#ember nomads

It didn’t quite occur to Pallas exactly how unabashedly he was staring until he glanced up to see Belatiel’s eyes boring right back into him, sending a hot jolt down his spine. He was suddenly very aware that alongside the blood, he was washing away the remnants of his own spend that had spattered up his front.

In only a few long strides Belatiel had advanced on him, startling Pallas with how much his world had narrowed to the other marine when he instinctively stepped back and he was met with the clank of ceramite to metal as he was backed up against the side of the Thunderhawk he had touched down with. The Nomad barely had to do anything to pin him there with his body and his gaze.

“Ah, Belatiel, I hope I did not offend—” Pallas’s voice died in his throat as Belatiel’s thigh slotted between his, pressing up against his groin guard, a hand on his gorget pushing him back against the ship’s hull. 

Heat rushed through him, a surge of anticipation but also a foreign sense of anxiety. While most of the remaining ground assault was accompanying the apothecaries to recover casualties, there were still Ultramarines and Ember Nomads alike, reviewing the day’s battle and handling logistics before exfil. He could hear the crackle of comms and voice modulation in the distance, and the idea of being discovered made him feel oddly panicked.

Belatiel leaned in, likely for a repeat of their earlier kisses, but Pallas guiltily turned his head to rebuff him. Hot breath on his jaw, the Nomad’s brows furrowed in a questioning look, hand snaking up to seize the Ultramarine’s jaw.

“I… am unsure if this action is supported by the Codex Astartes.” Pallas muttered by way of explanation to Belatiel’s searching gaze, glancing around as if expecting one of his battle-brothers to walk around the Thunderhawk to see them.

“...You mean to tell me,” Belatiel said slowly, fingertips trailing Pallas’s jaw, “that you considered your acts to be a potential Codex violation. Yet you did it anyway.”

The Ultramarine swallowed, face hot with shame. “...Yes.”

A low laugh resonated through his body as he felt teeth grace his jugular, fingers brushing across his lips as a moan dragged its way out of his throat, taking his open mouth as an invitation to stick two digits inside. Without a second thought he wrapped his tongue around them, almost a reflex to the metallic tang.

“You want this so badly, you would dishonor the word of your genesire.” Not a question, a statement. Pallas whined and found himself nodding, feeling heat in his face and chest and groin, somewhere between embarrassment and violent arousal.

Belatiel bit down, sucking a mark into the side of his neck as Pallas tried to regulate his shaking breaths and remain still as those searching fingers were shoved back between his molars, winching his jaw open. There was no hiding or stopping the helpless whimpering noises being pulled from him, nearly choking as Belatiel’s knee pressed hard against his groin guard. 

He desperately wanted to hide away from the attention, but at the same time allowing himself to be laid bare like this was a thrill that chased all rational thoughts away. What if they were caught like this? What if his captain were to find him being so degenerate? 

Despite his better judgement he rutted against the cuisse between his legs, hips bucking for friction for only a moment before a firm hand stopped him, pressing against his stomach. Pleading and confused, Pallas whined. He wanted those clever fingers to free the strain against his armor, to send him careening over the edge.

“So greedy, you really think you deserve to come again so soon.” Belatiel murmured, retracting his fingers from Pallas’s mouth, leaving saliva dripping down his chin.

“N-no.” He croaked, frantically shaking his head. Of course he wouldn’t be so disobedient. “Of course— of course not, I wouldn’t—”