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peggyao3 · 8 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 4 "O God!"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: Fluff meets oh God help us 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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Night 100

"Do you know that tonight marks our hundredth night together?" Feyd purrs, blue eyes glittering like little seas, shoulders rolling as he sways her in his lap.

"Is that why I get to be on top tonight?" Mirth laces her tone, rocking herself up and down with the aid of his hands. This barely counts as being on top when he does all the heavy lifting for her.

"You get to be wherever you want, my sweet."

She lets out a sultry moan, holding herself at the lowest point of Feyd's lap, relishing how deep he reaches, how completely he fills her when she has fully sank down on him, feeling the smoothness of his thighs against her behind. Feyd moans with her, suckling on her neck which is so beautifully bared to him.

"Really, you've been keeping count?" She mewls when Feyd begins to rock her anew, only little thrusts that make her walls flutter with growing anticipation.

"I have. I've made a tally chart."

That is so endearing to her that she laughs brightly and asks: "With chalk on the walls of your prison cell? I'm so sorry for holding your dreams hostage." She doesn't know how right she is, though it’s not the dream that is the prison. On second thought, what would happen if left through that door over there? They've never tried, because the things to be discovered within each other are of much greater interest.

She adds: "I haven't made a tally chart, but I did write in my diary after our first night. I was so certain I'd never have a dream like that again, I never wanted to forget it."

"What did you write?" Feyd inquires with sparkling eyes, now suckling on her collarbones and then her breasts, rendering her breath shaky and thick with lust when she replies.

"I wrote that I encountered the most wondrous man in my dreams last night and that I could touch him and it felt so real. I wrote that you have pretty eyes and a silly name. I may have also written that I've never come so hard in my life."

That lights a fire in Feyd's eyes and chest and he clutches her body to his tightly, rutting up into her cunt with his feet propped up on the bed. She seeks purchase on his shoulders, clinging to him. Feyd seems intent on exceeding their first night, and with the way her core coils, she thinks he just might.

"And what do you write nowadays?" He inquires with husky voice.

"That's a, haahhh, secret. It's a diary for a reason."

That doesn't quite please Feyd, but he is very pleased by her tone of voice on the edge of despair, spine arching, teeth gritted. His balls feel taut and ready to burst and he keeps his composure only for her. "Well, I want you to write about this night when you wake up, can you do that for me?"

"Yes! Yeees, haaaahhh~ Feyd!" She falls into the mindless embrace of climax, mewling his name, riding him with stuttering hips. It is less the feeling of her fluttering walls that makes him spill himself with a guttural sound, more the sight of his woman so disheveled, features painted in bliss.

When they've both calmed down from their highs, she sinks limply into Feyd's embrace, hearts thundering against each other. Feyd peppers her shoulder with kisses and she does the same to his. She likes his shoulders. After a minute, when her breath is a little calmer, she kisses his neck and jaws.

"That tickles," Feyd complains, scrunching his nose.

"You have a birthmark right here, did you know that?"

"You think I don't know my own body?" In fact, Feyd wasn't fully aware of the birthmark there, just at the underside of his jaw. He avoids looking at himself all too much and all too close, especially outside of the dream.

"It's very pretty. You don't have many birthmarks at all. So smooth." She drags her nose across his neck, blowing softly on him and Feyd flinches, cursing her lightly. That fucking tickles! Eventually, she finds something of interest, touching a spot at his neck with tender fingertips.

"What have you got there, another birthmark?" His voice comes as a light, raspy chuckle.

"No… A scar," she tentatively admits, tracing the blemished skin at the side of his neck. A small sickle moon whose tip brushes against his collar bone. Immediately, she regrets pointing it out, because only one thing comes to mind.

"A scar?" A scar he would remember. Feyd's hand joins hers on his neck, feeling the slightly marred flesh, a scar that's barely an inch long. "I don't have that when I'm awake," he pensively admits. The Baron never hurts him so far up.

Night 168

If only she had the resources and the time, she would have spent every waking hour trying to solve the enigma of her and the man named Feyd, would have done more than writing fondly in her diary, would have wired her body and brain up in a sleep lab and studied how their connection works, but she might never get the chance. No, she will never get the chance. How could that not devastate her?

She hasn't told anyone in her waking life about him. He is her wondrous companion at night, her best friend from a dream with whom she can run away, into whose embrace she can crawl to hide from everything and everyone, with whom she doesn't need to think.

