The Vessel - LeaT with MsBloom and Rex

[LeaT]

Jourdan Byrne-Watson held Freya Byrne-Watson's hand as they left the converted loft they shared and headed towards their favorite spot, John Harvard's Tavern. It was where they met for the first time, her waiting tables and Freya sharing a drink with her friend Morgen Atwood. It wasn't that many years ago, but in ways it felt like a lifetime. Jourdan still felt the flush of their recent lovemaking, Freya's passion still making her legs feel weak and her insides aflutter. Then there was the pillow talk, basking in their mutual glow, they talked of their dreams and desires. These days those talks almost always led to their mutual desire to have a child together. As sound and whole as their relationship felt, it was the one reminder that they were not fully complete, mother nature was getting one last laugh upon their wedded bliss.

Though Jourdan was no technophile, she had assumed science would save them from the one small flaw in their Sapphic relationship, the ability to breed. It wasn't science's fault of course, in fact just the opposite, it was the ancient religion of Freya's step-father that kept them from selecting 10cc of carefully vetted semen stored in a freezer from an anonymous donor and making an appointment to set things in motion. Jourdan could hardly fathom that her in-laws could find yet another thing to be dissatisfied about regarding their marriage. If it wasn't the obvious problem of them both being women, there was Jourdan's skin color, her lack of a known father, and bringing a small bank book to the marriage. So now, it was required that she spread her legs for natural insemination or forcing the love of her life to sever her last ties to her mother for the sake of her step-father's religion.

It wasn't that Jourdan found the idea of heterosexual intercourse objectionable, in fact she had quite enjoyed it once upon a time. In fact, each step closer to John Harvard's Tavern reminded her of Morgen as well, her last male lover. Even Jourdan, being totally honest with herself, would be hard pressed to rank one over the other, but it was only Freya being her soul mate that kept her from enjoying a nice hard male cock from time to time. It was hard to enter the tavern without at least a passing thought of Morgen, but with the idea of having to find a baby daddy fresh in her mind, the feeling only intensified.

It was that thought that made the next moment inside the tavern seem almost surreal. She squeezed Freya's hand and stopped her in her tracks. "Freya...is that..." Her words trailed off as her wife's gaze followed hers towards their old table, just below St. Whats his name's window. They were still somewhat behind him, he hadn't seen them yet, they could still flee if they wanted. Jourdan didn't want to go, but she wasn't sure just what Freya would think and she didn't want to hurt her lover or do anything to jeopardize their relationship.

@MsBloom @Rex.

 

[MsBloom]

Almost two years they had been married now, her and the love of her life, two years of absolute bliss, for the most part. Like any couple they had their differences of opinion and argued but never anything really serious, except perhaps the debates regarding a recently arisen topic that occasionally spun almost out of control, the topic of having children. That in itself was not what the debate was about but it was Freya's family's values, or rather her step-father's obsolete family values and opinions. He had told Freya, when she talked to him about it almost a year ago, in no uncertain terms that he would never accept an unnaturally conceived child and if Freya still decided to let herself, or her ... wife ... (how reluctantly he took the word in his mouth when referring to Jourdan) be impregnated in any other way than the way god and nature had intended he would forbid his wife and daughter to have any further contact with her.

It was moments like that Freya questioned her mother's decision to stay in the marriage or how she had even ended up being married to such a complete and utter asshole. It was not only the fact that his step-daughter had rejected men as partners all her life but that she had married a woman, a woman of colour no less and almost as if to consciously spite him even further, a woman of colour from the wrong side of the tracks. He had refused to attend the wedding but allowed her mother and sister to do so on the condition that they never once spoke about it afterwards. He was indeed a complete asshole and had he, and only he, vanished from her life it would have been no love lost from Freya.

All of this was of course not something Freya normally dwelled on but every time she met her mother and sister for lunch once every other Tuesday she always came back home in a bad mood, filled up to here with hate for her step-father, and sought solace in the arms of her wife.

That morning she had had the Gallery Drake & Bull pick up the paintings for her first major solo exhibition, a suite of 10'x7' paintings of two or more females in various states of undress engaged in intimate affections of one sort or another. After that she had picked up Jourdan at Logan International Airport as she returned from a photo shoot in Casablanca. They had only been separated for 75 hours but it felt like forever and they were hungry for each other in the same way they had been when their relationship was still new. They had kissed for a good five minutes right there outside the gate and then hurried home to have each other, naked wet and passionately.

Despite having been married for two years and a couple for almost four year before that the two had still not reached the stage of routine sex in bed every Friday or Saturday night at bedtime but still fucked like horny bunnies at all hours of the day and wherever the mood struck them. There were few places in the loft where they had not made passionate love sometimes for hours at the time. This had been one of those times when time just slipped away from them as they enjoyed each other's bodies and as they had lay there after a handful of orgasms each talking, about the ever present topic of starting a family they realised that they had skipped lunch when both their stomach's grumbled almost simultaneously.

They showered and got dressed before heading down to their usual haunt, the same one where they had first met, hand in hand and looking very much like a couple newly in love with each other.
"I think it might be," Freya said as she looked in the direction Jourdan pointed her attention.
Freya had not seen him as they entered but now that Jourdan had pointed him out it was of course him, and he was sitting at the same table where Jourdan had first served him and her a pint each and a plate of french fries nearly ten years ago when she was still a fresh(wo)man at Harvard.
"Do you want to go somewhere else instead?" she asked her wife knowing how her relationship with Morgen had ended.
Perhaps it would be too painful for both of them to accidentally bump into each other even though it had been quite a few years ago. Perhaps he was sitting at that very table in the hope of just such a coincidence.

@Rex.

 

[Rex.]

The day started for Morgen like many others since arriving in Cambridge. Harvard University had succeeded in scooping up and buying properties from the Charles River out into the realms beyond Harvard Square, and that left few options for him to rent near the Graduate School of Design. He'd considered himself fortunate to have found the second story apartment on Ellery Street owned by the stern and cantankerous Mrs. Betty. Betty was, of course, her first name but she demanded respect even in the casual lull of informality. Morgen promised himself that of all the challenges that awaited him upon returning to the place of his educational youth, tangling with Mrs. Betty over rent would not be one of them. He offered to pay several months up front, just to get the harpy off his back; he had bigger fish to fry.

Stepping back into the old haunt of Harvard felt like a cursed blessing -- a heavy mantle that should have comforted but only reminded him of the misery that inspired his flight to New York City upon graduating from architecture school all those years ago. Morgen had considered applying to other architecture schools, as the East Coast contained as many as Italian Delis. But, the road of his future created by his contacts led him back to the GSD -- which was the premier school in the country ... if not the world. Teaching, even for a few semesters, would be akin to placing a gold star upon his resume. He could do it; Morgen could survive the flagging discomfort and lingering memories of what could have been in order to earn a ticket to anywhere he wished. He'd always wanted to live in a Scandinavian country.

Breakfast that morning was at Lee's diner, a rather unremarkable "greasy spoon" right off the main Square. The serving staff consisted of morose and un-engaging women from Jamaica, who acted subtly annoyed at having to wait the span of three seconds between asking what he wanted and his reply. It wasn't all that bad, though -- they, at least, were not rabid like the tenacious Mrs. Betty.

Morgen stopped by the school, wandering around the "trays" of his assigned students. Most sported smiles at the sight of him, speaking easily of their ideas for projects and adventures the evening before. Morgen knew that he was in their confidence when they asked if he wanted a drag of weed on the smoking balcony. He smiled like a kind uncle, politely declining and informing them to not get caught. He lamented for the students who were bottled up within themselves, sitting at their drafting table and staring at the vast, white expanse of paper that should have been the backdrop to an artifice that defied gravity. Creativity was like water, he'd tell them -- fear closes the spigot tight, and the trick is to simply start drawing. Morgen felt the most satisfaction helping young professionals who suffered from being closed off; they reminded him of himself.

How many years had it been since he left that whole hot mess behind him? A ball of stress filled his chest at the thought of the memory. He knew that he had fled from the pain and injustice -- from the betrayal that would have left a black mark on his character and sense of personal honor. Betrayal, on two fronts: it made the devastation four-fold in magnitude. Who could really blame him for wanting to get the fuck out of Dodge? What would have been the point of digging in? Of fighting for a woman who did not want to be his? He liked to get his way, as was his nature, but the inalienable truth remained that any love that is forced is no love at all.

Most men would have been overjoyed to learn that their female lovers were into chicks, because the next obvious step was to rope the other woman into a threesome. Maybe even a polyamory situation. Those thoughts never crossed Morgen's consideration, for he knew the truth about the dangers of intimacy. Having a "bi-curious" girlfriend meant that the number of threats, the number of people who could lure his Jourdan away doubled. The chorus of snarky hedonists would have labeled him "insecure" -- though the thing he feared came to pass. And, in spite of the fact that Jourdan could have talked to him but chose to deceive him, Morgen still laid the blame (after all these years) squarely in Freya's lap. Jourdan had been Morgen's girlfriend, while Freya was someone he trusted; and though Jourdan's betrayal hurt Morgen's heart more, Freya's selfishness incurred a treachery that went profoundly deep.

Fuck them. Fuck them BOTH.

Morgen could have continued negotiations and resolved the issue, but what then? Be reminded of his status as the boyfriend "who wasn't good enough"? That fucking wedding platter from Crate & Barrel was the last they'd ever hear from him.

