Work Text:
It’s a year into her residency that Trinity Santos finds herself invited to her first fundraising gala for the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. The reason the doctors are invited is essentially so they can go around talking about how many lives they save and how hard it is and how badly they need money—though, according to all the poetic Dr. Robby waxes about hospital politics and financials, they mostly have the money, they just don’t want to waste their own on the hard earned wages of their doctors and nurses, so they ask other people for it.
Normally, Santos would reject the idea of traipsing around in some outfit she racked up credit card debt for while the emergency department operates on a skeleton crew, but Santos had a brilliant idea the moment she found out her ex-girlfriend would be attending—spouting the same bullshit as Trinity except in favor of the surgery department.
“Hey, Ellis, you going to this stupid fundraising gala thing?”
Ellis perks up from where she’s sitting at her computer, a curious look on her face. “Why the hell would I go to that thing? The only good thing about them is the free champagne.”
“But what if you went with me and we made my ex-girlfriend, like, stupid jealous?”
Ellis smiles widely, “Yeah, alright, I’m in.”
Santos and Dr. Garcia had hit it off from Trinity’s first day in the emergency department—a mutual attraction, combined with a few heated arguments over Langdon, led to a healthy amount of sleeping together in their off time which eventually evolved into a relationship. However, Santos has never been good at relationships and apparently, neither has Yolanda. Work made them both fragile and things fizzled out and it ended with nothing more than a quiet whisper one morning in bed when Yolanda had looked at her, sighed and said this is over, isn’t it? And Santos had said I think it might be and that was that. Santos was fine with it. Except for the fact that she missed Garcia horribly and she was desperately trying to hide this fact.
It wasn’t even just the sex—the sex with Garcia was mind blowing, sure, but if she really wanted to scratch that itch she could (unfortunately, though, she only wants to scratch that itch with Garcia, another thing she’s hiding). No, it was working cases together, cooking together (even though Garcia rarely let her help anyway), and the nights they spent after work just tangled up on the couch watching any television show they could get their hands on.
None of that will change the fact that Garcia won’t even talk to her. It pisses her off because how dare she? They work together, which means they talk about work and not a word more. It drives Santos crazy, makes her feel like climbing up the walls. So, she sees a slim opportunity to get back at Garcia—to put her somewhere where she can’t run off to deal with a patient, somewhere she can’t hide from Santos. Making her jealous by asking a good friend of hers that Garcia, though she’d never admit it, always worried a little about, to attend on her arm is perhaps uncouth, but Santos has never claimed to be anything but.
“Shit, Santos, you clean up nice,” Ellis grabs her attention as they meet up outside of the event—Ellis wearing a simple black suit with just a vest underneath, one hand shoved in her pocket as she goes to dap Santos up.
After they hug, Santos does a small twirl in her outfit—just a black suit vest and some tailored pants (tailored lovingly by Whitaker who learned how to sew because his sisters always complained about their clothes not fitting right), along with black boots. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, tucked behind her ears though a few strands escape from their hold.
“Pretty good, right?” Trinity asks, a laugh escaping her lips as she links her arm with Ellis’s, the two of them stepping into the gala.
The event is already roaring—champagne flowing and a live band playing orchestral covers of what seems like top forty hits which will probably get old, but right now, it feels kind of fun.
“Let me know if you see her,” Santos finds herself saying, the two of them heading over to grab a drink. “Ugh—Ellis, I don’t think I thought this through.”
“Don’t chicken out on me, look how good I look,” Ellis huffs, handing Trinity a glass of champagne while she rolls her eyes. “Besides, you want her back, don’t you?”
“I—I never said that.”
“It’s all over your face. You’re looking around for her like a lost puppy.”
Santos frowns, “I do not look like a puppy.”
“You do and it’s sad, I feel like I’m watching one of those SPCA commercials,” Ellis laughs, mimicking a pout that makes Santos’s eye twitch. “Look, I get it—she’s hot shit. I can’t believe you managed to bag a surgeon before me, but whatever. She’s hot and you miss her and you want her back. The sooner you admit it, the sooner we can really put this plan into action.”
Santos narrows her eyes. “The plan is in action.”
“Oh no, you want jealousy? I’m pulling out all the stops,” Ellis muses with a laugh, slinging an arm around Santos’s shoulders and clinking their glasses together. “You should know by now I never half-ass anything.”
“This is why I asked you instead of Mohan,” Trinity can’t help but chuckle, despite rolling her eyes at the resident’s antics.
“Speak of the devil—” Ellis starts to say at the same time Samira approaches—a floor-length emerald gown shining against her skin, most of her back on display.
There’s a glass of champagne in her hand already, but she beelines for Santos and Ellis, placing a hand on Santos’s shoulder and whispering in her ear, “She’s here and Shen told her you and Ellis were coming together—Abbot overheard them talking. She looked pissed.”
Samira pulls away from Santos’s ear to smile over at Ellis, “Hi, Dr. Ellis. You two look great together, by the way. Missed opportunity.”
The two of them share a look and a chuckle—they tried it once, right when Santos and Garcia had broken up when Santos was hurting and horny and well, she can’t pretend she didn’t think about Ellis once or twice when they first met. They tried, gave up, and decided they were probably better off as friends—at least for the time being.
“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up a shift just to skip this,” Santos comments, clinking her glass with Samira’s before taking a sip. “You hate hanging out with us.”
