Finn was about to push himself up from the floor, his knees stiff from kneeling, when an unexpected weight pressed down on his shoulder—firm, unyielding. He glanced up, startled, to find Jax standing beside him, grinning like a wolf who'd just spotted fresh prey.
"Where you going, bubble butt?" Jax murmured, fingers digging just enough into Finn's shoulder to keep him rooted in place. His other hand was already working at the button of his jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. Finn barely had time to process before the zipper hissed down, and Jax's cock sprang free, thick and heavy against his thigh.
Finn's breath caught. It wasn't the sheer *monstrosity* of Owen's—but seven inches of thick, veined muscle was nothing to scoff at. The head was flushed dark, already glistening, and Finn's mouth watered on instinct. Jax's fingers tangled in Finn's hair, not yanking, just *guiding*, tilting his head back until their eyes met. "My turn," he said, voice rough as gravel.
Finn didn't resist. He leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up the underside, savoring the way Jax's abs flexed in response. The taste was musk and salt, faintly bitter from sweat, and Finn moaned around him, lips stretching wide as he took him deep. Jax's grip tightened fractionally, his hips rolling forward in a slow, controlled thrust that had Finn's jaw aching already.
From the couch, Owen let out a low whistle, still sprawled bonelessly. "Damn," he slurred, lazy grin audible. A side glance showed Finn the rugby player slumped like a satisfied predator, one thick arm once again draped over the back cushions while the other absently stroked his softening cock—still glistening from Finn’s mouth. The contrast was obscene: Owen’s massive frame relaxed in post-orgasm haze while Finn knelt between *two* towering athletes, Jax’s cock nudging his cheek demandingly.
Finn had to crane his neck awkwardly to accommodate the angle, his jaw already protesting. Jax’s jeans hung open around his hips, the denim straining over his thighs as he rolled forward into Finn’s mouth. "Look at you," Jax murmured, thumb brushing Finn’s lower lip. "Taking us both like it’s nothing." His fingers flexed in Finn’s hair—not pulling, just *owning*—as he thrust shallowly past Finn’s teeth. The head of his cock bumped the back of Finn’s throat, and Finn gagged instinctively, tears pricking his eyes. Jax chuckled darkly. "Easy, bubble butt. We’ve got all night."
Finn braced one hand on Owen’s knee for balance, the other gripping Jax’s hip as he worked his tongue along the thick vein underneath. Jax’s breath hitched—just once—before he schooled it into that infuriatingly casual drawl. "Owen came down your throat like a frat boy at happy hour. You gonna swallow me too, or do I gotta earn it?"
Finn’s answering groan vibrated around him, and Jax’s hips stuttered. Owen laughed, deep and rumbling, his fingers idly combing through Finn’s hair from behind. "Think you’re riling him up more than me, bro."
Jax smirked, dragging his thumb over Finn’s spit-slick bottom lip. "You gonna tap out already, bubble butt?" His voice was low, teasing, the kind of casual taunt that made Finn’s stomach tighten. Finn’s legs ached from kneeling, the hardwood floor digging into his shins, but he couldn’t shift—not with Owen’s massive thighs bracketing him on one side and Jax’s hips nudging forward on the other. The strain only sharpened the buzz under his skin, the thrill of being pinned between two guys who could *easily* manhandle him if they wanted to.
Finn flicked his gaze up, meeting Jax’s green eyes—dark with amusement and something hotter, sharper. Owen’s breath was steady behind him, but Finn could *feel* the weight of his stare, the way his dick twitched as he watched.
Finn braced his forearm against Owen’s thigh, the muscle beneath his skin warm and solid as oak. His other hand wrapped around the base of Jax’s cock, fingers tight enough to feel the pulse under slick skin. He dragged his lips up the length, tongue pressing flat against the vein, and Jax exhaled sharply through his nose—controlled, but Finn caught the flex of his abs.
“That’s it,” Jax murmured, fingers tightening in Finn’s hair as he dragged his head forward, forcing his cock deeper into Finn’s throat. The stretch burned, Finn’s jaw aching as he fought to relax, but Jax didn’t let up—his hips rolled forward in slow, deliberate thrusts, each one punching a wet gag from Finn’s lips. “Fuck, look at that.”
Finn’s eyes watered, tears streaking down his cheeks as he struggled to take it, his hands scrambling for purchase on Jax’s thighs. The guy was relentless, his grip unyielding, controlling the pace with brutal efficiency. Every time Finn thought he’d found a rhythm, Jax would yank him off just to shove him back down, his cock hitting the back of Finn’s throat with a filthy *shlick* of spit.
