So here’s something different. Unlike most of my LP stories, this one will have a fair bit of family drama in it. I get it if that’s not your cup of tea. Don’t worry, there will be plenty of romance, too, but I figured I should let you know what you’re about to walk into as the story goes along. So here’s a few disclaimers.

1) This story is fiction. I have a lot of love for Mike Shinoda and his family. There’s zero connection between this story and how I feel about real life Mike.

2) I don’t research. I suck at it, and it overwhelms me, so I don’t do it. I’d rather just make everything up, so please keep that in mind when it comes to “facts” in this story, legal or otherwise.

3) No one in this story is the right age.

Happy reading!

****

Chester stared at the dirt floor, his hands and knees bearing the weight of Ryan on top of him. His fingers clawed into the gritty surface, as his body lunged forward with his boyfriend’s thrusts. His heart was beating fast, his ass on its way to numb as Ryan pounded into his backside in his normal fast vigor. “God damn,” Chester hissed, his eyes closing as his orgasm inched closer. The shed in Ryan’s backyard wasn’t Chester’s favorite place to fuck, but it was the only place they could get privacy. At sixteen, their options were limited. Chester never complained, even though the dirty floor sucked, and he hated the smell of dead grass and gasoline, which always lingered in the tiny metal structure. He cracked his eyes open and caught a glimpse of the red and black lawnmower only a few inches away from his face. The same lawnmower Ryan had just used to cut the grass. Now they were screwing next to it.

It was depressing.

Chester squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine he was somewhere else - on a beach, in a nice hotel room with clean sheets and a soft bed. Ryan would be there with him, the two of them living it up in a dream world where they had money and there were no parents around to rag on them. No teachers telling them they weren’t reaching their potential, no cops harassing them as they walked around downtown L.A. Not idiots throwing lewd comments their way when he and Ryan would hold hands or kiss in public.

It was on that thought, as Chester’s imagination created a dream scenario of his dark horse - Ryan Shuck with his black choppy hair and gorgeous blue eyes - that he reached under himself to grab his dripping cock. His hand was dirty, and now so was his dick, which he hated, but it was what it was. Fussing over it wouldn’t do any good. Instead he ignored the slightly unpleasant sensation of filth and focused on the stronger feeling of pleasure, of his balls being so tight and his ass opening up to accept what Ryan was giving him.

He heard his boyfriend come, and a few seconds later, Chester did, too. He stayed where he was, a little sweaty with his mouth hanging open and squirts of jizz on his hand and on the dirt floor under him, as he waited for his boyfriend to back up and pull out.

It was done without words, and Chester was quick to stand up when it was over. The less time he could spend in the dirt, the better. Ryan tossed him a rag. It was blue - or used to be - now it was covered in dirt, grime, and oil. Chester wiped his cum-covered hand off anyway, and then tossed it back onto Ryan’s dad’s four-decker tool box.

Chester looked down at himself as he wiped his hands over his naked legs and knees, trying to swipe away the dirt before he pulled his black jeans up, and buckled his studded belt. “Can you hang out?” he asked, watching as Ryan pulled his pants up and straightened out his t-shirt.

The moment Ryan had his clothes in order, and Chester had his jeans up, he stepped over to the rusted shed door and shoved it open with a raspy squeak. The evening light lit up the dinky space. “I should be able to. Unless my dad is in a mood,” he said, his attention shifting back down to his clothes. He tugged on his jeans and adjusted his black t-shirt. He felt good - relaxed - and he was ready to spend the rest of the night lazing around with his boyfriend, shooting shit and playing video games. He looked over just in time to see Chester pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Hey, let me bum one.”

“You always bum one,” Chester huffed as he pulled a cigarette from the pack, and then his rainbow colored Bic lighter.

“You know I can’t buy my own,” Ryan reminded him as he put his hands on his hips and stretched his neck and then his back. “My dad would flip his shit if he caught me with ‘em.”

