Chapter Text
Orm had not planned to find Ling.
It happened on a night that shouldn’t have ended with anything except sleep and regret. She was sitting alone in her kitchen, shoes still on, a half-finished glass of cheap red wine warming her palm. Her apartment was quiet in the way hospitals never were — no alarms, no voices, just the hum of the refrigerator and her own pulse in her ears.
She opened her laptop without thinking.
At first it was nothing. News. Messages she didn’t answer. Then, somewhere between one empty tab and another, she ended up scrolling through a site she had never visited.
Faces blurred past her. Smiles that didn’t reach eyes. Bios that felt like copy-paste confessions.
Then she saw Ling.
No exaggerated pose. No glittering promises. Just a calm photo and a short line beneath it:
Discreet. Quiet. No questions.
Orm stared longer than she should have. The wine made her reckless, softened the part of her that usually shut down desire before it could breathe.
She copied the number into her phone, hesitated, then called.
Ling answered on the third ring.
“Hello.”
The voice was calm, unhurried, as if no one ever called her in a rush. Orm had to clear her throat before she could speak.
“I— hi. This is Orm. I saw your profile.”
A short pause. Not awkward. Attentive.
“What can I do for you tonight, Orm?”
She looked at the wine bottle on the counter, at the dark window reflecting her own exhausted face.
“I had a really bad shift,” she said. “I don’t want to go out. I don’t want noise. I just… need someone here.”
“Your place?” Ling asked.
“Yes.” The word came out too fast.
Another pause, softer this time. “That’s fine. Nine o’clock. Send me the address.”
Orm hesitated. The sensible part of her mind tried to wake up, to say something about boundaries, about professionalism, about how this was a mistake.
But the part of her that was still in the hospital corridor, listening to monitors flatline, pressed send.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome,” Ling replied, just as quietly, and hung up.
At exactly nine o’clock, the doorbell rang.
Orm had been standing in her living room pretending to tidy up the same stack of medical journals for ten minutes. The apartment smelled faintly of wine and antiseptic, a combination she couldn’t escape no matter how many windows she opened.
She froze when the sound came.
Then she crossed the room and opened the door.
Ling stood in the hallway, a simple dark coat over her shoulders, hair still slightly damp from the rain. She didn’t step inside until Orm moved back to make space, as if waiting for permission.
“Hi,” Ling said.
Orm nodded, suddenly unsure of everything. “Come in.”
The door closed behind them with a soft, final click.
Orm didn’t know what came next.
She stood near the door as if she were waiting to be told where to put her hands, where to look, how to exist in her own apartment. Her mind, trained to follow protocols and flowcharts, was searching for instructions that didn’t exist.
Ling noticed.
Not in the obvious way people noticed things — not with a smile or a question — but with a slight shift in posture, the way her shoulders softened.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Ling said quietly.
Orm blinked. “What?”
“You’re standing like you’re about to be evaluated.” Ling glanced around the room, then back at her. “First time?”
Orm hesitated, then nodded once.
“Okay,” Ling replied, without judgment. “Then let’s slow it down.”
“Would you like something to drink?” Orm asked, the words coming out stiff, as if she were still on duty.
Ling studied her for a second, then nodded. “Wine is fine.”
Orm moved to the kitchen, hands busy, grateful for something practical to do. She poured into two mismatched glasses, the bottle making a hollow sound against the counter. When she turned back, Ling had taken a seat on the edge of the couch, posture relaxed but alert, like someone who knew every exit in every room.
They clinked glasses softly.
To Orm’s surprise, Ling didn’t rush the silence. She just took a small sip and waited, letting the space breathe.
“So,” Ling said at last, “what kind of day was it?”
Orm stared into her glass. “The kind that doesn’t end when you leave the building.”
Orm didn’t answer right away. She rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, watching the wine swirl like diluted blood.
“There was a patient this morning,” she began. “Forty-six. No history, no warnings. She walked into the ER on her own.”
