Chapter 1: The Vacation House Bedroom Trap
The bass from Pete's party thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, distant and irrelevant. Josh's bedroom swallowed the sound, transformed it into something primal and low, a rhythm that matched the pulse in Ender's throat.
The sheets beneath his back were impossibly soft. Silk, he registered dimly, the color of bruised plums in the dim light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, the ocean breathed its restless sigh into the velvet dark, and the scent of sandalwood and old whiskey curled through the air like a confession.
Josh's hands pinned his wrists to the mattress. Not rough. Just—certain. The weight of him settled between Ender's thighs, broad shoulders blotting out the moonlight, and Ender couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare up at the man who had starred in every shameful fantasy he'd ever buried.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
"You're shaking," Josh murmured.
His voice was rough, scraped low in his chest. His thumb traced a slow circle against the inside of Ender's wrist, right over the blue map of veins beneath freckled skin. Ender's pulse hammered against that touch like it wanted to break through.
"I—" Ender's voice cracked. He swallowed. Tried again. "This is—you don't have to—"
"Have to?"
Josh's head tilted. His eyes were dark, intent, the kind of eyes that saw too much. Ender had spent years avoiding that gaze across dinner tables and family gatherings, terrified Josh might look close enough to notice the pathetic longing written all over him.
"I've wanted to hear you moan my name for years," Josh said.
The words landed like stones in still water. Ender's lips parted, but nothing came out.
"He never knew how to touch you." Josh's voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Did he?"
Pete. The name hit Ender's chest like a bruise he'd forgotten was there. Pete's hands, always hesitant, always performative. Pete's kisses that tasted like obligation. Pete's laugh, sharp and cruel, when he'd finally admitted the truth.
It was a dare, Ender. Come on. You didn't actually think I—
"I don't want to talk about him," Ender whispered.
"Good."
Josh released one wrist to cup Ender's jaw. The touch was careful, reverent, like Ender was something precious instead of something pitied. His thumb swept across Ender's cheekbone, catching the dampness there that Ender hadn't even noticed.
"Tonight, you're mine," Josh said. "Not his. Not anyone else's. Mine."
Ender's breath stuttered. His freed hand found Josh's shoulder, fingers digging into warm muscle, grounding himself in the solid reality of him. This was real. Josh was real, and warm, and here, and Ender had spent so long believing he'd never deserve anything like this.
"Why?" The question slipped out before Ender could stop it. "Why would you—I'm not—"
"Don't."
Josh's grip tightened on his jaw. Not painful. Just enough to make Ender focus, to drag his spiraling thoughts back to the present.
"Don't do that. Don't tell me what you're not."
Ender's throat constricted. He blinked rapidly, vision blurring at the edges. The scars on his arms—old ones, pale and raised against the freckles—felt suddenly exposed in a way they hadn't been moments ago.
"I watched you for years," Josh said.
His voice was softer now. He shifted his weight, one hand still cradling Ender's face, the other braced against the mattress beside his head. The heat of his body seeped through Ender's skin like summer sun.
"Every dinner. Every holiday. Every time Pete dragged you to family shit and then ignored you for half the night. I watched you."
Ender's heart was going to explode. It had to. There was no other explanation for the way his ribs were tightening, the way his lungs couldn't seem to pull in air.
"You—"
"I saw the way you laughed at my dad's terrible jokes. The way you always helped my mom with the dishes even when no one asked. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous."
Josh's thumb traced the shell of Ender's ear. A shiver cascaded down his neck, his spine, pooling somewhere low and warm in his belly.
"I saw you, Ender. And I wanted you."
Years. Josh had wanted him for years. The words didn't compute, couldn't find purchase in the barren landscape of Ender's self-esteem. He'd spent his whole life being overlooked, dismissed, mocked. He was the nerd with the wrong body and the wrong face and the wrong everything. He was the one people used as a punchline.
He wasn't the one people wanted.
"You're lying," Ender whispered.
Josh's expression shifted. Something hard and determined settled behind his eyes, and before Ender could brace himself, Josh's mouth crashed down on his.
The kiss was nothing like Pete's. Pete had always held back, always treated Ender like a favor he was doing, a dare he was enduring. Josh kissed like he was starving. Like Ender was the first meal he'd had in years and he intended to savor every bite.
His tongue swept across Ender's lower lip. Teeth grazed. Ender made a sound—a broken, desperate sound that he would have been embarrassed by if he'd had any brain cells left to spare. Josh groaned in response, low and rough, and the vibration traveled through Ender's chest like thunder.
When Josh finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"Does that feel like a lie?" Josh asked.
Ender's hands had moved without permission. They were tangled in Josh's hair now, dark strands sliding through his fingers like water. He didn't remember reaching for him. He didn't remember anything except the taste of whiskey on Josh's tongue and the weight of him, solid and real and wanting.
