zarah

Emery hates fireworks. Too loud, too sudden. It’s why she usually works July 4th and takes refuge in the OR where they’re safely drowned out. When the rota for this year came and she found herself with the night off the selfish part of her won out, amused to have been freely given a holiday she couldn't care less about and watch others scramble for shift swaps. At least it meant she could be tucked up at home with her babies rather than anxiously checking the kitty cam every chance she got, worrying the loud noises would spook her two tuxedo cats. She's confident the three of them have made it through the worst of the nights celebrations thanks to Independence Day, snacks, thc gummies for herself and catnip for her darlings. She's contemplating sleep before any more fireworks start up when a more unexpected bang lands on her door. A firm but hurried knocking sound. Emery groans and makes no effort to move, assuming its kids messing around or a mistaken delivery. She's not going to risk curtain twitching to find out. The knocking comes again and she sighs. This better be important. She heads down the hall, jaw clenched already prepared to tell Yolanda to take her situationship problems elsewhere. The words "fuck off" die on her tongue when she opens the door to Cassie Mckay.

The night air is laced with sulphur and smoke. Cassie looks shattered. Red rings her eyes and her hair is shaggily engulfing her face. Her outfit, however, is doing wonders for her. The tank top is showing off the toned biceps Emery's left indents of her nails in more than once. Cassie is shaking her head as if she can’t believe she’s here either.

"Today's been a shitshow."

Emery wordlessly steps back and holds the door open for Cassie to come in.

 "And so you came here?" Cassie stands in the hallway feeling at odds with the neatness of Emery's home.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't know where -" Emery cuts her off by stepping into Cassie's space, a slither away from being chest to chest, nose to nose.

"You know fine well why you came here, McKay." Cassie looks up at Emery through the mess of her fringe.

"I need..." She exhales the words like they’re fighting to escape. Her eyes close in ashamed, frustrated confession. "I need someone. Please."

They’ve played this game after plenty of hard shifts but there’s a crack in Cassie's voice that tells Emery she needs it more than usual. A firework crackles and hisses in the distance. Perhaps Emery could use the distraction.

~~

Emery drops a pillow to the floor, without hesitation Cassie kneels. Must have been a bad day, Emery thinks, noting the absence of a witty comment or huff. Knelt on Emery's bedroom floor Cassie shrinks, shedding the last scraps of tough Dr McKay. Emery stands over her, twisting a lock of Cassie's sweaty hair playfully.

"Still no luck on Operation Cradle Snatcher then?" Emery gives a faux sympathetic pout. Ahh, there's the burning McKay stare. Cassie's blue eyes cloud with a bitter storm and pierce up at Emery, unnecessarily confirming she’d chickened out of making a move on Victoria, again.

"I got asked out twice today, actually."

Emery laughs, holding Cassie's head through the thick locks of her hair. "And yet here you are."

Cassie softly butts her head against Emery's thigh, the other woman caressing her hair. She bumps and nuzzles her nose at hem of Emery's cotton shorts.

"I wan-need this." Cassie drinks in the fact that Emery's skin smells of coconut lotion rather than hospital for once. The faint musky promise of being between Emery's legs makes her tingle. Emery clucks her teeth and coos again at Cassie, messily roughing her hair like she's an eager puppy. Their usual back and forth, all sharp barbs and power struggles, thrills Emery but when Cassie is in this pliant, almost pathetic state it’s truly something else and Emery feels the heat pooling in her. She bemusedly watches Cassie shifting on her knees, knowing the needy doctor is seeking the friction of her jeans' seam.

"I can see that." Emery stares down just as a flash outside showers the room in yellow light. Cassie feels the way Emery's leg jerks at the accompanying boom. When Cassie gets in this mood, she wants to feel needed, like she's doing something good that can't be taken away by some outside force or cruel twist of fate like usually happens at work. If Emery needs a distraction from the fireworks, then Cassie will give her it.

