Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Theo Pembroke
Sunday was our first full day living under our new arrangement.
When I woke, Beckett and I were still tangled in the sheets, but Asher was gone.
For a moment, a thin thread of sadness pulled tight in my chest. Then the smell of breakfast drifted in from somewhere down the hall, and I let out a quiet breath.
Of course. He was cooking.
I nudged Beckett’s shoulder. He groaned and rolled onto his back, blinking as if he were slowly putting the pieces together.
“Where—I—huh,” he mumbled, his eyes roaming around the room.
His sleep-heavy brain was still trying to catch up to the fact that he’d woken up in my bed.
I laughed softly and pushed the blankets off. “Come on. Let’s go get breakfast.”
He rubbed his face and sat up slowly, still dazed, and I watched him for a second longer than I meant to.
If it were up to me, he’d wake up here every morning. Both of them would. No sneaking away, no hesitation, no careful steps around something none of us had said out loud yet.
Maybe someday.
Not now. Not yet.
But we were getting close. I could feel it in the silence, in the way Asher cooked for us, and in the way Beckett didn’t leave.
Like something fragile and bright was beginning to take shape, and none of us wanted to scare it away.
We’d decided to let Beckett have the third bedroom—the one where Asher and I usually filmed our content. But I worried about how he’d feel about that arrangement, so a plan started forming in my mind.
I tugged at Beckett’s arm until he finally rolled out of bed. He shuffled behind me down the hallway, shoulders slumped, still half-asleep.
The kitchen smelled of bacon. Asher stood at the stove, flipping strips with the practiced ease of a seasoned chef.
Beckett’s nose twitched, and he straightened slightly, making a beeline for the coffeemaker while rubbing sleep from his eyes.
I wasn’t even sure he knew how to make coffee for himself.
Whenever he needed caffeine, he’d just swing by one of the coffee shops—downtown if he was visiting me, or campus if he was heading to class.
Asher and I had a coffee machine that took pods because Asher wanted to make his own, while I preferred to buy mine.
Couldn’t make my favorite drink at home.
I watched as he squinted at the machine as if it were some alien technology.
For a guy who probably had baristas memorize his order, it surprised me that he even recognized it as something that made coffee—though the rack of pods next to it was probably a dead giveaway.
“So, how do I make coffee? I’m exhausted.” His shoulders slumped as he exhaled, mouth stretching wide before he blinked slowly.
Asher rolled his eyes and chuckled, the sound warm instead of cutting.
Two weeks ago, he would have crossed his arms and said something like, “What’s wrong, Richie Rich?
Never had to make your own coffee before?
” Now he just reached for the box of coffee pods, his shoulder brushing against Beckett’s without the usual flinch of contact.
“Let me show you, Princess,” Asher offered.
I thought they’d fight, but Beckett groaned. He liked it. I knew I had made the right choice by letting Asher and Beckett have their moment. I had the best intentions. Not only to bring them together after something was clearly bothering Asher, but because I had an instinct about Beckett.
Now it was confirmed. We liked the same things. But when it came down to it, would Beckett be vers and still want me? Or had he decided he only wanted to bottom?
The question burned on the tip of my tongue, but asking meant risking an answer I might not want to hear. Still, we were adults navigating something complicated together. Whatever his preference, we’d figure it out—that much I was certain of.
I watched as Asher showed him how to make his first coffee.
He even handed him the coffee mug with “I’m gay” emblazoned across it in rainbow letters—a Christmas gift from my mom the year after I came out.
Beckett’s cheeks flushed pink as he accepted it, fingers lingering where they brushed against Asher’s.
Classic Asher move, testing boundaries with that mischievous glint in his eye.
“What’s the plan for today?” Beckett asked once he had his first sips of coffee.
“I thought we’d figure out the bed situation,” I offered.
Taking a seat at the kitchen island, I watched Asher divide the breakfast onto three plates. Beckett slid onto the stool beside me, his mug in hand.
“I’m not sure what we could do to make space beyond sleeping in the sex bed,” Beckett responded.
His voice gave nothing away—was he disturbed by the thought of sleeping where we filmed, or secretly aroused by it? I watched his face for clues. It wasn’t awful, since we only filmed twice a week, but I had a better plan.
One that brought them to my bed, and mine to theirs.
“Well. I think…I think every room should be a sex room. We can move the toys and necessary items to my room and then get them out as we need them. We can rotate which bed we film on and wash the sheets afterward. Sex is a normal thing that would’ve happened on our beds anyway,” I suggested.
Even without the videos, our beds would see plenty of action—just with other people instead of each other.
Having that third room as our designated filming space made cleanup easier, sure, but I couldn’t stand the thought of Beckett feeling like a guest in what was supposed to be his home now. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel unwelcome and leave.
The truth was complicated.
I’d wanted Beckett in my space for years, but the thought of actually sharing walls with him had terrified me.
We’d crossed so many lines already—his head on my shoulder during movie nights, his body curled against mine when he crashed in my bed after studying.
Each time his fingers absently traced patterns on my arm, I’d hold my breath, wondering if he knew what that did to me.
