Hyde on the loose!

"There, all done!"

He turned slightly as you spoke. Looking down at you as you held up a data pad, he took the tech before turning the device over in his hands.

"And what exactly is it that you have done?"

You smiled up at him, hands bunching into the black iridescent silk of your tunic.

"Your pict screen was a bit outdated. You should be able to get a clear colour video now, as opposed to the grainy green film you had before"

The Primarch looked down at you as you beamed, watching as your fingers danced across the screen, showing him the new program.

"Look, I'll show you"

You took a few long steps back and pulled out your own pict slate, tapping the device until a small ping echoed across to the pad in Corvus's hand. A large box flashed on the screen:

Incoming call

A reassuring nod from you, and he pressed a lithe finger to the icon, watching as your face appeared across the screen, bright and cheerful.

"See? And it works long distances as well so your officers can relay visual information in real time"

He continued to stare at the screen, watching how your lips twisted as you reeled off information about the signal range and sound options. Looking up, his gaze lingered on you longer than he intended as you pulled your eyes from the screen and met his gaze. A lump in his throat forming as you flashed him a dazzling smile and walked back towards him.

"And if you want to end the call, you just press this"

The lump jumped to his chest, tightening around his heart as he leant down and you pressed against his arm to show him the call end button.

"It's just that one, right there"

The raven nodded, swallowing dryly as he tried to ignore the feeling of your chest pressing against his wrist as you pointed at the screen. Disappointment radiated inside him as he ended the call and you pulled away, leaving only the shadow of warmth across his skin where you had been.

"I know it's taken a few weeks to sort, but I can implement this whole fix across the ship by tomorrow. at the moment it's just on yours and mine, to make sure it works"

Corvus stared down at you, obsidians eyes unreadable as he gripped the data pad. You returned his gaze unflinchingly, waiting for his response.

"Very well, see it done"

You slide your pict into a holster on your leg and spayed your hands in the aquilla across your chest before turning to leave.

"Of course, Lord Corax"

"and-"

You turned over your shoulder as the primarch spoke softly.

"Good work"

You beamed. "Thank you, my lord"

Corvus watched unblinking as you hurried from the control room, thoughts racing through his head as you returned to your office.

A few weeks? Has it only been that long?

He turned back to the window, resuming his post as his mind turned over.

You had joined his crew 2 months ago to run diagnostics and implement data upgrades. It shouldn't have mattered to him; what's another baseline scurrying about in the shadow of the battleship.

And yet

You had approached him, sliding through the office door, reports in hand without a worry in the world.

Clad in an ebony dress that clung to your figure like a second skin. You leant over the desk with the neck of the fabric dipping dangerously low over your chest.

"Forgive my intrusion, My lord. I thought I'd better introduce myself" you slid the parchments across towards him.

"and give you my findings"

His eyebrow had cocked as he looked you up and down before leafing through the pages.

"Your findings? You've been aboard for all of an hour" he mused, sweeping back his black hair as he picked through the meticulous handwriting.

He pulled himself away from the words to look you over as you stood by his desk.

And that when it changed

You looked him straight in his eye

And smiled.

Corvus felt his hearts lurch in his chest at the memory. A memory he played back more often than he would admit.

"I want to be useful to you, Lord Corax" you said, flushing.

The Primarch felt heat rising in his own face as his eyes jumped from your face to the line of your exposed cleavage before he could stop himself.

"Very well, keep me updated as you work"

Running a hand along his face corvus sighed, turning on his heels as he returned to his chambers. Ghosting down the echoing hallways he paused by your door, listening to your voice lilting through the steel as you discussed unfamiliar terms on a faint vox line.

If your work was done, would you be leaving? Or perhaps, you would stay?

The thought pushed to the front of his mind before he could stop it, clawing behind his eyes as he froze.

Would you stay? could he think of a reason, any excuse to ask you to linger near him.

He shook his head, striding down the hall and entering his own room. He placed the data slate you'd given him atop a bureau and tossed his blackened cape to the floor as he paced, back and forth.

Each day you came to him with new reports in hand. But then it became a report and recaff.

"you haven't slept, I thought you might need it, my lord"

The reports became once a week, but you still stopped by at the same time every day. At some point discussions went from software to things less formal as the line between work and something more began to blur.

"I wasn't sure if you'd eaten today?" You'd laughed, setting a plate of something steaming and aromatic down in front of him.

"Have you ever played this?" A twinkle in your eye as you set down a deck of cards on top of a missive.

"Do you ever get lonely" You'd whispered as you stood beside him staring out to the stars of a foreign system with watery eyes, your fingers brushing his for a brief second until you pulled away.

He'd wanted to reply.

Wanted to say "no, not when you're here"

But instead he stared with you at the nimbus of colour beyond the ship's hull and hoped that the silence wasn't deafening.

Corvus pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration as he stilled.

"This is ridiculous" he muttered. "Absolutely ridiculous. I need to talk to her."

He turned towards his door with steely resolve as he made to leave.

Ping

The noise pricked his ears, he knew that sound.

With a sense of relief at delaying facing you, he collected the dataslate from its surface, watching the icon flash on the dim screen as he seated himself in a heavy chair. The relief soon vanished again.

Why are you calling him?

With fractured resolve, corvus tapped the notification.

His eyes flew wide as the video connected. The camera was half covered with something, appearing to have slipped from where you had placed it blocking part of the lens.

But the image was clear as crystal.

You stood in the center of your room, your back to the camera as you brushed your hair and tossed the comb onto your bedside table. You turned around, your eyes closed as you swayed slightly, dancing to silent music he couldn't hear through the muted connection. Your mouth was moving as you sang along to the words of the melody, hips swinging gently as you moved.

He smiled slightly as you spun and twirled, enjoying the way your hair fell about your face with each gentle motion.

"would you dance like this if you knew I was watching" he thought.

Your swaying had stopped, presumably as the music ended. You stretched up, extending your arms above your head before dropping them to your side.

Corvus watched silently, feeling like he was intruding into a moment he was not invited to. Heart hammering against his ribs as he exhaled a shaky breath, his hand hovered over the disconnect button hesitating to cut off the illicit call.

He paused.

Your hands trailed to your hips. Grasping your trousers you shimmied them down your thighs and casting them off to an unseen corner. Your tunic followed suit shortly after, leaving you standing in a black lace bra and matching pants. Corvus' hand shook over the end call button as he watched you undress, his breath came in short bursts as he felt himself harden in his trousers.

He shouldn't be seeing this, this was not for his eyes.

And yet he couldn't tear himself away as you reached behind you, unclasping the clip of your bra and allowing the lace to fall to the floor.

With a resigned growl, he pulled himself free from his trousers. Grasping his hard length he began to slide his palm up and down as he stared at your figure on the screen. He lingered on your bare chest, imagining the way your breasts would feel against his skin, how you would sound if he pinched them.

His soft pants filled the room as he fucked into his fist desperately, staring at your fingers twisting around your underwear as you stepped out of them. His cock twitched in his hand as you turned, bending over the bed revealing your exposed pussy to the camera, you reached to grab your nightshirt.

Corax almost whined as you pulled the shirt on, the top coming to rest at the apex of your thighs as you covered yourself.

Corvus threw the slate down. Pulling his trousers back up, he lurched towards the door, flying down the hallway towards your room and banging against the iron until you answered.

You creaked the door open, looking up at his with confusion as you found the primarch flushed and wheezing outside your door.

"Lord Corax, what-"

Your voice cut off as he pushed himself into your room, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a kiss as he kicked the door shut. His lips moved desperately against yours as his pale fingers curled to the back of your head, arching your neck into the touch.

Breathless you allowed him to carry you towards your bed. Feeling heat rising between your legs as he set you down and never breaking the kiss as he trailed his other hand up your thigh, sneaking beneath your sleep shirt and coming to rest on your hip. You tangled your own fingers between his ebony locks, running your tongue along his lips and gasping as he returned the favour and pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You broke the kiss finally when you felt his hips rut against yours, feeling the hardness rub against your wet heat.

"My lord what is-"

"The camera" he muttered, pressing his lips against your neck

You looked over his shoulder, paling as you noticed the soft blinking light of a video call.

"I didnt- I mustve- my lord I'm so sorry"

"Don't be" he growled, gripping your thigh and wrapping it around his waist. "I want this, I want you"

"Lord Corax"

"Corvus. I want you to call me Corvus"

Your voice cracked as his fingers found your cunt, sliding between the growing slick and teasing your entrance as his other hand wrestled the shirt over your head.

"Cor-vus" you moaned, back arching as he slid a finger inside you, his thumb traced circles against your clit. Phosphenes pulsed behind your eyes as his finger curled, rubbing your soft walls as he worked against your nerves, pulling you closer to the edge whilst his lips peppered kisses along your throat and down your collar.

"I've needed you for so long, let me have you" he whispered into your skin.

"Corvus" you sighed, reaching for him as he stripped his own clothing off and spread them across the floor, hurrying to claim your lips again.

You cried out his name coming undone on his fingers, you thighs squeezing around his hand as he fingered you through your orgasm. As you came down, you watched with glazed eyes as he pulled his finger to his mouth, licking your cum off the long digit.

You flushed, deep pink racing up your neck and across your cheeks as you watched him drag his tongue along his slick coated forefinger. He hummed as he tasted you on his tongue before, in a flurry of movement, he buried his face between your legs.

"let me taste you" he crooned, nipping at your thigh. His voice almost a whine, the normally stoic primarch knelt at the foot of the bed, pressing hot kisses along your skin as he sighed against your body.

A thrill ran through you, seeing his needy and desperate as you tugged his head towards your aching groin.

His mouth was on you in a second, mouthing and lapping at you as your hips jerked at the sudden contact. His tongue traced languidly around your twitching clit before lapping at your drenched lower lips. The raven lord groaned as your wetness coated his face, his eyes squeezed shut when he finally released you.

"Holy terra," your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve standing on edge as corvus focused on the way your chest heaved and your fingers scruffed the dark sheets.

"I need you, I need you" he repeated, voice horse as he grabbed your thighs and lifted them towards your chest. He rubbed his dick against your twitching pussy, precum dripping from the tip and you pushed your hips towards him, locking eyes with him.

"Please corvus" you breathed.

You head shot back and you clutched your sheets as he slid his cock inside you, his fingers pushing your thighs down as he stared at you stretch around his girth with blown pupils. You struggled to breath as you felt him fully sheathe inside you, forcing yourself to relax against the burning stretch.

"Better than I dreamed" he murmured, slowly pulling out before sliding all the way back in. The delicious drag of his length against your walls soon drowned out any pain as you chanted his name like a prayer.

You knees by your ears, tears streamed down your cheeks as the primarch fucked into you, the sound of wet skin on skin filled the room. One hand left your thigh, slowly tracing up your body and along your neck until he was cupping your cheek.

"Perfect" he grunted, whipping away a tear as his cock bullied your cunt. Your juice coating your thighs and his as you came again.

Corvus choked back a sound as he felt you clench around him, spasming around his length with each rough thrust.

"Terra" he groaned, his thrusts erratic as you felt his dick twitch inside you. Words escaped you as he ground himself into your hips and all you could do was cry out as a finger pressed into your sensitive clit.

"Cum with me" he hissed, releasing your legs and struggling to hold back as you shook beneath him.

"Corvus!" You cried, your legs shooting down to clutch around his waist.

You choked out a wail as you came, feeling the primarch shudder as he finished with you. You tensed your legs holding him against you as he filled you with hot ropes of cum, emptying into you before it leaked around his throbbing girth.

As your body gave out, your legs relaxed around him, falling down to rest on his wide hips as he rested on his elbows above you. Raven hair tickled your skin as you lay panting beneath his shadow.

After a moment, he pulled out of you, and you winced, feeling his spend gush out and trickle down your thighs.

Corvus looked down at you, gasping below him as he stroked his hand along your sweat slicked hair. You opened your eyes and smiled at him, the same smile that started this whole mess.

"You should stay" he rasped, black eyes ghosting across your quivering body.

"That good huh?"

He chuckled, hesitating for a second before clutching your hand.

"You asked me if I was lonely once. I'm not. Not when you're here." He looked away as he squeezed your hand.

"So I will ask again. Will you?"

The caverns of Nocturne were truly something wondrous. Ceilings, both natural and carved, were so tall you could barely see them, even with the lighting dotted high on the walls. Stalagmites and stalactites reached for each other, some had been broken away while others were used in the construction or used in decorating the cityscape, many bearing carvings or paintwork. Some speleothems were used as columns, reinforcements built around them to better support whatever structure was going to be built around or above it.

You wandered the half-carved streets, the beginnings of buildings, homes, plazas, communal areas, all slowly taking shape. All waiting to be filled with colour and sound and people and life. You felt an almost childlike wonder at it all, at the skill you could see even in the rough hewn stone.

