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Baran Al-Hashimi was too gorgeous to be such a bitch, Trinity thought, even though she knew she herself was a bitch for even thinking it. It doesn’t matter. People expect her to be one, and it’s not worth the energy to try and prove them wrong.
Her head fucking hurts, aching something awful and constant at her temples, an inescapable pulse of pain. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to think, let alone chart properly, probably doomed to be in this godforsaken hospital a couple hours into night shift trying to catch up, like she always is. For all her fucking talent, saving lives doesn’t get her out of paperwork.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy, or something like that.
Part of her stupidly feels on the verge of tears, though she doesn’t let herself cry quite so easy, would rather be caught dead than with her eyes shining wet. Death would be a lot less embarrassing. It’d probably make some people cheer.
Her shoulders raise, tense, a preppy lululemon jacket— was that really necessary, in a fucking ER?— appearing at the edges of her vision, signaling threat threat threat.
“Doctor Santos.”
A steady voice, clear diction, smooth, almost sultry in a way, if you really think about it, like, there’s something sexy there, something alluring—
What the fuck. Is she thinking. God, is she really this gay?
“Reporting for duty,” Trinity replies, dry and even, casting a glance upward at the attending.
“Go home,” Baran says, simply, head tilting a little. “You can come in early tomorrow to finish up on your charting.”
Trinity looks back up, eyebrows drawn together, suspicious, waiting to catch a lie. “Is this a joke, or…?”
“No joke. You’ve worked very hard today, Doctor Santos, I don’t want you burning out. Go home.” Baran brushes past her with a light touch to Trinity’s shoulder, a warm hand that lingers only a moment but sears through Trinity’s clothes, branding her. She shouldn’t even notice it, but she has to fight not to shudder.
“I—” she tries to protest, maybe, or throw out a quip, or maybe an agreement, or anything, but she can’t manage it. Just watches Baran walk away, mane of curls frizzy now at the end of shift, so pretty.
Fuck.
…
Dennis is at farm Amy’s and Garcia can have a hot date with her rose toy for all Trinity fucking cares (she fucking cares) and Trinity is alone.
On her back, in her bed, too tired to do much of anything. Even numbing her mind with her phone takes too much effort. She’s exhausted, but not sleepy, not anywhere near the oblivion of drifting off for the night. It’s not like that’s any real escape, either, not with nightmares curling tight around her lungs and squeezing ‘til she gasps awake, leaving her up and down all night. Restless rest. An endless cycle.
Sighing, she picks up her phone anyways, wincing at the brightness of it before quickly turning it down, shifting onto her side with a grunt. No texts, not that she’d expect there to be any. No updates, not much of anything— a few spam emails, a few based on your recent saves! from Pinterest. She clears the notifications and clicks on messaging despite herself. Scrolls through old conversations with Garcia— either one note and dry or sexting that she faked her way through— a heaviness settling over her.
Not that she’d call, but if she did, she doubts Garcia would answer.
She wants it again. It itches under her skin, makes her restless and twitchy. She wants to be used, ruined, pushed into the sheets with Garcia on her face, grinding into her mouth and barely allowing her a breath. Maybe it’s bad to want, to need, but at least it’s distracting, at least it’s something. Noncommittal. It’s not like she hates it. It’s all she can handle, really. Doesn’t know how to accept anything softer.
But it doesn’t matter, because she can’t have it. Not right now. Maybe in a week when things inevitably end up back in bed, a push and pull with little to no communication, a dance Trinity is very familiar with by now. She’ll let herself fall back into it, even if it hurts, especially if it hurts. For a while it’s all-consuming, enough to quiet the spin of her torturous thoughts, and that’s all she needs.
All she needs.
Huffing a heavy sigh, she sits up in bed, silky hair sliding away from her face. She tucks it behind her ears, pockets her phone, stands up on socked feet. She wants to get out of here, this dull, empty, lifeless apartment. It’s suffocating, it’s the vacuum of space, too fucking quiet.
She tugs on a jacket and stays in her sweats, toes into sneakers and grabs her keys. It’s too late for anything fucking good to be open, so it’ll probably just end up being a gas station run, an energy drink that she shouldn’t have. It’s fine. She has to be back at work in like five hours but it’s fine. She’s gone longer without sleep before.
