Category Linkin Park

More Than a Handshake by mermaid_life87

More Than a Handshake

A/N: I find it very interesting that writing smut of any kind makes me extremely nervous and yet, every time I'm hit with inspiration, it revolves around smut. o_O That could say a lot about me :p I choose, however, to blame our Bennoda boys. It's clearly their fault.

Much love and thanks to Penelope_Ink for being my beta and the encouragement to post this. <3

Hopefully this isn't too weird...Enjoy!


The first wave of nervousness washes over me as I glance down at my phone screen, re-reading the text that had come through only seconds ago.

Mike: Be there in 5

Five minutes, Chester. Five. More than enough time to turn the car on and drive away. But I don't. Instead, I find myself anxiously looking around the abandoned grocery store parking lot from the driver's seat of my black SUV. There really isn't much to see in this deserted location, and I guess that's to be expected. The building of a once thriving food market is off to my right, boarded up and pitch black inside. A set of dumpsters sits at the far end of the black top, and there are four cart return areas spaced evenly throughout the lot. Numerous tiny insects swarm the top of each light pole, one of which I'm parked under.

I suggested a motel, but he insisted we meet up here. In fucking no man's land. The terrifyingly real possibility that "Mike"-dating app hook-up and random stranger-could also be a serial killer crosses my mind. And not for the first time. However, I'm stubborn, and a little desperate, so it's all too easy for me to convince myself otherwise. He can't be a psychopath. Not with that smile. And his eyes...somehow both kind and alluring. Those eyes aren't serial killer eyes. I'm just paranoid. He's simply someone looking for a distraction. An effective-albeit temporary-no strings attached distraction from all the bullshit of life. Just like me. And, I rationalize, he's not a complete stranger. I do know his name after all.

My logic, weak and shoddy, does very little to calm my nerves. Get it together, Bennington. Some people do this kinda thing all the time. I sneak a peek in my glove box, needing to confirm the condoms I purchased earlier are still there. Condoms I had to purchase specifically for tonight because I'm not some people and I don't do this kinda thing all the time.

Or...ever? The realization that I'd never "hooked-up" before, never once fallen victim to a sloppy, drunken mistake, was striking even to me. I sigh heavily. But I guess that's what happens when you've been in a committed relationship since high school. What I thought was a committed relationship anyway...

Bitterness swoops in and my thoughts take an inevitable dark turn. All those years together, all the promises and the sacrifices...for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All that wasted fucking time...I blink back the tears threatening to run as headlights mercifully appear in my rearview, pulling me back from the edge of despair. Hurriedly, I wipe at my eyes and take a deep breath. And then another. Gotta get it together.

Seconds later, a black SUV comes to a stop next to mine. Well, he's got good taste, at least. Palms sweaty and heart racing, I wait, letting him choose the setting of our seedy one nighter-either my car or his. I watch as he doesn't hesitate, immediately turning his car off and exiting before opening my passenger side door and climbing in, all in one fluid motion.

"Hey." We greet simultaneously, shifting sideways in our respective seats to properly face one another.

After a quick visual scan, a relieved smile graces his lips. "You're you."

I smile back. "And you're you."

Admittedly, I'm a little awestruck by the man across from me, somehow even more perfect in person. He's dressed rather casually-plain, black tee and ripped jeans-but the laid back look suits him well, increasing his appeal. His jet black hair is perfectly styled, and facial hair neatly trimmed. And his lips...

Suddenly, I'm no longer nervous, but eager. I want him and I want this, a night of commitment free, lust fueled indulgence. My gaze hasn't left his mouth, and I lean forward, needing something to happen while I still have the courage.

He jerks back, leaving me startled and confused as I stutter out an apology and mumble about a misunderstanding.

"No, no, it's my fault." He cuts in, shaking his head and gesturing with his hands. "Totally my fault. I should have said something sooner."

Nervous once again, I narrow my eyes. "Should've said what sooner?"

With a deep sigh, he goes on, matter-of-factly. "Here's the deal, I do want you. And, God, I'd love to fuck you, but...," he looks away for a moment, his confidence faltering, "I'm married."

There's a beat of tense, awkward silence as the cliche reality of his words sink in. "You're married?!"

"I can explain!" He assures me hastily. "Please, please let me explain."

Whether it's his soulful, pleading eyes or my own lingering, selfish desire, I don't know, but I acquiesce. "Shoot."

"Okay," he takes a deep breath, "yes, I'm married. And I love my wife. I do. But she can't, you know...fulfill all my needs."

"So you have sex with men behind her back?"

"No, no, of course not!" He corrects, shaking his head and gesturing again. "It's not like that. I swear. I don't cheat. We, um, we don't, we don't touch each other." He motions between us. "It's just...I like to watch." He pauses, gauging my reaction. "If you get my drift."

He can't be serious. "Watch? You mean-"

He nods.

"You want to watch me...touch myself?"

He nods again, breathing out, "Fuck yes."

"But you don't touch me?"

He shakes his head.

"And I don't touch you?"

One more wordless shake of his head before he adds, "If you're uncomfortable with this at all just say so. I'll totally understand."

"I wouldn't say I'm uncomfortable." I clarify quickly, not really sure what I am. "It's actually kinda flattering. In a weird way. But, you realize you could just watch porn, right?"

"True." Mike chuckles with a shrug. "I don't know. I guess I prefer, um...live performances?"

