Archive of Our Own

Music thundered from Ryuzaki’s speakers, rattling the windows and grinding steadily against Light’s last nerve.

Calling it ‘music’ was generous, really. There were no lyrics, no melody he could identify, and no coherent progression toward anything resembling a conclusion. It consisted primarily of clipped percussion, electronica distortion, and a bass line that seemed to lose interest in it’s own rhythm every few seconds. It sounded like…dubstep, but slowly until it became nearly helter skelter with the intensity. Every time the bass dropped, the interior of the car tremored. The plastic trim surrounding the passenger-side door vibrated, and something loose - coins? - inside the black center console buzzed intermittently. Even the rearview mirror shivered lightly on it’s mount, briefly blurring the reflection of the road behind them. 

Light’s irritation increased with every pulse, though he didn’t let it show.

He sat impeccably upright in the passenger seat, one hand resting over his knee, and the other against the leather armrest. His seatbelt lay neatly across his chest, though the belt was sure to create creases in his otherwise immaculate, perfectly pressed attire. Outside, the pale morning traffic moved in orderly streams beneath a colourless sky, while inside the car, Ryuzaki’s speakers continued attempting to simulate a symphonic thunderstorm.

Light glanced toward the dashboard. 

The stereo display glowed a soft, welcoming blue. The volume, however, was neither soft nor welcoming. It was set to seventeen.

Unreasonable. 

Ryuzaki himself appeared perfectly content. 

He was sat so casually back that it was a wonder how he managed to reach the pedals, and the seat also set so low that it was also a wonder how he saw the road well enough. His left hand rested near the top of the wheel while his right hand held it lower, fingers curled around the leather with the same peculiar delicacy he used when handling cups, evidence, or plates of cake. One bare foot was folded beneath his opposite thigh, which Light was fairly certain violated at least one traffic regulation and several principles of common sense. 

A half-empty paper cup occupied the front cup holder. Beside it sat three sugar packets, two crumpled wrappers, and a random plastic fork.

“This CD of yours is interesting. You’ve had this playing for a while. Do you mind if I turn on Channel Seven, Ryuzaki?” Light asked. 

His smile carried a small, pleasant lift, with practiced warmth, as though he were making an inconsequential request rather than attempting to prevent the car’s subwoofer from continuing to drill directly into his skull. 

In truth, if Light had been permitted to choose, they would have completed the drive to the Task Force headquarters in absolute silence. 

“I do mind.” Ryuzaki replied simply.  There was no hesitation. No apology. Not even the shallow performance of civility that most people instinctively supplied before denying a reasonable request. 

His eyes remained fixed on the road.  “This music is excellent.”

Another electronic beat struck. The bottle of water wedged into the passenger door rattled against the plastic compartment. 

Light’s smile remained in place, plastic as ever. 

“I see.”

“The percussion is thought-provoking,” Ryuzaki continued. “It’s irregularity requires the brain to continually revise it’s expectations. I find that it greatly increases my focus.”

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as the car entered a gentle curve. The turn signal clicked three times while he moved into the neighboring lane, each mechanical tick briefly and mercifully landing between the music’s heavier beats. 

“In a case such as the Kira investigation,” Ryuzaki said, “I require as much focus as possible.”

“Of course.” Light nodded.

“Particularly if I am going to catch Kira.” This time, the corner of Ryuzaki’s mouth lifted.  It was not quite a smile. It was too small for that, and too private. It looked more like satisfaction escaping against his will. Leakage. 

“And I do intend to catch Kira.” He added. 

Light turned his attention toward the windshield. 

The wipers dragged once across the glass, clearing away a thin veil of mist. A delivery truck lumbered in the lane ahead of them. Its brake lights glowed crimson - a shade eerily similar to the Shinigami Eyes Misa has, Light notes with private amusement - and Ryuzaki eased his foot from the accelerator with surprising smoothness. 

“I would argue,” Light said, still perfectly amiable, “that music with unpredictable drops and erratic rhythms is more likely to interrupt concentration than improve it.”

“That would be incorrect.”

“For people in general?”
“For me.”

“Naturally.” Light wanted to roll his eyes. 

Ryuzaki’s fingers tapped softly, absently,  against the steering wheel in time with the beat. “At approximately one hundred and forty beats per minute - or, seventy, if you count by perceived beats - dubstep may stimulate the motor cortex, elevate mood, and reduce stress during repetitive tasks,” he explained, “The strong, rhythmic structure can help with sustaining attention, despite the apparent irregularity of it’s surface elements.”

Light looked at him. Ryuzaki looked ahead. The windshield wipers swept again. Light’s smile tightened by a nearly invisible degree. This conversation was nonsense and he knew it. “I wasn’t aware your musical preferences required scientific justification.”

“They do not.”

“And yet, you prepared one.” 

“I anticipated that you would complain.”

“I haven’t complained.” Light corrected, tilting his head slightly to the left.

“You waited six minutes and forty-two seconds before asking to change the station. During that time, you looked at the stereo display four times, the passenger-side speaker twice, and the volume control once.”

Ryuzaki glanced towards him at last, those eyes so black, they shone almost blue at times. 

“You also set your jaw tighter than usual during the previous bass drop.”

Perceptive.  

Light slowly released the tension in his jaw, and replied. “I was thinking.”

“You were irritated.”

“Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

“No,” Ryuzaki conceded. “In your case, they frequently appear to be connected.”

He turned his gaze back to the road.

Light, also, turned his gaze to the road. 

The music collapsed into a stretch of electronic rumbling, followed by a series of sharp synthetic clicks. It sounded like machinery attempting to remember how machinery worked. 

Light exhaled through his nose.

“Do you mean to classify the Kira case as ‘repetitive work’?” Light asked, as if preferring to listen to anything over the sound of dubstep, even if it’s just his own voice.

The question slid easily into the conversation anyway, polished and unhurried, exactly as Light intended to be perceived. He tilted his head toward Ryuzaki with the mild curiosity of someone examining a harmless inconsistency. 

Ryuzaki did not appear surprised at this line of questioning. 

“It is repetitive in the sense that I reach the same conclusion each time I review the evidence,” he said. 

“And what conclusion would that be?” Light inquired.

“That you are Kira.” Ryuzaki said it plainly, void of drama, of accusation. Merely spoken aloud like it was an observable feature of the world.  The gear indicator shifted as the car slowed. Ryuzaki pressed the brake, bringing them to a stop behind a silver hatchback. The engine settled into a quiet idle beneath the relentless bass. A small charm hanging from the rearview mirror swung forward and back. Light watched it complete two neat arcs. “Is that so?” he said airily.

“Yes.” Ryuzaki shrugged. Light turned toward him. Ryuzaki remained impassive, though the faint tilt at the corner of his mouth had returned.

“You seem remarkably relaxed for a man sitting less than a foot from someone he believes to be a mass murderer,” Light observed.

“I did not say I was relaxed.” 

“You’re listening to mood-elevating music.” 

“Yes. To reduce the stress caused by sitting less than a foot from someone I believe to be a mass murderer.”

The traffic light changed. The hatchback moved forward, and Ryuzaki followed, accelerating with one hand on the wheel while the other reached toward the paper cup. He raised it by the rim, took a sip, and grimaced faintly. “Cold,” he murmured.

“Well, it has been sitting there since before you picked me up.”

“Yes.” Ryuzaki took another sip anyway.

Light stared at him for one long second before redirecting his attention toward the stereo.

“Well,” he said, “since I am not Kira, perhaps different music would be beneficial. It may help bring you to a different conclusion.”

“Changing the input does not alter the correct result.” Ryuzaki tsked at him.

“It might reveal that you have mistaken repetition for certainty.”

“Or it may reveal that you dislike being reminded of your guilt before nine in the morning.” Ryuzaki’s smile increased by five percent.

Light’s pleasant expression held. “You are remarkably committed to being insufferable today.”

“I am committed every day.” 

“That, at least, is one conclusion the evidence supports.” The next bass drop struck hard enough to make the coins in the recessed tray beneath the dashboard chatter together.

That settled it. Light reached across the center console. His hand passed over the climate controls, beneath the twin air vents, and landed on the blue stereo dial. His movement was smooth, confident, and just quick enough to suggest that he had never truly been requesting permission.

Ryuzaki’s eyes flicked downward, “Light, I - ”

“Consider it an experiment.” with a deft turn of the dial, Light lowered the volume. Then, he pressed the preset marked 7.

The electronic percussion vanished mid-beat. For one glorious fraction of a second, the car was silent. Then, Channel Seven crackled to life through the speakers. 

A piano entered softly…

The first few notes were restrained and contemplative, carrying the deliberate quiet of rain beginning against a window. Beneath the melody, one note repeated with soft ceremony. Gently at first, easy to overlook, until it’s constancy became impossible not to hear. 

Light relaxed against his seat before he could stop himself. He recognized this one, as it was one of his favourites. It was Chopin’s prelude in D-flat Majour, Opus 28, Number 15… ‘The Raindrop Prelude.’  Fitting for the stormy looking skies, Light thought as he glanced at the darkening clouds. 

A marked improvement, compared to the previous music. 

The piece seemed to settle the air inside the car. It’s opening measures were graceful, yet structured, without feeling rigid. Even the soft click of the windshield wipers appeared to find their place within the music, sweeping across the glass in time with that repeated note. 

Ryuzaki glanced toward the stereo display, then towards Light.  “Interesting.”

Light continued looking at the clouds. “What is?”

“You chose this station without knowing what it would be playing.”

“Yes. That is generally how radio stations work.”

“And yet you appear pleased with the results.”

“I prefer Chopin to whatever auditory earthquake  you were subjecting this vehicle to.”

“That is not particularly revealing. Most people your age range would prefer that to this.”
Light turned his head slightly. “I am sure the artist would be delighted to hear your assessment.”

Ryuzaki ignored that. “The piece begins beautifully,” he analyzed, "It appears calm, disciplined, and almost…uncomplicated. However…the repeated A-flat never leaves. It persists beneath the melody even when the character of the composition darkens.”

Light’s eyes narrowed by an almost imperceptible degree. 

Outside, traffic moved steadily through the damp morning. Tires rolled against wet pavement. The silver car in front of them changed lanes, leaving an unobstructed stretch of asphalt before Ryuzaki’s (or, perhaps more accurately, Watari’s) car. 

“Perhaps you enjoy it because it presents pleasantness as something maintained through control.” Ryuzaki continued, “the repeated note gives the impression that everything remains stable, even while the emotional landscape around it becomes increasingly severe.”

“It is a famous piece.” Light laughed a bit. Where was Ryuzaki going with this? “I hardly think enjoying it constitutes a psychological analysis.”

“No. but your response to it might.”

“I changed the station because your music was irritating.” 

“And found a composition about composure surviving an approaching storm. Besides, music does not need to be literally about something in order to reveal what the listener recognizes within it.”

“I didn’t choose this particular song, the radio station did.” Light folded one leg over the other. 

“You did choose the station knowing the contents of what this station normally plays.”

“...While that is true, it doesn’t prove your point.” Light smoothed his pants. “Also, you have been listening for less than thirty seconds.”

“That is sufficient enough time for me to analyze you.” Ryuzaki gave a faint nod. 

The music crossed quietly into it’s darker middle section. The repeated note had changed and what had once resembled rain against glass became heavier, tolling beneath the left hand with funeral-like insistence. The tenderness of the opening was not gone, exactly, but buried, as if forced deeper into the composition by something immense and approaching. 

Ryuzakis’ s fingers shifted on the steering wheel. “You may also appreciate the distinction between the surface and the underlying structure of the song,” he said. “Most people remember the opening as peaceful. They call it beautiful…but the entire piece is haunted by repetition. What initially comforts the listener eventually becomes oppressive.”

Light looks at him fully now. “You are attempting to provoke me.”

