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Gurney is not often away from Castle Caladan absent active warfare—not for any length of time more ambitious than training drills, or courier missions too delicate to trust in less experienced hands—and it's even more rare to venture afield without Duke Leto Atreides at the forefront of a full entourage. As a rule, Gurney's place is at his duke's side, warmaster and bodyguard in equal measure.
But sometimes it is not Leto who needs protecting. And whenever the young master is sent to cut his teeth on new responsibilities, Gurney Halleck's presence is assumed as a matter of course.
Gurney has heard Leto expound in endless detail on the importance of resource management. He's seen the look of genuine and attentive interest in Paul's eyes, listening to these lectures. And while Gurney can appreciate the fact of these things in the abstract—they are not dissimilar to the questions of requisition and supply that underpin an effective military force—the details blur past him without ever getting a foothold in his brain.
He does not care about the placement of newly seeded pine forests or the best building materials for dams and locks.
But he listens avidly while Paul chatters on about the very same topics, genuinely absorbed by his young master's enthusiasm for soil samples and geological strata and nitrogen levels. Not just because Paul's excitement is so charmingly sincere compared to Leto's dryly devoted interest, but because this is Paul, and Gurney will never tire of anything that electrifies Paul.
"—simple enough if you compare the striations…" Paul trails off and looks up from the paper documents, a movement captured in Gurney's peripheral vision because if he watches this wild energy directly, he will melt into an expression far too telling for this small helicarrier and its utter lack of privacy. "Gurney. Are you even listening to me?"
"Yes." Gurney has to fight to keep his expression schooled into something bland. He trusts his security team—hand-picked for duty as royal guards—but not with a secret so well-protected that even Duncan Idaho doesn't know it. On the one hand, it's ridiculous to use half a dozen of his best men as escort on what is essentially a glorified survey mission. On the other hand, rarely does such a trip involve this priceless cargo.
"You haven't heard a word I've said," Paul accuses, and the petulant tone makes him sound far younger than his twenty years.
"The hell I haven't." Gurney lets a smile curl one corner of his mouth. "I'd love to know more about the geological history of the Greater Eastern Peninsula."
He risks a glance directly at Paul and finds green eyes narrowing in an expression that can only mean mischief.
"Maybe you'd like to view one of the filmbooks I brought along." It's impressive, honestly, how Paul manages to make this offer sound impish but not flirtatious. As though this is a simple matter of sassing his elders and not an invitation of a completely different sort. Paul will do well in perilous diplomatic circles, if he is already this good at concealing an assignation in plain sight.
"You brought filmbooks. About geology. On a three-day tour of the Eastern Reservoir."
"Not just geology," Paul counters archly. "Aurelia Septimus has material on dozens of topics relevant to the survey team's research. I need to be prepared. Join me for dinner if the topic interests you. I'm happy to share my resources."
Gurney snorts. "I'll be sure to take notes."
Of course, Gurney does not watch any of Paul's ridiculous filmbooks after landing and settling in for the duration—though their presence amid the luggage was not a bluff. Gurney barely makes it inside Paul's borrowed quarters before he's caught up in a heated flurry of kisses. Paul is impatient, pushing him against the closed door, opening the front of his uniform jacket with eager fingers.
"Easy, my lord." Gurney nudges Paul back, gentling him with a caress along his jaw, a slide of fingers into soft brown hair. "There's no need to rush. We have all night." This is not strictly true, of course. If Gurney doesn't leave after a reasonable interval, the delay will garner raised eyebrows, and word of the strangeness will get back to Leto. Those are elements of scrutiny that Gurney cannot afford.
But they have time enough to indulge themselves. The door has a heavy lock, and Gurney reaches behind himself to secure the bolt. A dinner's already been laid on the table in the corner, but that too can wait for later. This is more important. Gurney knew even before he crossed the threshold that Paul would be needy tonight. They haven't been alone together in weeks, and the torment of hovering always so close but unable to touch is one Gurney wishes were not becoming familiar.
"Come to bed," Paul pleads, as though Gurney could possibly have any other destination in mind.
Despite Gurney's best efforts to slow things down, there is too much frantic energy between them. They reach the precipice quickly—not even managing to undress before goading each other to the edge and tumbling over together.
They clean up with quick efficiency, only for Paul to tug Gurney immediately back into bed. This time they both shed boots and jackets, though there seems no point in losing more layers than that when they're already comfortable. And it's better strategically for Gurney to stay ready, able to put himself quickly to rights in the event someone comes looking for him. It's not as though his whereabouts are any kind of secret.
"I wish we really had all night." Paul curls himself around Gurney with a contented whuff of breath, tucking his head beneath Gurney's jaw and nuzzling against his throat. "No matter how many times I have you, it's like I never get to keep you."
Gurney's chuckle comes out a little bit strained, complicated by a torrent of wistful feelings. He wishes the same. For all that he and his young lord have grown easy together—have found a safe balance and mutual satisfaction in their intimate understanding—it pains them both that caution and secrecy must always come first.
"Don't laugh. I know I'm being ridiculous."
"No." Gurney sobers. "You're not being ridiculous. I wish I could stay."
Paul presses a kiss to the hollow of Gurney's throat. "It's not fair."
Gurney's voice locks in his chest, caught by the vehemence of his own agreement. It's cruel to love so fiercely and be silent about it to the world. He would spend every possible moment at Paul's side—every scrap of a second when duty doesn't require him elsewhere—if only their situation permitted. It's some consolation that he is allowed so close, that he is responsible for so much protection and instruction, that the whole of Castle Caladan acknowledges the friendship between them.
But it's not enough. Gurney will never have enough of Paul Atreides.
"You'll stay as long as you can?" Paul pleads, pushing up from Gurney's chest to lock him with piercing eyes.
Gurney still can't seem to speak, so he twists his fingers in dark curls—pulls Paul into a slower, softer kiss—and hopes it will be answer enough.