Chapter Text
“How is he?” is the first thing Soichiro asks somberly once L gets kindly, yet insistently dragged into the room by Watari.
Soichiro’s voice crackles slightly, chafing L’s hearing. L pretends it is nothing but static of the connection due to Soichiro likely calling from some remote, abandoned corner of Tokyo where, L knows, he’s been wandering for hours, for days on end, to try and chase away thoughts of the truth.
At the end of the day, L’s always found men like Soichiro, stuck up in their righteousness and rigid in their values and convictions, annoying. They’ve had immense trouble accepting the idea that life has a penchant for going wrong, no matter how hard you try to keep it right.
As of now, Soichiro’s main problem had to be L not caring enough to give him a detailed report of Light’s wellbeing. Soichiro must’ve been intelligent enough to deduce: L not picking up the phone for months meant L feels nothing for Light’s family.
Nothing positive, at the very least.
“Is he even intelligent enough to figure out why?” L internally wondered, nose scrunched at the unpleasantly familiar number on the screen. There might’ve been disdain shading his thoughts - L didn’t care whether anyone would find out. Soichiro must’ve been intelligent enough to induce the reason. Frankly, it should have been so painfully obvious that L would never answer his call again if L had to bother to explain.
Slowly, L turns his attention to Watari once again. L knows who Watari is; and yet, Watari’s nudging for L to try and give a damn about people and issues never fails to make L grumble in gentle familial resentment.
Light’s family is a special case. They spoil L’s mood.
“Why?” L silently mouths to Watari, L’s face a picture of offence.
He doesn’t care if he’s being a petulant child. Watari knows him inside out.
Light is L’s. Why does Watari let anyone else even think about having him?
“He is fine,” L tells Soichiro monotonously while watching Watari’s understanding smile.
Soichiro acts as though he doesn’t mind L taking half a minute to grant him a half-assed response.
“Has he been… eating and sleeping?” Soichiro asks. The mess of emotions in his voice makes L scowl.
“Yes,” L says with zero inflection.
Soichiro’s grief cringes under L’s hostility.
L doesn’t care enough to try and subdue the rising frost of his anger.
“And… does he go to the university?”
What is this uninspiring questioning. Why must L waste his time on it.
“No,” L says, “He refuses. On his volition.”
Which is a half-lie - but L won’t be honest.
“...He is trying to atone then?” Soichiro whispers.
L nearly breaks the table.
“No,” L lies viciously. ”On his own volition as well.”
Now, it takes Soichiro a while to answer.
And, truth be told. L understands. L understands why it is stressful to consider that the person you’ve raised is not who you’d thought they were. Why it is difficult to agree with what the reality is and know no self-deception will change it. Why somewhat more feelings-driven people might find it impossible to let life run its course; why they might find taxing to comprehend that many phenomena occur naturally, as a result of a myriad of contributing factors.
Why they might find it challenging to internalise standing in the way of a person driving them is a terrible idea.
Even so, what L can not understand is how they can say they won’t accept Kira as he is…
And then care for him still.
So, when Soichiro, voice fragile as though the sky would fall if he spoke up, says, “I understand,” L thinks with contempt, “What do you even understand.”
And hangs up.
“Why did you do this?” L asks Watari right afterwards.
Watari’s smile stays as understanding as it has always been.
And with Watari…
L can let himself be petulant. L can let himself be anything.
Vulnerable, and angry, and wrong. Watari’s seen it all. Including how unapologetic L is about his beliefs and choices.
Twenty years later, Watari is the only one allowed to witness what hides, burns, and hurts within them.
“You can let him know about their calls,” Watari says. “He thinks they’ve abandoned him. He believes they hate him. You know how much it must wound him.” Watari’s so inherently skilled at bringing up the points L loved to ignore at worst and discard at best.
But this point?
This point L loved.
Just not today.
L grumbles into his knees, “He deserves it”. That is the truth: Light deserves worse.
By societal standards, by the agreed-upon international laws and conventions, Light deserves to rot - either in the grave or in solitary confinement for life - which would be like being buried alive on its own, without even considering Light’s blinding arrogance, infantile rage or annoying, undeserving mourning. L is not blind to those.
In fact, L enjoys them. Light deserves this and more.
From Watari, L wants support, acceptance, and confirmation of L’s position. L’s never told Watari exactly what had happened: what Light’s done to L and what L’s done to Light.
L had told him of all but the specific ways the sex went; and then said, “He knew I wanted him, and he used it to hurt me.”
