DN -- The Dawn of Remembered Time IV: Too Much Trouble
Title: The Dawn of Remembered Time
Chapter: 4. Too Much Trouble
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Light/L
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,481
Warnings: implied sex, off-kilter humor
Summary: Light Yagami's metaphors were even worse when he was hungover and had just gotten laid.
Author's Note: Pomegranate lemonade, guys. Pomegranate lemonade.
IV - TOO MUCH TROUBLE
L touched the computer mouse, and the screen flickered into life. A spreadsheet shared the space with a police file, and L immediately rediscovered the fantastic progress they’d made the evening before. Droplets of thought-supposition-memory beginning to coalesce, he turned slowly to Light.
“Did we start making toasts?” he inquired.
Light’s face went white, and then pink, and then faintly greenish. Incredibly enough, the rainbow effect was somehow flattering.
Then again, one of L Lawliet’s less-publicized theories was that Light Yagami was physically incapable of being unattractive.
Light rubbed his face with both hands, and the chain swung like a pendulum. “Yeah,” he confirmed unsteadily. “Matsuda-” It figured. “-went out and came back with enough booze to drown a dolphin-”
Light-kun’s figurative abilities seemed to be somewhat impaired by his hangover.
“-and you had about six of those really sweet alcopop things he brought, the strawberry flavor-”
That explained a great deal.
“-and where the hell was my dad? He knows how I get-”
There was an edge of panic to Light’s voice now. L wanted to reach out and pat the boy’s shoulder, but he imagined that such a gesture would hurt things more than help them.
“Well,” he murmured, “Light-kun can take some comfort from the fact that Yagami-san is not here now.”
Light made a forlorn noise into his palms. His shoulders rose and fell with a few deep breaths, and then he looked up, his complexion having settled on “slightly pale,” the dodgy look gone from his eyes.
“I think I’d like to take a shower now,” he decided, “if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Certainly not,” L conceded, attempting hesitantly at a smile. “It might be wise of us to wash the sheets as well.”
So much for normalizing Light’s color; his cheeks abruptly flared a vibrant red again. Apparently L had crossed one of the many invisible lines that separated safe from shameful in Light Yagami’s mind.
That was the part that ached, he thought, standing quietly by as Light rifled through the dresser for an unwrinkled shirt-the fact that Light was ashamed.
It wasn’t that he was surprised, L supposed; it wasn’t as though most people would leap into bed with him at a moment’s notice, and it wasn’t like Light had any reason to be an exception. It was just that… he’d thought that they had something. He’d thought that the fleeting physical connection merely reinforced the mental and emotional links already in place, that it had meant something, because it was something they both wanted and felt and believed in, if only for a moment. If only for a night.
Well, he was shameful, then. He should be getting accustomed to the idea by now.
Light folded his prospective raiment and held it to his chest, looking at the bed.
“So,” he said.
L tugged on the comforter and the blanket, which had long since been kicked to the foot of the mattress, and dropped them to the floor. Making a conscious effort not to think about what he was doing-which was by nature and definition impossible-he peeled off the topmost sheet and then its mattress-hugging counterpart. Balling them up in his arms, he turned to Light, contemplating the leftovers.
“Do you think we can leave the pillowcases?” he inquired.
Light ran a hand through his hair, encountered one of the tangles L had lately been admiring, and quickly became ensnared. Fighting his bangs for possession of his fingers, Light spoke around a wince. “What if someone asks why we have no sheets?”
L smiled thinly. “Obviously, Light-kun,” he explained, “I spilled ice cream while you were trying to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Light returned the smile slightly weakly, and L realized, with no small amount of chagrined resignation, that he wanted very much to spill ice cream on Light-kun.
And lick it off, of course.
He sighed inwardly. He really wasn’t making this any easier for either of them.
Light’s frequent showers had always been something of an exercise in awkwardness avoidance, but this particular specimen took the cake-so to speak. L was about ninety-six percent sure he’d never in his life encountered a more durable silence. Howitzer tanks and battering rams would have been woefully inadequate to shatter this one.
