Warning: Non-consensual rape and male/male intercourse
The texture of the cloth was coarse, the friction against his closed eyes familiar. It was roughly bounded around his head; pressed tightly against his pale, smooth skin. He tried his best to pick up the words of the murmurings in the background – deep voices of several men discussing in hushed whispers. His lips quivered, a sign of weakness he did not wish to show, but escaped nonetheless. His bare feet scraped against the cool, concrete floor. He was sitting down, head leaning against the wall, his legs splayed out in a rather awkward fashion. He was not bruised too badly today, his captors had made sure of that. No one wanted 'damaged' goods.
The room he was in had an unbearable musty atmosphere, not that he wasn't used to it already. A harsh pounding headache remained as he slowly inhaled and exhaled shaky breaths. He tried moving his hands, only to wince as the handcuffs dug deeper into his wounded wrists. This time, he was cleaned well before being brought here. It was probably a less run-down auction. Calculations ran in his fuzzy brain, estimating the time. In the room, his ears could only pick up the hushed whispers of the men and the ticking of the clock. That clock… why hadn't he noticed it before?
He listened closely to the clock, intent to determine the time from the unusual ticking of this particular clock. A long time ago, when he had been first kidnapped, he had noticed how the clock's ticking always sounded particularly different. Soon enough he could work out the exact time on the clock. Except this time…
They changed the clock, he noted with surprise and building frustration. Why they did so, he wasn't interested to find out. It was just infuriating that now he could not know the difference from day to night. It wasn't his fault. He could easily calculate the time anytime, but before he was brought to the 'Waiting Room', he was always knocked out first. Now it was the matter of calculating how long he had been unconscious…
His ears suddenly pricked up. It was the usual messenger again. The rhythmic pattern the messenger's footsteps made; he had clearly memorized it. Thud, thud, thud, thud… A piercing creaking noise filled the air, cutting off all conversations along with it. The heavy metal door had been swung opened with a large amount of brute force, the messenger grunting as he did so. The men in the room were now silent, most likely gazing expectantly at the messenger, understanding etched on their faces.
There was silence for a few moments before he could hear the men in the room slowly getting up to their feet. Three of them in total… he noted to himself. It may have seemed insignificant, but it was vital information for him. It might prove to be useful in the near future…
They walked towards him, shoes creating crunching sounds on the concrete floor, and stopped, just right in front of him.
"Fucking slut."
The guard pulled off the blindfold with an abrupt pull. The once-blindfolded male could now see, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting in the dimly lit room. It was glaringly bright, but as the familiar surroundings filled his eyes, he felt a little more relieved than before. It was the same procedure; something that he had gone through time and again. He knew what to expect.
The same guard squatted, bending his knees to meet his eyes.
Dark, swirling depths of black was all the guard could see in the boy's eyes. Wide eyes stared levelly at the guard, defiance apparent in those wide eyes. The guard smirked, bringing a hand near to his captive's face. Slowly and mockingly, he trailed his hand down the side of the handcuffed boy's face, reveling in the slight shivering of his slender frame.
It was an inviting sight. The guard was already quite aroused, unbearably so, but he was not to touch the goods. Orders were orders. The captive was sitting. Mysterious, enticing eyes were staring right into his soul. His moist, luscious lips were slightly parted, seductive and attractive. The guard could already imagine the exotic taste of his mouth, the skilled tongue reaching out to meet his own. More than once before, his thoughts had trailed to many other functions that mouth could be used for. How the male's mouth could wrap around his whole length, head bobbing up and down, unbelievably skilled tongue doing things that were never thought possible.
The guard leering gaze trailed down to his body; eyes taking in the lanky body that was flawless, smooth and possibly unblemished, except for the fading bruises that adorned the male's inner thighs. The bruises, if anything, made the guard's hardening length even more uncomfortable in his pants.
The captive's lean, long legs was sprawled out in front of the guard, just begging to be pushed over to reveal the tight ring of muscle that the guard would gladly pound into without much hesitation. Smooth, pale, creamy skin… Tempting and begging to be touched, to be savored… He could just push the boy down right now, and fucked him till no forever.
The guard licked his lips.
"To think, that The L would be reduced to such a state. So maddeningly beautiful… I wonder how loud you will scream as you're being fucked by those pigs."
L looked at him, and then looked down again. He could not meet his eyes.
"I won't."
The guard chuckled, a deep menacing rumble. His face scrunched up, revealing rows of teeth.
"Whatever you choose to believe in, boy. Your pride won't last long here. You'll break soon enough."
"I won't."
