Empire is a master at rigid self-control, trained by a literal robot into glassy stillness; but he is still, at the end of the day, only human. And he is not the Bene Gesserit. Jessica can track the minute differentiations in muscle tension, the flicker in the size of his pupils, betraying his interest and attraction, the way he holds his breath and then lets it loose. Heβs practiced, but not quite practiced enough.
Itβs a slow, deliberate movement as she settles over him. Enough that the shield doesnβt crackle beneath her or repel her across the room. He feels the slight resistance β the pressure in the air, the slight delay before her weight settles into his lap, her skirts slithering higher.
But here is where his self-control fractures: Cleon makes a helpless noise as her fingers curl against the back of his neck, digging into his well-moisturised hair. This is a man who has never known a tender unthinking touch, a mother smoothing his unruly dark hair back from his imperial forehead. Demerzel was the closest thing any of them ever had to a mother, the closest any of them would ever come to a wife, and she was not soft.
Everything is yours, the concubine says, like they all say, and β
βDonβt lie to me,β Cleon hisses against Jessicaβs mouth. βI donβt want platitudes.β
Happiness is complicated β happiness is not for Empire β personal happiness isnβt part of the program, and isnβt that a brutal lesson that Dawn is currently having to learn β
βI will, however, accept fleeting satisfaction,β he says, and his hands run up the long lines of her thighs, sliding beneath those ephemeral skirts to find the warm soft skin of her hips, her ass.
"I would never lie to you." That is a lie, but there is also a truth within it. Unlike other concubines desperate to appease and win Empire's favor, Jessica isn't afraid to tell him the truth.
One hand, the one filled with his hair, is torn between gripping it tighter, pulling his head back to make him look at her, or continuing to caress and thread through it gently ( she noticed the loss of self-control as her fingers slid along the hair at the nape of his neck ) while the other gently cups his cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing over it while her fingers curl over the angular curve of his jaw.
Gently, with the hand cupping the side of his face, Jessica tilts his head, so he's looking at her as she pulls away to look down at him. "I will give you pleasure and satisfaction. Happiness. Everything. All you have to do is say the word."
The whole point of her coming here is to bring them back into the Bene Gesserit eugenics program, so they stop playing God, but she also sees the potential within him. The desire to be different, to break away from the mold, and with her, she can make everything he desires, everything he wants come to fruition.
She leans down to close the distance and kisses him hard enough that she hopes to leave bruises on his lips, so he remembers her, craves her, and asks for her again.
Rolling her hips against his, Jessica releases his cheek, hand slowly trailing down his chest, down his toned stomach, toying with the waistband of his pants before slipping beneath them, fingers wrapping around his length and coaxing as she gives one pull and then another.
The kiss is hard, teeth biting almost hard enough to draw blood, and afterwards heβll run his tongue over that bruise and think of her.
And Jessica doesnβt stop to ask for permission, to ask Empire how he would like her, to inquire what would best bring him pleasure — and it turns out that presumption is precisely what he likes about this one, as she simply reaches between them and wraps her hand around him. His head tilts back against the chaise, another low moan in his throat.
Amongst other things, the imperial secrets and intimacies and secrets shared, this is also why the Gossamer Court erases their concubinesβ memories: because here, in this room, heβs putty in their hands. No regular citizen can be allowed to remember this sensation: sitting over Empire, the very beating heart of Empire in the palm of their hand, playing his movements like an instrument. She gives a few practiced strokes and he hardens beneath her immediately, his fingers involuntarily digging into the skin of her hips.
Each visit to the Gossamer Court is rare enough, carefully-scheduled enough, that Cleon is still hungry for this touch. For the feel of someone elseβs hand around his cock instead of his own. He is tired of himself. He spends enough time with himself, together yet alone, always. He bucks up into her hand, her experienced touch, and then he finally forces his eyes open again: leans forward to kiss Jessica again, one hand rising to sweep the strap of her dress off one shoulder to expose a bare breast which he covers with a hand, his mouth drifting, his tongue and teeth at her throat.
With the power and burden of the Galactic Empire at his fingertips, while constantly being surrounded by himself, Jessica knows he must crave change and excitement. And that is what she provides him with β a sampling of what only she can offer and no one else. To sink her claws in and feed him honeyed words so he craves her enough to return repeatedly until he cannot be without her.
She is a prideful creature, and perhaps that will be her undoing one day, but imagine him coming back to her, and the sound of his moan delights her. A shiver of genuine pleasure lances through her, a strange but not unwelcome realization that she might also be enjoying this.
"Empire," she breathes, head tipping back, exposing the slender column of her neck for his mouth, teeth, and tongue to explore. Each breath trembles with excitement, and her pulse points thrum beneath his lips.
Eagerly, her body arches towards him, pushing her breast into his hand, almost desperate to feel more. Her hand strokes and teases the length of his cock; alternating between squeezing and a feather-light touch to study his reactions. Jessica's other hand slips from his hair and down his back. The movement is slow, and she is careful not to set off the shield, but she applies enough pressure that he might be able to feel her blunt nails scraping down his back.
The slow scrape of nails biting into his back, touching his skin, carefully-measured. Heβs had to explain the mechanics to concubines before, to tell them slower, slower, the very technology itself edging him out of necessity, but Jessica evidently already knows or implicitly understands how the Imperial shield works —
(which should perhaps be a red flag and an alarm in the back of his mind, but thereβs simply no room for any other more calculating thoughts when her hands are on him like this)
His teeth graze against her neck, nipping sharper with a bite before being replaced by laving longue, hot mouth, determined to leave his own mark on her in turn. This, too, is part of it: knowing the concubines will wander away tomorrow feeling the pleasant ache of muscles well-sated, finding the love bites on their neck, not knowing but understanding that passion happened. They wonβt remember, but he was here. This happened. The world remembers. Heβll leave an imprint.
