Disclaimer: Don't own, so forth and so on. The song is by Def Leppard. Yeah, yeah. You all just shut up right now.

A/N: I wrote this because several people asked me to continue on my standalones. I didn't want to do that, but I will continue to write LP fanfic. Just be patient. There will always be more coming from me, the eternal well of all that is slashy. Please forgive me for making Chester and Mike sing this song. I know it's shameful, but Def Leppard is catchy as hell, okay? It's the kind of thing I often find myself humming against my will. And I just gotta point out that the lyrics in parenthesis are done by back-up singers, and, towards the end, Chester. Mike isn’t singing that part. Thank you.

It was, Chester reflected, very cool, as birthday parties went. Bright lights. Bathtub filled with booze. Pounding music that the neighbors were sure to complain about. And people. People everywhere, some of them people Chester had never seen before

in his life, all dancing and laughing and having a good time. It looked like the entire city had been invited and the majority had turned up. In fact, the only person that seemed to be missing was the one responsible for it all.

Chester took a final gulp from the can in his hand, placed it on a convenient coffee table, and straightened to scan the room once more. Where in the world had Mike disappeared to? He’d seen the guy not ten minutes before, talking to a girl who was standing next to the stereo. He *had* to be around here somewhere.

Spotting Joe across the room, Chester began to shoulder his way through the crush of bodies separating them, keeping up a steady stream of “Sorry,” and “Oops, ‘scuse me.” Maybe his friend would have some idea where to find Mike, Chester thought hopefully, and even if he didn’t, at least he’d be someone to talk to. Someone that

wouldn’t try to barf on, dance drunkenly with, or just out-and-out seduce Chester, as everyone he’d met so far that night had.

“Hiya,” Joe chirped cheerfully over the music when Chester finally managed to push his way through the crowds. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, and it looks like you are too,” Chester shot back, amused. Joe was practically twined around Rob, a fistful of the drummer’s sweater clutched in one hand and a glass of something that looked extremely alcoholic in the other.

“Oh, he is,” Rob chipped in, leering suggestively. Joe giggled and tossed down the rest of his drink, then leaned up to whisper something in his boyfriend’s ear, something that made both grin wickedly.

Not too long ago, witnessing such a scene would have turned Chester inside out with pain and longing. It would have literally made him sick to his stomach. He would have made some lame excuse about not feeling well and then he would have run home, skipping out on his own party. When he reached the safety of his home, he would have collapsed on his bed, too weary to sleep or cry, pining after the guy he could never have. Chester smiled ruefully. Hell, he’d probably *still* be doing that, if it weren’t for two factors.

The first, obviously, was Joe’s relationship with Rob. When the two had gotten together, he’d been shocked. Horrified. Hurt. Joe was the first guy he’d ever felt attracted to, the first guy he’d ever wanted. The first guy he’d ever loved, really. But he’d hidden that love for a long while, convinced that the DJ was straight. And then

suddenly, what do you know! Joe had to be at least a little gay, because all at once, he was dating Rob. It had hit Chester hard, took hold of him roughly and nearly ripped him in two. He hadn’t wanted to eat or sleep or sing or do anything, really, but lie on the floor and try to think of nothing at all.

And that was where the second factor came into play. Mike. Mike had seen his pain and cared enough to find out why he was hurting. Mike had sympathized with him, saying that he’d felt the same way when Anna left. Mike had encouraged him, telling him that he could get past this thing, that it wasn’t the end of the world. Mike had

coached, guided, supported, motivated, and inspired. It was Mike who had refused to let Chester drink himself into a numb stupor day after day, Mike who held and soothed Chester while he cried himself into an exhausted sleep night after night, and, when he was finally ready to move on, it was Mike that Chester had fallen in love with.

In a way, it was ironic, because loving Mike was just as hopeless as loving Joe, Mike being irrefutably straight. Chester was beginning to wonder if he had a problem with wanting with men he couldn’t have. He’d considered seeing if there was a self-help book (*Uttainable Men and the Fools Who Love Them*) or a twelve-step program (“Hi, my name is Chester Bennington, and I have a problem. I want to shag my best friend stupid.”) or maybe even a psychologist he could go to. Except, well, the books were always a load of garbage and the programs would be far too embarrassing and public and the psychologist would inevitably blame everything on his father. That’s what psychologists did. Though it could be fun to burst into his parent’s home screaming, “It’s all because of you, Dad! My masochistic tendencies in relationships and my crazy sexual urges are because of *you*!”

Chester could help it; he laughed out loud at the mental image of his father’s face, startling Rob and Joe out of their little tête-à-tête. They both looked up, mildly surprised to find another person present and more than mildly disturbed to find said person laughing loudly for no apparent reason.

