#eidolon x reader

 Lord Commander Eidolon was beautiful. His polished armour shimmered beautifully in the midday sun; his face bore a proud, beautiful expression, and his neatly half-shaven hair flowed over his shoulder like a beautiful waterfall of pure white. His beautiful violet eyes traced your every step as you followed your Lady into the Stormbird to set off for the Pride of the Emperor. It made your heart skip a beat when you met his gaze, and you could swear you saw his lips curl up ever so gently into a smirk. 

The ship was a marvel the likes of which you had never seen before, and soon you found yourself wandering the halls, looking in awe at the art pieces on display, as your mistress would relieve you from your duties the moment the Primarch came to demand a private audience with his new bride. It was on one of these walks that you met the Lord Commander alone for the first time.

“How strange to see you not shadowing our new Legion Mother,” he had said with amusement, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, startled, wondering how an Astartes could be capable of sneaking up on somebody. Eidolon stood a few meters from you, leaning leisurely against the wall between two large canvases, his bulky resplendent armour replaced with a simpler and more austere toga in the colours of the Third, which revealed much of his well-muscled body.

“My Lord!” you scrambled into a curtsy, realising that you had been staring at him for a second too long, cheeks flushed, and a small chuckle came from the Space Marine. 

“Lord Commander.” his tone was light in reminding you of his proper title, but there was a note of iron in his voice. The correction was not a suggestion. 

“I apologize, Lord Commander.” you nodded, bending into a lower bow. After you heard a content hum, signaling the Astartes was satisfied with the appropriate amount of reverence you had shown him, you stood up straight again and offered an explanation. “My Lady is with Lord Fulgrim; I have been dismissed for the day.”

“Ah, I too have found myself with free time on my hands.” Eidolon nodded, gracefully pushing himself off the wall and walking towards you. “I see you are admiring my Primarch’s collection.”

“Oh yes, it is unlike anything I have seen before. Even My Lady’s estate lacks in comparison.” You looked back at the nearest painting. It depicted Fulgrim engaged in a duel with a strange four-armed xenos creature. You became aware that the Lord Commander had moved to stand behind you, close enough to feel his body heat through your dress.

“I remember painting this one fairly early in my career,” he mused, following your eyes across the canvas. “The purging of Aseron XIII. Sordid ordeal, but my Primarch’s duel with the alien warlord was a masterclass in swordsmanship.”

“You painted this, Lord Commander?”

“You sound surprised?” Eidolon quirked an eyebrow. “My legion excels in all manner of classical arts. I do not create often; I am more of a collector myself, but nevertheless, I greatly appreciate the finer things.” You could feel heat rising to your face, as his hand came to rest on your shoulder before sliding down to the small of your back. “Come, dear. I will give a tour of the gallery.”

You knew Astartes hearing was far more sensitive than that of baseline humans, yet you still held onto faint optimism that Lord Commander Eidolon was not able to hear how quickly your heart had begun beating under his touch. Glancing upwards to meet his violet eyes smashed those hopes immediately into fine dust. 

The second time you met the Lord Commander alone was in the practice range. You had noted the hours when the warriors of the Legion would most frequently visit, and had found an hour-long gap when the area would be empty. It had been a while since you had last exercised with your sabre, and you could feel your skills beginning to gather dust. You were going through defensive stances when you heard an amused hum behind you, as heavy footsteps approached. 

“We should stop meeting like this, my dear.” Eidolon chuckled, walking towards you. He was wearing only a bodyglove, unzipped halfway, and peeled off his upper body, the sleeves tied around his waist. His hair was tied up and away from his face. “The Legion would talk.”

“Lord Commander,” you greeted, stopped what you were doing, and curtsied. You could feel the traitorous flush creep up your cheeks again. 

“Lower,” he said, his voice bearing that same cutting tone as before, reminding you that it was not a request, but a demand. Looking up, you saw a smirk spread across his face as you bowed down further, a few drops of sweat falling from your brow to the floor. 

“That is good enough,” Eidolon motioned for you to rise, satisfied, amused, but soft enough to avoid being mocking. “Is martial skill a requirement for a handmaiden?”

“Not typically, but I also serve as my Lady’s bodyguard.”

“Ah, of course,” he nodded, circling you, his gaze criticizing your choice of training attire. “We should do something about this. I do not think drab grey is your colour.”

“It is just for training..”

“Nonsense. Even my serfs are required to wear better,” he dismissed your protest with a wave of his hand. “In any way, why train now? Have you found the security detail my Lord has provided the Legion Mother insufficient?”

“No, of course not.” You replied quickly to dismiss any offence that could have been caused. “An unused sword rusts. And… I typically have at least a dozen tasks on my hands, yet I find myself with nothing to occupy my time these days. I grow restless when idle.”

“By all means then,” Eidolon motioned to the training dummy, walking backwards to the pews on the side. He sat down, eyes never leaving you.

