InsaneJournal

Current mood:	accomplished
Current music:	Cupid's Chokehold - Gym Class Heroes
Entry tags:	30_kisses

Here's another prompt. Linked to the prompt table as well. Huurrr, this one is what B-fic is meant to be: bloody and violent. XD I'll x-post this to 30_kisses in another day or so, when my post is bumped down. XD;

Also, lol, "Cupid's Chokehold" seems to fit in the sense of the title alone. XD

Title: Violence Fetish
Author/Artist: temptationwaits
Fandom: Death Note/Another Note
Pairing: Beyond Birthday/L
List and #: Alternate #26 - war without tears
Rating: MA (gore, profanity, violence)
Disclaimer: Death Note, L, etc. © Ooba Tsugumi, Obata Takeshi, etc. Beyond Birthday, Another Note, etc. © Ishin Nishio.
A/N: Spoilers for L's real name (maybe even death date?), as well for Beyond Birthday. Shounen-ai by kiss, nothing more intimiate than that. Once again, the title of this fic is named after a song. In this case, "Violence Fetish" by Disturbed. Oh it just fit!

"I don't regret this."

He rose the bat above his head and brought it down with a harsh whipping noise cutting through the air. It hit Quarter Queen's head with a hollow thwack and thud. The butt of the baseball bat hit her right in the left temple, hard enough to crush the side of her skull, her head caving in like a squashed melon. Her nose crunched as the bone broke off to the side, one of her pretty, long-lashed eyes popping from its socket, veiny and fogged with the chloroform, hanging pathetically from the optic nerve and a few fleshy, knotted cords.

"I don't regret a single thing."

He withdrew the bat slowly, allowing it to drag down her corpse, leaving behind a crudely drawn red trail, chunks of hair and skin and chipped pieces of skull like a broken tea cup following. For a moment, he merely stood there, breathing softly, the air wrecking of blood and piss, as her body's organs flushed out all its filth before shutting down, a way of dying gallantly by choosing to fall back on a bed, by choosing to die with your eyes closed. But there was nothing dignifying about the mess the body made in order to do this.

He was dirty, just as dirty as her, but at least alive. Definitely alive. Like war paint, his white sleeved shirt was dyed red with her blood, the same liquid splattered against his cheeks, his legs drenched. Blood puddled in the carpet under his feet. He squished his toes--squelch, squelch--in the wet floor and couldn't help but smile. Like a child walking barefoot in the rain, wiggling their toes in dirty puddles dyed with rainbows from gasoline.

"Just like I don't regret..." he breathed, throwing down the bat. It hit the ground with a tink-tink-tink, sending blood to fly off its tainted surface. He lashed a thumb across his cheek, smearing out a line of the blood, right below and along his left red eye. "... What I did to you."

Right. That time. It felt like yesterday, but it had been quite a long time. Months? Hell, a year?

The man whose face he would steal, his mannerisms he would claim as his own, his voice and words he would plagiarize, was sitting with his back to him in the empty room void of anything but a computer. The way his back haunched, his spine digging into his skin from beneath his white shirt, it was breathingtaking in a way. From a distance, you would think he was frail, he was delicate like an antique, but up close, you saw his broad shoulders, his long limbs, his devious look of a man who has lived long past his time.

B touched a pale hand to the jamb of the door. One eye, one single bright red left eye peering through the crack of the door. His pupil dilated, irises shrunk in thin rings of crimson. And he watched him, he watched this strange entity known as L. Or Lawliet. Lawliet was his real name. L was pseudonym. Those who could surpass the current L would become the next L and so on and so forth, a great big Circle of Life.

B liked the taste of that name on his tongue. It was a lot like strawberries. The bitter strawberries, the sour strawberries, but yet so delicious nonetheless. He often wondered if L actually did taste like strawberries. But that couldn't be possible. He'd taste like flesh, he'd taste like human; not that B ever knew the taste of skin beyond the occasional lick of a wound or when he chewed into the cuticles of his fingernails enough to form scabs (mimic, mimic, mimic).

"If I disappeared, would you miss me?"

L hit the 'esc' button. "Do we speak literally or figuratively?"

B smirked, pushing the door open slowly, revealing his second eye. L's death date, it was so clear and it hung like a rain cloud above his head. Yet L never once wanted to know when he'd die. Not once. If he thought this would make him some sort of stronger person, B supposed it would have to be in the eye of the beholder, because it didn't matter if you knew or not. The death date, it never changes. You can fight it all you want, but the numbers are the numbers of the day you are to die. L could very well know his numbers down to a pat, but it wouldn't help or save him any less.

It's too bad, B thought. Only a few years left.

But if he has only a few years, then I'll only have a few years.

