Chapter Text
She doesn’t even hear Ellis walk into the break room, too busy rummaging through the fridge for her energy drink and too exhausted from the shift she’s just finished, until Ellis is right on top of her, standing right behind the open door.
(Trinity knows she’s crashing from the night she’s just had, all the emotional whiplash and desperation packed into each other, and above all, hoping, pleading, praying that her 19-year old patient/domestic violence victim would make it through the night.
She didn’t.
And now Trinity can’t find her fucking drink in this stupid fucking fridge that’s full of all the food in the world except for hers apparently.)
“Dr. Santos, how’re you holding up?” Ellis says, leaning against the fridge.
Trinity startles, still focused on where her drink could be. “Fine,” she grits out, sounding the very opposite of fine.
“Bullshit,” Ellis says. “You look like you’re two seconds away from tipping over. That, or ripping the door off its hinges.
“I just want to find my Celsius,” she says, moving two large mostly-drunk Dunkin iced coffees to a different shelf. They have to be Shen’s or else Trinity would throw them away, she’s not sure he can even function without three during a shift. “But apparently everyone decided to bring a buffet last night so I—”
Silently, Ellis lets her hand drop into the top shelf on the door, one or two rows deep, and pulls out the metal can.
It’s a goddamn miracle.
“How’d you…” Trinity trails off, staring in awe a little at Ellis, but mostly at the metal can she’s holding.
“What can I say, I’m a giver,” Ellis hands the can to Trinity and smirks, jolting through her faster than any caffeinated energy drink ever could.
They’ve been doing this back and forth thing for about a month, two and a half months into her switch to the night shift—
(Trinity’s not sure if she can call it flirting—it’s mostly Ellis making little quips at her in the seconds they have alone working on patients, in the hallways between the break room and the trauma bay, and Trinity desperately trying to not look uncool. Ellis still hangs around her so she assumes it’s mostly working.)
—and it’s taken her a few weeks to get used to it. At first, she just thought Ellis was pulling her leg, creating some elaborate hazing ritual on top of adjusting to her new schedule, but the longer it went on, the more earnest Ellis was. Of course, it was through layers of sarcasm and jabs, but the twinkle in her eyes was always kind.
It’s a different dynamic than what she had with Garcia—softer, more gentle—no more room-exploding tension that makes her feel like she’s going to combust when Ellis is in her proximity. If it still bubbles up inside her whenever she hears Ellis’ low, calm voice slipping her a compliment, well, Trinity is only human.
Trinity considers this change often; not only Ellis vs. Garcia, but the night shift vs. the day shift. There’s certainly less scalpels involved.
It’s different because she’s different, she supposes. When she first switched, she was wary of everyone, maybe even more so than her first day at PTMC. She assumed the whispers that would follow her would be about how she ratted on Langdon, how she fucked up with Garcia, how they would all think she slunk to the night shift like dog with its tail tucked between its legs.
But they didn’t.
The night shift was calmer. It was just as busy, especially going into and through the weekends, but the energy was definitely different. Probably a lot to do with Abbot, Trinity could tell he was more well-adjusted than Robby, had his shit together just a little bit more—and hey, no judgement she can certainly empathize with that—but it was easier to work under him.
The more she worked nights, the less she missed the day shift and all the extra baggage that came with it.
“Earth to Dr. Santos. You okay?” Ellis’ voice breaks Trinity out of her thoughts. She’s not sure how long she’s been standing there, fridge door open and Celcius in hand, but she notices the genuinely concerned look on Ellis' face, so it’s probably not helping her case of everything being fine.
“Yeah, it’s cool.” Trinity takes a sip of her drink and it’s deliciously cold. “Thanks for finding this.”
It’s lighter than she remembered, only about two more mouthfuls until it’s empty, so Trinity decides to finish it. Just enough to get her through the drive home safely and then she can collapse into her bed and pass the fuck out.
Ellis watches her as she throws her head back and gets the last remaining drops from the can before she tosses it in the recycling bin on the opposite side of the fridge.
“What?” She’s let her guard down considerably around the night shift people, but still the way Ellis is staring at her right now…she’s wondering what it could mean.
“After the shift you had, you need something more than an energy drink.”
Ellis is right, Trinity knows that. All the adrenaline she’s released during this shift is catching up to her, quickly, and she can feel her brain slowing down, exhausted from the twelve hours full of medical terms, procedures, and problem solving she’s had to do. It feels distinctively out of body, like she’s watching herself talk to Ellis, a body watching another body.
“Alright, I know those things are bad for me, but cut me some slack Ellis, one of my patients didn’t—” Trinity cuts herself off, eyes burning from tears and embarrassment. This is another reason she knows she’s exhausted, normally she wouldn’t be caught dead crying in front of anyone, especially Ellis.
“Shit, Santos,” Ellis looks even more concerned now and it makes Trinity want to die a little. “I mean you need a beer or something.”
