Gay Chicken Ch. 02

Awakening was a fever dream. It was a foggy, early morning, the most endearing of sorts. The sliding glass door allowed an influx of golden light; dust particles shimmered in the air, and Russ watched with bleary, half-open eyes, studying their swirling patterns.

He would've stared like an idiot all day if it weren't for his phone. Angry notifications flashed in a bright blue reminder. When he saw who it was, he groaned, and he reluctantly held the phone up to his ear; to his luck, they'd only left a voicemail.

"'Sup, smart guy?" The head mechanic barked through the speaker. "Let me ask you something: do you know what a goddamn catalytic converter is? Because it sure ain't in the fucking engine, dumbass! Call me, now! You're in for a load of shit on Monday-"

Russ guiltily, horrifically hung up as quick as he could.

That was a bit of a dampener. He didn't want to think about his encroaching ass-whooping at work, nor the fact that the boss would soon discover what he'd been doing in the BMW. (Not much. In fact, practically nothing at all, except bullshitting around and pretending to know where the converter was.) And so, Russ cuddled back into the blankets. It was bright dawn, but he could probably catch more sleep, if he closed the blinds on the sliding glass door.

Then he realized. He didn't have a sliding glass door; Adri's room was the one linked to the patio.

Heart lurching, Russ shot up and stared around him.

The king bed was warm and musky. Posters lined the wall, a stolen stop sign flashing at him; a desk with graffiti, a line of signed basketballs arranged on a shelf. This was Adri's room, he realized. He was in Adri's bed, sleeping in Adri's room, because...

Russ stared at the glass door until he found -- with a mixture of both embarrassment and utter, jubilant joy -- he was grinning.

Oh, holy hell. He was in Adri's room, sleeping in Adri's bed... sleeping with Adri. Last night.

Russ grinned at the wall like an utter moron as the miraculous, fantastical evening flared through his mind, playing on a loop as he grinned and grinned to no end.

This was either going to be the greatest day of his life, or the absolute worst: depending on if Adri answered his phone.

-

"I'm at a party," His best friend would shout through the receiver sometime in the evening. "Come down here, dude. It's off 19th street -- a fucking rager."

"A party?" Russ's face dropped. "Wait, hold on."

He'd been hoping -- after struggling to find Adri's whereabouts for hours -- that when he came home, they'd have a... relaxing night. That evidently wasn't the case. Adri was a jock, the popular kid. There wasn't a weekend that passed where he wasn't wasted in a college frat.

"It's insane here," Adri was egging through the phone. "Dude, you have to come down. Bring more beer! I'll suck your dick if you bring beer."

Was he serious -- would he do that? Or was he playing around again? Russ was both equally mortified and genuinely, slightly intrigued when he answered: "Alright, fine. You owe me then."

"Okay, bottom." Adri sounded pleased. "Hurry up."

He abruptly ended the call, and Russ was left staring at the screen.

He called me bottom, Russ thought fondly. And then, the devil of doubt: wait, was he joking? Or was he referencing last night? Why is he acting like nothing happened?

And what even was happening between them? Russ had to ponder this. Last night, they'd crossed a threshold. A threshold supposedly beyond all return -- once you're fucked, you can't be un-fucked -- but a cruel sense was telling him, Adri might've just been playing around.

Idiot, he told himself. He had his cock in your ass. He wasn't joking.

But then: we've been playing Gay Chicken since we knew each other. What if Adri thought that's what last night was? Just dudes being dudes, messing around?

No way, his final conscience said firmly. No way. Adri likes you.

There was only one way to find out, really. Russ couldn't help but let his hopes be astronomical as he gathered his things for the party.

-

It was barely nine p.m. when he arrived. Even then, someone was vomiting on the lawn. A typical Saturday, he thought dryly; stepping around the scene, he approached the front doors.

"Hold up," a large, mean-looking athlete in a tank top ordered. "Five for guys."

Russ was expecting this, and so he stuffed a bill in his hand. "Is Adri here?"

The large young man peered at him for a moment. "He should be in the study," he said.

"Okay." There wasn't anything particularly off about his voice, or his demeanor, but the athlete continued to eye him down strangely. Russ was intimidated by this; there was something written in his expression. Their eyes met for a moment too long, long enough for him to see the athlete's stare drop lower on his body.

Pushing into the house, he felt the athlete's eyes continuing to trail him, a hot, burning gaze on his spine. He was looking at him like... he knew.

