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Home is a hotel room for Tyler. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. He gets to see a lot of cool shit. Monuments, fancy restaurants, extravagant venues he gets to play in.
He doesn’t really give a shit about any of that right now though. All he cares about is folding up this stiff ass pillow and shoving it between his legs.
He’s been unnecessarily horny lately. Very annoying. Very in the way of the things he actually needs to do because contrary to popular belief, it is quite hard to hide a boner when the cause of said boner is his fucking bandmate.
Stupid Josh and his stupid abs.
Of course, he doesn’t have time to just rub one out whenever he wants, so instead it’s days upon days of willing it away, ignoring it, thinking about something unsavory, etcetera, etcetera…
He damn near shakes with excitement when they’re split up into single hotel rooms. He can’t keep holing away into the shower and jacking off like an embarrassed teenager while Josh scrolls through Twitter outside. Too risky, even if he’s quiet.
The pillow beneath him has probably seen better days, so he doesn’t feel bad about shoving it under his poor weeping cock. He gives an experimental roll of his hips and his jaw falls slack. “Fuck,” he hisses to himself, leaning forward. His hips jerk on their own accord, muscles spasming because his mind can’t control his body fast enough and he’s horny. His boxers hang off of one ankle, too eager to get to work to throw them off completely.
Eyes squeezed shut, Tyler rocks back and forth. Steady. Slow. He bites his lip hard, eyebrows furrowed. C’mon Tyler, let’s get that imagination going.
He wants to think it’s Josh beneath him. God, how he wishes it was Josh and not some cheap polyester covered. Maybe he’s sick for wanting that. Who cares. They’re best friends. Best friends do that shit all the time.
He wants to grind down on Josh’s cock. Would be even better if they’re clothed. Humping Josh would fix him, he thinks. On one of the cheap leather couches in their dressing rooms. Josh could fuck his mouth and cum on his face. Just a thought. God, he’d probably taste so good, too.
”Tyler,” Josh pants, “so good for me. Fuck. So good.”
Tyler hollows his cheeks, tucks a stray hair away from his face and blinks away the tears in his big doe eyes. He IS a good boy. Sat between Josh’s legs, getting his pretty throat fucked.
Josh lays him down and fucks him after, making him cum not once but two times, calloused hands holding him down. He whispers sweet nothings, leaves hickies on his neck that he’s so excited to have to cover up tomorrow morning.
Tyler feels beads of sweat roll down his forehead. One hand holds the pillow while the other is shoved into his mouth because he’s about to start whining like some dumb virgin if he keeps this shit up. His teeth dig into his knuckles.
Josh is only a shallow wall away from him, and by God, he’s not confident enough to buy into those cheesy porn scenarios of “Hey, I heard you moaning my name, wanna bang?”
As much fanfic as he’s read in his lifetime, the way the fans write him just isn’t as realistic as he actually is. But fuck, wouldn’t it be fun to be like that? They would’ve fucked ages ago if he was that confident.
He’d put himself in any position Josh wants. Doggy style, riding, against the wall. Fuck, he’ll do it on the balcony of the hotel where everyone can see. He’s nasty like that. He just really wants Josh to bend him over. It’s what he deserves.
”Yes,” Tyler begs, “just like that. Oh my God. Please-“
Josh’s hand clasps over his mouth, muffling his whines. “You are SO loud,” he grits out, hips snapping against Tyler’s.
“Fuck,” Tyler pants, thighs tensing. He’s getting so fucking close. Eyebrows knit, lips parted, he doubles over, fucking into the pillow like his life depends on it.
Normally he wouldn’t resort to things like this because oh, the poor housekeeping, but God, is he desperate. His cock oozes pre-cum onto the fabric, twitching every time he jerks forward. The pillow is just rough enough to give him the stimulation he needs.
What he wouldn’t give to have one of Josh’s shirts right now. A hoodie, his boxers. Anything. He’d huff it like a breath of fresh air and probably squirm like a girl.
He grits his teeth, biting back a whine creeping up the back of his throat. He wants to feel Josh’s cock fuck into him, he wants to have cum running down his thighs and his legs aching by the time they’re done.
He should’ve bought a dildo or something. Maybe he can sneak away tomorrow while everyone else is shopping and nab something. How embarrassing, Tyler. He’s got the real thing right next door but he’s just too much of a pussy to take it.
The bed squeaks below him every time he moves. Annoying. Very annoying. Josh definitely knows what he’s doing in here.