Watari hugged him lovingly. L curled into his embrace, feeling soothed and protected.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” Watari said. L’d heard Watari’s sadness loud and clear.
“You didn’t know,” L exhaled, closing his eyes in the warmth of the embrace.
“Is it any better now?” Watari asked. L smiled.
“It will be,” L had said and was completely right.
Today, L expected the same. L wanted, wished for Watari to say, “Yes, Light does deserve everything.”
Instead, Watari says, “No one will take him away from you.”
“I know,” L bites out.
“So you don’t need to lie,” Watari supplies.
L doesn’t want to respond for a bit.
“He deserves it,” L repeats, bringing his knees closer and digging his fingers into them in indignation. At himself, or Light, or someone…
Watari puts a hand on L’s shoulder. L looks up.
“He won’t leave,” Watari says.
L scoffs. “I know.”
Light is a beaten, chained dog, snarling uselessly at its master. Wrathful and wanting, even if pressed into a corner, stupidly barking through the tight muzzle. Which is precisely how L likes him: doomed to stay as he is.
Light didn’t deserve L giving him a luxurious room. Light didn’t deserve L feeding him food Light liked. Light didn’t deserve high-quality skincare or beautiful jackets. Light didn’t deserve daily hour-long limousine rides so he could aimlessly walk the streets of London. Light didn’t deserve L’s offers to pay for his custom degree of Light’s choosing at one of the universities Light would adore if Light bothered to up his ass and enrol. Light didn’t deserve a chance to feel like a disgustingly better person by doing some cases to save a few human lives. Light didn’t deserve a chance to be cared for by Watari, to be talked to by L, to get brilliant mentors and intelligent friends on campus.
Light didn’t deserve L even looking his way; much less L fucking him.
Be that as it may - here they were.
The incongruency made it more fun, anyway. Even if Light refused to be obedient.
L didn’t lie. He did love control.
Controlling Light was the most fun L’s ever had in his life. Even when Light was pathetic, he was fiery - easy to throw the sticks at, easy to douse. Why would L refuse such entertainment? Light, with his wild temperament, his alluring mind, sweet eyes and bitchy face, was a perfect thing for L to scratch teasingly when Light was at his weakest and bite painfully when Light was misbehaving.
And if Light thought L was more ruthless than L’s ever been before - Light was right.
Because that November, L stood under the rain, knowing his days were numbered, and he wouldn’t see the dawn one last time. Won’t eat his favorite dessert. Won’t see London.
He won’t talk to Watari one last time.
He won’t see a second of honesty or compassion from Light.
And if Light thought L was hurting like hell - Light had no idea how much it hurt.
Knowing it was the end. Knowing L won’t have anything anymore. Knowing he was going to die like this, abruptly and with the empty hope for Light’s eventual downfall. Knowing there was nothing L could do, nothing L could do anymore, and feeling like everything about him was useless, and done, and every hope was futile, and every feeling has been his downfall instead, and when he would die, there wouldn’t be anything of him left at all.
It made him agonised. It made him dread, and despair, and want to scream and destroy.
He’d pushed it all down all the same. Because he’d been ready to die for a long time.
He’d felt his death in the accidental brush of his hand to Light’s. He’d seen his death in horribly believable kindness of Light’s eyes. He’d heard it in Light’s clear, airy voice when Light was pretending to care about him. When Light was pretending to be kind.
Then, the sole thing L wanted was one more inhale of air. One more touch of rain. One more feeling of something real, grounding, and alive, caring enough to card through his hair, caress his face, wash his hands, and show him that there was life. That he still had seconds left to feel, breathe, hear, and see, and that after he died, the world wouldn’t fall apart.
There would be children crying. And their parents holding them. There would be birds singing to Watari, and spring would come to Wammy’s after winter.
Lives L cared about would not end.
Even if his own would.
He forced himself to stay calm then; even as his sadness, grief, and a well-buried twinge of anxiety still muddled his perception, making skyes greyer and the wind - colder. He forced himself to exist at the moment, to feel the tenderness of the rain cooling his burning skin - if he did not have the kind touch of another person, at least he would have this.
Light got to the rooftop and walked to L under the rainstorm. Light listened to L muttering about the bells, and L was so, so, so pained to feel his mind so confused from stress, his heart way too soft from despair, and himself so defenceless.
“I’m sorry,” L whispered, gaze raised vulnerably to Light because L knew that Light… Light would not stop. Light would not spare him.
Light would not save him, in the end.
Light didn’t care about him. Light never did. It was expected. L knew it.
Except L was too weak to keep himself under control, or strong, or unbothered.
