get out of here! your vagina is haunted! (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} darkeyedwolf) wrote,@ 2004-07-29 22:40:00 |
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| Entry tags: | fic |
The depressing thing about tennis: no matter how good you get, you'll never be as good as the wall.
A couple nights ago, I saw god.
And its name was Death Note.
Seriously, if you guys have any interest in manga at all, this is a must-read. There's the obligatory Hot Main Characters with questionable sexual orientations, a compelling plot that actually makes you think, and a guy that looks like a Beatle if you tilt your head and squint in the right lighting. What more could you ask for? It's also only... 28 chapters, I believe, at the moment, so it won't take you too long to download all that's available so far. Hit me on AIM or comment or something if you want the link (and you'd BETTER WANT THE LINK :DDD).
And now, fic. This is why part two of the anon meme isn't posted yet.ernie5k: L and Raito are like, so insanely smart that they make my self-esteem drop, hahadarkeyedwolf: ...God. I want them to fuck. XDernie5k: hahahaernie5k: I think most fan girls want them todarkeyedwolf: They could have, like, intellectual sex.darkeyedwolf: And insult each other all through it.darkeyedwolf: That'd be so great.
LxRaito
"So who are you?" the girl asks, when all four of them are sitting around the kitchen table and Sachiko's quiet sobs are muffled against the material of Raito's shirt and he's suddenly aware that he's curled up in his chair, the director's chair, and the Yagamis are just the type of family who'd want to honor the chief's memory by taping off the seat and discouraging all people in the future from using it ever again.
The girl -- Sayu -- is staring. Waiting for an answer. He scratches his knee.
"I'm L," he says.
She looks nonplused and irritated, almost, through her tears. "What's your real name?"
And he blinks and his fingernails catch in the tiny shredded hole in his pants and he feels a sharp abrupt gaze from Raito beside him and he isn't until the girl demands to know what, why is he looking at her like that, that L admits in a slow, surprised kind of voice, "No one's ever asked me before."
("This doesn't mean anything," Raito says, before he shoves L against the wall to crash their mouths together.)
Three a.m. and he's thinking of Chief Yagami's death, a heart attack, it's Kira it has to be when I catch that son of a bi -- and memory-Raito slams a fist down on the desk and rattles the few empty coffee cups that litter its surface and his lips move wordlessly, meaninglessly, and later he shoves his tongue into L's mouth and grips a handful of hair and L watches him the entire time with wide dark eyes and thinks, maybe, maybe, and this is L remembering it now, thinking of Raito, thinking of Kira, maybe one in the same, and his sixtieth hour awake finds him sitting in front of the computer with fingers poised over the keyboard and an ethereal glow shadowed against the bags under his eyes, breath held, waiting for an answer that never comes.
"I'm still a suspect?"
L peers over the top of his doughnut with wide eyes. "Of course. In fact, it's gone up to a 10% probability. You could've killed your father in order to swear vengeance against Kira, when in actuality you just needed an excuse to have greater access to important information concerning the case without arousing suspicion."
Raito's expression is calm and cold. "That's a very Kira way of thinking, L."
He nods, half-shrugs, rises from his chair, and -- before Raito can do anything but blink -- closes the distance between them.
Their lips are only an inch apart but L doesn't move, doesn't blink, stands very still, breathes very deliberately in and out. Careful. Precise. Raito's in that stiff awkward pose that means he's trying to be nonchalant and when L tilts his head up, slightly, a barely perceptible shift, almost not moving at all, he hears a hitch and catch in the back of Raito's throat and this is when L draws back, just as abruptly as he came, and settles back into his chair.
"Become the monster to kill the monster," L says, and nibbles on the edge of his doughnut.
(Jerkgaspthrust and fingernails dig into his skin and hands grip his hips to the bone and -- oh, L's lips part, soundlessly, oh and Raito's smirk is quick and humorless.)
The fourth time Raito comes to the hotel room in the middle of the night, L knows.
Raito's body is pressed on top of his, cock against his thigh, mouth on his collarbone, warm breath lingering on the side of his neck, and L turns his head and glimpses Raito's face in the moonlight from the window and he recognizes the intense expression he sees there even though he's only caught it once on the tennis court. It's the Kira face. It's the cutting, hawk-sharp definition to his features, the feral but calculated look in his eyes. It's the expression he's worn since the day his father was murdered.
It's the Kira face, the face he thought he'd only imagined because it was so different from the seventeen year old boy he'd watched through spy cameras.
It's the face of a killer.
The fourth time Raito comes to the hotel room in the middle of the night, the fifth time he presses his body against L's, cock against his thigh and mouth on his collarbone and warm breath lingering on the side of his neck, L knows.
His moment of clarity hits just as he comes, and he buries his face in the pillow and closes his eyes and fills his lungs with cloth and thinks, as Kira-Raito -- faces indistinguishable, now -- shudders above him, justicewillprevailjusticewillprevailjust
("I hate you," Raito spits, their bodies just a blur of of flesh and heat, "I hate you and your scruffy clothes and the way you never wear socks and the way you never sleep and I hate you, I fucking hate you -- "
" -- and you want me," L finishes, without missing a beat, and the low strangled moan Raito makes under his touch is the only answer he needs.)
