#i think too many people forget that the crux of Dune is “everyone is an asshole but some have better PR while others simply can't care less”

[feydrautha]

"Oh, if Feyd had only been raised by the Atreides household and not the Baron, then he would've been a decent guy"

My good bitch, not even the official heir and son of the Atreides duke himself turned out to be a decent guy

[bastardnev]

happy fucking birthday you absolute madwoman

DONT SAY I NEVER DID ANYTHING FOR YA /

Warmth /

paige by any chance are you aware of the fact that i would die for you at a moment’s notice because i without a doubt would

ALSO @rivela @heelneville @kidvoodoo PLZ LOOK AT HOW AMAZING HER WRITING IS BECAUSE I ALMOST CRIED AFTER RECEIVING IT

Generally speaking, Neville didn’t hate the beach. Of course, when he was growing up, there were the English beaches he’d been able to visit a few times, but those were rock-and-pebble-studded shores. Usually, the water was a bit colder, and the days were overcast, and it was rare that you thought of visiting without wearing a windbreaker. 

But this was an American beach—Florida coastline, specifically, which was something far different. The sand here was softer, and when Neville stood in place in the roll of the tide, he would easily sink ankle-deep. The water and weather were much warmer, at least by comparison, although he could still feel goosebumps rising as the water lapped against his calves. There were wispy clouds against the edges of the sky, but it was, still, more blue than it was gray out this afternoon. 

Neville hadn’t been to a real beach in so many months. When the time gap grew, what filled the spaces in his mind would be memories of those cold and rocky shores, so all things considered, he should have been enjoying the warmth that afternoon. But—

Neville heard a strong sort of “fwump” behind him. He cast his eyes back to the soft sand just some yards away. Up on a low peak, Mustafa had finally wrangled open that large cloth umbrella that he’d insisted on bringing. 

But Neville felt that he may be more comfortable if he’d come by himself. 

Mustafa adjusted the tilt of the shade before emerging, crouched low, knees in the sand. Neville couldn’t help but look at him. It was only a bit past 5, and the June sun still hung reasonably high in the sky, poking through a soft cloud bank, and everything in its wake was bathed softly golden—including Mustafa’s skin. Something about it set off a little tingling of heat in Neville’s cheeks. They were far from nude, the two of them, and he had definitely seen Mustafa down to less in the past, but even still, Neville was so used to the way that his ring gear concealed and confined most of his body. Just seeing him in small black swim shorts was enough to make Neville feel like he were having a glimpse at something sacredly private. 

After sweeping his eyes along the long stretch of beach surrounding them—somehow, it was only the two of them, at this moment in time—Mustafa gazed roughly in Neville’s direction. Even though he couldn’t quite see his eyes, knowing that the sunlight was making Mustafa squint, Neville still felt an electric shock go up his spine, and he looked away on impulse to the ocean. Of course, it went both ways; Mustafa had seen Neville down to less than trunks already, but right now that didn’t make a difference as Neville protectively wrapped his arms around his chest. He didn’t much care for this, being looked at like this, here, when he was wet up to just under his knees out in the water, with Mustafa staring down at him from the peak of a small dune. Neville felt vulnerable. 

Neville detested feeling vulnerable more than anything; of all the long list of things that Neville detested, it still sat at the very top above the rest. And yet, alone with Mustafa, he felt more vulnerable than anything, as if he were more than naked, stripped to less than his skin. Even as he stood, turned away, Neville still felt Mustafa’s eyes staring right through him, as if he were inspecting his bones and organs and spirit. 

But wasn’t feeling vulnerable the point? Of all people alive on this wretched earth, if there were one that Neville trusted enough to see through him, to know him as plainly as his bare spirit and bare skin, Mustafa Ali would be him. And yet there was always a piece of Neville that always squirmed and tried to turn away when the two of them were alone with each other, whether he were being touched or look at—a piece of him that stood flat against the other piece of him; the one that was dying to be touched, that begged to be looked at and always tingled with a low bliss whenever it got that attention that it coveted, all from him, and from Mustafa.

Perhaps the reason for both centered on the fact that Mustafa was so—Neville stole a glance back for a split second. It was always surprising to see the curves of his chest, when he was out of his gear; to see the way his body was shaped and toned and how taut his muscles were, stretching in his arms and chest. The roots of his hair were lined by the gold light, and Neville felt his head get light for a moment. He looked away to keep his balance. 

It was that Mustafa was so pretty, in a kind and dignified sort of way that so few could. And as much as Neville loved to look at him—all of him—there would always be that part of his brain that was always discontented, always looking from Mustafa back to his own body and face. Mustafa’s face, so gentle, his smile always so bright and perfectly warm; everything that he was was just warmth, from his body into his spirit—

For a shameless moment, Neville’s mind lingered over the shape of Mustafa’s body. He’d been there so many times, directly underneath it, his hands tracing over the edges of that chest. Neville flexed his fingertips in the water. Even when their bodies were apart, Neville could still perfectly recall every inch of it, the way he would feel when he just took a deep breath in—

Neville suddenly flushed and glanced down. He had evidently gotten a rise out of himself with that memory. Neville stole another glance, privately, over his shoulder. Mustafa was still staring him down, head tilted so cutely, looking at him with such gentleness and curiosity and wonder that it momentarily filled Neville’s chest with warmth—and it didn’t really help him down south. Neville turned away, shoulders hunched inward, and waded further into the water until it lapped up against his hipbones. He gritted his teeth, wincing with the slight chill, but at least he was now hidden. 

