Chapter Text
Thick globules of clear, stinging gel settled into the dry cracks of Yolanda’s palms. They caught briefly in the deep brown creases of her worn skin. The chapped and peeling crevices that no hand cream, no matter how expensive it was, could fully heal, providing a perfect home for the dense liquid to burrow into, before it thinned at first and then disappeared altogether, leaving nothing but a cool, fleeting gasp.
She liked that about alcohol gel, she thought to herself, rubbing her hands together, it was funny that, finding comfort in something so mundane, but she liked the certainty of it. The fact that the gel, thick and solid one moment, was gone in the next; there was never any variation and never any delay. All things came to an end of course, she knew that much, but some things, like the gel pressed between her palms, were gracious enough to make said ending obvious.
She tried her hardest not to turn her mind to an ending that continued to hang in the balance.
Trinity hadn’t called her back.
Trinity Santos, second year resident at the PTMC also known as the woman Yolanda had been fucking for ten months too long. The woman in question hadn’t replied to the text Yolanda had sent either, just a quick ‘good morning’ in between her pre-game breakfast of a few bites of a dry bagel and a KitKat pilfered from Parker’s not so secret stash. Last night, as the city had refused to sleep, overwhelmed by the loud cracks of fireworks and the never ending rumble of freedom, Yolanda had mulled the entire ten month long situation over. Yesterday hadn’t been a bad shift, in fact, trawling through her history of the last half a decade she’d worked at the PTMC, amidst mass casualty incidents and far too many near misses, yesterday had been practically a picnic in comparison. And yet, the sun had risen once more; the fireworks had quietened and she had sat there still, back ramrod straight against her pillow, thinking.
Most of her past, well, she wasn’t quite sure what to call them. The women who had warmed her bed for a few nights and then vanished, like the alcohol gel on her palm, leaving nothing but the faint memory of warmth: casual, ephemeral, unremarkable. They didn’t exactly inspire much thought, it was exactly how she preferred things, so much of her life was consumed by thinking, it was only natural she wanted a few stolen moments where she could be free. And that was what Trinity Santos had wanted too, at least what Yolanda had thought she’d wanted. So there it sat, their ending, waiting and wanting for someone to reach out and save it, too bad Yolanda wasn’t going to be the one to do so.
Well like Mamá had always said, and Inés too on the much too frequent occasion she forgot that their age gap of a year and nine months did not qualify her as Yolanda’s other parent- pride would always be her downfall.
The thought lingered longer than she meant it to and in her distraction, the hand sanitiser tube spilled out of her hands, still lidless, and careless glugs of gel splashed gracelessly, dousing the tops of her bare feet. It didn’t sting, of course it didn’t. Ten months had passed (well ten months and one day if she wanted to be exact) since the scalpel had found itself a home in the top of her foot, and Trinity had wormed her way in alongside it. The redness had faded, just like the gel soon did, leaving only a deep brown, almost purple line in its wake. Yet, she gasped as though it was fresh and weeping all the same.
“Any day now Yoyo,” Parker grunted as she dropped down heavily beside her on the park benches, the rich spiced scent of whatever cologne she had on, cutting through the clinical stench of the hand sanitiser. She was matching with Yolanda, in a simple plain sports bra, though Parker's was already damp with sweat at the collar, because she insisted on doing what she called ‘warm up drills’ like this was a major sporting competition and not just a way to pass a quiet Sunday morning. “Kinda feel like I’m back home in Oakland waiting for Aunt Doreen to get her church shoes on,” Parker continued with a lazy smirk, “she always had to have the matching hat and shoes you know?”
Yolanda smiled, thin and sarcastic, in response, dusting away any remnants of gel before she pulled her socks and sneakers on with exaggerated grace. “Just for that I swear not to go easy on you,” she retorted, tossing the words over her shoulder to Parker’s face, which was stained with mock offence, as she rose from the bench, “prepare to die Ellis."
“Wouldn’t want you to anyway!” Parker said back, as she threw her dark locs up into a tight ponytail, “and don’t forget we’re not doing surgery versus medicine today, so no more relying on Walsh,” she wagged her finger in Yolanda’s face, pulling it back just before she could grab it, “it’s every woman for herself Yoyo.”
“I don’t rely on Emery,” Yolanda grumbled even though they both knew that it wasn’t true.
Yolanda operated in a world where you catered to your talents, that’s the first lesson she’d learnt, long before surgery, long before any of this. She had been all of eleven months old when she’d attempted a somersault and landed her and the nanny in the emergency room, with a goose egg blooming proudly across her forehead. Walsh had played Division I soccer whilst at college, Yolanda had not, rather too occupied the first time with conferences and meetings and all the things that she hoped might land her an internship and Mamá's pride. So it was really a no brainer, honestly, Parker was the odd one for not seeing it. But she couldn’t exactly blame her, Parker was odd, it was why she slotted right in with the rest of the emergency medicine doctors at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre, they were all odd down there, including Trinity Santos.
Sometimes, it surprised Yolanda that she and Parker Ellis had slowly become more than just colleagues who exchanged occasional hellos and even more occasional empty invites to meet up outside of work someday. Yolanda wasn’t someone for friends, at least real ones that she told real things to, and not just witty remarks tossed back and forth. Smarter people than her had said it all before: most of your friends were made early in life, built over years and shaped by histories and memories of softer, fonder times. After all, what was a friend, if not someone you had grown with? The problem was, Yolanda had never quite fit in the places she’d grown up, people had been much too keen to remind her that her mother, and her mother would never have even dreamed of walking the walls she now did. So she supposed this, whatever this was, would have to do.
They had a better foundation than most, at least, her and Parker. There were few brown faces in their world so it was only natural they gravitated towards one another, gathering as allies. That, and the lesbian thing, tipped their relationship into something like inevitability
Nevertheless, there were a few times that Yolanda questioned her decision to be friends with Parker Ellis and more so to sign up to Parker’s soccer league program she’d set up at the hospital. “League” was what she called it, and no one else, because it was a rather generous description. It was usually never more than a four a side (sometimes five before Heather had left them all to the questionable joys of Portland on the odd occasions that Yolanda had managed to convince her), with a couple of torn up scrub tops as their goal markers and a halfway deflated soccer ball none of them ever had the time to replace. For a bunch of above median earners, it was objectively, a little pathetic, but it was fun time, and increasingly, that seemed to be exactly what the doctor ordered.
“Ellis, how are we doing teams then?” a voice called as they approached the clearing, “since you’ve suddenly got a massive fucking stick up your ass about the usual winners versus losers.”
Yolanda didn’t need to look to know who it was, Emery Walsh was standing by one of the scrub goal posts, with one foot resting on the ball, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Her long dark hair, usually shoved into a sagging, half-forgotten bun, had been wrangled into a thick braid down her back, obscuring most of the number one printed across the back of her old college varsity kit she insisted on wearing decades later. Like the dick she was.
Yolanda had met Emery during her medical school rotations back home in New York, her MS3 self eagerly chasing after the then resident like a duckling. She’d been, briefly, pleased to find a familiar face when she’d first started at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Of course, back then, she hadn’t yet realised what a pain in the ass Emery Walsh could be, a loveable one, but a pain none the less. Naivety of youth, and all that.
The rest of the women she knew less well, unless knowing their post-game drink orders counted, or which corner of the break room they gravitated towards in between cases, but they were good people, and a couple of hours out with them was much better than the alternative of sitting at home in her empty condo, or even worse, doing something even more stupid than sleeping with an intern for ten fucking months.
