Chapter 1: Caught Red-Handed on the Living Room Couch
The apartment was quiet in that specific way that only happened when Josh went for his run—a humming, sunlit stillness that made the walls feel thicker and the air feel softer. Ender had counted the minutes after the door clicked shut, waited until the sound of Josh's footsteps faded down the hallway, until he was certain.
Then he'd waited ten more.
The vibrator was still warm in his hand when he finally let himself relax into the couch cushions, his jeans shoved down around his ankles, his t-shirt rucked up to his ribs. The remote was slick with his palm sweat, clutched tight like a lifeline. His hips had found a rhythm, a slow grind against the silicone, and the pleasure was building in lazy, honeyed waves that made his thighs tremble.
Sunlight bled through the sheer curtains in golden streaks, painting the plush rug in patches of warmth. One of the throw pillows had ended up on the floor, half-buried under a discarded sweater. The candle on the side table smelled faintly of citrus, mixing with the ghost of coffee from that morning. It was a good smell. A familiar smell.
Ender's breath hitched as he pushed the vibrator deeper, angling it just right, and his eyes fluttered shut.
He'd been thinking about Josh. He was always thinking about Josh, if he was honest, but this morning it had been the way Josh's hands had gripped his hips in the kitchen, pulling him close for a kiss that tasted like toothpaste and something darker. The way Josh had murmured against his mouth that he'd be back in an hour. The way his strong fingers had lingered on Ender's waist like he didn't want to let go.
An hour. That was enough time.
Ender's back arched off the couch as the vibration kicked up a notch, and a moan slipped past his lips—too loud, he knew it was too loud, but the apartment was empty and he was so close, so fucking close, his hips bucking in short, desperate thrusts—
The front door clicked open.
Ender froze. His eyes flew wide. The vibrator was still buzzing inside him, a relentless hum that made his entire body clench with panic and something else, something hot and shameful that pooled low in his belly.
Josh's low whistle cut through the haze.
"Well, well."
Ender scrambled to sit up, to pull his jeans up, to do something, anything, but his limbs had turned to jelly and his hand was still clenched around the remote and the vibrator was still inside him and Josh was standing in the doorway, keys dangling from his fingers, sweat darkening the collar of his gray t-shirt, looking at Ender like he'd just unwrapped a present he hadn't expected.
"I—" Ender's voice cracked. His face burned. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck, spreading across his cheeks, and he knew he must look like a mess—flushed and disheveled and caught. "You were supposed to be gone for an hour."
Josh stepped inside and closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate. He toed off his running shoes without breaking eye contact. "Cut it short. Thought I'd surprise you."
The vibration was still going. Ender's thighs were shaking with the effort of keeping still, of not grinding down, of not giving in to the pleasure that was still pulsing through him despite the mortification.
"I—I can explain—"
"Can you?" Josh crossed the room in three easy strides, and then he was there, lowering himself to his knees between Ender's trembling legs. His broad hands landed on Ender's bare thighs, warm and calloused and grounding. He tilted his head, that mischievous grin spreading across his face like honey. "Because from where I'm standing—or kneeling—it looks like my boyfriend was trying to get off without me."
Ender's throat tightened. "That's not—I wasn't—"
Josh's fingers found the remote in Ender's clenched fist. He pried it loose, easy and patient, like he had all the time in the world. Ender let him. He couldn't have stopped him if he tried.
"You weren't what?" Josh's thumb hovered over the buttons. His grin sharpened. "You weren't thinking about me while you fucked yourself on this couch?"
Ender's breath caught. His hips jerked involuntarily, and the vibrator shifted inside him, and a broken sound escaped his throat.
Josh's eyes darkened. He leaned closer, his breath warm against Ender's flushed cheek. "That's what I thought."
He pressed the button.
The vibration surged, and Ender cried out, his hands flying to Josh's shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise. The pleasure was sharp now, edged with something desperate, and Josh watched him with an expression that was equal parts tender and wicked.
"Here's the thing, baby." Josh's voice was low, rough, barely above a whisper. He pressed the remote into Ender's palm but didn't let go, their fingers tangled together, the buttons trapped between them. "I love that you're so shy. I love that you get embarrassed talking about what you want. It's cute. It's really fucking cute."
Ender couldn't breathe. Josh's thumb was still on top of his, and every time the vibration pulsed, his whole body shuddered.
"But from now on—" Josh tugged the vibrator free with his other hand, slow and deliberate, and Ender gasped at the sudden emptiness. Josh held it up between them, still buzzing, slick and glistening in the afternoon light. "—every orgasm you have is one I'm going to give you."
Ender's heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat. "Josh—"
Josh's grin softened into something warmer, something that made Ender's chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the vibrator. He cupped Ender's jaw with his free hand, tilting his face up.
"I mean it," he said quietly. "You never have to hide this from me. You never have to sneak around. Whatever you need—I want to be the one who gives it to you."
Ender's eyes stung. He blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump in his throat, and nodded because he didn't trust his voice.
Josh smiled, bright and real, and pressed a kiss to Ender's forehead—soft, almost reverent.
"Good. Now." He clicked the vibrator off and set it aside on the rug. Then his hands slid back to Ender's hips, gripping firm and possessive. "Let me show you what I mean."
He pulled Ender forward, off the couch and into his lap, and Ender went willingly, boneless and flushed and aching. Josh's mouth found his throat, hot and open, and Ender's fingers tangled in his sweat-damp hair, and the afternoon sun kept pouring through the curtains, golden and endless, as if the whole world had narrowed to this singular point of heat and want and the quiet, unspoken promise that he would never have to be alone in his desire again.