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L can say without an ounce of hesitance, that he has genuinely never been annoyed with your presence before; a compliment he cannot confidently bestow upon anyone else...say for possibly Watari (although there have been moments where the elder gentleman had toed the line).
The sleuth is well aware he has a tendency to put others off; he isn't affable, can easily lose interest in the chasm between mentalities, and is self-aware enough to recognize: putting blame on lack of intelligence is just another ticked box on why he simply cannot partake in camaraderie.
But it's different with you—a simple explanation for an affinity L can never seem to effectively encapsulate. You're witty and smart, brutally honest and passionate. L trusts you; has found solace in you by doing the unthinkable and sought you out for your company alone, and thus far you've done an incredible job maintaining your unbothersome presence...until now.
Truth be told, he was expecting some form of retaliation on your part. Analyzing human behavior is a key component in detective work after all, but he must admit...desire is not among his strong suits.
"Are you aware that it's been four days since you've left this room?" It's a sweet purr with an edge of accusation; slicing through the silence, jolting him out of his thoughts by it's close proximity—and, where it came from.
L is caught by the sharpness of it, but more so, the fact that you are nestled underneath the desk, glimmering eyes peering up at him impishly.
He'd watched you moments prior, deftly delivering a fresh tray of coffee and sugar before disappearing beyond the plane of his vision, but he was drawn back into his current task and, admittedly, forgot that you were there.
The way your fingers dance along the loose fabric of his jeans, light pressure against his shins, tells him you're also aware he's forgotten—but not just this instance. No, he's forgotten the last four days, and it seems you've grown tired of waiting.
"Yes, I am aware. You're not asking me an obvious question to hear an obvious answer, are you?" L reaches forward, plucks a single sugar cube from the ornate bowl and pops it into his mouth, averting his attention back to the monitor. "You're feeling neglected, I assume."
Striking your tongue against your teeth, your hands smooth down the insides of his thighs, venturing with light pressure that eases his legs apart. L tenses when your fingers dance over the crotch of his jeans, flicking the fly of his zipper with a playfulness that contradicts your tone;
"what a surprise; worlds greatest detective needs solid evidence to discern that his girlfriend is horny."
"I'll admit, deducing sexual desires isn't my forte." He murmurs, "I'm well aware I've been neglecting you, although we've established the importance of my work—"
"Yes, yes—'the pursuit of justice is paramount'," you recite, shuffling in closer until you can rest your temple against the inside of his knee, drawing his attention downwards, "you've got so much passion for your work, L...how's about sharing a piece of it with me?"
Gazing up at him with a coy little smirk, L returns the look with a vacancy that already answers your question. "Forty-eight hours. That's my estimate on the remaining time this case will take to solve."
Two days feels like an eternity from now, and you're smart enough to know he's high-balling the time, crafting the illusion that once he does finish this case—earlier than expected—you'll see it as his own form of desperation: finishing a case early because he simply 'couldn't deny you anymore'. It's that subtle, benign brand of manipulation that worked on you in the beginning, but now you're fluent in his mentality—and unwilling to wait.
You play with the fly listlessly, your other hand daring to glide directly between his legs, pressing your palm against his length through the denim. His twitches at the contact, and as you glance up at him through your lashes, you can see him swallow thickly, the pronounced shadow of his Adam's apple bobbing.
"You've bragged to me about your ability to multitask on an almost inhuman level, do you remember?" You softly ask, smoothly unzipping his pants, letting your other hand rut casually against his steadily hardening cock.
"I don't recall bragging, no. I've stated facts, but never bragged." There's an airy quality to his voice now, giving him away, "but yes, I am capable of extreme multitasking."
"Extreme multitasking? Are you implying something, L?" Mischief laced in your tone, you bite against the smile that tugs on your lips.
"It seems the one with the implications is you." He counters quick, his piercing gaze flicking downwards to square with yours, stoic still as you pop the button on his jeans, "if you're going to distract me from my work, please do so without teasing."
"What kind of distraction would I be, if I didn't tease you?" You sing-song, smoothing your palm up to join the other and giving a coaxing tug on his jeans, spurring him to lower his legs so you can nestle in closer.
