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He doesn’t ask Rowan what he does in return. But sue him, Rowan’s proud of his job and wants to show off a little bit.

“Did you hear about the guy that got choked out at the club last week?” Rowan asks.

Mal nods his head in recognition. “Yeah, fuckin’ moron. Shit’s forbidden for that exact reason.”

“I was the one who had to come get him.”

“Oh yeah?”

Rowan nods. “He was in pretty rough shape.”

“You a paramedic or somethin’, then?” Mal asks, flooding Rowan with a surprising rush of warmth.

“Yeah, actually. Most people guess EMT.”

“There’s a difference?”

Oh.

“Yeah. Paramedics can do more treatments before the patient gets to the hospital than EMTs can. Putting in IVs, prescribing drugs if we know the patient’s history, that kinda stuff.”

Mal picks up the final piece of bacon on his plate with his fingers and folds it into his mouth. “Got a bit of a God complex, huh?”

Rowan shrugs. “I like helping people.”

Mal doesn’t reply with anything other than a quirk of his eyebrows. He wads up a napkin and wipes his hands before sitting up straighter in the booth, clearing his throat.

On to business, then.

Rowan decides to speak first. “So, uh, how does this work, exactly?”

“Dom/sub shit?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s different for everyone, obviously. But for us, it’d prob’ly be a once or twice a week thing at the club.” Pausing, Mal asks, “What membership level do you have?”

“Silver.” Rowan doesn’t know why, but a twinge of embarrassment creeps into his cheeks. Thankfully, Mal doesn’t seem fazed by it.

“’Kay. We’ll do once a week, then. Saturdays good for you? Same time?”

“Yeah, that works.”

“You really never had a sub before, huh?” Mal asks after a brief pause, nibbling on the crust of a toast triangle.

“Not anything long term, just a coupl’a exes and hookups.”

“Nothing at the club?”

“Uh, well I joined today, so no.”

“No shit?” Mal’s eyebrows quirk up again. Rowan likes how expressive they are. “Figured you were new since I hadn’t seen you around, but I didn’t peg you for a first-timer.”

Rowan doesn’t tell him that he’s not really a first-timer when it comes to the club scene. Only the nonsketchy, legitimate, legal club scene. Instead he brilliantly says, “Well, you’ve got a dick, so you wouldn’t need to peg me.”

The flat stare he gets in response makes him bite his bottom lip.

“That your way of saying you bottom too?”

“No… well, I have , and I like it every once in a while, but mostly I top. What about you?”

“Eh. Get an itch to top occasionally, but I like havin’ somethin’ up my ass too much to do it all the time.”

“Cool.”

Cool . As if that’s not Rowan’s wet fucking dream. He’s sure his face is doing something stupid, but Mal doesn’t react, so maybe he’s merely mentally drooling.

“So you’ve had Doms before? Long-term ones?” Rowan asks once he regains his composure.

Something in Mal’s expression seems to close off at that, eyebrows knitted together slightly and eyes flicking to the side.

“Yeah. Nothin’ worth sharing.”

“Got it.”

It’s easy to forget that, despite what Mal and Rowan had done together and how they’re talking to each other now, they’re still strangers. And some things don’t need to be shared. Skeletons in the closet and all that. Rowan gets it. His own closet’s practically a fucking graveyard, so he doesn’t resent Mal for not wanting to open up about personal stuff that doesn’t directly involve Rowan.

“You kinda said a few things you like earlier, but what else are you into?” Rowan asks, changing the subject.

“Want my laundry list of kinks, Red?”

Rowan shrugs. “Kinda, yeah.”

“Gonna be here for a while.”

“This place is open twenty-four seven, isn’t it?”

That earns him a smirk and a quick huff of air through Mal’s nose, and Rowan feels his chest puff up a tiny bit at having made Mal laugh again.

“Got a point there. I said I liked it rough, so that includes pushin’ me around, manhandling, overpowering me, all’a that. Bein’ held in place and forced to do whatever the Dom says, obviously consensually. I’m not into that nonconsensual playacting shit. And havin’—”

“Wait, wait, wait, hang on,” Rowan says, fishing for his phone in his pocket and swiping to open his Notes app. “Gonna write this down.”

