They exist in a state of chaotic equilibrium, hands pulling and grasping at one another. Soft, heady sighs fill the room, echoing far too loudly beneath the thrum of their own heartbeats in their ears. Moans float to the ceiling, high and low and everything in between. They might be embarrassed at the sounds that flit like a hazy fog through the room, overly conscious of the noise at two am in their flat.

But there is no one here but them, and there is no world outside of these four walls.

Right now, the world is only the three of them.

Together, they are equal parts tender and vicious, three parts of the same whole merging, pulling each other apart at the seams until they are almost bursting, only to reform into one again.

Separately, they are just as magnificent. They fit together in different ways, the sides of their personalities turning and meshing, aching for solution and resolution as is human nature.

Emily and Lena are like a fortified castle. The foundations are strong and steady, small details and winding hallways long thought out, carefully crafted with delicate hands. The halls have history, filled to the brim with painted portraits, every scuff of stone and shine of marble holding a memory of some long-forgotten joy or bittersweet nostalgia.

They can hardly remember a piece of their life without another, the excitement of shy first kisses long replaced by familiarity. They know each other vividly, in every sense of the word. They have heard the same stories, know how to delegate for the other and anticipate a need, even in moments of crisis and uncertainty. When Emily touches Lena, it is simply an extension of Lena herself.

Lena and Amélie, on the other hand, are a blazing wildfire. No matter how many times Amélie presses her lips to her own, they burn together in a smoldering seal of confession with a spark that ignites something deep within her. When Amélie sets her golden eyes on her, she can feel the heat boring through her skin, settling deep into her core that kindles her nerves. They catch aflame, too, her entire body sizzling, simmering slowly beneath the surface.

She attacks in kind, with quick silver-tongued words and an invitation to their long choreographed dance. They flit between another with a gracefulness that comes only from instinct, but with a viciousness that comes purely from passion. They consume each other entirely, watching with a quiet reverence as they blaze ever brighter, eyes lighting up in the reflection of one another.

Emily and Amélie are partners in crime, similar in means and motivation, complementary in their execution. They dance in perfect sync, their complicated steps needing no rehearsal. Where Amélie must take with sharp nails and gnashing teeth from Lena, Emily relents with a smile and a breathy "please, darling." In quick step, where Amélie needs someone else to take control with gentle hands and softness, Emily is there to suspend her, to hold her in exquisite free fall for however long she needs it.

In matters of passion, where Emily is tender, Amélie is fervent; and this is true in all aspects of their lives together. Emily gently trails tendrils of empathy and kindness in her flowery speech and soft eyes, pulling Lena up into the heavens. Amélie is bright and brilliant, using her words laced with the most vibrant honeyed nectar—venom, some might argue—and unyielding wit to erupt Lena entirely, breaking her down into her most base of forms.

There are times when the weight of the world becomes too heavy on Lena's shoulders, back bowing underneath the scrutiny that comes with the embellishment of a heroes praise. There are moments that she lives too vividly the terror in the eyes of a civilian, when she recounts too viscerally the carnage and the sounds of innocent screams. When she cannot bear the overwhelming cacophony that resounds in her ears, she comes to them.

They fold her up in their arms, and ask her what she needs.

She answers in kind.

Lena is a flexible person, in all meanings. Physically, mentally, emotionally—she relishes in the compassion of being who others need, it fills her up with a breathless sort of fulfillment. She vehemently denies it's a hero complex, but her lovers know her better than she knows herself. But there are moments where she wants to relinquish all control, when she wants to bow her head in submission and take whatever is given to her, to please whoever needs pleasing and allow herself to embrace the way she floats when she is used.

Tonight is one of those moments.

Lena does not need to be tied up to submit completely, like Amélie does. She drops into subspace with as little as a look or the way Emily will murmur to her, entire body relaxing into however they decide to mold her for the night. That's part of the way they adore her like this, their fierce firecracker of a woman turned into the most docile sub at the blink of an eye.

Lena revels in it, too. Amélie is there with sharp words and piercing looks, to ignite the heat buried so deep within her that she is not sure where she ends and the hunger begins. Emily is there to soothe it before it becomes too overwhelming, all soft hands and gentle kisses.

"So good for me," Emily croons, trailing kisses along her thighs. "So good for me, aren't you, darling?"

Lena whines, though she can't do much else. Amélie is straddling her face, sex bucking incessantly onto her waiting tongue. Lena lathes her girlfriend's lower lips and inner folds, relishing in the sweet taste of her slick. Amélie is always cool to the touch, but her pussy is like molten lava dripping down her face. Lena relishes in the heat, laps it up as though she has finally found the oasis in the desert.