She’s an R2 now, her brain corrected unhelpfully.
“We all voted that it was unfair,” Aarathi Nadar, one of the anaesthetists, sighed longsufferingly, “I mean it can’t be fun for you to beat us every time can it?”
“It sure can,” Emery smirked, “but go on Ellis, heavy is the head that wears the crown, let’s hear your idea, before I change my mind.”
“Cool,” Parker clapped her hands once, stepping into the centre like she’d been waiting her whole life for this level of authority, “since we’re mixing it up and that means no more Walsh carrying all your sorry asses to victory,” she pointed at Yolanda, Emery, Priyanka Khatri, fellow general surgeon and Jessica Kum, the only orthopaedic surgeon Yolanda had met with enough brain cells to have a conversation with, who usually made up the surgery team, with a win streak of five to one.
“Don’t hate the player Ellis,” Emery boasted proudly, holding up a five on one hand and a one on the other.
Parker ignored her, “I’ll have a random generator pick,” she typed a little on her phone and started to read out names, “four a side so first team is me, Yoyo, Nadar” she pointed without looking, “and Kum.”
“Unfair already,” Emery cut in, “Kum runs circles around half of you.”
“Exactly,” Parker shot back, “balance.”
“And me?” Emery pressed, eyebrow raised, as she looked at the rest of the women left over.
“Don’t complain, you get Khatri,” Parker squinted past them, counting, “the other Khatri and Ojo.”
“You know you did that on purpose,” Emery complained as there was a small shuffle of movement as the teams separated.
“Hey!” Mojisola Ojo protested, her frown betraying the fact that all their requests for cardiology consults were probably all going to get mysteriously rejected now because of Emery’s desire to run her mouth. But Emery wasn’t exactly wrong, the Khatris viewed their Sunday meets as a way to mitigate the “lesbian urge to merge” as Priyanka had put it verbatim, and yet they spent most of the time as inseparable as they always were, and Ojo, despite her competitiveness and matching lululemon get up, didn’t quite have the skill to back it all up.
Priya and Daniella Khatri, predictably, moved together without needing to check, shoulders brushing in a way that spoke more of habit than intention. The couple of the group, Yolanda tended to find doctor and doctor relationships rather incestuos, it had been a rule of hers (one that she had broken but that was something she’d rather not think about), but as she watched the newly weds giggling, she found that she had to look away.
“Happy?” Parker asked, already backing up into position.
Emery rolled her shoulders, nudging the ball into place with the sole of her foot, “I’ll manage.”
“Sure you will,” Nadar muttered under her breath as she jogged past Yolanda, “Garcia, try not to let her score in the first minute this time.”
“No promises,” Yolanda replied dryly, though her attention had already shifted. She took her place opposite Emery, the dry grass crunching faintly beneath her sneakers. The air felt warm and heavy with the early July heat, the sort that clung to your skin and slowed everything down just a fraction. Or maybe that was just her, and she was blaming it on the poor heat instead.
“Ready?” Parker called, producing a whistle from somewhere.
There was a chorus of much too serious affirmations, but they were all women in medicine, you kind of had to take everything too seriously to survive. Emery didn’t wait for the rest of them, and once Parker blew the whistle, the screech cutting through the morning air, she surged forward, right foot first as she tapped the ball.
Yolanda stepped in immediately, angling her run to cut Emery off before she could build up too much speed, “taking hints from the gerry wards? you’re slower than my abuela and she’s been dead since ‘05!” she called out childishly, once she was within touching distance.
Emery snorted, “rather that than the intern daycare you’ve been spending all your time at.”
Any response she had to that died in her throat, but she schooled her face, focusing on the game instead, “don’t know what you mean Walsh,” she shouted, turning sharply to chase after the ball.
She pivoted hard on her left foot, cutting across Emery’s path just as the ball slipped a fraction too far ahead of her. “That’s mine!” she screamed, picking up the speed, as she relished in the delicious burn in her calf muscles. The ball seemed to listen, rolling right into her path, until it didn’t. It clipped awkwardly off the inside of her sneaker before skidding wide and straight into Khatri’s waiting stride. The other woman wasn’t even paying attention, too busy making eyes at her wife (which seriously made zero sense for someone you’d been with since forever).
“Jesus Garcia,” Nadar grumbled, once she had caught up, “that was basically a handover, still drunk from yesterday? " she asked, "those Fourth of July jello shots get you I swear.”
“Just getting into it,” Yolanda muttered, ignoring the rest of the sentence as she doubled back. Her fourth of July had been spent in a mix of cursing herself for letting her brain get in the way of her pussy and praising herself for her self control as Heather did her best to pretend that Yolanda wasn’t miles away as they facetimed, little Wesley in the corner, equally puzzled at his godmother’s antics.
“Pressure!” Parker shouted.
“I’m on it,” Yolanda called back, even as she wasn’t, not quite
The play dissolved into a brief scramble, Khatri to the other Khatri, the other Khatri back to Khatri, a neat little exchange that Yolanda was always a step too slow to break, as though they were speaking a special, irritating couple language. She stretched, kicking her left foot out, the one with the scar, and embarrassingly missed once more. Irritation rose sharp and quick in her chest, she was no Emery, but she usually wasn’t this bad.
“Yoyo mark!” Parker barked from somewhere to her right. Kum was hurtling forwards and Nadar back in their goal as the ball inched closer and closer past their lines of defence.
“I am marking,” she snapped back, even as Khatri slipped past her shoulder, sending the ball too easily to Emery. The shot wasn’t even particularly impressive, but it didn’t need to be, as Emery sent the half-deflated ball lazily between Nadar’s wide open legs and the makeshift goalposts.
“Goal!,” Emery boasted, circling their patch of grass over and over again,“and in thirty seconds, maybe I’ll try for fifteen next time.”
“Oh fuck off Walsh,” Kum swore though she was laughing as she said it, jogging back as the opposing team broke out into a deeply serious almost choreographed celebratory dance.
“Alright, reset,” Parker cut in quickly, clapping once, already stepping into the middle , “shake it off people, let’s take a minute.”
“Sir yes sir!” Ojo giggled, immediately spinning away to angle her phone just right, as she used the opportunity to take a few selfies, dragging one of the Khatris in with her. Yolanda watched without meaning to, taking in the way the sunlight glinted off Ojo’s sweaty warmed skin, almost like it was beckoning Yolanda forwards. Something inside of her loosened, maybe that was what she needed, she thought to herself, a night out in some shitty bar with a woman she wouldn’t see at work the next day, or ever again. Sleeping with the same person for ten whole months was too fucking long, long enough for bad habits to form, for things to start meaning much more than they should. Long enough to expect a call back.
“Wait seriously a break? It’s been literally five minutes,” Nadar asked, both hands on her hips, still catching her breath, “Ojo you’ll have to do a round of echos on everyone, this is extremely poor cardiovascular health ladies,” she added dryly.
“Not me, I’m ready to go,” Kum piped up as she hopped from foot to foot, “what’s it called when you give a trauma surgeon trauma from beating them?” she snickered at her own bad joke.
“In your dreams Kum,” Emery rolled her eyes, sipping on one of the bottles of water Parker had passed round earlier.
The woman in question ignored all of them, eyes flicking briefly to Yolanda before she spoke again, “we reset properly so that we play properly, yeah?”
