Page 129 of The Menagerie

Rowan laughs again but takes the rare compliment. “Going to babysit my brother’s two kids on Thursday too. Caleb and Jacob.”

“How old?”

“He’s a year older than me.”

“Wh—no, the fuckin’kids. Jesus, Red.”

Rowan’s face turns about as bright as the nickname.

“Right. Uh, Caleb is three, and Jacob just turned one.”

“Sounds like a fucking nightmare.”

“I love ’em. They’re cute as hell at that age. How ’bout I send you a pic of us?”

Mal’s quiet, mouth snapping shut from whatever reply he’d been about to make. Like maybe he realizes at the same time as Rowan does that that’s toeing a line that they’d agreed to set in stone at the beginning of their sexual relationship. Even after opening up somewhat about their pasts tonight, it’s still another step closer to that line.

“The fuck would I want a pic of your ugly mug for, huh?” Mal says eventually, but it’s soft.

“Could send you a dick pic instead,” Rowan offers, trying to lighten the suddenly tense mood.

“That’s more like it.”

By the time Rowan looks up to catch Mal’s profile against the yellow streetlights, they’ve reached their destination. And this time Rowan hesitates. Every other week, there’s been a clear decorum dictating how they should separate—a wave, a chastesee ya. Last time, a one-sided hug.

But for the umpteenth time tonight, Mal surprises him by dipping into a quick side hug that has every nerve on Rowan’s right side lighting up before he’s across the street and shouting, “See ya next week, Firecrotch.”

As far as partings go, this one is much better than the last, but somehow it feels much worse.

AS ROWANlies in bed that night at nearly 2:00 a.m., once again staring at the blank expanse of his ceiling, he doesn’t know what to think about anything. Mal’s attitude toward him has been a fucking roller coaster this past week. Crawling up, spiraling down, and throwing Rowan for one loop after another. He only hopes that Mal opening up to him tonight means that he’s started to trust him withmorethan his body.

Though that trust apparently comes at thecostof his body. The new physical barriers that they need to have in place for the foreseeable future is an unfortunate price to pay for getting closer to Mal, though it’s one Rowan’s almost glad to pay.

But what keeps him awake long into the night is wondering if he’ll ever get to have both simultaneously. Eventually he falls into a deep sleep, dreaming of jasmine petals fluttering in the wind.

Chapter 8: The Shape of You

THE RESTof the weekend and into Monday passes by in a blur. Rowan feels like he’s on cloud nine, not quite believing how much Mal had opened up to him on Saturday. There are still plenty of questions rattling around in his head, but he feels a sense of peace that he hasn’t since they started their arrangement. A sense that they’re actuallysomethingto each other—enough of something to share a portion of their pasts.

With that peace, though, comes a profound sense of want. What started as a fleeting thought at the diner a few days ago has blossomed into a full-blown rom-com style longing.

He selfishly thinks of all the things he wants to say to Mal.Once a week isn’t enough. I wanna see you more. Talk to you more. What if I upgraded my membership? You’re worth the money. Or what if we saw each other outside the club? Would that be so bad? I promise I won’t cross any lines.

Even as he thinks it, though, he knows that he couldn’t keep that promise if he were ever really tested. It makes him sweat, thinking about how Mal might react to all of it.

ON TUESDAY,Rowan is stuck washing the rig with Addison. It’s hot as hell outside, and Rowan has shucked off his uniform shirt in favor of the plain white tank top he wears underneath. Even so, with the physical exertion of soaping and scrubbing the outside of the ambulance alongside the harsh sun beating down on him, he’s sweating profusely.

Addison is faring better, somehow managing to get away with only a thin sheen on her forehead, though her wild, curly brown hair is suffering from the humidity.

They’ve only had one call today, to help an old woman who was suffering heat exhaustion during an ill-advised walk in the park. The rest of the Back Bay, it seems, had the good thought to stay home in the air conditioning. Rowan has to wipe the sweat from his brow repeatedly, wishing that he, too, could be home in the cool air.

“This sucks,” Addison remarks for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Yeah,” Rowan replies, spraying his hands with water from the hose and cooling off the back of his neck. “Gotta keep the boss lady happy, though.”

Addison snorts and scrubs the soapy sponge around the back doors.

Rowan finds himself getting lost in the motions, the monotonous physical labor letting him slip into a daydream of ink and lace. The memories of Mal whining his name as Rowan fucks him or spanks him or gags him flood through him, making his head spin and his cock give an inappropriate throb in his slacks. He recalls every one of their sessions these past couple months, marveling at how good they’ve gotten at taking each other apart. How well theyfit.

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