She chuckles wetly. “Yeah, I don’t know if any bars are open right now.
Ellis pauses, seems to be considering something, before, “Come over to my place. I’ll make you a drink and maybe it’ll get you out of this funk so you can go back to your usual cocky doctor-self.”
It’s a miracle in her exhausted-addled state but Trinity’s brain processes two things very quickly: Ellis is inviting her Dr. Trinity Isabella Manalo Santos, over to her house, completely devoid of any pretense of hanging out after work as a group, just her and pretty much called her the doctor equivalent of a bitch. Which, not untrue, but again, still hurts from Ellis.
Her emotions must show on her face (another hint she should go to bed right now) or Ellis is feeling particularly sorry for her because she waves Trinity off like she’s said something.
“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Ellis tells her.
Suddenly, Trinity’s walking out of the break room as fast as she can, praying no one sees her following after Ellis, looking too eager.
_________
Winter, Trinity has decided, sucks in Pittsburgh. She figures she should be used to it considering she went to med school at Pitt, has been subjected to the weird and intense weather patterns of northwest Pennsylvania for years now, but there’s something about being born and raised outside of San Diego that makes her never get used to the cold.
Early December is nothing close to the slog of January or February, but the past few days there’s been clouds hovering over the city that’s brought freezing rain, making the walk to the parking lot not only miserable but also treacherous. Trinity slips more than a few times, just not having the mental energy to care where she’s stepping.
There’s one time when she slips and Ellis is there, with a hand on Trinity’s waist from behind to steady her, and Trinity can feel the heat of her hand through her sweatshirt, burning on her own skin.
“Careful, I’m trying to go home, not back into work. Can’t do that if you fracture your lateral malleolus,” Ellis laughs. The sound of it brings Trinity back to her senses.
“What are you a doctor or something?” Trinity snaps.
“You’re funny,” Ellis gives her a look, a lopsided half-grin, that Trinity reads to mean you don’t really mean that. But she doesn’t elaborate on what she said out loud. It prickles through her body: Ellis is right and, more importantly, she knows Trinity well enough to make that correct judgement.
It strikes her oddly, she assumed no one knew her at work, minus Whitaker (that doesn’t count because she lives with him), that no one wanted to get to know her, first because of Langdon thing and then because she burned any fragile bridges by moving to the night shift.
They fall into a silence that’s not uncomfortable as they move through the icy parking lot.
Luckily, Trinity’s car isn’t much farther. She’s in the middle of getting her keys out of her backpack when Ellis stops her, “You really think I’m gonna let you drive home like that?”
Ellis is right again, annoyingly so, but there’s still the issue of her getting Ellis’ house, she thinks.
“I’m not gonna make some poor Uber driver climb up this maze of a parking garage. They already have a hard time dropping off Abbot’s Doordash at like two in the—”
“Santos,” Ellis says, sounding exactly like she does on the floor of the emergency room. Her voice is firm, enough that Trinity’s body moves on its own accord, stopping herself in her tracks. And like, yeah she has a thing about authority and proving herself (that she’s not just enough, but she’s good) and her brain is always unconsciously noticing attractive details about Ellis within the past few months, but like, it doesn’t have to be a Thing.
(Even though Trinity—especially when she’s feeling particularly cynical about Pittsburgh’s lesbian dating scene— kind of wishes it could be.)
“I invited you over, let me drive,” Ellis says. Yes, that makes much more sense in Trinity’s brain.
When they finally do reach Ellis’ car, a modestly sized dark blue SUV, it’s not what she’s expecting, though Trinity’s not quite sure what she was expecting. She knows they all must get to work somehow, probably by driving, instead of just materializing on the steps of PTMC, but she’s never put that much thought into how everyone gets there. She knows Robby has a bike he uses during the warmer months and whichever parent is working the same days/shifts as Javadi, drops her off (which, a little embarrassing), but she’s never thought about anyone else.
“Nice car,” she says, once they’re inside. Ellis is shucking off her coat in the driver’s side next to her, but Trinity prefers to keep her jacket regardless of the temperature.
“Thanks. I needed the extra leg room in the back.” Ellis grins. All she does is smirk and grin and it’s making it harder and harder to stay on the side of the line that Trinity told herself she wouldn’t cross.
“Any particular reason?” Trinity knows she’s being messed with but she can’t help but fall right into Ellis’ trap.
“My little sister and her boyfriend just got a puppy a few months ago. Rescue, some Great Dane mix, huge. Sometimes they ask me to take him for the weekend so I'm an aunty to a sixty-pound toddler.”
Some amount of horror must show on Trinity’s because Ellis chuckles. “Don’t worry, he’s not there now. That’s more of a second or third time thing.”
And somehow, Trinity’s buzzing again.
“Do you have any pets in your apartment? Ellis asks, now fiddling with the radio knob.
