Before Malcolm can even rise up to his knees fully, the strongman guy—Cupcake—hauls him up under his armpits like he’s not a fully grown man and dumps him on the bed. He lands on his knees, falling forward and catching himself on his hands with a slap! against the leather cushion before he faceplants onto it.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Malcolm says. “Someone better get somethin’ in my ass before I start to get bitchy.”

“What d’you mean start?” Tats calls out, making a few of the other men laugh.

“Sounds like you’re volunteering for the class.”

“Stick that ass up for me and I just might.”

Malcolm makes a tch sound, but arches his back and pushes his ass out to form a sinuous curve, the fabric of his briefs stretched tight across each cheek. And fuck, Rowan’s been trying to get a good look at his ass all night, only getting glimpses of it from the side while he was picking people or when he was kneeling and blowing them.

But God if it isn’t perfect, even clothed. Muscular with a touch of softness, like the rest of him. And when Tats slaps one cheek and pulls the fabric halfway down the back of his thighs, it’s even better, smooth and round with dimples on his lower back and on the sides of each cheek.

Cupcake climbs on the bed in front of Malcolm and slaps his cheek with his cock once, twice, until Malcolm opens and sucks him down. The two Tweedles climb on either side of him, jerking off until Malcolm switches his attention to each of them in turn, supporting himself on one arm so he can stroke one of them while he blows another. His coordination is unreal; Rowan doesn’t think even he could navigate so much dick. The rest of the men circle around the bed, half watching in front and half in back of Malcolm, all jerking off, some making out with one another. It’s hot, but Rowan really doesn’t give a fuck about any except one.

His attention snaps back to where Tats is now digging his fingers into Malcolm’s ass, whose skin turns white as Tats spreads his cheeks. Rowan has to get closer. He jumps on the bed next to Tats in time to see him run the pad of his thumb over Malcolm’s pink hole, and fuck, it’s so smooth—the faintest bit of peach fuzz on his ass. He’s glad it doesn’t look like he waxes or shaves, though, because Rowan’s always been more attracted to guys with body hair.

“Beautiful,” Tats says, stroking over Malcolm’s hole with his fingers.

Rowan watches it twitch at the contact, feeling his own dick twitch at the sight. He pulls Malcolm’s briefs the rest of the way down, tugging at the fabric when they reach his knees to pull them off completely and fling them to the floor.

“Lick him,” Rowan says. He’d much rather do it himself, but he can be patient.