BY : Pantherrose
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 1119
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The moon, with radiant light streaming into this dark, lonely room, flickers in and out of my vision. My weary, shadowed eyes watch sleeplessly as the gathering clouds court the ivory orb. What a coy partner, I think amusedly, too tired to keep my thoughts upon the puzzle set before me.

These moments alone are precious, and I know I must not waste them. Yet I cannot help but fixate my gaze on this pitted, gleaming stone, and concentrate on something so distant from man’s corrupting and eroding nature.

When one realizes that he may have finally been caught, trapped and ensnared through his convictions and his overarching sense of justice, isn’t it normal for him to wish for escape? No, I would never directly flee from my duty, but the need to rest my mind and escape the constant wariness required in such proximity of my quarry slowly feasts upon the tranquility of my mind.

So, now I sit, curled up and shivering on the couch in the area outside our shared room. Even though he sleeps unfailingly, carefully drugged into prolonged and insured unconsciousness, I cannot feel relaxed unless he is near.

The cold wind from the open window nips mercilessly at my skin, brushing suggestively at the exposed patch encircling my wrist and reminding me that I have lapsed, once more. However, there exists good reason for this transient error, and I could now feel his presence, standing hesitantly outside the doorway.

Matsuda, the tentative and timid detective, finally enters the dark room and I feel the restriction upon my chest lessoning, easing though I don’t yet turn to face him. Instead, I keep my gaze upon the figures flowing across the sky, allowing him a passage of escape if he desired to take it.

Though I knew deep down he would never prove ignorance of my request, the relief that washes over me following his actions both surprises and disturbs my mind. When I wrench my eyes away from the moon, I glimpse the sight that has often pervaded my dreams. Superimposed over the pictures of human grief and suffering, I have seen him, staring up at me with unhindered love and adoration, an open text-book of emotions that I have long ago locked inside.

At this very moment, he crouches on the floor before me, sitting back on his heels as he watches me with uncertain, worried eyes. Greeted by this vision, I smile slightly, causing him to start, blush, and then avert those large, expressive gems. Almost unconsciously, the smile deepens, for I remember once telling him of my ability to read his mind through a single glance.

What he has yet to understand is that it’s the simple sincerity of his emotions that both fascinates and draws me to him. Though he has seen death and the all-too-human destruction of lives, he still remains almost unscathed; an innocent, idealistic being whose gentle heart has yet to harden.

Reaching out carefully, I draw him to me, tilting his head back gently at the moment right before contact to meet his moist and trembling lips. As I kiss him deeply, I savor the sensations passing through my body, drinking greedily his sweet taste and relishing the feel of heavy arms encircling my waist.

This embrace, this passionate kiss, I cannot bring myself to fear allowing their reverberations to sink deep within my very skin. Instead, I wrap them tight around me, a protective cloak spun from his desires. Dissimilar to most of the men and women I have faced over my long life, he would never wish me ill will, seek to hurt, destroy, or degrade me. In contrast, he rather wishes to defend me, hold and take care of me, and I feel nothing but gratitude for his fumbling, though endearing, displays of affection.

Moaning softly around my intruding tongue, he attempts to draw me down onto his lap. Too intent on exploring the feel of his tongue against my own, I relinquish control of my physical form to his warm, frantic hands. Thus, I have but a moment to break the kiss before we fall into a disoriented tangle of limbs upon the carpet.

“Matsuda…” I groan between clenched teeth, but then I must fight the threatening smile as the room finally settles into place and I can survey his present position and obvious discomfiture. Blushing and panting as he lies trapped between my legs, he looks almost ethereal, stirring up the desire to claim him before this occasion slips like sand between my grasping fingertips.

When he begins to stammer an apology, I lean over and silence him with a gentle kiss. There exists no need for his apology, but rather for my own. I know well that I hurt him much more through shunning his affections, by dismissing his emotions as childish and insensible, distracting to the case and to our respective duties. Even now, I realize that these meetings serve selfish parallel purposes: to remind me that not all humans are weak, and to bask in this overwhelming feeling of want and need.

The kiss quickly deepens, and I find my hands roaming, searching for more contact, more warmth. Working together, we quickly relieve him of his impeding garments, and then my lips, teeth, and tongue find his feverish skin. I trace his smooth throat with my teeth, and bite lightly at a precise spot in order to savor his racing pulse.

He groans throatily, and I moan in response as the lusty sound fills my mind and mouth. Hardly aware of his hot hands grasping madly at my clothing, recklessly shedding my attire in order to reach my flesh, I force my focus upon reaching yet another point of sensitivity.

My searching lips find a dusky, hardening nub, and I fixate my efforts onto drawing that quivering flesh into full firmness. At the same moment the other nub endures the fondling and stroking attentions of my fingers, I draw the nipple between my lips, and sigh at the salty taste of sweat upon my tongue. I could feel it, hardening as I capture it between my teeth, a satisfying signal that ensures me of his pleasure.

This assurance fuels my blood, sending the broiling liquid racing throughout my body. The searing heat reaches my groin, and I could feel myself grow taut, rigid, especially when he grasps my fingers and pulls them into his mouth.

I groan breathlessly as he sucks, the erotic sensation spurred from his passion and enthusiasm driving me almost wild, frantic to have him. Eyes half-lidded and skin prickling from the contrasts of his flushed flesh and the cool night air, I writhe even more when his hand finds my cock, pumping heatedly for my own gratification. Mindlessly, uncontrollably, I find myself grinding my hips wildly against his, sending shocks and jolts of pleasure echoing between us and driving our cries into the dark.

