Want it. Take it. Love it. Keep it.

A/N:
Yes, it is possible to obtain an injury, a serious injury in this manner, under these circumstances. I know this, not by personal experience, but from the experience of a friend...Let's just say, it wasn't pretty.
We're a little over halfway there and I know where I'm going with it so updates will be fairly regular - hopefully every day.
This one's kinda short but, enjoy it anyway. Review, they give me the strength to go on...c'mon, you know you wanna.

Evermist: You're wonderful. Truly wonderful. I've become OBSESSED with this story and I'm on a roll. I can't seem to stop writing! By the by, Dissecting horror films is one of my very favorite past times, and I figured that anybody that spends that much time staring at gory crime scenes would be overly critical about their accuracy.

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CHAPTER 14
INTIMACY OR PERVERSION?

It should have come as no surpise to either of them when the discovery was finally made. There were enough obvious signs, if only one was looking hard enough. The biggest of course being that they now spent every night locked in L's bedroom. Though the room was far separated from most everyone else, if timed right, anyone could have seen the blond teenager leaving for classes from there instead of the room he had occupied since his arrival. They could have been more cautious, taken more time to worry over the small details. But, as the cliched saying goes, hindsight is twenty twenty. And love, like justice, is blind.

Looking back on it, Mello should have considered that Roger might have a key to even L's room. Because of course neither of them would have forgotten to lock the door, that day of all days, especially considering the position that they were in when it swung open, revealing the usually even-tempered, quiet old man. Roger was often scolding the both of them, for various reasons. Mello, for childish pranks or outrageous bursts of violence. L, for leaving candy wrappers all over Roger's desk (why did he need to use it anyway? he had access to one of his own). Roger never rose his voice though, not until today.

The teenager became aware of the situation first, since L's back was to the door, and he was quite caught up in chanting his lover's name as he came inside him (For someone who hardly ever raised their voice, L was surprisingly vocal in bed). He had to have heard the door slam shut, the old man striding towards the bed as fast as he physically could, his cane puncuating every other step. Still, the detective made no move to lift himself up, or even to turn his head, opting to snuggle closer to his lover's warm body and ride out his final waves of pleasure.

Mello cried out in pain when the man was pulled off of him. L had still been inside, and the force with which they were separated hurt like fucking hell. The blonde rolled over onto his side, curling into the fetal position in response to the burning sensation in his ass. The area was sensitive enough after orgasm - after having been wrenched apart so suddenly, it felt as if his insides had been pulled out after L.

The force, and possibly the post-orgasmic haze, left L unsteady on his feet. He overcorrected, falling on the floor face first. He just lay there for a minute, stone still. Roger did not wait for the detective to stand, his face red and breath short as he screamed.

"How could you!" He jabbed the stunned genius with his cane. "Get up and face me."

L finally did just that, coming to stand very close to the old man, staring him down. He did nothing to cover his nakedness, did not reach for a blanket, or put his hands in front of himself. Shame was a concept lost on the detective, and besides, he was far too busy yelling back.

"How could I? This is my bedroom. That was my very intimate moment unneccessarily ruined by your intrusion." For all the times he had expressed concern over being found out, L had come to terms with the fact that this secret could not be kept forever, though now was much sooner than he'd hoped for, if only for the reason that he'd rather spend time doing than explaining. There was no shame in him anymore, only a desire to keep it for as long as they could.

"How dare you use a word like 'intimate' to describe this perversion!" The old man had to stop, catching his breath. It had been years since he'd been this angry. The last time it had possibly come this close was when his friend and colleague had suggested the idea of Wammy's House. Roger had always been slightly put off by everything about the young L, and the idea that Wammy wanted to run the orphanage began work on as a training camp for future replacements of the scary little boy, was totally out of the question. Wammy had simply replied that it would be his own fault when one day there was no one to solve the unsolvable. Did he wish to let the most dangerous and elusive of criminals run free to do as they willed? To which, Roger replied, 'Most certainly not!'...
Roger Ruvie learned the hard way that he should take more time thinking than he does speaking.

"A perversion can simply mean a deviation of the norm, or generally accepted. I admit that what you intruded upon is indeed unusual, but you do not fully understand the situation - "

"Like hell I don't." Watari had always had a problem with cursing, his opinion was that there were enough descriptive words in the english language that one ought not to use them. Roger's take on this, being of about the same age and upbringing, was similar. Yet some instances demanded the addition of such words. If only for emphasis.

"Mello and I were merely using our bodies to express our love for one another."

"You were...molesting a child!" 'Molesting' was not the word that came to mind initially, but others were too difficult to say. Even now the descriptions caused bile to rise in his throat. He swallowed the feeling down, trying to push back the images burned in his brain that were threatening to cause full-on physical illness. He couldn't bring himself to look toward the bed just yet, where he knew the child was cringing in pain and terror. He'd always known L wasn't normal, was possibly even insane but this was far beyond even his wildest imaginings. It reminded him of an early failed experiment at Wammy's, with someone who he'd also warned was too dangerous to encourage. He'd been right then. He was obviously correct now.

