Sweet Little Lies

Part 2: Freedom For Every Creature Of Macabre

"Are these plans made up in order to deflect Misa's company...or was there indeed, a prior arrangement?"

The pair walked the many hallways to their residence in almost, complete silence. Well...complete silence to any observer. But just as eyes could communicate, so could bodies—with matching auras of anticipation. A thick heat of suspense that both could sense with their unrivalled intuition. Light was sure, L saw past the guard of his skin, to perceive his shuddering muscles that tingled in secret delirium. The door was drawing nearer - that meant Ryuzaki's hands, that meant Ryuzaki's hips, that meant Light's absolute attention to nothing but his incredibly circumstantial companion. He was so special—unbelievably, the boy craved to make him feel so.

"I'd made plans already Ryuzaki"

"Care to tell me?"

The detective's additional seductive undertones were practically imperceptible—had it been any other to overhear. Light bit his lip in recollection of L's teeth that adorned his neck with bruises of painful affection; blessed his mouth with aching compassion.

Just as though one doesn't feel the bullet in their brain following the gunshot - Light didn't remember turning the doorknob, nor entering the room, before L was pressed up against the wall, under the subjection of Light's needy body.

Delightfully thin wrists were gripped by beautiful hands, with the force of a person acting in the uncontrolled urgency that accompanies desperation.

"I want to touch your body Light-kun"

Light loosened his hold, to let the detective caress the incline of his waist as he'd requested. The body exposed to his touch, reciprocated with hands that pushed hips together; that dug fingers into the graceful small of an attenuated back—of which Light was obsessed with—he could 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 the grooves of bones, the lines of muscle. As though palms could enter below pale skin and stay there because L's anatomy was so strangely engrossing, the young man could touch it until his hands rubbed raw; until tracks of red tainted the pale overlay of his lover's spine with blood...it was all very dramatic, but longing twinged the heart as though someone tied arteries together from within and made one want to cry out in pain. But for reasons unknown, happiness was replaced with suffering because 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔? Light wasn't fully acquainted with the depths of it. He grazed the surface. 𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒆, the detective conjured feelings of this kind but only as a side affect to 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. Obsession, as a diagnosis—so to speak, drove a man 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚. It was suffering. It was a horrifying creation, with the added ingredient of 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 emotion. But there was a thrill about it, that was 𝒄𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔; gaping. Happiness was warm and agreeable, but it would 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 be as consuming and addictive as obsession.

Passion wasn't neat and orderly; it wasn't well placed touches and purposeful kisses...no. It was moaning against a man's neck; breaking the precious capillaries under gorgeous complexion—turning it blue, and purple. Evidence of your adoration as footprints in the snow of thin pretty skin. Licking, and biting, and 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 in clumsy afflictions as hands greedily grabbed at any flesh within their reach. The boy's groans were muffled against the exposed collarbone of his indulgence, when cotton was pulled down to expose a right shoulder down to a pronounced row of ribs. Lips sucked at the nub of L's chest, and dexterous fingers played amongst brown hair as he did so. The detective massaged circles into Light's scalp as he spoke.

"Don't rush"

The young man painfully slowed his efforts as he proceeded to travel his tongue across L's torso; traversing the central line of a concave chest, to fulfil the left side of the detective's body that desired equal attention. Light knew to pinch and rub at the small pink protuberances, because pale digits satisfyingly bunched brunette strands into knots whenever he did so.