Disclaimer: The Maiden of Autumn owns nothing.

...This had to be done. It was begging for it.

Twerk

"I don't understand society in this age at all, Light," L complained out of the blue one day.

Looking up from where he was going over his organic chemistry notes on his bed, Light quirked a brow, craning his head to see L watching some sort of video on his computer. The volume was turned down low, enough so that L could hear it with his supernatural demonic hearing, but Light couldn't so it wouldn't distract him from his notes.

Because God knew L did that enough already. In fact, this was the 5th interruption in the span of a half an hour, and sighing, Light shook his head and maybe not-so-reluctantly, put the boring course material away.

He didn't think he'd get anymore studying done tonight since L was in the sort of Let's irritate Light mood, and to be perfectly honest, he already knew the material very well. There was no purpose in studying it more than he already was.

Getting up, he stretched luxuriously before ambling over to L, whose wide black eyes were fixed on the screen. Light leaned over L's shoulder to get a better look at whatever the incubus was watching, turning up the volume as he did so.

And immediately regretted it.

And regretted it even more when his eyes slid over to the screen.

...He didn't' believe he'd ever had such an intense urge to vomit, not even when he'd had a rather nasty case of the stomach flu and puked up everything but his intestines himself. But this, this took the cake.

…Teddy bears were not meant to be used that way.

…And neither were foam fingers.

After a moment of mutual shocked and disgusted silence, Light managed to ask, in a rather miraculously level voice, "What, L, are you watching, exactly?"

"The American star Miley Cyrus' live performance during the VMA music festival," L replied, his eye twitching in tandem with his wings in disgust as the aforementioned star performed a spectacularly vulgar move.

"What the hell is she doing?" Light gasped as Cyrus bent over and, as the only way Light could think to define it, began wiggling her behind right at her male companion's crotch.

"I believe," L said, a thin trace of amusement threading into his voice, "that it is called, 'twerking.'"

"That... sounds painful."

"Not nearly as much as its official definition."

"…It has an official definition?" Light asked in disbelief.

"It would appear so," L nodded, gagging a bit as the video continued to play. Nevertheless, he continued, informing Light, "It made it into the Oxford English Dictionary. It is defined as, 'dance to popular music in a sexually provocative manner involving thrusting hip movements and a low, squatting stance."

Light remained silent, the normally eloquent man shocked speechless at this new information as L continued, a bit more heatedly now, "Which brings me to my next point. I don't understand society now at all, because people can do things such as this and have it be approved of, but people such as us cannot get married."

Black eyes narrowing and tail lashing in subconscious annoyance, L vehemently said, "I think that it is only fair that if Miley Cyrus can dry hump with a foam finger as her pretend dick on national TV, gay people should be allowed to get married."

Light was silent for a moment before he nodded, agreeing with L's infallible logic. "…Good point L. Marry me?" Light asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen as the grotesque video came to an end.

Raising an eyebrow, L turned, jabbing a finger at the computer screen as he dryly stated, "We'd have to dry hump a foam finger first before it would be allowed."

"...You know, L, on second thought, marriage is overrated," Light mumbled, grimacing at the thought.

Wisely deciding not to say anymore, L only nodded sagely and closed out of the video, both men silently swearing that they would never bring up that horrendous video again.