Yolanda dragged her gaze away from Ojo, nodding once, she wasn’t going to go there, she’d been burned one too many times anyway. “Yeah,” she said, in response to Parker.
Parker held her there a beat longer than necessary, like she was checking for something, before she grinned toothily, seemingly satisfied enough. “Good,” she said, “because I am not letting Walsh get cocky about this.”
“Too late,” Emery called from across the clearing, “way too late.”
“Get back in position,” Parker shot back.
There was a shuffle as they spread out again, looser now but more alert, the brief pause settling into something like focus. Yolanda rolled her shoulders once, flexing her hands, the phantom coolness of the gel was gone now.
“Ready?” Parker called.
And this time, Yolanda didn’t hesitate when the whistle blew.
Yolanda was fairly certain the entire point of dragging herself out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to run laps around a field was somewhat ruined by spending the hours after, cramming into a dim, faintly sticky bar and passing around overly strong cocktail pitchers and baskets of deep-fried dough balls of nondescript flavours, but life, as they say, was all about balance.
They had managed to find a large booth to share easily, seeing that it wasn’t even noon on a Sunday yet so Yolanda was wedged in between Kum and the red haired Khatri, Emery directly opposite her. The table was loud, loud enough that Yolanda might have been embarrassed if they weren’t the bar's only patrons, as the rest of the women chatted in an easy, unselfconscious manner; their voices overlapping, drinks sloshing, someone’s elbow knocking into someone else’s glass without apology but in a way that no one seemed to mind. Yolanda let it all blur together, the words slipping past her like background noise she didn’t quite bother to tune into.
Her phone was sitting face-down beside her glass, she hadn’t checked it in, what, twenty minutes? Thirty? Not that it mattered, if Trinity had replied, she would’ve felt it somehow.
“-I’m telling you, it was going so well,” Parker was saying, already halfway to laughter, her hands animated around her can of beer, “like, suspiciously well. She was funny, she was hot, like bombshell hot, she laughed at my jokes-”
“That should’ve been your first red flag,” someone cut in, Nadar maybe, Yolanda wasn’t really listening.
“Shut up,” Parker shot back, grinning, “anyway. We get to dessert, right, and she says something, just a phrase, nothing major, and it clicks. I know her.”
A chorus of oh nos rippled around the table.
Yolanda curled her fingers more tightly around her glass, the condensation slick against her palm. It grounded her a little.
“No, no, listen, ” Parker leaned forward, lowering her voice like that would soften the blow, “she was a patient. Came into the ED like, a couple of weeks ago.”
“Stop it,” Emery said, already laughing.
“I wish I could,” Parker groaned, “and the worst part? She clearly had no idea who I was.”
“Okay, so what was it for? Why’d she come in?” someone else asked, Ojo maybe, far too eagerly.
Parker pressed her lips together, shaking her head, “I can’t say it out loud. I actually can’t.”
That, of course, made it infinitely worse.
“Oh, come on,” the playful scold rang out as the women all threw out their guesses.
“A case of accidental landing ass first on a vertically shaped foreign object?”
“An allergic reaction to body glitter?”
“You had to remove handcuffs, didn’t you?”
“Oh my god, was it one of those suction things that absolutely should not be used there?”
“Wait, wait,” Emery cut in, wiping tears from her eyes, “was she the girl with the… what was it… the bedazzled thong situation?”
“See,” Parker said pointedly though she couldn’t quite keep the grin off of her face, “this is why I hate each and everyone of you. It was rash-adjacent, a simple normal rash, nothing like you freaks are thinking,” she groaned into her beer.
“Where was it though?” Ojo asked cheekily
“Uhhh lower down,” Parker said, pained and the table dissolved into laughter.
Yolanda exhaled quietly through her nose, a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The laughter swelled, filling the space easily. It should have been easy to slip into it, let it carry her along but instead, her gaze flicked, quick and involuntary, towards her phone.
Still blank.
“Parker,” someone groaned loudly.
“I know,” she said, dragging a hand down her face. “So now I’m sitting there, making eye contact, fully aware I have seen,” she cut herself off, gesturing helplessly, “and she’s talking about her job in marketing like everything is fucking normal.”
“So what did you do?” Brunette Khatri asked.
“What could I do?” Parker said, “I couldn’t exactly be like, ‘hey, remember when I treated you for,’” she broke off again, choking on her drink as the others, save for Yolanda, howled with laughter. “I faked a phone call of course, and said there was an emergency, which, technically there was. Just not the kind I could admit to.”
“Coward,” someone said affectionately.
“Professional boundaries you mean,” Parker corrected, lifting her glass, “not about to let anyone sue my Black ass.”
“Sure,” Emery snorted.
Laughter carried on, loud and bright, folding in on itself as the story picked up new embellishments, each version worse than the last. Yolanda continued to watch it all from the edge, the curve of her glass catching the low bar light as she turned it slowly between her fingers. She smiled when it seemed appropriate, a small, automatic thing, but the sound of it never quite left her chest.
“Hey.”
The word cut cleanly across the noise. Yolanda glanced up to find Emery watching her, sharp-eyed even through the haze of alcohol and amusement.
“You with us,” Emery said, one brow raised, “or did you leave your soul back on the field when we dusted you guys?”
“Three-two is not dusting,” Kum protested from beside Yolanda, “and I still maintain that last goal was offside.”
“There’s no offside in four aside Jessie,” red haired Khatri snorted, “I mean we barely have a goal post, we won fair and square.”
“Let’s go back to our usual medicine versus surgery next week, we’ll see who’s dusting who then,” Nadar butted into the conversation.
“Ladies, ladies,“ Parker interjected, “I thought my speech on healthy sportswoman behaviour had gotten through to you all.”
“Yep, straight through,” Emery grinned, “like a particularly nasty episode of C. diff,” the others groaned as she continued, “but let’s not get carried away, I want to know why our Yoyo looks like she’d rather be anywhere than here right now.”
“What?” Yolanda shook her head hurriedly, “I don’t know what you mean, I like spending one of my only free days of this fucking fellowship in a shitty bar with people I see everyday at work.”
From the edge of her vision, she could still see her phone, it stayed stubbornly dark; no new notifications.
“Ooh okay, someone’s cranky,” Parker flinched back cartoonishly exaggerated, “is that why you were off your game today?”
“I wasn’t off my game,” Yolanda protested, “and I’m not ‘cranky’,” she added, lifting her hands briefly and making mock air quotes as she spoke.
“Hmm I think Ellis is right,” Nadar added, “you’re always a little,” she waved her hands in the air as though that said something, “but today,” she tilted her head, ”does this have anything to do with the rumour I heard about you banging an intern.”
Yolanda’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly around her glass.
“Banging an intern?” brunette Khatri’s eyes went wide as she parroted the words, it was probably the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard in her domesticated, married with two and a half kids and some poor doodle-fied mutt existence, “which intern? The big eyed one in gastro?”
“Nah the one down in the Pitt,” Kum answered, like it was common knowledge, “Santiago something, too young for me personally but I see the appeal, beautiful eyes you know?”
“Santos,” Parker corrected, “it’s been a while now right? You guys started going out last fall?”
“What it’s been is none of your business,” Yolanda said more sharply than she had intended. A frown tugged at her mouth, god, she always said she hated how gossip travelled faster than light within the walls of the PTMC, but she supposed it was partly her fault, coming onto Santos so strongly, “and she’s an R2 now,” she continued, “it’s barely a ten year gap between us.”
