Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Tommy
By the time Tommy finishes buttoning his shirt, the apartment has that charged, quiet kind of calm, like everything normal has been gently moved aside to make room for something private.
Logan is at the dresser, pulling on a clean tee, moving with the same unhurried confidence he always has. Chase lingers near the doorway, towel still slung low around his hips, damp hair pushing into his forehead like he didn’t bother to tame it before stepping back into the room.
Tommy should feel shy.
Instead, he feels… held.
Not in a suffocating way. In a way that makes him want to stand a little straighter.
He checks himself in the mirror and realizes he’s smiling like an idiot.
Logan catches it.
“What?” Logan asks, already amused.
Tommy shrugs, pretending he’s busy smoothing the front of his shirt. “Nothing.”
“Mm,” Logan hums, unconvinced. He steps closer behind Tommy, close enough that Tommy can feel his heat at his back. Logan’s hands settle briefly on Tommy’s shoulders, steady pressure, a quiet claim that isn’t ownership so much as reassurance.
Chase’s gaze meets Tommy’s in the mirror. Not staring. Not hungry in an obvious way. Just attentive like he’s looking at Tommy as a person, not a moment.
It makes Tommy’s throat tighten in a way that has nothing to do with nerves.
“Okay,” Tommy says, turning away from the mirror before he gets too soft about it. “Are we… doing this?”
Logan’s mouth quirks. “We’re doing dinner. The rest is yours to decide.”
Chase lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”
Logan’s grin flashes and vanishes again, something playful, restrained. “I can multitask.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, but the sound that comes out is a laugh. He reaches down to adjust his waistband, then stills for half a beat, not because anything hurts, not because he’s uncertain, but because the awareness is there.
The secret.
It isn’t loud. It isn’t uncomfortable. It’s just present, like a quiet hand resting at the base of his spine from the inside out.
Chase’s words from earlier float back up: something small to carry with you.
Tommy hadn’t expected how sweet that would feel.
“How you doing?” Logan asks, like he can read the shift on Tommy’s face.
Tommy nods. “Good. Just… aware.”
Logan’s fingers graze the back of Tommy’s neck, a grounding touch that makes Tommy’s shoulders unclench. “If you want it out before we go, we take it out.”
Tommy glances at Chase. Chase doesn’t push. Doesn’t look eager. He just watches Tommy with that steady patience that somehow feels like respect.
Tommy swallows, then shakes his head.
“No,” he says, surprising himself with how certain it comes out. “I want to keep it.”
Logan’s eyes darken slightly, not heat, exactly. Something like pride.
Chase’s mouth softens into a small smile. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Then it stays ours.”
They leave the apartment like a normal couple plus one, jackets, keys, casual conversation. They ride the elevator with a neighbor who barely glances at them, like three men standing close is nothing more than a coincidence of geometry.
Tommy keeps his face neutral anyway, because it feels like the point.
He is walking around in public with a secret.
And the secret is not shame.
It’s care.
Outside, the air is colder than he expects. Logan drapes his coat over Tommy’s shoulders without asking, and Tommy lets him because fighting Logan’s caretaking is a losing battle, and also because it makes his chest feel warm.
Chase walks on Tommy’s other side, hands in his pockets, close enough that their sleeves brush now and then.
Tommy can’t tell which contact is doing it, the coat, the brushing fabric, the steady company, but he feels calmer than he has in weeks.
Not numb.
Chosen.
The restaurant is small and softly lit, the kind of place where you can hear other people’s laughter but not their conversations. Candlelight flickers in little glass holders. A server greets them with practiced warmth and leads them to a booth near the back.
Tommy slides in first, naturally, then pauses.
The booth sits two on one side, one on the other.
For one dumb, flashing second, his brain does the math like it’s a test.
Logan solves it without a word.
He sits on the outside of the booth’s long side, then pats the seat beside him. Tommy slips in between Logan and the table, leaving space on the other side.
Chase sits across from them, at first.
He settles in, elbows on the table, posture relaxed, and Tommy realizes he’s watching Tommy watch Logan with something that looks like amusement.
“What?” Tommy asks.
Chase’s eyes flick briefly to Logan’s hand, which is resting at the base of Tommy’s spine without Logan seeming aware he’s doing it.
“Nothing,” Chase says. “Just… you two are obvious when you’re comfortable.”
Tommy snorts. “We’re not obvious.”
Logan doesn’t look up from the menu. “We’re extremely obvious.”
Tommy kicks him lightly under the table. Logan catches his ankle with his foot like it’s nothing. Holds it there. Still reading.
