Chapter Text
Paul Atreides woke up dreading the day to come.
Since he’d become Duke he had become better acquainted with a lack of freedom. He was technically more powerful, yes, but with that power came an endless list of duties and expectations, more than he’d ever had when he was only the Duke’s son. And if yesterday were any insight into what he would have to deal with in the days ahead, he could already feel the exhaustion taking hold.
It wasn’t just the constant security debriefs and the inspections of any path that vaguely led to the attack, nor was it Gurney’s overprotectiveness rearing its head, his mothers agitated hovering, the reminder that Duncan had likely not even heard news of the attempt yet. The true source of his apprehension for the days to come was the man sleeping beside him in bed.
Feyd-Rautha had fallen asleep before him last night, and he slept even now. Soon Paul would have to wake him. His duties started earlier than the other’s, after all, and they’d have to tend to them together.
Until then, though, he would watch. He had found that these early moments before they went their separate ways for the day, before Feyd would slink off to whatever corner of the palace he passed the time in, were all he had if he wanted to observe. When they were alone together at the end of the night his husband was agitated, and making clear efforts to hide it. When the rare public appearance had been required of them, he was silent in voice and void of expression.
But here, in their bed, bathed in the warm tones of a scorching sunrise, he was as close to peace as Paul had ever seen him. Full lips slightly parted, long lashes heavy. The light and shadows it caused accented the line of his jaw in a path that, if braver, Paul might have followed with his finger.
His mind wandered from the sight before him now to the one he was met with only hours before. Feyd-Rautha had laid in that same spot, but he’d felt so much closer, the weight of his hand connecting them in a way that was sorely missing now. He charted the path it had taken on Feyd-Rautha now, imagining the feeling of his own skin if he were to travel along his neck in the same way. He could feel the heat from his body from here. He felt an answering heat begin to uncurl deep in his gut.
Even now, he found himself unsure of what caused the former na-Baron’s actions the night before. His first instinct was that he was motivated then by what had motivated him the last time they’d been so… close . Amusement. He wanted to see how far he could push his new husband, how much he could poke and prod before getting a reaction.
But there had been something different in how he’d acted last night. It verged on authenticity. Whatever drove him to act that way, it was something he truly believed. The belief that he should express some kind of thanks for Paul’s actions in the presence of a would-be assassin. The belief that he had to. That was the thought that soured Paul’s stomach. Even now, it made him uneasy to consider.
With less grace than he would have managed any other time, Paul reached out towards the other. Rather than resting his hand on the exposed chest that lay beneath the sheets as a voice in the back of his head urged him to, he gently laid his hand on Feyd’s shoulder where it lay above the cloth.
This alone was enough to rouse him. His eyes blinked open lazily, those dark lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. His gaze flashed around the room before landing on Paul. He felt his breath catch in his throat being at the other end of his already alert gaze. He found himself having trouble remembering just why he’d woken the other up.
“You’ll need to get ready,” he finally spoke after a moment's hesitation, voice low in deference to the time. “There is a formal debriefing on the attempt.”
Feyd-Rautha only blinked in response. Paul wondered if he would have to speak again. Wondered what he would even say. But after a moment, the other reacted.
His husband sat up in a smooth motion, the sheet slipping ever lower at the sudden movement. Paul might have had a mind for how it had exposed his own skin, had he not been distracted by what it revealed of the man beside him. Feyd’s leisurely stretching only highlighted the bare, smooth skin on display. Paul of course knew that he had fought in gladiatorial arenas for much of his life, and had seen the body he’d gained from doing so in passing a handful of times. But to have on display before him as it was now, close enough to touch should he try, was enough to bring heat to his face, which in turn brought on embarrassment. He stood from the bed in a rush that he knew was both unbecoming of him and revealing of his thoughts.
When Feyd spoke, his voice rough from sleep, there was amusement ringing clear through his voice. Embarrassingly, Paul felt his face grow warmer at the sound of it.
“I’m not used to your schedule, husband. You always rise so early?”
Gathering clothes as fast as he could in a barely disguised effort to flee, Paul glanced back at him. He was somehow unsurprised to see him languidly lounging in the bed, the sheet now fallen to an unseemly degree as he took full advantage of the empty space Paul left behind. Was this how Feyd-Rautha spent every morning after he awoke to an empty bed? What might he do next? Paul turned back, closing a drawer with more force than intended.
“On most days,” he responded, aware that the words were coming out rushed. “The earlier I wake the more I’m able to fit into the day. And there’s always something to be done.”
He turned to leave the room in order to dress, all too aware that he was acting like a bashful teenager. On his way out, he heard Feyd-Rautha say something low enough that he’d almost missed it, his voice still heavy with the remnants of sleep.
