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There is silence in the resplendently decorated room, if not for long. Even now he can hear his brother nearing, can guess at the hidden fury in his movements. Had he made a mistake in pushing back? He had warned his brother after all. Warned him, that there was a line and this day had definitely pushed him over it.
What a mess. What an utter mess this had become. The Pharon being attacked, the Lion nowhere to be found, Kurze finding his way into the castle, again, apparently having never left the city and now the apothecaries were trying to save Azkaellon’s life, after his lunatic of a brother had cut off his arm.
Had he been wrong not to kill Konrad after all? Wrong to deny him the satisfaction? He supposes it doesn’t matter. The decision is made and the past cannot be changed. Only the future. And in the future his furious brother is coming ever closer. He can already hear the hard sound metal boots on stone.
For a second, he blinks in surprise. Has Roboute seriously not bothered to change before attending on him? Because that is what he is doing, isn’t he? Attending on the brother he had crowned Emperor in all but name. In name as well in truth, nobody can be bothered with the fine distinction of using Regent, when they do not believe the Emperor lives.
Because this is what started this whole Imperium Secundus mess when it comes down to it. They all know it. They do not believe that the Emperor still lives, that their Father still lives. Because if he does, all this would be High Treason and usurpation, nothing less. It would be a betrayal as large as Horus’.
But they have made their choice, have long since thrown the dice. Now let them fall as they may. It is not for them to decide, what may come of it, only how to play the game with the result. And Roboute had chosen his play the day he day he declared Sanguinius Emperor for all their Legions to hear. He has chosen. Now it is time to stand by it. Sanguinius breaths out. With a crash the doors fly open.
Sanguinius feels fury cook up in him. Desperately helpless anger cooking up in him, anger that he knows he cannot express, not if they want their empire woven of hopes and lies and broken dreams to remain even as an illusion. A pretty picture pretending to be strong as steel, yet as fragile as a bubble of soap.
It will not last, cannot last. Not when they do not trust each other, not when Horus has broken something in them all, when there is suspicion hidden so deep down, they do not even recall it is there. Yet still it does bubble up at times. And he is no more immune than his brothers, he does know that.
But he is helpless. Helpless to repair all that has been broken. Helpless to the fate he knows is coming, and most of all, helpless to stop being a puppet on unseen strings.
Roboute Guilliman enters his brothers throne room fighting for composure. What had Sanguinius been thinking to just summon him here, when mere days earlier he had denied that power? Why had his brother made him bow and submit? What by Terra has happened while he had been gone? He had spoken of Kurze, of bloodshed and explosions, but why would that be enough to change his mind and claim his authority in truth? Yes, he had declared Sanguinius Imperator, but…
He blinks. Anger that had been stiffening his limbs slowly meting away, as he breaths out evenly. Was he this concerned with trying to keep the authority he had given away? Deliberately meeting his brother’s eyes, he takes a deep breath. Now, what was going on in Sanguinius head?
He needs to know, if he wants to steer their ship to safety. Because something had changed. There was a storm coming, and if they are not careful, it will blow them away. Tear their sales and sink them without chance for recovery. Sanguinius as the Emperor needed to be their anchor, but for that, he needed to be certain. And that he had not been since Sigmus Prime.
The Angel is on edge. It is the first thing he notices. The wings are not as usually languidly draped over the back of the chair, but curled close, the muscles unwilling to relax. The usually warm eyes are a wild sharp silvery grey. As wild as a storm and sharp as a blade.
“You call me Emperor, and have made me your figurehead while the Lion plays cat and mouse with our brother across the stars. I will not be your puppet, Roboute. If you wanted to rule in truth, you should have crowned yourself, false modesty be dammed.
You claim I hold the power, yet what worth is power you could withdraw on a whim. We are in the heart of your demesne brother, how can I continue to pretend, that in truth this empire of ours lies anywhere but in your hands? I was played too often already.
No more. I will not stand for it, for you to become yet another player in this game that seems to dominate my life.” Sanguinius’ words ring through hall, fire and anger in them, barely covering up the hurt and fear beneath. How deeply must his beloved brother be hurting, for it to show this clearly. How much has must have hidden from them. The understanding burns through Roboute as though he were hit by lighting.
And oh, so this is what has been going on. He hesitates, but the decision is already made. After all, he did swear to serve his brother-emperor. And this is no hardship at all. In truth the only question is how to convince Sanguinius to accept.
Theoretical: Sanguinius was feeling helpless, powerless, for for all the might he could claim, he still lacked for control. Both over himself and his own fate, as that of others. And if they want to have any chance of steering the ship that was their nascent empire through this storm, that needed to change.
