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Hours into the gala with just as many left, Dana thinks she might be losing her mind. She can’t keep her eyes off McKay, but, probably more problematic, McKay won’t stop looking at her, either.
The dress draped like falling water over McKay’s shoulders, dipping low in the front and back, is such a dark shade of green it’s almost black— Dana had thought it was, at first, in the low light reaching her front porch from the kitchen. That soft auburn hair is down, tucked behind one pierced ear, bangs sweeping elegantly over her brow. Her lipstick is dark, eyeliner darker, nails a sharp, glossy black.
All of this would be enough to fluster her ordinarily, but to top it off, McKay is decorated with more gold than Dana has ever seen on one person in her whole life.
The ear Dana can see holds more piercings than she knew McKay had, one intricate, shimmering shape dangling past her jaw. The usual gold necklace is accompanied by a couple others, layered in a carefully careless sort of way that begs to be adjusted. Bangles fall up and down McKay’s wrists every time she moves them, which is constantly, because she just can't seem to stop fiddling with any of the thousand rings she’s wearing. Switching them between fingers while she waited in Dana’s kitchen, thumb flexed to spin a thick gold band around her right index on the drive over, shifting and twisting the pieces to make sure they were all secure between her knuckles as they waited to enter the venue.
Now, she's making cordial small talk with some people Dana thinks she recognizes from pediatrics, and she’s wiggling a ring on her middle finger up, down, back and forth, over and over. The tendons in her hands rise beneath her skin with each repetitive motion, muscles in her forearms shifting and tensing in a rather innovative hypnosis technique. Every few seconds, when the ring is angled just perfectly, it catches light from somewhere in the room, and Dana is staring so hard that she’s starting to notice an afterimage of the flash developing in her vision.
She wants to reach out, run her fingers over smooth metal, precious stones, soft skin, the back of her earring, the dark veins in her hand, sharp points of her teeth, red coils of hair between her legs.
Then, McKay’s eyes land on her, for what has to be the ninth time tonight, and Dana can see her falter in the middle of a sentence.
Neither of them does or says a thing; they just look at each other. After a moment, McKay turns back to the others, looking startled, and shakes her head with a laugh Dana can hear over the crowd like the ring of crystal— everything about her shines, Dana muses. The twist of her neck swings that earring back and forth, polished gold scattering little flecks of light across Dana’s vision to accompany the glimmer of her ring, still being twisted on her finger. It stuns her, in a way, like she’s a deer staring down a pair of headlights or a moth flying into a lightbulb.
McKay is sort of a walking flashbang, come to think of it.
Dana takes an unstable breath and excuses herself from the table of people having a conversation she wasn’t paying attention to, anyway, tossing back a request for hers and McKay’s things to be watched. She snags a mimosa from a passing waiter, pretty sure she was actually allowed to do that, and ducks behind a pillar so she can freak out beyond the view of everyone at this godforsaken event.
The plan does not work out; she smells McKay before she sees her.
Cedar and something citrusy reach her nose, like a warning shot to her senses before the real deal. Dana takes those seconds of warning to school her expression, and then in an instant, gold is glittering in her peripheral vision as a hand lands on her shoulder. Cold metal lands where straps would usually hold a dress, and she's never been more grateful for anything than she is for having chosen a strapless dress tonight. The muscles in her arm twitch at the contact, and hair tickles bare skin when McKay leans down to whisper in her ear.
“Bathroom down the West hall, two minutes— bring your purse.”
Her heart jumps into her throat, heat swelling through her body, but she fights back the urge to crush their mouths together, nods instead. The ends of McKay’s fingers ghost just barely down her arm as she walks off toward the exit, leaving a trail of goosebumps on Dana’s skin.
She stands there, head empty, and watches the sway of McKay’s wide hips, the swish of red hair over the white of her skin, the green of her dress. The sound of fuck-me heels tapping on the floor echoes in her head long after the actual sound fades into the murmur of the room. Her eyes linger on the glint of light against the rings on McKay’s hand when she lifts it to drag her fingers across the doorframe as she leaves the room. The realization that that was definitely very intentional spurs Dana into action.
Untouched drink promptly deposited on the nearest flat surface, she hurries back to their table, slings her ridiculously tiny handbag over the crook over her elbow— notices McKay’s is already gone— and takes off after her. She follows the faint sound of heels on linoleum until it cuts out, punctuated by the clunk of a door closing, and then Dana can see, down the hallway, a single-stall washroom. She looks around, checking behind herself, as if the two of them are interesting enough to follow, then takes the last stretch on shaking legs.
