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houserautha · 9 months ago

Text

Only Pleasure Remains

Summary: Feyd-Rautha has other uses for the mouth of the Fremen prisoner refusing to talk.

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x GNFremen!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: he fucks your face, it’s nonconsensual, you kind of like it anyway, smut without plot, you get a facial, WITH his black cum because that’s too iconic of a HC not to include, he gets his happy ending but you don’t get yours. Literally.

A/N: I don’t think a Fremen would ever allow this to actually happen but I’m a whore and a slave to my simpler urges. Not gonna lie I wanted this to happen in the movie. Does this even make sense? I don’t know but it’s hot

The inner walls of the ruined sietch is a brief relief from the oppressive heat beating down on the desert planet. Feyd-Rautha discovers a group of his men restraining a prisoner, sunlight pouring in from the hole over their heads. As they notice him they break apart, revealing you to him for the first time since he received news of a survivor.

You’re covered in sandy grime and blood, the nose piece of your stillsuit dangling free, hair dirtied and loose from its previous style.

And you look fucking beautiful on your knees, even with your face wrenched in disgust and utter defiance. Feyd-Rautha didn’t expect to feel such an intense attraction to a Fremen. In fact, he reserves a moment to study you, to confront his desire like an untamed beast — pry open its mouth and examine its teeth.

“They refuse to talk,” one of the Harkonnen soldiers says. He nudges you with the nose of the lasgun and you snarl — you actually snarl — upper lip pulled back, blue-on-blue eyes glinting with hatred.

A trapped animal, desperate for freedom. Feyd-Rautha feels his cock stir.

“For now,” he says. He raises a hand. “Leave us.”

The soldiers exchange indecipherable glances before leaving, ducking back out into the blazing sun. Feyd-Rautha steps as close to you as he dares. Even with your limbs bound, he’s certain that you would do anything in your power to maim him.

“Your silence rings empty among the cries of those you loved,” he tells you. He towers over you, a sentinel of dangerous, crackling energy, wreathed in black armor. “The others are gone. Dead. What service is your silence to them?”

You stare up at him with your seething gaze.

Feyd-Rautha crouches beside you. Your hostility is nearly enough to bowl him over, a tangible, living creature between you.

“If you deny me this now, I will have no choice but to make you.”

He lifts a gloved hand to your cheek, lovingly whispering his fingers over the curve of your face before grabbing your chin. His grasp is enough to spring tears to your eyes, causing you to bite your tongue and draw blood, its coppery taste filling your mouth.

You should hate him. He stands for everything you’ve rallied against. Hell, he had just ordered his men to obliterate your home, your people. Yet you find yourself incomprehensibly drawn to this man who exudes power as effortlessly as others can breathe. It infuriates you. Revolts you.

Your aching, traitorous body pools with heat as Feyd-Rautha parts your lips and forces his thumb into your mouth. Sand grits over your teeth. His gloves taste of dry leather. Of blood; though it could very well just be your own. He presses his thumb down with enough force to shatter your jaw.

Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Then, since you refuse to speak, I will give your mouth a different purpose.”

He wrests his hand from your chin and pain explodes through your skull.

Feyd-Rautha rises once more to his formidable height and works to liberate his cock from his armor. You watch, horrified, transfixed, as he pulls his pants down just enough to show his powerful thighs and reveal a stomach taunt with muscles. His cock springs free and he wastes no time wrapping his hand at the base and stroking it fervently, all the while gazing down at you with naked, unfettered devotion.

And for some reason the sight of him like that transcends you, strips you completely bare. Your entire body trembles.

The na-Baron fists the hair at the back of your head and, without preamble, guides you to his cock, groaning as the warmth and wetness of your mouth envelops him. Anger flaring, you bite down as hard as you’re able — but instead of revoking himself, Feyd-Rautha snaps his hips, driving him deeper into your mouth instead.

He pants his appreciation, clearly undeterred by your teeth.

You gag on his size. He refuses to ease up, however, pushing his cock deeper into the back of your throat. With each thrust, saliva builds, leaking from the sides of your mouth and wetting his shaft. You have no way to retaliate, to pull away, forced to endure him.

He withdraws long enough to show you the glint of pre-cum on his cock, how he spreads it across the head before burrowing it inside you again. The taste of his pre-cum is salty, mixing with your blood, and you can no longer deny your own arousal — you clamp your lips on his cock and suck, using your tongue to circle the salty mixture over it.

Feyd-Rautha releases a rumbling, guttural moan, hips bucking violently. “That’s right,” he rasps. “Take it.” He ignores your strangled pleas as he pushes himself deeper and deeper within you, tears now streaming down your face and cutting tracks through the sandy grime. He pulls out only to insert himself again, in and out, fucking your throat.

You’re unable to touch yourself, or him, and it makes the entire act that much more torturous. You apply this frustration with your mouth, sucking his considerable length every time he jams it past your lips, your mouth and jaw aching with the furious nature of the fucking.

Feyd-Rautha closes his eyes and loses himself in your slick mouth. He has just laid waste to your people and now you were taking him like the good little rat you were, a renegade whore, letting him force his cock down your throat and you were actually enjoying it.

Without warning, Feyd-Rautha withdraws from you, stroking his shaft and positioning himself before you. “Open,” he demands.

You obey and as soon as you do, warm sprays of his ink-colored cum soak your face. He jerks himself through his orgasm, breathy and primal, smooth brows furrowed in concentration. You breathe heavily, shoulders heaving, greedily drawing the air back into your lungs. It’s then that Feyd-Rautha drags his gloved fingers across your face, smearing his cum then pushing his fingers back into your mouth. You lick and slurp down his seed, languishing in the taste of him, unlike anything you’ve had before.

To offer your expense to a Fremen is to offer your life’s water. You don’t know if he realizes this, or even cares, he just watches you as you suck his gloved fingers clean.

Feyd-Rautha does know this sacrifice, this offering, and thinks it a just trade for what he’s prepared to do. He rights himself, fixing his armor. “Strange, what you wish to comply with,” he says. He leaves you like that — bound and covered with his cum, vulnerable — and as he vanishes around the corner you hear him call out, “Dispose of the rat.”

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