Page 69 of The Menagerie

“Hhhh—” Mal breathes.

“Know what I think you’d actually be doin’?” Rowan asks but doesn’t wait for a response. “Think you’d be sittin’ at home, jerkin’ off. Coupla beers, maybe a few hits on a joint if you smoke. Thinking about how much you wish it was me.”

“Can jerk my dick just fine, man,” Mal huffs, defensive. He doesn’t deny it, though.

“Can’t fuck yourself just fine, though.” Rowan slides one hand around Mal’s hip to the curve of his ass, rubbing a fingertip between his cheeks through his briefs.

“Got toys.”

“Mmm. It’s not the same with toys, though, is it, Mal?” he asks, slipping his hand under Mal’s briefs and squeezing his asscheek, still lazily stroking him as a wet spot starts forming in the fabric from the tip of his cock.

Rowan likes this banter.Lovesit, if he’s being honest, and wants to keep it going as long as Mal will tolerate.

“Toys can’t touch you,” Rowan purrs in Mal’s ear, hands leaving his cock and ass to stroke up over the heated skin of his sides, his chest, his shoulders. “Can’t hold you down.” A firm grip to muscular biceps. “Can’t treat you how you wanna be treated.”

In one swift motion, Rowan shoves Mal’s briefs and jeans down off his hips, making him gasp at the sudden exposure.

“Isn’t that right, Mal?”

“Hn…. They got some fancy fuckin’ toys nowadays.”

“If they had a toy that could do all this, you’d’a bought it already. Instead, you spend three hundred bucks a month to come here and have someone do it to you.”

Mal’s already well and truly lost this argument, but Rowan can still sense the fight in him. The urge to push and the need to beright. But more than that, to be in control and then have that control stripped away.

“Maybe if—”

“Enough. On the bed. Ass up,” Rowan tells him, nudging him toward the bed. “Finish stripping first.”

Mal does as he’s told, shedding his boots, socks, jeans, and briefs and tossing them in the direction of his shirt on the floor. With practiced ease, he positions himself on the bed, resting on his elbows with his knees spread wide. From above, Rowan can see the sinful dip of his spine and the pronounced muscles of the back of his thighs, begging to be grabbed.

“Look at you,” Rowan says, more to himself than to Mal as he gives in and squeezes each thigh in turn.

“Don’t got eyes in the back of my head,” Mal replies anyway.

Smack!

A sharp spank under one asscheek, red already starting to blossom on his skin as Mal’s surprised gasp fades away.

“There’s an idea,” Rowan muses, soothing over the heated skin. “Get a big fuckin’ mirror in here. Make you watch yourself fall apart.”

“Hn….”

Smack!

“Hah!”

“See how desperate you look till you get what you want.”

“N-not fuckin’desperate,” Mal mumbles, but the way he’s rocking his ass back against Rowan’s hands tells a different story.

“We’ll see about that.”

Rowan reaches for the beads that Mal placed on the bed earlier, the weight of them a pleasant heft in his hand. Grabbing the strawberry-flavored lube, he pops the cap and squirts a drop on his thumb, surprised to find that it’s clear, not red as he’d thought it might be. With the pad of his thumb, he circles Mal’s hole, not pressing inside but simply testing the resistance—it’s tight, he can tell that much, which means Mal must not have prepped much beyond whatever his cleaning routine is.

But before he fingers him open, he circles the rim a few times with his thumb, a pleased hum coming from Mal. And Rowan knows he’s supposed to be mean. Supposed to push him and shit, but he can’t help dipping forward and pressing a kiss straight to Mal’s hole, feeling the muscles quiver against his lips and tasting the artificial strawberry of the lube.

Sweet.

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