Chapter Text
Three rapt knocks on the linoleum apartment door result in no answer. Victoria looks up to check that she's in the right place; the sign is labelled 347 and has a small burn mark on the corner of the door frame from Trinity stabbing her cigarette there after it nearly caught her hair on fire.
She checks her phone apprehensively, shoots another message off: "i'm outside" and isn't entirely shocked when she gets no response from it either. Victoria has grown up with technology all her life, and can't understand why millennials refuse to keep their ringer on. She'll make sure to keep that comment to herself: when she calls Trinity old woman she gets a muscular forearm wrapped around her thin neck. Must be why she keeps coming back for more.
Victoria sighs in relief as she rests her forehead against the door, enjoying the cold press against her warm skin. A minute later, it swings open and she stumbles forward with a gasp, nearly falling into the open arms in front of her.
Warm arms encircle her, holding her up. Her cheek is pressed against a mound of flesh that feels suspiciously like a woman’s breast. Matter of fact, she can hear the heartbeat muffled beneath it. She looks up.
Santos is staring down at her with a downwards lilt to her lips and raised eyebrows. She gingerly peels Victoria off of her, and they go from chests touching to three feet apart rather quickly.
“Ahem,” Victoria says, feeling her lips begin to curve upwards and yanking them down with sheer willpower, “You could’ve given me a warning.”
Santos shoots her a droll look and curls her fingers, beckoning Victoria to follow her as she turns her back and walks into the apartment. Victoria blows out a breath, fixing her hair and tightening her ponytail before walking in. She closes the door too loudly for comfort and jumps.
“I kicked him out,” Santos says, “You can sit anywhere you want. Want a drink?”
She’s made her way to the kitchenette, opening the fridge and sending Victoria a questioning look. Victoria’s gaze can’t help but drift down to where she sees pale skin against the grey shirt Trinity is wearing. It’s off the shoulder, and a single bra strap is there, black against cream. Pajama shorts are beneath. Santos has never looked better than when she looks domesticated.
“Crash?” Santos prompts.
“Iced tea,” Victoria snaps, gripping her face as if it’ll hide the blush. She stomps over to the couch and lets her backpack slide onto the couch cushion beside it and grabs a pillow. Trinity prepares the iced tea, and by the time the sound waves of ice clinking into the class travel to Victoria’s ears, Trinity is putting her backpack to the ground gently and offering her the glass.
She takes it, with a sniff. Trinity looks unimpressed. Victoria clutches the pillow tighter.
“So. What happened?”
She glares at Trinity, “I told you on text.”
“No,” Trinity shakes her head, “You said if you could come over. You had your date with whats-her-name. I said yes. There was no further explanation.”
“I’m pretty sure you can extrapolate what happened.”
“Sorry, but,” Trinity yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, “I’m gonna need it spelled out.”
Victoria looks up at the water stained ceiling and prays for God to smite her. No such mercies occur.
“ShesaidIwastooyoung,” Victoria spits out angrily, digging her nails into her palms. After a second, Trinity carefully removes the pillow from her hands and sets it by her backpack.
“You’ll have to say that again,” she says patiently.
Victoria breathes out through her nose, “She. Said. I. Was. Too. Young.”
“Huh.”
Trinity doesn’t say anything. She lays back against the cushions and folds her hands behind her head.
Victoria turns her head, letting her hands relax. They sting, red crescents imprinted into her pink palms. “Am I too young?”
“No.” Now Trinity sounds bored. Victoria wants to leave, slam the door, slap her to elicit a bigger reaction. She breathes in and out slowly, again, like Cassie told her to.
“Yeah, but she’s like, 27. I’m 21.”
“I’m 27 too,” Trinity points out, closing her eyes contently.
“Yeah, but Chantana sai–”
Trinity throws up her hand sharply, “I don’t really care what the hot ward clerk said. Age only matters when you’re trying to forge a fake ID. You’re a med student, Crash, you’ve seen more shit that most people don’t see in their lifetime. It doesn’t matter.”
“But–”
Trinity cracks an eye open and somehow manages to glare with it, “It doesn’t matter.”
Victoria isn’t done yet, “Would you date a 21 year old?” She stares at Trinity.
Trinity smirks, “Been there, done that. Wanna vape now, or are you still yapping?
