Page 36

IT’S BEEN six months since their first kiss. Six months since their mutual I love you s, and six months since they became… them.

And they’ve been the best six months of Rowan’s life.

He’s all but moved into Mal’s apartment by now—his being the nicer of their places—and it all feels so domestic that it sets Rowan’s chest on fire. He stays over on weekends and some weeknights when he feels like making the slightly longer commute to work the next morning. Clothes and toothbrushes and face wash and extra meds left over there just in case, and Rowan can feel Mal on the brink of asking him to move in fully.

As much as he doesn’t want to rush things between them, he can’t imagine finding anyone that gets him better than Mal does. Can’t imagine finding anyone that makes his heart skip a beat on the daily when he looks at him with that fond gaze or kisses him with those soft lips. So he’ll wait, but he has a feeling he won’t have to wait too much longer before the question is posed.

By now Mal has been introduced to the chaos that is the Campbell family, and he fit in right away, especially with Rowan’s younger siblings. They viewed him as a cool, mysterious bad boy who’s way too cool and mysterious to be dating their loser brother, but nonetheless they accept him and their relationship in a heartbeat. He’s clashed a bit with Jay here and there, but their petty squabbles usually dissolve into good-natured jabs that die down after a beer or two. Even Aubrey likes him, for all her advice against catching feelings for a fuck buddy.

For once everything in Rowan’s life seems perfect. He’s happy, and this time there is no but. No caveats to his feelings. No other shoe waiting to drop that threatens to ruin his contentment.

It’s all perfect.

They still go to the Menagerie. Their sex life has improved exponentially since they’ve gotten together, but every once in a while, they get an itch to go back. Even worked out a new membership option with Clover to allow them to come as guests for a small fee rather than paying the exorbitant monthly membership rates.

So once a month or so, they find themselves back in the Gold Room. Back to where it all started, more or less. It feels good to slip out of the comfort of their bed and back into the gritty, sensual underworld and let loose for a couple of hours.

Sometimes, they even make a game of it. Pretend that it’s the first time. The first scene. Like they don’t know each other inside and out and backward and forward by now. Like they’re two near-strangers meeting once a week to give and take control.

But underneath, they know that their bond is unbreakable. They know that love courses through every bratty remark, every hard, answering spank. And it makes it that much better, that much hotter , to pretend otherwise.

Mal and Rowan both know that if Mal safewords— meringue for pause and apple for stop (green apple, Mal insists, not the red ones, because green apples are disgusting)—that Rowan will stop immediately and cradle Mal in his arms and kiss away any tears that may have spilled and tell him that he loves him to the moon and back.

So much love underneath it all.

TONIGHT FOR the first time, they visit the VoyEx corner. They’d talked about doing it for a while now but hadn’t yet worked up the courage to actually do it. But they finally decided on it and booked a slot on the stage—wanting to make sure that no one else claimed it first.

When they walk over, hand in hand, there’s already a crowd forming around the empty stage, Mal still drawing in gaggles of onlookers long after he’s stopped scening with anyone but Rowan.

“Jesus,” Rowan remarks under his breath.

Mal laughs. “You can say that again. Horny fuckers.”

“They see your name on the Events calendar and go fucking nuts.”

“Let ’em. Only one person I care about driving nuts anymore,” Mal says, squeezing Rowan’s hand tighter.

Rowan smiles and squeezes back.

They’d specifically requested a Saint Andrew’s cross for tonight, and the staff of the Menagerie did not disappoint. Smack in the center of the stage is a large, leather-padded, X-shaped black cross, cuffs already in place in each of the four corners. Mal sets his bag down and goes to work swapping out the cuffs for his own fabric-lined ones while Rowan lays out the lube and toys they’ve brought tonight—nipple clamps, a vibrator, a prostate massager, and a clear masturbator.

They’re going all-out tonight.

The crowd around them thickens, more and more men gathering around despite the fact that nothing interesting is happening right now. A couple of them have even started jerking off, completely unashamed. Rowan knows that’s the point of this whole area—to get off watching strangers getting off—but Christ . Save some for the good stuff.

One guy looks like he’s halfway to blowing already, leering greedily at Mal’s clothed ass as he switches the cuffs. An ugly coil of jealousy twists itself in Rowan’s gut, but he has to remind himself that Mal is his now, and that what they’ve got can’t be shaken by some middle-aged businessman with an average-at-best cock.

