Chapter 3: The Apartment Above the Auto Shop
The apartment door slammed shut behind them, and Ender flinched at the sound. Not from fear—his body had stopped trembling from that particular emotion somewhere between the second streetlamp and the stairwell—but from the sheer overwhelming reality of where he was standing.
Gene and Zenix's place.
He'd walked past this building a hundred times, maybe more. Always wondered what it looked like inside. Never imagined this.
The living room sprawled out before him like a fever dream. Posters papered the walls—bands he didn't recognize, faces screaming from faded paper, edges curling and yellowed with age. Between them, half-finished sketches covered the peeling paint. Tattoo designs, some intricate, some rough, all bleeding black ink into the walls like the apartment itself was marked.
Energy drink cans littered every surface. The couch sagged in the center, denim-worn and sweat-stained, looking like it had hosted a thousand sleepless nights. A single desk lamp flickered in the corner, casting everything in shades of amber and shadow.
"Home sweet home." Zenix kicked a can out of the way, sending it skittering across the floor. "Don't judge the mess. We weren't exactly expecting company."
"I'm not judging." Ender's voice came out small. "I just—I've never—"
"Been in a place like this?" Gene finished for him. He was already moving through the apartment, gathering things—a blanket, a bottle of water, something that looked like a first aid kit. "Not everyone lives like this."
"I like it." Ender meant it. The chaos felt lived-in. Real. Nothing like his sterile dorm room with its perfect lines and empty walls. "It feels like you."
Zenix laughed, sharp and warm. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said about our shithole."
"It's not a shithole."
"It's definitely a shithole." Gene set the supplies on a side table. "But it's our shithole."
Something in Ender's chest loosened. They were still them. Still rough and sharp and casual, even after everything that had happened. They weren't treating him like glass. Weren't acting like he was some delicate thing that might shatter.
He appreciated that more than he could say.
"Okay." Zenix clapped his hands together, the sound cracking through the quiet. "Let's get you out of those clothes."
Ender's face went hot. "I—what?"
"You heard me." Zenix's grin was all teeth. "We're going to take our time with you, little bird. And I don't want anything in the way."
"I already—at the bleachers—"
"That was just the appetizer." Gene's voice came from behind him, close enough that Ender could feel the warmth of his body. "We told you we were only getting started."
Ender's breath caught.
"Strip." Gene's command was soft, almost gentle. "You can do it yourself, or we can help. Your choice."
For a long moment, Ender didn't move. His fingers hovered at the hem of his hoodie, frozen, while his brain scrambled to catch up with the reality of the situation. This was happening. This was really happening.
He pulled the hoodie over his head.
The air in the apartment was warmer than outside, thick with patchouli and something musky underneath. It settled on his bare skin like a second layer, and Ender shivered despite the heat. His jeans followed, then his boxers, until he stood naked in the middle of their living room with nowhere to hide.
"Fuck." Zenix's voice was reverent. He'd dropped onto the couch, sprawling across it like he owned the place—which, Ender supposed, he did. "Look at you."
"I'm looking." Gene circled him slowly, footsteps deliberate on the creaking floorboards. "Turn around for me, little bird."
Ender turned. His arms hung at his sides, fingers twitching with the urge to cover himself. But Gene had said no, hadn't he? Had told him to let them see. And Ender wanted to be good. Wanted to be what they needed.
"Stop thinking." Gene's hand landed on his shoulder, warm and heavy. "I can practically hear your brain from here."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize." The hand slid down, tracing the curve of Ender's spine. "Just breathe."
Ender breathed.
"Better." Gene completed his circuit, coming to stand in front of him. His eyes traveled over Ender's body—the freckles scattered across his shoulders, the scars carved into his ribs, the soft curve of his stomach. "You're beautiful."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Gene's thumb brushed over a particularly deep scar on Ender's chest. "Every single mark. Every freckle. Every inch of you."