“Or if he caught you with me,” Chester teased before he sparked his smoke to life. He took a long inhale, and then an even longer exhale, letting the smoke pour from his lungs. Everything lifted as he did, a way for his nicotine addicted system to thank him. “Here,” he said, taking another drag before he handed the cigarette over. “I’ll share.”

Ryan nodded in approval before he took it. He made sure to stand back, away from the open doorway as they smoked. “My dad would kill me if he knew we were actually together,” he mentioned as he watched Chester step in front of the broken piece of mirror that was shoved against the far wall, a casualty of a bad night in the Shuck household.

“One of these days, Ry, you gotta grow a set of balls with that man,” Chester mumbled as he inspected himself in the dirty mirror. He ran his hand through his chocolate brown mohawk. It was getting long, and he knew it needed cut before it started to get curly. He sneered at it before he moved on, deciding he’d ask his boyfriend to give it a trim later. He pulled at the top of each cheek, looking over the black eyeliner that traced his eyelids, making sure it was still in order. Smeared eyeliner was the worst. He adjusted the pearl necklace he always wore next. It didn’t matter what his outfit was or where he was going, the string of pearls from his grandmother never left his neck. He flattened his hands down the front of his red muscle shirt, glad that it didn’t look dirty. Filth on his body was one thing, but dirty clothes irked Chester more than he could put into words.

Ryan watched in amusement. They’d just screwed on the dirt floor of a shed, and yet Chester was still worried over how he looked. Just like he always did. Ryan’s attention lingered over the red and blue flame tattoos that cuffed Chester’s wrists. His boyfriend had been the proud owner of the ink for only a month - a gift from a buddy of theirs who was practicing to be a real tattoo artist one day - and Ryan was still getting used to the sight of the colorful addition to Chester’s pale skin.

Ryan took another drag from the cigarette before he handed it back. “Grow some balls,” he repeated, a little snip in his voice, “you know how it is in there.” He cocked his head towards the open door of the shed. “I’m just surviving till I can leave.”

Chester took a few puffs before he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, and smashed it to death with his sneaker. He made sure it was out, and buried in the dirt. “I know,” he mumbled before he looked up, watching as Ryan was the one to fuss with his hair now. His boyfriend was a lot of things. He was handsome in that masculine kind of way. He had muscles - strong arms that Chester loved. He had a kind heart, and was loyal. Ryan wasn’t the best at school, but he could follow directions and he was a hard worker. He never backed down from a fight, as long as it was with a stranger. When it came to his dad, that was a different story.

An unintentional sigh escaped Chester’s throat as Ryan said they should go inside. They exited the shed, and Chester waited while Ryan shut the door and led the way to the house. The covered back patio was crowded with everything there was no room for inside the 1,200 square foot ranch house that Ryan shared with his dad. Chester sidestepped tattered boxes that were covered in dirt and grime, and the old bike Ryan hadn’t rode since he was twelve. He tripped over the broken bookcase that had been outside for at least two summers, and then his wallet chain got snagged on a stray piece of metal protruding out from a mound of junk. “Fuckin’ A,” Chester hissed, when he looked down to see he was tethered.

Ryan laughed. “That chain will be the death of you one day. It gets caught on everything.”

It took Chester a few seconds but he got himself untangled. “I’ve had too many losers try and gank my stuff,” he insisted before he followed Ryan into the house. “Not that I ever have bills in my wallet, but you know. I’m low-key paranoid.”

“I’d say more than low-key,” Ryan said with a smirk. They made it four steps inside the house before his dad was headed their way. Mr. Shuck was still in his work uniform, a dull combination of dark pants and a blue shirt, which had the day’s filth on it. “Hey, Dad.”

Mr. Shuck, who was taller than Ryan by a foot, but he towered over Chester by a few feet, flared his nostrils. “You smell like smoke,” he decided as he eyed his son. “I better not catch you smoking in this house,” he warned, snaking his hand over his pitch black hair that was short and trimmed in a respectable cut. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I’m not,” Ryan denied, both his hands going up. “I wouldn’t.”

