Title: Jam is Delicious, You Must Eat Eat Eat
Genre: Crack
Sugar Consumed: 0 grams
Summary: Rue Ryuuzaki had to be the most condescending little shit Nny ever had the displeasure of meeting. Death Note/JTHM crossover. Disturbing references to BBxL. Because B is an L-sexual. :D
Chapter 2: YOU ALL KNOW FULL WELL WHAT THIS BADASS MOTHER CHAPTER CAN DO
Nny had given up…for now.
Ryuuzaki's mad choreography skills had allowed him to evade all of the maniac's stabbing motions and varied assault attempts. It also didn't help that Johnny would grudgingly find himself dancing to the sugary Japanese pop music. He felt ashamed and was prompted to sulk on the couch in front of his favorite show.
"Whew," breathed Ryuuzaki, "whew. That…now that was a workout." He clicked off his iPod and resumed consumption of Johnny's jam.
"Leave," the older man commanded, pointing to the door. Ryuuzaki tilted his head to one side, allowing it to rest on his shoulder in a comical (yet entirely disturbing) way, as if his neck had been broken. Johnny thought this a very satisfying image but did not dwell on it for long. Fan boys acting "cute" only pissed him off. He pointed furiously to the door, as if this would make Ryuuzaki depart faster.
"Leave. Right now."
"But," Ryuuzaki protested, "there is too much jam to eat! I must help you eat this!"
Opening his mouth to retort, Nny was swiftly distracted by the jingle of a commercial for chips. He, at a snail's pace, turned back to the television. He mumbled the motto under his breath which, to Rue, sounded something like "taking a potato chip" and "eating it" (A/N: LAWL).
Ryuuzaki slurped strawberry jam off of his fingers obscenely. As he licked at them slowly, he scrutinized the Styrofoam figures shoved indiscreetly into a dark corner of the living room, the bunny nailed horrifically to the wall, and the noose dangling casually from a ceiling beam. It was funny what one could miss when indulging in jam.
"Très moderne."
Johnny gawked at the television, listening intently to Scumby berating Poker. "Wha…?"
"Nothing."
"Damn it, Poker, I'll flash your little brother if I want to!"
Now, Ryuuzaki had been itching to prod through Johnny's privacy ever since he had entered the ramshackle outhouse of a…"house." He was going to become the world's greatest detective in several months, so he was sure the practice would do him some good in perfecting his…mannerisms. Also, he smelled cherry-like smells. He liked cherries.
About ready to dive onto all fours and scuttle around the room with the man involved in his program, Kimi Iro Omoi chimed obnoxiously from Ryuuzaki's back pocket. Johnny shook himself out of his dazed state to glare at his unwelcome houseguest, remembering that such a pest was currently taking up space and air in his precious abode. Ryuuzaki cursed the timing of the call and held up his cell phone, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
'Like he's holding the dirty, tail-end of a rat,' Nny observed.
The boy stared at the number flashing on the miniscule screen. Shock registered in his eyes for half a second, only to be replaced by a mischievous gleam. Johnny took careful note of Ryuuzaki's little impish smile (or was that a smirk?) as he answered.
"Hello there, you naughty, naughty boy," Ryuuzaki unexpectedly purred.
Johnny jammed his nails tightly into the arm of the couch, firing off a glare that clearly read, "If you begin to have phone sex in my house, right in front of me, you are absolutely dead."
That little smile slouched into a frown, and Ryuuzaki's face took on the quintessential expression of boredom. "Oh. Hey, Watari. I thought—no. No, old man, I'm not going back and that is final."
Ryuuzaki paused, listening in disinterest to his ex-caretaker. "Put L on the phone," he insisted. "Then maybe, maybe I'll come ba—What? Oh, please. Another case did not just come up suddenly in the midst of this phone call. Put him on! I said put him on, you old bast--"
Ryuuzaki stopped his tirade as he was presumably put on hold, and so Johnny stopped creeping up behind him, knives in hand. As Ryuuzaki stood there, aggravation prompting much foot-tapping and clenching of hands into fists, Nny only felt his curiosity grow.