“I am describing Chopin.” Ryuzaki’s response was too innocent. 

“You are describing me while pretending to describe Chopin.” Light parried.

“I am doing both.”

“And you believe I find repetition comforting.”

“I believe you find predictability comforting. Repetition is merely predictability that has been made visible, or, rather, in this case, audible.”
Light has more or less resigned himself to his music being interrupted, so he bothers to respond. “That is an extremely broad statement.” He says, just to see where Ryuzaki will take his statement. 

“You arrange your belongings with unnecessary precision. You follow routines even when they are inconvenient. You dislike being interrupted while studying. You select clothing that gives the impression of effortless taste, though I suspect considerable thought precedes each choice you make - across any category, really. Interestingly, when placed in an unfamiliar environment, you immediately identify its internal hierarchy and adjust your behaviour accordingly." Ryuzaki glanced toward Light. “You do not merely enjoy order, Light. You also enjoy the ability to make order appear natural.”

The repeated note struck beneath the music. 

Light’s jaw tightened again. “Do you ever listen to anything without dissecting it?

“Yes.”

“I find that difficult to believe.” Light was wishing he took the train instead this morning. 

“I sometimes listen to Watari.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

Annoying. 

The prelude began to soften again, returning gradually towards it’s opening serenity. The heaviness retreated, though it left something changed behind it. Once the storm had passed through the piece, it could no longer be heard as innocent, and the peace at the conclusion felt placed rather than natural. 

Light’s gaze fixated now near his own feet, admiring the shine on his own shoes. “Your interpretation is unnecessarily melodramatic.”

“Your pulse increased.” Ryuzaki stated like it was a concrete fact.

“You are not measuring my pulse.” Light smoothly said. 

“No. But I can see it in your throat.” Ryuzaki said. 

“Why don’t you keep your eyes on the road?” Light resisted the urge to adjust his collar and instead shifted his weight in his seat, wondering if such a thing is really actually visible or if Ryuzaki was simply messing with him.

Ryuzaki’s mouth lifted at one corner.  The final notes of the prelude faded, and, for a moment, the announcer said nothing. There was only the residual hush left behind the former melody.  Then, another composition began, a rapid, delicate cascade spilled out from the speakers, which had been set to a more reasonable volume of ten. 

Again, Light recognized it quick as a whip. Chopin again. Étude in A Minor, Opus 25, Number 11. ‘The Winter Wind.’

Light knew this piece well. The introduction lasted only a few quiet measures before the right hand erupted into explosive motion. Notes rushed downward, and then upward in relentless torrents while the left carried the melody beneath them. It was turbulent, technically merciless, and yet…perfectly in time, perfectly controlled; controlled chaos. 

Ryuzaki’s gaze drifted towards Light again. Light did not return the look. 

“No.” Light said. 

“But I haven’t said anything yet.” 

“You are about to.” Light called out. 

“That is correct.” Ryuzaki confirmed shamelessly. 

“Do not.”

“This selection is even more interesting. And, Chopin, played twice within the same station… My, what are the odds?”

“Ryuzaki.”
“I would say that the melody remains authoritative while chaos dances through it, around it.” Ryuzaki started.

Light reached for the volume knob, but Ryuzaki caught his wrist lightly before he could turn it off. The contact lasted only a second. Ryuzaki’s hand was cool. His fingers rested loosely around Light’s wrist, not restraining him so much as interrupting the attempt at turning the station off entirely. 

“Within the piece, you can hear the right hand in the piece appears nearly frantic, frenetic,” Ryuzaki said, all while driving and holding Light’s wrist, “yet the effort depends upon extraordinary control. Every apparent gust is predetermined. Every violent descent has been practised.”

Light looked down at Ryuzaki’s hand, and he released him. 

“You enjoy works that create the impression of overwhelming power while remaining governed down to the smallest movement,” he said.

“I enjoy Chopin.” Light clarified simply.

“You enjoy mastery.” Ryuzaki pushed.

“Most people do.” Light folded his arms across his chest. 

“Most people admire it. You identify with it.” Ryuzaki pressed harder.

Light turned the volume down two increments, but Ryuzaki reached over and restored both.

“The piece is often interpreted as a struggle against forces too great to resist,” he continued. “But the pianist does resist them. That is the entire performance. The storm exists only because the performer has learned how to reproduce it perfectly.”

“Nice to know you are a fan of Chopin as well. However, your analysis is becoming tedious.” Light interjected, but Ryuzaki steamrolled on anyway, ignoring Light’s interruption.

“You do not wish to be overcome by chaos. You wish to become the person capable of directing it; the orchestrator. How revealing.”

Light pressed the power button, and the stereo went dark. No more music, no more psychoanalysis. Thank god. 

The music ceased in the middle of the descending staircase of melody, strangled to silence before the piece could resolve itself. 

Silence reclaimed the car. Beautiful, lovely, amazing silence. 

Ryuzaki’s hand remained on the steering wheel. His face was composed, but satisfaction was clear in his eyes.

Light closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat, wishing he could fall asleep, but he was far from tired enough for that.  “I have decided that silence is preferable.”

“I thought you liked that piece.” Ryuzaki clearly wanted to keep talking.

“I do.”

“Then why turn it off?” Ryuzaki’s question occurred at the same time another driver suddenly merged into his lane, and Ryuzaki slowed to let them into the lane.

“Because I do not want to be psychoanalyzed before nine in the morning.” Light answered.

“That is understandable.” Ryuzaki said stoically. 

Light stared at him, Ryuzaki’s expression did not change. “You sound far too pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased that you recognized what I was doing.” Ryuzaki’s tone was as if he had won some secret game.

“Well, it was not subtle.” Light rolls his eyes.

“I was not attempting subtlety.” Ryuzaki changes lanes to pass the idiot who cut him off.

“No,” Light murmured. “You rarely do when you believe you have discovered something.”

The windshield wipers continued their soft, repetitive sweep. Without the stereo, Light became more conscious of the machinery around them: the low vibration of the engine beneath the floor, the hum of the tires, the faint rush of air through the vents.

He also became aware of something else….

Ah. The absence of Watari.

Light glanced into the back seat as though the older man might somehow have appeared there unnoticed. “Why did Watari not collect us this morning?”

Ryuzaki’s eyes remained upon the road. “He is busy.”

“Doing what?” Light waved a hand as if to say, ‘out with it’.

“An errand.” Simple. Concise. Yet Ryuzaki answered nothing.

“What sort of errand?” Light felt like asking Ryuzaki questions was like pulling weeds in a garden. 

“One I asked him to complete.”  

Light waited. And waited. And waited. Ryuzaki offered nothing further. “That is unusually vague, even for you.”

“I do not think it is.”

“You just told me that ‘Watari is completing an errand because you asked him to complete an errand.’” Light repeated. 

“Yes.”

“That provides no information.”

“It provides some information.”

“Such as?”

“That Watari is busy.” Ryuzaki maintained the perfect poker face. 

Light exhaled through his nose. “And therefore you decided to drive yourself?”

“Yes.”

“I did not know you could drive.” Light raised his eyebrows.

“Well, you are currently witnessing it.” Ryuzaki revved the engine slightly to prove his point, and it purred seductively.

“That is not necessarily proof that you can do it well.” Light grinned slightly, now happy to find a bit of payback for the unasked-for grilling he endured about his music taste.

Ryuzaki briefly looked offended. The car drifted a fraction too close to the lane marker. Light’s gaze dropped pointedly toward it. Ryuzaki corrected the steering. “Your concern is unnecessary,” he said.

“My concern is observational.” Light mimed Ryuzaki’s earlier tone. 

“Ah.” Ryuzaki recognized the game and humored this. 

“And practical. If you kill us both in a traffic accident, the Kira investigation may suffer a considerable setback.” Light pointed out, putting his hands up palms to the air and nodding solemnly. 

“It so would.” Ryuzaki sympathized. 

“There would also be an embarrassing irony in the world’s greatest detective being able to solve everything but the mysteries of driving properly.” Light’s eyes flickered to Ryuzaki before needling more, gauging his reaction.

“I would not find it embarrassing.” Ryuzaki shook his head.

“Well, you would be dead.” Light grinned.

“Then I suppose I would be especially unlikely to find it embarrassing.” Ryuzaki said thoughtfully. 

Light almost laughed. Almost.

The road ahead opened further as they left the denser part of the city behind. They were travelling along a less complicated section of expressway now, one without stacked lanes, elevated crossings, or the great concrete tangles that made Tokyo’s road system resemble a circulatory system designed by some anxious engineer. Trees and retaining walls appeared intermittently beyond the guardrail. The shoulder widened in places into stretches of gravel and packed earth.

Light watched the road for another moment. Where Ryuzaki found pleasure in annoying Light with spur of the moment psychodiagnostics, Light found pleasure in pointing out holes in Ryuzaki’s plans. 

“Well,” he sparred, “if I were Kira, which I am not, this would seem like a remarkably poor decision on your part.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes shifted toward him, parrying with a question. “In what sense?”

“You have placed yourself alone in an enclosed vehicle with your primary suspect. Watari is absent. The task force does not appear to know exactly where we are. There are no witnesses inside the car.” Light pointed out flaw after flaw after flaw in this ‘driving to work with Light Yagami’ ordeal.

“You are here.” Ryuzaki counted.

“I am the hypothetical murderer in this scenario.” Light shrugged.

“Yes.” Ryuzaki nodded.

“Then I hardly count as a reliable witness.”

Ryuzaki rolled his eyes. “Kira would not kill me here,” he said.

“You seem confident.” Light said, immensely enjoying his private joke. 

“Kira would not kill me in that manner.” Ryuzaki denied outright.

“And what manner is that?” Light is clearly entertained.

“In a car. Directly. Improvisationally. Stupidly. Without complete control over the surrounding variables.” Ryuzaki’s fingers tapped once against the steering wheel. “That is not how Kira does things. That is why Kira would not kill me in this manner.”

Light inclined his head. “You speak as though you know Kira intimately.”

“I am attempting to.”

“Well. Perhaps you should invite Kira to breakfast.” Light laughed internally at the thought.

“I believe I already am.” Ryuzaki slyly said.

Light’s smile thinned.

Ryuzaki turned his head. The smile that appeared on his face was small at first. Barely two percent of what most people would have considered a full smile. On Ryuzaki, it was practically radiant. “What do you think, Light?”

“About what?” He  asked cautiously. 

“If Kira were here, how would Kira try to kill me?” Ryuzaki’s smile’s radius increased by another seven percent.

Light looked at the road and suddenly regretted that he brought this entire thing up.  “I wouldn’t know.”

“How would Kira do it?” Ryuzaki repeated with gusto.

“I just told you that I do not know.” Light also repeated, but with far less gusto.

“You did not think about the question.” Ryuzaki loves this game.

“You did not give me time to think.” Light scoffed, trying to shrug the conversation off but clearly Ryuzaki was no longer letting this go. 

“I am giving you time now.” Ryuzaki promised.

Exactly three seconds passed.

Ryuzaki’s smile grew again. “How do you think Kira would do it?” Ryuzaki peppered. 

“I am not Kira, Ryuzaki.” Light reaches down and takes a sip out of the bottle of water that was rattling earlier in the side door. 

“That was not the question.” Ryuzaki patiently corrects.

“And I do not know how he kills.” Light answers him, taking another sip.

“Interesting.” Ryuzaki swaps lanes yet again.

Light’s attention snapped back toward him. “And what, pray tell, is interesting now?”

“You said, ‘I do not know how he kills.’” Ryuzaki’s eyes returned to the road. “So you believe the original Kira is male.”

“That is absurd.” Light laughed, surprised at the thread Ryuzaki picked up on, of all threads to track.

“Is it?” Ryuzaki inquired.