“You mean other than Whitaker? Trinity is pleased when that earns her an eyeroll and a smirk from Ellis. “Nah, but I’ve been thinking about getting a cat.”
The rest of the drive isn’t bad mostly because it can’t be over ten minutes. They make small talk, which Trinity is historically not great at, but it’s not terrible. Probably because it’s with Ellis.
_________
Despite the reassurance, Trinity’s half anticipating a dog that’s at least half the size of her waiting for them when Ellis opens the door.
Instead, she’s greeted with a warmly decorated living room, complete with a dark brown coffee table, various hanging plants, and a squashy-looking couch. Trinity wants to collapse into and sleep for at least ten hours.
She slips off her shoes, annoyed that the bottom of her socks are damp from the icy slush outside. Her toes feel like little blocks of ice.
“Hey, I know I owe you a drink, but I think I’m gonna shower first. Gotta wash all this hospital off me,” Ellis says as she hangs her keys on the ring next to the door. “There’s a bathroom across from the guest bedroom upstairs if you wanna shower too.”
It actually sounds great, but Trinity doesn’t have any extra clothes in her bag, which she tells Ellis.
“No worries, I’ll put some out you can borrow since I kind of intern-napped you,” Ellis points beyond the living room. “Kitchen’s through there. Eat anything you want in the fridge though I can’t promise much that isn’t meal prep.”
Ellis runs up the stairs gracefully and Trinity makes her way over to the kitchen. The first thing she notices are the dark granite countertops. Fucking senior residents. It’s also nicely sized, nothing like the kitchen in her own apartment where she and Whitaker are constantly bumping into each other when they try to cook together.
There’s more hanging plants in here, mixing with the pot and pans set on shelves above the countertops. Trinity wonders if Ellis built them herself and briefly envisions a sweaty, tanktop-clad version of Ellis (not unsimilar to a frustrated mid-shift Ellis Trinity saw a few weeks ago, stripping off of her scrub shirt right in front of the machine) and immediately heads to the fridge for a glass of water.
As she’s drinking, Trinity studies the photos attached to the fridge. There aren’t many, but the ones that are here seem important: a close-up selfie of Ellis and a girl, graduation cap sitting on top of her dark, shoulder-length curls (with an ache, Trinity assumes that’s the younger sister, it reminds her of her own two younger brothers back in California), another more recent selfie with the girl and Ellis and tall Asian man holding a black and white puppy with huge paws, a staged photo of Ellis, Garcia, and Walsh all wearing cut-off pink PTMC Kickball shirts in front of a baseball field, all of them looking incredibly pleased with themselves (Ellis is flexing her arms in that one and Trinity stares longer than she means to), and another photo of Ellis with her friends (Trinity doesn’t recognize any of these people) at Pittsburgh Pride, they’re all holding beer cans and laughing, and Trinity can see rainbow flag temporary tattoo on Ellis’ right cheek.
“Shower’s ready for you if you want,” Ellis calls down, breaking Trinity out of her stupor. She probably should shower, for some reason she always seems to sweat more on night shifts, and she takes the set of stairs off of the kitchen two at a time.
Faintly, she can hear the sound of Ellis’ own shower at the end of the hall, she must have just gotten in. Trinity pushes open the first door on her right at the top of the stairs to the guest bedroom. There’s no more than a bed, a small bedside table, and a few art pieces on the walls, but the bed looks so inviting that Trinity knows if she lays down, she won’t be getting back up for several hours.
The bathroom is beyond the room and Ellis has laid out a soft-looking gray t-shirt, black sleep shorts, and fuzzy socks. It already smells amazing, Trinity notices. There’s a medium-sized light pink candle next to the toilet, the yellow flame softly crackling. Pink Grapefruit. She’s oddly touched. She wants to know more of these small details about Ellis, things she would never find bent over patients in the ER, and is not above snooping in the cabinets of the guest bathroom to find these answers, but she can’t resist the urge to shower any longer.
Trinity strips down, flinging her dirty clothes in a heap on the floor, and steps into the shower. The water is deliciously warm, almost scalding, but it’s exactly what she needs after a shift like this.
She’s halfway through rinsing the conditioner from her hair when it hits her, a memory from this morning (or last night, really): looking into the eyes of her 19 year old patient whose pelvis was shattered and—Santos learned later—lungs were punctured by one of her many broken ribs—was brought in after her car wrapped itself around a tree trying to escape her abusive boyfriend.
(And she had whispered “can you clean my hair,?” so softly Trinity had to lean down next to her mouth to hear. Her voice had cut through all of the deafening other sounds of the Trauma Room and Trinity had nodded and smoothed the girl’s forehead, where it was hot and sticky with blood, and the girl had given her a half-smile before the shock overcame her body and went unconscious for the last time.
Trinity picked out bits of glass and tree from her hair, even though there were a million other things she should have been helping with, and continued, almost frantically, after Abbot had brought over the crash cart, had restarted her heart once, twice.
