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The trouble started on a warm Sunday in mid-July. Summer.
Cicadas were buzzing their song in the distance under a cloudless sky, with a sun that shined its hello since seven o’ clock in the morning, sharp. Kids were free of school, and if it were up to Josh, he’d join them in being empowered by freedom. During this season, everything felt alive and awake, even in the dark. The whole world breathed and released excitement, and frankly, he should be off doing something far more fun. Like day drinking, or watching a movie, or smacking his drum set. Anything but what he was doing, really, because he can’t stop thinking of how ridiculous he looks.
Atop his head, the emerald green he’d put in his hair had finally started to fade, and it was a blue-teal kind of color now. It was less curly than his natural hair would be, as an account of the copious bleach he slathered on top a few months ago, desperate to chameleon himself into a new shade of life. Such a look warranted a band shirt and jeans, or maybe a tank and workout shorts, but instead Josh was in an ironed button up and black slacks. They fit a little strangely, on account of not being his, they were provided by Mark and his mom. Because for some reason, beyond Josh’s comprehension, they had invited Josh to Sunday mass.
Mrs. Eshleman had tried to get Josh to even wear a tie, but he staunchly refused. At this point, he looked like some dumbass teenager cosplaying a fucking missionary, not an avid believer. There was one day that he would’ve considered himself that, but it was so many moons ago that the conceptual idea felt foreign. Some part of him thought upon waking up on Mark’s couch, that he was kidding about making him go sit in a church. But he’d been shaken awake anyway, and now they were walking to the local chapel like it was just a friendly stroll.
In rebellion, Josh has been kicking a single rock down the street to see how far it gets. Maybe he’d make it to the actual worship hall and get it through the door. Then they could both be prisoners, just Joshua William Dun and his little pet rock amongst the brainwashed.
“Why are you making me go to this?” He asks, because he finds himself morbidly curious. This experience feels like a loaded bear trap, tighter than a coiled spring, and he was running his fingers along its teeth to see if it closed. Mark wipes sweat from the side of his face as they continue their walk, ever diligent in his babysitting.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mark prompts, “it’s because you’re the biggest sinner I know. I’m hoping that you’ll burst into flames once you pass the threshold.”
“Rude,” the word is accented by the tap of the same rock on hot concrete as Josh kicks again, and if he squinted, he thinks he could see the waves of heat swirl toward the atmosphere. The sun was still unforgiving, and it seemed at this rate, Josh was definitely going to be getting a sunburn. He reaches to pull at the collar of his button up, as if it would quell some of the discomfort. “I’m not even that bad. I could be worse.”
“Mind telling me how? You check literally all the boxes. Greed. Gluttony. Lust.”
“Oh my god, leave the preaching to the pastor, man. If I gave a shit about the purity of my soul, I would have jumped in a swimming pool of holy water by now.”
“That’s called being baptized, Josh.”
“Well, no fucking shit. Before we met in college, I was a church boy, remember? I’m not an idiot, Eshleman.”
“Jury’s still out on that one, I think,” Mark’s voice is full of humor, and there’s a smile stretching across Josh’s features despite his best efforts. Goddamn it. When they went back and forth on this subject sometimes, their friendship felt uneven. Then the reminder of shared laughter and Mark’s lack of judgment centers him back to the present. After all, Josh had a whole childhood full of pointed stares and whispers behind hands – it was better to be told to his face that he was a menace. In fact, he thrived on it, and Mark’s reserved care for him made it easier. “Please don’t swear like that when we’re in there, though.”
“I don’t think God is going to be pissed at me if I drop an F bomb, Mark.”
“The pastor might give you a dirty look, and trust me, you really don’t want one from him.”
“Scary,” Josh deadpans, “I’m really trembling in my boots, here.”
“Just you wait. You’re going to take that back, when you see him,” Mark insists, taking a right at the next corner, which Josh was somewhat grateful for. The street had many trees, swaying gently, and they provided some shade that felt like a balm for his sweaty, overheated frame. Small favors, but due to the sudden angle change, he had now lost the rock that was unknowingly accompanying them.
Traitor, Josh thinks, you’re leaving me to deal with this shit alone. I see how it is.
They walk in companionable silence for a while longer, Josh’s eyes now left to look straight ahead, where Mark’s mother was walking in a black and white polkadot dress. It was proper, down to her knees, and flowed with the hot summer breeze. However, he noticed that they must be getting close to the chapel, because other men and women dressed similarly are getting out of cars parked along the street, walking diligently in the same direction. Drawn like blood to a wound, and looking better than what probably half of them looked like on their wedding days. All this showmanship, for some imaginary guy in the sky that was going to look down and send them to Hell otherwise.
In some fucked up way, it hits Josh’s funny bone just right, because he gets the urge to laugh. Such a thing that he swallows, as the marble polished steps appear that lead up to the door, and it would be cruel to show his humor so closely to those that he was laughing at. Huh. Maybe Mark was right, he could use an ass kicking from God, should he sit on high. Even though the joke earlier had been clearly intended for laughter, Josh finds himself holding his breath as he walks inside, as if he would be aflame the moment he entered. Instead, he’s greeted with the hum of an organ playing and soft voices greeting each other, smiles and hugs shared amongst them. As if they were one big family, gathering again for the same purpose.
In the moment, Josh feels so painfully aware that he is the outsider. An unwelcome guest, those friendly eyes would be upon any moment now, in a much less amicable manner. Tension draws his shoulders up out of instinct, a horrible reminder of the feelings that he wanted to avoid, and why he’d never done any of this before. During college, he had some dark days that went pitch, and there had been half a temptation to pray – but Josh didn’t. He wouldn’t, because if he was a part of this collective that used their kindness as a weapon, he’d rather walk through his sadness blind.
Mark suddenly grabs his arm and yanks him into a pew, shuffling down before settling, and Josh sits down on the polished wood. It digs into his back, and he swallows as the cloying, stifling discomfort was starting to reach a level that was concerning him. He was still sweating, and it itched, and he wanted to dig with his nails until the skin was raw. Perfume is floating in the air, and it’s giving him a headache, floral and too sweet. Every step in here sounded amplified, like a thousand drums going at once, and usually he’d be fine with this kind of stimulation – if he was anywhere else. His hair is standing up, so much that he feels a shudder race down every bone of his spine.
They’re all looking at me, he wants to say to Mark, I look like a fucking freak. I need to leave like, right now.
Before he can do something adolescent like bolt, it’s suddenly very quiet, and the room goes still. Well, no chance Josh was getting out of this any time soon. If he had any second guessing, all of it was silenced by the expectation that he would be still and proper, a training that had carried over from childhood from being in similar rooms, and he was shit at. No longer was this a place of refuge and worship, to Josh, it was a very poignant sense of purgatory. Any lower than this, and he would be in the seventh circle of the eternal inferno itself. He can’t fucking breathe. His eyesight is starting to get dangerously pinholed, and his ears are starting to ring so loudly that he almost doesn’t hear the greeting.
At a later date, Josh would consider the next sequence of events to be poetic. He didn’t believe in divine intervention, events in life just happened, like dominoes. There was no grand plan, just coincidence, and timing. Those two points connect in a violent manner when he watches the pastor walk to the stand, clearing his throat and saying a polite greeting that fails to take shape in Josh’s mind, because he is suddenly struck with the sight that he’s forced to breathe, because he almost gasps.
There’s a beam of sunlight that has filtered through the window, and it lands on the man almost dead on, like he was meant to be highlighted in Josh’s vision. There’s no other word for it, whoever the holy stranger was, he was beautiful. Whatever painter that sat down a century ago to create a masterpiece, the man was the muse they had in mind, undoubtedly. His lashes are so long they cast their own shadow, eyes warmer than whiskey, and Josh was drinking down the sight like the metaphor was literal. He didn’t smile with teeth, but it was a quirk of the mouth that was dreadfully charming, his jaw slightly scruffed. His hair was russet in the shimmering light, everything about him so inviting that it rivaled an open flame in winter. Josh’s palms are sweaty and it has nothing to do with the summer temperatures. His heart, which had been going so quickly that he thought he may reach cardiac arrest, finally begins to slow.
