Timmy After Posting Today

timmy after posting today

~~~~~~~~~

Small doses. Things were better when Paul only got small doses of her.

House Hekau was closely aligned with his own; Leto and Duke Abraxas forging a connection between the two families over a decade prior. But with these regular political meetings between the two nobles came Paul’s seasonal headache in the form of House Hekau’s heiress.

She appeared now, gracefully descending the ramp from the spacecraft to the welcoming platform. Her black dress billowed down, obscuring her feet. A woolen cape of Caladanian make encapsulated her torso. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the cape his mother chose on his behalf to send to her for some gift-giving holiday or another the year before. Jessica had just written his name in the from section. A scowl already decorated her full lips.

“Lady Pharao,” he greeted her formally with a shallow bow, hands clasped stiffly behind his back. She barely glanced at him.

“It’s cold.”

He pressed his lips into a forced smile. “We can count on your sour attitude more surely than the weather.”

“Do not start,” Abraxas scolded them both. “At least until I am out of hearing distance and neither of you can contribute to this headache.”

Paul turned his hospitality on for the duke. “Would you like a Healer, my lord?” But the older man just waved him off as he held a hand out for her mother, Lazul.

“Just tell me where I can find Leto. It’s unusual for him not to greet us.”

“By design. He wanted me to greet you as the future of House Atreides.”

Pharao grimaced. “When you say it like that, the future sounds so bleak.”

Paul exhaled hard before pressing another fake smile upon his lips. “Ever the charmer, Lady Pharao. Tell me, why have you not gotten a suitor yet to whisk you to some planet very very far from here?”

“If I wanted to hear an ass speak all day I’d move into the stables.”

“Is that what that smell is?”

“I am not out of hearing distance!” Abraxas snapped. He spared a commiserating glance to Lazul as they walked the path to the castle. “Three more months of this, I swear to the stars, I’ll go mad.” Paul and Pharao’s mouths snapped closed similarly, a sideways glance at each other causing rebellious grins to arise.

Small doses of Pharao, Paul was sure he’d be able to handle just fine. But Paul never got only small doses of her.

It was saying something that she was Paul’s closest thing to a friend his age.

Their fathers had allied in their preteens. From then on, they were constants in each other’s lives.

Constant pains in the asses.

They were rivals in everything. Always had a sneer or a slick remark for each other. From a young age, Pharao was foul-tempered and unresponsive to Paul’s gestures of welcome. She wasn’t shy, didn’t need to be coaxed out from behind her mother’s skirts. Pharao had just taken one look at Paul and deemed him unworthy of her time, he supposed. Paul himself had been shy with a brave face, reciting the different things Leto had always said a respectable duke— a respectable man— should do upon meeting other nobility over and over in his head. Her outright spurning of his friendship had hit him harder than he wanted to admit. Than he ever would admit. But it had cooled to indifference before the heat had been placed back under it, with every disdainful look and insult Pharao slyly let fall from her lips.

He always watched them fall from her lips.

And then he dished it right back to her.

She was a thorn in his side and he an incessant gnat buzzing in her ear.

But in boring governmental meetings that they both had to sit in on, they were the other’s only source of entertainment. Exchanging glances of boredom, annoyance, even the rare humor. When Paul needed a date for a ball, he was having a missive sent off-planet to Enfiel. He had been Pharao’s first dance at her debut event. And her first dance at every gala either of their parents held after. He knew the hiding places in her castle and she knew the ones in his. On nights on Enfiel when the dry air caused his head to pound, Pharao would sneak him into the kitchens in the dark, giving him tea to breathe in the steam and hydrate him. On nights on Caladan when thunder cracked over the castle and kept her mind alert, he was there at the foot of Pharao’s borrowed bed, chatting and bickering with her until she fell asleep.

Her hands were both comfort and claws. His presence both soothing and stifling.

They loathed. They loved. But never in so many words.

The two dukes met merrily in Leto’s private office.

“Abraxas! Great to see you. How did Paul do?”

“He did fine. Looked well, greeted me properly. Looked strong and regal. Until he pulled up his pants legs and stooped to Pharao’s level.”

Leto sighed. “They’re still doing that, are they? I had hoped my instruction today would change that.”

“It’s unavoidable with them and truly, he handles her better than most,” Abraxas said with a grunt as he lowered himself to an armchair. “I daresay the two work together.”

A sparkle caught in Leto’s eyes. “I’m happy to hear you say that, old friend. I’ve been thinking of a proposal I wanted to offer you.”

Abraxas leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers. “Do tell.”

Leto busied himself at his bar cart, making drinks for each of them as he delivered his pitch. “We have been allies for a long time. And before, we have mused about what a boon it’d be to pool our resources. We’ve always dismissed it for this reason or the other, but our scions are merits to our legacies. Pharao has grown up to be a beautiful, shrewd businesswoman with an excellent perception of character. Her progress with daggers and hand-to-hand are coming along well, I hear. And you’ve begun the Mentat work with her, as well, haven’t you?”

“I have, she’s only recently back from Lampadas.”

“Paul is making me prouder by the day. Gurney and Duncan tell me he’s been taking the more brutal training in stride. He’s begun private Mentat training and I suspect Jessica is working with him as well. They are ambitious, strong leaders in the making–.”

“You wish them to marry,” Abraxas interrupted with a narrowed gaze.

Leto chuckled at his old friend getting to the point and handed him his glass. “Yes. I know in the past we have felt they should aim higher, for the potential to make a play closer to the emperor’s seat. But, sincerely, Abraxas, I think together, they can accomplish a greatness we can’t imagine, make political moves we wouldn’t have seen. They could get there together, if they wanted it. And if they don’t,” Leto paused then and shrugged. “It would get their heads out of their asses about each other in the meanwhile.”

Abraxas roared with laughter.

“Unions built on love are stronger. You know we both agree on that. I think this specific union built on love, could knock the Harkonnens off their pedestal.”

A light gleamed in Abraxas’ eyes. “We will need assistance to free their heads from their asses.”

“Agreed.”

The two men clinked their glasses before they fell to hush tones, conspiring animatedly.

With dinner brought the exact scope of the mountain the men were to climb to succeed in their goal.

“I heard you’ve recently spent time on Lampadas, Pharao. With a rather interested fellow as your mentor, I hope you weren’t too distracted,” Jessica said, smiling teasingly as she took a bite. Reactions abounded at the mention. Lazul and Abraxas groaned, Pharao’s face fell into a grimace and Paul’s attention snapped to first his mother then Pharao.

“Distraction,” she scoffed. “More, it was unprofessional and made my work that much harder. Why do men make their affections your problem? Isn’t it more honorable to just pine quietly? And, honestly, with the dynamic of our situation shouldn’t he have just held it all in until the end of the term? Or the end of time even?”

Paul settled back into eating as he listened to her vitriol. “So he confessed his undying love to you, then?”

“Worse, he proposed.”

Pharao smiled blandly as he choked on his food. “And when I said no, I still had another two weeks of training on the schedules with him.” She shivered as she reached for her goblet. “This visit was timely indeed. I have more need for a beak than a man declaring devotion to me.”

Paul hummed. “You're a fine enough harpy without one.”

“If being a harpy keeps me blessedly single, I’ll glue wings on my arms my-damn-self. The bird’s nest on your head seems to be working for you,” Pharao said, pointing her fork at him casually. His jaw dropped as he reached for his hair.

“I’ll have you know I’m single because I am skillfully stepping over all of the eligible bachelorettes who throw themselves at my feet.”

“Well, with their noses to the ground they can miss a lot of your flaws, Atreides, not a bad plan.”

Abraxas tutted noisily. “Do you see what you’ve done, Jessica? Let’s speak of a lighter subject like universal history or war debt.”

They all laughed good-naturedly at Abraxas’ segue, Lazul taking the opportunity to divert the conversation to a safer topic as the two dukes exchanged a heavy look across the table.

Their jobs playing Cupid would be an uphill battle.

Paul hated that Pharao had to join his training sessions when she was on-world. She made it hard to concentrate and her hostile edge made him competitive. Made him want to take risks. To shut her up and have her looking at him with awe. Paul could admit to the image passing through his mind once or twice. He wouldn’t admit to anything closer to the true number.