That distraction involves continuing her nose and lips trail upwards until she lands her face square into Emery's crotch. She can hear herself panting and Emery chortling from above. "That what you need?" She pushes her clothed core into Cassie's face, finding herself shuddering with surprise when Cassie’s mouth latches on to the fabric, wringing the dampness from it as she makes needy little whines, still trying to grind on the course fabric of her own clothes. Emery has never seen Cassie so desperate, blue eyes pleading up at her as she mouths more at Emery's sleep shorts. Emery thrusts her hips again.

"This what you want McKay? This what you’re here for?"

Cassie whines, not a soft ugh but a full high-pitched whine like she's being denied what’s rightfully hers. She's kissing Emery's shorts with a sloppy open mouth that only encourages Emery to grind them further into her face.

"Pussy." Cassie whisper it’s like a sacred prayer "Want yours Em, need it." She looks up again with her pitiful eyes, damp fabric in her teeth, Emery would never be so heartless as to deny her.

"Take it then."

 Cassie doesn't even remove Emery's clothes. She pushes the cotton aside, finding Emery bare and wet beneath her shorts and dives her tongue in like it’s the first time she's eaten in days. Emery steadies herself against the force of Cassie's eagerness by gripping her dark locks. Cassie whimpers appreciatively at the tug on her roots, licking Emery's folds with the enthusiasm of eating ice cream on hot days. Emery leans back to brace herself against her vanity, hooking one leg over Cassie's strong shoulder to give her even better access. Cassie wastes no time tonguing her way inside Emery, sweet little upturned nose pressing on the surgeon’s clit and hand pushing Emery’s shorts out of her way.

The only way to describe Cassie’s actions is obsessive. Even when Emery lightens her grip on her hair, Cassie remains firmly pressing her tongue amongst Emery wetness. Emery tastes like escape and moans out the praise Cassie’s needed to hear all day. That’s why she came here. Emery’s approval can be hard won but its worth it when it comes in the form of her heel digging in Cassie’s back, urging her to keep her mouth where it is. Watching Cassie’s eyes flickering with happiness and the dopey smile she makes reminds Emery of an intoxicated woman. Every glide of her mouth and tongue is velvety heaven and prompts Emery to roll and grind her hips in time with Cassie’s movements, feeding her what she needs,

“Greedy little thing aren’t you.” Emery’s finger brushes Cassie’s cheek when she finally remembers to stop for air. Her face is gleaming wet and returns to between Emery’s legs so quickly Emery gasps, more pleasure riding up her spine and shaking her. Cassie’s sucking at her clit like she wants to suck Emery dry, whining like a babe. She has her mouth firmly round Emery's nerves but her own body is writhing uncontrollably, seeking more friction than the seam of her clothing can offer.

Emery’s head tips back and her nails scrape Cassie’s scalp locking her in place as her orgasm hits with firework like sparks. The long-buried addict in Cassie refuses to let her quit, releasing her suction on Emery’s clit only to hungrily kiss it. She looses herself in the tremble of Emery’s leg on her shoulder, the delicious bite of her hands on her head and dips her tongue in Emery once more so it’s covered in the taste of her slick. A firm groan and sharp pull of her hair break her from her haven. Emery’s dark eyes are heavy with lust. She releases Cassie from the grip of her leg but the blue-eyed woman remains knelt before her, staring up in a daze of want.

“Good?” Emery raises her eyebrow as if she'd cooked Cassie dinner. Cassie nods, hypnotised when Emery’s finger slips under her gold chain, tugging on the metal to coax her off her knees. Emery strips Cassie of her tank and bra quickly, harshly, pushing her jeans and boxers down in one but not without spotting the tell tale puddle on the fabric.

“Aw, someone cum in her pants already?” She kisses Cassie’s blushing cheek and files the incident away for the next time she's feeling particularly mean. Emery pulls again on Cassie’s chain, reeling her in for a kiss that tastes too much like herself and not enough like Cassie’s usual cracked lips. “What do you want, McKay?”

Cassie is tired of questions. She’s tired of responsibility without reward, her lonely bed and the empty ache in her.

“Anything you’ll give me.” She chokes out, swimming in the feeling of Emery caressing the back of her neck. The surgeon’s hand stops and tightens, not choking but a firmness that forces Cassie to look at Emery.

