Work Text:
For all the years she spent calling herself “afraid of commitment” and “only built for casual,” Trinity sure as hell enjoys having a girlfriend. She likes waking up with her girlfriend’s curly hair invading her personal space and her long, toned limbs curled up around her body. She likes walking out after a twelve-hour shift with her girlfriend next to her, ready to go home to one of their apartments and cook a new meal from the recipe book Santos’s mother sent with her when she went to college.
But most of all, she loves teasing her girlfriend when she knows she can’t do anything about it.
The admin team at the PTMC must have a soft spot for them and would often match up their days off, but today Garcia was covering Walsh’s shift in exchange for next Saturday, when she’d scheduled a lunch with her extended family. Trinity loves the Garcias, and jumps on any excuse to see them, so the day alone was a small price to pay. Normally, their days off were well spent, waking up cuddled together and ending the night taking turns between the other’s thighs. Sure, they’ll spend the night together, but Yolanda will be tired, and Trinity isn’t one to get in the way of her beauty sleep.
So, bored, Trinity packs her tote and makes the fifteen-minute journey to Yolanda’s apartment. The first time she went over, they were firmly in the throes of casual and she didn’t get to appreciate everything it had to offer her. Now, almost two years on, she’s a regular in her favourite spot in the building: the rooftop pool.
Yolanda has never shied away from the fact her surgeon’s salary keeps her in the high echelons of society, and Trinity loves to ride her coattails. The rooftop pool is one of many perks, with daybeds galore, a beautiful view of the river and a spa they’ve desecrated on multiple occasions. Today, the May heat provides the perfect opportunity for some sunbathing and a dip in the pool before she heads down the stairs to curl up on the couch and let RuPaul’s Drag Race take control of her life until her girlfriend comes home. When she arrives, she plops her bag down next to her usual chair and winds down the umbrella before setting a timer on her phone and putting it on the side table. She lays a towel over the bed and lies down on her stomach, the sun immediately seeping into her veins.
It takes her five minutes to realise she forgot to apply sunscreen. She digs around in her bag for a second, finding it right at the bottom, and lathers it on her arms and the spaces on her back she can reach. Normally, her back would be Yolanda’s job, and her absence is sorely noted. With a huff, she rests her face on the headrest and closes her eyes.
Soon, her phone buzzes on the glass table. It’s not her alarm; it’s a text from Garcia. She swipes open the notification and struggles to contain her smile as she reads the message.
I got a notification from my security system that you’re at mine. Are you staying until tonight?
of course, she types back instantly. do you want me to cook
If you like, comes the quick reply. It’s around the time Garcia will normally take a quick break, but the unpredictable nature of trauma surgery doesn’t allow for a whole lot of routine. Trinity cherishes any time she gets away from the PTMC floor. It’s not too busy today. Hopefully I won’t be home too late.
okay
anything in particular u want or can i choose
You choose, babe.
Santos snorts at her insistence of using correct grammar.
yay
What are you doing?
As she reads over the text again, an idea forms in her mind. Shifting in the chair so she’s propped up on her elbows, Trinity opens the camera app and flips around to the front camera. She’d got a haircut the week before—Garcia liked it longer, so it was just a trim, but it was styled with more layers. (Yolanda was a big fan. She made that much known when she came home from the salon and when she styled it for their next date, the strands falling over the collar of her button-up shirt. Anything for her girl). It falls in a curtain around her face, bangs floating around her eyes, but her focus is on her chest, where her cleavage is on full display in her black bikini. Her silver chain necklace hangs down, almost framing what she wants Garcia to zero in on. She shuffles around, trying to find the most revealing position she can, and adjusts her boobs manually until she’s satisfied. She takes a quick photo and attaches it to her next message.
suntanning
Short and sharp. She bites her lip in anticipation, hoping Yolanda is still in private.
Fuck. It takes less than twenty seconds for the reply to come. Without me?
uh huh
you’re the one who took walshs shift
Don’t throw that back at me. You’re the one who wanted to see my family.