Vulkan had insisted you explore, not wanting you to remain cooped up on the Flamewrought, but had mentioned that the preparations for his home here weren’t quite ready. He had been so contrite, you knew something hadn’t quite gone to plan, and he likely wanted to surprise you with something… again. On top of all he needed to handle upon his arrival, you knew he would be busy. You had offered to stay with him and wait, but he had assured you it was alright, as you would only be bored and he could tell you were eager to get out and move after so long travelling in space. So, with young Kessok as your escort, you weaved through the city. Through markets and back-alleys and up towers and across strone bridges and wherever else your whimsy decided to lead you.

You had come across this area quite by accident. Kessok, a young Space Marine who had not even a year prior had passed his trials as a Neophyte and completed his transformation into an Astartes of the Salamanders, mentioned that expanding the city limits was a slow and often dangerous affair, and that he had not even been born when the work had begun. 

It was currently empty. Most work had been halted to celebrate the return of the Salamanders and their Primarch. You can’t imagine how the people will react when they hear he is courting a mortal.

Salt and Stars, you still can scarcely believe it, sometimes. When you wake or in the midst of your craft, you can’t help but expect to find out that it had all been a dream or some heat-induced imagining of some kind. But no, you turn around and find he’s left a sweet message, or has snuck in to watch you work. You wander into his office or invite yourself into his quarters (something that still rattles you, a little, even after the months since that conversation in his office), leave little gifts of your own or steal a few short minutes or a quick kiss before you are both pulled away by other obligations.

You let your fingers trail over stone, smooth and cool to the touch despite the warmth in the air. There were no lanterns, but the nearby lava flows create a warm, ambient light, and the uneven ceilings and walls of the half-carved cavern caused shadows to come alive and shift in an almost playful dance. 

“How long do these celebrations usually last?” You ask your guide as you walk along a low ledge that traces the edge of a large open area, full of pillars and columns in various states of completion.

Kessok, helmet off and weapons holstered, pondered the question for a moment. He was almost shy, his hesitant words were the closest you’ve ever heard an Astartes come to stuttering, but that reticence had faded over the hours you’ve spent traversing the city together.

“A day or two, on average. Longer if there has been some great victory or happening. Father usually attends these gatherings,” He must have noticed your shoulders droop a little, as he adds kindly, “though I suspect his attendance will be short-lived for this one. The rest of us will have to celebrate without him, I suppose.” The young Marines smile was one of amusement, light and teasing.

You couldn’t help the blush that stained your cheeks at his comment, but you gave a huff of laughter before turning back to the large plaza a short drop below.

“Will the lava… rivers? Be diverted or blocked, or shall they become part of the architecture in some way?” You touch his arm as you point to what you mean, and he gives an understanding hum as he leans down a little to answer you.

“Blocking them would be unwise, as that would only build pressure. Even if the seal itself doesn’t break, the building magma will only find a new exit. We-” Kessok cut himself off and grew quiet. The sudden silence was jarring enough to make you stop in your tracks, gooseflesh prickling your skin as you caught sight of his expression. His eyes far away as he gazed off to the side, tracking something you couldn’t. Everything became still and quiet in a way it wasn’t before. A way that you couldn’t express with words, but something experienced. Felt.

You had enough time to process his look of sudden panic before the world exploded into violence.

Something roared over the cacophony of stone cracking and shattering. Green filled your vision as Kessok grabbed you just in time for everything to upend itself as you were thrown from where you two had been standing.

By the time your mind gave up on trying to process what just happened, you were pushing yourself to your feet; pain a dull warning in the back of your mind as you looked around. Your time on the battlefield served you well in this moment, as you sharpened your focus into something quick and sharp.

You were out in the open. Unsafe. Find cover. Friend missing. Where’s Kessok? Danger incoming. Source unknown. Identity unknown. Find Kessok. Regroup. Find safety. Find Vulkan.

You scratched that last thought as your eyes scanned the area, even as you moved towards the nearest chunk of stone debris that might hide you from… whatever was here. You need to contact Vulkan. Contact anyone, in truth, but some selfish, scared, childish part of you wanted Vulkan. You wanted your husband. He will come. He will keep you safe. You will see him again. 

You held onto that thought as you caught sight of green and gold, half buried under the shattered remains of a half-constructed pillar. You saw his eyes catch yours, blood pouring from a wound on his head, and that flare of relief died a quick dark death as a roar echoed through the chamber.

Unbidden, you ducked lower. With a breath to steel yourself, you rose just enough to glance at what remained of the carved walkway you had been standing on. 

Digging out from the remains of stone and metal, a mass of green and black. All scales and claws and teeth.

A Salamander. A drake. The beast from which the legion had been given its name. 

It was terrifying.

The creature was huge. It easily dwarfed you. You’re sure some of its teeth were bigger than you. You would be dead if it got close, and you have no doubt it would have no trouble doing so. You have no weapons. None but your wit. Kessok has a bolter, but you doubt it will do much here, maybe slow it down. He was half buried, but it looked like he could still draw it, but he wouldn’t be able to get out of the debris easily. He was trapped.

As if sensing your thoughts, the beast turned its ravenous eyes on the pinned Marine. It gave a low hissing noise, pleased at the sight of helpless prey, and began to stalk towards the struggling morsel.

Some latent instinct grew furious at the sight.

Something within you snarled. 

How dare that thing set its sights on your friend? Your son? Kessok was yours. Vulkan was yours and so that meant his genesons were yours. It had no right. You would not let it. 

“Call Vulkan!” You shout as you dart out of your hiding place, sprinting to another pile of rubble.

“My Lady! No!” Kessok yells, but the monster's attention was already on you. It was a predator, you were prey. You ran, so it must chase.

And chase it did.

Maybe it thought you were wounded, or that it registered your shout as the challenge it was, or maybe it saw something running off on its own and followed the urge to pursue. To hunt.

It charged after you, steps thundering, but you didn’t look back. Didn’t dare. You jumped as you neared the stone slabs, and kicked off it with as much force as you could muster. The momentum of your run aided you, landing a small distance away but it was far enough as the shrieking collision of scale and stone and flesh and metal burst out from behind you, and even as you avoided the worst of it, you were still thrown.

Rolling with the force, you shoved yourself onto your feet and sprinted for the next bit of cover: A stalagmite that was large enough that it could hide three Astartes, if they huddled.

Wait.

Stalactites.

“Kessok! Above us!” You scream over the noise. You hope he heard you, but you had no time to think as you see teeth emerge on either side of your hiding spot. You lunge forward, throwing yourself out of the way just in time as you hear the crunch of hardened minerals reduced to sand and dust. No better than gravel. 

A risked glance of your shoulder as you rise from the tumbled roll you executed, and you realise with horror you could reach out a hand and touch it. You move.

You run around it as it flails, throwing the chewed stones about. You trip, but recover, another roll and you're on your feet and sprinting towards open ground where Kessok should have a clear shot. You hear the echoing ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’ of a bolter firing, but you don’t dare let your focus stray from anything other than survival.

There, on the far end. Another pillar. Larger than the others, it survived the initial assault, it just may help you survive the next.

“Mother!” You hear the terror in the scream, and some instinct bites at the back of your neck.

Drop.

You do.

Stone bites at your skin, covered or not, as you skid across the ground. A sharp hollow snap above you is accompanied by a rush of wind, the beasts bulk above enough bathing you in shadow.

“To me! To me! Go! Run!” Kessoks shouts reach you, somehow, in the chaos of everything. Like a physical barrier, but he breaks through, and you bolt through the opening. Running before you’ve even gotten on your feet properly, but you don’t stop. Don’t dare.

You focus on the sound of gunfire, the flash of the muzzle, and let it guide you until you catch sight of your friend. He’s kneeling, he’s escaped the debris! His bolter is aimed high, shooting at something high above you, but you don’t spare any thought to it as you feel something rapidly gaining on you again.

There’s the echo of a crack, somewhere far away.

You dive into the Salamander Astartes arms as the Salamander beast bears down on you both.

He turns you away, putting himself between you and the lunging maw.

A wet snap and a hollow squelch break through the roaring, cutting it off as the boom of something hitting the ground at speed ricochettes through the cavern. The drag of something heavy across stone, slowing, and-

Stops.

You don’t know how long you sit there, curled against the ceremite, but eventually you hear breathing. Yours. And Kessoks.You feel the shift from his breathing. You feel the press of your lungs against your ribs, from your own.

Alive. You’re alive. You’re both alive.

Slowly, you raise your head, moving just enough to look up at the Space Marine who is looking down at you in uncomprehending wonder.

“We’re alive.” You whisper, gasping every breath.

“We’re alive.” He echoes, relief and triumph in his voice.

Together, you both shift just enough to look behind his bulk and spy the mess that was far too close.

The dead salamander, a spear of dark stone through its skull, laid in a heap before them. Eyes unseeing, but even in the blank stare of death you swore you could see the ravenous hunger and rage behind the glassy veil. You shiver and turn away, looking about at the destruction its short-lived rampage had wrought instead.

‘Holy shit.’ You think, staring blankly at the devastation. ‘We survived that.’ There were gouges in the stone floor from the beast's charge, deep enough you would need help climbing out if you fell in, and the massive stone pillar was little more than a stubborn stone stump now.

You felt the twin rush of pride and triumph, but exhaustion was encroaching and you felt it begin to dig into your bones.

“Do you think this will count as a courting gift?” You ask Kessok, you stares down at you in the Salamanders equivalent of ‘are you fucking serious?’ for several long moments before he threw his head back and laughed. Big, booming laughter that bounced off the walls of the cavern and seemed to beat back the oppressive fear and desperation that had filled the space like a flash flood.

“I think,” Kessok says as his laughter trickles off, “That once my genefather has assured your wellbeing and has calmed down, you will need to move up the wedding date.”

“Kessok!” You chide, giving his armour a light smack even as laughter overtakes you for a moment, completely ruining your attempt at acting upset.

Once you’ve both recovered from your adrenaline fueled mirth, your friend carefully sets you on the stone floor next to him as he shifts with a wince, settling into a more comfortable, restful, position as he does.

“You’re injured.” It’s not a question. His head wound has stopped bleeding, but you’re more concerned by what you can’t see. His armour no doubt hides much, but the way his knee sits concerns you.

“I will heal. May need to spend a few days with the Apothecaries, but I will be fine. I would gladly surrender a limb for your safety, My Lady.” He tries to assure you, but his words only cause you more distress.

“Don’t say that.” You hate how your voice wobbles, fingers tracing along the armour covering his shin, not daring to put any weight on it. You know, logically, that he wouldn’t feel it if you put all your weight on it, but the idea of him being in pain upsets you enough that any prospect of causing discomfort, even accidentally, makes you overly careful now.

Because you know it’s true. You had made friends with many Salamanders before news of your courtship with Vulkan had spread through the legion, and even the ones you never met would have risked life and limb to protect you because you were a baseline human, a member of humanity and the Imperium of Man. It was their duty, but now it was more. They would die for you, not just because you were one of the people they swore to protect, but because you were theirs. You were Vulkans, and so you were the Legions. You belonged to the Salamanders now. 

They loved you. Because Vulkan loved you. Because they loved you. You were kind to them, treated them not as heroes or weapons or lords or symbols, but as people. You didn’t shy away from them, despite their size and strength. You even scolded them when they were being ridiculous.

You remember one night Vulkan had told you, amusement and pride shining in his burning eyes, that he had heard of an incident where one of his captains threatened to tell ‘The Legion Mother’ of his brothers’ behaviour when a disagreement threatened to become a brawl, and they all immediately stopped fighting. You hadn’t truly believed him at the time, convinced maybe he was exaggerating or someone had flourished the details when retelling the story to him.

You believed it now.

Before the weight of realisation -of surviving, of nearly dying, of exhaustion, of the Salamanders calling her Legion Mother and what that really means- Kessok’s head snapped to the side, looking towards the city proper.

You followed his gaze, but knew you wouldn’t be able to see anything for a while. 

However, it wasn’t what you saw that had you sitting up and turning your eyes upward after several long seconds of silence.

It was sound.

The rumble-whirr of aerial transport.

Not even a minute later it was in view, a Thunderhawk rapidly approaching their location. You saw a large shape drop from the ship, and you didn’t know whether to curse or sigh, because you knew what, or rather who, that was.

“I’m not sure he was wearing armour.” Kessok comments idly, “Not that he needs it. Lord Father has defeated the firedrakes of Mount Deathfire with naught but his bare hands.”

“He can’t defeat gravity with his bare hands.” You grumble. You know, logically, that he’s fine. You’ve seen him drop from greater heights and walk it off like it was nothing more than a short ledge, but that won’t stop you from worrying.

You have time to give a fond, if exasperated, look to your guard before your husband comes into view, beating out the Thunderhawk by a good margin.

“Love!” His shout reaches you only moments before he does, closing the space within seconds. He drops to his knees and pulls you into his arms. You go willingly, trying to pull yourself up, close to him, but give up almost immediately and let him fold himself around you even as he looks over you, hands barely daring to brush around the edges of the scrapes and bruises. Afraid to touch you and yet unable to resist keeping you close.

“Oh my heartfire, my treasure, my sweet one.” There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you. Your heart lurches at the sight, and you reach up to cup his cheek.

“I’m alive. We’re alive. We’re okay.”