Dana barely has time to realize she’s in the fanciest bathroom she's ever seen before McKay is on her.
Her purse falls to the tiled floor when her hands find something softer and warmer to hold, but she finds that she doesn’t really care. All teeth and tongue, the force of the kiss pushes her backward into the door, and somewhere beyond the harmony of their heavy breathing, the slide of their mouths, the whisper of hands over dresses and flushed skin, she hears the lock click into place.
“I said two minutes, Evans,” McKay huffs between kisses that feel more like she’s trying to taste Dana’s tonsils. “That wasn’t even one.”
She half-moans, half-laughs into a hot mouth, tearing her own away for too long to whisper, “Been wantin’ to do this all night.”
A strained, “You think I don't know that?” into the hollow of her throat as McKay mouths at the vulnerable skin there, earring knocking against Dana’s collarbone. “You've been eyeing me like you want to eat me since I picked you up.”
Another quiet laugh, then a little gasp when teeth find her skin, and she breathes out, “Maybe I do.”
McKay rumbles out an amused sound of her own, deep and crackling in the way her voice gets when she wants, and it makes Dana's knees wobble a little bit.
“I have other plans for you, Evans.”
Hands settle on her waist, tugging her lower half away from the door, strong thighs advancing to press against Dana’s, their knees slotting together naturally. The slit in Dana’s dress over her left leg spreads open with the shift, and she decides that the flow from the room’s air vent on her skin is the reason she can feel goosebumps raised all over it, rather than the way McKay’s fingertips are digging into her waist, deep enough to ache.
A nip to her tongue makes her gasp, and she retaliates with a hand wrapped in auburn hair, pulling like she means it. McKay’s mouth opens with a shocked moan, and she uses the opportunity to take a wet lip between her teeth and bite down. McKay melts into her, one knee pressing her legs apart, by result also taking Dana’s thigh between her own.
“Fuck, I can feel you,” she hisses into McKay’s mouth, well aware that there's something smug in her voice. “You're so warm—”
She cuts herself off with a trembling breath when McKay pushes her leg up, grinding firm muscle between her thighs. Dana drags her mouth along the line of her jaw in retaliation, sucking just enough to elicit a gasp, but not enough to leave a mark.
“You're not the only one,” McKay huffs. “You were driving me fucking crazy out there, you know that?”
“I do, now— oh, Jesus Christ, McKay.”
The knee between her legs is shifting again, shoving her hips backward into the door and sending a shockwave of warmth through her body. She bites off a whimper, brings her own pelvis forward to meet the contact, and scratches her nails at the nape of McKay’s neck. There’s a tongue in her mouth again, now, tasting like a Shirley Temple and McKay’s saliva, and she sucks the flavour from it with a contented hum.
Suddenly, she's pulled away from the door, and then something cold and hard digs into the backs of her thighs— the sink counter, she realizes, when the heels of McKay’s palms dig into her abdomen and push her further backward so she's half-sitting on it.
McKay’s right hand moves from her waist, slowly, down to the meat of her hip. Fingers squeeze the fat Dana carries there, and she can feel the weight of gold rings through her dress, prompting her to roll her whole body into McKay’s. McKay grips her tighter with a breathy sound, drags that hand down toward the slit in Dana’s dress, the edges of her rings catching on the fabric. Dana feels the scrape and tug like it’s her own skin, impatience rising tightly in her chest. She opens her mouth against McKay’s to let out a breath, heavy and bordering on a moan, and sharply pulls another fistful of bright hair.
“Fuck me,” McKay curses, muffled by Dana’s lips and tongue.
She grins against McKay’s mouth and hums, “Earn it.”
Her demand is met with a gasp, the chest pressed against Dana’s shaking as McKay dips her head down to nuzzle into her neck, brow to the jut of her shoulder. A breathless laugh flutters on Dana’s skin, followed by the wet slide of a tongue as McKay licks over her collarbone.
“You’re gonna fucking kill me, woman,” she sighs, then plants an open-mouthed kiss on the curve of Dana’s cleavage.
“I just might, if you don’t give me an orgasm in the next ten minutes.”
McKay tilts her head up to meet her eyes, and the sight of her makes Dana want to take her home and keep her in bed for the next week. Lipstick is smeared around her mouth, the darker shade of her own and the bright, rich colour Dana wears— or, wore, as she probably looks about the same, now— streaked along her jaw, like a record of everywhere her mouth has been.
“What’s the hurry, D?” she asks, definitely and absolutely aware of the answer.
