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It wasn’t intentional, was it?
Tyler had already done it at every concert. It wasn’t anything new. Moaning and whining during the intro to Tear in My Heart. It’s something that’s become fun to use to make fans laugh or drive them crazy on Twitter. Nothing new, just something funny that Josh initially found weird, but funny.
He heard every wail loud and clear, Tyler’s howls at the beginning of the intro, and how he drove fans crazy with his peculiar way of saying "annyeonghaseyo" at every show. The videos were endless; there wasn’t a night where Josh didn’t come across videos talking about how, every night, Tyler seemed more like a cat in heat, reading the comments about how they desperately needed Josh to do something to keep Tyler from doing something freaky.
Which, to some extent, is not far from reality.
Tyler started kneeling in front of him midway through The Contract. At first, he simply leaned in close, singing directly to him. Josh took his role as necromancer seriously, tilting his head to the side as his sticks lightly tapped the drums. These actions only stirred an intensity in Tyler, giving him a warm feeling that Josh didn’t let go of.
It didn’t take long for him to realize that many people were crazy about the video. Josh wasn’t stupid, and neither was Tyler. They knew the consequences. Especially for Tyler, who started by kneeling in front of him.
But for Josh, seeing him kneel wasn’t the worst part; the worst came when they finished playing WDBWOTV and started playing Tear In My Heart. Josh was just trying to be normal amid the chaos of Tyler’s howls and the crowd’s cheers during the intro.
That night was worse, Tyler moaned so clearly that night.
Josh didn’t even know how he managed to stay normal after hearing the whiny tone in Tyler’s voice.
The show ended as usual. The screams of the fans, the latent heat on their sweaty bodies, and the splashing water. The reddish confetti clung to their wet skin like something ordinary. There were no words to thank the entire audience, noisy and joyful. It was always like that, the warmth of the moment, like the genuine love they harbored in their hearts every time they finished the show.
As they left the stage, the feeling was clear and overwhelming. The audience couldn’t stop screaming and thanking them until every corner resonated with the melody of Lavish. It was pure euphoria, warmth, and a joy that grew in their hearts, fueled by the fierce roar of a satisfying night with another flawless performance.
Their satisfaction was even greater when they played Downstairs for the second time. Proud of the result, leaving them with a feeling of happiness that filled them just by looking at each other.
Tyler let out a long sigh; paint was running down his hands and neck from the wet. Sweat beaded his face, making his growing bangs lie so flat against his forehead that Josh couldn’t tear his eyes away. He looked good. Or rather, all night Tyler had looked so good that all Josh could think about was how unfair it was that he couldn’t properly admire him.
Now he has it.
“What a night, huh?” Tyler smirked, sliding his tongue under the edge of his teeth. There was no inciting action there.
But Josh took it as one.
The dressing room was spacious, cool, and comfortable. Tyler took off his T-shirt with the Always logo across the chest and was left in only that black tank top. The contours of the light illuminated his skin exquisitely. He watched the curve of his waist against the dark fabric, how his tummy still peeked out from underneath. Josh had told Tyler this a thousand times, but that tank top fit him perfectly.
Only Josh knows the hours he would spend worshipping the singer’s body under those clothes.
“Yes. I liked the result,” he admitted, grabbing one of the towels from the dressing room to wipe away the sticky feeling left on his bare skin and the remaining confetti. “But something wasn’t right. Could you explain why?”
Tyler turned around, frowning, confused. “What?”
Josh had to swallow. Nervousness seeped beneath his tense tendons, his jaw clenching at the intense glare he received whenever Tyler paid attention to his drummer’s opinion or comments.
“You moaned tonight.” Josh bit his lip at Tyler’s soft, breathy laugh. “No, Tyler, you really moaned tonight.”
He listens to Tyler’s contented drone, a sound that echoes in Josh’s mind, soft, sweet, but also with that seductive edge that makes the drummer’s body visibly tense, affected only by the sounds Tyler has to make in the solitude of his dressing room.
Each introduction to Tear in My Heart was taking its toll on Josh. A very bad turn that slowly unraveled.
“Oh yeah? That means it was good.” Tyler paced around the dressing room, fiddling with the straps of his baggy jeans, pretending to ignore the effect he had on Josh. “Why the face? Didn’t it seem right to you?”
There’s that mocking smile tugged beneath his lips, revealing his crooked teeth, teeth Josh sometimes likes to trace beneath his fingertips as something fascinating to explore.
“It was hard to miss, Ty,“ he admitted. “It wasn’t enough that you looked good in those glasses today.”
