Rowan starts scrubbing himself clean and thinks that really, it’s exactly that kind of thought he’s always needed to kick his competitive nature into overdrive, his determination to be the best fucking Dom Mal’s ever had.

Tonight Mal had clearly enjoyed himself. He seemed to oscillate between pushing back against and obeying Rowan’s orders, which to be honest, Rowan’s not sure is a good or a bad thing. He’s going to have to do some more research later and talk to Mal about whether he should be aiming to keep him in subspace for the whole session, or if it’s normal to dip in and out of it. So far he’s really only seen short glimpses of it. First at the gangbang and then a few times earlier tonight.

For now he assumes that it’s normal to slip in and out of that submissive headspace, especially since they’re still getting used to each other. He dwells on that, knowing that at the very least he’s not making up their chemistry. They seem to fit, and that thought carries Rowan through the rest of his shower.

When he gets to the bar this time, exactly twenty minutes later, Mal’s already waiting for him.

THEY FIND themselves at the same diner as before—Sheila’s, Rowan notes, the name making sense after meeting the woman herself last week. This time Mal declines his “usual” when Sheila asks him about it, instead ordering a burger and fries, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and a slice of apple pie. Rowan orders a turkey club with chips, and they claim the same back corner booth as last time.

Once again, Rowan ogles the large amount of food when it comes. He’s not one to judge how much or how little food someone eats—God knows he’s had his own issues with food throughout his life, not only from growing up poor and having to scrounge when he could, but also when he was actively fighting his mental illness and his meds. But it does make him worry that Mal is purposely starving himself. He’d said as much before the gangbang, and Rowan’s not his parent or guardian, but he doesn’t want it to be something that Mal thinks he has to do before their scenes.

“Do you…,” Rowan starts, then trails off, unsure how to phrase his question without sounding patronizing. His eyes sweep Mal’s features, sharp but with full lips and cheeks, his body toned with muscle and a layer of fat, minimal as it is. He looks healthy, but Rowan knows far too well that health isn’t only skin-deep.

“What?”

“Do you always… fast all day before scenes?”

Mal looks taken aback by the question, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Fuck no, man. I love food.” As if to prove his point, he takes a hulking bite of his burger, chews quickly, and swallows. “Only did it for the gangbang ’cause you never know what you’re gonna get. How rough the people’re gonna be, how they might react. People don’t like to talk about it, obviously, but accidents happen, and that shit’s awkward enough with one person, never mind ten.”