Page 117 of The Menagerie
Business as usual.
Rowan’s body moves before his brain does, and in a flash, Mal is faceplanted onto the bed with one of Rowan’s hands squarely between his shoulders. The ropes that had held him earlier now replaced with muscle and bone.
“Too easy to rile you up, Firecrotch,” Mal grits, half mumbling as he turns his head to stare up at Rowan.
“You think I don’t know your bullshit plays by now, Mal? Couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Uh-huh.”
He kicks Mal’s legs apart, delighting in the wobble in Mal’s knees.
“Take off your fucking shirt.”
“Howexactlyd’you expect me to do that like this?”
Underneath him, Mal wriggles, the friction of his body against Rowan’s hand scorching.
“Figure it out.”
A huff and a grunt have Mal squirming to free his hands from underneath him. With no small amount of effort, he manages to grab the sides of his tank top and tug upward until the fabric bunches up underneath Rowan’s palm.
“Move your hand,” Mal snaps.
Smack!Rowan’s free hand cracks down against Mal’s clothed ass, the dull hit still making him jolt forward and let slip an audible gasp.
“My hand’s exactly where I want it. Take off your shirt.”
There’s a grumbling from Mal that isn’t gonna fly. Rowan smacks his other cheek, harder than the first.
“Fuck!”
“Quit being a whiny little bitch and take off yourfuckingshirt before I rip it off.”
No response this time as Mal reaches back to gingerly shimmy the fabric from under Rowan’s palm. He can feel Mal’s shoulder blades and back muscles flexing against him. Once the shirt is finally past Rowan’s hand, Mal grunts quietly as he stretches to pull it over his head and toss it to the corner of the bed.
“Good,” Rowan purrs. He slots himself against Mal’s ass, letting him feel his growing erection. “Pants next.”
“Are you fuckin’—”
Rowan shoves his hand harder into Mal’s back, a silent command to get the fuck on with it.
It’s immensely satisfying to see his tattooed fingers curl around the waistband of his joggers and his arms tense as he struggles to strip in his compromised position. He gets the waistband a few inches over the swell of his ass when Rowan stops him.
“Take ’em both off.”
Mal huffs, letting the pants snap back into place.
“Only said to take my pants off,” he scoffs.
Rowan’s response is to grind against his ass and draw out a surprised-sounding gasp, as if Mal had forgotten what the outcome of his compliance would be.
“Gonna be here all day if you take each piece off that slowly.Move.”
This time, Mal has the good sense not to make a retort before clutching both his pants and black briefs and starting to shove them over the curve of his ass. Despite his insistence on Mal hurrying up, Rowan does exactly nothing to help him out, one hand still pressed firmly on his upper back and hips flush with his ass. When Mal finally manages to make progress on stripping, it isn’t only the hard line of Rowan’s cock that it snags on.
Immediately, Rowan grabs the waistbands of Mal’s pants and briefs and rips them down to mid-thigh, where his spread legs stop them from falling to the floor.
“Fuckin’ slut…,” Rowan breathes, seeing the thick base of a plug slotted neatly between Mal’s asscheeks.