“ Tch . Fuckin’ Boy Scout, huh?”

“You expect me to remember everything you tell me? You said it was a long list.”

Mal’s eyebrows bounce up in a way that says, That’s fair . “You ready, Nancy Drew?”

“Yeah,” Rowan says once he’s typed out what Mal’s said so far. “So manhandling and being rough and shit, is that something you’d want all the time, or just when you’re in a certain mood?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Mal takes a second to respond. “More often than not, yeah. Not really in this for tender shit.”

“’Kay.”

Rowan dutifully types no tender shit , though he can’t help but think back to how Mal crumbled into him and let himself be petted and talked down at the end of the gangbang.

“I like impact play a lot. Crops ’n belts and all that are good occasionally or when I’m pretty deep in it, but I like regular slapping and spanking best.”

That gets Rowan to stop typing. “Yeah, you seemed pretty into it earlier.”

Mal bites his lower lip. Rowan’s eyes lock on to the plush lip when it springs back from his teeth slicked with spit.

“What can I say? You got big hands, man.”

It takes most of the willpower Rowan has left to not vault over the table and show him everything he can do with his big hands.

To his credit, Mal continues, apparently without the need to jump Rowan in the same manner.

“Bondage is a big one too.”

“What kinda bondage?”

“All of it—leather, ropes, cuffs. Collars. Chains sometimes. Either partial or whole body, but I’m not into any kinda gimp suits or shit like that.”

“’Kay. I’m mostly familiar with padded cuffs, but we can try out some of the other stuff.”

At Mal’s nod, Rowan types out a note to remind himself to do some research later on. He’d been particularly interested in reading about shibari before he’d joined, and he can only imagine how good Mal would look with ropes digging into his skin.

“Do you like being tied down to stuff or just tied up so you can’t move?”

“Both. Depends on what we’re doin’. But it goes with the whole manhandling thing. You tie me up and throw me around, I’m gonna be ready to blow pretty much immediately.”

Fuck .

Mal continues, “Though it’s equally satisfying to be held in place and not given what I want.”

“Yeah. For sure.” Jesus, this guy really is gonna kill him. “What about other kinds of toys?”

“’M good with most stuff. Plugs and beads are my favorite. Dildos every once in a while, but I like the real thing better. I’m good with, like, nipple clamps, pumps, and gags too, but nothin’ that causes a lot of pain. And no fuckin’ chastity devices or CBT either.”

Rowan stops writing. He knows what chastity cages are, but, “CBT?”

“Cock and ball torture.”

Involuntarily, Rowan winces. “Eww, yeah, all set with that.”

“Good. Some Doms wanna show how fuckin’ tough they are by causin’ pain. Which is fine if the sub’s into it, but usually they’re just lookin’ for a reason to be a dick.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Rowan catches Mal’s eyes, decides—unrelatedly—to change the background color of his list to golden yellow. “Seemed like you liked dirty talk too.”

Mal downs the rest of his water. “Gotta. That’s half the fun.”

“What kind do you like best?”

“Got a bit of a humiliation and degradation kink, but nothin’ extreme. Praise too, but prob’ly after we get to know each other better. Kinda fuckin’ disingenuous or whatever right off the bat.”

Rowan forces himself not to drool at Mal’s words. Even though it’s turning him on, he can’t help but be a bit embarrassed by how he’d talked Mal down at the end of the gangbang. It clearly wasn’t a dealbreaker at least. And was probably more of an exception to that rule given that it was a part of what Rowan thought he might need for aftercare and not part of the scene itself.

“How about outfits or role-play?” That’s an area Mal hasn’t touched on yet.

“Outfits, yeah. Not usually something I like to bring up right away, but since you asked, I like jockstraps a lot. Panties too, if I’m in a certain kinda mood.”

“Oh.” Fuck. The mental of image of Mal in a jockstrap or lacy panties sears itself into his mind. He’s absolutely going to be jerking off to it later.

“That a good ‘oh’?”

