Gift for toasty_fresh
Author: fools_game
Recipient: toasty_fresh
Title: Tipping the Kinsey Scale 1/2
Pairing(s): Chad/Ryan
Summary: Chad is straight. No, really. Ryan is not straight, and this doesn’t bother Chad at all. No, really.
Rating: R
Warning(s): Slight angst. Minor institutionalised homophobia. Underage drunkenness.
Word Count: 10,288
Disclaimer: All High School Musical characters herein are the property of Disney. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Dear toasty_fresh, here it is, I hope you like it, don’t spend it all at once. Love to my beta -she knows who she is.
It didn’t take long for Chad to figure out that Ryan made the other guys on the team uncomfortable.
It wasn’t like anybody said anything. Everybody was perfectly friendly and polite when Ryan showed up to post-game pizza nights or video afternoons on Sundays. Nobody had a problem with him being there; or if they did, they never voiced it. And Ryan - well, he just looked so flat-out stunned to be included that Chad was pretty sure he wouldn’t notice any kind of social discomfort unless the team started shrieking “Shun! Shun the non-believer!” like in that stupid video Jason wouldn’t stop quoting.
So, it was fine. The team was a little uneasy with the intrusion of somebody way outside their safe little testosterone-drenched world, but they’d deal. Ryan was fine with it, Chad was fine with it, everyone was fine with it. It was totally fine.
Except for the way conversations Chad hadn’t been listening to sometimes went suddenly quiet when Ryan came into the room. Or the way nobody seemed to quite want to touch Ryan, even in the happy, messy group pile-ups that inevitably happened when you got a bunch of teenage boys together in a room with a lot of cushions. Or the slightly uncomfortable eye contact arguments just out of Ryan’s line of sight of “you sit next to him,” “no, you sit next to him.”
It was annoying, was what it was.
And it wasn’t like Chad didn’t know why. Everybody knew Ryan was gay. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Troy and Gabriella were nauseatingly cute, Ryan was flamboyantly, flamingly homosexual.
“Actually,” said Ryan. “I’m camp. Some very macho guys are gay; some very effeminate guys are straight. It’s not the same thing.” He wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror stuck to his locker door.
Chad stared. “You mean you’re not gay?” he asked, in a tone that suggested such a thing would turn his entire world upside down.
“As a daisy,” said Ryan. “But it’s not because I like wearing pink. And I don’t wear pink because I’m gay.” He shut his locker and flashed a bright smile at Chad.
“Then why?” asked Chad, not quite following his logic.
“Because sometimes I like to feel pretty,” Ryan informed him, and danced off down the corridor, grabbing Martha for an impromptu waltz and singing to himself.
Okay, so sometimes Ryan freaked Chad out a little too.
~
In the third week of freshman year, Chad had joined the basketball team. He only knew Troy at that time - Zeke was still the short kid with the babyish face, Jason the nervous one, Matt the guy with the embarrassing skin problem - but tryouts went well; there was something there, he had good feeling that they could be a team.
After their first after-school practice, the team had stumbled into the locker rooms, laughing, to find a bunch of footballers with a blond kid pinned up against the lockers, crying.
At fourteen, Chad had been too young to really get some of the more complex rules of high school hierarchy, but he knew in his bones that four-on-one was in no way cool, so he’d marched right up to the biggest asshole - a full head taller than himself - called him a douchebag, and demanded that he leave Ryan alone.
He was really glad, reflecting back on it later, that Troy and the guys had backed him up. The brief scuffle, quickly broken up by a coach, had solidified their team into a unit, had rocketed them straight to the top of the social ladder. The football team had never recovered from the expulsion of half their starting line-up, causing many of the school’s better athletes to flock to the now-greener pastures of basketball.
Chad, caught up in the glory of popularity and success, never noticed Ryan’s shy gaze following him adoringly for months afterwards. If he had, it might have caused him to rethink some things.
~
“Come to my birthday party?” Chad plopped himself down next to Ryan in the library.
Ryan blinked at him, caught unawares. “Pardon?”
Chad rolled his eyes. “My birthday party. Friday, week after next. Will you come?”
Ryan’s mouth curved upwards gently. “Will there be a pony?”
“A pony,” said Chad flatly.
“Or a clown? With balloon animals?”
“Ryan.”
“How about a bouncy castle?”
“I hate you. I’m not talking to you,” Chad told him, getting up to leave.
“If the cake is icecream, I’m in,” Ryan called after him, laughing.
Chad did not have a guest list. He was too cool for guest lists. But if he’d had one, Ryan’s name would be ticked off: RSVP’d, definitely coming. Chad smiled.
~
A guy didn’t turn eighteen every day, Chad figured, or even every year. And though it wasn’t much of a legal milestone - so he could now be prosecuted for murder and sentenced to death, yippee - he wanted to celebrate it big, to have that party before partying got old, with these friends, before they went off to college and everything changed.
“Remember,” said his mother, cheerfully wrestling a screaming four-year-old into the backseat of the van, “any breakages come out of your car fund.”
“Yes, mom,” said Chad dutifully.
“And if the cops get called, don’t think we’re going to bail you out,” said his father. “Your brother had to spend the night in jail with no pants on after that hazing
incident, and we can’t play favourites.”
“I know, dad,” said Chad, and resisted the urge to look at his watch. The guy with the keg would be here in half an hour, why wouldn’t they just leave already?
Eventually, the van pulled out of the driveway, and Chad waved them off. His parents were taking the younger kids and spending the weekend at his aunt’s place in Santa Fe - six kids in, and Chad the fourth to hit eighteen, and the Danforth parents figured there were some milestones they were better off not witnessing. Chad knew they weren’t buying the “small group of friends” line, but they trusted him not to let things get out of hand, and so long as he had everything cleaned up by the time they got home on Sunday, the pleasant fiction could be maintained on both sides.
As the van disappeared around the corner it was passed by Troy’s beat-up old truck, which pulled up in front of Chad and disgorged more basketball players than it could legally hold.
“Ready to rock the joint?” bellowed Troy in his best ‘pre-game-pep-talk’ yell.
Chad winced. “Easy, tiger. We got work to do before any rocking happens.”
Chad did not feel remotely guilty about utilising his friends as hard labour. It was his birthday, after all. They packed up anything valuable or breakable and locked it in his parents’ room, rearranged furniture, moved bicycles and other toys from the back lawn, and when the guy showed up with the keg, moved aside with a kind of respectful, awed silence as it was installed.
Afterwards, Chad fed them lunch, defending the keg by means of a baseball bat kept meaningfully close to hand, and sent them all home.
As he absently tidied his own room, his phone chirped with a message from Ryan.
What time should I book the stripper for?
Chad barked a laugh. My kind of stripper or yours? It’s my birthday, after all.
He flopped down on the bed, intending to have brief nap in preparation for a long night.
Curses. Foiled again.
