Chapter Text
"L darling," you coo. You stood behind his seat on the couch, your smile big and beaming. He's going to love this. You could only see the back of his head, disappearing into the shadows of the room. It was late.
Er, rather, extremely early.
Nobody was up yet, and while L should be in the taskforce workroom, he liked to stay in his room when possible, mainly because you liked to stay in his room when possible.
"Hmm," he asks lowly. Bored. He was tapping away on his laptop, eyes dragging over a gruesome crime scene. It wasn't technically a kill from Kira, there was no heart attack, but his name was written in blood by the body, so he was compelled to investigate.
"Look at me," you urge.
"did you do something new with your hair?" He pressed his fork into the slice of cake beside him, idly mashing it into nothing worth eating. He wasn't looking anywhere but the photo...that handwriting was worse than his...of course, it must be difficult to write with such unconventional utensils...
"No..."
"Are you trying a new makeup routine?"
"No."
He could hear the impatience in your voice, the way it squeaks a little at the end with annoyance. "...are you naked?"
"No!" You pause. "I wish. Will you just look at me?"
He finally tears his gaze away from the screen, and turns to look at you. His bones creak uncomfortably, but it's worth it when he sees you.
First, he was met with tits. Wonderful, but surely not the point. Then, he sees the big picture. Tits wrapped in an apron. You're wearing an apron. It's white, tight, and covering a blue dress beneath.
He's noticed that you've fallen into a more...doting lifestyle recently. He's not sure if you've noticed, but he has. You, despite still technically being an investigator under him, spend your time flitting around to take care of him. Get him sweets, refill his drinks, cover him in lipstick marks when the team isn't around.
He has a few theories for this: you're on a new birth control, you're somehow growing even more madly in love with him, or...
you're nervous.
Worried about him.
He'd rather not face that quite yet, the idea that his lover has any reason to fret over him. His work is dangerous, yes, but he doesn't want you to worry.
No matter what, he had to admit the attention was congenial. It meant you were around him more often, and you seemed to be enjoying yourself. He had also noticed you found casework dull, another reason you'd result to attentiveness. You liked chiming in with ideas, breaking down the characters of whoever it was you were investigating, but searching for minute details wasn't motivating to you in the slightest.
Neither was domesticity, but with a lull in the case, you had little to do...and, he was one among your true passions. Ergo, you focused on him.
"Well? What do you think?"
"You look nice."
You raise your brows in expectation.
"Pretty."
"At least you're trying. Anyway, the outfit isn't the point. It's a symbol."
"Ah. A symbol," he parrots dryly. You can't tell if he's being sarcastic...he probably is.
"Yes, a symbol of my undying love and affection for you," you state, coming around the side of the couch to sit with him. "A...euphemism for the continuous ardour and amor I feel for you," you sigh, settling your head in his lap dramatically.
He watches on with impassive amusement, and his hand comes instinctively to rest in your hair. "Is that so?"
"...no."
you sit upright, done with whatever bit you were just doing. "I'm going to be baking for you."
That got his attention. His eyes widened by a fraction, and he leaned in with interest. "You are?"
"I am. I'm thinking...angel food cake," you decide.
"You've never baked for me before."
"I haven't."
"Are you...experienced with the subject?"
"Nope. But I know how to read instructions."
"...angel food cake can be difficult."
"So can you, and I'm still here. I'm persistent." You pat him on the arm, and stand. "Alright, I'm going to the kitchen. You're welcome to join me," you say firmly, rushing out of the room to get started. He watches as you leave, and a light sigh leaves his lips.
Yes...yes, you are persistent. And confident. Perhaps too confident. He loved you.
He spent another half hour working, but his attention is divided. This happened often, when he had to work without you around. He needed you to think properly, your presence calmed him and cleared his head. It was an unfortunate turn of events, he didn't like feeling so reliant. But, he was.
Usually, he could supplement this by checking the security cameras every now and then. He liked to watch you wander around your bedroom, nap, do your makeup, change, masturbate, all sorts of things. All very private of course, he makes sure nobody can watch him watching you. It just...reassures him you're safe and happy. It's sort of like carrying you around in his pocket.