Samira sighs deeply, offering Santos a warm smile, “I don’t hate hanging out with you guys, I just…tend to get lost in the work. Besides—I tried to pick up a shift and Robby didn’t let me. He says I need to socialize with people who aren’t patients, so I’m trying. Oh—I’m gonna run, Dr. Garcia looks like she’s going to kill someone.”
Santos’s eyes widen, looking around the room only to see her ex-girlfriend navigating the crowd and shit— she looks gorgeous. She’s wearing a maroon dress with a boatneck that makes her shoulders look fantastic (it’s evil of someone to have even their shoulders look good), the dress backless except for two sashes that fall down from the back of each sleeve. It swishes around her heels as she walks quite quickly over to the champagne tower.
“This was a bad idea.”
Beside her, Ellis is just laughing, “A terrible one.”
As if trying to stoke a flame, Ellis presses a kiss to her temple—Santos resists the urge to roll her eyes—and slides her arm from her shoulders down to her waist, tugging her a little bit closer. Santos does her best to lean into it, biting her lip as she greets, “Dr. Garcia.”
“Dr. Santos. Dr. Ellis,” Garcia says and Santos swears she can see her eye twitching as she says this. She reaches past them for a glass of champagne, her arm brushing against Trinity’s shoulder as she does so. She pauses so she can whisper in Santos’s ear, “Bit uncouth to block the drinks table, no?”
“Always a pleasure, Dr. Garcia,” Santos tries to muster even though her heart is racing. The only time she gets Garcia this close to her lately is when they’re in the emergency department and there’s usually someone dying on the table, so she doesn’t even really get to appreciate it. Garcia is wearing her usual perfume and Santos breathes in the scent of it.
“I’m sure,” is all she says in response, looking Santos up and down. It’s miniscule, but Santos can hear it—the way Yolanda sucks in a breath when her eyes take in her outfit. She watches the way the woman bites the inside of her cheek, hesitating to pull back and increase the space between them. After a moment, though, Ellis clears her throat and Garcia steps away, regarding the two of them with one last look.
“Do you think it’s over?” Santos whispers as soon as she’s gone, hating the way goosebumps rise on her skin as she thinks about the way Garcia’s voice seemed to wash over her like a wave of honeyed velvet.
“Hell no, she’s plotting something,” Ellis laughs, removing her arm from Santos’s waist. “I gotta watch my back, I think she might kill me.”
“You’re the one who got all cozy right as she came over here,” Santos argues, the two of them beginning to bicker like siblings the way they often do. “You did that all to yourself, we didn’t agree to that.”
Ellis shakes her head, finishing her drink with one quick swig before shoving her hands in the pockets of her suit pants. “Yeah, but now you have confirmation she still wants you. She wouldn’t be pissed if she didn’t at least give a little bit of a shit.”
Santos considers this—Ellis has a point. If Garcia didn’t feel at least a little bit of the same way, she wouldn’t bat an eye at Santos attending something like this with someone else. Instead, she marched over here and whispered in Santos’s ear in that voice of hers before marching off looking just as beautiful as the day they met. It was unfair, really, how stunning she was. Especially when she lets her curls loose from the tight bun it’s so often forced into at work, the locks of hair brushing her shoulders and practically begging to have Trinity’s fingers running through them. She gazes wistfully into the crowd, searching hopefully for a wisp of maroon.
“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellis snorts from beside her, grabbing another drink. “I’m gonna go find Shen, have fun trying to sleep with your ex-girlfriend.”
“Don’t leave me—” Santos starts to argue, but Ellis is already disappearing into the crowd. She’s sure the woman will find her later to cause more trouble with Garcia, but right now, Santos feels a bit like a small child abandoned in a mall. She groans, grabs another glass of champagne, and decides to look for Whitaker. Thankfully, she’s able to spot the mousy boy in the crowd, clasping a hand on his shoulder and explaining through gritted teeth. “I came with Ellis so Garcia would get mad at me, but now she’s actually mad at me and I’m scared.”
“I’m so sick of lesbians,” Whitaker groans, his face squished as he runs a hand over it. “Have you ever thought about just telling her you want to get back together?”
“Why does everyone think I want to get back together with her?” Santos asks, her voice incredulous.
“Because you do,” Samira comes up from behind her, offering a polite smile. “We have a bet going on it, actually.”
“Mohan, you can’t tell the people involved in the bet about the bet,” Mateo pipes up with a groan, shaking his head at the woman who looks around with wide eyes. “It could influence it.”
Mohan rolls her eyes, “Whatever—I won’t tell her what I’m betting on, isn’t that good enough?”
“No, but you can buy my silence and I won’t tell Collins.”
The two of them start to bicker and Santos chuckles quietly, nudging Whitaker with her elbow so he'll move out of their way. As soon as they have a moment to themselves, Santos breathes a sigh of relief. “This is a bad idea, we should go home.”
“You know we’re not just here to make your ex jealous, this is also for charity. You do know that, right?” Whitaker asks, a hint of lighthearted judging lacing his tone. “Why don’t you go talk to some donors? Try and get some money for the hospital?”
Santos looks around at the crowd of old white men with a sneer on her face before turning back to Whitaker and shaking her head. “I don’t think donors and I are gonna get along. Whatever, I’m going to the bathroom.”