~
The music was intrusively loud; the keg was almost tapped out; Troy had mislaid his pants; Chad had gotten birthday kisses from five separate girls. He didn’t know half the people here, and it wasn’t even midnight.
Everything was going perfectly, in other words.
Grabbing another cup full of the quickly dwindling beer, Chad wove his way unsteadily through the crowd of people towards the back door. He staggered out into the cool air, passing a red-faced and partially naked Troy stuttering at an annoyed-looking Gabriella, a guy in a beer hat, and a tangle of limbs and sweat that had to contain at least three people before emerging into the less stuffy but no-less-loud backyard with a sigh of relief.
“Chad!” squealed a voice, and then he had an armful of a girl he was pretty sure was one of the junior cheerleaders, though he was less sure of her name - Brittany, maybe.
“Hey,” he said, buzzed enough that he was willing to play along. “You having a good time, pretty girl?”
She giggled. “It’s an great party. Are you having a good birthday?”
“Better now you’re here,” Chad replied, sensing further birthday kisses on the horizon.
She simpered happily and gazed up at him adoringly. Chad grinned down at her with his most dashing smile as Zeke wandered past. “Chad, have you seen Troy’s pants?”
“Jason had ‘em,” said Chad, not looking up. “I think he was heading for the kitchen.”
Maybe-Brittany ended up dragging Chad down behind the shed for a little quality birthday time, but in the end, getting hot and heavy with a chick whose name he couldn’t even remember was a little too skeevy even for a birthday treat, so he sent her back to the party and escaped into his old tree house.
His dad had built this before he was even born as a fortress for one of Chad’s brothers. It had survived four rambunctious boys, campouts, tea parties, sleepovers, and broken bones, and Chad was pretty sure his brother Brian had lost his virginity up here one summer when their parents refused to let him have a lock on his bedroom door. It wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, but it could easily fit two grown people lying side-by-side, even accounting for the wooden chest that once held water pistols and toy trucks and now held the suspicious remains of some tattered dirty magazines. The sturdy tree house was a fixture of his childhood.
Chad heaved himself over the top of the ladder with more vigour than grace and landed hard on something soft and warm and yielding.
And loud.
“What the fuck?”
“Who? What? Why are you in my tree house?”
Ryan sat up and blinked at him. “Oh. Hey, Chad. Awesome party.”
“Yeah, so awesome you’re hiding in the tree house. Shove over.”
“You’re up here too,” Ryan pointed out, and scooted over. “Weren’t you having fun with Bianca?”
“Bianca! Right. You were watching?” He peered through the darkness, but couldn’t make out Ryan’s face. Even at night, his eyes were shadowed by a hat-brim.
“I could hear you,” said Ryan. “She sounded pretty happy.”
“Or at least enthusiastic,” said Chad. “Any particular reason you’re hiding up here?”
“Any reason you are?” Ryan returned smoothly. “It is your party, after all.”
“And I want all of my guests to have fun.” He nudged Ryan gently. “Are you having fun?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes. We’re out of beer, though, so I’m looking for other distractions.”
“Cheerleaders in miniskirts?”
“Six tonight. I’m trying for a round ten.”
“Girls are not around for your carnal gratification, you know.”
“Funny, that’s just what Taylor said right before she hit me with her physics textbook.”
“How is that bruise coming along, by the by?”
“Puke yellow, thank you for asking. Why are you in my tree house?”
Ryan shifted beside him. “I never know what to do at these things. What people expect of me.”
“Drink, flirt, talk. Possibly vomit. Hook up. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Right,” said Ryan. “Hook up with all of those boys who wouldn’t punch me in the head for daring to be queer in their presence.” He sounded a little bitter.
Chad frowned. “Hey. We’re not - you know. Nobody thinks like that here.”
Ryan huffed. “Right. They don’t hate me. They just - don’t like having me around. Because what if, god forbid, I look at them and think the same thoughts they think about girls every single day.” He paused. “I make people uncomfortable.”
“Not me,” said Chad. “Look all you want. I’m completely comfortable.”
Ryan drew a sharp breath. “Exactly how drunk are you?” he asked carefully.
“Pretty fucking wasted,” said Chad, though he wasn’t really, and lay down on the rough floorboards. Hey, stars.
Ryan sat there for a while, his leg pressing against Chad’s arm. “It really doesn’t bother you?” he asked at length.
Chad wobbled his head back and forth. “Ryan. I don’t mind that you’re gay. I don’t mind you thinking I’m hot, because, let’s face it, I am.” He squinted out the window. “Even straight boys think I’m hot. I think Jason has a little crush on me. Maybe he swings in your direction.” He waggled his eyebrows, but the effect was lost in the dark.
“Jason,” said Ryan in a strange, strangled voice. “You think I should hit on Jason.”
“He won’t punch you, I’m sure of that,” said Chad drowsily. The noise of the party seemed very far away.
“A rousing endorsement,” said Ryan. “Chad, I don’t want Jason.”
“Maybe that kid from the Spanish club - what’s his name, Oscar.”
“Chad,” said Ryan, and then suddenly his view of the stars was gone and Ryan’s face was very, very close. “I hope you meant it about not punching me,” he breathed, warm over Chad’s face, and kissed him.
Chad forgot to move, forgot to be startled, forgot to do anything. Ryan’s mouth was warm and clean, no sour smell of beer, no demanding tongue. Just a press of lips, and Chad reached up and touched Ryan’s shoulder, pushed him gently away.
“Ryan,” he said. “I’m not - I didn’t.”
“I know,” said Ryan miserably. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away, pressing against the wall. “I just. I wanted to do that and I won’t do it again. I’m really sorry.”
Chad sat up, his head spinning. “I’m not gay.”
“I know.” Ryan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He shuffled awkwardly past Chad and turned around to go down the ladder.
“But,” said Chad, watching him. “Ry, I don’t understand.”
Ryan made a slightly hysterical noise and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “Never mind, Chad. Just forget it even happened. I’ll see you on Monday.”
And then he was gone, leaving Chad sitting alone in his tree house while the birthday party he had suddenly lost all interest in went on down below.
~
“Awesome party, dude,” groaned Zeke from under a cushion. “A-plus, would party again.”
“Really, though,” added Troy into his coffee mug. “How does a pair of pants just disappear?”
“What I want to know,” said Jason, who was almost criminally chirpy and making toast, “is where you went, dude. We were looking all over for you. Almost ate your cake without you.”
“I was very disappointed, actually,” said Chad, pouring himself some orange juice. “I specifically ordered a naked girl in my cake.”
“You’re the first one of us to turn eighteen,” Troy pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure the places who do that kind of service check IDs a little more carefully than Barry your brother’s beer guy.”
“Very disappointed,” Chad stressed, and opened the freezer to get some ice. “Oh hey, I found your pants,” he said, and lobbed the frozen block at Troy, very nearly concussing him.
“So where did you disappear to?” Jason asked again, to Chad’s distress. “You were gone for like an hour. Did you get lucky or something?”
