Puel, Wrongsexual (puella_nerdii) wrote in het_challenge, @ 2008-05-05 01:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: puella_nerdii, f: death note, r: reversathon, recipient: cadence |
Nova (Death Note, Light/Misa)
Title: Nova
Author: puella_nerdii
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers through Chapter 58/Episode 25. Dysfunction.
Wordcount: 2310
Prompt: dysfunctional as hell. Misa knowing that Light is using her but not caring, Light expending the minimum effort necessary to keep it that way. And then there is sex?
Summary: “This is different,” Misa says. “People are watching us because they love us.”
“Two steps to your left—no, silly, not that far—okay, back up a little—slowly, slowly—there!”
The movers grunt and ease the couch down until its legs sink into the carpet. Misa claps once, twice, fishes two crumpled thousand-yen bills from the red purse looped around her wrist and presses one apiece into the movers’ palms. She bends over slightly when she does it, clasping her hands together and locking her elbows in a way that pushes her breasts up and makes them spill over the neckline of her top. She looks at Light through her bangs, out of the corner of her eye, and bites her lower lip in the way the media’s deemed charming, coquettish.
Light knows where she wants him to look. He wets his fingertip and flips through the newspaper. Kira’s emblazoned across the headlines again, and Kira’s name threads its way through the entire paper, all the way to the feverish editorials on the back page. Letters from Kira’s supporters crowd out the voices of dissent today. He predicts they’ll do the same tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. His new world is dawning, taking shape in people’s hearts. His world. His.
“Thank you!” Misa says. “Oh, and here—” Light looks up and sees her take a cosmetic stick out of her purse; it looks like her eyeliner. She scrawls her name on the thousand-yen bills and smiles at the movers again. “They’re worth more that way.”
He turns the page and rubs his wrist. It itches more now, with the absence of the chain. The chafe marks faded a while ago, of course, but sometimes he wonders if they didn’t fade, if they just sank beneath the first layer of his skin and started peeling under there. It’s impossible, of course, but he can’t describe the feeling any other way.
“Good bye!” Misa half-sings. She plummets to the new couch as soon as the movers leave and stretches out, running her fingers along the cracks in the leather.
He let Misa pick out all of the furnishings; it kept her busy. She picked out more somber colors than he thought she would, dark purples and greens and blues. “L’s headquarters have to look professional,” she’d said. “But—Light doesn’t mind if Misa-Misa puts her old vanity in—” She hesitated. “In our room?”
“If you want to,” he’d said.
Misa drags herself over the arm of the couch and peers down into his lap. “Hey, Light’s in the paper today!”
“I’m always in the paper,” he says.
“No, not Kira-sama. Light.” She flips to the entertainment section, page six. “See? ‘Popular idol Amane Misa held a press conference to talk about her new relationship with Yagami Light, a top student at the prestigious To-Oh University. Best of luck, Misa-Misa!” She kisses his cheek. He half-expects to feel a tug on his wrist at that, Ryuuzaki propping his chin on his handcuffed fist as he watches them, but only Ryuk is watching now. “Everyone’s so happy for us,” she says, gives his arm a squeeze. “Everyone loves us. Aren’t you happy for us, too, Ryuk?”
“Huh? Oh, sure,” Ryuk says. His wings flap perilously close to the bank of screens on the far wall. They’re still dark, still lifeless; the transition from one L to the next takes place away from the public’s eye and the media’s lens, but until it’s over, the investigation is stalled, the surveillance tapes turned off, the flow of data into the headquarters halted. “Do you really want people watching you guys, though? I thought you didn’t like it when L had all those cameras watching you.”
“This is different,” Misa says. “People are watching us because they love us.” She seizes Light’s arm again; he lets it dangle over the side of his chair. “It’s good when people notice you like that.”
Ryuk chuckles, dry and guttural. He flies into the kitchen, his wings beating almost aimlessly, and from the crunching sounds that follow, Light deduces that he’s found the bowl of apples set out for him.
