warnings: more sex, swearing, and generally ridiculous fuckery. way too much internal monologuing. smoking. neglect of the timeline/canon events.
notes: alright, here we are with numero dos. this chapter, like the last one, is rather slow. if you're looking for fast-paced action, look elsewhere. there is the barest hint of plot here, but it's mostly just set-up and these ten thousand or so words are more or less devoted to lethargic make-outs and weird, circular thought processes. the first five or so chapters are going to be like this, I'd wager, so that I can get my ducks in a row. the second arc is when things really kick into gear (and yes, this fic has arcs now. I have big plans, guys. BIG PLANS.)
thank you deeply to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. you guys made my week.
chapter two - lie, awake.
"See the omniscient gods oblivious of suffering man; and man, though idiotic, and knowing not what he does, yet full of the sweet things of love and gratitude."
- Herman Melville, Moby Dick: or, the White Whale.
Light has a date. Well, in truth, Light and L both have a date, and with Misa at that. He's not sure if the situation is ironic or just unfoundedly ridiculous, but either way, he's not looking forward to it. Then again, at least this way he might have someone to talk to. They're trudging down the hall to the main elevator, and Light lets L lead, mostly because he's not even sure of which floor Misa's on. He's never asked, and if someone had told him anyway, it's since slipped his mind.
L's hair is even more mussed than usual, and Light tries not to smirk to himself at the state of it. L has been characteristically cold all day, but he'd certainly warmed up under Light's touch, pressed into another wall, same as last night, and manhandled into quite a state.
Light really does have to try hard to repress that smirk.
"Won't it be kind of awkward?" he asks once they reach the elevator, unassumingly, as if he's just making casual conversation. Truly, he's more interested in what L's general reaction will be than he is the actual content of his answer. "You, Misa and I, all together?" It's not as if he's predicting uncontrollable jealousy or something equally infantile and needless from L's side. He'd just like to know how he feels about the situation, and it's not like Light can just straight-out ask. He would never get a truthful answer that way.
"In what way?" L responds flatly, the lollipop sucked between his teeth slurring the words slightly.
"Oh, I don't know," Light says, deciding to go for the heart of the matter, "in the way that we just jerked each other off in the supply closet half an hour ago?"
L slides his wide eyes over to him, looking at Light like he's just said something insultingly stupid. Light hates that look. No one's ever given it to him before L. "You're not thinking of telling Amane-san that, are you?"
Light scoffs. "Of course not."
"Nor am I," L says, plucking the lollipop out of his mouth. His voice is flat, but there's something like a slight frown on his face, though it's hard to tell with the ragged strands of his hair blocking most of the view. "That settled, I can't see what would make it awkward."
Light feels the aggravation starting to seep in, though he's not completely sure why. It's something in L's manner, something biting in the blank-faced obtuseness that isn't usually there. Light lets his brow crumple, affecting hurt, because it's maybe more justified at this point than blatant annoyance. "Do you just not have any emotions or something?"
L's eyes narrow at that, and it's a foreign look on him, keen and forbidding. Light's not sure, but he thinks he might have pissed him off. God, he hopes he's pissed him off.
"Oh, I'm sure I have many," he responds, crunching his lollipop off its stick with a slick, garbled sound. "Just very few regarding you or your girlfriend."
That hits harder than it probably should, but just as hard as L likely meant it to. Light doesn't know what L's trying to achieve by being a raging asshole today, but if it's to make Light forget every kind, forgiving thing he'd thought that morning - in the cool dark, waking to L's prone, white body spread out on the bed beside him, seeming for the moment such a worthy, necessary person - he's certainly succeeding.
"What is your deal today?" Light snaps.
"I'm not sure what you mean by that," L says, as the numbers light up, one by one. They must almost be to the right floor, Light's sure, because it feels as if they've been stuck in here together for far too long.
"Fine," he says, "whatever."
"Fine." L's facing forward again, back an ugly hunch, and Light really wishes they weren't on their way to see Misa, so that he could just shove him against something and kiss him quiet, make him stop with the baiting glances and curt tone, make him open up and let Light inside - and god. Light half considers pressing the emergency stop button and just throwing L down on the ground and fucking him here, getting in him for the first time, and not letting up until L relents, until he does what Light wants, gives him what he ought to. Until L is putty in his hands.
The image from yesterday wobbles through him with sickening speed, and all at once he realizes that his thoughts sound suspiciously like the thoughts of somebody who's considering gaining control through sex, which is just not true. But it's okay to have thoughts, isn't it? Even if they're bad, even if they're shameful and cruel and make his stomach dip warmly with arousal. It's not as if he'd actually decided to fuck L in the elevator. And even if he did, he doubts L would go along with it.
Light sighs, wants to press a hand to his forehead to block out the constant stream of contradicting thoughts - good person, bad person - but he knows that would just look suspicious. Instead, he rubs at his temples and plays it off like L has wounded his oh so delicate heart.
"You really have no problem with the fact that I have a girlfriend?" he asks, quietly, like it could be either a challenge or a peace offering. He's not sure which it is - whatever L makes it, he supposes, and it's rather a strange jolt to lend even that much control to another person. But then, it's L, isn't it? L's got more control over Light's life than Light does at this point, and he's still not totally sure how that happened. He's also not sure why he doesn't even really mind it so much anymore.
"The only one who appears to have a problem with Light-kun's girlfriend," L says, cocking his head and shooting Light a smart glance, "is Light-kun himself, which is a matter that only concerns me so far as it relates to the Kira case." His tone is casual, but there's an underlying inquiry in it. This, of course, is just another test.
Light rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah? And how does this fit into you're brilliant theory?" It's not like L is far off the mark regarding his feelings, or lack thereof, for Misa, but he really can't see what that's supposed to have to do with Kira.
"You were only using Misa Amane to help you kill criminals, and pretended to reciprocate her feelings for you in order to keep her under your thumb." Light goes for his token protest, the usual '"I'm not Kira, Ryuzaki. How many times do we have to have this conversation?" lighting on his tongue before he can even think to say it, more for appearance's sake than anything else, because he knows that nothing he says is going to convince L of his innocence, no matter how reasonable his arguments are. L is not a reasonable thing.
But he's cut off before he can even begin. "That is, of course, only the case if you are indeed Kira, of which there remains only a slim possibility," L continues, and Light thinks he can see him smirking, a twitch at the corner of his thin, white lips.
And of course that's a blatant lie if ever there was one. They both know that L fully believes that Light is Kira, and will accept no other answer, no matter what the evidence says. Pretending otherwise - that he's actually giving Light a fair chance, the benefit of the doubt - is just cruel. But then, L has always been cruel. A bad, bad person.