But, Morgen had already been here a month without any run-ins. Granted, that was mostly due to him living either at the design school or home. Tonight was different, a night for old times sake. Morgen found himself feeling rather lively about the prospect of heading out for the night. John Harvard's was both the top and bottom of his list of places to visit for a pint. The sentiment and mystique won out, ultimately proving stronger than his aversion to reliving the past like a weak, simpering beta. He would face the memories and reclaim them as his own, he decided. And, who knew -- maybe he'd find another chance at love where the old one died on the vine.

Morgen was already on his second pint, black marker scribbling on a dozen napkin-backs, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He felt like ... he was being watched. Morgen looked up, his intense gaze leveling with penetrating austerity into the eyes of the two women he least wished to see again. The heart in his chest sank, and his stomach clenched with a mix of heinous emotions -- all raw and mingled. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile and waved to them. The gesture -- clearly an ingrained behavior developed from soothing nerve-wracked first-year grad students -- came as a natural reaction to their "deer-in-headlight" appearance at the sight of him.

He acknowledged the both of them, and that should have been enough. Morgen could have kicked himself for being so stupid, so predictable and moronic. If there was anywhere in Cambridge where the chance of meeting them was highest, it was precisely where he sat. Christ, I'm even in the same damn table, he inveighed to himself privately. He had proved himself the adult by cheerfully acknowledging them, whether they wished to run away or come visit would have been on them. But, something caused Morgen to want more. He never considered himself a cruel person, but the sight of them so suddenly and utterly affected by him made him feel ... well, jovial? Schadenfreude, anyone?

All this time, Morgen had been convinced that Jourdan and Freya had traipsed on, leaving him in their wake, completely unaffected by their absolute selfishness. The thought that he affected them ... it was an awkward moment that he desperately desired to revel in. And, with that, Morgen waved them over to join him, his smile opening to something akin to merriment. When they approached, he stood and opened his arms to embrace them both and gauge their reactions.

 

[LeaT]

"No, I think we should at least say hello." Jourdan replied to her wife, thankful that she had offered it as an option, probably to protect her feelings as much as anything. While things had not ended well between them, there wasn't any animosity on her part or even did she think on his. Sometimes things just happen, she wouldn't have chosen differently, in many ways she had hoped to not have to make a choice at all. Besides, if has been waiting all these years to tell them to go fuck themselves, maybe that would help him a bit. She didn't think Freya would mind obliging him, she thought with a smile.

Before they really had a chance to fully decide on their own, Morgen seemed to sense their presence and turned to spy them. The smile and wave were quite familiar, and Jourdan was perhaps a little surprised at the thrill it gave her. She did believe in karma and perhaps this all wasn't totally coincidental, she couldn't avoid thinking back about their discussion about natural insemination. There was a comfort in that for Jourdan, but it might just be too close to home for Freya. She remembered clearly the last time she and Morgen had made love, it had been fantastic and she felt a warmth returning to her nether regions from the recollection. As wonderful as her sex was with Freya, one thing her wife could never do for her was ejaculate a hot powerful stream deep inside of her. It was a vivid memory.

As they neared him, he appeared a little too pleased. Was he drunk? Morgen had always held his beer better than most, better than Jourdan certainly. But maybe he had been drowning his sorrows. For all she knew he could be celebrating, but sitting alone that seemed less likely. She fell into his embrace easily enough, he had stayed fit she could see, he had always been an impressive specimen of the male of the species. They could certainly do worse for a baby daddy.

"Hi Morgen, what a surprise." Jourdan said with genuine delight at seeing him even if she might be nervous about his overall reaction. It was awkward as she waited to see if he would invite them to join him. Her eyes flitting between her wife and her former lover for what seemed like an eternity but was only a few heartbeats.

 

[MsBloom]

Freya waved back with a smile, still holding her wife's hand, as he turned around making it too late for them to leave quietly and have their late lunch elsewhere. It was of course good to see him but things had certainly not ended between them on friendly terms. Not that Freya could really blame him. He had been utterly unprepared to find his fiance and his best friend, both only just barely clad, in the kitchenette at Freya's rented studio, where she also lived. Freya standing close behind Jourdan, close enough that her breasts must have touched Jourdan's back and her hands resting on her hips while Jourdan was preparing tea for them both. He had come to pick up his fiance from the last session of her modelling for a nude painting. He had been early and they had completely lost track of time. For him to just let himself in at Freya's studio was nothing odd or unusual. It was only the inner room where she painted that was off limits without an invitation.

At first the two women had not even noticed his presence, being so wrapped up in each other as they were, but when they did they both turned around and as further proof of their guilt they stepped apart rather abruptly as if that would nullify the intimacy between them that he had walked in on. Freya had tried to smile apologetically but no words were spoken between them before he left again, clearly upset from what he had seen. Jourdan had hurried to get dressed and followed after him leaving Freya alone in the studio, in just a pair of boxer briefs, a few paint stains, two cups of tea drawing on the counter and absolutely convinced that she had probably seen the both of them for the last time.

Then he stood up and held his arms out, offering them an embrace, or was it only offered to Jourdan perhaps. She was certainly the first to take him up on his offer and did so with ease and without much hesitation. Freya watched and somewhere deep inside she felt a sting of jealousy. Normally she wasn't the jealous type and she fully trusted her wife's fidelity except in this one particular case. Because she knew how close the two had been and that if it had not been for that afternoon all those years ago the two might be married with children by now. Because she knew that if there was one person in the entire world who could compete with with her for Jourdan's affections it was him. And because she knew that Jourdan once before had blurred the lines, even if it had to some extent been in an attempt to create a threeway relationship between them, a throuple.

The idea of a throuple as such was not one she was adverse to, as long as it didn't mean she had to be intimate with him, at least not beyond caresses and light kisses. There had been males in her life, in high school, but none of those boys had gotten to home base. She called it her experimental period. It was just that Jourdan had missed a few steps in her communication and Freya had been far too easily seduced. Yes it was Jourdan who had seduced her not the other way around as many, perhaps including him, might think. She had of course been attracted to Jourdan right from the moment she was her, standing at that very same table taking their order and more so a few moments later when she had leaned over to put down their plates and given them both a good view down her white waitress' blouse. Accidentally? Freya wasn't entirely sure it had been but it didn't matter. Morgen had made the first move and thus gotten the first date and as much as Freya wanted to get in on the action, as they had so often done before when hooking up with bisexual women, this time it seemed that Morgen was serious and so she had taken a step back.

It was that attraction that some months later had Freya offering Jourdan to shoot a portfolio and present it to her boss at the modelling agency where she worked part time as a photographer to help get her through college and it was through that portfolio Jourdan's modelling career had started, a career that had by now earned her the cover of most of the major fashion magazines and runway work in both Milan, Paris, New York and London. She had worked for most of the big fashion houses and even been offered minor roles in big movie productions. It was also that first photoshoot that had eventually led to Jourdan modelling for a dozen more photoshoots, of which some had been of the so called artistic variety, black and white studies of the naked female body, as well as the painting she had been working on when they crossed the line between very good friends to something more.

"Yea, good to see you though," Freya said and stepped closer to find out whether his offer of a hug included her as well.
There was a moment of definite tension as Jourdan looked back and forth between the two big loves of her life. Was all forgiven, if not forgotten? Was there a possibility of them becoming friends again, even if perhaps not as close as they had once been. Unlike her wife though the thought of him being their baby daddy didn't cross Freya's mind, at least not at that time. She was just happy to see her good friend again, hoping that the past was water under the bridge, that time had healed his wounds.

 

[Rex.]

Morgen immediately applauded his decision to acknowledge the pair with openness and grace, and the sight of Jourdan approaching with careful eagerness made his heart melt for -- rekindling the lustful affection that had never snuffed out. What animosity he'd harbored melted to nothing when he saw her angelic expression and felt her body press with full contact against his own. Morgen's blood pressure dropped to a soothing level, though a low-grade arousal perked up in his core. After all these years, Jourdan still had that ultra-subtle and innate effect upon him. She smelled phenomenal, and her body felt pliable in his presence -- much like when they made love all those years ago.

The man's closed as he inhaled her scent and essence, cinching his arms tight around her body for a few moment. "I've missed you," he whispered quietly. When his eyes opened, they looked past Jourdan's shoulder to Freya waiting in the wings. His gaze would be devoid of hatred, and each blink would mask the coldness he felt toward his former, estranged friend. Reluctantly, Morgen back away and offered a genuine smile seldom seen in years; he moved to the side and tackled the inevitable duty of pretending to be happy to see the woman who ruined his life.

"Hey, Freya ..." he murmured with a smile. Morgen did open his arms and bring the ginger woman into his presence. The embrace did not last as long as Jourdan's, nor was there the intangible conveyance of emotions through touch alone. Was there a stiffness to her posture that she always had or was she pretending to tolerate his presence just as he was with her? The quality in the two women became immediately apparent, and he actually patted Freya's back -- giving a subtle signal that their brief, physical reunion had concluded. Morgen moved away to regard both women.

"Well, a surprise indeed," he said, looking at both woman. A small flame of flickered fury roused in his core at the sight of them with matching wedding rings. Still, his eyes betrayed nothing of his true feelings. Seeing them together -- having ingratiated each other into their lives with all those non-verbal cues that denoted extreme intimacy -- was more gut-wrenching than Morgen had expected. They were clearly in love with one another, and Jourdan had more miles with Freya than she ever did with him. Her association with Morgen was a footnote in the sapphic life she had chosen. "I was just here passing the evening away. Free nights are a luxury for me now."

