[L nods, the tension sitting on his shoulders as Shōyō fumbles out endearingly awkward words of acquiescence. He's actually surprised to hear that Shōyō's been fond of him, "that kind of like", for some time, but in fairness to L, he's never been in this situation, dating or kissing or anything remotely like it unless monitoring Light and Misa's dates counted (it didn't.)
In fairness to Shōyō, the volleyball player knows hardly anything of substance about L. Only his fake name, the assumption that he's French based on that name, his food preferences and a few other tidbits dropped and scattered occasionally. Clearly, this "like" is based on some successful lie he's managed to present, but tonight he's being selfish. Tonight he's not going to dwell too much on just how cruel it is, to both of them, to pretend that Shōyō likes a good person.
He cranes his neck, having to bend down slightly for their mouths to align and meet. Shōyō's sun-kissed cheek feels warm and smells sweet against the nudge of L's nose, and the tender give of lips isn't so unlike a peach's skin or the soft, sinking press of a freshly baked cinnamon roll. L's always savored both of those things, taking his time with the first nibble. Maybe he always knew that it was as close as he would come to kissing, and other sorts of pleasure that were just for other people, but not him, never him.
He realizes at a certain point that he's caught and been savoring Shōyō's upper lip, alone. Two rows of broadly-grinning teeth sit beneath it.
He improvises with his thrilled partner, who must be so happy because he's such a natural prodigy at kissing. Thus armed with knowledge of his instinctive prowess, L opts to snake the tip of his tongue out and hesitantly lick some of Shōyō's exposed teeth.]
no subject
In fairness to Shōyō, the volleyball player knows hardly anything of substance about L. Only his fake name, the assumption that he's French based on that name, his food preferences and a few other tidbits dropped and scattered occasionally. Clearly, this "like" is based on some successful lie he's managed to present, but tonight he's being selfish. Tonight he's not going to dwell too much on just how cruel it is, to both of them, to pretend that Shōyō likes a good person.
He cranes his neck, having to bend down slightly for their mouths to align and meet. Shōyō's sun-kissed cheek feels warm and smells sweet against the nudge of L's nose, and the tender give of lips isn't so unlike a peach's skin or the soft, sinking press of a freshly baked cinnamon roll. L's always savored both of those things, taking his time with the first nibble. Maybe he always knew that it was as close as he would come to kissing, and other sorts of pleasure that were just for other people, but not him, never him.
He realizes at a certain point that he's caught and been savoring Shōyō's upper lip, alone. Two rows of broadly-grinning teeth sit beneath it.
He improvises with his thrilled partner, who must be so happy because he's such a natural prodigy at kissing. Thus armed with knowledge of his instinctive prowess, L opts to snake the tip of his tongue out and hesitantly lick some of Shōyō's exposed teeth.]