The elevator dings, but Light doesn't move.
"I would never do that to someone," he snaps, the anger roiling in his voice more real than he'd like it to be. The fact that L thinks that of him, that L - who is brilliant, who Light wishes he could truly like - has got it so wrong, so backwards, is more frustrating than the mere insult of being accused of mass murder. "Using someone's feelings to manipulate them," he says, pointedly, knowing L will get the message, "is despicable."
That's what L's doing to him. Or trying to, anyway. Despicable.
"But cheating on them is just fine?" L asks, slumping out into the hallway. The elevator doors begin to slide closed and Light has to rush an arm in front of them in order to make it out in time.
"I - " he starts, then backtracks. He could explain it reasonably - could explain how only bad people cheat, and how Light is not a bad person, and how L is, and so it's clearly not cheating, not his fault - but L is just so unreasonable, so set on ruining, on tormenting Light as much as he possibly can, that there's no way he'll understand. So, instead, superficially, he just says, "It's not like that. Misa and I are barely dating."
"You just said she was your girlfriend," L counters.
Light grits his teeth.
He's not winning this way, so he decides on a different strategy. One that L surely can't say no to, because it serves his own interests as well. "Well," Light says, "maybe I was just trying to make you jealous." They've been fucking around long enough that it won't be strange for Light to have developed feelings for him. In fact, the best way to play this is like he's the naive, lovesick teenager, swept away by uncontrollable regard for his older, wiser and terribly inspirational friend.
Yes, that's good. Brilliant, even. No one could possibly blame him that way. If their affair - as it were - ever got out, everyone would look on L with disgust, and Light with uncontrollable sympathy. That's how it should be, and how it will be. Not that anyone should ever find out, but it's always good to have a back-up plan.
L, though, doesn't go along with it. "Were you?" he asks dumbly, continuing on towards Misa's door. "It doesn't appear to have worked."
Light scowls. What the hell is wrong with him today? Thatsweet, needy role he's been playing for the past couple of weeks - false as it had been - is gone, evaporated, and what's left in its place is cold and cruel, and when they get out of this stupid, needless date, Light is going to bend L over the nearest flat surface and make him nice and pliant again.
Maybe it's for the best, though. Last night, or this morning, or whenever it had been, waking to L next to him, close and familiar and somehow terribly attractive in the early gloom, had softened him too much. Made him forget what this is really about, what L really is.
"Yeah," Light says, and the hurt is startlingly easy to fake, "I can see that." He sighs, following L to the door, and trying to sound as vulnerable as possible. "You can be really awful sometimes, Ryuzaki. Did you know that?"
L raps on the door twice, with a loose, slow fist. His face his blank, but his eyes are strangely thick with something black and gutting."Yes, Light-kun," he says. "I did know that."
"Come on, Ryuzaki," Misa whines, voice hitting shrill notes that make Light wince, but L barely notices. He's been professionally trained to withstand most forms of torture, including auditory overload. "Can't you just go to the bathroom or something? Light and I only need five minutes together." She holds out her hand, wiggling her five fingers passionately, as if that's somehow going to add weight to her argument.
Her other hand is cocked on her hip, pose one he's sure she's practiced in the mirror plenty of times, as she shows him wide, pleading eyes. L isn't moved, and barely reacts to her entreaty aside from the vague amusement he displays at the latter part.
"Really," he says, remaining hunched over a large, perfect square of tiramisu, "only five? I would have thought Light-kun would need at least six." He shovels a forkful into his mouth, chewing loudly. Watari makes the best tiramisu.
He feels Light tense on the sofa next to him and, though doesn't not look his way, L's sure he's being shot one of those sharp, echoing Light Yagami death glares. The ones that have decreased markedly in intensity in the last month or so. Apparently Kira glares better.
Truly, Light's been insufferable all day. He's playing innocent as usual, but with a heaping of doleful romanticism piled on top, which is as new as it is awful to behold. L's not even sure that Light's aware of what a lie he is, through-and-through, more an idea of himself that he's made up than he is a person. His innocence is fake, and his romantic feelings are fake, and L's sure the sleepy, adoring look he had given him in the early hours of the morning had been fake as well.
Light lies when he sleeps, and he wakes with a story on his tongue.
"Ew, I'm only talking about kissing, you creep," Misa snaps, bouncing on her feet like a toy doll. In some ways, she's perfect for Light. Maybe not as good of a liar, but at least as constant of one. L's sure Kira would have been just as proficient as an actor as he is as a mass murderer. "Besides," Misa huffs, and there's something catty in her voice which is just as inorganic as her blonde hair and red lips, "I'm sure Light can go for hours."
Light blanches next to him, and if it wasn't against his better interest, L would probably have actually laughed out loud.
"I'm sorry, Misa-san," he starts, but only because he knows Light will undoubtably cut him off, "but I'd have to contest that - "
"Oh my god, can we not talk about this?" Light's voice is rife with annoyance and disapproval - he's, of course, too refined to stoop to such subjects - but he doesn't seem half as panicked by the possibility of Misa finding out about his infidelity than L might have expected. Then again, despite it going against his highly treasured moral code, it's doubtful Light actually cares whatMisa, of all people, thinks of him. Which is just more evidence in favor of the Second Kira theory. If Light truly doesn't remember, he's probably got no idea what he'd been doing with Misa.
But then, if he's really innocent for the time being, what is he doing with L?
"What would Light-kun like to talk about?" L asks, around another mouthful of tiramisu.
"How about anything else?" Light snaps, glaring at him, and that shoots something uncomfortably warm through L's lower belly. Maybe he's just become conditioned to associate Light's ire with impending sexual experimentation. Maybe Light's eyes just look exceedingly pretty when they're glowing at him with annoyance. It's not as if it matters, either way. The game is all that matters.
"Ryuuga Hideki!" Misa squeals suddenly, and Light's brow crinkles as L turns to face her again.
"Yes?" he say. Responding immediately when called is the first rule of having an alias.
Misa roles her eyes. "No, the the real Ryuuga Hideki. I'm gonna be in a movie with him," she tells them, seemingly excited by this news for no reason that L can understand. Ryuuga Hideki is a terrible actor. "Isn't that so cool?" She's bouncing on her feet again, and she really does look like a pin-up come to life, doesn't she? She is a false, made-up thing, and even her excitement is mostly a lie. Her tells are easy, and L spots them all within seconds. She doesn't care about Ryuuga Hideki. "Light, you're proud of Misa-Misa, right?"
She cares about Light. That, at least, is not a lie.