“Not exactly,” said Chad. “Troy, don’t put your pants in the microwave, they’ll catch fire.”
~
Chad was not homophobic. He wasn’t. He had no problem with Ryan being gay at all, he’d never thought that it was unnatural or wrong - his parents had been very careful to explain it to all of the kids, when Cousin Alice had brought home her girlfriend for Thanksgiving that one time - and it had never bothered him. It was more interesting to him that Ryan had a hidden love for classic rock and was terrible at basketball.
But it turned out there was a whole world of difference between knowing “Ryan is gay”, connecting that to “Ryan wants to have sex with boys”, and actually experiencing “Ryan wants to have sex with me.”
So, it was awkward.
Monday morning, Ryan showed up for homeroom two seconds before the bell rang and slunk into his chair next to Chad without a word or a glance. As impeccably groomed and dressed as ever, but he looked tired, and didn’t lift his eyes.
Chad forced his eyes front and tried not to think about it, about Ryan, sitting stiffly next to him. Who wanted to kiss him. Who had kissed him. Who might be thinking about kissing him right now, maybe, or other things that he wanted to do to Chad, naked things, and Chad was entirely not comfortable with Ryan thinking possibly naked thoughts about him.
The bell rang. Chad shot out of his seat, intending to dash for the door to avoid any moments. Unfortunately it seemed Ryan had the same idea, and they crashed full-tilt into one another. Chad was forced to reach out and catch Ryan when the smaller boy bounced off his chest and would have landed on the sharp corner of a desk.
He stared at the top of Ryan’s head for a moment, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other fisted in his shirt, shocked by the sudden, discomfiting closeness. He’d resolved to avoid Ryan, and here he was, hanging onto him like a lifeline with their hips pressed hard together. And wow, he really shouldn’t have noticed the hips thing, because before he did it was clumsy and now it was really, really awkward, with a side of uncomfortable and a spicy embarrassment dressing.
Ryan shot him a mute, pleading look, and Chad realised that he’d allowed the contact to continue perhaps a little past what might be strictly necessary in terms of stopping Ryan getting his ribs broken by unwary school furniture. He released him suddenly and Ryan stumbled, quickly righted himself, and fled.
Chad blinked at the Ryan-shaped smoke outline and hoped really hard that nobody else noticed that exchange, nor the big, pink cloud of embarrassment which seemed to have taken up residence around him.
Troy smacked him on the shoulder, and Chad jumped. “What was all that?” said Troy. He was frowning after Ryan. “Something wrong?”
“N-no,” said Chad. “I guess he had someplace else to be.”
~
And that was how it went for the week.
Chad desperately tried to avoid Ryan - and as far as he could tell, the effort was mutual, because wherever he looked Ryan was scuttling away. But he’d never noticed how many classes they had together - everything except the elective where Ryan did drama and Chad took shop. And worse, the school policy on alphabetical seating put Danforth and Evans right next to each other in all but one class, so Chad’s chances for avoiding this whole situation until it became less horrifying were not looking good.
At least Ryan seemed to be trying to co-operate. They hadn’t exchanged a single word all week, and Ryan barely lifted his eyes from the floor at all. Sadly, this made him much clumsier than usual, and he accidentally bumped into Chad several times while trying to avoid him.
It was the only time he ever looked at Chad, and every time, his expression was almost scared. As if he thought Chad would try and hit him or something, like Chad was one of those guys, like Chad had ever given any indication that he was at all uncomfortable with Ryan being gay.
Except apparently he was. Having gotten full, irrefutable, personal proof that Ryan was as gay as a daisy, Chad had suddenly become unable to even speak to him, and wasn’t that just the kick in the head, because he had never, ever been that guy.
People were starting to notice, too. Ryan didn’t sit with them at lunch anymore, didn’t talk to Chad in class or acknowledge him in the halls or pair up with him in gym class if it was at all possible to avoid it. And while many of the denizens of East High were not the brightest bunch, it was getting kind of difficult to miss the tension.
It wasn’t even like he could tell anybody what he was freaking out over. He’d been so insistent that everybody be nice to Ryan, made sure nobody gave him a hard time over his sexuality, and now he couldn’t really say anything about it without looking like a giant hypocrite.
So, avoidance.
It was working, until final period Friday. They had gym, and Chad was late. He’d lingered after history, to talk to the teacher about the latest assignment, in the hope that the locker rooms would clear out a little before he got there and he wouldn’t have to take off his shirt in front of Ryan.
Just thinking that about Ryan made him feel sick and miserable and guilty. He edged into the locker rooms to find them almost deserted, only a few stragglers, and couldn’t help his relief. Changing quickly, he stuffed his things into a locker and ran for the gym, arriving just in time to watch his classmates, in pairs, settling themselves onto mats around the room.
“Mr Danforth,” said the teacher, squinting, and made a show of noting his tardiness in her big black folder. “We’re doing yoga today.”
Chad wrinkled his nose. “Seriously?”
She glared. “Yes, Mr Danforth. You’ll be working with Mr Evans, he doesn’t have a partner yet.”
Chad’s stomach dropped. Ryan was over by the far wall, on a mat, folding himself in half without any apparent effort, hands wrapped around his ankles. He nodded.
Collecting his mat, he marched over and dropped it beside Ryan. He looked oddly peaceful, with a focused expression and his cheek pressed against his knee, eyes closed.
Chad flopped down on the mat glumly - there was no way he could possibly bend himself like that; Ryan was absurdly flexible. To show willing, he started stretching silently, the basic legs-arms-trunk warmup he did before a game or a practise.
When he was finished, he looked over to see Ryan watching him silently. Their eyes met, and Ryan blushed and looked away.
Chad swallowed. “So. How does this yoga thing work?”
Several expressions flickered across Ryan’s face, too fast for Chad to decipher. He sat up straighter and shrugged, shoulders moving under the thin fabric of his shirt.
“It’s actually a deeply spiritual practise in a lot of Buddhist and Hindu religions, to do with balancing your life and your mind and your soul.”
Chad stared at him, and Ryan smiled a little, tentatively. “I mostly do it for my health.” He looked away. “There’s lots of different poses, standing, sitting, lying down. I guess we’ll be doing mostly the easy, beginner ones.” The teacher called for their attention, and Ryan twisted himself around on the mat, facing front. “The important thing is not to force it. It’s not meant to hurt or stress you out, it’s supposed to be relaxing.”
Chad nodded and turned his eyes front as the teacher showed them the first pose she wanted them to do. He heard Ryan sigh and make a disapproving noise, and snuck a glance to see Ryan moving into the same position with a good deal more grace -hands and feet on the floor, bent at the hips. He fumbled to copy him, feeling off-balance and clumsy.