Feyd hasn't failed to notice how restless she has been for the past week, her shoulders always tight, her gaze faraway and a look of guilt and pain plastered into her eyes so deep, not even his touch could melt her anymore.

Presently, his hands curl around the nape of her neck, entangling his fingers in her hair, nose sliding against hers as he slots his lips against hers in a desperate attempt to stifle his own bubbling inquiry. But she cups his cheeks and merely presses their foreheads together, cradling him like he's the most precious thing she's ever held.

Good manners might dictate that he doesn't pressure her, like she had never pressured him to bare his heart to her, but by all the Gods and all the galaxies, he cannot take it any longer and he will pressure her, because the growing unease and the lump in his throat are unbearable.

Surprisingly, she breaks under just a whiff of pressure, like a dam breaking from the removal of a single log. Feys cups her cheeks like she cups his, exhaling a heavy breath against her mouth, blue eyes open and inquisitive. She knows that they're open, so she opens hers and immediately feels stinging wetness spill over her waterline.

"Tell me?" Half a question, half a demand. Feyd's thumbs rub over the tears that dampen the soft skin beneath her eyes.

"It's gotten s-so so much worse," she removes one hand from his cheek, twists her head to cry into her palm, though Feyd's thumbs remain on her face.

"The… war?"

"Of course, the war! I'm scared that we won't make it out alive, Feyd." She gnaws her lip, closing her eyes. She's lying. She's lying and Feyd must never know her horrible lie.

"Are you still safe?"

"Relatively, yes." She shakes her head, swallowing. Feyd calms his own heart and breathing. That is the most important thing, but he doesn't feel all too well about that 'relatively'.

"Is that really true? You've been so tense. No, don't cry. Of course I noticed." Feyd releases her face, embraces her instead so she may sob into his shoulder.

"Yes, it is. I really am relatively safe. I mean… A few days ago, there was an airstrike a few kilometers to the north and a breach in, uh, in our bunker. But we found and fixed it quickly enough. I was only feeling sick for a day or two."

To describe the place as a mere bunker is such an offense, she feels her own heart shrivel. She needs to tell him, but she can't. Such a fucking coward, pathetic!

Meanwhile, Feyd soaks up every word. He so rarely gets to hear details about her waking life, details that he craves more and more but simultaneously loathes. A heavy frown forms on his forehead, mulling over her words until he only tastes bitter rot and fear on his tongue. If this is relatively safe, how could he accept that?

"I don't know if I can dream while I- while I-"

"While what?!" Feyd snaps when she stops before the crucial part. "Stop speaking in riddles, woman, tell me what's wrong!"

She cannot tell him, or he will despise her for her privilege. It is unfair. There is a reason why people like her are envied, despised and pitied. They are privileged cowards.

"I wish we were together," she swerves but confesses truthfully. But the rules are strict, so it can't be.

Feyd senses his woman slipping out of his fingers metaphorically, no matter how tightly he squeezes her dream-bound body.

"And if I came to save you?" Madly, his heart beats against his ribs and his palms grow clammy with anxiety. She laugh-sobs, like she thinks that's an endearing proposition. Obviously, she doesn't know the power Feyd holds in the same hands that are holding her right now.

"The air space is tight and the land routes are sealed. We, oh God, we… went to orbit yesterday. Even if you had a suitable craft, you would be blown to bits on the way."

Feyd's frown thickens and blue eyes flicker questioningly over his woman's back and shoulder, as her face remains hidden in his neck, clinging onto him with raw fear of judgment.

She adds: "But I c-can't deny, I wish I could have seen you with my own eyes and touched you with my own hands. Even if it's only once." She cries harder and wetness slips down Feyd's shoulder. He cannot bear to see her suffer for a second longer.

He is ready for the singularity to break out of the black hole. To know her personally, intimately and emotionally in the flesh, outside of their dreamland cocoon. He will find her. He will see her in real life and hold her in his real arms. She will love him, it won't matter to her who he is, not to his sweet woman who has learned so much about him, more than any human alive.

"Where are you from?" Softly and calmly he asks her and the lump in his throat dissolves at once. Liberation. He's finally made his decision and never felt better.

Sobbing softly, she names him a place followed by a second place he's never heard of. Maybe a country, maybe a city.

