Work Text:
One of the issues of being on reality television that is rarely discussed is the difficulty of finding the time and privacy to blow a load.
There were cameras everywhere on the island, even in the communal bathrooms and the furthest parts of the forest and in the various recreational buildings. Besides that issue, there were also people everywhere: other contestants, production staff, interns. Getting alone time was nearly impossible. He couldn’t simply ignore the urge, either. He was a teenager in a stressful environment; he needed release.
Noah did not stay on the island for very long season one, but when he had the urge to masturbate he had opted to run through vaguely arousing thoughts and quietly jerk off in the shower, one of the few places without cameras. Ever utilitarian of him. Shower masturbation came with its own issues: since it was early in the season, there were more competitors then, meaning it was difficult to finish with the constant cacophony of noises. People coming in to brush their teeth. Someone else deciding they needed to shower at this point in time. Tyler, in particular, had this stupid habit of trying to talk to people at the urinals regardless of team affiliation. Nothing kills a boner faster than overhearing awkward conversations between his most annoying peers.
You couldn’t dawdle when masturbating, either: you had to finish within a reasonable time frame so as to not attract suspicion from someone like Geoff or Duncan who would certainly notice a suspiciously-long shower and make fun of you for it. He’s not sure if something like that would make it to air, but he wasn’t taking any risks of something that embarrassing being seen by the viewing world.
Noah was not the kind of person to prioritize masturbation over prize money but he cannot say he was unhappy with getting to stay at Playa Des Losers, where there were no cameras in the living spaces and he could bypass the cable TV restrictions to purchase porn on demand using McLean’s dime. He burnt it onto a disc and spent several nights that summer in his room, glued to one of the resort’s portable DVD players. That thing was so handy that he threw out one of his sweater vests to make room in his suitcase to steal it. They were so sloppy with monitoring their things, what with it being the first season and all. Noah kept using that disc and that player even during Action, when they shoved the remaining cast members into a hotel for Aftermath appearances and he again had days and days of free time.
Things are different on the plane. It is much more crowded being holed up in there. The loser-class communal bathroom is split by gender and each one consists of two showers and two toilet stalls. The showers are in higher demand and thus taking longer than five to ten minutes attracts greater attention. The first-class bathrooms are nicer, so taking longer to shower isn’t out of the ordinary, but the number of stalls and showers is the same. In general, the small space does not lend itself to clandestine activities.
There is also no way of viewing pornography of any kind. No internet and no electronic devices. Sure, Noah muses, he supposes he could purchase a magazine on the occasions McLean and the directors let them explore the locations they visited, but again, any paper trail is volatile and discovery would certainly incur ridicule and even if it didn’t end up airing he’s certain Sierra would write about it on her blog, privacy contracts be damned.
He’s honestly just annoyed his hormones are still making him pop boners in a stressful, overstimulating environment such as reality television, but he’s still a teenaged boy at the end of the day, one that is on the same team as someone unfairly handsome as Alejandro. Noah is embarrassed to admit it, even to himself, particularly because Alejandro has manipulative undertones, and because being attracted to someone on reality television never ends well, even if it’s a one-sided, fleeting thing. Regardless, his body can’t help but react when he sees Alejandro bend down to pick something up for the challenge and his shirt rides up a little bit and Noah can see his bare skin. Even though Alejandro frequently takes his shirt off, stolen glances at these revealed strips of skin feel intimate. Sometimes they brush shoulders when they are standing together, listening to Chris, and Noah can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with excitement. How pathetic. If only Alejandro hadn’t joined the cast. He’d seen everyone else do so much embarassing shit over two seasons that it was basically impossible for him to be attracted to them. Maybe if he wasn’t here his libido would be dead.
