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[personal profile] oroburos69
Title: Bubblewrap
Beta:[profile] lady_of_scarlet
Fandom: Deathnote
Rating: FRT/T
Summary: L is a manipulative bastard.
Warnings: Non-consensual bubble wrap popping. Also, evil L.
Author's Note: Written for the kinkkinkmeme on LJ  (a kink meme for very obscure kinks). Prompt: Sexual enjoyment of Limbs wrapped in bubblewrap, especially please involving non-consensual popping of the bubblewrap bubbles. 

I'm not entirely certain I wrote the kink correctly (it was 2 am and I was very tired), but hopefully anon will get some enjoyment out of it.

"Light's unwillingness is indicative of being Kira." L tilted his head. "It is only bubble wrap."

"Not wanting to be wrapped in bubble wrap isn't a sign that I'm a serial killer," Light protested. It was futile, he knew, because they were alone. His considered, logical arguments fell apart when he was alone with L, sloughing away under the onslaught of L's unrelenting and illogical accusations. The panic that slid up from his belly at every mention of Kira, at every accusation that could lead back to that cell, made his arguments as weak as wet paper.

"You would not be wrapped in it," L pointed out. "It would only be on your wrist. You are over-reacting."

He held his breath to keep from screaming, because the lists of strange demands, the endless "signs that he is Kira"--they had broken through Light in places, like L had scratched holes and weaknesses into him, insidious losses that made Light say 'yes' when he meant 'no.'

"Your wrist is bruised under the cuff," L said, blinking slowly. "It will help."

Everything L said was true. Every word, statement, and lie was irrefutable truth, because refuting made Light Kira, and Light did not want to be Kira. "Fine. Fuck it. Fine."

"Swearing is Kira-like," L reminded him, and his strange black eyes glittered, harsh and cold.

"I'm sorry," Light replied, thinking of endless days in the cell. That was what being Kira was, and so Light must not be like Kira.

"Hmmm..." L slipped the lollipop from between his lips, the candy bright red against the ash of his skin. "Slip it in between the cuff and your wrist." He nodded to the neat pile of packing supplies set beside Light's bed. They had been there when Light had woken up, after sleeping too much like Kira would.

His free hand shook when he lifted the slick plastic, fingers catching of the blisters of air contained inside. "Just...why?" he asked, barely aware that he was pleading. Logic, Light's oldest friend, had disappeared a good long time ago and Light missed it from time to time.

"Go slow, and don't pop the bubbles," L instructed him. His toes wiggled, and the lollipop went back into his mouth.

The handcuff was tight. Light couldn't slide the bubble wrap underneath without popping some of the little plastic pockets, and L's deepening scowl made his stomach twist with the desire to scream 'I am not Kira, and bubble wrap cannot prove that I am!'

"Kira is not careful," L said, shaking the chain between their wrists. "You have popped seven bubbles. That is not very careful, Light."

His eyes stung, and Light was made aware of the sweat trickling down his face. He tried to lighten the pressure on the fold of bubble wrap he was pressing under the hard metal of the cuff, to slip it under gently. Three blisters filled with air were caught, the malleable plastic was distended to just this side of bursting, translucent stripes visible where the bubbles threatened to snap.


The sound made Light jerk, memories of the gun in his father's hand too close, too near. His hand shook, trembled like an earthquake. He was careful. He was not Kira.

The bubble wrap slipped out from under his fingers, slick with sweat.


A tiny noise of fear and frustration caught in Light's throat, and he muffled it. Kira made strange noises. Light was not Kira. He'd only managed to slip a corner of the bubble wrap beneath the handcuff.

L would not be satisfied with that.

The bubbles were taunt and round and threatening, and Light desperately wanted to go home.

"Is there a problem, Light?" L asked, his tone clearly implying that only Kira had problems.


Light twitched and bowed his head, hiding his eyes behind too-long hair. He needed a hair cut. But only Kira wanted to go outside. Only Kira would want scissors. His eyes stung, sweat dripping from the corners and tracing lines down his cheeks. He gathered another inch of bubble wrap, and slid it under the handcuff, managing to keep all ten bubbles from popping.

L jerked the chain toward himself.


Light could not cry, could not yell, could not look up. Kira did all those things. Instead, he slid the cuff back up to the thinnest part of his wrist (it was growing thinner, and L would tighten the cuff again, soon) and gathered more bubble wrap.

"You are not very good at this," L noted, leaning in closer.

Light's breath hitched, his shoulders jerked, and a bubble popped.


L's body echoed the snap of plastic, a sharp tremor running through him, his thin spider-limbs flexing in unsettling contortions.

Light pressed the bubble wrap against the cuff, because the job was not done, and Kira was a quitter.

"Stop," L ordered him.

He obeyed immediately.

"You're useless at this." L rolled to his feet, letting the length of the chain trickle out from between his fingers. "Read through those files," he added, heading into the adjoining bathroom.

Light jerked the bubble wrap out from under the hand cuff and threw the deflated sheet onto the ground. He gathered the files L had indicated, and jerked them open, the tremor in his hands disgusting him.

A quiet sound sought out his ears, and Light's face blushed red. He knew what L was doing.

One day soon, he would kill L in a way that no one but L would be able to trace. And, since L would be dead, Light would get away with it.

He would not do it because he was Kira (he was not), but because he was Light.

A hint of a smile curled around Light's mouth.

He would enjoy L's death very much.

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