Trinity giggles before catching herself. She resets her mouth into as straight a line as she can. “Gotta be nonchalant,” she mutters under her breath, before opening the camera again and taking another photo, this time with her elbows squeezing inwards a little to show off her chest even more. She even throws in a pout, cutting the photo off at her nose.
sorry what did u say
It goes to read immediately. The three grey dots ripple for what feels like an eternity before disappearing. They remain MIA for a second before starting up again, then Trinity’s hit with a barrage of messages.
Trinity Maria Santos.
I am at work.
What if Robinavitch walked behind me?
oh cause he loves coming up to the surgery floor
I’m in the ED.
Just had a consult on a car crash patient.
Going back upstairs now, though.
not my fault
im just showing you what im doing yk
you asked :p
At that moment, her timer goes off, and she rolls onto her back to even out her tan. She’s already excited for the tan lines Garcia will hopefully enjoy later tonight. Opening her camera again, she holds her phone high above her and puts her other hand over her eyes, obstinately in an effort to shield the sun. This one’s her favourite so far. Some of her stomach is on display, the soft curves she’s grown to tolerate but Yolanda loves, as well as the smattering of tattoos around her hips, ribcage and shoulders. Her chain shimmers in the sunlight. She’s smiling at the camera in a way that shows Garcia she knows exactly what she’s doing to her. She sends it off quickly before resetting her timer and closing her eyes.
It takes seconds for the reply to come through.
God
You look unreal
thanks baby
But are you trying to make me have an aneurysm?
at least they can help u there
Yeah, hilarious. I’ll just tell Al-Hashimi my brain exploded because my girlfriend is the hottest person I’ve ever seen.
that'll work yah
must be rlly slow if youre still talking to me
I’ve been paged three times in the last minute.
I’m taking the stairs back down to the ED so I don’t lose you in the elevator.
oh my fucking god you loser
go ill talk to you later
Fine.
Don’t have too much fun without me.
Love you.
love u too <3
She clicks her phone off and puts the baggy Pirates hat she packed over her face. Yolanda had started dragging her to baseball games, which she’s growing to love, and her hometown allegiance to the Dodgers is waning quickly in favour of her girlfriend’s childhood team. She’s nothing if not whipped.
The light breeze—a welcome perk of her current height—teases her skin, making goosebumps prickle across the soon-to-be-tan expanse. It continues to prickle as she thinks of Garcia and how high-strung and stubborn she is at work, losing her mind at some simple little bikini photos in the stairwell of the Pitt. She imagines her stitching up a patient from some minor surgery and messing up a suture because she’s thinking about Trinity’s boobs in her black top.
On second thought, medical malpractice makes her fantasies more unrealistic seeing as her girlfriend is the best surgeon she knows.
Instead, her mind’s eye sees Garcia, scrubbing out and running to the bathroom to look at the photos again, or taking an extra thirty seconds in the break room to calm herself down. She’s glad she sent them over iMessage where they’d stay forever, but the thrill of driving Yolanda mad comes over her and she decides she’s not done torturing her.
Fuck it, she thinks, and lifts the cap off her head to check her surroundings. The rest of the pool area is empty. Quickly, she opens the camera and sits up a little, framing her chest in the shot and taking a quick photo, making sure the Pirates logo is visible too. Then, she moves the camera lower and teasingly drags a hand towards the top of her bikini bottoms. She lets it rest with just her fingertips below the fabric and takes another shot. Finally, she angles the camera down a little more and bends her knee, capturing everything from the bottom of her chest to her knees including the fading mark sitting just on top of her left hip bone.
Grinning to herself, she finds her conversation with Garcia and selects the three photos. She adds am i getting tan? before sending them off. A look at her phone’s clock tells her she’s spent far too long in the sun, so she puts her cap on the table with her phone and stalks over to the pool.
It’s heated, of course, so she dives in without a second thought. The days are getting warmer and those like today are perfect conditions for having a rich girlfriend. She swims around for a bit, taking in the blue skies and the feeling of the water washing over her. It’s peaceful in a way that makes her almost emotional; if she could show her 16-year-old self everything she has before even turning 30 she wouldn’t believe her. Even if it took a mammoth effort to get the girl in the first place.