“Did you not come to make use of the facilities as well?” you questioned, and he grinned in response. 

“Oh, I was merely bored,” the Lord Commander chuckled, propping his elbow down on his knee and resting his chin on his fist. He was watching you intently, and you could feel a flush coming over your entire body under his gaze. “But there are other ways to stave off my boredom. Proceed.”

You fidgeted awkwardly for a moment with your sabre, suddenly feeling shy about your skills being on display under his scrutinizing violet gaze. A raised eyebrow and quick motion of his hand told you he was not a man gifted with abundant patience, and you took a deep breath before returning to the practice dummy. 

You were not the most action-efficient of fighters; your training in the blade arts had been intermingled with dance lessons, resulting in a rather theatrical style of swordplay that lent itself well to performing for an audience. In the past, you had had ample opportunity to flaunt your skill, dueling your Lady’s subjects and other gentry who had foolishly decided to mouth off to her. You were a show off, you knew that, feeding off the awe and humiliation in the eyes of your opponents as you had cut them down with a flourish. Being on a ship full of other, equally if not more prideful duelists, all of whom were superhumanly superior to you, however, had been hard on your confidence. 

Having to perform in front of the exemplar of Lord Fulgrim’s preening peacocks was nervewracking, the very reason why you had sought to practice in solitude. You managed to calm your nerves somewhat, however, and slowly get into the flow of your practice. A hum of appreciation came from pews behind, and you spun on the tips of your toes to steal a glance at Eidolon. He was watching you intently, taking in every move with a smile that told you he was enjoying your dance. It was all the encouragement you needed to cast away your anxiety and re-double your efforts. The Lord Commander wanted a show, and you would give him one, his wordless approval serving as a much-needed salve for your hurting ego. 

So you danced for him, your sabre singing as it sliced the air and slid across the body of the practice dummy. You could catch glimpses of him as you pirouetted gracefully, his expression gradually shifting from intrigued to surprised to elated. He had come to lean forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes not leaving your form as his lips split into a widening grin. 

You made a quick move, striking the target, the sabre’s edge sinking into the modeled neck, decapitating it with well-practiced precision. The severed head remained on the tip of your blade, perfectly balanced, until you bounced it off and kicked it with the heel of your foot as you spun to catch the Astares’ eyes and dropped into a low, theatrical bow, your hair nearly touching the floor. 

You heard movement, and as you looked upwards, you saw that Eidolon had stood up, walking towards his hands coming together in a slow clap that echoed through the entire room. He appeared to be pleased with your performance, and you stood up straight to meet his gaze, heat spreading throughout your entire body. You were breathless, feeling almost intoxicated by his show of appreciation. 

“Beautiful thing,” he grinned, walking towards you, and you were instantly wet, the sudden onslaught of arousal at the Lord Commander’s praise hitting you hard and leaving you dumbstruck. Your eyes followed him as he came to stand in front of you, inches away, and his hand gripped your chin between his fingers, forcing your head up so you could look at nothing else but him. “You know, my dear, if you find yourself bereft of orders to fulfill so often, perhaps I should start giving you some.”

You understood exactly what he meant, and could not help the lascivious smile that spread across your face. He released you, and with a nod of his head, he went towards the doors. You followed just as a pair of Astartes in training attire walked in, signaling that you had accurately estimated your time to depart. 

It was stupid how quickly he got you out of your clothes and into his bed. 

It was always his bed. Lord Commander Eidolon would not settle for anything less than his eight-hundred-thread-count sheets to rearrange your guts on, and would not make a single move until he had you bent over in the perfect position, on your knees and elbows, back arched almost uncomfortably, facing the floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite his bed so he can watch your expressions as you were slowly losing your faculties whilst he fucked you with the tightly controlled force of a hydrolic press. 

Your coupling was always rough and fast, but you suppose he was built for it - large and agile and with a superhuman endurance that saw you turn boneless in his arms before he had even started getting winded. You had bled the first time, like some scared virgin from the dark ages of humanity, despite how wet you had been by the time he’d led you into his room, slammed the controls of the door shut, and ordered your clothes off. You were no virgin, having been tutored in the ways of pleasure long ago as part of your education to serve as a handmaiden, but you could not hide the way your eyes had widened as Eidolon peeled his bodyglove fully off. He was gloriously proportionate, big and thick and already hard as a rock, and had wasted no time before spreading you open and slamming inside. 

It had hurt like hell taking him without any preparation, and it took a while for the sharp ache to melt into the mix of pain and pleasure that defined your later bouts. He had picked up after the first time that if he wanted to enjoy you for more than one round, he needed to observe some uncharacteristic patience and work you open with his fingers beforehand. Lord Commander Eidolon was quick to learn from his mistakes, at least when immediately beneficial for him, and especially when he could spend an hour feeding his ego on the way your soft moans would gradually turn into desperate pleas for more under the careful ministrations of his fingers. 