The euphoria still cove deep into his bones, of that he had no doubt, but now there’s something else seeping into every sensitive fiber in his muscles like a mandatory reminder of what Tyler can accomplish with a look, a smile, or the torturous silence inside the dressing room.
“Did I look okay tonight?”
His boots landed in the middle of the dressing room and he slid his hand over his drummer’s bare chest. Sweat still dripped and pooled on his tense muscles. He ran the tip of his index finger along the outline of his chest, a ghostly trace, but in a way that blurry paint spread across Josh’s skin, marking him, leaving its imprint.
Josh could only nod, his heart racing so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. “Yeah. You were good today, very good.”
“Hm, you wanted to fuck me?” Tyler squeezed the plump flesh of Josh's chest under his palm, cupping his pec until it was lightly smeared with paint. He curved and slid, touching the drummer’s sensitive nipple with his palm or between his fingers.
He couldn’t even contain the indecent moan that dripped from his throat, loud and trembling, luckily it was convenient to have a soundproof dressing room.
“I—I wanted to lean you against my drums,” Josh replied softly, enjoying the singer’s touch as the paint stained his chest, turning it into a grayish mess. “You barely moaned, I wanted to hear more of that.”
Tyler just moaned in response, beaming with joy at every word Josh said about what he wanted. He didn’t blame him; he couldn’t keep his cool when Josh was there with his drum kit, looking so good for the fans’ cameras, laughing, sticking out his tongue, or, worst of all for Tyler—winking.
Too much flirting, too much enthusiasm on stage in front of thousands of people who were there to see them act normally, not freaky. Okay, maybe there were more people watching them than usual, and they love seeing them behave freaky on stage.
Saying that he wants to fly under the radar with the desire to ride Josh in the middle of his drum kit is no longer something he can hold onto or hide. No, especially when he’s constantly moaning and whining on stage, or acting seductive on stage during the Backslide chair or the Doubt demo.
Tyler wouldn’t deny it—he loves seeing the crowd go wild when he does something completely new and unexpected, reading the Twitter comments and accusing him of going into heat on stage. Or reading about how Josh turns on his vibrator and that's why Tyler moans during the intro.
That was something that could easily happen.
“Oh really?” Tyler purred, pressing his fingertips against Josh’s pulse. “Poor puppy, so desperate to touch me in front of everyone.”
How could he deny it? It was absurd to lie that he didn’t want to lean him against his drum kit, to take him right there in front of the audience. Tyler looked angelic that night, wearing the clothes they had both agreed to wear. Josh tried to hide his gaze fixed on Tyler; he knew it wouldn’t be very discreet if he got caught in the absurd desire to rip his clothes off.
In the brief proximity they had on stage, Josh managed to visualize the tattoos on his arm under the thin fabric, the damn tank top covering his chest without having the chance to see the tattoos on his chest.
He has a sort of love-hate relationship with that tank top, because on one hand, he hates not being able to see the tattoos on his chest. But on the other, he loves how the fabric fits his body perfectly, as if the garment had been designed for Tyler, just for him.
“They’re right about you,” Josh gasped, tangling his fingers in several strands of Tyler’s hair and pulling him towards him. “You look like a cat in heat.”
A whimper.
Josh hummed contentedly as he heard that familiar sound echo beautifully in his ears. That same sound that grew louder and more outrageous with each show, a damned plea from Tyler to get Josh’s attention at any cost. It was easy from the moment he started playing the intro in that whiny voice. Josh was already there, the tension building beneath his fingers, and he responded clearly by squeezing the sticks until his knuckles turned white from the pressure.
God, Josh didn’t know how he managed to stay calm at every show, or rather, tonight’s show.
Tyler broke his strength, his steadiness between each intro, and today he was the one who broke it. Throwing his off a cliff as if he were made of glass, shattering everything with a simple snap of his fingers.
“Josh—” he moaned, narrowing his eyes at the feel of his grip on his hair and his other hand caressing the curve of his clothed chest. “But you—fuck, you like this.”
“That’s the problem,” he growled. “Every moan, how you move around the stage or sit in that damn chair, everything, it’s killing me and I can’t stand it.”
The fingers snake like a discerning paintbrush, tracing gentle circles over the bare skin of the singer’s arm, a phantom caress that Tyler only feels because of the heat imbued in his sweaty skin. Those same fingers slide down to his chin, closing two fingers firmly over the area. That touch elicited a moan from Tyler, and his eyelashes fluttered in clear response to the pleasure of the contact.
“You break easily, Joshua.”
The drummer laughs, a mockery interspersed with the heat he’s now generating with even more reason. “And how could I not? You’re askin’ me to fuck you in front of everyone.”
