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]

The doors he doesn't think to lock are the ones that contain the worst of his legacy. A tyrannical worm whose reign is a plague upon the galaxy slithers through the hallway of his slumbering mind, idly testing the locks of Duncan's affections which Paul has placed in all the entryways that lead to prophecy. When they come upon each other, face to twisted face, Paul is shocked to see the price the Golden Path has exacted upon the creature.

He calls it by its former name in abject horror and the face buried within the worm smiles as it speaks to him in his own voice: "They call me God now, father."

The creature reaches for him as if to take more than just his voice, but before it can claim his likeness, Paul is awoken.

He has held fast to Duncan's hand and upon waking clutches it tighter before letting out a long, slow breath until the worst of his legacy fades from his mind. Duncan is here. It does not matter what visages of him the Tleilaxu have created, the heart of him is here. With him. Paul smiles, soft and faint, as he leans into the proof of it, turning to press his forehead to the back of Duncan's hand.

"A moment."

Just enough for Paul to savor the warmth of him before he presses a waking kiss to Duncan's knuckles. Indulgence for indulgence sake. The Great Houses would have been in a fit to see such displays.

"There. Tell me what work is in store." The words hold a gentle edge of teasing to them now that the relief of still being here with Duncan has washed away the last of his nightmare. Paul shifts to sit up and is noticeably lighter, unburdened by other memory, but there is brightness in his gaze that's only possible because of the man it's fixed on.

[feline_grace]

As Paul leans forward to collect himself, Duncan allows an indulgence of his own. He rests his hand in Paul's hair, a reminder that he is with him, that he is safe. It is a reminder of something far deeper as well, a warmth in his chest that blooms with the brush of lips across his knuckles. A warmth he recognizes but does not dare name. Not yet.

"There is a small company of Atreides soldiers who fell the night of the attack outside the door. They are ready to move on." It is difficult to explain how he knows this, how he can sense it, but it is the truth of the place. When Atreides are ready to move on, they seek Duncan out as their guide.

"They don't wish to walk that path alone. It was the same with your father. When he was ready, I walked it with him."

A look down at their still clasped hands. "Will you walk it with us?"

[kwisatzhaderach]

Duncan's affection stirs a fondness within Paul that combats all his fears. As if through touch alone his sword master can vanquish the darkness of his thoughts. So too it must be for the soldiers outside their door. Their existence wrenches something inside of him, calling to memory the sight of Arrakeen smoldering in the distance, and he recalls the gruesome stories Gurney had shared of their men butchered and caved in by Harkonnen forces.

That it should be Duncan to deliver them from this place is a balm on the tragedy. Pride warms him as he firms his hand in the man's grip, turning his wrist so that he may be helped up. Did his father also walk with them before he was ready to move on? Paul can't imagine otherwise, but he's grateful that Duncan would let him participate. It is the least he can do to show gratitude for those who paid with their lives to serve his family.

"I would be honored," Paul tells him earnestly, humbled a little by the request when Duncan has already proven to be a leader to their people even in death. "Thank you, Duncan." There is so much to grateful for and Paul wants to tell him, but he tilts his head towards the door instead, not wanting to keep the company outside of it waiting. "I'll follow your lead."

He does not release Duncan's hand, unwilling to separate until the last possible moment when their privacy is theirs no longer.

[feline_grace]

"The honor is mine," he says quietly, helping him stand but not yet letting go of his hand. The tug comes again and he walks them to the door, only releasing Paul's hand as it opens. These soldiers, these men would no doubt be confused to see their swordmaster touching their Duke's son so intimately.

Outside there are a cluster of men and Duncan greets them all individually, calling their names and touching them fondly. Each one gets a moment of his time, a few kind words and a smile before he moves on.

"Will you lead us, my lord?" A young man asks Paul. "You and Duncan?" They wish to follow the Atreides one more time.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Some of these faces are known to Paul by virtue of having sat amongst them. He was no stranger in the barracks, having often visited his masters whenever occasion allowed. Friends were in short supply on Caladan while growing up but there were always friendly faces.

He greets them now with one of his own, follows Duncan's lead by shaking their hands and then drawing them into the kinds of embraces he often pulled Thufir and Gurney and Duncan himself into. Thank you, he wants to say, but offers instead, "My father loved you all," because that was the truth of it. That was what had made the Atreides fighting force such a fearsome thing. Love.

