Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme
Welcome to the Death Note Anonymous Kink Meme!
How it works:
* Comment anonymously with a kinkfic request. All requests must contain a character or pairing/threesome/moresome (any combination of guys/girls/shinigami/whatever are OK, crossovers are fine too), and at least one kink. If you need inspiration, check out this huge list of kinks by eliade. ( Read more... )
How it works:
* Comment anonymously with a kinkfic request. All requests must contain a character or pairing/threesome/moresome (any combination of guys/girls/shinigami/whatever are OK, crossovers are fine too), and at least one kink. If you need inspiration, check out this huge list of kinks by eliade. ( Read more... )
Something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach when he crawled onto the bed, sat there and started swinging his legs like he had no idea what was going to happen. There was no point in second-guessing yourself, so Light rarely did it, but he had to fight the urge hard as L knelt in front of him and started unbuttoning his shirt.
If he'd bothered to consider what was going to happen in any real sort of detail (and maybe the fact that he hadn't was a sign that he shouldn't have agreed) he would have thought L would treat undressing him at least as something professional, something clinical. When L kissed his neck after undoing the first button (and Light would deny to his dying day that he squeaked) he realized he was mistaken.
It was okay, though. It was - L undid another button and kissed the skin revealed - surely what you expected from a guy who thought himself in love with a child - another kiss, and Light wanted to squirm, he just wasn't used to being touched at all, never mind feeling someone's lips against his ribcage - the sort of guy who thought he was participating in something consensual, who wanted - he yelped and shuddered and made an automatic attempt to push L away when he felt his tongue against his skin, trailing a line down his belly - to make the experience as pleasurable for his partner as possible.
And they had discussed this, after all. Sort of. “How do you want me to play this?” Light had asked, and L had shrugged and looked amused and said it didn't matter: however he acted he was going to be seen as a victim, the only difference a matter of degree. Light had decided that a confused child, puzzled about what was happening and whether he should feel good or bad about it would probably be best. The blackmail potential would be higher, there would be more reason for the gang to trust that L would be willing to do anything to avoid having the tape end up in the hands of the police. That was the point after all; this was work, not pleasure.
L's expression was eerily intent as he gently pushed Light on to his back, and Light's stomach began to curl itself into elaborate knots that he calmed only be reciting L, L, this is L, L you can trust (so far as this) L who knows what you have to do sometimes to succeed in a case.
And it wasn't - he made a startled noise against L's mouth because, actually, L could do interesting things with his tongue that didn't involve cherry stems - it wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't something he'd ever be eager to repeat, but there was nothing so awful about it that he should feel sweat sliding down his back, that he should feel everywhere a faint prickle of wrongness - or maybe that was just the air against his skin. L's hands were careful, busy, were everywhere - touching, caressing, stroking, playing with his hair, cupping his face, tracing his ribs.
He wondered what he should do with his own hands. They felt awkward, just resting on the bed, and he reached up hesitantly to L, only for L to catch them in his own and hold them above his head by the wrists. With one hand too, and Light flushed with annoyance at the reminder that L was older and stronger - in charge of the investigation.
…Which sounded like a really bad pun even as he thought it, given the way L was studying him, the way his free hand was unbuttoning and slipping beneath the pants of the generic school uniform, bought solely for this occasion. He stilled beneath L, took a startled breath when he felt him touch and squirmed in earnest as he began to explore.
L smiled as he arched into him, nowhere to go but up, against him, but it didn't reach his eyes, studying him with rapt attention.
“Nn,” Light managed, eyes darting everywhere, trying to remember the camera positions, trying to concentrate on anything other than where L's hand was, the way his arms were aching, held down hard above his head, the way he could feel L's body against his, the heat where they touched and the cold where they didn't.
Ah. He was beginning to suspect this had been a bad idea.
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Should have expected that, Light decided. Well, the part of him that wasn't making rather worried remarks that the reason he felt unequal was because he was, wasn't that the point, and was he sure he'd agreed to being held down?
