Work Text:
“She shoots….she scores!” Garcia cheers, throwing up her arms in celebration as the soccer ball misses Langdon's foot to hit the back of the net.
“Lucky kick," he grumbles, fishing it out of the tangle of weave to throw it back at her feet. The summer sun was in his eyes as it dipped behind her house, light right in his path.
She plays with the ball, using her sneaker to flip it onto the top of her foot. “God, you’re always such a shitty sore loser.”
He pushes his slightly damp hair out of his face with a grin. “I thought you loved me for my competitiveness.”
Garcia rolls her eyes, turning as the back door slides open, and her partner, Dr. Trinity Santos comes out onto the porch. "Oh, Trin, great, you're home!" Garcia says, forgetting the game and jogging across the lawn and up the steps to kiss Santos hello.
Langdon has a less-warm reaction, scratching the back of his head as he fucks around with the ball on the ground. Things have never been that great between him and Santos. They’ve both tried, for work and for Garcia, but they got under each other’s skins like grenade shrapnel on their first shift together and stayed there.
Santos loops an arm around Garcia’s waist. “Did you ask him?" Langdon's ears perk and he looks up.
"No, not yet,” Garcia says, grinning mischievously.
The sweat down his spine goes cold under their twin stares. Oh God, they’re gonna ask me for a threesome. “Ask me what?"
“Why don’t we go inside?” Santos suggests, her pale cheeks going pink all of a sudden and Garcia agrees. Fuck fuck fuck! They are!
He can’t deny he’s thought about it, imagined the two of them giggling in their lacy lingerie as they wait for him to climb into bed with them. (Maybe he's been watching a little too much porn on the especially lonely nights since Abby left him.) The most undressed he’s ever seen Yolanda is in her sports bra and shorts when they run together, but one time at a party, he saw Santos in a satin backless dress and next thing he and everyone else knew, his glass had shattered on the floor at his feet. Luckily, she’d been clear across the crowded room, because if she’d known what was going through his head, she’d be hissing taunting reminders into his ear every time they worked together. He couldn’t let her have that power over him.
So as he trails after them inside the house, he decides that when they propose the ménage-à-trois, he should accept as nonchalantly as possible. As if he gets offers like it all the time.
Garcia shuts the back door and now, enclosed in their living room with them, Langdon feels like a gazelle cornered by a couple of lionesses. He can practically smell the estratetraenol coming off of them. He might not even make it home tonight—back broken from too much sex.
"We need a favor,” Garcia starts and he nods, trying to keep his face neutral. She and Santos exchange glances then look back at him. “We want to have a baby. Before we go the other, more expensive routes, we'd like to try it the old-fashioned way. With you, if you're amenable."
Not a single word of that computes properly. A baby? Are they serious? Have they even been dating that long? Wait…“Y-you want me to--" he stutters out.
“Have sex, Langdon,” his friend finishes impatiently. “Yes."
His brow furrows. “Why me?"
"Well, there's lots of factors,” Garcia says, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jean shorts while Santos looks between her girlfriend and coworker. “We wanted someone we trusted and had good epigenetic data. Trinity didn't like any of the men in surgery. Robby's too old. Shen lives off of iced coffee. Abbot's too old and crazy. You've really taken care of yourself post-divorce and rehab, plus you already have two healthy children. And I know for a fact you haven't been with anyone since Abby so we wouldn't need to worry about STD testing."
He has a funny feeling in his stomach at the idea that they’ve apparently discussed the men in the ED at length. And at Garcia telling Santos about his sex life, or lack thereof. Like the woman needed any more ammo. He chuckles nervously, running a hand down the back of his head. “I don't know, Garcia. Don't you think this would ruin our friendship?"
"Oh,” she laughs, “it's not gonna be me. I have a bicornuate uterus."
"So--I--" His heart flips as he catches Santos' eyes, the jade color boring into him. Her? They want me to impregnate her? He gulps. “What about Whitaker?"
Santos finally weighs in, making a face. “Ew, I might as well ask one of my brothers."
"We agreed, platonically speaking,” Garcia explains, “you have the best features that could be passed on."
Langdon's not sure his face could get any redder. “I’m flattered? I don't know, guys. Ladies.”
"It would just be one time,” Garcia assures him. “If it doesn't take, we'll explore other avenues. It would be yours in genetics only. Not your financial or parenting responsibility."
Fuck, am I actually considering it? “Are you really okay with this?" he asks Santos directly.
She nods, unfazed. Even slightly...what? What is that under the surface? “Yes."
He wets his lips. “I need to think about it,” he declares. This was a way different ballgame than some harmless threesome. He had never even been alone with Santos before. He'd never let himself fantasize about a situation that didn't also involve Garcia.
Because that was the only way his thoughts about her, about Santos and him, could be okay.
"Of course,” Santos says.
"Don't take too long,” Garcia warns. “Trin's ovulating in two days."
Santos nudges her. “Stop, Lani. Take your time,” she tells him. “It'll happen next month too."
***
Langdon drives home in a daze. He misses his street and has to double back. He sits in the car with the engine off, awash in the glow from the light above his garage.
Who is he kidding? He’d fuck Whitaker twice just to fuck Santos once.
He leans back against the seat, rubbing at his erection that he’s had for God knows how long. It doesn’t matter that he’s parked in front of his house, neighbors on either side that could come out anytime. He can’t go another second without taking care of this.
