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“Ryuzaki. I need you to cum on my face.”
L pauses with an open mouth, forkful of cake resting over his tongue. He does not blink, closes his lips around the bite, and chews it slowly.
“Okay.”
“Wh—you’re not even going to ask me why?!”
He sets the fork down on his plate. “Is Light opposed to my cooperation?”
Light hates him. So much.
“The proteins in semen help with acne,” he says, patient, trying to keep the patronizing edge out of his voice. He’s not even really sure they do. But after staring at his face in the mirror for upwards of fifteen minutes each morning, he needs to try something. “None of the products from Watari are helping.”
“Ah, I see. You are upset that your skin is no longer smooth. You know, there is no scientific basis for what you are suggesting.”
No, there’s not. There’s people in the deep recesses of the internet that say it worked for them and Light is out of options. He has to try something.
L has acne scars across his cheeks and forehead, though the latter are usually covered by his hair. He clearly doesn’t care about his skin. Light does.
“I think, since it’s your fault, you should be willing to help me.”
Fifty days of confinement. Nearly two months. Light noticed the pimples after a week. He scrubbed his face meticulously, requested products, asked for a more varied diet—nothing. Nothing would help. Stress, it has to be. And now that he has a handcuff around his wrist, his cortisol has been elevated above baseline even while sleeping.
He’s going insane, he must be. His skin is bumpy and his shoulders ache even after stretching and all L does is watch. He sees it all.
He must be insane, to think this is the best solution. But it’s a last resort. He wouldn’t ask if anything else worked.
“I am perfectly willing to help. I do have to ask, why not just do it yourself?”
Light furrows his brow. “That’s gross.”
L puts fingers on his knees and a thumb on his lip and stares. “And it’s not if I’m the one ej—”
“God! If you don’t want to help, just say so. I’m done with this.”
“I said I would help. I would hate for Light to go even another second with acne marring his beautiful skin.”
Stupid, he’s fucking stupid, this is all fucking stupid.
“Great. Yeah. Alright. Let’s go, then.”
—
Not on the bed. That would be something. No, L stands leaning back against the couch in the lounge of their apartment-style rooms, hand on his dick, and Light kneels in front of him, impatient.
“Are you almost done?” he asks, clipped.
L’s thumb presses over his bottom lip. He’s barely made a sound since starting. He’s hard, so that’s promising, but after five minutes of watching him jack himself off, Light’s starting to get annoyed by the whole thing.
“No.”
At least he is hard, now. At first, Light was sitting on the couch, not looking, while L touched himself, until L tugged on the chain and said, “Light, I can’t do it without some visual aid.”
And maybe Light preened just a little at the idea that seeing him, even dotted with acne, was what L needed.
“Well,” Light says, scowling, “I’d like if you could hurry. I don’t want this to take all day.”
“Apologies. I will try harder so as not to waste Light’s time.”
“Like you even care,” Light mutters, “you’re depressed anyway. Kira certainly won’t mind you taking your time.”
His fingers are long, bony, with heavily chipped black nail polish. L said that he likes to think while painting his nails. He said Watari suggested it as a way to stop L biting on his fingers, but it didn’t really work, and now L just likes how it looks.
They’re moving fast over a cock with the occasional bead of clear liquid at the tip, before it's swiped away to aid in lubrication. Light watches it, somewhat fascinated by the sight. It’s odd. It’s not unattractive. L’s dick is something he’s caught glimpses of, in the shower, but never like this. It’s hard now, with a flushed head peeking out of foreskin that moves along with L’s hand. At his pelvis, where his cock becomes the rest of his body, there’s a mess of black hair, spreading up his stomach in a line and presumably trailing over his thighs as well. It would be thicker at the inner thighs, his groin, then would become sparser over the rest. Light can’t see it right now since L’s opted to keep his pants on, merely lowering them enough to free his cock.
“I don’t believe Kira would have anticipated a situation like this.”
