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The first time he appeared, Paul was in the middle of a conversation with Irulan. She’d said something biting, and Paul had opened his mouth to retort when he saw a flicker of movement over her shoulder. His gaze shifted to examine it, and he felt a chill run through him as he saw Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen standing mere feet away, uninjured and thrumming with life; no matter that Paul had run his knife through him a week prior, had held him in his arms as he died. His face betrayed no emotion, but the heat of his stare was scorching.
“Paul.”
Paul’s gaze snapped back to Irulan. “Yes?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
He looked back to where Feyd-Rautha had stood. There was nothing there but empty air. He resisted the urge to shake himself out of whatever haze he was in, to be hallucinating a dead enemy. It wouldn’t do to show any weakness in front of Irulan. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
~~~
The second time Feyd-Rautha appeared, he spoke. It happened a month after his first appearance. Paul was in a meeting with his advisors, trying and failing to stave off boredom. He was listening as Gurney proposed a strategy for dealing with the remaining Houses that had yet to fall in line and recognize Paul’s ascendancy, when once more he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
It was Feyd-Rautha, again, standing just behind where Gurney sat. This time a smirk was playing upon his lips. “He’s giving you bad advice,” he said, his voice the same low rasp as when he had used his last breath to tell Paul he’d fought well.
Paul closed his eyes, waited, opened them again. The specter of Feyd-Rautha remained. His smirk grew, as if he knew Paul had hoped it would be otherwise.
“What’s the matter, Atreides?” He shifted, taking a step away from Gurney and toward Paul. “Is being Emperor of the Known Universe proving insufficient for you?”
“You’re not real.” Paul’s voice was barely audible, but the table’s attention shifted immediately from Gurney to him as he uttered the words.
“Your Imperial Majesty?” someone asked.
Feyd-Rautha disappeared in the instant it took for Paul to look at the speaker and then back to where Feyd-Rautha had been standing.
“My apologies,” Paul said. He could only hope he’d schooled his expression enough that it betrayed none of the turmoil swirling inside him. He had dismissed Feyd-Rautha’s first appearance as being due to lack of sleep—easy enough to do when the Harkonnen had only been visible for the length of a glance—but now he was well-rested, and Feyd-Rautha had spoken, had lingered. Had smirked at him, as though he knew something Paul didn’t. “Please continue, Gurney.”
~~~
The third time it happened, Paul was alone in his chambers. It was late, long after dark had settled over the palace, but sleep eluded him. He’d been tossing and turning for hours when he heard the words spoken behind him.
“Can’t sleep?”
Paul sat up immediately, turning to face the sound. Adrenaline rushed through his system. He reached beside his bed and activated a glowglobe. The light barely reached the figure in the corner, but as they crept closer Paul could make out Feyd-Rautha’s pale visage. Of course it was him. No mortal would have been able to make it past the guards at Paul’s door, but this… thing, whatever he was, seemed to appear and disappear at will. Guards and walls were nothing to him.
“Where’s your wife?”
Paul refused to dignify Feyd-Rautha with a response.
“Your pet?”
Paul remained silent, despite the pang the question elicited.
“Alone, then.” Feyd-Rautha approached the bed. “And lonely?” He rested one knee on the mattress beside Paul’s thigh. Paul felt no corresponding dip in the material next to him, however.
“Definitely not a ghola,” Paul muttered, continuing to ignore Feyd-Rautha’s questions.
Feyd-Rautha laughed. “Nothing so simple,” he agreed. He reached for Paul’s bare chest and pressed his hand forward. Though he never fully closed the distance between them, Paul found himself reclining into his pillows anyway. Feyd-Rautha smiled. He swung his other leg over Paul’s middle and leaned down until he was holding himself up on his elbows above Paul, covering him completely.
“Your heart is racing,” Feyd-Rautha murmured. Paul fought to calm himself, using the techniques his mother had taught him. Feyd-Rautha hummed. “You may be able to relax your body, but it still calls to me. I can still read you.”
