A/N: OOC-ness, but I tried to keep this as realistic to the characters as possible. It's kind of hard to do that while writing yaoi between these two, though. Or is that just me? I mean, neither of them are really all that affectionate, y'know.
This has sexual content, yaoi, minor spoilers, and other mature themes. It was supposed to stay , but I couldn't help myself, as usual. ^^; I hope you don't mind too much.
Unbeta'd, which means there are probably some errors in here. Yeah, I know. It sucks.
Be forewarned that I wrote some of this when I was high. No, really. Unintentionally high, but high, nonetheless. I didn't bother to change any of my senseless ramblings because I'm a lazy fuck. But anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that it would probably benefit your peace of mind if you didn't take this all too literally. Don't exhaust yourself thinking about something I probably don't mean anything by. :)
Don't expect anything wonderful. Or do. Your choice. But most of this was improvised, so it's random and stuff.
Takes place during the time L and Light were chained together, as most of these fics do. How fucking original am I? Actually, don't answer that. Please.
Oh, shit. This author's note is getting kind of long. I'll stop now.
His nightmares are nothing but feeling.
He feels the cold fear constricting his rapidly thumping heart, the heart he is so sure will cease to beat in his chest in just a few terror-filled moments. He can see the barrel of the gun staring at him in the face. He feels more helpless than he ever has. He feels betrayal because it is his father that will end his life. And, strangely, and shamefully, he also feels regret for letting his last moments on earth be like this. Despicable. Pathetic, pathetic Yagami Light.
Trembling, sweating, screaming. Pathetic.
He is a mess. He feels like everyone can see. He feels like nothing is worth it anymore, so why not calm down and accept his fate? His dignity is gone and his life will be soon, too.
And when that's over, his mind takes him back in confinement, even though he still—still—can't see. But he knows L can see. He can feel the deep, black eyes watching him, seeing the hideous part of himself that no one else has ever seen before. It makes him feel sick.
He pretends he doesn't notice L watching him whenever he wakes up, gasping for air. He pretends he doesn't care to find out what emotions those eyes have for him, if any emotion at all. But he does care. He cares so much and it taunts him. But he'll never return that gaze, not when he's so vulnerable.
He cares too much.
When Light wakes up long before he should, confused and dilated eyes open wide, for a moment, he thinks he's still in confinement under L's watchful stare. He feels like he needs to escape. (From what? HQ? His cell? His captor? Or maybe these foreign emotions holding him against his will in unforgiving arms so tight, it makes him feel both deeply treasured and despised?)
The cold metal that bites his skin as he shifts from his back to his side coaxes him back to reality. He isn't sure why it's coaxing him instead of forcing him, but he thinks if he dwells on it too much, he might destroy the sense of peace he now inexplicably feels, even with the inescapable cuff around his wrist and the chain somehow coiled under his side, digging into his exposed hip where his shirt has ridden up.
The whole room is shrouded in heavy dimness, not unlike Light's mind right now, so he can just scarcely discern L's motionless form so close to him that it really should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. And even though it's too dark for Light to see if L has his eyes open or not, he knows they're closed. He knows it by the softness of the outline of the detective's almost frail body; he knows it by the man's skin that he can see if he focuses enough, because although it's just as colorless as usual, it doesn't look so cold and porcelain anymore. In a sense, it makes L seem even more untouchable than he usually is. The fragility of this moment is epitomized in the sleeping man that Light had once deluded himself into believing was sleepless.
The silence in the room is so powerful, it's almost deafening. There isn't even the slightest sound coming from the detective sleeping so close to him.
He doesn't want to dwell on why he's feeling this way. He already feels on the brink of something horrible. He knows that thinking about his fascination with the man he's currently facing will bring him into the recesses of his mind, where, if L is correct (God forbid), his dormant memories of Kira lie. The possibility, no matter how small, makes him shudder slightly. A battle between his current mindset and that of a sociopath would most definitely result in both being destroyed. And then, Light is sure he would completely succumb to insanity, like he more than often feels like doing as of late.
He can't even hear his bedmate breathing. But he doesn't get paranoid or panicked over that. He knows L is very alive, despite how he often doesn't really look it. He can feel the other's warmth as if he were flesh to flesh with the man. The thought makes Light's breath hitch and his tired eyes widen slightly, but he's too exhausted (too afraid) to figure out why.
This is one of the only moments in the teenage prodigy's life that he ignores logic and heeds to his emotions. Of all times, this shouldn't be when he chooses to follow his feelings because he doubts his feelings have ever been any more chaotic and contradicting as they are now. He knows abandoning reason will definitely be his undoing if he keeps this up (unless L himself is, which makes Light grimace when his chest tightens uncomfortably), but he really doesn't have the energy to care at the moment.
