Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9515651.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Death_Note:_Another_Note, Death_Note
  Relationship:
      Aiber_|_Thierry_Morrello/Beyond_Birthday, Past_A/Beyond_Birthday, Past_L/
      Beyond_Birthday
  Character:
      Aiber_|_Thierry_Morrello, Beyond_Birthday, A_(mentioned), L_(mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      Porn_With_Plot, Money_laundering, noir, partners_in_crime, backstory_fic,
      black_beats_and_low_leads, Detectives, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Very_slightly
      dubious_consent, Alcohol, Depression_mention, sucidal_thoughts, Character
      Study, (SERIOUSLY), Bad_Sex, Elevator_Shafts, other_sorts_of_shafts, Box
      Wine, Aiber_is_a_talking_box_of_wine
  Series:
      Part 4 of Black_Beats_and_Low_Leads:_Leads_Notebook
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-30 Words: 4338
****** a box of wine and better off not talking ******
by sybilius
Summary
     B and Aiber are friends with bad benefits. Where here, bad benefits
     means occasional shitty sex, and calling each other up for shady
     favours.
Notes
     I wrote this for IndigoJones to flesh out the 'Black Beats and Low
     Leads' verse. This takes place in February 1996. B's birthday in the
     timeline is November 10th, if you're curious.
     Be warned this sex was not written to be sexy. This is a character
     study of two sad assholes who got drunk and fucked each other. Just
     so you know.
 An elevator shaft is exactly the kind of place kids would expect monsters.
Long, echoing, so deep you can barely see what could yawn out from the
darkness. Beyond Birthday is far from a kid anymore, which is why he grits his
teeth and ignores the cackle and whisper of a grotesque skull-faced monster.
Better that than any of the other ghosts.
“Fuck, shit, shit shit, this is insane, this is insane,” his partner, a conman
by trade, really isn’t up for this sort of climbing and subterfuge. His loud
floral-print shirt alone gives that away.
Yeah, well. Had to avoid the police bust somehow.
Aiber is pressed up close to B, the two of them hugging the ladder between the
fourth and fifth floors, shimmying down to the basement. He smells like
cologne, but not the cloying, expensive kind B is used to when he’s cozying up
to rich crooks. It’s cheap and unfamiliar, and a little like gin. Focus on that
for now.
About two weeks ago, B got a call from Aiber on the private line he gave him
‘in case something came up’. Generally it’s not good form to keep allies with
someone who tried to have you killed, but in fairness, B gave as good as he
got, so now they’re even.
All water under the bridge now. B thinks ruefully to himself, as Aiber swears
again and scrabbles down to the next floor. Aiber had wanted a partner—
specifically to bust a money-laundering scam for a mob B had been trying to put
the heat on for a while. For profit, mind you, not for the police. Thought
they’re getting what they want right now, too.
Aiber had seemed pretty intense about it, so B took the job, on the condition
that he’d take a minor cut of Aiber’s spoils. He hadn’t done much work for cash
in a while, and he didn’t much fancy calling A up for a bailout, much as she’d
prefer that to him camping under train bridges to keep the gas in his car. And
I’d like to know what the hell he was so desperate for the money for that he’d
call me up.
“Jesus fuck, we’re gonna die,” Aiber half-moans, staring downwards, “You know
when you asked if I was afraid of heights—“
“Shut up and focus, we have about seven minutes until they figure out how to
fix the elevator. We’re not gonna die,” B gives Aiber a bracing look, and it’s
true. His numbers are still good as ever, “But we might end up with jail time
if you don’t get going.”
They’ve made it to the first floor now, the end is in sight. Better, yet,
focusing on Aiber and his bellyaching keeps the adrenaline in his veins and the
monsters out of his eyes. B motions to Aiber to follow, hugging his toes in
tightly against the precipice of the basement elevator door.
Lucky it’s not a far fall, from here. Though I don’t much fancy dodging the
elevator when it comes back on.
