In The Spaces Between Words

---Total Eclipse of the Heart---


Darkness.

It was always dark, pitch dark—

Nothing but cold jet black, and it was oppressive.

Always, always, he felt that strangling chill… always, always, he wandered lost in the dark…and he would feel so alone.

But there was something different about this time… He felt the unknown urgency even as he wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the bitter iciness and sunk to the floor, only there was no floor, only a strange solidity in the nothingness, and the cold wouldn’t go away no matter how he shivered.

And suddenly, there was fear. It coursed through his veins as his mind screamed, “Danger!” at him. For he recognized it now. Something was coming, coming for him, and he was in DANGER. He hated to admit that he was afraid even as he leapt up and started running—

He wasn’t sure where he was running to, wasn’t sure where that THING was coming from, there was no sense of direction in this endless void, this single consciousness in infinite oblivion, and he was afraid. He couldn’t seem to escape no matter how he ran, but to stand still was worse. If he ran, he at least felt like he was making an effort, no matter how futile it appeared to be.

One step after another – he was tired, but he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, it would catch him, and if it did, he would... He wasn’t sure what was going to happen if he was caught, but he knew it would be bad, very bad.

There was water dripping around him now. The air was damp and musty, making the icy chill all the more bitter, and the dripping was growing louder. Water splashed and sloshed beneath his shoes as he ran although nothing appeared to have changed in that endless void. Drip-drip-drip-slush-slush-drip—the sounds echoed and reverberated in the nothingness over and over again, growing increasingly louder and he was sure he would go insane if it continued. He could hear his footsteps through the echoes, and they were growing deafening. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut as he ran, but the rabble wouldn’t go away, it wouldn’t go away and kept getting louder—

Suddenly, his foot caught on something and he fell to the ground, reflexively using his arms to break his fall. He turned—white, black and blue filled his vision, and it blurred with crimson. Red. Red, so much red, staining the white and everything that he was, that stale metallic stench seeping into his skin even as a silent scream tore from his lips, and he screamed and screamed—

Yagami Light sat up in bed, screaming like the life was being violently wrenched from his body. The sheets, his clothes and his hair were damp with perspiration, and he ran his hands through clammy honey-brown strands as the relieving realization that it was only a nightmare sank in, burying his face in his knees as his hands fisted in his hair, and he tried to shut the horrible images from his mind’s eye.

It’s a dream, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, he mentally chanted to himself like a litany again and again, shuddering slightly as a shaky exhalation escaped his lips.

Chain links clinked softly beside him, and then a familiar deep gentle voice was asking softly, “Light? Light-kun? Are you alright?”

L. L. Light turned. L, warm and alive; no crimson, no stale metallic blood on his face, his hands, his clothes, gushing from a huge gash from his throat to his abdomen. He grabbed the other by the shoulders and crushed his body to the stunned detective’s in a choking embrace, desperately burying his face in a bony shoulder and folds of white cotton. He had to feel it—feel the vital warmth, hear the pulse of blood still flowing in plump veins beneath pale skin, hear the steady beat of a living heart, breathe in that musty scent that he had come to love. Yes, yes, he loved L, Ryuuzaki, and he knew it beyond a shadow of doubt now as he whispered both names brokenly, choking on the syllables, into that familiar baggy white T-shirt.

“Light-kun?” came the enquiry again, now laced with a little concern. L tentatively wrapped bony arms around his companion. This was not like Yagami Light at all. In fact, it was so uncharacteristic of the brunet that all suspicion of the other being Kira had temporarily escaped his mind’s grasp. “It is just a nightmare, isn’t it?”

The younger genius inhaled deeply, calming down and relaxing slightly in the sleuth’s arms, before nodding. “Yes. I’m sorry for overreacting like this.” He straightened and ran a hand through his damp brown hair again.

“It must have been quite terrible.”

Light was gradually getting used to the fact that L sounded less sincere the harder he tried, and he simply flopped back gracelessly onto cool damp sheets without answering, staring up blankly at the clean off-white ceiling.