Annoyance tears through her, and she tries not to give a reaction while looking at the floor. Swallows, “Sure.”
“Great,” Trinity licks her lips, and vaults off the couch, “Get your shit.”
And, fuck. It’s the end of a long ass week (again). She’s fucked up under Mckay’s watchful eye so many times, her mother hasn’t really spoken to her after all the blowing off she’s done in the ED, and Chantana thinks she’s Too Fucking Young. So, like, whatever. It can’t hurt.
Trinity goes to her room to put pants on, and Victoria wrestles with her bag uselessly as she waits. She knows better than to expect sympathy, empathy, even basic human fucking emotions out of Trinity. She does. They’ve been through this before: Victoria is hurt and tells Santos and Santos shrugs and tells her to woman up and they keep going. God, she just wants attention. It’s pathetic. She bites her fingernails and thinks of what happened the previous night.
Chantana is scrubbing the remnants of Victoria’s most recent victim out of the bottom of her pan. They’re in her family’s house where Chantana still lives, but none of them are there. Victoria’s met all of her siblings, her parents, and her cousins. Even though they aren’t dating, just talking, Chantana’s mother still crows over how much her daughter talks about Victoria. It’s kind of nice, actually, the tight knit community that Chantana has. Small kitchen, lots of containers, even more towels. Couldn’t be farther than her father’s cold marble tiles under her feet as she dares to pad down at night to grab a snack in the middle of studying. There is one towel, three identical white mugs, and three separate sinks that no one uses because the dishwasher is faster. That, and no one eats at home.
“How was the food this time?” Victoria asks, adjusting her shirt to fit her shoulders. She’s trying something new, a v-cut that plunges down farther than anything she’s tried in the past. Chantana had seen and smiled and complimented her. It had warmed Victoria’s chest.
Chantana replies with a laugh, back still turned, “You know, I think you’re improving. It was edible this time.”
Victoria smiles, flouncing over to clutch at the Chantana’s back, “Thanks. It’s all thanks to you.”
“No problem,” Chantana looks at the time, and then whistles. She shuts off the tap and dries her hands quickly, turning to face Victoria, “It’s getting late. Want a ride back to your place?”
“Sure,” Victoria says. She bites her lip as Chantana leaves to grab the keys, raven hair swinging, and thinks What kind?
They’re in Chantana’s car, and they’re parked outside of Victoria’s house. Well, not exactly outside. More like down the block, but Victoria can still see the white alabaster mansion.
Soon, Victoria is on top of Chantana, rolling her hips down awkwardly. Chantana is awkwardly shifting, not saying anything, and Victoria is unsure what to do. She let her hair down, but now she's contemplating putting it back up, and she's overstimulated, and it's too much.
"Vic," Chantana says finally, "Stop."
"What?" Victoria asks, sitting back. They're in the back of Chantana's parked Miata and she's looking at Chantana and not understanding what's coming.
"I don't think this is a good idea."
“Yo, Crash. Let’s go. Javadi?”
Chantana was done talking. Thank god. The words flew in and out of Victoria's ear, and she simply sat back on her haunches, stuffed in the cramped car, breathless and in disbelief.
“You're right. It's not a good idea,” Victoria announces, blinking her tears back, shrugging her shoulders into her jacket, “It’s, like, whatever. It doesn’t even matter. Bye.” She slams the door angrily, and lets the tears spill.
She stands up, lips tight. She can’t help it: she comes back for attention each time like a puppy waiting for a treat. It is true for all the older women in her life. She feels sick.
-
So, Victoria is parked outside of her home again, twice in less than 48 hours. Two different cars, two different girls. Vastly different. She remains the same, but can feel one of her multi-faceted sides turn to shine for Trinity, the part of her that she thinks Trinity might ingest the best.
They’re vaping in Trinity’s car, windows rolled all the way down. Trinity tilts her head from where she’s sucking on her black pen, and her lips lift just a little. Victoria coughs in response. Her lungs are soaked in the scent of strawberry, and when Trinity offers her the pen for the third time, she finally puts a hand up to stop her. God, Victoria needs to learn self-control.
Victoria goes to grab the handle with her other hand, shifting to grab her bag simultaneously, and Trinity takes the pen out from between her lips long enough to bark at her to stay where she is. She remains sitting, back pressed against the crumbling faux leather seat cushioning. She shifts restlessly, watching Trinity walk around the car with the pen slid in her back pocket now. She’s muttering to herself, brown hair flowing lightly in the wind, straight strands intertwining and then neatly laying on her shoulders.