Deciding she doesn’t want to prune, she hops out and wanders back to her chair. She’s still alone on the roof, and a check of her phone tells her Yolanda’s still busy, so she decides to up the ante and use her current state to her advantage.
She dries her hands and arms before slinging the towel over her shoulder and reaching her phone out to capture her upper body. Water droplets cling to her décolletage like they’re painted on, slowly making their way into her soaking bikini top. From this angle, everything is on display. Her nipples are hard from the water and she sends a silent prayer to whoever made that possible. She bites her lip just slightly as she takes the photo.
Look—it’s hot. She doesn’t blame Garcia. Her boobs look incredible in this bikini every time she wears it, and today is no exception. Her wet hair falls along her shoulders in a way she knows drives Garcia crazy. A beam of sunlight is hitting her necklace in the exact right spot. It’s like it was engineered in a lab to make her girlfriend as insane as possible.
She opens their chat back up to the reminder of the other photos she sent. “Wow,” she mutters under her breath, “she better appreciate this.” Clicking on the most recent one, she sends it with the addendum all wet waiting for u.
“Garciabaiting complete,” she says to no one, putting her phone down and finally drying off. She had the forethought to bring a button-up to put on after, so she throws that over her bikini to make the trek back down to Yolanda’s apartment. Making sure everything was put away, she bids goodbye to the rooftop and takes the stairs down.
Her apartment is beautiful, with high windows, dark wood and carefully chosen plants giving it the exact vibe she’d expected from the surgeon. It’s become her second home, her key evidence enough of that, so when she throws her tote onto the couch it feels like coming back after a long day at work.
She showers, making the most of her fantastic water pressure, and washes the chlorine off her body and out of her hair. There’s no rush. She has all day to use Garcia’s soap and scrub the week gone by from her skin. As she steps out, she looks at her form in the mirror and notices tan lines already forming. They’re not crazy—if she spends too much time in the sun, the tan becomes a burn, so she always has to stop before they can get too defined. Still, speaking from experience, it’s enough to get Garcia going.
A large chunk of her wardrobe once belonged to Yolanda, so she pulls on a faded band t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants to see out the day in. It’s barely 1pm, but she has a date with her couch that only a natural disaster could drag her away from. She marinates the chicken she’ll use later tonight for adobo before making herself a nutritious lunch of soy crisps and Diet Coke that she sets up on the glass coffee table in front of the couch. Quickly, she turns the TV on and navigates to Season 5 of Drag Race. She’s timed her binge perfectly; there’s five episodes left, which, including Untucked, should see her through to Yolanda’s home time.
Just as Coco Montrese lip syncs as if she were Paula Abdul herself, her phone buzzes. She pauses the TV, obviously, before picking it up and seeing Garcia has finally found herself some peace and quiet.
Holy fuck Trinity
You can’t do this to me when I’m at work. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to keep going knowing you’re waiting for me at home looking like that?
I almost closed this guy up with the sponge still inside.
I’ve NEVER done that before.
I’d have mentioned you in the chart.
Trinity giggles to herself, biting her lip as she types out a reply.
oh im sorry
you’re right i won’t do that again
so unprofessional of me
Wow, okay, so…
That’s not what I said.
You’ve got such a talent for interrupting.
mb
what were u gonna say???
Nothing that concerns you now.
I have to get back to work.
suuuuure sure
I’m serious.
In retaliation, Trinity opens her camera again and slides a hand up her shirt to cup her breast, lifting it a little as she goes, and snaps a photo.
this won’t get u to talk?
Nice shirt. Where’d you get it?
my super hot sexy girlfriend
She must have the patience of a saint.
you’re supposed to say that would look better on my floor or something like that
I’m not giving you the satisfaction of that right now.
She rolls her eyes.
ur so funny yola cause i know for a fact youre bricked up in the break room rn
I’m not in the break room.
and yet ur not denying the other thing
I have to go. Don’t burn down my kitchen when you cook.
uh huh
think of me
When do I not?
