Page 24 of The Menagerie

“I saidno. My name or I pass you off to one’a these fuckin’ pussies and letthemtry to make you come.”

It’s a bluff. A boldfaced lie. Rowan doesn’t trust any of these people to treat Malcolm as well as he knows he can, as well as he alreadyhastonight, and they’ve hardly exchanged any words in the mere hours they’ve known each other.

But the threat is enough.

Malcolm’s voice is low, barely audible over the pants and groans and slick sounds of men jerking off around them. If his head wasn’t dipped back onto Rowan’s shoulder, Rowan might have missed it altogether.

But it’s there.

He hears it.

“Rowan….”

A tiny rasp of a thing, whispered in one single syllable rather than two. And God if it isn’t the hottest fucking thing he’s heard in his life.

“Again.”

Rowan speeds up his hips, loosens his grip on Malcolm’s cock and pumps him in time with his thrusts, angling up to hit his prostate on every stroke.

His name comes easier this time. Louder. Breathier. Properly, with two syllables.

“Rowan.”

He pistons into Malcolm, driving his full length into Malcolm’s ass hard enough to bruise his cheeks and Rowan’s hips alike. The cock in his hand twitches as he strokes and twists and flicks his fingers over the tip.

“That’s it. Again.”

“Rowan,please—”

He thought it’d be harder to get him begging, whimpering his name in pure desperation, but really, it wasn’t difficult at all. Like he’d been waiting for someone to make him do it.Doesn’t beg for anyone, myass, Rowan thinks.

Everything is a blur, all of Rowan’s senses going into overdrive as he gives everything he has to the man in front of him. He can feel him shaking, vibrating under his ministrations, muscles taut like a bowstring poised to snap the second it’s touched the right way.

“Once more. Then you can come.”

Thatway.

“Rowan!” Malcolm cries out, voice hoarse but the name loud and clear on his lips, body quaking through the orgasm that Rowan can feel as sinuous pulses around his cock and sticky wetness in his hand.

He’s so good for him,perfect, and Rowan fucks him through it, echoes of his name dripping from his lips like a chanted prayer.

The pure ferality of Malcolm, thegodof the Menagerie, moaning out Rowan’s name in front of a room full of men he had reduced to base physical characteristics rips Rowan’s own orgasm from him. He spills inside Malcolm hard, come mixing with the release of nine other men.

“Fuck yeah,” someone calls out. “Put ’im in his place.”

“Such a good fuckin’ slut.”

“Gonna jerk off to that for weeks.”

Echoes of the same sentiment come from all around them, along with groans and grunts as more men finish. In his periphery, Rowan can see their come splattering onto the bed, but he couldn’t care less about it when Malcolm slumps against him, back heaving against Rowan’s chest, slick with sweat.

He rocks his hips gently against Malcolm and strokes him through the aftershocks of his orgasm, conscious of not hurting him in case he’s oversensitive. And Christ, he must be after having been fucked almost nonstop for hours.

The crowd starts to clear as the men leave one by one to clean themselves off and re-dress, chatting excitedly, until it’s only Rowan and Malcolm left on the bed.

“Did so good,” Rowan whispers low in his ear. “So perfect. God, you’re incredible.”

It might be a little much, but he means it. And shit, Malcolm never discussed aftercare, but he must needsomething, so Rowan talks to him in a low voice about how good he was and how Rowan can’t believe he’s real and pets over his chest and arms and sides until Malcolm stops shaking and his breathing slows. Only then does he pull out, a gush of come following and dripping down the backs of Malcolm’s thighs.

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