It didn't matter if it was enforced through propaganda. It didn't even matter if it had started out as a method of control. Not when the Duke was ready to prove his devotion to his people by risking his life for them. His father could walk into a room and know the names of every single person in it. Just like Duncan. Their House had truly been something special.

Paul relishes in seeing it flourish once more. Even briefly amongst this small scattering of soldiers whom he never got to lead. When they look to him, Paul does not feel the awful weight of destiny like he'd felt amongst the Fremen. This was his birthright in a far more natural way than anything the Missionaria Protectiva had set into motion. He rises to the occasion without hesitation.

"My father was proud to have led you and I'm honored to do the same." Paul's eyes move between those who have gathered. This small band of men whose lives were taken too soon. He speaks in the same decisive tone of the Duke who came before him and it is nothing like the vicious grip he held upon the Imperial Throne. It is warm. It is true. It is exactly as his father would have wanted it. "House Atreides was only a Great House because of the greatness within it. You each made up a piece of something that could not be replicated or replaced. We are House Atreides and though we have no banner or bagpipes to herald our ascent, know that it is enough to simply have each other. To be a Great House once more."

To hear the halls fill with the Atreides name, chanted in defiance of all that was taken from them, is almost enough to bring Paul to tears. He never thought he'd be lucky enough to hear it again.

[feline_grace]

Duke Leto would have been so proud of him. Even as Duncan moves among the troops he can hear Paul's natural charm and leadership bolster the soldiers who sacrificed everything for his House. They are shown care and compassion and recognition, everything that made his Duke so beloved.

He finds himself swept up in the chant, arms around fallen comrades as they find comfort in knowing they still have a voice. They still matter. And as long as he exists, they will always matter.

"Come on lads," he calls boisterously. "We have no pipes but we have our voices! Let us make these halls echo with them as you go on your way."

With a grin he hooks his arm with Paul's, the two of them leading a slowly growing squadron of Atreides, each voice lifting in song.

It should have always been this way. Paul leading them with Duncan at his side, devoted and certain. If only his mother had been.. different. Not one of the Bene Gesserit with their secret agendas and even more secretive ways.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Duncan had always been the best of them but to see it live on, even in death, bolsters the affection Paul has for him. The way his swordmaster has made this a celebration of their lives and allegiances makes Paul want to swear his own to the man. They could have been this, together, leading as one had prophecy not pulled Paul into the desert.

He lets himself get swept up in it, grinning wide and tilting his head back to add to the chorus of song. It was regaled to him that the Atreides pipes had played through the night until the last of them perished. They were not a House that went quietly into the night and so it would be the same of their ascent into the light.

Their elbows jostle as men rattle each other by the shoulders, fists in the air, voices loud, all of them swept up in the glorious reunion that will see them off. If they were ready before, then they're transcendent now. Glowing with purpose. Lives dutifully led and duties loyally fulfilled.

Paul isn't sure how he knows the way but there's a gravity to it, a pull, as they move through the halls. He doesn't need to look for Duncan for reassurance. Somehow in the loop of their arms, he can feel the gentle steering of a man who has done this countless times before.

The door they approach is closed but beneath it there's a soft, radiant light. Somehow he knows better than to try and open it and so he turns instead to face the throng of Atreides soldiers, their numbers greater than what had woken them, refusing to silence their chant but instead adding above it, voice pitched with a purpose of his own: "House Atreides is with you now! House Atreides will be with you always!"

It is both blessing and permission. A Duke giving his soldiers leave. They are a funeral procession where the highest honor is to simply carry each other to the end. Paul has never known such love before. He feels the swell of it line the doorframe with a light so warm and bright it is like looking at the sun on Caladan after heavy rainfall, eclipsing the door altogether until it is no longer a barrier but an entryway, open and ready.

He holds tighter to Duncan when the first soldier steps through but not before saluting. Heart to head. Paul returns each and every one and knows somehow without having ever seen it, that his father had done the same.

[feline_grace]

Duncan has walked this path countless times, guiding the fallen Atreides towards light, towards peace and whatever comes next. He has done it with raucous song, with quiet contemplation, but this time is unlike any other. Paul inspires the song and the final defiant sounds. He was who they fought and died for and like Duncan, they did not regret it.

