Her palms were damp with nerves and excitement as she finally pushed the last doors open.

She'd come up a staircase that led directly from the rooms downstairs. Now she paused, instinctively waiting for her eyesight to adjust to the lighting so that she could get her bearings.

It was immediately evident that all the dividing walls on the upper floor of the building had been knocked through; it was a huge open area, not the relatively small place she'd expected as the upper level of the house they'd entered. She was also shocked by the volume of the music pulsing in it. The walls and doors must be astonishingly effective at soundproofing, for although hardly a hint of it got through to the lower levels, once she was inside the doors, the bass hit her chest wall in waves.

Given that she'd seen for herself from outside that all the windows were shuttered, it was unsurprising that it was quite dark inside except for the laser lights that swept to and fro. It was also quite crowded. A very few moments' observation told her that for all that her outfit could be considered very risqué by her usual standards, up here she was verging on overdressed. Now, seeing that some of the guests had evidently considered even a thong surplus to requirements, she defiantly stripped out the cords that kept the waistcoat at least nominally functional and whirled them over her head before throwing them far out over the crowd. Come and get it, boys!

Waiters were circulating among the dancers with trays of drinks. Everyone was helping themselves so she did the same. The liquid was cool and spicy on her tongue, and the beat was hammering in her ears. She slipped into the crowd and started dancing. If she wanted to touch, she touched. If she wanted to kiss, she kissed. If she wanted to stroke, she stroked. Others did the same to her. The strangeness of it spiked like adrenaline.

The masks made the whole scene completely surreal. In many cases there was no way of knowing even what species someone was. The low lighting stripped coloration from skin, though the painted patterns seemed to pulse with a light of their own.

She found out very quickly that the rules here were so relaxed they were virtually non-existent. Couples or even multiples didn't even bother to get off the dance floor. Her already rapid pulse picked up even further. Was that what she wanted? To be taken, like that … out in full view of everyone, not even knowing her partner's species, let alone his name?

Oh, it appealed to her. There was no doubt of that. The tingle at the thought of it told her so in no uncertain terms. Well, she'd wanted the works. It appeared she'd got it. Down under the layers of conditioning and the mores of her upbringing, Hoshi the Exhibitionist was alive and kicking.

Put your arms high, Hoshi. Show 'em the bracelets. That'll get you noticed.

There was a yell at that moment. Heads turned. There was a podium nearby which had been vacant for a few fleeting moments, but now two masked figures had leaped up almost at the same instant. The masks faced one another for a second, in a long, measuring glance; then after sizing each other up they both turned their full attention to the crowd below. They began to bump and grind side by side, hands high. They were both naked to the waist. The taller of the two had a mane of long, coarse dark hair that fell part way down his back, but none of his face was visible at all. He was wearing a short kilt of some electric-blue fabric that matched a complex series of tattoos down his superbly muscular body and legs. The other was considerably slighter, but moved with an electrifying, sinuous grace in his skin-tight black leather pants. His mask was only a little over half-length, curving down across his cheekbones, a strange thing that looked as though it had been constructed from shards of black mirrors. A passing resemblance under the shadow of the mask's edge made her heart jerk for a moment; but she dismissed the thought as an absurdity.

Almost at once a couple of female dancers jumped up on to the podium too. They were instantly grabbed. The dancing immediately moved up a notch. Hands roamed with insolent confidence. A tongue like a giraffe's emerged from the slit in the full-face mask and stroked the woman's mouth and ears. The mirror mask disappeared from view momentarily as its wearer's face plunged into ample alien cleavage, kissing and nuzzling.

Emotions that she'd have been hard put to analyze if she'd even taken the time to notice their existence seized her. Obeying the loudest of them, she pushed through the throng just as the two females detached themselves and leaped back onto the floor to join a rather complicated event that was in process of forming in front of the podium. The taller of the two men followed, stripping off his kilt. The smaller one was left alone, but he seemed in no hurry to commit himself. He turned slowly on the spot, grinding and undulating to the beat, his arms crossed above his head to show off a naked, sweat-coated body that was muscle and whipcord. He had an ass to die for, and as for the erection that the leather and the laser lights showed up to such effect…

… Hoshi, you could handle every centimeter of that.

She jumped up to join him, and saw raw intention flare behind the mirrors. His hands were on her breasts, finding her nipples hard with excitement. He pushed aside the waistcoat and bent her over backwards. His mouth was skilled and demanding; her hands twisted in his short, dark, wavy hair, and her knees buckled.

His fingers performed a cursory examination, their movements swift and deft as he pushed aside her thong. The super-sensitized nerve endings under skin that was glossy with anticipation hardly had time to register a shrill shriek of shocked delight before the small, telltale movement of a zip being yanked down heralded the invasion.

She screamed, though the music drowned it. Went on screaming, as his body slammed on in perfect time to the rhythm and his hands under her ass kept her steady for him while her legs wrapped around his thighs and her arms wrapped around his shoulders and the sensations coursed up from her groin in molten, thrilling waves.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh God. She'd never come this quickly, but it was happening now. Her throat locked. She stared in desperation at the eyes behind the mask. Grey. Hard. Hungry. Desperate. Fuck me. Fuck me!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

The toilets were quiet and cool. The silence after the music made her ears ring. At least she was alone; she'd torn herself from his grasp afterwards and almost run for the one place where she could guarantee he wouldn't follow even if he wanted to.

After she'd cleaned herself up she went to the sink and splashed water on her face in the effort to cool down. She didn't move away at once, however, but leaned over the water for a little while, studying her reflection. The eyes that looked back at her through the mask were bewildered, though the slightly swollen red lips beneath it wore a satisfied look. She could hardly blame them, after what had happened in there.

Movement behind her made her look up. Shards of dark mirrors were reflected in the silver sheet in front of her.

He shouldn't be here. But then he'd know that already.

Hands that had been sure and brazen on her body closed a little tentatively on her upper arms.

In the mirror she noticed that all but one of his bracelets had been removed. Strangely enough so had hers, though she hadn't realized till now, when she saw them sitting beside the tap.

He asked what name the paint had given her, and she told him.

He told her his. It was astonishingly appropriate.

He told her that he served on a starship, and that he was in love. But since it was with a junior officer, he couldn't do anything about it. He had to watch her every day and say nothing; to dream about her every night and not lay a finger on her. Days and weeks and months of frustration mounted until this was his escape: a club where he could find release in frantic, meaningless sex, a physical marathon that drained him sufficiently to endure the days and weeks and months still to come.

And that she reminded him – so much – of the woman he loved and could never touch.

"Will you come back to my room?" he asked gently, when he'd finished. "Will you let me go on pretending, just for tonight?"

She turned around and faced him. The eyes were naked, defenseless, pleading for understanding. Not for forgiveness, because he was not ashamed; simply for understanding.

She looked at the paint on his chest. Shades of grey and black. The black lightning-stripes were jagged, hurt, threatening; the swirls were lost and desperate.

"Yes."

His mouth touched her paint with infinite gentleness. She'd just seen it in the mirror for the first time. The white bird from the mask was suggested only by one or two lines like spreading, confident wings. The blue and green and gold gave birth to it, lifted it in a joyous uprush, but beneath the white were tiny, strong lines of black, supporting it and strengthening it. Always there, whenever she needed him. He always had been, and he always would be.

'Caged Bird of Many Tongues' and 'Defender Who Walks Alone' left the club together, hand in hand.

The paint always knows.

The End

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