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It feels like it's been ages since the three of them were finally alone.
They sit in the infirmary, silent in a way that is usually comfortable. Lynette and Lyney have never needed words to communicate, and Freminet has always liked the quiet spells that it would lead to, all of them working like a well-oiled machine. The silence that surrounds them now is heavy, though. Rather than the sign of a healthy, functioning meka, it's the stillness that comes afterward, once the contraption has broken down and all the parts lay still.
The truth is that it's Freminet's fault he's here. Lyney thinks it's his own, but it was Freminet who only noticed the danger too late. It was Freminet who was too weak to get himself to land fast enough, and Freminet who failed to find Master Childe. If Lyney made a mistake, it was trusting someone like him with something so important.
That's why he should be trying to help. It's obvious that Lyney is still stuck in his own head, and he should be trying to think of a way to get him out of it, or continue with the mission at the very least, and yet...
Freminet lets out a shaky breath, his hands folded tightly in his lap.
Naturally, Lynette is the first to notice. Her eyes flash from Lyney to him, frown deep on her face. "Freminet?"
"Ah, no..." His heart flutters, and he looks down at his knees as if it might prevent her from seeing the color that's risen to his cheeks. "I-it's nothing..."
He's no good at lying to them. Lying in general has never been easy for him, and, at the first sound of his wavering voice, Lyney's gaze rushes to join Lynette's. "What's wrong, Freminet?"
Freminet shakes his head. "Sorry, I think it's just, um... probably just the effects of the primordial seawater. I'm..."
"I'll go get Sigewinne," Lynette says, standing, and Freminet's heart leaps into his throat. Before she can get more than a step, he jumps up and grabs her hand to keep her from leaving.
"I-it's not... I don't think it's a... medical..."
Standing so quickly makes Freminet's head spin, and he stumbles into her, skin hot where it touches hers. She catches him immediately, sending a startled look towards Lyney, who's on his feet now, too. The two of them help lower him down onto the bed again, and he pants as he accepts their help without fighting, without trying to hide his problem, which he knows will be obvious now. Amongst the smell of salt and mildew, sea-soaked rocks that dry too slowly in the dark, cool underwater infirmary, he loses himself in the familiar scent of Lynette's hair as it falls against his face. Lyney's hands are on his legs, the leather of his gloves running over Freminet's bare skin as he takes off his boots and then repositions him to lay comfortably on the bed.
Both of them seem to see it at the same time, because he hears their shared reaction, a single sound coming from two near-identical mouths.
"Ah..."
Freminet turns his face away, squeezing his eyes tight and covering them with an arm so they won't see his face. Even so, he can feel their gazes on him, embarrassment and... and he needs to calm down. Drugs or no, this is not the time nor place to be letting himself get excited.
"I'll help," Lynette says.
"No!" Freminet curls, flinching at the sound of his own voice. "W-we can't..."
"But it's painful, right?"
The sound that Freminet makes isn't a word. It's closer to a whimper, a pathetic noise in the back of his throat that is nonetheless as much an answer as anything else. He can feel himself shaking, a bead of sweat running down the back of his neck, and then Lyney's hands again. They rest just above his knees, easing them open enough that Freminet's body uncurls, shifts back into place.
"We're alone," he says, voice gentle as his hands, which climb up Freminet's legs to his thighs. "There's no better time to do this than now."
"Mmm..." It's the closest thing to a complaint that Freminet can get out, his head shaking from underneath the cover of his sleeve.
Lynette's hands join Lyney's, moving over his coat to rub him from chest to stomach, slow and comforting. "We'll be quick," she says.
And then Lyney follows, "Let us help you, Freminet."
It's impossible to say no to them even when he isn't in such a compromised position. Slowly, he moves the arm from his face, opening his eyes to look up at them. He's so embarrassed that he's already about to cry, their forms blurry, glowing gold from the lantern light. They shouldn't be doing this. He should be better at holding himself back while they're on a mission, especially when Lyney's the one who needs the most comfort, but he lets out another halting, shuddering breath as Lyney's thumb presses into his thigh right at the edge of his wetsuit, his back arching up weakly into Lynette's hands.
