Disclaimer: My name is King, if you're the Bleach-filler hater than there's something wrong with you, and I do not own Death Note.
Devil's Trill
III: Devil's Trill
CH19
Hell
"Get up," but Light didn't bother even trying despite any possible consequences. In fact, his only real response to the red-head's order was to try to pry his eyes open, but that wasn't possible because of the dried blood gluing his eyelids shut. His fingertips twitched and his lips parted, but really, any movement was just beyond him.
He was cold; the cement was damp and freezing, and when he still could survey his surroundings, he saw ice in the corners of the large warehouse area. And even though he was freezing, his body wasn't shivering as if having abandoned all automatic responses and gave it all to just breathing.
It hurt.
It hurt to an unimaginable degree, and as he was, Light still understood that this was just the tip of what torture could really mean. This couldn't even classify as torture. It was just beatings. Harsh and exhausting beatings, and as such, a battleship wouldn't drown from a minor dent.
But Light was no battleship.
And this was his limit.
He fought for consciousness because if he let it slip away, this would be it.
If he fell asleep, he'll die.
If Matt kicked him one more time, he'll die.
It was it, it was really it.
He didn't move.
"I said get the hell up!" Close. So close. Boots.
Not suicide, not a heroic death of a police officer... heavy, steel boots.
A waste.
"You dead?"
The boot connected, but it wasn't a blow. The heavy metal toe prodded Light in the stomach and a gargling noise left his raw throat, but that was it.
"No? Then get up!"
It was the last possible effort Light could give, but it was probably what saved him from having his brains bashed in one final time.
"...c-can't," he said, or at least he did his very best to say it.
A while passed and it was so quiet Light wondered if death was black, silent and empty, like the unimaginable, torturous nothingness of black, silent and empty nothing.
But then Matt's clothes shuffled and his voice didn't echo from five-something feet above him, but rather from very close by, and it said, "What, done already? That was fast."
Light really tried to crack an eye open, and this time the bloody crust gave and one eye just barely made shape of Matt's stripy shirt crouching next to him.
And then his breath went missing.
Smoking.
There was a smoldering cigarette in the red-head's gloved hand, and it was taking all the air away from Light.
He needed that air, damn it, and involuntary choking was a sure sign.
Matt just jerked him and rolled his limp body from his site to his back, making it easier to breathe, because frankly he was left in this position and just couldn't move out of it.
His air returned.
"Y'know, I figured you could take at least a week. You lasted almost two days, kinda pathetic."
Light said nothing.
"Fine, don't say shit, don't really wanna hear you say shit unless it's begging. Though this is almost as sad as it gets, so it'll do."
Sad... yes, Light was sad because things hurt.
"Y'know... I have official custody of you. He says I can do whatever the fuck I want. Says he doesn't care. How's that make you feel?"
Who says what now?
Light didn't understand. His thoughts didn't make sense. And he had many thoughts. About things. Thoughts about things. Thoughts that didn't make sense... thing thoughts...
"Hey I'm talking to you!"
It was suddenly colder and more wet and things were said and...
Water.
Cool leather gripped his chin tightly and an edge of a plastic water bottle was showed between his teeth, and he greedily drank the rest of the water that was left after being splashed into his face.
There wasn't that much of it, and he hungrily licked around the rim when no more poured into his mouth.
"Fucking eww! Do that again and God forbid you'll find out where that bottle'll end up!"
Light quickly retrieved his tongue and Matt dropped his head to fall back onto the hard cement.
Air came more freely into his lungs now, and his thought process resumed, only to have him realize he was laying half-dead in the middle of a warehouse and the kid who beat the life out of him had just given him water... and now was shifting away awkwardly.
"H-how... old are you?" Light said without thinking much about it.
"Shut the fuck up! That was fuckin' weird and you know it!"
"Weird..."
Matt produced another waterbottle he must've prepared earlier, and slowly poured that down Light's throat to avoid him going anything 'weird' again.
Light was just grateful for the water.
"I could be just keepin' you alive to beat the fuck out of you some more, but you pro'lly don't care, do ya? Bein' mostly dead does that to you."
Light looked up at Matt just when the later decided to get his goggles out of the way, seeing as it was dark. The real orange-red hair roots poked out from the mop of bright-red dyed ones as his orange swimming goggles acted as a headband, and... hetrochromic brown-blue eyes, that's why he wore the goggles in the first place, and... faint freckles.
