Title: Tomorrow for Tomorrow
Author: Juxian Tang
Pairing: Feyd Rautha/Piter de Vries/Beast Rabban
Disclaimer: The movie belongs to David Lynch, the characters belong to Frank
Herbert - and no copyrights are infringed here.
Spoilers: the story is mostly based on the movie and not on the book -
especially in the visual details. However, some things are connected to the
book and the reference material Frank Herbert gives to it.
Precisely, the night in the story occurs after the first Giedi Prime scene in
the movie but before the fall of House Atreides.
Comment I: the title of the story is the reference to Matthew 6:34 - "So
do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own.
Today's trouble is enough for today."
Comment II: Ooh... just in case you don't remember. Feyd is played by Sting
("beautiful Sting", as my friend says :-)) and Piter is played by
Brad Dourif. It explains a lot, huh?
Summary: vileness and depravity reign on Giedi Prime.
Thanks to Quinn and Eggblue for their kind help and unfaltering support!
TOMORROW FOR TOMORROW
A flash woke him up. It sparkled blinding white through his eyelids and he
opened his eyes hastily, still seeing its dark imprint on his crystalline
lenses. For a few moments he lay motionlessly, breathing in the air with flared
nostrils, like an animal, hoping unreasonably to sense the pre-rain freshness
in it. The flash was like a lightning - and suddenly he caught himself on
expecting the peals of thunder to follow it.
Thunder - and then low, frequent drumming of the rain hitting the
windowsill. As it happened on Lankiveil when he was a child.
No rumble, no rain came, of course. It was Giedi Prime, don't forget it. The
huge window was closed hermetically and the air in the room didn't move. He
heard the distant humming sound of the wagon moving along the wire. It must
have been an overload somewhere in the intricate electric system of the castle
- and now the workers were going there to fix it.
He shifted quietly, not really turning but setting deeper in the nest his
body made among the bed-clothes. He didn't want to make any bigger movements
not to wake up the others. Not because he guarded their sleep so diligently; he
just didn't want them awake, didn't want to have to talk or to touch.
There were three of them in the bed. Rabban was snoring - a juicy sound,
almost melodic, reverberating through his throat as he lay with his head tossed
back against the pillow and his arms tossed apart widely. There is always too
much of him, Feyd thought icily. Well, with this size...
He couldn't hear Piter's breath - but then it was as usual, the man's
presence almost imperceptible, no warmth, no heaviness emanating from his body
even though he was right near, at Feyd's side, separating him from Rabban's
The bed was broad enough to accommodate three of them freely... the bed in
Piter's bedroom; one would wonder what he did there when he was alone. The
room's temperature was regulated to perfection - to make the night sleep the
most pleasant; the air was decontaminated quickly enough to dispel the smell of
the recent sex even though the sheets were still a little sticky. Feyd couldn't
say, however, that he slept better there than anywhere else on Giedi Prime. His
sleep was always the same - no dreams - nothing to see with his eyes shut; just
a small chant in his mind that almost never left him and sometimes he was not
even sure if it belonged to him or if it was not already a part of him but
something coming from outside.
"I want to kill Paul Atreides... I want to kill you..."
He didn't notice how the too familiar song returned to him - immediately,
without any conscious intention on his part - and he gulped on the air sharply
but noiselessly. His hands started clasping and unclasping convulsively as if
there was a warm soft throat mangled between them. The movement was so
unnoticeably reflexive for him that he suspected he was sometimes doing it all
through the night in his sleep - because in the morning his fingers ached and
He hated Paul Atreides... wanted to kill him - for how many years? Ten,
twelve... always - sometimes it seemed to him. But lately this hunger grew
worse - when the plans of bringing down House Atreides became almost reality.
Soon it had to be over. Soon his wish would come true.
He smiled in the darkness - a patent Feyd's smile - a wide flash of teeth,
so immediate, almost unpredictable - combining deceptive boyish innocence -
come on, he never was innocent - and animal wildness. His brother could be
called Beast - but sometimes Feyd thought that if people knew the truth, this
name would belong to him.
His hands continued to clench and unclench but he hardly noticed it. It
didn't hinder him to fall asleep - it never would - as he closed his eyes and
sank into the lulling warmness... to wake up again just minutes later.
