Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:19 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:19 am
Fake News (RPF) | The Way Things Were | NC-17 | Amy/Paul/Stephen
Title: The Way Things Were
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Amy/Paul/Stephen
Warning: Threesome; D/s (both sexual in nature and not); bondage; spanking.
Word Count: 2,400
Summary: Some things happen because they work.
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Thank you for the beta, Kelly.
It sort of developed naturally, their dynamic.
As with everything that concerned Amy, Paul, and Stephen, it just happened. That was how they met, eventually became friends, started working together, started living together, and ultimately started sleeping with each other. This added another layer to it.
Paul and Stephen had a tendency to be lazy around the apartment, and the task of making sure things got done naturally went to Amy. She made sure they had food, divvied up the chores, managed their bills, and generally ran things, keeping everything flowing smoothly. No one ever stopped to question this, or wonder why it was so: it just was.
And for awhile, that was all it was, until one evening when Amy was trying to make dinner.
“Stephen, can you take out the trash? It’s in my way.”
Stephen waved at her, non-committal, and didn’t look up from his notebook. Both he and Paul were on the couch, writing furiously.
“Any time before I trip over it and break my neck would be great.”
“In a sec, Amy.”
For whatever reason, that wasn’t the end of the conversation this time. Indeed, this sort of back-and-forth had happened before with both Paul and Stephen, but this time something changed.
“Stephen Tyrone Colbert,” she said suddenly, tone stern. “I’m trying to make dinner. You were supposed to take the trash out this morning. Do it now, or you will regret it.”
That got Stephen’s attention. He finally looked up from his notebook, taking in her expression, crossed arms, and the way she was holding onto that wooden spoon. Wordlessly, he nodded, standing up and heading into the kitchen to get the trash.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling cheerfully, voice once again as sweet as sugar.
That was the first time it became evident that Amy was in charge of more than simply how the apartment ran. The next time came a few days later—this time it was Paul who wasn’t listening.
“It’s your turn to do the dishes, Paul,” Amy said, sitting down on the couch.
“What? No it isn’t. It’s Stephen’s.”
“He did them yesterday. Get to them.”
“No,” he said stubbornly.
Amy looked at him, shrugging. “Fine. If you won’t help out with the dishes, you can make your own food from now on.”
“Fine. I will.”
Paul, who was notoriously bad at any sort of cooking, held out for about three days. It was just as Amy was starting to make dinner for her and Stephen when Paul poked his head into the kitchen. “I’ll do the dishes tonight,” he said quietly, and Amy smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she said, and that was that.
Things continued like this for awhile, with Amy exerting a little more control over Paul and Stephen than she had before, scolding them when they refused to listen (Stephen was guilty of this more often than Paul) but not much else. It wasn’t until a month later that things shifted again, reinforcing the dynamic and stating explicitly what had previously only been hinted at: there were rules, and there were consequences for breaking said rules.
Stephen and Paul had been bickering all day, over everything and nothing, and while Amy found it tiresome she did her best to ignore it. The two of them did this every so often, and she was more or less used to it. In fact, she wouldn’t have bothered commenting on it at all if it hadn’t escalated into more than pointless arguing.
“Sometimes I think I was right about you in the beginning!” Stephen said angrily, shoving Paul. They were in the living room; Amy walked in just in time to see Paul shoving him back.
“Sometimes I know I was right about you!” Paul returned, and the shoves got more violent.
“Idiot!”
“Asshole!”
They ignored the sound of a crash in the background—that of the lamp breaking after having been knocked off the side table when Stephen shoved Paul into it—continuing to shout at each other.
“Enough!”
Paul and Stephen stopped what they were doing, both turning to look at Amy. She was holding up a piece of the busted lamp in her hand and glaring at the both of them. Their expressions quickly turned guilty. “What the hell is wrong with you two? Are you six? I can treat you like you are! You,” she pointed at Stephen, “go to that corner. And you,” she added, pointing at Paul, “go to that one. Don’t you dare say a word.” When they didn’t move, she crossed her arms. “I meant now!”
They moved, each heading to their corners, eyes downcast. “Honestly, you’ve been arguing all day. Do you even know why, or are you just being brats? Got tired of acting like adults?”