He unbuttons his jeans and slips his hand inside, wrapping it around his penis, and closes his eyes as he starts to work it. He imagines being at work and seeing Santos with a baby bump under her scrubs. A baby that they'd made together. He won’t let her do any heavy lifting, even though she tries to prove her pregnancy is the exception to the rule. He rubs her shoulders as she charts, right in front of everyone, and she lets out grateful, satisfied moans.
Then he imagines what she'd look like underneath the scrubs, lying languid on his bed. Massive tits with darkening nipples. Her swollen stomach perfectly round, stripes of pink stretch marks decorating her pale skin. He'd open her legs to see her pussy, clit and lips engorged. He'd done that to her. She'd let him do that to her.
She’d asked him to do it to her. And everyone knew he had.
“Son of a bitch," he gasps out as he gives his cock one final tug and cum shoots all over his t-shirt. Breathing heavily, his head tips back against the seat.
His cock is still out as he reaches for his phone in the cup holder and texts Garcia.
I'll do it.
***
Two days later, she’s there, at his house. In baggy jeans and a charcoal grey tank top. Dark, shiny hair like an oil spill around her shoulders. Silver triplet hoops glittering in her ears.
He’s showered and examined his body to make sure there’s nothing gross on it, and changed a million times, and brushed his teeth and smelled his armpits and his breath and checked his appearance in the mirror over and over again so he no longer sees a person standing there. He’s feeling totally normal about tonight.
They’re sequestered in his thin, now claustrophobic kitchen, leaning against opposite countertops at opposite ends, each with a glass of bourbon next to their hand. He has no idea how to make conversation with her on a normal day, let alone tonight. “Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions, just to gauge my approach?"
She raises her eyebrows. “Your approach?"
His cheeks redden. "I was gonna ask about your experience with penetrative sex.”
Santos smirks at his discomfort, hoisting herself onto the countertop and reclining back against the wall. “Expert. Boss level.”
“With sex toys or—?”
“Obviously, with toys." She takes a sip of bourbon, wincing slightly. Her legs are open, bare right foot formed against her left knee, and he can't stop his gaze from dropping towards the seam of her jeans, his throat going dry as he thinks about the heat. She puts her glass down right into the negative space in front of it, and he blinks, glancing away. "Could you be any more obvious?" she laughs.
"What, am I not allowed to look at you?" he defends, lifting his own glass to his mouth.
Santos shakes her head as her gaze drops to her drink, her thumb running along the rim. "You're allowed," she says. "It's just funny how blatant you always are."
His stomach tightens painfully. She's seen? "I don't know what you're talking about."
She makes a face, raising her head. "Oh please. Like I ever had any doubt you'd agree to this. I know how you feel about me."
"I don't even know how I feel about you," he replies honestly. "I don't let myself even consider thinking..." His hands start to feel clammy and he puts the glass down on the counter before he shatters another one over her.
"But you considered this." When he looks back over at her, their eyes meet. Bright, clear green like sea water in the sun. His ribs suddenly feel weighted, drawn in by her sirenic gaze to come drown in the waves.
She's known, he realizes then. She has always known. All the hiding and the guilt and self-hatred was for nothing. She always knew she had him in her claws.
And yet, he can't completely surrender just yet. If he's going down, he's taking her with him.
"I did," he admits, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was intrigued that you of all people would want to carry my child."
Her eyes narrow. "Mine and Yolanda's child," she corrects.
He scans the apartment theatrically. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize she was here to contribute some sperm. Garcia?" he calls out. "If you're here to astound the scientific community, now's the time!"
"You're such a prick," Santos scoffs, sipping her bourbon.
"You're right, I'll just shut up and let my pretty epigenetic data do the talking. That's all you wanted me for, right? Or was there something else?"
The corner of her mouth smirks again, the cold snap of her withering glare ready to turn him to stone. "Like what?"
He can't humiliate himself any more to vocalize the exact suggestion. He moves forward, crossing the kitchen in a single step. He's blocked her in, head slightly above hers. He reaches down and pulls the bourbon glass out from between her open legs, and takes a drink, not missing the flutter of her pulse in her neck as his arm glides over her thigh. "You sure you're okay with seeing me every time you look at your kid? I mean, we don't exactly get along."
"Yeah, but I believe your tragic personality flaws are things that can be parented out." Her eyes flick down to his hand then back up at him. "You gonna get me a new drink, or what?"
"With where my mouth's going, you really care about sharing a glass?" Her collarbone flushes pink, like she hadn't even imagined that he might want to go down on her. Caress her split fig with his tongue. Suck her. Feel her writhe as he pins her thighs to the bed, spreading her open wider and wider.
As if reading his mind, she puts her hand against his chest and pushes him back. "Ok." She swings her legs around and comes down off the counter, clearing her throat as she hikes her jeans back around her waist, and settles her hands on her hips.
He places the stolen drink on the countertop behind him, his back against the fridge. "Seriously, Santos. I know why Garcia voted for me. Why did you?"
"I dunno, okay?" she answers, her shoulders up to her ears. "I guess I trust you."
"You trust me," he repeats, dumbfounded. "Why?"
She looks like she's never wanted to answer a question less in her life. "Come on, Langdon. You know why. Beneath that asshole exterior, you're a good man. A good father. And if the time came when my child grew up and wanted to know you, I wanted to be able to say yes. To let you into their life. I know you wouldn't let them down."
He surges forward to close the space between them; his hands meet at her neck, sliding under her hair as he kisses her slowly. Tasting her. He tilts his head the other way and captures her mouth again. Her fingers lift up to circle around his wrists.
