Page 61 of The Menagerie

He hands Sheila two twenties and decides to ask one of the two main questions he has right now. “Can I ask why you don’t charge us? Or… Mal, I guess.”

Her connection to Hank can wait, far less intriguing than her connection to Mal.

Her lips pull back into a closed-lip smile, though the kindness never leaves her eyes. “Mal’s done a lot for me,” she says, plugging their order into the surprisingly modern-looking register and slotting Rowan’s bills inside. “I’ll spare you the details, but he’s a good boy. One’a these days I’ll get him to stop payin’ me again.”

She holds out several bills and coins to take as change, but Rowan waves her off. Rowan doesn’t really know what Mal’s idea of a good tip is, but he only has forty bucks in cash on him, so that’ll have to suffice. It’s over twenty-five percent anyway. With a grateful smile, she stuffs the cash in the lidded tip jar that’s surprisingly full.

“I doubt that,” Rowan tells her, getting the sense that Mal wouldn’t take any kind of charity from her—or anyone, for that matter—unless he was truly desperate. Kind of like Rowan. He wonders if Mal’s Southie too.

His brain finally catches up, dwells on theagainin her last statement, and wonders if therewasa time when Mal was truly desperate and sought out Sheila’s help. He figures if Mal ever wants him to know whether that’s true, it’ll have to come from the man himself and not from Sheila.

Sheila chuckles through her nose. “Me too, Rowan. Have a good night, okay?”

“You too.”

Rowan exits the diner into the humid night and sees Mal leaning against the window, cigarette dangling loosely down by his side, eyes fixed on the light-polluted sky. The fluorescent neon glow from the signs hanging in the window illuminates his profile in a pretty collage of red and blue, melding into purple across his temple. Briefly, Rowan’s taken aback by the sight of him, practically glowing like he had been when he first saw him tonight, and he’s frozen in place, drinking in the view.

When Mal notices him, he doesn’t comment on the deer-in-headlights response. Instead, he wordlessly holds out his cigarette.

As Rowan gets his limbs to move and takes a deep drag, smoke filling and burning his lungs, he thinks he may have found a few more puzzle pieces too.

Chapter 5: The Loving Dom

ON SUNDAYmorning, Rowan wakes to the warmth of the sun on his face and the faint chirping of birds from the nearby trees. Despite the exertion and excitement of last night, his body feels sated, relaxed in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He has nothing planned today aside from laundry and meal prep for the week. And seeing how long he can go without jerking his dick raw at the memories of last night. As soon as he thinks about it, there’s a slow spreading heat in his belly and groin, his cock plumping up at the thought of Mal on his knees, mouth tight around him, eyes dark with arousal.

It’s enough to get him to reach beneath his comforter and grope himself through his briefs. He’s already half hard and well on his way to losing the bet he made with himself, but fuck it, he’s feeling good and in no hurry to end that any time soon. He keeps his touch light, teasing almost, and lets his thighs spread and his body sink further into his mattress as the memories of last night flit through his mind like an old film reel, slightly hazy but clear enough to remember the important details.

Like how Mal looked up at him with the coil of rope pulled taut between his hands. Like how he whined so beautifully nearly every time Rowan touched him. Like how he askedpermissionto come, then immediately came around Rowan’s cock.

God.

Rowan’s partial chub perks up as he palms himself, and all too quickly he’s achingly hard and the indirect touch isn’t enough. He slips his hand under the waistband of his briefs, breath catching when he finally circles his cock. With a firm grip, he gives himself two long pumps, and he’s so turned on but hasn’t even been hard long enough for there to be enough precome to ease his motions. He rolls to the side with a huff, hand still down his briefs, and pumps the bottle of lube he has laid on his nightstand.

He hadn’t intended on jerking off this early in the day, but now that his hand’s slick with lube, it’s become athing, and he’s going to indulge. He shoves his briefs halfway down his thighs with his clean hand, the band catching on his cockhead and making it slap back against his belly. As soon as he gets his hand back on his cock, the heat of it makes the lube nearly melt off.

But fuck, it feels good. His eyes slip closed as he gives himself over to the steady flow of oxytocin through his body as he strokes himself.

Unsurprisingly, his thoughts drift again to Mal. He wonders if he’s at home, lying in his bed, thinking about last night. Wonders if his hair’s mussed up or if he’s one of those people who look neatly coiffed even in sleep. Wonders if his muscles are aching and if he regrets letting Rowan shred his jockstrap. But he especially wonders if Mal had woken up with morning wood, and if it was a slow, lazy spreading of heat like Rowan’s or a raging inferno that had him shoving his hand down his underwear as soon as he was fully conscious.

Wonders if his hole is still loose from last night. God, Rowan can picture it perfectly. One hand on that plump cock of his, pumping away but needing something in him. Needing to feelfull. Other hand snaking down between those fucking thick thighs and two fingers sinking into himself. A hitch in his breath.

Rowan makes a tight ring with his thumb and index finger, slipping it down over his cock from tip to base and imagining he’s sinking into Mal. It doesn’t compare, of course, but the mind’s a powerful thing, and if he squeezes his eyes shut harder, he can almost,almostmake himself believe that it’s Mal riding him, sinking down onto his cock like he had at the gangbang.

God, he has to get him in that position again. As hot as it is seeing every inch of his cock enter Mal’s perfect ass, he wants to see Mal’s face and all of those subtle expressions he makes that continue to sear themselves into Rowan’s memory.

Eyes scrunched tight, brows knitted together, bitten lower lip releasing into a perfect O as he clenches around Rowan’s cock—fuck.

Rowan grips tighter, precome finally flowing freely enough to further slick his motions, but he’s so turned on that he barely notices, toes curling and legs shaking as he comes, pleasure spreading through him in waves. He lies in the aftermath, come cooling on his belly as his breaths even out, as his body goes limp from the exertion.

Unexpectedly, his phone chimes multiple times in quick succession. He snatches it from his nightstand, worried that someone’s dead or hurt or in jail, but relaxes when he sees they’re all texts from Mal. Lets the slow trickle of warmth in his belly sit there before he tells himself to stop being a fucking idiot and open the texts like a normal person.

He’s clumsy typing in his passcode with his left hand and fails it twice before finally managing to unlock it and swipe to his texts.

[MS]the ultimate guide to kink edited by tristan taormino

[MS]the new topping/bottoming books by janet hardy + dossie easton (good to read both even if you’re not a switch)

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