She laughs and signs off with some random love heart emojis. If Yolanda is going to be coy about it, chances are Trinity is absolutely in for it when she’s home. But, truth be told, that’s exactly where she wants to be.
It’s radio silence for the rest of the day, so an hour or so before Garcia is due home, Trinity peels herself off the couch and into the open-plan kitchen to finish the chicken adobo. The meat is marinated to her liking and the process is second nature, taking less brain power than it does to keep track of all the drama in the reunion episode. Just as she’s chopping up spring onions for the garnish, she hears the key turn in the lock and smiles in anticipation.
“Trin?” comes the voice from the door.
“Kitchen!” she replies, scraping the offcuts into the pull-out bin.
Yolanda walks in, as beautiful as ever even after a massive shift. She’s still in her scrubs and her hair is up, but nothing could deter Santos from closing the distance between them. Apart from, apparently, Garcia’s hand landing in the middle of her chest and stopping her.
“I have spent the whole day thinking about you. Do you know how inconvenient that is when you’re trying to remove glass from someone’s chest?”
“Hi, baby,” Trinity laughs, pushing through the hand to plant a light kiss on her jaw, “how was work?”
“Torturous, thanks for asking.” She looks around the kitchen, eyes landing on the plates of rice ready in front of them. “Great choice.”
“You had chicken, so I thought why not?”
Garcia nods, before turning to put her back on its designated hook. “Do you mind if I have a quick shower?”
“Go ahead, I just turned the heat off. No rush.”
“Thank you,” she mutters, stepping closer to Trinity. Her whole body shivers at the proximity. She looks Garcia in the eyes, which have become so dark she can barely see the chocolate brown. Yolanda leans forward to brush her lips against Trinity’s ever so slightly, not even bothering to close her eyes. “You’re trouble,” she whispers against them, before turning and walking in the direction of the showers.
It takes Trinity minutes to rejoin the land of the living. Her heart is thumping, blood rushing through her veins at the speed of light. When she regains control of her senses, she leans against the island bench and groans. She’s spent the whole day teasing Yolanda, but when push comes to shove, she folds like a deck of cards.
Yolanda is usually one to prolong her showers, but tonight she’s quick, less than fifteen minutes from start to finish. It’s enough time for Trinity to cool down a bit and plate up the chicken, but her body is still buzzing when she comes back into the kitchen. Her hair is down and her silk pyjama set hangs off her body like it was tailored for her, and Santos can’t help but step into her space and wrap her arms around her waist. “I missed you,” she says against her neck. “Days off are so boring without you.”
“I think you kept yourself occupied,” Garcia replies, sarcastic annoyance lacing the words, but she wraps her arms around Trinity’s neck anyway.
“I had to keep myself busy one way or another. We can’t all be saving lives all the time.”
Garcia hums before kissing her on the cheek and detangling herself so she can take their dinner to the table. It’s a lively affair, Garcia recounting her day from the emergency appendectomy in the morning to the infected toenail just before she clocked out, while Trinity rants about Alaska’s Candy Couture look; they’re of equal importance. Still, Trinity spends the whole meal on edge, waiting for Yolanda to say more about her photos.
Once they’re finished eating, Yolanda stands and gathers their plates without a word, taking them to the dishwasher. Trinity watches as she stacks it, wipes down the bench and turns the kitchen light off, before sauntering back over to the dining table and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Stand up,” she says, low, and Trinity has to oblige. Garcia drags her lips down Trinity’s jawline from her mouth to her ear before speaking again. “You’ve had your fun. And I’m well aware this is exactly what you wanted out of that whole display.”
Trinity whimpers, and Yolanda snakes a hand up her chest until she reaches the base of her neck, thumb and forefinger finding their rightful place and squeezing ever so slightly. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna go to my room, pick out which strap you want to fuck me with, put the harness on, and lie down. Pants off, shirt on. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Trinity tries to say, but it comes out barely a whisper.
“Good girl. Now go.”
Trinity scampers towards the bedroom and makes a beeline for the bedside table where they keep their toys. There’s a few options to choose from, but she knew from the second Yolanda said the word that she wanted to use her favourite; it’s six-and-a-half inches, purple, relatively thick, and curved towards the g-spot slightly. Like a man possessed, she attaches it to her harness and drops her pants before pulling the straps into place and lying down on top of the gazillion thread count sheets.
