Jonas Valanciunas, shirtless, raised his eyebrows when Pascal Siakam sat next to him. His eyes got even wider when Pascal began to caress his biceps. “Uh, what are you doing man?”
Pascal’s attention was fixed on Jonas’ arm muscles as he rubbed them up and down. “Trying to get some of your three-point shooting to rub off on me,” he answered in a serious voice that held no trace of humor.
Jonas looked around the locker room, hoping that none of his other teammates had taken note of the unfolding awkwardness. “I’m not sure about your culture, but in culture of Lithuania, when man rub body of another man, that means specific thing which maybe you are unaware of.”
Pascal continued to stroke Jonas’ arm from his shoulder to his wrist, occasionally wrapping his hands around it and squeezing. “How else am I going to receive your three-point shooting power?” Pascal asked, as if this was a normal question to ask. “It’s not like you can put it in a bottle to have me drink.”
“I know of no way to transfer the skill of three-point shooting from person to person,” Jonas answered. He tried to shift away when Pascal took off his shirt and started rubbing his right arm against Jonas’ left, but Pascal didn’t take the hint. “But I am very sure that this is not such a way.”
Shifting his body up and down so that the lengths of their arms slid against each other, Pascal didn’t reply for a while. Finally, he said, “My arm is a little tingly. I think it’s working.”
“I will be honest with you, your actions are very homosexual right now,” Jonas said. “If we were not good friends, I would punching you for gayness of behavior towards me.”
Pascal got up from his spot next to his teammate. “All done,” he declared, pulling his shirt back on. “I guess we’ll soon find out whether it worked or not.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Jonas replied. “Please never do that again.”