The stars of Arrakis were breathtaking. The two moons shined in the dark sky, constellations glittering in the blanket of night. Much like the blanket under your back.

You were merely the son of a Fremen servant on Arrakeen, not even much of a fighter compared to the rest of your people. Your first big assignment from your mother was to be the personal servant of the new rulers' son, Paul Atreides.

You weren't sure when you went from fetching him water to making out under the stars, but you weren't complaining.

You'd been pointing out constellations to Paul, who was half-laying on your chest. He'd given you a kiss that you'd reciprocated sloppily, rolling over. The kisses grew more heated, your lips moving against each other hungrily, seeking comfort and warmth from the other. Paul's hand came up to clutch the back of your shirt with a weak grip, drawing you impossibly closer. Paul could feel your soft sighs against his mouth.

The kiss would've deepened had both of you not been incredibly sleepy. Your bodies were tired and you were too weary to kiss for much longer. Soon, the kisses softened into chaste pecks. And then simply the brush of your lips together.