This is all his fault. Freminet hates himself so much, but he nods his head anyway, a tear running down the side of his face. It turns into a muted sob when he immediately feels Lyney's hand move over the bulge in his crotch, the pressure light but already overwhelming.
Instinctively, he reaches for Lynette, who is already there. She kneels down, leaning over the bed to press her lips against his, and he holds onto her sleeve desperately, needing her close as Lyney begins to massage him through his clothes. It feels so good, so tight with his wetsuit in the way, that it steals the breath from him, lips trembling against Lynette's as she begins to slowly undress him.
She knows exactly where every button and zipper is by now. Movements that should be blind from the kiss are smooth and practiced, perfect in the way they coax his coat open and then allow her hands to get even closer to him, warm through the smooth fabric of his wetsuit.
Lyney has transitioned from massaging to stroking, his fingers moving up and down the obvious shape of Freminet's erection where it strains against his clothes. The rest of Freminet strains, too, his back lifting off the bed as his legs tremble, as his hips twitch and his mouth opens wide for a shaky moan that he is too out of himself to silence. He wants to keep holding onto Lynette, wants her to stay with him forever, but is too weak to stop her from slipping away momentarily, just long enough to slide the coat from his shoulders and begin to peel his wetsuit off of him.
With every inch that she frees him, he feels an indescribable joy, his skin so sensitive that it feels like the air is vibrating against it. She moves behind him to help support his weight, and he leans heavily against her, unable to muster the strength to lift his head. Her arms wrap around him and her sleeves feel like heaven, unbelievably soft against his bare skin, her downy hair, the luxury of her cheek pressing against the side of his face as she looks over his shoulder at him.
It all feels so good that it's absolutely maddening he hasn't cum yet. He whines as her hands move so slowly over his chest, spending a moment there once his nipples are free, rubbing her thumbs in circles around them, then sobs as he feels Lyney move up and take one in his mouth.
Lynette's hands go back to undressing him and it feels so good that he can't do anything but cry. His hands are limp where they rest on Lynette's arms, useless. He's useless. Undeserving. Lyney's tongue moves over his nipple and he doesn't deserve the pleasure, doesn't deserve them, doesn't deserve to cum but nothing in the world could stop him from taking it right now. He needs it like he needs air but more and Freminet's body greedily devours every sensation they bestow upon it.
When his wetsuit gets down to his hips, the two of them switch. There's a brief pause, and then Lyney takes up the job of peeling it down the rest of the way, Lynette capturing his lips in another kiss to mute the sounds he makes when his cock finally springs free. Freminet's hips rock as he whines desperately against her lips, trying to grind himself into the silken air, needing something and then realizing all too quickly that he isn't ready for it.
Lyney has taken his glove off. Freminet can tell because what wraps around him isn't leather but warm skin, hot, tight and perfect and everything and so overwhelming that Freminet thrashes lethargically, trying to escape the pleasure that floods his nerves.
Surprised, Lynette holds him in place but backs away for a moment, looking at his ruined, tear-stricken face. Freminet stares back up into her eyes, struggling to communicate feelings he can't even entirely process.
"No," he manages to gasp as Lyney's head comes down again, not on his nipples this time but between his legs, and he feels breath against the head of his cock. He can't handle it getting any better than this. Lyney's mouth will drive him insane. "You--y-you can't--"
Lynette huffs, holding his head up with a hand on his cheek, and doesn't bother to listen to the rest. She kisses him again, deeper, tongue meeting his as her fingers find the nipple sill wet from their brother, stimulating it gently, drinking down his whimpers and ignoring his ineffectual struggles.
And, having paused to watch them, to see what Lynette would do, Lyney takes this as his cue to continue.
He's close enough that Freminet feels the sensation of his mouth opening. He can't breathe. The anticipation turns his shaking violent, his skin flushed red and hot, sweaty, and he needs to escape but Lynette holds him in place. Her kiss is so sweet and he can't run. Lyney's tongue finds him first, grazing the skin on the underside of his cock, and Freminet thrusts his hips up with all his strength, needing more as much as he dreads it.
