Summary: It takes an anonymous bouquet for you to realize that Lyney's avoidance was a flimsy illusion, showing more of the parts of himself he sought to hide. So, you resolve to dispel the smoke and mirrors. (aka: Lyney avoids you but leaves gifts, Lynette pulls an intervention, and you coax Lyney into letting go of his facade to fall apart in your arms. Extra emphasis on that last part.)
Content warnings:
-Slight spoilers to Lyney/Lynette's backstory in Act 1 of the Fontaine Archon Quest.
-Dominant!reader, submissive!Lyney (slight D/S dynamics, assume that everything has been negotiated+is consensual between the charas.)
++Established relationship, a bit of plot and emotions before the smut proper (sorry), makeouts, frottage, giving handjobs and oral+anal fingering (to Lyney), overstimulation, hickeys and gratuitous marking, skinship, disheveled and whiny Lyney
word count: 2.8k words
minors do not interact
Flowers don’t do anything for you. The cloying scent of the elaborate bouquet—Romaritime, Pluie, and Lumidouce, mournful shades of blue clustered around pale petals—resting in front of your hotel room’s door only made your head spin. A closer look doesn’t reveal any clue from the sender, only intensifying your discomfort.
So you go and ask the front desk about it. Sure enough, they politely dodge the question, cite some reason for confidentiality, and deflect by telling you about their cafe’s special for the day. Your initial guess was further confirmed.
At least, he kept this attempt at reaching out simple. You almost expected sparklers to go off and doves to burst forth when you reached for the bouquets.
(Deep down, a part of you wanted Lyney to approach and explain everything. Not this shoddy attempt to save face, while refusing to show his own to you.)
To willing passerby, to apologetic hotel staff, you give away the flowers. And the remainder, you leave on an empty windowsill, in the waistband of a display mannequin, alongside unsold newspapers in their racks.
They’d only be a waste if you kept them in your room, after all. Flowers looked better in the sun, or in the hands of a person who was as bright and colorful as them.
Your mind drifts to violet eyes and a charming smile.
Just before you head off to the Aquabus Main Station, your ears catch the sound of fluttering cloth followed by quiet, rapid footfalls in the opposite direction.
[...]
You liked doing your recreational reading in places tucked away from most of the foot traffic. Today, you sat on a bench just outside of Vasari Passage. Faint conversation and music from the nearby shops combined with the sound of flowing water from the numerous fountains served as your ambient noise. It was relaxing.
(Or as close to “relaxing” as you could get. You’d been stuck on this chapter for days now.)
What you didn’t expect was for Lynette to actually march her brother over to you the next day. Thankfully, there aren’t any Gardemeks to witness the sight.
"Talk. The both of you.”
“Lynette!” His eyes meet yours and he glances away to admonish his sister.
To which her usual impassivity forms into a frown. “No. You’ve been moping at home and during rehearsals.”
“I’m not moping. I just—Anyway,” Lyney clears his throat, turning to you. “We’ll leave you to your mystery novel.” A smile, faintly apologetic, graces his lips.
A perfect display of his stage persona.
You don’t like how he says your name, none of the familiarity and fondness that you thought he held for you. Treating you as if you were another face in the crowd. A name to be remembered only for the duration of the trick.
Lynette’s frown deepens. “No. I’ll be helping Freminet later. Don’t come with me.”
“Surely, an extra pair of hands would still be appreciated—”
“No.” For a split second, her ears fold backwards. “Talk to them,” she presses.
“Lynette, my dear sister—” His smile strains.
“No. End of conversation.”
Before she leaves, Lynette spares you a glance over her shoulder, that cold frown still resting on her features. She opens her mouth as if to speak, before deciding against it and continuing to walk away, all while ignoring Lyney’s calls for her.
But the look—the matching plea and threat—in her eyes speaks enough.
Now alone with Lyney, you fold the corner of the current page into a dog’s ear, before closing the book and holding it at your side.
