DISCLAIMER: Scrubs and its characters are the property of Touchstone Television and NBC. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It seems like a lot of people either like Elliot/Jordan or Elliot/Carla. I like both, so (per mandala's suggestion), I decided to combine them both into one fic. Thanks to outsidethebx for the beta.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Their (Slightly Ill-Advised) Parking Lot Encounter
By bank_farter


Elliot Reid is drunk. Not tipsy, not mildly intoxicated: frickin' drunk off of lemon drops and some other vaguely fruity shots. Which, she thinks, is probably a big part of why she's currently flirting with a girl named Carol while her friends watch from a table a few feet away.

(Ok, so it's complicated.)

And Elliot is kind of embarrassed because she's not really sure why she gets like this, but she is sure of the fact that she can't seem to stop herself once she gets started.

"Do you like jazz?" She asks, all smiles. When Carol confirms that she does, Elliot hears herself say, "Yeah? How much?" and feels herself dip her head flirtatiously. The rational part of her brain is telling her to stop because, hello, she's straight and her friends are right there. Unfortunately, that same part is also floating in a sea of vodka. It's trying to catch up to her mouth, but it's really not working.

"Ok, Stick. That's enough," Elliot hears from behind her, and, before she even has a chance to process what's happening, she feels a hand pulling her backwards by the collar. She tries valiantly to keep her balance, but she finds herself stumbling into the lap of an intoxicated-looking Jordan anyway.

"Excuse me?" Carol's voice is a mix of offended and incredulous. "What're you doing?"

"Trust me, sweetie," Jordan replies, ignoring the fact that Elliot is staring up at her with a totally confused look. "I'm saving you from heartbreak at the hands of a two beer queer. Now leave before I stop feeling so merciful."

The girl wanders off reluctantly, and Elliot watches her until Jordan's words register with her. "Hey!" she says, doing her best to sound indignant.

"What?" Jordan looks down at her and smirks. "You gonna ask about my musical preferences too?"

Elliot ignores the question. "You know, it really isn't very nice of you to call me a two beer queer," she whines. "I've had way more than two."

"Actually, I thought I was being generous, since you started hitting on Cindy—"

"Carol," Elliot corrects.

"Whatever. Carol over there after one."

She has a point, but Elliot doesn't particularly feel like conceding it. So she just shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise, and Jordan must be kind of drunk because she actually lets it go. There's even a whole minute of comfortable silence before the awkwardness of their position occurs to her.

"Why are you still in my lap?" she asks, frowning.

"It's comfortable," Elliot mutters, and barely hears Carla's snort from across the table. Instead, she stares up at Jordan, who she thinks looks weirdly gorgeous in spite of the crappy bar lights, and wonders if it would be wrong to reach up and flick at the dangly earrings that are swinging above her. And her rational brain is freaking out again and screaming nonono, but it turns out not to matter anyway because now Jordan is rubbing at her temples and wincing a little.

"Headache?" Elliot asks.

Jordan opens her eyes enough to roll them. "Good to know that medical school wasn't a total waste of time for you."

"Oh." She pauses, and, all of a sudden, something occurs to her. "You know," she says, putting on her best seductive smile and lowering her voice so that only Jordan can hear her, "I know a pretty good cure for headaches."

There's a long moment in which Jordan just looks at her, appraising, and Elliot blushes a little and averts her gaze. When she looks back up at the older woman, she can't help but notice that her eyes seem darker somehow, and, when Jordan moves to push her off of her laps, Elliot wonders if she's angry. She braces for the almost inevitable belittling, but it doesn't come.

Instead, Jordan grabs her arm, hastily excuses them from the table, and drags her outside, and Elliot finds herself grinning as she decides that rationality is overrated anyway.

Elliot and Jordan have been gone for almost fifteen minutes, and Carla is starting to wonder what's going on. They both like to primp, but a quarter of an hour in a public restroom is pushing it, even for them. And, besides, they didn't look like they were headed to the bathroom…

Carla tells Julie that she'll be right back and goes outside to look for them.

She has no luck after a few minutes of searching in the obvious places, so she decides to see if she can spot Elliot's car. When she finally finds it, she's relieved (albeit a little confused) to see Jordan sitting in the driver's side of the backseat. That relief disappears quickly enough when she opens the door to ask what's going on.