Tommy’s cheeks warm.
Chase watches the exchange and huffs a quiet laugh.
Their drinks arrive. They order something easy. The conversation stays normal on purpose, work stories, small complaints, the kind of banter that makes a relationship feel like home.
But beneath every normal thing is the private layer.
Logan’s knee occasionally nudges Tommy’s, steady and familiar.
Chase’s gaze lingers just half a beat longer than polite.
And Tommy keeps feeling that small, constant reminder low in his body, quiet pressure that isn’t demanding anything but makes him aware of himself in a way that feels… awake.
At some point the server leans in to refill waters and says, smiling, “You three look like you’re celebrating.”
Tommy opens his mouth, then closes it again, unsure what to say.
Logan smiles easily. “Something like that.”
The server leaves, and Tommy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“That was smooth,” Tommy mutters.
Logan’s thumb brushes the back of his neck. “You okay?”
Tommy nods. “Yeah. Just, ”
He stops, because under the table Chase’s foot has found his ankle.
Not a rub. Not a tease.
Just contact.
A quiet hello.
Tommy’s breath changes anyway, betraying him.
Logan notices instantly. His eyes flick down, then back to Tommy’s face. There’s no accusation in his expression. Just awareness.
Permission.
Tommy swallows, then gives the smallest nod. A yes that nobody else can see.
Chase’s foot slides upward, slow enough to stop at any point. It traces the inside of Tommy’s calf like a question.
Tommy’s fingers tighten around his water glass.
He is suddenly hyper-aware of his face, of keeping it neutral, of not giving away the secret to the couple laughing two tables over, to the server, to the entire world.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s thrilling.
It’s… intimate in a way he didn’t expect.
Logan’s hand stays at his back, steady as a heartbeat. The touch feels like a tether.
Chase’s foot moves higher, just brushing the line of Tommy’s knee now, a slow slide that makes Tommy’s stomach drop pleasantly.
Tommy’s cheeks burn. He hates how easy it is to read him. He loves it too.
He shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the booth, trying to balance excitement with the physical reality of sitting upright in public while his body is doing private math.
The movement changes something.
Not dramatically, just a subtle internal shift, like a reminder turning into a stronger presence.
Tommy freezes.
He blinks once, then forces his face to stay calm.
That felt… different.
Chase’s foot stills immediately, as if he sensed the change.
Logan’s hand presses a fraction more firmly into Tommy’s back.
Tommy tries a tiny adjustment again, carefully, barely moving his hips.
The pressure changes again, sharper, fuller, suddenly not just there but wrong.
A cold thread of panic curls through the warmth.
Tommy’s breath catches.
He swallows hard and reaches for his water like it will fix him.
It doesn’t.
The room stays the same, candlelight, soft music, laughter.
But Tommy’s body feels like it’s leaning toward a ledge.
Logan turns his head slightly. His voice stays low, normal enough that it could be about the menu.
“You good?” he asks.
Tommy forces a nod even though his pulse has started to sprint.
He tries to speak and realizes his voice might shake.
So he doesn’t.
He slides his hand under the table instead, fingers searching blindly until they find Logan’s.
Logan takes him immediately.
No hesitation.
No questions asked.
Tommy squeezes once, hard.
Logan squeezes back, steady.
Tommy focused on that pressure, on the steady warmth of Logan’s palm anchoring him while his body felt suddenly unfamiliar, too aware, too responsive, reacting faster than his thoughts could catch up.
It wasn’t pain.
That was the strange part.
It was heat. Fullness. A slow, involuntary shift inside him that made his breath hitch despite himself.
His body was opening.
Responding.
And the realization hit all at once.
“Oh,” he whispered under his breath, mortified understanding flooding in.
Logan leaned closer immediately. “Talk to me.”
Tommy swallowed, keeping his voice barely audible. “I think it, moved.”
Logan didn’t react outwardly. Didn’t tense. Didn’t panic.
He just nodded once.
“Okay,” he said softly. “That’s okay.”
Across the table, Chase’s gaze sharpened, reading the exchange without needing words.
Tommy stared down at his plate, face burning.
“I didn’t mean to…” he started.
Logan squeezed his hand again.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Nothing went wrong.”
The calm certainty in his voice slowed Tommy’s spiraling thoughts just enough for him to breathe again.
Logan glanced toward the server station, then back at Tommy.
“We’re gonna head out,” he said quietly. “No rush. No scene.”
Tommy nodded quickly, relief mixing with embarrassment.
Chase signaled the server smoothly when she passed, voice casual as he asked for the check.