Morgen motioned to the table with two beers on it, one half empty. "If you're not here to meet with someone else, you're free to join me," he offered. There were a number of stools available, one right next to where he'd set up camp (designated by his parti sketches) and another pair opposite him across the table. He wondered who would sit where ...

 

[LeaT]

With Morgen's invitation hanging in the air, Jourdan's gaze went to her wife's, seeking an affirmation of her instinct to join the man who might easily have been a father to her children. She didn't fully expect a clear yes but she was mostly looking for indications of no. For Jourdan, the timing of his appearance so close to their discussion of impregnation was more than just a coincidence, it seemed an omen. She was especially superstitious but she did think that sometimes things happened for a reason. It was too intriguing to pass up unless Freya showed a clear sign of discomfort.

"It's just us tonight." she said, holding up their held hands which was probably not the most sensitive thing to do at that moment but it seemed like a sign of solidarity with her wife as she led them into potentially treacherous waters. As if to try to ease some of the pressure she picked up one of his napkin sketches. "Nice lines, you always did have an eye for a nice figure." She said with a bit of a smirk on her face as she squeezed Freya's hand and slid onto a seat opposite Morgen, tugging her wife into the seat next to her.

"So are you in town for long?" She asked, seriously curious about his sudden appearance and what it might mean for the potential for him as a stud in their family plans. Learning that he was now a faculty member of his alma mater, a most prestigious posting marking him as the elite of the elite was cause for celebration. With the ease of a regular, Jourdan summoned a waiter to get some drinks headed their way. It might not have been the best idea but in some ways, Jourdan felt that some things could be over planned. "So, should we celebrate like old times?" She asked with building excitement which she hoped might prove contagious. Whatever tensions were still simmering between the trio, a bit of alcohol might relieve it or bring it to a head, either way they would be one step closer to an answer.

 

[MsBloom]

Freya looked at her wife and nodded. While she had hoped for a quick meal and then back home to continue where they had left off it was too good an opportunity to reconnect with the man that had at one time meant so much to both of them, as a close friend to Freya and a lover to Jourdan. There was nothing in his voice or his demeanour to suggest he was harbouring any ill will towards either of them. Perhaps enough water had passed under the bridges for them to make a new start, especially since it seemed like he was back in Boston to stay.
"Don't mind if we do," she said with a big smile at Morgen and motioned for Jourdan to take the seat closest to the wall while she sat next to her.
"Two beers, three double shots of Lambfell Moar, and a double plate of fish and chips," she ordered after having summoned a waitress who greeted both her and Jourdan with a smile that signalled familiarity, confirming beyond any doubt Morgen might have had that Freya and Jourdan were still regulars at their old haunt.

"So yea. Definitely worth a celebration," she said as she turned her attention from the ass of the waitress walking away from them to bring their order to the kitchen.
"Built anything we might have seen?" she asked with genuine interest and leaned against the table looking at him.
Unlike artists like herself architects, who were to some degree certainly artists as well, never really got a chance to sign their work and mostly they remained uncelebrated for their contribution to Human culture, unless they were Antoni Gaudi, Frank Gehry, Alvar Aalto, Frank Lloyd Wright or Le Corbusier of course. The common man on the street would be able to mention more famous painters and sculptors than they'd be able to mention architects.

It was perhaps not fair, considering that most architects' work was available to the public free of charge and not, as the case was with many paintings, stuffed away in museums or private collections while the public had to make due with photographic reproductions of them.

 

[Rex.]

Morgen found himself a man who suffered from an utter duality of emotion. On the one hand, he'd grown in temperament and found his calling, his ambition. Not that he hadn't hoped for greatness in grad school, but he now understood the difference between starry-eyed dreams of possibilities versus the euphoria of being on a trajectory of professional might. After (what felt like) years of being haunted by the specter of misery and betrayal, he'd found his true, adult self -- one that would define him and point toward that vast future the GSD had relentlessly implied was his for the taking.

But, on the other hand, the road his profession laid before him was a lonely one, indeed only one unbound by the obligations of love and family could pursue the mad adventure that awaited him: trips to Switzerland to collaborate with Peter Zumthor, or Genoa to consult with Renzo Piano would be undermined by guilt in wondering if diapers needed to be changed. And yet, Morgen remained unconvinced if that life was worth pursuing if done alone. He loved his family, but could not help feeling alone when in the company of others. The isolation could have been chalked up as imaginary, self-imposed -- in the end, Morgen yearned to find someone who understood him ... accepted him.

Morgen knew that he wasn't perfect, but always sought someone who was perfect for him. He'd truly thought that Jourdan was that person, until she cheated on him. Jourdan made her choice when she married Freya, and that choice was not him. Morgen accepted her decision, telling himself that life did not always follow one's plans -- those artificial lies we tell ourselves about how we hope our lives will develop when fate rolls the dice. Yet, he accepted her decision but he found himself questioning it as he spied Freya checking out the waitress's ass. The sight made his blood boil -- to crave another when you had an angel sitting right next to you ....

It also did not help that the sound system played Pearl Jam's 'Black' and Morgen was forced to hear the poignant, gut-wrenching, and apropos ending:

♪ I know someday you'll have a beautiful life ♪
♪ I know you'll be a star ♪
♪ In somebody else's sky ♪
♪ But why ♪
♪ Why ♪
♪ Why can't it be ♪
♪ Oh can't it be mine? ♪

No, the song didn't help his efforts to remain detached; all Morgen could think about was Jourdan deserving better. Perhaps what Jourdan needed -- as he felt there was no escaping their company that evening -- was to learn what she missed out on, what she had thrown away for the folly of dalliance. Freya's ordering of her beloved Lambfell Moar (double shots, no less) felt like a wistful tug at his memory of how good the days of old were before the fall -- before Lancelot stole his Guinevere.

Morgen made a point of shooting a bewildered look at Freya when her eyes watched the departing waitress, but then shifted his gaze to Jourdan with an eagerness that expressed more warmth than when they were younger. "I'm actually in town for quite a while, in fact. Got myself a teaching position at my alma mater for this semester, possibly the next." Morgen returned his attention to Freya when she asked him about recent accomplishments. "Mostly overseas work: India and Qatar. I did work on the renovation of the Chrysler Building, but it was mostly an interior renovation and not particularly sexy."

At the mention of the word 'sexy', Morgen's gaze lazily swept over to Jourdan -- a hint of that same lust filled his gaze when their eyes met, one that she alone would recognize. "You both look great," he said in honesty. The conversation paused and his look lingered, wistful and filled with want, but not without Morgen's knee coming to rest against Jourdan's under the table. Morgen paid it no mind, pretending that he rested his knee upon one of the table legs. He broke his gaze into his ex-girlfriend's eyes before he became lost in Jourdan's twin, chocolate suns, regarding Freya and wondering if Jourdan's heart felt as awoken as his own.

"A shame I could not make your wedding. I assume it want off without a hitch?" he asked Freya directly, wearing an easy smile.

 

[LeaT]

Jourdan gave her wife a playful elbow even as her dark eyes caught the parting sway of their waitress' firm young ass. She would be the first to admit that they were married, not dead, each often appreciating the aesthetic virtues of those around them. For Jourdan, that appreciation often extended to both genders, though Freya rarely seemed to appreciate the finer points of male anatomy at least at a sexual level. It was not surprise that a certain amount of awkwardness would linger, at least until the drinks started flowing. Fortunately, Morgen had news to share that helped lighten the mood and didn't involve a discussion of married life that might prove painful to him. "Impressive!" Jourdan exclaimed at his teaching position, a dark hand extending across the table to cover and squeeze his own. She was every bit as soft and warm as he would remember and her smile and look were dazzlingly sincere.

Her mind was however working through the ramifications of this news. Would it make him more or less likely to consider what she had in mind? A brief visit with a quick yet intense encounter would be all it would take and might be less painful in the long run, but it was a role of the dice. Jourdan couldn't deny that a more prolonged campaign to thoroughly ensure success had its appeal and would almost certainly yield results. Even though she had only just come to an agreement with Freya about children, she had been tracking her fertile cycles for some time now. Tonight was not optimal, but was in her fertility window, and Morgen was certainly virile or at least appeared to be. She glanced over at Freya, and smiled warmly knowing they both had very similar fertility windows, though she doubted her determinedly Sapphic wife was having the same thought at the moment.

Though thinking of other things, Jourdan continued to nod and react to the impressive news of Morgen's accomplishments but nothing regarding his personal life. She didn't see a ring but that would hardly be the whole story. His catching them up certainly involved a lot of travel which could make a home life difficult, but Jourdan travelled rather extensively herself but it made her appreciate all the more having someone she could return to time and again. Not that travel didn't open up lots of opportunities to meet wonderful people, Jourdan certainly got many offers and she could only imagine a man like Morgen did as well.

When he complimented them both on looking great, the conversation hit a speed bump as she suddenly felt his eyes lingering upon her. "Thank you, so do you." She said as she removed her hand from his as it seemed it had lingered longer than it probably should. It was replaced almost immediately with his knee against hers. An accident perhaps, but as their eyes met she had reason to doubt that. She should pull hers away but didn't, at least not right that instant. She was torn, not wanting to shut him out given her larger plans, but he had to know she wouldn't do anything serious with him. It might seem odd that she was planning impregnation, but didn't lump that into the realm of serious. When Morgen mentioned their wedding he was addressing Freya, so Jourdan turned to her wife and gladly let her tell that story. Only adding, "yes, we missed you" in a furtive tone.

