Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Sometimes he thinks about killing them. 

As he looks out over the investigation room each day, at all of them working so hard. Swimming aimlessly forward as always, hooked on lines that don’t allow them to stray far. Caught in an endless loop of dead ends of his own design, inescapable. Almost pitiable.

Maybe he should kill them if only to put them out of their misery. And he would, sooner or later. Sooner if they raise any threat at all, but it looks as though that isn’t going to be a problem any time soon. The years since L’s death tick by, and it's all become so… laughably easy. The knowledge of the New World on the horizon lights a fire in his every step, his every movement, each day growing closer to his ideal. …Maybe he should end it now if only to erase the inconvenience. 

It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. 

Just a handful of characters written in ink, blotted out of existence in sharp, purposeful strokes across the page. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards at the thought. 

___________

A BRIGHT NEW AGE OF KIRA 

SURVEY REVEALS RISE IN PUBLIC SUPPORT FOR KIRA AS MAJOR BUSINESSES ACROSS TOKYO MOVE TO ENDORSE KIRA

Matsuda frantically thumbs through the morning paper for any scrap of a story that isn’t some awful new milestone in the supposed “New Age of Kira” they live in.

NEW SURGE OF INTERNET LEAKS, RECORD NUMBER DEATHS ESTIMATED NEAR–

He wades through all the bad information, trying without much luck to find something else, some other section that isn’t… that. 

Bodies found–

Something else—

Witnesses report the victim keeled over and fell from the platform in front of the Yamanote Line early Friday morning… 

…deem this not a suicide, but Kira’s judgement– One, former student Watanabe Yujiro, age 20, charges of shoplifting…

—mangled by the impact—

He stops searching.

The room is very still. Mogi and Ide stare blankly at the monitors in front of them, white light reflecting on their tired faces. Aizawa busies himself flipping through files, but clearly simmers under the surface, ready to pick a fight if the opportunity presents itself. A tense quiet sits in the space, no one wanting to say the first word, because that would make it real. Rain thrums against the windowpane beside him, echoing in his left ear— the only sound, as though it were filling the room. The silence weighs down on Matsuda, drowning him and everyone else, no room to breathe. So he decides to come up for air and raises his head to speak.

“I guess it was only a matter of time before we saw big companies openly show their support for… But they’re really spineless, huh? I mean, it’s so– How can they…” His words fall off, that line of thought too pointless, too bleak. “But we’ll definitely catch Kira, won’t we?” he offers instead.

Aizawa gives him an exhausted look and rubs a hand down his face, then returns to his paperwork. “We have to, Matsuda. It’s our job. Whether the public agrees with us or not, evidently,” he says curtly.

I know that. 

I was just trying something, which is more than anyone else is— Matsuda opens his mouth to retort but knows it’d just lead to an argument, some spat that doesn’t matter. Would only serve to tip this whole thing over and fill the room with more dread and tension— and decides against it.

There’s a dullness in their eyes, a quiet anger, but Matsuda mostly just gets the sense that everyone is completely drained. He remains the sole source of brightness in the room, but even that is just barely there, the hint of a flame surviving despite continually being doused. 

Yes, it’s been like this for some time, just him swimming up against the current. And he’ll swim again today, too, trying to drag everyone along with him. It’s a role he can play, after all, something he can do. Even if it's starting to seem like one big performance, a show— a lie. But he’ll keep playing the part, because, well, what else is he supposed to do? He tries to ignore how it almost feels wrong, as though he’s fighting for a dying cause. Because he knows, the others… some part of them had already given up long ago. And maybe if he were wiser, he would too.

“We– we can’t be stuck already. I mean, come on, it’s not like we’re completely useless without L- I mean, Ryuzaki.” He meant to say in a lighthearted manner, but maybe there's more truth to the statement than he’d intended. The look on the others’ faces seem to indicate so, at least. 

The downpour continues on outside, the sound replacing what might usually be scattered conversation, rustling papers, clacking of keys. Back when things resembled normality. 

Anything but this silence—

“Things will turn around soon enough,” he decides, words interrupting the deafening rain. “…We have Light-kun, at least.”

He smiles, a faint laugh leaving his lips. “But you know, if we solve this case, won’t we be hated by the masses? Do you think we’ll be met with a mob of crazy Kira supporters? Heh, if that’s the case, then what’s the rush, right…?” He was only trying to lighten the mood, to crack a joke, but the regret is instant as soon as it leaves his mouth. Always saying the wrong thing. 

Aizawa abruptly stands from the sofa and Matsuda prepares himself for an earful— Would you take this seriously? This is no time to joke around! …But it doesn’t come. Aizawa’s rigid form dissipates, whatever fueled words he had ready to fire fading, relenting as he slumps back into his seat. He sighs and Matsuda can clearly see the dark circles framing his eyes. In his weary state, he seems to allow that this is Matsuda’s own dumb way to make them feel okay, even when nothing is. 

Even though everything is probably broken beyond repair.

Matsuda moves to stand, the motion heavy and awkward as he rises through the long stretches of silence that blur into each other.

“…I’m going to check on the Chief and Light-kun. They’re still talking in the room down the hall, I think.”

Ide’s the only one who looks up, so he just returns his gaze with a slight nod and then practically bolts out of there. Doesn’t look back.

He travels down the hallway in hurried strides, relieved to escape the investigation room even if only for a moment. Swiftly rounds a couple corners, steadfast towards his destination, when he spots Light strolling directly his way. With… a slight hop in his step. A type of happy energy he rarely sees from the man. It surprises him, unsure how to receive it— but he isn’t complaining. No, more like, the sight makes his heart flutter.

“Light-kun! I was just coming to get you. …I guess you probably already saw the papers—”

And all at once he’s cornered and pushed hard into the wall, Light’s lips pressing fervently against his own, catching his breath in a kiss. 

…

Matsuda doesn’t know exactly when they started doing this. Or why.

They’ve, well, started seeing each other. He thinks. He’s pretty sure, anyway. 

The past several years working on this case were spent with uncertainty wavering on his mind. Sure, on the surface he’d make-believe like they were making progress, like the time that passed didn’t faze him, but truthfully he felt more lost and alone than ever, constantly on the brink of spilling over the edge. Life was like that for a long time. 

Until one night, when Light appeared in front of him and pulled him into an embrace. 

Thought it was a fluke at first, some fleeting gesture that didn’t really mean anything. But incidents he had deemed “lucky mistakes” began to pile up one by one. How Light would gradually inch closer to him on the couch until their knees touched, brush his hand in passing, tell him kind words that illuminated even his most hopeless days— and things started to make sense again. Drawn into that radiant presence, the alluring confidence of someone who always knows what to do, what to say, has the answers to the questions that had previously seemed insolvable. 

A secret. Light told him it’d be easier, more convenient if they kept it just between them, hidden away in little pockets of the apartment at night. At a love hotel once… (That he was way too excited to go to, while Light had remained completely stone-faced, maybe even a little repulsed to be walking into one. Still, Matsuda couldn’t help but enjoy it at the time, allowed the embarrassment to spread across his cheeks, reveling in the unlikely circumstances with a huge grin. He was used to being the fool, so he didn’t mind. Even found it kind of cute that Light was, ahem, kind of a prude about it. Not that he’d never say that out loud, of course. Just thought it to himself, chuckling.)