“Well, yes. It was an incidental choice of pronouns.” Light’s patience was starting to weather more. “Besides, the Japanese language frequently allows subjects to be omitted, leaving English translations to assign gender where the original sentence did not require one, so my answer was one shaped by an unconscious assumption.” 

“We are not speaking through a translator.” Ryuzaki emphasized. 

“Honestly? Gender hardly matters here.” The reply felt weak the moment it left Light’s mouth. Not incorrect. Merely insufficient. 

Ryuzaki noticed. Of course he noticed.

Light continued before the silence could harden around it. “I do not know how Kira kills. Therefore, I am sorry, Ryuzaki, but I have no useful ideas to offer you.”

“Not even contemplations?” Ryuzaki almost pouted.

“No.” Light said curtly.

“The possibilities are extensive.” Ryuzaki said with wonder, as if they were discussing potential rollarcoaster rides at Disney to hit up instead of possible ways Ryuzaki could be murdered in a moving vehicle in graphic detail.

“I am aware.” 

“If you were Kira, you could strangle me with the seat belt.” Ryuzaki sounded far too excited for a sentence such as that. 

Light stared at him impassively. Was this for real?

“You could force the car off the road.” Ryuzaki offered.

“I am not driving.” Light ran a hand through his hair, tone clearly not playing along.

“You could attempt to take control of the wheel.” 

“With traffic moving beside us?” Doubt rang through Light’s tone.

“Correct.” Ryuzaki sped further to get ahead of the other idiot trying to pass him. 

“That would carry an unacceptable risk of killing myself.” 

“An intelligent observation.” Ryuzaki commended.

“It is an obvious one.” Yet another eyeroll from Light. 

“You could wait until the car stops.”

“And then?” 

“Improvise.” Ryuzaki held up a hand off his wheel and waved it slowly, like a magician does as they do a fancy magic trick. 

Why did Ryuzaki sound so into this? This is absurd. Light thought to himself. What is he trying to do?

“You just said Kira does not improvise.” Light recalled.

“I said Kira does not kill without controlling the surrounding variables. Stopping the car could create controllable conditions.” Ryuzaki clarified. “Controllable, killable conditions.”

Light folded his arms, “You have constructed a hypothetical situation and are now supplying your own answers. So… I fail to see why you require my continued participation.” 

There. Light thought to himself. Perfectly put. Ryuzaki surely will not have anything more to say on the matter -

“Because I would like to know which answer occurs to you first.” Ryuzaki asked nearly at once.

“None of them.” Light’s tone was guarded. 

“Poison?” Ryuzaki asked out of the blue.

“No.” 

“A concealed weapon?” This was asked almost hopefully.

“No.” Light lied, as, technically, it could be supposed that the Death Note is sort of a ‘concealed weapon.’

“Carbon monoxide?”

“How would Kira arrange that from the passenger seat?” Light asked incredulously.

“That was a very quick objection.” Ryuzaki gave him a side glance.

“Because it is ridiculous!” Light looked back at him, bewildered at the amount of angles and directions this morning has taken.

“Well, perhaps Kira has tampered with the vehicle in advance.” Ryuzaki mused thoughtfully.

“I did not have access to this car in advance.” 

Ryuzaki’s eyes brightened.

Light caught himself. “Obviously, what I mean, is in this hypothetical scenario,” he amended gingerly, backpedaling, “Kira may not have had access to this particular vehicle. Obviously.”

“But you immediately placed yourself within the practical constraints of the scenario.”

“Because you asked me how Kira would do it.” 

“Yes.”

“So, naturally, I considered what would be possible from a position such as that.” Light’s guard was starting to come up again now.

Ryuzaki’s smile climbed another five percent.

Light’s patience dropped by considerably more.

“The possibilities are endless,” Ryuzaki said. “You truly do not want to try?”

“It is not that.” Light laughed to conceal his building anger. “It is simply that I do not possess enough information to formulate a reasonable method, and, unlike you, I do not enjoy manufacturing incriminating implications from harmless speculation. If I suggest something intelligent, you will claim that the idea occurred to me because I am Kira. If I suggest something foolish, you will claim I am deliberately concealing my intelligence. If I refuse to answer, you will claim that I am afraid of revealing myself. You have constructed a question for which every possible response confirms what you already believe.”

“That is not true.”

“It is exactly true.”

“You could answer honestly.”

“I am.”

“I disagree entirely.”

Then, the car shuddered and groaned terribly. 

Light’s lips were parted to answer him, but no sound came as they both listened to the strange noises from the otherwise perfect car.

It was not the sporadic vibration of the CD this time, nor the riffs of a long passed musician. The stereo remained dark. The tremor came from somewhere… beneath them. A rough mechanical stutter passed through the floorboards, followed by a faint metallic knocking that vanished almost as soon as Light registered it.

Ryuzaki looked toward the instrument panel, trying to find what went wrong with the car. 

Light watched him.

“Oh,” Light said dryly, chuckling. He’d finally found the pattern. “Another test.”

Ryuzaki did not answer.

“I should have anticipated this,” Light continued, almost bored now. “The isolated road, Watari’s convenient absence, the hypothetical discussion of how Kira might kill you... I assume the vehicle is about to pretend to malfunction so that you can observe what I do next.”

The engine coughed like a chainsmoker on their last few months of existing in the world of the living. This time, the sound was truly unmistakable. The car lurched forward, lost power, then recovered with a low, unhappy growl. The accelerator no longer produced the same smooth response. Ryuzaki pressed it lightly, and the engine answered several seconds too late. A warning light illuminated upon the dashboard. Then another.

Ryuzaki’s eyes widened, though not theatrically.

At first, Light wondered if this was part of the test, but… Light had studied his face often enough to recognize genuine surprise when it breached that careful blankness.

Light’s tone changed. “This is not one of your tests.”

“No.” Ryuzaki agreed. 

The temperature needle had climbed almost entirely into the red. A very strange, bitter, overheated smell began entering through the vents.  Ryuzaki switched them off. The engine faltered again. A thin veil of pale smoke or steam began to trail from the front edge of the hood, immediately swept backward across the windshield by the moving air.

“Reduce your speed,” Light advised, now truly wishing he had just taken the damn train to work or something.

“I am.”

“Turn on the hazard lights.”

Ryuzaki pressed the button. Both indicators began ticking in urgent unison. The car continued losing power. Fortunately, they were not trapped inside one of the great elevated arteries where six lanes divided and rejoined above the city without offering so much as a metre of mercy. The shoulder beside them widened into a strip of mousey brown packed dirt beyond the paved edge.

Ryuzaki guided the car toward it. The engine gave one final, ugly shudder, and the steering grew heavier and harder to manage to turn at all. They rolled off the asphalt with a crunch of gravel, the vehicle listing slightly as it crossed onto uneven ground. Ryuzaki forced it as far from the moving lane as possible before the engine surrendered completely.

The car stopped. Steam began tp curl from beneath the hood.

Ryuzaki kept both hands on the steering wheel for several seconds, as though the car might reconsider if subjected to sufficient scrutiny.

“Hm,” he said simply.

Light raised his eyebrows. “Hm, indeed.”

The rain tapped lightly against the roof. Cars passed beside them with hollow bursts of sound, each one briefly rocking the stranded vehicle in its wake and blurring past them swift as the west wind.

Light inspected the dashboard. “Perhaps we should call a tow truck.”

“Nonsense.” Ryuzaki unfastened his seat belt.

“What do you mean, ‘nonsense’?” Light said, amazed. “What are you doing?”

“We have not yet determined the problem.” He said this as though it were obvious.

“The problem is that the car has stopped functioning.” Light said this as though it was a fork found in a kitchen.

“That is a symptom.”

“It is also a sufficient reason to contact someone with mechanical expertise.” Light told the other seriously, his tone no longer fooling around.

Ryuzaki pressed the button to lower his window.

Light stared. “Wait. What are you doing?”

The window descended without fanfare. Ryuzaki placed one hand upon the upper frame, pulled one bare foot onto the seat, and climbed through the opening.

Light’s mouth dropped open. “Ryuzaki!”

He ignored him. Ryuzaki eased his narrow body through the window, planted one foot upon the exterior door ledge, and transferred himself onto the hood with the unsettling balance of a cat navigating a bookshelf. Rain immediately darkened his hair.

“Why didn’t you use the door?” Light said out the window, aghast.

Ryuzaki crouched on top of the hood. “The window was closer.”

“That hardly makes it the appropriate exit.”

“It was effective.”

Light pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would help him ease his annoyance. “You are barefoot –”

“Yes.”

“--on the exterior of a car –”

“Yes.”

“-- beside an expressway!”

Ryuzaki looked back through the windshield and uttered one last “Yes.”

Light closed his eyes briefly, gathering inner strength to deal with this. Then he unfastened his own seat belt and exited through the passenger door like a civilized human being.

The rain was still light, but the air carried a cold chill. Passing vehicles sent gusts of wetness  across the shoulder. Light walked carefully around the front, keeping as much distance from the traffic lane as possible.

Ryuzaki remained perched upon the hood, knees drawn beneath him. With his pale face and soaked black hair, he resembled a large, disreputable fledgling that had mistaken the vehicle for its nest.

“We possess two of the brightest minds in Japan,” Ryuzaki said.

“That is… highly debatable at the moment.” Light shook his head.

“Possibly the world.” He continued as if Light’s lack of faith was a non-issue.

Light walked closer. “Your confidence has survived the engine, I see.”

“We should be capable of identifying a mechanical fault.”

Light laughed, “Intelligence does not automatically confer technical experience.”

Ryuzaki tilted his head. “Do you know anything about cars, Light?”

Light hesitated for less than half a second. “Yes. I know basic automotive maintenance.” 

Ryuzaki’s eyes settled on him, “How fortunate for us.” Ryuzaki appeared unaffected by the rain, even though it was picking up considerably now. “What do you know?”

“Changing a tire. Checking and replacing oil. Installing windshield wipers. Replacing filters. Jump-starting a battery.” Light gave a modest shrug accompanied by a small smile. “The usual things.”

“Marvelous.” There was something in Ryuzaki’s tone that made the word sound less like praise and more like the opening of an interrogation.

He slid off the hood. The hood release had already popped it open by several centimetres, presumably because Ryuzaki had pulled the lever inside before escaping through the window. However, the secondary latch appeared stuck. Ryuzaki slipped his fingers beneath the narrow opening.

“It must release from underneath,” Light pointed to the side.

“I am aware.”

“Are you?” Light asked skeptically. 

Ryuzaki felt blindly along the latch. It refused to move. He withdrew his hand, studied the front edge of the hood, and struck the metal once with the heel of his palm near the catch. The hood sprang up, and Ryuzaki caught it immediately and raised it.

A billow of pale gray steam rolled upward into his face. However, he did not move away from it. “Hm,” he said again.

“Your vocabulary has become remarkably limited.” Light smirked. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, if he can at least watch the world’s greatest detective tinker around seemingly cluelessly like this for a while. 

The steam parted around Ryuzaki’s head. He stared into the engine compartment as though prolonged eye contact might compel it to confess.

Light stepped closer. The smell was more pronounced now: hot metal, damp rubber, and something faintly sweet beneath it.

“We should allow it to cool first,” Light said.

“No.”

Light laughed softly at him. The sound escaped before he intended it to. There was something almost endearing about Ryuzaki standing barefoot in the rain, glaring into the smoking engine of a car he clearly did not understand yet held all the determination in the world to become literal in it.

“No?” Light repeated, edging closer, but not too close, as the smell was enough to send most away.

“I am certain I can identify the problem if I observe it long enough.”

“The steam is obstructing your view.”

“It may also indicate the location of the fault.”

“Or it may indicate that something hot is producing steam.”

“Yes.”

“Sure. That narrows it considerably.” Light said sarcastically.

