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Jun 4

Working On It - part two

A garsanshimi established relationship fic :)

Two and a half years after permanently joining the staff at PTMC, things are going better for Baran than she ever could have expected. She has an amazing kid, a demanding but rewarding job, two incredibly wonderful and hot girlfriends. Everything has it's place, her life is ordered and routine. It's great. Things are great. As long as everything stays in its assigned box, things will continue to be great. Right?

Maybe the status quo isn't working anymore.

[18+ . MDNI . 5.7k words . part one here . both parts on ao3 here]

this part is much smuttier! heads up for spitting in mouth, oral, fingers in mouth, strap-ons, strap sucking, and use of Daddy as an honorific

Baran doesn’t sleep. Which isn’t surprising, even if she wishes it were different. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time she was the only person sleeping in this house– between Jasper’s nights with her and her sleepovers with Yolanda and Trinity, she’s never alone at night. It’s the quiet, she tells herself when sleep proves itself hard to come by. The quiet, not the fight. And had it even been a fight? Or had it been Trinity having a conversation they had had before? Baran had just reasserted her position. She tells herself it was good that she left, that Trinity and Yolanda had needed time to talk about things without her there. Tells herself she was right. Ignores the ache in her chest that begs her to consider she might not be. When telling herself things becomes useless, and the ache grows too strong, she gives up on sleeping in her bed. Makes a cup of tea and gets comfortable on the couch, a documentary she thinks she’s probably seen before on the TV.

She’s still on the couch when Yolanda comes the next morning. Flat on her stomach, tea half-empty and cold on the coffee table, screensaver bouncing around the TV. She stirs at the sound of the front door unlocking, brain coming back to consciousness enough to register her alarm system chirping before it's disarmed. Realizes who that means, and buries her face in the couch cushions beneath her.

“Good morning,” Yolanda says as she sits on the edge of the couch next to Baran, a hand coming to rub gently up and down her back.

“Morning.” Baran rolls to her side, curls a little around Yolanda to give her more room to sit. There are bags under her eyes, and they seem a little puffier than normal. If Yolanda is carrying signs of last night on her face, then Baran supposes she must look even worse. “What are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t sure if storming out last night meant you also cancelled our run,” Yolanda says. “Thought I better come over and check. I brought coffee.” She nods to two cups on the table.

“Coffee?” Baran raises an eyebrow. Coffee, any caffeine really, was a rare indulgence for her.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Yolanda brings her hand to Baran’s face, thumb tracing gently over one of her eyebrows. “Figured you didn’t either.”

Baran shakes her head and leans into the touch. “Trinity?” she asks, a ball of guilt settling in her chest.

“She’s sleeping now,” Yolanda says simply. “How are you doing?” The look she gives Baran when she asks is so loving, so open, that Baran almost turns away.

“I should be asking you that,” she says instead.

“Maybe, but I asked first.”

Baran turns her face to place a kiss against Yolanda’s palm. In truth, she doesn’t really know how she is. Her position hadn’t changed, she believed everything she had said the night before. But the way she had said things, well. There was a lot to atone for in the cold light of the morning. Baran shrugs. Kisses her hand again.

“Great, go get dressed.” Yolanda stands from the couch, reaching out her hands to help Baran up. “If we’re not gonna talk, we’re gonna run.”

Baran can’t come up with a good reason to say no, so she doesn’t. Just accepts Yolanda’s hands and stands up. Goes upstairs to her room to fish out something suitable to run in. Listens to Yolanda busy herself in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. She doesn’t let herself think too long about the warm feeling that gives her.

---------------------

Trinity is there when they get home. She’s sitting on the front steps, though she’s clearly already been inside; a glass of water from Baran’s kitchen is on the steps beside her. Baran stops in front of her while Yolanda continues inside, dropping a hand briefly on Trinity’s head as she goes. Wordlessly, Trinity offers up the glass. Watches intently as Baran drinks it all.

The run had been hard. She and Yolanda almost always ran on their days off together, the same 5-mile loop through her neighborhood and along the river. Usually the pace was easy, more about moving their bodies and spending time together than anything else, easy to keep up conversation. Baran hadn’t known what to say today, though, and clearly Yolanda hadn’t either. And so they had pushed each other, pacing faster and faster until they were done. Baran thinks it's probably the fastest she’s ever run five miles.