I'll bite, he thought. Not bothering to lower his knives, he spoke: "What's this L?"
"Why," Ryuuzaki answered distantly, a dreamy look in his eyes, "he is the tastiest piece of toast ever."
He sounds like he gets a stiffy from just saying the name, Johnny pondered in disgust. Ew.
It was all very well that Ryuuzaki was facing away from Johnny because he did, indeed, have a stiffy. Ryuuzaki thought about turning around and casually engaging him in conversation just to watch his reaction. He decided against it in the end, having spied the knives out of the corner of his eye. He only turned his head slightly to peek at Johnny to say, "Oh wonderful! I needed some knives to pop the stubborn top off of that cherry jam."
He held his hand out for the knife, still facing away, his arm arched over his shoulder uncomfortably. Johnny narrowed his eyes, but (reluctantly) gave up the knife. Ryuuzaki giggled and pranced over to the kitchen counter.
"I like jam."
"I know."
"GOD DAMN IT!" Ryuuzaki suddenly shrilled into the phone. "Fuck you, L. FUCK YOU IN EVERY ONE OF YOUR HOLES, WITH A NICE DOLLOP OF CHERRY JAM IN EACH SO IT LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE BLEEDING LIKE A STUCK PIG—A TOASTY STUCK PIG."
He took a deep breath and smiled. "Call me, okay?" He hung up, apparently not taking into account he was not talking to an answering machine.
"I thank you for the use of your home, Johnny C--," Ryuuzaki said, sticking a jam-smeared knife into his mouth. He sucked it, deep in thought. "It is lovely."
Thanks…?
"It reminds me of the sty I used to live in way back when. Ah, but it is that smell that brings back the memories…and feelings of nausea!"
Johnny looked at him, then at the knife in his hand, and dove at him.
(B.B.A.J)
Ryuuzaki reacted quicker than Johnny had imagined. He flung a glob of jam into the maniac's face, effectively blinding him so that that knife only nicked some of Ryuuzaki's hair. The orphan frowned. He couldn't have his hair looking even slightly uneven. Perhaps he could get Mr. C-- to attack again, maybe swipe at the other side?
"I like your ass," he commented blandly.
Success! The psycho kicked him in the chest and swung at his head, which Ryuuzaki miraculously evaded by moving to the right at the last possible second. 'Cuz, you know, he's a genius and had calculated the trajectory and force of Johnny's aim in mere fractions of seconds in that huge head of his.
Also, he was an incredibly lucky man.
Well, this is interesting, Ryuuzaki mused, lapping at jam while dodging Johnny's erratic stabs, but how do I go about ending his rage? It seemed that the man was a bit more insane than he had thought, perhaps more so than himself. The best course of action would be to have him tire himself out.
That didn't mean he couldn't have some fun in the meanwhile.
"It seems it is time," Ryuuzaki announced in an incredibly girly voice, "to bring out my secret weapon!"
Johnny stared, frozen in his position, alarmed by his soon-to-be victim's change in tone. Whoa, what.
Ryuuzaki did fancy motions with his hands that reminded Nny a lot of Sailor Moon and shouted:
"Love!"
Dear God!
"Courage!"
No! Never again!
"Hope!"
That was it.
"Holy up!"
Johnny screamed (like a woman, Ryuuzaki noted with amusement) and went to dig his cutlery into the boy's shoulder. However, before Ryuuzaki had realized Johnny had faked him out, it was much too late: Nny slugged him in the face, delivering a delicious but bony knuckle sandwich straight to the head.
Subject seems to become infuriated at the mere mention of anime, Ryuuzaki thought before losing consciousness.
(B.B.A.J)
When Ryuuzaki awoke, it was in an electric chair. It was quite a comfortable chair, the boy realized, and it was too bad that the people chained to the walls were not able to sit in it.
