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Fifty Days	By : sashocirrione Category: Death Note > Het-Male/Female > L/Misa Views: 2868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 3: Day Three
It was a terrible, long night next to that cake. L was sure that if he really tried he could probably manage to roll the entire contraption he was strapped to, and get his mouth close enough to the cake that he'd have a chance of eating it. But, there were two problems with that scenario. One was that he could only pull such a trick once before Misa realized he was capable of doing it and used some counter-measure to prevent it in the future. If he wasted a move like that on cake, and then later needed it for a truly important reason, it wouldn't be available.
The other reason had to do with keeping the torture to a minimum. L wasn't sure how sadistic and creative Misa was, how far she was willing to go. Torturing him with things he couldn't eat wasn't that bad, as far as torture went. L had caught some truly sadistic serial killers and he'd seen a lot of police files about violent criminals. He knew something about how bad torture could really get. If he pretended to be more deeply upset by milder forms of torture than he actually was, he might be able to manipulate Misa into avoiding the crueler forms.
So, L talked himself into not trying for the cake. But, it was difficult. Misa had chosen a particularly effective form of mild torture. And, the more days she starved him, the more it would progress into a truly horrible kind of torture. If only it hadn't been cake. If she'd tried oatmeal or some vegetables, it would have been better. But, by now, L would be happy eating just about anything. His limbs were getting weaker. He'd been on a sugar crash and a caffeine crash for a bit over two days now, and it was making him extremely jittery and woozy. Given enough time without food, he might get too weak to have any chance of rolling over.
No, he needed to stop analyzing the cake situation, and focus on the larger problem of escaping without immediately dying. What Misa had accused him of was something that he'd actually been considering. He was very good with his kicks, and as long as he could get his legs free, he could probably subdue or kill Misa even while wearing a straightjacket and a blindfold.
Misa had already given him some valuable information that could help with that plan. Ryuk was largely neutral, so he probably wouldn't save Misa, and Rem was at some entirely different location, attached to Light. So, if Misa were neutralized during one of her visits, L might have a few hours, maybe a day at most, before Rem realized something was wrong. Could he discover the information he needed within that time? Probably not. That would be a plan of desperation, something to keep in reserve. As long as L kept trying things and thinking, he would have a greater chance of getting the right information while remaining in captivity. Captivity was a kind of safety, it kept him alive and gave him a vantage point from which to extract answers.
How to get those answers? There was talking with Misa, which would hopefully become more fruitful as she became used to the situation. Her mind was difficult to understand, an odd mix of intelligence and stupidity. She messed up easily and said all kinds of stupid things, but sometimes she was very perceptive and crafty. L had underestimated her more than once. He resolved to be more careful in the future. But, with this situation, and time running out, he couldn't be too cautious. He might need to make risky moves to have any chance of getting out alive, and those risky moves could backfire.
But, there were avenues of information other than Misa. L had not been surprised that Misa didn't want Watari anywhere near him. The two of them could easily conspire in some way. But, he was surprised about Misa wanting to keep Light away. L hadn't been able to receive a complete confession of the Kira case before the attack on headquarters. Light was evasive and tried to spend as much time as possible reciting completely irrelevant misdeeds. So, even though it was completely clear Light was Kira, he'd actually only told L a few things about Kira that L hadn't already known.
It was likely that Misa wanted to keep Light away because Light knew critical information that might allow L to turn the tables. L immediately began mulling over possibilities for how he could trick Misa into bringing Light within hearing distance. It would be difficult, and L would need to bide his time so his ploy wouldn't be obvious. There was also the additional problem that if Light let a critical secret slip, Misa would probably hear it and kill L on the spot, and even if L were able to escape at just that moment and subdue Misa, Rem was attached to Light, so she would be present and could kill in retaliation.
If Watari got much direct exposure to Light, he might already know the secret, but it would be extremely difficult for Watari to convey that information, especially since he was being watched by Rem, and since Misa was already determined to completely avoid any Watari/L contact.
The other remaining source of information was Ryuk. From Misa's short description, it sounded as if Ryuk could be manipulated. L couldn't give Ryuk apples, but amusement was a different matter. The only difficulty was that Ryuk was currently inaudible. A direct appeal might change that.
