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He is kind and handsome, one of those things she expected more than the other, the former not obvious from how they began, but both are now entirely welcomed. There is no use in fighting against all the ways in which she has already been charmed, his steadiness and unwavering honesty new experiences that she was defenceless to resist.
Tamed, in certain ways, wild in others — she did not expect either.
What she did expect, above all else, was cruelty. She has encountered none, not really when it comes down to it. They both bled for one another and she likes to think that cancels out anything that could be deciphered as otherwise… She feels the opposite, in fact, rings more true to her placement under Duke Leto Atreides. She feels the warmth of his affection, the enjoyment of her company and humour, and the gentleness of something growing as the days pass.
It is not bad, she reminds herself, to like another – it is a problem she will pick apart later when she is not freezing and yearning for the time of a man she was sent to bend the very will of…
This thing between them is still so painfully fragile, but as the winter storm rages around her, shaking the castle's facade and sneaking through cracks used only by the mice, there is nowhere else she would rather be. It is convenient, as good an excuse as any to sneak into private spaces knowing she will be welcomed wholeheartedly. She does not need an excuse or explanation for her excursion to his quarters this late at night, but it is always best to have on hand lest she be turned away and sent back to her chambers cold and alone.
He answers after the first knock, “Jessica…”
“May I come in?”
He steps aside without hesitation, palm on her lower back as he guides her over the threshold – she thinks she can feel his fingerprints through the thin cotton of her nightdress, hopes they find a way to imprint themselves onto her skin so she can wear him forever.
It is another thought to analyse later.
In the hearth, a low fire burns, and she has been in here enough times to know that it would be warmer than her own room, she is still surprised by how cosy it feels, how natural it is to be in this space so casually – dressed and asking for no more than company.
“You know you were given a key for a reason. You need not ask permission to be here, Jess,” he murmurs warmly, and suddenly the chill disappears from her skin entirely, replaced with something hot and fluid. “You may come and go as you please.”
“I do not like to be presumptuous, my lord.”
He smiles, but she can feel his eyes checking her over carefully, stance tense and curious but he always asks what is on his mind. He does not hold back, not with her — she finds she likes it this way.
“Are you okay?”
“I find I am not yet accustomed to the weather of your world.”
He relaxes, or what she imagines relaxation is for him, his shoulders still hold tension though, brows set in a firm line though his eyes notably soften, “Wallach IX did not have storms?”
“It did. Most of the year in fact, but nothing so violent or with the ability to freeze bones down to their very marrow.”
She sees him notice her attire, the thinness of her nightdress is by design, as is the lack of a gown. They needn’t be. She does not need an excuse to ask for closeness willingly given, but she is still trying to unlearn the behaviours she was raised with.
“You are cold,” not a question, but a statement that springs him into action. His own gown, four sizes too big for her, taken from a hook and placed around small shoulders, bundling her in a smell that is woody and delicious. It is the scent of his skin, and her mouth waters as memories flash through her mind. He kisses her ear as he knots its cord around her, and she tilts her head to allow access, lips trailing to her cheek then further to her jaw until the gown is secured and its warmth envelopes her.
Without asking, and she would never expect him to, he guides her toward the fireplace, pulling two armchairs close to the blaze and piling the logs high. She likes to watch him when he gets like this, doting and distracted, giving her time to admire.
Strong hands and a thick head of hair, skin glowing in the light of the fire leaving him in a golden haze that makes her want to reach out and cup the well defined muscles of his arms, bite across his flesh. She ponders how many other women have thought the same, how many have tasted the hue of his colouring and felt his taste buds across their skin…
When he catches her looking, her cheeks flush hot and she can not help the coy smile from breaking free across her lips when he takes the chair opposite her and scoots it forward until his foot brushes her own.
“Are you warmer now?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
It is not a lie, icy winds whips around the castle walls yet she feels as warm as summer, as mellow as a snake bathing under the sun — comfortable and serene.
The realisation that she may have interrupted routines comes suddenly and without provocation, she does not feel guilty about this, but more a keen curiosity to learn what he does when she is not near. After eight months they already know each other more than they should, but to know him completely would be a gift.
“What were you doing before I arrived?”
