wished you good luck before sending you off to install wiretaps in terrorist headquarters or charm drug lords into revealing their connections with diplomats. 

L has never cared , which makes you question your own sanity for wanting approval from the guy who’s been dangling your freedom above your head like bait. He’s helped you get out of horrible situations (that he put you in), sure, but he’s never treated you like someone he actually values .

You’re replaceable, he’s said to your face. There’s more no-name criminals waiting for their chance to shine the second you mess up.

L hasn't recruited anyone you helped him catch, so is it just dumb hope to doubt this hypothetical ‘backup’ exists?

A new case comes- by the time you’re assigned it, L’s already deconstructed the mystery. You’re smart, but you know your value to him. He doesn’t need extra brainpower. 

There’s a serial killer on the loose.

Mixed ethnicity, early 20’s, and L says ‘you’ll know B when you see him,’ whatever that means. Just follow the trail of bodies. Follow the clues. Do whatever it takes to catch and bring him in, kill him, even, and get your contract shortened. It’s not the first life you’ve taken, and it won’t be the last.

L said he wasn’t an ordinary serial killer, and after seeing the forensic photos, you have no doubts that he is utterly fucked in the head. Medical history REDACTED , upbringing REDACTED, all other  background information blacked out all nicely just for you.

The first message, sliced into 32-year-old Leika Ledin’s sternum, said ALWAYS WANTING, NEVER WANTED, NO HOME, LEFT ALONE. 

The next victim, a 56-year-old security guard at Loved Life Orphanage, was found holding his own heart, the message DO YOU HAVE A HEART? painted in blood along the wall.

The last message, carved along each arm of the most recent victim, 72-year-old Leonahrd Lawsel, cardiologist, palms sewn together, says PRAY FOR FORGIVENESS.

It didn’t take L’s intellect to pinpoint the next location as the Saint Lambert of Lyon church, closed down more than a decade ago. Though- ever since assigning you the case, L’s been acting… different . Sharper than usual, colder, like something about this particular case struck a nerve. Like catching the killer is something he’s actually dreading.

Stained glass shines dark shades of plum and mauve in the moonlight, leaving colored streaks across the floor of the church. It’s empty. Aesthetically pleasing, sure, but as dusty and unimpressive as the average abandoned church probably is. Not like you’ve been in any others. The only murder that’s ever happened here may be yours, if you hang about too long. 

Still, you do a quick sweep, making sure there’s not a body stashed under one of the pews or propped up in the confessional. Clear, clear, empty, clear, shit-

what was that noise?

Reaching for your gun, you spin around, eyes flitting across the dark church. Silent. Empty. Waiting a few moments, you relax marginally, sliding your weapon back to its holster. Taking a few steps back towards the rear exit of the building, you sigh. Time to get the hell out of here.

“ MMPH -“

Funnily, every time you’d seen someone get a rag pressed to their face in the movies, you’d think, don’t be stupid, hold your breath. 

But with a soaked rag thrust over your mouth and nose, the first thing you do is suck in a sharp breath of surprise, then cough out at the chemical scent, immediately sucking in more poisoned air. The other arm wrapped around your waist, knocking the air out of you, doesn’t help either. It happens too fast, with too little warning, and you’re fading to black just in time to press the emergency signal bound to the buckle on your waist.

Hnngh . Head hurts. Body hurts. Where- are you on the floor ?

Awake. You’re awake. And alive, which is a good sign. 

Baby steps.

You gain conscience, disoriented and shaking in the summer night’s air, surprised to find that you haven’t been tied up. The place is dark, illuminated only by moonlight through the windows, some boarded up, some left open. The floor is carpeted in some places and hardwood in others. It’s quiet, and surprisingly doesn’t smell like much but rain. 

Slowly feeling around your person to take stock of your gear, you find that your earpiece and gun have been taken. And the knife you keep on your thigh. And the one you keep in your boot.

The creak of hardwood behind you makes you jolt, and you spin around on your ass to face the source of the noise. It’s dark, but you can make out the figure well enough.

Oh, you think, still out of it, L is here. That’s weird. Standing tall with odd posture, black hair spiked, and eyes wide, L looks down on you. But L’s eyes are gray. Even in the dark, you can see that L doesn’t smile, not like that. That’s… 

oh god.

“Beyond Birthday.”

“In the flesh.” His voice is confident and unsettling, smooth, not in the way L’s is, but like a wave. Little ups and downs as it glides over every syllable, vocal cords stretching with glee.

The fact that you’re completely untied almost makes this worse. Does he expect you to run? Fight? Will you?

No. Backup should be coming. Just stay alive. Stall.

Beyond steps forward and sits down in front of you, resting his chin on his knees. You can hear his breathing in the night air, soft and steady. He must think he’s winning. In his mind, he already has. 

Leaning in, Beyond brings his mouth to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. He speaks quietly, his voice filled with an obsessive intensity. "You wouldn't happen to know someone by the name of L, would you?"

You still. He must've tracked you down as you were tracking him, despite all the precautions L took. Telling the truth might get you somewhere, but you don’t want to throw L under the bridge.

Not yet.

“Elle? No, I don't."

“That was rhetorical,” he rolls his eyes like a teenagers. “I know exactly what you are, and that’s why you’re here. I didn’t think it would be so easy, though.”

You glare at the 'easy' comment, and his face contorts with something far worse than glee. “L really sends his best, huh?” 

