Abbie is the center of two womens' attention

Rachel wasn't sure how to even begin to understand what she was watching. Before tonight, she thought she knew what Claire and Abbie were to her -- a girlfriend and a roommate. Two long relationships, each with their own peculiarities and idiosyncrasies. She knew Claire could run hot and cold on any topic at any time, and she thought she knew how to see the signs and mitigate things. She also knew that Abbie was easy going and always available for a friend in need.

Tonight's need, tonight's hot and cold -- tonight was a different world.

She sat there, watching these two women, trying to make sense of everything. Maybe once, many years ago, she wondered if there had been a missed opportunity with her and Abbie. But it never went past a fleeting thought. And for the conversation about that to somehow evolve into this ...

Unable to resist the voyeurism of it all -- and perhaps with a lingering desire to be part of things -- Rachel moved to a new spot on the couch, on the other side of Abbie. She could see Claire more clearly from there -- and was within arm's reach of her roommate as well.

Claire's confidence had risen significantly. She groped and squeezed Abbie's breasts, exploring them like a new toy. Abbie couldn't help but smile, her both slowly grinding against the couch in unexpected arousal.

"Do you think that your sweater is ... in the way?" Claire asked softly, looking up at Abbie. The bunched material of the sweater was clustered, partly under Claire's hand, partly over the top of Abbie's body.

Abbie nodded gently. "Yes."

Without missing a beat, Claire pushed the sweater up and above Abbie's breasts, fully exposing not only Abbie's bare stomach, but her light blue lace bra, through which the outline of her nipples could be faintly seen. Claire ran both hands up Abbie's sides, her thumbs barely grazing the exposed ribs before cupping the soft weight of Abbie's bra-clad breasts. It was the contrast, maybe, that struck Rachel the most: how her girlfriend's hands, always in motion, could be both methodical and reckless, fastening and unfastening every subtle tension they found.

Rachel felt a wrenching ache in her chest, halfway between envy and pride. She'd known, on some level, that Claire could devour a room, and yet the evidence before her was both humbling and intoxicating. Rachel let her hand rest lightly on Abbie's thigh, steady as a compass but gentle as an apology. She wasn't even sure which of the girls it was meant for -- maybe both. Maybe just for herself, grounding her in this improbable orbit.

As Claire's hands mapped the edge of Abbie’s bra, her face drew closer, and she looked up at Rachel as if to say -- is this all right? It wasn't really a request for permission, Rachel realized, more a moment to confirm that Claire was still seen, still needed.

Rachel found herself nodding, an acknowledgment that what was happening ... was happening. It wasn’t permission, it was awareness. She allowed herself to be pulled into the orbit, her hand sliding higher along Abbie’s thigh until it found the bottom hem of her skirt. As Rachel’s fingers met with the rough denim material of the skirt, she suddenly recognized how fragile these uncrossed lines were becoming.

Claire lowered her mouth to the top of Abbie's breast, kissing her softly through the lace. It was a careful, almost reverent peck, but she didn't stop there. Her lips traveled to the space between, down the gentle slope, then, emboldened by Abbie's low, involuntary hum, up along the curve again. She nuzzled at the exposed skin above the bra, leaving little marks that vanished as soon as her breath moved past.

Rachel watched Claire work, brows knit in something like awe. She wondered if she should be angry, or at the very least competitive; instead, she let her hand drift under the hem, knuckles brushing the soft flesh just above Abbie's knee. The movement was slow, cautious, but when Abbie tensed, she didn't pull away. Instead, Abbie pressed closer to Rachel's hand, as if inviting exploration. The collective hush in the living room gave every sound a heightened weight: the wet part of Claire's mouth on Abbie's breast, the fluttering of Abbie's breath, the slick, secret friction of denim shifting against skin.

Claire's hands grew greedy, tracing the arc from Abbie's waist up to her ribcage and then back down as though she were learning anatomy by repetition. She pressed her face to the soft inside of Abbie's arm, inhaled, and then kissed her way back up to Abbie's throat, where she lingered, lips and tongue exploring the hollow just above Abbie's collarbone. Abbie arched her neck in gratitude, an offering, and Rachel could see the bloom of goosebumps on her skin.

With a flick of her eyes toward Rachel -- seeking, challenging, or inviting, it was hard to say -- Claire moved her mouth once more to Abbie's lips and kissed her again, deeper this time, letting one hand unashamedly knead at the lace-covered breast while the other crawled up and around the back of Abbie's head. For a moment, Rachel thought Claire might tip Abbie entirely into her own lap, but the movement stopped just shy, leaving Abbie adrift between them Rachel's hand poised on her thigh, Claire's tongue tracing the seam of her lips, both offering and demanding at once.