A/N: Greeting's Lovelies! I hope you enjoy this smutty, LxLight one-shot (written while avoiding doing my non-super-detective-in-training homework.) I've had this sitting on my computer for a few years now, but never came up with a story to put it into; so just assume it takes place in a world where Light was enrolled at Wammy's because of a romantic involvement with L (pre-Kira, no Death Notes.)

WARNINGS: Yaoi, of the naked variety.

BETA: None.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Death Note'. If I did then, the Wammys would have competed for the title of L via an orphanage-wide fight to the death.

Homework Problems

Unbeknownst the rest of the Wammy students, Light spent almost every afternoon in L's private rooms. In theory, he went there to do his homework (the fact that he would have gotten far more work done in his own room was irrelevant.) In practice, he went there for a different reason entirely.

Unfortunately, on this particular afternoon L was completely absorbed in his latest case when Light arrived, and after a cursory kiss by the way of a greeting he had become somewhat oblivious to the younger man's presence. With a sigh, Light kicked off his shoes and socks before lounging across L's lavish king-size bed and pulling his books out of his bag.

The assignments given by his variety of professors were supposed to take him all evening to finish, but he'd dealt with most of them within two hours. He was half-way through a quiz set by his Modern History professor when he got stuck on a question.

15. Allegedly, how many deaths was serial killer Dr Harold Shipman responsible for between 1971 and 1998? (2 marks)

Light frowned. The baka professor enjoyed putting highly obscure facts about L's past cases into his quizzes. He used them to check which of his students listened to him when he trailed off on rambling tangents (as he was prone to do.) Light vaguely remembered a mention of Shipman a few days ago... something about a public outcry over the cash-compensation Shipman's wife received when the Doctor committed suicide in prison. What the public didn't know was that it was L who had given the money to the widow after he had determined that she knew nothing about her husband's nefarious activities. And that was the point at which Light had lost track of the lecture in favour of musing about L's incredibly strong sense of justice... and about how he was strong in other ways...

No. Focus Light.

The only way for students to cover up the fact that they didn't listen to the old windbag was by reading L's handwritten case notes, which were kept archived in the library. But there was a problem with this solution, because accessing those notes meant fighting for them against every other Wammy whose ranking couldn't afford the hit of two lost marks. (Otherwise known as every Wammy. All of them.)

Luckily, Light had access to a much more direct source of information.

"Hey L," Light glanced up to see that L's position hadn't changed even fractionally since he'd arrived; he was crouched in a comfy armchair in front of his desk, staring at his laptop screen, fingers clacking away at its keys. It occurred to Light that if this case required so much of the detective's focus, he might be annoyed over inconsequential interruptions. He quickly adopted the coy tone he knew made L's toes curl, just in case. "Can I ask you something?"

His caution was apparently unnecessary, because L answered with a low "Mmm-hmm..." which was delivered without a pause in his typing.

Light rolled his eyes. He understood that L often became completely absorbed in his work, but being ignored so completely and for so long irked him.

Which was why, instead of asking his question from across the room, Light leisurely strolled over to drape himself across the back of L's chair.

"Are you sure? I don't want to interrupt..."

"You're not interrupting," L mumbled automatically. His typing halted briefly so he could press his hand to Light's before it returned to the computer and opened a new window. His eyes began to zip from side to side as he read the document at high speed. It looked like a police report of some kind.

Light settled himself on the armrest of L's chair, close enough that their sides were pressed together. L's eyes slowed.

"I've got a homework question I'm stuck on. Do you remember a serial killer called Harold Shipman?"

"Dr Death," L said instantly. He leaned back in his chair slightly, away from the screen. Light pretended he didn't notice and occupied himself with twining the tips of L's ebony hair into tiny ringlets around his fingers. L's hands relaxed into inactivity on the keyboard.

"That's the one. I need to know how many people he killed."

"Oh," L's eyes left the screen entirely, flicking up towards the ceiling as they did whenever he was dredging up an obscure detail from his seemingly infinite memory. His voice took on a lilting quality. "The final tally was something like 250."