Light barely looks like he's noticed being spoken to, alternately turning sharp glances on L and examining his nails uninterestedly. "Sure, Misa," he says, perfunctorily. "Although," he continues, like he really doesn't notice how desperate she is for his approval, "that's kind of a superficial concern, considering we're trying to catch a mass murderer here." He does, of course - he must. He knows what she wants from him and denies simply out of blatant cruelty. L can think of no other explanation.
"I know," Misa says, but she wilts visibly, falling back into her chair. "I just - I figured we could use the good news, you know? Especially since you and Ryuzaki haven't made, like, any progress on the Kira case lately."
It doesn't sound like a purposeful jab to L's ears, but Light frowns anyway, expression growing twice as bored and offended as it had previously been. He opens his mouth to say something, but L's really not interested in watching Light tear the poor girl to smithereens, so he cuts in with, "Yes, thank you, Misa-san. I feel quite cheered." He demonstrates as much by pouring himself another cup of tea.
"I don't care how you feel," she tells him, displaying her usual infantile pout, but quickly continues with, "But it's awesome, right?"
"Very awesome," L says.
Light rolls his eyes. "It's great, Misa."
That gets a genuine smile out of her, and it makes her look softened and kind, like a real person instead of the cover of a magazine. "Thanks," she says, almost sheepishly, and takes a sip of her bright pink health drink.
Light's eyes shift back to L immediately after, and stay on him for the rest of the date. Misa is even more bubbly than usual for next half hour or so, and Light just rubs at the bridge of his nose, looking bored and statuesque, as L devours the rest of the tiramisu.
They go back to their bedroom immediately after lunch, because Light insists on needing to brush his teeth, though L suspects that he's just trying to get him into bed again. Teenage boys are naturally concupiscent, and Light especially, who no doubt has something to prove in this arena, goes for sex as often as he can get it. Or rather, the adolescent trend of hands down trousers and excessive grinding that they've settled into of late, the not-quite-sex that still feels close and hot and penetrative, despite that lack of actual penetration. It's obvious that Light hasn't been very sexually active with anyone before, despite his popularity among his peers, and, like all mammals when introduced to things that are both new and pleasurable, he can't seem to get enough of it.
He's shooting L coy, clever glances in the mirror, apparently forgoing their earlier squabble, and L's not sure he likes that. He's fine with Light roughing him up and getting him off as often as he needs to, he's actually come to be quite comfortable with having those eager, golden hands all over him, but the reason he's doing this in the first place is not for the sex alone. He wants to delve deep, and having a fight is a good start - Light baring emotion, however falsified it is, can only bring progress - but it's worth nothing it he pretends it had never happened after the fact.
So L, slumped as he is against the doorframe, waits until Light has washed out his mouth and turned around before saying, casually, and with his eyeballs rolled towards the ceiling, "Light-kun's not a very good boyfriend, is he?"
Light's expression tightens, and he looks like he can't decide whether to frown or roll his eyes. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing in particular," L says, pushing off the wall to slump out into the bedroom. Shrugging him off is a surefire way to get Light's attention. The only thing he hates more than being under L's microscope is being ignored by him. From the crease in his brow and the tension in his stance, it's clear he'd rather be accused of a hundred crimes than be deemed uninteresting.
"What," he laughs, playing cool, but he's always been a warm thing, hot with life and fire and self-righteous anger, "so you really are jealous of Misa or something?"
L can tell that Light wants him to be, has been able to tell since their fight in the hallway. Light wants him kicking and screaming and pitching a fit that he's not Light's one and only, which, L's sure, is some sort of cliche high school trope that he wouldn't know how to begin to fake, even if he wanted to. It serves his purposes far better to let Light stew in his own self-obsessed frustrations than it does to flatter him. Giving Light what he wants will get L nowhere. Taking it, holding it just out his reach and bargaining for scraps, that's the way to go.
"No, Light-kun," he says simply.
Light pulls on the chain then, tugging L closer, and he seems to click into the game then, catching on a bit more slowly than usual, but taking up his lover-boy role with frightening ease. "I wish you would be," he says, once L is pulled right up against him, his breath rushing soft against L's lips with a ticklish hatefulness the crawls under L's skin and has him thrumming with the despicable urge to hit him and kiss him all at once. It's such a frustrating, ugly lie, no matter how factually true it is, because Light's dressing his desires up in tragic romanticism instead of leaving them bare and cruel, the way they're born.
"No, you don't," he says back, voice a cold stone, because he suddenly doesn't want Light anywhere near him. The thought of his touch lurches through L in wave of something great and horrible, and he wants him off and out and far, far away.
He starts to step back, but Light just grabs him closer.
"Yes, I do," he says, cupping L's jaw and pressing their foreheads together. His voice is soft, but unkind, with a taunting edge that fills L up and makes him hard, makes him want out of this room and off this chain. "I wish you actually cared about me."
It's a lie, he is such a liar, and at this point, Light isn't trying to disguise it as truth, just pressing his lips gently across L's face, keeping him so close, angling his hips so that he aches with the pressure and forcing the idea onto him. I care about you, his hands whisper, as they run over L's thin skin, but of course, it's a lie, because what else could it be?
"And why would you wish for something like that?" L grits out, grinding back, forcing the sensation on himself, because there's no way he's backing away from it. It sends pings of sharp pleasure through his groin, up is spine, to roll in with the tides in his head. There's a drawn-out, aching moment, and then Light is grabbing him by the face, fingertips bruising into L's skin as he pulls him close and kisses him with something angry and pure and breaking. L sucks his tongue when it slips into his mouth, but forces his own back just as hard, not submitting half as well as he has been lately.
But it hurts not to fight just then, and Light is egging the anger out of him, pushing him into a treacherous madness of sensation that L doesn't know from his own thoughts. It gets twisted up inside of him, and when they stumble toward the bed, half tripping on a mess of wires and knocking over a lamp in the process, L doesn't go down easily when Light shoves him onto him back.
They land with a soft thud, wrapping around each other, close and hot and tinged with a violent friction that seeps through L's skin, licking at the tips of his fingers and the points of his sharp teeth when he bites down on Light's lip. The wavering groan he gets in response is worth the way that Light grabs his wrists and pins them to the bed, spreading him out and open underneath and clawing his way close.
His smirk is smart and hateful as he licks at the cut on his lip. "Why are you letting me do this, Ryuzaki?" he murmurs, voice vibrating against the shell of L's ear.
"You told me you knew," L says back, voice low, like if he lets it too far out it'll get away from him.
"I want to hear it from you," Light says, tongue circling his earlobe before trailing down his neck, leave the skin hot and wet in his wake. "Tell me why you're doing this." His whisper sends sharp pincers of feeling shaking through L, under his skin and into his bloodstream.
Light pulls back to meet his eyes, to get a good look at him, and L stares back hard, gritting his teeth. "Only if you tell me, too," he says.