She doesn’t think it’s made her feel better, just different. Like some of the guilt and shame that’s been sitting in her chest since last night has synthesized into more concrete thought. Into things she probably has to say. She doesn’t think she knows how, yet.

Trinity stands up and puts her hand out for the glass when it’s done. Baran parts her lips to speak, but Trinity kisses her before she can. And, well, Baran’s lips were already open, so it’s not hard for her to reach out and drag her tongue along Trinity’s lower lip. Not hard to slip inside her mouth when her lips part, too. Baran fights against the part of her brain that is incessantly reminding her that they are outside where her neighbors can see. She just pushes her lips harder against Trinity. It lasts just a second longer, with Trinity’s free hand resting on Baran’s hip, before the younger woman is pulling away. “Go shower,” Trinity says with a small smile, and steps away fully.

Baran wants to ask her to come with, but she’s still not entirely sure where they stand after last night, and so for the second time today, she finds herself alone in her room at the direction of one of her girlfriends. It feels lonelier than it had earlier this morning. Maybe because now they’re both here, downstairs, even after she had stormed out on them. She feels off balance.

The hot water only runs over her for a few seconds before she realizes it’s not going to ground her in the way she needs. So she goes through the barest minimum of steps, leaves her hair pulled up in a bun and unwashed, grabs the first t-shirt and pair of denim shorts she sees when she opens her closet. Returns back downstairs twenty minutes later, determined.

They’re both on her couch, curled together in almost a mirror of last night. Trinity is upright this time, hand stroking idly along Yolanda’s bare arms, the surgeon’s head resting on her shoulder. The sitcom on the TV gets switched off when Baran enters the room. Two sets of eyes turn to her expectantly as Baran crosses to stand in front of them. She hesitates for a second before slowly sinking to her knees, ankles complaining as she sits all the way back on her feet, one hand coming to rest on each of their legs.

“I’m sorry,” she says, making eye contact with Trinity. Then turns to Yolanda. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. Yolanda nods, still tucked close to Trinity.

“I’m sorry, too,” Trinity says as she reaches up to tuck a stray curl behind Baran’s ear. Leaves her hand resting on her cheek. There’s a long pause, heavy silence as the three of them sit with this step towards reconciliation. The energy is closer to their baseline than it’s been in days. Not fully, but closer. “I don’t really wanna talk about it now,” Trinity says after a long moment.

Baran nods, swallows the words that had been on the tip of her tongue. “What do you want, love?” she asks instead.

Trinity thinks for only a second. “I want to turn my brain off,” she says, voice lower than it had been a moment ago.

It’s a request Trinity has made countless times before. One that usually leaves heat pooling immediately in Baran’s stomach, overwhelms her with need. Today it just strikes panic. They’ve said they’re sorry, but Baran feels too vulnerable, too raw, too undeserving of Trinity’s submission. She needs to atone, to give, not take. Baran’s eyes go wide, and she seeks out Yolanda, prays the other woman will see that she can’t take from Trinity. Not right now, not yet.

To her credit, Yolanda picks up on it immediately. “And what do you want?” she asks, hand coming up to cup Baran’s other cheek.

Baran feels heat rush to her face, bracketed as it is in both of her girlfriends’ hands. “I want to turn my brain off, too,” she says, dipping her chin a little, looking up at Yolanda and Trinity through her lashes. “Want to make it up to both of you.”

Above her, Trinity gasps. Turns her head quickly to look at Yolanda, making sure the woman will comply with the request. Gets to watch the moment her eyes darken. This is not new, but it is rare. Baran Al-Hashimi, dedicated mother, exacting attending physician, and singularly focused partner, does not give up control. She demands excellence from everyone she meets, takes broken systems and controls what she can to fix what she can. She has high standards for everyone— for no one more than herself. She does not bend.

She will bend today.

Yolanda nods once, and drops her hand, sitting up straighter as the weight of what’s being given to her settles in. “Go wait on the bed,” she says to Trinity. “We’ll be there soon.” Trinity goes without another word, barely contained excitement playing across her face.

“Come here,” Yolanda directs once she’s gone. Baran’s knees protest as she stands, and Yolanda holds both hands out to help her, gently pulling the older woman down to straddle her lap. “Are you sure?”