“Bet you thought you were in charge, huh?” Jax taunted, his voice rough with amusement. He curled his fingers tighter, tilting Finn’s head back just enough to meet his gaze—Finn’s lips stretched obscenely around his cock, spit pooling at the corners. “Nah, bubble butt. You’re just a warm mouth tonight.”
Finn whimpered, the sound vibrating around Jax’s shaft, and the guy *groaned*, his hips stuttering. “Fuck, that’s good—*do that again*.”
Finn obliged, moaning around him, and Jax rewarded him with a sharp thrust, his cock bumping the back of Finn’s throat. Finn gagged, his throat clenching, but Jax didn’t pull back—just held him there, his breath coming ragged. “Swallow,” he ordered, voice thick.
Finn swallowed reflexively, throat working around Jax’s release as it joined Owen’s already pooling in his stomach. The heat of it—*both* of them inside him—sent a dizzying rush through his veins, his head swimming with the musk and salt and the sheer *rightness* of it. Jax’s grip finally loosened, fingers untangling from Finn’s hair with a rough pat to his cheek before stepping back. Finn pitched forward instinctively, catching himself with both palms flat against Owen’s thighs, the rugby player’s legs still spread wide. He gasped, spit slick on his chin, as he tried to steady his breathing.
"Fuck," Owen rumbled above him, "That was *hot*."
Jax’s chuckle came from somewhere to Finn’s left—low, satisfied. "You good, bubble butt?"
Finn lifted his head just enough to blink up at Owen’s blissed-out expression, then twisted to glance at Jax. The grad student was still half-hard as he tucked himself back into his jeans with one hand, the other reaching down to ruffle Finn’s hair like he was a well-trained pet. "Damn, bubble butt," Jax mused, voice still rough. "Didn’t think you had that in you."
Finn coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before grinning—more dazed than cocky. "Surprise," he rasped, then immediately winced at how wrecked his voice sounded. Owen chuckled, his massive thighs shifting under Finn’s palms as he leaned forward and next to finns head to grab his abandoned beer from the coffee table.
Finn pushed himself up on shaky legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he glanced between Owen and Jax. Owen was still half-hard, his thick cock resting against his thigh like a fucking baton—*impressively* stubborn even after coming. Finn couldn’t help but stare, lips still tingling. "Jesus, Owen," he muttered, voice hoarse. "You’re *still* huge."
Jax snorted from the recliner, tipping his beer bottle toward Owen’s lap with a lazy flick of his wrist. "That’s ‘cause Meat over here’s a shower, clear as day," he drawled, smirk sharpening as Finn’s eyes darted back to Owen’s dick. "Won’t go soft like most guys. Just *hangs* there, all day, like a fucking warning sign." He took a swig, licking his lips before adding, "Got a feeling you like that, though. Gives you something to stare at, huh?" He winked, sprawling back into the cushions like a king on his throne.
Owen just grinned, fingers drumming against his still-spread thighs, utterly unbothered by the attention. Finn felt his cheeks heat but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his own lips. "Jealous, Jax?" he shot back, tilting his chin up. "Wish you had that kinda *presence*?"
Jax’s smirk didn’t falter. He just raised his bottle in a mock toast, fingers loose around the neck. "Nah, bubble butt. I’ve got other talents." His gaze dropped pointedly to Finn’s lips, still swollen and shiny, then back up with a slow, knowing blink. "And *you* know it."
Finn rolled his eyes, but his pulse jumped anyway. He staggered a step toward the couch—legs still unsteady—before collapsing next to Owen, who immediately slung a heavy arm around his shoulders like Finn was some kind of prized trophy. The rugby player’s skin radiated heat, his biceps flexing as he pulled Finn closer with zero effort.
Jax stretched lazily, cracking his neck before tossing his empty beer bottle toward the recycling bin—it landed with a clatter, rolling to a stop against the wall. "Alright, Meat," he said, nodding toward Owen. "Time to buckle up. Get presentable." His smirk curled as he glanced at Finn, still tucked under Owen's arm. "The other two'll be back soon, and while I doubt they'll mind the show, something tells me their *questions* are gonna make bubble butt here blush."
"Yeah, yeah," Owen rumbled, shifting under Finn's weight with a lazy grin. His thighs flexed as he reached for the discarded sweatpants pooled at his ankles, the fabric stretched taut over his massive legs when he tugged them back up. The motion sent Finn lurching sideways—Owen didn't seem to notice, or maybe he just didn't care, his grip tightening around Finn's shoulder like he was keeping a particularly clingy backpack from sliding off.