“Come on, that’s no fun,” red haired Khatri protested, “I rely on my single friends for the juicy bits of information, so I can live vicariously through them, isn’t that right Priya?” she nodded to her wife.
“Nothing juicy here,” Yolanda said with a shrug. “Actually, it's kind of boring. It’s just gone on a bit too long, I think,” she took a sip of her drink, then added, a little too casually, “what about you, Emery? Finally managed to talk to that R4 down there? Mohan, was it?”
Emery narrowed her eyes, “we’re talking about you now. Don’t try and change the subject,” she groaned, tipping her head back, “I swear, when I decided to make friends with a bunch of lesbians, I didn’t realise I was signing up for this much drama.”
“There’s no drama,” Yolanda said, “I barely know her, I was spared from the U-Haul curse, you could say,” she shrugged again, like it meant nothing, ”it’s really just sex,” she cleared her throat and carried on, “and you know you love us, Emery, you’re the proudest rainbow at the pride parade.”
Thankfully that netted her a few chuckles, enough to let the conversation drift on, splintering into smaller threads that she did not have to follow. But Yolanda continued to feel Emery’s heavy gaze on her, steady and unmoving, like a hand pressed between her shoulder blades. “Something on my face, Walsh?” she asked eventually when the other woman refused to look away.
“Yeah, but not something I think you’d ever admit,” Emery responded cryptically.
“What is that supposed to mean?”Yolanda’s head snapped up at that.
“Nothing,” Emery said lightly, though her eyes didn’t soften. “Just… you saying everything’s fine doesn’t actually make it true, did something happen between the two of you? You and Santos?”
“Emery, I don’t know what you think you know, but just,” she paused, “nothing’s up, everything’s fine, we’re fine.”
“Then why are you more attached to your phone than the latest batch of MS3s we got a week ago?”
Yolanda’s eyes flicked down to her phone immediately, it was still empty, no message, no missed call, nothing at all under the contact Trinity Santos PTMC E-med. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said again.
“Fine, be like that,” Emery shrugged, “I just wonder,” she paused, hesitating before lowering her voice, “ten months is a long time, Yoli. It’s understandable, normal even, if you caught feelings, I’m sure your intern-”
“She’s not my intern,” Yolanda interrupted sternly, “and Emery, just stop please. She’s not my anything, can you just drop it?”
“Okay,” Emery acquiesced reluctantly, holding her hands up in surrender, but she didn’t quite let it go, that was the bad thing about being surrounded by doctors, they called it dogged curiosity, Yolanda liked to think of it as a step beyond busybodiness.
“It’s just, I know it’s not your thing, but do you really see yourself doing this forever? The revolving door? Casual flings, no strings, no,” she gestured vaguely, “anything?”
Yolanda let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, “it works and you’re not exactly shacked up yourself Walsh.”
“Does it?” Emery asked quietly, “work that is?”
The question lingered longer than it should have as Yolanda looked down at her drink, watching the way the ice had started to melt, edges softening, collapsing in on themselves. Another ending that had come and gone. “It’s simpler,” she said after a moment, “this way no one gets hurt.”
Emery didn’t say anything to do that, which somehow felt worse.
Because it wasn’t entirely true, Yolanda had tried the other version once before. She had been freshly nineteen when she got into her first relationship, back when everything felt like it was dripped, no soaked, in beginnings and any endings felt so far away, that they might as well had not existed. Yolanda knew to play to her strengths already, of course, but knowing wasn’t quite the same thing as doing so she’d still been at Georgetown, miserable in Inés’ shoes that she could never quite live up to. She had been the only spot of happiness back then, her girlfriend, along with Heather of course, and the occasional phone calls home where she pretended to be happy. Yolanda hadn’t thought she’d marry her or anything. She hadn’t even really let herself think that far ahead, but it had been good. Easy, in a way her life hadn’t been before or since; there had been someone to come home to, someone who knew how she liked her coffee, who left the light on when she was running late and who filled the quiet without demanding anything from it.
All the small, unremarkable things people built their lives around. And it had worked too, until it hadn’t. Until Yolanda had realised that the life that had been mapped out for her, wasn’t necessarily the one she had wanted. Medicine had come later. It was messier, harder, demanding in ways that didn’t leave room for anything soft at the edges. Least of all a relationship that wanted time, and presence, and a version of her that wasn’t already exhausted by the rest of her life.
There hadn’t even been arguments, Yolanda had always had a temper like an incinerator, it burnt high and fast and left nothing behind save for ashes, yet she couldn’t even remember a single fight they had had. Their ending hadn’t been obvious back then either, all that remained in her memories was the way her girlfriend had looked at her like she was already halfway gone, like she was choosing something else, even before she’d admitted it to herself and maybe she had been. In the end, it hadn’t felt like much of a choice at all because you couldn’t have both. Not really, and Yolanda had made sure to go along with Medicine because she was certain it would last much longer.
She lifted her gaze again, expression smoothing back into something easier and practiced.“It works,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
Her phone stayed dark.
Eventually, their little oasis of day drinking soon had to give way to the normal responsibilities of life, their tab was settled, sunglasses put on and the women parted ways, with an easy promise to do this next week. It was firmly afternoon as she walked over to her silver Porsche, the sun was high and bright in the sky, washing everything in a sharp, almost accusatory light that made Yolanda feel rather overexposed. With one hand on the handbrake, she considered driving straight home, but her to-do list, handwritten in a little PTMC branded notepad, shook its head disapprovingly at her. So, off she went to Trader Joe’s instead, flinching already at the aggressively cheerful fluorescent lighting that awaited her alongside deceivingly looking unripe avocados.
Once she arrived, the grocery store was busy in the uniquely irritating way they always seemed to be on Sundays, as though it was everyone’s ,save for her, first day on Earth. People seemed to move without any sense of spatial awareness; their carts abandoned at angles that defied all logic.There were oodles of young couples milling around, arguing softly over things not worth arguing over, parents corralling their overstimulated children, tiny artificially coloured sticky hands and faces screaming their heads off and the retirees, giving everything a second glance as they eagerly hunted down something to send through a complaint concerning.
Yolanda moved through the aisles with clinical precision, she had never mastered the art of casual grocery shopping, the sort of people who wandered in and somehow left with ingredients that materialised into coherent meals deeply unsettled her. Maybe it was because she’d grown up in a house with a housekeeper and cook and not scrolls of handwritten recipes with a spoonful of this and a taste of that, passed down from one generation to the next. So she bumbled along instead, recipes open on one tab, ingredients list on the other, both checked over in triplicate.
She rounded the next aisle, tossing spinach, bell peppers, eggs, Greek yoghurt, and chicken thighs into the cart with practiced efficiency, along with the few spices she was running low on and some habanero peppers. Then she reached the world food’s aisle, pausing to pick up some of the frozen carimañolas that tasted heavenly after a few minutes in the air fryer, and that was when she saw it. The stupid fucking ramen
Yolanda stared at the red and white packet. It wasn't even particularly good ramen, if she was being honest, even for the instant kind. Overpriced and somehow too sweet and yet too salty despite the claims of authenticity. But Trinity liked it, or rather, they liked it.