Baran wants to shy away from the eye contact being leveled at her, their faces only a few inches apart now. But she knows this check in is important, knows Yolanda won’t do anything unless she’s sure. “I am,” Baran nods. “I want to make it up to her. And to you.”

“You don’t have to,” Yolanda says. “We’ve forgiven you. I won’t punish you for last night. If you want the control, we’re both happy to give it.”

“I don’t want it,” she asserts. “It’s not about punishment it’s–” she cuts herself off, choosing her next words carefully. “You both give so much to me. Not just this…” she gestures between them, grabs Yolanda’s hands from where they’ve settled against her thighs. “But in so many ways. All the time. And now Trinity wants to turn her brain off, wants to give even more, and I just. I can’t take it from her. Not right now. I need to give, too. Need to show you both how much I love you. Please let me,” she begs.

“Okay,” Yolanda says.

“Okay?”

“Okay. But if the giving starts to feel like too much, if you need to come back to yourself, promise me you’ll ripcord out of there.”

“I promise,” Baran says. “The same goes for you, you know. It can get intense for me sometimes, with both of you. Just say the word and we’ll–”

“I will,” Yolanda cuts her off, bringing her hand up to cup Baran’s jaw. “Are you ready?”

Baran nods, and the grip on her jaw turns firm as Yolanda raises an eyebrow. Heat surges through Baran’s body, her limbs and head feeling almost weightless as everything concentrates in her center. “Yes,” she sighs out, nodding again. It’s not enough of an answer for Yolanda, who tightens her grip further still and rests her thumb on Baran’s bottom lip. She knows what the surgeon is waiting for, knows she’s on the precipice of giving in fully. She takes in a shaky breath and lets it happen. “Yes, Daddy,” she exhales.

“Good,” Yolanda says, “let’s go.” She’s moving before Baran has a chance to react, standing and letting the older woman fall clumsily off her lap. She waits impatiently by the bottom of the stairs as Baran finds her feet, and directs her up the stairs first, one hand on either side of her hips.

The sight that greets them when they reach the bedroom takes Baran’s breath away. Trinity is sprawled in the center of the bed, completely naked. Eyes shut tight, one hand is tugging hard at her nipple while the other rubs furious circles between her legs. Judging by the flush creeping up her neck, she’s close. Yolanda stops a few feet from the end of the bed and pulls Baran’s back flush to her front. One arm wraps around her waist while the other loops over her shoulder, pressing into Baran’s sternum. They stand there for a moment longer watching Trinity work herself up even more. Baran’s body hums with energy, wanting to jump on the bed, replace Trinity’s hands with her own. There’s sweat pooled at the base of Trinity’s throat between her collar bones, and the need to lick it is so overwhelming that for a second Baran forgets and goes to take a step forward. Yolanda’s hold on her tightens, pulling her back as she tsks disapprovingly.

“Baby,” Yolanda says, and Trinity’s eyes snap open. Her flush turns a darker shade of red, but she doesn’t stop. “Did I say you could do that?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” Trinity gasps. “You guys were taking a really long time.”

“Hmm, I don’t think it was that long,” Yolanda hums. “Do you think it was that long, B?”

“No, Daddy,” Baran sighs. Her vision is fuzzy around the edges, she needs to get to Trinity.

“You need to stop now,” Yolanda says.

“Make me.” Baran feels Yolanda’s arms twitch against her, feels the huff of breath pushed out of her nose as Trinity says it.

Yolanda drops her lips to Baran’s neck, kisses once, open-mouthed just behind her ear, before releasing her grip. “Go on,” she says, pushing Baran towards the bed. Baran moves without thinking, relief flooding through her as she sits on the bed just above Trinity’s head. She grabs each of Trinity’s wrists, smiling when she’s met with no resistance, and pulls them into her lap. She leans over Trinity, is about to finally drag her tongue down the younger woman’s neck when Yolanda speaks. “Stop,” she directs. “Wait for me. No touching. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Baran says immediately, eyes locked on Trinity’s.

“You’re not who I’m worried about, baby,” Yolanda laughs.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trinity whines a moment later. She whines again when Yolanda leaves for Baran’s walk-in closet without saying the expected ‘good girl.’