…
Fluorescent lights and a line-up of fridges hum, worsen her headache as she reaches for a caffeine cure. She doesn’t really like trying new things but she goes for it anyways, reaches for a flavor of some energy drink that looks new, one she’s never had. It’s some bullshit name that doesn’t tell her any sort of flavor profile but it’s fine. It’s caffeine.
She beelines for self-checkout because she’d like to avoid as much human interaction as possible, pays for her drink and cracks it open as she leaves.
It tastes… fine. TV static and glittery gasoline and artificial sweetener. Some sort of citrusy fruit. 6/10.
The night air is warm but not too muggy, pleasant enough to sit on the curb, sip at her drink. Staring off into the distance, car lights blurring, her mind is full and empty all at once. She still wants Garcia. Still just to get used, just to get fucked, just to not be alone. Just to feel wanted for at least an hour or two before she’s cast aside again. It’s embarrassing to even think it, a humiliation ritual inside her head, so she takes another long sip of her drink, tries to force her thoughts somewhere else.
A mane of pretty, messy curls catches her eye, and she stops, energy drink halfway to her mouth for another swig.
“…Dr. Al?” Trinity speaks up, hesitant, a little surprised at herself for saying something. Usually she’d slink away as quick as possible, pray she wasn’t seen— it’s, again, too fucking late to be interacting with people.
Maybe it’s the messy form that stopped her. So unlike the Baran she usually sees, put together and standing tall, hair tied half-back, expression controlled. Trinity doesn’t see that, now. She sees hair down, shoulders slumped, the glow of a cigarette. Trinity would have never in a million years pegged Baran Al-Hashimi as a smoker.
“…Doctor Santos,” Baran murmurs, when her big, tired eyes flick to Trinity’s. A car whizzes past, brights on, illuminating the lines in her face for a moment. Sunken. “I thought I told you to go home and rest up for your shift tomorrow.” Her voice is still controlled, but the normally crystal clear diction has softened just slightly around the edges.
Trinity shrinks in on herself a little, feeling scolded, like she’s in trouble. Fucking hates it, the unease that curls in her chest, the uncertainty, defenses raising. As if it’s her fault she can’t fucking sleep. She didn’t ask Doctor Robot to fucking send her home early. She could’ve stayed and finished just fucking fine. “Yeah, well, not all of us are perfect,” she mumbles, resentment a childish emotion that clenches in the palms of her hands. Not fair.
But Baran is decidedly… not-perfect, not like she seemed to be at first, polished and pristine. Instead, she stands there with her not-perfect posture and her not-perfect hair, a vice between her fingers. She looks… good, really good, in her not-perfectness.
She looks different. It makes her look.. kind of perfect.
Before Trinity can shake the thought out of her head, Baran is crooking a finger at her, ignoring her grumble, beckoning her over. “Come.”
Her feet carry her forward, almost against her will, obeying without a second thought. For a moment, she’s blank. Watching enraptured as Baran takes a drag of her cigarette, breathing out tendrils of smoke.
“You’re a very pretty girl, Trinity,” Baran says, almost soft, a little fond, head tilting. The sound of Trinity’s first name in Baran’s mouth makes her shudder, cheeks pink, eyes dropping to Baran’s mouth. “And that should not interfere with my ability to mentor you.”
Trinity scoffs, light, a little breathless with shock that doesn't fully register. She's never seen Baran so... uninhibited. “I— don’t need a mentor.”
“Then what do you need, Doctor Santos?”
What does she need, huh? It’s a pang in her gut, a burst of heat that trickles down, aches in her cunt. She needs Baran, if she's honest with herself. Maybe she just needs to get fucked. Pent-up and all.
Trying to fuck her boss wouldn’t even be the stupidest thing she’s done in her life. Probably wouldn’t make top 5. And oh, god, the way her tongue curls around Trinity’s name, the slight smirk lifting the edges of her lips, the scent of cigarette smoke and black cherry, dark vanilla, something sweet and dark and fruity, and—
“I need you to fuck me,” Trinity breathes, blunt and not thought-through, not at fucking all. Need clouds her mind and lowers her walls and she distantly registers this could get her in big fucking trouble. She distantly registers that she doesn’t really care.
Baran sucks her teeth to hide a grin, and the sound makes Trinity shiver. She looks distinctly impressed, like maybe she’d expected Trinity to back away, back out. Like she respects it, Trinity’s ability to stand her ground.
