PluTea

For a time, Dorn allowed himself to feel the energetic anticipation of discovering a solution to the long held cloud that had been growing slowly in his mind over the past decade.

It was this initial optimism which had led him to blurt out his discovery to you all those weeks ago. But your reaction was like an ice bucket to his hopes.

The expression in your eyes would be something he would hold within himself for the rest of his days. You looked at him with such horror— such betrayal, that the worst part of himself that he wished he had killed long ago, was pushed to the surface: His primarch-driven hubris. And like a fool, he had believed it possible to convince you to his side:

“You…” Such a small, defeated voice arose from you as you shakily removed yourself from him. Dorn felt his hearts seize at your separation. Outwardly he remained composed, yet his eyes seemed to waver at your expression. “...Your arrogance knows no bounds.” It was said through trembling lips as you clumsily rose to your feet and began to collect your clothes.

He was up and out of the water before either of you could really process it. “I do not understand you,” His voice roughed with barely controlled anger.

You were hunched over as you grabbed your belongings. “–And you never seemed to want to!”

Dorn's nostrils flared and his lips thinned at your retort. Could you not see it? He may have solved the greatest deficiency for mankind and you selfishly withheld your gratitud. Instead, choosing pointless grandstanding and your petty pride to rule over logic.

In the quieter moments following that day, Dorn had wished that his first instinct was not to go on the defensive, but it was his very nature, his modus operandi, to reinforce his position. To keep pushing until the enemy surrendered. To point out others' flawed path. Yet in this case, it only served to reveal his greatest shortcomings.

Clenching his fists and stepping out of the pool Rogal tried to catch your eye. “Did you always plan on growing old? Did you expect me to just watch you slowly wither away and die?” His voice was accusatory, further digging his grave and prying open his biggest fear. Don't. Don't leave me here alone.

Not looking at him, you walked to the exit, you had forgotten your sandals in your haste and your bare feet echoed loudly at your quick exit. You wanted to leave. You needed to escape this situation. You needed to escape him. The back of your eyes burned and your throat tightened as you tried to hold back the grief.

“I refuse to live a life where each passing year I slowly lose more of my humanity. I thought you would finally understand that!” You couldn't keep your sobs at bay any longer.

Rogal needed only to take a few long strides to block your exit. You glared at his bare abdomen, not daring to look into his eyes.

“You do not get to run from me.” In his heart he knew his tone was only further pushing you away. But that darkness, that deep seated possessive cloud always floating near him, was growing, every precious, terrifying second you wished to flee from him.

“I have said all I needed to. You're the one who can't let this go!”

He gritted his teeth, crouching down to one knee, he grabbed your arms in a firm hold. It took every ounce of his willpower to not shatter your bones in his desperation to keep you from fleeing.

He could almost feel the proverbial guillotine bladr rising to the top.

“Would you be so cold— so selfish, as to abandon me to an existence without you?”

He felt you stiffen in his arms, but still he kept pushing, the rope holding onto the blade tightened. You needed to understand, you had to.

“I refuse to sit back and watch you wither away simply because of your damnable pride,”

He had seen how your eyes had widened and your breath still, and without fully comprehending it, Dorn allowed the blade to fall:

“Were you foolish enough to even think you had a choice in the matter?”

Dorn blinked at the memory, and his shoulders sagged just the slightest when he recalled how you went lax in his arms. Your gaze became detached, your tears having frozen into a flashy sheen across your eyes before slowly dripping down your cheeks.

You had both stood there in silence afterwards, Dorn's final words echoing across the tiles, proving how he could never take them back. The moment his grip on your arms lessened you had darted from the room, the fall of your footsteps fading as you walked away from him.

“What will you do to rectify this, sire?” Alexis stood at his Primarch's shoulder, his head nearly meeting Rogal's chin. The Astartes Captain still wore his own armor allowing him to level his harsh gaze onto his patriarch.

Rogal remained silent, instead he turned his gaze back to the data before him. If he were to attempt an apology, it would only be through false platitudes.

The very truth of the matter? He still believed what he was doing was right.

