joel miller propaganda machine

They have so few nights together. Clandestine meetings in empty hallways. Trysts. He goes out of his way to sit across from you at state dinners. His boots knock against your toes. His eyes trace your face and there is the tinkle and spark of cutlery on plates and someone asks him to relay his tales of all the battles he’s won. He’s unstoppable. A legend. His skin shimmers like sun-drenched sand and there’s the tiniest flecks of gold in the dark hair that is pulled away from his handsome face. He grins at you among the flicker of candlelight and stone and you feel it in your stomach. Knotted. Weighted. It hurts.

He’s fucking the Duke’s ward and it is probably the only disloyal thing Duncan has ever done against Leto.

He can’t stay away just as you can’t look at anyone else.

***

“Do you think he’ll marry me off?” you ask him while he’s still inside you. Your breath is hitched and your stomach is in your throat. His strokes are long and slow and inexorable. He can fuck you like this for hours - patient and deliberate as if he is savoring each part of you. Duncan is so big - everywhere - that sometimes you think he’ll keep going until he hits your heart. It stings and it’s perfect.

He stills - his body going rigid. His brow furrows and his expression twists into incredulous. The shadows of Caladan’s moon slip over your bed and force Duncan’s features into sharp relief. “What?”

His tone is blunt and almost angry, which is exactly what you wanted.

“Leto,” you murmur as you dig your knees into his waist - as you clench around him - making him twitch and slide further into you. “He might marry me off to strengthen the alliance.”

His jaw ticks. His nostrils flare. Something ugly and coarse sounds from his chest. He plants his knees and hitches one of your legs over his shoulder. “Duncan…” you start - suddenly thinking that maybe that had been in poor taste. But the apology is crushed and forgotten when he draws his hips back and then slams forward.

“Do you think I would let him?” he grunts as he fucks you into your mattress. You can’t anchor yourself. You scramble to hold onto your headboard - fist your sheets. There’s no use so you grab at his broad shoulders - his back - scrape your nails down his spine. He is unforgiving - the very flash of who Idaho is burns through him as he thrusts into you again and again. No respite. No gentleness. His hands catch in your hair and he presses you deeper into the bed - pinning you in place - biting your lower lip and sucking at your neck - your tongue - whispering things to you that make you shudder: I would never let another man touch you - I would kill them - You’re mine - this is mine - why do you like to taunt me like this - do you enjoy it - do you want to drive me insane enough to fuck you until you can’t speak - walk - my love - tell me

You break apart - squeezing him impossibly tight as he bites into the sweat-slick flesh where your neck meets your shoulder. He follows you not long after - hips stuttering between your spread thighs. You’re stretched around him and everything is wet. His pace loses all of its easy grace as he grinds to the hilt, filling you with hot lashes of seed. When he eases out, you can feel it on your cunt - warm and sticky. You’re empty. You miss the heft of him inside you. Duncan sits back to stare at what’s he’s done - his lips quirking smugly before he uses two of his thick fingers and plugs it back into your sex - marking you - branding you -

It's too erotic and intimate at once.

No words are shared between you aside from both of your strained breathing. You can hear the trickle of water from the fountain beyond your window. The wind pulses through leaves and grass. Dawn is intruding. The pink-purple threat of it drips over the line of his shoulders. There is the scent of incoming rain. The brine of the sea riding the air and you wonder when he will leave again. Not soon. Please not soon.

“You’re a demon,” he finally declares - scrubbing a hand over his face as if he is just waking up - as if he had momentarily lost himself.

You reach down - pressing between your legs where everything is sore and achy and feverish and his eyes follow - his gaze heavy and hungry and darkening with each swipe of your fingers.

“I suppose you’re right,” Your lips curl. “No one else can do what you do.”

He groans. “You’re terrible.”

After a beat, he reaches for your ankle and tugs it over his thigh. He needs something to do. He’s never just still - just willing to float and relax. It’s symbolic of your relationship. He goes and goes and you wait for him. Frozen in time. His thumb digs into the bones of your foot as he circles the soft flesh. He could break it easily if he wanted. He could break you and you’d still wait for him.

“I am, but your humble servant.”

He laughs and it’s bright in the dim blue light of your bedroom. It bounces and rolls off the marble and stone. It echoes inside the clutch of your ribs. It’s so gorgeous that it nearly makes you cry. “You and I both know that you’re no one’s servant.”

“I’m Leto’s.”

“You’re not. He’s far too soft on you.”

“I am,” you hiss as your head falls back into your pillow. Your stomach rolls and there’s a sharp soreness between your legs that you want Duncan to remedy by touch. “He’s going to turn me into a breeding sow or something equally dehumanizing.”

You feel Duncan’s caress pause on your ankle. The humor in the room vanishes with a cold suck. You glance at him and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. The shadows don’t give him all away, but you’re certain you see his jaw flex and his lips peel back to bare his white teeth. A flicker of disgust - regret. “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t stop it.”

