Mal, who he…. Loves. Fuck, it still doesn’t seem real. Still feels weird as hell to admit that, even to himself. And to think that a week ago, he’d been feeling sorry for himself and thought Mal didn’t even like him back. Now here he is, fully admitting his feelings. Accepting his feelings too. He thinks about it as he takes probably the longest and most thorough shower of his life before leaving, only teasing himself the slightest bit, but not fully prepping himself. He wants to save that for when he’s with Mal.

AT THE club, he finds Mal already at the bar, half a beer sitting in front of him. Rowan’s usually always the earlier of the two, Mal typically showing up either on time or a few minutes late to their sessions.

When he meets his eyes, he looks eager. Giddy.

“You ready to do this, Savaryn?” Rowan asks, taking a swig of Mal’s beer.

“Damn straight, Campbell.”

Mal’s nearly vibrating out of his skin by the time they make it to the Gold Room, slamming the door behind him and locking it as soon as the latch clicks shut. He hurries over to the bed and dumps out his bag unceremoniously and with a fervor Rowan hasn’t seen him with even when they first started scening.

“What’s got you so excited?” Rowan asks with amusement, picking up the cuffs from the pile of stuff on the bed.

“I’m pent up, man. Haven’t had anything but my right hand in weeks.”

The confession warms Rowan’s belly as the words reach his ears. Mal hadn’t slept with anyone else in the time that Rowan had been depressed and they’d chosen to take another week off. It shouldn’t mean much, but it does, and Rowan feels as tingly as Mal looks.

“Let’s change that then, hmm?” Rowan responds, inspecting the plug Mal has brought with him.

Apparently he doesn’t want to be empty even when he’s topping. That’s plenty fine by Rowan. The plug is made of smooth black silicone, shaped like a dildo, on the long and thin side—at least compared to Rowan. The base tapers to a thin stem then flares out wide, forming a sturdy base that’s sure to keep it in place.

“Strip yourself, then undress me,” Rowan tells Mal, wasting no time exchanging pleasantries.

Mal complies, nearly ripping off his shirt and shimmying out of his jeans at lightning pace. He nearly forgets to remove his boots first, the fabric of his jeans catching on his ankles before he dips down to hastily unlace them and kick them off toward the bed. His tight black briefs come off last, his already hard cock bobbing free as soon as the material slides over the tip.

“Good,” Rowan tells him, though he’s sure his hungry eyes on Mal’s body say it all.