Practical: Where better to claim control than in the seat of his power, with the Kingmaker willingly kneeling at his feet, serving his every whim. After all, why not deal with two issues at once: helping his brother and at last living out long held fantasies? No, this will be no hardship at all.
“You want proof of my loyalty brother?” There is heat now in his voice. Heat spreading through his body as his eyes darken. “Then proof you will have” With a graceful movement the Lord of Ultramar sinks to his knees, a wicked grin on his face as he languidly moves to crawl in his brother’s direction.
Sanguinius doesn’t move. Cannot move perhaps. There is something unreadable in his eyes as he tries to regain his composure. How lovely it is to see the ever so sanguine angel so off balance.
“There is no need for you to debase yourself thus, Roboute” he finally manages to utter, sharp dark edges in his usually even voice and the last piece of the puzzle falls into place.
“But you like it” there is wild delight in his voice “You like seeing me on my knees, submitting to you.” Roboute laughs softly “You like claiming the control, that was stolen from you. First by Horus actions, then by the Lions and my forcing of your hand. Tell me, my Lord how would you have me repay that debt? I am ever at your service” he purrs as he watches Sanguinius eyes grow dark with desire.
“Are you now” the Angel’s musical voice sends shivers through him. “I wonder” He hesitates for a moment, letting his eyes wonder about Roboute’s form, still dressed in armour of iridescent blue and mother of pearl. “Strip then. I would see what you are offering”.
Roboute rises of his knees, not even trying to hide his satisfaction, as he slowly strips off his armour. The pieces falling heedless to the ground, being orderly for once the last thing on his mind. After all, what did it matter when he had his brother in front of him, devouring him with his eyes? All too soon and yet not soon enough the last piece of clothing falls to the ground and he looks at Sanguinius for further orders.
“You have such a skilled tongue, brother. Or so they say. Why not put it to a better use?” There is a challenge is Sanguinius eyes. “After all, my boots got quite dirty when you failed to stop our brother’s invasion and he blew up my throne room”. Roboute’s eyes fall to his brothers golden armoured boots feeling his face heat, salvia filling his mouth.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” An amused grin is lightning up his brother’s eyes as a suddenly flustered Roboute moves closer, stumbling over his discarded armour to end up sprawled out at his Lord’s feet. Musical laugher rings through the room. “Aren’t you eager to make amends, brother? Get to it then”.
Face flushed Roboute crawls the remaining distance and almost hesitatingly reaches out for his brother foot. “I said tongue, my dear, not hands” his Emperor’s voice chides lazily. Roboute can feel the heat spreading through his body, as he pushes his hands against the floor, leaning forwards to slowly press his mouth against ash-streaked gold instead. There are faint blood stains here and there he notices with growing light-headedness. The marble is cool underneath him, grounding him slightly and yet heightening sensations.
The taste of ash begins to fill his mouth as he softly drags his tongue over cold, golden armour. By now he is all but sprawled out at his brother’s feet, gazing up at his Emperor in helpless devotion.
Silvery glowing wings, the usual white reflecting an unearthly glow, are draped over his back, the earlier uneasy tension replaced by a rather different kind. The bright golden armour, glowing in the moons softly sweet light highlighting dusky skin and dark eyes. Hair the colour of a raven’s wing is falling in easy waves over limber shoulders. The angel wears no crown, but then what need has his otherworldly brother for mortal trappings?
Ash doesn’t taste so bad after all. Not mixed with blood at least. He meets his lord’s eyes with a sudden bout of mischief as he drags his tongue over golden booted ankles and feels hot heady delight at seeing Sanguinius eyes darken further yet. Just as he is feeling the heat rise up in himself. This is debasing, humiliating and not worthy of a son of the Emperor, but oh what a relief it is to be able to just let go for once. No need to have to worry about things he cannot change anyways, not to have to deal with a thousand and one problems, pilling up on his desk. No need to worry about how to stabilise this fragile dream of a palace of cards they have built, blown away by a stiff breeze.
“You think too much still” a cool voice drags him out of his thoughts. “Do I bore you Roboute? Now that you have at least found something to do, that suits your talents” a lightning bolt of desire flashes though him. “No, my Lord” he manages to mutter, voice grown rough with desire. “You could never bore me”.
And that is the truth, isn’t it? For as much as he likes this half mad game they have chosen to play, there is truth in it. Twisted and played with, but no lie, for he has desired the angel since the day they met, for he does wish to lay down his burdens just for a day, and to submit thus, to someone he trusts and who is worthy of that faith? It is a dream come true. “I am honoured that my Emperor would permit me to attend him thus”.
A dry chuckle is his answer. “Is that so? Then do attend me Roboute Guilliman, for it seems your tongue is silvery indeed” Sanguinius voice has darkened. Not musical now, but smooth silk and dark chocolate and the razor-sharp edges of the finest blades. A languid gesture of his hand makes the meaning clear. He hesitates, the earlier warning still clear in his mind. “May I use my hands to release you, my Lord?”