L spent the entire night awake, considering and discarding various plans. He usually didn't sleep much, but the smell of the cake was too maddening for sleep to be possible. He was drooling, with clenching pains in his stomach, and he was starting to get thirsty again. As he repeatedly went over his plans, he could tell that they weren't as good as usual. His lack of food, sugar and caffeine was getting to him. He hoped he'd come up with some genius plan before his brain and body gave out too much. He wished either that would happen, or that Misa would start actually feeding him. After all, she couldn't starve him the entire time, or he wouldn't survive.
The next morning, Misa arrived in what at first seemed like a better mood. She pulled up the entire contraption he was strapped to, putting him in a vertical position again, and then explained that she'd seen the wisdom of his demands. From now on, he would be horizontal at night, and he'd get bathroom breaks three times a day. L was very pleased. This would allow him to keep track of the passage of time. Then, Misa was fiddling with something near L's head that produced quiet clanks of metal and plastic, and asked him to turn his head to the side. L encountered a metal tube, and when he took it in his mouth and pressed in the center with his tongue, a few drops of water came out.
Misa said, "This is an animal waterer, I think for rabbits. I'm going to leave one with you all the time so I don't have to worry about it."
L felt a strong surge of gratitude, even as he tried to squelch it. He knew about this sort of thing. It was a psychological process whereby captives became attached to their captors. He reminded himself that Misa hadn't actually done anything kind, anything even slightly deserving of gratitude.
Then L felt Misa's hands on his face, rubbing against his cheek and jaw line. He tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to pull to, so he relaxed and let her do what she wanted. This wasn't torture. Misa's touches became a bit harder, applying more pressure, and then she was rubbing her thumb hard over his lips.
Misa's hands disappeared and she said, "Why don't you have stubble? You should have a lot by now, since I haven't shaved you."
L said, "I had all that hair permanently removed. I value my time, and I don't want to waste it on things such as taking care of my appearance."
Misa laughed and said, "I can see that."
Then, the delicious chocolate cake smell became overwhelming. L was certain Misa must have moved it closer. Several jabs of pain went through his stomach. Well, this was it. The torture had started. Did Misa intend to make him beg? Is that what would satisfy her? Then, suddenly, cake was being pressed against his mouth.
Misa said, "If you want cake, you'll have to lick it off my fingers."
L began licking, pulling Misa's fingers into his mouth and slurping wonderful gobs of cake from them. The gratitude was back, and he was trying to fight it, but to be allowed to eat was so very good. His mind was filled with nothing but the taste and scent of chocolate cake. Misa's fingers left a few times and came back with more cake for his greedy mouth to devour. Then, they were gone, and L had eaten perhaps only the equivalent of one slice.
He waited, and then, in the most pitiful voice he could manage, said, "Please? More cake?"
Misa just laughed. L could still smell the rest of the cake. It was a more exquisite torment now that he'd eaten a small amount, and his stomach was clenching worse than ever. It wasn't enough. He needed more. He began desperately wriggling inside his restraints. Then he felt the touch of metal on one ankle, and then the other, and then Misa was untying the makeshift shackles made from bed sheets.
L guessed what had happened, but it was confirmed when Misa said, "I've bought some real shackles, metal ones with a chain between them. I think you could probably slip free of the ones you had me make."
L sighed. He had really hoped to keep that advantage, so that he might have the option of kicking Misa into unconsciousness during a bathroom break. Well, that still left the option of screaming continuously until someone discovered him. If he were really in a hotel, that would probably work. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time.
Misa said, "Well, now that I've fed you, bathroom break first. I don't want you to shit yourself when I start the torture."
This time Misa did not wheel the entire contraption he was strapped to, but instead unstrapped him right then and there, then guided his steps by pulling on the sleeve of the straightjacket. L made sure to feel the floor with his bare feet, counting his steps and noting where the doors were, using fake stumbling to knock into nearby objects and feel them with the sides of his legs. The layout did remind him of a hotel suite. Also, if he had to run for it while still blindfolded, it would be best to have an idea of how to exit.
Once L had finished on the toilet, Misa guided him to sit down on a stool and began lifting up his skirt. Her skirt, that she'd dressed him in. L flinched.
Misa said, "I just need to see if it's still sore."
Misa sighed, then was gone and back in a few moments, lifting up his skirt again.
Misa said, "It's still red. I don't think the lotion helped much last time, so I bought some ointment."
