Light likes these nights best, maybe even better than the times that they play chess. He enjoys a good game, but only if he wins, and L can hold his own at anything else. On these nights, though, L is at a marked disadvantage, as he's bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and Light - well, he's not.
He can't help the smile that breaks across his face.
Narrow hips descend into pale, spindly legs and fuck he wants to shove them apart and demand fucking satisfaction for all he's put up with, make L beg and scream and pay and - and he has to calm down. It's not often that they do this, not nearly often enough, and it's his own fault, he knows. He tries not to want it, tries not to think about ripping into that white, sickly little body, and fuck fuck fuck he's hard and he needs -
But he always does. He gives in and he grabs L and shoves him onto his back, puts him in his fucking place and watches him shiver, quiet and afraid and enjoying it just as much as Light is. The bastard never even has enough self respect to pretend to fight him off, just goes boneless and compliant and lets Light strip him bare and truss him up anyway he likes.
After the first time (after "use the time out of the handcuffs to do anything suspicious and I will have Watari shoot you in the head," spoken like it wasn't a death threat, like Light wasn't fisting his cock and nipping at his ribcage) L has never even said something that would imply that this is less than ordinary, that Light using his disgusting, pathetic excuse for a body to get off was just par for the course. And it is, should be, he deserves it, deserves to beg and burn and die bloody and - god fuck, why is he thinking that? he should not be thinking that - and fucking dammit, he can't just look anymore, can't just watch L's chest fall in skittish, uneven breaths. He has to touch and feel and break.
"Are you frightened?" he asks, in a soft, mocking voice. His fingers trail up from the ankle, closer and closer until their brushing over L's cock. The strain is obvious, L's muscles clench up even more until he can't hold back a gasping, pleading moan. It's muffled against the cloth of the makeshift gag and Light doesn't think he's ever heard anything more lovely before.
"I think you're frightened. I think you know that I'm going to hurt you and that scares the hell out of you." He lowers his head to press kisses, teasing and falsely sweet, against L's exposed stomach. He moves slowly to his hips, then his thighs, until he's breathing softly against the tip of L's so clearly aching cock - and then pulls back completely. "I also think it's the reason that this can't seem to stay down." And he's sure L doesn't have to see him motioning to know exactly what this is.
The wiggle he gets in response is worth every aching second that he spends delaying, trying to savor what he'd really rather tear apart. L is useless. And evil. He knows this, knows it like a prayer, but he never understands why he knows it, only that you're not supposed to think about crushing the life out of your friends as they writhe and beg and come apart in your arms and - god, god, he needs to come, needs to open L up and get inside before -
All he knows is that it's L's fault, and that, clearly, he needs to pay.
Lights hands are shaking now, but he doesn't think about it, just reaches behind and pulls the gag off as best he can, fingers tangling in unkempt black hair, and fuck. L's mouth is wet and gaping as he takes in soft, little breaths and Light can't think, can't help himself. He tugs his zipper down in one quick movement and shoves forward, enjoying L's muffled yelp of surprise as Light slides easily between his lips, and fuck, damn, it's hot and it's wet and why don't they do this more often? He should keep L here all day, fuck the Kira case (fuck Kira, he's not Kira, he's not, he's not, he's not, he's) -
His cock hits the back of L's throat and there's gagging and sputtering and it's been so long since he felt even close to this good, he just wants to sink in and stay there. L has no technique, no tricks of the trade, but it's better than anything, warm and wet and helpless. L is so helpless, so desperate, and Light wants him to be like that always.
(L enjoys it, anyway, he really does. Don't worry, this is just what friends do. Light is just being a good friend.)
L makes a wretched little sound that might be want and might be lack of oxygen, and it nearly pushes Light over that ever-present edge. But if that happens, then it's done, and he'll have to face the fact he's disgusting and twisted and perverse and - probably Kira - having sexually explicit fantasies about murdering his supposed best friend. So, he pulls out before he can come, before he can lose it, his body and his mind and everything else that L seems so determined to take from him.
His lips are sticky with pre-come and Light has a completely unsanitary desire to lick them clean, but he quashes it down with all his other thoughts and moves his mouth to the juncture of L's neck. He bites down and L squirms, whimpering softly.