It’s late at night on the plane. Noah looks out the window, ignoring the fact that he’s half-hard just from thinking about masturbation. He hasn’t been able to finish all season. His book lays in his lap half open, spine outward, forgotten. He wedges his bookmark between the pages and surveys first-class. Owen and DJ have fallen asleep in the chairs across from him. He gets onto his knees on his chair and turns around. In the row behind him, Izzy is balled up and snoring and Tyler is resting soundly. Noah suddenly realizes the opportunity that has been presented to him and stands as quietly as possible, placing his book back onto his seat. The plane is pleasantly silent, with the only sounds being the drone of the plane’s engines and the buzzing of some overhead lights. To be safe, he walks over to the couch, where Alejandro has taken occupance, eyes shut, hands behind his head. Everyone in first class is accounted for. Noah makes his way to the first class bathrooms, snagging a complimentary bottle of lotion on his way out. For a second he is overly paranoid about the cameras picking up on that fact and putting the pieces together, but he reconsiders. Surely there are more plot-relevant things to fill air-time than his masturbation escapades.
One of the two toilets in the bathroom is out of order. Noah enters the stall with the working one and locks the door, leans against the side. He inhales sharply and reaches into his sweatpants, sliding his hands past the waistband of his boxers and palming his half-erect cock. He begins to jerk himself off, feeling pinpricks of pleasure and relief cascade across his body. Idly, he conjures up some scenario he remembers from the porn he’d watched over the summer of a college student fucking his professor for a better grade or something like that. The movement of masturbating is cumbersome with the fabric of his boxers. Noah supposes nothing is preventing him from taking his dick out, so he does just that, shivering as his bare skin is exposed to the cold air. He’s fully erect at this point, but is nowhere close to finishing. He pulls the lotion from his pocket and slathers it on his right palm, hoping to speed things up just in case. Chris isn’t above starting challenges unexpectedly, even if visiting Newfoundland did put him in a good mood. He tries not to imagine being caught falling out of a plane with his dick in his hand on international television and instead begins to move his hand up and down his shaft, closing his eyes at the sensation and quickening his speed, repeating the motion.
But even though he has been sexually frustrated the entire season, Noah’s unable to finish, even after nearly ten minutes of trying. He sighs, taking his hand off of his dick. He is getting tired. Without actual pornography, it’s difficult for him to turn his brain off and achieve orgasm. Now he’s stuck with a fading erection and a cramped hand. Noah wipes the lotion onto a bit of toilet paper, feeling stupid, considering taking a cold shower and going to bed, when the bathroom door opens. He swallows thickly, feeling exposed, even if the stall is protecting him.
He hears footsteps approach the stalls before the person enters the out-of-order one next to him. If they’re not here to use the toilet…
Noah holds his breath and listens to the sound of fabric rustling.
Then, a sigh. A pull of elastic. The familiar sound of skin rubbing against skin, what Noah had just been listening to for the past ten minutes.
And, to his horror: a breathy Spanish expletive.
His arousal returns and his dick hardens. Life, why do you hate me so?
There is no way this is real. Noah stays as quiet as possible, listening to Alejandro quietly stroke himself. Did he see me walk in earlier? He can hear his breathing become shallower. He didn’t think Alejandro masturbated, as ridiculous as that sounds. He could fuck anybody he wants, looking like that, so why handle it himself when he has that privilege? It is oddly humanizing that Alejandro struggled to find time to jerk off like he did, that he also snuck off to the bathroom during odd hours to relieve himself. Noah wishes he could see it happen. He wonders how Alejandro touched himself, what he was thinking about.
Whatever manuvers Alejandro is making on his cock appear to be skillful, as Noah can hear him gasping and whining under his breath.
His own dick burns from lack of attention. Noah squirms as quietly as he can, praying Alejandro does not hear him or notice the other stall door is closed. All he wants to do is touch himself but the risk of revealing himself is too great. He wants this moment to go on forever, yet cannot wait until Alejandro is done so he can finish. Fuck, this is so wrong. For a few more excruciating yet blissful moments, he stands as still as possible, holding in his breath and listening while his painfully hard dick sticks stupidly out of his pants and his heart beats at three times its normal speed.
