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The van rolls into frame at a deliberate angle, the custom-made license plate blurred, until it stops in its designated spot. There is no time for conversation, that will come later, and there will be plenty of time for longer exchanges of words.
Josh is the one behind the wheel. It made sense for him to be, from the very first of the endless conversations they had about this. Josh drove them here, and will drive Tyler back to his place after. He will stay the night, then. It made sense.
"You first," Tyler says promptly and nods his head towards the door on Josh's side. "Open the trunk, then I'll come out. Gotta give 'em a minute to digest what you're wearing," he says, shrugging. "And the hair situation. Before they're ready to take me."
Josh is wearing a v-neck shirt in a deep, warm shade of yellow. Mustard. It reminds Tyler of his old hoodie from nearly a decade ago, except with fewer signs of wear and attachment. The white stripes around the neck and the sleeves remind him of days when having Josh drive him around in a van made his stomach twist and turn in futile attempts to consume itself, so that his body would have more pressing matters than a heart struggling to deal with juvenile infatuation.
He can deal with that feeling more effectively now, by telling Josh to get out of the car before the Ouroboros in his belly reawakens.
"Alright, I guess that's fair," Josh nods and does as he's told.
He steps out of the car and approaches it from the back. Tyler is already out by the time he figures he may have forgotten to press a button or two. He tries again and pops the trunk open to reveal the packed insides, a mix of artificial viscera and colorful, copper intestines, both his own and Tyler's, now reduced to bits that need arranging in order to make sound again.
Tyler stands by Josh's side and watches over him. Josh is busy deciding which piece to take out first, like a kid hovering above a sandbox with plastic toys scattered inside, each more enticing than the last. He gets his hands on what feels right, then, and begins the process of piecing his set together.
With fewer parts blocking access, Tyler pulls his bass out of the van and tries to put together a stand to place it on neatly. It doesn't take much struggle for him to decide that making the two pieces work together is a waste of time, so he discards them without much care and places the bass flat on the ground instead. He moves on to the microphone and the cables that will thrust life into both, taking careful steps over the crimson beast that lies dormant on the concrete, its strings unplucked.
On his assigned side, Josh is diligent and patient. Taking all the time necessary to build something from the ground up has always come naturally, even if it meant to trip and make mistakes in the process. If any piece resists to be placed appropriately, he shifts the rest around to make space, and makes it work. Tyler, in contrast, will give up on anything that isn't in favor of maintaining his exemplary persona, and sometimes, giving up works out just as fine.
While plugging the bass in, Tyler glances over at Josh and stills. From where he stands, Josh appears extracted from a simpler time. He wonders if qualities of Josh standing beside him that line up with Josh from the past would stack up to reach the ceiling if he were to try to conjure all of them up, or if he would run out after going through those of them which are purely external.
He hums, and his hands hover. He figures that similarities would likely pair up with differences to create equal stacks that would pierce through the steel and cement above his head, then he'd be crushed whole and bite the dust content.
Once he's done plugging everything in, Tyler pulls a lawn chair out of the trunk and settles in it comfortably, phone sliding out of a pocket and into his hand.
He taps on the first app on the screen that feels appropriate. He moves through sections and scrolls through rows of colorful squares of art, divided by an occasional photo of a well maintained lawn and animals deemed unmarketable by the world. He adjusts himself and only decides it's time to get up when he lands on an art piece of himself being chewed on by aggressive, white canines, their bottom jaws gray.
He promptly joins Josh on his side. He doesn't show him what's made him get up, but he does share a post that's less grim.
"Dude, look," he says, takes a pause to make sure Josh is listening, and raises his hand. "They made Torch and Clancy swap outfits," he says and shoves his phone into Josh's face.
Josh is tilting his head, saying, "That's sick," and smiling, wide and sweet. "It's crazy that we've never done that, huh. We should do that sometime."
"Yeah, we should. There's still time," Tyler agrees.