Yolanda felt her thoughts drift backwards unwillingly, to a couple of nights ago. Twin bowls of ramen eaten cross-legged in Yolanda’s bed at one in the morning, the room dim except for the glow of her laptop playing some shitty straight to streaming movie. Trinity had been half-curled against the headboard, damp hair dripping still at the ends from their shared shower that naturally had gone on too long. Her hand darted out intermittently to steal the mushrooms and bok choy from Yolanda’s bowl even though she’d childishly refused any vegetables in hers, and Yolanda hadn’t even pretended not to let her. She’d been reading through case reports, the details blurred a little now, but the cadence of it, the ease of that night still remained.
It made a small part of Yolanda’s heart tremble, as her hand hovered over the packet. She glanced down at her phone, almost without thinking. Still nothing, she noted, as a hollow feeling bloomed low in her chest, some sort of irritation, she told herself immediately. Mild, justified irritation because she had been ghosted, but it felt embarrassingly sharp.
This was pathetic, Yolanda said to herself, the thought crisp, objectively pathetic. Her fingers tightened around the cart, as she reached up and grabbed the ramen anyway, just in case.
Once she finally arrived home, her usual routine settled over her like muscle memory. She unpacked the groceries, making sure the vegetables were washed, chopped and portioned into glass containers lined with military precision across the kitchen counter. The chicken was marinated and rice started in the cooker. Each step, she made sure to complete cleanly just like how she had been taught, until the kitchen looked exactly as it should. Granite countertops glossy from the thorough spray and wipe down she’d given them and the dinner components stacked neatly in the fridge. Only then did she change, pulling on an old Columbia sweatshirt, the fabric soft with age, before settling at the kitchen island with her laptop.
Tomorrow’s elective list stared back at her. Thankfully nothing seemed like it would be too complicated, she noted as she read through thoughtfully, knocking on wood for good measure. Two inguinal hernia repairs, a ventral hernia follow-up and a lap chole consult from upper GI. There were a few outstanding clinic notes to sign, and a trauma morbidity and mortality presentation she should probably spend another hour tweaking. She worked through it all with the familiar efficiency of habit, one hand absentmindedly reaching for her now lukewarm green tea.
Her phone sat face-down beside the laptop, silent until it wasn’t.
She ignored the first buzz, even as it startled her. It was probably Emery, she reasoned, or Parker, some follow up bullshit from the bar, but the phone buzzed once more, longer this time, almost more insistent. Yolanda’s fingers paused over the keyboard, she wasn’t on call, she thought to herself, but a small practical part of her brain soon supplied alternatives, maybe something had gone wrong with one of yesterday’s patients, a complication or some outstanding post-op discharge query blocking up beds. Her pulse quickened slightly, and slowly, with far more reluctance than was remotely believable, because she knew exactly who had messaged even as she lied to herself, she turned the phone over.
Trinity Santos PTMC E-med: heyy u up?
Trinity Santos PTMC E-med: sorry missed your call
Trinity Santos PTMC E-med: had other plans
Yolanda read the messages once, then again. It wasn’t anything complicated, there was nothing to interpret, no hidden meaning to extract but her brain seemed to stall as the words settled in. Had other plans, she repeated to herself, tasting each individual letter, she’d be a hypocrite if she got angry at Trinity’s blatant lie, a massive hypocrite. Her thumb hovered briefly over the screen. There were, theoretically, a number of ways she could respond. She could take a page out of Trinity’s playbook, throw back something delayed and measured, carefully calibrated to suggest that she had noticed. She did notice Trinity’s games, more than she cared to. But that wasn’t what they were, they weren’t some divorced couple operating in a language only they understood and moreover, Yolanda simply did not have the patience for that.
She typed quickly, efficiently:
?Yolanda Garcia: Yes. No worries, how are you
Her thumb stuttered as she pressed the question mark, then, almost as an afterthought, she hit send and the message delivered instantly. Read receipts on.
She set the phone back down beside her laptop, screen facing up this time, and then, because she had already broken the illusion of indifference, at least to herself, she stared at it, watched it. So that she wouldn’t miss when the typing bubble appeared and disappeared, and appeared once more.
Yolanda reached for her tea, now close to ice cold, and took a sip without tasting it, her attention split in a way that would have irritated her if she’d stopped to name it. Trinity finally sent her message through.
Trinity Santos PTMC E-med: good just missing u
Trinity Santos PTMC E-med: missing ur fingers
The phone slipped out of her hand in shock, catching thankfully on the edge of the counter as she dove to save it. Her eyes tracked the words once, then again, slower this time, as if a second look might make them rearrange into something more reasonable. The saliva seemed to siphon its way out of her throat, and with a dry mouth, she read it once more. Missing you, the phrasing was careless, Yolanda was most probably assigning a weight to it, an intent that Trinity hadn’t even considered. But that second line, now that was familiar territory.
Yolanda exhaled once, her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed out her response.
?Yolanda Garcia: Yeah? What are you going to do about it then
Trinity Santos PTMC E-med: convince you to come over and fuck me
Fuck, Yolanda didn’t even need a moment to think it over.
She slapped the laptop shut with more force than necessary, one foot coming in front of the other almost automatically. She stuffed a pair of pyjamas and tomorrow’s scrubs in a little bag, grabbed the ramen she had just bought after about half a second’s hesitation and after typing out a quick ‘on my way’, she headed to her car to drive the half hour’s journey to Trinity’s apartment.
The drive blurred.
In hindsight, Yolanda couldn’t have said much about it with any real accuracy, only that it had taken less than the usual thirty minutes and somehow felt both shorter and longer than that. Traffic lights registered as suggestions more than rules, the road unfolding in a series of instinctive decisions rather than conscious ones. She might as well have driven through Narnia.At some point, distantly, she registered that she was probably speeding. Possibly more than that but it didn’t particularly concern her. She kept a white coat and stethoscope in the backseat for a reason, after all nothing defused a situation faster than the suggestion of a medical emergency.
The city settled back into something recognisable as she turned onto Trinity’s street, the familiarity of it grounding her just enough. By the time she parked, her pulse had evened out and she was the picture of coolness.She grabbed her bag, the ramen crinkling faintly, and headed up.
The door was already opened by the time she reached the hallway. Trinity stood there, a picture framed in dark wood, like she’d been waiting, or had just happened to be there at the exact right moment. Her hair was slightly mussed in a way that made Yolanda’s fingers itch to push into it, and mess it up even more. Her expression, though, was strangely unreadable.
“Hey,” Yolanda said. She didn’t move any closer, hovering a few feet away waiting for an invitation as though she might burst into flames if she barged her way in.
“Hi,” Trinity replied as she stepped back slightly, hands still resting by her thighs, and fingers curling just enough to suggest a gesture. A small, almost absent beckoning motion, easy enough to miss, if Yolanda hadn’t been watching her so closely.
She took it as invitation enough.
“Whitaker at the farm?” she asked as she stepped inside, thinking back to the invite Trinity had offered before, more explicitly, that she had shut down. Because it was no fun pontificating on fucking Frank Langdon everyday of her life, or at least that’s the lie she selected to believe right that second.
“Yep,” Trinity nodded.
She set her bag down by the door, usually she headed straight to Trinity’s bedroom, but this evening , things felt a little different; something held her in place,“I sent you a message this morning,” she said for some inexplicable reason.
“Yep,” Trinity repeated, “was busy. Hanging out with a friend.”
Yolanda nodded once, that should have been enough. And yet, “oh which friend? Someone I know?” she asked, tone artificially light. The question hung there for longer than it should have. Yolanda didn’t examine why she’d asked it. Why she needed the answer. Why the idea of not knowing had been sitting somewhere uncomfortable at the back of her mind since the morning.
