Work Text:
Although the elevator chime sounded identical to every other elevator chime, L knew that it was different.
It had rung in the same, monotonous decibel for a week, loading and unloading suit and pencil skirt-clad bodies with indistinguishable faces lacking noses and eyes and mouths.
But this ding was glorious. Beyond the glowing blue arrow and sliding of heavy elevator doors was the elegant sound of a plucking harp. A fat cherub singing opera above his head. Angels everywhere, alignment in every fractured corner of Japan, world peace.
After a week-long vacation, Light Yagami was back at work.
The office, which usually was soundtracked by the tapping of keyboards and shuffling of rolling chairs, began to chirp with a chorus of “welcome back”, “how was Hawaii?”, “you look dark”.
L remained in his cubicle, staring and saying nothing. Light did look wonderfully dark with his golden skin sprouting beneath his collar, a red stripe running along his cheekbones and the arch of his nose, his hair holding new streaks of honey blonde. It looked softer, his skin glowier, glitter in his eyes. All of his body seemed to carry a brilliant glimmering hue around it that stood out so vibrantly from the rest of the grey building and lackluster employees in it.
He felt the radiation all the way to the cubicle beside him, when Light set down his bag and turned to L.
The sun disguising itself in a human body, L thought, blinded, flesh-clad, here, in this high-rise. “I was sure one of the volcanos was going to erupt while you were standing on it,” is what L said instead, and felt a magnificent melting feeling in his chest at the sound of Light’s laugh.
“I’d say I got lucky, but the sun did her worst,” Light glanced down at his hands, his red, burnt knuckles.
L looked at his own hand resting on the computer mouse in a strange, spidery way, and could follow his blue veins as if they were tattooed. He eased it casually into his pocket.
“Did you go snorkeling?” he asked.
“I did,” Light answered.
“Zip-lining?”
“That too.”
“Surfing?”
“Do I look like I surf?”
“You don’t look like you snorkel.”
“When in Rome,” Light grinned and began unloading his fine leather bag. Notebooks, his laptop, things he had planned to check in on while he was away but never did. Folders containing stapled packs of paper and a performative literary fiction paperback “just in case”.
“Seriously?” The words came out of L’s mouth before he thought better of it when Light pulled out a framed photo and propped it in the corner of his desk. L had just made peace with the old photo, and now this. The feeling that came over him started as a lump in his throat and traveled down into his guts to twist them with dejection. All of his elation subsided and was replaced with something ugly.
Light turned back to look at him with annoyance, reading his mind and disliking it.
He said nothing, but the way he reached out and straightened the photo, tilting it more so in L’s direction, reminded L of Light’s occasionally cruel nature. L lets it happen because it is a facet of Light, just as much as his hair color and Kanto dialect, and he cares deeply for it, but he hates the picture and despises that it has been allowed into this space. Their shared, sacred space.
It’s not against company rules to have personal photos at my station, Light would say if he felt like milking it.
But next to me? L would respond and Light would pretend not to hear.
It had been exceptionally difficult for L to find the motivation to wake up to his alarm clock a week ago. Dressing and coming to work was a chore when he knew he’d be clocking in to an empty desk beside him, and with every passing day, it got more and more impossible to do anything except drag his mouse from one corner of the screen to the other, watching the monitor turn blue then grey again. Lunch was eaten alone and his feet felt like bricks on his way back and forth to the train.
He is angry with Light, and yet, he can’t quite find it in himself to hold the emotion for too long because at least he is here, back at his desk, back in L’s life.
And so he let it go.
“Cute picture,” is what he muttered under his breath when he turned back to his computer screen, a blue square reflected in his irises, but remained hyper focused on every shuffling sound of the body beside him. He will play nice if he must.
_______
“See that?” Light motioned to L’s slice of cake that he already has a mouthful of, “It’s firm and colorful, but is it sweet?”
The office cafeteria was noisy. The speakers played soothing piano music but the sound of clinking silverware and fizzing sodas fought for ear space through the chatter. At a table across the room, a woman laughed loudly, shrill, annoying. L watched the subtle twitch of Light’s nostrils. They were sitting at their usual table, surrounded by the smell of grease and fermented vegetables.
L looked down at his plate and the ripe strawberry sitting on top of the whipped frosting. “It looks pretty sweet.”
“Not as sweet as Hawaiian fruit,” Light said, fiddling with an apple in his hand, never biting. L will stuff his face with sugar and watch Light toss out the perfectly intact apple when lunch is finished, as is routine.
