Devil's House

Emotion Sickness

Before Mike was even fully awake the next morning, he was aware that his lower back ached. The feeling slowly crept into his consciousness as he lay spooned up behind Chester's warm body, his knees tucked in close and Chester's small ass tight against him. It was just a nagging feeling of something not quite right, until Mike shifted a little and the dull ache felt a little sharper.

He pulled Chester closer on instinct and tried to get comfortable. Last night was a hazy muddle of thoughts that he was too tired to try to work through, and the sun was barely up. That was practically a signal that it was too early for Mike Shinoda to be awake. He ran his hand over Chester's side, fully expecting to feel his husband's warm naked skin, and his thoughts paused as soon as he realized there was no skin to feel. All that Mike felt was cotton, a t-shirt, and he frowned with his eyes closed. They were in bed. Chester never slept with clothes on in bed.

But they were not alone in the bed, and Mike's hand froze as he remembered. They were in Jason and Ryan's big bed, and his back hurt because he'd downed two big glasses of wine and gotten on his hands and knees for Ryan Shuck the night before.

The memory of how it felt to have Ryan behind him, his thick cock spreading him open, was sharp. Mike sucked in a breath and his eyes shot open. We had sex last night. Real, actual sex. It put Mike's body count suddenly at three, and he lifted his head to squint at the side of Chester's face in the growing daylight. Did he and Jason have sex? I don't think they did. I remember Jay deep throating him. Mike looked over at the dark outline of Jason's head. I think they just swapped blow jobs. But Ryan... we had sex. It was fucking good, too. God, I hope that was okay with them. They would have stopped us, right?

Mike felt his cheeks flush in the quiet darkness of the bedroom. Thinking about it now with a clear head, he'd been pretty vocal while Ryan was pounding into him. Almost like... god, i probably sounded like we were filming. I think I even told him he was big. Who says that?

It was a disturbing thought on the heels of remembering how good it felt to have Ryan's strong hands on his body. Mike eased up, careful not to wake up his husband, and sat on the edge of the bed. What is wrong with me? Two glasses of wine and I'm letting Ryan fuck me like a cheap porn star.

Last night wasn't like the last time the four of them had slept together and traded partners, and the reality of that hit Mike as he leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands. There was a history between Chester and Ryan, and him and Jason. There was love there, and Mike hadn't been ashamed of anything he'd done with Jason. But Ryan... it's not the same. That was purely because I wanted him to fuck me. I think I even told him that. Everything around the actual act was hazy, but Mike could remember Ryan thrusting into him with clarity. It was everything else around it that wasn't quite there.

And Chester's fully clothed. I messed this up.

It was another sharp thought, and Mike bit his bottom lip. Up until this very moment, he'd felt confident that the four of them were all having fun, that they'd all talked through the possibilities enough to be comfortable with wherever the night took them when they got into bed together. But we never talked about me and Ryan. And Ches with Jason... god, I hope he didn't feel pressured into that because I was all over Ryan.

He looked behind him at Chester, and his heart pinched. Even asleep, Chester looked troubled, all balled up on his side. Mike had the sinking feeling that last night had been too much. He'd been too much. He'd taken things too far, been too enthusiastic about spreading his legs for someone else. He hadn't moaned and dug his fingers into the sheets for Chester. He hadn't felt an emotional connection with Jason. With Ryan he'd gone purely on sexual instinct and need that was built on the pent up desire to be controlled. Where had that desire come from?