Chapter 2: The Bathroom Door Locks
The water bottle hit the floor with a hollow thunk, rolling somewhere under the counter, forgotten.
Ender didn't think. His hand shot out and closed around Leo's wrist. The skin was hot, damp with sweat, and the pulse beneath his fingers hammered a rhythm that matched the frantic percussion in Ender's chest.
He pulled.
Leo didn't resist. That was the thing Ender would replay later, in the quiet hours, turning it over like a smooth stone. Leo didn't resist. He let himself be dragged, a surprised laugh tumbling from his lips as Ender shouldered through the crush of bodies in the hallway.
"Where are we—"
"Shut up."
The stairs were a treacherous gauntlet of discarded cups and a couple aggressively making out against the banister. Ender's sneakers slipped on a wet patch, and Leo's free hand found his hip, steadying him. The touch burned through the thin cotton of Ender's shirt.
The bathroom line was three people deep. A girl with glitter smeared across her cheeks looked up as they approached, her mouth opening to protest.
"Occupied," Ender said, his voice flat. He didn't stop walking. He yanked Leo past the line, shoved the door open, and pulled them both inside.
The lock clicked into place with a sound that felt final.
The bathroom was a coffin. Yellowed linoleum, a cracked mirror over a pedestal sink, the toilet tank rattling with some ancient, internal complaint. The air was thick—stale sweat, cheap cologne, the ghost of someone's vomit from earlier in the night. A tube of mascara lay abandoned on the sink, next to a compact and a scattering of bobby pins.
The bass from downstairs was a muffled, underwater pulse through the wall. Ender could feel it in his teeth.
He turned around.
Leo was already there.
He had Ender against the door before Ender could draw a full breath. One hand flat on the wood beside Ender's head, the other braced against the frame. His body was a wall of heat, close enough that Ender could count the beads of sweat along his collarbone.
The bathroom was small. Leo made it smaller.
"That," Leo said, his voice low and rough, "was not a bit."
Ender's throat worked. "No."
"The dance. The dare. I told them it was for laughs." Leo's eyes were dark, pupils blown so wide the brown was almost gone. "It wasn't."
"I know."
"You know?" A muscle jumped in Leo's jaw.
"I felt you." The words came out before Ender could stop them, raw and unpolished. "On the dance floor. I felt you, Leo."
Silence. The toilet tank rattled. Someone pounded on the door from outside—a muffled, indignant shout—and they both ignored it.
Leo's hand moved from the doorframe. His fingers found Ender's chin, tilting his face up. The grip was firm, almost rough, and it sent a shiver down Ender's spine that settled low and hot in his belly.
"You think I didn't notice?" Leo's thumb dragged across Ender's lower lip. "The way you were looking at me? All night. Every time I turned around, your eyes were on me."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." Leo leaned in, his mouth hovering an inch from Ender's. "You've been doing it for weeks. Months, maybe. I just didn't want to—" He stopped, his breath warm and uneven against Ender's skin. "I thought I was imagining it."
Ender's hands were shaking. He flattened them against Leo's chest, feeling the frantic percussion of his heart through the sweat-soaked fabric of his shirt.
"You're not," he whispered. "You're not imagining it."
The kiss was not gentle.
Leo's mouth crashed into his like a collision, all teeth and tongue and months of swallowed want. Ender's head hit the door with a dull thud, and he didn't care. He grabbed fistfuls of Leo's shirt, pulled him closer, closer, until there was no space left between them.
Leo tasted like beer and mint. His hands were everywhere—tangled in Ender's curls, sliding under his shirt, gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. Ender arched into him, a desperate, involuntary movement, and felt the hard line of Leo's cock press against his thigh.
The sound Ender made was not dignified.
"Fuck," Leo breathed against his mouth. "Fuck, Ender, I've been—I've been thinking about this. About you. In ways I shouldn't."
"Show me." Ender's voice cracked. "Stop talking and show me."
Leo pulled back just far enough to look at him. His chest was heaving, his lips were swollen, and there was something raw and unguarded in his expression that Ender had never seen before.
"You sure?"
Ender grabbed Leo's wrist and guided his hand to the front of his jeans. The pressure of Leo's palm against his cock made his knees buckle.