A round face.
Freckles.
Really?
Maybe Light nailed it when he asked for Matt's age.
He cleared the full bottle.
His body hurt.
And from his crouching position over him, Matt looked down at him with disgust and uncertainty.
And Light looked back at him, without any expression, really.
"Stop staring at me."
Light obediently closed his eyes.
Matt sighed.
"Fine," he said in defeat, "get up."
"I can't," remember?
"Bullshit."
"I can't."
"What the fuck can you do?"
"Die?"
"Wrong. Let's use that brain of yours that L was praising so much, shall we?"
Light cringed at the mention of the name, but otherwise did nothing.
"What's your name?"
"Raito."
"Wrong country."
"Light?"
"Good, you are a motherfucking cunning bastard, agree or disagree?"
"Agree."
"Great, now why are you here, motherfucker?"
"Mello."
"And Mello got screwed 'cause you were trying to kill...?"
"L."
"When was the first time you met L?"
"January 8th."
"And you fucked him for?"
"Six weeks."
"What day was the FBI thing to commence?"
"February 20th."
"What day is it today?"
Two days in the vans, four days at his father's bedside... that made six. How long as he been here? Matt said something about it, but he forgot already.
"I don't know."
"Well, it's the 28th. Happy birthday, you shit," at which Matt showed a third bottle of water into Light's face, and frankly Light didn't mind the water as his present at all.
"You know what, here's something else," at collar of his shirt got flung open to expose his bruised chest to the cold air; he'd lost his top buttons long ago. Matt muttered something along the lines of 'this ain't weird, don't get any funny ideas you fag,' and said, "that's where you shot L. Right there."
He jammed his finder into Light's upper chest hard enough to crack whatever was cracked even more.
"I think you forget shit too easily, You'll need a reminder, yeah?"
The pain of a smoldering cigarette being extinguished against bruised bare flesh was astonishingly worse than ten kicks with steel boots to the head.
When Matt was done and Light mind recovered enough to think how kind it was of Matt not to do this kind of thing before, the scolding pain at a point in his chest right over his heart didn't ease one bit.
"There. 'Cause pretty much everything else you've received here'll heal. Get up, or it'll be your eye next. The birthday party's in some hospital. Dunno which one. Dunno where we are, either. People talk funny here though. Get up. Yeah, like that. I'm not helping you."
It did less than 'help' when Matt later told him, "yeah, and we'll be seeing each other again; count on it Kira-Kira-chan."
As it turned out, they were in Osaka, and being left battered, bruised, bleeding and unable to as much as call for help the back ambulance entrance of the hospital was as humiliating as the time L snuck into his heavily-surveillanced hotel suite and fucked his ass and dick with his mouth so hard and good that Light was sure next time he'd masturbate he'd have to fuck himself with his own fingers. And his father hard the audio tapes of just how badly he screamed for L to do it.
Hence the first thing he did when he woke up in a metal bed wearing a paper dress was, using his left hand to pry out a dull metal clasp bit from the frame of the bed. He slit his wrist with it.
All it earned him was a few more bandages and getting strapped to different, non-mental bed and a nurse to watch over him day and night, as his chart now read 'under strict suicide watch'.
Which, in Light's opinion, was long overdue.
He then got transferred back to Kyoto Main Hospital, and refused to see anyone but Matsuda of all people, and every time anyone else tried to pay him a visit, he threw a hissy fit just for the hell of it.
His father was recovering in the other wing of the hospital, so they talked to each other over the phone like idiots despite being in very close walking proximity from each others' rooms.
His daily routine became bleak and with the small TV mounted to the ceiling as he his sole companion, Light's life resembled what it was on January7th when he was a flat-broke depressed genius college kid going through a relatively normal family angst for his age with nothing to feed his abnormally hungry and multiple IQ points. The major difference was that he was...
He was...
He won.
The depression and peace were the white flags L waved in his defeat.
And as satisfying as a victory could go, the only real pleasure Light got from it was the expression was the knowledge that he won. After that it was just a digression, and though his life felt empty, his levels of content were anything but.
L was dead.
Light won.
And somehow it wasn't enough to know he'd won, there had to be something, something from L, acknowledgement from L that when L issued the challenge he didn't expect to lose, and L lost, and Light won, and L had to acknowledge Light' victory.
With his words.
With his face.
With something that would show just how much L had not expected Light to win.
And L never did that.
