Page 158 of The Menagerie
He watches as Mal’s gold eyes blink open, pupils shrinking the tiniest amount as they adjust to the dim, warm lights.
“Hey.”
Rowan climbs onto the bed beside him, noting that he’s pulled on his briefs but nothing else, and takes in the room for the first time. It’s nice. Pleasantly warm, a stark contrast to the cool chill of the normal playrooms. Soft cream-colored walls with dim yellow lights. Two plush couches off to one side, tasteful beige furniture covers lining the cushions and armrests. Lush plants in each corner with a small bubbling water feature on the side wall and a fully stocked supply table with the usual items plus a large basket of all types of medical supplies. Rowan thinks that Mal’s case is more mental than physical, but it’s nice to have the supplies here just in case.
“Never realized how fuckin’ shit he was,” Mal grumbles, settling down cross-legged on the bed.
Rowan envelops him in a tight hug and feels Mal melt into it, face buried into Rowan’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry that happened, Mal. But I’m proud of you for stopping it when you did.”
They pull apart, Rowan keeping contact with Mal’s upper arm. For both of them.
“We used to have people watch us all the time,” he says, voice a little distant, eyes cast off to the side. “Was wicked hot back then, but now….”
“Now it felt wrong.”
“Yeah.”
Mal meets Rowan’s eyes for a moment, the contact lingering and intimate in the dim light.
“D’you want to lie down?”
The deep breath that Mal heaves out could go either way, but he tilts to the side and falls down onto the bed, jostling the mattress under Rowan slightly. For too long Rowan stares at Mal sprawled on the bed, having wanted to get him in an actual bed for so long that he feels guilty for enjoying the sight under the circumstances. But he looks fucking beautiful outlined in white, stark black tattoos painting a lovely contrast. Rowan swallows down his desire and lies down at Mal’s side, turned to face him.
As he watches his profile and the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soothing sounds of the bubbling water feature help to steady his heart rate, still thundering away from the chaos of the past ten minutes. Tentatively Rowan brings a hand to Mal’s cheek, stroking at the soft hairs behind his ear. They lay in silence for an unknown amount of time, Rowan’s thumb starting to ache from the repetitive motion.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, breaking the near silence.
“No.” Mal places a hand over Rowan’s, stilling his movements. “Not right now.”
Rowan takes that as a sign that Mal will want to talk eventually. And he’ll listen when he does. For now he can be here for him.
Mal sighs. Rolls onto his side. Tentatively rests his head against Rowan’s shoulder with one arm slung across his stomach. His breath catches in his throat, heart rate quadrupling underneath Mal’s cheek. Part of him hopes Mal can’t tell. Part of him hopes he can.
As much as he’s longed for this, Rowan can’t shake the feeling that the position is only because Mal is in such a vulnerable place right now. Nevertheless he wraps an arm around Mal’s shoulder and strokes his skin delicately, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His skin is warm, and Rowan allows himself to sigh into the contact.
Mal breathes softly.
The water fountain bubbles.
Everything is still and comfortable, and Rowan knows that they’re like this because of a serious situation, but he wants so badly to enjoy the moment that he nearly lets himself forget. He lets himself imagine that they’ve woken up together, made love in the early morning light, and are enjoying the aftermath together. Not huddled together in a recovery room at a BDSM club after Mal’s been practically violated.
Eventually, Mal stirs. He lets out a tiny mewl that Rowan wants to bottle up and save for a rainy day.
“Okay?” Rowan asks quietly, barely more than a whisper.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
When Mal lifts his head, Rowan instantly misses the contact. Goose bumps pebble up along his arms as Mal swings his legs off the bed and sits upright.
Mal reaches for his clothes, pulls on his shirt first, movements slow and methodical. Hair mussed and shirt lines etched onto his face where his head was pressed against Rowan’s shoulder.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Rowan asks as Mal finishes getting dressed.
“Not tonight. Just wanna get home.”
They stand facing one another, Mal’s eyes flitting everywhere but Rowan’s.
