Satisfied

--

“What is Light-kun thinking?”

Soft, velvet hot in twilight, rustling flutter and chiming wind outside
the blinds, is this the reward for forever, is this what they neither
could ask for aloud,

Is it Light-kun again in his arms—

“Your arm. Ryuzaki,”

Comes the feather-soft voice, the voice of composure and also of reason,
and intellect, confidence, anything but—

“It hurts, yes,”

L answers with honesty, simple and quiet even as he leans closer again,
pointed tip of his nose searching in empty air, lips pressing forth against
the slender and pillowy tips of Light’s fingers brushing forth unawares.

He’s so warm.

So real.

So exactly like human, like flesh and like youth and the same smell
of soap, the same scent of clean that L still remembers from when, long
ago, they lay wrist to wrist, shoulder to shoulder and hair wet and messy
from the shower before—

Mmm, L inhales softly, “Does Light-kun remember?”

Almost in cruel disregard of the boy’s reluctance, the bony digits of
his hand come gently closed around the soft angle of Light’s wrist, and
as he draws him in, incisors brushing ever so lightly against the shell
of his ear,

“…the things I used to do?”

Fast expiration and, quick to respond, Light nods, yes, yes,
he remembers,

“I—“

“Tell me,”

The words ghost immaterial at the hot skin before,

“What does Light remember?”

And inhalation and—

“You—“

Thin lips stretch into a slender smile against Light’s ear and then
press forth, wet against the delicate folds beneath, the warm skin of his
jaw and the mandible—

“Yes?”

L asks, and, fluttering, defeated and tremulous, weak, Light swallows,
heart beating human against the naked, hot wall of his chest,

“You did terrible things,”

He just manages,

“Terrible?”

L replies, lips gliding wet,

“Terrible? Did I?”

And, unable to speak, Light just barely nods, swallowing hard as the
hand at his wrist draws him closer and the lips kissing his jaw make their
way to his mouth, tormenting but careful, affectionate—

Loving—

God,

He hisses, because just the mere touch of those hands there at all,
at all, anywhere, ever, just they were enough to bring back—

“But you liked it,”

L whispers, wet against Light’s lips, kissing but not kissing and eyes
just so barely open, gentle and large, intelligent, curious, clever and
warm—

“Yes,”

Comes the silent reply,

Yes, only you, only you knew I liked—

It pleases L, doesn’t it, it pleases him to no end, that he won, that
he’s there, but more than anything, anything, really, more than
anything it pleases him simply to have him again.

“Mmm,” he murmurs with quiet introspection, long digits grazing down
the naked expanse of Light’s skin, pondering, inspecting, and, absently
his tongue traces the thin line of his lip as in preparation to consume,

“Are you still as sweet,”

He asks, without giving Light time to reply before proceeding directly
to find out, and it’s almost in relief that he bites softly into him, into
the smooth flesh of his hip, the naked skin of his thigh,

Ah, yes,

He licks his lips, drawing him closer,

It’s been very long since I’ve tasted something this good.

Light gazes down curiously, quietly at L devouring him with odd, intense
composure, patiently, waiting for him to satisfy himself and knowing from
experience that it will take some time.

For all his quiet composure, L had to him paternal warmth, delicate
affection and a way with his hands, and even were Light not so far undone,
even were he not so taken with trials and tragedy and time, even through
the vast pride through which life had hacked and hacked away, he would,
despite himself, ultimately submit.

It’s been very long since I’ve—

The liquid warmth of L’s mouth all around him, all around the naked
and hard flesh beneath, and still Light keeps his silence, still
all the while, far past now the fight for composure and well merely into
restraint that came almost as reflex to both—

—so long since he hasn’t done it merely alone—

Weightless and silent and nearly half real, half injured and tremulous,
curious, warm, warm, regardless, still warm, still warm and nearly, just
nearly human—

No, of course, L hasn’t forgotten just how nice Light tasted, and were
he the slightest bit different, the slightest bit easier, he would never
have tasted nearly as nice—

Hot expiration, slender white fingers slide clear through the elegant
bend of Light’s knee, and weightless, fluid, L lifts him up in his arms,
limbs thin and strong, how much do you want it,

How much we both want it—