Okay, so – brainwashing. Maybe he was kind of getting it, because if that pretty mouth told him that God was going to send him to Hell, Josh would definitely believe it. Might even beg for his forgiveness. He’d pray until his knees hurt if it was demanded by someone that gorgeous. He leans over, sensing that Mark is gauging his reaction, but he doesn’t want to remove his gaze to check.
“When were you going to tell me your pastor is super hot?” Josh whispers, and he feels Mark jolt next to him.
“There is something seriously wrong with you,” his friend replies, “Josh Dun. He’s a pastor. You are in a church. Don’t talk about him like that.”
“What, you want me to not have eyes? I recall that Jesus healed the blind.”
“Can you please, for all that is holy, be quiet?” Mark gripes, and it’s enough to make him stop prodding.
Besides that, he wanted to watch the pastor continue to talk, even if all of this felt like nonsense to him. They take a moment for prayer, and Josh puts his hands together, even though he can’t remember the last time he’s done it. At some point, a passage from the bible is read. Romans 8:28, to his recollection, but it’s been awhile since he’d broken the book open at all. Still, it was enthralling, watching how those eyes shimmer gold as the verses are read with conviction.
“We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose,” the pastor reads, his voice soothing something inside Josh that he didn’t even realize was broken. Like a lullaby to a shapeless nightmare, and it almost lulls Josh into some kind of trance – his body feels so, so light. “For those he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, so that he would be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.”
You were definitely made in His image, Josh’s mind whispers, before he can stop it, you are what angels wish they could be.
Josh blinks, forcing his mind back into the present. What the fuck was he even thinking? This was some kind of sick, twisted joke that Mark was pulling on him, because the effect that the pastor had was unlike anything he’d experienced before. In his own communions, all of the pastors were wrinkled men with grating voices, and painted God as a terrifying thing. He used to go home as a child and cry, afraid of doing something wrong, else he would be judged and banished forever. A distress he was overjoyed to be rid of in adulthood, cutting the ties of control and freefalling into his own ideas of what life should be. This kind of gathering threatened to make him consider what it may be like to linger, and that was horrifying all on its own. Josh hated how organized religion operated, and even if this looked rather nice on the outside, the same values always presented themselves: moral superiority, purity, and control.
He needed to get the fuck out of here, before his attraction gets confused for something else.
“I thank you for your worship today,” the pastor says, “to close, we shall sing Here I Am, Lord. I look forward to seeing you again.”
I don’t, Josh thinks, feeling panicked and cagey. His leg was jumping at a pace inconceivable by man, and he can just tell that Mark is annoyed by it. If he didn’t do it, though, he feels like his head may blow off his shoulders. This whole thing was a terrible idea, and he’s once again wishing that he never came: not because of the distinct anxiety of being an outlier, but because of what it was threatening to do to him. Then, as if the world was laughing at his suffering, the pastor’s eyes swiped over him and they made direct eye contact. For one, solitary moment, the world falls away completely and Joshua Dun is seen.
It feels like an electric pulse, as if his whole body was rinsed through and filled with golden light. His breath catches, lungs ceasing operation, and the stare alone feels as if a hand had reached out and sunken into the center of him. Then it's over, their gazes separating, and the man clad in black settles at the organ. Each key is pressed, the beginning of the hymn echoing against the walls, and really, Josh should have grabbed a book to follow along. Lucky for him, or perhaps unluckily, he had this particular hymn memorized. Some things in religion operated more like the concept of Pavlov’s dog, and had some residence deep in his psyche that couldn’t be dug out. At least the pastor had a beautiful singing voice, far nicer than Josh’s low timbre, because why wouldn’t the man be aggravatingly good at everything?
Once the service closes, he stands up so quickly that he almost gets dizzy. Every part of him is flooded with adrenaline at once, desperate to get out, a rat chewing off its own tail to escape its cage. Mark says his name, but there’s no time to respond, the desperation to leave so potent that it tastes like blood on Josh’s tongue. His feet feel unsteady in his dress shoes, and it all feels so terribly sour: he looked nothing like himself, felt nothing like himself, and he had no business being here anyway. He can only breathe when he makes it out the door, humid air entering his lungs as he gulps down lungful after lungful.
“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself, trying to find some sense of equilibrium.
“Josh, are you alright?” Mark suddenly appears at his side, a hand touching at Josh’s back to center him.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just. You know. It’s all good,” it was certainly not all good, but he could force it. Josh had to, because there was no way that he was admitting anything else about what happened to Mark. The last thing he needs is encouragement, to be invited to more things and suddenly be so obsessed with the goddamn church leader that he started having ideas. Things that he did not under any circumstance want to entertain, and this lifestyle didn’t suit him. A suggestion to leave is gathering on the tip of Josh’s tongue, about to be spoken, when an interruption comes that captures his voice with dread.
“Mark,” says the fucking pastor, because why would Josh get the chance to slip away? “I knew something was different when you didn’t greet me for the day.”
“Father,” Mark replies, amicable, and the concept gives Josh whiplash. It’s just absurd to think about, to hear that come out of Mark’s mouth to a man that looks like that. Unable to help it, a laugh suddenly pushes out of Josh’s lungs, faster than he can stop it. All at once, those piercing eyes dart to Josh’s face, giving it a very methodical once over.
“Something funny?” Oh. That tone said that Josh was being rude, and he shuts his jaw so hard that it almost hurts. “You know, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet. I’m Tyler Joseph, the pastor of this church. You can call me Father Joseph, or just Tyler, if that’s easier for you.”
Oh, I’ll call you Father alright, Josh’s teeth bite hard into his tongue to resist the urge to say such a thing. Mark was right, he should have been lit on fire the moment he entered the church, or worse. A hole straight to the underworld should have opened and sucked him down into its depths, where he belonged for thinking such filth.
“Nice to meet you,” he says instead, smiling wide. “I’m Josh. Josh Dun.”
“Josh,” Tyler replies, and a shiver unwillingly makes its way up Josh’s spine just from the sound of it, “short for Joshua, I’m assuming?”
“Right.”
“Interesting,” says Pastor Joseph, and there was a certain way the word is said that makes Josh want to know what he means by that assessment. Interesting what? Interesting how? There’s no elaboration, as Tyler’s attention turns back to Mark. “Friend of yours?”
“Yeah. We’ve known each other for several years now. I thought maybe he’d get something out of seeing one of your sermons.”
“Awfully kind of you, Mark. We always welcome new members to the church. A new face is refreshing. So,” Tyler’s attention once again turns back to Josh, and the weight of it feels like a physical touch without so much as a threat of movement, “did you? Get anything out of it?”
“Uh, yeah,” at least that wasn’t a lie, and it wasn’t only an attraction. No one had ever made Josh question how he felt around the subject of religion in years, let alone make him debate coming back, “it was… insightful.”
“Insightful? Here I thought that was a big word for you,” Tyler replies, a hint of teeth showing in a smile, and Josh’s stomach flutters so hard he thinks he may throw up.
“Wow, what are you trying to say?” Josh replies, feeling not at all offended, his own smile threatening to take over his face.
“Nothing, I just hope to investigate the limits of your faith further. I’ve never seen a devout believer that looks like you. I’d be interested to know where you stand.”
“I’ve been to church since I was a boy,” that is a half truth, but since Josh was already well on his way to being deceitful for the day, he finds no harm in saying so. “That’s where I stand. You’re welcome.”