Then Misa's hands, covered with a cool, soothing, slippery substance, were reaching up underneath his skirt, sliding along his upper thighs. L tried to think very hard about mathematics, solving various problems in his head. The hands had just the right amount of pressure, and they were touching, without hesitation, absolute everywhere in that region, even his most sensitive and private areas. At her first touch to his penis, it started inflating. Misa's motions didn't stop, nor did she say anything.
Surely she must have noticed. Why did she continue, touching here, there, everywhere, with quick little wet strokes? Last time she'd been upset when she caused an erection. L tried to ignore the sensations, but each tiny stroke was so cool, soothing and pleasurable. His sore flesh wanted her touches, responded to them. He was panting now, practically gulping air. He could recognize the feeling trying to surge within him, and he fought it. But, with each downward retreat, there was immediately a higher upward surge. Altogether, he was losing the fight.
"Misa," L gasped, "please stop. I'm going to come."
Her hands withdrew. She said, "You're funny. This isn't even like a real hand job. I bet you'd be a terrible lover."
L leaned his head forward, resting it against her shoulder. Various emotions were warring inside him. He couldn't decide what to think. He just needed to lean against something, and rest. No, this was the wrong thing to do. Misa's shoulder had a girly scent that was only increasing his arousal.
L pulled his head back and said, "Wait a little while. I need to calm down."
He was panting, and he still couldn't think, but he wanted those hands on him. It was a terrible, shameful desire. Misa was revolting, a mass murderer. She shouldn't be able to get to him this soon. He was stronger than this. But, then, Misa had cracked in just three days, when she'd started asking Rem to kill her. Maybe he wasn't stronger than her after all.
L was trying to make his arousal go down, but he couldn't calm it. Then, he asked Misa, and she let him sit on the floor in his usual position, knees up against his chest. It felt so good, the position his body was always trying to naturally curl into. A kind of peaceful satisfaction came over him, and he started feeling like himself again. If Misa would let him stay like this for a long time, that would be the best. And, she did let him sit there for quite a while. His erection went away, but he just kept sitting, enjoying the stillness.
Then, he felt Misa lifting up his skirt again. Misa said, "I still see some red areas where I haven't applied ointment yet. I'm putting on a really thick layer so it heals fast and I won't have to keep doing this."
L nodded, and spread his legs to give her better access, and then those quick little swipes, those soothing healing touches, came back. Her fingers were like a whole mass of darting, tiny tongues licking him at once, each stroke leaving behind a dab of ointment. He was getting hard again, but before he became fully erect, she finished with the job, pulled him to his feet, and guided him back to his room.
Once there, she strapped him into the metal frame again. L reached his mouth to one side and began drinking from the animal waterer. It must have been designed for small animals, because only a few drops came out each time he pressed his tongue against the valve in the center of the metal tube. It was frustrating, but not as frustrating as waiting for Misa to bring a bottle of water.
Then Misa said, "Well, I've got one torture session planned for today. Do you want rubber bands, or razor blades?"
L considered. She might really be offering him a choice, but it could also be a form of psychological torture in which she would merely pretend to offer a choice. He could try choosing the worst thing in order to fool her into the thing he actually preferred, but that probably wouldn't work, especially since it was obvious that most people would prefer rubber bands.
L said, "Rubber bands."
Misa said, "Wrong answer. I'm going to cut you with razor blades. You won't know when or where until you feel each cut."
L said nothing, but inside he was starting to feel very sick. Misa had already showed a capacity for psychological torture, and she was making creative use of the fact that he was blindfolded. L knew that the anticipation of pain and the loss of control could be bigger factors than the pain itself. He tried to steady his breathing, tried to focus his mind on other things.
L brought forth a strong mental image of the case he'd been solving that had led to catching Aiber. That had been truly an amusing chase, one of the best of his career. Sometimes it was better to have money at stake instead of lives. And, Aiber might still be alive. He hadn't been in the investigation center when the attack had occurred or for several days beforehand, and L thought it was likely Misa had never seen the man while her power had been turned on.
Then, there was a sharp, stabbing pain in L's ankle, and a moment later he could feel a little blood trickling down. Something was dabbing at it, and then it felt like a bandage was being placed over it. A surge of panic came through L. He was suddenly afraid that Misa might try cutting his genitals. She seemed very comfortable with them now, and she was unpredictable.
L's mind shied away from that image, and he focused once more on memories of pleasant cases from his past. The thrill of the chase, the pleasure of testing many different possibilities and then seeing the puzzle gradually fall into place, it could all be so very good.