“You sound pompous,” L commented.
“Knowledgeable and admirable are better words.”
“Admirable?” L made a point of plucking the strawberry from the frosting and biting into half of it. It was sweet, just as he’d predicted. “For going on vacation?”
He ran his tongue over a seed lodged in his molars.
“Not all of us want to work our lives away, smartass,” Light argued, “And they’re going to fire you soon anyway if you don’t do something about your hair. How many violations are you at now?”
L was acutely aware of the way his hair was pointing straight up in the back, fried at the ends like he’d been freshly electrocuted, and felt a bit of drying chocolate on the corner of his mouth. “If they let me go, the entire company burns down. They don’t care about my hair.”
“Your ass is glued to the chair anyway. I don’t think they could get rid of you even with a pink slip,” Light’s eyes deviated, wandering around the room as propped his elbow, resting the apple against his cheek.
The skin there and the apple were a similar shade of sunburnt.
Light was completely correct because as many times as L has had to tolerate an empty desk beside him, there has never been a day where Light was in the office and not L. He’d come to work with the flu, hungover, and was always careful to schedule his appointments before or after working hours. He hadn’t been on vacation in years. He blames it on his work load and expensive rent, but he has two pairs of spare outfits that aren’t suits, an expired passport, and nowhere to go.
“We can’t all take off for a week to sunbathe in Hawaii, Yagami,” L said, and to match Light’s cruelty, he added, ”Some of us have rent that isn’t paid for by our daddies.” He finished the strawberry, dragged it off the end of the fork like a fishhook lodged in his lip, and chewed.
Light’s neck reared a little. “Ouch.”
He’d missed Light dearly.
_______
Back at his desk, L’s fingers moved at an incredible speed on his keyboard when a crumbled up sticky note hit one of his knuckles.
“Quit,” L said once it had fallen to the floor and reached down to throw it back at Light, who quickly blocked it with his arm.
A moment later, it hit the side of L’s head and into his lap. He threw it back, but Light caught it effortlessly in his fist.
“Light, I’m trying to work. Come on,” L said, completely disingenuous, and actually quite enjoying the return to their usual routine.
The truth was that neither of them ever did too much work anyway. They always finished quite quickly and spent the rest of the day pretending to type. Besides Light and lunch, the best part of L’s day is usually the five minutes he gets to sneak in a game of solitaire.
The paper bounced off of his stapler once more before Light stood up from his chair and L turned, watching it swivel, empty, and Light’s body head towards his desk. Light reached over him for the stray paper and reached for L’s hand, prying it open. He took the abused post it note and set it right in the middle of his pale palm.
“You are dense,” Light said before walking off, out of the cubicle area.
L knew what was written on the post it note already, but he still watched Light disappear around the corner before carefully unraveling it. He’d quite enjoyed feeling the paper pelt against him here and there, and he would have ignored it five more times before giving in if it meant getting under Light’s skin.
In Light’s perfectly neat handwriting in crisp black ink, it read Bathroom?
L ripped it up into a thousand little neon pieces and stood.
_______
The bathroom was cold and dotted L’s skin with goosebumps the moment he stepped into it. The metal of the door lock was colder, icy, under his fingertips as he turned it, listened to it click, and wet his lips.
Light stood at the sink and L wondered how long he’d been standing here pruning his fingers just to play the part of innocence.
“Are you done yet?” L asked, his footsteps echoing in the hollow room until he stood behind Light.
“I’m washing my hands,” he said.
Reasonable if he was anyone else.
L’s hand settled on Light’s waist and traveled to the buttons of his shirt, slotting his fingers between two of them to feel underneath the fabric. “You’re a poser, that's what you are.” His skin was hot, sunburnt, and red.
Light turned in L’s arms and didn’t bother drying his hands. Instead, he reached up to press his wet palms to L’s face, tugging him down until their lips smushed together and his back was flush against the sink. Rivulets ran down L’s pale cheek and along the thin span of Light’s arms until it soaked his shirt sleeves.
“Missed me?” Light mumbled against his mouth, the bones of their teeth bumping.
Yes. Oh god, yes.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
L’s hands traveled down to fumble with Light’s belt, and quickly their gentle kissing turned heavy with tongues pushing into one another’s mouths. L got Light’s belt and trousers undone, pulling them down until he heard the buckle clatter on the floor. He did the same with his own, letting Light tug on the black tie around his throat with his damp hands and gifted fingers.
L was turning Light around again before he fully managed to unfasten L’s tie. It sat around his neck in a lazy, lop-sided necklace that Light stared at in the mirror.