And she had grabbed a surgical towel, had dipped it in warm water, and was wiping strands of her hair clean when the monitor finally started droning, low and haunting, and beside her Walsh had thrown down her surgical tools and gone, “Shit, well, you can stop Dr. Santos. It’s over.”
But she didn’t get it, none of them did. This patient, this girl, had asked for something, had asked for her help, and Santos was going to help her, flatlining be damned.
And she continued wiping the girl’s hair, brushing through it with her fingers, softly, almost tenderly, until Abbot had come over and almost had to pull her off the girl, saying softly, “you can’t save them all, kid,”
Her voice hadn’t sounded like herself, it was ragged, vulnerable, and full of emotion she tried so hard to hide, “I’m not done, she asked for my help, and I promised.”
And she had always tried so hard not to break her promises. Because people she cared about always got hurt when she did.
He tried to take her away from the girl’s body and she screamed at him. Had screamed until her throat was raw, until tears were forcing themselves out of her eyes, until people were looking until Trauma 1 wondering why the intern looked like she was having a panic attack. And honestly, maybe she was.
Needless to say, Abbot had ordered her to take her break after that.)
The second wave she had gotten from Ellis inviting her over for a drink leaves her body as quickly as it had come, replacing it again with all the exhaustion, panic, and anger from earlier. She tries to rinse it off her body, some metaphorical shit she usually doesn’t believe, and it doesn’t work, of course. All she’s left with,as she steps out of the shower, is the room full of hot steam, bright pink skin, and the strong desire to punch something.
The soft towel feels good on her overly-hot skin and she sits on the edge of the bed for a while, willing herself down from the anxiety spiral that’s threatening to overtake her. Once she’s confident she’s not going to tip over (from exhaustion or her own mind), she walks back to the bathroom and picks up the clothes.
She unfolds the shirt to find it’s a faded Grateful Dead long sleeve , large enough that she feels comfortable wearing it without the sports bra she wore to work, and slips it over her head. She grabs the sleep shorts and pulls them up her legs, the shirt long enough that it covers most of the shorts. Finally, she pulls the socks on, examining them to find they have little stethoscopes printed on them.
Trinity hangs her towel back up and stares at herself in the mirror. In some ways, she can’t believe she’s standing, loosely clothed and freshly showered, in Ellis’ extra bathroom, but on the other hand, Ellis has looked out for since that first day, since the Pitt Fest Shooting, if there’s someone who cares about her at the Pitt, it’s her.
She swipes Old Spice through her armpits and smears a layer of lotion across her face first and then her body, and then starts to make her way down the stairs.
The image Trinity’s greeted with as she walks into the kitchen is acutely devastating— mostly because it feels like it’s meant for someone else’s life and not hers—Ellis, wearing a deep green cutoff and dark gray sweatpants, with her locs free of their bun and resting on her shoulders, is leaning against the counter with a drink in her hand.
“Feeling better after you used all my hot water?” Ellis takes a long sip of her drink.
Her face heats up and Trinity’s grateful for her scalding hot shower. “Eh, coulda been hotter. What drink are you gonna make for me?”
“Anything you want.” Ellis says, sipping her drink again, not taking her eyes off of Trinity. The intensity of her gaze takes Trinity back to earlier this morning, Ellis looking over at her from across the Hub after her breakdown, eyes questioning you good, Santos?, and she averts her eyes now, looking at anything in the kitchen except for the woman across from her.
To her credit, Ellis takes the sudden awkwardness in stride and doesn’t say anything other than, “I make a mean old fashioned.”
She raises her glass, “What liquor do you want? Whiskey? Gin? Rum? Tequila?”
“Well I kinda want to forget that past twelve hours so tequila,” Trinity admits. Tequila had always been her go-to in undergrad, for better or for worse. More often: worse. It burned, but it got the job done.
Ellis hums, “Knew you would drink something with a little spice. How about a paloma?”
“That sounds good, thanks.”
Ellis moves to the little alcove where the bar cart is tucked away and pulls out a mostly full bottle of El Tesoro, a shot glass, and a highball glass.
She pours a shot and hands it to Trinity, “Try this. It’s much better than whatever twenty dollar bottle you bought when you were 21,” as if reading her mind.
Trinity sips it, slowly, enjoying the spice and smoothness of the agave. Of course, Ellis is right. It’s amazing.
“Shit, that’s good,” she finishes the rest of the shot, her mouth tingling.
Ellis moves to the fridge to grab the rest of the ingredients for the cocktail including seltzer water and a few limes. Trinity watches the process: the way her forearm tenses and flexes as she squeezes the limes over the rim to salt it, the clink of the large, square ice cub, the pour of the tequila, the bubbles rising up from the seltzer water, and Ellis is very methodical through it all.
Trinity should have known Ellis would be good at this. She can see the similarity between bartending and doctoring easily; it’s the need for creativity, problem solving vs. the formula.