Today specifically, her presence in the training room was terrible. Paul had been sparring with Gurney for the last quarter hour. Gurney had started him on a more brutal regimen and he had been a little excited to have her see it. But when he looked over at the end of the first round, she was locked in amiable conversation with Duncan.

His jaw clenched a bit and he shook out the tension of his hands as he looked away. Pharao and Duncan had never been particularly close before. He was just curious as to what they could be discussing now. And why were they chit-chatting during training anyway? There was no room for talking and giggling and the showboating way she twirled her daggers in deceptively delicate hands. His eyes had slid unbidden back over to their corner of the room. No, not their corner, just a corner they were in. Together.

His mouth moved before the thought fully formed in his mind. “Maybe if you’re not going to actually practice, Pharao, you can run your mouth with the ladies in waiting.”

“If you want me to hand you your ass, Atreides, just say it.”

“Pharao, now you know–,” Duncan started, but the familiar way he said her name blurred something in Paul’s brain.

“Lady Pharao” He made hard eye contact with Duncan, who blinked back in surprise.

“Don’t misdirect that ire that you so clearly have for me,” Pharao scolded haughtily as she turned on her shield, testing with the flat and edge of her blade to make sure it was working properly. “Let’s have it then, little duke.”

Leaving the session early seemed like the right choice to Duncan. Paul was being uncharacteristically reckless in his strikes. It seemed every correction Duncan had for him was being ignored while every compliment he gave Lady Pharao was met with a seething green cut of his eyes. He had decided to leave the instruction in Gurney’s hands for the day.

“Duncan!” The guard turned to see the two dukes behind him, ducking comically from around a corner.

“My lords,” he said, about to drop a knee, but Leto waved him off and over to them.

“We have a little task for you.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Anything.”

———

When Duncan had been assigned a special task for Paul, he hadn’t expected it to be this. Tricking his young friend into finally pursuing a love life by way of gossip. It would explain Paul’s distaste for his sudden proximity to Lady Pharao earlier. Duncan had never had a full conversation with her before but she mentioned how she had started fighting with two blades recently and preferred it and he had asked to see a demonstration. Paul acted like he stole something precious by having her attention. Duncan was going to enjoy setting the two up. The sooner he did, the sooner he could openly tease Paul about his jealousy.

Duncan made the decision to recruit Faline, Pharao’s highest ranking lady-in-waiting. They set up their ploy just down the hall from Paul’s room. When they heard his approach, they began to set their trap.

Paul limped with a surly expression towards his room. That woman always played dirty, when would he learn? He had won the first round and she the last, ending it with a swift kick to his shin that left him smarting. They couldn’t even have their tie breaker match yet Pharao had smiled smugly like she had won. That little smile of hers haunted him, he swore.

“I just wish for her sake that he’d be a little sweeter on her.” It was Faline, Pharao’s lady-in-waiting. And she was speaking to Duncan, it appeared. The two hadn’t seen him yet.

“Why do you say that? She seems like she hates Paul.”

Paul’s ears perked up at the sound of his name. He knew it wasn’t becoming of a nobleman to eavesdrop but it was about him, wasn’t it? He had a right to hear. Ducking silently into an alcove, he listened in on the conversation.

“Hates him? Stars, no. The poor thing just doesn’t know what to do with herself in front of him.”

“You’re speaking as if Pharao is in love with Paul.”

“Oh, but she is!” The servant stage-whispered. The four words rang in Paul’s ears like a gong, resounding so that he missed their next few exchanges of dialogue. But who could blame him? Pharao in love with him? And the servant answered with such conviction! Like the secret feelings in her heart were as easy a fact to swallow as rain in the forecast.

“—wept on my lap when she came back from Lampadas.” Paul heard the servant say as he tuned back in. “So upset over that proposal. She just was so hurt, crying that if Paul couldn’t love her then she’d marry none.”

Duncan hummed with acknowledgment. “She brought it up over the meal. You’d think with the way she feels, she’d act softer towards him.”

Yes! What in all the worlds could be her reasoning for that?! Paul wanted to thank Duncan for voicing his own thoughts on the matter.

“Lady Pharao is hard to love. Those hard to love need it most.”

“Hard to love?” Paul muttered with a frown. Pharao wasn’t hard to love. Not at all. Sure, she was difficult and argumentative and foul-mouthed and petty and prideful and complained like it was in her job description. But Faline had her mistress all wrong. How could she think that about Pharao?

“Also she believes herself to be too plain looking to tempt him.”

“In what world?!” Paul hissed incredulously then slapped a hand over his mouth as he ducked further into the shadows.

Duncan and Faline hid their smiles and snorts behind well-timed coughs and face scratches.

“Yeah, well it’s a damn shame to hear that she’s given up on loving him.”

“On love completely. It appears if she can’t have him, she will settle for being alone.”

“I have to go to a meeting soon, but let me walk you back to your quarters.”

“Thank you, sir,” Faline replied as he led her in the opposite direction than where Paul hid. When they were far enough away, he made a break for his room, hustling inside. He stared blankly at his wall as he absorbed all he had overheard, mind spiraling over all of the words Duncan and the lady-in-waiting had spilled.

Paul paced in his room. All this time? How had he not noticed that Pharao had been in love with him all this time? Could it really be true? He knew Pharao better than anyone. But were matters of unrequited love not close to the heart?

He couldn’t picture the ever-blunt bother that she was holding her tongue for anything. She was almost larger than life in Paul’s head, above trivial human emotions like love and devotion and yearning. He imagined Pharao finally breaking down one day, sobbing into Faline’s lap about how she didn’t feel worthy of him, didn’t feel pretty enough for him. As if that were ever a matter in question of all things! Paul had disliked her despite her alluring dark eyes and tempting smile. She got on his nerves despite the lilting tone of her voice that sedimented in his brain like an earworm and the way her hair and skin practically invited his touch in the humid Caladanian air. Could Faline be believed? Had Paul of all people been the one that she softened towards in her private thoughts?

“Atreides?”

Pharao’s voice snapped his attention back to present. She had just entered his suite, would probably be in his room any second. In a moment of panic, Paul threw himself onto his windowsill, grabbing a random book from his end table. He combed his fingers quickly through his curls and made a split-second decision to open the top of his tunic, allowing a bit of his chest to show. When Pharao finally made it to his room, Paul had fully committed to his ‘act natural’ bit. The sun that had broken through storm clouds streamed through his window and fell upon him. He let it halo his profile as he looked over to her with exaggerated slowness, sure he had given her eye candy to stumble upon.

Pharao looked at him from his door critically, brows frowned deeply as if disturbed.

She blinked at him, eyes narrowing. “Meeting starts in fifteen,” she announced flatly.

He sent her a gentle smile, one he had seen Caladanian girls swoon at during an official city tour he’d traveled on. He honeyed his voice a touch as well, letting it dip slightly lower than usual. “I appreciate that you took such pains to come and tell me.”

“It wasn’t as painful as you make it seem.”

“So you mean you take pleasure in this, then?”

“I meant if it was painful I wouldn’t have done it. Are you well?”

He brightened a bit, green eyes wide with innocence and hope. “You worry for me?”

Pharao blinked again. “You’re being weird. If you’re not in the meeting room by the time it begins, I’ll tell the dukes you’re sick.” She left his room and Paul watched her go. Sagging back into the window sill, he reflected on the exchange.

She had said she took no pains to come to him. That it was no issue to come to him. She asked after his health, seemed concerned for him. There was surely double meaning to be found there! On the surface she seemed to act as usual but through the lens of her hiding her secret doting, it was clear as day. He bit his lip to try and temper the smile that curved them.

And irony of all ironies, he noticed the book that he unwittingly grabbed. Sailing Infinite, a neo-classic retelling of an even more ancient tale of Shakespeare. The spine was broken and it opened to the same page automatically every time. The quote he had thought to himself just the day before stood out on the page.

They loathed. They loved. But never in so many words.

Paul always liked to imagine the hero of the story as himself. But he never could fully acknowledge that he imagined the heroine to resemble Pharao though she was described much differently in the novel.

