Linkin Park: Brad/Chester, #025, strangers
Title: Wild card
Fandom: Linkin Park
Characters: Brad/Chester
Prompt: #025 Strangers
Word Count: 736
Rating: PG
Summary: Whoever said 'it's the journey, not the destination', never rode the bus.
Brad hates public transport - not as much as he hates assholes who run red lights and drive into the side of your car, almost killing you both and totalling both vehicles - but close enough.
The bus he needs to catch to work pulls up at the stop and he grits his teeth as a girl with shaved hair and a tattoo on her cheek cuts in front of him. He pays the driver and picks his way up the aisle, praying to God there is a seat free where he can be alone.
Luckily, God has been so cruel to him by killing his car and forcing him to ride the bus until the insurance pays out and he can get another, he has earned a seat at the back of the bus on his own.
He stares out of the window and remember what his boss said when he told him about the accident, “You’re lucky you’re not dead!”
“No,” Brad had said, “No I’m not.”
The bus grinds to a halt and then pulls away slowly. A man shuffles up the aisle and flops down beside Brad, “Good morning,” he says, smiling broadly.
Brad spares him a glance, “Oh,” he says, taking in the man’s dyed-red Mohawk with dark roots growing through. He takes in the lip ring and the tattoos on his arms. His jeans have more chains than a BDSM store and his shirt says ‘Jesus is my home-boy’. “Yeah.”
“Nice suit, man.” He says, looking Brad up and down.
It’s hard not to shift uncomfortably under the man’s dark-eyed gaze. He smiles weakly, nods and turns to look out of the window.
“You going to work?”
An indistinct murmur, “Yep.”
“Awesome,” says the stranger, “Me too. Only I guess your job pays better than six bucks an hour, huh? So what are you, the boss of someone’s boss?”
“I’m an attorney.” Brad says, not impressed with how close the other man is to him.
“Oh wow that’s cool. So you went to law school and shit?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, “Yeah I never went to college. I’m in a band.”
Brad nods, doesn’t say leave me alone but thinks it so hard that his brain hurts.
“So what’s your name, Mr. Attorney?”
“Brad.” He says, somewhat reluctantly.
“I’m Chester.” The man flashes Brad a bright smile and, even in his reluctance, he has to smile back.
“Well, Brad-The-Attorney, this is my stop.” Chester says, getting to his feet and pulling the chord for the bell, “So I hope you have a good day. See you around.”
Brad smiles, despite himself, “See you, Chester.”
***
Crowded bars, Brad hates them more than the bus.
He stands at the bar with a drink and wonders, when the fuck did I get so boring?
He hadn’t wanted to come here - he’d been more than happy with his plan to go home and feel sorry for himself, but Mike insisted they go grab a drink somewhere fun.
Those were his words.
The music is bad, the dance floor is crowded and the drinks are expensive. So much for fun. He’s just considering leaving when somebody jumps to stand beside him. “Well! If it isn’t Brad-The-Attorney! How’s it going?”
“Oh!” Brad exclaims, glancing around to see if anybody is watching them. Chester is wearing tight black jeans now and a fitted shirt with a skull and cross bones embroidered on one pocket, his Mohawk shining in the dim light. “Hi, Chester.” He says, downing the rest of his drink.
“Wanna dance?”
“Uh, no. Sorry. I don’t dance.”
Chester rolls his eyes and grabs Brad’s hands, towing him onto the crowded dance floor. Brad, he keeps shaking his head, even when Chester pulls him close and presses against him saying “I’ve always wanted to dance with a stranger without it ending in sex.”
“I know your name,” Brad points out, “So we’re not strangers anymore.”
Chester laughs and moves his body in time with the music, one hand glued to Brad’s hip. “We still don’t know anything about each other. You probably don’t want to get to know me.”
Usually he’d say no. Usually he’d not have stayed - he’d have left the minute he stepped foot in the door. But now he says “I would. I’d love to get to know you.”
He grins, and Chester beams at him.
