Gay chicken for the last slice

The apartment was a sauna. AC had been off for three days straight because the bill already looked like a threat. Sweat stuck our boxers to our thighs while we sat on the floor in front of the TV, controllers in hand, the last of a twelve pack sweating in a plastic bag between us.

Eddy was winning. Of course he was. He always was. The kind of friend who clapped you on the back hard enough to sting and called it affection. Who’d “jokingly” call you a pussy for losing and then buy the next round like that somehow evened it out. I let most of it slide. Always had. Easier that way.

The pizza box sat open on the coffee table, one lonely slice left in the middle like it was daring us.

Eddy paused the game mid match. “That’s mine.”

“Fuck you. I paid for half.”

“You paid for the one with pineapple on it, dipshit. This one’s pure. Mine.”

We went back and forth for a solid minute, both of us half drunk and fully stubborn. Then Eddy grinned that sharp little grin he gets when he’s about to make something stupid into a competition.

“Alright. Gay chicken for it.”

I looked at him. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. First one to chicken out loses the slice. And their dignity. Come on, Beckett. Don’t be a bitch.”

He said it like a joke. The same way he said most things that weren’t actually jokes. I could already see the way this was supposed to go in his head…him pushing just far enough to make me flinch, then laughing it off and taking the pizza like it was always his.

He didn’t know I was bi.

Nobody did.

Not even close.

And for once…for the first fucking time in years…I had the upper hand and he didn’t even realize it.

I set my controller down, leaned back on my hands, and met his eyes.

“Alright,” I said, calling his bluff. “Let’s play.”

Eddy started it the way I expected…hand on my knee, then higher, testing how far he could push before I flinched. Classic him. Always the one setting the pace, always assuming I’d be the first to fold.

I let him have that first move. Let him feel like he was still in control.

Then I took my turn.

I reached out, slow, and put my hand on his thigh the exact same way he’d done to me…except I didn’t stop at polite. My fingers slid higher, under the hem of his boxers, palm flat against bare skin. Warm. Tense. I felt the muscle jump under my hand.

Eddy went still.

His eyes flicked down to where I was touching him, then back up to my face. The cocky grin he’d been wearing faltered for half a second. Just long enough for me to see it.

“Your move,” I said, quiet.

He recovered fast, of course. Always did. He leaned in closer, one hand coming up to the side of my neck, thumb brushing along my jaw like he was daring me to pull away. His other hand mirrored what I’d just done…fingers sliding under my boxers, higher than before, more deliberate. He was trying to one up me. Trying to make me the one who broke first.

I didn’t.

I shifted forward until our knees were fully pressed together and did him one better. My hand left his thigh and went to the waistband of his boxers, fingers hooking under the elastic. I didn’t pull them down. Just held them there, the back of my knuckles brushing the skin just above. Close enough that there was no mistaking the intention.

Eddy’s breath hitched. Barely. But I heard it.

He stared at me like he was trying to figure out if I was bluffing. Like the rules had suddenly changed and he hadn’t gotten the memo. The bully in him wanted to push harder, to force me into backing down the way he always did with everyone else. But there was something else there now too…uncertainty. He wasn’t used to being matched. Especially not like this.

I kept my voice steady.

“Still your turn.”

He swallowed. Then, slower than before, he reached for the waistband of my boxers the same way. His fingers slipped under the elastic. We were both holding on now, knuckles brushing skin, the last slice of pizza completely forgotten between us.

The air in the apartment felt thicker. Hotter. Every small movement felt louder than it should have.

Eddy leaned in until his forehead nearly touched mine. His voice came out lower, almost rough.

“You’re not chicken yet?”

I held his gaze. Let the corner of my mouth lift just slightly.

“Not even close.”

And then I made the next move first…bolder than anything he’d done so far.

I didn’t wait for him to take the next turn.

While his fingers were still hooked in the waistband of my boxers, I slid my hand fully into his. Palm first. Fingers wrapping around him through the thin fabric, then under it. Skin on skin. He was already half hard, warm and heavy in my hand. I gave him a slow, deliberate stroke just to make sure there was no mistaking what I was doing.

Eddy froze.

