Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I just borrowed the characters, and was like, "Dance, my puppets! Dance!" Oh, they're so obedient; (and I'm such a loser). But anyway, I own nothing.
Warnings: Yaoi, major OOCness, victimized (violated) furniture, and the murder of innocent Pocky. Don't read it if you're offended by that kind of stuff.
The title is shitty. I know that no one approves of that dickery! I couldn't think of anything else, though. I fail. I really, really do.
There are probably plot holes, but this is a one-shot, and I'm too lazy to continue it. Damn. Oh well.
I'm a little nervous about posting this because I think my writing is a bit different in grammatical style as well as content with this one-shot. Also, I generally write angst, and this has a bit of humor in it. Not so much that I'd have to put it under the humor genre, but still. It's a little new to me, so...yeah. ^^;
I think I'm about done depressing myself now. On with the story!
The flash of pink and black in the gap of his door is what first catches my attention.
The colors are scarcely something I see together in my daily life. It's especially something I'd not expect to see in L's room, and for a moment, the possibility that he has a woman over passes through my mind.
I dismiss that immediately, though. No, that would never happen. He would never do that. He's never, in any of the years that I've known him, shown any interest in women. It can be said as the same for men, as well. For the longest time, I've been convinced that L is asexual. It's the most logical explanation, and L has never done anything to prove that assessment wrong.
But I'm beginning to have my doubts.
I'm not sure why I suddenly feel frightened, and a bit angry. It isn't my business. I'd told him that I wouldn't be back until late because of a special visitor to my Social Cognition course, which was apparently supposed to be a quite a long, but brain-nurturing lecture. It was not long, nor brain-nurturing, because the aforementioned special visitor did not, as his title should suggest, visit.
His absence was due to 'personal problems', as my professor had said. I don't know if he will actually ever visit, but I do know that I don't care. Following this...bad news, I suppose, I felt a sense of relief. I knew I shouldn't feel that, though. It was an opportunity for learning, some stimulation for my mind that I never get, unless it's from L.
If I'm going to be honest with myself, I'd say that he's the reason for my sense of relief. I can admit to myself, a bit shamefully, that everyday, I look forward to returning to the flat we split payments on. It's because I know he's always there. He's always ready to engage in a riveting conversation.
I don't know what he does on that laptop all day, hunched over and eating strawberry flavored Pocky, cake, or whatever else is on his personal menu. He's told me that he takes online courses. I suspect that this is a load of bullshit. He is the only individual I know that duals my intelligence, and may even, possibly, surpass it. It does not take a genius that long to complete his courses for the day. I have seen his pale form illuminated by the computer screen at all hours of the night and early morning, doing mysterious and interest-piquing things.
That's why, when I see his laptop sitting abandoned on the coffee table and the suspicious flash of black and pink in his room, I know something is out of the ordinary. Having ruled out that he is enjoying a woman's company, I'm at a complete loss as to what he could possibly be doing away from his laptop.
His strawberry Pocky lay at his desk, abandoned, as well. The sight of the partially eaten wafers heightens my concern.
If there's one thing I take pride in, it's my respect for other people's privacy. It is out of character for me to conduct an investigation on anyone else's business but mine. I can't stop myself from investigating this case, though. L has always been the exception to any of my personal rules, anyway.
As I quietly walk to his room, I'm a bit ashamed to realize that I'm putting a considerable amount of effort into being completely silent. It's pathetic, being reduced to sneaking. And sneaking around L, of all people! It's highly degrading, but apparently not so much so that I feel the need to leave L to do whatever he's doing.
As I've already noted, the door is ajar. I hover on the outside and focus on the crack of the door. There's the flash of black and pink again, but there's nothing else visible from my point of view. It's infuriating, being only offered a small sample of what is being hidden by the infernal door. My curiosity grows more and more with each passing moment.
I wonder, if he would notice if I were to push the door open, just a smidge? Is it worth finding out what he's doing if he does notice?
My hand seems to have made the decision for me. My palm slowly moves up the smooth surface of the door. I don't think I've ever been more tempted to do something in my entire life.
I put a gentle amount of pressure on the hard surface and it widens soundlessly, fortunately. I hold my breath for a few tense moments and remain motionless, afraid that he's noticed me. But I can't hear anything that may indicate I've been caught. The anxiousness drains from my body, and finally, I feel like I can breathe again.
As my eyes scan the room, I can see nothing out of the ordinary. His bed is still unmade and messy, covered with candy wrappers and stains that are evidence of past incidences of spilt confectionery. If it were anyone but L, such a mess would have irritated me to no end. But I know how he is, and if he were any different, he wouldn't be L.
I'm not normally this sentimental, so I'm not sure where these feelings are coming from. Writing it off as discomfort from something unfamiliar taking place, I push it in the back of my mind and resume observing.
