A/N: One day, I will figure out why sometimes I get so intrigued with characters that I dislike.

…Or actually, perhaps it's not so much being intrigued as it is wanting a reason to target them by shining upon them a rather negative light. Sorry if any die-hard Light fans thought I was too hard on him.

Amane Misa's eyes were closed and her cheeks were flushed. Her ash-blonde hair lay fanned atop the pillow like a soft layer of straw; it slipped down to frame her face as a quiet gasp escaped her lips. Those lips were parted, cherry red and luscious. Light drank in the sight of the model outspread beneath him and found the image invigorating.

But not because of the allure in it that would have laced any man's blood with ardor. Yagami Light relished it because he himself had made her this way. He had control, and the jurisdiction was sweet.

He let his eyes trail over the swell of her breasts; they were small, but shapely, and he knew the feel of them by memory. He had trailed his fingers down her chest between those tempting elevations many times, brushed over the milky whiteness and felt her shudder — arching her back, imploring him to caress her further. He had learned her sensitive places, had spent long moments admiring the twin spots of pink that bloomed against all that flawless, ivory skin. He had expertly teased the puckered buds with teeth and tongue, swirled patterns against the pertness until she had seized him by his silken hair and pleaded for him to give her more.

And Light always gave her what she wanted.

He would perform his act again for her now, in their current vibrating moment, and he would render Misa helpless many times more in nights to come — until he became something imperative. Until every line she spoke pulsed with a cadence that he had chosen. She would be whittled down to the equivalent of an unfinished sentence, and Light would provide the marks of punctuation, so that no words of hers could ring complete without his irrefutable direction. Misa would never think to examine a guiding hand so subtle, an element of grammar so discreet. He would transform her into his metaphor for power, editing her fate to reflect his own preferences as easily as he wrote names into the Death Note.

The bed creaked, and Misa called him back to the moment with a whisper of his name. Concentrated bars of light filtered in through the slats of the window blinds; it caught her hair as she lifted her head to kiss his cheek. The flaxen strands glinted, golden like the sun that would shine down on his new world. Light bent to return Misa's kiss on her lips.

To have his power augmented by the loyalty of someone so seduced by his methods…. How could the world combat his supremacy once that feat was achieved? Misa had long, long been loyal, but Light's quest had grown more difficult and there was no rest for the weary. Even those faithful to him would have to be tested and tried anew, their bonds of allegiance strengthened. Light needed Misa more than he had ever needed her before, and so he would take her.

He let his hands trail down Misa's navel, passing over the innocent dent of her belly button and downward, his fingers fanning out to slide to each of her hips. His mouth followed; he licked a trail beneath one breast and kissed across the expanse of skin until he reached the level of his hands. Then he moved back up, positioning himself again above Misa on all fours.

Not yet. He would not yet give her the satisfaction that she craved. He would have her beg for his every artful shift.

Misa's painted fingernails scraped marks down his back as she moved her hands to drag him in closer. The threat of scratches did not make Light balk. No — this time, he would allow it. He was taunting her, after all. He was forcing her to wait for the union that she wanted, stringing out her passion the way a child stretched a wad of bubble gum until it fell limp. Light wondered what the ribbons of her desire looked like against the sleek muscles of his back. His shoulders, already hard with restraint, tightened further as her hands traveled lower, raking heavy lines until his stomach curled in response to the contact. He had her deep within his clutches now, but he hungered for the sound of her whimpers and cries. Needed them before he would allow himself to be indulgent.

He leaned down to impart a whisper where her earrings reflected the curve of his lips. "Do you love me, Misa-chan?"

His husky inquiry elicited a gasp. "Light, yes…."

Light allowed a slow grin to snake across his features, well aware that she could not see it. Her eyes had closed; they were squinted hard now in suppressed longing, her tongue flicking out to lick the mouth that was parched for the taste of him. Light reached down to massage one breast as he continued to speak in a low murmur.

"Do you want me to end your waiting now?"

What control she still possessed wavered, when he accentuated his question with a scrape of teeth against her neck. "Ah! Please, Light… yes. Oh, Light!"

Light withdrew instead, distancing himself from the heat that radiated from Misa's slim model's body. He hovered above her, gazing down at her image, the gorgeous doll, the pawn that he had crafted with his own hands.

"Light, please…."

The specimen of complete subservience, of unadulterated passivity and compliance with his every whim.

"I-I do want you… to end the waiting…."