There was no draft in the room, could be from nowhere - but in his sleep he
felt the cool air run over his face - as if cold fingers briefly and softly
touching it. He flinched - stared in the darkness - and saw a lanky pale shadow
dispelling smoothly in the darkness at the door. The locked door.
He lay in the darkness, his hands frozen on half-motion and his muscles like
taut strings, sniffing the air soundlessly. What he smelled was Rabban - his
sweat and cum and squood's juices in his breath - the usual mixture that
inevitably meant his brother to him; he smelled Piter's scent - something
elusive, mild and spicy - and the smells that were customary for Piter's room -
a bedroom and a laboratory at once... different substances Piter used in his
experiments. Nothing more. Feyd knew it - there was nobody else in the room.
It must have seemed to him. A vision... maybe, it was really what other
people called dreams. Yet the memory of the cold fingers touching his face was
so strong that he couldn't fall asleep again. He lay thinking about nothing -
or about nothing that would take a conscious thought. The tension drained out
of his body slowly, the warmth too overwhelming, deleting the memory of the
cold touch little by little.
He rather sensed than heard the movement at his side. Piter... He was not
asleep, too. He sat up in the bed, the blanket falling around his hips, leaving
his upper body naked. Then moved up - the same soundlessly as before, not
making Rabban change a tune of his snoring - got up from the bed. It was what
always amazed Feyd about him - how he usually made an impression of awkwardness
while being in reality so light and exact in his movements.
It took the nights together - the moments like this - for Feyd to realize
it. He breathed evenly, feigning sleep, as Piter moved silently around the room
towards the chest of drawers at the wall. The faint light of the distant
electric lamps seeped through the curtain-less window, making the intertwined
pipes under the ceiling and along the walls look like a dark web. The sloshing
of the dirty water in the sewers that went through the room was the soft sound
accompanying Rabban's heavy breath.
Looking through half-mast eyelids at Piter's pale shape contoured by the
light, Feyd remembered how this body felt against his palms so recently, its
strange coolness stinging on the tips of his fingers, its smoothness reminding
rather some texture - like polished stone or silk - than human skin. But the
wildness of Piter's struggle in Feyd's grip had nothing to do with smoothness
or softness - he was a steel machine under a velvety coating. Feyd touched the
soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger gingerly - it almost didn't hurt
any more. But it had hurt... for days after the skin had been torn there. He
had to hide it from his uncle - and yet he secretly enjoyed it.
Rabban was never such fun. Sturdy and tireless and a good fuck... Even
dangerous. Sharing the bed with Rabban was not the way to secure his loyalty.
But it was the way to make him let Feyd have his own pleasures. He learned his
brother, scrutinized him enough to survive. Yet it made Rabban so predictable,
too. All his tricks known by Feyd... while Piter was still a puzzle. He was not
tired of Piter yet.
He remembered how he used to wonder what Piter would look like without that
many-layered fancy garment of his. So, yes - he knew now. There was nothing on
Piter at the moment; his body perfect in its unadorned state - except the
metal-rimmed circle on his chest surrounding the heart-plug. The Baron's
nephews were the only ones on Giedi Prime who were spared of having heart-plugs
installed - Piter was not. But his nakedness looks just like another disguise
for him, Feyd thought suddenly... but feels much better.
His fingers curled slightly at the thought, having a memory of their own
about the soft flesh of Piter's nipples becoming resilient under his touch,
Piter's narrow body arching towards pain and pleasure Feyd inflicted him. He
licked his lips contently. He enjoyed sex... less, however, than he enjoyed
other things - pain, power and destruction - unless they all were laced
together, that is.
Through the black shadows he saw Piter open the drawer and taking the vial
with Sapho juice out of it. Feyd couldn't hear it, could barely see but he knew
that Piter's lips moved fervently in the words of Mentat mantra before he made
a few hasty gulps of the liquid.
He repeats it with the same intensity as I repeat my vow about Paul, Feyd
thought. And the same absurdly frequently. Waking up at night to drink his
juice. As if his mind would slow down by the morning to the point of stopping
if he didn't.
The Mentat was wound to the point. Feyd knew it all too well to recognize it
unmistakably. Piter might have hidden it from others, cool and precise as
always outwardly. But not from him. The closer the fall of Atreides was, the
more pressure it put, didn't it? Too many things to handle, even for the
unfaltering mind of a Mentat.