The uttered words had been filled with strong determination and conviction many, many months back. However, now they were reduced to a soft, trembling tone, his voice straining as hopelessness and desperation threatened to consume him. It was as if he were saying it aloud more to convince himself than his captors. He knew. He knew he was slowly beginning to break. However, he managed to convince himself to believe otherwise. If not he was certain that he would have broken a long time ago.
L was a convincing liar, so perfect at it that he could even manage to trick himself into believing a beautiful lie that was his salvation.
The guard just snickered, as he roughly manhandled L out of the room. The other guards lead the way through a long hallway, while another grabbed the other side of their captive's arm, dragging and pulling L to follow.
The hallway was one L was familiar with; something he had associated with fear, uncertainty and hopelessness. It was this part of the process which he loathed the most, knowing whatever that was coming next would soon shatter his dwindling pride and sanity into pieces he could never hope to put back together.
They walked on in silence, the hallway seemingly stretching on forever. L walked on, bare feet padding on the floor, putting one step after another. He suddenly lifted his head, jet-black hair whipping back as he looked to the gloomy hallways. The lights were casting long shadows on the walls, creating a disturbing scene that would be all too familiar in horror-themed movies. It could be deemed as ironic. After all, hadn't his life somewhat turned into a horror movie? One he couldn't possibly hope to escape from? All he could hold on to were memories of the past, the glorious days of his successes, where his days had gone by just the way he wanted, where he had lived his life dedicated to his sole purpose in life: Justice.
Distractions and stimulants (primarily sweets) were minor issues as compared to Justice, the very thing he was prepared to spend his whole life upholding.
L Lawliet was a prodigy, a smug genius that the world had never failed to respect. He was L, and L was the Law. He was everything everyone else failed to be, the one whom people were in awe of. Many (due to his unorthodox methods) detested him, but his capabilities had never been doubted. L was the embodiment of Justice, unwavering and powerful.
However, now he was no longer L. Now he was a nobody, reduced to nothing but a plaything, flung around to be used by all. He didn't deserve the title L, not anymore.
They halted to a stop as the large, looming doors were in sight. L knew that it was coming. The frustrating humiliation, the terrible hurt, the hands trailing all over his body and he was… always so dirty, so disgusting, the whore that spread his legs for anyone -
L closed his eyes.
Dirty. Unclean. Filth. Whore.
"Fucking slut."
The messenger on his left pressed his forefinger against the fingerprint scanner on his pair of handcuffs. With a resonating click, the handcuffs no longer restrained his hands. L let his arms fall from the awkward position behind his back to his sides. He slowly opened his eyes.
There was no soul left in those eyes; they were dull, looking past all the things that were in front of him, all the hurt he was unable to contain slipping away from him as he was reduced to nothing.
He was just an empty shell now, just another body to be used. His mind retreated deep into himself, leaving nothing but a physical self behind. He was nobody; he could hear nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing.
L was no more.
To the world L had been never gone, but he had been missing for eleven months now. It wasn't that Light was unhappy. No, Light was elated, ecstatic even. Now that L wasn't in the way, Kira was free to rule. Not only had the obstruction placed itself out of his way, but it had also paved an even better path for him. It was to be expected. He was God, and God deserved at least this much.
Replacing L hadn't been a difficult task. Watari had violently objected, but ever since he was suddenly involved in the freak accident that had cost him his life, there was no one left to protest. Going against God's will was something even God could not forgive. Committing such a fatal mistake could only result in the appropriate punishment. Watari had already been let off easily.
Of course, he was under suspicion for some time regarding Watari's seemingly 'coincidental' death, but he cleared himself pretty quick. The team had not even realized Kira could manipulate deaths other than heart attacks, which made it fairly simple to clear himself. He had been confined, not for a long amount of time, and was cleared as soon as Misa, under his orders, started to embark on a criminal killing spree. The idiots.
L would have figured out his relatively simple plan in less than three seconds had he been still around. But of course, the fact was that he wasn't around to do so. He sorely missed the intense battle of wits that had been played out between the two of them, and he had to admit that L had been a pretty good opponent. Not to say that Light was not pleased with the sudden turn of events, but he felt rather empty knowing that he would probably never be able to discover L's true name and relish in truly winning the battle between God and The L.
Light was not satisfied with his fake win. L had dropped out, which meant he had not been defeated, not entirely anyway. It frustrated him to no end that even though L was gone, he still felt as if he had lost, and L was emerging as the true winner in an roundabout way. He felt as if he was being mocked. Perhaps L thought the game to be too boring and that he was so superior to such a lowly opponent that it wasn't worth the fight.
