Chapter 4: Marked and Mocked in the Library
The scarf was silk. Deep burgundy, soft as water, a gift from a grandmother who'd died before Ender could properly remember her face. It had never been meant to hide anything. It had never been meant to be armor.
But that's what it was now.
Ender adjusted it for the hundredth time, fingers trembling against the knot at his throat. The library's entrance loomed ahead, a Gothic arch that had always felt welcoming before. Now it felt like a mouth. Hungry. Waiting.
Three days. Three days since he'd knelt on their threadbare rug and let them take him apart. Three days since he'd screamed their names until his voice gave out. Three days since he'd woken up sandwiched between two sleeping bodies, Gene's arm heavy across his waist, Zenix's breath warm on his neck.
He'd left before they woke. Slipped out like a thief, still wearing yesterday's clothes, the belt marks on his wrists hidden by his sleeves. He hadn't known what to say. Hadn't known how to face them in the morning light, with the taste of them still on his tongue.
So he'd run.
They hadn't called. Hadn't texted. And Ender had spent three days convincing himself that was fine. That it meant nothing. That they'd gotten what they wanted and moved on, just like he'd always known they would.
The scarf shifted again, and he caught a glimpse of purple in the reflection of the library's glass doors. A bruise. One of many, scattered across his throat like a constellation of ownership.
His stomach clenched.
Get it together. Just get your books. Get in, get out, don't talk to anyone.
The library swallowed him whole.
It was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. Just a few scattered students at the tables near the entrance, heads bent over textbooks, none of them looking up as Ender passed. He kept his head down, his shoulders curved inward, his body a study in don't-notice-me.
The stacks were his refuge. Always had been. Towering shelves of old paper and leather, the air thick with dust and silence. He navigated by memory, fingers trailing along spines, breathing in the familiar scent of decay and knowledge.
Here, he could pretend the last three days hadn't happened.
Here, he could pretend he wasn't still sore in places he'd never known could ache.
Here, he could pretend he hadn't spent every waking moment replaying the sound of Gene's growl, the weight of Zenix's hands, the way they'd both said—
"Hey. Freak."
Ender's blood turned to ice.
He knew that voice. Knew the lazy cruelty in it, the entitled drawl of someone who'd never been told no in his life. Bradley Whitmore. Frat boy, legacy admission, king of the campus assholes.
Ender didn't turn around. Maybe if he ignored them, they'd go away. Maybe if he just kept walking, just kept his head down—
A hand closed around his arm.
"Hey." Bradley's breath was hot and sour against Ender's ear. "I'm talking to you."
"Let go of me."
It came out steadier than Ender felt. He twisted, trying to break free, but Bradley's grip was iron. Behind him, two more frat boys materialized from between the shelves. Tall. Broad. Grinning like wolves who'd cornered something small and soft.
"We just want to talk." Bradley's smile was all teeth. "Haven't seen you around much lately. Thought maybe you'd finally crawled into whatever hole you came from."
"I've been busy."
"Busy." Bradley laughed, and the sound echoed off the shelves, bouncing back like a slap. "Yeah, I bet you have."
One of the others—Derek, maybe?—stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Ender's throat. "What's with the scarf? It's like seventy degrees in here."
"It's a fashion statement."
"No. It's not." Bradley's free hand shot out, fingers hooking under the silk. "What are you hiding under there, freak?"
Ender jerked back. Too late. The scarf came away in Bradley's fist, the knot ripping loose, the fabric trailing like a promise broken.
The bruises were livid against his pale skin. Purple and blue and black, scattered across his throat like a map of everything he'd let them do. Everything he'd begged for. Everything he'd wanted.
The silence lasted exactly one second.
"Holy shit." Derek's voice was awed. "Look at that."
"Someone's been busy." Bradley's grin widened. "Or should I say, someone's been whoring himself out."
"I—" Ender's voice came out strangled. "That's not—"
"What's the matter, nerd? Can't afford tuition?" Bradley stepped closer, and Ender's back hit the shelves. Books jabbed into his spine, hard and unforgiving. "Got to spread your legs for some professor to get your grades?"
"That's not—" Ender's face burned. His eyes burned. Everything burned. "I'm not—"
"You're not what?" Derek was on his other side now, boxing him in. "Not a slut? Those marks say otherwise."
"I bet it's not even a professor." The third one—Jason?—snorted. "Probably some TA. Or maybe a whole study group. What do you think, Brad?"
Bradley laughed. "I think our little nerd here has been earning his A's the old-fashioned way."
The words hit Ender like fists. Each one a bruise on top of the ones already there. He wanted to disappear. Wanted to sink into the floor, dissolve into the dust, become nothing at all.
"That's enough."
The voice came from behind Bradley. Low. Rough. Familiar in a way that made Ender's heart stutter.
Gene.
He emerged from the shadows of the stacks like something dreamed up by a nightmare. Tall. Broad. Dark eyes fixed on Bradley with an intensity that made the frat boy take an involuntary step back.