“Okay, now give me a hand with this,” B has jammed the door slightly open with
a piece of scrap metal, but they’ve got to do the heavy lifting, wrench open
the left-hand door while dangling off the ledge.
“Shit—“ Aiber’s leather shoe slips off the precipice, and B instinctively grabs
his hand, dragging his heavy muscle back until other hand grips on to the outer
struts.
“You alright?”
“Jesus, you’re stronger than you look,” Aiber manages after he catches his
breath, hugging the struts with a gasp.
“Just give me a hand with this, we’ve got barely two minutes now,” They tug the
door open together, one arm each, and one on the steel struts for balance. B
gives Aiber a bit of a kick to send him tumbling onto the basement floor,
following quickly before the door slams together again.
“Come on, get up, get up—“ B makes a mental note to send Aiber on the people
jobs next time, not the time-sensitive action jobs. Aiber lumbers upwards and
the two of them make a break out the exit, the cameras still smeared with
strawberry jam. Aiber doesn’t let out his breath till they’re safe in B’s Black
challenger, tucked in the delivery bay, tossing the duffel bag of clean cash in
the back seat.
“Well it’s official, Ryu. You are certifiably insane. I can’t believe that
worked.”
“Shoulda had more faith,” B lights a cigarette and slides his keys into the
ignition, pulling the car out of the parking lot of the Libra Hotel,“Where
should I drop you?”
“You kidding? Come on. It’s midnight and we’ve got thirty-eight grand in the
back seat. We ought to celebrate.”
Celebrate. Right.
B knows what Aiber’s brand of ‘celebration’ looks like—getting fucked up, and
then, well, getting fucked. B hasn’t screwed anyone since A left for Russia in
late November. Besides for work, which doesn’t count if I don’t get off.
“I don’t wanna go anywhere tonight.”
“Just a drink back at my room then? Come on. We can order in dinner if you
wanna, then count out the money and never have to look at each other again.”
He’s eager, huh. Company wouldn’t kill me, I guess.
B takes a drag and nods noncommittally, passing Aiber the pack, “You don’t know
I’m not gonna call you next time.”
“To be honest, Ryu,” Aiber lights up the cigarette, giving him what B knows to
be his best sales grin, “I’m kinda counting on it. But for fuck’s sake, no more
elevator shafts. ”
===============================================================================
“Wine from a box? Really?” B has to raise an eyebrow, even as he nibbles at the
room service spread across the desk top littered with coffee rings and a few
bottles of coke. The nacho offering, at least, is pretty decent, though B still
isn’t that hungry.
Should be, given how little I’ve eaten, but. Not a lot tastes good these days.
Still, B knows he should eat, and the caustic knot of loneliness in his chest
is usually a little looser after a case finishes. So I’ll have to.
Can’t get any better if I don’t.He brushes his hand to his pocket
instinctively, wondering if this is the case worth calling about. If it’s
enough to interest him.
Enough to keep us from talking about anything else.
“Look, if you wanted the classy shit, we should have gone out,” Aiber sets up
the box on the countertop with a grin, and B shakes his thoughts back to the
present.
“I’m not stopping you, go ahead,” B pops an olive in his mouth as Aiber passes
him wine in a shitty foam cup meant for coffee.
“Nah, honestly, this is good. Less like work. Way easier than the bars anyways,
don’t have to worry about anyone beating me up tonight cause I hit on the wrong
person.”
“You think that, but—“  B raises a finger, and Aiber throws back his head and
laughs. He has a nice, casual smile on. Same one he used when he tried to hit
on me when I was in disguise.
Huh. B takes a sip of the wine, which is strong and appropriately terrible. It
hadn’t occurred to him that if fucking was on the table, it would be the two of
them. But how bad an idea is that, really?
It’s not agoodidea, but at the very least he’s nothing like A.
Or Lawliet. B winces as the wine finishes that sentence for him, his stomach
clenching hollow like it often does at night, swallowing up while he tries to
force sleep out from under the memories. The end of a case always comes this
way
Is getting drunk really the best plan, here? B hasn’t gotten smashed since
before Mexico, and that was a fuck-ton of a bad idea. Everything about Mexico
was a fucking bad idea, yet the only thing I regret is making it out the other
side.