“Okay?” he asks, eyes shut, forehead against hers. "Or are we against kissing for this?"
“No, I'm--Kissing--kissing's good. It's my favorite part, actually.” They do it once more, sagging into it this time. "Do you think we could, um--" She covers her face with her hand. "This is stupid."
"What?"
Her skin grows hot beneath his palms as she blushes. "Can we start it off like an exam? Like y-you examining me?"
He grins, tucking her hair behind her left ear. "You want to play Doctor, Dr. Santos?"
"It relaxes me. Maybe it’ll relax you too.”
“I’m not nervous.” She gives him a look. “Ok, fine, I am. But I really wanna fuck you,” he blurts out. His own cheeks burn as he realizes what he's said. "Sorry, that's the bourbon talking."
Her hand reaches down between them to find the bulge in his jeans and he tries to suppress the groan, but his face gives him away. "Is this the bourbon too?" she giggles.
He lifts his arm to brace above her head, gazing down at her. "No, you have your big, beautiful eyes to thank for that."
Her expression hardens, growing serious. "You can't fall in love with me."
"We're a long way off from that, sweetheart. Just giving you a compliment."
"You're a good kisser," she allows.
"Thank you."
"For a man."
He smiles. "I'll take it."
She jerks her head towards the hallway. "Bedroom?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
***
She's surprised that his sheets are purple, a deep plum color that goes well with his dark wood furniture. Maybe he got the bed sets in the divorce. Or maybe she's not the only queer person in the room. She's never thought of Langdon as having good decorating taste.
Now she can't help wondering if he's ever been fucked in the ass. Or if he'd like to be.
"Could you put your scrubs on?" she asks, hands clasped behind her back as she looks around the room, anywhere but at him. "Since you have them?" Anything to help set the scene, the fantasy. Thank God he's also a doctor, because this would be just a little too humiliating otherwise.
Langdon doesn't falter. "Sure." He goes into his closet and comes back out a minute later in his black scrubs, noticeably with no shirt underneath. "I don't have any gloves here," he apologizes.
The corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. They're about to have unprotected sex and he's worried about touching her with no gloves on. "That's ok."
In the ensuite bathroom, he washes his hands, whether for her benefit or just habit, she isn't sure. He leans back to look at her across the threshold. "Are you ready?" She nods, her stomach twisting with excitement and nerves. "Okayyy," he drawls out as he crosses back into the bedroom, checking a fake tablet, "Trinity. I'm Dr. Langdon. What brings you in today?"
The words just slide out of her. "I'm having trouble reaching orgasm. No matter what my partner and I try, I can’t get there." She glances down at her bare feet on the hardwood. "I’m worried something’s wrong.”
If surprise were money, Santos just got a fat paycheck direct deposited from Langdon. She can tell that whatever he thought she was going to say, that wasn't on the list. He clears his throat. "Any pain or discomfort during sex?” he asks, doctor autopilot running while his brain obviously tries to get a grip.
She shakes her head. “No. I just can’t," she confesses. "Even by myself, I can’t.”
“Well, I’m sure nothing’s wrong with you. It’s most likely psychosomatic, but I’ll run some tests.” An amused beat passes between them, forcing itself through the haze of awkwardness; they both know from their shared career how wrong of a turn this is taking.
“What kind of tests?”
"Why don't you start by removing your shirt?" he suggests, though eyeing her for permission or cues that this is what she wants. Without pause, she pulls her tank top off over her head, revealing a simple black bra. Not like she was gonna wear the good stuff for him, but she gets the impression that she could've worn her rattiest, tattiest bra and he would still be staring like she was walking in the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. She watches with inner smugness as his eyes fixate on the mole just near her cleavage, previously hidden by fabric. “And your bra, please," he manages, sounding like his throat has gone dry.
She reaches behind herself with one hand, unhooking the clasp, and he draws in a short breath as the cups fall away from her breasts, the straps sliding down her arms. If she'd known she'd have this much fun, she would've done this months ago. “Does everything look normal, Dr. Langdon?” she asks in an innocently nervous voice, her eyes widening.
He wipes his hands on his pants, as if they've gone clammy. “Yes. Let’s suppose you were with your partner. Do you think you can walk me through how you typically start to get aroused?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Do you want me to tell you or show you?”
“No, you can—you can show me.”
She smiles. “Ok, well, first I like to feel their hands in my hair while they kiss me." She lets him approach her, his fingers diving back into her hair as his mouth meets hers again. His body is warm against hers, the cotton of his scrubs brushing softly against her nipples. She lets her hands rise to his arms, feeling the hard muscle of his biceps. "Then they kiss my neck, and one of their hands can move to my back." He follows her instructions, dipping his head to press kisses to her jaw, her earlobe, and finally her throat. She sags into it as her body relaxes. "And then I like when they play with my breasts, teasing the nipples, bringing them into their mouth.”
"Like this?" he asks softly, stooping as his big hands cup her breasts, his tongue flattening to lap at one of her peaked pink nipples, before he sucks in between his lips.
"Yeah," she says hoarsely, hand threading through his hair as she watches his ministrations. He moves from one breast to the other, performing symmetrical adorations, and her cunt starts to throb with pressure. Her head tips back, her eyes falling shut. "Yes, Doctor," she moans. "Just like that."
Suddenly he breaks script, whirling her around and pressing his hard cock against the base of her spine, palming her breasts as he sucks and nibbles at one of her ears. He slips a hand between her thighs, over her jeans, and rolls his fingers against her pubic bone. Santos moans again, her back pressing into his chest, holding onto the back of his neck.
