Well I don't know where this came from, but I felt like writing it. I would love if you'd leave a review/comment.
I don't own these folks or the world they fool around with.
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The woman plasters on a serene smile for the camera, but under the desk one leg rubs against the other. She fidgets in anticipation of another illicit meeting in an expensive hotel. She feels fifteen again, rather than the successful twenty four year old she actually is. She knows she is beautiful, that her fine features and elegant figure have bewitched countless men and driven them to acts of foolishness. She is accustomed to being desired, admired, fawned over and praised by suitors with lustful intent and awe slapped across their stupid faces.
They bore her to tears.
He does not look at her as a goddess, though he speaks these sweet words. There is fire in his intelligent eyes, but ice in his haughty smile. She is older than him, as brilliant, certainly.
And yet.
He knows he is better. He asserts his dominance with every gesture, every word. It matters not whether he is expressing passion or ambivalence. He could grovel at her feet, and still his eyes would be saying, 'You are beneath me.'
She loves every minute of it.
To keep her considerable pride, she could try to tell herself she loves him for his ideals, for the cause they both support. But she knows she fell prey to his charms long before, when she had to earn every moment of unfeigned attention he gave her. She had to earn that measly ounce of reluctant, grudging respect.
It is at these moments that she comes closest to actually possessing him. But these moments are few and not nearly enough. She has his body, and his attention for the time being because she is useful to him. But he would discard her in an instant, even if it meant destroying her.
The thought of this makes her claw his back and tremble as much as his perfect and perfectly indifferent touch.
It was so ludicrously cliché. And so laughably accurate.
She wants him because she can never have him.
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The pleasure the man takes from this inanimate object is practically carnal. The notebook is his connection to Him, the beautiful and deadly angel that consumes his thoughts.
The man is tall now, his muscles toned with hard earned strength. He is rich, handsome, and respected. But he was not always so.
He was once a nervous and awkward boy, ashamed of his desires and yet overwhelmed with hate for the ones who sought to punish him for them. Now he is no longer ashamed. Now he is the one who decides what types of people are good or evil, what is natural and unnatural. With His help of course.
Kira is the human incarnation of righteous vengeance…as well as the incarnation of every erotic fantasy the man has ever had. The boy was painted with the warm tones of cinnamon, copper, and bronze. And of course there was that young, lithe body… the body that somehow managed to move with powerful confidence and sensuous grace at the same time.
This God on earth was like him. The angel's lips and eyes said, 'It is alright to want. It is alright to touch.' The man could see the real lust in Kira's half lidded gaze.
Gasping breaths and sweat slicked skin. 'I was right for choosing you Mikami.'
But that was only the half of it.
Kira offered a viable way to realize the world that the man had dreamed of and fought for, in an agonizingly inefficient battle.
Kira was efficient, driven, and a genius. But he was not monogamous, and though Mikami knew it was God's right to bed who he wished, he hated it. He was a jealous man. He didn't like blurred boundaries any more than he believed in grey morality. Someone either deserved to live or they didn't. A person was either an ally or an enemy.
And the fiery deity was either his, or he was not.
He wants him, because possessing a God would be the ultimate proof that he is right.
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The blonde knew where her Kira went those nights.
It was not truly a tangible thing. He never smelled of sex, he never left any clues, though he probably didn't care whether she knew. She knew him well enough to assume he would wash away all traces of the act, scrubbing his body as thoroughly as he scrubbed his mind.
But he did not satisfy himself with her any more, and she was not naive.
She could almost tear her hair out in frustration. He was rejecting the person that was his perfect match. They were so alike, and he refused to recognize it.
He was as beautiful as she was, but she'd known other men who were just as nice to look at. No, what truly made them soul mates was their lust for killing, and their glorious narcism. If Narcissus had died staring into his own reflection, she and and Kira were more likely to hire someone to take a picture of the real thing, make a million copies, and send them around the world with a written note saying, 'eat your heart out.'
Worship what you're not.
To explain why she wanted him, she had to explain why she wanted Kira. Her story about her parents and wanting to 'thank their avenger' was a good one. It could inspire pity, sympathy, understanding.
It was a lie.
She would only go through so much trouble for herself. She searched for Kira because he was like her, violent and selfish and, she had hoped, enlightened.
She had been wrong.
'Why did you kill those people?' He had practically scolded her. What a disappointing question it had been. She killed them because she could. As far as she was concerned, the ability gave her the right. It was a powerful feeling, countless times better than the power she held over men with her body.
Over most men.
She knew he felt the same, but he disguised it with his claims of 'bringing justice to the world'.
The blonde tries to entice him, tempt him. She suggests ever more degrading activities in the hopes of sparking his interest. She aims to lure him to her bed and to the acceptance of his true self. He only looks at her with yet deeper disgust etched into his perfect features.
She silently seethes. Don't pretend you're better than me.
Even without his memories, she could sense the bond of wickedness between them. And as she waits for him to come around, she will be his dumb pawn, staying close, and waiting. Forget gods and goddesses. She has nothing so heavy handed in mind. They could be prince and princess of darkness, laughing at the world and caring for no one but each other.
She wants him, because she knows that he is as twisted as she is.
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The young man ends his day, planning to sleep alone tonight. His name is Light Yagami, though more and more he sees this as his alias. It rings as false and meaningless as his masquerade as 'L.'
He is Kira.
He is untouchable, though not untouched. He uses sex as well as he uses his intellect, but he is not the one used. None of them will ever have him.
Once, he looked into another's eyes, and truly offered himself, body and soul.
The response?
Your eyes lie as easily as the rest of you Yagami kun.
He smiles an empty smile.
He did not offer twice.
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