Then, a deep groan emerges, louder than any other noise made before. He can hear Alejandro pant; his bracelets jingling as he brings himself to orgasm. Noah actually wishes, for the first time, that he was in economy class: the cheaper bathrooms had bigger gaps he might be able to peek through. I’d give anything to see what he looks like when he comes, he thinks pathetically, hating himself for the perverted thought and suddenly feeling guilty. He had (inadvertently, but still) intruded on Alejandro’s private moment. He hears him catch his breath for a few moments before emerging from the stall.
Alejandro washes his hands, as he’s one of the few men here with a semblance of hygiene standards. Noah waits for the sound of the door closing.
Except. It never comes.
Alejandro does not leave.
He definitely knows I’m here, Noah thinks panickedly. Everyone else on his team was asleep in first class. If Noah checked beforehand, Alejandro probably did, too. When did he notice? Maybe he won’t address it.
Swallowing his pride, he puts his dick back into his pants, still burningly erect, flushes the toilet to create the vaguest illusion he was there for something else, then opens the stall door.
There’s Alejandro, leaning against the sinks, arms crossed, hair slightly mussed, the slightest sheen of sweat on his skin. You can barely tell he’d just orgasmed.
“Oh, hello. Blowing off some steam as well, Noah?” he asks, smiling at him pleasantly. Like this was a normal conversation. Like he often inquired about the masturbation habits of his teammates.
Noah’s not sure what to say or how to conduct himself, so he tries to approximate his normal, apathetic tone. “I was just using the bathroom.” It’s not convincing to anyone, even himself. He washes his hands and avoids eye contact with his reflection.
“Do not be ashamed. At certain hours, men like us have to tend to our needs.”
“Fine. I was jerking off, what’s it to you?” Noah says, hoping the directness will make him stop.
“You naughty boy,” Alejandro says lecherously. He gives him an up-and-down look and Noah feels his mouth go dry as his eyes land on his crotch. “You don’t seem to have finished.”
“You walked in when I was in the middle of it,” Noah drones bluntly, hoping to end the conversation.
Alejandro just seems amused. “Oh, I am terribly sorry, Noah. Was it difficult to remain aroused with me around? I can be quieter next time.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Noah says before he can stop himself. What the fuck is going on?
“I’m glad to hear. I would hate for my pleasure to bother you.”
Noah stands, turns to leave, blood rushing in his ears.
“You’re going to go back to first-class like that?” asks Alejandro. “It will look conspicuous on cameras, you know.”
Noah sighs, knowing he has a point, and pauses.
“Besides, it will do you no good to remain unsatisfied like that, yes?” Noah turns around. Alejandro has his arms crossed as he leans against the sinks, that manipulative spark present in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want the team’s performance to be worse.”
“Sure.”
Alejandro smiles. “Don’t let my presence stop you, Noah. Like I said, it’s perfectly natural to touch yourself.”
Noah swallows and feels Alejandro’s eyes track the movement.
“Go ahead, take your dick out again.”
He feels his cock throb against his boxers. Against his better judgment, Noah reaches into his pants and obeys, sighing as the mere contact relieves some of his arousal. Sweat is congealing under his armpits. He is not sure why he is listening to him.
“There you go. It looks nice when it is fully erect.” The compliment is delivered effortlessly, but Noah can detect the implications of the word choice. He’s trying to placate him so he’ll keep doing what Alejandro wants. “Go ahead and jerk off. We’re teammates.”
“So, that means I should masturbate in front of you?” Noah drones. Alejandro blinks.
“You can trust me,” he says, cloying and placating, “I will not use this against you. Besides, you already listened to me. Why stop now?”
