loveism
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- The Pitt (TV) (8)
Recent works
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Summary
“That’s okay,” Parker offers. As if it’s that simple. “It’s an exhausting thing.” Mel makes a soft noise from the back of her throat without meaning to, halfway between a hum and a word she hasn’t fully formed. Parker seems to notice it because she’s barreling on, “What are you doing after work later?”
or, post deposition, first time outside of work hangouts, and tipsy flirting
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Emma looks down at her wrists as if seeing them for the first time. She blinks and more tears slip from her lash line. “He was the first dead body I’ve actually seen,” she states. Her voice sounds far away, even to herself. “He was still warm.”
Joy makes a soft noise that Emma’s sure she didn’t mean to let slip; unbroken from the depths of her throat, inquisitive and gentle. Emma cries harder, sobs wracking through her until she’s hunched over again and fighting for breath. Joy’s shoes blur together into a muddled mass and melt into the asphalt below her.
“That’s difficult,” Joy’s saying. “Do you wanna sit with me for a while?”
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Emma’s gentle in her movements; had been when she first pierced the needle through Joy’s skin, when she swiped the alcohol pad over the delicate skin of Joy’s inner elbow. She’s a bundle of nervous limbs, frantic like her brain is moving faster than her hands but still stilted in a way. Joy doesn’t think she’s ever seen a nurse be so tentative.
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“I know it isn’t five-star, roses spread out over the mattress,” Parker offers sheepishly, crowding Mel back against the cold wall. Mel goes easily, straightens her spine out against the pressure of Parker’s fingers sliding around her scrub top. “But it’s good enough to breathe in. Good enough to hold you in.”
Mel’s lips split into a smile. She places her palms against the sides of Parker’s throat just to feel the steadiness of her pulse there, the way her skin shifts as her girlfriend leans into the touch. “Doctor Ellis,” Mel says, teasing lilt to her voice, “you’re thinking about feeling me up?”
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“I barely remember what it’s like going down on a lady. Whitaker gets more ass than me lately,” Trinity whines. “And our walls are mad thin.”
A chorus of hoots and hollers is drowned out against Mel’s earplugs. She winces a little, but the distraction makes her feel safe enough to blurt out, “I’ve never had that happen to me before.”
An addition to the conversation between her colleagues at hand—her experience, or lack thereof lately, with sexual relationships. But Trinity makes a strangled sound from behind her glass, brows furrowed as she swallows her coughs down frantically. She resurfaces, wipes the stray liquid from her pink mouth. Her eyes swivel to Mel. They’re glossy in the bar lighting, face flushed from the alcohol.
“You’ve never been laid?”
Mel shakes her head. A simple curt gesture as her thick brows furrow. “No one has ever performed oral sex on me before.”
or, Trinity offers Mel a proposition. Mel can't say no. (It spirals from there).