Page 156 of The Menagerie

Even when he’s being rough and mean with Mal, Rowan’s own admonishments never come with the harsh bite of cruelty underlying them that Steven’s seem to.

They’ve used a breathable ball gag a few times, but Steven grabs a long piece of black cloth from the bed that Rowan hadn’t noticed.

“Open your mouth,” he tells Mal.

“Make me.”

In his seat, Rowan smirks.

But Steven clicks his tongue again, spins Mal in place, and forces the gag in his mouth, tying it tight across the back of his head. Mal lets out a groan as the fabric tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Still acting out, I see,” Steven notes.

Like being a brat isn’t Mal’s default state the majority of the time he scenes. It’s practically his signature fucking personality trait in bed. Part of Rowan can’t help but wonder if Mal’s changed since he was last with Steven, or if Steven really didn’t know him at all.

Steven adjusts Mal’s cuffs so they’re clasped in front of him, then pushes him down on all fours, still facing Rowan.

“Think it’s time we see if you can still take it like you used to.”

After climbing off the side of the bed, Steven stands beside Mal, stroking roughly over his back and ass.

The first spank is hard, straight to Mal’s ass.

“Mmm!” Mal groans.

Mal’s head dips, breaking eye contact with Rowan for the first time since they got started. More hard spanks in quick succession, the sound reverberating off the green walls. He grunts or groans into the bed with each spank, fingers clenched together and turning pale white, tattoos all but popping off his knuckles.

Steven didn’t even ease Mal into it, which Rowan knows he prefers.

Mal’s grunting grows more frequent, but varies in its volume from the barest squeaks to throat-rattling groans. Something about his noises sounds stilted, though. Not quite what Rowan is used to hearing week after week. Not like the sweet sounds he’s committed to memory.

Steven keeps spanking, stopping every few hits to adjust himself in his jeans. Clearly enjoyinghimself,while Rowan’s all but gone soft.

As Rowan watches, his mind reels. Does Steven know what Mal’s favorite positions are? Probably. Does Steven know that Mal’s toes curl before he comes? Maybe. But does Steven know why Mal goes by Malcolm? Most likely not. Does Steven know that he raised his sister by himself to get away from his abusive father? Definitely not.

Rowan knows all those things and more. He knows that Mal hums along to classic rock songs when he’s in a good mood. He knows that he’s Southie through and through—and proud of it—even though he lives in the Back Bay now. He knows that he likes pretty lace panties and that his eyes glimmer in the sunlight like diamonds.

Rowan wants to see Mal’s face.Needsto see his face. Because this is… well, intense doesn’t quite capture it. He needs to know that Mal is enjoying himself. He’s used to hearing his groans muffled through a gag, even, but the sounds he’s making are shy ofactualpain. And he’s pulling away from every impact, squirming in his restraints in a way that Rowan can’t place but that looks different from his normal squirming.

“Has this little bitch made you soft, Malcolm?”

Mal’s full name is poison on the man’s tongue. Rowan can only imagine what it would be like to hear him call himMal. Rowan has no idea what he ever saw in this guy.

“No, Sir.” His voice is garbled through the gag, the words barely intelligible.

“I think he has. You used to be so good for me. Now you’re distracted.Weak.”

Rowan’s fingers dig into the armrests, angry half-moons scratched into the soft leather. He bites back the response on the tip of his tongue, saliva and the bitter taste of unplaced anger flooding his mouth. Mal’s the strongest fucking person that Rowan knows.

“Or is this all just because your new toy’s here, watching?”

Rowan can’t understand Mal’s reply, quiet and jumbled as it is.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

An ugly knot of jealousy coils itself in Rowan’s belly, threatening to rise up and burst out of his chest. Mal finally raises his head again to meet Rowan’s gaze, eyes brimming with wetness. The cloth gag digging into the corners of his mouth is damp with spit and snot, and Mal’s lips twitch as he looks pleadingly toward Rowan.

Something’s not right. This isn’t a look he’s seen from Mal before, no matter how deep in it he’s been. He’s made him cry before, but it didn’t look like this.Thenhis features were relaxed, body loose and moaning freely.Nowhe looks tense, on the verge of quivering. Rowan sits up straighter, nerves tingling, ready to intervene. And then he sees what Mal’s been mouthing through the gag.

---