Ignoring the chain digging into his sensitive flesh as he moves slowly toward the sleeping man, he can't help but wonder what seems so different about L. Is it that he's sleeping? Is it that Light can't feel those intimidating eyes watching his every move, watching so intently, he feels as if his mind is being penetrated by L?
If that were the case, and L is awake now, would he...could he understand why Light suddenly feels so inquisitive and needy, like a child?
The brunet doesn't intend to find out.
His senses are flooded with L, even though he can't see him. L's warmth, his smell—something personal and tangy and sweet disconcertingly familiar all at the same time. Pleasant. He doesn't even try to stop himself from moving closer, close enough that he can feel the rhythmic rising and falling of the other's chest against his and soft breath ghosting against Light's exposed neck.
The boy unintentionally releases a harsh breath and his eyes flutter closed. This is a little overwhelming for reasons lost to Light, but it's his own fault he feels so anxious and confused and warm right now.
He isn't sure why resting his forehead against L's sharp collar bone is calming his trembling, which he thought would never go away after waking. But it does, and the relief makes him sag against the limp body in front of him, gently enough, he hopes, it won't wake the other. He knows better to rely on hope, but somehow, it's unusually easy to do right now.
Before he falls into a (fortunately) restful sleep, his fingers brush against the protrusion of L's hip very lightly. He tells himself it is an accident and pretends not to notice the very slight deviation of L's soft breathing.
And his own.
When he wakes, he's alert enough to know almost immediately where he is. He's too confused and mortified with himself to actually move. He's sure doing that would wake L, anyway, who is still asleep, oddly enough. He knows that, without looking. L still feels warm and soft even though Light's fingers are still resting lightly on the detective's bony hip, and his cheek is still gently smushed against the other's protruding collar bone. Soft, still.
He's warm. And Light is convinced that if he were awake, he wouldn't feel that way. L, awake, is ever-vigilant, stoic, and cold. L, asleep, is...well, Light isn't really sure yet, since this is the first time he has ever actually seen the eccentric man asleep. But he knows it's a lot different than when he's awake. He knows this sleepy state L currently is in is nonthreatening and warm and safe. But forming any kind of dependency on anyone, awake or asleep, is grossly crossing the line for Light. This could never be genuine safety. Warmth doesn't mean safety. So why does it feel like it?
He pulls back tentatively as he can, hoping not to wake the man he is ashamedly clinging to. His presence just seemed so welcoming last night, and even right now. Light certainly knows L's presence is normally very off putting, which is actually quite an understatement. He has no idea what has changed. He's afraid of it. He's afraid not knowing because it's not like Light to not know something.
He shivers as he inches away from the motionless body in front of him. It seems colder than normal in the room, and it's really bothering Light. The bedding is twisted around his limbs, though he doesn't remember squirming around the night before. But instead of wanting to hide under the blankets like any normal cold person, he wants to cling to L again. He grimaces distastefully to himself, but only out of habit for having such illogical, frivolous desires (not that he has them often).
Even though he isn't as close, he's still clearly violating L's personal space when his gaze impulsively darts to the eccentric man's face. He's met with two wide, unblinking eyes, even when he was so sure L was still asleep.
He sucks in a shuddering breath (Is choking to death on air possible? He hopes so.), grabs the sheets below him in a white-knuckled grip, and completely freezes.
L's eyes are big and inquisitive. With his pale pink lips parted in a silent question and his eyes full of innocent curiosity, he really doesn't pose a threat to Light in any way, which is surprising, since Light's life is very much in L's hopefully capable hands.
"Light-kun..." he mumbles, his voice low and smooth. It sends a shiver down the teenager's spine, which triggers heat to flood to his face. He struggles to control his involuntary reactions, but he can't, and even if he could, it wouldn't matter. L sees everything.
Even if Light were the type to run away in a time of panic instead of freeze like this, he wouldn't be able to, obviously, as he's bound to L—very, very literally. He hates not even having a choice in his reaction to this highly uncomfortable situation. But he tries to compose himself as best he can, and hopes it shows in his facial expression and body language. But he really wouldn't be surprised if his inner unease is clear to the odd, all-seeing man staring so intently at him right now.
Why did he let me rest so close to him as long as he did?!
Light prepares himself for L to speak again, probably something about his probability of being Kira (which he really can't deal with right now) or about the unnaturally close position they've been in half the night (which he especially can't deal with right now), but L oddly breaches neither of those subjects.
"Good morning." the detective murmurs softly.
If Light were in his right mind, he would probably be very ashamed at his lack of productivity. They are trying to catch one of the most mysterious serial killers out there, which is exactly what makes Kira so dangerous. But Light, sitting motionless in front of his computer, staring vacantly at the monitor, can't feel ashamed. He can only feel selfishly frightened for himself. And surprisingly, it isn't because there's a very high chance he will be convicted of these murders, whether or not he actually committed them.
