Chapter Text
Yolanda has lived for thirty-four years, and ever since she had her first lesbian sex at the age of nineteen, she's never felt the need to use anything other than what is readily available for her to make women feel good.
Granted, she has had a few partners in the past who asked her if she'd be willing to try other instruments to achieve a common goal in bed, but she's always been steadfast in her belief that she doesn't need anything that resembles a phallus to make them come. She's pretty fucking good at using her tongue and fingers, actually, so she believes that a slightly-stiff, detached object can't be any better than that which she can literally move around individually .
There's a reason why I am a lesbian , she once said to an ex-girlfriend at the age of twenty-five, and that had been the end of it, which she had been fine with because it had only been two weeks into officially dating her, so the emotional investment hadn't quite reached heights where she might have regretted what she said.
So it had become something that she needed to make clear before sleeping with anyone. Best not to waste time than have to put her clothes back on in the middle of sex because her partner decided to whip out a dildo from their drawer, hoping she might use it on them -- which, actually , happened one time despite declaring her boundaries prior to that moment.
It's a non-issue. There are plenty of people who share her preferences in bed, and she genuinely gives little to zero fucks about such ways of sleeping with someone. She doesn't have anything against those who enjoy using toys in bed. She simply doesn't think about it, doesn't lament it, doesn't care, really, she doesn't—
Until she's thirty-four, sitting next to Emery, her best friend and fellow surgeon, in the staff lounge after their shift, and listening to her talk about this new purchase she made as a gift for her girlfriend of one month.
It's technically letting her words enter one ear and outside the other, but anyway.
"... easing her into it, so I got one in galaxy purple and one in my skin color. If she laughs at the purple one, though, I'm burning the thing pronto ."
Yolanda's eyebrows twitch into a frown, her head finally lifting from the back of the couch to glance over at Emery. "Burn what?"
"Glad to know you weren't listening."
"Burn what ."
Emery rolls her eyes as she lifts her phone to show Yolanda the screenshot of the gift . She blinks as her brain slowly makes sense of what she's seeing on the screen. She can't really tell the size of it, considering that it's a picture within a seven-inch screen, but it is, as Emery had said, galaxy purple and merely rounded at the tip.
Nothing extra, nothing realistic , just allegedly long.
She blinks again, the strap-on burning into her retina, before meeting Emery's gaze once more. "So why buy a stupid galaxy dick? Just buy the normal-looking one. Jesus."
"You don't get it," Emery says, shrugging while switching her phone off. "It's fun, and Samira thinks the ones I have at home are cute, but apparently, they are way too outrageous for her, so."
"What the fuck does that even mean?"
"Means she's not sure if she can take them, Yoyo."
"Don't call me that, and christ—" she snickers. "What are you hiding at home? Monster cocks?"
Emery shrugs.
Yolanda gapes at her. "Emery, what the fuck."
"I don't discriminate."
“So, what, you just buy whatever they ask you to buy?”
“And use it on them, correct.”
"You're crazy."
"Not crazy, just... experienced ." Emery nods, humming quietly. "Like I said, you won't get it. You don't like using toys in bed. You'll never know what it's like seeing your partner take it. The view? One of a kind."
Yolanda scoffs. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“If you think I’m gonna keep up this conversation in the hopes that I’ll convince you to see the light , you’re wrong.” Emery drones and, with a soft, short sigh, she drops her hands down to her own thighs and pushes against them as she jumps up to her feet. “You do you, Yo. I’m just saying. It’s fun— more than that, it can be intimate. It doesn’t have to be something you associate with the male species.”
Yolanda shakes her head, a hint of a smile tugging on the corner of her lips. “Sure, Walsh.”
“Besides, imagine how your little intern will look spread—”
“Stop.” Yolanda cuts her off with a sharp glare. “Don’t do that.”
Emery snorts as she walks out of the staff lounge. “Just saying.”
Later, when she gets home, Yolanda still doesn’t think about it.
Quite frankly, nothing could have made her think of anything else other than the sight of Trinity greeting her at the door in nothing but one of Yolanda’s bigger dress shirts and, what she would discover later on, black hipster underwear.
Yolanda’s brain stutters at the sight of it while Trinity is still bent over the dining table, the hem of the white shirt gathered in Yolanda’s hand on the small of her back. She’d been expecting to see Trinity’s usual boxers or occasional boylegs, but not quite— this.
Trinity’s shaky sigh snaps Yolanda out of her trance, her mind clearing near the tail end of a sentence she hadn’t quite caught.
“What was that, baby?” Yolanda asks breathlessly, her other hand now landing lightly on the skin of Trinity's ass exposed by her panties.
“Was just asking if you like it,” Trinity repeats, sounding small and just as breathless as Yolanda— maybe more. Her breath hitches when Yolanda brushes her thumb against the skin, along the pantie’s seams, and Yolanda is helpless not to chuckle quietly as she bends down to press a gentle kiss on the nape of Trinity’s neck.