At her core, Santos really does hate events like this. She hates the way formal clothes feel on her skin, hates how observed she feels. Not to mention they’re only here because the hospital staff is overworked and underpaid which means the wealthy guests all tend to gawk at them like zoo animals, saying shit like ‘you’re so brave’ and ‘you fight everyday’ when they both know it wouldn’t be that way if the hospital could just fork it over. Then it wouldn’t feel so much like being on the frontlines of a never-ending war.
Trinity does her best to navigate the hallways of the venue, feeling like a mouse trapped in a maze until she finds the bathroom, pushing in and taking what feels like her first deep breath of the evening. For all her jokes and bravado with her friends, this is where she lets herself be honest with herself for a moment—gripping the sides of a porcelain sink and staring into her reflection. Some strands of hair have come loose, so she sucks in another breath and tucks them back behind her ears.
Seeing Garcia like this was a mistake. She should’ve stayed home or picked up a shift, but her stupid need to always get back at someone has bitten her in the ass yet again. There’s no getting back at Garcia because no amount of petty set-ups will change the fact that Trinity will never not lose her. That they tried it, that Santos wanted it so badly, and it still didn’t work. It doesn’t work. And she can’t just sit here, pretending to be dating Ellis, and act like it’s something to laugh about.
She almost wishes their breakup had been some big explosion—barbs thrown with razor-sharp tongues, words said with no purpose other than to hurt because a fight— a fight could be amended. There could be apologies and sweet words and soft kisses. There’s no resolution with the quiet whisper their relationship became. This is over, isn’t it? I think it might be. Santos was a fool. She always will be.
One of the stall doors opens and Santos quickly wipes her eyes, clearing her throat to at least make it seem like she isn’t on the verge of a breakdown right now. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she realizes it’s none other than Yolanda stepping out of the stall.
“Trinity?”
Santos lifts her head, meeting Garcia’s eye with strong shoulders and a jutted chin as if that will eradicate the image the woman walked in on. “Yolanda.”
She half expected to see the anger from earlier still in full force, but instead, she looks almost shy when she asks, “Shouldn’t you be getting back to Dr. Ellis?”
“Yeah,” Santos mutters, watching as Garcia tucks her clutch under her arm and washes her hands, avoiding Santos’s eyes. She hates that this is the way things are between them now. Garcia just hums thoughtfully, drying her hands and going to leave the bathroom without another word, but before she can, Santos finds herself saying, “We’re not together.”
Garcia pauses, her hand on the door, saying nothing. Trinity keeps going, “We tried once, like right after me and you broke up, didn’t work. I think you ruined me for anyone else.”
“Trinity,” she says again and there is nothing Santos hates more than the way the woman says her name—wistfully, as if it were a prayer on her lips; a plea.
Santos heads for the door, fueled by the desperate need to get out of here, but before she can push out of the bathroom, Garcia grabs her by the wrist, stilling her instantly. She sucks in a deep breath, relishing the small warmth of Garcia’s hand on her skin. So much better than the brush of shoulders by the drinks table.
“I didn’t want things to end the way they did,” Garcia hums, biting the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t look at Trinity; instead, she stares down at the wrist in her grip, thumb tracing patterns on her inner arm.
Trinity swallows. “That doesn’t change the fact that they did. It’s over.”
“I know,” Garcia sighs, dropping her wrist. “I’m glad you’re not seeing her. Ellis, that is.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you scared off half the hospital with your little tirade earlier, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry about me seeing anyone any time soon,” she makes an attempt at a joke even though she knows it isn’t time for one because that’s all she’s ever known how to do. “It’s cute seeing you jealous, though. So, I guess that’s something.”
The two of them stand there by the door, both of them knowing they need to leave and yet neither of them moving. Eventually, Santos sighs, sick of the standstill. “I should go.”
This time, when she pushes through the door, Garcia doesn’t stop her. Trinity wishes she would.
She steps back out into the party, trying not to think about Garcia standing there in the bathroom—the way she had looked at her, the softness of her voice. Santos stands in the hallway for a moment, trying to amp herself back up to go socialize instead of thinking about her ex-girlfriend. She’s being ridiculous. They see each other all the time at work, she doesn’t know why tonight feels so charged. Maybe it’s the absence of an emergency to distract them.
Santos takes a deep breath, but before she knows it, she’s pushing back into the bathroom to find Garcia standing in front of the sink—still looking far too beautiful for her own good, gripping the sides of it the same way Santos had been before she came out of the stall.
“Why did it end?” she finds herself asking. “If you didn’t want it to end and I didn’t want it to end, then why did it?”
Garcia stands up straight, crossing her arms in front of her as she shrugs. “It wasn’t working, Trinity. We barely saw each other outside of work and when we did, we were exhausted, we’d go weeks without even touching each other—”
“I don’t care,” Santos admits. Because that’s the truth of the matter, isn’t it? She doesn’t care if all they can do after their shift is sleep or if most of their time together is in stolen glances over patients or quips passing each other in the halls, she doesn’t care because Garcia would still be hers. “I don’t care because I want you back, Yolanda. I want whatever you can give me.”
“You deserve so much more than what I can give you,” Garcia whispers, taking a step closer to Santos, looking down at her with a forlorn look in her eyes.
The two of them stand there, just looking at each other and everything feels so charged. Santos breathes in deeply, shaking her head. “I don’t care.”