Feyd shakes his head. "No… My sweet, from which world are you? I will get you out of there. Believe me, I can."

Her sniffling abates and she raises her head, tear-streaked face knitted with confusion. "What do you mean, which world?"

"Are you toying with me?!" Feyd is not in the mood for jest, because every minute counts. As soon as he awakes, he will order her rescue, and if he has to pay House Harkonnen's entire fortune to the Guild to provide a heighliner to the most distant world. "What's the name of your planet, my darling, I'll come and get you, just tell me the name!"

"Earth?" The corners of her mouth quiver. "I think you're toying with me." And she can't blame him. Everything is already horrible enough.

"From which earth?" Feyd is growing annoyed with her. Does his woman not want to be found by him? What does she fear?! Has he not proven over and over how he craves her, how he loves her? Would she rather be reaped away by some planetal war than be with him?

"I don't understand you," she meekly admits with a tightness in her chest. "From which world are you?" She laughs a little, but her features are warped into horror, like something is knocking at her own house of cards.

"From Giedi Prime, of course! I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, na-Baron of Giedi Prime!" Feyd slams his fist against the mattress. There, he's finally said it. He expects her to pull away from him with fear now and look at him the way every foreigner looks at him, envious and disdainful.

"I don't know what that means," she admits, voice warbled. Perhaps his darling is confused out of her mind, perhaps she didn't hear him correctly. So, Feyd cups her face firmly.

"That means I'll come and get you. Did you hear me? I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." All those months he had feared her reaction if she ever found out his full name. Now he wants nothing more than what he had so feared, that spark of recognition, disdain or not.

"Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen," she whispers tearfully, trying to giggle like she did when she first heard his forename. "I like that silly name." Tenderly, she traces the shape of his jaw, smiling through the tears.

"You like…? No, listen to me closely. You said you're in orbit. Is there a heighliner near?" She squints her eyes, a flicker of a frown, and fresh tears well. She isn't listening to him!

"I-, I changed my mind, I'm not going. I'll go back down and find you. Tell me where you live!"

"No, no, no you won't go back down, you'll stay where you're safe and I'll come and get you." Feyd is repeating himself, frantic by now, clutching her face with his thumbs rubbing over her cheeks with increasing pace. "Just tell me where you are, please."

"Stop, stop!" She pleads. Feyd sounds out of his mind, confused. Bless his heart, but he can't come and get her. "Tell me, are you safe?" Aside from the obvious, his uncle…

"Yes, I am-" Feyd doesn't get to finish his sentence because she sobs with relief, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I hope I can dream, I pray." How nice that would be. How comforting. She wants to believe it with her whole heart. "Will you be with me?"

"I will always be with you."

How wrong he is.

"Can you hold me please? I am so sorry."

Feyd holds her, holds her so tight that he almost convinces himself her flesh, skin and bones are real, her beating heart is real, her soft voice is real. "Tell me where you are," he cries into her hair. "Tell me where you are, tell me where you are, tell me where you are."

Consciousness' meandering tendrils weave into the dream, dissolving it slowly like ink in water, gently, gently… Neither of them realizes as the other fades into mist among the stars.

After this night, Feyd-Rautha never dreams of his beloved again.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand – How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? - A dream within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe, 1850

Tag list: @nostalgichoya, @sebastianswallows, @forgedfromthestars

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

A/N: All I can say is I'M SORRY 😩🤭 And - P.S. - There are at least 9 more chapters left to go, so be not afraid 🫂

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peggyao3 · 7 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 8 "Rowing in Eden"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

A/N: Saw myself forced to split this chapter in half becase you won't catch me uploading a 10k chaptie 😭 Hence why the alternative title for this one is "Blue Balls" 💙🥰

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Giedi Prime, Day 4

Quietly, she stands on the balcony of her room, forearms on the banister as a stormy breeze ruffles her clothes. The wind brings no refreshment, it only moves the smog around.

The city below reminds her of Neu-Seoul paired with industrial power plants as far as the eye can see and post-apocalyptic wasteland, a planet groaning and moaning for plant life and to be freed of the human plague that festers on its crust, much like Old Earth. She is quite used to toxic air, but this atmosphere is a little worse even than that of her former home.