It feels like forever and no time at all that they’re stuck like that. Trinity’s hands, wrists held together loosely by one of Baran’s hands, twitch every so often in her lap. Both of them are breathing shallowly. The look in Trinity’s eyes is one she’s familiar with, pupils blown wide, unfocused, almost glassy with desire, waiting for her next instruction. Baran has brought that look out of her countless times. She wonders if Trinity recognizes what she can see, or if Baran’s face is different, somehow, in this new dynamic.

An eternity later, or immediately, Yolanda is returning, having traded her clothes for the little box of supplies that Baran keeps tucked in the back of her closet. She drops the box unceremoniously on the nightstand and comes to stand between where Trinity’s legs hang off the edge of the mattress. “Look at me,” she instructs, and both pairs of eyes snap to her face. “Are you going to listen now, baby?” Yolanda asks, fixing Trinity with a hard stare.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trinity nods emphatically. “I’m so sor–” she’s cut off by Yolanda holding two fingers up.

“Save it,” Yolanda says. Baran feels drunk, watching with hooded eyes as Yolanda places her fingers against Trinity’s center, circling her clit once, twice, before dipping lower. She pushes in, Trinity’s moan almost covering the obscene squelch from her soaked folds, wrists straining against Baran’s grip. Yolanda withdraws as quickly as she went in, fingers coming away glistening, a string of fluid hanging between her fingers as she separates them slightly. Trinity whines at the loss of contact.

If Baran thought the need to lick up Trinity’s sweat had been bad, this was ten times worse. Most of her conscious thoughts are gone, replaced instead with pure primal want. Her lips part and she sucks in a shaky breath, about to speak, to beg, when Yolanda’s gaze shifts to her, silencing her. Yolanda must see the need plain on her face, because she brings her fingers to Baran’s mouth, pushing past her lips without preamble. Baran moans, the heady taste of Trinity on Yolanda’s skin overwhelming her. She sucks like her life depends on it, wraps her tongue around and between Yolanda’s fingers until she’s sure she’s got it all. Too soon, Yolanda is withdrawing her fingers to wrap around Baran’s jaw instead, guiding her to rest higher up on her knees, drawing her in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy, and delicious, all teeth and tongues and spit, and Baran almost forgets Trinity is there, releasing her hold on the younger woman to instead clutch at Yolanda’s hips, her arms, her hair. Anywhere she can reach. The kiss ends when Yolanda pulls back with a gasp, looking down sharply at the woman below them. Baran lets her gaze follow, and sees that with her hands free, Trinity has taken the opportunity to grab at Yolanda’s thigh, fingers aimed up at her center. “Hands to yourself,” Yolanda snaps. Trinity whines, but listens, tucking her hands under her own lower back to contain them.

“Please,” Trinity begs, chest heaving.

“Feeling left out?” Yolanda raises an eyebrow. Trinity just nods and whines again. “Don’t worry, we’ll share.” Then Yolanda’s mouth is on Baran’s again, impossibly wetter than before, pushing spit past Baran’s lips before pulling back again, the hand on her jaw pushing up on her chin to close her mouth. It snakes around to grip the hair at the base of her skull and she directs Baran’s head to hover over Trinity’s face. Yolanda’s other hand has come up to grab Trinity’s jaw and force her mouth open. The hand in Baran’s hair tightens and she knows what’s expected of her, letting the spit in her mouth pool behind her lips and slip out, dropping heavily onto Trinity’s waiting tongue. “Good girl,” Yolanda says when Trinity closes her mouth and swallows. Trinity lets out a sob.

Yolanda steps back then, tilts her head as she takes in the scene before her. Trinity is still flat on her back, hands tucked underneath her, slick glistening between her thighs. Meanwhile, Baran still has all her clothes on, hands fisted in the hem of her shorts, kneeling near Trinity’s head, a stray string of spit hanging from her lip. They look wrecked already, tracking Yolanda’s movements as she opens the box on the nightstand and pulls out the already-prepared harness inside with hazy, love-drunk eyes. She laughs. She’s hardly even touched them. “You,” she taps Trinity’s leg gently, “lay against the pillows. And you,” she directs, turning to Baran. “Need to get undressed.”

