In the few seconds it takes him to switch from lying to kneeling beside him, the Japanese guy—Tweedle Dee? Dum? Rowan has no clue—has taken up position behind Malcolm, bottle of lube in hand. He squirts some onto his palm, warming it between his hands briefly before unceremoniously slathering it over Malcolm’s hole.

“Hurry the fuck up and get in me,” Malcolm barks.

“So impatient,” the man responds, sinking in one long, slim finger. “What, is four hours not enough time for you to spend getting fucked that you’ve gotta rush through it?”

“Ah! Don’t see anyone here rushin’ shit.”

“Hm. How’s this for rushing?”

He sinks in two more fingers, and Malcolm’s hole swallows them like it’s nothing. He must have prepped beforehand, at least somewhat, because someone taking three fingers with only a bit of rimming beforehand can be a pretty tall order unless they get fucked constantly.

Oh, but that’s a nice thought. Malcolm being ready to get fucked at a moment’s notice. Fucked by Rowan specifically. He files the image away for later.

“Better,” Malcolm replies. “But not enough by a long shot.”

Rowan’s torn between wanting to hear every noise he makes and wanting him to shut the hell up and stop being a greedy brat and take what everyone here wants to give him. He settles on the latter. Malcolm is starting to say something else while he’s being fingered open when Rowan brings his hand up and slaps him hard on his left asscheek, the flesh warm under his hand.

“Fuck!” Malcolm cries out.

“Unless you wanna get split in half, you’ll fuckin’ wait till we get you ready,” Rowan tells him.

“Fuckin’—”

Slap!

“—nnnng!”

Rowan smooths his hand over the reddening skin, feels the goose bumps pebble up underneath his fingers and the not-so-subtle hitching of Malcolm’s hips back against his touch. Looking for more. And that tiny movement is something Rowan’s going to be thinking about for the rest of his life.

He slides his hand down Malcolm’s crack and presses his middle finger in alongside the other man’s three fingers, drawing a gasp from Malcolm. And it’s tight as he tugs on the rim, definitely not stretched enough to take Rowan’s cock right now, but some of the others? Absolutely.

At Malcolm’s demand for “More, fuck,” Rowan sinks in his ring finger, opening him up along with the other man, who spits into his open hole between their fingers, slicking the way as they stretch him.

“Think he’s ready to take the first dick tonight?” someone from up front asks.

“Hell yeah,” someone from behind replies.

“I got dibs,” Shortstop says, climbing onto the bed from where he’d been standing on the side, lazily making out with the frat boy, Leg Day. His dick is pretty average in length, thickest around the middle, but his balls are large and hang low between his legs.

“’Bout time,” Malcolm grumbles.