Tick. Midnight?
Tick, that imaginary clock in Light's head. 1am? Five days? Six? He's lost track already. He can only tell night from day because Aizawa changes his shackles - hands and feet restrained when he's awake, and minimal restraint when he's supposed to be unconscious. The artificial light never changes: miserable, glaring shadows, and not enough of them. Light hasn't been allowed to shower since he was locked up, and he knows he stinks by now, filthy, slimy, loathsome. The thing ahead of him is all that's kept him from paralysing boredom. Ryuk is bored too, his clown face and black feathers turning over and over themselves in the corner; well, he'll have something to watch soon enough. Light knows it will be good. Light knows neither of them will ever forget it.
Eventually, after what seems like a lifetime, there are soft, shuffling footsteps in the distance, then a tangled silhouette. Yes! He's here! The bars are between them, but then the key is turning in the maximum-security lock. Blinking and innocent, Light looks up from his cot. The night shackle holds him to the bed by one ankle; it clinks. "Ryuuzaki?"
Pushing the bars open, the man moves like a sleepwalker. The chain clinks again as he kneels on the bed. His eyes are fogged, full of distant, dull horror. Light's reminded of Naomi Misora; of the car-crash look on her stupid bitch face as she'd trudged off through the snow to her inevitable demise. The way he could have made her do anything, anything at all, even get down on her knees in the street and - I've already won. Now we're just playing it out, L - because that's your name, isn't it? Your real name. You should have stopped Misa before she could email me. June 6th, 1am. Now I win!
That thought shoots straight down his spine to his cock. L's long, thin fingers come ever closer, fumbling at Light's flies. There's no belt buckle; they didn't let him keep it. "W-wait, Ryuuzaki," The stammer is excitement, not shock, but it works just as well. "What are you doing?"
Those dark, clouded eyes again, looking up, up, right into Light's own. Can L see the glint of triumph? Can he see how much Light is going to enjoy this? Playing innocent, Light closes his eyes, rests his free hands gently in the other man's hair. They glide through the locks, possessive and patronising - and salt in the wound, because he's certain now that the other man realises exactly what is happening. The first forced brush of L's fingers against his unwashed cock nearly makes Light explode; in fact, he's not sure how he doesn't. Is the book controlling him as well as L? But that would be impossible...
L's lips part for him, soft and sweet like a sugar cube melting into tea, and Light can't help but wonder if he's going to get thrush from this. The taste must be foul as the other man licks him clean; it's sordid and unspeakable. But something about that makes Light harder still, makes him need those full lips wrapped around him. With thumb and fingers, he milks himself carefully into L's mouth, once, twice. The skin around him is already painfully tight, and it's not the plan to come here and now, frothing down onto L's face, gumming up the great detective's eyes so he can't see anything, ever, ever again. So he can't watch Light with that eviscerating gaze: I know what you are, Light Yagami. In the background, some stupid joke of Yamamoto's flits through his head, one of those furtive conversations Light had always spent more time listening to than contributing to - though that one had actually been about tongue piercings. The mouth is the Osaka of the body.
If Light was thinking, he'd tell himself it wasn't rape; that by opposing Kira, L has invited anything that might be done to him - even if, surely, he could never have imagined this. But Light's gone into his power, lost himself in all the beautiful things it lets him do, the way it gives him an excuse to gratify all his worst instincts. And besides, L is pushing his foreskin further back with his teeth, and there's no time for delicate moral considerations. It's perfect in a way Light's never dared imagine, and he can't help groaning with it, partly for L, partly for himself, partly for the videotapes he knows will be scrutinised later - and that knowledge that he's being watched, and will be watched over and over again, brings him on further still. With a cry of "Oh, god, Ryuuzaki, more, please ..." he lets himself go, and L obeys, takes the shaft in right up to his throat, and hides his face. Oh, god. That's right - and now you're worshipping at my temple; you could never do anything else!
There's a knot of mind-searing pleasure coiling at the base of his cock; he's can't help but feed it, thrusting in to feel himself move against L's tongue and the walls of his mouth, to brush against his teeth enough to threaten. L's throat is locked up tight, and more than anything, Light wants to pick it, to feel it collapse before him, with a squelch and a grunt and oh, God, it would be so good in there. More than anything, he wants it - more than the new world, more than getting out of this cold, stinking cell - but not more than being a god, because that's what this is all about, a tangible, delicious exercise of his will. He wants this more than he can imagine ever wanting Misa, who's like the rest of his everyday life; she'd hand herself to him on a plate, if he'd only let her. She's not the challenge he needs to face, and battle, and destroy utterly, the way he's doing right now.
Slanting his hips differently, pulling L's head back, Light slips down into his throat, and it is, it is like nothing else he can imagine. It's crushing hot, slick with choking mucus, and L is gagging around him, grinding down; Light is choking too, on his own maniacal laughter. L's lips are pressed down amidst scratchy, dark hair; Light couldn't get deeper if he tried, but he tries anyway, with a hiss, fisting his hands in knotted black hair and pulling tight. Am I losing my virginity? - no, it would have to be with a girl for that - Something wet against Light's stomach, gathering in the coarse hair; L is weeping, or his eyes are streaming. And the whole world has narrowed to L's mouth around him, to L's throat stretching and tearing and convulsing to the grind of Light's hips, just like the whole world will give way beneath him, the world—
And then Light's screaming fit to bleed on the moon, and jerking as hard as he can, raping L's broken throat as he comes, fucking him as if to snap his neck, and oh, he can feel it all through him; each burst of pleasure travels along his cock, through that knot he's been trying to piledrive back to his navel. It's nothing like all those snatched adolescent moments in bed and in the shower; it's bound up with what he is, with what L is, with Light's total annihilation of him, and he comes, and he comes, and he comes, and each deranged spurt of his hate and triumph feels as if it might travel metres. But there's nowhere for any of it to go, except into L, who's jerking too, struggling involuntarily because he can't breathe, or think, or see. If Light would only look, he'd see the man's accusing eyes fade, and widen; they'd been dead in life, but in death they're breathtaking, all those lead crystal shades of grey, as if, now that he's degraded and drowning in semen and his own vomit, he can see everything.
And then he sees nothing at all
And Light mumbles the realisation to himself, fake and hideous as Ryuk's eyes glow red behind him; he pushes through adrenaline-crash exhaustion - no, no, Ryuuzaki, no - and takes the lifeless body in his arms, and screams, and screams, and screams. It's an Oscar-winning performance, even if he can't bring himself to cry. Truth be told, it's a hundred, a thousand times better than clogging L's windpipe till he died had been. He's won - won so thoroughly that L's already turning cold beneath him. And he hasn't just beaten him - he's humiliated him in a way that will last forever, that's priceless and personal, and his very own. Go up against God, and this is how he'll make you wish you hadn't. Vengeance is mine, says the Lord!
The paper's not there to look at; it's burned, just as all the pages bearing Light's handwriting have been. Rotting in a biscuit tin underground, now, the little book, just waiting for Light to reclaim it.
L Lawliet. 6th June 2004, 1am. Irrumates his primary suspect in the Kira case, but chokes during the act and dies of asphyxiation. Obeys all orders given by that suspect and does not bite or otherwise resist at any stage.
You could never be too careful, after all. Not with all the world at stake.