“Everyone, man. You new here or somethin’? Can’t wait to finally show ’im what he’s been missin’.”

Rowan doesn’t respond, partly because he has nothing to say, and partly because something about the guy’s tone makes him want to knock his teeth out. Instead he wonders how many of the others here are in the same boat as that guy, having waited to get invited to a scene like this for ages when Rowan had more or less rolled in off the street and gotten picked the first time.

He turns his attention back to Malcolm, who eyes the lot of them before circling around the bed to face them. The breath Rowan had been exhaling catches in his throat as he waits for the other man to do something. To signal for them to start, because he’s never done this before and doesn’t know how these things are supposed to work.

At once, Malcolm drops to his knees, punching out the rest of the breath from Rowan’s lungs and answering his question all in one.

Fuck.

“Well?” he asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Who’s first?”

Fuck.

The Van Damme look-alike steps up first, shirt already gone and jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. He strokes himself roughly a few times, then with zero finesse, grabs Malcolm by the hair and yanks his head back, rubbing his cock along Malcolm’s parted lips. Rowan feels his body jerk forward, his fight mode kicking in as it would when he had to protect one of his siblings from a schoolyard bully, but the low groan that pours from Malcolm’s throat stops him in his tracks.

Because fuck, this is what he wants, isn’t it?

To be used.

Fuck.

With that, the floodgates have been opened. The rest of the group starts shedding whatever clothing they have left on, a couple flinging pieces haphazardly on the floor, others stashing them in the cubicle against the side wall that Rowan had overlooked in favor of ogling the sex toys.

He strips down to nothing, quickly folds and stashes his clothes in a cubby in time to see Malcolm take the man’s cock into his mouth, lips tight and cheeks hollowed and eyes closed like he’s savoring it. Rowan’s own cock jumps at the sight, blood rushing down when Malcolm starts bobbing his head.

The Van Damme look-alike throws his head back and groans loudly while curling his fingers in Malcolm’s hair.

And fuck, Rowan needs to get closer. It’s been barely more than two minutes since he started, but already the other men have circled around Malcolm like vultures, eagerly awaiting their turn. Rowan joins them, shoulder to shoulder with the Tweedles, unashamedly looking at the nine other men around him, admiring their bodies.

He notes, with not a small amount of pride, that aside from Tats, whose cock is a bit longer than his—though skinnier—and Cupcake’s, whose is wider around the base, Rowan has the biggest dick of the lot. Most of them Rowan could see himself fucking if they bottomed. He’s attractive enough himself to be picky about his sexual partners, but why bother as long as his partner gets him going?