Archive of Our Own

L wasn't sure how he ended up in this situation.
Of course, he knew why he was chained to Light – it was his idea, after all – but he didn't understand where everyone's decency disappeared. Perhaps Misa was to blame. That girl, enchanting and even interesting in her own twisted way, never hesitated when it came to showing her love for the nonchalant genius that was Light, and it seemed that a chain with him at the other end wasn't going to stop her.

Right now, they were too close. Even though L was turned to the side, curled like a newborn and facing the big windows of the bedroom, he still felt the mattress shifting under him at Misa's movements. He forced himself to close his eyes, trying to think about anything else – didn't even matter why – but the shifting wouldn't stop. Then, a kiss, a sloppy one that most definitely included tongues, and the sound of skin being slapped, followed by a feminine whimper.

Misa was clueless, that's just how she was in general. But Light? He definitely knew what he was doing. Even behind the closed eyes, L could picture the ironic smirk the other must have had on his face right now.

“Ryuzaki?” Misa called him. L opened his eyes lazily. The room was completely dark, and it was a cloudy night, so not even the moonlight could bring some colors in here.

“Yes?” L replied.

“You can't sleep, can you?”

He rolled his eyes. What a stupid question. “No.”

“Then, I am sorry for what you're about to hear.” Misa's voice was betraying her – she wasn’t feeling a single remorse in her soul right now. She even sounded happy. Too happy.

“It's fine,” L said calmly. It was his idea to be chained to Light. So, he must endure the consequences now. He closed his eyes again, wondering if he should get some headphones, but it was probably too late now.

The mattress shifted again, and L felt the chain moving. Light was changing his position, and judging by the surprised gasp that escaped Misa's lips, he was now on top of her.

Kira, L reminded himself. Let's think about Kira for now. Maybe I can discover a new clue, a new pattern, something that I missed.
How good a chocolate would be right now. Or at least a raspberry candy. Kira… despite my expectations, the murders continue. But something has changed, that's what I realize… what, exactly? I can't quite put a finger on it yet.

“Be quiet, Misa.” It was just a whisper, but L still heard it perfectly. Followed by a sound that wasn't familiar at all, but L guessed what it could be faster than he wanted to. He didn't want to guess or hear anything at all, to be fair, but he didn't have a choice.

Something slipped inside something else slowly and quietly. Misa breathed heavily, trying to stop any sounds that might come out of her mouth. Perhaps L would have appreciated the effort in any other situation. Not now, though.

Well, they could pretend that L wasn't there, but L couldn't pretend they weren't having sex right now, in the same bed he was trying to sleep in. He thought about Kira again – it was some sort of obsession at this point, to be fair.

If Light is Kira… then Kira is fucking at this very moment.

A strange thought, but somehow it made sense. L had always thought about Kira as some sort of heartless criminal, above all the human needs and desires like sleep, food, or sex. A god, if you will, but a god of evil. Yet, it was still a human. And even if Light wasn't Kira, maybe the real Kira was having sex, too. With a living and talking creature (hopefully, his sick demeanor was limited to killing and killing only), that could be found and interrogated.

A new idea. A clue, maybe. A thin string to grab on. Kira is not alone. He must have someone, a friend, a lover, an enemy, someone that has precious information.

Misa moaned softly. L started to feel tingles in his right side of the body, the one pressed against the mattress. He needed to roll over, but he knew he couldn't yet. So he kept still, playing with this new idea that blossomed in his mind. Of course, the police searched for someone linked to Kira even since the beginning of the investigation without any success, but perhaps they didn't look enough.

The mattress shifted again, almost violently this time. Misa chuckled. Light muttered something incoherent. L cursed both of them.

“I love you, Light.” No answer, just the sound of palms grabbing bare skin. It was known that Misa's feelings weren't reciprocated. Yet, she still was here, offering her body and her affection with hopes of some love in return. A strange woman, indeed.

He can't love someone like her. He will only love himself, or someone who's exactly like him.

ten nights later

Darkness had finally claimed L’s eyes. For once, there were no glowing monitors burning themselves into his retinas, no flickering data streams demanding to be parsed instead of slept through. Not that he intended to sleep. Darkness, when it was dense enough, had always been useful to him. It slowed the world, stripped it of distractions; it was the kind of darkness that felt almost tangible, heavy and velvety, as if one could reach out and grasp it, or carve a path through it with thought alone.

He moved toward the shared bed. Light was already asleep, so L slipped beneath the covers like a prowling cat, disturbing nothing. He couldn’t see, but he didn’t need to. Every corner of the headquarters existed in his mind as a set of coordinates, perfectly memorized. The room breathed familiarity.

Scent reached him first. Clean sheets, freshly laundered; Light’s mother used an expensive fabric softener, lilac-heavy and unmistakable. But beneath it lingered something sharper, warmer, wholly out of place. Alcohol.

Cognac. A good one. Arbellot, perhaps. Latour, if someone had been feeling bold. L frowned slightly, a crease forming between his brows, intrigued. Light rarely drank, and certainly not enough to leave a trace in the air. This wasn’t casual indulgence. Something had prompted it.
Maybe Misa? The thought crossed his mind and was dismissed quickly. Light’s will was not so easily bent. No, this was deliberate. And the cognac, without question, had been taken from Soichiro Yagami’s carefully guarded collection.

The mattress shifted. Light let out a low grunt, half-conscious. L’s reflex was to still himself completely, breath caught mid-chest – but then he reconsidered. Someone drunk enough to steal expensive liquor and pass out afterward was unlikely to wake fully. If anything, the headache alone would keep him sluggish.

Another sound, followed by a quiet, irritated “fuck”. Light was surfacing, dragged upward by discomfort. He rolled onto his side, facing L – he felt the warm brush of breath against his face. The handcuffs lay between them, metal biting cold against L’s skin, heavier than usual, their presence impossible to ignore. Even with his eyes wide open, the darkness offered nothing back. No shadows, no edges. Just absence.
Then a hand brushed against his.

L actually froze this time. Accident? No – the movement was searching, uncoordinated but purposeful. Fingers slid upward, catching on the collar of his loose shirt, tugging the fabric closer as if anchoring to something solid. L allowed himself to be pulled forward, following the motion before fully understanding why. Curiosity, undoubtedly. Perhaps something more clinical: the need to observe what prompted such unguarded behavior in someone so controlled.

Their noses touched. He must think I am Misa, L thought with a slight unease creeping in his bones. That's how knocked up he is?

Light raised his head off the pillow a little bit. L didn't move a single muscle. He had to breathe now, so he did it as quietly as he could.

“You're Misa?” Raspy voice, low tone. More like a murmur than actual speaking. It's Arbellot, L thought. Now, if I ever see that drink again, I'll think of this.

It wasn't frustration (maybe a little bit). It was just how L knew how things were going to be. For a short moment, he wanted to lie, to whisper a soft yes, just to see what would happen. It wasn't like him, though.

“No,” he whispered – why did he whisper? Because they were too close anyway? Or because, deep down, he was afraid of his own voice coming out differently than he intended?

“Good,” Light wasn't whispering. The tip of his nose grazed against L's cheek for a moment before he laid his head back on the pillow. “Sometimes I feel like I could kill that girl with my bare hands.”

L's voice was monotone. “You're drunk, Light. Clinically,” he added after a pause, “this is the most relaxed you’ve been since we met.”

The other one chuckled. The hand moved from the collar to L's back, dragging him even closer until their chests were touching. Light raised one of his legs and threw it lazily over L's.

“How high is the percentage of me being Kira?” He asked. His nails dug through the thin shirt. So he knew it was L laying next to him. And he chose to ask this, out of all questions.

“Ninety,” L bluffed.

“I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid.” There he was. Light Yagami itself, full of pride and with a God complex even in his most vulnerable moments. He lowered his hand until he found the hem and slipped under it, right on L's cold skin.

“Is this an interrogation that's happening horizontally?”

And you're trying to distract me with that hand? He continued in his mind. How childish, if that's what it is.

“Lower it down,” Light demanded. L bit his lips.

“...Eighty,” he muttered. “Eighty-five, perhaps.”

Light scratched his bare back almost painfully. Almost.

“Are you having fun?” Light grunted. Was he truly annoyed? L couldn't really tell. “That's so… unlike you.”

“Sometimes I allow myself to. Just to remember that I'm human.”

Light didn't answer for a long time. He didn't fall asleep; his breathing wasn't monotone. L couldn't sleep either. As usual, his brain activity was too high.

“It's not Kira you should worry about,” the younger one whispered. His tone was now soft and quiet, so quiet you could believe he was afraid to be heard by anyone else than L.

The detective waited for him to continue, but there was nothing but silence.

“Then… who?” He finally asked.

Light closed the small gap between them. His parted lips landed right on L's, and he tilted his head to get a better access. The hand that had been resting on L's back slid upward, fingers threading into his dark hair, and the other, the one with the chain attached, rested on his chest, right above his heart, as if marking its position.