“It’s his f—”
“Did I say you could talk?” she demanded, interrupting Paul.
He quickly shook his head, falling silent.
“Fine. You two can act like little kids, but only if I get to treat you like it. Stephen, get over here.” Stephen obeyed, walking over, eyes both curious and wary.
“Go get the wooden spoon from the kitchen.”
He looked confused but did as he was told, handing the spoon to her once he returned.
“Drop your pants and bend over,” she ordered.
His eyes widened and she gave him a look. Slowly, he did what she said. She spanked him with the spoon—hard—five times. Then she repeated the process with Paul, giving them both highly disappointed looks when it was over. “It’s bedtime for the little boys.”
“But—” Stephen stopped, noticing her look. “Right.”
“Did you have anything to add, Paul?” Amy asked, looking at him, eyebrow raised.
Paul, who had been looking like he wanted to say something, thought better of it; he quickly shook his head.
“Good. Bed. Now.” Both Paul and Stephen shuffled off to bed, looking thoroughly chastised.
Amy sighed, shaking her head. She joined them a couple hours later, kissing both their foreheads and telling them she loved them. They wrapped around her, returning the sentiment, and apologizing in turn. It didn’t occur to them to put a name or a label on what their relationship had become; like Amy taking charge of how the apartment ran, it just was, and for whatever reason, it worked.
It also didn’t take long for this dynamic of theirs to follow them into the bedroom. Years later, when they looked back on everything, it would amuse them how they technically did the entire thing backwards, what with Amy’s control over Paul and Stephen starting out non-sexual and eventually becoming otherwise. But that was how the three of them were; they’d never been much for convention.
“Tie him up, Paul.”
The order startled both Paul and Stephen, who shared a look of surprise. The three of them were in bed; at least, they had been. Amy had just gotten up, sitting down in the chair across from the bed. She fixed a ‘don’t argue with me’ look on the both of them and repeated, “Tie him up, Paul.”
Paul nodded slowly, grabbing one of Stephen’s many ties off the floor and carefully tying his hands to the headboard.
Stephen licked his lips, looking curiously at Amy. “What are you—” he started, but stopped when she shook her head at him.
“No talking,” she told him. “That goes for you too, Paul.”
The guys nodded at her, and she smiled. “Good. Now stroke him—slowly.”
Paul did so, teasingly stroking Stephen’s cock. The man gasped, hips jerking upward, and Amy said, “Faster.” Paul’s hand sped up on Stephen’s cock, stroking him expertly, and Stephen panted a little, hips moving involuntarily. “Keep going,” she said, and soon Paul was stroking Stephen determinedly, one hand cupping and massaging his balls. Stephen moaned, and by the look on his face, it was obvious he was getting close.
Then Amy said it: “Now stop.”
Paul removed his hands immediately, and Stephen whimpered in protest. “Amy—”
“No talking,” she reminded him. “Tease him, Paul. Use your mouth and hands, but don’t go near his cock.”
Stephen groaned in frustration as Paul listened, trailing hot, heady kisses along his neck and down his chest. Those talented hands were massaging his inner thighs, and that mouth was on his left nipple, but Paul was not touching his cock. It was unimaginably frustrating, and Stephen groaned, moaned, whimpered, and writhed under Paul’s ministrations.
“God, the two of you are hot,” Amy said approvingly. “Suck him, Paul.”
Stephen let out a loud moan when Paul’s tongue licked teasingly at his cock, lapping at him enthusiastically. When those lips wrapped around the head, his hips jerked involuntarily, and he groaned as Paul sucked him, mouth working determinedly. Then there was a hand on his balls, massaging, and Paul took him in deeper; Stephen gasped, eyes falling shut. He was so close—
“Stop.”
Once again Paul withdrew, and Stephen cursed. “Amy—please—let me—” he whined, and Amy shot him a stern look.
“I told you no talking,” she said. “The more you talk, the longer you have to wait.” She stood, moving back to the bed. “Come here, Paul,” she said, and pulled him in, kissing him deeply.
Paul kissed her back heatedly, and groaned into their kiss when her hands trailed down his chest and grasped his cock. “Touch me,” she murmured, and he cupped her breasts, massaging them as they kissed.