"Either or," B answered. He moved into the room like a shadow, unnoticed. "Out of thin air, or merely leaving, I'd be gone nonetheless. Thus, again, I ask: would you miss me, L?"

L's fingers scampered along the keyboard like some frantic flutter of bird wings. "It would be a shame," L retorted a second later, "to lose someone of such caliber as yourself."

"You're too kind, L," B chuckled.

"Not at all," L disagreed. Tick tick tap. "I merely am stating the obvious. Your brain power, your abilities, they could all offer a helping hand to this organization. It'd be a waste if you died." He turned his head slightly, but all B saw was a profile hidden by a curtain of greasy black bangs. "Your insight, if nothing else."

B slumped forward behind L. He tucked his hands in his jeans' pockets. "As an accessory, as a resource, you'll miss me?"

"I said that, didn't I?" L hummed. His face turned back to the blaring screen, reflecting numbers and names and photos of a woman with her intestine ripped out.

B's smile faded into a frown, a blank one, a thoughtless one. He merely watched L work. And L continued to remain focused in aforementioned work. For a minute or two, neither boy said a word. No voices spoke, just clatter-clatter of keys being pushed a mile a minute. L reached over to pop a chocolate in his mouth but nothing more, nothing less.

B didn't say a word, didn't usher a noise or change the expression of ennui on his face as he reached out and grabbed L by a handful of his messy hair, yanking him forcefully back. L fell back, hanging briefly by only B's grasp on his head. "You wouldn't miss me for anything else, L?" B asked softly.

"This doesn't help," L answered calmly. He clenched his teeth before flying back an arm, the side of his hand meeting B's ribcage hard. B winced but did nothing more; he let L go and recoiled a step, touching a hand to his sore hip. L sat there for a moment, rubbing the sore patch of scalp before climbing to his feet. Slowly, he turned and his look of shock melted quickly from his face.

B stared at him with his red eyes. L was looking at his reflection, his twisted, morbid reflection. B's hair had been trimmed, cut, mussed to match L's own mop, the same ebony black. Bags, rather natural or make-up, sunk under his eyelids. Shirt white with long sleeves, jeans blue, bare feet, back bent. Then B's right eye widened behind disheveled bangs, the other squinting as his smile stretched across his face to mimic the Cheshire Cat.

"Do you like what you see, L?" B inquired, a snigger bubbling deep in the pit of his throat. "How does it feel to stare into your very own soul, fucked five ways from Sunday?"

L scratched the back of his head, turning his hair up into another cowlick. "I'm impressed. You're quite handsome, B," he replied.

B's smile turned to sweetness. "You really know how to tug on my heart strings, L," he crooned. It was like a snap fingers and B was pouncing on top of L, knocking him to the floor. B pinned one of L's arms to the ground, the fingers of his free hand piercing into L's chest. "I wonder how I can pull on yours?"

"It'll take a bit more than this," L said. He pulled one leg up against his chest and kicked it into B's stomach. B flew right off him, landing on hands and feet like a cat. Still on all fours, he turned around to face L as he sat up, cracking his sore back.

B sat up to a squat, looking much like a wolf, watching its prey with a tongue lapping outside its mouth. B stretched his arms over his bent, knobbly knees. "I guess when it comes to you, L, the saying is true: the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," he humored. Leaning his head and torso forward, he struck again, pulling back a fist and thrusting it at L's stomach.

L was always one step a head of him. (That's why he's L, and I'm not.) L grabbed B's wrist, squeezed and yanked him forward. B grunted at the force of the pull, before his arm shrieked as it was twisted in its socket and behind his back. "So why not try and bake me a cake?" L gibed.

"I'm not exactly a domesticate type," B purred. He bashed his head back into L's face. L quickly let him loose and recoiled, hand flying to his face. B stepped forward, rolled his shoulder around, then massaged the back of his head. He turned, hand still to his head, and saw blood leak between L's fingers clasped over his nose. "It seems I made you bleed."

L withdrew his hand and looked at the blood smeared into his palm. A thin trail leaked from one nostril down his face. "I haven't had a nosebleed in a long while. Not since I found that special little magazine hidden in one of the orphan's rooms," he smirked, running tongue along his top lip to wipe away salty blood.

"L, you're such a pervert," B snickered. He jumped forward; L rose his arms to defend himself. Rather, B came to a halt right in front of him. B smirked a little "heh" before falling back and knocking his leg against L's. L tumbled forward; but he had been prepared; he fell forward on his hands, doing a quick turn. He struck B across the face with his foot, landing on his hands and knees a second later. B fell backwards, now the one holding his face.

"I figured foul play is acceptable," L said, standing and rubbing his foot into the carpet, "since you did hit me in the face."

