Death Note Fan Fiction / Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ Law and Right ❯ Almost ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata do.

Warnings for this chapter: Non-con, angst, violence, Yaoi, WIP, Language.
SPOILERS: All manga, all anime, L's true name.

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Law and Right

Chapter 1: Almost

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The scent of rain was heavy on the air, stifling. The tangy scent of copper, the noise of blood rushing through ears, the chill rising on exposed flesh consumed him. The humiliation, the pain, the fear, the tears and blood and sweat consumed him. The heavy breathing, the movement of his hair, the grit of cement and sting of raw knuckles consumed him.

If these did not, then panic would.

He could hardly recall how it had happened. He was walking, taking a stroll and getting some air. The anticipation had been coiling in his gut like a spring ready to burst, energy building up until he simply couldn't take it anymore. Cabin fever, he had claimed, and retreated to the streets, to the cool, open air.

He had a piece of the Note with him, of course. Hidden in his watch, with a needle, with the dried blood staining the inside of the watch a rusty brown. The paper still had Higuchi's name scrawled in blood. It was only a matter of time, he had thought, walking down the street without a care in the world. Modern Japan had always had a low crime rate and with Kira, it had plummetted to almost nonexistant.

Almost doesn't count. He knew that better than anyone ought to. He understood it, knew the frailty of the line he walked, the ease with which an almost could end his life.

Almost didn't count on that cool day, with the rain gathering overhead, threatening. He had a half hour at least before the first fat drops would fall, splattering across pavement and people alike. He'd gone out for a rice ball at the Seven Eleven, but he'd never reached it.

No. Instead, he had been accosted on the way. One of the few criminals left in Kira's almost perfect kingdom.

Almost doesn't count.

Yagami Light was given an object lesson in almost. He'd almost not gone out. Almost gone to a different Seven Eleven. Almost gone another way. He'd almost left five minutes later, five minutes earlier. Almost crossed the street a block earlier than he was planning to. Almost managed to hit the bastard. Almost squirmed out of the man's grip. Almost screamed. Almost begged. Almost broke in half.

Almost, almost, almost.

Almost doesn't count.

Yagami Light did go out, did go to that Seven Eleven, did go that way, left at that time, went down that side of the street. He did get overpowered, did miss when he took a swing, did remain in that man's grip. He didn't scream, didn't beg, didn't break in half.

But Yagami Light did break. Shattered like a mirror. As he lay there, panting, remaining still as the assailant got up, tucked himself back into his pants and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Yagami Light shivered as the wind blew, as a fat droplet of rain assaulted the small of his back, the bruised, exposed skin. His clothing was ripped, his jacket shoved aside, his belt loops torn, belt cast aside after a bit of struggle. His shirt had been shoved up, his back pummeled with fists to wind him, to weaken him. To keep his face down and his ass up.

He managed to get to his knees before the first heaves hit. Coffee, a piece of cake. Frosting that had gone from green to a sickening mulch-brown splattered on the pavement. He shuddered softly, rose to his feet. The pain was stupendous, radiating from his rear as if he'd been burned and bruised, ripped in two.

That, he supposed, was to be expected.

Yagami Light pulled his pants up slowly, tenderly, and put his belt through the two remaining loops. His jacket mercifully covered them. His hips were scratched from nails, from fabric being dragged against them, fabric not meant to slide down his hips. The button was gone, the zipper jammed. His shirt was dirty and his face scratched. He shrugged the jacket into place, wiped his face with a palm and took a step.

He almost fell back to the pavement, almost cried out in sheer agony, almost wept.

Almost doesn't count.

He set his jaw against the pain, masked it, and forced himself to walk without a limp. Despite the pain. Despite the blood -- god, he hoped it was blood -- he could feel slipping down to his thighs.

His mind should have been racing, but instead, it was as placid as a lake. Cool. Calm.

Numb.

Yagami Light had been raped. He almost didn't believe it, but...

Almost doesn't count.

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A/N: This is planned to be a relatively short fic, just to get my joices going, as it were. I've seen a bit of the 'Light gets raped' thing going around and decided that I might as well try my hand at it, just to spice my life up a little bit.

Con-crit welcome and appreciated. =3 Flames shall be used to toast marshmallows, flamers shall be hoarded.