Category Linkin Park

Room for Two by L.Phoenix


Hello my fellow soldiers! I am a slightly new LPFF writer. I used to write stories here when I was thirteen (I’m now twenty-nine!) but fell out of writing LPFF around the age of fifteen. I then started a new story on An Archive Of Our Own called Knowing Me, Knowing You under the pen name Shower_Of_Oranges, a few months before Chester passed. Once he passed, I just couldn’t bring myself to continue writing LPFF until recently when I discovered that reading and writing LPFF is a coping mechanism; a way to keep Chester alive and, well, who doesn’t love a little Bennoda smut in their lives?

You will notice that I don’t use real wives or children in my stories. I have nothing against other writers who do. It’s just something I’m personally not comfortable with, so don’t mind the OG characters. Anyways, if you happen to read this, authors do live off reviews and I very, very much appreciate you taking the time to read even if you don’t review. :) I also lead a busy life so some days I’ll be updating chapters faster than others, so bear with me. If there are any typos in this story, please forgive me. I’ve reread this three times but accidents do happen.

DISCLAIMER: I, unfortunately, do not own Linkin Park, the members of Linkin Park, or their actual members, but it’d be a lot cooler if I did. Song in this chapter is “Still Remains” by Stone Temple Pilots.

I don’t know how we got here. I can’t recall the time of day, the day itself; can’t tell you who suggested it first: him or me, or a mutual decision. All I know is we’re here now and I have to make the best of a dire situation. I look at him and three years later he still manages to take my breath away. In my mind, I trace his features with a single fingertip: the chiseled contour of his cheekbones, the slight dip on the tip of his nose, his thin lips that I never tire of kissing even during moments such as this when all I want to do is wring his scrawny neck.

Then again, how can I think of hurting him? I’m not capable of such a thing no matter what he’s done, or what I’ve done...what we’ve done. We’ve been through too much. We watched each other grow from struggling young adults holed up in a small apartment with four other guys around an even smaller studio tucked into the corner of a room. He’s been there for me through the darkness, the light, the bone-aching days on tour when we were stranded on a bus with very little space to sleep and basking in post-concert stench belonging to six grown ass men.

Early Hybrid Theory Days

Linkin Park was just taking off. We were driving from Portland to Chicago. Brad closed every curtain, pulled down every blind, because you can get away with a lot on a tour but god forbid you interfere with Brad Delson’s sleep and there’d be more than Hell to pay.

I couldn’t sleep. The rocking of the bus made my stomach churn and it’d been too dark, too quiet, and my CD player ran out of battery juice. I never could sleep without music. So silence plus darkness plus the anticipation of doing another show equaled an immensely tired and irritated Mike Shinoda.

Yanking back my private curtain, I slid off my bunk, being careful not to make a sound as I tiptoed into a room in the back of the bus where there was a door and a couch but, most importantly, a television. I slipped inside and shut the door. As soon as I turned on the light, I was greeted by an aggravated yelp. Behind me Chester splayed across the couch. My face heated at the sight of his slender body clad in a pair of black boxer briefs...and nothing else; no blankets, no shirt, just...cotton boxers far too tight to be comfortable for any man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

He smiled, a single orange light above him flickered along the silver hoop wrapped around his bottom lip.

“‘S’ok. Can’t sleep?”

I shook my head.

“Too quiet?”

I nodded.

He hummed and scooted backwards onto the couch, creating enough space for at least half of my body to fit. He patted the rusty red cushion and I nibbled my top lip in debate. Do I accept his invitation? Surly it’d be weird for our bandmates to walk in on their two lead vocalists cuddled up on the couch together. I already knew the outcome: Brad would lecture us, Rob would blush and wordlessly observe, Joe would make some perverted remark, and Phoenix would probably sit down and try to analyze us in a fatherly type way. As for me and Chester… well, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve “cuddled.”

When Chester moved to California from Arizona, I caught him sleeping in his car on more than one occasion. The guy had been so excited to fill in Linkin Park’s lead singer position and had more faith in our band than any of us that did he left his own birthday party with just enough money in his pocket for gas. Naturally I offered him my couch, a spot he slept on for a few months until one day, after a long night of recording, and a bottle of rum later, we crashed in my bed, his warm body pressed up against my chest, his head on my breastbone. We woke up the next morning groggy and grinning through our apparent embarrassment and confusion.

It felt right…

He fit perfectly.

We both knew it.

“They’re not going to wake up.” Chester’s voice brought me back into the tour bus where his half naked body waited for me on that atrocious rusty colored couch. How he managed to make that atrocious piece of furniture look inviting was beyond me. He had that way about him. He could make a pile of dung look like an attractive heap of diamonds.

