Title: "You're 38, Light"

Author: Sashocirrione

Spoilers: MAJOR Spoilers for everything up to approximately episode 25 of the anime, chapter 58 of the manga.

Warnings: NO UNDERAGE READERS. Rated M for a reason. Sexual activities.

Summary: On Light's 38th birthday, he has a special visitor, triggering many memories.

Pairing: LxLight

Additional Notes: Most canon events previous to episode 25 have happened as normal, but not all. It should become clear in the fic itself which events happened differently.

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, and I do not make any money from these writings.

There were no time cues here, none at all. No indication of whether it was day or night, or what month it was, or what year. It was comfortable enough, a mansion of considerable size, but Light knew it was really a prison. There were no windows.

They never talked about it any more, about how escape was impossible, about how many layers of security there were, or of how the entire outside world knew the face and name of Light Yagami, knew to kill him on sight. That and so many other topics had faded from their conversations after countless arguments, and were simply never mentioned again.

Because there were no time cues, Light was surprised when it happened. He was just lounging around in the largest room of the mansion, a room two stories high with over a dozen couches in it and an elaborate staircase draped across its back wall, when the big metal doors toward the front of the room opened, the only link to the outside world. L came in, pushing a waiter's cart like one from a fancy restaurant, a cake on the top shelf, and presents piled below. This could only mean one thing. A birthday.

L said, "You're thirty-eight, Light," and began delicately placing candles on top of the cake.

L did not light the candles. He never did. There was no fire in this place.

Sunlight hasn't touched my skin for about twenty years.

Light said, "Then you missed the last one. I never turned thirty-seven."

L said, "I'm sorry. I had a very important case at that time."

Light didn't know how long it had been since L's last visit, but he thought it had been perhaps two days. L visited frequently, and L claimed that the longest time there had ever been between visits had only been three weeks.

From Light's internal sense of time, he had judged that L was probably telling the truth. There was no way to be sure, but if L had ever been gone for a significantly longer time period, such as a few months, then it should have felt like a few months. Light suspected that L typically visited once every two or three days. Most of the time it felt like about that long between visits. L had to live nearby, perhaps even in part of the same structure, somewhere past the security doors.

L said, "Do you want to eat here, or in the kitchen?"

"Here is fine."

L picked up the flat platter the cake was on and placed it onto a long, low coffee table in front of Light, then picked up a plastic knife and began cutting it into pieces. No metal objects were allowed here. Light supposed that he was still considered a suicide risk, or a risk for physically attacking L, either one.

Well, neither of those things would ever happen. L was simply paranoid and liked to completely overdo things, as usual. That was just the way L was. L didn't trust, but that didn't mean that he didn't love. Or, at least, that's what Light told himself. L had to love him, or he wouldn't keep visiting all the time, wouldn't keep up the relationship.

It had to be more than lust, right? Considering what L believed, what he must still believe even though it had been a forbidden topic between them for years, he must truly love to have started the relationship in the first place, and to have kept it up this long.

L was wrong, completely wrong and deluded, about that Kira thing. But no matter what Light had said in the past, L's delusion couldn't be shaken. It had become the ultimate bitter and forbidden topic a long time ago. Out of all the things they never mentioned any more, it was the worst, the biggest, and the most important.

The only good thing about L's Kira delusion was that it could be used to deduce that L's love had to be genuine and deep. Nobody as obsessed with justice as L was would have sex with someone they believed to be the greatest mass-murderer of all time, unless there was a truly undeniable connection there. It couldn't just be L messing with him, playing some game, satisfying his lust. Not for so many years. It had to be more. It must be.

L finished cutting the cake and expertly placed slices for himself and Light onto two small plates, then handed Light his plate and settled on the couch beside Light. L's crouch was the same, along with his hand motions and posture. Even after so many years, he was addicted to wearing a long-sleeved white t-shirt and loose, baggy jeans.