Finn blinked as Owen's cock disappeared behind gray fabric, still visibly tenting the material. "Uh," Finn started, voice cracking. "That's not—"
"Presentable?" Jax finished, arching a brow. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, biceps bulging under his rolled-up sleeves. "Close enough. Ghost and Mark don't give a shit if Meat's packing a semi at poker night." His smirk sharpened. "But *you* might wanna wipe your chin, bubble butt."
Finn barely had time to scrub the back of his hand across his mouth before the front balconydoor slid open with a whisper of glass, letting in the humid night air—and two very distinct silhouettes. Ghost moved first, his feet silent on the hardwood as he stepped inside. Behind him, Mark loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, one hand braced against the jamb as he toed off his sneakers.
Finn blinked between them, skin still humming from Owen’s lingering grip and Jax’s smirk—half-expecting some comment. But Ghost just slung his gym bag over one shoulder, icy gaze flicking past Finn like he was part of the furniture, while Mark toe-tapped Owen’s discarded beer bottle back onto the coffee table with a casual, "You leaving this here, or…?"
The mundanity of it knocked the breath out of Finn more than Owen’s cock had.
Owen yawned, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of taut abs. "Yeah, yeah," he rumbled, palming the back of Finn’s neck in a loose, affectionate squeeze.
Finn’s skin prickled under the weight of Ghost’s brief, assessing glance—like the guy *knew*, like he could smell Jax’s musk still clinging to Finn’s lips. But then Mark clapped him on the shoulder, laughing about some gym mishap, and the moment dissolved into the night’s casual rhythm. Bottles clinked, Owen’s booming laugh rattled the windows, and Finn let himself sink into the absurd normalcy of it all, as if he hadn’t been on his knees between them an hour ago.
The clock crawled past 3 AM when Ghost finally exhaled through his nose, sharp as a blade unsheathing. “I’m out,” he announced, already sliding off the stool with that eerie, liquid grace. “Pool opens at six.” Owen groaned into his beer, but Ghost didn’t pause. “Come now or walk home, Hercules.” Finn watched, fascinated, as Owen—all 6’5” of him—pouted but obeyed, lumbering after Ghost like a chastised golden retriever. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving silence thick enough to choke on.
Jax stretched, his shirt riding up once again to reveal a strip of sun-kissed skin. “Mark’s crashing here,” he said, like it was obvious. Then, softer, eyes glinting: “You staying too, Finn?” Finn’s throat clicked around nothing. “If—if that’s cool?” Jax snorted, tossing him a rolled-up inflatable mattress. “Relax, I’ll even dig out a spare so you don’t have to cuddle,” he added, winking. The joke landed like a live wire, buzzing between Finn’s ribs.
Finn woke to the sun slicing through the blinds like a knife, golden and relentless. Five hours of sleep—maybe—his head still fuzzy from last night’s absinthe. He rolled onto his side, the inflatable mattress crinkling beneath him, and blinked up at the couch where Mark’s massive frame sprawled, one arm dangling off the edge, his chest rising in deep, even breaths.
Then—a creak. The bedroom door groaned open, slow and deliberate, and Finn’s gaze snapped to the sound before his brain could catch up. Jax emerged, silhouetted against the dimly lit room, and Finn’s breath hitched. Boxer briefs, black and clinging, riding low on his hips. That was all. Finn’s attention zeroed in on the thick bulge between Jax’s thighs first, the fabric straining just enough to hint at the shape beneath. Then up—abs carved like topography, the sharp V of his hips leading to a chest broad enough to make Finn’s fingers twitch with the memory of pressing against it. By the time Finn dragged his gaze higher, Jax was already watching him, one eyebrow arched, mouth curled into a smirk.
“Morning,” Jax murmured, voice rough with sleep. He’d expected Finn to be out cold, obviously. The realization sent a thrill down Finn’s spine—*he caught him staring*.
Finn’s pulse jumped as Jax moved—not just walking, but *existing* with the kind of lazy grace that made Finn’s throat go dry. He watched, rapt, as Jax skirted the couch where Mark’s mountainous form still sprawled, one massive arm dangling precariously over the edge, his snores rattling the springs above Finn’s makeshift bed. The sunlight caught the dust motes swirling around Jax’s thighs as he passed the pool table, its felt surface still littered with the ghost of last night’s abandoned game. Then—those green eyes flicked to Finn, glinting with amusement.
