#gadriel

Inside the armory they do get polite greetings and but also the undeniable looks from Brothers as they poke their noses around.

"Has Sergeant Gadriel been around recently?" Chairon has taken control over the questioning front unprompted, which is fine, he has known the Sergeant longer than the Lieutenant - who takes opportunity to look through Gadriel's arms-locker. His Bolter and Thunder-hammer were missing, so he was armed for the mission ahead but yet where could he have gone if not for immediately the Bay? It still made no sense to him, where the hell could he possibly go carrying a hammer around?!

"Brother," His attention is redrawn once Chairon makes it back to his side. "-any signs here?"

He shuts the locker back. "No. You?"

"No one here says they saw him."

"Well, Valius did say it was a hour ago." Titus sighs, glancing up at the wall at the mechanicum scribed numerals. "We don't have that much left time."

"So we should split up?"

"It would cover more ground... however, first we sh-"

And he's already gone. "...dammit Meduras."

Directionless, Titus' Ceremite-clad feet take him wherever they can possibly take him that he could even think of the faintest reason why the Sergeant could be located, hall after hall, room after room. Honestly? It has gotten to a point beyond ridiculous that he curses lowly to himself as he - again - repeatedly tries connection to the Vox Channel but still - nothing but that damn static! Back in his younger days of service he had quite the nasty temper, a temper that with experience and tutelage he learned to harness, to control, to be calm. Now it licked scolding hot inside him and demanded to come out. But he refuses it - grits his teeth and instead silently seethes.

Potentially delaying a whole mission. A mission that required a full ten men Squad with Militarum regiments waiting and holding the line for them on planet below. If Titus himself even dared pulled such a stunt back when he was Sergeant, Captain Lucien Trajan would've had his head. At the time he would've met Guilliman in the afterlife. But no... no... he shouldn't judge, after all he still had no clue what possibly could be keeping him. In the short time he's known the young Sergeant he's come to learn he isn't like that - whatever he was imagining. No. This is Gadriel, he must have a reason, a reason he will find for himself. But he still could answer his damn Vox.

The last he heard from Chairon, Gadriel wasn't in his private quarters or on Command Deck - the Captain did eye him a bit funny which wasn't good since they were trying to keep this Sergeant-relocation-mission on the downlow, thankfully he was able to excuse himself out of any potential confrontation and next he said he was going to check the Reclusiam before reporting out. Titus on the other hand has now wondered onto the Serf Deck, Valius mentioned you were with him perhaps you could lead him at least closer to his current location.

Many Brothers of the Second would be sent out today, different squads handling different vantage points on the Tyranid infested planet, so many of the Decks hall's were barren of Serfs that were instead busy readying tending to their Lords who were about go deliver the Emperor's wrath. He comes across a few in passing, all taking time to stop and bow with the gesture of the Aquila before quickly hurrying off to not disturb him. Yet none of them were you.

He hadn't spoken to you much, only a handful of times when you'd come with business or regular service for your Lord, but you seemed sweet and polite enough. A couple of times he's jest that Gadriel maybe should learn a thing or too from you - also that he doesn't envy your job having to put up with Gadriel's snark mouth at times. Nothing ever with malice, things he's more comfortable joking around with now that he's known his younger brother better... yet the look that briefly haunt his expression... how he looks actually hurt... maybe Titus shouldn't speak as such. He's felt bad about it for a week, still been trying to wrack his brain how exactly to apologize and-

Suddenly before he knows it; a light bit of force knocks in front of him - snapping him out of his thoughts and back to reality where a Serf now sat collapsed on the floor, feeling at her head.

"Are you alright?" He is quick to help her back to her feet.

"Oh! My apologies my Lord, I did not see you there! Emperor help me I'm both seeing and not seeing now." Once up it appears that she is fine ultimately as she dusts herself off. "First I think I see Lord Gadriel in a closet of all things and then I don't see you directly in front of me. Forgive me again my Lord, but I'm going to tend to Lord Heilios and then lie down. Emperor give me strength."

...closet? What could - why possibly - no. It didn't matter. This was the closest lead they'd gotten he isn't going to treat it lightly.

"And you're sure it was the Sergeant?"

"Well... I'm not even sure what I saw was even... yes, it was him."

"And when was this?"

"Not even a couple minutes ago, I-"

"Where?!"

She points. "Down the hall, first right, second door."

His bones spring into immediate action to go finally retrieve his brother but sense washes through him as he turns back to the Serf woman. "Thank you, thank you..."

"Mayam, my Lord."

"Right, thank you, Mayam." She alone might've just saved this mission. He marches towards that damn closet.

In the time it takes to get there through the long hallway to the coming next corner does he draft out exactly what he wants to say; along the lines of he should know better as Sergeant and to check his damn Vox more often! That and along with a debriefing on the Campaign mission ahead. He repeats it, goes over it, calms himself to soothe the building frustration he's had now the past half hour through this whole ordeal.