Yolanda comes into the room seconds later, the picture of poise and control as she surveys the scene. “Good job,” she affirms, and Trinity has to clench her thighs together. Garcia closes the door and turns the down light off before switching both bedside lamps on; she’s not quick about it.
Finally, she stands at the end of the bed, staring down at the dildo standing at attention. “Mmm, my favourite.” She drags her manicured hand down Santos’s leg, leaving a trail of goosebumps and drawing a moan she tries to disguise as an affirmative sound. It does not work.
Her nails continue to drag up and down her legs as she starts talking. “I don’t know what I expected when I asked you what you were doing. Watching TV, maybe. Swimming, maybe. I didn’t expect you’d have the gall to send that through knowing I could have been elbow-deep in some poor soul or sharing a trauma room with Dana.”
“I’m happy for her to see. Share the love.”
Garcia smiles humourlessly. “No. No one else is allowed to see you the way I do.” Trinity can only watch and lift herself up on her elbows as she bends down, knees hitting the carpeted floor at the end of the bed. She looks up, eyes dark behind her long eyelashes. Without another word, she settles her head between Trinity’s thighs and licks a long stripe up the strap-on.
“Holy shit,” Trinity manages to groan, clutching the sheets like a lifeline.
“Quiet.” Yolanda continues with slow, purposeful licks up the shaft. Trinity feels like she’s gonna explode, the sight of her girlfriend on her knees like this for her too much to bear. Her breathing quickens and she sits up more, tempted to grab Yolanda’s curls; she knows that wouldn’t fly, so she refrains.
Finally, Yolanda wraps her lips around the tip and sucks. Trinity moans, her entire body on fire. It’s like something out of her wildest dreams, watching her girlfriend bob up and down on her cock while her body tenses, building up to her climax at the speed of a freight train. But, as soon as she makes Yolanda aware of that fact, she pulls away from the strap with an audible pop.
“Babe—what?” she asks, sitting up fully. Yolanda stands up and pushes her chest, making her flop back down on the cushions, before pulling her pants off and unbuttoning her shirt to leave her fully naked. Trinity takes in her lithe form, her bronze skin heavenly in the dull light, muscles flexing with every breath. “What are you doing?”
“I was just getting you ready.” She walks over to the bedside table and pulls out their two handcuffs, leaving Trinity’s mouth drier than the Sahara. “Needed you nice and wet for me.”
“Always am.”
Garcia cocks an eyebrow as she lays the cuffs on the bed. “Shirt off.” Trinity is quick to oblige, throwing it somewhere she’s sure she’ll forget come the morning, and her nipples immediately perk up as the cool air of the room hits them. She watches as Yolanda unbuckles the cuffs and straddles her stomach, just missing her strap and making Trinity fully aware of just how much this is affecting her. “Is this okay?” she asks as she takes Trinity’s wrists and locks a cuff around each one.
“Yeah,” Trinity says without a second thought.
“Safeword?”
“Scalpel.”
“Good girl.” Yolanda leans down for the lightest of kisses on Trinity’s lips which she accepts gratefully. She finishes locking the cuffs to the headboard before rising again and smoothing down her hair. Without another word, she shifts her hips upwards and shuffles backwards so she’s hovering over Trinity’s dick. The speed at which she sinks down is glacial. Trinity feels every muscle in her core clench as Yolanda swallows the silicone inch by inch in a form of torture she’s pretty sure the UN outlawed in 1948.
The second their hips finally meet they moan in sync, noise bouncing off the walls and combining into one symphony. Garcia whimpers as she adjust her hips before regaining her composure and taking a deep breath. She plants a hand on Trinity’s chest before tracing her tan lines with her pointer finger. “All pretty for me,” she mutters, breathing shaky. “I love knowing you did all this just for me. My beautiful boy.” Trinity whimpers at the masculine term and her cunt clenches around nothing.