Light isn’t exactly what he would call romantic. No, Light yanks and pulls, each movement nothing short of precise and controlled. Hair grabbed and grip burned into his sides— a kiss if he's particularly lucky. Every touch and caress tucked away in the dark, unseen, when Light needs him. And then, come morning, he won’t spare him a second glance. And he knows it’s supposed to be a secret, but just because Light can so easily conceal his feelings, doesn’t mean he can. Because it's always so tempting to steal extra little looks from the corner of his eye, catching glimpses of that long, elegant neck framed by his shirt collar and the angles of those hands rested against his chin when he's deep in thought. …Hands that were holding his body down just the night before. And maybe it's careless to let his eyes linger during the work day while the others are in the room, but it always feels worth the risk. 

Light will catch him on occasion and frown, scold him with his eyes. When that happens, Matsuda sheepishly casts his gaze down to the floor and pretends there's something really interesting down there. …But still finds himself peering up at Light through his lashes, anyway. (Albeit, a bit wounded.)

But that’s okay. Yes, he’s just thanking his lucky stars every day that any of this is happening at all. Quite frankly still in disbelief. Because this is good, too good to be true. And he’s happy— and grateful. It's something he never could have dreamed of experiencing, a dazzling world he shouldn’t be allowed into, but has somehow miraculously been granted access.

And he doesn’t really mind that Light’s so… (stern, cold, intimidating—) reserved.

He’s mature. Far brighter, more sensible than he could ever aspire to be, someone who always smooths over his worries. Like when he was worried about Misa-Misa and Light had assured him they were only ever vaguely together, that in truth it’s all a facade put on in order to keep up appearances. He tells him he never fully committed to her, never wanted to. And… Matsuda can admit it sometimes twists at his stomach, especially when Misa runs up to him, throws her arms around him and they certainly seem like lovers— but he tries not to think about it. He chooses to believe it’s okay, because it is. Because Light says so, and he wouldn’t lie. 

But then, he also doesn’t tend to bring it up in fear of Light one day realizing, Hm, that’s true, we shouldn’t be doing this. Let’s stop. And, honest to god, it’s not lost on him how selfish that is towards Misa. 

(But it’s also not enough to stop him from leaning into the kiss he’s currently engaged in.)

Because this kiss is different. It’s more passionate, overflowing with more heat and desire than he's ever experienced before, than Light has ever given him. And he’s pressing his body up against the wall like he can’t get enough— that notion alone sending Matsuda into a delirious spiral of pleasure. Long fingers trace his jawline, caressing the back of his head, hand in his hair, enveloped and wanted. A deep and greedy kiss that leaves him breathless and dazed and wondering, What on earth was that? and—  

Can that happen again…?

Absorbed in the feeling, he grasps at the sides of Light’s shirt, just to keep him there a moment longer, just a moment more… when before he knows it, the sensation draws away and he’s watching Light’s back turn the corner and disappear down the corridor. Gone.

But the feeling lingers, his back still flat against the wall, jacket dragging down the surface. Too stunned to move. Alone in the hallway and wondering what in the world had possessed Light.

Maybe… he knew he needed the comfort after the recent news. Maybe Light needed it. Yes, perhaps he's just like him. 

His heart beams— they have each other.

Matsuda returns to the main investigation room in a series of airy little steps, practically floating. Blissed out, he takes his place on the sofa and allows himself to sink into the cushions. Finds himself absentmindedly brushing his fingers across his lips throughout the day, retracing that morning’s kiss, unable to get it out of his mind. And it’s a welcome distraction from the strained silence the rest of the team continues to stew in, reviewing crime statistics and scrolling through online files— too much work with far too little reward. 

Instead, he lounges there trying to memorize the patterns of Light’s fingertips, the warmth of that hand across his cheek. Picturing it over and over; it had all happened so quickly and he desperately wants to hold onto it, just trying to recall more. 

But memories soon turn to fantasy, Matsuda’s mind drifting off and filling in the missing gaps with his own fiction. Because… what if Light touched him like that all the time? If it were gentler, full of sweetness. Maybe… kisses trailing down the length of his arms, the backs of his hands, soft and warm. How wonderful that would be. And his eyes might look at him with affection and he would pull him in close, his desire clear, and they would… 

He stares off into space. Fidgets with his feet, hands, the surface of his face growing hot. So many things he could do with Light, that Light could do to him. (That isn't just him bent over a couch or the side of the bed, like it usually is.) Can almost hear how his name might pass through the other’s lips, low and lovely and full of want—

“Matsuda!”

And he’s back. But it isn’t Light calling his name (because of course it’s not). It’s Ide.

“Are you listening to me?” He’s leaning forward, trying to catch his attention from the opposite end of the couch, hands busy sorting through a stack of papers. Busy working— something Matsuda is definitely not doing.

“What?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

Startled, Matsuda clutches at the manilla folder holding the report he’s supposed to be looking over. Tries to inconspicuously cover his lap with it because, right now, he’s— He lights up red.

“I’ve been calling your name,” Ide says.

“Oh, sorry… uh, the rain–” He glances around the room, eyes landing on the window. “...The rain’s making me sleepy, I guess.” He stages a large yawn, hoping that would make it seem… believable?

“Idiot,” Ide breathes out through his nose softly, half-hearted. Seems far too tired to put any conviction behind it, to really mean it. “Don’t go dozing off yet. I was trying to tell you there’s a lot to go through, here. …We’ll probably be staying late.”

“Ah. Uh, I see. Got it,” he replies stiffly.

Aizawa, sitting at a nearby monitor, joins Ide in eyeing him, the two clearly expecting more. Normally he might let out an exaggerated groan or run his mouth, complaining about having to work through the night, but Matsuda can’t think about what’s supposed to be “normal” right now because all he can focus on is the tightness in his pants. And the fact that he would allow his mind to wander in that direction at headquarters, and not only that, in front of everyone… And now this is what he has to show for it, deal with.

Silently reprimands himself. How stupid. And risky. Risky… 

…doesn’t sound all that bad…

And he’s aware this means he just doesn’t learn, does he? Because this is completely unprofessional. (Then again, when has he ever been upheld as ‘professional’?) But, even so… Even so. Can’t help that right now he wants… 

He grabs his bag, carefully positioning it over the front of his pants. Makes up some excuse about having to take a call to which Ide raises a brow, but doesn’t bother to ask why he can’t just take his cell phone out, why he has to bring the entire bag along with him, why it’s placed so purposefully in front of him… Why Matsuda has a call to take when he never has any calls to take. No, he doesn’t ask these things, just stares at the wall with a slightly miffed expression, shakes his head as if deciding against something, and then returns to his files. And Matsuda doesn’t know if he should feel grateful or filled with shame. But he slinks off to the bathroom anyway, a bit disgusted with himself, but not enough to not… well, take care of himself.

And that feeling fails to disappear throughout the night. Barely able to focus, and then the fact that he’s out of his mind with lust at work really only proves to make him more turned on… 

Christ, what’s wrong with me?

Didn’t think he was this sexually frustrated.

Simultaneously as though the day’s dragged on forever and like he just blinked, A.M. arrives— the last train having long since left the station. And so they’re stuck there for the night. Well, more like he, Mogi, and Ide are stuck there. The Chief and Aizawa decided they would rather sleep in their own homes, be with their families (…and had their own cars). Besides, there’s not enough room in the apartment for all of them to sleep there, not unless someone wanted to take the floor. 

So it’s himself and Ide (with his eye mask donned, making Matsuda snicker, to which he’s promptly shot a dirty look) sprawled across the two facing couches in their makeshift HQ and Mogi in the living room on the large sofa. The man required it, built broader, taller than the rest of them. But despite it being the most spacious option in the apartment, he’s still squeezed there, packed in like a sardine. And Matsuda seriously doubts he’ll be getting any semblance of a good night’s rest.

