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“This doesn't make any sense, Ryuzaki.” Light stares down at the metal… device, is the best word he can come up with for it. It looks medieval, the kind of punishment long since outlawed by any reasonable government. The silver of the cage and lock matches the handcuffs that L has already clasped around their wrists, and now in the privacy of their (shared) bedroom, L presents him with another, far more embarrassing lock and key.
“Kira is the sort to chase his desires. He doesn't deny himself anything for long, regardless of the consequences. If you were Kira, it would only make sense that you would protest the use of such a device.” L has that tone of voice he always does when he’s accusing Light for a nonsense reason. Light’s thoughts race as he thinks and overthinks why L is wrong, how he can counter his reasoning. For the first time, Light really does see no logic in L’s reasoning, because apparently, L is some kind of dickless Ken doll.
“No, no, this is uncomfortable for any normal person my age,” Light says, gesturing with his hand only to make the handcuff chains between them rattle softly.
“Consider also that we are supposed to spend our time chained together physically. Am I meant to sit nearby while you touch yourself?”
Light can’t argue with that.
The weeks pass. L and Light are stuck together in a hell of L’s creation. They spend every waking and sleeping hour together growing accustomed to every stupid habit of one another's. L sleeps weirdly, he eats horribly, he doesn’t bathe nearly as often as a grown man should. Passively, Light considers saying that he is Kira, because whatever punishment awaits him from the legal system is less horrifying than that.
Not to mention the cage.
At first, he doesn’t mind. He’s never been nearly as hormonal as his peers have ever seemed. He rarely consumes porn, never goes out of his way to get physical with girls, and he knows he touches himself less often than was considered normal at the ripe age of eighteen. But even still, seemingly unending chastity is impossible even for him.
It’s becoming more common for him to wake, still hard, or trying to get there, inside of his cage, straining and plump, leaking precum. L is always polite enough to say nothing, if he can even tell since it doesn’t exactly show through his sleep pants, but Light’s face always flushes and when he drags L to the shower, he turns the water as cold as it gets and wills his dick soft again.
Sometime around his second month chained together, he just cannot take it anymore. When he wakes up, so hard it hurts and desperately resisting the urge to break the cage somehow, he groans and sits up to look at L, already awake and clearly immersed in whatever is on his laptop.
“Five minutes. I just need five minutes without the cage. Alone.” His cock throbs, and he holds his blanket bunched over his crotch, instinctively covering a boner that can’t possibly be visible.
“You know I can’t do that, Light. If you were Kira, you could do a lot of damage in just five minutes unattended.” L doesn’t look up from his screen, but he does start to click around through his files. He doesn’t particularly look busy, as if he’s only trying to appear busy so he doesn’t need to look at Light right now. “And since I can’t leave you unattended, I assume you don’t want me to take the cage off and leave you more tempted to take care of yourself with me right here.”
Light grits his teeth, weighs his options. L has already seen him in various kinds of embarrassment. And if Light can sit through L fighting for his life in the bathroom as a result of his horrid diet, L can suck it up and pretend Light isn’t jerking off. And maybe it’ll humanize him. Kira wouldn’t be such a shameless pervert, wouldn’t expose himself to his enemy like that.
“I can be quiet, you can pretend I’m not here. Five minutes, that’s all.” Light’s face burns with embarrassment, and when L finally looks over to him, the vaguest hint of surprise on his face, he considers retracting his plea. But he can’t, he just can’t make himself. He’s a normal eighteen-year-old boy with normal eighteen-year-old boy desires and just because L seems to forget what that felt like in his old age, however old he is, it doesn’t mean Light needs to let himself suffer.
“I’d have to find the key first,” he says. Light watches him intently for a moment, waiting for him to get up to acquire the key. L only looks away again and continues to click away at his laptop, opening a random spreadsheet full of names, dates, and locations of recent Kira killings. Light only knows he’s not even trying to do work, and is only stalling because he can, because L’s eyes don’t once move from the very center of the screen.
“Are you going to?” He asks, finally, desperation creeping into his voice. He’s still hard-ish in his cage, expectant that he’ll get relief soon. L doesn’t seem to have any sense of urgency.
“Did you mean now?” He asks, feigning ignorance. L is a horrid liar, for being the greatest detective and easily one of the smartest men alive. Light considers punching him right across the jaw. Again. L only makes that urge worse when he continues speaking. “Kira is awfully impatient too. After two months of waiting, surely you can wait until I’m finished with my work here, assuming you aren’t Kira”
Something in Light snaps. There’s nothing smart to say about it, no logical argument he can make. For the first time in his life, Light thinks his dick is talking instead of his brain. “I’m not Kira, I’m a pent-up, horny teenage boy with morning wood inside of a metal cage as we speak. I just want to masturbate and go take a shower and get back to work.”