“Dude, maybe you’ve had too much to drink?” Joe suggested tentatively, eyeing Chester as if he were a crazy street person.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Chester assured his friend weakly, managing to pull himself together enough to stop laughing. “I just thought of something funny.” At Joe’s curious look, he quickly added, “But listen, the party really is great. Thanks for volunteering your apartment.”

“Ah, we don’t mind. Do we?” Joe prompted, elbowing Rob sharply in the side.

“Not at all,” the drummer agreed hastily, rubbing at his ribs. “In fact, I insisted we have it here. I’m more than--”

He was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass from the direction of the kitchen. Without bothering to finish his thought, Rob hurried off to save the dishes, his face pale.

“Poor guy,” Chester commented sympathetically. “I know it’s gotta be rough on him, watching his home being practically torn apart.”

“He’s being well compensated.”

Chester grinned at the mischievous look on his friend’s face. “I don’t even want to know what you promised him. Just tell him I’m thankful for the sacrifice, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. But you should really be thanking Mike. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think this party would have come together. I’ve never seen him work so hard on anything before in his life.”

Chester threw up his hands helplessly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him all night, and every time I try, someone distracts me. Now I’ve officially been wished a happy birthday by every person here, and I can’t find him.”

Joe considered. “Have you checked the kitchen?”

“Yeah, but I guess one more time wouldn’t hurt,” Chester sighed.

“Great. I need to go make sure Rob isn’t killing anyone.”

As the two pushed their way through the milling masses in the living room, Chester noted absently that the song previously blaring through the speakers had ended; a new one was coming on. The beginning beat and lyrics were familiar, and he raised an eyebrow at Joe.

“Eighties rock?”

Joe shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I am not responsible, I swear.”

Chester grinned. “It’s okay. Surprisingly enough, I actually like this one. Don’t tell anyone. And I don’t know how the rest of these good people will feel about it.”

“Hey, it’s your birthday, no one’s going to criticize your taste in music. And personally, I’m more concerned about this sudden mad rush to the kitchen. Are we trendsetters now or something?”

Looking around, Chester realized that it was true. Many of the guests who had been dancing in the living room abruptly seemed very eager to get into the kitchen. “Well, either that or Rob really did kill someone.”

“Come on,” Joe ordered. “Grab my arm. We’re going to push our way through.”

“I dunno.” Chester hesitated. “All of these people....”

“Can go to hell,” Joe finished cheerfully, linking their arms. “This is my house. Or, well, Rob’s house, so it’s basically the same thing.”

Having said that, the little Korean charged forward, dragging Chester along behind him as he shoved people out of the way. A few turned to complain, but Joe snapped, “The birthday boy wants to get into the kitchen sometime tonight, so move it!” Surprisingly, this approach proved quite effective.

Within a short period of time, they were standing in the doorway, glancing around for the source of all the interest. Chester had just started scanning the packed area in front of the refrigerator when Joe caught his arm in a vise-like grip.

“Ow, what--” Chester began, but halted when he noticed that Joe was staring, eyes wide and mouth agape, at the far side of the room. Slowly, he turned in the same direction. And gasped.

“I think we found Mike,” Joe said, sounding amused.

“I’ll say,” Chester whispered back, stunned.

“Come on, we’ve got to get closer.” Joe came to life, grabbed Chester’ arm, and started dragging him off through the crowd. Again. But this time, Chester didn’t bother to protest. He didn’t think he could have said a word if he’d tried. All of his focus was on the man dancing on Rob and Joe’s kitchen table.

Mike was shirtless, his dark eyes bright with alcohol and determination, his lean body twisting to the pulsating music drifting through the apartment. His spiked hair was tousled, his baggy black jeans held up by nothing but luck (or, in Chester’ mind,

some powerful force that was evil beyond comprehension), his skin glowing golden in the fluorescent lighting. In short, he was all Chester’s wet dreams wrapped into one unbelievably gorgeous package. And then some.

Chester barely even noticed that Joe’d gotten them all the way up to the edge of the table. He was too distracted by the way Mike was moving, and, when the first verse of the song started, the way he was singing. Chester had never heard such a seductive voice come out of his friend before. But as Mike continued to strut along the table,

singing in that rough, sexy voice, Chester decided he could definitely get used to it.

“Love is like a bomb, baby, c’mon get it on,

Livin' like a lover with a radar phone.

Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp,

Demolition woman, can I be your man?

(Be your man)

Hey!

(Huh!)

Hey!

Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light,

Television lover, baby, go all night.

Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet,

Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah!

Hey!

C'mon!"

Chester swallowed, his mouth dry, as Mike did something particularly suggestive with his hips.

"Take a bottle,

Shake it up,

Break the bubble,

Break it up!

(Pour some sugar on me!)

Ooh, in the name of love!

(Pour some sugar on me!)

C'mon fire me up!

(Pour your sugar on me!)

Oh, I can't get enough!

