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It's not the first time they've fallen into bed together, but it's the first time they've done so in Joshua's bed, or at least in what is allegedly Joshua's bed. Neku wasn't even sure Joshua had one, wasn't sure Joshua actually slept other than when he was playing at being human; Neku's still not sure about that, honestly, because the room is sparsely opulent and immaculate, every surface smooth and gleaming and cold, in a way that doesn't feel lived in.
But as Neku lowers himself atop Joshua's body, his hand slides under the edge of the pillow beneath Joshua's head, and his fingers brush against something sharp. He stiffens, startled. Joshua rolls his eyes and reaches up to pull him down into a kiss, but Neku pulls back and sits up straddling Joshua's hips as he carefully draws the mystery object out into the light.
Neku stares at the knife, clean and shining against the sheets, an old and too-familiar chill prickling up through him from the base of his spine. "Why do you have a knife under your pillow?"
"Oh, I don't know." Joshua tilts his head coquettishly; his mussed hair spreads out around the back of his head like a messy halo. "Maybe it makes me feel safe at night."
Neku snorts, narrowing his eyes. "Because you need protection?"
"I might," Joshua lilts. "I still don't have a new Conductor, you know. No big strong bodyguard..." He shifts his hips under Neku's weight as he speaks as if he's squirming beneath someone who truly has him trapped; his movements grind against Neku in a way that's calculated to distract.
Neku swallows, not immune to the effect. Before he quite knows what's happening, the hilt of the knife has been pressed into his hand and his fingers closed around it, and Joshua's own hand is closing on his wrist, drawing it down towards him until the edge of the blade is resting against his throat. "I'm quite vulnerable, really," Joshua whispers, the corners of his mouth turning up. "Want to give it a try?"
Neku tenses, half aroused by the taunting invitation, half uneasy at the position he's suddenly found himself in. "Not really, no."
Joshua sighs. "Typical of you." There's a fond tone to his words that takes the sting out of them, but his gaze slides to the side in a way that's unmistakeably disappointed.
Neku looks down at the knife. "Do you actually want me to?"
"Hm." Joshua rolls the sound around thoughtfully. "I don't know if want is the word. Do you know the Greek legend of Damocles?"
Neku blinks, nonplussed. "No."
Joshua nods, dipping his chin precariously close to the edge of the blade. "He thought it would be good to rule. All that power, all that luxury. And so someone who thought he should understand what he was asking for gave him a throne--" Joshua raises his free hand above his head, twirling it almost dreamily in the air. "With a sword hanging above it, suspended by only a thread."
"I hope that was one strong thread," Neku says, watching Joshua's eyes warily. There's a faroff look in them, enraptured.
Joshua ignores this. "I always liked that story," he murmurs. The blade rises and falls with the motion of his throat as he speaks. "Can you imagine it? Such a reward, but such a risk hanging over you in exchange, every moment of your existence. It was supposed to be a punishment, but I always thought the awareness of that danger would make one all the more aware of everything they had, make it all more vivid, if one knew that at any moment--" He pulls down on Neku's wrist a little more firmly, and Neku tenses at the sight of the knife's edge starting to press against his skin. "The smallest thing could make that thread snap."
He bites the last word out, still soft but unexpectedly sharp; Neku jerks his hand back, startled despite himself, but Joshua's grip on his wrist is deceptively solid.
Joshua laughs softly, an odd spark lighting his eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that," he says, and there's something almost wistful in his voice as he adds, "I won't make you. Just--let me pretend, for a moment, that you might."
Neku does not answer. It's not like he's never seen this side of Joshua before: The same thing, day after day... now that felt like death, a younger voice echoes in his memory, unsettlingly clear even now. It's the side of Joshua that can never quite settle, not content unless he's balancing on a knife's edge over a void.
But they don't talk about it, because some things Joshua is open with and others, even now, he still keeps so closed off that Neku can't even find the doors. This might be the first time Joshua's acknowledged this particular thing so directly since that day years ago on Cat Street, and in a way that leaves him far more openly vulnerable to Neku's response than he was back then. It's trust in him, Neku knows, and even now, trust doesn't come easily to Joshua.
Neku knows only one way to respond to trust from Joshua, and that's to return it. And Joshua's not asking for death. He's asking to feel a little more alive.
Quietly, firmly, Neku says: "Let go of my wrist."
There's a brief but very still pause, mutiny flickering for an instant in Joshua's eyes, but then Joshua opens his hand, lifting it to fall on the pillow above his head, and lets out a soft, resigned breath as he looks away again. "As you like."
Neku nods as he's released, but does not move the knife away. For a moment he regards Joshua in silence, appreciating this rare view of the city's Composer sprawled naked beneath him, ceding control to him just for this moment. Joshua's always beautiful, but Neku can't deny that there's something special about this, something fascinating about the sight of sharp metal gleaming against the skin of a god.
The moment stretches out, and finally Joshua's gaze turns back to meet his, a curious question on his face.
"Well," Neku says slowly. "If it's pretending you want..." Cautiously, he tightens his grip on the knife; gingerly at first, then with more confidence, he slides it down towards Joshua's collarbone, careful not to cut him but keeping the flat of the blade pressed firmly against his skin. He's rewarded by a slight widening of Joshua's eyes, an instant of genuine shock quickly giving way to surprised delight.
Neku lets the smile he feels at that sight spread across his face as he leans forward. "I've been told," he whispers, dipping his head down close to Joshua's ear, "that I have a pretty good imagination."