L

Light went completely limp the moment L's lips touched his own, as though right then and there any sort of lingering resistance there might have been had been trampled underfoot by the contact. It was so soft at first that it almost didn't seem to even register, yet the gravity of it all came crashing down on him when those same lips pressed against his more insistently, demanding his attention. The hand that was holding L's squeezed reflexively, as though to hold on to him, to this moment; the way he was behaving was a complete and utter paradox, and even though he continued to blame the drugs for it something in him told him that maybe, just maybe this would be okay, that he wasn't in his right mind anyway. Even just that thought right there was a testament in itself.

It was so very hard, and yet also so very easy, to just let go, and he found himself struggling in a balancing act between the two. In his eyes there was a plethora of doubt and self-loathing at the fact that it had even gotten this far, and yet he didn't let go of that hand, bangs obscuring his eyes as he lowered his chin against his chest, the aphrodisiac spreading like a lethal poison that would only get worse and worse if he chose not to succumb to it. Where had all of that strength of conviction gone to, Light wondered, alongside the realization that he really couldn't take it anymore.

"We should move to the bed then," he said in a low, ambiguous voice, making to move toward there.