He never let himself think of Pharao at all because he thought that she thought nothing of him. But that no longer seemed to be so. So he looked into his mirror and primped a little to see her again. To give her something to look at. And then, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to think and think and think of her.

Throughout the meeting, Paul’s eyes traveled frequently to Pharao. She in turn seemed to be hyper-focused on whoever was speaking at the time, pointedly avoiding looking in Paul’s direction. She shifted self-consciously, making unnecessary notes in her tablet as Duncan, Abraxas and Leto exchanged conspiratorial looks over their heads.

After the perceived success of the first trick, Duncan couldn’t wait to perform for his next eavesdropping audience. Roping Faline in again, they arranged themselves perfectly in Pharao’s path as she left the library.

Duncan shrugged theatrically, beginning his act. “I don’t know what it is about this particular trip, but Paul’s love for her is spilling over, he couldn’t even keep it contained in the meeting today!”

Pharao remained just inside the doorway at the conversation she almost stumbled into. Paul’s love? Love for who? Her mind was working slowly in her sudden emotional state. But finally she recalled his last words. In the meeting today.

Duncan couldn’t be referring to her… could he?

“My, is that so?” Faline’s voice goaded, thirsty for the willingly spilled gossip. She did always have an ear for the trifling things that went about the castle back on Enfiel.

“Oh yeah. These months since he last saw her, he brought her up all the time. Wondering aloud when she would visit again. Gazing out the window in the direction of her galaxy, sighing like a lovestruck fool.” Duncan leaned in conspiratorially. “He even told me how her eyes were like stars and detailed the similarities for nearly an hour.”

Faline whispered to him. “A little overkill, don’t you think?”

“We’ll see, I guess,” he shrugged as he whispered back.

“But he’s always so cold to her?” Faline spoke back up.

“All a front. He’s so gone for her but she hates his guts, so what more is there for him? Just does the little things that he can to be near her. You know, he insisted on being the one to welcome them on this trip.”

“Well, I’ll definitely keep an eye out for that lovestruck expression at the wine tasting later,” she raised her voice on the next bit so she could be sure Pharao heard. “I need to go get my lady dressed and ready for it now. I will see you there!”

Slippered feet sneaking passed could be faintly heard behind them and the near silent slide of the chamber door opening and closing.

The two gave each other a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, Pharao was buzzing, excitement just below her skin. She knew it! The vindication flowed through her, knowing the difference in him wasn’t her imagination. Pharao hummed as she walked to her suite, chin raised a little. Was it truly a difference, though? More, wasn’t it just now a more obvious explanation of his previous actions? Pharao always caught him staring but a glare or an eye roll was usually his immediate reaction when she noticed. Paul took any opportunity to show off in front of her. The poor boy, he had fallen for her when all she had offered was insults and slights? He’d positively melt if she finally allowed herself to look upon him with a gentle smile. He’d trip over himself, look at her with those moony jasper eyes. Pretty pink lips parted in awe. It wasn’t a bad image in her mind. She may have imagined him looking on her like that before.

Faline finally joined her in the room and helped her mistress get ready for the wine tasting. When she came back with her hair acoutrements, Pharao had on a different earring in each ear. She twisted side to side, lips pursed as she considered them in the mirror.

“Milady?”

Pharao cleared her throat and tried to be as nonchalant as possible. “Which of these complements my eyes better?”

Faline shot a private smile to an unseen audience. “Got her!”

Paul sipped tentatively at his wine. He was too nervous to drink too much, unwilling to make an ass of himself in front of Pharao. He counseled himself as he awaited her appearance. First, he would compliment her, as if it would be difficult to find anything of her worth praising. He’d rid this foolish idea of hers that she’s not the most beautiful person he’d ever met. But he wouldn’t be too effusive to brook suspicion or look disingenuous. He’d hang on each word that fell from her lips, refusing to divide his attention, proving she commanded it all. He’d work horses into the conversation somehow, invite her to the stables for a moonlit ride through the orchard…

All his careful devising flew from his mind as Pharao entered with her small entourage. And Paul let himself gape, open appreciation in his eyes as he let his gaze travel the length of her. Deep red silk clung to her curves, making the long sleeved, floor length dress still look like a tease. When he arrived back at her lips, they were curved into a knowing smirk. He returned it as he strode over to her.

“Lady Pharao.”

“Good evening, milord.”

“Those jewels are stunning. Were they handcrafted on Enfiel?” He asked, indicating her earrings.

Her chin tilted up, letting the stones catch the light anew. “Indeed they were, custom made for my twentieth birthday.”

“They’re almost as gorgeous as their wearer.”

A pleased smile played on her lips as she ducked her head. Butterflies fluttered in Paul’s stomach just knowing he could elicit such a reaction in her.

“Would you allow me to choose a wine for you to try, milady?”

“Do you think you know my tastes?”

“I’m sure I know of them more than you think.” A private joke for himself as he waved over one of the attendants circulating with the bottle he’d already had in mind.

Pharao tested the wine and he watched intently as she let the flavors coat her tongue. Triumph flooded him as she sipped again with a hum.

“Good guess,” is all she awarded him with and he chuckled.

“You wound me! You liked it and refuse to admit I’m right. The way you abuse me isn’t fair, lady.”

“And yet I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t change me had you the chance.” Pharao declared, her face upturned to challenge him squarely. She said it with utmost surety, bold though barely above a murmur. Paul gave her a crooked smile as he maintained her dark measuring gaze.

“I have no issue admitting when someone else is correct. Unlike some people.” Pharao giggled, a sound Paul hadn’t heard in years and didn’t even realize he missed. “No, Pharao, there’s not a thing I’d change about you.”

She hid a coy smile by sipping at her wine. “I will quote you on that one day.”

“A man stands by what he’s said.”

“So, then, my eyes are truly like stars?”

Paul regarded her with a quizzical smile. “I suppose they are.”

“Don't act so coy, you said it.”

“I've never said that.” Not even drunk would Paul have admitted such a thing aloud when he was sure she hated him. He never would have left himself that vulnerable. Pharao’s smile slowly fell, searching his eyes for signs of jesting. Pharao had known Paul for a decade and could read his eyes like a ledger. Maybe there would be the sarcasm or dry wit they had always used before. But there was none. Only truth. Which meant her source was false.

Which meant she was making a fool of herself.

“I should have known you wouldn’t be so romantic. It had to have been Duncan messing with me.”

Paul was confused by the turn in her, that soft look in her eyes hardened to granite. “I can be romantic when it's deserved!”

“Woooowwww, so I don’t deserve it now?”

It was all crashing down, crashing together. Her mention of Duncan only reminded him of how he had come to ‘discover’ Pharao’s secret love for him. His stomach dropped as he came to the painful realization. None of it was true. And he had been ready to bare his heart. To chalk all the previous years up to childish denial and fear of rejection. But Paul was right to fear. It sharpened his tongue as he finally responded to her.

“I should have known you were too frigid to show warmth, even in private.”

“Well, I’m so glad we were saved from Duncan and Faline’s cruel prank. You and I in love?” Pharao chuckled harshly. “Laughable.”

Cruel, yes, the whole affair was cruel indeed. A fist was closing around his heart, making it ache to keep rhythm. It throbbed out of pace. Paul’s jaw clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Hilarious.”

He stalked past Duncan on his way out of the atrium. The man had seen the sweet moment sour before his eyes but couldn’t hear what led to the devolution.

“What happened—?” he tried to catch him, slow him down but Paul snatched away from his grasp.

“From now on, stay the fuck out of my personal affairs.” Paul prayed his eyes weren’t red, but the way they stung made him less than hopeful.

Leto grimaced as he joined the high table Abraxas stood at.

“Did you see that as well?”

“See it? I couldn’t look away! Things were going so well, what could have possibly ruined it?”

Abraxas huffed out a breath before taking in a mouthful of the specialty wine. “Welp. I’m not afraid of enacting Plan B. Are you?”

Leto sighed as he waved over another servant with a bottle. “No. Not afraid. Just wondering if my foundations can withstand your daughter’s shouting.”

Abraxas drained his goblet then put it forth for a refill as well.

“Stars, let’s pray so.”

