Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. I do, however, own the first nine volumes in English and a very nifty art book!
The Taste of a Killer
It is a strange sensation, tasting the lips of a killer.
Erratic.
The force by which he finds himself being thrown against the wall, his lips savagely attacked, all but devoured, only to find his own lips responding viciously, hungrily…desperately.
Corrupt.
The searing pressure of their lips pressing, sucking, nipping, determined to not be overcome by the other, though the idea of being overcome was not entirely unwelcome.
Tempting.
Tongues brush against each other slowly, smoothly, enticing...gaining momentum, picking up speed, plunging deeper and deeper into each other's hot, panting mouths. His senses awaken, overcome by the incredible feelings the other man's touch induces.
Intoxicating.
Spidery fingers stroke the back of his neck, sending wicked shivers crawling down his spine, as tainted lips part to form whispers that bathe his ear in unholy warmth that should not feel this good...
"Ryuuzaki."
It doesn't matter that Ryuuzaki isn't his birth name or that the person nipping at his ear and repeating the name is a man. The way that trivial name is making his mind whirl and body ache as he moves forward to press his body against his sworn enemy is all that matters. He finds himself wanting nothing more than to hear that name whispered in his ear with that exquisite voice, again and again and again.
Bewitching.
His wiry hands reach up to stroke his adversary's amber hair, silky and startlingly soft. His fingers relish in the sensation, overwhelmed by the sensation of heated lips and that wicked tongue ravishing the pale, sensitive skin of his neck. Sirens blare in his calculating mind; a red alert. What they are doing is entirely wrong and extremely dangerous…and yet that only makes him crave it more.
Rash.
His breath catches as he is pressed further up against the wall so that his toes barely touch the floor. The villain grinds his hips hard against his own, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. It is incredible, the way his foe can educe such thrilling emotions within him. Perhaps he really is God, he muses for a moment before those delicious lips meet his once more and his thoughts lose all coherencies, meshing into the sole existence with the ability utterly consume his body, mind and soul.
His infatuation.
His obsession.
His addiction.
His purpose.
His life.
Raito.
Kira.
- - - - - - - -
A/N: Well, there you have it- my first Death Note fic. It's very short, I know, with absolutely no plot. I guess you could consider it a drabble if you want. In any case, I really just wanted to embrace my obsessive inner L/Raito fangirl and write something involving the two of them, even if it's short and sketchy with no real point:3 Ah, I'm a perverted little girl…