Page 27

Even as a gay man, Rowan knows that Amy is gorgeous and that Mal’s joking despite his snorted reply.

“And you have the same tattoo. Kind of, anyway. The snakes.”

“I forget about that one sometimes,” Mal confesses, referring to his own double snake tattoo on the back of his ankle.

“Yeah, well… I see a lot more of you from behind than you do,” Rowan teases.

“Oh, fuck off.”

There’s an easy smile on his face, and Rowan doesn’t want to pop their pleasant bubble, but….

“Was uh….” He clears his throat, gets a fucking grip. “Was she the reason you were kinda spacey that week? When you wanted to do a praise-heavy session the first time?”

One deep breath and eight pops of knuckle cracking later, Mal responds. “Yeah.” He wipes his fingers through the condensation ring left by his empty drink on the tabletop. “Always get kinda fucked up where she’s concerned.”

“I know the feeling,” Rowan sympathizes, picturing his two older and three younger siblings and all the hell he’d go through to keep them safe. Especially little Marc, the youngest of them, though the most levelheaded.

“Basically raised her.” Quiet, subdued, and Rowan has to strain to hear Mal over the thumping bass music. “Jamie and Scott, my brothers, they fucked off pretty early on, in and outta juvie then jail for dumb shit. So it was just me and Ames most’a the time, dealin’ with Larry. When I moved out after I came out to Larry, I took her with me. Couldn’t let her stay with that fucker alone.”

“She’s close to your age, though, right? What, two or three years younger?”

“Two. Always kinda felt like I had to be her big brother and both her parents growin’ up, y’know. ’S why when anyone fucks with her, it gets to me. Feels like I failed her or some shit.”

“You were just a kid yourself, Mal. You didn’t know what you were doing. ’Sides, she can make her own choices.”

“Still feels like it’s my fuckin’ fault.”

“If it helps, she turned out good,” Rowan tells him, meeting his eyes from where they’d been unsubtly focused on the V of his exposed chest. “So did you.”

The smile that Mal throws his way nearly stops Rowan’s damn heart.

“All right, no more depressin’ shit on my birthday,” he declares when Rowan’s own smile grows naturally. “You dance, Red? For real?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon.”

Rowan’s skin prickles where Mal grabs at his wrist, slides his hand down until their fingers lazily interlace and then tugs Rowan toward the dance floor. The crowd parts for them and closes behind them, and all of a sudden, the sanctity of their table is gone, and they’re surrounded by nameless faces, yet still in a world entirely of their own.

And look…. Rowan knows how to dance. He spent long enough dancing in seedy clubs in his youth to have picked up more than a few tricks. Now that he’s older and saner , he knows even better how to move his body in any number of ways. So yeah, he knows how to dance. He does , but when Mal grabs on to the lapels of Rowan’s shirt and presses their lower halves together in a slow grind, it’s clear that dancing isn’t on his mind.

Not like he’d been doing with the others. Silly. Goofy. Cute as hell. No, Mal’s leering at him with an intensity that Rowan has only ever seen from him when he’s about to act up during their scenes. When he wants to get destroyed by Rowan. Maybe this time Rowan’s gonna get his shit rocked.

The thumping music makes Rowan’s jaw vibrate, and the friction of Mal’s jeans against his own clothing burns his muscles as they start to move together. Slow, so goddamn slow to the bassy music, but deliberate. Filthy. And goddammit, much more of this and Rowan’s going to get hard. Right here in front of all these people.

But fuck, Mal’s so attractive. The light cascades onto him, illuminating sharp cheekbones, a pointed nose, and long, curling eyelashes.

It shouldn’t surprise Rowan that Mal’s a good dancer. The guy knows how to move his body; that much was made abundantly clear from their very first scene together and every one since.

The staccato of the percussion-heavy song guides their movements, Mal undulating and grinding against him in heavy swirls and suggestive thrusts. It’s for his own sanity as much as Mal’s sake that Rowan grabs him by the hips and spins him around, tugging his ass back against his hips. ’Cause if Mal keeps looking up at Rowan like that , all lidded eyes and plush lips, Rowan’s not sure he could stop himself from kissing him.