And beside him—
Zenix.
Arms crossed. Head tilted. A smile on his face that was somehow more terrifying than any scowl. He looked at the frat boys like they were insects he was deciding whether to crush.
"Who the fuck are you?" Bradley's voice cracked on the last word.
"Doesn't matter." Gene's voice was ice. "What matters is that you're touching something that doesn't belong to you."
"That's—I don't—"
"Let go of him."
Bradley's hand was still wrapped around Ender's arm. He looked down at it, then back at Gene, and something in his face flickered. Uncertainty. Fear.
"I said let go."
Bradley let go.
The relief was instant and overwhelming. Ender's legs nearly gave out. He sagged against the shelves, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his hands shaking at his sides.
The scarf lay on the floor between them, a crumpled pool of burgundy silk.
Zenix bent down and picked it up.
"You okay, little bird?" His voice was gentle, but his eyes were still on the frat boys. Still hungry. Still dangerous.
"I—" Ender's voice broke. "I'm—"
"Shh." Zenix brushed the scarf against Ender's cheek, soft as a whisper. "We've got you. We've got you."
"Dude, look." Derek was backing away now, hands raised. "We didn't know. We didn't realize he was—"
"Mine." Gene's voice cracked through the library like lightning. "He's ours. And if I ever see you near him again, I'll break every bone in your hands. Understand?"
Bradley nodded. Swallowed. Bolted.
The others followed, their footsteps echoing through the stacks, their laughter long gone, replaced by something that sounded like fear.
And then it was just the three of them.
Ender opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I—you—how did you—"
"We were already here." Zenix stepped closer, wrapping the scarf around Ender's neck with careful hands. "Studying. Saw you come in."
"Saw you walk into the stacks." Gene moved behind him, one hand landing on Ender's shoulder. "We were going to give you space. Let you come to us when you were ready."
"But then those assholes showed up." Zenix's thumb brushed Ender's jaw. "And we couldn't just watch."
"I didn't—" Ender's eyes burned. "I didn't know if you wanted—I thought maybe you were done with me."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"D done with you?" Zenix's voice was strange. Tight. "Ender. Little bird. We've been waiting three days for you to come back."
"You didn't call."
"We didn't want to push." Gene's hand tightened on his shoulder. "We thought you needed time. Thought maybe you regretted—"
"I didn't." The words burst out of Ender like something breaking free. "I didn't regret it. I just—I woke up and you were both asleep and I panicked and I ran and I thought you'd realize it was a mistake—"
"Stop." Gene turned him around, hands gripping his arms, eyes burning into his. "It wasn't a mistake. You might be the best thing that's ever happened to us. The only good thing."
"We're not letting you go." Zenix's voice was fierce. "Not now. Not ever. You understand?"
Ender's knees wobbled. "I—"
"We're going to remind you." Gene's hand moved to Ender's throat, fingers pressing against the bruises he'd left three nights ago. "Right now. In that study room. We're going to remind you exactly whose you are."
The study room was small. Cramped. The kind of place that existed for group projects and whispered conversations, not for this. Not for the way Gene pinned Ender against the wall, one hand around his throat, the other working his belt open.
Not for the way Zenix settled into the plastic chair, legs spread, already palming himself through his jeans.
"You can be loud." Zenix's voice was lazy, amused. "These rooms are soundproof. Used to be a music practice room."
Ender whimpered.
"None of that." Gene's hand squeezed once, a reminder. "You know what we want to hear."
"I—"
"You know." Gene's fingers tightened. "Say it."
"I'm yours." The words came out broken. "I'm yours. Both of you. Only you."
"Good boy." Gene's hand moved, releasing Ender's throat, dragging down his chest, popping the buttons of his shirt one by one. "And what are you?"
"I'm—" Ender's face burned. "I'm your—your—"
"Say it."
"Your whore." The word was a sob. "Your perfect little whore."
"I don't think he believes it yet." Zenix's zipper came down with a sound like tearing silk. "He's still blushing."
"He will." Gene spun Ender around, pressing his face against the cold wall. "By the time we're done with him, he'll believe it."
"I don't—" Ender's voice cracked. "I'm not—"
"You are." Gene's voice was in his ear, hot and rough. "You're ours. You're our little whore and we're the only ones who get to touch you. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it again."
"I'm yours. I'm your whore. I'm—"
Gene pushed inside him.
The wall was cold against Ender's face. The stretch was instant, brutal, perfect. He screamed into the plaster, his hands scrambling for purchase, his body arching back into the invasion.
"That's it." Gene's hips snapped forward. "Take it. Take all of it."
"Fuck." Zenix's voice was breathless. "Fuck, look at him. Taking you so well."
Ender couldn't respond. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but feel, every nerve ending firing, every thought obliterated by the rhythm of Gene's hips.
"Nobody else gets to touch you." Gene's voice was a growl against his shoulder. "Nobody gets to see you like this. Nobody gets to hear these sounds. You're ours."
