Fair warning! This chapter is full of the sexytimes. You have been, eh, warned. - Owl
The nightly watch was becoming either a habit or a problem, L had not yet decided which… too many factors to consider. All he knew for certain was that he liked it, and that it was odd behavior even for the King of the Land of the Strange and Unfamiliar himself. He didn't feel, oh, guilty, persay- another useless emotion- but he felt… disjointed. There was an ache in his chest, a space that needed filling. Some people, he knew, might fill such a space with money, or love, or the approval of one's peers. He filled it with voyeurism and candy.
On this night, he did not pace or skulk. He had decided to stop. It was too risky, so though he knew he could contain himself and he would only look, not touch, of course… he chose to remain where he lay, smothered by the thick blanket, only his eyes and manic tumble of hair visible from beneath his bedcovers. He watched from there, hearing his own heartbeat pound in his ears. Every time Light stirred, he felt his pulse quicken, adrenaline shooting through his veins… at this point, he mused, he may as well have been high. If he were not careful, he might get lost in this sensation. Always keep your distance, that was his first rule, and oh, it was the worst one of all.
They'd spoken, today- well, they always did, but this time, it had been different. The banter that had gone between them had felt charged, as if the pair of handcuffs linking the two were electrified and buzzing on their wrists and in L's chest and… farther down. He didn't recall the words said, only the wicked curve of Light's lips and the way he fiddled absentmindedly with his cuff, pulling it against the soft skin of his wrist as he lectured, leaving little indents as it dug in and was released… now, beneath the cover of darkness, he let himself flush and shiver, reliving, erasing Misa-Misa's ill-timed entrance and rewriting the encounter with an encounter of his own making. Light leaning in, closer, whispering in his ear… he runs a pale white hand through his hair and tugs, hard, and, suddenly…
Only now it was too late to tame his subconscious wanderings, because his jeans were suddenly too, too tight, and he gasped with surprise as he slid a hand inside. Hard as hell, and getting harder as he realized Light was still asleep and he could watch him, watch him as he- he stroked the underside of his shaft, slowly drawing his fingers over the tip, a low moan- quiet, a whisper- escaping unbidden from his wetted lips. He saw that smirk in his mind's eye, only closer, pressing heavily against him, and he was lost, imagining that sharp tongue slipping against his length, caressing and drawing him out and in, and again and again until- god. He bit his tongue and whimpered, shuddering as he bucked once, twice, and felt that release overwhelm him, gasping for air and struggling to remain quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Light shift and turn in his sleep. Another hasty spasm rocked him, daring him to cry out. He bit his tongue again and tasted blood, but he was flushed and panting, overcome and drained.
It was too much to analyze, too much to weigh and measure and justify. He lay there, almost uncomprehending, aware of the line he'd crosses but distinctly unable to cross coyly back and pretend to himself that he hadn't just… that he didn't feel… his mind was surprisingly foggy. He felt himself slipping, and let his mind be drowned in rare and, in this case, fitful rest.