Rage boiled to the surface as Light banged his clenched fist on the smooth desk. Was he not good enough to be deemed a worthy rival? L was going up against God, the best adversary L could have ever wished for. What was he doing, scurrying away like a coward? The game had not ended yet! Time again, he had managed to defy God's will, and his final attack? To run off, leaving Light exasperated, continuously racking his brain as to how he was to determine the conclusion of the half-played battle.
Light knew that, technically, Kira had won. One look at him and it was easy to tell that Kira's will was being implemented on the world, slowly but surely. However… Light let out an annoyed growl, a display of emotions he rarely showed. This was not counted a win!
Even though he had won, now he decided that he was refusing the win. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew L could do so much better than that. He knew that had the battle continued its progress, Kira had just as much of a chance as L to lose. It was because Kira could lose that actually made battle thrilling. (Although he was pretty sure in the end God would prevail, as was his right.)
"Light-o?" Ryuk's head peered through the wall, bulgy eyes staring at Light. Ryuk's face was hideous (as always), its grayish hue giving him a death-like glow. His razor-like teeth shone maliciously, his black lips pulling back to show a huge grin. Before Light even rolled his eyes, his quick mind had already concluded that Ryuk's apple addiction had to stop. In the midst of conjuring plans to allow such a pleasant thought to happen, the Death God suddenly started to cackle, his annoying laughter reaching Light's ears and unfortunately staying in his brain.
"Hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk…"
Ryuk's hyuk-ing would go on for a while, Light was certain. Light began to gently massage his temples. This was really getting on his nerves…
"What so funny, Ryuk?" Light said in a soft, resigned voice, clearly stressed. Not that he could speak any louder anyway. He currently was in the office at the police headquarters and he could not risk letting others hear him (their leader and the new successor of the L title) talking to himself, making seem as if he were a delusional fool conversing with air. (The Kira Investigation Headquarters had been shut down according to Light's orders; it was better to make sure no evidence could be found.)
"Humans are so interesting!" Ryuk said slowly with a sinister grin, cackling and clapping his hands as he did so. Light's eyes gained a wary look. Ryuk continued snickering, an evil glint present in those bulgy eyes. That glint, the laughter, the words… That meant…
Something had happened.
Something! After all the pains he had gone through to gain success! What was it? No matter the means, he had to eliminate the obstacle! Was it L? That would explain a lot… Was L back? He suddenly pictured the detective, the memory in his mind crystal clear, as if he had just seen him the day before. Spiky, auburn hair, the wide, inquisitive eyes, the pale, flawless skin, that familiar cotton shirt with the faded jeans… Light could even remember the toes that seemed to express so much more than his face ever did; surely curling up whenever he was trying to withhold a certain emotion. Slender body, long limbs, hunched back, the smooth monotone voice. Sometimes, just sometimes, he even could picture the smug smirk, barely noticeable, flashing across his face.
From head to toe, the details rushed back to him, his nemesis… L.
A slight uneasy feeling overcame him as his stomach began to churn. He was surprised to find that he was rather excited than upset for L's return. Fulfilling his role as God would not be as bored as he thought it would be anymore…
"Tell me, Ryuk. You can have all the apples you desire."
His tone was gentle, soft, persuading… but still with a slight demanding edge to it. It was not present in his steady, smooth voice, but Ryuk could see how Light seemed to have become too normal, his perfect acting skills suppressing the anxiety hidden within. It was funny how Ryuk could only tell when Light was acting based on how different he was as compared to his Kira self. To his human audience, his acting would be perfectly unblemished; it was so real that sometimes Ryuk was rather confused himself.
Well, but Ryuk was not the kind who would read so much into such things when apples were involved…
"The God of Death must not tell humans the names or life spans of individuals he sees. However, Light-o, I can tell you this: your life span is changing. No, actually, it's dwindling."
Light clenched and unclenched his fists, but kept his anger in check. It would do not good to lash out at Ryuk now, he managed to convince himself. "I know, Ryuk. Humans happen to be mortal. When a minute has passed, my life span will be reduced by a minute. Have you thought of me as an idiot this whole time?"
Ryuk huffed, fairly annoyed. The audacity of this human really infuriated him at times. This really wasn't worth the apples… Wait, actually, it was.
"Ever since L disappeared, you've been slower than usual." Ryuk's deep voice rumbled. Light's expression remained the same; patient and waiting, however inside he was slightly taken aback by the insult. "Light-o, what I'm saying is: Your lifespan is much shorter now, unnaturally so."
Realization dawned on him. Light's eyes lit up in pure panic. What? What happened? He had not traded for the shinigami eyes! No… Was Ryuk even telling the truth? He had to be. There was no reason to lie. No! NO! After all he'd done…!
