❝𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.❞ You, an Atreides, the only daughter of Lady Jessica and Duke Leto are married to the violent bald Harkonnen.
I wrote all 20 + chapters of this in like three days so spelling...
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He had a pointy nose that got in the way.
And his breath had known better fragrances.
But it was kinda soothing, on the second to last tooth, your thumb holding up his top lip.
This shit dried quick.
He hadn't said anything, just let you at it, hands clutching the ebony marble of the bathroom counter behind him. Didn't he want to touch you? And every time you made eye contact he quickly looked away.
Like you said, childish, beautiful but moody, with quite a few facial tics and little self—stimulating behaviours, he'd stopped drumming his fingers when you'd noticed, and you'd pretended not to notice to gather intel on the other ones.
"Almost done." The perfect stroke suffocated the last strip of white, pulling out your thumb to wipe it on the still—wrapped blanket. "Want to do the last bit yourself?"
"That's fine." You tamed the arch of a brow at the softness of his voice, perfectly mimicking his uncles, "you may as well finish."
It was a big breath he sucked when you moved back in, hell, was it shyness when you lifted his thick lip up? Embarrassed he did it, frowning subtly at himself.
"Here," and you just about missed stabbing him in the eye when he lifted you by the hips to plant you on the cold surface.
Now he was figuring out if he should move between your hips or stay in the same spot, looking awkward and stiff, he didn't even know he was doing it, looking at you quickly for some direction before you ushered him between knees, a prompt he followed smoothly.
And he didn't move a fucking muscle when you tickled you beneath his chin, free hand gently closing in the side of his cheek. "Open up."
Feyd Rautha responded to tender acts of affection with the utmost confusion, STUN GUNNED, his cheeks turning a little rosy, not that you'd tease him on it at this stage.
He cast his gaze to his feet, opening his mouth for you, allowing the ticklish applicator in deep, Harkonnens had different ribbing to the hard top palate, paler tongues, sharper canines.
"Yhu sthick yhur thung owt wen yhu concentwate." He muttered, tip of the slick muscle poking at a first knuckle.
"Shh, don't move or I'll fuck it up." But you did almost fuck tip, getting a fat dollop down his throat when his hands rested on your knees.
"ATWEIDES!"
"There," you pulled back, inspecting the work, about to blow in his mouth then figuring it'd be very rude as he looked over your shoulder in the mirror, absolutely horrifying but he seemed satisfied, snarling at himself.
"Thank you." It sounded genuine, "you'd make a good house slave with the proper training and discipline."
Whatever you took it as a compliment, screwing the top back on.