To his credit, L doesn’t look nearly as off-put as Light would expect. Instead, he finally makes his move to find the key. He reaches for their bedside table, fishes around the drawer for a moment, before holding up a shiny, silver key. Light's almost mad that L tried to call that finding, as if he didn't clearly know exactly where the key would be.
“Don’t get any ideas, I don’t keep the keys to the handcuffs there,” he says simply, before handing the keys over. “You said five minutes, correct?” L’s eyes move quickly to the clock on the wall, ticking silently as Light fingers the key in his hand. He doesn’t move yet to undress, waiting for L to busy himself with his work, or at least pretend to, again. “I think five minutes is plenty of time if you are so ‘pent-up,’ as you put it. We’ll have to shower and dress soon, after all, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. You have until 7:32 until I ask that you lock yourself back up.”
Light realizes that L isn’t joking, because that man never jokes, and he quickly looks to the clock. Shit. The second hand ticks steadily, and Light realizes waiting for L to ignore him is a genuine waste of time. If he actually touches himself and he doesn’t finish, he’ll spend the rest of the day in agony.
He kicks the blankets off of himself begins to push his sleep pants down, leaving him and his caged cock exposed. Light doesn’t dare look up, because he knows if he does, L will be nearby, watching, shamelessly. Light would call him a pervert, but he isn’t even sure that’s the case. L clearly doesn’t experience sexual desire the way he does, it seems, which means he’s probably just that awkward and uncaring about Light’s privacy. Somehow, that’s worse, and Light doesn’t even want to begin to unpack why that is to him.
Light’s hands work swiftly to unlock himself, and he moans involuntarily as the cage comes off. His hand comes up to mouth, stifling the noises he knows he won’t be able to hold back if he’s reacting solely because he’s freed himself. His cock is in agony, hard but not nearly all the way. Light’s takes himself in his other hand, stroking himself slowly, thumbing at the head, coaxing his cock to full hardness. It responds easily, twitching and throbbing in his hand until he’s hard, properly so.
He looks to the clock. Just under four minutes are left already, and he’s only just gotten hard. Under normal circumstances, he’d start out slow, with teasing strokes up and down the whole of his length, letting his arousal build. He’d take, easily, almost an hour by himself some nights. He doesn’t have anything resembling that luxury now.
His hand works quickly. He couldn’t tease himself now if he tried, couldn’t move slowly if he had the time to anyway. It’s just been so long, and he wants to cum badly. Denying himself any longer would be a special kind of torture, but the time limit isn’t exactly a boon either way.
It doesn’t help that there’s another person in the room with him, watching him, even if Light pointedly looks nowhere near him. He can hear L’s breath, feel every shift on the bed as he pretends to work once more, and worse he can feel the eyes on him. He doesn’t want to think of how he must look, desperately masturbating in bed beside him, moaning pathetically as every little motion of his hand sends electricity up his spine.
His own eyes are glued to the clock as his hand moves furiously. The handcuffs between them jingle loudly, but it still doesn’t drown out his sounds of pleasure. Seconds pass unbearably quickly, all the while Light tries to think of anything besides L staring at him, as if mental images of scantily clad girls, of Misa in her little pink nighty, will do anything to rush him along. He’s down to under a minute before he even feels himself growing close.
Sweat beads along his forehead, and precum beads at the slit of his cock as his orgasm draws closer and closer. Thirty seconds. He’s gasping now, and his moans are only growing louder and needier. He’s so close, and there’s only ten seconds left. Besides him, L isn’t even pretending to work, and out of the corner of his eyes, he can see L staring right at the clock too.
The second hand finishes its rotation, and Light can hear the intake of breath as L readies himself to remind him. Light’s hand refuses to stop, desperately chasing an orgasm he might not get again.
“Light,” L starts to stay, his voice quiet and admonishing, just as Light feels his orgasm overtake him, crashing over him in waves. His cock jumps in his hand as his release shoots onto his own shirt.
He simply sits there a moment, panting, seeing stars and trying hard to come back down to earth. He’s never finished so strongly in his life. He’s also never felt so gross in his life, his hand and his shirt both covered in his seed.
“I think I said 7:32, Light. That’s very much like Kira of you, to ignore other’s-” Light cuts him off by shoving his cum-covered hand over L’s mouth.