None of them get Malcolm on top, which is a shame, because Rowan would bet he’d look amazing, thick thighs straining and abs flexing.

Disappointingly, every single one of them jackhammers into him for a minute or two, most coming and pulling out, others grasping the base of their dicks to stave off orgasm. From the look on Malcolm’s face—parted lips, jaw slack, knitted eyebrows, sweat beading on his temples—it’s clear that he’s enjoying himself, even with all the taunting and the bitching he’s doing.

But Rowan wants to see him fall apart completely, and the ferocity of that desire surprises him.

“Beg for my come,” the frat boy tells Malcolm when it’s clear he’s nearing his end. His voice is pitched lower, but it sounds utterly fake. Like he’s playing at being in charge. Not something he’s used to.

“I don’t beg for anyone, kid,” Malcolm snaps back.

Last up is the guy who looks like The Rock, and he’s undoubtedly the best of the lot. He flips Malcolm onto his back and pushes into him swiftly, then hooks his arms under his knees and hoists him up, making Malcolm wrap his arms around his neck for support.

Malcolm’s “Fuck yes, finally” sounds relieved as the man uses all those muscles to lift him up and drop him down on his dick over and over with a sharp slap slap slap.

It’s a good position, Malcolm clearly getting off on being manhandled as much as actually being fucked how he wants to be. Rowan feels the heat begin to pool in his belly and his cock harden fully for the first time in too long. Since it was last down Malcolm’s throat in fact.

He strokes himself, watching hungrily as Malcolm starts to sweat above the man, cock hard and bouncing between them.

But it doesn’t last. After a few meager minutes, the older man’s already nearing his end.

“Sh-shit, I’m coming,” he groans, hips jerking erratically and eyes squeezing closed as he lifts Malcolm up one final time and drops him down, clutching his asscheeks tightly as he empties inside him.

Rowan thinks he sees Malcolm sigh as he’s lowered back onto the bed.

“Can’t believe I actually pay for this shit,” he mumbles. “Anyone here able to last more than ten goddamn seconds?” he calls louder. “Or do I gotta resort to the toy wall like last time?”

There are a few grumbles of complaint, but no one speaks up.

And Rowan? Rowan’s had enough.

Enough of everyone here being shit at fucking. Enough of waiting for his turn. Enough of Malcolm’s fuckin’ bratty attitude, justified as it may be. As soon as The Rock steps aside, Rowan spins Malcolm to face him, legs on either side of Rowan’s own, the smaller man looking up at him with a quirked eyebrow. He’s about to open his mouth, no doubt to say something shitty, when Rowan grabs the back of his skull, wrenching his head back so he’s forced to look up at him further.