That makes Light laugh, tossing his head back to knock his bangs in front of calculating eyes, maybe obscuring whatever dishonest thing he sees in L just then, because he almost looks slightly fond. Like, not only is this a game, but it's a fun game. And that's, L thinks - maybe that okay. Sometimes that can be okay.
"That's easy," Light breathes in his warm, heavy voice, leaning down to brush his lips possessively against L's temple. "I enjoy it. I enjoy touching you," he says, trailing his lips along L's cheekbone, down to his chin, settling just before his lips, "making you squirm." At that, he slips his palm down L's stomach, over the sharp cut of his hips to cup him through his jeans, alternately squeezing and gently petting.
L doesn't bother to try not to follow Light words. He squirms.
"I enjoy it as well," he says, in a rush of breath that slips its way out his throat almost by accident, but it's as good an explanation as any. True enough, too.
"But that's not the only reason, right?" Light says, unbuttoning L's jeans one-handed, and with enough ease that you'd think he'd had more practice than he truly has. "The great L never does anything without a really good reason, right?" He phrases it like a question, but it's not - it's an accusation. They've been dancing around this subject the whole week, and they keep their steps moving even now, never saying quite what they're doing with each other - to each other - but knowing it so truly and innately that it barely needs explaining.
"Neither does Kira, I'm sure," L murmurs back, bending to accommodate Light's fingers as they trail down and under his thighs. He says it like he says anything, flat and unassuming, not a syllable belying the weight of the words. Weight they only truly have because Light hears them that way, hears the accusation in every word, and instinctively lashes out against it, to punish L for the things he says, for his own guilt.
Light reels back, a snarl that might be half a smile breaking his otherwise aroused expression, bending his pretty features into daunting caricatures. Dracula, Heathcliff - all the best storybook monsters are beautiful, L thinks. Light shoves him away slightly, but L is flattened to the bed and there's not much further he can go. "Which has nothing to do with us," he snaps, which is maybe more out of place than it ought to be. This is the game, Light knows that - "Yes, you're Kira," - "No, I'm not," - Yes, you are," - "No, I'm not," - This is how they've always played it. "Can you not just for one minute separate Kira and I in your head into two distinct beings?"
He looks seriously enraged by this fact, too, as if they hadn't all been taking it as a given that Light is regarded as Kira by default in L's mind in all given situations. Like he believes his innocence so fully that he and Kira being anything but separate is foreign and unaccountable. To L, it's quite the opposite. The idea that Kira could be anyone else is simply unallowable.
L is always right.
And if Light Yagami isn't a criminal mastermind, then what the hell is L doing with him?
"I'm afraid not," is all he says in reply, "That would make things far too complicated." It's the truth, but it's wrapped in a lie, sold like an emotional dilemma instead of a logical one.
Light's laugh in response is far too cynical to mesh with his idealistic, golden image, and L knows he's getting a better peek behind the mask than Light has ever intended to give him.
"Things are already complicated, Ryuzaki." He enunciates the name ridiculously, like a jape. A cruel joke, at somebody's expense, though L's not 100% percent sure whose. His, for selling the farce? Or Light's, for going along with it? "Sleeping with a suspect?" he nearly spits, leaning over L with an overbearing presence that he seems to have pulled out of the ether, the shining ends of his hair flicking over the tip of L's nose. It feels good. He's still hard.
"Do you know what would happen if my dad found out about this?" Light breathes in his ear, maybe meaning it to sound threatening, but the words sting with arousal, a tight sort of coiled heat that bubbles up out of Light, through L, to hang between them like some thick, visceral tether. Just another chain. "Or anyone on the investigation team? You know what they'd think of you, right?"
L doesn't bother trying not to roll his eyes.
"Whatever you wanted them to think, I suspect," he says.
Light sneers, and moves to bite L, teeth digging almost caressingly into his lips. He pulls back with an aching tug, and L quivers under it. It feels better than it should, and that's maybe the worst part.
"They'd think you were some twisted pervert who forced me into it," he says, leaning back down, tilting his head around to whisper into L's ear. "They'd take me away, your precious prisoner. Then who would you blame for being Kira?" He's playing with L's hair, twisting his fingers in it softly, almost reverently, like he can't pull too hard or something will fracture. It doesn't last long. "Who would you throw accusations at, just so that you can look like you know what you're doing?" He's pulling at L's roots then, tugging him up into a bent-back stretch that shoves L's groin straight up against Light's thigh.
L's voice catches in his throat, choking him softly as Light bears down on him, pressing him so deep into the bed he feels like he could just sink. Like they could disappear and never come up for air. He meets Light's hard eyes, hips jerking up to grind back against his, so close it's claustrophobic. "They won't take you away," he says against Light's lips, warm breath hitting them both in the face. "I will bring you to justice."
He half expects that to be the final straw, for Light to throw him off, label him a lost cause and be done with the whole sorry mess of this staged seduction, but something in the words sparks him, just makes him harder against L's hip, pushing in deep, one hand shoving down L's zipper and slipping inside.
"I want to fuck you," L feels against his ear, and his body quakes a little at that, the words eliciting an almost conditioned reaction than makes him want to run, run, run away, as fast as he can.
"Not now, Light," he says, because it's better than any excuse or explanation as to why he can't, and he owes none, anyway.
Light frowns, but melts it quickly into a smirk. "What, are you afraid?" he asks, trailing one hand up to play over L's nipple through his shirt, voice as taunting as it is self-satisfied, but it goes strangely honest with the next words. "I won't hurt you." He pulls back to look down at L, see him full in the face. "I won't hurt you," he repeats.
L stares back up at him, and doesn't really know what to say to that, or what he even truly thinks. There are a million possibilities, so many factors to catalogue, so much to deduce. All that floats to the forefront of his mind is, Light is a liar.
Light, who feels so good against him. Light, who has nice eyes and warm hands. Light, who says he won't hurt him. Light is a liar.
"Not now, Light," L repeats.
Light groans, but listens, tucking his head into L's shoulder and leaning down to jerk him off with venomous intensity.
Light is angry when he touches L, and he is angry when L bites back his harsh gasp, and fucking furious when L comes in his palm. There's no reasonable explanation for it, no A equals B equals a cause for Light's thundering mood, there is just something in the two of them, something in the moment, that stabs him with such weighty, unaccountable feeling that he's not sure what to do but rage it all out. Anger is easy. Anger at L, especially, is so practiced, it's practically second nature. He can do it with his eyes closed. And does.
