Paul, Squilliam, and Marie were riding in Paul's boat, him in the driver's seat.
"Paully, where are we going?" Squilliam inquired from the passenger seat next to Paul. The model giggled.
"Oh, well, you dragged me along to your favourite musical event, so I thought I'd drag you along to mine."
"So, that means...?" And again Paul giggled.
"Oh, It'll be a blast, Monsieur!" Squilliam remained his perfectly calm self.
"I'm certain it will."
"You like dancing, as I recall, so this should be right up your alley." In the rear-view mirror, Marie could see the mischievous twinkle in Paul's eye as she sat in the back seat behind him. She, herself, wondered what he had in store for them, though figured that whatever it was, it was bound to be fun for Paul wasn't the type to pull anything really mean, that much she was certain of in the time she'd known him.
"Well, we'll see." The millionaire's voice sounded unconcerned, as though he too had no doubts about Paul's scheme.
***
They pulled into a parking lot and exited the boat to find themselves standing before a building set apart from all others. They could already hear the low tones of an energetic beat and low bass tones. Paul stepped ahead and held out his arms.
"Et maintenant, mes amis!" He turned to face them, hands still held out. "Bienvenue à chez Danse Exposée!" Paul grinned at them. "Suivez-moi!" He beckoned them as he turned around. A glance at the millionaire told her Squilliam didn't quite share Paul's enthusiasm. She shrugged a little to herself and walked up beside Paul, who offered her his arm. After a moment, the millionaire joined them on Paul's other side, though did not take the arm offered. (("And now, my friends!", "Welcome to house "Danse Exposée"!", "Follow me!"
The three entered and Paul brought them to the entry desk where he paid their entry fee and they each got an ultraviolet-responsive stamp on the back of their hand. Then they passed by and through another door.
Inside that room, both she and the millionaire halted in their tracks, jaws dropping as they took in the sight. First off, it was obviously a dance club, with energetic techno playing over the speakers and the appropriate lighting one would expect and people dancing. Second, it was also apparently more, for they couldn't help but notice the decidedly intimate goings on at the sidelines. People entangled on couches and beanbag chairs sucking face or other body parts, in all stages of undress even to the point of vulgarity. She stopped breathing and the heat rushed to her cheeks as she caught a couple who was very obviously in the middle of a wild ride. Jerking her eyes away from them, she found another busy 'dance'. A trio of males entangled in a way that she couldn't be sure what limb or body part belonged to whom. She could tell, though, that they were all mostly clad.
She felt Paul tug on her arm and her gaze darted to him as she began walking. He had his hand on the small of Squilliam's back and was apparently guiding him through the crowd. She clung to Paul's arm with both hands, staying close to him as they made their way to whatever his destination was.
Paul halted before a bar and gestured his friends to take a seat. They did and he took his place in the middle.
"So, what do you two think? Pretty cool, non?"
"I, uh..." She had no idea what to say and Instead looked over to Squilliam, curious what he'd answer. He looked less impressed than she.
"As far as the noise goes," he said above the music. "It leaves a lot to be desired."
"Quoi??" Paul gasped. "Oh, come on! At least this stuff won't put you to sleep!"
"That much, my dear Paully," the millionaire called. "I can agree with!" At that moment, the bartender, a very attractive woman with an ample amount of bust and a scant amount of clothing came up and, in excellent English, asked them what they'd like to drink. Squilliam ordered first, a cocktail and the other two ordered cocktails as well.
"And? Did I promise too much?" Paul asked them.
"The other thing I'll give you is that the live /entertainment/ isn't too shabby." The millionaire had turned and gave a nod to the 'horizontal dancers' across the room. "Although they could all still learn a thing or two."
"Messieurs, your drinks." The bartender got their attention. "One tequila blue rise for the snappy-looking gentleman!" She placed Squilliam's in front of him. "A piña colada for the equally exotic mademoiselle!" She placed Marie's in front of her. "And last, but certainly not least, an extra-Long Island iced tea for our cherished customer!" She placed Paul's drink before him.
"Merci beaucoup, ma belle!" Paul grinned flirtatiously at her and tapped his coaster to indicate this round was to go on his tab. With a clink of their glasses and wishes of good health, the three each took a sip.