My visual journey continues through the expanse of the room, and to the corner where his mirror is. There's a reason I leave this location for last. He never uses the mirror, which would probably be apparent with one look at his appearance. His hair is always a wild mess and he has very poor choice in clothes. The only clothing I've seen him wear is an outfit consisting of a white t-shirt and jeans, which hang off of his small frame very loosely.
I can say, for certain, I have no idea where this outfit has gone. I have no idea what he's wearing, or why he's wearing it. My current process of exhaling ceases as my eyes finally find him.
My lips part in something akin to horror, astonishment, and a small spark of excitement. The off-shoulder shirt exposes his shoulders, nearly colorless, and the difference of the wild, black hair against his flesh. The black and white striped sleeves mirror that contrast. It hugs his slight form tightly, unlike anything he's ever worn before. My gaze lingers on his lower torso, at the skirt strung together at the sides with pink laces. The flesh between them, just small spots visible on the outside of his thigh, are perhaps more provocative than the long expanse of his milky white, and peculiarly hairless legs.
If the shock I'm feeling right now was to just a slightly lesser degree, I would probably gasp out loud. But, and for this, I'm grateful, what I'm feeling right now surpasses any shock that I've ever felt prior to this. I can't breathe. I remain silent, perhaps not intentionally.
I have to close my eyes and draw in a slow, deep breath. It's difficult, because the image of him still resides in the forefront of my mind. I doubt it will ever go away.
My eyes reopen, whether or not on their on volition, I'm not sure, to the same sight they'd shut out.
He has a tube of liquid pink gloss cradled in his fingers. Upon closer examination, I can see that he's already used it. For a moment, as I zero into his face, I feel like I've made a mistake. This isn't him. This isn't L. I don't know who she is, but she isn't L. L doesn't have those lightly shadowed eyelids, tinted pink. I have to admit to myself, though, that those thick, inky eyelashes are his, as well as the black rims around his eyes due to sleep deprivation.
This is him. It could be no one else.
His dark eyes are hazy. His gaze is somewhere toward the ground, but I can tell that he's not looking at anything. He's somewhere else, thinking of who or what, only he knows.
The tube of lip gloss falls from his hand, but he doesn't seem to notice. It lands silently on the cream-colored carpet, so silently, in fact, he isn't knocked out of his daze.
Even though my eyes are trained solely on his face, I still see the movement of his hand, previously limp, and now drifting up his partially naked thigh. My breathing quickens and I can feel my face beginning to flush, but I'm only vaguely aware of that. All of my attention is on him, anticipating what he'll do next. It's futile, trying to guess. L has always opted for the unexpected.
He fingers the lace edge of the skirt lightly, eyes falling half closed. His head lolls back, and his hair becomes a victim to gravity. It falls away from his face, and his neck is exposed to my attentive eyes. It's smooth and pale, just like the rest of his skin is.
My breath hitches as I watch him take a small step backward. His knees buckle from underneath him, and he ends up falling. It's so odd, how he shows absolutely no reaction to his graceless descent. His hand doesn't move from the edge of the skirt. The only motion he does make is the subtle movement of his fingers, curling underneath the hem and pulling up very gently.
My hand finds the door frame and squeezes tightly, trying to expel the energy building up inside me as I watch this with abject fascination. I have to keep reminding myself that this is L. This just isn't the L I'd thought he was. I feel like I have to stay here and get to know this new man, like I've been completely oblivious to who my friend really is the whole time I've known him. I have to know. I have to know...
His hand drifts further up. The slow parting of his thighs cause the skirt to slide up his legs, exposing more flesh. He must not be wearing anything underneath that skirt, because I would've seen something by now.
The fluttering of his eyes, the skin over his neck moving as he swallows thickly, and his moist lips opening in a silent gasp as he grasps something underneath the veil of the fabric of the skirt reminds me, as I've been continually reminded of since I first caught a glimpse of this, that L is human. There's so much more than the dull tone he always uses to speak to me, or the impenetrable depths of his eyes, that makes up who he is.
Even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to look away from this. Something is stirring in my lower abdomen, something warm, something beginning to get hot as I watch the movements of his hand under the skirt.
His skin is flushed, which is such a difference from his usual colorless complexion. The heaving of his chest underneath the clinging shirt as his breathing becomes more labored is of odd significance to me. He's always so calm, so indifferent, so...unlike this.
His hips begin to rock forward as he works himself with growing ardor. Shame is so past me as I watch this, wishing I could be closer, wishing that the skirt wasn't there and that his hand wasn't hidden under it so that I could see.
My fingers dig into the wood of the door frame so roughly that I'm probably breaking my fingernails, but I don't care. I have to do something to stifle the growing desire in my throat to vocalize anything. I don't need to say anything intelligible; I really don't. I doubt I could say anything even slightly lucid, anyway. I just need to relieve my heaving lungs instead of only supplying them with quick pants of air. But I have to be quiet. I can't let him know I'm here.
