Chapter Text
“Wait, wait wait wait-”
“What’s-” Josh mumbles against hot, wet skin, separating from the lovebites he’s been softly burying Tyler’s right shoulder in only because he worries Tyler might not hear him. “What’s wrong?” Confetti scrunches on both of their bodies. Turned damp and crinkled out of shape, it rains down on his chest and stomach from Tyler, above, sweeping it away and, he looks unnerved.
“I’ve- it’s just-” and Tyler is never one to be at a loss for words when they’re fresh off a show. Is always direct, and speaks slower, and Josh wonders some nights if it is remnants of Blurry or the Bishops keeping a hook or two in his best friend’s mind. Tyler’s struggle surely has to do with their closeness. With the fingers of his right hand dancing along Tyler’s spine, rucking up the white Clancy shirt and soothing his sore knuckles on the sweat-damp, cooling fabric. With the gentle rocking he does, absent against Tyler’s thigh, encouraging Tyler to grind down against him, too.
What else would be giving Tyler a case of the nervous stutters?
Do I make you nervous? Tyler can read his mind. Of this, Josh is certain. You have a magic, in you. He works his left middle finger into himself, having to twist a bit uncomfortably to the side. The reach is made more difficult with his boxers trapped at his knees but he is here, under Tyler, he doesn’t have it in him to complain or do anything about it. Who would fucking complain about this?
“What?” He smiles, tries to uncross his eyes and push his head back into the couch cushions for a better look at Tyler’s face. Bright pink all over until the fading grey black paint on his neck takes over, eyes wide and dark, a flame in them that stands out in the shadows. He hopes Tyler can see his teeth glint the same- certain his eyes are near to closed. He always finds it impossible to not smile, when he gets Tyler flustered. We’re good at that, these days.
Working each other up.
He’s never had Tyler this bothered- this close- this- “what is it?” Like the honey in his voice, he feels like syrup. Thick, and slow, and wonderful.
“I’ve never- done this, before,” Tyler finally chokes the words out. Josh can just make out his lips in the unlit dressing room. They hadn’t bothered with the main lights on the way in, busting the door down fully prepared to grab-and-go, get out of the arena.
Tyler had taken his hand and told him how funny Lavish made him feel, tonight. The second night of tour.
Tyler had been the one to tilt his head down the slightest bit and kiss Josh- not for the first time, will not be the last if he had any say, but, it had felt different. More than the smooches between friends. The easy press of lips in thanks, in hey, haven’t seen you in a bit, in dude that was sick. In, I wonder how long we can make out before you or I back out of the make-out.
And, Tyler was the one who nodded so hard he almost made Josh’s nose bleed, when he’d asked Tyler- jokingly, it was a joke -if he wanted to “put both hands on my shoulders and get me bottomless.”
Tyler is the one holding them up, right now, from getting back to the bus. Tyler is the one holding them up from fucking, too.
Josh is starting to think Tyler enjoys getting in the way of what they both want. Because he can’t shut his stupid mouth for ten seconds.
“You’ve never-” the words run through his mind a second time, once the ripples of Tyler, Tyler, Tyler are subsiding. Tyler has never had sex? That’s not- that was not what Tyler had meant, but Josh’s first thought is this, and he giggles. “Tyler. Y’got three kids!”
“I know, ” he’s lucky Tyler doesn’t go off on a rant about Josh not understanding him right, to quit the sarcasm, Jishwa. The hard press of Tyler’s eagerness would have everything to do with the lack of a ramble. “But- I know, but like, with, like, a- you know, with a dude.” His voice cracks and wobbles. Josh laughs even harder.
“A dude?” He makes fun of Tyler, scoffing when Tyler pouts and bumps their foreheads together. “You’re ridiculous,” it is muttered against Tyler’s soft lips. Soft, as soft as his hands, undecided on gripping Josh’s shoulders and stroking over his bare chest, the need to put weight on his knees so he can pet Josh interrupting his cautious little humps. All in all, Josh decides, Tyler is nervous. I’m making you nervous. He feels warmer, feverish, with pride. A rarity in the coldness of Trench.
Tyler picks a piece of confetti from above his nipple, and flicks the firm peak of it. He digs his fingers into the lumps of Tyler’s spine until he gets a hiss, a swat, and a strong rock of Tyler’s hips.
“What- have- have you ever done this before?” Tyler almost sounds teasing, if it weren't for the harsh little breaths in every couple of words, the blisteringly sweet smile that makes it so hard for him to be nasty.
