Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you know what I want to do to you?”

L doesn’t say anything; if he did, he imagines it would only make Light’s manic attitude worse. 

“I want to rip you open,” Light continues, running a finger down the center of the detective’s chest to enunciate his point and snaps his hand back up to yank on the collar of his white shirt. “I want to see what you really are. I want to spread you out and see you completely at my mercy.” He pulls him ever so slightly closer, just until they can’t tell whose breath is whose. “I want to see the way your heart beats and decide which one will be its last.” 

It’s infuriating how emotionless L is, even when Light is threatening his life, but, strangely, maybe that’s the fun of it; pushing him to his limit, making it his goal to squeeze even the tiniest bit of humanity out of him. It’s thrilling in its own way.

“You don’t think I want the same thing?” L finally responds, meeting the devil’s eyes in a silent challenge, “I guess you don’t know me as well as I thought.” 

Light is silent, not entirely sure how to respond. He can’t say he doesn’t know, or at least suspect it, but he never expected L to be so… blunt. It causes his grip to loosen considerably but he doesn’t let go, not when he almost had L right where he wanted him. 

Taking advantage of his shock, L raises his own hand to rest it on Light’s fist, spreading his fingers out to slip just beneath the sleeve of his sweater. “I wonder,” he mumbles, “what shade of red is your blood? I doubt those dried drops on paper do it justice.”

Light almost yanks back his hand entirely, taken aback by the absurdity of his question, but he doesn’t. It should disturb him, the appalling fantasy should be a glaringly obvious warning to turn around and leave, but all it does is stir excitement in the hypocrite of a man, sending a thrill throughout his body. 

“Does it taste sweet? I think I could become addicted if I had the chance.”

“Ryu-”

“The smell… intoxicating, no doubt.”

“You’re sick,” he accuses, trying not to shiver. 

Finally, a cocky smile finds itself on his lips, and he says, “as are you, Light.”

Light lets him go, throwing him back onto the bed like he’s nothing more than a pillow. L pushes himself up into his usual sitting position without missing a beat and leans over to the nightstand to retrieve his laptop, continuing work like nothing happened. 

It’s always like this; pushing- no, shoving at each other’s limits, but somebody always pulls back before they can take the plunge. Too many nights spent wondering what would’ve happened if they committed, what it would be like if they slipped and fell like the fools they are. How many more nights will they spend doing the exact same thing? 

Of course, they don’t have to wonder. As two of the smartest men in the world, and definitely the smartest in the building, they know damn well how each other feels. In fact, there may never have been a time that they wracked their brain trying to figure out if this (whatever it is) is mutual or not; it’s all a matter of acting on it. Really, the only thing holding them back is reputation; Light is a perfect, heterosexual model citizen with a bright future and L is the greatest detective in the world (three times over) who sees the world in pixels and numbers with no time for trivial things like feelings. And, the whole Kira thing is a pretty big deal too, but, ironically, that’s not their biggest concern. 

According to their routine, Light will turn in to lay under the covers and try to sleep (he can never fall asleep instantly, though. Some nights he’ll lay there for hours with unrelenting thoughts that won’t let him rest no matter how hard he tries) and L will work away, having given up a proper sleep schedule long ago. They’ll pretend this never happened, return to their semi-normal life, come back the next night and do it all again. It’s draining and getting harder to keep up with. And maybe neither of them want to do it anymore! Maybe Light is tired of this ridiculous game of chicken, maybe he’s ready for something real to happen, maybe if it doesn’t happen soon he might just snap.

Maybe he’s done. 

“Would you like to find out?” Light whispers, though the impulsiveness of his words is a little more severe than his tone implies. 

“Pardon?” 

He turns around with confidence, but in truth, he thinks he’s being absurd. Flirting with the enemy is bad enough, but baring his neck like a dog is practically a death sentence. It shouldn’t thrill him the way it does, but…

“My blood,” he clarifies, leaning into L’s space ever so slightly, “is that something you want, L?”

It’s brief, anyone else would’ve missed it, but Light sees the split second of shock that flashes in his opponent’s black eyes. Maybe it is better to be feared than loved, but, right now, he wouldn’t mind gambling on both. 

“...I believe you know the answer to that,” L answers slowly, like he’s trying to find another motive behind all this. 

“Maybe I want to hear you say it,” he answers carelessly. 

“I already did.”

“Again.” 

Slowly but smugly, a smile creeps on the detective’s lips and Light realizes the critical mistake he made too late. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.” His tone says it all, he’s blatantly lying and not even trying to hide it, but that’s not the point and they both know it. It doesn’t take a second more of thought for Light to realize that he’s been beaten at his own game.

“Hold-”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat yourself?”

“Ryuzaki!” 

“Light,” his voice is stern, but the amusement is evident on his face. 

And, unfortunately, they both know he won’t let up if he doesn’t get his way- the two of them are annoyingly similar in that way- and he’s lost any chance at having both the upper hand and getting what he wants.

Light grinds his teeth painfully, becoming visibly tense in his jaw and grits out, “again.” 

“What do you say, Light?”

If looks could kill, L would be dead on the floor. 

“Again… please.” 

The laptop hits the ground with a resounding thud as L flings himself across their shared bed, giving away the eagerness of his desire in a single action. Instead of the fright or even horror someone would usually react with when met with someone so eager to taste their blood like this, Light has to take a deep breath so as not to fall deeper in this .

“How do you want to do this?” Light asks, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater (and regretting wearing it all together), “I won’t let you use your teeth.”

