Gay Chicken Gone Wrong Chapter 6 (Patreon)

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

We barely get Kevin’s door closed before we’re on each other again, ripping our clothing off in between kisses. His hand slides under my shirt, teasing my abs before he struggles to work open the buttons while I do the same to his. With our shirts off, he hauls me in for another searing kiss—our tongues dancing like they’re doing the tango—hot, passionate, all consuming. 

His fingers deftly work my pant’s button, undoing the clasp and then shoving them down with my boxers just below my ass, freeing my cock from its prison. He takes my dick into his fist and uses the insane amount of precum I’ve been leaking to stroke me once from root to tip before teasing the slit with his thumb. I groan into his mouth, my hips thrusting involuntarily into his warm, firm hand. 

We pull away from our kiss to shove my pants the rest of the way down, and he quickly gets rid of his chinos too, leaving both of us naked. We stop and stare at each other.

This isn’t the first time we’ve been naked and alone together in one of our bedrooms. We used to change in front of each other all the time back in high school after swimming in his pool or after a run in my neighborhood. But we would always face away from each other since we weren’t in a locker room with a bunch of other guys. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he breathes, gaze darkening with desire. “I have never wanted anything more.” 

I think my heart stops for a solid minute because the things he’s saying don’t make any sense. These aren’t things you say when you’re straight and your best friend is a guy. And then it dawns on me that he had a lot more to drink than I did. 

He’s drunk.

I take a step back, and it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. “Kev…” He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us and wraps me in his arms, pulling me in for another kiss. Our cocks rub against each other, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes from my mouth into his. His fingers skate down my back, squeezing one cheek before his hand slides between my ass and he teases my hole just like the night this all started. 

Our bodies are so tightly wrapped around each other that you can’t even stick a dollar bill between us. It takes all of my willpower to break the kiss and step back, my body shuddering from the lack of contact. It’s like an addiction. I’m addicted to him, to his touch, to his body, to his everything. And he’s drunk. 

“Kevin, we can’t do this. You’re drunk,” I say. 

He cocks his head and then laughs. “Chris, I’m not drunk. I might be a little tipsy, but I’m fully aware of what I’m doing.” He doesn’t let me respond and gently pushes me back until I’m flat on his bed. He sinks between my legs and takes my cock into his hand, staring at it. “So stinkin’ cute.” He smirks at me and then licks a broad stripe against the underside of my shaft, causing me to groan. 

Kevin mouths at my helmet, sucking on it like a lollipop, his tongue rolling around the head before teasing my slit again, this time with the tip of his tongue. A jolt of pleasure shoots down my cock and my balls draw up tight. 

I thread my hands into his jet-black hair, and he looks up at me with those emerald green eyes that catch the sunlight pouring in from his bedroom window, sparkling like gemstones. He looks absolutely stunning with my cock in his mouth, taking more of it down his throat, inch by inch until his nose is buried in my trimmed pubes. I groan again and marvel at him deep-throating me and then pulling out while hollowing his cheeks. The suction is wet, hot, and perfect. Not once does he gag on my dick, bobbing up and down on it. 

He takes me to the base again and presents his fingers to my mouth. I know what he wants, and it makes me throb in his mouth. I lick his fingers, thoroughly wetting them so he can work me open. 

Kevin slides his slick fingers between my cheeks all while sucking me like a pro. One finger teases my entrance, tracing the sensitive nerves before pushing in slowly, penetrating me again. I desperately want more. Not his fingers—his dick. I want him to split me open with that thick cock of his and fuck me until I pass out. But I can’t say that. That’s not part of the game. If he wants to fuck me, he needs to be the one to say it. 

He slides in a second finger and my hole clamps down on the intrusion, but he pushes through, gently scissoring them to stretch me open. His fingers brush against a spot that makes me see stars, and I gasp, tightening my grip on his hair. “Right there, baby, do that again!” 

Kevin smirks around my cock and gently massages my prostate. I can feel myself spilling precum into his mouth like a faucet, and the dual sensation of getting fingered and sucked at the same time is too much. I pull on his hair to warn him, but he keeps going, sucking and sucking on me until I explode in his mouth. He swallows the first shot and then keeps sucking, moaning and working me through yet another intense orgasm at his hands until I’m completely spent and oversensitive. 

He pulls off my dick and licks me clean before sliding up to kiss me. I can taste myself on his lips, and the taste of him and me swirling together in our mouths is fucking overwhelming. I reach down to take his cock in my hand, only to find it wet, sticky, and soft. 

My eyes widen, and I pull back. “Did you?”

He blushes and nods, murmuring against my lips, “I came while you were coming down my throat. Sorry…” His cheeks get redder and he ducks his head, burying his face into my chest. 

I hold him tight and try to make sense of what the hell is happening to the two of us. This man, who I’ve known since we were teenagers, took me on the most perfect date today, and we just had the most perfect sex. I mean, for gods’ sakes, he came without even touching himself! This is the same man who I tell everything. He knows everything that makes me happy, or sad, or worried. He knows my biggest dreams and my darkest fears. 

He’s my everything. 

And that scares the hell out of me. Because this is supposed to be just another stupid challenge. And it probably is to him. He did say he’s tipsy, which terrifies me even more. 

But I know what I need to do. What I have to do. So I say three words that I’m probably going to regret for the rest of my life. 

“I give up.” 

He jerks his head back. “What?”

“I give up,” I say, sliding away from him. “You win this game. I give up.” 

He stares at me, stunned. But I can’t look back and quickly pull on my clothes and shoes. I stop at his door and, without turning around, I mutter, “Thanks for brunch.” I yank open his door and flee down the hall like the coward I am, tears streaming down my face and my heart breaking with each step. 

I can’t tell him the truth. It would ruin our friendship, and I can’t risk losing him. So I settle for whispering to myself the three words I actually wanted to say. 

“I love you.”