Trinity shrugged again, her gaze slid away as she spoke, those green eyes, beautiful eyes, stubbornly refusing to meet Yolanda’s. Trinity exhaled, a small and sharp one, “hey can we like not do this?” she asked quietly, “the small talk?”
Yolanda stilled, just slightly. There were a dozen responses available to her, deflection maybe, or humour, or perhaps irritation since it had been lingering close to the surface all day long.
“I mean,” Trinity went on, gesturing vaguely between them, “it’s,” she huffed out a breath, like she didn’t quite have the language for it, “we’re not friends or anything, you don’t need to know about my day.”
Something in Yolanda tightened. “Fine,” she replied evenly, “then what do you want me to know about?”
Trinity didn’t respond to that, at least not with words.
She closed the distance between them instead, and whatever thin layer of restraint that had existed in Yolanda’s mind, that she’d been holding on to since yesterday when Trinity had come chasing after her with a secret smile that spelt trouble, dissolved without ceremony. Yolanda barely had time to register the shift before she felt Trinity’s hand come up first, warm and familiar, catching lightly at the side of her neck. Her thumb brushed lightly beneath her jaw, grounding and guiding all at once and then Trinity’s soft pink lips were on hers.
They were kissing.
Yolanda exhaled into the contact, everything inside of her loosening. It was familiar, and she slipped into it without needing to think about it. There was however, something new about the way Trinity tasted, something salty maybe, like she’d just got done eating a family sized pack of chips.
It wasn’t unpleasant, so Yolanda responded almost desperately. Her hand came up instinctively, settling at Trinity’s waist as she tugged her in tight, with a touch more force than necessary. The kiss deepened, Yolanda took control letting her tongue push against Trinity as she tasted her, drank from her as though some part of her knew that the ending was fast approaching.
“Should we ahh,” she pulled away with a small moan, “should we head to your bedroom?”
“It’s fine,” Trinity shook her head, as her lips continued to trace a path down Yolanda’s neck, sucking on her jugular vein as it trembled like Trinity was trying to kill her. “We're the only ones home, no need to worry about that.”
That wasn’t what Yolanda was worried about, the concept of someone walking in on them hadn’t even crossed her mind, but the thought of doing this, out in the living room, the same room everyone traipsed through from the building superintendent to Doordash delivery drivers, it just felt a little impersonal. Like she was just that to Trinity, someone traipsing through.
“Oh okay,” she started to say, words dissolving into moaning again as Trinity bit down at her neck before she darted her tongue out to soothe the blooming bruise, “it’s just-” Yolanda exhaled, searching for something that sounded reasonable, “I played soccer today. Bit sore. Not sure I can umm do this standing.”
It wasn’t her best lie.
She expected Trinity to laugh, to tease, to make a joke, about her creaking bones, or her needing a DEXA scan or something. To say something easy and deflecting that would pull them back into familiar territory.
But Trinity didn’t, she lifted her head instead, lips slightly parted and delightfully swollen as her gaze settled on Yolanda with a kind of quiet assessment that lingered a fraction too long.Then she nodded toward the couch, “couch okay?”
Yolanda hesitated for half a second, it wasn't what she wanted. “Yeah,” she said, a little too quickly, “that’s fine.” It would have to be.
Trinity didn’t let her go as she led them over to the couch, a small feat considering the usual messy state of the apartment, but save for a singular near miss as a teetering stack of papers seemed to choose that exact moment to spill into their path, they arrived at their destination unscathed.
Yolanda barely registered any of it. Her attention was elsewhere, anchored entirely to the warmth at her neck, the steady pressure of Trinity’s hand, the taste of her and the way she didn’t pull back even for a second.And then, Trinity moved her lips away leaving Yolanda to chase after her greedily, but that seemed to annoy the younger woman. Trinity’s hand pressed more firmly at her shoulder, guiding, no, insisting, and Yolanda found herself tipping backward onto the couch.
She landed with a soft exhale, more surprised than anything else and for a split second, she just looked up at Trinity. It was new. Yolanda was used to setting the pace, controlling the rhythm, deciding where things went and how quickly they got there. It was easier that way, it was the way things had always been and as far as Yolanda knew, Trinity had always been happy with their dynamic. She didn’t usually… take.
But the visual of Trinity flushed and panting above her rewired a part of her brain, so much that Yolanda couldn’t complain. Trinity followed her down soon enough, both of her arms beside Yolanda’s head, closing the space again before Yolanda could fully process the shift. Her hand found its way back to Yolanda’s neck, grounding, steady, as her mouth returned to hers like nothing had changed.
Like everything had; Yolanda hesitated for half a heartbeat.
“Is this okay?” Trinity asked, noting the way she had grown quiet. Her voice was deep and throaty, the long column of her neck seemed to vibrate against Yolanda’s chest.
Yolanda could do nothing but whimper in pleasure and lean back into the cushions, letting Trinity set the pace for once. The kiss deepened again, slower this time, more deliberate, and Yolanda followed without trying to take it back.
“Take it off,” she demanded between deep breaths as her hands reached up to Trinity’s chest, tugging at the baggy t-shirt she was wearing. Trinity never really dressed up when they met up, Yolanda had never thought to notice, but in the months since they had known each other, Yolanda was certain she’d never seen her in anything but scrubs and old ratty t-shirts, and of course completely naked. It was odd, but not odd enough for her to contemplate doing anything about it.
Trinity ignored her wish, in favour of pulling herself up on her knees, one strong thigh on either side of Yolanda’s squirming body. “Take it off,” Yolanda repeated, “I want to see you.”
“You first,” Trinity countered, her eyes darkening to a deep green, like the green of moss covered trees, as Yolanda obeyed immediately.
Her hands found the hem of the simple blouse she was wearing and pulled it off in one swift motion.“See something you like?” Yolanda couldn’t help but say, like some sort of cheesy Austin Powers-esque seductress. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, knowing that it would only get in the way and so her chest was bare, heaving as she took in deep breaths under Trinity’s eager stare.
She’s never thought her boobs were anything to write home about, they had a bit of an awkward shape that she might have been insecure about if she was that type of person, but since the first night she’d fucked Trinity, the younger woman had been almost crazed. Trinity stretched her arm out, still on her knees, as she flicked one of Yolanda’s deep brown nipples. Her mouth followed immediately to tug the hardening nub in between her teeth.
“Stop teasing,” Yolanda growled, as Trinity had the guts to laugh at her, mouth still closed round her breast. She gave the bit of warm flesh a couple more licks before letting go.
“You shouldn’t be the one to have all the fun, all the time,” Trinity said, moving on to her left breast, “these are mine Garcia aren’t they?” she pinched the nipple in between two of her fingers.
It shouldn’t have been so hot, Trinity directly above her, and Yolanda completely at her mercy but it was. It was so very hot. Yolanda groaned in response, “stop teasing,” she tried again, “take off your t shirt at least, I don’t want to keep staring at fucking Nirvana when I fuck you.”
“What makes you think you’d be doing the fucking?” Trinity smirked.
Uhh everything in our ten month history, Yolanda wanted to say, the memory of Trinity begging while she was wrapped around her strap;wrapped around her fingers, was not something she could ever forget. But spelling it out like that felt too close to admitting something she didn’t even know herself. She frowned instead, pulling herself up to sit up against the arm of the couch as she stared Trinity down.
