Sicarius meant to protest, but a look from the primarch silenced him.
‘What manner of father would I be if I willingly abandoned a son when he might easily be saved?’
Sicarius stumbled. Guilliman extinguished the fires of his father’s sword and locked it to his back. With his freed hand, he grabbed Sicarius’ upper arm.
‘Let me support you.’
The ship shook with a heavy impact. There was an explosion somewhere nearby. The sound of gunfire and screams was a constant undertone to the blaring alarms and crackle of firearms.
‘No. Leave me. Save yourself.’
‘How about I order you to let me support you?’ said the primarch. ‘I would prefer not to make my kindness a command.’
Sicarius nodded, and lifted his arm. Guilliman grasped it and dragged him on his way.
Are you ever gonna have the seedlings meet their Astartes? Other than the Vulkan seedling and the Salamanders ofc
The plan is for the Seedlings to introduce themselves to their Astrates and the wider Imperium once they are adults. For now they're a secret, with only a few select, trusted people aware of the project. Guilliman runs the risk of revealing everything because he has to go back and forth. The Victrix Guard and a group of nosey Custodes don't appreciate how often he's disappearing. Revealing the Seedlings to Captain Sicarius proved the Seedlings have the Primarch Aura though.
Description: Guilliman and his Lady have a brief moment of peace. Tarchus and Frenzy begin to heal.
Some fluff and comfort for you guys this week! These poor characters deserve it.
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Warm.
You were so very warm. And safe. You drifted in the hazy twilight between sleeping and waking, content to float there forever. Something beat like distant hammer blows beneath your head. A comforting rhythm.
Th’thump-th’thump. Th’thump-th’thump.
Other sounds soon joined it. Less welcome.
Click. Click-click. Tap. Scritch.
You wrinkled your nose as the persistent noise slowly dragged you from blissful oblivion. Flickering light trickled in through your opening eyelids. It revealed the truly massive male chest upon which you sprawled.
Your eyes traced the impossible musculature beneath golden skin only marred (or perhaps, enhanced) by silver scarring and black metal ports. Half-unconsciously, you reached out and drew your fingers in a slow circle around the nearest one.
The chest beneath you lifted as a drawn breath like inflating bellows rumbled through it.
“Awake at last, my Hearts?” The resonant voice held a trace of amusement.
“Mmmm….”
Tilting your head back, you stared into deep-set blue eyes.
“Light, you’re handsome.” You slurred through a cheek pressed flat against his pectoral.
The corners of the eyes crinkled, bringing faint lines into sudden sharp relief. A great calloused hand rose to cup your cheek. You nuzzled into it, smelling the faint scent of ink on the thick fingers.
“Flatterer.”
“S’true.” You pressed a kiss to the palm. “So, so handsome. The most handsome man ever.”
There was a sudden jerk and puff of warm breath as he huffed. “If you had ever seen some of my brothers….”
You didn’t like the self-deprecation in his tone. Pursing your lips, you pressed both hands flat against his chest and rose until you were face to face. Your damp hair fell over your shoulders to curl along his skin.
He arched a golden eyebrow when you pointed a finger at his face. “You, Roboute Guilliman, are perhaps the most perfect man who has ever existed. Kind, brilliant, strong….” your eyes traveled down the length of his chest.
A chest you were currently straddling. Sort of. You didn’t think your thighs could stretch wide enough to accommodate his sheer breadth.
Your next words came in a breathy moan. “And sexy. By the Light and the Void and everything between, you are so sexy.”
Your brain chose that precise moment to fully awaken. Heat ignited across your cheeks until you felt you might combust with mortification. Avoiding his eyes, you buried your face back in his neck with a squeak.
The chest beneath you shook as he chuckled. One of his hands moved to span your back, holding you steady against him.
“High praise. Especially coming from by far the most aesthetically pleasing woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”
You didn’t think you’d ever been so happy to be called aesthetically pleasing.
Slowly, as he cradled you against him, memory returned. You’d been soaking with him in the bath, letting the hot water wash away blood, filth, and horror alike. And then….
“Did I fall asleep in the bath?”
“Mmmhmm.”
The clicking, tapping noise had resumed. You lifted your head enough to see a tablet, what the Imperials called a “data slate” propped up on the end table to your right. Greenish text whizzed by at scrolling speeds that made your head ache. You watched him hit a series of buttons, huge fingers moving with surprising precision, then pick up a nearby pen and make a series of notes on a sheet of paper.