L didn't return the kiss. Light's mouth was damp and warm over his, moving slowly.

“Kiss me back,” Light murmured, the words breathed directly into the space between them, never fully breaking contact. “She’s watching.”

L had questions.
Far too many questions.

They crowded his mind all at once – stacked, overlapping, demanding to be answered.

He is drunk.
Drunkenness implies vulnerability.
Vulnerability implies carelessness.
And that is something a sober Light never has. Something I need to explore.

L's mind raced at the moment. Even if Light had a plan – and L instinctively assumed that he had one – kissing the enemy seemed an improbable tactic.

I can gain information no surveillance camera, no interrogations, no mind games ever could.

L didn't know how to kiss properly, but he parted his lips by instinct, and it was enough of Light's tongue to slip in seamlessly and find his. It had a bittersweet taste of cognac. Light's hair was brushing against his face, soft as feathers. Sensation narrowed L's world down to a few essential truths: scent, taste, warmth, pressure.

She's watching. In total darkness, no ordinary human could see – unless they had an infrared camera. The Task Force HQ was one of the most secured buildings in Japan, and L was sure no one installed a camera in his bedroom without him noticing. So, there was the other option – the eyes of a supernatural being.

L’s hand came up to Light’s neck, fingers firm, grounding. Without breaking the kiss, he shifted his weight, propping himself up on one elbow, hovering over Light. Control mattered to him even now, especially now.

“Shinigami?” he murmured into the kiss, the word barely formed before his tongue returned to mirror Light’s movements, cautious but learning.

Light scratched the back of his neck in an unnatural motion. Something that resembled the letter R.

R
E
M

Each letter felt like it burned through his skin. With shaky hands, Light dragged L above him completely. They were hidden under the blankets, and L hoped that not even a shinigami could see through it.

Light’s hands slipped beneath the hem of L’s shirt again, familiar now, insistent.

A Shinigami. Not Ryuk. Another one. Probably the one which has the second Death Note. But why is Light telling me all of this? A trap, maybe? The cognac, the kiss… it doesn't add up. It doesn't make sense.

Another scratch on his spine, sending jolts of electricity into his body. L had no idea that his back was so sensitive until now. He broke the kiss for a split second just to move to Light's neck, to taste the skin, to feel the curve of his jaw and his shoulders.

W
A
N
T

S
A
V
E

Y
O
U

“Why?” L spoke right under Light's ear. He felt the thin hairs rising on his lips, a sign that the other felt something when he was kissed like that.

SPECIAL, Light drew on his back each letter. L wondered when did the cognac stop and where Light's sharp mind started.

But what about himself? When did pure curiosity get replaced by something closer to desire? L lied to others easier than he was breathing, but he never lied to himself. Even his will to know and control everything had its limits, and kissing your principal suspect was definitely a barrier that should've stopped him in the first place if it wasn't about Light.

Light, this strange and cursed man who had everything a man his age could want – a good family, a sexy girlfriend, a bright future and a mind sharper than anyone else’s. L had been fascinated by him from the first second, and had put him on the list of suspects ever since. Despite everything he had, Light’s eyes showed a desire for more. Always more, and this wasn’t about something as childish as more money or more girlfriends – Light had a higher goal. Just as L had always wanted to be higher. Until now, he had never met someone who was so much like him, and at the same time so little. Light had not a drop of L’s moral values. He operated exclusively according to his personal desires and pleasures, but he did it in such a subtle and manipulative way that he made you believe that his desires were yours too. There was no way you couldn’t like Light. No matter who you were, he was always there for you. The charm was too good, too subtle not to work every time; L sometimes felt that he was the only one left immune.

He had read Light's character, had deciphered what he had to decipher... but L was a weirdo, he knew it himself and it suited him, so the very things that would have degraded Light in everyone's eyes pleased him. Manipulation. The rebellious, sometimes downright evil look Light had when he thought no one was looking. How he put himself first, before anyone else. These were the things that made him different from an ordinary man.

SPECIAL lingered in L’s thoughts long after Light’s fingers stilled, the word less a declaration than a classification. It was how Light labeled things – or people – when he had already decided their value.

L adjusted his weight, enough to feel the shift in Light’s muscles beneath him. The response was immediate: fingers moved again, slower this time, tracing a short line along L’s spine.

WATCH

L did not need to see the letters to understand them. He left a trail of wet kisses on Lights's jaw. So, Rem was watching everything. She was watching them right now, probably. That's why everything was happening – to disguise this precious leak of information.

Another pause. Longer. Then a new set of scratches, hesitant at first, then firmer.

CANNOT INTERFERE

The next message came lower, closer to his ribs, where skin was more sensitive and harder to ignore.

TIME

L shifted again, this time deliberately repositioning himself so that his weight pressed Light further into the mattress. Their bodies were touching in every point that mattered, but everything, every little detail seemed to matter right now anyway.

Light’s nails dug in again, sharper and less careful than before.

NOT TONIGHT

Whatever this was – drunk confession or the perfect manipulation – it was not meant to resolve itself now. It was a seed being planted under cover of darkness and alcohol. L lowered his forehead to Light’s shoulder, inhaling once slowly. Did he want to remember his scent tonight? The mix of lilac, cognac and warm skin?

L dragged himself off Light, with his back against the cold mattress. His eyes were still open, even though the darkness was even darker than before – just a way to think about it, it wasn't actually darker, but the newfound information implied that somewhere in here was a God of Death.

L replayed every word mentally, stripping away context, emotion, even the way which they had been delivered. What remained were conditions. Someone was watching. That observer possessed power sufficient to matter, yet lacked freedom of action. It could not intervene directly. It could not act at will. And probably it could not kill him now.

If Light were innocent, there would be no need for secrecy and no reason to communicate through skin instead of speaking.

If Light were merely being manipulated, fear would dominate his behavior. But fear did not scratch warnings into another man’s back with precision. Fear did not choose timing so carefully.
This was not fear.

Yet, Light knew the name and the actions of a Shinigami without being possessed by Kira. He seemed to betray the said Shinigami tonight, but to be a betrayal, it had to be an alliance first. Everything started to assemble, piece by piece, inevitable. Light was always one step ahead of L. Impossible coincidences. Too much confidence, even for him. Like someone was watching for him, someone bound to him by unknown rules. Rem was not an enemy for Light; she was his weapon all this time.

One hundred percent, L bit his lips so hard that the taste of blood filled his mouth. What a way to find out, to be sure of it. Of course, L couldn't prove it. What could he possibly say? That Light, drunk, scratched words into his back? Any court will laugh at that. Not even the members of the Task Force would believe this is enough to put Light in the electric chair.

Light had the element of surprise tonight, and it played in his advantage again. L learned some new precious information, though. So it wasn't all for nothing.

When L woke up the next day, the room was still unusually dark, but at least he could make out shapes and colors. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, thinking about everything that had happened, then turned his head to Light.

He was sleeping with his back to him. L remembered that at some point during the night, Light had turned around in his sleep. Should I get rid of the chain? He wondered, his eyes fixed on the other. He wanted some time to think now without hearing or seeing Light.

Kira, he corrected himself, and that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Indeed, he had suspected Light from the beginning of the investigation, but a small part of his brain had wanted to believe that the culprit was someone else.

Last night he had received confirmation that this was not the case. Kira was Light, and Light was Kira, but Kira, Light, he corrected himself again (because it didn't sound at all pleasant in his conscience), had kissed him and told him (written on his body, to be more accurate) that he wanted to save him.

He raised himself on his elbows. A few rays of sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains. Light woke up every morning at ten to eight; L looked at the digital clock on the bedside table – he still had five minutes.

Five minutes in which he had nothing to do. The investigations so far, the pursuit of other potential suspects, the surveillance of Misa, all seemed pointless; the culprit was next to him, sleeping like an angel, and what was even worse, L now knew that there was another greater danger besides Kira.

So he did what he always did – overthinking about everything again and again. Five minutes passed. The alarm rang. Light turned on his back and opened his eyes, closing the alarm with a lazy hand.

“Good morning,” he muttered. L just stared at him for a while. None of them said anything else.

So, that's how things were going to be. Light wasn't going to say anything about last night – at least for now. L decided to act the same way. If Rem was watching him last night, she's probably watching him right now, too.

Light always went to bed at 11 pm, but that wasn't a given. So L had 15 hours to go over everything again and give the Task Force something to do. On the other end of the chain, Light was calm and composed. A mask. How many masks did this man have? L wondered. How many more would I have to take off to get to the real Light?

Maybe he had been almost there the previous night. Maybe, behind his God complex and his unwavering belief that he was better than everyone else, Light was just a young man scratching letters on his skin to warn him (just the thought gave him goosebumps from the back of his neck to his lower back. It would be a blatant lie to say he didn't like it).

Even Light couldn't pretend to be drunk. Drunkenness reduces cognitive function by 60% at the level he was at last night. Some of it, if not all of it, must be true. But if it's all true, a lot of things connect and make sense now.