The stir of everyone getting adjusted fades out as things settle down, the sound of rain pelting against glass growing loud and present in the room. They’ve had to stay overnight a handful of times before, but the sedated darkness never stops feeling strange with each time; it always manages to make the space seem unfamiliar, like some parallel universe. 

Matsuda pops his collar open, untucks his shirt and undoes his sleeves, trying his best to find comfort on the rather flat and stiff cushions. It’s the type of fabric that looks nice, fancy, but rubs abrasively against the skin. He tosses and turns, struggling to cover himself under the thin blanket provided that doesn’t quite reach his feet. Flipping his body on its other side for what feels like the millionth time, he’s surprised to look over and find Ide out like a light, chest rising and falling gently, peacefully. Matsuda smiles a little, the sight putting him at ease. At least someone would be getting some sleep tonight. 

Because he certainly wouldn’t be. 

Can’t get his brain to shut off, busy with thought, distracted with the knowledge that Misa-Misa is overseas on some acting gig (Or was it an ad campaign? Does it really matter?), and Light’s just down the hall, all by himself in his bedroom… 

It was so rare that he and Light could be alone together, not having to check over their shoulders or hide somewhere out of the way. When would be the next time?

Even so, he doesn’t want to push his luck. Things are fine as they are. Yes, this is enough… Just this. He doesn’t mind. 

…

No. 

He does mind. 

He’s miserably touch starved, to put it bluntly. (If what happened in the bathroom this afternoon was any testament.) Because he never minds, always going along with what Light wants unquestioningly, just following blindly. But the truth is, he wants. Yes, he has wants, too. 

So, for tonight, maybe it’s okay. Maybe he would do something. Something he wouldn’t usually say out loud, something reckless that might get him in a little bit of trouble. Wants to get lost in ecstasy somewhere in that dark hallway, far away from this room. He could show Light something new, touch him sweetly and whisper shameless words until they become so tangled up in one another, so lovingly intertwined that they forget about everything— about mangled bodies judged by Kira and left abandoned on the tracks of the Yamanote Line. 

(The same train he takes to work every day, and how maybe one day, that news story might be him— Kira finally deciding to finish the rest of them off, probably on a whim, their lives some meaningless afterthought. He’d be standing on the busy platform and feel a sudden pain in his chest that would send him over the ledge while the crowd observed, unable to help. Unable to change the fate of someone whose death has been set in stone. To be honest, even three years after Ryuzaki’s death, he’s still expecting it to happen any day now. Wonders why it hasn't. Why they’d been allowed to live.) 

But he is alive. And he doesn’t want to be alone right now. He can allow himself, just this once. So what if he wants… a little attention?

To hell with it.

Slowly rising from the couch, he shifts, slipping the blanket from his shoulders. Does his best not to wake Ide across from him, but the heavy rainfall outside helps drown out the sound of his movements. He steadies himself, taking careful, shallow breaths.

The computers surrounding them produce a low hum, their various wires and cables piled up in heaps along the floor. An occasional car horn faintly echoes off the surrounding high-rises, the sound of wheels skidding across wet asphalt coming from somewhere down below on the street. He stands in the space, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, reminding himself this is real. 

His first steps down the narrow hallway leading to Light’s room are filled with trepidation; it’s a place he seldom visits— a section of the apartment that feels foreign and personal, like he’s walking in on someone else’s life, something he isn’t supposed to see. (A place he associates with Misa, and it feels like intruding, even though Light says they aren’t together… But— Better not to dwell on those thoughts, he remembers.) Matsuda supposed he might have pictures hanging up on the walls, perhaps of his family, of Misa-Misa. But no, they’re bare. And he already knew that. Just empty space with flashing streetlights and shadows cast from below, ebbing and flowing in slanted shapes over the confines of the corridor.

If he didn’t know he was sober, he would assume he drank, as he floats down the hall immersed in a feeling eerily similar to being on the cusp of too tipsy. The pull of desire draws him forward, transfixed, along with some inexplicable spark of courage that continues to carry his feet along. 

Turns the corner. 

Socks tread softly against carpet towards that inviting sliver of light spilling from underneath the door in front of him. He's lured to it in a series of small, wishful steps. He watches his hand reach out and take hold of that thin metal handle before he can get cold feet. Before he can come to his senses—

The bedroom is dim, lit with a singular blinding white screen that frames Light’s profile. Matsuda enters without a word, moving with a strange sense of determination and leaving any last shred of rhyme or reason behind. He follows an invisible line laid out across the floor, the path forward clear, only stumbling over his own feet once— to Light, sitting there at his desk.

His eyes barely glance up from his laptop. “What is it?” 

Matsuda answers him by half climbing into his lap, falling over him in an aroused daze. The movements lack grace, clumsy and unpracticed, but he knows what he wants to do. More sure than he’s been in a while. He raises a hand to tug on Light’s tie, pulling him gently forward by the collar, closer. Mindlessly, he finds himself grinding against the thigh below him, and it’s nowhere near enough… wants to be impossibly close. Just, if they could, please. Rubbing, a desperate rhythm, unbalanced and running on messy instinct, his self restraint thrown out the window, somewhere far below on the streets of the real world. Moving as though he might just melt into him. Head gone. Breathing heavy. Just needing… 

Light eyes him.

And all at once the boldness of his actions catch up with him. Stilted and red-faced, his grasp on the fabric loosens, suddenly unsure.

Sure, he felt drunk before, but that was just getting lost in pretend, in fantasy. In reality… maybe he isn’t so brave. He lets the tie go, but not before their faces are already mere inches apart from each other. And… he realizes he’s panting right in Light’s face. It hits him like a wall; he’s too sober, too aware of himself to pull something like this, to come onto someone (especially Light) so brazenly.

A firm hand puts space between them, pushing against his shoulder.

“Matsuda-san.” Slender fingers splay, prodding into his chest. Looks him straight in the eye. “What are you doing?”

After a stunned pause, he manages to open his mouth and stumble through the words, “Well, I just– it’s just that I…!” Light raises a finger to his lips and he’s embarrassed all over again. He tries again, quieter, “I… keep thinking about this morning, and…” He looks off to some corner of the room. “And I just wanted to, um, spend the night with you… maybe.” 

Too honest for his own good. He could have lied. But then again, as he’s on top of Light in his chair, practically humping him, he supposes his intentions must be pretty obvious. There’s no point in covering it up. He’s already gone too far to take it back.

“That’s out of the question. The others are in the next room over.” Light's voice cuts through the air, stern and unmoved.

Matsuda tries not to let the pout show on his face, because that’s not what grown adults do. “Yeah, but…” 

He stops talking when he catches the look of disdain cross Light’s face, then hears the words spoken into the dark space, voice hard—

“I don’t want to.”

There’s a flash of hurt— a sharp pain in his gut causing him to immediately get up from Light’s chair with a clatter. His face burns. All he can do is stand there, staring down at his hands, twisting his fingers together, out of place.

“Oh…! Of course. I- I guess you’re right…” What am I thinking? Of course it's a bad idea. Of course Light doesn’t want to… He gives a thin smile and lets out an awkward laugh. Just kick me out already. “Sorry, I was just…” being stupid.

Suddenly feels all too exposed, his unbuttoned shirt collar falling open over his chest. He clutches at it, scrambling to cover himself. Realizes he doesn’t need permission to leave.

