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

CHAPTER 7
GOD WITH A CAPITAL 'G'

The relationship continued to progress smoothly and secretly. The couple finally decided to move some of the blond's belongings into L's room. A favorite blanket, a toothbrush (Mello had been appalled when L suggested they share even when the older man had pointed out that they'd certainly already exchanged enough bodily fluids), extra clothes, school books. They spent weekends closed up in the bedroom, studying, talking, slowly taking the physical part of the relationship further. Very slowly, due to the fact theat neither knew what the hell they were doing but, they were learning, and learning together, and that was the important part. From Friday night, until Mello went back to his classes the following Monday, they were alone, uninterrupted. That is, except for early Sunday morning.

The first weekend L woke (Yes, he actually slept! He'd found himself sleeping more often lately, the warm body beside him making it difficult to stay awake) to find himself clinging tightly to a pillow instead of his usual companion. Being the workaholic insomniac that he was, he assumed he'd lost track of the time and Monday had already come stealing Mello away to his studies. He booted up his laptop, welcomed by Matt's gift of the huge gothic letter. Then, in the bottom right corner of the screen, the date flashed Sunday, 6:03am. Classes would not have begun for another three hours at least. He climbed out of bed, pulling on a wrinkled pair of jeans from the day before. He searched the bathroom, no Mello. He even checked under the bed, remembering a younger Mello using such a hiding place from time to time after having flooded the boys' bathroom by way of exploding toilet, or having stuck wads of gum in a certain pajama-clad boy's hair.

At last, he had to abandon his search, assuming his...boyfriend (What a silly term) had gone out to play. Gone out to play. Yes, it was thoughts like these that helped L see an outsider's negative reaction to his highly unorthodox relationship. Then, he reasoned that Mello was certainly more intelligent as well as more mature (not to mention, he didn't look much like a 12 year old boy either - his body seemed to have developed almost as quickly as his brilliant mind), than these naysayers despite the boy's age and reinforced his opinion on the matter. Age is not a factor if both paties are on the same level emotionally and intellectually. Besides, L figured that he met Mello halfway because he had never acted his age, and never would as long as he could help it.

"L?" Someone was whispering in his ear, gently shaking his shoulders. He must have fallen asleep sitting up again. "L!"

"Just sugar, no cream. Thank you." L sniffed the air, expecting a cup of tea to be shoved under his nose.

"Did you get my note?" The almost-thirteen year old giggled. "Oh, I guess you didn't. It's stuck to the back of your shirt." A post-it was then dangled in his face, held daintily between thumb and forefinger much like the way L would hold a spoon or a pen, even his cell phone. At first glance, the two could have been brothers, father and son perhaps, considering the vast amount of quirks they shared. L did not find this comparison disturbing, though, again, he knew others might, if it were to be worded wrong. Their similarities made him feel that much closer to the boy.

The note read:
Gone to confession. Back in a few. Love, M.

"What did you do?"

"I took the bus with Roger. He always takes me on Sundays. I've told you before."

"No, what did you do that would warrant the need for a confession?" A brilliant mind was sometimes very frustrating. While he knew the practices and holidays that went with the Catholic religion, he just couldn't quite grasp the need for most. A man crucified, worn as a decoration around one's neck. A stuffy little booth separated by a thin wall, where a faceless old man on the other side assigned beads to count for every indiscretion from blasphemy to murder.

"You don't repeat what you say in confession. It's for God's ears only." When the blond said 'god', L could hear the capitalized 'G', the reverence with which the word was uttered.

"As I undertand, one 'confesses' aloud to a priest." L pointed out.

"Yes, but that's different. The priest is a man's connection between Heaven and Earth." There was a hint of frustration in Mello's voice but L couldn't help it. His scientific mind so often related religious conviction with ignorance that this point was hard to hear, and even harder to comprehend. A youth so unbelievably intelligent as Mello, speaking as if fairy tale monsters and omnipotent, faceless beings really existed, dictating how one should spend their short time on earth.

"Does Mello confess to his god about myself?" It wasn't the first time L had considered it. Mello prayed every night, kneeling by the bed. Occasionally scolding L for shamelessly staring while he did so. L had pointed out that one was supposed to close their eyes when saying prayers, to which Mello replied with how should he know, and anyway it was impossible when you knew someone was watching you.

"Please don't make this a fight. It's important to me. I don't want to go to hell," Mello all but pleaded, averting his eyes.

"I am not upset, merely curious." L knew he should be hurt if Mello was indeed asking forgiveness for loving him. Homosexuality was, ridiculously enough, a mortal sin. As was any sexual behavior before marriage, cursing, and a list of other fun activities. "I am asking Mello as his lover, nothing more."