Her voice stayed clinical, trained. “By noon, she was intubated. By two, we were doing compressions.”
Ling listened without interrupting.
“We brought her back,” Orm said, then let out a short breath that wasn’t a laugh. “For seven minutes. Then her pressure dropped again and… that was it.”
She finally looked up — and realized Ling was closer than before.
Not touching.
Just closer.
Close enough that Orm could see the faint line near Ling’s mouth where she bit her lip when she was concentrating. Close enough that the room felt smaller, quieter.
“I signed the time of death,” Orm continued, softer now. “And then I went straight into another case. No pause. No space to feel anything.”
Ling tilted her head slightly. “You never stop,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Orm shook her head. “If I do, I don’t know if I can start again.”
The wine softened the edges of the room.
Orm didn’t notice the exact moment when her shoulders stopped being pulled up toward her ears, only that they were suddenly lower, heavier, as if gravity had finally remembered her.
She talked more. About small things this time — a resident who kept forgetting where supplies were, a broken elevator that trapped three nurses for half an hour. The stories were lighter, but her voice carried something fragile underneath.
Ling listened, glass resting loosely in her hand.
At some point, Orm realized they were sitting closer than before. Their knees weren’t touching, but the space between them felt deliberate, like something being held back rather than missing.
Orm laughed at something she had just said, surprised by the sound of it. It felt unfamiliar, like a muscle she hadn’t used in years.
Ling turned toward her.
It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t a move.
Just a quiet shift in gravity.
Orm’s words trailed off. Their eyes met, close enough now that Orm could see her own reflection in Ling’s pupils.
She didn’t think.
She leaned in.
The kiss was gentle, uncertain — more a question than an answer.
Their second kiss was more passionate. Without their lips ever parting, Orm climbed into Ling’s lap. The wine was starting to take effect. Orm hurriedly removed both her own clothes and Ling’s. She could feel Ling getting hard. Of course, she knew Ling was intersex. That was the first thing it said on their profile.
Orm tried to create interaction by moving her hips back and forth.
As Ling kissed her neck, Orm threw her head back; they both seemed under a hypnotic spell.
“Bedroom,” said Orm.
Orm’s legs were wrapped around Ling’s waist. Ling stood up and took Orm to the bedroom.
She gently laid Orm on the corner of the bed and pulled down her pajamas and underwear together. Orm was already wet. Ling bit her lip for a second and buried her head between Orm’s legs. She began to devour Orm as if she were parched in the desert. And Orm clutched Ling’s hair with one hand and the bedspread with the other, and moaned with every stroke of her tongue.
Ling pulled her head back before Orm could come. She stood up and undid her belt. She pulled down her pants and boxer.
“Lean back,” said Ling. Orm did as she was told immediately. Her upper body was on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Ling reached into her pants pocket, took out a condom, and put it on.
Ling took Orm’s legs and placed them on her shoulders. She waited a second before thrusting forward. When she did thrust, both moaned.
Ling started at an average pace. From time to time, she kissed Orm’s calves.
Orm was trying to find something to hold onto because Ling had started at an average pace but pace was getting harder and harder.
There was no conversation between the two. Only gasps, moans, and the sound of skin slapping.
Orm seemed to have achieved her goal. From the moment they kissed, she wasn’t thinking about anything else, and all the stress of the whole thing seemed to have lifted from her shoulders. And what’s more, she was very close to climaxing.
Ling also felt Orm tighten up and made one last move to push her over the edge. She placed her hand on Orm’s lower abdomen and pressed down a little.
“Shit!” said Orm.
After a few thrusts, Orm started cumming hard. She was milking Ling while her whole body was shaking.
And Ling couldn’t hold back anymore; she came into the condom. Ling paused to catch her breath. When she lifted her head, she saw that Orm was half asleep. She gently placed her in the middle of the bed and covered her up.
She quietly got dressed and pulled the door shut behind her.