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Shouldn’t talk about it.
Was there something in the air during Innings? Is Tyler reaching? Was he a fool for choosing that song to duet with Josh, or was the feeling mutual?
He can still hear the harmony in the back of his mind, buzzing after the show. Flawless. Effortlessly melded together.
“I haven’t listened to Stolen Dance in forever,” Josh notes. Casual. Stupid, post-show smile on his face. “I forgot all about it, honestly. Such a good song.”
“Yeah.” Tyler’s mouth is dry. He’s listened to this song every day for the past month because it reminds him of the tour bus during the Emotional Roadshow. Late nights. RedBull and wandering hands and being drunk on nothing but each other. Eyeshadow smeared on Josh’s face and black paint decorating his chest.
“What made you pick it?” Josh asks.
“Sounds like One Way. Kinda,” Tyler mutters. Wringing his towel in his hands. “Thought it would be cool to bring a cover back.” There’s a set playlist he cherry picks songs to cover from. Slyly, to make sure Josh doesn’t catch onto the connections he’s desperately trying to make. He bounces his leg anxiously. Sat on this stupid couch while Josh eyes him from the other side of this tiny dressing room.
“It’s not because of us?”
Well.
There goes that.
Tyler laughs it off. Awkward. “What?” He says, swallowing the dryness in his throat. No amount of water could fix this feeling, the fire snaking itself up his veins. “Us?”
“You know your Spotify playlists are public,” Josh tells him. He doesn’t look mad, or confrontational. He never looks anything, because he’s sweet, kind Josh who couldn’t find a flaw with Tyler if he tried. Who surely remembers making out ten years ago with that song thudding in the background and his hands on Tyler’s ass.
“Oh.” Tyler feels dizzy. There’s a lot to unpack there. “I didn’t realize.” You look through my Spotify?
“I mean-“ Josh runs his own towel over his face. “If I’m wrong-“
“No,” Tyler shakes his head after a beat, “no. You’re not wrong. I just, uh. Kind of weird to…admit, I guess.” A hot wave of embarrassment engulfs him. He feels like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. How stupid could he be?
“D’you.” Josh stops himself with a grimace. “Do you miss it sometimes?” He doesn’t need to clarify. Their minds sync with the same memories. Stolen kisses. The brushing of hands, silent looks that promise more when they’re alone. Of course he misses it. Every day he’s torn between what he has now and what he could’ve had then.
“Every day,” Tyler breathes. “Do you?” It’s a loaded question. They should really be climbing into the backseat of that Suburban waiting for them out back. Instead Tyler is stuck to this cheap leather couch and Josh is eating him alive with his eyes while he leans on the rickety table piled with their untouched rider.
Josh sticks his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.” Fuck. That seals it, doesn’t it? It’s all over. It’s no surprise. Tension is thick. It always has been between them, from the day they met to the first time Tyler got down on his knees and showed Josh what it meant to feel unabashedly holy.
Tyler finds himself stumbling to his feet, tripping over his shoes to slot himself between Josh’s legs against the table. Too bold? Maybe. He gauges Josh’s reaction with pink cheeks and blown pupils.
When Josh’s hands slide over his waist he knows it’s silent confirmation. They haven’t been this close in years. Not like this. Maybe in passing. In a hotel. Sat next to each other on a plane. Not like this.
“This is okay?” Josh says quietly. He squeezes Tyler’s hips. He’s not surprised, or disgusted. He embraces it. Every impulsive move Tyler’s ever thrown at him he’s taken with such grace. It’s asinine, how he does it so effortlessly.
“I don’t know,” Tyler mumbles. He bumps their noses together, presses their foreheads against each other. Everything but kissing. “I think so.” Josh smells like home. He’s moved too fast. Everything rises around him and his ears start to ring.
“We don’t have to-“
Tyler brushes their lips together, for a fleeting, impulsive moment. Josh’s breath smells like that stupid spearmint gum he’s always chewing. Even now it’s probably tucked away in his cheek. Tyler wants to taste it.
