Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor am I affiliated with it. I only like playing in the sandbox, and L might be tattooed on my ankle...
Author's Notes: This is the first time I've ever attempted to write Beyond Birthday aka B. Hopefully I did him so justice! Also, I don't know if this quite fits in with the prompt for week #52 at DN_Contest on LJ, which was necrophilia, although I did work it in as a theme. I fear there may be some OOC-ness in this, but hey, give it a try and let me know what you think! I went for a psychological horror-like story aspect with this!
"Pillow of Your Bones"
By C.K. Blake
"Never kill the ones you love," comes the whisper, and the voice breathing against his ear is so familiar, but wrong somehow.
With a shiver and a jerk he wakes up, his eyes flying open and the familiar cold of the metal cuff against his wrist draws his attention to the end of the bed. There is L, that damn detective, so fragile looking, hunched over, his knees drawn up to his chest, toes curled in the coverlet, his black hair wild, thumb probably pressed against his lips. Slowly the young detective turns, his black eyes inquisitive as he says, "Ah, Raito-kun, you're awake I see. Perhaps now is a good time for cake?"
Raito rolls his eyes. "With you it's always a good time for cake."
"This is true, Raito-kun. I think now you are finally closer to understanding me."
"Whatever, Ryuzaki," Raito grumbles sleepily, but still he gets up and follows L into the kitchen.
He can't help but look at L in his baggy jeans and long sleeved white shirt, but there is some ghostly image hovering around L, the white shirt darkens to black, the hunch seems like more of a mockery than natural, and when L turns around to look at him those black eyes are suddenly red. A shiver trails up Raito's spine as he recalls those whispered words, it was a mockery of L's voice, like someone pretending to be L and almost pulling it off.
"Never kill the ones you love."
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With a thumb pressed to his lips he watches his prime suspect beneath the fringe of his wild black hair. Something is definitely going on within the mind of Yagami Raito. The boy isn't the same boy from before his weeks of captivity. Something about him changed in that cell. It's been weeks since L took Raito out of the cell and instead handcuffed them together. He must admit that Raito's sleeping patterns are odd. It's almost as though he is plagued by nightmares. This raises L's suspicions of Raito being the original Kira exponentially. The only thing L lacks is the evidence behind his theory.
Even now he sees the boy dozing off in his chair. Raito hasn't slept easy in a long time. L looks at the clock in the corner of the monitor of his laptop, and realizes how late it is. The members of the taskforce have gone home long ago, Watari is more than likely in bed, and while L could go on for hours still, Raito is weary, and in much need of sleep.
It doesn't take a lot to sway the usually stubborn boy to go to bed. They make their way to their shared suite, take care of the necessities of brushing teeth, using the toilet, and L removes the cuff long enough to allow them to change for bed. Once the cuff is back in place they settle into bed, and while L laments the time lost to the case due to Raito's need for sleep, he deals with it.
He actually finds it fascinating, watching Raito's eyes slip shut, and it takes a while, probably twenty or thirty minutes, and then Raito's eyes began to flutter in the throws of a REM cycle. He can't take his eyes off of the sight, as the pale blue light of a full moon slips between the slight cracks in the curtain. He brings his thumb up to his mouth, his teeth nibbling at the tender flesh, his eyes never leaving Raito's. He's fascinated by the sight before him.
Raito begins to shift and move in his sleep, the movement behind his eyes growing more rapid. Something is happening, Raito is becoming more agitated. His delicate fingers claw into the sheets, his breathing growing heavy, his head turning from side to side, and then he begins to speak. This is certainly a new development.
"Who…you…" Raito says, and after a moment he continues. "Not L. Fake L. No! Not dead! Like corpse! No!"
L's eyes widen as he watches Raito grow more agitated, writhing on the bed and screaming about L and corpses. After a few minutes, Raito stills, his head turns away from L's side of the bed and a gutwrenching, animal-like sound escapes the boy. L remains still, simply watching, because there is little that he can do. This boy is the prime suspect in his murder case, he has nightmares and talks about L and corpses while asleep. This does not bode well, and that sound. A shiver rolls up L's spine as he recalls that animal-like sound.
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"You're wrong if you think he'll ever sympathize with your cause you know. He's better than that, better than us. He's not like us at all, Yagami-kun. We're gods of death, and he is justice for the living. Don't you know that justice is always meant to prevail? You think you can win? Hasn't your shinigami told you yet? Never kill the ones you love."
