Hallo guys, and welcome to my first attempt to write anything vaguely related to Death Note. I've recently finished reading the manga and am trying to seek out the anime, and Light and L instantly fascinated me - so while I don't believe in any romantic interest between these two, I found this interesting to write because they're such intriguing characters, and I always vastly preferred L to Near. I'm also a sucker for a good bit of slash. XD Sorry for the lack of length - it's literally just a quick introspective piece that I could extend if you wanted me to. Tell me if you like it though. Thanks guys!
Rather quickly - almost precisely four seconds into their relationship, in fact - Light Yagami realised that dating someone with a thirty percent greater mental capacity than your already clever self was... intriguing, to say the least.
Maybe it was the danger aspect - the fact that L, whoever the hell he truly was (and how odd it was, he had thought a few nights ago after their thirteenth sexual union, to simultaneously know so much and so little about someone you were having sex with), could smash his perfectly formed world of lust, death and education apart with such inexplicable ease. After all, in the words of a favourite author of his: "The thrill is in the chase, never in the capture."
Or perhaps it was merely the irony of such an intense social retard being such an articulate and incredible lover. Perchance it was even their battles of wits; a never-ending game of fascination, curiosity and suspicion, fuelled by the simultaneous curse and gift of their vastly superior intellects.
And yet, as Light watched his lover munch a slice of chocolate gateaux and stare at seemingly pointless security footage, he realised that the real reason had very little logical relevance. It was mainly, the exceptional student finally acknowledged, that unfairly ingenious spark of intuition that gleamed in those timeless eyes.
Either that, or he had suddenly developed a bizarre fetish for cake-lovers, brought on by the severe emotional trauma of being a note-writing mass murderer. But somehow, Light thought dismissively as he perused an inane magazine and sipped his purposely sugar-free mocha, he very much doubted the latter option.