Closet Case

BY : RequiemBelle
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 3925
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

I wrote this as a Christmas gift for a friend. Does anyone else see the irony in that?


Closet Case

There was a shriek and a crash as a girl, probably in her teens, fell out of a closet. Soon she, and the other party-goers, were helpless with laughter as the girl righted herself, sitting up. A well-chiseled male around her age leaned casually against the doorframe of the closet.

“Tripping and falling over shoes spoils the mood, Mami-chan,” he commented, smirking.
Mami pouted and one of the other girls chastised him for embarrassing her. He put up his hands defensively, it wasn’t his fault she was so klutzy. The air of good feeling seemed disassociated from Raito and L, who sat at the end of the couch. L was crouched in his usual position on the armrest, snacking on a bowl of m&m’s and observing the crowd with wide eyes. Raito was effectively keeping up pleasant conversation, even as Misa-Misa clutched his arm overbearingly and giggled overly much. It was obvious she was showing him off to her friends. He had long since decided to grin and bear it.

Most of the people at the party were models or their boyfriends. A few whispers had gone up when L arrived, cuffed to Yagami Raito, his stark appearance and standoffish demeanor setting him apart from the socialite princesses the models tended to be. A bleached brunette called Keiko-chan had made the mistake of asking about the chain that joined L and Raito, but received a death glare from Misa as an answer, and the question was not asked again. The girls in the group were not among the brightest, but it didn’t take Raito’s genius or L’s intuition to realize that the cuffs were an object of distaste with Misa-Misa… who seemed to have a bit of authority. That was probably why a handful of girls were listening so attentively to Misa’s banter. Raito was only half-listening; his mind was elsewhere. The Kira case tumbled around in his mind, mixed liberally with considerations of L’s accusations. It was possible that he was Kira. If he stepped outside of himself and looked at the evidence with new eyes, it was, in fact, probable. But the old rationalizations cropped up again, and he was back at square one. He was jarred from his contemplation when Misa prodded him.

“Your turn, Raito-kuuuuuun…” she squealed in a saccharine voice. He raised his eyebrows and then nodded. He stood and joined a circle in the center of the room, and spun the bottle in the center. The mouth of it pointed to a girl he didn’t know, but the girl forfeited her turn to Misa, for fear of incurring the blonde’s wrath. Misa clapped.
“Yay! Seven minutes in Heaven with Raito. Yatta!” She all but dragged her boyfriend (of sorts) into the closet, and closed the door. Tried to. Failed. The chain of the cuffs was in the way.

L stood, slouching, 6 feet or so away, rubbing is pants leg with his foot and scratching the back of his head. Nobody had made much of an effort to talk to him. Those that had tried had been promptly disinterested. That was fine; there were plenty of sweets to divert his attention. He watched as the door bounced off of the chain, his expression unchanging, having known this event would come to pass, but it being too insignificant for him to make an effort to counteract it. He shuffled to the door and knocked. There really was no reason to knock on a partially ajar door. It was merely a show of proper etiquette.

“Misa-san, it appears that I will have to join you, if you wish to close the door.” His tone was soft, matter-of-fact. The statement was inarguable. Misa pursed her lips in consternation, but decided it couldn’t be helped, and pushed the door open for him to enter. She closed the door immediately afterwards, and the closet was plunged in utter blackness. It was no wonder Mami had tripped and fallen out of the closet! Misa searched blindly for Raito, but encountered a rack of clothing and, in her efforts to right herself, she became hopelessly tangled and turned-around.
Raito encountered a warm body. His first instinct was that it was probably Misa, and knowing she’d be upset if he made no effort, he wrapped his arms around the slim waist and brought his mouth to another’s. His kiss missed the first time, landing somewhere to the corner of the lips, but his second attempt was more successful. He did notice, however, that in leaning in to kiss who he had presumed was Misa, that the body lacked any feminine curves, and hadn’t immediately wrapped tight arms around him, nor pressed back oppressively as their lips met. He knew it was L, and L knew it was Raito. There was no doubt. The only question was: why had L draped an arm so easily around Raito’s neck? For that matter, why did the kiss continue, and why did neither break away? Raito pulled back and stared into the darkness. The chain jingled between them, dispelling any uncertainty there could have been over their identities. They had enough time to take three deep breaths, their hearts beating inexplicably fast, before their lips found each other again. Who had started the kiss? In the darkness, it was hard to tell.

