Death Note, Best Present He’s Got Yet

Title: Best Present He’s Got Yet [L/Raito]
Rating/Warnings: L. I mean, R. For…they’re teenage boys handcuffed together for chrissake, use your brain. Spoilers for something like the low 50s, but nothing plottish happens.
Summary: L has some birthday presents for Raito, but he’s a little tied up. Chained up. Whatever.
AN: Written for Raito-kun’s birthday! Only a day late. Thanks to ramen_addict for the speedy beta, and this is all rageprufrock‘s fault. how can a fandom where bondage is vanilla not be the best fandom on the face of the planet?

Best Present He’s Got Yet

“I bet this isn’t where you wanted to spend your birthday,” Chief Yagami says suddenly, making all the others look up. Raito suspects that he has only just remembered, and lifts his head to blink at his father as though he has forgotten too.

“Is it really Yagami-kun’s birthday?” L’s gaze is wide and innocent when Raito turns back from his father to look.

“Yes, Ryuuzaki.” With his face turned away from the others, Raito doesn’t bother to fight the smile, because L knows exactly when his birthday is, down to the minute, and earlier when their computers had clicked over to that minute, L had snagged the chain of their handcuffs on his foot and tapped right-left-left-right-right on his mouse.

Giving Raito an excuse to tap ‘fuck you’ in binary on his own mouse was the best birthday present he’d got yet.

“If it is Yagami-kun’s birthday, there should be cake,” L announces, pushing off from the desk so that his chair rolls over towards the nearest phone. Raito watches out of the corner of his eye until L is stretching out for the phone, then casually reaches with his left hand to tap a key on the far right of his computer, pulling the chain taut. L teeters precariously on the edge of the chair for a second, toes clenching furiously in the fabric, before he manages to lean his weight safely back down into it.

He worries at the pad of his thumb with his teeth as he informs someone on the phone that cake is necessary, but behind it is the quirk at the corner of his mouth that means Raito will pay for that later.

No one else seems to notice that the cake arrives in less time than is necessary to produce any sort of baked good (“Wow!” Matsuda exclaims, spraying crumbs onto the Chief, “L must have invented their oven or something!”) It is a surprisingly subdued white cake, given L’s hand in its creation, but the icing is still too rich for any normal human being to eat more than a few bites. Raito scrapes the rest of it off to the side and just eats the cake, noticing that L is scooping all the icing off his piece and eating none of the cake.

No one notices when they switch plates.

“We should stop,” L says not much later. Every head in the room swivels towards him in surprise except for Raito’s. He explains, “Yagami-kun should not have to work late on his birthday.”

“It isn’t necessary,” Raito murmurs, still watching his computer’s screen, but L has made up his mind, and when he hops down from his chair, Raito stands as well and stretches until his neck pops. The Chief says something apologetic about a birthday party tomorrow, and Matsuda wonders if they can talk Misa into popping out of the cake, and L pulls Raito forward hard enough that he nearly breaks his nose on the doorway.

“Would you like to visit Misa?” L asks while they are waiting for the elevator, and Raito laughs because that’s L’s idea of a joke, but doesn’t otherwise deign to respond to it.

“A long hot shower,” he says instead as the elevator doors slide open and they step inside, “and then to catch up on some sleep.” He eyes L pointedly for a moment before leaning forward to tap the button for their floor, the chain clinking softly between them.

“It is Light-kun’s birthday.” L nibbles on his thumb and Raito watches the numbers light up, and neither of them really bothers to sneak looks at each other as the lurch of the slowing elevator makes their shoulders brush.

In the confines of the bathroom, L undoes the handcuffs long enough for both of them to shed their shirts, Raito folding his sweater neatly on the sink and L tossing his shirt to the floor. When they are securely reattached, Raito turns away to let L kick off his jeans and climb into the shower, but the only other place to look is the mirror. The chain is long enough and the bathroom narrow enough to allow Raito to examine his increasingly pallid complexion, looking over his reflection’s shoulder to compare it to L’s reflection, who hasn’t bothered to shut the shower curtain.

Raito rolls his eyes and turns to yank the shower curtain shut, even though the floor is already soaked. Nothing against L’s lack of social shame, but Raito has no urge to cut his career as a world-remaking god short by cracking his skull open on a hotel toilet, even if that toilet was probably hand-sculpted by Swedish toilet experts or something equally ridiculous. Raito steps on L’s shirt and swipes it back and forth with his foot to try and soak up some of the hazard.

L’s showers are brief affairs, and Raito picks up one of the towels from the neat stack on the counter to hold out almost at the same moment the shower curtain is shoved aside. Raito skims off his pants and sets them on top of his sweater as L sets an unconcerned foot onto the slick tile, towel covering his head, and the exchange of location is so efficient that barely any more water has struck the floor by the time Raito is closing the curtain behind him.

He’d been serious about the shower, and he lingers under the hot water for much longer than usual, idly watching L’s silhouette through the shower curtain towel himself off and then toss the towel to the floor before perching himself on the toilet. His face is clearly turned towards the shower, and Raito neither speeds up nor slows down the slide of his hands over his skin.

When his skin is blotchy from the heat, Raito finally gives up and shuts off the water. Knuckles graze his side, and he turns to take the offered towel dangling from L’s fingers. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Raito has barely set foot over the edge of the tub when it skids on L’s soaked shirt and he pitches forward.

L is on his feet, his arm shooting out to catch Raito’s waist before Raito can even shout. L’s arm keeps him upright and spins him around, but can’t stop his momentum, and the small of Raito’s back slams into the edge of the counter with kidney-liquefying force just before L drives into him with an abnormal number of pelvic bones and elbows. He leans back just enough to regard Raito, whose heart is pounding in his lower back, with perfectly round eyes.