“This could get both of us in some very hot water, Trinity,” she replies, unable to hide her amusement, so similar to Doctor Al-Hashimi and so fucking different all at once. Trinity’s seen that look before, when she quips, snarks, this little expression that Baran gets as if she's almost fascinated with how Trinity's mind works. Maybe all those moments were just Baran peeking through the carefully constructed mask of Dr. Al Hashimi.
Either way, Trinity’s cunt is still pulsing between her legs, making her desperate to squirm, press her thighs together to relieve a little of the ache. She doesn’t. She lifts her drink up to take another sip and Baran mirrors it, taking a drag of her cigarette.
“So, you’re saying yes,” Trinity grins, just lightly, some cockiness seeping back into her tone. “You’re saying you want to fuck me?”
Baran’s head tilts back, eyes lidded, lip curled in a smirk. She ignores the question to ask one of her own. “Do you smoke, Trinity?”
“If a pretty lady asks me to, yeah,” Trinity replies, trying to pretend like her heart isn’t pounding in her chest, threatening to beat out of it.
Baran laughs, eyes sparkling and so fucking pretty in the dim light, head crooking. “Do I fall under that category to you?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t answer that. Thought that this was gonna get us in a lot of hot water,” Trinity murmurs, pushing back just a little, eyes falling to watch Baran’s mouth.
Baran takes a final drag of her cigarette and blows the smoke out slow, studying Trinity. Dropping it on the concrete, Trinity watching as Baran crushes it with the heel of her boot. Trinity crunches her empty can, shoves it in her hoodie pocket.
Baran fishes another cigarette out of her pocket and lights it, the flame illuminating her features in a warm glow— her mascara’s smudged in a way Trinity didn’t notice before, like she’d been crying. Maybe their nights were going similarly; Baran just as lonely as she.
Or maybe she’s making that up in her head. But it makes her feel a little better.
“You would smoke if I asked you to,” Baran tells her, and it doesn’t really sound like a question— more of a command, a response to her pushback— but Trinity nods anyways, a throb in her clit reminding her of her predicament.
Baran nods back, satisfied. “Open.”
Trinity hesitates. Everything in her is screaming to obey, just listen, open up her mouth, show the pink of her tongue to Baran. But she can’t quite manage it, standing still, heat flushing her cheeks pink, quickening her breaths.
It doesn’t matter, because Baran doesn’t take that as an answer. Her hand reaches up to squish Trinity’s cheeks, firm but not hurtful, her mouth popping open. It’s the first touch, it’s electric. Trinity stifles a whimper.
Baran takes a deep inhale of her cigarette and leans forward, slowly breathing the smoke into Trinity’s open mouth. The taste of it fills her lungs, dark and bitter, the nicotine already soothing out a few of her edges— or maybe that’s a placebo. Maybe she’s a little too woozy with the blood rushing to her cunt, fuzzing her brain.
“Good girl,” Baran whispers, as Trinity breathes it back out, shaky.
“Never took you for a rule-breaker,” Trinity murmurs back, shuddering at the praise, eyes heavy-lidded. The proximity between them is addictive, warm, and she wants to fall into Baran, feel every inch of her.
“I seem to have gotten the opposite impression of you, Doctor Santos.”
Trinity grins, holding back a giggle, delirious in a way, wobbly-footed in uncharted territory, tipsy on the attention of a gorgeous woman. “So you’ve been watching me.”
Baran grins back, less girlish, imbued with a quiet confidence Trinity has never managed to reach. “Very closely.”
…
Baran’s apartment is nice, really nice. Normal. Not abhorrently messy or robotically pristine, just… neat. Some things out of place, a couple empty coffee cups on the counter, pillows mussed on the couch, but generally clean, no clothes on the floor or shoes strewn about or messy takeout containers.
Trinity feels unsure in a way she usually hates, tension held behind her ribs, wide-eyed and a little shaky. She doesn’t hate it as much now, knowing Baran will call the shots tonight, knowing she already has been. It only adds to the ache in her cunt, heart racing, cheeks hot with flush.
Holy fuck, she can’t believe she’s here. Can’t process it. But god, will she enjoy it while she can, when Baran is loose enough for it, broken-down in a way Trinity can pick up on but won’t dare look into. It’s working in her favor for now, Baran’s usually strict reservations dropped.
Baran settles on her couch, crooks a finger to beckon Trinity over. It makes her just as mindless as it did outside the gas station, and she obeys, feet carrying her over to stand before Baran as the older woman rolls her neck, gazing half-lidded up at Trinity. “Sit.”