He drifts back towards the door with heavy feet, the floor swallowing them. His fingers find the cold surface of the handle as he reaches his destination all too soon— and he isn’t sure what it is, but something compels him to turn around, because maybe Light is angry with him, and he doesn’t want to leave it like that. So, just one last thing.

“Hey, Light-kun…?” he says in a hushed voice. No response. He pushes on despite the silence, “I’ve never told you this before, but… nothing’s ever been as good as you. I never would have dreamed, I mean, someone like you,” with someone like me—  

He takes a breath. Wills himself to raise his head and meet Light’s eyes. (Or where they might be, if he were looking at him or paying him any mind.) He whispers, “You showed me a new world I didn’t know was possible.” He should stop— Stop talking. “So, what I mean to say is— …Thank you.” It was too much, too corny, but it was the truth. …And he wanted to tell him. He gently cracks the door open and steps a foot out.

“...Is that so?”

What?

There’s a sound that breaks through the darkness, startling him. Did someone wake up? No, it was the sound of his own heartbeat. Or the pounding rain…? 

…It was Light’s voice. But that doesn’t make sense, because he was just leaving, right? Because Light doesn’t want… 

He’s fixed in place, standing in the doorway. Stuck somewhere between bleak, colorless days at headquarters and something vibrant that illuminates this deep dark trench, something blooming with risk and beauty. Light’s attention is on him, and he can’t make sense of it. Thought he would have turned back to his screen by now, back to what was actually important. But no, his gaze lingers; Matsuda can feel it crawling up his body… and he doesn’t know where to look.

Light continues, “You said you ‘keep thinking about this morning’. So I can assume that means our kiss. When? Just now? Or… throughout the day?” Matsuda can only stare blankly back at him, unable to piece the words together in his head. “Don’t tell me, in front of the others…” Light leans forward and looks up at him, lips dripping with the threat of a smile. “Did you get hard while thinking about it? …While they were in the room with you?”

Matsuda’s eyes widen. “What…? No! Light-kun…!” He shuts his mouth, remembering far too late to keep his voice down. Blushes all the way to his ears.

“They didn’t notice, did they?”

“I didn’t– I wasn’t–” He shakes his head and waves his hands, the motion large and flustered to compensate for the loud protest he desperately wants to shout, but can’t right now lest he wake the entire building.

Light folds his arms across his chest, relaxing back into his chair. “I get it. No need to get so worked up. It’s just… it would be a problem if the others found out about us. You understand, don’t you?”

Matsuda stills, then allows himself to breathe out, shoulders falling in relief. “No one noticed, I mean there was nothing to notice. And it’s not like I would make it obvious. I’m pretty good at hiding stuff like that, you know.”

“Are you? So, you got away with it. And how did you hide it on the way to the bathroom?”

“Covered it with my bag,” he says proudly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can give them a second thought.

He hears the gasp leave his own lips.

“Um…?! No– That’s not what I—” 

Ahhhhhh.

Light sighs. “Right, I knew it.”

What am I doing? Immediately blabbed all on my own…

After a pause so long it has Matsuda squirming in place, Light finally speaks. “What is it exactly you were planning to do when you came into my room tonight, Matsuda-san?” 

The question comes out of the blue, catching him off guard. “Huh…? Just, you know…” Laughs a little. But Light waits for him, not a word, hand resting under his chin. 

Realizes he’s serious.

“Well, I wanted to be with you…” he trails off.

“I don’t understand.”

Matsuda looks up at him and blinks once. The question mark must be clear on his face, because Light continues—

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he says, eyes scanning him over.

“What do you…?” Oh.  

That alone nearly makes him buckle at the knees, but he manages to steady himself, albeit trembling hard. And it’s… ridiculous. He’s standing there shivering, his limbs going weak, despite nothing having happened. But it’s Light’s gaze. He has a hold on him— it’s strong, unyielding, won’t let him go. 

“I… I wanted to get on top of you,” he says in a small voice, mind fogged over with lust, “and I would… sink down on you right here, in this chair… and ride you.” The words reach his own ears and he can hardly believe he just spoke them, like it was somebody else saying it. …And he wasn’t exactly saying it, more like gasping through it, letting out helpless little moans around the words. “...Is what I wanted to do.”

Light stares through him. And it’s wordless, but it compels Matsuda to continue speaking, because he knows he won’t be let off the hook until he admits… all of it. Every last bit of truth. And Light had already correctly guessed it, after all. So he might as well let it spill.

“...It was all I could think about all day. And so, I– in the bathroom—” But try as he might, he can’t make himself finish that sentence. His face becomes hotter, certain it must be scalding to the touch at this point. 

“Huh.” Light closes his eyes finally, momentarily releasing Matsuda from his grasp. “Are you that desperate?”

Yes. 

His lips curve up, thin and sharp as a razor wire. “You look like a dog in heat.” 

Matsuda fixes his eyes to the floor, biting the inside of his cheek. Clutches at his arm, drawing himself inwards. Maybe he could disappear.

But then Light’s face softens as he turns his body to Matsuda in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “...And why did you think I would let you do this?” he asks with a slight tilt of his head.

Matsuda snaps his gaze back up and starts to say something, but then realizes he doesn’t really have an answer. Why should Light? Because… they’re in a relationship? But he’s not actually sure what kind, what constitutes one… Does this even count? Still doesn’t have any clue why he chose him in the first place. Just knows he’s overjoyed and deliriously happy and soaking up every moment because, towards Light, he really—

Really loves—

“Because…” Because, what? “I’ll make you feel good,” he settles on, trying to sound sure of himself.

Light raises his brows. And Matsuda’s slightly taken aback himself, at how bold that was. Maybe even a little proud of himself, that he could cause Light to show such an expression. But the trace of surprise on Light’s face quickly fades to skepticism before he can get too caught up in praising himself. 

He lets out a sigh, voice flat, “How… generous of you. But it’s a bad idea, Matsuda. We both know you won’t be able to keep your voice down–”

“I will!” he cuts him off loudly—

Loudly. 

He scrambles to clasp a hand over his mouth, pointlessly muffling the sound that already came out. He had to ruin it. 

Light only gives him an unimpressed look, a look that says he’s not surprised, then starts to turn his chair back towards his desk, all at once far away. And Matsuda would have to go back to that room. That awful, quiet, dread-filled room. And that would be it.

“Please.”

Light pauses, his back still to him, but he stops, nonetheless. Now or never. Matsuda tries more words, he’s got nothing to lose, after all. Never had a problem swallowing his pride, so…

“Please, I’ll be quiet, Light-kun. I can do it. …Let me prove it.” He bites his lip as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, as though he could take back what he just spoke.

‘Prove it’...? Could he prove it? Doesn’t know what on earth he’s even saying, anymore…

“Matsuda.” 

He braces. It would be, Just go back to sleep, probably. Or, Don’t be stupid.

“Come here.” 

The pleasant tone rings in his ears, Light’s voice clear as a bell.

Chapter Text

_____________________

Come here… 

Matsuda plays it over in his head, letting the unexpected words steep in his mind.

And then his hand simply moves on its own, enclosing around that cool metal handle and pulling the door shut with a soft creak and a click. He tells his legs to turn around and move as he staggers over himself, drawn back towards Light.

Why? Can I really…?  

Feels unreal, but he’ll grasp onto it and trust he isn’t back sleepless on the couch down the hall fantasizing all of this. Light sits there, alluring and poised as always, a presence like no other. He’d always admired that charisma, his calm and confident demeanor. Entranced, he nearly trips over his own feet in the darkness, lurching forward in a short jerk before thankfully catching himself.