He was not afraid of dying. However with him gone, the world would remain filthy, with crimes rampant on the streets and with the innocents suffering like they had always did. He was their only salvation, the one thing the good people could hold on to. He would not allow it. The cleansing of the world was far from its completion stage. He was God, and he refused to abandon his duties.
Shivering, Light stood up and slammed his hands on the table, hard. Now, he could care less about how he would look like to the colleagues outside. His death, which may happen anytime soon, was the most vital thing on his mind now. Pain shot up his arms through his palms where he slammed the table, but in his current panicked state he could feel no pain.
He could feel the seconds ticking by. He could feel his life slipping away, soon to be reduced to nothing.
"Why?" Light's response came out in a trembling, hushed whisper, his mind racing for the unseen answers, his body holding back the wave of rage that was soon to come. Why! WHY! WhyWhyWhyWhyWhy?
"You've been poisoned, Light-o. You're dying."
Thrust. Out. Thrust. Out. Thrust. Gag. Slap. Pain. Thrust. Out.
He was filthy, unclean. The broken rag doll. Someone pulled his hair roughly, dragging his head to meet someone's lips with a sloppy kiss. The tongue invaded his mouth, ravenous for his. Long ago, he had fought well, turning his head away, his feet coming up to kick someone hard in the face. But after the torture his rebellious actions had ceased. He did not want the torture. He could not have survived the torture.
He responded, his reactions automatic, similar to a robot's. The other person moaned in the kiss, pulling his hair so hard that it was painful. Suddenly the customer grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away, his back slamming into the wall. His breath left his lungs in a rush and his head spun.
"Turn around, bitch."
He obeyed obediently, turning around to face the wall. It was better like this; he could imagine to a certain extent that he was not here, that this was all a bad dream. He bent down in a kneeling position with his head pressed against the floor, past experiences allowing him to arrange himself into the appropriate position, and waited.
This was the worst part. No matter how he tried to ignore the hurt, it would never fail to make its grand appearance at the times where he was most vulnerable. He could feel the customer's hard length desperately trying to position itself properly. He clenched his eyes shut.
No, this was not happening.
He was not spreading his legs for a stranger.
He was in his room, with Watari, reviewing the tapes captured for the Kira case. Nestled snuggly in his usual crouch, he was savouring the most delicious cakes as he fought to uphold the Justice he sought for.
Was he?
Did he even deserve such thoughts?
"The Whore spreads his legs for anyone.
You must have such a loose hole by now, slut.
Disgusting freak. You're even lower than us prostitutes. We earn money. You? Hah, you're free."
The customer thrust in, moaning loudly as he did so. L let out a loud pain-filled groan as he panted. Out. In. Out…
L clenched his eyes as tightly as he could. The customer was using a different condom. It was specially designed to hurt, with merciless spikes adorning its form. L was now experiencing that pain, first-hand. He could hear squelching sounds as the customer pounded into him. So that was how his customer had planned to solve the lubricant problem; make him bleed, badly. Natural lubricant from his body; blood. He gritted his teeth and took the burning hot pain, but could not help the whimpers that escaped his lips.
The first few times it had happened, he fought really hard. However, the shackles that bounded him prevented him from managing much moves, let alone injuring the customer. It had hurt a lot, and in the midst of the customer's pleasure he slipped into blissful unconsciousness. When he woke up, however, the throbbing pain would not go away. He ended up sleeping curled up on his side, retreating into himself and willing the pain to disappear.
They had not allowed him to rest. The very next day he was forced again. The long hallways loomed before him, the familiar shadows mocking his pathetic existence. He felt the deep fear within him rising up, his large eyes for once unable to withhold his emotion. Fear was present in his eyes, and he loathed himself for showing such vulnerability. He knew that the pain would be much worse this time; he had yet to recover from the previous times.
Thrust. Scream. Out. Pant. Thrust. Struggle. Out. Thrust.
He could feel the reluctant tears welling up as he was ripped apart. They fell freely with every movement the customer made, pure agony invading his very soul as he was continuously penetrated. He being the coward he felt he was, had wished for death that very day. He desperately grasped for the straws of faded unconsciousness, but his body willed itself to stay awake. Surely death was a more pleasant feeling than this…?
His voice was hoarse the next day. He had screamed his voice hoarse, tears running down his face as he did so. He was a filthy coward. Where had L gone? The detective that would have surely fought to the very end, upholding the thing he held dear: Justice. L had deserted him, for he was too disgusting, too dirty, too much of a coward.
Then who was he?
He was nobody. He didn't deserve a name.