His pinkened lips part to release a low moan as his movements quicken. The heat in my lower abdomen is starting to get harder and harder to not acknowledge. I have to abstain from doing anything, though. Doing this is already too much. I can already feel the shame and regret ebbing into my bones, if I were to—
"Ohh..." he groans, throwing his head back and increasing speed. I release a harsh breath and rock my pelvis against the edge of the door frame, hoping L hasn't heard. I couldn't deny myself any sort of stimulation anymore. Grinding into the hard wood seems purely instinctual, and so rewarding.
That hand is beginning to bob in and out of that skirt as he grows more passionate. I can't stop myself from imagining his fingers slickly sliding up and down his shaft, grazing the leaking head once every few pumps.
It's torturous, remaining silent. I want to be granted the same luxury as L. I need some sort of outlet for my building excitement and arousal. My lungs are aching for it, and my throat is burning for it. My self-control is weakening.
His eyes open wider, and I can finally see him raw and unhidden. Those eyes, always so empty and dead, are clouded over with lust. I would have never been able to imagine this. I could never conceive this humanity that has always been absent, but is now so prominent in him.
His mouth opens, emitting a throaty gasp. He's close; he's so close. I know this by looking at the increasing desperation in his movements and the progressively spastic movements of his hips, jerking up to meet every move his hand makes.
My breathing grows more shallow. It's hard to watch this and process it, because my brain is becoming sluggish and my thoughts are incoherent. I need to do something. This is unbearable.
"Uh...nn!" he moans, bucking enthusiastically in his hand one last time before arching his back. His eyes are wide open now, saturated with even more intensity and lust as he comes.
I grind my hips into the door frame, harder and needier than before. Watching his face contort in pleasure forces a strangled moan from my throat. My mind is so clouded over and nonfunctional that I can't bring myself to regret the unintentional noise.
His body falls forward, but fortunately, he catches himself before his face can meet the floor. His arms tremble slightly underneath him and he shakily cranes his neck to the side, in my general direction.
I'm aware that my current greatest fear is getting closer and closer to becoming reality, but I can't move. My legs stay rooted in their place, trembling with both fear and agonizing desire.
I think, perhaps, L might be in the same position. Maybe he's just in a similar one, because it seems like he can muster the strength to speak, while I can't even get my lungs to work correctly.
"Light?" he gasps, his thin voice just above a whisper. I can tell that he's having a difficult time masking his horror. He would normally have no problem with that, but it would seem that he's been stripped of the barriers that I hadn't even known existed until now.
I'm feeling emotions twinning his own. I'm mortified, having been caught watching my best friend pleasure himself without permission. As if I would ever get permission! As if I would ever want it, before now, anyway. What I've done is unforgivable. Even if L is an exception to every one of my personal rules, there's nothing I can do to rectify this situation. I can no longer pride myself in respecting people's privacy. The violation of this personal rule is offensive enough to break all of them.
Belatedly, I note the absence of an honorific. Maybe it's because his mind and senses are still tremendously dull, or maybe I am not worthy of the -kun anymore, in his opinion. It wouldn't surprise me, and I wouldn't blame him.
"I don't usually...I was just curious..." he mumbles, his words uncharacteristically broken. I can see the struggle in his eyes to gain composure and deaden his tone back to the unemotional L I'm most familiar with. Unfortunately for him, that composure doesn't come as quickly and easily as I'm sure he's hoping.
He's referring to his peculiar clothing choice; I'm sure of it.
My hand slides from the door frame and my hips swivel against the door, opening it wider. It would be better for both of us if I just apologized and left, but it's not that simple. Things have never been simple with me, or L, for that matter. Maybe that's why we usually get along so well, save for occasional fights.
But that could be over. I may have just ruined that. Maybe there's still some small possibility that if I just ignore this, it will become a distant part of our past. Maybe this memory will grow dim with time, if I just stop this from going any further.
My body isn't listening to my mind. I'm disobeying myself, because something has been awakened within me that's stronger than logic. I can't let that happen. Logic is how I became a prodigy in school and made it to a prestigious college; logic is the reason I'm a such a promising student; logic is how I solve the most unsolvable problems, like this one.
But logic is beyond my grasp now. The throbbing heat between my thighs has taken that away from me.
My legs move on their own accord, taking me into the chaotic living space L calls his room. The air is thick and heady in here. The gradually dissipating lust is palpable and every one of my senses pick up on it. It has me quivering.
His threatening voice reaches my ears. Although I can tell he's gained some stability back, I can clearly hear the shameful undertones.
I'm highly amused when I see the blush across his normally pallid cheeks, but only for a moment before I realize that the pink dusting his face is probably makeup.
He draws his legs together as I advance, shifts so that the fabric of the pleated skirt flowers over his bare legs so that little bare skin is exposed, and stares at the floor to avoid my gaze. I can still see the grimace on his face, even though his head is turned downward. It makes me irritated, how he limits what I can see.