Like something about the previous night had changed him; like suddenly, irrevocably, male eyes were drawn to him for reasons that hadn't existed before. Something stilled in Russ's chest as he considered this.

Skin prickling, he sought through the crowd for his best friend.

It didn't take long. Adri's voice carried far and wide. Happy, cheerful, hearty, he was a full moon in a room of dim stars. Russ could hear him through the walls, and as he hurried along, his hands began to sweat. Oh, God. This was just his best friend, but he was unfathomably nervous -- it was like he was on his way to meet a date. He'd never felt his heartbeat kick so erratically.

Russ paused at the study's door to collect himself, steadying his breath. We're friends, he told himself. This is my best friend. Don't be a stranger.

Hands quivering, he turned the knob and opened it.

He was in a group of guys and girls. Adri was the tallest one among them, standing out brightly; his shirt was off, his body on display, but even the impressive cut of tan muscle paled next to the glow of his smile. Adri's fiery eyes locked on the moment he stepped in.

"He brought beer!" Adri whooped. "C'mere, baby, I saved your seat."

It was like nothing happened. The nervousness evaporated. Russ was rushing for his side, grinning like no tomorrow; not a hide nor hint of fear in the way he sprawled at his best friend's side. "You owe me a blowjob," he managed to grunt through the hug Adri tackled him in.

"We'll make it two, if you shotgun this with me," Adri decided. With a smile, he purposefully slid his hand down Russ's back, grazing, faintly, the exposed skin where his shirt rode up.

Russ stared at his best friend wordlessly.

Adri was completely nonchalant in the way he stabbed a can with his keys, like he'd done no such thing. "This is Russ, by the way," he told his circle of friends. "My boyfriend."

"Wait, really?" A blonde girl blinked between them.

"Sure," Russ said, going along with it. And he popped the beer and shotgunned it, eyeing from the side, the pulse of Adri's throat as he followed suit.

A shiver raced through his skin as he watched Adri swallow. He was kidding... right? Adri was kidding about all of this, wasn't he... they weren't actually gay.

Right?

"I didn't know you were gay," the blonde kept going, rather confused in her face.

"Adri is straight," a jock across the circle accused. "I've seen him with chicks before; he's straight."

Adri met his eyes with a level expression. "Oh? Want to bet on that?"

The jock faltered down a notch when it became evident Adri wasn't going to stop staring at him, like he was genuinely about it. Being a head taller than him, Adri also had the intimidation factor working in his favor.

"Everyone is a little bi curious," another guy mumbled. He shot Russ a look, then just as quickly glanced away.

"That's a myth," someone else said, because they were a buzzkill, and buzzkills kill. "That's some internet rhetoric. Most people aren't gay."

"Well, I am," Adri declared. "I'm gay, guys."

"Well, I am," Adri declared. "I'm gay, guys."

"Prove it, then," the jock challenged.

Too late, Russ realized: Adri never had and never would back down from a challenge. He swiveled on Russ in an instant, eyes glowing.

"You want me to prove it?" Adri demanded. "Come here, Russ."

He was scooting forwards. Close enough for their legs to brush. An image passed through his eyes -- Adri behind him, his large hand buried down in the waistband of his jeans -- and his blood flashed hot, white, stunning him into an almost panic. "Hold on," Russ laughed, because there were people here, people watching him. "Hold on -- I'm not gay!"

All part of the game. Adri's eyes only ignited with a renewed vigor. "I'll kiss you, right here, right now," he threatened. And now he was leaning over him -- Russ could feel the heat of his arm where it landed by his hip, he could taste the sweet booze from his breath, his handsome face only inches away. "Think I won't?"

This was a back-and-forth banter they'd repeated hundreds of times -- but he couldn't. He was a social creature by creed; and in a room of watching eyes, he was still the chicken. "Not here!" He squeaked when Adri tried to lean in for the kiss. "Wait, wait!"

"Kiss me," Adri taunted. "Do it, or you're chicken." He was all but pinning him to the floor now; Russ was blinded by the excitement in his eyes, the confusion -- was this a dare -- of what he was doing. Did he really want him to? Should he?

Adri's evil eyes glinted as he clutched Russ's head and pulled him in. Just as he felt his friend's nose graze his, he bailed. Russ squirmed away as quick as he could. "Wait, wait, I'm chicken!" He yelped. "Chicken!"

He watched something flash across his friend's expression just moments before he pulled away Adri's jaw flexed. Almost like he was withholding a scowl. "Fine, then," he fake-laughed. "Pussy."

Something like ice crawled up Russ's spine. Adri looked secretly pissed.