Light felt L shiver when he allowed his fingers to brush across the back of the older man's neck. When L's head at last tilted up to look at him, Light pretended his smile was one of gratitude rather than victory. Once he had L's attention he knew how to keep it. He leaned forward until his face was very close to L's before allowing his amber eyes to slide smoothly to the side and fix on the computer screen.

"So what are you working on?" The coy tone was back. This time L noticed, and it was with obvious reluctance that he dragged his eyes to the side to follow Light's.

"Triple homicide," he drawled. "A family in central London was found shot inside a room locked from the inside. No murder weapon on the scene. I'm reading the analysis on the bodies now."

Light was well past the stage where he found L's complete and utter detachment from his cases perturbing. Now he didn't even register it in favour of quickly pressing his advantage. Literally. While L's head was turned to the side Light pressed his lips to the now-exposed stretch of soft skin under his jaw line. He heard a slight hitch in L's breathing and trailed his lips up over the curve of his ear to whisper huskily.

"There's a body that needs analysing right here."

It was a horribly cheesy line and they both knew it. Even worse, it was in very bad taste. But Light was betting that L would find it amusing. His sense of humour was appropriately dark for his line of work.

Sure enough, L chuckled quietly before pulling away from Light to close his laptop and remove it from the centre of his desk. Light knew how to read his cues and smoothly moved to sit where the laptop had just been, immediately in front of L. That seat put him too far away from the elder man for his liking, so to compensate he hooked his legs over the arms of the chair on either side of the detective.

The appreciative look in L's eyes as they roamed over Light's body displayed before him was enough to send shivers racing over his skin. Light's ego loved knowing that he was the centre of L's attention, and right now he was the only object which could hold the detective's intense gaze. If Light had been modest he would have blushed; but Light was the antithesis of modest so instead he openly preened while L's focused stare undressed him one inch at a time.

Finally, L's eyes flicked up to meet his and he said, "Don't you think you're wearing too many clothes for a proper examination?"

Light quirked an eyebrow. He hadn't intended for his cheesy innuendo to be taken as an invitation for some sort of role-play. Hmm... Interesting.

Ever the voyeur, L's hands remained clasped on his knees when Light's lifted to his collar. Smirking, he undid the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness, moving his hands downward to control the gradual reveal of skin. He wondered what it would take to entice L into more active involvement and resolved to find out. The last button slid free and he tugged the shirt out of his waistband, allowing it to fall open and slide off his shoulders naturally.

"How's this?" he murmured breathily, trailing his hands over the skin of his now bare stomach and chest. "Better?"

The detective was about to reply, but his answer seemed to get confused when Light's wandering fingers found nipples and began rubbing them, resulting in nothing but a soft moan issuing from L's mouth. Light moaned slightly in response when L's single-minded attention meant that he nearly fell forward out of his armchair; only catching himself at the last second and regaining his balance.

Why won't he touch me? Light thought. He's got to be just as hard as I am...

With this in mind Light reached down and pressed a hand over the hard bulge between his legs, prompting them to fall apart wider as a he moaned loudly. L seemed to find watching Light touch himself to be incredibly hot, because his mouth had fallen open and he was panting, apparently without realising it. His eyes (fixed on Light's hand, now stroking his erection through the material of his pants) were even wider than normal and practically glowing with excitement.

"More," he commanded, and (role-play forgotten) Light obliged.

His fingers fumbled trying to undo the buttons quickly. He was done making a show with his clothing now and undid the zipper just as fast, pushing aside his pants and underwear roughly until his length was free of the confining material and he was able to wrap his slender fingers around it and begin stroking in earnest. L took over stripping Light's pants completely off his legs, preferring to have the teenager totally (rather than just functionally) naked. Light was moaning with abandon now, thrusting his hips forward into one hand and keeping his arched body braced on top of the desk with the other.

