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Patrick was freezing. And hard. But most of all he was freezing. And he couldn’t even jack off, because stupid fucking Pete Wentz was lying next to him on this stupid fucking tiny mattress, and Pete Wentz was a blanket hog. Touring wasn’t much fun when you were hopelessly in lust with your bassist (who also happened to be your best friend).
Patrick slowly slipped his hand into his boxers, feeling his length stiffen at the slight touch. He gripped it, trying his hardest not to make any noise.
He almost screamed when an arm came over him.
“M’cold,” Pete said, muffled with sleep. He trailed his hand lower, despite Patrick pulling away. “Oh.” Pete had felt his erection. Pete’s hand was on his dick. This was all of Patrick’s most sinful wet dreams come to life, but he knew it would come crashing down any moment now.
‘You’re hard…” Pete’s voice was almost a whisper, but with a note Patrick couldn’t quite pick up on.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“I can help.” A small gasp from Patrick, which Pete took as a yes, and then he was sliding down the younger’s body, nipping and sucking, until Patrick’s dick was enveloped in his warm, wet mouth.
Patrick’s fists were gripping the sheets, his teeth gritted to stop himself from crying out in pleasure, screaming Pete’s name. Meanwhile, Pete was bobbing his head up and down, humming around Patrick’s dick and causing exquisite vibrations. Patrick was trying so hard not to blow his load like a teenage virgin, but Pete was sinfully talented.
“Fuck- Pete. Pete. Pete.” Patrick was thrusting his hips up, snapping them into Pete’s throat. Pete was just moving his head, letting Patrick fuck his mouth. Patrick looked down and damn. Pete was getting off on this. His hand was wrapped around his dick, pumping in the same rhythm as Patrick’s thrusts, and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing Patrick had ever seen, Pete’s lips stretched around his throbbing dick, his hand working his own cock, and Patrick would sooner die than stop.
“I’m gonna- Pete! Pete, I’m gonna come-“ Patrick whined and writhed as Pete pulled off.
“No. You’re not.”
Patrick gasped, suddenly even more turned on. He flopped back, and let Pete take him back in, suckling the head before scraping his teeth along the underside, making Patrick contract with pleasure.
“Such a slut,” Pete muttered around his dick. “Such a slut for me.”
“Yes,” Patrick stammered out in reply, “Your slut, only for you, god Pete, please-“
Patrick came, shooting down Pete’s mouth, and he swallowed it all, not even grimacing. Pete came seconds later, in ribbons all over his hand and stomach.
He slid back up beside Patrick, and looked at him.
“’M still cold.” He grumbled, pulling the blanket over him.
“C’mere, you idiot,” Patrick smirked, pulling him into his arms, where they both eventually fell asleep.