The idea of this stream is simple. They set up their gear, just like they used to when what they would feel under their feet while performing were wooden pallets. They exchange grins and prepare to play pretend with one of the unheard songs from their upcoming album.
And then, they do nothing at all.
The stream would cut right there. And it would be up to their people to figure out when the proper video will come out. It will be easy, they have taken up more difficult puzzles and cracked longer codes. The anticipation will grow.
Tyler lets all the tension in his body dissipate and his limbs deflate with an overdramatic groan. "Man, that took a lot outta me. Break time?"
Josh gets it. He always does. He's already huffing out a laugh.
"Oh, yeah. Break time."
They push the mix of cables aside and sit together in the back of the van, a tight fit, but just enough space to host them both now that the gear is out. Tyler sits criss-cross-applesauce and picks at a thread of one of his pant legs. Josh lets his legs hang out of the van and swings his feet above the ground while leaning back.
"I, um," Tyler tries to say. His voice cracks and makes him drop his head. "I just wanna say, I'm really proud of you, man. Thanks for, y'know, still doing this with me. And letting me give you some lines to sing," he pauses. "And letting me act like an asshole for the bit."
Josh, just as tender at the heartfelt exchange of words as Tyler is, deflects by grasping onto the last part. "Hey, I think it's funny."
"Mm," Tyler hums. He taps on his knee to stop it from bouncing, then looks up at Josh, and moves his hand to tap at one of the tiny lightbulbs above their heads instead. "We should get this baby on the road. Like, a proper road trip, just you and me."
"That'd be sweet," Josh says and tilts his head. The red of the bulbs reflects in his glossy eyes. If only the lights in the parking lot were out, the mood would be perfect, and they'd be one foot back in the early 2010s. "Where would you wanna go?"
"Gotta do Michigan, if we're being really sappy," Tyler suggests, putting emphasis on the word.
"I'd do Michigan with you, yeah. Sounds fun."
Josh isn't looking at him. His eyes are restless, they catch onto every lightbulb they can without hurting his neck, until the bones in it don't allow him to catch no more. Their eyes meet, then, in the middle of the space that separates them.
"Remember our last night on tour in one of these?" Tyler asks softly.
"Kinda difficult not to," Josh replies with a short laugh, then wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "We barely got our stuff back in, and you were all over me. And then we- we-" he gets stuck on a sentence and doesn't finish it. "I think you cried that night. Yeah, you were sobbing as soon as you finished. It hit you really hard."
Tyler's face lights up at that, and he perks up. To show willingness to defend his pride, he gives Josh a playful shove that barely moves him at all.
"So hard I thought I'd messed something up in your body and we'd be ending the show with a trip to the ER," Josh shakes his head and his eyebrows raise. "I felt so bad."
Tyler doesn't say anything to that, but he does think about it. Josh didn't hit any spots he was not supposed to, and he didn't cause any irreparable damage to Tyler's internal organs. Tyler cried from joy. He cried from love he wasn't sure he was allowed to feel, and the only way he knew how to cope with it was to sob, with his head nestled awkwardly in Josh's lap as he held him through it.
He looks at Josh now, and Josh looks back at him this time. There is a mellow expression on his face, one that Tyler associates with his mind being partially absent from the present and stuck floating somewhere else. Paired with the momentary silence, it makes Tyler unsure of what implicit message he should extract from it, and it makes him chuckle nervously in turn.
"Stop looking at me like that, dude," he demands and aims another pretend punch at Josh's shoulder.
Josh doesn't listen. He pretends to take impact from the hit, but it doesn't undo his puzzling expression. If anything, Tyler's attempt at self-defense only makes it worse. Josh's eyes lid slightly, and Tyler is trying not to sweat under the collar of his gifted cycling jersey, internally thanking their stylist for putting him in breathable fabric.
"You're- you're thinking about it, aren't you?"
