“Fu-fuck… gonna… need—Rowan!”

God, it’ll never get old. Hearing Mal gasp his name.

“C’mon, Mal,” he goads, slamming into him with a force that nearly has his own vision whiting out. “Lemme feel that ass tighten.”

“Fuuuuck!” Mal cries, ass clenching wildly and cock spurting forcefully enough to paint his own pecs in come.

“Yeah, God, that’s it.” Rowan strokes him through it, the sight of Mal covered in his own come bringing back delicious memories of him from the gangbang. “Fuckin’ filthy. Look at you.”

And Mal can only whisper another “Fuck…” before Rowan’s pulling out and letting Mal’s legs fall to the floor and his back fall onto the bed.

Rowan climbs up as well and hauls Mal onto his knees, then positions himself between them, lying back but half propped up on one elbow. Mal widens his stance, arms still bound behind his back, and moves to dip down to take Rowan’s cock into his mouth. But Rowan stops him, swiping his hand through the streaks of come on Mal’s chest and stroking himself to coat his own cock in the mess.

Then he grips Mal’s hair and tugs him down so his mouth is hovering inches above his cock, lying flat against his belly.

“Taste yourself on me.”

Mal lets out a fucked-out little whine and leans down to lick a hot, wet trail from Rowan’s balls to the tip of his cock. He licks him several times more, cleaning his own come off Rowan’s cock and moaning with each swipe of his tongue.

The sensation is nice, but it pales in comparison to the sight of Mal swallowing his own come. Of him pausing each time before he slips his tongue back into his mouth to show Rowan the white streaks coating the pink. He mouths at Rowan’s cock the best he can without the support of his hands, knees widening to allow him to dip down farther.

“C’mon, suck me,” Rowan growls, lifting his cock with his free hand and slapping Mal’s cheek with it until the other man opens his mouth and turns to catch the head between his lips. “There ya go. Didn’t think I’d need to tell a cock slut like you to do your fuckin’ job.”

There’s some kind of garbled response in the back of Mal’s throat, but Rowan grips his hair to keep him from lifting off.

It’s clear that Mal’s struggling in this position, his balance thrown off without the use of his arms.

Rowan pulls him off his cock, the wet pop dulled by the thrumming in his ears, but he asks, “Color?”

“Green,” Mal responds instantly, lips slick and red.

Satisfied, he shoves him back down. And Rowan can see that Mal is still hard and dripping between his legs, still moaning and breathing ragged breaths through his nose as he sucks Rowan’s length. Barely the first few inches, actually.

“Took all of me last week. You outta practice already?” Rowan taunts.