I dimmed the light and, turning around, caught his gander, and held onto it long after I laid down next to him. Our chests pressed together lightly, I drummed my fingertips along my thigh in tune to his heartbeat:

One...two, two...three...two,two...one…

He ran the tip of his nose along my temple and heard him inhale. “Why are you so nervous?”

I shrugged.

“It’s just me, Mike. No…it’s just us.”

The lump in my throat transformed into coal: dry and too large for my neck. A hand -- his hand -- soft, gentle, caressed down from the ball of my shoulder to my drumming fingertips where he then put a stop to their continuous tapping. He held my hand to his chest, his skin sheen with a thin layer of sweat. He smelt of nicotine, beer, and the glowing aftermath aroma of hot spotlights. Although I’d never admit it to myself or Chester -- especially Chester- - his natural scent had been a perfume I earned to bathe in for all eternity.

“Are you nervous about the show?” He asked.

Our eyes met again. His gaze softened.

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” he said. “You’re a fuckin’ badass frontman, Mikey.”

“Pffft. I’m a squirrel compared to you.”

He cocked a brow. “A squirrel? Really?”

We burst into laughter. I admit that “squirrel” was an awful comparison. Don’t judge me. I was sleep deprived, every muscle in my body ached, and when I say every muscle I mean every. muscle, if you get my drift. If you were nuzzled against a nearly naked Chester Bennington you’d be fighting off a raging boner as well, I guarantee it. But having been comfortable in his arms and entranced by his succulent scent, it became more and more challenging to hide my...erm...excitement. A fresh sort of tension killed our laughter and Chester’s face turned from gleeful to serious within a matter of milliseconds. I cleared my throat and looked at my belly, chin to chest.

Shaking fingers lifted my chin and brown eyes eclipsed brown eyes, one pair curious and the other, I’m sure, scared shitless.

“Is there maybe a uh...another reason you can’t sleep, Shinoda?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t.

His hand began skipping down my neck, over my clothed stomach, stopping at the hem of my boxers. His mouth rested against my ear, his breath hotter than the stuffy tour bus, and twice as humid.

“I can fix that for you if you’d like.”

Fuck...the way he said it: naturally, certain, and oozing with a brand of confidence that could belong to Chester Bennington and only Chester Bennington. Meanwhile I came undone and my words, or lack thereof, stammered as I tried to answer. An answer never came out of my mouth because, you know, how could I possibly say yes to my bandmate offering me a handjob on the back of the tour bus with our bandmates sleeping six feet away? Not to mention that until that moment, there hadn’t really been any indication of sexual attraction between Chester and myself. Sure we fell asleep in my bed tangled up in each other’s bodies, but it happened a handful of times. Sure we may have bounced flirtatious comments back and forth every once in awhile:

“That color looks good on you, Chaz.”

“Thanks, Mikey, but you know what would look even better on me?”


“Mike Shinoda.”

Silly comments. Silly gestures. A slip of a hand grazing a hand. Feet playfully kicking underneath a table. Thigh rubbing thigh when sitting in a cafe booth at breakfast. A pat on the back or, on rare occurrences, a smack on the ass during a show. All of those gestures were miniscule and playful. A handjob on the other hand? Not so miniscule although it could very well be playful… I mean, I’m sure we could’ve made it into a playful thing… Knowing Chester, however, it’d be far from playful and more passionate and perhaps a tad intense. Wait, scratch that -- really fucking intense.

I must’ve taken too long to respond because the next thing I knew Chester backed away and brought his hands to himself, mumbling a low apology.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t apologize. I...I just wasn’t...expecting you to…”

“I know, I know. I’m dumb. I shouldn’t have crossed that line. It’d be weird, right?”

I zeroed in on his trembling bottom lip before catching his eyes again and said, “I don’t know. I mean...it’s us, y’know? It doesn’t have to go beyond casual. We’re adults and if I had to choose anyone on this bus...it’d…it’d be you.”

“Really? I’m sure Joe would know what to do given the way he can scratch--”

“Ew. Stop right there, Ches. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Chester grinned. “So we’re having a moment?”

I bit down hard on my lip and tugged. Chester chuckled and guided my body closer to his. He bumped our foreheads together and breathed in deep then exhaled.

“I don’t have to touch you, y’know.”

“What? Whadda me-”

A sudden jolt of his hips crashed against my pelvis.

“Fuck,” I gasped. “You’re hard too.”

“Of course I am. I’m lying next to you, so how couldn’t I be?”

He rocked his hips again, our erections rubbing past thin layers of fabric. I emitted what sounded like a mix between a groan and a stifling cry. Chester clasped his hand over my mouth and laughed.

“Shhh, Mikey. Gotta be quiet, okay?”