“Do you really need to ask?” She accentuates the question by pushing her thigh harder against Trinity, relishing in the quiet groan that it pulls out of her. “Why did you wear that? Is it for me?”
“Always—” Trinity's cut off by another moan as Trinity begins to trail her fingertips along the front of her underwear, feeling the slit through the fabric. She pushes through, voice slightly strained as she says, “Always for you. I— I thought you might like seeing me in… something new.”
That gives yolanda a pause, her fingers also stopping their motions, which causes trinity to let out a whimper , hips lifting and pushing back to seek more of that pressure — one that yolanda immediately deprives her of by placing her hand back on her ass instead, squeezing to get trinity’s attention.
“Have I made you feel like I don't like what you typically wear?” she asks, trying her best not to let the sudden flare of irritation affect her voice.
But she must have failed at it because Trinity is quickly lifting her head from the table to look at Yolanda over her shoulder, a look of apprehension briefly marring the remnants of desire on her face. “No! Never— Yolanda, you never. I just—”
“Because I like you , not the clothes you wear,” Yolanda interjects, fingers curling into Trinity’s flesh and gripping even tighter when Trinity begins to look more frantic by the second. “Trinity, are you listening?”
“Yes! Yes, I—” trinity lets out a low, prolonged groan as pain mixed with pleasure, still unable to keep herself from pushing her ass further against Yolanda's hand. Whatever she wants to say dissolves into a whimper, her forehead landing back down on the table with a soft thump.
Yolanda reaches forward and slides the hand that was holding Trinity's shirt under her chin, cupping it firmly, but not too tightly as to hurt her, and lifting her head slightly. She leans down and lets her mouth hover next to Trinity's ear.
“I like you in whatever you wear,” she mutters, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “I wanted to fuck you in your scrubs, baby. What makes you think a particular type of underwear will make any difference?”
When she receives no response from Trinity, Yolanda lifts her hand, only to bring it back down to her ass in a resounding slap, the impact much stronger than the ones before that it actually makes her palm tingle with the aftershock. It elicits a cry from Trinity, louder and sharper, and the woman finally takes a deep breath before muttering, “No. No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Yolanda hums, interrupting Trinity once again by pinching the area on her ass where it glows red the most. A low chuckle harmonizes with Trinity’s quiet hiss before even that is soothed and silenced by a delicate kiss on the nape of her neck.
“Don’t.” Yolanda finally straightens up to have a better look at Trinity, the corners of her lips curling into a subtle smile as she traces reddened skin with her eyes. It'll be uncomfortable for Trinity later, and Yolanda will most certainly take great care of her, but for now, she places the palm of her hand gently against her heated skin, brushing her thumb against it as she hums.
“You look so pretty,” Yolanda murmurs with evident adoration, moving her hand upward until her fingers brush along the seam of Trinity's underwear. She lingers there, softly scraping blunt nails against Trinity’s skin before she continues moving north, fingers curling under the waistline without wasting another second. She pulls with evident eagerness, her nails almost digging into Trinity’s skin as they move to rid Trinity of the soaked garment, turning already red skin into something deeper, angrier.
When the garment eventually reaches the floor, Yolanda has to take a moment to step back and admire Trinity in her current state of undress. Obedient, as always, Trinity remains still in the position Yolanda has left her in, but a gentle nudge of her foot against Trinity’s shin has her opening further for her.
Yolanda then reaches forward and spreads Trinity apart. The separation of her soaked folds sounds more amplified in the silence of Yolanda’s apartment, and it has Trinity blushing even more. Anything beyond this, Yolanda will have to start worrying about the state of her, but as it is, she’s quite enamored and distracted. She cannot take her eyes off of her; cannot help herself as she moves her thumb against Trinity’s folds, admiring the way her paleness contrasts with Yolanda’s skin.
It’s a sight Yolanda doubts she’ll get tired of anytime soon, or ever.
“You okay?” she asks, looking at the back of Trinity’s head as she lines her thumb to press against the underside of her clit, applying just enough pressure to make trinity squirm — just like how she likes it.
Trinity responds with a stuttering nod and sigh, hands curling into tight fists over the table as she stands on her toes, trying to get more from Yolanda. For once, Yolanda lets her, keeping her hand still so Trinity can grind her sensitive clit against Yolanda’s thumb. The sight of it is both pathetic and endearing, and Yolanda lets her know this in soft utterances, laughing softly when all she gets is a mix of a groan and a whine from Trinity, who persists with her feeble movements.
“You’re so cute,” Yolanda says when she finally decides to take pity on Trinity. She pins Trinity down with one hand on the small of her back while the other cups her fully this time. Fingers that know Trinity so well by now line up on each side of her damp slit, relishing the feeling of neatly-trimmed curls against them before they push through and slide along her wetness, making sure to linger on her clit before repeating the same motion over and over again.
