Fandom: Death Note
Rating: PG-13 (solely for implications)
Word Count: 458
Prompt: "Don't squirm."
Warnings: post-coital fluff!, inexplicable AU
Summary: It's funny that he found the cure to boredom here.
Author's Note: Belatedly for the wonderful sabriel75's birthday. :)
It was like nothing else, and it was never twice the same.
Which was the reason, of course, that Light knew with such unshakable certainty that he was never going to get bored. It might shatter into pieces or explode in his face, but it would never slowly fade.
No, L wasn’t much for subtlety.
Sex with L was everything he could have imagined (and no emphasis needed to be placed on the virtually-boundless capacity of Light Yagami’s mind), but it might have been this part that he liked best—the aftermath. The afterwards. The two of them lying there, loosely entwined, quiet and contented and vaguely damp.
Utterly unsurprisingly, L was a fidgeter. His fingertips had an affinity for ribs and collarbones, which they would trace over and over, back and forth, compulsively, as if trying to rub something off.
Or perhaps as if to verify that something was there.
There were always potentialities with L. Perhaps all the perhapses were true at once.
“Isn’t it frustrating?” Light asked.
“Yes,” L answered. “What are we talking about?”
Light supposed that, for L, everything was frustrating, at least to some degree. He radiated, fervently and consistently, at a very specific wavelength, one a considerable distance out of most people’s reach, to the effect that the majority of those around him didn’t even seem to hear him right.
Light was lucky. His range of reception was simply so unnaturally indiscriminate that he picked up a lot of the signals. Watari was probably the only person who had him beat when it came to understanding L.
“I meant the Kira case,” Light specified. “All that for nothing.”
L was silent a moment, index finger working up and down Light’s breastbone.
“It is,” he decided at last. “There is little I hate more than dead ends, loose ends—to become tangled in the threads of it, and then to have no apparent hope of unraveling them all. The incompletion is the most irritating. Nothing is incomprehensible; there’s a factor somewhere that we’re not accounting for, and that’s maddening.” His fingertip outlined a slow loop on Light’s chest.
“Which is not to say,” he remarked, “that I don’t appreciate the unanticipated results.”
The design he was drawing became significantly more elaborate, and Light writhed, biting his lip on a grin.
“That tickles,” he protested.
“Stop squirming,” L ordered. “I’m writing my name.”
Light was about to inform his autographing lover that Light Yagami was not chattel to be branded when he understood the significance.
Other than a bit of involuntary twitching, he managed to lie still.
L crossed a final t, looked up at him, and smiled.
Light smiled back.
L was many things, but boring would never be one of them.