His stomach was pressed against the sink, L’s body firm behind him, and they both had a wonderful pink color on their faces and large, dilated pupils staring back at one another.
“I didn’t like that stunt you pulled at lunch,” Light commented.
L shuffled his boxers down and spit into his palm, and he knew Light expected it to hurt because there’s a sharp inhale from him when L began to slowly ease in. He’d prepared himself already, L noted when the tip was in, but Light was still leaning over the sink, forehead pressed against his arm, and biting at the inside of his cheek. There was an ache—purposeful, wonderful—and L was fully inside of him.
“Like you didn’t know what you were doing at your desk, putting up that picture to piss me off,” L said from behind, waiting a quick, rapid second before he started to move his hips.
A weak grunt from Light beneath him warmed his stomach.
“It means nothing,” Light breathed, guilty.
“It’s framed,” L said and thrusted particularly rough, which jolted Light and bumped his beautiful golden head against the mirror, followed by a soft ah. L can be mean, too. He looked at himself, his pale skin stark against his black hair, his disheveled white collar against the column of his skinny throat. His hands were ivory against Light’s hips, nails digging into the soft skin there, and he couldn’t help but feel lucky. So, so lucky.
Pleasure inhabits this bathroom, hangs loosely around L’s neck, swarms in the pit of his stomach, colors Light’s face in the mirror. Pretty, L thought, the way sweat is collecting on his forehead, clinging his hair to the skin. His closed eyes, eyelashes against his cheek, his parted mouth.
“So what?” Light breathed. L’s hand reached out before he even thought much of it.
He slapped Light hard. The palm of his hand made a loud clapping sound as it connected with the side of his face, and L relished in the way Light’s body jolted with the hit, the sting in his own palm, and adored the smile that comes onto Light’s face followed by a blissed-out, breathy laugh. It makes his cock throb inside of Light, moving faster, fucking harder.
I’ve missed this, he knows Light is thinking because he thinks it too, Just like that.
The soft sounds of Light’s quiet, half-hearted suppressed whines and their skin slapping together is wonderful and L can’t help that he just wants to touch. Squeeze, slap, hurt, pull.
A handful of auburn hair found its way into his fist and he tugged, watching the ridges of Light’s bony throat appear to him in the mirror and his own terrible head dip down to taste it.
They were still very much on the clock. L was sure his phone was ringing at his desk and an email with a red “urgent” flag was waiting for him, but he couldn’t be bothered. That all felt very fake now, this moment so real.
Light’s hard cock was squished and sandwiched between his body and the sink, bright red and angry, and leaked while Light desperately humped against the granite. A small pool of precum ran alongside the grout while L kissed at Light’s neck.
He wanted to bite or tug at his silk tie until there’s a pink ring around his throat, but he doesn’t. He just bruised Light’s scalp instead, where no one can see.
“That hurts, you bastard,” Light hissed when L dug his fingernails into his scalp.
“You can take it,” L retorted against his shoulder and thrust harder. A loud, sharp cry came from Light and if someone were to walk by now, they’d be in for it, but L could never find it in himself to care when they are like this. He thought the whole building could burn down around them, and ashes in his throat, it still wouldn’t be enough to pry him from Light.
He could tell Light was close by the way his moans went up another octave. His cock was twitching against the sink and he swallowed. L watched the spit travel from his teeth to his chest.
L granted him the small mercy of letting go of his scalp so that he could focus properly on his own pleasure and the heat that growed in his stomach.
Light’s body slumped over, boneless without L’s support.
“Come on, look at me,” L encouraged, and Light listened, raising his head with a great amount of effort to meet L’s eyeline in the mirror. Light’s eyes were red-rimmed, glassy, and lidded, almost as wonderful to look at now as he will be later, at his desk, responding to emails while pretending he didn’t just get fucked in the shared staff bathroom.
For now, L watched Light tip over the edge.
He could see pleasure coming over his face, his hooded eyes struggling to stay focused on L instead of rolling back into his head, his body clenching around L’s cock inside of him. His knuckles tighten on the edge of the sink counter and the most pathetic, glorious whimper left his lips as his cock twitched and spurted onto the surface.
And there it was, the sun again, brilliant as ever.
Light’s body jolted a few times, twitched under L as he continued to hump against him, and then limp. He took a moment to collect himself before meeting L’s eyes again, and there was a twinkle there, a glimmer of something devious that appeared a moment after L felt the familiar tightening of his balls.