L waited for the night. From the outside, nothing changed about him. The day passed slowly, the hours seemed to drag on. It took time to act in any way, but L had never had time. When the sun was replaced by thick darkness and everyone else left, Light headed towards the bedroom. L followed.

Usually, the detective would sleep in a chair, with all the monitors opened. He rarely slept in the bed, next to Light; not because of him, but because he slept like that his whole life, and the proof was the dark eyebags under his eyes.

Tonight, Light dragged the chain towards him. The room was not as dark as it was last night; the curtains were open, and the moon was sending faint, white rays of light inside the room. L came closer, with short footsteps. This time, the other wasn't drunk; he wondered if Light regretted something, anything. Maybe the confession or the kisses. Or maybe nothing, it all had to happen and it was Light's will.

L was dying to ask if Rem was in here, but it was too risky. Light didn't let go of the chain; he kept dragging it until L was in front of him, close enough to see every glimpse in his eyes, every tremble of his mouth. He didn't say a single word – Rem is here now, L thought – but when he looked into his eyes, L understood everything.

The play had to continue. He was Kira, and he needed to be punished, L was very aware of that; but, for now, he had to take care of Rem. Hope wasn't a word in L's vocabulary, yet he didn't have anything else now besides hope that he wasn't making a monumental mistake.

Mistake or not, sin or not – the limits faded around him and inside him when he put his arm firmly around Light's waist and kissed him like never before. Light answered eagerly, his hands all over L, on his back, arms, and in his hair. Why is he touching me like that? He wondered, but he didn't complain.

“The chain,” Light broke the kiss first. “Get it off.”

L raised an eyebrow. “And why should I do that?”

“You can put it back after,” the younger one replied. After what? L wanted to ask, not because he didn't know, but because he wanted Light to say it.

When L reached for the key in his jeans pocket and undid the handcuffs, he already knew he would never put them back on. The chain clattered to the floor, and Light rubbed his wrist.

“It was about time,” he muttered, and L didn’t miss the displeasure in his voice. Light turned his back on him and slipped under the covers.

L did the same. For a while, he didn’t move, just stared at Light’s back, as he had this morning, as if that might give him answers.

Hesitantly, he put his arm around Light’s waist. He had kissed him only a few minutes earlier, really, but that was because Light had asked him to – you could tell from his eyes, right? – and the fact that he had kissed him back was confirmation that he hadn’t done anything wrong. This was different. He didn't know precisely what to expect, and for L, precisely was a key word.

Light didn't pull away. L's hand traveled to his bare chest; he wasn't wearing anything but joggers tonight.

REM HERE?

L didn't scratch, he put just a little bit of pressure on Light's skin, to make sure he understood each letter. Light nodded slightly, but it was enough for the detective.

Of course she's here. Why would Light kiss me if she wasn't?

Light drew on the back of L's hand.

REM LOVES MISA BUT SAW US

There was no need for a lot of words. So, this Shinigami loves Misa and probably wants Misa to be happy with Light, but then we kissed and… L deducted the first part in a matter of seconds.

REM ANGRY BUT SHE CAN'T KILL ME

SHE CAN KILL YOU

L barely suppressed a sigh. So many people wanted him dead, and now, on top of that, there was a God of Death with the same intentions.

“What game are you playing?” L whispered right in Light's ear. The younger one tried to turn around to face him, but L's firm hand stopped the movement. He remained with his lips on the sensitive skin.

“I'm not playing,” Light protested with the same cold, calculated tone as always, but this time L caught a hint of uncertainty. He dragged him closer, until his back was against L's chest.

MISA IS THE SECOND KIRA?

The question that holds many, many answers for other questions. L felt Light freezing for a moment – his controlled demeanor slipped for a moment.

Light Yagami is trapped like a mouse in a cage. L moves his hand slightly lower. Somewhere, in a cloudy part of his mind, he remembers they're watched and they have to play an act. Another part screams for closeness and warmth. L isn't sure which part won when he presses his parted lips on Light's ear. He breathes out, and in. Feels the cologne and the natural smell. Their mix. It feels good, it feels familiar in the best way, but it belongs to someone he shouldn't be familiar with at all.

Light shifts uncomfortably. L knows it's not the kiss he's uncomfortable about. He leaves a trail on Light's earlobe, slow and warm – is it weird? Perhaps a little bit, but that's how they are – weird. Special, as the other one would say.

“Yes,” Light finally breathes out instead of scratching the answer on L's skin. Now that would have been a perfect opportunity to get a confession if we were alone. I am so close… and it could be so easy. Who is the first Kira, that's all I have to ask – and not even Light can lie to me that blatantly.

But they're not alone. And – as L realizes only now – they both are in danger. Rem is most certainly jealous; her rage can affect both. L has a plan, of course. He always has. Yet, he needs time and some calmness on Kira's part. It's hard to manage two entities with supernatural powers who both want to kill you.

The latter one, though… L has a suspicion that's much, much easier. The young man who's glued to him right now, warm, breathing heavily and whispering is hardly Kira. Technically, he is – but lately, L discovers that some things are not completely technical all the time, and he doesn't know how to feel about it yet.

The right hand slips lower, right at the hem of Light's pants. He wants to kiss him again; it's a sudden realization that doesn't hit him like a wave, as it normally should, but surrounds him, grows inside him sweetly. It's hard to explain the feeling, even for L. So, instead of searching for explanations endlessly, like he did his whole life, L just lowers his head again, kissing Light's neck and making circles with the tip of his tongue.

Light gasps – why, L doesn't want to think about reason right now – he just lowers his hand a little more. His dick is semi-hard, but it takes one more breath, one more swirl with the tongue and L feels it hardening under his touch.

You can't fake that, he thinks. Not even if you're Light Yagami.

His blood rushes in the veins from head to toe, but gathers in a certain place. L is not afraid to admit it, he never was afraid of his body and its reactions – he's hard as well, very hard, without even being touched.

“Ryuzaki,” Light calls his name and it feels less and less fake with every second. Another mask ripped off. He looks into L's eyes, the brown irises shining in the faint light. L moves his hand up and down. The fabric is soft – it must feel good for Light, because he shifts again towards him, to see him, to look at him better.

“What?” He whispers, and his voice is huskier than it usually is. The movement doesn't stop. Light isn't wearing any underwear, so L feels everything. The shape, the length, even the veins it has. He finds the spot right below the head and massages in a circle. Light arches his back, his body leaning further into the touch.

L feels his hand over his own. For a second, he believes that Light wants to stop him, but then, he guides L's hand to his hem and slips it under.

L wasn't ready for the warmth and softness Light's skin had. He bites his lips and wants to look down – and he does. Light's dick is half out of his pants, swollen and hard.

For the first time in his life, L blushes. And not a slight blush – his cheeks turn crimson red, and yet, he doesn't stop.

We'll never talk about this anyway. Something is happening to Light's mind, the control drifts off – I found a crevice in his perfect behavior. Is he going insane, maybe? I'd hate that.

Light tenses a little bit more. L looks up again, and their faces are so close now that he can feel warm, minty breathes over his lips.

He can never lie to himself. That's why he admits (only in his thoughts, never out loud) that he likes to touch Light like that, to see him under his own control.

I need to save both, L thinks. He can't make a choice. They are bounded by words, by actions, by their very way of being. It should terrify him, but it doesn't; on the contrary, it brings something new into L's conscience, something not scary, but welcomed.

“Do you like it?” He whispers, not because he doesn't know the answer already – Light's body betrays him beautifully with each second – but because he wants those damp, swollen lips to whisper back sins and confessions.

“Yes,” the younger one admits, and the confirmation is everywhere on his face, L can read it easier than he reads a book. “Don't tell anyone… please.”

L can't remember a time Light begged anyone to do (or not to do) anything. He is not even sure anymore that everything that's happening right now is just a cover.

“I won't,” he promises. The thought didn't even cross his mind. Of course he wants to keep Light's lost gaze, parted lips and flustered face all for himself. He doesn't want to share a thing with anyone else.

“You like it?” Light asks, emphasizing the first word. L licks his own dry lips. His touch becomes firmer, more intense, more possessive.

“As much as you do.” He's telling the truth, except for one little bit that bothers him. Something sharp, cutting at the back of his mind, and he doesn't want to talk or to think about it at first, but the correct side always wins. “What are you going to do about Misa?”

Light is not pleased with the question, judging after the frown between his eyebrows.

“I don't have any feelings. She knows it… I haven't kissed or had sex with her ever since… since she insisted on being fucked right next to you.”

The honesty of the words catches L off guard initially. “Why?” He asks, and the movement of his hand stops. Light's eyes glimmer in the dark.

“Don't stop,” he demands. “And you don't have to know everything, Ryuzaki.”

L doesn't want to listen. Light is such a spoiled brat sometimes, and he's generally very annoying… but for now, L raises two fingers to the mouth and licks them, then he returns to the sensitive skin, warmer and wetter. Light traces the movement with his eyes, the glimmer not disappearing. His lower lip is trapped between his teeth.