“Feyd-Rautha—”
“Call me Feyd. You would have, had you been my bride. You would have called me such sweet things…” Paul inhaled sharply. “We were meant to be wed, you and I,” Feyd continued. “Had your whore mother not meddled, had you been born a girl like you were supposed to be, you would have belonged to me and me alone. And I… I would have slain a thousand armies just to kneel at your feet. Just to have you touch me like you loved me. And you would have loved me, I know it. I felt it. You wouldn’t have been able to hide from me in that universe. And you can’t in this one, not anymore; not since you killed me, Muad’Dib.”
“How do you know all this?”
“When I died, everything became… clear, to me.” Feyd cocked his head. “Have you seen it, too? Our life together?”
Paul had, after drinking the Water of Life. As he'd expected, he had seen every possible future (or, he’d thought he had, until Feyd returned) and all of his ancestors’ pasts. But he had also had visions of alternate timelines where his and Feyd’s lives had been inexorably intertwined, timelines where together they had created the Kwisatz Haderach, as the Bene Gesserit had intended.
“Have you felt what it would be like to be mine?” Feyd asked, his voice low.
Paul shuddered.
Feyd grinned. “You have. Good. Things will be much easier this way.”
Paul closed his eyes as Feyd leaned down. He could’ve sworn he felt something warm and wet trace the shell of his ear, followed by a firm pressure against his lips, but when he opened his eyes—to shove Feyd away or pull him closer, he couldn’t say—Feyd was gone.
When dawn broke, Paul still had not slept. He lay in his bed, unable to come up with a single plausible explanation for what was happening. Not one, except that he was slowly going insane.
~~~
The fourth time, Paul was working at his desk when he felt a presence behind him. This time, he didn’t look. He knew it was Feyd. He felt Feyd come closer, lean over him until their faces were side by side, only a hairsbreadth apart.
“Hard at work?” he whispered in Paul’s ear.
Paul ignored him.
“War with the Ixians will not help you,” Feyd continued matter-of-factly.
At this, Paul shoved his chair back and stood, turning to face Feyd. Their bodies were so close together that Paul could feel the heat emanating from Feyd. Heat, he thought. Life. The realization stunned him. Feyd took advantage of his silence and stepped forward, causing Paul to step back and bump against the desk. He feared what would happen should they actually make contact.
Feyd, evidently, had no such fear. He reached a hand up and brushed a curl out of Paul’s eyes. Paul couldn’t help it: his jaw dropped.
Feyd grinned. “Finally.” He traced a finger over Paul’s face. The touch felt… strange. Not quite solid, but Paul felt pressure and warmth just the same. He closed his eyes.
“This can’t be happening,” he said. “This is impossible.”
“Surely you must know by now that nothing is truly impossible.”
Paul opened his eyes and shook his head. “This is beyond anything I’ve ever been taught, anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Your prescience didn’t extend to this future?”
“No,” Paul admitted, unsure why he was being honest. “I did not foresee this, not even after I drank the Water of Life.” He swallowed hard. “I never expected you to come back. You’re supposed to be dead.”
Feyd hummed and put his hands on the desk on either side of Paul, caging him in. “Clearly you witches don’t know everything,” he said. “You tried to sever a bond that was not meant to be broken. A bond that was millennia in the making. The universe will not allow it, not even for its Emperor.”
“You were trying to kill me, too.”
Feyd smiled. “I was,” he agreed. “But I didn’t know any better. You should have. You were the one with all the information at your disposal. I had no knowledge of the witches’ breeding program. Of our destiny.”
“Would you still have volunteered to duel me had you known?”
Feyd paused, considering. “No,” he said, after a beat. “I would never have dueled you. Not when it was to the death.”
“What would you have done?”
“The opportunity would never have arisen. I would have kidnapped you from Caladan long before the Emperor decided to give Arrakis to House Atreides. You would have lived on Giedi Prime as my bride, like you were supposed to.”
Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Your bride,” he murmured.
Feyd nodded. His hand moved to Paul’s waist, fingers dipping under Paul’s clothes, coming perilously close to brushing his cock. Again, the touch wasn’t quite like a living person’s, but it was undeniably there. “You may be a man in this universe, but you’ll always be my wife.”
