Page 25

THE REST of the weekend and into Monday passes by in a blur. Rowan feels like he’s on cloud nine, not quite believing how much Mal had opened up to him on Saturday. There are still plenty of questions rattling around in his head, but he feels a sense of peace that he hasn’t since they started their arrangement. A sense that they’re actually something to each other—enough of something to share a portion of their pasts.

With that peace, though, comes a profound sense of want. What started as a fleeting thought at the diner a few days ago has blossomed into a full-blown rom-com style longing.

He selfishly thinks of all the things he wants to say to Mal. Once a week isn’t enough. I wanna see you more. Talk to you more. What if I upgraded my membership? You’re worth the money. Or what if we saw each other outside the club? Would that be so bad? I promise I won’t cross any lines.

Even as he thinks it, though, he knows that he couldn’t keep that promise if he were ever really tested. It makes him sweat, thinking about how Mal might react to all of it.

ON TUESDAY, Rowan is stuck washing the rig with Addison. It’s hot as hell outside, and Rowan has shucked off his uniform shirt in favor of the plain white tank top he wears underneath. Even so, with the physical exertion of soaping and scrubbing the outside of the ambulance alongside the harsh sun beating down on him, he’s sweating profusely.

Addison is faring better, somehow managing to get away with only a thin sheen on her forehead, though her wild, curly brown hair is suffering from the humidity.

They’ve only had one call today, to help an old woman who was suffering heat exhaustion during an ill-advised walk in the park. The rest of the Back Bay, it seems, had the good thought to stay home in the air conditioning. Rowan has to wipe the sweat from his brow repeatedly, wishing that he, too, could be home in the cool air.

“This sucks,” Addison remarks for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Yeah,” Rowan replies, spraying his hands with water from the hose and cooling off the back of his neck. “Gotta keep the boss lady happy, though.”

Addison snorts and scrubs the soapy sponge around the back doors.

Rowan finds himself getting lost in the motions, the monotonous physical labor letting him slip into a daydream of ink and lace. The memories of Mal whining his name as Rowan fucks him or spanks him or gags him flood through him, making his head spin and his cock give an inappropriate throb in his slacks. He recalls every one of their sessions these past couple months, marveling at how good they’ve gotten at taking each other apart. How well they fit .

The only thought that overshadows everything they’ve done is everything they haven’t. Rowan desperately wants to feel Mal’s lips on his own. For real this time. He wants to wrap his hands around Mal’s throat—more than merely a gentle graze of fingertips as he’s done countless times—and watch his eyes roll back. He wants to hear him scream until he’s hoarse and feel him whimper his name against the crook of his neck. He wants to leave bruises on his hips and bite marks on his chest and fingerprints on his thighs. See his skin blossom with pinks and reds and purples that will linger for days and weeks to come. So anyone else Mal fucks will see that he’s been with someone who knows how to take him apart better than they ever could.

He wants so goddamn much , and he knows he’s being unrealistic. But the thoughts flow through him like a tsunami—the more he tries not to think about it, the more the waters recede until inevitably, they rear up and come crashing down onto him in one giant, unyielding wave.

It’s been happening all too often the past couple of months, and Rowan’s constantly on the verge of drowning in the torrent that is Mal Savaryn.

The hazy waves of heat simmering on the pavement make him think he’s hallucinating when the object of his daydream appears on the horizon like a mirage. But rather than fade into nothing, Mal’s form gets sharper and more defined the closer he gets. Rowan sputters, utterly flabbergasted, and it isn’t until he hears Addison’s disgruntled shriek of “Hey!” that he realizes he’s sprayed her right in the face with the hose.

Mal’s stride is purposeful, and it draws Rowan’s gaze away from his coworker.

“Holy shit , is that the guy?” Addison asks, suddenly and excitedly whispering in Rowan’s ear.

“Jesus,” Rowan gasps, taking half a step away as he feels a spray of water droplets hit his bare shoulder as Addison wipes off her face. He doesn’t know if it’s the way he’s frozen in place or the way he’s gawking that tells Addison who it is, having never given her any physical description of Mal. Maybe she’s that good at her job and can sense his heart hammering in his chest.

“The guy I’m fucking , yeah.”

“Damn. Congrats, Rowan…. I don’t know which one of you is hotter.”

Rowan does.

Addison’s ogling is wildly apparent, even though Rowan isn’t looking at her. “What’s he doing here?” she asks.

“No clue,” Rowan says, finally dropping the hose and wiping his wet hands on his pants.

With a still-wildly fluttering heart, Rowan realizes this is the first time he’s seen Mal in the daylight. And fuck , his eyes are impossibly gold. Honey and caramel and all sorts of other things coming to mind. He remembers seeing them for the first time at the gangbang—finding the color so vibrant even in the dimness of the club. But in the sunlight, they shine . He’s dressed mostly the same as he always is—tight black jeans and a maroon shirt that has Rowan staring as much as Addison has been, though this is far from the first time he’s seen him.