Rowan remembers how to swallow after a few seconds. “Yeah. Very good.”

“You bi? I like panties, but I ain’t a chick.”

“I’m gay. I’m not into overly femme guys, but I bet you’d look fuckin’ hot in pretty much anything.”

He watches Mal’s eyelids half close, gold barely showing through the sultry gaze. Like he knows exactly how fucking hot he is and exactly how much he’s affecting Rowan with a few suggestive words.

“Not into role-play, though,” he says, snapping Rowan back to himself. “We can do somethin’ if you’re into it, but it’s usually too fake for me.”

“N-no, not really. I’m good.”

“’Kay.” Mal pauses, then states casually, “Big into choking too, but that’s obviously off the table for us.”

Rowan nearly drops his phone. He knew it.

Mal had practically melted into him when he’d so much as grazed his fingertips over his neck. The thought of actually getting to apply pressure and feel his pulse in his fingertips and watch his eyes roll back— fuck . He wants it. But it’s unrealistic to expect it, and not only because it’s forbidden at the club. Choking and breath play is the ultimate sign of trust in a Dom/sub relationship, at least to Rowan. Your partner’s life is literally in your hands.

“Right,” Rowan manages, clearing his throat. “Uh, me too, for what it’s worth.” The seemingly approving look Mal gives him nearly sends Rowan to the floor. “What, uh, what about planning out scenes?”

“A general idea’s good, but I like to be surprised,” Mal replies as if he hadn’t sent Rowan’s brain into a tailspin. “Don’t need to practice every fuckin’ thing you say.”

“You want me to pick stuff to do each session, or do you wanna tell me ahead of time?”

“Mmm… bit of both. I’ll text you before Saturday and let you know any specifics I’m feeling, and you can fill in the rest.”

Sounds pretty perfect to Rowan. That way he knows whatever they do will be something Mal will like, but with enough freedom to keep things interesting and not so rigidly structured.

“That works. Are your safewords always the color system, or did you do that only for the gangbang?”

“Colors, yeah. Hate actual words. Don’t need to be callin’ out my fifth-grade math teacher’s name while I’m gettin’ fucked. You good with that?”

Rowan snorts but doesn’t say that he could pick something that’s not his old teacher’s name. He’s fine with colors, though. It makes it easier.

“Yep. How about if you’re gagged or something—do you have a clicker, or is that somethin’ the club has?”

Rowan’s never actually had to use one before, but he did read about them during his short research phase while he was applying.

“I have one. I’ll bring it each time just in case.”

“Cool. Do you usually use stuff provided by the club or bring your own?”

Mal rubs a hand across his face, and Rowan fixates on the ink on his fingers a little longer than strictly necessary for the quick gesture. Thinks back to the sight of them wrapped around his cock, guiding him into his mouth—

“The club has pretty much everything, but I do have my own collection’a shit that I like using. Occasionally I’ll use some of the club’s stuff if they have a model I like better.”

“’Kay. I’ll prob’ly have to take a look at what they have next time so I know what the options are.”

Mal nods, and Rowan’s struck with another question.

“How do you wanna deal with room reservations, by the way? I don’t have the booking app that Clover mentioned yet, but I can get it later.”

“It’ll be easier if I do it. I get priority for pretty much everything.”

Rowan feels his eyebrows shoot up at that. Guess he really is a VIP.

“That a membership perk?”

“Eh, kinda. Been there for ages, and the twins are pretty good to me.”

Damn. He’s insanely curious, but they still need to stick to business.

“Cool. And what about aftercare? You didn’t say much about it earlier and kinda seemed surprised by it.”

Mal shifts in his seat and bites the inside of his cheek, making his lips pucker to one side. Rowan’s suddenly filled with a twinge of dread that he doesn’t actually do any kind of aftercare, which can be incredibly dangerous. Thankfully, Mal replies quickly.

“Depends on the scene, I guess. But uh, usually just staying close, talking me down. Soft touches if we do any kinda impact play. Pretty much what you did earlier.”

“’Kay. How about cleanup? Do you wanna do that yourself?”