And here he wouldn’t even have subspace as an excuse.

He wonders if Mal thinks about their accidental kiss as much as Rowan does. Wonders if he wants a real one as much as Rowan does. But as Mal’s firm ass collides with Rowan’s hips, all thoughts of the kiss are wiped from his mind.

It isn’t until a familiar song comes on that Mal really ramps it up. The bouncing, lilting melody has them starting a dirty grind to the beat of the music. It’s “The Shape of You” by Ed Sheeran. A perfect analog for how Rowan feels about Mal.

Mal grinds his ass back against Rowan, Rowan’s hands magneting to his hips to guide his movements while the song encourages following his lead.

They dance in sweeping rough circles as their bodies press impossibly closer together, Mal’s hands closing over Rowan’s and dragging them over his body. Pressing forward into the heat of Mal’s ass as desperately as Mal’s pressing back against him. Guided by Mal, Rowan’s hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscles and the soft curves between them. And like the song says, Rowan loves Mal’s body. Can’t get enough of it as they grind together to the beat.

He chances a pass up Mal’s neck, fingers tangling in the gold chain and inadvertently tugging it against Mal’s throat. It’s an accident. Really it is. But Mal dips his head back against Rowan’s shoulder and moans up at the ceiling, and, well…. The second time’s not so accidental, Mal’s hips finally stuttering in their steady rhythm.

Rowan releases the chain, replacing the harsh metal with the soft pads of his fingers, Mal’s Adam’s apple bobbing against him. Feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse even over the vibrations of the bass and the sporadic jostling of the couples around them.

The song all but fades out as their hips and hands move on their own. Mal flings his arms back to clutch at Rowan’s neck as his back arches, a rush of cool air filling in the gap between them. It’s too much. Rowan pulls him back flush against him and gasps at the lightning that crackles through his core. He’s so fucking turned on, feeling the soft tickle of Mal’s hair on his lips and the firm weight of his body against him.

And then Mal’s turning in Rowan’s arms, clothing dragged askew as he invades Rowan’s space, invades his body and mind and continues his filthy grind again from the front.

Fuck , Mal’s hard. Rowan knows he can feel how hard Rowan is too.

It’s too much. So much , and God, Rowan wants him. Fuck public decency. He wants nothing more than to hike Mal up into his arms and fuck him against the nearest flat surface. Hell, he’d even drop to his knees right here on the dirty floor and suck Mal off if it meant getting some kind of relief from the throbbing in his veins.

It’s going to be hell waiting a whole week to be inside him again.

Chorus after chorus, verse after verse, their dancing gets more and more intense. Much harder to control as they meld into one another. Hands everywhere and thoughts only on the other. Heat wraps around Rowan, threatening to boil him from the inside out as he pulls Mal closer, hands dipping into his back pockets and squeezing his ass.

Another moan from Mal grazes his ear, hairs on the back of his neck rising like he walked through a phantom. Their movements get messier, sloppier, the more into it they get, and by the time the song ends and fades into the next, they’re all but panting into each other’s open mouths. Staring at one another, drinking in the sight of sweaty and flushed faces, and Rowan swears Mal’s eyes dip down to his lips.

And then he leans forward and—

“Gonna go get a drink,” Mal shouts in Rowan’s ear, hot breath tickling at his earlobe and making him shudder. “Want anything?”

Disappointment curls itself in Rowan’s belly.

“I’m good. Gonna go back to the table for a bit.”

Mal nods, and in a flash, he’s disappeared into the crowd, and Rowan’s left in the middle of it, cold and achingly hard.

But he shakes it off, wandering to the other end of the bar to flag down a glass of water. When the cold glass is placed down in front of him, he takes a long, deep drink, the cool liquid a lifesaver for his dry throat.

He downs half of it before he sees Jeremiah and Mal talking across the bar, blissfully unaware of Rowan watching them through the gaps in the ceiling-high shelves of liquor.

Even with the pair yelling loudly over the thrum of the music and his probably better-than-average ability to read lips thanks to his job, he’s still only able to make out snippets of what they’re talking about.

“… laid on your birthday ?” Jeremiah shouts. “Just ask….”