He never seemed to notice how his casual affection made my pulse race, how different it was from how other straight guys treated their gay friends.
And somehow, that made it harder to bear.
“Yeah, I mean…that sounds good to me,” Beckett said, his eyes traveling to Asher as if he cared about his opinion. There was a quiet disappointment in his tone.
I hoped I wasn’t losing them to each other. I felt it—the connection between all of us. But insecurity still lived beneath the surface, dragging me down. Timing was everything. If we were too late, we’d lose it all. Too soon, we’d break something fragile.
“I could deal with that. It makes sense. Beckett deserves his own space, so he’s not constantly in mine,” Asher huffed, but a smile formed between them. Their constant, obnoxious bickering had recently become playful banter.
“Maybe… maybe we could share a bed sometimes,” I suggested with a small shrug, trying to sound casual.
Beckett’s head lifted at once. A smile flickered across his face before he could hide it, soft and a little fragile. Only then did I understand. He hadn’t been annoyed or distant, just quietly disappointed at the thought of us not sleeping together anymore.
The realization warmed something gentle in my chest.
“It wasn’t awful, sleeping next to Beckett,” Asher muttered, shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth as if the words meant nothing. “I could do it once a week.”
I held back the news that I had ordered a bigger bed and a custom-made frame and headboard—one that could secure handcuffs. It would be here within a few days, ready for use soon, whether that meant filming or sleeping.
“And I’m tolerating Asher enough that I could agree, and I’d like to throw in movie nights where we pick on an alternating basis,” Beckett said, pushing his finished plate to the side.
I watched them, warmth spreading in my chest. The walls between us were crumbling, brick by brick.
I’d always craved more than just sexual exclusivity—I wanted their eyes to search for me when I walked into a room, wanted to be the person they reached for in their sleep.
Something permanent. Something that wouldn’t leave me wondering if tomorrow they’d find someone better.
“We might as well devote a night to Asher showing us a new meal, too,” I added.
Asher groaned. “Sundays, I’ll teach you both how to make a new meal. Friday, we’ll grab takeout. If there are going to be three hungry mouths in one house, someone else has to learn to cook.”
“I’ll pay for Beckett and I too take a basic cooking class, too,” I offered.
It was the least I could do since Asher was the only one who knew how to make anything that wasn’t cereal, fish, or mashed potatoes—two of those things being something he just taught us, and we hadn’t experimented with making for ourselves.
Surely someone out there specializes in teaching kitchen disasters like us the basics. Though knowing Asher, he’d reject any suggestion of hiring a personal chef. He always insisted on keeping one foot planted firmly in the real world, even when my parent’s money could easily solve our problems.
Beckett stood up, carried his plate to the sink, and—to my genuine surprise—actually rinsed it before placing it carefully in the dishwasher. I caught Asher’s widened eyes following the movement, his jaw dropped as if witnessing some rare phenomenon.
And he basically was.
No one knew Beckett understood how a dishwasher worked, let alone what it was.
Then, Asher pushed away from the island and moved toward Beckett. I watched Beckett’s throat work in a swallow as Asher approached, his eyes widening slightly when Asher braced both palms against the counter, one on either side of Beckett’s hips, caging him in.
“Are you doing okay after last night? Sore? I’m thinking you could use a hot bath.” The gentleness in Asher’s voice caught us both off guard—I could tell by the way Beckett’s eyebrows lifted, his lips parting slightly.
Beckett and I made eye contact across the island, and I watched as Asher placed kisses along his neck. “I’ll go get some candles and get a warm bath going. You both need one after last night.” My emotions battled between admiration and offense.
I opened my mouth, but he shot me a glare and interrupted before I could speak. “You fell asleep in your own cum last night. A bath won’t hurt.”
I winced, the memory of how I’d acted after waking from the nightmare making me want to crawl into a hole and stay there.
Beckett had never seen me like that before. Still, he hadn’t treated me any differently this morning, hadn’t looked at me with pity or discomfort. Part of me had started to believe I’d imagined the whole thing, that maybe it hadn’t been as bad as it felt in my head.
Then Asher mentioned it again, and the fragile comfort shattered.
Beckett cleared his throat. “I was promised a bath with Theo, so you better get it ready,” he said lightly, glancing toward Asher.
Relief loosened something tight in my chest. When Asher turned away, I mouthed a quiet thank you to Beckett.
Beckett’s expression softened as he stepped closer.
“It wasn’t too much, Theo,” he said gently.
“It was… beautiful. Not your pain. Never that. Just… the way Asher took care of you. The way you let yourself be held, let yourself be comforted.” His voice dropped, quieter, more vulnerable.
“I want to be there too. Whenever you need it. Whenever you need me.”
My throat tightened before I could think of anything to say.
Beckett smiled as if he hadn’t just cracked something open between us and stepped toward the bathroom. “Come on. Naked bath time cuddling, then movies and studying.”
“And we’re planning more video content,” Asher added, appearing from the hallway without us noticing. “I think we should come up with a Halloween idea.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “Bath’s ready.”