 

[MsBloom]

Freya met his look with a smile and playfully elbowed her wife back. There was no harm in looking at something aesthetically pleasing to the eye, whether it was a stunning building, a beautiful flower, a work of art or the shapely rear of a young waitress walking away. They both did this sometimes even alerting one another to a sight worth letting ones eyes linger on for a moment or two. For Freya it was also her painter's eye taking in shapes and figures and storing them away in her memory for later use on canvas. Not all were of course used but it never hurt to have a buffer of images to pull out when needed.

The drinks were served and soon it felt almost like before, before Morgen vanished from their lives, when they were almost like three musketeers without their D'Artagnan. The first shot went down in toast of Morgen's career and his recent teaching position, not to mention the reunion of three old friends. The second Freya dedicated to the most beautiful woman in the world, her wife and down it went too. It would probably be a long evening and one that would perhaps empty an entire bottle of Lambfell Moar as it progressed.

She did notice Jourdan's hand lingering on Morgen's for a while longer than was perhaps just a friendly gesture but considering the way things had ended between them it was perhaps not strange that there was some residue of physical intimacy between them that neither of them could fully control. She also noticed his eyes lingering on Jourdan but brushed it away with the same reasoning. Unlike Morgen Freya knew about Jourdan's idea of a poly-amorous relationship between the three of them and had agreed that as long as that wouldn't mean she had to be intimate with Morgen she wouldn't have had any objections to such an arrangement. This was perhaps the main reason she didn't really react to the signs of intimacy between the two former lovers. She had no idea though what her wife was half-planning in the context of Morgen's return and their decision to start a family once they figured out how. The thought of using Morgen as a direct donor had not entered her mind even if it was perhaps the most obvious option now that he was back in town.

"We certainly did," Freya agreed when her wife left her to respond to his apology regarding having not attended their wedding.
They had hoped, but not really expected him to attend, when they sent out the invitation. At least Freya had not expected him considering how things had ended but she had hoped, hoped that he would have it in his heart to be happy for them even if he had at one time expected himself to be watching Jourdan walk down the aisle and commit to loving and honouring her, for better for worse, in sickness and in health until death did them part. She had hoped but understood that he had rsvp:d and declined the invitation.

"It was really just a small intimate affair with family and friends. Nothing overly lavish, although Jourdan looked like an angel wrapped in a fluffy summer cloud as she walked down the aisle."
It was true that the wedding had been rather low key as neither of them had wanted the big wedding. It was also true that it had been family and friends but she didn't mention that her step-father had refused to attend such an abomination and only just allowed her mother and half-sister to attend. It had been something of a dark cloud over their happiness even if Freya had never really had any sort of amicable relationship with her step-father. This had of course mostly been balanced out by the generous attendance from Jourdan's family and in the end it had been a most successful event.
"We went to Niagara Falls for our honeymoon, as brief as it was since Jourdan had to work half the time," she added and playfully elbowed her wife again.
"Though the shots of her in front of the falls are absolutely stunning. Perhaps you've seen them. I think they were for Vanity Fair and she was on the cover that month."

 

[Rex.]

"Well, you both deserve the best for your happiest day," Morgen stated with a smile, "and I'm glad you it went well. I wish my Dubai project didn't need me that weekend, but I would have been unemployed if I didn't travel then."

Morgen hated lying -- it went against ethos and nature of being an earnest, intense, and honest person. Yet, it was the one untruth he promised himself he'd abide for his sanity's sake. They both ruined his life for their own selfish purposes -- who were the to judge what he did for himself? He sighed to himself with an internal vehemence as echoed of petulance -- not something Morgen felt proud to harbor. He'd invited the pair over to lord over them privately, and yet he found them both centered and blissfully serene, where has HE was the one on edge. Irony could be a cruel bastard, he supposed.

Even his adamance about ogling the waitress has them both in the same boat. Had they both 'gelled' and melded personalities in the years he'd been away? Or were they just so perfect for one another that he never had a chance even if Jourdan never encountered Freya? What made their presence all the more annoying was the HE had been working on the waitress before they arrived. His efforts felt corrupted; if he got to third base with the waitress, would he walk into their place to find said waitress in their bed?

Fuck me, Morgen thought in utter irritation. He had been so sure that he'd gotten over the both of them, but it was ultra-apparent that he needed therapy to process the anger out of his system. When he glanced at Freya, he smiled affably, but inside he could only see a woman who took selfishly without thought or gratitude. How long would this little reunion go on? One thing was for certain, if Morgen was going to endure it there needed to be more shots involved.

"Another round of shots," he called to the waitress. "Make them doubles."

The honeymoon, which Morgen categorically blocked from his mind, had been brought up. "I actually had not seen the photo," he admitted truthfully. "I'll have to look it up some time ... I'm sure it's amazing, and I'm sure that YOU were beautiful," he said to Jourdan at the end. It then became apparent that Jourdan's hand had lingered on his far longer than expected or necessary. Her knee remained in place and he got the distinct impression that Jourdan, at the very least, felt comfortable enough around him to exhibit some degree of familiar intimacy. That ... appeased the aggrieved man. She always did have a calming influence upon him, which also explained why she could tolerate Freya's assertive nature -- which could come across as barking bitchiness, if he were honest.

Morgen decided he had to stop himself and hit the reset button -- he retracted his knee and brought his hands to fish in his pockets. Ostensibly to pay for the incoming shots poured into the glasses upon the table, he handed bills to the waitress and set shot glasses out in front of everyone. "Boy, do I miss the old times," he said, a hint of wistful truth in his delivery. Morgen then became the conversationalist that working at the Architectural Foundation in New York City had taught him to be. He carried on with both women for some minutes, asking about Freya's family and where Jourdan's favorite location was for photo shoots.

The alcohol had begun to take effect, and Morgen shifted closer to both women (in the way alcohol can bring people to huddle in conspiracy). He conveyed the wild world of architecture, the jokes about the NYC Planning Department, and how he once had to pretend to be an irrigation worker to pass a Saudi checkpoint in order to catch his plane home. He laughed and for an hour forgot the pain and heavy heart that had defined him for so long. Alcohol also piqued his libido, and when a fine redhead entered the tavern and winked at him, sitting a few feet away, Morgen felt on top of the world.

"I might need to work my Morgen Magic on that fair lass there," he muttered groggily to Freya, reminiscent of their days before Jourdan. "You two have someone one another tonight ... I still have work to do if I want to get lucky this evening." Morgen sighed, feeling a distinct lack of luck that hampered his desire to make a drunk fool of himself by hitting on the stunning redhead. His attention returned to his companions. "So, where are you both in your journey of marriage?" he asked. "You know ... isn't there a checklist of things like a dog, a house, a Subaru and matching canoe, kids ..."

 

[LeaT]

"Well thank you." Jourdan turned a touch more serious as Morgen wished them the best for their wedding even if it was quite belated to hear in person. She knew it wasn't easy for him, but respected the fact that he was able to get past, or at least hide, any bitterness he might feel. Of course the alcohol might be helping with that, Jourdan really didn't enjoy drinking to excess but had learned over the years to discreetly minimize her alcohol intake without making it obvious. A friendly waitress helped but was not essential. Tonight she especially wanted to keep her wits about her even if Morgen and Freya decided to tie one on. Each of them tended to hold their alcohol better than her and it would certainly lubricate any rough spots between them, assuming they didn't burst into flames.

Morgen had never been a mean drunk, in fact it brought out some of his more endearing qualities as he could be a bit intellectual and brooding sober, at least in her opinion. She leaned in with him, enjoying a taste of the camaraderie she would witness between her wife and former lover when she had been the one serving the drinks. It was easy to imagine them both checking out her ass when she turned away, she certainly made sure to give her best performance. Of course she was working for tips at the time.

She giggled when he mentioned the 'Morgen Magic' as she had never heard him use that term before. She turned to her wife and asked "is that what he used on me?" Immediately regretting it even as the words left her mouth. She hoped she was not the reason for his mood shift but knew it was quite likely. "Luck is like lightning, you never know when it will strike." She leaned back away from the huddle, not to be cold but so that she could rub her knee against his at the same time she placed her hand upon Freya's thigh. She knew her wife well enough to know the limits of how far she could take things with Morgen, much further than her slightly inebriated former lover likely imagined. They might be married but they were hardly slaves to traditions like strict monogamy. So the idea of Morgen 'getting lucky' tonight was certainly within that realm, getting impregnated by him was another matter entirely. Her squeeze on Freya's thigh was a signal that she was very much thinking of bringing her old friend back to the loft with them. If she had an objection, now would be the time to bring it up.

Jourdan looked at Freya when Morgen asked about their marriage 'plan' then back to Morgen. "Do we really seem so predictable to you?" She teased back at him for trying to place them as a typical couple, but he had hit very close to home with his question. It snapped Jourdan back to the seriousness of her own plan. "You should see our loft, I'd be interested in your professional opinion of it." It was something of a half truth, she was really more interested in a subtle way of inviting him back to their place without telling her what was on her mind.