He knew his face was a painting of wretchedness.
“Nothing I say makes any sense, anyway.”
Everything he thought, felt, could express, could tell Light would do anything but to wound L more.
Before Light would kill him, of course.
Light was silent for a moment. L was looking at him, feeling desperation bleeding through L’s every mental bandage, all for Light to see and enjoy, and maybe, maybe L’d spent too long looking, maybe L’d unintentionally shown too much of his hopeless hope for one last flicker or illusive warmth on Light’s face.
Light came closer to him and, ever so gently, put his hand on L’s shoulder.
“I think it makes perfect sense,” Light had said.
L’s heart skipped a beat.
He thought he saw… He thought maybe there was something in Light’s eyes that was genuine, that was kind, that didn’t look like indifference, or hatred, or disdain…
Light smiled.
Almost kindly.
It chilled L to the bone.
He stood there frozen.
“Because I’m Kira,” Light said gently, and Light’s smile was the most sincere L’d ever seen from him, “And you might just die today.”
Maybe L died then.
Light saw everything on L’s face, and Light descended into a maniacal laughing feat.
It looked to L like a succession of photos. Light’s open mouth and wild, wild smile. Light’s burning, almost crimson eyes, squeezing shut from laughter only to open in a moment - to watch L. Light’s movements, clutching at his own stomach in a second of unadulterated joy.
Light told him everything in less than ten minutes. Light raised his hands and spread them like a crucified Christ, but in a gesture of absolute triumph; and told L what Light had done, how Light had decided how exactly to kill L, how Light would kill him soon. A revolting villainous speech, triumphant and full of desire to see L’s acknowledgement, L’s despair as if L was not radiating it already.
L watched achingly as his dreams of Light, his tiny paper castles of hopes and memories had gotten crushed under Light’s feet.
And, somehow…
Hadn’t it hurt more than anything’d ever hurt before?
L knew… why Light’s desire to kill L hurt this much.
L tried his best to dismiss those thoughts.
And if L was crying, maybe for the first time in his life, Light didn’t see or didn’t care. After all, L had looked sad, unimpressed, and composed. He looked like the fortress he wanted to be - walls tall, old and dark.
Unfortunately weathered.
Despite Light’s strike having left an immeasurable indent.
“No,” L thought bleakly. He couldn’t bear watching for a second more - Light shining in cruel delight, Light drunk on power to not just defeat L, but to tear him apart… “Of course, Light sees. Light sees it. Light craves hurting me.”
L’s chest had hurt, a deep and inescapable stabbing pain. Light didn’t care enough to even stop smirking at L like a monster.
Maybe L had died then.
Maybe he thought, “It’s the last moment, anyway. It’s the last second, anyway.”
What was one last defeat? What was one last piece of agony if he was doomed and destroyed by his own care?
Perhaps, he wanted one last illusion… To end his story.
Torturously, with an effort reminiscent of pulling muscles off his bones, L had stepped to smirking Light. Light’s eyebrows twitched up in surprise and then lowered in intrigue as Light tilted his head playfully, observing L’s last stand.
L had come face to face with him. Light kept smirking.
L hoped Light could see the wetness of L’s eyes, as L, for once, was lowering his guard and not keeping up his composure. He hoped Light could see that L was human, and he could care, and he could love, and he could hurt.
One last “fuck you” to Light.
Kira had defeated L this way, at least.
L put a gentle hand on Light’s cheek, and, in a split second, Light’s expression turned frowning with derision. L had forced himself not to comprehend it.
L leaned in and pressed his lips to Light’s in tenderness only death could bring out of him.
He knew he was crying for sure, tormented by Light’s warmth, and that his face was a tableau of that torment. Whatever. Whatever. If Light didn’t care, neither would L. This would never change anything, anyway.
L didn’t have the luxury of caring for anything anymore. At best, it would exacerbate the pain.
Light didn’t reciprocate. Merely snickered incredulously into L’s lips.
L swallowed in agony.
And pulled away.
Took one shaky step back, lowering his gaze to not see Light, to not…
Light caught L’s wrist.
They both paused.
Voice low, eyes thrilled and smirk cruel, Light said…
“Come to my bed.”
L’s heart stopped.
Light’s grip was tight. Not painful; yet enough to not let L escape.
L’s throat constricted. His breathing was uneven, and his limbs were numb.
Light was not… even interested. He didn’t even… care. Why would he..?
Then, L knew.
Ah.
To destroy L in an even worse way.
Right.
Well…
Light took a step back, tugging L with him mercilessly, and L couldn’t protest.
