Page 175 of The Menagerie

The butterflies in Rowan’s stomach must be migrating, because he can feel them fluttering rapidly all throughout his body.

It’s been a long time since he’s bottomed. He can’t even rememberwhen, exactly, only that he didn’t enjoy it all that much. Part of him is worried that this time will be no different, but a bigger part of him tells him that it’s going to be different simply because this isMal.

Mal, who he…. Loves. Fuck, it still doesn’t seem real. Still feels weird as hell to admit that, even to himself. And to think that a week ago, he’d been feeling sorry for himself and thought Mal didn’t even like him back. Now here he is, fully admitting his feelings.Acceptinghis feelings too. He thinks about it as he takes probably the longest and most thorough shower of his life before leaving, only teasing himself the slightest bit, but not fully prepping himself. He wants to save that for when he’s with Mal.

AT THEclub, he finds Mal already at the bar, half a beer sitting in front of him. Rowan’s usually always the earlier of the two, Mal typically showing up either on time or a few minutes late to their sessions.

When he meets his eyes, he looks eager.Giddy.

“You ready to do this, Savaryn?” Rowan asks, taking a swig of Mal’s beer.

“Damn straight, Campbell.”

Mal’s nearly vibrating out of his skin by the time they make it to the Gold Room, slamming the door behind him and locking it as soon as the latch clicks shut. He hurries over to the bed and dumps out his bag unceremoniously and with a fervor Rowan hasn’t seen him with even when they first started scening.

“What’s got you so excited?” Rowan asks with amusement, picking up the cuffs from the pile of stuff on the bed.

“I’m pent up, man. Haven’t had anything but my right hand inweeks.”

The confession warms Rowan’s belly as the words reach his ears. Mal hadn’t slept with anyone else in the time that Rowan had been depressed and they’d chosen to take another week off. It shouldn’t mean much, but itdoes, and Rowan feels as tingly as Mal looks.

“Let’s change that then, hmm?” Rowan responds, inspecting the plug Mal has brought with him.

Apparently he doesn’t want to be empty even when he’s topping. That’s plenty fine by Rowan. The plug is made of smooth black silicone, shaped like a dildo, on the long and thin side—at least compared to Rowan. The base tapers to a thin stem then flares out wide, forming a sturdy base that’s sure to keep it in place.

“Strip yourself, then undress me,” Rowan tells Mal, wasting no time exchanging pleasantries.

Mal complies, nearly ripping off his shirt and shimmying out of his jeans at lightning pace. He nearly forgets to remove his boots first, the fabric of his jeans catching on his ankles before he dips down to hastily unlace them and kick them off toward the bed. His tight black briefs come off last, his already hard cock bobbing free as soon as the material slides over the tip.

“Good,” Rowan tells him, though he’s sure his hungry eyes on Mal’s body say it all.

When Mal steps toward him, Rowan can feel the heat of his body in the small space between them even through his clothes.

Mal sets to work undressing Rowan with a much greater sense of precision and grace than he’d done with his own clothing, folding each piece and placing it on the bed without being asked, like he’s done every time he’s undressed Rowan.

Now fully naked, Rowan sits on the edge of the bed, drawing his long legs up and spreading them wide. In this position, he feels soexposed, but more turned on than he can even put into words.

“On your knees,” Rowan tells him.

Mal dips down obediently, landing on his pile of clothes on the floor.

“You’re gonna open me up. You can choose: mouth or hands. But you only get to use one, understood?”

Mal makes a small, pained sound like the thought of being restricted to only his mouth or his hands kills him, but he nods anyway.

“What am I gonna tell you?” Rowan demands.

“Words,” Mal says, head bowed slightly and voice breathy. “I understand.”

“Good, get to it.”

Rowan dips his head back to stare at the ceiling lights. There’s a brief, anticipation-laced moment where Rowan drops his upper body to the bed and doesn’t feel anything at all, waiting with his legs spread before Mal.

Then the soft tickle of Mal’s hair against Rowan’s inner thigh. A hot breath against his hole. Lips pressing off to the side of where he wants them. Rowan knew he’d choose his mouth. Mal’s got an oral fixation that any partner would kill or die for.

Mal starts out tentatively, a small kitten lick with the tip of his tongue over Rowan’s hole. Teasing, testing. After the first lick, Mal moans against him and digs in more firmly, tongue lapping feverishly. It sends an electric jolt up Rowan’s spine.

As Mal’s eager tongue opens him up, Rowan groans. He can’t remember the last time someone rimmed him. It might have only happened once, and he was undoubtedly too coked out to even recognize it was happening, let alone enjoy it. But Mal’s mouth is delicious, smooth and hot and so goddamn talented that Rowan feels himself melting into the bed, legs jelly and threatening to flop down off the edge.

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