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't believe I've ever thought of L this way, or any other man. I suppose that would go for women, as well. But no one has ever provided me with what L has. He's the only person I can talk with without getting the urge to scream because of the inability to follow what I'm saying.
That's why I didn't let his eccentricities scare me off. I knew that there was something incredible underneath that mop of wild, black hair, a mind capable of doing almost anything. I've gotten used to his quirks. I could even say that I'm comfortable with them. But I'd never imagined this. I had no idea. I have no idea why I'm not running away in terror. I have no idea why I've gotten the most needy erection watching him, and why it's worsening as I think of the heated look he'd had in his eyes just moments ago.
His eyes widen as he watches my approaching feet. I like how this is so different. I like how he's so different.
His gaze travels from the ground at my feet, and up my legs. I can finally see those eyes, always hiding something, but now unguarded and honest in conveying his emotions, widen in astonishment when he catches sight of the rather conspicuous evidence of arousal trapped in my stifling pants.
"Light-kun?" he mumbles in a questioning tone, his eyes finally meeting my own, a bit tentatively. His hand, still covered in semen, grips the carpet as he says this.
"L..." I respond in an unintentionally hoarse voice. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out of those gloss-covered lips. He asks me a million questions with his eyes, though, all of which I'm not willing to answer vocally. I'm glad I've been able to distract him a bit from the mortification I must have inevitably imposed on him. He's thinking, adding up figures and calculating percentages in his mind for the probability of every possible outcome of this situation.
He shifts and presses himself against the edge of the bed as I stand in front of him. His eyes narrow, which frightens me slightly, because he's starting to look like a caged animal. I'm never sure what to expect from him.
I kneel in front of him, dropping to a position similar to his own. Hopefully, if I'm level with him, he won't feel so threatened. Maybe I shouldn't expect that, since it looks like it isn't helping. I can't blame him. I'm blocking his only exit out of here. It wasn't intentional, but it's what happened.
Since my eyes are on his face, I can't see his upcoming action. Of course it wouldn't show on his face. He's so good at making his intentions completely unforeseen. It's too late to defend myself at the first sensation of pain in the side of my stomach, where his foot shot out at breakneck speed. As I fall backward, mostly because of the shock of it than the pain, he half-crawls, half-waddles over my crumpled form, trying to get on his feet.
Dully, I register the feeling of his clothes rubbing up against my midsection, as my shirt has ridden up. It feels softer than I had imagined.
I heave myself up, ignoring the pain in my abdomen. The instinct to get to him before he leaves is so much stronger than anything I'm feeling at this moment, and I'm feeling a lot. As I stumble to my feet, I watch as he gracelessly clambers toward the open door, his skirt fluttering behind him. It puts a small smile to my face, despite everything.
"L!" I force out. He falters, for just a moment, at the sound of my voice. It isn't long. He gets his bearings quickly and continues to the door, but his stalling is proving to be very fortunate for me.
I struggle to force my shaking legs to propel me forward, using every ounce of strength to get to him. The sound of Pocky breaking underneath my foot doesn't distract me. It doesn't seem to distract L, either, as I'd hoped. Although it's been on the floor for who knows how long, as well as underneath my foot, I doubt L could resist his delectable Pocky.
He perseveres, clumsily, as well as I do.
My arms shoot out when I judge that the distance between the two of us is short enough to reach my goal. His arms flail out as my hands reach his bony hips. He's motionless for a moment, possibly from the shock that I've gotten on my feet quickly enough to catch up to him. I pull him against me, maybe a little too roughly. The force of his back smacking into my chest sends me stumbling back a few feet, but I force my unreliable legs to keep standing.
I grind into him, deliberate and slow. It surprises me, as well as L, who's probably trying to say something but it's only coming out in an incoherent whisper. It sends sparks of pleasure up my spine and my hands pull L even closer to me. The feeling of his body molded against mine is probably one of the most incredible things I've ever felt.
He may as well be naked. That skirt is so tight around him. I don't know where he got these clothes, or how he knew what size to get, since it seemed to me that he was clueless with matters such as those. His usual baggy clothes attests to that.
My hands drift up, under his shirt. He feels taut against me, so I know he's uncomfortable. But I'm just glad that he isn't struggling anymore. I can't let my guard down, though. He may not be done fighting.
His skin is soft and moist, probably from the perspiration acquired from today's activities. I like the feeling of his chest heaving under my hands. I can even feel his erratic heartbeat as my touch glides further up his warm torso.
I find his right nipple, victorious, like I've just achieved something nearly impossible. Gently rolling it between my thumb and forefinger, my pelvis begins rocking into him again. I'm so desperate to get a positive reaction.
He feels so much better than the door frame.