“Hey,” Mal greets, casual as ever, as if he hadn’t shown up unannounced to Rowan’s work.

“What’re you doing here?”

Mal rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

“Uh, this is Addison. My coworker,” Rowan says, gesturing to the woman on his left and nearly hitting her in the shoulder as he does.

“Nice to meet you…?”

“Hey. Mal.”

“I’m gonna go—” Addison starts, thumbing vaguely in the direction behind her.

“See ya,” Rowan cuts her off, thankful that she didn’t ask to hang around. But as she leaves, the realization that Mal has met, however briefly, someone in Rowan’s life outside of the club rattles around in his brain.

When Addison disappears into the station, Rowan asks, “How’d you know where I work?”

“Only one station this side of town.”

“Gotcha.”

There’s a beat of silence, the two of them taking in each other’s appearance as if they’re seeing each other for the first time.

“Here,” Mal says, handing him a large brown paper bag, the top folded over neatly, concealing the contents.

Rowan’s eyebrows knit together as he takes the bag, opens it and peeks inside, instantly snapping it shut when he sees the rope Mal promised he’d bring him, two bundles of neatly coiled black hemp.

“Oh, thanks. You didn’t need to come all the way here, though. Could’ve waited till Saturday.”

Mal bites his lip. “Yeah, well. Said I’d give it to ya. Practice on yourself if you want, just not on anyone else.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but Rowan doesn’t miss the slight apprehension in his voice or the way he glances quickly to the ground. Scuffles his shoe a bit.

“What do you mean ‘anyone else’?”

“Anyone else you sleep with.”

“Mal, I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

He makes sure to mirror Mal’s wording and not say “seeing” someone else. Because he and Mal aren’t. Seeing each other, that is. But they are. Sleeping with each other, that is. They’re just fuckin’.

For a brief moment, Mal looks quietly pleased, but says, “You could, though.”

Rowan shrugs. “So can you.”

So did you , he thinks. It’s on the tip of his tongue, almost tumbling out of his mouth, but some part of his brain stops him. The part that had reined him in when Mal pulled out the box of condoms last week. The part that wants to not fucking blow this before he even has a chance to see if it’s gonna go anywhere.

“Yeah….”

His discomfort is palpable, and Rowan tries not to let the little burst of smugness in his chest take root. He quickly changes the subject for both their sakes.

“Are you on lunch break right now?”

“Yeah. You hungry?”

Rowan grins. “Always.”

ROWAN QUICKLY makes his way into the break room to grab his wallet and phone out of his locker and tucks Mal’s rope safely at the bottom of his backpack.

“Gonna take lunch now,” he announces, slamming the metal door shut. “Be back in an hour.”

“ Just fucking, huh?” Addison quips, mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Rowan flips her off as he retreats, but his face still burns hotter than the midday sun.

THEY WALK to a café five minutes away, the sun beating down so hard that it keeps them mostly quiet to avoid expending any unnecessary energy.

As they enter the blissfully air-conditioned café, Rowan instantly dislikes it. It’s modernly decorated with quirky succulents and inoffensive, bland artwork on the tables and walls. Everything is painted in muted neutrals that wash the whole place out and give nothing interesting to focus on. There’s none of the retro coziness that he’s come to associate with Sheila’s diner across town, but it smells like basil and freshly baked bread, and he thinks it’ll be okay.

They find a table for two in the corner of the café, a mercifully secluded spot in an otherwise pretty busy restaurant. Less than a minute later, an overly chipper waitress pops by their table and hands them two laminated menus, then gives them a few minutes to look them over. Despite the bougie feeling of the café, Rowan has to admit that all the dishes look delicious. Over half the menu is vegan or vegetarian, and from the numerous pictures, everything is loaded with fresh-looking veggies.

“Jesus, they got any actual food here?” Mal grumbles as he surveys his own menu.

Rowan laughs. “How have you survived this long?”

“Fuck off, Red. I’m healthy as a clam.”

Lips pulling back into a small smile, Rowan resists the urge to once again correct Mal’s idiom in favor of teasing.

“Oh, I know. I’m plenty familiar with your stamina.”

And your six pack , he thinks. And muscular thighs and sharp hip bones and firm biceps and tight ass and….

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks, breaking Rowan out of his thoughts by placing two glasses of water in front of them.

Rowan orders a turkey-bacon and avocado wrap, which makes Mal scoff a little and mutter “Hipster…” under his breath.

Shockingly, Mal orders a salad. A buffalo chicken salad smothered in bleu cheese dressing, but there’s at least some green on his plate. Rowan wants to think he’s having some kind of positive effect on him.