“I like to know everything,” L whispers with a husky, low voice that doesn't even sound like him.

“Don't make me ask you back questions,” Light threatens him – technically is a threat (L starts to hate this word), yet it doesn't come out like that at all. “I could ask you… mhm… why is your hand on my dick, detective?”

“Shut the fuck up,” L curses, which is a rare sight. Light grins from one ear or another, but the grin is quickly replaced by a whimper when L changes the pressure slightly. “We won't talk about this tomorrow.”

“Does it bother you?” It's getting hard for Light to think and speak properly. His fingers curl into the white sheets. The pleasure builds up slowly, but certainly – and, at some point, it's going to be too much.

“No,” L lies. Or he tells the truth? Not even him can fully comprehend what is going on with both of them. He moves faster and faster. Funny enough, Light seems to enjoy being touched the same way L touches himself sometimes, after a particularly hard day – slow at first, with long movements, then faster, but not too fast, just right enough to feel everything as much as possible.

“So it's… it's a yes,” Light moans as quietly as he can. “Fine… we can talk… tomorrow.”

“No,” L is stubborn in a childish way, but he doesn't care. He licks his lips again while he watches his own movements.

I wonder what it tastes like, the thought comes unexpected, but not unwelcomed. The deep shade of red in his cheeks grows even deeper.

“I'm close,” Light whispers.

“Shh,” L shushes him, not because he doesn't enjoy a heated whisper right in his ear, but because he knows that if Light tells him things between breathy moans one more time he will take that dick into his mouth and make him come in seconds.

“Don't… mhm… don't shush me,” he manages to reply and L swallows hard, too hard. The only thing that stops him from going down on Light is a hand in his hair, pulling the black locks, followed by a mouth right on his pulse.

“I will talk… as much as I want… Ryuzaki.”

“I'll stop if you don't shut up,” it's so painfully obviously a lie.

“You won't,” Light bites the flesh hard enough to make L lose the last piece of sanity he possessed, “you want to see me come.”

“Come for me, Light,” L feels empty, stripped of all reason and inhibition. Light has let his guard down, and in a big way… why shouldn't he do the same himself? Why stop now, think too much, ruin this sweet carelessness that makes him feel so good?

Light leaves the sheets and is clinging to him desperately instead.

“I think about… you,” Light confesses. “When I touch myself alone… it's you in my head.”

In any other situation, L would've started overthinking every word he heard, but now, it doesn't even sound that shocking. It's just pleasant – his own dick throbs in his pants, but he can't think about himself right now. His whole focus is on Light, which is closer and closer to the verge of an orgasm.

“And what am I doing to you?” he asks hoarsely. His thumb dips into the sensitive underside.

“You're on your knees… and I fuck your mouth,” Light lets a moan escape through his lips. L feels like he's in a dream, a terribly strange one. “I pull your hair and come on your face… and you look at me… and you're always so pretty, mhm-”

His own words push Light over the edge.

His hips buck wildly into L's unrelenting hand, a guttural moan escapes as his cock pulsates. Thick spurts of cum erupts from the tip, splattering across L's fingers and Light's stomach.

Fuck, is the only logically word L can think of right now.

Not fuck because he's scared of Light's brutal honesty after months of continuous lies.

Fuck because he's scared of how much he enjoyed hearing them.

thirty days later

L stared for a long time through the double-glazed windows at the electric chair in the execution chamber. Dressed in a black suit that seemed to be tight around his joints, although Watari had assured him it was exactly the right size. Even his hair was a little less disheveled than usual – he had made the effort to run a comb through it that morning.

He sat with his arms crossed in front of his chest, not saying a word. Watari was like a shadow behind him, discreet and silent as always.

The trial had ended quickly compared to others. Light Yagami was accused of dozens of crimes, being one of the most prolific serial killers of all time and certainly the most important of modern times. In three weeks, he was sentenced to death by electrocution; Misa Amane gave long and serious testimony against him, and the hardest part was convincing the judges of the existence of the Gods of Death. L ended his career as an anonymous detective; the case brought him international fame and recognition, and he saw his face on the internet and in newspapers almost every day, which filled him with resentment. His life was taking a new turn, and ahead of him was nothing else but an unknown world full of reporters, interviews, questions he had to answer. 

The door to the execution chamber opened. Light entered, accompanied by two guards. He looked almost the same as before; only the dark circles gave him away.

The worst part, Light thought, was that he looks more tired than I did. I slept like a baby after I caught Kira.

Light looked at the double-glazed windows. Although he couldn’t see through them, L could tell that the man knew what was on the other side – Light was anything but stupid. He licked his dry lips, feeling a hollow in his stomach.

“Is everything ready?” he asked Watari.

“Yes,” the old man replied. L nodded, and he left the room. He didn’t take his eyes off Light.

Kira. L still couldn't get used to this, and he didn't want to. Against his will, Light was forced into a chair by the two guards and bound with four handcuffs – two on his hands, two on his feet. He struggled and started screaming; L couldn't hear anything because of the soundproof room, but he could see curses on his lips directed at everyone. Ryuk, Misa, Rem. Not L, which was unexpected. Light was fighting hopeless, because no one could save him right now. There was no God of Death, no Death Note, nothing in his reach. 

The guards moved away from Light. Someone else entered the room – the doctor. L had spoken to him a few minutes earlier. The man examined Light briefly. What nonsense. What's the point of it?

The doctor nodded at the guards and began to speak.

L took a crumpled sheet of paper and a pen from his pocket.

Syouma Ootsuki
Rinri Koga
Minato Takashi

He wrote their names as calligraphically as possible, without haste, then put the paper and pen back in his pocket. He pushed the unruly hairs from his forehead aside and looked at his watch.

The doctor prepared the necessary things to declare death. The guards put on their gloves. None of them spoke; at least, their mouths did not move. L glanced at the surveillance camera above him. Although it seemed to be working, it was repeating a previously filmed sequence over and over again. So was the one in the execution chamber.

The emptiness in his stomach grew even stronger. L was feeling emotions like he hadn't felt in a long time.

Ootsuki fell first, then Koga, and Dr. Takashi last. Exactly in the order in which L had written their names on the last remaining page of the Death Notebook. Light looked around with wide eyes, his lower lip trembling – pure terror, probably.

L entered the execution chamber. Light’s gaze lifted from the bodies lying on the floor and looked at him as if he were a monster and a savior at the same time. All the masks were off – now he saw the real Light.

He took the keys from the table and unlocked his handcuffs. “Come,” was the only word he said to him. Light followed him out closely. He asked nothing, he didn’t resist in any way. In the building’s garage, Watari was waiting for them with an armored car. L opened the door for him. Light climbed in – the detective couldn’t help but notice the tremor in his legs. He climbed in after him, closed the car door behind him, and Watari drove off in the next second.

The garage doors opened on command, and the car arrived on the main street. Only then did L allow himself the freedom to look more closely at Light, who was standing as far away from him as possible, in the other corner of the car, pressed against the tinted window. He had seen death with those beautiful brown eyes, and he had fully deserved it. Oh, and how full of curiosity those eyes were… how eager to know, to understand, to find out how he was saved from the verge of death.

L took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, the left one. In the right one was the only proof that he ever used the Death Note. He lit himself one, without offering Light any.

“Since when do you smoke?” The younger one finally spoke. L inhaled slowly, enjoying the rich flavor, then exhaled the smoke right in Light's face.

“Since I caught Kira,” he replied simply. Light looked away, but his attention was drawn back quickly when L pulled out the small piece of paper.

“You killed those guardians and the doctor,” Light stated, not asked. L looked at the small, deadly piece of paper. Such a simple and effective weapon.

“I did.”

He held the piece of paper close to the lit part of the cigarette. Within moments, the last part of the Death Note caught fire. L didn't look at Light. He watched as the names, still freshly written, were slowly covered by the flame. The ash fell into the lap of his new trousers, but he didn't care one bit.

When the paper was nothing but ash and dust, he held his cigarette back to his mouth. Watari was driving as fast as he could. It was a warm morning of a beautiful spring. Definitely the most interesting spring L ever had. With the free hand, he unbuttoned the jacket, then the first two buttons of his black shirt. Now he could breathe properly, even though he was missing the comfy T-shirt and jeans.

“What happened?”

Finally, that one question. Light was clinging to his arrogance and superiority for dear life, yet, curiosity always wins. L licked his lips – he was craving strawberry cake and sweet coffee. And Light's attention, of course.

“I made a plan. That night, when I touched you.” He watched the younger one's reaction. Light bit the inside of his cheek and his eyes glimmered in some sort of way for a second, but aside of that, nothing else.

“I knew very well that you were Kira, and yet, you wanted to save me, your number one enemy. Which made me understand that Kira, for personal reasons, didn't want me dead, and that gave me the opportunity to solve the bigger problem I had, Rem. So I searched for her. In the dark, after I removed the chain that bound us, I talked to her, told her to show herself even if I didn't have a Death Note. Turns out not even a God is immune to sincere prayer. But you have no way of knowing this, Light – you don't know what sincere means.”

