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when the colours start to run

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The lights stream and flicker and flash, and Emily gazes up at them, watches them changing colour around her. The whole club feels like it's vibrating, pounding and thumping with the beat of the music. She's soaked with sweat, her feet are throbbing in her high heels, and she's lost sight of everybody she came with.

But fuck, she's never felt better.

She starts jumping, along to the thudding bass, and then feels her body move into a lazy sort of dance, her hips swaying slowly. The room spins and drifts around her. When she feels hands at her waist she doesn't even turn around, just presses back into the touch, feeling the soft body behind her. She swings her hips, throws back her head.

She knows, then, that it's Katie, first from the smell of her perfume and then from the glimpse of bright red hair she catches. She smiles at her sister, a wide and goofy grin, drunk and so fucking high. And Katie grins back, shimmies closer, holding her by the hips now and swaying them together.

They shouldn't be doing this, Emily thinks distantly, somewhere deep inside her dulled, drugged-up brain.

They used to fool around all the time when they were younger. It was just innocent experimentation at first, urged on by Katie's dares, I'll show you mine if you show me yours, Ems, c'mon, I bet we're the same down there. They knew it was wrong, but it never seemed to do much harm and plus, Katie always said it wasn't serious, not like it was with guys, so it just didn't count.

The last time was when they were fourteen or so. Katie lost her virginity to some guy at school and after that, she just didn't seem interested in Emily anymore, even when Emily would sneak across the room and curl up with Katie in bed in the middle of the night. "Ems," Katie would whisper crossly. "Stop it. You've got your own fucking bed."

Emily was always too scared to approach the subject again with her sister, to question why it had all suddenly stopped. She figured next time Katie was going through a rough patch with a boyfriend, she'd be back, but it just never happened, and time just passed and passed until she didn't really think about it anymore.

Until she kissed Naomi, anyway. And then it was like Katie instantaneously became the most homophobic bitch Emily'd ever seen, insulting 'Naomi the lezza' every chance she got, as if those nights when she and Emily would bring each other off under the covers had never even happened.

It's a different story now, it seems, as Katie presses in closer behind Emily, their cheeks touching, their hips moving together. She's clutching Emily's hips so tight, hitching up her shirt, fingers stroking against the sweat-slick skin. Emily can hear her breathing loudly, hot against her ear. They shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be dancing together like this. She knows twins don't dance like this. They're not kids anymore, experimenting and inexperienced. This time, they know exactly what they're doing.

The strap of Emily's top slips down her shoulder, and Katie dips her head, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the bared skin, smearing it with lipgloss. They're going to start attracting attention soon, Emily knows. If any of the strangers surrounding them took a slightly closer look, it'd be obvious to them that the girls are related, identical, acting completely and utterly inappropriately. Not to mention their friends, who might've disappeared for the moment, but in these crowds, how can they tell how far away they are? Emily tenses under her sister's hands, imagining what it'd look like if they were caught right now. By Naomi, maybe, pushing her way through the crowd to try and find Emily, and seeing her grinding up against her sister in the middle of the club like this.

The thought should make her want to stop, but it doesn't. She can't stop moving, like the music's inside her, commanding her every movement, keeping her body moving against Katie's, in time with Katie's. Perfectly synchronised.

"Fucking amazing pills, yeah?" Katie shouts in her ear, and Emily rocks back against her, her head falling onto her sister's shoulder.

"Yeah," she agrees, "yeah."

Katie's hand slips lower, stroking the skin just above the waistband of Emily's skirt, and Emily shudders against her. God, she's missed this, having Katie touch her like this. They'd done it so many times that towards the end, Katie could get her off in seconds, knowing just where to touch to drive Emily wild. Even the slow smooth stroking of her fingers against Emily's stomach is making her hot, tingling, and she reaches up, behind her, touching Katie wherever she can.

The crowd surges suddenly and a guy beside them almost crashes into them, stumbling. His eyes meet Emily's for a moment, he blinks at her several times, and Emily's mouth runs dry. Katie's oblivious behind her, even when Emily stops still, but after only seconds the guy's swallowed by the crowd again and gone, probably left to decide he's been drinking so much he's literally seeing double.

"We can't do this here," she says out loud, but Katie doesn't seem to hear her, her fingers dipping lower. She says it again, louder, even as she feels like she's melting under her sister's touch.

"What?" Katie yells.

"We can’t—" Emily starts, but it's useless.

She spins round, grabbing Katie tightly by the hand and plunging head-first into the chaos of the dancefloor, dragging her off to the toilets.

"Are we really gonna do this, Ems?" Katie shouts, her voice slurred.

They're still clutching at each others' hands as they find their way to the crowded loos, stumbling past a row of girls re-applying make up and snorting stuff. The faces that glance in their direction all blur into nothing and Emily pushes Katie into a stall, following quickly and slamming the door after them. Her high blocks out her panic somewhat, but she's still faintly worried about what the girls outside are thinking.

"They're probably fucked up too," Katie murmurs like she's read Emily's mind.

She doesn't give Emily a chance to respond—to wonder what kind of 'fucked up' she means, whether she's referring to drugs and booze or fucking their family members—before their mouths meet, hot and wet and open in a fierce and desperate kiss.

"Fuck," Emily spits out weakly as Katie turns and pushes her against the wall, and that's when Emily realises they haven't actually locked the door, because it swings back after them. "Fuck," she says again.

Katie turns, fiddling with the lock and then kicking the door hard. Emily nudges her aside with her shoulder and tries to force the bolt across, but it just won't go.