“It’s good,” he agrees. He has the world’s attention now, unimpeded by L’s protests. L will have to mount a token resistance, of course, he can’t let the police think L’s entirely ineffectual, but L won’t ever uncover the truth. And one day there won’t need to be an L any more; one day, everyone will know that the world’s greatest detective is the world’s greatest judge, and together, L and Kira will be justice.
“It’s good,” Misa echoes. “And it’ll stay that way, won’t it?”
“It will,” he says. She smiles, but her gaze isn’t level with his, her eyes linger on the ground. “Don’t you believe me?”
Misa flinches, blinks like she’s been slapped. “Of course Misa-Misa believes in Light! She always has, she always has, she always…”
“Then what is it?”
Misa leans in, pressing her breasts against his arm. Her hair brushes his ear, his neck. She’s working too hard at this. “What do you need me to do now?” she asks. He catches the tremor in her breathing. “If you—if Light still needs Misa-Misa to help him…”
He’s getting tired of that affectation of hers. Soon she’ll be too old to pull it off. “Of course I do,” he says, resting his fingertips at the corner of her eye.
She closes her eyes, turns her head so that her cheek rests against his palm. He feels tears starting to leak through her eyelashes. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me if I didn’t need you,” he says. Men his age usually do have steady girlfriends by now, and since Misa’s no longer suspected of being the second Kira—and won’t be suspected of that again, since convicting her all but condemns him—since she’s no longer under the specter of police investigation, Misa’s a good girlfriend to have. Nobody has eyes quite like hers, after all.
“I just thought—” She shifts so she’s almost sitting in his lap, quivering against him. “I just thought that after Ryuuzaki died, you wouldn’t need Misa-Misa anymore.”
“There are still criminals out there,” he says. “There are still people who don’t want to live in my world. You can find out who they are.” He lets his hand slide down her neck, rest at the hollow of her throat. “You can find out their names. And you can kill them for me.” For his world.
His thumb rests on her pulse. It would be so easy to stop it, to stop the blood from flowing, to stop her heart from beating. Everything’s easy now.
“Light—” Her voice catches in her throat; she tips her head back, offers her neck to him. “I want to.”
“Good,” he says. He kisses her after that. He’s expected to. Her lips are slack against his for a moment, lifeless until she starts to kiss back, to push up against him. Light grips her shoulders, digs the pads of his fingers into her skin and pulls her down to his lap. She makes a soft choked sound into his mouth, her breath hitching. He opens his eyes to see hers drift closed.
What’s it like to see the world through the eyes of a god?
He yanks her top over her head, tosses it to the ground. He wonders who he’ll have her kill first. Not Aber and Weddy; she didn’t have the eyes when she saw them. Ryuuzaki had to have their real names stored somewhere, unless Watari’s data purge erased that knowledge. Still, data’s hard to remove completely, and what he needs might be lurking in a half-forgotten pathway hidden by firewalls and passwords.
Light trails his thumb over her breast, feels her nipple harden under his touch. Misa’s saying something, he thinks, something rushed and breathy and impossible to parse. He rolls her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, thinking. He could have her kill the other seven at the Yotsuba Group, but no, he’ll wait, he’ll let the rumors about them continue to circulate. He needs to keep the Kira investigation from focusing on the police and their families, and as only the police know the identities of the other seven, he’ll arouse too much suspicion if he has them killed now. They’ll die when the time is right, though.
Misa rocks against his thigh, her skirt riding up around her hips, the layers of netting and tulle crushed and wilting. She reaches forward and tugs on the collar of his shirt; he releases her long enough to let her unbutton it, slide it down his arms. She leans against him while she does it, her skin slick and clinging to his.
