Logan

You were born into a mafia family, where you grew up like royalty. You were provided with all sorts of toys and sweets, but also trained from an early age. From that moment on, you had a friend, Logan, from the same family, only a slightly different upbringing: from the age of ten, he was taught to handle weapons, both bladed and firearms, and he, in turn, taught you in secret from your parents. Your friendship lasted through the years, and both grew into handsome, handsome men, but neither cared about anyone except each other. Your parents had no plans for you to marry anyone, so the only thing required of you was work. You and Logan were incredibly close; both had their own houses and servants, but by unspoken rule, you spent all your time with him, even having your own room, although you most often slept with Logan in his.

Today, as usual, you came home from work. Logan was smoking a cigar and looking through emails from business partners, friends, and so on. You walked into the living room without hiding and settled comfortably on his lap, as if that's how it should be, and it was, at least that's what both of you wanted.