That earns a slightly amused look, and when L has deemed the drug thin enough, he sets the lighter aside, lifts the concealed needle, rips the plastic away with his teeth. The plastic-end of the instrument, he holds between his teeth as he discards the covering onto the desk, and then it is being pinched between careful fingers, index and middle urging the plunger upward as the sharp metal tip is dipped into the liquid.
He is purposely drawing this out as slowly as possible.
And then the spoon is set aside carefully, and L holds the needle with a doctor’s professionalism. He leans forward—close—gives Beyond another long, silent assessment before he speaks.
“Your mind is brilliant. It is a pity that you waste it away on such frivolous things.” Even as he is tracing along the other’s scars lightly with his index, trying to find a plump, unused vein. They seem non-existent. With a light exhale, he places the plastic-end of the needle between his teeth once more, reaches for the elastic to tie around the top of the other’s wiry bicep.
“Hold out your arm.” Slightly muffled by the instrument, but audible enough to be comprehended.
The liquid-comfort creeps -slowly, slowly- uphill and his subconscious immediately charges Ryuuzaki of deliberately torturing him — but, Beyond’s experienced enough to know it could as easily be his paranoia. Then again, it sounds like his dealer, doesn’t it? While he provides the goods, he also derives some pleasure, B’s noticed, from being the one to hold what his “customers” are desperate to possess. His heel bounces lightly, impatiently, and stills, eyes forced from minding the needle to those assessing eyes.
He wants to argue that, turn it into a jest and maybe morph it into some manner of taunt, but, first, he’ll outstretch his arm cooperatively. L can’t find his vein. His lips quirk despite the array of withdrawal symptoms nipping his heels, and he feels the grazing of L’s hand over his skin. Subdued, because of the burn scar, comparable to the muffing of auditory stimuli behind a wall, but t’s nice. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased with the thinning of his body, he insomnia is strikes him with and thusly the dark-rimmed eyes.
“Yes, sir,” he half-mocks, but without the usual purr of humor. His other hand urges his sleeve further up and he lowers his hand to his arm to feel for the vein in a particular vicinity. It’s hard to find, not only because it’s so thin, but the strange texturing of his scars. At the very least, it camouflages the track marks. “Right around here. I can do it.”
An earnest offer, watching the other like a child waiting for his nightly dessert.
Of course, Beyond’s insistence is ignored. Without the slightest sound of disagreement, L loops the elastic around the area just above his elbow—once, twice, and then secures it with a tight knot. It is difficult to locate a vein beneath all of these scars, but it is not something that he is going to allow the other to do. Because this is a particularly strong batch, and Beyond will become overexcited, inject the needle’s full contents at once, and L will be left with a body on his office floor.
He has no desire to deal with setbacks.
He gives the band a few seconds to do its work, and it is mildly efficient. The pressure draws a few veins within visibility through the scattering of scarred skin, and he works over them with a thumb. It is clear that none of these have been unused. Most are hard, some are deflated, and he chooses the least afflicted one with a press of his fingerpad, drawing the needle down with his right hand.
It is with silent concentration that he presses the tip of the needle to the bulging vein, slides it just beneath the skin at an angle, then presses the plunger down—slowly, carefully—until half of the contents have been injected.
And now he will wait as he withdraws it, sets it aside, goes about wiping at the small trickle of blood with a cotton ball. Meticulously, for he is not aware of any diseases that Beyond may or may not have.