Paul couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He knew—somehow—that Feyd didn’t mean anything negative by it; if anything, it was the opposite. To Feyd, a wife was someone to treasure, to protect, to adore. He had said he would slaughter whole armies simply to kneel at Paul’s feet had Paul been a woman, after all. “You believe that if you’d kidnapped me from my home, from my family, I would have loved you?”
Feyd said nothing, but his dark eyes bored into Paul’s soul. His answer was obvious.
Paul considered it, imagined being snatched from his bed by a Harkonnen famed for his cruelty, stolen away from Caladan’s waves to a planet with a black sun. It would have taken some time, but… Paul could not deny the pull he felt toward Feyd, even now, even after killing the man. Wasn’t that why Feyd was here at all? Feyd had spoken true: not even death had ended their connection. It must also be true, then, that he would have been drawn to a living Feyd, no matter the circumstances in which they united.
Some of his thought process must have shown on his face, because Feyd smiled again and leaned in. Paul could feel Feyd’s exhalation on his cheek, and he closed his eyes as Feyd pressed their lips together. It was a strange sensation, to kiss someone who lacked the full weight of a human body, but Paul found his mouth opening to allow Feyd’s tongue entrance nonetheless. For one blissful moment, his mind went completely and utterly blank.
A knock sounded at the door. As Paul instinctively broke the kiss and turned toward the noise, the warmth surrounding him disappeared. When he turned back, Feyd was gone.
~~~
The fifth time was when everything changed.
It was too soon, for a start. Feyd’s prior appearances had been well spaced out, allowing Paul to sink back into varying levels of denial in the meantime, but his fifth appearance occurred only days after his fourth.
Paul was in his chambers beginning to strip for bed when he heard the question.
“Will you allow me?”
Paul stopped unbuttoning his shirt. He knew what Feyd was asking for and it did not surprise him. What did cause faint surprise was his own reply: “Yes.”
Two hands fell on his shoulders and turned him around. Two fully solid hands. Paul gasped. Feyd laughed, taking over the task of undressing where Paul had left off.
“What’s the matter, Atreides? Are you so shocked to see me?”
Paul shook his head. He stepped out of his clothes as they fell into a puddle at his feet, unashamed of his nakedness. The step brought him even closer to Feyd, and he couldn’t keep himself from reaching out to touch Feyd’s body. He stroked his forehead, his cheek, brought his other hand up to Feyd’s neck and shoulder, finally resting it on his chest, where he could feel the steady thump of Feyd’s heartbeat. “You’re real,” he said.
“I’ve always been real.”
Paul shook his head again. “Not like this,” he insisted. “You’ve become more solid—more full of life—every time you’ve appeared. And now you feel truly alive. How?”
“You don’t have a theory?”
“Not one that makes any sense. Do you?”
Feyd shrugged. “It seems obvious.”
Paul waited for him to elaborate.
“You need me.”
“What?”
“You need me,” Feyd repeated. “This is all happening because of you. Because you were not meant to live without me. The first time you saw me you dismissed it as a hallucination. But the second time, you were so bored that you were craving intrigue; I gave it to you, and you could no longer fully ignore me. The third time, you were so lonely that you let me pin you to your bed. The fourth time, you were longing for honesty, tired of being surrounded by sycophants. After each time, you’ve believed more in my existence. You’ve had no choice. You’re desperate for me.”
Whatever Paul had been expecting Feyd to say, it had not been that. “And this time?”
Feyd grinned. “You not only need me here, you want me here. It may still amaze you, Muad’Dib, but belief has as much to do with desire as anything else. And your belief in me is the very reason I have become ‘real,’ as you describe it. The universe may have prevented you from permanently killing me, but without your belief in our bond it could never thrive. Now you truly believe, and here I am.”
Paul was unable to refute Feyd’s logic. Somehow, he had seen right through Paul’s defenses each time he’d appeared, understood him to a degree no one else ever had. And after the last time—after their kiss—Paul had begun to ache for Feyd. That was as good an explanation for his quick reappearance as anything Paul had come up with; indeed, he had to admit that it was better than any of his own explanations.
