Best Served Cold

After writing 'Consecration/Desecration' I thought I'd got this kind of idea out of my head. However, one long car journey later, my friend (the same friend who prompted that fic actually!) said "There must be a way to go further than grave desecration!" And apparently my muse agreed!

It is of course, all about personal taste, but this for me is a little more... twisted.

Set immediatley after episode 25.

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BEST SERVED COLD
By Just Akiko

He’d assumed that the bodies – because that’s all they were now; bodies, shells, meat, carcasses – would have been moved immediately. Here was no reason to keep them for autopsy or testing, the cause of death was obvious enough, and as long as one used one of the plethoras of false identities that L had stored for just such an occasion, then the death of the world’s three greatest detectives could pass by unnoticed by the outside world. And the bodies, the remains, the evidence, Light smirked, would be taken off his hands and destroyed by the flawless paperwork of some certified police coroner.

Unfortunately, he had assumed wrong.

Instead, his ever-fussing father had decided it more pertinent to leave the corpses resting overnight in one of the numerous medical rooms that had been slotted neatly into L’s Tokyo skyscraper. Light though perhaps, that his father was awaiting instructions from some unknown source, which had perhaps watched over or even, controlled the illustrious L throughout his earthly life. Or perhaps it was Matsuda’s blithering superstition that had convinced everyone that the entire building, the entire case, would collapse without L’s physical presence. Whatever it was, Light felt it a ludicrous decision, based on hearsay and half-hearted hopes that would be crushed come morning when the coroner did finally arrive. Still, that didn’t stop him from slipping silently into the medical bay-cum-morgue when the rest of the team had retired and he stalked the empty halls in victorious silence.

Light supposed it was inevitable really, that his feet should bring him to the place. Morbid curiosity had been ticking in his head ever since the event, growing ever more enticing as the hour slid past in a blur of pretend-mourning. He hadn’t see the detective – well, what was left of him - since he’d darted out of the room to secure Rem’s notebook. By the time he returned to the control room, the body was gone and then there’d been more fake tears to shed and another award winning performance to deliver. He had played at distraught and distressed, angry and uncertain, even a moment or two of silent determination when the title of ‘L’ was bestowed (as planned) upon him. So it was quite neutrally that Light entered the room with the dead, his acting energy expended for the day, leaving Kira to greet his fallen opponent.

The silent killer found his most illustrious achievement lying silently beneath a crisp white sheet. At first, the irrational part of his brain considered this all to be a elaborate joke, or plot to confuse him; that there was no Ryuuzaki lying under the sheet, after all his back was never stretched out that straight. The inches he had gained in height when fully supine were almost enough to give weight to Light’s doppelganger theory, so it was completely understandable that his fingers trembled ever so slightly as they pulled back the sheet.

As soon as the mop of raven hair was revealed Light knew he was thinking nonsense. This was L, Ryuuzaki, with no doubt about it. The trembling stopped. He removed the sheet completely, exposing the fully clothed corpse to the cool air. His now steady hands dropped it carelessly to the floor, while his eyes remained fixed upon the immobile face below him.

In a way he almost looked exactly the same as he had alive. Pale, grey almost, with thick black shadows under each eye and pulling at the arches of his sharp cheekbones. The skin seemed more lax than usual, hanging unusually from beneath the eye sockets and such, but the way his hair fell haphazardly across his forehead was almost enough to make it seem like L was merely sleeping. Not that Light had seen that often; but he assumed that when he had slept, the chronic insomniac had looked like this.

The set of his lips was perhaps the most striking change and they drew Light’s attention immediately. They were still for a start, no longer chewing on baked goods or sucking on sweets; but neither were they pressed into a thin determined line of thought, nor stretched into that eccentric-genius grin. Instead they were relaxed and immobile, fuller than Light ever remembered them looking, giving the corpse the look of one about to speak, if it weren’t for the colour that is. No longer a healthy pink, or even a tight-pressed white, they glowed a sickening mixture of grey and blue and Light could almost taste that colour on his tongue, the colour of death laying thick and choking, as he raised an unconscious hand towards the sleeping face.

