Safe and Sane

The club had been transformed. The main room was no longer recognizable as a lounge; it had been made over with mood lighting and subtle decorations. On one end there was a huge buffet, the bar was open and tended. There was even room for dancing on a small wooden floor that had been laid down on the opposite end of the room. Scattered about were bowls of candy of all kinds.

One of the smaller lounges hosted traditional party games -- bobbing for apples, donuts on a string, even a table set up for carving small gourds and pumpkins. A few of the private play rooms on the main level had also been opened, set up for groups or exhibitionism, but as in previous year that wasn't the focus of the night. And, in case anyone had forgotten a costume or hadn't been able to find one, the smallest public lounge was being used as sort of a large wardrobe.

A large poster in the hallway announced the categories for the costume contest: scariest, funniest, the most creative, best couple or group, and -- of course -- the sexiest.

Wednesday again, and another munch night. The cafe was increasingly quiet as layoffs took effect on household finances, and the board behind the counter was scattered with offers.

Quite why anyone would want to buy two coffees and get a third free, or whether it was a good idea for the majority of munch attendees, was anyone's guess.

To: Scott
From: Drake Holloway
Subject: I'm having an adolescent day.
Attachment: When I Look Into Your Eyes.mp3

So, the music's coming from way back in the dark ages when you were the teenager. The sentiment's still right. I am *still* hopelessly in love with you.


( Lyrics )

To: Carl Stevens
From: Drake Holloway
Subject: Since you're a music guy.
Attachment: My Wish.mp3 (actual download link)

Carl,

I heard this song and thought of you. I figured maybe if it was set to music and rhymed it would be easier for you to understand than if it was just me.

Drake.

( Lyrics )

Really it was very simple. He saw Carl in the club, and walked over to him.

"Hey," he said, grinning and happy to see Carl. "I haven't seen you around in a while. Everything okay?"

He walked into the club, dropped his backpack in a(n empty) chair and went to the kitchen area behind the bar. He had just grabbed a bottle of water and was starting to rummage through the cupboards when he heard the door open again. He looked over his shoulder and asked the person, "Can I get you anything while I'm back here?" Not rude, exactly, but definitely not formal. Just Drake.

It was early Sunday afternoon when Jamie wandered into the club. Hands in her pockets, she was the picture of relaxation. Except for the way she was looking around and the fact that she had a pair of metal handcuffs hanging from her belt.

Jamie was (sort of) on the prowl.

Drake spotted a likely victim with an empty lap and more or less crawled onto the couch and curled up beside them. "My head is killing me," he mumbled, "and girls are really, really weird."

The pen in Gale's fingers caught the light as it spun in slow circles. Legs stretched out comfortably, he relaxed in an armchair near one of the fireplaces in the common room, a cup of hot cider steaming at his elbow.

Not in the mood for pancakes, he'd decided to relax at the club a few hours before heading to a late supper. To kill time, he was working the New York Times crossword puzzle.

"Where on earth is Russell Sage College?"

Drake tossed Scott a pair of leather wrist-cuffs, linked together, and a bottle of extremely slick lube. "Play with me, Daddy," he said, with a cheek grin. Hey, the kid was restless and bored. Plus, he had a sex drive that would put a cat in heat to shame.

Not that that was the entirety of his motivation, of course.

Six days of staring at the same walls, and Lin was going flat out batshit crazy. He'd heard all the advice, knew the warnings, and still decided it was worth the risk of hauling his ass off the bed, out of his room, and into the truck. Wasn't crazy enough to try walking the few blocks to the club, but different walls to stare at were definitely needed.

Even if he wasn't so certain of that once he got inside, sweat cold across his shoulders, and found a couch to stretch out on. "You wanna earn my undying gratitude," he told the room at large, "you'll bring me coffee and water. Now."

Drake dropped his backpack off on a chair and then sought out Scott. "I've been thinking," he said, very slowly and with an unusual amount of seriousness.

Sara wandered into the club, clearly bouncing and full of energy despite the cold weather, and she pretty much skipped over to the bar to get herself a fresh, hot coffee. She hadn't missed that she wasn't alone though, and called back to the other person over her shoulder. "Coffee?"

He'd taken his guitar with him this time, and he was settled on one of the couches, guitar in his lap. He plucked at the strings softly, humming along, putting lyrics to the music he'd written earlier.

It was depressing as hell. One of these days, he was going to remember how to write something happy but that day was not today.

He was on his way through the common area when he caught sight of a face he thought looked familiar. It took him a second to place it, though, which meant he had to walk backwards from the door to come back. "Oh hey. You're famous. Also really hot. And apparently kinky."

Wednesday again, and a happier Wednesday than the previous one. The weather seemed to have warmed up especially for the inauguration, and the evening was mild enough that the cafe had tables set outside for more than just the smokers. A general air of celebration lingered from the previous day, and the cafe owner had decided to celebrate by offering free upgrades to larger sizes of coffee, or free muffins with the smallest ones.

Sugar and caffeine highs all around.

Scott found Drake at the club, and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist. "We should go."

That tone, that tone bespoke of plans.

Sunday afternoon found him at the club with a pot of tea at his elbow and a cup held between long fingers as he perused the paper spread out across the table. An apartment, maybe a job. Nothing was catching his eye and so he looked up as someone passed and smiled.

"Save me," he said pleasantly.

"I have been asked for my ID since joining the club more than I have in my entire life," Drake told Scott. He flopped down on the couch in the common room and rubbed his face. "It's gotten so bad I'm carrying around my passport, and have weird discussions about how other people being afraid of shagging my underage ass is good for me. Can you explain this to me before I run away and join a monestary?" Pause. Pause. "Please, daddy?"

Brat.

Sunday meant a day off. Sunday meant Lin idling in the club common room, watching people come in, pair up (or group up) and move on. Watching people heading out of the back, rest up, head back to the real world. Watching, until someone met his eyes.

Lin grinned, swung up out of his seat, and went over for a refill of coffee. "Get you anything while I'm here?"