Ryuzaki leaned closer and a fresh gust of vapor rolled around his face. He blinked but still did not retreat.

“The vapor appears to be rising from the front-left portion of the engine bay.”

“Perhaps.”

“And there is a sweet odor.”

“Coolant often smells sweet.”

Ryuzaki slowly turned his head. “You said you knew about cars.”

“I said I knew basic maintenance.”

“Then let us put that knowledge to work.” 

Light gave a short laugh, the kind intended to communicate that the suggestion was absurd without requiring him to state it directly. “Knowing how to maintain a car does not mean I can repair an engine.”

“Why not?”

“Because engines are the most complicated component of most vehicles.” Light explained. “The remainder of the vehicle is comparatively simple as their routine maintenance can often be performed without specialized tools. Engine diagnostics and repair usually require equipment we don’t have, replacement components we also do not have, and knowledge neither of us possesses.”

Ryuzaki watched him for several seconds, then he smiled. “Do I hear the great Light Yagami acknowledging a blind spot?”

Light’s own amusement vanished. “What about you?”

“This conversation is not about me.”

“A conversation is a two-way exchange. Therefore, the question stands.”

“And what is your question, Light Yagami?” Ryuzaki asked with extraordinary patience.

The patience made it worse.

Light looked directly into his eyes, searching for any sign that Ryuzaki had been concealing expertise for the sole purpose of humiliating him. “What do you know about cars?”

“Very little.”

Light waited.

“More specifically,” Ryuzaki continued, “I know nothing whatsoever about repairing an engine.” There was no shame in the admission. No defensive smile. No attempt to soften it. Ryuzaki merely stated the limitation as another piece of evidence. “But don’t become excited,” he added. “You will learn nothing useful about me by visiting automotive centers and asking whether I have frequented them.”

Light stuck his hands in his pockets. “I was not planning to.”

“You appeared tempted.”

“I was contemplating leaving you here.”

“That would be suspicious.”

“Everything I do is suspicious to you.”

Finally, a real smile. “Yes. So, would you mind taking a look, Mr. Yagami?” Ryuzaki extended one hand toward the steaming engine and bowed slightly at the waist as if to say, ‘After you’. The false formality finally cracked something in Light’s restraint.

He rolled his eyes and reluctantly moved beside him and looked into the engine compartment.

There were belts, hoses, caps, reservoirs, wires, metal housings, and several components whose names he could probably have recovered if given access to a manual and ten uninterrupted minutes. But…at present, they formed an intricate mechanical language in which Light possessed only conversational fluency.

He pointed toward the largest central mass. “That is the engine.”

Ryuzaki nodded solemnly. “We have deduced that much.”

Light ignored him. “This is the brake master cylinder.”

He indicated the component near the rear of the engine bay, attached below a small translucent reservoir.

“And that?” Ryuzaki pointed to a plastic container with a blue cap.

“The windshield-washer fluid reservoir.” That one Light knew without hesitation.

Ryuzaki moved his hand toward another translucent container. Its fluid level was difficult to read through the steam. Warning text was printed across the cap. “What about this?”

Light slapped his hand away.

The contact was quick and instinctive. For one instant, Light’s careful social composure dropped entirely. There was only irritation, alarm, and the unfiltered assumption that Ryuzaki required physical intervention before he did something idiotic. Ryuzaki looked at the hand Light had struck. Then at Light. His mouth threatened to curve - he so did love when Light dropped his mask.

“That is the coolant expansion reservoir,” Light said. “And you should not open it while the engine is hot unless you would enjoy having boiling coolant and pressurized vapor sprayed into your face.”

Ryuzaki shook his head, his half wet hair sending droplets of water on Light’s jacket “I would not.”

“Then stop touching it.”

“Aw. You were concerned about me.”

“I was preventing you from injuring yourself.” Light corrected. 

“Yes.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No?”

“No.”

Ryuzaki’s gaze lingered upon him for one second longer than necessary. Light looked back into the engine bay. “Which is precisely why I said we should allow the engine to cool.”

“The temperature gauge was in the red,” Ryuzaki observed. “The engine lost power. Steam appears to be coming from the cooling system.”

Light applauded sarcastically. “Wonderful. You are beginning to understand.”

“Then the engine overheated.”

Light nodded. “Sure. That’s likely.”

Ryuzaki nodded as a plan formed instantly in his head. “Perhaps I should restart it.”

Light turned sharply. “I would not do that.”

Ryuzaki lowered the hood without fully closing it.

“Ryuzaki.”

He had already started toward the driver’s side. The rain strengthened, pattering against the metal and gathering in bigger dark spots across Light’s jacket.

Light scoffed, annoyed at being ignored. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I did. I just figured my actions would answer you faster. ” Ryuzaki opened the door this time. Apparently even he recognized that climbing back through the window in the rain would be excessive. He folded himself like human origami back into the driver’s seat.

Light stood outside for a moment, staring at him through the windshield. Then a cold drop slipped down the back of his neck. What a morning this was turning out to be.  With a sigh, he returned to the passenger seat. Ryuzaki turned the key. The starter motor churned and…

Rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr.

The engine caught for half a second, coughed, and died.

Ryuzaki tried again.

Rrr-rrr-rrr.

A weak ignition and a halfhearted shudder through the chassis, then… silence.

He pressed the accelerator and tried a third time, and the engine sputtered into life with a sequence of uneven, miserable revs.

Rev. Rev-rev. Cough.

The tachometer needle lifted, trembled, and collapsed as the engine stalled once more.

Light waited patiently and knowingly that Ryuzaki’s attempts would be in vain. But, like a parent too tired to correct their toddler, Light did not bother to jump in.  The rain drummed harder upon the roof, and Ryuzaki sat with the key still between his fingers.

“I told you restarting the car would not work.” His tone contained the patience of a benevolent monarch addressing a citizen who had made an understandable but disappointing error.

Ryuzaki turned toward him. “And I said I was willing to learn.”

“You did not say that.”

“I implied it.”

An eyebrow twitches on Light’s face. “You ignored competent advice in order to prove the advice correct.”

Ryuzaki was the epitome of easygoing. “My deductions have now established that restarting the car will not work.”

“Wonderful.” Light’s condescension was no longer particularly concealed. “We will be late for work if we continue this way.”

“Maybe.”

Light now looks pissed off. “You know what. Why don’t you try restarting it yet again and let us see if maybe the car will actually explode, if for no other reason than to simply be given the opportunity to stop talking to you.”

Ryuzaki looked at him. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. “Are you not having fun, Light?”

Light regarded him with disbelief. “This entire ordeal is not what I would describe as fun.”

“No?”

“No.”

Ryuzaki leaned slightly closer across the center console with a light lilt in his voice. “We could make it fun.”

Something changed in his tone.

Not dramatically. Ryuzaki rarely performed emotion in the conventional sense. The suggestion entered his voice lightly, almost experimentally, but it carried an unmistakable second meaning. “We are waiting for the engine to cool,” he added, trying to let the silence fill in the rest of his offer. 

Light’s expression shifted before he could control it, and his eyebrows rose, his lips parting slightly in a cautious expression. “Make it fun?” he repeated.

Ryuzaki shrugged, and his gaze moved down Light’s body with slow, quiet appreciation. It was not crude. If anything, the lack of vulgarity made the attention more destabilizing. Ryuzaki observed him with the same focused interest he brought to evidence, except there was warmth in it now. Hunger, perhaps, interwoven tightly through analysis. “Yes,” he said. “Fun. Surely you are familiar with the concept.”

“I am familiar with what fun is.” Light’s mind accelerated, searching for the trap hidden inside the sudden shift, “However, the word has a wide range of possible contexts. Which one are you referring to?”

“Perhaps the kind where I blow you in the back seat.”

The words landed with the blunt finality of a dropped weapon.

Light inhaled incorrectly. For several seconds, language abandoned him.

“What?” The word came out louder than intended.

Ryuzaki remained perfectly composed. “Well,” he said, “I cannot remain outside examining the vehicle for an extended period. My face would be visible to passing drivers.”

“Using me as a shield is an extremely unusual approach to avoiding identification.” Light could hear himself speaking, but the words seemed to be arriving from elsewhere. “And, moreover, that is not even remotely a sufficient explanation for what you just proposed.”

“It explains why the back seat would be preferable to the shoulder.” Ryuzaki grinned. 

“That is not the part requiring explanation.” Light laughed, almost thinking he was dreaming. Blowing me on the shoulder of the road was a possibility to Ryuzaki?!

Ryuzaki’s eyes flickered with amusement as he regarded each passing emotion on Light’s face.

“Besides,” Light continued, attempting to reclaim the conversation through momentum, though his voice was slightly stuttering,  “you said that sitting beside someone you believe to be a mass murderer causes you anxiety.”

“It does.” Ryuzaki confirmed, the grin still not a fraction gone. 

“And yet you are suggesting…” Light stopped.

Ryuzaki waited.

“You know what you suggested.”

“Yes.”

“Those positions seem incompatible.”

“Some people have braided emotions, Light Yagami.” His answer was quieter than the others. For one rare instant, it did not sound like a provocation or a piece of bait placed delicately into Light’s path. It sounded honest. Desire and suspicion. Anxiety and fascination. The need to capture something and the equal need to move closer to it.

Light stared at him. Is this another test? The question struck immediately. If I accept, what does that imply? That I am reckless? That I want control over him? That I am attempting to manipulate the situation through intimacy? His mind turned the possibilities over at speed. But if I refuse too quickly, will he interpret that as avoidance? Will he decide I am frightened of losing composure? Is he watching my microexpressions again?

Ryuzaki was undoubtedly watching his every move.

Light could feel his pulse thundering in his throat. He laughed a slight bit to offset the sheer whiplash, “Let me get this straight,” he began.

“There is nothing very ‘straight’ about my offer.” Ryuzaki interrupted solely to observe the result. The result was immediate.

Colour rose across Light’s face. Not a delicate blush. Not the faint warming he could have passed off as irritation. It spread visibly from his cheeks toward the tips of his ears.

Ryuzaki looked positively delighted.

Light glared at him. “You want to blow me,” he said, forcing each word through the remains of his dignity. “In the back seat of your broken down car.”

“I dislike waiting, and I grow bored quickly.”

“That’s your justification?” Light sounded astounded.

“Partly.” 

“And the rest?” Light demanded, sheer curiosity at how far the rabbit hole went in this strange man was breaching his normal speaking patterns. 

Ryuzaki leaned back against the driver’s seat, stretching his arms as if preparing for a workout. “And, besides, an overheated engine may require thirty to forty-five minutes to lose a significant amount of heat. Depending on the vehicle and the degree of overheating, it can take one to two hours before opening a pressurized cooling system becomes reasonably safe. ”

Light stared, mouth open. “I thought you knew nothing about engines.”

“I know some things.”

“You said you knew nothing whatsoever!”

“About repairing one.” Ryuzaki concluded.

“That distinction appears extremely convenient.” Light  couldn’t help but laugh in surprise. 

“It was precise.”

Light glanced toward the windshield as another car rushed past, throwing mist into the air. Then he glanced toward the rear windows. They were dark enough that he could barely see the guardrail through them beneath the gray morning sky.

“The windows are tinted,” he said. The observation escaped his mouth, though he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

“Of course.” Ryuzaki’s smile had become feline in its satisfaction. He had seen the exact moment Light stopped searching exclusively for reasons to reject the offer and began evaluating its practicality. How interesting, Ryuzaki thought to himself curiously. What could he possibly be thinking about?

Light looked at him.

Ryuzaki sat casually  in the driver’s seat, soaked black hair curling around his face, bare feet tucked beneath him, expression bright with that rare and dangerous amusement. 

