Tunes in Profile:

Slow Like Honey


. . .


Slow Like Honey

The pain wasn't so bad, and he even gave a little smile at the courteous action. It was almost too good for words – the great L, washing his . . .


The familiar sensation of something burning and wet poking his lower back seeped into Light's dream, which he couldn't remember now that he'd opened his eyes. The blurred bright green of the alarm clock currently in his line of sight took a moment to come into focus.

4:25am

He'd only been a sleep for a couple of hours, and he felt like it. Squeezing his eyes open and shut a few times, Light cleared the leftovers of sleep from his brain in a vision of strobing dots imposed over darkness.

The hand resting on his shoulder blade came to Light's attention when it exerted a little pressure on him.

"Light-kun?" L's voice barely made it through the silence, it was so quiet.

Light wriggled back against the warm body curled against him, satisfied with the feel of soft skin pressed to his back. Whenever L spooned himself around Light, that meant he wanted something. And that something almost always had something to do with the pistol currently being nudged into Light's back, cocked and ready. At least, that's what Light hoped the detective's reasoning was.

"I'm awake." Light whispered in response, reaching behind him to fondle the trigger of that gun. He felt warm satin against his fingertips for a brief moment before the shackle around his left wrist was jerked upwards harshly, forcing his arm above his head. Looking upward in that same direction, Light could see that L's right hand had the length of the chain wrapped around itself, pulling the highly-reflective metal taut.

Resorting to Plan B, Light tried to twist himself onto his back. But L, ever prepared, was ready for that too, forcing his left thigh in-between Light's own to stay him on his side.

L pushed himself closer to his captive, nuzzling his face through the hair covering Light's ear. "Light-kun should remain still."

That hypnotic rumble of his, coupled with biting teeth at his earlobe, quieted Light's movements immediately. While he didn't particularly like the idea of being restrained, the delicious sensations L was creating in his suddenly submissive body made it tolerable. The peculiar man, damn him, had a way about him that could turn Japan's top student into some kind of mindless marionette, begging to have his strings pulled.

The feel of thin fingernails scraping down his skin – his chest, his ribs, his navel – only reinforced that fact, making Light shamefully arch himself against the dark-eyed beauty molesting his young body. There was that spot, in the hollow of his hip, that L took advantage of too often. And there was the way he liked to breath naughty commands in Light's ear, demanding things in a voice that no longer sounded bored or apathetic.

And then, there was that well-hidden, tightly controlled vicious streak of L's that liked to hear Light's stifled cries when nails raked along his arousal, or skeletal fingers grasped unkindly. Something that had scared the bejesus out of Light when he'd first encountered it, but that now only intensified his body's response to the older man's advances.

It was almost funny, that Light would come into this thing with more experience, and somehow end up as though he were the grasshopper. Funny, but not really that surprising. L was a lightning fast learner, and he'd went from awkward and maladroit to capable and in control in record time. Light's creation was complete, but it was beginning to look as though Fuckenstein was turning against him.

L made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat at Light's response before unhanding him, and pushing the boy half on his stomach to rid him of his boxer shorts. Light couldn't see what was happening behind him, and he didn't much care. What was important was what he could feel. And at the moment, that consisted of L's hand spreading him and the sensation of his crown, slick with arousal, teasing Light's puckered flesh.

Instinct and impatience moved Light's hips backward, but L tightened his grip on the teenager's backside to keep him still. Light turned his head the only way he could so that his voice wasn't muffled by the pillow beneath him, and barely managed to free the arm he'd been laying awkwardly on.

"L–"

"Quiet."

The quick command was so unusual, that Light snapped his mouth shut in surprise. Usually, L preferred a moderate amount of begging on Light's part.

He sensed L moving, felt his free hand leave his skin, and heard the tiniest sound that Light knew was L gathering saliva into his closed fist. A trick Light had taught him to make their encounters more . . . mobile, so they didn't have to rely on a synthetic.

Why the hell was he taking his sweet time? Light tugged at the chain still limiting his movement, and L tugged back with much more force, letting Light know that liberty wasn't available.

But now, with the long-awaited feel of the detective pushing himself into him, Light no longer gave a damn about freedom. He got more fulfillment out of yielding to L's passionate dominance over him than he did from anything he'd ever done when he was free. Capricious freedom, the ideal couldn't even begin to compare to this physical rapture of their coupling.

L was moving now, Light's body having adjusted to him. And it occurred to Light, just before he lost his ability to reflect on their union, that maybe nothing would.

With the aid of L's hand on his hip, Light managed to accustom himself to the slow, leisurely rhythm set by this pale paramour of his. This work of art that Light could call his own . . . he was so close. His breath, fervid and warm, Light could feel tickling his neck. The strength of his lean body, deceiving and reassuring, Light was very much aware of in those sure strokes of his. His heart, its beating fast and strong against his back, matched the violent cadence of Light's own.

Straightening his right arm to match the other snagged in the chain, Light's hand crept under the pillow to latch onto the ashen limb above. He found that he could work his fingers between the fragile bone work of L's wrist, and the sharp edges of now warm steel. Tendons tensed and strained beneath his palm, L's pulse hammering against the pad of his thumb. Sharing the constraint of the bracelet encircling his captor's wrist served to ground Light . . . to comfort him in a bizarre, unfathomable way. He tightened his grip until his muscles shook with the effort, his body desperate for the physical contact while his mind began to dissolve.

" . . . closer."