Kissing Yolanda is a breath of fresh air. The last thing she expected was for the surgeon to surge forward until their lips are meeting, but Santos takes it nonetheless. She tugs Garcia closer by the stupidly soft fabric of her dress, hands landing on the small of her back, resting on the bare skin there. Garcia pushes her until her back is against the sink, hands clasped against her cheeks, holding her in place. Santos breathes her in, reveling in the taste of her for the first time in months.
“I don’t want—” Garcia breathes against her lips, “anyone touching you but me.”
“No one,” Santos shakes her head, “No one since you.”
Garcia moans into her mouth, pushing her back until Santos’s back is hitting a stall door, the two of them pushing inside and slamming the door shut behind them. Every time she kisses Garcia, she feels like she’s never been kissed before—the same giddy butterflies that come with a first crush, a first kiss. It’s her favorite feeling and she missed it so badly.
“Are we really gonna do this here?” Santos asks with a breathy laugh as Garcia pushes her up against the door, hands sneaking beneath her vest. She could drown in the feeling of Garcia’s strong, sure hands against her skin.
“I’ve waited so long to get my hands on you again,” Garcia hums against her neck, hands tracing her waist. “Do you know how tortuous it’s been to work alongside you almost every fucking day? Knowing I couldn’t touch you, not the way I wanted to.”
“I never would’ve stopped you.”
“I couldn’t do that to you,” Garcia shakes her head, hands resting on Trinity’s waist as she lets out a shaky breath. “It had to be all or nothing. You deserve my all.”
Trinity pauses, breath bated in a bathroom stall. “Give it to me, then. I mean it. Take me home, Yolanda, let’s do this the right way.”
She expects Garcia to say no. To say that this means nothing, that they’re just going to do it in a bathroom stall to get the need out, to satiate them, and then they’ll go back to stolen glances and scarce touches in the emergency department like nothing happened. Santos doesn’t know if she can do that again because Garcia means something to her.
“Okay,” Yolanda speaks breathlessly, looking at Trinity as though she were the one to steal it from her. “Okay, let’s go.”
She unlocks the stall door and the two of them leave the bathroom hand in hand, scoping out the hallway to make sure none of their coworkers catch them leaving together. It’s not so much that they know they’ll face ridicule (which they will), more so that Trinity really wants to get out of here. Partially because Garcia’s red lipstick is smeared on her lips and partially because she’s a little worried Garcia will change her mind the longer they linger here.
They sneak out a back patio door and Trinity finds herself giggling slightly as Garcia tugs her along like a woman on a mission.
“What are you laughing at?” Garcia hums, opening her clutch and pulling out her keys. “Did you drive here?”
“I’m laughing at you and no,” she answers both questions in quick succession, blushing when Garcia pauses in their escape to cup her cheek and press a gentle kiss to her lips. For some reason, the sweetness of it catches her off guard.
She can’t help but think about how much they’ve grown since they first met—when it comes to work, they’re both still as cutthroat as they need to be, but with each other, things have shifted. There’s a softness there now that was never quite fulfilled before. She wonders if maybe Garcia always had this sort of fondness, but didn’t know how to show it until now. Santos was much more accustomed to the woman showing her fondness in other ways— honest mistake from the rookie, that’s how we learn. Every hero needs a sidekick.
“Don’t laugh at me, that’s mean,” Garcia teases, tugging Trinity along until they reach the parking lot, Yolanda’s heels clicking against the asphalt and her dress swaying in the wind.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you how beautiful you look tonight,” Santos pauses once they reach her car, hands shoved in her pockets. Garcia turns to look at her, a faint blush on her cheeks at the kind words. “We should go on a real date, you know. That way when you’re all dressed up, this time I’ll know it’s for me.”
Yolanda tilts her head, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she steps forward, placing two hands on Trinity’s chest so she can lean forward and whisper in her ear, “This dress was for you, too.”
Trinity is thankful it’s dark because she’s almost certain her cheeks go bright red at her sultry tone of voice, feeling desire pooling deep within her. With firm hands on Yolanda’s hips, she pushes the woman up against her own car, finding her lips once more.
Someone clears their throat and they turn to find Dana standing by her car, smoking a cigarette in a long-sleeve black dress. The two of them break apart like two kids getting caught under the bleachers, watching the woman take a long drag before she speaks. “You two sneak around without getting caught for one more week and I’ll split the pot with you.”
“What’s the pool?” Garcia asks, catching Trinity off guard.
“Somewhere around four hundred, last I checked.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Yolanda nods while Trinity avoids eye contact with Dana. Since the two of them have grown closer over her time at the Pitt, this really does feel a bit like getting busted by her mother—or, what she imagines it would be like if her mother cared what she did at all. Yolanda unlocks the car, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she turns to Dana, asking her, “Not a word?”
Dana chuckles. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
The two of them separate, waving half-heartedly to Dana as Yolanda opens up the passenger side door for her, the woman sliding effortlessly into the driver’s side, tucking her dress in after her. She chuckles softly to herself, shaking her head as she turns to Santos, “Did you know they were betting on us?”
“They bet on the way the wind blows, you should know that,” Santos teases, feeling strangely nervous to be truly alone in the car with her. It’s ridiculous—they’ve done this all before, but there’s something new about it now. “Mohan let it slip earlier tonight, though.”
“Figures,” Yolanda laughs, pulling out of her parking spot and taking off down the road. Her right hand lingers on the center console and Santos stares at it, resisting the urge to reach up and tangle their fingers together. She craves the touch of the other woman, craves the warmth of her palm sliding against hers, but she can’t quite bring herself to move as silence falls over the car. “Don’t go quiet on me now, Santos.”