Then again, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t have to try to hold up a conversation while being assailed by mental images of Light lathering himself, basking in the hissing stream from the showerhead, deft hand sliding over smooth skin, his head tilted back, his eyelids fluttering, his lips slightly parted-
L fought to think of the most unarousing thing in the vast reaches of the universe. The idea of the task force’s prospective suspicions, while intimidating, only underscored the thrill of secrecy, so that was out. The surreptitious maneuvers that would prove necessary to maintain that secret would foster an inevitable sort of solidarity, and the thought of the building’s laundry staff’s whispers just tickled more. The evidence was proof. Yes, we did. Yes, he wanted to.
The full stop that completed that sentence, however, was sobering enough.
Plucking idly at the rivet that joined the cuff to the chain, L examined the toothbrushes in the stand on the counter. It was going to be a tough day.
It got a great deal tougher when they stepped out of the bedroom, Light still toweling at his hair, to find Quillish waiting.
L was struck with a sudden and potent wave of buyer’s remorse regarding the extremely precise security cameras he’d had installed throughout the central room. If the setup had gone according to his stipulations, they had afforded one Watari a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of all the fumbling flirtation, of every clumsy kiss that had played out over the coffee table the night before. It would require a truly impressive quantity of naïveté not to be able to infer the rest.
Quillish proffered the folder tucked under his arm, and L focused on it, knowing that direct eye contact would kill him instantaneously, his face warming again with incredible speed. At this rate, he could start using his forehead as a hotplate. That could be nice.
“Ryuzaki?” Quillish remarked, ostensibly unconcerned. “May I talk to you for a moment?”
No, L thought frantically. You most certainly may not.
“Of course,” he mumbled.
Light smiled, slightly bashfully. It was an utterly adorable expression.
“I’ll stand in the corner and put my hands over my ears,” he offered. It sounded facetious, but all three of them were quite aware that it was the closest thing available to actual privacy.
“Thank you, Light-kun,” L murmured, feeling sicker now than he had when he’d first awoken.
When Light was standing safely at the length of the chain, index fingers in his ears, his wet hair dripping dark spots onto the collar of his shirt, Quillish Wammy turned to L.
“Did you?” he inquired, both of them understanding what the deliberate ambiguity indicated.
L considered his choices. They appeared to be Option A: Lie, be caught immediately, and suffer through a lecture; Option B: Equivocate, be understood immediately, and suffer through a lecture; and Option C: Admit it, be believed immediately, and suffer through (shockingly enough) a lecture.
Things did not look good for our hero. There was, for once, a hundred-percent probability of something, and that was that L was not going to get out of his unscathed.
Or at least un-lectured.
“Hm,” L said.
It wasn’t much, but his options, as he had established, were rather limited and lecture-filled.
Quillish winced. “Did you at least use protection?” he prompted.
L placed both hands over his face and arranged them to satisfaction. “I did not exactly plan to get extremely drunk, abandon the remotest semblance of inhibitions, and leap into bed with my closest colleague, Watari-san,” he replied, not without difficulty.
“So you didn’t,” Quillish concluded.
“I don’t even know how such things work, but for the basic conceptual principle-” His face was going to ignite his palms any second now. Auto-cremation. It would be all the rage.
“So you didn’t,” Quillish repeated.
Quillish looked at Light, who was humming to himself a little. His shirt was sticking to the small of his back. L wanted to dip him in frosting, tuck a cool slice of strawberry between those warm lips-
“L,” Quillish said quietly, “I don’t want to see him hurt you.”
L gave him an aspartame smile. “I doubt he’ll bother,” he replied.
Comprehension sparked in Quillish’s preternaturally perceptive eyes, and all the accusation melted from them.
“Like that, then?” he asked, softly now.
L shrugged. “I don’t blame him.”
Quillish frowned. “Perhaps you should.” Before L could respond, he raised a preemptive hand. “I’ll bring cake,” he promised.