“Uh, yeah,” he nuzzles at Tyler’s cheek. Cranes his neck until his nose skims over Tyler’s ear. Tyler jumps at the sensation, or at the words. “Bunch’a times.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. What, you’ve never-”
“No, dude!” Tyler’s weight comes down on Josh’s shoulders. Pinned, he stares up- Tyler, perched on his lap, probably completely unaware Josh has a finger inside of himself right now. “When?!” The contagious grin is sending Josh cloudy and light. Hot, hot, hot air swarms around him. Tyler makes him feel absurd. Breathes fire all over him and roasts him into golden crispy perfection and man I could go for some chicken right now . “Since when-” Tyler laughing and smiling is giddying, but in this way it is like a gas-pumped open flame, rather than the protected and buzzing neon he usually gets Tyler in.
Don’t go there, he shakes his head, don’t take him there.
The concert is over.
His stomach complains, we need food. Fuck, I’m hungry.
“You knew this?!” He could have sworn he and Tyler had shared tales of their sexual experiences back when they travelled their world in the van. Had had new ones and immediately told one another, in that van, during tours and drive-outs to events, festivals, whatever else.
“I knew you-” Tyler splutters. Under his eyes, he gets redder, and redder, Josh could say he glowed like coals. Like bishop’s robes. Don’t go there- swears he sees a broad bar of crimson, running from the lump of Tyler’s throat to the crown of his head- “I knew, you kissed dudes and- but not-”
“Does it matter?”
He just wants to stop feeling like there is a distance between them. Even if it’s funny, if they’re making jokes, being them- he wants Tyler to do what he wants, what will make him happy, because Josh has been waiting too long for a time like this and the longer Tyler makes him wait, the more yellow Josh feels, the more invisible he thinks his skin is getting, only existing wherever Tyler touches him. Whenever Tyler speaks to him. Stop blocking me out. Lines like cuts, deep blues breaking him apart. Cancelling him out. Don’t deny me anymore. Walking away, you can’t do this on your own, and-
Being this intimate just off stage might be too much, for him, maybe a bit.
I don’t know who I am without you.
But he wants Tyler like nothing else.
I want you more than anything.
He wants Tyler to shut up and fuck him hard on this stupidly comfy greenroom couch.
“It- no,” borderlining on grumbling at Josh, Tyler denies the idea that Josh is not allowed to have sex with men, meeting him square on. Shivering, when Josh digs the nails of his free hand into the small of Tyler’s back a second time, warning, I’m this close, to snapping, dude . “It doesn’t- matter if you’ve- I’m just- trying to make conversation!”
Josh blinks.
Well.
There go the bishops. The phantom flare of his torch is blustered out in an instant. Indigo lights lose their electricity.
Tyler, no more than a pale pink on top of him, frowns. “What-”
Of all the many, many things Tyler Joseph has ever said, that might have taken the cake for the dumbest. Somehow shocking Josh out of any adrenaline and lingering crimson threads that the world of Dema had over him on stage.
“What are you-” his mouth is too dry- and working it, trying to wet his tongue causes him to choke on his own saliva. He coughs, can't even bring himself to laugh when Tyler grimace at a bits of his spit landing on his face- “trying to-” he tries again- and, unable to move past the idea that Tyler thinks we need casual conversation at a time like this- ends up blurting: “we’re having sex!”
Tyler rolls his eyes, thanks for stating the obvious, Josh.
“I know that-”
“We are in the middle of having sex-”
“I haven’t even-”
“Tyler! Oh my g-” he isn’t alone when he cackles. Tyler is right there with him, absurd. Amidst the rolling laughter that pains his stomach, made worse by Tyler’s own peeping, pained squeaks of amusement, he lays gentle kisses to the bristly hair on the side of Tyler’s head. “We’re having sex,” he repeats, in the unlikely case Tyler somehow didn’t get it, “do you- you have conversations with Jen when you-” and Tyler’s voice- pitchy and indignant, broken by laughs, is beautiful:
“Yes, Josh, we do!!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he whispers, his breath coming back under control. He can make out Tyler mouthing the words, then saying them himself.
“What’s wrong with me- ”
A thunder in his heart resounds through the room, so loud Tyler hears- whips his head up and looks to their right. “In a minute, Mark!”
Oh. Dang.
Josh didn’t even hear the door knock. “What’s wrong with me?!” Tyler whisper-shouts, takes his face in his hands and forces him to look. To meet the crazed sparking grin in the near-dark. “Maybe I’ll tell her about this next time I see her, she’d like that,” Tyler squirms, settling down on him and unwittingly crushing his finger deeper inside himself. He adds a second one with a little difficulty. Bites back a moan at the stretch, thinks about the horrid stain he’s going to leave behind here with his lube-drenched hand. Tyler takes the response as his ‘dirty talk’ winning, leering at him, “do you think that’d be hot, huh, Josh? Me saying your name when I-”
“Poor Jenna,” he groans, and Tyler hides his face in his hands, leaving Josh with an inch of breathing space he’d much rather have Tyler occupying. Impatience catches his heels, tries to trip him up, have him rough with Tyler, just do something, already! “You’re never gonna get anywhere and Mark is gonna chop your head off, dude, for real. Live on stage.”