“I’m starting to think I’m just bait.” It comes out far more depressed than sharp. 

“Oh, you’re definitely bait,” Beyond chuckles, the laughter sending chills up your spine. “I don’t think he expects you to survive tonight.”

You feel a little sick. You aren’t- he wouldn’t- god, would he? Is L the kind of person to use people as cannon fodder, to sacrifice you just to solve a case? Helplessness starts to sink inside your chest like a stone. What is your life really worth, in the end?

There’s a thought reverberating in your bones that you were never meant to live to the end of this deal.

“Maybe not. But I do,” you say calmly, eyes flitting to meet his, wide and unsettling, shadowed from the moonlight.

“That’s great, really,” he says, seemingly amused by your confidence. “If you’re that confident, why aren’t you running?”

"Is there a rush?" Your eyes flit around the room again, body tense to fight off the paralysis of fear. If there’s a door in this place, it’s too dark to see, so your best bet would probably be a window. Could you break it and make it out unharmed, all while fighting him off? 

Beyond laughs again as if this is a game, an inside joke. “No rush. You should stay.” It’s not a suggestion. He rocks backwards, sitting on his hands. He hasn’t got a gun on him by the looks of it. He’s skinny- you could maybe overpower him if it came to it, right?

"What exactly do you have planned for me?" you say warily.

Shaking his head slightly, a small smile forms on his lips. "Where's the fun in a direct approach?" he muses. "It's so much more interesting to let you figure it out for yourself.”

The prey instinct in you takes control as you lean back.

He leans forward. 

You push yourself a foot back-

and he crawls a foot forward.

This escalates exponentially until you’re scrambling back and he’s gone from creeping to chasing.

In a swift move, Beyond pushes you back, pinning you to the floor with his body hovering over yours. His eyes are intense as he looks down at you, his hands holding your wrists against the floor. Grinning, he moves one hand into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade, flicking it open. It glows silver in the moonlight.

He slowly drags the tip of the blade down your skin, applying just enough pressure to lightly graze you, but not enough to break skin. His eyes remain fixed on your face, watching your reaction intently, and in the dim light almost look… red. More of a burgundy, even.

He slides the knife, sharp edge only just touching your stomach. You squirm in his grasp, teeth bared, but he just tut-tuts you, digging the knife in deeper. You still, eyes widening at the pressure, the soft sting the tip makes as a bead of blood pools at the tip.

"There's no winners in a knife fight, you know," he whispers, dragging the blade across your hip, a thin red line following in its wake. "Just someone with fewer holes."

“What the fuck,” you hiss, “what the fuck.”

“Are you scared of me?” Beyond says gently, eyes wide and pasted with mock-innocence.

“No.”

His grip on your wrist tightens when he leans back slightly, eyes narrowing as he searches your face. "That's funny," he says like it really is, "you're a terrible liar."

“Torture usually leads to lies, especially when it starts with truth.”

Beyond laughs, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Who said anything about torture? I don't need to torture you," he says as he pulls the knife away from your stomach to sit up. "I just need to get under your skin." He grins, running the flat side of the knife gently up and down your arm.

"Metaphorically, or…?"

"I wouldn't dream of leaving any scars," he says, oozing false sweetness, looking you up and down. "Not physical ones, at least."

Meeting his gaze, you try to ignore the light drag of the knife, nodding slowly. "Good to know."

He runs the knife down your chest, letting the flat of the blade drag over your clothes. "You should be more worried about the mental ones," he says, voice still soft and dark.

"I've got enough as is."

Humming, his lips curve up into a small mocking smile. "I'm sure you do," he agrees, moving the knife up to your face. He uses the tip of the blade to trace over your lips, his eyes focused on them.

Your lips part slightly with a sharp intake of breath, just waiting for him to open you up and cut off your tongue.

He grins, sending a shiver down your spine. "Ah, there it is," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on your mouth. He moves the knife down to your chin, using the tip to tilt your head back, exposing your neck.

Shuddering, your eyes squeeze shut, pulse racing. The composure you'd been desperately clinging on to is starting to crumble. It's already dust in your hands, in Beyond's hands, your fear like gasoline to his fire.

"So easy," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "So responsive. You’ll make such a pretty message."

Shivering at the way his breath fans against you, you try to ignore the way his words bleed warmth into you. You think back to the three bodies, carved up with sick riddles. Soon, that’ll be you.

"Just like a little mouse, trapped under a cat's paw," he murmurs, his breath warm with vicious amusement on your skin. He’s a rip tide, drawing you in with gentle touches and sweet words, just to bash you against the rocks.

"You're sick," you hiss, shaking visibly from a cocktail of fear, anger, and something you can’t put a name on yet.

Beyond laughs again, the sound low and cold. "Oh," he says, "you have no idea." Moving the knife to the top button of your shirt, he toys with it for a moment before popping it open. Is he a pervert, or gonna carve out your heart? Neither option is pleasing. 

“Is that necessary?” you wince, watching the knife move down to the next button.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” He keeps going until your shirt is two thirds open, revealing more of your skin. He shifts his weight, pinning you more firmly to the floor, making it harder for you to move. The knife is still in his hand, and he places the flat edge of the blade under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

You freeze when the knife touches you again, still shaking from anger and adrenaline, and glare at him. “Fear makes the vein right here," he murmurs in sing-song, moving the tip of the knife to your neck, gently running it down the side of your throat, "flutter, just for me."