“Raito-kun should be more careful,” he says, then steps away and turns to leave the bathroom. Eyes narrowing, Raito bends to snatch L’s soaked towel off the floor, ignoring his screaming back muscles, and waits until L is at the extreme end of the handcuff chain before executing the perfect towel-snap.

L yipes and rises up on his toes as the wet fabric gives a satisfying crack across his rear, then whirls around in time to see Raito grin with bared teeth, catching the next snap across his hip. But he’s gotten a good look at Raito’s technique, and he darts his hand out to snatch Raito’s towel from his waist, then dodges out of Raito’s range and returns the attack with more than adequate accuracy.

Raito blocks the shot by snatching the tip of L’s towel out of the air, grunting at the sting along his palm, and jerks him forward by it. He gives a victorious leer when L stumbles towards him with flailing arms, but it dies on his lips when L looks up with his own leer, not stumbling at all, and the flailing arm is really flipping the handcuff chain up and around Raito. When L yanks with his arm, the excess chain wound a few times around his forearm, Raito’s arms are pinned to his sides.

“Oh my,” L leans forward until their noses are nearly touching and peers into Raito’s eyes, “look what I have caught.”

“Let me go, Ryuuzaki,” Raito says, flexing his arms against the chain, and when that achieves nothing, lunging at L to create some slack in the bonds. L shuffles backwards out of the bathroom, nimbly dodging Raito’s assault. Raito tries again, feinting left before darting right, even feinting left before actually going left, but L seems to read the moves right off his face, and he evades Raito with infuriating ease, all the while leading him deeper and deeper into the bedroom.

Raito makes a final desperate attack, and for one glorious moment thinks he has L, before L does something with his torso that Raito has only ever seen on the kung-fu movies that channel 115 plays at two in the morning, and before he knows it he is on his back on the bed, and the slack chain that had been wrapped around L’s wrist is now looped around his body. Both loops of the chain are wrapped tightly enough that Raito’s chest pushes against them for anything but the shallowest breath, and they are tangled on top of one another, so that even if Raito moves the wrist with the handcuff, it doesn’t give him any more slack.

L is crouching beside him on the bed in his favorite sitting position, made even more disturbing by the fact that there is nothing to keep Raito from noticing that the national colors of L are already flying at half-mast. L’s free hand is splayed across Raito’s stomach, his thumb just brushing the edge of Raito’s navel; the handcuffed wrist rests up on L’s knee, keeping the remaining inches of unused chain pulled tight.

“What are you…” Raito starts, but L grips the chain and yanks, pressing down on Raito’s stomach to keep him on the bed. The metal links grip Raito’s skin, and he struggles to draw a full breath.

“If Raito-kun is very good,” L is careful to hold the chain tightly as he shifts to throw a knee over Raito and settles on his hips, “he may get a present.”

While L is still shifting, Raito braces his wrists against the bed and bucks up, trying to dislodge L. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, L slides a little higher up on Raito’s hips for leverage, then wrenches the chain hard enough to make Raito give a pained grunt. The metal bites into his skin as he flops back down, helpless, and Raito knows he’ll have marks tomorrow across his upper arms and shoulder blades.

With the birthday boy securely pinned under his weight, L moves his hand from Raito’s stomach to curl around Raito’s own national colors, for whom half-mast was a distant memory. Raito catches his breath as L strokes him teasingly, and his thighs flex against L’s own, even though their weight keeps him from actually arching.

“Hmm,” L says, and Raito tenses as he picks up the hand with the chain again, but instead of pulling the chain tighter, L leans forward and jerks the chain up. Raito raises an eyebrow when L sits back, a satisfied smirk on his lips, but he understands when he tries to draw his next breath and one perfectly aligned link pinches his left nipple.

When L squeezes Raito in earnest, his own erection digging into Raito’s thigh, Raito lets his head fall back against the pillows and gives up a low moan. He wonders which of the investigators downstairs is on watch, and hopes it is Mogi, who may watch or may not but will at least be quiet about it, as opposed to Matsuda, who will try to be discreet so loudly that it’ll probably bring everyone else running.

L seems to sense his shift in attention, however fleeting, and gives the chain just enough of a tug to make Raito draw a ragged breath. L’s hand is warm and his fingertips are callused from typing, the chain cuts into his skin and catches at his nipple, and what Raito really wants for his birthday is the ability to hold off his orgasm just a little longer, but nineteen doesn’t seem like it’s going to be much different from eighteen in that respect where L is involved.

Peeling open his eyes is harder than it sounds when Raito feels like his head is housing very little of his blood, but it’s worth it to see L casually sucking his fingers clean, even if he still is holding the chain taut.

Much later, L is humming happy birthday under his breath as he taps keys on his laptop, and Raito is watching the even string of little rectangular bruises rise and fall with L’s breath in the glow of the computer screen. Raito is laying on his stomach because his lower back aches where he cracked it against the counter, and he frowns as he realizes that he’s going to have trouble sitting in his computer chair tomorrow for long periods, and at least one team member will think they know exactly why that is.

“Raito-kun may wish to know,” L announces suddenly, “that Matsuda has been watching the security tape of our room from last Tuesday night for the majority of the evening.”

Raito chuckles, thinking that he might be flattered if L trusted Matsuda to watch anything that involved more deductive ability than paint drying.

Then he remembers that last Tuesday night was the night of the Koala Yummies Incident, and reaches over to shove L off the bed.