But he rolls his eyes to keep the mood light. “Do you have aloe or something for your world-famous ass?”

“Why, you offerin’ to give me a rubdown?”

“Think I just did. I did bring some in my car, though, if you actually need any.”

Mal’s face softens for a beat before settling on something that looks a little too fond, making Rowan glad he mentioned it.

“I’m good. Got some at home.” He eyes Rowan’s hands where they’re splayed on his lap. “Need some for your hands?” he jokes.

Rowan laughs. “Nah. You’ve got a peach of an ass. Was like spanking a cushion.”

“Tch. You say that like it’s an insult, Campbell.”

“Just the opposite, Savaryn.”

THEY TALK for nearly two hours, by Rowan’s estimate. About the scene, about the shibari class, about possibilities for future meetups. The occasional sprinkling of other nonsexual topics. It’s only when Rowan checks his phone to make sure they haven’t gone over their time limit that he sees they’ve only got twenty minutes till midnight.

“You still up for a diner run?” Rowan asks. “It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ starving. And I told Sheils I’d get you to eat something besides rabbit food one’a these days.”

There’s a flutter in Rowan’s chest at the thought of Mal mentioning him to Sheila, even as he says, “You’re one to talk, Bugs.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your little bunny teeth.” He bites his lip teasingly with his top teeth.

Mal kicks him off the bed, but before Rowan stumbles off to his feet, he catches him smiling, his front teeth digging into his bottom lip in a much more adorable and genuine way than Rowan had demonstrated.

“I saw that!” Rowan laughs.

“You didn’t see shit, Doc. Put those fuckin’ gray sweatpants on and let’s roll.”

AT MAL’S gentle nudging, Rowan orders a bacon cheeseburger with waffle fries but draws the line at the chocolate milkshake that Mal adds to his own order.

Mal heads to their usual booth, and Rowan surreptitiously orders a piece of carrot cake for them to share while they wait for their food. Sheila smiles knowingly and slides the plate across the counter to him, along with two forks.

“Jesus…,” Mal huffs when Rowan places the slice of cake on the table, complete with a layer of white frosting topped with an orange-and-green carrot.

But he grabs a fork before Rowan has even fully sat down in the booth, stabbing it straight through the center of the carrot and taking a chunk out of the side. He shoves it fully in his mouth, cheek bulged out to the side as he chews. It’s cute, and Rowan knows he shouldn’t find it cute that the same mouth that licked his own precome off of him is struggling to contain a sweet dessert, but he does.

Rowan digs in with his own fork, and the cake melts on his tongue. Sheila really is a culinary genius.