Saint Fingers, Butter Be Thy Name

egging on

"do you see this egg?" jahan asks, holding out his hand. in it is a hollowed out eggshell, still completely intact.

alma nods, eyes wide and full of wonder. she reaches out to grab it but jahan yanks his hand away. "wait, look." jahan crushes the eggshell with ease, displaying the remnants to his little sister.

"how did you do that?" she questions, grabbing his hand and peering into it.

jahan adjusts the angle of his phone camera and pulls his hand away. "it’s a fake egg," he says, setting down the eggshells on the table and grabbing another. "here, take this."

he hands the egg over to alma. "okay!" she agrees, taking it into both of her little hands. "what do i do?"

"we are gonna prank maman." he smiles, nodding towards the kitchen where baran is making dinner. "you’re going to go into the kitchen, tell her it’s a real egg, then throw it on the ground."

"okay!"

he stifles a laugh as he follows alma to the kitchen. she’s so gullible, no matter how many times he tricks her she keeps falling for it and believing him. it’s cute but also the perfect fuel for an older brother.

she looks back briefly, smiling widely as jahan gives her an encouraging thumbs up. he hides around the corner, phone and head being the only thing sticking out.

"maman, look!" alma says, holding the egg out in front of her like a prize.

baran turns from where she is chopping something, setting down the knife and kneeling. "and what is that, golam?"

"an egg." she looks as smug as any six year old can, eyes gleaming mischievously. "watch what i can do!"

"and what wo—" baran is cut off by the sound of an egg hitting the ground. not a hollowed out eggshell, a full, real egg. it splatters everywhere, some yolk getting on baran’s slippers, eggshells mixed in.

baran blinks in shock, staring at the mess on the floor. laughter erupts out of jahan, stepping into the doorway and doubling over. he makes sure to keep his phone trained on alma, capturing the look of betrayal on her face.

she looks between jahan and baran, tears welling in her eyes. they quickly spill over and alma is wailing, pointing at jahan to accuse him. "jahan- jahan lied," she cries, whole body shaking. "he said it’s fake." she’s blubbering, snot pouring out of her nose already.

baran looks at jahan, furrowing her brows and pressing her lips into a thin line. he is so fucked, but the video is definitely worth it. he ends the recording and runs out of the room, passing yolanda on the way.

"it’s okay, golam, it’s okay," baran soothes, scooping alma into her arms. "it’s just an egg, right? we can clean it up." she strokes her hair, listening to alma sob about jahan.

yolanda quirks an eyebrow at the sight before her, leaning on the doorframe. baran just shakes her head at her while pressing a kiss into alma’s temple.

—

please be quiet, please

"mama farted!" alma yells, pointing at yolanda.

yolanda halts, grocery cart wheels squeaking with the sudden stop. her eyes fly open and she stares at alma, mouth agape. she had not.

"you farted, mama," alma continues, laughing her head off. "fart, fart, fart, you farted!"

yolanda leans down, holding onto her outstretched hand. "shhh, please be quiet honey," she whispers, trying to ignore the people around them staring. "we’re in a store so you need to use your inside voice."

laughing, alma shakes her head. "faaaaaaaart," she sings, wrestling out of yolanda’s grip. alma runs around the cart and her mama, continuing on about her farting.

yolanda hangs her head in shame, hiding her face in her hands. she can hear adult laughter around her and wants to disappear. alma’s tiny hands grab her arm and shakes it.

"mama, mama, you did a fart. you did a fart!" she says, a new wave of giggles taking over her.

yolanda groans and picks her up, putting her into the seat of the cart. "okay honey, let’s keep shopping."

alma keeps giggling, repeating the word fart over and over until they get into the car with yolanda sporting a beet-red face.

—

AHHHHH

trinity knows she fucked up at 8:21 at night when trying to give alma her bath.

trying being the keyword because every time trinity tries to bring alma into the bathroom, she screams and cries.

maybe, just maybe, showing a five year old jaws was a bad idea.

trinity thought it was a classic, the very basics of horror to the point it barely even counts. it was just a shark attacking people at the beach, and they rarely go to the beach. it should have been fine, it should be fine.

she may have forgotten the water aspect applies to a lot more things. like the bath that she takes every night.

the shark toy in the bath definitely did not help.