Sex reveals a lot about people, Feyd regarded with a dark irony. And, maybe,
there would be the time for him to use this information he got against Piter. When
Piter outlasted his usefulness, as his uncle called it. Feyd would use it, of
course - wasn't it what any information was for? But there was no malice in his
gaze now. Almost understanding.
He saw the pale hand tremble slightly as Piter put the vial back to the
chest. There was a mixed expression in Feyd's eyes - both desire and cold
calculation - as he watched Piter's thin straight figure with the mess of
disheveled hair crowning his head that made his silhouette so exotically weird.
Even in the weak light he could see the traces marring the perfect whiteness of
his skin, the long parallel lines left by Rabban's fingernails on Piter's thigh
- dark and swollen. The black prints of his own fingers flashed on the man's
He wanted more of that now - and knew he would have - to touch, to squeeze.
Sleep escaped him all the same - and crumpling Piter's body under him was
better that to lie in the darkness like that... think about the fingers that
might have touched his face in his sleep.
He expected Piter to return to the bed but saw him walk away instead. To his
table crowded with multi-colored unmarked bottles and retorts and to the cage
on it. A slight sound of metal jingling told him that Piter's pet, Eridan
monkey, moved in the cage towards him.
Feyd needed a few moments to discern the animal in the deeper shadows - its
dark fur making it almost invisible. He looked at Piter who squatted at the
cage - creature-like himself with this outlandish thinness of his and total
smoothness of his body combined with the wild hair and these long silky
eyebrows that felt like some soft fur under the touch. He could hear the man
whisper something - to the monkey? to himself? - but he couldn't distinguish a
word. He saw the pet lean to the cage bars - and recognized even its huge,
black, humanly clever but inhumanly sad eyes that were fixed on Piter's face.
Its dark tiny paw reached quietly to Piter's hand.
"It lives as long as I live," he recalled Piter saying a
few days ago, as he looked at the creature that met his eyes with the
expression that, if it shone from human eyes, could be called love and despair.
The black lips mimicked something like speech, with unrecognizable words - the
soft cooing sound it usually addressed to Piter with.
"Why?" he always wondered about these tubes and wires that
went out of the creature's body.
"I poisoned it," Piter's voice was so level, so quiet - but
his huge grey eyes glistened with the light that Feyd would call insane if he
didn't know there was nothing sane in the man at all. "I made my blood
the antidote for the poison. As long as it gets a few drops of my blood every
day, it is safe. As soon as I stop..."
He kept silent for a few moments, Feyd listening to him intently.
"It is going to be a new word in the art of poisons," the
note of pride was almost imperceptible in his voice but it must have been
there. "It will be something that people won't forget. I will call it
'residual poison'. I am preparing different ones... remember the pink cats from
Neben I've sent for? The point is to make an antidote not easy to be derived so
that you can keep a recipient under control."
Does your monkey know what kind of control you have over it, Feyd wanted to
ask and didn't. Piter was too perfect with poisons to anger him. Think about
the flip-dart in Feyd's girdle. Even years later it would be the same lethal as
now. And he knew how lethal it was; he killed his sparring partner with it a
few days ago - and watched the man convulse in agony for long minutes after the
tiny nick of the blade.
He thought then that he wished it had been Paul Atreides on his place. He
always wished it, didn't he?
"I want to kill Paul Atreides... I want to kill you..."
The thought sent almost torturing pleasure through his body, making him arch
minutely under the blanket - making his cock stand upright and weep pre-cum
"Did she wake up you, too?" the sudden words of Piter were very
quiet, the flash of the whiteness of his face momentary in the darkness, his
eyes huge and almost black on it. He whispered - not loud enough to wake up
Rabban - but the force in his words made Feyd raise his head immediately.
He forgot he pretended being asleep. He forgot to make a note that Piter
must have known he was not asleep all the way. For a moment a part of him hoped
that it was the monkey Piter meant - but it was not, somehow he knew it.
She? The woman Piter had killed? Feyd remembered how it happened all too
well. And it must have been on his mind for those days because even the
tenderness of the gesture Piter held the tiny hand of the monkey reminded him
about it paradoxically.
The woman died under Piter's knife. The Baron sent him and Rabban watch it -
as if they needed a lesson how to deal with the doomed. Yet he didn't regret it
afterwards. Watching Piter at work bore that familiar sweet horror in his belly
- the same as his uncle's entertainment with the young slaves bore - the
feeling so mixed that Feyd had no idea how to express it - and had to mask it
with something more innocent - intoxicated delight and admiration.
