Bovine beginnings finale[Mixed POV]

The sun had just dipped behind the city skyline, casting the Flynn’s home in shades of purple and gold. Aoife stood at the kitchen island, fingers wrapped around a cooling mug of ginger tea. Jason leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching her. Aoife had just finished recounting to him the interview and inspection for the splice. A cheeky grin was plastered on his face as Aoife flushed to match her hair.

“She’s forward huh,” he said, voice low and slightly amused. “The bovine splice pitch? Not exactly subtle. She wants to rival you I guess.”

Aoife lifted an eyebrow. “Neither was your laugh when she said 'udderly fantastic.' when you asked me how it went.”

“She caught me off guard,” he admitted with a grin.

They both knew Sammy had a way of shifting the air in the room from that singular meeting. Since her hiring three weeks had passed in a blur, the lab had grown more unpredictable, electric even. Aoife, with all her clinical detachment, had started lingering longer in post-shift debriefs with the assistant, much to Jason’s chagrin; not just for science. Not just for the coffee Sammy brewed laced with lavender syrup and unsolicited winks.

Jason exhaled, slower this time. “So… have you thought about it? Us. Her.” he was open to it but wanted her uninfluenced reaction to the idea. Internally he screamed and begged, and pled to have someone half as funny as himself in the relationship. Their comedian and straightwoman routine hadn’t dulled, but variety has always been the spice of life.

Aoife stared down into her mug. Taking a sip to buy time to gather the courage to hiss a scathing remark at her husband. “You mean bringing in a wildcard into our relationship? The one thing we have set the pace for in life?”

“That’s the thing, Aoife. Our relationship is strong. I have loved you for years, and have spent months in a home, our home, with you. I know you like the back of my hand. Isn’t that the only time to explore something like this?” Jason retorted, slicking back some of his tawny hair and meeting her eyes. Her left foot tapped, irritation growing. Easiest way to loop around to a gentler tone for the conversation would usually be a joke, but Jason wanted to press his luck here. He loves her with everything he has, and on the nights he’ll be at conventions or speaking she’ll have someone to warm the bed.

Aoife didn’t answer right away. She was a woman of evidence, not impulse. To her own annoyance however the evidence was clear: Sammy was competent, charming, undeniably attractive and more importantly, respectful of the boundary that hadn’t yet been drawn. She lingered but never hungered. Brushing past but never groping. Perfectly edging the line every single time. Leading Aoife to treat her husband, her sole sexual outlet, to daily sex and ministrations of desire. To put it simply, every time her needs would begin to taper, a new interaction with either of them would catalyze the hunger in her eyes and fire in her loins.

“Let her make the first real move.” Was Aoife’s final answer. She then dragged her husband to bed, and their usual bedtime rituals began. Gentle pets, loving words, and deep strokes.

Later that week, while running gene-splice simulations, Sammy brought in a tray of iced matcha for both spouses, an eyebrow raised in that ever-mischievous arch. “So... if I proposed a social experiment,” she said, sipping her own drink, “one involving chemistry. Romantic, not just genetic, would either of you be interested in publishing the results?”

Aoife blinked. Jason laughed. The question hovered. Jason nodded, Aoife bit her lip. “And that experiment is?” Jason pressed the subject, praying that it would pay off. That he could finally give that last note of certainty and let Aoife have something she clearly wanted but hesitated to take.

“Well,” she said, like a fuse catching fire her smile spread. "Hypothetically speaking... we’d monitor the behavioral outcomes of intimacy between an established bonded pair,” she gestured to them with the tray, “and a novel variable with known compatibility markers.” A wink and teasing squeeze to her chest. Watching both published professionals practically drool at her chest she giggled “Control group: traditional monogamy. Experimental group: carefully monitored triad engagement. Outcomes tracked in emotional stability, work performance, libido fluctuations…”

Jason leaned back on his stool, grinning wide. “You’ve been spending too much time around Aoife. That was way too clinical of a way to request a threesome.”

Sammy shrugged, her expression faux-innocent. “Just trying to speak your language, Doctor Flynn.” the assistant teased and wiggled her eyebrows

Aoife folded her arms, but not in disapproval. Her face upturned to hide some of the rapidly growing blush. The stance was measured, considering the thoughts evidently racing through her mind. “And what makes you think we’d consent to be the test subjects?”

“Because you’re curious,” Sammy said without hesitation, her gaze flicking between them. “Because you’re the type to ask questions and explore the answers. Also… because I’m not asking for chaos. I’m asking for consent, structure, and exploration.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. It was thoughtful. Jason tapped his pen against the edge of the lab table, flying through application approvals on the psychiatric end of things. Aoife's fingers moved to the curls around her neck. Twirling and untwirling them repeatedly

“You’d agree to boundaries?” Aoife asked finally, her voice clinically precise. The dry cadence had become a familiar warmth in the workplace for the gothic woman.

“Absolutely,” Sammy replied. “Informed consent, full transparency. Lab notes optional.”

Jason’s laugh broke the tension again. "I swear, if you start citing sources in bed, Aoife might just divorce me and marry you instead."

Aoife shot him a sideways glare, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. The tiniest crack in the wall she always held. "Only if it's after the splice, I want to see how these cosmetic changes work in the field."

“Don’t think I won’t draft an IRB for this,” she warned. “But I am ready for my new beginning. The bovine one!”