There was something wrong about all this, beyond the obvious, but he couldn't grasp anything more than that because his mind was trying to classify everything at once, as it always did.
And it. Wasn't. Working.
Things had become a not quite coherent whole: the sheets beneath his back, the roughness of L's clothes against his bare skin (and why was he still wearing them, Light hadn't felt anywhere near naked until he noticed that), the lick of L's tongue against his lips, his chin, his throat, the shivery tenderness of L's hand tracing the groove between hip and thigh (teasing) compared to the grip around his wrists (bruising), the desperate noises being coaxed from him with nimble fingers and smirking mouth, and for the first time in a long time, Light couldn't think properly--
(what am i doing here?)
He shuddered, opened his mouth to tell L - tell L something, and couldn't find the words.
Light never considered himself as a child. He was smarter than most adults, and as far as he was concerned all the mattered was that he could outthink any of them. It had never really occurred to him that he should worry about smaller and weaker than L, that it was the difference between their bodies rather than the similarity of their minds that he should consider.
If Light wanted to leave, if he fought and struggled and screamed - but he wouldn't, and L knew that too: knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the thought that if he ran he'd have given up his dignity and pride for nothing.
He closed his eyes, tried desperately to block out everything, to understand why everything seemed slightly off - why was the only noise in the room his? The minute he noticed that, he tried to correct it, tried to stop panting so noisily for air, to stifle every sound he made, so unnerved by L's silence that suddenly he was no longer preoccupied with pieces but could perceive the whole again, and the whole wasn't making sense.
Something about the cameras, something about the need in L's body, something about --
“S-stop,” he whispered. L stilled, looked at him. His eyes were so dark. Light scrambled for his thoughts, found he could only repeat a slightly helpless 'stop'.
L pressed closer - the noise Light made might have been a whimper as over sensitized skin was barraged with the feel of jeans, cotton, skin, hair, everything just a little too much - and the hand that had been skating the lines of his stomach fell between his thighs, circled and slid (when had he lubricated them, what had he lubricated them with and how could Light not notice?)
Light's eyes widened. “No,” he hissed, a breath of air more than a word.
L worked a finger into him and he froze. “No?” L whispered into his ear, the first proper (if near inaudible) sound he’d made since the door closed. Light shuddered, couldn't tell if it was the feel of L's breath against his ear or the feel of L's fingers moving inside of him, stretching, flexing. L's other hand tightened about his wrists to the point of pain.
He shook his head, tried to arch away. L used his slight advantage of weight to push him back down, back on to those waiting fingers, and that was worse, the way they pumped in and out, forcing him to think of what would be replacing them, the way he'd used Light's own movement to begin the action.
This is L, came the same litany he'd used to calm himself earlier, a mocking echo.
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The rational, detective part of his mind knew L didn't want to risk a workable voice print, but the human part (acknowledging its own helplessness and lack of forethought, and that there was pretty much no way this was going to go any way other than the way L wanted it to) wanted reassurance, treatment that recognized he was a little more aware than a blowup doll. A muttered 'relax' wasn't much to ask. It wouldn't help in the slightest, but he would've appreciated the sentiment.
Eventually. Maybe. In a few years perhaps, when he might be able look at this as an educational experience in not trusting anyone and properly analyzing a situation before agreeing to something.
L's fingers withdrew with a slick noise that somehow brought bile to Light's throat, and he started thrashing about in earnest when L finally dropped his wrists - everything in pieces again, the noise of a zipper, the brisk maneuvering of body and limbs (a small part noting wryly, this must look ridiculous/perverse), fingers digging into his hips, holding him still--
He couldn't remember why he'd agreed to this. He stared at L's face - so close, it was like he'd never seen him before - and tried not to panic, not to think about the heat and pressure and slick lubricated slide closer and closer to--
He threw his head back and bit his lip desperately to prevent the noise that threatened to leave him, something between a wail and a scream, as L pushed into him. There was nothing except L, L inside him where he shouldn't be, L pressing him into a bed he could barely feel, so distracted by the pain and the strangeness and invasive, inescapable feel of him, L kissing him, forcing his mouth open, swallowing any sound he might make.