Trinity timidly takes a seat next to Baran, hands folded in her lap.
Baran makes a soft, displeased noise, shaking her head, patting her thigh. “Sit,” she repeats, voice steady.
Trinity wonders if she’s gonna die before they even get to fuck. Shakily, she moves to obey, climbing into Baran’s lap, straddling her hips. She’s warm, inviting, and Trinity has to fight not to grind down in search of any friction she can get, so needy it's starting to hurt, the constant ache between her legs. Baran hums, pleased now, lips quirked. “Good girl.”
Trinity swallows, shudders. The praise burns through her, lights her up.
“I want to make you feel very good tonight,” Baran croons, hands sliding down Trinity’s sides to rest on her hips, the touch searing through her clothes, branding her. Baran rubs circles on Trinity’s hips with her thumbs, rhythmic, constant. Trinity again fights not to squirm. She doesn’t know why she so desperately wants to be good for Baran, the curl of praise in her attending's mouth already so addicting.
“Do whatever you want,” Trinity breathes, hips rocking just a little, pressing down lightly.
Baran reaches up, cradles her cheek. For a split second, Trinity feels a little like crying at the tenderness of it. Baran hums. “I will.”
And then Baran is leaning in, slotting her mouth over Trinity’s— and it’s slow, slower than Trinity is used to. A push and pull, Baran sucking gently at her bottom lip, pulling a whimper from the back of her throat. “You like that? Yeah?” she whispers, her breath brushing against Trinity’s mouth.
Trinity can’t respond before Baran is kissing her again, kissing her dizzy and stupid, a slow syrup dripping through her veins as the soft heat of Baran’s tongue curls into her mouth. All she can do is feel, clutch at Baran’s shoulders, pant against the wet of her mouth.
Baran doesn’t push too far or let it descend into teeth or desperation, keeps it simmering, her tongue gently tracing against Trinity’s mouth, licking lightly against her tongue, before pulling back, pressing a few softer kisses to Trinity’s pinked lips. Trinity is dizzy and wanting and dripping into her panties, which are already ruined, have been for an hour.
Keeping her fuzzy and pliant, Baran starts to coax her out of her clothes, murmuring a “this okay?” with each article removed. Trinity can only breathe a “yeah, yeah—” in return, clumsily shuffling out of her jacket, tank top, sweats.
Left in socked feet and black, practical panties, Trinity realizes Baran is still fully clothed with a petulant whimper. “Not fair,” she whispers, tugs at Baran’s shirt.
“Hmm, impatient girl,” Baran chides lightly, grinning, encircling Trinity’s wrists and holding them together as she gives Trinity another dizzying kiss. She lets go of Trinity’s wrists to hold her hips, guide her to grind down on her thigh as Trinity gasps against her mouth.
“Fuck,” Trinity hiccups, before she can hold it back, woozy with the heat in her cunt. She ruts desperately, so fucking eager, chasing the friction against her puffy clit. Baran’s hands meander up to her tits, squeezing and kneading, pinching at her nipples just enough to make Trinity yelp out soft little moans, arch into the touch.
“Pretty, pretty girl… so pretty for Mommy,” Baran sighs, kisses under Trinity’s jaw, licks a stripe against her neck.
“Fuck! Mmh, Mommy— Mommy, please—” Trinity pants, keeps grinding her hips down, pushing her tits further into Baran’s hands.
Baran laughs, soft, sucks lightly at Trinity’s pale throat. “I knew you’d like to call me that.”
“Fuck you,” Trinity whines, tilts her head back to allow Baran better access.
Baran pulls back, raises an eyebrow. Quiet.
“…Sorry,” Trinity whispers, flushing down her chest, hips stopping their grind.
“Good girl.”
Trinity huffs a moan as Baran leans to kiss at her neck again, humming against it. “Mommy, please..”
“Please what?”
“Want— need—”
“What do you want? What do you need?”
“You!”
“You have me, sweetheart.”
“No, I need—” Trinity feels so petulant, constantly whining, pawing at Baran’s clothes. “More. Please.”
Baran leans back against the couch, brown eyes big and sparkly and lit-up in a way they definitely weren’t just an hour ago. Trinity almost feels proud. She did that. Put that warmth there, that light. Even if all she really did was beg for Baran to fuck her.
“Go to my bedroom, sweetheart, it’s down the hall and to the left,” Baran instructs, even. “Lay yourself on the bed, and wait.”