The drink is finished and Ellis tops it off with a grapefruit slice before handing it to Trinity.
One sip and Trinity knows it’s one of the best drinks she’s ever had. “Fuck, how you’d learn to do this?”
“I bartended my way through undergrad so I could afford school. My parents aren’t really in the picture so I had to support myself.”
“Amen to that,” Trinity replies, a little darkly, thinking of the last time she saw her own mother a day before her graduation from UCLA, more than four years ago.
They keep talking and it’s easier than Trinity expected. The constant chaos of the ER didn’t exactly foster long conversations, but in some ways it was more simple that way. It was hard to get past surface level when they were being called every five minutes.
It isn’t until Ellis goes, “So are we gonna talk about what happened earlier with you?” that Trinity feels her face burn again, already tinted pink from the alcohol.
“What do you mean?” She asks, a little too casual to be believable.
“Dumb isn’t a good look on you, Santos,” Ellis says. “What happened? Because one moment you were cracking jokes and then next you were about to bite Abbot’s head off.”
“Fine,” Trinity says. If they’re gonna do this, she needs more alcohol in her system. She licks part of the rim for the salt (can’t help but notice how Ellis tracks the movement with her eyes) and downs the rest of her drink.
“What happened is that I failed,” she says, voice cracking from emotion. “That girl needed me. She needed our help, she was getting away from her shitty-ass boyfriend who beat her. She was scared and alone and needed someone to protect her. She had her whole fucking life ahead of her.”
Trinity is fully crying now, not even caring how undignified it looks in front of Ellis, and she’s not sure who she’s talking about—the patient she couldn’t save, her best friend she couldn’t save, or herself.
The image of the girl laying in Trauma 1, using her final words to beg for Trinity’s help, looking so incredibly broken flashes through her head.
Then, the rest follow in quick succession: her younger brothers cowering in the corner of her room as their father raised his open hand at them, the locker room where she met her childhood best friend through competitive gymnastics, their team doctor with his hands on her legs, inching upward, her finding her best friend in the car with a bottle of pills next to her, her brothers crying at her high school graduation and her mother not even looking at her, seeing on the news her childhood team doctor was arrested on 12 counts of 1st degree sexual assault towards minors, walking into her college coach’s office as a senior and quitting after her panic attacks were too much.
Ellis puts down her empty glass and places her hands on Trinity’s shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact. It’s the second time Ellis has voluntarily touched her today.
“Look at me,” Ellis says, softly. “Trinity.”
Oh.
The sound of her first name sends a shock through her body. That more than anything gets Trinity to look at Ellis. Rarely anyone calls her by her first name and honestly, she’s not sure if anyone at work even knew her first name other than Whitaker.
“Listen, there’s shit that happens out there all the time that we can’t control. Fuck, there’s things that happen inside the Pitt we can’t control. All you can do is try and adapt. What matters is that you listened to her and you took care of her the best you could. Yeah, you lost the patient, but you made her feel comfortable and safe. That’s the opposite of failure.”
“Okay,” Trinity says, weakly.
Ellis doesn’t break eye contact with her, if anything her stare gets more intense. “Trinity, you’re a good doctor, a really good one. Not saving one patient or two or ten patients doesn’t discredit that. You’ve grown so much and yeah, sometimes you’re a pain, but you always protect your patients. It’s actually one of the first things I noticed about—”
She doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Trinity’s lips are pressing against hers, abrupt and insistently. It’s impulsive and dangerous, but she needs it like she needs air to breathe.
One moment she’s thinking about kissing Ellis and the next, she is.
After a few seconds, Trinity’s brain seems to catch up with her body and alarm bells start to blare inside of her head. She pulls back, incredibly anxious, her lips unhelpfully buzzing from the contact with Ellis’. She really must be the world’s stupidest doctor in the world to kiss a senior resident. The alcohol she’s just drunk is not agreeing with the whiplash of emotions she’s having.
Worse, Ellis takes her time opening her eyes and Trinity can’t read the emotion on her face.
She starts to take a step back but Ellis manages to take hold of her arm and pulls, the gentle pressure of her fingers keeping her stuck in place.
“Well, I wasn’t sure that was ever going to happen,” Ellis says.
“What?” Trinity croaks out. She’s really not making a great case for herself as someone who graduated medical school.
“I’ve been flirting with you for weeks, Santos,” Ellis laughs. “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me, but this definitely isn’t the way I imagined it happening.”
The burn of her cheeks gets even hotter, thinking about Ellis wanting to kiss her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You’re all bold and brash at work, I guess I wanted to see if you were just all talk or if you could go after something you wanted. Plus, I think I felt better about it if you made the first move since resident,” Ellis points at herself, "and intern,” and then points to Trinity.
This day has been a fever dream, she thinks vaguely. She has a panic attack at work, she kisses Parker Ellis and Parker Ellis wants to kiss her back. The whole world is upside down.