“Please, Yola, fuck, please—”
“I do think it’s hilarious you think I’m that easy, though. Like, you thought I was just lounging around the surgery floor, waiting for you to keep showing me your tits?” She rolls her hips once, mouth falling open in pleasure. “You’re such a brat. I ask you what you’re doing and you’re so insolent that you just had to prove to me I can’t leave you unattended.”
“You literally told me I was hot.”
“That’s in the past.” The hand on her chest creeps up along the pale line her bikini had covered, before her hand wraps around her neck like it did in the kitchen. Trinity’s eyes roll back in her head and she breathes sharply through her nose, the feeling of Yolanda’s hand in its rightful place second to none. “Now, I’m pissed. I could’ve left a sponge in that guy. I could have fucked up someone’s surgery so bad I got sued.”
“I knew that wasn’t gonna happen.”
“Uh huh. I would’ve had to tell the lawyer I was distracted because my girlfriend couldn’t keep it in her pants for one day.” She rolls her hips again, this time starting a steady rhythm. Trinity goes to put her hands on her hips to help her out before remembering she’s restrained. Instead, she whimpers, hips rising to meet her girlfriend’s.
Yolanda rises up slowly before slamming back down onto Trinity’s hips and repeats the motion over again, pretty little noises falling out of her with every dip. Trinity does the best she can to meet her but it’s not long again until she feels her own climax building, the friction on her clit from the strap enough to take her to the edge. “Fuck, Yola, I’m gonna come—”
“Nope,” Yolanda cuts her off, slamming down one last time before stopping entirely. It seems the only thing Trinity knows how to do with her mouth anymore is whimper, and it earns her a deprecating laugh as Yolanda lifts herself off the dildo.
“Where are you going?” she manages to choke out. In lieu of an answer, Garcia climbs up Trinity’s body until her cunt is hovering over her face. “Oh,” Trinity squeaks out, before Garcia is sinking down onto her waiting mouth.
It’s like heaven. Yolanda is dripping down her face as her tongue darts into her waiting hole. She circles it, neck straining at the effort of meeting her thrashing hips as they smear all over her face. Every time she manages to find her clit it draws the prettiest noise from above her, a whimper that starts in Yolanda’s throat and comes out with a shaky breath. It’s far and away the most beautiful sound Trinity has ever heard.
Garcia rides her face like she was made to do it. It doesn’t take long before the telltale signs of her orgasm beginning show up, her thighs clenching around Santos’s head and squeezing tight. Trinity can barely breathe between the pussy on her mouth and the pressure on the side of her head but if she died like this it wouldn’t be the worst way to go out. She keeps licking and sucking as much as she can while Garcia’s hips gyrate erratically. Her whimpers become longer and higher and breathier and quicker before she almost screams as she comes undone on Trinity’s face, a hand threaded tight in her black hair. “Fuck! Trin, god, baby, you’re so good at that.” Santos can only grunt in reply, tongue still lapping up the juices pouring onto her face.
Yolanda finally lifts her hips and shuffles down until she’s straddling Trinity’s stomach again. She looks down at the mess she made and smirks. “You’ve got something there, baby.”
“Clean me up?”
She obliges, leaning down to plant an open mouth kiss on Trinity’s lips. She greets her with the same tongue that brought her to her climax and kisses back with more vigour than she should have been able to after that effort. She can feel the grin on her girlfriend’s lips as she tastes herself off the warm skin around her mouth. They separate, but only for a second before Garcia drags her own tongue down the front of Trinity’s neck where some of her wetness had spilled over. Trinity’s head falls back onto the pillows while Yolanda goes to work and she feels her clit throb all over again. “Yola,” she groans, “I need you to make me come, please, I need you so bad baby.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you made me wet in my scrubs.”
“Aw, you think I’m hot?” It takes all Trinity’s effort to complete that sentence with Garcia’s tongue now tracing her jawline, and the last couple of words are more of a breath than actual speaking.
“Careful.” She places one more tender kiss just under Trinity’s ear before sitting up and shaking her hair out. “Now, are you gonna let me ride your dick without you busting early like a teenage boy or do I have to get off another way?”