"You're nothing," he whispers, soft and adoring, "you're nothing to me." He drops butterfly kisses over the bite-mark, laving the abused flesh with attention and trying not to word-vomit all over L (nothing and I want you and I need you and I hate you so, so much, and you can't ever go away because I'm not sure what I'd do without you, but nothing, you're nothing). "And I'm going to fuck you."
L's breath is gasping out, and he's starting to pull at the restraints, twisting up, closer to Light, as if he hadn't heard anything he'd just said.
"Okay," L says. Like it's nothing at all. Like his pathetically hard cock isn't digging into Light's thigh.
It pisses Light off. "Shut up," he grits out, hand whipping itself around L's thin, white neck and squeezing. "Shut the fuck up."
Then he can't wait, can't even breath or think or not think or anything, except reach blindly around for the lube. When he finds it, his hands are unsteady, and it drips all over, but he doesn't care, can't bother to. He slicks his fingers up and shoves them into L, one, then two, then more and more, until sharp limbs are jerking underneath him and he can't stop himself. He slicks himself up and imagines that L will start crying, start begging and screaming and reacting with anything more than pleasured shivers.
The first thrust is deep and unsympathetic and L makes a startled, pained sound and Light feels himself grinning manically. He pushes L's legs further apart, moving as far between them as he can go, and it's still not enough. He wants to be closer, wants to be dead and silent, wants to kiss L so fucking much. But he doesn't.
He thrusts more, harder, and L's breathing speeds up, turning to almost a whine. He's so needy, so pathetic, and Light hates him so damn much it hurts. He runs a hand through L's hair, grabbing and pulling and kneading. They don't meet thrust for thrust, it's off and it's sloppy and Light doesn't ever want to stop. But soon he's standing on that edge again, nearly hanging off, and as much as he wants to stay there forever, something in him just grabs L by the hand and jumps.
And he's falling, he's dying, there are stars behind his eyes and L is so fucking beautiful lying underneath him. He watches him come, watches him shudder and slump and Light's falling some more, and he lands in an ungainly heap on top of L.
His mind takes its sweet time flowing back to him through the haze, and when it does, the first thing he thinks is to undo the handcuffs, and pull off the blindfold. He doesn't look at L, but he can feel him adjusting slightly as he pulls away and turns. Light lies on his side of the bed, where the sheets are still fairly cool and untouched, as close to the edge as he can get without falling off.
He had sex with L, again.
He had kinky, dirty, sex with L, and he enjoyed every fucking second of it. He doesn't want to think about the thoughts he'd had, the morbid fantasies he'd cooked up. He just wants to sleep and wake up in a world where this is no Kira or L or anything else.
Usually, after this happens (why does he always let this happen?) he drags himself off to the bathroom, to stare at himself in the mirror, to wipe the event from his memory and then take a long, scorching shower, during which L usually wanders in, looking for all the world like nothing has happened, and slips the handcuff back on his wrist before trailing over to brush his teeth. And that is usually that.
This time, and he's not sure why, because it wasn't much worse than all the others or anything, but this time, he can't move.
He just lies there, listening to his own breathing and pretending he is the only one in the bed. Except, then -
"Light-kun is not running away this time."
He turns to glare at L, still feeling shaky with self-disgust, but he thinks it might be productive to redirect a portion of that disgust at L. It is, after all, completely his fault. "I hate you," he says, and even he can hear the absolute lack of conviction in the words.
L gives him a considering look. "The is an 86.9% chance that you are lying," he says, "Kira."
The rage that flares up in Light is unmistakably genuine. He's going to protest, he's going to yell and scream and declare his innocence, declare that he's never touching L again, that he loathes everything about him.
But instead, he leans over and kisses him on the mouth. He thinks it must be only the second time ever. It feels immeasurably good.
It's minutes of nibbling and sucking and enjoying before he realizes that he's mumbling against L's lips, about how he wants more, yes, about how how he doesn't actually hate him that much. About please don't die, don't go.
He thinks he falls asleep with his head buried in the curve of L's neck, with a gentle hand stroking up and down his back and warm breath on his ear, but he can't be sure, because when he wakes there's a cuff chafing his wrist and light from a laptop screen glowing from where L crouches at the foot of the bed.