I nodded. He removed his hand but before he could do anything with it, I captured his wrist and sucked his index finger into my mouth. I bit down on his digit, nibbling on the flesh, and he hissed through clenched teeth, his hips moving faster. The friction between us delicious as was the salty taste of his skin on my tongue. I wanted to feel more, wanted to taste more. However, I didn’t know how to create that next step. I’d never done this before and the fact that it was happening at all, and with Chester nonetheless, made my IQ drop a few hundred points. Our rowing bodies, the feel of his massive hard-on throbbing in-time to my own pulsing cock, our legs tangled, and breaths combining in hushed heaves...shit...I couldn’t think…



Ugh! The way he said my name! Brain cells. Where the fuck did my brain cells run off to?

Our paced quickened. It was no longer just him moving but the both of us. Our sweat seeped into the cushions beneath our withering bodies. My hand began moving and I couldn’t stop it even if I tried as it felt up his smooth chest and pinched a vulnerable nipple until it saluted. Chester arched his back into my teasing. He grasped a handful of my ass and pushed me against him to where a single sliver of air couldn’t sneak between us. His other hand dashed into my hair and he pulled, my head falling backwards, his teeth clamping down into my jugular.


“You taste so good,” he said into my neck before licking the spot he’d just bit. “I’m so close.”

There’s no way...no way he was close. He couldn’t be because I, too, was nearing my release, and I read somewhere that simultaneous orgasms were more likely to occur between a couple who’d been together for years and understood each other’s bodies and sexual needs. Why was I thinking of medical facts during a time when Chester fucking Bennington was about to come in his little, tight boxer briefs? Not only coming, but coming because of me for that matter.

He held the nape of my neck and squeezed. I saw his eyes clamp shut right before my own world went dark. I dug my fingers into his hipbone, our pace driving faster, faster, faster…

Mutual growls of simultaneous releases rumbled in the depths of our throats, mouths kept shut in attempt to remain as quiet as humanly possible. My orgasm tightened and snapped like a rubber band stretched to its max that’d been cut by a pair of brand new shears. I saw stars. I heard fireworks. My muscles limped. Cum leaked down my inner thigh, warm and gooey. I hadn’t cum as much (or as hard) since I first discovered porn at the tender age of thirteen.

When we stopped to regain our breaths, our sweaty foreheads meeting, neither of us dared to move. I lifted my heavy eyelids and found him staring back at me. Bashful huffs of laughter streamed out of our parted lips. Chester reached into his boxers and then put his wet fingers into my mouth, the taste of his cum tingling on my tongue. I licked him clean and returned the favor, Chester taking it a step further because, well, he’s Chester, and my fingers vanished knuckle deep in his mouth. He released me with a sloppy plop.

My cock twitched despite being spent. I bet that mouth could do wonders.


He smiled a lopsided smile. “Yeah. You feel okay?”

“I feel fuckin’ fantastic.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean do you feel okay with what just happened between us?”

“Yeah, Chaz. No worries.”

He kissed my chin and curled up against my body.

“Want me to sing until you fall asleep?”

I closed my eyes and answered a worn out, “mm-hmm.”

Our naked feet slid up and down each others calves. His soothing voice, the voice that would make us famous over the years, sang a blissful tune…

“Pick a song and sing a yellow nectarine/Take a bath I’ll drink the water that you leave/If you should die before me ask if you could bring a friend/Pick a flower, hold your breath, and drift away.”

...and I drifted away, not thinking of the future consequences that night had in store for us.


Now three years later here we are, sitting across from two women in our private suite in a Hilton. The hustle and bustle and honking horns of cars littering the busy streets of New York City invading the room seeing as Chester just had to open the patio doors. He’s sucking down a cigarette and nursing a bottle of Corona.

We aren’t unfamiliar with these girls. In fact, they’ve both been friends of ours for years, long before Linkin Park became a household name to every emo teenager rebelling against their parents; long before Chester and I became an “us” or a “we.” And although we’re all friends, the women still can’t keep their eyebrows from drawing dowards and pouty lips from thinning. After all, what we’re asking them to do is a lifelong commitment. It’ll change the course of their lives, our lives, forever.

The first girl, my girl, Jane Thomas, is the first to speak. “So let me get this straight. You want me and Amy to pretend to be your girlfriends?”

Chester picks at the opening of his beer bottle, a nervous habit he’s developed over the years in addition to actual drinking. “Yes.”

“You want us to be your Beards?”

“Yes, Jane, that’s what we’re asking.”

Let me backup here for a minute.

Beard - Any opposite sex escort taken to an even in an effort to give a homosexual person the appearance of being heterosexual.

You guessed it, Chester and I are asking Jane and Amy Brandon to be our Beards and trust me, it’s just as awkward for us as it is for them.