Paul’s hands remained on Feyd’s face and chest as Feyd leaned forward. Paul closed his eyes in anticipation of a kiss, only to let out a small yelp when Feyd chose to bite his neck instead. The bite was sharp, likely to bruise, and Feyd seemed determined to make sure he left a mark as he sucked on the spot. It hurt, but Paul found he enjoyed the pain. He held Feyd’s head firmly in place as he worried Paul’s skin between his teeth. “Again,” he demanded when Feyd began to pull away. Feyd obliged.
Within moments they were tangled together in Paul’s bedsheets, both of them naked and hard. Feyd pushed Paul onto his back and loomed over him.
“Let me fuck you,” he said.
“Yes,” Paul replied immediately. He reached for his bedside table and handed Feyd a bottle of oil. To his surprise, Feyd didn’t open it, instead dropping it on the mattress and moving down the bed. “Wait, what are you—oh, fuck!” A warm wet heat enveloped him as Feyd swallowed him to the root. “Fuck, Feyd. Your mouth…” Feyd hummed around his cock and the vibration made Paul utter a third curse and clench his hands into fists, clinging to the sheets below him. He whined when Feyd pulled off, but it was only to reach for the bottle and pour oil over his fingers. As Feyd took Paul back into his mouth, he parted Paul’s thighs and circled a finger around Paul’s hole. “Do it,” Paul said. The words had barely left his mouth when Feyd slid his finger inside.
Feyd drew out the pleasure longer than Paul thought he could stand. It was an exquisite torture. He was relentless, only ever pulling off Paul’s cock long enough to lick and suck his balls. He added a second finger beside the first, then a third, carefully scissoring and twisting them until Paul saw stars. Just as Paul felt his orgasm building to a crest, Feyd pulled away and removed his fingers.
“No,” Paul begged. “No, please, don’t stop, I can’t—”
“Relax, Atreides.” Feyd took his own cock in one hand and lined it up with Paul’s entrance.
“Paul,” Paul corrected, spreading his legs wider as Feyd settled between them.
A smile bloomed across Feyd’s face. “Paul,” he repeated. “Just relax. I’ll give you what you need.” And with that, he slid inside to the hilt. Paul bit back a yell at the sudden intrusion; though given how thoroughly Feyd had prepared him, the instinct to shout came more from surprise than anything else.
He closed his eyes as Feyd began to move. “Fuck,” he exhaled slowly. “You feel…”
“How do I feel?” Feyd’s thrusts didn’t falter as he asked the question.
“You feel…”
“Tell me,” Feyd commanded, with a particularly delicious swivel of his hips.
Paul moaned. “So good. So real.”
Feyd swore and bent down, licking his way into Paul’s mouth. Their kisses were wet, sloppy, as Feyd continued to fuck Paul. His movements switched from hard and fast to soft and slow with an unpredictability that made Paul dizzy. Just when Paul thought he’d settled into a rhythm, Feyd would change the pattern, making Paul curse and writhe. He could hear himself letting out noises he’d never heard himself make before, alongside breathless pleas for more, for Feyd to never stop.
At one point a part of him wondered whether he should feel embarrassed at how vocal he was being, given Feyd’s comparative quiet, but the notion was soon quashed as Feyd said with a groan: “Fuck, Paul, I knew you’d sound sweet when I made you beg, but I hardly dared imagine you this needy, this loud.” He bit at Paul’s collarbone, doubtless leaving another bruise. At this rate Paul’s neck and torso would be covered in them. He shivered at the thought. He wished they would never heal, never fade.
Feyd kissed him again, nibbling Paul’s lower lip as he pulled away. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” Paul asked, confused. Feyd was already fucking him, what could he—
Paul’s world suddenly shifted as Feyd pulled out of him, sitting back and yanking Paul up and into his lap. It only took a heartbeat for Paul to process what had happened; once he had, he raised himself up on his knees and gradually lowered himself back down until Feyd was fully inside him once more.
“Oh,” Paul moaned. The new angle felt almost excruciatingly good. He slowly began to raise and lower his hips, moving faster as he adjusted to the new sensation of riding Feyd. Hair fell into his eyes as he tilted his head down to look at Feyd’s face.
