Chapter Text
Light started a catalogue while fading in out of the morphine high.
One storm, heading east. Unseasonably torrential rains. Came on fast. Hit the highway. Sky a speckled array of blue, black, and grey like a bird’s egg. Three lightning strikes hitting the skyline. The storm heading out to sea. “We’ll be through it in a minute,” said four times. “Maybe we should pull over,” six times.
One car. Red, because red goes faster, as is scientific fact espoused by many little boys. Two passengers. Light, almost graduated with a degree he won’t use, and Sayu, preparing for her high school graduation, both stuffed with ice cream. One trans, one cis. Factory farmed, aka IVF babies. A common domestic mix of Asian breeds. Neither anything you’d consider pure.
Two airbags. One concussion from sitting close too the steering wheel on account of short legs. The radio looped a specific K-Pop song 24 times before an ambulance arrived on the scene.
One little sister and the jaws of life. The already spaghetti spliced car sliced further by industrial equipment. Two stretchers, a second ambulance arrived after the fact, several shock blankets. Rain mixing with the blood running down from the skull. The sky still pouring overhead. Thick as fondue chocolate.
“What’s your name?” Asked three times to the wrong sibling, the one with the concussion. Two bags found in the car by police. Given to paramedics with two cell phones and two wallets with two sets of ID.
One set of parents. Standard combination; male and female. Mid-fifties. Called for the younger sibling, just under eighteen, but eager to attend both. Both siblings in surgery for over an hour before anyone thought to call L.
L, Light’s expensive pure-pred European boyfriend. Filthy rich. Seven-year age gap. Enough to give pause, not enough to raise considerable concern, especially given they met while Light was attending university.
L was there when Light woke up. Light’s splintered, swollen, hand in L’s ugly pale one. Light was pretty before the car crash and he would be pretty after the wounds healed. L was awkwardly assembled IKEA furniture both before and after. But, groggy in that bed, Light thought he was prettier when he was crying.
Two people, very much in love, set on a crash course for disaster.
Sitting in the brothel Light has to accept that the honeymoon period is over. L, his boyfriend of five years, thumbs the black diamond promise ring on Light’s ring finger and Light counts to twenty in his head. His hand is cradled in L’s lap, close to his dick, and Light can feel from here the vagueness of L’s mounting arousal. Resentment, familiar and sour, prickles in the back of Light’s mouth as he feels the outline of L’s cockhead in his pants with the back of his palm.
L tried to fuck him last six weeks ago. L had just returned from a business trip and Light had thought the distance would rekindle some of the heat. L kissed him hotly enough and Light let L kiss his unbound tits overly long just because L liked it, even though it makes Light feel dysphoric. But then L went soft. Light got him hard in his mouth but then he went soft again before they could mount, like a couple of dogs, and Light was so enraged he stalked off the bed and locked himself into the bathroom. Leaving L with his spit-soaked limp dick.
If they were shallower this would be simple. Light is seven years younger than L. Handsome and tight with clear skin free of wrinkles or acne scars. Light even held off starting testosterone to keep his physical form as tightly configured as possible. A controlled variable. If L was just some sleazy older man, another rich man looking for a trophy fuck, then their issues could be resolved with some lingerie or a leather harness. But L is too clever for those tricks and he really does love Light. At least he says he does.
When Light and his little sister got into a car accident last year L was there for every step of the hospital visit and recovery. He became a nurse in his own home. Tending to Light the same way a gardener would fuss over a tropical plant in an Irish greenhouse. Checking his water and his shine every hour. Making sure he had ice cream and Netflix.
After Light’s stitches came out the sex was great, for a few months anyway, then it trickled away again like a receding tide. Light doesn’t understand it. They’re happy together. They bounce off each other like orbiting electrons, perfectly in synchronization. They both like the laundry sorted the same way. They like the air conditioner set to the same temperature. They have the same taste in movies, books, and games. They slot like well-cut puzzle pieces.
Even so, L gets soft when Light tries to initiate sex. Hell, L gets soft when he initiates sex. Light hates it. Almost hates L some days. Because Light is gorgeous, and smart, and Light could get a lot of matches on Tinder on that alone. Light is charismatic and charming, everyone says so. So what’s the problem? He loves L. He wants L. Why isn’t he good enough?
When L suggested they visit a dominatrix Light very nearly ripped the table lamp off the bedside and cracked it against L’s skull screaming. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath, the sticker shine coming off his love, and even though some part of his affection for L died the second the older man suggested it Light heard him out.