“Hm,” Tyler hums, “we’ll have to see, won’t we? I’ll catch you next week, Mark. As for you, Joshua, I hope to see you again soon.”
With that, the insanely beautiful man disappears, leaving Mark and Josh standing there in the quiet. After a long beat, they start to head down the steps, the only noise is their shoes and the distant murmuring of others leaving the church to get back home. Since the function that was formal is now considered over, Josh unbuttons the top of his shirt, trying to get some kind of breeze in it that wasn’t making every pore he had slick with sweat. Birds are chirping, the day is giving way to an equally melty evening.
“So,” Josh starts, “think he’s single?”
“Josh,” Mark sighs, “he is a pastor. He serves the Lord. Do you have any shame?”
Well, no, but Josh didn’t say that. Instead, he clears his throat pointedly, “Hasn’t stopped me before.”
And really, that was dangerous, because it wasn’t going to. At all.
–
In the months following meeting Tyler Joseph, Josh considered himself to be leading a bit of a double life.
It hadn’t been the first time he’d done this kind of thing, either. Back when he was far more tangled in the web of faith and blind trust, he had a very similar sense of being. As he occupied holy spaces, he felt very reminded of how stark his lifestyle was, and how it didn’t align very well with the ideas that were spread. Mothers and daughters and sons clasped their hands and prayed for forgiveness for their transgressions, while Josh’s mind simply provided more that he could do, once he could slip the mask of purity off. In this kind of community, that made him that of the devil. His very nature reflects sin to fill every crevice of his life. After all, how does one explain what he was doing when he wasn’t with Mark, surrounded by paintings of angels and demons? It should be worthy of some kind of retribution, for being so brazen about it all.
It was just that Josh had no plans to put down his vices. He drank, on weekends he partied well into the night, and most egregious – he fucked men. If someone stopped to ask him about his own preferences, he would respond to say he’s not picky. Women were pretty, and men had their share of nice attributes with strong jaws and the musk of aftershave. In college, Josh experimented around plenty and found that he could go either way, which translated to him as having more options. He’d done his fair share of sleeping around, and after being finished with school, had done less of it. That changed in the last three months, though, because he felt the kind of hunger for desire that left his belly an endless pit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so promiscuous, but no matter how much Josh chased his fill, it was never satisfactory.
Deep down, he knew why it was: he simply wasn’t fulfilling the actual need he had.
That need also happened to have a name, and it was Father Joseph.
It was startling how quickly the man had become the object of Josh’s obsession and lust, because wanting to be around him and talk to him all the time wasn’t bad enough on its own. Of course, he had to yearn for other things that were off the table to him, like a dog sitting at someone’s feet and drooling for scraps. He was being just as obvious about it too, it felt, with how much time he lingered around Tyler. Which he was doing an awful lot of, for a man that didn’t even feel a connection spiritually to what was being taught. He went with Mark to bible study mid-week, even pulling his old one out of retirement, where he’d taken the time to highlight and tab many years ago. A sign of his devotion back then, which serves him now, in proving that he had been a part of the church.
Granted, he didn’t take any of it seriously anymore, even when they flipped to read passages and discuss amongst themselves. One of the skills that Josh had learned in those many years of deconstructing his own ideals, was the ability to puppeteer himself in a convincing manner. If he’d been too obtuse about being a doubter, it would have gotten him promptly cut off from the entire support system he’d been raised in. He had to be careful about it, and that instinct serves him in other ways inside this kind of environment, even though it came with a heavy dose of judgment from Mark.
Hey, I’m just doing the Lord’s work, Josh had argued when they finally talked about it, already on the defensive.
If the Lord’s work includes ogling Tyler, then sure. You’re not even a devout Christian, what are you doing? Mark had asked that rhetorically, because they both knew exactly what he was trying to achieve. It was crude and horrid and every other synonym that Josh can think of. It should inspire guilt and shame, and in certain ways it does, but in others, it makes him want it more. Unable to separate himself from temptations, that’s how he ends up in the church very early on Sunday, dressed in a suit that he’d picked up for himself due to showing up more often. Something that fit him, properly, and made him feel less outlandish since it came from his closet.
Today, he’s helping Tyler wipe down the pews, because there were many and the job seemed too big for one person. It’s intriguing to see the pastor in this kind of light, because he’s so casual in comparison to his normal attire for Sunday. He dresses down, in a button up and slacks that he usually fixes later, but when the hard work came about – it seemed Tyler liked to be comfortable. Summer has given way to mid-Fall, so the sunlight isn’t as warm, but its pale hues still paint Tyler so beautifully that he can steal Josh’s breath. He’s trying not to look too much, just out of the corner of his eye, itching for conversation as Tyler hums a tune under his breath.
O Come, All Ye Faithful if Josh had to gander a guess. On the next note he recognizes, Josh starts singing the lyrics, though far less in tune than Tyler: O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant, O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem! It makes the humming stop abruptly and turn into giggling, which is so endearing that Josh immediately grins with teeth. An exasperated look is thrown his way as Tyler begins to polish a particularly troublesome spot.
“Trying to join the church choir, Joshua?” His voice is so captivating with its quiet sass and joyful demeanor.
“No. I just know that hymn. Isn’t it a little early in the year to be festive?” Josh shoots back, continuing his work quietly. The air smells like old books and the soft citrus of cleaner, the room so quiet that only their shared breathing and footsteps are heard.
“Festive,” echoes Tyler, “I don’t think celebrating the Lord’s birth should only be confined to December.”
“Fair enough,” because for someone like Tyler, it would make sense to do that all year round. Josh steps into the next row of pews to wipe it down with the cloth before pausing at the end to walk to grab the cleaner a few rows up. He wets the rag and walks back, his shoes clacking softly on the wood of the floor.
“Your hair is different,” the comment is said offhandedly, but the idea that Tyler had noticed anything about Josh’s appearance makes his knees a little weak.
“Uh, yeah,” Josh mumbles, almost shy, “I put red in it. I need a change of pace.”
“I get that,” the pastor replies, “it looks nice on you.”
Do not read into that, Josh tells himself sternly, he’s being fucking friendly. Do not get any ideas.
“What do you do?” The question is almost accidental, Josh doesn’t mean to ask anything at all, but the compulsion wins out, “when you need a change of pace?”
“Read scripture. Pray. Usually I find the need for that is because I am locked into a perspective,” Tyler’s hand moves as he talks, making up for lack of eye contact by showing Josh he’s listening in another way. “It helps to ground me. Sometimes my head soars so high that I can’t bring it back down. That’s when I know I need to release my ego, and my illusion of control.”
“So you release the feeling by asking God to relieve it?”
“Yes, in a way. You don’t?”
Busted.
“I treat prayer as more of meditation, I guess,” or at least, he used to, “to get centered, or something. My problems tend to still feel like my problems, even if I ask God for help. What can he do that I can’t, you know?”
“Are you equating yourself to the divine? Saying that you are as important as God himself?” Tyer’s voice is humored, and Josh feels the flush that floods his face and neck. This was so fucking embarassing. If God really was out there, then he’d let Josh slip on the floor and break his neck so he could be relieved of the torment. Let him find some mercy, somewhere.
“That’s not what I mean, it’s just – I need to take agency, right? Asking for everything and not doing anything is the same as having never prayed in the first place. If things will work out, I gotta keep my end of the deal.”
“You are full of surprises, Joshua Dun. You look like the polar opposite of the kind of man that walks around here, and yet to speak more truth than some of those that look perfect,” Tyler finishes his pew and goes back to humming, letting the words hang between them in a heavy way that Josh finds distracting. For the dozenth time, he longs to figure out what all of this means, to pull Tyler Joseph apart and see what’s going on underneath. What kind of person was he, outside the frame of his faith? Or was that the only thing he was, underneath all that? Somehow, that didn’t seem likely, and definitively, the rag being used to clean is dropped.