βCleon,β he says suddenly, desperate and unplanned, voice ragged. βNot Empire. Call me Cleon.β
She can do this here, in this room, and only this room. Breaking down the barrier of his personal name, somehow even more intimate than Jessicaβs fingers running along his cock.
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Itβs a slow, deliberate movement as she settles over him. Enough that the shield doesnβt crackle beneath her or repel her across the room. He feels the slight resistance β the pressure in the air, the slight delay before her weight settles into his lap, her skirts slithering higher.
But here is where his self-control fractures: Cleon makes a helpless noise as her fingers curl against the back of his neck, digging into his well-moisturised hair. This is a man who has never known a tender unthinking touch, a mother smoothing his unruly dark hair back from his imperial forehead. Demerzel was the closest thing any of them ever had to a mother, the closest any of them would ever come to a wife, and she was not soft.
Everything is yours, the concubine says, like they all say, and β
βDonβt lie to me,β Cleon hisses against Jessicaβs mouth. βI donβt want platitudes.β
Happiness is complicated β happiness is not for Empire β personal happiness isnβt part of the program, and isnβt that a brutal lesson that Dawn is currently having to learn β
βI will, however, accept fleeting satisfaction,β he says, and his hands run up the long lines of her thighs, sliding beneath those ephemeral skirts to find the warm soft skin of her hips, her ass.
no subject
One hand, the one filled with his hair, is torn between gripping it tighter, pulling his head back to make him look at her, or continuing to caress and thread through it gently ( she noticed the loss of self-control as her fingers slid along the hair at the nape of his neck ) while the other gently cups his cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing over it while her fingers curl over the angular curve of his jaw.
Gently, with the hand cupping the side of his face, Jessica tilts his head, so he's looking at her as she pulls away to look down at him. "I will give you pleasure and satisfaction. Happiness. Everything. All you have to do is say the word."
The whole point of her coming here is to bring them back into the Bene Gesserit eugenics program, so they stop playing God, but she also sees the potential within him. The desire to be different, to break away from the mold, and with her, she can make everything he desires, everything he wants come to fruition.
She leans down to close the distance and kisses him hard enough that she hopes to leave bruises on his lips, so he remembers her, craves her, and asks for her again.
Rolling her hips against his, Jessica releases his cheek, hand slowly trailing down his chest, down his toned stomach, toying with the waistband of his pants before slipping beneath them, fingers wrapping around his length and coaxing as she gives one pull and then another.
no subject
And Jessica doesnβt stop to ask for permission, to ask Empire how he would like her, to inquire what would best bring him pleasure — and it turns out that presumption is precisely what he likes about this one, as she simply reaches between them and wraps her hand around him. His head tilts back against the chaise, another low moan in his throat.
Amongst other things, the imperial secrets and intimacies and secrets shared, this is also why the Gossamer Court erases their concubinesβ memories: because here, in this room, heβs putty in their hands. No regular citizen can be allowed to remember this sensation: sitting over Empire, the very beating heart of Empire in the palm of their hand, playing his movements like an instrument. She gives a few practiced strokes and he hardens beneath her immediately, his fingers involuntarily digging into the skin of her hips.
Each visit to the Gossamer Court is rare enough, carefully-scheduled enough, that Cleon is still hungry for this touch. For the feel of someone elseβs hand around his cock instead of his own. He is tired of himself. He spends enough time with himself, together yet alone, always. He bucks up into her hand, her experienced touch, and then he finally forces his eyes open again: leans forward to kiss Jessica again, one hand rising to sweep the strap of her dress off one shoulder to expose a bare breast which he covers with a hand, his mouth drifting, his tongue and teeth at her throat.
no subject
With the power and burden of the Galactic Empire at his fingertips, while constantly being surrounded by himself, Jessica knows he must crave change and excitement. And that is what she provides him with β a sampling of what only she can offer and no one else. To sink her claws in and feed him honeyed words so he craves her enough to return repeatedly until he cannot be without her.
She is a prideful creature, and perhaps that will be her undoing one day, but imagine him coming back to her, and the sound of his moan delights her. A shiver of genuine pleasure lances through her, a strange but not unwelcome realization that she might also be enjoying this.
"Empire," she breathes, head tipping back, exposing the slender column of her neck for his mouth, teeth, and tongue to explore. Each breath trembles with excitement, and her pulse points thrum beneath his lips.
Eagerly, her body arches towards him, pushing her breast into his hand, almost desperate to feel more. Her hand strokes and teases the length of his cock; alternating between squeezing and a feather-light touch to study his reactions. Jessica's other hand slips from his hair and down his back. The movement is slow, and she is careful not to set off the shield, but she applies enough pressure that he might be able to feel her blunt nails scraping down his back.
no subject
(which should perhaps be a red flag and an alarm in the back of his mind, but thereβs simply no room for any other more calculating thoughts when her hands are on him like this)
His teeth graze against her neck, nipping sharper with a bite before being replaced by laving longue, hot mouth, determined to leave his own mark on her in turn. This, too, is part of it: knowing the concubines will wander away tomorrow feeling the pleasant ache of muscles well-sated, finding the love bites on their neck, not knowing but understanding that passion happened. They wonβt remember, but he was here. This happened. The world remembers. Heβll leave an imprint.
βCleon,β he says suddenly, desperate and unplanned, voice ragged. βNot Empire. Call me Cleon.β
She can do this here, in this room, and only this room. Breaking down the barrier of his personal name, somehow even more intimate than Jessicaβs fingers running along his cock.