 

[MsBloom]

The moment of tension that was a direct result of her talking about their honeymoon was not lost on Freya and in a way it was perhaps only natural that even after all this time Morgen still felt a sting of the betrayal they had both subjected him to. Though if she was honest his reaction back then, as understandable as it had been in the very moment it happened, had been exaggerated the way he ha refused to even hear Jourdan out about how what Freya could give her was entirely different from what he could give her and that there really was no reason for him to be jealous. It was sausages vs clams, as she had told Freya after it was clear that Morgen had left Boston. Freya herself had reasoned that she and Morgen had shared so many lovers over the years they had known each other. It had been their thing sort of and something they were known for around campus. What was one more, even if Morgen and Jourdan had been engaged to be married. Of course she understood the difference from a strictly normative perspective. She had after all been raised catholic after her mother remarried. She was well aware of the so-called sanctity of marriage but why did marriage have to be only between two people. She was as naturally poly-amorous as she was lesbian and between her and Jourdan there had always been an openness about it, not that either of them had acted on it, at least not yet, but there was no jealousy between them because of lingering looks. In fact such looks were often shared between them and sometimes talked about.

As the alcohol began to flow more liberally though the tension seemed to dissipate. Morgen entertained them with tales of his work and the world behind the scenes of international architecture and Freya regaled Morgen with stories from the world of art and some of the commissions she had been offered over the years since her break through. One couple had even offered her six figures for painting a scene from an amateur porn video the two had made. Any still from the 25 minutes long video would be acceptable but of course they had a few favourite places. It had been too good an offer, financially speaking, to refuse but when the work was finished it was obvious that Freya had spent a lot more time on the woman than on the man.

With spirits now a lot higher, almost reminiscent of the old days, Freya nodded at Morgen when he stated that he might have to work his magic on the stunning redhead that had just entered. She was quite a looker and from the way she had winked at him, or at least in his direction, signalled that she was probably not entirely adverse to him working his Morgen Magic on her at some point later in the evening.
"It certainly was," Freya said in response to her wife's question and remembered the evening when Jourdan had stopped being just eye candy for them both, when she stopped being their favourite waitress and became Morgen's lover/girlfriend/fiance in quick succession.
"Just watch and you might perhaps recognise the moves," she added with a smile and a chuckle.

Morgen's question regarding a marital checklist also brought a smile to Freya's lips and she nodded at Jourdan's suggestion. It would indeed be interesting to hear what a professional architect thought of their renovated loft, much of which the two of them had designed together over the first year and a half of their marriage using the majority of their combined income on it. She was entirely unaware of any ulteriour motives her wife might have for inviting Morgen to their home. Instead she began counting down a check list raising one finger for each item, and a slight slur in her voice as they were now on their fourth round of double shots of Lambfell Moar.
"No dog but two cats, both called Sam. No Subaru but a restored 1947 Indian Chief and an Aston Martin DB5 convertible. No kids, yet."
She glanced at her wife and smiled as the topic of kids had popped up between them more often lately and at the same time she realised that neither modes of transportation she had mentioned them having were designed for families and that once they did solve the issues of having children without offending Freya's family, mostly her step-father, too much they would have to get themselves a family vehicle, an SUV of some sort and perhaps also consider buying a house in the suburbs. A one bedroom loft with an elevator that only went to the floor below was of course far from ideal for a family.

 

[Rex.]

An integral component of the 'Morgen Magic' consisted of half-jests that veered a little close for comfort. He liked to keep people 'on their toes' with edgy assertions, though others (sometimes) found his daring, almost intrepid lines of inquiry borderline nosy. It was his way of entering and navigating into the territory of the social frontier of the people around him. Morgen knew both Jourdan and Freya, but it had been years ... and they had experienced a world of novelty without him affecting their decision one iota. They had to have changed to some degree, and Morgen found himself curious as to how and in what way. Marriage and the vicissitudes of being legally bonded must have created situations that he could only fathom; they had to have overcome them and been better for it as they both seemed (by the look of it) keenly happy and emotionally-cogruent after several years of matrimony.

At this point of his reflection, Morgen would be quelling a wave of bitterness, but the shots of Lambfell Moar had eradicated his ire into a placid sea of tolerant bliss. "No, not predictable at all," he answered Jourdan's question with a smile. "Life can be ironic and funny sometimes." Morgen wanted to say 'darkly' ironic, but that would have cast their chipper reunion in a dour shadow of the past. Morgen had been the one that wanted marriage, kids, an established life with all the trappings of normative accomplishment; Freya had been an edgy artist with contempt for the establishment and Jourdan was still finding her way in this world. A tabulated checklist would have indicted them as seemingly conventional, not on the specifics but the general trend of consumerist accumulation; it would have been unfair to suggest that they both had stolen his vision of what defined happiness, however, their embracing of marital status made him wonder how conventional they truly had become -- the idea of Freya, at least, being monogomous could scarcely be imagined.

Morgen sat in his stool and they sat in theirs together ... what did it matter? his alcohol-addled mind asked. His eyes veered when the girl's answered his question over toward the ginger princess at the neighboring table that was fast becoming his private obsession. Jourdan mentioned lightning striking twice ... then felt her knee stroke against his own. Morgen gave them -- especially HER -- his full focus as Freya rattled off a list components that made up their little life together. The smallest fire sputtered into existence deep within his core; the furnace of his lust had been stoked to life as Jourdan seemed to be making secret contact. Could have been a mistake, or it could have been Morgen's virile masculinity reading intention where none existed. If it was deliberate, it had better be followed through -- to refuse him would have been a doubly-cruel gesture to crown his misfortune.

"No kids, yet," Freya had said.

Yet? What did that mean? Ruminating for a moment -- the sudden and intense scrutiny on his companions causing the redhead a bout of dismay as the architectural professor (surrounded by his partis) ignored her -- Morgen could only conclude that the couple intended to adopt. However much he supported LBGT rights, that did not change biology and sperm was a necessary component. In vitro. then? How PRECISELY did they intend to become parents? Adoption must have been the answer, though the process took years of background checks. Naturally, Morgen could have just asked them there in the pub, but he felt self-conscious about inquiring about a topic so personal wrought with potential unsuccessful. Besides, why would they include or indulge him in a conversation of that nature? He'd been gone for several years ...

A spark of inquiry sprouted in this mind, evincing an awareness that the three would shift into a different demeanor after their impromptu soiree -- one that asked the question 'what now?' Oh, the medicinal power of Lambfell Moar. What would he be to them? Would they all depart from the basement drinking hole and shrug off the awkward specters of the past but lead their live apart as before? It seemed that Jourdan had other ideas as she invited Morgen to their place, her knee still stroking his under the table.

Morgen decided to follow his intuition and see where this led.

"I'd love to see your loft sometime," Morgen said. He began to collect his tiny drawings into a stack as best an inebriated man would -- though drunk he remained a staunchly Type-A architect. "If it's not too late ... I'd be happy to see it this evening," he suggested. "Unless, of course, you prefer me to stop by another time?" When he asked, he met both of their gazes directly though lingered on Jourdan's chocolate eyes. SHE was the one he wanted to connect with, as a growing need within him inspired a minor display of audacity. Would the 'Morgen Magic' still work after all these years?

 

[LeaT]

She had been mortified when she made her quip about the 'Morgen Magic' and then felt as if Freya had stuck the fork in him when she said she might recognize his moves. But he took it in stride well enough though it might just be the alcohol being a buffer for them. She perked up though when he offered to see their loft anytime, including tonight. Jourdan was getting ahead of herself and she was certainly getting ahead of Freya. While a threesome was always a theoretically acceptable thing in their marriage, it had at least up to now, been only that, theoretical. Sure they took turns roleplaying various scenes for each other or she might remind her wife of a lingering stare at a certain pretty face or tight behind as she stripped for her. But Morgen was here in the flesh and potentially on his way to their loft and she had been egging him on with her knee against his as they talked. She could easily see where this could lead, and while she was eager for it. But what about Freya? She was more than willing to trust to her marital intuition regarding her wife's taste in buying outfits, even sex toys, or other surprises. But this was taking things to another level, she didn't want to misread a signal.

"I'd like to powder my nose before we leave." She said, knowing it was about the most silly way for a girl to say she wanted to use the bathroom. But she enjoyed certain nonsensical traditions, sometimes to the annoyance of her European raised wife. The same might be said for the tradition of girls going in groups to the ladies room, but Jourdan gripped Freya's hand in a unmistakable signal that she was expected to go with her. Jourdan rarely felt the need for an escort, nor did she even need the bathroom at this moment. She did however know that she was on the verge of a monumental decision that while possibly unfair to Morgen, was quite possibly out of the realm of acceptability to her wife. She paused for a moment just before they left Morgen alone at the table. "Unless you get a better offer." She winked at Morgen and nodded towards the girl he had been eyeing as if challenging him.

Her lack of need for the toilet was made obvious when she slipped into the same stall with her wife and kissed her passionately. She wanted their to be no doubt about her passion towards Freya despite what she was about to suggest. "I think this is fate baby." She said breathlessly between kisses, hoping Freya would reciprocate or even take the lead in this bit of passion. "It will satis..." More kisses and roaming hands. "...fy your dad." Legs shifting to feel the exquisite pressure of crotch rubbing thigh. "The kids will be..." Blouse being untucked from skirt." "...beautiful and smart."