"A pleasant distraction." He breathes, relenting as he lifts his hips just enough to shuck the layers down mid-thigh, his cock springing forward, stiff and flushed pink at the tip. Like he's trying to divert attention to the fact that he is clearly interested, he tacks on, "you've always searched for satisfaction beyond the physical."
Another fact, shuddered into the silence of the room as you wrap your fingers around his length.
Quirking your head slightly, "you act like you don't love it...if I recall correctly, you told me you enjoyed when I tease you."
Working his cock with a steady pump of your fist, you lean in close enough that your breath ghosts the tip of him, already leaking beads of pearlescent precum.
"Under proper circumstances, I do." He grits out, "indulging your need for mental dominance is not something I'm particularly keen on, at the moment."
You raise your brows, "Oh? It's me who has a need for mental dominance?" As though emphasizing, you tighten your grip on the upward stroke, twist your wrist to wring out a satisfying, choked-up sigh from him. "Would you rather I say nothing at all?"
"If you would like my honest answer, I'd rather you put your mouth to use, elsewhere." His inflection is a twist of sarcasm and poorly constructed indifference—and his way of asking for more.
A pulse of arousal thrums between your thighs, makes you rub your knees together as you shift, "is a proper admission out of the question?" You purr, feeling self-satisfied at the tremor that shakes him when you lick a brazen stripe from the base of him, to the head.
Pressing a single kiss against the ruddy tip, you peer up at him once more, finding him staring intently at the monitor, knuckles white as he grips the armrests of his chair. It's a shoddy attempt at feigning disinterest, but an attempt nonetheless—and that just won't do.
It's with a bit of good-natured malice that you take him in your mouth, lave your tongue over the tip twice over before letting him slip towards the back of your throat all in one seamless motion. The sharp gasp L gives is gratifying, your attention locked onto his face as you watch the way he slowly falls apart.
Hollowing your cheeks, sucking him lewdly on the drawback, you breathe through your nose and sink back down, fighting the innate urge to gag on his thick cock as you do. L's tense expression whittles down with the heat in his face, his wide eyes slinking to that lust-fogged, half-mast gaze you'd been itching to see for the past week.
He sighs your name, pries his hands from the armrests and gently takes your head between them, slender fingers threading through your hair, "you're...incorrigible."
Humming in response, reveling in the shiver that rattles him, you let one of your hands dip down between your legs, under the thin fabric of your skirt to press blindly against the dampened gusset of your underwear. The way L's gaze fixates on yours, softened with budding desire as he pants into the still air makes you burn with need.
The pressure isn't nearly enough, you need so much more; 'feeling neglected' doesn't touch the surface—you've been starved of him. The heady taste of him on your tongue is bitter and satisfying, but the throb between your legs is aching with need.
Squeezing the base of his cock, you pull back from a particularly deep down-take with a breathy gasp, feeling slick web between your lips, knowing your face is heated and wanton, hoping it has the desired effect. L shudders, absently bucks his hips like he's following the wet, hot chasm of your mouth, letting slip a small groan that tells you it most definitely did.
"Do I have your undivided attention now, L?" Keeping yourself close enough to press a lingering kiss against the head of his cock for emphasis, you stroke him lazily.
L nods his head, stuttering out a beautifully breathy "yes," but he wouldn't be the man you love if he didn't attempt some semblance of ego-damage-control. "Your...tactics leave no room for ignorance."
"Is that so?" You tease him, slide your hand up his shaft to press your thumb against the hyper-sensitive nerves below the head, giving a little lick that makes him visibly jolt. "Perhaps I should switch tactics then...wouldn't want you to lose focus, would we?"
"I think we've well and truly passed that threshold." He grits out, tightening his fingers in your hair as you start rubbing your thumb against him. "I...I suppose I could take a break, for a few minutes."
You can hear the scuff of his toes digging into the carpet, feel the way his thighs tense with your elbows resting above his knees; but most of all, there is a blooming pride in your chest—you've successfully seduced and distracted the worlds greatest detective, and now it's time to revel in the spoils.