"Fuck—another one—" she babbles, grasping the door to pull it open and find a different cubicle, but Katie grabs her and pulls her back, slamming her against the door to keep it shut and kissing her again, hard.

"It's just the drugs, right?" Katie mutters urgently, but her hands are sliding Emily's top up, pushing her bra as much out of the way as she can, her fingertips stroking Emily's hardening nipples, and Emily can't think straight.

"Yeah," she says as Katie's thigh slides between her legs, bringing welcome contact, "yeah, yeah, just fucking—"

Katie drops her head, nipping at the skin of Emily's tits with her teeth, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Emily gasps, her head rolling back against the cubicle door. She wastes no time, fumbling under Katie's skirt, yanking lacy knickers down.

"Those are mine, you bitch," she says incredulously, not caring about how loud her voice is as she looks at the tangled blue fabric round her sister's knees.

"They'd be wasted on you," Katie retorts, "no one ever sees your knickers."

Emily doesn't have a chance to react as Katie reaches under her skirt too, groping at the nylon of Emily's tights.

"Just—fucking—rip them," Emily pants out, spreading her legs further apart, impatient.

"Gladly," Katie snorts, "they're ugly as fuck."

She grins, and Emily would want to punch her in her fucking smug face if she didn't want to kiss her so badly instead.

The kiss is angrier this time, teeth clashing, Katie biting at Emily's bottom lip as she tears at the tights, finally reaching the cotton of Emily's knickers and shoving her hand inside.

"Oh, god," Emily whimpers, her head spinning as Katie's fingers slip-slide between her legs, stroking at her aching heat.

"Shut up," Katie hisses.

It's gone quieter outside somehow, the hand-driers have switched off or something, and all they can hear is the low babble of female voices, the occasional running of water. It feels like they're separated off from the rest of the world in the tiny cubicle, like she and Katie are the only ones who exist, like Katie having her fingers on her cunt is all that matters in the universe. But she knows that when she moans, she's not quiet about it, and when she bucks her hips forward and Katie slides a finger deep inside her, the door rattles loudly behind her.

"Do me, then," Katie demands, hitching her skirt up with her free hand, "Jesus. Selfish—"

Emily shuts her up instantly, shoving her hand between Katie's bare thighs, her fingers meeting the hot, soft flesh she hasn't touched in years. Katie's eyes flutter closed and her own movement between Emily's legs slows for a moment, and Emily grins, sliding her fingers clumsily against the slick hot folds. She finds Katie's clit and Katie trembles, sliding a second finger inside Emily and rocking forwards against her.

"Quicker, come on, fuck," Katie hisses desperately, her palm pressing against Emily's clit, and Emily clenches her thighs around Katie's hand, gasping.

She thrusts a finger inside Katie and she's so wet, so fucking wet, writhing against her. She forgot what it felt like to make her sister lose control like this.

Outside of the cubicle, a door suddenly slams, and they hear a voice raised loud above the others. Emily freezes, tensed up against the door, her heart pounding.

"He's such a fucking twat," Naomi's saying angrily. "I told him I'm not fucking interested—"

Katie pushes against her, her fingers still working between Emily's legs, stroking her, rubbing her, fucking her, and it feels so good but—

"Don't let him get to you," comes Effy's calm, lazy voice. "Ignore him and he'll get bored. That's how it works."

"Maybe for you," Naomi scoffs.

There's a sudden rush of water as a tap turns on and Katie looks up, meeting Emily's eyes. She looks frustrated.

"Come on," she urges, grinding herself against Emily's hand, "I'm so close."

"But that's—"

"I fucking know, okay, I'm not retarded," Katie hisses.

She clutches at Emily's tits under her shirt and slides the heel of her hand roughly against Emily's clit, and Emily can't help but respond, bucking forward into the touch even as she hears Naomi and Effy's conversation start up again. She catches sentence fragments, hears Cook's name and then her own, but she can’t work out what it's in relation to when Katie's fucking her hard with her fingers, making her head swim.

Emily tries to keep up her own rhythm, sinking two more fingers inside Katie easily and thrusting them quickly, clutching at Katie's hip with her other hand, her fingernails digging into the skin. Her orgasm overwhelms her suddenly and she feels like she's completely disconnecting from reality. Everything spins around her, unhinged; her surroundings blur and the voices and noises outside the cubicle fade into a distant babble.

She presses against Katie's hand desperately, riding through her orgasm, all the while fucking Katie as hard as she can until she feels her sister shuddering against her, hears the breath catching in her throat. When Katie comes it feels like it's happening to her too, all over again, and her knees buckle underneath her. She's distantly aware of the door rattling behind her, still nowhere near secured except by her own weight.

When she refocuses, she's breathing so heavily it sounds practically deafening even to her own ears, and Katie's smoothing her sweaty fringe off her forehead for her, a soothing gesture that completely contradicts what next comes out of her mouth.

"Shut up, you silly cow, you sound like you're fucking hyperventilating." She wipes her hand on Emily's shirt, and glances up, catching the stunned expression on Emily's face. "They're gone, by the way," she says, "but if they heard us, it's your fucking fault. Jesus Christ."

The voices carry on but Emily's not so worried about them anymore after the threat of being found out by people they actually know. Naomi, of all people, as well. She doesn't care what the girls lined up in front of the mirrors think when she and her sister emerge from the cubicle at the end with the broken lock, their clothes twisted and wrinkled, tights torn and laddered, hair mussed and tangled.

They're probably fucked up too, after all.