AN: For Carissa aka trina-deckers on Tumblr.

The summer of 1976 kicks off America's 200th birthday with sizzling fireworks, backyard barbecues, poolside cooldowns and neighbors mingling, downing their sweet and bitter cocktails while taking long drags out of their cigars beneath the sun's unrelenting rays. Three weekends before Labor Day, the heat finally starts to ebb off, giving way to blue skies, puffy clouds and the first hint that summer is ending. It's still warm outside, but there's a pleasant breeze in the air, enough that Tom and Trina Decker ring the Millers and the Thompsons over for a late afternoon of grilling burgers and dipping in the jacuzzi at their suburban paradise.

Janet is in the kitchen, filling tall glasses with ice cubes and homemade lemonade, cutting off the stems of mint leaves and adorning each refreshment with a bit of green. Bruce is gone, out to grab an extra bag of ice from the Hop n' Shop down the road. The children are across the street while the Millers' oldest, Laurie, keeps an eye on them. Susan is helping Roger flip burgers on the grill, smiling, the two of them laughing quietly, sun beginning to inch its way toward the horizon line.

Trina sighs, letting her head fall back, her eyes drifting shut as a quick but gentle gust of wind caresses her face. It's lovely out, the perfect day for bringing friends together over apple pie, burgers, hot dogs and cocktails. She's in the jacuzzi with Tom; her arms up and out of the water, draped along the concrete edge. One of her hands lazily eases out tension at the base of Tom's skull while the other limply holds onto her empty Collins glass.

She's fuzzy, warm, relaxed and drunk on sunshine and maybe a little boozed because of her second, strong gin and tonic. This feels nice, really nice, white and blue and gray spots dancing behind her closed eyelids as she slowly trails her fingernails over the back of Tom's shoulder, water dripping from her fingertips onto his skin. She lets out a little sigh again, moans pleasantly and— oh, her moan turns into a sharp intake of breath, head snapping to the side, eyes popping open and landing on Tom's mischievous grin. His body is angled toward hers a bit and his left arm is submerged under the water, jets churning up bubbles, keeping everything below Trina's breasts out of view.

"Tom?" She asks, biting on her lower lip playfully and smirking. "What are you doing?"

His boyish grin widens as she feels his hand slip between her thighs and tap them further apart. She complies, obviously, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her tongue running over her teeth. Leaning closer, he husks into her ear: "I've no idea what you mean, babe." But he cups her through her bikini bottoms and rubs, languidly, slowly, because of course he knows exactly what she means.

At first it doesn't really do much for her, not at this angle, not with her sitting up right, so she scooches down a bit, her breasts and red bikini breaking the surface of the hot water. She spreads her legs further apart, adjusts, and that helps, oh, oh yes, that's nice, begins a pleasant thrum of pleasure, sending a shiver up her spine and down to her toes as his strong fingers drag over her in short up and down strokes, teasing her clit through a thin layer of fabric.

Oh, but two can tease the way he is, the way he's tiptoeing around what she really wants, not touching her the way he knows she wants him to. Instead he's just… teasing, trying to get her to beg for it, to get her to break. But she won't. He may know what she wants, but she knows how he is, so she slips her arm into the water and tries her own form of teasing, smiling harder when she finds he's already hard and tenting at the front of his trunks.

Of course he is.

She rubs along his length and watches as he shuts his eyes and groans, and then his fingers are leaving her clit, and no, no, that's not what she wants. He grabs her wrist and whispers into her ear: "Ah-ah-ah," angling his head back to look at Roger and Susan, still grilling and completely unaware of Tom's wandering fingers beneath bubbles and heat. He urges Trina's hand back up and says, "Grip the edge of the jacuzzi, gorgeous," capturing her lips in a kiss, chaste at first and then a bit deeper, adding a little tongue before giving her a peck and urging, "No moving, no sounds."

Trina's pupils dilate and she beams. Oh, so that's what he wants. Her voice goes rough and cracks with excitement as she replies, "Quiet Game?"