Whereas the first kiss had begun as obligatory and concluded as intrigued, this one was searching, spontaneous, instinctive. Though their lips moved, they never seemed to separate. They intuitively knew how to perform this dance, their lips, tongues, teeth, completely in synch. L’s breath rasped Raito’s ears. He could taste the detective through the chocolate, and it was intoxicating. He wasn’t a candy-eater himself, really, and having spent so much time with L had decisively cured him of any cravings for sugar, but L’s own distinctive flavour through the sickening sweetness of candied snacks was incomprehensibly addictive. He pressed closer, his hands moving up and down L’s sides, sliding over his soft white sweater. L seemed to be going along for the ride. He matched Raito for every move, like any of their other competitions, and so like them, that they were, as usual, equally matched. Raito broke away and placed several soft, lingering kisses on L’s lips before moving lower, across the jaw and to the neck. There his attention stayed for a while, as he nipped and licked and kissed and suckled, and L gasped and hissed and keened and mumbled. Protests drifted through Raito’s mind as he realized the danger of this situation, but it jest felt too damned good to stop. His analytical brain seemed to be on hold for once. Even during sex, his thought had never ceased to function like it had just now. That could be because he had never been with anybody who so completely matched him. There had never been anybody who had been such a perfect complement to Raito’s every feature. L had stopped calculating percentages. All of his investigative faculties were concentrated on his sensory receptors, feeling everything, storing away every sensation.

“SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO…ONE!!” The party-goers chanted, counting down. L and Raito had broken apart by the time he door was opened. Raito helped Misa up, and untangled her from the clothes she’d become twisted in. Disappointed that she didn’t get her chance with Raito, she motioned that they leave. L and Raito put up no resistance.

Misa huffed into her room, feeling that the party had been a complete bust. She closed her door forcefully without slamming it, and Raito could hear her flop heavily onto the bead, its box-springs creaking under her ire. He was surprised that she wasn’t bugging him for a good-night kiss, or worse, insisting that he come to bed with her. When it came right down to it, he didn’t hate her, he just didn’t love her. Her constant mooning was distasteful, but there had to be some reason he was with her, right? Right? He wasn’t the sort of person to do things without a reason. His peripheral vision caught L’s ethereal profile, illuminated by a computer screen. Or… maybe he was. Had there been a reason for the fleeting tryst in the closet that evening? He wandered into the computer room and fell into a chair about three feet from the detective. He propped up his head on his hand, leaning casually on the armrest, allowing his eyes to rest on the apparition sipping sweet ginseng coffee by the computer. L finally felt Raito’s eyes upon him, or at least acknowledged him, and inclined his head only slightly to peer at Raito from under his curtain of bangs. He needed no words. His blank expression was questioning, Raito’s raised eyebrow was instigating, L’s slight shrug was dismissive, Raito’s shift of focus was skeptical, and as L swiveled his chair to face Raito, his thumbnail found its familiar place between the detective’s teeth. It was like an interpretive dance. Raito nearly scoffed aloud at this observation, and instead set his eyes on L’s. Some would have said their profound darkness was hypnotic. He found it infuriating. He was so good at reading people, and the trick was in their eyes. L’s betrayed nothing. Raito clenched his jaw subconsciously. He could derive NOTHING of L’s earlier motives from his expression, his body language, or those damnable eyes. He passed a hand over his face. L looked down at his nails as he worried them, studying them, chewing them again. He brought his eyes back up to Raito as if to ask, ‘Something troubling you?’ Raito gave him an incredulous look. L shrugged and reached for a sugar cube. Turning back to his computer screen, he stuck out his tongue and pressed the cube to it, letting it sit and dissolve. Raito’s upper lip twitched in distaste. L could convey an awful lot without saying anything, but only if he wanted to. Raito felt as if this was some sort of covert power struggle. But why? Whence came this unflinching desire to exceed the detective, as though there was some race going on, some vast and unspeakable competition? He couldn’t fathom it. It was like the ghost of a memory, something that had happened in a past life, perhaps? If he had been that sort of person, he would have gone to see a shrink to try and work out all the knots in his brain. Instead, he sat idly by, contemplating the quizzical detective not a meter away from him.