“But...why?” Amy asks. She downs her vodka soda she dismissed minutes ago when we first explained our proposition. “Why not just come out into the open? Your fans will understand. A majority of them, especially the females, already think you two are an item anyways.”

Chester rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen the Bennoda threads on the messageboards and all crazy fanfiction they write. While I find the fanfiction flattering and even somewhat…hot, they make anal sex seem so damn easy.”

“Chester!” I bark, hiding my face in my hands. “Oh my God…”

“Oh, c’mon, Mikey, I know we’ve both struggled some nights to get the tip in and sometimes lube doesn’t even-”


He laughs loudly at my embarrassment as Amy and Jane look down into their empty drinks, shifting in their seats.

“Can we please get back on topic?” Asks Amy. Chester clears his throat and sits up straight, taking my hand in his. Amy bites down on her glossy pink lip and sighs. “How far do you want to take this whole Beard thing?”

“We’re not asking for much,” I answer before Chester can make another sarcastic or sexual remark. “Just a couple of appearances to award shows, public outings, a few photos we can release to the fans and press to steer them away from the accusations.”

“And we will pay you graciously and give you credit cards to buy clothes, shoes, spa trips, whatever you need.”

“We’re not whores, Chester!” Snaps Jane, her brown eyes darkening.

“I never once said you are but we understand this is a huge favor to ask of you so I feel you should be reimbursed somehow.”

Amy sighs. “I still don’t understand why you guys can’t come out into the open.”

To be honest, I don’t understand why either. Chester and I have fought over this more than I care to admit. In fact it seems to be the only glitch in our relationship. I wanted to come when all of this first started. It’s Chester who wants to keep it on the downlow for one reason or another. It’s the same answer every time I bring it up and it’s the same answer he gives Jane and Amy:

“We’re rockstars, darling. We have a reputation to uphold.”

Lamest and most cliche excuse EVER. Yet changing Chester’s mind is about as likely as turning a rock into gold. It doesn’t help any that our bandmates and manager agree with Chester’s scheme. So in the end, I guess I don’t have much of a choice than to go along with it. My relationship with Chester has always been a private one. I like it that way so I don’t necessarily mind going along with his crazy idea as long as we can keep what we have. I want him to be comfortable in our relationship and that’s all that has, will, and will ever matter to me.

“It’s a new generation,” suggests Jane. “No one is going to care that you two take it up the ass when you’re off stage.”

“Oh, my God,” I groan and go back to hiding my face on Chester’s shoulder. He snickers and kisses my crown. I relax back into my chair.

“Sorry,” Jane giggles. “Anyways, this is as you said, a huge thing you’re asking of us. I can’t speak for Amy but I’m going to need some time to think this over.”

“Of course,” I reply, taking her manicured hands in mine from across the table. “Take all the time you need. Well, I mean, not too much time because, you know, we kinda need to make you girls public as soon as possible. Gotta calm down this whole Bennoda thing these fangirls are swooning over.”

“Can you blame them?” Chester says with a hint of sexual glee in his tone. “We make one helluva of a sexy couple. I fantasize about us fucking all the time.”

“Jesus Christ, Chester…”

Amy and Jane laugh and Amy says something Chester and I weren’t expecting. “I’m all in. I’ll even go as far as to marry Chester if I have to.” Chester perks up, eyes wide, and she continues before he can get a word in. “You’ve been my best friend since we were kids, Chaz. Mike makes you happy and after the shitty childhood you’ve had, you deserve to be happy, so I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you can keep said happiness.”

“Well we’re not quite to marriage talk just yet but thank you, Amy, this means the world to me.”

Jane meets my gaze. “I’m sorry, Mike, you know I love you, but I still need to think about this.”

“I understand.”

Not much more can be said and it’s late and we have studio time in the morning so we say our goodnights to the girls. Chester shuts the door and joins me on the patio, wrapping his arms around my stomach. I trace the outline of his flame tattoos on his wrists, these iconic, beautiful green, blue, and red flames that lick from wrist to forearm.

“Jane will come around,” he says, rocking us back and forth. A breeze swoops in, cooling my warm face, and I lean back into his chest. I tilt my head and smile at him.

“I’m not worried about it, Ches. Just as long as I have you -- as long as you’re in the world -- life is perfect.”

He tightens his hold on me and kisses my neck. “Come to bed with me, darling.”

“Do you even need to ask?”

Going to bed tonight with Chester, feeling his body, tasting his sweat, hearing his moans, hearing my name in his voice, I thought: damn...three years and I’m still over the goddamn moon in love with this man, nothing --not even an asteroid the size of earth -- could destroy this delicate thing we’ve created.

Oh, Michael, so naive…

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