"Who are you?" Raito growls, and glares at the poor imitation that is slouched before him, the stance is contrived, obviously practiced, the shirt is a long sleeved and black, and while this person does resemble L to some degree, he is still contrived, and Raito shivers as red eyes lift to meet his gaze.
"I used the name Ryuzaki before he did," the imitation offers by way of explanation.
"So you know L."
"I am L."
"No," Raito says, and he watches as this strange man's mouth twists into a gruesome smile, and the man approaches him, his walk like L's only not as graceful, and the man reaches out a hand, his cold, hard fingers digging into Raito's shoulder.
"This is what he could become Raito-kun. Is this what you want for L? This is what he becomes if he gives into you, if he turns his back on justice."
Raito watches in horror as the skin begins to crack and peel on this fake L's hands. "No L. A fake! No! He's not dead! You're like a corpse! No! Stop touching me! Get away!"
"Isn't this what you want?" the imitation says with a leer as he leans in, those cold lifeless lips brushing over Raito's, and there is a corpse wrapping its arms around him, a corpse that pretends to be L, with bright burning eyes. This is madness, and Raito doesn't know if he can escape it, and that is when he realizes he can't breathe as it laughs, cruel, ominous, horrifying laughter. He struggles against the thing, turns his head away, a strange noise builds in his throat and finally escapes as he struggles to breathe and sensing a presense to his left he turns his face away.
"Raito-kun?"
Raito turns to that voice, so soft, and he knows this isn't the imitation. This is the real L. Raito swallows thickly as he slowly turns toward that voice. He's surprised at the look of concern in those black eyes, and he's so glad that they are black and not that horrible red. Raito reaches out with a tentative hand, traces along L's cheek, and L's eyes widen further, but Raito can't help himself. He needs to forget those cold lips, those decayed arms that surrounded him. He has to escape that decayed, mad, broken imitation of L.
He shifts in the bed, his hand cupping L's cheek, and before he can think, and hopefully before L can react to stop him he darts his face forward. His lips brush L's, and there is warmth, a tingling warmth, and suddenly Raito finds himself wanting more. He moves his mouth against L's, his tongue swiping across the detective's lips, and the detective is taken by such surprise that his lips part and Raito takes advantage, his tongue slipping into that sweet mouth.
Raito moves and soon he's straddled L's waist, his body flush against the detective, and when he pulls back, he's dazed, hypnotized by that wide, black gaze. He's losing himself to this madness, this living, breathing madness, and he wants more. He want this warmth to chase away the cold, lifeless, red-eyed monster he saw in his dreams. He begins to rub himself against L, nipping at the man's throat, and L freezes beneath him, goes stock still.
Raito pulls back and whispers, "No. Not like this. You're alive. You're warm. Please."
L's eyes narrow, and within a flurry of movement Raito soon finds himself beneath L, the chain of the cuffs tangled around them, and L's spindly hands holding Raito's hands down. L stares down into Raito's brown gaze. "What is this?" he hisses.
Raito turns his head away, unable to look the detective in the face, that image of the dead, lifeless body coming to mind, and he's being held down by it. His breath quickens and he begins to struggle against L.
"No! You're not him! He's not dead!"
L leans down and says, "Look at me, Raito-kun. Tell me who you see."
Slowly Raito quits struggling and really looks up at the man on top of him. Still breathing heavily, Raito finally answers L. "You're so warm. Prove to me that you're not dead. Prove to me that justice is alive."
L tilts his head a little to the side, considering, both his hands occupied with still holding Raito down. "How do you propose I prove this?" L asks.
Raito bucks up against him, their crotches collide, and L is surprised to find the boy aroused, and he's responding to that warmth, his body betraying all of his logic and reason. "Mean it. I don't want it to feel like a corpse is fucking me. Mean it L. Make it real, just this once. Don't leave me with that image of you with red eyes."
At this L freezes again. "Red eyes?" he says, his voice sounding almost haunted as he continues in a small whisper, "B…"
Before Raito can question him on this, L's lips crash down on his, and Raito feels warmth. The body moving and shifting against his is alive, L's hands burning as they slip beneath his shirt and pull at his pants.
Raito makes the mistake of closing his eyes. He encounters the image of the decayed, red-eyed not-L on top of him, the touch cold, chilling to the very marrow of his bones as this corpse moves and writhes against his body. He stills, and then that soft, familiar voice reaches his ears.
"Open your eyes Raito-kun. You have not killed me yet."
Raito, for once, does as he's told, but there is still the faint echo of that crazed laughter of the corpse of the L imitiation by his ear that sends chills up his spine as the real L, the living L, breathes warm and moist against his throat in between sharp nips of his teeth.
End.