He reaches out, hooking his arm with Paul's again. It's a selfish gesture, but he is not ready to be parted from him yet.

There are salutes, warm smiles and tears, all in celebration of their lives and of the House that they loved. Each one is seen off personally and it is a great comfort to Duncan to know that he won't be the only one left behind. Paul will still be with him.

"Rest easy, lads," Duncan calls. "Go to your peace, this is not the end. It is another beginning. We will always call each other home."

The words and song continue until the last passes through. As the light fades, Duncan sags against the wall, trying to will his emotions under control. This has been his duty and his calling and he would never shrink from it.

But he is so tired of doing his duty alone. His only comfort is knowing that Paul is beside him. He is not alone. Paul can help him bear the burden.

[kwisatzhaderach]

For all that Paul is their Duke, it is Duncan who is their leader. He knows these men, fought and trained alongside them, and so when their arms loop together again, Paul does not let him go, solidarity in the gesture. They will be the last of House Atreides and where before Duncan had been a lone pillar, now he has someone to steeple himself against for when the foundation of his strength trembles.

It is an exhilarating and emotional thing to send these men off, but for Duncan... "How long have you been doing this alone?" he asks quietly when they're the only ones left. The hall feels achingly quiet now. Its emptiness acute. What a lonely thing to be the last of something.

The body that crumples beside him is crowded, a shield against all who might pass. Paul sets his hands against the wall beneath Duncan's arms and frames his body with the willowy strength of his own. "You've done more than we can ever repay, Duncan," he acknowledges in a whisper before lifting a hand to cradle Duncan's cheek. There is so much tenderness in the gesture. A love that Paul knows is deeper than duty. "But no longer will you have to do it alone."

[feline_grace]

Watching the others pass into the light is both heartening and heartbreaking. He is glad to watch them find whatever the light and warmth promises, but it has been a terribly lonely affair to watch them go alone.

"Far too long," he admits, his voice cracking as he closes his eyes. "Time feels strangely here, but every time is difficult to bear."

The easy strength of Paul's arms comfort him as he sags into his embrace. For the first time since his passing, he isn't alone. He's safe with his lord, with his Paul beside him. The touch to his cheek pulls tears from his eyes as he settles his hands at Paul's waist, drawing him close.

"It was worth it to know that you were coming,' he rasps. "To know that I would no longer be alone.'

[kwisatzhaderach]

Duncan's strength and skill have always been something to marvel at, but his tenderness and loyalty were what drew Paul in. It was why he'd kept the man as a confidant, entrusting him with the visions that came to him within dreams, and sought him out whenever they didn't have the reliable crutch of duty to keep them together. He could never get enough of Duncan. Not in life and certainly not now in this nexus beyond death.

As Duncan leans into him, trusting him with these vulnerable confessions, Paul gathers him up as closely as their bodies will allow while standing. His thighs frame one of Duncan's thicker ones, a knee pressed to the wall between his swordmaster's legs to help take some of his crumbling weight, while his hands cradle Duncan's face, giving his pained expression somewhere to hide. "Never again. There will be nothing in this life beyond life that you will have to endure alone," Paul assures as he smooths back and pets through Duncan's hair. Tender caresses he's always longed to indulge in that are now given freely and without consequence.

It is the closest they've ever been but Paul brings them closer still, tilting his face down to kiss the tears that have slipped free upon Duncan's cheeks. Lips feather light and chaste despite the want that tugs at him to seek out more. However he wants only to comfort the man and so Paul settles for a tenderness that dabs away the wetness with the brush of his patient lips, kissing one cheek then the other before setting his mouth to Duncan's forehead where he whispers, "I'm here. I will always be here. It's your turn to rest."

[feline_grace]

Before the attack, Duncan had been content to spend his life as swordmaster to the Atreides, their protector and guardian. Any intimate feelings he may have harbored for Paul were buried deep, hidden away from the rest of the world. There were small moments, tiny and bright that he kept close, things he would privately treasure. Paul's laughter, his fierce hugs, the way he always sought him out.

He no longer has to hide those feelings away. Duncan is not sure it would be even be possible, not when Paul is touching him with such tenderness and care. His hands move from Paul's waist to fold completely around him, to press their bodies even closer together.