Shit. So Baran wants to make her squirm, huh? Fine. Sure. Trinity lets out a sharp breath and slides herself off of Baran’s lap, a little forlorn at the loss of warmth. But she’ll be good, she’ll obey. She’s… enjoying it. Really fucking enjoying it, the fuzziness that softens the edges of her brain. It’s just what she needed tonight, everything she craved, but— better. Maybe it’s what Baran needed, too.
She pads to the bedroom, anticipation curling in her gut. It’s a little less neat, a few items of clothing strewn on the floor, but the bed is made. She lays herself out on the plush, white comforter, takes a slow, deep breath. She’ll be good.
…
In what feels like an eternity later, Baran walks in. Probably closer to ten minutes have lapsed, but it doesn't matter, not when the sight of Baran steals the air from Trinity's lungs.
Baran is stripped bare, and she’s so beautiful Trinity can hardly believe her fucking luck. Her eyes trace over Baran’s smooth skin, her plush tits, the soft curve of her stomach, the curls framing her cunt. Oh, god, Trinity wants to bury her face there, lick and suck at Baran, let Baran use her mouth, suffocate her with that pretty cunt, grind down on her tongue—
She’s ripped out of her fantasizing as Baran climbs on top of her, skin pressing against skin, addictive and electric. Trinity doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she just fists the sheets, tugging as Baran settles on her hips. “Mm, I want to fuck you, baby,” Baran admits, low, quiet.
“Yeah? C’mon, I can take it,” Trinity pants, lips curled in a slight smirk, huffing out a breathless laugh, enamored with the sight of Baran straddling her hips, head tilted as she studies Trinity’s pale, flush-pink, sweat-slick skin.
“Then use your words, sweetheart, tell me what it is that you can take,” Baran murmurs, smooth, steady, eyes still roaming, body unmoving, a warm weight on top of Trinity. "Tell me how you want it."
“Hard,” Trinity replies, squirming a little under Baran’s heavy gaze, her hips on hers, so close to where she wants them but not enough. She feels dizzy with it, the steady pulse in her cunt, the anxiety starting to knot behind her ribs. “Want it hard. Rough.”
“Is that so?” Baran hums, like she knows, knows it’s a fucking lie, knows that Trinity is small and stupidly vulnerable underneath her. That Trinity wants to be made love to, not fucked, not used, even though it’s all she’s ever known.
She traces her fingertips lightly over Trinity’s stomach, and Trinity sucks in, instinctive, ashamed. The softness there is a constant insecurity in the back of her mind, rearing it’s ugly head now that Baran is drawing direct attention to it, petting over it. Like it’s pretty. Like she’s pretty.
“I— I just,” Trinity manages, swallowing thick, forcing herself tense and stiff so as not to squirm away from the tender touch. “I need, you, to uh. Just— I can take it,” Trinity repeats, and she feels stupid, small.
“I know you can, Trinity, but you don’t want to,” Baran observes, sliding her hand up to cup one of Trinity’s breasts, knead slow and firm at the soft flesh. It pulls a soft noise from Trinity, spine arching as she pushes into the touch. “I don’t want you to.”
“I do want to—”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Baran tilts her head, lips quirked. “It’s simply not up to you. Don’t you wanna be good for Mommy?”
Oh, fuck, she does, she does, she does. A bolt of heat down her spine, a cloud of need glazing her eyes.
“Please, yes, pleaseplease, please,” Trinity breathes, guard softening, rendered all fuzzy again, too fuzzy now to be self conscious about her needy begging, pathetic and high-pitched and desperate, vulnerable in a way she doesn’t remember ever being with someone else. Fuck, there’s something so wrong with her, but it’s feeling so fucking good to let go.
Baran leans down to lick a stripe behind her ear that pulls a whimper from her lips, a shuddered breath. Adjusting, Baran moves to kneel between Trinity’s thighs instead of sitting on top, her warm palm sliding down to cup her pulsing, dripping cunt through the thin fabric of her soaked-through panties. Dizzy with arousal, Trinity bucks weakly into it, echoing her plea. “Fuck, I— please, please..”
“Shh, doing good, sweetheart, you are good, doing so good for me,” Baran soothes, kissing down her neck. She eases the panties down Trinity’s legs, tosses them aside, hand returning to Trinity’s puffy cunt. Her fingers slip between Trinity’s folds, petting, smoothing slick over her twitching clit, rubbing soft circles. It bolts white-hot through Trinity, makes her hiccup and arch, squeeze her watery eyes shut.