An awkward air blanketed the room like a stench. Pharao and Paul sat in their expected seats; at the right of each of their fathers and almost directly across the table from each other. Paul was doing his damnedest not to look at her, but every fidget or sigh Pharao would make, his green eyes tracked to her however briefly. With a clenched jaw, he’d forcefully avert his gaze again. Pharao on the other hand was attempting to put up the front of nonchalance but failing, as shown by her inability to keep still. As if she was uncomfortable in her very skin. Leto regarded the two heirs with uncertainty, but didn’t let it deter their decision. He looked to Abraxas and nodded for the man to move on to the next order of business that would threaten to bring his castle down.

“Next we will discuss the parameters of the marriage contract that will join our houses,” Abraxas said stoically, before reading off his tablet as though they discussed weather.

Being forced into her presence all his life, even the visions Paul had been seeing lately couldn’t have foretold this.

As the words ‘marriage contract’ fell from her father’s lips, Paul looked to Pharao to see her face just as baffled and blindsided as he felt.

Because there was… not much to gain from this union. Not that Paul knew of. His own father hadn’t married his mother for the potential of making a higher political play. Why would they have settled for this pairing when he could be joined with some young noblewoman with no brothers? When Pharao– as much as the idea made him sick– could beguile some archduke and elevate their family status?

Pharao interrupted Abraxas’s listing of the dowry with a raise of her hand.

“My apologies, milord, but what in the fresh fuck is happening right now?”

“For once, I’m in agreement with her, right down to the crass language,” Paul chimed in.

Leto cleared his throat. “As the heads of our Houses, Brax and I decided that what would most behoove our families and our planets would be a union.”

Pharao waved that away. “Yeah, sure that’s all well and good, but the only unite-able people are this one and me!”

“Hey! Don’t attack me! I didn’t ask for this!” Paul snapped.

“Oh, don’t worry I’m sure you didn’t. I’d never expect you to bind your future to someone so unpleasantly frigid,” Pharao sneered. Paul huffed an angry breath through his nose like a bull, a mirthless chuckle punching out of his chest.

“But who wouldn’t want that oh so delightful charm you bring to every situation for the rest of their natural born lives?”

“You absolute basta–!”

“Enough!” Leto barked and the two fell into charged silences. “It is decided. This is not up for debate. There will be an engagement ball tomorrow for the castle and a formal announcement to Caladan the day after.”

Abraxas took over from there. “After which, the happy couple will travel to Enfiel for the engagement rites and tour to continue.”

“You cannot do this!” Pharao said, slamming her fist as she stood from her seat. She looked at her father vehemently, hurt. “Am I like chattel to you after all?”

Abraxas softened minutely. “You know you are not. You are not yourself right now. When you are less emotional you will be able to see this from a business point of view.”

“Do not talk to me as if I’m an airhead and not your scion!” She pushed back from the table, heading for the door. When the door slammed behind her, Leto deflated.

“She’ll come around, son.”

“Don’t mistake my lack of theatrics for agreeing with you.”

His eyes snapped to his son, his green eyes cold as jade. “Paul–.”

“You take advantage of the fact that we must do as you say. That even as adults, you still can make decrees such as this over us. That you would put the fiefdom over your relationships with us.”

“That is not how–.”

“Forgive me, father,” Paul said as he stood up from the table, “but I’m really not interested in whatever the fuck you have to say right now.”

Paul strode to the door, knowing he couldn’t go after Pharao but he also couldn’t stay here. “Enjoy your meeting, milords.”

A poignant silence reverberated in the near empty room. Abraxas sighed. “Well, it could have been worse. Pharao didn’t even throw anything.”

It was a cruelty for Pharao to look as she did at the engagement ball neither of them agreed to. Her gown flowed off of her like water, a rich blue-grey one that Paul hadn’t seen her wear before. Pharao usually wore formalwear in the Atreides house colors when she visited. Paul was sure she wore it in defiance, wearing the Hekau house colors instead along with the copper jewelry that embellished her neck and hair. A protest to their fathers. Was it a message for him as well?

“Lady Pharao looks to be making a statement tonight.” Paul’s attention snapped to Duncan beside him. He hadn’t forgiven the man yet. Just seeing him reminded Paul of the words he thought Pharao said, of the feelings he thought she felt. The betrayal resurged anew like it had only happened moments prior rather than days.

“Still sentenced to the silent treatment, am I?” Duncan asked with a half chuckle, ending short in a wince when Paul didn’t even look his way.

“I see that I’m not welcome. I'll get out of your hair. See if Pharao wants to dance, I suppose.”

Bile overcame the betrayal. Green and devouring. The acid flowed from his lips as he spoke.

“I am always her first dance.”

Duncan shrugged. “Thought it was just ‘cause you felt you had to not wanted to. I’d enjoy dancing with her so no need to feel obligated.”

Paul’s jaw clicked in his inner ear at the force with which he clenched his jaw, unable to admit anything. What was there to admit? Duncan raised an eyebrow at him– a dare, a taunt, Paul just knew it– before he turned Pharao’s direction across the room. Paul caught him by the arm before he could fully take a step. He leveled the older man a quelling glare before moving past him, towards Pharao. She hadn’t been looking their way, luckily hadn’t seen the pissing contest Paul had just waged and won.

“Shall we get this over with?” Paul asked as he held out his hand to her. It was difficult to pretend to be unaffected by her, who had the nerve to look even more exquisite up close. Her eyes were dusted in copper and lined in kohl, lips left bare to their natural hue with an attention-drawing gloss.

Pharao sighed and put down her glass. “Might as well.”

Off-stage, two nosy fathers caught the entire scene from the gauntlet figuratively thrown down by Duncan to Pharao taking Paul’s hand. Leto caught the slightest pull of his son’s lips, a quickly smothered grin of triumph before schooling his face to be blank again as he led her to the dancefloor. He threw another look at Duncan before settling into a waltzing stance with Pharao. One a little bit closer than he normally would. Leto nudged Abraxas with his goblet.

“This bird still has wings, my friend.” The crystal of their glasses clinked as they privately celebrated.

Paul had fallen deep in thought while dancing with Pharao, almost entranced.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Why do your eyes look like stars? It was a question and her answer in one if he dared to utter it. Despite their dark hue they twinkled like galaxies lived inside them. Like solar systems were born and supernovaed in them constantly. Space operas conducted in her irises. How hadn’t he realized it until now? Had he never stood this close to her before? No that’s not it either. Could it really just be because he never let himself think about it? That each time they had danced before, he had looked everywhere but her luminous, enchanting, petrifying eyes—?

“Paul?” Pharao spoke up again, firmly knocking him from his deep thoughts. She looked mildly apprehensive, a frown pinching her brow. “Are you okay?”

No. I don’t think I am. “It’s fine, Pharao,” Paul answered instead. “Leave it.”

“If you don’t want to dance—,” she said after hesitating, even shifting to step back but Paul’s grip tightened around her waist, moving with her so it looked a part of their dance. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t think we can afford another scene. Just leave it, Pharao.”

An unspoken truce was struck between the two for the rest of the event. They only danced the once, hovered in each other’s vicinity the following few hours, and accepted congratulations with tight-lipped, wordless smiles. Pharao eyed Paul curiously, something close to concern in her surreptitious glances at him. He felt it too dangerous to meet her eyes again.

That night, Pharao traversed the halls of Caladan Castle alone by orb light. The storm that rolled overhead ensured her lack of sleep. Normally, she’d find her solace in Paul, no matter how reluctant she seemed on the surface. But for obvious reasons she couldn’t go to him. Betrothed. Fiancé. She never imagined the words attributed to the boy she knew growing up, the man who slept down the hall.

No, that was a lie. It was something that had graced her dreams a few times, thoughts that couldn’t bloom during the day exorcized in the helplessness of sleep. Joining their houses had been a fantasy before. Calling Paul hers, riding horses in the morning and having supper in his observatory. Things she’d never done with him because they felt too romantic. Because she wanted them too much.

She could admit that the storm was not the only reason sleep escaped her.