"See," Russ managed, to deflate the tension. "You're gay. I told you."

"Says the one who was bottom last night," Adri returned instantly.

Russ felt the blood run from his face.

Adri's dark smile widened. Turning his shoulder, he faced the circle: "So anyways..."

He didn't look over at him, even as Russ straightened up and feigned some semblance of normalcy. Even after the laughs and jokes ended, and the conversation moved from Adri's supposed homosexuality to other topics, his best friend's shoulder never turned back. Russ was acutely aware of this. He knew Adri's moods, he knew his secret body language; he knew Adri was disguising some form of anger, but why, he couldn't fathom. He suspected it was because he didn't kiss him.

But we're not gay, Russ argued with himself. We're not. It's just a joke.

Wasn't it?

But then something happened as he moved to crack another beer. As he reached into the box and, without warning, Adri's large hand shot out to grab it for him.

"Here," Adri said, and passed it to him very casually. But their fingers brushed, and an electric current passed between them; they locked eyes.

Adri didn't move his fingers from where they touched Russ's. He let them graze for a long, long moment. Perhaps only a fractional second, but it was an eternity to him.

The party continued on. The room became stifling. The drunken laughter, the jokes of near-strangers, the sweaty heat and the boring conversations; Russ wanted out. More than anything, he wanted to get Adri out. To go somewhere private, somewhere alone, somewhere they could commence their 'game' and see just how far they'd take it.

The more he withdrew from the conversation, the darker his thoughts became. Russ envisioned a large hand pushing down his abdomen, the veins and tendons of a talented athlete, a hot, tender touch traveling lower and lower. A muscular forearm wrapping around his waist from behind. Breath on the nape of his neck. The warm, rough voice his best friend put on as part of the game, now something unintentionally erotic. Russ shivered.

Then he thought about what Adri's hand did once he reached further down. That first long, expert stroke, right at the head of his...

Something very warm and very real landed on the small of his back.

It was Adri. The athlete was apparently still engrossed in the conversation, making no show of what he was doing. But he felt Adri's thumb slightly brush him; easing up the edge of his shirt, to touch, silky and electric, along the sensitive skin.

Russ tried as hard as he could to ignore it at first. Adri always does stuff like this, he desperately told himself; even as he felt his hand cup him more firmly, clutching him around the waist. Adri always does gay stuff. Always. It's just a joke, it's just a joke.

When he had to readjust the way he sat, Russ began to suspect it wasn't just a joke anymore.

Dear god, he thought. What's happening?

"Dude," Adri's real voice suddenly called. "Russ, are you even listening?"

"What?" Russ blinked hard.

It was late now, and Adri was yawning. "I said, I'm going to go suck you off in the car," he said, as if it were an obvious, casual deal. "You coming?"

"He means he's ditching us," the blonde girl retorted.

Russ wasn't sure that was the case. There was a look in Adri's eyes. A dark glint, a subtle intensity. Russ found himself standing on command, an automaton; a tremor in his hands, constrictions in his throat, he hurried to follow his best friend from the room.

"Adri!" Someone yelped in the hall. "Where are you going, man? It's only eleven!"

"I have a test tomorrow!" Adri shouted over the thump of music. A weight pressed to Russ's back, and he realized, Adri had discreetly taken hold of his side. "We have to go study."

The blood was roaring in Russ's ears as Adri's grip tightened on him. His best friend's expression was almost dangerous; he'd never seen him like this before, never seen him without a smile and humor. The wash of intensity was something that both unnerved him and irrationally, helplessly aroused him; Russ was struggling to keep himself discreet as they elbowed through the stacked house.

"See you at practice," someone called to Adri on their way out, but he either deliberately ignored them or didn't hear. His best friend was all but yanking him along. Russ picked up his pace, and they hurried along the sidewalks, walking so fast, it was half a jog.

"Chicken," Adri said in a low voice once they'd made it down the block. "You're such a chicken, dude."

"Excuse me?" Russ paused beneath a white streetlight.

Adri turned on him. And now, his dark stare was threatening, accusatory; Russ didn't know what to make of the way he loomed above him, suddenly intimidating, frighteningly large in stature.

His eyes glittered black in the light. "You're chicken," he repeated. And he stepped forwards; so close, Russ almost had to crane his neck back. "Too scared to kiss me back there."

His hands were grazing Russ's waist. If his tone of voice hadn't made it hard to breathe, then that was the vacuum stealing all air.

He found his faint voice anyways. "I'm not scared." It was difficult to sound light. "You think I'm scared?"