Noah bites his lower lip and begins to stroke his cock in slow movements, the same rhythm he’d been accustomed to since he’d hit puberty. Alejandro just watches him coolly. He thinks about the sounds Alejandro made in the stall: the deep, labored breaths, the concealed moans. It’s easier for his dick to get hard in front of Alejandro, easier for his body to respond to his touch. He swipes his thumb across his head and uses his pre to lubricate himself, staring at the way Alejandro’s mouth twitches when he does this. He’s not sure if he should try to orgasm as fast as possible, or try to draw it out and give him a show. Both scenarios are embarrassing to him. He wants this moment to end and he never wants it to stop. Noah lets out a sigh as his arousal spikes from the sensation. Alejandro’s just looking at him quietly, visibly hard through his pants, and Noah stares. He has fallen out of a plane and into a giant bowl of rice and yet standing in the bathroom while he and Alejandro stare at each other’s dicks is the most surreal experience of his life.
“Keep going,” he says, desire dripping from his voice.
“Alejandro…” Noah quietly and pathetically moans, something seeping from his vocal cords involuntarily. The heat in his lower half builds — a combination of going weeks without masturbating, of all the time he’d spent stroking himself without completing earlier, of listening to Alejandro masturbate, of having an audience to his most deviant habit — and he is pushed over the edge, knees buckling as he comes all over his hand, whimpers inadvertently escaping him, that latent sensation of embarrassment coloring his cheeks and making his orgasm more painfully pleasurable. He struggles to stand and has to lean against the wall as he feels the afterglow pinch at his edges, the initial pleasure fading into a delicate buzz enveloping his body, the regret starting to occupy the back of his mind. He grabs a paper towel and wipes his hand. Alejandro is still leaned against the sinks, mouth agape in delight.
“Leave it out,” he says when Noah goes to tuck himself back into his pants. He burns red, a surge of humiliation swelling in his stomach. Even though he has no tangible reason to, he obeys Alejandro and takes his hands off of his dick. “Good.” He throbs at the praise and immediately feels shameful again. He has just finished and all he wants to do is orgasm again and again as Alejandro watches. Forget the challenge and the competition and the threat of the entire world knowing you are a pathetic whore.
Alejandro does not speak for a bit, instead examining Noah’s cock, still half hard and engorged, come dribbling from the tip, glistening with sweat. Noah’s hands twitch toward his crotch instinctively. “No,” Alejandro says again, firm. His hands go back at his sides obediently.
Alejandro smiles pleasantly and reaches into his own sweatpants, pulling out his cock. It’s decently long and thick. Despite coming earlier, he’s already hard again, and Noah’s heart beats faster knowing he was responsible for that. He doesn’t know if Alejandro is attracted to him or the power or both, though he doesn’t care about the specifics right now. Alejandro’s hands, thick yet dextile, wrap around his cock. He strokes himself from the base to the tip, slowly and carefully. Noah can’t keep his eyes off the sight of it, wonders how many times Alejandro had jerked himself in the bathroom quietly. His hands glide seamlessly across his member, digits stroking his slit. Noah makes a choked noise and, unable to control himself, reaches to stroke his own dick. His fingertips barely graze the shaft before he is interrupted.
“You have already had the time to play with yourself,” Alejandro says sharply. Noah whines and places his hands back at his side, dick throbbing from the minimal contact leaving. “Hands off.”
Alejandro narrows the already tight distance between them and studies Noah’s face. With his spare hand, the one that’s currently not stroking himself, Alejandro cradles Noah’s chin and pulls it up, forcing eye contact. Chills erupt from Noah’s body. It is the first time he has been touched by him with so much intention. Alejandro’s green eyes are mostly pupil. “Do you go into the bathrooms to jerk off like that often?”
“Do you?” Noah counters, trying to ignore his arousal and the way it’s setting his body on fire.
“Occasionally,” he says, matter-of-fact. “I know you do, too. I have seen you sneak off to the bathroom. Do you ever think about me when you do it?”
“No,” Noah answers honestly. “It makes me — um, feel guilty.”
“Ah, but you have considered doing it, then?” Noah tries to evade eye contact but it is difficult with Alejandro’s fingers on his chin. He blinks, tries to think of a lie, fails.
“Yes.”