Without his steadfast assistant by his side, the cracks in Lyney’s persona reveal themselves bit by bit. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to conjure a way to somehow salvage the scene.
Out of a habit to comfort, you almost reach for his hand with your free one, before catching yourself. Instead, you call his name.
“Will you walk me back?” You almost called Hotel Debord ‘home,’ another careless slip of the tongue. God, you were no better than Lyney.
He hesitates briefly before replying, “of… of course.”
Eventually, the both of you fall into step with each other. The pleasant idle conversation follows quickly after. It is another habit the both of you can’t seem to break from.
[...]
“Minimalist as ever, I see,” Lyney muses after a quick glance around the room.
“I didn’t throw them away.” You close the door behind him. “If I kept them, they would’ve wilted here. Unappreciated.”
“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “I was under the impression that you were—that they were not to your liking.”
You were angry. Emphasis on ‘were.’
No, you weren’t angry when you found out that he and Lynette had ties to the House of Hearth. Even after growing close with him, you learned that the man carried two secrets for every heartfelt confession he shared with you.
(What mattered most was that you had each other’s trust. That you would protect each other and your loved ones as best you could, right?)
Ironically, that promise would become the very source of your current frustration.
The admission comes out relatively easily. “I’m not mad.” Your fingers graze against his wrist and Lyney flinches—pulls away from your touch.
“You have every right to be, though. Anyone would be. ” The usual brightness in Lyney’s expression dims, his voice grows uncharacteristically serious. Was this what he looked like during the trial at Opera Epiclese?
But you reason, “anyone can see that you’ve been anxious.” Try as you might to control yourself, hurt creeps into your tone. “Yet at the same time, you avoid me.”
Were you just another untrustworthy person to him? Another head to entertain?
Lyney exhales, before asking you in a low voice, “would you be willing to associate with someone—anyone from the Fatui?”
The true accusation runs underneath those words, an undercurrent of disgust directed at himself. Would you be willing to be tied to someone like me?
“Yes! That doesn’t matter to me—”
“This isn’t a joke.” His voice sounds more doubtful, almost hostile. He finally says your name, and to hear the word in that cold, flat tone…
It sends a painful pang through your ribs.
“I am serious, Lyney! I know that you and your siblings are kind and good. And for a moment, you made Fontaine almost feel like a home, but I—”
Maybe it’s the way that you’re holding onto him, or maybe it’s the building desperation in your voice, that you see something in his facade break.
“...I know that I don’t deserve to know everything, but at least let me be there by your side. Please.”
You don’t know how much more you can take of being a spectator.
“Forgive me,” he utters quietly and ducks his gaze. It seems your words were able to reach him. He takes one of your hands and cradles it close to his chest, a tender yet apologetic gesture. “I can’t…share everything yet. I’ll need time.”
“I know.” Your eyes feel damp, but your heart feels a little bit lighter. “I can wait.”
Your palm slowly unfurls, laying itself flat against Lyney’s chest. Contrary to his controlled demeanor at the moment, his pulse is racing. All because of your words and your touch. Mentioning it aloud would probably make it worse for him, so you pull him into an awkward embrace with your free hand until his head is nestled into the crook of your neck.
You feel Lyney mumble something against your clothed collarbone. Whether it is an apology or a quiet “thank you,” you aren’t sure. You merely steady your own breathing until his evens out to match yours.
“...I missed you.”
Lyney’s return of your embrace tightens around your frame. He doesn’t say anything in response to your words. Endearing as Lyney is in this moment, it is only behind closed doors that he lets himself fall apart. Sometimes, you have to be the one to bring him to that point.
And, well, the both of you could use a change in conversation.
“You know, I think that was the first time I had ever seen Lynette so… emotional.”
“Lynette isn’t emotionless, she—she was just frustrated at my foolishness.”