“ Mlemememe, meme-meee, cut my head off,” Tyler mocks him, “live on stage- how are you doing, huh?”
If sex like Tyler is always going to be like this, he has some conversations to have with his wife. This is the best. One of the best. All he’s had is his own hand and two fingers and Tyler’s kisses and touches and- he is feeling it all as though it’s the first time again, but instead of being scared a little bit upset, it is Tyler , the whole way down. A place where neither of those feelings have any right to exist for very long; if Tyler wants them gone, they are banished. You bring up the good in me. One way or another Tyler heals him.
“I’m fine, I’m,” he has alternated between touching and opening himself, not needing much help to get and stay hard, though a couple of strokes between awkwardly thrusting his finger in and out have helped his comfort levels. “You put- you put me here so put-” he can’t finish the silliness springing to mind without a snort, “put it in me- or just jerk off with me or something, I don’t care, Tyler, just-”
Tyler snaps right back to that stuttery, unsure, adorable setting. Adjusts himself in his pants and at last, at last, catches sight of Josh’s wrist, flexing between his thighs.
“I’ll jerk off, in you,” Tyler says it in his weird stroppy pouting mode. He rolls his eyes, laughing despite himself.
“You’re so weird about this.”
“I’m being normal.”
“You’re not!” Tyler isn’t, and they both know it, “you’re being weird- we- don’t have to do this-”
“But I want to do-”
“Do you feel bad about not telling Jen?”
“I have a pass.”
He is so curious- quickly loses himself wondering how Tyler might have talked about him to Jenna. How this came up at all, was it something I did? Something he had to bring up, or did Jenna guess because Tyler was too obvious, to her? Did Tyler confide in his wife that he wanted another man? Any avenue makes his head spin.
“On me?” A pass, for me? Whenever he wanted it- whenever we got to this point?
“On you,” however he asked it, a pass on me, he has Tyler singing at him. Stroking his face and kissing him, kissing with feeling, crushing against him the way Josh knows they were always meant to. Stabs of pain litter his lips, the corner of his mouth, eased by a sighing, “oh, you.” Oh, shut up, Tyler. Tyler’s lips, the stunning and powerful weapon that forms incredible words, must be itching fiercely against the stubble on his chin. The sensation is one Tyler hums at, enjoys, and he nips at Josh’s chin. The bites are all quick and full-force and his lungs seize every time. It feels innocent, unexperienced. He feels newer and stupider with each one. “How about-”
Tyler’s question has an answer Josh doesn't want to think about. It doesn’t need to be finished.
He shrugs, pulling Tyler in close with the crook of his one free elbow. Ignores the scramble of hands and the strength in Tyler’s arms easily. Despite his fatigue from drumming for two and a half hours, he’s still far stronger than Tyler.
“She’ll get it.”
“So you’re cheating.”
The smile is not gone from Tyler’s voice but he does have a hanging hesitance to him, “Josh?”
That’s one way to look at it.
“Yeah, guess.”
At Tyler’s insistent shove, he lets up. He closes his eyes to avoid Tyler’s, which he has no doubt are as searching as his tone.
“Right now, you’re cheating on her.”
“Yes.”
“With me.”
“I guess,” he repeats. Thinks over it once, slower. Technically, never a good word to tack on to betrayal. Lying. Technically, I’m cheating on my wife.
Hot breath blisters over his face.
“You guess?”
Down his neck, a slick press of tongue delights over his collar.
“I think she’d get it.” He knows his wife. Deb wouldn't be happy, but she wouldn't be shocked. She’d be far from betrayed. Initially she might be angry but, she knows how I feel. She’s known for years- it isn't as though he made any effort to hide how much he loves his best friend. More than platonic, more than the honeymoon phase of getting-to-know, of sharing too much space and too much of everything inside of themselves. Tyler isn't as close to her. Same as how Josh isn't as close to Jenna- but they are all still friends. Still family. Still close enough, apparently, for Tyler to confidently say:
“I’m gonna call her.”
Tyler’s hands are patting down the right pocket of his jeans- Josh feels him shift- opens his eyes to catch Tyler’s darkened hands going to the left pocket, finding the rectangular lump of his phone and crowing in victory. Josh can not allow this bit to become a non-bit.
“Do not call her- Tyler- no!” He abandons his preparation and grabs at Tyler’s wrists. Tyler squeals, yammering about Josh's slippery ass fingers and to get away from me with those hands, the pitiful attempts at breaking free of Josh’s grasp only succeeding because of how sweaty Josh’s hands are, how lubed up his right hand is. If this is what I get for being ready, Deb shouting at me while I’m hard and naked in a greenroom, he might die on the spot and carve out a space in this plane of existence when he goes, leaving a black hole behind.
A loud tick resounds through his head. Scampers all across his skin.
Snap.
