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Jemma sighs and pulls the cloak of her outfit tighter around her body. She watches as Fitz smoothes down the fabric of his Loki costume and straightens the helmet on his head. He meets her gaze and raises his eyebrows.
"What?"
"I'm still trying to figure out what we are doing here," she says exasperated, "since you were mysterious about it the entire week! Now that we are about to walk into a bloody Halloween party that I didn't even want to attend, do you mind explaining why you were so intent on dragging me into this? And why you're dressed up as the God of Mischief?"
Fitz looks down at his feet, shrugging. "I heard Darcy is really into Nordic mythology. And she's here."
Jemma's face immediately softens at that and a pang of guilt courses through her. "Oh, Fitz, why didn't you tell me sooner? I wouldn't have snapped at you like that."
"I thought maybe you would say she's out of my league and discourage me," he confesses.
"What? I would do no such thing, I'm your best friend! And she fits perfectly into your league."
He raises his head with a hopeful look on his face, his eyes glinting. "You think so?"
Jemma nods with certainty. "I do, and if she doesn't fancy you back, well, she's the one missing out."
A small smile forms on his lips. "Thank you, Jemma." He motions to the house a few feet away from them. "Shall we?"
•••
The party is already raging on when they enter; the music blasting from the speakers is really, really loud – for a moment Jemma fears she won't be able to hear her own thoughts –, there are red cups scattered all over the place and the house is so packed with people that everyone seems to be squeezed against each other and every bit of space is taken. Jemma feels claustrophobic just by looking at it but she doesn't have time to back off because in the next second Fitz is pushing her into the crowd.
With much difficulty, they make it to the kitchen, where an impromptu bar was set up: a table was put in the corner next to the fridge and on top of it there are many bottles of all types of alcoholic beverages, along with piles of red cups, and a few used ones scattered to the side. Fitz pours beer into two cups and hands one to Jemma, who eyes its content with doubt before taking a sip. She was never a big fan of beer, but it's the weakest drink around and she is not interested in getting drunk in a house where she knows only 1/4 of the party-goers, thank you very much.
On their way of out the room, Jemma dodges a ball from the beer pong going on in the middle of the kitchen; she glances over her shoulder and Miles Lydon, owner of the house and dressed oh so originally as a football player (he is a member of the team, couldn't he even bother to find a decent costume?), winks and blows a kiss in her direction. She huffs and looks ahead again, following Fitz's unmistakable helmet. High school parties are always filled with people like Miles, which is why she's rarely seen in them – in these four years, she has been to five of those parties, at most.
It doesn't mean that Jemma didn't enjoy her time in those parties when she did go, though. She usually just hung out with her small group of friends, laughing and drinking, but sometimes she would go to the dance floor with someone she deemed interesting. She still remembers Grant Ward's birthday party, more precisely, the night she hooked up with Bobbi Morse for almost an hour only to discover she was still hung up on her ex, Lance Hunter. She found that out the minute she tried to engage in a conversation with Bobbi; the girl would bring up a story about Hunter every once in a while, until Jemma was so fed up she apologized to Bobbi and said she should head back home.
That night, she made a mental note to herself of keeping a safe distance from people with complicated history with exes. Bobbi and Lance are famous all around school for their on-and-off relationship, always seen getting into heated arguments only to make up days later. Jemma reckons she would never, ever want to be caught up in the middle of it.
They are crossing the dining room when Fitz comes to a halt all of a sudden, removing his helmet and straining his neck to look around. "Have you seen Darcy anywhere?"
Jemma scoffs. "Is it even possible to find anyone in this crowd, and with such low lights? Of course I haven't seen her."
"I didn't come this far to give up just yet. Come on, she must be in the living room," Fitz says as he tucks the helmet under his arm and resumes his quest, already making his way there.
Jemma is rushing to follow him when someone bumps into her, making her lose her balance; she expects the hard encounter with the floor but it never comes, as a strong pair of hands holds her in place by her arms. She looks up at the person and finds Antoine Triplett, quarterback of the football team and one of the nicest guys at school, smiling down at her.
"Sorry 'bout that," he says, letting go of her when he's sure she can stand on her own. "You okay?"
"Yes, yes, I just dropped my cup," she looks down to inspect the damage and notices a stain growing steadily on the carpet. She remembers Miles' wink back in the kitchen and any trace of guilt she felt for spilling her beer flees her. "Thanks for not letting me fall."