L is so sure.
But right now, his biggest concern is keeping the composure he'd never once, in his 18 years on earth, had difficulty maintaining. That itself is very disconcerting. But right now, he can't possibly make use of his exceptional deductive skills to convict himself of murder—if L is right, that is.
Light doesn't know what he would do if the detective proved himself to be right.
But L is so sure.
That much is obvious with the extreme actions the elusive man has taken. His seemingly endless confinement in a bland cell and invisible black eyes registering every breath he took; L's plan to coax Kira—Light—to act as the sociopath he supposedly is by having his father wave a gun in his face; the handcuffs currently bonding him to the detective that has knowingly and most likely guiltlessly caused all of this.
It's becoming unbearable to think about, but Light can't seem to be able to stop. The chain extending from his wrist to L's gives him a sense of perverse security. Is this what they call Stockholm syndrome? If Light is aware such a phenomenon is happening, shouldn't it stop happening? Or is the concept of the chain—an anchor to his sanity—too appealing to reject?
A cool touch on his sleeved forearm causes the teenager to jolt in surprise. He's a little grateful for whatever stopped his thoughts, but he's too flustered to completely register that.
His mind is quick and he realizes what has happened—is happening, because Light isn't sure whether or not to pull away, so he settles to just freeze—but he turns his head, anyway. Just to see. Just to see the very embodiment of his near-insane mindset, also the only thing keeping him composed half of the time.
His feelings make no sense. He hates them because he despises not knowing something. And it makes him really uncomfortable knowing that L probably knows Light Yagami more than Light Yagami even does.
"Light-kun," the detective murmurs, nibbling more fervently than normal on the thumb not resting on Light's arm along with those other spindly fingers, the teenager somehow notes in his flustered state. "Are you okay?"
The voice that is slightly muffled by that reddened, abused thumb sounds closer to Light than it really is.
L's voice is stoic with just a touch of inquisitiveness that probably only serves the purpose of giving the listener the impression that the man actually desires an answer and is not just speaking for the hell of it. Light understands this about L. He understands things L probably doesn't even understand about himself, which helps to alleviate how uncomfortable he has been feeling about not knowing himself as well as L does. This thing goes both ways. It's symbolized in the chain connecting the two.
Light understands this, and a whole lot more (though he almost wishes he didn't) when he feels the almost imperceptible tremor against his skin where L's lightly trembling fingertips innocently lay in an attempt to get the brunet's undivided attention—not that he'd ever had a problem giving that before.
Light ignores the urge to look at that pale hand on his forearm, which is odd enough, considering that it certainly isn't like L to initiate any type of physical contact, even if it's something so seemingly meaningless. But they both know it isn't.
Light doesn't want to look at that hand and those fingers on his forearm, trembling seeming to get a slight bit more pronounced as each silent moment passes by, but not before enveloping the two males in its serious, tense atmosphere. Maybe that's why L seems to be losing composure while trying, ironically, to inquire about Light's. Or maybe Light alone is to blame for how L is acting. The teenager doesn't know. But he doesn't want to confirm that he's well aware of L's lapse in composure, even though L seems to be well aware of his own. He doesn't want to do that to the detective, because if the stoic man is afraid of anything, Light is sure it would be that—someone knowing that his vulnerability is showing. It doesn't feel good, as Light knows from experience. And despite what he's suspected of, he wouldn't get off on the older man's discomfort. He really wouldn't.
His own anxiety seems to be fading. He refuses to acknowledge that it's probably because of L, even though he hasn't really done anything except for remind Light that every action and mood will not go unnoticed by the watchful man. And that doesn't make him as uncomfortable as it usually does.
"Light-kun..." the detective murmurs again, still sounding calm to Light's ears. But he knows better. He knows by the feeling of the older man touching him, not succeeding in calming himself, too afraid to even move (because Light is, too, which is why he knows this).
"I'm okay, Ryuzaki." Light answers honestly, not quite ready to look at the raven-haired man in the eyes yet. Or maybe ever. But he doesn't have to to know that L is feeling like himself again because his fingers have stilled and he finally removes his hand from the youth.
Light feels like he can move again, too.
Sepia eyes finally dare to meet obsidian. L's eyes are half-lidded, but he doesn't look bored or listless like usual. He just looks relaxed. Maybe a little tired, but not in a sleepy kind of way. Just mentally worn out. But not tense, like he felt through his touch, Light doesn't fail to notice. And doesn't fail to inwardly breathe a sigh of relief at, either.
These emotional responses to things—no, just L—are exhausting to think about, so Light just accepts that he's tired (tired like L), as well, and that he shouldn't go soul-searching when his brain is so fried like this.
