Page 182 of The Menagerie

Mal gestures to the space around him, adding, “Well, this is it. I’d give ya a tour, but there’s not much to see.”

Mal’s apartment is clean and tidy. Almost suspiciously so. Like he’d shuffled everything around a dozen times and eventually shoved anything out of place into some too-full closet that’s going to spill everything the moment it’s opened. It’s a pretty standard layout, the front door opening into the living room with the kitchen off to the left and a short hallway, where presumably the bathroom and bedroom are, to the right.

The walls are apartment-standard white, the furniture all shades of black and brown and gray, made of leather and soft-looking fabric and dark-stained wood. He doesn’t have a kitchen table, but there is a small island off one end of the counter that has two wooden barstools tucked in underneath it. Rowan pictures Mal eating breakfast here in the morning, and it fills him with a sense of warmth.

“Want a beer?” Mal asks, shuffling off to the kitchen before Rowan replies.

“Sure.”

Rowan steps further inside, taking in his surroundings.

It’s minimally decorated, some framed movie and band posters comprising the majority of the decorations. A couple of unframed candid photos of Mal and Amy and the staff of the club strewn about the twin bookshelves in the living room, curled at the edges. What looks like an urn next to a small black-and-white photo of a young Mal and a dark-haired woman Rowan doesn’t recognize. On top of the photos, there’s a plant or two here and there, mostly succulents and low-maintenance plants by the looks of it, one pothos in particular vining all along and down the side of an end table in the living room. There’s a small desk in one corner with a beast of a computer on the floor and three monitors side by side on the desktop, which must be where Mal does his work.

It’s cozy and simple. It’sMal, and part of Rowan still can’t believe he’s being let into this side of Mal’s life, so different from the gilded glamor of the Menagerie.

Mal passes him a Blue Ribbon, twisting off the cap before he does.

“How was your day?” Rowan asks, taking a sip.

“Eh, not bad. Did some chores, cleaned up a bit. Lounged around and tried not to spend the entire day jerking off. Usual weekend shit.” Mal pauses to take his own drink, a much deeper sip than Rowan had taken. “You?”

“Same, except I failed at the not jerking off thing.”

Mal laughs and rolls his eyes. “Better not have blown it all before tonight, Red.”

“Nah, I’m good. Can get it up again pretty quickly. Besides, that was hours ago.”

“Yeah? You think of anything in particular while you were jerkin’ it?”

Rowan gives him a pointed look. “May have gotten off to the pic of your neck that you sent the other day.”

Mal’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Of all the filthy shit I’ve sent you over the past few months,that’swhat you got off to?”

It’s Rowan’s turn to give Mal a surprised look. “You said yourself that you could tell I wanted this as bad as you did.”

“Knew you were a fuckin’ vampire or somethin’,” Mal says, grinning. He’s got the cutest little dimples in the middle of his cheekbones that Rowan wants to run the pad of his thumbs over.

“Pft, your ass is paler than mine, Mal.”

“So? No way your Irish ass doesn’t burn like a motherfucker.”

“You got me there. Though yours gets pretty damn red when I spank you.”

All at once, Mal splutters, the beer in his mouth spewing across the table, little droplets hitting Rowan in the arm.

“Thought I was gonna make you choke in a different context, but all right,” Rowan says with a laugh.

Once he stops coughing, Mal laughs, a warm golden sound that makes Rowan squirm. “C’mon, enough chitchat,” he says, placing the still half-full bottle down and nodding to the hallway where his bedroom lies.

This is it.

Rowan follows Mal into his bedroom. Like the rest of his apartment, it’s neat and minimally decorated. A queen-size bed sits in the middle, a nightstand with a lamp on each side. The comforter is a dark navy, two pillows on each side of the bed making it look like something out of a hotel, except that the comforter is folded at the bottom of the bed, exposing the white sheets underneath. There’s a bureau off to the side of the room, scattered with belts and deodorant and other personal effects. Next to it, a bifold closet is partially ajar, giving Rowan a glimpse into the rows of neatly lined-up hanging garments and a hamper with a piece of clothing partially hanging out. It reminds Rowan a lot of his own bedroom.

“You wanna use anything tonight?” Rowan asks. “Cuffs or toys?”

“Nah. Gonna be intense enough without anything else. Let’s work up to it for next time.”

Rowan’s heart stutters at Mal already anticipating anext timewhen they haven’t even gotten started yet.

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