xanque
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Sharp green eyes stare back at Eiji. Only for a moment, and then those eyes close shut, face relaxed. Completely and perfectly asleep. Except the hair on the back of Eiji's neck has stiffened— that same feeling Eiji learned to listen to when he was nineteen because it means something isn’t right (before he even learned just how things can go so terribly wrong). Ash is asleep, to anyone else, but Eiji knows what his husband looks like actually tired from a long day, and this smaller, stiffer version is certainly not the same man that fell in bed with him last night.
A man... this looks like a child.
Or, a 30-year-old Ash is swapped out with a 15-year-old Ash, and Eiji's just along for the bumpy ride.
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L wants to see Light fall apart. Sexually, that is, because L doubts he'll ever be privy to it anywhere else.
It's a tricky little desire. He wants to see Light squirm, wants to see his eyes widen in shock— wider than they do when something doesn't go his way. He wants to watch Light unable to stop his heavy breathing, unable to simply wipe sweat off his temples and return to that boring, picture-perfect face. It's such a drag to look at, what a tiring facade.
He supposes it means he wants something real from Light. Craves it. And realizes privately that sex may be his only shot at getting it.
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"I'm sorry," Eiji whispers when Ash's breathing has almost quieted.
"What?" Ash asks, and he doesn't sound mad, only surprised. Of course he doesn't. It's Ash, and he's Eiji, and even when Ash is mad, he's protective.
Eiji refuses to open his eyes, burying his head into the pillow. "I'm sorry I made you kiss me." Now, that word is easy to get out, effortless, because it's not a plea but something spit out in frustration.
"Made me- what?"
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Twelve lies down on his back on the couch. His arm hangs over, fingers barely extended, but Nine catches them easily, simply, not even looking down. He continues one-handed on his computer, finishing hacking into the police’s files, and their fingers intertwine lazily, idly, and neither thinks anything much of it.
When Nine closes his computer, he untangles their fingers. Twelve tugs on them for just a second longer, running along his knuckles in a whisper.