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Paul saw the Fremen girl bathed in sunset again. He began to turn away, curious to see what might happen if he tried to look away; to steer the dream elsewhere rather than being merely a tourist in his dreamscape.
Slowly the perspective shifted, and turned away from the red sun and the girl silhouetted in it. Instead, what came into focus was another dreamer.
A pale wrist with strong and elegant fingers lay next to loosely curled dark hair, spilling over a black satin pillow.
The room clarified and distilled into form, far more richly defined than the glare of Arrakis. Paul slowly approached a bed and saw a beautiful boy there, lying on his back, asleep. Long dark lashes against milky skin. Perfect cupid bow lips slightly parted.
Paul felt his heart pound and he felt the sudden need for water, his mouth parched. He had assumed he would one day marry a woman to have heirs to continue the Atreides lineage, so he'd never paid any consideration as to what he was attracted to. He was finding out.
It wasn’t as though the other boy was particularly effeminate in appearance, he had a strong jaw and well built shoulders, though much of the rest of him was covered by sheets and a plush duvet.
Paul wondered why he was here with this boy. He turned back again, seeking to move his dream elsewhere, but he just saw more of the bedroom.
He saw empty bottles of spice wine and bottles of pills (whether for medicinal or recreational use it was unclear) lying about untidily. On black lacquered side table was a snuff box containing spice. Against a wall was a rack carrying blades and other weapons; rope, chains, whips and flails. Paul's stomach clenched as it occurred to him that the weapons might not just be for purely martial use. Otherwise there was the usual fare: a large wardrobe, a mirror, and a bureau. When he reached out to touch some of the items he found he could interact with them. And one of them clearly bore an embossed griffin…
House Harkonnen…
Paul recalled his studies of the other Great Houses and had a suspicion where he might be and who currently occupied the large, opulent, but ultimately untidy bed.
He turned back towards the bed. Wondering again why he had been able to dreamwalk here of all places, and that now he was here he couldn't seem to go anywhere else.
Paul felt a rush of excitement that he had inadvertently become a spy, though he had no proof this was anything more than an unusually realistic dream.
But if I am a spy in this dream then what should I do?
There didn't appear to be any documents anywhere to obtain information, not even a single book. Only what he had already made an account of. For lack of anything else he succumbed to his curiosity about Feyd-Rautha (for that must be who he was). He wondered if he could interact with Feyd in the same way he had with his things.
He picked at a lock of Feyd's hair. It was as silky as it looked. He put the back of his hand before those perfect lips and felt warm, moist air shift the small hairs there.
This is so real! But it can’t be. It’s simply not possible I could have been transported here. This is a dream.
An uncharacteristic temptation to indulge in some teenage mischief without consequence reared within Paul. He wanted to see what he could do in this dream, so unlike any he'd had before.
His eyes came to rest on Feyd's chest not covered by a sheet or duvet. Paul couldn't deny his attraction anymore, and if this was just a dream, however realistic it was, surely it would be alright to fool around a bit?
Paul held his breath and gently petted at one of Feyd’s nipples with his fingertips. He felt the small bud harden and grow taut. Feyd shifted slightly. Paul gently gripped the nipple in a loose pitch, and slowly closed in and added more pressure. Feyd let out a soft grunt as his pinch became firmer.
Paul bit his lip, he felt like he really shouldn't be doing this, even though it was a dream. But despite the Bene Gesserit training his mother had given him, he’d underestimated the power of adolescent hormones.
Transfixed by Feyd-Rautha’s beauty, Paul leaned in and brushed Feyd's unruly hair aside from his neck, and kissed across his jawline from chin towards his ear. He could hear Feyd softly pant, his spiced breath damp against his cheek. Once he got to his ear he curled his tongue around to taste the skin under the lobe.
Feyd snorted softly and Paul pulled back rapidly as Feyd turned to hide his ear against the pillow, a small smile at his lips.
Paul paused, bemused that the fantasy his subconscious had cooked up contained such an unexpected element. He was now also a bit nervous that Feyd might wake up. But this was his dream, surely that couldn’t happen if he didn’t want it to? Still, Feyd-Rautha’s unexpected reaction had thrown him a bit.
Paul hesitantly returned to Feyd’s still peaked nipple. Thankfully, Feyd’s response this time was much more in line with what Paul might want from him in a fantasy dream. He gasped as Paul’s hot tongue laved over his bare skin; a soft rumble, not unlike a purr, followed.
Emboldened, Paul had fun nibbling at the sensitive bud, Feyd’s hitched breaths and purring filling his ears, until he felt a hand cup the back of his neck and long fingers burrow through his hair.
Paul froze then slowly turned his head to see that Feyd was watching him through heavy lidded eyes, a sleepy smirk on his lips.
"Well, don't stop now," he said quietly, voice rough with recent slumber. He lazily scratched his nails through Paul's hair encouragingly.
Despite Feyd's fingers sending some very pleasant tingles coursing through his body, Paul's blood ran cold. He closed his eyes, willing that Feyd’s wakefulness would be edited out of his dream.
When I next open my eyes he’ll be asleep again, and I’ll stop messing around.
Feyd's fingers stopped scratching.
Did it work?
"Did you fall asleep on me?" Feyd asked, pushing at Paul’s head and sounding miffed.
Paul opened his eyes and stared at him dumbfounded. Desperately he started whispering under his breath: "Sleep, go back to sleep, go back to sleep..."
