L squints his eyes against the strobe lights, peering onto the dance floor curiously. Somewhere along the way he has slipped his rave band off and is dangling it between two fingers. Light rolls his eyes. “You’re supposed to wear it,” he says.
L turns, smiles, holds up a finger next to his ear. Light seethes. He’s never letting L forget that he gave up Misa’s night off to make sure L didn’t have to investigate alone. L owes him a favor for this one.
A huge, get-out-of-death-row free favor.
He steps into L’s space and repeats his instructions, cupping his hand around L’s ear. A girl with the nicest tits he’s ever seen passes by, gives them a significant look, and says, “hot.”
Light has a feeling she isn’t talking about L’s ratty polyester shirt.
“LOOK,” Light says into L’s ear. “You’re supposed to WEAR it.”
L blinks at him pleasantly, like he’s speaking Spanish in Chinatown. No sign of reaction.
“Oh, for -” Light mutters, and he plucks the rave bracelet from L’s fingertips and loops it twice around L’s neck.
All at once the music shifts, and around them the bass escalates from floor-thumping to drum-bursting. Light still has his arms lifted to L’s neck when the lighting changes, and it catches him with his fingertips a hair’s breadth away from the long column of L’s throat. A burst of hot pink light spreads over his skin, and when he looks up, it dazzles his wide eyes, turning them into asterisks of pure, deep crimson.
Light’s gasp cuts off before it ever leaves his throat, and he stares.
L looks over at him and smiles.
Light reassesses the situation. Maybe if he has his way, L can repay him that favor sooner rather than later.
He grabs L’s rave band and tugs L out into the middle of the dance floor, sweat and grinding bodies obscuring them from the view of anyone but each other. L follows, off-balance and obedient, and only stares when Light pulls him into the curve of his chest.
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DANCE,” Light tells him, but L is already moving, awkwardly picking up the beat of the music like most people would pick a penny up from the sidewalk.
L doesn’t dance, exactly - he curves slowly, in all directions, without ever moving his feet. He bobs. It shouldn’t be mesmerizing, but Light gave up that fight where L is concerned, long ago.
Light looks around for the girls who inevitably have magic on the tip of their tongues. He spots one, tall and apparently made out of ripped leather, and beckons her over with his most persuasive smile.
L watches the two of them trade highs, hers the one that comes from getting felt up by the hottest guy in the club, his the one she proffers on the end of her liquid tongue. Light plucks the tablet from her mouth and another from her palm, and obligingly makes out with her for a moment or so before sending her away.
When he turns back, the world is already starting to slide and fuzz over in brilliant colors, L the only stable object in it.
He runs the back of his hand across L’s cheek. “Raito-kun,” L murmurs. “Ecstasy dehydrates the body and places extreme stress on vital internal organs. It can–”
“Shut up,” Light says. He steps in, feeling the heat of L’s body radiating from him, traveling all through Light’s own and filling him up.
It feels good.
L’s shirt is ridiculous. Light tugs it off in one motion, pleased when L’s muscles ripple beneath his open palm. Barechested, band glowing green around his neck like some alien dog tag, L looks up at Light.
“You’re not wearing one of those,” he says, and his voice now is less like a dark murmur, and more like a warm, bottomless well.
“Why should I?” Light tells him. “You’re the one wearing the collar.”
He’s sure he’s not imagining the ripple of emotion that passes through L, and all doubt vanishes when L leans in, takes the second pill from Light’s hand, and places it on his tongue.
“Then put me on your leash,” he says.
And he kisses Light in the middle of the ocean of bodies and light and heat, until the world blurs even further, until all that’s left is the onslaught of L’s mouth against his, and the taste of addiction on his tongue.
2. light/l, I just wanted porn, don’t mind me.
L squirms as Light settles against him, his cock stirring against the warmth of L’s skin. Sweat covers him and he is flushed all over in the most fascinating spots. Light sweeps his tongue over L’s breastbone and L squirms even more, tucking his fingers behind Light’s neck and coaxing him up to be kissed.
“Fuck me,” L says when they break apart, his voice low. “Fuck me right now.”
Impossible to resist. Light pulls away and smirks.
“I could kill you right now,” he says.
“Yes,” L agrees, breathless.
The smirk turns into a smile.
