Title: Cruelty
Fandom: The World Ends With You
Rating: M
Word Count: 1653
Prompts: Challenge 252: Key, and the 'Comfort' square on my bingo card.
Content notes: Power imbalance, mind reading, mind games and manipulation, angry/violent makeout, frustrated self-pitying sadomasochists. Spoilers.
Summary: Joshua Kiryu/Megumi Kitaniji. Joshua's good at hurting people, but would it really be too much to ask for them to return the favor once in a while? (It might not be, actually, but Joshua will never know because he is incapable of actually asking for things he wants like a damn adult.)
Author notes: Hm. This one's… well out of my comfort zone for what I usually write, and ended up more rushed than I would have like because of a deadline for something else yesterday. Ah well.


It's been a day, the city out of tune and Sanae cheerfully unhelpful, and Joshua's in a mood, and the door to Megumi's quarters is locked but Joshua doesn't need a key. He is the key.

There's no preamble after he appears in Megumi's bedchamber: he pins his Conductor to the wall, kisses him like it's an attack, a siege to be won. Not that it's ever a battle, with Megumi; he's willing, ever willing, even as he shudders under Joshua's touch, and just once—just once, Joshua wishes he could shake the man into fighting back. It wouldn't kill them to tear each other apart for a change, not if they'd both enjoy it.

And they would. It's not as if Megumi hasn't got any bite; there's fire and venom and righteous holy wrath in there, Joshua's seen it turned on plenty of other targets. But in Megumi's eyes, it's Joshua's role to be something sacred, something inviolate, and Megumi has time and again proven his skill at going selectively deaf if Joshua suggests that perhaps they could mix that up a bit. Megumi would tear his own teeth out before turning them willingly against his god.

It's not that he doesn't want to—he wants to, oh, he wants to. Joshua needles him enough, tests and taunts and teases. Megumi still remembers that he first saw Joshua as the mortal child he was, and he still remembers—because Joshua never misses an opportunity to remind him—how he loathed that child. But he thinks he's being holy by pretending he doesn't want to, and pretending it to himself the most fiercely of all, and Joshua's learned in his years since taking the throne that there's only so much an actual god can do in the face of that kind of mindset.

Which isn't to say there's nothing. Joshua could always just imprint something inhibition-lowering, but that would be the easy way out for both of them. It's Joshua's job to push people to find their own limits, and then let them challenge those limits if they will; it's not his job, has never been his job, to take those limits away.

But it's tempting, it's so tempting, as Megumi melts against the wall blissfully pliant, his hands skimming down Joshua's sides and caressing his hips. Maddening in the lightness of their touch, but it would be considerably more satisfyingly so if Megumi were doing it to be deliberately cruel, if Joshua weren't the only one here trying to hurt someone. If Megumi weren't the only one here allowed to enjoy being hurt.

Joshua's hands dive under Megumi's shirt (well, a bit through Megumi's shirt, because buttons are tedious and dealing with solidity full-time when it's so easy to do something else, that's for other people) and Megumi shivers, arching into the touch even though Joshua knows it burns him—and it's so tempting. Joshua doesn't need a key to Megumi's rooms, and he doesn't need a key to Megumi's mind; the locks there are as illusory as the protection that cloth provides to skin. He's the Composer, he is the key, and for a moment as his fingers stray lower and Megumi's breath hitches, Joshua lets himself in, steps behind Megumi's eyes and ears and skin and senses the world from two bodies at once.

The agony of it hits him first and it's glorious, Joshua's touch scorching and his aura a battering ram and Megumi reveling in both of them, in being so close to something so divine that it's like kissing the surface of the sun and just about as safe. Give the man this much: Joshua may find his convictions infuriating, but he's consistent about them. Joshua could kill him, for no better reason than that he wanted to, and Megumi would thank him for the privilege and mean it. Joshua could get lost in the strength of his worship, his devotion; it may not be what he wants but it's a damned good second best, and he knows Megumi knows Joshua's in his mind and he knows Megumi's reveling in that, too, in being so thoroughly seen and held.

Joshua pulls out of the kiss and leans in and bites as his hands take advantage of the mind-reading to find the worst possible point to torment, and Megumi goes rigid, too overwhelmed even to let out the cry that's caught in his throat. Joshua pins him in that state for a fierce ecstatic moment, everything in Megumi's mind and his frequency that hasn't gone blank singing: This, more of this, forever—

And Joshua pulls away in mind and body at once, just out of reach, hands landing flat on the walls on either side of Megumi's head, and Megumi slumps back against the wall gasping for breath, his eyes flickering between dazed and hungry and furious, and gods, if Joshua could just get him to settle on that last one, just for once, it would be a hell of a night.