"I thought we could, maybe, y'know," Josh shrugs. His lips form a straight line for a brief moment, and that's even more confusing. At least he finally moved on to a different face. "But they probably have security cameras everywhere, so maybe we shouldn't."
"I was gonna ask them to hand us the footage after," Tyler replies, a little too eagerly. "For copyright reasons, or whatever."
"'Kay," Josh deadpans. He kicks a rock that isn't there, then asks, "Is that a yes?" and Tyler nods. Josh nods, too. "Alright. Tell me what you wanna do to me."
The immediate assumption that he will want to take charge makes Tyler lose the battle against his eccrine glands, moisture spreading across his back. It's a good thing that Josh can't see it from where he's sitting.
"Lemme think," Tyler starts, shifting and straightening his legs out for better thought flow. He points forward. "I could have you bent over right here, or try to hold you up while you're on your back. The second option will take more effort on my side, but I'll be hurting my knees either way, so it's whatever. And it'll still be good, except it'll take me longer to come than it did back then."
Josh cocks an eyebrow, feet swinging again. "'Cause you're getting old?"
Tyler glares at him. He lets him have it and moves on without a quip.
"No, 'cause I have some self-control now, Josh," he grumbles and leans back, slumping against the back of the seat. "And I know what I'm doing."
Josh fights back a giggle. He decides not to tease him further. "Alright, sounds good."
Tyler starts gnawing at the inside of his cheek. He glances at the spot he just pointed to, gets a nice piece of tissue between his teeth and swallows audibly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Tyler scoots up and turns his head. He takes in the features of Josh's face, hair, eyes, cheekbones doused in liquid red light, and reaches a hand out to grab him by the chin, keeping him still. He turns Josh's head to the left, then to the right and moves lower, until his hand settles under Josh's jaw, fingers slotting perfectly around the sides of his neck.
He pretends to examine his face like he would the muzzle of an obedient dog, and decides what he sees is appropriate enough to be rewarded. It's all for show and banter, because behind the fake reprobate and judgmental eyes is a man seeing his kindred soul the same way he would at the initial stages of their relationship, and he's sweating under his clothes from every second wasted not shoving his tongue down his throat and tasting both past and present in tandem.
Once he decides it's right, he tilts Josh's head to his own liking and blinks deliberately. A couple more seconds of gazing into each other's eyes, and he's leaning in, saying, "C'mere," and connecting their lips, sliding his tongue in. He knows it's welcome to invade, and he doesn't hold back.
Part of him expects it to work like it has in the past. Josh would pull back first and excuse himself by saying he needed a moment to breathe, and Tyler would wait for him to come back and pick up where they left off for long enough to grow tired and fall asleep with a heavy weight in his chest.
None of that happens this time. It's difficult to say who's more eager, whose hands grip the other's body tighter, but neither of them so much as thinks to let go.
Tyler's hand slides down Josh's neck, his fingertips caress a jugular vein on the side and come to rest against his shoulder. He can feel Josh slipping his fingers under the thin fabric of his jersey in turn, to hold him by the soft flesh of his hip so hard that it makes Tyler's whole body shudder.
Tyler pulls back first. It's not because of the force with which Josh is gripping him, he's very much in the mood to be groped all over as if he were merely a toy. He only breaks the kiss to crawl into Josh's lap instead, and mount him with his back hunched under the hood of the van. He lowers himself as much as he can, just enough to press their groins together.
Josh's eyes widen and Tyler chuckles breathlessly at the nervous whimper that slips from his lips.
"Already so hard, jeez," Tyler says and shakes his head, like he's trying to push shame into Josh's system, albeit undesignedly.
The trained disposition to tease when boxed in an overwhelmingly pleasurable situation makes him forget how nervous Josh has been throughout the tedious process of recording his vocals for their upcoming album. Because Tyler is still painfully himself in his behavior, Josh's clear desperation and pudency is already making him feel more in charge.
"You still like me that much?"