You wince, pulling away, starting to shake from how hard your heart is racing. Each beat seems to push the vein against the knife.

Beyond grins down at you, his eyes dancing with pleasure. "That's it," he asserts, voice dark and low. "Keep looking at me, just like that." He traces the knife from your chin, running it back down your shirt, slicing a line down your undershirt and revealing the stretch of skin underneath. 

Looking down at you, Beyond lets out a low wolf-whistle, eyes sweeping over your exposed skin. "Interesting," he hums, almost as if speaking to himself. He reaches out to touch your bare skin, running his hand over your stomach and up to your chest, before leaning in close. "Can see why he likes you."

...L likes you?

Beyond’s just trying to get under your skin. You won’t let it work. How would he even manage to get in contact with L? The only thing he likes you for is case help. 

“How would you know anything about what L likes?”

“Please, like there’s a thing about him I don’t already know.” 

You say nothing. What connection could L have to this monster? Oh my god, they’re so similar looking- are they brothers? Why didn’t you think of that sooner?

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Beyond says, sounding a mix of amused and disappointed. “He’s everything I could never be. The life I’d rather die than inherit. The shoes- or lack thereof- I’d never grow to fill.”

"That's what this is about? You're jealous?"

His eyes are dark as he looks down at you. "Of course it is," he says, suddenly full of malice. "Everything I do, everything I am, is dedicated completely to L. To surpassing him, crushing him, destroying him." 

"Then you should take that out on him," you scoff, trying to lean further back in a casual way and not a prey-trying-to-escape way.

Pure insanity shimmers in his eyes. "Where's the fun in that?" he asks, his voice a low whisper, almost frenzied. "Much more interesting to play with his toys, don't you think?" He leans in close, his lips almost touching your ear. "This is the game. This has always been the game."

“You sound like a sore loser,” you grit, trying not to flinch away from where his breath tickles your skin. 

"This isn't about winning or losing. This is about domination, control, annihilation. This is about getting under L's skin, just like I'm getting under yours." Beyond slides the flat of the knife down your shoulder, across your arm. "Do you want to know something about L and I?"

He doesn't wait for a response. "We're the same. We think the same. We feel the same. And we're both obsessed- consumed, by the same thing."

"Which is?" you breathe. Stall, stall.

“Not you, sorry," he pouts, before continuing with curdled glee. "The only thing L and I love," he says, his voice dangerous, "is the chase ."

“Seems you’ve already caught me.” You try to ignore the way his hands are trailing down your sides, softly, carefully, reaching your hips and hooking under your waistband. You shudder with dread as they drift to your belt buckle, tracing it with both thumbs. Pervert it is- unless he spots the tracker.

"You're not the one I'm trying to catch," he snarls, pulling the belt free and dangling it like a prize, before tapping the emergency tracker that glows a soft red. "A fly needs honey, honey."

Shit. He’s been stalling, too. 

“You’re leaving my body as a message,” you say, hollow.

“Not in the way you’re thinking.” The threat is delicate and implicit. “Your numbers aren’t up.”

You don’t know what he means by that, and don’t plan on finding out. With your wrists unpinned, you move quickly, flipping him onto his back and grappling to pin him by the forearms.

The knife and belt clatter onto the floor in the scuffle, forgotten.

You use the weight of your body to keep him down, grunting with the effort as he bucks like an animal. "Fucking stop it."

He laughs breathily, clearly enjoying the struggle, continuing to squirm. "What, didn't expect me to put up a fight? I'm not an easy catch."

You pin his right arm to the ground with your knee and use your free hand to slap him hard across the face. Maybe that’ll shut him the fuck up. 

The surprised look of pain on Beyond's face is satisfying, if short-lived. A wicked, almost manic smile pulls at his lips a moment later. “Was hoping it'd go like this.” His voice is quiet, breathy, and the way his eyes darken leaves you with questions you hope aren’t answered. He’s definitely getting more out of this than you intended on giving him.

Your hesitation is easily sensed by B as he quickly grabs you by the wrist, yanking you off balance. His grip is ruthless, and suddenly you’re grappling on the floor again, scrambling to keep a hold of him. Your hands and legs tangle, skin scraping against the hardwood floor.

Beyond’s all long limbs and sharp teeth and soft noises as you try to incapacitate him, ramming the heel of your hand against his jaw. You yelp when he quickly twists your arm and slams you face-down to the floor, knocking the breath from your chest with a wheeze.

He keeps you pinned to the ground, twisting both your wrists behind your back, while his free hand reaches up to grip your hair, pulling your head up off the floor. “Not so tough now, hm?”

Your chest heaves with every breath you try and take, but with his weight on your back and your chest against the floor, plus the wind being knocked out of you, you can barely get enough air. You suddenly feel lightheaded, black splotches start to cloud your vision behind fluttering eyelids.

"You- hh-" you spit out, but it's weak, strained, a waste of the air you’ve got left.

"What was that?” he says, his voice low, almost soothing if not for the context. "Aaw, I’m not giving you much air to work with, am I?”

Nothing left in your chest to respond with, you start to go limp, eyes rolling back and consciousness twisting and slipping. 

Twisting your wrists behind your back, he grabs your belt and ties it snug around them, clicking the buckle shut.

He scoots himself a little further up your body, his legs bracing either side of your hips to keep you from rolling over. He gently taps your cheek with his fingertips. "Come on," he mutters, "I was being gentle."

You try to say something scathing but choke on your words, air still snagging inside your throat.