Light wasn't altogether sure if the word had escaped from his brain or not. But it must have left his mouth, for the heat of L amplified against him, and there was a searing sensation at his nape. The guiding hand at his hip moved to his thigh, positioning him for better access.

He felt his body start to tighten, and his ability to remain quiet seemed to flutter away. Light knew this feeling, and was a little startled that it would come on so quickly, with this honeyed adagio of all things.

This, he thought before rising to meet his glory, is perfection.

At the first unbridled vocalization of oblivion, L's hand clamped over the boy's mouth to quiet him. His body fared no better – wanting to both stretch and shrink, and unable to do either. Light was left only with that delicious sense of being filled . . . of having something inside him that his muscles could both push away and pull closer as release began to pulsate through him.

Light squeezed his eyes shut at the onslaught of sensation, his body straining against the subdued violence that L forced upon him. He couldn't move . . . his cries only ended up as guttural sounds lodged in his throat . . . and the sudden quickening of the detective's movements against orgasm-induced resistance was becoming almost intolerable.

Until, mercifully, the last of it snapped through him in one final, intense wave.

Jittery and dazed, floating around in that fleeting limbo between bliss and return, Light heard the hushed sounds of his Puppeteer's own release close to his ear. It was always the same – a highly controlled thing of held breath, and then rhythmic, silent sighs. Never a sound from that whispery, mesmerizing voice . . . only shuddering, noiseless exhales.

The pressure of L's hold on him increased, the tips of bony fingers pressing into Light's cheekbone painfully.

He couldn't see, but Light knew very well that wide-eyed constriction of dead black into animated platinum just as the detective lost himself. He knew that almost indiscernible 'O' of passion-swollen lips, that look of intense concentration that almost immediately softened into something Light had no adjectives for.

He'd seen the entire play a total of two times, but he'd memorized the performance the first time he'd been graced with it. Now, he recalled it . . . imagining what was purposefully hidden from him. L did it deliberately - fucking him from behind, covering his eyes if they faced each other, or burying his face in Light's throat and out of sight - and didn't bother to make bones about that fact.

Rarely allowed to be seen, and Light understood why better than anyone. It was a weakness . . . a vulnerability one would do well not to expose to their prime suspect. What he didn't understand was why he'd been permitted to see it at all, instead of hardly ever. A result of mood, maybe. Or something not initially prepared for, but then thought better of.

Noticing the sudden slack given to the chain, Light pulled his hand from under the cuff around L's wrist and relaxed the stressed muscles of his arms. He'd been tired fifteen minutes earlier. Now, he was flat out exhausted. So much so, that he didn't pay the littlest bit of mind to the evidence of release that seeped from him, fast cooling in the night air.

The sound of rustling sheets and the sudden absence of warmth signified L's distancing of himself from the spent boy. He heard the soft rattling of the chain as L moved about, and then he saw the pale-skinned paragon in front of him, walking towards the bathroom. The chain had rotated from behind him to in front of him, and now it pulled tight, stopping the detective short.

Light watched in lazy amusement as L turned around to look at his imprisoned hand, giving the offending thing an annoyed click of his tongue. He pulled at it, resulting in stretching Light's own arm as far as it would go. Light was dead weight, and he wasn't moving an inch. If L wanted to go somewhere, he would have to either carry him or drag him from where he lay on his side, useless.

Apparently realizing this, he saw L claw at the wristlet with determination, working the metal over his gaunt hand until it popped free. He tossed it down as if it were soiled, the action once again rendering Light's arm limp on the sheets in front of him, and shuffled off.

The clatter of metal links hitting the side of the bed was followed momentarily by the rushing of running water. He'd seen no light spill from the adjoining room, and wondered vaguely how it was that L could see in the darkness there. Water ceased, and the ghostly figure materialized in the doorway once again. Light's eyes followed as he walked towards him with a rag in each hand – one dangling from his fingertips and the other enclosed around his lasting erection. He stepped over the chain, and stopped beside the bed to offer his gift.

Light wasn't interested. He was going to sleep now, and that was all.

"Has Light-kun died?"

He probably looked dead. Opening his mouth, Light gave a short ah sound that said yes, he was dead. In testament, he let his eyes droop closed.

The sound of terry cloth hitting carpet reached his ears, and then a hand was pushing roughly at his hip, turning him towards his back. Light didn't resist – not even when the too hot cloth was being dragged harshly all over his exposed inner thighs, his stomach, and in-between. The pain wasn't so bad, and he even gave a little smile at the courteous action. It was almost too good for words – the great L, washing his–

Light gave a sharp yelp at the pulling of curls around his base, his eyes flying open to glare hatefully at the smug looking face staring back at him.

"I'm sorry."

Bastard wasn't sorry at all. Slapping at L's hand, Light rolled over to his other side in safety. Why couldn't L just let him sleep? Daylight was only a few hours away, and he wanted to get at least some semblance of sleep. The insomniac could stay up all night if he wanted to – good for him – but this genius needed his beauty rest.

Light listened – the creature was still standing there, probably thinking of a way to irritate him further. Well, let him stand there for as long as he wanted. Light was not going to–

He heard the snap a microsecond before he felt the lash burn into the skin of his ass. He jumped in a too late reaction, the pain so excruciating that he couldn't even produce sound.

"Good night, Light-kun."

L tossed the still twisted weapon of mass destruction onto Light's hip, retrieved the key to their handcuffs from the pocket of his discarded jeans, and worked at re-securing the cuff around his wrist.