“Sorry, I just—-” she starts, shaking her head lightly. “I don’t wanna fuck this up again.”
Garcia shoots her a look, her hands tight on the wheel. She watches the woman look over her shoulder before she pulls off, stopping the car on the side of the road. Not that it really matters—it’s late and they’re in a quiet area. Still, Santos checks for oncoming headlights anyway. At least, she does until Garcia is reaching across the center console and pressing an all too gentle kiss to her lips.
“You didn’t fuck anything up in the first place,” Garcia whispers against her, eyes darting down to meet her gaze after she pulls away. “This job—it’s not good for relationships.”
“Bad diagnosis, I guess,” Santos jokes mainly because she’s all too caught off guard by the fact that Garcia pulled over the car just to kiss her.
Garcia scoffs, sitting back in her seat and turning the car back onto the road. “You can do better than that.”
“It’s terminal?” she tries again, feeling a bit of her confidence surge back into her.
“Don’t make me turn this car around.”
Santos sucks in a breath, “I knew you were old, but that was just egregious.”
“I’m thirty-three—shut up,” Yolanda huffs, shaking her head in disapproval while Trinity just bites her lip in a vain attempt to stifle her chuckle. This time, when she rests her hand on the center console, Trinity doesn’t hesitate to reach for it and intertwine their fingers. She can feel the way Yolanda squeezes her hand, a quiet reassurance.
The drive is a short one, for which Santos is immensely grateful. Everything in her pulses with need and desire, a desire so long unfulfilled. She wished it had been easier to move on, at least physically with someone else, but she could barely even touch herself without thinking of Garcia, she could only imagine how much worse it would be if she tried to bring a stranger into the midst. She meant it when she said Garcia ruined her for anyone else.
Garcia parks the car outside her apartment building, heels clicking against the sidewalk as she waits patiently for Santos to exit the car. Wind whips at the bottom of her dress, moonlight encasing her where she stands. Trinity thinks she’s never seen someone more beautiful.
“What are you staring at?” Garcia asks with a nervous chuckle, brushing a curl behind her ear.
Santos just shakes her head. “Nothing. C’mon, it’s cold out here.”
Garcia rolls her eyes, probably sensing the words on the tip of Santos’s tongue, words that sound scarily similar to I might be in love with you, but it might just be the champagne. Words Santos has never been good at saying, not in any real way. She keeps them to herself, following Garica into her apartment building as the woman holds the door open for her.
“Can you handle stairs in these heels?” Santos teases as the two of them guide each other up the steps, unwilling to let go of one another. Really, she just wants an excuse to keep the woman’s hand in hers.
“I’ll be brave,” Garcia’s voice drips with sarcasm, an eye-roll accompanying the words as she tugs Santos up to her door. She lets go of Trinity’s hand for just a moment to unlock the door, shoving it open quickly and dragging Santos in by the waist.
As soon as the door is closed, the two of them are on each other. Garcia has her pushed up against the door, hands sneaking beneath her vest top and resting on the bare skin of her waist. Santos revels in the warmth of her, their lips finding one another again and again—no longer barred by the veil of propriety that comes with being in public. Their kiss is messy and desperate, a testament to how badly both of them have been craving to fall back into one another, to fall back into what they used to be.
Without breaking their lips apart, Garcia’s hands reach for the buttons on her top, shrugging it down Trinity’s shoulders and leaving her beautifully bare against the hardwood of the door. She leans and kisses down the woman’s chest, taking an erect nipple into her mouth with little preamble and drawing a smooth moan from Trinity’s lips. Her hands reach around Garcia, blunt nails digging into the small of her back, making small scratches that won’t last the hour. It doesn’t matter, though, because she has her hands full of Garcia and that’s all she can ask for.
“God—I missed you,” Garcia whispers against her skin, hands reaching for Santos’s belt and undoing it along with her button and zipper, not even bothering to tug the leather from its loops. Santos just thunks her head against the door, relishing in the way Garcia’s hand slips down her pants, cupping her through her underwear, feeling how soaked she is as she rubs the wet fabric against her aching cunt. “Missed this.”
Her only response is to moan brokenly, hands digging into Garcia’s back as the woman pushes her underwear aside, fingers dipping into her soaked folds, gathering wetness on her fingertips with each drag. “Fuck, guess you have to make up for lost time, then.”
“Oh, I plan on it,” Garcia hums, raising her head to kiss Santos deeply at the same time two fingers of hers push at Santos’s entrance. She gasps into the kiss, relishing in the feeling of fullness that follows soon after. They’re moving fast, but she knows this is only the beginning. Garcia fucks into her gently, feeling the way Santos preens beneath her, fingers curling and drawing sweet sounds from her kiss-bitten lips.
Her knees buckle against the door, but a strong hand on her waist keeps her standing while Garcia only fucks her harder, pushing her against the wood and keeping her steady as she adds a third finger, the burn of the stretch coursing through her in ripples of sensational pleasure. Her hand grips Garcia’s forearm, fingers digging into her skin, pulling the woman closer. Garcia follows happily, her entire body pressed up against Santos, fucking into her at the same time her lips trail down her neck, leaving a path of red marks and saliva in their wake.
She can already feel pressure building within her, her orgasm cresting much sooner than she would like. Santos can’t help it—she’s pent up from spending the last few months pining after her ex and then folding the moment she saw her in a beautiful dress. It only makes sense her body is more than ready to give into her.
