Safe and Sane

They lay in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Silence in the room, if not for the sound of their harsh breaths, only gradually steadier, more controlled. Mid was on his stomach, Paul draped over his side, legs tangled, warmth shared. Head rested on his crossed arms looking up at the face of the other man, the one who was tracing a delicate finger along one of his scars, the one on his left shoulder blade. Bullet scar, that one.

It was this sort of perfect moment he couldn't get enough of since they'd met. The sort he would be damned for cutting short, which he had no intention of doing. Perfect, stunning soreness in his ass, and through more than a few of his muscles. He felt well-fucked, and by the most gorgeous man he'd ever met, at that.

Even he had to be smiling a little, a quirk of his lips, nothing more. He was blaming it on the post-orgasmic haze, thank you.

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.

Mid used to like days off.

By now he hated them when they were weekdays, because Paul was at work and much as he was tempted to head over at lunchtime and offer a surprise fuck... He wasn't going to.

He'd taken Jenny running, he'd done paperwork, he'd worked out, but he didn't even feel like going to the shooting range and instead, he'd left Jenny at home and made it to the club. At the same time as one other person, who he greeted with a simple nod.

"Tell me you're not here for a scene," he said as he opened the door for them to walk in first, "because I could use some company."

The original opening of Strokes had been a relatively public affair, open to all. The expansion, opening the store downstairs, was more private. Considering the space available, it had to be - the store was considerably smaller than the cafe upstairs, and there were stricter age restrictions on access. An invitation had gone out to all members of the club, and Beth had also left the details with Danielle in case she was generous enough to invite any of her customers.

The cafe upstairs was still open, of course, and Beth had left Dotty in charge up there after a frenzy of baking to ensure that they'd have enough to feed everyone. Downstairs, Beth held sway.

Counters along the center of the room had glass tops to display various sex toys, and the shelves below held neatly stacked boxes of the same toys displayed above. Should anyone want a closer look - or feel - Beth had prudently kept two of each behind her counter for testing purposes, and a small curtained off area next to the counter for privacy while testing. On top of the counter was a display case holding jewellery and some of the more expensive collars and restraints.

Shelves against one wall held a small selection of books, cards, and novelties along with the more practical supplies - lubes, hygiene, condoms, dams, etc - and a small case on the opposite wall held the library selection, available for people to peruse at their leisure. Tacked on the door was a small poster politely detailing expected behaviour - D/s behavious was, of course, more than acceptable, but no public nudity and no actual sex was to be permitted, or she'd lose her license.

Candles lit the tables upstairs, low electrical lighting set the mood downstairs. Now all she needed was guests, and potential customers.

He'd opted for the truck, and he was dressed as basically as usual. A grey t-shirt, black fatigues, and his usual combat boots. After his unexpected burst of nerves (Beth would never let him live it down), he'd felt oddly calmer, and all the more so as time passed.

He found a parking space across from the surgery and walked in right on time. Nobody in the waiting room and an empty reception desk; two good signs that Paul was not running late.

An even better sign: Mid could see him through the open door to his office, and the sight of him rocked him as much as it had the first time. He forced himself to move and stood in the doorframe. "Hey."

He was fucking ridiculous. Even Jenny thought so, and kept turning her nose on him due to the probably very fucking weird vibes he gave off.

He wasn't used to being nervous.

"Fuck it." He grabbed his cell and called Beth, not letting her get so much as a full 'Hello?' in when she picked up. "Something's horribly wrong with me. My stomach's in knots, I can't fucking decide on whether I'm taking the truck or the bike and Jenny is ignoring me, all this for a man who has on his own replaced the entirety of my spank bank since I first saw him. First, and last. This is what I failed to tell you last time, this is not fucking normal. I don't work like this."

I'm back in town. Dinner some time this week?

- Mid

Mid parked his pick-up in front of Beth's building, surprised to find a spot right there. Long live summer break. He quickly jogged up to her front door and rang once. He'd left Jenny at home, having her around while moving things would hardly be practical.

From: bethyjen @ googlemail.com
To: "Charlie"
Subject: Re: Um

Obviously you're terribly busy and I still can't get hold of you and I know it's doesn't exactly sound like the most appealing thing ever at all but I really do need to talk to you. Please call.

Beth.


From: bethyjen @ googlemail.com
To: "Gus"
Subject: Re: Wish you were here

Gus,

I don't know if you've even got my last email but maybe for once I'm quite glad you aren't here. It's certainly easier to type an email to you than it would be to talk to you. For one thing, you're not interrupting. For another, you're not insisting on tests and trying to march me down the aisle, which is rather a relief.

Yes, I'm still late. Twelve days, now. I swear I've been safe, always, and I'm still taking the pill, though God only knows what that might do to any hypothetical...well, yes, let's just not even say the word. I'm not throwing up or anything and I know Mum always said she did, start to finish, with both of us, but I haven't been late or even irregular at all since I was about sixteen.

I don't know what to do. Yes, I know what I should do, but I daren't do a test, because that makes it real and what do I do if it's positive, anyway?

I'm moving into your house. You're not using it and my place is going back to the university at the end of the month and I promise I'll find somewhere else to go to, I've just got rather a lot of other things on at the moment and I'm not going anywhere near your playroom, I promise.

Come home.

B.


From: bethyjen @ googlemail.com
To: "Mid"
Subject: A favour?

Darling,

I don't suppose that you might be free next weekend to help me move house?

Love to Jenny,

Beth

The weekend at long fucking last. This Monday was off. Mid had gone running with Jenny for a good hour before dropping her off at home and jogging back to the club. Maybe he'd run into John, or even Beth. He hadn't seen that woman in too long.

He got there sweaty and pumped full of calm energy. Sweat marks on the front and back of his tank top, and he headed straight for a bottle of fresh water out of the fridge, before he even checked who was around, if anyone.

Mid was early. By a lot. He was earlier than he'd planned on being to set up the scene. Not that it needed much of a set-up at all.

So by the time John arrived, he was leafing through a magazine he could give a fuck about. But mostly in a placid mood, which was as good a mood as most people here had ever seen him in.

Mid didn't do munches. He wasn't much one for parties of any kind, in fact, whether they centered around coffee and kink or alcohol and vanilla. He did like the quiet of the club when most members were at the coffee shop, though. A tradition he'd started three munches ago.

He went straight for the fridge and got himself a beer, turning around when he heard footsteps. "Figured everybody would be at the munch."