“Mhm,” Mr. Shuck grumbled before his attention fell on Chester. His insides boiled at the sight of his boy’s best friend, who Mr. Shuck always took for a bit of a fairy. Between the pearl necklace, makeup and black nail polish, Chester Bennington was a question mark. His look confusing. It made Mr. Shuck uncomfortable. If Chester walked in the front door in a dress with a purse over his shoulder, he was pretty sure he would feel better about that than the mix of jewelry and makeup with jeans and muscle shirts and wallet chains. Chester rode a skateboard and played baseball. All the androgyny was unnerving, and Mr. Shuck hated how close Chester was to his son.

“Ryan,” Mr. Shuck snapped, his glare leaving Chester in an instant. “Tell your friend to go home. You’re busy tonight. We’ve got to work on the Mustang and the light in the garage is on the blink again.”

“But, Dad,” Ryan tried to say, but the moment his father gave him the look with his steel cold blue eyes and stern jawline, Ryan backed down. It was better to agree and go along with it then upset his dad, who had a temper that could fly off the handle at any moment, and no one would be spared. “Okay,” he mumbled before his dad walked away, heading down the hallway to the bathroom. Ryan’s insides sank. Working on the car and spending the evening in the garage taking orders and being his dad’s lackey wasn’t how he wanted to spend his time.

He turned with a shrug. “Sorry, Chester. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He reached out to cup his boyfriend on the shoulder, but stopped when he saw movement from somewhere down the hallway. He pulled his hand back quickly, sticking both in his pockets.

It was a defeat, and Chester felt it as much as he heard it. This wasn’t the first time their plans had been dashed by Mr. Shuck’s discontent. His desire to ruin Ryan’s good time, or maybe his life in general. Chester wasn’t sure. But he was sure of the fact that things would never change. Ryan was never going to stand up to his dad. He would end up working as a mechanic, just like his old man. If they stayed together, Chester knew he would probably always be a secret. They would never get out of the low income lifestyle they were trapped in, and together they would eek through life.

It was depressing.

“Yeah, I get it,” Chester said, his eyes down as he stared at the tacky linoleum flooring for a second. “No big deal. I need to dip anyway,” he said, hiking his thumb over his shoulder. It was a lie. He didn’t have anywhere to be, but he knew saying it would ease some of the weight that was currently crushing Ryan’s shoulders. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.” He wanted to give his boyfriend a hug at least, something that was contact that didn’t involve the dirt floor of the shed. He took a step closer, but when Mr. Shuck yelled from the hallway, the sound of his harsh voice made them both jump.

Before any sort of proper goodbye could be said, Chester was out the door, back out on the covered patio with all the junk. With all the dirt. He brushed his bare arms off instinctually as he stood there, looking over the mounds of broken stuff, things that were unwanted in the house. It was hard not to relate.

Fuck it, he decided quickly as he weaved his way around the Shuck maze, and got back out into the yard, and the freshly cut grass. He headed for the gate, grabbing his skateboard he’d left there when he and Ryan had come in two hours before. He stomped on the tail of his board, popping it up so he could grab it by the trucks before he opened the gate and escaped.

The moment he was back to the sidewalk that ran through Ryan’s neighborhood, he dropped his board, and shoved off. His balance was good, and even though he couldn’t land all his jumps and tricks, he could easily navigate around the narrow L.A. sidewalks. He could avoid the foot traffic, the garbage that ended up in his path because people didn’t care where they threw their trash, and the drunks that slumped against mailboxes and telephone poles.

Chester’s thoughts were circling the drain as he skated. It was early, which meant there was too much time left in the day to try and go home. Maybe his mom would let him in the house and maybe she wouldn’t. It was summer, so there was no school to think about, which meant no one was keeping track of where Chester Bennington was, either.

A few blocks from Ryan’s house, and Chester stopped, kicking his board up to carry it instead. He leaned it against his leg and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Dammit, he cursed when he realized it was his last cigarette. That was just one more problem for the day, and Chester grumbled at the world as he lit his smoke and started walking, his skateboard in his opposite hand. One way or another, he needed to get some more smokes before he’d wander home and sneak into his bedroom for the night. Hopefully. I wanted to stay at Ryan’s, but fuck. That’s not happening now.

