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The strange shadows cast by the fire make her hips look sharper, limbs longer. Troy keeps telling himself that it’s rude to stare, but Gia’s hands skim up Emma’s flank, catching her hand and spinning her around, her skirt flaring, thighs bared- how is he supposed to look away?
There’s some guy- no-one Troy recognises- who catches her from the twirl, dipping her low and laughing, touching her like he knows her better than Troy thinks he does.
“What’s with the murder face, bro?” Jake asks, sitting heavily beside him, clapping his hand on Troy’s back. He realises he’s grimacing, fist clenched, muscles tight. Jake raises his eyebrows.
“Who’s that guy?” Troy floats, hoping it sounds as casual as he intended, thinking it doesn’t when Jake laughs, pressing a drink into his hand.
“Relax, man, they’re just having fun. You should too.” He looks at Troy pointedly, nodding his head towards the drink. It’s strong, licorice and lemon, and Troy winces slightly as he swallows, but Jake looks pleased. “Gia’s going to be a nightmare when she’s gone,” he laughs, watching as she says something to the guy that makes his eyes bug out, Emma laughing behind her hand. Troy’s fist clenches a little tighter.
“Tell me about it.” He manages to sound more casual this time, shaking his head and laughing with Jake. Leaving the conversation to lapse, pushing away the reminder that in two days Emma will be miles away, another city, another life, leaving them all behind.
Not even Noah and Jake’s ridiculous argument about if Orion is drunk- can aliens get drunk? I don’t know, man, he seems pretty wasted to me- manages to get Troy to tear his eyes away from Emma. Her hands are on the guy’s shoulders, Gia no-where to be seen, and his lips almost touch Emma’s ear when he leans in to speak to her. Troy crushes his empty cup in his hand without really thinking about why.
“You need another drink,” Jake teases, leaving Troy staring angrily at the fire pit, trying not to march over and rip the guy away from her. Self defence only, that’s what he’d always been taught, but sometimes, some situations really were a test of that.
After what feels like forever the song finally changes, and Troy hears familiar squealing, Emma and Gia clapping their hands excitedly, obviously recognising whatever it’s shifted to. The guy has, blissfully, moved on and Troy doesn’t have time to think about what a relief it is, how the muscles in his shoulders relax before Gia is grabbing his hands, trying to pull him up.
“Come dance, Troy!” she smiles, alcohol flush pink on her cheeks.
“I don’t know the song.” It’s true, but it doesn’t dissuade Gia, her heels dug into the sand as she drags him with her.
“That’s no excuse! Besides, Emma needs someone to dance with.”
Troy wants to say no, he doesn’t dance, he’s probably had too much to drink, but Emma’s smile is so bright when she spots him he figures just one song can’t hurt. Gia abandons them almost instantly, skipping off, claiming she’s off to go and find ‘the real stuff’. Troy doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but Emma laughs, so he laughs too.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, moving towards the speakers, the throng of people.
“I really don’t know how to-” he flails his hands uselessly, trying to convey that he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He really doesn’t dance.
It’s almost impossible to decipher what she’s saying, Troy’s not used to this kind of noise, but Emma leans in, takes his hands delicately and drops them on her waist, smiling when Troy starts to move.
“Follow my lead.” It’s louder than he expects, right in his ear, her palms hot against his shoulders.
Emma’s hips move in slow, calculating circles, rocking Troy against the sway of her body. She glows in the firelight, red and orange licking at her skin. Troy can’t hear anything except his own breathing and her voice, tongue and lips taunting him with the vague, suggestive lyrics of the song. He tries to keep his hands loose at her lower back, not to think about how they slip lower as she moves in time to the music, about how wonderful and deadly and sinful she looks with her tousled hair, mouth plush and bitten, deep flush deliciously bright on her honey rich skin.
She twists in his arms, back flush against his chest, bending her knees and dropping low, grinding against him. Troy wants to press his fingers into Emma’s ribs when his hands slide against them, hold her to him, memorise her curves.
“I got it!” Gia announces, holding the tequila high, salt and shot glasses filled with sliced lime in her other hand. Emma giggles at her, breaks away, and Troy’s not sure if it’s a blessing or not. If she stayed closer for much longer he doesn’t know what he might have done. Whispered something in her ear. Dragged his lips down her throat. Made her stop singing so dirty and sweet.
“Me first!” Emma laughs as they walk away from the music, pulling her shirt up as she lies on her back in the sand. Troy looks at Gia instead of the baby pink lace peeking out at Emma’s ribcage.
“What are we doing?” he asks, eyes darting.
“Body shots, duh,” Gia smirks, “c’mon it’s not that hard. We can always find someone else…” He sees her eyes find the guy from before and she starts to raise her hand to flag him down. Troy catches her mid-wave. This is the opposite of a good idea- with Emma’s blown pupils and his stomach a tumultuous hurricane of nerves and hidden desires- but he sighs, judgement already compromised, dropping to his knees and straddling Emma’s hips.
“That’s more like it!” Gia cheers, leaning down to pour a line of salt from Emma’s navel to her rib cage, and Troy has to fight his blush when she slips the lime between Emma’s teeth.
The salt is stark against her skin, juice from the lime trickling from her mouth, down her jaw, shot glass balanced precariously on her stomach. Troy takes a deep, steadying breath. The tequila burns, but it’s a lot easier to deal with than the salt. The taut line of her abs quivers against his tongue, and when Troy leans up Emma’s eyes are closed, her neck long, teeth cutting into the rind of the lime. Troy kind of hates Gia.