The blond sighed, sometimes the guilt was overwhelming. He felt guilty for carrying out a sexual relationship with another man. He felt guilty for enjoying even though he knew the seriousness of his indescretion. But, perhaps most of all, he felt guilty about feeling guilty about it. Because, as his older lover had so often stated, this was more than just two bodies. This was two souls. "I confess to kissing a man. To being in love with a man. To fantasizing about," Mello blushed, lowering his eyes from the older man's intense gaze, "making love to a man." The blond was fighting back tears now, because though he was usually very strong, his religion was always something he'd been very serious about, even more so than becoming L's successor. he took a deep breath to steady himself. "But it's not the acts that I ask forgiveness for, it's the fact that I don't feel bad when we're together. It doesn't feel wrong." He pulled the rosary from it's place tucked inside his t-shirt, clutching it tightly, felt it digging into his palm. "I know it's wrong and I don't care."

"How does the priest feel about this admission?"

"He asked if I thought love was a sin."

"And?"

"A man is not to lie with another man as he lies with a woman."

"But you do not lie with women at all..."

Mello groaned, "L, be serious!"

"I am being serious...but more importantly, am I merely another man to Mello? I have a difficult time believing that I could be picked out of a crowd of men for my sexual appeal." L was aware of his untraditional looks, part of which was fault of genetics, another of unusual habits and general lazyness when it came to grooming. "Mello could easily be. He is exotic and exceptionally beautiful. I often notice the way other men look at him. I don't like it."

Mello laughed despite himself at L's unusual commentary as he set his rosary back in place. It was hard to tell if L was feeling insecure, or just making cold observations. It was true that he wasn't traditionally good looking, but somehow he was the first man (or person at all) that Mello had ever looked at and felt drawn to. It ached to not be touching him. Mello thought he was beautiful.

L saw the religious determination fading, taking the opportunity to hold the hand that had just been clinging to the abandoned symbol of faith. The teen had been so young when he was orphaned. Yet somehow the beliefs had been etched upon his soul, carved too deeply to scratch out (if they get them when they're children, they'll have them for life). He may never give it up completely, but L was determined to make him give up this one part. He would not spend the rest of their lives being the subject of Catholic angst, and he would never allow Mello to leave him. Not now. It was too late. He'd become...attached. L had always had trouble allowing other children to play with his toys as a child. Even now, as a full grown man, he was reluctant to share. Mello was his now and that was that. End of argument. And if there really was a god, if he'd been wrong in his calculations somewhere along the way (highly unlikely. L was /never/ wrong), he dared even him to defy this.

The detective pulled the boy to his lap, expecting a struggle, but met with none. He reached into his soft blck tshirt, lifting out the offending symbol. It didn't look threatening, though there it hung, silently promising to make his life difficult, to threaten his happiness. And that just wouldn't do. Despite having been pressed against the teens warm chest, the red glass beads of the rosary were quite cold. He decided, selfishly, that if for no other reason, he hated the damned thing for it's fortune. For being able to spend more time with /his/ Mello than L himself. It was always wrapped around Mello's slim throat, caressing the soft skin there, pressed against his thin chest. He pulled it over the boy's head, tossing it carelessly onto a pile of paperwork on his desk.

The teen's hand immediately went to his neck, the bareness making him feel naked, vulnerable. Then the detectives warm lips were trailing a path to cover his throat, making up for the loss. He'd hooked a finger in the black t-shirt, pulling the material down as far as it would stretch, kissing across the collar bones. His other hand was at the boy's back, sliding up underneath the thin material. The bones in Mello's back felt almost sharp, he was definately too thin. L made a mental note. He would have to remedy that.

Mello's breathing was getting faster, becoming shallow, uneven. Both of L's hands were under his shirt now, sliding it up, exposing more smooth, pale skin, a slightly concave stomach, ribs, chest.

"I was not aware the male body responded in this way when aroused." L observed out loud, more to himself than anything else as he was prone to doing.

"Huh?" Mello sounded disoriented, his mind too clouded with pleasure to comprhend. When finally removing Mello's shirt completely, L had noted that the teen's nipples had hardened slightly, turning pinker, almost resembling the coloring of his cheeks. He licked one experimentally, gaining a moan in return. Seeing that as a very desirable response, he lightly nipped the other. Sharp nails dug into his back. Satisfied with himself, the detective sucked on the sensitive flesh, this produced an even more desirable effect, and he was surprised to find his own body resonding to the other's obvious pleasure. "God, L..."

"Yes, I am here. Though I see no sign of him in the room. I should hope that if Mello does, he will warn me. I believe that I am committing a rather unforgivable sin in his eyes."

"L?"

"Yes?"

"Shut Up..."