“… not askin’ him….”

Rowan’s heart thuds in his chest. Did Jeremiah tell Mal to ask him to fuck? Because yes. His answer is hell fucking yes , if Mal will only ask the question.

But the rest of their conversation is cut off when they’re pushed aside by a group of drunk bachelorettes. When Rowan finally returns to the table with his half-empty glass in hand, alone, it’s like the exchange never even happened.

MAL’S BEEN eyeing him across the bar, where he’s now been planted with Jeremiah and Amy for the last half hour. Rowan knows, ’cause he’s been eyeing him right back from the table where he’s sitting with Clover and Camilla. Despite that enough time has passed since his only real drink, he still feels tipsy enough that the lingering stares are sending wave after wave of heat and want coursing through him.

Rowan’s not listening to what the Monroe twins are saying. Something business-related, maybe. Maybe something about some hot woman at the bar. Rowan is mm-hmm ing and yeah ing along at what he hopes are appropriate times when it feels like they’re talking to him, but his attention is solely on Mal.

Specifically the heated, glazed-over look he gives him over the rim of his beer bottle. How his fingers slide along the curved neck of the brown container, slick with condensation.

Rowan’s waiting for it. Some sign that Mal wants it as bad as Rowan does.

But it’s gotta be Mal. It’s his birthday after all.

Ask me. Ask me, ask me, ask—

There.

With a glance over his shoulder and the quirk of one neatly sculpted eyebrow, Mal has Rowan excusing himself from the knowing stares of the twins. Has him trailing Mal into the bar bathroom, an invisible string tugging at his chest and winching him forward.

They shouldn’t do this. Even as his legs carry him forward, Rowan knows they shouldn’t do this. They’ve been sexting at least once a week between their scenes, but this is…. Well. It’s crossing a big line from just fuckin’ to… something else. There’s hardly an ounce of blood left in Rowan’s brain to think about what that something else might be, which means it must be a good idea after all. Even if a bar bathroom is a far cry from the comfort of a bed, this will be the first time they’ve hooked up outside the confines of the Menagerie.

And fuck, he wants it.

The second the door to the bathroom swings shut, a tattooed hand latches on to his shirt and drags him into the largest stall. Their hands are a blur between them, fumbling to get each other’s jeans unbuttoned and relieve the mounting pressure that had built up earlier on the dance floor. The stall door creaks open, hitting Rowan in the shoulder. He slams it shut and flicks the lock, attention immediately back on Mal as he shoves him against the door.

A spark zaps between them when Mal presses their foreheads together, ragged breaths mingling across the tiny gap between their lips.

“Tell me your words,” Rowan demands, ripping his gaze away from Mal’s mouth.

Mal’s fingers still on Rowan’s zipper, face pulling away as he looks up at Rowan, lidded eyes widening.

And fuck, did Mal not think this was going to be a scene? Was he expecting a regular hookup? Through the fog in his brain, he realizes that he may have fucked this up entirely.

But Mal answers after a tiny, shaky breath. “Green’s good to go, yellow’s pause, red’s full stop.”

“Good.”

As soon as Rowan works open Mal’s button and zipper, he spins him in place, pressing his chest against the stall door and hearing it rattle on flimsy hinges.

“ Unh ….”

Fingers raking against Mal’s lower back, Rowan shoves his jeans down over his ass, revealing lacy white panties that stretch tight across his cheeks.

“Fuck…,” Rowan whispers, cupping Mal’s ass in his hands and watching the delicate holes in the fabric spread under his palms. “These are new, huh?”

“Bought ’em the other day.”

“Mm… thought it was your birthday, not mine.”

Mal’s chuckle turns into a moan as Rowan drags his hands around the front, feeling his hard cock beneath the panties.

“Felt you earlier, when we were dancing….”

A press, a drag, a moan, and Mal hitches his hips forward into Rowan’s touch.

“Were so fuckin’ hard, just from a little grinding.”

Rowan slips one hand under Mal’s panties, feeling the heat of his bare skin and the softness of his neatly-trimmed pubes.

“Was that ’cause of me, or would you have gotten that turned on with anyone?” Rowan asks.

