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“You are nothing to me.” Paul had spat.
Nothing to me. It was said with a kind of certainty that made Feyd’s blood boil. Nothing to him? It was ridiculous, and rich with ignorance. Had he no idea what they were meant to be to each other?
Getting the gag on Paul had taken wit, but Feyd-Rautha was a prepared person and was very much aware of what Paul could do with his voice. One wrong move in a fight and slipping it on had been almost easy. They hadn’t intended on fighting. This was supposed to be cordial. Civil, even. The Harkonnen throne room was vast and very empty, and with no guards to step in and separate them, the cookie had crumbled this way.
“You don’t understand, Paul.” Feyd took pleasure in being the only one able to speak. “You were supposed to be a girl. My wife. It.. was going to mean something. To these people. To my father. Everything I was raised to be— disintegrated. All because that witch of yours wanted a son.” He took a gratifying step forward, edging Paul into a poorly lit corner of the room. Anger bristled across Paul’s face at the mention of his mother, but the gag held firm. He let himself be herded back, and Feyd, ever conscious of Paul’s mannerisms, noticed this. Despite his show of resentment, there was a palpable willingness to his demeanor. “And it all worked out perfectly for you two,” he continued, purring, “but what about me?” He pushed a finger into Paul’s soft cheek, and Paul felt his face tingle at the contact. “Do you even realize what we could’ve been? What we were supposed to be?”
Feyd pushed in on Paul’s space, until the far wall came into play, taking Paul against itself as Feyd drew closer. Neither of them knew if this was going where it felt like it was going. Feyd traced his finger down Paul’s cheek, where it met the strap of the gag, and gave the fabric a little tug. “Hmm. I’d love to take this off, and see what kind of words you have in store for me.” A slight twitch in Paul’s eyebrows gave indication that anger might not be the only feeling coursing through him. Feyd noticed this, and smirked. “Oh, but is the boy… still, in some ways, like a girl? Of course, we couldn’t have been destined for something so great without it finding a way to rear its head somewhat, right? Tsk tsk tsk.. that Reverend Mother and all her prowess never stopped to consider that you might still… want me.” With that, Feyd moved in the rest of the way, coming into the heat of Paul’s body with clear intentions.
Feyd was no stranger to sex. Having been an unruly child with rather large shoes to fill, there needed be an effective strategy to disarm him, and when classic physical discipline didn’t work, a more.. inventive method became the norm. In the beginning, it would be the Baron— always pushing the envelop of sanity— instructing a guard to kiss young Feyd into silence. When this proved fruitful, an escalation was always going to be on the horizon. At a certain point, the barrier of the guard was removed completely, and the Baron could purge his desires while getting Feyd to promise him pretty much anything. Lust was a Harkonnen language of power, and Feyd-Rautha was a native speaker.
Paul, on the other hand, knew lust in a more personal way. Having never been touched, all his sexual experiences were solo, but never without indirect influence. Lady Jessica, with intentions to strengthen his awareness of disabling emotions, would drip a pinch of a powerful aphrodisiac into his drinks every now and again, and then lock him in his room under the pretense that it just wasn’t safe to come out right now. The drug would make quick work of him, and he quickly learned all the different places to put his fingers. Lust was something that happened to him, and he could only get rid of it in the ways he’d been privy to.
Being touched.. it was not something Paul expected to give him that feeling. No one had ever made his body react like this. He felt the warmth of Feyd’s chest pressed up against his, and the look in his eyes held a sinister promise. He… didn’t think Feyd was going to hurt him. In fact, Paul sensed that, despite his incessant fear mongering, intimacy was the intended result.
“If I…” Feyd settled his hands on the slight curve of Paul’s waist, enjoying the idea of Paul’s willingness, “want something… Well, let’s just say no one’s ever been in a position to deny me.” He drew his hands up Paul’s sides. “But something tells me that it might not come to that.” He let one of his hands trace its way down to Paul’s waist line, and as if chiming in to agree, Paul’s hips gave a slight kick forward. Feyd stared, suddenly entranced by the involuntary way Paul’s body sought out pleasure. He glanced upwards to take in Paul’s face, and found his eyes were screwed shut. A pulse of warmth hit Feyd’s chest like a dart. He liked having this effect on someone. He knew the feeling.