He nods, and she immediately follows his request, hand coming up out of the water and stretching back behind him. She grips the edge of the jacuzzi and shifts her bottom further down on the seat, giving him better access.

The neighbors might be here, but the two of them have never shied away from having a bit offun, least of all if people are around. That's what makes this so exciting, what makes this one of her favorite games. The tension, the anticipation, the idea that they might get caught at any moment.

Tom starts slowly again, and she arches into it, into his fingers rubbing against her, her breasts rising further out of the water, droplets dripping down her skin, glistening between her valley of supple curves. She swallows, licks her lips and starts rocking into his touch. It's not long before his fingers yank her bikini bottoms to the side, before he slides two digits through her folds and then dips them into her — the water not keeping her as wet as she normally gets, as wet as she knows he's making her, but it still works, this works. It's still building pleasure, still making her bite down on her lower lip to stifle a moan, her hands gripping tighter to the edge of the jacuzzi.

Trina closes her eyes, shuts them tight, breath coming out in quiet, little pants, her heart beating faster and faster as Tom's thumb rubs circles around and around her clit, pointer and middle finger now pumping in and then out of her, in and then out. It's not the smoothest he's been, butoh god, oh yes, yes, there, that's it— don't stop, right there, but it is good. Brow furrowing, knuckles whitening as her fingers dig into concrete, and yes yes yes, this is happening. He's bringing her closer and closer to the edge, wrist rocking into her, fingers rubbing against that spot inside her in a come hither motion that has her spreading her legs further apart, has her stomach muscles clenching, her toes curling, and oh god, yes yes yes—

"Lemonade!" Janet practically sings, stepping quick-footed toward Trina and Tom, a silver tray with five glasses filled to the brim balanced on the palm of her outstretched hand. "There's a sprig of mint," she points out, unaware of how close Trina is to the orgasm of which she's just robbed her. "I added that touch myself. Makes it more refreshing." Janet smiles, showing the Deckers her pearly whites, and then she frowns. "Trina, you're getting a little red." She points toward her cheeks. "Maybe that's enough of the jacuzzi. Come on, time for you to get out, cool down. Wouldn't want you to overheat, now would we?"

She waves at her with her hand and Trina chuckles, but then her breath hitches and she closes her eyes, brow furrowing, mouth dropping open. And thank god Janet chose that moment to look down at the front of her blouse and pick a piece of lint off the cuff of her sleeve.

Tom bites his bottom lip and grins.

Janet's gaze is drawn back up to the two of them and she clacks her tongue. "Tom, look at your poor wife. She's absolutely beat. We need to get her out of the sun. Come on now," She repeats, turning around to grab them two towels.

"What'ya think, babe," Tom starts, his fingers rubbing more incessantly at her clit under the water. Oh fuck, thank god for the jets and the bubbles, Trina thinks as her all-too-pleased-with-himself-husband says: "Time to get out?"

Trina shakes her head. "I'm fi— ine. Reall—y Janet. But maybe that— lemon— ade might help."

This isn't fair, this really — oh god, I can't — this really, really isn't fair. Tom's playing dirty, andthis is Janet, and this is— this is— and she's so hot, so wet, so so wet, and, oh mother fuc—

Over the years, Tom has become very skilled at working her up in public during these tit-for-tat games of theirs. He's figured out how to move his fingers inside her, rub his calloused palm over her clit and make her legs tremble, pleasure bloom and bloom and bloom without so much as a hint of movement in his upper body. It's how he's able to keep absolutely still right now, how he can look Janet in the eye and grin that stupid, smug grin and not give himself away, not hint at what's happening beneath the surface and churning bubbles.

It's absolutely not fair. Oh god, she's dying; she's so close, face flushed, sweat gleaming at her temples, body tensing, and then she careens over the edge with a sharp gasp.

"Oh Goddd," she cries, failing miserably to stifle her rough, sex-laden voice yet alone a choked moan from escaping her throat. Her hand flies from around Tom's shoulder, diving into the water and digging her nails into his thigh. That's enough she says, with her grip on his leg.

And the look on Janet's face… well… if looks could kill.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.