Work Header

Code Gay Chicken

Work Text:

"Drink up, it's not going to change who you are." Gilfoyle says, passing over his glass, and that's it. Dinesh has had it up to here with his shit.

He downs the glass in one and then looks Gilfoyle in the eye.

"You know what, fine? I admit it. I'm code gay. I'm gay for you and gay for your code. I want to have gay sex with your code. I want to have sex with you while watching you code. I want to code while having sex with you. Are you happy?"

The look on Gilfoyle's face is priceless. Dinesh honestly isn't sure where that outburst came from, or how half of the things he described would work, logistically. He must be drunk as fuck to have pulled off a lie like that so cleanly, because the look of pure shock on Gilfoyle's face right now? That's gold.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" Gilfoyle asks.

"Of course I'm fucking with you, dickwad. I'm going to go get ready for bed."

Dinesh pushes back from the table, leaving two empty glasses and a stunned Gilfoyle in his wake.


The next day, they win TechCrunch, so they're a bit preoccupied with that for a while. Gilfoyle has nearly forgotten about the whole "code gay" incident by the time things have settled down a week later, so he's completely caught off guard when he's running through a list of new hardware orders with Jared, and Dinesh, passing through the kitchen, says,

"Let me know when the stuff comes in. I would looove to play with your hardware." He says it like that, too, like it actually has three 'o's. And was that a fucking wink?

Jared turns to Gilfoyle, concerned. "Was that a case of workplace harassment? I have some paperwork that you can complete, anonymously, if there are any incidents you need to report."

Gilfoyle gives Jared a look. "How would it be anonymous if I wrote up the incident that you just saw happen and then turned the form in to you?"

Jared looks genuinely puzzled by this. He's clearly never worked for a small company before. He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again, then reopens it. Gilfoyle leaves him alone at the table to stew on this for a while.


It goes on like this for the next few days. Dinesh peering over his shoulder or creeping up behind him at his workstation and saying things like,

"Whew, that is one sexy motherfunction."

Or, when Gilfoyle tells him to look something up on Stack Overflow, Dinesh retorts with

"I'll make your stack overflow."

Half of his innuendos don't even make sense (the other half, Gilfoyle admits to himself, are actually rather clever). But either way, it's starting to get really fucking annoying. Gilfoyle is almost tempted to "anonymously" report Dinesh to Jared, just to see what he would do. But this isn't Jared's battle to fight. No, Gilfoyle started this by messing with Dinesh, and turnabout is fair play, but now, it's time to fight fire with fire.


"Gilfoyle, what the fuck is this?"

Dinesh looks down at his terminal. There's a small Python script on it that definitely wasn't there when he left, and it uses some colorful language, terminating in:


"At TechCrunch, I promised you a Python app that could make you suck my dick." Gilfoyle smirks.

Dinesh turns to him. "Okay, now that is just juvenile." Then he remembers that he's supposed to be pretending he's gay for Gilfoyle, and adds, "at least buy me dinner first."

"Fine, I will. I'll pick you up at 8."

Dinesh makes a face, "Gilfoyle, we live in the same house."

"Fine, we'll borrow Erlich's van at 8." There, that would show him. Gilfoyle would take Dinesh on the world's gayest date and freak him the fuck out - that would teach him to watch his innuendos.


Dinner feels more or less normal - they get burritos at a small Mexican place they've been to a million times before - with the glaring exception of the game of footsie Gilfoyle has initiated. Dinesh, undeterred, looks Gilfoyle right in the eye and footsies right back, all the while talking on as though nothing of note is going on underneath the table.

Dinesh has just started to creep his foot above Gilfoyle's ankle when Gilfoyle calls for the check.

"Dinesh, you're just going to love where we go next."

"We're going somewhere else?"

Gilfoyle grins, a little bit maniacally. "You'll see."


Where they go next turns out to be "Rainbow Nite" at the local ice rink.

"We're going ice skating?" Dinesh asks, surprised.

"Not just any ice skating. We're going gay ice skating." Gilfoyle laughs. "Unless you have a problem with that?" After Gilfoyle's searches for "gayest date ideas in Palo Alto" had proved fruitless (Google seemed to think that "gayest" was a synonym for "worst" - homophobic much, Google?), Gilfoyle had remembered passing the ice rink and seeing a sign for "Rainbow Nite" on his way home from grocery shopping last week. Certainly, there probably weren't many date ideas gayer than something called "Rainbow Nite."

"No problem," Dinesh tries to look unconcerned. Gilfoyle is still just fucking with him, right? Right? "I just didn't know that was a thing."

"Great, then let's go!" Gilfoyle puts out a hand. Dinesh, not to be bested, takes it.


Gay ice skating turns out to be just like normal ice skating, with two notable exceptions. One, the music tends to be a little heavy on the ABBA - Dinesh could swear this is the third time he's heard them play Dancing Queen, and two, there are almost no women here, though there are still plenty of couples skating around in pairs. One thing that isn't different, however, is that Dinesh sucks just as much at gay ice skating as he does at the regular kind.

After falling on his ass for the third time in that many minutes, Dinesh looks up angrily.

"Okay, this was great. I made an ass of myself, can we go now?"

Gilfoyle, suprisingly, genuinely looks contrite. "I didn't bring you here to humiliate you. Have you seriously never ice skated before?"

"It's not exactly the most popular sport in Pakistan." Dinesh grumbles.

"Here, let me help you." Gilfoyle extends a hand to help Dinesh off the ice, and then, to Dinesh's suprise, continues on to patiently teach him how to skate.


"How are you so good at that?" Dinesh asks. They're back in the van now, almost back to the house. Skating had turned out to be not so much of a disaster after all, once Gilfoyle had given him a few pointers. The gay couples and singles sharing the rink with them had quickly faded into the background, and all in all it had proved to be a nice evening out with his friend - it felt like a temporary truce in this battle that they had been waging against each other.

"I'm Canadian." Gilfoyle says, like that answers anything.

"And what? All Canadians are trained to ice skate at birth?"

Gilfoyle shrugs. "Pretty much. We wear little blades in the womb. Makes labor a bitch." And ugh, that was a mental image Dinesh did not need.

They're home now. Gilfoyle slowly brakes and pulls into the driveway.

"So uh, Gilfoyle, I had a really nice time." It's truce over now, time to sell this and call Gilfoyle's bluff once and for all, so they can end this weird game and go back to fucking with each other over other things.

Gilfoyle rises to the bait. "Yeah, man, so did I. We should do this again sometime." His face is getting a bit closer now - it's game on.

Dinesh lets his eyelids shut a bit, moves his face closer too. "Yeah, that would be nice." It actually would, he thinks, minus all of the gay weirdness.

And then he stops thinking, because holy shit Gilfoyle is actually kissing him, holy shit holy shit holy shit. He tells himself that it's just surprise that causes him to let the kiss linger for a few seconds before pulling back, and not any other reason.

Dinesh pulls back, with a horrified look on his face. "Wait, what the fuck? I thought we were playing some messed up game of gay chicken."

Gilfoyle looks just as stunned. "So did I."

Dinesh laughs, nervously. "Wait, so then, who won?"

Now Gilfoyle looks nervous, for once in his life. "I think we both did." He pauses a beat, then asks, "Rematch?"

"Fuck yes." Dinesh says, pulling Gilfoyle in for another kiss. "You're on."