Bridget/Mark/Jack, 18: kisses because I don't want you to go and maybe I can convince you to stay just a few minutes longer

Jack is watching him from the bathroom door. He's already dressed for a Skype conference with his contacts in Beijing: a morning meeting for him, an afternoon affair on their end. He should be back in bed keeping Bridget company, but he's drinking coffee and watching Mark wrangle his hair, some kind of fond sympathy coloring his expression. Their daily hair regimens are equally arduous, although Jack frequently forgoes one, perfectly content sporting the just-woken look. Court etiquette is not so permissive, irrespective of the wigs.

Mark lowers the roaring hair dryer to work a kink out of his arm. Many of Bridget's friends wonder how he had the strength to carry her across London the night William was born; if they knew he earned his upper body strength bench-pressing a Helen of Troy Fast Dry Speed Hair Dryer by Revlon every day, he thinks they might respect his effort slightly less. His shoulder is twinging and he's only done the left side. He sighs.

Jack, perceptive man that he is, takes pity.

"Need a hand?"

"Not necessary, but if you've got a minute."

"I've got an hour. You don't." He relieves Mark of the instrument of his discontent and makes efficient work of taming Mark's natural curls. That hair on a young man is dashing; on a man of advancing age, it only feels foolish. "She likes it like this."

"It doesn't suit me."

While Jack's expression in the mirror says otherwise, he refrains from verbal disagreement. They lapse into a silence interrupted only by Bridget appearing to brush her teeth and watch them. This is their routine: three in a marriage bed, building a home, and it's working well. Bridget finishes up and offers a suggestion as to how Jack should style his hair. For a moment, Mark has two sets of fingers scraping lightly over his scalp, arranging his locks into a neat coiffure. He gets a shiver as his blood rushes south. Both of them touching him at once, it remains surprisingly erotic. If only there was time to indulge.

Jack warns her at volume almost too quiet to hear, "We'll make him late."

"It's not like they can start without him," Bridget retorts, tittering naughtily. "Look at him. Couldn't you just eat him up?"

Jack's nails scratching at the short hairs at the base of his skull are all the answer Mark needs. In the sort of practiced motion that only gets easier with time, Mark is soon caught between the washroom counter top and Jack's mouth being mercilessly snogged, because Jack can't resist a challenge. The partners have long since spoken: Mark has the best post-snog face, and they seek to induce it at every opportunity.

Mark hooks a leg behind Jack's knees till he falls against Mark on the counter, chuckling against his lips. Jack grabs a fistful of Mark's vest shirt to keep his hands out of Mark's hair. They're a triad of hair-gropers, them; it's an irresistible impulse, so Mark doesn't resist. He tangles his hands in Jack's hair to tilt his head and take a sly swipe at his tongue. Jack surges against him, already hardening where their hips press together.

"Time, gentlemen!" Bridget reminds them, all gorgeously breathless, and too far from Mark to touch.

Jack pulls away, and growling Mark hauls him back, drawing him into the V of his legs to get back at his lips. He has to slump ever so slightly to reach. Jack makes the most of Mark's mostly unclothed state, hands sliding under the waist of his bottoms to stroke his waist, skirt about his arse, and caress the backs of his thighs. Mark hisses. The backs of his knees are embarrassingly sensitive to the touch.

He's most certainly going to be late for court at this rate.

Bridget fans herself, watching the proceedings with ever-widening pupils. Mark has it on good authority that the only thing Bridget enjoys more than seeing them together is being between them. Theirs is a match of complements, emotional, intellectual, and chemical. But most distractingly it's physical. This is where their bonds most beautifully manifest.

Mark and Jack's lips separate with a wet pop. "We leaving you out," Jack asks over his shoulder.

Bridget reclines against the fogged shower door. "Oh no, don't stop on my account. Ever."

Jack runs a meditative hand up and down Mark's side, just lightly enough to be scintillating instead of ticklish. His pulse jumps regardless, his abdominal muscles flex at the stimulus. He drops his head back against the mirror. Jack hoists his legs over his waist and drags his lips up the column of Mark's throat till he steals a gasp from Mark's mouth with a smirk.

Just as Mark's about to tell his adult responsibilities to go hang so he can spend the next several hours being summarily shagged by his two stunning partners, William lets out a shrill cry, reminding him why he has to be an upstanding man of his word and appear in court. He pouts. Jack looks very pleased with himself. Bridget looks deliciously aroused.

"Right," Bridget, continues, clearing her dry throat. "Well, I may need some private time after that little…moment."

Mark and Jack share a look. His of yearning and Jack's slightly smug. They disentangle themselves from each other.

Jack strips off his sweater. "I'll handle this. Get Will."

Mark grumbles, inwardly sulking as he retreats to the nursery and Jack lifts Bridget off her feet into a bone-melting kiss. He really should have become a billionaire.

Half an hour later, Bridget stops him in front of the closet to adjust his tie. He's perfectly capable of doing it himself, but he likes the way she does it just snug enough. There's no real difference in their styles, not that there need be. It's soothing to his nerves to have her touch him. Sometimes he gets the feeling she does it for the same reason.

"There you are, immaculate as ever."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you." She kisses him good morning and goodbye, humming soundlessly in contentment. He threads his arms under her robe to get at her waist. She's wonderfully pliable after the audibly fantastic orgasm she got from Jack after Mark left to dress. Mark is green with envy toward both of them. He'll be half hard all day in frustrated desire.

She walks a hand between them up his thigh and to the left. He groans as she gives his cock a rather delicious squeeze through his trousers.

"Think of us today."

"I always do."

They both accost him for one last round robin of a kiss at the door before he takes his leave. This day is going to be unbearable for anticipation of tonight.