Baran nearly falls off the bed in her haste to get off of it, grateful to have something to do. Yolanda catches her elbow, steadying her and helping her untangle her foot from where it got caught in the comforter. She meets Baran’s gaze for a moment, pretenses and roles dropped, eyebrows raised in a silent check-in. Baran just nods, reassuring. She can’t imagine being anywhere else, doing anything else right now. Everything that’s happened so far, everything she expects to happen still, sets her bones alight with its rightness.

By the time her clothes are off and tossed to some random corner of her bedroom, Trinity is pressed back into the pillows and Yolanda is tightening the straps of the harness around her hips. “Now here’s how this is gonna go,” Yolanda says low in Baran’s ear, pulling Baran to her, back to front, the dildo between Yolanda’s legs pressing firmly against her hip. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going down on her,” Yolanda inclines her head toward the bed. Baran chokes down a moan. “And all Trinity has to do is keep her hands to herself,” Yolanda says a little louder, so Trinity can hear.

“No, please Daddy, please let me,” Trinity begs. “I promise I’ll be good, just let me touch.”

“You already had a chance to be good,” Yolanda says. “And you didn’t take it. So now you’ll keep your hands to yourself. Am I clear?”

Trinity chokes on another cry, but dutifully tucks her hands back away as she lets out a broken “yes, Daddy.”

“Are you ready, love?” Yolanda says into Baran’s ear, leaning down to pepper kisses on the side of her face, teeth lightly scraping over her earlobe as Baran nods. “Good girl,” Yolanda chuckles quietly. And oh, Baran hadn’t realized what hearing that would do to her. Praise was always Trinity’s thing, the youngest of the three blooming under the slightest compliment. She’s heard Yolanda say it countless times, but never at her. Hearing it now, Baran melts. Her thoughts become even more of a haze. She wants to be good, she needs to be good, for Yolanda, for both of them. They deserve it, her goodness. She has to give it to them.

Yolanda helps her move to the bed, laying her down between Trinity’s legs, placing a pillow under her hips, hands running all over, stroking her back, her legs, her hips. When Yolanda’s fingers knead Baran’s inner thighs, she jumps, and her head falls from where it had been resting on Trinity’s thigh to her center. Above her, Trinity gasps, and while Baran supposes some part of her had been waiting for Yolanda to say she could start, she can’t wait any longer. Pulling Trinity’s legs over her shoulders, she dives in with a focus usually reserved for Trauma rooms.

Baran is so lost in it– in the whines falling from Trinity’s mouth, in the way her legs shiver and jump around her head, in the way she’s getting impossibly wetter, slick and spit coating Baran’s face, running down her neck– that she almost misses Yolanda get on the bed behind her. Her brain doesn’t really even catch up to what’s happening until there’s hands back on her thighs, pulling her legs farther apart before the head of Yolanda’s strap is pressing against her entrance. She moans into Trinity, but is determined not to lose focus as Yolanda pushes in deeper, the stretch burning her from the inside out. Yolanda gives her a moment to adjust but eventually begins to pick up the pace, and Baran moves her tongue from where it’s been drawing careful tight circles over Trinity’s clit to push inside of her instead, matching Yolanda’s thrusts into her. Trinity’s earlier activities had worked her up plenty, and once two of Baran’s fingers replace her tongue on her clit, she’s coming hard, walls fluttering and pushing against the tongue inside her.

The sounds that fall out of Trinity’s mouth as she comes are music, and Baran would do anything to hear them again. So she does. Or rather, she doesn’t stop, continuing to lick and suck as Trinity rides through her orgasm, never breaking pace, never pulling back. “Please, please, please, Daddy,” Trinity is begging above her, voice breaking. Baran thinks she might be crying. She isn’t going to raise her head to check, though, pushes down the rising tension in her own center in favor of sucking hard on Trinity’s clit. She’s worried Yolanda will give in to Trinity’s demands and pull her off, and that is not something Baran is willing to let happen. At least not until the younger woman comes again. “Please, just let me touch her,” Trinity cries. Oh.

“Go ahead, babygirl,” Yolanda grits out between thrusts. And then Trinity’s hands are in Baran’s hair, slipping between her bun and her scalp, pulling her head closer to Trinity’s center, adjusting the angle in a way that has Trinity moaning even louder.