L suddenly turned, nearly startling Raito enough to lose his composure. Nearly. Bottomless black eyes scrutinized Raito’s features, analyzed them, collected data to transfer to his synaptic receptors which calculated probabilities within mere seconds and spit out a result as a computer would, instantaneously. Raito felt the weight of L’s uninterrupted gaze bearing down on him. It made him slightly uncomfortable, to receive the full effect of those flat eyes, enhanced by the ever-present dark circles and the habitual wide stare. Raito masked his unease with a challenge, meeting L’s scrutiny with a piercing, red-eyed glare of his own. The wall clock seemed impossibly loud as the two stared each other down, like two duelists at the stand-off. Raito could not believe he was involved in something so juvenile as a staring contest, and L was considering the possibility that Raito, as Kira, was somehow trying to gain an advantage through that kiss in the closet. No, that was not his style at all. Raito was meticulous, one given to complicated planning and forethought almost akin to a precognitive precaution. A stray make-out session at a girls’ party would not be his methodology at all. L decided he was safe in that respect. But… how was he to confront the issue on a more lateral plane, rather than the metaphysical one he had been pondering before? Socially, physically, would this change anything? Anthropological structure governed that, simply put, yes, it would. People are given to thinking, and people with mind capacities like his and Raito’s, more so. When an event transpires that would logically disrupt the previously ordained flow of dynamics, it can be assumed that it would take over a portion of the brain, and while it may not distract a person from the task at hand, it would tend to become fixated there, until a resolution is achieved. He could tell that this had already come to pass, as he had already spent an approximate 9 seconds cycling the topic in his mind, rather than the superhuman speed at which he would usually reach a conclusion. There was no use in allowing his mind to be even partially impaired by petty concerns such as that. He decided he’d run a test. It was a dangerous test, but in the span of the Kira case, he’d become accustomed to such confrontational experiments. He pushed against the desk and his chair rolled forward and hit the seat of the armchair. He tipped himself forward and landed somewhat straddling the other, bringing his mouth but a breath’s distance from Raito’s. Raito wrapped his arms loosely around L’s hips, but hesitated in closing the distance for a kiss. Was L genuinely interested in him, or was this another scheme to pad his Kira accusations? His delay spoke volumes, and L gave a little seldom-seen smile, and leaned the extra inch forward it took to reunite their lips. Slowly, coaxingly, each began, each tasted, each moved, sluggishly each slid his lips over the other’s, each breathed, each stroked. Eyes fell heavily shut. Fingers threaded in hair, and as the kiss deepened, those fingers tightened, pulling only slightly at the roots as they nibbled only slightly at each other’s lips and mewled only slightly in their throats.

The kiss broke and gave way to another, and another as hands found the hems of shirts and the skin underneath and the tennis-toned abdominal muscles and the sensitivity of smooth flesh under cold fingertips. Neither dared to go higher until the other did, like a Ouija board, nobody knows who moves first, but it slides onwards. So, too, did inquisitive hands, and eager lips, and uncontrolled hips. The chain clinked against itself as they smoothed their hands over slowly bared torsos. Raito pushed L’s sweater up and L unbuttoned Raito’s oxford shirt. Each would find itself heaped on the floor, cast aside. Raito wondered how far L was willing to go. L wondered how far Raito would take them. There had been a constant give-and-take, a somehow progressive stalemate. With a hazy stare, dark eyes shining, L commented,
“Your likelihood of being Kira is not affected.”

Raito was almost surprised at the statement, but then, he realized, there could be no other way. He frowned. With that interruption he was brought back to the present, out of the lust-crazed state he’d been in. He looked away from L’s naked torso.
“Where did THAT come from?” He asked, his voice huskier than he would have liked.
“Well, I simply deduced that your actions this evening are neither conducive to your innocence nor your guilt.” L responded without emotion.
“Not that,” Raito huffed in exasperation, “Why did you, did we, did that… Hm.” He was having a hard time phrasing his question. “What’s with all of this?” He gestured towards their current position, their state of undress, the general affair. L shrugged.
“I suppose…” He thought for a moment, absently scratching the back of his head, “…that I needed to get it out of my system?” He gave no other explanation, and Fixed Raito with a bald-faced stare, an unnerving blankness in his features. Raito’s muscles twitched with indecision.
“What do you wish to do?” L’s voice seemed far away.
“…I don’t know,” Raito answered honestly.
“You’re afraid.”

