The heat of alcohol and bodies and the thumping of the music carry Natasha for time, and for a moment even after Sara speaks she doesn't feel the need to say anything more. There's nothing she could say that would communicate more clear that this is what she wants and where she wants to be than the rolling of her hips, the toss of hair and the sway of her body.

Her eyes grow heavier, lips parting slightly.

"Me too," she says finally, leaning closer, her head tilting to one side before she buries her face in Sara's shoulder.