Page 119 of The Menagerie
Slowly, Mal shifts his arm backward, elbow barely passing his rib cage, but when Rowan reaches for it, Mal yanks it away with a grin that Rowan can see even in profile.
Smack!
Rowan’s palm stings from the force of the slap across Mal’s ass, directly over the plug. The groan ripped from Mal’s throat is cut off as Rowan yanks him to standing, back flush to Rowan’s chest and one hand still pressed between them. His fingers dig into Mal’s bicep, then trail along his chest, up his neck, and grasp the sides of his jaw to bring his ear directly to Rowan’s lips.
“You know…,” Rowan starts, voice low as if someone might hear them in the soundproof room. “I know you think you’re doin’ something here with all this pushing back, but I’ve got more patience in my little finger than you’ve got brattiness in your whole body.”
With no more fanfare and only the faintest whisper of a huff from Mal, Rowan cuffs Mal’s wrists and fastens them together.
“On the bed.”
Predictably, Mal gets on his knees, upper body planted into the bed. Rowan lets him sit there. Sweat it out a little as he strips himself of everything but his briefs, because he doesn’t know what Mal did with whoever he fucked, but he’s not going to take any chances or put Mal in a situation where it takes him out of the scene.
He perches on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor, with his back to Mal.
“Come here.”
“Told me to get on the bed, didn’t ya?”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Rowan replies, tugging Mal up by the cuffs until he’s on his knees. “Or are you waitin’ for me to move you myself?”
Over his shoulder, Mal shoots him a wry smile that does exactly nothing to impress Rowan.
“Cute,” he deadpans. “Not gonna get you what you want, though.”
“Has so far.”
“Mmm…,” Rowan hums thoughtfully. “I think you’re a little too used to getting what you want.”
“Tch.”
Rowan turns to gaze at him over his shoulder. “Told me you wanted it earlier. So you’re gonna have to come get it.”
So he leans back on his hands and waits.
It’s a standoff.
Sure, Rowan could order Mal to move. Manhandle him easy as pie. But the thought of waiting for Mal to cave, well…. It’ll be ten times sweeter.
The tension radiating off Mal behind him is visceral. Even without the benefit of his sight, Rowan can feel the tightness in his shoulders and hear his knuckles turning white from where the grinding of metal tells him he’s tugging at his cuffs.
A minute. Maybe two. Definitely not three. That’s all it takes for Rowan to hear the frustrated huff and the slick slide of skin against leather.
The satisfaction of watching Mal shuffle over to him on his knees—face flushed, jaw tight, cock bobbing between his legs—is unlike anything Rowan’s felt before. No drug that’s ever passed his lips has given him a high quite like this.
“Good,” Rowan tells him, unable to stop his smug smile from reaching his eyes. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Mal stops a foot away from Rowan’s thigh. “Fuckin’—ah!”
His exclamation comes out a surprised yelp when Rowan pulls him down over his lap and lands a swift smack to each asscheek.
“Enough. Playtime’s over.”
“Thought it just got star—”
Smack! Smack!
He tugs at Mal’s hair to force him to look up at him. “The only words outta your mouth right now should bemoreor a safeword. Got it?”
