Infatuation

Mello contemplated L’s hunched-over figure. He was pretty busy looking at files, probably from the Kira case…maybe he wouldn’t notice…if….

No. That’s fucking stupid. The man who was the three greatest detectives in the world was bound to notice if the nervous-but-supposedly-harmless little teenager he had allowed into his room started to—to—to hump his leg or something, no matter how involved he was in the case. Mello wrinkled his nose slightly at the mental image of himself blissfully humping away at L’s leg, completely unnoticed. Ew. No—there had to be better ways. There were better ways. Mello had formulated a good plan—he just needed the bollocks to go through with it.

Mello tried to take a deep breath but wound up choking on it. He tried to cough as discretely as he could, which earned him a look of polite concern.

“What’s wrong, Mello? Did you choke on your chocolate? Your face is very red. You should drink some tea.” L slid his cup closer to Mello, who declined it by waving a flustered hand. Somehow, he doubted that drinking almost-pure sugar would appease his throat. L shrugged and drained the cup before turning back to his work.

God damn it. That wasn’t smooth at all. Fuck everything.

All right. No, it was okay, really. No big deal. He may have given L the impression of being too stupid to eat properly, but all was not lost. Take two.

Skipping over the deep breath this time, Mello rose from his spot on the floor near L’s chair and stepped over so he was behind him.

“Oh, are you bored, Mello? I’m sorry. Would you like to go play with your friends instead?”

“N-no!” Mello squeaked. Stupid fucking puberty. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I—I just wanted t-to look at…whatever you’re looking at.” Lame. Lame!

L turned slightly to give Mello a searching look. “Mello is behaving strangely.”

“Oh, no! No. It’s—it’s just that I—well, you know. Um. Had a fight with Matt. I had a fight. With Matt. And he’s my best friend, you know? And we fought. So I’m weird. Weirded out! Disconcerted.”

L shifted in his chair, then nodded in acceptance before once again returning to the files.

This was not going according to plan. Not that Mello had genuinely expected everything to follow his plan, which had included him being about a foot taller and having a suave moustache, but the situation was still very unsatisfactory. Oh, fuck it.

Mello kicked caution aside and placed his hands gingerly in L’s hair before beginning to stroke. A nice, platonic…head massage. Yes.

L had frozen at the contact, but he relaxed once he realised what, exactly, Mello was trying to do.

“Thank you, Mello; that’s very kind of you.”

Mello gave him a vague “mmm” of confirmation. L’s hair wasn’t especially soft, but it still felt nice. It was almost fluffy, really. How odd. Mello began to scratch in circles around L’s head, taking the opportunity to thoroughly run his fingers through L’s hair. This was going quite well!

L rubbed his toes together and emitted a small sigh of contentment. Sweet Jesus. Mello’s knees felt wobbly. His heart began to beat at a pace that was almost certainly not healthy. His innards were quite possibly being used as a sort of perverse playground for all manner of small woodland creatures.

Caution, which had clambered back up to its original position and was just about to sternly interject, was knocked cold by a plank of metaphorical plywood.

Mello leaned down and kissed the top of L’s head.

He hesitated, waiting for a reaction, but none came. A glance at L’s reflection in the monitor revealed that he was still smiling serenely at the massage he was receiving. Had he not felt it, or did he just not care?

Taking care to keep scratching, Mello tilted his head down a bit more and tentatively kissed L’s temple. The top of his ear. The side of his jaw. Mello slid so that he was facing L, switching the positions of his hands so he could keep them in L’s hair. His cheek. The corner of his mouth.

Mello looked up at L. He was no longer smiling. The look he was giving Mello was a combination of fear, curiosity, and something else that Mello desperately hoped wasn’t disgust.

Well, he had gone this far. Screw it.

Mello brought his mouth close to L’s, closed his eyes, and kissed him as chastely as his hormone-driven body would allow.

L’s lips tensed, but he didn’t push Mello away, which was more than enough encouragement. Mello broke the kiss momentarily before tilting his head to a better angle and diving back to L’s mouth, abandoning all pretences of demureness. He was kissing L. He was kissing L. L wasn’t kissing back, but he was still kissing L! Mello stifled a whimper and nibbled slightly at L’s lower lip, hoping to entice him to open his mouth. He felt frenzied; there was entirely too much adrenaline and testosterone in his system for him to think properly.