Dana brings her hand to cup McKay’s chin, pressing a thumb to her bottom lip in the way she does when she wants her to shut up.
“There’s six hundred people outside that door, decidin’ how much money to give the hospital where we—” she tightens her grip on McKay’s jaw, making her squeak, “work. Someone’s gonna notice if we’re gone too long, ‘specially a resident.”
McKay breathes out another playful sound, a glint in her bright eyes as she teases, “I think my date will be okay with it.”
Before Dana can retort, she takes the thumb into her mouth, scraping teeth over one side and soothing a hot tongue over the other. Her lips stretch into a cocky smile around a wet knuckle, and Dana breathes a little prayer under her breath.
“Just fuck me, McKay,” she mutters through her teeth.
Then, the hand is gone from Dana’s thigh, and her eyes snap down to see McKay reaching for her rings, beginning to work one shining band off her index finger. She makes a disapproving sound, and McKay freezes, a question in her eyes.
“Keep them on,” Dana orders, far more steadily than she imagined she could manage. “I want you on your knees.”
To emphasize her words, she crooks her thumb into McKay’s tongue, pressing down until her mouth is forced open. McKay lets out a truly pitiful whine, but gets the message, sinking down with wide, watery eyes, hands braced on Dana’s thighs as she parts them expectantly. Spit soaks Dana’s thumb, but the depth of McKay’s breath cools and dries it just as quickly. She’s drowning in sensation, gasping for air, and McKay hasn’t even touched her yet.
She moves her hand to hold McKay’s jaw again, stroking over her cheekbone, leaving a wet trail of saliva on her skin. This sight never gets old— McKay kneeling before her, hair mussed, face flushed and open with obedience, mouth open and chest heaving as she pants, waiting for permission.
“Go on,” Dana prompts.
In what feels like half a second, McKay has the slit of her dress widened to accommodate her shoulders, mouthing at the damp gusset of her underwear. Dana curses, threads her fingers through soft red hair, lets out a trembling breath from her mouth. She’s too worked up to be teased, too impatient to be endeared by McKay’s habit of drawing things out, but the woman between her legs must feel the same way, because after a brief moment she tugs the cotton to the side and latches her mouth to Dana’s cunt.
Immediately, her mind goes blank. All she can smell is McKay, all she can feel is a tongue on her clit, breath cool against her slick skin, arms wrapping around her thighs, all she can hear is the wet slurp of McKay’s mouth, the gust of their breathing. She lets her head fall back to rest on the cold mirror, carding her fingers absentmindedly through McKay’s hair, hips rolling forward of their own reflex.
McKay’s tongue dips inside of her, nose sliding against her clit, and it makes her jolt, a moan tearing from her mouth that’s definitely too loud for the location they’ve chosen for this. McKay doesn’t seem to care, just presses forward in an impressive attempt to reach her G-spot with the tip of her tongue, and Dana has to slap a palm over her own mouth to muffle the sound that draws from her. McKay responds with a needy little sound of her own, and the vibration buzzes through her like electricity.
McKay keeps her on her toes, moving her mouth any time Dana’s breath slows, pulling a new trick whenever she starts to relax, back bowing too comfortably into the mirror. A flattened tongue stroking up the sodden length of her makes her eyes roll back in her head. An insistent tug of Dana’s hips closer into McKay’s face, bringing her thighs off the counter, ass hanging over the edge, draws out a high, breathy sound Dana doesn’t think she has ever made before.
When she feels a scrape of teeth on her clit, her legs squeeze around McKay’s head, and she can feel the metal of the piercings in McKay’s ears on the tender skin of her inner thighs, cold metal on overheated nerve endings.
Her hand drops from her mouth to the counter, gripping it for stability as she gasps and opens her eyes, instantly desperate to see McKay.
“Look at me,” she pants, pulling at McKay’s hair to angle her head upward.
She’s pretty sure her heart stops for a moment when McKay obeys, raising her eyes and replacing the lips on Dana’s clit with the tip of her tongue, dragging at that particular angle that lights up her entire body.
Her hair is wild, bangs combed to one side from Dana’s mindless stroking, little wisps of auburn stuck to her temples and Dana’s skin. Her pupils are blown so wide that Dana can barely make out the blue of her irises at this distance, gaze darting all over Dana, from her eyes to her mouth to the swell of her tits at the neckline of her dress. Her face is glistening, pussy-slicked from the end of her nose to, presumably, the chin that Dana can’t see, as she refuses to take her mouth away completely.