He remembered the dance of Piter's knife through the warm body of the woman,
the patterns of blood drawn on her rose-and-white skin that made her common
beauty something terrifying and enthralling at once. He knew Piter was never
merciful... he didn't remember who said it - maybe, Nefud, as always - and now
he witnessed how true it was... the woman's flat belly opening like a shell,
scarlet and mother-of-pearl, under Piter's knife.
Her screams rang through his ears, numbing him, yet giving rise to some strange
fury inside him - the want to possess this soft body, to have it in his hands,
break its resilience with his own fingers - just as he liked to do most of all,
knife or poison never making him feel this good.
But the strangest thing that he couldn't forget happened when Piter almost
finished. The woman turned on her side, her smooth body coated in blood, and
curled in a fetal position. Piter stood over her, the knife in his hand and his
face closed and cold as usual - and then she reached to his bloody hand and
brought it to her lips; her voice barely recognizable as she kissed his hand
and pleaded with him:
"Tell my husband I am dead... free him from his task..."
There was no nod, no word from Piter, just one more flash of steel. Later
Feyd eavesdropped a bit of conversation between him and his uncle.
"He doesn't need to know anything - before he does what he must,
"Very good, Piter. I thought you wouldn't do it. I thought you were
getting attached to the good Doctor's wife."
"I never get attached."
Never... Except for the name you repeat almost as often as I repeat Paul's
name in my sleep. The name of Paul's mother. Another secret found out thanks to
these nights together - an unexpected bonus of them, so to say.
Feyd got up smoothly, in one motion; the same soundless as Piter had been.
Cat-like - a stray ginger tomcat. Piter straightened, sensing him, looking
right at him in the darkness.
In silence Feyd moved around the bed - the bare floor artificially warm
under his feet, yellow electric light gleaming on his strong golden body. He
stopped abruptly when Piter whispered quietly:
"She comes with cold hands."
"Who?" suddenly there was a trace of near hysterics in his voice.
And when Piter didn't answer, again. "Who?"
He had to know. Because the thought that struck him abruptly, unexplainably,
was too horrible to regard it. It couldn't be, could it? Piter couldn't know.
Who was the one with the cold hands.
But didn't he think about her at once?
The adab of unwanted memory came over him. The horrible night quarrels when
his uncle came to visit his father on Lankiveil. Feyd was a tiny kid then, who
curled in a tight ball under the warm blankets of his soft bed in his cozy
bedroom. Did anyone know that in this room you could hear every sound from the hall?
He heard... as his mother and his uncle drove each other to the edge with
short, blade-sharp insults, his father strangely never interfering. The words
no one should have heard in his age, the threats that made blood chill in his
He used to cry his eyes to puffiness with fear - until his mother came at
last and hugged him, the smell of her perfume unlike anything he felt since
then and yet never was able to forget - caressing him with her cold thin
fingers, whispering softly to his ear:
"We'll win, my lion cub. You'll control the universe."
Whoever controls the spice, controls the universe...
He couldn't let Paul Atreides have the spice - couldn't let him have the
"I want to kill Paul Atreides..."
Paradoxically, it was his father who died first. He knew his mother regarded
for a while marrying his uncle - another absurd idea, wasn't it? But something
went wrong. She died a month later, having the sores on her lovely face than
could compete with the ones that the Baron sported. An appropriate revenge,
come to think about that.
And on her funeral was the first time when Feyd noticed the strange
expression in his uncle's eyes when the Baron looked at him. He read it as
But he didn't die. He lived to become a man - and na-Baron - Baron's heir -
his beloved one; Rabban didn't count. And it didn't take many years to
recognize the expression in the Baron's eyes as lust, even though Feyd didn't
know if it was what really spared his life.
His mother didn't have the right equipment to survive, huh? And did she come
to check how he was going on along the way of getting the universe?
"She always leaves too soon," he heard Piter's voice, distorted in
the forced tranquility that had to mask... what? He looked in Piter's eyes
seeking, moving forward until he could sense the warmth of the man's body in
inches away from him.
"Does she often come?" he asked with the softness he was not aware
he was capable of.
It couldn't be her, then. Someone else... and he just wanted to believe it
was her, Feyd thought. Another woman with cool fingers... a phantom of her,
brought when someone willed her to come too intensely.
"Just when it is dark..."