“ Nng ….” Mal’s chin dips, the crown of his head thunk ing against the cubicle door.

“Tell me, Mal.”

With a few pumps of Mal’s cock, Rowan wrings the answer out of him.

“You…,” he breathes. “Fuck, get me goin’ like nothin’ else.”

“Thought so.”

Spurred on by the revelation, Rowan shoves Mal’s panties down to join his pants where they’ve crumpled to the floor.

The scent of strawberries fills Rowan’s nose, his mouth watering as he takes in the plug nestled between Mal’s asscheeks.

“Planned this, huh?”

It’s phrased as a question, but Mal doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to really. The panties and the plug and the fucking strawberry lube speak volumes on their own. And normally Rowan would make Mal answer him, but this is a far cry from their normal scenes.

He tugs the plug out slowly and tosses it on the pooled panties at Mal’s feet, the black silicone contrasting with the white lace. Rowan’s cock aches as he finally frees himself, spreading Mal’s asscheeks and rutting against his slick hole.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet…,” he notes, kneading Mal’s cheeks while his cockhead catches on the rim. “Can picture you fucking yourself open, wishing it was me.”

Two fingers slip inside, drawing a punched-out breath from Mal. The heat between his legs is tantalizing, beckoning Rowan to slip his cock between his thighs and rut against the underside of Mal’s own hard cock as he opens him with his fingers.

“Fuck…,” Mal groans, reaching back to paw at Rowan’s side.

Right then the bathroom door swings open, the thumping music and din of voices outside crescendoing to a deafening volume, then quickly fading back to a dull hum.

Mal’s fingers flex white where they’re pressed against the stall door. Even with the hitch in his breath, the shifting of his ass back against Rowan’s cock is anything but subtle. Rowan takes it as his cue to slide into Mal to the hilt, slapping a hand around his mouth to stifle the moan he knows is coming. He feels Mal’s lips vibrate against his fingertips.

The sounds of the unknown man a few feet away dissolve into nothing as he lets Mal adjust to his cock. Only for a moment until he feels him clenching around him, milking his cock for all it’s worth. He fucks into him deep, with one hand still covering his mouth and the other bruising his hip. And when he pulls out fully, then thrusts back in with enough force to make the door hinges rattle, Mal whimpers loud enough to be heard over the sound of running water in the background.

“Not a fuckin’ word, Mal,” Rowan whispers in his ear, grinding into him. “Unless you want the rest of the club to know what a slut you are for my cock.”

Beneath him, Mal shudders and reaches up to clench his knuckles on the top of the stall door. Shoves his hips back and groans against his fingers.

“ Pft ,” Rowan snorts, even as his stomach churns with anticipation. “Have it your way, then.”

His muscles are on fire as he fucks into Mal at a brutal pace, not caring about the cacophony of slick skin slapping and sweet moans echoing off the tile.

As he fucks him, it’s immediately different than every one of their scenes. The thrill of being in a public place, away from the sanctity of the Menagerie, and knowing that Mal had planned this—that he’d chosen to be with Rowan when he could have easily had his pick of any number of men in the club—gets his heart racing faster than his hips.

“Ohh, fuck ,” Mal groans on one particularly hard thrust.

“That the spot?”

“Yeah, fuck me…. Harder.”

“I got you.”

Time passes slowly as the heat rises in the stall and in Rowan’s core, but in the blink of an eye, Rowan’s on the verge of coming. He holds off, wanting to give Mal a birthday fuck he’ll never forget, and manages to get Mal’s knees shaking beneath him and his knuckles turning white against the top of the stall door.

“God, look at you,” Rowan praises, grinding his hips into Mal’s ass and reaching around to grasp his leaking cock. “So fuckin’ good for me, Mal.”

“Feel so fuckin’ good…,” Mal moans. “Fill me up like nothin’ else.”

“No one else.”

“ Nng !”

He pumps Mal’s cock in time with his thrusts, but the tight heat encompassing Rowan’s own cock is too much to bear.

“Gonna come inside you. Tell me you want it—wanna hear you.”

“Yeah, fuck , do it. Fill me up….”

