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.