Because when that gun discharged, L's face was...
Blank.
Blanks as it always was, worried, but otherwise...
Neutral.
L didn't even know he lost.
And it grabbed Light's intestines and nagged.
Nagged and bothered Light like nothing ever did in his life.
And there was nothing that could complete things for him.
It was like a climax waiting to happen, every day, every minute of every hour of wakefulness, it felt like L would admit his defeat...
And yet he never would, because he wasn't alive to do it.
It sucked because it was Light who played the cards wrong to win, but never get the thing he wanted most.
And he couldn't help but think how next time he'd get it right.
How he'd spit on L's grave, laugh at him and tell him he'd lost.
How his story would finally be complete.
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...
Right.
Any respect Light had for Matt's intelligence have shrunk, dried-up and died with this e-mail.
Seriously. Seriously.
And if Mello did wake up and Matt found it important to report his condition, L's condition must have remained the same throughout. Dead.
And this sealed it.
The letter was dated three months ago; it wasn't exactly Light's fault he didn't see it 'till now as he was strapped to a bed for seventy-three days and eleven hours, but he half-expected some kind of contact attempt from Matt seeing such a thing was as good as promised upon their parting.
He just didn't expect it to be so...
so...
so...
Light just had no words for this, so he gave up.
He didn't reply to it right away, either.
His things were put into the back of a police car and with his dad muttering reassurances and Matsuda happily humming in the back seat they, drove him away from the hospital, home.
Finally home.
Home, but not free of charges of first-degree murder of Ryuzaki Rue, involvement into a highly-illegal NPA-FBI cooperation project, as well as, of course, being the leader of a homicidal cult.
But the bail was on government anyway.
Home-arrest without access to communicating devices of any sort until his first hearing. Eleven days away.
And yet here Light was, checking his e-mail and about to start communicating with somebody very wanted.
Eleven days.
Within the next eleven days, he would be left completely unsupervised for the total of twenty-two hours.
The twenty-two hours were precious.
He could definitely do it.
Light tweaked his father's laptop logs a little before logging off, grabbing a set of clean clothes and heading for the shower at three in the morning.
He enjoyed one thing about the Yagami residence shower, and it was the fact that it was tucked away behind the kitchen, away from bedrooms.
Unlike the hospital showers, their shower was quiet.
Unlike L-HQ showers...
Unlike the shower in his rental where L...
He thought about L a lot.
Thoughts were intangible; their intangibility was what shielded him from the ears of strangers, and it was the privacy of his shower was what shielded him from the eyes of people who should not see such things.
Light thought of Ryuzaki, of L, every day, every minute of every hour of wakefulness, and when he slept, he dreamt of L, L, L, L in all his shabby glory with his trademark circles under his eyes, a lollipop in his mouth and messy hair that was as soft as a toothbrush, his long fingers and pale, smooth skin, his cool hands...
Light's hand slowly trailed down along the streams of hot water over the gentle curve of his navel, past the soft curls and there wasn't anything he wanted more than to fist himself and pump hard, but the slow torture of gently tracing his shaft up and down with feather touches felt so much like L's sleek tongue, and it wasn't something he could deny himself… deny L...
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool tile and slid down to his knees. A strained sound of pleasure escaped his throat and he had to grab onto the lower shower tap as his own finger ran down the underside of his half-erect member.
It's been so long since anyone touched him.
And it was good, as good as when L did it, and L sure made it last, so he teased his head and it still wasn't nearly enough, so he pinched the foreskin and pulled away, jammed a nail into the slit, and did it just like what L did to him all those times...
...and there were no sparkles or hard moans, there was just pain from scratching himself so he gave up on that, fisted himself and pumped until he became hard and red and up.
His mistake was cracking open one eye to look down to find nothing more than his own hand pleasuring himself. It was disappointing.
"R-ryuza-ki-," it left his lips subconsciously, and the sound of that name came louder than millions of hot water droplets falling from the showerhead. His breathing was labored, the water was unbearably hot and there was definitely not enough air at the bottom of the bathtub, and finishing this and moving on now was as good time as ever...
But Light wanted L.
He wanted L to be doing this, L to be touching him, fucking him, L, L, L-
He jerked himself franticly but only found the will to come slipping away though the cracks between his fingers despite being painfully hard.
Pain.
His erection was throbbing, almost purple now, hard, thick, precum dripped off his fist and all he could do was moan and squeeze it so hard he could barely push it though his fist and yet there was no orgasm.