Josh is too caught off guard to come up with a jab of his own, too conflicted by the implication of Tyler's words. Tyler doesn't let him bite back, anyway, already grinding down against Josh's stiffening cock through the multiple irritating layers of fabric.
Their rhythms clash for the first few seconds, one narrowly missing the other, as if they're weaning rather than trying to collide. Tyler senses that lack of cohesion and curbs them into a consistent pace with a deeper, slower thrust of his hips. They grind their cocks together, panting and groaning interchangeably, until Tyler decides it's enough. He's the one in charge. Josh asked him to be in charge.
He's losing his rhythm again, slowing down and into a stop, saying, "Sorry, sorry," until they both cease to move and resort to breathing heavily with their faces all up in one another. "Don't wanna get messy."
Josh nods to that, regardless of the steady pulse in his cock telling him to protest. He reluctantly lets go of the small of Tyler's waist and watches him inch out of the van, get back to his feet and reach for something in the front pocket of his pants.
"No way you just have lube on you," Josh says, nearly choking on the last word and tries to remark on something else, but Tyler effectively distracts him by pulling a condom out of the same pocket. "You're insane."
Tyler shakes his head with an ostentatious huff and roll of his eyes.
"I had a feeling these would come in handy today. And I wouldn't have told you how I'd like to fuck you if I didn't come prepared, man," he says, shaking the inconspicuous bottle. He holds his free hand up and wiggles his fingers, one after another, all covered in an immodest layer of black paint. "There's no way I'm putting my fingers in you like this, though. You'll have to work yourself open for me."
Josh tries his hardest to remain collected. The shiver that runs down his spine and sets his nerves ablaze is between him and himself only.
"I can try, if you can gimme a minute," he replies, and his voice only trembles an insignificant amount. He's already pulling his pants and boxers down to his knees.
"Can do," Tyler says with a nod and takes a step forward. He hands Josh the lube and takes a step back, hand resting on the belt that holds his lengthy pants up. "Stay on your back, so I can see."
Tyler's flat, demanding voice doesn't do much to stifle the tension growing and expanding all across Josh's body. If he doesn't loosen up, he will not get far, not in the position he's in and not with the limited range of movements he can perform in such a tight space. The clink of metal against metal as Tyler begins unbuckling the double grommet belt around his hips is not too helpful, either. Josh is uncapping the bottle regardless, and coating his middle and ring fingers in lukewarm lube, concurrently with Tyler unbuttoning, unzipping and fishing his cock out of his pants.
Cock in paint-coated hand and eyes pointed down expectantly, Tyler waits to be entertained, and Josh is the one sweating now, hand shaking as he reaches under his balls and presses his middle finger against his hole, prodding, testing.
"Lemme see you put them in," Tyler urges. He's already starting to stroke himself, long, languid pulls from root to the very flushed tip.
Josh exhales and lifts his left leg, bends it at the knee and spreads the best he can, trying to maintain the eye contact that's been enforced from the start.
"Like this?"
Tyler's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. His eyes flutter as his hand moves upward and his fingers tighten just under the head of his cock, coaxing out precome.
"O-oh yeah, that's good. So flexible."
"Thanks," Josh says with a grin, delighted to be praised for simply following an order. Something he'd always known how to do well. "Been working on it."
Josh pushes the first finger in with a gasp and Tyler tips his head back, the sound reverberating in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull and further fueling his arousal. He tilts his head back down and locks eyes with Josh for a brief moment, sees him bite down on his bottom lip and involuntarily does the same. It feels like they're turning each other on from a distance, having a conversation of grunts and moans that the other consumes and responds to.
With his mouth agape, bottom lip bitten raw and glossy from spit, Tyler takes in the show Josh is putting on. He cups his own balls with the hand that isn't pre-occupied with stroking and watches Josh's finger slide in deeper, deeper. He presses a thumb between his testicles and whines, a little too loud, a little too high-pitched than he'd like, so he uses words as a distraction.