“What are you working on?”
“New communications protocols between TerraNovan and Imperial naval vessels. Incorporating the most recent vox synchronization data provided by the resident Mechanicus Magi. The current provisional system is inefficient and vulnerable to disrupting frequency interference, an added problem on top of the current complexities of translation programs and diverse military terminology. Clarity of communications is vital to the continued operational efficiency of this alliance and must be-”
“Roboute.”
He paused mid-note. “Ah.”
You giggled. “Normally I find your technical-speak fascinating but….”
He cleared his throat and released the pen, both arms wrapping around your body. “Perhaps not the time. Forgive me.” A pause, then, “... fascinating?”
He sounded so pleased you couldn’t help but laugh. Shifting to a more comfortable position in his embrace, you realized you no longer wore the simple sleeping robe you’d removed to bathe. Instead, a tunic of Ultramarine blue covered you from throat to ankle, the heavy fabric swallowing you whole. Shifting only further tangled it about your limbs,
“Roboute, is this…?”
“One of mine.” He sounded almost apologetic. “I did not wish to disturb your rest by calling in a serf with clean clothing. This was… all I had.”
It smelled of him. Ink and metal and… you sniffed.
Olive oil? Does the Imperium even still have olives?
One of the hundreds of questions to ask later.
“I don’t mind, but I’ll need to message someone to bring one of my gowns.”
His arms tensed around you for a moment. “I will see to it.”
“How long was I asleep?”
“Eight hours, seventeen minutes, and twenty-” he stopped himself, “It is the rough equivalent of morning, I believe.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Did you get any rest?”
“I require much less than a mortal, my Hearts.”
You looked at him again, eyeing the perpetual dark shadows beneath his eyes.
“You still need rest.”
He lifted the data-slate once more. “There is a great deal to do.”
Understatement of the millennium.
You inhaled deeply. “We’d best get back to it, then.”
“Indeed.”
Neither of you moved. You wiggled in his arms.
“Roboute….”
“I am… gathering the will to release you. It is more difficult than I anticipated.”
“Roboute!” You giggled again, crawling up his body to press a kiss against his stubbled cheek.
He turned his face at the last moment, catching your lips on his. The two of you froze, staring into each other’s eyes. You pressed forward again. His hand cupped the entirety of the back of your head, deepening the kiss.
When his tongue slipped inside, you moaned. Heat, this time not the embarrassed kind, rolled over your skin. He growled into your mouth, the sound sending lightning down your spine. His other hand slid down your back to cup your rear. You squealed when he squeezed gently.
Your head lightened. You needed air.
No. I need him.
His mouth grew demanding, teeth grazing. When he groaned your name in registers no mortal man could reach, you melted.
“Roboute… please….”
The chime of a vox call made you jerk back. For a brief moment the thunderous look in Roboute’s eyes frightened you. He snatched up the data-slate, the metal creaking in his grip, and stabbed a button.
“WHAT. NOW. CATO.”
“... forgive me, my Lord. You asked to be alerted when Brother Tarchus and the TerraNovan mortal were out of surgery.”
You blinked.
Tarchus… Frenzy….
“They’re alive?!”
***
“No.”
Battle Brother Julian Tarchus, honored member of the Victrix Guard, veteran of hundreds of battles, was seriously considering finding out how far he could throw a small mortal female.
The female in question stared up at him with courage he would have found admirable under different circumstances. Only the slight tremble in her crossed arms betrayed the inevitable transhuman dread. Red stained the front of her off-white uniform, darkening from bright scarlet to rust-brown. Tarchus’s eyes fixed on those stains.
He found himself running calculations of how much blood a mortal body could lose and remain functional.
The female lifted her chin, lips pursed. “Lt. Commander Zhou’s instructions were clear… sir. No Imperial personnel in the medical quarters designated for TerraNovan wounded.”
Tarchus growled. “Medica-”
“Nurse. Or Ensign.” The woman corrected with a glare.
Tarchus had never relished the fear his presence inspired in mortals. But now he found himself wishing these TerraNovans felt at least a portion of the trepidation of their Imperial counterparts.