"Ma p'tite lapine," Amelie murmurs above her, gripping her hair with those perfect, pristine, deadly fingers. Her gasps stutter into her French, one of the few cracks in her veneer that ever form, a deep indigo blush slowly rising to her cheeks, to the meaty bits of her thighs that Lena grasps onto as if her life depends on it. "Good girl, just like that. You love to let me use your face, don't you, chérie?"

Lena can only moan again, Emily's slender fingers spreading her open from the inside out. She always moves lithely, lovingly, knows how to hit all the right spots on Lena, when to stop and when to finish her off. Emily can keep her on edge for hours if she'd like—and has before for no reason other than because she can—with dancing fingertips and well-placed words. She can wreck Lena so beautifully, turn her into nothing more than a writhing mess, coated with sweat and slick, shivering on the after burn of her own orgasm.

Emily's deft finger, as always, are able to pull her to the edges of insanity. Lena is so deep in subspace she cannot feel anything but the two of them and her own pleasure that she chases. She clenches over and over around Emily, keens and shivers at the feel of her tongue, her mouth, her fingers, legs shaking as Emily spreads them around her shoulders for her.

"Would you like to come?" Emily asks, almost innocently, as if Lena's slick isn't smeared across her face and hands, as if her own delectable wetness isn't practically dripping down her leg. "You have been an awfully good girl for us, Lena."

Lena keens under Amélie, lapping even more eagerly at the wetness above her. Her breath hitches into an almost soundless gasp as the woman above her pulls at her hair and wrenches her head up, lifting her hips just enough to allow her a moment to suck in a deep breath. Lena allows herself to open her eyes for the first time in what seems like ages, to find Amélie's bright, resplendent eyes practically glowing at her, burning embers alit behind her irises.

"Our sweetness asked you a question," Amélie says, pulling at strands of auburn just a touch harder. "You know how to respond to us, chérie."

"Please," she cries, eyes lidding as the fog of desire consumes her entirely, floating her into another dimension entirely. She knows that Amélie adores the thrill of control, that her pleading and begging makes the heat crackle like lightning deep in both of their bellies. She relishes in the sting of the gashes that Amélie's dominance carves in her, craves the way Emily soothes them. "G-God, please, it's so much, t—too good, let me come, please—"

Amélie is on her again, hips grinding hard onto her mouth once more and she can do nothing but moan once more. Amélie's sweetness is dizzying, her heady musk only all the more intoxicating as she allows herself to become completely drunk on the pleasure of it all. Amélie's pubic bone knocks against her nose occasionally as the woman's hips rut erratically, her own orgasm becoming frustratingly close. Lena returns it with a fervor of her own, lips and tongue and moaning vibrations intertwining clumsily.

"You may come."

Emily pulls her apart below, fingers crooking up as they thrust in and out, delectably pulling along her walls and hitting the sweetest spot inside of her. She comes with a cry, finally, though Emily is unrelentingly as she fucks her through her orgasm. She can't help the way her mouth stills, eyes rolling back as fire consumes her entirely.

But this isn't a problem for Amélie. She grinds harder, finding the perfect angle she needs to stimulate her throbbing clit, gripping at Lena's hair all the tighter as she gasps out perfectly tender words of the softest degradation.

Between the continuous thrum as Emily fucks her open on her fingers, and the way Amélie rides her face, tells her how sweetly it is to use her just as she is meant to, she comes again riding the waves of it all, stomach tightening and back arching. Keening, she laps at Amélie, lathing her clit enthusiastically, low, loud moans rippling from somewhere deep within her.

Amélie croons above her, whimpering in French all the while, fingers stuttering as they switch between gripping tightly to anything they can touch and petting her hair even as it sticks to her forehead.

She is floating as she comes down from it all, and the next things she is conscious of is being curled up in her lovers arms. Clumsy, shaking limbs intertwine completely, still sticky from sweat and slick. More hands than she is conscious enough to count skim across her sensitive skin, causing her to shiver and jerk between them. They hold her lovingly between the two of them, consuming her, skin to skin, cheek to cheek, mouth to ear.

"Tu es très bien pour nous, ma petite lapine."

"So pretty for us, Lena—my God, so beautiful."

"Took everything I had for you so well, my darling."

"You came so hard, didn't you, honey?"

"Bonne fille, tu es bien, tu es bien."

"You're so cute in subspace, Lena. Let us take care of you, you're okay."

"Je t'aime plus que tu ne le sauras jamais."

"You're my world, Lena. I love you so very much."

With the little attachment Lena has to this world, she reaches up to kiss both of her lovers, soft and sweet.

"I love you both. Thank you."

These are the moment she treasures, where she doesn't know where she ends and the others begins. She cannot find it in herself to mind the tickling wetness that creeps down her legs or the way their skins sticks together with sweat. She is here, safe, curled up in the arms of the women she loves most.

Here, the weight of the world does not exist because she is not of this universe. The only thing that exists is her, and Emily, and Amélie, and that's all she needs.