By the time he gets L off, he's decided that that's enough, that he doesn't even want L touching him, taking from him whatever it is he always takes. He'd started this with some object, to get inside, to work his way into L without him truly noticing, but he'd played his hand too soon, and there's no chance of having it like he'd wanted to, so the best course of action would just be to pull out, retreat and re-strategize for the next time. The next touch in whatever dark corner they end up in.
But as soon as he pulls away, L is digging his long, spindly fingers into Light's hips, pressing him to the bed and unbuttoning his jeans, ducking his head in the next moment to practically salivate all over Light's cock, before taking it in his mouth, only adjusting for a second before sucking it all the way in. Light's hips cant without him meaning them to, and he briefly debates trying to shove L off before deciding that refusing a blow-job would look too suspicious, and that aside, is just fairly counterintuitive on all fronts.
L's clearly practiced on enough popsicles to know what he's doing with the cock he's got his lips wrapped around, sucking it harder, taking more, like something he wants instead of something he's forcing himself to do for the sake of the investigation.
They both know what this is, and it's not a budding romance on the job. L is taking advantage of him, and therefore Light has the right to take advantage of all the potential benefits that that offers. L's hot, cruel mouth is just one of them. Light thrusts into it without a care of whether or not he's hurting him, sort of hopes he is, and doesn't take long after that to come thickly down his throat, anger pouring out of him as his nerves thrill with the feeling. His head spins, and the room spins with it. He can't count the number of problems he's sure could be solved if L would just let Light fuck him.
Light wilts immediately after, settling into the cushions like he'd planned it this way all along, that that was L bending to his will, instead of the other way around.
"That was really good," Light groans, pulling L up to speak into his hair. It's feathery, an awful mess, and it feels good tickling his face. "How are you so good at that?" he asks, without really asking. There's something giddy edging his tone, like the anger has flipped completely in on itself to something like contentment.
"I'm good at everything," is all L says in response, not looking at him. Whether he's bodily exhausted from the work he'd just done on Light, or his earlier orgasm, or the tenuous, unsettling fights that had preceded this particular romp, Light neither knows nor cares. He pulls him close, dragging his hands all over L, making sure he's there, close and comfortable and not really his enemy. Not truly.
Maybe they've faked friendship so well, they've slipped into it. Maybe Light's just such a good person, he can forgive all L's wrongdoings. Maybe it's just the sex, twisting up his head and making him think calming, gentle things that he'd never consider otherwise.
"Except for social skills," Light says, amusing himself greatly in his post-orgasmic haze, "and personal hygiene. And solving this case." The last shakes through him as a joke, wrapped up in a bizarre sort of dark, dirty humor that he hardly ever indulges in. Clearly L is corrupting him. He snuggles closer against L's stick-bone limbs and mess of black hair. He feels very corrupted.
"Light-kun." L's voice cuts through the heady quiet after a moment, a stab in the dark, and Light's sure he knows what he's going to say before he even begins to say it.
It's always the same song and dance, always, "But I have solved this case, Light-kun," like the world only makes sense, only spins properly on its axis, if Light is Kira and Kira is Light. Maybe for L, it does. Light can't decide whether he wants to get angry about that, and ultimately supposes that must mean that he's not. He shifts on the cushions, pressing his forehead to L's cheek. His skin is so warm, and this is such an awful situation that it's gone all the way around the circuit, and flipped back to okay. Him, here, with L - this is okay.
Light doesn't let L get on with whatever he means to continue with, just presses their lips together and breathes him in, a calming, quieting sort of touch that shakes through the both of them. It's more than okay. It's nice.
"There's a part of me that hates you so much," he half-laughs, comfortable enough now to let the truth fade out of him, if only a little. L stiffens, but not for longer than a moment. He must understand.
Yes, that's the thing about he and L. They may not like each other, may be awful to one another in the subtle, aching ways that tear a person apart, but they understand each other. Even when L goes on and on about his precious theories and deductions that make no earthly sense, even then, Light understands. L is a strange creature who speaks in a foreign tongue, but Light has cracked the code, knows his language, knows him.
It's sad, almost, because under different circumstances, they could have been so great together.
But then - then what does that even mean? What circumstances? This is something that Light knows, knows like his breath and the lines on his palms, but he's not sure how he knows it. That seems to be a common theme of late. There are ideas in his head, and he doesn't know how they got there only that something in him insists they're the truth. But maybe that's wrong. The idea of L as his enemy, as his equal but opposite, is so deeply ingrained into him, but it doesn't have to be reality. Here they are, sharing a bed, practically fucking - why shouldn't they be on the same side? Not just superficially, the investigation team, but internally, too. L's not so different from him, really, he's just a bit more cynical, a bit more cruel. Light can help him.
Hell, Light should help him. It's practically his moral duty.
He turns, sitting up, and looking down at L where he lolls next to him, bleary-eyed and dull-looking, but Light's sure that there's so much going on in that head of his, that brilliant head. "And then," he continues his earlier tangent, even though minutes have passed in between, because he's sure L can catch up, "there's another part of me that really, really likes you."
L blinks at him.
"Well, isn't that nice," he says to the ceiling, barely lending the words a single dip of meaning.
"I mean it," Light says, because, of course, L thinks he's playing another head game, making up another strategy - but that's what L does, not Light. Light's not like that.
"Of course you do," L says, still not looking anywhere but straight ahead, up and up, like he can see right through the roof. Like he can see through anything. He almost sounds annoyed, actually, and that annoys Light. "You fully believe everything you say. That's the problem."
Light tries not to let his brow crumple, tries not to let on that he's not even really sure what L's talking about. This is a new strategy. This isn't something Light's heard before. L usually insists that he's lying about everything. If anything, this is probably just a different method of accusation, one that L is leading up to, so Light makes sure to watch his words.
"i would think that would be a good thing," he says, "having conviction." Not sounding overly confused, but unsure enough to make it clear that whatever point L is trying to make isn't really connecting. Which is L's fault, of course - he's brilliant at figuring things out, but woe, if he has to attempt to explain them to anyone else. It tends to end in tears. Usually Matsuda's.
"That's not what I mean," L says, after a long pause, and then, quite suddenly, he's up, having readjusted his jeans at some point that Light hadn't taken notice of, looking for all the world just as mussed as he usually does. He paces the length of the room, or at least as far as the handcuff chain will allow him to reach, stopping and turning automatically, like the length between he and Light is already lodged somewhere in his brain. There's something striking and probably tragic in that, but Light can't quite spot it now, and isn't even sure he wants to.
He stands, too, watching L zig-zag back and forth.
"What do you mean?" he asks, taking the moment to button his own shirt and set his hair right. He'll need to comb it again.
