Chapter 2: Bent Over the Counter
The loft had settled into a thick, honeyed silence by the time Gene woke. Late afternoon light slanted through the industrial windows, cutting golden rectangles across the tangled sheets and the three bodies sprawled within them. Ender was wedged between them, his purplish-white hair fanned across Gene's pillow, his face slack with sleep. The marks on his ass had darkened to a mottled bruise, visible where the sheet had ridden down.
Zenix was already awake, propped against the headboard with his phone in hand, scrolling through something that made him smirk. When he caught Gene's eye, he tilted the screen.
"Caleb says the bar's doing a tasting night next Friday. Wants us to come."
Gene grunted, stretching his arm above his head until his shoulder popped. "You gonna show off the boyfriend?"
"Obviously." Zenix set the phone aside, his gaze sliding down to Ender's sleeping form. "Look at him. You think I'm gonna keep this hidden away?"
Ender stirred at the sound of their voices, mumbling something unintelligible before burrowing deeper into the blankets. His hand found Gene's thigh under the sheet, small and warm, and curled there like it belonged.
"He's gonna be sore when he wakes up," Gene observed. His voice had dropped to something softer, a register he rarely used with anyone but the two of them.
"Good," Zenix said, but there was no bite to it. He reached over and brushed a curl from Ender's forehead. "He needs to be reminded."
"Reminded of what?"
"That we're not gonna break him. That he doesn't have to hide."
Gene didn't answer. He was thinking about the way Ender had screamed, the way he'd begged, the way his whole body had shaken apart under their hands. Months. Months of treating him like glass, and the whole time he'd been starving for exactly this.
The thought made his chest tight with something that wasn't quite guilt.
Ender woke slowly, the way he always did, surfacing from sleep like a man climbing out of deep water. His eyes—that deep, muted blue—blinked open and found Gene's face first, then Zenix's.
"Hey," he croaked.
"Hey yourself." Zenix leaned down and kissed him, slow and thorough, until Ender was squirming and making small, pleased sounds. "How's your ass?"
Ender's face went red. It was remarkable, really, how quickly he could go from wanton to shy.
"Sore," he admitted.
"Good sore or bad sore?"
"...Good sore."
"Then it's fine." Zenix pulled back, satisfied. "I'm gonna shower. Gene, you got him?"
"Always."
Zenix rolled off the bed and padded toward the bathroom, his bare feet silent on the floorboards. The door clicked shut behind him. A moment later, the pipes groaned, and then the hiss of water filled the loft.
Gene turned onto his side, facing Ender. Up close, in the honeyed light, he could see the faint scars that mapped Ender's pale skin—thin white lines across his ribs, a puckered mark near his hip, another just below his collarbone. He'd asked about them once. Ender had changed the subject.
Now he traced the one on Ender's collarbone with his fingertip, feather-light.
"How long?" Gene asked.
"How long what?"
"How long have you wanted that?"
Ender's gaze slid away, fixing on the window. The light caught the freckles scattered across his nose, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
"I don't know," he said, but it was a lie. Gene could hear it in the careful flatness of his voice.
"Ender."
"Since the beginning." Ender's voice was barely audible. "Since that first night, when you told me to sit on your lap because there weren't enough chairs."
Gene remembered. They'd been at some overcrowded bar, and Ender had been hovering at the edge of the group, quiet and awkward and so pretty it hurt. Gene had pulled him down onto his lap without thinking, and Ender had gone stiff as a board, then slowly relaxed into him over the course of the evening.
"I thought I was going to die," Ender continued. "I thought you could feel how hard I was."
"I could."
Ender's breath caught. "You could?"
"You think I wouldn't notice?" Gene's hand slid down, curving over Ender's hip. "You were grinding on me for two hours."
"I was not."
"You absolutely were. You kept shifting around, pretending you were uncomfortable. You weren't uncomfortable. You were trying to get off."
Ender buried his face in the pillow. "That's so embarrassing."
"It's hot."
"You're biased."
"I'm honest." Gene tugged the pillow away, forcing Ender to look at him. "I've been holding back for months because I thought you couldn't handle it. And then tonight you were begging for more. So yeah, I'm biased. But I'm also right."
Ender's eyes were wet. Not crying—not quite—but bright in a way that made Gene's chest ache.
"I didn't know how to tell you," Ender whispered. "I didn't know how to ask for what I wanted without sounding—"
"Without sounding what?"
"Broken."
Gene leaned forward and kissed him. Not gentle, not this time. He kissed Ender the way he'd wanted to for months, deep and demanding, with his hand fisted in that soft purple hair and his body pressed flush against Ender's. Ender whimpered into his mouth, his hands coming up to clutch at Gene's shoulders, and when Gene finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"You're not broken," Gene said, his voice rough. "You're not weird. You're not anything except ours. And we're going to give you everything you've been too scared to ask for."
Ender nodded, his throat working. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." A shaky breath. "Yes. Please."
From the bathroom, the water shut off. Zenix emerged a minute later with a towel around his waist and his hair dripping, looking satisfied and utterly unconcerned with the emotional wreckage he'd left in his wake.
"What'd I miss?"
"Gene's being sentimental," Ender said, but his voice was warm.
"Gross." Zenix crossed to the dresser and pulled on a pair of jeans that had seen better days. "You two gonna shower, or are we ordering food?"
"Food," Gene said, and Ender nodded.
