accidental voyeurism in my garsanshimi fic?
Trinity is moving too fast to stop when she hears the voices.
“Uh-uh,” Yolanda tuts. “We’re not done.”
“I already—“
“You didn’t say it yet.”
A sob escapes Baran just as Trinity rounds the corner, and Trinity’s head drops the same instant her jaw does. She’s only distantly thankful that she doesn’t drop the towels too.
Yolanda is wrapped around Baran’s back with her hand pressed between her legs. Trinity can’t see much more from her spot in the corner, but she can see Baran’s thighs and part of her ass as the dress has been pulled up under Yolanda’s forearm. Baran’s hands are braced on the policed surface of the bar, knuckles tense as her body moves in small, helpless jolts against Yolanda’s hold.
Trinity is suddenly frozen and unable to look away.
Yolanda’s noises are the ones that first hit her ears in the parlor now that she knows what they are, it’s all she can notice— low and rough, spilling out against the back of Baran’s neck. Each one of them lands somewhere under Trinity's chest and sinks lower and lower.
“Come on,” she hears Yolanda’s voice, rough and scratchy and nothing like the tone she uses when she orders the crew around on deck. She shifts on her feet before she can stop herself. Heat drops from her stomach into her core. She clenches around nothing as she watches one of Yolanda’s hands curl around Baran’s neck. Her fingers sprayed across her dark neck. Even from a distance away, Trinity could see that there was no tension in her fingers. Yolanda was simply holding her in place, as she spoke into her ear.
Leave, Trinity tells herself. Turn around and walk out of the parlor and let them finish. Stop being a pervert about it.
It’s not the first time that she’s caught guests having sex; it happens. People rent out the boat to be able to fuck whereever they want and Trinity usually has discretion about it.
Except now—
“Say her name for me,” Yolanda says as she continues to move her hand underneath Baran’s dress, like she has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it on her wife. “You want to say it for me.”
Trinity thinks there must be some other women they are thinking about. Someone that they have flirted with over dinners and now they’re using it as some sort of game.
“Yolanda,” Baran’s voice breaks. From the hallway, she sees Baran resting her head back against Yolanda’s shoulder. It’s infinitely worse now that she can see Baran’s side profile. Her mouth is open and her eyes are closed as Trinity watches. Trinity’s eyes keep flickering down, back and forth between the hidden movement of Yolanda’s fingers and the look on Baran’s face.
It is the hottest thing that Trinity has ever seen in her life.
As Yolanda moves her fingers, she’s also grinding against the back of Baran. She can’t see Yolanda’s face, it’s hidden behind her wife from this angle, but if Trinity closes her eyes she can picture it.
Her heart might as well be beating between her legs at this point, for every pulse of it lands there.
If she holds her breath, she can hear the wet, obscene sounds of Yoland’s fingers moving in and out of Baran. It’s slick and unmistakable in the quiet.
Trinity nearly lets out a whimper.
She’s never orgasmed without touching herself, but with her thighs pressed together, she thinks that she’s about to find out she can just based on the two of them and the sounds they make.
“C’mon, mi amor,” Yolanda growls and Trinity’s clenches again around nothing, wanting it to be her that Yolanda is pushing into, or maybe be the one to thrust into Baran, or just be in the middle or on her knees between them, she doesn’t even know anymore, she just wants it all. “I know you want to say her name.”
“You’re being mean,” Baran says with little breathy pants in between each of her words. Each thrust of Yolanda fingers under her dress have her hips pressing over and over into the bar.
“You like it when I’m mean,” Yolanda says. “Give me what I want, what you want.”
Baran drops her head forward between her braced arms. Her shoulders shake for a moment before Trinity realizes she’s laughing.
“You want me to say it,” Baran pants, but there’s a hint of the laughter in her tone now. “You want it so badly.”
Yolanda lets out what Trinity thinks has to be a growl before she starts thrusting faster into Baran, who starts shaking not from laughter this time. She lets out a broken moan that dissolves into a whimper.
Trinity’s mind races to come up with the image of the women they must be talking about. A colleague, maybe? Someone that they’ve met on one of their other trips? Trinity’s mind is cruel and supplies an image of a woman who fits into their world. Someone taller that wears silks instead of cotton. Someone more beautiful who can order wine out in the city and not have to count the money in her account down to the dollar to do so. Someone older who already knows who they are going to be instead of standing on the edge of the rest of their life.
Baran’s breath catches again, and Yolanda says something too soft for Trinity to hear. Whatever it is makes Baran’s fingers slide against the bar before she catches herself.
“Fine,” Baran breathes. “Fine, God, you—”
“Say it.”
Her head tips back onto Yolanda’s shoulder again, Trinity can see that her mouth is open now. She doesn’t even need to hold her breath to hear the noise of Yolanda’s fingers anymore. It fills the whole parlor, wet and rhythmic, punctuated by the little broken sounds that Baran could no longer keep inside her.
Trinity watches as Baran's throat works against the cool air of the cabin, then watches as she pushes herself back up against Yolanda’s body. She watches her hip grind down against Yolanda’s fingers like some sort of sick wet dream.
When Baran finally gives in, when she finally lets Yolanda win, the name she lets out is not a strangers’ at all.
“Trinity.”