Still, there was the card in his pocket. And the cases, he’d picked them up
again with a vengeance, thanks to A. And shit, let’s circle back to her again,
B thinks with a pang, taking another gulp of wine.
Should be grateful to her, but all I feel is guilty she got hurt picking up my
sorry ass. What the hell would Lawliet say if he could see me now? B doesn’t
know, and isn’t sure if he wants to.
No. Truth is, I still wanna know. That’s the worst of it, really. But the wine
is making it hurt a tiny bit less, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s not
drinking among strangers this time around.
“Yeah, this is how to celebrate a heist,” Aiber pours himself a second glass,
settling on to the couch next to B, “I’ve got gin for laters, if you’re
interested. Probably some sugar cubes if you wanna make yourself a mix. And to
think you’re snubbing your nose at my box wine.”
“Touche,” B knows his taste in homemade mixed drinks is… a little unusual to
say the least. Most people don’t particularly like drinking molasses, let alone
blackstrap and whiskey.
“Come on, Ryu, I see you smirking. Admit this is a little fun.”  
“Beats sleeping under a bridge, I guess,” that one slips out before B can stop
it, and Aiber laughs a moment before it catches up with him. Then his brow
furrows deeply, gaping at B slightly.
“You serious?”
“I said I needed the money, alright?” And apparently the food, this shitty wine
is hitting me harder than I’d like. B takes a few bites of the wings that Aiber
ordered, which are barely tangy, let alone spicy.
“Yeah, but Jesus. I mean, was this while we were planning it too? Why didn’t
you sleep in your car, or some shit?”
“That’d just get me arrested. And I need that car.”
“It was below fifty degrees last night!”
“Don’t sleep much anyways.”
“Yeah, but for god’s sake, take your cut and get yourself a room tonight,”
Aiber looks legitimately concerned, which is…interesting. Since when did he
ever give a fuck?
“Do you want it now?”
“Nah, you’re right, I’m enjoying this alright,” B reaches for Aiber’s glass and
refills it, clunking them together. He shrugs off his leather jacket while he’s
at it, and yeah, he’s barely even hiding that once-over. Right.
Aiber isn’t exactly unattractive, though he’s the opposite of B’s type. All
slick muscle and strong jaw, winning smiles and nothing gritty about him.
Nothing sweet and dirty and real—just another sad piece of ass on the streets.
Someone like me. Come the night B knows, that’s where he begins and ends.
“So what’s this all about?” B knocks his second glass to Aiber’s fourth,
figuring he can learn more about him now that Aiber is a few drinks ahead.
“Ahh, shit that doesn’t mean anything,” Aiber forces on a stupid-looking grin,
“Can’t I just say, in it for the cash, and let it lie?”
“I’m serious though, what did you need the money for? Fair’s fair.”
Aiber regards him with eyes that are still mostly focused, “It’s Lilith. She’s.
She’s pregnant.”
B raises his eyebrows high. Alright, so girlfriend. Maybe I misjudged what he
was after.B isn’t disappointed, per se. More mildly surprised than anything
else. Alright maybe a little disappointed.
“So you’re gonna be a dad, shit.”
“I don’t even know if I’m the father, we’re not…she’s just. She’s something
else, alright?” Aiber seems upset by the whole thing.
“Hey, I’m not judging you wanting to help a pregnant woman out. Girlfriend or
no.”
Aiber snorts, “I wish. I’m too much of a fuckup to deserve her.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling,” B takes a hard sip of his wine, but it hurts less
to say it aloud, for now. Maybe that’s the alcohol talking. B does feel a
little warmer, a little looser, a little calmer.
Or maybe it’s been a while since I’ve been with a friend. Months at least.
“What about you, huh?” Aiber rolls his head towards B exaggeratedly, but
there’s a sober curiousity on his eyes, “What’s this all about?”
