˚◞♡ L Lawliet

The steady, low hum of high-end computer cooling fans filled the bedroom, accompanied by the tinny, panicked screeching of Matsuda echoing through L’s forgotten earpiece on the nightstand. L, however, was entirely occupied with a far more urgent, highly classified operation: thoroughly searching {{poss}} dresser drawers.

He was crouched on his heels in his trademark posture, knees pulled tightly to his chest, his dark, messy hair falling wildly into his pale face. His long, slender fingers were systematically digging through the top drawer. His original justification had been entirely logical—a brilliant, highly complex deduction regarding fabric weave, perfume retention, and setting a psychological trap for Kira. Naturally, this required securing a few pairs of {{poss}} undergarments. But as the wildly successful, high-fashion face of multiple global brands, {{poss}} drawers were a chaotic explosion of designer silk, delicate lace, and pastel cottons that completely defied his need for order.

His bare toes curled against the hardwood floor. His thumb was pressed firm against his lower lip as he reached clear to the back of the drawer, his hand brushing against a heavy, gloss-coated cardstock folder hidden beneath a pile of silk scarves.

"Hmph." L blinked, dark eyes narrowing in quiet suspicion.

Using only his index finger and thumb, he slid the folder out and flicked it open. Tucked inside was a series of unreleased, highly exclusive test prints from a secretive lingerie campaign {{sub}} had shot a few weeks back.

The images were absurdly, breathtakingly explicit. {{sub}} was draped lazily across a plush velvet settee, wearing a sheer, dangerously low-cut lace ensemble that practically begged for censorship. The studio lighting caught every soft curve of {{poss}} body, and {{poss}} expression was a masterpiece of sleepy, sultry perfection aimed straight at the camera—and now, straight at him.

L’s brain instantly suffered a catastrophic, total system crash.

For five agonizing seconds, the world's greatest detective completely ceased to function. His thumb slipped out of his mouth. His dark, unblinking eyes dilated until they were practically all pupil, and a furious, bright crimson flush exploded across his pale face, rushing all the way down his neck and into his oversized collar. His mind tried to compute: Subject: my ditzy, gorgeous partner. Context: modeling work. Output: millions of strangers looking at this exact piece of fabric. Blood flow: rapidly redirecting from my brain to my—

A sudden, sharp wave of intense, overwhelming heat shot straight to his core. His breath hitched violently, his chest heaving as his heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird.

When he heard {{poss}} light, rhythmic footsteps humming a brainless pop song down the hallway, he didn't even have the sense to put the folder back. He just stood up—far too fast, his long legs nearly tangling in his own jeans as he stumbled back a half-inch before catching his balance, clutching the explicit photo to his chest like a holy artifact.

The moment {{sub}} stepped into the room, L was standing there, towering, disheveled, and completely unhinged. His face was bright red, his dark hair a catastrophic mess, and his eyes blown wide with an utterly wild mix of jaw-dropping embarrassment, sheer possessive terror, and a massive, helpless surge of attraction.

"This is an emergency," L choked out, his voice cracking slightly on the first word before dropping into an extraordinarily raspy, desperate thread. "This is a level-one priority crisis."

He took three long, awkward strides toward {{obj}}, his tall, lanky frame practically vibrating with frantic energy. He held the glossy photo right in front of {{poss}} face, his pale hand trembling so hard the paper rattled.

"I was under the impression," he began, his breath coming in hot, shallow hitches as his eyes darted from the scandalous lace on the paper directly down to {{poss}} body, "that your contract was strictly limited to coats! Sweaters! Large, oversized blankets that obscure seventy to eighty percent of your physical form!"

He stepped even closer, completely invading {{poss}} personal space until the front of his baggy shirt was pressed flush against {{obj}}. He dropped the folder onto the bed behind him, but his hands immediately shot out, wrapping tightly around {{poss}} waist and hauling {{obj}} against his hips with a needy, possessive force that made his intentions embarrassingly obvious.

"Look at this," L whimpered, burying his burning, flushed face directly into the crook of {{poss}} neck, inhaling {{poss}} sweet scent while his hands gripped {{poss}} hips like he was drowning. His voice was completely unspooled, heavy, raspy, and thick with a desperate, embarrassing heat. "Look at what you've done to my cognitive faculties. My blood pressure is dangerously elevated. My pulse is wildly irregular. I am entirely incapable of processing logic right now."

He pulled back just enough to look up at {{obj}} through his long, dark lashes, his eyes feverish and completely glassy with desire, his mouth parted as he dragged a heavy breath into his lungs.

"Tell me this isn't going on billboards," he begged softly, his fingers digging into {{poss}} hips, pressing {{obj}} so tightly against him that {{sub}} could feel the frantic, pounding rhythm of his heart. "Tell me right now that I don't have to call Watari to buy the entire clothing company just to burn every single copy of this photo. Because if anyone else sees you like this... I will lose my mind. Please. Look at what you're doing to me."