It was clear that Jourdan wanted Morgen as their sperm donor and the Byrne family faith spelled out the mechanics of the act. Jourdan had a way of being impulsive, to her this was a no brainer. Jourdan was rarely analytical about such things, but she knew the emotional facets were nearly overwhelming. Would it be better if the whole thing just seemed like a drunken accident? She let the passion build, hoping it would overflow back to their loft. It wasn't like this was the first time they started a night of sex in this particular ladies room, but they certainly didn't end here.

 

[MsBloom]

Freya was a bit surprised when her wife suggested that they might invite Morgen back to their loft that same evening and gave her a sideways glance, raising her eyebrows. What was even more surprising though was Jourdan announcing her need to use the bathroom and that she wanted Freya to accompany her. This was highly irregular and while Freya nodded she began to realise that seeing Morgen again after all these years had awakened something in her wife, some deeply rooted lust for him. It would of course not be a big deal as such considering their openness when it came to the possibility of having partners outside their marriage. In a sense she had half expected her wife to be the first to take that step outside of theory and fantasy and that it would be with a man rather than with a woman. After all no toy, no matter how elaborate, could ever really replace an actual cock. Freya had heard enough of her bisexual friends claim this, even Jourdan had hinted at it on several occasions.

She took a large mouthful of beer and asked Morgen to order them another round of Lambfell Moar before excusing herself to follow Jourdan to the bathrooms at the back of the tavern. Since they almost never went to the bathroom together unless to have a quick conference Freya was about to ask Jourdan what was up, even if she had a good idea what, when her wife nudged her into the stall furthest from the door and began to kiss her. This was of course another reason they on occasion went to the bathroom together, a quickie that would at least take the edge of the arousal until they got back home, but it was clear that this was not the reason Jourdan had brought her to the bathroom when, between passionate kisses and Freya pressing her body up against her wife's, her thigh between her legs, she began talking about fate.

Freya didn't let her wife come up for breath to say what she was suggesting except in a breathless whisper. As Jourdan adjusted her legs, spread them more open to give Freya's thigh better access to her crotch but also give Freya access to rub her own crotch on her wife's thigh, she nodded. It was as she had expected and still a lot more than she had thought. It was an idea that had honestly not even crossed her mind but of course it would make perfect sense. She slid her hands up Jourdan's untucked blouse, found her soft round breasts and gave them both a playful squeeze. She was more than a little turned on by her wife in that moment.

At that point they were interrupted by the door to the bathrooms opening and closing. Freya straightened her shirt and ran a hand through her hair before giving Jourdan a nod to signal that she was not against the idea as such and existed the stall. Outside, touching up her make up, was the redhead Morgen had been checking out. Freya washed her hands and gave the redhead a smile. Perhaps a foursome, now that it seemed their theoretically open marriage was about to be put into practise. Moments later Jourdan would exit the stall, perhaps drawing a bit of attention to herself from the redhead who might suspect in part what had been going on in there before her arrival.

 

[Rex.]

Morgen blinked with intoxication and found himself a touch dumbfounded at the sudden departure of both ladies. Most of life happened in either slow-motion and delayed recognition -- but that's what repeated shots of Lambfell Moar did on top of several pints of ale. One moment, he went from frisky and gregarious to staring at the opposite side of the table devoid of company. His glance followed the chocolate goddess and redhead who briskly made their way to the restrooms, and Morgen took a routine from their play-book and enjoyed the sight of their bodies sauntering around the corner.

I need to sober up, he thought ... especially if there was going to be any action that evening. With a horny, liquor-addled mind, Morgen wasn't entirely sure what that meant. He and Jourdan had fucked in the past (obviously) but Freya had always been a red flag; they could have fucked -- he even thought that Freya would have been a great lay -- but they had this edgy, erotic yet hands-off friendship when they met Jourdan years ago. Oh, and she was a gold star dyke. But now with them married ... would Freya just watch or would she be participating with Morgen keeping his hands to himself. Or better still if Freya went for a long walk while I showed Jourdan what she's been missing all these years.

Amused by the notion of competition, Morgen ultimately knew that -- even if he won the battle that night -- he'd would exit their loft having lost the war for the woman he'd loved. Morgen called over the waitress and ordered the three shots of Lambfell Moar ... and a glass of water. Christ, I'm getting old, he thought sullenly as his hand rubbed his face.

"Whatcha drawin', love?"

Morgen sat upright in his stool at the sound of a sweet voice carried on an Irish lilt, and he gazed into the eyes of the redhead from the next table -- somehow more stunning when seen up close. He perked a small smile, a nervous gesture but quickly recovered. "You ... mean these?" he asked, sifting through his many parti sketches on square, white napkins.

The redhead tilted her head and looked at them with a focused intelligence that caught Morgen off-guard. "You an ARtist?" she asked with a smile, her Irish accent quite prevalent. The women spoke with a quiet confidence of a kind woman in a girl's body, like she belonged exactly where she stood with no qualms or reservations. Her dark blue eyes held a sparkle of energy that felt mystical, as if she harbored a curious spirit that feared little but held keen interest in him. Being the target of such a presence -- as she had made the first move -- set Morgen off-balance in his half-drunken state; but he recovered as best able, smiling and turning to regard her openly.

"In a way ..." he answered, hearing Freya's existential rebuttal in the back of his mind. "An architect ... architecture professor now. I just started teaching at the Design School so I'm a recent arrival."

"I see ~" she said wearing the faintest smirk. "Looks like yer friends left ye all alone?" She glanced over her shoulder to the bathrooms. "Thought maybe ye could use some company?"

A wide smile grew on Morgen's masculine, handsome face. "I'd like that very much," he said. "I'm Morgen," he offered.

"Saoirse," she told him, returning a wide smile that radiated unintentional seduction. Her eyes took on an active, engaging quality as if she'd found someone worth pursuing. She was just about to speak when the waitress returned with a platter holding three shots of clear-yellow fluid and a glass of water. "Cuttin' off so early in the evening?" Saoirse joked -- it was nearly ten p.m. which usually signaled the beginning of Irish times.

"Well, I'm supposed to be headed to their place. They wanted my 'professional' opinion of their loft ..." Morgen left the end of his statement linger, implying that something else might be in the works.

"Really?" she ask, her voice intrigued. Her eyes glanced down at his ring finger, taking note before taking one of his parti drawings and flipping it upside down. She gradually helped herself to one of Morgen's custom-designed pens and took her time writing.

Saoirse ♡
(617) 988-3218
​

"If your friends come out here before I return, I want you to call me sometime," he told him. Saoirse leaned down and placed a lingering kiss upon Morgen's cheek, took one of the shots and downed it before turning with a impish smile to her table. She chatted with her friends for a moment before grabbing a leather clutch and striding with purpose to the women's bathroom. Morgen found himself dazed in the wake of watching another women retreat to the bathroom. His cheek tingled from the press of her lips, and he only then realized he had been holding his breath. Morgen looked at his ice water -- he wondered what had happened to amplify his 'Morgen Magic' to the point where the hottest woman in the bar just hit on HIM.

.............................................................................................................................
​

When Saoirse entered the bathroom, no one could be seen in the common area. The Irish woman arrived after they'd shared their heated, erotic whispers but not before they began teasing one another with thigh-on-clit contact. The sound of kissing and groping -- along with clothes being straightened -- made it clear to Saoirse what was going on; the only question that remained was why.

The redhead sighed, faced the mirror and placed her clutch on the counter and took out lipstick. She fluffed her hair, almost in unison with Freya as the artist exited the stall where Jourdan worked to compose her appearance. When Freya washed her hands, Saoirse returned the smile the other redhead offered. Saoirse's eyes, indeed, swept toward the ebony beauty as she exited the stall. It didn't take a rocket scientist to conclude that the two had been sharing a stall for romantic reasons; that's when the Irish gals keen eyes flicked to their ring fingers.

Huh, interesting, she thought. Both wore wedding rings; that meant that both were married to other people and were out on the town cheating with Morgen as a companion ... or they were married to one another and Morgan was a third-wheel. Saoirse remained composed as she applied her lipstick, speaking quietly to both women.

"Ye both look GARgeous tonight," she complimented, accent thick. "Friends of Morgen's, right? Yer both lucky to have him in yer orbit, ya know -- he's a fine man. Just met him, and even I can tell that much." Still looking at herself in the mirror, Saoirse pursed her lips together to spread her lip application before glancing toward the two woman. "I was a wonderin' if he's available or ... taken for the evenin'?" she asked in her sweet lilt, forward without apology.

 

[LeaT]

Jourdan continued putting herself back together as she looked out the open stall to see two beautiful redheads from behind. She obviously had a certain affinity for gingers and the momentary setting, the simultaneous hair fluffing, made it automatic to compare and contrast the two beauties. She smiled at the compliment in the thick Irish brogue, curious as to its authenticity. It was hardly out of place in Boston of course, though not all were genuine. "Thank you. I see you have drawn your share of attention as well." She replied as she stood behind her wife, looking at her own reflection from over Freya's shoulder.

It was all fairly cursory until she mentioned Morgen by name, which warranted a second look, both via the mirror and a direct glance in her direction. "Yes, old and dear friends." She said in a tone that suggested a sense of intimacy between them. "One of the finest in town, isn't that right honey?" She said as she wrapped her far hand around Freya's waist from behind and pressed themselves together.