“Hey, uh, Tyler,” Josh stumbles a bit over the name because he doesn’t usually call Tyler anything, really. Too nervous to say his actual name, too much of a liar to say Father, but today he looked to change that. His use of it seems to surprise his companion, because eyes more beautiful than topaz shoot up, glimmering with curiosity. “Can I ask, do you – or, er, would you want to come to a party I’m throwing?”
Tyler looks at him like he’s grown two heads.
“A party,” he says, eyebrows knitting together, “me. Your church pastor.”
“Well, uh. Yeah? I mean. I’d like to see you outside church. If that’s okay,” every syllable of his response is disjointed and awkward, his heart beating at the back of his throat with nervousness.
Good going, his brain takes no time to make sure he knows how much of an idiot he is, you’re really being convincing, here. Mark is right. You really have no fucking shame.
“You,” Tyler starts, pointing at him helpfully, “you, Joshua, want to see me outside of the church? Why?”
“I think you’re cool,” Josh responds, which is quite frankly the truth, and he longed to know more about Tyler. What was his home life like? What about his parents? Did he have any hobbies? What did he do when he wasn’t occupied by the church? Asking Mark had gotten him little explanation, as it seemed that Tyler was simply a private person, but maybe, nobody ever considered asking him these questions. Josh wanted to, but he had to get an edge of some kind – a place where Tyler’s mind would not be so keen on brushing him off. Somewhere he could be himself and not the vessel of God that presented himself in front of dozens of people.
“Cool,” the pastor once again repeats what Josh said, as if tasting the word, and trying to decipher what it means. It only proves to make Josh feel more idiotic for even bothering to ask. Okay, so he jumped the gun. It’s fine. He could handle that, but just not now – he had to get through service and then he could lick his wounds in private, and agonize about how mortifying this ordeal was.
“Uh, or not. No worries. Sorry if I–”
“Sure,” Tyler suddenly cuts him off. “I’ll go to your party.”
“Oh,” Josh blurts, “it’s like, okay if you don’t actually want to.”
“Too bad. Already committed. Where’s it at?”
“My house. I rent a place on the east side of town. I can give you the address when I see you midweek? For bible study?”
“That works for me,” Tyler confirms, finishing the last of his polishing.
“There’s going to be drinking, though. Just in case that makes you uncomfortable.”
Tyler pauses his stride to give Josh a wry expression, “Joshua. I’m a pastor, not a narc.”
“Right,” a very intelligent reply, and Josh is mulling it over as Tyler leaves to ready himself, and people start trickling in through the door.
He follows his dedicated role, diligent in keeping his schedule, settling next to Mark when he arrives and sharing a knowing smile. Settling in the pews, the world goes quiet, and for the next little while – there was no one to judge Josh for letting his eyes and ears be consumed with Tyler and nothing else. It’s silly and juvenile, but halfway through their first hymn, Josh is already fighting a smile. It only gets wider when Tyler happens to glance at him through his preaching, and there’s a kind of familiarity to it that Josh has earned over the following weeks. And on Friday of this week, he was going to get that attention all to himself, if fate allows.
Some would call it intervention, but Josh thinks he’s got damn good luck.
–
The night of the party was perfect, except for the fact that Josh was getting stood up.
He’d thought, earlier in the evening, that it was an unfair assessment to think that Tyler Joseph was just blowing him off. It wasn’t like he heard anything after seeing him midweek, but there had been confirmation again, a soft spoken agreement: I’ll be there. Josh had believed, good natured man that he was, that the pastor would keep his word. It would’ve hurt his feelings otherwise, and even more harsh, it would have been a sin. Yet, there he was, feeling sorry for himself during a time where he should be having fun.
His head is spinning a little while he sits on the couch – he’s crossfaded. In the first hour, he’d drank a little, then a little more, trying to kill his nerves. At that point, it’d been almost two hours since starting and he was beginning to think that maybe he'd gotten his hopes up too high. It wasn’t like Tyler owed Josh anything, so his upset feelings were terribly uncomfortable to deal with. At some point, a girl gave him a blunt, and it was stupid to smoke from something he hadn’t watched rolled – college had taught him many lessons, and that was one of them. His own misery had taken over though, and he’d hit it hard enough to burn his lungs on the way out, but he forced himself not to cough. After, he just let the booze flow, because clearly Tyler had no intention of showing up.
That was a deserved punishment for Josh, because he should have known better from the start. Asking to be close with a religious man when one was not religious whatsoever, and had ulterior motives about why they wanted that closeness, such things made him a deceiver. A liar, to be put it lightly, and now he was left to feel the consequences of those ends. So he downed a couple more beers, and felt himself teetering between being tipsy and being drunk when a body settled next to him. The world swam a little when he turned his eyes to look, trying to focus on who joined his self contained pity party. A guy, it turns out, who was decently good looking: he had dark hair that was all mussed up, and green eyes that were shining while looking over Josh. This was the kind of look he’d gotten before, many times, of men who were too shy to say what they wanted to his face.
“Hey, dude,” the guy says, and Josh is trying to recall his name. He’d come along with Josh’s buddy Mase, to his recollection. Something that started with a C, he’s decently sure. Cody? Corey? “This is a nice party you got going on.”
“Thanks. I did try to make it fun,” replies Josh, even though he felt distinctly like it wasn’t very pleasant for him. Beside him, the guy shifts, and their legs brush in a manner that makes Josh’s brain mushy. This was definitely what he thought it was, even if there wasn’t a direct invitation yet. A distant part of him feels guilty for even letting it happen, mind elsewhere, thinking of the beautiful figure standing at the podium in church. It felt like betrayal, even though nothing of the sort happened anyway, so what was Josh being so reluctant for?
“Yeah, I see that. Everybody raves about your spot being the best. I can see why,” those eyes darted around the room as people continued to talk, music distantly played, and a thousand conversations happening at once.
“Don’t get it twisted. I run a tight ship,” Josh jokes with an easy smile, “I learned my lesson enough. Nobody is allowed out back because people throw up and smoke out there. So whatever you heard about me being the best, know it was earned.”
“Someone who keeps everyone in line, huh? I like that in a man,” those words are followed by fingers that are tracing along the inside of Josh’s arm with featherlight pressure. Oh. Okay, yeah. This guy was definitely hitting on him, and if the touch didn’t say so, the teeth that sank into the guy’s bottom lip did. Desire curls into Josh’s bloodstream, a heady rush that he’d been repressing an awful lot lately. He’d been trying to get the misplaced want out of his system, and tonight it was a very persistent feeling, because the indirect rejection stung.
What was happening on the loveseat was more flirtation than Josh had ever gotten out of Tyler, because he was so difficult to read. Besides that, it was assumptive, to think that he’d ever really be interested in someone like Josh. To the pastor, he was just another wayward soul to lead toward salvation, not an interest, and apparently, not even a fucking friend.
“Do you?” Josh continues, deciding to push it, because he wanted to banish the thought of Tyler for the rest of the night. His mood was already shit. “What else do you like?”
“Oh, you know,” the man replies, as if he’s really considering it, “dark hair, preferably curly. Looks like he could break me in half. Does any of that sound like someone you know?”
“Ringing some bells,” Josh’s voice is coy, playing stupid, trying to match the teasing that isn’t being done in the open. When he continues, his voice drops to a low sound, vibrating his chest with it. “So, what? You saying you want to have some fun with me?”
“If you’ve got somewhere private, I can show you exactly how fun I can get,” there it is. That’s the kind of confirmation Josh was looking for, so he stands up and takes an extra second to steady. His feet start moving toward the staircase that leads up to the second floor of his house, his feet a little unsteady on the stairs. For some reason, it makes him laugh a little, finally feeling some levity. Another foot up makes the world feel a little hazy, but in a way that he welcomes, surrounded by the man next to him that was ushering him along with a hand at Josh’s side. He leans in, about to make a comment, when something snatches his wrist and has him pausing in place.