The colors around L were smudging, turquoise-tainted grey painting Light’s auburn hair and amber eyes into shades of dying leaves. Light’s hold on him was firm, guiding him authoritatively, knowing there was no need to push L anymore. L would come along, and L would do what was asked of him for “more time” Light promised to grant for L’s obedience.
More time…
What a pretty farce. L was certain he would die that night - or the following night; either way. It was precisely in Light’s character to weave such false promises. Light was simply playing with his food to make the victory more fun. And if that was the case…
Maybe L could have one night with Light. With Light pretending to want him, even if only to destroy him more thoroughly.
L’s always suspected Light despised him. L would never be blind to Light’s lack of consideration, much less lack of care. Now, as L had seen Light without the mask, L had his hypotheses confirmed.
Yes, the reality was worse than what he’d thought about. But at least he knew he was right. At least he had been right.
Light was a moron. Did he think such mediocre manipulation, a pretence of desire, would work? L knew Light would never reciprocate. L knew Light would never care about his emotions. Never in his life would L let Light guide him, take him, bind him if L didn’t want Light to. And, nevertheless, Light thought he had the upper hand. Like an overconfident maniac Light was, Light thought he could threaten L, of all people, into bowing and serving.
L’s pain was not Light’s victory. It was L’s choice.
Light had to know better - of L’s will, of L’s resoluteness and pride. Light seemingly… didn’t.
L wondered what Light saw instead. A pathetic excuse for a powerful man people claimed L to be?
If that was what, in Light’s opinion, love did to a person, then L neither bothered nor had enough time to push Light face-first into the dirt of Light’s biases. It stang. But what else was new.
…What did it matter what L felt? Light evidently couldn’t care less. At least Light didn’t seem to be actively seeking L’s pain. If L had to die, he’d take what he wanted and what he could. He’d take… scraps of anything beyond cold disdain.
If he’d never have anything else.
Just one last, comforting illusion of what could’ve been.
He wouldn’t have much time to suffer about it, anyway.
On the way off the roof, with Light’s hand holding his securely, L wondered internally whether Light knew, at least partially, why L went along with it all.
Or whether Light simply thought he could do whatever to L, and the result would be L being broken exactly the way Light wanted him to break - not more, not less.
Both hypotheses had rational premises.
Both hurt.
Light took him to shower. Massaged his body, introduced him to partnered sex and washed his hair. Light nudged him to fuck himself in the bathtub, and Light fucked him painfully and blissfully on the bed.
And Light held him through the night as L was weeping with Light’s dick in his ass.
How this shitshow was deserved in Light’s book - L didn’t know. Truthfully, he didn’t care at that point.
He knew how it would happen. And yet, he wept. It was worse than he thought it would be, it was scarier than he thought it would be, and it might have not broken him, but it left a terrible wound. He was wrong in his assessment - it was indeed Kira’s fucking victory.
He would not be this wrong again.
He hurt more than he remembered hurting ever before. He wished for the end of pain and for escape, he wished to dream of Light being kinder, a mere touch more merciful. He wished he could imagine that, at least once, the subtle, annoyed care Light seemed to express just yesterday was real.
Though, he didn’t know whether he could handle imagining any more.
He didn’t think he’d ever cried before he’d met Light.
Light’s hold on him didn’t hurt. Light’s dick inside him felt way too good, hot heaviness warming, and helping with soreness, and teasing him whenever Light would shuffle slightly to adjust his hold, even after their limbs went numb, and the single sensation L could register through heartache and overflowing tears was burning rod in his guts. He kept wanting it deeper.
And wasn’t that the most humiliating defeat?
Eventually, he succumbed to sleep, when his eyes had already been uncomfortably dry, and his lashes were glued together. L knew neither of them had managed to sleep while he was crying - but Light’s peaceful breathing hadn’t once indicated any dislike for the situation.
When he woke up, he was in infernal flames.
His whole being throbbed with sickening lust for Light. L couldn’t breathe because of the spasms wrecking his body with overwhelming desire. He could feel Light’s fingers unrelentingly massaging his prostate, and Light’s other hand tracing featherlight patterns on his dick. Ardour did something terrifying to his mind, and he was so, so crushingly grateful for Light giving him physical pain to ground him. Light finally fucking him helped marginally satiate his hunger and relax him with heat.
Predictably, he didn’t enjoy it for long. The pain started weakening him; the irritation of abused muscles turning pleasure into something dizzying, yet stinging until he couldn’t handle its tide. He tried to push Light away.