“I could cut you open.”
He runs his fingers over L’s stomach and then up to touch his pale, dry lips. “I could take you,” he purrs. “I could make you a god of death.”
“I want -”
“You just want sex,” Light says dismissively. “Wouldn’t a great mind like yours want so much more?”
L’s eyes hold his for a long moment.
Then, before he realizes what is happening, Light is flipped over onto his back and L is staring down at him appraisingly.
“Power, pleasure,” L says coolly, reaching for Light’s cock. “Aren’t they the same, one way or another? If we choose not to rule in hell but to serve in heaven, aren’t we still, ultimately, miles above everyone else on earth?”
Light starts to reply, starts to swear at him, but L is shifting down, slowly working Light’s cock into him, and the sensation turns the curse into a gasp.
“Exactly,” L murmurs, placing his palm gently over Light’s mouth to keep him quiet.
When he moves Light moves with him, trapped - and, in between, he thinks he could get used to a life of servitude.
3. Light/L, AU Kirakink, and okay, apparently this is a kink I didn't realize I had until I accidentally wrote it twice. But I also blame this picture a lot. Anyway.
L has been obedient all morning. It's a surprise, Kira thinks - he had expected more protestation. He had expected to get tired of L by midafternoon or so. He'd already imagined how much fun the process of foregoing Misa's help and just torturing L's name out of him would be. But then again, if L proves interesting, he may not need to die. There are other ways Kira can make him atone.
L has done exactly what has been asked of him, no more, no less, operating less out of acceptance than shock. The quiet sounds he makes when Kira strokes his jaw are unrehearsed, and they don't match the fear in his eyes.
"You're off-balance, L," Kira murmurs against his ear, pleased when L shivers. He is pretty in ways that Kira is only just now noticing, as if all his senses have been heightened by complete victory.
Misa has been rolling her eyes in the corner all morning. It's starting to annoy him. "Why don't you just kill him again?" she had asked him, but this is...well. This is definitely better than getting his hands messy through needless torture, or killing L the hard way.
He leans in. "I have a present for you," he says against the nape of L's neck, mouthing the pale soft skin, the trails of his soft dark hair. L leans back against him, eyes wide and staring.
"Raito-kun," he whispers, and his voice jars Kira as if he's just used a nickname from childhood.
"Use my name," he tells L smoothly. He won't punish L for that, not yet. It's been a stressful day for all of them. Instead he moves his hand around the base of L's neck, cupping his throat just below his Adam's apple. L tilts his head up, a beautiful, submissive gesture that Kira has to reward.
L's evident shock when the collar snaps in place is almost as great as the desire it sends through Kira. He can have anything and everything he wants, he thinks, pressing a kiss to L's throat just above the tag. He can have this.
L breathes in, almost a hiss of fear and humiliation and - oh, yes, arousal. He lifts his hand and runs his fingers over the leather, over the metal dogtags and the empty snap. His hand is shaking violently. Kira takes it in his own and laces their fingers together. He soothes L quietly, letting L slump against him, supporting his weight as he strokes L's back. When L's shivering has decreased, Kira kisses his cheek and runs his fingers down to the snap at the center of L's neck.
"Do you want it?" he says, circling his forefinger through the ring.
He gives it an experimental tug - L's entire body goes taut and then he moves on command, forward into Kira's arms.
"Say yes or no," Kira instructs him. L is avoiding meeting his eyes, so he tilts L's head up. "No?" He frowns.
L slowly shakes his head. Kira waits.
L sinks his head against Kira's chest. "Please," he whispers, turning his face into Kira's shoulder.
He kisses L on the mouth. "Misa," he says, coaxing L into kissing him back, "Bring me L's leash."
Misa stares at him incredulously, then stomps her stiletto bootheel and tromps into the bedroom.
Maybe he'll kill her next, and force L to trade for the eyes. He imagines L joining him, wanting to join him, and a thrill goes through him all at once that has nothing to do with the notebook. "I'm going to kill her soon," Kira tells L in-between kisses. "But then you probably already suspected as much, didn't you, L?"
L's eyelashes flutter over his open stare into Kira's face. Kira finds it endearing. "Isn't this more fun than just throwing everyone in jail and moving on?" he murmurs. He finds L's hand again and notes how warm it is. He can feel L's blood coursing through him; he can tell how quickly L's heart is beating.
