Fandom: Death Note
Word Count: 1196
Warnings: Mild voyeurism
Author's Note: Written for 30_lemons #2, 'Audience'. As with almost all my Naomi/L fic, takes place in an AU where Naomi quit the FBI following the events in 'Another Note' and works with L.
Summary: She couldn't understand how he could so impassively spy on the lives of so many, without their knowledge, and feel no guilt over it. She felt guilty even catching glimpses of his surveillance monitors....
The make shift wall of monitors and television screens was almost overwhelming. Naomi stood in the doorway a moment, a tray balanced on her hands. She’d offered to bring Ryuzaki dessert - and have her own, as well - in his room. They’d been at this particular hotel for some time, and he’d taken up semi-permanent residence.
Tvs and computer monitors were stacked on top of one another, flat screens were mounted on the wall, all of them showing clear images of various people in various places.
Ryuzaki was hunched over in a desk chair in front of them, arms folded on the desk and chin resting on his hands. Naomi’s gaze drifted from the screens to Ryuzaki himself, and she smiled.
“Hey,” she called out, coming up behind him. “Brought you something.”
Ryuzaki made some small noise and reached for the mouse of his computer, and Naomi sighed. She set the tray down on the desk and leaned over, reaching for his hand.
“Come on,” she urged. “You’ve been at it for hours. You need a break.”
“I am fine.”
“Your eyes are going to fall out of your head,” Naomi teased, twining her fingers through his as she pulled his hand from the mouse. “Ten minutes won’t kill you. I brought ice cream.”
That, at least, would get his attention.
“Is it midnight already?” Ryuzaki’s eyes flicked to a clock and he leaned back in his chair, toes flexing and curling.
“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Naomi shook her head and leaned over Ryuzaki from behind, wrapping her arms around him. She watched the screens as he reached for his ice cream.
They were all suspects, each a possible piece in one of the many puzzles L was working on. Everyone from spun out tweakers in dirty apartments to wealthy families in hilltop mansions. And their lives were all on display for Ryuzaki, every moment exposed to his prying eyes.
Naomi had slowly become used to this, watching other people live their lives, unknowing. A part of her was still uncomfortable with the idea - and the scrutiny with which Ryuzaki subjected them to - but it was something she had to accept.
And really, of all the uncomfortable and disturbing aspects of working with - and being involved with - Ryuzaki, this was on the bottom of the list.
“I have made little progress,” he said, suddenly. Naomi rested her chin on his shoulder and let her eyes move from screen to screen.
“Quiet night?” Most of the screens showed bedrooms and sleeping people. One displayed a junky shooting up, one a man and a woman fighting, one a teenager up late watching their own television.
“Do you ever feel….like they’re watching you back?”
Ryuzaki turned his head, and Naomi felt his eyes on her.
“No. They don’t even know their homes are under surveillance. They cannot look back at me.”
“I didn’t mean literally. I just meant… I don’t know. Surrounded by all the screens, I think if I spent as much time at it as you did, I’d feel like eyes were always on me.”
Ryuzaki had finished his sunday and Naomi watched him reach for the other.
“That one’s mine,” she said. Ryuzaki shrugged and swirled the spoon in the ice cream before offering it to Naomi. She laughed a little and let him feed her that way, both of them watching for any new movements on the screen.
“Looks like they made up,” Naomi said, pointing to the screen that had displayed the fighting couple. Now they were locked in an embrace, kissing and pawing at each other.
“They do that often.” Ryuzaki’s eyes flicked up for a moment and then moved to another screen.
“Good way to pass a boring Friday night, I guess.” She was still behind Ryuzaki, and she teasingly kissed the edge of his jaw.
“Do you intend to keep watching?” There was a subtle hint of teasing in the detective’s voice, and Naomi tugged at his earlobe with her teeth.
“Maybe….” But they both knew she wouldn’t, and it was only the strange, inscrutable form of flirting they had fallen into. “I think that’s more of a contact sport, than a spectator one.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors.”
“I know. But it sounded good.” Naomi let her hands move down, over Ryuzaki’s chest. She nibbled at his neck, and he moved his head to give her access. He was still watching his screens, but she knew he would. And she knew his eyes would never leave them, no matter she did to him.
She spared a glance to the couple on that one screen, at the edge and up high. They were on the bed now, clothes half off, writhing against each other. They were all legs and breasts and skin and hands.
Naomi looked away, feeling ashamed. She didn’t have any right to watch two strangers do that. Not without their permission.
She focused on Ryuzaki instead - though she supposed, here, as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, he was more L than Ryuzaki - letting her hands and mouth keep her from sneaking a glance at the monitor.
Despite Ryuzaki’s cold demeanor and lack of reaction, she found him quite interested in her attentions. Physically, at least. She ran her fingers over his arousal, teasing. She tilted her head, seeking his lips. He turned to her, but his eyes never moved. Even as she touched him intimately and took his tongue into her mouth, he watched the screens and clicked between cameras.
There was a temptation there, to see if she could distract him. To see how far he’d let her go before his eyes moved from his work. And a part of her, that wild part that had urged her as a college student to buy a motorcycle and break dance in the street, wanted to try.
But she’d tried before and she knew it was useless. Ryuzaki could do his work and enjoy her attentions at the same time. She knew he did enjoy it, or he’d tell her to stop.
Naomi knew what he liked. She pressed kisses along his neck and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly. She was rewarded with a slight shifting, a flexing of feet that drew Ryuzaki’s legs closer together and gave her more room.
It was almost like being at the movies. The flickering, low lights. The ache and chafe of stiff denim against her wrist. The eerie quiet. And the actors on screen had no idea what their audience was doing.
Naomi’s hand moved faster, and she closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of Ryuzaki’s neck. She stroked him hard, and she felt him swallow and there was a sudden jerk in her hand, and then it was over.
Naomi pulled her hand away, standing up. Her eyes went to the side of the screens, and up. That couple was done, too, under the covers and murmuring quietly to one another, arms entwined.
She felt something nudge her wrist and looked down. Ryuzaki was staring at his monitors, thumb at his chin, silently offering her a handful of napkins.