“Sleep okay?” Jax asked, voice raspy with sleep, as if this were any other morning, as if Finn hadn’t spent half the night with Jax’s cock buried in his throat.
Finn swallowed, shifting onto his elbows, the inflatable mattress crinkling under him. “Good,” he said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere between *hoarse* and *flustered*. The edge in his voice made Jax’s smirk deepen, a quick flash of teeth before he turned toward the kitchen.
Finn sat up fully, his back to Mark’s oblivious form. His gaze trailed Jax without permission—the flex of his calves as he walked, the way his boxer briefs clung to his ass, round and perky even in the dim morning light. Finn jerked his eyes away the second Jax turned, leaning against the kitchen counter with a bottle of water in hand.
The bottle crinkled as Jax twisted the cap off, his fingers flexing just enough to make the tendons in his forearm shift under his skin. Finn watched, transfixed, as Jax tipped his head back to drink—the long line of his throat exposed, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. Water glistened at the corner of his mouth when he pulled the bottle away, and Finn’s fingers twitched with the absurd urge to wipe it away himself.
“You’re staring,” Jax said, voice low and amused. He didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he sounded *pleased*.
Finn shrugged, trying for nonchalance and missing by a mile. “Just wondering if you’re always this graceful before coffee.”
Jax chuckled, the sound warm and rough around the edges. “Nah. But I’m a morning person.” He tilted his head, considering Finn with those sharp green eyes. “You’re not, huh?”
Finn swallowed, his mouth dry despite the lingering taste of last night’s absinthe. "I *am* a morning person," he muttered, voice still rough from overuse. "Just had too much to drink."
Jax chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm and hushed—clearly mindful of Mark’s sleeping form sprawled across the couch above them. Finn found himself mirroring the quiet, his breath shallow as he watched Jax’s lips curve.
Then, softer, Jax’s gaze flicked over Finn’s disheveled state: the mussed hair, the faint redness still clinging to his throat. "You regret last night?"
Finn didn’t hesitate. "No."
Jax’s grin widened—sharp, toothy, unfairly handsome in the morning light. Finn caught himself staring *again*, his pulse kicking up as Jax’s gaze flicked down his body, slow and deliberate. Half of Finn expected some awkward backtracking—*we were drunk, it was a mistake*—the kind of limp apology straight guys coughed up after getting their dick sucked. But Jax just tilted his head, fingers tapping against the water bottle in a lazy rhythm.
"Good," Jax murmured, voice dropping to that low, rough register that sent heat pooling straight to Finn’s groin. Then, just like that, he pivoted—casual as flipping a page. "Coffee?"
--
The morning had blurred into something soft-edged and surreal, now that Finn was back in his own apartment, replaying every second like a film reel stuck on slow motion. He slumped against his couch, while his mind circled back.
Finn’s had watched Jax move through the kitchen and the rest of the space—like he was mapping the place with his body, all broad shoulders and lazy strides that made Finn’s throat go dry. Every time Jax turned, the morning light caught the cut of his hips, the way his boxer briefs clung just enough to hint at what Finn already knew was underneath. And Finn *looked*, blatantly, because what was the point of pretending now?
Jax hadn’t acknowledged it beyond that smirk, though. Just let Finn stare while he made coffee, slow and methodical, like he was savoring the way Finn’s attention followed every flex of his forearm. Once, he’d leaned back against the counter—hips canted forward just enough to make the fabric of his boxers pull taut—and Finn’s brain had short-circuited. Jax knew. Of course he knew. And worse, he didn’t seem inclined to let Finn off the hook.
Jax had smirked, teased, leaned into Finn’s space with that infuriatingly casual confidence—but he hadn’t *done* anything, just the lingering weight of possibility that left Finn’s skin prickling. It was torture. The kind that made him desperate for more. And now Finn was stuck—caught between the memory and wanting more.
--
The next time Finn heard from Jax was a few days later, mid-lecture, when his phone buzzed against his thigh with a force that made the guy next to him shoot him a glare. Finn muffled an apology, already grinning as he glimpsed Jax’s name lighting up the screen. The text was painfully casual—*Lecture cancelled. Wanna hang out for an hour? Grab coffee?*
Finn bit his lip to stifle a stupid grin. He typed *Sure*, and hit send before he could overthink it further.
The lecture hall’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Finn tapped his pen against his notebook, suddenly hyperaware of the clock. Twenty minutes left. Twenty minutes until *coffee with Jax*.