"You like that?" he breathes into her shoulder.
"Yes," she whimpers, hips starting to buck into his fingers.
“Good. I need you to take your pants off so I can finish the exam," he says, hands falling away from her skin, snapping her back to reality. She undoes the button on her jeans, rasping the zipper, and pushes them to the floor. She reclines down on the edge of his bed in her black cotton panties, propped up on her elbows. “Keep telling me what you like.”
“I like having my pussy eaten,” she announces, tossing her dark hair off her shoulders. “But you’ll probably charge me some exorbitant fee for that test.”
“Not at all, it’s covered by your insurance.”
She can’t stop herself from smiling at how well he plays along. An easy to train dog.
He gets down on his knees in front of her, torso between her parted thighs. “If you’re amenable, I’d like to try something I learned in med school, that I think you’ll find quite effective in alleviating your symptoms.”
“By all means.”
As he kisses one thigh, his fingers slip underneath the line of her panties, caressing the outskirts of her cunt and the juncture of her hip. Her head falls back as his breath ghosts over her clit, his lips sliding over the fabric between them, his tongue darting out to taste the moisture pooling on the cotton. “I do think we’re seeing some progress already.” He squeezes her thighs like they're made of fresh bread dough, working them and her pubic bone to send more blood rushing to her cunt. The pressure between her legs is going to cleave her open if she doesn't get release soon, but she can't stop watching how he works. She had it on good authority most men hated this job, but Langdon approaches it with as much focus and dedication as if she were a patient in a Trauma room.
Her heart skips as he drags her panties down and off, discarding them next to her jeans. He shoulders between her legs again, fingers running over her dark bush. “Well, I can tell you there’s absolutely nothing physically wrong with you.” He spreads her open, reveling in the pink, and Santos bites her lip. “You’re perfect.”
Langdon's intense blue eyes flick up to meet hers as he leans in, his tongue burrowing into her core for the source of her arousal, bringing it out and up around her clit. She breathes in through her nose and finally drops onto her back; she closes her eyes and relinquishes herself to the sensation. After a few moments, he pauses to suck on his middle and ring finger, before slipping one and then the other into her, the tip of his tongue honing back in on her clit.
“Can you—A tiny bit to the left. My left. Yes. Ah,” she moans, arching her neck as his left hand presses her abdomen down towards the mattress. “Ah, fuck.” That hand slides up to grip her breast as the other tugs inside her, his tongue fluttering against the spot she’d directed him towards. She covers his hand on her chest with hers, thumb rubbing over his thin knuckles that she watched his wedding ring slide around on so many times. Thank God for that divorce, because where would she be in this hour of need without a willing Langdon? Was he the type to cheat? A long time with no orgasm could make someone do crazy shit--case in point.
"Yeah, just like that," she whispers, hips starting to fuck his face, his fingers stealing her voice. He hums with some type of satisfaction against her clit and she gasps, jerking up to fist her free hand at the crown of his head. Without looking, he uses the hand that was on her breast to push her back down by her sternum, and she grabs hold of it, putting his index finger in between her teeth, licking her tongue against the side of it. He doesn't make a sound but she can feel the reflex of his lips mouthing fuck against her.
Her body feels like a live wire, surging, sparking against everything it touches. Her hips are moving on their own like a wild animal, riding his face and hand, desperate even at the obscene sound he's working out of her. The room smells like sex. She really thought she'd already be on her way home by now.
And then she feels it, the crossing into the endzone. If she were feeling violent before, she's murderous now. It's all within her reach, and Langdon must be able to feel it too, because he's shifting, pulling on her, moving to get a better angle, and then he's pumping his fingers inside of her so hard and fast she thinks she might black out. "Oh, rightthererightthererightthere!" she cries, her whole body contracting, her breath held, begging. "God, I'm gonna come," she chokes out. Her fist is tearing out his hair, pushing his face further into her soaking, throbbing cunt. And just as she reaches the peak, she feels his pinky finger press into her puckered, convulsing anus, shooting her up into the air, the sob high in her throat as she explodes like a rocket. “Fuck, Langdon!”
She collapses against the bed, releasing him and gasping for air. "Holy shit," he says as he rears back and stands up, the bottom half of his face bright pink from a job well done. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, getting every last drop of his spoils. "That was--" He laughs victoriously. "Holy shit."
"Shut up," she exhales, bare chest rising and falling as she's still splayed out on his bed. "You're ruining it." There you are, old friend. Nice to see you again. When the last wave crashes, she rakes her fingers through her hair, then sits up. "What the hell was that thing with your finger in my ass?"
"That was what I learned in med school," he replies.
"Where the hell'd you go to med school? The University of Rough Service?"
He rolls his eyes. "One, it wasn't in your ass, it was against it, and two, it worked, didn't it?" A beat passes with her glaring at him, then he adds, "But if you didn't like it, I apologize. It was just part of the roleplay."
Her face cracks into a smile. "I'm just fucking with you. Take off your clothes,” she orders, standing up. "Come on!" she urges, tugging on his scrub top as he recovers from the whiplash of their dialogue. He yanks it over his head, revealing planes of muscle carved from years of emergency work, and a brown tree of hair whose roots disappear below the waistband of his pants. She drops to her knees, pulling those and his boxers down, his erection springing free. Jesus Christ, she thinks. So 'Big Dick Langdon' wasn't just a nickname bequeathed due to his attitude. It was a physical fact.
