Author's Note: I know it's been so long since I posted the last chapter and I know that certain people have been dying to see what would happen after that cliff-hanger. I really hope that people aren't disappointed though…It wasn't really meant to be a cliff-hanger just where I kinda ran out of steam (which made it even harder for me to pick up the pace.) Anywho I really hope people enjoy this chapter, it's written from L's perspective for a slight change of pace.
"Would you like some more tea Ryuzaki?" Watari asked, in his kindliest voice, the tones of loving servitude. L blinked, stirred from his thoughts and let his eyes traverse the distance to his elderly guardian and then back to his empty teacup. There were grains of un-dissolved sugar resting in the bottom against the porcelain; they had scraped harshly against his spoon when he had raked them absently.
"Yes, thank you Watari," L replied, "I should like that." He let Watari remove the cup so that he could replace it more easily with one full to the brim with dark amber tea. L paused for a moment and then began to slowly stir in spoonfuls of sugar; the tea became thick, almost syrupy with these ministrations. He removed the spoon and for a moment gazed into the swirling contents.
He remembered Light's skin; the colour of honey, flushed with the heat of the furnace as he hung – a complete and shuddering joint of flesh in L's specially constructed cannibal's kitchen. L had just been able to make out his eyes through the haze, the warm amber eyes that were exposed for just a moment before being hidden back behind constricting eyelashes. The tea dripped from the spoon as L held it up, between two fingers, causing a ripple of distorted colour. The sweat had run down Light's skin in little tracks, contrasts in colour; honeyed though – the tan of the boy, the healthy, cosmeticised teen. The skin both natural, a product of his warm, Japanese blood and also nurtured by his athletic pursuits. He had run his hands down that skin, just at the fingertips and he remembered the way that Light had trembled when he had whispered to him, his nails tracing the line where the blades should cut.
He was brought back to the moment as gently, like a waiter, Watari set down a laced napkin and placed on the top a plate with a generous slice of cake. L murmured further, polite thanks, and reached across daintily to take the knife and then slowly bring the blade across the cake to cut it into small, very even, sections.
He had taken a boning knife to Light's flesh, the slightly curved tip allowed for hard impact without the risk of the point going too deep. He had practiced before hand and was able, bringing his hand down across Light's thigh first, to simulate a fast slashing motion without pressing the blade critically into the skin. Light had cried out at the first, anticipation bristling his nerves since L's dirty talk. The cut should have been quick and painful but brief, with a tender after-throb just like the strokes of the whip. That was the kind of pain which Light liked, though the feel of the fresh blood that welled up, slowly trickling down his leg, had clearly filled Light with a fresh delight. L had watched the way his foot arched and trembled.
L laid the knife down and reached for the fork, prodding one small square of cake before impaling it and bringing it up to his mouth. 'Piece by piece' he had said and so he had delivered his attentions methodically to each of Light's limbs in term. Half a dozen cuts right at the top of Light's thighs, then right across his chest, broad strokes, then to his arms, bellow his shoulders – neat and forceful little slices. He truly enjoyed the way which Light whimpered and recoiled from each hit; it formed a pattern, a rhythm which was key to the satisfaction, for both of them. He observed, with a curious warmth that filled his chest pleasantly, how Light gasped and his eyes fluttered – each twist of his restrained fingers and tightening of this muscles was both fascinating and significant. In each of their sessions L was able to gain more insight into Light's reactions; his preferences and instincts and he thoroughly enjoyed applying them in more creative games.
L carefully chewed his way through another piece of cake. There had been a lot of blood last time, as was to be expected, but he had been very careful not to cut too deep. He had come back to the thighs, one of Light's most sensitive areas, and brought the knife across the flesh in wide, harsh cuts right up and across Light's hips; it seemed to have given Light quite an extraordinary thrill. L had observed how strong the sexual tension had grown in each of their sessions, it was an element he had not, initially, been sure of but since the last two sessions he was very certain of it. Light became quite absolutely erect in the midst of the hot blood, the throbbing of his flesh. L himself was drawn to this, the most sensitive of Light's organs with a certain fascination but he deliberately skirted round the fringes. Concentrating on the flesh around, not letting his fingers touch the bare skin.