“So, he can learn. Very good” there is a vicious delight in Sanguinius voice. “I had wondered considering our brother had found his way into your fortress without invitation for the second time.” Roboute blushes furiously, at his failure as much as at the fire the angelic lord was kindling in his belly.
“Permit me to make amends” he begs without thinking, leaning forward to press his lips against his brother’s fingers in a desperate plea. For the failure had been real after all, even if it was not his alone. And if Kurze had managed to hurt him. It does not bear thinking about.
“You may try. And yes, you may use your hands to undress me” Sanguinius permits with a darkly delighted smile.
Permission thus granted Roboute carefully begins to remove his brother loin protection. Had he been careless and hurried earlier with his own, this was the opposite. This was languid devotion expressed with every featherlight touch, for this was the armour, that would keep his brother safe in the event of another attack. This was the armour, that might mean the difference between staying unhurt and taking a wound.
He does not dare to let himself think, that it might make the difference between victory and loss, between life and death, for to think it, would mean to acknowledge it. To acknowledge would mean to accept the possibility, for he knows better than to fool himself thus. But just for the moment he does not think it. He stays in the moment, where all that matters is golden armour and what lies beneath it.
With a soft click the last panel opens and his breath catches. Almost without noticing he lays the piece of protection aside and reaches out to touch him, ere he suddenly feels a cool pressure upon his member, as golden boots press against it.
“No hands, Roboute” Sanguinius chides mildly. “I will not tell you again” The implies threat sends a burst of pleasure through him, as his member tries to rise smearing precum across the Angel’s foot.
“Your pardon, my Lord” he breaths softly, barely finding the words. “I will not forget again.”.
”See that you don’t. Even for such as you, my patience for repeating orders is not limitless”. As if to underline the threat Sanguinius presses down softly, sending a bold of pleasure and pain through him.
With a deep breath Roboute meets his Emperors eyes a last time, before letting them fall to the floor in unspoken submission and leant forwards to take his manhood into his mouth. The salty taste of precum is the first thing he tastes as the cock lies heavy on his tongue and the slightest gag reflex begins to make itself noticeable.
He cares not. All that matters is Sanguinius pleasure, as he leans further and further towards him, taking him further into his throat. It is working. A low moan escapes the angel as he all but instinctually grinds down further. His own groan of pleasure and pain makes his throat vibrate, causing Sanguinius to give a sharp gasp. What a delightful circle they have found themselves in.
He cannot breathe. He is suffocating himself, pressing further and further forwards, for nothing matters but his Emperors pleasure. Succeeding for once in these bitter days, when the failures pile as high as the endless bodies.
“My, you are entirely too good at this. Is this how you build your Empire I wonder? On your knees for those you would reign over, getting concessions and turning their heads. It is certainly a pretty picture” Sanguinius muses with wicked amusement, seemingly as composed as he would be in council, but he is affected, that much Roboute knows.
“Proud Roboute Guilliman debasing himself like the lowest whore. I suppose when it is all you are good for, it seems fitting that you have some talent in it” His voice breaks for a moment as Roboute swallows around him, feeling himself growing ever harder.
A low moan follows. With a sharp suddenness Sanguinius draws back leaving Roboute to sack to the floor in utter bewilderment. But even before the sharp stings of abandonment manage to make their hurt felt, he sees his brother’s sharp features soften, falling apart, even if just for the moment as he comes with a soft sigh.
A moment as though they are in a dream, a salty taste upon his tongue and Roboute Guilliman, Sole Counsel of Macragge is lying at his brother’s feet, covered in semen and feeling tensions within himself as though he’d fall apart at the slightest touch, but he is at peace, if not yet satisfied.
“Please” He begs. “please, please, please”.
“Please what, Roboute?” The angel seems amused sprawled out in his thrones, his brother falling apart at his feet.
“Please take me. Please let me cum. Please don’t stop. Please do whatever you like with me my Lord, just touch me” He is desperate. Harder than he has ever been before and not daring to move a muscle without permission.”
Sanguinius laughs wildly, enjoying his suffering.” You do beg so nicely, my dear brother. I suspect you’d have far fewer issues with our brother, if he’d see you like this. Perhaps we should invite him once he arrives” A choked moan escapes him at the idea.
Yes, how would proud Lion El ‘Johnson react to see him humiliated thus? He would be oh so satisfied to be proved right about him. Roboute can already see it. The Lion in full armour, still dirty from the fight and he himself chained to the floor like a dog. Golden collar around his throat and a leash attached, crawling at his brother’s feet.