“Yolanda—” Trinity chokes out as she tries to meet each downward motion of Yolanda’s fingers with an ascension of her ass, clearly an increasingly desperate attempt at having yolanda inside her.
Normally, Yolanda would tease her until she’s shaking and sobbing for relief, but something about what Trinity has done for her today convinces her to relent this time. In the next second, Yolanda pulls her hand away, soothing Trinity's cry of protest with a soft hush.
“Just adjusting, sweet girl,” she coos, turning her hand so her palm is facing her, and soon, she has two fingers back within Trinity's wet warmth. “You'll feel better like this, won’t you?”
Yolanda pushes slowly until there is nowhere else for her to go, and when she’s held so deep within Trinity's walls, she stops and stays right there . Trinity has always preferred a slow grind deep inside her rather than frantic thrusts, yet another reason why Yolanda believes she’s made so perfectly for her. Trinity requires targeted movements, one that Yolanda can obviously provide so well with her dexterous fingers, and the way she’s currently taken over by breathless moans and slow undulations of her hips is enough for Yolanda to know that she’s doing a great fucking job making her girlfriend feel good.
Yolanda bends down and presses a kiss just below Trinity's tailbone, gently nibbling on the skin before straightening back up with a quiet sigh of contentment. Then begins the slow, but purposeful, movement of her fingers, hitting a specific spot within the trinity without haste. She doesn’t have to rush, really; with the right pressure, the right rhythm, and Yolanda knows she’ll have Trinity careening over the edge in no time.
“Oh, fuck—”
And there’s that — the breathy declaration is always a sure sign that Trinity’s almost there, if the tightening and rhythmic pulsing of her walls aren’t an obvious indication enough. Yolanda then uses her thumb to gently brush against the underside of Trinity's clit from one side to the other, back and forth over and over until Trinity finally stiffens and lifts her head, mouth parting in a quiet scream as she comes all over Yolanda's fingers.
It takes a while before she exhales harshly into the stillness of the apartment, forehead dropping on the table with a quiet thud along with her torso. Yolanda waits until Trinity lets out an audible sigh before she begins to pull her fingers out.
In doing so, however, she catches sight of Trinity's wetness coating her fingers, and Yolanda has to stop for a moment. Something about the way Trinity's cunt wraps around her fingers entices her for some reason. Not that it is an unfamiliar sight for her — she has seen and done many things to Trinity at this point that feeling this way over something she’s overly familiar with gives her a pause.
Her conversation with Emery earlier resurfaces from the depths of her brain as she watches the way Trinity's cunt parts when she slowly spreads her fingers apart, pulling a quiet, shuddering whimper from the spent woman. The other surgeon had mentioned the view , and Yolanda wonders, for a brief second, if there is actually something she’s missing out on all this time.
“You’ve used a strap-on before, right?”
Yolanda feels Trinity freeze after digesting the sudden question. She doesn’t regret asking it, but she does regret the suddenness of it all, especially with Trinity's fingers, which have been drawing gentle, abstract shapes on her stomach, also pausing their movements. She's just finished applying a soothing balm all over Trinity's ass, contently ignoring her little, unhappy grunts whenever she'd touch a particularly painful spot.
She taps the back of Trinity's hand, urging her to resume her ministrations, and Yolanda lets out a soft sigh when she does.
“Why do you ask?” Trinity replies, glancing up at her with sleepy eyes that are slowly becoming more alert by the second.
“No reason.” Yolanda shrugs, shifting so her arm loops tighter around Trinity's head, fingers brushing against Trinity's shoulder.
Trinity looks at her suspiciously. “I told you I'm fine with not using toys.”
“That's not why I'm asking you, babe.”
“Then why?”
Yolanda sighs. “Just curious, really.”
Trinity watches her some more before relenting. “I have,” she says slowly. “I liked using it with my previous partners.”
“Were you the one wearing it?”
Trinity flushes, clearing her throat. “Yes. Well, sometimes I wear it. Other times, they use it on me. It really depends on the person.”
Yolanda hums, eyes fluttering shut. It isn’t her intention, but images of Trinity wearing a strap as well as Trinity taking it from behind flash behind her eyelids, and she has to quickly open her eyes again lest she find herself riled up again. Scratch that , she thinks. Because why would the thought of trinity and a strap even do anything to her in the first place? She doesn’t like using toys.
“Yolanda.”
She turns to Trinity, meeting her still suspicious gaze with an amused look, lips curled in a slight smile. “Yes?”
“You’re being sus , I swear—”
“It’s nothing, baby,” Yolanda chuckles, facing Trinity completely this time to envelope her in a tight embrace. “Go to sleep. I promise, it’s nothing.”
Trinity relents with a grunt, burying her face deep within the warmth of Yolanda’s neck.
It’s not nothing, this Yolanda obviously knows, but she’ll have plenty of time in the future to think about this recent development in her… preferences.