When Mal steps toward him, Rowan can feel the heat of his body in the small space between them even through his clothes.

Mal sets to work undressing Rowan with a much greater sense of precision and grace than he’d done with his own clothing, folding each piece and placing it on the bed without being asked, like he’s done every time he’s undressed Rowan.

Now fully naked, Rowan sits on the edge of the bed, drawing his long legs up and spreading them wide. In this position, he feels so exposed, but more turned on than he can even put into words.

“On your knees,” Rowan tells him.

Mal dips down obediently, landing on his pile of clothes on the floor.

“You’re gonna open me up. You can choose: mouth or hands. But you only get to use one, understood?”

Mal makes a small, pained sound like the thought of being restricted to only his mouth or his hands kills him, but he nods anyway.

“What am I gonna tell you?” Rowan demands.

“Words,” Mal says, head bowed slightly and voice breathy. “I understand.”

“Good, get to it.”

Rowan dips his head back to stare at the ceiling lights. There’s a brief, anticipation-laced moment where Rowan drops his upper body to the bed and doesn’t feel anything at all, waiting with his legs spread before Mal.

Then the soft tickle of Mal’s hair against Rowan’s inner thigh. A hot breath against his hole. Lips pressing off to the side of where he wants them. Rowan knew he’d choose his mouth. Mal’s got an oral fixation that any partner would kill or die for.

Mal starts out tentatively, a small kitten lick with the tip of his tongue over Rowan’s hole. Teasing, testing. After the first lick, Mal moans against him and digs in more firmly, tongue lapping feverishly. It sends an electric jolt up Rowan’s spine.

As Mal’s eager tongue opens him up, Rowan groans. He can’t remember the last time someone rimmed him. It might have only happened once, and he was undoubtedly too coked out to even recognize it was happening, let alone enjoy it. But Mal’s mouth is delicious, smooth and hot and so goddamn talented that Rowan feels himself melting into the bed, legs jelly and threatening to flop down off the edge.

He feels Mal’s hand squeeze his asscheek, then a thick finger slide into his hole alongside Mal’s tongue.

Rowan barely stops himself from moaning, from gasping at the stretch, before remembering the rules he’d put in place. “That better not be your hands I’m feeling, Mal. You know the rules.”