The Ramen Psychosis

Pete had an odd twitch to him that day. Not his usual so-cracked-out-on-meds-I-can't-sit-still twitch; it was more of a normal, nervous twitch. And when something about Pete seems normal, you can bet your ass that some thing's wrong.

"You OK, Pete?" I inquired when I first noticed it. We'd just stepped inside the hotel where we'd be getting a night off, and he was fidgety as we waited to get check in.

He'd been spacing out at the time. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, dude." Pete flashed that used car salesman smile of his at me, and even though I could tell it was a cover-up, I let it slide. He gets pissy if you keep asking what's wrong and he doesn't feel like telling you.

Card keys were issued, two sets of adjoining suites, and I lagged behind as Wentz took off for his room like a bullet. I let Joe go on ahead as I caught Andy's attention. "Hey, what's going on with Pete today, do you know?"

A slight smirk split his bearded face. "He had a fight with Ashlee on the phone last night, after everyone else went to bed." Andy seemed to be enjoying this fact immensely. I couldn't blame him; no more Ashlee meant no more of having to hear her shrill voice pierce an otherwise lovely day. "I didn't catch any of what it was about, all I know is, the bitch is gone."

I made a mental note to do something nice for Wentz later. Not because he was no doubt in [i]shreds[/i] over the whole thing, but that he'd finally managed to get rid of her.
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The rest of the day went by fairly uneventfully. The noises of Pete's eccentricities could be heard from the room adjacent to mine as I set about managing my own various affairs. Respond to this, give the OK on this, tell them to change this, never a sincere moment's rest for Patrick Martin Stump. I didn't mind; it kept me busy. Life around Pete Wentz is easier when you're busy, when you can turn down his invitations to injure and/or humiliate yourself.

Speak of the over-gelled devil. A few sharp taps echoed off my bathroom door before Pete peeked his head around the corner. "Hey, man, me and Joe are thinking of heading down to the bar later. You wanna come?"

"You ask me that in every city we're in, and I always say the same thing. What's my answer, Pete?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Can't, too busy..."

"Then what made you think I'd say 'yes' this time?"

"C'mon, Patrick, you can't just lock yourself away from the world twenty-four seven. We miss you out there."

"You miss having someone to eat things on a dare."

"That's not what I meant, Trick..." Pete crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. I noticed that he was still twitching slightly, and he was digging nervously at a rip in his jeans with his fingers. "There's...there's something I need your advice on, and I was hoping we could talk about it over a drink..."

I couldn't shake the reflex to furrow my eyebrows in concern. "Is something wrong, dude? You can talk to me here about it."

"No, no, it's OK, you're busy." Wentz got up and headed back for the door. "Just...we're going out at about eight, if you're done with your stuff by then."

"I'll keep that in mind, but I really don't feel like going out tonight. But hey, if you still need to talk tomorrow, I'm willing to listen." He perked up a bit to that, smiling gently and nodding before closing the door behind him.

At eight I heard his door open and shut in the hall. By midnight, I'd finished my work and decided to lay down and get some rest. Pete hadn't returned yet.
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I was having a good dream. An exceedingly good dream. The kind of dream that leaves you stuck to your sheets. I remember it involved a brunette that served me apple pie while wearing nothing but a June Cleaver apron. The little housewife had been bobbing her mouth up and down quite skillfully on my cock for a few minutes when I sensed that something was...not right here...

Slowly but surely the dream faded into the darkness of my hotel room, and I found myself conscious enough to wonder what had taken it from me. I looked down at my lap, expecting to see nothing more but a tent in my boxers. What I made out in the inky black, however, was a very real, very talented head still moving up and down on my cock, moaning gently around it. The acrid scent of vodka did very little to mask the familiar reek of Bone Daddy, churning my stomach slightly.

"What the fuck are you DOING, Pete?!" I whispered/screamed, grabbing the hair at the back of his head and pulling him off me. Even in the dark, I could see the glazed-over look in his eyes from the alcohol compounded with a thick sheen of sorrow.

"Ashlee's right...the bitch is so right..." Pete sobbed, letting a tear drop from each eye, smearing his guyliner on the way down. "I'm gay, Patrick..."

"Well that's good to know, Wentz, but I'm not! What exactly convinced you that it would be a good idea to try and blow me in my sleep?!"

"I'm sorry, man...I wasn't thinking clearly..."

"Oh, that's the understatement of the century-"

"Let me finish, Trick," he slurred, glaring at me gently. "I got back from the bar, and I was thinking it all over, and I figured that I needed a test, y'know, to see where I really stand, and...like I said, I wasn't thinking clearly. And the way it all congealed, I thought that...you were my safest bet..."

Partially out of pity, partially out of some sick form of flattery, I loosened my grip on his head. "It doesn't change the fact that I woke up to find another guy's lips wrapped around my cock. You're lucky I'm exhausted and understanding, otherwise your ass would've been beaten halfway back to Chi-town. Now, is there a chance you can let go of my dick and go back to your own room? We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

You could see the little wheels slowly creaking back to life as his gaze traveled down my t-shirt, down to where he still had a hand gripped around the base of my cock. Slowly, slowly he was coming to another bad idea. He let his eyes creep back up to mine, fixing me with what I'm assuming was meant to be a seductive stare. "Y'know...I could finish this for you before I go..."

"Pete, no. Get out, please, before I change my mind and beat your sexually confused ass."

"C'mon, Tricky, you don't wanna have to finish this yourself, do you?" He leaned down and flicked his tongue across my tip, sending a shudder of intrigue and disgust through my bloodstream. "Please? Can I for you?"

Perhaps it was because I was still half asleep; perhaps the stench of vodka had gone to my head; perhaps on some bizarre subconscious level, I was curious. At that moment, I made a snap decision, gripping his hair tighter again and looking him straight in the glassy eye. "Listen carefully, because I'm giving you some guidelines here: don't make any noise, don't touch me anywhere else, and bear in mind that this is never going to happen ever again. That in mind...continue..."

It was the first, last and only time I've ever bricked in another guy's mouth. I don't plan on it happening ever again, but I gotta say, if it does, having it be in Pete's wouldn't be too horrible.