The second Tyler makes to get off of him and run, Josh decides enough is enough. He throws his arms around Tyler and yanks him sideways. The foot Tyler had on the ground kicks up, legs flailing. “No you don’t!” The rigid edge of Tyler’s phone slams into his shoulder, sure to bruise. Tyler grabs him for balance and no amount of shoving will get Josh on his back. He has only two goals now- make Tyler drop the phone, and throw the phone across the room. The wrestling Tyler tries on is so ineffective they laugh- at themselves, each other- Tyler more so than him. And Josh has never had Tyler in this kind of situation but he knows his best friend. You did it on purpose. He leans Tyler up against the back of the couch, uses his chest and shoulders against Tyler to keep him there, you wanted to see what I’d do. How close I was, to breaking. Pressing buttons is a specialty of Tyler’s. Josh pulls the zip at the front of Tyler’s pants down using his non-slippery hand, button thankfully already undone, you don't care if I'm cheating or not.
You’re just happy you get what you want.
Part of the point of Tyler’s playing is this: getting him right where Tyler wants him, which seems to be here. Turned back into a desire-addled teen, a horny young man, palming at his best friend’s cock through his boxers, Tyler’s jaw dropping and a breathy moan resounding, there you go . Another pitiful attempt to escape lands Tyler in hotter water- Tyler sinking down, the friction from rubbing on Josh’s leg getting a deeper, louder huff, a grunt when Tyler can't control the second skip of his hips. You don’t want to make this happen, you want me to. Josh bundles him up, hands on Tyler’s ass and squeezing, helping him time small twitches in search of a gentler pleasure than one of his big, rough hands. “It’s fine,” he whispers to Tyler, earning a whimper in reply, “it’s. Fine.”
You don’t want control.
“Fine,” Tyler whispers back.
“Just-” hurry up and fuck me-
“If she’s pissed,” Tyler can't let it go. Predictably.
He groans and Tyler leans into him, yeah, that wasn't a sexy noise.
“She’ll be pissed.”
“Don't be mad at me.”
“I won't.” I will, he’ll be mad, at Tyler, but not with Tyler.
“You will be-”
“God- god, will you-” he grabs Tyler by the cheeks and squishes him, lips going fishy and eyes crinkling, lined with a smile be can no longer show off. “Just! Shut up and do something that’s not- rubbing your dick on my leg!”
“I’m tryin’a be funny-”
“I- ‘cause you're- I know! You’d be a lot less if you just-”
“Are you-”
“Yes,” His eyes could get stuck with how far he rolls them back into his head, “I’ve had time to finger myself open and give myself a- a rash on my thighs, ‘cause you won’t stop talking about- your ass virginity and-” Tyler’s wheeze is chunky and sounds painful, raspy, a night of shouting in and away from the mic catching up with him. Taking a cough direct to his face, fair’s fair, he can't help but beam at his best friend. Releases Tyler’s burning cheeks and gives them light taps, struggling not to laugh himself.
He doesn't do a very good job. Tyler’s laugh is very contagious. He’d laugh at anything Tyler laughs at. “And- and threat- threatening to call my wife- when you're about to-”
“Shut up, man, just shut- hoo, my god-”
“Tyler. Tyler. Don't make me swear. It’s not good for the baby.”
Again pressing at Tyler’s mouth and chin until skin bunches up, you are baby, his payback is Tyler gripping his chest, tickling and seeking out his nipples. Pushing back at him- knelt almost in Tyler’s lap- practically on a perch on the couch seat that Tyler takes up most of.
“You got a potty mouth and you know it.” Tyler tells him, plants a big kiss on his open mouth- parting, Tyler catching his gasp as his hard nipples are pinched and twisted the slightest bit. Leaning back and letting him let out air in a rush, all that was stoppered and bottled up and beautiful between them billows high and he swears he sees it as smoke, filling the room. He is drawn into Tyler, and on top of him, Tyler laying himself down and leaving his bodyweight for Josh to lower lest he smack his head on the poorly cushioned arm of the couch. It is a near thing, letting Tyler fall, the sparkle in those pretty eyes and the mocking in that sugar-sweet tone: “you big baby, Jish.” You suck. You’re so annoying. I love everything about you.
“You’re the baby,” he retorts and wins, instantly, the silly little wriggle Tyler does underneath him and the dumb giggle Tyler lets out and the plethora of tiny kisses Tyler gives him and Tyler Tyler- “you like it. When I swear, you like it-” he is breathless, and glad to catch Tyler’s impatient breaths, as worked up as he is.
I love all of you. Even the way you play me.