This entire offer was absurd. Improper. Potentially manipulative.  Almost certainly part of some incomprehensible psychological experiment. It was also, a small and treacherous corner of Light’s mind observed, a once-in-a-lifetime proposition. An opportunity to study the world’s greatest detective under circumstances no profile, surveillance report, or interrogation could reproduce. An opportunity to learn how Ryuzaki behaved when the distance between suspicion and desire became too narrow to maintain. An opportunity, perhaps, to make him lose that unbearable composure, and… 

Light’s blush deepened tremendously as his mind raced with possibilities.

Ryuzaki noticed that too.

“If you’re uninterested, that is fine. We could just turn the music back on,” he offered, chuckling lightly. “If you would prefer Chopin while I…”

He never finished.

Light leaned across the center console and kissed him, yanking him forward by his damp shirt to deepen the kiss.

The movement was swift enough to resemble a decision made long ago and merely postponed until now.

Ryuzaki’s remaining words died upon his tongue the moment Light’s entered his mouth.

For the first second, he did not react.

That brief stillness almost made Light pull away. It was too measured, too observant. Ryuzaki seemed capable of turning even a kiss into evidence, recording the angle of Light’s head, the force of his approach, the precise instant his restraint had failed.

Then Ryuzaki’s hand closed around the back of Light’s neck.

The kiss changed.

He pulled Light across the center console with startling force, eliminating what little distance the car’s interior had preserved between them. Light’s hip struck the handbrake. A paper cup rocked inside the holder, and the sugar packets exploded among the ruckus when Light’s hand came down clumsily on the console in a brief attempt to steady himself, scattering sugar crystals all over the front of the car and beneath Light’s palm.

None of it persuaded him to stop.

Light kissed him harder.

It was not graceful. There was no gradual negotiation, no courteous exchange in which either of them pretended they had arrived here through mutual accident. Their mouths met with the impatience of an argument that had been searching all morning for a more effective language.

You taste like cold coffee, Light realized as his tongue met the other’s. It made for a slightly bitter kiss, and Light found himself curiously exploring the rest of his mouth, lightly tracing a canine. Ryuzaki made a quiet sound against him, something between surprise and approval, and tightened his fingers at the back of Light’s neck.

“You are intolerable,” Light murmured into his mouth.

Ryuzaki kissed him again before answering. “Absolutely.”

Light’s shoulder knocked against the steering wheel. The horn gave one short, humiliating blast.

Both of them froze.

Outside, a truck thundered past through the rain.

Ryuzaki looked toward the steering wheel, then back at Light. His mouth curved, and his shaking shoulders revealed that he was laughing. 

Damn him. Light narrowed his eyes. “Say nothing.”

“I had not intended to.”

“You were smiling.” Light accused.

“That is not the same as speaking.” 

Light seized the front of his shirt and dragged him back into the kiss.

He had spent the entire morning being observed, and even now, Ryuzaki was judging him, even when he was shoving his tongue down the other’s throat. Light could feel it in the slight delay before each response, in the way Ryuzaki tested pressure and adjusted, learning him by fractions. His thumb moved against the pulse beneath Light’s jaw as though confirming data gathered earlier.

Light caught his wrist. “Stop assessing me.”

“I am not.” 

“You are.”

Ryuzaki tilted his head, their noses brushing lightly. “I am participating.”

“You participate like an autopsy.” Light scowled.

“That would suggest you are dead.”

“You may be shortly.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes widened with excitement. “Will you kill me here after all?”

Light gave him a sharp look. “No - I’m not Kira.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes had become very dark and he nodded pacifyingly. “Sure.”

Light scoffed in disdain. “You really are a repulsive little thing.”

Ryuzaki’s grin returned. “I had hoped you might notice.”

Light’s teeth grazed his throat in disgust. Ryuzaki’s fingers tightened at his waist.

“You’ve spent the entire morning crawling around inside my head,” Light whispered angrily in his ear. “Dissecting my music. My posture. My word choices. And now you sit here begging for attention like some starving animal.”

“Begging?”

Ryuzaki’s hand slid beneath Light’s jacket.

His palm moved up Light’s back, slow and hot through the fabric of his shirt. Light’s breath hitched from the contact.

“No,” Ryuzaki murmured. “I don’t believe I’ve begun begging.”

Rain ticked steadily against the windshield. The hazard lights continued their patient rhythm, amber illumination appearing and vanishing across Ryuzaki’s face.

“Then I’ll make you.” Light stopped biting his neck and shot his right hand out, pinning Ryuzaki to the driver’s side window like a moth to a shadowbox. Light decided to make an example of this. He squeezed mercilessly, though not enough to make him suspect he was going to truly suffocate him. Ah, but the temptation did stick with him…

For one gratifying instant, Ryuzaki’s breath caught, and his face started turning a few shades darker than he has ever looked, but, perhaps more captivating was the way the alarm left his eyes and instead yielded to an expression so darkly delighted that Light’s grip tightened on instinct. 

There. At last. Something Light had caused before Ryuzaki could prepare for it.

“Not so composed now,” Light murmured, internally counting the seconds he held him here so he did not make him pass out.

“No,” he agreed roughly, almost laughing at the understatement. The easy admission irritated Light more than denial would have.

Light leaned in, running a finger thoughtfully along Ryuzaki’s jaw as though he were a lion playing with its prey.

“You should be embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“You propose something obscene in a broken-down car, then sit there looking pleased with yourself when someone indulges you.”

“You kissed me and choked me.”

“Because listening to you speak had become unbearable.” Light let go of his throat, and Ryuzaki panted, chest rising and falling, 

Ryuzaki’s hand slid beneath the back of Light’s jacket and touched his lower back, and Light shivered. 

“You’re affected by my touch as well.” He grinned like he won a prize, which, in a way, he did. “Good to know I’m not the only one here who is affected.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Your hands are freezing.” Light lied.

“Mm. Really.” Clearly, Light was not being believed. Ryuzaki moved his hands until they lay flush against Light’s waist, warm despite the rain cooling his clothes, contradicting the complaints Light mentioned seconds ago. He drew Light closer until the center console dug painfully into Light’s thigh. Ryuzaki then, with surprising strength, yanked Light closer.

Light’s balance vanished.

He landed half in Ryuzaki’s lap, one knee wedged beside the driver’s seat and the other still trapped awkwardly near the passenger footwell. His elbow struck the turn-signal stalk. The indicators began clicking in a different rhythm before Ryuzaki corrected them without looking.

“You could have warned me,” Light hissed.

"That's not how a surprise works, Light.”

The rearview mirror had been knocked crooked. It now reflected only the pale ceiling and a dark section of Light’s hair. Condensation was beginning to gather at the lower corners of the windshield, blurring the gray road beyond.

Light’s face heated. Ryuzaki’s hands squeezed Light’s thigh, obviously feeling him up.

The physical advantage should not have belonged to him. Ryuzaki was thin, perpetually folded into himself, and apparently constructed from sugar, insomnia, yet there was a wiry strength concealed beneath his loose clothes, made more infuriating by the fact that he wielded it without spectacle. 

Light has had enough. He seized his collar and shoved Ryuzaki back against the driver’s door. Ryuzaki’s shoulder struck the window. Rainwater trembled across the glass on the other side, and Ryuzaki looked up at him. Light had managed to place himself above him now, one knee pressed into the seat beside Ryuzaki’s hip. The roof was too low for him to straighten fully, forcing him to bow over the detective.

It was an imperfect position. It was a shitty position. It was an uncomfortable position. Still, it was his. He slid one hand around Ryuzaki’s throat again, and Ryuzaki went still.

Light felt his pulse rush beneath his palm, fast and predictable. “You really are easy,” Light remarked. “All that genius, and this is what reduces you.”

Ryuzaki counters him verbally for what he won’t interrupt physically. “You enjoy having your hand there.”

Light’s fingers tightened. “And you enjoy provoking people until they become less civilized than you.”

“Yes.” Partially strained.

“Pathetic.” Light tightens more.

“Yes.” More strained.

The agreement stole some of the word’s force.

Light leaned closer. “You should have more dignity.”

“You appear to have enough for both of us.”

“I certainly have more than you.”

“That may be why you are so anxious to lose it.”

Light’s mouth parted.

Ryuzaki used the opening, one hand knocking Light’s hand away from his throat so he could kiss him better, the other caught Light’s waist and pushed, destabilizing him again.

Light’s back struck the center of the steering wheel. The horn began to sound. Again.

“Damn it.”

Ryuzaki laughed openly now.

Light clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet.”

Ryuzaki licked his palm.

“Crude.” Light jerked it away as though it burned and smacked him, Ryuzaki’s face cracking to the side with an audible click. The low laugh that followed clearly meant Light did not strike hard enough.

Light found himself breathing hard. This freak is…enjoying how mean and rough I’m being.

Though, the horn finally stopped.

For a moment, the only sounds inside the car were their breathing, the ticking hazard lights, and the rain growing heavier against the roof.

Ryuzaki’s face was transformed by amusement. Not softened, exactly. He remained strange and sharp and far too perceptive. But the expression made him look happier, almost reckless. Light hated how compelling it was.

“You planned that,” Light accused.

“The horn?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You are lying.”

“I did hope it might happen again.” Ryuzaki impishly admitted.

“That is not better.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Neither wanted to be the first to admit the front seats had defeated them, but Ryuzaki wanted to make good on his offer, so he conceded first.

Ryuzaki hooked his fingers into Light’s belt loop. “Move.”

Light stared at him.“That sounded remarkably like an order.”

“It was.”

“And what makes you think I will obey it?”

“The center console is bruising your thigh, and you run the risk of making yet another amusing error with the horn.”

Light’s silence betrayed him.

Ryuzaki’s smile returned. “Also, the back seat offers more room.”

“I am aware of the spatial dimensions of a car.” Light retorted.

“Then move.”

Light did not.

Ryuzaki waited, a small smirk taking root on his face and blossomed more and more with every passing second of their deadlock. He finally reached for the lever beneath the passenger seat. The seat suddenly went back abruptly, and Light nearly lost his balance, though he steadied himself by grabbing a fistfull of Ryuzaki’s hair.

Light glared. “You did that deliberately.”

“Yes.”

“You are awful.”

“Oh, yes.”

“God. Just move to the back!”

Ryuzaki’s eyes brightened. “That sounded like an order.”

“You know what? It was.”

Ryuzaki lazily flicked his hand. “After you.”

Light looked at the narrow gap between the front seats, then at Ryuzaki. “Don’t you dare enjoy this.”

“I already am, rest assured.”

Light climbed through first. His jacket snagged on the passenger headrest. One knee landed on a stack of papers. His shoe caught briefly against the center armrest.

Ryuzaki watched every graceless second.

Light looked back over his shoulder.

“You move beautifully.” Ryuzaki commended.

Light seized the nearest file folder and struck him across the face with it, and Ryuzaki grinned.

Light threw the folder aside. “Get back here.” Light demanded, beckoning him closer with a single finger.

Ryuzaki obeyed immediately. He turned in the driver’s seat, planted one hand on the center console, and climbed between the seats with the same unnerving flexibility he had displayed exiting through the window.

Light moved backward across the rear bench to make room. The upholstery was cool beneath his palm. Ryuzaki crawled toward him. There was no other word for it.

Light’s pulse quickened. He disguised it with contempt.

“You look absurd.”

“Do I?”

“Like some starved animal that has discovered an unlocked pantry.”

Ryuzaki continued forward.

Light’s back met the passenger-side door. The handle pressed against his shoulder blade. There was nowhere farther to retreat without admitting that he was retreating. Ryuzaki placed one hand against the window beside Light’s head, leaning into the predator pose since Light so helpfully mentioned it. “Then maybe you should not make yourself resemble food.”

The bluntness of it sent heat across Light’s skin. He scoffed, trying to pretend he wasn’t affected. “That may be the worst attempt at seduction I have ever heard.”

“You are still here.”

“Your car is broken.”