“Please don’t make me do it first,” he says, stifling a laugh. “For the first time I don’t want to take the initiative.”
Josh’s eyes do that thing where they focus really hard and soften and Tyler thinks he could swim in them if he tried hard enough. And then, because enough time has passed and he’s brave enough to do these kinds of things, Josh kisses him.
There are a lot of years pent up behind this. In the way their hands start to wander, in the way Tyler’s hunger immediately overtakes his pride. His hands fist into the tank top Josh threw on after the show. Warm. Everything is warm. He hasn’t felt this in so long. He wants to count every freckle on Josh’s back until he falls asleep.
“What do you want?” Josh asks him, breathless, waiting for the next command.
“I don’t know,” Tyler replies for what feels like the tenth time tonight. Every step is something new but so familiar.
“I know you two had something,” Jenna told him. The ring on his finger burns. “It’s okay, Ty.”
But that was before. Before marriage and kids and real life.
“Touch me,” he says shakily. Is he about to cry? “Please.”
Josh stops himself, eyebrows furrowed, to study the pleading face in front of him. “Tyler.”
“I want it.” Josh’s own ring is cold against his cheek. “I want it. Please.” He’s a terrible person. This is terrible.
“I know it can’t be like this all the time,” he continues, “but can you just-just for tonight? Just right now. Josh.”
What should happen is they should push away from each other and never speak about this again. It should be something shoved deep down into their consciousness and treated like a disease.
Instead, Josh slides his own wedding band off his finger and sets it on the table. He takes Tyler’s face in his hands again and kisses him on their way to that tacky leather couch.
The backs of Tyler’s knees hit it. He’s limp. Putty in Josh’s hands despite it usually being the opposite. He’s so brave now. There’s less shyness in his movements. Tyler should’ve taken advantage of that. He should’ve claimed Josh as his years ago.
Maybe, in a way, he did. But not like this. Not like this.
Josh climbs on top of him. He’s drunk on Tyler’s lips. Hair dye still staining his face, his neck, and now Tyler’s hands as they card through his curls. He wishes there was a mouth on his throat. The paint seems to dent these bad decisions. It’s for the best, he thinks.
Instead Josh nips at his ear and unbuttons his pants. His hands don’t shake anymore when he does this. They’re not in the back of the van. They’re in a dressing room. They just played a festival for thousands of people. This isn’t how it was. It never will be.
“Stop thinking,” Josh tells him with a sturdy hand slipping beneath his boxers.
Tyler’s jaw falls slack and a weak moan chokes past his lips. He’s speechless. Josh’s palm is dry around his cock but there’s nothing he’s ever felt that’s better than this. He’s despicable.
“Thinking about you,” he finally rasps, gathering the courage to slip his own hands down Josh’s waist to his shorts. He lifts his hips, lets his pants slide down his thighs. He toes his boots off with a grunt. Josh kisses him. The necklaces around his throat dangle over Tyler’s. They are terrible people.
A waiting hand sits beneath Tyler’s chin and he spits into it, eyes glazed over at the sight of his cock twitching beneath Josh’s. Nothing’s changed. That’s beautiful, he thinks. This is not his anymore. This body above him belongs to someone else. Sealed with a ring and a wedding certificate, they had to break this bond years ago.
Josh wraps a dampened hand around both of them and Tyler cries.
Back arching, he smears black paint over sweaty skin, mashes it into the fabric of Josh’s tank top. Dragging his palms over every inch because he can’t dig his nails into anything.
Josh dips down, presses their foreheads together again. He’s panting. Has that look in his eyes that he gets when he’s drumming and fully immersed in the song. The obsessive perfection, teeth worrying his bottom lip. A bead of red-dyed sweat trails down his face. Tyler’s cock weeps pre-cum.
“Have you done anything recently?”
Tyler bounces his leg. He has two daughters. Josh’s name in his phone feels stale but still so raw. Last night they texted each other things no married best friends should say.