It was not that he had no intention to ever make use of that most sensitive flesh but he wished, for one thing, to be absolutely sure of Light's desire for him to do so and – for another – to prolong the anticipation. The pacing of progress in these cellar games was imperative.
He took a sip of his tea, warm and sweet, and remembered how he had gently scooped up Light's blood with his fingers and before Light's eyes licked it from his hands, drinking every drop. Light's lips had trembled and puckered – it filled him with a sweet thrill – the action re-affirmed L as his dark-eyed master. L smiled at the delicious taste of his memories. The blood had been sweet too, though the copper taste was something slightly bitter to his tongue. The mythological connotations of blood, cannibalisation, were nothing more than fiction; meat was meat – but L also felt the significance of tenderly licking Light's blood off of his hands. It meant something to the both of them, it gave them both a thrill.
The blood had been hard to wash away, especially from underneath his nails. He had thought it was just a cliché but no, the thick blood had been dried on by the end and stained his too-white skin. L stretched out his fingers, observing them above the silverware; they were quite clean now. He had spent sometime with a nailbrush carefully picking out beneath his short, bitten nails. Light had, of course not recquired such close attentions though he like to give them anyway, taking his time smoothing the boy's hair and washing his skin.
The final act, of course, while Light had been hanging with head bent down and panting, was to bring the poker out from the fire, where the iron burned red hot. L wove his fingers through the steam that emanated from his tea-cup as he remembered the feel of the hot, iron rod in his hand. He had watched the sweat glistening as it ran down that beautiful skin, Light's laboured breathing beginning to slow, and then with a great deal of force L had swung that rod against Light's thighs; hard where the deepest cuts ran. Light had screamed and tilted his head back, tears running down his face and his leg twitching against the hot metal. There had been steam and a sizzling as the poker met with the damp skin, wet with sweat and blood. Then, when L gently drew back he saw the cuts neatly cauterised, a rich, red welt swelling across Light's hip. The young man's head dipping down again as he whimpered in the ecstasy of a coarse throbbing pain throughout his nether regions.
L gave him a few moments so that the pain would ebb slowly with the cooling burn then he swung the rod again and heard the cry that tore from Light's throat once more. He swung again and again; to completely burn the whole area of Light's trembling thighs, at least three hits either side was necessary. Each time there was the pattern – the divine rhythm of Light crying out, recoiling and tensing, then relaxing and panting as the feeling flowed through him
L curled his toes and dipped his finger straight into the sugar bowl, bring it out again to suck at the sweetness, his hooded lids lowering over his black eyes.
His flesh was like honey, shining in the firelight, rich and beautiful and then, in his loins, a raw redness. When he had unchained him he had needed to lower him gently to the ground and take the greatest of care in bandaging him and tending to the wounds. Light had closed his eyes and leant forward while L's fingers gently washed and dressed him. L had opportunity to whisper, into the hollow of Light's ear,
"Every pound of flesh in this body belongs to me, every little coil of nerves…"
He had made sure Light took the car back again as walking would have put too much friction on those burns between his thighs.
L sucked his finger, dabbing it again in the sugar, before putting it back in his mouth. His reflection in the T.V, which hung high the corner opposite him, was a strange child-like image. He lowered his eyes again and thought about Light's latest tennis match. He had worn new tennis gear, just as high quality but with significantly more coverage. Still L had seen him self-consciously tugging down those nearly knee-length shorts to ensure that those long, red burns stayed out of view.
He popped his finger out of his mouth then tilting back his head called out,
"Watari, could you bring me some toffee?"
"Yes, of course."
Author's Note: To all the peeps who were actually a little concerned that L was actually gonna nom on light – You silly geeses! Of course I wasn't gonna go there! It was just L setting the mood before the extra special spanking.
Aaand if anyone thought, at the start of this chapter, 'Oh no! We're starting with L because he's nommed Light away!' – even moar silly goose to ya, though in an affectionate way! X
Also I looked up what knife would be appropriate and settled on 'boning knife' because of the shape - though the name nearly put me off. I hope it doesn't jarr with people while they're reading liek 'LOL BONER!'
Plez review, I really loves 'em. Reviews are what I nom.