L suddenly made a noise in his throat that suggested he wanted Mello to kindly get off of him and pay attention to what he was going to say. The sound jerked Mello unpleasantly back to reality.

He backed slowly down to the floor below L and bit his lip. Oh, Christ. The significance of what he had just done crashed onto him and settled somewhere in his abdomen. He really, really didn’t want to look at L right now. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Was it possible to will oneself to death? It was worth a shot.

“Mello, do you understand that your actions just now were extremely inappropriate?”

Mello chewed at his lower lip a bit more and nodded in horror at his own knees. Why did he feel so much like a toddler who had just drawn on the walls? He wasn’t going to be punished or something, was he? Surely not. Mello’s mind suddenly conjured, unbidden, the image of L smiling lewdly and informing him that he had been a very naughty boy who needed a good spanking. Mello wasn’t sure whether he should be aroused, amused, or afraid.

“Mello, please look at me.”

Mello reluctantly complied. What was L going to do? Oh, God, he wasn’t going to pick Near because of this, was he? Near, who knew how to keep it in his pants and was therefore more worthy of L’s title than he, Mello—the boy who would slobber all over you soon as look at you? No, no, that didn’t make sense. …or did it?

“Why did you kiss me?”

If L had been anyone else—Matt, for instance—Mello would have smirked and countered with “Why NOT?” before going in for another kiss—one that would probably be reciprocated.

But things were different with L. Even before puberty hit and it had occurred to Mello that he’d really like to do all manner of ungodly things to him, he’d acted differently around L. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was more dependant, perhaps—more childish, maybe. He could happily accept that L was in charge, probably because Mello was not number two with L—he was just Mello. Mello, the blonde kid with an androgynous face and a fondness for chocolate. Mello, who was given to outbursts of anger and violence, but who was also capable of extreme love and adoration. And L was…L. The only person Mello had to look up to. The only one Mello had ever wanted to follow.

“…Mello?”

Mello realized with a start that he’d been silent for quite some time. Crap. What was the question? Oh, yeah. Hm.

“I—um. Well, because…because I think that…it would be….I mean, I just, well—well, could we…”

Mello took a long breath, hoping L would step in at some point to stop his hopeless rambling. What the fuck was he trying to say? This had to be frustrating, but L was just looking at Mello as if he were explaining how he’d arrived at an incorrect answer to a math problem.
“I…like…I kind of…well, I love you. And—and maybe you…you like me, right? So—so maybe it could be more…than…that?” Mello immediately winced at how incredibly daft he sounded.

L, however, adopted a very thoughtful look.

“Now Mello, you are an extremely clever boy. I’m sure you know why that is implausible, yes?”

“Well YEAH it’s not conventional, per se,” Mello spluttered. “But that doesn’t make it impossible! I mean, I could name about thirty countries where it’s perfectly legal, and I’m not a child, you know, and I think it really doesn’t even matter what other people think because I love you, L! Really!”

Mello didn’t realise he had been shouting until he saw that L’s eyes had widened to the point where he looked more like a startled owl than anything else. L blinked a few times to regain his composure.

“Perhaps you could name thirty countries where it is legal, but we are in none of those countries. This is England, and the age of consent is sixteen. You are fourteen. Therefore a sexual relationship of any kind, which I believe is what you are suggesting, would be illegal. That is the first reason.” L held up one finger. “There are three. What are the others?”

“Because you’re in charge of me! According to the Sexual Offences Act of 2003, passed this May, it is illegal for a person to engage in sexual activity with an individual under the age of eighteen if they are in a position of trust in relation to that individual, such as a teacher, care giver, guardian, et cetera!” Mello quoted triumphantly. He had figured out the answer quickly and efficiently. He was number one! But he had also pointed out a reason why he could not be with L. His instincts had betrayed him, damn it. This was Near’s fault. Stupid, fat Near.

L smiled and held up a second finger. “Correct. It would be a violation of my responsibilities toward you. So that’s two of them. Keep thinking.”

Mello thought. “You…like women and not men?”

“Very close, but not quite. I am asexual.”

“Are not! You’ve made it up. Humans reproduce sexually— you can’t just decide to become an asexual being.” Mello had been given the mental image of L reproducing by means of fragmentation, and he was not pleased by it. He folded his arms over his chest to show this.

L looked highly affronted.