“Joshua?”
Oh. Oh fuck.
The tone makes him spin so quickly that he almost loses balance, eyes cast down, and sure enough: there was Tyler Joseph, in all his beautiful glory, looking up with eyes that were shimmering with some kind of emotion that Josh struggled to name. Everything stops, the sound of the party fades out as Josh is honed in on the only person he was waiting all fucking night for. Firstly, and to no surprise, Tyler is captivatingly handsome – his hair has been styled a bit, but some of it sticks up, as if he was nervously running his hand through it before arriving. He’s wearing a button up that’s crisp white, but it’s less formal than his other ones, as it has fancy looking buttons. A jacket is wrapped around him, zipped up his midriff, but it’s more casual than Josh has ever seen him before. Somehow, that makes him far more interesting to look at, and boy, was Josh looking.
“Tyler?” He prompts, remembering that he has a mouth to speak. “What are you – I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I got caught up, and went home later than I thought I would. I was always going to show up, though. I keep my word,” the pastor is speaking to Josh, but his eyes aren’t on him, they’re on the guy that Josh can feel lingering behind him. Lashes flutter as that stare morphs into something more pointed, and it’s baffling to watch Tyler put himself up a stair. They’re almost sharing the same fucking one, and Josh can feel his heartbeat thundering nervously, because Tyler hasn’t let go of his arm.
“Oh. Sorry. I kind of – assumed. That’s on me,” Josh wants to be out of this moment right that second, drawn to Tyler like a magnet now that he is in sight, and his buzzed mind is liking the sound of the idea.
“Who’s this tight wad?” The guy from earlier asks from behind, his hand stroking too fondly along the length of Josh’s spine, a movement that bred nothing but emerging disgust.
“Lay off,” Josh snaps, his voice threatening.
“What, is he your boyfriend or something?” God, how fucking embarassing. He’d change his mind on religion and intervention if a lightning bolt from the heavens struck down and killed Josh instantly.
“How about you mind your business?” Tyler is the one to reply instead of him, his voice is flat and annoyed in a way that Josh has never heard prior.
“Whatever. Josh, I’ll be waiting for you upstairs. Whenever you get this guy to go away,” the man’s voice sounds more like a sneer, and it makes irritation vibrate through every bone in Josh’s body. He had half a mind to tell the guy to come back and say that to him dead on, so that when he got punched, it would be much more satisfying. Tyler’s tightening grip dismisses the thought though, and then it drops, the skin tingling where he was clutching.
“I can go,” Tyler begins, teeth wearing into his chapped bottom lip, “if you want to catch up with him.”
“I don’t,” Josh is quick to say, not letting the suggestion even so much as settle. “Let’s go downstairs and get you a drink.”
“But he–”
“Screw that guy. What an asshole. Come on, I’ll make you something.”
A small sound comes from Tyler that Josh realizes is fighting laughter.
“Okay,” agrees Tyler, “I didn’t know you were using such profanity outside the church, Joshua.”
“Whoops. My bad. Your poor, Christian ears are being sullied by me. Let me make you a drink as an apology,” Josh says, with good humor, walking down the stairs. He turns when he reaches the ground floor again, just enough to catch a glimpse, to ensure Tyler is following him. It’s pleasing to find that he’s just as close as he was on the stairs, taking in the sights and sounds of the commotion around the two of them.
Inside the kitchen, things are a bit more tame – most of the people at the party were in the dining room, living room, or garage. Within the tiled space, it was only used for when a drink was necessary. There were lots of options to choose from, bottles strewn about with mixers and chasers alike. Red cups with names written shoddily on the sides lingered everywhere, a headache for Josh to clean at a later date, and he produces one from the plastic packaging to begin making something for Tyler. He decides to put a copious amount of vodka in the cup, then follows it with sprite and grenadine, just to ease the potency of it. He mixes it together with a plastic spoon, too lazy to fetch a real one, before using the sharpie on the counter to write Tyler’s name on the side.
He had the idea to put Father Joseph as a joke, but didn’t want to cause any disruptions, so Tyler it was. He hands it over, trying not to watch too closely as fingers that were deft and graceful wrap around the plastic. His gaze darts away when Tyler goes to take a drink, not because he didn’t want to look, but because the pink of that mouth would be too distracting. It’d be rude to stare, so he does his best not to, only glimpsing from the corner of his peripheral.
“Eugh,” Tyler suddenly says, his face screwing up.
He is so fucking adorable, Josh thinks, unbidden.
“What’s up?” Josh prompts as Tyler works the lines out of his expression.
“This tastes like paint stripper.”
“Do you want me to make you something more tame? Gentler on the stomach for a good church mouse like you?” Josh teases, and Tyler suddenly clutches the cup close as if it would really be taken away.
“No,” Tyler denies, “I’m just letting you know where your drink skills stand. Currently, I’d say abysmal. A blind man could make a better drink than this.”
“Oof,” the reply is followed by Josh’s palm setting over his stomach, “I think I felt that insult in my gut. You don’t hold back.”
“Make me something nicer next time, and maybe I’ll give you a better rating,” Tyler’s eyes shine over the rim of the cup, looking unwaveringly, and that kind of attention had Josh’s hair standing up on the back of his neck. Intense. He wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.
“I thought that pastors don’t indulge,” Josh replies, feeling like something is tangling between them, if only he could tell what it was.
“God can forgive me later. Besides, I don’t need you worrying about my salvation. That’s between me and the Lord,” teeth poke out as Tyler grins, showing his bottom row, where they’re slightly crooked. If this were a match of sharing blows, that kind of expression was a killshot. Josh feels weak in his knees.
“Josh!” A lively voice echoes in the room, and a gleeful face appears with scruff, situated under a beanie.
“Paul,” Josh greets, “what’s got you grinning like that, man?”
“Play with me,” the offer is less of a question and more of a demand.
“I see we’ve reached that time of night. It’s getting late, I don’t think the neighbors will appreciate the noise.”
“Dude, you always play with me at parties. I need to feel like I’m doing music with someone who has a brain. Please.”
“Music?” Tyler asks, interrupting their conversation, and Paul’s eyes zero in like a shark smelling blood in the water.
“That’s right,” Paul replies, “Dun’s party trick is playing the drums. You ever seen it?”
“You’ve never mentioned you can play the drums,” Father Joseph was learning all kinds of things about Josh tonight, wasn’t he? And against Josh’s will, no less. Fuck.
“You never asked me,” Josh replies, sighing heavily when he glimpses how Tyler’s eyes are huge and soaking in the information. “Alright, I get it. You want to see me play the drums.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Tyler’s laughter is light and airy.
“You didn’t have to. I can just tell. Okay, Meany, let’s get out there.”
“Sweet. That’s what I like to fuckin’ hear.” With that said, Paul begins to lead the way toward the garage, and Josh is left to follow, now that he’d agreed to letting his friend have his way. They walked down the hall, past the bathroom, and into the side garage that made sound echo and conversation intense. This was a common ritual, Paul crossing to the wall where there were instruments hung up. He takes down a bass, the body a gunmetal grey, and the strap is slung across his shoulders.
“Woah, you have tons of instruments in here,” Tyler says quietly, just below Josh’s ear so no strangers are interrupted.
“I wouldn’t call it tons. Just a couple guitars, a bass, and my drums. I’ve got a microphone in here, too,” Josh gestures offhand to the stand that has said microphone in it, before walking toward the cover that lay across the kit, to keep it safe from wear and tear.
“How do you have so many? Do you play them all?”