A rumbling crack had startled her yesterday while she was trying to inconspicuously scan the Harkunnin language and grammar from the audiovisual filmbook recording that was given to her. Her personal maid, a woman named Lilia, had reassured her that that was just the volcanic activity deep within the bowels of the planet and nothing to worry about.

The engineer from Old Earth has a slightly different opinion on that, but she had thanked Lilia with a smile and rewinded the filmbook to proceed committing the data to her chip.

Looking over her shoulder now, she sees Lilia's pale, bald head moving about, filling the wardrobe with clothes that have just been delivered. The Harkonnen woman doesn't seem as malnourished as the ones she had seen on her first day.

The relic doesn't like the fact that a stranger has access to her chambers where her sarcophagus stands, folded back together so that nothing visually gives away any of the heresy inside.

A notification lights up her virtual interface. The AI tool has finished compiling the Harkunnin vocabulary and sorted it in an appealing, searchable array. Now she only needs to acquire a filmbook about Galach and scan that too, so she can start cross referencing in her virtual, little lexicon. Her eyes focus back on the room and the interface dissolves when she takes notice of Lilia's pale hand waving at her.

"Your new pants, my Lady!" The maid lifts a pile of garments, some of them even colorful. The Lady had (unknowingly) requested colors which are expensive to import, the costliest one being purple. Of course, such expenditures are to be expected for the new Lady of House Harkonnen and Lilia had spared neither trouble nor expenses to ensure her wardrobe is as she desires. Being assigned to the woman from Old Earth, a place which Lilia had assumed to be only the stuff of mysteries, is the best promotion that ever could have happened to the maid.

"I love them already. I can't go another day with my bare thighs touching under these gowns." The woman steps into the suite, pulling the balcony door and the curtains shut so the color stealing sunlight is barred out. Lilia looks at her like she doesn't quite understand the remark about her thighs, though that may be due to the fact that Harkonnens, regardless of gender, appear to be completely and entirely hairless except for their lashes.

"Can I try them on?" The relic asks, pointing at the trousers.

"Of course you can, my Lady. Like I said, you don't need to ask me for permission for anything."

"But it's good manners to ask."

Lilia likes this woman even though she asks curious questions sometimes, such as how high her salary is and if she has health insurance, followed by a lengthy explanation about what health insurance is. She likes her because she talks to her like she's a human, which is typically something that no one above her rank ever does, save for Lilia's own husband.

The new pants fit perfectly and there is no need to try them all on, but she does so anyway because it's fun and it distracts her from the painful waiting for her beloved.

"When will Feyd be here?" She finally inquires after the eighth pair of pants which she keeps on because they're comfortable.

"I'm afraid I don't know, my Lady. The na-Baron has a busy schedule."

That he does, she grimly notes. He never used to be so busy in their dreams, she had him all for herself. After 24,000 years of sleep and 2 years with the Bene Gesserit, she only just got him back. Is it wrong of her to want to spend every minute of every day with him?

Lilia suggests: "If it pleases you, I could do your makeup before the na-Baron arrives."

"Ah, that's very kind of you, but no thank you."

Lilia seems to be the multi-purpose kind of handmaid, being a skilled seamstress and stylist who even boasts experience with hair, a rare skill set on Giedi Prime. Proudly, Lilia had proclaimed that she has a personal knack for medicine and trauma management without leaving but a scar. The relic still wonders if this is a commonly needed skill around here…

"Then I'll leave you to your own devices." Lilia hasn't failed to notice the oftentimes absent look in the Lady's eyes, as if she's not quite there. Although the maid is impossibly curious and precariously drawn to danger (a trait which she has learned to suppress), she won't urge the foreigner for stories or company. They're not friends.

The relic glances over when her handmaid slips out of the room and the open door briefly reveals the guard who is stationed in front of it. She can only hope he has been placed there to keep unwelcome visitors out, not to keep her inside. So far, she's had no desire to test it.

Neither the idea of leaving her Sarcophagus unattended nor wandering around the palace pyramid on her lonesome seem awfully inviting.

She returns to the balcony, forearms on the banister, and her expression flattens. Melancholy glazes over her eyes and she summons the interface to blank out the depressing concrete jungle that spews smog into the sky from roaring chimneys. The only improvement is that she is now wearing pants.

While she should start studying the Harkunnin language or delve into the Holtzman physics (something about it sparked vague recognition in her), she ends up loading up a serial to watch on her interface, denying herself the luxury to sit down. Because if she gets too comfortable, she fears she will forget where she is and break down as soon as she shuts off the stream.

