Title: Wake Up Infidelity
Warnings: Yaoi sexual content, adult language, a little OOC for the sake of humor.
Pairings: RaitoxL, LxCake
Author's notes: I really wanted to write something, even a short little snippet of a crack story. Then about five days ago I thought to myself, "O-o I want L to yell out, 'cake' during sex,' and laughed about it for fifteen minutes as the dialogue tumbled out onto paper. That's what I love about this piece: it's spontaneous, and it's complete crack. And it is nothing but crack. If you want something serious, go to my deviant account and read "Counting Demons." Of course it'll be posted up here as well, once I think of a summary for it.
And I swear to the gods I don't hate Raito. This isn't a malicious torture or a bashing fiction, which I can't see the point in writing. I'm just fucking with him for funsies like every other character. And because he's God, he needs to be fucked with more often don't you agree?
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
They were both drugged up on the same good feeling, the heat that sedated every thought process into nothing but heavy breathing and blind, grabbing touches everywhere. So when Raito kissed the base of his throat and disappeared under the blankets, it was like a cool breeze passing through his sanity, at least until their contact returned where Raito's mouth went down on his erection. It vaporized the sobriety that L had left, so quickly it was almost too much for him to handle. He had to grab onto the bed sheet for leverage; then lost his hands somewhere above his head, raking his fingers down the pillowcase before fisting into the material. His hips arched into Raito's mouth, the words bubbled up from his stomach, amassing like phlegm inside of his throat, until he couldn't hold it in anymore. He gasped and cried it out before he could yank it back by its string.
"Ah, oh god-Cake!"
Raito lunged upwards like a live cattle prod had just been jammed between his testicles, his eyes inflating and promising to pop clean out of his skull like in those old cartoons. "What did you just say?"
L dragged his body up from the mattress, running his hand through his messy hair and tried to gather his thoughts together into a coherent order, but his mind was currently broken down into a gray haze of chattering pieces. His abdomen kept jerking forward, wanting to climb onto the soles of his feet and balance on his haunches, holding onto his knees for security. He just couldn't think when he was sprawled out, his body exposed on the bed like a specimen about to be dissected.
"Did you just say, 'cake?!'" Raito interrupted mercilessly before L could finish his sentence. Which was fine, because L had no idea what he was going to say in his defense anyway.
This would have been the place to lie, to find another convenient word that rhymed with cake and claim that he had said that instead: fake, lake; rake. If this were a Twix commercial, he could cram the chewy candy bar into his mouth and the chocolate caramel and cookie blend could whisper the answer secretly to his tongue, and then Raito wouldn't be mad at him anymore. But L didn't lie, and he didn't have a candy bar either. He was left with nothing but his grating honesty, which only L could accomplish straight-faced while in the nude.
"I did, Raito-kun," he said, and then proceeded to explain himself. "I must've got caught up in the moment-"
"And so you cried out for cake? How does one even think about cake-of all things-during sex?" Raito clenched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, making it seem like he was leaving a pause for L to respond, but then quickly attacked him with another question: "Do you always think about cake when we're having sex?"
"Not all the time. Sometimes I think about donuts, and lollipops, and pie. But tonight I was thinking about cake: a massive, eight-layered cake, with warm fudge in the center, and thick, sugary frosting slathered all over it-"
He trailed off with his thumb trailing over his bottom lip, wedging itself between his teeth as if that digit alone could dam the unmanageable drool that was now rising up inside of his mouth cavity. Raito stared at him densely for a few seconds, then slid off of the bed with the blankets still wrapped around his torso like a do-it-yourself evening gown for the sex academy awards. L blinked twice at his retreating back, as if he couldn't register what was going on:
"Where are you going?"
"I can't deal with this right now," Raito told him. "How am I supposed to compete when you're thinking about fucking cake?"
L's jaw dropped. "You can't compete with cake, Raito-kun."
Raito stopped in his tracks and looked back at him, giving him such a withering glare as if he could melt L's head clean off of his spinal cord. And if he could, L's liquidated cerebral matter would be staining the linen beyond repair right now, and Raito still wouldn't bother to stay to clean it up. He slammed the bedroom door after him and that was it.
L didn't want to admit it, because it made him feel horrible after what had just happened. He should've been chasing after Raito, begging him to stay and making all those optimistic promises that lovers made to each other when they were faced with desperation. But he was wired to the mattress by the growling aching cramp that was clenching at his stomach.
After all that talk about cake, he was now starving.
(To be continued?)