“Shut up about Kira,” snaps Light. He glares at L’s face for a moment, makes eye contact. L’s eyes are half-lidded, staring down at him, and he lets out a little sigh.
“I am not the one who brought him up. Please continue looking at me, Light, that helps.”
He’s so fucking weird. Light purses his lips and complies. His hands rest on his thighs and his neck cranes back and there’s a cock a few inches from his face, making slick sounds as the hand on it moves, and L’s looking down at him like he’s a strawberry dipped in cream, about to be licked up, sucked on, eaten. Or a cherry stem, chewed and maneuvered between L’s tongue and teeth, tied into a knot and displayed.
Five more minutes go by.
Light’s had enough.
“Okay, stop. Stop.”
L slowly stills his hand, keeping it at his base, and blinks down at Light.
“Light no longer wishes for me to—”
Light puts a hand on L’s thigh, pulls down his foreskin with the other, and engulfs the head of his dick in his mouth.
“Oh,” L says, less of a moan than a genuine sound of dawning understanding. The groan rumbles out of him a second later, when Light tongues at the underside of the head. “Ah, Light. Mm.”
Shut up, Light wants to say, but his mouth is busy. He has to take matters into his own hands. Fine. Like the Kira case. L can’t get it done himself so it’s up to Light to make it happen.
Has he done this before? No. But it can’t be that hard. And anyway, he’s pretty sure even a bad blowjob could make a guy cum. As long as he doesn’t bite down or anything, this should be over in a matter of minutes.
L’s hand leaves the base of his cock and hovers at his side. He’s still staring down at Light. Well, good. Where else would he look? Light glares back up at him, weight heavy on his tongue, a bit salty but a bit sweet too. L better fucking pull out when he’s about to cum or there’s not going to have been a point to any of this. He’s so fucking entitled, Light bets he would love to stay in Light’s mouth, cum down his throat, make his prime suspect swallow him, keep him inside. He would fucking love that.
Now that he’s exposed the head of L’s dick, Light moves his hand to L’s other thigh. He keeps lips over his teeth, tongue flat and sweet, and bobs his head down, down, until L’s halfway in his mouth and making soft sounds above him. Light can’t keep his eyes on L anymore so he shuts them, tries to focus. He’s never gotten a blowjob but he imagines wet heat on his cock would feel good pretty much no matter what it was doing, so as long as he just keeps going, it should be fine. This is bound to make L finish. Of course his stupid fucking hand couldn’t get it done. Light should have offered this from the start. He’s the one who wants the cum, anyway, it’s only fair to be the one to draw it out. He’ll do the work and he’ll get the benefits. L is just someone who happens to be there. It doesn’t even matter that it’s him. Matsuda would work just as well.
Maybe. Light thinks about it for a moment and then shoves the idea away. He has L’s cock on his tongue, now. He ought to just focus on that.
He moves his tongue, he sucks, he pushes forward until L bumps against the entrance of his throat. L makes a soft sound. One of his hands brushes against Light’s cheek, his jaw, strokes over his hair. Light makes a frustrated sound and grabs the hand, planting it firmly on his head, then touches L’s thigh again—actually, he thinks, maybe this would help, and slides the hand up until it slips under L’s shirt and rests on his hipbone. It’s a stupid, prominent thing. It could cut Light if he’s not careful. L really needs to eat more. Or better. He’s always eating and yet he doesn’t weigh any more than Light. There’s something deeply wrong with him.
“Light,” L says, a breathy little thing. Light pictures his flushed cheeks and lip rolling between his teeth. “Mmm.”
The fingers finally thread their way into his hair. Then they tug, just a little, and Light feels the small sound that escapes his throat has nothing to do with anything about the present situation.