“I’m going to be honest, Paul. I like your body. I think you’re… pretty. That’s not meant to offend you, cousin. It’s just important that you know that.. I also want you.”
He felt the press of Paul’s cock against his own, hardening against its will, and Feyd smiled again. “I’d like us to know something that we were meant to know.” Suddenly, Paul’s hands gently landed on his back, and his forehead tilted to rest against Feyd’s. It was a disarming display of intimacy. It left Feyd unable to resist.
Taking a calculated risk, he peeled Paul’s gag downwards, leaving it to rest around his neck like some tacky necklace. Immediately, without preamble, Paul surged forward, lips landing firmly on Feyd’s. This has not been the intended route Feyd envisioned when he thought about sexually torturing the Atreides boy, but Feyd found himself eager to return the affection, for some reason finding that the sudden tenderness only fueled his desperation. Paul kissed like a boy who’d only imagined kissing. Feyd kissed like a boy who’d been denied kisses between thrusts of his uncle’s cock. There was a startling amount of truth to Feyd’s pain around not having a destined wife, in that he took to Paul’s flair for romanticism quite eagerly. Paul’s hands cupped at his cheeks with earnest, and Feyd pulled Paul’s hips towards his crotch in response.
“You taste nice.” Paul breathed, and Feyd felt his stomach turn in a way he’d never felt. He suddenly needed Paul everywhere. Paul’s delicate fingers feeling every inch of skin, Paul’s soft lips wrapped around his cock, Paul’s hips kicking against his thigh until he came, Paul’s cock stretching inside him, Paul’s breath hot in his ear, but only as long as Paul kept coming back in to kiss him, and as long as Paul kept telling him he tasted nice. He wanted everything he was used to, but this time from Paul, because Paul was his height and made pretty sounds and had an innocence to him that promised care. And because Paul was always supposed to smear his soul into his. Paul was supposed to be the girl he would escape to. And here Paul was, beginning to kiss at his neck, holding him close like he wanted him, and it made Feyd feel different.
Feyd thrust his hips against Paul again, relishing in the way Paul groaned into the nook of his neck. “Please, do that again.”
So polite, and with not an ounce of embarrassment. It was unabashed. It was worlds away from what Feyd had grown up on. Desire was always interlaced with shame, with manipulation. So he obliged, and pushed forward against Paul’s crotch again, and this time they both let out a sound, their hips beginning to find each other again and again. It was a new kind of feeling for both of them.
Paul had never realized just how much better things felt when with another person. Had he known feelings like this could be achieved, he most definitely would’ve asked his mother about it. He didn’t know how we was going to come back from this, if he was ever going to react normally to being touched again.
“Feels, ah— so good. Feyd— I..” Paul trailed off into wordless pants. Feyd was in a similar state, finding that he couldn’t tear his lips from Paul, leaving spit along the line of his jaw, teething at his ear lobe, losing himself in the shamelessness. Here they were, fully clothed in the throne room, humping against each other like dogs. Feyd felt like a virgin. He knew he could cum just like this. And he didn’t want to stop, so it seemed that he would.
Paul was already thinking about trying this again. And again. He worried that his internal compass might start pointing towards sex and away from more important matters. But he didn’t care. Feyd’s rough hands were under his shirt, sending shivers through him, and the wetness in his pants was dizzying. “Please.. please please please.” He didn’t even know what he was begging for, just that he was close and he needed Feyd to not stop.
Feyd came first, feeling his pants dampen with cum as he rut against Paul. His whole body danced with pleasure, not sparing a single nerve from its sweetness. Paul had his hands on his lower back as he still sought his release.
Starting to get over sensitive, Feyd quickly stepped away, and instead, nudged his thigh against Paul’s bulge as an offering. Paul eagerly resumed his antics, clinging to Feyd as he desperately rubbed against his thigh. “Does it feel good?” Feyd asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it. “Yes.. oh my god. Going to get addicted— ah!”
Paul came and it felt like fireworks. He knew he was leaving a wet spot on Feyd’s pants, but he didn’t care. His orgasm tore through his body with a vengeance, and it felt biblical. The prophecy had wanted them to bare a child, and oddly enough it was as if they were still trying. Paul shivered at the thought that he was meant to have carried Feyd’s child. He was suddenly very interested in Feyd’s cum inside him.
“We,” Paul was still panting as they both untangled themselves from each other, “We need to do that again.”
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