“Don’t cum yet,” Light said, and L already knew he would say something stupid, but he still laughed because although he praises the ground Light walks on, he doesn’t answer to him. “Wait—“
He gripped Light’s hips and gave one last strong, powerful thrust before quickly pulling out and beginning to jerk himself off against the square of Light’s back, aiming for the patch of skin where his shirt wasn’t laying, but not really caring if any of it managed to stain the white button down.
He came with the tip of his slick cock pressed against the dimples there. The sperm looks stark white and decorative against his glowing skin, collecting and beginning to run down his backside in thick rivulets.
“Seriously?” Light complained as L squeezed his cock in his fist, draining himself against Light’s back until he was done, “I was going to do something.”
“Like what?” L said.
He stepped back, taking a moment to admire Light still bent over the sink, pants at his ankles, cum pooled on the counter and against his back, his damp, sweaty hair.
“Well, I don’t know. Don’t worry about it, just—help me clean up,” Light huffed.
Always wanting more, never satisfied, L thought of Light.
Me too.
He grabbed a handful of tissue from the dispenser and started to wipe down Light’s back while Light cleaned off the counter.
They dressed separately, tugging on their pants and fastening their belts and trying their best to appear like they hadn’t just contaminated the men’s bathroom. L’s tie was still loosely around his neck when Light approached him to fix it.
“Here,” Light reached up to correct it, tugging until it sat snugly around his throat again and straightened out his collar over it and in L’s mind, he was framing Light right here in this moment, under the fluorescent lights, and putting this picture in the corner of his own desk, when he was all his.
I am gluttonous, selfish, and I want you all to myself, L’s brain repeated in a ceaseless mantra.
His hand came up to pat Light on the face a couple of times, fitting right where his hand had come down a while ago, and said “Let’s go,” and they did.
For the rest of the day, all L could think about was how Light’s back was probably still a little sticky and every time he stood or swiveled his chair, a dull ache reignited.
The sun was setting when they walked side by side to the elevator, standing squished together, briefcases and satchels in hand over their winter coats as they descended. Sometimes Light would go with other coworkers out to the bars, occasionally having dinner plans or errands he had to run, sometimes just going home. L never did any of that. His days consisted of work, minimal amounts of sleep, and little else.
“Going out?” L asked once they exited the building, his breath came out in puffs of cool air, wisps that moved and disappeared in the movement of people.
Light shook his head, “No, I’m going home. I’ve spent enough money in Hawaii.”
L nodded, knowing what home meant, and much preferring the idea of Light walking up and down grocery isles or taking up space on a barstool.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
L was unable to bend Light over again here in the middle of the busy street nor kiss him so passionately that it would convince the both of them to run off to Hawaii, so instead, he just raised his hand to give a friendly wave of farewell to Light, relished in his warm smile, and watched him walk off to catch his bus.
L thought of how he should start planning his own vacation soon, maybe somewhere green and plush, far away from Japan and Light Yagami.
Later that night, L went home, arranged himself a heavy plate of sweet food, and scrolled religiously through all of Light’s posted pictures from his trip. He was careful to like a casual amount of them despite the way he obsessively zooms in to examine new freckles and granules of sand sticking to wet skin.
Every so often, by nature of his stalking, he would come across a perfectly innocent photo of Light with his wife, and despite the wholesome smiles at dinner and matching flowers tucked behind their ears, the glistening diamond ring, her makeup smeared on his shirt sleeve, it felt more akin to walking through oncoming traffic than scrolling through vacation photos.
He settled on the very same picture that Light has freshly framed at his desk, the one where he is smiling into the camera and Misa is on his arm, pressing her red lips to his cheek, where both of them look perfectly golden and made for one another, and he scrolled right past because despite being inside of Light earlier that day, there will never be a similar photo of Light and L nor a real memory attached to it that exists outside of the office walls. The fantasy is a pleasure that Light is generous enough to extend to L, but cruel enough to remind him of its lasting impossibility.
Rarely will L allow guilt to creep into his bloodstream, but sometimes gluttony rears its ugly head, and L spends these nights staring at his dark ceiling, upset with himself for being so greedy. It helped, usually, to remind himself that Light is far worse than he is.
He can’t stop himself from indulging in Light, but Light indulges too, then goes home to his perfect wife, day in and day out. That is greed, L thought, at least I am not that.
The following morning, he wakes up alone in his overpriced apartment. He leaves his hairbrush untouched, makes a cup of coffee for one with enough sugar packets for five, puts on his slacks one leg at a time, and boards the bus to the office.