[Between the spice and his existing attunement to Kaworu's moods, Paul nearly feels the kick of pained uncertainty under his own ribs. Or perhaps that's his, too, in the fretful moments after thinking about how his words will be misunderstood, how Kaworu will end up hurt thanks to Paul's relentless playing of games, all the things he's always done and never understood were wrong -
Then Kaworu's expression tilts knowingly, and most of Paul's thoughts dissolve into fervent white static when he brushes at stray curls and asks if he's shy.
Of course he's not shy. He's Duke Paul Atreides, first of his name, and his mother would have his tongue out of his mouth if he ever hesitated to use it. Shyness is only another word for fear, and fear will never be permitted mastery over him.]
Yes.
[He says, hushed, and it's as if Kaworu's pliancy has flowed into him. He melts into the couch, his head tilted back as his throat bobs. His hands stay very still, and his tongue is a tiny pink point at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at Kaworu like an exquisite puzzle.]
no subject
Then Kaworu's expression tilts knowingly, and most of Paul's thoughts dissolve into fervent white static when he brushes at stray curls and asks if he's shy.
Of course he's not shy. He's Duke Paul Atreides, first of his name, and his mother would have his tongue out of his mouth if he ever hesitated to use it. Shyness is only another word for fear, and fear will never be permitted mastery over him.]
Yes.
[He says, hushed, and it's as if Kaworu's pliancy has flowed into him. He melts into the couch, his head tilted back as his throat bobs. His hands stay very still, and his tongue is a tiny pink point at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at Kaworu like an exquisite puzzle.]
Is that all right?