#wk40k

He knows what he must do, though he's not sure he has the heart to do it. Which means he must do it.

"Hey, there you are" Your voice comes from behind him. "What are you doing?"

He turns his gaze from the far horizon, and finds you hovering in the doorway to your home, looking up at him with a softness only you had ever showed him.

"Leaving."

You blink, your head tilting to the side.

"What?" Your voice is still light, filled with confusion. The weight of his answer has not yet settled upon you.

He looks away, knowing that if he did not, he would falter.

"I am leaving. And I do not expect I will return."

Silence. He can imagine how your expression must shift as his words etch into your memory. How it's twisting in further confusion, then realization and heartbreak.

"I don't...understand. Have I- have I done something wrong?"

He cements himself further into his spot, forcing himself with every bit of willpower he has to not turn and face you. To not throw himself at your feet and beg you forget he ever said anything. To not stay.

"No," He will not, however, let you believe that you are the one in the wrong. "No, you have done nothing more than be everything I wanted. Everything I needed. You- your crime is your perfection, nothing more."

You make a soft broken confused noise. He continues speaking.

"It is...my own fault. When I first came to this place, I had not thought myself capable of this kind of attachment. But then you fell into my hands and suddenly I ached for more than what I was given. More than what I deserved."

He takes a breath. It's shaky. Weak.

"This is not the life I was made for. Your peace and comfort are not meant for someone like me. I was created for war. To be bathed in darkness and blood for the sake of the Imperium and all it's people. To consume and conquer planets at the behest of my father The Emperor, and to guard what we have already taken. If I stay here, with you, I..."

Another breath. Another mental reminder to remain firm. That this was the best decision to be made for both of you.

"I would abandon everything. I would bring about the wrath of my father and brothers and I would lose you and everything we have built together in ways I cannot bring myself to imagine."

He swallows, and finally dares to turn- wishing immediately that he hadn't. The sight of your tears makes him ill.

"I am leaving because that is the safest option for you. If I could, I would stay here at your side for the end of time itself. I would help you build your garden and carry your groceries and sleep in peace with your warmth next to me. But I cannot. And I cannot bring you with me."

He looks away again, unable to take another painful second of your sadness.

"This is...this is my final goodbye to you."

He should move now. Should begin walking away, leaving you behind for good. He would not come back to you after this- he would not allow it. Because if he did, he knew that he would never want to part from you in any way again.

But he doesn't. He stands there, frozen, like a fool, and just listens to your sniffles and soft sobs from behind him. He lets you shuffle closer to him, flinching when he feels the weight of you as you try to wrap around him.

"Please," You whimper. "Please don't go."

"I must-" His voice breaks in a way it never truly has, his own tears forming, but not falling. He would not cry in front of you- not if he could help it. He swallows, then clears his throat, and tries again. "I must."

You sob his name, and something inside him breaks irreparably. He will never forget that sound.

"I have a duty- one that if I do not return to soon, will eventually come knocking and I- I cannot bear the thought of what happens then. I love you, more than I will ever be able to say. I will carry the memory of you with me until my final breath, and there will be no other that will ever fill the hole you will leave in my heart."

His face burns with traitorous tears.

In his lap, panting, gasping. Sylvia’s fingers are slipping from Xylas’ wrist but her other hand, the one that is clutching his coat at the back, grips even tighter. Her small body is coiled in his lap, tense and shuddering. With her jacket and shirt undone, Sylvia’s chest is exposed. Round, soft breasts are pointing with hard nipples. One of them, the left, Xylas keep circling with his index finger. The moment he makes another circle she moans again.

“You’re so sensitive, sweetheart.” He whispers against the side of her face and Sylvia manages a weak, strained smile.

“Don’t stop.” Sylvia says, begging lacing her words instead of a command and Xylas’ bionic eye glows a fraction brighter. She doesn’t see it. With eyes closed and her lips parted, Sylvia is lost in the sensation.

Just before Xylas pulled her into his lap she has been on her knees, his hard cock in her mouth and down the throat until her lipstick smeared and her dark eye makeup ran. She choked on it, gagged on it, almost passed out from the lack of air due to her effort to please him. Xylas didn’t even have to guide her through it, he taught her well already, and he was pleased to let Sylvia take control of how exactly to pleasure him. The sight of her sucking his cock is always a precious one, but when he spilled himself between those blood-red painted lips and she swallowed it all with adoration in her yes, as if he just granted either the best meal ever or a salvation, he wanted to give something to her, too. Something that she enjoys.

Pulling her jacket and shirt open was easy. Sylvia quickly developed a habit of wearing clothes that grant Xylas a quick access to her body whenever he wishes. The undergarments, such as panties or a bra, also have been decided against in favor of that. When her pale, round breasts perked up at a cool chamber air, he immediately pulled her into his lap, gripped her hip with a bionic arm so that she doesn’t slip off and began his slow torture.