“Strap?”  Cassie drools and agrees, letting Emery walk her back until she can push her onto the bed.

~~

Emery’s breath is hotter than the July air, landing on Cassie’s face as she teasingly hovers over her. She’s tortuously nudging the strap at Cassie’s clit, smugly eating up every time Cassie begs for more.

“You’re a mess, McKay.” Her words should be harsh but she whispers them in a soft cotton candy voice a woman as hardened as Emery has no business having. Cassie is flushed red and sweaty, her tired eyes tearily pleading. Emery mercifully hooks Cassie’s leg around her hip. The domed head of her strap slides into Cassie’s waiting hole and Emery watches her body swallow the toy. The empty ache Cassie is tired of, dissipates when Emery is fully sheathed in her. Its not just the delicious stretch and fullness, it’s the weight of Emery on top of her, the way Emery grips her hip and manhandles Cassie into adjusting to her length.  Like being both desired and used, like Cassie is enough just by existing in Emery’s bed with her legs spread.  Emery begins thrusting her hips, fucking into Cassie slowly to appreciate how she whimpers as she pulls away and groans when pushes in.

“More.” Cassie’s eyes fall closed and her swollen lips wobble with each jolt of Emery’s hips.

Unusually obliging, Emery speeds up without any taunting, choosing instead to relish how Cassie’s breasts bounce with each thrust. Under Emery’s eyes the red flush on Cassie’s cheeks spreads down her chest and she writhes at the feeling between her legs and the burn of Emery’s appraising eyes. Emery can easily fill her hands with Cassie’s breasts and push them together, creating the perfect crevice to burry her face in. Her hips slow so she’s merely circling them, grinding the toy round Cassie’s walls and letting her focus on kissing the freckles that dust Cassie’s boobs, like sparkles bursting in the night sky.

“Emm..mmm.eryy” It never fails to make Emery laugh how incomprehensible she can render Cassie. It gives her satisfaction, knowing Cassie needs the relief of being broken down and permitted to be needy. It’s evident in the buck of her hips under Emery, urging her to return to fucking her. Emery runs her tongue up and along Cassie’s collar bone, swiping the sweaty skin beneath her gold chain. The closer she moves, the deeper her strap presses in Cassie right against the delicate spot that makes her mewl even more.

“Legs round me.” Emery’s voice drops low in Cassie’s ear and she instantly complies, ensnaring Emery’s hips with her legs as Emery braces her hands either side of Cassie’s toned arms. She pulls out agonisingly slow, forcing Cassie to feel every false vain and grove of her cock and waiting for a desperate please to cry out before she slams back in. There’s a sickening loud slap of wet skin on skin, peppering Cassie’s gasps and cries. Off in the distance another flurry of fireworks bursts and Cassie swears Emery speeds up in response, wanting the sound of Cassie’s pleasure to drown them out.

“Gonna cum for me McKay? That what you need?” Her pelvis is grazing Cassie’s clit and she pushes herself as close as she can, switching to short sharp movements she knows from the way Cassie sounds are hitting that spot.

One of Emery’s slender fingers sneaks to the wet mess where their bodies meet and rolls the hard nub of Cassie’s clit. Emery’s pressed so low and tight to Cassie she thinks she might disappear into the plush of the mattress. Her head finds itself too temptingly near Cassie’s bicep and Emery nips the muscle between her teeth. The sharp pain of the bite, the overwhelming sense of Emery in her, surrounding her, relentlessly pleasuring her makes Cassie explode into shakes and cries. At long last the tears she’s needed to release all day dribble down her face as Emery coaxes her through each shock. With tiny kisses and increasingly slow, gentle thrusts Emery continues until Cassie is too limp to hold her legs around Emery any longer and has turned silent save for the tears Emery licks from her face.

~~

Harness discarded, Emery smooths Cassie’s unruly curls and rocks her in her arms, gently lulling her back down from her high, until those glassy ocean eyes open and a satiated smile dances on her lips.

"Must have been one hell of a shitshow.' Emery breaks the silence and Cassie groans at the mere thought of the day she's had.

