"Maybe?" Drake's smirk is only visible for a moment, before he's tugging Jesus' head to the side to murmur directly into his ear. "The last guy who played sex chicken with me wound up getting fucked at a picnic table. Just warning you."

He does make a token effort to cool things down, though, easing back against the couch cushions and loosening his grip on Jesus. A lock of his now loose hair gets twirled around Drake's fingers and drawn forward to tap him on the nose teasingly. The distance means he has to shout to be heard again, but Jesus can also probably read his lips.

"And you took your hair down."