![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
klenait is nearly 6am in the morning. I should be asleep. And I'm not because I have been faffing about on LJ like a twat for the past bundle of hours since ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hybrid_xisha oh so wisely went to bed, reading fic and researching Arashi being special.
And I can't sleep now because I read Death Note fics and now I need to write this.
It must be the sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him, Raito muses idly as his fingers make no break in entering Kira-data and constructing diagrams and charts plotting dots and trying to fit lines and make patterns out of chaos. Yes, he agrees, it's sleep-deprivation (for who can sleep for more than a few uneasy hours with one arm locked to someone who never seems to sleep) coupled with light-deprivation and stress which he supposes is what Cabin Fever is.
Yes, that's it, because that is the only logical sane explanation for the way his eyes linger just a fraction too long on Ryuzaki's body and the occasional twitches in his hands, an odd compulsion he fights, to wipe cream from that face and then lick his thumb clean. Some nights he dreams it tastes like justice and right and sugar and life. It must be cabin fever.
It's desire to see the sun again, he decides, that make him idly ponder (never breaking from entering the data, never disrupting the sweep of his eyes to find patterns and correlations and some key that will help him solve this case), what Ryuzaki looks likes under his clothing - is all his skin bleached like bone and what would his face look like in sunlight, away from the harsh neon glare of computer screens and data and greenlight that scars his face into sharp shadows and angles and suspicions. These unsettling thoughts are from not seeing the sun for, as Raito knows, human beings are creatures that need sunlight to survive just as plants do.
Dimly aware that he's finished inputting data and no sudden lightning strike of realisation is going to strike him, Raito cracks his shoulders, arches his back in the chair and follows the trail from his wrist along the ground to Ryuzaki. The gentle movements cause discordant indignant clinks from the chain, as if it does not appreciate being disturbed. Wondering when he began considering the chain a living entity, he traces his fingers over the cuff that binds and restricts and has stolen his freedom and feels nothing except for a brief muted flash of irration.
He counts the links in the chains under his breath as he ripples them gently, reading concepts and memories and possibilities in the shifting of greenlight over the repetitive metal constructs and savours a brief moment of pleasure at the sensation of the cool, liquid touch on his fingertips.
"Is there a problem, Raito-kun?", Ryuzaki murmurs, eyes focused solely on him for the first time in hours. He goes to make a movement with his head to indicate 'no' but the ripple of the metal and the wondering and the knowledge that even though the chain seems to denote equality between them, he is no more than Ryuzaki's latest puzzle to be solved, and he is still.
"Raito-kun?" comes the question again and it must be cabin fever because he can think of nothing more than leaning over and working his fingers over the pinch in his brow until it is smooth again and feeling the flesh beneath his fingertips, wondering if it would be as cold as the chain between them and what lay beneath the shadows the laptop screen tattooed on his face.
Definitely the sleep deprivation, he decides as he cranes forward ignoring the shaking of his arms from typing for days now supporting his weight and the loud, inelegant pops of his spine readjusting itself and just waits as they hold each other's breaths and Raito learns his face by the graze of fingertips and catch of blunt nails and pressure against his palm. The only noise is the dull undulation of the chain and Ryuzaki's eyes never leave his and he for the first time in days he cannot read anything - there are no patterns or expressions to be deciphered or puzzles, just solid correlation and a blank slate to work upon and Raito places his mark upon his lips, wishing it would bleed into the white of the other's skin so he could see, could always remind himself he was there, that he had solved this.
He pulls away and dots and data wash over Ryuzaki's face from the computer glow until he smiles secretively and Light is lost because he doesn't know how to start solving the meaning behind that and he opens his mouth, blush already suffusing it's way up his neck like bleeding ink, to blame sleep deprivation, the chain, homesickness, the sun when the chain sings in motion as Ryuzaki's bleached-bone fingers harmonise with the clack of keys before he slouches out of his chair and the greenlight dies with the last notes of the chain's ripple.
"Perhaps it is time for bed, Raito-kun?", he asks, walking away slowly and Raito follows the shuffle of Ryuzaki's feet and the clink of the chain and the rustle of clothing through the unsorted data until it all stops again and he solves the problems of Ryuzaki again and again and again.
Wow. That's awful.
Right, well that was nothing like it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be dark and dangerous and have something along the lines of and Light tapped his fingers and heard nothing but death but apparently not to be.
hybrid_xisha oh so wisely went to bed, reading fic and researching Arashi being special.And I can't sleep now because I read Death Note fics and now I need to write this.