Misa was a blossom of vitality, stubborn and insistent and bold, but here Light had her spread out like a canvas to be stroked over with his paint-dipped brush. His to do with what he wanted, his fine and moldable masterpiece.

At last.

"Light!"

The conquest sent a bolt of hubris ripping through him. Light was arrogant, but hadn't he every right to be? With hardly a lift of his tapered, smooth fingers, he had weakened Amane Misa until she had broken.

Now it was merely a game, child's play to bring her to climax and seal her to him forever.

He held her gaze as he moved close again. "Will you take me inside you tonight, Misa-chan?"

Her hands flew up to squeeze the sides of the pillow and she tilted her head back, breathless in her reply. "Every night. Misa will never stop wanting—"

Light brushed a finger over her lips and traced their shape to silence her. "That's enough. I believe you." Her eyes focused on his dazedly, long lashes batting while her irises shone dark with her desire for him.

"You've always supported me," he whispered, pressing a hand against her thigh and restraining a shudder of excitement when her legs separated effortlessly. "Perhaps tonight I can repay you for that." Light let his knuckles stroke the downy curls there first, and then he broke the seam with his fingers to slip them inside.

She was burning hot, and wet with her need for him, and tight with contractions of aching enthusiasm.

He slid deeper, shifting his fingers inside, and she writhed atop the mattress with a wanton tremor. "Misa…." He breathed her name like a prayer, silken tones floating from his lips the way he'd learned to deliver them, and she released a long moan when the vocal caress resonated. Glistening drops of perspiration were beading across her skin like oil.

All of it was his doing, his mighty acquisition, the proof of his ultimate power. Light let his skill take over — it was effortless — and Misa's responsive movements captured his vision like propaganda, like the banner that announced his superiority to the rest of the world.

Look how easily I can bend her to my purpose. She falls prostrate at my command; I have control of her will.

Misa panted out a plea to go faster.

I have control of the will of others.

Light did go faster. Then his fingers came away coated and sticky, and so that he did not make her wait — so that he did not lose one instant of momentum now that unrelenting impetus was what he wanted — he pushed himself smoothly inside and increased the force behind the thrust that she craved. What he had felt with his fingers he now experienced with an intimate part of himself. The muscles in his legs and hindquarters flexed and rippled; his hips propelled him as eagerness swelled to tidal proportions. Misa had her legs hooked around the backs of his. She was letting him explore her, letting him pull out and press in and drag across the nerves that were sensitive to pleasure.

Misa had surrendered herself, because she could not have possibly stopped him. She didn't want to stop him.

I am the one — the ONLY one — that possesses this raw, pulsating power. The right to rid this earth of offenders is mine alone!

Light groaned. Misa reached for the headboard and gripped it with knuckles white. Light's hips tilted until he permeated deeper. Misa moved her legs higher up his body and locked them at the ankles.

I am Kira. I am GOD!

They were both sweat-slicked and panting now. Misa spoke his name, over and over, in time to the rhythm that Light created. When he wanted to hear her voice heighten in vigor, he adjusted his movement to draw out the notes. She sang. When he wanted to dictate the flow of her sentences, the sincerity behind her declarations of love, the strength in her proclamations of loyalty to Kira, he added the desired punctuation, like a writer adding luster to his paragraphs. At his bidding, Misa would spell out his divinity for the world to see, forever, like a document announcing his succession to the throne. To the position of the just and moral God that he was.

I won her over, like I will win this whole world over piece by piece.

Light felt Misa begin to gasp as she drew closer to climax.

Amane Misa… she is mine! And together—

Her fingers seized his hair, tugged his head in violently to rest at the crook of her neck.

Together….

With the energy of his hardest thrusts yet, Light carried her over the brink.

We will be God and Goddess of a New World!

Misa cried his name, and he allowed hers to slip heavily from his lips as well. A bolt of sensation rocked Yagami Light, until he sank down beside the woman that was his conquest and his paragon. Misa shuddered and went limp the same instant he did, sucking in long breaths of air. Light gave her a moment to collect herself, as he waited for the waves of his own crescendo to subside. The blonde model rolled onto her side to look at him, her hair now significantly mussed. There was rapture in her eyes.

"Oh Light, I love you."

The subtle ups and downs of the intonation. The strength in the syllables. Light had crafted all of it.

"Yes," Light said, and a perfectly benign smile spread over his features. "Yes, I know you do, Misa-chan."

The statement hung there, echoing in the silence after his firm, unyielding period.