The closet is now in view. He just needed to-

"One more, one more for me - please,"

Titus' hand immediately retracts from his attempt to reach for the door handle. His feet become cement in the floor. His eyes wide. He listens, not sure if he'd imagined it or not.

Gadriel... sounding like... that.

And he's not alone - your mewling in immediate return hits him hard as a Bolter round.

"Valor-" You're cut off, your next breath coming out as a shaking gasp. "Valorem!"

...

Oh.

It was undeniable what you two were doing. Titus stands there eyes wide as both your moans and slick wet noises ring his ears, completely unable to move like the world fell still around him except for what was going on in that room. Then it all suddenly made sense, even the parts he never thought would be related, he never thought... you and Gadriel... were-

"-flood you so full you'll never think I left-"

Like that.

His feet move but only a couple centimeters and they're slow, clumsy. He can only take small steps back to where he's leaning against the wall by the door - the door that to his horror was open a crack. He didn't look. He can't. He can't move any further. Can't. He just stares at the floor, can't help but to listen. The wet symphony of flesh on flesh. The duet of yours and his brother's voices in twain.

"You feel so heavenly, if only I could have it my way, it'd take a miracle for me to ever leave." Hearing his brother talk in such a way, for more than one reason, but odd... he didn't think him capable of such... sweetness yet the way he pants and sighs sounds like you have the Astartes at the palm of your hand.

And you... your noises will never leave him. They repeat on loop in his mind, they make his breath hot, his armor that was tailor fit to his flesh feel uncomfortable on him. His Codpiece never felt so small.

"Please-" Your plea sounds as if it were pounded out of you. "-you're doing so good."

"Am I?" Gadriel sounds giddy almost, Titus has never heard such a tone from him yet it sounds as if you bring it out so easy. So effortlessly.

Your answer to your Lord comes out as a vocal one only to be overridden with a crying shout as suddenly the sound of wood creaks and begins to slam and whine against the floor in tandem with your encouraging chants of: "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes-"

He should leave. He has to leave. Him even staying as long as he has is too much of a-

"Fuck - oh fuck-"

Too much of a-

"Don't stop!"

Too much-

"Valorem!"

Too much of a break of boundaries.

He should leave. He needs to. He'll just... make up some sort of excuse. He needs to go back to the Boarding Bay and go on and deploy. He feels so shameful it's even went on this far as it has! And he means it, he gathers the strength to push himself to silently leave. However, as he does, his traitor eye catches inside the crack of the door.

Your lips are hung wide agape, back draped over the small table in storage that creaked with each movement that came roughly in between your hips that your legs clenched onto your partner's in turn for dear life as his large Astartes frame hovered over your tiny Baseline one. His brother's lips were at your throat, tilting your head back as then he dips lower down your chest - marking you and littering you with what would undoubtedly later be whelps. His thrusts came snapping hard and fast into you - jolting and forcing each breath out of you turned into hot whines until you can't take anymore and your hand reaches up to snag at his usual perfect hair to yank his head back, even from here he can see Gadriel's eyes roll back with a guttural reverence of your name. Your hand then leaves his hair, swooping down to meet as the other comes up to a meeting point at his chest - palming and playing with each of his thick breasts.

"Good boy," You praise even through strained whines that mere seconds they leave your lips are drowned out by the next near-pathetic noise his brother makes; mix between a higher pitched whimper - which in concept is completely unnatural for Astartes - and growl as he bucks desperately forward into you and looks down at you, mouth open and panting like a dog hanging on your every word. "-good boy, good boy, my good boy,"

Gadriel's thrusts increase inside you, punching out your moans with each slam of his cock, he dips back down to kiss you and the two of you just seem to melt together, only parting when you need breath and does both your pants sound searing against each other's flesh. Your hand find themselves snaking back into silky, silvery, blonde hair with a shuttering call of your lover's name.

Titus couldn't really give a name to how he felt. He stood and the longer he watched... he just couldn't look away. It was like rationale left him, stood gawked and slack-jawed. He-

You cry out again; loud curse from you lips that is immediately smothered by the Sergeant's lips.

His hands itch. The only sense of movement he can recapture. They slowly drift downward to the latch of his codpiece - only then do they stop, his eyes finally leaving the two of you to catch himself at what his hands have done on their own. It pulses.

Underneath Ceremite he aches.

Throbs.

Twitches.

Pleads.

Thick armored fingers caught themselves on his latches. It would only take on small move. But he hangs heavy on it.

"Please," You beg, sounding like your in actual tears before they fade into something else entirely as you spit out pleasure. "-Valorem,"

The knot in his throat pluses and his head spins as his fingers quickly disobey his morals by tugging off the latches catching the blue plating in one hand and proceed to dig himself out of his Carapace with the other. His breath is hot, quiet, he has to be, shame boils in his blood but he strokes himself feverishly. He bites at his lip to hold in any threatening noise, his eyes slightly roll back.

