Light's Weak Spot
It was in the middle of a disagreement that L found it. That part of Light's body that he liked to be touched, that weak spot.
L was invading his personal space and trying to get under his skin, as was standard. That day, Light had been susceptible to it. It was one of those times that there just seemed to be no other option than to rise to the detective's provocations. Sometimes they were subtle and not really provocations at all; just part of his disrespectful demeanour, his untrusting attitude. More often than not though they weren't in any way subtle but prying in nature, invasive - interrogative. Which, of course, didn't come as a surprise. It was the unashamed rudeness of him that needled Light the most.
So that day, Light had risen to the challenge and squared up to his ever - present tormentor. L had made sure the arrangement was so that Light only had to turn his head and they were almost nose to nose, breathing down each others' necks. An exchange of heated words and cool, calm, water-tight responses followed, bound to continue until one of them broke the pattern and it just so happened that this time, that person was L. Light had been monitoring L's growing smirk and the closing distance between them and, while slightly disturbing and considerably vexing, they weren't a cause for great alarm.
It was then that L did something very unexpected, a simple, bold action that broke the normal routine. He reached out and, very gently, took hold of Light's jaw and brushed a finger along the soft skin of the underside. The action itself was not the most unusual thing about the situation – it was accompanied by some words about denial or inevitability, or something else that was essentially meaningless from where L stood (though this didn't deter him from him saying it). It was Light's own reaction that unnerved him the most. The sudden feeling of L touching him like that somehow rendered all of his carefully assembled defences useless and made him feel uncertain, vulnerable and, well, defenceless. This time he couldn't hide his emotions – or, more accurately, didn't want to.
And that was what L wanted from all this. That was his exact goal. He probably hadn't thought much of the physical gesture next to all the verbal interrogation, but he didn't fail to notice the effect it had on Light all the same. He documented everything – the catch in Light's breath, the way he tilted his head into the touch, the way the anger seemed to desert him and he didn't answer back... all these things were observed and stashed away for later reference.
That was all it took; one slip up, one discovery, and suddenly L knew how to make him blush, to make him sigh.
Afterwards, Light couldn't stop remembering. He remembered how L had toyed with him like that for a moment and then turned away as if nothing had passed between them, leaving Light to contend with the aftermath as his stomach churned with mortification and pleasure. To his dismay, Light found that the two emotions complimented each other nicely.
L did make use of the new information he had on Light. He had finally found a way under Light's skin and he was going to work at it until it was an open wound. He was going to exploit it like an interrogator with a new torture instrument. He started to use it when they got into arguments – L would reach up and touch, mocking but so very gentle, running his fingers up and down Light's throat, caressing the soft skin there. And Light would go perfectly still and squeeze his eyes shut, so humiliated but silently pleading L not to stop. It was like a kind of sedation.
Then L started to touch Light when he was just on the brink of sleep, and in the darkness there was nothing but those touches, L pressed into his back with his arms curled round him, stroking him. And Light gave in to it more than he had before, moaning quietly as he was petted like a cat. It felt like L was staking a claim of ownership. Sometimes the touches would be soft and him teasing; other times L would go further, dipping under the neck of Light's pyjamas and playing with his nipples. Every time, Light would sink into the pleasure. Part of him wanted to mewl pathetically so L would know how helpless the treatment made him, but another part of him wanted to conserve at least a scrap of his dignity; it didn't matter, because he did it anyway.
It felt so condescending and yet so... no, the overriding feeling was that of humiliation - that was what constituted the pleasure. It was like he basked in L's condescension. It wasn't like he was obsessed with L – no, it was merely superficial, brought on solely by physical urges, sexual instincts. But... it didn't feel superficial. Quite the opposite; it felt deep rooted and it felt like it controlled him. And he wouldn't even react if anyone else decided to treat him like this, except perhaps to reach for his pen... he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself. Really, it was just L. And when L touched him like that, stroked him like that, he knew was being was mocked and comforted at the same time, which was what made it all the more intoxicating.
Light knew that he wasn't going to do anything to stop this. But he wasn't going to surrender himself completely to L either. Light wasn't stupid – he knew what L's motives were and he knew there was very little chance they would change. So, Light would take only what L gave him and never give anything back. He would simply let L do what he liked to him and enjoy every second of it. Yes, if you looked at it that way, Light was getting a very good deal.