He could focus on thoughts instead of sensations again - so he faced and fought rising dread. He expected Light to not give him a shred of compassion.
Surprisingly, Light had stopped. Although, he did not pull away; smirking with the unhinged expression which was slowly becoming familiar to L.
L was nauseous.
L offered to ride him, so L could maintain a flicker of soothing control.
L hadn’t predicted that the offer would make Light lose his mind from the thrill.
This time, Light was singlemindedly focused on L’s pleasure. Annoyingly, it scared L for the first minute, it also brought relief since he was starting to notice how Light would make minor changes to the position or pace whenever Light recognised L deeply suffering from it. Light slowing down, adjusting the angle; as if Light’s aim was to defeat him not into a shell of his being, but into pitiful, lustful whining and submission, destroy him on the personal front besides the intellectual one… In this case, L hurting too much would definitely be counterproductive.
Evidently, in Light’s opinion, moderate pain was alright. If it made L feel all the more powerless, helpless to stop it…
All the better. More fun.
L was forcing himself to focus. To think. Not drown in sensations or oscillating emotions. Every hint L’d read from Light’s behaviour was starting to point to the fact that, apparently, Light wanted L not to sob from misery but beg for attention. L lowering himself to kneel before Kira willingly would be Light’s ultimate victory - L’s final acknowledgment of Light’s superiority.
If it brought L a shadow of solace, Light didn’t need to know.
Light did make L ride him; Light was not thrusting in him to not harm his sore rim, and the process ended up being all about L rocking himself on Light’s dick as it was rubbing gently against his pulsating prostate. L couldn’t feel heartbreak anymore - he cried, and cried, and cried from mindnumbing pleasure in Light’s arms, with Light nuzzling and kissing his neck.
Reassuringly.
With the reassurance being evil and smug.
But not fake.
L would die before he’d let himself wonder why Light was so gentle at helping him move. Why Light’s hold was so calming, so unyielding; L’s brain seemed to have gotten idiotically convinced Light would keep him secure.
It was all for Light’s amusement, anyway. Must have been.
In the end, sex did not really hurt - steadily, the pain’s intensity was declining. Sex felt physically good. Sex was starting to feel mentally soothing, as Light’s hands were slowly making L recognise, in the back of his mind, that Light’s revolting referring to L as a whore was oddly reminiscent of a stupid kink rather than a genuine insult which would be rather inconsistent with the respect Light’s always shown him.
And if Light would keep focusing on pleasuring L…
L didn’t… terribly mind. He’d take a breath of air from the suffocating reality. He wouldn’t bother pointing out to Light that satisfying the partner was not a conqueror’s prerogative.
Sex was fine. Suffocation was humiliatingly pleasant. Surrendering control and being teased and treated well, with fear wavering under the weight of evidence that Light was not planning murder or torture…
What was not fine was Light making L think he would kill L.
L could never forgive this. L could never not crave to destroy Light for L’s night of absolute, unbearable agony torturing L. For turning intimacy L longed for for months into a world of desolation bordering on traumatising.
It was monstrous. And monsters deserved what was coming for them.
It would not kill Light to tell L earlier Light was not planning on murdering him, instead of making L put it together himself, piece of observation by piece, while L was sobbing in a way completely contrary to who he was.
Light dared to do this. Light wanted to do this. Light lied to hurt L in this particular way. Ruthless, power-hungry bastard.
Well. L was not above such tactics, either.
Thus, once Light started on his conspicuously flirty talk, L opened his mouth and lied into Light’s face.
"And the truth is this,” L said, pouring into his voice all the pain and conviction he’s had about the idea that Light would not spare him, not even to make L into Light’s toy. ”I will never consent," and didn’t the words taste bitter as the pomegranate skin, inescapable and wrong because once upon a time L wished he could’ve told Light that L would consent if only Light had asked. If only Light had cared. "My perception and interpretation are as follows, and they won't change, even if you make me say the words or perform actions indicating consent. It won't be real," even when Light pushed him down, even when Light slapped him, L wished that the intimacy were not the show of subjugation and cruelty Light’d made it to be. Even when Light fucked him into pain, even before the pain had turned into heavenly pleasure, L wished faintly, hazily, that Light was at least enjoying it, that Light at least enjoyed being with L, and that Light did it because he wanted L at least at the moment. "You can try to convince, manipulate, force me into it. You can rape me if you want. I can see you don't mind it. Maybe I will physically enjoy it, maybe I will later rationalise it, maybe I will delude myself into some kind of parody of emotional fulfilment.”
