Page 70 of The Menagerie

Unlike Mal’s grumbled, “You just fuckin’kissmy asshole, man?”

And well.Yeah.He fuckin’wantedto, all right? But he’s not gonna say that. Mal might kick him to the curb if he did. So he doubles down, sucking on the puckered hole before licking a long wet stripe over it.

A sharp inhale from Mal tells Rowan he’s not as put out by it as he originally seemed.

“Yeah,” Rowan tells him, pressing another semblance of a kiss to his hole. “Can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Nng… ’cause I let you.”

“Yeah. You let me. ’Cause you fuckin’ love it.”

There’s nothing Mal can say in response that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie, and Rowan knows they both know it. He lets the sentiment linger in the air between them and sets to work, lubing his fingers quickly, along with Mal’s hole, focused on getting him prepped enough to take the beads.

As he stretches Mal, Rowan grows harder in his jeans, the tight heat around his fingers a promise of what’s to come.

When there’s little resistance and Mal’s making these beautiful, gaspy little noises, Rowan withdraws his fingers and grabs the string of beads.

“Think you’re ready for these?” he asks, dragging the strand of beads over Mal’s slick hole.

“Fuck yeah.”

“How bad d’you want ’em?” Rowan teases, circling the first bead around Mal’s hole and putting the tiniest amount of pressure against it.

“C’mon, been dying for ’em all day,” Mal replies, pressing backward in an attempt to get more of the bead inside.

And yeah, okay, that’s pretty convincing, but….

“Bet you have.” He walks around to the side of the bed, Mal rising up on his hands and turning up to him expectantly. “Show me. Get it wet,” he orders, holding the first bead to his mouth.

Mal’s lips part, pressed lightly against the silicone bead. The sight of the bead obscuring his mouth makes Rowan’s own lips water, and his cock jump as he imagines Mal stuffed with a ball gag.

Slowly, Mal opens his mouth wide enough to suck the tip of the bead in, all but kissing it as his lips close around it and push it back out, saliva gleaming against the matte black.

“Said get it wet, Mal. You call this wet?”

He doesn’t give Mal a chance to respond, pressing the bead back up against his lips. This time, he takes the whole thing in his mouth, lips closing tight around Rowan’s fingers where they grip the bead by the stem. The look in Mal’s eyes as he works his tongue around the bead is utterly devious, his tongue hot as it flicks against Rowan’s fingertips.

Heat pools in Rowan’s belly as he lets Mal suck on the bead and his fingers, feeling the spit start to trickle down his wrist.

It’s surely wet enough now, but Rowan’s selfish, and he’s not done watching Mal suck and lick the beads like candy. With his other hand, he presses his thumb against the side of Mal’s lips, stilling them.

“Another.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Mal and his eyes widen before slipping half closed. His mouth drops open enough for Rowan to shift his grip and shove the next bead inside. This time he keeps his fingers outside and covers Mal’s mouth with his palm, careful to not block his nose, the stem of the second bead slotted between his index and middle fingers.

“Hnn…,” Mal groans.

Mal’s tongue darts out to lick at Rowan’s palm once before slipping back inside, his jaw working and cheeks hollowing as he sucks—a tantalizing reminder that Rowan’s going to be coming in that mouth by the end of the night.

“One more,” Rowan tells him, watching the pretty bob of Mal’s throat swallowing once, twice. “Give me a nod or shake.”

A firm dip of his head, and a third bead is popping in, Mal’s jaw slackening at the weight of them.

“Mmm,” he hums, mouth full.

Rowan squeezes at his cheeks, forcing him to look up at him. His eyelids flutter but remain open, the slivers of gold standing out against his skin—pale where it isn’t flushed—and Rowan swears he can feel his own eyes dilate further.

“You’re ready for ’em now,” Rowan tells him, tugging the whole string out with a sharp tug as soon as Mal relaxes his jaw.

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