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It’s another week before Trinity has another opportunity to do a chest tube. It goes exactly as it should. No nerves, no dropped scalpels and no pissed off attendings. And after it, she gets that cocktail with Garcia.
They end up in a dive bar not far from the hospital. Trinity fits right in in her ancient jeans and well-worn sweater. Garcia – in a tailored sweater and jeans – looks even more sophisticated than when Trinity had met her out the front of the hospital. The stark difference has Trinity tapping her foot repeatedly against the bottom of the stool.
Garcia ordered drinks from the QR code on the table. While they waited, Garcia talked through an appy she had done earlier in the afternoon. Trinity nodded along. Her eyes were caught on Garcia’s lips. They formed pretty shapes around her speech. The gory details of the surgery were made all the more intriguing.
Their drinks arrive – frozen margs – and Garcia pauses to give a withering look at the waiter, who scampered away like a scolded puppy. The drinks are an unappealing off white with frozen clumps sitting in a shallow pool of liquid. One of them had salt around half the rim, and the other had an overly large lemon wedge sitting in the centre. Trinity peered around Garcia to look at the bar. She can see an ancient slushie machine slowly churning through the mix. It was amazing that it had even produced these two.
“Christ, these look terrible. You want the salt or the lemon?” Garcia asks, rolling her eyes.
The salt one looks better. The sad lemon wedge is slowly sinking into one of the clumps. She takes it, pushing the salt one towards Garcia. She gets a smirk in return. Trinity is under no illusion that she’s being subtle. Instead of giving Garcia a chance to comment on it, Trinity prompts her to keep talking about the surgery. The (genuinely) awful marg has levelled the playing field. Shitty bar, worse drink and a hot woman on the other side of the table is a situation Trinity has been in before.
She knows what she wants. She knows how to get it.
Trinity keeps Garcia talking. She sticks with medicine – other interesting surgeries that Garcia has done, an article about an emergency surgery that Trinity read in a medical journal last week. She stops tapping her foot and instead rests it between Garcia’s feet on her stool. Garcia’s eyes flick down, and she presses both feet alongside Trinity’s, trapping it there. They finish the first drink, Garcia grimacing after every sip. Trinity has had worse. She reaches for her phone in her back pocket, but Garcia beats her to it.
“Gin and tonics this time. You couldn’t convince me to drink another one of those.” There’s a slight pause and then – “Well, maybe you could get me to drink one again.” Her voice is as smooth and deliberate as her hands in a trauma room. Trinity smirks across the table. Garcia clearly knows how to get what she wants, too.
The conversation shifts from procedures to gossip. The surgery nurses are just as chatty as the ones in the ED, and there are plenty of stories for them to compare. Garcia’s version says that Mateo and Javadi have something going on, but Trinity swears that Perlah and Princess said he was still hanging out with McKay more often than not.
“You speak Filipino?” Garcia interrupts.
“Tagalog,” Trinity corrects.
Garcia looks like she wants to ask more about that, but Trinity has zero interest in going down that route. It’s not what she wants from this. She’s pretty sure it’s not what Garcia wants either. Trinity downs the rest of her drink, ice clinking against her teeth. She hooks her foot around Garcia’s right ankle and tugs.
“Ready to get out of here?”
Garcia smirks and finishes off her drink. Condensation drips down the side of the glass and onto her hands – the drops glisten in the low light, and Trinity wants to lick them off.
“My place or yours?”
“Unless you want to run into Whitaker, I recommend yours,” Trinity says, voice dry as a bone, and hops off her stool while waiting for Garcia to do the same. They walk towards the door together. Once they get there, Garcia rests a hand on the small of Trinity’s back, making her shiver, and guides her out into the cool autumn night.
As they slide into Garcia’s black Merc, she says, “Who the hell is Whitaker?”, making Trinity snort with laughter.