L nods slowly after a few moments, a lock of inky-black hair falling in his face, and then turns his attention back to the glowing monitor he is crouched in front of.
Light settles to revel in his irritation that L isn't brushing that thick lock of hair away like Light knows he would instead of thinking about what feels like a lingering touch on his forearm. It's just a ghost of a sensation, barely there at all, but it remains more than Light knows it should.
His chest tightens.
He continues to remain fixated on the tangled, black mess still hanging in L's ashen face. And his thoughts continue to race about everything but that.
He turns to his computer, too, and does things pertaining to the Kira case that he's only half-aware of doing.
It is several embarrassingly long moments later that Light realizes his fingers are trembling, too.
He is half awake and half asleep most of the endless, unforgiving night.
It only serves to torment Light further because when he's awake, he isn't sure whether or not he's asleep, but more importantly, when he's asleep, he's almost sure he's awake. His indiscernible nightmares—though they're only memories forever ingrained within him instead of a present experience—are unrelenting.
He hadn't ever felt so unsettled, even when he was actually experiencing the things he's remembering, from his incarceration to having a gun waved in his face. These things are only now bleeding into his psyche.
His emotional response is unusual, he knows. Having such a belated reaction to stress is strange. But what's even stranger is his how he's feeling about L. He knows he should be angry. He knows he should hate the man that he can't seem to even to be indifferent to, at least.
But he is angry. He has plenty of anger. But not toward L, or anyone, really. He's just angry, and bitter and afraid, as much as he loathes to admit it. And that's it. He just has these feelings, these emotions, that aren't really rooted to anything or anyone. Except...well, himself, maybe.
But not L. And that's not the way it's supposed to be. But really, none of this was supposed to happen. At least, that's what Light tells himself. Because if it was supposed to happen and he found that he has been predispositioned to this since birth—meaning it would be unavoidable—he might crawl into himself, like right now. And he might never come back.
Fortunately, Light has never been much of a believer in fate.
For once tonight, he's actually sure he's awake. Not because of the very real feeling of the sheets wrapped around his body, damp with sweat, not because he can see the moonlight peaking just a bit into the room shrouded with Light's own demons—the current absence of which should really have been the main factor in getting him to surface back to reality.
What brings him to full wakefulness is a combination of things all united together in one beautiful entity, which is more of a gentle presence than anything. He knows about the bony shoulder pressed against his where he lay on his side, the pointed nose and soft lips pressed gently at his collar bone, an arm wrapped around his torso and a delicate hand resting on his waist, and the other hand resting lightly on his scalp, buried in his mussed, umber hair. Light especially knows about those fingers trembling ever-so slightly as those spindly digits shakily thread through clumps of hair that are unusually messy for pristine Light, but still soft.
The young man feels gets a sense of déjà vu, and then suddenly remembers the impulsive night before, when their roles had been reversed. That whole experience was greatly confusing, a bit humiliating, and warming, the latter being the only reason Light sought something that he should've never expected the older man to give. But if he wasn't sure about whether or not L could actually give that—merciful distraction, and maybe something more—he is now.
Light's own hand finds L's, just lightly placing over the other's where it rest on his waist. He doesn't think about why he has done that until after actually doing it. And then all he can think about is how L's fingers have stopped trembling now. He's just confused and disturbed by his own obsessive thoughts, left raw and mostly unthinking logically. All he knows right now is what is placed in front of him. And that is far, far better than nothing.
"L..." he whispers, not even really sure why that single syllable is leaving his lips. Maybe it's because L is reality, what he's living right now, and the memories (or lack thereof) pertaining to the Kira case aren't, even though he knows they will be, eventually. But they aren't right now. All that's taking place right now, all that embodies right now, is L. And Light feels like a spectator.
He murmurs that name again, almost soundlessly, feeling nothing but relief from the feelings he'd only last experienced as a little boy, naturally fearful of the world.
"Light...kun..." something breathes against him slowly. A gasp leaves the younger's mouth, overwhelmed by the warm breath fanning against his exposed collarbone and the sudden revelation that the detective isn't asleep.
L lifts his head from underneath Light's chin and begins to pull away. He's tense, Light notices, maybe because he just realized the same thing Light did. Or maybe because it now just sank in.
The teenager's hand tightens around L's awkwardly. He isn't sure why he has done that, but he almost regrets it when the detective freezes completely and tenses even more. Light, at this point, is in disbelief because L actually seems anxious, which isn't like L at all. And Light is confused to the point of being worried.
They're silent for several long moments. He feels L relax gradually against him, but the older man's heartbeat is still slightly quicker than normal. Light can feel it where L's chest is against his if he focuses on it hard enough.