I'm hot, sticky sweet from my head to my feet, yeah.

(Huh!) Hey!

(Huh!) Hey!

(Huh!) Hey!

(Huh!)”

The crowd that had gathered around the table doubtfully at first had grown appreciative by now, clapping and yelling. Mike took it in stride, though the attention did seem to sober him up a little. He glanced around at all the faces, looking somewhat surprised, then spotted Chester and grinned at him. Chester could only stare, mesmerized, as Mike launched into the next verse, never breaking eye contact.

“Listen!

Red light, yellow light, green-a-light go!

Crazy little dude in a one man show.

Mirror king, mannequin, rhythm of love,

Sweet dream, saccharine, loosen up.

(Loosen up)

I loosen up.”

Chester blinked for the first time in quite a while. Was he going crazy, or had Mike just majorly changed the words of the song, substituting “dude” for “woman” and “king” for “queen?”

“You gotta squeeze a little, squeeze a little, tease a little more,

Easy operator come a-knockin' on my door.

Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet,

Little Mr. ah Innocent sugar me, yeah.

(Yeah!)

Give a little more!”

And yeah, he’d definitely said “Little Mr.Innocent” right then. Add in the fact that he was still staring, and Chester’s heart was pounding as hard as the music. What Mike did next didn’t help to slow it down any.

“Take a bottle,

Shake it up,

Break the bubble,

Break it up!”

Grabbing a bottle of liquor out of one of the spectator’s hands, Mike emptied the drink onto his chest, then tossed the glass to the tabletop, where it shattered. Someone in the crowd threw him a yellow box, which Mike proceeded to wrench open, shaking the contents onto his body as he belted out the chorus again. Chester

licked his lips unconsciously. The white powder clinging to Mike’s body looked like---like--

Next to him, Joe was muttering apprehensively, “Right out of the pantry! Rob is gonna pitch a fit!”

Oh. Confectioner’s sugar. Chester felt his knees start to buckle.

The guitar solo began, and Mike purposefully crossed the table to where Chester was standing and offered him a hand. The blonde’s eyes widened in horror, and he shook his head frantically.

“Come on,” Mike coaxed. “It’ll be fun.”

Chester started to shake his head again, then hesitated, chewing at his bottom lip. He *did* really like this song, but.....still. Table dancing to it? Was he really *that* drunk? The crowd, sensing his reluctance, was beginning to chant, and Mike grinned at him persuasively. “They want you up here, man.”

Chester wanted him up there too, preferably pressed right up against that sweet, sugary body. The thought made his breath hitch and caused his reasons for remaining on solid ground to all but disappear. *Not* a good thing.

“Go on, dude,” Joe urged. “It’s your birthday. Have a little fun.”

“But....but I can’t dance!” Chester squeaked, desperately using the only argument he could think of at the moment.

“I’ll teach you,” Mike assured him, then added, softly, “Please.”

Later, Chester decided it was the chanting crowd. Those people had come for a good party, and he couldn’t let them down. He virtually *had* to get on the table. Or perhaps it was the alcohol he’d consumed that brought out the exhibitionist in him. He’d done some interesting things when drunk before, this not the greatest of them.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way Mike practically whispered that last word, the promise in his eyes and the real pleading Chester could glimpse in his face. Mike wanted him for something, and Chester got the feeling it was one hell of a lot more important than a table dance.

For whatever reason, Chester found himself standing on the table next to Mike in front of dozens of grinning faces, all expecting him to be sexy and exciting. “What do I do first?” he muttered uncertainly, feeling awkward. “You said you’d teach me.”

“First of all, pull your shirt off.” The words were practically growled.

Chester gaped, his jaw dropping in shock. “But--”

“No buts,” Mike ordered firmly. “Take the shirt off. Or....” His eyes glinted wickedly. “Would you rather I do it?”

Without bothering to answer, Chester scrambled out of his black T-shirt, and, on an impulse, threw it to the cheering crowd. A small fight broke out as several women struggled over the article of clothing, and Chester giggled, blushing.

“See? You’re a natural!” Mike smirked. “Now come here.”

He obeyed immediately, still feeling slightly ridiculous. However, that problem cleared right up as soon as Mike spun him around to face their attentive audience, placed his hands flat on Chester’s denim-clad hips, and pulled Chester’s whole body flush against his. Shoulder blades and chest were touching. Back and stomach. Ass and,

well.....Chester blushed harder.

“Mike, what--?” he managed to gasp.

“Just be my back-up,” Mike murmured in his ear. “And I’ll move for both of us.”

And he did. He began that sensual dance all over again, but this time, he guided Chester’s body to move with him. Sugar rubbed from one frame to another, fingers trailed fire over arms and torso, panted, unintelligible words sounded in Chester’s ear, and the birthday boy took a shuddering breath. Nope, he didn’t feel ridiculous at all anymore. Just....just....God, so hot.