Nothing.
"No, oh god no..." His eyes stung from salt in them and being unbearably thick as he stared down at himself, unable to come, in scorching pain.
Light sucked up his tears and left his weeping erection alone, reached for the tap with shaky hands and turned on cold water.
This couldn't be happening, this was his first time in so long, and he wanted it, and he just couldn't... It was mental issue. Completely. Totally.
Light tried to distract himself with his thoughts.
The water cooled quickly and very soon the water stabbed him like millions of sharp, heavy icicles, and he sat on his knees, shaking, watching his throbbing and thick cock pulsate and the stupid, useless erection just wouldn't go away...
He cried out and turned the water off.
"D-damn... damn y-you!"
Ryuzaki, Ryuzaki, Ryuzaki, L, L, L, "L!!", L, please God just let me come, please...
He sobbed and while still on his knees smacked his face onto the empty bottom of the tub, his ass high in the air, reached behind and let his middle finger trail up his inner thigh.
God, this was humiliating.
His erection gave a painful jerk and he fisted himself again, praying this would work.
Good God this isn't right, he thought, but when he let two of his fingers pull the outside of his hole, the tight muscles there gave a ridiculously pleasing spasm.
It was so warm on the outside and so tiny; it didn't feel like anything at all would fit in there. It felt so tender and fragile that anything excessive would surely rip it, and-
"OH GOD," he shouted when he forced three fingers with absolutely no lubrication inside of himself, "s-shit..."
Pain. Gnawing, scorching pain, like L took his dick and shoved it into Light raw, but it was only three fucking fingers...
His erection seemed to think otherwise.
He was so close to coming that his knees shuddered heavily and the muscles around his three finders clamped down to a degree where Light couldn't even pull it out.
He tried wiggling, gently, because fucking himself and imagining it was L's large, thick dick inside of him instead of his own hand seemed to be working, but nothing.
Not a thing.
So he did the only logical thing remaining.
He spread the fingers inside just like he'd put them there in the first place, harshly, without thinking or letting himself relax into it.
And because he was clenching at those fingers so tightly in the first place, it took an enormous amount of effort, and he muffled his screams every time because his was in his own house with his father and mother and little sister sleeping for fuck's sake, but after five or so times of doing that his tight passage became slick and it became easier.
He didn't even want to find his prostate, he just... stretched and ripped inside himself, in pain pretty much everywhere, and then finally, finally, he was allowed to come.
He came excessively, and not a shred of pleasure that was supposed to accompany such a rich orgasm was present.
None.
When he came to, he was in the same position, face first in the cold tub, covered in his own semen, bent over and spread open, with his fingers still lodged inside of his tight and convulsing hole.
He looked down under his stomach and between his legs.
The pools of water from the shower were scarce compared to sticky white fluid covering him and the walls of the tub. He even felt some on his face.
And amidst of white tub, clear water and white come was very clear, bright pink. It pooled around his knee and melted into the water. A sharp red line ran up his knee to his thigh, around his softening dick and disappeared from sight.
Light slowly pulled his fingers out of himself, and sick and wet noises followed the exit.
He looked, clenched his fist into a ball, punched the wall of a metal tub repeatedly and bit his lip to avoid crying in anger.
Surely enough, he was bleeding inside, and his fingers were covered in blood when they came out of the place where L should've been instead.
L: ...but I am not dead.
Light: ...well actually, since this is a leap back-in-time, you're still in a coma, so you have no way of knowing if you're alive or dead. :D
A/N: Light does have a point.
Anyway. Thank you to every single one who kept up with the story or went and read the whole thing just now or skipped to this chapter or... I don't even know. You guys win at life... FOR REVIEWING! TNXLOL. I love dumping unexpected things on you, there's a bunch more to come. And other things. Like...
What I really meant to say was,
WE HIT 500 REVIEWS! OMGOMGOMGOMG THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!
We just needed a little bit of a calm-before-the-storm chapter. Yeah, there's another one... Don't go "ugh, can't they just screw already?"! THEY ARE IN DIFFERENT COUNTRIES! Cybersex in NOT an answer!
Matt: My penis ad won at life.
And because I just finished up to chapter 22 with only proofing them left, I'll go and die somewhere because I did this in three days with two hours of sleep. Or something like that. I think I fainted here and there.
Please review, you want to, and it gets me uploadin' and stuff.
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