“I have not just made it up— it’s so. Roughly one in every one hundred humans does not experience sexual attraction. It has nothing to do with asexual reproduction.”

“The HELL? You can’t be telling me you can’t have sex! That’s not how people work.”

“I can have sex; I just do not feel the need to.” L’s patience seemed to be wearing thin. “There is a difference, Mello, between feeling no sexual attraction and being impotent.”

Mello frowned deeply until it occurred to him that his face couldn’t possibly be attractive like that.

“I don’t get it.”

L sighed. “Look, some people simply do not actively desire romantic relationships and the activities they imply. You’re a clever boy, Mello. I suspect that you are only claiming to not understand because you are hoping I will tell you that I am lying and am, in fact, madly attracted to you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Mello’s face lit up and he nodded vigorously, delighted that L had caught on so quickly. L, however, was less amused.

“Well I’m not lying, so that is not going to happen.” L raised a third finger and held his hand in front of Mello’s face, which was currently projecting deep betrayal and disappointment. “Three reasons, Mello.” He waved his hand a little to emphasise this.

Mello stared at L’s fingers. They were very…pretty. Slender and a bit bony, but quite strong. They probably tasted like sugar, since L had been eating sugar cubes all day and licking them. Before he had thoroughly thought out a plan, Mello seized L’s wrist and licked his index finger tentatively before putting it entirely in his mouth.

L did nothing. He was probably intrigued, wondering what the fuck Mello was doing. Hell, Mello was wondering what the fuck Mello was doing. Performing fellatio on L’s finger? Was that even something that people did? Mello wasn’t sure, but he felt pleased at the thought of having L’s finger in his mouth, so he decided to just work with that and see what happened.

Mello closed his eyes slightly and began to move his tongue over L’s finger, which, he noted, did indeed taste vaguely of sugar, but mostly of L-saliva, which was not all-in-all unpleasant. Mello began to nip and suck lightly, caressing L’s wrist with both hands; it felt surprisingly nice, having L’s finger in his mouth.

L made a small noise, causing Mello to look up at him and make a comically surprised face of his own (enhanced, of course, by the fact that he still had a finger in his mouth). L’s eyes were also half-closed, and he was rubbing his lower lip with his thumb, which would normally mean that he was thinking hard about something, but he didn’t appear to have all that much on his mind at the moment. He was blinking far more often than was normal for him; he was rubbing his feet together entirely too quickly for it to be mere scratching; he was breathing like he’d been running and was trying to get his breath back to normal. Christ, what was going…oho. Mello grinned up at L in a truly horrifying manner. L responded by quickly retracting his entire hand, wiping it on his trousers, and shoving it determinedly into his pocket.

“Mello…you can’t—just—no! No more of that.”

“Hmm. You sound a little less eloquent than normal, L. Something wrong?” Mello smiled deviously and traced circles on L’s thigh. L shifted, but couldn’t move too much without shoving Mello to the floor, which he seemed hesitant to do.

“Well, you sound a little more like the lead in a bad pornographic film than normal, but I was not going to mention it, now was I?”

“Do you know what I think, L?”

“No. No, I do not. What do you think, Mello? Is it terribly interesting?” L seemed rather more bitter and snappish than usual, which Mello took as a sign that he was flustered. Excellent.

“I think you liked that more than you wanted to.”

L swallowed and glared at Mello, pursing his lips, then quickly normalizing them for fear of Mello finding them more attractive in an altered state. Mello leaned forward and nibbled on them anyway, still grinning.

“I think you secretly want me to keep going, don’t you?”

L simply frowned and shook his head rather weakly. It seemed more like a plea than anything else. Mello really didn’t care. He was receiving mixed signals, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to only heed the ones that were relevant to his interests.

Mello swung one leg over L’s waist so that he was sitting on L’s lap, facing him. He shoved his hands back into L’s hair, holding his head still, and kissed him hungrily. L would cooperate, damn it. He would. Mello moved his hips forward very slightly against L’s and was met with a strained sort of grunt that most likely signified disapproval. Interesting. Mello tried it again with more force and was delighted to discover that L was reacting. L seemed completely miserable, but Mello was too enthralled to care much. No matter how damn asexual L was—or claimed to be, anyway—he was still male, and Mello knew what to do to get a male nice and randy. Frottage—though typical to awkward adolescents and an altogether ridiculous word—was proving effective. L was frowning (grimacing, really), biting his lip, and pushing Mello away very, very half-heartedly—Mello was perfectly aware that L was stronger than him and could easily pick him up and deposit him just outside the door, but he wasn’t. L was clearly torn between wanting Mello to leave him alone and wanting Mello, and it seemed, to Mello’s amazement, that he was actually leaning a little on the side of the latter. Mello just had to make sure he didn’t let up. Brilliant.