The wince on Mal’s face is almost enough of an answer in itself. “Yeah. Don’t need anyone wipin’ my ass till I’m a geriatric.”

Rowan snorts in response and makes a note in his phone. “Got it.”

“What about you?”

“About me… cleaning up?”

Another eye roll. “I meant, what kinda shit do you like? This is a two-way street.”

Oh. Right.

“Uh….” Rowan taps the tabletop a few times, putting his phone down.

What does he like? He’s tempted to say Everything you did earlier was fuckin’ perfect . And it was, but he wants to be more specific.

“I’m into pretty much all the things you are, in terms of toys and kinks and shit. Nothing extreme or gross. I like being in control, obviously, but only if it’s earned. I like when my partner puts up a bit of a fight. But I get off hardest on making my partner feel good.”

“Lotta people say that.”

“I’m not a lotta people.”

“ Tch . Can say that again,” Mal says, a flash of teeth peeking through the corner of his upturned lips.

That was probably a compliment. Mal seems the type to give indirect compliments like that rather than straightforward ones, and Rowan’s completely okay with it. It lets him know he’s not alone in his… whatever he’s feeling toward the other man.

“How do you feel about edging and orgasm denial?” Rowan asks, and he swears he can see Mal’s pupils dilate.

“Love it.”

Fuckin’ perfect.

“Cool. That’s good. Kinda one of my favorite things.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you like longer sessions, then?”

“Uh, how long do you consider long?” Rowan asks.

“Few hours,” Mal replies. “Club limit’s four hours, though.”

“I’m good going for that long. I have decent stamina.”

Mal huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, unlike everyone else tonight. Think that Van Damme guy lasted, like, five thrusts.”

Rowan’s lips curl into a smile. He doesn’t really like shitting on people, but the other men who were part of the gangbang were pretty terrible across the board for a long list of reasons.

“Yeah. Kinda surprising for an exclusive club. Thought people’d be better.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mal muses. He pops a stray home fry into his mouth, and Rowan has no idea where he’s putting all that food. “Thought you were gonna deck that blond kid at the end.”

“I don’t like sharing.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, judging by the quick pulse of Mal’s eyebrows toward his nose.

“To be clear,” Mal says, steeling his face. “We ain’t exclusive. Either way. I’m good with barebacking for everything as long as we’re both clean, but if one of us fucks someone else before our next test, we use condoms. That good with you?”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.”

He is okay with it. Really. Though even as high as his sex drive is, it’s unlikely that Rowan’s going to want to fuck anyone else, knowing what’s— who’s —going to be waiting for him come Saturday.

Feeling like their discussion is coming to an end, Rowan closes his Notes app and swipes to his contacts, asking, “What’s your number?”

Mal tells him, and Rowan enters each digit silently yet punctuated by the rapid staccato of his heart. He types out Mal’s first name, realizing as he does that Mal knows his last name, but not vice versa. “Hey, what’s your last name?”

“You a fuckin’ phone book or something?”

“Just asking.”

Mal huffs and looks away, and Rowan’s starting to pick up on his mannerisms, including avoiding eye contact when he’s hesitant about something.

“Savaryn,” he mutters, like it’s something to be ashamed of.

And maybe it is, based on what Sheila had said earlier. Sins of the father. Rowan wonders if Mr. Savaryn is as shitty a dad as Hank was.

“Thanks” is all he replies, opting not to make a big deal of it. Because it isn’t. Family’s what you choose for yourself, not what you’re born into.

He obviously can’t take a picture of Mal, so the contact icon remains, sadly, a flat green circle with MS inside. He sends Mal a quick text so he has Rowan’s number too. It hits him now, with Mal’s number safely saved in his contacts and a one-line convo going, that this is actually real. He’s actually gonna get to fuck him again, hopefully multiple times if he doesn’t screw anything up.

“All set, guys?” a young girl with a cloth apron tied around her waist asks as she approaches their table.

“Yeah, thanks,” Rowan replies, pushing his plate toward the edge.

“No problem. Sheila says it’s on the house,” she says, stacking their plates and cups into one heavy-looking pile and casually hauling the dishes away in the crook of her arm.