"Oh God," he gasps, his head forced back at the sensation of her guiding his cock into her mouth. "I was not expecting you to do that. Shit."
Used to silicone dildos, she’s surprised by the warmth and velvety smoothness of his cock against her tongue. How it and he react to touch. The closest she’s ever come to this is sucking on a toy attached to someone’s harness, and while the image is arousing, the toy has no nerve endings. It’s not flesh and blood. She’s never felt the visceral reaction of sucking someone’s dick before.
Langdon’s long fingers are in her hair again. She can’t remember the last time she felt this powerful, even though she’s on her knees. She opens her eyes and looks up at him; he’s staring at her, pupils lust-blown, chest heaving. It’s a look he’s given her before without knowing it.
It’s how she knew he would do anything she asked.
He lets her suck him off for a few more seconds before he’s tearing away. “That’s not how you get pregnant,” he chuckles.
“No,” she agrees, wiping the spit from her mouth as she gets to her feet, trying to send the salty beads of precum to the back of her throat. “But now this is only gonna last thirty seconds.”
He laughs. “Oh please. I can get you off three more times before I’m done.”
"Whatever," she scoffs, "I basically hand-delivered that first one to you."
"Three more," he repeats seriously. She doesn't even want to let herself believe she'll have four orgasms tonight. It's too greedy, there's no way--Suddenly, a gasp steals out of her throat as he hoists her up and throws her forcefully back down on the bed, her body bouncing a little as she hits the mattress.
He climbs up, dick swinging between his legs, her heart hammering as he hovers over her; he lowers himself to kiss her, trading back their tastes, and her hands run up his back, slotting his body in between her open thighs.
"You're so fucking wet," he groans into her neck as his erection rubs over her cunt. "Who did that to you?"
"Some doctor," she sighs over his shoulder. "I don't remember his name."
He lifts his head, eyes dark. "Is that how it is?" She gives a little tilt of her head, challenging him. "Maybe this doctor should be the one knocking you up," he suggests.
She smirks. "When this inevitably fails, I'll give him a call." Before he can think of another retort, she says, "Do you mind getting the lube? It's out there in my bag."
"I've got some," he says, shifting off of her and opens up his nightstand drawer. Was that leftover from his marriage or did he have some kind of fleshlight in there as well? "Is this the first actual penis you'll have had inside you?" he asks.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she shoots back automatically, before figuring it doesn't hurt her to be honest. "Yes, it is. Why?"
He squirts some lube into his hand and rubs it along his shaft. "I was gonna make a suggestion about positions. I think you on top will be the most comfortable for you." He wipes the excess off on his thigh.
"I mean, I have strapped before. How different could it be?"
"I dunno, dude, you just sucked my dick. How different was it?"
God, she really hates him sometimes. "Fine," she surrenders, making a space for him to lie down and gestures towards it. "Please."
Langdon gives her a look. "I'm not trying to be an asshole. The last thing I want is for you look back on the night your child was conceived as painful."
She raises her eyebrows, still waiting for him to lie down. "You mean, besides this conversation?"
He sighs, glancing away. "Look, maybe we shouldn't--"
"I want to," she insists, her body already gnawing at itself for another orgasm. "I appreciate the concern, but I'll be okay. You know I'll tell you if I'm not."
He cracks a smile at that, a point he can't argue with. "Ok. Let's do this." He gets back onto the bed, lying down in the center with his head against the pillows, dick flopped up against his stomach. She's not worried about the size; she's experimented with a wide range of toys before. She is anxious, however, that Langdon, being a real person, will find all of her moves weird and off-putting. That after all the build-up in his mind, he'll think she's bad at sex. How fucking embarrassing would it be if she couldn't get him off? Wait, did he stop the blowjob so soon because she was terrible at it? Is that even possible?
Why do you even care what he thinks? she asks herself. Nobody would ever even believe you two had sex anyway.
That's true. The two of them can't even believe it.
Santos swings one leg over his hips to straddle him. "Take your time," he says. He lets her have full control, watching without breathing as she holds his cock at the base and lowers herself down slowly. "Oh fuck," he moans as he's sheathed inside her, hands grabbing at her hips. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she exhales, fingers splayed across his ribs to steady herself. It's such an odd sensation, being able to feel him with every little breath and movement. A groan escapes from her throat as she starts to rock her hips and she takes hold of his hands, pressing them against her breasts.
"You look so fucking good," he tells her, his palms warm on her peaked nipples.
She tosses her head to sweep her hair off her shoulders. "Are you pretending I'm your ex-wife?"
"What? No. Are you pretending I'm Garcia?"
"Trying but she doesn't have nearly as much chest hair as you." She lets out a little grunt as she picks up the pace.
“Whoa, slow—Slow down,” he instructs as his sits up, arm around her hips, rocking up into her as she rocks down, her mouth falling open. “Yeah?” he whispers, and she nods, letting out a little whimper as he does it again. Why are his eyes so fucking blue? “Kiss me.”
She dives her fingers into his hair, tits smashed against his chest as she captures his mouth, while he keeps fucking up into her slowly. "You're so deep," she sobs against his lips, like a confession she can't hold onto anymore.
"I know," he laughs. "I can feel it." He kisses her jaw and she feels his thumb graze her clit in the micrometer between it and his pelvis. "Such a good girl, you took it all."
"Shut up," she hisses, pushing him backward until she's completely on top of him. "Fuck," she whines into his neck as she starts to move again, this time feeling the way he slides halfway out of her and then back in, over and over.
