Page 189 of The Menagerie

So much love underneath it all.

TONIGHT FORthe first time, they visit the VoyEx corner. They’d talked about doing it for a while now but hadn’t yet worked up the courage to actually do it. But they finally decided on it and booked a slot on the stage—wanting to make sure that no one else claimed it first.

When they walk over, hand in hand, there’s already a crowd forming around the empty stage, Mal still drawing in gaggles of onlookers long after he’s stopped scening with anyone but Rowan.

“Jesus,” Rowan remarks under his breath.

Mal laughs. “You can say that again. Horny fuckers.”

“They see your name on the Events calendar and go fucking nuts.”

“Let ’em. Only one person I care about driving nuts anymore,” Mal says, squeezing Rowan’s hand tighter.

Rowan smiles and squeezes back.

They’d specifically requested a Saint Andrew’s cross for tonight, and the staff of the Menagerie did not disappoint. Smack in the center of the stage is a large, leather-padded, X-shaped black cross, cuffs already in place in each of the four corners. Mal sets his bag down and goes to work swapping out the cuffs for his own fabric-lined ones while Rowan lays out the lube and toys they’ve brought tonight—nipple clamps, a vibrator, a prostate massager, and a clear masturbator.

They’re going all-out tonight.

The crowd around them thickens, more and more men gathering around despite the fact that nothing interesting is happening right now. A couple of them have even started jerking off, completely unashamed. Rowan knows that’s the point of this whole area—to get off watching strangers getting off—butChrist. Save some for the good stuff.

One guy looks like he’s halfway to blowing already, leering greedily at Mal’s clothed ass as he switches the cuffs. An ugly coil of jealousy twists itself in Rowan’s gut, but he has to remind himself that Mal ishisnow, and that what they’ve got can’t be shaken by some middle-aged businessman with an average-at-best cock.

When everything is set up, Rowan runs a hand down Mal’s back, rubbing gently at the dip in his spine above his ass.

“You ready?” Rowan whispers to him.

“Always.”

“Good. Then strip.”

He raises his voice, aware of the crowd around them. They’re here to put on a show, after all.

Mal complies immediately, no fight in him at this point, only eagerness. He strips off his shirt first, pulls it over his head in a swift motion before he chucks it over to the supply table where his bag sits. His shoes and socks come next, kicked off in a somehow attractive, flawless manner that Mal always seems to be able to pull off. Finally he gets to his jeans, shucking them down without preamble, revealing what’s underneath.

Tonight, he’d wanted to wear the jockstrap that Rowan bought him for his birthday. The gold threads shimmer in the overhead lights, accentuating the bulge between his thighs. The straps frame his ass perfectly, digging in tight enough for the soft fat on the sides of his hips to bulge out a bit over the sides.

Rowan grabs him by his hips, tugging him forward flush against his chest. Someone in the crowd whistles, a high-pitched wolf call that makes Rowan surge forward into Mal, grinding his hard cock against his thigh. The attention feels good. Whether it’s more for Mal or for himself or for the both of them combined, it doesn’t matter to Rowan.

Pressed hard against Mal’s body, he stares down into Mal’s gold eyes, slowly but surely being encompassed by black and blinking up at him. He sees the love there, reflected back at him, and it makes his knees weak. He manages to keep them both upright despite threatening to buckle and guides Mal back to the cross. He cuffs first his wrists, then his ankles, kissing the inside of his thigh as he dips down to each leg.

With Mal all trussed up, Rowan steps back to inspect his sub. He’s gorgeous, the hard planes of his body taut and begging to be touched. So Rowan does, running his hands over every inch of exposed skin that he can reach. The heat of Mal’s body fuels him, as do the dozens of pairs of eyes that he can feel boring into him from behind. But this worship of his boyfriend’s body isn’t for show by any stretch—it’s something he’ll gladly do for the rest of time if Mal will let him.

He doesn’t interact with the crowd at all. This may be a performance, a show, but it’s mostly for them. For him and Mal. While they both love being watched, Mal admittedly more of an exhibitionist than Rowan, they could easily go without. Could easily focus on each other and forget the rest of the outside world ever existed.

Rowan doesn’t do anything like ask the crowd what to use on Mal first. Because heknowswhat he wants to use on Mal first. He picks up the clover clamps from the table and saunters back to Mal with the clamps jangling in his fingers. Mal breathes hard through his nose when he sees the clamps, something they’ve introduced over the past couple months of their relationship after their brief dalliance with them during one of their first scenes. Something hereally fucking likes. He squeezes his eyes shut as Rowan opens the first one, poised above Mal’s hard nipple.

“Watch,” Rowan tells him.

Mal’s eyes flutter back open, and Rowan forces him to look down as he fastens the first clamp around one pert nipple. Mal moans, loud and unabashed, squirming in his restraints.

“Good. Now the other.”

Open. Clamp.Moan. Louder this time now that both nipples are subject to the same onslaught.

Rowan tugs gently on the silver chain connecting the two clamps, causing Mal to jerk forward off the cross, hips and chest jutting out as far as they can from where he’s bound. Another small tug has him crying out, gasping a moan, and wringing his hands.

“Feels good?” Rowan asks, though he knows the answer.

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