The drive to Garcia’s isn’t long, the roads mostly empty. She lives in an apartment building with vibes that match the sleek Merc and tailored clothes. If Trinity were a meeker person, it would seem intimidating. Once inside, Trinity instinctively kicks her shoes off. Garcia tilts her head in approval, showing her where to put them. Garcia wanders further into the apartment, down the long hall. Trinity leaves her backpack in the same spot before following.
The hallway opens up into a wide living space. Trinity pulls up and looks around, eyes tracking every detail and committing them to memory. The space is meticulously clean. Trinity wonders if this is how all the surgeons live. She thinks about her own messy apartment – mostly her mess, some of Whitaker’s – and wonders if neatness is an indicator of whether a doctor will specialise in ED or surgery.
Soft jazz starts playing from one of the other rooms, and Trinity follows the noise until she finds an open door. Garcia is sitting on the bed, feet on the floor, hands planted behind her, and face tilted up to look at Trinity. Silky cream- coloured sheets are flowing around her. She’s taken off the sweater, revealing a skintight beige singlet that contrasts with her darker skin, emphasising the shape of her breasts, the breadth of her shoulders. She looks almost like a god. At her side, Trinity’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch.
“Come show me what you got,” Garcia says. Tone and words both sounded more like a challenge than a seduction.
It works either way.
Trinity is at the bed in a few quick strides. She stands between Garcia’s spread legs, socked feet firmly planted on the ground. For a moment, Trinity pauses. Her hands hover between them. For the first time, she wonders about what will happen tomorrow. What will happen when she next has to work besides Garcia? Will she be able to do it? More importantly, will she be able to do it without thinking of this moment?
“Stop thinking so hard, Santos. We’re both here for a good time,” Garcia says, gentler than before.
“Trinity,” she corrects. “Call me Trinity.”
Garcia smiles. “Then call me Yolanda. And hurry up and kiss me.”
Trinity closes the distance. Reaching up and cupping Yolanda’s face with both hands and pressing their lips together. The first kiss is chaste. And dry. Trinity pulls away, licks her lips, and then dives back in. There’s nothing chaste about it now. They share a series of open-mouthed kisses, tongues occasionally reaching out, diving into one another’s mouths and sliding along each other’s tongue, teeth, and lips. Gasping, Trinity pulls back. She opens her eyes, quick enough to see a string of saliva still connecting their lips.
Yolanda’s mouth twitches, almost a smirk, as if to say, ‘not bad.’ Trinity can do better than that. She stands up properly and pulls her sweatshirt off in a fluid movement. Underneath, she’s just wearing a bra. It’s boring, beige, and practical. Perfect for a day in the ER – not so much for this. Reaching behind herself, Trinity unhooks it and lets it fall from her body to the floor. Yolanda licks her lips. Trinity grins, shark-like, before moving back in.
Anticipating her next move, Yolanda slides her butt closer to the centre of the bed, and Trinity climbs on top, resting one knee on either side of Yolanda’s hips. Straddling her like this, Trinity looks taller. She relishes looking down into her eyes. Yolanda lifts her hands to hold Trinity above the waistline of her jeans. Her hands are surprisingly soft. No apparent damage from a career spent in and out of latex gloves. Trinity squeezes her legs around Yolanda, trying to press closer. Heat is building in her, and she wants Yolanda’s hands on her, wants them on her breasts instead of pressing them against Yolanda’s still-clothed chest.
In response, Yolanda glides her hands up Trinity’s back, all the way to her shoulders, digging her fingers in and scratching down to the middle of Trinity’s back. She gasps, arching into it, hips lifting with the motion, too. It puts her breasts close to Yolanda’s mouth. She takes advantage of it, holding Trinity in place and kissing down her sternum. She maps her way along the underside of one breast with her mouth – open and wet – leaving behind imprints of her lips that make Trinity shiver in her grip. And then Yolanda tugs on a nipple with her teeth, dragging a moan out of Trinity. She keeps at it. Kissing, biting and sucking until Trinity is shaking.
Her cunt is aching.
“Fuck, I knew you’d be good at this,” she says, embarrassed by the useless statement but unable to stop herself. Her nipple is tingling from the attention.