“It’s hard, in a long-term relationship,” L reasoned. “It’s natural for both people to get bored.” He said, like Light couldn’t get wet when they both knew L was the only one who couldn’t get it up. “A threesome might be a nice way to spice things up.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Light asked, a little too aggressively. L could hear the gears turning in Light’s brain. The question wasn’t so much ‘have you found a good candidate?’ as ‘who do you want to fuck instead of me?’ and Light watched L lick his lips and declare—
“No, no one in mind. What about a professional? One of my friends, Sean, has a couple of places he loves.”
Light listened as L told him all about clubs in town. Seedy, secretive, clubs. The kind you need to be looking for to find. A pool complex for swingers that supplies liquors and condoms. A BDSM night club with an aptly named ‘gangbang suite’. L watched Light scrunch his nose up in thinly veiled disgust.
L reasoned maybe Light was too young to have explored this kind of thing. That was the risk of a younger, more inexperienced, lover. Light had only had two short term romances before they met, both of them in high school, before any of the parties were old enough to buy sex toys. Even now, Light has a vibrator but he won’t let L use it on him because it feels too disarmingly feminine. Too porno.
L backtracked. “Maybe a private dominatrix?”
“A dominatrix?” Light repeated with emphasis.
“We don’t have to do anything wild, but they’re professionals. Ringmasters. They’re really good at getting everyone on the same page.”
Light considered that, however reluctantly.
“And it’s strictly business with a dominatrix.” L assured. Thinking maybe Light would be more comfortable if the third party in their threesome was a controlled variable who’s only motivation was money. Not stealing L’s heart.
“Maybe we should go to couples counseling.” Light said.
“Are you unhappy?” L asked.
“No,” Light sneered. “But it’s not about me.”
“It’s—” L sighed. “In a relationship—”
“Are you unhappy?” Light asked, aware of how wet and transparently needy his gaze was boring into L.
“No, baby, no.” L squeezed his hands. “I love you.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“My dick and my heart aren’t as closely connected as I would like.” L tried to explain. “My heart is mature. It knows you’re the best thing to ever happy to me. But my dick is a gremlin. It wants constant spectacle and stimulation. It’s fickle. I’m not going to let it ruin a great thing, a great relationship, but…”
And so they ended up in a brothel.
Light chews his lip. He put on two binders tonight. His tits are small but they make him feel vulnerable. The cotton of his binder, the netting, is just thread but it feels like sports armor as he sits on the too often laundered sheets.
“Did you tell her I’m trans?” Light asks.
“They’re nonbinary.” L smiles, thumbing Light’s knuckles as if having something in common with the sex worker will make Light feel better.
Light swallows. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to get naked. L barely convinced him to strip the first time they made love. Light knows he’s a boy but when the stitches come off and it’s all cunt and tits he thinks people forget and he hates that. He hates feeling he’s being treated like a woman. He wants to feel his lover accepts his phantom dick on a subconscious level. He’s not sure L would’ve been able to communicate that in an online form or over the phone during a consult. L is a very talented businessman. He makes a lot of money in tech but he’s cis and he’s….
Light tries to push the resentment down. He loves L. He loves L’s aquiline eastern European nose and his gaunt cheeks. He loves L’s broad too bony shoulders and his hips with that softly athletic V leading framed by hipbones so angular they look like they belong on spacecraft. Misa, Light’s first lover and best friend, joked that Light must be in it for the money but Light finds something supremely beautiful in L’s body. Especially in a world where everything is sanded down to look plastic.
“Hi guys,” the dominatrix greets, fluttering into the room in their tightly tied red silk robe. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. You didn’t get started without me, did you?”
“No,” L chuckles but the dominatrix notes Light’s steely, sharp-eyed, expression. They must see the way Light clutches L’s hand and the tense line of his shoulders.
“I’m Kira,” they say, “and you must be L. And you?”
Light wants to ask how they know L is L. But he supposes it must be L’s voice from the phone call they had. Did L tell this person that Light was nervous? Did he polish the turd of that lie till it was almost believable? Because sitting here Light is not shy, he’s bitter.
“Light,” he croaks. Feeling like his teeth are clacking together.
Kira laces their fingers together in front of themselves. Kira is clearly AFAB. They have voluptuous tits, probably reinforced in some titanium push up bra, and hips almost wider their shoulders. They’re tall, almost Amazonian, with long chocolatey hair. Kira looks like Light with lipstick on. All the femininity Light has forced so hard to suppress is glinting off Kira like the blade of a knife and Kira smiles at Light like they share a secret. Or, worse, like Kira knows something Light hasn’t figured out yet.
