Checks and Balances
Her skin tingles where he touches it, high on her inner thigh, fingers stroking against her in tiny circles. Up, then down. Up, then down. The smooth, uncallused tips barely brush against the lace trim on the leg of her panties, and she can't quite bite back the gasping moan that escapes. His pointy chin is hooked over her shoulder, her knees hooked over the armrests of the chair they're both sitting in, and Light Yagami is between L, the world's greatest detective, and a large slice of strawberry shortcake.
She'd elbowed her way into the room past Watari, shooing him out so she could spend some time with her "boyfriend", and plunked the box down on the table, peeling back the ribbons more sensually than she'd ever shed her own clothes. L's eyes had been riveted to the logo of the patisserie stamped on the side in gold foil, fingers twitching against the armrests in abject lust. This had become their Friday night ritual, this teasing.
The fingertips on her thigh slow, stop, inch down her leg and over her knee, skittering across her ankle toward the fork resting near her delicately arched foot. Startled out of her smug reverie, Light scowls, kicking at his hand. "What about my reward?" she remembers to pout prettily, even though she knows he's making cow-eyes at the strawberries. She almost jumps out of his lap when a surprisingly warm, strong and capable hand cups her through her panties.
"I haven't forgotten, Light," he murmurs lowly in her ear, and a hot flush crawls across her skin, settling low and throbbing in his grasp. He's rubbing just the middle finger against her, and she can feel her sensible cotton panties becoming sodden. One long, slender finger quests beneath the fabric, just barely smoothing over the rapidly dampening hair to her mons, then back down to toy idly through her molten core. Another joins it on its return trip, and another, until his hand is jammed between the faded strawberry print and her body and slick noises fill the room along with her audible panting.
"St—stop it," she whines, pushing halfheartedly at his hand until he pulls away, streaking her moisture up her thigh as if it's distasteful to him. It probably is. Standing, she kicks the chair—and him—back until there's room to turn to face him. She grins lasciviously as she plucks at the pleats of her skirt, lifting it just high enough on one side that she can reach the waistband of her panties and wriggle them down. "You'll stretch them out, and then how could I explain that to my mother? 'That detective Father and I are working with likes to stretch out my panties when he fingers me'? Father would just die."
L inches the chair toward her, cups her hips with his hands, and pulls her down onto his lap. The rough seam of his fly grinds against her clit as he presses her against himself, fingers bruising near the crease of her hip in his firm hold. Her panties are still hanging around her knees, and in his grasp she feels like she can barely move. He slips his thumbs against the stretched elastic and she can feel his creepy little grin against her neck. "It's a good think Light says she is not Kira, because it would be disappointing to catch Kira so easily," he muses thoughtfully. She opens her mouth to protest—she's told him not to bring that stuff to bed with them, even if she is using the whole relationship to keep an eye on him—but he shoves his hand brusquely under her skirt and thumbs her clit. The protest dies in an awkward squawk.
His fingers are slim, bony but certain as they stroke her. Light's legs are shaking as L uses his free hand to work her panties down and over her feet, hooking her knee over his elbow and opening her up to the room. The memory of surveillance cameras flashes behind her eyes and she shudders, blushing, to feel the air cool in the places she feels hot. She loves his hands, which never fail to bring her, wet and panting, to the edge. There's a fingertip circling her clit in that cautiously absent way that only L can do, and he's hefted her leg high enough that he can chew at the edge of a thumbnail as he plays with her.
"Just do it already!" Light tries to snarl, but even to her ears it comes across as a breathless plea. One hand is clenched in his white shirt, the other slipping down his arm to guide him where she wants him to go. She can hear him laughing quietly, puffs of hot breath against the back of her neck, at her impatience, but their mingled fingers are slipping in the pool of her arousal, pressing in together into the tightly coiled muscles of her body, and she finds she almost doesn't care. He's cupping her hand, fingers twined around hers almost forcefully as they both fuck her. She moans his name, beyond caring which of his aliases she's currently pleading with, and she feels his fingers curl within her.
It's a strange sensation, having her fingers in there while he's working her, and the firm ridges of muscle are almost distracting—would be distracting if he weren't deftly pressing his fingers, longer than hers by more than half an inch, into magic places that somehow cause her vision to double and her breath to shorten. There's a tightening, a drawing feeling climbing within her. Her toes curl and her fingers lock, his fingers and hers pressed tightly together as she spasms around them. He is still relentlessly moving, twitching, pressing as the sensation soars and lights flash behind her half-closed lids. A welling, strange feeling stirs her, and she tugs anxiously at his shirt, dazed.
"Stop now! What are you…?" Her calves are beginning to cramp from his hold on her, even as his fingers still press and nudge her. "I…this is weird!"
"I am performing an experiment, Light," he informs her absently.
"What the hell kind of—oh, stoooooop!" she keens, clawing at his arm.
"Why does Light want me to stop, I wonder?" She can tell by voice that his damned thumb is in his mouth again, and swears to herself that when she finally kills him, it will be via chopping it off. His other hand wiggles between her legs almost experimentally.
"Because I just do! Does it matter?!"
L hums, leaning in to press his lips against the shell of her ear. "Actually, Light, I must confess to a keen interest in this experiment and have merely been biding my time until the most opportune moment. Yes, I have quite an interest in attempting to understand the phenomenon of multiple orgasms." His words sweep over her at the same time as the rush of sensation, stronger this time. Her vision swims and she swoons as the world falls dark.
When she comes to, she is on the suite's couch, her blazer draped discreetly over her lap and a pillow tucked under her head. L is watching her raptly, and only half of the cake has been devoured, so she knows she can't have been out long. She feels languid, relaxed and sleepy, and he looks a little smug behind his fork.
"What an interesting experiment, don't you think? Hmm, but you can't take data from just one experiment as fact. You have to be able to repeat the results." His dark eyes are hot, the cake forgotten for a moment. She knows she's blushing and hates herself for it.
"Ah, Light is the best!" L chirps, turning back to his cake, oblivious to her irritation. "She always brings the best treats!" Icing is smeared across his cheek and she has to fight off the desire to go lick it off.
Yes. She'll kill him.