Page 11 of The Menagerie
It shouldn’t, but the threat goes straight to Rowan’s dick. He wasn’t lying when he said he liked his partners to be scrappy. He assumes Enrico is some kind of bouncer or security guard, but something tells him that Malcolm could take half the guys in this room if he really wanted to.
“Questions?”
The person next to Rowan raises their hand. Rowan can’t help but roll his eyes.
Malcolm huffs out an incredulous laugh, raising his eyebrows at the guy. “This ain’t middle school, man. What?”
“Sorry, uh, how many are you picking?”
“Ten.”
Rowan can feel his lips parting on their own accord.
Ten people.
Christ.
There have to be at least forty people crammed into the room, and maybe more spilling out into the hallway. That means Rowan only has a roughly 25 percent chance of getting picked, and while he’s always been a bit of a gambler, a bit of a risk taker, those odds are still a little slim for his liking.
“And,” Malcolm starts, taking a deep breath and exhaling through his nose. “My last Dom moved outta state, so I’m lookin’ for a new one. Impress me tonight and we’ll talk if you’re interested.” His eyes sweep the crowd, landing on Rowan’s for a beat before moving on.
Rowan’s pulse quickens as excited whispers spread through the crowd. Although Malcolm didn’t specifically say the wordscontestorcompetitionortryouts, Rowan can’t help but feel that’s what this is. And he’s never wanted to win something so badly in his entire fuckin’ life.
Fuck. He hasn’t even seen this guy in action, he reminds himself. He’s purely relying on what others have told him of Malcolm’s skills in bed. For all he knows, he could be complete shit and not what Rowan’s into at all.
But even as he thinks it, his gut tells him that isn’t true. Something about the man is utterly magnetic, drawing Rowan in like a lost sailor to a siren promising dry land. He can only hope he doesn’t end up drowning chasing blindly after what he wants.
“Any other questions?” Malcolm asks, eyes sweeping around the room. “’Kay. I’m gonna come around, and if I see somethin’ I like, you’re in. Not just lookin’ for who has the best dick, but if you think it’s a selling point for ya, feel free to whip it out.”
Most of the people around Rowan scramble to undo their pants and either shove them down to mid-thigh or pull their dicks out straight through the zipper hole. Most start jerking off, and Rowan idly wonders if he should too. He knows he has a nice dick and that he’s firmly on the “above average” side of things, but something stops him. Call it his ego, but he feels like he doesn’t need to show off his dick to be chosen.
Despite Rowan being fairly close to the bed, Malcolm starts on the opposite side of the room closest to the door.
Rowan can barely hear what Malcolm is saying, but he watches him pick each person, not asking for names but rathergivingthem nicknames based on their physical appearance. Rowan sees each man picked circle around against the wall closest to the bed.
The lucky few.
First is a young white guy with light skin, a tall but lean frame, and blond curls. Malcolm dubs him Shirley Temple, which makes Rowan have to stifle another laugh, though he is curious why Malcolm didn’t ask for the guy’s name.
Next is a Hispanic man—Shortstop, though he’s actually the same height as Malcolm—with a medium complexion and black shoulder-length hair. A broad chest and thick legs make him look bigger than he is.
Then Jean-Claude, a deeply tanned probably white guy with short brown hair and more muscles than his namesake, if Rowan is correct in assuming Malcolm was going for a Van Damme reference and the guy’s name isn’t actually Jean-Claude.
By now it seems clear that Malcolm has no interest in learning anyone’s name.
A Korean guy is next, and even Rowan could have guessed what his nickname would be.Leg Day.As in, the guy probably never does it if his scrawny legs and massive gym-sculpted chest and torso are anything to go by. He’s young, early twenties maybe, with overly styled and gelled black hair and an attractive face. The frat boy look is broken only by the scar running from his temple to his cheek.
Next are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, who don’t look anything alike except for the matching red button-up shirts and black bow ties they’re wearing. (Seriously? Rowan thinks.) “You two plan your outfits or somethin’? Never mind, I don’t care. You’re both hot, you’re in. Fuckin’ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” he hears Malcolm say. He doesn’t actually specify which man is meant to be Dee and which Dum, and Rowan can’t decide if that’s better or worse than the other nicknames so far.
One of them is Japanese, with a swimmer’s build, high cheekbones, and short, neatly coiffed black hair. He’s an inch or two taller than the other man, though the latter has at least thirty pounds of muscle on the former. He’s white with model-messy sandy hair and a figure that looks sculpted through physical labor rather than at the gym.
After them comes The Rock, and yeah, Rowan has to hand it to Malcolm. He does kind of look like The Rock. An older man, probably in his forties, with a medium complexion and no hair except for a goatee. His musculature rivals that of his namesake, save for the slight paunch around his belly and thighs.
Then comes Cupcake. Rowan has no idea where he got that name from, since the guy is at least six four or six five and built like a strongman. He has dark skin, long black hair in neat twists pulled back into a low ponytail and accentuated with colorful beads, and a short but full beard. It might be the beads, he thinks. Something about sprinkles?
Finally there’s Tats, which is the least original of the names. He looks Middle Eastern, with deep olive skin, dark hair that’s tied into a bun, and stubble on his face. An athletic body and cheekbones that give even Malcolm’s a run for their money. And of course full sleeve tattoos on both arms in a variety of colors and designs.
From the lineup, it’s pretty hard to tell if Malcolm has a type other thanbig. Only one of his picks is the same height as Malcolm is—Shortstop—but his musculature makes up for his lack of height compared to everyone else.
