When the festival day grew longer, and the air got hotter, and Bert got drunker, it began to sound like a good idea for him to find that ugly fuck from Fall Out Boy, spit on him, and tell him that he's a whiny little bitch who's destroying rock music.

As Bert bent Pete over the third row of seats in a random unlocked rental van and rubbed his crotch against Pete's ass, it occurred to him that something in his plan had not gone right. But then there was the distinctive sound of Pete undoing his ugly silver belt and unzipping his stupid tight jeans, and Bert didn't even care what the plan was. He was gonna fuck this whiny little bitch's brains out.

Bert pushed Pete's pants to his knees as he moved up the curve of Pete's back, trying to block out the fucking hideous print of his hoodie, and bit down hard on the back of Pete's neck. Pete let out a yelp, and Bert panted, "I hate you so much" before shoving down his own jeans and pressing his dick against the curve of Pete's ass.

"Wait," Pete said, even as he rocked backwards.

"Don't talk." Bert spit into his hand.

Pete's breathing became faster. "I never did this," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, I did things, but not this, not even with Mikey, just so you know..."

Bert groaned. He was way too drunk to play My First Buttsex. "Turn around," he said. "And don't talk."

Pete turned around on the seat, and Bert shoved him into a sitting position, moving so his dick was right at Pete's eye level. Pete looked at it with his eyes narrowed and head tilted, as if he was going to write a song about it with a paragraph-long title and a bunch of retarded puns. Bert was wondering if he could title his next EP "I Choked Pete Wentz to Death with my Cock in the Back of a Van" when Pete's hand went to Bert's hip and tentatively pulled him forward.

"Fucking come on already," Bert groaned.

"Normally I don't like dick," Pete said.

Bert responded by pushing his against Pete's face. "Normally I don't like you."

Pete took it into his mouth slowly, as if he had no idea what he was doing, and his technique didn't improve much from there.

After a few minutes Pete pulled off and said, "We're having a party tonight."

Bert grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward. "Stop talking."

Pete ducked his head to avoid getting an eyeful of cock. "It's at our bus, later tonight. Will you come?"

Pete grabbed Bert's dick and licked up the side before Bert could tell him he'd rather spend the evening eating cigarette butts. Bert closed his eyes, grabbing the top of the gray cloth seat and grunting his approval.

"Will you tell him?" Bert asked.

Pete made a soft questioning noise.

Bert leaned forward, thrusting into Pete's mouth slightly, surprised when he didn't meet any resistance. "Will you tell Mikey Way?" He swallowed hard. "Tell him I fucked you." Pete took him deeper, and Bert gasped against his own shoulder. "Tell him I'm the best fuck you ever had, and my dick is huge, and you'd never leave me for a slutty hairdresser, and – oh – " He jerked forward, coming in Pete's mouth without warning, though Pete didn't make any noise of protest.

Bert collapsed on the floor, folded in half between the rows of seats, and covered his face with his hands. He didn't realize he was trembling until he felt Pete's steady hand on his shoulder. Bert flinched, and the hand was removed immediately.

He heard Pete zipping his pants up. "If you want to come to the party," he said. "They'll be beer and snacks and stuff."

Bert rubbed his face with the side of his hand. "Yeah," he said.

"Cool." Pete stood, zipped up his hoodie, and flashed a smile, looking like he'd just spent the last half hour negotiating a deal to produce a line of ugly casualwear and not sucking cock. "I'll see you there."

Bert knew there was something he was supposed to say, but all he could hear was the dull roar in his ears that warned him he had to get elsewhere. "Yeah," he mumbled. He waited a full minute after the rear door shut before he stood up, and when he did his knees felt weak and shaky.

Bert reached in his pocket, lit a cigarette, and opened the door. When he'd gone inside the van it'd been dusk, but now the parking lot was pitch black. For a moment he was afraid he'd never find anyone in the darkness, but then he saw the familiar lights of his bus just a hundred yards away. He stepped down to the pavement. He was feeling much too sober.