"I know, I know, it’s hard, isn’t it? Don’t try to speak, breathe." His hand brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his touch annoyingly delicate, and if you had the energy you would snap at his fingers. You’re gonna kill him. Fuck bringing him in alive, you’re gonna splatter some part of him onto some surface in this shithole and he’s going to deserve it. 

After a moment, your breathing finally steadies, and Beyond lets out a sigh of relief. “There you go,” he murmurs, his fingers still brushing against your cheek. “Back with me now?”

The fight’s been smothered out of you. "You, agh-" you cough, before wheezing out your anger, "you call that gentle?"

“You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” His hand slowly runs down the side of your neck, to your shoulder, his nails barely scraping against skin. It’s twistedly intimate as he gently rubs your shoulder, working out some of the constant tension that’s been cemented into you.

“Hardly,” you huff as disdainfully as someone half-smothered into the floor can.

Beyond just hums cheerily in response, hands rubbing soft patterns into your shoulders, and it takes you a moment to realize that serial killer Beyond Birthday is giving you a fucking back massage. 

…you’re not enjoying it. You’re not. Those long fingers are used to wrapping around throats and gripping knives, not making you shudder with pleasure. 

“Look at you, enjoying this,” the monster straddling your back says like some fucked-up mind reader. You squirm a little to throw him off, but it’s half-assed and you both know it. What if backup shows up right now- what would they think? It sort of is what it looks like.

“Get off of me,” you grit, and are shocked to feel his weight leave your back. Turning onto your side, you see him sitting cross-legged, head tilted, watching you. You sit up straight, legs splayed to your side, and watch him back.

The two of you sit like that for nearly a minute in dead silence, eyes locked on each other like an impromptu staring contest. Seemingly growing bored, Beyond leans forward, slowly breaking the small distance that separates you like a cat stalking its prey. He moves so leisurely, testing the waters, like he’s waiting for you to object. 

You don’t. He smiles. “You’re not fighting anymore.”

“You’re not trying to kill me anymore.”

“Never was.”

“You tell all your victims that?”

“Never had reason to until now,” he murmurs, barely two feet away. “Never changed my mind.” You feel his gaze everywhere on your body. “He needs you. I want to know why.”

“What, L? I thought you said I was disposable to him.” 

“No, no no no no,” he sing-songs, tapping you on the nose. If your hands were free you might slap him again. “You’ll see. Just you wait.”

Long, thin, dexterous fingers slowly stroke your temple, cheek, and down your neck, making you shiver. 

You only ever touched L once, accidentally. Fingers brushing against his while exchanging a file. Your heart rate wouldn’t drop under 110 the next ten minutes. L is a distant voice, a barely corporeal presence, but Beyond? He’s here, skin and bones and hands and lips and teeth. He’s tangible, wanting and taking, and something about that makes you burn.

“Feels good,” you say softly, the words barely falling out. A mistake. 

“It’s what you deserve,” Beyond says gently, “not all that fear. Comfort. Pleasure.”

You sigh softly as your body betrays you (relaxes). It’s always known what’s right for you- why should now be any different? Beyond never drugged you (ignoring the chloroform), it’s more like he’s the drug that’s flooding through your veins and pooling inside your gut.

“I can give that to you.” He’s not threatening anymore, he’s offering. It’s a promise, should you take it.

Should you?

If you’re caught doing this, going rogue, your contract is broken. One failed mission and you’re back in prison. If you don’t do this you might die, which isn’t a promising alternative. It’s getting harder to ignore the fact that you also really want to. You can always kill him later.

"What do you say?" B purrs. "Should we give him something to walk in on?"

You decide, fuck it. Why not? Terrible question, actually, there's a list of reasons long enough to roll out the door, but you don't care. He sort of sounds like L in a deformed way, low and smooth and addictive, and you might as well get something out of this disaster. He’s right, backup isn’t coming. You’ve been left for dead, and this might be the most fun way out. 

You press your lips to his before doubt can stain the idea.

He smiles against your lips, seemingly satisfied with your lack of rejection. Nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth, he presses back against you, free hand sliding up to grab your waist and squeeze. His tongue sweeps over your lips, tasting, before demanding entry.

Almost subconsciously, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him against you. Beyond moans against your mouth, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Feeling you pull him against you, he moves even closer, his body pressing flush against yours. He grinds his hips down, his growing arousal obvious through his jeans, and you grind back. It’s difficult with your hands bound, but you’re nothing if not determined.

You shudder, head falling back as he takes your chest into his hands, cupping and squeezing. "Fuck," you exhale.

Beyond grins, lips wet, rolling a nipple between his fingers, just mean enough with it to make you whine. "You like that?" he says, gaze never leaving your face. "See? I know just what you need."

“You’re just taking what you need,” you try to taunt, but it comes out airy and breathless.

Beyond laughs against your skin, his breath warm and his voice low, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That's the whole point, sweetheart," he says, his lips moving down over your chest. "Taking what I want, using you." His teeth graze your breast, and you gasp. "Isn't that what L does, too?" 

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them tightly, and his hips grind down against yours again, the pressure making you squirm. It’s getting harder to think straight, lost in the feeling of him on top of you, the pleasure warring with and overcoming the fear and uncertainty that still lurks beneath.

CRACK!

The door opens quickly, a sharp slam. You freeze, before twisting your head towards the noise. L stands, a shadow in the doorway, watching the scene with an expression of disbelief. He's holding a gun by his side, eyes flicking between the two of you tangled together on the carpet. 