The first thing she notices is that Jordan looks way too happy for someone who's sitting alone in a parked vehicle. The second thing she notices is that that's because she's not alone; the driver's seat is pushed forward, and Elliot is on her knees in front of her, head buried between Jordan's legs.

Oh. My. God.

Elliot doesn't even respond to Carla's presence at first because her eyes are closed and Jordan's thighs are tight against her head, which Carla can't help but notice is moving rhythmically up and down in a way that would be kind of hypnotic (and a little hot) if she weren't too shocked to register it.

Jordan, however, is not so unobservant.

"Shit!" she exclaims when she hears the door open, and the glare she shoots Carla is enough to make her wish that she could do something other than stand there staring like an idiot. After all, she sees far more disturbing and crazy things every day at the hospital, and she responds to them without batting an eye. She really should be able to just close the door, walk away, and drown the memory of this whole incident in copious amounts of rum when she gets back inside, but she can't. She's frozen, jaw half-open, looking far more undignified than she ever likes anyone to see her.

That is, until Elliot finally notices she's there and panics, shrieking an alarmed frick! before hitting her head on both the seat and the car's roof in an exaggerated attempt to jump back from Jordan. Then Carla laughs.

She knows she shouldn't because this whole situation is totally not funny, but she's pretty tipsy herself, and, well, as much as she loves Elliot, she is kind of a train wreck…

Jordan can't resist either, apparently, because she comes the closest to giggling that Carla's ever heard (it's sort of a snicker/snort combination), and then the tension dissipates a little.

"Look," Jordan says, addressing Carla after giving Elliot a death-glare that could only be interpreted as 'don't even think of going anywhere,' "I haven't enjoyed putting on public sex productions since the late eighties, and I was getting paid then. So either come in or go back inside the bar, but, for christsakes, just close the door."

The possibility of being in a car with them while something like that is going on is, well, not something she's really considered, and she hesitates. And, apparently, it's not something she's going to have time to consider because Jordan rolls her eyes and grabs her by the wrist, pulling her into the vehicle.

Of course, that brings up a whole new set of issues, like the fact that she's sitting in a cramped backseat right next to Dr. Cox's sort of ex-wife and her best friend, both of whom are flushed, breathing hard (not all from embarrassment), and only partially clothed. Or the fact that Jordan is obviously not planning to scrap the whole endeavor just for Carla's benefit. Or the fact that Elliot is staring up at her nervously, unconsciously licking her lips in a way that makes Carla feel a strange little surge in her belly.

(Yeah, there are a lot of things to think about.)

Mostly, though, Carla is focused on one of them: the fact that she hears herself respond to Elliot's questioning look by saying, "It's ok; you can."

That was so not what she should have said, but, then again, Carla isn't exactly in a place where she's caring a lot about "shoulds." She's feeling pleasantly warm and uninhibited, and, when Elliot darts her tongue out to taste Jordan while she maintains eye contact with her (nervous, timid eye contact, but still…), Carla begins to think that maybe this might not be such a bad idea after all.

Jordan certainly doesn't seem to think it is. She's moaning and weaving her fingers through blonde hair, and, for a second, Carla giggles when she thinks about how pissed Elliot's going to be when she realizes how messed up it's getting. But then she watches Jordan's head lulling back against the headrest, her hips bucking up involuntarily every time Elliot's tongue swirls around her clit, and she thinks maybe she should just be done with thinking for the night.

Something on her face must say as much, too, because Jordan opens her eyes and smirks when she looks over at her. "Bout time," she says, and before Carla can even open her mouth to launch into an indignant tirade, Jordan has pulled her forward and crushed their lips together.

It's…Carla can't even describe it because the only thing she can come up with is "nice," which is so not Jordan. "Desparate," maybe. Or "rough," in a way that Carla isn't used to because she's usually the one to introduce the teeth. Whatever the right word is, though, the kiss is sending pleasant throbbing sensations to all the right places, and some dark part of Carla's mind is sort of understanding why Dr. Cox was so addicted to her.