L still had a slender figure, just not abnormally slender anymore. He'd gained twenty pounds over the last twenty years. With his eating habits, it was a miracle he hadn't gained more. L's hairstyle was the same, but his face looked more mature, the jaw and nose a little more pronounced, a small mass of fine wrinkles at the outer corner of each eye. But, other than those few changes, L was exactly the same. He was quite young-looking. He could easily pass for thirty.

They ate in silence. Many different things could happen on L's visits. Sometimes they debated various topics for hours, or L left books and documentaries with Light and wanted to discuss them on his next visit, or they played chess or video games or indulged in tennis on the indoor courts. Other times, they simply basked in each other's presence, not feeling the need to say anything.

Light supposed it was like what happened to married couples after a long time. They knew each other so well, knew so much of what the other was thinking, that words weren't needed as much. Light could just enjoy the sight of L, reveling in all the little mannerisms, watching L's toes happily wiggling in place as he ate his cake. L probably wasn't even aware of how much his toes wiggled, or any of his other ingrained habits.

Though Light was sure he understood more of L than any other person, he felt the lacks in their relationship, the gaps that couldn't be filled in by simply understanding each other deeply and thinking along such similar lines. There were things he wished he knew about L, such as his real name and details of his past, and there were questions he wished he could ask.

Are there others, or have there ever been others?, he wanted to ask, but he never did. It was a pointless question.

If L had cheated on him, if he'd taken another lover or lovers at any point over their two-decade relationship, it would be impossible to find out. L was a good liar, and his eyes and facial expression were almost unreadable whenever he wanted them to be, and there was no way to prove anything one way or the other. Light had the feeling there hadn't been anyone else, but he wasn't quite sure.

And then, there was the slight possibility that there had indeed been cheating and that L would simply tell the truth about it. That would be intolerable as well. Knowing and being unable to do anything about it. Light knew he had no power over L. L had access to the outside world. Light did not. The only thing Light could do to force his will would be to withhold sex and affection, but Light knew he needed those things far more than L did.

What if L left? What would happen if L left? There would be nothing, and that was completely intolerable. L was an addiction, he was like a soothing ointment being placed on a painful wound, he was the other half of Light. They fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces. The thought of being utterly alone, without L, it was too horrible to even consider.

It hadn't always been so. Early in his captivity, Light had tried to ignore L, and L's visits had been brief and business-like, often cut short by those dreaded arguments. Light was sure he hadn't been Kira, despite the evidence L showed to him. It looked incredibly damning. Naomi Misora had taken extraordinary lengths to conceal her suicide, to make her body unfindable, but L had been smarter and he'd at last tracked it down, unearthing it from its resting place smothered in concrete. With it, there had been a suicide video.

Naomi had been very explicit about Kira's identity. Light had spent many long hours mulling over why Naomi had lied, and who could have possibly framed him as Kira. So much evidence could only mean he'd been framed. There was never any solution to his musings and it was frustrating, a terrible frustration he took out on L with heated, increasingly pointless arguments.

Light tried to push the past out of his mind and concentrate on the pleasure of eating his birthday cake and being in L's presence, but it was difficult, the shock of being older. The shock of being 38 years old.

Twenty years. About twenty years I've been here. I've hardly talked to anyone except L in all this time. Unbelievable.

After the first few months of captivity, Light had begun experiencing an intense craving for L's next visit. He'd hover near the double doors that led to the outside world, hyper-alert, waiting, keyed up. Attention was the only commodity he lacked.

He had been starved for it. Live in-person human voices were soothing, filling a deep need within, and touch had an effect on him that it'd never had before his confinement.

Now, L and Watari were the only people he ever saw any more, and he didn't see Watari often. Watari never said anything about the relationship, in fact he rarely said much at all, but Light was sure Watari disapproved.

Early on, there had been guards accompanying L on slightly more than half of all visits, but they had been silent figures, their faces obscured by helmets with darkened fronts, and so they'd barely seemed like people at all. Eventually, L had decided he didn't need guards with him.

Light knew, or at least L had told him, that there were still guards. They just didn't come in any longer. They were further on, in the areas Light had never been to. If Light ever managed to escape from the mansion, he'd have many guards to deal with before getting to the outside world. There were layers to this prison. It was built to contain a genius criminal with supernatural powers.