This has to be a joke. Maybe you’re still unconscious in a tied up pile, having some chloroform fever dream, because there’s no way L himself is backup. Is Watari out for lunch?

For a moment, no one speaks. The only sound is the harshness of your and Beyond’s breathing, bodies still flush together, the heat of his hands on your waist and chest marking your body like brands. The soft click of the door behind him is deafening in the sudden silence.

Beyond beams lopsidedly, leaning up on his elbows. "Speak of the devil,” he says, voice dripping with satisfaction, ”and he shall appear."

You say nothing, eyes wide and body frozen. Oh god. Oh god. You didn’t think L himself was gonna show up- does he ever make physical contact on cases?

Beyond snickers above you, wraps an arm around your waist to pull you up and around, and pulls your back flush to his chest. You blush at being manhandled so easily, at being so exposed, barely able to hold L’s gaze. He leans his head down to whisper in your ear. “Don’t be shy now,” he says, voice laced with a sick kind of amusement. “Tell him how much fun we’ve been having.”

You look away, suddenly very red and very aware of the position you’re in. “I can explain.” 

L keeps the gun pointed at Beyond, but his eyes flicker over to you. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice just as velvety as you remember it. The idea that this is how he finds you, after spending so many months subservient to him, trying to prove yourself, is humiliating. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet.

You nod slowly, shivering at the way your hair brushes up against Beyond Birthday’s chest. “I think so.”

"What exactly is going on here?"

"He kidnapped me," you say, pointing to a very smug Beyond.

Beyond laughs, raising his hands from your body to the air in a false surrender. "She's got a point," he concedes, "I did kidnap her."

L looks back at Beyond, his gaze tense and cautious. ”Let her go, and we’ll talk.”

Beyond’s arms swing back to squeeze your waist, pulling you closer, his chin resting on your shoulder. “But I like playing with your toys.”

“B. Now.”

“I was getting her ready for you, you know. I’ve never been one to share,” he taunts, leaning forward and moving you with him, the movement pushing out your chest, “but I’ll make an exception.”

L's expression doesn't change, but his eyes flicker over you. "I'll pass," he says, voice almost bored. "I have a much better idea."

"Oh? And what's that?" Beyond says, still tracing your skin with his fingertips.

L raises the gun, leveling it at B. "Let go of her, and put your hands up," he says, his voice cold and exhausted. "Slowly."

He laughs again, his hand caressing your ribs in a way that makes you shiver. "You're just jealous," he teases, "you can't stand the fact that she's letting me touch her, that she's falling apart for me. It's killing you, isn't it?"

L's eyes glitter with annoyance. "Why would I be jealous?" he asks, "she's not mine to begin with."

Beyond's smugness cascades off him in waves, his hand now moving up to your chest, squeezing it greedily, ignoring the way you shut your eyes with a whimper. "Oh, but she could be," he says, his voice low. "All you have to do is take her."

You shudder at the implication, before looking up at L. You’ve been an inactive participant the past minute, but with both of their eyes on you, silence doesn’t feel like the best solution. Fuck, your contract is so broken. 

L's expression doesn't change, but his eyes flicker over your body again, taking in the sight of Beyond's hands all over your skin. "No, thank you," he says, his voice still measured. "Take your hands off her."

Beyond laughs again, pulling you tighter. "Oh, I don't think so," he says, dipping a hand into your waistband. "Want to play a game? If she's not soaked, you can have her."

L's grip on the gun falters slightly, gaze locked on Beyond's hand. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice slightly breathless.

Beyond traces his hand lower, lower, slipping it under your underwear and curling it between your legs with a satisfied groan. You whine, head falling back against his chest. " There we go," he murmurs, before pulling his hand back out. He spreads his fingers obscenely, watching as the wetness shines between them, and displays them proudly to L. "See?"

L's gaze locks onto B's fingers, his eyes widening as he sees the evidence of your enjoyment. He says nothing for a moment, lost for words, before quickly looking back to his face. "That...doesn't prove anything," he murmurs, looking away again.

"No?" Beyond raises his brows innocently. "Then this will," he taps his glistening fingers against your lips, whispers, "Open ," and watches how you take them into your mouth with a low moan, sucking them clean. It’s never been so easy to embarrass yourself. Never been so fun, either.

There’s a hint of jealousy, of anger, of desperation in the way L watches, the way the gun trembles in his hands. He swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing, and lets out a small noise as Beyond pulls his fingers from your lips.

Beyond hums, noticing the way L's eyes don’t leave your body. "How about I make it easier for you?" he purrs, moving his hands to your waistband and sliding it down, down, further-

“Fuck ,” L breathes, watching as Beyond exposes you entirely, tugging your pants down to your ankles, then unsatisfied with that, yanking off your shoes, pants, and underwear with them. You lie in his arms, in just your open shirt, feeling both their gazes burn hot onto your skin.

Beyond quickly slides his hand between your legs, curling them straight into you and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit, humming when you moan out a broken “ L.”

Accidentally. Freudian slip. He’d never- You’d never- 

A thud makes your eyes fly open, only to see L on his knees. Leaning on his heels, he watches you, pupils so blown his eyes may as well be black. The gun lies forgotten by his side. Fuck, he looks broken. Is all of this for you? He’s never looked at you like anything but a machine, a tool, a weapon, but now-

Beyond giggles victoriously, a cruel mockery of joy. “She looks perfect like this, doesn’t she?”

