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Freminet hates being in the spotlight.
He's always preferred watching Lyney and Lynette from a seat hidden behind rows of awed spectators, hoping that the twins on stage—specifically Lyney—never notice his presence.
It's a stupid, anxiety-ridden thought—from where he is, hiding his face beneath a mask in hopes of not getting recognized—there's no way Lyney can possibly make his face out, much less recognize him. Freminet's so close to the exit he might as well not have paid to enter the auditorium at all. No one in their right mind would want to sit in such an awfully-placed seat to watch Lyney and Lynette's magic shows—it's Lyney who's performing after all; people can and will fight if that guarantees them the expensive front-row seats to see his tricks up close.
They'd also pay thousands upon thousands of Mora to see his face clearly, that's for sure—no one in Fontaine ever disagreed on this matter. And if you didn't like Lyney's young, boyish looks, there's always that inconspicuous girl performing every trick with him who's pretty in her own right.
The twins come in a set, and no one can decide if they want to be in Lyney or Lynette's position the most. The famed magician never takes volunteers on stage—if there happens to be a day where he changes his mind, Freminet supposes there will be a riot large enough for The Steambird to slap it on the covers of their newspapers to parade all around Teyvat.
The auditorium erupts into thunderous cheers and applause as Lyney completes another trick for them, his eyes shining. His boots make satisfying clacks against the polished floor as he swiftly moves to the edge of the stage, bowing at a perfect ninety-degree angle with Lynette by his side, who mimicked her twin's actions to a T.
Freminet's hands clench tightly on his lap, his figure tucked away in the shadows of the back row.
He just hates being in the spotlight, and Freminet doesn't know how his older brother can do it so charmingly in such a frustrating way.
It's always been like this, even when they were kids—Freminet, reading a book about marine biology, trying to absorb as much as he can before the matrons of the orphanage shooed them to bed. Then there's Lyney, who would sidle up to his side, face full of smiles, and Freminet's vision would suddenly be invaded by a deck of well-used cards.
"Choose one," Lyney would say as he skillfully fanned them out, and the same energetic eyes that persisted till today would practically plead for Freminet to go along with his antics.
Sighing without malice, Freminet would choose a card, and Lyney would perform his trick. His brother never messed up, and Freminet never failed to cheer up when Lyney's slender hands flipped a card over with a quiet sound only audible to the two of them, revealing the same card Freminet had chosen at the beginning.
"It's this one, isn't it?" Lyney would say. It's a formality—both of them know he's on the mark.
"It is," Freminet would reply, smiling ever so slightly. "How did you know?"
"An entertainer knows everything about their audience." A teasing way to dismiss the question; a reply that should hold no weight. And with that, Lyney's off to find his twin sister again, leaving Freminet alone with his book and wishing Lyney had more than a card trick up his sleeve to show.
Back in the present, Lyney's face comes up as he stops bowing. Although Freminet cannot fully discern his facial features from his corner, he knows that his brother has that same, know-it-all smile from their days back in the orphanage. Freminet's chest burns at the thought, and the hands in his lap lift to clutch at his chest as he thinks to himself, no, not here.
The stage lights are bright, and they make Lyney's curves so much more defined in the tight leather he insists on wearing to every performance. Freminet's heart skips multiple beats as he unwillingly drinks in the sight like a dehydrated man in the deserts of Sumeru. It's half-imagination, half-reality—the imagery of his brother's pale, milky skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat; the harsh lighting reflecting off his beautiful features; his chest going up and down, slightly out of breath after successfully performing yet another exhilarating act that amateurs could only dream of doing.
One of Freminet's hands adjusts his mask. His face feels too hot, almost as if he'd just joined Lyney's performance beneath the glare and heat of both the audience's attention and the stage lights' flare. This isn't the first time it's happened, and that fact makes it so much worse as Freminet crosses his legs, eyes fluttering shut.
His shorts feel tight.
