Writing: the activity or skill of making coherent words on paper and composing text.
Writing: to show others a world you were previously lost and lonely in.
0o0o0o
Bite. Scratch. Claim. Hands tearing away clothes, friction, tongues laving across reddened skin, moans amplified in the tiny and previously quiet room, and the heat, that heat that had drawn both of them in like moths to a flame and welded their wings together, more, goddamnit.
Slender, pale hands with tapered fingers, usually so careful and precise, now desperately scrabbling against skin and discarded clothes they hadn't bothered to throw far enough away, wanting, longing for more, now, now, now even when his prize was laid out before him and they had all night.
It'd never be soft and slow. It'd be this panting, needy, wanted-yet-despised bond every single time. They couldn't trust that the other wouldn't run away one day.
It was impossible to escape even if they had wanted to. There were a thousand gossamer strings between them, not so much linking them as trapping them in a spider's web together. Cellmates, not roommates, and they wouldn't tell the other what crime they were in for.
It must have been bad, though, since not even the wardens would look them in the eye.
The metal chain between their wrists wasn't necessary, not really. They'd stay together because even though dealing with the sparks that arose when a detective and murder suspect clashed was hard, not having those sparks at all was worse.
If L couldn't feel the fires from fear or anger, then Light would make him burn another way. Love. Lust. Tear him apart, turn his mind inside out and examine every thought as it became more and more intricately chaotic and bowed towards the angelic young man with eyes that were sometimes red and sometimes brown.
They didn't need words anymore. The first time had been sloppy kisses and stumbling hands, all clashing edges and accidents. They were mapping each other's bodies. Now they knew every contour and sharp edge to avoid or trace fingers along like it was their own. They danced together, wielding razor-sharp swords in an elegant kata instead of rusty knives, a guerrilla attack, their first fight in a century.
Who knew if they were fighting against each other or the demons that swarmed the edges of the ring.
Blue-purple bruises that had faded to yellows and greens, yet still obvious on L's skin. Black hair matted and messy and woven through Light's fingers in familiar patterns. L, or Ryuzaki, or whatever he wanted to be called during the times when he didn't look like this, throwing his head back and moaning so deliciously. His lover with raven hair and shadowed eyes, his L who barely smiled except for when he was too far gone, and then looked like a death god.
His, mine, yours again. Grab my hand and be careful of all the secrets and burns I hide there, as I'll be careful with yours. We'll sword fight a demonstration the gods will notice, and then we'll burn to nothing and scatter ashes in the wind.
Watch me, come with me, alone and screaming in the dark. You're not fireproof and neither am I.
0o0o0o
Some people are like firewood, waiting to be consumed. Once, we might have had a different promise in our future, but now we simply wait for the person who will set us alight.
And it's always the one you don't expect, the one you make a pact with to warn you of the fire. And you get the warning. It's a bare whisper of seductive mischief in your ear before the flames lick up your spine.
'Do you even know the kinds of things I want to do to you?' L tugged at Light's lower lip with his teeth, eliciting a deep growl from the brunette's throat. 'I want to make you scream so loud that you wake the entire Task Force. You wouldn't be able to speak for days afterwards. And that's good,' the raven chuckled, 'that's good, because I want to be the only one who hears your sweet moans when I make you lose control.'
'And these…' L traced the healing bite marks littering Light's collarbones. 'I wanted to put them higher. I wanted your neck covered in scratches. Everybody would see them. Maybe here.' The faintest brush of teeth on skin at the notch where his neck and chest met. 'Or here.' The sensitive spot beneath his ear. 'Or maybe here, where I'd force you to keep your head up, revealing it all day long.' At that, the slight pressure on the delicate front of his neck increased. Light whined, imagining himself with marks people would stare at, reddened skin the Task Force would whisper about, and all he would hear was L's quiet laugh.
0o0o0o
Watari had warned him once never to form Pavlovian responses, especially to people. Having 'triggers' that were 'moving, living, breathing, thinking machines' was 'self-destructive' and 'risky'.
L hadn't listened to any of that. He had responses to candy, to sitting in certain positions, to numbers and patterns and millions of other things. He became less and less of a willful machine with every reaction, and he didn't even care.
