Page 28 of The Menagerie

It suits him. Much more than Malcolm, at least from the little he knows about the man. Now that he thinks about it outside the haze of horny desperation, Malcolm sounds so formal, like the kind of person Rowan had been picturing before he met him.

Before he fucked him.

Malcolm sounds like the kind of guy who would kick someone off his yacht if they dared to wear flip-flops rather than those expensive boat shoes that Rowan knows nothing about.

Like the kind of guy who’d only want sex at 9:00 p.m. every other Wednesday night for exactly twelve minutes.

Or maybe like the guy the mob would send after you to break your fingers if you refused to pay off your debts.

But Mal.

Mal sounds like the kind of guy that vibes with everything Rowan’s learned about him in the short time he’s known him.

Like the kind of guy who likes shitty beer, probably because he grew up drinking it like Rowan did and never bothered to switch to anything better.

Like the kind of guy who saysain’tandfuckin’andbitchface.

Like the kind of guy who can get fucked by ten guys and still want more.

Yeah.

Rowan thinks Mal is a much better fit. He likes how the name feels in his mouth, how it rolls off his tongue, though he hasn’t actually said it out loud yet. He’s about to test it out properly when Mal himself snaps his fingers in front of Rowan’s face.

“Yo, you space out on me, man?”

Fuck. Yeah, he definitely did.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were hungry. I know a place.”

Rowan’s stomach lurches at the thought of spending time with him so soon. “Yeah, starving.”

“Cool. Meet me at the bar in twenty. Need to clean up.”

Rowan nods and checks his phone: 11:43 p.m. It’s much later than he thought it would be, but thankfully he doesn’t have to work tomorrow. He finishes buttoning his shirt and is about to head toward the door when he notices Mal grabbing a handful of washcloths and a spray bottle from the supply table and spraying down the bed.

Rowan knew the rule about cleaning up, so it’s not surprising. But whatissurprising is that the nine other men whose mess is on the bed up and left without so much as pretending to offer to help clean up. Actually, given the way most of them acted during the gangbang, he probably could have predicted it.

He rolls up his sleeves quickly and goes to the supply table to grab his own washcloths and the hamper from under the table and bring them over to the bed, where he silently starts wiping the come and lube and sweat from the leather pad.

Mal gives him that same incredulous look he gave him when Rowan offered him water earlier. It makes Rowan’s heart break a little. How has he done this multiple times, according to Camilla, and been forced to bring himself down from orgasmandclean up the whole mess afterward?

“You don’t gotta do that,” Mal says.

Rowan shrugs. “You shouldn’t have to do it yourself. ’Specially when most of it’s not yours.”

“Pretty sure that fuckin’ pile’syours.” Mal points to a large pool of come directly in the center of the bed where he and Mal had finished.

“Didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“Yeah, well, jizz is hot in the heat of the moment. Now it’s just fuckin’ gross.”

Rowan hums in agreement and scoops up the mess with a cloth, wincing as he dumps it into the hamper and letting Mal spray it again before he wipes it clean. Silently Rowan hopes the club provides an industrial-strength cleanser. Working together it only takes them a few minutes to thoroughly clean the bed, making it look like new save for the subtle sheen from the washing fluid.

With a muttered, “Thanks,”Mal dumps the cleaning supplies back on the table. “All right, see you in a few.”

“’Kay.”

---