He doesn't feel as humiliated as he did the last time they were so physically close like this. Just warm and detached from the things he'd very much like to forget forever. He's secure, too, and though he's afraid to admit it to himself, it probably has a great deal to do with the strange man limply resting against him.
L feels more fragile than Light feels inwardly. That's another odd thing the brunet notices.
He really isn't sure what he's doing when he angles himself a little closer to L until his forehead meets the other's. He can feel a lock of hair that isn't his against his cheek.
He closes his eyes a little after the eccentric man breathes out a little harshly, but doesn't resist Light's closeness. The teenager knows he's being dependent and needy and L probably doesn't appreciate that, and that he'll probably hate himself when his mind isn't so deadened to the things he can't think about right now if he wants to make it through the rest of the night, however long it may be.
But he can't regret what he's doing right now. Maybe later, but not now. Definitely not tonight. He's feeling exposed and unprotected, and he needs this. Seeking it from a man that is so emotionally crippled, however, is not the best idea, he knows. But it feels like it is. Feelings are nothing but just that; feelings. But they're so powerful, and they're dictating Light stronger than ever before.
Mind now whirling, Light wonders why even when people want to connect on a purely emotional level, they have to connect physically. Or feel like they have to, anyway. People are always doing weird things—things so weird, even Light, with his exceptional brilliance, can't even begin to explain it, even when he's doing things he doesn't understand. Like now, with his breath ghosting over L's lips, and then delighting in the small, sharp intake of air from the other man.
Closer—a feather-light touch, and L mouthing Light silently against the boy's parted lips, and Light not really mouthing anything as his mouth can't keep up with his brain.
Light, L mouths the name again, slower and softer. Light can feel L's hand tightening around his waist, and that discourages him more than anything because it's obviously a sign of distress, something L never does. Or never did, anyway. So he stops, but doesn't pull away, which is what he probably should do. Their position feels too fragile to Light. He wants to preserve what he can right now without stopping or progressing, which is really difficult to do. But he tries.
He remains motionless next the other man, breathing softly through his nose, mouth still pressed against gently against L's. His anxiety is coming back, though this time not from his memories. It's because of an entirely different reason. That's good enough for Light. It's a lot more bearable, but still uncomfortable, nonetheless.
He tries to distract himself from his disconcerting thoughts by focusing on L. And then he realizes, belatedly, that the older man isn't pulling away or moving, either. Light isn't sure why, but this makes him feel a little less scattered mentally. And then his skin feels a little hot.
He pushes against L a bit more firmly, feeling desperation clawing at him. The detective isn't really solving anything for Light at the moment, but he's unknowingly allowing the teenager to forget some things he'll never be able to fully forget. But for now, he can.
It's hard to tell if L is responding, but he isn't resisting. He's just shaking slightly. And when Light notices that, he realizes that he's shaking a little, too. And the shaking doesn't really stop, but it doesn't get worse, and L's hand relaxes just a little underneath Light's.
The brunet notices the first significant movement the seemingly unsure detective makes is the tentative parting of his pliant lips against Light's equally tentatively movements. He's a little anxious still, relieved, hesitant, and excited. All of it's almost enough to completely overwhelm him, but he forces himself to just focus on L's faintly trembling lips and how warm he is—a lot warmer than he'd ever expect L to be.
L used to be so untouchable.
Light threads his fingers though the other man's suddenly, not even processing why he needs to touch and be touched like this so much. Light knows that, despite how socially handicapped L is, he can grasp the intimacy of the situation. The teenager can tell by how the older man gasps a little in his mouth as a result of the intimate twining of their fingers.
Light shudders a little. He can feel his face beginning to flush and his nerves tingling pleasantly. This isn't quite like anything he has ever felt, and though he had never really welcomed unfamiliarity with open arms, he feels like he can make an exception this once.
He gently prods L's bottom lip, which is already a little moist. When the older man jolts in surprise, Light stops, fearful, but still too excited to move away. But L doesn't do anything, and Light doesn't do anything, and they're both silent, still flushed and shaking slightly.
Time starts to move again when the thin fingers in Light's hair move down to caress the nape of the teenager's neck. He stops breathing for a moment; he feels like he's melting, but not really in a bad way. And then he sucks a little on the warm flesh between his heated lips. The muffled hum of poorly concealed delight he receives sends him even deeper into a state of dazed delirium and hedonistic pleas that refused to be silenced.
Light revels in the fleshy contours of L's lips, and then decides to indulge in the unique taste of the ebony-haired man that he can't really describe as anything, except for maybe something bitterly sweet. And it's weird to have claimed to taste. Even weirder is how indulgent Light is in it.