The word was dark but the meaning was different - and suddenly Feyd
understood what Piter meant with it. Not dark in the room. Dark like difficult.
Yes, the fall of Atreides was difficult to wait for.
He saw Piter hug himself in a fluid, somehow sleep-like motion, his palms
rubbing absently against the elbow-joints. Nefud must have told him about the
history of this gesture, too... why, the guy couldn't keep his mouth shut when
it came to Piter... Pain amplifiers, years and years ago, when Piter just started
his service to House Harkonnen. Some said it was the usual practice recommended
from Tleilax itself to a future master of a Mentat - to secure the right kind
of his loyalty.
The Baron faked Piter's capture by Atreides... showing him through his agony
the faces of those he had to hate.
"Why, don't you train a fight dog like this?"
The Baron got what he wanted - Piter hated the Atreides enough. All of them
except one... Lady Jessica. Well, who can say what might have happened in the
mind of a 'twisted' Mentat? And, anyway, was his passion any better than his
Feyd felt a wry smile curve his lips as he spoke again.
"You want it to be her, don't you?" his voice was still mild but
he didn't feel any mildness at all. The slight narrowing of Piter's eyes told
him the truth. "You don't know who she is yourself?"
He didn't need a nod. He knew it. He wanted to laugh. A haunted room in the
technological palace of his uncle - maybe, one of many. How could he... how
could Piter pin something on it?
Strange, empty relief overwhelmed him as he made a step towards Piter. His
throbbing, hard cock almost touched the man's smooth cool belly. The Mentats'
body temperature was a few degrees lower than humans' - and sometimes Feyd
wondered how burning hot he and Rabban must have seemed to Piter.
"Forget her," he said through clenched teeth, burying his fingers
in Piter's messy and still so silky-soft hair and tugging his head towards him.
His mouth was sweet and sour with the juice of Sapho.
Yesss... Like this. Believing was a weakness. Feyd couldn't afford it. He
pulled Piter's body, not resisting but not succumbing either, closer, wrapping
his arms around it, his leg around Piter's hip. The metal circle around the
heart-plug on the man's chest was rough and scratchy at Feyd's over-sensitive
nipples but he enjoyed rubbing against it, claiming the stained mouth with his
lips almost brutally, unconsciously hoping to taste blood instead of the juice
"Whoever she is," he added darkly a moment later.
Piter kept silent. His body was like a cord in Feyd's arms as he jammed his
fingers into silky flesh, not bothering with reserving his strength. Piter
didn't make a sound; he never did. Feyd saw him toss his head back, revealing
the ideal arch of his neck for Feyd's cruel lips to suck on it, not hiding the
teeth behind them. The traces that would be there tomorrow would be hidden so
conveniently under the high collar of the fanciful Mentat shirt - the same as
Piter's clothes hid every other mark left on his body - and whatever else Piter
had to hide.
"I'll give you something else to think about," Feyd whispered
savagely, enjoying almost to the point of fainting the way of his fingers over
the man's chest - swift and cruel, tweaking and pulling his nipples. He felt
Piter shiver minutely after the most vicious pinch.
Don't tell you don't like it, Mentat.
It always made him almost drunk, even more than physical pleasure he derived
from Piter's body - how the feral, animal-like origin in him triumphed over and
ruined the computer-reasonable in Piter.
"Fuck you," his breath was broken with the furious excitement.
Yes, it was what he was going to do. He turned the man roughly, his knee
spreading Piter's legs forcefully, his fingers finding the crusty traces of
Rabban's semen on Piter's inner thighs, generously mixed with dry blood.
He didn't make Piter bend over - he liked it this way; he spat into his hand
hastily and spread it over his rigid shaft. Not enough to really make slippery
but it had to do.
The coolness of Piter's body even in the most intimate places was maddening.
Feyd felt it burn icily on the tip of his cock as he set it into the position.
He thrust with full force - the entrance was open enough after Rabban's
intrusion to let him in without much resistance. The motion was too harsh,
however, he felt Piter's body strive away from him and held the man with his
arms wrapped around the bony ribcage.
Piter could stand it. It was what Feyd liked most of all about him. There
was nothing that Feyd or Rabban could give him that would be too much for his
seemingly fragile body. Piter matched them in bed so well... Feyd almost could
say he loved him for it, you know.