And so Pharao was heading to the one other place she could find comfort in. The door to the training room slid to the side. It wasn’t the same one that she and Paul practiced in. This one was for all the castle guards. Windowless and sound muffled walls made it a good refuge for the weather. It stifled the sound of cracking thunder enough to not frighten her but was still loud enough to know if the storm still raged.

Not long after she had settled down did the training room door slid open; Paul standing in its wake. Pharao was afraid Paul wasn’t the only psychic. Had she summoned him by thinking too hard? Called out to him on some extrasensory frequency?

“The storm seemed pretty loud. I went by your room but you didn’t answer when I called out. And I know you could have just somehow managed to have fallen asleep in all of this but I figured I’d check here first to be sure.”

No, Pharao wasn’t psychic. Occam’s razor was that Paul simply knew her. A humbling concept.

“Well, here I am.”

“Here you are.”

Paul padded over to Pharao barefooted, sitting next to her against the wall. Things were soft and hazy in the lowlighting and familiarity of the situation. Sitting side by side in pajamas, comfortable, almost too comfortable. Why did his presence pacify her like nothing else? Just with the warmth of his side against hers. His silence mingling with hers. But then… their fingers were mingling as well. How? Who had inched their hand closer to the other? They were twining loosely on the floor in the space between them as if they had minds of their own. Pharao looked down at them and released a shaky breath. They’d fit. If she moved her fingers closer, they would dovetail with his like they'd been carved in each other’s negative space. She knew they would. When she looked up, Paul was already staring at her.

Thunder rumbled outside.

And then their lips met. Light as gossamer, like it was precious, like it could fly away if spooked. They meet and they meet again. And then finally, finally, they stayed. They pressed, they parted, they slotted together.

With her heart in her gut, it did a dangerous swoop that felt too much like when they spar, too much like when they dance.

The last time Pharao had felt this light in Paul’s presence, it only took four words for her heart to leaden, for the sweet words ready on her tongue to ashen. And Pharao did something she’s never done.

She panicked.

She jumped away from Paul as if the kiss had belatedly scalded her. Like it had taken her too long to realize her hand was in the fire. She scrambled to her feet without looking back at the boy she was fleeing.

“The storm seems to have blown over, I’ll retire now. Goodnight.”

Almost as if to purposely catch her on her horrid lie, thunder cracked overhead. Her shoulders cringed against the noise but she didn’t break or slow her stride out of the room and out of the heavy weight of Paul’s gaze.

Pharao had had enough. They were moments from making the address, all of Cala City practically on their doorsteps to receive the news of an impending noble wedding. And Paul was grinding her very last nerve beneath his sleek combat boots. She had always appreciated them on him previously, a silent fan of how they suited him. No longer.

Pharao yanked him to the side, telling their fathers that they just needed a moment of composure before they made the announcement. Paul was in his military dress, a distractingly appealing sight but she would remain unruffled, dammit. She forced him through a side door revealing a room that amounted to little more than a utility closet. The close quarters, also, were not a problem at all for her. She focused on the task at hand, asking a pertinent question.

“What the fuck is your deal?!”

“You’re being weird!” Paul answered immediately.

“I wouldn’t be acting weird if you weren’t acting weird!”

“I wouldn’t be acting weird if you hadn’t kissed me!” Because Paul couldn’t think past it or around it. It beat at the forefront of his brain like a battering ram. Everytime he looked at her, there was only the imprint of her lips on his, of the soft curve of her jaw under his fingertips, of her flimsy excuse and running away from him. He had hated to see Pharao’s back last night and was flustered to see her face that morning. She was back in Atreides colors, black and green shimmered on her eyelids and Paul felt the way they highlighted her eyes would rob his knees of their strength.

“You kissed me first!” Pharao hissed as her face flushed with more heat than a red star.

Paul made an ugly noise of affront. “I definitely didn’t!” He may have. He didn’t know. But he wouldn’t accept blame regardless.

“You were literally all over me.”

“Your mind is slipping in your old age.”

“We’re the same age, you cunt!”

“I'll kiss you right now to prove I don't feel anything for you!”

“Fine, prove it!”

Paul grabbed her with both hands, gripping the back of her neck because he had a half a mind to strangle her annoying ass as well. Stars, she just made him so angry. She riled him like nothing could, hit raw nerves with a reflex hammer and left him undeniably throbbing in her aftermath. He poured it all into the kiss, spelled the fire of his heart on her tongue with his own.

She gripped his lapels to pull him closer, the pounding of his heart thumping against her knuckles.

They broke apart but not far, entangled too surely to achieve space again.

“Your verdict, Atreides?” Pharao panted as he rubbed against her temple, like a cat blessing favor.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

And then he dove for her mouth again.

Feedback/Reblogs are the best way to support and motivate me! It's free.99 for you but means the world to me!

Theirs.

Summary: Preparing to spend another of their endless nights in each other’s arms, Timothée and Saoirse are interrupted by an unexpected knock at their door…

Pairing: vampire!Timothée Chalamet x black!fem!reader x vampire!Saoirse Ronan

A/n: well this has taken me long enough lol glad to finally post it tho! Originally inspired by this prompt. Thank you to @siwokann and @get-your-fics with help with this one!! 🤩 5.6k words, tell me what you think and happy pre-early spooky szn 😘 smut ahead, 18+ only. Minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.

It was a well-known song and dance the two moved through, pleasurable and familiar. Decades together, exploring not only each other’s bodies but other partners in between and different kinks. It was nothing new to them but they found a sensual comfort in that. Timothée moaned into Saoirse’s mouth as she pulled his shirttail from the waistband of his pants, sliding her hands over the planes of his lower belly.

Her smirking lips had descended to his neck when a tentative knock from the door downstairs could be heard clear as a bell to them. They paused to meet each other’s eyes with confusion filling each pair. It went without saying that they weren’t expecting company. They don't get visitors... ever. Their old estate was in the middle of woods now, the footpath to it overgrown and barely visible. They parted, setting their clothes to rights before moving with effortless speed to the front door. Saoirse opened it to reveal a woman.

Mortal. The scent of your blood, made stronger by the nerves that caused it to beat strong through your veins, heralded your humanity with a wild sweetness that made Timothée run his tongue over his teeth. There was a hiking path a few miles away, but this was the first time someone had come so far off-trail.

They didn’t really need blood at this time, they could probably go another couple of days before they needed to seek someone out. But your delicious little self had wandered right up to their doorstep, looking like a stray kitten and a potentially good time all wrapped in one. Under all of that dirt and thick cotton, bright pitiful eyes stared up at them despite the clear exhaustion in your frame. And perhaps it was because Timothée was already in a certain mood that he happened to really take notice of that frame. But by the way Saoirse hummed beside him, he knew his eyes weren’t the only ones wandering.

“Can we help you, lovie?” Saoirse said.

“I-I hope so? I’m sorry. I went on this hike and got off the trail and lost my way back to it, but then I saw this, like, broken cobblestone path that was overgrown a bit but figured it’d be better than walking aimlessly anymore especially since the sun is setting soon and…”

“You hiked all the way here by your lonesome?” Saoirse cut you off, dirty blonde eyebrows shooting up.

“How strong you must be,” Timothée followed up.

“Such stamina.”

“And endurance.”

Saoirse stepped back and made room for you. “You must be tired, why don’t you come in? We can get you feeling brand new again.”

Timothée smirked to himself as he stepped aside as well. A scent like spice, undercutting sweet florals hovered in the air as you passed by them. Mouth watering, fangs throbbing in his gums, he wanted nothing more than to sink them deep in the lovely thumping line he could see below your perspirant brown skin. But then, he ached to taste the skin as well. The pouty lips and the beckoning cleavage the sports bra provided. He met Saoirse’s gaze and twin smiles found their ways onto their visages.

Two vampires inviting a human into their home. Now, there was a particularly novel setup. Morbidly curious, they were eager to see how the scene would play out.

“You must be terribly parched, lovie. I know I can barely think straight myself when I’m thirsty,” Saoirse said with a gentle smile, one slender arm coming up comfortingly behind you.

“Here you are,” Timothée offered the tall glass of water towards you and you blinked at it. He couldn’t help the amusement that curled his lip at your reaction, like he’d just done a magic trick, producing the water out of thin air. He had just gone and returned before you noticed.