“Isn’t that so nice? Yeah? All soft and easy?” Baran coaxes, still petting those little circles, rhythmic and insistent and so fucking good, pleasure pulsing warmly through Trinity.
“Mm… mhm, mhm, yeah..” Trinity breathes, bucking up into the touch, eyes fluttering.
“Just nice and slow… making sure you can take Mommy’s strap easy, okay?” Baran murmurs, easing a finger into Trinity’s soft, dripping hole. She pumps and curls, pumps and curls it, slow, before easing in another finger, gently stretching.
“Mmmnh— please, fuck..” Trinity breathes, gasps, rocking her hips up into the touch, eyes fluttering.
Baran pets her silken walls, crooking her fingers so perfect into that sensitive little spot that sends sparks shooting behind Trinity’s eyelids. A simmer, a slow-build, waves of pulsing heat through her limbs. She feels heavy and breathless and so, so fucking good.
No one’s ever given it to her this gentle, working her up ‘til she loses track of time, her slick glistening where it drips down Baran’s steady, sure fingers, coats her inner thighs. She’d feel embarrassed at the loud, slick noises from her pussy at every pump of Baran’s fingers if she were any less blissed out, willowy and still rocking up for more.
Baran murmurs a constant stream of crooning praise, good girl, taking it so well, so well for Mommy… prettiest little pussy, baby, you’re so soft. Is that feeling good? I know, sweetheart, I know it does. Oh, baby, there you gooo, pretty little noises for me. That’s it, that’s it…
Trinity can only handle so much blissful torture before she’s babbling and pleading, begging “Please, Mommy, please, please, just fuck me, please… I’m ready, I’m ready, please, Mommy…” unshed tears shining in her big green eyes.
Baran coos soft and slips her fingers out of Trinity’s soaking hole, pulling a dejected little whimper from Trinity’s mouth.
She doesn’t stay forlorn for long, though, watching with a heaving chest as Baran ruffles through her nightstand drawer, stands up to harness her strap around her hips. Trinity feels like she’s in a fucking wet dream, the sight of those mussed, gorgeous curls, skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat, hips adorned with a strap, holy fuck— this gorgeous fucking woman is about to fuck her.
Baran glances up to shoot her a quietly smug smirk as she attaches the dildo, a good size, good length. She saunters back over and climbs on top, rolling her neck as she lazily looks down at Trinity’s flushed form.
“Do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” She asks, steady, low.
Trinity nods, desperate, forces the words out. “Please! Please, I, please, any way you want to, I just— fuck, Mommy, I need it…” Trinity breaks off in a pitiful whimper, and she’s so sure she’s never been this pathetic in her life. Never begged so much before in one night. She’s a little scared at how good it feels.
But then Baran is smiling, pleased, tapping the tip of the dildo against Trinity’s clit lightly before rubbing it through her folds, coating it in slick. Trinity is panting, craned to look down as Baran notches the strap at her pulsing, eager entrance.
“Oh— oh, oh, oh shit, oh, fuck—” Trinity babbles, turns her head to bury her face in the pillow as Baran eases in, torturously slow until her hips are flush with Trinity’s, strap buried deep. Trinity gasps, clenches, throbs around the intrusion. Penetration usually doesn’t do much for her, but this is fucking different, when it’s Baran, when she’s never been this fucking aroused in her life. Dizzying and all-consuming, making her more sensitive than she ever thought she could get.
Baran’s thumb lightly presses over her pulsing clit, her hips grinding slow and perfect and delicious, strap rubbing against all the sensitive places inside Trinity’s velvet walls. “I know, I know, I know… doing such a good job, taking it so well..” Baran murmurs, gentle, fondness coloring her voice. “Such a good, good girl.”
A strangled whine rips out of Trinity’s throat, keening and desperate, the praise stripping her down to vulnerable and eager. “More,” she manages, chokes out. “…Please.”
“Okay, baby, since you asked so nicely,” Baran hums, drawing her hips back and pushing back in, just slightly faster. She builds up to a moderate, even pace, the slap of skin and the slick sounds of Trinity’s sloppy cunt filling the room with Baran’s metronome thrusts. It’s perfect and fucking dizzying, the silicone driving right into that perfect little spot inside Trinity’s eager cunt every time.