For House Atreides - marriage is about alliances. It is about burrowing their family lines throughout the various pathways of the galaxy. You are not Leto’s by blood, but you have been raised as his own and that still counts. He didn’t even marry Lady Jessica.

It's not about love.

Duncan studies your foot in his hands - his calloused fingers slipping over your skin. “Don’t say that.”

The temperature of this interaction has gone dark. You hadn’t meant for that to happen. You were simply stressed - panicked and flustered that you would lose him. Every time that you have Duncan - every time that he comes to your bed - you fear the day that he won’t.

You need to change course and so you sit up and crawl over to him. You wrap your arms around his muscular shoulders and press your mouth to his throat. Your touch dances over his battle scars - the knots of flesh and tissue from blades and projectiles and whatever hideous things he’s fought throughout his life.

“I’m sorry,” you say and he lifts his hand to clutch your wrist. He seals it against his chest and sighs. You kiss his cheek before carefully turning his face to yours. He is so close. He is right here. “Duncan?” you exhale over his mouth.

“Hmm?”

“Would you still want me if I was Harkonnen?”

His eyes widen in surprise and you grin - pleased that you’ve shocked him. He tries to suppress a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Would be a little challenging.”

You are already forbidden.

“That’s not an answer,” you point out as you chew your lip. “What if I had no arms?”

He groans - squeezing your wrist harshly in reproach. He grumbles about how difficult you are as he pushes you backward. He sinks his tongue inside you to shut you up.

***

You hate the thought of Arrakis. You want to revolt. You’ll dry up there with the harsh sun, the smoke trees, the palms, and saguaro. Paul told you about the sandworms - enormous and horrific. They’ll swallow you all. They’ll swallow Duncan.

Idaho is always gone - accepting whatever stupid mission Leto has forced him to accomplish in order to prepare for your arrival. Of course, you learn that he adapts and befriends because that is simply who he is. His loyalty shines strongly enough that even the Fremen find him impossible to resist.

“He works you too hard.”

“It’s my duty. I know it’s difficult for you to understand since you are the most stubborn woman alive.”

The both of you fight until it burns out - quiet arguments hidden in deserted passageways of the castle.

I don’t want to go. It feels strange. The Harkonnens have poisoned it.

There’s nothing you can do. You can’t just stay on Caladan.

You storm off to your room and he inevitably follows.

***

It is miserable. Unbearable. The dust bites at your skin and coats you in a thin film that you cannot seem to wash away. The Harkonnens left their stink on the fortress and it unnerves you.

It doesn’t help that Paul had confided in you about his dreams of late.

When Duncan arrives at Arrakeen, he tells you and the others how close it was - how he had tasted death. He’s laughing. He finds it funny. You can’t control yourself - don’t have the strength to hide your horrified expression. He pauses in his tale - his brow creasing.

“What?” He reaches for you and you jerk away from him. “What is it?”

It’s all very public. Paul sees. Gurney sees. Your face crumples and tears spring from your eyes and you run from him.

You are not like Paul. You don’t know or see things before they happen. But you feel it. You can sense something vibrating in this fortress. It rumbles under your feet. You cannot get a full breath in. Your heartbeat is too fast.

Something is wrong.

You run and run and of course he catches you - his hands in your dress as he hauls you to him. He lifts you as he would a doll before he buries you into the wall with the length of his body.

“Stop” you beg - shoving at him. It’s like knocking your fists against a stone door. “Stop. I can’t do this.”

You think that if he takes you again, you’ll actually go mad. He is screaming death - it permeates his clothes and skin. You don’t want to lose him. He’s been yours for years. He’s only been yours. He is the one thing that you have.

He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. He is so beautiful that it hurts. You’re going to lose him. His eyes bleed umber - his long hair is pulled back - his beard cut along his jaw. There’s a bit of sand on his chin. “What are you doing?”

“If you die,” you whimper. “I’ll never- I won’t survive it.”

He searches your face - bewildered. Finally, he sighs with the same sort of tone Leto would use on you as a girl. A petulant child. You should understand this. He’s a warrior. He is always touching death. He is always seconds away - an inch or mile.

He palms your cheek before gripping the hinge of your jaw and crushing his mouth to yours. His tongue slides between your lips. You can feel how hard he is against your stomach. He is thick with muscle and hot-blood and he’s been in the desert for weeks. He only wants you - the comfort of you - the familiarity of their bond.

He pulls back just enough to speak - his breath on your breath. His heart thumps strongly against your palm and you long to capture the beat of it. You could collect it and save it for him and use it if he fell. “If I die, you won’t. I forbid it.”

“You won’t be here to stop me.”

His gaze narrows. “No.”