"To say that would imply that Mello does not desire this as I do. At first I was also afraid of the feelings I had developed, even when I was reassured that they were indeed reciprocated. We often argue over who is more enamored with the other. Though I can not imagine that anyone could possibly feel as strongly as I do, that no one would even be capable of it, Mello obstinately insists that it is he who is more in love." The detective did not feel that he had to justify their relationship to anyone, especially this person, who had obviously never liked him very much. He wondered why Roger hated him so, especially when he was kind enough to weekly rearrage the caretaker's office, or leave half eaten slices of cake in his favorite chair as a gifts. Ungrateful old bastard.
Just as Roger was about to utter more accusation, a high pitched screech came from the direction of the bed. Mello's hands were over his ears, eyes squeezed shut against frustrated tears. He was still in a fair amount of pain, and they were arguing about something that very much involved him without bothering to ask for his take, or even acknowledging his presence. He could explain all of this simply. L's eloquent speeches were obviously doing them no good. Being the person that he was, the teen believed that he knew exactly what to say to make this all stop.

"I fucking want it Roger! You can't take this away from me! Not ever! So just fucking leave us alone!"

"You don't know what you want Mello. He's just tricked you into believing that it's your doing. He's in the wrong here," Roger argued, speaking as if the boy was a small child and not a teenager.
Mello wondered how it was fair that if you weren't 16, your desires didn't matter. The adults all thought they knew it better. If he was just a little older, they wouldn't have a say, but because he was a 'kid' they were going to pull his whole world out from under him 'for his own good'.

Roger moved around L, who he'd been practically nose-to-nose with for the duration of the arguement. Would have been if he was just a few inches taller and several years younger. L moved to stop him, but was met with a warning glare and the tip of a cane to his gut to halt him in his steps. Roger sat at the foot of the bed, pulling a blanket over the lap of the child that sat there, naked, and vulnerable, and obviously very confused.

"Don't touch me!" The teen screamed, batting away the hand that reached to smooth his sex-mussed blonde locks.

"I'm not going to hurt you. And neither is he. Ever again." Roger bent to reach for the boy's clothing that had been tossed to the floor, despite the protests that his aching back made. He was too old for this, all of this. He wondered how Wammy handled caring for his charge, lifting trays of tea, guiding an exhausted twenty-three year old up all those steps to his bedroom when he fell asleep in a chair in the library. He even tied the man's shoes for Christ's sake! The little pervert took adavantage of that poor old man, who never once complained.

"He doesn't hurt me. He makes love to me." Mello protested but was ignored as Roger had been pulling the teen to his feet, trying to look away while he handed over a pair of black jeans. There had been two pairs of boxer shorts in a pile, but Roger did not feel like asking which belonged to the boy. They appeared to be the same size.

Sadly, it was his desire to not watch the naked blonde put on his clothes that made him notice the pool of blood on the now deserted white sheets. He'd seen his fair share of bloody noses, scraped knees, and other common childhood injuries before (many of them either afflicting, or having been caused by the rambunctious boy in question). He'd certainly been forced to tend to them himself on several occasions. This was considerably more blood than he'd ever seen in person however. Unlike Wammy and his pet genius, he did not like to be involved in the criminal cases, especially the bloody ones.

"Mello, do you really expect me to believe that?" Roger gestured to the stain, still so red and shiny wet. He was perversely thankful that his anger distracted him from his stomach's impulse to heave back up his evening tea and toast.

Mello wanted to scream that it was Roger's own fault, having forcefully yanked L out of him, causing the injury. However, it was at this time that some of the shock wore off and his system registered the loss of blood, some of which still trickled down his thigh, plastering the jeans to his skin. He hadn't considered the feeling until just then, somewhat used to another substance doing something similar, being the reason they always showered straight after sex. L didn't mind being sticky and sweaty, but Mello was nearly obsessive about it, all the while stubbornly refusing to let L use condoms. He suspected that neither of them quite knew how to put one on anyway. Having practiced on a banana in sexual health studies was nearly pointless because the male anatomy hardly resembled the yellow fruit (how misleading), and therefore did not count.

Mello's legs were betraying him. He wanted to stand and fight this, and he could have, if his knees had not chosen that time to lock up, making him fall to the floor. He was very cold, which must mean that it had been a lot of blood. He gagged, trying desperately not to throw up. Why was it that the human body responded in this way? The reaction only ever made the matter worse. His vision began to get hazy around the edges, the blackness closing in from all directions. He couldn't see Roger from where he knelt, reaching out to catch him. He thought he saw L rushing forward to do the same. There was another voice sounding from the open (open?) door, but he didn't have the time to question who it might be, before he had to give up and let his body take him somewhere where the yelling ceased and unconsciousness promised relief from the physical and mental strain.