She held the newcomers eyes with hers once she glanced at them to ask her question. Her dark eyes were piercing and while not openly hostile, certainly communicated a cautious seriousness as she assessed the other woman. She then openly lowered her gaze to assess more than the woman's intentions but her ability to follow through. Jourdan maintained her mild display of affection towards her wife even as she boldly checked out the Irish lass. She smiled at the irony of Morgen having kept a purely platonic relationship with Freya but would seem so interested in this one. Not that they were that similar, besides the red hair of course, but it made her wonder if Morgen didn't have his regrets about Freya, on multiple levels. Of course she and Morgen both knew Freya quite well and it would have taken much more than Morgen magic for any man to have bedded her beautiful wife.

She may have been curious about Morgen's taste in redheads, but she knew Freya's tastes well enough. She gave the inquiring stranger a smile, as if she had made her decision regarding a response. "Oh honey, he ain't in our orbit, we are in his." She said, acting every bit the fawning groupie to the 'fine man' the girl seemed so obviously smitten with. She let her arm slip from Freya's waist then moved closer to the new girl as if wanting to speak confidentially. "He is simply, insatiable, you know what I mean?"

She then turned to Freya as if for confirmation. Addressing her wife, she continued her game. "What do you think, it isn't like we couldn't use the help with him, but do you think she's up to it?" Only the hint of a smile was on her face as she swatted new girl on the ass playfully. She wanted to see if her confidence was more than skin deep. "Unless you get nervous around other women that is?" That would of course be the main question in adding a fourth to their little game, Morgen was hardly the only insatiable one in the group.

 

[MsBloom]

The image of her wife's milk-chocolate face next to her own pale face, separated only by the mixed curtain of red and black hair was one that Freya had always appreciated, whether it was her sneaking up behind her wife in the mornings as she was getting ready for her day, after a shower or an afternoon of passionate sex on the living room floor, or if it was the other way around. It was an image that to her symbolised their union through the difference in their appearance. Even now with another face less pale and but clearly freckled enclosed in beautiful red hair, a few feet to the left of Jourdan's, that was what Freya saw but she also saw a trio, a mess of different colour hair and naked skin entangled with each other. When brought back from her vision by her wife posing a seemingly rhetorical question at her she nodded and as the question referred to Morgen she could actually imagine his face between filling out the gap with ease.
"Indeed one of the finest," she replied with a smirk that tried its best not to be ironic or sarcastic, knowing that was the reply Jourdan expected of her even if Freya had never really thought of Morgen in those terms.
Though, of course, her artist's eye could appreciate Morgen's aesthetically pleasing, open face with its boyish charms as well as the shape of his body, a body she had seen shirtless on more than one occasion in the past, before the break. She was fairly certain from what she had seen earlier that evening, even if she had not seen him standing up for very long, that he still had a good body on him.

She put a hand on top of Jourdan's hand and straightened herself up a little, pushing her back against Jourdan's breasts. She leaned her head back against her shoulder and nuzzled her nose behind her wife's ears, drawing in the scent of her skin, flicking her tongue at the ear lobe. It was clear to any one that neither of the two were exactly sober but it was perhaps also clear to an outside observer that Freya was clearly more inebriated than Jourdan was. It was also quite obvious that despite whatever intimacy had happened in the stall neither of the two were even close to being fully satisfied.

Of course Freya was not too drunk to notice the assessing looks her wife gave the redhead next to them.
"She's real cute isn't she," she whispered in Jourdan's ear and kissed her neck before straightening her head up to look directly at the woman again as Jourdan slipped her arm away and approached the redhead with an assertiveness in body language that she was sure must come from her work as a top runway model, from being a woman whose greatest professional asset was her beauty.
"Insatiable barely begins to describe him," she said to confirm the statement and even though she herself had no experience with Morgen's stamina she knew his libido was high and from some of the stories Jourdan had shared with her back when she and Morgen were still engaged she knew enough about the latter to not doubt the veracity of Jourdan's statement. She also knew from stories Morgen had shared that he was more than able to satisfy two women sexually in one night, adding to that a third woman, herself, to the mix she was 100% sure that they would, all four of them, be quite satisfied before the night was over. Assuming of course that this redhead was indeed up for such an adventure.

When asked if she thought the woman was up for it she first returned the playful slap on her wife's ass before wrapping her arm around her waist from the side and leaning her head towards Jourdan's shoulder while giving the redhead's body an appreciative gaze. Her clothes were perhaps not exactly revealing but showed enough for Freya to almost lick her lips.
"From the way she is looking at you Darling," she said and lifted her eyes up to look into the redhead's pale blue eyes with a big smile on her face.
"I'd say she is up for quite a bit if it means she can get a piece of Morgen Magic."
She giggled and soon the redhead did as well.

"That's settled then," Freya concluded and taking Jourdan's right hand in her left reached for the redhead's left hand with her right.
"Oh. Maybe we should introduce ourselves first. I'm Freya and this is my beautiful wife Jourdan."
"Saoirse," the redhead said with a smile and took Freya's offered hand.

It was like this, hand in hand with Freya in the middle, they next appeared before Morgen.

 

[Rex.]

Morgen didn't want to admit that he watched the corridor opening that led to the bathrooms, but he was doing exactly that with a nervous anticipation that both enticed and frightened him. Anything could happen; numerous outcomes could appear the moment one (or more) of the ladies rounded the corner. His cheeks puffed out as he blew out a breath meant to calm himself, and became startled by the waitress who quietly arrived to collect the bill that Morgen paid for out of pocket. He gave her a shifty smile, one bereft of the 'Morgen Magic' that seemed to ooze from his being just minutes earlier. He merely nodded with a bob of his head that betrayed the need for more water, and he took a sip as his gaze returned to the corridor opening.

By all accounts, Morgen should have been the happiest man in Harvard Square. The chances of him walking up the stairs with either his old friends or the scrumptous redhead were particularly high -- astronomically so, in fact. But, the pains from the past lurked deep in his psyche, like a wound that refused to head. Though irrational and unlikely, Morgen struggle to ignore the insecurity that he had every reason to suspect the three women would exit the bathroom together, walk past him without acknowledging him together, exit and return to one of their residence to finish the evening ... together.

Because nothing ever changes, a heinous voice deep within schooled in a Luciferian tone.

The sight of all three women at one caused Morgen's heart to seize in his chest, though it revived when he noticed them approaching and coming to a halt in the form of a wide arc. His face must have been humorous to the trio, as he started star-struck at their union -- all holding hands and (somehow) quite comfortable with one another. What the hell happened in that bathroom? he asked himself. Unsurprised by the connection between Freya and Jourdan's hands, the sight of Saoirse holding Freya's other hand baffled the man as he stood up. They were all, without a doubt, the most gorgeous women in the place; all three of them regarded Morgen with unique yet telling smiles -- eyes meeting his gaze. His own smile grew to one side, a roguish grin that began to accept the reality that their numbers would be four that evening.

From their tacit acceptance of Saoirse, Morgen deduced that is old friends did not require another shot of Lambfell Moar to "loosen up" for the evening; and yet, their drinks sat upon the table waiting for their owners to claim them. Morgen looked toward Freya and Jourdan. "You interested in finishing up here before we head out to have a peek at your loft?" Morgen asked.

Saoirse leaned into Morgen's personal space, her painted lips whispering in his ear. "I hope ye can handle yer women better than yer liquor, Mister Morgen," she teased lightly, injecting a Gallic enunciation that sounded more like 'MARgen'. "Cause, unless me maths is off, you've got a handful waiting for you at the end of the walk home."

Morgen's hand automatically raised to hold the side of the Irish girl's waist as he smiled and let the jest pass on by, knowing that he was more than ready to have both women -- three, if Freya wanted some of his action. His eyes felt the blue gravity of Saoirse's beam, yet he found himself turning to watch Jourdan. She seemed amenable to this development, and the quiet, unspoken truth was that however much he wanted to bang the Irish ginger ... a larger part of him wanted to know the sweet embrace of Jourdan's chocolate body and insatiable soul intimately close to his own.

Hefting the minor drawings he's crafted in his sketchbook, Morgen held Saoirse's hand -- not entirely certain how they all would navigate the stair as a four-person chain but willing to try. "Ready when you all are," he said.

 

[LeaT]

Jourdan gave Saoirse a nod, content to let Freya make the introduction on her behalf. Having set things in motion that might have monumentous consequences for their life together, Jourdan was ready to take Freya's hand and let her dominant wife drive things from there. It was often the way with things between them, Jourdan would express a wish and Freya would make it happen. In return, Jourdan gave herself to Freya eagerly and without reservation. It was a more balanced relationship than it might seem given the fact that Jourdan practically worshiped Freya as a Nordic goddess come to earth and deferred many things to her dominant lover.

The dark beauty frowned slightly as Morgen took Saoirse's hand instead of hers, but the stairs made for a natural barrier to break them up and Jourdan used the opportunity to pair off with the new girl. It was as much to keep her from getting too attached to Morgen, at least until she had what she needed from him, as to give the two dominants in her life a chance to come to terms together while they all still had their clothes on. It had been Morgen after all that had introduced her to her submissive side, it would be impossible to ever forget the control he had once had upon her. She had to admit she was curious as to how one might serve two Masters or a Master and a Mistress to be more exact. Supposedly it couldn't be done, but she was surprised to find how badly she wanted to try.