Ah— ah— ahn—‘s hiccup out of Trinity with every thrust, heat licking up her spine, pooling in her gut, throbbing in her hips. Baran is still calling her good, calling her sweet, calling her perfect. Trinity has never felt like any of those things before, but now feels a little different, because fuck, does she feel perfect. Hazy and blissed-out, getting closer with every deep, grinding thrust inside her desperate, drooling pussy.
“Taking me so well, sweetheart, so fucking well… that’s good, that’s so good, baby, are you gonna cum for me? Yeah? Getting a little close? Sucking my strap riiight in, oh, precious little pussy just needed to be full, huh?” Baran pants, laughs a little, dizzy with her own arousal. Trinity distantly registers that she’s only taken pleasure tonight, not given.
“M—mmmpph— M—ommy, Mommy, haah… yeah, yeah..” Trinity moans, pushing her hips up to try and get Baran even deeper, keeping stuffing her cunt full, heat swirling in her tummy, tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes.
“Yeah? Gonna cum for me? Be so good and cum? Feel so good for your Mommy?” Baran rubs little circles into Trinity’s puffy, twitching clit, before lightly pinching the sensitive nub, sending a jolt through Trinity’s system.
“Yes— fuck, yes!” Trinity cries, coil in her gut snapping, white-hot pleasure searing through her veins, tingling in every crevice of her body as she shudders through one of the most intense orgasms she’s had. It’s ecstasy, bliss, eyes rolling back as her spine arches with it. Her pussy squeezes hard around the silicone dick, creaming around it, cum gushing from her hole.
She whimpers weakly as Baran pulls out, strap shiny with slick, leaving her cunt woefully empty, hole gaping and fluttering around nothing. Baran shushes her softly as she undoes her harness and tosses it to the floor, bringing a hand to cup Trinity’s used, sensitive cunt. She rubs gently til Trinity is bucking and crying, thighs tremoring, trying to push into the touch and pull away all at once.
“Okay, shh, shh, you’re alright, Mommy’s done now, shh,” Baran soothes, petting over Trinity’s milky thigh instead, thumb quietly smoothing over the scars there.
Trinity’s stomach fucking drops.
She hadn’t even fucking thought about them. It’s appalling she didn’t, when she always does, whenever she hooks up with anyone. Afraid of being seen as broken or weak. Afraid of being seen.
But Baran doesn’t mention it, draw attention to it, coax any kind of explanation out. Just treats her like she’s… normal. Pets softly over her thigh like nothing’s wrong with it. Maybe to Baran, nothing is. Trinity takes a shaky breath, lets it out slow, closes her eyes.
“I didn’t get you off,” Trinity whispers, unmoored, unused to her pleasure being the focus, the center. “I can— I could eat you out?”
“No, sweetheart, not tonight,” Baran shakes her head, grinning fond. “All I said was I wanted to make you feel good, hm?”
“But—”
“No buts.” Baran raises an eyebrow, firm, unmoving.
“…Sorry,” Trinity whispers, and Baran chuckles, reaches up to pat her cheek.
“Good girl.”
Trinity’s chest tightens, loosens, chewing her cheek to tamp down a grin at the praise. “Does ‘not tonight’ mean ‘in the morning,’ though?” She murmurs, leaning into the palm on her cheek.
“Hm.” Baran sighs, leans down to give her a soft kiss. “Maybe if you keep being really, really good,” she murmurs against the pink of Trinity’s mouth, rolling them over so Trinity lands on top with a giggle.
“Tall ask,” Trinity mumbles, muffling a sigh as Baran kisses her again, again, again.
“I think you can do it,” Baran whispers, tucks Trinity’s hair behind one ear.
“I think you think too much of me.”
“Maybe you don’t think enough of yourself.”
Trinity doesn’t know what to say to that. She can’t help but think how this is temporary, fleeting, already slipping through her fingers. This is nothing. Baran was clearly— lonely, desperate, whatever. Her perception’s skewed. If there’s one thing Trinity knows, it’s that she’ll always disappoint, it’s only a matter of time.
So she just kisses Baran again, slow and quiet, trying to enjoy it, memorize it. She’s not sure how long she’ll have it, but it feels so nice right now.
“Gotta go get cleaned up,” Baran murmurs, petting her thumb against the soft of Trinity’s cheek. “Get all showered, and then we can get back in bed, all nice and cozy. Yeah?”
Trinity ducks her head, noses lightly at Baran’s jaw. She lets out a soft breath, nods once.
“Yeah.”