Rarely does he shed that Harkonnen-forged viper skin and offer something far more frangible in the wake of it. Giedi Prime has a way of teaching, and Feyd has learned and learned with lessons that scar down to his bones. Yet with her, always with her, there's ever been that overwhelming necessity to flay himself open, ventricles and all, raw and rawer still.
--When there are no other eyes to witness his desiccation.
"I've dedicated every arena match to you, since we met." To speak the language of blades and battle, he concedes the shriveled pieces of his soul. "I've become a better fighter. A better man."
@impercre ASKED: You could be a titled lady. (FEYD)
"I have no need for a title." she spat back, her quiet voice hissing out what should have been a scream, "You have no right to speak to me as if you could make that happen. I know when I have been cast aside. And I know where I should be -- what i should be doing."
She was devastated. She'd lost a son. She had no home to return to and was refused the right to go home. it was always soon. it was always in its time.
The Atreides could say such things because he had time. She had only now.
"it is your kind that brought all this here. Your disease and venom. Your Imperium. You think that could all be fixed if I stay? Open your eyes, your own life hangs by a thread. he has no use for forms."
Mine, he thought and had to breathe in deeply then out. He looked away out into the crowd gathered in the throne room at Kaitain. He wanted to touch her but there was no way to do it without being noticed and he wanted to touch her some place clean and safe.
"Who would you want to marry, princess?" He asked refusing to look at her out of fear for her answer. He'd faced countless gladiators in the arena, had killed men, endured his Uncle and his favor since boyhood, helped hunt and harvest Bjondax whales for their fur and organs on Lankiveil and yet this princess had him trembling like a schoolboy.
eyelids narrow as the princess studies him , the way his eyes avoid her entirely. his actions are mimicked as she instead pivots to cast her gaze across the bustling throne room , tuning out the thrumming of lively chatter that echoes off of the walls. her head tilts as if in contemplation ; it's the first time she's ever been asked such a question , she believes.
❝ i don't think it matters who i would want to marry , ❞ the words are uttered matter⸻of⸻factly , no lingering traces of sadness laced behind the words , nor does she seek his pity. ever the dutiful daughter , irulan had accepted so long ago that this was always her fate , written and sealed within the stars. there was no point in trying to rewrite destiny. this is what princesses were for , no ? what eldest daughters are for , what she is for : a reward to be dangled over heads , merely a stepping stone for her future husband to ascend to the throne.
Her hand never belonged to her. It would never be her choice for it would always be the choice of men around her. She'd never been under any sort illusion that the choice would be hers, despite all the novels she read growing up that would suggest otherwise. Even Feyd hadn't started off as her choice, nothing more than a potential suitor she feared. But their time together pulled at something inside of her, something she refused to acknowledge until her now husband nearly took his life.
She'd stepped up to save her father's life....and the Na Baron's, under extreme conditions. The former Duke would become Emperor, she would be his bride, and Feyd would live out the remainder of his days as an unofficial "prisoner" and serve the Emperor and render aid to any dealings with the people of Giedi Prime. The only unspoken "compromise" she and Paul had about the whole ordeal was that she'd get to see the man....and in doing so keep some privacy- until Paul would maybe deem it unfit.
Regardless, Irulan had never meant to cross that line. But she'd been so relieved to see him standing after the battle that she'd been swift to take his face in her hands and kiss him.
And ever since then their kisses expanded, new parts touched, until that one evening not too long ago where she'd given herself to him- given him the gift that should have been reserved for her husband- but was never asked for by him.
Her breath is quick as their bodies pressed against one another, desperate for him to take her. Green eyes close as her fingers trace up and down his arm as he held her, her breath hitching at his words and finally her eyes open, turning her head to look at him while her hands now come to hold his own face.
The Princess's throat tightens with emotion as she looks over Feyd's face, his dark eyes, and sturdy features. "I," she breathes out, her voice no more than a whisper. "....I do not want to be his wife any longer." It's all she can muster, for turning back on her word would take her father, Feyd, and her life most certainly.
So instead Irulan presses her body against his again, burying her head into his neck with a soft sound as she reaches between their legs to gently begin touching him. "....Take me."