“You could call a taxi.”

Light looked toward the rain-blurred window.

Ryuzaki moved closer, nearly a murmur into Light’s ear. “You could leave,” he said. 

The amusement had receded from his voice. The statement was quiet, unadorned, and unmistakably sincere.

Light looked back at him. There was the choice. Finally stated without manipulation.

Light could leave the car. He could call the task force, Watari, a taxi, or the police. He could step into the rain and allow the morning to collapse into an embarrassing anomaly never to be acknowledged again.

Instead, Light caught Ryuzaki by the collar and pulled him down, making his choice.

Their mouths met violently. Ryuzaki’s hand struck the glass beside Light’s head. Light’s other hand slid beneath his shirt, encountering cool skin and the taut movement of muscle beneath it. Ryuzaki used the reaction to press him fully against the door, one knee settling between Light’s legs. His hand closed around both of Light’s wrists and lifted them above his head.

“You are enjoying this far too much for someone who claims to suspect me of mass murder,” Light panted.

“Braided emotions,” Ryuzaki reminded him.

“An elegant phrase for deficient judgment.”

“Your judgment appears similarly compromised.”

“My judgment is excellent.”

Ryuzaki quirked an eyebrow. “You kissed your lead investigator during an active investigation.”

“You offered to blow your mass murderer suspect during an active investigation!”

“Ah, yes, that I did.” Ryuzaki’s free hand stroked slowly along Light’s thigh.

“That is considerably more unprofessional.”

“Then thank goodness I am self-employed.”

Light laughed before he could stop himself. Who says something like that?

To his surprise, Ryuzaki joined him, his forehead dropping briefly against Light’s shoulder as the laughter shook through them both.

“You are an idiot,” Light said.

“Possibly.”

“An irritating, arrogant, socially malformed idiot.”

Ryuzaki lifted his head, eyes bright. “Oh, do continue.”

“You… want me to insult you?” Light questioned.

“I want to know how long you can maintain verbal superiority while physically restrained.” Ryuzaki smirked.

“I can’t stand you.” Light surged forward as far as the hold permitted and kissed him.

The kiss dissolved immediately into breath, teeth, and broken fragments of speech. Light caught Ryuzaki’s lower lip between his teeth. Ryuzaki’s fingers tightened around his wrists, his knee pressing higher as their bodies shifted together.

Light ground against him. Ryuzaki inhaled sharply. There. That small interruption. There was no way to pretend his reaction was for any other reason. Light did it again, slower this time, drawing Ryuzaki closer with his hips while chasing his mouth whenever he tried to breathe.

Ryuzaki’s grip loosened by a fraction.

Light turned his wrists inward, slipping one hand through the narrow opening created by Ryuzaki’s distracted fingers. Before Ryuzaki could correct the hold, Light caught him by the back of the neck and pulled him into another rough kiss.

His other hand followed a second later. Ryuzaki made a startled sound against his mouth, and Light smiled into it.

“You lost focus.”

“You cheated.”

“I adapted.” Light’s freed hands moved over him at once. One tangled in Ryuzaki’s hair. The other slid beneath his shirt and spread hot against the narrow plane of his back.

Ryuzaki’s hips pressed forward. Light met him with equal force. Light’s pants began to get considerably tighter as his arousal grew - god, what am I doing? What am I  thinking, doing this in the backseat with Ryzuaki? 

The door handle dug into Light’s shoulder blade, but the discomfort barely registered beneath the friction between them. Ryuzaki’s hands moved from Light’s wrists to his waist, then lower along his thighs, pulling him closer each time Light tried to create even an inch of distance.

Their mouths broke apart only long enough to breathe.

“You know…” Ryuzaki began, and Light kissed him again.

“It is awfully…”

Another kiss cut through the sentence.

“…difficult to make good on my offer…”

Light bit harshly on his lip, nearly drawing blood, but not quite, and Ryuzaki’s breath fractured. 

“…when you keep kissing me.”

The words arrived in gasping pieces, each one interrupted by Light’s mouth or the slow grind of their bodies.

Light drew back just enough to look at him. Ryuzaki’s lips were swollen. His breathing came shallow and uneven. Damp black hair clung to his forehead, the rest tangled between Light’s fingers. A mess. Exactly what Light wanted.

“Usually when you open your mouth,” Light said, tightening his fist in that impossibly dark hair, “something awfully annoying comes out.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes sharpened despite the haze overtaking them. Light pulled his head back by the hair, exposing the marked line of his throat.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Ryuzaki nodded, face flushed.

Light’s mouth brushed Ryuzaki’s jaw. “Maybe we need to put it to better use.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes gleamed with naked interest. Light kept his fist tangled in Ryuzaki’s hair.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “Take the zipper down.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes flicked toward the fastening between them.

Then he moved off Light. The loss of his weight left Light abruptly cold despite the heat trapped inside the car. Ryuzaki shifted into the narrow rear footwell, one knee pressed into the floor mat and the other braced against the edge of the leather bench. There was scarcely enough room between Light’s legs and the back of the driver’s seat, forcing Ryuzaki close even after he had climbed down from him.

His hands moved toward Light’s waist.

Light slapped them away.

The sharp little sound seemed louder inside the rain-sealed car.

Ryuzaki looked up.

“I said to undo it,” Light told him condescendingly. “I did not say you could use your hands.”

For one suspended second, Ryuzaki did nothing.

Then understanding entered his eyes. They darkened with such immediate delight that Light felt his own pulse stumble. He had expected an argument. A dry observation about efficiency. Some unbearable remark designed to make the command seem less humiliating than Light intended.

Ryuzaki offered none.

He merely lowered his hands to the seat beside Light’s thighs and leaned forward.

He had taken the bait completely.

Light’s fingers tightened in his hair as Ryuzaki’s breath passed hot across the strip of skin above his waistband. The sensation travelled through Light before Ryuzaki’s mouth had even touched the small metal tab.

Ryuzaki looked up at him. The challenge in his expression was unmistakable.

You want to humiliate me? Fine. Watch closely.

His teeth closed carefully around the zipper pull.

Light stopped breathing.

Ryuzaki drew it downward with maddening slowness. The zipper released one metallic tooth at a time, its faint whisper almost lost beneath the rain. Inside the cramped silence, Light heard every fraction of it.

Ryuzaki’s gaze never left his face. Light had expected to enjoy seeing him obey. He had not anticipated the confidence with which Ryuzaki would transform obedience into a performance of his own.

When the zipper had descended only the permitted distance, Ryuzaki released it. Light opened his mouth to stop him.

Ryuzaki shifted higher before he could speak, and his teeth found the top button.

Light’s fingers went rigid in his hair.

That had not been part of the instruction.

Ryuzaki worked at the fastening with improbable patience, teeth catching the edge while a brief touch of his tongue guided the fabric aside. His breath warmed Light’s bare stomach with every small adjustment.

Then the button slipped free.

Ryuzaki remained close for one devastating moment, his mouth hovering just above the loosened waistband, before slowly lifting his head.

His expression was smug. Not playfully so. Triumphant.

Light stared down at him, struck silent by the speed with which the moment had become real. Heat had climbed visibly into his face. His chest rose too quickly. The hand buried in Ryuzaki’s hair had lost every trace of calculated restraint.

His own composure was scarcely better. His lips were swollen from kissing. Damp black hair fell across his flushed face. His breathing came in short, audible intervals, and the position between Light’s knees made his interest impossible to disguise.

Yet he still looked pleased with himself.

Light’s thoughts returned in one sharp, mortifying deduction.

Ryuzaki was talented with his mouth. What a dangerous thought. Light’s mind filled with sin. 

Ryuzaki’s hands returned to Light’s waist with none of their earlier patience. He kissed him hard, caught the loosened trousers, and pulled. Light’s shoulders struck the leather, and his hips lifted instinctively into Ryuzaki’s grip, and Ryuzaki used the movement to drag the fabric down over them.

“What are you doing?”

Ryuzaki answered, “Removing an obstacle.”

Ryuzaki kissed Light hard, hooked his fingers into the loosened waistband, and pulled.

Light lifted his hips before pride could object.

The trousers rasped down his thighs. Ryuzaki slipped from the seat into the cramped footwell, tugging until both shoes struck the floor and Light was left in only his underwear, shirt and socks, bare legs opened around him.

“I-I did not need to become this undressed.” Light stuttered, blinking in surprise. 

“I wanted some eye candy,” Ryuzaki grinned devlishly as he began unbuttoning Light’s shirt as well.

“You believe you have earned it?” Light found himself helping take off the last button. The shirt cast aside.

“After enduring your insults, yes.”

“You enjoyed the insults.”

“Yes.”

“Then they do not really qualify as hardship.” Light’s socks were removed next.

“They made me want a better view.” 

“I thought you were going to blow me.” Light bit his lip, a blush settled on his face from the heat of the moment. 

“Rest assured…I absolutely will make good on my promise of taking every last inch of your cock until the only coherent thing left in you is the instinct to beg me not to stop.” Ryuzaki’s confidence only grew the darker Light’s shocked blush became, “and I intend to keep going until that celebrated mind of yours is useless, that perfect voice is ruined, and Light Yagami has been reduced to a flushed little hypocrite begging me for ‘more, more, please!’” A wicked look in Ryuzaki’s eyes burned as he mimicked the sure direction Light’s body would confess. 

Light’s eyes widened at the vulgarity and the audacity. “You are – “

Light’s thoughts dissolved into heat. He had no witty comeback. The situation was clearly getting to him in the hottest of ways - there was almost too much to focus on. Ryuzaki’s hair beneath his hand. Ryuzaki’s mouth against his skin. His own bare legs framed around that dark head.

The passing cars. The shift they were both absolutely going to be late to. The maddening fact that Ryuzaki appeared determined to appreciate every inch except the throbbing six inches Light most urgently wanted him to address.

Ryuzaki caught Light’s foot in both hands. His thumbs pressed slowly into the arch, firm enough to make Light’s toes curl. Then his mouth touched the inside of Light’s ankle.

Once.

Again, higher.

His hands climbed with his lips, kneading the calf, circling behind the knee, spreading finally over Light’s thighs. The hurried stripping had become something maddeningly reverent, Ryuzaki worshipping every surrounding inch while deliberately neglecting the place Light wanted him most.

“Ryuzaki.”

A kiss sank into his inner thigh.

“Yes?”

“You are stalling.”

“I am appreciating you.”

Another car tore past. Headlights poured silver across the tinted windows, illuminating Ryuzaki on his knees for one flashing instant before darkness folded over them again.

No one outside could see.

Drivers passed within feet of the stranded car, ignorant that the world’s greatest detective knelt between a mass murderer’s bare legs, mouth warm against his skin, hands slowly stroking him toward desperation.

The secrecy tightened inside Light like a fist.

His hips lifted. Ryuzaki pressed them back into the leather. “You like that they cannot see.”

Light watched the taillights bleed red through the rain. “I like what they don’t know.”

Ryuzaki looked up. “What don’t they know?”

Light wound a hand into his hair. “That you’re on your knees for me.”

Ryuzaki’s eyes darkened. He kissed higher. Still not high enough.

Light bucked against the hands restraining his thighs, every denied inch sharpening the heat beneath his skin.

“You are enjoying this.” Light breathed.

“Very much, yes.”

“You’re drawing this out deliberately,” Light accused, but the words came rougher than he intended, dragged thin by want. He was tired of hovering hands and measured breaths, tired of being studied when he wanted to be handled. He wanted Ryuzaki’s nails digging into his hips, wanted to be hauled closer, pinned where he was put, made to feel the full weight of that attention instead of being left aching beneath its promise. Surely Ryuzaki wanted him just as badly. Surely Light was not the only one fighting the humiliating urge to catch him by the wrist and demand, without disguise, Manhandle me already. 

