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.

Gabriel was nothing if not organized. (After all, anything arranged by a disorganized travel agent just ended in disaster). So when he'd decided to open the third office, he'd made a thorough study of all the potential cities, pros and cons, both business and personal. Boulder had gotten a definite check in the pro column because of one thing: The Power Company. He'd heard of it from friends and knew the club came highly recommended.

With everything on his business "to do" list for the day checked off, he made his way to the club. He'd sent an introductory e-mail to the couple who ran it and had been offered a tour in return. He was a bit early but the woman at the desk invited him to wait in the lounge until it was time.

Gabriel looked around, and, noticing the bar, went over to claim a bottle of water.

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."

Paul had been doing some investigation and serious research - not that he hadn't before he joined the club, but it seemed a lot less like theory with the date with Mid fixed - and discovered the cafe. It wasn't what he expected, bright and light and a cheery girl behind the counter to take his coffee order, but there were a few things that gave it away as not quite the standard street cafe. The door at the back with the age restriction clearly printed on it was one. The books scattered about and the prints on the walls were more blatant, and he was standing, head tilted to try to decipher exactly how many people were in one particular print, when he took a half step back, stopped himself, and automatically reached out to stop the person behind him from tripping. "Shit, sorry, should've looked, are you okay?"

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

- Mid

The weather seemed to be doing its best to make up for the week before, and in response, the doors to the cafe were firmly closed to keep the heat out, and the airconditioning in. At least, until the aircon broke down, at which point doors were propped open, fans distributed around the cafe, and extra ice stockpiled behind the counter.

One member of staff was detailed to stand by with a mop to wipe up any wet floors resulting from people throwing ice at each other.

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.

It was done. Okay, mostly done. He'd filled out the paperwork, handed over his bank details, got the email set up...all Paul was left with now was an intimidatingly long checklist that reminded him over and again exactly how much he didn't know about this kind of thing in any sort of formal setting.

He fetched himself a soda from the bar, sat down, read through the list again, tapped it with the non-inked end of a pen several times, and decided that, yeah, there were times a man just had to admit ignorance. Pushing the (closed) pen into his jeans pocket, he rolled up the list, and went over to someone apparently alone. "Hey, look, if I'm interrupting just, you know, say, and I'll go away, but if you've got time I could really use a hand going through this list. Uh. Please?"