After a thin, drawn-out moment, L stops and faces him. There's no head-tilting, no lollipops sticking out of his lips, and though L's not standing particularly straight, the slump isn't half as pronounced as usual. Without all of his usual off-putting mannerisms, L looks strangely real in that moment. Like all the rest of the time, he's just a mirage of himself. A caricature. He's not bothering with the mask this time, and it's half thrilling, half terrifying. Part of Light just wants to cover him up again.
Because whatever he says is going to be something that Light doesn't want to hear.
"You're not you, Light," he says simply. His hair is drooping in front of his eyes, but instead of being comical, like usual, it's - weirdly attractive. "Something is different. Something has changed. Something is… missing." L looks down at his fingers for a moment, then back up to catch Light's gaze squarely, and hold it hard. "Does any of that seem true to you?"
The words seep sickly into him and don't let up. His immediate reaction is to reject them, reject all of it as another strategy - and maybe it is, it probably is, but then it's a really good one. Because that - there's something in L's words then that strikes Light somewhere that he's afraid to look. Like there's some sewn-up hidden compartment in him that he forgot the location of, and lost the key to, but it's there, it's there - or, no. No. That's crazy.
L is crazy - an illogical thing, he can't help it - and he's making Light crazy, too. Because Light is fine, better than fine, really. He's working for justice, he's working with L, he's with L. And L needs him, needs him there to keep his head on straight, to stop him when he comes up with crazy conspiracy theories like this - not buy into them.
Light is fine. L is the one who is so not fine. L is always the problem - and he needs Light to help solve him.
"No," he says calmly, because getting angry won't help. Light has been angry at L for so long, for some reason he can't really remember - the imprisonment, the accusations; it sounds true, but it feels false - and it's not gotten him anywhere. "What it seems like is a distraction tactic so you don't have to think about us."
And Light knows the way he says it is childish and overly romantic, but it's still true, unlike anything L says. L's giving him a look almost like disappointment, like he'd been expecting something else. Like Light is a student who'd almost gotten the right answer, but changed it at the last moment. He looks like he's going to say something else, demand more, and Light almost wants him to, so that he'll have a reason to feel this odd and displaced, but L lets it go, allowing whatever the moment had been to slip away.
"Us?" L says, and from the way his face shifts, Light thinks maybe he's lifted his eyebrows, but they're mostly obscured by his hair, so it's hard to tell. "I apologize," he says, and his voice has gone lighter, almost humorous at this point - whatever weight had been there before gone now, "was I supposed to be doodling your name in my notebook with hearts around it?"
Light even pops a smile at that. "Couldn't hurt."
It pulls its way out of him, something unexpected, and unexpectedly kind. There's a generosity of sentiment swirling in him, and he feels suddenly like a better person than he has in a long time. L has been dragging him down, it seems, and that's not how it's supposed to be. If anything, he should be helping L up.
And it's not just his imagination, he's sure, that L is feeling it, too. There's been a heaviness, a pall on them all this time, since that first startling introduction at the commencement ceremony, through every word and gesture and touch. Interacting with L is like playing a long, complicated game that you don't know all the rules to - like chess on a sugar high - and it can be so, so riveting, a dance of strategy and quiet mayhem, but it's also exhausting. Light is exhausted. And he doesn't have to look at L's dark circles or his gaunt pallor to know that L is probably even more so. Light's got no idea about his past, or his history, knows only that he's been catching criminals for a very long time, and L doesn't strike him as the kind of person who take breaks.
It hits him just then that maybe, just maybe, L is the way he is - blunt and cruel and cold - because he doesn't know how to be anything else.
And this moment, it's like a breath of fresh air. Like the tiniest, frailest instant of peace in an ongoing whirlwind of accusations and denials and necessary emotionlessness. Maybe it's a bad time - hell, it's probably the worst time, in the middle of a case of this magnitude - but Light wants to help L slow down, to slow down with him and just find a place to hide for a little while.
"Sometimes, Light," L says, and there's something easy in his expression that Light doesn't really recognize, but enjoys all the same, "I really do like you, too."
This is good, this can be good. They don't need to always play games. They don't need to play games at all. If L could just trust him, if he would just listen, he would realize Light's innocence, and then they could track down the real Kira together, they could be an unstoppable team, together. But that's, that's a different matter altogether. For now, he just tugs on the chain, lightly, pulling L back to the bed, but not to his lap. L lets himself be pulled, settling next to Light on the cushions.
Light trails a hand through L's hair, brushing it out of his eyes. L just keeps looking at him, still studying him, of course, but it's less clinical, less far away and detective-like, and more informal - close and almost intimate. That's not so bad. He doesn't mind that sort of scrutiny half as much.
"I like that," Light says, pulling his hand back, and he's referring to the way L had said his name, "when you drop the honorific." L's brow twists, and it seems as if he hadn't even noticed that he'd done it. Light understands that. Sometimes he says L instead of Ryuzakiwithout actually meaning to. It's just that he thinks of L as L, and nothing else. "It feels like you're acting like a real person, instead of just putting on a show for everyone," he continues, and adds, after some thought, "and for me."
There's something like a smile teasing the edges of L's expression. He looks unaccountably good like that. "Yes, I am quite a fake, aren't I?" he says. "We have that in common, I suppose." There's nothing accusing in the words, even though there could have been, would have been, any other day this week. But today is different. This moment is different.
"We have a lot in common," Light responds, settling back against the pillows, gently tugging at L to follow him. L concedes easily, and he truly does look so tired. Light lets him settle against his chest, strokes a hand through his hair, and thinks maybe if he can get L to sleep, that will be a good start. A start of what - he's not sure. He just knows that if they go on the way they've been going, it's not going to end well for anyone.
An he doesn't want that, because despite all they've done to each other - despite the little, familiar voice in the back of Light's head that whispers, he's your enemy - Light thinks he might actually, truly and genuinely like L.
L sleeps long and he sleeps deep, and if he has dreams, they're feverish and half-clear and gone the moment he wakes, eyes cracking open in the warm, half-lit glow of the setting sun. It's mostly dark in the bedroom, but the glow of Light's laptop is cool and bright from where it rests, propped up in front of him.
"Did we miss a meeting?" L says, and chokes slightly on the words in his throat, whispering them softly.
Light's eyes flick up as soon as he speaks, and he looks refreshed and reordered, put back together after the startling intensity of their last encounter. L still feels rather wrecked and reeling from it, the mess of his hair flopped in his eyes, and his jaw aching slightly in the place where Light's fingers had gripped him so tightly, grabbing him close. He doesn't feel rejuvenated - in fact, sleep usually has the effect of exhausting him further, because it reintroduces what he's tricked his body into not needing, and all of a sudden he'll remember how good it feels to just stop for a little while.
Light smiles at him, and it looks so genuine that L decides on principal that he ought not to trust it.