“You are not okay.” He refutes harshly, a growl turning his voice dark. “Look at you! You are covered in wounds, and Kessok…” He looks to his son, who seems to shrink in on himself under his father's burning gaze. Distantly, you notice his helmet is missing.

“Saved me.” You announce, your voice turning sharp and hard. “I would be dead a hundred times over if not for him. Even with a shattered knee, he didn’t stop fighting.” You didn’t want to fight, but if he tried to blame Kessok for your injuries, for the salamander attack, for anything, you were going to have to.

Vulkans eyes turn soft when they settle on you again. “I do not condemn him. I only wish to note he is also hurt.” You blink up at him, and relax in his hold once more.

“Oh.” You say, “Good. I’m sorry, I jumped to conclusions.” You look over to where the Warhawk is landing, ramp already extended and Astartes pouring out like a green and gold landslide. You see three Apothecaries already making a beeline for your little group, and you raise a brow at your husband.

Clearly he doesn’t feel the need to act like he may have overreacted, because he returns your look with a serious stare. You sigh and lean forward to press a kiss over his hearts, the fabric of his tunic is smooth, and you rest your cheek against it. 

Now that you are in Vulkans arms, all strength has left you, adrenaline fading and in its place the exhaustion in your bones blooms. Making your muscles feel both hollow and heavy, your limbs leaden and like your very core buckles under its own weight, threatening to collapse with every breath.

“Do I need to stay awake?” You murmur, nuzzling into the warm safety of your Primarch as your eyes begin to droop.

“Just a few minutes, my treasure. Just for the Apothecaries to check you over.” He said quietly. You heaved a sigh of ‘okay’ as you pushed against him to sit up properly and face the trio of healers, though one was already attending to Kessok, thankfully.

The pair attending you worked seamlessly, checking you over, disinfecting wounds you didn't even know you had, patching you up, and asking questions that you could only half-answer. The details of the fight were sparse, though a few blurry details were beginning to form, like mist fading in the morning light. Rocks digging into your legs as you slide, the thrashing tail of the salamander beast as it snarled, the hot breath that carried the scent of rotting meat and death, Kessoks determined glare as he took aim…

It was quickly determined that you would need to go to a medical facility to aid in your recovery. Vulkan stood with you in his arms.

“Wait, My Lady.” Kessok spoke up as his brothers helped him stand, intent on also dragging him to a medical facility. Probably a different one, better suited to Astartes. “I think you’re forgetting something.” he says meaningfully, glancing from you to the beast behind them.

“Oh!” You sit up in your husband's arms, pausing to give a grateful smile to the grinning Salamander, before focusing your attention on the confused man holding you. “Vulkan, I formally present my offering to you.” You gesture to the dead salamander beast, “With Kessok as my hunting partner, who bravely aided me in this trial, and your sons as my witnesses, I give you proof of my devotion to you and intent to be worthy of you.”

Vulkan said nothing. Just stared. At you, at the beast, at the decimation of the area. Worry and nervousness began to eat at the edges of your heart as the silence dragged on. You looked to Kessok for guidance, suddenly fearing you had said it wrong. You know there’s no set script, not like with your people, for this, but you’re fairly certain you said the right things.

He gave you a comforting smile, which eased you somewhat, and you turned your attention back to the man you loved.

Finally, he turned his eyes back to you. You felt subtle tremors, fine and hidden, but there. Vulkan took in a slow, shaking breath, before gently lifting you up high so he could bury his nose in your hair. He took deep, measured breaths, those tremors growing in intensity for a moment before settling.

“You honour me. You honour my legion, my people, and I could not be more proud to have you at my side.” He announced, his words were smooth and steady, spoken lowly but you knew his sons heard. You press up into him, letting your hand rest in the crook of his neck.

“But never do this again?” You ask quietly, letting the moment pass.

“Never.” He agrees, fervent and voice heavy with emotion.

“Don’t plan to. How did it even get into the city?” You wonder, settling back down into his arms, letting him carry you towards the Thunderhawk.

“I’m not sure, but I plan to find out. It’s likely the construction caused a disturbance, on top of an increase in geographical activity, much of the fauna may have been displaced, leading to this one wandering too close to the city.” he sighed, “it doesn’t help that the perimeter alarms have not been properly set up yet. Whatever the case, I shall confer with the elders to confirm the cause and do what we must to ensure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

“Hmm.” You hum in understanding, steadily losing the battle to keep your eyes open. You feel lips on the top of your head.

“Sleep, my love. You need rest now.”

“Be there when I wake up?” You mutter, clutching at his tunic even as you sink into the comfortable darkness of sleep.

“Of course, nothing could keep me elsewhere.”

With that, you succumbed, and slept.

***

No, you were a humble lab tech, firmly beneath his and Olivia Pierce’s notice. You had been fresh meat to throw at old problems, things veteran staff were too smart and far too scared to do themselves. Things like fiddling with artifacts from literal Hell.

At first you had been thrilled to get a pay and prestige bump from the invite to shadow a Lazarus Lab researcher, one of the more personable senior staff even. Now you were fairly certain that if you ever saw your lovely boss again you would wring his neck and dance on his freshly-dug grave. Whatever demonic rock he’d had you blast with concentrated argent energy had caused a blinding flash of light that left you in the yawning void, but fate could never be content to leave your unlucky self so unbothered as that. The abyss had spat you through what felt like an inter-dimensional roller-coaster, gravity stretched and warped what felt like your very atoms, lights flashed and blurred past you at speeds you couldn’t possibly catch. Hellish red, sickly green, icy blue, they burned even through your eyelids as you clenched them and tumbled to god knew where. When you were thrown from a portal, it was into solid stone. Into what you’d learned was called Argent D’Nur, a planet populated by an ancient warrior race embroiled in a battle against Hell that had raged for centuries.

The Sentinels, as you'd learn they were called, pointed spears of pure energy at you and shouted in a language you didn’t understand. You had gracefully and promptly vomited your meager lunch onto the floor and fell unconscious. You awoke hours later in what seemed to be a medical facility of some kind, bound to a bed but unharmed even as they started to interrogate you. To say you were shocked they spoke English would have been the understatement of the century but you were informed that your unceremonious entrance had not been a first impression, it had been the second. You weren’t the only unlucky human hurled through time and space to Argent D’Nur. Once the Argenta had firmly determined you were no threat to them, they had been kind enough to inform you that another human had suffered the same fate as you many years ago. One they had simply deemed the Doom Slayer as he’d never given them a name to call him by. He didn’t sound human from what they told you, but the little flicker of hope in your chest just couldn’t let the idea go. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all. Maybe you could figure out a way to get home with him. Or at the very least have a companion to suffer with.

That former had not happened. The latter, on the other hand, took on an entirely different meaning.

It was rather slow-going learning the Argenta language but you’d become reasonably fluent, sharing knowledge of your home and history that the Slayer had not. Several of the Sentinels found it, and you, fascinating. Fascinating enough to tell their otherworldly patrons, the Maykrs, about the curious new visitor to their world.

Once again you felt as if you’d been suckered, but King Novik and commander Thira had been nothing but sincere to you, they couldn’t have known what they were walking you into. If they’d known what awaited you. If they’d known what awaited their former comrade, they’d have turned their guns on the Maykrs then and there. Of that you were certain. The Night Sentinels were honorable, proud, people, above something so duplicitous and cruel as lying to you for so long. Perhaps that was woefully naive to think but... They wouldn't. They wouldn't have walked you into this if they knew? Right?

Right?

The Kreed Maykr’s ship was perpetually cold, built with only the armored forms of his kind in mind and not your damnably fragile human flesh. At the very least he had deigned to allow you to keep the clothes Thira had gifted you, which luckily included a heavy, fur-lined cloak. Now your only barrier against the frigid cell you’d been thrown in. There was a palpable disgust that the Maykrs held for you, almost none of them would even look at you let alone speak with you. The only reason they kept you around was that you had once again been unlucky enough to be deemed useful.

For all they cared you were nothing more than a sobbing, screaming, bargaining chip fit only to keep their newest and most unruly beast firmly on his leash. You would never forget the first time you saw him, the Slayer. A towering behemoth of green armor and an untamable killing instinct that almost suffocated the air around him. He hadn’t been there when the Kreed Maykr took you, but he had returned just in time to see the aftermath.

There was precious little you knew about him, and less that you understood, but even still it didn’t take a genius to figure out exactly the kind of rage seeing you in the Maykr’s clutches had kindled in him. They kept him in his own cell, a barren circle with layer upon layer of fail-safes and kill switches, not even the freedom to pace like the animal they treated him as. But the second he’d heard you, you had heard a terminal somewhere in the room start to scream.

It had meant nothing to you at the time, a background hum as your ears rang. These… things were not benevolent patrons, their very presence reeked of ill-intent and malice, but you didn’t have your Argenta allies anymore. They had been ordered away, and while Thira had done so reluctantly, she had clearly wanted to. So there you stood, alone, terror rising in your throat like bile.

The air was still and tense, drones milling about unaware or uncaring for the steadily boiling panic in you. You clenched and unclenched your hands, fingernails digging aching crescents into your palms before you spoke, “I don’t know what-“

The Kreed Maykr’s many eyes snapped to you, “I do not remember having bade you speak, human.” He said it like it was some kind of a filthy word, something he could barely stomach even leaving his lips. Immediately your shoulders flinched upward, voice quavering into silence. “You will not speak unless spoken to, you will do as instructed,” he loomed over you as he continued, “or you will learn quickly what disobedience earns you if you do not.”

A shaky nod was your response and the Kreed Maykr drifted away, absentmindedly waving a hand. “Have her brought to the other containment cell, we shall see if the Khan Maykr’s hypothesis rings true.”

Instantly you were seized by the arms, two drones flanking you and wrapping their odd, tentacle-like, arms around yours and pulling you backward. It was instinct alone that made you dig your heels in, fear that chased a watery cry from your lips. You had no possible idea of what they wanted from you, there was no way they didn’t know you were just a normal human. Unremarkable in every way except blindingly bad luck. The limbs twining around your own coiled tighter as you struggled, every animal part of you screaming that wherever it was they were taking you would be the last place you ever saw. You wanted off this ship, you wanted Novik and Thira to come back for you no matter how unlikely that was, you wanted your life back. “I just want to go home!” Your shriek was answered only by the drones twisting your arms behind you, the pain of bone and muscle being torqued and ground pulling a sob from you that finally broke the dam and sent tears down your face.

SLAYER MOVEMENT DETECTED

Finally your eyes snapped to something that wasn’t the Maykrs. That floating cage came alive, more screens and alarms blaring as the Slayer dragged one foot forward. His single step echoed like a canon shot and sent all the drones into a flurry of motion, even the Kreed Maykr flinched and shuddered. Massive turrets unfolded from the walls, whirring to life as each barrel primed and prepared to fire on the Slayer.

You couldn’t even blink staring at him. Your heart seized and he wasn’t even looking at you. No his eyes were on Bishop Kreed, still suffused with that unnatural golden glow, but locked on like a predator about to leap. One of the drones poured more power into the gravity cage, slamming the Slayer to one knee but failing to pin him completely. Electricity and argent energy arced from the core on the ceiling down to his armor halting his stubborn attempts to stand again. He was going to kill himself at this rate. Your lips parted to speak but nothing escaped, just a panicked, stuttering, breath as a cold barrel pressed to your forehead.

The Kreed Maykr spoke and time slowed to a crawl, “think very carefully about what you do next, Slayer.”

Beads of cold sweat joined the tears dripping down your face, you dared not even move, eyes still locked on the Slayer. He turned to you and still you couldn’t parse anything but the haunting glow in his eyes, but after a few long, agonizing seconds, his body relented. The gun retreated from your head and you sucked in a breath, heart pounding in your ears. Watching the tether reassert control over the Slayer was horrifying, like somebody pulling puppet strings on a human body. His movement was too smooth, almost mechanical, muscles relaxed and placid where seconds ago they’d been straining to what looked like the point of pain.

The drones promptly dragged you away but you’d caught the very last thing Bishop Kreed said.

“My how promising indeed.”

You were, as it turns out, a very effective insurance policy. Bishop Kreed’s… assistant? Minion? Advisor perhaps. Whatever he was to the Bishop, he had told you in the few meager conversations you’d had that your purpose here was to keep the Slayer under control. Or at least be used to do so. And such use typically involved no small amount of pain on your end.

It wasn’t necessarily a frequent occurrence, but it didn’t matter how rare it was. It was excruciating. There was a balancing act the Maykrs struck between near-irreparably harming you and keeping you just alive enough that the Slayer had no choice but to keep playing along. It was humiliating. There was a nonstop video feed of your cell projected on the screen in his. If he so much as breathed in a way they didn’t like, they would do something to you. Be it physical or mental harm, depriving you of food, rest, or warmth, they would do it. And without fail it would snap the Slayer back into their perfect little soldier.

