A/N: To any of my loyal readers, if there in fact are such people, I am sooooo sorry for how slow I am being with my incomplete stories. I know, I suck at updating. :P Buuuut...I just had to write this. Cause I got the idea and I liked it. That happens all too often to me. So it may end up being continued, and it may not.
I don't own Death Note, or 10 Things I Hate About You, nor is any of this for profit. Just fun. :)
Reviews rival the beauty of a sunset over the Grand Canyon. For serious.
10 Things I Hate About You
I hate the way you talk to me,
and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car,
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you're always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you're not around,
and the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you,
not even close
not even a little bit
not even at all.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
When he was really, truly angry, Light Yagami had a glare that could kill small fuzzy animals.
No, seriously. At least 5 hamsters had met their end in this exact fashion. Sure, Light felt bad afterwards, seeing their small, lifeless, furry bodies lying at the bottom of the cage, surrounded by fresh pine shavings…
But that was water under the bridge.
And currently, Light was wishing that the detective he was chained to weighed 10 ounces, instead of 110 pounds. His hair was probably wild enough to be considered fuzzy, and he couldn't quite be qualified as human, which meant he must be an animal…
So at this point, the only thing saving L from spontaneous combustion via Light's infamous glare was his qualification as moderately sized.
For Light's murderous gaze was at the very moment drilling an imaginary hole in the back of the detective's head. God, how he hated that hair. It looked so…so matted. And gross. And greasy. Blech.
Even more than that, though, it made Light positively furious that L's hair, in actuality, wasn't gross. It was, in fact, quite lovely. Sure, it looked a mess, but…truth be told, it was a hot mess.
In addition, the way it shined wasn't from grease…a surreptitious sweep of his hand whilst L had been (astoundingly) asleep had confirmed that. Instead, it was almost unnaturally healthy and silky, like cool ribbons sliding through Light's fingers. And Light hated every second of it.
L shifted in his seat, and his shirt hitched up a tiny bit, revealing just a sliver of skin. Light added L's attire to his growing list of things he hated about the man. Did he even change clothes? EVER? Light had personally never seen it happen, and he was frickin' chained to the man.
That was just…so disgusting to Light's hygienically inclined mind. Even if L did consistently smell of an appealing mixture of musk and tootsie pop. However, that plain white t-shirt and jeans combo just screamed 'lack of fashion sense', which was something Light could hardly bare in a person, even one who smelled far too attractive.
Just then, L's long fingers tweaked his shirt up further, distractedly itching at his torso. Ugh. If there was one thing Light positively despised, it was someone who had no fashion sense and managed to look positively stunning in whatever they wore regardless.
The way L's over-sized shirt managed to hide his body just enough to make Light go insane imagining what was underneath made the youth furious. As did the way the detective's too-loose jeans just barely clung to his delicious hips, teasing.
Light glanced up from his inspection of L's attire to find himself being examined by the man's cold stare. He hated how those eyes never blinked; how such beautiful, liquid pools would only ever look upon him with suspicion and never admiration…or friendship…or …
"Light-kun disapproves of my choice in clothing. He is also upset with me for suspecting him of being the killer Kira."
At this announcement, Light almost lost it. More than any of the above, he hated how L could read his mind, every time, without fail. And how, every single Kira-damned time, he was right.
And not just about Light. About everything. Was there ever anything L had been wrong about? Probably not. Hell, how Light hated that.
And how was it that this disgusting, unkempt, dreadful man had become the only person to ever understand Light Yagami? The only one to ever earn his respect? Light detested him for it.
"My personal attire, however, is none of Light-kun's concern, and I only suspect him of being Kira because he is."
The tears that rolled down Light's cheeks were a mixture of hurt and hatred; hurt because L would never forget that Light was possibly a cold-blooded killer, and hatred because he cared what L thought of him in the first place. No one made Light Yagami cry; except, apparently, messy, overly –intelligent misanthropes.
Light swiped surreptitiously at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, hoping that L was too absorbed with scanning video feeds to notice. But Light wouldn't have hated the man if he ever did what Light hoped he would do.
That stare he despised so much was soon turned on him once again, but this time L's gaze held no accusations. He looked, instead, exceedingly shocked, worried, and just a little disgusted. Light couldn't help laughing, and hated that L could get that reaction out of him with just one look. He despised the fact that he couldn't stay angry with the detective, no matter how hard he tried.
As his chuckles subsided, L reached up and gathered the last drying tear from Light's cheek onto his finger tip, then touching it to his own lips, his pink tongue darting out to collect the bit of moisture.
Seemingly liking what he found, the strange man leaned forward off his chair and gently kissed up the trail Light's tears had left on his face, his hair gently tickling the younger man and as his ice-cold fingers sent shivers through Light's body from where they rested at his neck.
After finishing their task, L's lips took a small detour, just barely brushing against Light's own. A butterfly kiss, nothing more, and then he was back at his desk, head bent over his work.
Light stared after the detective, frozen by the contact and the shuddering realization that his pen-ultimate reason to hate L had nothing to do with L at all, because no one, not even the top-three detectives of all time, can force someone to love them.