“I told you, I needed the money—
“Not that, the whole vigilante bit. Trying to impress a girl or somethin’?”
B sets down his wine harder than necessary, a familiar dread creeping up in his
throat again, “Not a girl.”
“Oh,” Aiber looks momentarily dumbfounded, and B gives him a bit of a death
glare, “Hey, don’t gimme that, it’s not what I meant. I swing both ways too, I
guess I was just…surprised. Especially given that babe who said she was yours
right before she knocked me out and lifted my keys.
“Yeah, also me, dumbass. You’re not super observant when you’re drunk.”
“Oh. Sorry I grabbed your ass, I guess,” Aiber seems more mellowed than shocked
by this particular revelation, though B supposes he’s already put two and two
together after B’s choice of disguise for the recon with the Libra manager.
Would you have apologized if I had come as ‘Nadia’?B wants to snark, but
figures he’ll let that one go. Aiber was fairly respectful, as far as most
drunk guys he’d come on to for information went. And ‘Nadia’ was flirty, right
up until I knocked him out in that closet.
“So what’s he like?”
“Fucking impossible.”
“Anything like me?”
Oh Jesus Christ.B starts to laugh, a giddy, helpless yelp of sorts, and Aiber
joins in too. Yeah, I’m a little drunk now. Not that drunk.
He gets ahold of himself, setting the cup down, “Not a damn thing, lucky for
you.”
And for me. B thinks somewhat ruefully, downing the last swig of the wine. By
now Aiber has crept closer on the couch, their thighs pressed together in a way
that’s more comfortable and warm than anything else.
“Are we drunk enough to fuck yet?” the question slips out of B before he means
it to, but Aiber regards him with a shit-eating grin. He’s already hard in
those cheap dress pants, and has been for a while.
“You know what you’re here for, huh?” Aiber runs a hand along B’s bicep, and it
makes B want to laugh, rather than shudder. Then maybe rip the buttons off his
shirt and show him how it’s done.
“I know what you’re here for.”
“I’m not fucking unless you want it.” Aiber drops his hand. Well, he has
standards, at least.
“I want to fuck you,” B says it particularly barefaced, because after all, it
is true, “Or I just want to fuck.”
Aiber shrugs sidelong, “Close enough, I guess. That’s about where I’m at, too.”
B crawls into his lap and strips off the buttons of that atrocity of a shirt,
keeping the intensity of his eyes directly on Aiber’s wide blue ones. Yeah, I’m
fucking good at this.
But today I’m not interested in good.
“Were you thinking about this in the elevator?” He whispers after mouthing hot
breath along Aiber’s adam’s apple all the way to his earlobe, unzipping his
pants to grip on to his already hard cock.
“Was more thinking about us not getting killed, you?”
“Yeah, same, or arrested,” he lets his hips twitch back and forth on Aiber’s
lap, getting a gasp for his trouble. Aiber palms the front of his skinny-jeans
greedily, and yeah, B’s hard now too, “Doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea.”
I just want to stop thinking about everything.
Aiber runs his hands underneath the black tee B wears, which seem huge against
B’s pale skin, even from where B is sitting. He’s clumsy with the undressing,
and even worse with B’s zipper, which B just slaps his hand away, “Just take
off your own pants, dumbass.”
It’s nice not to bother with the song and dance strip show, either. B shimmies
out of his skinny jeans, lithe and quick, and then Aiber does surprise him a
little once he’s naked, dropping to his knees and dragging B in close to go
down on him.
Which, you know, would be decent if he had any finesse, shit. B almost wants to
laugh, but makes it come out as a gasp. Aiber’s mouth is hot and engulfing at
least, even if his gag reflex is shit, and his slobber is getting everywhere.
“You really do wanna get fucked tonight, don’t you?” It’s sleazy and it’s
cheap, but the detachment is what B wants, and it’s clearly what Aiber wants,
too. B lets him go at it for a while, back and forth with raspy cheeks against
his thighs when he licks at his balls. Eventually B’s pretty sure he can stay
hard long enough to get him prepped.