L inhaled the smoke again and gave himself time to breathe. Light looked off the window, but he couldn't tear off his gaze for too long – L noticed that quickly.

“You were right, she was in love with Misa. Misa, that poor girl who was so in love with you… I explained things logically, with strong arguments. You know how I am. Misa could never be happy with you, and I had the strongest proof… your kisses, your touches. What I had to offer her was way better: the chance to speak against Kira, to never be held accountable for her crimes, to live a quiet life because she was tired of all the fame anyway. That was my offer for Rem, happiness for the girl she loved. In return, I asked for the Death Note… the only one that wasn't in my possession already. And the promise that she would never cross paths with you or me again. That was the hardest part. I received the Death Note, I destroyed it… in the meantime, you had your process and you landed and ruined my career at the same time. Now my face is plastered everywhere. I knew you would receive the death penalty, and to be honest, it was the right thing. But, you know…”

The cigarette was finished. L opened the window slightly and threw it outside.

“...There are not many people like you in this world, Light Yagami. Yes, it was the right thing for you to die. The perfect punishment. But it wasn't what I wanted. I served justice my whole life, and I think I did it pretty well. Once in a lifetime, I think I am allowed to do what I want. So I hid a piece of paper, bugged the security cameras… the rest was easy for me. Everyone else thinks you're dead. Watari and I are the only ones who know the truth.”

Light was silent for a long, long time. L didn't look at him; he knew that the young man needed time to fully comprehend everything that happened and how his life was going to be from now on. Light will never see his family or Misa again, will never return home, probably not even in Japan, yet, those consequences were better than what would have happened to him if L didn't step up. Light didn't ask where they were going or what was about to happen next.

Watari drove for hours. Occasionally, L's phone rang and he answered with his usual monotone voice. Millionaires, people in politics, the police – they all wanted his help, and he refused them all, “I am going to take a short break after the Kira case,” he would tell them. It was the truth, at least partially. The detail that Kira was in his car, leaning against the window as far as possible, like he was afraid of him or something, was nothing more than a detail no one needed to know.

L patted the empty seat next to him. “You won't teleport back to the electrical chair, even though you seem like you want it.” Light bit the inside part of his cheek, but he dragged himself closer, until their shoulders were touching.

“Listen,” he began with a voice that betrayed his inner turmoil, “...I don't want to excuse myself, but-”

“Anything that follows a but is an excuse, and it's irrelevant for me,” L glanced at him. Light clenched his jaw.

“Kira…”

“Kira died in the chair this morning,” L interrupted him again. “I witnessed his death, and the whole world knows he's gone. I don't want to hear one more word about him.”

Light let his head fall back against the headrest. The car began to climb a hill, on an increasingly narrow road. The asphalt disappeared, replaced by slippery gravel for another half hour.

Then, a cabin appeared in their line of sight. It was quite large, with a simple white facade and tinted windows. Watari parked in front of the door, and L got out of the car. Light followed him uncertainly.

The detective unlocked the metallic door. “You'll stay here for a while,” he said. Inside, it was exactly L's style – a lot of white and simplicity, but taste. “Watari will get you everything you need. You'll be alone for a few days, though. I need to go back to Tokyo and close Kira's case definitively.”

another thirty days later

The door opens. L doesn't look up from the laptop, pretending to be more immersed in reading the news around the world than he actually is.

He hears the steps closer and closer. The chair from the other side of the desk is dragged on the wooden floor and Light sits on it.

“How the hell did you manage to convince a God of Death to do what you want?”

None of them was a fan of small talk, that's why L is not surprised when Light goes straight to the point.

“I'm a great negotiator,” he replies without even looking up from the screen. “And you helped me without even realizing.”

Light inhales once, deeper than it's necessary. L is infuriatingly aware that he knows every little detail – even how long Light's breaths are supposed to be.

“I was… caught in a corner, to be honest. I could win, but that win would have had a price I wasn't willing to pay.”

“My death, I suppose?” L finally raises his gaze from the screen. Light is calm, sitting with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Your death.”

“Well, you should've let me be killed by Rem if you wanted to be God of the new world.”

“I didn't want it,” Light is not affected by the harsh words, and strangely enough, L doesn't want to see him affected in any way. “There was a time when I wanted it, at the beginning. But after… so many things have changed. I changed. You deserve to live more than anyone else.”

“First of all, don't flatter me,” L warns him. “And second, I remember telling you we're not going to talk about Kira.”

Light stands up from the chair. Without hurry, he goes around the desk until he reaches L. He is so close, the detective can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“It's been a month and it's the first time you returned from Tokyo. Be nicer to me.”

L looks into the screen with stubbornness. One month since the Kira case was closed! Justice still exists, and it took the form of a genius detective! He reads the title of an article, and he finds it hilariously dumb.

Light puts his arms over his shoulders and hugs him from behind. The touch is not friendly. The younger one's nose is grazing against his neck, and despite the fact that Light doesn't kiss or lick the skin here, it still feels erotical. Maybe it's because a month has passed, a long, terribly boring month in which none of the people L met raised at even half the level Light is. On every plan.

“I missed you,” L says after a while. He wants those lips to finally close under his ear, or on his collarbone, or right on his own lips. Why should he lie to himself? Yes, he missed him. Their cat and mouse game is over and he won anyway.

“There's no one like me out there, isn't it?” Light's voice scratches a part of his brain. The scratch is sweet and feels like darkness and expensive liquor, tough.

“No.”

“Good.” It's certainty and confidence. It shouldn't be. Light can be treated like he's a prisoner, after all.

Of course, he's not. He's more than that, much more, and the thought frustrates L. It can't be any other way, though.

“You never told me your real name,” Light speaks again, this time softer and more intimate.

I had very good reasons not to, L thinks.

“Lawliet. Lawliet Lawford,” he replies. It surprises him how easy it was to say it out loud, when it's a top secret kept for many years.

Light grabs his chair and drags it back. Enough to put some space between L and the screen. The detective is ready to complain – he's supposed to work and read and think and do stuff right now – but he forgets everything, literally everything, when Light kneels down like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“...What are you doing?” L asks. He hates his own mind right now, hates the very first thing he thought about, but Light doesn't answer – just opens his belt and unzips the brown trousers he is wearing.

When he looks up, L cannot see a single drop of shame or hesitation in those intense irises. Watching Light like that, kneeled in front of him, with both his hands touching the front of the pants is enough to make him hard. The younger one doesn't drag down the trousers completely; a little bit, just so Lawliet's dick is now out.

Light is licking the skin slowly, very slowly. When he's moving up, he licks with the front part of his tongue, and when he is moving back down he uses the back, which is softer and even more wet. He is taking his time maybe a little bit too much – L isn't sure. It is his first time receiving a blowjob. Maybe Light was more experienced in this. Or, as L suspected (rightfully), he just wants to go slow.

The detective tries to resist the primal instinct of pushing his hips forward. He isn't moving at all, staying still in the chair like he is afraid that something would happen if he moved too much. Light swirls his tongue around the head, and a sound comes from his throat, almost too quiet to be heard, too muffled to be interpreted. Yet, L catches that immediately, and he suddenly wants to feel even more than what he was feeling right now.

He puts his fingers in Light's hair – no dragging, no guiding – just feeling the locks, the scalp, the movement. The cabin is completely silent. Light keeps moving at a slow pace.

He knows what he's doing to me right now, L thinks, and he wants to hate Light for tormenting him, for making him feel impatience, when L is never impatient. Always calm. Always calculated. Perhaps too much of those two, and a new change is disturbing and annoyingly arousing. He moves his hand down, touching Light's cheek softly, like a feather; his skin is warmer compared to his.

L doesn't look down. He doesn't need to. He doesn't want to. But his mind is wandering already to forbidden realms – he watched Light so many times that he knows precisely every arch of his face, every mole, every small freckle – so it is so easy to imagine everything. Either God or the devil gave L an imagination beyond the boundaries of the ordinary man. Behind his closed eyes, he is able to see, almost against his will. His fingers lowers down on Light's face, and he reaches his lower lip, grazing against it briefly. He knew it would be wet and soft, and it is.

Is he hard right now?
The question pops up in his mind before he can stop it, but the thought makes the tension in his stomach grow. He must be. He likes what he's doing.

Must be isn't a satisfying response for the world's greatest detective. L opens his eyes and looks down. It was a sight he thought about, maybe once or twice before sleep, when he was in that state between conscious and unconscious and the limits between what's necessary and what's pure desire were blurred even for him. Light has a hand on the base, gripping it firmly, but carefully, and the other rests on L's thigh. Closed eyes, rosy cheeks, messy hair. Prettier than he ever was, L has to admit. He looks defeated. Not only because of his position, kneeled down between L's thighs. It is something else.

What?

It takes L only one second to realize. Light always seemed like he had to do things, and he was doing everyone else a favor when he helped with the investigation. Right now, there was no pride, no arrogance in his expression, only something that could not be deciphered.