Ryuzaki rested his cheek against Light’s thigh, almost tenderly, while his thumb stroked inward. “It can be worship and torment simultaneously.”

Light pulled him closer until Ryuzaki’s breath warmed the thin fabric between them.

Ryuzaki stopped there.

Another car rushed blindly past the black glass.

Light strained toward him. Ryuzaki smiled up at him, clearly enjoying the view. “The more impatient you become,” he murmured, “the prettier you are to watch squirm.”

“You’re pushing your luck, you bastard.” Light’s insult broke apart into a groan as Ryuzaki’s hands drifted closer, fingertips ghosting over the hard-on in Light’s briefs before retreating again.

Not enough. Never enough. Light’s hips followed the touch involuntarily. Please. Holy fuck. Stop looking at me and do something. Instead of begging like a dog, Light laughed, the sound frayed nearly to delirium. “I think you’re nervous.”

Ryuzaki’s smile sharpened.

Light seized upon it, goading him because provocation was easier than pleading. “Perhaps your offer was all talk.” His mouth curled cruelly, even as his body betrayed him by leaning nearer. “I should have known. Your mouth wrote a check your body has no intention of cashing—”

“Then I have clearly allowed you to mistake restraint for hesitation.” Ryuzaki surged upward.

His hand closed around Light’s jaw with enough force to stop the sentence between his teeth. Fingers dug into the hinges, tilting his face exactly where Ryuzaki wanted it, and the abrupt control sent a hard shudder through Light’s body. Yes. The thought burst through him without dignity. There. God, yes. Finally.

Ryuzaki’s eyes had gone dark, his voice thickened into something Light had never heard from him before.

“I have shown very poor manners,” he said, tightening his grip when Light tried to press closer. “Making you wait when you have been asking so beautifully.”

Light’s breath struck hot against his palm.

“Allow my body to answer for me.”

One hand drove Light back and held him there, weight and pressure leaving no room for pretense. The other caught the waistband of his briefs and dragged them down in one impatient motion.

Light’s eyes widened as he was forced to watch Ryuzaki deep throat his cock without even a shred of difficulty. Every taunt vanished beneath the sharp pull of pleasure, his body jerking helplessly against the hand pinning him in place. Ryuzaki took him with maddening ease, finally giving Light exactly what he had been demanding, and far more completely than his pride had prepared him to endure.

“Mm—!”

The sound crushed itself against Ryuzaki’s palm. His hand still caged Light’s jaw, fingers sunk hard into the hinges, keeping his face tipped downward no matter how violently pleasure tried to throw his head back.

Light’s eyelids fluttered. His vision softened at the edges, then swam altogether, but Ryuzaki remained brutally clear beneath him.

He was being made to watch.

Ryuzaki’s mouth moved over him with an infuriating command of pace, alternating between slow, consuming pressure and sharper movements that made Light’s stomach seize. Each time Light began to adjust, Ryuzaki changed the rhythm and tore the ground out from beneath him again, tongue lapping over the slit of his cock before taking him farther to the allowance of his throat and back again, edging and indulging and fighting between the two, seesawing between deprivation and excess, Ryuzaki’s eagerness repeatedly breaking loose from his discipline before his appetite for punishment could wrench it back under control. 

Where the hell did he learn to do this?

Light’s hips jerked helplessly forward, but Ryuzaki’s free hand held him down.

The casual ease of it sent another hot rupture through Light’s composure. He had wanted to be handled, had taunted and provoked until Ryuzaki finally obliged, but this was beyond anything he had prepared himself to receive. Ryuzaki was turning him loose-limbed beneath his hands, reducing all Light’s sharpened intelligence to broken breaths and involuntary movement.

And still, he would not let Light look away.

That was the true cruelty of it.

Light was captive, watching the scene unfold onto him and there was no way to speak a word around it.  He could not pretend this was happening somewhere beneath his awareness, separate from his pride. Ryuzaki forced him to witness every obscene movement of his mouth, every flex of his own trembling thighs, every visible fragment of control being stripped from him.

Watch, the grip on his jaw seemed to command. Watch what I can make of you.

Ryuzaki’s dark eyes lifted. They met Light’s without mercy. Want burned there, unmistakable now, but so did pleasure. He was watching Light come apart and enjoying every convulsion, every muffled sound, every desperate effort to remain composed beneath him.

Light’s thighs quivered hard enough to betray him. Ryuzaki felt it. His fingers tightened around Light’s jaw, and his mouth became almost vicious in response, 

Light’s vision flashed white. A ragged sound tore out of him, something between a moan and a gasp trapped and distorted against Ryuzaki’s hand. His body strained upward, then folded helplessly beneath the pressure pinning him down.

Ryuzaki never broke eye contact. That damned gaze dragged Light farther past the last border of restraint, forcing him to watch his own surrender happen one ruined thought at a time.

Damn it. He has me. Light barely managed to gather the thought before Ryuzaki’s hand abandoned his jaw and invaded his mouth instead.

Three fingers pressed past his lips without warning.

Light jolted, a sharp, muffled protest buckling around them. Instinct urged him to bite, spit them out, do anything that might resemble resistance, but Ryuzaki afforded him no gentleness and even less dignity. His fingers dragged slowly over Light’s tongue, pressing it flat, probing until saliva glossed every knuckle. They scraped carelessly along his teeth before pushing deeper again, claiming the wet heat of his mouth with an audacity that made Light’s pulse kick violently beneath his skin.

Spit slipped from the corner of his lips.

Ryuzaki watched it track down his chin.

His gaze was ravenous.

He continued working Light with his mouth while his fingers made a separate ruin of him above, forcing Light to witness both violations at once: Ryuzaki taking his pleasure apart below while occupying his mouth so thoroughly that even speech had been stolen from him.

Light’s eyes blurred. Refocused. Blurred again.

Every time they cleared, Ryuzaki was still staring up at him, memorizing the evidence. The heat staining Light’s face. The tremor spreading through his thighs. The helpless movement of his tongue beneath those trespassing fingers. The arousal he could no longer conceal, reason away, or arrange into anything resembling control.

Ryuzaki wanted him conscious of it. That was the obscenity. He was not merely reducing Light to a breathless, speechless wreck. He was making him watch the reduction happen, engraving each indignity directly into his awareness until Light could no longer pretend he stood apart from his own body nor some untouchable genius. 

Oh, yes, Ryuzaki was burning every single image into Light’s head as much as he was burning them into his own. 

Ryuzaki’s forefinger caught on the point of Light’s canine and lingered there, dragging slowly across its edge until the tooth pressed a pale crescent into his skin. The sharpness pleased him. He stroked it again, deeper inside the wet heat of Light’s mouth, savoring the private threat of teeth that could bite down but had not.

There was something darkly intimate in Ryuzaki’s refusal to leave any part of him untouched. His fingers had trespassed over Light’s tongue, along his gums, between the neat rows of his teeth, searching out every hidden surface as though Light’s mouth were simply one more place he intended to enter and possess completely.

Even here, Ryuzaki wanted to know him by touch.

Especially here.

Light’s moan broke wetly around Ryuzaki’s fingers.

The sound embarrassed him only in theory. In practice, his thoughts had already scattered beneath the slow drag of Ryuzaki’s fingertip over his canine, the tiny pressure against the enamel somehow indecent enough to make his cock throb harder against the other’s tongue..

His fingers are in my mouth.

The thought arrived uselessly, then nothing coherent followed at all.

Ryuzaki stroked the sharp point once more, and Light’s tongue curled helplessly beneath his hand. Saliva slipped freely over Ryuzaki’s knuckles, slicking the corner of Light’s mouth and tracing a hot line down his chin. Light could feel the mess of it, could see the answering shine around Ryuzaki’s mouth below while he was blowing him, and the sight drove another strangled sound from his throat.

God. He’s making such a mess of me. I hate him. He better not stop what he’s doing –

Headlights suddenly flared across the rear window.

A horn split the dark.

Light’s eyes snapped away from Ryuzaki as another car swept past them, its driver plainly furious at finding Ryuzaki’s vehicle stopped where it should not have been on the shoulder. White light crawled across the tinted windows, briefly illuminating the cramped interior before sliding away again.

For one sharp second, Light imagined the glass becoming transparent. The stranger turning their head. Seeing Ryuzaki between his thighs, fingers buried in Light’s mouth, spit catching the light over both of them…

The thought made him blush harder, and his hips bucked into Ryuzaki’s preoccupied mouth.

But the passing driver saw nothing. The windows kept their secret.

Outside, the other car vanished into traffic, its taillights shrinking red into the morning.No one could see them. No one knew. The world moved past in orderly streams while, behind darkened glass, Ryuzaki dismantled him in plain sight.

Light looked down again, pulse battering at his throat. Ryuzaki had not faltered once, even when the passing headlights dragged Light’s attention toward the tinted glass. Of course he had noticed. Those dark eyes missed nothing, least of all the brief fracture in Light’s concentration.

Ryuzaki slowly withdrew his fingers from Light’s mouth.

Light sputtered around the sudden emptiness, breath catching as strands of saliva stretched between Ryuzaki’s hand and his swollen lips before breaking. The evidence gleamed across Ryuzaki’s fingers. He regarded the mess with shameless satisfaction, then turned that same slick hand toward Light again.

Ryuzaki pulled his mouth away from Light’s cock in order to use the accumulated spit on his newly freed hand to work Light’s cock instead. Both hands moved with ruthless speed and precision, purposely refusing Light even the fraction of composure required to form a sentence. 

“Go on,” Ryuzaki leaned forward like he was hanging on Light’s every word, “Where are all of those grand words? Those insults? Telling me ‘this is nonsense, Ryuzaki, we should be at headquarters by now’?”

Ryuzaki laughed as Light let out something between a moan and an infuriated growl, and he easily swapped hands so he could condescendingly free one and put a hand up to his ear as he says, “Oh, what was that? I couldn’t hear you. Surely you have an opinion; use your words.”

Light opened his mouth and a broken sound came out, certainly nothing intelligible. 

Ryuzaki watched the failure register across his face, visibly delighted. “Earlier, I said I’d have you begging for more. Though, I may have miscalculated,” he said. “I assumed you would still possess enough coherence to ask for more. Clearly, that is beyond your current capacity.” 

“Ryu…zaki…!” The name barely survived Light’s throat. Light’s back arches as Ryuzaki hands work solely the sensitive tip, as if punishing him for speaking out of turn. Precum spilled from the tip, wetting Ryuzaki’s hands more. 

“That is all you can manage?” Ryuzaki clicked his tongue softly. “Japan’s most gifted student, and you cannot get past a few syllables.”

Light’s eyes widened at the humiliation as his mind raced to think of something to say.

Ryuzaki leaned closer, his voice dropping into something almost encouraging if the entire thing wasn’t so debauched. “Try again, Light. Surely your vocabulary has not abandoned you completely.”

His hands continued to work Light’s cock with precision, and Light noticed that it was getting harder and harder to think around the desperate urge to climax. He ducked his head down, eyes closing for a moment as the pleasure was building. 

“I - I -” Again, the words sputter and die on Light’s tongue, not helped by the fact that Ryuzaki now was feeling Light’s bare chest up in tandem with the handjob. Stimulation coming from every angle was starting to overwhelm him. 

“Go on,” Ryuzaki told him with almost maniacal glee, “I must know how you were going to finish that sentence. You what? ‘Hate me’? ‘Can’t stand me’? ‘Want this to stop’?” Ryuzaki nodded as though the last one was an actual instruction to follow.

“Don’t stop!” Light found himself shouting as Ryuzaki’s hand left his cock, and it throbbed hands-free, his hips grinding the air uselessly, slick beads of precum leaking out of his tip and lightly flowing down one side of his shaft and onto his thigh. 

“That is the first time you’ve ever been honest with me.” Ryuzaki observed, now becoming greedy with the amount of power he had over the other.