It must be the sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him, Raito muses idly as his fingers make no break in entering Kira-data and constructing diagrams and charts plotting dots and trying to fit lines and make patterns out of chaos. Yes, he agrees, it's sleep-deprivation (for who can sleep for more than a few uneasy hours with one arm locked to someone who never seems to sleep) coupled with light-deprivation and stress which he supposes is what Cabin Fever is.
Yes, that's it, because that is the only logical sane explanation for the way his eyes linger just a fraction too long on Ryuzaki's body and the occasional twitches in his hands, an odd compulsion he fights, to wipe cream from that face and then lick his thumb clean. Some nights he dreams it tastes like justice and right and sugar and life. It must be cabin fever.
It's desire to see the sun again, he decides, that make him idly ponder (never breaking from entering the data, never disrupting the sweep of his eyes to find patterns and correlations and some key that will help him solve this case), what Ryuzaki looks likes under his clothing - is all his skin bleached like bone and what would his face look like in sunlight, away from the harsh neon glare of computer screens and data and greenlight that scars his face into sharp shadows and angles and suspicions. These unsettling thoughts are from not seeing the sun for, as Raito knows, human beings are creatures that need sunlight to survive just as plants do.
Dimly aware that he's finished inputting data and no sudden lightning strike of realisation is going to strike him, Raito cracks his shoulders, arches his back in the chair and follows the trail from his wrist along the ground to Ryuzaki. The gentle movements cause discordant indignant clinks from the chain, as if it does not appreciate being disturbed. Wondering when he began considering the chain a living entity, he traces his fingers over the cuff that binds and restricts and has stolen his freedom and feels nothing except for a brief muted flash of irration.
He counts the links in the chains under his breath as he ripples them gently, reading concepts and memories and possibilities in the shifting of greenlight over the repetitive metal constructs and savours a brief moment of pleasure at the sensation of the cool, liquid touch on his fingertips.
"Is there a problem, Raito-kun?", Ryuzaki murmurs, eyes focused solely on him for the first time in hours. He goes to make a movement with his head to indicate 'no' but the ripple of the metal and the wondering and the knowledge that even though the chain seems to denote equality between them, he is no more than Ryuzaki's latest puzzle to be solved, and he is still.
"Raito-kun?" comes the question again and it must be cabin fever because he can think of nothing more than leaning over and working his fingers over the pinch in his brow until it is smooth again and feeling the flesh beneath his fingertips, wondering if it would be as cold as the chain between them and what lay beneath the shadows the laptop screen tattooed on his face.
Definitely the sleep deprivation, he decides as he cranes forward ignoring the shaking of his arms from typing for days now supporting his weight and the loud, inelegant pops of his spine readjusting itself and just waits as they hold each other's breaths and Raito learns his face by the graze of fingertips and catch of blunt nails and pressure against his palm. The only noise is the dull undulation of the chain and Ryuzaki's eyes never leave his and he for the first time in days he cannot read anything - there are no patterns or expressions to be deciphered or puzzles, just solid correlation and a blank slate to work upon and Raito places his mark upon his lips, wishing it would bleed into the white of the other's skin so he could see, could always remind himself he was there, that he had solved this.
He pulls away and dots and data wash over Ryuzaki's face from the computer glow until he smiles secretively and Light is lost because he doesn't know how to start solving the meaning behind that and he opens his mouth, blush already suffusing it's way up his neck like bleeding ink, to blame sleep deprivation, the chain, homesickness, the sun when the chain sings in motion as Ryuzaki's bleached-bone fingers harmonise with the clack of keys before he slouches out of his chair and the greenlight dies with the last notes of the chain's ripple.
"Perhaps it is time for bed, Raito-kun?", he asks, walking away slowly and Raito follows the shuffle of Ryuzaki's feet and the clink of the chain and the rustle of clothing through the unsorted data until it all stops again and he solves the problems of Ryuzaki again and again and again.
Wow. That's awful.
Right, well that was nothing like it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be dark and dangerous and have something along the lines of and Light tapped his fingers and heard nothing but death but apparently not to be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-03-31 01:28 pm (UTC)I know there is good fic out there, but the asshats that comprise 90% of the writers out there make it so hard for me to enjoy the 10% that actually do good work.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-31 03:16 pm (UTC)EDIT: YOU SHOULD GET UP AND GO TO BED. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-03-31 04:39 pm (UTC)CreepyHot!!!no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-04 08:47 pm (UTC)♥