His eyes went wide for a second. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I kept my grip, thumb brushing over the head of his cock as I looked him straight in the face.

“I’m playing,” I said.

Then I pulled him free of his boxers.

His cock sprang out into the hot air of the apartment, flushed and thickening fast in my hand. I didn’t look away from his face while I did it. Didn’t give him the chance to pretend this was still just a joke. I stroked him once, slow, from base to tip, feeling him swell fully hard under my fingers.

Eddy stared down at what I was doing like he couldn’t quite process it. His breathing had gone shallow. The hand that had been in my waistband tightened, then loosened, like he didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

“Beckett…”

“Your move,” I cut in, quiet but firm. I gave him another slow stroke, thumb circling the head, spreading the first bead of precum. “Or are you chicken?”

His jaw flexed. For a second I thought he might actually call it, might shove me off and take the pizza just to end whatever this had turned into. The bully in him hated losing control. Hated being the one on the back foot.

But he didn’t stop me.

Instead he shifted his hips forward, just slightly, pushing himself into my fist. His voice came out rougher than before.

“…Keep going then.”

I did.

I stroked him steadily now, watching the way his stomach tensed, the way his thighs flexed against mine. The game was still on, but the balance had already tipped. He thought he was still in charge. He had no idea I was the one who wanted this…who had wanted something like this for longer than I’d ever admit to him.

I leaned in closer, close enough that my breath brushed his ear when I spoke.

“I’m not chicken,” I said. “And I’m not stopping.”

Then I slid down.

I slid down onto my knees between his legs before he could change his mind.

The carpet was rough against my bare skin. Eddy was still sitting there on the floor, back against the couch, cock hard and slick from my hand, staring down at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His boxers were shoved halfway down his thighs. His chest rose and fell too fast.

I didn’t give him time to talk himself out of it.

I leaned in and ran my tongue up the underside of his cock in one slow, deliberate stroke…base to tip…then took the head into my mouth. Warm. Salty. Already leaking. I sealed my lips around him and sucked, slow and steady, watching his face the whole time.

Eddy’s head tipped back against the couch cushion. A rough sound left his throat before he could stop it.

“Fuck…Beckett…”

I took him deeper, one hand wrapping around the base so I could stroke what wouldn’t fit. My tongue worked the underside while I bobbed, slow at first, then a little faster when I felt his hips twitch. The game was still technically on, but it didn’t feel like a game anymore. Not with the way his fingers suddenly threaded into my hair, not pulling me off…just holding on.

I pulled off just long enough to look up at him, lips shiny, voice low.

“Still your turn to chicken out.”

His eyes were dark. Pupils blown. The usual smirk was gone. He looked wrecked already and I’d barely started.

“You’re actually doing this,” he said, almost like he was talking to himself.

I answered by taking him back into my mouth, deeper this time, until my nose brushed the soft hair at the base. I stayed there for a second, throat working around him, then pulled back and sucked hard on the way up. His thighs tensed hard on either side of my head. One of his hands stayed in my hair; the other gripped the edge of the couch like he needed something solid to hold onto.

I kept going…wet, steady, deliberate…every time he made a sound I took him a little deeper, a little faster. I wanted him to feel how far I was willing to go. Wanted him to understand that I wasn’t the one who was going to break first.

Eddy’s breathing turned ragged. His hips started moving in small, involuntary thrusts, pushing into my mouth like he couldn’t help it. I let him. I relaxed my throat and took it, eyes watering just a little, one hand still stroking the base while the other rested on his thigh, feeling the muscle jump under my palm.

He was close. I could taste it. Feel it in the way his cock throbbed against my tongue.

I pulled off again, just long enough to speak, voice rough now.

“You gonna chicken,” I asked, “or are you gonna come?”

Eddy’s fingers tightened in my hair. His voice came out wrecked.

“Don’t you fucking stop.”

I didn’t.

I kept going, wet and relentless, taking him deep every time his hips stuttered up to meet my mouth. His cock was throbbing hard against my tongue now, the taste of him sharper, heavier. I could feel how close he was…the way his thighs shook, the way his fingers kept tightening and loosening in my hair like he couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.