“C’mon, baby,” Garcia coos in her ear, her voice velvety-sweet; sickly-honeyed. The tone goes straight to her cunt, along with the three fingers spreading out with each inward press, stretching her just to the point of pleasure, never giving Trinity more than she knows she can take. “Just one for me, real quick.”
Santos lets out a breathy chuckle, hand still tight around Garcia’s forearm, the other desperately searching for purchase against a hard door and finding nothing. Her orgasm hits her so hard she doesn’t know how she’s still standing. Garcia fucks her through it with a small smile on her face, lips brushing her shoulder along with a whispered, “Good girl.”
“Fuck,” Santos breathes out, running a hand through her already-sweaty hair before she tugs Garcia into another kiss.
The two of them push away from the door, stumbling through the living room Santos knows well enough to navigate blind. Garcia chuckles against her lips, dragging her back towards the bedroom. Santos follows willingly, the two of them tangled up with one another in the darkness.
They reach the bedroom and Garcia reaches for a lamp, casting a dim, warm light across the room. She remembers the first few times they did this—always in the dark, never really talking about it. So unlike what’s happening right now.
Santos meets Garcia’s eyes as she undoes her pants fully, knees still weak from her orgasm as she steps out of the slacks, kicking off her shoes on the way to the bed. Garcia just smiles, biting her lip from where she sits on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other.
Trinity doesn’t hesitate to drop to her knees in front of Garcia—the woman instantly uncrossing her legs and letting them hang open as she runs a hand through Santos’s short hair. Santos just hums, pushing up the loose, soft fabric of her dress and pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. With delicate hands, she undoes the straps of her heels, placing them neatly to the side before she reaches for the lacy maroon underwear Garcia wears beneath her dress, tugging it down with ease.
“You look so pretty like this. So good for me,” Garcia whispers, barely loud enough to be heard. She caresses Trinity’s cheek affectionately, teeth gnawing at her lower lip as the two of them stare at each other for a brief, fleeting moment.
Santos hooks her arms beneath the woman’s thighs, tugging her closer to the edge of the bed and relishing in the way Garcia moans softly. With the fabric of her dress still hiked up, half falling in her way, Santos nips and kisses at the smooth, sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, deliberately ignoring where she knows Yolanda is going to want her most.
She waits until the woman has her hand tangled in Trinity’s hair, a soft whine falling from her throat as she falls back against the bed, hips arching towards her mouth, trying to get her to move quicker than she wants to. Trinity chuckles against her skin, sucking a dark mark into her thigh because she’ll be damned if she lets Yolanda clock into work tomorrow without at least one hickey.
Her tongue slides against Yolanda’s slick folds in one long stripe, getting as much of a taste of her as she can. She moans against her cunt, relishing in the familiarity of her. Garcia responds immediately, her hand tightening in Trinity’s hair as she begins to explore her with her tongue, dipping into as much of her as she can. Her tongue swirls around Garcia’s clit, applying light pressure and sucking on the bundle of nerves, feeling the way the legs in her hold start to twitch at the sensation. Garcia’s hips jerk up against her mouth, but Santos is quick to hold her back down, determined to give the woman pleasure at her own pace. Garcia just moans and whimpers beneath her, half-formed words coming from her throat, but nothing of any real coherence.
Trinity has always loved it when she has Garcia like this—to see a woman so strong and commanding reduced to an absolute mess. She can’t help but feel a strange sense of awe at the way Garcia gasps when her tongue pokes at her entrance, not quite dipping into her. She loves how responsive she is, how much control she’s willing to hand over to Trinity—how much they surrender to one another.
She begins to fuck into Garcia with her tongue, fingers tight enough on Garcia’s thighs, she wouldn’t be surprised if the woman had fingerprints on her skin to remember this by. Another mark for her collection, Santos supposes. Something that’ll slip her mind until she sits a certain way or crosses her legs—forced to remember that Santos was here, that Santos made her feel like this. She moans at the thought, the vibrations rippling through Garcia’s cunt and across her skin.
Yolanda is close, she can feel it in the way her body responds and how she gushes against her mouth, chin soaked in slick, running down her inner thighs, making a mess out of both of them and the sheets below. Trinity’s response to this is to fuck her harder, diving deeper until all she can feel and taste is Yolanda, Yolanda, Yolanda. She loves it like this, when things between feel all-consuming, impossible to escape. She breathes in the heady scent of the other woman as she comes, drunk on the feeling of her cunt on her tongue.
“Fuck,” Garcia exclaims—the first clear word she’s been able to get out since the moment Santos’s tongue first brushed against her. Before her orgasm has even finished, she’s dragging Santos up by the hair and smashing their lips together, ignoring the fact that Santos is covered in her and moaning against her lips.
Garcia pushes until Santos is on her back, a hand taut against her sternum as she refuses to break their kiss. A leg slots between Trinity’s, pushing up against her aching cunt through the fabric of her dress.
Yolanda groans as if she only just remembered she was still dressed, standing up from the bed and sliding the fabric off of her shoulders. Santos watches it fall as if a curtain were being dropped, unveiling an intricate statue crafted from the finest marble. Garcia leans down, one knee on the bed as she kisses Santos deeply, a gentle hand caressing her face before she’s gone again, rifling through her bedside drawer.