You couldn’t possibly know how long you’d even been locked away. Days? Weeks? Time ceased to mean anything, the lights were always the same, the temperature was always the same, it felt like they gave you food at completely random intervals. Sometimes you swore they forgot you were even there. You’d lie on the floor for god knows how long after the latest session of torment, unthinking, body teetering between the waking and unconscious worlds. It ached, everything ached. Even the frigid metal of the cell’s floor couldn’t ease it anymore, couldn’t reach the agony that had burrowed into the very marrow of your bones.

Part of you wished one day soon they’d finally go too far and outright kill you. There would be no saving them then. The Slayer would rip the ship to pieces with his bare hands and grind the ash under his boots. But there was still a stupid, stubborn, part of you that hoped against all hope it would end some other way. Maybe Thira would come back for you. Maybe something would go wrong and you could escape. Maybe. Possibly.

“Like all of your pathetic species, your purpose is to die for your betters”

You just laid there. Unmoving. Barely breathing. Why even try? Your eyes burned, but no tears escaped, your body stubbornly clung to what little water you had. They were hollowing you out. Day by day. piece by piece. To everyone who had ever known you, you were dead, obliterated in an unfortunate but necessary lab accident. A briefly grieved stepping stone in humanity’s march toward infinite energy. Part of you wanted to laugh at it now that you knew what argent energy was, at the absolute destruction Hayden was courting. If he knew, he was a moron, if not, simply a fool.

A fool and a genius who couldn't see past his own ego long enough to realize that what he had was a monkey's paw and not a golden goose. Each finger curling as your species asked for more and more not knowing the costs that would inevitably come calling.

You had to stop that train of thought, it never led anywhere good. Flashes of the terrible monsters that lived just beyond the gossamer veil of reality. The demons that the UAC was knocking on the door of. Right on Mars. Right next to Earth. If they-

You slammed your own forehead against the ground hard enough to make your ears ring. None of that. Think of something else, anything else, anything besides how doomed you and your people were. You closed your eyes. The golden light still pried at your eyelids, unchanging as ever. Groaning, straining against myriad healing and new injuries, you turned yourself into your back and threw an arm over your eyes. At least a facsimile of darkness. A place where you might pretend.

Retreat inside your own body, your own mind, go somewhere they can’t follow you yet. Was it pathetic to pretend you were just sleeping under your desk back home? Maybe, but you didn’t care. For just a moment your wheezing breath seemed to ease, body going even a little slack as you let your mind wander. A phantom of a memory snagged you, your little wireless speaker. A much cherished part of your workspace, a tiny island just for you amidst the hustle and bustle of the labs. Music. God you missed it.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it, your lips were moving. It was quiet, off-key, and cracked under the weight of agony, but your voice stumbled along the beginnings of a song. Whatever you could think of, you barely even registered it, but something in you felt lighter. Maykrs didn’t seem to have music, this ship and its crew seemed so sterile, above useless things like amusement and art, it seemed. So this was something all your own, something they couldn’t take from you even if they ripped your larynx from your body. You would have memories. Your home lived in you. Even when it hurt.

As your voice petered off, you felt the needle on the record in your mind skip and skip and skip. Why? Your throat protested the shuddering, panicked breath you sucked in, cold air rasping all the way down like broken glass. Why? Again, the burn in your eyes reminded you there was nothing left in you that your body was willing to cry out. A sob wracked you anyway. Your voice sounded tiny even to you as you whimpered, “Why can’t I remember the rest?”

SLAYER MOVEMENT DETECTED

Your eyes snapped open, arm flying away from them and pushing you up to stare unblinkingly in the direction you guessed he was in. The alarm set your heart racing, like it was clawing at your ribs.

RETURN TO COMPLIANCE OR BE TERMINATED

He was fighting them again, and your mind tore in two directions. If he could get out, he could save you, even if he couldn’t do that he could save himself. At least one of you could be free. He could deny the Maykrs so much. A vengeful and bitter flame in you sang at the idea. The idea of a victory, even a Pyrrhic one, nearly brought a mad giggle out of you. But the other side wailed and cowered at the idea of being alone, of being hurt, punished on his behalf as a last wound to a man they seemed to know they could never fully control.

The Slayer didn’t know you. He seemed to care in an abstract sense about you, didn’t want to see you hurt because of him. But there was no way he’d keep weighing that against his freedom and keep choosing you. He had no reason to. He deserved to escape, people needed him, he was someone who could help in ways you never could. The Slayer had suffered like this for who knows how long. He needed to take his shot while he could.

RETURN TO COMPLIANCE

“Get out of here,” you spoke it into the air like a prayer.

CHARGING PLASMA CANONS

Another sob tore through you. “Don’t you dare look back either.”

PLASMA CANONS PRIMED. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING

You felt something rattle the very ship and a manic smile pulled at your lips. “Rip this place apart, tear it out of the sky!” It hurt to yell but it felt so good.

The ship-wide comm crackled to life as the Kreed Maykr screamed, “Somebody shut her up!”

That finally ripped a full laugh out of you. It tore its way up from your stomach and out. The walls shook again. You howled like a maniac, falling back to the floor, fingers digging into your hair and covering your eyes to hide what you were, against all logic, sure were stubbornly welling tears. Seems there was something left in you after all. “I hope he gets you first, Bishop Kreed” you hissed his name with force that shocked even you. “I hope you beg like I did!”

The door to your cell flies open but you couldn’t stop even if you’d wanted to, “I hope he doesn't listen, just like you did.”

You were dragged up by your collar and something struck you on the head. The darkness was almost instant but you remember grinning like a lunatic nonetheless.

When you awoke you were somewhere else, a different room, darker and smaller. Taking stock of yourself you tried to push yourself up only to realize you were strapped down to a table. Panic doused every nerve in your body and you jostled against the restraints only to freeze as cold air slithered down your back. Your bare back. Like a trapped animal, your head whipped every way it could looking for some way to escape, somewhere to even hide.

“Finally decided to wake up, have you?” The Bishop’s voice only chilled your blood further. “I should have you peeled apart, piece by screaming piece.” He finally floated into view, looking more haggard than you’d ever seen. A little satisfaction was a small balm on your frazzled mental state, the Slayer must’ve escaped, that would explain this level of exhausted anger. “I should kill you, but I won’t. I have something far more… instructive in mind.”

Without explaining further, a sardonic smile flitted across his face and he exited only to be replaced by drones you’d never seen before. As they approached, terminals and platforms emerged from the floors and walls, a large light flicking on overhead that would’ve been blinding had you not been face down. “What are you doing?” The drones didn’t answer your hesitant question, simply continuing to silently float around preparing things.

The door slid open again, revealing that Maykr with a broken halo. He floated toward you, eerie and silent as the rest of them. “You really should have known better at this point,” his head tilted down at you. Inspecting, appraising. “You both should, but it seems you humans are a uniquely willful and self-destructive species.” The bastard had the gall to tut at you as if you were some misbehaving child. As if you weren’t crisscrossed with bruises, as if your ribs weren’t cracked and your blood hadn’t stained the floor of this ship more times than you could count.

He made some unknown command and the drones set to work again. Hands touched you, pushed and prodded even as you jerked and tried to throw yourself from the table. “You should feel lucky I argued him down to at least giving you local anesthetic.” That single sentence froze you solid, barely registering the stab of a few needles, right between your shoulder blades. “From what I understand of normal humans, enough acute pain can induce cardiac arrest.” You stared at him. Unblinking as you felt the liquid numbness seep under your skin.

With lips that could barely form the words you asked, “What are you doing to me?”

If you were in any fit state, you might’ve noticed the minute hesitation in him. It would have scared you more. “There can be no more mishaps.”

Ice. Flame. Detached but not. Yet more restraints slammed you further into the table. The kiss of a scalpel was an unmistakable thing, slow and precise. Slipping through flesh almost without resistance. The drones were unmoved by your shrieking, cold and silent even as you screamed your own throat raw. They peeled you open. You felt blood run down your back, hot and thick, a mocking warmth in the frigidity of the sterile room.

Skin to fat to muscle to bone. Even with the blessing of some numbness it was like acid on a raw nerve. Parts of you never meant to meet air were subject to cruel, robotic, hands. Worse was the fact you could feel them adding things. Slipping filaments in between neurons and meat, slithering their control into your very body. They flayed you open, slow and deliberate, before whatever it was they put in you was activated and started moving of its own accord.

The Bishop’s right hand spoke one final time, “Perhaps now you both will learn how futile this was.”

Something beyond even what that damnable machine was touching cracked. He hadn’t escaped. The thought swirled around in your head like a hurricane. He didn’t escape. Some noise left you, a choke, a sob, you wanted to vomit but had nothing in your stomach to retch up. Not even after you’d begged him.

You really were never getting out of here.

Then… then the real pain started. Pain that rendered you mute. Agony beyond what a word could ever quantify. All that left you was jagged, gargling, sounds. Struck dumb, struck dead but not dying. It curled. It clawed into you. You weren’t even writhing anymore, you could feel your heart pounding behind your eyes, in your ears, down to every capillary in the farthest reaches of you. Filaments turned to fingers turned to needles. A monster, a demon of metal they put on your gaping, bloody, wound. It dug past muscle straight to nerve, right to your spine and everything splintered. Thought ceased to mean anything, time died. All there was, all you had, was hell beneath your very skin.

The Slayer didn’t even need the video feed to hear you screaming through the walls. But the auric glow in his eyes didn’t falter this time. His soul shook but his body wouldn’t answer. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. A prisoner. A pawn. A thing. Idiot. Failure. Failure. Should’ve killed them. They’d have killed her first. Maybe not. Maybe he could’ve been faster. Maybe maybe maybe. Probably not. But what if he had?

His muscles twitched and the control tether was ramped even higher, stilling him once more as your screams finally petered off into silence. Time hadn’t held any meaning to him for years, but still the small part of him that could think beyond rage counted the seconds. The Maykr’s control wasn’t perfect, it dulled everything about him down to slaughter and obedience, but there were small pockets of his mind that he could call his own even now. And all of them held their breath. You’d been quiet for too long. Quiet wasn’t good.

He couldn’t see you back in your cell. At least if you were screaming it meant you were still alive. It meant he might hear you try and speak to him again. Or sing. Hell he would even take hearing you cry over the all-consuming silence of this ship again. Your pained sobs were not a sound he liked, not in the slightest, but they told him you were at least okay enough to feel. That you hadn’t fully broken yet. That he could still save you. That he could deny your captors another soul.

The door to your cell opened and he saw you unceremoniously tossed in, body limp and lifeless. Your shirt was gone, your back a mess of carnage he couldn’t discern the details of. It boiled his blood but the tether held firm. His eyes flicked to the side of the screen as something new flickered into existence. A vital tracker. Why? It couldn’t be his, so it had to be… But why would they need to keep tabs on your vital signs?

A quiet groan broke him from his frantic thoughts and his eyes snapped to you again. You were moving! Alive! Alive! Still alive! He hadn’t failed you yet! He could still fix this. Just had to figure out how.

The bishop’s assistant threw something on you and you flinched, expecting more pain, more violation. But mercifully it was just your borrowed cloak. Or what used to be borrowed, you didn’t think Thira would want it back now, ragged and blood-spattered as it was. You barely registered moving a trembling arm to grab it, could barely feel it between your fingers as they shook. Numb. Exhausted. A cloak clutched to your bare chest was the only vague protection and comfort you could muster. Just when you thought they couldn’t rip any more dignity away from you, they throw you back into a 24/7 livestream topless and covered in blood, the bastards.

It might’ve felt at least mildly amusing to be upset about the Slayer and whoever else was monitoring the feed seeing your bare breasts if you didn’t feel like you’d been hollowed out with a dull blade. Somehow you couldn’t really feel your back, you felt the cold of the machine, the warmth of blood flow that had slowed to a tepid ooze rather than the hot flood it had been. Small mercies. You were probably in shock, you felt your heart racing, felt your chest expanding with rapid, shallow breaths, but it felt like your thoughts existed behind a pane of glass. Separate from your body.

Maybe that was a good thing, maybe the thick fog over your mind was what was keeping you from feeling everything far more acutely. It was certainly preferable to the operating table. You felt your stomach lurch just at the thought and it brought a little lucidity back to you. Just enough to hear somebody talking. It didn’t seem like they were talking to you so you paid it no mind, content to curl harder into your cloak to try and regain some warmth.

SLAYER MOVE-

Your body was alight again, every nerve ablaze from your spine outward and you convulsed. You didn’t even register screaming again until the pain stopped and you were hacking up bile onto the floor. This time your ears decided to actually comprehend what was being said.

“This will be the fruit of further rebellion, Slayer. Remember this lesson well.” It was the Bishop again, sounding so very pleased with himself. Hate. You hated him like you’d never thought you could for another living being. In the burning aftershocks of that monstrous device’s assault on your nervous system your fractured thoughts started to fade. Oblivion, unconsciousness, was so much sweeter. Forgetting for a few hours was a joyous thing if they let you sleep that long. You hoped they’d leave you alone for a while after this.

