(In what world do I not succumb to encouragement from one Batty?)

"Just say 'when.'"

"I would have said 'when' ten minutes ago."

Instead of stopping, Oliver just grinned, knowing it would drive Tommy up the wall. They stood in their kitchen, Oliver chopping onions and peppers for adding to the giant vat simmering on the stove top while Tommy watched in agony. It was Family Dinner Night, and it had been Oliver's choice, so he went with what he did best - his (in)famous chili.

With worried eyes, Tommy silently pleaded with Oliver to stop adding more peppers. It did not help.

"You'll love it, trust me."

"Ollie, I've had your chili before, remember? Back in college? I'm still recovering."

"It's not that spicy."

"It's totally that spicy."

"Whatever. You'll love it."

"Speaking of spicy," Tommy derailed, looking around, "where's Barry?"

Oliver didn't look up from his cutting board. "I sent him out to snag a few spices."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, more spices? You needed more?"

Before Oliver could say anything, his phone buzzed. "Oh, that's him. He's leaving the store." Oliver moved away from the stove and gave Tommy a quick kiss on the cheek before standing in the living room with his arms lifted out in front of him, one hand open and the other relaxed.

There was a flash of brown and a whoosh of wind as something rocketed into the room, coming to a stop in front of Oliver, who now held a bag of ingredients in one hand and a jacket thrown over the other. There was a quiet "thank you" from Oliver as he turned to toss the jacket on the back of a chair and head back into the kitchen.

Tommy, however, approached the new body in the room with urgency. "Barry. Please. Your boyfriend is trying to kill us."

Barry grinned that stupidly sunny grin of his and gave Tommy a kiss on the forehead. "Really? What are you going to do, Tommy?"

Tommy grumbled for a split second. "If I'd been talking about myself, I would have thrown in a 'devilishly handsome' as a qualifier."

Barry lowered his head until their foreheads were touching, the two of them staring into one another's eyes. "You. Will. Survive."

"History says otherwise," Tommy replied quietly, but he knew he’d been outvoted at this stage.

"I'm excited to taste it," Barry said, pulling away with a grin. He approached Oliver at the stove and wrapped his hands around the chef's waist. "It smells amazing!”

Oliver leaned his head back to touch Barry’s forehead for a moment. “Well, thanks to my little runner, I’ve got all the ingredients I need to make a masterpiece.”

“It looks about done,” Barry said.

“Simmer with the added spices for a bit, and it will be,” Olive replied. “Tommy, can you-”

“Got it.” Tommy was already half finished setting the table. He stopped for a moment and looked over at the two in the kitchen. “You guys know I’m (mostly) joking about the chili, right?”

Barry shrugged. “My sinuses cleared the moment I got back. I understand your hesitation.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste great,” Tommy said, more or less to himself. “But I’d eat it even if I didn’t like it, because Oliver spent so much time and effort on it.”

“I know,” Oliver replied, walking over to the dining table and pulling Tommy in to him for a kiss. Barry watched from the kitchen with a gentle smile on his face. “My brave little club manager.”

Tommy’s expression softened and he laid his head on Oliver’s shoulder for a moment.

“So. Taste test?” Oliver asked.

Tommy sighed, a smile spreading across his face. “Fine. For you.”