But then, he opens his eyes. Not entirely – just a bit, a glimpse of brown irises through the eyelashes, and the spell is broken. He looks straight into L's eyes, like he knew he would be watching already.

Defiance.

Lust.

A perfect, nauseating mix of those two. L is biting his lower lip, but it is too late – a half-suppressed moan comes out sounding even more erotical than it would have sounded if L just let himself do it. Light swirls his tongue around the tip once more, then lets go.

The cold air is a huge contrast to Light's hot mouth. L wants to recompose – he needs only a second or two. The younger one doesn't allow it. His defiant gaze never leaves L's eyes when he follows the pattern of a vein with his tongue from the base up, putting more pressure than before.

He stops at the slit. Moves his tongue in small circles. For a few seconds, L saw his gaze wandering down on his body and understood for the first time in his life what it meant to be undressed with eyes only.

“Lawliet…” Light's mouth vibrates over the sensitive slit, and his brown eyes return to L's. Which one was in control right now, when the kneeled man was whispering his real name, the one unused in years? L doesn't even have the time to think about it.

He comes suddenly, almost violently, grabbing the armrests of the chair while his head falls back. It was pleasure, inside him, outside him, surrounding him like soft vines, leaving him breathless, biting his lips just so he wouldn't call Light's name in the same way Light called his. The younger one doesn't stop. For the entirety of the orgasm, he kept making circles in that same spot, his warm breath hitting L's tip.

Don't touch him.
Don't look at him.

L didn't feel that dumb since middle school. He didn't know what to do, only what he shouldn't do right now. He hoped it was enough.

Light stands up, grabbing his thighs for support.

I have to look at him. If I don't, I would seem way more affected than I want to seem.

L opens his eyes. He is painfully aware of how messy he looks right now, the sexual kind of messy, yet he doesn't move a muscle. Light has a trail of saliva and cum in the corner of his mouth and he wipes it with the sleeve. How can a man look so confident, even smug, when seconds ago he was on his knees, pleasuring him how no one else ever could?

That was Light – and Lawliet knew there would be no change, no matter what. He didn't want him to change, though. Kira was defeated, yes, but the real person behind was still standing even now. Light had a mask his whole life, yet between his real self and what he was presenting to the world weren't too many differences.

L raises from the chair without bothering to zip up his pants. He isn’t finished. His fingers close around Light’s tights, nails biting through the fabric as he hauls him up and sets him back against the broad surface of the desk.

Light answers by locking his legs around L’s waist, caging him there, pulling him closer. L’s hand slides into his hair and yanks harder than before, drawing a sharp hiss from Light’s lips.

“Now comes the part where you say you love me,” Light says with a telltale curve at the corner of his mouth – too pleased, too knowing.

L tightens his grip in response.
“And what makes you think I’m capable of love?” he asks coolly. “It’s a banal emotion. Beneath us.”

“You don’t have to lie, Lawliet.” Light’s gaze drags over him, slow and assessing, as if taking inventory. “I’m not Kira anymore. You said so yourself. I’m just an ordinary human – stranded in some nameless cabin, completely at your mercy.”

The humility of the words clashes violently with the challenge in his posture, and that contradiction struck deeper than anything else. L feels irritation bloom, sharp and unwelcome, but along with it grew something else, a feeling he couldn't grab on.

“You will never be ordinary, Light,” he says at last.

Light smiles, victorious. “Which is why you love me.”

There's no hesitation, no softness when L kisses him. When Light responds, he deepens the kiss – more precise now, with his hand tight in Light's hair, keeping him exactly where he wants to be, denying him the illusion of choice. He doesn't have any, but L knows that even if he had, he still wouldn't move an inch.

Light smiles in the kiss, which is equally annoying and arousing. He's hard, L feels that perfectly, but what's surprising is the fact that he's also hardening with each second – the orgasm he just had minutes ago wasn't enough. L knows the anatomy of a human being like he knows his own pockets; this is not highly unusual, but it's a certain sign he's enjoying this too much.

What is too much, though? He thinks. I want him. I want him in the same way I want strawberry cake or to catch criminals. I want him like he's a part of me I can't imagine my life without.

He breaks the kiss to raise Light's loose shirt over his head and throws it away in the corner of the room. Light's skin is warm under his fingers – or is he too cold? L can never know for sure.

“You dragged me out of that mess,” Light whispers, eyes bright with that infuriating spark. “Statistically speaking, it would've been better for you if you just let me die.”

“You talk too much,” L unzips Light's jeans and drags them off his legs along with his briefs. “Your death would've created more problems. You were an important variable.”

“Variable? That's new,” the other smirks. L doesn't involve further in the conversation.

The words are not enough sometimes. He knows he's supposed to take it easy, to be patient, yet there is no way he could be patient anymore.

Without any warning, he pushes himself inside Light. Not too hard (he doesn't want to hurt him, after all), not too soft either – just enough to see that smirk erased. Fingers bury in Light's pale thighs, and he wants to lay back, to feel the cold and hard desk against his ribs.

L grabs his neck with a firm hand and stops him. Their eyes meet. L's other hand raises Light's leg over his shoulder and he thrusts once more.

It feels so good that he regrets he didn't do it sooner. Light parts his lips and breathes heavily. Blood rushes to his cheeks. L is holding him into place, and he pushes himself forward deeper than before.

Light lets his head fall back and his entire body tenses. “Fuck,” he manages to breathe, barely audible, and L knows he found the perfect angle to turn this smug young man into a mess.

“You can speak now,” L teases him while he fastens his movements. Light scratches the wooden desk with his fingernails, trying to regain some composure, some dignity, but it's all for nothing. He lets out a moan worthy of the most sinful sinner.

L is almost sure he won whatever this is, but Light looks at him through half-closed eyelids.

“Kiss… me,” he says through the thrusts. L wants it to sound like a plea, but truly, it is more like a demand. With one hand, Light grabs his collar and pulls him into a sloppy kiss.

There’s nothing graceful about it. Their mouths move out of sync, breaths tangling, teeth knocking once before Light laughs into the kiss and L responds by pulling him closer, as if irritated by his own lack of precision. He can taste Light. Sweet, familiar. It sends a jolt through him he refuses to name. He feels him moaning again and again every time he's buried deep inside him. And no matter how hard L tries to focus only on Light, he can't sweep away what he feels himself – the pleasure is too overwhelming, the feeling of tight walls around his oversensitive dick is harder and harder to ignore.

“Look at me,” L groans as he pulls out of the kiss. The demand is useless – Light is already looking at him. He lets go of Light's neck and puts his hand under his thigh, raising it over his shoulder like he did with the other. His calves tighten on each side of L's neck, but he doesn't complain.

L looks down. The sight is wonderful – shiny skin due to sweating, his cock sliding in and out at a steady rhythm, and Light's one so hard and already dripping with precum. He will come undone, L realizes and the satisfaction runs through his blood more addictive than a drug. Just a few more thrusts, and Light is close. His hands can't support him anymore, and L notices their trembling.

So close, and I didn’t even touch him.

He pulls out right before Light's orgasm. The younger one looks at him with both anger and despair, and despite how much L wants to enjoy this gaze (which hasn't a drop of defiance and smugness in it), he doesn't waste time – he drags Light's legs off his shoulders and, with one smooth movement, he turns him around. L is stronger than he looks like, and Light was too overwhelmed to understand what happened; he just finds himself laid on the desk, with his cheek against the hard wood.

L slips inside him again. The movement makes Light's cock to rub between the desk and his own belly.

“I hate you,” he says weakly, biting his lips to suppress a moan.

“Such a bold thing to say when I'm buried inside you,” L would have grinned victoriously and ironically if the new position hadn't made his entire body shiver as a wave of newfound pleasure hit him.

Light scratches the desk with his nails so hard it leaves a mark.

“Don't you… dare… to stop… again,” he manages to say between heavy breaths and soft moans. The sound gives L goosebumps, and without a second thought, he leans closer to Light's back and leaves a kiss on his spine.

He's so beautiful. All of him.

The kiss is enough for Light – he comes, not violently as L did before – but deep and intense. His entire body arches, and the sounds he makes will remain engraved into L's mind forever (he knows it already, and he loves it). He's still leaned over Light, occupying his entire space, and the younger one raises a hand over his neck, drags him closer as he's shaken by his orgasm. L can feel his entire body trembling beautifully.

“Fuck,” Light tries to speak between moans and thrusts, “don't- stop… Lawliet, I- I love you”. He's messy, full of sweat, warm, soft, his.

I know, Lawliet wants to say, but that would've been a lie. No, he didn't know, he only had his suspicions – but hearing the words, especially the way Light told them, makes his heart beat faster than ever.

He comes seconds after. The orgasm is stronger than the one before, and he lets all his control disappear into a chaos of pleasure and feelings. His fingers bury into Light's flesh hard, almost hurting; he wants to feel that he's here, under him.

When he's done, he doesn't slip out just yet. He doesn't want to. Light raises his head lazily. L leans on his elbows directly above him and kisses his cheek softly.