He has to kill the Yotsuba Group himself. They wanted Kira’s power, and that’s what they’ll receive—just not in the way they’d hoped. He grips Misa’s hips and rocks her hard, moves her so she straddles his erection, grinds against it. Yes. They’ll fall. Like that. Everyone in his path. And after that—after that, he’ll have the police start releasing criminal’s photos to the media again, because the public has a right to know, don’t they, about the monsters walking among them, about the people who want to sully his world, stain it, tarnish it. Yes. His mouth closes over Misa’s again; his teeth scrape her lower lip.
“Anything I can do—” she says when he breaks the kiss, lowers his head and bites her areola, hard enough to leave teeth marks but not hard enough to bruise. She whimpers and spreads her legs further apart. Yes. He’s aching now, straining—thinking so many things, so many ideas rushing to his head.
“Ah, anything,” Misa finishes.
Light removes his teeth. “The police are going to broadcast—” His breath falters. “Broadcast criminal’s faces. I’ll make them start again.” He stands up and lifts Misa with him; she wraps her legs around his waist, which makes carrying her easier. He lowers her down to the carpet, slides his legs between hers. The carpet rubs against his palms, tickles the itch under the skin of his wrist. “Just their faces, not their names.”
“I’ll know their names—” she says before he cuts her off with another kiss, hard and searing.
“I know. You’ll write their names down for me.” He loosens the pink laces running down the front of her skirt, unzips it, tugs it over her hips and pulls it past her knees. She’s wearing panties with Welcome home embroidered on them in English. Cute. He wonders if she did that herself.
“Yes,” she says, “I’ll—hold on.”
“What is it?”
She twists to the side, fumbles for her purse, fishes around inside and knocks her legs against his while she’s searching until she pulls a condom out. “This.”
So he’s not the only one who’s been making plans. He unzips his pants, but he doesn’t pull them off all the way; he keeps the khaki between his knees and the carpet so they won’t chafe. She rips the package open and he rolls the condom down over his cock. A shiver pulses up through his spine. Now, for this moment, his grip around his cock is almost like his grip around his pen when he’s writing. Almost.
Once the police release the criminals’ photos, people on the internet will seize them, expound upon them. He’ll have names, records, all the information he needs to make a judgment. And the people, his people, they’ll aid him. They’ll want to aid him. They’ll want him.
They want him.
Light yanks Misa’s panties out of the way, steadies his hands on either side of her hips, and pushes himself inside her. She’s warm enough, slick enough that it feels good, gives him a moment where his breath leaves him. She moans, a thin high needy noise.
“Light—” she says, gasping, “please, I’ll…”
He digs the heels of his palms into the carpet and starts to move, rocks in and out of her slowly at first, draws it out because he’s still thinking, still trying to collect everything and put it together. “Write their names down—” He shudders when she rocks down on him, takes him in up to the base of his cock. “Everyone I tell you to, some of them are cocky, think they can—” Think they can get away with it, think because he was lax for so long that minor transgression will go unnoticed but they won’t, they won’t now that Ryuuzaki’s dead and anyone else who tries to cross him will be too, anyone who thinks they can challenge him, stand in his way, because with Ryuuzaki dead no one can, no on else—
“They won’t—ah—I’ll do it, I’ll stop them for you, Light,” she says, arches off the carpet with a little cry, her knees trembling and knocking against the sides of his legs.
He keeps going. Faster now, harder. “The new world. It’s almost here. Almost—I can see it…”
His world. His.
He comes after that, breathless and shaking.
Light slips out of Misa and rolls the condom off, pulls his boxers and his pants back up. She stays sprawled on the carpet, her hair fanned out, strands of it clinging to the back of her neck.
“We can do anything we want to now, can’t we?” she asks.
“Anything,” he repeats. His shirt’s a crumpled heap on the floor; he picks it up and drapes it over his shoulder. He’ll put it back on once he’s cooled off.
She props herself up on her elbows. Red patches bloom on her skin, places where the carpet rubbed her too hard. “And we’re happy, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” he says. “We’re happy.”