( there's a degree of blasphemy to alina's motion — the severing of blood from one's body is a waste, the foolish motion of outworlders with water to spare. but that makes it holy, too, and paul understands. the same way he had no choice about the blood spilled from his severed spine, there is choice in alina's motion, in the scar across her unmarred hand, in feeding shai-hulud her blood. sacrifice and payment, and the unyielding intensity of emotional. paul understands, and is humbled by it — not just the severity, but the generosity. alina is a woman unafraid to bleed for someone she loves, and she loves paul.
instinctively, his hands cup the sides of her thighs, captivated by the welling red of her blood, watching it spill out of her — his water flushed bride, his monsoon wife. he's dreamt this. a hand in the sand, a slash through it, an overindulgence, some excess of wet, the chanting of dunes whispering old, forgotten secrets to him. he wasn't afraid then, and he isn't afraid now, snake slithering his head from side to side for a second, before cupping under her wounded hand, catching her spilling blood in his. when he tears his gaze from the gouge, it's to look at alina, eyes wet with emotion. )
"Enough" is an unfair thing to ask me. ( his free hand moves up, into the wound — lightly, teasing the torn sides like a lover, soaking up her blood. he lifts his two fingers for her to observe, the red stark against his pale skin. ) Because this is everything. This means everything to me.
( he lifts her hand to rest palm side up against his shoulder, though he doesn't mind if there's a mess. dipping his finger back in her blood ink, he sucks in a breath, nodding, looking at her. captivated. in love. )
Alina ... I'd be honored to call you family. It's the only thing I want — to be part of you, in that way. You can be wife and sister and daughter to me. You can be the life that flows through my veins. You already are.
( the same way alina once consecrated her name on him in his blood, her poises his fingers at her wrists, pauses, and then writes. it starts with an a, not a p, and after looking to her for some reassurance, he finishes the oath in blood, a ritualistic declaration, forevermore claiming alina — atreides. )
no subject
instinctively, his hands cup the sides of her thighs, captivated by the welling red of her blood, watching it spill out of her — his water flushed bride, his monsoon wife. he's dreamt this. a hand in the sand, a slash through it, an overindulgence, some excess of wet, the chanting of dunes whispering old, forgotten secrets to him. he wasn't afraid then, and he isn't afraid now, snake slithering his head from side to side for a second, before cupping under her wounded hand, catching her spilling blood in his. when he tears his gaze from the gouge, it's to look at alina, eyes wet with emotion. )
"Enough" is an unfair thing to ask me. ( his free hand moves up, into the wound — lightly, teasing the torn sides like a lover, soaking up her blood. he lifts his two fingers for her to observe, the red stark against his pale skin. ) Because this is everything. This means everything to me.
( he lifts her hand to rest palm side up against his shoulder, though he doesn't mind if there's a mess. dipping his finger back in her blood ink, he sucks in a breath, nodding, looking at her. captivated. in love. )
Alina ... I'd be honored to call you family. It's the only thing I want — to be part of you, in that way. You can be wife and sister and daughter to me. You can be the life that flows through my veins. You already are.
( the same way alina once consecrated her name on him in his blood, her poises his fingers at her wrists, pauses, and then writes. it starts with an a, not a p, and after looking to her for some reassurance, he finishes the oath in blood, a ritualistic declaration, forevermore claiming alina — atreides. )