God, Rowan feels his cock jump at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were right for not doin’ it. We’ve only talked about spanking and impact play on less sensitive areas. Legs and chest and ass like you stuck to tonight.”

Rowan is glad he wasn’t too tempted to give in to that desire earlier. “I read one of those books you recommended. The Loving Dominant. Said some people write up an actual contract for this type of stuff.”

“Yeah,” Mal tells him. “I have with Doms in the past who wanted everything written out. ’S fine if you wanna do that—we can draw somethin’ up in writing. I never thought it was that necessary since the shit I’m into isn’t overly intense. Nothin’ that could cause significant pain or situations that could be traumatizing or anything.”

From what he’s read and from his few scenes with Mal, both their interests do fall on the more vanilla side of the BDSM landscape. “No, I’m good. Fine with talking stuff out. Just still need to check when things happen that I obviously haven’t dealt with before.”

Mal nods. He lets a beat of silence linger, a thoughtful look on his face, before telling Rowan, “You get it. Usually takes people a lot longer to suss this shit out, but you’re good at readin’ me. If I felt like you weren’t getting it or you needed a firm set of boundaries, I’d say we should write something. But that’s not the case.”

There’s that flush again, this time spreading all the way down to his fucking toes with a cascade of warmth that has nothing to do with the redness of his skin.

“It helps that you’re pretty open about what you like,” Rowan tells him.

Mal grunts noncommittally. “You’d think so. Had some Doms in the past who’d flat-out ignore obvious cues, let alone subtle ones.”

Rowan’s not surprised. He thinks back to the man he’d helped at the club barely more than a month ago. How his partner hadn’t noticed all the signs of someone slipping out of consciousness, some of which should be obvious even to an untrained eye.

“Used to it from work, I guess,” Rowan tells him.

“Didn’t know paramedics fucked their patients,” Mal quips back, amusement in his eyes.

“Only the hot ones,” Rowan jokes. Mal’s tiny side smile feels like a victory before he continues, “Nah, I mean that, like, half the time the people we help are either unconscious or close to it, so you kinda have to be good at reading body language and shit if they can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

Mal hums thoughtfully. He stuffs some BBQ chips inside the corner of his sandwich and takes a bite, the crunch of it reminding Rowan that his oyster crackers are probably soggy in his soup by now.

As Rowan’s scooping them out with his spoon, Mal says, “The one thing I’d say is that there were times when you could’a gone further.”