He shoves him off, “Alright, you ready for this?”
Aiber stares at him almost stupidly for a moment before B slaps his ass, “Go
on, flip over. I’ve got lube and condoms in my bag.”
“Come prepared, huh?” Aiber stares a moment, “You know you look a lot younger
without the jacket, huh? Like some kinda jailbait.”
“Sure you’re not talking about yourself? Have you been fucked before?” B is
surprised how conversational his voice is, even though he’s definitely turned
on—it seems both distant and immediate at the same time. His fingers have
enough lube to give it a shot, and he hesitates for Aiber’s nod.
“Tried everything at least once,” B can tell, once he gets his fingers in
there. Aiber is a needy bastard, and a greedy one at that. It’s easy enough to
find his prostate, and his whole body shudders and moans when B grazes his
fingers over it.
“That makes two of us,” B doesn’t waste too much time either, seeing as Aiber
seems to have forgotten that it takes two to tango, and is just trying to get
as much traction on B’s fingers as possible, his cock leaking precum on the
already stained rug.
Could draw it out to torture him, but I think I’d rather get off quick. The
sight of Aiber’s muscled ass eating at his fingers isn’t too bad either, not a
view he gets too often. B pulls out slowly, and Aiber shudders a little bit, a
needy
“Come on,Ryu, this ain’t my first rodeo,”
B slaps him again, then slams into him at full force, ripping a gasp out of
him, “I’m gonna give you rug burn for that, you asshole.”
It’s not pretty. It’s snapping of hips, gasping back and forth amidst sweat and
a spine thicker than B even thought he’d be fucking behind, even for work.
Aiber shoots off in an alarmingly short period, but B doesn’t let up on him,
thrusting and slamming his entire being into the action, heat building in his
groin.
It’s not memory, it’s not beautiful, it’s not terrible.
It’s nothing but bodies for once. B comes thinking about absolutely nothing
except the beat of his heart and the sweat on his forehead. The two of them
collapse in an unruly tangle in the rug, which now smells a little like soda.Oh
shit, we knocked that off the coffee table. B can’t really bring himself to
care, really.
It’s alright. Thought might think that cause of the wine. Who the fuck knows.
“Okay, okay, get off me,” Aiber grumbles after a few minutes.
“Is that any way to talk to someone who just got you off, and handed you your
ass?” B manages to snark, as his brain functions come back on.
“You’re good,” Aiber is still a little out of breath, “I’ll give you that.”
“You’re shit, but I know what I’m doing.”
“You wound me,” Aiber mock-gasps, and then slumps against the corner of the
bed. He struggles to get himself upright, swaying a little, “Sleep? You look
like hell.”
“Don’t even think about trying to cuddle, and you’ve got a deal.”
===============================================================================
 
The room smells like sweat and gin when B wakes tangled up in the covers,
surprised that his dreams are an incoherent blur as opposed to the usual cold-
sweat memory flashes that come when he gets drunk. He sits up slowly, glancing
at the bulk of Aiber’s form curled up on the opposite side of the bed. B stares
the blond hair on his meaty arms and waits for the uncomfortable wave of self-
loathing that usually follows screwing someone for work, or staring at A’s hair
fanning across his pillow.
Not this time, I guess.He frowns, stretching upwards and taking a swig of the
half-empty bottle of coke on the bedside. For the moment, B feels nothing more
than pleasantly rested, the residual glow of the case still tucked in the back
of his mind.
 That’s funny. I mean, do I want to fuck him again?
Not a chance. B smirks wryly, shaking off the covers and reaching for his
boxers. Jesus, he was terrible at it. I hope for Lilith’s sake he’s better at
women, and he screws sober.
That brings in a wave of the usual ache of loneliness, that gut-wrenching hole
that makes B want to curl up in the back of his car until someone else starts
it up and starts driving, anywhere. B brushes the hair out of his eyes,
focusing on the case they just nailed. That was a neat one. Libra laundering
scam, one to write home about.