Light gasped and he let out an angry moan, and although words were not coming to him currently, his hands did work, and they darted to his cock to jerk himself off, but Ryuzaki patiently smacked them away before they could make contact. 

“I don’t think so.” Ryuzaki laughed demeaningly as he leaned forward and choked Light, completely forcing Light to ignore his arousal for a moment to deprive the man of air. Light’s cock continued to spasm in a series of involuntary pulses, each one more desperate than the last, breaking through whatever remnants of control Light had as his vision swam, Ryuzaki’s hand choking him hard, pleasantly so. 

 “Beg me to touch you again, Light.” Ryuzaki demanded, the look in his eyes both wild and fixed on him with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly how far gone the other was. 

Light’s body was saying everything that the mouth couldn’t. His hips kept lifting helplessly into the empty space Ryuzaki had created, chasing contact with humiliating urgency. Sweat glazed his skin. Heat rolled off him in waves. His eyes had gone so unfocused that Ryuzaki’s face seemed to blur at the edges, leaving only that dark, intent stare fixed on every involuntary movement.

I hate him.

The thought surfaced cleanly for half a second.

I hate that look. I hate that he knows. I hate that he can see exactly what this is doing to me. Light’s breath caught hard enough to hurt. Touch me. The demand arrived before pride could strangle it. No! Don’t give him that. Don’t let him know.

Another second passed. The space between them became unbearable.

Touch me now! 

Ryuzaki watched him writhe with the patience of someone waiting for the last piece of resistance to rot away on its own, his hands tightening around Light’s throat a fraction more until Light heard a faint ringing in his own ears, and Light felt something inside him begin to split between fury and need and the overwhelming urge to have some sort of a tiebreaker between the two was becoming undeniable and -

“Please!” Light’s hand pawed at Ryuzaki’s hair, tugging him downward to his flooded cock, biting his lip. 

“Again.” Ryuzaki ordered, drunk on the sight of Light feverishly at war with himself, and Ryuzaki took his hand off of Light’s throat in order to smack him clear across the face. “Beg me, or I’ll just restart this over and over until you do what I say.”

The instant Ryuzaki’s hand released his throat, Light dragged in a ragged breath. It broke into a startled cry when the blow snapped his head sharply to the left.

His teeth caught the outer curve of his lower lip, splitting it just enough for two tiny droplets of blood to strike the window.

Light tasted iron.

Ryuzaki paused, blinking at the sight. The thin smear of red disturbed Light’s composure in a way Ryuzaki had never anticipated. It dirtied the careful elegance of his mouth, turned something polished and untouchable into something raw. Ryuzaki’s gaze lost its sharpness for a moment, darkening beneath a glaze of unmistakable want. Then he seized Light and kissed him.

There was nothing gentle in it. Ryuzaki’s tongue dragged roughly over the injured curve of Light’s lip, collecting the faint taste of blood as though even this new evidence of Light’s undoing belonged to him.

Light moaned into his mouth.

The sound escaped before he could stop it. What made it unbearable was not merely the kiss, but the realization behind it. Ryuzaki found this depravity as intoxicating as Light did. The blood had not disturbed him. It had only given him another part of Light to hunger for.

Light’s hands clutched at Ryuzaki’s back. His nails raked uselessly across the fabric of Ryuzaki’s shirt, desperate for skin, for purchase, for anything that might pull him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Light was breathless.

“Please.”

The word trembled between them, stripped of every defense.

Ryuzaki stared at him for one charged second, visibly savoring the surrender.

Then he lowered himself again, granting Light exactly what he had begged for. Light’s head tipped back, cried out again in relief when his cock was finally back in Ryuzaki’s mouth, tongue lapping up the sweet tasting precum. Light’s bare feet stomped on the floor mats of the car as he struggled not to grind into the other’s mouth, but it was a fruitless attempt at self control this late in the game, and before Light knew it, he was nearly animalistic in his attempt to get further into his mouth. He braced both hands into Ryuzaki’s hair and thrust faster, muscles in his arms tightening from the effort of the act. Light moaned as he watched Ryuzaki work him, panting hard, as he face-fucked him without any regard for his breathing or personhood at all - treating the world’s greatest detective as his own personal fucktoy was insanity, the other man being handled with a selfishness that bordered on cruelty.

The thought made heat tear through him.

Light had stopped pretending there was anything civilized left in the moment. He wanted the control, the obscenity of it, the terrible privilege of watching Ryuzaki submit to being used while still somehow remaining the one who understood everything. Even now, even like this, Ryuzaki’s eyes stayed fixed on him, dark and knowing, as though he had chosen every indignity and was measuring exactly what each one did to Light.

That was what made it unbearable.

Light was treating him like something owned, and Ryuzaki was allowing it only because he knew the permission itself would drive Light mad. Light’s eyes fluttered as the unmistakable edge of climax became truly undeniable now, and his expression was absolutely giving him away.  Ryuzaki noticed Light was not far from climax and, madness in eyes, he tried to pull back, likely to continue some form of edging to prevent Light from surrendering entirely yet but – 

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Light snarled, his body surged after him and the slight abrupt movement drove Ryuzaki backward until the base of his spine struck the rear edge of the center console, trapping him awkwardly between hard plastic and Light’s advancing body, the angle of it deeply uncomfortable to Ryuzaki, but Light was far past the point of caring – 

“Ah!” Light’s head clipped the low ceiling briefly as release tore through him without warning. Light folded lower on instinct, thighs straining to keep his balance in the cramped space while his body crowded Ryuzaki relentlessly against the console. For several breathless seconds, there was nowhere for Ryuzaki to retreat and nothing in Light’s expression to suggest he would have allowed it anyway. Obstructed moans could be heard from Ryuzaki, voice vibrating on Light’s cock as it throbbed with every rope of come that arced into his mouth, and Light’s eyes stayed wide, fever-bright and unblinking, as though he could force the moment into permanence simply by refusing to look away.

Ryuzaki’s expression had cracked open beneath him. Surprise flashed first, sharp and almost boyish, before tightening into something darker as he realized he had been trapped against the back of the console. His pupils were blown wide. His lips had parted around a strangled breath. Even the usual calculation in his gaze had faltered beneath the shock of being driven backward and held there.

Their eyes locked.

Light saw the exact instant Ryuzaki understood the reversal.

For once, the world’s greatest detective had nothing prepared. No clever remark. No graceful retreat. He was pinned beneath Light’s weight, disheveled and staring, reduced to something caught between plaything and captive in Light’s hands.

Light smiled at Ryuzaki, who had obediently swallowed all of it. A few heartbeats of silence passed before Light staggered back onto the seat, and, in the same motion, pulled Ryuzaki from his cock, holding him by his hair, the space between them now pronounced, and Ryuzaki’s spit trailed from Light’s cock.

Ryuzaki’s eyes looked dazed when Light pulled away from him, slumped forward slightly on his knees, gasping for air. 

Light looked down at him and smiled, slow and triumphant.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, the words nearly singsong with satisfaction.

Ryuzaki stared at him for one charged beat.

Then he laughed.

It was a low, breathless sound, roughened at the edges. He caught his lower lip between his teeth as though trying, unsuccessfully, to contain the amusement spreading across his face.

“That is remarkably generous of you,” he murmured. “But it will not be necessary.”

Light’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

For once, Ryuzaki broke eye contact first. A flush crept visibly across his cheeks.

Light went still and his gaze followed the color down Ryuzaki’s throat, over the disordered collar of his shirt, and lower. Then, he saw it.

The front of Ryuzaki’s jeans was visibly darkened, the evidence impossible to mistake.

Light’s breath caught.

Oh.

The realization landed a second time, hotter.

Oh.

Ryuzaki had already come. 

The sudden reversal had done it. Being driven backward, trapped against the console, forced to stare up at Light while control slipped violently out of his hands…

That was why he had tried to pull away. Perhaps Ryuzaki had intended to stop him. Perhaps he had planned some final act of control, some last calculated humiliation.

Light had ruined the plan before Ryuzaki could carry it out.

And Ryuzaki had clearly enjoyed being ruined.

Light’s expression changed slowly as the full meaning settled into place, triumph sharpening into something darker and far more delighted. 

Ryuzaki’s blush deepened, but the smile he gave Light was utterly unrepentant. “It appears,” he said, voice still winded, “that you surprised me.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.” Light said with a lazy grin. 

Ryuzaki rolled his eyes. “Ah, the ever-eloquent Light Yagami is back.” He grinned as well, sitting down in his ruined clothing beside Light, who was still naked, much to the visual pleasure of Ryuzaki, and he made no effort to conceal his visual admiration. Eye candy indeed. 

“Good to know you don’t, in fact, have any concealed weapons on you.” Ryuzaki said after a moment, noticing the missing detail on Light’s nude body. Light scoffed and shakes his head, though the fight in it is gone. “Is that why you stripped me down?”

Ryuzaki laid his head on Light’s shoulder, a rare moment of tenderness. “Yes, and for my personal viewing pleasure.”

Light shook his head, trying to clear it. Slowly, the world beyond the car began filtering back through the afterglow.

The dead engine. Headquarters. Unanswered emails. Questions waiting for explanations he had not yet invented.

He caught his lower lip between his teeth in thought, then immediately winced when the pressure found the tender split.

The pain sharpened something else into focus.

Light went still.

The marks. How many had they left on each other? Light could feel his swollen lips, and the memories of being struck, choked, and bit more times than he could currently count made him realize that they are likely covered in evidence. There was no possible way they could return to headquarters looking like this. Worse, everything matched too neatly. Anyone with eyes would understand that the damage had been mutual. 

“I can hear your head whirring with thoughts.”Ryuzaki said with a soft laugh. “You needn’t worry. I’ll ask Watari to retrieve us.” 

Light looked at him sharply. “The marks. Tell me honestly. How bad are they?”

The insecurity was uncharacteristic, but his vanity made dishonesty useless.

Ryuzaki studied him with unexpected tenderness. “They’re beautiful.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.” Ryuzaki’s smile widened. “They are also extremely visible.”

Light groaned and reached for his abandoned shirt near the floor. “Wonderful.”

“You could say Misa gave them to you.” Ryuzaki offered.

Light paused halfway into the sleeve and stared at him. “And how exactly will anyone believe that when you’re covered in matching ones?” His eyes travelled pointedly over Ryuzaki’s neck, taking in the bruises and reddened marks scattered across his skin. “You hardly look presentable yourself.”

Ryuzaki shrugged unapologetically. “I mean, I can say that my marks are also from Misa.”

“Terrible time for a joke, Ryuzaki. We need real answers. I can’t face my father looking like this, especially since our marks match up too much.” Light glared at him while he pulled his underwear back on. The jeans quickly followed. 

“Well, luckily, we have all the time in the world to brainstorm excuses while we wait for Watari to come collect us.” Ryuzaki affirmed as he dug into the center console and grabbed a phone. “Unless you want to try restarting this car?” He offered to Light, who was finally dressed and had sat back down onto the back seat. 

“No.” Light sighed, and patted the seat beside him. Ryuzaki blinked at it, and then sat beside him again, the phone in his hands. “Well, go on…call Watari, and…we’ll think of something together.”

“Together.” Ryuzaki nods. “I like the sound of that.”

After the call had been placed, Ryuzaki let his head settle against Light’s shoulder again. Light immediately began listing possible excuses, disguises, and routes through headquarters that might minimize their chances of being seen.

Ryuzaki listened with his eyes half-closed, interrupting only when Light’s plans became impractical or unnecessarily elaborate. Together, they refined each excuse into something almost believable. Then…they fell into companionable silence. Light noticed that Ryuzaki was actually quite pleasantly warm, and he felt his eyes drift shut as well as they waited.

And neither of them appeared remotely interested in whether the engine would restart.