"Paul," his name is a prayer, a whisper of his devotion and his love.

He whispers a promise into his skin and Duncan believes him. Even guardians need space to rest, to be held and Paul is offering that freely. When he moves again, pulling back, Duncan follows him, needing him near, needing the strength that Paul is offering him.

[kwisatzhaderach]

When Duncan says his name with such reverence, Paul wants to chase the sound of it with his mouth. The urge is fierce and difficult to deny but he keeps his lips sealed to Duncan's forehead before finding the strength to ease back. They never get far from each other. Paul won't let them. He keeps an arm around Duncan's waist and tucks himself against his side for the journey through the halls.

The space they had moved through in such a boisterous flurry is now quiet again. A reminder that not everyone is ready to pass on with such fanfare. He guides them to the private quarters they had previously shared and once behind their door, he urges Duncan to the bed.

Rest, he signs but Paul cannot bring himself to separate. Instead, with nerves that make his heart still feel like it's beating and his body is still alive, Paul reaches to begin gently undoing the fasteners of Duncan's clothing. His hands move slowly enough so he can be stopped at any point but he attends to Duncan with methodical care. Tenderness in the way he parts fabric to better help his swordmaster get comfortable.

I will take care of you, Paul signs when the first flash of skin is revealed to him. His eyes are on Duncan's when he motions the words and in that promise is another one. Always.

[feline_grace]

His nerves light up with every gentle touch, with the way that Paul stays close and guides him back to the room they had shared. Duncan had never stayed in the same room twice before, there had never been a need. But with Paul it feels important.

As quick and careful fingers set to their work, Duncan is pliable, moving as he's directed. He makes no move to stop him until his shirt is opened and slides down his arms and Duncan gently catches his hands.

"My lord." It's asking permission and forgiveness in one breath as he cups the back of Paul's neck and draws him into a soft, open kiss. No one has touched him like this, with such reverence and care.

It's also tinged with warning. Once he is allowed to touch, he may never find the strength to stop.

[kwisatzhaderach]

There is a subtle, heady rush to undressing Duncan that makes Paul's breath come in a little more quickly. He doesn't mean for this to be anything other than nurturing but it's hard not to marvel at all the skin and muscle that's exposed to him. For a second, he's worried that he's misstepped when Duncan catches his hands, but when he meets the man's gaze, it smolders with something neither of them can ignore anymore.

He wants to call Duncan his shield. He wants to call Duncan his, and then all at once the loveliness of the moment in all its tenderness is amplified as Duncan draws him into their first kiss which Paul turns his face up into to greet. It isn't even shocking. Instead it feels like a natural progression to all the times he'd thrown himself at Duncan, willing and eager.

His hands are still so careful, so reverent, as he cherishes the sensation of Duncan's mouth against his own. Fingers slide through Duncan's hair, reaching to unbind it from its ties so that Paul can more easily card through it, and the cascade of dark locks feels like permission to deepen the kiss. To turn his head and lick into Duncan's mouth as he urges their bodies closer together.

The contrast of warm skin against his robes reminds him that he had set out to take care of Duncan which means assuring him there is nothing to shy away from. No touch they cannot be emboldened to take. He guides Duncan's hands to his waist, a tactile permission, before finally setting his own on blessedly bare shoulders for his first exploration of Duncan's warm body.

[feline_grace]

This is a gift Duncan had never dared to hope for, to have Paul in his arms, his hands on bare skin, threading into his hair. Their breath comes quick as their mouths slide together, tasting and learning one another.

Here they are free. Here they can love one another without consequence or fear.

Duncan pulls his arms free of his shirt, wrapping bare arms around Paul, keeping him as close and encouraging him to straddle his lap. His own fingers, heavy and calloused from years of blade work slip beneath his shirt for his first eager touches of Paul's skin.

"I am yours," he presses the words into his skin, a promise and a vow. "I always have been."

[kwisatzhaderach]

The way they move is a reflection of the way they'd trained. Paul follows Duncan's lead, learning the steps of this intimate dance that they're embarking on together by chasing each escalation with one of his own. The rush is undeniable, an untapped thrill he never thought he'd experience after Duncan had been cut down before they could have this.