"A couple minutes?" You query, letting your touch slip away from him as you slink out from under the desk.
L's breath is shallow against your mouth as you level your face with his, wriggle yourself onto his lap with your knees straddling his waist, his hard cock pressed against the dampened fabric of your panties. You give a fluid roll of your waist, grinding yourself against him as you bury your fingers in his thick hair.
"Surely the renowned detective L is deserving of more than a couple minutes," a gentle, neat little tug has his head angled back, the ivory column of his throat exposed as he gazes at you through the slits of his lidded eyes, "don't you think?"
"Deserving and desiring are two separate things." He exhales, his long fingers dig into the crescents of your hips, "I would argue I'm deserving of nothing of the sort."
"Says you. Luckily, I disagree." Dipping down, nuzzling your face beneath his sharp jaw, you slowly suck a bruise onto his porcelain skin, "besides...I think I'm deserving of this—" a gentle bite on the drawback makes him inhale sharply, one hand flying from your hip to tangle in your hair, bucking upwards absently.
"Then please, take what you deserve." L breathes out, the desperate cadence in his tone making goosebumps stipple your skin.
You've got him where you want him; his composure broken down enough he's on the verge of pleading—but there's just one more thing.
He's not wrong; you do search for satisfaction beyond the physical.
"What is it I deserve, exactly?" You lave your tongue along the tendon of his throat, follow it up to take his earlobe between your teeth. L shudders, tugging on your hip as he ruts into you.
"At this rate...an accolade for patience." He's still grasping onto that inherent need to remain the one in charge, to be right, calling you out on your own wicked desires.
"Deflection." You murmur against him, sucking below his ear, rolling your hips forward enough that you're grinding along the length of him, slick seeping through your panties.
"Premeditated." He counters, slightly strangled. "You never wear skirts."
"Of course. Convenience makes seduction easier."
Against the heated tension in the air, L chuckles breathily, "absolutely...you've got me where you want me, haven't you?"
Drawing back, gliding your tongue along your lower lip, you square your gaze with his, revel in the heat on his cheeks, the glassy, distant look in his eyes.
"Not quite."
A brevity of silence, an unspoken debate, when L moves his hand from your hair to your cheek, cradling your jaw. "You are deserving of attention...and affection. The same might not be said of me, being the one who's failed to give that to you—"
"—but desire and deserving are two separate things." You finish for him, mirror the gentle smile that he looks at you with, before closing the sparse distance between your mouths with a heated kiss.
"Yes," he agrees with a muffled hum, deftly working a hand downwards, eagerly slipping his fingers under the narrow strip of fabric, tugging it aside as you raise your hips. "they certainly are."
It's rushed; patience and teasing cast aside as you wrap an arm around the back of his neck, lean forward with your mouth against his temple, one hand clutching the armrest as the head of his cock catches on your slick hole. You don't hesitate to roll back onto him, take him in with one swift, searing glide until his cock is entirely sheathed within you, your thighs pressed flush against his angular hips.
L sighs sharply, your name whispered on the tail end of it, the sound lost beneath the debauched, satisfied moan you give.
"Oh...fuck, L." You whine, curl your fingers into the hair on the back of his head, "I've missed you." With a slight shift of your hips, the thickness of him felt everywhere, you start an indigent bounce of your waist, losing yourself in the way he fills you so perfectly.
L has no witty comeback this time; his mouth is open, lips against your throat as you press your cheek against the crown of his head, eyes screwed shut, blindly chasing pleasure.
Wrapping his arms around your waist, secure and deceivingly strong, L starts pushing and pulling you, coaxing you into a desperate pace that shatters the once still silence of the room; the obscene smack of skin, the audible slick of your arousal, the low, throaty moans he gives against your throat—he's missed this too, and however distant he is, for you he will come closer;
"I've...m-missed you, too."
His admission sparks something within you, makes your stomach tighten, your silken walls clench around him with a responding whimper. You pull on his hair, detach his mouth from your neck where he's been sucking mottles of purple, and quickly capture him in a messy kiss.