Not that he’s replied to Lawliet’s stilted birthday card just yet. He touches
his hand to the pocket in his jacket where the card is tucked up.
I’ll call him when…when though? It’s been months since his birthday. The last
time he heard Lawliet’s voice still echoes in B’s mind, that awful, flat tone
he’d used when B was on the knife edge of becoming what his eyes made him. God,
why the fuck would he want us to talk? He made that clear then.
But he said he wanted to hear from me. B holds on to that, pulling the card out
of his pocket to confirm it. He uncreases the tight, messy handwriting that he
grew up adoring, scanning the black ink like he half-believes it will have
disappeared.
‘B
Thanks for the Christmas card.
Hope to hear from you soon.
L.’
There it is. Got it in writing.He folds it up reverently, an odd sense of
purpose overtaking the knot in his stomach. Has it really been enough time?
Have I done enough? He shoulders his bag, reaching for the doorknob
thoughtlessly.
“Don’t even think about it,” Aiber mumbles without lifting his head from the
pillow, “You’re gonna get us breakfast so that my head doesn’t implode, and I’m
paying because I can see your ribs even with my double vision. Fuck.”
B smirks a little, trepidation forgotten for the moment. Guess I can’t leave
that sad fuck to vomit all over the sheets. And yeah, haven’t eaten this
regularly in a while. Could do me good.
He orders breakfast in from the diner a few blocks over that does a decent
delivery bag. Bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches, strawberry milkshakes with a
side of jam (and toast, but the toast is really just for Aiber).
Aiber remains taciturn thoughout breakfast, but perks up a little when they get
coffee. He stares at B a little funny throughout, but mostly sticks to small
talk, and how they can keep in touch when they both want another deal. Before
long they start sorting out the money, and yeah. Things are normal again.
He’s still an asshole. B can’t help but be a little fond about that.
“How old are you?” Aiber asks, suddenly thoughtful as they pack up.  
“Sixteen. Be seventeen in November,” B doesn’t bother lying.
“Jesus fuck. You know that wasn’t even legal?”
“Aiber—of all the things we did last night—“
“Okay, okay, point taken,” Aiber shrugs on his suit jacket, “So where’s a kid
like you learn how to do any of this?”
“Call me kid and I’ll cut your eye out. I’m serious about that one.”
“Alright, alright. You act older than I do, anyways,” Aiber has the bag open,
and is counting out B’s ten grand from their ill-gotten gains. B tries not to
let himself feel too bad about that.
Knowing that it’s blood money makes that a little easier, paradoxically.
“You’re the one about to be a baby daddy.”
“Shit, that’s right, I told you about that too.”
“Secret’s safe with me,” B nods, the weight of his ten grand heavy in the paper
bag Aiber passes him. Shit, but do I really need this? More than a kid who
could get something better out of life?
“Look, Aiber, if you’re handing this money off to the mom and the baby—I don’t
really need ten grand—“
“Shut up,” Aiber says it almost fiercely, “Don’t kid me like that. You’re
taking it and that’s final. We had a deal. I might want to call you for others.
And I can’t do that if you freeze to death sleeping under a bridge, right?”
Aiber’s posture is surprisingly intense, his gaze serious for once. I mean, I’m
here, right? I’m not gonna go over the edge. I’m past that.
 “Right,” B shoulders the pack and nods, “I’ll see you then. Good luck with the
kid.”
“If she lets me anywhere near it. Good luck with whoever he is. And good luck
to him, too, he’ll need it,”
B flips Aiber off as he heads out, smiling as he does so. He doesn’t head for
his car just yet, blinking a little in the outside air. Trying to feel out what
to do next, where to go, who to nab.  
Libra Money Laundering, huh.
Maybe Lawliet would want to hear about their strategy. It’s a sunny day in
Chicago, and there’s a pay phone not far from here.
B hopes it’s up for the connection to London.
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