With a smile, Rowan orders a piece of strawberry cheesecake for them to share.

“Your eyes are so fuckin’ green,” Mal says after a beat of silence.

“Uh, thanks?”

“Don’t mean to be a little bitch, just… never seen ’em in the sunlight before, yanno?”

Yeah. Rowan knows .

“Was thinking the same about yours earlier,” Rowan confesses, butterflies burrowing into his belly.

It all feels a little too much like a high school date for Rowan’s liking. Not that he ever really went on any of those when he was that age, his love life limited to risky hookups with the few gay or questioning guys behind the bleachers in high school.

While Rowan’s been thinking of their visits to Sheila’s diner as dates for a while, it’s really only been a placeholder word in his mind. A stand-in for “a fundamental way to refill their depleted energy levels” and “a part of their mutual aftercare sessions.” But now… neither of those options is a viable excuse. It’s simply the two of them choosing each other’s company over being alone.

When their food comes, Rowan’s stomach gives a demanding growl.

“Can’t believe you eat this shit regularly,” Mal grumbles, food stuffed to one side of his cheek as he chews a bite of his salad.

“Literally no one is making you eat salad, Mal.”

“Didn’t wanna deal with your judgyass stare if I got a cheeseburger.”

Rowan huffs an incredulous laugh. “Why the hell would I judge you? And since when do you care ?”

“I don’t care, Firecrotch.”

It’s the least believable lie Mal’s ever told. Still, Rowan finds it cute that Mal values his opinion enough to try to eat healthier.

“’Sides…,” Rowan muses, plucking a crouton out of his wrap and crunching it. “You look good stuffing your mouth with meat.”

Mal chokes on a bite of salad, a tiny spray of dressing dusting the table between them.

“Jesus Christ…,” he mutters, pawing at the mess with a handful of napkins.

“Wow, didn’t think that’d be enough to get a reaction outta you.” Rowan laughs, helping Mal move glasses and condiment dispensers to clean between them.

“Fuck you, man.”

But his clipped tone is betrayed by the small smile Rowan can see playing out on his lips, pink and soft-looking in the early afternoon light.

Mal sucks his fork clean, jabs it straight into the strawberry cheesecake, and takes a big bite, spurning his earlier green-eating attempts in favor of a delicious dessert. It’s a little mind-boggling how comfortable he and Rowan have gotten with swapping bodily fluids when they’ve never even properly kissed.

Rowan can only laugh, set aside his own actual food, and dig into dessert alongside Mal.

ROWAN’S FUCKING horny. Ever since he had lunch with Mal two days ago, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him. He won’t lie, he is satisfied with hooking up with Mal once a week, but fuck if he doesn’t want more. At this point, he’s not even interested in hooking up with anyone else. He wants more Mal. Always more Mal.

His cock throbs in his briefs, and goddamn, it’s only been a couple of days since he saw him and a couple of hours since he last texted him, but that itch is back that only Mal seems to be able to scratch.

Before he knows it, he’s got one hand down his pants petting at the soft red curls above his cock and the other typing out a message to Mal.

[RC] Can I send you sth?

[MS] assume it’s somethin dirty if you’re askin permission

[RC] Yeah

[MS] better be good campbell

He sucks in a shuddering breath, shucking down his sweats and briefs and finally getting a hand around himself. The steady pulse of his cock in his hand is the only thing dulling his rapid heartbeat as he spreads his thighs and tightens his core and snaps a few photos.

Rowan’s never been good at selfies, but goddamn if he can’t take a killer dick pic. He sends the best to Mal, his cock flushed and dwarfing even his large hands.

[MS] fuck man

[MS] what the hell you been fantasizing about that’s got you that hard

[RC] You

Fuck , backtrack, backtrack, backtr—

[RC] In the harness the other day

[RC] Was hot as fuck

But… would it really be so bad? If he leaned into it a little? This casual flirting thing they’ve had going on since the start really has only grown the longer they’ve known each other.

[MS] oh yeah?

[RC] Yeah. Been practicing with the rope you gave me

[RC] Think we can start using it soon if you’re cool with it

[MS] if it gets you goin like that then hell yeah let’s do next week

Rowan has to grip the base of his cock to avoid an embarrassingly early finish from the barest of touches and the thought of tying Mal for real.

[RC] Been wanting to tie your legs. Get you spreadeagled for me

[MS] fuck yeah

[MS] love that shit

The heat swirls in Rowan’s belly. Coils low as he pumps himself to images of Mal tied up and completely exposed for him. Pink hole twitching under Rowan’s lips and tongue and fingers. Hard cock leaking and face flushed and muscles straining.

God, Mal gets him going like nothing else.

Rowan’s lost to the sensation of his hand around himself when he feels more than hears the bzz, bzz of his phone .