His heart and his head and his hips race toward his finish, and with a shuddering exhale that racks his entire body, he empties inside Mal in hot pulses. For a long minute, he allows himself to rest his forehead against Mal’s neck and catch his breath as he softens inside of him.

“Rowan…,” Mal whines, shoving his ass back against him.

After slapping his ass, Rowan finally pulls out and dips down to retrieve the plug from its resting spot atop Mal’s panties.

“Gonna keep all this inside you,” he says, pushing the plug into Mal’s used and leaking hole.

“Fuck….”

“Though,” Rowan muses, spinning Mal in place by the hips, “be a shame to waste this strawberry lube.”

Rowan drags the plug back out and grasps the sides of Mal’s face. “Open.”

Mal’s eyes dip half closed, pupils blown wide as he parts his lips and sticks his pink tongue out a fraction of an inch. The sight makes Rowan’s spent cock dribble onto his slacks even as he drags the plug across Mal’s lips, eyes rapt as a streak of his own come is lapped up by an eager tongue. And when Mal’s lips close around the toy and hollow out in a filthy suck , Rowan nearly gets hard again as his blood rushes south.

“So good for me,” Rowan coos, thumb stroking his cheek as Mal cleans off the plug.

“Mmm….”

“That’s good, open.”

Mal complies, cheeks flushed and hairline sweaty. As Rowan tugs the plug back out, a dribble of spit and come follows that he swipes at with his thumb and sucks into his own mouth. The taste is bitter on his tongue, but Mal’s moan is sweet.

“Fuck….”

Rowan feels the heat radiating from Mal’s body as he slides the plug back between Mal’s cheeks. “Keep that inside you. Consider it your birthday present.”

Another soft groan is his only response before Rowan drops to his knees and swallows Mal’s cock down to the root.

“ Ohhh …!”

Fingers rake through his hair and tighten with each bob of his head and flex with each flick of his tongue. It’s been far too long since he’s had Mal’s cock in his mouth, their scenes frequently playing out the other way around.

It barely takes any time at all before Mal’s groaning, “Shit, gonna… Rowan!”

“Mmm….” A silent signal to do it .

As Mal’s come floods Rowan’s mouth, it feels like they’ve reached a milestone that has Rowan greedily drinking him down. His cock starts to soften in his hand as he laps up the last few drops of come before tugging Mal’s panties back up and letting the elastic snap around his hips.

“Goddamn…. Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

Rowan huffs a laugh through his nose and stands, fastening his slacks before cupping Mal’s cheek in his hand and meeting his eyes. His fingers burn where their skin meets, but not nearly as much as the sparks that sizzle between their shared gazes. Mal dips his head to Rowan’s shoulder, one hand resting firmly on Rowan’s hip.

And this part… it’s a little hard to navigate, isn’t it? Because how the fuck do you do aftercare in a public bathroom?

“C’mon,” Mal says, pulling away and tugging up his jeans before Rowan has a chance to think about the moment that passed between them. “Think everyone else is prob’ly gettin’ suspicious.”

THE REST of the group shares knowing smirks—Amy making an exaggerated gagging noise—when they eventually make their way back to the table.

“That was a birthday gift from all of us,” Jeremiah says, making the rest of the group burst into laughter.

“Oh, fuck off,” Mal says, corners of his mouth pulling up even as he tries to wipe the smile off his face.

For the next hour or so, they wind down, a number of inside jokes from the night popping up and making them all dissolve into one fit of laughter after another. It’s nice. It’s fun. This little family Mal has assembled for himself and invited Rowan into is something he’s going to treasure for as long as he gets to have it. By the end of the night, Rowan has to agree with what Clover said at the beginning.

He’s so glad Mal invited him.

HAVING SAID their goodbyes to the rest of the group, Rowan and Mal walk together to the small parking lot behind the club, the midnight sky unusually sparkling with stars.

“Hey, before you go,” Rowan says as they near their cars. “Got you something.”

“Already gave me a birthday gift,” Mal quips.

Rowan snorts. “A real gift, dick.”

“Didn’t need to do that, man.”

“I wanted to. And it’s not much. C’mon.” He gestures for Mal to follow him to his car.