But the kitchen didn't have very good cameras, not the one you were using. There were two main kitchens at HQ. One was by the workroom for coffee, microwaving and refrigerating lunch, basic things employees may need. The other, sharing a wall with the first, was used exclusively by Watari. It was state of the art, mainly utilized for storing imported sweets, but it was also kept for baking some of L's childhood snacks.
Simple things Watari would make for him, scones, cookies, birthday cakes...you requested to use it, asked very nicely, and of course Watari allowed you. Now, you were in there baking L a cake, and he could hardly tell the difference between flour and sugar on these damn cameras. He'd have them replaced soon.
With a sense of guilt at abandoning his duities for his partner, he finally stood from his seat. You entreated him to accompany you, he would do so. It was only to...observe his employee, as a productive boss does.
He took his time getting there, more assured now that he was headed toward you. He would be with you soon enough, there was no need to rush. When he reached the kitchen, he gently pushed the door open so as not to disrupt.
You were moving with a surprising amount of speed, whisking one thing, whisking another, folding them together. You had your back to him, and he couldn't help but watch the swish of your skirt. It flattered you. You turn around to grab something from the fridge, and only then do you notice him.
"Oh, L!" You walk over to him, and wipe some flour onto your apron. "Just in time, come taste the batter." you take his arm, and he allows you to guide him to the counter.
"You shouldn't eat raw batter," he chides gently.
"It won't kill you," you scoff, dipping your finger in the mix. You offer it to him, and after a brief pause he leans in and wraps his lips around the pad. "How's that?"
"Sweet."
"How astute," you tease, turning from him to pour the batter into a pan. "I still have to make the whipped cream frosting, so I'll be a little while longer."
"That's alright...may I stay and watch you?"
You smile, and it's one of those little smirks he can't form an opinion on. They usually meant you thought he said something odd, and you were amused by it. He didn't like that it was at his expense, but that little curl at the corner of your mouth was so...attractive.
"Yes, you may. You don't have to ask." You measure out some cream, and pour it in a glass bowl. You were so focused.
He stands by you for a moment, before shuffling off to pull up a chair at an empty counter top. He's about to sit down, when you call out to him. "L, honey? If you're already up, would you mind getting the strawberries?"
He walks to the fridge, pokes around, and takes out a case of the fruit. "For the frosting?"
"Yeah, it'll be good, don't you think?" He sets the case beside you, and you pop it open. "Thanks," you nod, kissing him on the cheek.
"You're welcome." He stands around you for a while longer, watching you whip the sugary concoction into something thick, watching you dip your pinky into the cream to taste it, watching you set the bowl aside to cut up the strawberries into tiny chunks.
"You're hovering," you comment. He sees that smirk again.
"I'm not hovering. I'm observing."
"Not mutally exclusive. Hovering."
He sighs, and reaches for a strawberry in the silence.
"Hey, I need those for the cake," you warn playfully.
"Not all of them."
"Maybe all of them, you don't know."
"To cover one 9.5 by 2 inch cake, you would need three cups of the frosting your using. That should take 20 large strawberries, finely chopped." He takes a big bite out of the strawberry in his hand, and holds that deep, challenging eye contact.
"How smart you are," you scoff, scraping the strawberries off of the cutting board and into the whipped cream. You begin to fold them in, gently, and he nibbles on his strawberry while he watches. This was nice. Calm. He should be working now, shouldn't he?
"Now all I've got to do is put it in the oven," you nod. You pick up the batter bowl, swing open the oven door, and slide it in. After setting the timer for 40 minutes, you lean against the countertop. a sigh of relief leaves you, you could finally take a break. "Hopefully it goes well," you muse.
"You can do a great number of things well on your first try," he reassures. "You're talented, in that respect."
"Thank you." you smile at him, and he inches closer.
"It would be best if I left to work now."
"Will you try the frosting first?"
He looks to the bowl, and tentatively remove the spatula to lick some of the mixture off. "You've done well."
"You like it?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
It was so difficult to goad him, he was too calm. Why bother trying?
"Well...give me a kiss, before you go."
He sticks the spatula back in the bowl, and you grab his face. Your hands were sort of sticky, you got some of the cream on them.