His hips start to tire, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he feels his orgasm getting closer. He’s tense. Too tense. He shoves the pillow away and lets himself fall back into the sheets. Two fingers in his mouth, covered in spit before he slips them into himself, thighs shaking. One hand fucking into himself while the other holds the base of his dick.
Josh would be so sweet. He’d probably ease into him all soft. Murmur pretty things into his ear, fuck him like he loves him. As much as that would be nice, Tyler really needs to have his hair pulled and be called a dumb bitch. Maybe one day they’ll work it out together.
“Fuck-Josh,” he gasps to himself, muscles tensing as his fingers piston in and out of himself with little to no rhythm.
He can’t stand being this close, especially when his fucking fingers have always been too short. He’s right on the cusp of his prostrate. Just barely unreachable.
He has this reoccurring fantasy of him and Josh being in some enclosed space, pressed together. Josh fingers him until he’s squirming and then fucks him against the wall. Lord, what he would do to have his legs wrapped around Josh’s waist. He’s so strong. All muscles and pretty privilege. Tyler’s just a little freak who can sing. Fuck.
”Come on,” Josh coos, “cum on my fingers. So pretty, Tyler. I wish you could see yourself right now.”
Tyler feels tears in his eyes when he cums, knuckles white from where his fingers twist in the fabric of Josh’s hoodie. He cries out, face shoved into the crook of Josh’s neck. Desperate. Needy.
Hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, he feels a rush of embarrassment course through him. He’s so dirty. This is dirty. He doesn’t care. His wrist is aching. Cock twitching, he can’t stop thinking about Josh calling him a good boy. He finally lets go of the base of his dick, fucking up into his fist slowly. It squelches with pre-cum and his nose wrinkles. He feels like a teenager again, watching gay porn and then crying to God when he’d cum. It’s the same thing but with extra layers. Kind of.
He needs Josh in him. Josh and his perfect rhythm. He probably fucks on beat, too. Isn’t that a thought to have? Tyler would love to ride him while he drums, as unethical as it seems.
”Kiss me,” Tyler begs. “Please.”
Josh shuts him up. Eats all of his moans, licks into his mouth and he can taste the Redbull he had earlier for breakfast.
“I’m fucking-oh my God,” Tyler whimpers, and he arches off the bed. Hips twitching, toes curling, he cums, embarrassingly fucking up into his fist. It seeps into his t-shirt, globs of cum rolling down his fingers.
Panting, he feels his eyes roll back, eyelashes fluttering. Lying in his mess, Tyler steadies his breathing and feels the post-nut clarity sink in. It’s more of a wave of drowsiness and sore muscles from tensing so hard. And a little bit of guilt.
Add another tick to the “times I came to the thought of my best friend” list, Tyler. He eases his fingers out of himself and cringes at the cramps in his hand.
He rolls over, groaning at the already drying cum all over him and waddles to the bathroom. He stretches, groaning at the ache of his shoulder because of how long he was balled up with his fingers stuffed inside of himself. He peels his shirt off and steps back into his boxers after dirtying multiple tissues cleaning himself up.
Then there’s a timid knock at the door. Of fucking course there is. This is just like those fanfics.
Stumbling, Tyler opens it wearing nothing but that pair of boxers that were around his ankles no more than five minutes ago.
His cheeks are flushed and red patches of skin trail down his body from where he was pressed into the sheets.
Josh looks like he’s seen a ghost and stands awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his gym shorts. He’s hard. God. He’s hard and Tyler can see it and they’re both just pretending like it’s not there.
“Hey,” he says, pupils blown, “I uh…just checking to make sure you’re okay. I heard some noises in the other room and didn’t know if you…”
Tyler’s cheeks heat up even hotter. “I’m fine,” he says shortly, “fine. Going to bed right now. G’night.”
He goes to shut the door but Josh’s hand stops it and cracks it back open slightly. His voice cracks slightly when he speaks.
“Maybe next time you could invite me over?”
Tyler must have made a really funny face because they stand there in stunned silence until he squeaks out, “yeah.” He nods dumbly. “Yeah. Actually.”
Then Josh lets the door shut slowly and Tyler sways where he stands like that wasn’t a real interaction. Was that real? He wasn’t dreaming? That wasn’t an orgasm-induced hallucination? Holy fuck.
He falls into bed and his mouth feels dry because well, shit, maybe he is going to reenact that fanfiction sooner than later. Lucky him.
His dreams are orchestrated all night by an oddly familiar squeaking sound of the mattress in the room next to his.