He comes to stand in front of Light who continues to observe him from his chair, eyeing up his form. Matsuda manages to let his own gaze occasionally flick over him, but can’t seem to meet his eyes for long, can only glance around the small bedroom cloaked in dark, nervous with anticipation. His wrist is being caressed then, Light trailing a hand up it and brushing over the skin peeking through his unbuttoned shirt sleeve, erotic—  

Then a sharp yank, forcing him downwards to his knees. Light tugs him forward, hand gripping the back of his head, pulling his hair taut in a motion that’s too quick to process. Dragging him closer, between his legs, inching closer and closer to…

“Well?” He leans an elbow on the desk beside him, chin resting in his hand as though this were just another day on the case, maybe even bored. “You said you were going to make me feel good, right?”

…Matsuda had done it often enough by now, but it never stopped the pink from spreading to even the back of his neck, the tips of his ears stinging with heat. He can’t help but always feel very aware of himself, every movement clunky and awkward. But it’d be a lie to say that was the only thing, because he likes pleasuring Light. The occasional words of praise he’d receive and soak up, and he also… finds it really…

Desire stirs deep in his stomach, already feeling himself on the verge of losing it a little. Starts to— with uncertain hands, undoes the button of Light’s slacks, delicately, trying to balance this tension as though it could all drain away so easily. But then Light’s caught his hand. He hangs over him, whispering right next to his ear as he taps a cold finger against his skin—

“Hands and knees on the floor.” The simple instruction dances off his tongue.

Matsuda is bowed over immediately without hesitation. Eyes wide, he stares at the carpet in front of his face, slightly at odds with himself. Stunned by his own unfaltering obedience. Light hums above him. 

“You’re very cute, Matsuda.”

And that’s enough to drown out any of the needless thoughts echoing around in his head and dive back into a sea of foggy pleasure. Matsuda brings himself close and cranes his neck up, having to remind himself to keep his palms firmly planted on the floor. He takes the small metal zipper between his teeth, which comes down with ease much to his relief. Soft lips and pulling down fabric while minding his teeth, he does his best to make the correct moves. He finally lets out a shaky sigh against him, looking up for permission one last time before giving a soft kiss and allowing his lips to cover the head. He starts slow. Licking and lightly sucking, gentle and kind. Sweetness that leaves Light looking down at him unamused.

He lets out an impatient sigh, tone laced with vague annoyance, “Matsuda–”

And then, in one sudden bob of his head, Matsuda takes him all the way into his mouth, earning a quiet moan (but a moan nonetheless) from… Light. He, he, of all people caused such a sound to fall from his lips. And that feels incredible. 

“You—”

The fist in his hair tightens and he’s being strangled now. The motion’s fast and hard, causing heat to prick at the corners of his eyes. Burning. Light’s other hand caresses the side of his face, brushing aside a strand of hair stuck to his cheek, wet with drool. Wants to lean into that touch, cherish it, but he’s running out of breath. Something frantic rises inside him, hands reflexively lifting from their place on the floor, clutching at nothing. He shuts his eyes tight.

“Look at me.” 

And so he does. And he’s there, right above him, heavenly white framing the side of his face. Half his features glowing, half blacked out, almost unrecognizable, but strangely complete. It’s Light, and he’s beautiful. He pulls him farther down. The hand gripping the roots at the back of his head stings, and he’s choking, but it’s hardly noticeable when combined with the way his mind is clouding over, losing all sense in the hot and steady rhythm of it all. 

Can’t breathe…

Full and sticky— and then he’s being pulled off and the stale, cold air that replaces it and fills his lungs is somehow almost more suffocating. A string of saliva trails from his lips. He remembers to wipe it, to try and be presentable. Is that something he needs to be concerned with at this point?

A shoe prods at the hardness in his pants, making him jolt in surprise. 

“All you did was suck me off a little, and you’re already like this…” Light scoffs under his breath. “You really liked it that much?”

He can’t answer, eyes fixed to the carpet below him, trying to focus on the ache of his jaw, the soreness of his bones from kneeling, rather than the excruciating arousal, the way Light’s nudging him. How he could probably be sent over from just performing oral and Light's shoe right here and now… 

And that is truly laughable. But…

He manages to raise his head, because the truth is—

“Yes, I…” He says quietly, “Because for you, I— …I love doing it.”

Swears he isn’t drunk…

“...Stand up.”

The words take a moment to process. When they finally load in his brain, he makes an attempt to get up but finds his legs have turned to jelly, all the energy drained from his body. He looks up at Light helplessly. 

“You want to continue, don’t you? Or maybe… you’re having second thoughts. It’s alright if you can’t do it.” 

That’s enough to prompt Matsuda to summon every last ounce of strength he has to make his limbs move. Hoisting himself up, he teeters on his own two feet. Light pulls him forward by the belt, and he follows easily, eagerly, carried along by the flow. He can feel him start to undress him, and so he lets his eyes fall shut as his head grows hot and fuzzy. Can hear the sounds of material being unfastened and discarded, metal clinking and sliding through belt loops, a zipper, the crumple of fabric slipping down his legs. 

“I think you can manage the rest.” Matsuda opens his eyes. Light instructs him with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his upper body. His eyes follow the movement, peering down at his own wrinkled shirt.

“Oh, um… Sure, let me—”

Much to his frustration, his fingers fumble and shake over the buttons, having a great deal of trouble with a task that should be so simple. Despite his best efforts, he can’t keep them still, or seem to grip onto anything, or do anything quite right. And Light’s giving him a look from his chair like it can’t possibly be that difficult.

But before Matsuda can open his mouth to sputter out an apology, cool air meets his chest, Light having run his fingers down the front of his shirt and skillfully opened each button with ease, causing the soft material to slink off his shoulders. The small act has pleasure tingling through his body, all the way to the tips of his fingers, a feeling that only heightens when Light rests a smooth hand on his exposed chest and trails it down his bare torso.

He writhes in place, allowing himself to fall over a bit, half crouched over the legs below him. Light catches him, taking his hand. He holds it and runs a thumb across his palm— a soft touch that Matsuda can't wrap his head around, that makes all of this seem too idyllic to be real, some indulgent thing he might dream up on any given night. And maybe it could fall into place like the other fantasies he had… Light would keep touching him sweetly, gentle fingers along his body and intimate caresses. Kissing—

“Why don’t you get yourself ready,” Light breathes against his lips. Before Matsuda can lean in to meet them, he's veering off to the side of his face, his words ghosting over his ear, each one flicking warm and sharp over his skin— “Since this is what you wanted to do.”

Thinks, …With what?  

Light answers his question by hooking a finger in the front of his waistband, pulling back the elastic to reveal a shamelessly messy sight. And so, leaving behind any inhibitions he might have, Matsuda raises a trembling hand and removes the last of his garments. It’s easier to just let go. 

Reclining back in his chair, Light observes him prepare himself with lukewarm interest. Those pretty eyes sweep over him, each pass down his body exposing him more, somehow stripped further, more than he thought was possible. He keeps losing his strength, coming apart over Light, wanting nothing more than to bury his face into the other’s neck— but every time he props him up again, not allowing him the rest, holding up his pleasure-drunk weight and keeping a gap between their bodies.

“You can do it.”

“But, Light…” A whine threatens to break from his throat. He does his best to keep it in.

“See, you’re doing so well,” Light whispers into his hair.

Matsuda shivers at the praise, at the warm breath across his scalp. Wants so badly to just tumble down, collapse, but also wants to show he can do it, like Light says he can. And also…

He finds himself involuntarily matching the movements of his own fingers. 