“You don’t have to tell me about it.” In part because Emery doesn’t want to think about what fall out she might have deal with on her next shift. But equally, Cassie looks halfway to sleep and even more wrecked than when Emery answered the door.

“Come on, you can wash it all away in the shower.” Emery says, forcing herself out of bed and dragging Cassie up with her, resisting the urge to make fun of her wobbly legs.

Trinity knows how this goes, when just before New Year’s she tentatively raises the idea to Yolanda of watching some fireworks together.

Can feel the itching familiarity of it all crawling over her skin. She tries to remind herself that it’s different now, because she and Yolanda are in a well defined relationship of 3 months. One where they try their best to not shut each other when they feel uncomfortable feelings. One where they actually communicate.

So Trinity asks, as causally as she can manage. They’re both working New Year’s Eve, but they should (hopefully) be finished in time to ring in the new year with a kiss and a fireworks display.

She regrets asking the moment the words leave her mouth and she watches Yolanda in the driver’s seat flex her fingers against the steering wheel. She can see the muscle ticking away in her jaw, the same one that goes when she’s assessing a particularly complicated set of injuries in a trauma room.

And Trinity, so scared of the fourth of July making a reappearance in their still new relationship begins to backtrack.

“Don’t worry about it, actually, it doesn’t matter.”

Still Yolanda doesn’t say anything and the pair of them sit in silence for the remainder of the seemingly never ending drive to Yolanda’s after work.

When she finally parks up in her spot and cuts the engine she shows no sign of moving and so Trinity stays still too, seatbelt remaining fastened.

There’s the steady tap, tap, tap of Yolanda’s fingers against the steering wheel. Somewhere outside of the car another car door slams shut.

“I don’t like fireworks.” Yolanda says quietly.

If Trinity had a different lived experience she might laugh at this point, such is the absurdity of Yolanda Garcia not liking fireworks. But Trinity is infinitely familiar with concept of normal things and what outside eyes would consider abnormal reactions.

“Okay.” Trinity nods, and Yolanda keeps her eyes trained out of the windshield so Trinity does the same. “We can do something else then, if we get away from work in time we can probably drive a decent way out of the city to avoid the worst of it. Maybe we can find somewhere cute to stay the night.”

And Trinity wracks her brain for other ways to help, because this Yolanda is new, has only come out in brief flashes usually said into the sleepy darkness of one of their bedrooms.

She’s all too aware of the pressure on her shoulders to not fuck this up, to be supportive without scaring her away, because if there’s one thing Yolanda Garcia is fantastic at, it’s avoiding her emotions.

“You like the fireworks Trin, we can just do something the next evening, have our own celebration for the new year.” Yolanda suggests and Trinity knows the end of that sentence is supposed to sound suggestive but it comes out hollow.

And her first instinct is to panic now, because this all sounds like a gentler repeat of the Fourth a few months ago. Where after that, Yolanda didn’t speak to her for two weeks. It would be so easy for her to tip into that spiral now, to contort herself to fit whatever Yolanda wants to do to avoid this conversation. But she’s promised them both she’d tried to stop doing that.

“I don’t care about the fireworks Yola, if you want to then I’d like to be with you at midnight, and we’ll find something that works for you.”

Trinity can see the barely there flicker of movement as Yolanda glances at her, nods her head and then unbuckles her seatbelt.

“C’mon, that last surgery has wrecked my back and I could do with a bath.” And now the tone is definitely suggestive, slipped back into the self assured Yolanda that she knows so well.

Trinity scrambles out of the car to follow, a happy little pep in her step, because this outcome is so far removed from what happened months ago, and Yolanda is wiggling her fingers back towards Trinity and they head towards the surgeon’s building with their hands interlinked.

Later Trinity is practically boneless in Yolanda’s bed, half asleep with the way Yolanda is tracing patterns across her back.

(They’d both found that sometimes, when Trinity can’t sleep or wakes with a start, that Yolanda’s aimless patterns across her skin can settle her enough to drop off.

Trinity doesn’t remember asking Yolanda to try and she doesn’t remember Yolanda offering either, but now, when they share a bed, more often than not she will fall asleep with Yolanda’s gentle touch on her skin.)

