In the eight-plus months since Jake Bowden first got a job as a prep cook at El Pollo Loco, he’d been upgraded from in charge of salsas and chopped vegetable toppings, to a line cook who actually got to work the grill. It was faster-paced work that helped his shifts go by, so he could clock out and go home to his boyfriends.

The fact that both Chet and Cris worked from home irritated him sometimes, but it wasn’t as if Jake was smart enough to invest money and make thousands (maybe millions?) like Chet, or start up his own web design company like Cris. They both oozed smarts, while Jake was a former go-go-boy-turned-cook.

He did love cooking, though, thanks to home lessons from Chet, and then from devouring the man’s entire cookbook collection. Getting the job at a Mexican restaurant had been one of Jake’s proudest moments to date, and he was grateful for the chance he’d gotten from the owners. Maybe he’d even get good enough to run his own kitchen one day, but he couldn’t imagine ever being successful enough to own his own restaurant.

Except that was Doubt whispering in his ear, and ever since his bipolar diagnosis last summer, Jake was wary of Doubt. Doubt had made Jake push Cris away when they first met, positive a go-go boy with no real career aspirations wasn’t anything a guy like Cris would really want. Jake had spiraled into a kind of depression he didn’t ever want to experience again, so he tried to maintain a positive attitude at all times.

But not too positive. Sometimes he still got nervous when he was too excited, worried it was a hypomanic episode in the making.

No, he needed to stay in the present and focus on his work and his boyfriends.

Tonight was the first Friday night in ages that they’d had free to spend as a throuple. Chet was pairing down on how frequently he filmed in the studio, so he was now only doing Tuesday night shoots. Last week’s shoot with Perry and Avery was the last weekend shoot for the expected future, and that was cool with Jake. He loved having more weekend time with his guys, and especially being able to cook dinner with Chet on Saturday and Sunday.

Cooking dinner was their thing, and with Jake’s job he wasn’t often home early enough to help anymore. But that was life, right? Things changed.

Fernando yelled at him in Spanish, and Jake realized he’d almost let two carne asada quesadillas burn. He flipped them quickly, then checked on the serving of chicken tinga heating for his next ticket. Jake liked that the food here was heated and prepared to order, instead of on a big assembly line of hot and cold containers like fast food places. But it also meant he had to pay attention and not let his brain wander into la-la land.

He got a text and waited until he’d cleared his tickets—mid-afternoon had quieted down from the lunch rush—to check.

Dell: You got some mail at the apartment. Want me to drop it at the restaurant?

Mail at the apartme—oh! Jake had almost forgotten that he’d requested information from The Restaurant School at Beech Hill College in Philadelphia. Out of curiosity, he’d researched Pennsylvania culinary schools, and that one had gotten some of the best online reviews. In the moment, he hadn’t wanted Chet or Cris to know he was looking, since he wasn’t even sure if school was for him, so he’d had the brochures sent to his old address in the city.

Jake: If you have time, that’d be great. Just give it to the hostess.

Dell: Cool.

Dell was a pretty chill guy and not nosy at all. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mention the mail to his uncle or to his boyfriend Taro. Taro was Cris’s best friend, and they told each other practically everything. Jake wanted to look at the information and see if he was even interested, before mentioning it to his boyfriends. No sense in discussing something he might not want to do.

About an hour later, Helena poked her head into the kitchen and told him he had mail in the employee lounge. Although lounge was kind, since it was a glorified closet with a tiny table, two folding chairs, and a bank of lockers for personal stuff. But hey, he got a free burrito every shift for his meal, so small break spaces didn’t bother him.

Since he’d already had his break, Jake had to wait until he clocked out and was in his car—okay, so it was Cris’s car—to tear open the envelope. Browse the info, especially the courses for an Associate Degree in Culinary Arts.

His heart sank.

“Exploring Psychology?” he said to no one. “American Courts and Legal System? What the fuck does that have to do with cooking food?”