B dragged a hand across his face, wiping away the blood staining it. Now both their noses were bleeding. "It would be boring if I only had to choose one place to touch you," B chortled, licking blood from his thumb.

Once again, B was at his throat. They landed to the ground together, B on top of L. L threw his weight into B, knocking him on his side. He climbed on top of him, grabbing his wrists to restrain him. L went to move before B's knee could meet his groin, but B was fast. He couldn't underestimate his elder. L scooted back before hopping back to his feet, B meeting him to a stand.

B threw one fist at L; L caught it. B threw the other fist, but L caught it as well. The red eyed boy slipped his hands up in the firm grasps until he had enough room to clap his fingers tightly around L's forearms. They pushed against one another, trying to force the other down, glaring and yet smiling at the same time, as if this were some game. (It is some game.)

L suddenly released B's hands, threw off his hold then grabbed him by the waist. B growled and dug his fingers into his shoulders as L wrapped his arms around his hips, then, in a stunning display of agility, bending backwards with B on top of him. To finish the suplex, L fell back on his back, B's head crashing hard into the ground. With that, he quickly scampered to his feet, rubbing the small of his back.

"Ayeee," B whined, sitting up and holding his head. He still smiled. "That hurt quite a bit."

"You should stop now," L suggested, squatting again. He tilted his head, looking very much like an owl. "You could seriously hurt yourself or fall into a concussion with that sort of blow."

"I'll be happy to close my eyes and rest," B hummed, clumsily standing and swaying. His bloody smile reappeared. "As soon as I finish what I've started."

L hardly had any time to prepare himself when B launched another attack on him. Punch after punch after punch. L managed to block or dodge most of them, but one or two hit him in the shoulder and nicked his chin. As his head was turned from the blow, B went to deck him in the stomach before L quickly turned and did a round house kick to his neck, sending B hitting the ground again like a bag of potatoes.

Despite the pain and overwhelming dizziness, B was back on his sore feet and running forward. As he got close to L, he ducked his upper half down and forward, thrusting a fist hard into L's gut. L coughed and limped forward against the clenched hand, all the air in his lungs gushing out in one sharp gasp. As B started to retract his fist, L threw his arm back, smacking B along the face hard, leaving behind a red hand print on his bloody cheek.

B side-stepped and rubbed his cheek. L dropped back on his hands and used both his feet to kick B in the stomach. B stumbled backwards, but caught his balance, coughing into his hand. With a deep inhale, his red eyes burning fire and brimstone, B pounced at L.

The two tangoed for a moment, struggling to overpower the other. Finally, with a pained grunt, L's back hit the wall hard. B pressed his body against his, grabbed him by his wrists and pinned his hands to the wall. L opened his eyes and looked at B, whose face was so much like his, bloodied and black eyed and bruising.

"So," B whispered, panting, "you won't miss me when I'm gone?"

"You've got my answer," L replied, calm.

And there he saw hurt in B's eyes. Terrible, terrible hurt. (Just say 'yes,' just say 'yes you will.') B's eyes went half lidded as he grinned tiredly. "I guess, you could say, you've won this battle," he purred. He leaned forward, sucking the blood from the cut across L's top lip. L groaned slightly, but didn't turn away. B lashed the tip of his crimson red tongue along the slice of flesh before drawing back his face. "But this is a war without tears, so I can't allow myself to feel hurt or offended."

With that, B pushed a bruisingly hard kiss to L's pale lips. L's eyes went half lidded, but did not close, allowing the kiss, allowing him to embrace him. He could, if he wanted to, wiggle his way out of this, but... B's tongue and his breath, they were hot and tasted sticky sweet like jam. Running along his teeth, the cavities, the inside of his cheeks. Tongue against tongue, air mingling with air, wants and needs and likes and dislikes said without a single word.

B let L go and stepped away, the thin strand of saliva connecting their mouths breaking. He touched his fingers to his lips gingerly. "Like strawberries, just like strawberries," he crooned.

"I'd say the same for you," L mused, standing straight and cracking his neck.

B's smile was thick and mischievous. "I wonder if that'll be my first and last kiss," he smirked.

L just stared at him, curious.

The next day, Roger reported B had run away from the orphanage without so much as a word or note. L paid the news no mind, but didn't explain the source of his black eye, bruises, cut lip and sore limbs. He sat there at his computer all day, his thumb running back and forth over his lips, recalling a faint taste of strawberries.

"I didn't regret it then, I don't regret it now."

B nudged his foot against Quarter Queen's side. Her stiff body twitched, but nothing more. B looked out the window, at the full moon. He smiled. "All's fair in love and war, and I've yet to shed any tears in this battle."

A minute later, B tsked. "Sticky, sticky, sticky!" he harumped, before retreating to the shower to bathe then start his extensive cleaning.