Can you feel it? Caressing your skin, delving into your flesh, making your whole self shiver with pleasure. Can you feel him? Crawling between your thighs, wet and hot and beautiful, and masculine and strong and demanding, and passionate and boiling and perfect.

He feels awesome as he looks at you, you whole, from a handful of centimeters above you, as he follows your hair down to your shoulders, where it's resting and being tainted with your sweat, and god only knows how much he loves staring at it as his dilated pupils twirl along with the chestnut curls you don't even need to style since they perfectly fall down your back with natural grace. He feels heavenly as he kisses the tattoos on your chest, and your breasts, and your stomach, and your navel, and the bare area below it. And when he gets back to your lips (red lipstick still clings onto its place, thank god for vanguard cosmetics, or you'd probably look like the Joker right now) he's hungry and demanding and you know what he wants, which is what he's already getting (who are you to deny something like this, now?!), and you spread your long smooth legs a little further apart, and you don't need to tell him anything because he already knows how you like it.

Your red-painted fingernails look so damn artistic while they bury amongst his black hair, pushing it backwards even though it stays in place anyways. And he closes his eyes, and you feel like closing yours too, while he probes at you oh-so-damn-deliciously, and you get tears in your eyes and he breathes mouth-opened against your forehead, and his lips bless your skin and his beard tickles your nose and you feel like you're home again, back in Phoenix, even though you're in LA and he's Japanese. And you wonder if this time you'll get pregnant, and you don't really care, you know you'd be a proud mother if the kid were his, and he'd be a proud father, you swear and promise to yourself, you're a worthy woman and you're gonna make him proud, as proud as you are, just now, while he warms you up from inside and wounds his arms a little tigher around your wasp waist.

+

+

Damn.

That was intense.

He gets the urge to go "woha" at himself, and he almost does, out aloud, three seconds after he wakes up. But he's got to go careful: the guys are below and around him. They could be up still (or already, it really depends on how you see it), or, if they're sleeping, they're not heavy sleepers and they'd be disturbed by his post-orgasmic-dream moans.

If he hasn't been moaning already.

As he stares at his chest (when did it precisely go flat again?) and checks his covered body for any evidence of what has been going on in his mind up until seconds ago, he makes sure his ears can scan the bus's ambiance around for any signs of life. None seems there to be.

Fire covers his cheeks while sweat blankets the entire rest. It doesn't feel enough to just curse Mike anymore. He feels like hating him for the suffering he puts him through at his every wake, when he's got to remember he's not a woman and his MC will never fuck him that way. Or at all.

'Cuz he's sure, if he were a woman, Shinoda would have fallen for him long ago. They belong together, people. No denying it. But the Asian's not daring enough to go gay just like that.

Not when awake, anyway.

Not in the morning.

But what about the night?

-

The rapper doesn't know what he was dreaming of, as he wakes up. It had got to be something wet and warm and soft, because he could bet he's still feeling it.

Wait.

He is still feeling it, lapping at his lips and massaging them.

Tongue.

Lips.

Teeth.

Metal ring.

Chester's mouth.

It's got to be, smells like him.

He opens his own one because his lips are kind of getting numb from where they're being sucked at too fiercely, and they need to be left alone. So the vocalist goes on into the treasure he's been trying to unlock for the last minute or two, and they both marvel at how good they can taste even though they've both just woken up (the guys, damn!, they're just around and over them, can they hear their lips smacking?).

"What the hell, Cha--?" he tries to ask, cuz damn, Bennington used to be married and a father last time he checked.

"Shut up." He gets in the face. And next thing he knows, his neck's being sucked on. How the hell does Chester know about the place? "Just shut the fuck up."

Last time he checked, he himself used to be engaged. What's going on in the fucktard's mind?

He's surprised in realizing he doesn't care. His pajamas are being pulled off. The night's black aroud them. He's not dreaming (that delectable tongue is so damn real), but he's not completely awake either.

And that's enough.

_________________________________________________

This whole thing was inspired by this awesomeness. http://melolontha2.deviantart.com/art/CiB-Sketch-2-206653430?q=favby%3Atyshangshan%2F5347624&;qo=127 Gotta worship the artist.