“Downward facing dog,” said Ryan clearly, and then suddenly was kneeling beside him. “Straighten up here,” he said, pressing his fingertips gently between Chad’s shoulders. Chad’s heart thudded sharply in his chest at the touch “And bend more at the hips. How flexible are you? Can you put your heels on the floor?”
Chad was pretty sure he couldn’t, but he tried anyway, and Ryan made a pleased noise. “Good, that’s good. Remember to breathe, Chad, this isn’t an endurance challenge.”
Ryan was right; most of the things they did that class were at best slightly uncomfortable to achieve and not remotely painful to maintain. After about thirty seconds, Chad realised the teacher had no idea what was going on, so he just let Ryan’s quiet voice guide him, the occasional careful touches on his back or shoulders to indicate where he needed to straighten or bend. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, as Ryan instructed him, and when the bell rang he opened his eyes, feeling calm and relaxed and kind of - floppy.
Ryan poked him. “Dude.”
Chad blinked. All around him, students were moving to the exit, talking and shoving each other, ready for the weekend. He looked up at the ceiling. “This is weird.”
Ryan huffed. “No kidding.” He was quiet for a minute. “Look, Chad. I wanted to apologise.”
Chad sat up. “You don’t have to.”
Ryan stared at his knees. “I think I do. I shouldn’t have done what I did and I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable and I hate how stupid it’s made things.” He looked miserable. “I just want everything to be normal again.”
Chad just stared at him, unsure how to respond. Ryan snuck a sideways glance at him, and then sighed and started to get up. “Look, don’t even worry about it. It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” said Chad sharply, suddenly mad. He got up, picked up his mat and followed Ryan to stack it with the others against the wall. “It’s not fine. You kissed me, and that freaked me out because I didn’t think you - but we’re friends. And I’ve never had a problem with the gay thing before. So there’s a problem here somewhere.”
Ryan looked startled. “Um. Yes?”
“Okay,” said Chad. “I have no idea what to do.”
Ryan frowned. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes,” said Chad, and then, “No.” He sighed. “I wish you hadn’t kissed me, because it’s made everything complicated when it used to be simple.” He sat down heavily on the stack of mats.
“I’m sorry,” said Ryan. “I wish I hadn’t either.” He sat beside Chad, and they were quiet for a few minutes in the empty gym.
“Is this the part where I say ‘can we still be friends?’” said Chad wryly, at length.
“I don’t know. Can we?” Ryan looked at him, a sad twist to his mouth. “Because if you freak out every time I’m in the room, I don’t see how well that’s going to go.”
“I won’t,” Chad swore. “Well, I’ll try not to. It’s just.”
“What?”
“I can’t help thinking - that you’re, I dunno, looking at me or something. All the time. I mean, I know you’re not, but.”
Ryan put his head in his hands. “Okay. If I promise I’m not checking you out every time you show any skin below the neck, and you promise not to panic and flee every time I get within twenty feet, maybe this will work.”
“I seem to remember you doing a fair bit of fleeing.”
“I am always mindful of the comfort of my friends.”
“You were freaking out as much as I was, weren’t you?” Daring, Chad nudged him gently.
Ryan ducked his head. “Um, possibly more.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I thought you might hate me.”
“I don’t,” said Chad immediately. “I don’t hate you. I just didn’t know that you, uh.”
Ryan frowned. “You knew I was gay.”
“I never thought that included me,” said Chad plaintively, and Ryan actually laughed.
“Right, because you’re so special. You should be flattered, Danforth.”
“Because you couldn’t control yourself?”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I am very discerning about who I kiss, Mr Ten-in-one-night.”
“I only made it to six. Well, seven, counting the surprise one.”
“You’re slipping.”
Chad laughed, and something in his chest unclenched and eased - if he and Ryan could banter like this again, all might not be lost. “You distracted me.”
For a moment, Ryan looked disconcertingly sly. Then he shrugged, all innocence. “My bad. Won’t happen again.”
~
Chad couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Things went back mostly to normal. He and Ryan started hanging out again, the team went back to being uncomfortably polite to Ryan when they couldn’t ignore him, and Ryan was careful but not obvious about not touching Chad unless Chad initiated it. And it was okay, except now that the awkwardness had passed and there wasn’t any danger of losing Ryan as a friend, it kept coming to mind at the weirdest times.
He’d be sitting in math class, staring blankly at the diagrams on the board, and would remember the way Ryan had placed his hand flat against Chad’s chest when he kissed him, palm warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
Or Ryan’s nervous, unhappy face popping into his head when he had his hand up Kerry Mills’ skirt in the backseat of her car, which completely ruined the mood, and left Chad feeling guilty for reasons he couldn’t define.
He couldn’t even go out into the backyard anymore without seeing the treehouse and getting a tense, nervous feeling in his stomach.
The real crux came about ten days after they made up from their fight. East High had a game against West High - not one of those big make-or-break games, just a friendly little winding-down-the-season grudge match. They won, by a narrow margin, and it was all very amicable, shaking hands with the opposing team and hoisting Troy onto their shoulders - mostly habit, at this point.
They headed into the locker rooms to shower up before they went out for the post-game victory pizza. The showers were individual stalls at least, but there were no doors. Chad headed into the stall furthest from the entrance, the one nobody would have any reason to walk by, for a little privacy - the game’s adrenaline always left him punchy and reeling, which usually translated itself into arousal. Hey, he was eighteen, any emotion above “suicidally depressed” could turn into arousal if unchecked. So, a little privacy.
He could hear the other guys talking, yelling to each other as he soaped himself up and set-to with vigour. A large family, limited privacy and many nosy friends had left Chad with masturbatory habits probably best described as ‘efficient’ - start to finish in under three minutes, come embarrassing interruptions, visual aids or a semi-public venue. But today, his body didn’t seem to want to co-operate.
A few stalls away, his teammates were drying off, drifting away. Lockers banged in the next room, the crack and yelp of somebody snapping a wet towel, laughter. Chad stared down at his dick, feeling oddly betrayed. His erection wasn’t subsiding as the adrenaline ebbed, but it also wasn’t reaching its usual conclusion, either.
“You coming, Chad?” Troy’s voice was alarmingly close, and Chad nearly slipped and cracked his head open.
“Be there in a second,” he called back, and heard Troy snicker.
Closing his eyes, Chad tried to concentrate. He so didn’t have time for this. He was going out for pizza with his friends, and probably a movie at somebody’s house. Maybe he could convince Ryan to split a plain cheese pie with him so he wouldn’t have to spend half the night picking olives off, and then there was Ryan in his head, grinning around a mouthful of pizza, and no, no, that was wrong -
Panicked, Chad pushed his mind to other things - to girls, smooth thighs and perky breasts and candy-flavoured mouths, and Ryan kissing him in the treehouse, dry and clumsy and terrifying. Ryan wanting him, and as much as Chad tried not to think about it, he knew Ryan probably did, thought about Chad doing exactly this, maybe touched himself like this thinking about Chad doing this -
Chad bit his lip bloody as he came, gasping.