Feyd watches her stand there, clothes ruffled by the breeze, herself unmoving in the grey light, in the toxic air. Her back is turned to him and for twenty minutes she hasn't stirred.

Carefully, he had deposited the three long-stemmed crowns of thorns on the vanity when he realized she wasn't going to turn around. They're the only native flower on Giedi prime, all thorny, dark-grey stems and white petals.

On quiet soles, he steps out on the balcony, almost breathing down her neck. All day he's been thinking of her. Every second apart is a little death and he had hoped she would fall into his arms the second he came through the door. From an angle, he studies her face, pupils dancing. She looks sad and he can't see why. For a second, he contemplates stealing the chip out of her skull when she sleeps.

But for that, they'd have to start sleeping in each other's beds first.

"What are you doing there, my darling?" A pair of toned arms encircles her from behind and she yelps, shutting down the stream and the interface.

"Feyd!" She attempts to spin around and face him, but Feyd pins her back to his chest, humming as he buries his nose in the crown of her head. She hugs his forearms against her stomach, craning her head to find his pale-blue gaze. Feyd's nose slides across her head and he kisses her forehead.

"You looked sad."

"Yes, because I've missed you." That is very much true, though she conceals the fact that rewatching her old favorite serials had nearly broken her heart. Her answer placates him for a minute and he presses the front of his body against the back of hers, squeezing her like he's seen her squeeze the stuffed animal of hers.

"How are you?" He murmurs.

"Good!" She replies a bit too quickly and inhales like a liar caught in the act.

"You don't like it," Feyd doesn't ask, he states, and disappointment reverberates in his tone. He knew this, yet his chest hollows itself out with a blunt carving knife.

"The place is just… Different than I thought." She squeezes the forearms that hold her.

"But I'm here," he mumbles and presses his nose against her temple.

"Yes, I feel better when you're here." Finally, he allows her to turn around in his embrace and face him properly. They're so close, he can feel the expansion of her thorax with every breath. Blue eyes lovingly trail over her face.

"Did your maid not offer to do your makeup?"

Her stomach sinks and she blinks quickly. "Don't you like me without makeup anymore?"

"No! That's not what I-" Feyd scrambles for words, cupping her jaws and neck. "I just wondered if she offered. If not, we'll replace her. You're supposed to have only the best maids and servants one can-"

"Stop." She interrupts him firmly, shaking herself as if to free herself from his hands, which can't be what she means, so Feyd keeps holding her. "Lilia is wonderful, I don't want her replaced."

"Hmmph." Feyd gives his agreement and wonders if she had ever called him 'wonderful'. Slowly, he lowers his face, closes his eyes and slots his lips against hers, moving sensually as he presses their bodies flush. Her spine pushes right against the banister and her breasts against his chest. All day, he's been fantasizing about this. Today he'll finally be brave enough and take her to bed, there's nothing to be afraid of.

But he can tell she's thinking, thinking again, always thinking so much instead of giving herself to him unconditionally.

She kisses him with closed lips, like a parting gift before she speaks. "There are… Things that I feel like we should talk about."

Feyd exhales a short, hard breath against her face. "Like what?"

"I can't kiss you without thinking of, well, everything," she sighs and gestures over her shoulder. "This planet is… I don't know what I expected."

"Then let's go inside, so you don't have to see the planet." Feyd tugs on her waist and she allows him to guide her inside, walking backwards and pulling her with him. But when he attempts to kiss her, she clutches his lapels and shakes her head.

"It's not just that. It's the people. You're keeping slaves to work at your palace."

Not only in the palace, Feyd thinks to himself. If she knew about the slave fields…

"No one is having fun, everyone looks the same and everyone seems to be scared for their lives!" She inhales harshly and Feyd's fingers trail down her waist and spine, proactively grasping at the fabric in case she wants to tear away from him.

A muscle along his jaw flexes lightly before he speaks. "Well you don't survive wars by having fun and being fair to other humans, do you?"

"No, but-" she stumbles. "That was different. We left Earth with a higher purpose, to save our species from extinction. It was logistically impossible to bring every single human to a new home."

"We also serve a higher purpose. To maintain our status and power among the Great Houses, we cannot grant every citizen the luxury of free will."