“No,” he lies. He loves Jenna. He loves her a lot. “That would be cheating.”
“Josh.” He tugs on Josh’s hair. Tangles his fingers into his necklaces. He can’t help himself. He needs to touch. It might be the last time he ever does it, but some horrible part inside of him know it won’t be. His hips buck up on their own accord. Sloppy. Desperate. He’s always been the one to have the control, to keep calm, to lead the way. He is nothing beneath Josh. This version of Josh, the one who can sing in front of a crowd, and front the interviews, and play whatever part is needed of him with no pushback.
Josh tastes like spearmint gum. He rocks his hips in time, hand loosely keeping them together. There’s not a world where Tyler doesn’t remember every inch of this beautiful cock. The same one his hand would be wrapped around in the back of the van. The same one his lips would part for in a gas station bathroom, the same one he’d wrap his legs around Josh’s waist for in their cramped tour bus bunks.
“I love you,” he whimpers. It’s the worst thing he’s ever said.
Josh kisses his sweaty hair. “I know,” he huffs, “I-fuck, Tyler. I love you. I love you.”
They’re empty words. They have to be, or else everything would be fucked up and they’d be on the front page of every tabloid.
Disney star Debby Ryan gets cheated on by husband right after giving birth to their first child!
Josh spits into his hand. Tyler wishes it was in his mouth. It’s not enough. It’s just barely enough. Tyler will never be satisfied. Forever will he yearn for this and moments like this. Stuck making jokes. Stuck being friends. Out of fear, maybe. Or stupidity. Or selfishness.
Josh’s hips start to stutter. He can’t keep his mouth off of Tyler’s, can’t keep his tongue from tasting the stale RedBull still on his lips.
A wandering hand starts to lift Tyler’s shirt and he tenses.
“Don’t.” Josh’s voice is rough. “I know it’s not the same. I still think it’s perfect.”
Tyler feels his face heat up. A tear rolls down his cheek and he tips his head back to hide it. He knows he’s not the same. They’ve noticed. The undershirts, the long sleeves. Josh hasn’t seen him like this in a while. He isn’t the same as he was ten years ago. He’s softer. His rough edges have been sanded down-on his own accord or someone else’s, he’s still not sure.
“Perfect,” he echoes, trying to stay sarcastic. “You’re crazy.”
Josh slides a warm hand under his shirt, thumbing at one of his nipples. “Perfect,” he repeats, as genuine as ever. “Always been.”
Tyler groans. He wants more. But there will be no next time to this. He cannot promise his mouth or his hand, because after this it’s back to…whatever normalcy they force themselves to be in.
“I love her,” he hiccups. Josh kisses him. “I love her so fucking much, Josh.”
“I know.” Josh’s hand squeezes around both of their cocks. “Fuck.” His eyes close. It doesn’t ruin the moment. If anything, it adds to the taboo. Makes it hotter. Makes it worse. No one could touch him like this, make him feel like this. It’s sick.
“I’m gonna cum,” Tyler hisses under his breath. It’s a secret, something he’s ashamed of because the thought of doing this turns him on more than going home to his wife.
Josh noses at him, lazily kisses him. It’s not dry anymore. The mixture of their spit may have disappeared with the friction but the pre-cum oozing from Tyler’s cock is enough for both of them. He’s always been a leaker. Always too excited. Wet. Josh used to lay him down on a hotel bed and lap at the front of his boxers until he squirmed.
“Wanna see,” Josh mumbles absentmindedly. “Miss it. Seeing you…”
“Seeing me,” Tyler confirms shortly. He can’t stop touching. Everywhere. His hand eventually finds its way on top of Josh’s and they both groan at the extra heat. It’s too much. Far too much. Josh has become more than Tyler can handle, and it breaks his fucking heart.
You were mine first.