The Slayer watched you eventually go limp, vitals still active but shaky, asleep. He was fighting everything in himself to not move, not even blink too aggressively. Rage was too paltry a word for what he felt in that moment, when his hand clenched and you’d shrieked like you were dying. They had sewed your suffering together, shackled your very survival to his obedience and bet that he’d weigh one life against freedom. They’d bet on the bleeding heart they tried so vehemently to silence.

And they’d bet right. The Bishop had sneered with smug satisfaction when he had frozen, when your agony had literally stayed his hand. The perfect trap. Not his tether, not his rage, a noose to hang himself with because he couldn’t bear to see more of his people suffer, especially not at his own hand. An innocent torn from your shared home and brought into this mess because of him, the Maykr’s fear of him. They went further because he kept pushing and now look where that had landed you both.

His eyes fell toward you again, the uneven line of your heart monitor, the blood drying and flaking from your skin. He was almost happy you’d buried your face in that cloak, the undoubtedly deep shadow on your eyes and crust of tears on your face were not things his shame could take seeing at that moment. It burned. Roiled in him like snakes rearing up with fangs desperate to lash out, but he couldn’t move. Not without hurting you.

The Slayer focused his eyes on your breathing, shallow as it was, your ribs rising and falling, rising and falling. He burned the image into his mind, every inch of your agony-stricken form, every drop of blood and angry wound.

The Maykrs would pay for a great many things, sufferings untold, but your price upon them would be different. The Bishop had exacted a personal and intimate violation on you, forced him to be a part of your torment, and worst of all that monster took pleasure in it. That kind of cruelty deserved payment in kind. The Slayer felt himself start to move, to clench a hand and aim to rip through everything between him and the target of his hatred, but he saw your heart jump. The slightest hiss of pain even in your sleep stilled him again.

He would figure a way out of this, he would save you, avenge you, make the Kreed Maykr pay. Make him pay. Make him pay. Make him pay.

Sure, he has a very… overbearing of the codex but that is his belief. It is his duty; not only to his Primarch but also the Emperor himself. He will not befall them. He will not befall to chaos. He is a chaplain. Nothing lesser to be influenced.

Except by you: a serf.

You were something he couldn’t describe. Even if he had read a thousand scriptures to learn of everything possible or maybe listened to the Apothecary too much. Nothing could describe you. The one that listens to his preaching of an Ultramarine’s duty in the back of the room. The one that seems to take his attention away more often than of the Lieutenant Titus. He seemed… put off some say.

Though, to you it felt like he was judging you hardcore with those red visors of him glaring at you just like he does with the Lieutenant. The simplicity of his gaze setting your skin aflame while the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Usually, you’re not so put off by any stare that comes from a marine or anything that matches that rank, but again. Leandros is a chaplain: a warrior with higher power than a Battle-brother, Lieutenant or Captain. He has the complete right to judge you for whatever sin you may have done. Even if you haven’t done anything remotely interesting to him.

With all that staring, you begin to think you’re really in deep shit. That you have done something wrong. That you may have created a sin you didn’t know about to get the attention of the chaplain out of all Astartes. Your mind scrambling every day, every hour to find a mistake or flaw you might have made within that time period that you feel his heated gaze upon you, and you know it’s him. For others simply do not care much for you. They walk past you as they do their duty and you do yours, and that’s the only thing you can do. Is do your duty while the chaplain watches. Waiting for a mistake in you in particular. No longer eying Lieutenant Titus down…

This little thing goes on for months, and the stress of him watching you has definitely got you a couple of times: things slipping from your hands, an un-calculated step, even a bit of sleep deprivation. The red glow of his visors judging you even while you sleep. A nightmare you had woke up once or twice to, and it’s impossible not to grow a bit weary of the Chaplain after that, but how do you to avoid him when he actively seeks you out?

You’re not sure if he does it consciously or not, but other serfs tell you of his particular attention on you. Some feeling pity with others tease you greatly for it. Cooing at you and giving you playful pokes, saying “looks like you have gotten yourself a big playmate.” and “He’s following you around like a puppy!” or something along those lines. You don’t care too much for their teasing for your face is already red at their first words.

Leandros finds it a bit amusing, however. To see the other serfs teasing you about something that makes your buccaes brighten with a red-ish color. What he doesn’t think is amusing is how you seem to walk away from him now. Never attending him in his speeches anymore and that irritates him more than it logically should. He should not care if a single surf wasn’t listening to him but unfortunately? He does. It bothers the holy Emperor out of him.

“Serf.” He calls out to you. Not to the many other serfs that work around you and part when he steps forward. His armor giving a dull thud with each step he takes forward to reach you.

You, on the other hand? Wish he wasn’t calling for you. Well, he wasn’t, but it wasn’t an easy mistake to make of who he's talking to when all the other whispering and giggling serfs quickly disperse when he comes fourth with that stoic, demanding attitude of his. That gaze of his visor set on you as you turn to try and properly greet him (at most you gave him a glance before looking down at the ground.) Setting you up in all sorts of flames and tingling nerves.

“You haven’t been attending my speeches.” He says boldly, seemingly not embarrassed by what he says like any space marine, and that makes you wonder if they are not made to catch those sudden hints from loved ones that would throw to one another… Yet they can know the slightest movement of an attack?

“My lord, I’ve simply been busy.” Is what you could come up without blabbering about how he's been stalking you in your dreams too, and it's been freaking the fuck out of you. He will either take pride in that, or he will think there is something actually wrong with you.

“Taking to other serfs is not busy.” He states, shifting his weight as he tilts his helm. His hood following the motion, and you feel more judged than you had ever been. Of course he overlooks your schedule too!

“Baselines have a social need. Forgive me, my lord.” You nod at him in respect. Keeping your gaze to the floor. Most of what you’re seeing is the boot of his armor. He can’t get you for that, can he?

He shifts his weight again, folding his arms. A moment of silence going between the two of you as you think he’s pleased with that answer.

“You could have come to me.”

By all the Thrones! He was correct, you could have gone to him but what would he be able to provide besides a talk of purity? Besides that, why would you want to go to a Chaplain to discuss a potential… health matter? You rather go to the Apothecary for that. They would look at you as if its normal. He would probably look at you as if you truly did sin.

“It’s not known that a serf would go to a higher rank for a simple talk, my lord.” You pull the rank card, and this time it's the lower rank rather than a higher rank.

“…Hmm, I then commend that you talk to me rather the serfs that you play with.” He commands of you, cutting all your attempts short before simply leaving you where you stand. His steps long and calculated. Creating a faint echo.

This bastard.

Unable to reject the Chaplain himself, you attended to him rather getting comfort from the serfs as they still manage to tease you while they pass by. Confused when they say, “Looks like you’re his little serf now.”

You’re sure if this was another legion they wouldn’t be so mocking, but you ignore them. Trying to steady your heart when you come to the Chaplains’ quarters once more. Knocking on the door and waiting for his word before entering.

“My Lord?” You call out, slowing stepping in and closing the door behind you with a dull thud. Your eyes keen to find the Chaplain hidden in his quarters. “I have brought you another cloak, just as you requested?”

You don’t see him anywhere, and that confuses you when you just heard his voice seconds ago through the door. Your hands fiddling with the thick cloak in your hands. “My Lord?”

“Over here, serf.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Your eyes skimming over his quarters. Hands tightening on cloak because of your own nervousness. Only to find him by a dark wooden room divider in nothing but a loin cloth covering his manhood.

“M-My Lord!” You stammer, quickly looking away. Using the cloak as cover. Your cheeks instantly going up into flames at the sight of the Chaplain. A Chaplain that was half naked in front of you. “Y-you are not dressed!”

“This is nothing?” He sounds genuinely confused. Not comprehending what the problem was as you can hear him take a step forward. Maybe even tilting his head. Those neck muscles flexing at the simple movement- No. No romancing the Chaplain out of all the marines and people. “Are you appalled?”

“What?! N-No! My lord…” Your eyebrows rise up in surprise at his question. Daring to look over the shelter of the cloak and angle it where you only see his head, nothing else. Trying to explain yourself in a way he can understand. “It's a… respectful baseline thing! Uh… to not see another so vulnerable.”

“I am not worried if you lunge at me.” He huffs, folding his arms again. His light brown eyes narrowing at you. Displeased that you have voiced such a thing, but then again? You did say it was a ‘respectful’ thing to do for a baseline. He supposes he can let that slide…

“I wouldn’t do such a thing!” A gasp leaves your lips at the absurdness. You against him? Never! You’ll become a pile of a bloody, mauled mush! As if you wanted to be remembered like a piece of a sticky substance on the floor! “Couldn’t!”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Chaplain Leandros asks… amused? His muscles tensing as he moves forward again, right in front of you. Taking the cloak out of your nervous hands and draping it over his shoulder. His being standing proudly in front of you while you struggle on not looking at him which eases him a bit. It means truly, you weren't going to do something drastic. That perhaps… he can trust your word.

“You are dismissed… little serf.”

The next time you find him… vulnerable is more in a pleasing way. His hands covering your thighs, squeezing them. Feeling how soft the flesh of a baseline truly is as he kneels between them. Simply massaging them… for now.

“My Lord?” You question the Chaplain of what he’s doing. Looking down at him. More comfortable saying his title with how close you two had gotten. He was a surprisingly good listener… You would question on how he advises you though. Not that you would admit such… incompetence.

“The baseline flesh is soft.” Leandros, the Chaplain himself states. Seeing nothing wrong with how he does so too. Almost scientifically, logically. His eyes enraptured with how your flesh moves much more than his own battle-hardened skin. “…Squishy.”

You almost laugh at that. Amused at how clueless even Chaplains could be. I mean, Space Marines were baselines once, no? You might have to search the library or perhaps ask him of how that process is. That is if you’re able to hear of their creation that is.

“That depends on the baseline, my Lord.” You say amusingly, letting him explore the anatomy of your body. Perhaps too much that it dares to please you. “…Some are plump, some are skinny. Others are muscular and fit.”

He hums and gently squishes your outer thigh, knowing how much pressure to use. Holding briefly before letting go. Watching how your skin recolors itself from where he leaves his handprint. The blood quickly rushing back to give your skin color once more. “Does this… touching do something to you?”

Yeah, of course he’s paying attention on how your skin twitches when he skims a little too close to your inner thigh, or how your heart beats faster when you hitch your breath. By the Throne, he can probably smell your arousal.

“N-no.” You lie, and you swear he senses it with how his gaze hardens at you. At your dare- your sin you tried to do right in front of him: A Chaplain. God, this is what you chose to lie to him about? The sudden stimulation he was, quite possibly, unintentionally giving you? Oh, you should just dug yourself into a hole and put yourself in it while you had the chance.

“You lie, little serf.” He immediately calls you out. A little growl rising at the back of his throat that makes you instinctively shrink back from where you are seated: upon his bedding. Both of his hands wrapping around your thighs with ease as if they were mere sticks, squishing them with restrained warning. “You dare lie to your Chaplain?”

“N-no, my lord!” A stained stammer leaves you. Body unsure if you should lean forward, face your judgement or stay where you are and cower away from him. “It’s just- it’s just… personal, my lord. Intimate…”

“…” He stays silent for a moment, as if thoroughly processing your words that could or could not be truth. This was the only lie you had told him. He knows it… Therefore, your lie was a truth that he had caught. He was doing something “intimate” to you. “Do you find this… rousing, little serf?”

A deep blush erupts on your cheeks at his simple yet such a bold question. Eyes quickly look away from him. You know space marines are not meant for simple things. Those subjects were beyond them, and to hear it from a Chaplain was just a big ol’ bamboozle and an embarrassment.

“Answer me, little serf.” He commends of you. Squishing your thighs again that it makes you shake in both fear and excitement. You’re not sure if you could please the Chaplain of your answer however…

“Fine, do not speak.” Leandros huffs, sounding grisly that it pulls at your heart and the air from your lungs. His hands hooking around your waist and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. “I’ll play this little game of yours.”

His next sudden movements surprise you when you feel how his rough hands slide over the skin of your legs, up and down. Sending a pleasing tingle through your nerves, and you can’t help but open yourself more to him. “M-my Lord?”

“Quiet, serf.” A snap from him. A demand, and it shuts you up quickly. Knowing when to speak and knowing when not to. Yours eyes watching how he’s so… gentle with you while he explores you. Trailing the tips of his fingers up and down your body. Seemingly fascinated with how you react to his touches. How you subconsciously keen for more of his calluses palms. Hands squeezing some plump flesh here and there, even hovering over your chest. Pausing, asking for permission with his eyes, and he hums. Pleased when you move right up against him for him to freely feel and squish as he pleases.

He listens to the quiet noises that leaves your lips that you bite in order to muffle them. Eyes intently studying you. Watching every twitch and hearing every hitched breath. Learning your soft spots quickly. Teasing them, brushing his fingers over just to listen to more of those sounds he slowly gets attracted to…

Leandros needs more. More of you.

Trailing his hands back down your sides, he pauses at your thighs again before he hooks and brings you impossibly closer again. A yelp of surprise and excitement leaving you as you find yourself laying on your back. The rather luxurious fabric of his bedding more comfortable than a typical battle-brothers cot as the Chaplain leans over your abdomen. A warm exhale from him ruffling the clothing there. Your legs trapped under the strength of his arms, and it makes you realize… He could do anything to you.

