Work Text:
It was hot in Chile. Like, disgustingly so. Tyler and Josh were on their last few shows of the LATAM leg of the tour, and personally, Josh was ready for a break. He was tired and sore from the constant performing, missing Jenna and Debby, and missing his dog Jim even more.
Currently, Josh was sitting at his drum stage, watching Tyler debate the arena crew on where he could climb for Car Radio. Josh felt like the fabric of his drum throne was burning through his shorts, and he had long since abandoned his T-shirt, opting to let his skin burn rather than endure the disgusting feeling of sweat-soaked clothes. Despite being fond of the growing length of his hair, Josh found himself regretting the decision to keep it long as it plastered itself to the back of his neck. He was tempted to ask one of the crew members for a hair tie. Josh wiped the sweat off his brow before turning to check on Tyler's progress with the crew he had wrangled. It was unfair how composed he was—hands on his hips, dumb sunglasses shielding his vision, a stern frown on his lips as the crew member stuttered out a response. Josh silently cursed Tyler's genes and how the sun barely bothered him, whereas Josh's pale skin seemed to burn at the slightest ray of sunlight.
Josh must have zoned out while lamenting his discomfort because when he refocused, he saw Tyler staring directly at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Josh didn’t know what kind of face he was making, but Tyler must have seen something because he walked over until they were face-to-face.
“You hot?” Tyler asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Dude, obviously I’m hot. It’s boiling out here,” Josh responded, feeling the sweat reappear on his brow. “Genuinely have no clue how you can stand it.”
Tyler smiled, laughing a little at Josh’s predicament—though how he found it amusing was a mystery to Josh. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy,” he said, reaching out his hand as if to cup Josh’s cheek but was surprised when his hand was slapped away.
“Do not touch me right now, Joseph. Not only am I so sweaty I could cry, but I know for a damn fact that your paint is extra transferable in this heat,” Josh snapped. “We don’t need Twitter freaking out again ’cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself, you freak.”
Tyler paused, thinking for a moment before looking down at his hands and then slowly looking back up at Josh. A sly grin grew on his face, along with a dangerous glint in his eyes, and—yeah, Josh should probably start running now.
And run he did.
The second Tyler’s hands shot out to grab him, he leaped from his stool and sprinted backstage, only to hear Tyler’s footsteps behind him. The chase was on.
Josh was running like his life depended on it, dodging and weaving through stage equipment, shouting half-assed apologies to any frazzled crew members he passed. He was just about to make it to the green room when—
“Hey, Josh, can I talk to you about the ride phone steal—Jesus Christ! Dude, what’s got you in such a rush??”
Mark, bless his heart, had just doomed Josh by opening his mouth. In the small amount of time he had forced Josh to stop and listen, Tyler had caught up. Placing a firm grip on the back of Josh’s neck, he smiled at Mark, saying that he needed a word with Josh privately.
Tyler walked Josh into a space backstage before shoving him into a wall, hands flying to his waist. It wasn’t the bruising grip Josh had expected. Instead, it was firm but gentle—meant to keep him where he was but not hurt him. Tyler leaned forward until their faces were a breath apart.
“Caught you~” he teased.
Josh only pouted in response.
“C’mon, Ty, I was being serious about the paint marks!” Josh whined.
Tyler nodded his head. “I was too. I wanna see you on stage with them,” he said, expression unchanging.
Josh must have gotten heatstroke because it felt like his face was on fire. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about stuttering out a response as Tyler dragged his fingers slowly up his torso, leaving black streaks in their wake. Josh was getting squirmy—not only from the ticklish sensation but also from the possessive behavior he knew Tyler was expressing.
Back during their Blurryface tours, they had barely made it to the tour buses before fucking like animals, not even bothering to get out of their stage outfits and makeup. The amount of paint that got on Josh was obscene, and Tyler’s reaction to it was no better. If Josh was lucky, it would usually end in another quick orgasm. If he was unlucky, it meant Tyler practically parading him around to crew members, the audience, even their wives when he could get away with it. It was embarrassing, it was possessive, and yes, it was a little bit hot.
When fans started noticing, Tyler relented and cleaned the paint off before even getting near Josh. Evidently, he didn’t care about that anymore, as he massaged Josh’s shoulders with stained hands, humming slightly with a lazy smile on his lips.
Removing his hands and stepping back, Tyler examined his work, nodding when he found it satisfactory. Cupping Josh’s cheek, just as he had intended when this started, he whispered, “Good luck washing that off before the show,” before planting a quick kiss on his face and disappearing.
Josh sighed, walking to the nearest bathroom to assess the damage—and yes, attempt to wash the paint off. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was pleased that it wasn’t as bad as he had expected. But still.
He needed to call Jenna so she could put a fucking leash on her husband.