"But not like this." She clutches his lapels like she wants to strangle him, or at least someone. "This is terrible."

"Well, I live here," Feyd grates out. "I didn't choose to live here. And it just is like that." He had chosen to live here at an age at which one cannot make sensible decisions yet.

"But you could do something. You're the na-Baron, right? You could change something."

"You're right, I'm the na-Baron," he grimly states.

"Lilia said, if she gets hurt, she needs to stitch up herself and she'll be dismissed without recompensation if she finds herself unable to perform her tasks anymore." She looks at Feyd expectantly who stares over her head at the roiling cityscape out the balcony door and shrugs his shoulders. "Do you at least agree that the staff around here are treated unfairly? It is proven that employee satisfaction and work efficiency correlate strongly."

"I don't know," he grumbles and refrains from telling her that the correlation between the threat of a blade between the ribs and work efficiency can hardly be beaten. The relic takes note of how annoyed Feyd looks, like he's been talked into a corner. What he really says is 'I don't care'.

Slowly searing under her expectant stare, Feyd continues: "Sorry. But I don't want to change the world, I have bigger concerns."

"Such as the fact that I'm not kissing you?" She almost scoffs a little, remembering a moment which feels like a lifetime ago, and her heart aches in her chest, knowing exactly that's not what he meant.

"For example…" Feyd brings one hand to her face and caresses her cheek softly, fingertips moving tentatively from temple to jaw. "You didn't ask me about my day."

"Oh, Feyd, I'm so sorry." Her shoulders fall and she feels horrible for jumping him with her concerns, but who else could she talk to, who else could she trust? The grasp on his lapels becomes yearning and clingy, exactly how he likes it.

Softly, she asks: "Is everything okay?" The lingering sub question is: Did he hurt you?

"I'm okay," Feyd hums and a dreamy, little smile slips over his face.

"Are you sure?" She cups his cheeks and looks at him insistently. All of her attention is finally only his and Feyd seizes the moment, delving down to kiss her, cupping the back of her head. This time, he will not be deterred.

Further questions are muffled by Feyd's pillowy lips on hers, kissing her with such determination that her belly is flooded with heat and she whimpers quietly in his mouth when he walks her backwards. Soon the back of her knees hit the mattress and she sinks down, bones melting like jelly when Feyd-Rautha crawls over her like a big cat, his body as hard and heavy as it was the first time they made love.

"No lucid dream this time," he whispers against her wet lips and settles on her chest, relishing the feel of her softness beneath him. His fingers trail downwards with a purpose, stopping occasionally to squeeze her breasts, her waist, her tummy, all the parts that he likes. Calloused fingertips slip beneath her waistband and across her venus mound.

Oh God, to be touched like this in real life! It's been over 24,000 years. She gasps so loudly when he touches her clit that it makes Feyd smile from ear to ear. "That's right, we're finally together," he breathes against her open mouth, drawing small circles on the tender bud, though his wrist is restrained by the waistband of her trousers. "And you're every bit as sweet and wet for me as in the dream."

His eyes are closed. It's easier to talk to her like that. Feyd feels like he's 13 and having his first proper time all over again, except this time he actually wants the girl to like him.

"Feyd," she mewls, fingers curled around the back of his head, nails digging slightly into his nape.

"Hmm?" He hums against her mouth, tongue barely wanting to leave hers.

"Feels so good… Ahhh!" Feyd-Rautha's fingers have slipped further south, two of them sinking tentatively into her cunt and filling her up. With short back and forth of his digits, he makes her thighs fall open wide and her pelvis buck against his damp palm.

Shyness be damned, he needs to see her. So he swiftly stands up, sucks his fingers clean and pulls her pants and underwear (It's strange seeing a woman in pants) down her legs. While he's at it, he discards his shoes and suit jacket too, enjoying the range of motion his sleeveless tunic offers him.

Pale arms cage her when he climbs back on her. His woman shuffles backwards so her head lies properly on the pillow. Feyd would have ravaged her on the cold floor tiles too, but she likes it comfortable, and so does he, but only with her and only in secret.

He wants to eat her cunt until she cries his name, but her fingers have formed a manacle around the nape of his neck, pulling their foreheads flush while her knee nudges against his thigh, falling open for him once more. His fingers return obediently to the joy of sinking into her wet, squishy cunt and Feyd breathes wordless adoration against her parted lips, eyes hooded, cock hard, his chest a flurry of quick panting.