Something flared in Adri's eyes.

"Prove it, then," he said darkly. Struggling to keep an easy tone, struggling to continue the act; the faux-joke they'd been playing for years. "Prove you're not chicken, right now."

Russ thought he might explode when he let himself be pulled right to Adri's chest.

He could feel the thump of his erratic heartbeat, no clothes to disguise it, the firmness of his torso like rock, yet as hot as the sun. "I will," He stuttered out, when Adri dipped his head to be at eye level, to be close enough to kiss.

"Yeah?" Adri murmured. Like a bolt of lava, pooling down Russ's gut; Adri wasn't disguising the tremor of raw, aching desire in his voice anymore. "Then do it."

His hand slid against Russ's throat and jaw, holding him in place. Just like in the kitchen, he thought wildly; a thousand nerve endings firing in his body. Adri's dark eyes were close and locked on his; and he realized, he could see just as much fire reflected back. Adri was waiting -- no, he was silently begging -- for him to lean forwards. To close the distance.

His eyes dropped to Adri's lips. Soft, almost trembling. "Think I won't?" Russ whispered.

Adri's unsteady breath shuddered. The hand on his neck tightened. Close enough now, their brows were brushing, just inches, millimeters away. If he just craned his head up; if he just moved forwards, that fractional, minuscule distance...

"Do it." Adri spoke so faint; it was only a breath.

Russ closed his eyes and obeyed.

The skin of their lips grazed together. And then again. A soft, wet kiss, so subtle, so explosively pleasurable, Russ thought he'd keel over. But then with a low, agonized moan, Adri yanked him in closer, and the touch was no longer light, it was hot and forceful, and his tongue was slipping against the sensitive skin of his inner lip, until Russ had to gasp for air. Both of his powerful hands came around to clutch Russ's hair with a feverish desperation. Russ held himself close as he could possibly get to him. Hearts pounding in unison, they kissed and kissed, until Russ's lips were swollen with love bites, until the taste of Adri was everywhere in him at once.

He could feel how hard he'd grown through the thin fabric of his shorts. It pressed to his stomach -- thoughts of a hard, thick length inside of him flashed in his mind -- and Russ let his hand trail down, to rub his fever-hot erection.

When his hand met it, Adri uttered a strangled sound. "Car," he was gasping. "The car."

The impala was only half a block away. It took all the strength in the world for Russ to manage to pull away. Half walking, half running, Adri stayed as close as possible to him; he could feel his fingertips quivering where they clutched his side. Russ fumbled with the keys, the car beeped, and Adri yanked the side door open, thrusting him into the backseat with a force so powerful, it took his breath away.

He scrambled backwards to allow room for the athlete. The car dipped when Adri dove inside. The door slammed, and in the darkness, their eyes locked in an eternal moment of frozen, speechless trepidation.

Then Adri all but lunged forwards. His lips pressed to Russ's; the taste of his tongue was just as sweet as before. Crushing him to the seat, pulling his hips flush with his own, Adri wrestled him about until Russ was pinned under him, and Russ only obeyed every unspoken, violent command. Until Adri's lips broke away from his; until electrifying kisses stunned the skin of his neck, and his hands were tugging and struggling with the clasp of his pants. Russ lifted his hips; they were ripped away, leaving him bare, exposed, released to the night and air.

It was only then that Russ had a leaping blast of terror -- more like an unbearable excitement so intense, it was borderline painful -- that had his hands grasping at his best friend's shoulders. "Adri," he gasped out; he'd kissed his way down to his abdomen. "Adri..."

Adri's dark eyes looked up.

His hand came to rest on the space of his hip. He hovered above it now. Russ could see his cock throbbing, pulsing with the thundering beats of his heart, a glistening web of precum trailing, begging to be touched. Adri's dark eyes fell to it. In his expression was a dark, almost violent need.

He locked eyes with Russ as he slowly, deliberately drew the head into his mouth.

Russ's hips buckled. Pleasure -- blinding pleasure -- he could feel Adri's tongue sliding down, and a moan burst out of him. "Oh, fuck," he whimpered. "Oh..." Shivering, he watched more of his cock disappear into Adri's mouth; the little muscles in his jaw moving, the pleasure rising and tingling with every lap of his tongue. For a moment he was still -- still enough to hear his heartbeat -- as he watched Adri move, and then, powerfully, the sensations burst across his shaft and head, furious electricity, all in just the right places. Russ couldn't hold in his moan. "Fuck -- fuck, yes, please..."