Light’s expression was a picture of blinding rage. Light’s hold was respectful and possessively caring.
Of course, Light saw through L’s lies. Of course, Light knew the truth.
To Light’s misfortune, what Light knew did not matter.
If Light had thought himself a master manipulator, then he’d forgotten that tricking and exploiting sociopaths was half of L’s job. And L was incredibly good at it.
L knew he only needed to pretend so many times that the lone feelings he’d ever had towards Light were cold. That L never wanted him, never hoped for a tender touch, never wished for a minute more of the conversation. L only needed to make an indifferent expression and act contemptuous or disinterested so many times before even someone as intelligent as Light would believe that the kiss L gave him on the rooftop was a fluke. L’s final move, a genius manipulation to get Light to question L’s motives and despise the way it would confound Light for years after L’s death.
Which was not too far from the truth.
Light would believe it. L had enough determination to make Light believing it an inevitability.
It was quite pathetic, really. The one thing L could easily, quickly lie about at the moment were L’s feelings - purely because they had no value of their own.
They were meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Secondary at best to Light’s plans of world domination.
Light has always hated L tricking him with the easiest moves into losing round after round.
“But you and I will know that, in the beginning, there was none of that, and there was no ground in which it could grow."
The most devastating lie of all.
Light hated it more than anything.
So did L.
Light hated it because it was ruining his perfect victory. L hated it because he’d given Light his heart for a single moment before L’s supposed demise, and Light took it and smashed it into infinitesimal pieces. And all L had left were useless shards cutting him open from the inside. Making him gasp in both pleasure and pain with the most effortless moves of Light’s hips.
Light had shaped L’s story into a tapestry of pain. Since L was paying the price, so would Light. L would do a myriad of things simply to ensure that it somehow, somehow hurt Light much worse.
L was not certain about how he would do it. Still, he was nothing if not creative.
"Don't open your mouth," Light whispered, his loathing poisoning L’s every breath when they were this close, "If this trash is all you have to say."
A tiny part of L - a part that felt, a part that was slashed - wanted to curl up and whimper in pain. This part, however, was inconsequential. It had already proven to be useless. Therefore, his logic told it to shut it and keep his feelings down, let them rot in nausea in his stomach.
L should’ve never expected Light to care. What a derisive strategic error.
"Kiss me," Light hissed into his mouth, "And stay silent."
L forced himself to show nothing of his own care as he slowly, apathetically pressed his lips to Light’s. Making a point.
Light didn’t acknowledge the said point. Light virtually devoured him instead; Light’s tongue, hot and strong, pushed deep into his mouth as if attempting to constrain his breathing. L exhaled and momentarily regretted it, as Light’s lips forcibly sealed his mouth, and L had to inhale through the nose.
Light’s hands were suddenly everywhere. Squeezing L’s waist, stroking up and down his back with a pressure L felt in his bones. They gripped L’s ass, pulling as if to spread him wider, to his gasp of surprise.
Light rocked their hips carefully, and L barely stifled a whine at the little flash of delight causing him to tighten around Light. Light did it again, and again, and again, and L hated how his thoughts went perfectly quiet as his head fell onto Light’s shoulder. Body limp and clenching rhythmically to Light’s quiet, satisfied groans…
Mind in a fog that was beginning to feel… nice, L mindlessly buried his face in Light’s hair, one hand weakly hugging Light around his neck and burying his fingers in Light’s locks. Light pulled away slightly and kissed him.
And once Light did, Light’s never stopped.
Light’s kisses were deep and sure; calm and strong like Light’s embrace. Light caressed him. Light made him feel unexpectedly wanted…
Light pretended to not notice or did not care for the combination of L’s failing attempts at faux indifferent expression, L’s eyes welling up with more tears, and L’s hips shaking as his damned sensory sensitivity was heightening the intensity of the experience.
Light’s half-closed eyes never left L’s face, and Light’s smirk didn’t feel too cruel against L’s lips.
Maybe it was because they were tired after the sleepless night - but the pace was steady and slow, despite L having felt firsthand that Light liked it fast and rough. Light was holding back and seemed to be enjoying it profoundly.
L’d never felt embarrassed. Then, however, he was glad Light was not touching his dick - it made the mild stimulation of his prostate, coupled with the light burn of soreness, all the more gratifying. Light tried to wrap his fingers around L’s dick, and L leaned away a second too fast. Light laughed, surprised and complacent.
With unhurried and persistent movements, Light made him come untouched, and L’d never, never before felt so warm and blissed out. Enough to mewl Light’s name to Light’s growing maniac laughter.