[MS] img03450.jpg

One hand fumbling to unlock his phone, Rowan nearly doubles over when he sees what Mal sent him.

He’s kneeling on the bed, photo taken from behind with his thighs spread, cock hanging heavy between his legs, and his two middle fingers shoved deep inside his hole. The H and U of his THUG tattoo completely hidden from view, replaced only with the shimmery sheen of lube.

[RC] Holy fuck Mal

[MS] thought you’d like that

[RC] Wanna be in you so bad

[RC] Look so fuckin good

[MS] couple more days

[MS] gotta deal with those big hands of yours till then

[RC] Such a fucking tease

But despite his light response, Rowan is thinking I don’t wanna wait. I wanna see you now. Touch you now. Show you how fucking bad I want you all the time . Rowan’s body is on fire, curling in on itself as he works his cock, with Mal’s photo nearly scorching his retinas. But fuck if he isn’t gonna drink in every gorgeous detail of it. The messy white bedsheets. The softness of his skin. The corded ropes of his muscles. The mosaic of his tattoos. The—

Bzz, bzz.

[MS] img03451.jpg img03454.jpg

His phone’s never been slower loading the images, but when it finally does, an excruciating three seconds later, he’s treated to the sight of Mal sinking down onto a long thick dildo. The first pic with the pink tip kissing his hole, and the second with him fully seated down to the realistic balls at the base.

Don’t want you to fuck anyone else. Just me. Just me just me just me.

[MS] i gotta make do too

[MS] silicone can’t fill me up the way you do

The pain of clenching down around himself sears through his lower body, but it’s dulled by the thrumming underneath his skin.

[RC] Jesus that almost made me cum

[MS] good

[MS] want ya to

[MS] get off thinkin bout me

[RC] Send me more

[MS] mov00439.mp4

The position’s different. This time Mal’s on all fours with his ass facing the big wooden headboard. Fucking himself hard and fast back onto the dildo now suction cupped onto it. Curving spine bowing and dipping with his movements that has the heat and breath in Rowan’s chest rising and falling with each one.

Fuuuck.

[RC] You’re so fuckin hot holy shit

[RC] Fuck yourself faster for me

[RC] Wanna be able to hear that headboard cracking against the wall from here

This time, there’s no response, Mal apparently lost in his own world of pleasure. Rowan returns the favor nonetheless, stomach tight but giddy as he films his fist flying over his pink cock, barely able to show any finesse or skill in his desperation to finish the video.

He barely has to open Mal’s video again and scrub to somewhere near the end before he hears the faintest muffled whimper of “Rowan…,” and he’s tumbling over the edge to oblivion.

And when Rowan comes, it’s with Mal’s name pulled from his lips.

Breaths still not yet evened out, he sends the video and a photo of the trail of come streaked from his cock to his chest to Mal. A testament to what he does to him and a glimpse of what he’s been missing while they’re forced to wear condoms.

Two minutes later, he gets one of Mal’s own spent cock and come pooled in the sheets beneath.

[MS] think you just made me see god red

[MS] christ

[MS] send more of that shit next time

[RC] Hell yeah

Five minutes after that, Mal sends a pic of the dent in the wall from his headboard.

AS JUNE melts into July, Mal finally gives Rowan the all-clear to start barebacking again. The first thing he does is get his tongue in Mal’s hole and his mouth around his cock, the musky taste of him sweetened by the fact that, for now, Mal doesn’t seem to be sleeping with anyone else again.

And when he presses into him bare for the first time in over a month, he doesn’t even care that he lasts half as long as he normally does.

With the way Mal mewls and clenches around him and comes only a heartbeat after Rowan fills him, he doesn’t seem to care either.

THE FIRST week in August has the heat rising to sweltering even in the late evening, and Rowan is thankful for the cool air inside Sheila’s diner. By now, Rowan has had every dish on the menu—and some off, thanks to Mal’s connection with Sheila. He decides his favorites are the turkey burger and the tomato soup with grilled cheese.

“So, uh…,” Mal starts, breaking their otherwise quiet meal. He fiddles with his milkshake straw until Rowan meets his eyes. “’S my birthday next weekend.”

Rowan’s ears perk up. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmm.”

For a moment, Rowan’s heart sinks, but he asks, “So do we need to skip next week?”

“Yeah, but…. Was gonna see if you wanted to come out.”

“Out?”

“Goin’ to a bar with Camilla, Clover, and Jeremiah.”

There’s a swelling in Rowan’s chest that should absolutely concern him.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

Somehow, his voice remains unaffected despite the rushing in his ears.

“Cool, I’ll text you the details.”

Rowan grins and snags Mal’s milkshake to take a quick sip, the cold liquid on his tongue doing nothing to quell the heat simmering in his veins.