“Your hips are moving on their own...” The quiet words burn into Matsuda’s mind. He catches the trace of a smile crossing the lips that spoke them, the simple truth of the statement swirling around and heating the inside of his stomach, causing him to flush. “If I had known such a throwaway kiss in the hallway would have you in this state… But I guess you’ve always been easy to please, Matsuda.”

He throws his head back. “Can’t…” —Light’s fingers crawl up his exposed neck, leaving a path of heat across his skin as they tilt his chin upwards— “...help it.”

Light holds him up, cupping his jaw and examining him on full display. Matsuda tips his head to the side, into his hand, chasing the touch. Nearly forgets to keep his own fingers moving. And then the release of Light’s grasp sends him slumping forward, hair falling in his eyes as his head droops. He gulps down air, but it’s never quite enough, trapped in a sweet ache that longs for more. In a sorry state of rocking back and forth, just barely holding back his cries and bucking his hips as though he’s never been touched before, all while Light simply studies his reactions with sharp eyes.

“That’s enough, now,” he says finally, sliding a hand up Matsuda’s thigh.

Gradually, he slows his movements, mind full of nothing. And then he manages to snap out of his daze long enough to realize something comes after this, maybe even that something he wanted… Nerves flutter through him in hopeful anticipation, but more than that, it’s all-consuming want.

Matsuda half expects to be shoved off as he rests his arms around Light’s shoulders and draws his body closer, inch by inch. Hesitant, like something beautiful he shouldn’t be allowed to touch, and he’d surely be swatted away any moment now. But Light sits there without protest, much to his surprise. He looks… indifferent, and for a moment Matsuda thinks he catches the hint of a frown, like he’d rather be anywhere else. But then his features unfurrow, and he’s smiling softly with those confident eyes as they always were, like he had privately decided something Matsuda isn’t privy to, and never would be. So, he just pushes forward and doesn’t spend time dwelling on it, doesn’t bother— as if he’d ever be able to puzzle out Light. Just grasps onto the opportunity while he still has it. 

“Is it okay— I mean, is it alright if I…” His voice shakes, unable to suppress the waver rising up in his throat.

“You may.” 

He keeps one leg kneeled on the chair, the other carefully maintaining his balance on the floor, straddling over Light’s lap awkwardly. (Because this is what he wanted to do, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing. Not really. Light’s usually the one directing things— while he’s clearly out of his depth, here, foolishly throwing himself in the deep end unable to swim.) Light’s poised there with an easy coolness as though none of this affects him. And then there’s him, completely falling apart…

It’s better to just get lost in being filled. In that confusing feeling, shapeless thoughts whirling in his head, everything slowing then all at once racing. Sweet little noises empty from his mouth.

Good would be putting it too simply. 

His heart drums in his ears, louder than the rain, than his own breathing. He’s a mess of shaky legs on the verge of giving out and scrambling fingers searching for stability across Light’s back, not sure where it’s appropriate to place them, but desperately needing the support. The burning urge to call out Light’s name over and over nearly surpasses his promise to keep quiet. He tries instead to focus on lowering his hips, steadily bringing the weight of his body down in small movements.

Just a little more… 

And then the ground drops from beneath him. 

Something hard —a shoe— taps him, sweeping his leg out from under him, causing him to lose his footing. Off balance, he falls all the way down onto Light, into a piercing stab. Hears his own yelp and quickly tries to swallow back the next one, resorting to gnawing into his own lip. He’s skewered there helplessly, limbs like a rag doll, draped over Light’s form. Sharpness shoots straight through him, making him dizzy, dancing along the edge of what he can bear.

“Careful, you slipped.”

…I slipped. 

He slipped. Must have tripped over Light’s feet, caught up in the moment. Careless. And now he’s here, ensnared. 

Matsuda squirms desperately, unable to do much of anything, and then Light’s pressing the top of his legs down, keeping him there, deep and trapped. His hands reach out to no place in particular, frantic, trying to prop himself up on the chest in front of him. 

“I’m waiting for you to move.” Light pulls Matsuda’s thigh up, then releases it, plunging him back down. “Remember? What was it— You were going to ‘sink down on me right here in this chair’…?”

“W-wait, that’s—” he gasps, hiding his face in Light’s shoulder. 

“You don’t like this? I doubt it.” He pulls Matsuda up by the back of the head, fingers twisting in his hair, pinching, not allowing him to shy away. Their eyes meet as Light angles into him deeper and reaches a place inside that causes his vision to briefly blur out of focus.

His mouth hangs open, a long, silent moan pouring out as agonizing pleasure washes over. And he’s completely out of it— can’t speak or think. Only little pants and throaty sounds as a white and feverish sensation takes over. And everything that’s horrible, everything important from earlier that day, whatever intangible statistics, news reports, Kira— melt away, becoming some distant haze in his mind. 

“…Feels good. So good…” he manages through the rise and fall of his chest, through whispered moans.

He feels a jolt inside him. “See, it’s better to just be honest,” Light says, voice low and hot on his neck.

He’s then met with a familiar pounding, a churning in his gut. Fingers pressed into his hips, thrusting up into him hard, being crushed ever so sweetly with brutal punches of pleasure. The pace quickens and Matsuda allows himself a few soft, choked out cries.

Light prods his lips open with a thumb, slips a finger, then another, into his mouth, muffling the sounds being drawn from him. Matsuda does his best to refrain from biting down, not daring to wound that perfect skin, so he just busies his tongue— licking and sucking.

(And he can do it. He said he would. Light expects him to, so he can’t let him down. But, still…)

“Too —ah— deep.” He wonders if the words came out properly, sounds leaking around the fingers in his mouth. “Light– it’s…”

“That’s how you like it, Matsuda.” The voice sears against his ear, off-color, the ghost of a laugh breathed across his cheek. A prickling sensation spreads across his back, creeping up his neck— How silly. Matsuda wills it away. There’s no need to be scared.

He’s being silly.

So he falls back into it, submerging himself in the dim room. The darkness meshes together with the pleasurable brushes against his skin and the grip held tightly around his hips. Matsuda feels his hold on things slipping away, so he holds onto Light, coming up for what little breath he can get, just long enough. Finds himself indulging in the idea that Light feels the same way he does, that he's just as infatuated. Maybe he is. Or maybe that’s a stupid idea. …Maybe he’d keep believing it anyway.

Light’s looking at him, or, no, he’s looking past him. The fingers slide out of his mouth, leaving him gasping for air.

The words are smooth and casual— “You left the door open.” 

Matsuda’s breathing stops. 

“Listen– I think I heard someone,” Light continues, keeping his voice low. The grip around his sides loosens, allowing him to collapse forward slightly, stunned.

Distress ignites, the alarm bells sounding off in Matsuda’s head. In a frantic movement, he tries to twist his body around in an attempt to check, automatically lifting upwards, but Light keeps him anchored down, hands firmly planted on the sides of his waist once again and sinking him deeper. Pinned in place, his spiral of panic momentarily replaces itself with a surge of pleasure. He almost forgets where he is. But soon enough, reality claws its way back into his brain.

Because… it doesn’t make sense. He’s certain he closed it. Heard it click shut. Made sure, but– but maybe not all the way. No, it’s not impossible in a cloud of sex and desire he forgot… And Light wouldn’t lie.