The sight had L leaning so far forward that he would have tipped right out of his crouch and into the brunette's lap if he hadn't been deliberately holding himself in place with hands wrapped tight around Light's calves. His own erection was rock hard between his legs, pressed against his stomach and ignored (for the moment) in favour of watching the build of Light's pleasure with rapt attention. He licked his lips as Light called out his name, admiring the way the teen's beautiful mouth shaped the word when-

-the door opened and Mello walked in.

"This is bullshit!" Mello yelled at his homework for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

Behind him, Matt stirred and Mello dimly registered the cessation of the quiet beeping which usually issued near-constantly from wherever the redhead happened to be (in this particular instance, sprawled on Mello's bed.)

"What's the problem?"

Mello's frustrated response was grumbled, and he didn't bother turning away from his desk to face his friend. "Just Professor Prick and his damn quizzes." There was a grunted acknowledgement from Matt. "You remember him saying anything about a Harold Shipman?"

Matt's chuckled response was immediate. "Fuck no. I tuned the bastard out years ago, Mel."

Mello rolled his eyes and clicked his pen angrily. Of course Matt wasn't listening in class. Matt never listens in class. The kid maintained third rank at Wammy's without even trying- or caring. Lord knew that if he did care enough to actually apply himself, he could probably topple Near off his pedestal without breaking a sweat... leaving Mello behind in the process.

Mello was intensely glad he didn't care.

But right now it wasn't helping him. He didn't want to have to go to the library and look up the answer to the stupid question like a fool. And he couldn't ask anyone; competition for grades was fierce at Wammy's and the students were always looking for a chance to screw one another out of the higher rankings. Besides, it was likely that most of his class wouldn't know the answer anyway. If he wanted to ask someone he would be forced to try Near... or Light... or L!

He could ask L! It's was L's case after all, albeit an old one. L would know.

Mello was up out of his chair and across the room before he thought to ask Matt if he wanted to come along. The redhead just grinned at him indulgently and pushed the buttons to bring his PSP back to life. He probably thought that Mello would get caught up in his 'hero worshipping' of L (as Matt called it) and end up spending half the night in his room, asking him all about his latest case.

Mello rolled his eyes as he stalked down the hallway in the direction of L's rooms. He hadn't done that since he was a kid. Well... it had been a couple of years at least. Hadn't it? Maybe that was more like months... Although there was that time the week before L had gone to Japan, when he'd been working on the Clovers Case in France...

Ok. So he spent a lot of time with L. So what? It was his right, if he was going to succeed him one day. Yeah. Anyway, L enjoyed his company. It'd not like he allowed visits from any of the other Wammys... right?

Mello frowned, turning a corner and ascending the stairs to the floor where L's suite was. As far as he was aware, no-one else was in the habit of spending time with L. The detective's supreme lack of social skills annoyed most people. Mello rolled his eyes. Like that mattered. The guy was a legend!

Mello shook off the internal dialogue as he reached L's door and knocked. When there was no answer after a brief wait he knocked again, slightly louder. And then a third time. There was still no answer. That was weird. Maybe L wasn't in his rooms? He could be somewhere else; the library maybe? Actually the kitchens were more likely... Or he could just be so absorbed in his work that he hadn't heard the knocking? That was possible, it had happened several times before.

A less confident child might have hovered anxiously outside the doorway. A wiser one might have walked away. Mello was neither, so he opened the door and walked right in.

And stopped, shock still and mouth hanging open, before he'd made it a full step inside.

A/N: Mwahaha, unexpected Mello! :D

LOL Wammys and their apparent inability to Google famous serial killers. It leads to such compromising situations- which is why I love them! Or, at least, one reason. Another one is the yaoi. In fact, it's probably mostly the yaoi...

Anyway, Harold Shipman was a real serial killer who killed 250 people for reals. I picked him purely because his villain-name was Dr Death and that's just too wonderful. It's also everything I know about him (thank you, 40 seconds worth of Googling) so all the stuff about his widow I just made up. (No offense intended.)

Now I have to leave before I admit how equally ashamed and delighted I am with the lameness of Light's pick-up lines.