His chest feels hot. His face feels hot. His pants feel tight. What? That’s not—
But his noise makes L make a louder groan in response. The hand in his hair pushes him forward, trying to breach his throat. Light relaxes. It’s fine if L goes in there, he just better not finish in there. Whatever will help him cum is what needs to happen, because Light really cannot fucking deal with this acne anymore.
He got it in jail. He doesn’t want it. He’s never had acne like this before. And it’s L’s fault, so L has to fix it.
“Oh,” L moans, the head of his cock pushing into tightness, wetness. Light swallows around him and then L’s hips buck forward, his hand yanking Light down, and all of the sudden Light’s nose is buried in black hair and brushing the warm skin beyond it.
He’s dizzy for a moment. He has L’s entire cock in his mouth, in his throat. If he was Kira, this would be the perfect opportunity to bite it off.
It doesn’t make him bite down. It makes him moan. Fuck, why is he moaning? Why are his pants so fucking tight? He wants to shove a hand into them and touch himself but that’s stupid, this is stupid—
“Light—shit—”
Is he close? He better be fucking close, Light’s going to kill him if he isn’t close. He makes another little whimpering sound around L’s dick, hums, tries to give him vibrations, tries to do whatever will help. L swears another time, then drags Light’s head back and thrusts in deep again, again, and Light holds on and keeps his mouth open and tries to pretend like he’s not moaning.
“Oh, fuck, that’s good. That’s good, Light. I’m going to cum soon, you want it on your face?”
Yes, obviously! Fuck! Light tries to nod, tries to make all the affirmative sounds he can, tries to keep his hips still because they want to push forward and he can’t have that, that’s not the point of any of this. He’s twitching and he thinks his briefs have gotten wet but that’s really not what any of this is about.
Then L yanks him, yanks his hair and his hand finds his dick again and it sounds obscene, slick, wet, right in front of Light’s face, and dizzy Light keeps his mouth open, keeps his tongue presented, stupidly wanting some of it on his tongue, and his hips keep squirming, keep rocking into nothing.
“Do it,” he says breathlessly, hoarse, eyes closed and face relaxed and open, eyebrows lifted, tongue out. “Cum on m—”
Warm liquid hits his face, his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his tongue. It comes in multiple bursts, comes along with L’s moaning, fist in Light’s hair, holding his head steady, holding him exactly where L needs him. It coats him and starts to drip down the sides of his face and Light makes a high sound in his throat, hips twitching, pulsing, entire body tensing and then releasing. He pushes forward, can’t help the stuttering movements, feels completely overtaken, like something powerful and overworldly has decided to use his body as a vessel.
His face is wet. His underwear is wet. He’s lightheaded. His throat keeps making noises.
“There,” L grunts, rough, his hand releasing its hold on Light’s hair. “Are you going to rub it in?”
Oh, fuck, yeah, right. That’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s what the plan was.
All Light can do is nod, still shuddering, body still thundering. That’s never happened to him before. Frankly, Light was unaware it was possible. Nor did he expect the catalyst for discovering it to be the detective attempting to prove he’s a murderer orgasming onto his face at his request.
His shaky fingers come to his face, dab into the liquid, then smear it over his cheeks. He rubs it in on every bump, every mark, over his lips even though they’re smooth. He glazes himself in it. He basks in it.
L’s breath is shaky above him. Light hears fabric rustling, a zipper, a button. He feels absolutely mindless, covering himself in cum like a spa treatment. His thighs are settling their trembling.
“I hope,” L says, his voice struggling to return to its monotone drawl, “that was satisfactory. When do you expect to see results?”
“Hm?” Light blinks his eyes open and stares up at L. There’s a bit in his eyelashes. L’s lip is swollen. He must have bitten it hard. “It should be better tomorrow, but probably not all the way. Maybe—” he swallows. “Maybe I could use another treatment, to speed things up. If it’s not fixed in the morning.”
L’s stare pins him down. His cock gives another weak pulse in his pants.
“Yes,” he says, “that seems wise. I am always happy to help.”