Chapter Text
Flins blinked. Then blinked again.
There were three of him in the clearing, and each one of them was as confused, as real, and as... turned on?
They’d tried everything. Flins #1 held up and shook his lamp. Flins #2 slapped it. Flins #3 licked it (why? No one knew - I certainly don’t).
Nothing happened. The lamp was dead. But something else was very much alive. All three of them turned as a group and then saw it. Saw, HER, as a matter of fact.
Lauma, crouching, bending to pick up a fallen piece of the obsidian crystal. Her tunic hugged her curves just right; her hair swayed in the wind. She was intent, poised, utterly oblivious to the commotion behind her.
And Flins? The three of them saw it. That spark. That fire. That oh-no-she's-bending-over sort of thing. All three versions of Flins stared. And though their faces were identical and very stoic, each had a certain difference about it. Slightly more pressed lips, narrower eyes, or ... cowlick moving? (Flins #3 - you again?)
They didn't say a word. None was needed, for the air teemed with charge – not of magic or of relics, but of straightforward, unadulterated desire. And since they were all bound to the same mind, the same desires, the same very, very special susceptibility to Lauma's... peach ... they moved. As a pack.
Flins #1 got to her first. He entered in hushed awe, his eyes fixed on Lauma as though she alone kept him grounded. His hand rose, not to her waist, but to her face. Softly, he massaged the knuckles of his palm into the cheek, the touch so delicate it was like reliving a memory. His fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the kind of care that only comes from knowing someone personally. It wasn't teasing. It wasn’t possessive. It was grounding. Like he needed to touch her face to remember that she was there, that he was there, even in this dreamlike state of miracle triplication. Lauma breathed in. Her eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them. His thumb stroked her skin, slow and deliberate, and she leaned into the touch instinctively because it was him. She knew him. The one who always touched her like she was made of starlight and silk. He smiled, soft and breathless.
“Even divided between three,” he whispered, “I only reach for one thing. You.”
Before she could say anything, Flins #2 stepped in, his presence wrapping around her like a velvet cloak - warm, magnetic, and unmistakably familiar. He didn’t rush. He didn’t speak. He simply moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing her body’s language better than any spellbook ever could. Flins #2 breathed over her skin, just shy of actually touching, before his lips were in position. The kiss he dropped on her shoulder was a feather touch - so light that it seemed like a sigh, like a secret shared between skin and soul. He lingered there, letting the warmth of his breath settle against her, lips barely parting, just enough to stir the fine hairs along her neck. Lauma’s breath hitched. His fingers trailed behind, drifting up her arm in slow, seductive motion. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just deliberate, like he was tracing a path he’d walked a thousand times but still found breathtaking. His hand was gentle, respectful, but with an undertone to it like he was holding back a storm.
Lauma’s eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat, her body responding instinctively to the tenderness. Her skin heat under his palm, her heart pounding in her neck. She didn't have to look at him to know it was Flins in appearance, but in nature too. That one smoothness of action, the way he kissed her as if she were made of stardust and silk. He came closer, lips now against her ear, voice low and honeyed.
“You do this every time,” he whispered. “Close your eyes once, breathe, and I'm forgetting everything else.” Lauma's eyes slide open, her eyes finding his with a warm smile. "Then perhaps I should not breathe." Flins #2 grinned, brushing a knuckle along her jaw. “You'd better not.”
And then there was Flins #3.
He moved behind her with quiet confidence, not rushed, not hesitant - just deliberate. His feet made no sound on the mossy earth, as if the forest itself was bracing itself for breath. Making sure his "prey" could hear him approaching. Lauma didn’t turn. She didn't have to. She could sense him coming, her "predator", the warmth of him seeping out even before he touched her. Kyrill's arms wrapped around her hips, slow and careful, fingers spreading wide on the rise of her waist as if taking her - not in a claiming way, but a worshipful one. He drew her gently into the curve of his body, aligning himself with her in a way that made her breath catch and her spine straighten. His chest against her back, hot and solid, and she felt the steady beat of his heart - rapid, but within control. His lips hovered near her ear, so close she could feel the pressure of his breath before he even spoke. Flins #3 own voice was low, smoke, velvet, curling around her like an incantation. Like he was putting her under a spell just by breathing.
“You bent over,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear, whispering it like it was a secret meant only for her to hear, “and we went mad.”
Lauma shivered - not from cold, but because his words rippled down the length of her spine in silk. Like a spell. His lips were still there, hardly more than breath, enough to tease, enough to make her imagine. She could feel the tension in his grip, the restraint in his movements, the way every inch of him was screaming to do more but holding back, waiting for her signal. She turned her head slightly, her cheek grazing his.
“All three of you?” she whispered, voice thick with amusement and heat. Flins #3 chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “We’re the same man, Lauma. Same thoughts. Same wants. And right now, every version of me wants you.”
His hands curled a fraction tighter on her hips, holding her against him. She could sense the other two Flins around her, one brushing her cheek, the other kissing her shoulder but it was Flins #3 who had her locked in place, breathless and burning.
And in that moment, standing there among three iterations of the man she loved, Lauma realized something: she wasn’t overwhelmed. She was wanted. Wholeheartedly. Entirely. Simultaneously.
And who knows... maybe her hand slips down... gently, carefully. Earning a suppressed growl from one of the Flinses, or maybe from them all.