Finally, I force our bodies to halt. With my head spinning and body protesting the loss of friction, I pull away from him, reclaiming my glistening fingers to place them between his legs.

“Matsuda,” I gasp, fully intending to gather his affirmation of my request. Yet, suddenly, he cries out my name, this name of connections that I have surprisingly come to hold against my heart, and I feel my voice dying, faltering in my throat. I look up at him in surprise, meeting eyes so full of lust and love that I could almost sense his tender warmth spreading throughout every inch of my body.

Driven by a force unknown and unseen, I find myself meeting his outstretched arms, panting against his chest as I burrow into his embrace. His arms tighten around me as one, then two, slick fingers enter him and start to scissor, stretching from the inside out.

From somewhere above me, he moans breathlessly for me to hurry, and I begin to shake from the exertion of this careful preparation. But I fear hurting him, breaking him in even the smallest of ways. It would be the most terrible sin, a corruption, to lose him this way.

The third and final finger finally breaches the quivering muscles, and I kiss his chest, attempting to assuage the painful, yet pleasurable, groans emanating from his lips. For a single moment, I linger, savoring the sanctuary his arms provide and the comfortable predictability of his beating heart. Then, I break away from his embrace, seeking to bury myself deeper into his warmth.

I slowly breach the tight ring of muscles, slightly shivering as I fight the tantalizing seduction of thrusting rough and quickly within him. This body, this hot, lithe, writhing body seeks to both allure and reject me, resisting my penetration and yet sheathing me so securely, contracting around me so possessively, that I have no alternative but to push forward.

Suddenly, he reaches up from his position and quickly pulls me closer, taking advantage of my surprise to capture my lips in a passionate dual of teeth and tongues. We groan into wet, feverish mouths when my cock slips fully inside him, my slow, steady penetration interrupted by this show of rash, impulsive haste.

“You’re not going to break me,” he gasps against my lips, rolling his hips suggestively and sending my mind reeling from the sheer pleasure of friction and confinement.

Through my well-trained eyes, I could see the raw emotion flowing across his features, the pain and the desire, the love and the apprehension, warring within him in response to the license he has granted me. And I know I would take it, this temptation to lose all control, to escape the demands and pressures of saving the lives of people I have never met or known until the lives pass from their bodies.

Bending over him, I grab hold of his slick skin, sensing the muscles tensing and undulating beneath the smooth, thin layer. Slowly, I pull out of him, fighting against the resistance of his contracting, constricting muscles. Then, I thrust, quick and deep, burying myself within him as he cries out into the chill night air.

Again and again, I thrust into him, slowly at first, but quickly increasing in intensity. My beginning steady pace swiftly cast into the vortex of abandonment, I soon find myself slamming recklessly into his thin, slender body, as though heedless of his cries and the nails that dig painfully into the damp flesh at my shoulders and back.

Yet I am acutely aware of every gesture and gasp, every moan and whimper that electrifies the small space surrounding our fierce, passionate act. I watch him, greedily drinking up every single expression that passes over the expressive surface of his features. Whether I glimpse pain or pleasure, desire or apprehension, these conflicting emotions rage within the confines of his translucent eyes and fuel my awakened ravenous hunger for contact, emotion, and sensation. No longer am I the disembodied voice, the figurehead of justice and the fight against crime. Here, in this cold, dark room, the world of struggling and suffering drops away from my awareness, replaced by the man writhing, gasping, and embracing me as I pound the tempo and tattoo of my experiences deep inside him. With every thrust and sound of flesh upon flesh, I feel the echoes of the past draining from me, their pervading impressions dislodged and driven away by this furious, physical act.

His arms suddenly tense and tighten around my waist, and I realize that he’s teetering right at the brink of the edge. Hazy black eyes seek my own, conveying such love and adoration that my insides to tremble to behold, before they lose all focus and he comes between us. I groan as his muscles contract firmly around my member, spurring me onward to find my own release. Our heated skins filmed and attached by his essence, I continue my wild, abandoned thrusting, even lifting his hips for a more satisfying angle.

Into this world of frantic gasping and movement, grasping hands and shivering skin, I surrender the remainder of my exhausted control. No pain, no death, no violence, for a single moment, I can escape it all. At this very instant, all that weighs upon my mind is the vibrant warmth of the arms wrapped protectively around me, and the comforting rhythm of that soft, gentle heart.

~ ~ ~

Author’s note: Did I just write something even remotely romantic?! Egads, I must write something so very depressing now! *Laughs* Then again, it's kinda how you look at it? All I know is that my prof would be quite surprised that I used some concepts from her Buddhism class in DN smut.

Random Extra (only here because I got totally bored one day, and L drugging Raito, exp. for these particular purposes, greatly amuses me):
The next morning, Raito wakes up with one hell of a headache. Cursing angrily, he forsakes the bed in search of a glass of water in order to relieve his suspiciously dry and parched throat. He leaves the room in a daze, not even realizing that the detective is no longer attached to the chain around his wrist. More accurately, he remains completely oblivious to that fact up until the very moment he stumbles over the intertwined, sleeping forms of the two detectives, and hits his throbbing head harshly against the coffee table.
…Needless to say, L has just earned himself a place in the Death Note, but, first, Raito must get over his hangover and the subsequent concussion.

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