Are they as tight as Lyney's corset?
Freminet's eyes fly open at the intruding thought. He tries to push it away. He's gotten hard at Lyney's performances before, but they typically show up at the end and he takes care of the problem afterwards in the restroom. This is no place to entertain dangerous ideas.
Archons, it's not even halfway through the show and he's already a mess this time. He needs to step away from Lyney's performances for a while… but missing one feels like a personal sin that could get him prosecuted.
Lyney moves on stage, spreading his arms and announcing his next exciting act. The crowd ooh's and ahh's at his grandiose speech, but Freminet's hyperfocused on the bare skin of Lyney's shoulders and underarms. When Lyney turns around, his cape flutters, and the curve of his ass is visible for a split second that lasts long enough to make Freminet's mouth go dry.
No, no… calm down—!
He's obsessed with the way Lyney looks when performing, but he isn't such an animal to reduce himself to whatever he's becoming with Lyney right across the auditorium.
But it's just not fair, Freminet whines in his head. It's not fair that his brother is so alluring. Lyney steals his audience's hearts and rolls them around his fingers till they disappear with a quick sleight of hand. As his older brother, shouldn't Lyney leave his heart alone and intact?
You were his first audience, some dark part of Freminet whispers. Your heart was the very first he captured.
Please be quiet, Freminet sobs back to the voice in his head. He shifts in his seat, highly uncomfortable with the heat in his lower half that thrums and pulses. I really can't—I might walk out at this rate…!
No one walks out from Lyney's performances, his demons urge. Just take care of it here. No one can see you. No one cares.
Freminet's shaky hands move from his chest to his thighs again. Then he stops, nervous, deathly afraid of being seen.
There's not a soul in this auditorium that doesn't have their focus on Lyney and Lynette. Maybe Freminet can actually get away with this. Really, he's in such a faraway seat that there's no one next to him or in front of him for two more rows.
The internal struggle inside Freminet lasts for approximately five more seconds. When he hears Lyney's playful voice telling another joke to his audience, that smooth, mischievous tone worms into Freminet's core and roots itself there.
Promptly, the last bits of Freminet's willpower shatters.
Lyney's a rascal, and Freminet's self-control has become another card for his brother's experienced hands to play.
Oh, Archons, Lyney's hands. Freminet reaches into his shorts and slowly cups his growing erection, biting the inside of his mask to avoid making any sound. The auditorium is cold, and he hisses a little when his cool hand wraps around his cock. Freminet's palms are already a little sweaty from nervousness, but he knows from experimenting as a kid beneath the sheets that sweat made the glide sticky and unpleasant, so he spits a generous amount into his hand as makeshift lube.
It's not the best, but the insulated heat in his pants successfully stops his spit from drying off too quickly in the air-conditioned room. Freminet strokes his cock into full hardness as he shimmies down the soft fabric of his seat, trying to hide himself as much as he can from plain sight.
A wave of laughter sweeps through the audience as Lyney gets into position, another amusing joke falling past his lips. Freminet's seen this trick before; Lyney and Lynette were practicing it the last time he visited them after a dive. It sounded unbelievable, but Lyney planned to light arrows on fire and shoot blindly into multiple boxes that could very well contain his sister. It's a trick he practiced dozens of times, and Freminet's been there to see that prideful, joyous expression when everything went according to plan.
Enjoying the performance is the last thing on his mind right now. Freminet imagines it's Lyney's hand on his cock, teasing him with every slow, torturous stroke. Lyney would surely make a spectacle out of this. Some part of Freminet hopes that Lyney tries to cleave his attention in half by forcing him to participate in some joint magic trick. He would take his gloves off with his teeth, then bend down to give Freminet's cock a tiny but sensual kitten-lick that'd send arcs of arousal jolting throughout Freminet's body.