Lyney gives him what he needs.
Freminet's entire world feels like it's dissolving into the heat of Lyney's mouth as his lips wrap around him. The moan he feeds Lynette is close to a scream, and it dies off quickly with his breath, his empty lungs teaming up with the drugs in his body to make his head spin so hard it feels like he's falling. Lyney lowers himself further, taking more of Freminet in, rubbing him against the plushness of his tongue, the hot walls of his mouth, familiar in the way that he recognizes the person. The action. They've done this before. Freminet knows that Lyney is good at what he does. Everything is familiar but his own body, which twists it all into something alien.
A second lasts an eternity and yet each moment he spends between their bodies is much too short. Somehow, Freminet gets his hands on both of them, one tangling into Lyney's hair, the other twitching against the back of Lynette's neck. It shouldn't be like this. It really shouldn't be like this. Freminet is terrified of himself but can't stop, his body arching off the bed again, connecting the two of them in a tense line.
The feeling of Lyney's nose nestling down against him. The tightness of his throat. The white hot twinge of pleasure-laced-pain as Lynette pinches his nipple between her fingers.
Lyney's head moves back, sucking the soul from him, and Freminet feels as if his sanity is splintering as his pleasure surges one last time, flooding him, drowning him, killing him and killing him and killing him and Freminet can't scream because he has no air, no head, no body. Lynette holds him but he doesn't understand how. Lyney drinks him down, swallowing around him again and again, but his mind tells him that it's impossible. For the time it takes him to cum down Lyney's throat, Freminet's mind convinces himself that he no longer exists, that he's dissolved into water and seafoam, and it's a convincing thought. Everything has gone white and the air refuses to reach his lungs. He's gone. Returned to the sea at last.
Even after they part from him and gently lay him back down on the bed, he doesn't know how long it takes him to come back to earth. He slowly becomes aware of a hand on his head, fingers running gentle through his hair, another, and another wrapped around his own, holding it tenderly. Below his head is something soft and warm--a leg--and he can faintly hear two voices he loves muttering close to his ear.
His eyes are still hazy when he wearily blinks them open and finds his head pointed at his big brother. The hand stroking his hair isn't his, which means that Lyney is the one holding his hand, and Lynette is the one under him.
Before he can make a sound, Lyney glances down at him and they lock eyes. "Freminet!"
Freminet feels Lynette's leg shift under his head as she looks down, brows raised in worry that seems to disappear when he meets her gaze.
"Lyney... Lynette..." He should get up or apologize at the very least, but all he can do is say their names and hope they understand the intense love he feels for them as his body somehow finds more energy with which cry. He sniffles softly, eyes filling, then spilling over when Lyney moves his hair away from his forehead and leans down to kiss it.
"Are you feeling better now?" Lynette asks, to which Freminet nods. As soon as Lyney's moved out of the way, Lynette takes his place, lowering his head down onto a pillow that doesn't feel nearly as nice as she had. It's nothing he can complain about, though, because she leans down right after to press a second kiss to his forehead, and he can feel the smile in her lips as she whispers against his skin, "Good."
"You should get some more rest," Lyney mutters. He hasn't let go of Freminet's hand, and he laces their fingers together now, holding onto him like he's precious. "I don't know how many opportunities we'll get later."
Again, Freminet nods, and, again, he knows there's more that he should do, more that he should say, but all of his words have left him with his tears. So he does what he knows best. With a soft sigh, he lets his body settle into the mattress holding it, lets his eyes fall shut and his breathing even out, exhaustion guiding him almost as readily as the weight of his obedience.
When he wakes up, he'll be sure to make it up to them somehow. Whatever he's told, he'll do it. Anything to get the three of them home. Anything to keep his family safe. As much as possible for someone like himself, he will try to emulate the perfection they embody so that he doesn't fail them again.
As he drifts off, Lyney's hand in his, Lynette's fingers once again moving through his hair, that's what he thinks about. He would do anything for them.