With Trinity’s hands in her hair, the arms Baran has wrapped around her thighs feel less necessary for support, so she releases one, letting her hand move towards Trinity’s chest– it’s stopped before she reaches her destination. Yolanda’s hand on her wrist drags Baran’s arm the opposite direction, helping her to position it instead between Baran’s legs before gripping her hips again. She whines into Trinity’s clit and the hands in her hair tighten. Even in her hazy state, Baran understands the surgeon’s intention, understands that Yolanda knows she can’t get off without some added stimulation, but she’s not ready. She’s not coming until Trinity does at least one more time, maybe two.

So she leaves her hand still, which apparently wasn’t an acceptable thing to do, because Yolanda is smacking lightly against her backside– not enough to hurt, but enough to get her attention. “Come on, B,” Yolanda says. “Are you going to help, or do I have to do all the work myself?”

She wasn’t going to answer, that would be interrupting the task at hand, but Trinity’s hands in her hair pull her head up long enough that she can get out a quick “Not yet.” Before diving back in.

“Baby,” Yolanda says from behind her and Baran isn’t really sure who she’s talking to, but she also isn’t really sure that she cares. “Don’t let her help you unless she’s also helping herself.”

Trinity pulls her off again, and Baran stops herself from letting out a frustrated whine. “Please,” she says instead, trying to fall back down, stopped this time by Trinity’s grip on her head.

“No one’s trying to stop you,” Yolanda sounds a little out of breath; she hasn’t stopped thrusting into Baran through their conversation. “You know what you have to do.” Baran does whine then, but she starts to move her fingers against her clit, making sure her arm moves enough that Trinity can see it. Moans out something that might be thanks when her mouth is allowed to return to Trinity.

It’s harder to focus like this, the heat coiling low in her stomach becoming harder to ignore, but she does her best anyway. The growing uncoordination of her movements as her body gives over to feeling– Yolanda’s grip on her hips, her own fingers against her clit, the strap thrusting in over and over– doesn’t seem to matter much to Trinity, if the fluttering hands in her hair and the increasing pitch of her moans are anything to go by. A few more minutes of this and Trinity will come again and then Baran will let herself fully give in to the sensations between her legs and then–

She’s ripped away again, Yolanda gripping her by both shoulders and pulling her all the way back onto her knees, pressing Baran’s back to her front. “Please,” Baran whines, trying desperately to reach back down to Trinity, now infuriatingly out of reach.

“Baby, you stopped the second Trin let go,” Yolanda chides in her ear. She’s stopped thrusting entirely now, focused instead on keeping Baran upright against her even as the older woman struggles to lay back down.

“No I didn’t, I was,” Baran says, trying to think back. “Okay I wasn’t moving, but I could still feel.” It feels like a miracle she’s able to string the sentence together. “Please, just. Just one more, then we can focus on me. Promise.” She struggles in Yolanda’s grip again, but doesn’t get anywhere. Below her, Trinity has taken Yolanda’s permission to touch to heart, and has replaced Baran’s mouth with her hands.

“Hmm, seems like you’ve forgotten who you put in charge,” Yolanda teases, thrusting her hips once, sending a shockwave through Baran. “I thought you were going to be good?”

“I was, I am, fuck,” Baran whines, lost. She can see Trinity getting closer without her, and it’s not fair, she needs to be down there, needs to feel her fall apart on her tongue. “Please, Daddy, just let me give her one more.”

“Sorry baby, but it’s your turn now,” Yolanda says, not sounding sorry at all. “If Trinity wants another one she can give it to herself.” She begins to move again, keeping Baran clutched to her chest, one hand moving against her clit. Baran moans in frustration, hands reaching out futilely for Trinity for just a moment longer before giving over to the sensation of Yolanda in and on her. The new position has the head of Yolanda’s strap hitting just right inside of her, and Baran finds herself reaching around behind her to grab at Yolanda in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

Baran might give in to her new circumstances, but she doesn’t give up, instead doing her best to talk her girlfriend to orgasm if she can’t touch her. An almost unintelligible string of “good girl,” and “that’s it,” and “keep going,” falling from her lips until finally, finally, a perfectly timed “come for me,” sends Trinity careening over the edge. Baran laughs breathily, and Yolanda sucks a hickey into her neck, and then Baran falls apart, too.