He flexed his one remaining fist. Even in only his body glove it would be comically easy to move this recalcitrant female aside. He would not even have to harm her, though the prospect of launching her through the recycled air was becoming increasingly attractive.
Taking a step closer, he let his shadow fall over her, finding a brief, self-indulgent satisfaction in her face’s sudden pallor.
“Ensign, your chirurgeon breathes upon this vessel by the grace of the Primarch. You have been given every accommodation. Is it such an imposition to request one in return?”
She muttered something his recently acquired knowledge of the TerraNovan common language didn’t cover. Perhaps a regional dialect. The tone made his eyes narrow.
Enough with diplomacy.
“Woman,” he thundered, “if you do not let me see Lt. Calderon at once I swear by the Primarch I will-”
The floor beneath his feet shook with approaching sabatons. Tarchus jerked around and snapped to attention as the Primarch himself strode down the corridor, flanked by Commander Sicarius and a detachment of his brother Victrix Guard.
You sat with a surprising amount of dignity in the crook of the Primarch’s arm. Your eyes lit up when you saw him in a way that made his chest feel warm.
“Brother Tarchus! Thank the Light!”
Tears. You were shedding tears. He felt a flare of alarm before remembering mortals often experienced this biological process in response to extreme positive as well as negative emotions.
He snapped his right arm across his chest in salute. “Lord Primarch. My Lady. Commander Sicarius.”
The brief tightness around the Commander’s mouth suggested he did not entirely approve of the order of address.
The Primarch nodded to him. “Your operation proceeded smoothly, I see, my son.”
Tarchus glanced over to the notable absence of his left arm. “Yes, my Lord. I am told the techmarines are fashioning an augmetic as we speak.”
“Oh no….” You extended a hand as if to touch his shoulder and Tarchus felt another flare of alarm.
“A minor inconvenience, my Lady. The installation of an augmetic will restore me to approximately 96.7% functionality. Greater once the machine spirit and I achieve accord.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He blinked. “You had no part in the injury.”
His genesire’s mouth twitched. “I believe she is trying to express sympathy for your loss, Tarchus.”
“I… see.” He inclined his head in your direction. “The sentiment, while unnecessary, is recognized.”
For some reason you seemed amused by his response.
The Primarch continued. “I am surprised the Apothecaries released you so soon.”
Tarchus stiffened. “I am fully capable of returning to my duties, my Lord.”
For the love of the Emperor, do not ask further questions.
He knew Brother Apothecary Jarus was most likely searching for him even now. But he could not lay idle for a second longer. Not when Frenzy….
“Ensign.” You spoke now to the wide-eyed medica pressed against the chamber door. “Was a Lieutenant Franscesca Calderon brought here recently?”
“I… I…,” the woman’s stubbornness seemed to have evaporated upon the Primarch’s arrival, “y-yes, Matron.”
“I would like to see her, if the surgeons deem it permissible.”
“O-of course, Matron! Please, just let me,” she raised a hand to a kind of vox device at her ear and rattled off another stream of that incomprehensible dialect. “The Lieutenant has recovered from the anesthesia and is ready to receive visitors, Matron.”
Tarchus twitched with unspent energy. Frenzy lay somewhere behind this door. He needed to see her. The violence of the urge had driven him here from the Apothecarion without official notice of release. He did not understand it. He didn’t try to.
He just needed to hear her heartbeat again.
The door slid open. If the medica, the Ensign, had any further reservations about Imperial personnel she kept them to herself as the Primarch, his personal guard, and you stepped into the makeshift TerraNovan infirmary. Tarchus followed close behind.
On the surface, the chamber reminded him of any other Astartes Apothecarion. Which was impressive in itself. In his experience, mortal infirmaries were chaotic places. Rushing, hollow-eyed medicae, blood-stained chirurgeons, and screaming patients.
This chamber, however, was a model of order. Unfamiliar cogitators beeped in precise rhythms, tended by medicae (nurses, he reminded himself) with few, if any, visible augmetics. Patients lay on clean cots, separated by partitions. Whenever a wounded soldier exhibited any sign of distress, they were attended promptly. The tang of antiseptic filled the air.
It was admirable.
He cared for none of it.
“Oh… Lieutenant….”
Your soft cry galvanized him. He pushed through the ranks of his brothers to stand nearest to you and the Primarch. You bent over one of the cots. And on it….
“Frenzy.” The name slipped free before he could stop it.