“Then I had better find something to wear.”
Someone was talking. They had been for some time, and considering they were some head of one branch of security or another it was likely something important. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier for Paul to pay attention to what was being said. On most days, any other day, he’d be following along. He would listen intently, take note of what he was hearing and respond when necessary,
But today was not like most days. Today he had awoken beside his husband and seen him wake in return. They’d already spoken more today than they had in the week previous, and they weren’t even halfway through it. And for the first time since their marriage, his husband was sitting beside him through a briefing like this. And where Feyd-Rautha’s absence had been something that rarely if ever garnered his attention in this context, his presence was something that demanded it.
His expression was cool as ever as he sat beside him, walking that line between disinterest and alertness as well as he always seemed to. Paul could tell his addition to the room was off putting for some. He knew as well as anyone how it felt to have the full force of that gaze turned upon you the moment you opened your mouth to speak. But the discomfort of his men or the coolness of his gaze was not what was distracting him so.
That honor fell upon his husband’s state of dress. That morning, when Feyd had brushed past Paul to change into the bundle of clothes in his arms, he hadn’t expected anything out of the norm. Raised as an heir to one of the great houses, he’d more or less dressed the part throughout his time on Arrakis as well. He’d been dressed down leading up to their wedding, and wore silhouettes more reminiscent of the armor he had arrived in since then. Paul was prepared for more of the same.
Instead, his husband had emerged in something distinctly new.
His legs were modestly covered, though the trousers he wore laid on him like a second skin. His torso was similarly covered from just below the chin down to his hip, the top just as close a fit. Arms defined from years of combat of all kinds were left bare to the air, the only remaining fabric in use being dedicated to a purely fashionable, wisping cape trailing down his back, fluttering about with every slight movement. The cut of the top accented his shoulders, how the broad line of them softened into a tapered waist. The color of all the material was a characteristic deep black. Paul felt the color particularly emphasized the length of his legs. As close as they sat beside one another, he felt he could feel the heat of those long legs from beneath the table. He fought the urge to fidget.
“My Lord Duke?”
He hoped that when he turned to look at the man who addressed him, it looked less like him startling than it felt. He nodded for him to continue. As he repeated the proposal he’d introduced previously, Feyd-Rautha leaned over towards him. Paul’s head turned nearly instinctively to hear better as he spoke, his voice low enough to be technically polite but surely loud enough for those sitting beside them to pick up his words.
“Are you feeling alright, husband?” His hand lifted from the tabletop where it had been resting, disappearing beneath as he placed it purposefully on Paul’s knee. As he went on, the hand moved higher, high enough to be just past the line of impropriety. “Did you not get enough rest?”
Paul felt a prickling sensation at his hairline. He realized with a feeling bordering on horror how that movement, those words might sound to anyone close enough to hear. He kept his tone equally low as he responded.
“It's nothing.” Without allowing himself time to think, let alone to talk himself out of it, he lifted his own hand and placed it over Feyd-Rautha’s beneath the table. “Thank you.”
Before turning back to the man speaking, he caught a glimpse of something in the others eyes. A peek at that door opening once again. The heat worsened.
It was hours before they finally made it back to their chambers. They had spent nearly every second of that time side by side. Paul had thought originally that the request for a more overlapping schedule would be a bit more broad, sharing more meals and retiring to bed earlier. But for the entire day, the former na-Baron stood by his side.
Paul had also thought that he might get used to his presence, his closeness, what he was wearing. But if nothing else, he grew more affected by it, more aware of it. It was a relief when they finally retired for the day — at least now Feyd-Rautha would change out of that damn outfit.
That relief was of course negated by the fact that he chose to strip out of said outfit directly in front of Paul. He was already beneath the sheets when the other, standing at the foot of the bed, began to peel the layers from his body. He thought it might be best for him to look away. In practice, he found it hard to.
It was one thing to know what the other looked like, to see what lighter clothes than the bulky Harkonnen armor revealed of his body, to have his bare arms on display all morning, even to catch a glimpse of his exposed state early in the morning. It was something entirely else to see it this close, so on display. The most exposed they had been near one another was with the lights low, already in bed and in unspoken agreement to drift off silently. Now, there was nowhere else to look, nowhere to hide.
Paul sat rigidly as Feyd-Rautha undressed further before slipping into bed beside him. Where before there might have been feet between them, each on one side, now he slid in close beside him. Paul didn’t know what to do other than watch with wide eyes as he neared.
“Husband,” he greeted him finally, and that word . Paul couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath at hearing it. Feyd clearly picked up on it, lips curling as he continued. “Was it truly so tiring, today? You seemed distracted.”
For some reason he could not understand, Paul couldn’t look away from his mouth.