"You are mine," Paul affirms, his voice breathy with desire and a need to cement their hold upon each other as he urges himself closer in Duncan's lap when those calloused hands touch bare skin. Life pulses through him, a shock of it that reminds him of the second chance they've been given at it. "You always will be."

On his knees, he has a vantage that allows him to tip Duncan's face back. He doesn't want to stop what they're doing, doesn't want to give either of them a chance to think beyond the need to chase the sensations rising up in them, but as he looks down upon Duncan's face, Paul is overwhelmed by the sight of it. His swordmaster. His shield. His Duncan.

"They tried to remake you," he says quietly as his fingertips touch Duncan's brow before fanning across kiss swollen lips. Every feature one he recommits to memory. "Even the Bene Gesserit knew to whom my heart belonged, but though they could replicate your likeness, they could not recreate this." His hand settles on Duncan's bare chest, right over his heart.

Paul knows that to speak of his former life is to invite speculation of what came after Duncan's death but he wants him to understand the depth of his affections. How they had never waned. How he'd always find him even in a sea of mirrored faces. Now all that's left is to say his own piece, the truth that would inspire the legacy of Duncan Idaho across the Imperium for countless centuries. "I am yours. I always have been."

[feline_grace]

They tried to remake you.

The words rattle coldly, like a stone tossed into a well and had Duncan been armed he might have taken violent exception to what had been done after his death. He had sacrificed himself to save Paul out of love and they perverted that love, twisted it into a threat.

But Paul is here, he is with him and Duncan cups his hand, holding it steady over his heart. Can he feel it beating? Is it even beating? Then he decides it doesn't matter. Paul is in his arms, his hands are cool against his skin and he could drown in the sensation.

"I will always be yours." He taps Paul's chest as he skims his shirt off, looking to touch bare skin. A peek of dimple as he taps his chest. Blessing. "My lord, my Paul." He leans in to kiss him. "My love."

Duncan is ready to lay back, to let Paul take what he needs, anything as long as they can continue this long overdue exploration.

[kwisatzhaderach]

There is nothing worse than seeing one's likeness twisted to manipulate and torment loved ones. Paul knows this because it is what his prescience has done to him for decades. Seeing the ways in which he was bound to hurt those closest to him had been an agonizing burden to bear, inspiring a lifetime of isolation and loneliness. He doesn't feel that with Duncan. Here, where other memory cannot reach him, his life as Emperor and heretic both feel like a dream. Or rather a nightmare from which he has finally woken.

This life beyond life has everything he needs and it only becomes sweeter still as Duncan affirms his affections, cheeky in the way their play had once been. A smile breaks out across Paul's expression as he's made to feel the rhythm of the word. He's so full of love and longing that to deny both any longer will surely drive him to a second death.

He meets Duncan's mouth with his own and this time there is weight behind the kiss. A guiding force that brings Duncan down to the bed where he continues to straddle over him as they learn new ways to make the other pant and gasp. Echoes of a distant past when their lessons would turn to play.

Paul nips at Duncan's bottom lip, an encouraging tease in the way his tongue chases the indent they leave, and between their kisses he echoes Duncan's sentiments, "My sword," a kiss to Duncan's cheek, "my shield," to the curve of his jaw, "my Duncan. My love." He plants a scraping kiss down the length of Duncan's throat, sealing his lips to the lifeline that he's determined to feel thud with gentle suction.

Can they mark each other here? Is there anything they can do to one another that would be lasting? Paul aims to try, determined to leave his brand on Duncan as another way for the man to wear his fealty.

[feline_grace]

They have moved together in the past, teaching Paul the rhythm of battle and one very late night, the rhythm of dance. Only this time they move together, no one taking the lead. As Paul bears him down onto the bed he laughs into the kiss, a sound of joy as he wraps his arms around Paul's waist.

Duncan has known other lovers in his life, but nothing is as meaningful as this.

He tips his head back, swearing softly under his breath as Paul marks up his skin. Anything to offer up to his beloved. To his Paul.

"Yours. Always yours," he pants out, fingers stroking through Paul's curls, ready to offer up everything that he is to the man he's loved the whole of his life.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Besting Duncan in anything had been a rare and momentous thing when they'd been alive. There was a reason he was the pride of the Atreides. Yet those scant few times he'd been able to get one over on his swordmaster had left Paul beaming for days after. Incorrigible in his brief victory.