And before them, the one for whose enjoyment they were performing. Sanguinius, sprawled out in resplendent parade armour in his rightful throne. Watching them, ere he’d take the Lion for his own pleasure, leaving Roboute discarded on the floor with cum leaking out of him.
He shivers. Just how hard was it possible to get, without bursting from the denied pleasure? But it should be no surprise, that his brother barely needed to touch him to get his reactions. After all, Sanguinius mind and words had always been among his greatest weapons, even if this was a rather unexpected use of them. “Please” he begs again, by now not even certain if he is begging his Lord not to act upon his word…, or to do exactly that.
With a dancers grace the angelic Lord rises from his throne, the wicked grin upon his face making it clear, that he had a plan. Roboute, still laying at his feet, unable to move can only pray that it will involve him being released form this sweetest of tortures. “Up, my dear” he orders calmly. The darkly smooth undertone making it all to clear, that he was in the mood for further games.
“My Lord?” Roboute barely manages to say the words, as he drags himself onto his knees, confusion mingling with heady anticipation.
“On your feet” Sanguinius clarifies, laughter hidden under impatience. “Or this this task too difficult for the one who would claim to be my Lord Warden?”
He is trying to obey, he really is. But his legs are shaking, he cannot feel his feet under him and he is lightheaded. It is all he can do, not to let himself fall back onto the floor.
“Useless”. With an impatient sigh Sanguinius is dragging him up, hand curled in to his hair, throwing spikes of deliciously sharp pain through him, before he is thrown forwards. It takes him a minute to realises what his broken his fall. The cool metal tempering his flushed skin. Sharp ridges and elaborate decorations are pressing against vulnerable places. His cock rubbing against the mouth of the lionhead to the side of Sanguinius’ Throne. His Throne once upon a time. His brother echoes his thoughts.
“The place from whence you once ruled over 500 worlds seems like a fitting altar for this final submission. After all you have laid it all at my feet. Now you add yourself to it” There is an unsaid message behind the words: If you want to put a stop to it, do it now. A slow smile grows upon his face, unseen as it is. He has always known how possessive his brother can get, and if this leads him to claim Ultramar as his in truth, that might yet prove be their salvation.
“Please” he breathes again. “Use me as you will, my Lord. Just please, let me be yours”. The all but silent words ring through the throne room as if they’d been a scream.
“Then so be it” The words sound final. Sanguinius leans forwards and he can feel longer limber fingers drag over his body as the Lord of the Blood Angels explores his new possession patiently, brushing over erect nipples and sending shivers through him. Slowly, ever so slowly the fingers go lower, circling around his desperately jerking erection.
“So eager” Sanguinius laughs, still refusing to touch the straining member.” But I suppose I should not be surprised about it, now that you’ve finally found out what you’re good for.” He brushes his fingers through Roboute’s blond curls “Pretty”, before tightening them abruptly dragging his head back. He cannot stop himself from sharply dragging in air at the unexpected pain, made worse by his instinctual jerk forwards as his penis presses against the lionheads jewelled teeth.
He can feel his brother’s warm breath at his neck, as Sanguinius leans forwards. Razor-sharp teeth drag against his bared neck, resulting in a desperate whine. Clear head long since gotten lost to endless sensations as pain and pleasure mingle in him. He cannot even tell what is what anymore. Nothing exists but Sanguinius body starting to be pressed against his and the throne they are sprawling over.
He is not religious, has not been since his Father had found him, but just for a moment he remembers his childhoods gods and feels as though he had entered Elysium as his brother at last enters him. It is slow and hurts and feels right and he can see start. He feels fuller than he ever has before and it feels so very right. For once he is at peace. No need to think or give orders, no need to mourn for lost souls or order his people to their deaths, no more hard choices. Just lying there and taking his brother’s dick. It feels freeing.
A sudden burst of pleasure flows through him. With a distant light-headedness he notices that Sanguinius has wrapped his hand around his cock.” Come with me Rob” the words are breathed barely a second before he falls apart, the contraction driving his brother over the edge once more, before they collapse in a heap of sweaty limbs and unidentified body fluids, breathing heavily. Enjoying the quiet.
It is Sanguinius that breaks the silence.” You didn’t have to do this, Roboute. I would have managed”.
Roboute merely laughs” No I didn’t” he agrees. “I wanted to, Sanguinius. And I enjoyed it.” They fall back into silence, the exhaustion of the last few days coupled with the feeling of satisfaction slowly leaving Roboute dozing off, before he feels a pair of silken lips press themselves against his forehead. A kings blessing delivered with a brother’s warmth.
“Thank you, my brother” the words breathed as softly a summers breeze light a warmth in him. A softly triumphant smile lights up his face for a moment. Perhaps they might yet win their gamble.