At the moment, the teenager is actually sensible enough to take into account that this might be a little too personal, despite what they're already doing. He's afraid he's making a mistake, even though it doesn't feel like it right now. And then he realizes maybe that's what L is feeling, which would explain why he hasn't pulled away yet.
Light knows this incident will be fresh in his mind for a very long while, most likely the rest of his life—but that isn't saying much, because getting caught up in Kira isn't good for anyone's mortality. He knows he very well may not have much time left, considering what he is involved in.
But simply reflecting on this will be enough to give his overactive brain something to analyze besides L's Kira percentages or the things he has been put through to prove whether or not he's one of history's most dangerous sociopaths.
So, if he has taken all he needs, temporary comfort and a distraction that will last his lifetime, why isn't he stopping? And what are L's motives? He's L; he never does anything without a good reason. But understanding L's logic is damn near impossible and shouldn't be attempted, even with Light's impressive brilliance.
Though he doubts there isn't anything to be salvaged by stopping this, and though he feels like there's more to be gained from this closeness even though there isn't, and his fried brain and receptive body are objecting to what he's about to do, he pulls away, anyway. Because logic has always won over anything else in the end for the brilliant prodigy.
"Light," the detective breathes after the brunet separates from him a little gentler than intended. But he still doesn't move away from L. Light is a little ashamed to admit to himself that he doesn't want to.
Because the darkness of the outside is fading as morning creeps upon them, he can see half-lidded eyes gazing sleepily into his own. L doesn't look blank or listless like usual, because the moment still hasn't been destroyed. It's stronger than that. And that's why he doesn't even look questioning to Light. He's alive in every sense of the word, panting a little, still trembling against Light, eyes shining with...with something. The younger man can't understand much right now. But the fact that he can see anything within the usually apathetic detective is enough to gauge his reaction to this.
He wants to hear L say his name again. His mind is still spinning from the first time it was gasped from the other man's freshly-kissed lips through shallow breaths of air. It made him feel like Light—not Yagami Soichiro's prodigal son, Kira suspect, possibly responsible for countless deaths. Just Light. He's not guilty of being Light.
But that's not enough. And he's losing composure again. And he's trying to pretend he doesn't know what he wants, what he needs, but he does know.
Without warning, he suddenly captures L's lips with his own. He does it before he can think about it, because he knows if he does, the repercussions of doing this will keep it from ever happening again.
L releases a muffled sound of surprise from under Light's urgent lips. The brunet's movements are more fevered and desperate than before, clutching L tighter and prodding the detective's tongue with his own. He's insistent and needy, and his pride is forgotten for now.
L's inexperience is showing through his cautiousness, and Light's shameless desperation is obvious to both men. It's imperfect; his clumsy hands are fumbling at the lithe torso beside him, but he doesn't care about the semantics of it, of the fact that this isn't at all orchestrated, because he knows L doesn't care. Perfection is not his priority. Distraction isn't even his priority anymore; that was taken care of during their initial reverent touches. The reason for doing this is something the young genius can't identify. All he can process right now is that the warm body against him makes him dizzy with pleasure, and the wet kiss he's engaged in is starting to have a profound effect on the pulsating heat between his thighs that's worsening with every small sound the trembling detective makes. He feels more collected than he has in a depressingly long time, despite how clumsily they're going at it.
Light's hand leaves L's in favor of something else, migrating to the pale man's stomach. L doesn't indicate he notices, probably distracted by the unrestrained sucking and nibbling and licking that he is only beginning to reciprocate.
Having been met with no resistance, the younger man's fingers slide under L's baggy shirt. His fingertips tease the surface of the pale abdomen, suggestively close to the hem of the detective's loose jeans.
L's saliva-slickened lips slide from Light's as he arches upward a little.
"Ahh—Light," he gasps breathlessly. The brunet caresses the heated skin under L's shirt, staring almost adoringly at the older man's eyes fluttering closed and his swollen lips silently mouthing Light's name over and over again. His own eyes are wide in awe at the man he never would've guessed would be so responsive to physical touch—and most definitely not Light's touch. It's stunning.
And L is...L is...something extraordinary.
His hand travels up a little, slowly, because he's afraid L is going to come to his senses and put an end to this immediately if Light is forceful enough to bring him out of the pleasure-induced haze the teenager is feeling the full effects of currently, himself.
L is soft, almost frighteningly thin, and very warm, Light discovers as he explores the smooth flesh.
He gasps in surprise when the eccentric man slowly wraps his legs around Light's hips. The teenager doubts the older man is even aware of doing it, seeing the distracted, heavy haze in those half-lidded eyes.
Light experimentally traces a nipple, feeling it harden almost immediately under his touch. He looks at L with a combination of fascination and need.