Alejandro smiles, pleased by the answer, and shifts his hand to cradle Noah’s cheek. “I don’t mind if you fantasize about me.” He strokes his thumb across his cheekbone, then cards a bit of his hair behind his ear. “I like how vulnerable you look right now.”
Noah’s silent, and Alejandro is too, and they keep making eye contact while he strokes himself. He resists the urge to rut against Alejandro, to put some friction on his throbbing cock. Alejandro speeds up his stroking, groaning under his breath. After a few moments, he comes into his own hand, shuddering and bucking and moaning, moving his hand to Noah’s shoulder for purchase. He lasts less than Noah does. He rides out the rest of his orgasm, chest moving deeply from the intensity of the maneuver. Noah’s thinking about anything else, tries to make himself feel ashamed, considers the risk of being caught: it’s the middle of the night, but with how crazy the time zones and jet lag are, who knows if everyone is still asleep? The thought of being walked in makes him more aroused, and he’s so close to orgasming without touching himself when Alejandro straightens up, snapping Noah from his thoughts.
“You have done a good job.” He looks at Noah’s engorged dick and smiles, before tucking himself away and turning to rinse his come-covered hand in the sink. Noah recognizes it is a test: he still doesn’t touch himself, even though Alejandro’s back is turned. He turns back around, hand dripping wet. “Tell me, Noah, what would you like me to do to you?”
That same sensation of embarrassment washes over Noah, his heart beating, his brain throbbing. “Uh…”
“Please. Unless you’d rather walk out there in this state,” he teases.
“Can you —” he gulps, “can you suck me off?”
Alejandro raises both eyebrows.
“Please. I really want — I want your mouth on me,” he babbles, shame rushing in his ears at his words.
Alejandro smiles. “Okay. If you want it so badly.” He walks over to Noah and places both hands on his sides, slowly running his fingers down before meeting his hips. He flickers his eyes up at him for a second before kneeling down, mouth milimeters from Noah’s cock. He can feel his breath hit him, and then Alejandro parts his lips and accepts it into his mouth.
Noah feels his knees immediately buckle at the sensation. Alejandro swirls his tongue around his head, expertly tasting him, before sinking his mouth further down his shaft. Noah groans, muffling the sound with the back of his hand and pressing his other hand onto Alejandro’s head, gripping his scalp for purchase. His mouth does deeper, deeper, deeper.
A few moments later, he feels his climax hit. He leans against the wall as best as possible to steady himself, clamping his mouth shut to avoid being heard. Noah couldn’t even warn him, but Alejandro keeps his mouth on him, keeps sucking. His vision goes dark at the corners from the sheer overstimulation and for a second he worries that this is what is going to kill him: not any of the dangerous challenges, not a plane crash, but Alejandro’s tongue. He sucks in deep breaths, feels the pleasure slowly begin to wane. Eventually, Alejandro detaches himself from Noah and spits his come into the sink, turning the faucet on until there is no trace of the expenditure.
Once the pleasure fades, a torrent of thoughts and emotions rush into Noah’s brain — why did you let him treat you that way? What will happen to our relationship on cameras, on the plane? Is there a secret camera in this bathroom? What is wrong with you? Why would you agree to this? He exhales and tucks his dick into his pajama pants before moving to stand next to Alejandro. They wash their hands in silence, side-by-side, then splash water on their faces. Alejandro swishes his mouth and spits.
“So,” Noah says to the mirror.
“We will not speak of this,” Alejandro says, also to the mirror.
“Obviously.”
“You and I will act as though nothing has happened when the cameras roll, and it will not affect the game,” he adds.
“Sure.”
“Good.” Alejandro breaks eye contact with himself and turns to Noah, looks at him uncaringly, the way he did before. It is like the entire situation was in Noah’s head, like it never happened. Then, he leans in and kisses him before pulling away with the same neutral expression. “I will see you in the morning, Noah.”
He leaves the bathroom, and Noah turns back to the mirror and frowns.