Part 2
Recipient: toasty_fresh
Title: Tipping the Kinsey Scale 1/2
Pairing(s): Chad/Ryan
Summary: Chad is straight. No, really. Ryan is not straight, and this doesn’t bother Chad at all. No, really.
Rating: R
Warning(s): Slight angst. Minor institutionalised homophobia. Underage drunkenness.
Word Count: 10,288
Disclaimer: All High School Musical characters herein are the property of Disney. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Dear toasty_fresh, here it is, I hope you like it, don’t spend it all at once. Love to my beta -she knows who she is.
It didn’t take long for Chad to figure out that Ryan made the other guys on the team uncomfortable.
It wasn’t like anybody said anything. Everybody was perfectly friendly and polite when Ryan showed up to post-game pizza nights or video afternoons on Sundays. Nobody had a problem with him being there; or if they did, they never voiced it. And Ryan - well, he just looked so flat-out stunned to be included that Chad was pretty sure he wouldn’t notice any kind of social discomfort unless the team started shrieking “Shun! Shun the non-believer!” like in that stupid video Jason wouldn’t stop quoting.
So, it was fine. The team was a little uneasy with the intrusion of somebody way outside their safe little testosterone-drenched world, but they’d deal. Ryan was fine with it, Chad was fine with it, everyone was fine with it. It was totally fine.
Except for the way conversations Chad hadn’t been listening to sometimes went suddenly quiet when Ryan came into the room. Or the way nobody seemed to quite want to touch Ryan, even in the happy, messy group pile-ups that inevitably happened when you got a bunch of teenage boys together in a room with a lot of cushions. Or the slightly uncomfortable eye contact arguments just out of Ryan’s line of sight of “you sit next to him,” “no, you sit next to him.”
It was annoying, was what it was.
And it wasn’t like Chad didn’t know why. Everybody knew Ryan was gay. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Troy and Gabriella were nauseatingly cute, Ryan was flamboyantly, flamingly homosexual.
“Actually,” said Ryan. “I’m camp. Some very macho guys are gay; some very effeminate guys are straight. It’s not the same thing.” He wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror stuck to his locker door.
Chad stared. “You mean you’re not gay?” he asked, in a tone that suggested such a thing would turn his entire world upside down.
“As a daisy,” said Ryan. “But it’s not because I like wearing pink. And I don’t wear pink because I’m gay.” He shut his locker and flashed a bright smile at Chad.
“Then why?” asked Chad, not quite following his logic.
“Because sometimes I like to feel pretty,” Ryan informed him, and danced off down the corridor, grabbing Martha for an impromptu waltz and singing to himself.
Okay, so sometimes Ryan freaked Chad out a little too.
~
In the third week of freshman year, Chad had joined the basketball team. He only knew Troy at that time - Zeke was still the short kid with the babyish face, Jason the nervous one, Matt the guy with the embarrassing skin problem - but tryouts went well; there was something there, he had good feeling that they could be a team.
After their first after-school practice, the team had stumbled into the locker rooms, laughing, to find a bunch of footballers with a blond kid pinned up against the lockers, crying.
At fourteen, Chad had been too young to really get some of the more complex rules of high school hierarchy, but he knew in his bones that four-on-one was in no way cool, so he’d marched right up to the biggest asshole - a full head taller than himself - called him a douchebag, and demanded that he leave Ryan alone.
He was really glad, reflecting back on it later, that Troy and the guys had backed him up. The brief scuffle, quickly broken up by a coach, had solidified their team into a unit, had rocketed them straight to the top of the social ladder. The football team had never recovered from the expulsion of half their starting line-up, causing many of the school’s better athletes to flock to the now-greener pastures of basketball.
Chad, caught up in the glory of popularity and success, never noticed Ryan’s shy gaze following him adoringly for months afterwards. If he had, it might have caused him to rethink some things.
~
“Come to my birthday party?” Chad plopped himself down next to Ryan in the library.
Ryan blinked at him, caught unawares. “Pardon?”
Chad rolled his eyes. “My birthday party. Friday, week after next. Will you come?”
Ryan’s mouth curved upwards gently. “Will there be a pony?”
“A pony,” said Chad flatly.
“Or a clown? With balloon animals?”
“Ryan.”
“How about a bouncy castle?”
“I hate you. I’m not talking to you,” Chad told him, getting up to leave.
“If the cake is icecream, I’m in,” Ryan called after him, laughing.
Chad did not have a guest list. He was too cool for guest lists. But if he’d had one, Ryan’s name would be ticked off: RSVP’d, definitely coming. Chad smiled.
~
A guy didn’t turn eighteen every day, Chad figured, or even every year. And though it wasn’t much of a legal milestone - so he could now be prosecuted for murder and sentenced to death, yippee - he wanted to celebrate it big, to have that party before partying got old, with these friends, before they went off to college and everything changed.
“Remember,” said his mother, cheerfully wrestling a screaming four-year-old into the backseat of the van, “any breakages come out of your car fund.”
“Yes, mom,” said Chad dutifully.
“And if the cops get called, don’t think we’re going to bail you out,” said his father. “Your brother had to spend the night in jail with no pants on after that hazing
incident, and we can’t play favourites.”
“I know, dad,” said Chad, and resisted the urge to look at his watch. The guy with the keg would be here in half an hour, why wouldn’t they just leave already?
Eventually, the van pulled out of the driveway, and Chad waved them off. His parents were taking the younger kids and spending the weekend at his aunt’s place in Santa Fe - six kids in, and Chad the fourth to hit eighteen, and the Danforth parents figured there were some milestones they were better off not witnessing. Chad knew they weren’t buying the “small group of friends” line, but they trusted him not to let things get out of hand, and so long as he had everything cleaned up by the time they got home on Sunday, the pleasant fiction could be maintained on both sides.
As the van disappeared around the corner it was passed by Troy’s beat-up old truck, which pulled up in front of Chad and disgorged more basketball players than it could legally hold.
“Ready to rock the joint?” bellowed Troy in his best ‘pre-game-pep-talk’ yell.
Chad winced. “Easy, tiger. We got work to do before any rocking happens.”
Chad did not feel remotely guilty about utilising his friends as hard labour. It was his birthday, after all. They packed up anything valuable or breakable and locked it in his parents’ room, rearranged furniture, moved bicycles and other toys from the back lawn, and when the guy showed up with the keg, moved aside with a kind of respectful, awed silence as it was installed.
Afterwards, Chad fed them lunch, defending the keg by means of a baseball bat kept meaningfully close to hand, and sent them all home.
As he absently tidied his own room, his phone chirped with a message from Ryan.
What time should I book the stripper for?
Chad barked a laugh. My kind of stripper or yours? It’s my birthday, after all.
He flopped down on the bed, intending to have brief nap in preparation for a long night.
Curses. Foiled again.