Finally, things were looking up.
[Chapter IV] [Chapter V]
Chapter: 4. Too Much Trouble
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Light/L
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,481
Warnings: implied sex, off-kilter humor
Summary: Light Yagami's metaphors were even worse when he was hungover and had just gotten laid.
Author's Note: Pomegranate lemonade, guys. Pomegranate lemonade.
IV - TOO MUCH TROUBLE
L touched the computer mouse, and the screen flickered into life. A spreadsheet shared the space with a police file, and L immediately rediscovered the fantastic progress they’d made the evening before. Droplets of thought-supposition-memory beginning to coalesce, he turned slowly to Light.
“Did we start making toasts?” he inquired.
Light’s face went white, and then pink, and then faintly greenish. Incredibly enough, the rainbow effect was somehow flattering.
Then again, one of L Lawliet’s less-publicized theories was that Light Yagami was physically incapable of being unattractive.
Light rubbed his face with both hands, and the chain swung like a pendulum. “Yeah,” he confirmed unsteadily. “Matsuda-” It figured. “-went out and came back with enough booze to drown a dolphin-”
Light-kun’s figurative abilities seemed to be somewhat impaired by his hangover.
“-and you had about six of those really sweet alcopop things he brought, the strawberry flavor-”
That explained a great deal.
“-and where the hell was my dad? He knows how I get-”
There was an edge of panic to Light’s voice now. L wanted to reach out and pat the boy’s shoulder, but he imagined that such a gesture would hurt things more than help them.
“Well,” he murmured, “Light-kun can take some comfort from the fact that Yagami-san is not here now.”
Light made a forlorn noise into his palms. His shoulders rose and fell with a few deep breaths, and then he looked up, his complexion having settled on “slightly pale,” the dodgy look gone from his eyes.
“I think I’d like to take a shower now,” he decided, “if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Certainly not,” L conceded, attempting hesitantly at a smile. “It might be wise of us to wash the sheets as well.”
So much for normalizing Light’s color; his cheeks abruptly flared a vibrant red again. Apparently L had crossed one of the many invisible lines that separated safe from shameful in Light Yagami’s mind.
That was the part that ached, he thought, standing quietly by as Light rifled through the dresser for an unwrinkled shirt-the fact that Light was ashamed.
It wasn’t that he was surprised, L supposed; it wasn’t as though most people would leap into bed with him at a moment’s notice, and it wasn’t like Light had any reason to be an exception. It was just that… he’d thought that they had something. He’d thought that the fleeting physical connection merely reinforced the mental and emotional links already in place, that it had meant something, because it was something they both wanted and felt and believed in, if only for a moment. If only for a night.
Well, he was shameful, then. He should be getting accustomed to the idea by now.
Light folded his prospective raiment and held it to his chest, looking at the bed.
“So,” he said.
L tugged on the comforter and the blanket, which had long since been kicked to the foot of the mattress, and dropped them to the floor. Making a conscious effort not to think about what he was doing-which was by nature and definition impossible-he peeled off the topmost sheet and then its mattress-hugging counterpart. Balling them up in his arms, he turned to Light, contemplating the leftovers.
“Do you think we can leave the pillowcases?” he inquired.
Light ran a hand through his hair, encountered one of the tangles L had lately been admiring, and quickly became ensnared. Fighting his bangs for possession of his fingers, Light spoke around a wince. “What if someone asks why we have no sheets?”
L smiled thinly. “Obviously, Light-kun,” he explained, “I spilled ice cream while you were trying to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Light returned the smile slightly weakly, and L realized, with no small amount of chagrined resignation, that he wanted very much to spill ice cream on Light-kun.
And lick it off, of course.
He sighed inwardly. He really wasn’t making this any easier for either of them.
Light’s frequent showers had always been something of an exercise in awkwardness avoidance, but this particular specimen took the cake-so to speak. L was about ninety-six percent sure he’d never in his life encountered a more durable silence. Howitzer tanks and battering rams would have been woefully inadequate to shatter this one.