"Ah—hnn!" he gasps, trembling against me. His response to my ministrations is incredibly gratifying. His heartbeat increases under the palm of my other hand, as does the frequency of the rising and falling of his chest.
The aforementioned unoccupied hand trails down his sides, tracing his ribs, and descending back down to his hip bone. I trace the outline of the sharp protrusion. Somehow, I'm finding that the feeling of his anatomy is fascinating.
As my fingers drop below his waistline, he tenses against me again. Although I'm fairly inexperienced myself, he's acting particularly unsure. I can only guess that it's because he's naive in these matters. He would, of course, knows the mechanics of it. But maybe he hasn't experienced the feelings and sensations that come with this. I'm not completely sure how to calm him, so I go by the first idea I have and respond to his rigidity by tracing circles in the hollow inside of the bone. Gradually, his muscles grow slack, and I interpret that as permission to continue.
My hand descends further, absorbing the stifling heat there, and then grasping him, finally. He's already hard. The feeling of his throbbing length in my palm makes me even more aroused, if that's possible. My thumb sweeps over the head, trying to lubricate what I can to make things move smoother.
"Mm! L-Light!" he all but shouts, writhing against me. His head falls back, almost hitting me. I angle my face to his exposed shoulder. The flesh has a pinkish tint, I note, before my mouth makes contact. His skin is so warm against my lips. I begin with soft kisses across the expanse of his shoulder, and then make my way up his neck, delivering more aggressive sucking and licking. As I start nipping playfully near his throat, he responds by squirming wildly against me and thrusting into my hand. The movement nearly knocks me over. This probably isn't the best place to do this, I realize.
My arm tightens around his chest and I don't falter my movements on his cock as I walk backward. It's difficult because I'm basically carrying him. He feels limp and boneless against me, so it isn't a surprise that his legs wouldn't do very well in moving him. I'm not much better, myself.
The neediness in my pants is getting very hard to ignore. His trembling and mewling is more erotic to me than he could probably ever imagine. He has no idea what he's doing or what he's already done.
The back of my legs hit the edge of the bed, finally. At that very moment, my knees decide to no longer support me, and I fall into L's bed. L follows, of course, collapsing gracelessly on top of me. Luckily, the bed sustains most of the force, and I only feel impossibly closer to him.
Even though, if I'm going to be honest with myself, I think this position is rather comfortable, I squirm out from under his body. My hand leaves his arousal in the process. When I crane my head around to see him, he has an unmistakable expression of displeasure on his face, like he's disappointed my hand is no longer there. I can't blame him, though. I would be impatient, too, if I were in his position. No, I am impatient.
I maneuver myself so that I'm above him, my body being supported by my arms. I part my legs so that I'm straddling him and look at him directly in the face. He isn't struggling; I can finally see him clearly. He looks dazed and flushed. His hair is sticking to his forehead and neck, plastered there by perspiration. For a second, it looks like he's contemplating something. Insecurity flashes through his eyes briefly, but it's either gone or hidden so fast, it's possible it may have just been a hallucination.
Unexpectedly, he brings his leg up. I'm afraid that he's going to kick me again, but that fear quickly goes as he rubs his thigh against my groin.
"Ah...mm—" I groan, but my indulgence in my much needed vocal outlet is cut off as L suddenly leans forward and captures my lips with his own. I can't respond for a moment. I hadn't expected him to do that. His movements are cautious and unsure, which is probably magnified by my lack of response. Finally, I catch on and mesh my lips with his, probably harder than necessary. But I think it reassures him because he becomes more confident, and his movements more fervent. I do my best to match his intensity by prodding his bottom lip with my insistent tongue. He gets the message, luckily, and parts his lips in an invitation for the upcoming invasion.
I enter the hot cavern of his mouth eagerly. He tastes just like the things he eats. The artificial flavoring of strawberry is the most prominent, not only in his mouth, but on his lips. I'm not surprised that he chose to wear that flavor of lip gloss.
As the warm, wet muscle curls into mine, I release a long-restrained moan in his mouth. My hands, at the same time, find the hem of skin-tight shirt. I pull it up, along his waist, stopping just below the chest to pull away from his lips. I need to do it to get the shirt off, and my lungs are begging for air, anyway. My lips feel sticky and coated with his lip gloss, which is now smeared down his chin. It's mostly transparent, but it does have a pink tint. I have to admit to myself that I like it. It makes his lips look so supple.
He throws his arms up helpfully, and despite the fact that it clung to him so tightly, the shirt comes off without much difficulty.
I like how I can see his chest rising and falling so much more clearly now, but I want to feel against mine more than anything. Even though he's what most would probably call scrawny, he's lightly muscled and much more strong than he looks. It could be used as a defense. I hadn't realized what a threat he could really be until he'd unexpectedly kicked me.