"Nn...!" L gasps, chest heaving under Light's hand. He's unprepared when the detective forcefully grinds their hips together. The friction of their clothed arousals sends shock waves of pleasure dancing under Light's flushed skin. He lets out a strangled moan and returns L's actions eagerly, rocking against the older man.
"O-Oh, god," he groans heatedly. L responds by whimpering something unintelligible, thrusting rhythmically and shuddering.
This all feels more comfortable than it should for something so unfamiliar. So comfortable, so pleasurable that he's eager to show his desperation for more, despite how much his pride and logic voice out against it. But those voices are silenced and forever smothered by L's supple lips clumsily placing lingering kisses on his own.
Among their intimate fumbling and nonsensical mumbling and whimpering, L's breathless voice is somehow heard by the teenager.
"Light-kun...Light..." he breathes, and Light has never quite heard it that way, or felt it that way, with L's breath that envelopes him like L's arms do, like L's words do, like L's fingertips do, and he sobs loudly in an overwhelming combination of euphoria and relief.
Light's breath catches in his throat when the older man arches off the bed, into him, heady and passionate, rocking and thrusting.
He's trembling and overwhelmed, unable to figure out how he could attribute this intoxicating pleasure with L, realizing he doesn't have to try, that it will figure itself out on its own.
And he's just lost to himself now.
"Nhn!" he groans, arousal pulsing when he looks directly at L—his flushed cheeks and lips, fluttering eyelids. He caresses the older man's chest. It's heaving, and his heart, below Light's palm, is thumping wildly. All he can think about is how glad he is that he's feeling it, proof that L is human, proof that he's alive.
It seems like L finally realizes Light's eyes are on him, and his gaze lands on the teenager. He shivers when he feels those dark eyes take in everything, movements growing even more fervent as he does this. And Light decides L must like what he's seeing, because his desperation has skyrocketed, directly into the brunet's groin, it seems.
Then they're kissing clumsily again, gnashing lips and tongues. Light's mind is attempting to process the sensational warmth of L when the other man jolts suddenly, lips sliding from Light's, panting harshly.
Light knows what's happening. He knows, because it's happening to him, too, pressure twisted in a heated bundle in his lower abdomen, sending sparks of promised bliss.
He curls into L as this is happening, feeling the tremors in the other's body migrating into his. He whispers one thing,
And L is tightening his thighs around Light's waist while they climax, resounding cries mingling in the heady air that is thick with early morning.
Summoned from his light doze, he tries to keep his breathing even as L traces his collarbone with his cool fingertips. He won't open his eyes, or do anything to indicate that he is aware of the pale man's ministrations. Light feels fragile underneath L's delicate fingertips. His touch is nonthreatening. He has no idea what L would do if he knew of Light's wakefulness, but he isn't too eager to find out. Maybe go back to detective and suspect, or maybe nothing—he isn't sure. But he's content to just feel right now. He has never been so intimate with the moment.
Light absorbs the feeling of those fingers trailing up the smooth column of his neck, right above his calm pulse—lingering on the vital area—continuing to the curve of his jaw. He's contentedly waiting for those fingertips to continue their journey to his lips, but they stop. Light is confused and a tad bit worried, unsure if he has caused L's sudden hesitance or not.
His flow of thoughts taper off when something softer and warmer than L's fingertips brush against the corner of his mouth. The young prodigy is uncharacteristically slow to catch on at first. But he understands when the contact moves directly on his mouth. L's lips are light and gently parted against his.
He can feel his face heat up, his skin beginning to tingle pleasantly, and his lips pliantly responding to L's. He knows the detective would have to be an idiot—the notion is so outrageous, it's laughable—to not know that his bedmate is awake. Light anxiously wonders if that will change...this...
...And then L pulls back, gently enough not to startle the teen, and sepia eyes are peering inquisitively in endless black.
Light shudders, not out of fear or apprehension, but from something else entirely caused from the intensity of the other's gaze. His stare isn't unnerving like it normally would be. Light has nothing to hide, so he's comfortable under the penetrating gaze shining with something the brunet can't really identify properly. But that doesn't matter to the dazed young man. What matters is that that L is brimming with emotion for something, and what's more is that he's unwaveringly staring straight into Light's own half-lidded eyes all the while.
And that's why he shudders, not out of fear or apprehension, but out of unsuppressed delight.
It seems like L is looking for something. And Light is sure he found it, whatever it is, when his hooded eyes close briefly and he presses back into the brunet—not just the uniting of their lips, but their bodies, too. Light is relaxed, outwardly and internally, for once, as the older man presses himself against the other.
He can feel the tips of the other's startlingly dark hair brush against his flushed cheek as L shifts to deepen the kiss. Light absorbs all of this—L's gentle sucking, the feeling of his own fingertips mapping out the smooth contours of the older man—shoulders, neck, jaw—wherever he can reach. L shivers under the younger male's touch as he continues to kiss Light with growing fervor that the teenager can pick up on, and responds to by groaning quietly in shameless pleasure.