"God, yeah, give it to me," he breathes, his hands exploring her back and then bravely gripping her ass, guiding her strokes so that he hits that spot in her every time. Son of a bitch, that feels good. His spine arches under her, his neck stretching. "Oh, Santos, just like that."
She can't deny how erotic it is that this man who once berated her in front of most of their coworkers is now naked and submissive under her, pleading for her to keep fucking him. That he needs her, wanted her, and that she could take his pleasure away at any moment, leaving him aching.
Yeah, she could do that...if it didn't feel so good for her too.
She pushes herself up onto her hands, braced on either side of the pillow, her forehead against his. "Langdon," she forces out against the untenable tingling in her body. "I want--I-I want--"
"What?"
"I want your cum. I want you to fill me up."
He chuckles. "Not yet, baby. But if you wanna go fast, we can go fast.” He bends his knees, grabbing her hips as he tilts her up, and then he's pounding into her, their skin slapping together, and her fingers are gripping his sheets so tightly she's going to tear holes in them.
“Oh Goooooddddd, fuuuuuuuuuckkkkkk," she yells. No, she can't be, not yet--
And then she's gasping for breath again as she releases around him, trembling in his arms as the pleasure cascades over her.
He pushes her sweaty hair away from her ear and whispers proudly, "One."
"Ugh, get off me," she swats and rolls away, wincing slightly as his cock slides out of her completely. They lie next to each other on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. "You better not be edging," Santos warns. "Making this last longer than it needs to."
"Why are you complaining?" Langdon shoots back, looking over at her. "You've gotten to come twice already and I haven't."
"I just wanna get this over with!" she snaps, turning her head just in time to see the flash of hurt in his eyes. Oh, come on, Langdon. He can't seriously think she's doing this with him because she wants to.
She can't leave until he gets off. He needs to stop making her come and just blow his load already, then she can go home.
"What do you need from me?" she asks, sitting up. "You want me to jerk you off with my feet, my tits, what?"
His face is set as he studies her, thinking, deliberating. Finally, he moves, shifting behind her. "Get on your knees."
"I'm already--Oh, you mean--" She tips forward onto all fours.
“Here, face this way," he says, angling her a few degrees to the right. "You can watch in the mirror.”
Of course the dog likes doggy-style.
Their reflections are crazed--flushed skin, wild hair, sweat gleaming. She doesn't even recognize them.
He yanks her hips up towards his, sliding back into her, and she hates seeing the pleasure wash over her face so much that she buries it in the comforter. “Shit,” she groans angrily, fabric fisted in her hands again as he ruts into her.
But then he stops. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” she asks, voice muffled.
She feels him shift inside her as he leans forwards, hands sliding over her chest to pull her up, his heart beating through her spine. “You don’t get to hide from this,” he says into her hair. “I said I want you to watch.”
“Maybe I don’t want to watch.”
“Yes, you do. You wanted this. I’m not gonna come inside you if you can’t handle the fact that it’s my baby.”
“That’s not the problem,” she replies and she sees in the mirror as the grin spreads over his stupid face.
“Oh, I get it,” he says, hands massaging her breasts. “Don’t worry, Santos. No one has to know you liked it. You and Garcia can laugh about how I came in ten seconds for all I care. This is between you and me.” He kisses her shoulder. “So what’s it gonna be?”
She resists the urge to elbow him in the face, smug bastard. “I’ll watch, so long as you stop treating me like a fucking virgin.”
“Tell me what you want me to do, baby, and I’ll do it.”
I'm not your baby. “Can you handle giving it rough to the mother of your child?”
His eyebrows shoot up, piqued with interest. “How rough? Not enough to leave a mark, I bet.”
As much as she wants to leave looking like she came out on top in a fistfight, she can’t explain that to Yolanda. No getting slapped in the face or claw marks for her tonight. But she’s sure Langdon won’t have a problem improvising. “Works for me.”
His right hand slides up her chest to form around her neck and he turns her head towards her shoulder, kissing her from behind, tongue sloppily entering her mouth. Her hips push back against his and he sucks in a breath.
"Oh, you like being the one fucked, don't you?" she teases.
"Sometimes," he allows, but then he takes over. "Your pussy's so fucking tight," he groans into her shoulder, barely audible over the sound of their skin slapping.
"Did I keep it nice enough for you, daddy?" she asks, a twinge of babygirl to her voice. Her dignity left the building about fifteen minutes ago, she reasons, so she's just going to get what she came for at any cost. But once again, to her intense frustration, Langdon slows, straightening up, and she twists around indignantly to see what the problem is.
"Can you not say that stuff, please? I have a daughter."
She shrugs. "I'm sorry, I thought that's what guys liked."
"Santos, let's be honest. You don't know anything about men, or at the very least, me."
Her face invents a new shade of red. Crazy that he can say that to her with his dick still inside her. She clears her throat. "What do you like, then?"
Looking down at her, he blinks, slowly. "Can you just be yourself, please?"
For a fleeting moment, she wants to call it quits right there. Cut her losses and run. Maybe brain him with the bourbon bottle on the way out so he doesn't remember they ever even met, and then maybe do it to herself for good measure.
But Trinity Santos doesn't quit, especially not when she has everything she needs to win.
"Ok," she acquiesces. "No more games." She turns back to their reflections in the mirror. His gaze is still downcast, somewhere around her spine. "You're still in me, dude," she reminds him. "Just start."
"Do you like to be spanked?" he asks.
She smirks. She does know something about men. "Yeah. Don't do it too hard, though."