Brad, he blames the bus.
Fandom: Linkin Park
Characters: Brad/Chester
Prompt: #025 Strangers
Word Count: 736
Rating: PG
Summary: Whoever said 'it's the journey, not the destination', never rode the bus.
Brad hates public transport - not as much as he hates assholes who run red lights and drive into the side of your car, almost killing you both and totalling both vehicles - but close enough.
The bus he needs to catch to work pulls up at the stop and he grits his teeth as a girl with shaved hair and a tattoo on her cheek cuts in front of him. He pays the driver and picks his way up the aisle, praying to God there is a seat free where he can be alone.
Luckily, God has been so cruel to him by killing his car and forcing him to ride the bus until the insurance pays out and he can get another, he has earned a seat at the back of the bus on his own.
He stares out of the window and remember what his boss said when he told him about the accident, “You’re lucky you’re not dead!”
“No,” Brad had said, “No I’m not.”
The bus grinds to a halt and then pulls away slowly. A man shuffles up the aisle and flops down beside Brad, “Good morning,” he says, smiling broadly.
Brad spares him a glance, “Oh,” he says, taking in the man’s dyed-red Mohawk with dark roots growing through. He takes in the lip ring and the tattoos on his arms. His jeans have more chains than a BDSM store and his shirt says ‘Jesus is my home-boy’. “Yeah.”
“Nice suit, man.” He says, looking Brad up and down.
It’s hard not to shift uncomfortably under the man’s dark-eyed gaze. He smiles weakly, nods and turns to look out of the window.
“You going to work?”
An indistinct murmur, “Yep.”
“Awesome,” says the stranger, “Me too. Only I guess your job pays better than six bucks an hour, huh? So what are you, the boss of someone’s boss?”
“I’m an attorney.” Brad says, not impressed with how close the other man is to him.
“Oh wow that’s cool. So you went to law school and shit?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, “Yeah I never went to college. I’m in a band.”
Brad nods, doesn’t say leave me alone but thinks it so hard that his brain hurts.
“So what’s your name, Mr. Attorney?”
“Brad.” He says, somewhat reluctantly.
“I’m Chester.” The man flashes Brad a bright smile and, even in his reluctance, he has to smile back.
“Well, Brad-The-Attorney, this is my stop.” Chester says, getting to his feet and pulling the chord for the bell, “So I hope you have a good day. See you around.”
Brad smiles, despite himself, “See you, Chester.”
***
Crowded bars, Brad hates them more than the bus.
He stands at the bar with a drink and wonders, when the fuck did I get so boring?
He hadn’t wanted to come here - he’d been more than happy with his plan to go home and feel sorry for himself, but Mike insisted they go grab a drink somewhere fun.
Those were his words.
The music is bad, the dance floor is crowded and the drinks are expensive. So much for fun. He’s just considering leaving when somebody jumps to stand beside him. “Well! If it isn’t Brad-The-Attorney! How’s it going?”
“Oh!” Brad exclaims, glancing around to see if anybody is watching them. Chester is wearing tight black jeans now and a fitted shirt with a skull and cross bones embroidered on one pocket, his Mohawk shining in the dim light. “Hi, Chester.” He says, downing the rest of his drink.
“Wanna dance?”
“Uh, no. Sorry. I don’t dance.”
Chester rolls his eyes and grabs Brad’s hands, towing him onto the crowded dance floor. Brad, he keeps shaking his head, even when Chester pulls him close and presses against him saying “I’ve always wanted to dance with a stranger without it ending in sex.”
“I know your name,” Brad points out, “So we’re not strangers anymore.”
Chester laughs and moves his body in time with the music, one hand glued to Brad’s hip. “We still don’t know anything about each other. You probably don’t want to get to know me.”
Usually he’d say no. Usually he’d not have stayed - he’d have left the minute he stepped foot in the door. But now he says “I would. I’d love to get to know you.”
He grins, and Chester beams at him.
Brad, he blames the bus.