“Um th-thank you. How did you–?”

“Let me take this bulky old thing from you,” Saoirse cut you off, slipping the hiking backpack from your shoulders.

“And don’t forget to drink up,” he said, placing his pointer right under the cup and tipping it up into your mouth. He smiled his approval as you began to drain the glass. “I’m Timothée and this is Saoirse.”

“I’m Y/n.”

“Y/n,” Timothée repeated after you, trying it out like a new flavor, letting it coat his tongue. He grinned. “Follow me up to the bathroom. I’m sure a nice shower will get you feeling better, hm?”

“Oh, yes, and I’ll prepare a little something to fill you up in the meantime.”

Timothée reached for your hand just as Saoirse plucked the empty glass from your other before guiding you up their stairs with an old world chivalry.

“Now tell me, Y/n, do you make it a habit of getting lost in the woods or are we special?”

You snorted. “Special, I guess, if those are the only two options. I’ve never hiked in this area before. Maybe I was too overconfident in exploring.”

He hummed. “It is a beautiful area. I could see how one could get lost trying to take it all in. I imagine it’s even prettier in the daylight.”

There was a beat of pause in the conversation. “Do you only… explore after sundown?”

“Yes. Saoirse and I have grown spoiled with our privileged lives. Not having jobs to answer to, we’ve bucked a few societal norms. A diurnal lifestyle is one of them.” Timothée rested a hand on a doorknob and winked at you. “There’s much to be said for embracing nightlife.” He pushed open the door to reveal one of the guest bedrooms, fit for a princess in its grandiosity. It was all french blues and toile, creamy ropes of pearls and artisanally carved sugar maple. Despite your disheveled and haggard appearance now, he felt the princess title would suit you well. They’d be sure you felt like one before the night was through.

“Help yourself to the bathroom, Y/n. Take all the time you need to freshen up and get settled. The hot water will do wonders for your tired muscles, I’m sure. Feel free to use the oils as well. I’ll lay something out for you to put on afterwards.”

As you disappeared into the bathroom, Timothée turned his attention to the wardrobe. Conveniently, this was also the room he and Saoirse housed all of their lingerie over the years. He thumbed through the catalog of robes, running his fingertips over lace, silk, buttery leather, plush cotton, delicate fishnets... His imagination ran wild sampling each of them on your body in his mind's eye.

Finally, he decided on a vintage aqua robe of raw silk. It was modestly immodest, with two high slits nearly to the hip, fluttery sleeves, and a cheeky tassel tie that wouldn’t keep your body a total mystery for the two vampires. Cream, hand-embroidered flowers flowed from one shoulder down to the opposite hip. The color would look amazing on your skin and he couldn’t wait to see it flowing over the curves of your figure. The robe itself would be a tease for both him and Saoirse at the secret parts of you they already couldn’t wait to uncover.

Timothée entered the kitchen again to a cacophony of pleasant scents. Saoirse was easily handling multiple parts of a decadent meal. Lamb and mushrooms and spring peas and scalloped potatoes out and being worked on nigh concurrently. He came up behind her and kissed her cheek, wrapping his arms low around her torso.

“Is our guest washing up?”

He hummed an affirmation as he rested his cheek on her head. “She’s a singing-in-the-shower type,” he said absently and they both listened to the sound of you humming to yourself over the sprinkling of water. “It’s nice. Laid out a robe for her too.”

“Oh Lord, you won’t frighten her off with your choice, will you?”

He sighed as he unraveled from her, gathering plates and wine glasses. “It’s only slightly scandalous, don’t worry. We haven’t even had our fun yet.”

He set the grand dining table for one. The table was long enough to fit two people lengthwise and sturdy enough to support four adult bodies. Tried and proved.

The water had stopped upstairs and he poked in on Saoirse’s progress.

“Unfortunately, I can prep everything in a matter of minutes, however cooking takes bloody time,” she sneered at the lamb searing in butter and herbs as if it was its fault her inhuman speed couldn’t affect its physics. “It won’t be medium well before she gets down here.”

“Don’t pout, I’ll make her something quick.”

Timothée methodically sliced thin cuts of a green apple before tossing it with walnuts, feta cheese, and a light honey vinegar dressing. The two of them loved cooking and kept iron rich foods well stocked for obvious reasons. They didn’t need to eat but often enjoyed it and having a properly stocked kitchen definitely came in handy that evening with their unexpected guest.

He was just placing the bowl down when he heard your light footfall approaching. He looked up at you at the top of the stairs and mentally patted himself on the back. You did look absolutely ravishing in that robe. And he ached to ravish you.

“There she is! Much more comfy than those hiking clothes, huh?” Timothée openly admired you as you descended the curved stairs. You had overlapped the robe as much as possible over your torso, gripping the top closed at your chest for further modesty. But there was little you could do for the slits up the side of the floor length cloth, brown skin peeking out up to your thigh with each step you took. “Doesn't she look lovely, Saoirse?”

Saoirse drank you in from head to toe and you fidgeted bashfully. “Stunning. You must keep it love, you wear it so well.”

“I couldn’t keep something like this! It feels like it costs more than my rent.”

“Nonsense! Consider it a gift. Now, here,” Timothée said, holding out a hand for you again. He led you to the place he’d set and delighted in your little appreciative hum.

Timothée sat next to you, chin in his palms as he listened to you speak and eat, occasionally snagging a slice of apple or walnut to nibble on. He gently encouraged you to drink the lemon water he had poured as well. After getting lost in the woods in all that heat, he didn’t want you dehydrated. Especially if things continued going well tonight.

“Finally, finished!” Saoirse announced as she brought the immaculately plated meal over, placing it right in front of you as Timothée moved the remnants of your salad to the side.

“Holy shit! I knew it smelled good but I still wasn’t expecting this!”

Saoirse preened under the praise and Timothée piled on. “She is horribly accomplished, isn’t she?”

“Oh, stop,” she said in a voice he knew meant to keep going as she ducked back into the kitchen.

“Will you be using that wonderful taste of yours to select a wine for us?”

“I’m ahead of you, darling,” she said as she returned with an open bottle. “Y/n, love, I do hope red is fine? We’re partial to it.”

Your attention finally strayed from the tantalizing plate to where Saoirse was leaning over and pouring a glass for each of you. Timothée caught the way your eyes fell to the flawless pale skin of his lover’s chest, to the teasing dip of her decolletage into her blouse. You cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away from the view. “Sure, I don’t know much about wine. I trust your expertise.”

Saoirse took her seat across from you and Timothée. A little frown settled between your brows as you considered the setup. “You two aren’t gonna have any?”

Timothée simply sipped from his wine glass before responding. “We’ll get our fill later, Y/n, don’t worry about us.”

“I feel like you two are plumping me up to eat me.” You chuckled and they joined in even as Saoirse shrugged.

“That can be arranged.”

“In a number of ways,” Timothée continued as he laid his head on his folded arms, eyes fixated on you.

“Take a bite, love.” Saoirse’s insistence hung in the air between them all poignantly before she smiled. “I want to know what you think of the meal.”

You sent her a shaky grin, half anxious and half appeasing. Finally with the silverware in hand, you cut a piece of the juicy lamb. A dribble of blood and butter pooled from the slice. And when you placed it between full lips, moaning around the morsel, Timothée shifted in his seat. The sound had shot straight south to his lower belly. A bit of the juice glistened at the corner of your mouth, a red little droplet that your tongue swept up faster than he could even think to thumb away himself. But seeing your tongue lick along your lip was temptation enough.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you finally remarked and Saoirse tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, all false modesty and humility. She raised her glass in cheers.

“Well here’s to this,” she started as you and Timothée raised your glasses similarly. “To a night of the best things we’ve ever tasted.”

He could hear the way your heart sped even as you shakily brought the glass to your lips. You drank a deep gulp, belying nerves and making it more than obvious that you were aware of their heavy-handed advances. They had never hinted so strongly at their nature before. Timothée knew they were coming on strong; the subliminal messages that you were in the presence of two vampires who wanted to fuck you were practically written in the scalloped potatoes.

But you were still there.