When everything is set up, Rowan runs a hand down Mal’s back, rubbing gently at the dip in his spine above his ass.

“You ready?” Rowan whispers to him.

“Always.”

“Good. Then strip.”

He raises his voice, aware of the crowd around them. They’re here to put on a show, after all.

Mal complies immediately, no fight in him at this point, only eagerness. He strips off his shirt first, pulls it over his head in a swift motion before he chucks it over to the supply table where his bag sits. His shoes and socks come next, kicked off in a somehow attractive, flawless manner that Mal always seems to be able to pull off. Finally he gets to his jeans, shucking them down without preamble, revealing what’s underneath.

Tonight, he’d wanted to wear the jockstrap that Rowan bought him for his birthday. The gold threads shimmer in the overhead lights, accentuating the bulge between his thighs. The straps frame his ass perfectly, digging in tight enough for the soft fat on the sides of his hips to bulge out a bit over the sides.

Rowan grabs him by his hips, tugging him forward flush against his chest. Someone in the crowd whistles, a high-pitched wolf call that makes Rowan surge forward into Mal, grinding his hard cock against his thigh. The attention feels good. Whether it’s more for Mal or for himself or for the both of them combined, it doesn’t matter to Rowan.

Pressed hard against Mal’s body, he stares down into Mal’s gold eyes, slowly but surely being encompassed by black and blinking up at him. He sees the love there, reflected back at him, and it makes his knees weak. He manages to keep them both upright despite threatening to buckle and guides Mal back to the cross. He cuffs first his wrists, then his ankles, kissing the inside of his thigh as he dips down to each leg.

With Mal all trussed up, Rowan steps back to inspect his sub. He’s gorgeous, the hard planes of his body taut and begging to be touched. So Rowan does, running his hands over every inch of exposed skin that he can reach. The heat of Mal’s body fuels him, as do the dozens of pairs of eyes that he can feel boring into him from behind. But this worship of his boyfriend’s body isn’t for show by any stretch—it’s something he’ll gladly do for the rest of time if Mal will let him.

He doesn’t interact with the crowd at all. This may be a performance, a show, but it’s mostly for them. For him and Mal. While they both love being watched, Mal admittedly more of an exhibitionist than Rowan, they could easily go without. Could easily focus on each other and forget the rest of the outside world ever existed.

Rowan doesn’t do anything like ask the crowd what to use on Mal first. Because he knows what he wants to use on Mal first. He picks up the clover clamps from the table and saunters back to Mal with the clamps jangling in his fingers. Mal breathes hard through his nose when he sees the clamps, something they’ve introduced over the past couple months of their relationship after their brief dalliance with them during one of their first scenes. Something he really fucking likes . He squeezes his eyes shut as Rowan opens the first one, poised above Mal’s hard nipple.

“Watch,” Rowan tells him.

Mal’s eyes flutter back open, and Rowan forces him to look down as he fastens the first clamp around one pert nipple. Mal moans, loud and unabashed, squirming in his restraints.

“Good. Now the other.”

Open. Clamp. Moan . Louder this time now that both nipples are subject to the same onslaught.

Rowan tugs gently on the silver chain connecting the two clamps, causing Mal to jerk forward off the cross, hips and chest jutting out as far as they can from where he’s bound. Another small tug has him crying out, gasping a moan, and wringing his hands.

“Feels good?” Rowan asks, though he knows the answer.

Mal nods frantically.

Smack! Rowan’s palm rains down on Mal’s left pec, just shy of where his nipple is turning red from the clamp.

“Fuck!”

“ Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Y-yes. Feels fucking good.”

“Better.”

Rowan crouches down beside Mal, raking his nails down his chest and thighs on the way as he settles on his knees. He runs a palm over Mal’s bulge, the black-and-gold fabric of his jockstrap stretching but not revealing its contents. Mal groans and tosses his head back as Rowan gropes his ass, massaging each cheek in his hands. It isn’t until Mal’s greedily hitching his hips back that Rowan reaches for the lube and the prostate massager.

Mal’s never been a big fan of vibrators, but they bought the toy a couple of months ago, and it made Mal come harder than he pretty much ever has in three minutes flat, so it’s the perfect toy to tease him with tonight.