Mello continued rubbing their hips together at a steady tempo and cautiously slid his hands up L’s loose white shirt, ignoring L’s hands pushing weakly at his shoulders. The realization that he was now touching parts of L that were normally covered in clothing hit Mello rather forcefully, and he couldn’t stop himself from making a sound of contentment that contrasted harshly with L’s own uncomfortable whines, which only increased as Mello’s fingertips ran lingeringly around his nipples and up and down his sides.

As it seemed that L wasn’t going to stop pushing him away, a pressure that was really beginning to annoy Mello, he removed one hand from its occupation, grabbed L’s jaw and, despite a squeak of protest, kissed him rather wetly, using his tongue and his hand to try and get L to open his goddamn mouth. When this failed, Mello ground against him in a particularly forceful manner; when L was unable to stop himself from opening a gasp, Mello seized the opportunity to shove his tongue in, subtlety be damned.

After a few dreadful moments of fruitless caressing, a change came over L. He seemed to have decided to give up, finding the path of least resistance to be submitting to Mello’s will. In a completely unexpected change of heart, L’s tongue met Mello’s and, moreover, entered his own mouth, hungrily—almost desperately—exploring. L’s hands ceased their shoving and instead fell rather uselessly limp, running down the small of Mello’s back and eliciting a pleased shiver.

Marvelling at his own ingenuity, Mello was hesitant to remove his hands from L, but the desire to remove his own clothing was stronger; he pulled his torso away and quickly tugged his shirt over the top of his head and tossed it to the side. Now that his eyes were open, he saw L’s face and felt a little guilty for the first time that evening.

L’s eyes, normally wide and inquisitive, were half-lidded and dilated with lust—a sign of Mello’s success and prowess at seduction (or, rather, ability to solicit until the other party became too frustrated or tired to resist)—but there was also a distinct sense of worry. L’s eyebrows were knit in confliction—it was a sad sight, so Mello closed his own eyes and kissed him again to avoid it. He arched his back, flushing his bare stomach against L’s covered one and tugged at the edges of L’s shirt to convey his dissatisfaction with that particular barrier.

L, however, was firmer on this point—he took Mello’s hands in his and, finally using his strength, placed them back on his shoulders, withdrawing from Mello’s mouth long enough to say, without a hint of weakness, “No”, before returning.

Mello was confused by this, but didn’t want to question L, lest he provoke his reasoning process and make it clear to him that this was not the brilliant idea Mello was convinced it was. He mentally shrugged, noting to ask L about this later, and, refusing to remove his hands from L’s body, ran them down to his pants instead.

Assuming that L’s unwillingness to remove his shirt indicated a similar disinclination to get rid of his trousers, Mello ignored L’s waistband entirely and instead went straight for the zipper, using one hand to hold L’s chest back as he slid to the ground on his knees, slipping his fingers into L’s jeans, beneath his boxers, and gingerly removing the erection he was relieved to find. Looking up at L from between his legs, he caught L’s eye in a rather belated request for permission.

L merely tilted his head back and sighed heavily, tucking a strand of hair behind Mello’s ear affectionately and reclining in his chair with one knee up. L’s hand fell to the nape of Mello’s neck, his fingers winding through long blonde hair.

Mello was suddenly made very nervous. What if something dreadful happened, like if he forgot what he was doing and BIT or something, or choked and died because surely L would not be able to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre when it was part of his body that needed expelling, or—no, no. Mello had done this loads of times before, albeit with Matt who, as a fourteen-year-old, was not quite as large as an adult man, but there shouldn’t be that much difference, right?

Comforting himself with this, Mello plucked up his courage and exhaled onto L, who immediately strengthened his grip on Mello’s hair. Running his hands over L’s thighs, Mello leaned forward and swirled his tongue around L’s head a few times before taking him entirely into his mouth.