“The whole resident and intern thing doesn’t freak you out?” Trinity asks. She’s starting to get distracted; Ellis is still holding her arm, her hand firm and Trinity’s going to need it on other parts of her body very soon.
“I mean, not really,” Ellis shrugs. “I’m not your direct supervisor since I’m not an attending and you answer to Abbot. I don’t have an issue with it if you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.” Trinity says.
“Great, then I’d really like to kiss you again,” and Ellis pulls her in and the only word Trinity can think of is ‘swoon-worthy’.
If their first kiss was a blazing fire, explosive and reckless, this one is the smouldering remains, all slow heat and passion. Trinity can feel every inch of Ellis’ body pressing against hers and in this moment she remembers she’s not wearing a bra.
Ellis kisses her how she practices medicine: meticulous and devastatingly precise. Her lips are pliant and Trinity tastes orange and whiskey on them. Now that she knows Ellis is as into this as she is, it makes the temperature of the room so much hotter, makes her need Ellis so much more.
Trinity pushes herself into Ellis until her back hits the counter and Trinity feels the small puff of air Ellis lets out against her lips. They both break the kiss for a second, smiling against each other’s lips, and the alcohol is definitely making its way through her body, settling resolutely between her legs.
Vaguely, she realizes she still has her empty glass in her hand and moves to set it far away from them before there’s an accident and one or both of them end up back at the hospital. She leans past Ellis and immediately Ellis moves from her lips and attaches herself on the curve of Trinity’s neck. She shudders and it nearly makes her drop the glass.
“Jesus,” she mutters as Ellis kisses and nips her way down her neck.
She feels Ellis’ teeth against her neck, smiling. “Nope, just lil ol’ me.”
“Don’t make me drop the glass,” Trinity groans. “You’re the worst. Go back to kissing my neck.”
“Should’ve known you’d be a brat,” Ellis hums, nipping hard enough at the skin above her collarbone to hurt.
Trinity’s hips instinctively jump forward and her hands automatically reach for Ellis’ neck to stabilize herself.
“Nothing to say now, babygirl? Am I supposed to take your silence as acceptance?”
Trinity is breathing hard enough that it takes a few gulps of air before she’s able to whine out, “Fuck, Ellis.”
“Patience, we’ll get there,” she answers, coming back up to press a kiss just behind Trinity’s earlobe. “First, can I get you up here?”
In one fluid motion, Ellis moves her hand to grip the back of Trinity’s thighs, just under the curve of her ass, and lifts. She lands on the counter softly, the cool granite a relief on her burning skin. The first rays of sunlight are starting to peek through the kitchen window, layering both of them in an amber-gold glow, Ellis’ skin shining beautifully in the light.
Embarrassingly, Trinity can feel she’s already wet from what? A heavy makeout session and some neck kissing? She could make excuses that it’s from the alcohol or how exhausted she is, and their banter back and forth these past few weeks has definitely been getting more suggestive, but to be completely honest, it’s been a while since Trinity’s had sex with anyone. It’s not exactly easy when she was studying around the clock in med school and she’s tried a few times in the past year or so to explore the lesbian hookup scene, often dragging Whitaker along to gay bars with her, with minimal degrees of success for either of them, so yeah, it’s been a while.
She’s reminded of that drought now, feels it so explicitly between her legs, and doesn’t
want to take her hands off of Ellis for more than a few seconds. Ellis seems to agree, leaving her hands resting at the small of Trinity’s back, maybe in an attempt to be a gentleman and not immediately palm her ass, but she’s not having it. Trinity moves her hand from Ellis’ neck to cover her hand with her own, to push it down a few inches so Ellis can grab her ass. It’s not completely satisfying because she still is sitting on the counter, but it’s enough for now.
When she realizes what Trinity’s doing, Ellis groans, the vibrations ricocheting from Ellis’ mouth to her own. Ellis’ hand nearly covers her entire ass and that’s a dizzying revelation in and of itself
Trinity responds enthusiastically, scooching forward and using her legs to pull Ellis closer into her body. Her hands are resting chastely on her waist and she feels the thick material of Ellis’ sweatpants underneath her palms. She starts skating her fingertips across Ellis’ waistline, over her shirt, back and forth and it makes Ellis shiver. Trinity instantly needs to happen again.
There’s another level of forcefulness in Ellis’ movements after that. She grips Trinity’s skin a little tighter, bites on her lower lip a little harder, and runs her tongue on the inside of her mouth. Her other hand (that’s not on Trinity’s ass) moves upward, towards Trinity’s left breast. Similar to her ass, Ellis’ hand dwarfs her breast almost completely and Trinity moans into Ellis’ mouth at the thought.
They both seem to realize that she’s not wearing a bra at the same time; Ellis covers her breast, her palm pressing into her hardened nipple, and she rocks forward into Trinity, who swears under her breath.
