AN- Pure Light in this chapter. It so much harder to write him as Kira...lots of mentality there that's hard to portray. Creepy chapter, ye be warned. And for those wondering, there really is no seme in this story...they have their moments, though. Like this one. -Kani
Light watched him sleep. It was…empowering, to be the one in this role after so long in reverse. L had passed out. It amounted to nothing less…he'd tried to stay up and work, but he simply could not function with his headache. He'd shut his laptop down and put it up to avoid kicking it off the bed. Light lay awake now, thinking. L had feared him earlier…was honestly frightened by his touch.
Light was almost scared to touch him now. The detective had an arm thrown over his eyes, and he lay partially stretched out, his knees bent beneath the covers. His stomach was too sore to allow him to curl up in his usual sleeping position, but he'd still managed to slip into nothing with relative ease.
He couldn't stop thinking about how wide the detective's eyes had been…how he'd shivered unconsciously from pain and fear when Light touched him. He tried to force his mind away, because he was exhausted as well…but every time he'd get close, just as his eyes drifted shut, those dark eyes snapped back into his line of thought, and he was wide awake again.
He wondered what it would be like…to invoke that reaction willingly. To know what he was doing when he stepped into that dominant role instead of discovering himself in it as he had earlier. Would it be sweeter? Was that possible? Here, in the dark, he smirked to himself, careful to hide it in the pillow in case the cameras were still up. The detective frowned in his sleep and shifted just a bit next to him.
You think loudly.
It made him grin. Perhaps he did.
Light's hand slipped forward before he realized what he was doing. He hesitated, staring at his hand as though it didn't belong to him. That hand was still moving, out, slowly, across the bare mattress between them. The detective moved again, and he froze. Nothing came of it, however, L just settled deeper into his pillow without waking.
Light placed his hand over the detective's heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath his palm. It was…thrilling, to know that he was doing something that detective didn't know about, didn't expect. He felt it pick up slightly and closed his eyes, just in case the detective woke.
It was warm, beneath his palm, strong and steady and slow with sleep. Light wondered how long it would take for the feeling to pierce through to that sharp mind this heart belonged to. It was as though he held the detective in the palm of his hand…it was coldly possessive. He realized of course that really wasn't a lot that he could do with his hand there, it was just…still. He couldn't hurt the detective this way. Perhaps it was the mere thought of crossing lines after months of having to obey them that did it. He didn't care. Here, he felt powerful.
The detective moved and his heartbeat jumped a bit. All it would take was for the detective to pull himself awake now, and there'd be a very awkward, very pointless conversation, because if he were honest with himself, Light didn't know what the hell he was doing. He had no clue. He was touching the detective while he slept, and the very idea was ludicrous because he never touched L. Never. Aside from their fights, he'd avoided all physical contact with the man.
Except for tonight. Tonight, he'd touched the detective and discovered a way to intimidate him. L didn't like physical contact. And Light, being the obliging fellow that he was…determined that he was going to make the detective as uncomfortable as possible. He'd make him writhe when Light placed a hand on his shoulder. He'd made him tense when Light walked by. Why? Light chalked it up to power. Simply because he could do it, he wanted to. He was a controlling person, he knew…but few things had thrilled him more than discovering that yes, yes the detective was afraid of him. Afraid of Kira.
Slowly, the heartbeat beneath his palm picked up a bit. Light glanced up at the detective's face, but he wasn't awake. He felt it though. Light couldn't help but bury his face into his pillow as he grinned. Power was amazing. Somewhere, in the depths of L's mind, he knew he was being touched. He knew it. He didn't like it. Light was doing it anyway…
He moved his hand just a bit, rubbing his palm in a slow circle.
"Hm." Light froze, forcing himself not to tense. That would show on the film…but he got a response. L's pulse picked up again, beating just beneath the thin white shirt he slept in. Light was utterly fascinated now, though he dared not move. If the detective woke up now, Light could still pretend he was asleep. He wanted more though…he wanted to sit up and drive L into a terror using just his hands. The knowledge that he could do that was almost alcoholic. He moved his palm again, and L frowned in his sleep, letting his arm fall away from his face to rest at his side.
Light's hand moved almost of its own accord, down across the detectives ribs to his tender stomach. Dangerous, here, because it was sore, and the pain might wake him. Light used all of his self control now, just barely grazing his fingers over the shirt. Beneath it were dark bruises, blue and black and so tender that even this feather-soft touch caused them to tense painfully. Yes…Light could grow addicted to this, to the soft inhale of pain L gave in his sleep. They were his bruises, his marks, and though he'd lost the fight, right now…right now he was stronger. Right now, the detective was vulnerable, peacefully dreaming whatever his strange mind dreamed about, and Light was touching him without permission. Causing him pain, and the detective didn't even know it.
It sent a shiver down Light's spine.
He'd always know he'd had a cruel streak…he'd felt it resting in the back of his mind like a large cat. He'd never thought he'd have a use for it, but took comfort in its presence. It told him that if he ever needed to, he would be capable of doing something in a tight situation. He'd thought it the cruelty of a higher intelligence, and so never needed to use it with the people he was surrounded by. Not even the Deathnote had fully tapped it, because he didn't really find it all that cruel. A flash of pain and the life was over, dead and gone, and there were worse ways to die.
