"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"That people think we're fucking. Or they'd like to think we're fucking."

"Who is 'people', Chester? Fans?"

"Fans are people too, Mike."

Mike sighed, sitting up in his chair and rubbing his temples. "Does it bother you, Chester?"

"Well...yeah," Chester mused, tapping his pen agitatedly against the tabletop separating them.

"How so?" Mike entertained Chester, knowing they wouldn't get any serious writing accomplished until his band mate worked this newest tangent from his system.

"It makes me...curious."

"Curious?" Mike prodded, eyes going slightly wide.

"Yeah, curious. I mean, how they could picture it so easily, so effortlessly. Almost like it's...natural."

Mike rolled his eyes at this, "Alright, I'm revoking your internet privileges, Chaz."

"I'm serious! It makes so much sense to them that you'd be fucking me," Chester flailed.

"So you admit that I would be the one doing the fucking, and you would be the one getting fucked?" Mike grinned triumphantly. His grin dropped before Chester could even begin to take offense. "Oh my god," he groaned, voice professing intense bewilderment. "We're ending this conversation right now."

"Oh my god is right; you just imagined it, didn't you! You imagined fucking me!" Chester chanted.

"Chester, stop."

"Did it disgust you?" Chester probed, leaning forward, unable to keep a cocky smirk off his face.

"I don't think disgust is the right word," Mike clarified.

At that, Chester's smirk morphed into a glare. "So you find gay sex more than disgusting? That's very closed-minded of you, Michael. I'm disappointed."

"I'm not closed-minded!" Mike argued. "I just don't fancy fucking one of my best friends!" he yelled, far past exasperated with the conversation.

Chester seemed to think about this for a moment. "So...you don't find me attractive?" he pouted.

Mike let his head hit the table. "I'm not answering that," he mumbled against the high-polish wood.

"So you're not admitting you find me unattractive, and your stance on gay sex in general is vague at best. Cryptic, I would say."

Mike groaned again, refusing to acknowledge Chester with words anymore.

"Mike, this sort of deliberate inconclusiveness does us no good."

Mike began banging his forehead against the table.

"The only way to get to the bottom of this is to conduct an experiment."

Mike finally lifted his head from the table, slowly shaking it from side to side. "You are absolutely insane if you think I'm going to fuck you for the sake of some hormonal hypothesis."

"Hormonal?" Chester's lips curled into a devious half-smile. "Who said anything about hormones, Mike?"

"I AM NOT HORMONAL FOR YOU, CHESTER."

"Mmhmm." Chester rose from his chair, making his way around the long table towards his band mate.

Mike tried to ignore the way the singer's hips swayed from one side to the other, the way his slender legs were practically choked inside the tight denim he always wore lately. He tried to ignore this, as well as the way Chester's eyes were heavy-lidded, ebony pools beckoning for him to commit a sin. He failed.

He gasped when the slighter man deposited himself into his lap, thoroughly straddling the emcee. He swore his hands latched onto Chester's hips by some means of hysterical magnetism and not their own accord.

"What are you doing," he rasped, torn somewhere between wanting to shove Chester off him and close every fraction of air that separated them.

"Experimenting," Chester whispered, abruptly thrusting his hips.

Mike moaned, immediately ashamed of the lusty sound, but tightened his grip on Chester all the same.

"Is that the disgust I'm hearing?" Chester teased, starting a torturous rhythm against Mike's hardening length.

"Fuck you," Mike hissed, aware of how his breath ghosted over Chester's mouth, so near to his, so dangerously close.

"Isn't that the idea?" Chester laughed, but the sound had no hint of malice or petty victory. It was gentle and almost expectant.

Chester rolled his hips with a talent Mike didn't feel like questioning, the sensation of utter heat and friction sending his mind reeling from any form of thought at all. Which was ok by him, because to legitimately consider why he was in an office dry-humping his band mate and up-until-now-very-straight friend would have been enough to melt neurons.

Too rapidly he felt it building, blissfully building, release so close and pulling him over the edge, and for a moment he sobered. He clamped onto Chester's waist, effectively freezing the other man in place.

Chester whimpered and whined, hands rising to paw at Mike's neck, face turning to his. His brow furrowed and his glazed eyes dripped confusion.

"I'm about to come," Mike growled, fingers squeezing at Chester's hip bones almost painfully.

"You don't want to?" Chester murmured, nose feathering Mike's, mouth hovering enticingly close to his own.

Mike didn't know what the hell he wanted. Of course he wanted to come. Any man who denied himself that basic primordial right was one sick bastard. So here was Chester, offering pure ecstatic release, and he was hesitating.

Because it was Chester. Because Chester was a fucking guy?

No, because something was missing, he realized, and the thought was almost enough to make him question his entire life up until this moment. Almost. He'd do that later.

He gazed at the other man, panting and ragged in his lap, hips trying to wriggle from Mike's grasp and resume their little dance of death. He opened his mouth to whine once more and that's when Mike made his move.

He dove for Chester's lips, only to meet empty air when the singer unexpectedly pulled back.

"Mike..." Chester squeaked, hands lying flat against the emcee's chest, as if holding him at bay, as if he could if Mike had better mind. "What are you doing?" he demanded, taking his turn as the deer in headlights.

"Experimenting," Mike deadpanned, tongue darting out to moisten his lips, continuing to gaze at Chester's mouth like it were the ultimate forbidden fruit.

"But that's...that's different, Mike. We can't just...we shouldn't..." he rambled, his hands betraying his words and raking feverishly down Mike's t-shirt-clad chest.

"Now who's closed-minded?" Mike battled Chester with his own words, cutting off any further interruption by grabbing Chester's neck and stealing the kiss he so craved.

Chester made a tiny noise of surprise, attempting to pull back once more. But as Mike thrust his tongue into the singer's mouth, he succumbed, fusing with the man beneath him, letting Mike take all he desired and then some.

Several raptured moments later, Mike sucked Chester's bottom lip between his teeth, giving a timid nip as he retreated for air.

"You know, curiosity killed the cat," Mike stated, holding Chester's face in his hands and peppering small kisses against his mouth and along his jaw.

"Let's make sure it's good and dead then," Chester declared, nimble fingers disappearing beneath the waistband of Mike's pants.

-

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