“I do like it.” He can feel Tyler kicking his legs out of wired-up habit, spots the jerk of shoulders and the twitching in Tyler’s neck, small motions that can't take being shoved down; that shouldn't be, not here, not with me. You don't have to. However soft he must appear- Tyler, too, molds into it. Relaxes. Relaxes him, a candle light of a smile and the heat of a bonfire behind it. “I like you, Josh.” He wants to ask Tyler “what are we, twelve?!” and he would, he would tease Tyler for his childish turn, but there is this sincerity pouring out of Tyler and stalling every word he could say from the rotation of thoughts in his head, arresting all of his muscles, all of him commanded by Tyler, who goes about turning them over. Nudging elbow and thigh and hip until he is beneath, his back sinking into the couch cushions. Square one, it feels like Tyler has been messing with him for hours- and really, what was tonight if not a few hours of foreplay -he is sore. He is aching, but Mark hasn't come back so it has probably only been five or ten minutes since they came off stage. His body is a bad metric right now for time. Only night two. He isn't in the swing of shows, give it a week. We’ll both get used to it.
His hurt is soothed under Tyler’s touch. The tightness eking its way into his hips ebbs at once at a few squeezes and the push of knuckles, the massaging different if it's Tyler rather than their physiotherapist.
Everything is different if it’s Tyler doing it.
Tyler’s paint-coated hands skip and judder in his attempts to drag a path lightly over Josh’s thighs. Firmer, more determined, a couple of fingers dig in on the inside of his thigh, brave and a little rushed, Tyler going for it without leaving room for doubt. A finger breaches him the moment Tyler touches down. His long pointer finger works past his rim and tingles shoot up his spine- he clenches and flexes his hands, spine creaking and straightening, been a while, since he has had someone else open him up. Not knowing where they’ll move, left to their whims in many mays, it’s hot, never fails to drop his stomach, filling him with butterflies.
This is Tyler’s first time, though.
“Good job,” he huffs, Tyler’s rush and hesitance to touch is not lost on him. A heavy sigh comes from above and he opens his eyes unaware they had closed, only to find Tyler’s eyes squeezed shut and face lax, open, focused. He feels a twitch on his thigh and the minor and unsure movement of Tyler’s finger in him. “Good,” he says it louder, a breath jolting out of him when Tyler’s body goes rigid and his finger rocks in deep on accident, the worn fabric of Tyler’s boxers bunching up where he rubs over and over, “g- good, doin’ good, Ty.”
He feels Tyler shudder. Sees his eyes shutter open and cast down earth-tone and swimming golden irises in the muted yellowed lights. The fluffing ends of his hair shines in the very shade of heaven, casting Tyler glittery and godly but if anything- it looks like Tyler is the one having a religious experience.
He does wish, for a second, that he were able to love as deeply as Tyler loves. To feel the way Tyler feels. He would like it but he would not survive it. To be as affected by Tyler physically inside him in any capacity: it might stop his heart. He wants to treat them having sex like the other experimental encounters he has had with men- and the one girl in the UK who rocked his world with her strap. Instead he is stuck somewhere between Tyler’s rapture- at merely having a finger , nevermind two or three, or his cock, in him- and his own inhibitions dosing every touch, Debby isn’t going to be happy. Tyler might not like this once he’s in you.
You might scare him.
“Josh,” Tyler grunts against his ear, harsh and causing him to squirm with how every word blasts on his ear drums, “wanna- wanna be inside you, wanna- see how cute you are, on my-” a second finger goes in a little dry. He yelps. Tyler smiles against his ear. He makes everything different, the pain is delicious. “You sound so cute, Jish.” He has nothing to give Tyler but a moan, no words, push me higher, wrapping his arms around Tyler’s waist and gripping where he can. At least the teeth haven’t come out again, Tyler must be too preoccupied with his own head whirring about what they’re doing, and what they are about to do. Is, certainly, with the way he talks- so unlike him, so, not over the top, but, too confident. A coverup- “sound so- you’re so- you ready? Can I, Josh?”
Twisting fingers inside of him, Tyler getting his wrist and arm at an awkward angle so he can cup and stroke Josh’s balls. The hard bone of Tyler’s shoulder smacks him in the forehead so Josh props Tyler up, grabbing hold of the trunk of his best friend and pushing. Tyler complains and bears down on him. They laugh at each other. He sees a shine of tears in the bottoms of Tyler’s eyes. In the dimmed light he takes Tyler in for what feels like the millionth time and simultaneously like he’s never seen Tyler in his life. Shimmers of sweaty skin shivering; wide, dark eyes and clumped eyelashes; darkened neck and the faded ring of worn off paint; the hand not inside him shaking, exhausted, doing a terrible job at holding Tyler up. Tyler’s body has a judder wracking it and it could be one thousand things, but all Tyler tells him is, “you’re wrecking me, Josh. You know that? You wreck me.”
He snorts.
“Okay, Miley Cyrus.”
Tyler opens his mouth and Josh tries to search his brain for another artist with a song about ‘wrecking’ .
“Okay, Tom Pretty,” Tyler’s lips stick around a noisy smile.