Ellis does it again, relentlessly, and rocks into Trinity, who meets her halfway, grinding her whole pelvis against Ellis’ toned stomach. The thought of her pelvis makes her pause.
Suddenly, she’s in a whole different world, a million miles away. It’s too much at once, thinking of the girl’s pelvis, her bones crushed and warped so easily, and her own complicated and traumatized relationship to sex. Trinity pulls away from Ellis and instantly knows something is wrong. Her breathing is too fast, too harsh, coming out in jagged spurts. The temperature of her body skyrockets and her palms start to sweat, stilling in their movement. Trinity grips on to Ellis’ hips, almost close enough to hurt.
Luckily, Ellis notices the change immediately and instantly pulls back. “Hey, hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Trinity sucks in air like she’s drowning. Somehow her lungs are burning. “I just need a second and then I’ll be good.”
“Are you sure?” Ellis asks, her face knit with concern. “We can stop if you need us too. I just want you to be okay.”
Getting air helps. Trinity tries to remember meditation/breathing exercises a therapist once gave her a million years ago and slowly her heartbeat returns to normal. The world stops collapsing in on itself. She’s able to release her grip on Ellis’ hips.
“I’m okay, this just happens sometimes. Byproduct of having a loser pedo doctor when you’re an elite level child gymnast,” Trinity tries to say it breezily, but Ellis still doesn’t look convinced.
It’s hard to explain because she does feel a lot better, even though it’s been less than a minute. Sometimes these flashbacks are only a few seconds or sometimes they’re full multi-hour panic attack/PTSD episodes, Trinity never knows what she’s going to get. She’s gotten a lot better at managing it though. That’s one benefit of years worth of state-mandated therapy.
“Really, I’m okay.” Trinity takes Ellis’ hand and holds it against her chest, just over her heart. It’s definitely still elevated (but can you blame her?), but back within normal range. Ellis’ scans over her and Trinity knows she’s in doctor mode.
“What? You wanna check my vitals?”
Ellis doesn’t laugh at her joke. “Don’t tempt me. What’s an apoplexy?”
“Uh, a sudden stroke or lost consciousness due to a stroke or brain blockage.”
Ellis nods. “And what’s the term for a narrowing of a blood vessel or similar passageway?”
“Come one, give me a harder one than that,” Trinity rolls her eyes. “Stenosis, duh.”
“Fine, what’s the scientific term for a brain freeze?”
Trinity racks her brain, flexing the muscle that used to stay up until 3am at the library learning all this medical jargon, and it finally comes to her. “Sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia,” she says confidently.
Finally, Ellis seems to relax. She pulls her hand away from Trinity’s chest and presses a soft kiss to her lips. Trinity’s heart constricts for an entirely different reason.
“I’m okay, I swear. I’ll say something if it gets bad again,” she promises, “but I want this. I want you.”
The truth of the admission doesn’t surprise her, but saying out loud does.
Ellis doesn’t blush, but her face softens and she gives Trinity a shy smile, something she’s never seen before. Naturally, Trinity’s obsessed with it.
“Okay,” Ellis says, “okay, if you’re sure.”
Trinity nods. “I am.” She leans forward and kisses Ellis once, twice, on the lips, snagging her bottom lip in between her teeth. Instantly, Ellis’ hands are on her again, tensing.
“What do you need then? We can take it as slow as—”
Trinity cuts her off, kissing her hard, and the heat ramps up between them again. She’s not going to waste an opportunity to kiss one of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen.
“Distract me,” she breathes, pleased that her voice has dropped into a huskier version of itself. “Make me feel good.”
Ellis pulls back again and Trinity’s scared she’s gone too far, that Ellis will want to check on her, take it even slower, but she just looks at her in awe. Her mouth is slightly open and Trinity can see the shine of her saliva on her lower lip.
Once Ellis processed Trinity’s answer, she’s all motion and everything moves very quickly. Ellis grabs her waist and pulls her close, lips connecting before Trinity’s had the chance to breathe, and it’s everything she needs.
The hesitation from Ellis is wonderfully gone and her fingers instantly find Trinity’s breast under her shirt and this time, go straight for her nipple. She’s ruthless, flicking and rolling it between her fingers, until Trinity’s a mess again. The thin material of the shorts she’s wearing is doing nothing for her friction-wise; it just serves as a reminder of how wet she’s getting.
With her hands busy at her chest, Trinity doesn’t hear what Ellis is murmuring into her neck at first. Then, she does, “you deserve this Trinity. You deserve to feel good.”
Fuck.
Ellis repeats it, mostly to herself before realizing Trinity’s listening to her, responding to her words.
“It’s important you know that,” Ellis says, hushed. “Whatever happened in your past, you’re allowed to be forgiven for it. You deserve good things, Trinity. And you deserve to feel good.”
Now a stray tear does slip out of her eye and Ellis wipes it away. “It’s hard, but I know.”
