Light Yagami had been far too focused on tennis lately. His grades were slipping, and all of his prospects seem ed donwn the drain. That'd when his dad suggested he take lessons from his good old friend L Ryuzaki. Light reluctantly agreed.
So here he was. Standing outside of L's apartment building, carrying a bag with a melon in it as a gift. But what he saw when he went inside shocked him.
It was his dad, pinned against the wall by a creepy skinny guy with gafs under his eyes and shaggy hair. Who was this creepy stranger?
"Sorry about that, Mr. Yagami," L said standing down. "You had something on your face."
"Thanks L," his dad smiled with much gratitude.
A few days later, Light went to his first lesson. But when he went L wasn't even awake, so he wandered around the spacious, beauteous apartment alone. He spied a book on L's desk and remembered L was a famous author. This must be one of his books, Light thought to himself. Interested in what kind of subject matter the great L would write about, he picked up the volume and flipped through it.
And promptly wished he hadn't.
"Oh, Ryuga!" Soichiro cried as Ryuga slammed his throbbing man-rod into his tight love hole.
No, that couldn't be right. Just because the name was the same, that didn't mean anything. Soichiro wasn't so uncommon a name that L wouldn't come up with it on his own, right? At least Light thought so until he made the mistake of flipping the page once more.
Ah, what wasn't a BL novel without its illustrations? Soichiro the uke just so happened to look a little too much like a middle-aged Japanese NPA member for Light's comfort, though, so he felt perfectly justified when he slammed open the door to Ryuzaki's bedroom with a clatter.
"Hey, you sick, creepy pervert! What is this crap you have written about my dad?" There was no sign of comprehension from the lump on the bed except a slight stirring. "Does he even know you're using him for your lewd fantasy books? You creepy fanfic writer!"
At last, the figure emerged from beneath the blankets, face partially covered by shocks of ink black hair. "It's too early in the morning to be so noisy," he muttered in a punch-drunk voice. A bit flabbergasted by his response, Light scoffed.
"It's early afternoon!" he said, obviously exasperated. But, this too, did not elicit the reaction he anticipated. Faster than he'd thought the almost sickly-looking man to be capable of, Ryuzaki's hand whipped forward and snatched Light's wrist. He could make out dangerously lowered eyelids beneath his bangs.
"You're too noisy," he reiterated in a much firmer voice, his grip tightening as he pulled Light's wrist toward him. The tennis prodigy's throat tightened as he stumbled forward into the writer's bed. His face flushed and his heart pounded in his chest, but regardless of how hard he pulled, he couldn't free it from Ryuzaki's grip.
"Hey, j-just what do you think you're-" but he was cut off as something hard was forcefully shoved into his mouth.
"Just suck on that and be quiet," Ryuzaki grumbled. "That's my favorite flavor of lollipop. You should feel lucky that I'm sharing it with you." He said before flopping over onto his side.
Light felt like he'd just dodged the biggest bullet of his life.