As your meal went on and conversation flowed with the wine, Timothée was acutely aware that there was nothing under the silk robe you wore. His eyes ghosted casually down your chest, taking note of how your nipples pebbled against the expensive fabric. “Is it cold? You should have told us. Let me get the fires going.” Blood rushed to heat your face and it caused a fresh, delicious wave of your spicy floral scent to waft off of your skin. Saoirse distracted you from covering your chest again by resting her cool hand on yours. Timothée breezed away to light the parlor fireplace as Saoirse spoke.

“Awful drafty this place is, suppose we’re just used to the chill ourselves. The house is old but has so much charm. It’s been in our family’s names for decades and we can’t part with it. Sentimental saps, we are.”

“Did you and Timothée grow up together?”

“Not quite but we’ve been close for years.”

You sighed, sated and content as you looked over your finished meal. “I’ll just clean this up,” you said, pushing back from the chair.

“Absolutely not!” Saoirse said as Timothée tutted, him having swept back into the room at the perfect time to scold you and take your plate from your hand.

“But you both cooked, I should at least clean!”

“You are a guest, angel,” Timothée cooed, easily balancing both your salad and main course platters in one hand, letting the other settle on your arm. He relished your reaction to the pet name, a shiver that quieted whatever further argument you were going to make. He smiled as you finally acquiesced. “We’ll take care of this.”

“Here!” Saoirse said as she swept out of the kitchen with another bottle of the same wine. “How about you top all of us off and get settled in the parlor, hm? Get cozy and enjoy that fireplace.”

“Okay,” you demurred, following her instructions.

The two settled in, cleaning everything with a casual speed.

“She knows,” he smirked and Saoirse chuckled. .

“She definitely does. Yet, she’s not running for the door and the hills beyond. You know what that means?”

He felt the hunger set in, both lust and bloodlust.

“Means we don’t have to hold back.” He dried his hands off on the tea towel on the stove, ducking down to kiss Saoirse’s cheek. “Should I be stereotypical with my record choice?”

She shrugged. “If it ain’t baroque…”

When they swept in, you were sat in the middle of the couch like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He and Saoirse grabbed their drinks off of the coffee table as they sat down, bracketing you in. Saoirse sat on her knees facing you like she was getting close for a good gossiping session, elbow coming up to the couch’s back to prop her head up. Timothée sat with one leg tucked under him so he could angle his body towards you too, leaning in with his hand on the seat between you both. His cream button-down slipped off of one shoulder as he did so and he made no moves to correct it. Your heart fluttered adorably as you took another swallow of wine.

“So…” you started and looked around the room as if you’d find a topic of discussion. Timothée took a bit of pity on you, though not without an indulgent smirk.

“Tell us more about yourself, Y/n.”

“Yes, please do.”

And at both of their prompting, you did. You poor thing, you were really caught in a web; prey of two predators who lived for the sound of the blood rushing up to heat your face and ears. Each time you’d turn to talk to one of them, the other was touching you. You would turn to answer Timothée’s question and Saoirse would tuck your hair behind your ear, fingertips light on your skin. When you’d look towards Saoirse, Timothée would trace the lace flowers on the robe over your knee.

Your hand shook at an inopportune moment, some of the sip of wine you were taking slipped past the crease of your mouth and dripped down. Saoirse’s hand shot out and secured your chin, smoothing her thumb over the trail slowly.

Then she held out the digit for Timothée, who ducked down and licked up the droplet with a drag of his tongue.

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled, flashing his fangs the tiniest bit. And you definitely noticed. Your breath hitched in your lungs and that heady intoxicating scent of your blood permeated the space as your heart rate cantered. Your fight or flight was kicking in, tingeing the red wine and floral aroma. And yet, you fought it. You resettled back into the cushion, muscle by muscle. It felt like the final test to him, he could wait no longer. Timothée dropped all pretense as he tilted your face up to his.

“You know what we are.”

You gulped before nodding minutely. “Yeah.”

“Do you know what we want?”

“My…” your voice dropped to a weak whisper. “M-my blood, right?”

Saoirse hummed as she moved in behind you, one pale hand coasting slowly from your knee up the meat of your thigh, letting the aqua silk fall away with her touch. “Lovie, we’re aiming for far more than just a taste of your blood.”

“We have a little theory that you taste good everywhere, angel. Will you let us test that?”

Your answer was breathless but sure. “Yes.”

No sooner was Saoirse’s lips on yours. The tentative press of soft kisses gave way to exploratory licks and tugging teeth. If Timothée wasn’t already hard, the sight of you and Saoirse definitely would have gotten him there. When you two parted, Timothée didn’t dive in for his own kiss. Instead he gathered you up in his arms and left the couch.

Running at a preternatural speed to the bedroom, he kissed you so your eyes would close against the disorientation of their house blurring past.

Then he was dropping you with a small bounce onto a luxurious king size bed.

“Don’t worry darling, just relax for us. Let us enjoy you. We’ll make you feel so good.”

He parted the robe, something he had been practically itching to do since he first saw you in it. He cupped the weight of your breasts in each hand before ducking to lick along the curve of one, pulling your nipple into his mouth. You arched sharply into him and he took advantage of the space to snake one arm under you and secure you close. Nails gently trailed up his back, a tantalizing sensation through his shirt.

“You’re overdressed, darling.”

Timothée glanced back to see Saoirse crawling onto the bed deliciously bare. He groaned into your skin before parting from you. As he disrobed, his lover took his place between your thighs as you sat up. She kissed up the brown skin of your calves, letting the robe completely fall to pool around your body as she made her way to the side of your knee and tempting thighs.

He rejoined the pair of you by settling behind you, pulling you to rest back against his chest as he let his hands explore every inch of you he could reach.

“Should I set about testing this theory of ours then?” Saoirse asked. You only whimpered, face tucking into Timothée’s neck as he sensed the flush of your blood, flustered and aroused.

“Hey,” Saoirse said as she sat up a bit, pulling your chin down and locking eyes. “When we ask questions, we want them answered. Understand that, lovie?”

“Yes,” you responded, a thin rasp that ended with a hint of a whine, but it earned you a reward from them each. Saoirse kissing down from your belly button and Timothée’s large hands massaging your breasts. You threw your head back onto his shoulder.

His hands left your chest to hook under your knees, pulling them back towards your chest and spreading them as far as they could comfortably go.

“There, now you can take everything Saoirse has to give you.”

Timothée couldn’t foresee a day that he wouldn’t marvel at the sight of Saoirse pleasuring someone else. Especially with that blessedly skillful tongue of hers. He’d seen her reduce others to writhing messes under it, succumbed to its talents himself many nights more. Her pale pink lips glistened with your wetness. Between the view he had and your responsive body shuddering into his, Timothée couldn’t wait for his piece of you. Your moans blended with Saoirse’s in a song prettier than the one that still spun on the gramophone downstairs. Timothée pressed his lips up and down your damp neck, cooing praises in your ear.

“Just listen to your heart, love. Are you gonna cum? You gonna show Saoirse how good she’s making you feel?”

You nodded as best you could. “Yes.” Good, you’d learned your lesson on talking.

He plucked gently at your nipples as Saoirse wrapped her lips around your clit. And beautifully, sonorously, you unraveled for them like the decrescendo of a violin.

They didn’t give you much time to recuperate. Timothée wanted in. He lifted you up by the hips and Saoirse caught your high pitched moan on her tongue as he lowered you down on his cock.

“Big, isn’t he, darling? Do you feel full?”

“Uh huh,” it was as best as you could do and she accepted it with a sound kiss.

“You prepped her so well for me,” he moaned as you finally sat fully on his cock. “You feel absolutely amazing around me, Y/n.”

Saoirse passionately reclaimed your mouth as Timothée got lost delving into your depths. He clung to your back, stirring his hips as he fucked deeper and deeper. Moans broke from his lips over your skin, hazing it with adoration and praise. He pressed a hand to your lower belly and savored your whimpering whine. Saoirse’s fingers brushed his on their way down to your sensitive clit.

“Oh God, it’s too–. I’m gonna– again.” You struggled to speak up.

Timothée hummed. “I know, angel, I know. I feel you. Fall apart for us again.” It only took a few more thrusts before you were clenching around him. Your whimpers tangled with his groans.