A moment later Yolanda pulls out, and Baran collapses down onto the bed next to Trinity, rolling over to place a kiss on her hip before turning to look at Yolanda above them. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm still ripple through her, Baran feels a wave of new desire as she looks at her. Her girlfriend has sweat dripping down her neck in a few places, the curls at her hairline frizzing slightly with the added moisture. Her eyes are almost all pupil, and her lower lip is between her teeth as she as one hand subconsciously rests loosely around the base of her strap. Baran thinks it might be the best she’s ever seen her look. Trinity reaches up lazily, not sitting up enough to actually reach Yolanda, but enough to easily grab her arm when she does get close enough on her way down to the bed.

A fair bit of shuffling and giggles later, and the three lay side by side, Yolanda in the middle, arms wrapped around her girls. “I should have known you wouldn’t totally listen,” Yolanda says, pulling away from the kiss Baran wrapped her up in.

“Sorry,” Baran says, kissing down her neck, tongue darting out to taste the sweat drying on her skin.

“I’m not,” Trinity adds from where her head is resting on Yolanda’s chest, fingers tracing random patterns across the flat expanse of Yolanda’s stomach. Her comment pulls a full-bodied laugh from both of her companions.

“Yes well,” Yolanda says when she’s caught her breath. “You’ve had two orgasms. I’ve had none.”

“Sorry,” Baran says again, biting gently at Yolanda’s earlobe, eliciting a gasp from the younger woman. “We’ll make it up to you, Daddy.” She looks down Yolanda’s more rapidly rising and falling chest to where Trinity has picked up her head in interest.

“Yeah, Daddy,” Trinity says, moving up to kiss Yolanda deeply for a moment. “Let us take care of you.”

“I don’t–” Yolanda tries to start, but is quieted by Trinity kissing her again. Baran only lets it go on for a minute before she snakes her hand into Trinity’s hair, pulling her up to kiss her instead. “Wait, what about me?” Yolanda asks frustratedly.

“Sorry,” Baran repeats yet again, giggling slightly this time as she pulls off of Trinity’s mouth. One look at the wicked glint in Trinity’s eyes and she knows they’re on the same page. They move in tandem, Trinity settling between Yolanda’s legs, hooking her fingers around the straps of the harness as Baran settles back on her knees, one hand coming to rest on Yolanda’s truly soaked center. “All this for us, Daddy?” She teases.

“If you two don’t touch me right now, we’re never doing this again,” Yolanda groans.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trinity says with a mock salute, which makes Baran laugh and Yolanda rolls her hips in frustration. They take pity on her then, Baran sliding her thumb under the base of the strap to rest on Yolanda’s clit while she slips two fingers inside. At the same time, Trinity opens her mouth wide and sinks down onto Yolanda’s strap. The motion pushes it down onto Baran’s thumb, which pushes against Yolanda’s clit, and the sound that comes out of Yolanda’s mouth is downright sinful. Baran lets Trinity set the pace after that, timing her thrusts into Yolanda with the bobs and twists of the youngest woman’s mouth and hand on the strap.

From her position on her knees near Yolanda’s hip, Baran has a perfect view of it all. The way Trinity loses herself in the task at hand, the way Yolanda’s hands grip the sheets beneath her as she fights the urge to grab Trinity’s head. Baran grabs Yolanda’s nearest hand in her own unoccupied one, steadying her as she falls apart around her fingers.

When Yolanda’s abdomen has stopped jumping with aftershocks, Trinity moves back up to her previous position in Yolanda’s arms, trailing lazy kisses along her collarbone before collapsing entirely. Baran lets herself stay back where she is for a moment longer, looking at her partners, letting the love and admiration she has for them wash over her in place of the desire that had been present a few minutes before. With striking clarity, she knows she would do anything to keep them.

The thought doesn’t scare her as much as it once might have.

Later, once they’ve showered, and hydrated, and eaten. When they’re all curled up on her oversized couch, maybe reading, maybe napping, maybe doing nothing at all, Baran will allow herself to ask the question. Will let them start making plans, schedule a meeting with HR, talk about how best to tell or not tell their coworkers. For now, though, she is content to stay here, looking at them.

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