He never let you come until he was ready to spill inside you, aiming to synchronize your climaxes, cutting any building rise short by abruptly stopping whatever he was doing, edging you for hours at a time sometimes. Control was always the name of his game, and you should have guessed even from your first conversation - he never asked for anything, simply issued an order and expected you to follow, and did not tolerate failure of compliance. You had made the error of coming without his allowance once, and it resulted in you being forbidden from doing so again until round three. It had been torturous, but deliciously so. 

He had you in the usual position now, his large hand around your throat, keeping you flush against his chest, pounding into you like he wanted to ensure you knew he was cut from a rougher stone than his brothers - a hammer among blades, and whispering in your ear to keep your eyes on his in the reflection of the mirror. As if it were possible to look at anything else. He was beautiful, like a marble statue of an ancient Terran mythic hero come to life, a flawless execution of the Primarch's teachings on perfection, his composed, pleased expression never faltering even as yours had long turned to near delirium. 

But you wanted more, you wanted to watch his beautiful face and content smirk closer, you wanted to touch him, to run your hand over the marvel of genetics that was his body. You wanted him to watch you closer as well, to call you a “beautiful thing” again. The Lord Commander’s approval was a potent drug, one that you had very quickly become addicted to, his praise having stripped away your earlier skiddishness at his advances. He gave it sparingly, and you fiended for it now. An idea popped into your head, wading through the euphoric haze in the wake of your first climax earlier. 

“Eidolon..” you whined, and the hand around your neck tightened just enough to give you a startle that your breathing had been cut off. You knew he was barely using a fraction of his strength; if he truly wanted to hurt you, you would not even realise it before he had snapped you in half, yet it always activated the animal part of your brain that screamed “danger” for a brief second.

“Lord Commander,” he hissed, punctuating the correction with a hard thrust that knocked you further into his grip, before slackening his hold again and adding with a softer tone. “Come on, dear, you know better.”

“L-lord Commander,” you wheezed out, gasping for air. “May I.. ah.. May I try something?”

“Oh?” he questioned, pressing you further into his chest, the hand on your throat angling your head near uncomfortably painful upwards to face him. “Am I boring you?” he quirked an eyebrow. You could see a glint in his eyes, edging on cruel glee. You knew he enjoyed it when you would step out of line; he liked punishing insubordination. You liked it too; it would always make your orgasm feel so much more intense, almost cataclysmic, but you knew how to play your part in this game well. Your training in the pleasure houses of your homeworld had taught you to read what made people tick well in these circumstances. 

Eidolon liked full control; he liked lording over and throwing around the weight of his authority, but also liked it challenged every so often, only so he could enforce his brand of discipline. He also liked being fawned over - a braggart and a show off, like the rest of his Legion, who fed on attention and flattery. You could not fault him for it, of course, you were birds of a feather in that regard, and there was something about his enormous ego that infuriatingly worked for you. You could feed it endlessly if what you got in return was that perfectly sculpted cock turning your insides to jelly. 

“Never,” you shook your head finally, licking your lips that had gone dry with how heavily you were breathing. The Lord Commander hummed, amused and curious, and released his hold on you, leaving you to fall forward on your elbows. Taking a moment to catch your bearings, you turned around on your knees, letting him slip out of you, his seed from the first time he had spilled inside you today, trailing down and covering your thighs. 

You slid your hands up to his chest, savouring the feeling of rippling muscle, and pushed ever so gently, enough to make your intentions clear. There was little point in applying any real strength; you might as well try to move the walls of the ship itself, but he seemed to understand what you were aiming for and slowly lay down on the bed, his back propped up on the mountain of pillows by the headrest. A knowing grin spread across his face, and he motioned with his hand, calling you back to him. 

You crawled up to him, taking your time, making a show of it, hips swaying, never breaking eye contact through your lashes, sliding your hands over his thighs before coming to straddle him, his hard cock resting against your stomach. Your legs were spread open wide, sitting on top of his hips, arms sliding up his abdomen and over his chest. He was sparsely scarred, a few old, thin cuts that had faded to white, nearly blending with his pale complexion, and he had told you once where each had come from. Past battles, early years of arduous training. Somehow, they made him appear even more beautiful. 

An insistent tap of Eidolon’s fingers on your thigh pulled you out of your trance, and you looked up to see him staring at you expectantly.  

“Best get on with it. Otherwise, I will get bored.”

You did not need to be told twice, rising onto your knees and taking his cock into your hand to guide him back inside your already well-used and dripping cunt. He watched you hawkishly as you sank down on him, inch by sweetly torturous inch. Your eyes fluttered shut as he bottomed out, and you felt your jaw immediately be grasped by the tight vice of his hand. 

“No, look at me,” he hissed, moving down as you opened your eyes again, hooking his forearms under your hips. “Only me,” A carnivorous grin spread across his face as he began moving you, slow at first, up and down, bouncing you on his cock.