The scratch of the plate against the table as Mal nudges it closer to Rowan feels a bit like an olive branch after the awkwardly tense past few minutes, and Rowan’s all too happy to take it.

He plucks his unused fork from the table and scoops off the point of the slice, making sure to get some of the fresh whipped cream neatly piled on top. He can feel the snap of the crust as his fork cuts through it and see the amber filling start to topple out onto the plate before bringing it quickly to his mouth and stuffing the bite in.

At once his tongue is bombarded with apple and cinnamon and allspice and butter and a dozen other things he can’t even begin to describe. Hands down, it’s the best pie he’s ever had, even beating Addison’s famous handmade desserts that all their coworkers rave about.

“Holy fuck,” Rowan says before he’s even swallowed.

“Told ya.”

There’s a small smile playing on Mal’s lips that reaches his eyes, and that tiny look alone is almost sweeter than the apple pie itself. He grabs his own fork, scoops up a large chunk, and shovels it into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed at the first taste like Rowan suspects his own had. Rowan puts his fork down on his plate, assuming Mal had only intended on having him try it.

“You don’t want more?”

“Oh, I didn’t think you wanted me, yanno, double dipping.”

Mal gives him a flat stare as he takes another bite. “Just had your tongue in my ass ’n your dick in my mouth, man. ’M not worried about cooties.”

Once again, Rowan feels his face burn but immediately digs in for another bite as if the act of eating will help the flush dissipate from his cheeks faster.

“’Anks,” he mumbles, mouth full. Then, when he finally swallows, “You were pretty adamant about the ‘no kissing’ thing last time. I didn’t wanna overstep.” Even though he’d had Rowan’s literal spit in his mouth during the gangbang, somehow sharing food seems more intimate than that.

Mal pauses, fork halfway between the plate and his mouth, and bites his cheek quickly before releasing it.

“That’s different,” he says, quieter than Rowan would have expected. “Too personal.”

“I get it.”

And he does. As much as he’d love to get his lips on Mal’s, kissing is personal. More so than sex, sometimes. Though if he ever does get the chance to kiss him, God knows he’ll take that privilege and fucking run with it.

When the pie is nothing more than miniscule flakes of pastry on the plate, Rowan figures it’s time to bring up what he’s been wanting to talk about this whole time.