The only other people Light saw were doctors and dentists on the rare occasions that he needed them. They always had hidden faces and almost never said much. Other than that, there was no contact with the outside world whatsoever. There was no Internet, and there were no letters or phone calls. The only television Light saw was from videos L supplied, mostly movies and some television shows, nothing with news or current events, which weren't allowed. Communication was entirely cut off. Light had no idea if his family members were even alive, let alone the details of their lives. Sometimes he wondered what Sayu was doing, if she had kids, if there were unknown nephews and nieces out there.

Sometimes the past seemed like a dream. Those people he'd known, even his family, felt so unreal and distant. Light could not imagine what he might say to any of them, if given the chance. They would be strangers.

Ironically, he knew more about what Misa was doing, but only in the most superficial ways. She had been in a lot of films during the first few years of Light's captivity, and then her career must have hit some kind of rut for about a decade because Light did not see her in any films, but after that she was occasionally appearing in acting roles again. Somehow the accusations of being the second Kira hadn't stuck to her. The evidence had been almost conclusive, but not quite.

They finished their respective slices of cake, and L did that thing where he halfway stood up from his seat and lightly jumped forward at the same time, almost entering a walking mode before he was off the couch. Then L was getting the presents from the bottom part of the cart, crouching down and sorting through them as if each one filled him with anticipation and he was unsure which to hand to Light first.

It was the same as watching L pick through assorted cookies or candies, seeing him trying to choose the ones that would give him the most pleasure. L had to love, he had to. Otherwise, why would the act of giving presents make him happy?

Presents came with every birthday, but it was kind of pointless, because L brought presents constantly whether it was a special occasion or not, and Light already had every physical possession he needed. It was obvious that L was rich. L had probably created the most extravagant one-person prison that had ever been built. If there was one arena where Light didn't lack, it was objects.

Usually, birthday presents consisted mostly of clothing in the styles Light favored. L knew his tastes well, and Light had three extremely large walk-in closets full of exactly the clothes he liked: elegant, precisely tailored suits, silk shirts and the fanciest patent leather dress shoes, plus a lot of expensive clothing of a slightly more casual nature. Most presents would be redundant, but it was always possible to add more clothing.

Sometimes Light felt silly wearing such nice things, especially since there was nobody to impress. L wouldn't care if Light wanted to wander around in a bath robe and bunny slippers all the time. But it was a point of pride, of not letting himself go, of reminding himself that he was human and deserved nice things. And it suited his personality to primp and preen, to spend lots of time fussing over his hair and skin and dressing himself in the best clothing.

There was only so much time that could be spent on watching videos, reading, exercising, and working on the few cases that L allowed him to make deductions about. Whenever L wasn't there, Light struggled to fill up the hours, and being concerned with your appearance could indeed eat up a lot of time.

Light began opening the presents as L handed them to him. As he'd expected, it was almost all clothing. Light smiled and promised to model them for L soon. His heart warmed at L's almost-smile in return.

Then L was handing Light the very last present, a long flat boxy shape, and from a fleeting strange expression that just barely showed on L's face before disappearing, Light guessed that it was something special.

When he opened it, Light was stunned. It was a full set of silverware, including knives, sharp knives. He felt tears just barely prickling at the corners of his eyes. It was metal, the first metal he'd owned in about two decades. Even the zippers on his fanciest clothing were plastic, even his faucets were ceramic, porcelain or plastic. This meant trust, to a certain extent. It was the most precious gift L had ever given him. Trust.

In a very nonchalant tone, L said, "I'm sure you'll never try to bury one of those things in my ribs, Light."

Light threw himself at L to hug. L jerked back slightly at first, but then relaxed and leaned into the hug.

He's worried about the knives. Poor L. He must know by now that he can trust me, but he can't completely overcome his paranoia.

Light whispered, "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

L relaxed further, and his arms came up around Light's back in L's usual monkey-like clinging posture.