Not even a week exploring the food of France in France—freaking France!—broke him out of that funk. He shoved the info back into the envelope, then threw it into the backseat, angry at himself for even daring to hope. He’d never pass classes like that. Sure, he had two years of college under his belt, but they’d been all general requirements while he farted around over his major. Nothing too hard, and even then he hadn’t quit with the best GPA.

Maybe I can find a local college that offers remedial cooking classes. Start small instead of bothering to dream big.

Stupid dream.

Jake drove home to Camp Hill and parked in front of the house he loved so much. His family was here, but how long would they really want Jake around if he couldn’t get his shit together? Getting his job at El Pollo Loco had been such a huge achievement at the time, because he was still getting a handle on his bipolar. Now?

Blah.

The downstairs of the house was strangely quiet, no lights on in the kitchen or formal living room they’d only really used back at Christmas for their huge tree. No scents of dinner cooking. He checked his phone again, but no texts from anyone saying they’d gone out for any reason.

Weird.

And disappointing.

Then he noticed something else off about the foyer: the door to the studio was wide open, and when he poked his head in, soft light glowed downstairs.

What was Chet doing in the studio if no one was scheduled to shoot tonight?

“Guys?” Jake called out.

A soft moan floated up from the basement, too faint for Jake to decipher whose it was. Curious now, he quietly descended the carpeted stairs and froze as he took in the room. He’d only been down here once before, during his first tour of the place last summer.

A bedroom set took up the filming space, and a camera on a tripod was directed right at it, its filming light bright green. Beyond the camera, though, were two naked bodies on the bed, one man going down on the other. Jake blinked hard to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but no. Chet was sucking Cris’s dick and filming it.

Whoa.

Jake’s own dick took immediate interest in the unexpected—and totally hot—scenario straight out of his own fantasies. While adjusting to his new bipolar meds, he’d once confided in Chet that the only way he’d achieved erection was by imagining himself filming Chet and Cris having sex in the studio.

Oh. My. God.

He descended the last few stairs and approached, mesmerized by the two gorgeous men on the bed who paid no attention to him as they switched positions. Jake marveled at Cris’s determined grin and sparkling eyes as he played with Chet’s cock. Chet’s red cheeks and soft moans as Cris did his dirtiest, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Jake was hard. He rubbed himself through his jeans as he walked toward the camera.

If they noticed him approaching, neither gave any indication or looked his way, so Jake played along. He peered through the camera and gasped at the sight of them. Sure, he’d watched some of Cris’s porn scenes, but this was different. This was chemistry on film.

This was love.

Detaching the camera from the tripod took him a second, and he hated that he jostled the shot, but once he had it in his hands, Jake’s entire body shivered with desire. He walked slowly around the set, zooming in and out, filming his own personal porn scene and loving every second of it. Bad feelings from today drained away, and all he cared about was Chet and Cris, and the beautiful way they made love.

His heart ached with his own love for them and how they’d planned this as a surprise for Jake. Simply because it was something he’d mentioned wanting. And now they were doing it.

The end of the fantasy had included Jake joining in the fun, but not yet. Capturing the moment Cris slid inside of Chet’s body was too exquisite to interrupt, and Jake’s breath caught at the enormity of what they were doing for him. Cris had never topped Chet before and to add this to Jake’s fantasy? His vision blurred briefly with hot tears he quickly blinked away.

He didn’t want to miss a second of this. Of them moving together, kissing and fucking and touching. Jake didn’t usually get poetic about stuff, but he was arrested by it all. Even more so when they switched, and Chet pushed into Cris’s willing hole. A little jealous, because Jake hadn’t topped Cris yet. He totally preferred bottoming, and he’d topped Chet once, simply because he’d never topped in his life, and while Jake enjoyed the experience, the opposite remained his favorite. He loved knowing he’d be taken care of, no matter the amount of teasing, toying or fingering.

Jake moved closer, zooming in to where Chet’s cock slammed into Cris’s hole, speeding up as he got nearer to orgasm. The dirtiness of filming this, of seeing it through the eyes of a camera, made his own dick pulse, but he couldn’t put the camera down to touch himself. As much as Jake wanted to touch something—him, them, pressure please!—he couldn’t look away.