L nods, the movement slight but noticeable. “Yes,” he agrees, voice thick with desire. “She does.”

“Just a taste?” Beyond offers, fingers dragging through and spreading your wetness, playing with you. L hesitates, looks broken, lost, before looking up at you. 

You whimper at the way you're being exposed so completely, watching L's reaction when he looks at you, how his eyes trace over your body, taking in every inch of you.

“Please,” you whisper, forgetting yourself, heart racing a thousand beats a minute, nothing but lust pumping through your veins. “I want- I need you to.”

L crawls forward, one foot, two, until you can feel his breath on your skin. There’s so much thickly coiled tension in the room you’re scared one of them might snap and lunge for the other.

But they don’t.

Propped up on B’s lap, you’re at the perfect angle for L to lean forward and put his mouth on you. He seems to get the same idea, moving his lips just inches from the heat between your legs, hesitant yet desperate, breath fanning against you.

You shiver, moving to wrap your legs around his head, but Beyond pries them apart, leaving you completely spread open. "There you go," He murmurs down to L like he’s telling him a secret. "I'll hold her down for you."

L looks up at Beyond, his face flushed, his eyes wide. He looks almost overwhelmed, like a man teetering on the edge of control. "I-" he starts to say, but Beyond interrupts him.

"Shhhh ," Beyond hushes, gripping you by the thighs. "No talking. Just use that pretty mouth of yours, detective."

L hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and Beyond. The need to taste you again seems stronger than his desire to resist, and as he leans down, lapping into you, eyes fluttering shut with a muffled moan.

Beyond holds your shaking thighs still, watching the way L eats you out. "That's it," he purrs, "make her feel good, just like I did."

You throw your head back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut and lips parting obscenely. B doesn’t tolerate it for a second, though, and grips you by the hair, forcing your head back down, making you watch. “Eyes, ” he warns, forcing you to look back down at L. 

L’s eyes flicker up to Beyond, narrowing in anger, and his mouth lulls. But when his gaze finds you, all other thoughts seem to fall away. Your clit throbs insistently, plump with blood and sensitive. He tongues at you obediently, soft sucks and long licks making your head spin and thighs shake. Each lap drags your hood up, flirting with the sensitive spot underneath, making you tremble. You’re squirming, or at least trying to, under Beyond’s grip, though you can’t decide if it’s to get closer or further away.

It’s too much. You need more.

L places his palm on your lower stomach and pushes up and away, putting down pressure and pulling up the hood of your clit. With nothing to protect it, he goes in for the kill. Sucking it like candy, he doesn’t relent, the tip of his tongue running in circles.

You once saw L tie a cherry stem with his tongue, plucking it from his lips and tossing it onto the plate absentmindedly. You’d wondered if he was good with his mouth, then scolded yourself for the thought. The great detective L doesn’t fuck. What a ridiculous concept.

Your own detective skills have been proven laughable. 

Once he slides two fingers into you, crooking them up the spot that makes you beg, it doesn’t take long for you to finish. You cum slowly, the pleasure pushing its way through you with each deep press of L’s fingers, sinking into you as B pulls you closer against his chest. 

Pulling back, L’s mouth glistens with your wetness, eyes still glazed with desire. B is quick to grab him by the jaw and tug him over your shoulder, humming with dissatisfaction as L tries to pull back.

"Don't be shy," B purrs, his cheek brushing against your ear as he leans close to his prey, grip firm on both of you. "I just want to taste her on your tongue."

Leaning forward, B bites L’s lip meanly, then takes his open-mouthed noise of protest as an invitation to shove his tongue inside. It turns into a battle, not distinguished and intelligent like you’d expected, but immature and animalistic. L fists his hands in B’s hair and pulls him closer, deeper, and B’s laugh is muffled into his mouth. 

Beyond moves his hands to L’s waist, pulling him onto his lap and leaning him onto the floor. Slotting their hips together, he grinds slowly against L with each slide of his tongue. L whines, canting against B, hands shaking as they grip his hair.

"Holy shit," you breathe, watching them make out. “Holy shit.” 

B breaks away from L, his lips trailing kisses down his jaw. "Enjoying the show?" he purrs, burgundy eyes meeting yours. “I can show you how pretty he looks when you take him apart.”

You nod wordlessly, audibly swallowing. L’s breathing through his mouth, eyes half lidded and darker than ever, hair falling over his shoulders in messy spikes. 

Beyond wraps his hand around L's throat, gently squeezing. "That’s my boy," he says, his other hand moving to L's jeans, thin fingers easily working the button and fly, sliding them off in seconds. “You gonna be good for us?”

L moans, his neck arching as Beyond's fingers tighten their hold. He looks at you, his eyes pleading, begging for more, before squeezing shut. "Please," he whispers, and you’re not sure who it’s aimed at. Maybe God. Doesn’t really matter.

B takes it upon himself to respond. “I like you desperate,” he pushes L onto his back, “like you begging,” slides his hands down his slides, across his ribs and hips, “like you bleeding.”

B likes to play God. Would probably take one of L’s ribs just to fuck him with it.

L’s hard to the point of pity, all you want to do is take him into you and fuck a bit of mercy into him. Beyond seems to share that sentiment and with a crude lick of his palm starts to jack his rival off.

L looks completely lost in his body, in his pleasure, in what to do with his hands. You're sure he's grappling with his morality, whereas Beyond looks like he's won a medal, triumphant and cruel in his victory, in taking what's owed to him.

