keelywolfe | FIC: Closed Door (Death Note, Raito x L)

So, I was up until 3 am reading the manga Death Note, and it is all

kirbycrow's fault. So I can pretty much say this is her fault too. Short and PWP, just for kicks. ^_^

Title: Closed Door
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Death Note
Pairing: Raito x L, which means boyboy lovin'. Natch.
Rating: NC-17 (Lemon for the Anime people out there. ;)
Spoilers through: Book 22

Summary: This strays a bit from the manga canon for the purposes of, well, sex, come on what did you think? *G* I don't think I can summarize it well without it being a spoiler. So, yeah.

~~*~~

"I am sorry about your father."

Raito didn't turn around. The curtains in the hotel room were parted just enough to allow him to see the cityscape and Raito let his eyes drift over it, considering. In the corner, Ryuuku sat watching him, his ever present grin showing his gleaming teeth. For him this was all about the show and he was waiting for the next act of the play with barely restrained eagerness.

"The stress of this investigation is a terrible thing for any man to deal with," L continued, his voice distant and thoughtful. For all his apparent brilliance, L often spoke of emotions like he might a piece of art, something to examine and then set back into its place. Speaking to someone who he suspected as a killer about his sick father seemed to be as easily discussed as the suspicions themselves.

At the moment, Raito's most important priority was simply playing the part of a son worried about his father. That at the very least could not be suspicious, only expected whether or not he was Kira. His second heart attack didn't seem as serious but he still needed a few days rest.

The tentative touch of a hand on his shoulder did startle him. Raito looked up involuntarily and saw long white fingers resting against his shirt. L had ragged fingernails, bitten back until the pinkish flesh beneath was visible. Without thinking about what he was doing, Raito reached up and took that hand in his own, pulled it forward and cradling it in his palm. L allowed it though Raito could feel his reluctance, hard tension beneath his fingertips. He drew it up to his mouth, pressed the same thumb that L so often bit against his own lips.

L was straining harder to pull his hand away, and yes, beneath his slovenly appearance, too thin, too gangly, there was some strength to him. This Raito had seen firsthand. But he tightened his own grip, slid that thumb between his lips and bit down as he had seen L do a dozen times before. The skin barely compressed beneath his teeth, the hard knob of the knuckle too close to the surface. Raito flicked his tongue over it and tasted nothing. The flavor of salt had long been washed away by L's own tongue. How very intimate, to touch his tongue to the same place L's often lingered.

Those strange, wide eyes were even wider when Raito looked up at them, the hand in his own still trying to pull away but no harder than it had before. The door to the outer room was open a few bare inches and if one of the other investigators walked past he could glance in and see them like this; one boy, all pale skin and dark hair, standing with his hand curved around the mouth of the other. The investigator could watch and wonder, could stand in the door and say nothing at all while he stared.

Well. That would never do. Raito stood, pulled L with him as he walked to the door. He didn't precisely stumble, his gait always something clumsy and newborn, like he had to remember how to do it every time he took a step. With his free hand, Raito pushed the door closed softly before shoving L up against it, catching another glimpse of those wide, wide eyes before leaning down to kiss him.

They should be close to the same height but somehow they never were and Raito had to duck his head to reach L's mouth. No resistance, his tongue was lax beneath Raito's, cool and slick and he tasted astringent, like bleach and bitter coffee.

He had L's hand by the wrist, kept it pinned against the door over their heads. Raito had no illusions. L could break that grip easily if he truly wanted to, could call for the other investigators. He could fight, he could do anything but stand here silently, slack against the hands holding him and his lashes were lowered, covering those strange eyes.

He could do something other than simply allowing this.

Ryuuku was laughing somewhere behind him, the dry, hoarse sound of two pieces of wood being scraped together.

No. He could not win this simply by allowing it. Anger was a blue flame aching behind his eyes, burning as hot as the first moment he'd met L, when he'd been so carefully played into L's plans. Always it was a game between them, one that Raito couldn't end whether or not he knew L's true name.

L raised his eyes just a little, enough to look through the dark fringe of his lashes and suddenly he knew how to win this particular round, anger dissolving into satisfaction, cold and sweet. His father had said the power was a curse, that the person who possessed it could never be truly happy. He loved his father, respected his father, but his father could never understand the truth of what he was going to accomplish, for one simple reason. He was a creature of mercy. He thought he knew what justice was, that it was his justice that kept the world soaring through the heavens.

The criminals who fell beneath Raito's pen deserved their deaths and yet his father sought to stop him as all the investigators did. The death note would have been useless in their hands, a tool they never would have used properly.

They were weak with their mercy; always it would be their failing. And L's as well.