“No, baby, I promise I can hold, but after that—”
“You’ll come tonight, cariño, don’t worry, but you have to wait your turn. You made me wait all day. It’s only fair.”
“Fuck,” she groans, turning her head into the pillow until she feels Yolanda get into position to sink down onto the strap. She doesn’t give Trinity any warning before she does, wet enough that there’s barely any resistance, and as soon as she’s bottomed out she rises again, and again, until she’s in a comfortable rhythm that creates a soundtrack of slaps for their night.
Trinity can only watch in awe as her abs clench with every rise and relax when she falls, only for her thighs to take control on the way down. Every muscle is working and she gets to watch how much control Garcia has over her body and how she alone gets to dismantle it. Her hips roll against Trinity’s and it takes all her willpower to focus on making Yolanda come and not herself. She thrusts up to meet Yolanda once again, the sharp movement procuring a yelp from her girlfriend, and she stops before Yolanda yells at her to keep going. Who is she to say no?
It’s not long before Garcia is coming again, thighs clenching and head thrown back to reveal her muscular neck glistening with sweat. Trinity wants to bite it so badly. She grits her teeth instead, revelling in the in the extraordinary scene in front of her. Yolanda rides the orgasm out, slowing down until she comes to a complete stop. Breathing heavily, she throws her head back forward and looks down at Trinity. “You did so good, baby,” she breathes out, “so skilled.” She punctuates the praise with a head scratch on top of her scalp, which makes Trinity feel so insane that it almost propels her over the edge.
Garcia’s hand finds its way to her jaw and Trinity leans into her touch, nose nuzzling at her thumb. It’s quiet for a little while they both steady their breathing. Yolanda’s thumb traces patterns over Trinity’s soft cheek before running a hand through her sweaty hair and settling at the back of her neck. She leans in and kisses her; heated enough to tell her they’re not done but with a degree of softness that grounds her in the moment. They stay like that for a beat, letting their mouths do the work for the time being.
Trinity pouts when Yolanda finally separates their mouths. Her girlfriend laughs before continuing down her jaw and towards her clavicle, making a beeline for the faded heart tattoo on her shoulder. She kisses it lightly before retracing her steps back to her collarbone, stopping when she reaches her sternum. With all the grace of a high-achieving surgeon, she kisses the spot between her breasts where her bikini covered her skin, before following the tanline all the way to her left shoulder and repeating the motion on the other side. She traces the line of the cup down to her underboob, lingering there for a little longer than she had anywhere else, then kisses slowly up her breast, inch by inch until she reaches a straining nipple. Finally putting Trinity out of her misery, she licks over it once with a flat tongue before attaching her lips and sucking.
Trinity moans, long and deep, and wants so desperately to thread a hand into Yolanda’s curls. The handcuffs really do earn their keep. She lavishes her nipple with the attention her whole body had been yearning for the whole night—realistically, the whole day—before turning her attention to her other breast, hand replacing her mouth on the other one. Trinity’s brain and body are on fire. She doesn’t know what to focus on, but luckily Yolanda picks for her by removing her lips from her nipple and kissing down her body until she reaches her hips. She undoes the straps of the harness and slides it down Trinity’s pliant legs before throwing it to the floor to be cleaned later. Trinity watches as she kneels onto the bed until she’s in a position to kiss the juncture of her thigh and hip. Her path is clear, mapped out hundreds of times before, but she still shudders in anticipation.
Yolanda reaches her core, which she finds wet and waiting for her. She teases her nose through the dark curls, reluctant to go much further than her pubis, while her hands wrap about Trinity’s thighs. She shuffles into a comfortable position while her thumb absentmindedly traces the thin, white scars that haven’t been reopened in a long time before she places a soft kiss to her inner thigh and dives in.
