10001 Nightmares Party

[Fic] all those wicked, wicked things (Dune - Movies - Villeneuve)

Summary:

It's always Feyd's fault, of course.

Notes:

written for whumpcember 2024 - Day 6: “Please Stop”

Work Text:

"Please stop," says Paul, ducking under the swing of Feyd-Rautha's knife. Feyd, blood on his body and hands and muscles trembling from the long bout of exertion, only grunts in reply, tossing himself forwards once more. "You're only going to hurt yourself," says Paul, and Feyd laughs, rough and shaking, and pushes off the cold wall, stalking forwards once more. Paul is alone in the room Feyd's been sequestered in, and hasn't so much as touched Feyd all evening.

Feyd's fault, of course. He's the one who stole a knife from an incompetent guard and attacked Paul as soon as he stepped through the door.

It's always Feyd's fault, of course.

Tossing himself forth once again, abandoning all grace and elegance, Feyd does his best to get in close and shove the knife through Paul's heart; it doesn't work, of course. The all-mighty emperor can't be beaten by one measly knife, as Feyd is intimately aware of, but fuck, does trying make him feel better. He doesn't even mind the quiet condescension, the way Paul dances out of his way, never ending up with his back to a wall. Doesn't even mind the way Paul looks at Feyd, pitying and mourning, and like he's seeing somebody else, something else, in Feyd's place.

No, with a knife in his hand and blood rushing in his ears, Feyd doesn't mind much at all. And he won't stop until he's put down, mercilessly crushed, dominated in the way that Paul dominates everything around him. Feyd would be content with that, he thinks. Content with Paul crushing him.

But Paul refuses, of course. 

He always refuses.

When Feyd's unbalanced from another failed attack, Pual aburptly switches tracks. He gets in close and personal, closes his hand around Feyd's wrist and suqeezes until the bones protests and Feyd's hands opens on its own, the knife clattering to the floor. "Please, stop," Paul says again, and he's so close that Feyd can feel his breath upon his skin, can see the glaaxies swirlign in Pual's toxic blue eyes.

"No," says Feyd, and almost bites Paul's nose. It srunches up when Paul barely manages to pull his head back in time, and Feyd grins. He's all out of anger, he thinks. All out of betrayal. All out of fear.

Fear, he thinks, is a hard emotion to hold onto. And Feyd doesn't like it, so quite frankly he didn't even try.

He's all out---all that's left is a spiteful desire to make trouble, to not go quietly.

He doesn't see how this can end. Doesn't know what future Paul sees for him, for them. Doesn't understand why he's still alive, frankly. But he won't go quietly, and if making petty trouble is the best way to get the all-powerful emperor's attention, then that is what he'll do. Gladly.

Paul looks into his eyes and must see it, he must see everything, and he says, quieter, "You can't keep this up forever."

"Maybe not," Feyd acknoledges on a shrug. "But I don't need to. And I don't care what you think of it."

"...You really don't, do you?" Paul asks, gazing deep into Feyd's eyes. He runs his gaze over the rest of Feyd, too; upper body bare, Feyd knows he's a sight to behold. Knows that Paul desires him, the way Feyd desires Paul. Can feel the weight of Paul's gaze on his skin, and sees the way Paul looks at him when he thinks Feyd isn't paying attention.

Feyd always pays attention.

"It's not for you," Feyd says, and grins.

Paul studies him, pulls him closer, hand still tight around Feyd's wrist. Feyd can feel the touch to his very bones, can breathe in time with Paul, chests touching as they stand in the middle of Feyd's prison. "I see," says Paul at long last, and smiles. It's a very pretty smile, Feyd thinks---everything about Paul is pretty. 

Feyd inhales deep and holds his head high, stares into Paul's eyes despite the shiver running up his spine, the shudder hiding in the pit of his stomach. This, the fighting, the pettiness; it's not for Paul. But he won't deny a certain spiteful joy when Paul looks at him, looks at Feyd fighting whatever fate Paul ahs decided for him, and so obviously desires him. So obviously wants him.

And Feyd isn't above taking advantage.

Slamming his head into Paul's, Feyd's nails skim Pual's throat as his free hand comes up. Paul dances out of the way of that, but his forehead already bears a red mark from the impact and Feyd laughs. "Come on," he says, grinning and almost bouncing on his toes, flicking the knife up into his hand with the use of his bare toes.

This time, Paul meets his attack with a knife of his own, and Feyd laughs, the emotions burning through him, settling in the pit of his belly like a snake. He tosses himself heedlessly into the fight, takes the punches and the cuts and the bruises, and does just as much damage in turn. And he thinks Paul likes that, too.

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#Fandom: Dune #Post Type: Fic #Rating: Teen #Status: Complete #Tag: TAG #WC: 0-1000