Feyd appeared enraptured, eyes wide and glued to Paul’s. He tucked Paul’s hair behind his ear and reached for Paul’s cock, stroking it in time with Paul’s movements. “Fuck, Paul. You look divine.”
Paul preened. “Would you worship me?”
“I have worshipped you since I first laid eyes on you. Since you slaughtered my uncle.” Feyd’s voice was hoarse. He had called Paul desperate earlier, but Paul could see now that any desperation he himself felt was echoed in equal measure by Feyd. Paul might need Feyd, but Feyd wouldn’t exist without Paul.
“You didn’t envy the kill?” Paul had not stopped moving, and their words were punctuated by moans and gasps.
“Of course I did. I still do,” Feyd panted. “But you were so ruthless, so beautiful… I couldn’t look away. It’s why I wanted to duel you.”
“You didn’t want to kill me?”
Feyd lifted Paul off of his cock and pushed him onto his back. Paul opened his mouth to complain, but it was only seconds before Feyd slid home again. Paul wrapped his legs around Feyd’s waist and his arms around Feyd’s neck, pulling him down until they were pressed as close together as was possible with Feyd still thrusting in and out of him.
“I would happily have killed you,” Feyd said. “It would have been an honor. As it was an honor to die by your hand. Fuck,” he moaned as Paul clenched around him. “The thing I always longed for most in life was an equal,” he continued once he’d caught his breath. “When you killed my uncle, I knew I’d found one. Our duel only confirmed that.”
“But I won,” Paul said. “I beat you.”
Feyd smirked. “Did you?” he asked, snapping his hips forward in a particularly brutal thrust.
Paul grunted. Feyd had a point: he was here, after all, fucking Paul into the mattress like he’d never died at all.
Paul reached down to touch himself but Feyd batted his hand away. “You’ll come on my cock or not at all,” he said firmly.
“Feyd,” Paul whined, his eyes rolling back in his head as Feyd altered his movements to target Paul’s prostate. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted.
“That’s it,” Feyd said. “Come for me. Come for your husband.”
Paul spilled all over his stomach and chest the moment Feyd uttered the instruction. His pleasure was so great, so overwhelming, he nearly missed the awestruck look on Feyd’s face as he fucked him through it. As the blissful sensation ebbed, he forced his eyes to remain open. He clenched his legs around Feyd’s waist and ordered: “Come inside me.”
Feyd’s thrusts faltered. His breathing was ragged. “You mean it?”
“Yes,” Paul confirmed. He dragged Feyd’s face closer until their foreheads were pressed together. “Come inside your Emperor. Come inside your wife.”
Feyd shut his eyes and groaned as he obeyed. Paul felt the warmth spread through him. A new sensation, but not an unpleasant one.
When Feyd finally pulled out, he flopped onto his back beside Paul.
“That was…” Paul trailed off. Words seemed insufficient to describe the intensity of the intimacy and pleasure he had just experienced.
Feyd seemed to know what he meant even without Paul finishing his sentence. “Yes,” he agreed. “It was.”
They lay in silence. Paul’s mind was just beginning to clear enough for him to think about what to do next when Feyd rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. “Think you have another one in you?”
Paul balked. “Now?”
Feyd nodded, using one hand to fist Paul’s soft cock. Paul hissed, still sensitive, but he found himself stiffening in Feyd’s sure grip just the same.
“I want you to come in my mouth,” Feyd said as he moved down and swallowed Paul’s cock again. When the tip hit the back of Feyd’s throat, Paul moaned and rested a hand on the back of Feyd’s head.
“Okay,” he said. “But you’ll have to earn it.”
Feyd pulled off him long enough to promise: “I can do that.”
It took less time than Paul had expected for him to reach his peak. Feyd’s tongue was wicked, getting Paul fully hard in no time. He bobbed his head, tugging at Paul’s balls with one hand and reaching lower with the other. The second he teased at Paul’s hole with two fingers Paul found himself coming again. Feyd swallowed every drop, then crawled up Paul’s body and gave him a fierce kiss. Paul knew he was tasting himself on Feyd’s tongue, and his spent cock gave a feeble twitch at the thought.