“To be fair, I share some of the blame with you. I should apologize to her as well.” As you mention that, your free hand removes Lyney’s hat to place it atop a nearby dresser. Then you undo his little braid, feel the soft strands of blond hair give and flow against your fingers. “Perhaps she would prefer a small gift, would you know of any new tea blends she’s been looking for?”
Your fingers gently card through the light-colored locks, sliding down to cup Lyney’s cheek. At that, Lyney finally raises his gaze to meet your eyes. His lips are pulled into a small pout. “Must we talk about her—about this now?” Jealousy edges into his voice despite his attempts to reign it in.
“Why, can’t I have you both as my favorites?”
“Th-that’s…that would be unfair.” His cheeks flush red.
You can’t help the little amused laugh from escaping. “I’m kidding, I’m equally fond of you and your siblings.”
Your laughter only grows in response to Lyney’s groan. You feel his hands slip under the hem of your top, moving to tease at the small of your back. His touch elicits a shudder from you, sending an excited tingle up your spine. The rest of your teasing remarks go forgotten in the wake of the heat pooling in your lower stomach.
“Will you get on the bed please?” The request is coupled with a gentle press of your fingertips against his chest.
Lyney obeys and takes a seat on your mattress, pulling you onto his lap. At your surprised gasp, he takes the opportunity to seal your mouths together, stealing more little moans and noises from you until you are starved of air.
He looks better like this. With that stupid hat set aside, blond hair undone and messily falling over his features, and of course, the rosy hue decorating his cheeks as you bring his lips to yours again and again.
You undo the ribbon holding his scarf together, drag the tips of your nails against his nape, savor the little surprised gasp and slip your tongue into his mouth, bring him closer when he flinches away and drink in the needy sound that escapes his throat.
Without any of his magic tricks and flashy persona, none of the extra flourish that he usually carried himself with, Lyney’s demeanor is instead replaced with an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes, fervently searching you for approval or disgust. No longer the wrongly-convicted Fatuus, no longer the dazzling magician.
Just Lyney.
Eventually, the both of you pull apart, breathing heavily.
“Well, that was… something.” You shift, adjusting your position to properly straddle him. “I didn’t expect you to be the jealous sort.”
You watch his throat bob as he gathers his words. “I—You were the one who started it…”
Even as he says that, Lyney’s gaze is fixated on how your groin is resting against his clothed erection, maybe imagining what it would look like if you were both fully unclothed, what it would look like inside of you, to see your hips meld together before moving in tandem.
“I can’t stop myself if you keep giving me such priceless reactions.” In this position, you were now the sole performer capturing his attention.
“Ah ah ah—” Your fingers catch on the edge of his glove, stretching out the fabric and pulling his hand away from touching your waist. “Take these off first.”
He clumsily yanks them off and tosses them aside, as he does so, you start undoing the buttons of his top, bit by bit revealing the lithe muscles of his shoulders and arms.
(You forget that in addition to performing for his magic shows with Lynette, Lyney has worked on covert missions for the Fatui. Hell, he’s proficient with a bow and arrow, of course he would have something for your eyes to appreciate.)
A soft curse falls from your lips. “I really missed this.” Leaning forward, you press a kiss against his collarbone. “You’re really breathtaking, you know?” you say, before suckling at the skin.
“A-ah, hnn…” His palms hesitantly find their place on your hips as you leave more blooming red marks along his chest. The warmth of a Pyro visionholder is incomparable to any other source of heat. Completely dispelling any of the cold loneliness you were left with from the past few days.
“Can I…” you trail off, letting the light scrape of your teeth continue your question. Though Lyney didn’t let you leave too many conspicuous marks, you hoped this would be the rare exception.
He nods shakily. “As long as—” His voice wavers when your lips return to his chest. “—it’s n-not too high, please.”
In your newfound excitement, you tear a pained whine from Lyney as you leave another hickey atop his heart. It’s the loudest noise he’s made so far.
(Though a part of you feels he can be much, much louder than that.)