Surprisingly stead fingertips hovered for long seconds over the pouting lips and Light felt his heart skip to a quickened pace at his sudden proximity to this, to death. Never had he been so close to an actual corpse before, especially one to die at Kira’s own hand, and the excitement was exhilarating. He let his fingers linger, floating so close to the pale skin, and feeling the wondrous sensation of a complete lack of breath. His other hand clenched tightly at his side as he fought not to let the excitement overtake him. Sucking in a deep breath he allowed himself a small smile before moving his hovering fingertips down, over the lifeless form beneath, till they stopped an inch above the equally lifeless hands.

These, more than any other part of L, struck Light with their stillness. His hands, his dexterous hands, had always been active in life, even more so than his ever-eating mouth. Typing, clicking, picking candies, playing chess, clinking cutlery or pointing accusations; there had always been something, some pre-occupation that had almost seemed to give them a life of their own. But now they were motionless, frozen in time, clasped over his thin chest, as they would be for all eternity. Light didn’t doubt that if he wanted he could move them – even if he was unsure of the timescale regarding rigormortis and such trivialities – but he was happy to leave them o their enforced sleep and contended himself instead with simply lowering his fingertips to press against the flesh below.

Cold. He was so cold. Colder than anything Light had ever experienced in eighteen years of autumns and winters. This was a different cold to climatic changes around him. This was the cold of death; the total absence of life and it fascinated Light almost as much as the Death Note itself. There was a void in that cold, such a complete lack of anything and such an overwhelming feeling of loss that the human fear of death suddenly became totally understandable. Even Light, heart still pounding with excitement, could feel the gaping hole of fear and uncertainty begin to nibble at his fingertips. But he did not let go; simply moved his hand and stroked gently at the cold, grey flesh, allowing the feeling to become real, to infect him and to feed his surging adrenaline.

He recognised this, he realised, this feeling of nothingness. It was the same aura Ryuk projected, on a much more acute scale, and it was the same weight that had settled about his shoulders that day he was so bored in class he watched a black book fall from the sky. It was at once familiar and yet utterly foreign, something to wallow in but not to be consumed by; because as long as it was L’s pale hand being caressed and not his own then this nothingness would spell victory for Kira. For him.

With a gasping breath and wide eyes Light stepped back slightly, drawing his hand away and surveyed the corpse anew. Everything, from those sickly lips to the porcelain hands to the bare, blue toes spelt success, positively reeked with Kira’s greatness. In death, L had somehow become the epitome of everything the vigilante stood for, and Light almost laughed with the beauty of such poetic justice. Never before had he felt so assured of his own power, his own greatness than now, with his only nemesis lying dead under hand. L – or Denvenue, or Erald Coil or whatever he wanted to be called on is tombstone – had been the World’s Greatest Detective, the world’s most amazing mind and Light had defeated him. Entirely. Which meant that he, Light, Kira was The Greatest Mind in the World Ever just as he had always known, just as his parents had always been telling him; there was simply no-one to question him now.

The knowledge that it was over, that he had won, sang in his head like pure electricity, lighting his blood and making his fingertips burn against the detective’s cold flesh. His heart was pounding faster than ever, his breath coming in small pants, splitting the wide grin that covered his face. It took a few moments for him to realise the exhilaration crashing through him, not to mention the effects it was having on his body. Only when he took another step away, his hand slipping back to his own side, did he notice the pressing hardness between his legs and the flush of arousal burning his healthy, living cheeks a deep red.

He was startled, just for a moment, his hand – that had recently been pressed against his dead rival’s flesh, moving to cover the bulge in his trousers; confused and not a little disgusted with himself. But when the pressure of his hand send thrill of pleasure dancing along his nerves he felt himself relax instantly. In fact he smiled, any disgust fading as his lips curled predatorily across his face.

Eyes never leaving the detective’s face, his lusting mind suddenly filled with twisted possibilities at this newfound power of his. The things he could do, the liberties he could take, the ways in which he could sully this once-symbol-for-justice were terrifying and yet strangely seductive now that death had made him so defenceless. Despite that however, there was no denying that the cold of death did not mix well with the power-driven lust that was so suddenly filling Light’s mind. Still it didn’t take the teenage genius long to realise there were better ways to take advantage of the situation than resorting to necrophilia.