“I wish. I’m not that talented. I have them from my job. I work in an instrument warehouse and move stuff. Get good deals on equipment, so might as well, right?” Josh pulls the cover in one sweeping movement, and it sweeps off his kit, showing it brightly in the fluorescents that lit the space. This one was red, with golden accents, but the snare drum had an inky white and black design, with a skull design along the top where he’d hit with his sticks. Such a piece had been limited edition, and given to Josh for such an impressive price that he couldn’t turn it down.
With well practiced calmness, he sits onto the stool, balancing his weight. Paul turns to him and he adjusts the bass, then turns on the amp near the wall. It buzzes and squeaks a little as it adjusts, and Paul spins the knobs until it sounds right. Once that’s settled, the distance between the man holding the bass and the kit is closed, a knowing look shared over the width of the drums. Paul’s fingers slide across the strings, making a soft sound via the amp, before starting the baseline. The pattern is immediately recognizable to anyone who has listened to a radio for the last twenty or more years: Come As You Are, by Nirvana.
Easy enough.
The heat of the room feels overwhelming as more people pack in, drawn by the playing. Josh slips his shirt over his head and places it behind him, pulling up his drumsticks to spin one habitually. He hits the kick drum at his cue and starts playing the drumline accordingly, watching how Paul smiles as his fingers drag across the metal strings, their sound harmonizing. Despite complaining about doing this, Josh can feel how much he’s missed it, as he usually tends to do. The vibrations of the sound, the exertion of playing, how his whole body buzzes like a livewire when he’s on the stool.
From the other side of the garage, suddenly the other speaker comes to life, which draws Josh’s attention with how unexpected it is. Josh and Paul usually played songs that other people knew and the crowd could drunkenly sing, thus the risk of noise complaints, his drumming making it even more likely. Still, there’s a feedback sound that rings with the microphone being picked up and pulled off its stand. The space for the lyrics is filled, and Josh inhales sharply, a near gasp at the recognition – the same voice that filled his fantasies and Sundays with song. Tyler moves across the garage in a similar manner to how he acts when holding a sermon, though notably more timid – but his confidence grows when their eyes meet.
For the first chorus, Tyler is distracted by Paul who is laughing, and it makes the grin on Josh’s face so wide it hurts. Muscle memory has taken over for Josh, but in an exhilarating way, because it’s so rare to feel like a cohesive unit when playing for parties. That, and the fact that his pastor knew this song, and his voice suited for it, makes a shiver run down Josh’s spine. People around them start to become more rowdy in terms of the music being played, dancing drunkenly amongst each other, and seeing Tyler amongst the scene was almost comical, if Josh were not so completely focused on him. His lashes look so long in this light, and the sweat that drips down the side of his face is matched on every inch of Josh’s chest. It was as if the pastor sensed him staring, their gazes snapping together like they often did in the church, as if Tyler was telling him to stop gawking. Now, there’s different energy to it – energized, or perhaps emboldened.
“Come doused in mud, soaked in bleach,” Tyler sings, effortlessly, sauntering over to Josh’s drum kit. It was like he was performing, specifically for Josh. Oh. The temperature of the room is suddenly smoldering, and the air Josh breathes feels more like fire than oxygen. “As I want you to be.”
And wasn’t that an interesting question, what exactly did Tyler want Josh to be? A friend? A confidant? Something else? A difficult assessment, but the words felt like they were intended for him, and he’s left to ponder it while continuing the song. By the time they make it through the musical break, the entire room is practically jumping, and the energy feels unbridled. Josh is feeding off of it as he finishes his last drum beats, hitting hard with intention, and the cheer after embodies the whole of the space. Josh’s eyes are on his pastor, as they always tended to be, and Tyler turns to look at him. It seems as if the action has registered for him, as he walks over to put the microphone back before slipping back into the house.
Oh shit.
Josh puts his drum sticks down and starts moving, despite the disappointed cajoling that followed him out. Paul seems to take the hint and start playing something else, drawing eyes back into the garage while Josh slips out. His house is mostly empty now except for a couple stragglers, mostly everyone has chosen to gather in the garage instead for the drunken free concert. His eyes dart everywhere, but don’t find Tyler in any corner, and at a loss – he goes for the one place he can think of that he might have gone. He grabs the glass door that leads to the back porch, and pulls, feeling it give. Definitely in the backyard, then, since this door was always locked.
Chilly air bites at his skin, drawing in icy rivers where sweat is dripping down Josh’s bare skin, but he shuts the door to walk to the side of the house, where a small alcove exists between the railing of the porch and the house. Tyler is there, twisting his hair between his fingers and breathing in a way that said he was trying to calm down. It felt cruel to startle him, so Josh clears his throat to announce his arrival, and Tyler jumps to stand up straight.
“Hey,” Josh starts, softening his voice, “are you okay?”
“Um, yeah,” Tyler replies, “I just – I needed to get some air.”
Something’s wrong, or at least, something is different – Josh’s mind is a bit more clear as he’s sweated out some alcohol, no doubt. He slowly takes a couple steps forward, trying to read Tyler’s body language: pretty features are flushed a deep red, his fingers trembling a little. Nervous, it seemed, and Josh couldn’t place why, when he’d been so confident not even a few minutes ago.
“You feeling sick? We can go somewhere quiet, or I can clear the house,” the offer is genuine, Josh nearly making it to Tyler, as if to assess what might be causing him distress.
“Absolutely not. That would be way too much, and I’m…” Tyler trails off when he looks at Josh more directly, but it’s not at his face. Instead, those warm brown eyes have dropped, to look rather obviously at the width of Josh’s sternum. For a moment, it feels so absurd to process that there’s a consideration that it’s being imagined. Surely, Tyler Joseph, a pastor and more straight laced than Josh had seen a man be in a long time, was not looking at his chest that brazenly. When the attention isn’t redirected, Josh’s hand raises to snap his fingers, obscuring Tyler’s stare.
“My eyes are up here,” he says, meaning for it to be a joke, but Josh’s voice is lower than he intended. It doesn’t help that Tyler’s eyes, wide and guilty, shoot up to make eye contact. His face blooms even more crimson, were it possible. Embarrassed. That makes the gears in Josh’s mind finally begin to turn properly, for the first time that night, it seemed.
He’s attracted to me, Josh realizes, Tyler fucking Joseph is staring at me because he’s attracted to me.
All focus on other aspects of their dynamic is wiped clean, as if those warnings from Mark and himself never existed. It hits with sudden, damning clarity: Josh had to have him, and it was going to be tonight. There was no way he was looking at that adorable face and telling himself no, the way he had a thousand times before. Tyler looks so dishevelled, and his eyes glitter in the porchlight, tension making his lithe body look uncomfortable. Josh longed to soothe that out, to iron all of it out and make him finally relax. It looked like so much weight to carry, the image of the perfect pastor, responsible for the souls of so many. In this moment, Josh would be his liberator, no matter the cost.
The world stops, and Josh’s footsteps are heavier, with more purpose. This side of the house obscures them from view, a looming shadow that covers them, protects them from sight. Every movement he makes is watched by Tyler’s eyes, jumping all over Josh’s body as he inches closer. Attempting to escape, the pastor tries to widen the distance, but his spine finds the side of the house. Not allowing a moment for refusal, Josh pushes forward and cages him, both hands flat against the house to achieve it. He feels the paint beneath his hands, the cold matte, how it presses into his palms. Josh can’t stop himself, he’s merely a victim to gravity, Tyler was pulling him in.
“Joshua,” Tyler warns, the proximity closing so very quick, and how could this be stopped? If God really determined that the universe would be created, that every path to walk was predestined, was this not what Josh was meant to be doing? Being close to the one person that he’d been obsessing over for weeks, wanting to be in orbit, but never yet achieving it. His nose presses against the hollow of Tyler’s throat, inhaling. He smells good, but that’s not a surprise – like aftershave and weathered pages, masculine and maddening all at once. If there was a heaven out there, Josh assumes what it would feel like is the sensation of kissing at the soft skin of Tyler’s neck, every press like warm velvet. A noise vibrates against his mouth, a moan, hushed and quiet from behind Tyler’s teeth.