“Fuck, just kiss me already,” he begged between moans.
Unseemly and obscene, his mouth absorbs every sound Tyler yearns to make. Their teeth grind against each other, wet clicks each time his teeth take control, nibbling at the sensitive flesh of his lips, or that cheeky sucking sound. Their tongues trace a path, brushing against each other each time the ravenous urge to taste each other becomes insatiable.
A brazen rubbing, their boners brushing when Josh jammed his knee between Tyler’s legs. His breath hitched from the friction, eliciting a moan that was stifled by Josh’s hungry mouth. The drummer rocked his hips again, rubbing his semi-erect dick against the singer’s.
Another moan.
Tyler is already a mess just from rubbing, both of them grinding against each other through their clothes. He moves his hands up to Josh’s shoulders, pressing his fingers into his drummer’s bare skin until his muscles are stained with paint from the oozing wetness. Josh’s hands cup Tyler’s waist, squeezing the skin and feeling the roughness of the tank top beneath his fingers, savoring the coarse texture of the fabric.
“You want that, don’t you?” Josh murmured against his lips, gently pulling away to slide the pad of his thumb under his swollen, red lip. “You want me to fuck you in front of everyone, so they can see there’s something between us. That you’re crying for me.”
They both gyrate their hips in circles, panting breathlessly as their cocks rub against each other again. The friction is enough to make them feel that fiery spark, shuddering beneath their hands that burn and itch to touch, shamelessly sliding over every corner they both know they’ve already touched.
“Shit,” he pressed his lips together, hissing as the pain of pressing against them made its appearance from the outrage and nibbling of Josh’s teeth left beneath the flesh. “I need you.”
He was thankful he’d already unzipped his pants, or he’d be crying right now, not knowing how to unbutton them or undo the button. He pulled the garment down his thighs until he could see his long red socks. Leaving the pants at his feet, he had no desire to take off his boots, much less untie the laces.
“C’mon,” Josh frowned as Tyler signaled for him to help him with his boots. “Even being in the dressing room won’t make you stop being bossy.”
“You love that.” He sighed shakily as he felt Josh’s fingers beneath the bare skin of his thighs, that roughness beneath them from the hard work of playing the drums with such dedication that Tyler loves.
“I just want to fuck you senseless.”
Just listen to the singer’s plaintive moan as his words tumble out unfiltered. Josh doesn’t hesitate, gently patting Tyler’s thigh, eliciting a pitiful moan. His boots shoot off in another direction, throwing Tyler’s pants across the dressing room before grabbing him by the waist again and holding him up against that mirror that visualizes Tyler’s every curve.
“Damn,” he sighed shakily. “Josh, stop joking.”
“Shut up.” Josh shoves two fingers into Tyler’s mouth; saliva runs rapidly down his chin. He curls his fingers inside the narrow mouth cavity, brushing the pads against Tyler’s lower teeth. “You’re not in charge today. So just shut up, okay?”
The complaints die in his mouth—well, in those two fingers swirling around his tongue or brushing the curve of his crooked teeth. He simply nods, feeling the familiar sting of tears at the corners of his eyes as Josh digs those fingers deeper into his mouth until they directly touch the area that triggers his gag reflex.
Josh touches him, sliding his free hand over the soft, plump skin of his thighs, squeezing, stroking, or pinching the taut flesh until it reddens. Tyler feels the ache of his dick, leaking and wetting the fabric of his boxers until a visible circular stain forms where the tip rests, dripping copiously.
Josh tugs at the elastic of his underwear, pulling and releasing it with a fervent snap that resonates throughout the dressing room without warning, the action alone causing Tyler to cry out at the burning sensation on his skin, repeating it a second time only to elicit that same sound from the singer’s lips.
“You sound so pretty, Ty.” He kissed his shoulder, looking at him in the mirror and contemplating his rosy face, already damp with saliva and tears. “I wanted to fuck you with those glasses you wore at the show, too bad you gave them away. I didn’t even have time to see you better, mhm.”
His fingers slide over Tyler's battered lips, saliva dripping down to his knuckles, admiring how a trickle of saliva clings to his fingers and reaches the curve of those pretty, fluffy lips.
“Please,” he stifled a sound. “I can find another replica of those glasses if you want, fuck—just touch me, you looked so hot tonight with what I gave you.”
He thrust his hips back, a brazen gesture that made them both moan in unison from the friction. Josh lunged, his cock sheathed beneath those damn shorts rubbing in time with Tyler’s hip thrusts; the friction alone made their boners throb.