L whimpered and placed his other hand on top of Mello’s head, pushing him down quite suddenly. This rather surprised Mello, who had to resist the very strong urge to cough and gag, his mind again filling with horrifying images of Heimlich manoeuvres gone terribly wrong. L, however, judging from the new moans being produced, was enjoying the way Mello’s tongue and throat were uncomfortably convulsing, so Mello assumed he should hold this out as he began to move up and down—slowly, then picking up speed. He was interrupted by L’s voice suddenly ringing through his heavy pants—

“Mello, I—I—”

Mello thought very quickly. He himself was painfully aroused, but L almost certainly would become horrified and kick him out as soon as he returned to his senses. This would not do—not at all. What he really wanted, more than anything else, was sex. Not oral sex, PROPER sex. And he was going to get it.

Mello removed his mouth to a strangled sort of cry of protest and grabbed L’s hands from his neck, forcing them to his sides. L peered down at him in uncomprehending indignance.

“Wh-what-”

“I want you to fuck me.” Mello tried very hard to keep his voice firm.

L groaned, extracted one hand from Mello’s grip, and covered his eyes with it in exasperation.

“Mello, I can’t—I can’t just—you-”

“Why not? Of course you can. You’ve done it before, right?”

“A few times at—at university, yes, but Mello,” L peeked at him from between his fingers. “You are not old enough, and I would—” his voice cracked. “I would hurt you, and—please, can you just keep-”

“L, I don’t care. I don’t care if I’m not old enough, I don’t care if you’d hurt me, and I’m NOT doing ANYTHING until you say yes.”

“But—” L leaned forward, wide eyes imploring Mello to see reason. “Neither of us has any sort of lubricant, Mello.”

“Tch.” Mello rolled his eyes and, ignoring how deeply uncomfortable his level of randiness was making him, went into L’s bathroom in search of something useable. He had to move quickly, but as he was faced by the surprisingly devoid-of-product bathroom, he saw that this would be a challenge.

His first instinct was to grab the liquid soap, but a striking mental image of the way soap tended to make bubbles caused him to recoil. L, he noticed, had no conditioner, and his off-brand shampoo struck Mello as the sort of thing that was only fit for dumping onto Near’s morning toast. Mello tugged at his hair in frustration and was relieved to see a plain bottle of hand lotion. Perfect. Seizing it triumphantly, he practically ran back to L, who had his face in his hands and his knees to his chest.

Mello found this image disheartening, so he quickly took L by the wrist and, waving the lotion in the air to show L that there was no excuse there, pulled him to his bed. It seemed fitting to him that there be a bed—otherwise it was just—just barbaric. Or something. Mello couldn’t be bothered to think coherent thoughts, and the way L was wordlessly whining led him to believe they were in the same condition.

Mello lightly pushed L into a sitting position and once again climbed onto his lap, legs on either side of his waist and tongue running over his throat, nipping gently and rocking forward, eliciting stifled moans and renewing the heat of just a few moments ago.

There was a butterfly stampede going on in Mello’s abdomen, but he decided to ignore it as he wrapped his legs firmly around L and laid down, pulling L on top of him. L propped himself up onto his bony elbows and nuzzled Mello’s neck, seemingly unable to stop himself from instinctively rolling his hips forward. Mello gasped in delighted surprise when L’s hand worked its way below his waistband, tugging his trousers and boxers roughly down together and, at last, like Mello had fantasized about since L’s return to Wammy’s, touched him exactly where he needed it. Mello’s back arched again and it took effort to not moan too loudly; he had to stop himself from coming right then. The knowledge that that was L’s hand moving up and down for his benefit was positively amazing.

L murmured an apology about moving too quickly but reached for the lotion anyway, giving it an apprehensive look and hesitating. Mello laughed a bit out of giddiness.

“If you don’t do it, I’ll do it for you, L.”

L smiled weakly.

“Mello, I need to ask you—have you ever done this before?” Mello flushed.

“Well, not this, not exactly. I mean, I’m not all inexperienced and stuff… I know how it works and all-” L kissed him, probably to make him shut up, but Mello wasn’t particularly fussed.

His eyes closed and he heard the bottle snap open and shut, heard L’s breath hitch as he applied it to himself, heard another mumbled apology, and squeaked a little as he felt a finger, warm and slippery, quite suddenly invade his person.

Why—why did he have to think things like that in otherwise sexy situations? Why?