“You’re mine now,” Feyd said when he pulled away.
Paul hummed. “I think I always was,” he admitted.
Feyd’s smile was luminous.
“You’re mine, too,” Paul added. “Aren’t you?”
Feyd nodded. “That was never in doubt.”
“Never?”
“I already told you how I felt when I first saw you.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ve never wavered in my devotion to you.”
Paul hesitated before asking: “Not even when I killed you? Not even in death?”
Feyd shook his head. “Not for a second.” His face was solemn. “All I could have asked for was an honorable death. You gave it to me.” He leaned forward, pausing just before their lips touched to murmur: “Thank you.”
Paul let him bring their mouths together, but he broke the kiss shortly after it began. “Don’t ever thank me for that again,” he said. He tried to project confidence, but he knew his voice was shaking. “Don’t ever think—I killed you. I could have lost you forever. I intended to lose you forever. To think of it now…” He shuddered. Heart aching, he raised a hand to touch Feyd’s cheek. “If you hadn’t come back… I would be lost.”
Feyd took Paul’s hand in his own and bit the heel of it. “But I did come back,” he said. “Don’t waste time thinking about what might have happened. Focus on what did. I came back to you. You brought me back to you.” In a display of uncharacteristic gentleness, he laid a lingering kiss on Paul’s forehead. Paul’s eyes fell shut, and Feyd kissed each closed lid, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, before finally bringing his mouth back to Paul’s. “I’ll never leave you again,” he said when they parted.
“I don’t know what I’d do if you did,” Paul replied. “Terrible things, I suspect. Things that don’t bear thinking about.”
Feyd stroked his hair. “Oh, darling,” he said. “The only terrible things you need to worry about are the ones we’ll do together.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” Feyd’s face was serious as he spoke the words, but then he smirked as he added: “I swear on my life.”
Paul shoved him and Feyd fell onto his back, laughing. Paul rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth pricked up in a small smile. He turned onto his side, curling into Feyd. Feyd raised his arm and pulled Paul closer until they were pressed together from shoulder to toe. Paul rested his head on Feyd’s chest and fell into a deep sleep, soothed into unconsciousness by the steady rhythm of Feyd’s heartbeat beneath his ear.
The sound of the door opening the next morning was a shock to Paul’s system. He bolted upright, extending an arm behind himself to hold Feyd down against the bed.
“I don’t know what you think you’ve been doing with—” Irulan stopped dead in her tracks as the door fell shut behind her. Paul closed his eyes briefly. Of course it was Irulan. No one else would have entered without his express permission.
“Yes?” Paul asked.
Irulan’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “What,” she began, “the hell is going on?”
Paul’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Irulan jabbed a finger at him. No, not at him, Paul realized; she was pointing behind him, at Feyd. He turned and saw Feyd still sprawled on the bed, posture relaxed but eyes alert and fixed on Irulan.
“He died,” she said. “He was dead.”
“You can see him?” Paul asked, astonished.
Irulan glared at him. “What do you mean, ‘you can see him’? Of course I can see him, he’s right there. Did you clone him? Did you create your own personal ghola to fuck instead of your wife?”
Paul shook his head. “I didn’t…” He trailed off, rendered speechless.
Feyd sat up behind him. He wound an arm around Paul’s waist and rested his chin on Paul’s shoulder. “You said it yourself, Paul,” he whispered into Paul’s ear. “I’m real.” He punctuated his statement with a bite to Paul’s earlobe.
Paul realized a small piece of him had still doubted, had still feared Feyd’s return was too good to be true. Irulan being able to see Feyd lay all his doubts to rest. Ignoring her, Paul turned his head and gave Feyd a searing kiss. “You’re real,” he echoed, pulling away just far enough to speak the words against Feyd’s lips.
Irulan snapped her fingers and they both looked back at her. “Explain,” she said. “Now.”
“No,” Feyd answered. “I don’t think we will.”
Paul couldn’t help it: he tilted his head back and laughed.