Consecration/Desecration

This is my first fic at AFF, and is the result of one very strange conversation between two rabid Death Note fans whilst backpacking round Australia. It's amazing what boredom, tiredness and a long empty beach can do to a writer hehe.

Warning: This is a scenario that could cause offence to some as it features questionable action at a graveside. Please don't read if this could be you!

If not, and you're reading on, enjoy!

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CONSECRATION/DESECRATION

It had been raining all day, and for the two days preceding this, the sky pressing down like a steel grey curtain. Light peered out of the taxicab’s window and grimaced. The abysmal weather outside was nothing compared to his current mood.

With a barely audible sigh he melted back into the cheap leather seating, trying to ignore the way his world tipped unnervingly as the alcohol in his system tickled at his senses. Why was he, Kira, God of a new world so damn miserable? Why was doing justice so god damn tiring? Even with things going so beautifully to plan: Misa placated, Takada and Mikami working silently for his side, the idiots of the investigation team almost entirely under his control. Why, when he was winning was sleep still impossible and the headache behind his eyes almost blinding in its intensity?

Rest and recuperation had been far from his list of solutions to that particular problem, when he left HQ that evening. His shining Mercedes had taken him straight to the door of one of Tokyo’s smaller, but no less luxurious hotels, and one of the many rooms which he now kept free for his disposal; an extravagant habit picked up from long past. Two hours of blissful silence and a bottle of single malt later, his headache was gone, but still he was no closer to the peace of mind he craved. After pacing the lushly carpeted flooring, his skin almost crawling with the unwanted ideas he strove to forget, he had slammed down the empty bottle and slammed out of the door, taking the nearest cab as shelter from the still pouring rain.

Ten minutes later, the cab pulled to a stop, a block or two away from where Light was headed. He exited without a word, the fare exchanged with indifference, but only when the glaring yellow lights had totally disappeared into the inky darkness did he make a move towards his destination, steps wavering only slightly; after all the God of the new world was no stumbling drunk.

As he approached the graveyard, the darkness seemed to increase, even as the rain slowed to an unexpected stop. Swigging the final drops from the glass he still carried in his hand, Light glared at a single row of shining white stones, just barely visible in the glow of the streetlights that stood across the street. It was without hesitation that he stepped through the nondescript gates and began to make his way between the silent stones with a surety that contradicted his alcohol-saturated state.

Surprisingly, Light had been here only once, and even that was five years previous. But his body seemed to remember the way, even if his mind did not and it was with long, confident steps that he came upon the spot he was searching for. As he reached the headstone, blank and smooth as all the rest in this place for un-named souls, the images that he had been fighting for longer than he’d ever admit threatened to overwhelm him again. Flashes and shapes, sounds even, seemed to ooze from his head and into the inky darkness, painting his vision a murderous shade of red. Without a thought, the empty glass flew from his hand, shattering into a thousand angry pieces over the non-descript grave.

“Damn you!”

The cry was harsh, almost feral and Light’s voice felt cracked and rough; whether from anger or drink he did not know. It echoed in the silence and seemed to hang there like a silent sentry while Light’s anger continued to build, his breath huffing in great gasps as he fought not to lose all of his carefully crafted control.

Only one man could ever make him feel this much anger and frustration. Only he could make him feel so totally out of control. Only this body, rotting peacefully beneath a maddeningly blank headstone could force God into such weak and frivolous actions, make him appear so disgustingly human. Yet, even knowing this, Light found to his horror that he could not deny the thump of relief, of contentment that assaulted him now he stood by his graveside, nearly drowning in the memories and images that surrounded him.

“Damn it L…”

To Light’s surprise, these words came out on a whisper, forced through teeth clenched tight against the onslaught of the past. Still, when that solitary letter slipped past his lips, the ideas returned, and the experience was just as painful and desirable as it was every time.

That throaty moan could not have come from him, Light decided, even as he felt his body begin to respond to the traitorous thoughts currently clogging his higher brain functions. Standing by his nemesis’ grave, nails digging into soft palms, he felt the dreams that had been haunting him, for so very many nights, return to taint his waking self and Light allowed his head to roll back on its axis, eyes glaring blindly at the clouds; a momentary submission. Then, as if remembering where he was and why he suddenly straightened, neck cracking painfully upright, opening eyelids that he didn’t remember closing, feeling a dark, self-deprecating smile paint his pale features.

“You are a bastard, you know that.” He growled, a semblance of dark humour tainting the venomous words. “In life you were so easy to overlook, to forget, to ignore. But now…”

He could feel the sweat beginning to gather across his brow and his whole being growing hot and uncomfortable, and was immediately thrown back to those nights, just like the last, where sleep had evaded him in favour of visions he was loathe to enjoy. He laughed, low and painful, dragging one tense hand through his perfectly coiffed hair.

“But now,” he continued, “you’re there. Always. Every–single-night. And this!”

Light swung his hand downwards and grabbed his achingly hard crotch in a crude show and tell. His fingers felt wonderful, finally applying some pressure to the traitorously hard organ and he couldn’t stop himself from squeezing rhythmically, eyes locked accusingly on the blank stone before him.