~
The music was intrusively loud; the keg was almost tapped out; Troy had mislaid his pants; Chad had gotten birthday kisses from five separate girls. He didn’t know half the people here, and it wasn’t even midnight.
Everything was going perfectly, in other words.
Grabbing another cup full of the quickly dwindling beer, Chad wove his way unsteadily through the crowd of people towards the back door. He staggered out into the cool air, passing a red-faced and partially naked Troy stuttering at an annoyed-looking Gabriella, a guy in a beer hat, and a tangle of limbs and sweat that had to contain at least three people before emerging into the less stuffy but no-less-loud backyard with a sigh of relief.
“Chad!” squealed a voice, and then he had an armful of a girl he was pretty sure was one of the junior cheerleaders, though he was less sure of her name - Brittany, maybe.
“Hey,” he said, buzzed enough that he was willing to play along. “You having a good time, pretty girl?”
She giggled. “It’s an great party. Are you having a good birthday?”
“Better now you’re here,” Chad replied, sensing further birthday kisses on the horizon.
She simpered happily and gazed up at him adoringly. Chad grinned down at her with his most dashing smile as Zeke wandered past. “Chad, have you seen Troy’s pants?”
“Jason had ‘em,” said Chad, not looking up. “I think he was heading for the kitchen.”
Maybe-Brittany ended up dragging Chad down behind the shed for a little quality birthday time, but in the end, getting hot and heavy with a chick whose name he couldn’t even remember was a little too skeevy even for a birthday treat, so he sent her back to the party and escaped into his old tree house.
His dad had built this before he was even born as a fortress for one of Chad’s brothers. It had survived four rambunctious boys, campouts, tea parties, sleepovers, and broken bones, and Chad was pretty sure his brother Brian had lost his virginity up here one summer when their parents refused to let him have a lock on his bedroom door. It wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, but it could easily fit two grown people lying side-by-side, even accounting for the wooden chest that once held water pistols and toy trucks and now held the suspicious remains of some tattered dirty magazines. The sturdy tree house was a fixture of his childhood.
Chad heaved himself over the top of the ladder with more vigour than grace and landed hard on something soft and warm and yielding.
And loud.
“What the fuck?”
“Who? What? Why are you in my tree house?”
Ryan sat up and blinked at him. “Oh. Hey, Chad. Awesome party.”
“Yeah, so awesome you’re hiding in the tree house. Shove over.”
“You’re up here too,” Ryan pointed out, and scooted over. “Weren’t you having fun with Bianca?”
“Bianca! Right. You were watching?” He peered through the darkness, but couldn’t make out Ryan’s face. Even at night, his eyes were shadowed by a hat-brim.
“I could hear you,” said Ryan. “She sounded pretty happy.”
“Or at least enthusiastic,” said Chad. “Any particular reason you’re hiding up here?”
“Any reason you are?” Ryan returned smoothly. “It is your party, after all.”
“And I want all of my guests to have fun.” He nudged Ryan gently. “Are you having fun?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes. We’re out of beer, though, so I’m looking for other distractions.”
“Cheerleaders in miniskirts?”
“Six tonight. I’m trying for a round ten.”
“Girls are not around for your carnal gratification, you know.”
“Funny, that’s just what Taylor said right before she hit me with her physics textbook.”
“How is that bruise coming along, by the by?”
“Puke yellow, thank you for asking. Why are you in my tree house?”
Ryan shifted beside him. “I never know what to do at these things. What people expect of me.”
“Drink, flirt, talk. Possibly vomit. Hook up. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Right,” said Ryan. “Hook up with all of those boys who wouldn’t punch me in the head for daring to be queer in their presence.” He sounded a little bitter.
Chad frowned. “Hey. We’re not - you know. Nobody thinks like that here.”
Ryan huffed. “Right. They don’t hate me. They just - don’t like having me around. Because what if, god forbid, I look at them and think the same thoughts they think about girls every single day.” He paused. “I make people uncomfortable.”
“Not me,” said Chad. “Look all you want. I’m completely comfortable.”
Ryan drew a sharp breath. “Exactly how drunk are you?” he asked carefully.
“Pretty fucking wasted,” said Chad, though he wasn’t really, and lay down on the rough floorboards. Hey, stars.
Ryan sat there for a while, his leg pressing against Chad’s arm. “It really doesn’t bother you?” he asked at length.
Chad wobbled his head back and forth. “Ryan. I don’t mind that you’re gay. I don’t mind you thinking I’m hot, because, let’s face it, I am.” He squinted out the window. “Even straight boys think I’m hot. I think Jason has a little crush on me. Maybe he swings in your direction.” He waggled his eyebrows, but the effect was lost in the dark.
“Jason,” said Ryan in a strange, strangled voice. “You think I should hit on Jason.”
“He won’t punch you, I’m sure of that,” said Chad drowsily. The noise of the party seemed very far away.
“A rousing endorsement,” said Ryan. “Chad, I don’t want Jason.”
“Maybe that kid from the Spanish club - what’s his name, Oscar.”
“Chad,” said Ryan, and then suddenly his view of the stars was gone and Ryan’s face was very, very close. “I hope you meant it about not punching me,” he breathed, warm over Chad’s face, and kissed him.
Chad forgot to move, forgot to be startled, forgot to do anything. Ryan’s mouth was warm and clean, no sour smell of beer, no demanding tongue. Just a press of lips, and Chad reached up and touched Ryan’s shoulder, pushed him gently away.
“Ryan,” he said. “I’m not - I didn’t.”
“I know,” said Ryan miserably. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away, pressing against the wall. “I just. I wanted to do that and I won’t do it again. I’m really sorry.”
Chad sat up, his head spinning. “I’m not gay.”
“I know.” Ryan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He shuffled awkwardly past Chad and turned around to go down the ladder.
“But,” said Chad, watching him. “Ry, I don’t understand.”
Ryan made a slightly hysterical noise and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “Never mind, Chad. Just forget it even happened. I’ll see you on Monday.”
And then he was gone, leaving Chad sitting alone in his tree house while the birthday party he had suddenly lost all interest in went on down below.
~
“Awesome party, dude,” groaned Zeke from under a cushion. “A-plus, would party again.”
“Really, though,” added Troy into his coffee mug. “How does a pair of pants just disappear?”
“What I want to know,” said Jason, who was almost criminally chirpy and making toast, “is where you went, dude. We were looking all over for you. Almost ate your cake without you.”
“I was very disappointed, actually,” said Chad, pouring himself some orange juice. “I specifically ordered a naked girl in my cake.”
“You’re the first one of us to turn eighteen,” Troy pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure the places who do that kind of service check IDs a little more carefully than Barry your brother’s beer guy.”
“Very disappointed,” Chad stressed, and opened the freezer to get some ice. “Oh hey, I found your pants,” he said, and lobbed the frozen block at Troy, very nearly concussing him.
“So where did you disappear to?” Jason asked again, to Chad’s distress. “You were gone for like an hour. Did you get lucky or something?”