His phone buzzed again. *Cool. Meet at the quad in 10?* Finn’s stomach flipped. Quad meant *public*. Quad meant *people*. Quad meant this was just... two guys hanging out. No weird tension, no lingering glances—just coffee. Right? Finn exhaled, typing *See you there* with deliberate casualness.
When Finn spotted Jax lounging on a bench near the quad’s fountain, sunlight catching the gold in his hair, his chest did something embarrassing. Jax lifted a hand in greeting, grinning as Finn approached. "You look like you just survived a midterm," Jax said, nodding at Finn’s rumpled hoodie.
Finn scoffed. "Economics. It’s basically a war crime." Jax laughed, the sound rolling through Finn like a physical thing. *This is fine*, Finn told himself. *Totally normal*.
Finn barely had time to react before Jax’s arm was slung around his shoulders, hauling him forward with effortless, brotherly force. "Move those feet, shortstack," Jax grinned, already steering them toward the café before Finn could even think about sitting. The contact was warm, casual—no trace of last night’s tension, just the solid weight of Jax’s bicep pressing against Finn’s collarbone. Finn stumbled half a step, then fell into stride, the scent of Jax’s cheap shampoo (something aggressively citrusy) mixing with the crisp morning air.
"Could’ve warned me," Finn muttered, but there was no bite to it—just the easy, fake-annoyed tone he used when people manhandled him. Which, frankly, was often. Jax’s laugh rumbled against Finn’s side, his grip tightening just enough to jostle Finn playfully. "Where’s the fun in that?"
Their smalltalk was mindless, effortless—Jax complaining about his biomechanics professor’s monotone voice, Finn ribbing him for *choosing* a major that required words like "biomechanics." Jax retaliated by hip-checking him into a lamppost. Finn yelped, but the grin splitting his face ruined the effect.
Inside the café, Jax ordered without asking—turkey club for Finn, some grotesque protein-stacked abomination for himself—and swiped his card before Finn could even reach for his wallet. Finn opened his mouth, but Jax cut him off with a lazy wave. "You’ll get the next one." Like it was already decided. Finn rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, trailing after Jax as he claimed a small wrought-iron table tucked near the building’s corner.
The patio was still mostly empty—just a barista on a smoke break. Finn collapsed into his chair, stretching his legs under the table until his foot bumped Jax’s shin. Neither of them moved. Sunlight filtered through the awning above, dappling Jax’s face in gold as he unwrapped his sandwich with exaggerated care, like it was a sacred artifact. Finn snorted. "You gonna frame that or eat it?"
Jax took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly before fixing Finn with a smirk. "Not as hungry as you seemed to be earlier this week," he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. Finn froze mid-bite, turkey sandwich hovering halfway to his mouth.
For a second, the café noise faded into static. *Oh. Oh.* That was the first time Jax had outright referenced—well, *that*. No cryptic smirks, no loaded glances—just a blunt, playful jab. Finn’s pulse hammered, but he forced himself to take a slow bite, chewing with exaggerated deliberation. "Didn’t realize you were keeping score," he managed, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near *fraught*.
Jax’s grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. "Startled you, huh?" He tapped his fingers against his water bottle, the rhythm lazy, taunting. "Thought you’d be smoother, considering how *enthusiastic* you were."
Finn exhaled sharply through his nose—half-laugh, half-defeat—before rallying. "Smooth’s overrated," he countered, kicking Jax’s shin under the table. "Besides, you’re one to talk. You practically *growled* when Owen got his hands on me first."
Jax barked a laugh, loud enough that the barista glanced over. "Fuck off," he said, but there was no heat in it, just that easy, rough-edged amusement Finn was starting to crave. "Anyway," Jax added, tearing off a chunk of his sandwich with his teeth, "Owen asked about you."
Finn’s fingers twitched around his turkey club. "Yeah?"
"Mm." Jax swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Wanted to know if you’d be ‘down to hang out’ again." The air quotes were *obnoxious*. "Guess he’s got a taste for your… hospitality."
Finn’s brain short-circuited for approximately three seconds. *Owen wanted him again.* Owen—6’5", built like a statue, with hands that could probably crush a watermelon—*wanted him*. Finn’s mouth went dry. He took a frantic sip of iced coffee to stall, brain scrambling for the right response. *Cool. Casual. Unbothered.*
"Uh," Finn said intelligently.
Jax’s smirk was *vicious*. "That a yes?"
Finn kicked him again, harder this time. "Shut up."
