Page 32 of The Menagerie

Fuck. Leave it to Hank to somehow infect a small diner all the way in the Back Bay with his bullshit.

Rowan heaves a sigh, hoping he’s not going to be chased out with a broom or, more likely, a shotgun. “Unfortunately. He’s my dad.”

“Ah. Well. Can’t be helped, I suppose. I know well enough not to judge someone for the sins of their father.” Sheila squeezes Mal’s shoulder as she says it, while keeping her eyes on Rowan. “You seem like a nice enough boy, Rowan. I hope I’ll see you around again.”

“You too.”

Rowan is confused as hell by the entire exchange. When Sheila leaves, Rowan looks to Mal with an, “Uhh….” but the other man shrugs and stuffs half of a sausage in his mouth.

“Haven’t eaten anything but a protein shake all fuckin’ day,” he says, as if in explanation, barely chewing the food before grabbing his utensils to roughly cut up his pancakes then drown them in syrup.

“Really?”

Mal gives him aYou serious?look while shoveling up home fries with his fork. Oh. Yeah, duh. Rowan had already almost forgotten what they’d done.Andhow much prep it takes to do a big bareback scene like that, or do any kind of anal play really. Usually douching is enough, but apparently Mal hadn’t eaten all day as an extra precaution.

“Oh. Right.” He feels the heat creep into his cheeks and forces himself to focus on his own food instead, suddenly famished.

While it’s hard to screw up a BLT, he has to admit that this particular sandwich is delicious. Fresh-tasting produce, a pile of crispy bacon, bread that’s soft in the center and crunchy on the outside. The fries are good too—not overly greasy or salty like a lot of places make them—and with some sort of spice blend on top that makes him wolf them down about as fast as Mal’s devouring his own food.

When Rowan’s mostly done with his sandwich and Mal slows down, less ravenous and more grazing, Rowan feels like it’s safe enough to at least ask some basic questions.

“So what do you do?”

“Wha’ do I do wha’?” Mal replies, mouth full of food.

“For a job? Or, like, are you a student or something?”

Mal snorts in the back of his throat mid-swallow, somehow not choking in the process, and wipes his face with a napkin.

“I’m an accountant.”

Rowan barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. In return, Mal gives him a flat stare.

“Somethin’ funny, Firecrotch?”

A chill runs down Rowan’s spine, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“The fuck would I lie for?”

“Like a sexy accountant or a real accountant?”

Mal rolls his eyes. “A real one, jackass. I’m good with numbers.”

“Oh. Jesus, sorry. Guess I just… can’t picture you doing anything corporate.” Rowan’s eyes flick down to Mal’s knuckle tats and back up to his face in time to see his eyes roll.

“They let me work from home.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t ask Rowan what he does in return. But sue him, Rowan’s proud of his job and wants to show off a little bit.

“Did you hear about the guy that got choked out at the club last week?” Rowan asks.

Mal nods his head in recognition. “Yeah, fuckin’ moron. Shit’s forbidden for that exact reason.”

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