Which is why Trinity thinks it’s terribly unfair when Yolanda speaks during this, and Trinity has to fight against the pleasant haze of sleep to listen, because she wants to listen.

“I don’t like loud noises.” Yolanda says quietly, pauses, waits for Trinity to make a noise for her to continue. And Yolanda’s hand keeps moving up and down across Trinity’s back, like it’s easier if she pretends she’s whispering into the darkness towards her sleeping girlfriend. “I’ve never liked them, ever since I was young. They make me jumpy and irritable and sometimes, it makes me feel like I want to tear my fucking hair out if it would make it stop.”

And Trinity could whir through all of the possible medical reasons for that, although she’s sure it wouldn’t help, that Yolanda would have done it to herself before.

Instead, “Work must be a lot for you sometimes.” Tries to keep it neutral.

A hum of agreement, “It’s why I prefer to work with unconscious patients.” Trinity huffs out a laugh. “I’m usually in the OR enough in any given shift that it’s not too bad, I find it peaceful in there. Besides, when everything is busy I can get caught up in the flow of it all, although I fucking feel it when I get home after shifts like that.”

“I get that,” she gets what Yolanda is saying even if she doesn’t experience it. “So what do you do, about the fireworks and stuff? The Fourth was- it was a lot.”

Trinity can feel the way Yolanda’s hand stills against her, fingers pressing down just a little firmer, and then a stroke of apology before she resumes the steady motions.

“Try to work a double, mostly, someone always wants a day like that off and the surgical floor is pretty well insulated from the noise.” A sharp inhale, and then sounding a little ashamed, “if not I come home and try to make sure I’m asleep before anything gets too bad, if I’m asleep I’ll usually be fine.”

And Trinity snorts with amusement because that much she can believe, Yolanda sleeps like the dead, a gentle tap of playful reprimand against her back in response.

“So we’ll come back here on new year’s eve and I’m sure I can find a way to tire you out.” And it’s a genuine suggestion, despite its playfulness, giving Yolanda an exit ramp from the conversation, certain she must be reaching her capacity for opening herself up tonight.

“No, no, it’s alright baby,” that pet name still thrills Trinity to hear, “I’m not going to sleep through bringing in the new year with you.” Yolanda says, a little more earnest than Trinity was expecting.

“Okay, that’s okay,” shuffles backward so she can be little spoon, delighted in the way Yolanda curls tightly around her. “But I’m just saying, you could if you want to, sleep that is. Maybe we could both start the new year by actually getting enough of it for a change.”

The last thing Trinity remembers is the feel of a smile being pushed against her head.

And when the final day of the year does roll round, Trinity presents Yolanda with a pair of ear plugs she has spent an inordinate amount of time researching.

Yolanda looks a little embarrassed whether from the clear attention Trinity has put in or the fact that they may genuinely be a solution for her.

(Trinity makes a note to circle back to the embarrassment because she gets the feeling undoing that little tendril of thought might take some time.)

But they do at least seem to work, enough for Yolanda to tuck Trinity against her side as the pair watch various pops of colour from the city beyond, courtesy of the floor to ceiling windows in Yolanda’s extremely nice apartment.

(The first time Trinity had visited, back in their situationship, the doorman had refused to let her in because she looked so out of place.)

“I had such a bad fucking day,” Trinity groans, burying her face in Baran’s neck and digging her hands under Baran’s waist to hold her. Baran drapes her free arm around Trinity’s back, scraping her nails up and down Trinity’s spine.

It’s almost 9:30, so Baran doesn’t doubt it. She’d texted something curt around 7:30: be over late. big mva

And then 20 minutes later: is that okay? sorry

Baran smiled at it and replied: yes, love. can’t wait to see you.

“I’m sorry, azizam. Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her voice lilting as she tips her chin down to kiss the side of Trinity’s head.

“No,” she mutters, her lips against Baran’s neck. Not kissing, just there, soft and warm as her breath fans out across Baran’s skin. Baran adjusts so their legs are staggered instead of thighs pressed to thighs and then brings the medical journal back up, resting her wrist against Trinity’s shoulder blade.