“You really are a whore, L,” and Light’s purr resonated with arousal and wonder.
L did black out. He regained awareness when Light laid him down and settled firmer between his legs, having pulled out of L to leave just the head of Light’s dick inside.
Light’s eyes, vast and wild, mirrored his smirk. L blinked multiple times, trying to get his scrambled thoughts together.
Light rocked into him lightly, and L moaned, quickly recognising, to his dismay, that he’d gone from feeling too full to not full enough. His insides clenched at the aching emptiness with Light’s hint of penetration unbearably teasing.
“Look at you, begging to be fucked,” Light cooed with his terrifying smirk growing. With difficulty, L forced himself to breathe, to not get unnerved. “What do you want, sunshine? Do you want me to play with your dick? Do you want me to fill your little hole?”
“...What the fuck is wrong with you,” L thought.
He was not one to talk, though. Light gyrated his hips with torturous slowness, and L choked on yet another moan, struggling to stay silent. He was so hard and so hot from Light’s terrible dirty talking he didn’t know whether to rage and fight or succumb and tell Light about everything L wanted, so Light would do it.
Light teased him, and teased him, and teased him, and L felt like crying again, feeling way too hot and starting to get hurt, and angry, and resentful at being edged beyond what he wanted.
Until, breathless, he accidentally snarled, “More!”.
And Light laughed, pushed into him in one searing movement and leaned down to bite and kiss his chest.
L held another grudge for Light making him black out from orgasm the second time.
He could not open his eyes at Light’s hand touching his shoulder.
“L,” Light said.
L was too exhausted for this. For… whatever this was. Light’s taunts, Light’s mocking. Light’s presence.
He felt Light stroking his shoulder.
With a strenuous effort, L managed to unstick his eyelids.
Light was looking disgustingly smug. L was about to close his eyes and turn away again, but Light snaked his arm around L’s waist and pulled him up with effort, settling him in a marginally more upright position.
L was about to stubbornly crawl back into the horizontal one before Light uncapped the bottle of water Light had apparently had in his hands and coaxed him to drink. L scrunched his nose at the faint aftertaste of salt.
Light gathered strategically kicking L into his arms and, with mutual hissing and cursing, got him into a warm bath. Once L was half-submerged, he fell silent.
He was tired. His limbs felt weak. His head spun a bit, and when Light moved L so Light could fit into the bathtub behind L, with his legs around L, L put his head to Light’s chest just like L did last night, and fell asleep.
Light woke him up later, in the bedroom, under the blanket, fed him a milkshake and benevolently hugged him into sleeping more.
Only when L woke up in Light’s arms, at 5 PM, did L become conscious.
And immediately felt sick.
He was sick from himself. He was sick from Light. Pain, dread, rage and grief blended into the mix made him want to throw up first and pull out the revolver from the nightstand drawer and kill Light second.
L lay sheltered by sleeping Light and shook from blazing loathing and attempts to hold back the bile.
He didn’t have words to describe how much he despised Light for these night and day. The emotions drowned any rational reactions L might’ve had with regards to the situation. He hated Light with every fibre of his being - for games, for manipulation and taunting. For passion.
For tending to L and for tormenting him.
He hated Light to the extent of self-destruction. He hated Light because Light hurting him didn’t stop L from loving him.
Even after all. It did not.
Perhaps it was because L’s always known who Kira was.
That hadn’t stopped L once.
And it sure would not stop L from hurting Light now.
“...Fuck you,” L whispered venomously, viciously to the silence of the night and Light’s unperturbed dreaming.
The next day, Light woke him up with licks to the small of his back; as L’s skin tingled amazingly at hot wetness’s assiduous rubbing. L exhaled drowsily, and Light chuckled and kept going down until Light gripped his hips and passionately bit his ass.
“I wish you’d burn,” L thought kindly.
Light pulled him to turn to the side. L gripped at the mattress, refusing vehemently.
Then the tip of Light’s tongue touched his rim, and L suffocated.
He lost control over everything for a second. His consciousness, his perception, his composure. It felt so good. So, so good his body felt starved in comparison. His wide eyes darted to Light’s evil, complacent face. L’s heart was pounding so hard - for a second, he genuinely, dumbly got concerned about tachycardia.
“The reward for when you’ll be behaving well,” Light purred, licking leisurely down his thigh and to the back of his knee. L knew his rising fury was showing; Light watched him with malicious triumph L detested so much radiating from Light.
L getting hard was decidedly not helping. Light pulled L’s hips up into the air and grasped L’s dick.