I'm brought out of my idle musings as he begins groping at my shirt. His eyes look a little unfocused and his movements are clumsy. It makes me regret choosing to wear a button-up shirt today. He looks determined, though. His nimble fingers begin working, gaining speed as his impatience increases.
It's interesting to watch his confidence grow as he gets more aroused and desperate for stimulation. Everything about L is interesting.
He's finally finished and I shift back to support my weight on my legs, taking my arms off the bed so that he can get the restrictive material off. He does, quickly, and flings the white bundle off of the bed almost before I have time to blink.
I watch him, still for a moment. His eyes are half-lidded, lips slightly swollen and parted, and his hair even messier than usual. I want to run my fingers through those sweat-dampened lock, but my attention is back on him as he impatiently grinds his pelvis against mine.
"Nnn! L..." I breathe, returning his actions readily.
My hands fall to his sides, fumbling with a zipper near his right hip and then with the laces holding the skirt together. L has my complete attention. I can't tear my eyes away from how he's gripping the sheets so tightly that I can see the knuckles straining underneath the flesh, or the way he writhes in the sheets. That's why it's so difficult to get the laces undone. It's hard to do it without looking at what my fingers are doing.
I finally get one side undone. The skin of his thigh looks so smooth, completely unblemished and pushing against me. But I can't keep getting distracted. I have to undo the other one.
"Light, h-hurry!" he groans. I almost moan out loud at the sound of his desperate, almost begging tone. I begin working on the other side without hesitation, just as desperate or more so than L is.
God, there are too many laces.
I undo each tied piece and thread it out of their designated holes in a frenzy, finally so close to getting him fully nude.
It slides off easily after undoing everything, rather effortlessly. I can finally see all of him without a bothersome veil of clothing.
His parted thighs begin to draw closer together, but I quickly grip his knees in protest. When I look up at him, I see that emotion I'd thought I'd observed flashing in his eyes so quickly, I'd thought it could have been an illusion. But it's clearly there, that uncharacteristic insecurity. I don't know why he feels this way. He's never cared about the judgmental glares thrown his way because of the way he sits, or his eating habits, or his usual careless way of dressing. I wonder if this is different because of the unusual situation, or simply because it's me. He should know by now that I don't care about things like that. Even if I did, I doubt I would have anything to complain about. If I didn't find him attractive, I wouldn't be doing this.
But what if that isn't the problem...?
I would say something if I could, but the words seem to refuse to form. Instead, I angle my body forward press my lips to his. It's a gentler kiss this time, slower and more tender. It's slow enough that I can take the time to properly taste the last remnants of that lip gloss. Most of it has worn off by now.
As he returns the kiss, I feel a pulling sensation at the front of my khaki-colored pants. His dexterous fingers undo it immediately, fortunately. When his arms can't reach quite far enough, he brings his legs up around me to help shimmy me out of the pants, his feet doing most of the work. He makes sure to do this with my boxers at the same time. The last of my clothing slides down my thighs with his assistance, and finally, after straining against what seemed like several layers of clothing, I'm free. I nearly moan at the intensity of relief.
They're hanging irritatingly around my calves now, and I kick the last of my clothing off to the edge of the bed.
I regretfully pull my lips from his, panting. He takes the opportunity to replenish his lungs with oxygen, as well.
I shudder as his fingers trail down my side. His touch leaves a pleasantly burning trail. Teasingly, he begins tracing the skin at my inner thigh. His fingers, just shaking slightly, travel closer and closer to my arousal. Just as he gets a hair's-breadth away, his digits dart back up to my hip. I almost growl in frustration, but I can't bring myself to when I see the innocent playfulness in his eyes. It makes the edges of my lips quirk in response.
I bring my fingers to his lips, which is my nonverbal way of asking if he'll allow me to take this further. I really do hope, with every fiber of my being, that he does. I don't think I've wanted something this much in my entire life.
His stare travels from my face to the hand in front of him. His eyes promptly widen, and that's when I know he understands. He closes his eyes, and suddenly, any insight I have to his feelings is destroyed. I know it makes him feel vulnerable, but I have an insatiable desire to see everything. I'm not quite ready to force him out of that comfort zone, though. He's already put himself in a dangerously vulnerable position. When I think about that, and how happy it makes me that he trusts me that much, it dulls the frustration I feel at being oblivious to the fleeting emotions and feelings that I can only see through his eyes.
After what I guess to be a moment's deliberation, his pinkened lips part and coax my fingers in. The happiness I'd felt because of his trust in me is magnified tenfold in response to the action. I'm elated that he's allowing me to do this, that he wants this just as much as I do.
His tongue runs up the length of the three fingers slowly, sucking gently, sufficiently wetting them. I can admire his ability to make anything seem erotic. In my eyes, he can look better in the same outfit as an airbrushed model on the front page of a fashion magazine would. I don't care what the conventional idea of beauty is.
As I remove my fingers, a thick string of saliva follows. It's odd, how L can't stop looking at it with abject curiosity. I don't understand it at all.