Santos watches with careful, curious eyes, feeling boneless and absolutely kiss-drunk. Garcia returns after a moment, looking at Santos with something glimmering in her gaze, tugging straps up her hips and pushing the woman back onto the bed with practiced ease.
“Fuck,” Santos breathes out, hands finding Yolanda’s waist and lips searching for hers, slotting against one another with ease. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Lost time, right?” Garcia hums, pushing at Santos until the woman is lying on her stomach. Garcia presses against her back, steady hands tugging at her hips until she’s resting on her haunches, the length of the toy pressed against her soaked cunt, just resting there. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed fucking you, baby.”
Santos moans at the sultry words, pushing her hips back against Garcia, but the woman is firm in her grip, keeping her right where she wants her. She bites her lip and presses the side of her face against the pillows, more than content to let Garcia have her way with her.
“I’ve missed it, too,” she breathes out against the silk pillowcase, “So fucking much.”
Garcia’s bare front presses warmly against her back, unable to feel where one ends and the other begins. Her words are commanding yet gentle all at once in her ear, asking, “Can I fuck you, baby?”
“Please, God, please,” Trinity breathes out with no hesitation, sucking in a harsh breath and gritting her teeth as Yolanda’s fingers find her folds once more, spreading them apart as if to prepare her. It’s been so long since she’s given herself to another person so completely—before Yolanda, it was even rarer. The woman has a way of commanding her that Santos finds impossible to resist; impossible to do anything except let her walls down, let the woman have her way with her. She knows what it is— trust, love. All the things Santos has never been good at before.
Garcia guides the toy until it lines up with Trinity’s entrance, pushing in slowly, letting her get used to the feel of it. They both know it’s been a while, Trinity was honest about that with her back in the bathroom—a conversation that feels like a million years ago now, and they’re in no rush. They have all night (granted, both of them have work in the morning, but Trinity has done shifts on less sleep before) and they have as much time as they want after tonight.
She moans at the feeling of Garcia filling her up, her cunt stretching around the toy as she fights the urge to push her hips back, to take all of it sooner than she probably should. Still, Garcia’s hold on her is firm, only giving what she knows Santos can handle.
Eventually, she bottoms out, letting Santos get used to the feeling of her. With her front still against Trinity’s back, she coos out, “You’re taking me so well, so well, Trinity. Such a good girl for me.”
Trinity can’t help but moan at the praise, her mouth desperately trying to form words and failing. Garcia begins to fuck into her slowly, still taking it easy. She reaches a hand beneath the two of them until her palm is flat against Santos’s stomach, feeling herself pump in and out. Yolanda reaches for Trinity’s hand, pressing it against the same spot and intertwining their fingers so both of them can feel it. “You feel that, baby?”
Trinity nods, her mouth open in a silent gasp.
“Good. Good girl.”
The words go straight to her cunt, relishing in the pleasure of the way she stretches around the toy, Garcia fucking into her so gently but every movement still laced with so much passion. Every stroke of her cock is deep and filling, hitting Santos in the way that practically makes her eyes roll back into her head. After a few moments of letting her get used to it, Yolanda starts to speed up, still keeping their hands locked over her stomach, able to feel each and every inward press that feels like it’s tearing her apart and rearranging her with each second that passes.
She moans against the pillows, pushing her hips back against Garcia’s and this time the woman lets her, pulling back and using her spare hand to guide her hips onto her, pulling her back every time she pushes in. Santos can’t believe she allowed herself to forget just how good Garcia is at this. She remembers being nervous the first time Garcia fucked her like this—having only been on the giving end of it in the past, but Yolanda had been so gentle, reassuring when she needed to be and rough when she knew Santos could take it. She’s the same way now, reading Santos’s body better than she could herself.
“You have no idea how many times I touched myself to the thought of you like this,” Garcia hums, a hand tracing patterns down her spine, fucking her deeper, rougher with the words. “How many times I came with your name on my lips. Nothing is better than this, though, you right here, just how I like you.”
“Fuck, Yolanda,” Trinity grits out, shoving her hips back against the woman’s quickened pace. “You—you fuck me so good, so good. I’m so full— oh. ”
Garcia’s hips snap against hers, her pace brutal and unforgiving as she seems determined to get another orgasm from her and make sure she has difficulty walking in the morning. Santos doesn’t care if she’s sore for the next three days, it’s worth it. Worth it to have Garcia like this.
“Good girl,” Garcia hums, hand soft against her back, pushing her down, shoving her harder against the toy. Her hand remains on her stomach and Trinity moans at the feeling of the cock pushing against her skin, filling her so completely. “You take me so well, look so good like this.”
Trinity moans brokenly, already feeling the soreness in her throat from the noises the woman is forcing out of her. She knows another release is on the horizon, but she never wants this to end. Even so, the harder Yolanda fucks into her, she’s starting to realize her body is giving her little choice in the matter. Her gasps and moans turn into mangled whimpers, getting lost in the silk of the pillows as she grips frantically at the sheets, shoving herself further back against Garcia.
“I’ve got you,” Garcia hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss in between her shoulder blades, letting her lips trail down her back before they find her shoulder—sucking a mark into the fair skin. Trinity brings her hand back so she can tangle it in Yolanda’s hair, dragging the woman up, by extension pushing her in deeper, and finding her lips. Garcia’s lipstick is nothing more than a faint stain and Santos is almost certain it’s all over her mouth, chin, neck—really, anywhere at this point. “Come on, baby, come for me.”