The most novel sight, though, is the shimmer of the gold in her ears, on her fingers, jewels sparkling in the light above the mirror behind Dana. Her decorated hands maintain an iron grip on Dana’s thighs to keep her rolling pelvis steady, and she realizes with a that she can feel the smooth
Dana thinks she might be gaining a new sense of empathy for the fish her father used to make her catch with him; drawn to their death by the sight of something shiny, chasing it until they can’t breathe. She could have a heart attack right now and die happy— and the longer McKay looks at her like that, the more she thinks it might really happen.
“God, look at you,” she breathes, “so beautiful.”
McKay whines and returns her mouth where it belongs, running her warm tongue over warmer skin. She keeps her eyes on Dana’s, though, seemingly tracking every twitch of her brow, catch in her breath, bite at her lip.
“You’re so fuckin’ good at this, baby—” She interrupts herself with a gasp when McKay pushes her tongue inside again. “Fuck, you were made for this, weren’t you?”
The question is rhetorical— of course she was— but it’s met with a whimper all the same. Dana can feel pressure building low in her abdomen, making her flutter around McKay’s tongue with a groan.
“You wanna make me cum?”
Another rhetorical question, but again, McKay answers with a nod and a little hum of mhm into her cunt that makes Dana buck her hips. Suction on her clit makes her choke back a cry, still conscious of the context, unlike McKay, whose eyes flash with a hint of disappointment.
“C’mon, babygirl— fuck— make me cum,” she urges, her words breathless and broken, eyelashes fluttering with the effort to keep her gaze locked on McKay’s. “Look so pretty like that, so good on your knees for me, pussy-drunk and— oh, shit— eager to please— Goddamn.”
With a pathetic, breathy whimper, McKay latches her mouth to Dana’s clit again, sucks, and that does it. Dana gasps, one trembling inhale, before the air stalls in her chest and electricity shoots through her entire body, from her kiss-swollen mouth to her feet, spread wide to accommodate McKay’s body. She moans, high in her throat, as McKay works her through it until her thighs stop shaking.
McKay considerately fixes her underwear, then sits back on her haunches, gazing up at Dana with glistening eyes and lips. Also shining, though, are the necklaces that rest just above the curves of her tits, and Dana resolutely reaches down to take the metal in her weakened grip. She drags McKay to her feet by the golden chains, pulling her in for a messy kiss that tastes like her own cunt. McKay moans into her mouth, a desperate sound that makes her ache. She pulls back and licks a broad line over McKay’s reddened face, gathering sticky fluid on her tongue and moaning huskily as she does.
“How are your knees, sweetie?”
McKay just melts into her, whining, “Dana— fuck, I need you.”
Dana huffs a quiet laugh. “Not just yet.”
An offended sound makes its way out of McKay, and she pulls back with a confused look.
“What?” she demands. “Wh— what’d I do?”
“Nothing, baby,” she assures her, standing on unstable legs as McKay backs away, indignant. “You were good for me— you always are.”
“Okay, then—”
“You’re taking me home,” Dana explains as she walks over to retrieve her purse, and McKay’s face lights up. “Not so fast, there. We’ve been in here for—” she checks the time on her phone, “nearly twenty minutes. That’s suspicious—” McKay makes a face. “Yes, it is. So, I’m goin’ back out there first, and you can clean yourself up once I do.”
Dana leans over the sink and begins to remove the lipstick from around her mouth, but McKay huffs.
“Why do I have to—”
“Your face is covered in cum, your lipstick and hair are fucked, and your mascara is running.” She sees McKay glance at the mirror and close her mouth with a snap. “Besides, you have better reasons to be gone longer than me, so once you’re ready to go you’re going to tell everyone you know that something came up with Harrison and you’re my ride home, got it?”
She reapplies her own shade of lipstick, then checks the rest of her face, her hair, her dress. She gets no response, so before she leaves, she turns back to McKay.
“You got that?” she repeats, tone leaving no room for argument.
An obedient nod that moves that earring mesmerisingly, then, “Yeah, got it.”
Dana smiles warmly, moves back toward her, and lays a light kiss on the end of her sticky nose.
“Come find me when you’re ready,” she murmurs, and exits the bathroom.
The click of the lock as she shuts the door behind herself seems to echo in the silence of the hallway, and Dana sags against it with a deep sigh, taking a moment to compose herself.
As she walks off down the hall, knees still threatening to give out, the glint of gold and gemstones glued to the backs of her eyelids, she tries to think of a way to get McKay to keep the rings and necklaces and piercings on for the rest of the night.