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Slash and Yaoi Fiction
Title: Tomorrow for Tomorrow
Author: Juxian Tang
Fandom: Dune
Pairing: Feyd Rautha/Piter de Vries/Beast Rabban
Rating: NC-17
Status: complete
Archive: yes
Feedback: juxiantang@hotmail.com
URL: http://juxian.slashcity.net
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!


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 bulky mass.

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 were cramped.

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 narrow wrists.

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 slowly.

"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, m'Lord."

"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 veins.

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 universe.

"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 death then.

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.

"Not often."

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 hatred?

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 on them.

"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 like that.

"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 own excitement.

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 mouth tightly.

"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 of death.

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.


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