There's a loud wooden creak that can be hear from in the room, by instinct it catches his attention as his fuzzy gaze is back on the two of you; both in now reversed positions as Gadriel is now laid on his back with you on top riding him - your legs barely even able to stretch that wide to fit him. Hands are gripped tight on your ass however to keep you steady on him - bouncing - Holy Throne you bounced...

He couldn't now see either of your faces; you slightly leaned over and close to your lover as you continued to sing praises and cries of just how good he was treating you. His brother's pace didn't let up, he kept fucking you just as fast and hard as you apparently wanted it and kept you bouncing. You couldn't take him whole, your Baseline body to small to his Astartes frame yet you definitely did the best you could - just by looking at you could Titus tell you were filled up deep.

Thick arousal slicks up the blue armor and to Carapace-clad joints as Titus unthinkingly pumps himself. It wouldn't stain, but it would be noticeable if close enough yet he could honestly give less of a damn right now. He just... he just... needed to focus. A couple more seconds, yes, just a couple more, then.. then he should really... no... a bit longer...

"Come on," Gadriel pulls you down so that he can breath hot in your ear, in the rhythm between panted hisses, his hand pets gently at your head. You proceed to do something Titus can't see - but whatever it is has his brother shamelessly moaning out, cursing Guilliman's name and thrusting up into you to meet your bouncing faster like two ramming beasts. "-nearly there, same - fuck! - Throne - same - same time,"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Excitedly you thrum, your shouts rings in Titus' head, a drunk smile spreading across his lips his fist quickening around himself - wet and slick and hot. Drinking it all in. He just needed... more... more... please...

It's a backwards and forwards dance between you two, and the noises... Throne, the noises... up and up and up until it comes to a staggering crescendo as you wail with such the desperate cry.

"Now! Now! Now! Fuck! Valorem - now! Now! Now!" You demand, nails tearing on skin but not enough to make your Astartes lover bleed.

Gadriel pulls you down rough to bite harsh down onto your neck, only harrowing your wailing and smothering out the loud guttural noise he makes as he floods you full - too much come for you to hold that it comes pouring out of you even with him still plugged inside, coating Gadriel's cock and dripping off of the table onto the floor in a growing puddle below.

On the table inside the closet you both pant, coming down from your synced highs by crashing to meet each other's lips.

On the outside, cock still hard and leaking in his hand, reality hits Titus like the front of a Voidship.

He is still standing by the doorway, looking in, watching the two of you and... what on Terra has he done?! He - he shouldn't have-

He's quick, desperate, shameful, he moves like he hasn't before; turning around with his back against the wall so he may not invade your two's privacy anymore, still hard and throbbing but swallows in down to tuck himself back in and reattach his Codpiece, he swallows harshly - scolding himself nearly forty-thousand times over for the shameful act he has done - unlatching himself from the wall and marching straight back to the Boarding Bay. Trying to make himself forget everything he saw... to very little success, his traitorous cock sitting extremely uncomfortable in his Power Armor.

Shame. Shame. Shame. Shame.

Yet he can't get your voices out of his head. All the way back he can still hear them, feel them, it's as if every time he closes his eyes he-

"Lieutenant!" Dragging him out of your wailing cries, Chairon calls him from by the Thunderhawk. "Any luck on finding Gadriel?"

A thick lump clods his throat. One he forces himself to swallow, even with the stabbing pain.

"No," He lies. "-but I have a - feeling he'll arrive here soon, just... let's hold on departure for a couple more minutes." Chairon gives him a strange look, however, whatever must have gone through his mind he keeps to himself.

Titus feels at his face, taking a deep breath as finally he feels comfort in his cock finally eased down - or at least enough for there not to be as much of a physical strain. He can at least breathe somewhat normally again too. The mission ahead, the mission ahead, he just - needed to refocus. Refocus. Simple.

"Well, Bloody Throne, look who finally decided to show up." Shit.

Gadriel, refitted and rearmed in apparent record Astartes time, steadily and confidently approaches the Thunderhawk. "Brothers,"

"Where the hell have you been?!" Chairon questions, Titus can't stomach looking at either of them - turning to examine his chainsword as excuse.

"Oh - just some last minute things I wanted to handle prior to departure. We're expected for this one to be several weeks worth, correct?"

"Last minute things?" Chairon repeats. "Last minute things that you couldn't take handle of - not nearly an hour before departure?"

"Well... they took me longer an expected."

"Just don't see it happening again! I'm not exactly fan of searching every nook around the Barge! Right, Titus?"

It takes him a genuine moment to even respond to being addressed - when he does he glances back briefly at the two before turning his attention back to his gear. "Yeah, don't let it happen again."

Not looking at them he can still hear the exhausted sigh come from Chairon, who just proceeds to march past him shaking his head while while finally entering the Thunderhawk. He should too - with quick intent but the heavy bootsteps behind him stop him in place along with the following clap to his pauldron-clad shoulder in passing.

"Shadows don't suit you, Brother. (Name) thinks so too. Maybe let yourself in next time."