How badly, how madly, how deeply he loves her. He should finally tell her.

"Will you, ahh, eat me out like during our first time?" She whines, lashes fluttering open while her pelvis needily grinds against the steady pace of his hand.

"I'll touch you however you please, my Lady," Feyd purrs, thumb brushing over her tender nub.

"Why, ahhh, why are you calling me that? Lilia called me that too."

"Because you're my Lady Harkonnen."

To be his Lady - whatever that exactly means - fills her cheeks with warmth and drives her pelvis upwards, because she likes the way it sounds. "But I already have a last name," she pants. Feyd cocks his head to the side, fingers slowing down, and a foreboding overcomes her.

"You know they gave you to me as my bride?"

"Gave me to you?!" Her blissful expression dissolves at once and she sharply sits up, forcing Feyd to withdraw his hand unless he'd like to have his wrist snapped. "I'm not your property."

"Well, no, you're my wife." He looks at her pleadingly. "Or, you will be, very soon."

His woman puffs herself up and for a moment he thinks she's going to explode not with the bliss he had meant to bring her, but with rage.

"How come I wasn't made aware of that? Do marriages no longer require consent from both sides?"

"I thought it was self-explanatory." Helplessly, he lifts his arms and shoulders in a gesture of defense. Two fingers of his right hand glitter obscenely with her essence.

"It is not." She stares at him with wide, steely eyes and her fingers reach for his clothed knee, clutching it tightly. "Mankind really has gone back to the middle ages," she snaps. "No computers, and women are treated like cattle."

"I don't know what middle ages means, only that you are my bride," Feyd scowls.

"You don't realize how backwards this is, do you?" She tries to find compassion for his self-assured tone, the pouty lip and the stubborn eyes. "I can't believe you would…"

She shakes her head firmly, biting back disappointment. They never used to have arguments like this, or arguments at all. It used to be only love and comfort and desire and now she feels like her rose-colored glasses have been yanked off her face and replaced with a filter of monochromatic awfulness.

"I would… What? Want you as my wife? Of course I want you as my wife. You're the only one I'd ever even consider."

"No, you're not listening." Huffing, she slumps back down, knees pressed together. Feyd can still see her slick-glistening cunt peeking out enticingly between her thighs but decides to keep his hands to himself while his betrothed is so angry. She sighs heavily and hates how this last sentence made her feel - belly full of pulsing butterflies. "Fine, let's talk about this some other day and let's pick up where we left off?"

"As you wish, my Lady," Feyd coos, calloused hands slipping over her knees. Pleasant goosebumps break out all across her flesh and her fingers slide down to tangle with his. She's missed him so terribly, she could cry.

"We have protection, yes?"

"Protection?" He frowns and his woman's fingers freeze threateningly on his knuckles. "No one would dare disturb us here. I'll take care of you-"

"Protection from pregnancy, you idiot!" She almost slaps him square across the apple of his stupid cheek and her livid expression stops his crawling advance over her body.

Feyd flinches, eyes blown wide with surprise and he looks five years younger like this. Immediately, she feels awful and doesn't dare to imagine how awful she would have felt had she actually slapped him.

"But didn't you leave Earth to colonize your Solar System?"

"I'm an engineer, not an incubator."

"But we didn't take any precautions when we-"

"We were dreaming! Feyd, please. Don't give me an aneurysm and don't make me strangle you."

"Okay, okay…" Cautiously, he pulls away, glancing at his scared woman before he bends down to his discarded jacket.

"Thank you," she sighs more softly. She does want him, wants to feel him everywhere, on her and in her. Looking at the shape of his broad back and narrow waist, she wants him so badly that it hurts.

Feyd pulls a small device from the pocket and clips it behind his ear. When he begins to utter guttural words in the language she doesn't yet understand (Her interface helpfully flashes, identifying the words as Harkunnin, along with an error message about incomplete reference data), she identifies the device as a transmitter.

"Getting us a contraceptive," Feyd mutters when he is done and lets the transmitter vanish in his pocket. "Can I kiss you while we wait? We don't need protection for that…"

God, he pouts, he actually pouts and she can't help but open her arms for him. Immediately, Feyd settles on top of her, chest flush against hers. One thigh pushes between her legs and she grows aware of the hard length confined by his trousers, his cock hot and solid as it grinds against her hip with soft, rutting movements.