“Fuck, baby,” she yells. Yolanda doesn’t do anything by halves, evident both in the OR and her bedroom, and she must be doing something new with her tongue because Trinity feels absolutely out of this world. She bucks her hips into Garcia’s waiting mouth, shoulders straining against the cuffs as she tries with all her strength to break free. It doesn’t work, but the momentum helps her rub herself over Yolanda’s face enthusiastically. They work in tandem to her climax, Garcia using her lips, tongue and nose to their full extent. Her attention is divided between Trinity’s clenching hole and swollen clit, lapping her up in a return of the previous favour. Trinity thrashes as she indulges in the feeling of her girlfriend’s mouth all over her, its sole objective to make her feel good.
With no warning, Yolanda plunges two fingers into her waiting cunt. A pornographic moan tumbles from her mouth as she tenses, strong fingers rubbing against her g-spot at a pace that makes her feel absolutely insane. She’s sure she looks it, too, but she can’t focus on anything except how incredible Garcia is at this.
It doesn’t take long before she’s tumbling over the edge, coming with a strangled cry that she thinks is her girlfriend’s name but she isn’t entirely sure. Yolanda keeps licking as she comes down, replicating her own efforts from before, until she’s sure Trinity has ridden it out and pulls away. With a heavy dose of eye contact, she puts her forefinger in her mouth and sucks, eyes rolling back as she steals another taste. “That’s mean,” Santos says, “come here?”
“Why should I listen to you?”
Trinity pouts, hoping it works in lieu of an answer. It does. Yolanda’s biggest weakness is her puppy dog eyes. She climbs up her body and holds her fingers out, which Trinity accepts immediately. She takes them in her mouth and sucks hard, tongue cleaning up every nook and cranny. Her eyes stay on Yolanda’s the whole time, but she’s focused on Trinity’s lips, and as soon as Trinity releases her fingers their mouths are connected in a kiss that wouldn’t have been out of place at the start of the night.
“Let’s get these off you,” Yolanda mutters against her lips.
“Please.”
She unlocks the cuffs and throws them to wherever the strap went before taking Trinity’s wrists in her own and inspecting for any damage. They’re a little red, but nothing a few feather-light kisses and pawpaw ointment won’t fix. She grabs the little tube off the bedside table and applies it to both, rubbing circles with her thumb for full coverage. “Come on,” she says once she’s done, “we both need to pee.”
“Fine,” Trinity grumbles, but first, with full use of her limbs finally back, she pulls Yolanda in by the neck for a sweet kiss. They’re both smiling like idiots when they pull away.
They use the bathroom quickly. While Trinity washes her hands, Yolanda comes up behind her and snakes her arms around her naked waist. They stay like that for a minute, content to acknowledge that they’re both real and both here because they chose to be. Trinity can’t help the smile that creeps across her face.
Once they’re ready for bed, pyjama tops on but bottoms lost to the night, Trinity crawls in first and lays on her back, ready to receive her koala of a girlfriend at her side. Predictably, Yolanda tucks herself into Trinity’s arm and nuzzles her face in her neck. “You know,” she says, at first against her skin before lifting her head up to look her in the eyes, “I can’t say I didn’t enjoy your little photoshoot.”
“I know,” Trinity rubs her hand along Yolanda’s back, grinning. “I know. You said as much on text.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not fucking blind. I saved them all to my phone straight away. I had to power it off after those last couple so I didn’t keep looking at them. I was telling people to page me cause my phone ran out of charge.”
“Oh my god. Remind me to send them on Instagram or something next time, Jesus.”
Yolanda laughs, snaking her hand under Trinity’s shirt to rest on her stomach. “You know I love the tan lines too.”
“All for you, baby.”
“I’m well aware. Just make sure you don’t spend too much time in the sun, okay? We’re medical professionals. Can’t be acting like we don’t know better.”
“I’ll remember that the next time I’m sending you nudes from your bougie swimming pool.”
“Thanks very much, that’s all I want.” She grins at Trinity, who returns it. “You look so sexy in that bikini. Maybe we could have a swim when we get home from work tomorrow. You can remind me what you look like in it in real life.”
“Mmm, I’d like that.” Trinity kisses her cheek before moving to her lips and kissing her there, taking her time to say goodnight. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Did you set your alarm?”
“Ah, fuck.” Yolanda laughs, and Trinity’s glad she forgot, because the last thing she heard before she went to sleep was the best sound she’d ever known.