Victoria isn’t sure if she should be able to hear her or not. The words seem important, what with the furrowing of her brows and stern eyes. Victoria doesn’t know when she started classifying things that Trinity Santos say as important. The mere thought makes her shiver.
The sky is black above her: twilight, again. She wonders, not for the first time, what Trinity would look like under the sun. Not just on the apartment balcony, or walking in from the parking lot to work, but in a meadow. A hilltop. The roof of PTMC. Her skin would agree with it, she thinks. Victoria certainly looks the best in the sun, even though she’s most often sallow-skinned and grey from being shut up in her room. Though Trinity looks like an angel in the evening, bathed in silver moonlight and ethereal glow, she might look like a Cupid when the sun rays hit her just right. Victoria can nearly see it now: her hair revealing secret golden highlights, sparkles shining brightly in her eyes.
Victoria Javadi is certain that, though she never particularly excelled in English, she could become a poet for Trinity.
Trinity finally rounds the car, and her belt loops are in line with the bottom of Victoria’s open window. She puts her hand on the handle, preparing to open it. Victoria’s reflexes take over, and she locks the door and puts her elbows on the window sill.
Trinity looks confused, “Javadi?”
Victoria looks up at Trinity contemplatively, and it might be the vape that’s affecting her dopamine, or baring her heart back in Trinity’s apartment, because she grabs Trinity’s collar and tugs her down. Hovers her lips to Trinity’s pierced ear.
There they are: In a position that Victoria never thought they would be. Or could be. Parked outside of her parent’s mansion in Trinity’s shuddering dark blue Subaru, Victoria sitting passenger, full body turned towards the window. The only thing holding Trinity back from falling into the passenger side is her arms, which are bracketing the frame of the window. Victoria wonders again how her muscles must be working to hold her up, even though her chest is farther into the car than her arms, and she is essentially planking standing up.
Then she remembers herself, and whispers into Santos’ ears, “Call me Victoria.”
Then, she turns her face, and presses her lips into Santos’ harshly.
Santos is smiling into the kiss within seconds, a smug groan sounding from her throat. She clearly has more experience than Victoria does (see: none) and traces her tongue around Victoria’s lips. She’s probably tasting the strawberry gloss that Victoria nervously applied to herself before getting into the car. Santos tucks her tongue back into her mouth, swallows, and hums as she darts her tongue back into Victoria’s mouth. Okay, so she definitely tasted it. And liked it. Probably.
Even though Victoria doesn’t have the experience that Trinity does, she is not unfamiliar to getting what she wants, even with the odds stacked against her. She’s been doing it for years, and she’ll continue now: Trinity is mewling into her mouth, arms shaking, clearly unprepared. Victoria tucks one of her hands behind Trinity’s head, puts the other one on the windowsill to steady them, and proceeds to pull her farther into the car. Trinity makes a choked sound, and Victoria lets go after one final bruising kiss. She’s laughing, and if Victoria’s cheeks weren’t already a dark red, she’d start blushing. “What,” she growls, “Is so funny.”
“You kiss like,” Trinity pauses, heaving slightly as she takes a step back. She lets her forearms rest on the windowsill and grabs one of Victoria’s hands so she’s not too angry, “You kiss like if you do it hard enough my clothes are gonna disappear.”
Victoria glares at her, but Trinity is grinning so hard that her smile lines peek out, “It was good, Ja- Victoria.”
Victoria.
Victoria.
Now she’s looking away in embarassement, slumping back into her seat and letting go of Trinity’s hands, desparately trying to find anything else to talk about but the fact that Trinity Santos Just Said Her Name. Her name was on Trinity Santos’ lips. Her mouth, her tongue, her everything (Victoria has lost the privilege of rational thinking). She thinks about every time her first name has been called: private advisors, her cousins, her mom– yeah, her name sounds so much sweeter on Trinity Santos’ candy apple mouth.
Trinity’s warm hands slip beneath her chin, jerking her back to the present, and she thumbs through the fine boning as she turns her head gently towards her.
“Let’s do it again,” she declares, noting the way that Victoria hesitates and curls her hair around her fingers subconsciously. “Unless you’re scared?” she challenges.
