Page 183 of The Menagerie

They stand at the foot of the bed, staring at one another for a beat. Then another. Then another. It’s awkward until Mal laughs, shoving Rowan gently in the chest with his palm.

“C’mon, tough guy. Show me what you got.”

Rowan laughs in response, the tension instantly dissolved between them.

Normally, he’d order Mal to strip off his clothes right now, like he’s done a dozen times before. Call him selfish, but he wants to undress Mal himself tonight. Let himself live in the fantasy that this is spontaneous and has more meaning than a preplanned BDSM scene.

He feels his spine straighten as he looms over Mal, who’s looking up at him through long, dark lashes, lips parted. Rowan cups the back of Mal’s neck, tugging his body toward him in one firm motion, chests pressed together.

Mal lets out a tiny whimper, and Rowan can feel the start of the hardness in his lap.

Rowan covers one hip with his free hand, stroking up under his shirt to the side of Mal’s ribs. He’s hot to the touch, burning Rowan’s fingertips as he trails across bare skin. He releases his grip on the back of Mal’s neck, Mal’s breath leaving him in awhooshas Rowan strips off Mal’s T-shirt, yanking it over his head. He allows himself time to take in his tattoos, the flowers and pistols spread across his chest and shoulders, the smattering of smaller tattoos gracing his arms and chest, the hint of vines growing on either side of his hips from under his sweats. The LISA tattoo on the side of his ribs.

Tucking his thumbs into either side of Mal’s sweats, Rowan slides them down, letting them pool onto the floor and coaxing Mal to step out of them. He leaves his briefs on for now, teasing the inside of his thighs with light strokes as Mal’s head dips forward to his chest and his breathing grows ragged.

“Quit teasin’ me,” Mal tells him.

Rowan grabs either side of his face, pinching his cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gonna tease you all I want.”

To prove his point, Rowan cups Mal’s cock, hard enough to get the other man to jerk his hips forward at the contact, but too light to provide any real relief.

Mal moans softly but presses on when Rowan pulls his hand away. “Brought you here for a reason.”

“Uh-huh. And we’re gonna get to that when I say we are.”

Rowan lets his hands travel back up and ghost over Mal’s neck, the corded muscle taut under his palms. He feels his own cock stir in his jeans.

“Words are gonna be tricky tonight,” Rowan says casually, though they feel heavy in his mouth. “You’ll make sure to tap out if you need to, yeah?”

“Yeah, course,” Mal assures him.

The moment lingers, a brief cooldown in the otherwise steamy atmosphere of Mal’s bedroom.

Any other time Mal has been gagged during their scenes—made unable to speak, anyway—they’ve used a clicker. But Mal didn’t want to use one tonight. Wanted to be able to fully let go and not have to worry about holding on to the thing during the scene. They’ve already talked about Mal tapping out—“I’ll fuckin’ smack you if I need to, man,” Mal had said—but Rowan wants to double-check. Wants to besurethat it’ll happen if it needs to happen.

He locks eyes with Mal, pupils already dilated in the dim, warm light cast only by the two bedside lamps, and finds nothing but excitement and sincerity. No doubt or anxiety or anything else that would give Rowan pause.

He blinks, breaking them out of the still moment and crashing back to reality. The reality that he’s going to get his hands around Mal’s throat for the first time. Rowan pushes Mal’s chest, watching with rapt attention as Mal falls gracefully backward and hits the bed with a softwhump. The bedding rustles underneath him, as soft and supple as Mal’s spread thighs. He’d been longing for the day he’d get Mal in an actual bed, and now that that day is here, he hardly knows what to do with himself.

So he settles on what he knows, crawling onto the bed after him and raking his hands up and down Mal’s legs and thighs, fingertips digging into the lace tattoo on his upper thigh, watching the skin turn from black and white to red and pink. If Rowan were trying to show Mal his love of him as a person through his love of his thighs, he’s sure it would come across and leave little doubt.

He teases Mal until every inch of his thighs and chest and arms and neck are flushed pink. Until his nipples are as hard as his cock. Until there’s a generous wet spot on the front of his briefs. Until his breathing is ragged and his voice is strained.

“Hurry the fuck up, man… I’m halfway to blowing already,” Mal whines after apparently too long.

Rowan smacks him hard on the inside of his thigh, the flesh jiggling underneath and turning a bright scarlet with the force of his handprint.

“Patience, Mal.”

But Rowan caves after only a few more minutes of exploring Mal’s body, mostly because he wants to get the show on the road as well. If he was a stronger man, he’d spend all night drawing sighs and whimpers from Mal’s lips.

With fingers hooked under the elastic waistband, he tugs Mal’s briefs over his hard cock and down his legs. Underwear gone, he shuffles closer between Mal’s spread legs, slotting his knees under Mal’s thighs. His cock is hard and flushed pink and dripping greedily from the tip onto his lower stomach, making the soft strands of pubic hair glisten with moisture. Rowan runs a finger through the precome and brings it to his lips.

“Tastes good,” Rowan tells him.

“Fuck…,” Mal breathes, jaw slack and eyes lidded.

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