“Okay, well I’m here if you do,” she offers quietly, raising her free hand to gently tug Trinity’s hair out of its ponytail. She sighs when Baran starts massaging her scalp, which is always so tender after a long day.

Baran refocuses on her medical journal as Trinity slowly relaxes on top of her, each muscle group releasing one by one until it’s just her shoulders and her neck. Trinity isn’t always like this after a shift, but when she is she always comes right to Baran for attention. Which is a small miracle in itself. It had taken Trinity months to let herself be cared for even like this, in what Baran considered such a small and easy way. And sometimes she’s still uncomfortable being doted on, so Baran approaches these moments with forced nonchalance. If she had her way, she would be smothering Trinity in kisses and sweet nothings right now.

“Did you eat already?” Trinity asks, her voice sounding heavier, reverberating through Baran’s skin.

“Mmm. But I saved you a plate. It’s in the fridge. Chicken parm,” she mumbles, her eyes skimming a line on the page. It’s getting harder and harder to focus with Trinity’s warm weight on top of her. Then Trinity lets out something between a groan and moan that surprises Baran, and she raises her brow, glancing down at Trinity, who has her eyes closed. “I didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about chicken parmesan."

“I need that biblically,” Trinity moans openly now, and Baran laughs, which shakes through both of them on the couch.

“Did you eat anything today?” Trinity nestles into Baran, squeezing her tighter, hips pressing against hips, nose digging into Baran’s pulse. She loves when Trinity is clingy.

“A couple granola bars,” she admits reluctantly, knowing Baran has chastised her for this before. “But I knew I’d be coming over to a delicious meal prepared by the best girlfriend in the world.” Baran hums.

“You’re lucky you’re cute like this,” she warns, finally setting the journal down on the floor and wrapping her other arm around Trinity. She squeezes her once before sliding her fingers against the nape of her neck in a slow, deep massage. This gets the last stubborn muscle groups in Trinity’s body to finally release, and she sighs, boneless on top of her girlfriend.

“I missed you today,” Trinity mumbles, her voice doing something it only does rarely, all high and unsure. Baran can feel the day on Trinity’s back weighing her down now that she’s allowing herself to be vulnerable, even a little. Baran tangles her fingers in Trinity’s hair and holds it at the root, grounding.

“Me, too,” she sighs. “I went for a walk in that park we like this afternoon. The sparrow’s eggs finally hatched. I took some photos for you.” Trinity picks her head up, looking wounded. Baran keeps her hand in her hair.

“You didn’t send them to me? I coulda used a pick-me-up today,” she pouts.

“Oh, baby,” Baran coos, lifting her head just enough to kiss Trinity, a soft press of lips. “I felt so guilty not texting you right away, but I wanted to watch your face when you saw them. You just light up when you see baby birds. It’s really sweet.”

Trinity’s face opens and her eyes soften in a way that took Baran time to notice and even longer to learn what it meant. It’s so subtle, so monumental. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“You should feel guilty. No more walks without me,” she mumbles, settling back down in the crook of Baran’s neck. Baran’s heart swells.

“Next it’ll be no more going to the gym. No more grocery runs or smoothie outings,” she lists off things that Trinity loves doing with her. “You gonna keep me locked up here whenever you’re gone?”

“No, you’d probably like it too much,” Trinity says, smiling against Baran’s skin, who rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it.

She takes a deep breath, kissing Trinity’s temple, who nuzzles closer at the touch. She kisses Baran’s neck, a quick peck once, twice. Then her lips press in, soft and warm. Baran closes her eyes, her fingers still tangled in Trinity’s hair. She’s suddenly very aware of Trinity’s chest pressed to hers, a sliver of their stomachs’ touching where Trinity’s dramatic flop had ridden up their shirts. Hips pressed. Trinity’s thigh between Baran’s. Baran’s thigh between Trinity’s.

“Baran,” Trinity breathes, her mouth open against her skin. It isn’t a question or a request, just her lover’s name whispered as a promise between them. Baran’s hand slides across Trinity’s shoulder blade as Trinity’s hips twitch down. Heat swirls in Baran and pools low. Her core muscles tighten, and Trinity sucks lightly on her throat.

