Ok, so random thought. The Astartes ports...... What if you fingered them, and because they're connected to their muscles and nervous system they just felt everything you do in a more intense manner. You play around with their ports as their already fucking into you and it only makes the act of sex more euphoric for them. They finally grasp why its so good to have sex and they want you to do it again.
Your Astartes has you on your back as he's fucking into you hard and rough and the moment you push your fingers into their port by their chest it sends chills down his body as the sensation feels good. It's so good that he stops moving and he starts panting like a dog in heat.
She took a sip. The tea was strong and pungent, the kind that stung the nostrils. It was hard to suppress the grimace, and the marine seemed to notice it.
“You are aware you need not drink it. It is made strong specifically for Astartes.”
“It is…interesting. I have had similar meetings with more than a dozen of your brothers across multiple companies. Every time it’s a different infusion.”
“This is Corinthian Rosemary. Whenever resupply is viable the victualler corps make sure to include whatever the local culture deems an acceptable substitute. Disparate companies and campaigns accumulate their own stocks and I cannot help notice you are still drinking it.”
She smiled sweetly. It was a textbook manoeuvre, only slightly spoiled by the sinus-blasting the tea was providing. “I was taught that acknowledging and participating in a chapter’s individual customs is the best way to integrate and make connections.”
“I do not see remembrancers sharing the ale of Space Wolves.” He gave a harsh bark, the kind you might find if you stripped the sound of laughter down to the bone and removed half the bones. “In any case, it is a Taralan custom, if the ascendants speak truly. Therefore it belongs to neither of us.”
“And yet the custom is observed by the entire chapter, and has been for the best part of two millennia.”
“An irrationality from the dark days, solidified through habit, and the veneration of its practitioners.” He removed the small vessel from the burner and refilled their glasses. They were little things of cut glass, barely thicker than parchment. She couldn’t help but marvel at the elegance and delicacy of his augmetics as he raised the glass in hard digits of silver and plasteel. “Even astartes are prone to nostalgia and sentimentality in extremis.”
She nodded. “I have read the treatises on Lord Avenii. It seems justified to seek reassurance in the familiar when faced with strife of that kind. In my opinion, it humanized him”
That seemed to change something in him. It was like watching the weight removed from a taut cable, a reluctant, almost painful relaxation. He stood up, the fine mail hem of his tunic jingling softly as he turned his back on her.
“We are beyond human. We should not need comfort. We are warriors. Anything that does not serve that requirement is a waste at best, a weakness at worst.”
“A weakness?” She prompted. The phrase had come up many times over her tenure with the Fists. The shadow of Medusa laid heavy around them.
“Flesh is weak.” He replied. There was no feeling in the words. Not even the flat, unshakeable faith that was these marine’s closest analogue of confidence
“So I’ve heard. The human body is frail and imprecise and so on…but the human mind is a different matter, is it not?”
His brow furrowed, eyes flashing for a moment. “Careful now, Miss Calimorre. You have my favour, but do not test it.” His footsteps boomed over to the wall, lifting a long, weathered bolt rifle off the wall. Her eyes gravitated to the floor, and the glass clasped in both hands. The air had suddenly become very tense. She took solace in another sip. There was a long pause, broken only by a loud clank of metal as he pulled back the arming bolt and began to disassemble the weapon.
025.M42 / 370.120 post TCM.M42
“You wish to know of Damat?” He said eventually. She nodded. “Very well…”
Segmentum Obsucurus
The Nachmund Gauntlet
“It is clear that, whatever masters they serve, this council has no right to let the people of this planet live.”
“Of course they have no right to live! I thought we’d established this weeks ago!”
“My lords, surely another orbital bombardment is the clear solution. Crack their shielding under weight of fire and the Emperor’s Divine Judgement.”
“The Imperial Navy lost its right to put forth suggestions after the mess you made of the landings at Harzkov. The blood of my regiments is still on your hands, Commodore!”