L stared awkwardly at the other boy, his brilliant detective mind racing for something appropriate to say or do in the situation, but his ingenuity typically failed him in social contexts, and it was a rather long moment before he realized that he would probably have a better idea of what to do if he knew what the dream was about.

“What was it about?” he enquired tentatively.

Light stiffened, he hoped, imperceptibly. What could he say? The truth would invite the false accusation that he was Kira. A lie was worse; Ryuuzaki would probably know he was lying and suspect him more. “I dreamed… I… God, Ryuuzaki…” he whispered; it was difficult to say the words when he knew exactly what was coming: judgement and paranoia. “I dreamed that… that you were dead…” he finished truthfully at last.

A pregnant pause followed wherein Light could almost see the gears turning in that gifted brain, so much so he perfectly anticipated the cold question that came from it.

“Is that your subconscious wish, Kira?”

He sighed wearily. “Dreams are a subconscious manifestation of both subconscious desires and fears,” he murmured, acknowledging the other’s line of reasoning.

“Indeed. So do you desire my death so badly or do you fear the consequences my death will bring to you, Kira?” L continued without looking at him, and he could almost see the tension in his lover’s skinny frame.

“Please… no,” he pleaded quietly, running his left hand through his hair. “Ryuuzaki, don’t do this now…”

At that, the eccentric sleuth whirled around to glare at him, or as close to a real glare as L ever got, onyx eyes almost painful in their intensity. “Then when should I do it, Yagami-kun? When you’ve killed me, Kira? When you’ve claimed your throne as God of the New World? When—”

In a lightning quick motion, he’d grabbed the nearest pale arm and hauled its owner down to hold him close to so that their legs half intertwined and his lover’s head rested on the place where shoulder and chest met. The orphan gasped as if the contact hurt him, but a hand fisted in his damp shirt, and the gesture met no resistance. L buried his face in his chest, and he tightened his embrace in response, wrapping his other arm around a thin waist as he slid his hand into the mess of black strands to gently massage the older man’s scalp with his fingertips. A slight tremor ran through that lanky body, accompanied by a shaky exhalation, before he felt the detective relax. Even then, he suspected it was forced. L never got any less paranoid; he just stowed his paranoia away for later use and/or contemplation.

Light opened his mouth, wanting to tell the other genius something, but closed it again. It was best that he think through his words carefully before he provoked another semi-panic attack from the ever-suspicious oddball. “I can never convince you otherwise, can I?” he asked instead.

There was a long moment of silence wherein his words seemed to hang heavily in the air. “That you are not Kira? No,” L agreed evenly at length, moving the hand once fisted in the brunet’s shirt closer to his mouth for him to nibble on the thumb. “Not until the killings stop permanently, and you are still conclusively proven innocent beyond a shadow of doubt.” Only the subtle violence in the way he was biting at his thumbnail showed how much the answer pained him.

“I…” Light began, pausing to gather both the words and the humility to say them. “I’m… afraid…” he whispered.

He’d always been certain that he couldn’t possibly be Kira, but –maybe it was the nightmare, perhaps he was finally succumbing to the coercion of L’s continued insistence– sometimes now, he wondered if he was so certain anymore. What if L was right, and he’d simply lost his memories thereof? He’d perpended this, and he’d realized that his memories from the months just before his voluntary imprisonment were unusually hazy. What if it was really true? What if he regained his powers and memories? Would he have to kill his adversary? Could he kill his lover? Was he really a murderer as the detective so clearly believed? He didn’t know now; he wasn’t sure, and that uncertainty was terrifying. If he couldn’t even believe in himself, how could he convince anyone else to do so? How could he convince L to do so?

Another long paused followed his admission. Then, his companion asked, “That I may be right?” The head on his chest tilted back for deep black eyes to stare up at him.

He hesitated before nodding without meeting the other’s typically intense gaze. “What if I really am Kira, as you say? What if I do someday regain my powers?”