Eddy’s breathing had gone completely ragged. His head was tipped back against the couch, eyes half lidded, mouth open. The usual sharp edge in his voice was gone. What came out instead was rough and almost desperate.

“Just…fuck…just finish. Please.”

I didn’t tease him. I sealed my lips tighter, hollowed my cheeks, and worked him with everything I had…stroking the base in time with my mouth, tongue pressing firm along the underside, taking him as deep as I could on every downstroke. His hand fisted in my hair, not guiding, just holding on.

“Beckett…shit…”

His hips jerked once, twice, and then he came hard, spilling across my tongue in thick pulses. I stayed on him through it, swallowing, sucking him through the aftershocks until his thighs finally stopped shaking and his grip in my hair loosened.

The second he finished, I pulled off.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t wipe my mouth. I just reached past him, grabbed the last slice of pizza out of the box, and took a big, deliberate bite while I was still on my knees between his legs.

Eddy stared at me, chest still heaving, cock wet and spent against his stomach, boxers shoved down around his thighs.

I chewed, swallowed, and looked him dead in the eye.

“I win.”

Eddy just stared.

Mouth slightly open, chest still rising and falling hard, cock soft and wet against his stomach. The shock on his face was almost better than the win itself. Like his brain was still trying to catch up to the fact that I’d just sucked him off, swallowed, and then claimed the pizza like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I took another bite, chewing slowly, watching him.

“I’m bi,” I said, casual as anything. “Sorry, not sorry. But I figured you’d just bully me for it. Guess you liked it.”

His eyes flicked from my mouth to the half eaten slice in my hand, then back to my face. The usual sharp comeback never came. For once, Eddy…the guy who always had something to say, who always had to be on top of every situation…had nothing.

I licked a bit of sauce off my thumb and kept looking at him.

Eddy dragged a hand down his face, still half dressed, still looking like someone had rewritten the rules of the night without telling him.

“I don’t know how to feel,” he said finally. His voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it.

I took another bite of the pizza, chewed, and shrugged.

“It’s fine, buddy. I won’t tell anyone.”

I said it easy, like it really was that simple. Like I hadn’t just had his cock in my mouth five minutes ago and then declared victory with a mouthful of pepperoni. Eddy watched me for a long second, something unreadable in his expression…confusion, maybe, or the first crack in the version of me he’d always been so sure he knew.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to flip it back on me the way he usually would.

He just sat there, still shocked, while I finished the last slice.

I finished the last bite of pizza and wiped my fingers on my own boxers, still sitting on the floor between his legs. Eddy still hadn’t moved to pull his underwear back up. His cock was just out, soft and spent, and he seemed too stuck in his head to even notice.

I tilted my head, looking at him with a slow little smirk.

“You planning on putting those back on anytime soon?” I asked, nodding at the boxers still shoved down around his thighs. “Because if you’re just gonna sit there like that, I might start thinking you want to try on something from my collection instead.”

I let the words hang for a second, watching his face.

“I’ve got a few pairs of panties that’d look better on you than those plain black ones anyway.”

Inside, I was almost laughing. The whole thing had started as a way to finally get one over on him, but the panties comment was pure calculation…I just wanted an excuse to make him uncomfortable and plant the seed. Let him know I had more if he ever decided to go further down this path. Because the truth was, Eddy was exactly my type. The bullying edge, the way he always had to be in control, the fact that I’d just made him come undone with my mouth… yeah. If he ever wanted more, I’d be a total slut for him without hesitation.

I kept my face easy, casual, like I hadn’t just offered him a look into something I never told anyone about.

Eddy finally moved.

He reached down, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, and yanked them back up in one rough motion, tucking himself away like he was trying to erase the last ten minutes. His face was still flushed, but the shock was hardening into something more familiar…something closer to his usual armor.

“Okay,” he said, voice flat. “Let’s game.”

He grabbed his controller off the floor and turned back toward the TV like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just had his cock in my mouth, like he hadn’t come down my throat, like I hadn’t told him I was bi and offered him a pair of my panties.

I stayed on the floor a second longer, watching him. Then I picked up my own controller and settled back against the couch, the taste of him still faint on my tongue, the empty pizza box sitting between us like a trophy.

The game loaded up again.

Neither of us mentioned what had just happened.