He opens the passenger door when they arrive and retrieves the carefully wrapped package. It’s a small white box with black twine that Rowan had painstakingly woven around to resemble some of the shibari rigs they’d done over the past few months. A little cheesy, maybe, but he’s proud of it. And when he hands it to Mal, the amused smile that blossoms over his face is completely worth it.

“Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” Mal mumbles, but there’s a small smile on his face as he dutifully begins unwinding the rope.

When he sees the small goldmine of miniature Reese’s cups inside, he snorts, but Rowan can tell he’s pleased.

“You tryn’a fatten me up, Campbell?”

“Nah,” Rowan laughs. “Although… if it went to your ass….”

“Fuuuck off, my ass is fantastic as it is.”

“Can’t argue there.” Rowan gestures to the box when it looks like Mal’s going to put the lid back on. “There’s something else too.”

Mal digs through the chocolate to find the tissue paper Rowan had neatly folded around his other present. He places the box down on the trunk of Rowan’s car and gingerly unwraps the paper until he reveals the jockstrap Rowan had custom ordered last week and paid out the ass for expedited shipping.

“Holy shit…,” Mal whispers, pulling out the jock and examining the fabric.

It’s solid black with golden threads woven through the back and thigh bands, the pocket in front outlined in the same golden thread in an intricate pattern. When Rowan found the site, he’d pulled out his credit card on the spot and selected a pattern that would both complement Mal’s complexion and—inevitably—remind him of the Gold Room. Of Rowan.

Mal’s stunned into silence, running his thumbs over the straps and holding it up in the dim yellow light provided by the streetlamps. Even in the low light, Rowan can see the thread glimmer.

“Figured I should finally pay you back for that one I shredded during our first scene,” he explains when Mal doesn’t respond further.

Rowan remembers the day fondly, though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t harbored a twinge of guilt this whole time for having ruined Mal’s clothes. Even though he had said he could ruin it.

“Thank you, Rowan,” Mal says finally.

It’s the sincerity and the breathiness in his voice that gets to Rowan as much as it is the fact that this might be the first time Mal has actually used his name outside of sex and not one of his many nicknames for him. It catches him so off guard that it takes him a long moment to realize that the warm feeling encompassing him isn’t just pleasure at the name, but rather Mal’s chest pressed against his own and his arms wrapped tightly around his back.

It’s far from the first time Mal’s hugged him of his own accord, but those other times had been fleeting, with barely any contact. This is intimate , if Rowan dares call it anything. Somehow, their bodies pressed flush together like this feels more meaningful than every time they’ve been connected sexually. But before Rowan can even properly enjoy the hug or fully respond back to it, there’s a sharp inhale, and Mal releases him.

“See you next weekend, yeah?” Mal says, backpedaling toward the other end of the lot where his black Charger is parked.

“Yeah. Happy birthday, Mal.”

THE WHOLE night replays in Rowan’s mind like a film reel. Grainy and slightly out of focus but loaded with unforgettable images. Unforgettable feelings too. The way Mal felt pressed against him on the dance floor and in the bathroom stall and in the parking lot. The way he’d shared bits of himself with not only his closest friends and family, but with Rowan too. The way he hadn’t judged when Rowan had shared some of his own sordid past.

They’d said their goodbyes in the parking lot less than an hour ago, but Rowan hears his phone vibrate on his nightstand.

[MS] can still feel you

Fuck , Rowan wants to say. You can’t just say shit like that, Mal.

[MS] half of it fuckin leaked out on the way home

Or like that.

[RC] Can’t decide if that’s hot or gross

Really, Rowan knows which, but Mal changes the subject to something a little more heartfelt.

[MS] thanks btw

[MS] for the gift. and for comin. it was fun

[RC] I’m glad you like it. And I had fun too

[RC] Your friends are all crazy lmao

[MS] yeah but i’m stuck with em

Rowan hears the fondness in Mal’s words as if the man were speaking them aloud.

[RC] Gonna be hard to top tonight for your 30th though

[MS] i’m sure we’ll find a way red

Despite his exhaustion, it takes Rowan a full hour to fall asleep, eyelids flickering with threads of shimmering gold and white lace.