He can’t think of a damn thing. And I was the one who started it-
“Okay, uh,” Tyler cackles, and he knows he’s lost. He pouts, bites at the inside of his lip as Tyler slides his fingers out and rustles around for the lube dropped somewhere on the couch cushions they have completely mashed around with their antics. Tyler mutters something, beaming, something like “don’t pout, Jish,” when really Tyler must want the opposite. He stills Tyler once the lube has been found with a victorious little noise- holds his best friend and shakes him around above him, “I’ll show you pretty.”
You already are, you are the prettiest thing I have ever seen, and I’ve believed that since that night at Ichthus. Their first kis. The first time he’d ever touched Tyler, only for a minute, before Tyler bailed. We never went that far again.
Not until tonight.
Tyler’s hands, one tacky and wet, the other drier and bolder, stroke either side of his face.
“My pretty Josh.” Is this what people mean when they say they've been touched by god, to their very souls?
“Shut up.” Maybe he is a bit more religious about this than he wants to be. He shuts the thought out, shuffles his legs wider, and eases Tyler away from him, directing him down his body. “Wreck me, Tyler.”
Tyler would be lying if he said he's never thought of this- if the idea of having sex with Josh, having Josh beneath him, has never crossed his mind. Looming over his best friend, dripping sweat and naked after a show in a greenroom, his dick hard and his black paint all but gone. Still enough left to leave thinned greyish streaks on his territory, all the inches of Josh he’s claimed, so faint and barely-there but I know they’re there, I can see them, and that’s all that matters. Over the swells of Josh's chest, down his front, decorating the love handles that have steadily grown over the past couple years, ones that stand proudly on the waistband of Josh's shorts-
Not that he has any on right now- it’s not important, he loves when he can see Josh’s skin squished up by elastic, he loves Josh’s sides and he hates Josh’s ‘tour body’, hates his own, the run-ragged and weight loss and we aren’t there yet, it’s only night two, rehearsals can only do so much, I want my man biteable-
His mind races.
What was I thinking about again?
Right. Blurryface paint. The paint on Josh’s skin. The fleeting question of whether he should have put his unclean fingers inside of Josh’s ass comes and goes. He decides it is best not to mention it to Josh at this point. Keeps his mouth shut, digs his nails into Josh’s chest. He can't wait to see the red well to the surface. Josh hums, at that one, breaking his otherwise quiet and borderline stoic mask, body thrusting upwards, in askance, do something. Breaks his silence, no small note of impatience in his voice.
“Put your fingers back in or- or-”
“I’m getting there, just,” he mutters, gathering what he can of his faculties. Josh wants him to finger him. Josh wants me to fuck him. “Just, wait a sec. Give me a minute. Geez.”
“Tyler,” Josh grumbles.
Tyler listens for the smile in it, warms in it. It’s my first time, with a guy.
“Josh,” he drones, drawls Josh’s name.
It’s my first time, with you.
“Tyler!” As Josh’s call gets sharper, he goes slower.
“Jo-osh,” huddling down close to Josh and delighting in the deepthroated laugh that vibrates into his bones, Josh’s amusement seeping into him. Don’t overthink it, Josh’s hands pat along his back. Find each bump of his spine and press, release, systematic. He fumbles one hand down between his legs, takes ahold of his cock and strokes himself a couple of times to make sure he is wet and slippery. He has no idea how this will go but treats it the same as any other time. How different can it be, mechanically? Lines his head up, finds what should be the right spot where Josh clenches and relaxes. This is so weird- Josh grabs at him and kisses over his cheek, stubble rasping. Opening his mouth and guiding his way inside of Josh, he breathes with Josh’s gasp at the give of Josh’s ass, he’s in pain.
“Ow.”
The singular little word comes out alongside a wince.
“Do-” his voice breaks.
It’s so weird, being inside someone when they laugh. “Do I stay still- or-” Josh nods, bonking their heads together. He’s never felt closer to Josh. And it’s not just the- it’s not the sex, it’s not because I’m literally. Inside of him. Right now.
He counts the speckles splashing over Josh’s cheekbones, the milky way of freckles painted over skin. Loses track. He’s so beautiful. Blinks into the barest of light reflected off of the drops of sweat crowning Josh’s forehead, glinting as stars do in the darkness of night. He looks like the universe. The sweep of Josh’s lashes, eyelids low and at moments scrunching. You’re made of love, Josh. Then, so suddenly, Josh whispers:
“Move. Please.” Pink lips parting and meeting, the quietness lost to the rush in his head- thoughts, blood, static, the sound of the earth spinning -he reads it more on Josh’s lips than he hears it. Josh is so quiet. That craze- the craziness in his mind- demands , he needs Josh to be loud.
Tyler lives for when he gets Josh bashful enough to turn away, hide his face from him and make some kind of sound- a giggle, a whine, anything -even complaining about what was said, or begging him to shut up.