But is it a torture? Sylvia doesn’t think so. She trembles again when his rough finger makes another circle, then another and she squeezes her thighs, feeling the tingling in her clit that is almost maddening. She’ll come, she knows she will but so does Xylas.

He squeezes her soft breast a little firmer and she gasps, leaning her cheek against his face, inhaling greedily while her heart thrums in her chest like an overworked engine. “Xylas, oh, oh-“ She wants to say something but nothing coherent comes to her and slender fingers cling onto his wrist, sensing his own calm pulse.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He croons and the breath feathers her long, red hair. She dyed from blonde, giving herself a look of a vixen rather than that of a scared girl that he expelled a daemon from, but he hasn’t complained. It suits her, just like her smeared makeup does.

“It feels so good.” She admits and he allows himself a small, satisfied smile. Xylas cock twitches again, stirring back to life with arousal even if he just spent himself. She has that affect on him. One that drives him both insane and grounds the Inquisitor in a way he never experienced before.

“Do I make you feel good?” He gently teases and she nods. With a shudder she looks at him, red eyes meeting his and Sylvia leans in, pressing her open mouth against his.

Xylas gives in. His tongue dominates hers and his finger circles faster. He wants to touch both of her nipples, imagining how her pussy clenches on nothing just from this alone, and craves to bury himself into her to the hilt. It will wait, he wants to see her come undone from this alone. To know that his touch is so intoxicating that she doesn’t even need to be touched anywhere else.

With a moan into his mouth Sylvia arches in his lap. Her ankles lock over one another and she shudders stronger than before. Nails dig into his wrist and she pulls back to gasp for air. Her thighs press tightly and she rubs them but Xylas can’t tell if she’s looking for friction, any friction, or is trying to stave away the orgasm that he knows is about to engulf her. She whispers his name like a prayer, begging, pleading and he can’t hold back anymore.

Using his bionic arm to turn Sylvia just enough towards himself, he dips his head and replaces the index finger with his tongue. She gasps, releasing his wrist and finding purchase onto his shoulder. “Xylas!” Sylvia exclaims as if in protest, but he ignores her entirely, and while still squeezing her tender breast in his rough grip he envelopes the perky nipple with his mouth.

He swirls his tongue around it, tasting and feeling the scarring around it but caring little for it right now. His cock is hard and aching with renewed need, but even that Xylas ignores. How foul it is to touch her like this, how foul it is to enjoy the foulness of it. The Chaos star that has been carved into Sylvia’s skin around both nipples is something that he loathes and can’t get enough of at the same time. He uses the tip of his tongue to go from one spear of the star to another, until he makes a circle and pauses to suck on the swelling, overstimulated nipple.

Sylvia doesn’t gasp anymore, she moans. Louder and louder her voice echoes through the chamber and his shoulder is released so that she can cradle his head best to her ability. Fingers find their mark in his greying hair and cling there as her chest raises and falls despite his vice grip over her breast.

It feels good. Too good. By the Gods, she’s melting, she’s flying, she’s fading. Sylvia’s ankles briefly rub against each other and then lock again before she bites her bottom lip and then throws her head back at the moment of climax. It hits her strangely, but strongly. It’s different from when she comes from Xylas’ cock, nearly tearing at her inside, and it’s different to when she touches herself, different to when he touches her too, stuffing his fingers deep inside. Hells, it’s even different from when Xylas’ has his face between her legs, but it still is oh so good.

Wave after wave, in tune with Xylas’ still swirling tongue, the ripples of bliss wash over Sylvia and she spasms once, twice, then thrice, gasping for air like she’s about to choke on air itself.

“Xylas, Xylas…” She whines pathetically and finally he releases her breast from his mouth, leaving the swollen, red nipple wet with his saliva. Rising his eyes to her he sees the most beautiful expression on any woman he has ever seen but even more beautiful when on Sylvia’s face.

“You did well, sweetheart. So well.” His voice is low, laced with desire that she will satisfy in a moment, but right now he wants to kiss her. And he does, conquering her mouth exactly how he did earlier.

Sylvia pushes at him, unable to catch her breath, but Xylas pinches her nipple, making her jump and whine with partial pain and partial sensitivity. At his correction she stops resisting and meekly kisses him back. He tastes himself on her mouth but it’s as addicting as obscura itself. When he finally pulls back new tears are pebbling Sylvia’s eyelashes.

With deep, whiny gasps she smiles at him a tired smile. “Please, a second.”

But she barely gets it. Xylas scoops her up from his lap in both arms, bridal style, and turns to his desk. “A second then.” That’s all that takes for him to make the step and all that Sylvia needs to chuckle and kick her feet with delight.

The evening has just started.