When I say Space Marines are sexy, I mean in a way like this passage from Ghazghkull Thraka: Prophet of the Waaagh!:
The Space Marine was fully naked now, and his body was terrible to look upon. Falx had never been particularly interested in male bodies, but even if she had been, she would have found little to relish in Hendriksen's. It was masculinity amplified into nothing but a weapon: something constructed, with all the accidental grace of nature stripped away, and replaced with the monolithic brutalism of an armoured vehicle. As Hendriksen grabbed a pot of some reeking oil, and began smearing it over a torso pocked with scars, scalpel-seams, stretch marks and the angry welts of embedded socket ports, Falx found sudden insight into why the Astra Militarum's main battle tank had been dubbed the Leman Russ. Hendriksen's tattoos, she saw now, had been inked when he had still been human. They were warped now, stretched over the places where bones had been rebuilt and where hillocks of muscle had been forced to grow. In their contortion, you could almost see the ghost of the boy he had once been, stretched out over the frame of a monster, and Falx felt a moment of pity for Hendriksen as he traced over the lines with a fingertip dripping with rancid tallow.