Her eyes opened and fixed on him with the glaze of the medicated. “H-hey, Big Guy.”
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Her heart beat slow and steady. A weight heavier than the dirt and rock under which both of you had been buried lifted from his shoulders.
“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Your voice sounded oddly choked as you gripped the Lieutenant’s hand.
Frenzy’s gaze flicked back to you, and she gave a lopsided smile. “Heh. Me too, ma’am.”
The Primarch spoke next. “I have been briefed on what occurred in the tunnels after the two of you,” he looked toward Tarchus, "facilitated our escape. It was well done.”
His words made something in Tarchus’s chest swell. “We did our duty, my Lord.”
“Yeah,” Frenzy nodded, “what he said… uh… sir.”
“Your sacrifices will not be in vain.”
“Oh,” she looked down at the sheet covering her legs.
Or what remained of them. Tarchus was pleased to see the chirurgeons had managed to preserve everything above the knee-joints. Still, the sight… pained him, somehow.
If I had been faster, or stronger….
He pushed the nagging thought aside.
You kept your grip on Frenzy’s hand. “I’ll see you’re fitted with the best prosthesis available, Lieutenant. Until new legs can be gene-cloned.”
Frenzy’s eyes went wide. “Clonies?! Fuck, ma’am, I… even if I were still a part of the Mech Rangers… that’s not… I can’t afford that!”
You managed a laugh. “Frenzy, your actions saved who knows how many lives. I think I can cover the bill.”
“Fuckin’ hell!” She winced. “I… I mean… thank you, ma’am! Hear that Big Guy? Brand new legs! Hey, maybe we can get a new arm for you, too!”
You turned and smiled up at him. “I think that could be arranged.”
“We may need to consult the Apothecaries about that.” The Primarch smiled. “But if TerraNovan medical knowledge is as advanced as I believe, I cannot see why it should not be incorporated into standard Astartes medical practice.”
Tarchus blinked. He’d resigned himself to a limb of metal and servos. Many of his brothers bore such.
But to be truly whole again…!
Beside him, Commander Sicarius shifted. “To meddle in millennia old Apothecary doctrine, Lord Guilliman-”
“Is a conversation for another time.” The Primarch’s voice rang with finality.
He placed a hand on your shoulder. You covered it with your own, smiling up at him in a way that made Tarchus want to avert his eyes.
“I quite agree… sir.” A small man with snapping black eyes stepped up to Frenzy’s cot and gave a short bow. “Pardon, but the Lieutenant needs to rest.”
“Of course, Doctor Zhou.” You nodded. “Please keep me updated on her condition.”
“Yes, Matron.” The man pivoted with machine precision and bowed again to the Primarch. “Patron.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before addressing the Ultramarines. “...sirs.”
Commander Sicarius huffed. But the Primarch cut him off before he could complain.
“We will discuss proper forms of address in good time.” His voice softened. “Come, my dear.”
Tarchus lingered as the others filed out. The chirurgeon narrowed his eyes, but made no protest, as he sank to one knee at Frenzy’s bedside. Opening his mouth, he realized he had no idea what to say.
Luckily, Frenzy rarely seemed to have that problem. “Fuuuuck, Big Guy.” She sank back onto the padded cot. “Feels like I’ve been chewed up and shat out.”
“An apt description.”
She huffed a breath through her nose. “Look, I know you probably want to talk about that kiss.”
He jerked. “Lieutenant-”
“But I’m about to be really fuckin’ high on painkillers, so maybe not now?” She eyed a medica inserting a syringe of some kind into the tubing attached to her arm.
“Understood. I just wished to say I… I am… Throne, damn it! I cannot-”
She gave him a look far too soft for him to meet. “I’m glad you’re alive too, Tarchus. Really glad. Thanks for getting us out of there.”
“You deserve a more honorable death.”
Her guffaw rang through the infirmary. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to get used to the way you boys in blue give compliments!”
Tarchus rose. “I will let you recover.”
“Yeah, good idea. Holyyyyy fuuuuck, that stuff works faaaast.” Her eyes glazed and she giggled. “Y’know, I just thought of somethin’.”
“Yes?”
She gestured to him, then to herself. “There’s an ‘arm and a leg’ joke to be made here somewhere.”
Tarchus turned away before she could see an Ultramarine smile.