On an impulse Joshua downtunes, locking up his power at his core and leaving nothing more to his appearance than the boy he once was. The boy who killed the last god Megumi loved, because Megumi failed in his duty.

He's a full head shorter this way, and he has to stand on tiptoe to lean in and murmur dryly in Megumi's ear: "Admit it. I'm so much more fun than the old one was."

A dizzy instant later his back slams into the wall, the force of it carrying him away: shockwaves ripping across his skin, his skin, not someone else's that he's temporarily stepped inside, and Megumi's face is inches away, furious. His left hand is digging into Joshua's shoulder like he'd like to break the bone and his right is poised to strike, there's a flickering red halo of Noise gathering around it and it's got teeth and Joshua can't stop the giddy, delighted grin spreading across his face as he stares at it. Oh. Well. That worked better than expected. He's going to be feeling the echoes of that hit all week, savoring the memory of it, one moment—just one—where he could pretend he wasn't permanently wrapped in a soft, safe, numb cocoon. He didn't even see it coming; precog takes a lot more time and focus when his frequency is damped so far down.

The moment doesn't last. Megumi stumbles back like he's the one who was just struck, and the Noise twined around his arm sputters and flickers out. He buries his face in his hands.

Joshua slumps against the wall, disappointed. "Megumi—"

"Sir." Megumi's voice is stiff, neutral. "Forgive me. I... forgot myself."

Joshua almost leaves, then and there. "That was the idea," he says instead, and the last thing he wants to do right now is placate his Conductor's conscience over his perceived transgression, because really? Megumi really thinks that was a test he failed? If he's that thoroughly oblivious, that's his problem, not Joshua's, and Joshua would cheerfully let him stew in it.

But the aftershock of his impact with the wall is still skittering across his back, sharp and hot and sweet, and he wants more, and so he shakes his head and puts a light, lilting note into his tone that he doesn't remotely feel. "Honestly, Megumi, you're really going to tease me like that? Cruel of you."

No response, and Joshua waits, not quite tapping his foot, and then sighs. "Fine."

In a breath he wraps the city's music back around him, something divine once more, and lunges. He catches Megumi by the shoulders and topples him, and Megumi puts up no fight; an instant later Joshua's pinning him, straddling his hips.

It's a rather hard seat at the moment, Megumi's arousal no secret, and Joshua shifts slowly and deliberately, sliding slightly forward. The desperate, frustrated groan that escapes Megumi's throat sends an only briefly satisfying shiver through the pit of Joshua's belly. One corner of Joshua's mouth twists bitterly upward at the look of resigned need that flashes across Megumi's face as Joshua settles just out of reach of anything sensitive.

Really, Joshua thinks, it's only fair; if he's not getting what he wishes, nor is his dear well-meaning servant. He puts fire and wrath and holy light into his touch, skims his fingertips feather-gentle over Megumi's chest—and now Megumi cries out, teeth biting down on the sound but unable to stop it.

Joshua leans over him, hair falling to brush Megumi's face, and whispers in his ear: "Is this what you need? Punishment for your sins?"

"Please," Megumi rasps, voice ragged from the effort of breathing with Joshua's hands still splayed across his skin.

Joshua nods.

Then he sits back, downtuning as he does back to a form that won't burn to touch, and pats Megumi on the cheek. "Earn it, then," he says lightly, with a smile and a wink, and he's back on his feet, smoothing rumpled clothes back into place as he turns away.

It's a clear enough message: What you've done was no sin, and if Megumi has any brains at all—which he does, Joshua knows he does, but if he actually uses them here—he'll hear it and know it for the comfort it was meant to be.

If.

Joshua wishes he was more optimistic that Megumi would, but he doesn't need precognition to know the chances are low. Because every time Megumi looks at him, Joshua can feel it: feel himself being wrapped back in his cocoon, lifted up higher, set back on his pedestal. See the gilded cage where he's safely out of everyone's reach.

Hear the door swinging shut, and the click of the bolt snapping into place.

Joshua doesn't need a key to most doors, or even to most minds. But there are still prisons he can't escape from.