Page 109 of The Menagerie

“More of a rope bunny?”

Mal gives him a flat stare, but the corners of his lips quirk up as he says, “Fuck off with that term, Firecrotch.” After a beat, he shoots back, “You ever done it?”

“Nope. Read a whole bunch about it a little while ago, though. And knot-tying was something we were drilled on in Boy Scouts, so I know my way around the basics.”

“Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” Mal quips.

Rowan snorts, but takes the nickname as a compliment.

He doesn’t really know what to expect tonight. They’ll clearly be doing some kind of rig, but the extent of it is still a mystery to him. He’d done research a couple weeks ago when Mal first mentioned the class, so he’s at least somewhat familiar with the terminology and basic ties. Though like with anything,doingis always much different from reading.

So he’s mentally prepared for pretty much whatever. He’s not, however, expecting Camilla to walk in wearing pastel workout leggings and a sports-bra, tank-top combo with her long blond hair tied up in a high ponytail.

“Welcome!” she trills, taking her place at the front of the room where two large rectangular tables sit filled with dozens of coils of rope. She captures the attention of everyone in the room immediately, a hush falling over the patrons faster than with any schoolteacher Rowan’s ever had.

An attractive man with a medium build, light complexion, and brown hair tied into a topknot emerges from the crowd of couples and joins her at the front.

“I’m sure all of you know me, at least you should, but I’m Camilla, and I’ll be your instructor tonight.” She gestures to the man next to her, “And this is Rory, my demonstration partner. I know we have a mix of experience levels in here tonight, so I’ll be as detailed as possible without making everything overwhelmingly technical for the newbies.”

She grabs a small remote from the table, and with the press of a button, a projector on the ceiling that Rowan hadn’t noticed lights up and displays a large PowerPoint type collage of people tied in all sorts of positions.

“Don’t worry, this won’t be a lecture,” Camilla assures with a laugh. “This’ll mostly be for showing different types of rigs and knots rather than have you all crowded around up here.”

She launches into a brief but informative history of shibari, and Rowan admits he’s only half listening. This is all stuff he’s read from various sources already, so he lets himself zone out a bit and finds his gaze drawn to Mal’s profile.

The sharp peak of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the pink of his lips—lips that Rowan has felt against his own, if only for a feverish, fleeting moment.

God, he’s such a fucking pussy. Jay would drag him to hell and back if he found out Rowan was mooning this hard over a guy he’s only known a couple of months, fucked half a dozen times, and accidentally got kissed by once.

A shift in Camilla’s voice snaps him out of his self-deprecation.

“Like with any kind of kink play,” she says seriously, “the mantra safe, sane, and consensual is paramount in shibari. It’s incredibly easy to tie a rope too tight or in the wrong way and cut off blood circulation or even cause nerve damage. The comfort and safety of the person being tied should come before all else.”

She walks to one end of the table, pointing out a box and a stack of pamphlets next to the coils of rope.

“This is a basic guide to some of the knots we’ll be using tonight, as well as a few different types of ties for nearly every body part,” she says, holding up one of the pamphlets. Next she moves to the box and picks up a familiar tool. “There’s also a pair of medical shears for each duo. With any kind of rope bondage, they should be accessible at all times in case you need to get your partner out of their binds quickly. Don’t assume that you’ll be able to untie something quickly enough. It doesn’t matter if you’re using gold-and-diamond studded silk rope—no rope is worth your partner’s safety.”

Rowan has never had to respond to an incident involving ropes in his time as a paramedic, but he has had to use shears on more than one occasion to quickly defibrillate a patient or access an injury hidden behind clothing. While Mal may be experienced with this, there’s always a chance Rowan will fuck something up and have to cut him free. He hopes that doesn’t turn out to be true.

Camilla picks up two differently colored bundles of rope.

“We have two types of rope available tonight: six-millimeter hemp or one-centimeter cotton,” she says, holding each up in turn. “Cotton is generally preferable for beginners because of the softness and flexibility. However, hemp is what most experienced riggers use because of itslackof flexibility. It makes your rigs much more secure, but it can be a turnoff for some people because of the texture. Hemp generally softens with contact with the body’s natural oils, so the longer you use a rope, the nicer it will feel. But then again, some people like the bite of the harsher rope… so it’s up to you and your partner what you’ll use tonight.”

At Camilla’s prompting, the couples approach the front and pick out bundles of rope and shears, a quiet but eager buzz in the air. There’s a flutter in Rowan’s chest as Mal stands up.

“What do you wanna use?” Rowan asks.

“Hemp if you’re cool with it. Not really a fan of cotton.”

“Sure. Any color preference?”

“Nah, pick whatever,” Mal replies, wandering off toward the other end of the table.

Rowan takes in the full rainbow of color choices laid out on the table. A quick scan of the room shows that about half the people chose black rope, while others chose bright primary colors. He tries to picture what Mal will look like in each color, and finds that every single one of them would look fucking amazing, even the browns and beiges that look like they’re meant to match skin tones.

He settles on a bright red, the color reminding him of the rope he’d seen in the cabinet during their first scene together. He grabs two coils as Camilla’s voice floats softly past his ears.

“Just like old times, huh, Malcolm?”

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