You kiss him anyway, and he kisses back. It was nothing overly sensuous, just a tender moment. His hands held where your elbows bent, and his lithe body leaned in closer to accommodate your slightly shorter stature.
You release him, and when you open your eyes you see his lips stained with your lipstick. "You'll have to wipe that off before the team sees you," you laugh.
He brings his fingers to his face, and wipes at his cheek instead of his lips. "I'm not sure how you manage to get this sort of thing on your hands. Frosting should be relatively contactless."
You shug, and wipe your hands on your apron. "I'll live." Instead of getting a napkin or a washcloth, you lick your thumb and rub off any residue on his face. "Happy now?"
He stares blankly at you for a moment. That's impossible, actually. He can't stare blankly, not unless he's fucked stupid or dead. Even then you could see him remaining eternally pensive, just as pensive as he looked now.
"What," you ask coyly.
"I love you very much," he muses. It was as if the thought slipped passed him, made it into reality without his direct permission.
"...I love you very much," you respond. Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you mindlessly smooth out the fabric of his shirt.
He studies your face, stands still as you touch him, and observes how you lower your eyes. Tentatively, he presses a kiss to your forehead.
You smile, and look up at him. "Is there something you want?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I want to have sex with you. However, I have work that needs doing."
Your smile widens. Always so frank, you love that about him. "there's nothing wrong with taking a little time to de-stress."
"It's important work."
"It can wait a few minutes, can't it?"
He pouts. It's not one of those pouts where you jut out your bottom lip and bat your eyes, it's one of L's pouts. An extremely slight narrowing of the eyes with a displeased frown, all while looking down and away from you. He was so cute. "We don't have the time. Walking to the bedroom will take long enough."
You hum in mock consideration. "Well...I guess we could try and do it here."
His pout leaves to be replaced with subtle amusement. "Here?"
"I suppose. Just an idea." You weren't trying to hide the fact that this had been on your mind for weeks, which gave him ample opportunity to dissect the thought as one you had given time to.
"It would save valuable time..." he hums.
"And wouldn't it be so nice to see me laid out on the counter," you persuade. Like the devil on his shoulder, always urging him to give in.
You balanced each other, in this way. You were all passion. Heat, intensity, lust. You reminded him it was ok to give into base instincts, you reminded him of his own humanity. He, on the other hand, was all logic. Cold, calculating, comparably mild-mannered. He kept you grounded, and focused on your work. Together, you were a functioning unit. Romantic, isn't it? Nothing sexier than efficiency.
"It would be nice," he agrees. "But I've spent far too long here."
You sigh, and slide your hands down his arms to take his. His fingers were long, bony, perfect for scratching your hair or pleasuring your body. "We're wasting time arguing. Might as well get to it, because you can't resist me."
It's true. He can't resist you. He leads your hands back to his shoulders, and you take hold of the lean muscle. "We have to be quick."
"I can be quick." Using him as support, you hop up onto the counter. He was now face to face with your breasts, and without missing a beat, he begins to kiss up your neck.
You titter at his speed, and he skims over your waist with his hand, searching for the perfect holding point. He decides to settle on your hip as his lips press lovingly to your jaw, up and up until he can't reach higher. You slouch until you're face to face, and he gets the message. He rests his other hand on your cheek, and gives you a kiss more heated than the others. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you welcome the intrusion.
As he said, you had to be quick. He slides his hand across your back, to the knot of your apron. Surprisingly, he undoes it one-handed, and he pulls away from you to remove it. You let him lift it over your head and lazily drop the item to the ground, but you don't keep the distance for long. As soon as it's out of his hands, your tug him closer to mouth at his neck.
"You're not wearing a bra," he comments.
"Is it that obvious," you laugh, giving his shoulder a playful nip.
"It is. Are you cold?"
Your nipples are hard, so of course he asks. "No. Just horny."
He sniffs in near-laughter, and runs his hands up your back. He finds your zipper, and carefully tugs it down so as not to warp the fabric. "What else aren't you wearing..."
You giggle and pull away again to take off your dress. You lift it from the bottom and shimmy out, blinded by the mess of fabric temporarily covering your eyes.