“That would be incredibly inefficient,” L says as he reaches into his pants pocket, “though, I would enjoy it.” With no more than a second of searching, he pulls out a simple pocket knife that Light has never seen before. 

“How long have you had that?” He asks, feeling conflicting emotions about his partner/opponent/companion having a weapon on him (to be clear, he’s not so sure he’s angry about it). 

L shrugs, “since we got handcuffed together. I imagine Kira will take any chance to strike, and without knowing a method at the time, I thought to be prepared for anything.” He presses his thumb into the side of the metal case and produces a blade in a quick snap. “I suppose this counts as ‘anything’ as well.”

His nimble fingers toy with the silver metal for a moment as he ponders something even Light can’t guess, but he doesn’t linger on it for long, he has more pressing matters to get to. “I’m going to slice the veins in your wrist,” he explains, holding his unoccupied hand out as an invitation, “but just enough to draw blood, I won’t go deeper than that.”

Light snorts despite the fact that this entire situation is devoid of humor. “It doesn’t sound like you to not kill your prime Kira suspect,” he mumbles and gives himself over, laying his wrist in the enemy’s hand. 

L smiles at that but he doesn’t say anything. He rubs and presses into the other man’s skin with his thumb, gently loving it before raising the knife to it. As the cold blade meets his flesh, Light gasps softly and becomes tense in his hold. Sensing the discomfort, L looks up and whispers, “don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” 

“You don’t-” Light blurts, just barely catching himself, but it’s too late. He’s sparked L’s curiosity, and he knows better than anyone that if he doesn’t address it now, he’ll never hear the end of it. Bashfully, he lowers his head and continues, “you don’t have to be…”

L blinks, then he smiles again, but it’s not as mocking as before…is it, dare Light say, genuine? 

“As you wish,” and, with that, he digs the knife into his skin. The action is slow, almost gentle, but prolonging his intention only makes the pain more evident and intense as compared to if he simply sliced his wrist. But we’re past that now; this isn’t about practicality, it’s about enjoyment. Blood slowly beads onto the metal, growing bigger until the liquid finds each other and runs down both the knife and his wrist. 

The detective is positively mesmerized by the sight before him. He doesn’t want to look away and, on top of that, he’s not sure he could if he tried. Light’s blood grazes the top of his fingers, leaving silky redness behind and it almost drives him mad. “Beautiful…” He murmurs and cuts him deeper. 

Light bites his lip and whimpers from the pain but he feels intoxicated with the attention. 

“Crimson…” L says offhandedly, regrettably pulling the knife back and disappointing them both. “Perhaps carmine.”

“What?” Light asks with a wince, but he misses the pain all the same, “what’re you talking about?”

Running his bare fingers up the length of the blade, L collects the leftover blood and watches it leak over the sides of his hand with dull but satisfied eyes. “The color of your blood,” he explains, bringing his hand close to his face. “Maybe maroon explains it better,” sometimes he talks as if Light isn’t there, but evidence of his presence is running down his pale hands. 

Without wasting any more time, L slips his index finger into his mouth, licking the velvet liquid off as if it were the whipped cream on his cakes. Light swallows tensely, the atmosphere and anticipation is killing him but he wouldn’t say he’s uncomfortable, not by a long shot…

“Your verdict?” The younger man eventually forces out, finally finding his voice again.

“Hmm,” he hums, sucking the remains off his thumb now, and looks Light dead in the eyes. His own gaze is hungry and a bit crazed, unlike anything Light has ever seen in the detective and he knows, without a doubt, that he’s fallen in love with that sight and that sight alone. 

Reaching forward with his annoyingly long arm, L grabs onto his still-bleeding wrist and lazily brings it to his lips, whispering against the skin, “I think I need a better taste before I decide.” 

He attaches himself to the wound like a starving man, drinking away as if this is his last drink and Light can’t find it in himself to be cocky about it- but he can’t deny the religious feeling of being worshipped like this, exactly as he’s always desired. 

The cold of L’s cheek is pressed up against Light’s limp hand, his hair brushes up against the tips of his fingers with the particularly enthusiastic movements of L’s hand. Before he can talk himself out of it, he cups the man’s face and rubs at his scalp, running through his raven-black hair with blissful thoughtlessness. The tender action makes L momentarily pause and lean into it almost like a cat would. 

“How do I taste, L?” Light asks in a short breath, twisting a lock of hair between his fingers, “tell me.”

With a moment’s thought, L decidedly pulls off of him and pushes himself forward until his face is mere inches from Light’s. 

“Why don’t you find out yourself?” 

He smashes his bloody lips against Light’s, almost knocking the other man over, but Light luckily catches the two of them before they can tumble off the bed. For someone’s first kiss (because Light could never count those performances he put on for girls he’d go out with for show), it’s terrible; it’s painful with teeth gnashing against each other and the force of their faces against each other. The metallic taste of his blood is nauseating and dirty, not to mention the obscene amounts of spit being passed between the two. But, for Light, who isn’t just somebody, this is all he’s ever wanted and more. The center of his lip has been split and it hurts in the best way, just as he always dreamed it. 

Eventually, they have to separate to breathe, but they don’t move away from each other, instead they share the same heated air. 

“How do I taste?” Light asks again, even more demanding than before though his breathlessness makes it harder to understand now. 

L lets out short pants (that Light desperately tries not to let go to his head) and watches a droplet of blood run down his lip from the fresh cut there. He swallows loudly and leans back in to lick it, running his tongue from Light’s chin to the top of his bottom lip, finally getting a moan out of the devil. 

“Divine,” he whispers against his lips, and pulls him back in.