He laid back with a content sigh, letting you take a few moments as your pussy fluttered around him with aftershocks. He tapped your hip after a time. “Ready?”

You shrugged weakly. “Sure.” He and Saoirse giggled at your tiredness. Poor mortal. You weren’t quite at their stamina level, but you were being a good sport about it. Timothée lifted you gently by the hips and he slipped out of you. He could admit to already missing your warmth around him. You plopped down beside him, catching your breath.

“How do you feel?”

“Wrecked,” you deadpanned to which they both laughed.

“Do you want to continue?” Saoirse asked as she lazily stroked Timothée’s cock. His eyes fluttered closed.

He didn’t see your frown, but he heard it in the unsureness of your next words. “But… you guys haven’t... y’know.”

“That’s not what she asked you, angel,” Timothée said before he looked at you again. “Do you want to continue?”

He could see that you were taking the question into more careful consideration, deliberating the out you were being given. After a few internal moments, you nodded emphatically.

“Yes, I want to.”

“Good. Then come sit on my face, I haven’t tasted you yet.”

The thrum of your heartbeat was a steady backdrop to the moans from their mouths and the wet sounds of bodies moving together. It was a perk of being undead that Timothée technically didn’t have to breathe. So technically, you didn’t have to ever leave from where you trembled against his greedy mouth. Saoirse slid her wet pussy over his hard cock, grinding in a languid rhythm. Timothée unlatched his mouth from your lower lips, licking along your femoral artery that pulsed beneath supple skin. His fangs elongated and he grazed them against you, feeling you jolt and gasp.

“Can we, angel?”

You nodded. “Yes, please,” you panted, excitement in your breathy tone.

Timothée gave one more kiss to your soft thigh before sinking his teeth in. You groaned once, then again and he looked up to see Saoirse feeding from your neck. Your body trembled delicately as you came undone, overwhelmed by the sensations. Your pussy clenched around nothing, your essence dripping down your thighs to his mouth where he got the delicious double taste of you.

And it was official: you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. A flavor he could easily get addicted to. Your blood, a perfect marriage of roses and cinnamon, coated his tongue and slid down his throat. He could feel it empowering him, reinvigorating him. But he wouldn’t overindulge. Bleeding from two points and already exhausted from three orgasms, Timothée didn’t want you too weak. He sealed the puncture wounds with a swipe of his tongue.

They both lowered you gingerly to the pillows. Timothée left and came back quickly with damp rags to wipe you off. Saoirse was muttering to you about how good you were for the both of them and asking if there was anything you needed.

“Wait no… I wanna— for you both...”

“Angel, you’re weak and half asleep as is, we can finish each other off as you nap.” Timothée reassured you.

“No,” you frowned petulantly. “I want to.”

And really, it forewarned exactly how wrapped around your finger they already found themselves to agree to your demand. He vaguely recalled the princess status he’d envisioned for you earlier this evening. Already, you lived up to it. Saoirse helped you get on top of him, with you pushing him down when he tried to sit up. And then you just… slowly rode him into oblivion. It was like a dance, the sensual way you grinded on his dick. Hands in your own hair, breasts proudly displayed and bathed in moonlight, the bite mark Saoirse left on your neck, the one his own fangs made on your thigh. God, had he ever seen anything more enticing?

You were driving him mad, his body’s sensitivity reaching critical levels faster then he anticipated. He’d never been so out of control of his body since his heart stopped all those decades ago. When the pleasure became too much he grabbed onto Saoirse so he wouldn’t accidentally squeeze any breakable part of your mortal body too hard.

Timothée gasped as he came, heightened senses shorting out to where he could only hear the sonata echoing downstairs and the lone heartbeat in the house. He hadn’t came that intensely in a while. Which was saying something for a being like him with so much free time to be as hedonistic as he desired. He’d had more sex in the last five years than you probably had in your whole life.

“Well look at that, love, you’ve fucked him speechless. Well done. Usually can’t get this one to shut up,” he heard Saoirse complimenting you as his hearing came back to him fully. Timothée couldn’t even defend himself. There was no defense to the truth she’d just said.

“I want to make you feel good too, like you made me feel,” you said, pleading eyes boring into Saoirse’s clear blue ones.

“Aye, then darling, how can I say no to that?” She said, stroking her fang mark on your neck once with her thumb before laying back against the pillows.

He assisted your dismount, whimpering as he left your wetness and narrowly suppressing a shudder. He sat up and kissed your temple tenderly, still not trusting his voice to actually produce a coherent sound.

Timothée watched as his long time lover was slowly undone by this intriguing, attentive young woman. He knew his mouth was gaped open as he watched, rapt attention on where your mouth wrote filthy sonnets on Saoirse’s wet sex, on where your two fingers thrusted inside her. It wasn’t long before your mouth latched on to her clit, puffy lips engulfing her pussy as Saoirse cried out. She clutched the sheets, her strength unchecked and the satin ripped like tissue paper. Her eyes rolled back as she soared, back bowed as you slowly worked her through it.

Saoirse blinked rapidly as she settled back on the bed and you laid your head down on her lower stomach with a contented sigh. Saoirse panted out praises as she stroked your hair back, earning hums that sounded like purring from you nestled between her legs. Saoirse looked as affected as he had been, like all of her senses needed to file back in line. As her crystal blue eyes met his, Timothée read in them the exact resolve he had come to.

They were keeping you.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the distinct feeling of a Barbie doll with no leg joint mobility. You ached; your lower half held the memory of every action of the night before. But what a delicious and productive ache it was, like after a good workout or, well, the best sexual experience of your life. You knew since you first entered the house that something was up with these two. But you liked your chances better with the hot strangers than the creepy woods and figured if you died, just put ‘Disaster Bi’ on your tombstone. But last night had turned your world upside down in the best way possible.

Another thing you noticed upon waking was that you were encased by two bodies on either side of you, though still not exactly warm. The thick comforter over you all helped to cocoon the heat only you provided. The two were whispering over your head, barely perceptible to your ears even as close as they were except for the faint hiss of their s’s every now and then. The conversation stopped suddenly and cool lips met your forehead.

“Morning, angel,” Timothée greeted you, voice low but tender. You could only grunt back as Saoirse wrapped her arms a little tighter around your middle from behind. You pushed back to fully be spooned by her, tangling your legs with Timothée’s long ones as well.

“How are you feeling?”

“Boneless.”

They giggled at your answer. “A good boneless, we hope?”

“A great boneless. The best boneless.”

“How about a bath and some breakfast?”

“I doubt I can make it to the bath much less downstairs to the kitchen.”

“Silly girl, I’ll carry you to the bath,” Saoirse said as she found your hand and twined your fingers.

“And I’ll bring the breakfast to you,” Timothée tacked on as he left your embrace. He dashed in and out of the bathroom, the water starting in his wake and he was out the door, presumably getting some nourishment for you sorted.

You and Saoirse remained in bed for a few more minutes as the water ran in the next room, snuggling close and listening to the birds chirping and the leaves blowing outside the dark room. Heavy drapes were still drawn, blocking out all sunlight. You were about to doze back off until you registered being pulled into a princess hold. Saoirse carried you to a bathroom with a grand jacuzzi tub slowly steaming and teaming with citrusy scented bubbles.

Before she could lower you in, you’re in a different set of arms. Saoirse scoffed beside you.

“That’s all you did for breakfast?”

Timothée sniffed at her tone. “I was impatient.” He climbed into the bath with you and settled you on his lap. Saoirse moved in behind you to secure your hair up with a clamp, kissing your exposed neck as Timothée dragged over a plate overfilled with fig halves, prosciutto slices, and cubed white cheddar. He also handed you a glass of what looked like champagne. “Pretend there’s orange juice in this.”

There were no longer puncture wounds on your neck or thigh but the massive bruises there still marked their memory. Especially when Saoirse’s lips brushed over the one she had caused.

“Don’t worry, love, no biting today. Though you indeed are the best thing I’ve ever tasted, we have to take good care of our precious girl.”

“Absolutely,” Timothée agreed as he held up a fig half to your lips, coaxing them to part.

Their precious girl, huh? You could totally be theirs.