But she's not thinking about that (not really) because thinking is overrated, and Jordan's breathy little groans are coming faster now. Carla might not be an expert on women's orgasms, but she knows the brunette is close. She steals a glance down at Elliot, who's flattening her tongue and licking firm, broad strokes (how the hell does she know so much about doing this?), and then goes back to concentrating on Jordan, who's arching up and muttering fuck over and over. Carla attaches her lips to her neck and licks and sucks until she feels Jordan stiffen under her and gasp Elliot as she comes.

Elliot keeps lapping at her until she relaxes and jerks away. Then, she leans back on her heels, swiping at her face with the back of her hand and smiling bemusedly. "Hey," she says, a little breathlessly. "You called me by my actual name."

"Yeah, yeah," Jordan mutters, but Carla sees the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

At first, Elliot feels kind of weird about the fact that Carla's in the car with them. It's nice watching her kiss Jordan while Elliot…you know, but still. Carla's her friend and she knows things could get awkward later.

(Well, more awkward.)

But then something happens. Elliot is laying across the backseat, head in Jordan's lap and legs thrown over Carla's, and Carla is moving her fingers past the elastic of Elliot's panties and quirking an eyebrow.

"Damn girl," she says, grinning and nodding towards Jordan. "You really liked that."

"Seriously?" Jordan asks. She frowns at Elliot, who nods shyly. "I've enjoyed being on the giving end of sex and all, but only because I knew the person was going to owe me for life afterwards."

And Elliot has no idea how to respond to that, but she does know one thing: she's suddenly really, really glad that Carla's is here and that she's the one touching her.

Then again, it is sort of misleading to describe what Carla's doing as "touching." It's really more like "teasing," or maybe "gloating," because if Carla was touching, she would be doing something more than just running her fingers lightly over Elliot's outer lips and marveling at how wet she is, and Elliot would be doing something more than squirming out of a desperation she's too prudish to express.

Luckily, though, even girls from Greenwich, Connecticut have limits to their lady-like modesty, and, after a few minutes of Carla teasing her and Jordan reaching down to tweak her nipples through her shirt, Elliot can't take it anymore. "Carla, fortheloveofgodwillyoujustdoitalready?!"

It doesn't really sound that coherent when she screeches it (and it's muffled even more when Jordan mutters "Jesus Christ!" as she claps her hands over her ears), but, thankfully, Carla is fluent in shrill white girl. She dips a single finger into Elliot before the blonde can even take a breath, and Elliot hears herself groan as her hips pitch forward on their own accord. Some of it's an "ooh, that feels good" groan, but some of it's an "ok, it's really sweet that you think I'm prim enough to need that much warm-up but OHMYGOD I need this" groan.

She looks up at Carla to tell her as much, and Carla just smiles and slides two more fingers in to join the first before Elliot can even open her mouth to speak. Elliot loves that Carla understands her like that, and there's a brief moment where she has the impulse to wax sappy about what an awesome friend she is. But then Jordan is pushing her shirt up and running her perfect nails over her belly, and Carla is starting a steady rhythm with her fingers. All Elliot can think to do is moan and move her hips up to meet Carla's hands.

"Where's your…?" Jordan trails off and frowns with concentration, and Elliot realizes that she's looking for her bra's clasp.

"It's a frontsie," she chokes out, gasping as Carla's fingertips find that perfect spot inside of her.

"Nice," Jordan says approvingly, and when she undoes that clasp and leans down to take a nipple between her teeth, Elliot wonders if there are any medical case studies about people dying from this kind of thing.

She doesn't have long to ponder the possibility, though, because Carla is pressing her fingers into her, and Jordan is reaching down to rub circles around Elliot's clit while her mouth hovers just out of her reach of hers. And Elliot really wishes that she could hold out a little longer or at least control herself a little more, but Carla adds a fourth digit and quickens her pace in time with Jordan's ministrations, and she's just…gone. Jordan's mouth descends on hers and swallows the too-loud keening noises she makes as she comes clenching around Carla's hand.

When she finally relaxes, Jordan pulls away from her and smirks. "There. I saved your modesty. Happy now?"

Elliot rolls her eyes because she's feeling good and Carla is smiling at her with a mix of affection and victory, so of course Jordan would have to ruin it. "Do you ever get tired of making fun of me?"

Jordan seems to consider it for a moment before she replies, "I do not."