When it leaves his view, his eyes dart back to my face. He looks unsure and a bit frightened, which is surprising. It isn't that he doesn't have a right to be, it's just that...he's L. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. He's been keeping this side of himself hidden from me. I'm just not used to it yet. Although the fear in his eyes makes me feel like a rapist, I'm glad he's not keeping them closed anymore.
I tentatively insert the first finger, and he immediately tenses. That feeling of perversity in me grows, but I push it in the back of my mind. In an attempt to distract him, I dip my head down to his jaw and place light kisses down it. Appreciative murmurs spill from his lips as I nibble at the skin gently.
He seems a bit less uneasy now, so I insert the next saliva-coated digit in his entrance. He tenses again, obviously uncomfortable. I begin to feel guilty as he engages in a losing battle with himself to fight the developing scowl on his face.
I'm frozen for a moment, unsure on whether I should proceed or not. L makes the decision for me as his left hand cups my cheek and parts his lips to speak.
His voice is confident and assured. It contradicts the grimace on his face.
He guides my face to his and captures my lips, which ultimately causes his assurance to catch. His mouth doesn't even stop moving against mine—though, that may have been through a considerable amount of effort on his part—as the third finger makes its entrance. His grip on my face tightens slightly, however, before loosening again as he grows used to the feeling.
I curl my fingers and make a scissoring motion, doing my best to prepare him. He gasps in my mouth this time, but does nothing to indicate that he wants me to stop. I continue, grazing every place I can reach with the pads of my fingers.
Fortunately, L begins to relax. His muscles aren't nearly as tense and his enthusiasm in the kiss is growing. My chin and the skin just below my nose feels wet with both of our saliva. We have no desire to keep this neat or scripted. His tongue is demanding. It can still speak, even without the aid of his voice.
He suddenly jolts. His body arches away from me, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted. I'm afraid, for a moment, that I've hurt him. That fear is immediately chased away, however, at the sound of his lascivious outcry.
"Oh!" he rasps. I grin victoriously, realizing that I've found the bundle of nerves I'd been searching for.
His legs rise and move against my lower back. They're shaking slightly, probably from the shock that the wave of pleasure induced. He uses them to push me closer to him. It pushes me against his body, naked, flushed, and trembling. Feeling him takes the last of my patience, and I decide that he's prepared enough.
I can tell, by the disappointed look on his face, that he's irritated as I pull my fingers out. He shows no evidence of displeasure besides that, though. He knows the feeling will come back, even if that seems like a long time from now.
I place my hands on his knees and spread his legs wider, even though they're already parted. He slides down from his reclined position, which will give me a bit more access.
He shudders as I place myself near his entrance. His eyes shine with desire, which sends a spark of lust down my spine. I can't wait any longer. My self-control has been steadily running thin up to this point, and now, I'm almost completely at mercy to my carnal desires.
I rock my hips forward, a bit slower than what my hormones are telling me to do, sheathing myself in the heat of L's body. Shock waves of pleasure shoot to every conceivable part of my body, aching with wanton longing.
I'm brought back to the present when L gasps, quietly, but loud enough for me to hear. His eyes are tightly shut, and this time, he doesn't even bother to hide the grimace painting his features. Even with every instinct screaming at me to pound into him wildly, I make no movement. He needs to get used to this. It's a much larger intrusion than my fingers.
I lean forward and place a kiss on his throat as I wait for him to let me know when the pain dulls. I feel his hand at my head a few moments later. He begins threading his fingers through my hair and I sigh contentedly at the pleasant sensation.
"Move." he mumbles. I feel the vibrations of his voice as he speaks, and it makes my lips tingle pleasantly.
I'm all too happy to do as he tells me. I push forward, now fully sheathed, and then draw back most of the way. By the sour look on his face, it doesn't look as if he's fully comfortable yet. But his eyes are no longer narrowed in pain and he's not resisting at all, so I cautiously move in and out of the tight orifice. I begin gaining speed, not being able to help it. The euphoria filling my veins is getting more concentrated with every thrust. I'm addicted to it, to the way he feels, and to him.
His legs tighten around my waist. I look up to see the distressed look draining from his face, thankfully.
"Nn..." he murmurs. It sounds partially pained, but more pleasured. His eyes are open, half-lidded, and his breathing is beginning to get shallower.
This encourages me greatly. I thrust into him roughly, desperate to get a positive reaction from him and just hooked on the building feeling of ecstasy.
L throws his head back, his hair falling in front of his eyes in doing so. His lips part, gasping.
"Uhhn! Light!" he screams. I love how he says my name. It's never sounded as pleasant as it does now, how he yells it lustfully. It's hard to believe that it's the same voice with which he always spoke to me tonelessly, apathetically. But this is him. This enigmatic man, writhing on the sheets and whimpering in pleasure, is L.
