Fandom: Death Note
Rating: NC17 (-ish. >>)
Challenge: Revenge. It's there, I swear.
Disclaimer: The characters contained within belong to their respective owners. I'm just a moron using them for badfic.
Notes: Not too happy with this; I'll probably butcher themes and sentences from it for future stuff. Because I recycle! :D I'm going to pretend this would have turned out less hectic and just plain awkward if I'd spent more than the allotted ninety minutes on it. NEVERTHELESS.
Constructive criticism and punches to the face are always welcomed, particularly regarding the iffy characterization. Praise is welcome, too. *grins*
Sometime earlier in the evening it had been mostly dark and briefly stormy. The last traces of the rainstorm had shifted north or south, simply away in the very least, and gradually even the remnant sounds of dripping had faded. What noises the rain had made were replaced entirely with L's erratic typing; spontaneous, quick scatterings of clicking and depressed keys that tugged the chain connecting his wrist to Raito's. His wide, black-pouched eyes didn't move from the screen: watching video files and reading reports or messages and a hundred other things related to the kira cases inevitably leading to him tearing over the keys with his long bony (slender) fingers.
Raito had given up on sleep around the same time the fury of the rain had softened to a weak spittle. He kept his eyes closed or, as now, half-lidded and watching the vague glow reflecting against the wall as if, maybe, he could will the laptop off or that, somehow, the unsurprisingly insomniac L might suddenly be stricken with narcolepsy.
The bedroom was silent for a few drawn-out moments, L's breath as noiseless as always and Raito regulating his own breathing out of some prideful need to appear to be sleeping. (It wasn't much of anything, but at least it was something: a small, petty part of him wondered if he wasn't being punished in another miniscule way for L's belief that he was or had been kira. He exhaled, quietly, and felt the handcuff around his wrist.)
Another sudden burst of typing interrupted the quiet and Raito closed his eyes again, feeling the many subtle tugs of the handcuff rubbing, very gently and only slightly, along the skin of his wrist. He listened to the keys clattering (annoyed), failed to ignore the handcuff's movements (irritated), and twisted onto his back to glare at L (ineffective).
The handcuff on L's wrist moved with Raito's movement, a brief echo as the thin metal glinted with the laptop's glow, and Raito wrapped his fingers around the chain connecting them. He looked at it in his palm and back up at L as he kept his eyes fixed, unmoving and so, so wide, on the glow that faded into the paleness of his own unexposed skin.
Raito wondered, inanely, how the hell they were supposed to change their shirts with the handcuffs on and then, rather coldly and feeling petty, jerked the chain. L's hand whipped off the keyboard, fingers splaying out (white skin over white bones) awkwardly in the air; L's head turned swiftly to fix those wide rimmed eyes (calculating and blank) on Raito, his other hand still on the keyboard as a blue light diffused into his cheek, painting him in shadowed profile.
"Stop," said Raito, who remembered L saying he needed Raito for twenty-four hour researching, and L's decision to let Raito sleep, briefly (finger in his mouth, probably flat on his tongue, chin ducked to his neck and eyes watching, judging, curious). "I'm trying to sleep."
L looked at him, unblinking. "Wasn't Raito-kun sleeping?" he asked, in a distant, polite tone. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Raito let his head settle back into the pillow, still resting on his back with his handcuffed hand wrapped around the chain. L's hand was motionless in the air, fingers curled back and pale. "I wasn't sleeping," he said. "I was trying to. I know you don't sleep, but I can't work for so many hours without sleeping every once in a while."
L tilted his head slightly, both knees drawn to his chest and the covers unmoved beneath him. He ducked his chin towards his neck. "I sleep, Raito-kun," he said, smiling a small, young smile. "But there are many things that need to be done while you sleep. Please accept my apology." This said, he drew his handcuffed arm back and resumed typing.
Raito yanked the chain again, and this time there was a very faint trace of annoyance in L's pleasant air. "I need to sleep," he said.