"Not a problem. Do you want me to get you some more beer?"
"It's fine, I'll go get myself another cup, I lost Fitz in the crowd anyway," she counters with a dismissive wave of her hand.
In that moment, a voice coming from the second floor calls Triplett's name, and they both look up at the stairs. Raina is standing on the top of it with a hand on her hip, dressed like what can only be described as slutty Princess Peach. Jemma glances at Triplett's outfit and finally notices he is dressed up as Mario. Matching costumes, cute.
"Alright, see ya around," he nods at her and disappears up the stairs with his girlfriend.
She walks to kitchen – walking is an exaggeration, it was a lot more like being pushed by the crowd in the right direction – and thankfully this time Miles is nowhere to be seen. He is probably in one of the rooms upstairs trying to talk his way into some drunk girl's pants; he is known for being a pig like that. She pours herself another cup of beer before going back to the main area of the house, determined to find her best friend. The only reason she is here is because of him, anyway, so he might as well not leave her alone in this goddamn party.
•••
She loses track of how much time she spends wandering around the house in her search for Fitz. She wishes he hadn't taken his helmet off; it would be very much easier to find him if he had two golden horns peeking out of his head. She swigs down the rest of her beer and decides to make another sweep around the living room, given it is where most people are and where she lost sight of Fitz God knows how long ago. She wonders why she still lets Fitz talk her into things.
Someone considerably lighter than Triplett bumps into her, and she whirls around to look at whoever it is this time. She really wishes everyone would be more careful when they are walking among that many people. Honestly, it's not that hard to pay attention.
"I'm so, so sorry," the girl says sincerely, and Jemma recognizes her from some of her classes, but can't actually remember her name.
"It's okay, you're not the first one to run into me tonight," Jemma comments with a shrug.
The girl – Skye, the name suddenly occurs to her – is dressed as a vampire: curve-hugging black dress that ends mid-thigh, black and red cape and fake blood dripping from her crimson lips. In all honesty, she looks really beautiful. Jemma had already noticed how pretty Skye is back at school, of course, but that outfit is doing wonders for her. She realizes she's staring and averts her eyes back to Skye's face, whose slightly glassy eyes indicate that perhaps she's had one too many drinks, or, at least, more than Jemma has had (she does feel slightly buzzed, though).
"Whoa," Skye lets out, eyeing Jemma up and down very indiscreetly. "Jemma Simmons, you look pretty hot, which is not a surprise, but I'm afraid that's the wrong costume."
Jemma's brown furrow together. "What?"
"Well, the right costume for you would be that of an angel, since you look like one who's fallen on Earth."
Oh, dear. She's heard worse, but that didn't make it any less cheesy. "You're going for that overused pick up line? Really?" Jemma asks skeptically, holding back a snort.
"I'm just saying," Skye slurs, her confident grin never faltering, "you're a fallen angel and you should return home. To the sky. I'm Skye."
Jemma can't help but laugh at that; at least she is original (and cute, Jemma will give her that. Very cute.). Skye seems to take her laughter as a good sign and steps closer.
"What are you dressed up as, anyway?"
Jemma looks down at her own costume. "Oh, I'm Van Helsing. I thought it was obvious, what with the cross around my neck, the stake and holy water tied to my belt and everything," she finishes in a small voice, somehow feeling self-conscious.
Skye gives her the once over again, and nods her head slowly. "Oh, I see it now. And look how funny life is, I'm Dracula, so our costumes match! Wouldn't you say fate is trying to tell us something?"
"I don't think so," Jemma retorts nonchalantly, struggling to stop the amused smile that threatens to appear on her face.
"C'mon, your costume's whole objective is to break my costume's heart! It's poetic, you gotta admit it."
Jemma crosses her arms and puffs her chest. "Technically, I'm meant to stake your heart and kill you."
"Details," Skye says with a dismissive shrug. "My point is, it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you."
Jemma raises her eyebrows. "Okay, now you're just deliberately quoting The Fault In Our Stars to me."
Skye smiles sweetly, not ashamed in the slightest for being caught. "And did it work enough for me to get a dance with you?"