“Should have known you’d be a poser Garcia, you probably can’t name a single Nirvana song,” Trinity shook her head mockingly, “but fine, I’ll be nice.” She set a bit of her weight down on Yolanda’s stomach as her arms, scattered with tattoos that Yolanda longed to spend an afternoon tracing her tongue, reached upwards to pull the stupid t-shirt off.
“Well, what do you think?”
Yolanda froze, like actually froze. Trinity wasn’t wearing a bra either and Yolanda was very certain that if someone had decided to run a brain scan on her at that moment, they would have seen more dopaminergic neurons than anyone had ever thought possible, all firing at the same time. “Fuck Trinity,” she sighed.
“See something you like?” Trinity threw her words back at her, a beautiful smile colouring her features. She looked proud, like she’d been waiting for this reaction all along.
“When did you even get them done?” Yolanda’s mouth dried as she longed to reach over and take a tentative swipe with her tongue, just to see if Trinity would taste different.
“Last night. Went out with some friends, got a little drunk, made a few stupid decisions,” she shrugged, “so do you like them?”
“Of course I fucking like them,” Yolanda answered immediately, watching as the deep pink, almost red nipples strained around silver barbells, “are they too sensitive to touch?”
“A little, but you can try, just be gentle,” Trinity nodded.
“Okay,” Yolanda could hear how breathy her own voice sounded as she inched her fingers forwards and gently grazed one nipple, “too much?” she asked
“No,” Trinity groaned, pushing her chest forwards, “a bit more.”
“You sure? I mean we have time, I definitely have some ideas on what we can do once they fully heal.”
Trinity ignored that, her own hand moving upwards to brush against her breasts as she moaned wantonly.
“Fuck you’re so fucking hot,” Yolanda groaned jealously, “I knew it from the moment I saw you, I just had to have you.”
The praise seemed to work Trinity up more than any touch could do, something she had learnt early into their relationship, and she stopped holding herself up. Hands still on her nipples, twisting now, she dropped almost completely onto Yolanda’s flexed abdomen and grinded back and forth experimentally.
Yolanda looked up at Trinity in total bliss, she could feel the heat of her and the dampness through the boxers Trinity was wearing, that combined with the image that was straight out of her fantasies was enough to have her dripping.
“Do you want me to fuck you now baby?” she sighed, “or are you happy to get yourself off on my stomach?”
Trinity sighed, the grinding speeding up.
“I need an answer from you Trinity, pick one, do you want my fingers?” she brought her hand up to cup her through the boxers, “or do you want my stomach?” she flexed, giving Trinity a harder surface to work herself up on “or do you want me to go to your room and get out the purple strap you like so much? What do you want baby? I’ll make it good for you whatever you choose.”
“Fuck Garcia,” Trinity’s eyes fluttered shut, “I need you, I need your fingers,” she groaned.
“Great minds,” Yolanda grinned, “exactly what I wanted too.”
Trinity lifted herself back onto her knees before she climbed off Yolanda, almost mournful at the loss of contact. Yolanda slid across the sofa, settling herself deep into the cushions, she placed the abandoned Nirvana t-shirt underneath her bottom and spread her legs wide enough to house Trinity.
“Boxers off and come here,” she commanded, tapping the empty space.
“Boxers off?” Trinity asked, an adorably confused look on her face.
“Yeah baby, I want to see all of you. Come on, I need you,” Yolanda responded, feeling herself soaking through her thin linen pants, she hadn’t bothered with underwear either.
“Okay,” Trinity nodded, “just um I cut myself shaving today,” she pulled off her boxers, finally exposing the part of her Yolanda had been so hungry for, but something else drew her attention. There was a white rectangle, a bandaid the kind that they had everywhere in the Pitt, on her upper thigh. The cotton underneath the adhesive had a little spot of brown that had seeped through, visible even through the sticky gauze.
“Shaving?” Yolanda mirrored the puzzled look, “since when do you shave?” she looked at Trinity’s soaked cunt, and her inner thighs, covered with the dark wiry hairs, trimmed short but still very much present.
“Just wanted to um try something new,” Trinity offered, standing in front of Yolanda awkwardly, “until I cut myself, clearly I should stick to the whole full bush thing,” she laughed, high and reedy and very unlike her, “or maybe not get my razors from the suture carts.”
“Trin,” Yolanda started to say, she looked away from the bandaid, her eyes moving lower down to where a smattering of silvery cross hatched lines marked both of her thighs. She’d asked about them before, the first time they’d fucked in the afternoon, with the sun high and bright. Trinity had said something about mistakes when she was younger then she had been inexplicably busy for the next few times Yolanda tried to meet up with her. She’d taken it as a hint, to mind her own business, especially since it had been years, decades if Trinity was to believed.
But this, Yolanda paused.
“Stop looking at me like you’re considering a psych consult,” Trinity spoke, her tone was light, even though the words were anything but, “we get it you’re a good doctor, but I swear I was just trying to shave, give you a little surprise and my hand slipped so I gave up. I mean do you want to see the stupid razor?”
“No, no I believe you,” Yolanda responded immediately, “sorry I wasn’t thinking about um…” she trailed off, returning to comfortable territory once again. “You know you don’t need to shave for me? I like you just like this. And you like it too don’t you?” she rose from the couch, to wrap her arms around Trinity and pull her in , “you like it when I get you so wet that it all smears around like this,” she pressed her face into Trinity’s pussy, “and your bush holds on to the smell just for me. You like that don’t you?”
“Yes,” Trinity whimpered, thrusting her hips forwards as if to get Yolanda to open up her mouth and lick her dripping cunt instead of just holding her face there.
“No, no,” Yolanda said firmly, looking up to meet the other woman’s eyes, “ remember, you asked for my fingers didn’t you?”
Trinity moaned helplessly as she nodded.
“Good,” Yolanda praised, “you’re such a good listener, it’s what makes you such a good doctor,” Trinity moaned again at that, her knees buckling. “Come on then,” Yolanda grinned wolfishly, “let me fuck you.”
Trinity settled in between Yolanda’s open legs, the protest dying on her mouth immediately as Yolanda trailed her finger through her weeping folds without ceremony.
“Inside,” Trinity pleaded, “please go inside.”
Yolanda ignored her as her index finger traced a slow but steady path along Trinity’s pussy lips, dancing around her quivering clit and her opening that continued to drip out arousal like a leaky faucet.
“Please Yol-” her words broke off as she brought her knees together, trying to trap Yolanda’s hand there so that she could grind herself to completion.
“That was really naughty,” Yolanda smirked, pulling her hand away, “keep your legs open.”
“Sorry, I ju- I just need more,” Trinity whined, “please I need to feel you inside.”
“Then keep your legs open,” Yolanda repeated, “or I’ll stop.”
“No, I’ll listen,” Trinity cried immediately, knees snapping apart as she spread as wide as she could, straining against Yolanda’s legs on either side of her, “I promise, I’ll listen.”
“Good girl,” Yolanda smiled, rewarding her with a small flick to her bruised nipples.
Trinity whimpered at that, a damp spot rapidly growing on the t-shirt underneath them.
Yolanda finally brought her hand back down, she gave up on teasing this time, instead pressing the flat of her thumb right onto Trinity’s swollen clit.
“Ahhh thank you,” Trinity babbled, “thank you so much, god Yolanda please, just like that.”