“Light…”

L had even dropped the honorific in his hurry to stop the younger boy. He didn’t want to hear it. He’d always thought he could handle the truth, but suddenly now, he didn’t want to hear it. This was bad; finally, now, they had both fallen this far. What do people do when all their pretenses abruptly become their reality? What, indeed, could they do? He couldn’t even continue speaking. If he really had to send the brunet to the death row someday, could he still live with himself beyond that, knowing he’d killed the only person he’d ever loved like this, and if he dared believe it, who’d ever loved him this way? He regretted now his decision to become so personally involved in this case. He had failed to accurately foresee how much would come to be at risk. He’d never feared death; life had always been the more difficult of the pair. However, he’d grossly overestimated his ability to separate his personal and professional realities, underestimated Yagami Light’s ability to worm his way into his heart.

“What if I’ll really have to kill you someday?” Light continued, now with an almost manic urgency. “What if I really am Kira, Ryuuzaki? What if I really am a murderer?” He rolled them both over before burying his face where neck and shoulder melded, pressing kisses to pale skin and inhaling that familiar musty scent. “I don’t want you to die, Ryuuzaki; I don’t want to lose you. I don’t… I really don’t…” he trailed off miserably into indistinct mumbling, fumbling for the older man’s hand to lace their fingers together desperately.

“Light-kun…” L murmured, not shifting his gaze from the ceiling, but the apple white paint provided no inspiration on what to say next.

“I don’t… I… I love you, Ryuuzaki. I know that now…”

“Don’t,” he interjected, more sharply than he’d intended. “Don’t…” More gently now, it was almost a pleading whisper. “If you have any mercy at all… I might start to believe you… Ki—”

Soft lips roughly crushed themselves to his own, interrupting his words. He made a sound of protest even as his mouth was unceremoniously invaded, but found his fingers clawing for purchase in the thin cotton fabric covering the younger boy’s back. He was holding the brunet just as tightly and returning the kiss with equal passion, tasting his lover as their tongues intertwined fervently. He’d daresay Yagami Souichirou would be appalled to know the kinds of activities he engaged in with his perfect son when the cameras whose feeds only he watched were the only existent eyes.

They broke apart marginally for air, and he barely heard the whispered words muffled by his lips and their heavy breathing. “In the ever-changing variables of this ephemeral reality, I wish for only this to be constant.”

“Light…” he began once more, but again their lips met before he could say any more.

Brown eyes were still closed tightly as a hand reached up to cup his cheek; he did the same and the younger genius leaned into his touch desperately. They broke the kiss again, and Light spoke again in a soft murmur close to his skin. “Even if we should one day die as enemies, I want to believe this feeling would live on and be real.”

“Stop, Light-kun,” he managed to say this time, even successfully keeping his voice calm and serious. “Before I accuse you of emotional manipulation as Kira,” he added wryly.

His companion chuckled slightly at that, finally opening his eyes to look at him. Neither moved nor said anything as chocolate met onyx, for nothing worthwhile could be said; it was easier to seek meaning in the spaces between words. And then, suddenly, they were both moving brusquely, hands practically ripping cloth from skin, bodies pressing close with an almost brutal force. They attacked each other, almost ferociously, as if resolution here could redefine the harsh rules that governed reality, as if by chafing violently at sweat-slick skin the embedded truths could be erased like one would scrub stains off a wall.


Taking the boy in his mouth, he had to grip the lean thighs draped over his shoulders to keep them from nearly strangling him as he watched his prey moan, writhe, arch and beg under his ministrations with growing exhilaration. It was akin to a drug-like high to see the tightly controlled Yagami Light in this moment of surrender; if the brunet really turned out to be Kira, then so much the better for him. Yes, Kira, his greatest adversary, the only worthy challenge he’d ever encountered – L would possess him now like he knew no one else ever could. He felt his own pleasure peaking even as he continued to stroke the younger boy to completion with his tongue, riding on that addictively thrilling sense of power and control of having made one who thought himself above it all finally fall.