Ender's eyes burned. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. "You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it because I have to." Gene's voice sharpened. "I'm saying it because it's true. And you're going to learn to believe it."
"How?"
"Practice." Zenix's voice came from the couch, lazy and amused. "Lots and lots of practice."
Gene's mouth curved. "He's right. We're going to tell you how beautiful you are until you have no choice but to believe it. Every day. Until you look in the mirror and see what we see."
Ender's throat tightened. "That might take a while."
"We've got time." Gene stepped back, and Ender felt the loss like a physical thing. "Zenix. The belt."
Ender's heart stuttered.
Zenix was already moving, unhooking something from around his waist. A belt, worn leather, supple with age. He held it up, letting it dangle from his fingers. "You remember your safeword, little bird?"
"I—we didn't—"
"We're establishing one now." Gene's tone left no room for argument. "Something you can say if it gets too much. If you need us to stop."
Ender's mind went blank. Words. He needed words. "Um. Blue?"
"Blue." Zenix tested the word like it was something precious. "That works. You say blue, everything stops. No questions, no arguments."
"And if you can't speak?" Gene asked.
"I'll—I'll snap my fingers. Or something."
"Good boy." Gene's praise hit Ender like a physical blow, warmth spreading through his chest. "Arms behind your back."
Ender complied. The position pushed his chest forward, his shoulders back, leaving him even more exposed than before. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that only accelerated when Zenix stepped behind him.
"This is going to be tight." Zenix's breath ghosted over Ender's ear. "Not too tight. Just enough to remind you that you're ours. That okay?"
"Yes."
"Good." The leather wrapped around his wrists, cool against his skin. Zenix threaded the end through the buckle, adjusting, testing. "How's that?"
Ender pulled against the restraint. It held firm, but not painfully so. He could feel his pulse in his wrists, thrumming against the leather. "It's—good."
"Perfect." Zenix pressed a kiss to the back of Ender's neck, feather-light. "Now. Kneel."
The floor was cold against Ender's knees. Grit pressed into his skin, a tiny, grounding pain that helped him focus through the fog of arousal and anxiety clouding his thoughts. He knelt in the center of the room, bound and bare, while Gene circled him and Zenix sprawled on the couch like a king surveying his domain.
"You look good like that." Zenix's voice was honeyed, indulgent. "All trussed up for us. Ready to do whatever we say."
Ender's face burned. He couldn't look away from his own reflection in the dark TV screen, a ghostly outline of a boy on his knees, wrists bound behind him, looking utterly wrecked.
"Don't hide." Gene's fingers caught his chin, tilting his face up. "We want to see you."
"I'm not—"
"You were." Gene's thumb traced Ender's jaw. "You were turning away. Don't."
"Sorry."
"What did we say about apologizing?"
Ender swallowed. "Right. Sorry."
Gene's eyebrow raised.
"I mean—" Ender huffed, frustrated with himself. "I'm not sorry. I'll try to stop."
"Better." Gene released his chin, but his eyes stayed fixed on Ender's face. "Now. We're going to play a game."
Ender's stomach flipped. "A game?"
"Mmm." Gene stepped back, joining Zenix on the couch. He settled into the worn cushions, one arm draped across the back, legs spread wide. "You want us to touch you."
It wasn't a question. Ender nodded anyway.
"Then you have to earn it." Zenix's grin was sharp. "Every kiss. Every touch. Every ounce of contact. You have to ask for it."
"And if we feel like you've earned it," Gene continued, "we'll give it to you."
"And if we don't feel like you've earned it..." Zenix shrugged. "You wait."
Ender's mouth went dry. "That's—"
"Mean?" Zenix laughed. "Maybe. But you'll thank us for it later."
"I don't understand."
"You will." Gene leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Start simple. Ask me to touch your face."
Ender blinked. "You want me to—"
"Ask."
The word cracked through the apartment like a whip. Ender flinched, then straightened, forcing himself to meet Gene's eyes.
"Please touch my face."