"Please," Raito whispered, so softly. He saw L's eyes snap open, wide and dark, as unreadable as blue on black. He ran his tongue so softly over L's lower lip, thin and tender and he could feel the throb of L's pulse in his wrist against his thumb, the beat of his own pulse an echo behind it.

"Please," Raito repeated, hardly louder than a breath. He thought of his father and let L taste his grief, felt the uncertain touch of a tongue against his own, a damp flicker over L's lips that brushed against him. It was enough. When he pressed L back against the small bed in the corner of the room, their hands were twined, Raito no longer pulling or forcing. It didn't matter, he used his free hand to push L's loose pants off his hips, slid them down past his knees and let them puddle on the floor. It didn't matter because he was still possessing, L's hands were on his shoulders, fluttering almost nervously but in the end, they pulled him closer.

L's skin was pale and tasted like nothing, fish-white and cool, and if it weren't for his soft breathing, his fingers tight on Raito's shoulders as he drew patterns in spit and warmth with the tip of his tongue, it would have been like making love to a corpse. So quiet, Ryuuku's shuffling laughter as he watched them with greedy eyes was more noise than L had made since this began, but it still didn't matter. Nothing matter as much as fumbling into the small table by the bed and finding the amenities that the hotel so thoughtfully provided and if he pushed his fingers into the tight heat of L's ass too hard, he still made no sound, only watched Raito and pressed his lips into a thinner line.

His silence didn't keep him from being hard, his cock held the only flush of color on his whole body. Raito pushed his middle finger inside as deep as he could, felt the brush of wiry hair against his palm, the faint heat of L's balls. His hands were damp with sweat, slippery with lotion as he slipped them under L's knees and lifted him up, his thin body impossibly flexible and mouthing words against L's neck that he couldn't say aloud. Gonna fuck with you, bastard, gonna fuck with you like you fuck with me, and you want me to.

The cheap hotel coverlet was rough beneath his knees, imprinting its woven pattern into his skin and his hands were steady as he guided himself, easing into sudden, tight heat. He didn't wait, shoved in as deeply as he could, much too roughly and finally, finally there was a sound, a stuttering inhalation that should have shown in L's eyes if they weren't suddenly tightly shut.

Raito ground in deeper, wanting that sound again and instead he saw L biting his lip, bringing a touch of color to the abused flesh that was the same tint as his cock, still hard and leaking damply against L's belly.

Tempting to just pull out again and push back in as hard as he could, to fuck that soft sound from him again and just revel in the taking. But no.

No.

Instead, Raito took a shaky breath and braced his hands on either side of L's head, rocking his hips as gently as he could. L was hotter on the inside than he would have believed from the cool touch of his skin, scalding and wonderful and proof that L was utterly human and as useable as any of them. He moved as carefully as he could, almost shyly. Let L think he was hindered by virginity, let those eyes open again, slowly, the flash of a pink tongue as L wet his lips before his hands tightened again on Raito's shoulders and, oh, yes, he arched up into the next thrust.

The shocking goodness of it chased its way up his spine, pulling a startled gasp from Raito instead. He bit his lip too late to stop it, and he saw it, the faintest curve of a smile on L's lips, bastard, fucking bastard, bastard, and Raito was fucking him in earnest now, pulling out and shoving in as hard as he could. L's thin fingers were digging into his shoulders as he held on, the smile vanishing as he breathed loudly through his open mouth, no moans, no cries but that was something anyway, evidence that this was affecting him.

He couldn't just lay there and allow it if he was loving it. His cock nearly leapt in Raito's hand when he palmed it, rubbing his thumb over the wet tip and still not a sound but it earned him a full body squirm, and they might have stayed like that forever, a pale tangle of twined limbs, writhing together, rocking, twisting, neither of them willing to surrender as they put on a lovely performance for the avidly watching eyes of a Death God.

But if neither of them won, at least neither of them lost.

L slipped his t-shirt back on in silence, concealing a dozen pale bruises the shape of Raito's fingers behind another layer of white. Dressed, he looked exactly the same, the wild tousle of his hair unaffected. No one would, could, guess what they'd been doing behind the closed door.

That was all right. Raito was fine with keeping secrets.

"You should know something," L said suddenly, his voice scratchy and soft, as it always was. He turned just enough to look at Raito, his thumb pressed lightly against his lips. "This raises my suspicions that you are Kira to five percent."

Raito allowed himself a small smile. "Of course."

L nodded slowly and slid his hands in his pockets as he walked out of the room. Raito lingered, pulling his own clothing back on more slowly. Ryuuku muttered softly in the background, knowing Raito didn't dare speak to him here. He wasn't angry, wasn't frustrated, not yet. Right now, he would go to the hospital again and check on his father. They would pick up the game again very, very soon.

It wouldn't always end in a draw.

-finis-