Yolanda stops her motions, making Trinity shiver from the absence, and settles Trinity back in her lap. It’s hard to tell in the low light, but Yolanda barely looks affected. There’s no apparent flush on her skin. Her eyes are bright, but her pupils don’t seem blown out. Her breathing is normal. She’s still fully dressed. Everything about her exudes control. Trinity can feel herself fraying at the edges. She can only imagine how she looks right now.
“I know I am,” Yolanda says, and Trinity has to think hard to remember what she even said. Trinity wants to reply, hoping to claw back some dignity, but – “Now get naked.”
Trinity scrambles off the bed and works on unbuttoning her jeans. As she’s fiddling with the second button, Yolanda stands up and peels off her shirt. Her bra is similar to Trinity’s and, similarly, is off and on the floor as quickly as she revealed it. Trinity stops what she’s doing and reaches towards Yolanda’s chest, desperate to touch. Yolanda grabs her by the wrist and redirects it to Trinity’s jeans. “Naked, now,” Yolanda reminds her. Her own jeans are off in a second fluid motion. She pulls down her underwear, removes her socks, and slides up the bed, ending up in the middle with her head resting against the headboard.
Trinity is still in her fucking jeans. She rushes to catch up, shoving her pants, underwear, and socks off in record time.
Yolanda crooks a finger at Trinity. “Come sit on my face, I want to make you come.”
Trinity shudders. And then she crawls up the length of Yolanda’s body, kissing random parts that appeal to her – the side of one knee, the shadow of her groin (making Yolanda’s legs twitch open further), the swell of her right breast, high up on her left breast (basically her armpit, causing her to huff out an exasperated breath) and finally the hollow of her neck, scraping her teeth along the stretched out tendon.
After that, Yolando has obviously run out of patience. She grabs at Trinity, initially her hips and then sliding her hands down to grip her ass cheeks. The movement is insistent but not forceful. Trinity accepts it and places her knees on either side of Yolanda’s face, cunt hovering above her mouth.
“Let me make you feel good,” she murmurs. Trinity sighs and lowers her body down. Despite being in this position before – on both sides – and knowing it will be better once she sits, Trinity doesn’t put her whole weight on Yolanda’s face. Instead, she tenses her core and holds herself up. Resting but not sitting.
Yolanda begins to eat her out, wicked tongue sweeping her from entrance to clit and licking through her folds. Trinity sighs, relishing in the attention. She hasn’t had much time for sex since starting her residency. And this is good sex. Yolanda knows what she’s doing and has Trinity panting in moments. Underneath her, Yolanda makes a frustrated noise, practically a grunt. And then she’s shifting her hands from Trinity’s ass to her hips, pulling her down with no warning. Trinity gasps – Yolanda’s tongue dipping in and curling inside. Her hands flail out and grab the headboard. But she’s barely supporting herself – all of her weight is in Yolanda’s hands now.
Yolanda doesn’t stop.
It feels like her tongue is everywhere, or maybe like she has three tongues. One moment it’s thrusting inside, the next it’s folding over her clit – again and again and again – and the next it’s exploring through her folds and finding her most sensitive points. Trinity’s thighs are shaking. Sweat is making her skin tacky and making it impossible to keep a grip on the headboard. She feels like she’s on fire, heat kindling in her cunt and roaring through the rest of her body. Yolanda’s tongue slides out and then she’s on Trinity’s clit, kissing and sucking like her life depends on it. It’s everything. Trinity chokes on a moan and comes. The orgasm heats her from the inside out. Flowing through her veins like lava, it makes her shudder and grind on Yolanda’s chin.
As she comes down from it, she recognises that she’s clamped her thighs around Yolanda’s face and has stopped supporting her weight at all. It’s a wonder that Yolanda can breathe. She shifts back, resting her ass on Yolanda’s chest but holding on to the headboard so she’s not crushing her. Looking down at Yolanda’s face reignites the fire in her body. Her whole face is wet. Spit and sweat and Trinity’s pleasure combined together, making her skin glow. Even now, she still looks in control, a smug expression sitting comfortably on her face. Trinity wants to say something, but can’t find her voice.