This problem was quickly solved when L’s finger began slowly moving, making Mello squirm with unexpected pleasure and banishing any thought processes that had thus far somehow managed to survive. The finger was joined by a second, and Mello was vaguely surprised, as they began moving and stretching, that he wasn’t really in much pain. He was extremely uncomfortable, to be certain, and it was beginning to hurt a little, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle—not like books and the internet had told him.

L, apparently not seeing fit to try a third finger, removed them to Mello’s disappointment. L apologized for a third time—it was really beginning to get a bit annoying—but before Mello could kindly ask him to get the hell on with it, he was overwhelmed by such incredible pain that he had to bite his knuckles to stop himself from shouting.

He felt tricked and betrayed. This was not pleasant. He had been told pleasant! Surely this was not the normal amount of pain—someone would have mentioned that sex was a terrible, terrible thing never to be attempted. Surely there had been a grave mistake.

Mello’s eyes felt irritated. He rubbed them and was horrified to feel that he was crying a little. L hadn’t seen—had he?

Mello forced one eye open to observe L’s reaction, but L’s own eyes were firmly closed. His mouth was most uncharacteristically hanging open in an expression of absolute pleasure that Mello would have found positively beautiful in most situations, but presently felt rather jealous of. He wasn’t sure if he should tell L to stop or not; he had wanted this so desperately, but he hadn’t quite been prepared…

L struggled to control his breathing—it had clearly been a while since he’d experienced anything of the sort—then began moving, forcing Mello’s eyes to squeeze shut again and his mouth to drop open, effectively ridding Mello of his vague desire to stop the entire thing.

There was still quite a bit of pain, but every time L moved forward, an intense surge of pleasure jolted through Mello’s entire body. He bit his lip and dug his painted nails into L’s shirt, praying feverishly that he wouldn’t stop and not even trying to stop his hips from jerking upward and his legs from squeezing L’s waist.

L groaned and began to move faster, adding an amount of force Mello hadn’t quite thought him capable of. He could hear and feel the headboard hitting the wall and found it strangely hot that L didn’t seem to care that someone might be able to hear.

The pain gradually dissipated until it was gone altogether, leaving Mello in a state of pure ecstasy. He wanted to give L some sort of verbal encouragement, but all that came out of his mouth were incomprehensible vowel noises.

L, possibly misinterpreting or possibly realizing his neglect, once again grabbed onto Mello and began pumping up and down almost-but-not-quite-exactly in time with his thrusting—Mello could have hardly blamed him for feeling a big frenzied: him himself was whimpering like an idiot and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out much longer, no matter how badly he wanted this to never end.

In spite of his efforts at self-control, Mello felt something in his abdomen tighten and found himself spilling rather forcefully onto L’s hand and shirt. He wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty about that or not.

L largely ignored this; his only indication that he had noticed at all was letting go of Mello and instead steadying himself. L continued for a few more seconds, during which Mello blinked and smiled stupidly, then gasped and shuddered, rolling off of Mello and onto his side, zipping up his jeans and sighing contentedly.

Mello was completely dazed—it was as if he were coming down from the sort of high he had assumed to be achievable only through use of recreational drugs. He had the half-formed thought of putting on his trousers, but then he realised that there was something trickling down his thigh and decided against it in favour of studying this new development. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of a disgusting mixture of blood and semen. He had been bleeding? Jesus.

He felt L shift beside him; when Mello turned at the noise, he saw that he had adopted his standard position of crouching with his thumb on his mouth, wide-eyed and staring into the distance.

“It did not occur to me that I should have used a condom.”

Mello laughed at this—he was entirely too happy to care about ridiculous things like protection.

“It’s not like I’m going to get pregnant with your arse-babies, L.” Mello wrapped an arm around L’s waist and snuggled into his side blissfully. L gave him a look of shock and disgust.

“My WHATS?” Mello frowned. Why did L insist upon speaking when all he wanted to do was sleep?

He was about to tell L to shush when L suddenly got up, making Mello fall onto his face onto a pillow with an undignified sort of “oof!” sound.

“I need to take a very hot shower now,” L said, distractedly picking a bit at his drying shirt.

Mello was momentarily disappointed, but he was too sleepy to dwell on this. He scooted over to the warm spot where L had been, crawled under the covers, and dozed off.