Jemma involuntarily smiles back and looks away, shaking her head. She admits to herself that she is really enjoying this, whatever this is; Skye is funny, attractive, and clearly into her. And thankfully, she has no complicated history with any ex – at least, the gossip around school has never had any tale about her. There is really no reason for Jemma to turn Skye down, she decides after some internal debating.
"One dance. You still need to step up your game," Jemma warns teasingly.
She lets Skye guide her by the hand – where to, she doesn't know, given there's barely any space left, specially near the speakers from which the music is coming. As they cross the living room, she spots Fitz squeezed on one of the couches between the armrest and none other than Darcy Lewis, speaking into her ear. That fact alone already makes the night worth it; she mentally high-fives her best friend. Mission accomplished.
Skye leads them to what Jemma supposes is the middle of the dance floor – it's really hard to tell when there is a very dense mass of bodies moving all around and little to no illumination, apart from the neon lights shining from the plastic pumpkins that hang from the ceiling. They start swaying to the music currently playing, an upbeat song that makes Jemma feel alive with every step she takes, her blood pumping quickly in her veins as Skye follows her moves.
As the songs play one right after the other, she finds herself dancing closer and closer to Skye, as if drawn to the girl by an invisible force. Everytime they do so much as brush together, a warm feeling spreads within her. The way she sometimes catches Skye looking at her only helps increase that sensation. Their dancing comes to a point where they are very obviously teasing each other, both refusing to pull away more than a few inches, but neither fully closing the gap between them.
Their waltz around one another comes to an end when Skye steps behind Jemma and pulls her against herself, her hands firmly gripping Jemma's hips. They slow down their moves to fit into the new song's tempo and Jemma finds it incredibly hard to focus on the music when she is pressed flush against Skye, who is blowing hot puffs of air on Jemma's ears as she breathes. Her eyes flutter close when Skye's hands adjust on her hips.
Skye, ever faithful to her costume, puts her teeth on the crook where Jemma’s neck and shoulder meet and bites it softly. A surprised gasp escapes her lips then, and Skye lets out a breathy laugh that tickles her ear – she is thankful for having the support of Skye's arms to keep her from falling. Maybe it is the alcohol from the few cups of beer she drank coursing through her, or maybe it's simply her lust-driven brain acting; whatever the reason, Jemma turns in Skye's arms and crashes her lips onto the girl's.
She feels Skye smile against her lips before responding with the same enthusiasm, fingers digging on the small of Jemma's back while her own hands move up to tangle in Skye's hair, pulling her closer even though there is no bit of space left between them. When Skye deepens the kiss, Jemma can't help but hum a little into it. Her head feels dizzy, and this time she knows it has nothing to do with the booze she drank before.
She doesn't know how much time passes until they finally pull apart for air, both of them breathless. Skye looks even more attractive with her lips a bit swollen and hair disheveled, and when Jemma licks her own lips, she notices they taste like alcohol and gooseberry. Her foggy mind takes a little longer to realize the fruity taste comes from the fake blood that once was painted around Skye's mouth; now it's just a red smudged mess that spreads to her chin.
"Do you wanna get out of here?" Skye asks, still a little out of breath.
"Definitely," Jemma answers. Skye tugs her in the direction of the stairs and Jemma stops hastily, turning Skye around. "Not up there, too many people."
"Where then?"
"My car," she heaves.
She will have time later to dwell on where that boldness is coming from. Right now, all she can concentrate on is finding some place where she and Skye can have some privacy. They stride hand-in-hand across the frontyard towards Jemma's car, which is parked – very conveniently for them now – in a alley a few feet away from the house. She unlocks the door and Skye hops into the back seat first.
"You would make a very shitty vampire hunter, you know?" Skye blurts out, looking up at Jemma.
Jemma places her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. "Why is that?"
"One single nip at your neck and I had you all over me. For a hunter, you seriously have noooo restraint around vampires," she accuses, smirking.
Jemma huffs, but doesn't deny it. There's no point, really, and there are other things she would rather be doing to Skye instead of talking. "Scoot over already or I'll find myself another vampire."
Skye moves to the side and Jemma enters the car, closing the door next to her. "If we hadn't just settled you can't resist me, I would've been worried. You're hot when you're making threats in that accent of yours, though, even when they are as empty as a jock's brain."
"Bloody hell, just stop talking and kiss me."
Skye complies very eagerly.