"Not good enough." Gene settled back. "Try again."
Ender's cheeks heated. "Please... please touch my face, Gene."
"Better." Gene didn't move. "But not good enough."
"I don't—what do you want?"
"I want you to mean it." Gene's voice was patient, almost kind. "I want you to ask like it's the only thing you want in the world. Because if you don't want it that badly, why should I give it to you?"
Something cracked open in Ender's chest. Something desperate and raw that had been locked away for years. "Please." His voice broke on the word. "Please, Gene. I want—I need you to touch me. Please."
Gene's eyes darkened. He rose from the couch slowly, crossing the distance between them in three long strides. His hand cupped Ender's cheek, palm rough with calluses, and Ender leaned into the touch like a starving thing.
"Good boy." Gene's thumb brushed over his cheekbone. "That's what we wanted."
"More." The word slipped out before Ender could stop it. "Please. More."
"Greedy." Gene didn't sound displeased. "But we like that."
"He does have pretty eyes." Zenix had moved while Ender was distracted, appearing at Gene's shoulder like a shadow. "I want to kiss them."
"Then make him ask."
Zenix crouched down, bringing himself to Ender's level. His hazel eyes were warm, amused, utterly focused. "Ask me, little bird."
"Please kiss me." Ender's voice was steadier now. "Please, Zenix. I want you to kiss me."
"Where?"
"Wherever you want."
"Good answer." Zenix leaned in, pressing his lips to Ender's forehead. It was chaste, barely a brush of contact, but Ender's whole body shivered with it.
"More." He was begging now, past the point of embarrassment. "Please. I need—"
"Shh." Zenix kissed his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his eye. Each touch was light as air, barely there, and Ender wanted to scream with how much he needed them to be heavier. "We know what you need."
"Do you?" Ender's voice cracked. "Because I don't—I don't know what I need. I just know I need—"
"Us." Gene's voice was soft. "You need us."
"Yes." Ender's eyes burned. "Yes, I need you. Both of you. Always. Please."
"You have us." Gene knelt in front of him, one hand cupping Ender's face, the other resting on his thigh. "You've always had us. We've been yours since the moment we saw you."
"I didn't know."
"We know." Zenix's hand joined Gene's on Ender's thigh, their fingers tangling together on his skin. "We were waiting. Watching. Making sure you were ready."
"I was always ready." The confession tore out of Ender's throat. "I've always—I've wanted you for so long. I just didn't think—"
"You didn't think you deserved us." Gene's thumb traced Ender's lower lip. "We're going to fix that."
"How?"
"Practice." Zenix's grin was back, sharp and dangerous. "Lots and lots of practice."
They kissed him together, then. Gene's mouth on his, Zenix's lips on his neck, four hands moving over his body like they were memorizing him. And Ender let them. Let himself be touched and held and wanted.
By the time they pulled back, he was shaking. His thighs were slick with the evidence of his own arousal, his cock hard and aching between his legs. The belt around his wrists had tightened with his struggles, and he could feel every heartbeat in his fingertips.
"Please." His voice was a wreck. "Please, I need—"
"We know what you need." Gene's eyes were dark, hungry. "But first, you have to say it."
"Say what?"
"Tell us who you belong to."
The words hit Ender like a physical blow. He sucked in a breath, his chest heaving, his mind racing. This was it. The point of no return. If he said it, it would be true. If he said it, everything would change.
"I belong to you." His voice was shaky, but clear. "To both of you. I'm yours."
Gene made a sound low in his throat. Something possessive. Something primal. "Again."
"I'm yours." Ender's voice grew stronger. "I belong to you, Gene. I belong to you, Zenix. I'm yours."
"Fuck." Zenix's hands were on him, pulling him up, dragging him toward the bedroom. "Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to us."
The bedroom was dark, lit only by the streetlight filtering through the blinds. The mattress was old, springs creaking as Zenix pressed Ender face-down into the sheets. His bound wrists were pulled up behind his back, putting a delicious strain on his shoulders.
