Chapter 2: The Rusted Bleachers Claim Their Prize
The splintered plank bit into Ender's shoulder blades when they laid him back, the wood rough and weathered beneath his bare skin. He gasped at the contact, at the cold air licking across his exposed chest, at the way both of them just—looked at him.
Gene's hand was still wrapped around his wrists, pinning them above his head now against the bleacher seat. The metal frame creaked with every small movement Ender made, a sound that seemed to echo through the empty lot like a warning. Or maybe an invitation.
"Jesus." Zenix's voice came out rough, scraped raw. He was kneeling between Ender's spread legs, fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, but he'd stopped there. Just... staring. "Gene. Look at him."
"I'm looking."
"I mean really look. All these freckles." Zenix's palm flattened against Ender's stomach, and Ender's muscles jumped under the touch. "Like someone splattered him with paint. And these—" His thumb traced a thin white scar curving under Ender's ribs. "Where'd you get this one, little bird?"
Ender's throat closed up. He tried to speak, but what came out was more of a wheeze.
"Don't have to tell us." Gene's voice was softer than Ender had ever heard it. His free hand came down, fingers carding through Ender's hair, pushing the purple-white curls back from his forehead. "Not tonight. Tonight you just have to feel."
"I—okay." Ender's voice was tiny. Pathetic. He hated how much he didn't care.
Zenix made a sound low in his chest, something between a growl and a laugh. "Okay, he says. Like he's not about to come apart under our hands." He tugged at Ender's jeans, working them down over his hips, and Ender's breath stuttered. "Lift up for me, baby. That's it."
The denim scraped against his thighs, his knees, and then Zenix was pulling them off completely, tossing them somewhere Ender couldn't see. The air hit his boxers, thin cotton doing nothing to hide how hard he already was, and Ender's face burned so hot he thought he might actually combust.
"Look at that." Gene's thumb brushed over Ender's cheekbone, catching the heat there. "You're blushing everywhere, aren't you? Every inch of you."
"Probably." Zenix's grin was sharp in the dim light. He dragged one finger along the waistband of Ender's boxers, feather-light, and Ender's hips jerked involuntarily. "Let's find out."
The boxers came down slower than the jeans, Zenix drawing it out, watching Ender's face the whole time. And Ender—Ender couldn't look away. Couldn't close his eyes. Couldn't do anything but lie there, wrists pinned, body exposed, and let them see everything.
"There we go." Gene's voice dropped an octave. "There's our pretty boy."
"Please—" Ender didn't know what he was begging for.
"We've got you." Gene leaned down, mouth brushing Ender's ear. "We've got you, little bird. Just let go."
And then Gene's mouth was on his chest.
Ender arched off the bleacher, a broken sound tearing from his throat. Gene's tongue dragged hot and wet down his sternum, teeth scraping over his nipple, and Ender's bound hands clenched into fists above his head. Zenix's hands were on his thighs, spreading him wider, thumbs digging into the soft skin just below his hips.
"Fuck, you're responsive." Zenix sounded almost reverent. "Every little touch, you just—" He demonstrated by dragging his nails lightly up Ender's inner thigh, and Ender sobbed. "Yeah. Like that."
"Too much?" Gene asked against his skin. "Want us to stop?"
"No." The word came out fierce, desperate. "No, don't stop, please don't—"
"Good boy." Gene's mouth moved lower, tongue dipping into Ender's navel, and Ender's vision went white at the edges. "Such a good boy for us."
"You have no idea how long we've wanted this." Zenix's hands slid up Ender's sides, palms flat against his ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of his pecs. "Watching you in class. Watching you hide behind your books. Wondering what you'd sound like when you fell apart."
"I—" Ender's voice cracked. "You really—you thought about me?"
"Thought about you?" Gene laughed against his stomach, the vibration making Ender twitch. "Baby, we've been obsessed. Following you around campus like a couple of fucking stalkers. Asking around about you. Your name. Your schedule."
"Your fucking glasses." Zenix plucked them off Ender's face, and the world went blurry at the edges. "These things. Do you know how many times I've wanted to knock them off your face and see what you'd do?"
Ender's breath hitched. "What—what did you think I'd do?"
"I thought you'd cry." Zenix's voice was dark, hungry. "I thought you'd look at me with those big eyes all wet and scared, and I thought I'd lose my goddamn mind."
"You're not scared, are you, little bird?" Gene's mouth was on his hip now, teeth grazing the bone. "You're not scared of us."