But this…this was L. L was his equal, and if he dared to admit it, his better. To have this power, to be able to cause pain with the barest brush of his fingertips, and know that it was possible because of his strength…it was amazing. The cat was alive, awake and stretching, raking it claws through Light's bloodstream. He did it again, trailing his fingertips from one side to other, and was rewarded with a muffled sound from the body beneath his hand. That glorious little whimper he'd been craving, just at the dip of the bellybutton. He moved the fingers again, forcing himself not to prop himself up on his elbow and watch the expression on that sleeping face. He traced circles over the area, just barely touching, and a thrill rocked him as the hand at L's side clenched weakly at the blanket and the low sound came again. The fabric was annoying, but it was helping him maintain some control. He wanted to move it, to drag his fingernails across the soft, tender skin beneath…He wanted the detective to wake up with a cry of pain, he wanted him angry, wanted him to try to fight him again…
Yes, the fabric was a good thing, and he dared not move it. He dared not think of moving it for too long, because his fingers had already drifted to its hem and hesitated there. Mustering every fiber of control he had left, he forced his hand back up, to rest over the heart again. It was still beating faster than when he'd first lain his hand over it. The detective was responding to the touch, even if he wasn't awake yet.
Light released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding…he could feel his own heart pounding in a strange counter rhythm with L's. Much faster, and he idly wondered if the detective would notice. His hand was moving, he realized, stroking circles over the other's life source, and the detective seemed to relax a bit under the new touch. Light wanted very, very badly to go back to his abused stomach…to press his fingers to it until the detective sleepily tried to shove his hands off.
But God if he woke up now…what would he do? What would Light say, how could he possibly explain this? 'Oh sorry, L. I was just fascinated with hurting you, I hope you don't mind.' …'Oh sorry, L. I was just touching you while you slept, I hope that's not a big deal.' …'Fuck you L, go back to sleep.'….
L's hand moved and Light's breath caught. It lifted, slowly, and came to rest in the spot on his stomach that Light's had just vacated, brushing over the sensitive place. His brow knitted in confusion, but then he sank back into sleep, his head lolling to the side. Light was suddenly eye to eye with him across the valley of pillows.
His hand moved again.
Up it went, slowly, gently…just barely grazing the shirt at all. He froze, eyes closing when the collar ended and there was skin beneath his fingertips. He was still for a long moment, forcing himself to keep from digging in, to pull his nails across that small, pale collarbone and see what sounds L could make. It was there, ghostly white in the moonlight from the window…he wanted to paint it black with blood, wanted to so badly. This was L, his enemy, the heretic that refused to accept his new God. He deserved pain, deserved it from Light himself. He was special. Light was almost sorry that his death hinged on the DeathNote, because Gods, he wanted to do it himself. It would be perfect. Absolutely perfect.
That line of thinking was not helping his self control…not in the least. He forced his hand to relax, the tip of just his finger resting above the fine line of bone at the detective's collar. In the hollow of his throat. His throat.
Light couldn't breathe.
Did he dare? And on the tail of that thought, Was he afraid?
No. No, he wasn't.
The hand continued up, over smooth skin, grazing the fine line of the detective's jaw across his knuckles…
And then L's throat lie beneath his palm.
His heartbeat lay beneath his fingertips, and across his palm.
Light, could, not, breathe.
How easy it could be…how easily he could kill him here, now, like this. To just wrap his long fingers around this slender little neck and end it all. He stroked it gently, eyes wide, and damn the cameras. He wanted to see this…wanted to burn this image into his mind forever as he stroked the velvet skin in his grip, trailed his fingertips up and down over the life-veins and the muscles and tendons exposed to him. He wanted to remember this, this shining moment of self control, when he could have done the unthinkable, and done it so easily. L was helpless, sleeping away as his suspect mocked him. The pulse beneath his fingers leapt, roared to life, and he snapped his eyes shut, fearing he'd woken.
A long moment of silence, and he dared peek. No…L was still asleep. His breathing was still slow as ever, and Light had been studying it, waiting for any sign of change. Nothing…the detective was simply too exhausted. The pulse quieted slightly, and another low sound from the detective stopped Light in his tracks.
The detective began purring. He could feel it…the low rumble vibrating through his fingers as he petted the exposed skin. He slipped his hand flat and tightened his grip ever so slightly. The purr continued. He tightened it again, holding it almost possessively and his lips parted slightly as the detective's rumble faltered, and the heart picked up again.
Possessive. That was a good term for it, Light supposed.
He relaxed before he allowed himself to get carried away, and the purr returned. It made him angry, to hear it…he hadn't intended for the detective to enjoy his actions. The knowledge made his stomach sour. It was also amusing as hell. He wanted to grin again at the thought of L enjoying a touch that could so easily have killed him. He wondered if he'd be able to look him in the eye the next day. He pulled his hand away and made a show of stretching, for whatever cameras there might be, and rolled away, staring into the blue light of the alarm clock. Sleep was a long time in coming.
He almost wished the detective had woken.