“Trin,” Baran whispers back, a promise, a reassurance. I’m here. I love you. Trinity grinds down with more force, and Baran spreads her legs and braces her heel so Trinity can find more purchase.

She gasps into Baran’s ear, and it sends a hot shiver down her spine. Turning her head, she meets Trinity’s waiting mouth, open and wet, noses brushing, cheeks warm. Baran cradles her jaw, other hand sliding down to guide Trinity’s hips, which are growing more urgent by the moment. She’s working herself up quick, little whines falling into Baran’s mouth.

“That’s it, honey,” Baran sighs against her, lips brushing but not quite kissing, as Trinity drags and presses her cunt to Baran’s flexed thigh over and over, hot and damp through her scrubs.

Trinity kisses her harshly, her hand palming Baran’s clothed chest. It pulls the first moan of the night from Trinity, breathy but deep. Baran arches into her, heart thudding.

“Oh, fuck. Need you,” she whines, hips stuttering.

“Where, baby, I’m yours,” Baran replies quickly, automatically, pupils blown and locked on Trinity, who has her eyes so deliciously, softly closed, lips swollen.

Trinity presses her hand down on Baran’s knee, and she drops her leg. Hand practically shaking, she takes Baran’s hand on her hip and directs it to the tie of her scrubs. Baran’s breath catches, her eyes flickering from her pants to Trinity’s face. When their eyes meet, she sees the need, the ache of it spilling from her. Fuck.

In one fluid motion, Baran pulls the tie loose and slides her hand down Trinity’s pants, under her boxers. God, Baran loves it when she wears boxers. Trinity gasps, pressing herself back down against Baran when her fingers meet slick, swollen heat.

“My handsome girl,” Baran drawls, and Trinity bucks, panting into her neck. She’s already close. Baran doesn’t tease her, drawing quick firm circles over her clit in the way she knows makes her squirm.

“Baran, baby, baby. God. Fuck, yes,” Trinity moans, anchoring herself to Baran, clinging on with wet kisses to her neck as the feeling builds and crests. Baran moans when Trinity cums on her fingers, loud and broken in her ear. She works her through it, legs shaking, slowing, slowing. Kissing her cheek, her temple, lacing free fingers into her hair and holding.

“You did so good, eshgham. You are so pretty when you cum,” Baran whispers, slowly easing out of Trinity’s pants. Some choked sound leaves her, and she sinks her hips back down against Baran’s thigh, raising her head enough to see Baran lick and suck her fingers clean.

“Fuck,” she groans, kissing Baran when she’s done, tasting herself. It’s sweet, slow, and Baran hums into it.

“Feel better?” Baran mumbles against her mouth, still feeling Trinity twitch against her thigh. Her own cunt is aching, and Trinity looks so beautifully spent.

“Mhm,” she hums. “I needed that.”

Baran smiles as Trinity buries herself back in Baran’s neck, kissing her there, making Baran shiver. Then her stomach rumbles so loudly Baran can practically feel it against her own body. They laugh, passing it between them like a precious, secret thing.

“How about I heat you up your dinner, and then we take a shower together?” Baran asks quietly, lovingly. “Wash off the day.”

Trinity goes slack against Baran, the thought of food and a hot shower with her hot girlfriend so wonderfully appealing. Baran feels it, relaxes into it herself, letting their bodies meld for a long, long moment.

“I like when you take care of me,” Trinity says finally, so quiet Baran almost misses it. “You make it easy to feel like I deserve it.”

Trinity has a hard time saying I love you. It chokes her more often than not. She feels it, has told Baran so, and still she panics. Baran doesn’t push, doesn’t ask questions, just lets Trinity come to her, soft and unhurried.

“Then I’ll do it everyday forever if you want,” Baran whispers, and it’s probably too much for Trinity. Too permanent. But Baran can’t help it. Trinity’s working her way into Baran’s foundations, little by little, day by day.

“I love you so much,” Trinity sighs, holding Baran tighter. Baran’s heart does something wild and impossible, and her hand tightens in Trinity’s hair, keeping her close. She closes her eyes, exhales slowly into her temple.