“Oh, fuck, coming,” Chet said. He thrust a few more times, back muscles bunching, before dropping down to kiss Cris. Then Chet slid out and moved to the side, holding one of Cris’s legs in the air, leaving his red hole exposed. “Go on.”

Jake internally combusted as Cris clenched several times, until Chet’s come dripped back out. They sometimes shared post-release, but no one had ever show off their load like that, and Jake bit his lip hard to keep from reaching out. Scooping it up. Putting himself into the scene before it was time.

“How do you want to come, love?” Chet asked.

“Inside you,” Cris said without hesitation.

The bed bounced as Cris tackled Chet onto his back, and he was inside Chet in seconds. Jake shifted his place to keep them in frame. It lasted maybe a minute before Cris filled Chet with his release on a long, breathy moan. He pulled out and put two fingers inside, probably stroking Chet’s prostate, because Chet’s legs twitched. Then he fed those fingers to Chet.

“Jesus fuck,” Jake said, unable to censor the words.

For the first time, both men look at him with naked lust in their eyes. “You wanna taste?” Cris asked.

Jake put the camera down and leapt into bed, eager to taste Cris’s newly slicked fingers. To taste this unique combination of Chet’s body and Cris’s come, and it was brilliant. For all his boyfriends liked to come inside of Jake—sometimes one, very often both—and then share their mixed come from his wet hole, this was brand-new. And Jake loved it.

Chet attacked Jake’s belt and fly, while Cris managed his shirt. The pair had getting Jake naked fast down to a science, and they took turns sucking him until Jake blasted down Chet’s throat. Cris pouted, then stole Chet’s mouth for a tongue-and-come-filled kiss.

They collapsed in a damp heap, and Jake stared at the ceiling, shocked and amazed and so fucking happy.

Chet twirled his fingers in Jake’s hair. “What are you thinking?”

“How much I love you guys,” Jake replied. “Seriously, I had a crap day, and this was exactly what I needed.”

“Want to talk about your day?”

“Nah, maybe later. I’d rather cuddle.”

The magic word got both bigger men curled up on either side of Jake, arms and legs a big tangle. For a while, no one spoke. The loudest sound in the room was their collective breathing.

“So whose idea was it?” Jake asked.

“Happy accident,” Cris replied. “I was teasing Chet about the studio being empty, so he teased back about us filling it, and then he mentioned your fantasy. When we talked about making it even more special, Chet asked me to top him.”

“That was so gorgeous to watch, you guys. Thank you for fulfilling my fantasy. And we can totally delete the footage if you want.”

“Hell no, I plan on watching that later and jerking off to it.”

“Same,” Chet said. “Perhaps a three-man viewing at a later time. It’s getting late, and I’m famished.”

“Same,” Jake replied. Someone’s stomach growled at the mention of food. “We’ve got leftovers, right?”

“We do.”

They were all pretty messy thanks to the cuddling, so Jake popped into the first-floor shower, while Chet and Cris went upstairs to the master. His rinse was quick, so he had several things ready to microwave before his boyfriends joined him in the kitchen to make plates. Once they were settled at the dining table with drinks, Cris asked, “Wanna talk about your bad day now?”

Jake shrugged and speared a piece of pulled pork. “I mean, it wasn’t really any one thing.” Liar. “I messed up a few times because I let myself get distracted, and you know how hard I am on myself about my job. Being perfect.”

“No one’s perfect, love,” Chet said.

“I know, it’s something I’m working on. But watching you guys on camera? Hottest thing ever.”

Cris chuckled. “Believe it or not, we were standing naked in the foyer, fluffing each other so we knew exactly when you got home. Needed to make that moan loud enough to entice you.”

“You’re an evil genius. I like it.”

“Good,” Chet said, “because it’s been a chilly April, and that foyer is cold when you’re naked.”

Jake nearly choked on a green bean. “The whole visual is actually kind of hilarious.”