“Love is a strong word,” he whispers after the last shakes of their orgasms are gone and they can breathe properly again.

“I'm not retracting anything,” Light smiles weakly, but there's a shadow in his brown eyes that the other doesn't miss. “And despite what I told you earlier, I don't expect you to say it back.”

Lawliet pulls out and Light's breath hitches for a second. They both need a hot and long shower right now – L feels that everything's sticky, but the sensation doesn't bother him as much as it usually does. He zips back his trousers and runs a hand through his ruined hair.

“You don't expect, because you know,” the detective mutters. Light gets off the desk. He's not smiling anymore, but his whole expression betrays him. “You know you're special to me, Light. I told you multiple times before. I have never met someone like you and I don't want to. If that's what love is… yes, I love you.”

—

six years later

—

Soichiro Yagami received nothing in the mail except bills and, rarely, a newspaper. 

So that cold January morning, he was surprised to find a letter addressed to him in his mailbox, with the name Soichiro Yagami and his full address. He took the letter and went back into the house. His wife was making him coffee, occasionally glancing at the television, which was showing a rerun of her favorite show. 

The man decided to read the letter in peace, so he told his wife he would have coffee later and went into the bedroom. He sat down in a comfortable armchair, feeling a dull ache in his back; age was beginning to take its toll. 

He carefully tore open the envelope and unfolded the pages. The first word made him freeze. 

Dad, the letter began. With trembling hands, he forced himself to hold the letter upright so he could read.

It has been many years since you last heard from me, and I apologize for that, but I had good reason not to look for you. 

I am alive, thanks to Lawliet. He saved me from death six years ago, a death well deserved; I was, indeed, Kira. There is no point in giving you details of my whereabouts. It is best that we do not meet face to face yet. I do not even know if you want to see me, really, after all I have done. But I want to see you, father. You, mother, my sister. Maybe someday you will understand and forgive, maybe someday we will meet again. I continue to hope. 

You may wonder why I am writing to you now. Well, I got married. I love someone in a way I never thought I would, and as crazy as it sounds coming from me, I feel like I can’t live without that person. I owe him my whole life, after all, but it’s not just that. I loved him before he saved me, because he was different from anyone else I’d ever met. I wanted to kill him at one point; that would have covered me up and no one would have known I was Kira. I couldn’t do it. That’s why he got me, because I let him win. I don’t regret it for a second. 

I hope you understand, Dad. I don’t know if you like Lawliet or not. I imagine you never imagined him as your son-in-law, but I swear, I feel like it couldn’t be anyone else but him. No one has ever understood me the way he did. This isn’t a passing love; that's what I thought at first, but now it's been more than six years. A lot has happened in those years, but I won't tell you all the details; suffice it to say that I'm happy. Much happier than I was before. 

I think it goes without saying that this letter must remain secret. Don't try to find me. I will, when the time comes.

– Light Lawford

“Soichiro came looking for me the other day,” Lawliet said as Light traced long, vague lines across his back. On his spine, he had a tattoo that Light had touched countless times since Lawliet had gotten it two years ago. 

W

A

N

T

S

A

V

E

Y

O

U

Light traced each letter with his fingertips. He had never thought Lawliet was the type to get a tattoo, so this was a pleasant surprise. 

“Oh, your father-in-law,” the younger one laughed, pressing his naked body against his new husband’s. He never could wait to get to the bedroom when Lawliet returned from his long travels; that evening, they had made love on the Persian rug in front of the fireplace. 

“He must have been shocked by that letter,” Lawliet hinted at a smile. “Will you go and see them again?”

“Someday,” Light murmured. “After the justice system forgets about Kira. It’s still too early.” 

“Justice forgets more easily than you think… and more easily than I thought. I barely managed to close the last case. The culprit killed his twenty-five-year-old girlfriend and his four-year-old daughter, and yet he only got seven years in prison. Horribly short.” 

Light didn’t miss the seriousness that had crept into Lawliet’s voice. As the years passed, it seemed to him that the detective who put justice first was being rewarded less and less. Not financially, because in that respect they were incredibly well off, but the people he brought to justice were no longer getting exactly what they deserved. Lawliet hated it. Light knew it. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him that this was precisely why he had used the Death Note, but he didn't want to dig up a subject that had been buried for a long time. 

Lawliet looked at him, and for a moment, Light forgot his idea. He had aged like fine wine. His hair was still long, but now it was neat (well, not exactly now, because Light had ruffled it terribly and made him sweat and the black strands stuck to his forehead), the dark circles were gone, and his body was slightly thicker. Some things hadn’t changed, though: his craving for sweets, his deep black eyes, and that he loved Light even though he rarely told him so. 

Lawliet put his arm around his waist and pulled him even closer, pressing Light's hot skin against his. 

“Come on, say it,” he whispered, his eyes on his lips. “I know it’s on your tongue.” 

Light blinked playfully. “What? That you’re good in bed? You’re excellent, Lawliet. Almost as good as me–”

“Tsk. The other thing.” His nails scratched the soft skin, but not enough to hurt. Light grabbed him by the neck. A log in the fireplace crackled loudly, and the flame reflected for a moment in Lawliet’s eyes. 

“Kira… I,” for the first time since he’d been rescued, didn’t refer to Kira as anyone else, “at first, I was right. Justice wasn’t doing its job.” 

“Mhm,” Lawliet agreed, completely unconvinced. “You weren’t justice, though.”

“Yes,” Light protested. “I could have been. I admit, at some point it became about me and you, not justice. But my idea… my desire to do justice… was real.”

Lawliet looked into his eyes for a long time. He saw the same sparkle he had always had. There was something in Light's eyes that even years of relatively normal and peaceful living could not extinguish.

Something that did not disappear even in the most intimate moments. 

There had been times that Lawliet, always so rational and calm, could not remember without blushing to the tips of his ears. He had wanted to extinguish that sparkle that reminded him of Kira. The times they had both drunk, the times he had possessed Light almost animalistically, until his legs could no longer hold him, the times he had tied him up, left him bruised, overstimulated him to the point of madness… and the sparkle was still there, stubborn as Light who despite the pain, no, because of the pain, moaned his name more fervently than usual and the next day he would wake up limping, but with a wide smile on his lips swollen from bites and kisses that he didn’t have when Lawliet treated him with care. 

For a moment, he had the urge to do the same thing tonight, even though he already knew it was pointless. But Light left a wet kiss on the corner of his lip. 

“I must admit, my dear husband… if I were to receive the Death Note, I would do it again,” he whispered. “And you would let me, wouldn’t you?”

Lawliet grabbed both of his wrists and held his hands tightly to the carpet, climbing on top of him. He didn’t answer right away. He kissed him briefly, pulling back just as Light tried to slip his tongue between his lips, then moved to his neck. He bit once. Twice. So hard that Light struggled and made a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan. Two marks immediately turned red; Lawliet knew they would turn into large, bruised spots the next day, but he didn’t stop. He bit lower, on his chest and stomach, each time just as hard and merciless. 

“Yes,” he murmured after biting the sensitive skin of his waist. “I would let you.” 

His own response annoyed him to the core and back. Light was breathing heavily—pain, pleasure? Both, equally. Despite the fact that his body was now marked from top to bottom, he grinned at the corner of his mouth. The light from the flames accentuated his features, now sharper and more masculine, as he looked down at Lawliet. Light had always been a handsome man, but over time he had become downright irresistible. And, perhaps, a little more arrogant and self-confident. 

Had he ever known how much Lawliet could read in his eyes? 

“You’re rough tonight,” his smile didn’t fade. “I like it.” 

Lawliet sighed, though he wasn’t nearly as angry as he wanted to seem. He released his hands from Light’s wrists. 

“Go to bed. It’s late,” he told him. Light rubbed his red wrists. 

“Okay,” he shrugged. “You come too.”

Lawliet stood in front of the fire for a while longer, watching the dancing flames. Finally, he climbed the stairs to the second floor in the dark—he knew them like the back of his hand. He reached the top, down the long hallway, and the light from the flames dissipated, leaving him in the dark. 

Two firm arms wrapped around his waist and held him close to a still-warm body. He felt Light’s breath on his lips, smelling of mint and chocolate. He wanted to kiss him, but a hand gripped his hair so tightly that it pulled his head back.

He tried to ignore the shiver that started from his scalp and reached his toes. 

“...Kneel,” a low, hoarse voice commanded, barely resembling his husband’s. 

The shiver ran through him once more. However, Lawliet stubbornly stood. 

“No.” 

The fingers in his hair tightened even more, and Lawliet hissed in pain. He reached out, wanting to grab his husband by the shoulders who had suddenly become domineering (did he like it? He still didn’t have an answer) but he couldn’t. Light pushed him down forcefully, making him kneel on the hard floor. 

“Open your mouth.”

“Light!” He wanted to protest, but he should have known better. The parted lips had been an invitation for Light, who pushed himself deep into his mouth, invading every available inch, so suddenly that Lawliet felt two tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he had satisfied Light like this. He couldn’t say he did it very often, but he always took control, and his husband just ran his hands gently through his hair, letting soft, velvety sounds escape his lips.