"Please do." L's eyes were black, lit from the side by the computer which hummed and waited, a silent unknowing audience.
L fit the tip of his thumb into his mouth, pinched between his lips (maybe curling upwards at the edges). "Perhaps you should try harder, Raito-kun."
"I'm only asking for a few hours," Raito said, quietly, feeling the strain of old confinement and sleeplessness and something else trickling alone within his body.
L tilted his head, nibbling at his thumb with the handcuff glinting around his sleeve, against his skin. "I may find something of interest in those few hours."
"You might not."
L turned his face back to the computer, sliding his thumb out with disinterest.
"Stop it," said Raito, and he pulled one last time at the chain, hard enough to draw L's too-thin frame towards him an inch or so, the long limbs and body thrown into a momentary imbalance; he moved up from the pillow and caught L's mouth with his, forcing L (startled, calm, unfeeling, nothing) back only slightly.
"Stop it," he said again, feeling the something else prying about in his head and his chest and lower at the dark wide eyes L blinked at him.
L looked at him, pale and shadowed, reflective. "Hm?" he said. He caught Raito's handcuffed hand with his own, the metal cuffs clinking against one another and drawing Raito's chest to tighten as L curled his fingers around Raito's and leaned (flowed, grace and awkward and glowing in the faint light) forward to mold his mouth to Raito's mouth, his face still solemn and unchanging though his eyebrows tilted just so.
There was, for a moment, a messy and clumsy tangle of tongues: L alternating between passive and agressive, almost calculating. Like Raito, who planned each warm and sudden reaction (not so sudden, acting on some old tension or frustration that forced them to play against one another, and this was another fight, only something different, too). Pulling back to kiss along L's long white neck and feeling some hidden darkness in his body (in his belly, mind, heart) twisting so that he sunk his teeth, hard, into the soft curve where neck flowed into shoulder; startled and self-conscious at L's response of half-crooning and sliding his surprisingly (not surprisingly) flexible body against Raito's, legs around Raito and pressing.
Warm skin under L's shirt, which he was pulling at but knew he couldn't remove (still held the chain in his hand, small links biting into his palm, biting into L's palm), not wanting to lose this game and wanting some incoherent revenge for some trespass he couldn't remember, and wanting, mostly, to hear that lazy half-croon again as L watched him with his dark-rimmed eyes. L pulled back, tilting his head again.
"Don't," said Raito.
L blinked at him, smiling. "What?" he asked.
"Stop," Raito said.
They were fumbling for pants, L twisting his body out of his loose pants quickly, laptop forgotten, kicked to the side and muffled by the covers. "Raito-kun doesn't want to stop now, do you?" L asked, innocent and sly as Raito lost his slacks somwhere in the sheets and caught L's shoulders, shoving him down into the bed (dark, frantic, maybe vengeance maybe not).
"Shut up," Raito gritted, and another moment of messy tongues and L twining his thin (still slender) body up against Raito, playing against him like Raito was playing against L. Natural evolution of the relationship, just like fumbling in the desk and fumbling with a small complementary bottle of lotion and fumbling with L, pressing back against him with heat and need (and something dark).
L made a small noise when Raito pushed in, a tiny sound equal parts pain and not. Raito waited, feeling heat and L shifting, feeling the chain etching itself into his palm, and then thrusting down, making small noises as well; Raito watched L's pale face in the dark, the gleaming eyes watching him in turn.
Thrusting, arching, twisting, L's legs bending around him and Raito slick and both of them hard, and the chain sharp in their twined, clawing hands.
It was raining again, and Raito leaned forward, bit L's neck as the gangly man murmured something (twenty percent, eight percent) and made a happy little noise in the back of his throat, smiling with his lips closed and eyes wide and Raito warm within him.
The chain hung between them: the memory or lack thereof of a game, and darkness; and L bit Raito's ear, whispered yes five percent oh.
Wide eyes, warm skin, rain, death (little, forgotten).