"I've been losing my mind," Ender said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "All night. Imagining you—imagining you inside me. In the kitchen. Against the counter. I couldn't—I can't stop thinking about it."
Leo's eyes went black.
He spun Ender around, one hand fisted in the back of his shirt, and bent him over the sink. The porcelain was cold against Ender's forearms, a shock that made him gasp. The mirror was fogged from their breath, but he could still see the outline of them—Leo behind him, broad and looming, Ender's own reflection a blur of dark curls and wide eyes.
"Watch," Leo said, his voice a low command. "Don't look away."
Ender watched.
Leo's hands worked his jeans open, yanking them down to mid-thigh along with his boxers. The air hit his bare skin, cool and startling. Then Leo's fingers were at his mouth, two of them pressed against his lips.
"Spit."
Ender obeyed. He slicked Leo's fingers with his tongue, watching in the fogged mirror as Leo's jaw tightened, as his eyes went even darker.
Then Leo's hand was between his legs, fingers pressing against his hole, circling, teasing.
"Relax," Leo murmured, his other hand rubbing slow circles on Ender's lower back. "I've got you."
The first finger pushed in.
Ender's breath stuttered. It was tight, uncomfortable—but Leo was patient, working him open with slow, deliberate movements. One finger became two. The stretch burned, but the burn was good. The burn was grounding.
"More," Ender gasped. "Leo, more—"
"I know." Leo's voice was strained. "I know, baby, just—give me a second. I don't want to hurt you."
Baby. The word hit Ender like a fist to the chest.
Leo withdrew his fingers. Ender heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of denim, the wet sound of Leo spitting into his own palm. Then the head of Leo's cock pressed against him, blunt and hot and terrifyingly real.
"Breathe," Leo said.
Ender breathed.
Leo pushed in.
The stretch was everything. It was pain and pleasure and a fullness so complete that Ender forgot how to speak. His fingers scrambled for purchase on the wet porcelain, slipping, sliding. His breath fogged the mirror in ragged bursts.
"Okay?" Leo's voice was tight, controlled. His hips were flush against Ender's ass, his chest pressed to Ender's back.
"Yeah." Ender's voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah, just—move."
Leo moved.
The first thrust knocked the breath out of Ender's lungs. The second made his vision go white at the edges. By the third, he was gone—completely, utterly gone. Leo set a brutal rhythm, hips slapping against Ender's ass, one hand fisted in his dark curls, forcing his head up.
"Look at yourself," Leo growled. "Look at what you look like right now."
Ender looked.
His reflection stared back at him—flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, mouth open on a silent moan. He looked wrecked. He looked like a stranger. And behind him, Leo's reflection was equally undone—jaw tight, eyes black, lips parted.
"Please," Ender heard himself say. "Please, Leo, I need—"
"I know what you need."
Leo's hand left his hair and wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with every thrust. The dual sensation—the fullness inside him, the friction outside—was too much. Ender's legs shook. His palms slid on the sink.
"Come for me," Leo whispered against his ear. "Come on, Ender. Let go."
Ender let go.
His orgasm hit him like a freight train, ripping through his body with a force that left him boneless. He came across the sink in hot, messy stripes, his vision going dark at the edges.
Behind him, Leo's rhythm stuttered. His hips jerked, once, twice, and then he was coming too—buried deep, his forehead pressed to Ender's spine, a broken whisper of Ender's name falling from his lips.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The toilet tank rattled. Someone pounded on the door again. The bass from downstairs thumped on, oblivious.
Leo pulled out slowly, carefully. Ender hissed at the loss, his legs nearly buckling. Leo caught him, strong arms wrapping around his waist, holding him upright.
"I've got you," Leo murmured again. He pressed a kiss to the back of Ender's neck, soft and almost reverent. "I've got you."
Ender's hands were still braced on the sink. He stared at their reflections in the fogged mirror—two boys, tangled together, breathless and ruined.
"Leo," he said, his voice hoarse.
"Yeah?"
"What happens now?"
Leo was quiet for a moment. Then he reached past Ender and wiped a clear streak through the fog on the mirror. His reflection looked back at them both—steady, certain.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I'm not going anywhere."