Light felt a sudden sexual need then, his heart beating faster, his breaths speeding up, his body having a desperate urge to form that vital connection that made him feel so alive and real. Without any shame, Light reached directly between L's legs and cupped what he found there, gently massaging it and probing its contours through the denim.

L responded at first with spread legs, and then with kissing and petting and at last maneuvering Light onto the arm of the couch. There, Light held his ass in the air while L stood behind and probed with fingers slippery with lubricant. It never took long to open up any more. Light was completely used to it. It had never happened the other way around. L sulked like a child whenever Light brought up the topic of reversing roles, and Light had completely given up on that argument years ago. Like so many things that had once seemed important, it simply didn't matter any more.

It was always this way. Every visit eventually included sex, no matter what activities were started or what the scheduled plan was. If Light were feeling needy, the sex would happen sooner. If Light weren't, it would happen later.

Light gasped at the utterly delicious feeling of L penetrating him and then moving back and forth in sharp, deep, forceful thrusts. Light was in love with the sensations, the slick movement inside, the frantic heat and building pressure, and the sense of bodies melding together into one. It was a routine, a ritual, and it felt like the closest thing Light had in his life to worship. It was almost a spiritual experience, precious and valuable, inspiring reverence and joy.

It hadn't always been so easy and simple. The first time had been eight months after Light had been placed in the prison/mansion and it had been irritating and embarrassing, more the result of sexual tension and extreme loneliness than anything else. Light wasn't even sure which of them had really initiated it, but once things started becoming sexual L was by far the more enthusiastic of the two, pushing Light's boundaries and invading his comfort level.

Still, Light remembered smirking to himself at how L actually had needs, at the same time that he was wondering if he was crazy for suddenly being curious about starting something sexual with another man. It had to be the isolation. That could warp anyone's mind and behavior. He'd played mind games with L as much as he could in his limited circumstances, and he'd resented L for not allowing him any possibility of accessing a female partner.

From the time it first started, L had wanted inside, that much had been clear, but Light didn't trust him to go that far. It was an alarming thought, to spread your legs for another man and just let him do something like that. So instead there had been many encounters where they'd surged against each other, sweating and moaning, their stiff needy erections thrusting side by side, the process sometimes helped by lubricants they would spread on their stomachs, until at last they climaxed in that slick, tight space between their bellies. Sometimes they used hands or mouths instead, especially if one climaxed first from the humping and the other needed finishing off.

Eventually, though, things had progressed to penetration. Light remembered his first time, how apprehensive he'd been, how shocking the actual feeling was of having something that size going in. Light remembered how difficult it had been for L to thrust at all even though Light had been prepared with fingers for a long time first and there was plenty of lubricant.

But now, each time Light opened up easily to receive L's length and there was no more resistance, no more resentment. All those feelings had melted away years ago, recognized as being pointless and then discarded. Now there was only need, gratitude and love.

Light felt every thrust not just as a surge of sexual pleasure but as a deep connection with the only human being who had any meaning any more. The neediness of being so extremely alone would only completely disappear at moments like this, with the sexual frenzy rising within and every perception focused on the present moment, on the most exquisite combination of instinct and emotion as two bodies moved together, each exciting the other, building toward a shared goal.

And then Light felt it, the culmination of the process, starting as a tensing of L's muscles against his thighs, and then a slightly missed tempo, and at last L's cry of pleasure, deep and husky, as the sticky warmth flowed into Light.

Light took it in happily, reveling in it, grateful and pleased, and a few moments later he got his reward. L flipped Light over and sucked him so hard Light couldn't see straight, and Light came hard into L's mouth, his hands tangled in L's hair.

It was the best birthday present. Objects meant nothing. Light was in a beautiful prison surrounded by as much physical wealth as he'd ever wanted. Only L meant something, and L's trust, attention and love were priceless.

Light gathered L into his arms and cried from happiness.

A/N (Author's Note):

This is actually something I've had sitting around half-finished for a long time. I'm not completely satisfied with the ending, I don't think I was able to get it quite right, but maybe it's okay because it's really a story told backwards after all.

This is based on a request in the Death Note kink meme.

I think I managed to do fluffy and sad at the same time.