He doesn’t think words are going to do it. Not words alone, at least.
This is a new place, face to face with Josh on the greenroom couch, I am keenly aware, the unlocked door separating them from the rest of the world, the crew, Mark, prolly, surprised he hasn’t busted in here already. He thrusts a couple of times, experimental, his body coming flush with Josh’s and receding, only to crash in once more. The sensation is different around his dick, and good, and strange, and right. Josh is noisy, not enough noise, but constant, consistent, the same as he ever is when things feel good. Exploring the little squeaks and long, closed-lipped sounds, he pushes in slow- pulls out in a rush, all the way out by accident. That opens Josh’s mouth- furrows eyebrows and makes claws of Josh’s hands, didn’t like that.
He hurries to get himself back in, needing the aid of his hand, there you go, watching rapt as Josh’s face soothes out into one of pleasure with only the end of his dick back inside. He takes another slow glide in to the hilt, and draws out again, he gets louder, the further out I am if it’s slow. And what if I- the snap of his hips is what does it, Josh’s jaw loosening, neck tensing, oh god. Josh takes his faster thrusts in ecstasy, how can that feel so good, encouraging him, and the way Josh throws his head back on the couch cushions, curls tangling and eyes shut and, oh, god, his neck. Now that he’s seen it, locked onto it, I want to.
He won’t even try to stop himself.
In this context, Tyler can act on that little impulse that has always always grabbed him by the proverbial balls- one that has never been appropriate to follow through with, not in interviews, not when we were alone, not ever. He leans down, licks at Josh's skin as a kind of warning, an appetiser, and then opens his mouth wide to catch a decent patch of Josh in his teeth. Gentle pressure makes Josh jump. His teeth feel dull and his nose is flooded with the smell of his best friend, a home, a comfort, and, right in this moment, one who is doing untold damage to his sanity. He needs more, now . Needs sharper, harder, wetter. If he breaks the skin Josh will forgive him. Before he reaches the creak, the well-known, well-loved tension of skin in his mouth right where it begins to graze and open- Josh palms at his face and yelps, “Tyler, stop it-” and he lets up, his tongue tracing the indents he's left in Josh’s skin. He laps up his own saliva, his spit left behind, and hums, Josh asking him in ruined heaves, “you’re- fucking- kidding me- right?”
The first time, with Jenna, they had talked about it. A lot. And she loves it- she knows, what it is, for me- and Josh has that same, almost insane look, the one she gets, when I make her bleed with my teeth-
He and Josh have exchanged little nips and playful bitings, over shoulders and arms and hands, fingers, Josh bit me on the thigh that one time, when I was sat on the remote and refused to move. Never something like this- and, I know, he knows. He doesn’t need to explain. To ask, and it’s you, it is his Josh.
You know you’re mine. I can bite you as hard as I can.
You want me to.
“I get to do whatever I want, to you,” he says it pressed over Josh’s voicebox. Mouths over the range of Josh’s neck, “I do, ‘m the lead singer.” He nips, suckles at skin wherever he is able, where Josh bares himself to him and where Josh twinges and shoves at him with uncoordinated hands. Whatever you have, it’s mine.
Josh, he knows, knows what it feels like, because he gets the same thing. What bites are with someone special, guess he just never thought it would be sexual, “why stop?”
He knows Josh wants it. Why is Josh denying them?
His murmur is met with something more wanton, more disappointed, than he expected.
Should’ve expected it.
“Not-” Josh is gone, his voice a wreck and sentences strung along like he’s in a panic, “stage- the- the makeup- won’t- I can’t-” and he understands. Josh sweats, and stage makeup can only do so much. Has never been a good mix, Josh and makeup.
“D’you really care about that?” My bruises, on your neck, for everyone to see?
Josh nods.
A hardened, barbed bit in his heart catches and yanks. “Fine,” no bites.
Got it.
“Tyler-”
Josh’s cry of his name is lost to a shout of pleasure, wavering with every thrust. He fucks Josh in earnest and scratches at Josh’s back at the same time. Takes all the need under his front teeth and plants it under his nails instead, his hands under Josh on the couch seat. It is slow going so he makes up for it with his hips, shoving into Josh as far as he can and bucking back.
Stars line up when his hands are over Josh’s shoulderblades. He pauses. Josh catches one breath, screaming it out when Tyler rakes at either side of his spine and pushes in, angles down over him and makes sure the couch moves with the force of his thrusting, if I can’t leave my mark in one way, he catches Josh’s eyes, watery and alight. Josh’s mouth hangs open. Shudders, from head to toe. If I can’t do it one way, I’ll find another.
He doesn’t realise Josh is coming until the struggles of his best friend become frantic and wordless, garbled groans become more recognisable pleas, “Tyler- Tyler, I- wait, just-” he slows on his way out, pulls out entirely when Josh palms at his hipbones. That damn smile. Half-alive, floppy and sluggish, Josh turns over onto his front, planting the side of his face on the couch. “Tyler,” and Josh must just love saying his name, “Tyler,” waggling his behind a bit, “told- told you, not to.”