“Just let it out, Lyney. I want to hear all of it.” Your thumb strokes at his hipbone before you take a pert nipple into your mouth.
As you continue your ministrations, Lyney’s control slips more and more. Stifled noises turn into soft moans, which then turn into desperate calls of your name, all coupled with staccato thrusts against your groin. Taking that cue, you free his cock from the confines of his shorts.
“Don’t stop, please—please, I’m close…” The look in Lyney’s gaze is hazy, overtaken with his building pleasure. No more sign of his worries and burdens, just him mindlessly fucking into your fist.
A copious amount of precum had been leaking from his tip, slicking your hand. “I know, I know, I’m not stopping.” Your thumb brushes over the slit of his cock, drawing out a choked sob from Lyney. You feel him twitch before his seed spills all over your palm.
It doesn’t stop you from continuing milking his release until he starts shaking from oversensitivity.
All he had to do was to feel good and you would take care of the rest. You were only getting started, after all.
[...]
“I-I can’t come anymore, I c-can’t—” Lyney squirms in your grasp.
Momentarily pulling off of his cock, you say, “You can do it, just one more, Lyney.” With those words, your fingers—which are buried deep inside of him—continue prodding at his prostate, each nudge making his hips cant up uselessly against empty air.
“N-no, I really can’t anymo—ah!” His protest tips into a high-pitched moan as you deliver another jab to the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Yes you can, you’re almost there." Your tongue catches a bead of precum and you take him into your mouth once more. Unable to formulate any more coherent sentences, the only sounds that leave Lyney are half-formed words and needy, desperate noises. All he can do is writhe and thrust up into the heat of your mouth. Feel your tongue tease at the sensitive head of his cock in tandem with your fingers nestled inside, until you manage to wring out a weak spurt of come.
Swallowing, you sit back, wiping at your mouth with the back of your wrist. Your other hand rests atop Lyney’s thigh, thumb idly stroking at the skin.
A warm, comfortable silence falls over the both of you.
“You…were relentless, my dear.” Lyney says as he catches his breath. The use of the pet name isn’t lost on you. Guess he was finally back to his usual self.
You brush aside the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead. His makeup is smudged with a mix of sweat and tears. “Was it too much?” you ask, genuine concern coloring your voice.
He shakes his head. At the touch of your palm against his cheek, his eyes slip closed. “It felt good, thank you.”
The simple admission makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t know that he has you so utterly and completely wrapped around his finger, that every little thing he did was making you forget your habit of distance.
Your clothes and his are completely strewn all over the room, you can't remember if his stockings were still left intact. He should have extra pairs, right?
“Come on, we have to get cleaned up.”
Lyney makes a move to sit up, but stops. “I…” he trails off, before gathering the courage to meet your gaze. “...Can’t move…”
If he kept giving you that helpless look, you were probably going to hike his legs over your shoulders and—No, focus! You push those thoughts out of your mind, set them aside for later. There would be ample time to continue where you left off.
“Sorry about that.” Despite the apologetic tone in your voice, a sly smile pulls at your lips. “Want me to carry you?”
“I can stand!” Lyney flushes an indignant shade of red.
Who needs flowers when the mark of your affection blooms so beautifully on his skin?
A/N: FUCKKKK iTS FINALLY FINISHED auGH I AM FINALLY FREE OF THE MAGIC MAN! i didn't expect to be this endeared to this guy at all, but oh well here we are, putting a lot of complicated emotions and hurt/comfort into what was supposed to be a pwp fic oops (i've been working on this since august can u tell i'm at the end of my rope?🥴🥴) thanks again @jessamine-rose for betaing the beginning of the fic, i would've gone crazy without her helpful input💕💕
i hope you enjoyed reading my meager offering to the cutie pie lyney agenda 🤧i love clowning on him, it has become my new mission to fluster him to the point of incoherence i--(gets hit with a shovel) ANYWAYS, dont be afraid to rb ++holler in the tags, i treasure each and every comment💕💕