Stephen, for his part, panted as he watched this. He was so hard he ached, and the sight of Paul and Amy kissing and groping each other wasn’t helping matters. It took considerable effort, but he stayed quiet.
Amy gasped when Paul’s hand slid between her legs, rubbing her clit just right. “Fuck him, Paul,” she said, kissing him one last time before pulling away and moving back to the chair.
Paul groaned, nodding at her before getting the lube out of the nightstand. He slicked up his hand, carefully pressing one finger inside Stephen, who bit his lip to keep from crying out. He moaned, hands clenching into fists as he writhed against the bed. When Paul added a second finger, crooking both and hitting that spot, Stephen couldn’t hold back: “Oh, fuck!” he shouted, and then cringed, giving Amy an apologetic look.
“That’s okay,” she said, looking amused. “For both of you. Beg him, Stephen. Let him know what you want.”
“Fuck me!” he yelled, and Paul started slicking up his cock, sliding slowly into Stephen.
“Not too fast yet,” Amy said as Paul started thrusting. He kept it slow, groaning as he did so.
“Fuck, Paul,” Stephen groaned. “Please—I need—faster—”
Paul looked at Amy, who shook her head. He kept his pace, barely, and gasping loudly as he tried to retain his restraint.
“Please,” Stephen begged, clenching around Paul deliberately. “Please, harder—”
Paul let out a loud moan, and Amy said, “Okay.” With that permission, he moved faster, harder, starting to fuck Stephen in earnest now.
“Oh, fuck,” Stephen cried out, eyes squeezing shut as Paul fucked him into the mattress. “So—so—good—”
“Shit, Stephen, you’re so fucking tight,” Paul managed in between pants.
“Touch him.”
Paul did, reaching between them to stroke Stephen’s cock in tandem with his thrusts. Stephen’s eyes widened and he groaned, muttering, “Close—gonna—” He stilled, body tensing at a particularly hard thrust; he cried out as he came hard after barely two more strokes.
Paul kept thrusting into Stephen through his orgasm, close himself. A minute later, he came roughly, choking out a mix of a curse and Stephen’s name.
He panted as he pulled out, moving off of Stephen and collapsing next to him. Stephen had his eyes closed and was trying to get his breathing under control.
“Untie him,” Amy said, and although Paul wanted nothing more than to never move again, he did as he was told, untying Stephen’s hands.
Amy moved into the bed, kissing Stephen deeply. “Very good. But I’m not quite done with you.”
Stephen kissed her back, cracking an eye at her. “What?”
“Go down on me,” she ordered, and he nodded.
Amy lay back on the bed, and Stephen dropped kisses on her breasts and stomach, slowly moving lower. His hands rubbed her clit, and she gasped when he replaced them with his mouth. “Ah—yes—good,” she groaned, moving her hands to hold his head down. Stephen worked her with his mouth, licks starting out purposeful but eventually becoming more teasing, and she tugged on his hair. “No teasing, Stephen,” she said firmly, if breathlessly, and he reluctantly complied, technique reverting to determined. Soon she was moaning loudly, and her grip on his hair was just tight enough to be satisfying. “Good,” she groaned, hips moving slightly. “Close. Fini—ah, fuck—finish me off, Stephen.”
He did as he was told, smirking triumphantly when she orgasmed, cursing and crying out as she did so.
“Very good,” she panted, kissing him close-mouthed. She turned to Paul, who had been watching, interested but too spent to really do anything about it, and kissed him as well. “Both of you.”
The three of them curled around each other, eventually falling into a good night’s sleep.
This dynamic worked for the three of them, and it worked well. It wasn’t perfect—what relationship was?—but it was appreciated and needed all the same.
It didn’t last forever, of course. Once Stephen met Evelyn, that was it; it was a three-person relationship, and it didn’t work any other way. That was okay, though. They’d always been best friends above all else, and that was what they returned to, without much adjusting.
Maybe Paul would occasionally look at his two friends when they were out for drinks and feel nostalgic for the past; maybe Stephen, after a long day of being the boss, would briefly wish he had someone else to call the shots at home; and maybe Amy would every so often mentally bemoan the fact that she couldn’t find another relationship that worked as well as theirs had, but that was all.
And if, when the three of them were out together, Paul and Stephen would automatically defer to Amy on most decisions, well, that was simply how things happened to be.