Kira steeples their fingers, “L, baby, can you get ready in the bathroom for me?”
“Ready?” Light mumbles even as L starts to stand.
Kira takes a seat on Light’s other side, their arm sliding around Light’s shoulders, their soft well moisturized temple resting on Light’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, precious, we’ll just chat for a minute.” Kira promises, stroking Light’s covered arms that prickle with goosebumps even so.
“Have some fun,” L kisses Light’s knuckles as he detaches their hands. “I’ll just be a second.”
Light watches the bathroom door shut.
“You look worried, honey,” Kira lifts their heard. “Is this not something you want?”
“What did he tell you?”
“Oh you know, the same old shit,” Kira lilts with a conspiratorial slur. “Men always spin this shitty story; we’re looking to spice things up, my boyfriend’s totally into it, they’re just shy.” Kira mocks in a faux, surprisingly convincing, baritone.
Light laughs nastily, feeling empowered by the honesty of it. “I love him.” Light rasps listening to the pipes groan as the shower starts up. “But he doesn’t want to have sex with me anymore.”
“That must break your heart.”
“No,” Light whispers. “It makes me fucking furious.”
Kira tilts their head, seeming to look into Light, deeper than before.
“I’m too young for him.” Light fumbles into venting. “I’m attractive enough and—”
“You’re gorgeous,” Kira nods encouragingly.
“And I’m brilliant. I’m so successful for my age.” Light says. “He couldn’t just—If he went onto Tinder tomorrow—It’d have to be one of those sugar baby websites, girls would only entertain him for his money—”
Kira laughs, leaning close.
“And he—” Light swallows. “He keeps going soft. He doesn’t want me. But he—I love him. And he’s so good, and nice otherwise. He should want me, shouldn’t he?”
“He ought to. If he appreciates what he has.”
“I thought there must be something wrong with me,” Light admits, “but I think there’s something wrong with him.” He grits his teeth. “He’s fucked up in the head. He…” But Light has lost steam. He feels dizzy and queasy.
Kira squeezes his arms and presses their noses together. “Let’s make him want you, baby.” They hiss venomously. “We’ll make him worship you. I promise.”
Light takes a shuddering inhale.
“Can you trust me for a little while?” Kira coaxes.
“I think,” Light nods weakly.
“Trust me, I’m on your side.” Kira promises, kissing his forehead between his bangs like they’re family. Light’s eyelashes flutter for a split second, shuddering with the thrill of exhaling so much venom. Light’s wanted to say that for so long. But how could he tell his family? After everything L did during the accident Light would look petty and ungrateful. And he couldn’t say these things to L without starting a fight. But Kira catches the embers and strokes them up to an inferno. “We’ll show him.” Kira whispers. “We’ll make him sorry. He’ll be begging to cum kissing your feet when this is done. You’ll see.”
Light nods, inhaling sharply. He sits a little straighter, feeling like he’s just come out of a pep talk for some sports championship. Kira darts forward again, kissing his mouth. And Light startles, heart skipping a beat with a gust of pure adrenaline, but before he can react Kira has pulled away again.
“There you are,” Kira croons as the L steps back into the room. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, soft again, his hair wet and flat against his head. “Did you…?”
“Yes, I did.” L nods.
“Well then.” Kira picks up Light’s hand, holding it in their silken lap in a bizarre mimicry of L just a few moments prior. “Do you understand you’ve been a naughty boy?”
Light watches, sickened with rage, as L’s cheeks flush. “Oh yes, I’ve been terrible.” L laughs, starting to blush in away totally unbecoming for a man his age.
Kira strokes Light’s knuckles as they sit on the end of the bed.
“Can I make it up to you two?” L teases, playing along.
“The only person you need to apologize to is Light.” Kira says. “But you can start by stripping for us.”
L grins from ear to ear and comes to stand before them. Shrugging off the towel he spread his feet a little. His cock is perking again and his hand runs down his stomach, sliding over it before—
“Is he allowed to touch that?” Kira asks.
“No.” Light spits, teeth clenching.
Kira squeezes his hand, reassuring in a weird way, and says- “you heard Master,” in a sharp, authoritarian voice. “Get your silly little hand off your stupid little cock.”
And L does. Light feels himself flush with secondhand embarrassment. If someone said those things to Light—
But L’s dick is stiffening.
Kira squeezes Light’s hand, bringing his knuckles to their mouth. Their tongue slides over the buttoned bones of Light’s hand, salivating, leaving an open-mouthed lipstick kiss before they climb to their feet. Light watches, transfixed, as Kira comes to stand next to L.