➫ PAUL found himself drawn to the other like a bee on honey, and it was intoxicating. The Fremen way of public and open sex was very new to him, thrilling even, everything from kissing to pleasure in Caladan was formal, almost puritan in nature. But he had gotten used to the idea, a dance and cascade of the flesh, touching everything, mouths on everyone, you couldn’t step two paces without a writhing of bodies next to you. It thrilled him, his blood quick and hot under his skin.
He had grabbed the one he wanted, pushing and pulling Otheym to the wall, kissing him as feverishly as he could on his neck, making his intentions clear. They fit like puzzle pieces together, they fought like warriors but here, body against body, they were two lavish pawns in a game of satisfaction. Paul gasped when the other finally took hold of him, the thin cloth did nothing to hide either of their bodies, both of them obviously ready for the night to come.
Reaching up, he cupped Otheym’s face, bringing himself up to meet him for a heated kiss, the spice racing through his body and fueling the desire he felt, biting on his lips when they weren’t kissing. "You'll have me?" He asked, breathless, more than that, if he accepted, it was a demand.
"She's my friend." He said plainly. He had never had a friend before-- or at least one that was genuine enough to be anything real. From what little interaction he had, it was with those in the slave quarters or prisoners to spar with.
But he couldn't count those as friends. Not when their positions in life pitted them against each other. Surviving the day was always the priority. Especially under the Baron's roof. That was the greatest thing they had in common.
The word sat strangely in his mouth, his expression trying to decide if it had been the right word. No, she hated him at first. He didn't think she hated him now, he certainly didn't hate her.
Actually, what had developed was a much more enjoyable experience. She was a different kind of friend. Her hand fit in his. He fingers intertwined with his. There were moments in the morning hours that other saved for the dark. It wasn't simply pulling teeth anymore to gain footing on this planet or try and gain political clout as his house consisted now of only himself. In that sense, he needed Irulan in much of the same manner.
"Are you jealous?" He asked, his feelings clearly showing on his face. "You and I aren't like that." Aren't friends like that. he said decidedly. "Are you jealous?"
Try as he might, there was no use in suppressing the smirk that slipped through his best efforts not to laugh. "I did not think you would want... that." He clearly looked confused. " Not when that is the least of what is between us." No one could hold a candle to Irulan. No, she sat high up on the top shelf like a glass plate painted with blue little designs. She was something precious . Something beloved.
They had built this piece by piece and were continuing to lay the stones of their foundation. That was something he held most dear.
Daniel clenches his jaw--a new habit he's formed to stop himself responding to anything immediately. It's not a strength of his, to wait. Duke Leto used to call it speaking from the heart, while Gurney called it speaking out of turn. He'd been corrected often enough then, but the Atreides weren't ones to punish outspoken mentats very harshly, so long as they proved themselves of good judgement.
But the House of Atreides is no more.
He's not sure, yet, of this younger Harkonnen. The Baron is as vicious as Daniel had expected, but... Perhaps it's desperation that makes Daniel wonder if there may be some leverage to find with Feyd-Rautha.
Desperation is all he has now. "That might be true," he says slowly. "But in my experience, those things get worn down. Or burn themselves out." His traitorous mind replays the last few times he saw Duke Leto, thoughts of his own coming death clearly on his mind. The memories make his voice falter for a moment. "Especially in a place like this."
Paul flinched slightly, a hot wash of shame going over him. Gurney's punishment had hardly been necessary, although he'd borne it because he knew it was expected. This was worse by far, to face his father's disappointment after not seeing him for more than a few minutes at a time for weeks.
He knew now that It had been a mistake, trying a complicated trick he'd imagined would work. Instead of impressing anyone, though, he'd only managed to damage the fencing mirror and cause a minor injury to himself.
"I wasn't--" The words were out before he could stop himself. It would be better to accept that Gurney and his father were right, that he'd been foolish and he would not try anything like that again. But it would be worse, now, to discard the sentence he'd begun. He couldn't be a coward. "I wasn't playing with it. But I won't do it again. Of course."