Looking briefly around the dimly lit room, Light’s almond eyes quickly fell upon a simple, metal chair tucked beneath a desk in the corner of the room. Glancing back at the corpse with an arrogant smirk, he sauntered slowly over to it, using one hand to pull it out whilst the other remained pressed firmly against his crotch. The chair made an awful, grating noise across the tiled floor but Light barely noticed. Soon it was beside the gurney on which the corpse still lay, a silent accomplice, and Light sank into it gratefully; shrouded in the shadows of the room whilst the body remained lit from the tiny spotlights fitted in the ceiling above. Taking a moment to breath, the young god twitched his eyes over the familiar clothing, the hauntingly familiar profile and felt himself stiffen further. Without further hesitation he unzipped his fly and reached to pull hi aching member out of its confines.

The air was cool against the heated flesh and Light gasped as images of pale, frozen hands flashed unbidden in his mind’s eye. Without thinking he griped his shaft hard. Gritting his teeth he sucked in a few steadying breaths, surprised to find himself so close, so soon, and fisted himself tightly before opening his eyes to look once more at the corpse of his defeated rival. Slowly he began to pump his hand up and down the stiff flesh.

This was it, he realised; his final hurdle crossed, his final success. The body on the table signified the ascent of Kira to the god-like status he deserved and as he stroked his cock firmly Light allowed that knowledge to thrill him into an ever-higher state of arousal.
No more doubting, no more running, no more dodging barbs and deflecting accusations; what followed would be child’s play compared to L’s intellectual warfare. His rhythm quickened as he cried victory in his head, over and over, constantly reminded of his success each time his eyes made a sweep over those lifeless hands, that silent mouth.

The clench in his stomach was almost painful and Light grunted, squeezing harder as he neared his peak.

This final action, his final glory. In all those long weeks he’s been forced to share his life with the lunatic detective, forced to forget his own superiority as Kira, he had also been forced to forgo the simple needs and pleasures of any young man; let alone the God of the New World. He had neglected both mind and body because of the presence of that infuriating sleuth, but now, he was defeated and Light would reclaim both aspects in his presence; even if it were a dead presence.

Light barely heard his panting breath puncturing the silent air, over the cheer of victory in his own head. He felt the head beneath his palm swelling, leaking steadily into his hand, and aiding his thrusts into the tight tunnels of his own clenched fist. His body was strung tight like a bow, every muscle and nerve waiting, straining for that final triumph, his final release.

And then it was there. White heat pulsing behind his eyelids as his cool fingers gripped the warm shaft like a vice. As he exploded into the air in an apparently endless stream his voice broke free and there was a name in his impassioned shout that could have been L or could have been Kira or could even have been his own.

It seemed to last an eternity, the pleasure racing through his limbs and filling them with life, even as the tension of months past drained away with his sweat and cum. And only in that final moment did he close his eyes keeping the image of the body before him safe in the darkness, holing it like some sort of talisman for success that would stay with him for years to come.

When finally he relaxed and felt somewhat in control of his own body, Light opened his clenched eyes, hand still wrapped around his softening cock, to look once more upon his prize.

Minutes passed, slow and sluggish. Light simply smiled and sailed through them on a warm wave of power and the pleasurable aftershocks of sexual bliss. When his body finally began to protest from lack of use he stood slowly, carefully tucking himself away before walking slowly back towards the gurney where the unknowing corpse still lay. Bending smoothly he picked up the pristine white sheet that he had discarded earlier and set about replacing it with his clean hand. When he was finished, the corpse was wrapped as smartly as when he’d entered, with only the frozen face uncovered.

Light stared down at it with sated eyes and a small, contented smile gracing his pink, bitten lips. With steady fingers he reached out towards the unusually full lips, still the same deathly bluegrey. A moment’s hesitation and then cum-stained fingertips stained that silent mouth in a fleeting kiss of contact. When Light pulled his hand away the detective’s expression was of course unchanged but his lips glistened eerily in the dim light.

Light’s heart thumped.

Slowly, but confidently, he leaned down towards those lips; his hand tucked safely in his pocket and his eyes wide, watching every moment of his descent. A breath away from their sticky surface he paused, hovering easily; and Kira revelled in the stillness of the air between them.

“I win.”

He whispered his parting kiss into that silent air, letting the growl in his throat vibrate across his lips before pulling sharply away. His free hand snapped the sheet back into place, covering that face for good, before Kira turned and left without looking back.

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