Ryuuzaki wrinkled his nose, the stench of rotting meat and charred skin suddenly hitting home in the dank basement. There was a 98 probability that they had already experienced the joys of this lovely padded chair.
He regarded his situation with cheer. Lucky! He had stumbled into the den of the serial killer that was terrorizing this tiny portion of San Fran. Now was the optimal time for observations. He would have firsthand experience with a murderer, something he doubted L (the armchair detective who lived with the very real risk of being killed merely if his identity were to be uncovered) ever had. Ryuuzaki truly felt content: a real advantage over his god and hero was within his grasp. He would not squander this opportunity.
"I smell waffles," Ryuuzaki insisted, because the charred bodies did indeed smell like waffles. "Are you making waffles? I would like some waffles."
Johnny hissed like some snake-cat hybrid bred in an underground laboratory that was never meant to see the light of day. Ryuuzaki would call it a snat. Or a cake. He giggled, inciting a glare from his captor.
"I took the liberty of searching your name at an Internet café while you were out…'cuz I figured I had time to kill before you awoke and, you know, I wanted to stare at some YTMNDs. Anyway," Johnny paused, slurping some of his Fiz Whiz, "'Rue' came up in none of my searches, so unless you have hippy parents or something—DO YOU? DO YOU?! TELL ME, FLOWER CHILD—I am inclined to think you are sporting an alias—"
"Googling my name is hardly valid research—"
"—a gay alias."
Ryuuzaki frowned. He couldn't argue with that. He was a top, after all.
An aggressive top.
"You're right." Ryuuzaki's shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I have been dishonest with you, Mr. C--. Rue Ryuuzaki is not my real name."
Nny nodded. "Yes. I have surmised this from the intarnets. Now, whoever-you-are, I can't say we'll be meeting again, or even that I'll miss you, you annoying scrap of feces (TEE HEE, I SAID FECES). But I'm sure you will be happy to know that I will see your bodily fluids slathered onto my wall everyday. I'll say hello to it and play with it and wow, that doesn't sound right when I say it out loud like that."
Bodily fluids? Ryuuzaki cocked his head. He's going to jerk me off?
"Goodbye, Jam Man," crowed Nny, his hand inching towards the lever. "Goodnight, sweet prince and may flights of angels…uh…shit on your head or something. Sorry, I was never into Shakespeare."
"'And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.'" Ryuuzaki finished. "Listen, Mr. C--, I'm not one for begging for my life. In fact, I plan on throwing my life away in a few months as a part of my intricate, convoluted plan to thwart the greatest detective in the world—"
"Not interested," Johnny said, fingers clenched tightly about the lever handle.
"Well," Ryuuzaki said, "if I must die, please know this: my real name…"
The lever creaked as it was weighed down.
"…is B."
The creaking stopped. Johnny stopped.
"Or B.B. Whichever."
Bees, thought Johnny, panicked. Bees. He's filled with bees.
Oh shi—
"Don't," Nny commanded.
B could only stare and blink. "What?"
"Don't do it! DON'T RELEASE YOUR BEES!" Johnny shrieked. He then lowered his voice. "I'm allergic."
"Ah."
And as Johnny calmly exited the room, mumbling about taping a Twinkie commercial, B.B. realized he would not be killed.
Yes, Beyond Birthday was always a very lucky man. Except…
…It was four hours later when Beyond Birthday hypothesized that perhaps the maniac had forgotten about him, strapped securely into the electric chair at, what seemed to be, the center of the earth.
A pity, he lamented. And he didn't even leave me a drop of jam to eat.
B.B. would soon learn that leather straps did not taste as delightful as his jelly treats.
(B.B.A.J)
Well, that took a buttload of time to finish. I hope you enjoyed it!
Bonus points if you get what this chapter title was referring to.
Next chapter: Protips.