“It was an adjustment, you being there. But I didn’t mind it, if that’s what you mean,”
The smirk fell away. It was replaced, for a moment that Paul felt a surge of unexpected pleasure at, with surprise. But then he narrowed his eyes at Paul, sitting up on a forearm to loom over him.
“Well, I’m so glad you found it easy to ignore me. You’ve had plenty of practice in here, of course.”
Paul looked up into those eyes, now alight with irritation. Where only seconds ago there was a relaxed, confident ease to his movement, he now seemed put out. He seemed almost… embarrassed . Paul brushed the thought away as he, too, set up on his elbows. Ignoring how close this brought him to the other, he tried to defuse the sudden tension.
“I didn’t mean it that way. And I hadn’t been trying to ignore you.” He paused, gathering the words before speaking to avoid another misstep. “In all honesty, I had no idea how to behave with you. I know you don’t want to be here, and I have no idea how to navigate that. The only thing I have for reference are my parents, and that’s no help here — they loved one another.”
Something rippled across Feyd-Rautha’s face at that. Paul thought it looked like hurt, or perhaps disappointment. But before he was able to say anything, do even decide if he wanted to say anything, the other was speaking.
“Your parents.” After a moment he moved to lay beside him again. He reclined back onto the bed, looking up at Paul. “This was back on Caladan?”
Paul felt something pinch in his chest, a hurt that he had pushed down rearing its head suddenly.
“Yes, on Caladan. And here, for a short time. But mostly back on Caladan.”
“Do you miss your home, husband?”
That word again. Under the guise of thinking over his answer, he considered whether or not Feyd was only using it to get under his skin, or if he truly thought of him as such in his head.
“I think part of me always knew one way or another I would come to make Arrakis my home,” he spoke after a moment. “But I remember Caladan every day. I miss it in ways I knew I would, and in others that I truly hadn’t expected to.”
Feyd-Rautha appeared to be listening attentively. He was certainly watching closely, his gaze locked onto Paul as he spoke. He wondered if he felt similarly about his own home, so different from the one Paul knew before and had found now. He voiced the question out loud, watched him roll it around in his head.
“Miss is the wrong word.”
When he finally spoke, his voice was like Paul had never heard from him before. He didn’t seem unsure of what he was saying, but mindful in a way that was new. Thoughts of his home revealed a delicacy to his tone that Paul hadn’t been aware he could muster up. He waited for him to continue.
“I don’t miss my uncle or brother, but I suppose in a way I do feel their absence. I haven’t felt any particular longing for any lovers. I miss the fighting, the rush of the crowds and the feeling of drawing blood — but those things I could find anywhere.”
He paused, looking away now, towards the ceiling. The gentle light of the dual moons trickled in through blinds yet to be closed against the midday sun. Feyd’s eyes traced etchings in the ceiling revealed by that soft white light.
“I think I miss the sun.”
Paul had heard of Giedi Prime’s black sun, though he’d never seen anything of the like in person. He fought down his curiosity and the many questions that bubbled up with it, hoping instead to urge the other to continue. This was, after all, the most he’d spoken to Paul at once. And never before had his husband willingly shared anything about himself.
“Is it so unlike our sun here?” He asked.
Almost reluctantly, Feyd-Rautha’s gaze returned to him.
“It would be closer to the light of these moons. And even then, there is no comparison. The sun here is harsh and bright, warm in color and heat.” Dark eyes seemed to soften as he continued to speak. “The black sun of Giedi Prime is cool, gentle in comparison. Perhaps the only gentle thing about her.”
He wished he could bottle this sudden wistfulness. Its fitting, then , he thought, that this is what gentles you.
“Does it really take away color?” He spoke softly, whispering the words. He did not want to startle the other out of this gentleness. A quirk of lips, closer to a real smile than anything Paul had seen so far, before Feyd-Rautha responded.
“There is color, away from the sun. But I enjoy its effect. I think it strengthens it. The dark of blood, of fabric, of stone. To step out into it and see the world change…this sun bleeds the world dry. Mine enhances it.”
Paul thought that the look on his face might be something similar to awe.
“I would have liked to see it.”
At this, Feyd finally turned away. Laying on his back, he looked once more to the ceiling of their rooms, to the white light seeping in from outside. His voice when he responded was almost too quiet to hear.
“Maybe one day you will.”
He fell quiet then, and after a moment closed his eyes. Paul knew that he was awake, and would likely remain awake until he himself drifted off to sleep. But as he closed his own eyes, he became aware of the fact that his heart was racing. He did not want their conversation to end, he realized. He wanted to keep talking, to keep learning more and to give in return.
When he did finally drift off, it was to the image of the moonlight reflecting in Feyd-Rautha’s eyes.