Kira kisses L again, pleased with how beautifully L opens up to him. Perhaps he can collect a stockpile of presents like these, just for L, as a reward for every new submission.
"I'll show you, L," he says. "I'll show you our new world."
L blinks at this, and finally his eyes meet Kira's. The thrall has cleared from them and they are wide open.
"Is that a promise, Kira-kun?" he murmurs.
"Absolutely." Kira strokes the underside of L's chin. "I want you to see."
L arches at the touch. "Then perhaps," he says dryly, curling his arms around Kira's waist, "You should tighten my collar. You wouldn't want me to go astray."
"You won't be going anywhere," Kira assures him, "that I haven't led you."
L looks at him for a moment, his fingers poised on the edge of his new collar, where the leather hugs the skin.
"In that case," he says sadly, "nothing will have changed."
And he tugs the band tighter around his own neck, until it leaves a pretty red mark against his throat.
4. Tezuka / ???.
This is for zoesque, who had the idea and forced me to write it. It is emphatically not for grasshopper. Ugh.
This would be crack, except that Tezuka and I, we are so, so serious.
Tezuka hears the song on a Monday after a particularly exhausting tennis match. He has heard it before, but today he really listens for the first time.
Air waves usually decrease his concentration, so he supposes it must be fate that he just happened to catch the radio. The Virgin megastore Tokyo is not on his way home, but he goes there any way, because he doesn't know where else to go. It is huge and red and loud. He checks carefully to see that no one he knows is around. When he ducks inside the first thing he sees is a life-sized poster of a boy much too undersized to be in sports. The cutout boy is wearing a long fur boa and glitter. Tezuka moves away quickly. When he finds the correct aisle nausea settles in his stomach. But no one on the cd he picks up is wearing fur or glitter.
Tezuka is relieved.
He listens to the song. Then he listens to it again. It speaks to him of things unseen and seen, things striven for and things yet to be grasped. It speaks to him of whole worlds waiting to open up just for him, of mountain peaks and valleys and mothers and small children, of time passing and constellations evolving, of hearts blossoming and wilting and opening and loving.
He listens to the song. Then he hesitantly returns to the store. He buys an entire album.
Tezuka understands the album. It is epic.
"Hey, Buchou," Echizen says to him in the clubhouse after practice. Tezuka is just putting in his ear buds, but he pauses for Echizen just as he always does.
Echizen looks up at him from beneath long coy eyelashes. I'll pull you out from the space between the bars, Tezuka thinks. He doesn't say this aloud. He feels certain Echizen can tell what he is thinking anyway. Echizen always can.
"What's on your ipod?" Echizen grins, and pulls the queued mp3 player from Tezuka's unwary fingers.
Tezuka starts, surprised at his own carelessness and Echizen's daring. He feels helpless, exposed: he has longed for a moment like this, a moment to share the wisdom of this band with Echizen as part of his training, his growth - but for it to come so soon, he -
Echizen stares at his ipod and snorts, once, definitely, then covers his mouth and snickers again.
Tezuka stares down at him helplessly. His stomach feels suddenly cold and empty. His pillar.....
"Buchou?" Echizen tries the word but it comes out on a laugh before he can manage to speak properly. "I'm sorry, Buchou, just... Bump? of Chicken? Bump of Chicken?"
And he is off again, this time clutching his sides.
Tezuka supposes in a distant way that it's good for Echizen to laugh. He is a supremely surly individual for the most part - and his smile typically has rather the opposite effect upon Tezuka than it is having at the moment.
He straightens his shoulders and calmly retrieves his ipod. Echizen, sensing his disappointment, stops laughing immediately and looks up, a sort of hopeful question in his eyes.
"Yes, Echizen," Tezuka says with dignity. "Bump of Chicken."
He gathers his tennis bag and his backpack. Echizen stands rooted to the floor, pondering the meaning behind Tezuka's words.
At the door, Tezuka pauses. "You'd like them," he says.
He doesn't wait for the slam of Echizen's locker, or the sound of Echizen's tennis bag scraping against the floor.
Echizen is his pillar. Tezuka knows he will follow.
And if you made it through all that, perhaps you shall make it through this.