Then again, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t have to try to hold up a conversation while being assailed by mental images of Light lathering himself, basking in the hissing stream from the showerhead, deft hand sliding over smooth skin, his head tilted back, his eyelids fluttering, his lips slightly parted-
L fought to think of the most unarousing thing in the vast reaches of the universe. The idea of the task force’s prospective suspicions, while intimidating, only underscored the thrill of secrecy, so that was out. The surreptitious maneuvers that would prove necessary to maintain that secret would foster an inevitable sort of solidarity, and the thought of the building’s laundry staff’s whispers just tickled more. The evidence was proof. Yes, we did. Yes, he wanted to.
The full stop that completed that sentence, however, was sobering enough.
Plucking idly at the rivet that joined the cuff to the chain, L examined the toothbrushes in the stand on the counter. It was going to be a tough day.
It got a great deal tougher when they stepped out of the bedroom, Light still toweling at his hair, to find Quillish waiting.
L was struck with a sudden and potent wave of buyer’s remorse regarding the extremely precise security cameras he’d had installed throughout the central room. If the setup had gone according to his stipulations, they had afforded one Watari a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of all the fumbling flirtation, of every clumsy kiss that had played out over the coffee table the night before. It would require a truly impressive quantity of naïveté not to be able to infer the rest.
Quillish proffered the folder tucked under his arm, and L focused on it, knowing that direct eye contact would kill him instantaneously, his face warming again with incredible speed. At this rate, he could start using his forehead as a hotplate. That could be nice.
“Ryuzaki?” Quillish remarked, ostensibly unconcerned. “May I talk to you for a moment?”
No, L thought frantically. You most certainly may not.
“Of course,” he mumbled.
Light smiled, slightly bashfully. It was an utterly adorable expression.
“I’ll stand in the corner and put my hands over my ears,” he offered. It sounded facetious, but all three of them were quite aware that it was the closest thing available to actual privacy.
“Thank you, Light-kun,” L murmured, feeling sicker now than he had when he’d first awoken.
When Light was standing safely at the length of the chain, index fingers in his ears, his wet hair dripping dark spots onto the collar of his shirt, Quillish Wammy turned to L.
“Did you?” he inquired, both of them understanding what the deliberate ambiguity indicated.
L considered his choices. They appeared to be Option A: Lie, be caught immediately, and suffer through a lecture; Option B: Equivocate, be understood immediately, and suffer through a lecture; and Option C: Admit it, be believed immediately, and suffer through (shockingly enough) a lecture.
Things did not look good for our hero. There was, for once, a hundred-percent probability of something, and that was that L was not going to get out of his unscathed.
Or at least un-lectured.
“Hm,” L said.
It wasn’t much, but his options, as he had established, were rather limited and lecture-filled.
Quillish winced. “Did you at least use protection?” he prompted.
L placed both hands over his face and arranged them to satisfaction. “I did not exactly plan to get extremely drunk, abandon the remotest semblance of inhibitions, and leap into bed with my closest colleague, Watari-san,” he replied, not without difficulty.
“So you didn’t,” Quillish concluded.
“I don’t even know how such things work, but for the basic conceptual principle-” His face was going to ignite his palms any second now. Auto-cremation. It would be all the rage.
“So you didn’t,” Quillish repeated.
Quillish looked at Light, who was humming to himself a little. His shirt was sticking to the small of his back. L wanted to dip him in frosting, tuck a cool slice of strawberry between those warm lips-
“L,” Quillish said quietly, “I don’t want to see him hurt you.”
L gave him an aspartame smile. “I doubt he’ll bother,” he replied.
Comprehension sparked in Quillish’s preternaturally perceptive eyes, and all the accusation melted from them.
“Like that, then?” he asked, softly now.
L shrugged. “I don’t blame him.”
Quillish frowned. “Perhaps you should.” Before L could respond, he raised a preemptive hand. “I’ll bring cake,” he promised.
Finally, things were looking up.
[Chapter IV] [Chapter V]