"I called down and told them you were sleeping," he says, setting his laptop aside. "Since you barely ever rest, everyone understood. Matsuda wished you pleasant dreams." He says the last part with a deplorable, almost sheepish amusement. Like he feels bad for poking fun at such an easy target. That, at least, hadn't been a quality that had seemed inherent in the old Light.
And it's so strange to think of there being an old Light, and a new one, and a Kira mixed up in it all, too. But the facts, as they stand, present very few other reasonable solutions. But then how reasonable is this? Has Light even truly changed, or is L just projecting a change onto him in order to justify his newly found… not fondness, per se, but something like it. An attraction, of sorts, not just to his body, but to every bit of him. Is the only one whose actually changed here L himself?
No, that can't be right. Something is definitely different in Light. It's not surface, so it's hard to see, because Light's surface is all put on, anyway, same as L's. No, it's something deeper than that, something far beneath the skin and hair and charming smile has shifted, grown younger, grown less powerful. His memory… is he lying, or does he really not remember things?
It's maybe an odd thought process to start upon as soon as he wakes up, but L has already lost an uncertain amount of time, and he'll have to make up for it.
"How long was I out?" he asks, sitting up to scratch at his head. He's hungry. He'll put a call into Watari to have something brought up, because he doesn't much feel like going down at the moment. Most of the team will be leaving or else going to their rooms soon, anyway.
"Not more than a couple of hours," Light says, and he's somehow shifted closer when L wasn't looking, to take L's chin in his hand, presumably examining the bags under his eyes, which are still as pronounced as ever, L's sure. "You should try to sleep some more."
L shrugs him off, looking elsewhere. "No, that's a lot for me. Too much, probably."
He feels strangely like he wants a shower, wants to slop off whatever grinding weight has been pressing on him lately, and just be able to think clearly, but he doesn't make a move for the bathroom. If he showers, Light will have to wait in there with him, and although L's never been uncomfortable with nudity - he sees too much of people's private lives for it to even really register with him anymore - he's not sure he wants to strip down while Light watches on from the other side of a thin curtain. It feels so debilitating, all of a sudden, like all that faked submission is taking its toll, whether or not L had convinced himself that it wouldn't.
It's been so long since - since then, but it still seeps in sometimes, and Light is just another thing that's digging into him, crawling under his skin and opening up caves and crevices there. It's not as if he'll back down, not like he'll decide to stop; he'll do whatever the job requires, he always has. He just hadn't thought it would be this difficult.
If Light's bothered by L casually ignoring his attempts at intimacy, he doesn't let it show, looks almost like he had been expecting that exact reaction. Instead, he pulls his laptop over, tipping the screen in L's direction.
"I figured you'd say that," he says, scrolling down he page to bring up some of Kira's crime statistics. "I did some work while you were asleep." Alarm bells should probably be going off in L's head at that - he did work on the computer, Light was alone and unwatched with access to headlines, L's surely slipped up - but he doesn't quite have the energy to be overly panicked. Light's internet history is monitored, and besides, L is almost 99% sure that as he currently is, Light is not doing any of Kira's judgements. "What do you know about the company known as Yotsuba Corp.?"
L's brow crumples in thought as he pulls up rows of data in his head, automatically conjured by the name. He knows a little something about most everything, but not a lot about random, unimportant Japanese companies.
"Not a tremendous amount," he says. "Why?"
And when Light shows him the patterns in the killings, L knows he should be pleased by having a break in the case - but mostly, it just strikes him as unreasonably boring when compared to the personally conducted investigation he has going on with Light.
Also, he really, really does not want to have to bed Yotsuba Corp.
Everyone is tremendously excited to begin further investigation into the new lead, and L, while more than disposed to enjoy dampening other people's joy when unfounded, can find no fault in their pleasure. Things have been slow for most of the team, of late, himself and Light excluded, but even Light seems pleased by the turn of events. L's sure at least part of that is due to immense satisfaction in having caught onto something before L, nevermind that L had barely been looking. It's not as if Light's ego needs anymore pampering, but L has to admit that it was good work, so he lets him enjoy it, if that's what it takes.
Things are going easier with Light lately - less brutal make-outs and punishing release, more lazing in bed, studying Yotsuba headlines and exchanging data and occasionally getting one another off - at the expense of plenty of files that are necessarily disposed of and reprinted after the fact. Light hasn't mentioned anything else about wanting to fuck him, but L can see it waiting in his eyes sometimes, a subdued sort of hunger than struggles its way under L's skin and makes a home there, and L's not sure quite what to do with that yet.
He supposes they'll have to get it over with at some point. Heh, maybe he'll give Light quite a shock and be the one to do the fucking, just throw him on his back one day and have at it. He's not sure that would further his purposes, but it sure does sound appealing.
"Can you hand me Marketing," Light asks, not looking up from his current reading, and he's referring to the file on the department, of course. L hands it off without verbal confirmation, and the feel of Light's fingers trailing over his when he takes it is smooth and warm and tempting.
And maybe last week that would have resulted in them falling off the bed in their haste to get at each other, but not today. Light has gone gentler in the past few days. Since their fight and subsequent reconciliation, he's taken on not just a kinder approach, but a seemingly completely more favorable opinion of L. He seems far less annoyed by his usual antics, even the ones L employs specifically for the purpose of trying to get under Light's skin. And L knows he could fight this easy peace they've settled into, but he's not altogether sure that he wants to.
Conflict breeds progress, he knows, and they need progress, but isn't that what they're having with Yotsuba? L may still be convinced of Light's guilt, but for the time being, it would be remiss to pursue him as Kira when there is a whole group of people just lined up to be investigated. After they deal with Yotsuba - and L's sure it won't take long, given who he plans to bring in to work the job - then he can deal with Light. For now, they can brush fingers and share quiet, knowing looks, and play chess in the early mornings over steaming mugs of tea.
It's been so long since L has had a worthy chess opponent.
The only thing he can possibly think of that may cut into their easy peace is the two phone calls he'd had Watari make that morning, one to Merrie Kenwood, and one to Thierry Morello.
Wedy and Aiber are fantastically adept at their jobs, no doubt about that. That isn't the problem. What presents a rather daunting threat to the situation he and Light have settled into is, well, all the other things they're good at. L's not as worried about Wedy - no, Wedy, at least, has some decorum. Aiber, on the other hand, is awfully… well, he's handsy, is the thing. Which, apart from annoying L terribly most of the time, probably won't be particularly approved of by Light. And it's not as if L can just duck into a room with Aiber for a quick fuck to keep him appeased, not unless he plans on making Light wait on the other side of the door, with the chain slipped through the doorframe.