That was when he caught himself, as his lover came in his mouth and he swallowed the spurt of hot semen with little difficulty, and the realization of what he had been thinking made his blood run cold. Power… Control… The crushing of others’ hubris to further his own… That line of thought had been frightfully Kira-like. He continued to absently lick and nibble at the organ in his mouth, holding it gently in his hand now; he barely heard Light’s soft whimpers as extra sensitive flesh was over-stimulated, so lost in his thoughts. Was constantly trying to think like Kira to predict his next move turning him into his enemy? Or had it been an underlying sense of subconscious kinship that had drawn him to Kira in the first place? The prospect was a terrifying one even as Light’s question from before echoed in his auditory memory.

“What would you do, Ryuuzaki, if you had Kira’s powers?”

Indeed, what would he do? Could he even be certain that he wouldn’t be doing exactly as Kira was doing now, punishing criminals?

“L?”

He glanced up, brought out of his reverie at the sound of his name.

Light was biting his bottom lip lightly and the intermittent tremor shook his lean body. “I called you twice earlier. You didn’t respond.” Brown eyes softened in concern. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

More than you will ever know. L stopped what he was doing to speak. “No… I’m fine. Should I stop?” There was no sense in telling the other that he had simply been lost in thought. That much was obvious and would only provoke the question of what he had been perpending, which would probably just have them fighting all over again.

The corners of the brunet’s mouth curved up in the barest hint of a smile. “It’s…not an unpleasant feeling,” he replied, closing his eyes and sighing shakily as a long finger traced the main vein of his length.

L crawled forward to lie half atop half beside his companion and claim that mouth in a languid kiss. Did he really want Yagami Light and Kira to be one and the same? Where did rivalry end and love begin? He did love Light, or at least he thought he did, but was it love or just a triumphant feeling of conquest? Or was Kira the one he was really in love with? It was true that it had been the possibility of the boy’s being Kira that had drawn him to Yagami Light, but was that still true now? Was he only in love with the spirit of Kira he saw in his prime suspect, that dangerous brilliance flashing occasionally in those molten chocolate eyes? All at once, the fulfilling triumph of victory he had looked forward to for so long had been replaced by an empty pain.

Warm arms wrapped around him in a loving embrace, and as if reading his mind, his lover asked, “If I really turned out to be Kira someday, would you hate me, Ryuuzaki?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “If you are lying even now, then yes, I would.”

He didn’t hate Kira. He opposed him, yes, but that was an intellectual enmity, a clash of principles and beliefs. In fact, he rather admired Kira for being able to elude him for this long. However, he would certainly hate Yagami Light if he someday found out that everything the boy had ever said and done in this time frame had been nothing but a huge, magnificent lie. He couldn’t blame the boy if his theory of memory loss with the passing on of the power proved true, but if the brunet had been acting all this while…

“I thought you’d say that…”

Light began to rock against him again, with all the gentleness that had ensnared him and drawn him in like a bed of quicksand now, and he wrapped his legs around that slender waist to add to the delicious friction they shared, feeling once more that heavy ache in his chest. If he had to liken their relationship to something, he would describe it as contentedly walking on a large ring suspended over an abyss, never getting anywhere and always just one misstep short of death, ever wavering between the contentment in that status quo and resignation of its inescapability.

“Somehow, I think Kira would respect L as a worthy adversary.”

“Speaking on Kira’s behalf, are you?” he riposted automatically in a half moan.

Light sighed wearily, burying his face in spiky black hair. “Take it any way you want to, Ryuuzaki. I give up convincing you otherwise.”

L said nothing to that. A reply would most probably make matters worse; it always did. When certainty was fleeting and words were treacherous, silence was a golden stronghold of security and honesty. No more was said between them that night.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hoped you've enjoyed the story thus far. Mashimaro!L for your comments? 8DD?