His cock springs free from the confines of his boxers when Josh decides to give him the break he needs, his lungs freeing with a painful exhalation that makes tears slide down his now flushed cheekbones. He blinks through his tears, staring at himself in the mirror, which gleams at his shattered appearance. His dick sits between his clothed stomach, reddish and swollen, dripping in clumps that run in small white strings.
“Ah, see?” Josh whispered, circling Tyler’s cock with his hand and starting a slow, careful rhythm, his thumb circling the slit to spread the sticky fluid all over the base. “I want to hear you moan like you do on stage, Ty.”
He didn’t suppress that moan of desire, especially when that was what Josh was trying to achieve with the slow, almost torturous contact that Tyler accepted in the blink of an eye. He thrust his hips against Josh’s fist, begging to be fucked between the roughness of the palm that enveloped him. He opened his lips with a quiet sound, affected by the movement Josh left at the already oozing tip.
“Fuck me.” He rested his fingers on the couch, lifting his hips with desire lodged in his belly.
“Where is the lubricant?”
Tyler snorted, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. “I dunno, dude, take me with saliva or whatever, just fuck me.”
“Bossy,” Josh murmured, squeezing the tip of that cock every time he went up and down. His thumb playfully brushed against the oozing slit, and Tyler cursed between stifled moans. “You’re leakin’ so much. Look at you, you’re a mess.”
Their gazes connect in the mirror, hungry for the overloaded lust that weighs between their actions with each caress lavished between their bodies, in how their mouths join in that burning desire that is the answer to consume each moan, each obscene word or the loving words between broken sobs.
His free hand slides back over Tyler’s lips, and Tyler responds with a gasp and parts his lips to insert the same fingers that had previously rested in his mouth. His tongue swirls between his fingers, sucking and flicking the tips until they’re even wetter than before. Drool drips down, pooling under his chin in a way that’s obscene and inappropriate for anyone who would see Tyler like this.
Who would have thought the fans’ ideas were real? And now they’re here, in the warmth of the dressing room. With an excellent view in the mirror—Tyler blushing, his slowly growing hair sticking to his face, and the paint on his hands and neck now a grayish hue from the sweat that drips after every few minutes.
“Lift your hips.”
He doesn’t need any further prompting. Tyler digs his fingers into the soft, velvety texture of the couch, lifting his hips to reveal the curve of his thighs and plump ass to the drummer’s full view. He squints, focusing on Josh's half-naked figure in the mirror. The sight makes him salivate—his cap was forgotten somewhere in the back of the dressing room, and Josh’s curls are falling ethereally over his forehead. Those strands of red-dyed hair are doing their job, making him look even more attractive than he already is. His muscles are tense, damp, and glistening in the dim dressing room light.
“Ohhh,” Tyler moaned, bucking his hips as Josh teased the rim of his hole with his index finger. He thrust his finger in and out, without giving Tyler what he wanted. “Josh.”
The index finger enters with a torturous slowness that only makes Tyler cry, pushing his hips back until he feels the index finger bottom out, he feels the light brush of Josh’s knuckles against his ass. Heat envelops them in different ways, but with the same sensation of pleasure running through his senses until any coherent thought fades on the scale of carnal desire, gnawing at his senses.
Josh twists his finger precisely, rubbing the tip against Tyler’s tight walls. Tyler only responds with a shaky moan when he feels a finger curl inside him, rubbing and, without warning, simulating a thrust that shakes Tyler’s entire body from head to toe.
“You’re takin’ me well.” Another finger entered the tight hole with a wet sound that made Josh groan, fascinated by how his fingers were taken without complaint, sliding in and out until he better felt the friction of his knuckles against his skin.
He lifted his head, visualizing Tyler’s ravaged face in the mirror. His body was leaning forward, hugging the back of the couch as best he could, with half of his face visible in the mirror. He noticed Tyler biting the silky fabric of the same couch to silence the moan that threatened to escape his throat every time Josh inserted his fingers.
“Don’t be quiet, I want to hear you, please,” he begged in that pleading tone that makes Tyler tremble, hard to deny, especially with those puppy dog eyes. “I love you.”
Damn you, Joshua Dun.
His eyes roll back in response, his hips jerking with a desperate moan as Josh sets a precise rhythm to his thrusts, sliding in and out with a wet sound that mixes with the incessant sea of moans Tyler has become.
“Oh god, oh god,” Tyler stammered, seeing stars the instant he felt those fingers touch that spot. “I need you.”