Freminet closes his eyes, letting his fantasy drive his movements. He imagines Lyney's hands groping his thighs and lifting them slightly, placing them on top of his shoulders. Lyney's a good, dependable older brother—he'd let Freminet rest his legs on him as his younger brother draws him closer to the needy cock lying flushed on his pale stomach, leaking pre-come.
In his mind, Lyney's hot breath tickles Freminet, and he keeps his hands on Freminet's thighs around his neck before suckling the head of his cock, smirking like he does in his performances. Freminet moans, both in his fantasy and reality, sensitive to the idea of Lyney toying with him in such a devilish way.
Lyney doesn't see the need to go fast. Would he take his time to unravel his little brother? Why wouldn't he treat him like a prince?
Freminet would desperately rock his hips, whimpering, begging for Lyney to hurry. In return, Lyney would bite him on his thighs, murmuring, "Be patient, Fremi," to silence his cries. When Freminet's eyes are watering and he's losing himself from all the begging pouring out of his mouth, only then would Lyney dip down to reward him and take his cock in one go, earning a strangled yelp from Freminet.
Lyney wouldn't struggle. Freminet's not large, maybe even considerably on the smaller side, and Lyney should be able to take him easily without needing much practice, given how talented he is at putting on a show. Freminet's hands speed up at the scenario playing without mercy in his mind—his brother using his petite tongue to lick the underside of his cock, his soft lips sliding up and down hungrily as Freminet thrashes, twitching in his mouth; Lyney is fully intent on pleasing Freminet before he even thinks of touching himself.
"Lyney," Freminet breathlessly mewls in real life, cracking his eyes open to see the magician's back turned, his bow drawn taut, aiming at a box with a blindfold over his eyes and Lynette nowhere to be seen.
Before Lyney fires the last arrow, he tells the crowd with a coy grin, "Don't go falling for me, dear audience, as this act is about to close with a shot to your heart."
The arrow flies.
Its thump resounds throughout the auditorium, and Freminet shudders, whimpering helplessly at Lyney's words, feeling as though he had been wholly pierced by the very arrow streaking through the air moments prior. He feels himself growing closer and closer to the edge as the remaining box left on the stage falls apart, revealing Lynette safe and sound, and everyone explodes into shrill whoops and ear-shattering claps.
Lyney whips off his blindfold, tossing it aside, and takes Lynette's hand in his once more to offer another perfect bow to the crowd. Freminet's wet pants go unheard of thanks to the clamor and his mask—he's sure the fabric is fully soaked—and that's when something he least expects happens.
His brother, all the way across and down the stage, looks up slightly, tilts his head, and winks at him.
It's that exact second Freminet releases into his hand as his thumb brushes over the head of his cock just right, combined with the horrific dawning realization that somehow, Lyney knows what he's been doing.
An entertainer knows everything about their audience.
Freminet muffles a broken moan as come coats his fingers in messy spurts. He's dizzy and out of air as if coming up from an extended underwater dive. His gut drops as he feels the terrifying apprehension of having the attention of hundreds of people pinned on him at once, but instead of a never-ending sea of human eyes, it's Lyney with a single, knowing gaze that puts him on the spot; tearing Freminet's filthy fantasies straight out of the depths of his heart.
Is it attention he's always feared, or is it the fear of being found out?
As Freminet comes down from the haze of his orgasm, amidst the applause and yelling, he darts out of his seat and makes a mad dash for the exit.
No one's walked out of Lyney's magic shows before, so he might as well be the first.
When the heavy doors of the auditorium close behind him, Freminet leans on them, trying to catch his breath. He wipes the remaining fluids off his hand, shakes his head, and runs to get his diving gear to go and clear his scrambled brain.
Inside, some part of him can't help but wonder if Lyney will find him to have a small chat after this. Freminet's scared of what's to come, but Lyney's already swept him off his feet years ago with his magic and gimmicks.
And truth be told, as selfish as it sounds, that older brother of his should take some responsibility for everything he's done to Freminet.