A/N: I have no shame in admitting this was inspired by Penelope_Ink’s latest oneshot, Last Night. You should go read it if you haven’t. I started off thinking I’d write a companion piece to that in Mike’s voice, but ended up with this first person experimental piece in Rob’s! It’s different, that’s for sure. I’d love to know what you think. <3

****

Fuck, Chester, fuck me harder, yeah, ooohhhh!

Chester’s wife isn’t quiet in bed. I can hear her high pitched, nasal voice through the wall, and I know what’s coming next. Unlike Sam, Mike is quiet in bed, but as soon as her voice hits his ears, he’ll beg me for more, for deeper, and I won’t deny him. I never do. Everytime Sam shows up on the tour bus, I know what’s coming next. Chester can’t keep his dick in his pants, and Mike comes crawling to me. Every. Single. Time.

Tonight he didn’t even wait for them to get started. Mike left Brad behind in their room, knocking softly at my door before I’d even unzipped my suitcase. I shook my head and sent him away. He knows the rules - showers first - and even though he scowled at me, I knew he’d be back. Mike would do anything to get his punishment fuck out of the way before he went back to the room and drowned his feelings in the cheap beer he and Brad always bought when we had a hotel night.

When Chester’s wife is with us, I always end up with my own room. It’s a luxury we can’t afford quite yet, even though we’ve sold a million copies of the album already. It still blows my mind to think that. A million. One day we’ll all have our own rooms. But for now we share. Me and Brad, Mike and Chester, Dave and Joe. Unless Samantha comes along, and then the whole thing goes to hell. Mike doesn’t want to be left alone, and Brad isn’t one to pass up an opportunity to drink, so they end up together, even though Mike always ends up in my room for a while. Always fresh from the shower, and hardly able to look me in the eyes.

I’ve never fucked him while looking him in the eyes, so I get it. Even right now, he’s bent over in front of me, clutching at the cheap headboard while I dig my fingers into his hips. I know it’s not really me that he wants, and it only stings a little. I know he’s punishing himself for being too chicken to tell Chester he wants more, to break it off with Sam so they can be together. I know if I flipped him over, there would be tears squeezing through his tightly shut eyes. So I don’t.

It makes it easier to pretend the other person doesn’t know what this is really about. I can feel his insides clutching at my dick while I pound into him, and I know that physically this fulfills something for both of us. We both get off, and I have to admit it’s good. Mike is slim and tight and I love listening to his grunts and moans. He’s always so put together on the outside. In the studio, he’s in charge. On stage, he commands the crowd. Mike is a leader in every way, until he’s taking it from behind.

Emotionally, I’m not sure it’s the wisest idea we’ve ever had. I don’t have any particular attachment to what we do in my bed, but I’ve known Mike for years. He was never into casual sex. Me, I went through a phase where I was fucking anyone who looked my way, but that was before my parents caught wind of the drug problem and shipped me off to rehab. Once things got serious with the band, I knew how much I stood to lose if I couldn’t hold myself together. And the last thing Mike needs is to worry about me and Chester overdosing somewhere. Chester is enough for him to worry about.

Yeah, oh baby, oh my god!

Sam’s voice through the wall is irritating, but it triggers exactly what I expected it to... Mike’s muffled and strained voice is next, begging me.

“More, Bourdie, deeper, fuck!”

I close my eyes and concentrate on giving MIke what he wants in the moment. A thorough, deep fucking that will leave him walking a little funny when it’s over. The physical pain dulls his emotional pain while it’s happening, and there’s a part of me that likes being the one to give it to him. There’s this animal place inside that wakes up when I’m fucking Mike Shinoda senseless and reducing him to a whimpering, sobbing mess. I almost feel bad when it’s over, but I know that’s what he wants. Punishment. We never talk about it, but I know him.

Chesterrrrr!

I know Mike is listening, I know he hears Sam’s orgasm on the other side of the wall. I can see his long fingers clench into the sheets, and I can feel the way his whole body tenses. It’s a reminder that Chester isn’t his. At this rate, he never will be, and Mike knows it. He knows that I know it, too, and he knows that I don’t hold it against him that he comes to me, wanting to be used.

I pull him up against me, and I love the way his body is so easily manipulated. I’ve wondered how different it is with Chester, and if maybe that’s what Mike likes the most about this whole fucked up situation. I can’t imagine Chester manhandling him the way I do. I’ve seen his dick - we’ve all seen it - and I know I stretch and fill Mike in ways Chester never could. I can’t deny the sex is good, and I don’t think Mike could either. Right now, while I’m ramming into his prostate, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence if he wanted to. If someone told him no matter what came out of his mouth he’d win that Grammy he wants, he still wouldn’t be able to string together two syllables. I love that it’s me who can render him speechless.

He always comes with a sob, and I pretend not to hear the defeat behind it. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his small body twitching in my arms, his ass clenching around my dick, his choked cries of release. I know that tomorrow there will be a hollow shadow behind his eyes, eyes that will watch Chester from across the room, eyes that will light up when his love speaks to him, when they share the stage at the next show, when Sam leaves and Chester is the one inside him, behind him, in their hotel room. Mike never says my name when he comes, but I know it’s different when he’s with Chester. Even though Chester is using him, too. Even though he’s just a side fuck, Mike is all in, giving his heart to someone he can’t have.

I let his orgasm fade, I feel his body go limp in my arms, and I grit my teeth, concentrating on myself. Despite the condom, coming inside of Mike is thrilling. There’s something about shooting my load, knowing that deep down he hates what we’re doing, that feels dark and dirty. I know he hates himself for doing this, but I know he can’t help but come back, every time.

We don’t even kiss when it’s over. He winces when I pull out, and his face is in the pillow, his blue and red hair looking as ridiculous on the white pillowcase as it looks in the Papercut video we just shot a few weeks ago. The hair was Chester’s idea, and Mike never says no to Chester.

I can hear the mumbles on the other side of the wall, Sam’s voice only a little higher than Chester’s, and I know Mike can hear it, too. Part of me wants to bang my fist on the wall, just so they know we can hear them, but I don’t. I don’t need to call attention to the fact that Mike is facedown in my bed, covered in his own cum and tears. Chester knows. He’ll shoot daggers at me with his eyes in the morning at breakfast, and I’ll look back at him with that same blank expression I always have. I know it makes him crazy.

I don’t say anything when I get up to trash the condom and wash my hands, and when I come back from the bathroom, Mike gets up without looking my way. It’s the same every time. He’ll go shower in my bathroom and dress before coming back out, his hair damp and disheveled, with a different look on his face. It’s a carefully constructed look that says I’m okay when I know deep down, he’s screaming.

I hug him before he goes, and this time, he hugs me back.

****