There was a string of gas stations two blocks down, and that’s where Chester was headed. Maybe he could bum some money. If the guy - or girl - behind the counter was cute, he might be able to flirt his way into a free pack of smokes. It wouldn’t be the first time. He couldn’t buy them legally anyway, so it was always a challenge. Another worry that was always there.

He turned the corner, and stopped. “Hey,” he called, the moment he spotted his old friend, his pal that had blessed his skin with the tattooed flames. “Sean!” he called, waving to get his attention. Sean was already eighteen, and out of school. He didn’t have money to go to art school to back up his impending career as a tattoo artist, so he was using his friends as practice instead. Sometimes with markers, and sometimes with real needles and ink.

“Hey, Chester,” Sean greeted him immediately as he took the few steps to meet his friend where he was, just outside the Kwick Stop convience store. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jacket. “What’s up? How’s the flames?” He was already searching over Chester’s wrists, looking at his handiwork.

“They’re killer.” Chester dropped his skateboard to the ground, but kept his foot on it for safekeeping as he showed off his arms. He grinned as Sean stepped close to look them over. It was always nice to run into friends, and it was even nicer to run into friends who were eighteen, and old enough to buy cigarettes. “So what’s up?” Chester asked, as he took a drag and blew the smoke into the air. Sean wasn’t a smoker, but almost everyone they hung around with, was. Chester knew it didn’t bother him as they stood close, right by the newspaper boxes and the large windows of the convince store that were half covered in ads, and half covered in graffiti.

Sean puffed out his cheeks in thought. He was a little bigger, a little heavier than most of his younger friends, and it gave him a bit of a teddy bear look, like he was full of stuffing. “Actually,” I need to go in here,” he said nodding towards the front doors of the Kwick Stop. “The owner owes me money. Artwork I did for him,” he explained generically before shoving a hand over his short dark hair that made his head look wide and his hoop silver earrings oversized.

Chester raised an eyebrow before he took his last drag and dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground. He smashed his sneaker into it with a few twists. He was in luck. Sean was going into the store anyway. Chester didn’t have any money, and his mind skipped over a handful of ideas - angles he could use to try and get Sean to buy him a pack of smokes.

“Hey,” Sean said before Chester could decide wich words to use, “you want to do me a favor?”

A favor sounded like the perfect answer to his cigarette problem. “Sure,” Chester answered with a shrug.

“Go in here with me, would ya’, man?” Sean rolled his eyes towards the store. “The owner, he’s kind of an asshole and if he gives me trouble, not wanting to pay me, it might get heated.”

Heated. That word stuck to Chester’s brain. Going in the store wasn’t an issue, but if Sean was going to make trouble with some guy, Chester really didn’t want to be involved. He just wanted his smokes.

He looked down at the scuffed up, worn out griptape on his board as he rocked it back and forth with his foot. “I don’t know man,” he said, looking up to meet Sean’s insistent eyes. “You don’t think it will get out of hand, do you?”

“Of course not. Come on,” Sean said, keeping his hands in his jacket pockets as he turned to go in, but Chester wasn’t following. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything,” he restated. “Just come in and be a look out, alright?”

“A look out for what?”

“I told you, this guy is an ass,” Sean said, his voice turning a little gruff. “If we start mincing words, I don’t want one of his employees coming up behind me or something. Come on.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Chester could play interference and warn Sean if it was suddenly a two-on-one situation. He knew Sean Dowdell could be a little crazy sometimes, but they were walking into a public place. What could go wrong? “Okay,” Chester agreed, kicking his board up so he could carry it into the store. “But only if you buy me a pack of smokes.”

Sean rolled his eyes as he clapped Chester on the shoulder. “Fine. If that’s your price. Even though I think this should be a freebie for those pretty flames I put on your arms. You owe me, Bennington.” He touched Chester’s wrist, right over the ink he’d freely given him. Or maybe it wasn’t so free.