Paul feels something new and illicit curl inside of him as he hears the noises he can pull from Duncan with his mouth alone. It is a different kind of triumph, one he noises his own approval of as Duncan swears, making sounds he's never heard from the man before. The fervor it ignites in him has him chasing the thrill of such sounds. He introduces his teeth, biting and sucking with enough intent that by the time he leans back, sitting up in Duncan's lap, he can see the gleam of his handiwork.

"Always." There's tenderness in the way he bends back down, weight settled on one hand while his other strokes over the color that he's introduced along Duncan's neck. "And this," he murmurs against Duncan's lips, thumb pressing into the mark, "is what always looks like."

Paul kisses him slower, softer. Relishing in the gift that it is. His fingers pet through Duncan's hair, stroking back through it as he tilts the man's chin up to better explore his mouth. All of Duncan's strength, the weapon of his body, is his and Paul is warmed by the truth of that. He wants to go slow, wants to savor this, but when his mouth moves to one of Duncan's broad shoulders to leave a twin mark there with the same biting determination a hunger unfurls in him and Paul realizes that he's been starving all his life.

For this. For Duncan. He groans and moves his mouth to the center of Duncan's chest, then over the swell of one pectoral. Right over his heart while Paul's hands skirt over his side, taking his weight into his knees as he curls over the man, burying his face into the sweet taste of Duncan's skin. This is his. "Always." He leaves another mark.

[feline_grace]

For Duncan loyalty and love were always intertwined. It was the Atreides way. They earned the loyalty of their men by showing them love. Respect. But his love for Paul always ran deeper, quiet like the deep rivers on Caladan, or the whisper of spice in the air on Arrakis. It had been forced into quiet, a love he could never have acted on or given voice to until now.

He will always belong to Paul.
He will always love Paul.

Each sharp sting of teeth is soothed with lips and tongue and Duncan groans at the warmth of it, the quickening hunger as if Paul wishes to consume him, tasting his skin with every pass of his lips.

Roughly he toes off his boots, focusing his hands on the warmth of Paul's skin, hands sliding from his shoulders to his waist, committing every inch of him to his memory.

"Always," he answers, voice rough with want. His fingers tap at Paul's chest again. Blessing.

His blessing, his touchstone, his Paul.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Prescience had made love difficult for Paul. There was something preordained in the way he clung to Chani to teach him the ways of the desert, leaning on her the way he might have leaned on Jamis, and in turn she had chosen to love him. But how much of that was her choice? How much of anything on Arrakis had been anyone's choice?

But on Caladan? Paul knew he'd been loved. Not because of who his mother had engineered him to be but because of who his father and masters had taught him to become. Before destiny had been a threat, it had been a promise cast in the image of ocean waters and tall castles and a rank of men he could trust with his life. Before his visions turned to Arrakis, Paul had always thought his future lay with Duncan and the rest of House Atreides.

Duncan whose council had always been sound. Duncan whose laughter could always inspire the same from Paul. Duncan who had haunted his dreams long before anyone else, making their time together precious for how ominously finite it would feel every time he woke with Duncan's death hanging at the edges of his awareness. Duncan who feels very much alive beneath him now.

Even in this there is an element of play familiar to their rapport. Paul grins against Duncan's chest as he feels the man arch and twist to kick off his boots, every effort felt as his hands chart the length of his swordmaster's sides, pinning his hips down to settle him with his slighter weight. He wants to consume Duncan, to swallow him whole like a sandworm beneath the dunes, but there is something powerful in the way he can explore this man, learning what takes him apart so that Paul can be entrusted with putting him back together again.

It's a blessing to know each other like this and so Paul covers the hand on his chest with one of his own, squeezing it before bringing it to his lips. "Up," he encourages, teasing the heel of Duncan's palm so he can urge the larger body beneath his own to shift higher up onto the bed. He wants more room to work his way down it and once Duncan complies, Paul brings his hands to the waistband of the trousers currently in his way.