You feel L's cold, spindly fingers drift from your calf to your thigh, up to your hip, before tugging you closer to the edge of the counter.
You finally get the dress off, and he's there to greet you with more fervent kissing. You lay back and wrap your legs around his hips, forcing him close with the criss-cross of your ankles.
He takes everything in, the way you looked so ready for him. Your eyes, confidently locked onto his. Your lips, quirked upward in an expectant smile. He had to hurry. He unzipped his pants and released them to his ankles, his underwear quick to fall with them.
He was so hard, his pink tip dribbling precum down his pale length, following the line of that prominent vein on the underbelly of his cock. "Take off your shirt," you urge, plucking at the fabric.
He's nothing if not obedient to you (during sex, anyway). As he lifts it, he stretches out, and you get to see all of that lean, pale muscle in the fluorescent lights. He's too unbelievably handsome, you need him.
L tosses the shirt away, treating it with much less care than your dress and apron. He grasps his length, and guides it to your entrance, not taking the time to toy with you, or build up the tension. He simply...slipped in.
Always so warm and wet...tight...perfectly molded to him...
You let out a pleased moan, a purr of brief appeasement. He was lengthy, pressing insistently at the spongy flesh deep within you. "L..." you urge.
He gets it. L takes firm hold of your hips, and begins to pound into you. He keeps a slow, steady rhythm, just to get started.
In. Out. In. Out.
It was deliberate, intense.
But it wasn't enough.
"Faster..." you groan, reaching to grip his forearm tightly.
No matter how whiny you sound like this, he knows you mean it deeply. You need it. That was a wonderful feeling, to be needed so carnally.
he picks up the pace. His grip on you becomes unyielding, the slap of your hips filling the room, bouncing off the hard counters and stainless-steel appliances.
You looked delicious. Your hands grasping at the walls in an attempt to steady yourself...your mouth hung open in a perpetual string of moans, mewls, and profanity.
"Fuck yes!" "Right there!" "L!!!"
The words don't matter so much, the passion is all he needs. The passion, and the way your tits bounce. It's mesmerizing.
Meanwhile, you're enamored with L's appearance. His eyes are heavy with lust, sharp and focused. His lips are parted in light, wanton moans, and heavy panting at the effort he's putting in. With each snap of his hips, the muscle in his thighs tensed so beautifully.
You were so close, and given the way he was becoming sloppier and sloppier, he was too.
He could feel how you tensed and pulsed, how you rolled your hips in need of anything more, anything he could give.
He leans in, and holding one breast still, begins to suck at your nipple. You could feel his soft moans and groans against your skin, the vibration, all while he ruts into you.
You clutch his hair, and your thighs tense around his hips, a telltale sigh you were seconds away from climax. He frantically runs his hand up and down your side, a spasm of energy due to his own near-climax.
"Oh, L," you cry out, just as his hips studder in a mindblowing simultaneous orgasm.
Your back arches and your hips whine as hedonistic pleasure washes over you, all while L struggles to somehow fit even deeper inside you. It's grinding and moaning for a moment or two, simply a panting, sweaty mass with no clue when you start and he ends.
Once you've tired yourself out, you simply lay there, his cheek on your chest, your back stuck to the marble countertop. He's dazed for a moment, but once he comes to his senses he gently peels himself from you, and despite the agonizing sensitivity, pulls out, dragging your combined juices with him and creating an even stickier mess on your thighs.
As if on cue, the oven timer dings. "Oop, Cake's ready," you say, a blithe lilt to your voice. Like he didn't just wreck you in the middle of the kitchen.
You stand, albeit shakily, and slip on the oven mitts. He aimlessly follows you around the kitchen like a lost puppy, a normal occurance from him, though not exactly frequent. Sometimes, if he was especially tired, or stessed, or the sex was just that good, it was like a reboot, and If sex was the reboot, the aftermath was the recalibration. It's as if he needs someone else to think for him for a moment, and sometimes that meant guiding him on where to go.
As for his own thoughts, It's an oddly sensuous sight to see: You, wearing nothing but oven mitts, pulling a cake out of the oven that you made just for him. He silently comes up behind you, and settles his chin on your shoulder. His hands rest where they please, one on your hip, the other thoughtlessly squeezing your tit. He already has so little shame, but around you it was nonexistent.