"Y'know," he starts, stops to let a shudder run down his back and continues. "If you weren't up for it now, I'd still fuck you after the shoot."
Josh is burning up. His ring finger is already following the middle, pushing inside with a bit of struggle that isn't enough to discourage him. He spreads his legs a little further apart, making sure that Tyler can see as much as he wants to.
"You still can," Josh teases, the timid sparks of pleasure blooming inside him awakening a surge of confidence in his blissed out mind. "I have to drive you back home."
Tyler chuckles. He swipes at the head of his dick, collecting beads of precome that have gathered there.
"Bit greedy, aren't you? It's- hah- it's better that you asked for it now, though. You look so good with these lights on."
Josh is the one throwing his head back this time. Under Tyler's all-seeing eye, he pushes his fingers in and out, and never deep enough. He eagerly slides a third in, all dripping lube onto the van floor. He can't reach far enough without straining muscles in his arm, but he tries nonetheless, presses as deep as he can and whimpers at every brief graze of his fingertips to his prostate.
Tyler can tell that he's frustrated and struggling. He lets out a sigh and walks up to the edge of the van. Josh tilts his head up with panicked haste and Tyler pats at his knee, telling him to straighten his legs with a gesture instead of words. With how loose and wide Josh's pants are, Tyler can pull them off without having to take his shoes off, and chuck them into the corner of the car.
He coaxes Josh's legs apart with a wave of his hand between them. "I got you, I got you," he assures, voice softer this time.
He lets go of his cock, and Josh's eyes follow it, wide and unfocused. It hangs so heavy from Tyler's unzipped pants that it makes Josh's mouth water. He wishes he'd force it down his throat first. He could swallow it in one go, get it nice and wet. He's good at it. He's done it a sufficient number of times in the past to be sure of it.
Tyler tries to open the condom with his teeth. He struggles to rip off the thin strip of plastic he half-separated from the rest and spits what's stuck to his tongue out. He rolls the condom onto his dick with one hand, deeply wishing he didn't have to. Later. After the shoot, he won't have to.
Josh yelps when Tyler grabs him by the calves and pulls him in. He beckons with his fingers and opens his palm. "C'mon. Gimme the lube."
Josh turns his head, sees the discarded bottle on the side and reaches for it, handing it to Tyler.
"You did so well in the studio, Josh. So good, y'know?" Tyler says sweetly, not even bothering to look Josh in the eye while he's shaking the bottle and drizzling lube into the palm of his hand. He spreads it over his fingers, grimaces briefly at the sight of it mixing with the black paint and curls his hand around the base of his cock. He slides it up and down the length to get himself slick enough, then presses the tip against Josh's hole.
"Breathe in."
Josh does. He draws in a long breath, chest rising above expanding lungs. Tyler rests his unoccupied hand on Josh's hip and pushes in slow, so, so agonizingly slow, knees bending under the growing feeling of warmth and pleasure.
Josh keens loudly, his voice effectively stifled by the walls of the van. Otherwise, it would echo all across the parking lot, and it might just make him crumble in shame.
With his head tilted down and eyebrows furrowed in focus, Tyler keeps pushing his cock deeper in, inch by inch disappearing inside and engulfed by overwhelmingly tight heat. He thinks soberly enough to take his time for now, and fills Josh up tenderly, letting him savor the feeling. His breath trembles in the back of his throat as he buries himself inside all the way up to his balls, drawn up tight and pressed up against Josh's ass.
"And, breathe out," Tyler grunts and Josh does as asked, exhaling with a high-pitched yelp. "Good boy."
"S-stop," Josh hiccups. There are tears welling up to his eyes. The perplexingly good kind, but Tyler doesn't know that.
Tyler freezes, a wave of fervid guilt washes over him, and his mind scrambles to identify where he may have gone wrong.
"Too much?"
"No, just- stop talking like that," Josh says and covers his face with his hands.