Then, another cut startled L, this one on the sensitive skin on the back of his knee. He yelled in pain. Had Misa cut deeper this time? L tried to focus his mind again, but it was now in a horrified waiting, anticipating state he couldn't seem to dislodge it from. As the other cuts came, one by one, each was more disturbing than the last. They didn't hurt that much, and Misa quickly bandaged each one, but the fear was beginning to be disabling. L let it out then, screaming and crying. After all, it might do Misa good to see him breaking under torture; it might convince her she'd done enough so she wouldn't do more.
After 17 cuts, all on his legs, Misa stopped. In a purring voice, she said, "L, do you want cake?"
L was seething. Her voice sounded so kind, as if nothing had happened. And, if he asked for cake, would she just laugh and deny him? Or, maybe, she wanted to see him beg?
L said, "Misa, I am a bad person. I am a murderer. Please, please, please give me cake."
Misa gave a little, tinkling laugh, a joyous and innocent sound. Then she said, "You don't have to beg, silly, I would have given it to you anyway."
And, in just moments, her fingers were at his mouth, and he was licking wonderful, delicious gobs of chocolate cake off them. As he ate, he was feeling that strange gratitude again. Then she left. Once more, L's stomach was full of painful cramps. These tiny meals were a form of torture in themselves. It was just enough to make him realize what he was missing. Then, for most of the rest of the day, things were quite normal, almost too calm. Misa was sweet and pleasant each time she appeared, praising him and cooing in concern over the cuts on his legs as if she hadn't made them. Then, after the third bathroom break of the day, Misa roughly pushed him up against the wall, fumbling underneath his skirt.
L said, "What are you doing? I don't need more ointment."
Then L felt her hands running over his penis, and they were slippery with something. Confused, he didn't say anything for a moment. But, then, he could feel the difference. She was grabbing him in a completely different way than when she was applying ointment.
L said, "You're a murderer, Misa."
She grasped his length, rubbing and palming. As it grew in her hands, she said, "It seems you like murderers."
L began panting hard, and his lips were moving in a sensuous motion.
Misa said, "You want this, don't you? If I just left you alone all the time, you'd go crazy from boredom."
"Misa!" L said, and then stopped.
There was no doubt about what she was doing. Her hands pumped fiercely and one of her thighs pressed hard into his thigh. There was an angry insistence to her motions. L tried to think, tried to decide whether he wanted this or not. And, if he didn't want it, what could he do? Tell her to stop? She might be provoked into more torture, into doing something he definitely knew he didn't want.
But then, his excitement was rising, and he just couldn't decide or think any longer. All the tension in his body was gathering in his groin. He could tell it already, he was going to have a blindingly intense orgasm. He whimpered in need and ecstasy, and his hips began rocking, he couldn't help it. He just wanted her to make him come so badly.
Then, her hands were completely gone, leaving him on the verge of orgasm. He stumbled forward, seeking out her body, but she was nowhere to be found. The slight motions of his skirt brushing against his erection were maddening, giving him little shocks of arousal but completely unable to give him an orgasm. Then, he heard Misa's cruel little laugh from a few feet away.
Misa said, "How does it feel, to be denied your sexual enjoyment? Now you know what you did to me. You murdered Light without giving me a single chance to have sex with him. He's right next to me every day, and I can't do a thing with him."
L said, "Misa! Please!"
Then he stopped. How had he lost control so badly? He shouldn't be begging her for a hand job. But, all he wanted to do at that moment was to rush at her, knock her to the ground, and somehow rape her despite being in a straightjacket and shackles. A terrible shame came over him. He wasn't a rapist; he wouldn't do that. But, maybe she would. Misa had crossed a boundary. Before, she'd been just his torturer, but now sexual activities were on the menu as well. If he resisted, Misa might force him.
L just stood there, beginning to shake. She was messing with his mind now. This was bad. Maybe the physical torture would be better. It was so hard to decide, when his long-dormant sexual needs were being brought to the surface by another person for the first time ever. His body wanted it, but his mind wavered between desire and revulsion. On the one hand, Misa was perhaps the last person he would have chosen in normal circumstances. On the other hand, if he was going to die soon, he did want to get laid first, and Misa was very beautiful. Sexual attention, as long as she let him come once in a while, could be a pleasant way to relieve some of the tension of his captivity and torture. But, there was a possibility she might never let him come.
