Page 56 of The Menagerie
“Mmm, fu-fuck, me too.”
And shit, hearing the sentiment echoed in Mal’s voice makes Rowan’s whole body shiver with want, and God, he’s slipping, switching out of that Dominant headspace and into regular desperate-to-get-off headspace, but hopefully Mal will cut him some slack. If the near-constant gasping and moaning pouring from his lips is anything to go by, he probably has.
But he’s gonna blow soon, so fucking soon, it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long. And he wants Mal to get off first.
He fucks into him close to a dozen more times, aiming to hit his prostate each time, or at least have his cock drag past it. Fucking his full length indeepis so utterly satisfying that it takes everything he has to keep his grip on Mal’s sweaty arms and not let him fall completely.
He scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, letting the pleasure wash over him before wrenching them back open. He dips his head, watching his cock slide into Mal’s perfect ass over and over, and he’s suddenly struck with a thought. Probably the best idea he’s had while balls-deep in the hottest guy he’s ever seen.
“How attached are you to this jockstrap?” Rowan asks, breathless.
“’M not. Got…unh…got plenty more at home.”
“Can I…?” He tugs slightly at one of the straps.
“Fuck yeah, do it,” Mal replies instantly, like he’s on the same wavelength as Rowan and doesn’t even need him to finish his sentence.
Fucking perfect.
Rowan lets go of one of Mal’s arms, then the other so he falls back down onto his hands and knees, fists the sides of the straps, twisting his wrists so the fabric wraps around each hand for a better grip, andpulls,theriiiiipof the seams starting to give nearly as hot as Mal’s keening whine as Rowan plows into him. The straps are stretched to their limit as Rowan uses them to pull Mal back onto his cock, slamming into him with abandon.
“Nnngggg,shit,just like that!” Mal groans, letting himself be moved however Rowan wants.
He’s perfect. He’s perfect, he’s perfect, he’sperfect, clenching tighter and moaning freely and holy shit, Rowan’s gonna come. He wraps the straps around his hands once more, stretched nearly to the point of tearing, and speeds up his hips until Mal’s moans devolve into half-gasped“Aahs!” and “Mmms!”
By the time Rowan’s about to blow, Mal chokes out,“Rowan…I need….”
And fuck, hearing his own name on Mal’s lips again nearly pushes him over, but he keeps his composure long enough to realize that Mal’s saying he needs to come. He’s asking permission, for fuck’s sake, andholy shit, he’s perfect.
“Yeah, Mal,do it. Make yourself come on my cock.”
Rowan barely registers the sight of Mal’s hand disappearing underneath his body before he’s clenching violently around him and his back is arching up beautifully, beads of sweat rolling down the curve of his spine and over his shoulder blades.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuuuck—”
His low groan spurs Rowan to fuck him faster, faster, chasing his pleasure on the tail of Mal’s own, his body squeezing around him. And in barely a handful more thrusts, Rowan feels the telltale tightening in his groin, the thrumming in his fingertips, and the wild beating in his chest, and then the release, sharp and quick andsofuckinggoodas he empties inside Mal.
Pleasure spikes through him, coming in shorter and shorter waves as his hips slow to a crawl. Rowan stays nestled inside Mal as long as he can, until the relentless twitching of Mal’s walls becomes too much for his softening, sensitive dick.
In the haze of his orgasm, he wonders if Mal is into overstimulation—being made to come over and over until he’s coming dry. He’d look so hot like that—Rowan’s sure of it. He makes a mental note to ask him about it later on down the road. Mentally highlights and circles and underlines it too.
Now he pulls out gently, stroking over Mal’s back and sides despite the patches of sweat making an easy slide across skin difficult.
As soon as Rowan’s out, Mal collapses onto his stomach, face pillowed in his arms. A jolt of concern rips through Rowan as he drops to his knees next to Mal’s upper body, hand hovering above his mid back.
“Mal? You okay?”
A positive-sounding grunt is his only answer.
“C’mon, man, talk to me.”
Thankfully, Mal turns his head to face Rowan, eyes bright if half closed.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. Then clearer, “I’m good. Was good, jus’ fuckin’… tingly.”
“Good tingly?”
“Yeah.”