After the near obsessive research into him, L's sure he knows Light pretty well, and he sincerely doubts he would go along with anything like that.
one month later.
It's a running battle, it's a fucking whirlwind, fingers scrambling over keys practically faster than the system can keep up as she scrambles through files, deeply encrypted - but a part of breaking and entering in this day and age involves computers, so she's fairly adept at hacking by now. Fairly adept isn't enough for L's system, though, and it's taken her days, dozens of plastic cups full of cheap coffee and twice as many cigarettes to get even this far. She'd call in assistance if she thought she had time, but even living this long is almost a shock to her.
She would have thought the Yagami kid would have wiped the board by now.
She's still alive though, so it doesn't matter why, she just keeps typing, beating in algorithms with every click-click-click of her well-manicured nails. She sucks down some smoke, pours some more coffee, and forty-five minutes later she's in. The hard part over, it doesn't take long for her to track down her name, saved in a file of her own - among those all his contacts, a goldmine of information that nobody wants on the loose, or worse, in the hands of Kira. It's got tons of information on her, from birth to relative present, and invasion of privacy or not - what privacy? - none of it really matters.
What matters is the name.
Merrie Kenwood.
She hasn't actually gone by it in years, but she doesn't think that matters to Kira. He's already seen her face, so she leaves the picture, but she expunges every trace of her name from anywhere in the system, replacing it with another alias so that he doesn't know she's been here.
She's prepared to log-out, ready and set to back-track and flush every trace of her brief presence in the system - but another file catches her eye. Thierry Morello, it says. It's a name she knows, and when she double-clicks it, it brings up a face she knows, too. Her finger hovers over the mouse - and really, she ought to be gone, gone, gone by now, out of the rent-by-the-hour motel room and catching wind on her bike - but here she is. It's not as if the world would be so terribly worse off if Aiber were to die, but she thinks she'd sort of miss him anyway, and after a second or two of deliberating over it, she goes through and replaces his name, too. Just in case.
After all, Yagami has no reason to like either of them.
She puffs at another cigarette as she logs out, mentally calculating just how many hundreds of drinks Aiber's going to owe her for this.
one month earlier.
He looks just like how she remembers him - and funny, he'd been the kid at the time, but if anybody's grown up since then, it's her. He's still all baggy clothes and ridiculous hair and a fork lifted halfway to his mouth, stopped in mid-air once he'd noticed her.
"Hello, Wedy," he says flatly, but his eyes are even wider than usual, like, despite putting in the call for her, he's still shocked by her presence.
Wedy sort of wants to smile, but smirks instead, puffing leisurely from her cigarette holder. "Been a long time, boss," she says, breathing out the smoke in a plume that looks almost comical next to the stark white of the room around them. Like film noir has walked onto a police procedural.
There's a boy next to him who looks too young to be part of the NPA and too pretty to be a cop, anyhow. He's the only other one there, too, apart from Watari's silent presence, which had accommodatingly taken her coat at the door. It's too early for the day to have really begun, and the rest of the supposed team that L's been working with for this case hasn't even arrived yet. Which, in hindsight, is probably the reason he'd asked her here at this hour.
"Hmm, yes," L replies, without really committing to the answer, and does nothing more to greet her. That too, is familiar. "Aiber's late," he comments. The boy quirks a look at him then, at the same time as Wedy lifts an eyebrow.
"You brought on Aiber?" she asks, laughing slightly at the sheer ridiculousness of it. "Why would you go and do a thing like that?"
Aiber's good at his job, true, but then so are plenty of conmen. The only thing that really sets him apart, besides the overhanging scent of cologne and malt liquor that follows him around wherever he pokes his sleazy head in, is his history with L. That's one of the things that sets her apart from all the other thieves of her caliber, too. Good old connections. Just like the political sphere and the professional job market, the criminal underworld is run on them.
Though, L tends to connect a little more literally that most people in the business. Maybe that's one of the reasons he's the best in the business.
"For the case, of course," L responds, dully, like it had been a stupid question that he's wasting time on by even discussing, before segueing directly into, "This is Light Yagami." He nods only slightly in the direction of the kid next to him, but Wedy is used to working on subtleties, and it's not as if he could have been speaking of anyone else in the near-empty room.
She tips her head to the side, taking another drag as she looks him up and down. Funny name. Cute boy. "Hi, there," she says, as he stands to extend a hand. She's surprised that he's not bowing - that's what one does in Japan, after all - and realizes quickly that it's for her benefit, that he's stepping up to the plate on the chance that she's a clueless Westerner who doesn't know her manners, and she's deliberating over letting him know that she's a fucking professional, when she notices it.
It's only when he leans forward, reaching out - and he has a nice, professional handshake, good grip, a child playing all-grown-up - that the light from the overhead fluorescents catches the chain, and the tinny jangling is suddenly obvious in the quiet space the room. There's a chain extended from this Yagami's wrist to L's, keeping them attached like some kind of tame bondage experiment.
"Hello," he says, completely ignoring what could be a very awkward situation, from the look she knows she's giving them. "I'm sorry, I've completely abandoned my manners." He ducks his head politely, smiling apologetically, as if not just on his own behalf, but L's as well. "It's just such a shock to see an unfamiliar face. We don't get many visitors around here."
She brushes off his apology, not bothering to fake a smile back. "Wedy," she says simply, by way of introduction, before turning squarely to L and cocking a thin, blonde eyebrow. "New friend?"
"Light-kun is my chief suspect," L says, expression belying nothing, but admitting as much is as good as outright announcing that they're fucking. L has a habit when it comes to these types of things.
"So that's a yes, then?" she asks, taking the drink that Watari brings her. It's been a long time since she's worked in close quarters with L, but of course Watari remembers how she takes her gin. He's like that. It's maybe too early for alcohol, but it's also too early for chain smoking and smalltalk, and she's doing both of those things now.
"Yes," L says. "That's a yes."
She's not sure, but he thinks she sees him smirking slightly into his cup. Light Yagami, on the other hand - and she's not sure about this - but for just a slim moment, he seems to be glaring at her.
tbc.
end notes: it's probably obvious by now, but I love aiber and wedy in terrible ways. they're actually going to play pretty integral roles in the next few chapters, but i'll elaborate more on that next chapter. I also love misa. like, 80% of everybody hates misa but I really adore her. she's a tragic little thing. she won't be around much for the next few chapters, but she'll definitely have a part to play later. actually, despite this fic being light/l in a big way, there's going to be a lot of other characters involved regardless. what can I say, I love this cast of crazy fuckers.
I do realize that this chapter was phenomenally, mind-numbingly slow, but I do promise things will pick up. there's just a lot to set up.
thank you for reading. all reviews are appreciated and you are all wonderful.