L stopped breathing. He didn’t want to shake from tension or scream with rage, so he tried to look pointedly at the wall, lips pressed into a line, demonstrating he would do his best to ignore Light.
Light tightened his hold and started pumping him slowly, the roughness of Light’s skin and strong grip on the edge of uncomfortable.
L choked on a moan. Another one. Another one.
Snickering Light got him to an orgasm L was, upsettingly, too appeased to fight off.
“Do you like losing that much, L?” Light murmured into his ear with evil glee, grinding his dick to L’s hole yet not penetrating him, driving him desperate with desire. “Didn’t think you’d be crying and thirsting for my dick.”
L was feeling just how much Light was enjoying it. L wished he were not enjoying it, too. But no. He was weak from Light mocking him into yet another orgasm.
He hated how much he liked it. He hated that Kira talking down to him was getting him off, and that Light knew it, and that Light loved it too.
“Imagine how few people would listen to what comes out of your mouth if they knew you are so wet and pathetic for me,” Light murmured hotly. L scowled at him.
Light laughed cruelly, softly and pressed a long, shiver-inducing kiss into his ear.
“I’ll ruin your life,” L thought with pained, deadly certainty.
It did nothing to lessen his discrediting pleasure.
After sex, Light wiped him down and fed him water, sweets and painkillers as L sneered. Light got bruised from L hitting him, but managed, hissing at L and pressing him down painfully to get antiinflammatory cream and rub it into L’s insides.
Light’s fingers were brash and careful. Light’s every action denoted consideration.
L hated it even more. Seeing that Light would force on him every suffering but lasting physical pain.
To keep him as a well-maintained toy.
His vision was blurring. And his tear ducts burned.
He tried to keep his breathing even and was succeeding until Light turned him onto his back, laid on top of him and began kissing him with desire and satisfaction, and every kiss, whether pushy and chaste or wet and open-mouthed, was an end rather than a means.
It was the best and the worst thing that’s happened to L since before the rooftop. L silently, pathetically wished Light would never stop.
Of course, eventually, Light did.
L asked Watari to set up the cameras and sound recording devices right after Light petted L’s cheek, let L out of bed and went to get some work done.
Later, L went to shower by himself. The steam had clouded the mirror, hanging heavily in the hot air, and he set the water temperature to be a second away from scalding. Even if the heat made him feel slightly dizzy, at least it was chasing away the thoughts of Light.
Of Light’s hands on his hips. Of Light’s teeth on his thighs. Of Light’s tongue…
It was always Light. It has always been Light, hasn’t it? It was Light’s moves that had made L dive into the game. It was Light’s intelligence that made L’s mouth water. It was Light’s sweet lies and burning gaze that had drawn L in, beckoned L to open his mouth and spread his legs, and take…
For the first time, L felt anger at the face he saw in the mirror.
Love was no excuse for this level of stupidity. Love was no excuse for this level of self-destruction.
And love should not have been an excuse for this level of self-hatred.
Therefore…
He should have hated Light instead.
Eventually, L had to walk out of the shower. Fucking Light was reading a book under the blanket, and overhead lights were off; with the room lit up solely by warm light of the lamp on the nightstand.
Light’s chest was bare.
Light saw L and smirked like evil in the flesh.
L stood there, answering with the mute, icy scowl.
He didn’t leave.
Light put the book away and beckoned L closer.
And, with every step filling him with more lead, L approached the bed and let Light snake his arms around L’s waist and pull him to lie down beside Light.
Light switched the lamp off, and L felt Light’s legs intertwining with his own, and Light’s parody of embrace tightening around him.
Even in the darkness, L felt Light’s bloody eyes shine at him.
“I win,” Light whispered, and never before L knew that honey could be soaked with venom.
L didn’t respond.
Light enveloped him fully and held him firmly. With malice appropriate for the fallen foe. With possessiveness marking him as Light’s prize.
L pushed down the grief - blooming and bittersweet.
And Light leaned in.
And kissed him.
Merely a close-mouthed press of the lips.
It was chaste and sure. Not wicked, not forceful, not mocking.
A feeling of connection, unbreakable and tugging at L’s heart with its depth.
Light’s silent, “Do you feel it, too?”.
Light’s eyes were closed.
L closed his, too.
And answered. Pressing back with his feelings waving in the well of his chest.
Light hummed quietly.
When they pulled away, Light, now expectedly smirking in content, leaned back in to leave another short kiss, and then calmly pressed their foreheads together.
L told himself he would not respond anymore.
He.
Would not.