A bitter laugh rose within him, escaping to the surface in a series of bubbly mad laughter. He laughed a little louder, hugging himself tighter. As he moved, the cold concrete floor scraped against his skin, but he could even barely feel that kind of mild pain. He was mad. L Lawliet was mad…? Hilarious. He suddenly looked to the dusty floor, noticing the small splashes of water that had formed. Tears were dripping down… his face? Oh, L Lawliet was capable of emotional tears?
He had cried because of pain, but now that he was going crazy, he had to cry too?
Maybe it just indicated that he could hold on no longer.
Maybe he didn't want to anymore.
"Watari's dead." The solemn words left the old man's mouth and hung in the room, the two young boys in the room quieter than ever before. The geniuses stared at him; one with an unblinking stare, the other with a grave expression. Seconds ticked by while they absorbed the news. Then, the younger white-haired boy returned to his puzzle pieces that lay scattered on wide expanse of the floor.
Click.
The boy's slender fingers worked quickly but silently.
Click.
Another puzzle piece fitted into its exact spot.
Click.
"What of L?" The older boy; with blond hair streaming down the sides of his face, suddenly spoke, the rough tone of his voice not revealing the hope hidden deep within those three words.
The white-haired boy beside him looked up from his puzzle and turned to face him, wide eyes capturing his every move. Before the old man behind the desk could answer, the white-haired boy spoke, his soft voice monotonous.
"Why do you question the obvious, Mello? Had L been found, Roger would have informed us immediately. There is no need for him to withhold any information from us."
Mello gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep the frustration in. Near… he just had to say it, even though L was… The words that left his mouth next were a soft whisper, but it held a slight frenzy edge to it nonetheless. While he did know the answer, he still could not help but hope for the exact opposite of what he had expected.
"What of L?" Mello's voice sounded hollow this time, the soft whisper echoing in Roger's ears repeatedly. The boy knew. And yet he did not wish to.
"He is still missing." Roger replied, a heart-wrenching feeling entering his gut as he registered Mello's hurt-filled eyes. It came and gone in a mere second, but the pure, intense hurt that was present in those eyes… Roger tore his gaze from the boy, looking to his desk as he nervously crossed his fingers.
Near voiced out from where he was seated, hands never stopping as he spoke.
"The percentage of his death is rapidly increasing. The percentage-"
"Fact is, there is no body. With our capabilities and connections, we should have found been able to find the body without much hindrance. It still means something."
The light flicker of hope in those eyes did not go noticed. Near went quiet, for moment considering if Mello was intentionally blocking out the possibility of L's death. How unrealistic. Mello was indeed intelligent, but was too driven by his emotions that he had lost his chance to succeed. Near had never saw him as a rival, because Mello never was one.
"It means nothing."
Sharp and straight to the point. With the last piece in hand, Near's slender fingers placed it in its rightful place. He looked at his finished puzzle piece; a blank wide piece of nothingness. Curious, Roger peered over from where he was seated, once again marveling at the boy's mere intelligence. Blank and white, a supposedly unsolvable puzzle of sixty thousand pieces… solved; each piece perfectly fitted together. Mello bit back his remark, and watched on quietly. He knew that Near had more to say.
Slowly, Near raised his index finger. Mello and Roger both watched, one entranced, the other skeptical, as Near gently placed his finger on his completed puzzle piece. He moved his finger down, tracing a certain shape. Roger was unable to follow the rapid movement of his finger, getting dizzy as he tried his best to. Near's finger suddenly stopped, cutting its contact from the puzzle and rising up into the air to reach his hair. His usual twirling movement resumed once again. Roger was puzzled, but Mello had recognized the shape immediately.
A Gothic L.
Near and his mind games, again.
"I will bring L back by myself. Alive." Mello broke the silence abruptly. Upon speaking he whipped out a bar of chocolate from his pocket and began consuming it as he walked out of the doors.
Roger looked on, absolutely lost. It was perhaps that he had stared longingly at Mello's retreating back for quite some time, that he had missed out on the slight smirk present on both of the geniuses' faces.
The continuous cycle of unending challenges had begun once more.
May the best man win.
A/N: L may seem a little OCC, and it is largely due to the traumatic experiences he has been through. I know it is confusing now, but soon the characters will be... more connected to one another. Take note that this is a series, and I foresee that it will be my first long series, thus I do not know how many chapters I intend to make it. The plot will deepen soon. While I do have the plot of the story planned out, the ending of the series remains as an undecided factor for me. I have the intention of altering it based on the course of the subsequent story flow. It really depends.
I do love to type, but I have to admit that I am an author who is slow regarding updates. I am much quicker during the holidays, though. To end it off, I believe all authors love reviews, but I am one who doesn't force reviews. If you do review, however, I would appreciate it very much indeed! :)