Tyler snapped his head to the side and the sight made Josh’s mind a mess, his heart rate picking up so suddenly at how Tyler looked in front of him with just the use of his fingers, proud to see him like this, broken, tears streaming down his face and the sound of his voice cracking between hiccups, his lips swollen from the hungry onslaught of his kisses or the way Tyler frowns whenever his fingers brush against that spot that brings more tears of pleasure.
He pulls out his fingers with an obscene noise.
Josh’s sounds leave a void in Tyler’s turbulent mind; all he can complain is that he can’t feel his drummer’s fingers inside him anymore. He feels his hole shrinking into nothingness, weakly kicking sideways and trying to maintain some coherence, but nothing. Everything is a blur, drowning out meaning, and all he thinks about is Josh.
His shorts are pulled down to his thighs, Josh’s hands resting on the sides of those hips before rubbing the swollen tip along the rim, sliding inside until he feels the tightness embrace his length vehemently.
“Fuck, you’re so handsome, baby.” Josh stifled a small gasp, resting his head on Tyler’s shoulder before pulling out and slamming back in.
“Yeah, fuuck” Tyler howled in pleasure, sighing shakily as he began a fast, precise rhythm. Each thrust set an indecent pace that made Josh’s hips jerk against his ass, echoing in loud slaps. “Josh, that feels so good.”
Pleasure runs down his spine like an electrifying wave, reducing his senses to dust. Tyler no longer seeks firmness or commands to control Josh like he used to. Everything has evaporated through his fingers like sand, evaporating any sense or even a reason to hold on. Nothing. Shattered. Mind racing between each passionate thrust, Josh takes him like his life depends on it, like it’s his duty to savagely tear the air from his lungs.
Josh touches him, wrapping his warm fingers around his nipples in the dark fabric of his tank top, pinching, and pulling in time with each thrust. The echo of moans and the smacking of skin creates a lascivious melody in the dressing room, a fiery sound Tyler clings to as his blurred gaze continues in front of the mirror, which captures every movement, every feature of his face, like the expressions of his drummer.
His knuckles turn white from the pressure he exerts on the back of the couch as if it gives him the strength to think between thrusts. He takes it all, guiding his hips to the fierce rhythm at which Josh takes him or how his abandoned cock regains the eager warmth of that palm. He gasps in the haze of pleasure, fluttering his eyelashes as he gets the caresses he craves. Up and down, giving small squeezes to the tip that oozes in whitish threads that stain Josh's fingers.
Close. So close.
“Josh,” he stammered in an uneven tone, “Can I cum? I’m so—so close.”
The tip of his dick is still oozing, precum oozing out in small strips that stain the dark fabric and the couch, seeping between the drummer’s skilled fingers. He thrusts hard, and the simple caress causes the tip of Josh’s dick to graze his prostate once, followed by another, and so on, sending spasms from Tyler’s back to the tips of his heels.
Josh moans softly, squeezing the bare skin of those thighs until his fingers mark them. “S’okay, I’ve got you. Cum.”
Cum. It was enough for Tyler. The heat flowed like a rushing wave, suffocating him and setting his lungs ablaze with that powerful fire. His lips parted in an obscene moan that emanated from his throat and made his chest throb. Jets of hot cum spurted out, staining Josh’s fingers and his own tank top with his fluid, leaving a sticky feeling clinging to the fabric.
Tyler sobs as he feels the orgasm hitting him to his core. His limbs tense, held by Josh, who, in rhythm with his thrusts, doesn’t falter, but instead increases the intensity until he reaches the peak of his own release. One, two, three, four. Josh reaches orgasm with the same intensity that flowed through Tyler, with a rush of heat. He spills inside Tyler, his cum filling every corner of the singer to the brim, until he feels like he’s squeezing every last drop out.
“Fuck, Tyler,” Josh rested his sweat-beaded forehead on Tyler’s shoulder like an anchor to reality after an intense orgasm. “You okay?”
Tyler groans, placing his shaking hand on his drummer’s curly hair. “Yeah, m’fine, it was intense. I just need a good shower after this.”
Josh’s cum drips down his thighs when he no longer feels that length inside him. He’s hot. The blurry paint is now a smeared and smeared mess on the couch, just like it was on his drummer’s skin when he touch him. He looks in the mirror and notices that everything about him is no longer the same, the one that displayed firmness and authority on stage.
“So, if getting fucked like this means more moaning on stage—” Tyler paused, tugging at the elastic of his red socks as a way of relaxing “Maybe I’ll start the intro to Tear In My Heart like this at next year’s shows.”
Just listen to Josh’s laugh and watch the small twitch on his face from the underlying effect of his joke. “Whatever you say, Ty.”