Their pleasure is short-lived. A knock on the door drives them apart, or rather, his woman urges him away like she's ashamed to be seen making out with her own betrothed.

"Come in!" She calls and Lilia enters, carrying a tray with two ampules. The woman decidedly avoids eye contact with the na-Baron and bows deeply when he takes the delivery from her hands. Without a word, she scurries away.

"These are quick and effective. We also have formulas with a more long lasting effect. These give us about twenty-four hours," Feyd declares and swallows his dose without delay. His cock is leaking into his pants and he might just go insane if he waits any longer. He won't tolerate any further distractions. Technically, she doesn't need to take her dose on top of his, but Feyd already knew she would have freaked out if she didn't have her own.

She accepts the ampule and looks like she's immensely relieved that they have contraceptives at all around here. But of course they do. The na-Baron can't go around and impregnate every pet he's ever fucked.

His woman's eyes are focused and he realizes she's probably scanning the ampule. By the look on her face, she is not satisfied with the result.

"So, the effect is immediate?"

"Give it a minute or so, but yes." Feyd regards her with hooded eyes and reaches for her waist. When she slips away again, he is seriously tempted to take her to a playroom instead and shackle her to the headboard, fuck her until both of their bodies are numb and her chip is fried.

The engineer climbs off the bed and squats in front of the cryo pod, opening up the BioChem compartment. Equipment that she is not the most familiar with unfolds rapidly in front of her, offering her a tiny workstation. Instructions race over her interface, accompanied by a voiceover directly into her head.

"What are you doing?" Feyd growls with a voice as rough as a whetstone when she brings out a petri dish and drips a tiny droplet of the supposed contraceptive on there. She can barely hear Feyd over the voiceover so she sees herself forced to switch it off when stomping footsteps approach her from behind. "What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Just analyzing a sample real quick. I'm no biologist, but the medical module of the Sarcophagus' program should be able to tell me if-"

"Are you serious?" He barks. "I want to sleep with you." His arms wrap around her waist and drag her backwards, face buried in her neck, lips warm and wet against her skin, nibbling and kissing. She just barely manages to push the petri dish in the slot where it belongs.

"Feyd, wait!" She struggles against his hold though her core floods with heat under the assault of his lips. This is how people end up pregnant - because someone's lips and hands felt too good. "Why are you so… So angry?"

"Why are you so scared of me, and fighting me?! It's just me."

"I'm not scared, I'm just-"

"Don't lie! You are scared, I can see it in your eyes. And you think I'd betray you and give you a faux contraceptive."

With great power of will, she tears her neck away from his lips and spins around in his arms, walking him backwards until his thighs hit the edge of the bed and his knees bend. He looks up with big eyes, pleading and angry, pouty lips parted just a sliver, revealing the inkiness of his teeth behind them.

Feyd is convinced that she will slap him, the way she looks down at him like no woman ever has in his life, but she only cups his face firmly with both hands.

"I'm sorry but I will complete this test. I trust you, but I don't trust anyone else. Do we really know whose hands have prepared these ampules?"

He looks like a kicked puppy, or more like an alligator with a currently closed maw full of sharp teeth. But she also sees the acceptance in his gaze and that he deeply admires her wit.

"Fine then." Wistfully, he lets the fabric of her shirt slip from his fingers as she turns away.

This isn't how she had expected her next encounter with the BioChem compartment to go. Squatting bare-assed on the floor while the man she's in love with paces up and down behind her like a tiger in a cage. From her interface, which is permanently linked to the Sarcophagus as long as she's in range, she selects the molecular analysis tool, giving some pointers by adding that the sample at hand is assumed to be a contraceptive.

Estimated time: 47 seconds

"How long will this take?" Feyd rumbles.

"Only a minute."

"Why didn't you say that sooner!" He stops the pacing and watches, finding a modicum of appreciation for the scarily multifunctional metal block that dominates her room. Surely there are other uses for the sarcophagus that no human in his universe has ever even dreamed of.

"Oh, thank God," she sighs.

Analysis complete…

Rowing in Eden – Ah, the Sea! Might I but moor – Tonight – In Thee! - Wild Nights - Wild Nights! by Emily Dickinson, 1861

A/N: In the next chapter they're finally doing it, I swear 😩

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