“Then say it. Repeat it back to me,” Ellis gives her a look that Trinity takes to mean don’t even think about making a joke right now.
And ugh. She tries, but the words don’t come, the sound getting stuck in her throat. Trinity tries to distract Ellis, moving so she can mouth at her neck, but the other woman isn’t having it.
“Say it or I’ll stop,” Ellis’s voice is firm. To emphasize her point, she starts to take her hand out from under Trinity’s shirt, her thumb dragging past her nipple, and making Trinity jolt.
“Okay, fine. No need to threaten.” Trinity’s face burns, hotter than it ever has. “I deserve this, I deserve to feel good,” she grits out.
“Good girl,” and okay, it was worth it. Ellis holds onto her shirt, pausing. “Can I take this off?”
“Yes, please,” Trinity groans and it’s off within seconds. There’s something thrilling about Ellis taking her own clothes off of Trinity’s body.
Ellis attaches her mouth to her bare chest and Trinity almost comes right there on the spot. The movements are practiced and soon, Trinity’s scared she might actually orgasm on Ellis’ granite countertops.
“Please,” she whines and Ellis doubles down on her ministrations.
As if she’s reading her mind again, Ellis looks up at her.“Are you going to let me take you to bed, Dr. Santos or are you going to come in my kitchen before I’ve properly touched you yet?”
“No, bed.” Trinity gasps. Ellis has reduced her to only a few words at a time. “Please.”
“Happy to oblige,” Ellis scoops her up again off the counter and carries (!!!) Trinity to the back set of stairs. It’s only a few feet but her body responds to the show of strength, sending another wave of wetness between her thighs.
They run up the stairs like little kids and Trinity doesn’t get to see much of Ellis’ bedroom before she’s being lowered back onto the bed. The silk pillowcase is cool on her neck.
“Wanna taste you,” Ellis groans and Trinity actually needs nothing more.
“Please,” Trinity says, “Just no fingers inside.”
“Okay, I can do that,” Ellis pulls off the sleep shorts and Trinity is sure they’re ruined from how wet she is. The air hits her core and she shivers, feeling how her wetness has spread to her inner thighs.
Then she’s not really thinking at all because Ellis’ hands are gripping onto her thighs and spreading them apart and she’s kissing her way up to Trinity’s center. She pauses, hovering over Trinity where she needs her the most, and Ellis’ pupils are blown out in desire.
“Stop teasing.”
“I’m savoring the moment,” Ellis replies, “but as you wish.”
The first swipe of Ellis’ tongue against her clit has Trinity nearly bucking off of the bed. Ellis moves her hand to hold her hips down against the bed and it allows Trinity to grind into her tongue, getting the friction she so desperately needs.
Ellis is as responsive as Trinity is as she’s going down on her: she groans against Trinity’s clit when Trinity scrambles for something to hold on to and finds the back of Ellis’ neck. She gasps at the taste of her, telling Trinity over and over again how good she tastes. She grinds her own hips into her mattress, following the movement of Trinity’s hips, to a pretty consistent rhythm that makes her tongue stutter occasionally.
Trinity knew it wasn’t going to take much for her to finish, but she’s hurtling towards an orgasm faster than she realized.
“Ellis, don’t stop,” she gasps out.
And what does that woman do? Pulls back and goes, “Don’t you think we should be on a first name basis by now?”
Trinity nearly lets out a string of curse words. “Parker, please. I’m close,”
Ellis laughs between her legs and the sight of it combined with one, two, three swipes of her tongue, sends Trinity over the edge. She rolls her hips onto Ellis’ face mercilessly, riding through her orgasm.
Beneath her, Ellis laps her up, tongue licking over her folds, still grinding into the mattress or maybe her hand (Trinity felt the one not holding onto her hips leave) before she shudders into it, finally stilling.
There’s a long pause of silence where they’re both catching their breath and Trinity’s pretty sure Ellis had orgasmed, but she still needs the chance to touch her, return the favor.
“Can I make you feel good?” Trinity is satiated for now, but her clit throbs at the thought of being able to touch Ellis properly, to get her mouth on her.
Ellis kisses her, slow and languid. “Not right now, baby.”
Trinity can’t help how her body reacts to the pet name, but the answer nags at her. “Are you sure? I can go again—”
Ellis hums, “Oh trust me, I believe you, but we can do this more later. Right now, it’s time to sleep. You need it, we both do.”
Well, Trinity can’t really argue with that. The sleep she’s been fighting for the past few hours is catching up to her and Ellis’ warm bed, post-orgasm with the promise of more, is very inviting.
They settle into bed, curled up next to each other, with Ellis’ arm flung across Trinity’s waist. She’s almost asleep when she hears, “You’re a big softie, you know that?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she mumbles, “you’ll ruin my street cred.”
Ellis grins to the back of Trinity’s neck and Trinity falls into a deep, peaceful sleep.