What happened after that is lost from Raito’s memory, and if L remembers it, he doesn’t talk about it. He remembers that L’s hands were on him, and that his own were just as quick over L’s pallid skin. Somewhere between the chair and the bed, L lost his pants. Raito doesn’t remember taking his off. Maybe he never did. He remembers finding Misa’s lotion on the dresser, and that L’s skin was so smooth, so creamy-white, so warm when Raito slid his hand up a wiry leg and under the hem of L’s thin boxer shorts. The sharp intake of breath as he brushed L’s crotch, the way L sat up quickly and flung his arms around Raito’s neck when Raito pushed his hand under the elastic waistband on L’s underwear and began to stroke him, the sharp bite L left on Raito’s shoulder… these are things he remembers.

Raito was slightly taken aback by the detective’s enthusiasm. He had expected a more reserved bed partner, but was pleasantly surprised. He supposed he’d just chalk it up to L’s ever-growing list of oddities. Raito saw a mop of jet black hair moving down his body. It obscured L’s face, and left him guessing where the hot wetness would descend next. Oh. L was kissing and licking and biting him, sporadically, making him clutch handfuls of bed sheets in his fists and chew his lower lip. Oh. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. L was so close to where Raito needed, needed him. So. Very. Close. But the lips doggedly avoided the obvious bulge in Raito’s pants and Raito knew it was a power issue in the back of his mind but at this point he didn’t care and he would have begged and maybe even sobbed if it meant getting release because he just felt so hungry and empty and needy and it was driving him positively mad and OH. OOOoohhh. Raito was moaning loudly, but he couldn’t help himself because L’s mouth was wrapped around his erection and was expertly sucking him off and licking around the head and through its slit and nibbling just there and Raito couldn’t think. The heat was pooling in his stomach, the pleasure coiling in his core, and he knew he was close. L knew it too, and pulled off. Raito could have screamed. Was this another competition? If that was the case, he knew who would want to top. That was something that had been niggling at the back of his mind since this tryst had become more involved. The probability that L was planning on dominating was increased by the fellatio. Only ukes get sucked off. He opened eyes he hadn’t remembered shutting and willed them to focus, waiting for the first probing passes at his entrance.

He felt L’s hand on his length, slippery and cool. The fragrance in the air told him the lotion was open. He had enough time to register what was going on before L crouched over his hips, hovering over his tip, and then sitting down, slowly, his mouth hanging open even as he held his breath. Raito couldn’t breathe, either. L’s tight heat was suffocating. L was seated fully and Raito was buried to the hilt and both let out the breath they’d been biting back. Raito’s hips involuntarily bucked upwards two inches and L hissed, but soon he was adjusted and he rose and fell, impaling himself over and over, panting with each downward stroke. Raito keened, the pressure was almost too much! It took all of his formidable willpower to keep his hips still, and L leaned forward, planted a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss across his lips, and rolled over, bringing Raito with him. He brought his eyes up to Raito’s with a small smile, and nodded once. Raito knew. He pulled back and snapped his hips forward and L’s eyes went impossibly wide. Raito hadn’t been aware that L could even HAVE wider eyes than his typical doe-like expression. L made an odd gurgling noise in his throat as he swallowed a powerful moan. Raito drew back and thrust in again, harder, and L bit down on his lip to rein in his scream. The half-crazed look he gave his bed partner obliged Raito to drive faster, giving in, holding L’s hips in a grasp that the detective was 94% certain would bruise. They were both breathing hard, Raito’s gaze was unfocused, L’s eyes were clenched so tightly shut that tears gathered on his lashes, a sheen of sweat and a flush had broken out on Raito’s skin, and L thrashed his head wildly from side to side. They uttered a chorus of sounds, mostly unintelligible exclamations of pleasure, but, there was the odd yelp of the other’s name, and sometimes the gasped word ‘love.’

Raito’s thrusts became erratic as L met him on each one, forcing his lover deeper, and with one impossible arch, they bent into each other and cried out their simultaneous release.

Raito doesn’t remember collapsing, nor pulling out of L, but he must have at some point, because he awoke from his post-coital unconsciousness, for once, unaware of the time. That wasn’t the only unusual circumstance, for L slept peacefully beside him. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling, a content and complacent sort of smile on his face. If it had been another competition, he supposed neither of them had won.

‘But…’ he thought, as he spooned up against L’s evenly rising back, ‘Neither of us lost, either.’


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