Meanwhile, Marie noticed Paul's pigment was set to the occasion, with his skin and changing pattern setting off the black light when it hit him. The very texture of his skin seemed to have changed, at least visually. That along with his black dress shirt which he wore with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned biceps, and reflective silver vest which he wore open, revealing that he'd undone a few of his shirt buttons since they'd arrived, affording just the right peak at his toned chest, all resulted in him being simply impossible to overlook and she found him utterly breathtaking.
Then a glance over at Squilliam and she saw that his naturally light teal tone also set off the black light and gave him the appearance of glowing. His beautiful satin jacket, in its shiny fuchsia made a very appealing contrast and she realised the millionaire was indeed quite the head-turner in his own right.
She wondered how she looked, with her shiny, iridescent scales, pale pink skin, and dark blue hair. As per Paul's 'insider tip', she was wearing a metallic green, backless club shirt and sleek, white mini skirt. She felt more than a little self-conscious, as mini skirts just had never been her thing. The backless club shirt, on the other hand, she did like... except that it made her feel rather naked after not having worn one in literally a decade. Back at Paul's place, he'd complimented her on how gorgeous she looked adding a flirtatious comment that he was unable to decide whether he'd rather leave it on or take it right off.
Remembering that sent heat rushing to her cheeks and she quickly turned her gaze to her glass, hoping no one had noticed. Her state only grew worse when she started to mentally play with the possibilities of a mini skirt in a place like this. She entertained the idea of slipping into a corner with him, pretending to sway to the music. He'd discreetly raise the back of her skirt, unzip his fly, pull her g-string to the side and... She realised her throat had gone dry and took a sip, certain her cheeks had to be bright red. She lowered her gaze to find Paul's knee and from his knee... She mentally kicked herself, tearing her gaze away before someone might notice. The next place it landed wasn't much better for it seemed their rich companion had decided 'it's too hot in here' and had opened his own collar, untied his ascot which now hung casually from his neck and allowed a generous view of his own chest. Apparently he too kept himself well-toned. His shoulders were more slender than Paul's, which had always given him a rather petit look in comparison, but though that hadn't changed now, she couldn't deny an attraction to him too. Not something she'd even dream of acting on, as she just felt plain awkward around him, but the realisation was... interesting for lack of a better word. If Paul was attracted to guys, she could certainly see how he'd be attracted to this one.
With that, came the next unbidden fantasy: Squilliam and Paul in that corner... She wondered how the two might do it, if there'd be back door entry and, if so, who it'd be. Oh, she was going to h for this, she was sure.
Then Squilliam spoke, surprising her with a revelation.
"Wait a sec... they changed the place. When did they do that?" Paul laughed.
"A-ha! So you DO remember it!"
"I very distinctly remember that bar over there." He indicated the other side of the room where there was a long rail like that which one would find at a ballet or other dance class.
"It certainly was a very hot spot, n'est pas?"
"'Hot' was giving you private dance lessons!" Paul grinned, obviously remembering those 'private dance lessons'.
"Ils n'étaient pas si privé." Paul giggled. "We had an audience pour notre exécution." (("It wasn't so private.", "we had an audience four our performance."))
"But of course! It was not a mere dress rehearsal, after all!"
"Non! More like an /undress/ rehearsal!" With a snicker, the millionaire shook his head.
"By the way, Paully-dear, everyone BUT ta petite maîtresse here knows what we're talking about, if you don't quit speaking French."
"Ma petite maîtresse?" Paul asked, blinking. "Que voulez-vous dire?" (("My little mistress?", "What do you mean?", Paul, as he always has, still uses the formal 'vous' when speaking to Squilliam.))
"Don't you play innocent with me, Paully." Squilliam poked the model's chest firmly. "My room is right across the hallway, putting just two thin doors between me and you."
"...Et alors?" Though Paul sounded more than a little sheepish.
"'So what'??" Squilliam snapped, then raised his hand from Paul's chest to slowly, teasingly trace the length of his jaw. "Where do you THINK I might just be going with this, hmm?" For her part, Marie was now blushing madly and wishing the floor would swallow her up right there. Squilliam had heard them?? She was mortified.
"Um..." Paul said even more timidly. "Well... then I guess you know how you and I made everyone within ten kilometres feel?" Paul gave a toothy grin as he delivered the jab.
"Why, you *are* a riot, aren't you?" He poked Paul's nose.
"I was just pointing out that those who live in stone houses shouldn't throw glasses." A beat and Marie blinked, looking up at Paul inquiringly.
"That's not how the saying-" she began and was interrupted.
"Am I just getting tipsy or did that make sense somehow?" Squilliam asked and, with a jolt, she realised he was addressing her.
