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The thing is, Patrick really likes going down on guys.
It's not that he doesn't like getting off, because hi, he's a guy. And he's not stupid. But what he really loves about hooking up with people, the thing he can't get enough of, is getting someone else off. Feeling a guy shaking under his fingers, tasting the tangy bitterness of precome as he sucks a cock into his mouth, looking up and seeing someone falling apart with each swirl of his tongue.
He misses that. He wants that.
It's not that he can't hook up with anyone, exactly. There are probably guys on every stop on the tour who wouldn't mind Patrick going down on his knees in front of them in some bathroom or sketchy back hallway. But he has kind of a policy about groupies. There have been enough bad experiences, enough horror stories, and enough less than memorable shady encounters that he's kind of sick of brief anonymous sex.
Friend sex is really the way to go, as anyone on a tour will tell you, but Patrick doesn't exactly have the easiest time approaching people he sees on an everyday basis for stuff like that. It's not that he's ever had anything be awkward before—the thing with Vicky ended amicably enough, and Travis hasn't changed how he treats Patrick even a little bit since that one time, and Bill's….still Bill—but the potential for awkwardness is pretty scary, and anyway, Patrick isn't exactly sure how to go about walking up to someone and being like hey, you wouldn't mind if I dragged you into this closet and blew you, right?
Not that he really expects any guy in his right mind to say no to a blowjob…but he doesn't really tour with many people who are in their right minds.
He's taken to jerking off a lot. Shutting himself into his bunk and closing his eyes and imagining, remembering, practically feeling hard floor under his knees, hands in his hair, a cock sliding between his lips. It's good, most of the time, but it's not what he wants, not what he needs, and with each day he's getting more frustrated, more snappish and less fun to be around.
"Dude needs to get laid," Joe drawls one afternoon, sprawled out on the couch while Patrick works, and Patrick just turns his headphones up and glowers at his computer some more. Because yes. He does. But unless Joe's offering, it'd be great if he shut his face.
Patrick spends the next two days trying not to think about Joe offering.
He fails.
Then there's the day he hears Andy jerking off in his bunk. Which, you know, shouldn't be hot, since it's something Patrick's been hearing for years, and it's Andy, who is like the straightest guy alive. And yet…he makes these noises. Not loud ones, just these completely unintentional hitches in his breath, and Patrick starts imagining exactly how Andy's fingers are moving against his cock, how he twists his wrist to get that quick startled gasp out of himself, how it would feel to make him make those noises, pressing his hips up against a wall and swallowing around him…
Patrick barely gets the bathroom door shut behind him before he's coming into his hand, banging his head back against the wall.
That's when he decides that this has to stop. Clearly, there is only one solution.
That solution's name is Pete.
"I'm going to do something," Patrick says, walking onto Pete's bus and locking the door behind him. "I'm going to do something, and you're not going to make a thing out of it, ok? You're not going to say anything, and we're not going to talk about it, but I'm just going to…I have to—" his hands land on Pete's hips, pushing him back into the nearest wall, and he drops to his knees in front of him.
Pete lets out a strangled sound. "I. Um," he tries.
Patrick leans forward, his lips brushing against the zipper of Pete's pants. "You're not. Going. To talk," he says, his hands sliding down Pete's thighs, feeling the heat of his skin through his jeans. "I know that's a hard concept for you," his fingers trace along the inner seams of the pants, curling up around the waistband and pulling Pete's hips up off the wall a little, towards him so he can work on the button. "But you're going to do it. Or I'm going to stop."
Pete lets out a sound very close to a whimper, but doesn't say anything. Patrick smiles.
"Good," he says, and mouths Pete's cock through his pants. Pete's head tips back against the wall with a thud.
It's not easy to get Pete's pants down, clingy as they are, but Patrick manages with a little hip wiggling from Pete. He takes a moment to admire the movement, imagine what Pete looks like when he's fucking. His fingers curl around Pete's hipbones, and he bites his lip, imagining Pete fucking into his mouth. Then he leans in and sucks the head of Pete's cock between his lips.
"Fuck," Pete gasps out above him, and Patrick pulls away, looking up at him. Pete groans and covers his mouth with his hand, looking pleadingly down at Patrick. Patrick smirks up at him, then leans back in.
When he looks up again, Pete's cock sliding hot and desperate against the roof of his mouth, Pete is biting his hand to keep himself quiet. Patrick moans around him and Pete's hips jerk up off the wall. Patrick wraps his fingers around the base of Pete's cock and slides the other hand around the back of his thigh, encouraging him to move.
Pete makes a muffled sound against his hand, then thrusts carefully into Patrick's mouth. Patrick swallows around him, and suddenly there's nothing careful about it anymore. Pete's other hand is wrapping around the back of Patrick's neck, fingers tangling into his hair, his hat tumbling to the floor as Pete fucks into his mouth.
Patrick closes his eyes, clinging to Pete's leg, feeling the muscles there working as Pete moves. Above him, Pete is making desperate noises, his breath coming in short little gasps, and Patrick can't get enough of it, the sounds, the taste, the feeling of Pete's cock thick and hot against his tongue. His own cock is so hard in his jeans he feels like he's going to come any second, just from rocking forward against the front of his pants, from the feeling of Pete inside him, stretching him, fucking him.
He backs off a little when Pete pulls insistently at his hair, and moans around Pete's cock, unable to help himself. Pete makes an answering noise above him, and then he's coming, the taste of him filling Patrick's mouth.
Patrick swallows and pulls away, licking at Pete's cock gently, then buries his face against Pete's hip as he shoves a hand down his pants.
"Fuck, Patrick," Pete says, sinking bonelessly back against the wall. His hand finally moves down from his mouth, fingers brushing over Patrick's lips, and Patrick can see the deep red marks where he had been biting. He leans forward and touches his mouth to the same spot, sucking and biting at Pete's skin, and he closes his eyes, thrusting up into his own hand and coming hard, muffling his cries against Pete's hand.
He stays there for a minute, Pete's fingers trailing across his lips and face, steadying his breathing with his head tucked against Pete's hip.
"It's not..." he finally says, his voice a little hoarse. "It's not a thing, ok? I just…I wanted to."
When he looks up, Pete's nodding. "Yeah," he agrees. "Totally not a thing. Just. God. Trick. Your mouth."
Patrick grins a little, ducking his head as he does his pants back up. "Yeah," he says, for lack of anything better to say.
The next night, he's almost not surprised when he feels Pete crawling into his bed. "It's not a thing," Pete whispers against his ear. "I just want to."
Patrick grins up at the ceiling, and lets Pete do what he wants.