She moved her thumb up and down slowly as Trinity tried her best to grind faster and increase the pace, but Yolanda wasn’t going to give in easily again. Her curiosity from earlier rose to the surface once more and without thinking she asked again, “you said you went out with a friend right? When you got these done?” she brought her other hand up to Trinity’s chest and gave her right nipple a small and gentle pinch.
“Fuck… fuck Yolanda… yeah,” Trinity continued to grind faster, as if her persistence might make Yolanda change her mind.
“Answer my question baby,” Yolanda whispered in her ear, “you look so beautiful like this, dripping over your couch all because of me. Who did you go with? Do I know them?”
“Yeahhh” Trinity sighed, “yeah, she just-”
“She?” Yolanda interrupted, she lifted her thumb away from the poor tortured clit, ignoring Trinity’s annoyed pout as her index finger resumed its ministrations, “it’s a she?” she’d expected it to be Whitaker, Trinity’s farmboy roommate, he was always cockblocking, but a she was new.
“Yeah,” Trinity nodded, “me and Mel, last night. Samira. Drinking then-” her words came out in broken phrases, as she threw her head back against Yolanda, arching her neck in such a way that it made sucking on her pulse point there, simply irresistible so Yolanda did just that. Relishing the taste of her sweat and the warmth of her skin.
“Then dare-” Trinity continued, “they dared me and I said yes.”
“Samira?” Yolanda asked moving on to suck and nibble on Trinity’s shoulder.
“Mohan,” Trinity clarified, “Yolanda please, I don’t think I can ahh I can take the teasing anymore.”
“Thank you for telling me baby,” Yolanda replied, not knowing exactly what part of the reply she was grateful for, “you’ve been so good so I think you deserve a reward don’t you?”
“I do,” Trinity responded hurriedly, “please your fingers. I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday.”
“Just my fingers huh?” Yolanda teased, letting her index finger slowly circle Trinity’s opening, “nothing else?”
“And your mouth,” Trinity babbled, “your tongue, your face, your eyes, your voice, everything.”
“Aww baby, that is so sweet of you to say, you’re so sweet to me aren’t you?”
Trinity nodded, “please?”
And with that, Yolanda finally let her finger dive into Trinity’s soaking cunt, she sighed as the walls squeezed her finger, holding on tight in case she decided to pull out suddenly.
“Another please?” Trinity begged
“Anything for my good girl,” Yolanda said as she listened, adding in her middle finger along with her index. She curled both of them up as she moved in deeper, watching with blown pupils as Trinity shook against her. Her other arm came up to wrap against Trinity’s waist and she used the opportunity, despite the odd angle, to grind her own still clothed pussy against Trinity’s bare ass. “Fuck you’re so hot Trinity,” Yolanda continued to whisper in her ear as she fucked her, fingers speeding up, “I can’t resist you,” she continued, “just seeing you gets me dripping, I can barely hold on.”
“Ahhh Yoli!” Trinity squealed, Yolanda felt her walls squeeze even tighter around her fingers as Trinity’s orgasm neared.
“Let go for me sweet girl,” Yolanda sighed, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, “I need to see you let go.”
Trinity stilled, her whole body freezing as her mouth opened in a silent scream. Yolanda continued to fuck her, pulling her closer with her other arm as she used her upper thighs as a fulcrum to increase the power of her thrusts. Trinity started to scream out loud then, her knees coming up to close again, this time too tight for Yolanda to pull her hand loose so she just kept fucking her, fingers soaking in the warmth of her cunt as she toppled over the edge.
“Please!” Trinity screamed one last time, before she fell completely slack, every ounce of energy leaving her body along with her orgasm.
Yolanda at last pulled her fingers out, she carefully extracted herself from behind Trinity, settling beside her as she brought her sticky and dripping fingers up to her eager mouth and she licked up every single ounce of arousal. The taste was bitter, a little salty and just Trinity. She moaned, unable to help herself, suddenly thankful for the dexterity the hours she’d spent practising surgical skills with her left hand had gifted her, as she reached underneath the waistband of her pants and plunged her fingers deep into her cunt with no warning. Exactly how she liked it.
“Fuck Yoli,” Trinity said by her side, voice still breathless, as she watched her.
“I can’t help it Trinity, this is how fucking hot you get me,” she groaned, the fabric covered her up, but the lewd movements did enough to communicate exactly how hard she was fucking herself, she wasn’t sure that she would last for even a minute. “Seeing you come for me is heaven baby,” she continued, rambling at this point, “it’s why I missed you so much yesterday. I could have been there with you, watching your pretty tits get pierced. I’d have kissed them better, right there,” she whined, “I wouldn’t have cared who saw, would you care baby?”
Trinity didn’t say anything to that, but she didn’t need to. Just her eyes, with the pupils dilated enough you could hardly see the emerald ring of her iris and her mouth hanging open in a gasp, was enough to have Yolanda falling into an explosion. “Trinity,” she screeched as she came, her movements growing clumsy until they stopped all together.
Trinity scooted over to her, hopping off the couch as she got on both knees and licked the hand Yolanda had just used to fuck herself clean. The image was almost enough to have her soaking wet again.
“Thank you baby,” she said, plunging her fingers into Trinity’s waiting mouth. The younger woman flushed bright red at her words, that was the thing about Trinity she found impossibly attractive, how one moment, she could beg for the dirtiest things as Yolanda fucked her with little shame and the next be a blushing mess at a simple compliment. “You’re getting me wet just looking like that Trinity, you want to go again?”
Trinity moaned at that, before remembering she’d been asked a question that required a response, with words, “I wish,” she said again, “but we’re both on shift tomorrow.”
“Fuck,” Yolanda groaned, dragging a hand over her face before letting it fall back against the couch. “You’re right. Twelve hours on a Monday, at least it’s bound to be interesting.”
“I hope not,” Trinity said, shaking her head as she shifted slightly beside her, back on her feet now, “I just want one easy, boring day.”
Yolanda huffed out a quiet laugh, “I know you, you’d totally hate that.”
“Maybe,” Trinity replied, though her attention already seemed to be drifting elsewhere, something quieter settling over her expression.“You can take the first shower,” she added.
Yolanda glanced over at her, a faint flirtatious smirk tugging at her mouth, “you don’t want to join?”
Trinity shrugged, easy, almost too easy, “maybe another time, besides,” she went on, not quite looking at her now, “you should probably head back before it gets too dark.”
Yolanda frowned slightly, the shift catching up to her a half-second too late.“What do you-” she started to say, her gaze flicking pointedly towards the small overnight bag she’d left by the door. The bag Trinity knew she always packed. “Yeah,” she said instead, a fraction too late, “sure, you’re right.”
Trinity nodded once, like that settled it, “okay, cool,” she said, already walking away, “I’ll um grab the stuff you left here last time while you get ready, I ran them through a wash and dry earlier. Thanks again, Garcia.”
Yolanda pushed herself up from the couch, slower this time, her movements lacking their usual precision. The apartment felt different all of a sudden, quieter and colder. Like how endings always felt. She shook her head, hoping to slot her senses back into place, it didn’t matter, she said to herself, this was exactly what she’d signed up for.
Simple. Clean. No expectations.
Her gaze drifted, unbidden, towards the hallway Trinity had disappeared down.Then she exhaled once, steadying herself, and headed to Trinity’s ensuite instead. She had afterall asked for the ending to be obvious and this was as clear as things got.