"Uhh," she swallowed. "I... have no idea. I'm so lost..." Paul couldn't hold back and lost it to a fit of giggles. Frowning, Squilliam picked up Paul's cocktail and eyed it critically, then sniffed at it.
"What exactly IS an 'extra Long Island iced tea', Paully?"
"Un, I think it's kelp kola and vodka, why?" The model asked.
"And...??" The millionaire demanded.
"What 'and'?" The millionaire placed his free hand on Paul's shoulder.
"Paul, a normal Long Island iced tea consists of vodka, rum, gin, tequila, triple sec, sweet and sour mix, kelp kola, and a slice of lemon." He held up Paul's drink and swished it. "Can it be there's a *special* ingredient in this drink?"
"Uhh... You know, I don't think they're in the habit of slipping roofies here." The model said with a shrug. "It's a pretty reputable place."
"I don't mean a roofie and you know it!" Paul giggled.
"Why don't you check la carte?" He grabbed the cocktail menu and held it out to Squilliam. Persing his unibrow, the older octopus took it and began reading it.
"De liqueur d'agrumes... de rhum blanc.. - that's 'de blanc', not 'LeBlanc', so quit giggling! - ...de dry gin... de vodka... de tequila... de jus de citron... de kelp kola... et une rondelle de citron.." Then he looked up. "That's it??"
"Ah... et les glaçons? Which you can actually see right here, hence 'iced'." Paul winked. "But, 'that's it'?? That's a lot more alcohol than I thought was in this thing! - Oh, but does it say what brand of rhum blanc?"
"Does your family make rum?"
"Not that I'm aware of, non."
"Then who cares??"
"You're right." Then he reached for the card and looked it over. "You know, I think next time I'll just go for Sex on the Beach." He put the menu on the table and reached out to his drink Squilliam was still holding and pulled the straw towards him, then took a sip.
"I know you would - at the drop of a hat." Squilliam chided and Paul giggled. "ANY hat."
"Oui, oui, Monsieur! Et tu!" (("Yes, yes, Sir! And you!"))
"Yes, I would too." Squilliam agreed.
"Hm, I wonder if there are any beaches nearby..." Paul said, taking another sip out of Squilliam's hand.
"Would you take your drink already?? I'm not a a cup-holder!"
"I quite liked you holding it for me." Paul purred, taking another sip. "You make a very attractive cup-holder, after all."
"As I recall, dear Paully, we used to have an arrangement about these things. That is: You were the cup-holder for me."
"Oui... we did..." Paul began, taking another sip whilst looking up at Squilliam. "And then you threw me out of your house." The model pointed out with a shrug. "Ainsi: La fin de l'arrangement." He took another sip and wondered if Squilliam would just drop his drink in his lap. The millionaire, though didn't look especially thrilled, didn't do anything. "You have les tentacules de Tentacles for that now, don't you?" (("The end of the arrangement.", "Tentacles' tentacles."))
"Do you see him here? I don't." Paul shook his head and Squilliam sighed ever so softly. "You're really raw over it, aren't you?"
"Un peu. But here is not the place..." Squilliam shook his head in agreement.
***
What would ultimately happen was that the three had a nice time. To Squilliam's displeasure, Paul dragged him onto the dance floor where the two put on a show, this time, Paul got to show the millionaire some dance steps, which the talented dancer quickly picked up and elaborated on with Paul.
Afterwards, Paul dragged Marie onto the stage - she was as unwilling as Squilliam had been, but not near as good at dancing as Squilliam had been, for Paul had had to actually teach her how, and she'd been so nervous.
Standing behind her, his legs against hers, he'd reached around to her hips, pressing her against him. He swayed his hips in a figure eight, holding her against him so she'd make the same movement. She fell into motion with him. Eventually, she closed her eyes and just let him guide her, trying to shut out the audience and lose herself to just the music, rhythm, and the feeling of him against her, swaying.
___________
I actually have no clue if there are sex-clubs like that in France, but if there are, I'm sure Paul'd be a regular at one. That he may have taken Squilliam to it before, also seems fitting. That it's apparently been rebuilt enough that Squilliam doesn't recognise it at first, is due to the fact that the local one here in Solingen, Germany, was recently burnt down. (Arson, and if they catch the person, they think he's aware that the owners were there at the time, so attempted manslaughter may be on his tab too.) It's been announced that it'll be rebuilt.