There was no need to question it.
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Amy/Paul/Stephen
Warning: Threesome; D/s (both sexual in nature and not); bondage; spanking.
Word Count: 2,400
Summary: Some things happen because they work.
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Thank you for the beta, Kelly.
It sort of developed naturally, their dynamic.
As with everything that concerned Amy, Paul, and Stephen, it just happened. That was how they met, eventually became friends, started working together, started living together, and ultimately started sleeping with each other. This added another layer to it.
Paul and Stephen had a tendency to be lazy around the apartment, and the task of making sure things got done naturally went to Amy. She made sure they had food, divvied up the chores, managed their bills, and generally ran things, keeping everything flowing smoothly. No one ever stopped to question this, or wonder why it was so: it just was.
And for awhile, that was all it was, until one evening when Amy was trying to make dinner.
“Stephen, can you take out the trash? It’s in my way.”
Stephen waved at her, non-committal, and didn’t look up from his notebook. Both he and Paul were on the couch, writing furiously.
“Any time before I trip over it and break my neck would be great.”
“In a sec, Amy.”
For whatever reason, that wasn’t the end of the conversation this time. Indeed, this sort of back-and-forth had happened before with both Paul and Stephen, but this time something changed.
“Stephen Tyrone Colbert,” she said suddenly, tone stern. “I’m trying to make dinner. You were supposed to take the trash out this morning. Do it now, or you will regret it.”
That got Stephen’s attention. He finally looked up from his notebook, taking in her expression, crossed arms, and the way she was holding onto that wooden spoon. Wordlessly, he nodded, standing up and heading into the kitchen to get the trash.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling cheerfully, voice once again as sweet as sugar.
That was the first time it became evident that Amy was in charge of more than simply how the apartment ran. The next time came a few days later—this time it was Paul who wasn’t listening.
“It’s your turn to do the dishes, Paul,” Amy said, sitting down on the couch.
“What? No it isn’t. It’s Stephen’s.”
“He did them yesterday. Get to them.”
“No,” he said stubbornly.
Amy looked at him, shrugging. “Fine. If you won’t help out with the dishes, you can make your own food from now on.”
“Fine. I will.”
Paul, who was notoriously bad at any sort of cooking, held out for about three days. It was just as Amy was starting to make dinner for her and Stephen when Paul poked his head into the kitchen. “I’ll do the dishes tonight,” he said quietly, and Amy smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she said, and that was that.
Things continued like this for awhile, with Amy exerting a little more control over Paul and Stephen than she had before, scolding them when they refused to listen (Stephen was guilty of this more often than Paul) but not much else. It wasn’t until a month later that things shifted again, reinforcing the dynamic and stating explicitly what had previously only been hinted at: there were rules, and there were consequences for breaking said rules.
Stephen and Paul had been bickering all day, over everything and nothing, and while Amy found it tiresome she did her best to ignore it. The two of them did this every so often, and she was more or less used to it. In fact, she wouldn’t have bothered commenting on it at all if it hadn’t escalated into more than pointless arguing.
“Sometimes I think I was right about you in the beginning!” Stephen said angrily, shoving Paul. They were in the living room; Amy walked in just in time to see Paul shoving him back.
“Sometimes I know I was right about you!” Paul returned, and the shoves got more violent.
“Idiot!”
“Asshole!”
They ignored the sound of a crash in the background—that of the lamp breaking after having been knocked off the side table when Stephen shoved Paul into it—continuing to shout at each other.
“Enough!”
Paul and Stephen stopped what they were doing, both turning to look at Amy. She was holding up a piece of the busted lamp in her hand and glaring at the both of them. Their expressions quickly turned guilty. “What the hell is wrong with you two? Are you six? I can treat you like you are! You,” she pointed at Stephen, “go to that corner. And you,” she added, pointing at Paul, “go to that one. Don’t you dare say a word.” When they didn’t move, she crossed her arms. “I meant now!”
They moved, each heading to their corners, eyes downcast. “Honestly, you’ve been arguing all day. Do you even know why, or are you just being brats? Got tired of acting like adults?”
“It’s his f—”
“Did I say you could talk?” she demanded, interrupting Paul.