"alma, bunso, it’s okay. it’s just a toy, it’s just sharky," she tries, holding up the toy and moving it around playfully.

alma cries harder and buries her face in baran’s leg. baran shakes her head and looks down at trinity’s pleading eyes. she picks her up and alma quickly wraps herself around her maman who bounces her gently, whisper words of comfort into her ear.

"how about this? how about i get in the bath with you?" trinity offers. "no shark will get you if i’m there, right?"

alma calms a little and nods. "okay," she squeaks out.

trinity takes a bath with alma every night for thirteen weeks, only slightly regretting her decision.

—

he’s…. straight?

jahan takes a deep breath, rocking back and forth on his feet. his nerves were obvious, emanating off of him in waves.

the nerves spread through his mothers, all equally worried about what he wants to tell them. baran already has a sneaking suspicion, having caught him smiling like a child at his phone. trinity and yolanda on the other hand, assume the worst. crashed the car, failed a class, got in a fight, something wildly out of character for him.

"um, i was wondering…" he trails off, eyes darting between the three. "can i bring a girl home?"

a warm smile spreads across baran’s face then yolanda’s quickly after, a mix of pride and happiness washing over them. trinity however, tilts her head.

"yeah? why would you not be able to?" trinity asks, raising an eyebrow. the confusion is clear in her voice. he’s had girls over before, half of his friends are girls.

yolanda snickers before baran elbows her in the side. "stop it," she whispers harshly. baran is glaring at her wife who is now holding her hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter.

jahan shakes his head, looking down to the floor. "no, she is— imani is my girlfriend. we want to watch a movie and we have a nice tv."

furrowing her brows, trinity leans forward. "that’s fine, you’ve had girl friends over before. i’m confused."

"nanay," he whines, staring at her with pleading eyes. trinity is usually so sharp, picking up on the subtlest of hints to piece things together. now though, she was missing ever clue even though they barely counted as such. it was spelled out plainly before her and she was reading it with both eyes shut.

"what?" trinity asks, drawing out the word. "it’s true! i’ve never met imani before but i’m sure she’s wonderful."

jahan looks desperately between yolanda and baran, begging them for help. yolanda shakes her head, still stifling laughter, and baran sighs. she scoots closer to trinity and leans into her ear.

"my love," she begins, grasping one of trinity’s hands gently. "what jahan is trying to say is, he wants to bring a girl over for a date." when trinity says nothing, eyes just widening as she blinks slowly, baran continues. "imani is his not his friend who happens to be a girl, she is his girlfriend. they’re a couple."

yolanda has given up on holding back her laughter, letting the sound fill the room as she gives jahan a thumbs up.

trinity doesn’t move, staring straight ahead. jahan has a girlfriend. jahan likes girls. maybe he’s bi, or pan, or omni, or fluid, or, oh god she doesn’t even want to think it. he could be straight.

"jahan," trinity says slowly. she still hasn’t moved, but her grip on baran’s hand has tightened.

"yes, nanay?" his voice shakes, clearly surprised by whatever sort of reaction this was from trinity.

"i need you to know i will love you no matter what, okay?" jahan nods and trinity continues, "are you straight?"

jahan swallows, nodding as he meekly says, "yes."

trinity inhales deeply, ignoring yolanda’s continued laughter and the beginnings of baran’s, holds for four, and exhales. "okay," she squeaks out. "that’s fine. i just—"

she stops, letting go of baran’s hand and standing. "three polyamorous queer moms. three," she whispers, beginning to pace. "where did we go wrong? was it the star wars? yola, was this because of you?" she asks, running her hands through her hair.

yolanda quells her giggles to stand and cup her wife’s face. "baby, cariño, calm down." her amusement at this scenario clear. "as long as he’s safe and happy, that’s all that matters. right?"

“Fuckleberry’s home. Stay here,” she breathes, leaning forward on her hands to kiss Baran, who chases her and whines faintly when she pulls away and hops off the bed.

Baran’s trying to catch her breath, draping an arm over her eyes, knees fallen apart, thighs sticky, as Trinity throws on some boxers and the closest t-shirt. It’s Baran’s Stanford 2010 debate team shirt that practically lives at Trinity’s apartment. She opens the door and closes it quickly behind her, almost running right into Whittaker.

