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L tucks himself in against Light's side, and Light spares him a glance. Oh, good, he's just here because he's bored this time.
"What did that one do?" L asks, with the tone that means he thinks Light is being supremely boring right now.
"He took his little sister to the pool and drowned her in front of her friends."
"Wow," L says. Still bored. Light is a better person than he is. "And this one?"
"Embezzled funds from a charity. And lured the homeless into his house to rape them. Allegedly."
"Hm. Not your usual fare."
Light sets his pen down with a snap against the paper and looks at L.
"You know I don't eat them, right?"
"You taste their lives and then swallow them whole," L disagrees.
"You're annoying," Light tells him-- something he could never possibly say to Misa without a tantrum. Thank god she's dead.
"Doesn't it get tedious, Light?"
L still uses his name like it's a weapon. Like it would be any use to him if he had one. He can't kill Light, not anymore.
"I'm not letting you write again."
He's glad Misa died, but who knows who else L would write down?
"You don't want me to kill your enemies for you?" L croons, hand sliding up Light's spine, and because L is powerless, Light doesn't have to shove him away. He just rolls his eyes and tells him,
"Eat your cake."
L grumbles, something about Light being no fun anymore.
"This isn't supposed to be fun," Light snaps.
"Well no wonder you're so uptight, Light," L says, hand on the back of his neck now, gripping. Light finds his shoulders relaxing. "Come and see a movie with me."
Light pictures L in a theatre with his feet up on his seat and chuckles.
"You're funny," he tells L.
"You're not going to ask what movie?"
"I'm busy," he reminds L.
"Someone made a Kira documentary."
Well. That does change things, doesn't it.
"Why didn't I hear about this? Before it came out?"
"I didn't think you'd be interested," L says, admitting to treason.
"You and your engineering," Light scoffs. Yes, he's been able to write ten times as many names since he put L in charge of his news feeds. But sometimes he wonders if the cost is worth it. L's heart beats at Light's convenience; he could put a stop to this at any time.
"Me and my doing half your job for you, yes," L agrees, checking a watch that isn't there and then lifting Light's hand to check his. "It's on in two minutes, by the way."
Light sighs.
"What channel?"
"You're going to watch it here?"
"Why not?" Light asks.
"Wow. Maybe because you have a flatscreen TV in the other room."
"I have criminals to kill, Ryuzaki."
"You never use my name."
"L."
L's fingers twitch on his neck and Light's lips twitch into a smirk.
L turns Light's face to look at him with a freezing cold hand, and Light narrows his eyes.
"Come to the other room," L says, "Trust me."
Light sighs, and stands from the bench, stretching with a twist of his torso in either direction. L is looking.
He closes the notebook and hands it to L to put away; L sighs and locks it into the drawer.
On the couch, L tucks his legs up and leans into Light. It's annoying, all the contact L imposes, but what's more annoying is that Light doesn't always notice it, doesn't always find it objectionable. Sometimes, L slips in between his arm and his torso and Light holds him more securely without thinking.
This is one of those times. Light slips an arm around L's shoulders to tug him in closer.
The documentary is bland and supportive enough that Light begins to suspect an ulterior motive. This is confirmed when L unfurls his arms from where they're held against his chest and puts a hand down flat on Light's thigh.
"You're such a pest," Light spits, as if pest is a curse word or a slur.
L takes this as permission, because it is. He unzips Light's slacks and sticks his hand in ungracefully. Light swallows, wondering how many more times he'll put up with this indignity before he kills L.
The cold hand finds him and his breath comes out as a near-silent gasp.
"Shh," L says anyway. Light's fingers dig into the couch cushion and he wants to kill L himself, with his hands and not the death note. He isn't sure he could; L doesn't seem to sleep and isn't exactly what one would call an easy target. "Watch."
So Light watches. It's honestly vapid; they're interviewing people about the tenfold increase in justice and L grips him and strokes, clumsy. Light hates that it's enough for him, hates the way his toes curl and his eyes half-close and his hips push closer to L's hand. Hates the way L laughs, throaty and satisfied.
He grits his teeth as L makes him come.
"You're quick," L sighs. "I thought having your ego jerked off simultaneously might do it."
"Do you think of yourself as a better person than me?" Light snaps, and he's overplayed his hand, passed L a knife.
"I don't think of myself," L says, "anymore."
Light was expecting an attack. But isn't this still an attack, in a way? Confronting Light with what he's done to him-- as if Light cares. He has his enemy under his boot, cradled like a field mouse, trembling in cupped hands, too petrified to bite.
He lifts his hand from its grip on L's shoulder to pet through his hair, and L shudders.
"Hm. Maybe you should talk to someone about that."
"I am. Right now."
Light leans in, kisses him on the cheek, turns his face to kiss him on the mouth, show L who he belongs to.
"You don't need it anyway," he tells L, staring into those sky-dark eyes, and L blinks them, and then slips off the couch out of his grip.
He pushes Light's legs open and cleans him up with his mouth.
"You're strange," Light tells him through a gasp.
"It's something to do," L says. "You should eat more fruit."
L hands him a segment of an orange and Light stares.
"Your diet lacks essential nutrients," L says.
Light looks down at the cake and back up at L.
"I don't need it anyway," L says, poking the orange against the side of Light's mouth, and Light takes it from his fingers and bites into it. It bursts open into a winter sky. He chews. Swallows. L watches the ripple of his throat.
He holds out another orange slice.