Page 18 of The Menagerie

“Always been more of a Seagal fan, anyway,” Malcolm grumbles.

Van Damme is replaced by the frat boy, who struggles to keep up a steady rhythm as he takes Malcolm over the side of the bed.

“Not as easy asFifty Shadesmakes it look, huh, Leg Day?”

None of them get Malcolm on top, which is a shame, because Rowan would bet he’d look amazing, thick thighs straining and abs flexing.

Disappointingly, every single one of them jackhammers into him for a minute or two, most coming and pulling out, others grasping the base of their dicks to stave off orgasm. From the look on Malcolm’s face—parted lips, jaw slack, knitted eyebrows, sweat beading on his temples—it’s clear that he’s enjoying himself, even with all the taunting and the bitching he’s doing.

But Rowan wants to see him fall apart completely, and the ferocity of that desire surprises him.

“Beg for my come,” the frat boy tells Malcolm when it’s clear he’s nearing his end. His voice is pitched lower, but it sounds utterly fake. Like he’s playing at being in charge. Not something he’s used to.

“I don’t beg foranyone, kid,” Malcolm snaps back.

Last up is the guy who looks like The Rock, and he’s undoubtedly the best of the lot. He flips Malcolm onto his back and pushes into him swiftly, then hooks his arms under his knees and hoists him up, making Malcolm wrap his arms around his neck for support.

Malcolm’s “Fuck yes, finally” sounds relieved as the man uses all those muscles to lift him up and drop him down on his dick over and over with a sharpslap slap slap.

It’s a good position, Malcolm clearly getting off on being manhandled as much as actually being fucked how he wants to be. Rowan feels the heat begin to pool in his belly and his cock harden fully for the first time in too long. Since it was last down Malcolm’s throat in fact.

He strokes himself, watching hungrily as Malcolm starts to sweat above the man, cock hard and bouncing between them.

But it doesn’t last. After a few meager minutes, the older man’s already nearing his end.

“Sh-shit, I’m coming,” he groans, hips jerking erratically and eyes squeezing closed as he lifts Malcolm up one final time and drops him down, clutching his asscheeks tightly as he empties inside him.

Rowan thinks he sees Malcolm sigh as he’s lowered back onto the bed.

“Can’t believe I actually pay for this shit,” he mumbles. “Anyone here able to last more than ten goddamn seconds?” he calls louder. “Or do I gotta resort to the toy wall like last time?”

There are a few grumbles of complaint, but no one speaks up.

And Rowan? Rowan’s had enough.

Enough of everyone here being shit at fucking. Enough of waiting for his turn. Enough of Malcolm’s fuckin’ bratty attitude, justified as it may be. As soon as The Rock steps aside, Rowan spins Malcolm to face him, legs on either side of Rowan’s own, the smaller man looking up at him with a quirked eyebrow. He’s about to open his mouth, no doubt to say something shitty, when Rowan grabs the back of his skull, wrenching his head back so he’s forced to look up at him further.

“Shut thefuckup.”

Unsurprisingly to Rowan, he does. No one acts like this much of a brat during sex unless they want to be put in their place. And boy does Malcolmexudethe desire to have the fight stripped out of him.

With his other hand, Rowan cups either side of Malcolm’s jaw, squeezing but not getting the reaction he wants. He squeezes again, harder, flesh turning white under his fingertips, but Malcolm doesn’t budge.

“Open.”

Malcolm’s lips finally part, hot breath tickling the webbing between Rowan’s thumb and index finger. Rowan gathers his spit on his tongue, opens his own mouth with a raised eyebrow in a silent question as he’d done earlier. Malcolm said no kissing, but with everything he’s had done to him tonight, everything he’s reacted most violently to, Rowan can say with near certainty that he’ll love this.

In response, his eyes widen and he nods, a tiny dip of his head against the tight grip of Rowan’s hands, but ayesall the same.

Perfect.

Rowan spits into his mouth, pushing in the few droplets that don’t make it with his fingers and pressing his jaw shut.

“Good. Keep that warm for me till I’m done with you.”

Malcolm’s whimper tells him everything he needs to know about how he feels about that.

Rowan pushes him back down onto the bed, the smaller man bouncing up an inch with the force of it, and tugs him by his thighs until he’s nestled perfectly against Rowan’s hips. And he wants to focus on the sight of his cock pushing into his sloppy hole, pink and open and leaking a steady stream of come from a half dozen other men, but more than that, he wants to watch Malcolm’s face.

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