Josh liked it.
From here, he can admire the raised welts he’s decorated Josh with in long lovely lines. Some of them are unbroken from top to bottom and dead-straight, others dotted, dashed, curving from side to side. He raises a hand and brings it down hard over the right plane of Josh’s back, does it again to keep the wobble of Josh’s flesh going a second longer. Beautiful. Josh rocks back towards him before he jerks away, and moans loud, louder, drunken slurring, “y’ missed, Ty.”
Another lazy shake, “You- you’re, such an asshole, you- you missed.” Josh moving his ass like he’s a dog with a happy tail.
“I wasn’t aiming for your ass.”
“You could.”
God, isn’t that tempting. Josh’s ass is something to behold. He strokes Josh’s asscheeks with the backs of his fingers, grips them gently. Raises one, then the other. A light pet is all he’s going to give Josh. Almost conversationally, he tells Josh:
“Just because you want me to do it, ‘m not gonna.”
“You suck.”
“I can, if you ask nicer than that.”
Josh huffs, whispering for him to “shut your mouth,” and lets him know with an appreciative noise as he shuffles closer, easing his tip into Josh, ready for more. With his other hand, he presses down on Josh’s back between his shoulders. Josh’s groaning takes on a whole new way of scratching the itch in his brain, he likes that-
He likes that, a lot. He can hear the bared teeth, the razor’s edge air to Josh's panting. Overstimulated, held down, he feels Josh heave and try to push up- not letting you do that. He grabs Josh’s biceps, pinning him. Josh’s back arches, lets him in at a more intense angle, and he helps himself to Josh’s hot, tight heat. Thrusts harder, meets less resistance, perfect- “ god, Josh-” his words start failing. Josh’s right arm is close to the edge of the couch cushion and the weight he’s putting on it jars it closer, closer to the side, until the wooden frame can’t hold any longer. Josh’s arm slips it off over the side and his shoulder isn’t far behind, nor the rest of him.
He barely stops himself from crashing down and tumbling off of Josh’s back. Throwing his weight into his knees and lowering his body to Josh’s sweaty back in one move, he narrowly avoids sending them both to the floor in a heap.
The crash landing was averted. The shift of their bodies changes how he thrusts, and after the stone-still second or two of oh, shit, this is gonna hurt, he fucks into Josh, who makes a sound neither of them have ever heard him make before. Carving a delicious path in Josh’s insides, he hits a spot Josh sounds as though he didn’t know was able to feel so good. As Tyler pulls back to rush forward, the drag of his cock punches another open mouthed raw cry from Josh.
“Fuck!”
“That feel good?” He asks, unnecessary.
Josh shakes his head and he freezes for one moment. Feels shiver after shiver sprinting under Josh's skin as if it is his own, sealed tight to Josh. Hears feet pounding the arm of the couch behind him- and all at once Josh is nodding- is shaking all over, a tremor as he rocks his hips up, back, as best he can from his compromised face-down spot.
“Don’t stop-” Josh has never talked like that, “fuck,” has never sworn like this, over and over on repeat, broken-record. And with his head shaking side to side, don’t stop, near to a sob- how can’t I? He snaps his hips and feels Josh come apart under him, rutting against the couch, the flex of his body adding to the drag, the tightness around his cock.
“You’re so beautiful, Josh,” he loses his rhythm, his care, forces Josh down with all he has, all his weight, and gives Josh everything he’s got left- “always so pretty, just, listen to you-”
Whines and cries escape Josh on every rock forwards. Petty attempts to catch a breath each time he withdraws, only to shove in again, tighter, and closer, the slickened sounds of them matching Josh’s volume. Josh doesn’t say anything but curses, doesn’t do anything except take it. He whispers- he doesn’t know what- into Josh’s ear; praise and poison to balance it out, because he knows Josh likes it. Likes to be held down, likes being hurt, marked, made fun of. All things he knew in concept but, to know them in action? Holy hell.
Taking Josh’s sweaty back to his chest, pawing around Josh’s equally damp front and wrapping them together into one, he lets himself go. If he had the strength he would lift Josh up into his lap or splay him over the arm of the couch so that he could let Josh feel him more. The places deep inside that burn for the both of them build to a peak. His back is weak and they are both so wet, so slick, so perfectly done for after the show and now, this. It is all he can bring himself to do: hang onto Josh as fiercely as possible and ride out the build. The catch, the release, the return. The half-bar step-down, from the third to the second chord, resolving at last to the first.
Whispering into Josh’s ear about how good he is , taking all of him, all of his release, making him feel amazing, Josh turns his head, seeking a kiss.
Just like the rest of him, Tyler gives all he has. “So good, Josh. So good.”