Its quiet, but noticeable. Lady Guilliman has learned the telltale signs early on of a rising temper in her husband. He eill not immediately answer questions, letting a silence hang over the room, suffocating the inhabitants.

He let his gaze linger on the offender's face a bit longer, not enough to terrify, but to let that person's subconscious send a cold wave through their body, warning them of having misspoke.

The diplomat in him will start to waver. No longer does he have patience to debate, defend or argue his stance. It becomes simple, one word sentences.

You'd see Guilliman's shoulders rise, as if he were about to release a large sigh, but that exhale never comes. Instead he let's the emotion be cataloged away. The job must still get finished, the straw keeps being lain on the camel's back...

Until finally—

"Pull back your forces Govenor." The quiet, plain command sends a wave of dread across the bridge. You watch with a furrowed brow and offer silent sympathies to the helmsman who stands right infront of the primarch, his body rigid and knees locked. The poor veteran baseline almost surely feels the suffocating weight of Guilliman's ever thinning patience.

The feed crackles before the nasally sound of a befuddled noble covers the room. "M-my Lord...I must protest—"

"You have wasted precious resources all for the sake of pride. Pull back, or I will do so for you."

You wanted to cringe at the man's next words. Emperor please, stop digging your grave deeper!

"This matter has been culminating for centuries amongst our people, your Eminence, I cannot in good conc-"

"Do not take my patience for indulgence," Guilliman still possessed more control than any mere mortal could possess, but you knew from his time dealing with the High Lords of Terra that his benevolence became much shorter for nobles. "The next words I hear from you will be a of your compliance. Any less will result in your immediate termination."

Silence followed for several long seconds, the planetary governor had yet to cut his line as the crackle of his end echoed across the command deck.

You clenched your hands together until your knuckles turned white. Guilliman so rarely chose the scorched earth route, but this detour from the current mission had snapped his patience farther than you had witnessed in years.

"A-as...as you command...y-your lordship." Came the stumbling reply. The line went dead.

You almost wanted to search for a place to sit down, Guilliman seemed to have been vibrating with anger at the man's fumbling appeals. Time was everything to him, and trying to convince a fool to see reason over their pride was a torturous endeavor.

Believing you had witnessed enough for the day, you began to make your way to the doors when the familiar weight an oppressive stare made you pause. Slowly, you looked toward your husband to find his eyes already on you.

You almost wanted to flee from his look, your mammalian brain almost taking over your logic. It was a stare you had seen few times but your body and mind had left a stain of what it meant to be under its intensity.

Calling for your personal serf, you hurried them to draw you a bath before quickly adding for them to bring you a light snack as well. You would need both.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Ah...a planetary civil war-mhf...enduring truncated bureaucracy— darling lift your hips higher..."

You almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of such a request, Guilliman had his hand at the base of your back, almost the top of your buttocks, so as to keep your cunt as fully pressed to his face as possible. Two fingers of his free hand thrusted inside you, coaxing as much of your body's arousal as possible to greedy lapping tongue.

All the while the man mumbled against your mound about the absolute gall of the nobleman and the mess he's now been forced to clean up.

Meanwhile you were going to rip out your hair with how quickly Guilliman was ripping one orgasm after another out of you.

"Ha...haa—Roboute...please-"

"Hush my dear, I am trying..." an extra long, vulgar slurp "...to concentrate."

The skin of your cheeks had speckled with your drying tears. Guilliman had blocked out the sound of your babbling long ago, your heat and taste however, were like a balm to his pounding brain. Everything made so much more sense once his head was safely secured between your thighs.

You had started to maneuver your hips once again, perhaps out an impending orgasm or out overstimulation, either way, it was against his preference. With an aggravated huff, Guilliman wrenched his fingers from you, instead letting his free hand wrap around your front, completely imbobilizing your hips and further pressing your cunt to his mouth

Another wail was wrenched from you as he nuzzled his nose and lips even closer to your center. Never enough, it was never enough for him. His hearts ached at the unfairness of it all. He just needed to be closer.

"I can't, i can't, i cant." You sobbed, both your hands clenched and ripped into Guilliman's hair, the Primarch only fluttered his eyelids and groaned at the sensation. You were sweeter than than any Amasec.