She can feel her entire body clenching around the deep thrusts, gushing down the toy and her inner thighs, her release hitting her so much harder than her first. Garcia doesn’t slow down at first, just continuing to fuck her through it, spreading her open with her hands so she can get a deeper angle. Santos might die right here in this bed, but if she’s going to go—she’s glad it was because of this.
“Fuck,” Santos spits out for probably the twentieth time in the last five minutes, “You’re trying to kill me.”
Garcia laughs, pulling out enough so she can help Trinity onto her back, pushing back in slow and sensual and finding her lips in the middle. She stops there—just resting inside of her while the two of them kiss, wrapping around each other like tendrils of ivy.
“I just—” Garcia starts to say against her lips, a breathy chuckle following her words before she dives back in for a brief moment, “really fucking missed this.”
“Can we—can we promise this time?” Santos asks, feeling far too desperate but she’s too fucked out and happy to care. “No matter how little we see each other or how terrible work gets or how much we start to hate every day, no running away from each other. I need this, I need you.”
Garcia looks down at her, the two of them still impossibly connected, completely and utterly tangled with one another, both breathless. Tenderly, Garcia brushes a lock of hair out Trinity’s eyes, nodding. “Okay. No running.”
Santos lets out a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing her deeply. She whines against her lips when Garcia pulls out of her, hating the feeling of emptiness that follows. Yolanda just chuckles, pulling away briefly to tug the straps back down her hips, tossing it aside to be dealt with later before diving in so she can kiss Trinity again.
The two of them lay like that for God knows how long, just tasting each other, getting used to the feeling of one another again. Santos thinks about the I love you on her lips, thinks she’ll save it for another day. Right now, this is enough. Just a promise from Yolanda to get her by, allowing themselves the time and patience to feel each other out again, to slot back into their routine.
On the floor, Trinity’s phone buzzes, still in the pocket of her slacks and she groans, climbing off the bed to go and check it.
huckleberry: i’m assuming you’re not coming home tonight?
santos: bullseye
“Come back, I’m cold,” Garcia groans from the bed, reaching out for Santos as soon as she’s in range again and dragging her back onto the bed. Once they’re settled again, Garcia asks, “Will you stay?”
Santos nods, biting her lip. “You’re stuck driving me to work in the morning, then.”
Yolanda just laughs, wrapping an arm around Santos’s waist and tugging her closer. “Fine, but I’m not stopping to get you a seven-dollar latte, I know you don’t make enough to afford those as often as you do.”
“Well, that’s why I’m dating a surgical resident,” Santos teases, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck and feeling the way Garcia shivers. “Now, are we going to shower or am I just going to sleep in your lipstick?”
Garcia pauses, pulling her head back to get a good look at Trinity in the dim light of her room before barking out a laugh. “Okay, yeah, maybe we should shower.”
Santos stands up from the bed, feeling the way her legs start to shake a bit when she lingers with her weight on them. Yolanda just grabs her hand, tugging her towards the bathroom and starting up the water. It only takes a moment for the water to heat up before Garcia is dragging her beneath the warm spray, chuckling lightly when she sees the full expanse of the red on Santos’s skin under the full light.
“You look good like this,” Garcia hums, pressing Santos up against the tiled wall, lip between her teeth as she looks Trinity up and down. “All covered in me.”
“I’d leave it, but I don’t think that’d be very professional,” Santos retorts. Secretly she delights in the idea of such a thing—kiss marks and bruises right below her scrubs, just below the line of where people can see. Unfortunately, though, she likes her job, so she decides not to push the limit of what she can and can’t get away with. Besides, they have to keep things on the down low for a week—for Dana’s sake.
Speaking of, Santos remembers that conversation, running a hand down her face as she groans, “Oh, my God, everyone was betting on us.”
“The ED is a bunch of filthy gamblers, I’m not sure why you’re surprised,” Garcia laughs, pulling away from her to reach for the soap. She squeezes some onto her hands, sudsing it up before rubbing at Trinity’s skin, watching the soapy water turn pink as it rubs off the lipstick stains. Santos just rests with her head against the tile, too tired and fucked out to do anything but relish in the joy of having Garcia’s hands on her. “It’s my fault anyway, I was whining about our break-up to Langdon, he probably got the rumor started that I was some lovesick puppy.”
For a minute, Santos tries to reconcile that picture with the Garcia standing in front of her—so confident, like she knew Trinity was going to come running back to her the whole time, like she never once doubted that what they had wasn’t over. Picturing Garcia heartbroke and whining is something her mind almost can’t even comprehend. “I can’t really picture you as a lovesick puppy.”
“Good,” Yolanda scoffs, leaning forward and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to her lips. “No one should have to see me like that. Especially not you, I’d never hear the end of it.”
Santos chuckles, grabbing the woman by the waist when she tries to move away, teasing, “You were lovesick over me.”
“Whatever.” Garcia rolls her eyes, crossing her arms against her chest beneath the warm spray of water. “You’re never going to see it because I’m not gonna be a fucking idiot again. So, ha.”
Her heart warms at the thought—the thought that something like this could be forever. She’s pulling Garcia into another kiss before she has the chance to keep arguing, smiling against her lips. Garcia laughs against her, a gentle hand caressing her face as she drags her beneath the water with her. Trinity thinks she may start to hate hospital galas a little bit less after this.