Light knows they shouldn't be doing this. He's baffled as to why they are. L is only the one person that seems to know exactly how to make the teenager's head spin with these contradictory feelings. His mindset is solely dependent on the detective. But said detective is numbing him of any insecurity for having such a dependency on the last person he should, because a large part of him regards L in an apprehensive light for the frightening world he has brought the younger man into.
That's why doing this with L is dangerous. Anyone else wouldn't pose so many problems. But Light Yagami is complicated, so much so that even he can't explain who he is or why he does any of what he does...like this. Especially this.
To Light, L just feels too secure and real and uncharacteristically warm in every aspect, and Light can't bring himself to separate himself from the other.
He feels a cool hand slide reverently under his loose pajama shirt. He's almost embarrassingly receptive to the touch, squirming under the soft tips of L's fingers as pleasurable tingles erupt on the surface of his flushed skin.
That hand hovers over the younger's thrumming heart. He absorbs the feeling of L's fingertips lightly tracing senseless patterns on his warmed flesh.
L's mouth separates from his to press a lingering kiss on the his throat.
"L," he finds himself murmuring in English, the sound gently forming on his tongue. It doesn't feel as foreign and odd to pronounce as it probably should.
Light feels the soft touching and caressing slow, but L's mouth is still pressed lightly against his throat, breath still coming in regular, easy exhalations against Light's warmed skin, and he knows it's alright.
Softer this time, a breathy sigh.
If you keep this just between you and I,
L's breath hitches, and the younger man's eyes fall closed, and he surrenders the rest of his senses completely to the knowing man above him, L, without even a piece of Ryuzaki or Ryuga or Deneuve or...or, anyone. L.
When he feels a hand press down over his heart, even though the pressure is gentle, he swears L's hand is sinking right into his open chest, and he thinks the detective can see and hear and feel everything that embodies who he is. And he doesn't care that everything he can offer, and every secret he has, and every lie he has told, are just within L's grasp.
and the stars that peaked behind the invisible clouds,
The wholeness he feels at being discovered over and over again by L's hands, his lips, his body wrapped into the other, is inconceivable, even now. It makes it more emboldened. Light imagines how this moment might look on a scale of time stretching to forever in each direction.
I can promise you, we won't fade into dust—
He tenses, then goes limp, and L feels this with him.
Even if I forget (And I know you won't),
A breathless whimper, "I need—" and Light can't tell if it's his secretive tongue at this point, or...
The sky remembers.
'This is it; this is it...oh, god, oh my god,' the younger man thinks senselessly through the subverting of his mind and what feels like his body.
L's candy-coated tongue, he knows now.
He draws in a shuddering breath and tastes.
He is transfixed by the picturesque, half-transparent reflection of himself and L. The window is dotted with rain and Light's inquisitive fingers, mapping the glass pane, hands remembering.
The glitzy colors of awakening Tokyo bleed together in tendrils of sky water. They run along L's face—his reflection—Light sees, eyes wide in wonder.
"Do you miss it down there?" L murmurs, low and quiet. His tone doesn't betray much, so Light's eyes go to the source of the innocently curious question to see if his face will.
Immediately, he knows his companion is genuinely interested in what his response will be. Though he's not sure why, Light knows this question is important. He feels it in the meaningful stare directed at him, seeing more of the young Yagami than anyone ever has.
"No," he answers, just as soft so as not to destroy the vaporous atmosphere. "I don't."
I don't miss bleeding into the colors, being saturated with anything but you.
"Mm." L hums in acquiescence, his still kiss-reddened parting to exhale softly. Light supposes his honest answer is what L was hoping for when he feels knuckles brushing down his jaw. He shivers and leans into the other's touch, eyes slowly falling shut as he grows drunk off of it.
His chest constricts and he stops breathing for a small moment. L's voice fills him and permeates in his head, rich and honeyed. He lets it wash over him. It prompts Light to take a breath, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat.
"Hm?" he hums, inquiring wordlessly about what L has just told him.
"You heard what I said." L whispers. He says this with a subtle shyness, lips now pressed against Light's temple, fingers leisurely adoring the patch of exposed skin above his collar.
"Oh..." he groans softly.
He can feel L smile subtly against his skin. He trembles a little and bites his lip to keep from telling the other man how stunning his happiness is.
His mind is pulling him back to their bed, but he doesn't move. He's captivated with L's fingers whispering promises on his skin.
Light has quiet dreams after this.
A/N: It was kinda short...sorry. Huh...not much dialogue through this thing. I'm not so sure I like this one-shot very much. But what do you think? I want to hear from you.