So that's what it is. Tyler swallows and reins in the stampede of thoughts he already let run free in his head.
"God, you got me thinking I was hurting you," he says, nearly out of breath. "I'm not hurting you, am I? You'd tell me if I were, yeah?"
Josh wipes his face and rests his hands on his chest, visibly trying to will his body to relax. "You're not, it's just- I forgot what it felt like."
"What? This?" Tyler glances down and back up.
"No, no, to- to hear so much praise from you. About something- something I do. About the singing. What you said earlier, and now this, it's just," Josh takes a pause to exhale and retrieve his point from within a storm of thoughts and feelings. "It's a lot."
"Mm," Tyler hums in thought. "It's a good 'lot' though, right? You like it when I tell you how good you are, I know you do. Guess I haven't been doing that enough lately, sorry."
"I do, I like it a lot," Josh says, cheeks burning with bright pink. "I guess I- I don't actually want you to stop. I just needed a moment."
"That's okay. You can tell me to shut up at any moment if it makes you feel better. I barely matter at all today, anyway," Tyler assures. "It's all about you, man."
"Okay," Josh says, eyes pointed blankly somewhere past him. He nods. "Okay, yeah. Thank you."
Tyler exhales into a high-pitched, strained whine. He can feel a drop of sweat roll down the slope of his nose and drip onto Josh's stomach. "You're so warm. Want me to keep going?"
"Yeah. Please."
Tyler bites at the inside of his bottom lip and adjusts the way he's standing, bracing himself. He holds Josh up and presses in just a little deeper, to the point where they both shudder and moan in near perfect unison. Josh feels lightheaded, stuffed so full of Tyler's cock it feels like there is barely enough space for it to move. As Tyler pulls back and readies for the first proper thrust, his cock drags heavily against Josh's insides, tight, hot, and wet. Josh hasn't felt him this hard in years.
Tyler is equally eager and fond, and the blend of both feelings seeps through him, right into Josh's veins. It's always been like this. No matter how deplorably turned on they were by each other, love has always been biting at the corners of their intercourse. Even quick fucks were affectionate, everything between them always was.
Tyler pushes back in, hard. It makes Josh whimper and attempt to pointlessly grip the floor of the van. Even with nothing to hold on to, it's okay. He asked Tyler to be in charge. He had hoped to be fucked hard, and he isn't about to complain, not when the head of Tyler's cock gets so infuriatingly close to his prostate. He huffs out a near maniacal laugh and hooks his leg around Tyler's waist, kneading his ass with the heel of his shoe with newfound impatience.
Tyler gets it. He's seen this countless times before, and knows what Josh needs.
So he fucks Josh hard.
A few test thrusts now behind them, Tyler sets a relentless rhythm to this one. Each press of his cock into him makes Josh whine, and if it weren't for the nostalgic, mustard shirt, there would be burn marks blooming across his back, left for them to inspect when they get home and undress each other again.
"So good, fuck," Tyler groans, the sound of his own balls smacking against Josh's cheeks so obscenely with each thrust nearly driving him crazy, but he perseveres to keep talking. "I didn't even have to do anything to your voice, y'know? It's all, hah, it's all you. They always want to alter things somehow, but I wouldn't let them. Not when it's you. It had to be all you, nothing else."
Josh's vision is blurring around the edges, white spots springing up all over, shame no longer to be seen. He would stay in this state forever if he could, perpetuate it until it takes him out. Blissed out, bold, filled to the brim with praise and love, love, love. Taken apart and consumed by Tyler. He may have hit his head against the back of the seat a few times with how forceful Tyler's thrusts have been. There is no correlation there.
"All me," Josh huffs, mouth agape, nearly drooling. "All me, all me."
"Mmhm," Tyler hums, pleased to know they agree. "Think you could take more lines in the future? You could write some, too, if you wanted. You could write for me, and I'd write for you. I write for you all the time. I'd guide you through it again, touch your chest and tell you where you should feel it."