L looks at Kira and, gripping his chin in manicured nails, Kira turns him back to face Light. “Eyes on Master, slut. You’re Light’s property you dumb fuck.”
“Yes,” L wheezes, smile seeming to shiver on his face.
Light can feel his heart beating harder in his chest.
Kira folds their arms, tutting. “You are so lucky Light fucks you. Don’t you think?”
“I’m so lucky.” L nods, meeting Light’s gaze with such willingness.
Light doesn’t know what to say, what to do, but Kira catches him.
“Do you want me to pinch his nipples, Light?”
“Yes,” Light decides.
“Should it hurt?” Kira asks, smirking.
“Yes.”
And Kira digs their acrylic nails into L’s nipple so hard it looks like it’s going to pop like a zit. L gasps, heaving, his cock bouncing against his stomach with the humiliation of it, the pain of it, and Light realizes he likes it. Light realizes he likes seeing L in pain.
“Should I slap him, Light?” Kira offers.
“Yes.”
Kira’s hand cracks against L’s face and his pupils blow wide with lust as he gasps.
“Harder.” Light whispers, nails digging into the bedsheets.
Kira slaps L hard enough to leave a red handprint and L chokes out a gasp somewhere between a moan and the kind of laugh you make after you’ve gotten your nose pierced.
Kira looks to Light, smirking softly, encouraging.
“And his ass.” Light orders.
“Like this Master?” Kira slaps it.
“Harder.”
The crack makes L yelp but his cock is so swollen it looks painful.
Light feels himself start to pant with an animal intensity that has never possessed him before.
“Bend him over.” Light feels himself say, but his mouth moves without permission.
“Knees.” Kira barks and L drops. Or tries too. When he doesn’t move fast enough Kira kicks him, the flat of their foot pushing off L’s ribcage and splattering him on the brothel carpet of the private room. It’s hard to tell who moans louder, L or Light. Kira reaches down, gripping L by his hair and pulls him back up. “Knees.” They warn.
L assumes a prone position and Kira stalks to the dresser along the wall. They return, not half a minute later, unrolling a pack of long, flat, implements. “Which one would you like me to hit him with, Master?” Kira offers dutifully, like Light is the center of the universe.
Light has never really seen floggers before, except at a distance one stupid trip to a sex store the new years after he turned eighteen. His second lover, Teru, tried to convince him to buy one but they both got embarrassed and chickened out. Neither of them would’ve known how to use it anyway.
Light considers them, not really sure what he’s looking for, but his fingers run over a leather riding crop. He toys with the tip, like it’s a selection of candies, and looks up to Kira’s face. They smile at Light, nodding with that infectious enthusiasm, and Light nods back.
“Master has decided you get the crop, slut.” Kira draws it from the pack. Tossing the rest forgotten on an empty armchair across the room. “Say thank you.”
L turns his head towards Light, facing him side on. “Thank you.” He moans.
Kira’s foot kicks out his knees this time and he yelps.
“Thank you who?” They bark.
“Thank you Master.” L sings dutifully.
“Up.” Kira barks.
L scrambles to resume his position and Kira turns to Light. Light can barely breathe, barely move. Kira cracks the flap of the crop against their palm and promises; “we only stop when you say so. Okay?”
“Okay.” Light whispers.
Kira slaps the riding crop against L’s upturned ass and he moans. Kira starts at a middling slap, just a bap of the leather. Loud enough to clap but not hard enough to leave a red welt let alone a bruise. Kira knows that but Light doesn’t, not yet.
Kira moves rhythmically, building intensity. Light doesn’t understand the specifics of the process but he can tell as L’s pleasure becomes punctuated with pain. He watches L’s cock bounce between his thighs, rock hard, and swallows as the quality of L’s moans changes.
Light is spellbound. Watching L’s body contort. Watching the pain prickle through him. Watching his reddened ass welt darker and darker.
“Please, please—” L gasps.
“Master didn’t say stop.” Kira replies, glancing to Light. “Should I stop?”
And Light feels a knocking inside himself. He can hear something in L’s voice. Something he wants. And he shakes his head. “Keep going.” He orders.
Only when L starts to cry, bursting the bubble of heat in Light’s gut to an explosion, does Light tell Kira to stop. It’s a beautiful sight. A fully grown man collapsing into sobs on the cheap carpet. His shoulders quake with the jolts of his cries and Light feels like he’s floating. As if firecrackers are going off inside his brain.