Page 46 of The Menagerie

God, Rowan wants to kiss him. How the hell could he not? Plush lips parted ever so slightly, pink against his pale skin. And it’s such a natural buildup to sex that without it, it feels like he’s revving a car engine while it’s still in park. Not going anywhere. But it’s firmly off the table, and Rowan’s going to have to find another way of working Mal into a frenzy.

Without the help of nine others.

The challenge of it spurs Rowan into action.

“Get undressed,” he says, voice low.

He feels his back straighten of its own accord, raising him to his full height. Legs hip-width apart and weight evenly balanced between them. Chest puffing out slightly. He doesn’t know if there’s a word for it, this feeling of getting into character, but it feels natural. Feels like if he’s keenly aware of how his body looks and feels, if he has controlover it, then he’ll have full control of his mind as well. And, hopefully, Mal’s.

Mal’s eyes flash, and a hint of a smirk graces his lips as he toes off his shoes and socks and kicks them to the side. He locks eyes with Rowan and grips the lapels of his vest, slowly shrugging it off first one shoulder, then the other. As much as Rowan would love to see Mal do a slow, sexy striptease for him, he’s been dying to get his hands on his skin again for a week now.

“Faster.”

A huff of a laugh through Mal’s nose is his only response. He reaches behind him to tug his shirt off over his head, taking even longer than he had with the vest.

So that’s what kind of night it’s gonna be.

Not on Rowan’s watch.

The second the fabric clears his head and that shit-eating grin sees the light, Rowan grabs his arms—still swathed by his shirt—and pulls him flush against his chest.

“Can’t even trust you to follow a simple fuckin’ instruction, can I?”

“Guess you’ll have to—”

Rowan shuts him up with a sharp squeeze to his biceps through the soft fabric, enjoying the firmness of them. “When I want you to answer something,you’ll know.”

He doesn’t give Mal time to say something else shitty, spinning him in place and then walking him the two steps to the bed before shoving him forward onto it with awhump, arms pinned underneath him, ass perfectly aligned with Rowan’s crotch.

“Nnng—” the soft moan is barely audible from where Mal’s face is pressed into the mattress, but it’s beautiful.

With a firm push to Mal’s lower back, a silent command tostay, Rowan sinks to his knees and hooks his fingers in the waist of Mal’s jeans. The fabric is almost too tight for him to fit his hands under on either side, but he manages enough to give a firm tug downward over the swell of Mal’s ass. He’s expecting the same black briefs Mal wore last time, maybe a different color.

He’s not expecting to be met immediately with bare skin.

But it’snotbare skin. Not completely. There’s a thick black band stretched across Mal’s lower back, sitting below his dimples, another band wrapped around each cheek, framing his ass perfectly.

Fuck.

He hadn’t thought he’d get to see Mal in a jockstrap so soon. It throws him off completely, keeping him frozen in place for far longer than it should, to the point where Mal shifts above him, hitching his hips back.

Rowan snaps out of it, yanking the jeans down to Mal’s ankles. Naturally, Mal moves to kick out of them, but Rowan stills him with a firm grip to his calf, the idea of him being bound by his own clothing far too tempting to pass up.

“Tell me if you need to move, understand?”

“Y-yeah.”

God, hearing the hitch in Mal’s voice so soon shouldn’t be that hot. If he needed any confirmation that Mal likes being pushed around, this is definitely it.

Now, with Mal where Rowan wants him, he can focus on the smooth expanse of his ass, accentuated by the dark straps. Rowan notices a tattoo he hadn’t seen before on the back of Mal’s left ankle, two small snakes serpentining up nearly to his calf, one larger than the other. It looks older than some of the others, ink starting to fade into the cracks of his skin. He brushes his fingertips over it briefly, then runs both hands up Mal’s legs, pausing a moment when he passes the tattooed band of lace with the knife on his right thigh.

Rowan never thought he’d be one of those people obsessed with tattoos, but something about Mal’s strike a chord with him. They look good against his skin, like they’re part of it, where Rowan’s always thought his own single tattoo looks pasted on. If he didn’t have a job to do—making a wreck out of the other man—he could spend hours tracing the ink with his fingers and, if Mal would let him, his tongue.

But now he continues his trail up Mal’s legs to his ass. Last time he hadn’t gotten a chance to properly worship it. This time he’s gonna make up for that.

He slides his hands past the straps and curls them around to take a cheek in each hand… andsqueezes. The firm flesh gives under his grip, dimpling and turning white where his fingertips dig in. He kneads Mal’s ass, fully enjoying how it feels in his hands, the perfect size. The feeling of it and Mal’s quiet hums from above have his cock hardening in his jeans, and for a moment, he’s tempted to pull it out to relieve some of the pressure, but if he does this might be over far sooner than it should be.

So he settles for spreading his own thighs as best he can, careful not to kneel on Mal’s jeans pooled on the floor, keeping his legs in place.

---