The small frown on Feyd's face deepened before his expression suddenly shifted to recognition. Feyd smiled wryly. "Ah, a somnophiliac, very well.” He closed his eyes and immediately effected a gentle performative snore.
Paul was mortified. He hadn't heard the term before but he easily understood its meaning. He needed to end this dream right now. "Wake up, wake up," he muttered to himself, slapping at his own arms.
Feyd opened an eye to peep at him. "Indecisive little perv, aren't you."
Paul flushed red with embarrassment and frustration. "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to myself. This is my dream, and I'm going to wake up now."
Feyd raised an eyebrow and gave Paul a long look. "Or maybe you're a part of my dream so you can't go until I wake up," Feyd said with a grin. Then he turned pensive. "Though I don't know why my subconscious would have cooked up some virginal weirdo to seduce me… but I guess that says more about me though. Huh..."
Paul would have felt offended if he hadn't been slapping hard at his body; pinching and biting himself to try and awaken.
Feyd’s brow, heavy in thought, lifted with amusement as he watched Paul’s efforts. A glint of mischief twinkled in his eyes.
Paul heard Feyd say, "If that's what you need, then allow me," seconds before his hair was yanked so hard he fell forward and stumbled over Feyd's blanketed lap.
"I'm something of an expert," Feyd said by way of explanation before bestowing a firm slap to Paul's small behind.
"Ah! Shit!"
Another open handed spank.
"Ah! Ow!"
"Feels good though, right!" Feyd-Ruatha hadn’t phrased it as a question.
"No! Ah!" Another smack. "Not good!"
Feyd clawed his hands into the small amount of meat of Paul’s buttocks and pinched hard.
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Ow ow ow ow! Stop! Ow!"
Feyd did stop. "Can't blame me for trying, you're sending a lot of mixed messages."
This was the worst dream Paul had ever had.
If trying to wake up when I’m already awake in this dream isn’t working, then maybe I need to sleep here to escape instead?
He didn't know if he even could... God knows he couldn't trust Feyd.
"What are you thinking, cutie?"
Paul was shocked out of his reverie. "You think I'm cute?"
Feyd shrugged. That was hardly a ringing endorsement.
Paul shook his head. Unbelievable.
"You didn't answer my question," Feyd stated.
“If you must know, I was wondering if I needed to go to sleep here so I can wake up in the real world. But I have no idea how I'm going to be able to feel safe enough to relax with -" Paul left the sentence hanging, gesticulating towards Feyd.
"Hmm, interesting idea. Speaking of which "the real world", where might that be I wonder?"
Oh, I am not telling you that!
Despite still believing this to be a dream, Paul instinctively didn’t think it wise to give away information like that, particularly to a Harkonnen.
Feyd waited expectantly, then rolled his eyes when Paul stubbornly refused to answer him. "You know I have ways of making you talk if I wanted," Feyd said, his voice losing its humored edge.
Paul squared his jaw and looked defiantly back at him. The staring match continued for a while, the tension growing until Feyd's jaw suddenly snapped open into a large yawn.
"Fuck it, I don't even care. You're probably the result of some old cheese I ate, it was a bit fruity." He side-eyed Paul with a smirk, baiting him to react to the double entendre.
Paul gave him a withering look.
"For someone who woke me up taking some rather pleasurable liberties with my body, you're no fun at all," Feyd huffed.
Paul felt the sudden lurch of shame again and he knew he was blushing to the roots of his hair
"Let's just try and go back to sleep," Paul said, and walked over to a corner of the room to find a place to curl up.
"The bed's more than big enough for the both of us. You'll struggle to get to sleep over there."
"Yes, but it's far away from you," Paul retorted.
"I'll still be in the room, what difference will it make? And if this really is your dream, what can I do to you anyway?"
"That's not comforting," Paul replied.
"Fine. It's abundantly clear you don't trust me. But I'll remind you again that you came into my room and made a pass at me while I was sleeping, and I think I've been pretty good about the whole thing, given how disappointingly that turned out." Feyd folded his arms, pouted, and flopped back onto his pillows, enshrouded in shadow in the dimly lit room.
Paul cringed again, clasping his face in his hands. But Feyd had made a fair point, he'd only tried to continue what Paul had started.
And now that he hasn’t got what he wanted, he seems to just want to go back to sleep too… if that latest yawn is any indication.
Paul trudged back towards the bed.
Indeed, what's the worst that can happen? If this descends into proper nightmare territory, rather than this farce, someone might actually wake me up…
Paul sat on the edge of the bed, irritated that Feyd was squarely in the middle of the bed and appeared to be doing an impression of a starfish. At Paul's look, Feyd conceded an inch (because he's a gentleman).
Paul lay down and faced Feyd, watching him through eyes narrowed with suspicion. He'd not turn his back on the Harkonnen.
Feyd rolled his eyes again and then closed them, careless. Slowly his breathing evened out and became slow and deep.
Watching Feyd drift off to sleep was relaxing, but Paul held out and stifled a few yawns, not wanting the Harkonnen heir to know he's getting sleepy, in case he was faking it.
Finally he saw the moment Feyd fell back asleep; his face relaxed and all his pretensions fallen away.
He was back to being that beautiful boy once more... now that he wasn't so overwhelming.
But, there was some charm in that too… Paul smiled before he joined Feyd in sleep.