"Yours!" Ender sobbed. "Only yours, only yours—"
"Good." Gene's teeth sank into his shoulder, a sharp, bright pain that made Ender's vision go white. "Good little whore."
It went on. It went on until Ender was boneless, held up by nothing but Gene's hands and the wall and the sheer force of his own need. He lost track of time. Lost track of everything except the feeling of being filled, owned, claimed in a way that left no room for doubt.
When Gene finally finished, it was with a sound that was almost a roar. His hips stuttered, his body pressing Ender into the wall, his breath hot and ragged against Ender's neck.
And then he pulled out.
Ender slid to the floor. His legs wouldn't work. His brain was mush. He could feel Gene's release leaking down his thighs, could feel the bruises blooming on his knees, could feel everything.
"Don't think we're done." Zenix's shadow fell over him. "I haven't had my turn yet."
Ender looked up.
Zenix was standing over him, his jeans undone, his cock in his hand. His eyes were dark, hooded, utterly focused.
"Open your mouth, little bird."
Ender opened his mouth.
But Zenix didn't push in. Didn't take what he wanted. Instead, he crouched down, bringing himself to Ender's level, and pressed his lips to Ender's.
The kiss was gentle. Soft. A contrast to everything that had come before.
And then Zenix pulled back, smiled, and said, "You're beautiful when you beg."
Ender blinked. "What?"
"I just wanted to hear you say something other than sorry." Zenix's grin widened. "And now that I've got your attention..."
He pushed inside.
Ender screamed.
It was different with Zenix. Slower, somehow. Deeper. Zenix took his time, savoring every inch, every sound, every desperate little noise that escaped Ender's throat. His hands cupped Ender's face, thumbs brushing away tears, his eyes never leaving Ender's.
"That's it." His voice was soft. "That's my good boy. Take me. Take all of me."
"M'so full." Ender's words were slurred. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can." Zenix's hips rolled, finding a rhythm. "You were made for this. Made for us."
"Made for you." Ender's eyes fluttered closed. "Only you."
"Only us." Zenix's thrusts deepened, quickened, his breath coming in hot puffs against Ender's mouth. "And don't you ever forget it."
Gene watched from the corner, arms crossed, a strange expression on his face. Something soft. Something almost like awe.
"You know we didn't have to save you." His voice was quiet. "Those frat boys. We could have let them talk. Could have let them spread whatever rumors they wanted."
Ender's eyes opened. "You—"
"But we did." Gene's voice hardened. "Because you're ours. Because nobody gets to touch you, even with words. Nobody gets to make you feel small."
"Even with words." Ender echoed.
I'm going to remember this. I'm going to remember all of this.
"Fuck." Zenix's hips stuttered. "Keep squeezing me like that and this is going to be over way too fast."
"Don't stop." Ender's voice was desperate. "Please, Zenix, don't stop, don't—"
"I'm not stopping." Zenix's mouth found his, swallowing the rest of his words. "I'm not ever going to stop."
They came together, a messy, sweaty tangle of limbs on the cold study room floor. Zenix pulled out slowly, carefully, pressing a kiss to Ender's forehead as he did.
The clock on the wall read 4:47. They'd been in here for an hour.
"Fuck." Gene laughed, a rare sound. "I guess we missed our study session."
"Study session." Ender's voice was a wreck. "That's what we were doing."
"That's what we were doing." Gene knelt beside him, pulling Ender into his lap. "You're a mess."
"I know."
"You're our mess." Zenix curled up against Ender's back, arms wrapping around his waist. "And we're keeping you."
"Am I going to be allowed to walk?" Ender's question was genuine. "I can't feel my legs."
Gene's laugh was louder this time. Warmer. "We could just carry you."
"That's embarrassing."
"Nothing embarrassing about being taken care of." Gene's fingers traced patterns on Ender's chest, light as air. "You're going to have to get used to it."
"Get used to what?"
Being loved.
I'm not ready for that.
"That you're ours." Gene's voice was quiet. Certain. "That we're yours. That this is how it's going to be from now on."
"From now on." Ender tested the words. Let them settle into his bones. "What about my classes? What about—"
"We'll figure it out." Zenix's hand moved to his hip, squeezing gently. "School. Shopping. Whatever. We're not letting you go, Ender. Not after everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything." Gene's eyes met his. "The library. The bleachers. Three days ago. All of it. Everything was leading here."
"To a study room?"
"To you." Gene leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ender's mouth. "To us."
The clock ticked. The shadows lengthened. And Ender, naked and sore and utterly claimed, let himself believe them.
"Okay." His voice was small. But it was there. "Okay."
"Okay?" Zenix's voice was sharp. "Just okay?"
Ender turned, looking up at him. At his shaggy hair and his hazel eyes and the way he looked at Ender like he was something precious.
"Not okay." Something dawned in Ender's chest. Something quiet and burning. "Everything."