Sweet Little Lies

Imagination

'𝑫𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆'

"𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒊𝒕 𝑳—b-𝑩𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑫, touch me 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆"

The way feelings materialised in Light's mind were exceptionally wicked; 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆. He didn't want it - that had been established. He didn't 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 such a detestable thing as pale hands all over him—projecting his enemy's calmly calculating personality through fingertips that were slow and scheming. It was a need furthered from the fiery hatred Light had felt for so long. The boy's body was obviously confused—to admit that was absolutely terrible because confusion was far from a Light Yagami trait. But...it was the only explanation. They had been sleeping together on and off for almost three months. Such an outcome was self-explanatory.

Light's knuckles ached against the tile in front of his face—fingers were tensed into a tight ball. He imagined punching L in the nose, curling a smirk into existence when it bled. It was strange how a man's envisaged bloodshed could enhance the pleasure underneath Light's palm. An ardent hand moved up and down his erection because L kissed him in his mind.

'𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒀𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒊٫ 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆?'

"𝑳, 𝑳, 𝒚-𝒚𝒆𝒔..."

Affirmations echoed within bathroom walls, as the heat of scandal rose into his cheeks. It was just a necessity, a normal necessity. Of 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 Light's mind would need time to shake the sticky cobwebs of L from his thoughts but...𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒎. Logic had rested long enough, in order for the detective to fester; spread his disease of attraction between each furrow upon the surface of Light's brain.

'𝑫𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎?'

"N-no, just, just keep 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈"

Now Light was sliding a palm down the wall—each interstice within ceramic feeling good; the 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘 looking so 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 to lidded eyes that associated it with pale skin - dewy and glistening like the tile in his gaze—shining and moistened with shower steam. Knees found themselves on the floor. Light sighed. As though the contact was yearned for, like the relief of penetration. He dissociated from what he was about to do because he didn't want to do it. Light didn't want to grind against the floor—simulating the roll of hips that would collide bodies together. The detective would've relished this... Brunette hair wet as strands stuck chaotically about a pretty face. Hot breath escaping gritted teeth at the release of a deplorably, unsuccessfully governed moan. Hand between two legs that suffered a dull pain, in continued attempt to exceed the limit of how wide they could spread, with each purposeful movement above L's imaginary body. Light began grinning below wild eyes—excited at the fact he denied the detective such a sight. If only L knew what he was missing. Untameable thoughts imagined L on the other side of the door, biting nails to the quick with impatience.

'𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎...𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖?'

"𝑵𝑶!!!"

Why would he? Light would 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓. He didn't. It was not his way. L was so aggravating, he was so 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈...the brilliant young man; the most dedicated, 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒖𝒐𝒖𝒔 young man would never have a sexual affiliation with the likes of 𝒉𝒊𝒎. Light did this because he was angry. He did this out of fury. It wasn't the detective he craved. It was just the fever of animosity.

'𝑾𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇?'