"No." Ender shook his head, curls scraping against splintered wood. "I'm not scared. I'm—" He didn't have words for what he was.
"Tell us."
"I'm—" Ender's hips bucked as Zenix's hand wrapped around him, finally, finally, fingers hot and rough. "Oh god—"
"That's not our names." Gene's teeth sank into the meat of Ender's thigh, and Ender screamed.
"Gene!" His back bowed off the bleacher. "Zenix—please, please, I can't—"
"You can." Zenix's grip tightened, stroking slow and deliberate. "You can take it. You're going to take whatever we give you, aren't you, little bird?"
"Yes—yes, anything, just—"
"Just what?"
"Don't stop!"
They didn't.
Gene's mouth worked its way back up Ender's stomach, teeth and tongue leaving marks that would bloom purple by morning. Zenix's hand moved faster, grip slick with Ender's own arousal, thumb swiping over the head in a way that made Ender's thoughts scatter like startled birds.
"You're close." Gene's voice was a growl against his collarbone. "I can feel you shaking. You want to come, baby?"
"Yes—"
"Beg for it."
Ender sobbed. His wrists twisted uselessly in Gene's grip, his hips fucking up into Zenix's fist, his entire body a live wire of want and need and something terrifyingly close to love.
"Please let me come," he gasped. "Please, Gene, Zenix, please, I need—I need—"
"Need what?"
"You. Both of you. Always. Please—"
Ender came with a scream that echoed off the concrete walls, body convulsing, vision going white. Zenix's hand kept working him through it, wringing every last shudder from his oversensitive flesh until Ender was sobbing from the overstimulation, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
"There he is." Gene released his wrists finally, and Ender's arms fell limp to his sides. "There's our boy."
"Our beautiful, perfect boy." Zenix lifted his hand to his mouth, licking Ender's release off his fingers like it was something precious. "You did so good, baby. So fucking good."
Ender couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only lie there, boneless and shaking, as Gene and Zenix's hands moved over him—gentle now, soothing, wiping the tears from his cheeks and the sweat from his forehead.
"Was that okay?" Gene's voice had lost its sharp edge, gone soft in a way that made Ender's heart clench. "Did we hurt you?"
"No." Ender's voice was wrecked. "No, it was—" He swallowed hard. "It was perfect."
"Good." Zenix pressed a kiss to his knee, almost reverent. "Because we're not done with you."
Ender's eyes flew open. "What?"
Gene laughed, low and warm, and pulled Ender up into his lap like he weighed nothing. "I told you, little bird. We're only getting started."
Zenix settled behind Ender, chest to Ender's back, arms wrapping around them both. "You think we're going to let you go home after that? After you screamed our names like a goddamn prayer?"
"I—" Ender's brain was still scrambled. "I don't—"
"You're coming home with us." Gene's tone brooked no argument. "You're going to let us take care of you. Clean you up. Feed you. And then—" His hand slid down Ender's stomach, fingers brushing over sensitive flesh still tacky with release. "Then we're going to do that again."
"And again," Zenix added against Ender's ear. "Until you can't walk. Until you can't think. Until the only word you remember is our names."
Ender shivered.
"Unless you don't want that." Gene's eyes searched his face, suddenly serious. "Unless this was just—"
"No." Ender grabbed his wrist, surprising them both. "No, I want—" He swallowed, forcing the words out past the fear and the insecurity and the voice in his head that said he didn't deserve this. "I want all of it. Everything."
Gene's smile was slow, dangerous, beautiful. "Good."
Zenix's arms tightened around him. "Then let's get you home, little bird. We've got a long night ahead of us."
They dressed him between them, hands gentle and possessive, pulling his jeans back up over trembling legs and tugging his hoodie over his head. Gene found his glasses, wiped them carefully on his own shirt before sliding them back onto Ender's face. The world snapped back into focus—sharp edges and muted colors and two pairs of eyes looking at him like he was something precious.
"Ready?" Zenix asked.
Ender nodded. His legs were still shaking. His heart was still racing. And somewhere beneath the fear and the nerves and the sheer disbelief that any of this was real, there was something else—something warm and steady and certain.
He was theirs.
They'd made sure of that.
And as they led him out of the lot, one on each side, hands never leaving his body, Ender let himself believe it. Let himself feel it. Let himself want it.
The night air was cold on his face, but their hands were warm.
He didn't look back.