“Fuck. Jesus, hi,” she gasps, shoulders brushing back against the door.

“Hi…” he drawls, eyeing her weirdly.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, out of breath.

“I live here?” Trinity levels him with a glare.

“You’re supposed to be out playing house right now.”

“Yeah, and Amy called on the way asking for my calving book. She’s got like two cows that could give birth any day.”

“Ew, oh my god,” Trinity groans.

“I think we used it to level your dresser,” he starts, and Trinity’s eyes go wide, desperately hoping that isn’t the case.

“Nope, don’t think we did. I thought you were using it as a plant stand or something,” she offers, and he thinks for a second.

“Right, yeah.” He glides past her with a suspicious look, noticing how sweaty and disheveled she is. When he passes the second time with the book, she’s just standing in front of her closed door. His expression drops. “Oh my god, do you have Garcia in there?”

“No. No, I’m not, we’re not…anymore,” she says quickly, awkwardly, following Whittaker into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, but Trinity can feel what he’s thinking. He’s oddly protective over her, and it never fails to make Trinity squirm.

“Why do you have a Stanford shirt?”

“Oh it’s, uh, not mine,” Trinity says thoughtlessly.

“So, you do have someone in there,” he grins, and she forces down a blush by grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around in the direction of the door. “Have fun. Be safe. I’ll text next time I need to enter my own apartment,” he says as she’s shoving him out the door.

“Good riddance, Huckleberry,” she calls after him, locking the door and securing the chain just to be safe.

Trinity takes a deep breath outside her room — trying to flush Whittaker from her mind — before entering. On the bed, Baran has her hand between her legs, slowly, quietly circling her clit. Her eyes are closed, one hand rolling a nipple between her fingers, soft gasps pushing past her lips.

“Fuck, Baran,” Trinity sighs, tearing off the shirt and boxers and sliding the strap back on. “Have you been touching yourself the whole time I was talking to Huckleberry?” Baran whines and nods, her eyes barely fluttering open. Oh, she’s fucking gone.

Trinity settles eagerly between her legs and just watches her. She’s so wet she’s dripping onto the bed, swollen and clenching around nothing. Trinity moans, her hands falling to Baran’s soft thighs.

“I need you inside me,” Baran mumbles, and Trinity can’t help but smile. She loves when Baran gets like this, so aching and desperate she’d do just about anything to cum.

“I can tell, baby.”

“Please. I was so close when you left,” she whines, her fingers clicking against her clit, and Trinity can see the stringy slickness on them.

“You’re still close,” Trinity teases but not for long, her own clit throbbing at the sight.

She shifts closer, aligning the strap and holding Baran’s hips. When she drives in hard and bottoms out, the most obscene sound Trinity’s ever heard punches past Baran’s lips. Her back arches, and her hand flies up to press low into Trinity’s belly.

“Fuck. fuck. Actually, I think you need to pull out. Oh, god.” Trinity can feel her clenching down, twitching and trying so hard to keep still. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Now you’re embarrassed?” Trinity laughs at the blush that rises to Baran’s cheeks. She pushes against Trinity, but Trinity doesn’t budge. “You worked yourself up while I was gone, and these are the consequences.”

Baran’s hips twitch.

“Oh, Trinity, fuck,” she moans, her head rolling back, fingers falling from Trinity’s belly to fist the sheets as she cums without Trinity having to do a goddam thing.

And then she fucks Baran through it, hard and deep, swiping at her clit until she cums again with a series of cries and moans that almost make Trinity fall apart. She can feel the spattering of liquid on her thighs as they slam together, hear it on the strap as it squelches in her. And when Baran can’t take it anymore, tears stinging at her eyes, Trinity slows and stops.

Baran keeps a vice grip on the strap as she comes down, so Trinity just runs her hands up and down her damp skin, soothing. They’re both gasping as Trinity finally pulls out. Baran’s eyes flutter open, hazy and tired, and she reaches her hand down to feel the soaking wet sheets between her legs.

“Your sheets,” she groans. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally do that. I would’ve laid a towel down.”

“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” is all Trinity can manage knowing she’s dripping wet and throbbing. Baran’s eyes go dark, and she licks her lips.