Now, though, he should have listened, because Light with his arms tangled up and half falling out of the sleeves of his jacket and hair mussed was breaking down all the burned scar tissue he'd so carefully built up against those memories. Hours and days of hoping and waiting for the pain to fade, for Light to easily tear them apart like the deadly thing he was.
This is what he had to look forward to, every time he saw Light with pure, glazed blank brown eyes, or his hair messy, or his jacket askew? It had just taken two times and a damn ton of fantasies to ingrain the neural pathways in his brain.
Question: Just how addictive was Light Yagami?
Answer: Enough to drive someone insane? Enough to make them crawl, begging, back for more before a week ended? No, it was enough that a single taste would kill you…
...but slowly. Very slowly, like oxygen corroding a knight's shining armour. So slowly, you'd already have done all of the above many times before you realized the drug Light was injecting into your veins was liquid pleasure mixed with poison.
Moaning filled the room, steady and keening.
'You sound so good,' L whispered, sliding slickened fingers in and out of his lover-he'd accepted the word and everything it implied; he had no reason to deny himself the title any longer-searching for that ball of nerves that would make those sweet noises double in intensity. Light's toes curled in the sheets and his voice crescendoed.
'There, there, please-' The words ended in a strangled whine. Light's eyes opened, and for a ridiculous second, L could imagine himself seen through those sometimes-red, sometimes-brown irises.
Halfway to completion, and clearly desperate. Eyes wild and frenzied and needy. Shaking body barely supported, chest heaving, staring at Light like he couldn't believe what he was doing but had less than no intention to stop.
Pulled apart like a knot tightened past the breaking point, a tangle of strings only complicated and impossible to unravel from a distance.
The detective looked completely undone, and it took L's breath away.
To Light, he was a challenge, a rival, some ethereal, otherworldly opposing player who relied on psychological taunts more than his own moves in the game. Not the antagonist. Not the protagonist, either. There really was no good and evil in the Kira Case, just two sides and the looming referee of Death.
Light's eyes opened, a smiling, dangerous invitation to read what he was thinking.
You say you're fireproof?
I'll be the pyromaniac to give you your first scars.
Death raised his hand.
Point.
0o0o0o
Light was tight and hot and his muscles fluttered around L's cock, seemingly intent on milking every last drop of pre-come and drawing forth that long-awaited finish; oh, he could imagine coming inside Light, filling that clenching hole with white, making the young man scream as he was flipped onto his back and L's tongue delved back inside him. Everybody would hear them, have known what they were doing, and dammit, the thought shouldn't have made an extra whimper slip from L's mouth as he pushed back inside, but it did.
'You're doing so well.' L pressed a kiss to the back of the brunette's neck, pulling Light's narrow hips closer and sheathing himself fully. Light cried out weakly again. The Kira suspect was quivering, eyes unseeingly staring as L drew patterns on his tanned skin with the tip of a finger, whispering reassurances, you sound so good, you're so beautiful, Light.
'Let me come,' Light begged, twisting his head around to gaze, nearly drunk off the pleasure and overstimulation, into those dark eyes. L nodded, and leaned forward to accept another deep kiss, his pace falling into a steady rhythm.
'Come with me, then?' L asked. The question was all it took, that soft, dark tone and the feeling of fingers twisted into his hair. The world went white and blank, and faintly, he heard L's finishing scream.
'You were so good, Light.' L tugged the young man closer to his chest. Light inhaled the rich, smoky scent, swirling in a quieter, calmer world then the one he had left. No buzzing in his ears. He didn't need a pattern to lull him to sleep, not with the bruised arms around his and soft, swollen lips resting on his forehead.
He almost didn't catch the words that L whispered against his closed eyelids, fainter than sound, more akin to vibration.
'I love you, Light.'
0o0o0o
L was screaming, and nobody heard.
What have you done, angel, Light?
0o0o0o
Writing: to realize that, after years alone in a world, there is laughter in your ears, and a hand taking your own.
:: To be so immersed in a book you forget you exist on the physical realm
-LyingMonsters, the one who isn't completely alone