Oh. Josh feels blinding heat gather between his legs. Jesus Christ almighty.
He mouths down, over the length of Tyler’s throat, savoring the taste, the slight scrape of Tyler’s scruff catching Josh’s cheek as he heads down. Stark white cotton keeps him from going further, the button up barring his path, but between Tyler’s exposed collar bones – a golden cross sits, one that seemed to always be around that tempting neck. With consideration, Josh presses his lips against it, feeling the coolness of the metal shape imprint on his mouth. This, for whatever reason, inspires Tyler to shove him away but Josh doesn’t go far, only enough to make eye contact.
“Just… just hold on a minute,” the words are thin, and the most breathless that Josh had ever heard Father Joseph. Like he can’t get any air into his lungs, and Josh longed to follow that feeling until there was nothing left to pursue.
“I can’t,” he admits, selfishly, a hand sneaking up where Tyler’s shirt has ridden up in their closeness. It feels sinfully good to splay his palm wide against that lithe frame, how desperately Tyler’s body is heaving for breath. “You’re the prettiest thing I have ever fucking seen. I thought I was going to go crazy earlier, watching you sing. I wanted to jump over my drumkit to press you against the wall, right there.”
Josh feels the goosebumps that rise in response to his admission, and for all intents and purposes, he was being filthy. It was one thing to say these things to someone he’s trying to seduce, but it’s another to admit them to a pastor. One that had no business being touched or wanted by him, and yet, there they were. Josh’s temptation settles syrupy in his gut, and he was in no mood to sever their contact. Whatever came next would be a blight on his soul, and he’d bear it happily, if this was what he got in return.
“We can’t do this,” Tyler whispers, like it’s painful to say, “we’re literally exposed. What’s stopping someone from coming out here and seeing you all over me?”
“They won’t. If people were going to come out here, they would be here already, Tyler,” Josh points out, tilting his head to gesture to the empty yard, “backyard’s off limits. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re all mine now.”
“You are so impossible,” Tyler intends to sound menacing, but it’s more whiny than anything else.
“Takes one to know one. Besides, I thought you said God would forgive you later,” all niceties are over, because Josh’s hand slides from the heat of Tyler’s stomach to settle between his legs, squeezing over the hardness there. Tyler’s moan goes up so high that Josh would almost be tempted to laugh, if he weren’t so goddamn pent up that he was one step away from losing it completely. “You want it. You like it. What’s wrong with just going for it?”
“What’s wrong is that I’m your church pastor. I took an oath that I would never do this again, and it would be sullying my promise to the Lord. Does this sound like something I should be doing?” It definitely didn’t, Tyler’s point was well made, except that his hips are shifting against Josh’s hand. Desperate for friction, and Josh licks his lips like a ravenous dog.
“You want me to beg for your forgiveness?” Josh offers, shifting his weight so he can start sinking to his knees, settling against the hard ground. He enjoys the pressure, the fact that it will hurt, and how the movement is like praying. His fingers pull up the shirt again, enough so that he can lean in to kiss at Tyler’s navel, pathing downward toward the buckle of Tyler’s belt. His eyes jump up before his tongue drags down the coarse hair of his pastor’s happy trail, indulgent and wicked all at once. “Forgive me Father, for the sin I’m going to commit.”
“Josh. Don’t you dare,” Tyler hisses, fingernails digging into the bare skin of Josh’s shoulder with adequate intimidation. Clearly, they were approaching something that was going to rupture the gentle balance between them, intact for weeks now. “If you do this, we’re no longer friends, you realize that? It’s going to be complicated from here on out. Isn’t that something you’re concerned about?”
“The only thing I’m concerned about is how soon I can get your dick in my mouth,” Josh responds, fingers sliding the belt through the buckle so he can yank them down, getting them to settle in the middle of Tyler’s thighs. Some kind of whispering is happening above him, desperate and whimpered as Josh leans in to kiss at the insides of Tyler’s thighs, nipping with teeth so he can hear the near squeak that erupts from just that alone.
“I’m going to make you regret this,” Tyler threatens, and the kind of voice he uses sends a thrill up Josh’s spine. It sounds like the kind of threat he wants elaboration on, but his mind is too muddled with desire. At this point, he’s lost his ability to practice any form of patience, and Josh slips his fingers into the elastic of Tyler’s briefs to pull them down. Sensing his impatience, Tyler continues doubling down on his ultimatum. “No sin ever goes unpunished, I hope you remember that.”
Josh would do his best to, but his focus is eaten up by how stunning every inch of Tyler was. His belly was tanner than Josh’s, thighs were too, but they looked perfect. He was right, the first time that they ever laid eyes on one another: whatever God made in His image, Tyler was the perfect version of it. Between his thighs, his cock is flushed red and heavy with blood, beading at the tip wantonly. Saliva floods Josh’s mouth just from looking, he almost groans, his own length achingly hard in his shorts. No matter, because Josh needed to taste him – had the fantasy so many times since first seeing Tyler that he’s lost count, and all inhibition melts away. He wraps his mouth around the tip, sucking greedily, moaning at the salty musk that maps over his tongue.
“Heavenly Father, please forgive me for my transgressions,” Tyler gasps, hands coming together in a show of prayer, of worship, and Josh watches from where he kneels. Too excitably, he forces his muscles to relax, to push his face forward and swallow Tyler’s dick in one go. It’s heady, and addictive: the width that makes Josh’s jaw ache, and the weight against his tongue, along with how his throat had to stretch. His moan is muffled, but it’s a moan all the same, and Tyler gasps sharper than a knife. “I am a sinner, Lord. I am enjoying lewd acts that taint my body and soul. Forgive me.”
Josh pulls off, watching how Tyler’s face crumples, a hiss coming violent through his teeth. “You should say my name instead.”
“You,” Tyler begins, sharp and offended that Josh would have the nerve to say such a thing, “are an absolutely shameless, depraved cr–”
There’s no chance to finish, the words are swallowed in another moan as Josh does as he did before, taking everything at once with no mercy. God and his followers never showed such kindness to him, so Josh would do no such thing, and take everything offered. Fingers curl in Josh’s hair, nails sharp, yanking forcibly into a pace. Back and forth, wet with spit that drips down his chin, tacky and wet. It feels so good, to finally be the center of what makes Tyler’s composure crack – that veneer of perfect politeness finally coming clean off and showing animalistic want. Yes. Tyler may walk amongst the world and try to pretend otherwise, but he was just as beastial as the rest of humanity: devotion to a blind deity held no weight against the rawness of real connection. The kind that bred electricity and obsession, and Josh was the vessel for all of it – for desire and want that had no stopper.
Watching Tyler’s face gave a sense of satisfaction that ran through Josh’s veins stronger than alcohol, stronger than drugs. Pretty lashes flutter as those dark eyes seem to soak up the image of Josh, on his knees and mouth open wide. Lips that were pink on a good day and distracting are becoming a deeper shade as Tyler’s teeth chew harshly, trying to control the noises he’s making. Yet, he’s still moaning, still pleading for an absolution that won’t come – he was Josh’s now, only his, and the evidence was the weight of his cock sliding into his needy mouth. A gush of salty fluid floods Josh’s tongue and he groans with it, swallowing it down, because he wanted every fucking drop.