I pound into him in a frenzy. I have to gnaw at my lower lip to keep myself from screaming out loud. It's difficult, and my teeth dig into the sensitive flesh roughly enough to tear it and draw blood. I barely feel it, though. I give up and arch forward, my mouth opening to release a loud gasp before breathing L's name out through my heaving lungs.
My arms reach forward and I slip my hands under his back, not quite sure why I'm doing it. Nevertheless, I pull him upward. He looks a little confused underneath the haze of desire in his eyes. He has to grip my shoulders to keep his balance so that he doesn't cause me to slip out of him. I fall backward on my own accord, now finally aware of the idea my body had gotten before my mind.
He sits on top of me for a moment, looking down at me with an unsure look in his eyes before getting an expression of determination.
He removes his hands from my shoulders and leans back at a slight angle so that his body is being supported by his arms extended behind him. He experimentally tilts his hips upward and rises almost completely off of me before fully impaling himself again. He gasps a word incoherently, eyes widening at the sensation. I'm unable to really process that, though. My mind is too busy trying to comprehend the intensity of the pleasure that washes through every nerve in my body as he rides me.
"Ah—haah, L...keep...ke-eep...oh!" I yell, unable to actually say anything. It's useless with the feeling of him repeatedly lowering himself onto me, bucking his hips up and down. I open my legs wider and begin meeting his movements with my own. I can't stop my pelvis from thrusting upward, into him.
I can feel his pre-cum leaking off of his member and onto my lower abdomen. My stomach muscles tighten under it because it tickles slightly. It makes me more aware of the tight, coiling sensation building in my lower stomach. I'm so close. That feeling grows as I look up at L. Short breaths escape his parted lips and his eyes flutter open and closed.
His hips jut forward suddenly and his back arches. I look, oddly fascinated, at the protruding ridges of his spine underneath the thin stretch of his skin.
"H-huh! Light!" he screams. He comes on my stomach, and hearing him, watching him, and feeling him throws me over the edge. The tightening in my abdomen reaches the point where it can't keep building anymore. I push my hips upward and release into his warm, trembling body. His name, that single syllable, rolls off of my tongue loudly, along with a series of word fragments and noises.
My mind feels numb, but the rest of my body feels alight and pulsating as I ride out the soul-shattering climax. I'm dizzy and unaware of anything but the pleasure surging through me.
Things begin gaining their color and texture back through my hooded eyes as I gradually arrive back to reality. Every sense but one is dulled. I can still feel everything. I feel L slide off of me; I feel the breeze that flies by as he falls; I feel him carelessly collapse on me and his soft, warm exhalations ghost on my neck as he tries to catch his breath.
I've never tried to delude myself into believing that how well I've done in school or how advanced my deductive abilities apparently are directly reflects every other aspect about me. I know, as well as anyone else, that I'm capable of making mistakes. That doesn't mean it's easy to admit, though. But I have to, this time. I can't ignore the blatantly obvious example of my faulty judgment of L.
I've made the mistake in thinking that he really is what he pretends to be, and that is an asexual robot. I'm not sure why it's taken this long to discover that, but I'm very happy that I've been acquainted with this L. Although, I suppose, he's more bizarre than I had originally thought, I prefer it that way. I had never minded his eccentricities before, and that won't change.
As L rolls off of me, I realize that he's been cutting off a good portion of my oxygen supply. I begin gasping in a wild attempt to fill my lungs with the damp, stuffy air of the room. I'm starting to feel more clear-headed and things are getting slightly clearer. The aftershocks of my orgasm are still affecting me.
My mind clouds over, once again, as L places an open-mouthed kiss in the center of my chest. I reach for his waist and pull him against me. My fingers dance on his stomach, almost subconsciously. I just want to keep feeling him. He's silent, save for his soft breathing, as he curls into me.
My eyes fall closed. I feel weightless, calm, warm, and entirely comfortable. The feeling of his lips on my chest lingers as I drift closer and closer to oblivion, finally falling asleep with the sensation of L's body molded cozily against mine.
A/N: Real men...fuck door frames.
I bet you're ready to vomit from the soppy fluffiness of the ending. Aim for the nearest wastebasket or something. It would suck if you fucked your computer up on my behalf. I'd feel guilty.
Okay, so, I'm not very happy with this. I think it could've been better, but oh well. I decided to post it anyway because, you know, it was like...done. And I spent, like, a whole two days or three days on it. (I can't remember exactly how long, but it was looong. I do tend to exaggerate, though.)
Flames may cause me to disappear from existence for as long as three months. I'll be sitting in my closet, rocking back and forth while reading through everything I've ever written, wetting the draft pages with my emo tears of sorrow. (I'm exaggerating again, I believe.) But seriously though, I want to keep my flame virginity. Don't do it! Don't take my precious chastity away from me!
Review, if you feel so inclined. I'd like that very much. :)