LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

The One that Got Away by Duchess

Waking up

Disc: don’t own em, don’t know em, never happened.



A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviews my stuff, *hugz you all*. I got talked into rewriting this after I started it and deleted it coz i thought it was shit.



**Italics** are flashbacks to Chester’s past.





Chester stared at the TV blankly, not seeing it at all as he listened to Sam bustle around their large kitchen, preparing a dinner that no one would eat. He felt numb. Tuned out, as if someone had thrown up an invisible screen around him blocking out the rest of the world, and trapping him inside with his thoughts.



He should have knocked.



He didn’t usually knock, which is why he had just walked into his sons room. He really didn’t expect to be greeted by the sight that had lain before him. Quite literally.



He really should have knocked.



It had been another day at the studio. One of the bands signed onto his label had run into another snag on their European tour, and he’d been called in to sort it out. It had been a really long fucking day. He had almost burst a blood vessel when he found out the ‘snag’ had been the lead singer getting caught in the hotel elevator with 2 hookers.



A really long fucking day.



It was nine pm before he had gotten off the phone with their media guy, and a frustrating half hour drive later he was back home, wife bitching about how he never help around the house, and the dog attempting to send him face first into a table lamp. He swore the dog had something against him.



He had walked upstairs then, each step taken to the beat of Samantha’s nagging, taking him closer to the one reason why he put up with her shit. The reason why he had quit Linkin Park to begin with. His life. His son.



He hadn’t knocked. Didn’t usually need to, but at that point he wished to god that he had, because as he opened the heavy wooden door to Draven's bedroom, he heard the unmistakable sounds.



“Ugh…yessss, harder!”



“Baby, you’re tight…Feels good…”



“Fuck me, just…. Oh god!”



He knew, just by the sounds of skin on skin. Just by the strong smell of sex in the air indicating that the two people had been at it for quite a while. The moans. The sharp intakes of breath, sex noises that had once been so familiar, now sounding alien coming from someone else. His own son no less.



He should have stepped away then, just closed the door and walked away, but the need for visual conformation was overwhelming and he had leant in.



A split second was all it took. The image of Draven’s head flung back on the pillow, hands clutching his best frind Chris's back like it was a lifeline, the look of pure bliss on the young mans face. As the couple on the bed moved together. Chester was in shock; Draven had known Chris since they were both kids.



He ran. Shutting the door behind him, quietly so the teenagers didn’t notice him, and retreated to the living room, his shock hidden behind the careful mask that he always seemed to wear, and calmly switching on the TV.



“Was Draven ok?” Sam’s voice just about penetrated the hazy fog surrounding his brain, and shock made it so he almost couldn’t answer her. Thankfully, he regained his senses a second later and turned to his wife, smiling blankly at the woman he was supposed to love, and replied.



“Seemed happy enough.”



Apparently satisfied with his answer, the blonde announced she would make dinner and swanned off to the kitchen, leaving Chester sitting in front of the TV, just staring. He looked at his shoes. Black skater shoes this time, mostly hidden by the black bondage pants he was wearing. He frowned; he was always wearing black now. Had done for years.



He tried to focus on that. The colour of his clothes, fresh ideas for new hairstyles, even the lame ass game show blaring away on the screen in front of him, but he couldn’t get the image out of his head. It was as if the whole scene had been put on a loop with surround sound.



**“Baby, you’re tight…Feels good…”



“Fuck me, just…. Oh god!”**



It all played out like some big ugly car wreck, and he saw the five seconds of horror over and over again. Draven’s head flung back, beads of sweat forming on the eighteen year olds strong neck as the body on top of him moved fluidly, as if they had been in that position many times before. His son’s hands clutching at the back under them. Strong back, belonging to his best friend.



Draven was gay.



His son was gay.



His. Son. Was. Gay.



Chester felt like crying. Screaming. Cursing. He couldn’t, so he just sat there and watched the scene in his mind over and over again.



Soon, too soon for his own peace of mind, the people changed. Draven’s strong shoulders and slender frame, inherited from god knows where morphed into a slighter, paler form. The shock of dark hair into bleach blonde spikes. Blue eyes, Sam’s eyes, melting into brown and unfocused without thick glasses.



The friend changed to. Still tall, still tanned, but the thick muscle stretched over the frame was now older than a teens, and more compact. Strong hands that gripped the legs of the person under them turned finer, artists hands. The light brown hair changed to pitch black, and the moans in the room deepened. The words were no different, but there was something else.



**“Baby, you’re tight…Feels good…”



“Fuck me, just…. Oh god!”



“So hot…you look…oh…I l…shit!!”



“Holy fuck, there…oh god…oh!”



“I…I…”



“It’s ok Mike, I love you.”



“Love you too Ches. Love you too.” **



A/N: reviewing makes a happy Duchess. Happy Duchess’s write more. J

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