"Relax," Carla tells Elliot as strips off her jeans. "I'm not going to subject you to two 'bajingos' in one day."

Elliot blushes and mutters, "thanks," and Jordan is just about to ask what the hell a "bajingo" is when Carla silences her by straddling her lap and leaning forward to nip at her earlobe.

Jordan usually wouldn't allow someone else to be on top without a fight, but she decides to let it go this time since they're in a little car that's not exactly spacious enough for an epic battle for dominance. She slips a hand between Carla's legs. And, apparently, the car's not spacious enough for a lot of things because Carla bumps her head against the roof as she rises to give Jordan better access.

"Damn," Carla says. She looks over at Elliot. "Why'd you have to buy such a small car?"

Elliot rolls her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because my first thought when I was looking at it wasn't, 'Hmm, how well will this backseat work for a lesbian threesome'?!"

"I would have at least thought about how it would be for sex," Carla replies, and Jordan finds herself nodding.

"Oh, please," Elliot shoots back. "You drive a MINI Coop."

"It's a convertible," Carla retorts, and Jordan is just about to intervene (because, hello, there's sex to be had here) when Carla suddenly lowers herself onto the fingers that Jordan's been teasing her with. She starts a slow rhythm, leaning forward in way that positions her breasts right at Jordan's eye level and then sinking back onto Jordan's hand.

Jordan can hear Carla's breath catch every time she thrusts up to meet her, can feel her exhale hot against her neck on every upstroke. And she knows it's not all her doing (Elliot's stroking her hand up Carla's thigh and leaning in to press light kisses to the spot just behind her ear), but she can't help but feel proud when Carla starts to move with more abandon. Carla is usually so perfectly possessed, so composed, but now she's practically bouncing on Jordan's lap and letting out these sharp animalistic little groans as Jordan takes a hard nipple between her teeth.

Perry would be so jealous, Jordan smirks as she adds another finger and tilts her head to give the other breast the same treatment. She feels something slide between them and glances down to see that Elliot's maneuvered her hand up to stroke Carla where Jordan can't. It's awkward positioning, but the back of Elliot's wrist is creating a pleasant friction for Jordan, and Carla isn't objecting either. She's nipping at Jordan's neck and tangling her fingers in her hair and rolling her hips frantically as both of her friends strain to please her. And then she's tensing and surging forward and climaxing around their hands, and both Elliot and Jordan are smiling as they watch her.

"Hey," Carla says when she finally returns to semi-consciousness and realizes she's sandwiched between the two of them in the cramped backseat. "Why do I have to sit in the middle?"

"You just sort of fell there," Elliot replies distractedly. She's staring out the window at nothing in particular because she's having one of those relaxed, sated highs where everything is good and nothing really matters.

"Oh," Carla says, and giggles a little.

There's a comfortable minute of silence before Jordan turns to look over at Elliot. "By the way, how did you know how to do that so well?"

Elliot blushes and starts to say something about being in a sorority, but Carla interrupts.

"That's nothing. Ask her about Mrs. Cantwell."


"Who's Mrs. Cantwell?"

Carla grins. "She was a patient who came in complaining of abdominal pain. Elliot gave her an orgasm during the pelvic exam."

"Wow," Jordan muses, clearly impressed. "Hey, I'm due for a pap soon. Do you have any appointments this week?"

"Um," Elliot says. "First of all, eww, why did you bring that up? And, second, you do realize I'm an endocrinologist now, right?"

"I have hormones," Jordan replies, and Carla giggles again before a stricken look crosses her face.

"Shoot, you guys! We forgot about Julie!"

It's almost ten minutes before they manage to straighten themselves up, but they're all pretty confident that they look passable when they finally stumble back into the bar.

Julie's face lights up when she sees them. "Oh my gosh, where were you guys? I was kind of worried." She wrinkles her nose. "Plus, there was this kind of strange guy who--"

"We were out having gay sex in Stick's car," Jordan replies nonchalantly as she pulls out a stool.

Elliot flinches, Carla's jaw drops, and Julie just stares up at them with mute shock. There's a second where the tension is so thick that you could cut it with a scalpel.

But then Julie's smiling brightly and nodding. "I get it," she says. "That's so funny!"

The End

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