“Brat.” But Chet grinned, and Jake took it as the endearment it was.

Maybe he should bring up the culinary school thing. They were happy, joking, in great moods as they shared dinner. But thinking about the course requirements only reminded Jake that he wasn’t smart enough to do it, and he didn’t want to spotlight that fact for his boyfriends.

Nah, he’d throw the packet away later and forget he ever considered it.

Cris couldn’t pretend to be perfectly versed in all of Jake’s moods or mood shifts, but he did train himself to watch him. Not in a creepy way, but simply to gauge his overall mood each day. Okay, it was overprotective, and Jake hadn’t had any major episodes since his diagnosis. Still, to his dying day, Cris would never forget how Jake had looked the day Cris found him in bed, practically a corpse, completely lost to depression.

He never wanted to see Jake like that again, so low he couldn’t eat, could barely function. So he watched.

During the meal, Jake went from joyous to somewhat subdued, and Cris wasn’t sure why. Maybe he’d been less than truthful about his bad day, and it was still bothering him? Likely, but Jake was a stubborn mule, and he wouldn’t talk until he wanted to talk. So Cris remained an attentive partner, and he was grateful that Jake’s mood seemed to stay about the same for the rest of the night.

Grateful because it didn’t get worse.

It also didn’t get better while their trio filled the dishwasher, then piled onto the den’s sofa to watch a movie. Not the porno they’d shot tonight. Cris had a feeling they’d be viewing that one upstairs in the bedroom at some point, where they had a bed to play on. Not that they hadn’t had plenty of sex in the den on this very couch.

Little over a year since I last filmed with Mean Green, and I’m back doing more porn.

Personal porn to fulfill his lover’s fantasy.

Maybe Cris would ask for one of his fantasies someday. A fantasy he thought about every time Jake got off by humping four of Cris’s fingers. Begging to be filled, for more, please!

A second DP would be fun, too, maybe this time with Cris in the middle. But first, Jake had to be comfortable fucking Cris, and so far he hadn’t been.

Jake was drooping by the end of the film, so tonight wasn’t the night for a conversation about pushing limits. Cris wasn’t tired, though, so he stayed downstairs while Jake and Chet went up to bed. Played games on his phone until the battery was nearly dead. Used the charger in the kitchen to hook it up.

Footsteps on the stairs clued him in before Chet appeared in the kitchen archway. “It’s after one,” he said. “Can’t sleep?”

“Restless for some reason,” Cris replied.

“When you’re restless, you’re usually worried.”

“You know me too well.”

Chet approached the counter and curled an arm around Cris’s waist. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if anything’s wrong, or if I’m being paranoid, but did Jake seem off tonight? During and after dinner?”

“A little quiet, I suppose, but nothing that concerned me. He gets that way sometimes after sex, especially if it’s something new.”

“True.” Cris hadn’t considered that, and it was probably all Jake’s mood-drop was. Taking in what they’d done, analyzing it in his own way.

“You aren’t convinced?”

“I don’t know. You know I hover when it comes to Jake and his moods. I’m probably overreacting. Seeing a problem where it doesn’t exist.”

“Perhaps, but you analyze and worry because you love him. We both do, each in our own way.”

Cris leaned into Chet’s warm embrace. “I mother hen, don’t I?”

“Sometimes, but tonight you didn’t. You took him at his word, and we both need to continue doing that. Jake is still very young, barely twenty-four, and he needs to know he can run his own life and make smart decisions. I have faith that if he’s ever truly in trouble or scared, he’ll come to one of us. You need to have that faith, too.”

“I’m working on it.” He kissed Chet lightly on the mouth. “How did I luck into you two?”

“You are far beyond due some happiness and love in your life, Cristian. Enjoy it.”

A silent “while you have it” seemed to cling to Chet’s comment, but Cris didn’t say anything. Cutting back at the studio had been a big step, and Chet seemed uncertain some days about the future of Mean Green Boys. But no matter what happened, Chet had him and Jake. They’d get through any challenge life threw at them.

As a trio.

As one.