Chester sucked in a warm breath of air. That was it. He couldn’t say no now, cigarettes or not. He did owe Sean, and so he nodded in agreement, and followed him into the store. The air conditioning hit his bare arms immediately, making him shiver. He’d been in this Kwick Stop more times than he could count. He knew what was down every aisle - candy, chips, cakes, cookies, and things like cans of soup and tampons were there, too. You could buy beer and a gallon of milk. Oil for your car and a box of donuts. It was a little bit of everything.

But Chester’s attention went to the front counter, where the lines of cigarettes were, and the older gentleman who was manning the cash register. He looked Asian, with graying hair and a small build. Sean dwarfed the guy as Chester watched his friend step close and say something.

Chester looked around. There was no one else in the small store, and he was happy for that. If Sean caused some dramatic seen, it would be less embarrassing if there weren’t people standing around giving him looks. Chester spun away from the counter and headed for the back where the coolers were. He knew it was pressing his luck, but he really wanted a drink, too. It was hot outside, and an peach iced tea would hit the spot. It only took him a few seconds to spy his favorite brand and grab one from the coolers. He’d bat his eyes at Sean when it came time to pay for the cigarettes and promise to owe him one. Well, owe him another one, he corrected as he headed back to front counter.

His stomach rumbled a second later, and the idea of food hit next. Fuck. I was going to eat at Ryan’s. Guess that’s not fucking happening now.

There wasn’t much debate. He turned to go back to the coolers. There was a section with burritos and crappy cold sandwiches. None of it was great, but it was all better than going home and having to listen to his mother give her opinion on his eating habits while he’d scrounge through the kitchen.

Shitty gas station food was better.

He grabbed a Snickers bar on his way back up to the front, figuring what the hell. If he was going to ask Sean for his cigarettes and tea and the turkey sandwich that was cut into triangles, he might as well toss a candy bar in and have a whole meal.

He was struggling to carry it all and keep track of his skateboard when he finally got back up to the front, just in time to see Sean pull a gun from his jacket and point it at the elderly man behind the counter.

The world stopped.

It was hard to process what he was seeing, and for a second Chester thought the gun was a fake. A toy. A prop. But instinct told him it wasn’t. Instinct told him the gun was very real, and so was the situation. Chester’s heartbeat shot up as he stood, his mouth agape. Sean was yelling, but Chester really couldn’t hear what he was saying. His mind was fried as he tried to comprehend what was happening as adrenaline and fear ripped through him.

“Give me the money, now!” Sean ordered, his hand shaking as he pointed the gun at the man behind the counter. “All of it. Everything you got!”

Chester was frozen. He looked from Sean to the guy, who looked just as scared as he did. Chester was breathing hard and by the time Sean shouted for the third time, Chester was ready to piss himself. “Just give it to him!” he begged the man, whose broken English wasn’t helping the situation. “Just fucking give it to him!” He didn’t know the old man, but he did know Sean. Sean was pointing a gun, his eyes bulging out of his skull. It would be easier to convince the complete stranger than his friend.

Chester heard the register open, and he watched Sean lean forward, like he was trying to see how much money was there. He could still see the gun, which Sean was flinging around everywhere. Chester’s stomach was sick. He thought he might faint, or have a heart attack as everything happened so fast. He saw money on the counter, and Sean was still yelling. The idea to run was there, but Chester didn’t know what to do. If he ran - if he left - Sean would never let him forget it. He would hang it over his head forever.

It was surreal. It almost felt like it really wasn’t happening - the gun, the screams, the rush of emotions that were overwhelming Chester to sickness. It was hard to believe, hard to navigate and comprehend how two minutes ago he was picking out a candy bar and now he was watching a robbery happen. An armed robbery.

“Sean?” he croaked, hoping he could beg his friend to go. If they left now and didn’t take any of the money, maybe it would be okay. “Sean, let’s just go!” he cried, right as he caught sight of blue lights. He spun around, just in time to see three policemen ramming their way through the door, their guns raised.

This was really happening.

****

Thanks for reading, everyone. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the reviews. I know this is a little different, but I’m trying to stretch and grow as a writer. Here’s to hoping it goes well :)