“This is all your fault.” He finished finally, voice hissing, nearly breathless with the pleasure and the injustice of it all. Because there was no remorse there, no real guilt; Light knew L had had to die, had known it since they day he’d accepted his challenge. It made perfect logical sense for the ascent of Kira as God. So why then…

“I’m glad you’re dead!” He cried suddenly, surprising even himself and gripping himself harder in response. With a frustrated groan he ripped his hand away from his desperate cock and flung both hands into the air, in a manic display of nonchalance.

And it was true, he was glad. Kira had thrived since L’s demise and criminals the world over, were being brought rightly to justice because of him. Everything was working out exactly as he had wanted so why was he plagued by these dreams, these
ideas… Him… L… together…. naked, touching, tasting, screaming in unison. The thought made him nauseous but why did his body, his fatally human body, seem to crave it so much?

“I have two women for fuck’s sake!”

That also was true. Misa in fact was waiting for him at their shared apartment right now, ready and willing to give him all the pawing he wanted and Takada would be meeting him at another hotel tomorrow to offer him all the services he required. Both were more than willing and able to be fucked on demand, so why did he feel so terribly unfulfilled?

Clenching his eyes shut, Light fought to ignore the now throbbing pain that was his achingly hard cock. But still the images plagued him; writhing behind his eyelids in some twisted perversion of happiness, and in such startling clarity that he could almost feel the staring presence of the infuriating detective waiting patiently in front of him, watching with curious black eyes, thumb pressed to his lips.

A flash of anger, mingled with lust and an excess of liquor suddenly forced Light’s eyes open. Without giving himself time to think, he reached for his button and fly, tearing at them with fumbling fingers and within moments he had succeeded and forced his swollen cock up and out into the air.

His eyes rolled helplessly in his skull at the sudden sensory onslaught, the burn of hot and cold making his flesh tingle whilst the strong grip of his hand provided uncalculated pleasure. Light stood, frozen, for a few seconds, breaths coming deeply as he fought to control himself. Finally, he peeled his brown orbs open and glared once again at the nameless stone, now shining in the sporadic moonlight.

“This ends now.” He muttered darkly, before flexing his hand and giving his pulsing member a firm stroke.

The action was breathtaking, sending bursts of gratification shooting throughout his lower regions. Already his knees felt weak, jelly-like, but Light forced himself to remain standing, tall and triumphant, over his opponent’s grave.

A second stroke followed, then a third, and a fourth until finally a rhythm established itself and Light was pumping his weeping cock mindlessly but powerfully, the pleasure building even as his rational thoughts screamed out in pain. Somewhere, in the part of his mind that wielded the Death Note, that brought punishment to millions with such confident ease, Light hated himself. Distantly, he could feel his bubbling rage at both his own weakness and the other’s otherworldly temptation that had managed to defy him even from beyond the grave. It was there, a constant, sickening overtone to the immense pleasure he was wrapped up in, waiting, threatening to overflow at any moment. With this in mind, his grip on the tender flesh of his cock became so tight he almost cried out, but to his twisted delight, Light found the pleasure multiplied in its pain and soon images of pale white hands and thick black hair painted over it all making his throat tighten. It was then Light realised the dampness on his cheeks, stinging cold in the chilly night air, and he groaned as he felt the tears slipping easily from between his lashes.

The pressure built quickly, to unimaginable levels, even as Light’s mind moved sluggishly through these realisations. The sound of desperate panting and flesh slapping against flesh filled the darkness of those thoughts and Light could feel the peak edging closer, but could not shake the inexorable hatred that seemed to swim in his very blood stream, restraining him from reaching that final release.

And then, Light would never know why or whether it truly was, but his back was suddenly bowed with a cold, heavy weight that whispered over and across his cheek like strands of unkempt hair. And in those final moments the pressure around his cock seemed to grow as if his hand was joined by another, pumping steadily, in tandem.

His mind was full of hate and lust and confusion and loss, and as the beating finally reached its crescendo Light no longer imagined himself alone. With a haggard cry that sounded almost like a name, Light came, the heat rushing through and out of him, in a milky white proof that quickly disappeared into the dark soil below. Within moments the evidence was gone, and all that remained was an empty deity, shivering and shaking, his face streaked with tears.

…

…

He wasn’t sure when his knees gave way, but when some semblance of sanity returned Light was kneeling in the mud, back arched, his right arm holding him up as bleary eyes stared down into the earth beneath which he knew L lay.

For the briefest of moments all Light could feel was the earth beneath those fingertips, and they way they seemed to reach down and through it towards all he could never have and should never have wanted at all.

Then it was over, that same hand stiffening against the soil as the rain returned to wash it clean, and he forced his eyes upwards, away from the silent grave to look into the sky.

Slowly, but with unexpected ease, Light rose to his feet, quickly tucking himself away, straightening his shirt and mussing his hair until he was the picture of normalcy. With a clear mind and his eyes carefully blank he turned and walked away, towards the distant glow of streetlamps, towards the world he would continue to rule over. And not once did he look back.

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Thanks for reading! Please leave a review, positive feedback or constructive criticism, I'd love to recieve either!

Just Akiko