It seems that all sense of repression has finally come loose, like a child losing the last of their baby teeth, because Tyler is not the timid, shy lover that Josh imagined. His methods were ruthless – he was fucking Josh’s mouth with singleminded focus, and his hand wound in curls was demanding, keeping Josh still for a more pointed thrust. Every shove inspires a delicious kind of hurt, one that Josh is excited to feel tomorrow when he yawns for the day, and how his muscles will twinge. Tyler is panting indecently, sweat slipping down his belly, and if Josh’s mouth was not so occupied – he would have lapped it all up like an offering.
Finally gaining a sense of equilibrium, Josh moved his head in time with how he was wanted, and sucked on each push in. It was rewarding, because the way that Tyler moaned afterward said that he was enjoying it. Finally, something that could make the pastor feel how Josh longed to make him: doted on, spoiled rotten, and so very, very wanted. Even if this was the most disgusting, obscene way of going about it, Josh was achieving his goal all the same. He starts doing things that he knows that other guys like: pressing his tongue along the underside of Tyler’s length, holding intense eye contact, swallowing during the thrust forward so his throat feels tighter. It’s clear that he’s done well, because tan thighs are trembling, the shaking only getting more severe – it hits like a fucking hammer. Josh was going to make Tyler Joseph come into his mouth, and he was going to swallow it.
Oh fuck. Would it be pathetic to think that this was probably the hottest moment of his life? It definitely was, and yet Josh was thinking it anyway, concentrating to try to figure out what would give the best sensation to push Tyler over the edge.
“Joshua,” Tyler pants, pulling insistently at Josh’s hair, “come here. Get up.”
It takes a full moment to register, and another to follow the directions, Josh unsteady on his feet when standing. Still, he clammers, desperately obedient and when he’s finally at full height, their eyes meet. Tyler’s pupils are huge, and it must mirror on his own face, Josh imagines. He’s about ready to ask why he was told to stop, when dainty fingers clutch at his jaw and yank him forward. Their mouths meet in a collision of spit, breath, and teeth – the knocking of it almost painful, hard and unforgiving. Tyler wastes no time, he licks right into Josh’s mouth like it was meant to house his tongue instead. It’s involuntary, how Josh moans, returning the enthusiasm in kind. Father Joseph tastes like sharp vodka and sweetened lime, but underneath that, clean – like mint and clove. Somehow, he only gets fucking hotter, because Josh realizes quickly that Tyler knows how to kiss. His tongue is deft, and teasing, slipping in and then retreating when Josh tries to return the favor.
Fingers yank at the elastic of Josh’s shorts, pulling them down along with his boxers, exposing him to the cool night air. Those same hands settle at the small of his back and push, and it feels like flint catching steel when Josh’s cock pushes against Tyler’s. Blindly, like he were possessed, Josh begins to grind them together with desperation. Fuck. That was good, and Tyler’s cock is wet, making the slide even easier. It’s hard to breathe, because they were still kissing, deep and consuming – Josh feels his own moan vibrate between them as he finally gets into a proper pace. Every push felt like he was soaring higher, sweat dripping down his back, followed by a sting of nails as Tyler clutched him closer. With effort, Josh gets his mouth free to get a gasp in, his chest expanding like a bellows for it.
“Don’t stop kissing me,” Tyler whimpers, trembling against him, mouth back on his before Josh can recover fully. Josh is helpless to it, going back to sharing the same wet, heated space; as if they could combine and have the same mouth, the same organs, same heart. Teeth dig into Josh’s bottom lip and the zap of pain makes his body twitch and burn all over.
It was so good, and Josh was so close, but it wasn’t enough either. The stimulation was lacking, and on his next thrust forward, his patience snaps – he brings his hand to where they’re meeting and stretches it around both of their lengths, squeezing them together in his fist. Obscenely, he pulls away from Tyler’s mouth to spit, letting it wet both of their cocks so he can begin pumping them both at the same time. God, the sound out of Tyler, punched out of his gut like a strike of a drum, humid in the space between them. Their lips and tongues meet again, and Josh starts stroking faster, feeling how Tyler’s cock leaks all over them both. They’re both moaning, breathing ragged, and Josh feels his lower belly clench in a very telling manner.
“Fuck,” he gasps, the pressure starting to compound, and holy shit, did nothing else he’s done in the last few months has scratched this. It’s better than he could have ever imagined, and Tyler is so, so beautiful – Josh wanted to spend every moment for the rest of his natural born life looking at him.
“Joshua,” Tyler moans, the sound of his name going up in pitch, “you have to — it’s — Joshua–”
Whatever message Josh was meant to decipher is cut short by the intensity of how Tyler twitches – he jerks, almost violently against Josh’s body, and then he’s spilling hot and sticky over Josh’s fist. His moan is so candy sweet, gasping for air and shaking as Josh continues his pace, because he can’t stop. Tyler’s eyebrows pulled together, mouth dropped open helplessly, whining in what was surely overstimulation. Really, it was the expression that does it – so blissed out and serene that Josh feels the pleasure inside him peak, a rising wave that he drowns in, the pressure in his gut finally released like a valve. It’s wet and slick afterwards, a mess by all accounts, and Josh makes it filthier by licking their shared spend off his hand. It tastes bitter on his tongue, but he diligently swallows it, so he can pull Tyler’s trousers back together and zip them up.
It seemed that the pastor was a little boneless, so Josh was trying to make it easier, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. He tries to press one against his kiss-swollen mouth, too, but Tyler turns his face away. Hands slide from Josh’s back to his chest, pushing insistently enough that they separate because Josh is forced to take a step back. A disquiet falls between them that has Josh’s heart thundering as he gets himself decent, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to catch Tyler’s eyes.
Goddamn it. Of course this would happen, because why wouldn’t it? Every warning and scolding he’d gotten for weeks came back with blinding intensity, and Josh was no longer at liberty to look away. In the house, the muffled sound of bass being played continues from the garage. Josh sniffs, clearing his throat afterwards, unnerved by the silence.
“Look, I’m… I’m sorry,” it was the least he could say, and yet it felt like it covered nothing.
“It’s alright,” Tyler replies, even though it distinctly feels like it’s not. Every boundary between them was just crossed, and the guilt of that is settling heavy in Josh’s stomach.
“Is this… do you not want to talk to me anymore?” It’s humiliating, really, how much the idea hurts Josh’s feelings. But he waits, hearing blood rush in his ears as Tyler adjusts his clothes.
“No, Joshua, I just need to think. That was – there’s some things I’m going to need to settle about all this,” the explanation is disjointed, and the fear is crawling inside Josh and making a home out of him. What was there to think about? He wants to ask, but can’t find the words, nails picking at his cuticles.
“Okay,” Josh replies, even though it isn’t, not even a little.
“I need to go,” there it was. Suddenly, Josh feels the intense urge to take the last hour back, to just stay inside and play songs until sunrise. Go to bed with a smile on his face, knowing that he had fun, and that nothing irreversibly changed. Fuck. He’s an idiot, and Tyler was right to treat him like one.
“Um, alright. I guess I’ll uh, see you Sunday?” His tone is stupidly hopeful.
“You’ll see me,” Tyler replies, and then pauses, fingers dragging featherlight against the back of Josh’s hand. “Don’t be nervous. I need some time, okay?”
Their eyes meet, and it seems sincere, so Josh nods with understanding.
“Thank you for tonight, Joshua,” Tyler says, with a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “I had fun. See you on Sunday.”
Then, as if the whole thing never happened, Tyler slips back into the house and disappears from sight. Josh wants to watch him go, but his feet feel rooted to the spot, and he can’t get himself to move. It’s cold now, the temperature has dropped with the later hour, and he shivers in the frigid outdoors. His eyes burn, as if he might do something childish, like cry – as if he was scolded and left on his lonesome to deal with the fallout. His next breath is tight, and as a last ditch effort, he glances up. Stars twinkle overhead, against the dark sky, and Josh has the temptation to cruelly laugh. What was he looking for, exactly?
There was no God to ask forgiveness from, anyway.