“Agreed. Not even a knight cannot clear a drop zone and clear the skies at once.”
“Those bastards shot down a titan lander on your watch, Commodore. A TITAN LANDER, for Throne’s sake! How does that even happen?!”
“What about the Astartes, then? Do the Emperor’s sons support not even their own these days?”
“Confirm. Probability of optimum resolution projected to increase with the presence of but a single gunship.”
“Tread carefully, adept. The probability of this meeting’s optimum resolution just decreased.”
Cosrau is grateful to be helmed, and stood five paces back from the strategium. Both factors do a very good job at hiding his dismay. The meeting has ticked over into its fourth hour, with nary a resolution in sight, and Captain Exitas is looking almost as frayed as the rest of the mortals around the table. Cosrau has never seen a tech-priest show fatigue, never believed it possible, but the way that Adept Rhomule has been twitching over the last few minutes is beginning to challenge that belief.
“And you are…? Well, I know you’re Second Company, but who’re you to speak for this Trajan?” The Colonel glowers across the table, over his seventh mug of recaf. He is as much of a mess as the Crown-Princess, but he has spent the last three hours synthesizing his fatigue into anger, and has already left two stab-wounds in the holo-table.
The Crown-Princess pulls herself to her feet. Her heavily-ornamented pilot suit is oil-stained and rumpled, and the strain of two straight days on her Throne Mechanicum has left her pallid and slow: “And what of Captain Trajan? I was led to believe his company are specialists in such matters?” She is looking over Exitas’ shoulders, towards the two other marines in the room, towards Cosrau.
“Captain Trajan’s efforts are currently engaged in maintaining the void-corridors in system.” Cosrau finds himself saying. He has taken three paces forwards without noticing. Exitas is looking at him intently.
“That was unnecessary.” Sergeant Ryza grunts on a private vox as Cosrau rejoins him, five paces behind their captain.
“Sergeant Yandin, Colonel. I speak for Lieutenant Tellurion. He was planetside with me during the first wave, and is currently coordinating remedial air defences. He speaks for Trajan.” The Colonel’s glower does not falter, so Yandin continues. “And while I may, I’d like to pass you his compliments. Your second battalion was with us when we took the Astropathic relay, and we agreed that their conduct was exemplary.”
That clears the air a little. The Colonel removes his hand from his sword hilt with a harrumph of grudging acknowledgement, and goes back to concealing his face under his wide-brimmed hat.
“Maybe.” Cosrau sighs.
“The mortals require discipline, not empty platitudes.”
“And the table requires less stab-wounds.” Cosrau is just a little too slow in catching his tongue.
Ryza’s helmet turns just a fraction as he snorts ruefully. “These are not your problems to solve, Cosrau.”
“We have all been trusted to secure this world, Havarris. We’d be remiss to not give our all to the effort.” Cosrau sighs. This place was supposed to be their rally point. Not just for this cocktail assortment of mortal forces, but for the entire chapter. To present a world in this state for the first assembly of all ten companies in two millenia would be a shame of astronomical proportions.
“Hmf. Politics.” Ryza’s voice is practically dripping with distain for that word. “Emperor knows, it wasn’t this bad on Arx. PDF officers know their place, at least.”
Cosrau chuckles wryly. “And tell me, how many of those officers were still there on our return?”
“++My lords. Conversial tone indicates you are unaware of the insecurity of your vox-link.++”
The third voice jolts both sergeants up to attention. Adept Rhomule has not spoken out loud, has not shifted position, but Cosrau can feel her softly-glowing cyberlenses boring through his own. Ryza has already closed the link before Cosrau can apologise, leaving him to stew in the discomfort of the unmasked, a feeling that is only slightly alleviated by the message beamed into his helmet’s display by a distinctly binaric outside force.
++Conveyance – In spite of occurance: lax EM discipline (addendum – will be reported to Astartes Superior), This one is appreciative of the…Enrichment.++