Dead quiet. Danger hangs in the space between their bodies, on edge, dreadful and wrong. And then, inexplicably, Light’s kissing up his arm, sucking on little patches of his skin, then moving across his collarbone —and god that feels so nice— but this is urgent and he wants, no, needs to run away and hide. And another part of him wants to yell at Light, shake him and ask what the hell he thinks he's doing. His stomach drops, sweat running cold, the gentle sensations peppered across his arms and chest horribly out of place. But that doesn’t stop the stuttering moan from escaping his mouth before he can do anything about it, before he can stop himself—

“Shh, they’ll hear you,” Light whispers close, words spoken intimately onto his exposed skin, eyelashes like feathers across his chest. Hands sprawl across his upper body, leaving a trail of blushed skin behind. Nibbling on his shoulder, teeth lightly raking across it. Softness in his eyes…

“You can’t…” Matsuda pleads, the words barely audible. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to—” Light brushes a hand through his hair and kisses up his neck. The warmth of the gesture sparks an overwhelming feeling that only grows, rising from deep in his lungs up through his throat, nearly breaching his lips. He bites down on his tongue.

The white glow emitting from the screen next to them shuts off, the laptop gone idle. The world disappears into black and Matsuda can feel the room skew, off-kilter, as though he’d been thrown into some dark, bottomless pool. Every one of Light’s features vanish into darkness. From somewhere amongst the buildings outside, red light flashes across the room through the window, flicking over them in short intervals. Perhaps a crane tower from the nearby construction or a siren wailing by… but he couldn’t hope to know. The only thing keeping him in one piece is his tight grip on Light’s shoulders, clinging onto him for dear life.

For a moment, the walls become enveloped in deep red. Air thick and heavy, intoxicating. Matsuda wonders if he should beg, because he can’t anymore, he can’t hold his voice back. He’s here losing his mind, and Light just fucks him through it, the hint of a smile interlaced with unsteady breaths, pounding into him relentlessly.

In one last ditch effort to contain all the sounds threatening to break through, Matsuda pierces his teeth hard into his own hand. Hard enough he’s afraid he’s drawn blood, but he can’t be sure. Can’t make it out— the red stained room masking any trace of it. 

The next instant, the red drains away as the light passes, and the room fills with inky black once more, Light’s face just a shape in the night. Although it sends a chill through his bones, he finds himself surrendering, choosing to drown in a rush of heat. He sinks a little further. Hurts. Maddeningly good. 

“Open your eyes.”

He didn’t even realize they were closed.

“Was that all talk, earlier– about ‘proving it’? What will you do if the others find out? But whoever it was probably already saw…” 

He continues, each hushed word pointed and slick, “But, you know, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it, seeing as you didn’t seem to earlier today. …Barely able to hold it together, probably panting and moaning right in front of them.” Matsuda’s entire body flinches as he plunges down to meet Light’s thrust. “In fact, I bet you liked it.” He digs his fingers into the fabric of the shirt in front of him, making every effort not to throw his head back and cry out to the ceiling. Light looks him dead in the eye. “So you probably wouldn’t mind getting caught, would you?” 

His back arches in response, despite himself. “No- no, you’re wrong…” Matsuda shakes his head limply, struggling to get the right words out. Or any words at all. “I’m not…” like that.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“...No.” Really, really doesn't want that. “Keep… keep going. Please— More…”

Light breathes out a low laugh and drags his hands down Matsuda’s torso, stopping at the notches above his hips and tightening his hold. Nothing makes sense. Just barely managing to tread water, to keep his head above the surface. It doesn’t matter anymore. Light’s breathing hot on his ear and speeding up, each movement rough and deep. 

Close, now. And he wants… he wants. Reaches for—

“Not yet.” His movement is halted, hand captured in Light’s grasp. “I didn’t say you could touch.”

Matsuda reflexively struggles against the restraint, jolting in his lap. He barely manages to suppress a whimper and he’s trembling like crazy and just— really—

Can’t anymore. Please. 

He writhes and Light just pulls him down further keeping a firm grip that burns around his wrists, filling him with unfair, unbearable pleasure. In a futile attempt, Matsuda tries to lean in, closer, rub up against Light, just a little, something, anything that might give him what he needs. …As though he could get away with that. Light twists his wrist, and it’s sharp and fleeting, but the message is clear. 

“Just be good.”

“But—” He could cry. “I can’t… can’t. Light, please, I want to come.”

Light’s eyes travel up him slowly. In one sudden motion, he harshens his grip on Matsuda’s arms and jerks his hips up into him. 

The room spins. In the darkness, all that’s certain is right in front of him, the only thing he can touch, grasp onto, and it’s warm. And… Light is touching him back. That’s the crazy thing. And he can’t help but fall for that, because how could he not? Doesn’t want to think about the morning, or how all of this special, dazzling attention will soon disappear, and there’s no time… but right now, right now. He’s got to hold it close, since it’ll be like it never existed by dawn. 

And so he melts into him, bringing his lips to the fist clenched around his wrist. Before he can think—

He gently kisses Light’s hand, peering up at him through his lashes while he does so. He looks at him clear, without shying away… because he had wanted to show him something new, something sweet. Make them forget about the world for a little bit. With lips faint and warm brushed over his fingers, with feather soft kisses. A gesture of love. 

Light’s eyes widen, those precise and composed movements faltering even if only for a moment. Vanishing into the dark.

“Light-kun,” he calls softly.

With Light’s hold loosened, he manages to bring their hands together, delicately intertwining their fingers. Light squeezes back hard, enough for his bones to creak.

He winces. But the closeness feels good and he’s so close it hurts… The words slip out without even really being aware of it— “Want this– oh god– have been wanting this– ah– Please. Want you… I want you so much.”

Everything swims and swirls together, tied into a messy knot. Light claws at his sides, dragging him down and holding him there until it all nearly comes apart at the seams, bursting into pieces. He's tempted to yell out into the air as he teeters right on the edge.

He holds his breath. 

“Mm. And what– what is it about me, Matsuda—”

“Because you’re…”

“‘I’m’...?”

Pleasure drowns his head. He reaches up to cup Light’s face. 

Maybe he really is drunk. “Perfect.” 

Light suffocates him in a kiss (a kiss…), drinking down his moans as everything falls apart.

…

Quiet. The rain must have let up.

It must be very late, now. Or rather, early, as the sky shifts from heavy black to blue. Once indistinguishable features in the darkness start to phase into existence again, Light’s figure bathed in cold shadows.

Trickling gasps and moans born from mind-numbing ecstasy fade into the stillness of the air as the mood grows tepid and things slowly untangle. Matsuda allows his eyes to fall shut in that early morning calm for what feels like minutes, breathing out one last shaky breath of white-hot bliss. When he opens them again, Light’s isn’t there. 

He’s glided across the room before Matsuda can fully grasp it, far away, sitting with his body angled on the edge of his bed. Supposes he should move, too.

He retrieves his discarded shirt from the floor and buttons it up his chest, erasing what they’d just done. His hands hesitate on the last button, because doing them all the way up to the collar would signal he was back in uniform, back at work, returning to monotonous, terrifying life— the night they’d shared coming to a close. So he leaves that last one open. 

Stealing glances at Light is something he’s become accustomed to, and tonight shares that same routine as he peeks over his shoulder and catches the faint sigh that passes those lips. Sees his fingers pressed against his temple, brow furrowed, and timidly moves to perch next to him on the bed. 

He should rest, he needs to get some sleep… 

With careful hands, he unfastens the loosened tie from around Light’s neck, flicking little glimpses up at him while he does so, unassuming. Light lets him do it, weirdly, his expression neutral, eyes maintaining a steady gaze on him. Unreadable.