"You'll be the only man I've ever known," he murmurs as he bends to kiss Duncan's stomach, fingers deftly working at button and zipper alike. "The only one I've ever tasted." His mouth skims lower, exhilaration making him run hotter than an Arrakeen rooftop, as Paul shifts his own body down the length of Duncan's so his mouth can seek out the shape of him through his pants. "The only one I'll ever have in my bed."

When Paul finally has Duncan's pants open, he looks up at him through a curtain of curls to lock their gazes. "You were always meant to be mine," he tells him just before freeing Duncan's cock. "This was always meant to be mine," are Paul's last words before he closes his eyes and wraps his lips around the head of Duncan to seal it in the hot sheath of his mouth; taking his first intimate taste and moaning with the knowledge that it won't be the last. They'll have this forever and Paul is eager to move them through infinity together as he starts to take Duncan deeper.

[feline_grace]

The day he had been introduced to a young Paul Atreides was the day Duncan’s world changed forever. He had been proud that his Duke would trust him with Paul’s education but there had been so much more to it. He had no peers, no others his own age, only a life of duty and lessons upon lessons. It had been an unspoken agreement between himself and Gurney that they would never see Paul buckle beneath that weight. When it became too much, when he seemed quiet and withdrawn because his dreams were becoming too much, they would sneak him into the barracks with the rest of the men who would welcome him with easy affection and smiles. They loved their young master and he gave that love back to them freely. There were songs accompanied by Gurney’s baliset and shared laughter between men.

Duke Leto had only caught them once, admonishing Duncan later with a ghost of a smile that he expected his swordmaster to be stealthier in the future.

Embraces were freely given where Paul was concerned, and Duncan etched every one of them into his memory. The joyful smile, the way Paul called his name before launching himself into his arms.

Somewhere along the way, easy affection began to burn brighter, deeper and more certain. He could never truly have Paul, but he could love him all the same.

And then they found one another in this realm beyond death with nothing to hold them back. Paul’s words feel like a promise, like certainty and as he did in life, Duncan offers up everything that he is for those words. For Paul.
He was always meant to be his.

His skin is overheated, burning with want as layers are stripped away. Duncan rumbles out a laugh as Paul directs him, smiling as he obeys. Muscles tense as Paul presses vows into his skin, promises that he will always belong to him. Duncan holds himself steady and still as Paul wraps a sure hand around him.

Softly he brushes a hand through his hair, looking down the length of his body at Paul. His Paul.

Duncan fights to keep his hips still, to yield and to allow Paul to take what he needs from him. He has always considered himself a vocal lover, generous with his affections and responses and now is no exception.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Love hasn't been this easy since Caladan. Paul recognizes this for what it is. What they haven't yet called it aloud but both know to be true. He's known it his whole life. In the way he could throw himself at Duncan and be caught full force. How there was never a single secret he felt he couldn't share.

Duncan isn't the only one whom the Duke had spoken with about discretion. Paul's conversation had been less teasing, however. His had been solemn and sympathetic. A reminder that duty would eventually come calling and that to distract anyone else's from their own was a selfish quality the Atreides could not indulge. Love them, Paul, his father had said of their men, doing Paul the courtesy of not naming the object of his moon-eyed stares while setting a gentle hand atop his own. But don't fall in love with them.

He had failed that lesson spectacularly and though he'd done his duty by keeping such feelings to himself in life, in death he refuses to be bound by such propriety. Here, he wants only to give Duncan every kindness, every affection, and every pleasure. Paul's mouth hungers for it, pulling Duncan deeper down the back of his throat without any sense of skill or artistry. Need drives him while instinct guides his hands. Keeping hold of Duncan at the base so Paul can swallow as much of him as he can.

When his throat resists and he chokes, Paul pulls off coughing and laughing. The mess of his inexperience is arousing in its own right. Something new after a lifetime of having all his future experiences laid out before him. His best surprises were apparently awaiting him here, beyond the reach of other memory and the Bene Gesserit. "We could never have done this before now," Paul rasps, voice already rough from desire and the way he'd tried to swallow Duncan whole.

He grins up from beneath the length of him, wolfish with satisfaction, as he presses his lips to the underside of Duncan's length, murmuring against it to heighten the way he teases, "Your noises would have given us away." He loves them though and it's obvious in the way Paul goes right back to sucking Duncan back into his mouth, hungry for the feel of Duncan's hands in his hair and his vocal appreciation rumbling in the room.