“You smell sweet, little serf.” His comment didn’t fail to make you feel… impossible under his care. The thumbs of his hands digging lightly into your stomach, circling. His gaze focused on where you smell sweet from before he leans into your lap, inhaling you through the article of your clothing. The simple heat of his breath making the fabric hot and moist. A shiver running through you despite the oddity of his actions.

“My lord, are you sure?” Your voice comes out strong despite his intimate interest in your body. The nerves of your body wanting to rut into him but you stay still. Not willing to even be punished for that. Who knows what he could do to you? Pull you over his knee, squeeze your neck, make you suck-

“I know what I’m doing.” He gruffs at you. Narrowed eyes looking up at you, and truly… He looked like he was hunting you. His split-second gaze making you entranced like a prey frozen in front of a predator before he looks back down again. A hand tugging the helm of your bottom clothing to the side. Exposing you but still in the confines of your clothing.

Leandros lower himself once more. A squeak leaving you as a wet, thick heat gives a tentative lick up your slit. Eyes widening in surprise, even when knowing what was coming moments ago. Stammers leaving your mouth, not really comprehending that a Chaplain was- is eating you out. “M-my Lord!”

He groans in response, giving another lick before smothering closer. Nose poking into you. Lapping at your folds more eagerly. Arms wrapping around you as if you’ll escape him, and finds that little bundle of nerves quickly and becomes attentive to it. Sucking and lapping like a dog. Pulling all sorts of pretty sounds out of you he’s never heard before, and he likes it. He wants more of you. He wants to devour you like your some High-Lords’ meal. He wants- Throne. He just wants you. You have been in his mind like the codex itself since the day you started to attend his speeches.

“Hold me.” He suddenly demands of you, giving you a narrowed glance from below. Somehow gaining a sense that you wouldn’t touch him. Probably because he is a Chaplain. One a simple baseline like you shouldn’t touch a Son of Guilliman like him but he wants you to. You’ll be a blessing, a saint if you do. He will even call you so in times like these as he wishes to feast from you again and again. Is this how baselines… What was the word? Mate?

The Chaplain pushes that curious thought away quickly. The taste of you climaxing on his tongue that delved between your folds, exploring that little cunt of yours with a zealous fashion sending him into a different realm. A feeling perhaps? He doesn’t know what to name the feeling he’s having… High? Floating? Oh, but he definitely likes the feeling of your thighs squeezing his head. He did tell you to hold him, but he didn’t think you would do it with your legs.

“I-I’m sorry!” He hears you stammer and he’s almost confused. Why are you apologizing? Why are you opening your thighs? Not squishing him with them? “I didn’t mean to do… that so quickly.”

He pulls away slightly, licking his lips. Staring at your folds. Mind trying to recount something he might have done to make you apologize, and he comes up with nothing. He didn’t punish you. You weren’t hurt. He made sure of it. What are- He huffs, his hot breath touching your wetness. Was this a trick? To make him go away from you. To dismiss you? Abandon you?

“You will not fool me, little saint.” He growls, leaning closer again to your core. Eyes staring up at you, daring you to disobey. To lie to him again. “Give me another taste. Then, you can apologize.”

You can only gasp out as he doesn’t wait for an answer from you. His tongue diving back in for more. Your thighs going back to squeeze his head at the overstimulation that's going to come over you this blissed session. Something that you might have to teach him of…

||Tagged|| @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.||

You felt as if you’d soon fall into the latter-most camp. Frigid winds dug into you, ripping past your reinforced uniform, past furs and layered fatigues all the way to your bones. You’d stopped feeling your fingers and toes hours ago, hoping against all hope that if when you got out of this they’d still be attached. It was a disaster. This mission was supposed to be easy, you were the advance force sent to scout and plan. Nothing more, nothing less. A small detachment of the 405th company was to assess the planet and ascertain what might lay on or below its surface. You’d read the scans, knew of the bad weather, an icy death world similar to Inwit. None of the projections had been this bad.

——————

Once you’d broken into the lower atmosphere the planet unleashed hell upon you all, hailstones the size of human skulls slammed into the Thunderhawks like cannonballs. Winds buffeted the crafts, dragging them down like clawing hands toward an icy grave. And the storm largely succeeded in its goal. Two of the ships slammed into each other when their engines were pierced. Another tried to dodge the ensuing fireball and you lost sight of them in the howling squall. Your ship though, battered as it was, your pilot managed to dodge the worst of it. An engine blew and she screamed back to all of you to brace for impact. It was the last thing you remembered, the throbbing of your own heart in your ears as your eyes locked with the red helm lenses of your lord and captain.

Alexis Polux. One of Dorn’s mightiest sons. Huge, indomitable, and unshakable even then. Normally you’d draw courage from his steady presence, but in that moment you only felt cold dread and resignation. He was braced in his grav-harness, safe in his ceramite armor, safe in the knowledge that even alone he could survive the crash and find his brothers. You and your squad were not so lucky. None of you wanted to die, nobody ever did, but you couldn’t help but feel that your lord had already accepted it. Mortal lives could never mean much to Astartes, surely? Mayfly specks in their long, illustrious careers. You had no idea if he was looking back at you, no idea if he even cared to. He’d never been cruel to you or any other baseline, but lack of vitriol was not the presence of comfort.

He was the last thing you saw before the impact cast your consciousness into darkness. Tall and bright even amidst the blaring alarms. For a split second you thought of a sunflower.

The next thing you remembered was a gasping, frigid, breath that tasted of soot and blood. The alarm light flickered weakly amongst the flames of the wreck you were still miraculously alive within. Somehow. Your ears rang, vision foggy and spinning, it was more instinct than conscious choice that pulled the harness from your chest and let you drop to the floor. Coughs ripped from your throat as you struggled from the troop compartment.

You’d seen bodies, blood on the floor and walls. “Rahbia! Ansel!” No-one answered your call. “Anyone! Sound off!” Please. It wasn’t a voice that answered but instead a massive hand grasping you by the scruff and yanking you forward as a teetering slab of wing groaned and fell, flattening the spot where you’d been sitting. “Captain Polux,” you threw a shaky salute as he set you back down. Unsurprisingly he stood unharmed, some minor damage to his armor aside. Quickly he started picking through the wreckage, arming himself with what undamaged weapons and ammo he could find. Casting a glance at the slowly burning and collapsing Thunderhawk you thought better of inquiring about other survivors and got to work yourself wresting what you could from fallen comrades.

Doubled jacket and pants, layered balaclavas under your helmet, you had all been equipped in standard cold-weather gear, but this was clearly not standard cold weather. As you shouldered your pack, yellow filled your vision again. “The nearest crash site is 9 kilometers south-south-west of here, we must move quickly to regroup with the others and establish communications with the Eternal Crusader.” He left no room to argue, simply turning and marching through the pounding sleet and snow. Not that you were going to argue in the first place.

———————

The both of you had been trudging for hours, you at first keeping up well enough but slowly flagging as the trek stretched longer and longer. What meager light from the planet’s sun that pierced the clouds became weaker and your eyes strained to keep sight of what was ahead of you. You just followed the bright yellow of Captain Polux’s armor, stumbling through the deep furrow he cut through the snow. If you’d been back on Inwit you might’ve giggled with Rahbia that your lords were like a herd of bipedal snowplows or breaker ships, pushing through the rime with little effort and allowing safer passage for their smaller charges. Now that humor was bitter in your throat. Even through all your layers, pilfered and not, you knew your legs were soaked and freezing, kept barely above hypothermia through exertion alone.

The auspex equipment on your back pinged and instantly you pulled the scope from its compartment to read its data. You were only about halfway to the point Polux had indicated, but a few hundred meters to your left the auspex had identified a stable structure. Some semi-permanent burrow, it looked like. Your heart buoyed a bit, perhaps you could find shelter there, wait out the worst of the storm as night made the bitter cold even deeper and winds fiercer. “My lord,” you shouted over the squall, “there is possible shelter close! We could-“

Without even turning or breaking stride he responded, “shelter is irrelevant, reaching our objective takes priority, we have crossed the halfway point and can make the journey tonight.” The underlying implication was clear. Soldier on as he did or risk abandonment, and abandonment meant unavoidable death. You put away the auspex, shouldering your pack higher and trying to clench your teeth to stop their chattering. All in vain. You were freezing to death, you would freeze before you made it to the rendezvous point.

Again your eyes locked on the yellow of his armor, vast and imposing, but even now it stoked a tiny flame in you. Not the inscrutable gold of the Emperor, not even the burnished bronze of his gene-sire, it was simply yellow. Worn by anyone else than those towering warriors it was a cheerful color, the color of sunlight, budding spring.

Sunflowers.

Your shaking hand rubbed at your shoulder. It had made a few comrades laugh at you, playfully ribbing you for being something of a romantic. A tattoo of a sunflower. A closely guarded bit of saccharine hope where others would abandon it. Tall, bright, always facing up to the sun, toward a brighter future. Others had joined it. A small bunch of roses on your thigh, Ansel had had one pressed in the pages of a ratty little journal. Bursts of hydrangea bushels on your other arm, Rahbia looked at them sometimes in a daze remembering the home that had burned so long ago. Your skin was a garden you’d planted their memories in, both for yourself and for them.

Still following behind your lord, slowly, slowly lagging further behind, your brain zeroed in on a sensation. Less a sound and more the tremor flowing up from your feet. Still it felt like it rang in your ears like a gunshot as your foot planted, following the servitor-like rhythm you’d adopted. Crack. You felt your foot sink lower than it should’ve. Crack. Time crawled to a halt as you slid the boot forward, cutting a little window through the snow. Ice. You were standing on ice. You were walking behind more than 500kg of man and machine on ice.

There wasn’t even time to call out before you plunged downward. The shock of the water, the sudden jarring silence, it was oddly peaceful for a moment. Didn’t some people say that as they were dying it all just seemed to slip away? Your body couldn’t bear to move. Couldn’t even begin to try. Why not just close your eyes and let it happen? Polux would be better off without you slowing him down. Infinitely replaceable, replicable, everyone who would miss you died on the thunderhawk or years ago. He ought to leave you.

He should, his thoughts had echoed your own. But he didn’t. The second he’d heard the ice crack he’d whirled around, seeing you disappear below the surface, down into the inky waters. He should’ve kept walking. Tallied you amongst the dead and moved forward. Should’ve. His hand had plunged into the water after you, fisting the harness of your pack and hauling you upward. He remembered hot blood dripping from frozen fingers, slicking his already failing hold, Helias’ rueful look as he’d loosened his grip. Down he fell into the dark, because of him. Many things he had lost in his long life, many people, none he regretted more than the brother he’d been too weak to lift. He was not the scared, wounded, boy he was then, this was a fate he could change. A loss he could prevent.

Finding every body in that wreckage had felt like hot lead in his chest. Those were people who trusted him implicitly, depended upon him, served with tenacity and distinction to protect their people and bring pride to his legion. Loss was inevitable, it would not stop him, but it weighed. Yours more so than most, though he couldn’t adequately explain why. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he could remember the warmth and excitement on your face when you showed off new tattoos to your squad, or when he’d seen you carefully brush snow away from a few scant but tenacious buds near the fortress. He was certain those flowers had appeared on your skin somewhere not long after.

You’d been under the ice for less than a minute, but when Polux dragged you to the surface you were barely conscious. His auspex still pinged faintly with your heartbeat, thermal scans weak and fading. The tiny rise and fall of your heartbeat in the corner of his eye grounded him as he raced toward the shelter you’d identified. He tucked you to his chest, shielding you from the wind with his bulk but not so tight as to cool you further against his plastron.

As you both approached the structure, a stand of gnarled but surviving trees surrounding it made the flame of hope in his breast burn a little brighter. Greenery, even rough as this, meant they’d created a pocket warm enough to survive in, and the snow-covered burrow within would be warmer still. He transferred you to one arm, digging the other through the snow and reaching the hollow space within. Upon closer inspection his auspex identified that it was a natural rock hollow, reinforced with fur and boughs, now buried under powder snow. It was significantly warmer. Whatever might’ve lived there wasn’t present, but if it did return, Polux was more than confident he could remove it permanently.

Struggling to fit his bulk through the entrance was difficult, but if anything, the wide wall of his form would simply provide more protection in the space. It was large enough for you both, with a small amount of leeway in all directions as long as he didn’t fully stand. Seeing the floor was blessedly free of snow and ice, he laid you down and set to reinforcing the entrance. It was rote repetition, every child of Inwit knew how to construct and maintain an ice shelter such as this. Once he was satisfied the wind wouldn’t tear through the entry hole he turned to you and assessed your condition.

Still woefully cold and vulnerable even as the insulated space around you became more tolerable with his power pack running. Clothes soaked, muscles stiffening, you were still racked with meager shivers. That at least was a good sign. Quickly a plan formulated in his mind and his hands found the quick releases for his armor. Self-sufficiency was paramount for any Astartes but the Imperial Fists especially. In situations such as this or in times of heavy external damage, being able to remove their battle plate solo was an uncommon boon.