Then Misa said, "How do you feel, L?"
L said, "I feel very frustrated. You are a splendid torturer."
Then Misa's quick, delicate steps were approaching him, and she whispered in his ear, "I'm not as bad as you think. I can be very nice."
Misa grabbed his shoulders, steering him forward until he ran into a couch, and then pushing him down so he was lying on his back on the couch. He was still painfully hard, and wondered what she intended on doing, his thoughts chaotic, flickering between hope, despair and shame. Misa lifted his skirt up, flipping it back. L felt the cool air of the room on his erection, and, the next moment, Misa's hands curling around him and pumping slowly. L moaned.
Misa whispered, "Doesn't this feel nice? Isn't it good?"
"Yes," L panted, "yes, Misa."
The pumping motion was driving him crazy. His hips rocked up into it, those relentless strokes bringing him closer and closer to his climax.
Misa said, "I'm nice. I'm going to let you come. You should be grateful."
And then, she was squeezing harder and speeding up. L could not even wrap his mind around what she was doing to him. How, how, could she do those things with just hands? It was so good, and right, and every stroke built up the fire within him to unimaginable heights. When his orgasm slammed into him with incredible force, he felt like his mind was unraveling. He let out a wild cry at the same moment, shame and pleasure intermingled as he spilled himself over Misa's hands, her hands that were holding him so tight and gave him a perfect little squeeze in the middle of his orgasm that wrung an extra spike of pleasure out of him.
L lay there afterwards panting, tingling, and trying to recover. A lazy, warm afterglow was spreading through him. Why had Misa let him come? Wasn't this supposed to be torture? Then, he heard a kind of squelching sound just a short distance from him. It kept repeating, and L could hear Misa panting hard as the sound continued. She was obviously masturbating. L said nothing, but his mind started calculating. What was Misa's game? Had giving him a hand job really turned her on that much? Or was this another psychological ploy? Then, after a few minutes, Misa let out a high-pitched sobbing cry and the squelching sounds ceased.
Misa quickly cleaned up L with a wet cloth and led him back to his room, strapping him once more to the contraption. She didn't feed him any more, but the water was well-supplied, and that kept him from becoming too uncomfortable. L tried to spend his time thinking, formulating plans, but his mind kept returning to Misa, to what she'd done to him, and what it meant. He needed to decide what he wanted, and where it might lead. But, every time he approached the subject, his mind shied away, or it became endlessly tangled and confused. He couldn't think of it, and yet he couldn't not think of it. His planning was shot for the moment, his nerves unraveled.
Then, when Misa came in for the night and put him in a horizontal position, L smelled a new cake. Strawberry cheesecake. He heard Misa placing it next to his head, and then she gave the same horrible little laugh as before and left. L considered his options. He wanted cake, and not getting cake the previous night hadn't dissuaded Misa from the razor-blade torture. Plus, he'd only had the equivalent of perhaps two pieces of cake in three days, nothing else. Unless his body got some fuel soon, he might get too weak to do anything.
L began lunging within his bonds, until he'd built up a rhythm, rocking the entire frame side to side. When he thought he had everything just right, he gave a final spine-twisting lunge, flipping the whole frame over. His face slammed directly into the cake and he couldn't breathe at all. He had a momentary hilarious thought, of how ironic it would be if L were suffocated by cake.
But, he was already eating at an enormous rate, gulping it down, and soon he could breathe a bit. He'd eaten the cake down far enough. He rested, breathing, then started in again, savoring it this time. It was such a soothing, wonderful experience. He wasn't able to eat all the cake. Some was still out of his reach, even when he tried to scoot the frame over, but he was able to eat enough that his stomach stopped having those pains that came with eating just a bit of food. After he finished, and had even licked clean what he could of his face, he had a sudden, disturbing thought. What would Misa do when she discovered this, and the terrible mess he'd made?
He tried to shove that out of his mind. For once, it was time to sleep. He needed his strength and mental power now more than ever. After a few minutes, he was drifting off into dreams that alternated between pleasant and disturbing. There were huge amounts of wonderful cake that sometimes tried to suffocate him, and Misa was there through it all, sometimes smiling and pleasant, sometimes brutal and cruel. Every time she kissed him, it felt wonderful and very wrong at the same time.
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Fifty Days