He babbles on and reaches out to press onto Josh's stomach. It's absurd for him to believe he would feel his cock under his fingertips, but the timing works well enough to make Josh yelp, and that's good enough.
"Bring the best out in you, then eat up every little note, and tell you how good you sound."
Josh couldn’t care less that it's barely making sense.
"Fuck- c-close," he says, a hurried warning. His dick had gone long enough untouched and smacking against his belly. He needs it touched, needs to be taken care of.
"Yeah?" Tyler huffs with a smirk. Graciously, he grabs ahold of Josh's cock and curls his hand around it, nice and tight. "Lift your shirt up. Don't get it dirty, I like how it looks on you."
Josh barely manages to follow the order in time amidst the heat that engulfs him along with the compliment. He rolls his shirt up, belly and chest fully exposed now, and bites down on it to make sure it doesn't roll back down. Saliva can dry in a few minutes. Come, not so much.
As he's bucking his hips and fucking up into Tyler's tight fist, black paint begins to smear along the length of his twitching cock, and when the image downs on him, Josh tips over the edge, hard. He spills all over his belly in thick, long spurts that narrowly miss his shirt.
Tyler can't help but be quite impressed. He glances down, sees the way Josh's cock twitches and drips come all over his hand, feels it against his palm and whimpers, the last remaining scraps of composure slipping away as his own orgasm hits him. It feels like a sucker punch, makes his back hunch so suddenly it hurts somewhere deep in his loins. He groans with every spurt of come that fills the condom, until he's properly drained, with nothing else to give.
Taking advantage of his body folding under the pressure, he leans just a little bit lower, grabs a fistful of that mustard shirt and kisses Josh one more time. He tastes like mint gum and bitter coffee, in contrast to the RedBull and artificially sweetened cookies from the past.
"Man, I haven't come this hard in a while," Tyler says between their joint panting. He lets go of Josh's creased shirt and begins to pull out.
There are marks on Josh's left cheek, two short, perfect rows of circles from Tyler's belt. It makes him flinch. The condom droops with a heavy load collected at the tip.
"It's gonna be a mess when I take this thing off," Tyler grumbles, zipping his jersey down to his collarbones, flushed skin exposed.
Josh knows better than to let his post-coital mind do the talking, but does it, anyway.
"What if you kept it on?"
Tyler scrunches his nose in disgust. If they didn't have a video to shoot, he would consider entertaining this side of his man, but not with a whole crew of people scheduled to join them soon.
"Dude, gross. It'll, like, slip off. No way it's gonna work."
Josh's face drops. "Dang."
Against Josh's wish, Tyler carefully removes the condom and ties it off. His dick feels uncomfortably sticky and cold, but there is nothing else for him to do than tuck it back in and redirect his attention somewhere else.
Seeing Josh like this is an appropriate distraction. Sprawled out in the back of a van, hair tussled and sticking to his forehead, with no trace of red in the thick of the curls, it makes Tyler feel homesick for something that could barely be considered a home. If instead of walls and floors of concrete, he could see an open field of grass and mud, a stage bustling with drums and bass in the distance, he would feel at home.
When Josh looks at him and tilts his head with a grin, eyes crinkling under fondness and amusement, he gets as close to it as he ever could. With Josh, the industrial concrete feels like the four walls of the room they share at his place, and the smell of gasoline escapes his nostrils to make room for an inhale of homemade tacos and scented candles.
Tyler shakes his head, memories dropping to the ground. He wipes under his eye with his thumb. "We'll do something more gross when you take me home."
Josh perks up. "Screaming lessons?"
Tyler snorts and covers his mouth. "Dude, screaming lessons. I'll make you lose your voice, alright."
"Sounds good," Josh says with audible delight. "I'll take you up on that."
Tyler helps him get dressed, and when he offers Josh a hand and helps him back to his feet, Josh's shirt turns dark-gray, his own buttoned up, white, with blue flowers made of dots all over.