Your breathing was ragged and quick, but out of the water and wind you were starting to get more coherent. The sound of the blizzard was muted and the air still. A few loud clunks plucked harder at your sluggish mind. What could all that racket be? you were supposed to be busy drowning to death, who was making so much noise? Why could you even hear it at all? Almost blistering heat touched your chest and you flinched, well as much as you could flinch with your frost-stiffened muscles. The heat chased you, tugging and pulling at your soaked uniform and pack, peeling away the frigid layers until you were in your sopping undergarments. It paused then, only for a moment, before those went as well.

Alexis chided himself for even that small moment of hesitation, your possible embarrassment at being seen undressed before a superior was of little consequence in this situation, but he couldn’t help it. Even after his ascension to a full-fledged Astartes, little glimpses of the shy boy he once was peeked through. A body was a body, no more no less, even a female one like yours that he was far less familiar with. Actually, if he were entirely honest with himself, it was less the bare skin that had stopped him and instead what was on it. A veritable cornucopia of flowers, grasses, trees, fruits, every bountiful child of spring and summer adorned your body.

The largest of them was a bushel of… he is fairly certain they were called sunflowers, on your right shoulder. Holding their stems was an armored hand and twined between was an oddly familiar branch of laurels. A strange feeling twisted in his chest. He shook his head. These thoughts were unimportant. He had stripped himself as well, his armor forming a wall at the entrance and his power pack growling quietly on low to provide yet more warmth. Slowly he watched you shiver and shake back to a slightly healthier color, still paler than he’d ever seen you. The quickest way to warm you throughly would be skin-to-skin contact, Astartes bodies ran almost legendarily warm, even without their armor they could survive temperatures like this with little issue.

When you wiggled and groaned quietly as he moved you once more, shuffling his shed body-glove under you, he was once again impressed by your fortitude. “Forgive the indecency, Lieutenant,” he mumbled. You of course, didn’t answer, instead more shivers wracked your frame as be curled around you, pressing your back to his chest and caging you in amidst his arms. Instantly you dug yourself as deep as you could into the embrace, not even thinking as you tucked your hands into his and your feet between his thighs. The near-violent shaking of your frame was yet more encouragement, muscles loosening and gaining energy enough to shiver and warm themselves from the inside.

To you, it was almost uncomfortable but heavenly. Perhaps you had actually died and as forgiveness for the frigid death you were being welcomed to the afterlife with obscene warmth. As your body began to heat up and the shivers started subsiding your sluggish brain started to catch up and start perceiving things again. Your eyes peeled open, seeing the rock, snow, and pine needles of the floor and walls. Shelter of some kind. There was very little light, looking around you saw your helmet lumen on, and next to it was a ceramite helm, its lumen also gleaming lowly. For a moment your eyes darted around more until your mind finally chugged to life enough to catch onto that detail.

A ceramite helmet. A yellow ceramite helmet. Reality sharpened all at once for a moment and your eyes slammed downward to see two massive arms around you, hands big enough to encircle your whole waist cocooning your own. The arms were scarred, dotted with neural ports, coarse blond hair covered what wasn’t already occupied by cicatrix. You could feel the powerful dual heartbeats against your back, the massive chest you were pressed against expanding like forge bellows as he breathed. Exactly who was holding you was no mystery even to your addled, panicking, brain, but still it seemed inconceivable. Surely this couldn’t be real.

A small, stuttering, breath shook through your chest, and more mortification doused you. Your chest pressed against his arms as you inhaled. Your bare chest. Even if you didn’t think this was real, the very idea of having your breasts pressed against your lord was so cosmically wrong, inexcusable even. When you wiggled against him, his grip only tightened, pressing you deeper into him and even curling his legs to cocoon you more. A little bleat of protest warbled out of your throat and you felt him huff.

Alexis Polux had a very nice voice, not that you’d ever told him as much or would ever do so. Astartes almost without fail had deep, rumbling, voices, undoubtably on account of their enhanced size and physiology. Like anyone else though there was always different qualities to each of them. Pitch, timbre, roughness or smoothness. Polux did, fittingly have a powerful, bass, tone when he spoke, but paradoxically it was… quiet. If you were insane you might even call it soft, or, Emeperor forbid it, shy. Still as he spoke, he commanded your attention as he always did.

“Cease your struggling at once, Lieutenant. You were dangerously close to hypothermia, this was the quickest way to avert it.” You knew that, of course you did. It was basic survival taught on an ice world from Inwit to Fenris and any between or beyond. What you didn’t understand was why he was doing it at all. He spoke again after a moment, sounding a little hesitant, “To my understanding, women are not fond of being seen nude by men. I apologize, but it was necessary.” It was like you were struck daft by what he said, you almost laughed at it even. He thought you were embarrassed. He was worried he had shamed you and that was why you were wiggling away from him.

Well he wasn’t exactly wrong, you felt heat crawl up to your ears now that your body had the wherewithal to do so. It was embarrassing to not only be seen but touched by your superior while naked, but it was purely utilitarian. As far as you knew, Astartes had no such proclivities for things like lust or romance, or at the very least they hid it well. The idea of Alexis Polux trying to get an eyeful for his own gratification, especially in this situation, did in fact drive a shaky laugh from your lips. Coughing lightly between words you finally answered, “I’m not worried about that, my lord, I’m just… a little confused is all.”

You were quiet for a while, both contemplating in silence. In all honesty he still couldn’t rationalize to himself why he had done this, but it felt right in the moment and it felt right now. Once again that strange feeling in his chest bloomed, looking down at you buried in his—for lack of a better word—embrace. It felt odd to hold you, good, but odd. He could not pinpoint why it felt good, so he had little with which to assuage your confusion. So he simply didn’t. “Your tattoos are quite numerous.”

His blunt statement hung in the air for a moment and you floundered a bit trying to figure out what exactly he meant with it. You stammered a response, “I- um- I suppose they are, my lord.” Once again, silence consumed your little pocket of warmth. Unable to bear it, you continued on, “They’re mostly flowers, ones I’ve seen throughout my travels in the militarum… You must think it frivolous.” Yet more silence answered you and you almost started jabbering again until his arms moved, readjusting his hold on you.

Then he spoke, “The ones on your chest are from Inwit.” It was a statement, not a question. And a correct one at that. Over your heart were the curved petals of white and yellow lilies, the ones you’d found at the fortress stubbornly peaking above the sparse snowmelt.

Your heart thudded painfully for a moment. “They are. All of my tattoos mean something or another to me.” He hummed deep in his chest and you took it as an invitation to keep speaking. “Climbing roses for Ansel, hydrangeas for Rhabia, there’s a stargazer on my back from an old old friend.” You explained a few more, lavender, willow branches, a daisy at your ankle.

Eventually he piped up again, “and on your shoulder?” Each of them had a person associated with it, he figured that one was the same, and it was so prominent. Given neither of you were leaving anytime soon, he was inclined to indulge his idle curiosity. You sputtered at the question though, stammering, voice hitching as you danced around an answer. Embarassing you further was not his intent, simply keeping you cognizant and awake enough for him to make sure your health was improving.

You on the other hand were panicking again, you had kind of hoped he wouldn’t ask about that one specifically. It was too obvious. Too on the nose. Especially if he had somehow noticed when you got it, right after your squad had been assigned to his service. Tall, stalwart, face turned resolutely to the sun, what was normally a clenched ceramite fist made to more gently grasp the stems, and the laurel leaves. It was far far too obvious. The sentiment of your little association of flowers to your lords wasn’t all that and made Rahbia laugh at you, it was the details that showed exactly who you thought of the most. Instead you deflected his question, “Those were just the first ones I got,” a complete lie, “it hadn’t become a theme yet. The ones on my chest are called avalanche lilies though. They’re the ones I found on Inwit.”

Mentally you patted yourself on the back for managing all of that without stuttering. “They bloom in snowmelt, even on Inwit somehow.”

Polux considered your statement along with the memory of you stooped in the snow taking a pict of the flowers. Something so small and delicate having the tenacity to grow and thrive even in such a harsh environment. Like you did. Again his mind was knocked off kilter by an unbidden thought. It seemed to be happening more and more often with you. Not just now, but day to day. It was why he even stopped to watch you admire the lilies in the first place. It should’ve alarmed him, how easily you seemed to snag his attention, but it didn’t. You had never been anything but kind to him and others. Sharing easy smiles where you could, and turning your eyes to him whenever he was around. He couldn’t describe how you looked at him, but it made him feel warm.

Your voice, meek almost to the point of whispering, broke him from his reverie. “Captain, why did you save me?” He felt how much more relaxed you were now, warm and assured of your protection but questioning why it was there at all. Your heart was slowing from its previous frantic pace, realizing you weren’t on the brink of death anymore and wouldn’t be for some time. Why did he save you?

I don’t know why I did it, I just did. It was the only explanation he had and he found it woefully inadequate. Imperial Fists were pragmatic, stoic, goal-oriented, and stubborn to a fault. He should not have been swayed from his mission to regroup with his surviving brothers, this was an unjustified use of time and energy. But he didn’t want to move, didn’t want to surrender the hold he had on you and the knowledge that you could not freeze to death so long as you were pressed close to his chest.

When he finally moved to answer, even if it would’ve been to just deflect your query again, he stopped short. Your head had fallen onto his bicep, quiet breaths and a slow, steady, heartbeat were the only sounds you made. Ah, you’d fallen asleep. It was only understandable after what had happened, your adrenaline-fueled stamina could only take you so far. Still, a feeling of pride wiggled between his hearts that you felt safe enough to fall asleep in his presence, pressed to him like this.

Moving to readjust his hold he was frozen by you moving again, your tiny hand grasping at his, fingers slotting between his own as best they could and squeezing. For a moment he thought he’d woken you, but now, when he glanced down your eyes were still closed, face and hair a mess but at peace. So why had you- A single word from your lips shattered his thoughts.

“Alexis…”

His hearts seized. The warmth he was becoming alarmingly familiar with not bubbling but bursting in his chest. He felt his face flush, his fingers itched to encircle yours again. It had been his plan to give you some space in your sleep, but now he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he pulled you closer again, hearing you sigh and ease against him.

“I am here, Lieutenant.” You couldn’t hear him. He knew you couldn’t, but something in him demanded it be said. An oath sworn, even if you weren’t conscious of it. After all of this, after you had fought so long, he would not see your garden crushed. He couldn’t bear to, even if he had no idea why. It had no explanation, but he also didn’t feel the need to find one. No, what he really wanted he tucked away for later. Much much later.

Why had you lied to him about the sunflowers? Perhaps one day you would tell him why they mattered enough to warrant such a thing.

First he needed to get you home.

"Of course, Small One. I don't see the harm."

"What... were you like before...?" Before he was Honored.

"I was wreckless. Foolish. In my early days I talked back to my superiors - scolded by the Chaplain nearly every day, I rushed face first into danger, I did not care about tactics - honestly its a miracle I lasted as long as I did."

"Really? But you seem so polite and wise now."

"Yes," He muses. "-due to the men I was assigned with. My brothers who sought me straight, don't get me wrong there was a time I butt heads with them constantly but if it weren't for them... I wouldn't be here before you today."

"What happened to them?"

"All dead. Except brother Alum, he's over there on the other side of that wall. If he ever wakes from his slumber in your lifetime I'll make sure to introduce him to you." You turn to look over to the wall of resting dreadnoughts, your eyes do find Alum and stare at him for a lingering moment of time.

"...what did you physically look like?" The sudden question does take him off guard but he honestly tries to remember.

"I was... blonde, I think. Same stature as the Captain, maybe a little taller. I was apart of the Vanguard. I'd lost sight in my right eye due to a Tyranid assault." He pauses. "Why do you ask?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to see if I could put a face to you is all, my Honored Lord - I apologize if that's rude."

A face, hm? Strange.

"No offense taken, Little One."

It was clear you were finishing cleaning, he lets out a draw of relief as he sense no dust gathered on him now. You set down your brush and sit back down onto the palm of his metal hand, leaning against his slightly curled fingers to further relax.

You looked... delicate. In your time of your visits he's learned how not tread carefully not to harm you, after all the power in his claws alone have crush many towering heretical beast and quite effortlessly. But these same claws now caddled you, held you safely. And you never showed any fear - pressed your face into the metal as if it were the fluffiest of pillow.

He... wishes he could actually feel what your touch feels like. It's inappropriate, he knows, but... he imagines your skin to be so soft. He appreciates and honors his position but sometimes, and even more often these days, how he wished he wasn't trapped inside such box.

Sometimes he sees his younger brothers out with their Serfs, out about so causally, relations clear of those outside of just ordinary master and servant. One if physicality. It was against the Codex but... some of even the most devote of it's followers seemed to turn a blind eye to that part - back when Calin was in the flesh he was no stranger to it either, he had many men, women, and sometimes even both at a time in his quarters. But that was a thousand years ago, so long he doesn't even remember what such was even like but he does know he did enjoy it. Not just for the physical pleasure of it but sometimes... just...

...maybe it was for the best if he just forgot such a thing. It was past him now.