"Right. No marks." He brings his open palm down against her right asscheek, enough to make her yelp as the shock runs pleasantly through her system. "Again?" She nods fervently. He hits her on the other one and her eyes fall shut with glee, her hips pushing back to acquire the full length of his cock. He shivers, head dropping back before resuming a slow, pumping pace. "Shit, Santos."
"Pull my hair while you fuck me," she says, in a voice that doesn't even sound like hers but is. He obliges, gathering a fistful of her brown hair from the back of her head. "Harder." He tugs on it. "No, fuck me harder," she clarifies.
"Sorry," he mumbles, loosening his grip and quickening his thrusts.
"Mm, yeah, just like that," she sighs. She doesn't know who these people are in the mirror, but they're doing something incredibly hot and wrong. "Just like that."
"You like the way I fuck you, don't you? You like the way I feel inside."
"Yes," she whines, voice broken by the force of his pounding. She's about to reach between them to rub her clit, but he beats her to it, folding over to hold her to him. "God dammit, Langdon," she growls out, face screwing up as she mounts towards another orgasm at his hands. He's got her from all angles--arm pressing into her tits, fingers working her clit, cock jackhammering into her from behind. "Oh my God. Oh my God, fuck!" she screams, Langdon tethering her to him as she comes again. He rides the wave with her, slow rolls of his hips without pulling out.
"That's it," he whispers against her shivers. "Good girl." After a few moments, he adds, "You got one more in you?"
Santos is exhausted. She could pass out right here, face down in his comforter. She's not sure her clit can take any more. How was this divorced guy who hadn't had sex in months outlasting her? But what she says is, "Yeah, dude, I'm a lesbian. We can go all night."
He gives a little incredulous mmhmm. "Now, this," he says, flipping her over again onto her back, interlacing their fingers and pinning her hands above her head. "This is how you get pregnant." Her hips are sore from being stretched but her heels dig into the base of his spine, bracketing him into her. Their bodies are both sheened in sweat.
He kisses her hard, and she moans against his mouth as he fucks into her, slow and deep at first but then faster, chasing it. He lets go of her hands as the pace picks up, needing to prop up for a better angle, and they crawl up to his back, bruising his shoulders. His breath becomes ragged, as he finally, finally gets close to the mountain she's climbed three times already. "God, Santos. Oh, God."
He's about to shatter and she knows it. "I want it. Gimme all you got."
"Jesus fucking Christ," he sputters out. She can feel it when he comes, the warm wet heat inside of her, his muscles tightening and releasing all around her, and the knowledge that this was probably the millionth time he'd spilled cum over her, that he was so down bad and desperate for her and that she'd been able to use that to her advantage, knocks her over the edge a fourth time.
"Fucking hell," she sighs with his full body weight on top of her, legs dropping like lead off his back. That last one was the smallest, thankfully, the kind she used to be able to give herself at home alone. Langdon shifts back up onto his elbows, trying to collect himself, and her arms fall away from his sweaty neck. He pulls out, coated in both of them and lube, and wipes himself moderately dry on her bush. She doesn't care, too spent and satisfied to give a shift about anything right now.
He rolls off her onto his back, panting. "That's three."
"No," she corrects. "You said three before you got off. That last one was after."
He closes his eyes, inhaling deep. "Whatever. Point is, I got you off multiple times."
“Aw, and was it everything you'd dreamed of?" she teases, bumping his arm with hers.
"Shut up." When he sits up and turns away from her, she can see little half-moon marks scattered across his pale back, red droplets of blood oozing out of a few, and she resists the urge to lap them up.
They're done. It's over. Stop it.
“I'm gonna use your bathroom," she announces, pushing herself up with effort. Her inner thighs are coated in slick and there's a wet spot on his comforter she's not going to apologize for. She gets off the bed, legs as wobbly as a newborn calf, gathers her clothes from the floor, and disappears into the bathroom.
***
Langdon pulls the scrubs back on in a haze while Santos does whatever she's doing in the other room. He feels emptied out, dirty in a way a hot shower won't fix. There was something off about the whole evening. The things she'd let him do to her, had let him say, didn't feel like the Santos he knew. Like the Santos that was dating Garcia and had loathed him since their first shift together.
The transactional element had seemed to fall away before he'd even taken his clothes off. It had started to feel like it was more than that. Intimate in a way he didn't think she'd ever let them be.
Maybe he's reading way too much into it. If the pregnancy takes, eventually he'll have to watch a little kid that looks like him--like them--grow up and not be involved at all unless Santos and Garcia want it. His son and daughter will have a half-sibling they don't know about. Abby won't ever know he had a child with another woman, and his parents won't know they have another grandchild.
It all felt okay in the moment because he wanted her. Trinity. The offer had been like winning the lottery--the initial high, the rush of excitement, but now he's burdened with all these thoughts and feelings he doesn't know what to do with. Now, standing alone in his bedroom while she freshens up, he feels intense, irrevocable regret.
The bathroom door opens and Santos turns off the light before emerging, fully dressed, her dark hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. It's a strange consolation prize that she looks as awkward as he feels. “Ready to go?" he says, and she nods. "Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
He follows her to the front door, where she scoops up her bag and fishes out her keys, then down into the driveway where her little green sedan is parked. The sun is just about set, the sky flowered with rose and violet, and the high heat of the summer day has passed. He stands in the grass as she unlocks the passenger side door and tosses her bag inside.
