Page 43 of The Menagerie

“You’re not gonna get buzzed off that, are you?” he asks, gesturing to Mal’s half-empty glass. He’s thinking about how Mal hadn’t eaten last time; if he’s drinking on an empty stomach, he could easily get buzzed enough to lose his faculties and make it so they can’t do a scene tonight.

“Nah. Been drinkin’ practically since I was in fuckin’ diapers. And I never do scenes drunk. Shit’s dangerous, even if you know what you’re doin’.”

Rowan knows as much both from his recent research and from his wilder younger years, and he’s immensely glad to hear Mal agree with it.

He continues, further putting Rowan’s concerns to rest. “Was gonna have you look at the gear they’ve got so you know what’s available for the future. That’s gonna take a bit.”

Rowan finds himself nodding as Mal speaks. “Sounds good.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes, save for the music overhead, but Rowan can’t help sneaking glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Picturing him naked. Sweating. Spread open. Begging for cock. Rowan’s, mainly. Jason-Jackson’s and Jeremiah’s too.

He’s not as subtle as he thinks, and Mal catches him. “The fuck are you starin’ at, Red?”

Rowan feels his cheeks heat up, glad for the partial darkness and the blue lighting. He’s embarrassed to tell him what he’sreallythinking, so he settles on a half-truth.

“Sorry, just… Jeremiah, ah, told me you two slept together.”

The bartender’s ears must have been burning, because a moment later he appears, asking if they need anything else.

“You tellin’ people my shit, old man?” Mal says, though it’s lighthearted.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes. “Puh-lease. Like you give a fuck about anyone knowing how much of a slut you are.”

Mal snorts in the back of his throat but doesn’t deny it as he downs the last few sips of his beer.

“Old man?” Rowan asks when Jeremiah leaves to help someone else. “He can’t be more than, like, thirty-five. How old are you?”

“He’s thirty-nine. I’m twenty-eight.”

“Oh. Cool. I’m twenty-seven.”

Mal’s eyes rove over Rowan’s face. “Got a bit of a baby face, man.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“It’s the eyes.” Mal doesn’t say what he means by that, or if it’s a good or bad thing, but as soon as Rowan takes the last sip of his own beer, Mal turns to him fully and says, “You good?”

When Rowan meets his eyes this time, they’re lidded,hungry, and Mal looks like he wants to eat him alive. And Rowan’s all too eager to let him.

“Yeah.”

Mal throws some cash on the bar, Rowan leaving his own tip next to it before he follows Mal past the dance floor and nearly all the way down the long hallway of closed doors to a room labeled The Gold Room.

The room itself is much smaller than the Black Room, though similarly furnished. The walls are black, but with gold pinstripes evenly spaced between, making the room all but shimmer from the overhead lights. There’s a supply table with a sink and mini fridge in one corner, an adjustable play bench in another corner, cases of toys lining the walls, and a queen-size platform bed topped with the same thick black pad in lieu of actual bedding. Rowan wonders if any of the rooms haverealbeds and thinks that he’d really like to fuck Mal on a proper bed at least once.

Mal closes and locks the door, something Rowan hadn’t noticed him do for the gangbang, then opens the toy case closest to the wall.

“C’mere.”

Rowan joins him and stares at the wide variety of toys. This cabinet seems to be filled with dildos and vibrators, and they look like the expensive sort, not the cheap stuff you’d buy from the seedy sex shops Rowan had frequented in his younger days. There are a range of sizes, from small and thin to nearly the size and length of Rowan’s forearm, which makes him wince. Mal pulls out a clear glass dildo that looks like a smooth stack of beads with a slight curve to it.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, handing it to Rowan.

“Kinda small for a size queen.”

“Fuuuck off.” Mal laughs. “’S a good warm-up. Feels like beads.”

Rowan puts it back. “Any others you like?”

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