“Not exactly,” said Chad. “Troy, don’t put your pants in the microwave, they’ll catch fire.”
~
Chad was not homophobic. He wasn’t. He had no problem with Ryan being gay at all, he’d never thought that it was unnatural or wrong - his parents had been very careful to explain it to all of the kids, when Cousin Alice had brought home her girlfriend for Thanksgiving that one time - and it had never bothered him. It was more interesting to him that Ryan had a hidden love for classic rock and was terrible at basketball.
But it turned out there was a whole world of difference between knowing “Ryan is gay”, connecting that to “Ryan wants to have sex with boys”, and actually experiencing “Ryan wants to have sex with me.”
So, it was awkward.
Monday morning, Ryan showed up for homeroom two seconds before the bell rang and slunk into his chair next to Chad without a word or a glance. As impeccably groomed and dressed as ever, but he looked tired, and didn’t lift his eyes.
Chad forced his eyes front and tried not to think about it, about Ryan, sitting stiffly next to him. Who wanted to kiss him. Who had kissed him. Who might be thinking about kissing him right now, maybe, or other things that he wanted to do to Chad, naked things, and Chad was entirely not comfortable with Ryan thinking possibly naked thoughts about him.
The bell rang. Chad shot out of his seat, intending to dash for the door to avoid any moments. Unfortunately it seemed Ryan had the same idea, and they crashed full-tilt into one another. Chad was forced to reach out and catch Ryan when the smaller boy bounced off his chest and would have landed on the sharp corner of a desk.
He stared at the top of Ryan’s head for a moment, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other fisted in his shirt, shocked by the sudden, discomfiting closeness. He’d resolved to avoid Ryan, and here he was, hanging onto him like a lifeline with their hips pressed hard together. And wow, he really shouldn’t have noticed the hips thing, because before he did it was clumsy and now it was really, really awkward, with a side of uncomfortable and a spicy embarrassment dressing.
Ryan shot him a mute, pleading look, and Chad realised that he’d allowed the contact to continue perhaps a little past what might be strictly necessary in terms of stopping Ryan getting his ribs broken by unwary school furniture. He released him suddenly and Ryan stumbled, quickly righted himself, and fled.
Chad blinked at the Ryan-shaped smoke outline and hoped really hard that nobody else noticed that exchange, nor the big, pink cloud of embarrassment which seemed to have taken up residence around him.
Troy smacked him on the shoulder, and Chad jumped. “What was all that?” said Troy. He was frowning after Ryan. “Something wrong?”
“N-no,” said Chad. “I guess he had someplace else to be.”
~
And that was how it went for the week.
Chad desperately tried to avoid Ryan - and as far as he could tell, the effort was mutual, because wherever he looked Ryan was scuttling away. But he’d never noticed how many classes they had together - everything except the elective where Ryan did drama and Chad took shop. And worse, the school policy on alphabetical seating put Danforth and Evans right next to each other in all but one class, so Chad’s chances for avoiding this whole situation until it became less horrifying were not looking good.
At least Ryan seemed to be trying to co-operate. They hadn’t exchanged a single word all week, and Ryan barely lifted his eyes from the floor at all. Sadly, this made him much clumsier than usual, and he accidentally bumped into Chad several times while trying to avoid him.
It was the only time he ever looked at Chad, and every time, his expression was almost scared. As if he thought Chad would try and hit him or something, like Chad was one of those guys, like Chad had ever given any indication that he was at all uncomfortable with Ryan being gay.
Except apparently he was. Having gotten full, irrefutable, personal proof that Ryan was as gay as a daisy, Chad had suddenly become unable to even speak to him, and wasn’t that just the kick in the head, because he had never, ever been that guy.
People were starting to notice, too. Ryan didn’t sit with them at lunch anymore, didn’t talk to Chad in class or acknowledge him in the halls or pair up with him in gym class if it was at all possible to avoid it. And while many of the denizens of East High were not the brightest bunch, it was getting kind of difficult to miss the tension.
It wasn’t even like he could tell anybody what he was freaking out over. He’d been so insistent that everybody be nice to Ryan, made sure nobody gave him a hard time over his sexuality, and now he couldn’t really say anything about it without looking like a giant hypocrite.
So, avoidance.
It was working, until final period Friday. They had gym, and Chad was late. He’d lingered after history, to talk to the teacher about the latest assignment, in the hope that the locker rooms would clear out a little before he got there and he wouldn’t have to take off his shirt in front of Ryan.
Just thinking that about Ryan made him feel sick and miserable and guilty. He edged into the locker rooms to find them almost deserted, only a few stragglers, and couldn’t help his relief. Changing quickly, he stuffed his things into a locker and ran for the gym, arriving just in time to watch his classmates, in pairs, settling themselves onto mats around the room.
“Mr Danforth,” said the teacher, squinting, and made a show of noting his tardiness in her big black folder. “We’re doing yoga today.”
Chad wrinkled his nose. “Seriously?”
She glared. “Yes, Mr Danforth. You’ll be working with Mr Evans, he doesn’t have a partner yet.”
Chad’s stomach dropped. Ryan was over by the far wall, on a mat, folding himself in half without any apparent effort, hands wrapped around his ankles. He nodded.
Collecting his mat, he marched over and dropped it beside Ryan. He looked oddly peaceful, with a focused expression and his cheek pressed against his knee, eyes closed.
Chad flopped down on the mat glumly - there was no way he could possibly bend himself like that; Ryan was absurdly flexible. To show willing, he started stretching silently, the basic legs-arms-trunk warmup he did before a game or a practise.
When he was finished, he looked over to see Ryan watching him silently. Their eyes met, and Ryan blushed and looked away.
Chad swallowed. “So. How does this yoga thing work?”
Several expressions flickered across Ryan’s face, too fast for Chad to decipher. He sat up straighter and shrugged, shoulders moving under the thin fabric of his shirt.
“It’s actually a deeply spiritual practise in a lot of Buddhist and Hindu religions, to do with balancing your life and your mind and your soul.”
Chad stared at him, and Ryan smiled a little, tentatively. “I mostly do it for my health.” He looked away. “There’s lots of different poses, standing, sitting, lying down. I guess we’ll be doing mostly the easy, beginner ones.” The teacher called for their attention, and Ryan twisted himself around on the mat, facing front. “The important thing is not to force it. It’s not meant to hurt or stress you out, it’s supposed to be relaxing.”
Chad nodded and turned his eyes front as the teacher showed them the first pose she wanted them to do. He heard Ryan sigh and make a disapproving noise, and snuck a glance to see Ryan moving into the same position with a good deal more grace -hands and feet on the floor, bent at the hips. He fumbled to copy him, feeling off-balance and clumsy.
“Downward facing dog,” said Ryan clearly, and then suddenly was kneeling beside him. “Straighten up here,” he said, pressing his fingertips gently between Chad’s shoulders. Chad’s heart thudded sharply in his chest at the touch “And bend more at the hips. How flexible are you? Can you put your heels on the floor?”