He hears Mal sigh as she walks away. There’s definitely a story there, but Rowan figures Mal won’t tell him even if he asks.

“You good?” Mal asks.

Rowan nods, shoves his phone back in his jeans pocket. They exit the booth, and Rowan heads straight for the door.

“Hang on a sec,” Mal says over his shoulder as he approaches Sheila. She’s sitting down behind the counter, placing pastries on a three-tiered stand next to the register.

Rowan can’t hear what they’re saying, but they talk for barely a minute, Mal shoving a wad of bills into Sheila’s apron despite her best efforts to push the money away. Sheila places a wrinkled hand on Mal’s bicep, rubbing up and down twice, squeezing once. Familiar. Rowan can hear Mal’s faint, “Bye, Sheils” before he turns to leave.

It’s interesting—Mal’s use of nicknames. It seems like they’re either meant to convey affection—Jer, Sheils—or utter indifference—Shortstop, Leg Day. He can’t help but wonder which Mal means when he calls him Red .

“How much do I owe you?” Rowan asks once outside.

Mal lights up another cigarette. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

A puff of smoke billows out from Mal’s nostrils, reminding him of the tattoo inked across his chest and shoulders. Tantalizing. Rowan wants to see it again. And get a closer look at the rest of his tats without the distraction of nearly a dozen other bodies surrounding them.

“Yeah.”

“Uh… thanks.”

Call it a Southie thing, but Rowan hates having people pay for him. Even when he didn’t have money, he was always determined to pay his own way by any means necessary. But he lets it go, making a mental note to pay Mal back in some way later on.

They walk back to the club, this time idly chatting, ironing out minor details of their arrangement, talking shit about some of the guys from earlier, pointing out random bits of graffiti that not even the Back Bay is exempt from. This time, Mal’s pace is more leisurely, and it takes them twice as long to get back.

“Are you good to get home?” Rowan asks once they reach the front doors.

“Not a fuckin’ princess, man.”

“Relax, I’m only checking. You just got railed by a buncha guys, then ate your weight in food. Wanna make sure you’re not gonna pass out on the way home or anything.”

“ Pft . Yeah. ’M good.”

“’Kay.”

“I’ll text ya. Later, Red.”

“Bye, Mal.”

Rowan watches him cross the street and enter a dark sedan parked at the curb. Nearly as soon as he closes the door behind him, the engine roars to life, the headlights flare on, and the car peels down the road.

MAL DOESN’T text Rowan for the next five days. He wants to kick himself for expecting it, for wanting it, but that’s not their arrangement. Instead, he goes to work, does chores around the house, runs a few miles each day, watches more BDSM porn than he has in his entire life, finds some legitimate websites with advice on being a good Dom, and scours them when he can get his dick to calm down for long enough.

It’s all to distract from the persistent buzzing under his skin. Anticipation.

Finally, on Thursday night, his phone dings with a message, the entirety of which he can read from the notification on the lock screen.

[MS] you still good for saturday?

Rowan scrambles to unlock his phone and type out a reply.

[RC] Yeah! 8pm?

[MS] yeah

[RC] Cool. Is there anything in particular you want to do?

[MS] want you to be rough with me. got a taste of it last time but i wanna see what you got

As soon as the words reach his brain, heat pools in Rowan’s belly as he types out a reply.

[RC] I can do that. Anything else?

[MS] didn’t get to feel you open me up. or do you not eat ass

[RC] I do. And I will

[MS] good. We’ll take it slow this time n ramp shit up later

[RC] I’d like that

Rowan doesn’t want the conversation—as short and businesslike as it is—to end, but he also doesn’t want to press his luck. They’re not close enough for lengthy conversations that aren’t about their arrangement, and he doesn’t want to be annoying and risk pushing Mal away.

[RC] See you Saturday!

Rowan follows the words with a smiley face emoji, and regrets it almost immediately. Though he wasn’t expecting a reply, a few minutes later, he gets another text from Mal.

It’s an emoji rolling its eyes.

Stupidly, it brings a smile to Rowan’s face. He can’t wait for Saturday.