The mouth-watering visual is ruined when you notice B’s other hand sliding off L’s waist, across the ground, towards the forgotten gun. 

“L-” you gasp, just as B’s fingers start to wrap themselves around the grip, and the detective jolts, eyes flicking to you then to where you’re staring with horror. L twists, pins B’s wrist to the floor, and the two of them grapple. It’s fast and skilled and a flurry of long arms and legs, the result being an unsteady and still hard L stumbling to his feet and pointing the gun down at a still kneeling Beyond. 

The muzzle presses down against B’s forehead when his head falls forward, the frame nuzzling the bridge of his nose. He rubs his face across it like a cat, nuzzles the tip against his temple, cheeks, then, fuck-

B takes the gun between his lips greedily, obscenely , looking up at L while his tongue works over the polymer. L’s sucking in deep breaths from his mouth, eyes half-lidded and clouded by lust.

L flicks off the safety, and B moans, pulls back, and kisses the muzzle. “Your eyes,” he pants, breathless and adoring, “they’re the perfect shade of morally gray.”

“Shut up,” L snaps, and B, like the shitty trope he is, says “make me.” 

L’s eyes flit to yours, and you immediately understand him, gripping B’s shaggy hair and yanking his head back, ripping a sharp, almost feminine gasp from his throat. You use your other hand to hold his arms behind him, another precaution.

L’s quickly got his cock pressed to B’s lips, still hard and shiny with precum at the tip. B wastes no time, wrapping his lips around the head, bobbing lower, moaning like he’s not the one with a dick in his mouth. 

You grip his hair tight as L starts to thrust, rocking slowly back and forth, setting a pace that B takes with ease, eyes rolling back with a wetly muffled groan. His hips are the one thing not restrained, allowing him to grind against L’s foot, erection straining needily across the fabric of his jeans. 

Deeper, harder, L seems to want to test his limits, pushing further and further down his throat until B chokes. Deciding punishment has been dealt, L pulls out, panting, and watches B laugh breathlessly. 

“Wow, Lawl-” Before the word leaves his lips, L slaps him. Hard.

“Quiet.”

Trembling, cheeks flushed, eyes so dark the red is eclipsed, Beyond moans. 

L rolls his eyes. “Stand up.”

When you let go of his arms and scalp, b rises to his feet. He’s nearly shaking with adrenaline, chest heaving with each breath. L takes a few steps back, tugging B by the collar with him, the two of them looking at each other intensely. You stay seated, waiting to see how this turns out. 

The dynamic weaves itself into your understanding: B's a bruise L can't stop pressing, to feel the familiarity, that sick pleasure, that deep throb. B's a chameleon, changing colors and shedding skins and probably a bunch of other animalistic things you're yet to be disturbed by.

What are you, then? A sacrifice? You feel like the lamb being led to the altar, unassuming and doe-eyed, trusting. Also horny. Maybe there's a better metaphor.

You sit there, shirt ripped open and bare from the waist down, no doubt tinted pink on the cheeks, lips, throat, and everywhere else B got his mouth on. The two men look down at you, coming to a silent consensus. 

They’re so alike in some ways, so different in others. You can see why it was so easy to mistake Beyond for L, but having gotten a better look at them, the difference is night and day. You wonder how much of this is a show, how much of a performance he puts on for the sake of quite literally getting under L’s skin.

“Heads or tails?” B says to L, slowly looking you up and down. “I’d like her mouth, but she belongs to you, doesn’t she?”

“Tails.” L doesn’t look away from you when he responds, though his eyes narrow.

“Thought as much.”

“Stop talking.”

The decision is made, you’re moved into place like a doll, a toy, and you really don’t have it in you to complain. L slots himself behind you, gently positioning you on your knees, lining his thighs between your own and knocking them further open like this is all routine, all part of the job. 

When you’re pulled forward onto your hands by B, he strokes your cheek with his thumb, head tilting to the side as he looks down at you. He’s hard, you can see him throb through the thick black denim he’s got on, and he lets out a soft noise of contentment as you rub your face along the bulge. His hand slides from your cheek to your hair, tugging your head back lightly. 

He looks up at L, giving him a knowing look. Before you can ask what he’s scheming about up there, L’s pushing into you, slowly, smoothly, and it takes a few back and forth motions to slide to the base. If not for B’s grip on your scalp, your cheek would’ve fallen forward to rest on his thigh. 

“That’s it,” B hums, nails tracing your scalp. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” His other hand lazily works at his jeans, undoing his fly and pulling himself out, knocking the tip against your lips politely. You take him into your mouth, deeper and deeper with every push of L’s hips against yours. The weight inside you from either end grounds you, fills you, drowns you in pleasure. 

You try to give good head, you really do, but the way L’s fucking you from the other end makes it hard to do more than take him into your mouth and moan. B’s grip in your hair becomes leverage as he holds you in place, rocking his hips back and forth. You take him deeper with each thrust, and the sound that leaves his mouth when you focus enough to suck is broken.

“Want to fuck her with you, slide up against you, fuck, stretch her open and watch her break-” B snarls, cock hitting the back of your throat and pushing further, deeper, until your nose presses firmly to his abdomen. The noise you let out is more of a gurgle than a moan, and B groans in response, fisting your hair as he fucks your face. 