He quickly shook his head, falling silent.
“Fine. You two can act like little kids, but only if I get to treat you like it. Stephen, get over here.” Stephen obeyed, walking over, eyes both curious and wary.
“Go get the wooden spoon from the kitchen.”
He looked confused but did as he was told, handing the spoon to her once he returned.
“Drop your pants and bend over,” she ordered.
His eyes widened and she gave him a look. Slowly, he did what she said. She spanked him with the spoon—hard—five times. Then she repeated the process with Paul, giving them both highly disappointed looks when it was over. “It’s bedtime for the little boys.”
“But—” Stephen stopped, noticing her look. “Right.”
“Did you have anything to add, Paul?” Amy asked, looking at him, eyebrow raised.
Paul, who had been looking like he wanted to say something, thought better of it; he quickly shook his head.
“Good. Bed. Now.” Both Paul and Stephen shuffled off to bed, looking thoroughly chastised.
Amy sighed, shaking her head. She joined them a couple hours later, kissing both their foreheads and telling them she loved them. They wrapped around her, returning the sentiment, and apologizing in turn. It didn’t occur to them to put a name or a label on what their relationship had become; like Amy taking charge of how the apartment ran, it just was, and for whatever reason, it worked.
It also didn’t take long for this dynamic of theirs to follow them into the bedroom. Years later, when they looked back on everything, it would amuse them how they technically did the entire thing backwards, what with Amy’s control over Paul and Stephen starting out non-sexual and eventually becoming otherwise. But that was how the three of them were; they’d never been much for convention.
“Tie him up, Paul.”
The order startled both Paul and Stephen, who shared a look of surprise. The three of them were in bed; at least, they had been. Amy had just gotten up, sitting down in the chair across from the bed. She fixed a ‘don’t argue with me’ look on the both of them and repeated, “Tie him up, Paul.”
Paul nodded slowly, grabbing one of Stephen’s many ties off the floor and carefully tying his hands to the headboard.
Stephen licked his lips, looking curiously at Amy. “What are you—” he started, but stopped when she shook her head at him.
“No talking,” she told him. “That goes for you too, Paul.”
The guys nodded at her, and she smiled. “Good. Now stroke him—slowly.”
Paul did so, teasingly stroking Stephen’s cock. The man gasped, hips jerking upward, and Amy said, “Faster.” Paul’s hand sped up on Stephen’s cock, stroking him expertly, and Stephen panted a little, hips moving involuntarily. “Keep going,” she said, and soon Paul was stroking Stephen determinedly, one hand cupping and massaging his balls. Stephen moaned, and by the look on his face, it was obvious he was getting close.
Then Amy said it: “Now stop.”
Paul removed his hands immediately, and Stephen whimpered in protest. “Amy—”
“No talking,” she reminded him. “Tease him, Paul. Use your mouth and hands, but don’t go near his cock.”
Stephen groaned in frustration as Paul listened, trailing hot, heady kisses along his neck and down his chest. Those talented hands were massaging his inner thighs, and that mouth was on his left nipple, but Paul was not touching his cock. It was unimaginably frustrating, and Stephen groaned, moaned, whimpered, and writhed under Paul’s ministrations.
“God, the two of you are hot,” Amy said approvingly. “Suck him, Paul.”
Stephen let out a loud moan when Paul’s tongue licked teasingly at his cock, lapping at him enthusiastically. When those lips wrapped around the head, his hips jerked involuntarily, and he groaned as Paul sucked him, mouth working determinedly. Then there was a hand on his balls, massaging, and Paul took him in deeper; Stephen gasped, eyes falling shut. He was so close—
“Stop.”
Once again Paul withdrew, and Stephen cursed. “Amy—please—let me—” he whined, and Amy shot him a stern look.
“I told you no talking,” she said. “The more you talk, the longer you have to wait.” She stood, moving back to the bed. “Come here, Paul,” she said, and pulled him in, kissing him deeply.
Paul kissed her back heatedly, and groaned into their kiss when her hands trailed down his chest and grasped his cock. “Touch me,” she murmured, and he cupped her breasts, massaging them as they kissed.
Stephen, for his part, panted as he watched this. He was so hard he ached, and the sight of Paul and Amy kissing and groping each other wasn’t helping matters. It took considerable effort, but he stayed quiet.