When he came back to himself, when L's face stopped blurring and the room started making sense as background, Light realized L hadn't moved any further, held himself poised above him with extended arms, looking down. Light took a shaky breath.
Should have screamed, observed a cold, dispassionate voice in the back of his head, the part of him willing to falsify evidence, willing to offer his body for a case, willing to do anything, anything at all to win. Never mind your pride, never mind the humiliation, think how well a scream would have served this, furthered the purpose of this.
Light curled his fingers into the sheets, reminded himself - can't go on forever, will stop, will end sooner with less damage if you play along, chose this - and forced himself to relax.
L smiled, and Light closed his eyes as he began to slide out. Closed his eyes even tighter as he slid back in, as it became a steady rhythm he started to breathe to, his entire body shuddering with the eventual force of the thrusts.
There was a sound in his ears, gasps that were almost sobs, soothing in their repetitiveness, like the tide, until he realized at some point they'd transmuted into the most pathetic mewling noises, realized oh. That's me.
L curved over him, sealed his mouth to his ear, wet and warm and “Look at me,” he whispered.
Light opened his eyes.
L came with a moan.
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L tangled his fingers in his hair; Light lay still and tracked his movements with something more than his usual situational awareness. It felt as if every part of him ached beneath the skin, bone-deep. He waited for his body to tell him it would be okay to move from his curled up position, and wondered what it was slicking his thighs and if he really wanted to know the answer.
He laughed, a distant, croaky noise that wasn't very amused. “I can't even remember how you managed to convince me to do this,” he said in tone of distant wonder.
L continued to stroke his hair gently, studying him intently as if - for all they had just done - he hadn't seen enough to properly appreciate what had just been beneath him. “You are beautiful,” he said, in the same clinical tone a scientist might use.
It made Light feel a little better, that detachment. As if nothing had just occurred.
“...You'll get rid of those tapes when the investigation's over with, I trust,” he said as evenly as possible, gingerly pulling his arms to his chest to rub at his bruising wrists.
“Of course,” L agreed. “By the time L has finished taking that gang apart, anything showing one of their members on camera with his quite literal boytoy will be long gone.”
Light tried to ignore the new, different kind of intimacy in L's voice. He didn't like the type of familiarity that now colored L's words - I've seen you naked, I've felt you from the inside. “Talking about yourself in third person is the first sign of madness, you know.”
“Really,” L said. His hands were curling around Light's knees, pulling them away from his body, the defensive position they'd adopted, and Light's heart, just slowing, began to speed up again. “What does Kira-san think?”
Light laughed despite himself. See, he told himself. It's okay, it's just work, just another job, nothing personal. Everything that occurred was necessary, even if it didn't feel that way. Things would go back to the way they were before, regardless - regardless of the fact he now knew what it felt like to have L inside him, to have L explore him, to know the noise L made as he came.
L pushed his legs apart.
“What are you doing?” Don't panic, he told himself. There was possibly a perfectly rational explanation for his actions. Or a perfectly irrational one, like telling L to stop was guaranteed to be taken as a dare to go on.
He felt the muscles in his thigh dance beneath L's tongue as he cleaned a strip of skin of whatever was drying there. “Would you like to know a secret?” L said pensively. “Something that might help you gain a slightly better understanding of... recent events and activities?”
“Sure,” Light said warily, jerked as he felt L's lips curve against his thigh.
“There only needed to be one camera,” L said.
...You utter bastard, L, I bet there wasn't even a case.
I've been calling this Tacenda in my head, which means things not to be mentioned, matters to be passed over in silence. Which just makes me wonder what other things have occurred that Light would prefer were never mentioned ever again...
And I've just realized I completely forgot about Ryuk - he was in the corner. Giggling.
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