“Scared?” Victoria scoffs.
“I said what I said,” Trinity responds, “What, am I not old enough for you? You had your taste of the 20’s, you want the geriatrics now?”
“You’re not,” Victoria says with a cold glare, displeased with the bad joke and the way that Santos is trying not to laugh, “I would ask you why you’re stopping. Unless it’s you who’s scared.”
“I’m not,” Trinity just smirks, and she doesn’t look like an angel, or even Cupid now. She looks like the devil incarnate, a demon on her shoulder, whispering in her ears to do incriminating things like kiss a girl in front of her mother’s house.
Ah. About that.
“Get back in the car,” Victoria tilts her head, attempting to be enticing, doing everything not to let her cheek drop in Trinity’s palm. She can’t give up her dignity so easily, “I know a place.”
They end up parking in a field not too far from Victoria’s home. Though her parents are still at the gala, they won’t be able to check the cameras now. The short drive was interrupted by Victoira’s meek voice squeaking out the instructions as she came to the slow realization of what would be transpiring once they got there. Trinity’s hand was heavy on her thigh, lightly squeezing, and taking private enjoyment everytime that Victoria would squirm in response.
Victoria is sweating: she feels it all over, and so she sheds her sweater and throws it into the backseat. What’s left is a black tanktop she wasn’t supposed to be showing anyone.
She isn’t parted from the sweater long, though. It lays haphazardly on the headrest, and that’s where they end up, too. Victoria is straddling Trinity, who’s currently digging her vape pen out of her back pocket of her jeans to stick between her bitten lips. She blows a small puff of Strawberry Kiwi into Victoria’s mouth, one hand on her curls, the other on the curve of her ass. Victoria is breathing in and out slowly, and Trinity is laid back against the door with heavy-lidded eyes. She’s still wearing her off the shoulder top, and their hips are perfectly aligned, and now Victoria is feeling that heat that was crackling back when she kissed Santos. She’s feeling the heat that she usually feels in bed after a long shift of Santos making sarcastic comments and bumping her shoulder and just– paying attention to her. She’s feeling the heat that she usually feels when her hand travels down past her navel, and the person she’s imagining doing it transforms from a woman with a long aviator sweater to another with a crimson top.
Trinity rolls her hips with a low moan, and Victoria needs to get back to the moment. Now.
She breathes in the smoke, licking her lips and appreciating the sweetness, then moves to bury her mouth into Trinity’s neck and work her way around quickly while Trinity takes care of what’s occuring… below. The hand on her ass keeps squeezing and feeling around, which Victoria really doesn’t mind at all. The other hand tugs on her curls sharply, causing her to shoot up with a restrained gasp.
“Slower,” Trinity is murmuring, “Take your time, Crash, fuck.”
Victoria stares at her, and pointedly brings her mouth back to the junction of her neck and shoulder, and bites hard.
“Fuck! Fuck, Victoria, fuck, fine,” Trinity is huffing again, “Fuck, it’s like you have canines or some shit. You sure you’re not a vampire?”
Victoria ignores her blissed-out mumblings and continues to grind down on Trinity’s hips, but this time slower. Unlike Chantana, Trinity does not tell her to stop. No, she simply presses two fingers up against the front of Victoria’s jeans and watches her writhe in pleasure. The heat has returned: or more aptly, it feels like it’s never left. Her stomach is tensing and her mouth has gone dry, and she really needs to breathe in properly.
“More,” she chokes out, pressing a hand against her mouth, “Please, more.”
“Louder, sweetheart,” Trinity whispers, looking up into Victoria’s eyes with what resembles uncovered awe, “Give me your hand.”
They end up curled around each other in the back of Trinity’s car. Victoria’s knees are to her chest, clutching used napkins while Trinity encircles her back and rubs it soothingly.
“That alright?” She asks slowly. No matter how hard Trinity Santos pushes, she always knows when to pull back. The matter of actually pulling back depends, but with Victoria so far she has a clean record. Victoria will clutch onto that naively.
Victoria yawns, turning to look Trinity in the eyes. They’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, moonlight glimmering on their faces. The angel has returned, and she's smirking at Victoria. Some things never change.
Victoria quickly checks her messages. Her mother isn’t home yet.
“Who said we were done?”
Trinity chuckles.