You open your mouth again -

and choke on your words -

His hand has found its way between your legs - his thumb circling the peak of your sex underneath all your wispy fabric. He pushes his fingers into you - curling and scissoring as he deliberately drives you to a quick climax.

I want to save you.

You’re not Paul. You have no gifts beyond the face that seduced the great Duncan Idaho.

He leans forward - mouth brushing over yours.

“Is it because of what your brother said?”

Her baby brother. No blood between them. Sometimes you call Leto father because he is in all the ways he’s tried.

Duncan had been young when he had first seen you.

You were soft and sweet in that garden outside the Duke’s room. I never forgot. I always tried to make excuses to speak to him so I could catch a glimpse. You were so shy.

His fingers are gone and there is the blunt heavy pressure of his cock sinking into you - breaching slowly with all the warrior-patience Duncan possesses. He’s carrying you - anchoring you to the wall. You wrap your legs around his waist. Open up for me. You stroke the wrinkles around his eyes - his brow. Laughter lines. He was always laughing.

“Tell me,” he pleads in a way that sparks like an order. His cock is sheathed to the hilt - shallowly dipping in and out. His fingers on his other hand continue to trace the shape of your cunt. He knows your body too well. There will never be anyone else for you.

“Paul saw it,” you whisper - grief curling around your insides. “Paul sees everything. He knows.”

“He doesn’t,” Duncan snaps. His thumb digs into your jaw - his expression pained and somewhat frantic as you crumble in his arms. He wants you to believe him. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can try.”

***

Leto had tried to match you with a suitor once. A son from House Corrino. Their grip on power had been waning steadily - leaking out.

There’d been a party - a dance. Jessica had made sure the palace was lit up. The very ceiling of the great room had been hung with tiny lights and blue draping to mimic the very image of the galaxy. The starks winking and trembling with the swell of the music.

Duncan had seethed in the corner. The man famous for his charm and his carefree spirit was consumed with such a rage that everyone noticed. Gurney had to speak with him. You danced and spun and laughed while he sulked. You’d been at that age where you only wanted to needle Duncan in order to make him possess you.

By the end of the night, he had finally caught hold of your wrist and dragged you down the hall. He shoved you into his quiet bare room and then thoroughly fucked you until you could say nothing but his name.

“Do you remember that man? Luther?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You’re very sensitive.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

You had loved the taste of his anger and his jealousy. It had been a time where he didn’t know if you were his and you had played upon that knowledge. He couldn’t claim you as he does presently.

Now - you both don’t care enough to be anyone else’s.

Now, you despise Leto’s strategies after realizing what you could lose. Leto’s machinations were only entertaining when it wasn’t you on the board.

***

“Should I ask him for your hand, then?”

You’re lying on his chest - your ear firmly glued to the press of his heart. The heavy and relaxed thump thump thump like music. You sit up to stare at him. He’s naked - warm and at ease with his hair spilling over your pillow. It’s a rare state for him.

When you say nothing, he cocks his head slightly. He’s so enormous that he takes up most of your bed. The corner of his mouth twitches as he regards you with a mellow amusement.

“Do you think he’d say yes?” you finally reply.

He closes his eyes and shrugs. “No.”

Would it matter? Couldn’t we just refuse him?

“Perhaps - I will just never marry,” You trace your name across his olive skin. He shudders before snatching your hand and placing it against his mouth. He doesn’t kiss it, but caresses it with his lips. You inhale sharply - suddenly dizzy with him.

“Perhaps - we can wed in secret,” he hums - his lashes dark and long against his cheek. His lids still firmly shut and you wonder if he's gone somewhere in his head. “I’ll simply kill any other suitors he puts in front of you.”

“That would go well.”

He opens one eye to peek at you. “I’ll do it quietly. He’ll never know it was me.”

“Yes, he will,” you protest. “You’re his greatest soldier.”

“Then I’ll make it sloppy.”

You laugh and it tumbles out of your throat - bouncing against his firm chest. He flashes a grin and you finally understand that that had been his intention all along. He wants you to be happy. You hadn’t smiled here - in this wasteland. Not until now.

He slips his knuckles over your cheek. His expression is docile and pleased and you don't grasp how he can be so reverent and gentle when he has killed hundreds of men. You’ve heard the stories. You’ve seen him train.

You watch each other in silence - unknowingly memorizing the other's face. The silence itself is rare. Usually, you’re always lashing out and he is always keeping the balance - protecting you and soothing you until your nerves dim.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

You should tell him that.

You hear a noise outside, but Duncan doesn’t seem to notice. There’s a thump and then a buzz of commotion before it fades to nothing. Perhaps, someone fell.

You bite your lip - strangely nervous. He sinks the tip of his thumb into the soft flesh to stop you. The unsaid don’t in his pointed stare. A wave of uncertainty churns in your belly. You lean into his hand.

“He saw your death, Duncan.”

“Dreams are just dreams,” he promises.