Wow. I sure do know how to pick 'em. "Live performances, huh?" I repeat coyly, not wholly turned off by the idea.

"They're so much better than the pre-recorded shit." He continues enthusiastically. "So...you okay with this?"

The tone of his voice is hopeful and eager, confirming his desire. He really wants this. He wants to watch me bring myself off. My cock stirs and I shift in my seat. What do I have to lose? The condoms won't be necessary but that's probably better anyway. Plus...maybe he'll cave? Maybe-I remember he's married and rein in my thoughts. He said he doesn't cheat. And I shouldn't want him to. But if he's willing...

"How, how do you want me to start?" I reply finally, an anxious tremble in my voice.

He's shifting now too, making no attempt to hide his actions as he adjusts the tent in his jeans. "Take your shirt off."

I'm quick to comply, peeling off and tossing my white tee into the back seat. His dark eyes roam the newly exposed skin with a stare so lustfully intense my cheeks flush and I have to look away. I swallow and go to speak, but the words never leave my lips, stopped abruptly by the sensation of his skin on mine. My breath hitches and I whip my head back to center, lowering my gaze to follow four long fingers as they travel from my breast bone to the top of my jeans. His fingers halt but not his stare.

Looking up, I rasp, "I thought we weren't touching each other."

Startled, he yanks his hand back, his panicked eyes meeting my calm ones. "W-we, we weren't. Aren't. We're not." He insists before barking out, "Pants off."

I grin, already making quick work of said clothing. "I'd thought you'd never ask."

"I'm not asking."

Fuck. Me. I suppress a moan and silently pray with every bit of my being that dirty talk is also one of his kinks. His voice alone might be enough to get the job done. In record time, my jeans are undone, and lowered to my ankles. I use the lever on the right side of my seat to recline back just a little and spread my knees apart, but I don't touch myself. Not yet.

Mike is biting his lip, shifting and adjusting again, his intense, lustful stare now focused on my erection. I'm shamefully close to begging as I wait him out, wanting him to touch me, wanting his hand to be the one to get me off. The ache in my dick is all but painful as I wait the too few seconds my aroused state will allow. Fuck it. I bring my hand to my mouth.

"No!" He objects harshly, latching onto my wrist and guiding my hand away. Our eyes lock and he insists, "Let me."

Spellbound, I watch as Mike leans over, grabbing my steering wheel for leverage, and hovers his lips mere centimeters above my leaking tip. I feel soft, warm breaths hit the sensitive skin of my mushroom head and I'm tempted to buck my hips, to force contact between his perfect mouth and my engorged cock, but I resist. He works up a generous amount of nature's lubricant before releasing it, his saliva trailing down to coat my length. He pulls back and immediately I'm gripping myself, completely bypassing the slow, introductory strokes I start with when I'm alone. All the build up, the tension, and the not touching, touching has proven to be far more arousing than I ever could've imagined.

"Fuuuck..." I moan, my eyes closing and my hand moving quickly, utilizing firm, hard pumps, my thumb grazing my slit with every pass.

"God, you look incredible. I wish I wasn't married. I'd fucking devour you, Chester."

I arch my back as his name escapes me. Yes, Mike, yes! Fucking devour me! Ravage me until I no longer know where we are or who I am.

"My name sounds amazing on your lips." He husks. "Say it again." Just as breathless and needy, I repeat his name and, much to my delight, he continues his dirty talk, coaxing my orgasm closer and closer to the surface. "I'd love to fuck you. To feel your tight heat around me. To thrust so deep inside you, you feel me for days."

"...please, Mike...I can't...fuck!"

"I want you." He whispers desperately. "God, I fucking want you."

Between ragged breaths, I tell him to take me, boldly daring him to forgo his moral code. He goes silent, but I can't be bothered with why. Not now. Not when I'm right there, my entire body wound tight. "Mike, I...I'm close."

"Fuck it." I hear him growl, a mixture of frustration and surrender, before his hand overlaps mine.

I gasp and buck my hips, relaxing my grip and letting Mike's take over, his unfamiliar touch aggressive but skilled. I'm barely coherent as I plead with him not to stop.

"You gonna come for me, Chester?"


"Well...what are you waiting for?" He teases.

A few more strokes and, with a final buck of my hips, I'm done waiting. I call his name when my orgasm hits, my seed spilling onto both of our hands. Mike keeps going, lazily pumping me all the way through, stopping only when my breathing has slowed and my dick has retreated, fully satisfied. Things are still a little hazy as his laugh catches my ear and I turn my head. He's holding up his hand. His hand covered in my thick, white essence.

"Oh, right." I'm laughing too as I point over my shoulder. "We can use the shirt in the back." I bring my seat back into an upright position.

"You sure?"


He reaches for my shirt and we take turns wiping away the evidence of what occurred between us. What did occur between us? We both got carried away. He wasn't supposed to touch me but I shouldn't have encouraged him to.

"I thought you didn't want to cheat?" I question hesitantly, unsure of his reaction or even why I care. We're never going to see each other again after this.

With a shrug, Mike grins. "Technically, that was a handshake."

I can't stop my own grin from forming. "Looks like you could use a handshake too." I point out, noticing the very present, very obvious, bulge in his pants.

"I could", he begins, "but I want more than a handshake."

My sleeping dick twitches. We may need those condoms after all.


Reviews Add review