"Just saying." Jax held up his hands in mock surrender. "Dude’s got a *thing* for you. Asked me twice if I thought you’d be into it."
Finn’s stomach did a backflip. *Twice.* Owen had asked *twice*. He gripped his sandwich like it owed him money. "What’d you tell him?"
Jax shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Told him you’ve got a mouth like a Hoover and zero shame."
Finn choked on his coffee. "You *did not*—"
"Nah." Jax grinned, unrepentant. "Just said you’d probably be down. Didn’t wanna oversell it."
Finn groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re the worst."
"Yet here you are," Jax said, leaning back in his chair, "still talking to me."
Finn shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best. The tension had bled out of him somewhere between Jax’s teasing and the absurdity of it all—Owen *asking* about him, like Finn wasn’t already halfway to writing sonnets about his thighs. He exhaled, shaking his head. "So what, you’re his messenger now?"
Jax’s grin turned wolfish. "Nah. Just figured you’d wanna know." He took another bite, chewing slowly. "Unless you’re *not* interested…?"
Finn flipped him off. "You’re enjoying this way too much."
"Damn right." Jax’s foot nudged his under the table, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. "So? You wanna text him?"
Finn scowled, but his traitorous pulse betrayed him, thumping loud enough he was sure Jax could hear it. "Maybe."
Jax snorted. "*Maybe*," he repeated, dripping with skepticism.
Finn rolled his eyes, picking at the crust of his sandwich. "I don’t even have his number."
"Good thing I do," Jax said, already pulling out his phone with a smirk that made Finn’s stomach flip.
Finn groaned. "Like you gave me *your* number just a few days ago. What’s next, déjà vu?"
Jax just grinned, holding out his phone with Owen’s contact open. Finn hesitated for half a second before snatching it, fingers flying over the screen to add Owen to his contacts. When he handed it back, Jax’s expression shifted—just for a heartbeat—into something uncharacteristically serious.
"Just so we’re clear," Jax said, voice low but steady, "I didn’t plan any of this when we met. Didn’t expect you to blow Owen—or me." He held Finn’s gaze, the usual mischief dialed back. "Just wanted you to know I’ve always thought you were cool. Before any of that."
Finn blinked, caught off guard. "No offense taken," he said honestly, nudging Jax’s shin under the table. "Though I’m starting to think you’re just collecting commissions for setting me up."
Jax laughed, the tension dissolving as quickly as it had appeared. "Nah, just seems like a perk for you." He took a swig of water, eyes glinting. "You looked like you enjoyed it as much as Owen did."
Finn froze mid-bite. *Did Jax not?* The question lodged in his throat, half-formed, until he managed to cough out, "And you didn’t?" with just enough irony to mask the sudden spike of curiosity.
Jax smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I’m straight. Like to get off with a guy every now and then, but that’s *special occasions*." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a mock-whisper. "So don’t expect a daily load from me, shortstack."
Finn choked on his spit. Jax’s laugh was loud enough to startle a pigeon off the patio railing.
Finn recovered with a theatrical sigh. "What a tragedy," he deadpanned, layering the words with enough irony to sink a battleship. But the heat in his ears betrayed him. They both knew, or at least suspected—Finn wouldn't *hate* the idea.
Jax kicked his foot under the table, grinning. "You’re *welcome*, by the way."
"For what?" Finn scoffed. "Teasing me into an early grave?"
"For Owen’s number, dumbass." Jax leaned back, sunlight catching the gold in his hair. "And for not judging you when you inevitably text him at 2 AM asking to *DO* you."
Finn flipped him off, but his phone was already burning a hole in his pocket. Owen’s name sat in his contacts now, heavy with possibility.
Jax’s grin widened. "Go on. Text him."
Finn scowled. "Maybe later."
"*Maybe*," Jax echoed, rolling his eyes. He crumpled his napkin into a ball and tossed it at Finn’s face. Finn batted it away, but the laugh escaped anyway—bright, unguarded.
The café noise swirled around them, ordinary and warm. For now, it was just two guys sharing a table, kicking each other under the iron wrought-iron. No tension, no loaded glances—just the easy rhythm of friendship. Finn exhaled, shoulders loosening.
Then his phone buzzed.
Jax’s eyebrows shot up. "One of your lovers?"
Finn glanced at the screen. "A campus alert about a cancelled lecture." He smirked. "Disappointed?"
Jax flipped him off right back. "Eat your sandwich, brat."
Finn did, grinning around every bite.
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