"It's gotta cool before I put on the whipped cream...I probably should have made the frosting now instead of earlier," you sigh. You make no comment on his clinging, you knew what it was about.
"For how long?"
"Mm, maybe an hour."
He hums in little more than acknowledgement, and you can feel his heart pounding against your back.
"Go put your clothes on," you shoo. He obeys, and you take the opportunity to put your own dress on. You don't bother with the apron, you fold it up in your hands and hang it on your forearms.
You watch him yank on his pants and zip them up, his eyes locked some random spot on the floor. "We should go back up to the room." Your suggestions held more weight right now, he's quite susceptible to persuasion.
As you guessed, he looks over to you, nods, and follows you out. On the walk up the stairs, you begin to worry a little. What if someone catches you walking like this? With your hair messed up and your nipples poking out of your dress, with L's shirt on backwards and his hair...alright, that one isn't a big deal. But, considering everything else, It'd be too obvious. Especially if light or misa caught you. Those two were both too good at picking up on this stuff.
"What time do you think it is?"
"4:13," he answers. He was quick, and surprisingly precise.
"How do you know?"
It's silent for a moment, and you realize he's probably too tired to elaborate.
Just as he opens his mouth, you give a quick "nevermind," and continue your treck up the increasingly tiring stairs.
When you finally get to the hall for the bedrooms, you quietly push the door open, and creep in. L shuts the door behind you, and you crash on the couch to starfish across it. When he shambles over, you pull your legs up, and he sits in the empty space.
You let the silence ring for a beat, before sitting up and changing positions to curl into his side. "What do you think? Better than missionary?"
He turns his head a quarter, and looks at your bemused expression. "It's impractical." He reaches for his computer, but you take his hand in yours and hold it to your chest. "Impractical in a sexy way?"
He sighs, and brushes some hair from your face. "I prefer cowgirl. However...you were right. You did look nice laid out on the counter."
"Aren't you smooth." Even with that snide tone, he can feel your heartbeat quicken.
"I have to return to work," he reminds.
You sigh, and release his hand. "I know...what else do you have to do?"
"Review frames of security footage," he answers. He opens his laptop, and clicks through a few files to find the right one.
"I can look with you."
"You don't enjoy those things."
"I enjoy you," you argue. "And maybe you need me to sit on your lap."
"I doubt I need that." Despite that impenetrable poker face, you can hear the light mockery in his tone.
"Sure you do. I'm hot and you like to touch me."
He gives you that look, the one that says he thinks you're being completely ridiculous. In other words, he looked charmed. "Those are true things, but I see no reason."
"Do you need a reason for everything?"
"It would be good to have a reason for everything."
"How wise. If I just sat in your lap, would you stop me?"
"...No."
Ten minutes later, you were sat in his lap, half asleep. This was the only time he would sit like the average person, but the mild discomfort was worth it for the ability to rest his chin on your shoulder, and to carress your waist as he worked.
Oh, how he loved you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MINI EXTRA:
Matsuda had been minding his own business. All he wanted was a drink of water. He had gotten up to pee, it was only 3:46, he had time to get a little water and go back to bed. That's what he thought. But when he made the descent down the stairs, all the way to the staff kitchen, he had noticed something odd. One of the walls was emitting a sort of...thumping? It was barely audible, but in the silence of the building he could hear it.
He pressed his ear to the wall, and he could hear something. Muffled talking. Was that talking? It wasn't quite, it was something like talking. Was something wrong? He walked out of the kitchen, and around the side to follow the sound. There was a closed door, and when he opened it, it led to a hallway. He hadn't been in here before. Considering the space and distance the room with the sound would be....the closest one on the right.
He tiptoed to the wood door, and reached for the handle....but paused. If there was something wrong, wouldn't it be better to wake the others first? He could hear a little better now, and there was some kind of shuffling and yelling.
He took a deep breath, prayed the door wasn't creaky, and carefully put his ear to it.
"Oh, L! yes! Right there! Fuck!! Don't stop-" Pant, pant- "oh god! Oh god!!!"
Matsuda scrambled back from the door.
Oh god.