Patrick rolls his eyes, probably big enough for the camera to see. Pete, from his vantage point just off-camera, can definitely see it.
"Yes, please, tell me again how I don't have any tattoos. Clearly I don't know. It's not like I've had to talk about it every single week in elimination. It's not like I didn't hear it every day in my shop. I don't have to go under the needle to know how to give someone a badass piece. Obviously, if I'm still here." Patrick gives a sweet little smile, and Pete has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing loud enough for the mic to hear. Something probably comes out because Patrick gives him a sly look under his fedora, and fuck, that fucking kid.
The director gives the okay sign with his hand, and Patrick politely thanks everyone waiting in the background, including Pete. He slips away, and the next contestant slides in for their time in the confessional area, but what the fuck ever. Pete's not waiting around for them.
By the time Pete ambles back to his trailer - not running back, like he wants to - Patrick's sitting outside. He's tucked away in the gap between the trailer and the wall it's against, so only Pete can see him because he knows where to look. Patrick looks like he belongs there. Mostly. His leg's jiggling like he wants to run away.
Pete wants to lick his neck. Instead, he tips his sunglasses down and says, like they haven't done the fake banter every day they've done this, "Patrick, right?"
"You remember me." Patrick squints up at Pete. The sun makes his pale skin glow, but it's the way his face scrunches up that makes Pete feel like he's looking at too much. "I wasn't sure if you actually wanted to ask me about one of my contacts back home."
"I never fucking joke about Chicago." Pete opens the door, blocking Patrick from view even more, and Patrick gets to his feet. "Or about tattoos."
"Pretty sure I heard you making a crack about one of Joe's jobs recently."
Pete makes an undignified noise as Patrick goes inside the trailer. "I wouldn't still have my balls if I said anything about Joe."
While Pete shuts the door and makes sure it's locked, Patrick crinkles his nose like he always does about the lingering smell of weed in the air, and he folds his hands politely in front of him. The minute Pete turns all the way around, Patrick rushes forward and kisses Pete hard, moaning like he's at a sold-out basement show and Pete's the last glass of water in the place. He pulls back long enough to ask, "You think anyone saw me? Or heard us?"
Pete doesn't think any of the crew get paid enough to give a fuck about which contestants are sneaking in a non-voting host's trailer, but what the fuck ever. Sneaking around is hot as shit, and judging by the bulge in Patrick's tight jeans when Pete slips his hand down, Patrick thinks so, too.
"Nah," Pete says, and he gets to his knees.
No matter what Pete gets - or doesn't get - from Patrick, Patrick's usually pretty good about letting Pete blow him. He always looks confused at the beginning like he does now, when Pete slides the zipper of Patrick's jeans down and takes his cock out of his underwear, but that always fades away when Pete drags his tongue over the head of Patrick's cock. He knew Patrick would look like this from the first challenge, when they were playing Prince in the background to get the artists jazzed, and there was an instant where Patrick's face completely blissed out. Pete made it his mission to see that face again, and if Patrick was game for it, there was no fucking way he was ever giving up his access to it.
There was nothing about Patrick getting more desperate that wasn't amazing. The way he gasped, his chest hitching as he tried to keep it quiet. The way his cheeks flushed, getting redder and redder the closer he got. The way he grabbed his hat or his hair or both, trying not to grab Pete no matter how many times Pete said it was okay.
And then the act itself. Fuck. Pete slid all the way down: fuck being on camera, it's not like pot did his voice any favors, and this was so much more worth it. Patrick's skin smelled of sweat as Pete dragged his nose against the soft hair at the root of Patrick's cock, and the taste, all salty and Patrick. Pete wants to swallow the essence of Patrick, keep a piece of him around when Patrick's doing other things, and it always feels like he can when he's doing this. Like Patrick's letting him have a part that he doesn't give anyone else.
Patrick's voice is pure music when he makes it to the peak and comes down Pete's throat. Pete hums happily and pulls back, taking it all and licking Patrick up.
He's still in the middle of that when Patrick grabs Pete's hair for the first time that day and pulls him up.
"I was busy," Pete says a little roughly, but Patrick raises an eyebrow.
"Because you don't want me to return the favor?"
Pete gestures at his dick. "Not stopping you, dude."
Patrick shakes his head and gets on his knees as Pete undoes his own pants. His tend to be trickier than Patrick's, and Patrick has less patience for that kind of thing, probably because extra time gives Patrick more opportunity to dwell on how nervous when he's about to blow Pete. Pete can see it every time, and he can see it now as he pushes his pants to his ankles. Patrick's playing with his shirt like rolling it will fix something. But Patrick won't do hand jobs because he doesn't want to fuck up his hands or his wrists, and they don't have the time for decent fucks. Why Patrick turns Pete down when Pete offers to jerk off on his face instead is beyond Pete, but what the fuck ever.
Maybe it's because, when Patrick goes for it, he goes for it. It's not quite like Pete, who gives Patrick admiring looks the entire time he's got his cock in his mouth. (Patrick's said Pete looks like a puppy more than once, which always sends a little thrill of happiness up Pete's spine.) Patrick really loves doing this for the sake of doing it. With lips like his, it's really nice that whatever entity made Patrick gave him the capacity to get horny about giving blow jobs.
By the time Pete's clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt not to come, Patrick's half hard again. Whenever they're both done with this show, and Pete doesn't have to sneak him away, he's going to get a really nice hotel room, and they're going to do this at the same time. Side by side. Let Patrick do the thing he's doing with his tongue on the veins of Pete's cock slower and on a real goddamn bed.
Thinking about Patrick all stretched out doesn't make it any slower, but Pete grunts out a warning, and Patrick finishes him off by hand without complaint. It's all so fucking good.
What's even better is that they spend lunch huddled together by the door, pants down, giggling at each other's faces. Sometimes, they actually talk or eat, but half the time, Pete has his phone out and takes selfies. Patrick always carefully stays out of frame, but he makes some really great fucking faces, which is really the part Pete cares about.
It's only when a PA is yelling outside about Pete getting back to the set - Pete always locks his door, so no one bothers opening it - that they scramble to their feet and tuck themselves away again.
"You hanging around today?" Pete asks quietly, just in case someone's waiting outside.
Patrick shakes his head. "Think we're back in the house the rest of the night. Tomorrow?"
Pete sighs. He's off doing promo in the middle of the fucking desert. "Day after?"
"You'd know better than I would."
Someone knocks hard, shaking half the trailer. "Wentz! Get your ass out here!"
"Fuck you!" Pete calls cheerfully, and he drops his voice again. "Text me."
Patrick kisses Pete hard one more time and grins. "You can't shut me up."
He ducks into the bathroom as Pete checks his hair in the mirror and gets ready to step outside. Makeup will be pissed about his lips again, but Pete's pocket is going to buzz the entire time. And then Pete will have dirty texts for the hours he doesn't sleep. Totally worth the risk.