Often, Neville wished he was hidden when Mustafa looked at him. Next to him, his warmth, his everything, everything that was so solid and genuine about him—Neville felt so much…less so. He would look over himself and feel like he were colder, smaller, a bit unreal. It stung him deep, knowing that he was thinking these things about someone who really loved him so much, someone that he loved back. In fact, everyone loved Mustafa so much, which Neville could never fault them for. 

He just wondered what the hell it was Mustafa saw in him. 

The sun was slowly dropping low into the skyline, skimming against the breast of the sea, dropping slowly into Neville’s line of sight. He attempted to block it out with his hand, but the light only seeped through his fingers, so he was forced to look back down at—Neville sighed—that. He couldn’t help but feel a bit dense. He’d waded deeper into the water to hide what was between his legs, but the cold water seeped through his shorts and was slowly exacerbating his troubles. Vaguely, Neville wondered if he could get away with shedding his trunks in the middle of the water and just taking care of it there. But, here, in front of Mustafa, it would be too embarrassing—

Suddenly, from behind, warm arms wrapped around Neville’s chest, and he felt a little chin pressing into the crux of his shoulder. Neville took a sharp breath. 

“Mustafa?”

“Hey,” Mustafa said, voice soft. His breath was hot on Neville’s skin. It was rather calming and (Neville attempted to bend his knees and submerge himself further) exciting at the same time. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“I'm—I just—” Neville stammered, thrown far off. Mustafa’s warmth was seeping into his veins. “I just…was thinking.”

Neville couldn’t see Mustafa standing behind him, but he could certainly feel the little sweet smile that came across his face. “Thinking? About what?” He asked, digging his chin a little deeper into Neville’s neck (his breath hitched embarrassingly, feeling that little tuft of facial hair against his skin). 

“I was thinking about…” Neville hesitated, wondering if he should admit it, but shortly relented, “about you.” Mustafa’s soft brown eyes blinked in surprise. 

“Me?” Mustafa tried not to sound too flattered, though it didn’t quite work. “What about me?”

Neville faltered a minute, gnawing his lips as he struggled for what to say. His eyes stayed trained on the water below him. Mustafa’s hands slowly, absently, traced down his chest, over his stomach, down—down too close, and Neville jumped with surprise.

“Wait, wait! Ali, don’t you—”

He was too late before he even finished speaking. Mustafa froze, his hands rolling right over the bulge trapped in Neville’s shorts. Neville’s face burned red hot. 

“Sorry…I’m sorry…” he mumbled, trying to pull Mustafa’s hands away. Instead, Mustafa stayed put, and refused Neville’s little push. Neville’s eyes widened as he slowly put his hands back down to his sides. They were rather silent, the void being filled with the low, lapping water against them and into the distance of the sea, and with the warm breath of Mustafa against Neville’s neck—breath that suddenly sounded to be much more strained…

“M…Mustafa?” Neville asked, faintly. A muted gasp was drawn from him as Mustafa gently pressed his hand down firmer, gently massaging Neville through his shorts. His other hand went to his hip. 

“Hnnnn…what’s this?” Mustafa hummed softly, lifting his head to speak into Neville’s ear. “You got something for me?”

Neville’s flesh was singing under Mustafa’s touch. Now the gold light of sunset was washing over the two of them, and slowly, Neville was forgetting that he’d ever been cold. 

“Hey—” Neville’s head snapped up to find that Mustafa had stepped right in front of him, one hand now held below his chin to make Neville look into those warm eyes (and, well, the other hand stayed where it had been). “I asked, do you have something there for me?”

Neville nodded stiffly, and was met with a smirk—a scheming one, yet still a loving and gentle one. A Mustafa one. 

“Do you want me to help?” Mustafa didn’t say it as much as he simply breathed it onto Neville’s mouth. Neville’s eyes widened, and he attempted to say yes, but Mustafa suddenly rubbed through with such force and intent that all he could do was whimper. 

“Fuck…please….”

Mustafa could only laugh, and then he just couldn’t help himself. Gently, he tugged at the waist of Neville’s shorts—

“H-hang on…” Neville breathed. “Don’t you want to do this…privately?” Again, he was met with a smirk. 

“Privately? King, we’re the only two people here, tonight.” And again Neville was massaged slow, rough, lovingly, balls pressing against his thigh under Mustafa’s hand. He could barely catch enough breath to whimper, “okay…”

Neville flushed suddenly. Now his shorts were off, floating just below his shaft in the water. The cold was now completely surrounding him, sending a shiver right through to his spine—and when Mustafa’s warm hands slowly submerged, gently clasping loosely around his cock, he couldn’t help but feel appreciative. But what Neville really appreciated was the wide-eyed, red-tinged look on Mustafa’s face, looking down as if what he had in his hands were some rare treasure, and not something that he had already held a thousand times before. 

“Moose?” Neville said, gently. Mustafa’s eyes flickered up, now giving that worshipful, loving look directly to Neville’s eyes, and for a moment Neville was sure that he would just dissolve into the ocean salt. He felt so warm. 

“Sorry, it’s just…” Mustafa gave Neville a beautiful smile, and moved his lips to brush against his. “It’s just…you’re so damn handsome, Neville, you know that?”

Neville didn’t get to answer. His lips were caught in a kiss, somehow rough and delicate in one, and simply all warmth, spreading into his veins and circulating through him, rushing so loudly through his ears that he almost could no longer hear the low roll of the ocean around him. 

But, yes. In that moment, Neville believed him, more than anything. 

“I know I am…” he softly said, smirking as he opened one eye. “You are, too. You’re fucking beautiful.” Neville was met with a reciprocated smirk, and gasped softly as Mustafa pulled him in by his back, hand taking a firm grip around his trunk and, softly, rubbing its length. 

“Yeah. I know I am, too.”