Chad was pretty sure he couldn’t, but he tried anyway, and Ryan made a pleased noise. “Good, that’s good. Remember to breathe, Chad, this isn’t an endurance challenge.”
Ryan was right; most of the things they did that class were at best slightly uncomfortable to achieve and not remotely painful to maintain. After about thirty seconds, Chad realised the teacher had no idea what was going on, so he just let Ryan’s quiet voice guide him, the occasional careful touches on his back or shoulders to indicate where he needed to straighten or bend. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, as Ryan instructed him, and when the bell rang he opened his eyes, feeling calm and relaxed and kind of - floppy.
Ryan poked him. “Dude.”
Chad blinked. All around him, students were moving to the exit, talking and shoving each other, ready for the weekend. He looked up at the ceiling. “This is weird.”
Ryan huffed. “No kidding.” He was quiet for a minute. “Look, Chad. I wanted to apologise.”
Chad sat up. “You don’t have to.”
Ryan stared at his knees. “I think I do. I shouldn’t have done what I did and I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable and I hate how stupid it’s made things.” He looked miserable. “I just want everything to be normal again.”
Chad just stared at him, unsure how to respond. Ryan snuck a sideways glance at him, and then sighed and started to get up. “Look, don’t even worry about it. It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” said Chad sharply, suddenly mad. He got up, picked up his mat and followed Ryan to stack it with the others against the wall. “It’s not fine. You kissed me, and that freaked me out because I didn’t think you - but we’re friends. And I’ve never had a problem with the gay thing before. So there’s a problem here somewhere.”
Ryan looked startled. “Um. Yes?”
“Okay,” said Chad. “I have no idea what to do.”
Ryan frowned. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes,” said Chad, and then, “No.” He sighed. “I wish you hadn’t kissed me, because it’s made everything complicated when it used to be simple.” He sat down heavily on the stack of mats.
“I’m sorry,” said Ryan. “I wish I hadn’t either.” He sat beside Chad, and they were quiet for a few minutes in the empty gym.
“Is this the part where I say ‘can we still be friends?’” said Chad wryly, at length.
“I don’t know. Can we?” Ryan looked at him, a sad twist to his mouth. “Because if you freak out every time I’m in the room, I don’t see how well that’s going to go.”
“I won’t,” Chad swore. “Well, I’ll try not to. It’s just.”
“What?”
“I can’t help thinking - that you’re, I dunno, looking at me or something. All the time. I mean, I know you’re not, but.”
Ryan put his head in his hands. “Okay. If I promise I’m not checking you out every time you show any skin below the neck, and you promise not to panic and flee every time I get within twenty feet, maybe this will work.”
“I seem to remember you doing a fair bit of fleeing.”
“I am always mindful of the comfort of my friends.”
“You were freaking out as much as I was, weren’t you?” Daring, Chad nudged him gently.
Ryan ducked his head. “Um, possibly more.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I thought you might hate me.”
“I don’t,” said Chad immediately. “I don’t hate you. I just didn’t know that you, uh.”
Ryan frowned. “You knew I was gay.”
“I never thought that included me,” said Chad plaintively, and Ryan actually laughed.
“Right, because you’re so special. You should be flattered, Danforth.”
“Because you couldn’t control yourself?”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I am very discerning about who I kiss, Mr Ten-in-one-night.”
“I only made it to six. Well, seven, counting the surprise one.”
“You’re slipping.”
Chad laughed, and something in his chest unclenched and eased - if he and Ryan could banter like this again, all might not be lost. “You distracted me.”
For a moment, Ryan looked disconcertingly sly. Then he shrugged, all innocence. “My bad. Won’t happen again.”
~
Chad couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Things went back mostly to normal. He and Ryan started hanging out again, the team went back to being uncomfortably polite to Ryan when they couldn’t ignore him, and Ryan was careful but not obvious about not touching Chad unless Chad initiated it. And it was okay, except now that the awkwardness had passed and there wasn’t any danger of losing Ryan as a friend, it kept coming to mind at the weirdest times.
He’d be sitting in math class, staring blankly at the diagrams on the board, and would remember the way Ryan had placed his hand flat against Chad’s chest when he kissed him, palm warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
Or Ryan’s nervous, unhappy face popping into his head when he had his hand up Kerry Mills’ skirt in the backseat of her car, which completely ruined the mood, and left Chad feeling guilty for reasons he couldn’t define.
He couldn’t even go out into the backyard anymore without seeing the treehouse and getting a tense, nervous feeling in his stomach.
The real crux came about ten days after they made up from their fight. East High had a game against West High - not one of those big make-or-break games, just a friendly little winding-down-the-season grudge match. They won, by a narrow margin, and it was all very amicable, shaking hands with the opposing team and hoisting Troy onto their shoulders - mostly habit, at this point.
They headed into the locker rooms to shower up before they went out for the post-game victory pizza. The showers were individual stalls at least, but there were no doors. Chad headed into the stall furthest from the entrance, the one nobody would have any reason to walk by, for a little privacy - the game’s adrenaline always left him punchy and reeling, which usually translated itself into arousal. Hey, he was eighteen, any emotion above “suicidally depressed” could turn into arousal if unchecked. So, a little privacy.
He could hear the other guys talking, yelling to each other as he soaped himself up and set-to with vigour. A large family, limited privacy and many nosy friends had left Chad with masturbatory habits probably best described as ‘efficient’ - start to finish in under three minutes, come embarrassing interruptions, visual aids or a semi-public venue. But today, his body didn’t seem to want to co-operate.
A few stalls away, his teammates were drying off, drifting away. Lockers banged in the next room, the crack and yelp of somebody snapping a wet towel, laughter. Chad stared down at his dick, feeling oddly betrayed. His erection wasn’t subsiding as the adrenaline ebbed, but it also wasn’t reaching its usual conclusion, either.
“You coming, Chad?” Troy’s voice was alarmingly close, and Chad nearly slipped and cracked his head open.
“Be there in a second,” he called back, and heard Troy snicker.
Closing his eyes, Chad tried to concentrate. He so didn’t have time for this. He was going out for pizza with his friends, and probably a movie at somebody’s house. Maybe he could convince Ryan to split a plain cheese pie with him so he wouldn’t have to spend half the night picking olives off, and then there was Ryan in his head, grinning around a mouthful of pizza, and no, no, that was wrong -
Panicked, Chad pushed his mind to other things - to girls, smooth thighs and perky breasts and candy-flavoured mouths, and Ryan kissing him in the treehouse, dry and clumsy and terrifying. Ryan wanting him, and as much as Chad tried not to think about it, he knew Ryan probably did, thought about Chad doing exactly this, maybe touched himself like this thinking about Chad doing this -
Chad bit his lip bloody as he came, gasping.
Part 2