"No," Ender admitted. His voice was barely a whisper.
Josh smiled. It was a devastating thing, that smile—crooked and knowing and edged with something dangerous.
"Good." He pressed his lips to Ender's jaw. Then his neck. Then the hollow of his throat, where Ender's pulse fluttered like a trapped bird.
"I'm going to take you apart," Josh murmured against his skin. "Piece by piece. And then I'm going to put you back together the way you deserve to be."
Ender's back arched off the mattress. His body was acting on instincts he didn't know he had, instincts that had been dormant for so long he'd assumed they were dead.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
Josh lifted his head. His eyes were black in the dim light, pupils blown wide, and the hunger in them made Ender's stomach flip.
"Please," Ender repeated. He didn't know what he was asking for. He just knew he needed more. More touch. More kisses. More of Josh, all of Josh, everything Josh was willing to give.
Josh's grin sharpened.
"Greedy," he said. "I like that."
He released Ender's jaw and sat back. The sudden absence of his body was an ache, a physical loss that Ender felt in his bones. He watched, dazed, as Josh reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.
Ender's mouth went dry.
He'd seen Josh shirtless before. Summer cookouts, pool parties, those rare seconds when Josh would emerge from the ocean with water sluicing off his shoulders. But seeing him like this—flushed, wanting, shedding clothes specifically for Ender—was something else entirely.
The broad planes of his chest. The trail of hair disappearing below his waistband. The muscles shifting beneath skin as he moved.
Ender wanted to touch all of it. He wanted to memorize every inch.
"Your turn."
Josh's fingers found the hem of Ender's shirt. He paused there, waiting, giving Ender a chance to say no.
Ender's insecurities screamed at him to stop this. To cover up, hide, protect himself from the inevitable rejection that would follow once Josh saw all of him. The soft belly. The pale, scarred skin. The body that had never been enough for anyone.
But Josh's eyes held his, steady and patient, and something in Ender's chest cracked open.
He nodded.
Josh peeled the shirt away slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping something sacred. Cool air hit Ender's skin, raising goosebumps, and he fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest.
Josh didn't let him.
"You're beautiful," he said.
Ender flinched. "You don't have to—"
"I'm not lying."
Josh's hand splayed across his stomach. Warm. So warm. His fingers traced the soft curve of Ender's waist, the faint stretch of skin, the constellation of freckles that dusted his torso like scattered stars.
"I've imagined this," Josh said. "So many times. The sounds you'd make. The way you'd look beneath me. The way you'd say my name."
Ender's hips jerked involuntarily. Josh's hand pressed down, holding him in place.
"But I never imagined you'd be this perfect."
A sob caught in Ender's throat. He turned his head to the side, hiding his face in the pillow, embarrassed by the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
Josh wouldn't let him hide.
He caught Ender's chin, turned his face back, and kissed him again. Soft this time. Gentle. A reassurance.
"Hey," he whispered against Ender's lips. "Look at me."
Ender did.
"I know he hurt you. I know you're scared. But I'm not him, Ender. I'm never going to be him."
Ender wanted to believe. God, he wanted to believe so badly.
"Prove it," he said.
The words surprised them both. Josh's eyebrows lifted, and something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or respect.
Then his grin returned, wider than before.
"Gladly."
He sat back on his heels and reached for the button of Ender's jeans. Paused. Looked up through his lashes.
"This okay?"
Ender's laugh was watery and breathless. "You pinned me to a bed and gave me a speech about how you've wanted me for years. Now you're asking permission?"
Josh shrugged. "Consent's always sexy."
Something warm bloomed in Ender's chest. It felt like hope.
"Yes," he said. "It's okay."
Josh unbuttoned his jeans with careful hands. He tugged them down, along with Ender's boxers, and Ender would have been mortified if he'd had any room left for shame. But Josh's expression was holy, rapt, like Ender was a revelation he'd spent his whole life waiting to witness.
"You're going to ruin me," Josh murmured.
Ender blinked. "What?"
Josh's hand closed around him. Ender gasped, hips bucking, vision going white at the edges.
"I said," Josh whispered, leaning close, "you're going to ruin me. And I'm going to let you."
Then he moved.
Ender wasn't ready. He couldn't have been ready. Josh's mouth was hot and wet and skilled, and Ender's hands fisted in the silk sheets, knuckles going white, a moan tearing from his throat that he couldn't have silenced if he'd tried.
The bass from the party downstairs pounded on, oblivious. The ocean sighed against the shore. The world outside this room continued to spin.
But Ender was falling. Free-falling, weightless, into something he'd never dared to want.
And for the first time in years, he didn't want to be saved.
He wanted to be caught.