He won't deny there's a jealousy. See his brothers with their partners, seriously committed or not. It comes from loneliness, perhaps. For someone of his status he should be above all of that, he was Honored after all. Matters of the flesh shouldn't concern him, he is there to be a beacon, a source of inspiration, a guide to brothers lost and giver of wisdom.

But looking at you he sometimes feels guilty, thoughts coming across that he shouldn't have. How he wishes he could be in the flesh again to touch you, hold you, kiss you, share with you every ounce of appreciation he has for what you have done for him.

Sometimes, when he sees you and Titus together, the Captain sometimes comes to gather you for one duty or another after you have done your cleaning rites upon him just how... soft and tender that boy looks at you. So fixated. Patient. Not the look of a master to his Serf; but of a man to his beloved. Be told he didn't know the truth of the nature of your relationship with the Captain, a part of him dreads to hear your answer, so he never brings such a topic up. Just lets it ebb in the back of his mind to never to voiced - he winces in his non existent stomach every time the Captain's name is brought up.

"My Lord is something wrong?" He winces as you ask. You look up at him, head still up against his sqaure fingers.

"No... I'm just... worried about my sleep still."

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I wish I could help."

"It's alright, Little One. I appreciate what you do." You softly hum with a sigh, but you still looking him.

"You're staring." He's taken back.

"I can not stare, Little One. May you have not realized I have no eyes?"

"Not literally. I know how your sight works, your presence... I can feel it. So you're staring, my Lord."

It was true, though admittedly it's not something he can control, what he sees is everything around him to a certain distance. To a mortal such a thing would be overwhelming but to someone such as a Honored Brother you grow to learn to focus one thing at a time. And when you're around that tends to be you, so yes. He is staring. But he also respects your desires.

"I can stop if you'd like." There's a tile in the ceiling that's off centered, he could stare at that, even if slightly annoying to do so. Damn Mechanicus going on and on about the undesirables of the flesh and superior technological replacements yet can't fix a damn tile.

"No, I don't mind. I just didn't know if you knew."

"I'm afraid I can't help it, you're very interesting, Little One." Then be thinks how that sounds and goes to correct himself but is stopped by your giggling.

"I find you interesting too, my Lord." Your hand slowly reaches out to curl around one of his fingers, you smile bright at him. You look so... he can't help but speak out of turn.

"Brother Titus is one lucky man." Your look at him fades confused with a head tilt.

"Honored Lords don't usually get Serfs so-"

"That's - not what I meant."

It takes you a moment but you piece things together. "Oh."

You look at him, then yourself, he already deeply regretful of his uncontrolled words but you look back to him and keep the conversation going. "I wasn't aware Dreadnoughts could still-"

"It's... complicated. Look, (Name), I apologize, this was a deep inappropriate subject I shouldn't have-"

"Do you have interest in me, Lord Calin?"

He's made speechless. You still look at him, not a hint of fear or disgust in your eyes, you just patiently await his response. His response he doesn't know how to push out.

"Not - not if you're feeling pressured to just because-"

"I'm not being pressured. Honestly? I really appreciate our time together, our talks, I never thought that... I always thought shame upon myself for such feelings I thought unattainable."

What?

"I'll ask again; do you have interest in me Lord Calin?"

He's left hesitant. One word is all it would take. He thinks of his position, he should say no but - as a man, the man he once was...

"I really do."

And that's how you got here.

You looked up at him, right at his Name Plating, from under half lidded eyes as you lean back into the joints of his fingers and surface of his palm. Your hand moves slow, deliberately so, down your chest, your stomach, right now to the belt around your waist that held your robes. Slowly you undo it and push it off to fall down to the far ground below. Your hands clutch the blue silky material, bundling them and tugging them up past your thighs.

Your thighs, they were so... divine looking, as if they were sculpted but the Emperor himself.

Your hand finds at your upper groin, covered by undergarments - garments that were soiled with interest - garments that you antagonizingly pull off to the side with an open bow of your legs so that you may show yourself off to the Honored Lord. Your fingers are delicate as they wrap around yourself, caressing and toying with your sex. You let out a soft moan as you indulge yourself.

"Lord Calin," You make through playing fingers. "-does this please you?"

"Very much." That a complete understatement.

You continue working yourself under his approving scan, he watches as your chest heaves in and out, how sometimes you stop looking up at him just to let out your pleasure in such genuine gasps.

He can't help but to move his thumb, catching you off guard for a moment before looking down and seeing the square metal caught on the edge of your robes - his silent request clear.

He wanted to see you completely bare.

You were like a complete work of art. Nothing artisans could even attempt could ever capture how beautiful you looked. You fuck yourself so open, fingers deep in your own hole, begging and crying nothing but his name from your lips. The palm of his hand was like a stage and you only performed for him. You look up at him with tear rimmed eyes.

"My Lord," your hands remove out of yourself to raise up to him. Your own desires clear.

He debates within himself, you on your own was one thing but... he didn't wish to accidentally hurt you. But... you are impossible to say no to.

With his thumb he carefully inches down to rest on your stomach, holding it still. Again oh how he wished for flesh to feel you. You curl yourself, your lips grazing against the cold of his metal, provided non felt kisses all over but inside... inside his dead heart skipped several beats. Then your kisses turn into slow laps of your tongue.

"Oh, Little One..."

"Feel me." Oh how he wished he could. But he'll do his best.

Your body squirms and writhes in his palm the more and more his large thumb presses and gently as he could rubs your lower body. Your hips snap and you sing so sweetly, sweeter than he could've ever possibly imagined, as you hump and grind against the metal. You leaked so much arousal, so much, while he couldn't physically feel it he could sense it just as clear as he could the dust - but unlike it he wishes to never have it cleaned off, to have your presence with him until the day the Emperor decides to take him by his side.

Your arms wrap around the thumb too, your limbs so tiny, you peek your head put from the side with tears streaming down your face and choked out pleas for him to go even fast from your lips.

"Oh, Little One, how I wish I could. I don't wish to harm you." He was afraid this was already pushing it to begin with.

"-Calin!" You sob out for him.

...maybe he could go a tad bit faster.

Your whole body vibrates. Your nails scratch loud against metal. The thrusts you make into his thumb only desperate. More and more and more and more until you're on the brink of the edge. He watches as your eyes roll back and with one violent thrash your spent drips down the large surface of his palm and onto the ground in tiny droplets. You fall stalk still, your bones left you.

With a whine his thumb leaves you and his hand slowly inches up so that he could further see you. A quick scan diagnostic confirming you are okay, just fucked out. But you look up at him, so small, so breathless. Carefully, another finger curls to the side of your head, which you immediately lean on for support and nuzzle against.

"My Lord," Dreamily you sigh out. A sound forever recorded in his memory.

It takes a moment but before he realizes it your up on your knees, arms lazily motioning to hold you further up. He's confused by the request but does comply, complying until he has you up directly in from of his Name Plating.

"(Nam-" He's caught off guard by the kiss you pep right onto it - right on his name directly. If he still had a functional face he'd be red.

"(Na-" You pep another one. And another and another until your final kiss is more slow and tender. You fall back on your knees, your eyes soft at him. Your hands delicately tracing the sides of the Plate.

"Is there... anyway I could make you feel good?"

...

"You don't have to-"

"But I want to." Your fingers of your right hand caught on the underside of the Plate, at the latch of the door, like you already knew.

"...what you see in there will be ugly." Even though he hasn't obviously seen what's inside of himself to know.

"I don't mind."

He sighs, giving it long thought.

"Very well."

The mangled remains that held onto his brain had no feeling, it was nothing but an empty husk. You didn't touch it on his request, which he greatly appreciates, and instead your fingers lightly trace the upper wires of the cockpit.

"Don't tug them out, just... wiggle them."

These wires were the most sensitive part of a Dreadnought's being, these wires provided the closet thing that could be considered like human 'touch'. Maybe awkward stories of newly apprenticed Mechanicus not knowing what they're doing with these exact wires are how it is known about Dreadnought... 'releases.' It was the closest thing to pleasure Honored Brothers could feel but the act of a Brother asking for such... treatment is very rare giving how embarrassing it can be. Plus the amount of... aftercare it'd take.

You're careful with how you handle them, your fingers looping around some but never provided enough force to actually pull them out. Instead you just play with them.

It makes his motherboards hot. Faulty system warnings scroll by but it was nothing to actually work about. Sparks zap through his every limb. His joints lock and release repeatedly. He couldn't really explain in human terms why it felt good - it just did. And you made him feel this way. This good.

Deep down he tries to reimagine it, recontextualize it. That he is not inside this hulking box, he is back in Astarte flesh. He is with you and laying you down on his bed. They will be still be a size difference but a manageable one. He will kiss you, tenderly make his love you know as he kisses down your every crevice. And you will make yours known - softly cooing to him as you are right now but instead of wires it's his cock you're gently treating in your hand.

He imagines being on his back, you so small in the crook of his side as you pump him. He imagines kissing you with a hand in your hair, moaning how good you're treating him into the love of your lips. You treat him so well. You'd be so small straddling his hips and struggling to take him hole, but you would, you promise that you will. And you'll be so warm and-

You squeeze two wires together that gets a barreling moan from him. His circuits light a figurative blaze.

"That good?" You ask, leaning in and actually licking the thick plastic coating of the wires.

Oh by the Throne your mouth would be so heavenly on his cock. So wet. Warm. He can see you gagging but still managing to look up at him at the same time.

Your fingers continue to work into him and the more and more warning flashes appear on his internal screen but the more he gets lost in the sparks and heat the more he gets lost in his own desired fantasies. He need more. More. Please, give him more, he hasn't felt this way in so long and he's so glad that it's with you! Please, please, please, please, please, please-

The only announcement that it's happening is the earth shaking noise that he makes that crackles half distorted through his voicebox, then the floodgates open.

So much oil. So much leaks out of every single crevice on his lower half that it creates an actual hazzard spilling onto the ground below, so much that it floods out of the Holy Honored room and out no doubt to the other compartments of the Barge below.

He makes gasping sounds, even if he doesn't need air. Warnings still flash and his fuel capacity it marked as dangerous low but he couldn't give such a damn. He laughs, genuinely laughs. You have already shut the latch door to his Plating but he can't help but to hold up up even closer, his best attempt at a loving embrace. Oh and how he still wishes to kiss you.

The afterglow is sweet, even if it doesn't last long as realities crash back in. He holds you back.

"Put your clothing back on, Adeptus Mechanicus or some of brothers are surely on their way. I wouldn't want them to see you in such a vulnerable state."

You look down at yourself, almost as if you forgot you were nude. Luckily your robes weren't thrown to the ground that now had become an ocean - same couldn't be said of your belt however. You quickly change into them.

"Thank you, my Lord." Back to formalities... perhaps it was only correct. What happened here-

"My Lord, I enjoyed that greatly." You then add. "Did... you as well?"

A lump knots in his non existent throat as you looks at you, you were still dazed, still looking like a dream. "I did very much."

You smile, telling him how pleased to here that made you. But before anything else could be said comes in the expected rush through the entrance.

"By the Omnissiah!" Routes out an elderly Magos, her face entirely technologically replaced but her voice still crone and wryly. She was joined by two of his tech-marine brothers. "What happened here?"

You look at Calin for an excuse, the sheer volume of embarrassment of previous actions setting in. You did do so in a room full of his slumbering brothers and you could've been caught much earlier, it was miracle you both were only done so when finished.

"(Name) was performing my dustual rites and one of my piping components accidentally bust. Caught off kilter, I believe."

The Magos huffs, stirring the oil spill back with her technical staff. Through lensed eyes she looks up and sees you.

"That's the Captain's, is it not?" He wasn't a fan of the word choice 'it.'

"They are Captain Titus' Serf, yes."

"Well he has been looking for it." She points at you. "You are expected back on his Thunderhawk, the Captain has important business to attend to and shouldn't have to be distracted with 'Serfly' dutiful matters. You should be with him and not keeping yourself busy with Mechanicus work. You are bothering the Honored Lord."

You turn hesitantly over to him, the Magos' words clearly hurting you. "My... apologies, my Lord."

He is about to reassured you but you have already turned to start to make your descent. He hurries to recapture movement in his motors that thar he may set you down on the ground where they're is less oil. You give him one more look before bowing and turning away.

"I'll see you again!" You've already left.

If he could taste there would be a sour one in his mouth, he steps back into his alcove and sighs. Loneliness already settling back in as below are nothing but Mechanicus drivel. He's back alone with his thoughts. But they still held you, he holds them fondly as his machine body is work on. Maybe it didn't have to be that bad, he thinks. Surely you wouldn't be gone that long. And in the meantime he can think over what to say the next time you two meet... you can talk about what happened and maybe... he can be honest about his feelings about you. Yes, yes that would be excellent.

And for the first time in a long time he feels drowsy. Calm. Warm feeling. He can feel his joints relax, his screws loosen, his thoughts slow. For the first time in a very long time he feels he can sleep.

Little did Honored Brother Calin knows - when he wakes it'd be centuries after you're long gone.