Moving On

[feline_grace]

A continuation from here

Duncan watches Paul rest for some time. The light never truly fades into darkness, merely shifting from something bright into something more subdued. His hand stays in Paul's, thumb brushing slow circles into the back of his hand should he twitch in a nightmare. The shadows creep across features Duncan had long ago committed to memory.

The tug he feels is subtle, just behind his ribs, but it is one Duncan recognizes. The dead have need of him, and when the Atreides call, Duncan will always answer. He will see them to their final rest.

"Paul." Gently he shakes his shoulder. He hates to disturb his rest, but he had promised to stay with him, to not leave him alone. "We have work to do."

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[kwisatzhaderach]

It doesn't surprise him that their men found comfort in each other and that they shared without reservation. Loyalty and trust were the foundations of the House and Paul recognizes that the surest way to share in that when not in the battlefield was in each other's bunks. The Atreides fought with love and ardor. That was what had made them so formidable. It was why the Harkonnen would never have stood a chance without the aid of the Sardaukar, because the Atreides did not just fight for their House, they fought for each other.

His heart feels the ache of knowing just how deeply bittersweet each farewell must be for Duncan as he leads them to the light. It makes him hold tighter to Duncan, seeking to press deeper into him with ardent desire and a fierce need to protect him from further loneliness. I'm here, he wants his body to say and when Duncan has him lie back, Paul reaches to steal one more life-affirming kiss before doing as he's told.

Staying still however is an impossibility as Duncan guides him into the tight heat of his body. His own seeks to bury itself in the warmth that briefly struggles to accommodate him, a momentary resistance that he steadily pushes past until he's snugly enveloped by Duncan, guided deeper with hands upon Duncan's hips.

"Duncan." The sound is guttural, raw. A wanton noise of pleasure and relief at the sensation of finally feeling whole. Complete. Home.

Paul arches after the entirety of himself is sheathed, trying to get just that much deeper, seeking out noises from Duncan he's never heard until now as he tilts his head back to relish the feel. He wants to watch, to consume the sight of Duncan as Duncan consumes every inch of him, but he also needs to brace himself first, to let himself be briefly overwhelmed by the idea of an eternity of this. Of them.

"I would have bound myself to you in life," he gasps when he can finally speak beyond the hungry sounds of desire, lifting his head to lock his eyes with the one man he's loved with all of himself. His gaze is blown, wild with all the love and need pumping through him at the sight and feel of Duncan. "I'll give you everything in this one," Paul promises when he finally reaches up to guide Duncan down to meet his mouth, wanting to be joined at every possible angle.

[feline_grace]

And in Duncan's deepest hidden dreams, he would have taken Paul into his bunk in the barracks, let the men know how much he loved their lord. A dream he could never have given voice to before and one that feels so real as he breathes through the pressure of Paul breaching his body.

Anything for Paul.
Anything for his love, his lord.

A quiet groan into the kiss as his fingers catch Paul's curls, bringing a lock to his lips. "We have each other now. That's what matters." Duncan rolls his hips, fingers clenching in the sheets as his head tips back with a sound of pleasure.

[kwisatzhaderach]

There's a gentle ferocity to this that Paul doesn't take for granted. It's a hunger borne of a lifetime of want, of secret fantasies, and hidden desires. How he'd only ever been able to dream about the possibility of seeing Duncan like this, carnal and open, despite wanting to drag his swordmaster into the shadows to see how riled he could get them in the privacy of whatever corner they could make their own. And then the reward that would come after, the praise and adoration that he'd lavish on him in the barracks, where he could trust the men inside to keep their secret.

They don't need to keep anything secret now and Paul has to remind himself of that as an obscenity tears through him at the feeling of Duncan moving, taking more. It's the same cadence in which they used to practice. A slow circling, a quickening tempo, a parry in the way that Paul grips Duncan's hips hard enough to bruise in his efforts to keep from bucking up into him.

There's a tenderness to this too that he doesn't want to let slip away. The way that Duncan's hair brushes his skin, the kiss to his own, how Duncan looks as he guides them both through their pleasure. Paul is stricken with love for all of it. All of him. "You're every bit as perfect as I knew you'd be," he pants with a fondness in his voice that's only rivaled by the roughness underneath it. The ragged breath he's taking as he arches to give Duncan something more, a little bit of edge to see if he can get him to come undone. "My sword," he pants, "my shield. My everything." Because it isn't just about what he can give to Duncan's body, he wants his heart to ache with how full it is too.

[feline_grace]

"My Paul, my love, my lord." The words are spoken like vows, pressed into his skin as he rolls his hips, groaning his pleasure into his skin. They move slow and easy at first, Paul learning the cadence and the motions as Duncan guides him and ever the good student, Paul excels.

Duncan sucks a mark into his chest, a red mark against his fair, perfect skin.

He is no longer alone. Bound by duty and love, but free to express those hidden, secret feelings without reproach.

[kwisatzhaderach]

If finally making love to Duncan is this exquisitely overwhelming and perfect, then Paul cannot fathom what the process of binding themselves to each other must look like. The beauty of finally having this is juxtaposed only by the agony of knowing he won't be able to make it last. Not when everything about Duncan is warm and tight and safe. And certainly not when Duncan sets his mouth to his chest, sucking at the skin there in a way that further loosens his grasp on coherency.

"Duncan," the gasp is sharp and high as Paul clutches at those maddening hips, whittled into need by the way they move and the mark he can still feel like a brand on his chest. "Another," he pants, eager and wanting the proof of their union everywhere. No longer wishing to go without the feeling of Duncan in his skin or lungs.

He breathes him in, a bracing breath that comes out ragged. This is everything and the gravity of that, the intensity has his toes curling with the effort to make it last just a little longer as he arches up to give Duncan more even as his skin goes tight with the feeling of an inevitable end. Paul wants to keep them like this, suspended in the throes of ecstasy, and to keep Duncan wrapped around him so neither of them have to feel the pangs of separation ever again.

[feline_grace]

As Paul begs for another mark, Duncan gently takes one of his hands from his hip and slips it between them. He can read the tension in Paul's body, moving to keep them both steadily riding towards that perfect crest.

It only takes a few careful strokes before his body folds forward with a low, punched out groan, his body shuddering out his release.

Paul. His Paul.

They will rest. They will find a way to bind their souls together in every way that they couldn't in life.

[kwisatzhaderach]

The steely feel of Duncan in his grasp is like holding hot iron. Paul is overwhelmed with what it means to know exactly how affected Duncan is, how primed he is for everything their bodies can do together and when the splash of it marks him in an altogether different way than the mouth that had left imprints in his skin, Paul's own release follows with a buck of his body and a moan that bellows out of him with enough force he has to throw his head back.

In the come down, Paul has enough sense to gather Duncan down to his body, letting his larger one blanket him. It means slipping from the sheath of it, but he relishes the contact despite the shivers it inspires. His kisses are ceaseless, dotting Duncan's forehead, worshipping at his temple, and feathering into his hair. "All of me," Paul promises breathlessly, "belongs to you."

He rubs then taps the word in between Duncan's shoulderblades. Blessing. "Rest, Duncan. We have forever."