L reacts quick; licking past your teeth, shifting an arm high enough that he can tenderly grip the nape of your neck, bucking his hips up to the offbeat of yours, meeting you at the halfway point with enough force it rattles your spine.
It's fast and a touch on the rough side, your position on top him letting his cock drive so deep it's edging painful, but that sharpness is doing everything to whittle you down, your orgasm rapidly approaching; imminent, unstoppable.
"L...I-I'm...oh God, I'm g-going to c-cum—!"
Your voice pitches to an airy squeal, faces so close you can't look anywhere but the endless depths of his blown pupils—close enough L can see the crystalline wet of tears on your eyelashes.
He doesn't look away; he keeps you locked in that unflinching stare, groaning brokenly against your mouth, tasting of lust, "do it—I want...want to feel you."
Pleasure knots in your gut, tense and taut, and it's the pitched gravel in his voice that unravels it all at once; your thighs stiffen, spine innately arching enough that your head drops back, ecstasy arcing through your nerves like electricity—you cum on his cock with a cry of his name, pull on his hair fiercely to drag him into you.
His mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing your skin as he grits out a stuttering groan. You're so tight around him, sucking him in, suffocating him; his fingers dig into your body subconsciously, yanking you down as you writhe in pleasure.
The way he pushes and pulls you is steeped in baser desire, carnal in a way that juxtaposes everything he is—drunk on lust, intoxicated with your body, L thrusts up into you unrelentingly, stretching out your orgasm until it feels like a perpetual stupor. Clinging to him, barely keeping your head above the surface, his voice is heard distantly, muddled in the fog.
"I'm...going to—w-where—" all his fine verbosity shatters on his tongue, reduced to a breathless, stuttering, groaning jumble of words; but your name, moaned out with urgency, is concise enough.
"Inside—" you gasp, "cum inside me, L—" gathering your bearings just enough to pull his hair once more, you put distance between you two, force him to look at you.
Through ragged breath, body tingling with residual waves of your orgasm, aching still but moving in time to his increasingly desperate thrusts, you brush your hand through his hair, draw it back from his eyes.
"Feels so good, L...you feel so good—" you praise him, feel your heart flutter in your chest and your stomach swoop at the high moan he gives in reply—but it's the ineloquent, sharp swear of "fuck" he grits out that takes you most.
You inhale sharply, grip his hair and squeeze around his cock, "oh my god," the fact that you're capable of reducing him to this, capable of rendering him to a thoughtless, lust-mad iteration of himself...it's enough to make you cum all over again—and you do.
It's weaker than the first, but it still makes your entire body sing with euphoria, rocking against him fervently, grinding your clit against his hard pelvis. The friction breaks him, has his hips buck up jerkily, falling into his release with a reedy moan.
He's always been inclined to hide his face when this moment comes; burrowing into the hollow of your throat, nestling between your shoulder blades, flinging an arm over his eyes—not this time. With a firm hold of his hair you tether him in place, bear witness to the way he comes undone;
and it is beautiful: his lips are parted, letting his noises fill the space between you; the acute awareness in his eyes replaced with a glossed over, delirious type of distance that only comes in these moments—when you're here to distract him.
His expression is twisted with a look more akin to agony than anything, lost in it as he cums deep inside you. You drink it in, stare into his eyes and ride out the last of your orgasm as his movements steadily slow, dissolving into a weak, trembling roll of his hips.
L's eyes, which had remained open through the intensity of the moment, slowly close. He gives a steadying exhale, loosens his grip on your body, and you don't stop the breathy giggle that bubbles up in your throat.
Brushing back his hair, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his sweat dampened forehead, "thank you, L."
"I feel as though I should be thanking you." He mutters, the exhaustion heard in his voice, "I didn't realize how much I needed this."
"Thank me for being annoying? How unlike you." Teasing, you stroke his hair absently, admire his relaxed disposition; he looks as though he might fall asleep any moment.
You certainly wouldn't mind falling asleep either; his softening length still inside you, bodies slick with sweat, content to be a mess together—
"I've never found you annoying," he shifts, looks up at you with a sincerity that makes you blush;
"a pleasant distraction is rather fitting."