Beyond fucks you like he’s claiming you, just to see how much you can take, but the filthy compliments he feeds you and the way his thumb strokes your cheek makes it more than worth it.

L fucks you like he’s got no time to spare, rolling his hips and grinding up into you greedily, sliding a hand between your legs to work at your clit while the other grips your hip tight. Soft noises hiccup out of him with each thrust, falling over your shoulder, and he lets out a frustrated groan when B parrots him mockingly.

“I hate you.”

“Shame you’re taking it out on her.”

“After this, I’m locking you ah- away, forever.” 

“Yeah? You want me behind bars, mmph, so you can use me whenever you like? Fuck me against the padded walls? Hah, I’m close.”

L whines, ruining any chance of intimidating B into behaving, and that seems to be the last straw.

Pulling out, Beyond pulls you up by your shoulders and shoves your back against L’s chest. L is quick to move his hands from your hips to your arms, pinning them by your sides and pulling you back onto him with the force of it. 

Leaning forward, B takes himself in hand and strokes fast, base to tip, panting. You’re glad they have the mercy to stick to using just two of your holes and not actually trying to both fuck the same one at once like B suggested. That wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen during a case. 

When Beyond finishes, he bites down on your shoulder, muffling the strained moan that wreaks his way through his chest and vibrates against your skin. You can feel his cum as it sticks to your stomach in ropes. He falls back onto his elbows dramatically, looking dreamily up at the two as L continues to fuck you down onto him. Lazy posture, eyes glassed over like bottled red wine.

L seems to be timing his own climax after yours, body tensing with restraint and fingers working your clit skillfully with slender fingers. Gasping out, your eyes roll and thighs shake as your second orgasm punches through your gut. You lean weakly against L as his hips thrust, thrust, then stutter and lull inside you with a groan, forehead pressed against your shoulder. 

Slipping out carefully L wraps one arm around your stomach and the other around your chest, keeping your back flush against his chest. You feel like a thoroughly fucked teddy bear. L’s lips softly pressing kissing into the column of your throat makes you whimper.

Leaking cum and trembling in L’s arms you watch with horror as Beyond leans forward to crawl towards you, spreading your shaking legs with barely restrained glee. 

“I already came, what are you- oh, fuck.”

B drags two fingers down the planes of your stomach, collecting the mess he made, then presses it into you. It’s too much, the way his fingers prod ruthlessly in you, a mix of both of their releases sliding down his wrist. 

L pulls you tight to his chest, his knees between yours, spreading you open for Beyond to devour. Beyond’s quick to pull away his hand, not letting a drop of the mess drooling out of your cunt go to waste. He alternates between curling his tongue into you and pulling out to lap at your clit. 

“Wait - too soon-” you start to gasp, but you’re shut up by L gripping your jaw to turn your head and slot his lips against yours. The killer between your legs lets out a low laugh at the whimpers you muffle into L’s mouth, using his own to tongue against  you ruthlessly.

A man on a mission, B puts his all into using his tongue, lips, and fingers to give you a third orgasm. Too exhausted and overstimulated to put up a fight, you let him drag another climax out of you, shaking in L’s arms and spasming around his fingers. 

Slowly pulling them out, B scissors them gently in the air, watching the liquid string thickly and shine in the moonlight. You think he’s gonna do something insane and lick them, until he decides to do something worse, rising onto his knees and bringing them behind your shoulder to L’s lips. From the wet noise and muffled moan that results, you assume he took them in without protest. Pulling them back with a wet pop, L exhales shakily against your throat.

When Beyond leans back, he grabs you by the waist, dragging you down with a yelp until your head rests in L’s lap and your legs splay around B’s waist. He strokes your thighs, hands running up and down the skin, while L’s fingers card through your hair. 

“You’re both insane,” you pant, smiling cum drunkenly.

L hums softly, a rumble against your skin. “You don’t seem to be complaining.”

Beyond scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course she isn’t- look at her. She loves it.”

You love it- steeped in pleasure then wrung out to dry, limp, damp and used. It's ecstasy.

The two of them share you, share each other- it’s more like you and B are sharing L, really. Neither of you seem to be succeeding. That doesn’t change the way you feel. Naked on the floor of this abandoned house with a serial killer and your boss, you couldn’t feel more safe. 

“She was supposed to be the next message, y’know,” Beyond muses above you. L stills. “The sweetest thing you’ll never get to taste. Then a candy shop clerk.”

“B.”

“Glad I changed my mind. She’s still got plenty of time for you two to play.”

“ Stop with the numbers.”

“When mine do.”

L sighs, defeated.

“Well, it’s been nice-”

“Beyond, don’t you dare.” 

Beyond’s on his feet in a second, leaning forward to give you a peck on the cheek then pulling L by the collar to kiss him with an inappropriate amount of tongue considering what’s rather recently occurred in his mouth. 

“Unit next time, Lawliet.”

L grimaces like his heart’s been squeezed. B smiles, tender like meat.

Sliding out a window with haste, he disappears into the night like it’s an extension of his shadow, dodging the moonlight like it burns.

The air is filled with exhausted tension, the conversation you’re gonna have to have after this a distant threat. You’re not gonna talk about your feelings or lack thereof until you’ve gotten a shower and an STI test.

“Am I fired?” you groan from the ground, eyes shut and limbs splayed ragdollishly. There’s still cum leaking out of you.

“No, you’re not fired.”

“Can I get my contract shortened for, uh…  good behavior?”

“No, you cannot.”

Worth a shot.