Jourdan felt no real insecurity with the introduction of the new girl into the dynamic. It did complicate things a little but it was likely more difficult for the Irish ginger than for her. As they got to the open sidewalk. Jourdan moved about each of them, flirting and teasing in turn. Would the two dominants struggle for control or find a way to share it. And what of the new girl, was she aware of her own views on such things, did she have any? Would Jourdan find herself among three dominants all vying for control or would she have a sister submissive in the new girl? So many questions but only one way to find out.

It was a short walk to the loft and it was very much Freya's artistic genius that made it so lovely, so she let her wife give the initial tour and the opportunity to impress their architect friend and potential baby daddy, and maybe more. "May I get you a drink?" She merely offered, ready to slip into the background and to see where things would lead for the night.

 

[MsBloom]

Whether it was convenience or a conscious decision for Morgen to take Saoirse's hand rather than Jourdan's, perhaps to send Freya a signal that he would not act on Jourdan unless given consent from both of them. It had after all not been lost on her what had been going on at the table, how the two had reconnected. Then as they reached the stairs and had to separate she paused to let Jourdan grab Saoirse by the hand and hurry up the stairs.
"Not a bad sight at all is it?" she said to Morgen as she watched her wife and the other woman's swaying hips and asses move up the stairs to the street.

Back at the loft Jourdan slipped seamlessly into the role as the perfect hostess offering Saoirse a drink, which she accepted, while Freya took Morgen on a tour. It was far from the first time he had been at the loft but much had changed since last he had seen it. When Freya first had moved in it had been mostly a painting studio, very spartanly decorated, a large wooden bed upstairs above the kitchen and little more than an old but extremely comfortable couch and a rickety coffee table downstairs. The floor had been stained with paint in places and in general need of freshening up. The same could be said for the walls but at the time she had lived there alone, with no one else needing to care. Then after Jourdan had moved in she had begun to use some of the money she had inherited from her father to turn the loft into a rather luxurious apartment. The floors had been replaced, the walls cleaned. The kitchen was entirely new and the old couch had been moved into the room at the back she now used as her studio. It was perhaps uncharacteristic for her to keep a piece of furniture for simple and sentimental reasons but that couch was where she and Jourdan had first made love. That made it special to her, to them both perhaps. It had been replaced with a dark brown sofa set with two armchairs and four small metal tables placed inbetween them. There was also a large tv mounted on the wall opposite the couch.

The once bare walls now had a variety of large canvases, none of which was by Freya's hand except the first one she had painted of Jourdan which hung directly opposite the door leading to the elevator that took them all up. It had been the final, and by far the most expensive, part of the renovation, direct access from the apartment to the elevator.

Having been poured a glass of Californian Cabernet Sauvignon, Saoirse joined the tour, marvelling at the sheer luxury of the apartment until she found herself staring at the painting she had noticed but not been given time to study as they entered. Freya too stopped as Saoirse did and glanced over at Morgen. She had not even considered the impact the work might have on him, as a reminder of what had happened, of how he had lost Jourdan.

 

[Rex.]

Even if Morgen had known of Jourdan's scheme -- newly hatched and promptly-conceived -- he would not have conducted or comported himself any differently in the choice he made in whose hand he took when leaving John Harvard's Brewpub. Jourdan was not his to take or claim -- and the hint of potential kinkiness might very well have been ruined to ash by the flames of jealousy if Jourdan was seen taking Morgen's hand with an abundance of eagerness. Besides, Morgen had not entirely resolved the idea of a tryst in his ethical mind.

Morgen thought that he was in store for something sexual after the 'tour' of their apartment; otherwise, it would have been an episode of abject cruelty to flaunt the life they found at his expense. Still, the signals that Jourdan gave him suggested much more could transpire -- but that's where Saoirse came into play. Morgen remained unaware and ignorant of the details of what transpired in the secret hollow -- the nefarious den -- of the ladies bathroom. What had they discussed? Had something been understood, mutually, and/or agreed upon? Morgen resolved to inquire further with Saoirse afterwards ... whatever and whenever that happened. He would have asked in transit, but Jourdan appeared to be playing social hostess during the walk. Freya spoke with Morgen about the tribulations of architectual restoration in Cambridge while Jourdan conversed with Saoirse, and then his former lover found time alone with him as they rounded the corner of Ellery Street toward their loft near Central Square.

Morgen took Jourdan's hand briefly for the time that they walked -- a modest connection of what once was and an affirmation that more would indeed be in store. The feel of her hand brought back feelings he'd long ago forced himself to abandon for the sake of his emotional sanity -- funny how such self-imposed edicts of preservation melt away as if turning his heart away from Jourdan had -- itself -- been a dereliction. He kept these feelings and thoughts locked within his chest; and when they arrived at the loft, Saoirse's hand was once again in his.

Being subject to such tours came as inevitability when someone learns that your profession is architecture. Morgen considered it routine to be shown spaces and buildings, ostensibly for his keen interest though Morgen had grown wise enough to determine the true motivation such such apparent charity. People, more often than not, wished to have their poor choices validated and their egos stroked -- very seldom did the proud owner wish for a true assessment wrought with critical rigor. Morgen's colleagues in the landscape department suffered the same indignity -- oftentimes fathers wanting their children's 'expert advice' while showing them pedestrian and mundane banality purchased on sale from Home Depot.

Thus, it was with great surprise and more than a modicum of delight that Jourdan and Freya's loft actually held extraordinary aesthetic appeal. For a non-professional to bridge the divide between style and function with exquisite grace came as unusual, though it really wasn't that much of a surprise given Freya's background as an artist. The combination of materiality and the rhythm of apertures for natural light gave the space a quality most architects spent years pursuing -- balancing solidity and weight with transparency.

In spite of the esteem he granted Freya and Jourdan's abode -- a product of joint effort and vision -- Morgen kept his comments to himself, often nodding when Freya explained an aspect of the deign and occasionally muttering words such as 'remarkable' or 'very interesting' with a look of genuine engagement. The sight of Jourdan half naked, on the other hand, proved far more difficult to swallow in dignified silence. The raw spectacle of Jourdan's partial nudity came to offend Morgen the least; it was the representational associations -- heinously subjective -- that gnawed at Morgen's gut and caused his chest to tighten in painful constriction. Wanting to paint fresh new women they found nude had been one of Freya's 'angles' for getting their clothes off and seducing them, and he wondered how close to the infidelity this particular portrait had been painted. Morgen felt himself transported back to that time of peak vulnerability and his eyebrows furrowed at the knowledge that Freya had been in a room with a naked Jourdan under his very nose.

"Hey you ..." came a soft, caring voice of Irish lilt. Morgen seemed to wake up, turning his face toward the ginger whose arm wrapped his bicep. "Everything alright up dere?" she asked in a whisper, tapping on his noggin.

It was hard for Morgen not to become enrapt in Saoirse's presence and persona just then; she's unwittingly brought Morgen back from a very dark edge of that part of his interiority that he's thought had been firmly barricaded. Apparently, his ties to the past were not as strong as he had hoped. Morgen's chest decompressed at the sight of Saoire's smile. "Yeah," he told her quietly, noticing Freya in proximity. Morgen motioned toward the painting of Jourdan with a cock of his head. "I recognize the brushwork," he offered before walking back toward the portrait's subject in the center of the space -- Saoirse at his side.

"I have to admit," Morgen announced with a voice of minor projection to ensure Freya also heard, "stunning in every way. You both should be commended. I might just need to bring my students by here sometime to sketch and study what you both have done." The flattery felt like a wind-up, because it was. "Although, the one room that escaped our tour was the bedroom," he noted. Morgen refilled his wine glass, freeing himself of the Irish lass's embrace as his eyes focused on Jourdan. Morgen's eyes held a look of hunger, and though the painting had been an unpleasant journey down memory lane, it also invigorated his libido -- reminding him why he'd agreed to stopping by under the sham excuse of looking at their living quarters.

"Unless it's off limits for the evening?" he asked, the question loaded.

.

 

[LeaT]

At some level, and another time, Jourdan might actually be interested in Morgen's opinion of their architectural choices. But her needs were much more primal at the moment. The niceties of pretending to care about anything besides some productive fucking was beginning to wear upon her nerves. When they were down to discussing the brushwork of her portrait she wanted to scream. The hungry look he gave her, perhaps fed by the nude portrait, soothed her bubbling temper but only intensified her desire.

But she had never been so desperate that she would beg for sex and she wasn't about to start today. So when Morgen brought up the bedroom she giggled. "Well being a world renowned architect, I thought you would have noticed it wasn't exactly a room." But her tone was playful as she eyed the Irish lass being freed of his embrace and decided to make her move. But it wasn't the lone male that she dove for. Instead she seized Saoirse's hand and took her in toe to the spiral staircase leading up to the open platform that served as their marital bedchamber.

She had invited the girl for a reason, the specifics of which were about to be unveiled. She paused halfway up and in full view of the other two, turned and fully embraced the girl. Her dark lips claimed the pale and her hands were all over. In the years since she dated Morgen she had learned to undress a woman with the same talents she had for undressing a man. She broke their kiss just long enough to remove the girl's top and toss it casually down to the two below. Only then did she continue the rest of the way up the stairs, the Irish ginger now only wearing her bra above the waist.

Jourdan was confident that there was little chance of Morgen and Freya pairing off together, though the idea did amuse her a bit and she wouldn't complain. She was also confident Freya knew her game well enough to make sure that if they didn't have a proper foursome, the Irish strumpet wouldn't be the one getting Morgen's seed this night.