No way what was happening now. Light wouldn’t let him breathe – he pushed himself in once more, a muffled growl making his chest vibrate. 

Lawliet had no choice but to brace his hands on Light’s hips. He could have bitten him, of course. The lack of air made his entire body tense. 

He could have bitten him. He didn't. 

He just gave in to Light's will, even though it was too much, he felt like he was choking with every move, his hair was pulled too tight, and tears were now running down his cheeks. 

“Fuck," Light cursed like he hadn't done in a long time and felt his cock tense once, hard, in his throat. "Tell me... tell me his name." 

He pulled Lawliet back, just enough to leave his mouth free to speak. The detective looked up, into the darkness where he could barely make out the figure pinning him down with a lack of tenderness that shouldn't have been there, but fascinated and electrified him at the same time. 

"Why?" He managed to say after taking enough air into his lungs. 

Light didn't offer him any answer. Lawliet should have known he wasn't going to get one. His head was pushed back with a force he would not have thought Light capable of; no matter how intelligent he was, even after years, he still managed to surprise him, while other people were read like the palm of their hand by Lawliet from the first minutes of conversation.

And, as hard as it all was, he couldn't deny any of the sensations that were running through his own body. 

Light breathed heavily. He pulled his hair so hard that Lawliet's nose was pressed against the black hairline that ran from his navel down. He could smell him—sweet perfume (always too sweet, even in winter), combined with a faint whiff of sweat, and sex. Light always smelled maddeningly attractive. 

"Tell me," he insisted once more. Lawliet desperately wanted to see his eyes, that look he guessed was sure of himself, a little mischievous, a little cunning. A little more of the last one. 

He couldn't breathe. As neat as he had come through the door that evening, in a hotel-pressed shirt, an expensive suit, and hair carefully combed in the mirror (just to look good for his husband), he looked just as broken now. There was nothing left. Only the tears on his cheeks, the shivers down his spine, and the neck that was starting to hurt. 

Light let him breathe again. He felt his thumb run over his lower lip, caressing it with a tenderness that was out of place. 

“You look like the wet dreams I had in my twenties, my dear Lawliet.” 

Lawliet knew his body was betraying him. The words were like gasoline on a fire. 

“Back when… when you were Kira?” He asked boldly. Was there any point in having taboo subjects between them? Especially after he was on his knees in front of the ex-Kira, who was having sex with his mouth without any shame? 

Light laughed in the darkness. His other hand did not leave Lawliet's hair. 

"Just like back then. I'll be honest with you... sometimes I miss those times... when I wanted to have you, but I didn't know I could have you." 

Lawliet wanted to respond with something stinging, but he was not given a moment's respite. Light pulled at his hair, without a trace of pity. Where did these instincts come from that were so irrational?

Had he taken off another mask? God. Light was made of masks. Maybe that was why he loved him so much. 

Again, a moment of respite. Lawliet already knew what was wanted of him. 

"William Scorn," he said the killer's name in one breath. Light loosened his grip on his fingers just a little. 

"Good boy." 

Lawliet felt like killing him and fucking him until he couldn't walk at the same time. The loosening of his grip gave him the illusion that he could stand up and regain his last vestige of dignity. 

Light stopped him. "Not yet," he gripped his jaw with a hand, hard enough to hold him in place. "I want to cum in your mouth." He grazed the tip of his cock against Lawliet's lower lip, and he parted his lips just enough to make space. 

“Mmm,” Light purred, letting his head fall back. “Yes, just like that… my handsome husband.” 

He was talkative during sex. All the time. Begging, praising, sometimes even cracking jokes, and he always sounded so perfectly breathless, tainted with desire. Lawliet loved to hear that pretty mouth speaking, and loved even more to make it shut up. 

Fuck, he thought while the back of his throat was hit again and again, each time harsher than the last time. The blood gathered between his legs, making his own cock twitch. Fuck, I like that. He shouldn't have liked it – even though it wasn't showing as much, Lawliet's pride was as high as Light's. Yet there he was, being used like a rag and handled rougher than one, and he couldn't tear off his teary gaze from his husband's happy trail, or his mouth from his hard cock. 

Lawliet's right hand reached the tent in his pants, touching through the fabric. His boxers were already wet, and he circled his tip with a thumb, making himself grunt and closing his eyes.

“Touching yourself already? That's how much you like me fucking your mouth?” 

Light reached out a hand to the wall, groping for the light switch. He flicked it on, and in an instant the hall was lit by warm, diffused lamps along the wall. 

Lawliet glared at him through his eyelashes. Until then, the darkness had protected him, but now Light could see everything—the tears, the red, swollen lips, the incriminating hand. And Light didn't hesitate to stare long, contentedly, at the chaos that was supposed to be the world's best detective. 

“Much better,” the younger one said. “Now, finish me off.” 

Lawliet's stomach did a jump at the low, raspy tone.

But he obeyed, of course. Light's words did wonders to his cock, wonders even more pleasurable than his own trembling hand. 

It didn't take long until he felt every muscle of his husband's body tensing with anticipation. Light's movements became even rougher, and he suddenly pulled his hair so hard that new tears ran down Lawliet's cheeks. 

He was unable to breathe. His nails dug in Light's thighs, trying to warn him, but he didn't stop. Lawliet felt the warm, salty juice down his throat. 

“Ahh…” an almost inhumane moan escaped Light's lips. “Swallow it all. I don't want to see a single drop on the floor.” 

Lawliet couldn't spit it even if he wanted to. His chest tightened, searching for the air it wasn't receiving. He felt his own legs trembling, and only now, after everything was done, he realized how sore his whole body was. Light's cock twitched once, twice, releasing everything, then he finally let go of Lawliet's hair. 

When he looked up, he expected to see Light struck by the post-nut clarity. Maybe ashamed of what he had done, maybe suddenly shy. 

It wasn't the case. 

The pair of brown eyes gleamed with that spark again. 

Criminal Dead Under Suspicious Conditions on First Day of Seven-Year Sentence! 

Lawliet hadn’t read articles in years. 

The next morning, however, the only information he searched for on his laptop was about the criminal he had exposed. 

He slowly sank into the big chair almost completely, and sipped his coffee with six sugar cubes. Light still hadn’t woken up, even though it was past nine. He was sleeping like an angel in the double bed. Lawliet had tried to wake up as quietly as possible. 

Suspicious conditions, he read the article again. Heart attack. The condition itself wasn’t suspicious at all, but the criminal was thirty-two years old; too young for a heart attack. 

Light went down the stairs, one by one. He sat down at the table, a few meters away, then looked at him lazily, sleepily. That is, until a cheeky grin appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Lawliet swallowed hard. He had seen himself in the mirror since morning: he had bruises on his neck and jaw. Light had them too, but in areas where they were a little less visible.

“...The criminal I told you about yesterday is dead,” Lawliet finally spoke. 

Light crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Good morning. Yes, I know.”

“You know?” Although he hated it when this happened (it happened very rarely anyway), Lawliet’s heart beat faster and faster. “Do you have something to do with this?” 

Light sought his gaze.

“I have everything to do with this.” 

And Lawliet saw the glint, stronger than ever.

“Light…” he said his name with a kind of bitter reverence. “How many Death Notes are there?”

The other shrugged. “Countless, probably.” 

“And…?” Lawliet invited him to continue. Light stood up, walked around the table, and leaned over him, almost touching his forehead. 

“I have one.” 

“And?” Lawliet sounded more exasperated than he had intended. His professional calm had vanished into thin air. 

Light reached out and touched his bruises tenderly. Then on his neck, on the unbuttoned shirt that he took off his shoulders in one motion, on his chest, on his thighs, on his knees that still bore the memory of the night that had passed. 

“I was born to be justice,” he said simply. “But I swear I will only kill those who deserve it.”

Lawliet let himself be comforted. He even had the instinct to pull Light onto him and kiss him until he was suffocated. But he refrained. 

Light was Kira, and Kira was Light. They couldn’t be one without the other. 

“You agree with me, right? That some people have to die?” Light had stopped, and now he was looking for confirmation in his eyes. 

Something twisted in Lawliet’s gut. Not something unpleasant, though. 

“You know that we have always been the same. Always the two of us before everyone else.” It wasn’t a question.

Lawliet licked his lips. “Yes.” 

“You know I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always be mine.” 

“God, Light.” 

“I ask you for one favor… let me be Kira.” 

Lawliet wanted to hate him, but I knew she loved him too much already. 

There's no point in playing cat and mouse when feelings are involved. Besides, he didn't know which one of them was the real mouse anymore. 

"...Just who I say deserves it, not who you think deserves it," he said after a while. Light smiled at him. Not a grin, a real smile. 

"Yes, baby," Kira searched for his lips, still swollen from last night's torture. Lawliet let himself be kissed long, unhurriedly, just the way Light knew he liked it.