“Trinity," he says suddenly and she pauses, her hand on the edge of the door, turning to look at him. The sound of her name in his mouth is somehow more intimate than when he was just inside her. "If you ever need anything, for the baby—You don’t ever have to worry, okay?”
“Oh God," she groans, her other hand lifting to cover her face.
His heart plummets into his stomach. “What?”
“Dude."
“What?" he insists, panicked now. "What did I say?”
“No, not—Fuck." She drops her hands to chest-level, her fingers splayed. "There’s not going to be any baby," she reveals. "I’m on the pill. Been on it for my cycle since I was fifteen.”
He feels like he's going to puke from shock. “Then why—?”
“It’s a…"--she looks around and lowers her voice a little--"fetish thing. It was for me and Yolanda both. This was my thing, now I’m gonna go home and do hers.”
“What the shit, Santos?!" he yells, mind spinning so fast he forgets they're outside and he has neighbors and how it looks for a man to shout at a woman in public. Though, if she had never deserved it before, she certainly did now. "I don’t even—How could you lie about that?”
Her brow furrows defensively. “Will you relax? It was supposed to be fun; you’re the one that got all Catholic about it.”
He shakes his head. “That was sick. You’re sick.”
“Oh please," she replies, arms dropping to her sides like he's being lame. "You loved it. You wanted it.”
Langdon lets out an incredulous scoff. "I didn't want that. If you wanna fuck me so bad, Santos, you don't have to make up some bizarre, twisted mind game. Just ask."
Her jaw clenches, her green eyes practically glowing with anger. “If I ever actually wanted to fuck a man, it would never be you."
“Right," he drawls out, seeing it all clearly now. "So all of that stuff about knowing I’m a good person and not being able to get off with Garcia, that was all bullshit?” She blinks, glancing away. Gotcha. “Thought so. Just trying to spice things up, huh?”
“What would you know about making things work, Mr. My Wife Left Me?” she snaps.
“Careful," he grins. "You keep being mean and I won’t ever play pretend with you again.”
“There is no ‘again’,” she insists, turning back to her open passenger door. “It was a one time thing.”
He’s up against her then, arms bracketing her inside the open door, the warmth and scent of his body pulling her back like the tide. His breath ghosts over her neck as he says in a low voice, “Hope Garcia enjoys licking my cum out of your cunt tonight.”
***
On the way home, Trinity pulls off into a side street and throws her car into park. She can still feel Langdon, or rather the absence of Langdon, between her thighs, inside her body. With the way her limbs are trembling, he must be inside her blood too. Fuck him for derailing what was just supposed to be a fun, no-strings-attached kink night. She had no idea that man had that much of a conscience that he was willing to raise a kid with her. Should she have told him beforehand that it was all a game? No, because then what reason does she really have for having sex with him?
She isn’t going to be able to tell Yolanda the truth. She hasn’t been telling Yolanda the truth for months and she's not about to start now.
When they’d first started hooking up, they’d fuck in alleys and bar bathrooms and anywhere in the hospital they could find. Trinity needed that, the danger, the risk, the rush. Now they were in a relationship and fucking had turned into making love and respecting boundaries and sharing. She didn’t want to share. She didn’t want to tell people what had happened to her as a child.
The words burned her throat like bile on the way up and she always swallowed them back down.
The worst part was Yolanda had stamina and was always ready to go for hours but Trinity couldn’t get off anymore. She’d been faking it, even avoiding sex altogether, and maybe Yolanda knew it. Maybe that’s why she agreed to the arrangement Trinity had proposed. If Trinity was allowed to get her breeding kink fix, something she'd obviously need a man for, she would come home and do whatever Yolanda wanted. She's praying whatever's in store for her tonight is dirty enough to bypass the domestic mental block. She’ll get on her knees in a little maid outfit and let Yolanda piss on her face if she gets an orgasm at the end of it, if it proves that they aren't broken. That she's not broken.
But what if she is? What can she do about it? She can't keep doing long shifts in the ER with no healthy way to let off some steam.
Well, there was nothing healthy about what she just did with Langdon. He's everything she can't stand. That's probably why Yolanda voted for him, because she thought Trinity would refuse and call it all off. And maybe to spite Yolanda for trying to secretly deny her, or maybe for some other reason she hoped she never uncovered, Trinity had agreed.
“Son of a bitch,” she mutters, and hits a button on her car stereo. "Siri, call 'Assface Langdon.'"
“Mm, yello?” he answers. The words aren’t coming out. “Santos?”
Her left knee bounces on the outside of the steering wheel, her arms crossed over her chest. “Say I did want to play pretend again. Is that something we could keep between us?”
He scoffs. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one that can’t be trusted.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry I lied. But come on, Langdon, it’s not like you actually wanted the kid.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What if we took turns?” she proposes.
“What do you mean?”
She cannot believe she's saying this. “Next time could be one of your fantasies. Within reason.” He’s quiet on the other end. “Langdon?” she presses impatiently.
“So Garcia wouldn’t know?” he clarifies.
“That’s right.”
“And I could do whatever I wanted to you?”
“Within reason," she repeats. "I can only guess what kind of fucked-up porn you watch."
“And you have other things you want to do to me?”
She tilts her head with a small smile, already imagining the next round. “Well, things I want you to do to me." He lets out a labored breath. “Are you jacking off right now?”
“Not yet. I could be, just so you know," he adds. "I have a very short refractory period."
“Good for you. What do you say?”
He feigns deliberation for only a second. "Yeah, alright."
"Great. I'll be in touch." She hangs up the call and puts her car back into drive. "He's such a prick."