Because Mal needs to last the whole night without coming until Rowan lets him. Rowan has edged him plenty of times by now, but this will be the most intense session by far. Not only because of the numerous toys he brought with them, but also because of the added stimulation of dozens of pairs of eyes watching their every move. Eyes that Rowan can feel on him as he works a lubed finger into Mal’s hole. Mal moans, hips jutting forward in an attempt to work Rowan’s finger deeper inside him.

Smack! Rowan rains a hand down on the inside of Mal’s thigh.

“Hold still.”

“Make me.” The challenge is clear in Mal’s voice.

Rowan uses his free hand to grab Mal’s hips, shoving him back against the cross with a thud ! that’s audible even over the lowly thumping club music and a few collective groans from their audience.

“You’re not exactly in a position to be a mouthy brat,” Rowan tells him, shoving a second finger inside.

Mal mewls. He tries to rock his hips forward, but he has no leverage, and Rowan’s grip on him is too strong. Rowan can see the hard line of his cock through the jockstrap, and he watches with rapt attention as his cock jumps as soon as Rowan’s fingers spear into his prostate. A loud moan is ripped from his mouth, cutting off whatever snarky retort he was about to make.

Rowan laughs low, fucking into him and brushing against his prostate on every other stroke, reveling in Mal’s gaspy moans and the desperate hitching of his hips under Rowan’s palm. He digs his nails into his hip, knowing that Mal likes the bite and the crescent-moon indentations that will be left over for at least the rest of the night, if not longer.

“Gonna fill you up,” Rowan says. “Get this perfect ass open for my cock. Have you begging for it by the time I’m done.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mal retorts, though it’s low and breathy.

Rowan smacks his thigh again, the sharp slap ! of it echoing in the corner. He slicks the prostate massager in lube before sliding it into Mal’s hole and nestling it right against his sweet spot. Rowan flicks the remote, the toy buzzing to life and making Mal jump at the sensation. He can barely hear the low zzt, zzt, zzt of the pulsing setting as it whirs away inside Mal’s body.

“Let’s see how you do with this first. Then we’ll see about you begging.”

“Oooh…,” Mal moans, head craned back, exposing the long column of his neck to the stark overhead lights.

Rowan lets him stand there for a few moments, adjusting to the sensations. He runs his hands up and down Mal’s bare torso, feeling the dip and swell of his abs under his palms, tugging absently on the chain connecting the nipple clamps when Mal’s still for too long. It draws these tiny whimpers from Mal that head straight to Rowan’s already hard cock and make something feral coil in his belly.

He bends down, tonguing over Mal’s clamped nipples, the metallic bite of the clamps cold on his tongue, but Mal’s flesh hot. Mal writhes underneath him, straining against his bonds. Rowan presses him back against the cross with a hand to his rib cage, nearly covering the entire length of his abdomen. Despite that Mal’s a full-grown man, it’ll never cease to make Rowan go fucking insane that he’s that much smaller than Rowan that his hand can span half of his torso.

He can feel Mal’s moan vibrate through his rib cage.

Rowan leans in, breathing in Mal’s scent deeply as he shakes against the cross, all sweat and musk and Mal . A smell he’ll never get tired of.

“Rowan,” Mal gasps, pulse hammering loud enough for Rowan to hear. “C’mon….”

“C’mon what?” Rowan replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Need more….”

“Funny that you think you’ve earned more already.”

Mal mewls, a frustrated, garbled sound in the back of his throat. Rowan tugs on his nipple clamps, drawing a gasp from the other man.

“You’ll get more when I say you get more.”

“Not fair…,” Mal complains, torn between pressing into Rowan’s hand and pulling away from the pain.

Smack!

Rowan slaps Mal’s outer thigh hard, skin blossoming red from the impact.

“ Nng !”

“That’s enough whining.”

“I wouldn’t have to—”

Smack! Smack!

Two more sharp blows against his thigh, Rowan’s palm stinging with the force of the hits.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Rowan reaches back, pressing hard against the prostate massager and driving it deeper into Mal’s ass.

“Fuck!”

“That’s better.”

Mal moans again, hands balling into fists in his cuffs and teeth digging into his lower lip.

After a long while of teasing touches, Rowan takes pity on him, dipping his hand inside Mal’s jockstrap and releasing his cock from its confines. He’s so fucking hard, leaking profusely, and Rowan slicks up his hand and pumps him once, twice, spreading the precome around his cock.