"Comfortable?" Gene asked from somewhere behind him.
Ender laughed, the sound half-strangled. "No."
"Good." Gene's hand landed on his ass, squeezing hard. "You're not supposed to be."
"Fuck you."
The room went still.
Zenix's laugh broke the silence first, loud and delighted. "Holy shit. Where did that come from?"
"I don't know." Ender's face burned. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"Don't apologize." Gene's voice was strange. Tight. "That was hot."
"Really?"
"You have no idea." Gene's hand moved, sliding up Ender's spine. "Zenix. Lube."
The drawer creaked open. Ender heard the click of a cap, then fingers—slick and cool—pressing against him. He tensed, then forced himself to relax, to breathe, to let them in.
"That's it." Zenix's voice was soft. "That's my good boy. Just breathe."
One finger slid inside. Then two. Ender's hands clenched into fists behind his back, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The stretch burned, but not badly. Just enough to make him present. To remind him where he was.
"Ready?" Gene asked.
"I—yes. Please."
"And you remember your word?"
"Blue." Ender's voice was steady. "I remember."
"Then tell us again."
"I'm yours." Ender's voice rang out, clear and defiant and utterly broken. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours—"
Gene pressed into him.
The world went white. Ender screamed into the pillow, his body arching, every nerve ending firing at once. It hurt. It was perfect. It was everything he'd ever wanted.
"That's it." Zenix's hands were on his hips, holding him steady. "That's our boy. Take it. Take all of it."
Gene moved slowly. Deliberately. Every thrust was measured, controlled, designed to drive Ender absolutely insane. And Ender loved it. Loved the way Gene's hips slapped against his ass, loved the way Zenix's fingers dug into his skin, loved the way he couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began.
"More." He was begging again. He would always be begging. "Please, more, faster, please—"
Gene laughed, low and rough. "Greedy little thing."
"Then let me help." Zenix shifted, and Ender felt another presence behind him. Felt Zenix's fingers, slick and insistent, pressing alongside Gene. "Think you can take both of us, little bird?"
Ender's eyes flew open. "What—"
"We promised to ruin you." Gene's voice was in his ear, hot and fierce. "This is us keeping our promise."
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can." Zenix's fingers pressed in, joining Gene, and Ender screamed again. "There's our good boy. Taking us so well."
The pain was a bright thing, sharp and clean. But underneath it—twisted around it—was pleasure. More pleasure than Ender knew what to do with. And it only grew as they moved together, two sets of hips finding a rhythm, two voices panting in his ears.
"Tell us who you belong to." Gene's command was more growl than words.
"You!" Ender's voice was a wreck. "You, both of you, always, I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"
They took him apart.
It went on forever. It went on for seconds. Ender couldn't tell anymore. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but feel, and the feeling was everything he'd ever wanted and more.
When he came, it was with a scream that tore his throat raw. His body clenched around them, drawing them deeper, pulling them over the edge with him. Gene came with a growl. Zenix with a laugh that dissolved into something softer.
They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. The belt around Ender's wrists was loosened, his arms pulled free, his body gathered between them like something precious.
"You okay?" Gene's voice was quiet.
"I'm..." Ender swallowed. "I'm better than okay."
"Good."
"Great, actually." Zenix pressed a kiss to Ender's shoulder. "You're perfect."
"I'm not—"
"Don't." Gene's voice was firm. "You're perfect. Say it."
"I'm..." Ender huffed. "I'm perfect."
"Better." Gene's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. "Now sleep."
"But—"
"Sleep." Zenix echoed the command. "We'll still be here in the morning."
Ender wanted to argue. Wanted to stay awake, to savor this, to make sure it was real. But his body had other plans. His eyes were already closing, his mind already drifting.
The last thing he heard was Gene's voice, soft against his ear.
"We've got you, little bird. We've got you."
And for the first time in years, Ender believed it.
He slept.