Work Text:
The mask was exactly what Tyler wanted it to be : a wall with eyes.
A perfect black shell that made the sweet and soft person he loved vanish completely.
Erased.
In his place sat a machine, voiceless, faceless, watching.
It had started as a harmless fixation, something he sketched out in his notebook late at night when he was supposed to be working on lyrics.
Something he would think about in the most intimate and private moments.
Something that sticks to his mind, always there in between two thoughts.
At first the sketches looked like any other mask. He tried cutting eyeholes, then mouth hole... But something was off.
It felt too human.
One evening he slammed the notebook shut, annoyed, wet erection in his sweatpants waiting for more. Hungry.
He couldn't think of something weird enough. Scary even. He couldn't think of the complete opposite of Josh's bubbly personality.
Because that’s what Tyler wanted : not to decorate or disguise him, but to annihilate him.
To make him disappear into something colder, harder. More powerful and terrifying.
Tyler had always been aroused by the idea of masks, a secret he’d never shared with anyone.
No one knew that this was the real reason behind the countless masks he’d worn over the past decade, if not longer. Not even his wife.
He would open the last level of his chest of drawers and select one from the countless options before masturbating for hours in front of mirrors. He loved looking at his face not being his anymore. Like someone else was staring back at him through his own body.
Exhibitionism and a voyeurism all at once.
When using the ones with a whole for his mouth, he would roll his tongue at himself, spit on his cock from above.
It was during one of those sessions that the red glow came to him, those merciless lights for eyes, he’d nearly come just by thinking about them. Like two cameras recording him and his dirty and shameful acts.
The anonymity, the obliteration of identity, the terrifying stillness of it… God.
The first time Josh pulled it on, Tyler had to hide his extreme internal reaction. The fact that his chest was heaving like he’d been caught watching porn.
Because it was porn.
It was exactly the kind of sickness that gripped him, this ritualistic obsession with control and erasure.
The first night on stage, the machine played like nothing could touch it. Steady, merciless rhythm, red eyes scanning the room, the void swallowing every trace of the boy he knew.
Every step toward the drums made his cock swell hotter, harder, thicker.
Each night, he wanted the mask closer, wanted to grind against the faceless piece of fabric until he ruined himself in front of everyone.
When he leaned over the snare, the crowd screamed and all the cameras were on him. Ready to expose every angle on twitter.
And he stayed there, trembling, about to break.
The red eyes burned into him, two steady dots that saw everything. Never blinking.
Tyler knees gave out, crashing to the stage floor, facing the machine's drums.
He carefully placed his mic on the stage floor, in front of him as an horizontal line. He bent forward, spine curving until his forehead touched the ground. His palms pressed flat at first, then turned up slowly.
Exposed, offered, vulnerable.
Open hands.
Empty hands.
It felt like his breath was fogging the inside of the Clancy mask. The heat swirled around his face, sweat dripping down his neck.
The machine never faltered. Sticks rising. Falling. Beating.
Tyler’s chest heaved. He rocked once on his knees, hips jerking forward helplessly, grinding against nothing. His cock rubbed against fabric, and it almost broke him open. A moan that nobody heard caught in his throat.
His hands trembled, stretched out in offering, begging without words.
For mercy.
For acknowledgment.
Without grabbing his mic back, he sang the lyrics directly into it. His cheek glued to the stage. He couldn't be lower and smaller than that.
"I used to see, it felt so real.
But now i plead, just take the deal.
I promised you a contract."
Heavy breathing in between phrases, his voice was pure moans.
He lifted his gaze and met the two judging dots. Face still resting on the ground, body aching and twisted in a surrendering position.
His lips formed the last words. His voice never felt so vulnerable.
"I promised you a contract."