She releases the slice quickly, Troy careful not to let their lips touch and forcing his eyes shut at the bitter tang. Emma slips out from under him, pushing at his shoulders and tugging at the hem of his shirt.
“Your turn!” she grins, and Troy hears Gia’s coaxing of Orion trail off as he drags the red cotton over his shoulders. She raises an eyebrow at Emma, who huffs a laugh out of her nose, feigning applause before she returns to trying to explain body shots to an alien. His face is already burning and it only gets worse when Emma sits on him, thighs squeezing his, pushing at his chest to make him lie back.
Emma’s back arches when she leans down to take the shot, nose pressing against Troy’s tan stomach. The sky is endlessly black above him and he tries to count the stars, decide which is brightest, anything to stop him from looking at Emma straddled over him, delicate and yet ferociously undone. Her tongue is tentative at first and he feels his muscles jump to meet her touch, tensing at the warm, wet line she licks there. Troy expects her to kneel over him, steels himself, waiting for the inevitable.
It doesn’t come. The pressure of her weight at his waist is gone and he blinks up at the sky for a beat too long, trying to work out what’s going on. Sand sticks to his damp palms when he pushes himself up, frantically scanning the groups of people for his missing pink. Helpfully, Gia points towards the shoreline, barely containing her laughter, tequila dribbling from her mouth on to Orion’s stomach.
But sure enough, there she is, waving his shirt above her head, already ankle-deep in the water. It’s probably the alcohol that incites him to chase Emma deeper, his grin mirroring hers, playful peals of laughter blossoming from her. They’re thigh deep when he finally catches her, far too winded, stupidly wet as he grabs her hips, stopping her from going any further.
“Got you,” Troy smiles, alcohol buzz pleasant and warm in his head, spinning her to face him.
“You do.” There’s a moment where he notices Emma looking at his lips, where the low, sultry tone of her voice makes sense, where judgement hasn’t yet entered his clouded mind and he wants to lean down to kiss her without having to think about the consequences. As his head catches up to him he drops his hands, Emma’s brow furrowed when he finally meets her eyes.
“What?” she demands, refusing to move away.
“You’re leaving soon,” he mumbles, her mouth too close, hips locked against his, skirt floating up and down with the tide.
“Is that it?” she laughs, tilting her head back “It’s only an internship, Troy, I’m an hour’s drive away,” Emma smiles, bright and beautiful, a beacon in the dark, “we’ve spent the past few years fighting aliens, I’m pretty sure we can handle a few months apart.” Her lips are millimetres away, hands on his chest, and even though their feet are buried in the sand, Troy feels like he’s struggling to tread water.
“And that guy?” He can’t help but feel like he’s trying to find excuses now, anything to keep him from slipping under the tide.
“He’s no-one- I don’t even know him. Not like I know you.” Troy can feel his heart hammering in his chest. Emma’s smile is victorious, it says that she knew exactly what she was doing, that she’s more cunning than he could ever have imagined. He can’t stop looking at her lips, chewed pink, her eyes dark and alluring as they peer up at him from under the heavy curtain of her lashes.
“Emma.” It’s a warning, a last ditch attempt to diffuse the heat between them, but she’s not having any of it, her knowing smirk sending ripples up his spine.
“Stop being so serious,” she whispers, closing the distance between them. Her hands slide up his torso, looping behind his head, mouth warm and slightly bitter, tequila drenched tongue salty sweet against his own. Troy finally lets himself gets pulled into Emma’s riptide, hands automatically going to her waist, dragging down their subtle, soft curve, fingertips pushing into the hard slant of her hip bones. She leans into him, swaying on her tiptoes, and Troy steadies her, hands on her back, drawing her in closer. He edges up under her shirt and Emma’s skin is warm against his cold, damp fingers. Her jaw tastes like honey and lime and she whimpers, a soft sound of pleasure, heating the fire under his skin. He finds the lace of her bra, rough, prickling against his nerve endings, growl coming low and unbidden in his throat and Emma giggles, her hot exhales turning to soft gasps at his wandering hands.
“No fair,” she breathes, teeth sharp on his shoulder, smacking at Troy’s upper arms, distracting him from the kisses he was sucking into her neck. He looks at her, confused, pretty sure he was doing the right thing, especially from the sounds she was making. “I’d rather not have to deal with Jake’s questioning, thank you very much.”
“How am I going to explain where my shirt’s gone?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, trying his best to look unimpressed with her. Emma giggles again, her blush obvious even in the low light, and Troy thinks she might be checking him out, begging his face to stay impassive.
“I had to get you alone somehow.” Troy wants to laugh, to kiss her again, drag her away from prying eyes- but he’s still not quite willing to admit that he got played. “No-one will mind!” She smiles, jostling him and taking his hand to lead him from the water.
Emma’s right, of course, no-one minds- but Jake wolf-whistles at their hand holding all the same, Gia rolling her eyes and whispering ‘gross’ when he kisses their tangled fingers by the fire, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh from Noah.
Troy’s aware his shirt is probably lost forever, but Emma grins when he presses butterfly kisses to her jaw, threads her fingers into his hair and whispers soft in his ear. He figures it’s a pretty good trade.