He saw Piter spread his arms widely and take hold of the pipes that made the
arc in this place of the room - the position of crucifixion - the tension of
his body intensifying Feyd's sensations as he thrust into it with all his
might, trying to elicit a sound from the man and unable to, as always. He knew
it - and yet he tried.
Using not only his cock but his mouth for it, clamping his teeth fiercely on
the man's shoulders, feeling the tang of blood on his tongue at last. Piter
drank too much of the juice - his blood tasted sweet-and sour, too.
Feyd's fingers twisted and squeezed the man's erect nipples. This savageness
of the caresses was what aroused him most of all. To crush, to destroy with his
hands - he always wanted it. He always wanted to fill his clenching hands with
something, with warm fluttering flesh, knowing by touch how much pain exactly,
how much destruction he brought.
Shoving his burning cock inside the warm opening, Feyd tossed his head back
and laughed silently.
In the shadows Piter's monkey sat at the cage bars, gripping them with its
arms spread in a strange parody of the pose of its master - and its eyes
watched them with the usual infinite sadness of its.
Why can't people ever look like that, Feyd thought unreasonably. Or could
they? He remembered the dark, soft eyes of the woman, the mother of his
enemy... of Paul Atreides... the same sad and huge... wasn't it, by chance, why
Piter chose this pet, after all? The eyes of Feyd's own mother never looked
"Come here," he suddenly didn't want to see the pet any more. Too
many thoughts... He tugged Piter to the bed; the man didn't resist, his body
trembling with excitement, his cock wet and hard as Feyd mauled it in his hand.
They fell on the bed, Feyd on top, entering back into the moist warmness in
one wild stroke, driving up the rhythm, looking down at the pale face with huge
grey eyes widely open and staring arrogantly as if Piter still could fight his
He wanted to break in Piter. He wanted to win him. To make him lose his
calmness in sex. Or he wanted to kill him. It was all the same. Feyd thought
about the moment when his uncle would decide that they didn't need Piter's
services any more. Then Feyd would be there, his hands ready to play their
favorite game of clenching and unclenching, destroying the flesh that was so
smooth and cool and unfamiliar, even after all those nights together... until
he would see death in these insolent eyes.
Thinking about it, he kissed the man's thin mouth, sucking the redness of
the stains around them.
"My bitch," he whispered almost soundlessly. He heard a soft noise
Piter made - almost a chuckle if he didn't know Piter never laughed.
Then the Mentat's soft fingers ran over Feyd's face.
It was not the same as the touch he sensed in his sleep - not so cold, not
so fleshless light - and yet it reminded him obscenely about the moment when he
felt as if the ground was slipping away from under his feet.
Piter took too much liberty! Feyd shuddered in anger and arousal and at the
same moment he felt the burning fluid shoot out through his cock in long,
agonizingly pleasurable spasms.
He didn't want it to be over. He wanted to continue, to keep punishing the
man for his insult, to be even crueler than he had been. He drove his pelvis
down forcefully, hurting himself as it hit against Piter's hipbones. It was
over - they both knew it was over. And he didn't manage to win again.
Feyd wanted to hit Piter but didn't dare. In the intricate game of the
things permitted and not, with the rules never stated, he was not sure if it
wouldn't be too far - if it wouldn't be the thing that would make him worry
about chaumas or chaumurky for the rest of his - or Piter's - life. He sighed,
looking at the upturned face of Piter, letting him go, touching the man's still
hard cock with almost gentle fingers.
"Playing without me, brother?"
It was almost too good to be true. Rabban was awake. His vast pink body
moved in the darkness, pulling closer to take over Feyd on his place.
"I don't..." he heard Piter hiss - and immediately Feyd was hard
again, just at the thought of what was going to happen. He caught the man's
thin wrists, raising his hands over his head - and felt Piter thrash furiously.
He didn't have much chance, that is - pinned with the heavy weight of Rabban
over him, his hands in the vice of Feyd's grip. Feyd's hand covered Piter's
"You don't want our uncle to hear it, do you? He will hate it, you
know... stepping on his territory, huh?"
He didn't know what made him chuckle - what he found more amusing - the
thought of the Baron to know about their little affair - or the ingenuous
hypocrisy of the interlude they played. It was not fear of the Baron that would
make Piter stop... it had never been, you know.
He felt Piter's body struggling under Rabban's - the man's head tossing from
side to side trying to get away from the palm on his mouth - and he saw it in
Piter's eyes when Rabban entered him.