The silk fabric slips from his hands, falling away. “It’ll be okay, won’t it?” His words come out of thin air, surprising even himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Sorry, it’s nothing. I was just thinking out loud.” He stares down at his lap.

“Then,” —Light tilts his face up— “what are you thinking?”

“I…” He leans into him instinctively, into some form of reassurance. “I don’t know. Just, these days, it feels like things are a bit dark. And the others sense it too, with… the way things are. It’s like they’ve given up hope, and even I— Sometimes I don’t know how long I can keep this up,” he admits.

“With the investigation?” Matsuda nods, half sure that’s what he means. “...I’m surprised, I didn’t think you were the type to dwell on things like that. From what I’ve seen, you always seem to remain optimistic, even during the worst of times.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s not like that. I get doubtful just like everyone else. Scared, even, maybe.” So scared I can’t move a muscle and my thoughts won’t stop racing and I’m in over my head— “I have no idea where this case is going,” because each day seems more uncertain than the last, and then maybe one of these days I’ll just drop dead along with everyone else. “… But it helps to have people I can rely on, like the Chief and the others, and… Light-kun.” 

He gazes up at Light, eyes bright and full of desperation and gratitude, maybe even happiness. “That’s what keeps me going, I think.” 

There’s a pause, then Light shifts closer on the bed. “I don’t think you need to worry so much, Matsuda. It’s useless to fret over what the outcome might be. Just live out each day as it comes. That’s all you need to do.” An arm folds around him, fingers crawling up his waist. “...But I think things have a way of working themselves out.” He pulls him in and speaks softly in the crook of his neck, “...Trust me?”

“Yes—” His heart skips a beat. “Yes, of course I do.”

He breathes out softly, curling into Light’s chest. Even if he only gives him a little bit, he'll take it gladly. Even if he has to get dressed and drag his feet back to the investigation room before sunrise, back to reality. 

That’s okay. 

Even though he wishes Light would kiss him again in the morning. Even though maybe he’d have to wait awhile. 

That’s okay, too. 

If all of this is laughably way too desperate, if it's hopelessly foolish, so be it. He’s never been one to worry about throwing away his dignity, didn’t have much in the first place. (And maybe that’s not something he should tout around, but…) If this relationship with no name inevitably ends in disaster and one-sided heartbreak, all of it tumbling down, and he’s failing miserably once again— So what of it? He'll dive into it head-first anyway, smiling, swimming forward unrestrained and out of control like an idiot, tonight being no different.

He clings to Light, close. For what little of the night is left. 

Right here, right here is safe…  

Light holds him, arms keeping him securely in place. He stares up at him, captivated, and Light is looking back, the corners of his mouth drawing up. He seems… happier than he’s been in a while. Matsuda melts under that warmth.

And then Light’s eyes wander over his shoulder, to the door. “…I guess there was no one, after all. Probably just the sound of the rain.” 

Oh, right. Guess he had forgotten, wrapped up in the feeling of completely losing it, and what Light said was true; at a certain point he probably wouldn’t have cared if they got caught. So long as he stayed with him, so long as he could keep feeling something that was close to being loved—

“Aren’t you glad?”

He can hear the words, but they pass through him, their meaning lost somewhere far away.

A finger runs down the length of his spine. “You got what you wanted tonight.”

Yes, Light gave him… what he wanted. And he should be grateful. 

He gives a small smile. “Thank you…” Looks down at his hands, then resolutely at Light. “But, Light-kun, if it’s you, anything would be okay,” he says, too honest for his own good. 

“What are you saying?” Light scoffs out a short breath, half a smile forming in disbelief. Closes his eyes. A hand caresses Matsuda’s face, fingers tilting it up kindly, nails just barely grazing his cheek like a dull blade. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that so easily, Matsuda-san.”

Light’s other hand graces over the back of his neck, gentle, lovely, feels so good, so unbelievably nice. Fingertips tracing something, strange little shapes and lines— It tickles.  

The stinging reminder of the grip burned sore into his arms doesn’t matter, nor the closed door behind him that he knew he heard click when he shut it earlier, he was certain, and it is closed. So why would Light—

…No, these things don’t matter.

He nuzzles into the embrace, into Light’s hand cradling his head, a warm wave washing over any silly thoughts.

___________

Sometimes he thinks about killing him.

As he looks down at Matsuda, his skull caged to his chest. He ghosts a finger over the nape of his neck. He can almost picture his name written there, absentmindedly tracing it over his skin. (Matsu) Some phantom strokes of ink trailed across where he just sketched it. (da) It would be so quick, just a few characters written in the pages of the Death Note, (Tou) lost in the sea of thousands of other names. (ta)

He wonders how the simple lines and curves of Matsuda’s face might change, contorted in betrayal— what his oblivious smitten expression will warp into when that time comes. His face might fall, sinking down under the surface as he comes to the horrifying realization all too late, as the light leaves his eyes. The thought sends a pleasant chill up through his back, stretching to the corners of his lips. 

But all in good time. For now, he’s merely starving off the tedium of puppeteering this investigation unopposed for three years. And it could occasionally be amusing… with Matsuda. So, he’ll savor it for a little while; he could wait a bit, because he’s God of the New World, and there isn’t a soul left to stop him, just a group of resilient idiots. It would truly be a waste of his time to worry about any of them. Should really just put them out of their misery, and he would. He… would. If they raise any threat at all, and if he’s certain of anything, Matsuda certainly doesn’t. Too trusting, too… eager to please. 

Tonight was nice. 

There’s a lot he can get away with when it’s only Matsuda in the room, can even let himself slip a little. It’s simple enough to play the part that’s required in front of the others, but it’s a welcome breath of air to put the constant acting to rest once in a while, to stop reading from the script and just smile and indulge, because he can afford to do that with Matsuda. Maybe the only one he can do that with, stupid enough to either see past every dishonest remark and harsh touch or not even register them to begin with, has a pitiable tendency to even blame himself. It’s something the others on the team might pick up on, but not him. Could probably do anything he wanted, and he’d still worship the ground he walks on.

He’s still careful, of course, but it’s such child’s play that he can’t deny having let himself become somewhat complacent. Because Matsuda has always deluded himself into thinking they’re friends, convinced himself they’re close— and he’d take on the role, why not? It’s easily done and doesn't take much. Just some sweet and empty words to soothe the waters, a drop of intimacy. Leading him by the nose in endless, alluring circles he gladly twirls along with, always looping back for more. Hooked, infatuated. Because Matsuda loves him, and love is an exploitable game only fools fall prey to.

Although, that loyal obedience, his undying admiration… isn’t always bad. Matsuda, on his own, without any prompting necessary, idolizes him. Since the day they first met. Without fail, he unknowingly voices exactly what he wants to hear, presses the right buttons, his gaze always following him around the room. Looking up at him with those eyes, sweet and dark and naive.

And that’s why… 

That’s the reason he won’t do it yet. Not just yet. 

And it’s not as though that’s the only reason, because he’s planned this out; there was a purpose to seducing him, because why wouldn’t there be? He’s—

Clearly thinking too hard about this. Doesn’t know why he’s been spending his time these days ruminating over such a thing. Putting too much effort into someone as inconsequential as Matsuda. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

It’ll be a shame when it’s over, but all good things come to an end. And he surely won’t muse on it for long, no, it'll quickly sink to the back of his mind as the New World rises to the surface. His win.

Their loss.

He kind of wants to see how long Matsuda can hold his breath before he drowns him completely. 

That’s all this is. Nothing more.

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards into something resembling a smile.