"I need to go to the bathroom first." Ender disentangled himself from the sheets and stood, wincing slightly as he put weight on his sore body. He grabbed a clean shirt from the floor and pulled it on, then headed for the bathroom.
The door closed behind him. Gene watched him go, then turned to Zenix.
"He's yours," Zenix said, catching his eye. "But he's mine too. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"Good." Zenix's expression softened. "I'm not gonna pretend I'm not enjoying this. But I also don't want him to think that's all we want from him. He's not just—"
"I know," Gene repeated. "I'm not gonna let him think that."
Zenix nodded, satisfied.
They ordered Thai food. Ender was in the bathroom for a long time, and when he came out, he looked lighter somehow, like something had shifted in his chest. He curled up on the couch between them and let them feed him spring rolls and pad see ew, and when Zenix took his picture for Instagram—him, nestled between two men who looked like they'd walked out of a biker bar, all bone and freckles and soft purple hair—he didn't even protest.
Gene scrolled through the post while Ender was distracted, reading the comments. There were the usual thirsty replies, the heart emojis, the people asking how a "twink like that" had ended up with "two daddies."
He'd kill anyone who called Ender that in person, but the fact that Ender had been claimed so publicly, so visibly—it settled something primal in his gut.
"Give me your phone," Zenix said, holding out his hand.
"Why?"
"Because you're scrolling and looking murderous. Give it here."
Gene handed it over. Zenix pocketed it without looking.
"You need to relax," Zenix said. "He's fine. He's happy. Stop worrying."
Gene looked at Ender, who had moved to the kitchen and was now rummaging through the cabinets for dessert. His hair was still damp, his skin flushed from the shower, and he was moving with a slight, telling stiffness that made Gene's cock twitch with interest.
"I'm not worried," Gene said.
"Liar."
The night before had been something else. Something new. But the more Gene thought about it, the more he realized he'd only scratched the surface. Ender had fantasies. Secrets. Things he was too ashamed to say aloud, even after everything.
And Gene was determined to discover all of them.
Later that night, after Ender was asleep and Zenix was in the other room doing God knew what, Gene found his phone on the coffee table where Zenix had left it. He picked it up, swiped it open, and stopped.
It wasn't his phone.
It was Ender's.
He checked the messages. Zenix had apparently been texting himself from Ender's phone, but that wasn't what caught Gene's attention.
There was a notes app open. A list of some kind.
He knew he shouldn't look. But the title at the top of the screen made his blood run hot.
Things I Want But Can't Ask For
He sat down on the couch. The apartment was quiet, except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of Zenix's voice through the wall. Gene unlocked the note and started reading.
The first item made him smile.
The second made him hard.
The third made him set the phone down and take a very long, very steadying breath.
Then he picked it up again and kept reading.
The list was twenty-seven items long. Some of them were things they'd already done. Some of them were things he'd never even considered.
And at the bottom, in smaller, shakier handwriting, was a message that broke his heart and made him want to break something else.
I know this is too much. I know you'll probably think I'm sick. I'm sorry.
"Jesus Christ, Ender," Gene whispered.
He read the list again, committing it to memory. Then he deleted the note—no, he couldn't delete it. Ender would notice. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He needed—
The bathroom door creaked open. Ender appeared in the doorway, his robe loose, his expression uncertain.
"Are you coming to bed?"
Gene slipped the phone into his pocket and stood. He crossed to Ender in three long strides, pulled him into his arms, and kissed him with an intensity that made Ender gasp.
"Zee?" Ender whispered when they broke apart. "What was that for?"
"Nothing." Gene's voice was rough. "Just—nothing."
He walked Ender back to the bedroom, his hand on the small of his back, feeling the warmth of Ender's skin through the thin fabric of the robe. The bathroom door was still open, the light still on. He glimpsed a wicker basket tucked under the sink—the one Ender had hurried past earlier, the one whose contents were now burned into Gene's brain.
Things I Want But Can't Ask For.
Gene was going to ask. He was going to ask, and then he was going to do every single one of them.
Zenix was already in bed, sprawled across the sheets like he'd been there for hours. He raised an eyebrow when they entered, picking up on the tension in Gene's shoulders.
"What'd I miss?"
"Nothing," Gene said again.
But he caught Zenix's eye and saw understanding flicker there. The same understanding that had passed between them in the kitchen, when Ender had first admitted what he wanted without saying a word.
Zenix's expression sharpened. He'd seen the phone. Or maybe he'd just sensed it—the shift in Gene, the hardening of his resolve.
"Bed," Zenix said, and it wasn't a suggestion.
Ender obeyed without hesitation, sliding under the covers and curling onto his side. Gene climbed in after him, his body a wall at Ender's back, his hand finding Ender's hip under the sheets.
"You know we're not going to hurt you," Gene murmured against Ender's ear. "You know that, right?"
"I know."
"Good." A kiss to the back of his neck. "Because I saw what you've been hiding. And I want every single thing on that list."
Ender went rigid in his arms. "You—what?"
"I read it. All twenty-seven items. And we're going to check every single one off. Starting tomorrow."
Ender's breath was coming fast. "Gene—"
"No arguments. Go to sleep."
"But—"
"Sleep, Ender." Gene's hand tightened on his hip. "Or I'll start tonight."
Ender's whole body shuddered. But he didn't argue. He just pressed closer, his hand covering Gene's, and by the time his breathing evened out into sleep, Gene had already started planning.
The list was twenty-seven items long.
And he intended to make every single one of them come true.