“I’m cumming,” Tyler gasps. His voice is wet and thick with emotion. The lump in his throat transfers into tears that fill his eyes. His nose is red. He cannot escape this. “I’m cumming-Josh, Josh-“ head tipping back, Adam’s apple bobbing, he trembles. Knees trying to bow together. He can feel Josh’s eyes on him, in awe, watching him fall apart for the first time in years.
Josh doesn’t stop moving, though. He slows down, lets Tyler twitch through his orgasm. Thumbs at the head of his cock just to hear him whine. Tyler looks down between them with heavy lidded eyes and bated breathing. Josh kisses his forehead.
“Let me,” he tries, weakly reaching for Josh’s cock. There is no resistance. He uses his own cum as lube and his stomach lurches at the sight of his paint bleeding onto Josh’s perfect skin. It’ll all be gone soon. This is for his own sick fantasies.
“God.” Josh bows his head. “Tyler.” Say it again. Say it again, please. Please.
“Kiss me.” And so Josh does. He still has that bit of obedience left in him. He lets Tyler swallow all of his moans. These walls cannot possibly be as thick as they should be. The slick sound of Tyler’s hand coated in his own cum and Josh’s pre-cum has no cover. It’s obvious. Something about it is territorial. Tyler wants people to hear. He wants them to know who’s making Josh whimper like this.
“Cumming,” Josh grunts between grit teeth. He chokes out a stuttering moan. “Fuck. Tyler-“ one hand clamped on Tyler’s waist, the other holding himself up. He’s gorgeous. Eyebrows furrowed. Body tense. His muscles ripple and Tyler licks his lips. He’s always had better stamina. Something about drumming…or his need to please. Regardless, it’s never seen as a flaw.
Tyler works himself up again, timing his own labored breaths with Josh’s. He lets his hand fall. The air is thick. The reality sets in like a bad taste in his mouth.
Josh ducks down to kiss him one last time. It’s deep. It hurts. He smashes their noses against each other and their teeth clack. A parting gift, so to speak. They’ll be together, but not like this. Not for a long time. Maybe never again.
He can’t pull away, so it’s Tyler that puts a hand on his chest to separate them. His heart is still racing against his palm. “Should be going,” he mumbles after a beat. Josh looks like a kicked puppy.
“Yeah.” He suddenly seems aware. Blindly, he reaches for one of the towels sitting on the coffee table. “Sorry.” He doesn’t try to clean Tyler up. That’s too intimate. Instead he lamely pulls his shorts back up and offers the towel with a shaking hand.
When the weight of his body leaves the couch, Tyler feels closer to mourning than ever before. He feels stuck. Sticky. The towel can clean up their spit and cum but it doesn’t remove the lingering touch on his hips or the taste of spearmint gum from his mouth.
The only thing I feel is pain, caused by the absence of you.
No one talks. Tyler washes his hands of the paint and the mistakes he’s made. He doesn’t bother with his neck-it burns with shame. He doesn’t want to be clean yet. He’s still shaky.
They shoulder their bags. They walk out silently. Tyler almost falls down the stairs. He’s never been one to be stable after something like this. He needs time. He has to take it all in, lay next to his lover and relish in what’s happened, but that’s not possible when he’s with Josh. Being with Josh is quickies, hushed moans, stumbling out of a bathroom stall. There is no decorum. No gentleness. Not through their own choices, but the fault of watchful eyes and wedding bands.
Shoulder-to-shoulder, they walk to the car. It’s so loud. People milling about still. Do any of them know what just happened? Maybe some have inklings. Tyler is no stranger to Twitter conversations. It kills him to see them guess so well.
Someone tells them they look tired. They’re tired, of course they are. Shows are tiring. No one asks why they’re late, though. Some people know. Some people choose not to. Some just stare with that pitied look in their eyes while Josh fiddles with his wedding ring in the backseat and Tyler screws and unscrews the lid of his water bottle over and over.
We don’t talk about it.
Tyler slips his earbuds in, makes all of his Spotify playlists private, and tells Jenna they’re heading back home soon.