Amy gasped when Paul’s hand slid between her legs, rubbing her clit just right. “Fuck him, Paul,” she said, kissing him one last time before pulling away and moving back to the chair.
Paul groaned, nodding at her before getting the lube out of the nightstand. He slicked up his hand, carefully pressing one finger inside Stephen, who bit his lip to keep from crying out. He moaned, hands clenching into fists as he writhed against the bed. When Paul added a second finger, crooking both and hitting that spot, Stephen couldn’t hold back: “Oh, fuck!” he shouted, and then cringed, giving Amy an apologetic look.
“That’s okay,” she said, looking amused. “For both of you. Beg him, Stephen. Let him know what you want.”
“Fuck me!” he yelled, and Paul started slicking up his cock, sliding slowly into Stephen.
“Not too fast yet,” Amy said as Paul started thrusting. He kept it slow, groaning as he did so.
“Fuck, Paul,” Stephen groaned. “Please—I need—faster—”
Paul looked at Amy, who shook her head. He kept his pace, barely, and gasping loudly as he tried to retain his restraint.
“Please,” Stephen begged, clenching around Paul deliberately. “Please, harder—”
Paul let out a loud moan, and Amy said, “Okay.” With that permission, he moved faster, harder, starting to fuck Stephen in earnest now.
“Oh, fuck,” Stephen cried out, eyes squeezing shut as Paul fucked him into the mattress. “So—so—good—”
“Shit, Stephen, you’re so fucking tight,” Paul managed in between pants.
“Touch him.”
Paul did, reaching between them to stroke Stephen’s cock in tandem with his thrusts. Stephen’s eyes widened and he groaned, muttering, “Close—gonna—” He stilled, body tensing at a particularly hard thrust; he cried out as he came hard after barely two more strokes.
Paul kept thrusting into Stephen through his orgasm, close himself. A minute later, he came roughly, choking out a mix of a curse and Stephen’s name.
He panted as he pulled out, moving off of Stephen and collapsing next to him. Stephen had his eyes closed and was trying to get his breathing under control.
“Untie him,” Amy said, and although Paul wanted nothing more than to never move again, he did as he was told, untying Stephen’s hands.
Amy moved into the bed, kissing Stephen deeply. “Very good. But I’m not quite done with you.”
Stephen kissed her back, cracking an eye at her. “What?”
“Go down on me,” she ordered, and he nodded.
Amy lay back on the bed, and Stephen dropped kisses on her breasts and stomach, slowly moving lower. His hands rubbed her clit, and she gasped when he replaced them with his mouth. “Ah—yes—good,” she groaned, moving her hands to hold his head down. Stephen worked her with his mouth, licks starting out purposeful but eventually becoming more teasing, and she tugged on his hair. “No teasing, Stephen,” she said firmly, if breathlessly, and he reluctantly complied, technique reverting to determined. Soon she was moaning loudly, and her grip on his hair was just tight enough to be satisfying. “Good,” she groaned, hips moving slightly. “Close. Fini—ah, fuck—finish me off, Stephen.”
He did as he was told, smirking triumphantly when she orgasmed, cursing and crying out as she did so.
“Very good,” she panted, kissing him close-mouthed. She turned to Paul, who had been watching, interested but too spent to really do anything about it, and kissed him as well. “Both of you.”
The three of them curled around each other, eventually falling into a good night’s sleep.
This dynamic worked for the three of them, and it worked well. It wasn’t perfect—what relationship was?—but it was appreciated and needed all the same.
It didn’t last forever, of course. Once Stephen met Evelyn, that was it; it was a three-person relationship, and it didn’t work any other way. That was okay, though. They’d always been best friends above all else, and that was what they returned to, without much adjusting.
Maybe Paul would occasionally look at his two friends when they were out for drinks and feel nostalgic for the past; maybe Stephen, after a long day of being the boss, would briefly wish he had someone else to call the shots at home; and maybe Amy would every so often mentally bemoan the fact that she couldn’t find another relationship that worked as well as theirs had, but that was all.
And if, when the three of them were out together, Paul and Stephen would automatically defer to Amy on most decisions, well, that was simply how things happened to be.
There was no need to question it.