The lyrics began again, and Chester didn’t even think about how embarrassed he was going to be when he woke up in the morning, completely sober and without a sexy emcee’s hands all over him. He just sang.

“(You got the peaches, I got the cream!)

Sweet to taste,

(Saccharine,)

'Cos I'm hot,

(Hot!)

So hot,

Sticky sweet, from my head,

(Head!)

My head!

(Head to my feet!)

To my feet!

Do you take sugar?

One lump or two?

Take a bottle,

(Take a bottle,)

Shake it up,

(Shake it up,)

Break the bubble,

Break it up!

(Break it up!)”

The people gathered by the table were going crazy, whistling and cat-calling, and Chester found another box of sugar shoved into his hands. Looking down, he spotted Joe winking at him before his attention was drawn back to more immediate matters. Namely, that Mike had let go of him to grab the sugar (which he found extremely

disappointing) and was tearing the box open frantically (which was more promising).

“(Pour some sugar on me!)

Ooh, in the name of love,

(Pour some sugar on me!)

C'mon fire me up,

(Pour your sugar on me!)

Oh, I can't get enough!”

Triumphantly, Mike succeeded in ripping the sugar open, and he turned to Chester with a hopeful glint in his eye. Chester barely had time to nod his approval before the raw sucrose was being poured onto his chest, and they finished the song in a white cloud of cloying sweetness.

“(Pour some sugar on me!)

Oh, in the name of love,

(Pour some sugar on me!)

Get all, come get it,

(Pour your sugar on me!)

Ooh,

(Pour some sugar on me!)

Yeah!

Sugar me!”

As the last notes of the song died away, the crowd burst into loud applause, but Chester could barely hear it over the rushing sound in his ears. He was staring at Mike, both of them coated in a thick white film, both of them grinning and gasping for breath. Without thinking, he reached out, ran a finger from Mike’s chest to the

waistline of those baggy jeans, and sucked the honeyed treat into his mouth.

Then froze as everyone screamed even louder and he realized what he’d done. He’d table danced in front of a crowd of people. He’d sung loud eighties rock. He’d had his body practically plastered against Mike’s. And now he was eating sugar--sugar!--off his best friend’s upper body, and dreaming about doing it to his lower half.

Chester squeezed his eyes shut anxiously. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. Ooohhh, Mike was gonna be so pissed at him. Mike was gonna rave about being straight. Mike was gonna never talk to him again, Mike was gonna hate him forever, Mike was gonna--kiss him?

Chester’s eyes snapped open. Yes, Mike was kissing him. Hard, with curious, roving hands that were touching him in places that made his head swim. For a bare moment, Chester’s confused brain tried to make sense of it all, but then it, like the rest of him, melted, and he didn’t really care *why* Mike was kissing him, so long as he was.

So he kissed back, and Mike made a sound against his mouth that had him shivering all over, and he was just seriously considering never having to breathe again when a loud voice cut through the muted roar of approval in Chester’s liquefied mind.

“Mike! What’s going on in here?”

Chester and Mike jumped apart guiltily, and everyone in the room suddenly went silent and turned to the doorway.

“Shit,” Mike whispered, and Chester thought if he weren’t so dumbstruck, the situation might be funny.

Rob was standing there, arms crossed over his chest and scowl firmly in place as he surveyed his wrecked kitchen, ending with the table in the corner. “Are you *dancing* on the table?” he demanded, stepping further into the room. “Are you covered in *powdered sugar*? What the hell are you doing? Why--”

Joe cleared his throat, and, when Rob glanced at him, raised his eyebrows significantly. Rob faltered, pausing in the middle of his sentence. He eyed his boyfriend pleadingly for a moment, but Joe only shook his head.

Rob sighed, then continued in a resigned voice. “Why didn’t you invite me?”

The room broke into laughter, and Chester sighed in relief. He’d have hated Mike’s death to have interfered with their....well, whatever it was they had. He wasn’t sure yet.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Mike replied lazily, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing. “I was just getting a few things straight with Chester. You know, like the fact that I’m crazy about him and think he’s the most beautiful thing on the earth. Just minor stuff like that.”

Well. That cleared things up a mite.

If the room had been quiet when Rob walked in, it was tomb-like now. Every eye was focused on Chester, trying to gauge his reaction to Mike’s announcement. The air was taut with anticipation.

“This isn’t really fair, you know,” Chester complained to the kitchen at large, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face. “He’s using my greatest weakness on me to try and seduce me.”

Mike quirked an eyebrow. “Sugar?”

“No. Yourself.”

It was, Chester reflected, as every person in the room began cheering and his lips met Mike’s once more in a burst of heat that threatened to consume him, very cool, as birthday parties went.

So? What do you think? Completely horrible?