Yesss, fight. Make it good for us both. Make it good for yourself.
It was difficult to hold him down - every thrust of Rabban was so violent,
almost reminding the impalement. The usual way Rabban did it - and yet the way
that kept working unfalteringly for Feyd, the same as knowing that the sheet
was getting soaked with blood slowly under them. He grabbed Piter's cock, still
hard as before, manipulating it cleverly. As soon as Rabban changed his
position, letting him some space, he leant to Piter's chest, closing his mouth
on the man's nipples at last, sucking them greedily.
It was amazing how little noise they made during sex, he thought suddenly.
Just the low grunts made by Rabban and wet slapping sound of his thrusts. Not
because they feared the Baron... there was something strangely twisted in this
silence and they all liked it.
He touched with his lips the outline of the heart-plug circle on Piter's
chest. It was so easy to kill here, on Giedi Prime. It was what these things
were for. He felt Piter convulse minutely under this kiss that could be a kiss
It wouldn't. He couldn't. They needed Piter yet. To bring down the Atreides.
That was what Piter would do for them.
"I want to kill Paul Atreides..."
Feyd felt his head fill with the chant as he moved towards his next orgasm,
grabbing his cock and rubbing it against Piter's in a frenzy rhythm. I want to
kill him, to kill him... And at the moment when he was ready to splash in
delight again, something divulged for him for a moment, making his favorite
song sound in a new way.
"I want to be Paul Atreides..."
It was the truth... the ultimate truth. Feyd wanted to be him. An Atreides
man, not an Harkonnen animal. The chaste boy who wouldn't make sex but would
make love when the time came, who wouldn't know the agonizing pleasure of hurting
and being hurt. He wanted to be Paul and to be trained in pure and necessary
things - how to fight fair, how to defend himself - not how to be a snake in
the night, killing whoever proved to be weak enough and not necessary enough.
He wanted to have a father whose name was a synonym of nobility. And a mother
beautiful and tender, not the one who was dead - and, anyway, usually referred
to as 'that damned bitch'. He wanted to be cared for, doted, basking in love of
others... Maybe, then he...
He gasped when coming - one sound more than he usually made - and it was not
so much due to the pleasure but to the scalding reality of this thought. In
rage, in self-hatred that was half self-pity and therefore even more bitter he
fell back on the bed, trying to expel this from his mind. He wouldn't think
about it. It was wrong. He wouldn't.
Next to him Rabban claimed Piter's lips in a strange parody of kissing. Feyd
knew that his brother was not able kiss really - but seeing as Feyd did it, he
imitated it best he could. He knew that the usual ruby of Piter's lips would
become blue with it.
That was when Piter started doing it - Feyd recognized the little movements
of his body, almost imperceptible to the eyes but making so much difference to
someone inside him. He heard Rabban's breath become ragged. As usual. No matter
how rough Rabban started he always finished whimpering like a child with what
Piter did to him.
And there was this strange haughty expression on Piter's sharp-featured face
- as if he was not participating, merely present at what happened there. Feyd
looked in his huge unblinking eyes and kept stroking his cock and he couldn't
see any influence his skillful hand had on Piter.
He didn't know what made him turn back. The stare he felt, probably. And he
almost expected to see the shadowy figure at the door again. But it was just
Piter's pet - sitting at the bar quietly, looking at them with her enormous
tragic eyes. It didn't make a sound watching them.
Rabban called for their mother when coming - thrashed, trying both to free
from the vice that held him inside Piter's body and trying to submerge deeper
into it. And then Feyd felt Piter's cum spurt on his fingers. Pale-pink... the
juice made strange things to his body.
It tasted like some sour plant, too, when Feyd brought fingers to his mouth
and licked it. Then he drove his fingers to Piter's lips. The man didn't refuse
licking them, his tongue cool and wet and cat-like, enveloping Feyd's fingers
tightly. Piter knew how to give pleasure with his mouth, too.
Rabban fell asleep quickly, fortunately able to get back to his side of the
bed before it. But Feyd couldn't sleep. He let Piter suck his fingers - as if
it was something he needed to occupy himself with. To prevent him from the
usual exercises that his hands did when he was asleep? Nothing could help about
it, he knew.
And later he moved away from Piter - and even though he wasn't aware of it,
the chant of hatred started sounding in his mind again, in its correct form,
while his hands kept clenching and unclenching blindly.