Yolanda clears her throat and then asks, “Again?”
Trinity nods, head moving so emphatically that her neck cracks. Yolanda smirks. “Shut up,” she says, sitting back on Yolanda’s mouth. This time, she seeks her own pleasure. Grinding her hips until Yolanda’s tongue is inside and her nose is nudging at Trinity’s clit. Yolanda lets her, even helps her by grabbing her hips and encouraging Trinity to go harder and faster. Her second orgasm is easier to come by. It’s less intense – simmering through her veins – but just as good. She gasps and shudders and keeps rolling her hips on Yolanda’s face.
Eventually, it’s too much and she leverages herself off. Her leg shakes as she swings it over Yolanda’s body. Yolanda laughs, rough and satisfied. Trinity kind of wants to smack her. Instead, she rolls onto her side and moves her hand over Yolanda’s hip and down to her cunt. Yolanda’s skin is tacky, and Trinity’s hand stutters along the taut skin. But then she reaches her goal, and her fingers seamlessly glide through Yolanda’s folds. Yolanda sighs and spreads her legs, welcoming Trinity’s fingers.
She’s so wet, and Trinity says as much, voice full of wonder. Trinity’s never been with someone that into eating pussy. Yolanda just shrugs and tells her to hurry up. Huffing, Trinity circles Yolanda’s entrance with her middle finger before sliding it and her ring finger inside. She hooks her fingers up, fluttering her fingertips until Yolanda groans. A quick check and Trinity sees that Yolanda has tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She looks the picture of pleasure. Trinity has never wanted to make someone come so bad in her life. She stretches her thumb up and away from Yolanda’s entrance, locating her clit and circling it with her thumb. Like this, it looks like Yolanda has been hooked on her hand. It made Trinity flush all over again, feeling proprietary over her and dirty about it.
Yolanda begins to roll her hips with Trinity’s movements. Together, they find a rhythm and pace that clearly works for Yolanda, a happy sigh falling from her lips. It takes time for her to come. Trinity ignores her hand cramping and keeps going – she refuses to stop until she’s made Yolanda fall apart. Just as Trinity is about to tap out, Yolanda’s whole body shivers and her legs shake, and she gasps out something that sounds remarkably similar to Trinity.
Feeling useless, Trinity removes her hand almost straight away and begins to shake out the cramp. Yolanda huffs out a laugh at the sight. “Shut up,” Trinity mutters.
“Sorry, rookie,” she says. “You did good.”
Yolanda reaches out to tap Trinity’s ass, clearly saying ‘good game.’ It reminds Trinity of her teenage years, playing soccer with friends and craving their touch while avoiding it at the same time. But this time, she just rolled her eyes.
Yolanda sat up from her core like a show off and went into what was clearly an ensuite. While she was gone, Trinity kept massaging out her hand cramp. She vaguely thought about getting up and getting dressed. She doubted she would be welcome to stay the night. Yolanda emerged a few minutes later, face wiped clean, and held out a cloth to Trinity, who then wiped her own hands clean. While she did that, Yolanda pulled on her underwear and put her clothes into a hamper in the corner. Trinity rolled her eyes – total neat freak.
“Feel free to stay,” Yolanda says as she pulls a sleeping shirt over her head. “I know neither of us are on tomorrow.”
Trinity blinked in surprise but quickly agreed. Yolanda threw her shirt to sleep in – sky blue, clearly well-worn with a fading John Hopkins logo on it – and Trinity pulled it and her underwear back on. Feeling obligated, Trinity picked up her jeans and folded them. Yolanda, already relaxing on her back in bed, watched this with a faint look of amusement. Trinity crawled back into the bed, sliding along the sheets and missing her thick cotton ones. It was only for the night, at least. Before she could fall asleep, Yolanda nudged her arm. Trinity looked over, struggling to make out her features in the dark, but she was pretty sure she could see a smirk.
“You owe me one in the morning.”