She does not miss the smile held back, “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He does not answer, offering no more than a bashful smirk and tilt to his head that she can not help but find endearing. “Am I not allowed to ask?”
“It is more that I am embarrassed to confess my thoughts…”
Interest rears its head even moreso, “Would you tell me anyway?”
Leto huffs out a breath of amusement before finally speaking, he takes his time, as if the words do not come as easily as he’d like. “I suppose a certain witch has been occupying my mind as of late…” he says and then more quietly, “ I can not seem to stop thinking about her.”
It is pleasing the way her heart flutters against breast bone, light and rapid. “Is that a problem?”
“Only when she distracts me from things that require my attention.”
“How often is that?”
His flirtatious smile is filled with warmth, “Constantly. I don’t think an hour has gone by in months where her image has not been present.”
“That is a problem then,” she returns and runs her foot up the line of his leg delighting in the feel of coarse hair against her own smoothness, when she reaches mid-calf, his hand closes around her ankle and brings it to his lap. Firm fingers press into her soles, running over pressure points and easing the strain her heels cause after hours of wear, he is as skilled a masseuse as he is a lover.
“That feels good,” she murmurs and closes her eyes. There is comfortability in the silences that fall between them even since that first day with his blade against her neck and a veiled threat hissed in retaliation that eventually left him bleeding, the silence afterwards was as natural as breathing, and that is how it remained.
“I do wonder if she thinks as much about me as I do about her,” his voice rings out, something uncertain in his tone in the words that follow, “What her own thoughts are. She keeps everything so close…”
“This worries you?” she asks and meets his eyes.
“It does, we did not meet under the most– ideal of circumstances. I can not help but fear that it has impacted her opinion of what I am… ”
She hums happily as his fingers run up her ankle, “I would not worry about that.”
“No?”
She eyes him darkly, gaze sweeping over him slowly – he looks back unabashed, “You are smart and gentle in ways many men are not, Leto. Those things paired with kindness and handsomeness–”
“You find me handsome?” he interrupts.
“I am not talking about me, ” she teasingly refutes and feels liquid heat pool low in her belly at his knowing stare. “You are a good leader but an even better man. I have no doubt she thinks of you fondly.”
He moves slowly, sliding from his chair one limb at a time until he is kneeling before her, palms hot against her thighs, “Is that true?” he asks and touches the small scar on her throat, raised skin that he has kissed more times in apology than she can count.
She reaches for the corresponding one on his own, a small nick she did not let go deep enough to maim, now shiny and light against his natural hue, it moves when he speaks – it is a detail she likes. “I have no reason to lie about this, “ she says quietly, “I would not come to you of my own volition if I did not enjoy the pleasure your presence affords.”
“I thought you came here to wait out the storm.”
Her nose scrunches in amusement as he takes a light kiss, the next initiated by her when he tries to pull away, more heated and demanding that coaxes him back to her. If this is what the next few years of her life bring, she will be a happy woman, she will be able to forgive what comes in the future more easily as long as she can hold on to the memories of these months together.
“I did, it’s just a coincidence that your room is the first one I came across,” she lies.
“You are a cruel woman, my love.”
The endearment is newer, and flows like music before wrapping itself around her. Nobody has ever loved her before, not as she is – not as just Jessica, simply and unconditionally, something more than a tool to manoeuvre. Her heart beats firmer in her chest, she wonders if he can hear its call.
“Will you stay the night?” he asks between kisses and she knows it is a query for no more than her presence beside him, a rarity she doesn’t mean to withhold but does, more for the sake of her heart than that of propriety. She has not yet rebelled entirely, he makes her want to…
Makes her want to do many things she should not.
Thrash against invisible restraints and claw away from preordained duties.
There is a nod and a responding kiss before she is pulled against him, his hands wrapping around and she lets herself be lifted – it is nice to be held, nice to feel delicate and safe against a man whose only ask thus far is for her honesty and openness. Who treats her as if she is so much more than the vessel she is and looks at her as if she hung the stars in the sky. Someone who thinks of her more than he should.
And who loves her, despite her complications and flaws – loves her without question…
She feels the softness of his mattress beneath her, and with his lips on skin and the storm raging outside, the thought of disobedience does not seem so bad in exchange for the kindness of a good man.